I started writing every day for this site, 100 Words, which is really awesome. However, you can't submit your words unless you complete an entire month. I managed to either never finish these months, or lose the entries. So here are some random, non monthly rants I wrote, but couldn't submit. Why do you care? Well, you don't, but I don't know what else to do with these. For the record, I have finished a bunch of months on that site; I'm not a total slacker!
January 1, 2002
Welcome in the new year! "02" is difficult to write out quickly. Maybe I just need to get used to it. Last year was actually pretty darn good; even Christmakkuh passed without too many hitches. So my grandmother hates my hair and thinks Iím too fat; I managed spectacularly well to not kill her. Life was my gift to her this year. My sister has a new girlfriend. Her husband also has a new girlfriend. Whoa, itís the same person? So Alison, Steve and Liz have a 3-way thing going. At least you canít accuse my family of being boring!
January 2, 2002
I read my e-mail this morning for the first time since mid-December...Stuart Adamson has committed suicide. Why, Stuart, Why? Big Countryóthey defined my early adolescence. That music fueled my imagination, inspired me to think of distant lands and far-off times. "The eagles soared above the clouds and deer ran in the hills. And I may walk in cities, where the wolf once had his fill. Here is strength for us to fight, turn the old to new. Wipe our eyes of misty years and see the future through." Weíll miss you Stuart, I play the bagpipes because of you.
January 3, 2002
The multi-colored piles of puke from New Yearís Eve are still frozen to the sidewalk around my block. I sidestep a particularly virulent-looking chunk of reddish-brown hued party fallout on my way to the bus. Perhaps Boston will never thaw, and archaeologists will dig up the last glacial remains of 2001 and form some kind of theory about the human race as we know it. It would probably be to our advantage to be seen as a race of party animals, perpetually creating permafrosted bacchanalian sidewalk decor. Much better than the warlike, polluting race of warriors we seem to be.
January 6, 2002
Iíve eaten ĺ of a saltine, and I still feel nauseated, even the thought of drinking water is making me feel queasy. This is probably not the time to eat some of Tanyaís homemade Boston Baked Beans (her grandmotherís recipe). Ouch, it hurts to write that. Letís move on to a less stomach-lurching topic, shall we? Um... Pianos. I canít wait to live in a house with a piano again. I miss hammering out Clementiís sonatinas in my extremely untalented way. I need to practice more.
January 8, 2002
I got to ride
How does that phrase go? "No money, no honey." Is that an old adage, or is it a Beck song? Sometimes I get confused. Maybe itís both. Whatever the origin, that phrase about sums up my life. Solitude can be nice, but add to it my nose is runny (allergy season). Rolling across my desk is a dust bunny (note to self: clean!). I have a CD by Donal Lunny. Heís usually talented, but this album is funnyóItís kind of cheesy and...uh...sunny? OK, so Iím not the best at freestyliní. Ice T is in no immediate danger of unemployment.
June 2, 2002
Maybe Andreiís dad was a Nazi. It makes sense; heíd be the right age now if he were still alive. Is that why Andrei only met his dad twice in his life? Why was Andrei so strangely quiet and withdrawn after we saw that Nazi movie tonight? Why is he so obsessed with me being Jewish? Ah-ha! Itís all coming together now. Thatís why he had to leave Ukraine! Is that why his mom has scars from the KGB. He never talks about his past; he only drops tantalizing hints. For once maybe reality is more interesting than my imagination.
June 3, 2002
Henceforth, I shall devote my life to being the best Old Spinster I can be. Perhaps Iíve been reading <i>Anne of Green Gables</i> too much lately, but there seems to be a certain glamour and sophistication to Old Maidhood. Judging from the recent carnage in romantic pursuits, Iíd say the Spinster Lifestyle would suit me well. There will be no more getting the dis from supposedly Nice Jewish Boys! No more irritating guys at all in my life! Iíll have to acquire about 30 more cats, though, and hone my budding eccentricities. I can knit afghans; Iím half way there!
June 4, 2002
My dad communicates with me now only through e-cards. In the Dark Ages before we were all connected, he would have to actually talk to me to pose questions about my car. In a previous life, I would actually hear the phrase "So, howís the car running?" with my own ears. And, if I were in a talkative mood, I would relate the latest brake deficiency or imitate carburetor noises while he sympathetically lectured me on proper auto maintenance. Now, all I have to do is punch up www.tackymail.com and send another random collection of binary digits in his direction.
For me, success lies in happiness and freedom, not in material gain, power and prestige. Of course, to everyone else, Iím a Loser with a capital L. To me, Iím just idyllically, romantically poor. Poverty has a certain noble element, but basically: it sucks to not be able to pay the rent and have to sell my flute and viola to come up with the cash because I accidentally paid my bills twice last month (duh). *I* think Iím successful. Iím happy, and I have unlimited freedom. But maybe Iím just using so-called personal philosophy to justify my own ineffectuality...
June 6, 2002
Itís been raining for 3 days now. Rain is beautiful! Not only is it pleasantly wet, and perfumes the cityís atmosphere, it also washes away the grit of the worldÖor at least the dog poop mountains caked along my street. The mountainsí faithful partner, pee, smells sickeningly sweet after itís dribbled down walls and pooled in sidewalk cracks for 2 days. It fills the air with a certain pungent aroma that drifts through my open bedroom window in the mornings. Now Natureís own air freshener is freshening my scented wake-up call, and causing the back alley violets to violently bloom.
June 9, 2002
I will never tire of studying Dungeons & Dragons players. They are my favorite anthropological subjects! Luckily, with my gaming housemates, I live in a hotbed of D&D activity. Yesterday we went for Dim Sum, which is always interesting with a group of highly opinionated 300-pound antisocial D&D enthusiasts just back from a major SCA (Society for Creative Anachronism) event. They all called each other by their SCA names and shoveled in pork buns at an alarming rate. Now I can put it away with the best of Ďem, but these barons and baronesses of Nerddom have me completely licked.
June 11, 2002
What do you do when someone tries to convince you that youíre not funny? Humor is so subjective. Andrei thinks his idea (I wonít go into details) is hilarious, while my idea (which is more subtle) is totally stupid. I think his idea is dumb. Yet, he firmly believes that there is a Higher Concept of Humor out there in the universe that he, and he alone has the power to tap into. Mere mortals like myself arenít worthy of this gift. Therefore, it is his duty to enlighten us comically-challenged paeans in the higher concepts of amusement. Ha ha.
1. Standing under showerheads. 2. Playing hide-and-seek 3. Sleeping on Greyhound buses. 4. Walking through the woods, and not getting hit with branches. 5. Ducking under CAUTION tape. 6. Stretching out in bathtubs. 7. Sitting in those little kindergarten chairs. 8. Swinging from tree branches. 9. Crawling under tables to pick up fallen objects. 10. Sympathizing with the token midget character in sci-fi movies. See? Being short has its advantages! Just because I can never reach anything on top of the refrigerator doesnít mean my life is meaningless. I can fit in any hiding place in my grandmotherís house still!
When I think of the 80s, I instantly think of only the music I liked. Big Country, Simple Minds...However, most 80s music just sucked, as I painfully was reminded last night at 80s Night at the local watering hole. Boston? *shudder* theyíre a Beatles tribute band now. Bryan Adams? The Canadian invasion was not one of the decadeís high points. John Cougar Mellencamp? I suppose hick-rock deserves its place in history. I guess the point of nostalgia is to conveniently forget all of the bad things, while bathing the good parts (like U2ís 3rd album) in a hazy, rosy glow.
Iím avoiding my housematesí kite-flying party to hang out with my friend Krustee. Itís cold and rainy out, and I really would like to spend some time away from these D&D enthusiasts with whom I live. Not that theyíre bad people, I mean, I like them a lot! Itís just that I burn out on them easily. I mean, Iíve seen them practically every single day for the past 2 years. I need a day (or at least a few hours) to escape from them. Besides, Krustee doesnít come to town that often, and I really hate baloney sandwiches. Yick.
Tequila is an evil invention. I canít think of anyone who wouldnít agree with me, even tequila enthusiasts. I just wanted a nice evening out, a chance to meet some of Danís friends, and maybe have a drink or two. I didnít plan on having people lick salt off my cleavage. Really. I played pool as well, something I havenít done since I was 15. Of course, Iíd go to hit the cue ball, and miss it by about 3 inches, but luckily, everyone else was under the influence of the evil tequila, so it didnít matter all that much.
The Internet is a wonderful thing. I mean, how else would one ever gain the opportunity to discuss buttplugs with a complete stranger who lives on the opposite side of the continent? I have MSN messenger to talk to Dave, AIM for Krustee, Squeals, and Dan, YIM for conversing with Boris...I spend more time not-really-talking to people than I ever did actually talking to these people for real! The world seems smaller now...but ever more distant. I can converse with people thousands of miles away, but I never really get to know people any better. Instead I learn about Buttplugs.
June 14, 2002
Iíve had two nights in a row of drinking and revelry. Both of them work nights, one of them a school night as well. I thought I was supposed to get all of this out of my system in my teens! Actually, I didnít drink at all in my teens; I was much too big of an anti-social reclusive geekette. Now Iím making up for lost time--pushing 30, and practically an alcoholic. Well, if I went out more than 3 times a month, and had more than 3 beers each night, Iíd probably be an alcoholic. Itís all subjective.
Ellis the Rim Man has gone forever. It was a sad day when Ellis closed his doors. The Rim Man, with his giant macho billboard above a sketchy auto parts store was a prominent landmark in Allston. However, hope still lived on, as his giant billboard stayed on top of the building. Jed wanted to open a gay disco under that hallowed sign. But now, it too is gone. What will the B-Line commuters snicker at as they snail their way past the St. Paul T stop? Not the Rim Manís sign. Itís now for Sale, Rent or Lease. Alas.
June 20, 2002
Itís been 3 days since the Daniel Incident, and I think Iím getting over it. At least, Iím marginally less bitter about the whole thing today. For example, I no longer want to twist Danís scrawny geek neck around so hard that his eyeballs go shooting across the room and splat against the wall with a pleasing plopping sound before dribbling down to gently land on the linoleum where I stomp them flat. Simply stabbing him will suffice. I suppose being used for sex isnít the worst thing on earth. I mean, at least Iím being used for something productive.
Day off! Yay! So what if Iím driving 6 hours to attend a stupid wedding full people I didnít really know that well in high school. I hate weddings, but hopefully this one will be short and sweet. They probably wonít like the picnic basket filled with Star Trek plates I got them for a present, but nobody ever likes wedding presents. Itís a rule. Brides want whatís on their registry list. God forbid you should ever pick out something meaningful, and from the heart. As soon as you get married, itís like you turn into a china-and-silver hoarding fiend.
I hate weddings. However, when youíre an almost-30-unmarried-female, you canít admit that. Such an utterance elicits knowing sideways glances from your unsympathetic listeners. Of course she hates weddings because sheís jealous sheís not married yet. Of course. Sheís just another catty female who longs to be the one marching down the aisle in a big white poofy dress. No, thatís not it at all. Iíd like to believe that the human race has evolved past the need for superficial rituals to mark time. Funerals, bar mitzvahs, weddingsóall gatherings formulated to force socialization with relatives who should forever remain long-lost.
Why I hate Weddings, Part III.
I was seated next to Dr. Kirkland, a retired Cornell classics professor.
"what do you do?" he asked.
I described my job, and hobbies.
"What?!?" he demanded again.
I repeated myself.
At the third time he demanded "what?!?" I said, "ANTHROPOLOGY." "Oh!" The light of recognition illuminated his face. I had given him license to describe decades of terrible Cornellian anthropology professors. That somehow inspired him to talk at me in length in Ancient Greek, nodding his head, encouraging me to converse with him. I think I had mentioned Iíd been to Athens once.
June 24, 2002
Back home, back at work. Back in the swing of things, my back hurts; it really does. Itís wicked hot out, but the basement where I work is freezing. My fingers are numb; I can barely write. E-mail is down, Iím sure pandemonium reigns elsewhere in the building, but itís still nice and quiet here. Iím sure my apartment will be stifling tonight when I get home. Maybe Iíll get my newly-out-of-storage bike on the road and go for a midnight ride. Who am I kidding? Iíll never be able to stay awake in this heat! Maybe a 9:00 ride.
June 27, 2002
Iíve never been anywhere west of Buffalo, NY before. An internet buddy of mine in L.A. is turning 30 on Saturday; I got an e-mail party invitation from his mom this morning. I found a package deal online that includes 3 nights in a hotel, plus round-trip airfare for $322, a price that I wonít have to sell too much crack to afford! Yet, I planned to go on vacation this week with my housemates, to help Tanya clean out her dead motherís house, which sheís been putting off for years. Should I be good, or should I be reckless?