Chin down

I've known for a while that I work better while lying on my belly on the floor. Desks are okay but the floor is my ideal. Sitting on the floor works, but lying down is preferable.

Me and the laptop lying alone in my dorm on the floor. Now you know why I vacuum obsessively. Now you know why my back gets sore all the time. Or maybe you didn't know that. I always sit with my seat straight up when I drive. Yesterday I drove through a freaking parade just to return a stack of books at the library. The book that was being held for me was mysteriously gone, so now I have to get back on this massive waiting list which sucks because Ange and I were supposed to discuss it over break. Bah. I was salty because they had the "De-Lovely" soundtrack so I could have just burned it. Oh well- it's worth the money I suppose. And I picked up the soundtrack for "A Mighty Wind".

I need to start planning my dinners. It's getting kind of scary because a lot of people are asking me when they are and they're people who haven't ever been invited. I refuse to cook for 30 people on two nights. I don't have a long enough table. I need to start prepping myself so I can beat all of my friends hardcore at Scattergories.

My back is killing me. This is one of the most random posts ever. Tomorrow I'll try to throw on a poem or something.

Lost Our Place

Farinacci's
The Sweeney's at the cast party
Cleveland Playhouse ("Enchanted April")
The zoo at Christmastime
Brielle's in our chair
The Hanna Building
The River Ford in the park
Kids Quarters
The park in Echo Hills
Rosati's
Furnace Run
Octane

In all of the places my graces were lost
Where dignity spared sold at sanity's cost
Where fingerprints follow a trail of deceit
I'm standing alone in the prints of your feet

These, of course are the places where I should have found words. Three at least. I've got them, I've got them, I've got them I swear I do. Come and get them, please- they're yours, after all. I'm tired of keeping them for you.

Thursday Will Be Better

I already posted my frustrations in the lj tonight, so I won't do it here.

Frustration seems to be the word of the day.

Get through tomorrow. That's the ticket.

9:20-10:10- Freshman Class *cough*worthless*cough*
2:40-3:30- Group Communication and Leadership
6:15- Radio interview recording session.
7:15- "Mating Habits of Yellowjackets" audition and BuzzTV premiere party.

So Liz wants to interview me about my songwriting for her radio class and she wants me to play a song and talk about the lyrics. So that puts me in the radio station for a while. I'm going to miss a big chunk of the BuzzTV premiere party-- and dinner. Andrea M. Wade edited without me tonight. I'm mad.

I hope people show up for the audition, but I'm afraid it's not going to happen. The segment should be cool, but oh well. Andrea M. Wade is just annoying. Burn witches.

All my sighs lately sound like the word "Thursday". I'm bracing myself for a letdown. I usually do.

Growing Together Apart

"You know where all the cool places are," she says to me over the phone, and I am overcome by this unnecessary flattery. I am suddenly pressured to find somewhere quaint, somewhere different, somewhere less commercial, somewhere cool. We change from Starbucks to Brielle's in a matter of seconds, at the mere invocation of my suggestion. It's a funny sort of power that I have over my social circles. I feel unworthy.
I've been to this place a few lonely times. It's never had any significance. I drink there when I'm feeling romantic. I've often been inclined to stop by in the early evening during the fall, lackadaisically entertaining the thought of writing the next great American novel right there at one of those antique tables as I nurse my chai or my tea. (Life moves fast enough without the aid of a double shot espresso.)
Tonight I am surrounded by people that love me. And I love them. I love them so they can't imagine. Tonight I sit next to him like I have for six years--just exactly the same. And it wasn't different at all until we heard a whisper from that darkened corner. And I walked over, following the echo of this whisper that broke the silence and I sat down in a soft chair. And she sat across from me. And then you came too.
I began to voice my insecurities, for whatever reason. Maybe because I've been alone for so long now, maybe because my subconscious has highly ulterior motives. And then you broke my heart. "When I try to picture the perfect woman, I think of you," or something like this. Only it's not so direct and there's a lot more candid stammering, which is your way. And she leaves us.
We were silent forever, which is not nearly as long as I have waited to voice myself to you. And we are closer than forever has allowed. I imagine the two of us painted smoothly on the side of an ancient Grecian artifact, forever suspended in this chair, frozen in a mix of fear, frustration, and want. I should have just done it. We should have. You should have. Because you know how scared I get. How awkward. How uncomfortable I am in this skin. But we didn't. We turned our heads and spoke into the floor and apologized. And we waited in vain for her to come back. And someone else did. But it took a while. Too long.
You're my best friend. I should have kissed you then. And even if it would have been a mistake to do so, it would have been the best mistake I've ever made.

I never want to go there without you again.

Coincidence? What's that?

I just walked into my room after brushing my teeth and Ellis Paul started singing "Here She Is"! How sweet is that?

It's going to be a good day...

Dollars to Doughnuts

I wish he knew. I also wish there was some way I could say that without sounding contrived. I can't call him a coward- the man that I love will not be a coward.

I'll probably want to die for a little while on Wednesday.

So far, there are eight songs that I'd consider for my demo. Hopefully I'll have the drive to actually record it around the holidays. People actually want to buy it. I'm tickled...

I'm convinced that nobody reads this journal. And I don't really get anything out of it by updating. Rather, I feel pressured to write in this because I'm the only one who knows about it. I should feel liberated by this open forum for personal expression sans consequence, but instead I am imprisoned. I create strings of words that sound ridiculous together. Nobody judges but me. I sound pathetic--maybe even emo. This makes me shudder.

I've been shuddering for a very long time.

There is a Target and a Best Buy coming to that shopping center by Macedonia Commons. AKA: All of my Christmas shopping will be done in that shopping center by Macedonia Commons. AKA: I'm saving a lot of money on gas this holiday season. AKA: More time to watch brilliantly orchestrated clay movies on ABC family.

I actually listened to a Christmas song today. Sleigh Ride, done by Lena Horne. Christmas is my favorite thing. I'm a child.

I don't think my psyc test is tomorrow....dag, yo.

Less Rocca

My boyfriend, Mo Rocca, canceled his little jaunt at Case. This is good because I don't feel stupid for missing out.

I celebrated my dorm reunion by playing a bunch of Nirvana songs on my acoustic. It felt good to go unplugged after a weekend of futzing around with my newly re-strung electric. I'm glad I finally replaced those two strings- I felt negligent for letting him sit there on the stand, untouched for so long.

Finally got to watch a large chunk of the "debate" this evening, but MAN. What a load of crap. I'm glad I'm skilled at making my own fun, because there was certainly nothing outwardly good about what was going on. There was definite humor in the little things. My favorite was a Kerry quote: "Unfortunately, he escaped in the mountains of Tora Bora..." (Of course referring to that elusive little scamp, Osama bin Laden.)

I was comforted today in the presence of my cousins. Every time I see them, they're three more inches taller than me, a sign that I don't devote as much time to them as I used to. I was never hesitant to tell people who inquired that my cousins were my best friends. Now, I sometimes feel the need to add that three-word-disclaimer: "used to be". Fortunately, I think the boys feel the same way; today we committed a weekend to each other. We're planning on gracing our grandma's house with our mischief, like we used to when we were wee. (When we were wee sounds cool!) That means chicken noodle soup, this whacked out game that we invented that calls for one of those duster things, four pillows, and a cat toy, and some pretty killer home movies down the hill on the canal. (We're so messed up)

Anyway, I felt the need to put something in here. I feel bad because most of my better writing is archived in my lj already, and so I usually write furreal in there. I'll have to work on balancing my brilliance.

Rollerblades

I'm not going to be overly poetic about this, because I think the situation is quite poetic in itself:

Every Wednesday at 2:30 I walk back from my class alone on the left side of the street.

And

Every Wednesday at 2:34 he skates by alone on the right side of the street.


And that's all I have to say about that. But that's never all I have to say about anything.

Today I walked with a friend, and as he passed, I told her that he was my favorite.

And she asked if I had a class with him, to which I responded, "no".

And she asked how I knew him and I pointed as he turned off of Beech Street and I said, "that's how."

She stopped asking questions. "Oh". And she laughed. And I might have laughed a little too, but it wasn't the sort of laughter that you'd expect- it wasn't that shared laughter that comes from an uneven pause in conversation. I realize now that I was laughing at myself again.

I could have told her how much more I know about him. Or you. Or I could have just kept laughing like it was religion, like I was trying to startle the gods with a hem and a haw, trying to awake the hand of fate til it dropped from the sky and shoved me to the other side of the road. But then He would have heard. And then maybe he'd stop skating down Beech Street every Wednesday at 2:34.

Fall-out

Loving this weather. It's lame to talk about the weather, but really I have been noticing and appreciating the breeze every day, and how it makes me feel. I have two sweaters here at school with me this week. Next week, we'll have to stock up.

My mom is the greatest lady evar. When I came home last weekend, she had apple cider for me.

I'm getting together with Al again this weekend, since he's coming home from OSU for some reason. I think we're going to watch Will Ferrell's Volume 2 "Best of" DVD. I don't know what's happening here, so I'm just going to relax and roll with things. I think I might be single for a long time, but I don't mind much. I hate discussing matters like these. It's not lady-like.

Now I need to go and get experienced.

Rock it Off

Sweet time yesterday. (After my initial "first time in front of laptop writing important paper" shellshock.) I wrote three of my random papers and started to attack the big one, thanks to the kindly (and quite speedy) assistance of Lesh and Mulhall.

I rewarded myself with a free trip to the Rock Hall. I feel like a little girl there. I want to run around and touch everything, which is just not acceptable. The last time I went to the Rock Hall, a lot of John Lennon's writing was on exhibition. That whole room was an experience. I foolishly desire to have my poetry stored under glass one day. That's before I realize that I'm not John Lennon. I wrote about this in my livejournal, so I won't say too much more. I saw the glasses that he was wearing, but I won't say too much more about that either, for different reasons.

This time they had Supremes costumes in the same room that John's lyrics filled last time I was there. It felt strange- like I was cheating or something.

Tomorrow night is a full moon. My roommate tells me strange things happen under full moons. Right. Because strange things don't happen under half-moons. What do they call that other kind? Crescent? Waning gibbous? Waxing gibbous? Evs, yo.

I want the weekend. I feel like I eat my last supper every Sunday before I come back here.

October 15th, where are you?

Laurel Roether deviated something in my spine I think. That was one of the best hugs I've ever gotten. I keep track, too. I've got lists for everything these days. And everything's very clean at this desk.

I need to read something.

Those crazy liberals

Jonathan Kozol was a bumbling little man, but he still kept my attention. I'm glad I got to see him. I've got to run out and read all his books now, because that's just the kind of girl I am.

I DON'T want to write this paper. Grr.

My body has never felt heavier. I just played tennis for an hour and a half, and this was on top of my already weak immune system. (I've had the makings of a cold this week) Haven't played tennis since gym class in eighth grade. You would think that jogging so frequently over the summer would make me a little more fit. Yea. Not so much. Every single part of my body aches. I can't even move from this chair. I suck at tennis, therefore, tennis sucks. Oh well. Can't win 'em all.

It's like callbacks. I didn't win those either. But honestly, I really don't care so much about that. After I checked the list, I just sort of walked backstage and painted a whole styrofoam brick wall by myself. Very therapeutic.

Aside from feeling like a corpse, I really love my life right now.

The soundtrack of my aches and pains:
Elvis Costello- Allison/Vertical Horizon- Sunrays and Saturdays/Pearl Jam-Yellow Ledbetter/The White Stripes-We're Gonna Be Friends/Van Morrison- Crazy Love/Green Day- Longview/Ellis Paul- Changing Your Name

Those wacky liberals!

Last night Jonathan Kozol spoke here about racial inequality and how much of a travesty it is that schools are still largely segregated in America. He also spoke about how unappreciated public school teachers are. So naturally, I fell in love with him and wanted to buy every book he's ever written. I think I'll start with "Savage Inequalities". It's too bad that BW didn't have the sense to let him speak in the theatre instead of the damn hot "Union Ballroom" which is basically where we eat and sweat every day. Some of the people in suits were really hot and sweaty because they didn't know that it was going to be that hot...and they wanted to make a good impression as a representative of the freshman class at BW...and it's the nicest thing I had to wear, dammit! Oh well, I survived a heat stroke. Good for me.

This morning I wrote an article for the Maelstrom about how paradoxical it is to market a "cult film". (Napoleon Dynamite) I hope they like it.

Callbacks today. Mmm. Then maybe "Translations" tonight. Or Swings 'n Things. Huh. Culture or bumper boats?

Mellow today. Vertical Horizon/Elvis Costello this morning.

Yellow Ledbetter now.

Top Five Things I Miss

1) The studio.
2) Showering without sandals on my feet.
3) Hot baths.
4) My car.
5) You.

Hold on, Voltaire

This week was a bit disappointing, and it culminated in a sudden trip home where my mother calmed my nerves and helped me prioritize everything that needs prioritize.
So I won't write for the Maelstrom this semester. I'm already in with the staff; I've got almost four years to revolutionize satire as we know it.

Theatre is different. You kind of have to keep putting your face out there, letting them know that you're interested. So I'm auditioning for two of our student-directed one-acts. One is called "Specter" and I've regrettably fallen in love with it, and how it makes me feel to read the girl's part. She's edgy, provocative, philosophical, sexy- all those things I wish I could be. Unfortunately, I promised myself that I would not become attached. I'm new, dammit. I need to start behaving like it. The other play is up in the air for me- the title is "It's Called the Sugar Plum" and it's very interesting, but the female role is not as appealing to me. Either way, I'll probably read for both parts. Out of 6 roles, 2 are for women. But that's a pretty accurate ratio as far as theatre goes.

As for Buzz TV, I'm doing it for credit so I'm pretty much stuck. Not that I mind, but it adds a few more elements of stress to my life. Here are a few of them:
1) No blanket license because we put our stuff on the web- so we can't use ANY music with a copyright. Hello, midi files!

2) The girl who forced her way into doing an interview for a segment of mine has yet to e-mail me her schedule- and we're slated to shoot before Wednesday. Ha. Fat chance.

3) I like my producer a little bit, so I'm going out of my way to make a good impression. He's 25, and I'm not really sure what he's doing here, but whatever. But I don't like him because that would be settling. I won't settle.

4) This is unrelated, but I wish I could have a car here. It would be so much easier. I could drive to Taco Bell and get a Crunch Wrap, or I could stop at the Regal Cinema or drive downtown to Indians games (I love baseball in the fall) or I could just run home one afternoon and check out the studio or get advice from my mom without having to inconvenience her by having her pick me up. Garr.

In other news, I forgot how much I enjoy "Swingers". It's funny to watch it now because that whole thing just died really quickly. But it was still sweet, and they had great shirts.

The Day it Rained

Here I am in the rain, sans umbrella, and quite enjoying myself.

I think I want to have Ellis Paul's babies. I mean, I know that he and his wife pretty much have that covered, but seriously the man makes my toes curl and my knees turn to pudding. I've often been angry that I didn't have his music earlier in life, but I think these things sort of come around when we're ready.

I'm missing my Eddie Bauer* water jug, and I'm super mad. I drink 4 of those a day, and I'm now living in fear of dehydration. Spit. (Or no spit, if I actually do get dehydrated.)

*It's not really Eddie Bauer- I got it at Marc's for two dollars, but people don't generally know what kind of water container I'm talking about until I slap a brand name on it. It's the kind that Kuck had back in the day. Kuck was sweet.

The devil made me do it.

Well, actually Lesh did. Well, actually he didn't make me; this was just the easiest way for me to be able to post on his entries. It's sort of a minimalistic, half-hearted sort of blog, with a title that just screams, "what the hell else am I going to call it?" But it's mine. So I'll try to love it the best that I can.
Heh- I just spell-checked this entry and "blog" came up as an error. Funny stuff.