It doesn't even feel like Christmas. I only opened one present (a klezmer CD--only in my family...) and then my dad and I ate dinner alone together because my mom and brother had a fight and ran upstairs to slam their respective doors. It was 45 degrees here. My sister's in Chicago. Sigh. I want a real Christmas.


Blogging and watching The Price is Right in the university airport: awesome.

After years of being tantalized by ads for Sonic Drive-Thru, I finally found one in my area.

Now The Young and the Restless is on TV. Decidedly less awesome.

So yes. The semester is over. I handed in my thesis, and I'm not happy with how it turned out, but...I'm so burned out. I need sleep. I need sleep and not to think about things that require my brain. But guess who needs to apply to grad school?!?!??!??!???!?!?!!!!?!??!??? Ugh. I hate everything.

I leave for the airport in 90 minutes. Then: a week in Seattle. As with my previous week in Seattle, I'm not particularly looking forward to it. I just need some time where I don't have to even get out of bed until 3pm if I don't want to (that's 1pm local time. Sigh.)


I swear, between PMS and finals fortnight (my finals went on much longer than a week...), I must have gained 10 lbs.

Guess who's blogging so she doesn't have to work on her thesis...

I'm positive I'm the only student on campus still doing homework. To console myself, I got Chinese food (sesame chicken!) and a peppermint mocha from Starbucks, and I've been listening to "All I Want for Christmas is You" and "Do They Know It's Christmas" on repeat.

Yeah, this was pretty much the worst week ever to have PMS.


What a great time to get cramps!

Me, three minutes ago: Hm, I just put my contacts in, but I can't see very well out of them. Weird.

Me, one minute ago: Why am I still wearing my glasses? I meant to put my contacts in. Oh well.

Me, just now: Why am I wearing both my contacts and glasses at the same time??

I hate everything. But especially you. But especially everything.

Yes, this terrible end-of-semester madness has driven me to being passive-aggressive. Deal with it. You know you're passive-aggressive too.


me: what's a noun for unite?
me: not like unity
me: but the act of uniting
me: like if unition existed, it'd be that
Jason: Union?
me: thank you
Jason: Go to bed. You're not on full strength.

I think the thing that has kept me sane during the past two weeks has been the people who let me whine to them constantly. Dear people (you know who you are): THANK YOU.

Now I'm going to go back to work so I can get a 4.0 this semester (HAHAHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA shut up it's a possibility).


Update on the 20-page research paper:

"This is an excellent paper, extremely well researched, well documented, and well written. A+ for the paper; A for the course. Congratulations."


Oh man. The last 9 hours have been...interesting. I thought my 20-page research paper was due on Tuesday instead of Monday because I can't read. Last night at 11 pm I look at the syllabus to see how he wanted us to do a bibliography; that's when I noticed the due date was earlier that day (he wanted the papers turned in before 1:30 pm). Immediately I started to feel sick. I still had to get a book from the library in order to cite page numbers (long story), and the circulation desk had just closed. I e-mailed my professor and explained, and I started accepting the fact that I'd be penalized for handing in my paper a day late. I was really nervous because this paper is 60% of our grade. I felt really sick--my stomach started hurting really bad, and I just felt crushed in general. Sigh. Yesterday was a terrible enough day without this.

Anyway, I just got an e-mail back from my professor saying he wouldn't penalize me, so I'm feeling much better about the whole thing. I certainly feel like an idiot, but at least he recognizes that I was just being an idiot* and not a weasel (i.e. trying to have an extra day to work).

*Um, true story: just now I typed internet instead of idiot. Yep, I really am an idiot.


Is it possible for me to complete a 20-25-page research paper in just over 3 days? It looks like it so far... Wish me luck, but it will be a token wish of superfluous benefit, for I am amazing!


Holy shit fuck. Here's a summary of the next three weeks for me:

  • Saturday 12/2: Drive 2.5 hours each way to a doctor's appointment.
  • Monday 12/4: Hand in two papers. Take a test.
  • Friday 12/8: Hand in thesis. Right now I have 13 of 30 pages.
  • Tuesday 12/12: Hand in seminar paper. Right now I have 0 of 25 pages.
  • Wednesday 12/13: Final exam. This is the thing that I'm least worried about.
  • Friday 12/15: Hand in book report. Right now I have 0 of 10 pages and I haven't yet selected a book, let alone started reading it.
  • Saturday 12/16: DIE.


Oh, dear God. I just got the album Rockabye Baby! Lullaby Renditions of Radiohead. I think I need to have a baby immediately so I can make it listen to this. I will have the coolest kid ever.

     I went to West Lafayette and saw everyone from elementary school.
     I got a phone call from someone I used to be friends with and she said she was serving in the army and she was going to be deployed to Iraq within a few days.
     I was riding the bus and people were playing Risk on it (à la Seinfeld) and I couldn't get by. I started bitching about how I pay for the service and I'd like to be able to use it, and the bus driver said technically I didn't pay for it.
     I went back to the Settlement and my mom and one other employee were having a debate about which fruits had seeds.
     Alex didn't want to go to IFV. I came over to his apartment because he sounded sick, and he was getting a massage from a girl who looked like Kylie Minogue.
     I was going to give Sarah Vowell's sister a ride home from a seminar, but she decided to hang out with her sister instead. I wanted to hang out with Sarah Vowell as well, because that would be badass, but they told me it was a sisters-only thing.


     I got a birthday card for Alex's nephew, and I wrote a poem on it, but I put the wrong name. I felt like shit. Then I was driving Alex around and I noticed he looked a little sheepish. I asked what happened, and he said he peed his pants.
     Then I was at Lincoln Square Mall (the local depressingly deserted mall that I remember from my childhood) and there was an Eddie Bauer. The manager thought I worked there, and she came up to warn me about a lady who was walking around the store and trying to sell "mustaches for lasses". I found a doll who was wearing the same plaid coat that I own. A few minutes after that, the mustaches-for-lasses lady came up to me. I pretended to be interested, and then she told me that an employee named Steve was considering buying one (in order to persuade me, I suppose). I suggested we go over and talk to Steve so I'd be able to slip away and tell the manager. It turned out to be none other than the Steve I regrettably dated a few years ago. I asked him to help me out, and he did. They caught the woman, escorted her out, and then journalists came and took pictures of Steve and me for the paper.


More fun with the shuffle feature on iTunes:

We Are Not a Football Team by Minus the Bear, followed by We Are the Sleepyheads by Belle & Sebastian:

We are not a football team, we are the sleepyheads.

I love when it does that!



Don't you just hate morning talk show hosts? You're hungover, you feel like crap, and they're bubbly, they're up at 6 am. I just want to shoot them. I'm sure we've all internalized the--what's that city in Colorado? Columbine.--the Columbine fantasy. For me it would either be child stars or morning talk show hosts. I just want to mow them down, you know? Forgive me my perversity.

(about a film clip) This is the delirium that accompanies ODing. I'm sure some of you know what that feels like.

Those were both said by one of my professors, whose class I only go to anymore to hear the wonderful things he comes up with.

An anecdote:
For over a week now I've been getting voicemails from this guy who yells at someone named Anna for not showing up wherever. The first several times, I didn't pick up because I screen my calls. Later, when I started recognizing the number, I'd unfortunately miss his calls because I was in the bathroom, in class, sleeping, whatever. He called this morning and told Anna that her cell phone was shit. I called back and I got his voicemail (he's a whiny, nasal guy named Brian, and he's kind of an asshole, actually). I left a message telling him that he's been calling me (and I reiterated my number), not Anna, and the way he could tell this is because my voicemail says, "This is Kerry's cell phone." I asked him to check with Anna and start calling her phone, because we'd all be a lot happier then. I was firm and a little condescending (if you repeatedly call a cell phone where the voicemail identifies it as belonging to someone else, but you leave the message for your person anyway, you can't be too bright), but generally polite. If he calls again, I figure I can lay into him.



This is what I had waiting outside my door this morning:

Autumn leaf cookies: my mom's specialty. I look forward to these every year. Don't worry, there are plenty more...

Skeleton doll! Made from a toddler's sock. It's fantastic!

His cheesy grin:

Plus pumpkin bread, chocolate chip cookies, candy corn, and caramel apple pops! And a card with a megacute picture of a puppy!


Things that happened today:
1. I almost didn't go to class this morning. I shut off my alarm and went back to sleep, but the garbage truck woke me again at 8:10, so I decided to just go.
2. I bought coffee from a vending machine. The cup didn't go down all the way, so all of the coffee it poured was wasted and I had to buy another cup.
3. I watched Eva Wants to Sleep and I was annoyed by its cop-out ending.
4. I burned my leg on the radiator. One time I burned my butt on a radiator in someone's bathroom.
5. My mom called to tell me that she shipped some stuff next-day air to me. Pumpkin bread and autumn leaf cookies!


Talia got a haircut and now I think our hair is the same length. That freaks me out for some reason.


I've been listening to John Vanderslice's album Cellar Door (lyrics here) pretty much nonstop for the past 8 hours. I figured out almost immediately that "Promising Actress" was about the film Mulholland Dr. and "When it Hits my Blood" was about Requiem for a Dream, and then it dawned on me: the album title makes me think of Donnie Darko more than anything else, so my guess was that all the songs were based off of films. "Pale Horse" has some pretty strong ties to Battleship Potemkin, especially the part that goes "rise like lions after a slumber", which matches the stone lions montage.

According to one review, only "Promising Actress" and "When it Hits my Blood" are based off films. However, the "Pale Horse"/Potemkin thing is pretty convincing. I can't make any other connections, but then again I just haven't seen that many films. Can anyone else think of anything?

I saw The Science of Sleep again. This time I remembered a pen so I could take notes (last time I just sat with the notebook in my lap like an idiot). I'd like to share some of the notes if I could:

  • Guy next to me clapped and slapped his knee at a fart joke.
  • Girl next to me freaked out at full frontal nudity on Gael.
  • Guy next to me blows raspberries to laugh.

Talia suggested I scan in some of my notes, since they're basically illegible. I was writing in a dark movie theater while watching the screen. If my scanner ever starts working, I'll upload them.

I love Gael Garcia Bernal in this film. I didn't care for him in Y Tu Mama Tambien (or basically anything associated with that film), but he's incredibly cute/energetic/likeable/pathetic here.


Last night I had one of the most fucked-up dreams I've ever had. It was insane.

     Talia committed suicide. Everyone was crying. The orchestra dedicated their concert to her. I almost went to the Chinese buffet to "celebrate her memory", but I decided against it because it would be too painful. Then Talia came and found me and told me that it was really Allie who had killed herself. She said, "I have a copy of the suicide note. Wanna see? It's kind of emo."

Heh, a suicide note being only "kind of" emo.

I would put in some disclaimer to this post for Talia so she knows I'm not such a freak of nature, but I think she knows already that I am a freak of nature. I feel weird laughing about what a bizarre dream this was because it felt so real.


I saw The Science of Sleep. My feelings on it are hard to explain: I was very excited for it since I love Michel Gondry, but I know I am easily disappointed, so I wasn't expecting a whole lot. I liked it a lot better than I had expected. I identified with Stéphane more than probably any fictional character I've ever encountered (with the possible exception of the protagonist of You Shall Know Our Velocity). Several people (including my professor) thought that Stéphane was too petulant, weak, and pathetic. I wholly disagree. Firstly, it was refreshing to me to see a character deal with stuff in a manner that isn't the "I'm too depressed and detached to even move the muscles in my face" method of acting that is all too common in films today (see the execrable Garden State). Secondly, there are times when I want to be a petulant child and cry and burn bridges and yell at people who've hurt me. Of course, I don't act like that because it's stupid and irritating, but I felt a sense of relief as I reacted vicariously through Stéphane, almost as if I had had that outburst of emotion. The actual plot events are ridiculously similar to how my life has been lately--rejected by someone whose feelings are completely ambiguous, spending a lot of time dreaming (both consciously and subconsciously). Without giving too much away, I really, really liked the ending. I was shouting in my head for the movie to end then, because I thought it was such a perfect time for it, and it did. I love Michel Gondry.

     My brother asked me to accompany him for a small jazz concert he was giving. I decided it would be funny if I cut my hair to look the same as his. I saved the long part of my hair that got cut off because I figured I could graft it on later. My sister told me this was impossible, and I was very upset when I realized it would take me over a year to grow my hair out to where it is now.


I was thinking more about women's bodies, and I really hate when women see a thin, possibly anorexic woman and say, "I just want to give her a sandwich," or, "she needs to eat more." These sentences indicates its speaker has a complete lack of compassion for a very real problem. If only we could solve anorexia, bulimia, and body dysmorphic disorder (as well as a bunch of other psychological issues, I'm sure) with a trip to Subway.


     I went to France to live with my host family. They had two silky terriers, and I was saying how they made me miss Kelsey.

While I was dreaming, I was aware that this was a dream because I was speaking French quickly and effortlessly, and that doesn't happen in real life. Heh.

Random thing that irritates me #936:
When women say, "I'm a real woman and I have real curves." Usually the ones saying this are overweight. As if my curves aren't real because I'm a size 4. I understand them wanting to feel attractive and everything, but why does it have to be with the implied jab at thinner women? I've found that women are much more cruel to other women about looks than men are. Men seem to prefer more normal-sized women, whereas it's women perpetuating the "thin is beautiful" stereotype. (Anecdote: Shania Twain was performing the halftime show at the Super Bowl. I was at my friend's house. His mom and her friend were saying how Shania's thighs were so fat. Her thighs were in fact quite normal-sized, but their size was enhanced by some poorly-chosen thigh-high stiletto boots. Anyone's thighs would look fat in those.) This is a horrifying thought--what are we doing to our daughters, sisters, friends? It sickens me. I'd like for women of all sizes to stop caring about what size they are and what size other women are. A pipe dream, I know. But we can at least cut back on the negative comments.


Autumn is the best time of year. The scenery is gorgeous. The air smells better. The weather becomes manageable. I can sleep with the window open at night and feel a cool breeze on my face. Sweaters have the ability to be simultaneously practical and sexy (so few clothing items can double). Bonfires are a great get-together opportunity, plus they smell good. The best food becomes available: apple cider, pumpkin bread, my mom's autumn leaf gingerbread cookies, and newly-discovered pumpkin beer.

I did laundry. Suddenly my clothing options are nearly limitless, and I seem to have gained some perspective. I put on a new pair of underwear simply because I could. I also don't feel as depressed anymore. Coincidence?

I'd like to expound upon something I wrote in my last post: my hatred of love stories.

Thanks to fairy tales and the like, I now feel like my ultimate romantic goal is to be rescued. Films like Garden State (to take but one example) teach us that it is alright, nay, desirable to be fucked up. You're stuck in a rut, directionless, and you're not sure you care enough to make the effort to escape. You're depressed, if not meta-depressed. Your life is so tragic. And suddenly someone swoops in and saves you from yourself. This person is drawn to you because you're complicated and frustrated and apathetic and broken. He/she is your perfect match, and you both know this, and then you're fixed.

Guess what? Not gonna happen. No one wants to be troubled by your baggage. No one's attracted to fucked up angsty twentysomethings. No one wants to get to know a sobbing depressed mess. You can't just sit around and wait for your soul mate to come and save you.

That's the most upsetting part about that type of fiction. You get false hope. You learn absolutely nothing of value; in fact, you're fooled into behaving the opposite of how you really should behave.

Consider Amélie. She's too shy to talk to Nino. Throughout the whole movie she stalks him and leaves passive-aggressive clues, but when it comes down to it she can't face him. In fact, she actively denies leaving the clues. In my opinion, the movie should have ended with her crying in her kitchen after she doesn't answer the door. Instead, Nino rescues her from her own insecurity and shyness. Amélie and the audience have learned that you'll get what you want against all odds, since 1) true love is destiny, and 2) your true love will save you; there's no incentive for her to become proactive and confront her weaknesses. And why should she? Weakness is the ultimate attractive/romantic trait in this type of fiction. In real life, Nino would probably have been offended by Amélie's forwardness (and he definitely would have been had she not been so gosh darn cute).

It's similar in Garden State. Sam has epilepsy, constantly lies, and just acts generally "crazy" (which I happened to interpret as stupid and irritating, but whatever). Andrew hates where he's at in life and doesn't get along with his parents. After spending a weekend together, they're certain they're meant to be together, and Andrew changes his life around to be with her. Again, in my opinion the film should have ended with Andrew boarding the plane and Sam crying in the phone booth...and then possibly realizing what a silly child she's being, because she's only known this guy for 96 hours (according to the film) and he's not that interesting anyway (he's not even attractive).

(Also, we get gems like this:
Andrew: Fuck, this hurts so much.
Sam: I know it hurts. But it's life, and it's real. And sometimes it fucking hurts, but it's life, and it's pretty much all we got.

Thank you, Zach Braff. It's insights like these that make me want to face my fears and live life to its fullest. Or jab my eardrum with a crochet hook. Either one.)

I like movies like Adaptation where Charlie doesn't end up with Amelia. He's too self-conscious and too big of a wuss to make a move. His social ineptitude, however, isn't romanticized. He's not a completely tragic character. Amelia does make a move, but she doesn't completely change her life to be with him. There's also a great moment with the waitress, where he invites her to go to the orchid show. In Garden State or Amélie she would have gone to the orchid show and they would have gotten married (and then the Susan Orlean screenplay would have been written without any problem). Instead, she declines, because that's a pretty forward move for someone you barely know. Charlie's problems with the screenplay also avoid the romantic tragedy treatment. He's having trouble writing the script, but it's not because of some vague omnipotent Ennui, it's because he just can't fucking write it. And he suffers, but he knows that he's to blame and he's his own solution. (Er, almost. Donald to the rescue! I love Donald.)

I want more films where the protagonist doesn't find a Prince Charming to solve all of her issues. I want films where the protagonist doesn't take those strange passive-aggressive stalking measures (à la Amélie), or if she does she gets reprimanded for them. I want films where the protagonist doesn't end up with her soul mate, because it turns out the soul mate thing is a myth and the guy she's been following was actually in a committed, long-term relationship that she happened to overlook. I don't want escapist cinema; I want real life.


It's been a hard September so far. My relationships with people have been weird, and it's hard to separate the complete assholes and the constant fuck-ups from the people who are well-meaning but perhaps just had an off day. Right now I'm kind of predisposed to categorize everyone as "ASSHOLE", but I know that isn't the case at all--there was one person who seems to have ruined it for everyone. I think I made the right call in cutting him out of my life. I think my whole short-lived experience with him has taught me that I don't have to take shit from people. So now I won't. There's one other person I can think of right now who is pretty much a nonstop hypocritical asshole to me, and if you talk to me on a semi-regular basis you should know exactly who it is. Whenever I mention her name, it's always to tell a story of how she insulted me, followed by, "Whyyyy am I still friends with her?" There are people for whom I'm constantly adding up past transgressions and trying to figure out what they mean in the context of our friendship. I've forgiven people for things I never would have done in a million years. Now I'm not sure if they deserve that forgiveness, or if I'm just being a doormat.

I feel like I have so few true friends. When I meet someone new, I'm like, "EEE Potential best friend forever!" I think I'm too quick to tell a new friend all my thoughts and frustrations. They simply don't care yet, so I end up scaring them off. That's something I'll need to work on.

Another reason why it's a hard September: my computer broke, I bought a new one, and I'm constantly agonizing over money. I hope I have enough money to get me through the semester. Another reason: my stupid immune system is constantly attacking my thyroid. This makes me exhausted, depressed, and apathetic. I have so much work to do, but I don't feel like doing any of it. I've been wasting so much time on OkCupid's QuickMatch...

...which brings me to another point. I'm depressed by all the people on it, how cookie-cutter most of them are (I commented on this on my OkC profile, and I'm hoping someone messages me about it). I'm depressed because lots of guys seem to objectify women, as if we're a commodity. I'm depressed by the people on there who I find unattractive and even repulsive, and I'm depressed by the fact that I feel that way about them.

I'm depressed by love stories. I hate how the main characters are destined to be together. When there are complicating factors, such as a third person, the main characters still always know they're meant for each other and they make the right choice. They're always attracted to each other--there's no unrequited love. As soon as they're together, everything is right in the world. I hate how real life is not like this, and I hate how I still wish real life was like that. Sometimes I forget that whichever guy I'm attracted to may not know I exist, let alone be attracted to me. I wish I could talk to attractive guys. I wish I were confident that they wouldn't roll their eyes or laugh at me behind my back.

I feel guilty that I have opportunities and money that others do not.

I'm nervous because I have nothing to say for my thesis. I have no clue where to start. My professor keeps telling me that I'm on the right track, but I'm not so sure. I need to research and read. If only I weren't so apathetic (see above).


Right now I'm watching Confessions of a Dangerous Mind and Sam Rockwell looks so familiar to me. I haven't seen him in anything else (besides Heist and an episode of Pete & Pete, both of which I barely remember). I think it's that he looks like a cross between Zach Braff and Bob Odenkirk. He sounds a lot like Bob Odenkirk as well.


Overheard on the bus:

Guy: Did you go to the sour corn festival?
Driver: No, I did not go to the sweet corn festival.
Guy: I don't like it, so I call it the sour corn festival. They charge you $2 to get in! I hate sour corn.
Driver: Yes, I agree that it is crappy that they charge you.
Guy: That is why I call it the sour corn festival.

     Talia and I were walking along and we ran into this guy who was like, "You guys look like you need to party!" We agreed that we would go to his party, but when we got there it was a French 102 class. Zeb was in it, so we sat by him. I was told that I had to stay in this class in order to graduate. We were doing simple things like changing conjugations based on the subject and adding negatives. I had brought a bottle of alcohol since I thought it was going to be a party, so that got me through the class.


Yesterday a girl in one of my classes tapped me on the shoulder and asked where I got my hair cut because it was "so pretty". She had gorgeous curly hair and I'm surprised that she thought mine looked good. I told her that my last cut was rather crappy and that I was trying to grow out the uneven layers. This is the third hair compliment I've gotten this week (second if you only count the unsolicited ones), and it's starting to make me feel good. It's the bright spot in the middle of what has been a terrible month so far.

I'm starting to get cramps. Hopefully they won't last for 3 days like they did last month. Sigh.

I had two large chais today. If the bus would only come right after I got out of class, I wouldn't be so tempted to go to cafes as much.


     Ze Frank was having a costume party. I didn't find out about it until the last minute, but I wanted to go. I bought a bright green spandex unitard and bent my body into the tetris piece that looks like a cross. They let me in--I was actually surprised at that. The guests were a mix of celebrities (like Jeffrey Tambor) and my friends from HS. Elliott Yamin (third place on the most recent American Idol) was there, but he was just a regular guy that I knew from class. I kind of had a crush on him, and he seemed to be paying a little bit of attention to me, too. We were hanging out with a third friend, so I couldn't make any moves. This third friend had to go home early, and then Elliott wanted to walk me home in the rain.

And that's where it ended. Sigh. I didn't actually see Ze Frank at his party, so: sad. You know that if Ze Frank had a costume party, it'd be the baddest thing ever and all the costumes would be amazing.


Last night the weather was perfect for sleeping with the window open. I love feeling a cool breeze on my face as I fall asleep. The tradeoff was that it was incredibly humid and my hair frizzed like mad. It looked like a wig with its frizziness and its random situation atop my head. It looked as though my hair had been dropped onto my head from six feet up and was precariously balanced on my scalp, inching forward with every breath. Heh. I showered tonight and my hair looks damn good, so I'm relieved to see that the humidity has gone down.


I have a sore throat. I'm kind of whiny about it because I thought having surgery this summer would put an end to the constant sore throats. Last year I had one monthly. ("I'm sorry, I'm just in a bad mood because of my monthly problem. No, my other monthly problem.")

I'm so tired. Gnah.


     I was making a documentary of Larry David's quest to write a book. He had to go to Chicago to do this strange Halloween trip. He was partnered up with a middle-aged short Jewish woman who really liked cats. They were driving into the city on a very complicated elevated highway system, not unlike the combination of downtown Seattle and a roller coaster. After one had finally arrived on Lake Shore Drive, many people stopped to catch their bearings and occasionally vomit.

This dream might have been inspired by the 8 episodes per day of Curb Your Enthusiasm I've been watching since my computer broke. Just a guess.

I started taking vitamins last night to make my hair grow faster. I've been wanting long hair for a while now and I'm really sick of this in-between phase. I want to get rid of these crappy layers as well. Since my hair grows in three dimensions, it'll take forever to happen unless I take matters into my own hands. I read online that this one girl's particular combination of vitamins made her hair grow 1.5" per month. I'd love that, because then I could actually see some growth.

My Polish film professor hates Eddie Cantor and on Friday he made us watch a film clip and now I, too, hate Eddie Cantor.


Today my professor recommended another approach to my Michel Gondry thesis: the neo-surrealism of North American francophone directors. I think I like this better.

Right now I'm having the most amazing sandwich: chicken, Caesar dressing, mozzarella cheese, and avocado. Ohhhhh yum.

     Langston Hughes was 20 years old, severely depressed, and considering suicide. I went to see him and ended up talking him out of it. He was wearing jeans and a vest, and he had some weird dreads that were twisted instead of felted.


After a summer of not doing anything, I finally decided on a topic for my thesis: Globalization of French cinema with a special focus on Michel Gondry, and secondary focuses on Jean-Pierre Jeunet and Olivier Assayas if I need more stuff to write on. I was worried of getting stuck with some meh films (cinemeh, hee), but I've been obsessed with Gondry for a while (and he has a new film coming out in 2 weeks!), so this should be good. I've had a long time to cultivate ideas, so it'll be nice to investigate them and flesh them out. Now I have delusions of grandeur: I want to be published. I want to say something really innovative and clever, and I want to be published. Heh. Ask me how that's going December 1st when I find myself trying to write 25 pages in 2 days.


     I was an intern on a Martin Scorsese/Robert Altman collaborative remake of Brokeback Mountain. On the day I started, they were doing reshoots for a dance scene with the two cowboys and Will Ferrell. The big name stars were apparently too good for the reshoots, so they were using stand-ins. One of the stand-ins wore shorts that were pretty short. When I got home, my dad had an argument with me about when I should shower, and then there was a big millipede running around my room.


     There was a hurricane and I was running around saving children. I had two of them, but one got distracted by the dolphins in the ocean. He dove in and started swimming around. I didn't want to dive in after him because I knew with the strong waves I wouldn't be able to pull him back out. I went to the shore where the beach meets the ocean, and a dolphin swam up on shore and started talking to me. It said, "Hi, how ya doin'?" in a jovial manner.

I have a 200-level film course that is offered through the English department, so it gets a lot of English majors who think, "I like watching movies!" but don't know a whole lot about analyzing film. I have to take it because it's a requirement for the cinema studies minor. Today we discussed Psycho, specifically the sequence where Marion and Norman have dinner, and three separate people brought up the low-angle-birds-swooping-down shot. They also brought it up in the context of the conversation they were having, but it was wrong. They said that the low-angle shot occurred when Marion suggested putting Mother in an institution, but it didn't--it happened when Marion said that Mother shouldn't talk to Norman like that. When Marion brings up the institution, it switches to a close-up shot of Norman from a normal two-camera shot-reverse-shot angle. People! We watched this specific sequence twice! Pay attention and take notes!

Sigh... Yes, I am anal, an elitist, and very easily agitated.


YES. We watched Psycho today for one of my classes, and the soundtrack kept bugging me because I specifically remembered the brief legato passage from somewhere else. A search on IMDb turned up nothing, but Wikipedia came to the rescue (as always) and informed me that it was sampled for Busta Rhymes' "Gimme Some More". I'm so glad I got that sorted out.


So I had dropped my American Novel 1914-1945 class because I was able to rearrange my schedule and get a French lit class. At the time I didn't know what the topic was for the French class; I just signed up for it because it's French and the professor is one I'd like to have for an entire semester (instead of just as a sub). I got the syllabus yesterday, and it turns out this class covers the same period of time as my American one, but obviously in a French context. I think this is pretty cool. I'm reading Proust right now, which makes me think of Steve Carrell, which makes me happy. "Did I mention I'm the pre-eminent Proust scholar in the country?"


Tonight I saw Little Miss Sunshine and went to a coffee shop. The coffee shop was playing a reggae version of OK Computer, my personal #1 album of all time. I really don't like reggae in general, but I thought this album was pretty good; it was faithful to the spirit of Radiohead, preserving the haunting and ethereal qualities that I love so much.


     I was driving a speedboat from Chicago to Champaign. There was a cult that blocked the route and wanted to hold all of us hostage. I got in my car and started driving. I went to the nearest safe place I could find, which happened to be a middle school. I begged them to help me, and they said I could hide in the nurse's office. Inside, kids were suffering from all sorts of horrific rashes and plagues. The cult members found us, but the police arrived shortly afterward. I then went to go see Snakes on a Plane with Kirstin.


     I was in a class where one of our assignments was to make a quilt. There was only one sewing machine for the entire class of 30 people. I was going to do something really cool with a celtic knot, but then the professor said we had to make our quilt say something about racism. I didn't want to spend my time and effort for something that would in the end be about hatred, so I whined.
     My parents' in Seattle had an in-ground pool.


My prof for World Cinema is like an effeminate Filipino Woody Allen. He said "nekkid" twice today. It's going to be an awesome semester.


The prof for my Eastern European film class is a little old man who talks really slowly. Right now it's kind of endearing, but I'm sure in 2 weeks I'll be investigating different pain management techniques. It's a 9 am class, too, so it'll be even more painful than if we met at a normal time.

I have a 30-minute commute by bus. This morning it was extremely crowded; fortunately I was one of the earlier stops and I got a seat. I'm hoping that people just stop going to their morning classes so I don't have to avert my eyes from the weird guy's crotch that just happens to be at eye-level.

The prof for my Poe class looks like a cross between Jane Lynch and Pam from The Office. It's uncanny.

My next class isn't until 1. It's a 2-hour lecture, and I'm hoping they don't use up the entire time on the first day.

I need a nap.


Looking at my schedule for this semester, you wouldn't even know I'm a French major. I only have one class, my senior thesis, and that doesn't have a scheduled meeting time each week. I'm taking 2 classes in the cinema studies department and 3 in the English department. I figure I've done almost all of my required coursework, so I might as well take fun stuff. In more detail:

  • CINE 419: Russian and Eastern European Film (I'm really looking forward to this one)

  • CINE 261: Survey of World Cinema Before the Sound Era (required for minor)

  • ENGL 273: Intermediate Film Studies (required for minor)

  • ENGL 455: Major Authors - Poe (I've been trying for over a month to get into this one and then finally yesterday it worked)

  • ENGL 451: American Novel 1914-1945

  • FR 492: Senior Honors Thesis

Class starts tomorrow. I don't think I have any TAs, which is good. I was worried about taking semi-intro courses that I would get stuck with TAs, and as a senior it's weird having someone a year or two older than you acting as an authority figure (not to mention that professors are just better).


Workmen: It's 7 am--that means it's time to start construction on a fence outside your apartment. Fire up the saws, boys! That metal stuff doesn't belong here--throw it over there!
Me: Oh, you guys!
Workmen: Remember, fellas, you can't expect those nails to stay put unless you use every fiber of your strength to pound them in!

A while ago, right after I left for Seattle, they started construction on a new fence outside my apartment building, leaving our parking lot unpark-inable. The work was originally scheduled to be done before I got back from Seattle. However, when I got back on Thursday they barely had anything done. Oddly enough, they didn't do any work on Friday. Anyway, until they finish I have to park halfway across the complex. I have a lot of stuff in my car that still needs to be moved into my apartment, but there's no way I'm carrying that all that way.

Day 3 of cramps. I hate my uterus.

Just over an hour ago, I realized I had a somewhat strange desire: I wanted to chew gum. I didn't want to just idly chew a piece of gum, but I wanted to have several pieces in my mouth at the same time, I wanted to suck every last bit of flavor from those pieces, and I wanted to chew angrily, with impossible vigor and strength. I got to work on half a pack of Orbit Sweet Mint; after about 30 minutes, I had six sticks in my mouth. It wasn't enough--I could still taste the gum; I simultaneously wanted to rid the gob entirely of its flavor and to taste that flavor forever. I don't know what possessed me. I was reminded of a similar part in A Million Little Pieces where James Frey is demonstrating an addict's mindset in saying that he wanted more than just a piece of gum, he wanted a million pieces of gum. Or something--it's been a while since I've read it, and I don't particularly care to pick it up ever again (incidentally, that has nothing to do with Frey making shit up; I found it to be derivative, even as a work of fiction, as if he had taken Creative Writing 101 and followed the checklist provided in the textbook).

Anyway, after about 45 minutes on the gum, I decided I was done with that. What I really want is a vegetable sandwich, very similar to the one I got earlier this evening from Subway. I need a vegetable sandwich right now; I have no idea how I'll be able to sleep without one. I made a shopping list. There are a couple 24-hour groceries near me, but there's no way I'm going out at 3 am to gather the ingredients for a sandwich. Right now I'd give anything for an avocado, a green pepper, an onion, a cucumber, some mozzarella cheese, and soft, warm, freshly-baked bread. Ohhhhhh jeez.

I know exactly where this fantasy comes from. During the past two days I've suffered terrible cramps, the likes of which I haven't felt since before I went on hormone therapy. The cramps effectively quashed any appetite I had. On Saturday all I ingested was a milkshake and a can of Pepsi; today, it was just a banana and a vegetable sandwich. As I type this, my cramps are coming out of their recently-imposed dormancy, as if to remind me that it's not imperative that I eat within the next 24 hours. All I know is that, cramps or not, I will be stuffing my face full of Chinese buffet offerings; it's been far too long since I've last done that. Mongolian pork, General Tso's chicken, lo mein, pepper steak... Sigh.

In completely different news, I absolutely hate this layout. Sometime when I have a lot of time I plan on messing around with Blogger Beta's WYSIWYG stuff.
ETA: I just decided to do it now. I'm a little sad to see that I can't yet edit the HTML on the prepackaged template. There are a few things that frustrate me: I can't center my picture; the columns are too close together; there's too much empty space at the sides; and other stuff. Sigh. Hopefully they'll change this soon. This new color scheme was inspired by the DVD cover for Rushmore.


Ugh. I'm having some really bad cramps right now, even though my period isn't due for another week and a half. They're so bad that I haven't eaten a single thing today, despite the fact that it's after 7pm. Eesh. I think I'm going to head to Culver's and get a Reese's Pieces shake.


I just got back from Snakes on a Plane. I was expecting to be disappointed, but it was so incredible. Audience participation really enhances it as well. I have to gather my thoughts on it, but overall it was awesome.



Last night, an hour or so after I got off the phone with you, I went downstairs to get my pajamas, which were woefully located in a room that would require me to walk past the spider. I surveyed each square foot of carpet before I took another step. Then, to my surprise, the spider was gone. This meant trouble, since now the spider was in hiding, ready to pop out at any second and scare the hell out of me. I gingerly picked up each item of clothing and shook it several times to rid it of any potential spiders. Then I turned each sleeve and leg inside out to do another check. I was safe so far.

This morning I had to go down to that room again to get dirty clothes for laundry. (This was actually an interesting internal debate: would I rather chance an encounter with the spider, or wait until I got back to school and pay for laundry? Being the cheapskate I am, I decided to take my chances with the spider.) The spider, again, was nowhere to be seen. Its whereabouts remain unknown at this moment. Shudder.

I forgot to mention: both times I let Kelsey down ahead of me, figuring if he ate the spider that would solve my problems. Unfortunately he didn't find the spider, but he did find several socks. Good for him.

For everyone else: This spider was huge. I've never seen a spider this big before. The body was about the size of a half-dollar, no lie. It was so hideous; I'm getting nauseated just thinking about it.


Last night my dream randomly involved Grace Kelsey from Project Runway, flesh-eating snakes, and LaCrosse, Wisconsin. I also remember laughing and then accidentally snorting and everyone thought that was really funny.

I forgot to mention in yesterday's post that I watched Everything is Illuminated. It was a decent enough movie on its own merits, but it was a crappy adaptation of the book. Read the book. While you're at it, read Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. I love Jonathan Safran Foer.

I've discovered that there's never a time in this stupid metro area when there's not bumper-to-bumper traffic. I'm so glad I never have to live here. I hate driving places.


In the past several days, stuck in a town I barely know how to navigate with nary a chair upon which to sit (let alone more interesting pieces of furniture, such as, say, a computer), I've spent most of my time watching movies and reading. I went a little crazy both at Blockbuster, with their pre-viewed DVD sales, and at Barnes & Noble. Below you will find the details of my media adventure in bullet points, a format I love so dearly.

  • I'm reading A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson. I'm about halfway through after a little less than a week. It's very engaging (although this is coming from someone who got a 36 on the science portion of the ACT and who took AP Physics for the fun of it; however, let it be known that I have since ended my relationship with scientific pursuits, choosing instead to focus on the liberal arts). It's also incredibly accessible--I find myself underlining and dog-earing the analogies because they make so much sense. I wish I had read this book in high school. I strongly recommend it to anyone and everyone, whether they have any scientific interest or not.
  • I read Unlikely, a graphic novel by Jeff Brown. Take a second to notice that it has not found its way onto my "Required Reading 2006" list. Here's why:
    • It's poorly drawn. I'm not even talking about the representational aspect of the art; it's hard to discern the characters from the background. It's also hard to tell the characters apart. The two leads, Allisyn and Jeff, are interchangeable save Jeff's omnipresent stubble.
    • The drawing style is consistent throughout, and it always portrays something "realistic". To me, this indicates that the narration is 3rd person, and the effect is surprisingly distant given the personal nature of the subject (the author losing his virginity). That was probably his intention; however, I would have liked a more introspective look.
    • The speech bubbles are illogically placed. Often the response is to the left of the panel and the question is to the right. This makes no sense given the way we read in English (and thus tend to think of temporal linearity). In my opinion, this oversight is just plain stupid; no comic/graphic novel artist should make this mistake.
    • There's no innovation. Now, it's not necessary for something to be innovative for me to like it, but it would have helped in this case. Every single page has a six-panel layout, all roughly the same size, all with the same perspective, more or less. Blah.

  • I read 32 Stories: The Complete Optic Nerve Mini-Comics by Adrian Tomine. Love Adrian Tomine.
  • I watched Adaptation. This is a fantastic movie. Go watch it now.
  • I watched Manderlay. I don't know why I keep subjecting myself to Lars von Trier when it's obvious that I don't like him. Alex said something once about how he likes to watch movies he hates in order to find out why they didn't work. I think I'm the same way. Lars von Trier is so goddamn manipulative. Anyway, on the continuum from "put yourself on suicide watch" to "downright joyful", the von Trier movies I've seen rank thusly: Dancer in the Dark, Dogville, Breaking the Waves Manderlay. (Note: the Alex Principle explains why I have a lot more to say about the things I don't like than the things I do.) I find Bryce Dallas Howard to be really grating in the way she delivers a lot of the lines; I think if her interpretation of Grace were a real person, I'd hate her.
  • I watched Shopgirl. I was looking forward to this because I love Jason Schwartzman. I think he's an amazing actor--so natural, so clever. The movie is paused in a few spots for some inexplicable narration. It was clumsy and unnecessary; I think Steve Martin was just really proud of the sentences he composed and wanted to make sure that everyone heard them. And as far as the sentences? They were meh. Nothing original or witty. I won't spoil it, but I thought the events surrounding the ending were pretty frustrating.
  • I'm trying to watch Last Days by Gus van Sant. I absolutely hated Elephant, but I thought I'd give van Sant another chance. He really loves long takes with dollies that follow someone as they walk. Dear Mr. van Sant: I like Italian Neorealism and the principles behind it. I really do. However: please stop.
  • I also bought Brokeback Mountain, Syriana (seen it), Me and You and Everyone We Know (seen it: ))<>(( ), Munich, Lost in Translation, Match Point, and Dogville (seen it).

Every once in a while I question why I decided to name this blog "Prolix", since so many of my posts are just one-liners. It's posts like this that reassure me that I do have a lot to say, even though it's almost never poignant or relevant.

Hm. I'm just now reminded that I submitted a couple sample moview reviews to a local newspaper for consideration for the "Popcorn Panel" they're thinking of starting. That was two weeks ago and I haven't heard back yet. I'm starting to think they don't want me. Sniff.

In my reading queue:

  • Assassination Vacation by Sarah Vowell
  • Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters, and Seymour: an Introduction by J.D. Salinger
  • Nine Stories by J.D. Salinger
  • Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut
  • Rejuvenile: Kickball, Cartoons, Cupcakes, and the Reinvention of the American Grown-Up by Christopher Noxon


The library here blocks Facebook and MySpace. Heh.

The people sitting next to me are annoying.

One thing I've noticed about driving around here in Washington is that people love riding their brakes down a hill or mountain. I want to yell at them to downshift. Why should they wear out their brake pads any sooner than they have to? Honestly, you'd think they would know all about that from living here and that it would be foreigners like me who ride the brakes.



So of course the day before I fly, people are arrested in London for trying to take liquid explosives on the plane. The next morning I arrive at O'Hare at 7:15am to find that the line to get through security is 2.5+ hours long. You can't take liquids, gels, lotions, or even stuff like mascara or toothpaste. I had my dog with me; he weighed a ton and kept moving around in his carrier. My flight was delayed 2.5 hours and then I had to sit next to a lady with a baby and a 2-year old. The latter cried a lot. The lady had to get up several times to take her children to the bathroom and do other things. That was probably one of my worst days in recent memory.

I'm stuck out here in Seattle with basically nothing. I do have a car and a DVD player, but that's about it. I'm at the local library right now. I hate not knowing where I'm going when I'm driving around. I hate not having anything to do besides shopping.

Blah. The end of this week can't come soon enough.


Today's my last full day in Naperville. It's weird to think about. Tomorrow I get the privilege of flying my dog to Seattle.


The other night I stumbled upon what appears to be a cult of curly-haired people. Despite having worn my hair curly for the past 8 years, I had no idea that I was supposed to care for it differently than how one would care for straight hair. I've been inducted into a world of ritual, superstition, and science, all so that I can have pretty, bouncy curls. Shampoo is bad. Conditioner is good, but only if it has certain ingredients and lacks others. Touching hair = frizz. Plopping = good. I am a 2b/3a Botticelli PJ, modified CG as of 7/15/06, and my goals are BSL hair and a HG.

Honestly, though, I'm glad that I found the Naturally Curly message board. Looking at before and after photos, it seems the methods espoused by the book Curly Girl really work. I went to a few different stores and read every single ingredient on every single bottle of conditioner, looking for something that had the things I need and lacked the bad stuff. The conditioner I ended up going with has rosemary and oregano in it, and my hair smells like pizza. This will take some getting used to...


Tonight I saw A Prairie Home Companion. Overall I was about as disappointed as I expected. Here are my slightly scattered thoughts in bullet points. Spoilers abound.

  • I hated what they did to Guy Noir--he was a bumbling fool. There were a couple times when he was as eloquent as he was on the radio show, but his dialogue pretty much had been lifted from the radio show (the part about her skirt being so tight he could read the embroidery on her underwear seemed particularly familiar).

  • The Virginia Madsen character was ...odd. She had said that she likes making people happy and also bringing people to heaven. When you saw her (particularly at the end of the film), I guess the implication was that she was there because someone died; however, they were all laughing and having a good time, so maybe she was just there making them happy.

  • I love Lily Tomlin. I wish she were my aunt.

  • I also love Jearlyn Steele.

  • molly--single mother--couldn't see angel

  • tommy lee jones--killed--no reason
  • lindsay lohan--lyrics sheet
  • lindsay lohan--notebook--g-d

Note: I accidentally clicked "publish" instead of "save as draft". I don't know how to hide the post. Just know that I'm going to come back and elaborate upon the last bullet points.


Pita chips with sea salt from Trader Joe's taste like dead tongue skin. And if anyone knows what dead tongue skin tastes like, it's me.

My bloodwork came back and my doctor upped my dose of synthetic thyroid hormone. Good.


At this point in my life I'm pretty much ready to give up all personal relationships except for my sister. I'm glad she's been around this summer, because she spends time with me and listens to me. Everyone else? Not so much. I'm really frustrated by the way that everyone else has been treating me. I can only take so much. I'll be interested to see if I make any effort to make friends fall semester, or when I'm in France, or when I go to grad school, or ever... I've been let down again and again by people who were supposed to be my friends, and I don't know why I kept giving them chances. I'm not so naïve anymore. I want someone to come along and restore my faith in humanity, but I'm not holding my breath. Getting treated like shit constantly is starting to wear me down to the point where I feel like an alternative doesn't exist. I don't even bother opening up to people because it's been proven to me that no one cares. Ugh...I don't know what to do. I feel terrible all of the time because of my thyroid and sleep disorders, I'm being worked to the bone at home and at school, and I have no emotional support whatsoever.


Lately everyone's been ignoring me except to give me new developments on their sex lives. I don't mean just one or two people, I mean everyone. I'm really sick of it because I don't even care in the first place. I don't want to hear about it. I don't go telling everyone about private things like that, so I don't know why other people think I'm chomping at the bit to hear about what exactly transpired, what articles of clothing came off, how long foreplay lasted, etc. STOP. I don't care. I don't want to hear it. I'd like for people to talk to me about other things, rather than ignoring me except to brag.


     Sufjan Stevens and I were at a Scholastic Bowl pool party. He was wearing a black speedo, and it actually looked kind of hot. He would do things like put his arm around my waist, but then go ask some whory bleach-blondes for their phone numbers. I was confused. He said he wrote "Chicago" about me. Later, we went to a bookstore, where he turned into a friend of mine. He bought a children's book written and illustrated by the members of Sigur Ros. We went back to his place and watched a Hitchcock film titled "Testicle". The main character had had his eyes plucked out and thrown in the bottom of the ocean. There were lots of scary first-person shots, where the camera was in a car that was falling off of a building. This sequence had a lot of Godard-style jump cuts, so you relived the fall about 6 times in the span of 10 seconds. After the movie was over, I tried to remember where I had parked my car.


Last night I had a bizarre dream that involved Beck, my former piano teacher, a really scary episode of L&O:SVU and a really weird episode of House:
     Beck was an ear, nose, and throat doctor. I went to see him and he asked if I'd want to go to a concert with him later that evening. I accepted and agreed to meet him at a bar. It turned out the "concert" was a broadcast of the aforementioned L&O:SVU, where the victims' faces had been mutilated beyond recognition with acid. Beck kept getting up to go to the bathroom, and every time he came back he was fatter, sweatier, drunker, and dirtier. After the episode ended, I pretended like I had to be somewhere right away. He asked me for my phone number, so I wrote down my friend Bryan's home number. Then I ran into my former piano teacher, who had grown his hair out and was wearing it in pigtails. He invited me to hang out with him. He smelled of weed. We went to a grocery store to do a scavenger hunt.
     I don't remember what else happened or how the House episode came into play. Weird.


I have about 98% functionality of my tongue right now. I can finally curl it up over my front teeth, and I can almost use it to wipe away food from my back teeth. I can eat pretty much anything at this point; I've had pizza, a sub, and soda. I still need to take very small bites and chew everything eight bajillion times.

I've put 4 lbs. back on since I started eating solid food. I'm going to start running tomorrow.

I got my violin out today and played along with whatever came up on my iPod for about two hours. I'm awesome.


I've moved on to solid foods (with some exceptions). I'm still taking very small bites and chewing very thoroughly. I'm still nervous to eat complicated things like sandwiches. I visited the doctor for a follow-up appointment and he kept emphasizing that I'm tough and I handled the recovery very well. I'm no stranger to pain. Wow...that was very country-song-ish. Anyway, I saw my epiglottis in motion, which was interesting. And gag-ful. I never used to gag when they stuck the scope down my throat, but today I did about 5 times.


Another update for my adoring public:
Today the pain levels were down--I feel basically like I have strep throat, so I can manage. I haven't taken any pain medication since 10:30 this morning and I'm doing mostly fine. I felt well enough to go to the grocery store and buy some Spaghetti-O's with meatballs. I can eat a couple bites at a time, but too many and my throat starts to really hurt. I still don't have complete functionality in my tongue; I've been chewing gum a lot, since that seems to give it a workout. The good news is I can do a clear uvular trill, so my French skills just improved a tiny notch.


Things have taken a turn for the worse. The doctor was right when he said I would feel worse before I felt better. I'm exhausted from not having eaten anything; standing for the duration of a shower is a chore, sitting upright is a chore. I've lost 8 lbs. since Monday. All of the dead skin has sloughed off of my tongue, leaving the raw, uninitiated skin behind. It hurts to even eat a popsicle. I have bruises all over my legs and I don't understand why since I really haven't left the couch since Tuesday. My skin is noticeably more yellow and there are really dark circles under my eyes. I cry at the drop of the hat. I feel so terrible. I hope the pain doesn't last too much past Tuesday, because I don't know how much longer I can take it.


I think I'm allergic to penicillin. My mom called the pharmacist after I'd been itching furiously ever since I left the hospital. I stopped taking it and took a dose of Benadryl instead; I'm still itchy, but it's less and less so as the night progresses. I'm glad we caught that while it wasn't a major problem.

My Vicodin is making me feel nauseated, which is a shame because it works so well at killing pain and knocking me out. I just sent my mom to a 24-hour pharmacy for different medicine at the advice of my doctor. The only thing I hate more than throwing up is the idea of throwing up and having still-unhealed wounds being seared by bile. The feeling has mostly passed now.

My tongue is so messed up. I tried to chew gum today and I found it incredibly difficult. My tongue is very tingly/numb, still extremely swollen, and it's mostly white. I wonder if the top layer of skin is dead. Ughhhhhhh.

I watched Memento for the first time today since I caught it in theaters. I had just taken a large dose of Vicodin, but I found the film surprisingly easy to follow. I was vaguely aware of the twist from the previous viewing, but I hadn't remembered any details. I was more than a little disappointed that I was able to keep up so well.

Speaking of being disappointed with various forms of media, I bought Augusten Burroughs' newest book, Possible Side Effects. I've read 1.5 chapters and I can't really say that I'm motivated to read any more. His voice seems a lot more amateurish than I remembered. He also uses sentence fragments extensively; I understand artistic license and all, but when he does it (and so frequently), it just makes him sound like a bad writer. The humor also seems to fall flat, but I'm having trouble articulating that. Bleh. Maybe I should pick it up again when I feel better.

My mom and brother ate pizza today. They were talking about it when they thought I was asleep, but I heard. Sigh... I miss solid food.


I'll write a longer/better update later on when I'm able to think more clearly (ETA: look below). As for right now, I'm still recovering from my surgery, complete with Vicodin-induced stupors, an extremely sore throat, and an all-liquid diet. I woke up from a nap around 6:30pm to find out that my mom and brother took my dog in for emergency surgery. He was wheezing, which later progressed to a honking-type sound. It turned out he had swallowed a bunch of stuff. He's at an overnight facility now, where he'll be monitored and given an IV for pain, and then tomorrow we'll have to re-transfer him to the first hospital. Hopefully we'll be able to bring him back home tomorrow afternoon. I really liked having him around for my recovery; he just lays there and lets me pet him.

Talia's been gone at a music camp, and in the meantime I've been trying to get people to care about my problems at least enough to acknowledge them, but it feels like I'm talking to several brick walls. At this point, I don't even expect any sympathy; I just want someone to be like, "You exist! Yay for you!"

It's been a rough couple of days.


Hospital/surgery anecdotes:

  • The first two hours after I woke up from general anesthesia were when I felt the most pain I've ever felt in my life, kidney stones included. I was involuntarily shaking and moaning from the pain. My tongue was very swollen and very bruised (it was bluish along the edges)--still is, in fact. There was lots of fresh blood in my mouth that I was desperate to wipe out. It was probably the most hellish experience I've ever been through. To make matters that much worse, all of the nurses in the recovery room decided they were going to share their spider horror stories. I'm absolutely petrified of spiders, and even looking at them makes me feel nauseated. Adjectives like "muscular", "crunchy", and "goopy" were being bandied about, adjectives that should never be used to describe any arachnid, insect, or crustacean. I plugged my ears at this point. Stupid asshole nurses.

  • I had a morphine IV hooked up so that I could press a button up to every 5 minutes to receive 1mg of morphine. I wasn't using very much because I hate being out-of-it, and the pain wasn't so terrible after those first two hours. My doctor came by to check up on me and said, "If I were you, I'd be as high on morphine as I could while it was legal."

  • My aunt, uncle, and grandma sent me a balloon, some bracelets, and a stuffed dog that looks like Kelsey (and is even a bit bigger). It really cheered me up, since I didn't expect anything. The gifts were delivered by two little old ladies who worked in the gift shop; one of them said, "Apparently Grandma thinks you're a little girl," which was pretty funny. I replied with, "Well, sometimes I am," because I so am when it comes to stuffed animals given to me for comfort. Especially dogs. Let me say that I would never in a million years bring my own stuffed animal with me to the hospital, but it was so nice having something soft to hold.

  • The two nurses who prepped me for surgery were awesome. I want them as aunts. They commented on how young I looked and how thin I was. One was putting sticky things on my chest for the heart monitor and she said, "Okay, I'm going to stick this under your boob, just so you don't think I'm getting frisky with you." The nurse said "boob". Awesome.

  • Speaking of the sticky heart monitors, I'm allergic to basically every adhesive ever. I also had a feeding tube that was sutured and taped to my nose. After the first two hours of recovery, I think the tape on my nose was the most hellish thing about surgery. It itched so much that I barely slept on Monday night; it got so bad that I was pressing the morphine in order to dull the nerves in my nose. It's now 2am on Thursday and I'm still itching all over. I've used oatmeal wash and hydrocortisone, yet my skin is raw in some places where the adhesive was.

  • My tongue is still very messed up from being clamped. It's swollen in two spots and creased in another. There's a patch of white that I think might be dead skin. It's very tingly. Luckily I have my sense of taste.

  • Speaking of taste, I am sick of my liquid diet. I can't have anything even slightly thicker than water, since swallowing is still nearly impossible. For the most part, I just let stuff make its own way down the back of my throat. I'm sick of the sugary fruity stuff that's pretty much all I am capable of eating. I've made a list of all the meals I can't wait to enjoy once I can finally have solid food. I don't know when this will be; I'm guessing I still have several days, if not a week still, of liquids only. Bah.


My dad set the deadline to be June 30: that's when we have to have the house listed. My mother did about half a day's worth of work a week ago, and she refuses to do anything else. She says she's too tired and sad to do anything, but we can't afford for her to be tired and sad. She should quit her job and see a therapist, but the house has to get done. In the meantime, I have a thyroid problem, a sleep disorder, and all the stress about not yet having an apartment on campus for the fall--all this on top of the stress of not having the house done. I'm getting to dangerous levels of frustration; I'm certain that if something doesn't happen soon, I'm going to snap.


I'm so frustrated. It feels like I'm invisible. I've written several e-mails and made several calls to various places, but I keep getting ignored. No one is responding and I find that extremely aggrivating.

I'm really sick of everything at this point. We have to get the house cleaned up so we can list it, but I'm the only one doing anything. My mother knows she hasn't been helping, but my stupid sister and stupid brother have these complexes where they think they're being extremely helpful and that they deserve several days off at a time. My dad keeps putting pressure on us to get the house ready to sell, but no one is doing anything.

I don't have housing yet for the fall.

Everything is going wrong and there's so much pressure. I feel a nervous breakdown coming on...


Today I found out that Kathryn Erbe, the actress who plays Detective Eames on L&O:CI, played Dr. Marvin's daughter in What About Bob? When I ponder the meaning of life, as I so often do, it's things like this that lead me to some sort of concrete answer.

Last summer I was really excited about the release of a bunch of albums--Ben Folds, Beck, The White Stripes, Coldplay, Weezer...there might have been more. So far this summer I only know of The Flaming Lips' new one (which I have but haven't yet listened to) and Grandaddy's, which is I guess their last album ever. Any other good summer releases scheduled?


     Talia asked me to play cello with her as accompaniment for a singer doing "Ave Maria". I hadn't tightened my bow in time, so I was still doing that as the piece started. It was a really strange arrangement, where there were no measures, so I couldn't figure out where we were based on the beat. When I finally did figure out where we were (thanks to switching from pizz to arco), I had trouble using the right amount of pressure for the bow on the right part of the string, so I kept squeaking. I gave up and air-bowed. Afterwards, Talia told me that her orchestra friends were mad at her for inviting me to play.


I stepped on the scale the other day and discovered I'd lost 20lbs. since February. That's why my jeans are so loose.

I visited my doctor today, got some disgusting pictures of my tongue and throat, and will be having surgery on June 5th.


My "yay for me" moment of the week:
There was a pair of pants that I had loved, but as of October I was too big to wear. I tried them on on Wednesday, and they're looser on me than I remembered them being when I was in the height of the I-love-these-pants-ness. Now that I'm at home, I need to make sure that I don't fall into the trap of eating the ridiculous snack foods that so often find their way into our kitchen. I need to keep running.

On being home for the summer: what that means entirely, I'm not sure yet. It depends on if I get a job here and how soon I'm able to get surgery. If I don't have a job and I get my surgery done by the middle or end of June, I'll probably move back to school early and try to find a job there.


     I was casually kissing Gareth from The Office (the UK version, obviously). He was getting more and more excited, and finally said, "I can't believe you're going to be my first!" I was like, "Say what?" And left. I went to an old library, where a Sarah Vowell-like person was explaining to me how my body language could be misinterpreted. Then, in the library, four other girls and I recreated that MC Escher illusion with the infinite staircase.


Jeez. I've answered or skipped every question in the OkCupid database. That's so lame of me. I went on there to answer questions when I got bored of doing work. I've been registered on that site for a little less than two weeks. Ugh.

In other news that no one cares about, my hair looked really damn good today. I wish I could get it to behave like this every day.

And let's make this a trifecta: my lower eyelid is swollen and really sore, especially right near my tear duct. I think I might see a doctor about it tomorrow.


It's funny cause it's true, although it's not so funny when I'm at yellow despite having taken my Levoxyl.

Bah. I need to learn more CSS so I can do actual neat stuff with layouts.

And watching Tim being smooth with Rachel on The Office (UK version) makes me even more of a hormonal, romantic mess than I am. Sigh. I miss the chase, the flirty stuff and all of that. I get too invested into sitcom romances. I've become everything I hate.


Bjork's "Frosti" just came up on my iPod. This makes me think of how my dad plays records during Christmas, specifically one that's all music box stuff. Right now I just want to go home. Jesus Christ, I'm a wreck. I feel like I can't finish this semester. I'm so close, too--three papers and one test. I just want to be home, where I have nothing to worry about. I hate how certain songs are triggers for me to just freak out.

How am I going to survive a semester abroad?

Oh shit. I totally overdrew on my checking account. I did this last year at this exact same time. Yesterday I deposited a buttload of money, so hopefully that'll clear soon. Ugh. I need a job right now.


My hyacinth died and I threw it away. Who doesn't love some good, old-fashioned, heavy-handed symbolism?

I'm officially a Cinema Studies minor. Among other things, I'm taking World Cinema in the 1960s and Russian & East European film next semester. I'm excited about those two. My schedule itself is kind of icky--they're pretty much all late afternoon classes, except I have a MWF at 9am.

My mom says she wants to let me have the Honda at school next semester, which would be so incredibly cool. I'll need to travel to the suburbs for doctor appointments and that would be pretty much impossible without a car.

I still need to figure out housing. Gah.

When did it become acceptible to break up with someone by ignoring them? The first time I thought it was just because the guy was socially inept, but it's happened a second time. Jeez, give me even a text message that says, "I h8 u," at least. I miss the days of being broken up with face-to-face.


     Talia and I went to a sushi restaurant with one of her friends and a guy from one of my classes. Talia and her friend were speaking Japanese, and so I remarked to the guy that it was good that I had him there so I didn't feel left out. He said, "Um, I'm half-Japanese," like I was an idiot for not knowing, and started talking to them in Japanese. The waiter came to take our orders. He brought over a big bowl of miso soup as an appetizer, and he was bending over far enough that the ends of his ponytail were getting dipped in the soup. I made a joke about Talia, but then I thought it was too mean, so I touched her hand as I apologized. The waiter chastized me, saying that it's very bad manners to touch anyone at a Japanese dinner table. Talia and the two other people looked very annoyed.
     I got frustrated and left, deciding to walk around town. I ran into my mom, who had been doing something for work. We went home together, and for some reason she was being really snotty and bitchy to me. I found out my parents had been hiding someone in our basement.
     I was flying to Paris with another guy from one of my classes. The inside of our airplane looked like the interior of an old van, the kind with 2 rows of bench seats. The pilots were doing crossword puzzles, and one actually got very airsick.

I ended up writing 7 pages and going to bed at 6am. Gah.

Today I was really bummed about a lot of things (study abroad, what I'm going to do with my life, papers, other things...), but then I skipped class to talk with my favorite prof, and she really made me feel better. I found out she stood up for me, which is always great. I also took a nap, which helped things. Bubble tea, Chipotle, and making new friends: also helpful.

I bought liquid eyeliner today. I put it on, just to practice. I guess the closest resemblance was Alex from A Clockwork Orange, no lie. It's hideous, and I don't know what I did wrong. The brush is so thick. I guess I've resigned myself to a life without makeup.

I just tried it again. It looks even worse. I hate liquid eyeliner.


Urg. Ever have a weekend where you feel like you need another weekend right away, just to take time and recoup? That's been my weekend. Even at 2:23am on a Monday morning I still have a lot ahead of me to conquer. I have 2 big papers to complete before I can relax for a few days. One of them is due tomorrow. I have 4.5 pages out of a required 10-12. At this point I've sacrificed both quality and quantity for sanity. If I can write another 4 pages by 9am, I'll be thrilled.

All I want to do right now is crawl into my bed and sleeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

Why did I choose this topic? I'm writing on Yugoslavian animation and its historical context. History doesn't interest me, and to make matters worse, Yugoslavian history is complicated.

Bah. I already can't wait until 3pm tomorrow so I can take a nap.

ETA: What the hell? I just looked at my syllabus for the class, and I had written in ~8-10 pages as the required length for this paper. I thought it was 10-12. This makes my life a little easier.


I picked up Specimen Days by Michael Cunningham a few weeks ago. He's the author who wrote The Hours, which I never read, so I don't know why this info matters, but there you are. Anyway, it was on sale and the description on the back interested me, so I got it. In an amazing bit of foresight, I threw it in my purse as I was calling 911 on Friday. I ended up sitting in the ER for 5 hours, so I started reading it. I'm not sure how I feel about it, and I can't even articulate what it is that's getting to me. These past few weeks have been really meh in terms of books, save the Vonnegut. I need to get to a bookstore and find some good stuff. I have plenty of unread books both at my apartment and at home, but most of them were impulse buys that just don't interest me. I might start Shopgirl, since that's pretty short.

Bah. Any suggestions?


Today, I:
1) called 911 for the first time.
2) got an ambulance and a firetruck!
3) rode in an ambulance for the first time.

It was a fun day.

ETA: In all honesty, it was probably the most interesting 24 hours of my life.


It wasn't truly allergy season until last night: I finally rubbed my nose so hard that I got my annual blister inside the nostril. Ugh, it stings like a bitch. Between that, my eyes, and the general itchiness of my face, I don't want to do anything.

I've decided to change my plans for next year. If I come back to the university for fall semester, I can pick up a Cinema Studies minor and do a senior thesis. I decided both of those things would be good for me wanting to study French Film in grad school. I'll still go to Paris for spring semester and graduate afterward. This way I can get my health stuff figured out, improve my CV, and keep one part of my life constant for just a little bit longer. Plus, I'll have lots of opportunities to extend my stay in France: teaching assistant, au pair, graduate programs. When I first presented the idea to my mom, she argued with me about it. I talked to my French film professor to see if she had any advice, and she did. Later on, I got calls from both of my parents telling me that they would let this be entirely my call, and I should do what makes me happy. So unfortunately I have to talk to the study abroad coordinator and tell her again that I'm only going to go for a semester.


Grossness of the day:
My eyes are mega swollen from allergies. That's not the gross part. My blood vessels in my upper and lower eyelids have become very dark, and they're sticking out from the skin slightly. Eeeeeewwwwwwwwww. I can't wait until allergy season is over.


Today I finished Kurt Vonnegut's A Man Without a Country. Vonnegut's really grown on me. I didn't like him so much last fall when I was reading Breakfast of Champions, but his style has become an acquired taste for me. It's a short read; I bought it last night and started it around 10pm.

I applied for a job last night at Target, a job this morning at a new spa opening up in town, and a job at Eddie Bauer. I hope one of these comes to fruition. I called a couple consulates and the Quebec Delegation about internships. They took my number, but never got back to me. Bah. Just as well; I want money to take abroad with me. Money money money! Wish me luck.


I don't run for two days, and I'm able to easily add 1 mile to my normal routine. Funny how that works.

I felt like I could have run more, but I still have to read a buttload and finish up a paper, as well as eat dinner and pack. I now know what my problem was those 500 times I resolved to run (6 years of cross country = lots of guilt): I need to RUN. I would go out maybe once or twice, decide it wasn't worth it, and then stop. I really need to continue. Here's my new secret weapon: NPR Podcasts. I used to run to music, but songs divide the time too much and don't distract me enough. If I have 50 continuous minutes of talking and jokes and narrative, then I don't think so much about running, and I just let my legs take over. It's actually quite pleasurable. I think my next step is to start buying books on iTunes. I will be the most cultured, fittest person ever!


     Talia signed up for one of my classes, which was odd since it was an upper-level French class taught entirely in French. On her first day, we watched a video about religious rituals in Japan, and so she thought that was awesome. I wanted to tell her that the final would be in French, and I'd help her study for it if she wanted, but would she really want to put herself through that just for a crummy grade? I wasn't sure if saying that would be insensitive. Talia also must have had Tourette's, becuause she would jump up and shout random things, like, "That's a bummer!" and "Darn him!" during class.
     Then I was in some weird band that was managed by my 6th grade teacher and a guy who was a mix of Ice-T and Randy Jackson. They had all these unrealistic expectations for us, like I should always know where my luggage is plus the luggage of everyone else in the band. We were on tour, and our bus stopped so we could eat at a restaurant. I was frustrated with it all, so I just got up and started running. The Ice-T/Randy Jackson character ran after me. I saw a street sign that said Clark, so I thought at first we were in Lincoln Park, but then I realized Clark is a long street. I climbed up on a bookstore awning, and Ice-T/Randy Jackson pulled me down. I fell, and we both rolled into the street, where cars and trucks were rushing past at 70mph. I was frozen with fear. I started clawing the air once I revived my faculty of movement. I caught Ice-T/Randy Jackson's eye with my fingernail, and he started freaking out.


Yet another song that makes me emotional: Starálfur by Sigur Rós. This is the incredibly gorgeous song that plays at the climax of The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, the part where I get all teary-eyed. It wasn't on the soundtrack, and I had always wondered what it was. Now that I know, I've listened to it a million times in a row.

I watched Me and You and Everyone We Know tonight. I had seen the trailer a long time ago, but I couldn't decide if it was the sort of indie stuff that I love, or if it was a pretentious indie love story that I would hate (à la Garden State). ("The more I think about [Garden State], the more I hate it." --Talia) Roger Ebert chose it for his Overlooked Film Festival, which led me to give it a chance (also: the rental place didn't have The Crying Game, but I couldn't just walk away with only 2 movies). Anyway, I can't decide how I feel about it. I think many things were unrealistic (Christine & Richard's entire relationship, the kids' dialogue, the events during the meeting between Robby and the internet fetishist...), and Christine's art just kind of bugged me. But for some reason I still might like it. I liked the soundtrack a lot.

Talia and I were going to see Low tonight (free tickets!) but we both felt like crap so we ate Chinese food and then went to our respective homes to chill.

As of a few days ago, my allergies hadn't set in yet, and so I figured I was home free. Usually they start around spring break, even if it's still cold (and in last year's case, snowing). This morning I woke up with my eyes crusted shut, and it's all gone downhill from there. Today is a definite glasses day, since my eyes are too dry to even see well, and I'm reminded of how unglamorous I feel in these glasses. I hope my new ones come soon, and that I like them after all.


I rented Me and You and Everyone We Know and Junebug cause I'm an indie romantic fuck. I was happy to learn that Embeth Davidtz was born in Lafayette, Indiana, where I spent many a year of my childhood.


Gah. I hate when there are things that people write that are purposely vague, but I still can't help wondering if they're about me, because... well, things I've done could possibly maybe fit. And I want to know! But I'm afriad if I ask, people will lie, because there's a reason why the things were written vaguely, and they may not want me to know...? Or something.

And yes, I realize the irony of this entry being purposefully vague.

I was watching The Simpsons and I discovered Smithers and I have the same thyroid problem. Neat!

Today in my Film Theory & Criticism class we read an article by Laura Mulvey, a feminist film critic. This of course provoked a lot of psychoanalytical phallus talk. The people in my class chose to use words such as "thing", "package", and "boobs". I'm in a class of 12-year-olds: great.

     I went to a combination of Navy Pier and Six Flags with two different versions of Talia. One was her regular self, and the other was a Eurotrash version. The Eurotrash version didn't talk at all; she wore a stupid newsboy cap (skewed slightly off center, of course) and red nylon cargo working-out pants. We went on this one weird boat ride where the captain or whoever would flip it upside down and dip you in the water. There were a couple of deaths, and a couple children were orphaned. The people who worked there wouldn't let us leave. One of the Talias wanted to go home, but I was upset because we still hadn't ridden Raging Bull.


Things I learned today:

  1. NPR.org occasionally broadcasts live concerts for free. Tonight I heard Neko Case, which was awesome. They also have archives of Belle & Sebastian, The New Pornographers, Arctic Monkeys, and Sigur Ros. I'm going to be busy for the next several hours.
  2. Studio 360 is a cool show that I should listen to more often.
  3. All Songs Considered is available as a free podcast.
  4. Afrin, the nasal spray, works, and it works fast.
  5. When I'm sick, all I want to do is lay around and eat.


I have a cold. I get 2 or 3 per year nowadays. Whenever I sniffle or sneeze or even when I do neither, I feel a sharp pain in my right trapezius.

Here's another song that's so beautiful that it provokes intense emotions (in me, at least): America by Simon & Garfunkel.

I just got done reading Freakonomics. I read it in an entire sitting. I don't have much to say about it, except I found it extremely interesting and would like to read more books like it.

I'm coming down with a cold.

So tonight I decide to get drunk. Innocent enough, right? Except at 2am, fucking STEVE sends me a text telling me he wants to talk online tomorrow. I think he has to be drunk. This is the weirdest fucking coincidence. Weirder than I could ever imagine.

P.S. I'm drunk, right? And I STILL managed to change the toilet paper roll and throw the old one away. Fucking Jessie and fucking Bob can't even do that when they're stone cold sober, cause they're the stupidest and most inconsiderate people I've ever had the misfortune of meeting. I hope they see this, and I hope they're embarrassed about how inconsiderate they've been this whole year. Fuck you guys. This has been the most terrible year ever, and it's all thanks to you. I hope you're happy.


A recent conversation for your enjoyment (edited because I can't remember exactly what was said, and I want to make myself sound more eloquent):
me: I'm proud of myself. I finally blogged a real entry. I accomplished clarity and organization of thought, and I feel like this is what people want to read moreso than a list of all the inane things I did that day.
Talia: Yeah. I just skimmed it.


ETA: I posted this conversation cause I thought it was funny, like that I tried to be intelligent and interesting and coherent, but it ended up being boring. Let it be known that Talia is in fact a dedicated blog reader.

Last night I had a dream that I had a huge surgery done on my throat that left a scar about 9" long. This is funny, because I have 3 possible throat surgeries that may or may not happen in the not-too-distant future.

Tomorrow is my awards ceremony. Maybe I'll be able to identify the lunatic who nominated me.


One of the things that makes me happy is when semi-famous people respond to my e-mails. It makes me feel important. Ze Frank has responded to 2 of my e-mails (and one even included praise!). Today I got an e-mail from Amy Krouse Rosenthal, whose book you might remember me reading (and loving, by the way). I had gone to the book's website and left her a comment soon after I had finished reading. She called my comment "INSANELY funny", which makes me love her even more. Yay for me!


Whoa! Bob Odenkirk was born in Naperville! Neat.


I'm currently reading Look At Me by Jennifer Egan. I was stuck in Chicago with nothing to do for the hour before the train left, so I found a bookstore. Nearly everything was 50% off, which I like, which means I'll have to go back to support that bookstore (even when they're not having a sale). They were located in a smallish space, so the books were crammed together. I promptly forgot every book I was planning on reading. Normally when I'm in a bookstore, I let the covers attract me. Yeah, yeah, platitudes aside, how else am I going to find a book? I'm not going to read the back covers of every single book in there. Anyway, I walked back and forth along the fiction wall about 5 times; my eyes glazed over and the individual books became one big mass of FICTION YOU MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE READ. I honestly couldn't remember a single author whose stuff I wanted to read more of (of course, I remembered Dave Eggers and David Sedaris, but I've read all of their stuff, so that didn't help). I was looking at the Dave Eggers section for the hell of it, and Look At Me was found right next to it.

I picked it up and read the back cover. It mentioned David Lynch, who I like, so I figured it couldn't be bad. It's about a supermodel who's in a car crash, and she has to get reconstructive surgery on her face, and no one recognizes her anymore; it also follows a couple of other characters, with the central theme being something about looks, I guess. The parts about the supermodel are told from a first person POV, which I generally don't like, unless the narrator is also an author, or unless the real author does a good job at changing his/her natural voice.

See, authors write because they feel a natural connection with language; they know how to manipulate it to achieve beautiful turns of phrase that convey a precise meaning. When an author writes a book from a first person POV, and does so without considering the fact that authors use words differently from the average person, the character by default uses a prose that is too flowery and intelligent. I don't believe the character of the supermodel; she describes things in a manner that's too ornate, too enlightened, too perfect.

Also, on a level that seems somehow less valid, many of the plot elements just seem so unbelievable. Suspension of disbelief, blah blah blah, I don't care.

Bottom line, I guess, is that I'm halfway through this book, and I don't know if I'll ever get around to finishing it. Good thing I only paid $7 for it.

     Michel Gondry came to give a brief talk to one of my film classes. I mentioned that I planned on going to grad school to study French film, and he winked at me and told me he may need me as an intern. He left before he could get my contact information, and I was really sad.


My brother is amazing. I had always considered myself better at representational drawing than him (whereas he kicks my ass at 3D stuff), but this has made me reconsider my position. I saw him wearing that sweatshirt and I asked him where he got it, thinking it was a show or something. He said he made it. With a fine-tip Sharpie. Jeez. Trees for me are incredibly hard to draw, and he made it look effortless.

My mom and I cleaned my sister's room. She's notorious for making food and eating it into her room, and then hiding her dishes. For whatever reason, she'll hide them in her dresser or garbage bags instead of just bringing them back downstairs. This is what my mother and I found:

Note the moldy food that's been there God knows how long. Note the 15 teaspoons. Note the 3 sharp knives. Note the FONDUE FORK (why??).

I got the following CDs over break:

  • Fox Confessor Brings the Flood by Neko Case
  • The Swimming Hour by Andrew Bird's Bowl of Fire
  • Thrills by Andrew Bird's Bowl of Fire
  • Viva La Woman by Cibo Matto
  • How It Ends by DeVotchKa
  • Mouthfuls by the Fruit Bats
  • Rabbit Fur Coat by Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins
  • Legs to Make Us Longer by Kaki King
  • The Greatest by Cat Power

And in the loose ends department:

  • I ended up getting the Junior Award for outstanding acheivement, according to the letter I received. I get $50. I hope to find out who nominated me and what the hell they were smoking at the time.
  • I got referred to yet another doctor, this one a specialist in surgery around the vocal cords.
  • I spent all day Thursday and then Friday morning speed walking around Chicago, and the following evening I was so incredibly sore.
  • I have a paper due in exactly 24 hours, and I still need to watch the two films (although I've seen one once before).