...Commentary from Omaha!

Writings

2010-11-21T19:47:00.002-06:00

So blog...yeah...it's been awhile. I wish I could say I've been super productive during my time away. I wish I could tell you I saved orphan children, made friends with dolphins (why that would make my list, I don't know. That just seems like an awesome thing to do), finished my novel, and started my own cooking show in the manner of Paula Dean. But nope. Just have been busy and lazy---the most dangerous combination! Anyways, I'll half-heartedly try to win you back blog with a piece from a semi-recent writing.

"I don’t know where you disappeared to over five years ago. In fact, I have to admit that I cannot even recall the day you stopped coming. You faded from my life in pieces.

I can’t let you leave this time. You’re dying in front of me but I refuse to acknowledge the ability of God to take you away at a moment’s notice. This time I will fight Him, even if you’d laugh at the thought of me even believing in such an antiquated idea. Wake up, Irene, and tell me He doesn’t exist. So I don’t fear Him. So I don’t try to believe this end, horrific and ugly with tubes and blood, could be written by a higher power."

Sloths!

2010-11-02T11:42:00.005-05:00

Sloths have been on my mind a lot lately. I know, who doesn't have sloths on their mind 24/7? The reason for this sudden interest? Cute sloth babies.

Anyways, LIST TIME!

THINGS MORE CUTE THAN SLOTH BABIES!
1. Babies in Halloween costumes
2. Muppet Babies
3. Nothing. Nothing is cuter than sloth babies.

On a side note, I love the nonchalance of the the sloth in the picture. I wish I exuded that amount of coolness. He's like the Fonzie of sloth babies.

A Hair Complaint

2010-09-11T14:08:00.003-05:00

I've done a lot of complaining about my hair on this blog but I'm serious this time. I am finally getting a haircut so my hair can stop trying to turn into Rob Lowe's circa "St. Elmo's Fire." C'mon hair--his character was kinda a douchebag. Find a better Rat Pack star whose hair you can emulate. May I suggest Judd Nelson?

Barnes and Noble Said...

2010-07-15T13:19:00.001-05:00

I looked up Party Down but it was accidentally put on books instead of dvds. It hilariously recommended a book on the Donner Party. Yes, that's what I think of when I think of parties. One party I would not want to be invited to. However, you know that we all love a good Donner Party joke.

Never Let Me Go

2010-07-10T13:07:00.001-05:00

I'm close to finishing the novel so here's the trailer for the movie which comes out in September!

By the Numbers, Hancock edition!

2010-07-05T20:49:00.003-05:00

3-Bars in Hancock. My parents, Jamie, Kevin (Jamie's boyfriend) and I went to all three during the street dance. This is also the amount of shots I had that night (on top of 3 beers and 2 vodka sours)
5- how late I drunkenly kept insisting the band Blue Sky should play to (instead they played until midnight)
0-number of jarts tournaments I lost (I realized that I'm good at jarts after about one beer, but when I have more than that my skill decreases exponentially)
14- number of deer we saw one night when "deer hunting." This was an improvement from the night before when we saw three deer...all within a block or so of the cottage
1-the number of mailboxes Kyle and I mistook for deer.
1.5-number of books I finished ("In the Skin of a Lion" I finished but I am still 120 pages from finishing the very good "Never Let Me Go")

One Week Until Hancock!

2010-06-17T20:11:00.003-05:00

As the title says, one week until Jamie and I join the family in Hancock, Wisconsin for a week of family bonding, tubing, strawberry picking, asparagus picking, deer hunting (by which I mean looking for deer, not shooting it for sport), Crystal River odysseys, fireworks, and quite possibly float-building for the Fourth of July Parade. Also this year Jamie and I are 21 so we can finally take our first peek into the famed Hancock bar (okay, maybe the only Hancock bar) Sneaky Pete's. I have a sneaking suspicion the reality will disappoint these years of built-up expectations.

THINGS I WOULD NOT BE SURPRISED TO SEE IN SNEAKY PETE'S
1) The various members of Blue Sky, the band that has played at Hancock's street dance the last few years and whose repertoire seems to contain only Johnny Cash songs
2) A Hell's Angel
3) Dave Coulier
4) Broken dreams

Remember me?

2010-06-09T15:26:00.003-05:00

It's been awhile...I wouldn't blame you if you forgot about the existence of this blog.

Anyways, topic of today: Skype faces. Mainly when skype freezes, the amazingness that ensues.

Here's one I took of Jamie. It looks like something out of Shrek/the Muppet Studio/Dark Crystal/your greatest nightmare.

My Summer Thus Far

2010-05-21T11:16:00.003-05:00

I don't really know what to say mostly because it doesn't quite feel like summer has begun. I keep feeling like I'll realize that classes didn't end after all...Besides that awful feeling, I have been trying to make the most of my relaxing (yet intellectually stimulating) summer. I'm more than half way through "The English Patient," which I love. Its prose is just haunting, the images strong and unique but transitory. Sure, it's not quite one of those pink-covered chick lit books that you are supposed to read during the summer (while sipping on a cosmo or appletini, of course), but it's definitely my kind of read. Besides that Jamie, as you probably know, is in Amsterdam. Which leaves me alone at the apartment. I hardly am alone, ever, since my house in Omaha always has at least one family member hanging around. The first day I got pretty lonely, but now I see the perks to living alone. I don't have to do dishes diligently. I can leave my books scattered throughout the apartment.(Jamie, I bet you are having a heart attack as you read this--don't worry. The apartment will be spotless by your return!). Would I like to live alone permanently? No, but for right now it suits my mood.

"Why Hello Amsterdam. I Hope We Can Be Friends."

2010-05-18T09:37:00.002-05:00

I'm a day away from my European adventure and I'm feeling a mix of extreme excitement ("yay for traveling!"), nerves ("everyone is going to hate you! The Dutch people will even spit on your stupid American face!"), and a mix between the two (that conversation is too expletive-filled to include on our blog). Mostly, I'm just finishing my packing (my room was so clean just a day ago! Now it looks like a scene from "Sanford and Son," only with more dresses) and having a super lazy day. Okay, a mostly lazy day. I still have a few errands I get to do. Wonderful. But I've also decided I should do some stereotypical American things today before I leave tomorrow. Here's what I have so far:

-watch a dancing/singing/celebrity-doing-one-of-those-beforementioned-acts show.

-shoot animals from a helicopter

-wear a shirt with an American flag, wolf, and eagle on it.

-tearfully sing the American national anthem as I fall asleep tonight

...and that's all I have for the moment. I think that seems like a pretty doable list, right? Right?

-Jamie

Celebration!

2010-05-10T12:08:00.002-05:00

I am one final away from being done with my junior year! I decided to celebrate---only we are nearly out of food in the apartment, so I will have to settle for a celebratory lunch of goldfish crackers and a Smirnoff blueberry-lemonade beverage.

Tomorrow

2010-05-05T22:25:00.004-05:00

Tomorrow happens to be a VERY special person's birthday. Yes, Robespierre. Max (or as I like to call him, "Robes") and I had some good times back in the day. Times I can't describe on a public blog. We were so high on revolutionary ideals, I bet Robes and I can't even remember half of them! Robes, even though we went our separate ways, I still have no regrets. Here's a picture of us, the way we were.

One Line

2010-05-05T14:01:00.003-05:00

I really need to start writing again. To be fair, I'm usually much more productive in the summer. Hopefully I'll get some done in Amsterdam as well. I'm sure I'll be inspired there. Until then...one line I wrote awhile ago, on the Linda Parker story I'll never finish:

"Lending a hand, she looks hollower than any drum,

She's all skin pulled tight with nothing underneath."

Yeah, two posts in one day. I rock.

-Jamie

Old Pictures, My Family

2010-05-05T09:46:00.009-05:00

I'll admit it---I love looking at old pictures, feeling the weight of the past all on a small sheet of paper. I was going through some old documents yesterday and came across one of my sociology papers on my family's past. Again, I lingered over the pictures, savoring each detail, trying to learn about my parents from these small moments in their young adulthood. I wish I could have grown up in the 60s and 70s.

Spotted: Ugliest Outfit, Male Edition

2010-05-04T14:38:00.004-05:00

In Civil War class today, I had the privilege of seeing one of the most hideous outfits to ever grace this earth. I was just sitting there, filling out an evaluation, and suddenly this pop of color enters my periphery--the colors were something straight out of the Easter Bunny's own collection. This kid had on a white t-shirt, topped with a robin's egg blue vest, and a lavendar baseball-cap. He could have been Theo's (from "The Cosby Show") dorky, white friend who participates in Civil War reenactments, has a bug collection hidden under his bed, and endearingly does NOT know how to dance. There are so many questions going through my mind right now as I think back to it--but first and foremost, where in the hell did he get those clothes?

It's Nowhere Near Thanksgiving But...

2010-05-02T20:23:00.002-05:00

I was going through old documents on my computer and found this list I wrote about Thanksgiving. Thought I'd share it because let's face it, Thanksgiving is always relevant, as are references to "making turkeys."

THINGS I HAVE TO BE THANKFUL FOR (WARNING: my Thanksgiving information is in no way historical. I'm using my kindergarten, elementary school knowledge of the holiday for all the following facts)

1.) The fact that I don’t have to slaughter my own turkey for Thanksgiving dinner.

2.) My survival during the winter does not depend upon a passive aggressive relationship with a bunch of scantily clad natives I inaccurately label 'Indians'

3.) I don't have to share my dinner table with the beforementioned 'Indians' and disease-ridden Puritans coughing all over my precious dinner

4.) I won't (most likely) die of smallpox, consumption, cholera, or some other horrid disease before or after eating my turkey (of course, if I pull out my handkerchief and start coughing, that's always a sign of death. Especially in movies. Then dramatic music would have to swell while I see the blood on the cloth).

5.) That making turkeys (is this a normal expression at all? It kind of sounds like 'making babies,' which I guess is what I somehow was going for but it turned out much more disturbing somehow...) is as easy as putting your hand on a piece of paper and tracing around it.

6.) Jonathan Rhys-Meyers. Okay, so he's Irish and has nothing to do with Thanksgiving whatsoever. Who cares? I'm thankful for him. Plus, if he had been there, I'm sure the first Thanksgiving would have been ten times better as he wooed those Puritans out of their crazy religiousness. I'm thinking Showtime should follow up the Tudors with another relatively inaccurate miniseries on the early American settlements and cast JRM in it to instantly add some much needed sex appeal.

An April Edition of Jamie By the Numbers!

2010-04-29T13:15:00.001-05:00

2---approximately the number of years I have left of sanity

8,000,000---the number of minutes night class feels like on Thursday nights

150---the actual number of minutes in night class (ha, yeah right science. This is not possible)

4---number of people I will most likely punch/fight/bite/attack during the next long stressful week

8---approximately how many hours I’ve watched the Game Show Network lately. It is as addicting as meth and, after seeing Howie Mandel for that much time, pretty much as detrimental to your health/looks

7---the number of babies I’d punch if it got me out of night class

1---the number of bottles of tequila I would ideally like to consume in the next week

1---number of times I’ve been to northern Minnesota. Hopefully this number will increase! I had a great time.

And finally, a letter to my night class teacher Justin that I wish I had the guts to write on his evaluation:

Dear Justin,

What the hell?? I took this class because it was forced upon me but seriously, it should have been easy. A 1000x history class---no problem, right? Hey, don’t answer that question! It was rhetorical, you fool! I was wrong, Justin. So, so wrong. I might as well have taken a four hour class on chemical engineering. It was that torturous. Did I hate the reading material, the course topic? Again, Justin, don’t answer this. I don’t want to hear your voice ever again or even imagine you answering. No, the class was fine. You were the problem. I’ve never seen a teacher take attendance so many times in a class, not let people leave the room during class, and generally be a horrible, crazy person. And please Justin, what is up with the shaking? You shouldn’t be the one shaking---we’re the ones who have to put up with your horrific teaching skills! But I guess if I had to be you I’d be shaking too. Seriously, no offense, but every time I enter your classroom, I have an overwhelming urge to punch you in your little Muppet face. And I love Muppets. So you are really that bad. For realzies. I wish you the best in life, Justin, but seriously, if I ever get put in one of your classes again, I will literally take you out.

Thanks for a good semester!

-Jamie

No Good, Very Bad Ideas

2010-04-26T22:58:00.001-05:00

Eating ramen at midnight right before you go to bed is never a good idea.

I know from experience.

Yet after my bowl of ramen, I still do it anyway.

Maybe I just hate myself.

Haircut

2010-04-24T14:24:00.001-05:00

I am going to go get my haircut so I can stop looking like a ragamuffin or like this:

Actually, on second thought, I look way worse than that. Sorry, Oliver. Your haircut is rad.

My Confrontation With Fraggles

2010-04-22T12:09:00.005-05:00

As many of you know, I am terrified by Fraggles. This is even more strange if you remember that I'm a lover of all things Muppets. But I cannot stand behind these faux-Muppet, wall-dwelling, fire hydrant-size creatures. Mostly because if I discovered them living in my wall, I'd be terrified. Have you seen their faces, those huge, all-seeing eyes that lack any soul and/or empathy? Don't believe me? Let's examine Exhibit A

Exhibit A:

Look at that one on the far right, behind the slightly effeminate one in the red sweater (a female Fraggle perhaps? I don't know--I like to think of Fraggles as asexual and as both male/female). What is that one in the Hawaiian shirt thinking? With those big eyes, you'd think he'd/she'd be able to find a better outfit. He's /she's clearly the worst dressed Fraggle in the bunch. But this is besides the point...can you tell what's he's/she's thinking? Perhaps "I'm going to cut you" or "I'm going to nibble on your nose while you're sleeping." Forget about being scared of eating spiders while sleeping---Fraggles should be our true fear! But who knows really what they're thinking. That's what terrifying about them---I can't read them at all! No one can.

Let's examine these creatures further. Why does the one on the left have no eyes? Are they hidden beneath his/her bangs? Or does he/she see through echolocation? If he/she has no eyes and can't see, why and how can he manage to put on a hat and a stylish scarf? How can he/she match when he's/she's blind??? How does he/she manage to be more stylish than the Hawaiian shirt-wearing one?? These are all horrifying questions with no clear answers.

So what did I learn from this experience? That my fear of Fraggles isn't ridiculous? That I really do have a reason to fear these wall-dwelling monsters? Yes, all of these for certain. But I also left with one more fact:

-The Fraggle Rock Theme song got all the way up to #33 on the British music charts. That may be the most terrifying thing of all.

Clarification

2010-04-18T22:51:00.002-05:00

This

Cannot be compared to this

Unless you're willing to agree that you can compare the below:

Yes, hard to believe they're the same person.

This

And

Is not a fair comparison.

There are people who age, and people who never age. But we can agree that Hemingway ages quite well.

The Great Debate

2010-04-17T11:53:00.005-05:00

Even at the dental frat party I went to last night, the great debate arose: Hemingway or Fitzgerald. It was inevitable. I was talking to a fellow English major. There was no avoiding it. He chose Hemingway. And for clarification, Team Fitzgerald all the way. You can put that on a t-shirt. Fortunately, there were no casualties that night, although my drunken self may have promised to read a Hemingway novel and that seems harm enough.

A Disconnect

2010-04-12T15:35:00.003-05:00

Jamie and I talked about this over the weekend. Iggy Pop's voice--hot. Iggy Pop's appearance--not so much. How disappointing.

P.S. Is it weird that the first thing I thought of when I saw the first picture was "JOHN BROWN!" The facial similarities are striking.

Interestingly sad

2010-04-11T14:52:00.001-05:00

So this is an interesting side note:

Apparently, my friend's dog somehow contracted "Coonhound disease," meaning he must have come into contact with a raccoon or a dead animal. Sometimes, when this happens, dogs go into a mode where they don't contract anything and paralyze themselves from getting a disease.

The good news is, it can be treated with physical therapy.

But isn't that a strange way to cope?

On another note: Hope Poland is doing alright.

A List Relating to Not Working Out

2010-04-09T20:00:00.003-05:00

I promised myself I'd work out tonight. But instead I'm blogging. I think this calls for a list!

THINGS I'D RATHER DO THAN WORK OUT
1) Go next door where they are playing loud rap music and invite myself to their party. And show off my dormant rap skillz.
2) Jump off a hot air balloon..to see if I can land on a trampoline. Duh. I wouldn't just jump off one with no reason.
3) Wear uggs and a romper. Together.
4) Star in a movie opposite Keanu Reeves
5) Agree to write "Grease 3"
6) Eat the tofu that has been in the back of my fridge for at least three weeks.

Why I Love "Parks and Recreation" can be Summed Up in This Clip

2010-03-31T17:20:00.002-05:00

This season has established it as the #1 comedy on t.v.

Some Would Call This Trash.

2010-03-29T00:35:00.002-05:00

I just realized that I've never posted anything I've written here before.

Probably because

a. It will look shitty compared to you guys' work

b. I never write.

c. Which gives me nothing to post.

d. Look at a.

She stared furiously at the screen, not wanting to overreact. Not wanting to believe what her eyes were telling her. She hated that feeling: the boiling hot tears, forcefully trapped between her eyelids just threatening to break that invisible barrier. She hated that feeling. How she could feel herself as light as whipped cream at one moment, yet melt cheaply, in a miserable milky mess. She despised herself for falling in love too hard. She despised him. And there was really no reason too. She had no reason not to love him. The screen didn’t say anything, really. Not anything at all. And so, she continued to love him just the same and let the moment pass her by.

My Story--Continued From Last Post

2010-03-26T20:50:00.000-05:00

"I put on my wide yellow sweater with its sleeves that dripped down to my hips. It looked like looped ribbon, the way its armholes fell. The mirror reflected back my careening freckles and my frame that towers above every piece of furniture in our bedroom. I have not been pretty for a long time—my hair has gone completely white and puffs out in the knot I have tied it in. My nose and chin have grown from masculine beauty to hawkish features. I do not own any makeup and so I bypass that step and merely trade the bareness of my skin for a long-weathered watch to decorate my wrist. My eczema has faded; my body feels ready to face the tasks of the day."

Some Would Call This Literature

2010-03-24T18:03:00.002-05:00

"He will come around. Tomorrow perhaps. But today he is out on the water, sending the oar splashing and diving deep past the surface. My husband has the ravaged look of a trader, not wrinkled and torn like a sailor but whose straight body has a bearing towards the water. This morning he took the canoe out in a spasm of exercise. It had called to him in the early morning, the lake settled pale like summer cotton. Quietly, without remark, he had pulled on a long shirt with his terracotta hands and pushed off into the lake. I am too old to wake with pleasure to these sorts of adventures—I laid there full of knowledge, wishing I had something equally solitary to occupy my time. Instead, l will follow routine and sit on the shore, speechless and waiting. The only sound down on the beach will be the metronomic hit of the oars. Our routine is too early for the fishers and the swimmers."

Reasons Why I am the Worst

2010-03-23T12:51:00.006-05:00

Dear Blog,

I abandoned you--there's no nice way around that fact. And for this I humbly apologize. But even I know that an apology cannot fully heal the pain I caused. Thus I give you a list, detailing why I am the worst. Hopefully you can agree and then forgive me.

Love,
Jamie

REASONS WHY I AM THE WORST

1. After a day of traveling and telling myself that I'm going to eat healthy this week, I had a giant bar of chocolate for breakfast and felt not one ounce of regret.

2. I skipped Public Health again for probably the 20th time and decided to still go and sit at the table by the classroom, because I really like those tables. Oh, and did I mention that I actually made it there in enough time to go to class?

3. If I was on the Titanic, I probably would have clamored to the front and pushed a few mothers and children off life boats. I am 99.4% sure of this.

4. I sometimes have the urge to punch seventh graders, especially smart ones who annoy me with their intelligence. Because let's face it, if I wanted to know all that stuff about WWII I'd probably just watch the History Channel.

5. My favorite historical figure is Robespierre, a French revolutionary known best for instituting the Terror. Enough said.

6. I cry at anything relatively sad/heartwarming in movies but if I saw something similar in real life, I'd probably just laugh.

7. Churches freak me out almost as much as Fraggles.

8. I make fun of my globalization teacher...right in front of him in class. I have literally said "I want to punch him in the face" when he's standing two feet in front of me. And I make faces when he's boring me, which is all the time. And stare longingly at the clock every time he looks in my direction.

9. Speaking of globalization teacher, I literally took a video of him on my phone so I could show Erin his weird sing-songy Muppet voice.

10. I wake babies up when I hold them with my freezing hands (true story).

11. Slow old people walking in front of me drive me insane and makes me wish I could throw them aside and have it be socially acceptable. Why can't we live in that world?

12. I judge middle school girls for their horrendous taste in men (Taylor Launter?? Justin Bieber??) even though Hanson was my first concert. But at their age I had much better taste! I was in love with Sam Malone from "Cheers!" Certainly no Justin Bieber.

13. I cannot even list here what I would do for caffeine.

UPDATE: Brian added the following flaws to the list. Here they are--not replying to emails in a timely fashion, not liking Katy Perry, hating nature, being a commie, fearing Dmitri, making fun of Destiny Stavrou, making fun of blind people, teasing David Walsh, having no friends that are shorter than you (having a sister doesn't count), and for beating him at the Oscar game.

Others, feel free to add more as you like.

My One Goal For Spring Break...

2010-03-09T18:58:00.003-06:00

1. Not to do this to my hands. Even if having lobster claws is hilarious, it's very painful.

The Oscars

2010-03-06T21:58:00.002-06:00

Attention everybody, the Oscars are tomorrow. This year Jamie and I are bringing our legendary Oscar Party to Minneapolis for the first time. All I have to say is this: I'm going to throw Peanut Butter M&Ms at the screen if James Cameron or Sandra Bullock win. And I really hate wasting Peanut Butter M&Ms.

Besides that, I'm gradually being consumed by my cough. Despite that I have had a busy week between going to poetry readings, preparing for the Oscar Party, seeing my cousin Katie, and watching synchronized skating. No matter--in a week's time, I will be in Florida for Spring Break.

Maine Trip.

2010-03-02T20:37:00.003-06:00

Top 10 Things that Happened in Maine this weekend:

1. The Poljanacs coming to visit!

2. Having good weather for about a day.

3. Lobster! (Erin's first).

4. Somehow having tequila, bum wine, and other substances in one night (or is that bottom 10?)

5. Feeding Jamie blueberry muffins and kix

6. Awesome food. Seriously.

7. Dancing!

8. Hockey! (And crazy mothers)

9. Girl talks

10. Trudging through swamps. And seeing the ocean. Again.

Maine Trip

2010-03-02T11:27:00.004-06:00

Here are some pictures taken from my phone of Jamie and my epic trip to Maine. To summarize the trip in labels/key words: lobsters, napping lobsters, tequila, Maine swamps, Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, Emily and Liam doing a private dance show for Jamie and me, me showing off my maracas-move, Freeport shopping, gelato, hangover-curing sandwiches and fries, bean boots, and gazebos not part of Bowdoin campus but cool nonetheless. I'll do more description later if I remember, but I should be studying for a midterm right now.

The Last Page of the Album

2010-02-25T09:58:00.002-06:00

Well, I'm still slowly but surely working on my newest novel. Here's a little snippet, with Alexis adding a finishing touch to the album.

"And on the last page, surrounded by a border of blinding white, harsh lines around the soft blur of colors emitted from the photo, was Rachel, the last time any of us had seen her. Mom had made the kids squash together on our side of the restaurant table and hold our smiles, pause our troubles and our lives for a single captured moment, posed but labeled candid. Like we spent our days staring forward at the same target, eyes glazed and the same, just waiting to be models in a spontaneous photo shoot. The photo had never been developed, just sat there in the roll, caught in purgatory, in the living room buffet. But I took it out and, for a second, brought Rachel back to us. Now she was on the last page, unbeknownst to anyone else, at least until morning. She was here in my hands, fading in the early daybreak sun, slowly disappearing with the rest of us on the paper."

Not a hyperbole at all

2010-02-17T07:21:00.003-06:00

When I get done with all my studying for my Civil War and linguistics tests, which will likely take me deep into the night, I'm going to end up looking like this:

We'll see if I can make "late night cramming as holy as the cross."

Check it.

2010-02-16T22:50:00.002-06:00

I just wanted to make it public to you Poljanacs that I will be dedicating my fb statuses to you guys until your arrival in Maine!

So you both better like all of them otherwise I'll look like a big fat loser.

Erin By the Numbers (because Jamie Can't Have All the Fun)

2010-02-15T12:46:00.004-06:00

2-number of Bloody Marys it took my Mom to get tipsy on Saturday
3-number of times tipsy Mom called me 'Kyle' or 'Jamie'
1--number of orphan boys I spent my Valentine's Day with (and his name was Oliver. Oliver Twist)
8--number of clothing items you would have to buy me in order to get me to agree to go to a dude ranch this summer for vacation, as my Mom has insisted.
5--number of cute Valentine's emails I received yesterday.

Today I feel....like William Holden in the movie "Sabrina." So like a rich playboy in love with the chauffeur's daughter.

In order to get out of doing my homework, I would...write an episode of Dora the Explorer. I'm thinking of making it a mix between a Flannery O'Connor short story with a dash of Virginia Woolf's unstable characters.

If I had some maracas I would...eat them. I've eaten everything else in this apartment. And if you're wondering, of course I'd dance with them before I eat them.

You're Probably Thinking This is Going to be a Sad Valentine's Day Post...

2010-02-14T13:03:00.003-06:00

But it's not! Gotcha! Look at my favorite people in the whole world--Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, Virginia Woolf, Napoleon, Duncan Grant and Vanessa Bell--now those make for some eccentric love lives. And how great is that? Why must we look towards romantic comedies for inspiration? In comparison to real life stories, those seem slightly dull. It's always exciting when real life outshines fiction.

Another Edition of Jamie By the Numbers!

2010-02-11T13:38:00.001-06:00

An update? Is that what you want? Okay, I guess I'll forget my 30 pages of reading for night class and give the people what they want...

1--Number of times I fell this morning on the ice
4.5--the approximate number of times I've wanted to cry today
12--the number of hours I'll be on West Bank and away from my apartment today and all Thursdays
0--the number of pops I have at home (this is perhaps the most tragic of them all)
1---the number of days until I get to dress up!

Now, onto a new feature! Word association or fill in the blanks!

Today I feel....shitty. And tired. But mostly shitty.
Right now, I would prostitute myself in the Red Light District for...a can of Coke Zero. No, wait! TWO cans of Coke Zero.
Karma is....my prostitute name?
Life is like a box of chocolates...because the longer you are around it, the chunkier you get

One last thing...
My makeup/dress up inspiration for tomorrow

What I'll probably end up resembling instead

Proud.

2010-02-10T19:43:00.001-06:00

All I really want to say is that I'm really disliking political philosophy and I'm really proud that my rejuvenation post worked.

Is This Not the Coolest Woman You've Ever Seen?

2010-02-10T09:17:00.001-06:00

February...You Aren't Half Bad

2010-02-09T13:56:00.004-06:00

Sure, the constant presence of snow is annoying, the low temperatures are a drag, and the proximity to midterms is a bit terrifying but you know what? February, you haven't been half bad. Time is flying by with my job, volunteering, History Day, classes, Kevin, Erin, the upcoming Maine trip...it's all pretty exciting. And I get to dress up for the first time in like three years this friday!

And for all of you who are now wondering what I'll be wearing...here it is!

I'm pairing it with these dark purple oxford heels, black tights, and a statement yellow necklace. Basically I'm going for a Russian Princess look...you know, before the Bolsheviks got to them. Sorry, even my "fantasies" are laced with dorky history lessons...I'm just too practical! I've just never been the Princess type, you know? But seriously...is anybody? Who wants to be a princess? Give me the position of Queen any day. I want to actually rule--I mean, come on: Princess Diana or Queen Elizabeth? Is that even a fair fight?

That's it.

The Possibilities of a New Story

2010-02-08T14:30:00.003-06:00

I want to write a new story. I don't have the basics of it yet, but I do know, as always, it will be told by a narrator not so keen on telling his story. This is all I have:

"I do not want any one to tell my story—no one knows me enough to do it justice and I want to keep the stories for myself because although I love them, I am ashamed of them as well."

How true. It may be the most honest thing I have ever written.

Robin and Orville

2010-02-07T13:17:00.003-06:00

My Globalization teacher looks like/reminds me of Robin, Kermit the Frog's precocious nephew. He even has the sing-songy voice, although he hasn't actually sung...yet.

My Geography professor looks like Orville Redenbacher, bowtie, suspenders and all.

An awesome twosome (to look at, not do the business with of course. Because if that was the case...ew)? Yes, I think so.

In Remembrance, In Preparation

2010-02-07T12:55:00.002-06:00

This entry will attempt to be both elegiac and future-looking; it seems those two preoccupations have taken over my mind as of late. I stumbled upon my journal from my trip to Montpellier and upon reflection and re-reading, it is amazing to see how wonderful those three glorious weeks were and how far I have come since those days...I hope to return to Montpellier and the rest of Europe. My mind works better there, I am convinced.

I'll share more of my journal from last summer because it was a time when I was most happy, when I had very little worries and a plethora of discoveries.

"A trip to Avignon--not merely to pass time but to stifle it, cage it, and make the most of it. THe train took us past alternately hilly countryside and the open, sun-burned tops of cities looking like hundreds of sandcastles scatted across a paved beach. In France I am aware of my need not to bury my head in a book as I travel but to crane and dissect every object in view. THis is not merely to study it as most of the time I look no further than its surface, a superficial inventory of certain trees, plants, and rocks. The Palais des Papes had the size of its 14th century supremacy--it is easy to see the source of discontent in the Cevenols when so near towers a glittering symbol of clerical excess. Still the enormity swallowed me up and I was too speechless to chide the bones of old popes for their love of gold and echoing halls clothed in tapestries. It would not be these soaring halls that would force me to pull out my journal and jot down words which I would not allow myself to forget. On display in one of these rooms, placed rudely off center, a square of wall remains from a prison that held Protestant prisoners. The scratched words, like some grooved decoration, have an unlikely symmetry--the words are complete, planned like hieroglyphics, without an alarming sign of crazed desperation marking itself in jolted letters. In scanning all these words, only one appeared twice--vigilant. My heart insisted it was the work of one person-the words shared a similar meticulous straightness, stiff against the stone, passed down from an angular hand. I will also claim for my prisoner the phrase following the first appearance of vigilant: 21 mois, distinct and spare in comparison to all around it. As a historian I am taught to ask the answerable questions--when did my prisoner die, what did he leave behind in a documented will, if his blood line remains. When I have neither a name or lone statistic to locate the answers, I set aside my historian tools and give up on excavation. I now depend on fiction to fill mortar in the gaps or to create a wall in the first place. My prisoner found rhythmic solace in counting: the trees along the Tarne, the slices of cheese on his sandwich, the number of bruises staining his sallow skin the color of red wine, relics left behind by the periodic beating by soldiers. 21 months--this was merely another count, he told himself as the stone became pliable under his knife. It was no important than the slick, swaying trees or the cheese upon his sandwich--all his bloodied misery was boiled away to leave only the salty remains of a number and a word. Yet this would be my prisoner's only countdown, the last artifact of faith before he learned numbers were as useless as shields and fortifications. Men still devised ways to steal around such defenses and chip away where the foundation was the weakest. 21 months--they have become a part of me too, which I can feel as my lungs heave like the sound of a hollow tunnel. I feel it but do not understand. I grin at the worker at the Palace as if I have just been reconciled with all my heartbreaks and memories--she does not know the tale of prisoner and I will not share it with her."

New Novel

2010-02-04T13:35:00.003-06:00

So, as some of you may know, I'm starting work on another novel. Well, it's been in the works for awhile but I'm finally giving it my time. Anyways, it's about a family putting together a sort of reunion, memory book/film about their lives. Essentially, there will be the difference between the final product and the reality. So...here is the newest section I'm working on, about the young daughter Amanda (she's about 23ish).

Her curves were gone, lost to the air and the hospital bed. She hardly made a dent in the mattress; I had never seen her look this way. Irene, Irene, Irene…you once were so beautiful and glowing, eyes open and alive. You were my confidante in those days, the only one who knew the truth, maybe because you were the only one capable of seeing it. As if you already knew that one day it would be your reality as well…or maybe it already was…

The truth was that you never shared things with me. Back in those days, I gave up more of myself to you than you can ever really know—-I looked into your eyes and, as if hypnotized by some unseen deity, told you the truth. About me, about my problems, about my disease. Before then, I couldn’t even call it that. It was a problem, a tick, a character flaw…but with you, it became a disease. You gave me the sight I needed.

But now I know, as I see you lying in that god awful hospital bed, that there’s a reason you always understood. You could read me only because you already were fluent in the language. As you breathed life back into me, I was taking it from you. Those sandwiches you made me every morning sank like a rock to the pit of my stomach and felt cold in my body, an intruder attempting to bloat me up with its calories and carbs. Still, I ate them because you offered, unaware that by accepting them, I was taking life away from you. Pounds melted off your frame but I somehow didn’t notice, even though weight was often the only thing I saw in those days. How selfish can one person be, I wonder now? But I know that you still won’t blame me for what I have done. So I just take a seat across the room and pray that you’ll wake up, so I can prove to you that I am unworthy of your love. Even now, especially now.

Rejuvenate.

2010-01-28T14:27:00.002-06:00

So I see that this blog was suffering in the realm of under-posting, so I thought. Hey. Why not add to a post?

I'm sitting here in my apartment at Bowdoin college. Adjusting to life, sipping on a Stella Artois...you know. The good stuff.

Reverse Culture shock hasn't really hit me too hard...there's been a couple of things I miss but nothing too fascinating to really describe.

What IS shocking is how much work real school is and frankly, we're only done with the first real day of school and it's already kicking my ass! Bah!

However, I will endure the snowy (and rainy...wtf why is it raining in January?!) weather until the arrival of my favorite set of twins. We will trudge through the snow banks together, link arms, be New Englandy, and of course, eat LOBSTER. The excitement slowly bubbles...

I'm going to be ambitious tonight...

2010-01-21T12:26:00.002-06:00

I'm going to start reading the novel, "Nightwood."

"24" Returns!

2010-01-18T13:50:00.003-06:00

"24" is back which means I get a little bit meaner and more demanding. Anyways, I wanted to commemorate this occasion with a picture of Jack leaping from a tree as he did in the short tv movie before last season, but I couldn't find it. However, I did find these Jack Bauer "facts," which pretty much made my day.

1) Jack Bauer is the only reason why Waldo is hiding
2) Jack Bauer is the leading cause of death in Middle Eastern men.
Jack Bauer made a brief cameo in the film "Stand By Me" as the local bully. His character got so pissed off when the boys didn't let him take the dead body that seven years later, he killed River Phoenix. Jack Bauer never forgets.
3) If everyone listened to Jack Bauer, the show would be called 12.

And of course...
4)Kiefer Sutherland drinks to forget all the terrible things Jack Bauer has done.

Look for more Jack Bauer action tonight on Fox!

Winter Break Makes Me Lazy

2010-01-09T11:04:00.004-06:00

One of these days I'll write a dedicated post, I swear it. But right now I'm sitting by the fireplace and eating so much candy and chocolate that it's not even worth forcing my brain to make halfway interesting connections/jokes/insights. The greatest drama I can relate to you is that the trek upstairs to take a shower seems utterly daunting. Ah, the malaise of the winter break college student...

Stay alert. A post will come sometime in the near future (if I have to give a ballpark figure, I'd say somewhere in the next 1-90 days).

2010, Please Forgive Me

2010-01-03T14:56:00.002-06:00

Sorry for the wallowing and other self pity in my last entry. Luckily, after a day of exercise (racquetball heals the soul) and relaxing, I'm ready to start 2010 the right way, the optimistic way. It's going to be a good year, a different year, and you can all quote me on that.

(Happy?) New Year!

2009-12-30T11:39:00.004-06:00

So...tomorrow is New Year's Eve. At least I think it is (when you don't have classes to go to, you sort of lose track of days). Hopefully everyone has great plans and is reminiscing about all the good times in 2009. I guess I am too, sort of. I never make exciting New Year's plans. There's just something deeply sad about watching a new year start in my mind--there's almost this dark side to it, so I typically avoid the typical festivities. I'm 21 this year, which would make things a lot more fun, but still, I'm deciding to opt out. I'll be babysitting two of my favorite people in the world, like last year, and celebrating New Year's at approximately 9 o'clock. Then, once they are tucked in their beds and deep asleep, Erin and I will quietly celebrate the coming of 2010. No resolutions, none of the usual stuff. Not going to lie, I'm a bit sad this year. Because I remember last year's New Year so clearly. I had some wishes, had some moments of sadness, and, now a year later, things haven't changed. At all. I'll be thinking of the same person, wishing the same things, and just hoping next year can bring positive change.

I came across a short piece of writing, mostly autobiographical that I wrote up after last year's New Year. Here it is:

It’s New Years Eve, minutes away from the start of a clean slate. There’s so much potential in these last few moments of the year. It is all coming to a rapid end, each second flying past me towards an inevitable impact with 2009, yet I still hold out hope that 2008 can have its redemption. He could still call, I think, he could still text. In my heart, I know I am setting myself up for eventual disappointment. He has a girlfriend, he is out of town, he doesn’t love me; there is no possible reasonable explanation for why he would contact me in these final moments of the year. Celebrating the new year is for other people, those who are out on the town and drinking themselves into a sort of numbing coma. Surprisingly, I find this yearly tradition brilliant; when the year has been filled with hours of mundane memories and continued regrets, why not simply erase it all? Why remember the previous year in all its painful reality when a sip of a cocktail can quickly remedy the situation? But even I am not smart enough to do this myself. Instead, I sit on an uncomfortable couch in someone else’s home, watching the clock as I can hear the sounds of someone else’s children sleeping upstairs, tossing and turning in their little beds. Nothing in these last few minutes belongs solely to me.
11:55. In New York, the new year has already come. I should just flip on the television and watch the thousands of people that look just like me but are somehow completely different than me partying in the streets. Times Square is hundreds of miles away but I can practically hear the cheers from my seat. Popping a few pain relievers, I attempt to silence their assault on my brain.
11:56. What did I do wrong? Where did my year suddenly mistake a turn and travel down a path leading me to this moment, on this couch, sitting alone while waiting for midnight to hit? Self pity is worthless now and I’ve begun to accept that, I suppose. At 11:56, I only wish to find answers in a completely scientific way. I want to be the anthropologist, examining my life from an outside view.
11:57. I’m no anthropologist. I have to accept that. Three minutes left on the clock and I am finding it hard to breathe under the pressure of a full years amount of breaths surrounding me. He’s in Florida, I remind myself while I alternately try to forget. He’s an hour ahead in his life, probably lying in bed by now after talking on the phone to his girlfriend. Good night.
11:58. My phone is still quiet on the table. I don’t even know why I decided to bring it. There isn’t time for anything to happen. Two minutes cannot bring peace to me. Without the possibility, I quickly turn on the television in an attempt to anesthetize my emotions.
11:59. One minute. One minute and then I’ll be free from 2008’s grasp. What is the man on the tv even saying to me? Why does he feel the need to maintain the same old tired smile?
12:00. The house is still quiet around me. No one jumps out and screams “Happy New Year!” here. No champagne flows from endless bottles. There are no celebratory kisses. Of course, I knew this outcome from the very start. Yet every time I am proven right, I somehow still find myself caught in a wave of disappointment. I smile a bit to myself, trying to keep my spirits somewhat up (why start the new year in a funk?) and reach for the remote, trying as hard as I can not to notice my phone lying still on the table.

Finals Week--By the Numbers!

2009-12-17T09:45:00.004-06:00

A Finals Week edition of Jamie-By-The-Numbers!

1--Finals I've taken thus far (down with you, Irish History!)
2--Finals left in the next two days
0--Number of times I've cried this week (hellz yeah, it's almost been a successful week!)
3--the number of shots of rum it took last night to have me momentarily forget about finals
10+--the times I've watched 30 Rock on DVD this week, for a 30 minute break
5--the hours I'm planning on studying for my econ midterm tomorrow
0--...the hours I've studied so far for my econ midterm
1.5--my guess of how many hours I'll actually study for my econ midterm
55--the approximate number of how many times I've listened through Beach House's new album, Teen Dream.
38--the number of cookies I'm planning on devouring once I get home on Saturday
2--the number of solo, impromptu dance parties I've had this week, in a desperate measure to keep myself awake
4--the approximate amount of years I have left of my sanity, give or take a year

Say with Me Now--I'm Going to Amsterdam!

2009-12-13T21:22:00.004-06:00

Yes, faithful readers (1. wow, it was really hard to type "faithful" and not "Faithfull." Thanks Marianne for making me seem stupid! 2. when I say "faithful readers" i mean people who accidentally stumble upon our blog. Or my mom occasionally checking in--hi Mom!), I'm going to Amsterdam in May! For a month! I should be studying and working on things for my last week of classes/finals but my mind is in Europe. I can't help it--I've been dreaming about this day for a long time. And now it's done. I'm turning in my confirmation sheets tomorrow. Then, in 6 months, I'll be there. In Amsterdam. I love how that sounds.

And one last thing. If you remember from one of my old posts, I have a letter I've always wanted to send/give. And I am happy to inform you all that it's happening. In approximately a week. No more excuses, no more venting. So we'll just have to see how that goes...

Labels For My Life In the Past Few Weeks

2009-12-07T15:35:00.003-06:00

If I could label my life as you can for blogs, the list would go something like this:
impossible and life-threatening papers, inaugural Fraggle Rock viewing, Jamie's inevitable fear of Fraggles, too many cocktails, collective naps with Jamie, winter hats that make me look bald unless I strategically place my bangs out of the hate which would be alright if the bangs didn't then cover my eyes, red canvas TOMS, star-shaped chocolate cookies...

More to come.

A Few Questions Worth Asking

2009-11-22T22:29:00.007-06:00

It turns out the Danish are responsible for releasing this atrocity into the world. But it must be asked--Is this what actual trolls look like? Do trolls dye their hair? Why are children tricked into buying ugly toys (Cabbage Patch dolls any one?).

In honor of the new Twilight movie...

2009-11-21T08:25:00.002-06:00

"How long have you been watching me?"

"Oh, just for the past couple of months."

So there is something really impressive with this scene. It's insanely creepy and weird. But ant the same time, this actor's really hot. Such a pull of forces! However, I must say that the verdict is that it's still really creepy.

A Shoe Equation

2009-11-18T13:32:00.004-06:00

So I was having a hard time finding what shoes I wanted to wear today...then I remembered my awesome oxfords. However, as I soon figured out, oxfords + tweed=well, just look at the visual equation with the translation at the bottom of each picture...

OXFORDS

+

TWEED

=

OLD BRITISH PROFESSOR

So to recap:
OXFORDS + TWEED=OLD BRITISH PROFESSOR

Pictures!

2009-11-16T19:30:00.001-06:00

Jamie and I haven't taken pictures together in awhile. So we remedied that. I rather like the result.

A Song Bite for You!

2009-11-14T19:44:00.002-06:00

"Handsome Johnny" as played by Richie Havens at Woodstock. Kyle got obsessed with Richie Havens this summer--for a week or so every time I saw him with a computer he was watching youtube videos of his songs.

Our Flaws

2009-11-10T22:55:00.005-06:00

Emily and I discussed this a little in an email a few days ago and I think it is a worthwhile topic to expand on in the blog. So...Flaws. Got them? I definitely do--but I have a lot less than I did even just a year or so ago. It actually surprises me to think about what a cruel person I actually was not so long ago (Jamie, you can back me up on this one, and I'm sure you will). Sure, I didn't beat defenseless animals, steal money from my parents' wallets, or taunt middle schoolers in gym class, but there are plenty of things that I did do or ways that I responded to a situation that are less than admirable from where I am sitting now (actually I'm perching, but you get the idea). Mainly, I just wasn't having any fun. I was mean. I spent too much time holding grudges. I created unnecessary drama. I was taking opportunities and people for granted. I can't pinpoint where things started to change. It may have been in France, but that's the obvious answer. After all, France makes over people (see the Audrey Hepburn movie "Sabrina"). I'm happier now. I still have some flaws, but I can identify them and I'm working to fix them. Anyways, I think we could all use some time to think about our flaws and to try to perfect them. At least a few.

What Happens When You Put Me Outside F. Scott Fitzgerald's House

2009-11-10T07:25:00.002-06:00

I Can't Wait for the Holidays

2009-11-09T20:04:00.006-06:00

Thanksgiving in Chicago always brings back wonderful memories. Including Lindsay attempting to climb a tree a few years ago and finding it more difficult than she imagined.

Enjoy these other pictures including Hitler cookie, some family posing, and a festive Sadie the dog.

I Think I'll Go Ice Skating

2009-11-08T22:23:00.000-06:00

“I think I’ll go ice skating,” Edmund had declared earlier that afternoon. His partner had looked at him with a collective look of disdain. Edmund immediately went about the room in search of supplies. First, he shuttled a hat from under the dented floral-patterned couch (Michael’s questionable taste, not his own. Edmund believed it was Michael’s American heritage, bred on cowboy songs and the slow-moving wagon trains filled with calico-dressed women). Michael remained in his chair, studying Edmund’s movements. Looking for senility, no doubt, Edmund thought, as he sifted with spasmodic rounded elbows through homemade mittens and scarves to find a pair that fit his long, gaping hands. Edmund wrapped a plum colored silk scarf around his head; it was his favorite as it used to belong to her. Knocking his knee on the flat coffee table freshly stained a deep red like drapes from emperor’s chambers in imperial France, Edmund pointed a finger in Michael’s direction. Michael sat with his hands folded on his lap, ready to heed every word. He still had blonde in his center parted hair and natural redness on his cheeks. In comparison Edmund felt like a swath of grey, an eternal paled-over sky.
“Don’t think that I’m not mad at you,” Edmund finally pronounced, leaning his full slim, pleated weight upon his healthy knee.
Reprieve. Edmund knew Michael deserved reprieve. After all Michael was too stuck in the gallantry of middle age to experience nostalgia. Skating the length of the ice, hands clasped behind his back, Edmund regretted that he himself had been stricken with this pang of remembrance that could not be shaken even after he foolishly laced up a pair of rental skates. This was not it. This action only magnified his isolation, allowed him to become aware of the tight prickle of the mittens against his spots of eczema along his wrist, rather than building a helpful coalition with his past. You needed regrets for reprieve.

Weekend Plans

2009-11-06T10:48:00.005-06:00

So here's a bit of a boring, life update. I won't even attempt to make it cute with the numbers and everything. But here's the basic facts. I don't have any papers due for the rest of November! I know, how did I manage that? I didn't even realize the extent of my luck really until a few days ago. Since I'm finally over my sickness, I'm going to spend the weekend doing the following:

-movie night with friends and "Gimme Shelter"
-dinner, drinks, and seeing "An Education"
-enjoying the weather before Minnesota decides to become Antarctica
-sleep! A lot!

Are these acceptable plans? Any other movies you'd recommend seeing? Shocked that Erin and I can watch "Gimme Shelter" almost 50 times and still not get bored of it?

It Was Not My War

2009-11-04T15:39:00.006-06:00

For my American Studies class I had to interview the coolest cat around--my dad! Born in the early 1950s, he lived through some of the most trying and exciting times in our country's history. His articulation of his own history struck me as very poetic and very beautiful so I am going to share it with you all.

"The Year was 1967 and being a 14 year old teenager living in the Midwest you knew things were changing, you could just feel it, and see it. Detroit Michigan itself was going through some tough changes, especially after the 1967 Detroit riot, where 43 lost their lives. I can still remember standing outside our home, looking in all directions and seeing smoke in the skies as a city burned, and hearing actual gunshots, although faint in the distance stole a summer away from friends. Having some of my closest friends being black , things were awkward, not amongst us, but being out of the sanctuary of friends and family.

1968 , brought some of the same violence, with the Democratic Convention in Chicago, and the demonstrations against the Vietnam war, a war you did not have the luxury of cable news, giving you every detail fresh as it happens, it was a long , ugly war that our small town had lost some of its most precious young adults, and more and more leaving it seemed like monthly. The only details seemed to be the small short columns, a battle here hundreds dead, another battle there hundreds dead. We knew it was matter of time and the war finally reached our home, and within the year not only did one, but both of my older brothers were called to war....it was a very long year.

1969-- as a 16 year old music starts to influence you more and boy was there ever a time for music, and messages being sent then in 1969. You started switching from the AM dial on your radio, to the FM dial. Believe it or not there were no iPods or computer downloads back then..sorry had to include that. But FM radio was a way that bands would get their word out in music against the Vietnam war, and although I had two brothers fighting for our country, and a lot of their friends, who grew up on our block, or the block over, it was not my war. Then came that magical weekend in August of 1969 and the Woodstock Music Festival. Woodstock not only was music, it was the new generation, telling and showing the older generation that war is how things were settled by older generations, but it is now time for a change. And when 400,000 people showed up to listen to musical icons such as The Who, Janis Joplin, Crosby, Stills, and Nash, Jefferson Airplane, and possibly the most famous rendition of the Star Spangled Banner and Jimi Hendrix. Things were changing, and voices were starting to be heard, and there were a lot of Baby Boomers to be heard. The nation and world saw were people can gather and work together in Peace, and through some tough conditions endure with just the help of that person next to you. You maybe never got his or her name, but for a long weekend in August you were sending a message to the world. I grew my hair long in protest of the war. Music that till today I continue to listen to, and remember as things seemed to change, not quickly but change did come. The demonstrations and protests of the war seemed to finally take some effect, and finally in 1974, it ended .

My brothers came home from the war. But with one the war never left his mind, and he could not deal with what had happened to him there, and he eventually ended his own torment. I despise wars and for all they stand for. I miss my brother and only if Woodstock came a few years earlier, maybe he never would have gone to war, we will never know."

Dearest Blog,

2009-11-03T22:19:00.006-06:00

Judging by the latest activity, I'm sure you might come to the conclusion that Erin loves you more or that Erin is more dedicated. I need you to believe me when I say that 1. she doesn't and 2. she isn't. Blog, you need to remember who was with you during those cold winter nights. You need to remember the summer days of mournful Jamie and her depressing stories that filled your pages. When everyone else wrote you off as "old" and a "has been," I took you off the streets, bought you new clothes like Julia Roberts in "Pretty Woman," and make you over. I smiled at the spring in your step and your shining vitality. So please don't be angry with my recent neglect. I promise something for you. Soon. And if this apology isn't good enough, just look at this:

What, still not satisfied? Are you human? Oh...I guess not. But still, that's Jon "Don Draper" Hamm! What about this? Is this enough humiliation to satisfy you??

Some New Literature For You

2009-11-01T22:19:00.002-06:00

For fiction writing class we were given prompts each day for the last few days in order to create a story in a week. I still have one more prompt to go and one more to integrate into my story but here's the plot: an old man named Edmund (based on an old Duncan Grant--I mean look at that picture of him. Muse alert!) decides to go ice skating in Chicago and ends up reflecting on all that he has lost. If that doesn't sound like fun, you're crazy.

"He was skating too fast. Within a few fleeting seconds of being stifled by racing iced air, Edmund lurched forward, landing square on his knees with his hands stretched out before him clawing the ice. From his spot lying low on the ice, Edmund watched as skaters wound around him. A woman smiled as she passed him, her teeth slightly crooked and out of place. Folded around her head was a crimson patterned scarf—a scarf not unlike the one he was wearing that used to belong to Vanessa before she was lowered in a grave within a cemetery far into the countryside that grew emerald flowers with thick petals like velvet. The scarf-wearing woman had slowed down as she neared him, pulling her skates away from each other, but she did not stop. Edmund liked this consistency, this confluence of his life decades ago with his present situation, neither one holding static but always moving as Vanessa had the day the news came from Dunkirk, riding her bike down the path away from their cottage in her ivory chemise, lifting her hands away from the handlebars as she shouted that she felt very proud and suddenly very safe. Edmund once thought he had a severed life after Vanessa died, after the whole lot of his group of friends died, but here at the ice rink the woman wore a scarf and carried him in her lop-sided grin. He had to get up and join her.
Edmund eased up on to his feet, but nearly toppled over once again when he noticed her. In her wide yellow sweater with its sleeves that dripped down to her hips, it was Leon’s widow, a university professor who wrote books on early American history in a beat-like prose. Despite her age, Minnie was still freckled with gamine eyes and a tall, lithe body towered over the entire group of friends. Edmund had never particularly loved her, but he had tolerated her marriage for her husband’s sake. The day of their wedding—the group all around the backyard of Edmund’s cottage, Vanessa in a long gown of cerulean with a matching scarf, her blonde curls sticking out in the back. They had gathered around for drinks and conversation and after the ceremony slept in those same wooden chairs. Edmund and Vanessa were lovers then, he recalled, for a few more weeks at least. A dusty wind arrived in the night; the two of them had thrown a wool blanket over themselves and laughed as the bride’s bouquet rolled away and the men’s newly bought shoes were crystallized a light brown. Vanessa had subscribed to a light-hearted world order; at that time in his life Edmund had trained himself to follow even despair with a practiced chuckle. At one point, he suspected he had genuinely changed, traded his grave pessimism for Vanessa’s joy. When did it vanish? When did he stop trying? Edmund wished for a dusty wind to return at this point in his life to baptize everything that surrounded him and to bring in laughter, even if it was a phantom of sound."

Anita Pallenberg Costume

2009-11-01T11:53:00.007-06:00

The stupid fur vest (from Target's kids section) shed all over the inside of my black coat but the hat surprisingly stayed on while I danced. I had a blonde wig too but the bangs blinded me and it looked way too much like a drag queen wig to merit a picture.

One line

2009-10-30T19:47:00.001-05:00

Well, I should be doing reading for my economics class but instead I'm trying to piece together my Linda Parker story! It's still so unfinished, so rough around the edges, and I still don't have a clear outline for what I want to happen. But I did come across this line, well technically two sentences, that I had almost forgotten about. It's funny how you can read something you wrote months ago and suddenly, just like that, you are transported back into that mindset, remembering why you wrote it in the first place. It is both unnerving and comforting for me, all at the same time.

"Boys grow up, mature in the years between childhood and adulthood, even when it doesn’t seem like they ever will, and relationships can last, even if you pray that they will unravel before your eyes. I waited for him, even as his relationship passed a year, two, and three (after three, I stopped counting. My knowledge of numbers disappeared as my heart shrunk)."

-Jamie

Halloween

2009-10-27T11:34:00.004-05:00

I was initially going to be Mick Jagger circa 1968, but after finding out that the costume was going to be harder than I thought (where in the world are all the patterned pants? Urban Outfitters, you let me down), I decided to switch over to Anita Pallenberg. I will be wearing a turtleneck, blonde wig, fur, and of course, rocking the strange German accent.

Lets Have a Movie Chat

2009-10-26T17:39:00.006-05:00

This weekend I finally saw a movie that I had been interested in for awhile. Okay, that's a lie--I saw two to be exact. One was "Where the Wild Things Are." As expected, that was amazing--imaginative, beautiful, with a not-so-subtle melancholy about it. The second movie was "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford." Despite my lack of enthusiasm for westerns, I really liked this movie. Casey Affleck stole the show as Robert Ford, but Brad Pitt's portrayal of Jesse James had enough heartache and brutality that made his presence on screen as powerful and fabled as the man he was playing.

Also, although I know this sudden change in subject will draw criticism and laughter from my readers, I have to say it: I want a McFlurry. Bad.

Why Can't it Be January Yet?

2009-10-21T08:49:00.002-05:00

That's when FNL returns to NBC!! Last year's third season of the show had some of the best moments in tv history (so I'm convinced...and I've watched a lot of tv). Here's a little "behind the scenes" look at Season 4. It's short, but makes me even more excited to see what is going to happen to all those lovable and not so lovable (I'm looking at you McCoy family!) characters...

My Best Birthday Card Ever

2009-10-19T08:31:00.004-05:00

This is from one of the students I work with at the middle school. When she found out it was my birthday, she totally freaked out and kept saying that I had turned "the power age." Amazing. I have no idea what that means but it was hilarious. Before that, however, she asked if I had a boyfriend. What I've learned working with middle schoolers is that they love to ask about 1. your drinking habits 2. your partying habits 3. your relationship status. When I told her that I was single, she compared my predicament to her fellow seventh grader Rachel. According to her, I'm too perfect and guys are intimidated. Haha, I guess I'm now getting relationship tips from a twelve year old! So college boys, you need to get a life according to seventh grader Megan! Anyways, here is the card. Enjoy.

Another Phantom Limb

2009-10-18T19:58:00.004-05:00

Another passage dealing with the idea of a phantom limb. I haven't been doing much writing lately but this story, about two sisters, one who leaves nearly 2 years ago and hasn't returned, keeps pulling at me to work on it. So we'll see...

Except she’s gone, still out there away from our house, away from her family. I knew one of these days she’d finally get the nerve to pick up her things and actually leave us but I never imagined she would group me with the others.

“Sometimes you’re really just like them, Alexis,” Rachel had told me that morning, the morning. It hadn’t been the last thing she had said to me before she walked out (“can you hand me the syrup?” or “can you pass the syrup?”—-one of these variations held that title. But it didn’t have the same stinging bite of the earlier statement) but it was the only one that still lingered around. There it was, like a fresh knot in my stomach, an unavoidable obstacle for every piece of food I put in my mouth, a constant form of nausea. The week she left I lost ten pounds, the last of my baby weight as my mom likes to pretend, and had yet to recover it. But like Rachel, I still felt the weight there, just as I still felt her there, my phantom limb, missing but never gone. I kept the ache even as I lost the bone.

I Hope I Haven't Already Posted This

2009-10-18T13:10:00.002-05:00

“I was looking for you—don’t worry. I won’t stay. I was just checking to see if you knew where the butter was—” she explained bitterly, tightening the knot of her robe. As she neared him, Duncan noticed the bags under her eyes, small lavender skin swollen to the touch. She had been so happy this summer, well-rested after a colorless winter, which brought Hazel’s stifled coughs and the draining snow storms that edged through cracks in the windows. He had shuffled out of the room, sat flatly by Hazel’s crib, and returned with his own symptoms to lay him low, curled over the edge of the bed. Some days Marion hung from him, his skin slicked cold, muscles tenses, contracting against the cold. At the first awakening, she would pull out a cigarette and let it fold in her hands, his frosted over sublime eyes gathered the light and the brief convection of heat before he plunged back into an unsubstantial sleep. When he spun awake he would kiss her for her thoughtfulness and they would both climb out of bed to nurse their daughter and pray for a sudden change of seasons. There are only so many matches Marion thought, flicking snow off the windowsill. It had been a summer three years ago when she was pregnant with Hazel that Duncan gave her the robe for her birthday.

Cinderella Stories are Shit.

2009-10-16T05:53:00.003-05:00

You know what I was thinking about?

How Disney stories are just so sexist. I woke up with the Little Mermaid song, "Part of Your World" stuck in my head so it kind of just popped up. Just so you know.

I still hold that Beauty and the Beast is my ultimate favorite movie, and back when I was four and watched the movie, I had pretty good judgement. Out of all the movies, I still feel like if there's going to be some love story, both characters should be developed and there shouldn't be such thing as a "Prince Charming." It should be "Prince Charming only once you recognize what they are on the inside." Which, out of all the movies, I feel like Beauty and the Beast is the only one who actually emphasizes what's most important when it comes to relationships: Actually knowing each other and really, truly liking them. (Plus, who WOULDN'T fall for a guy who just gave you a freaking library? That's KNOWLEDGE. Liberating. Brilliant. )

Otherwise, this knight in shining armor is bull shit. Sure, Cinderella stories may be good for other things, but falling in love is not one of them. If you think about it, the Prince would have never noticed her if that fairy god mother didn't grant her the nice dress and carriage and glass slippers. And they danced for like an hour and the prince is just like "wow. You're the hottest one. I want to marry you. Great!" Or what pisses me off is why does the Little Mermaid have to change for the prince?! Why can't the prince change for the Little Mermaid? Whatever, Disney. Sure, make it seem like the Little Mermaid really wants to be human, but she's soon going to realize that it sucks when you won't really be able to see your family again. Aladdin is different, because in turn, Aladdin is the main character. And let's not pretend that Jasmine's riches is partly what he's after. When have they really talked anyway? "Oh? You're a princess? And you have money? Why don't I just whisk you away for a little joy ride and you can make me Sultan?" Sleeping Beauty? Snow White? Both taking advantage of helpless girls in my opinion.

El fin.

"You Mean I Can Write My Paper on Fitzgerald?"

2009-10-15T22:54:00.003-05:00

I found out today that I can write my American West paper on Fitzgerald. Obviously, I was ecstatic. There's only one other thing that would make me happier than hearing my teacher say that I can do my paper on Fitzgerald--and that would be, "I think you should start by researching pictures of Jude Law. Preferably half naked photos." Anyways, back on topic, it was wonderful to be able to talk to someone who knew about/loves Fitzgerald and his literature as I do. Plus my professor gave me a lot of direction for where to look for information, including recommending Edmund Wilson. As soon as he said the name, I blurted out, "BUNNY!" That's his nickname, you see. Edmund "Bunny" Wilson. And I let my professor know it. Turns out my professor's mentor at Yale was friends with Wilson, which gave me an idea. If I become BFFs with Yale Mentor (he's 96. All I have to do is throw around some Mad Men terms and I'm in!)--then by default I would be friends with Wilson, and then by that default with Fitzgerald. So easy! Now if you excuse me, I'm off to Yale to drink martinis and eat some easily digestible food.

Alcohol and Me

2009-10-15T18:43:00.002-05:00

I swear, it is just a strictly platonic friendship! For real! That photo proves nothing!

Also, I got my hair cut. Just to let you all know my day to day happenings since I refuse to join the cult that is twitter...

Parks and Recreation

2009-10-14T11:32:00.004-05:00

Jamie and I were talking this morning about the amazingness that is "Parks and Recreations." It is in its second season and truly hitting its stride. Lately, I have been looking forward to it more than "the Office." Last week's episode was perhaps the best one so far. Here's a little clip from it.

What Will You Do?

2009-10-13T10:55:00.004-05:00

What will you do with your time, the group asked her, forging bets. What is your talent? Marion eased back into the chair, listening to arguments from all sides. Jack made the first overture: you will take up painting because Duncan does so. Next, after inspection of her ankles, they decided dancing would be natural-- had she done it before? Finally, they fell upon the story of Mary Shelley. She will write novels, they spoke in unison, because she lives among men, coaxes the brilliance out of our Byrons and our Shelleys, and sees the world as we do. She will be our Mary Shelley.
Weeks later, they asked Marion if she had found her talent. Mothering, she answered, tying the laces of her boots. No money passed between the men.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!

2009-10-12T07:12:00.001-05:00

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!! Enjoy it. I miss you guys a lot.

Birthday-- One Day Early

2009-10-11T10:40:00.002-05:00

Of course Erin and I don't turn 21 until tomorrow but I've already had a wonderful celebration. The family came late Friday night and yesterday we went shopping. Thus far I got clothes, 2 more records (Blondie and Marianne Faithfull), "Away We Go" on DVD, and sparkly Tom shoes (seriously, they're like disco balls for my feet...awesome). We ate dinner at Salut, which was delicious, and then Erin got to take creepy pictures in front of F. Scott Fitzgerald's house. Finally, we came back to the apartment and watched the Michigan game. Sean came over as well and joined in the cake-eating, general boozing (but alas, not "boozin', fries-in', and Jon Hamm-in'"), and Michigan induced heartbreak. So in all, it was a great weekend. Now onto studying for econ and writing a paper. Blerg.

On the topic of waiting...

2009-10-08T21:49:00.005-05:00

I just finished watching "The Office" not too long ago. Of course, Pam and Jim's wedding nearly killed me. But Jim's speech on waiting really got me thinking. Well, more like wanting to vent. So...

Please give me a minute to vent. I'm frustrated. So beyond frustrated actually. I have a letter. It's all written out, done as perfectly as it will ever get, and it says everything. It's actually pretty short, which I bet is pretty surprising considering this is me we're talking about. But there it is, everything that I've wanted to say, everything that needs to be finally said, written on less than a page. Because truthfully there isn't much. Here it is, the obvious words, the stuff I really wish I didn't have to write (but I'm a coward, I totally am and will continue to be one). If we're on the topic of wishes, here are a few more: I wish I could just say it and not write it. I wish I knew I had the courage to just send it. I wish I could reassure myself that it isn't going to sit on my computer and be read by no one. Ever. You, the should-be recipient of this letter, probably isn't even reading this. God, I almost hope you aren't. I don't know if you'd even realize who you are anyways. But if for some reason you do read this and do figure it out, I wish you'd just say it. Because I won't. And I hate myself for it. The words never come when I need them.

But I'm going to turn optimistic for a moment. Maybe one day I'll send it.

Some Writing Inspiration

2009-10-07T08:29:00.007-05:00

This is taken from a letter written by Zelda to Scott, June 1935.

" My hair was damp when I took off my hat and I was safe and home and you were glad that I felt that way and you were reverent. We were gold and happy all the way home.
Now that there isn't any more happiness and home is gone and there isn't even any past and no emotions but those that were yours where there could be any comfort--it is a shame that we should have met in harshness and coldness where there was once so much tenderness and so many dreams...
I wish you had a little house with hollyhocks and a sycamore tree and the afternoon sun imbedding itself in a silver tea-pot. Scottie would be running around somewhere in white, in Renoir; and you will be writing books in dozens of volumes. And there will be honey still for tea, thought the house should not be in Granchester--
I want you to be happy-if there were justice you would be happy--maybe you will be anyway--
I love you anyway--even if there isn't any me or any love or even any life--"

One Final Excerpt

2009-10-06T20:41:00.003-05:00

This is how I am going to end my story. I thought I'd post it because Jamie loved it. It's after Duncan and the main narrator, Ben, have gotten separated following Dylan's song.

" Joe would be back by the time we drove home. He would be sleeping in his bedroom that smelt like drywall, eating dinner at the communal oak table that took up our entire kitchen to the fully realized delight of my mom in her lemon-colored double-breasted suit and matching hair color. I didn’t know this brother—I had been too young to mind one less person in the house when he left. I hardly knew the one standing next to me. Would I be completely undefined to him as I was to Duncan? Would he stand outside my room instead of entering it? I tried to remember the last conversation I had with Joe (I had sat next to him at the pews in those days, minding the space between our bodies, smiling grimly when we spied each other because we had nothing more to say. None of us wore glasses before he left). It was not to me, the only words I can remember—few words were spoken in my presence when I went to church and even fewer when I meditated instead.
“A con, it’s a con—“
What was a con? Who depended on it? Suddenly, I needed another opinion.
Where are the lights? The lights scorched my thoughts; I ignored."

At the Concert

2009-10-05T14:34:00.002-05:00

"I have gotten good at identifying who somebody plays for. This strum is for love idealized, that pitch for the Bible housed in his living room that entombs the flower taken from his grandmother’s funeral, the low bass line calls to the girl he left five years ago after their first glasses of champagne. Very few stories remain hidden when transferred to song. Entire histories bounce off the record player like the first symphonies made of an oracle’s prophecy. In concert, musicians are hypnotized into telling their own pasts—the Bible, the living room, the pouring of champagne into juice glasses (in the music we finally hear that although he loves them, the glasses and his girl, he is ashamed of them as well)."

Something that really annoys me

2009-10-04T03:09:00.002-05:00

I'm not in a particularly annoyed mood by any means, but as I browse through facebook, one thing that consistently pops up that annoys the hell out of me

People listing their significant others in the "Interests"

*shudder. Get a hobby. Get a life. (This is coming from someone who has just openly admitted that she creeps on other people's facebooks, I know. But oh please. Everyone does it.)

I Love the Weekend

2009-10-03T13:49:00.005-05:00

Today I curled my hair but to keep in the lazy spirit of the weekend, I stayed in my pajamas.

I like this picture. I look like a Jim Halpert wannabe. Too bad you can't see my pajamas that read "Wrap yourself in chocolate." Thanks, pajamas, but it's already been done. (Okay I didn't wrap myself in chocolate but I ate some nutty bars! Does that count?).

Also enjoy this unrelated but equally satisfying picture.

Some Snarky List-Action!

2009-09-30T14:02:00.003-05:00

Things More Likely To Happen Than A Sean-Mario Lopez Coupling
1) Hurricane Katrina--the Ride! (A new ride at Sea World, coming Summer 2012!)
2) Fidel Castro dying before the year 2035
3) Little Debbie snacks infused with green tea extract, metabolism-speeding chemicals, and less than 500% of your daily saturated fat
4) Jamie and I watching "Dark Crystal"
5) Me looking up "Dark Crystal" on google images again

Passing Along A Message

2009-09-29T05:57:00.004-05:00

Liam wants to know if you all have heard of an actress named Tallulah Bankhead (unsure about the spelling). Any opinions on this person are welcome. I think she's along the lines of your dear Miss Faithfull

He writes:

" She was a golden age film actress, and she was just as smart as a whip when it came to snappy one liners. Her last words were 'coedine...bourbon...' "

This Fall on CBS....FastForward!

2009-09-28T17:07:00.005-05:00

NOTE: Please see previous blog entry for background info on why I am writing a sitcom called "FastForward."

Scene opens on a bright, sterile-looking high school classroom. A bell sounds and two students, JILL and RON, walk through the door.

JILL: Phew, that was close. We were almost late to homeroom. Again!
RON: Yeah, no kidding. And man, I need all the time I can get to study.
JILL: I don't know about you but I heard Mr. Carter's tests are super hard!
RON: Mr. Carter's tests? Why do I care about the geometry teacher's tests today, Jill? We have that big Spanish test today!
Jill: Ron, we have the geometry test today! Tomorrow is Spanish! Weren't you listening?!

Flashback of RON staring at JILL in class the day before as Mr. Carter explains that the test is tomorrow. "Is everybody listening? Test. Tomorrow. Write it down." Cue laugh track.

RON: No way!

JILL: Yes way. Good luck trying to get out of this one....

Cue theme song!

Got a geometry test in ten minutes or less
and by golly I'm sure not ready to rest!
So I'll take my watch and set it ahead,
suddenly I have nothing to dread!
Fast-For-ward. FastForward!
Fast-For-ward. FastForward!

That, of course, is only the first verse. Also I feel the need to add that I first attempted to rhyme "ahead" with..."ahead." Then, while attempting to come up with an alternative line, I got these "helpful" suggestions from a rhyming dictionary: unwed, nut bread, day bed....yeah, thanks rhyming dictionary! Maybe I should have gone with "now I have time to eat that nut bread!" or "instead of test-taking I'll be lying on the day bed!" Wow, actually those were good alternatives...

Short Update

2009-09-27T19:50:00.007-05:00

Cans of pop consumed in the last two days: approximately 5

"Food" I'm most likely to eat next: Cosmic Brownies (which are most likely as healthy as they sound.I'm sure if I dared to examine the nutritional information, it would go something like this-- Jamie: What the what?! 30 grams of fat? In that tiny brownie? What, were they hurled down from space because of that? Rejected by some health conscious aliens or ones that just wanted to survive? Maybe I shouldn't be eating this..." Then I eat it, of course. I mean, I am the person who ate 2 year old Corn Pops in the Great Corn Pops Disaster of 2009, even after I discovered that tragic fact.)

Next concert I'm going to: Grizzly Bear and Beach House, Wednesday at First Ave

Book I'm currently reading: "The Painted Drum" by Louise Erdrich (sure, it's for my American Indian Literature class but still, it's a novel and I actually do like it...)

The probability that I'll finish my economic reading tonight: 73%

The probability that I'll watch "Mad Men" and note Jon Hamm's insane good looks at least once: 100%

AND NOW SOME QUICK NUMBERS (MOSTLY ABOUT "GIMME SHELTER")

Number of times I've watched "Gimme Shelter" in the last month: 3

Number of times I've screamed "baby!" when seeing Mick Taylor: approximately 100

Number of times Erin and I have noted the prominence of Mick Jagger's crotch during one performance in "Gimmer Shelter": 3

Number of times Erin sounded like an old, senile person by referring to the show "FlashForward" as "FastForward" (which, if you ask me, sounds like an 80s sitcom in the tradition of "Growing Pains" or "the Facts of Life"): 1

The probability that I will write a fake theme song to "FastForward" and/or a script: 96%

Number of girls wearing tails (yes, actual tails, as in basically a raccoon tail hanging out of one's jeans) I've seen on Minneapolis buses: 1

I miss Hancock

2009-09-25T08:22:00.004-05:00

For some reason, I was reminded of our yearly trek to Hancock, Wisconsin this morning. It made me realize how much I do miss my family when I'm away at school. We're weird and crazy but what would I do without such a family? Here's some pictures, courtesy of the family photographer Lindsay, of our trip.

Concert For Bangladesh, 1971

2009-09-24T12:28:00.002-05:00

For my intermediate fiction writing class I'm writing a story that takes place primarily at the Concert for Bangladesh. Two brothers attend--they are opposites. The narrator, Ben, digs meditation, rock and roll, although he is not quite indulging in counter culture behavior as we now know it. His brother Duncan (yes, another Duncan!) is more of the troublemaker, getting into fights, but ultimately a realist who goes to Church, will get a job and stay in Detroit for the rest of his life. I'm going to attempt to comment on religion versus spirituality, the power of music, and family relations. We'll see how much of that gets conveyed in my story. Anyways, here's an excerpt from the Concert as Ben and Duncan watch Bob Dylan perform.

"Duncan planted himself in front of me; his pinched body went rigid as the music slackened his cheeks and rose up the tense high-set bones beneath the skin. He looked not of this generation or the last one, more like an Irish revolutionary whose face pains a history textbook in a manic paradox of modesty and pride (he slumped upon his frame even as his iron-clad eyes guarded his failures). Within a second, Duncan diverted his attention from the stage to me. It was a sudden glance, tucked away with a spark of warmth before he breathed in Dylan’s words once more, nearly standing upon the foot of a white-haired man who kept the blurred beat of the music on the brim of his cowboy hat. I caught the bubbling laughter within my throat before it ruined the scene. We were supposed to be poets contemplating our days; we were sitting very close to the record player, our skin pricked up at the oscillating sound that hit our faces. I mirrored Duncan. How much longer would it take before our bodies could not take the beating, the vain pleasure of understanding? At one point we had been polluted—we had fought, we had smudged glasses—we had come here to be sanctified and so I waited for the trek to the other side, the clean side, where I would emerge."

Marianne Faithfull Gave Me Brain Damage

2009-09-23T12:51:00.004-05:00

I hyperventilated today.

I've never had that happen before. Sure, I have the weird habit of crying during almost every movie and I occasionally get emotional. But hyperventilation? Nope, never. And I definitely never thought the first time I would hyperventilate would all be because of a cancelled concert. I probably just lost all your sympathy right there, huh? A little bit of brain damage over a Marianne Faithfull concert? Probably doesn't seem worth it. Probably seems stupid above all. And maybe it is but I hope you'll hear me out first.

The Marianne concert on October 12th was supposed to mark my 21st birthday. Today I got an email just stating the facts--scheduling issue with the Guthrie caused the concert to be cancelled. Just like that. So what? A concert is cancelled--there surely have been other good concerts and there certainly will be many more. But no one understands the devastation those words caused me and no one ever will. When this summer plunged me into its continued depression, brought me down to those low, low moments, I always had Marianne to fall back on. Her songs narrated my days--in fact, I spent many of my 9 hour days at work listening only to Ms. Faithfull. Just like my character Zooey relied on Linda Parker to keep her afloat, I knew Marianne would keep me going. I could always rely on her. Then, after a particularly bad week, I discovered this concert. Marianne would be coming to Minneapolis--on my 21st birthday! It was a sign, I had thought, and I excitedly told everyone about the news. Things were going to be all right. Marianne was coming to Minneapolis and I could finally cross off that one thing on my "things I have to do before I die" list. Okay, I don't have a list but if I did, it would surely be on it. I hardly ever have lofty or extreme ambitions--come on, I want to be a public school teacher!--but I knew I needed to see Marianne. It didn't matter what mood I was in or what other things were happening in my life--I could listen to her fluffy 60s pop songs, the fall from her innocent image, the rough 70s, and the triumphant return to the music scene, and follow her lead. I would go on--I would live and come out better for it.

But not anymore. I got the news and something changed. I don't know if I've ever been this disappointed. Sure, I've been hurt before, I've certainly been more sad...but this heavy disappointment is hard to lift. I bet you're wondering how disappointment turns to hyperventilation. Well, here's where the hyperventilation comes in--I got the news and the first thing I thought of was that I had to tell my mom so she could tell Lindsay so she could cancel her plane tickets. That's always how my mind works--immediately think of how it's going to effect others. I'm on the phone and I'm crying a bit because after a long and "off" week, I was just sad. There isn't any other way to put it. Then it sort of turned into this deeper sobbing--not really crying but this deep but short breaths. She was talking and then suddenly I couldn't even hear her anymore. I couldn't catch my breath, I couldn't even sit up straight. Then I managed to say that I couldn't breathe, I couldn't even breathe anymore, and I hear her yelling at me to get Erin. Then all I remember is holding out the phone, just waiting for Erin to come and then just lying on the bed, unable to move. It was all a horrible, nasty blur. Overdramatic? Probably. But I couldn't help it.

In the end, what I'm saying is this--the Marianne concert, in a way, was the event that was going to tell me that I had made it, had survived, and now, now I would celebrate! It was my concert, a sort of party for entering official adulthood. And now, with it taken away, now I feel like I was just uninvited to my own event, erased from my own perfect future life. It was right there and I missed it. And I have no idea how to get it back.

No Second Chances

2009-09-23T07:35:00.000-05:00

Another short passage...

"What Chris didn’t understand was that Linda Parker didn't need to be my mother. Regardless of parental ties and family trees, we would share the same genetic code, the same probability of falling down a rabbit hole from which we cannot escape (85%), each stuck with the same look in the eye when we had been disappointed beyond repair. Because that was another thing we shared: once you broke us, there was no chance at recovery. If you had been proven as unreliable, as someone who would break our trust, then you were gone from our lives forever. No one was worthy of a second chance. Not even you."

A Postcard

2009-09-22T15:28:00.000-05:00

"I had only begun my path towards recovery when it came. The various mass mailings with the typical misspellings ("Open this Tuesday form 2-4!"), the two white envelopes holding stern bill notices, and then, tucked innocently between a JCrew catalogue and a flyer for a new salon, a postcard. While I had expected its arrival days before, in a time when its presence was longed for, now it only brought nausea with its cheery photograph front. This postcard came from a person who no longer existed. It came from a boy who was quick to compliment and even quicker to touch. This boy had made our plans, plotted out a temporary (even more temporary than I had even thought) future that promised me there in his life. But that was then, that was the boy trapped in the timelessness of the card. But he no longer lived in this world."

-Jamie

The Ending at Last

2009-09-21T21:52:00.004-05:00

I had always told myself that I would hold on to this ending and not share it until the story was done. Well, I haven't worked on it in awhile and you know what? I'm going to share it with you. Whenever I read it, I want to finish the story, but there is still much to be told and I do not want to hurry it. So here is the end, the parade. We have made it.

"We hopped onto the float; the wood shook a bit with our weight but soon accepted it as part of its own. A noise, a generous lurch forward, the sirens of the five firetrucks (one of Hancock’s own and the rest borrowed) singeing holes in the blue and white sky. It was too loud to speak to one another. We smiled because we had given everything we could and sat there listening to the trembling gravel beneath us, surrounded by people we knew and people whose faces held no recognition. Natives and foreigners, they all knew the troubles it took to get here on the float: the people who fell out along the way, the fights we endured even as we worked towards the same goal, and the lake that we were forced to forget. It felt like change, the wind blowing warm and cascading. All Anna’s triumphs would never reach me; I would never see her win her battles. She would have other people to be the recipients of her daily jokes and anecdotes from the weekend (she had shared a car with a rising politician. I was not who she told this to; a matter, though it is not my fault, that I deeply regret). She had wrecked irreprehensible damage. These are the Gambetta Blues that got me to this float, and here I am, revealing them to the entire town. These are also my triumphs, which she will not witness or be told about, and I relish in this eager privacy (even as they watch me, all of them). "