tavie.com

Fuck THAT! I just got 8625!

YEAH, I love this game. Who needs schoolwork???

Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:52 PM | shower me with attention

sarah said:

+ 4:43:33 PM +
i just got a 7200 on a random game... beat that! (seriously though)

Hee. I just got 7635 on today's puzzle. My highest score by far. Damn, this is addictive.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:47 PM | shower me with attention

My sister called last night (I'm here, of course), bored and stir-crazy, and came over here late at night. I stumbled off to bed and left her and Gina watching John Leguizamo on HBO.

I should really pick a topic for that feminism paper that's due in like a week, shouldn't I? And start, you know, writing it or something? Maybe. I don't feel like it. Not right now.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:31 PM | shower me with attention

Friday, October 19, 2001

{{{{{{{{{{tara}}}}}}}}}}

Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:38 PM | shower me with attention

{{{{{{{{{{sarah c}}}}}}}}}}

Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:35 PM | shower me with attention

My mom just checked with some Canadian travel advisory and reports that as of 6:30 am, Friday, Oct. 19th, the wait for border crossings is normal.

So there!

Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:33 PM | shower me with attention

By the way, a tip. Screw warm milk, it doesn't work. Know what works? Wine. Wine works.

Except I have a headache this morning. And I'm still sleepy.

Get back to work, soldier!

I keep thinking I hear Bruce. This is. Not good.

Oh! Oh. Okay. Are you passionate about anything? I mean, really. Don't say "Dave Foley" or "my girlfriend" or "going to concerts by xxxxxxx" or "sitting on my ass watching tv". I mean, really. Think about it and give it some careful thought. Like, if you write blank verse, or draw comics, or teach kindergarteners how to read, or you're in a comedy troupe, or you wake up every morning dreaming about welding something, and it's what you think about in the off-hours, and maybe it's what gets you out of bed in the morning, and it occupies a good deal of your free time and thought-- or maybe, you lucky bastard, it's your occupation-- then I want to know about it. But only tell me if you're sure you're passionate about it.

I want to know, just, because I was thinking last night about how I'm not passionate about anything, really, and it bothers me. So I want to see what other people are passionate about. Maybe I'll get an idea and become passionate about something.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:51 AM | shower me with attention

I definitely have to see this movie, as recommended by Steve, for I lay awake long last night trying to figure out what to do with my life and I could really use some pointers.

Me sleepy.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:35 AM | shower me with attention

Thursday, October 18, 2001

It pisses me off that I now automatically use Windows keyboard shortcuts when I'm at home on my Mac, and have to go "D'oh!" every time before I remember to use the Mac keyboard shortcuts that had been previously so deeply ingrained in my fingers. Because I'm so used to using a damn PC now. Ptoo.

Now for the good stuff:

...so I was really worried I was about to look like Jimbo Bumpkin comin' into town for the pork rind convention.

How can one not be completely charmed by him? ROFL. What a beautiful account. It makes me look very good, except for the parts where I don't know where the hell I'm going, which I thank Steve for playing down. And his favourite part was my favourite part, by the by.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:32 PM | shower me with attention

This could be very bad news for our upcoming trip to Toronto.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:25 PM | shower me with attention

I had thought I might want to see Breillat's film "Fat Girl", but, reading the reviews, I don't really think I do at all. I am, however, undeniably curious about the "shocking" ("horrifying", "disturbing", "hard-to-watch") ending that every review alludes to. Has anyone seen the film, and can they shed some light for me about what is so horrific about the ending? Email me with an explanation/description if you can help.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:07 PM | shower me with attention

Why are Margaret Cho tickets so expensive? Sigh.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:02 PM | shower me with attention

I want it known that this is not me.

(I wish, however, that this was me, for it is still my favourite.)

Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:12 AM | shower me with attention

And some more minutiae before I wander off in search of more data to enter.

Everyone's talking about BNL's cover of Lovers in a Dangerous Time makes me seriously miss the old "BNL Rarities" tape that sarah made for me years ago when she was introducing me to the splendor that is BNL. She made me, by the way, the perfect beginner's compilation, hooking me immediately with every single song. I gobbled them up like candy corn. And the rarities tape was one of my favourites-- now, alas, a casualty of time. But I still have the video she sent of them performing that live. And lots of other old videos of them too.

Yesterday was my mom's birthday. Kirsten and I went to Grand Central Market and bought her pat� and a chocolate cake and roses. I like having money now. We came home and had wine and pat� with her, and she giggled and talked about her upcoming trip, and it was very good. Then we had Chinese food and watched The West Wing, and there was some gastronomic confusion. Good times.

There are not one, but two new memos about anthrax scares and mysterious packages in the mailroom here. I can't even muster up concern now. I hope there's no actual anthrax, I hope no one gets sick. That's about it.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:36 AM | shower me with attention

Instead of being amused by the fact that Steph has succeeded in making me start paying attention to Domino's commercials, I am fixated by her latest entry, and specifically by her mentions of having a dog, which I had known but not dwelled upon, and being wracked with jealousy at that fact. And really, everyone who has a dog, but I was just thinking the other day that if I was half a good a writer as Steph I wouldn't suffer so much angst. Jeezum crow, please do not try to argue this point with me because you will fail. A writer and she owns a dog, and she is, by the by, two years younger than me. Just saying. Must stop making friends with people in the Goose camp.

I am now accepting applications for new friends. Only poorly spelled submissions will be considered. IQs in the triple digits need not apply.

Must see that Domino's commercial. I like it when people see long, brown hair and think of me. That pleases me.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:26 AM | shower me with attention

Hey, Wayside School books rock. I think I'll reread some when I'm done with Emily. And there's still that last Harry Potter to get to... see, they couldn't succeed in ruining children's literature for me.

The worst thing about warm milk is the aftertaste. If I were a baby calf I couldn't graduate to grass fast enough. I have inane thoughts and then I write them down. And it's not going to stop. Not going to stop. Not going to stop 'til... nope, never.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:37 AM | shower me with attention

I'm reading Emily of New Moon right now. Therefore, whether she knows it or not, Goose is copying me. This is very exciting.

This is a book that takes you to Prince Edward Island. The imagery is very vivid so that if you are sitting at lunch eating turkey-and-butternut-squash-salad and drinking cranberry juice and you happen to be reading the book, you will suddenly not be in a crowded Wall Street cafeteria, but instead, on Prince Edward Island. It is very beautiful there.

This warm milk tastes nasty. And I'm not any sleepier. Crud.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:29 AM | shower me with attention

Someone is going to be tired tomorrow. Someone shouldn't have slept all day. Someone is going to be very sleepy and cranky in a few hours when the alarm rings. That someone may or may not be Dick van Patten, but probably isn't.

I'm going to try warm milk. I hate warm milk. I think the myth is if you drink a beverage you really hate, somehow it will cause you to want to become unconscious to avoid having to drink any more of it? Something like that.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:25 AM | shower me with attention

Wednesday, October 17, 2001

I scored very highly on the Frank Family test; I am, in fact, to borrow Kitana's phrasing, Goose, with an insouciant hint of Mama Goose!

Ideal, I say.

Oh, also: I'm not at work. Oh well.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:36 PM | shower me with attention

Tuesday, October 16, 2001

Do you think that if I went off my medication I would be able to succeed as a brilliant, miserable artist?

Like, would I suddenly be creative and passionate and artistic along with being unable to get out of bed or cope with people?

Hm.

I don't remember much what I was like before, but I don't think I was much more creative than I am now (which is hardly at all.)

Pity. I'd be willing to try it if it would get me results.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:20 PM | shower me with attention

We want to make you aware of a false anthrax scare on Friday, October 12, at our [...] facility in Manhattan. An employee was involved in what he considered a practical joke, leaving an open envelope containing white and brown powder on a desk of another employee.

The envelope was spotted by other employees and caused considerable alarm. Our security personnel tracked down the source, and the employee admitted the hoax. He is now facing disciplinary action, including dismissal.

We are distributing this notice not only to ensure that you are informed of what actually happened, but also to make our policy absolutely clear. In this time of heightened anxiety, there is no excuse to cause needless alarm, distress or potential disruptions. Any such actions will be considered grounds for dismissal.

Jackass.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:12 PM | shower me with attention

I feel the need to remind everyone that I was in the audience of Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego in grade 6. My whole class was. We all had to take a test to determine who would get to be contestants. My "friend" Lisa tried to cheat off my paper and got us both disqualified. My other "friend" Amy got to be one of the contestants. (The other two were Suzy, the bitch and Nina, the bitch-- both supersmart, Suzy slightly bitchier but Nina more hated because she was the best student in the class. Incidentally I saw Suzy on the street the other day and she looks like a Supermodel and probably is a grad student somewhere Ivy League, and I remembered what a little witch she was to me in grade 6 and wondered if she can possibly be a happy person with that kind of personality.)

Anyway. Nina won. Amy lost miserably-- sad at the time, but delicious in retrospect. (Oh, so what if she's searching the web and one day comes across this. So what. You made my life hell in grade 8, girl.) And at the end, when the entire audience is supposed to yell "DO IT, ROCKAPELLA!" and then get up and dance on the map, who is the long girl sitting in the bleachers, refusing to dance? The fat girl in the wide red-and-white striped shirt and the dismal expression? That's me, chilluns! How cool I am. "Do it Rockapella"? I sneered. "Phoo."

(Okay, no I didn't. I just thought it.)

Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:03 AM | shower me with attention

Erica is having similar school troubles to me. She should call me. Hint, hint. No, I'm serious, Aggie, call me.

Only she actually goes to school right next to Ground Zero, and I go to school seventy blocks away. So, what's my justification? Why can't I make myself go to school? I am seriously fucking up. And there's no real justifiable reason for it. Usually I just go home straight from work because I'm tired. So? People work and go to school all the time. Okay, but when I do go, in all except the feminism class, I find that I have to leave right away. I just can't sit there. It's because in my other three classes-- math, psych, children't lit-- the professors are just bloody awful. They just are. I know it's hard to be a teacher, I have great sympathy for the difficulties of teaching, some of my best friends are teachers, and generally I give way more than the benefit of the doubt. But I just cannot sit and listen to people making no sense, or talking in accents I can barely understand, or talking for 75 minutes-- lecturing, not conversing-- about Harold and the Purple Crayon. Nothing in depth. Just a page-by-page description of the action.

Harold has a crayon. Notice how he uses it to draw things. Notice how the page is cream-coloured and the crayon is purple. Notice how the moon appears on every page.

And between every sentence that intolerable sucking-hissing intake of break. I can't deal with it.
Of course I'm fucking myself up in feminism, too. And I LIKE that class. I emailed my professor and asked her to help me catch up so I might be able to salvage that one 'cause she's really cool. But I can't even think about writing papers, I just can't. I never did write that "paper" (read: third-grade book report) for Children's Lit. I have to drop Children's Lit.

It all feels pointless this semester. Nothing I'm learning--or not learning-- seems important. I'm fucking myself up badly. I should withdraw while I still can. But then what? Another ten years as un undergraduate in this school that I hate more and more?

Asti says I have post-traumatic stress disorder. My mom says so too. But the bad dreams are rare now, and I can look out the window here and everything, and I don't really cry much at the news anymore. My feet are all healed. Everyone I know is fine-- as fine as can be considering the state of affairs we find ourselves in-- and my well of excuses has run dry. I'm fucking myself up, period.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:46 AM | shower me with attention

And now the latest from The Aftermath in New York City as it Affects My Life Personally:

Okay, so I got in late this morning. I slept a little longer than I should've. Big whoop. I take three trains to get to work. The second is the 6, from Broadway-Lafayette to the Brooklyn Bridge. (You stalkers taking notes out there?) Shortly before the train arrived at its last stop, it just... well, it stopped. And it sat there. And sat there. As I was sitting near the front next to the conductor's chamber I could hear him quite well inside, saying things like, "Could you repeat that? I think I ate that transmission" and "How long?" Then the automated computer-voice message came over the loudspeaker, nice and clearly (I love these new-fangled subway cars),

We apologize for the unavoidable delay.

Then we sat.

Finally he conductor came out of his little box, shrugged at us. "They found some powder at 77th street."

Some murmuring.

"Shouldn't be too long." Back into the box.

More murmuring.

"Our bosses will have to get used to our being late," said one guy.
"Yeah," said another guy. "I wish they'd go back to regular crime."
"The good old days," laughed a lady.
"With this and the bomb scares..."
"Yeah, there was a bomb scare at my office yesterday. Got in two hours late."
"They found powder at my work, too. Practical joke. Guy got his ass fired."

Etc, etc. This is life now. Fucking assholes laying down fake powder, and of course we can't not take anything seriously because people have died from anthrax. Or was it just that one guy? Anyhow, yikes. Whatever.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:28 AM | shower me with attention

Monday, October 15, 2001

Catching my reflection in a window today, I hit upon the perfect description of my appearance. I imagined it appearing in a book:

She looked like a blob of uncooked dough that has been given to a child to play with, turned grey and lumpy from being handled too much by careless, dirty little paws.

Someone should write a book about me.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 5:58 PM | shower me with attention

I think you definitely did the right thing, Steve. Even the smallest "if" could be something, and it just doesn't hurt to be suspicious these days. Better that than having anything else go wrong in this madhouse that we now call everyday life.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:32 AM | shower me with attention

So this morning I get in and there are 2 emails and a memo about anthrax. From the memo:

Last Friday, an employee at 60 Wall Street notified us that a suspicious package was received in the mailroom... We immediately notified the appropriate authorities, and four employees who handled the package are now being tested. Although highly unlikely, we thought it best tot est for exposure to anthrax, and thus far no contamination has been found...

We are now all living some sort of bad novel, like one written by Robin Cook or something. Good times.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:23 AM | shower me with attention

Sunday, October 14, 2001

Kit sent me a link to this Canadian game show/talk show that Scott appeared on and it is cracking me up.

God, I love him.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:25 PM | shower me with attention

erin is #1 Dave Nelson.

No fair. {g}

Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:00 PM | shower me with attention

I admit that I, too (or too) never read the later Anne books. Never past the second, in fact.

Anyway, I'm Emily, then Sara, then Anne, just as I predicted, but I'd still rather be The Story Girl. {g}

Oh, and also, I'm Joe Garelli. What's up with that? I knew the answers and everything. Hee. Joe rules.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:52 AM | shower me with attention

Which L.M. Montgomery heroine are you?

I am so lame.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:40 AM | shower me with attention