how do you spell BLEAHH?

the library kind of rocks. 

when the people telling you "NO FOOD/DRINK ALLOWED" don't use mean mommy voice.

i'm quite capable of following directions given to me in a pleasant manner. 

again - if you don't like people... work without them?

i dunno.

really i'm here cuz they've threatened to give "us" a new roommate by posting a notice that they'll be painting and prepping the room recently vacated by a nice young austrian lad. seeing as how don't technically have any business living there, i thought i'd high-tail it for a few. get some writing done. but meh. remember the mer face? i can't stop making it. i feel like i've been lacking in the food/sleep/sanity department. but this is not the case. maybe it was the cheese i ate yesterday. cheese sucks, and i'm starting to think it makes my whole being wanna sink into my memory foam until my true love awakens my senses with a kiss. blehh. wow. how's my navel looking today? in this light, it's kinda linty. you know, the lighting in this particular corner of blogger's indulgence is wan. It's hard to make out astute observations through the muddle of the mundane. blah. 

let's about face: what have i accomplished today?

rising from couch - check!

munching honey bunches - check!

deconstructing my room to look like a mere storage/study, making visible only things hetero boys would own - check! 

and i scored $5 earphones at rite aid.

so ha! take  that, duane reade! with your $9.99's and your $12.95 nonesense!

so, with that...no--

i leave you with this: 

--as if we need a reminder of why freezing is cool.

These Boots Were Made for Workin'?

I am way too excited by the actual snow gracing our stoop with its presence. The sleet last night was worth it, if this is what it eventually yielded. Yeeaaay, SNOW! I also love that it's freezing ass cold in the living room - where i sleep this week cuz of the shady vapor (i.e. smells of turpentine) currently emitting from my radiator. 

And the best part - IT'S STILL SNOWING!

I am so excited to pull on my pink rainboots. Yes, they have daisies on them - don't judge me! It almost makes me wanna fuel up on Honey Bunches and walk downtown. It's only 108 blocks, right? Cakewalk. Well, like an ice-cream cakewalk. Only i doubt there'll be the little chocolate crunchies of cookie goodness when i finally make it to the bottom. Not to mention that one bite of this actual snow might actually be more noxious than the radiator. 

Maybe i should regroup. I'm sure i can come up with a better plan between now and when it's time to go PLAY IN THE SNOW! --er, go to work, i mean. Cause that's what i actually have to do today. Which is cool...way more important than playing. Totally more important than kicking round in fresh snow. I'm totally there. At work. Mentally. Aching to be there already, right? 

Right. Watch me run.  

No sense whatsoever!

The thing about leaving phone messages that makes them endearing, is the fact that it feels like you're talking to someone. It doesn't feel like you're talking to a recording device, pretending it's you're friend. Too bad this doesn't carry over into, say, a public sidewalk. Every time i leave someone a message that isn't strictly business, i'm acutely aware of how absurd it is, talking to a machine that won't talk back. Where is my suspension of disbelief?? Why do suddenly feel like a faker when i open my mouth to express my love, devotion and/or drunken belligerence?! Anyhoo -this pains me because 99.1415927% of the time, phone calls made in Manhattan are made on the street. We're multi-taskers on the way to/from anywhere. Everyone does this, in some form or another. Everyone has left a heartfelt message over the roar of traffic and wailing sirens. But this doesn't help. I always know when people are leaving messages. (Usually cause they talk for a minute straight after "Yo, whatup?" and end with a "Peace" "Call me!" or "Thanks for nuthin'!") How much do i care? How much do we actually listen to each other down there on them huge ass sidewalks? How much sense does it make for me to ever have stage fright ever on the sidewalks of NYC? Very very little. It's laughable, the amount of sense it doesn't make.

I wonder

What causes that racket? Ours don't do that in this place though I'm trying to remember if they did last year when Doug was around to go bug Barbara downstairs for the radiator key so he could bleed the radiators. In fact, now that I think of it, it IS peculiar to have heat without noise! I mean, they're metal! How can they NOT clank clank as they heat/cool, expand/contract?

At my last class (don't get excited, there's still plenty o' work to be done before I'm finished with it) we sat in groups of four. We discussed an abstract painting that Prof brought in. "How do you react to the painting emotionally?" he asked. We responded. "What do you see?" "What would you say in a narrative about the painting?" He then had us share with our group members. It was a bit peculiar since the thing we have in common is not necessarily a love of art, rather, we all want to be teachers...of some kind...of kids who are somewhere between 11 and 19. However, it never ceases to amaze me the creativity that emerges from the group whenever we're prompted. Last week, CTM (C the Magnificent) was giving a lesson using primary sources to teach about the Dust Bowl. She showed us some photos, read us some information about Steinbeck's background (asked questions about how this might affect his perspective on migrant workers), then played an historical recording of a man reading a poem about leaving the babies to starve and going in search of work. When she asked us to write a poem from the perspective of someone enduring these hardships the results were...whoa...impressive.

But, I digress. During our last class, we shared about the painting. Each successive person revealed things they had seen in the painting that totally changed our perspectives. The next step was to look at a piece of art far removed from the source. We looked at a BW print-out of a ppt of a photo that Prof ripped from the internet of a print of Picasso's Old Man and Guitar (don't remember exactly what the title is). Anyway, we looked at it, once again answered teh questions "How do you react to the painting emotionally?" and "What sort of narrative might you construct in response to the painting?" Then we read this excerpt from Wallace Stevens's "The Man with the Blue Guitar":

The man bent over his guitar,
A shearsman of sorts. The day was green.

They said, "You have a blue guitar,
You do not play things as they are."

The man replied, "Things as they are
Are changed upon the blue guitar."

Then, after we had discussed that portion, we read a new excerpt with this addition at the end:

"And they said to him, "But play, you must,
A tune beyond us, yet ourselves,
A tune upon the blue guitar,
Of things exactly as they are."

We were supposed to talk about the poem and the painting and whatever we liked. One woman in our group said, "It's like when a group remakes a song and you listen to it, hating it, and wonder why they did that."

We talked about that for awhile and then J gives a long look and says, "I'm a musician and so is my girlfriend. She plays guitar and does a lot of reinterpretations of songs. Almost always, I don't like them. And it makes me question our relationship.

We discuss this further. There are people who would hear that and think he's crazy, "I mean," they would say, "It's like liking some cornball song you hear on the radio, or downloading it to your ipod." But he's right. It's not. When you re-express the song and you invest time in making it sound like that. And 'that' is so utterly opposed to what J would consider to be beautiful (or even 'good') you might actually be expressing inner values that are fundamentally at odds. In some respects, it is strange that such a seemingly frivolous judgement could be so sound, but there it is. Wow. I'm glad that guy's gonna be a teacher. I wish I could take the time right now to write it in such a way that the true awe of it would come across more melifluously, but in the meantime I thought I'd feed you the story anyway.

To sleep, perchance...? Nah.

3:05 AM

HISSS...CLANK!  HISSS...RADIATE...CLANK!

is heat always noise?

Oh, fer tha love...

so. i'm tired as all get out cause that's what happens when earning money.

for most of us, anyway. i'm in no condition to write, cause the late shift eats at parts of your brain like spit deteriorates gum. You know the fun is fading, but inevitably keep chewing until, all of a sudden, there's this gritty globulous gunk stuck to your teeth where your gum used to be. Like everything's holding up fine until it, most certainly, isn't. And then it's too late, you've got mush on the brain and need to crank down the window to let in fresh air and spit it out. Only it's your brain so you're pretty much stuck with the mess 'till you can sleep it off. So off i go. I've got 8 hours to get back to zero... too bad i can't stop watching Bones so make it 7.5 for the half hour i'm enthralled before my lids cave in and my brain collapses ::FWOOSH:: into an exhausted heap.  Before that, though, i'll have a chuckle when i think of you kicking the semester's ass nine ways to Sunday. GO GET 'EM, GIRL! 

::ENCOURAGING LAUGHTER:: 

                                                       ::SIGH::

We are tired for completely different reasons.

                                                                    ::MORE LAUGHTER::

                                                                    ::FWOOSH::

First Last Class

Tonight is the last Educational Diversity class. It gets out early so I can have a beer AND plan my lesson. Just checking in.

Small Break

I am within sight of the end, my friend. I expected this weekend to be a 2-day marathon of self-flagellation. And it has been, but what I expected was that the whipping and self-abuse would be exlusively homework-related. I was wrong.

Friday I was exhausted so I watched Gray's Anatomy and fell asleep on the couch at 8pm. ncd returned home from an evening abroad around 1 and we talked for a bit. Then more sleeping. Saturday morning I awoke bright and early and went for a run/walk around beautiful frozen lake. Just before I left, the feeling that I was out of the loop dawned. There had long been a get-together planned for our house. Others were doing the planning, but ncd had agreed to volunteer our home as the site of festivities (including a Tur-duc-hen). However, time together had been so scant that the most rudimentary conversations took place fragmented over the course of several days. Therefore, I began to realize that the impending festivities made me realize how impossible it had been for me to get myself and my beloved in one room for socializing lately, let alone a flock of unknown callers.

Returned home for extra long shower and had good cry and air-clearing before breakfast. French toast ensued. Afternoon consisted of mix of socializing and homework fakery. Giving up commenced in earnest around 8pm when I called my mom. Thereafter was a meal followed by enjoyable socializing and the feeling that there were people present with whom I had not spoken. Hardly the hostess, I was something else, but enjoyed doing the dishes with clm and chatting with passersby. Played Taboo for quite sometime before the evening wound down with a beer-fueled misunderstanding between the wife of one of ncd's oldest friends and ncd's youngest brother.

By 1 am, ncd's oldest friend, oldest friend's wife, intermediate olaf friend, and I were snickering at porn and watching uma thurman in some movie about baron munchhaussen (sp?). I eventually turned in realizing that today's work would have to be done by someone and that, despite my internal monologue encouraging, "By tomorrow it will be almost over," I was realizing that merely letting the time pass would not, in fact, result in 'it' being anywhere close to over.

Woke this morning feeling peculiar. Mostly house is cleaned up with the exception of furniture and some dishes people left in their wake. Still, feeling of disorder pervades. Can't seem to have the feeling of satisfaction, connectedness, and glowing accomplishment that seems to be some people's experience of these large parties. Feel, instead, un-moored, floating. Will value the reconstructive power of home for the holidays tenfold this year. Instead of becoming less important in hindsight, I find the near past worrying me, even when it was successful (like the impromptu lesson I taught at the high school on friday, for example). Things that were comforting turn wispy and evaporate in the face of impending...something. It certainly isn't the impending deadline exactly. More like, the presence of a deadline. A point after which I am supposed to be able to read something that will comfort me. To be able to do the things that will make me feel better. The point after which doing something to distract myself or forget my worries will not merely be a postponing, but will actually be a solution.

Or maybe the real issue is that I feel powerless to really help anyone but myself (and I'm not actually doing a great job even at nurturing myself).

Well, that was jolly. Things are really quite alright. I am shaving away at the list. Here is evidence of what a splendid fete it was and what a dirty lens my hindsight is:

...okay, I can't get the photos to post, but will do so as soon as I can. Rest assured, though, that it was a lovely winter gathering.

Love you!

Well, warm colors it is.

Apparently all I am capable of is increasingly weirdo design schemes. Don't be mad.

Well, this looks like crap

The smoothing on my work computer makes me want to say things about the graphic superiority of macs and apologize to anyone for whom the font now looks remarkably like it should be named 'Atari'.

Haven't sent package for first blog challenge yet. Sorry. Spending my evenings trying to escape the inevitable and my mornings panicking. But seriously, only about 2 weeks until it's all really done for real. Then I'll be able to post all of the creative ridiculon that has been blasted from my weary brain.

Listeners Like You

What's Poppin'

VOL. 1

have a listen at this baby.

is the end of analog radio upon us?

if it is, i'm glad we've got this little record of our history together.

 AM/FM.

 REPRESENT.

[keep up w/ the flow @

listenerslikeyou.com]