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Tuesday, April 30, 2002
This proves my point. Terrence wrote it from not 10 feet away in the very computer lab from which I am now typing.
I have forgotten how to communicate with my voice, face and body. Is there some kind of class I can take to relearn this? I need to go out in a forest and sing to the birds and trees or something. I am blogging instead of walking over to Terry, who is sitting over there blogging as well. I can see his computer screen from here. What has become of us?
(By the way, the sentiment is much appreciated. Beware of strange and desperate phone calls. ;)
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:51 PM | shower me with attention
I have forgotten how to communicate with my voice, face and body. Is there some kind of class I can take to relearn this? I need to go out in a forest and sing to the birds and trees or something. I am blogging instead of walking over to Terry, who is sitting over there blogging as well. I can see his computer screen from here. What has become of us?
(By the way, the sentiment is much appreciated. Beware of strange and desperate phone calls. ;)
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:51 PM | shower me with attention
Sweet holy mother of stink, I have no words to describe... I can't adequately put down... I...
This is the weirdest thing I've seen in a long, long time. I can't tear myself away from it. It simultaneously attracts and repels. I can't believe I've never seen it before. (Thank you, Satan!)
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:38 PM | shower me with attention
This is the weirdest thing I've seen in a long, long time. I can't tear myself away from it. It simultaneously attracts and repels. I can't believe I've never seen it before. (Thank you, Satan!)
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:38 PM | shower me with attention
The problem is that I have less friends in this city than I think I do. I have very many acquaintances, but precious few people I can call up after class when I don't want to go home yet but don't know what I actually want to do. The burden pretty much always falls on Erica, and so I've been trying to refrain from calling her every time I find myself outside of my school and restless for company and diversion. She does have her own life, doncha know.
Everyone else presents a problem. Steph is on Staten Island and so is Andrew; that's too far a jump for a moment's notice. Stupid Staten Island. Erin is on Long Island, also too far a jump unless she happens to be in the city. Matt and Goose, although not hopelessly far away, are living extraordinarily busy end-of-high-school lives and thus my conscience forbids idle contact. Gina is in Jersey and that's too big of a hassle after working all day. Poor Terry has his hands full of me at school; he shouldn't have to entertain me, too. Everyone else that comes to mind is either not close enough a friend for me to burden them with my company, or have fallen into low-contact mode, or have changed their phone numbers and issued restraining orders.
That leaves Kirsten. Hello, sister. Hello, old friend. Let us cling to one another as we did in the womb.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 5:23 PM | shower me with attention
Everyone else presents a problem. Steph is on Staten Island and so is Andrew; that's too far a jump for a moment's notice. Stupid Staten Island. Erin is on Long Island, also too far a jump unless she happens to be in the city. Matt and Goose, although not hopelessly far away, are living extraordinarily busy end-of-high-school lives and thus my conscience forbids idle contact. Gina is in Jersey and that's too big of a hassle after working all day. Poor Terry has his hands full of me at school; he shouldn't have to entertain me, too. Everyone else that comes to mind is either not close enough a friend for me to burden them with my company, or have fallen into low-contact mode, or have changed their phone numbers and issued restraining orders.
That leaves Kirsten. Hello, sister. Hello, old friend. Let us cling to one another as we did in the womb.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 5:23 PM | shower me with attention
I have twice, in recent entries, made reference to it being May. It is not yet May. These are the signs of slippage; Gorg approacheth.
I dug through dusty videos-- actually dug-- until I found The Chipmunk Adventure last night. I am a little ashamed this morning (afternoon), like waking up after sleeping with a dreadful mistake. ("Arnie? You slept with Arnie??")
I am excited that my hair is so dirty that it needs to be washed before I can go to school today. Washing my hair will give some structure to my day.
This is obviously a cry for help. Reach out to me.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:24 PM | shower me with attention
I dug through dusty videos-- actually dug-- until I found The Chipmunk Adventure last night. I am a little ashamed this morning (afternoon), like waking up after sleeping with a dreadful mistake. ("Arnie? You slept with Arnie??")
I am excited that my hair is so dirty that it needs to be washed before I can go to school today. Washing my hair will give some structure to my day.
This is obviously a cry for help. Reach out to me.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:24 PM | shower me with attention
Today I got email from Annie McG, the first friend I made when I moved here and the only one who I still consider a friend, although we never see each other because she lives in Minnesota. Minnesota? Minnesota.
Been bedding down later and later; sleeping now from 7:30 to 4 pm. Much later and I'll start missing my 5:30 class. I purchased Benadryl today.
Today in class was Marianne Moore. I couldn't read any of her at home but I found that I enjoyed her in class. I must release the idea that a book needs to be read from beginning to end; I miss out on much that way when I end up abandoning things early. Must practice reading things from the middle and flipping about.
("Willl you two stop talking about roller blading?"
"Why, are you afraid you're missing out o something?"
"Yes!")
After class, became depressed and moody. Called sister and begged her to meet me for Chinese food and a movie. I've spent almost $400 this week, mostly in expensive and desperate need to do things outside of this apartment.. This is a staggering figure for me. I cannot spend any more money or I will starve in San Francsico later this month. $400 a week is unacceptable. This is an expensive city but living beyond my means is not an option for me. Repeat after myself: You do not have an income. You do not have an income. You do not have an income.
Nevertheless, sister and I went to China Fun and then across the street to The Cat's Meow. Joanna Lumley was fabulous and Eddie Izzard an impressive Chaplin, but Kirsten Dunst irritates me very mucho.
Still moody and depressed. Perhaps hormonal. I sure hope so, am beginning to think I am carrying the next Messiah.
Cheered immensely by coming home to happy news. If I had a therapist I would be talking to her about living vicariously through overachieving younger friends, about despair at wasted potential and useless regret. Read that article about suicidal M.I.T. student today and had to stop, it was making me cry in public twofold: fear for the children, and fear for myself that I was jealous of the overstressed-to-the-point-of-breakage students. Jealous of the ill ones is a bad illness indeed.
The tree sloth frightens me because it has no neck. It is to me what spiders are to Gina. Luckily domestic infestations of tree sloths are rare in this part of the world.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:09 PM | shower me with attention
Been bedding down later and later; sleeping now from 7:30 to 4 pm. Much later and I'll start missing my 5:30 class. I purchased Benadryl today.
Today in class was Marianne Moore. I couldn't read any of her at home but I found that I enjoyed her in class. I must release the idea that a book needs to be read from beginning to end; I miss out on much that way when I end up abandoning things early. Must practice reading things from the middle and flipping about.
("Willl you two stop talking about roller blading?"
"Why, are you afraid you're missing out o something?"
"Yes!")
After class, became depressed and moody. Called sister and begged her to meet me for Chinese food and a movie. I've spent almost $400 this week, mostly in expensive and desperate need to do things outside of this apartment.. This is a staggering figure for me. I cannot spend any more money or I will starve in San Francsico later this month. $400 a week is unacceptable. This is an expensive city but living beyond my means is not an option for me. Repeat after myself: You do not have an income. You do not have an income. You do not have an income.
Nevertheless, sister and I went to China Fun and then across the street to The Cat's Meow. Joanna Lumley was fabulous and Eddie Izzard an impressive Chaplin, but Kirsten Dunst irritates me very mucho.
Still moody and depressed. Perhaps hormonal. I sure hope so, am beginning to think I am carrying the next Messiah.
Cheered immensely by coming home to happy news. If I had a therapist I would be talking to her about living vicariously through overachieving younger friends, about despair at wasted potential and useless regret. Read that article about suicidal M.I.T. student today and had to stop, it was making me cry in public twofold: fear for the children, and fear for myself that I was jealous of the overstressed-to-the-point-of-breakage students. Jealous of the ill ones is a bad illness indeed.
The tree sloth frightens me because it has no neck. It is to me what spiders are to Gina. Luckily domestic infestations of tree sloths are rare in this part of the world.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:09 PM | shower me with attention
Monday, April 29, 2002
The latest from my mom at sea is so darn cute that I forgive her misclassification of the primate species for the sake of the closing pun:
I wish you were here. I know you would get quite a laugh from seeing a
Barbary ape eat a banana off my head. We were in Gibraltar where the barabry
apes run free. I put a piece of a banana on my head and hoped a little ape
would come and eat it. With my luck, I got this enormous mother of an ape
scurrying up my back and on my shoulders and snatched the banana. From that
point on I hand fed the cheeky monkeys. The tour guide got a picture of the
monkey on my back, I think.
Cute thing, cute thing, cute, cute mom.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 7:02 PM | shower me with attention
I wish you were here. I know you would get quite a laugh from seeing a
Barbary ape eat a banana off my head. We were in Gibraltar where the barabry
apes run free. I put a piece of a banana on my head and hoped a little ape
would come and eat it. With my luck, I got this enormous mother of an ape
scurrying up my back and on my shoulders and snatched the banana. From that
point on I hand fed the cheeky monkeys. The tour guide got a picture of the
monkey on my back, I think.
Cute thing, cute thing, cute, cute mom.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 7:02 PM | shower me with attention
You're wrong.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:47 AM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:47 AM | shower me with attention
Sunday, April 28, 2002
I don't understand why nothing can be thrown out. I don't understand a place where no plastic grocery bag can be thrown away, every packet of ketchup and soy sauce and butter sent from the diner must be kept, where I have to throw out February yogurt in May, where broken chairs sit in heaps in the front room, where clothes are cast off and left, where light bulbs are taken out of cartons and the cartons left where they lie because everything is left where it lies, where hampers are full of dirty clothes and so are floors, beds, chairs and couches. Where couches are ripped to shreds by cats and then covered with a layer of shoes, books and video tapes and dust. Dust on everything. Dust on the people as well as the books and papers and garbage. Where no broken appliance can be discarded. Where nothing can be discarded. I don't understand these things even though I grew up amid them.
And I don't understand a family that doesn't understand why someone would wish to leave such a place as often as possible.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:01 PM | shower me with attention
And I don't understand a family that doesn't understand why someone would wish to leave such a place as often as possible.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:01 PM | shower me with attention
Why do I talk to people more through my blog than through email or IM or, god help us all, telephone?
Stupidhead.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:34 PM | shower me with attention
Stupidhead.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:34 PM | shower me with attention
It doesn't matter what the rock and the hard place are. The fact that the rock is diamonds and the hard place is more diamonds doesn't make it less hard, it makes it more.
I hate that I can't help one bit here, because in my mind the choice I would make is clear, and I don't have a great track record of making the best choices for myself. For me, comfort is key. Without comfort everything else falls away. I don't have work ethic, I don't have the backbone of steel, I don't have any consideration for what Future Tavie might be missing out on.
I love you. Just hope that whatever decision is the final one is the one that doesn't make you hopelessly ill the next day.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:32 PM | shower me with attention
I hate that I can't help one bit here, because in my mind the choice I would make is clear, and I don't have a great track record of making the best choices for myself. For me, comfort is key. Without comfort everything else falls away. I don't have work ethic, I don't have the backbone of steel, I don't have any consideration for what Future Tavie might be missing out on.
I love you. Just hope that whatever decision is the final one is the one that doesn't make you hopelessly ill the next day.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:32 PM | shower me with attention
You're both and more, darling girl; I was just associating the three schoolmates with the play I saw. You're a different slice of strawberry-cheesecake all together.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:20 PM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:20 PM | shower me with attention
I don't think Streetcar Named Desire was such a good idea. It was very sad and seems to have triggered something bad. Glad Kirsten is here.
I don't do well with movies about madness.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:30 AM | shower me with attention
I don't do well with movies about madness.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:30 AM | shower me with attention
Saturday, April 27, 2002
I've been tending to my sick heterosexual lifemate (as much as she'll allow people to tend to her) but I must return to the city early to tend to my sister. Call me Florence Nightingale. Or, better yet, call me Tavie-- they say I'm pretty hot stuff in the Navy!
I did stare straight at Superwoman during the slow, moving quartet at the end. I couldn't tell if she noticed. (And I really want to know who she thinks did not deserve a solo. Perri the lounge singer? Claudia the ingenue? Lee the abused fiancee?)
I did notice, and the song almost made me weep, which I think is pretty pathetic since it isn't even my high school career that is ending-- but it is poignant and sappy enough just being a friend to those ending an era (and beginning a new one.) I can be sad-by-proxy. And it was almost more thrilling than McKinney eye contact, besides!
As for the recipient of my negative review, it's rather mean and she's probably a lovely, sweet girl. (You've probably even told me as such when I've panned her in the past. I'm just a nasty, snarky excuse for a human being. But it was lounge-singer girl. I thought abused-fiance did a splended job; lounge-singer girl made me cringe. Ingenue was fine, a little rough on the ears at times, but fine. And, damn, I can't sing that high, upside-down or not, so I need to shut up.)
Why are you in Tavie's head? 5:56 PM | shower me with attention
I did stare straight at Superwoman during the slow, moving quartet at the end. I couldn't tell if she noticed. (And I really want to know who she thinks did not deserve a solo. Perri the lounge singer? Claudia the ingenue? Lee the abused fiancee?)
I did notice, and the song almost made me weep, which I think is pretty pathetic since it isn't even my high school career that is ending-- but it is poignant and sappy enough just being a friend to those ending an era (and beginning a new one.) I can be sad-by-proxy. And it was almost more thrilling than McKinney eye contact, besides!
As for the recipient of my negative review, it's rather mean and she's probably a lovely, sweet girl. (You've probably even told me as such when I've panned her in the past. I'm just a nasty, snarky excuse for a human being. But it was lounge-singer girl. I thought abused-fiance did a splended job; lounge-singer girl made me cringe. Ingenue was fine, a little rough on the ears at times, but fine. And, damn, I can't sing that high, upside-down or not, so I need to shut up.)
Why are you in Tavie's head? 5:56 PM | shower me with attention
I enjoyed the F.S. production of On the Town very much, despite the back-cramping pews and poor Gina's illness. Matt was dazzling beyond all measure, Daoud was a dreamy, dreamy rock star and Anika was radiant. Those other kids whose names I don't know were also excellent, except for that one girl who still sucked very badly and oughtn't to have had a solo. (I am a mean, mean high-school-theatre critic.)
I also enjoyed intermission immensely, because a group of young children in the balcony above me noticed my Superman shirt and started waving to me ecstatically.
"Hi Superwoman!! Hi Superwoman!!!" they cried. "Can you fly???"
"Yes!"
"Where's your cape?"
"I left it at home!"
"Why is your hair in a ponytail?"
"So it doesn't get in my face when I fly!"
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-two and a half!"
"Are you married to Superman?"
(I hesitated. My first instinct was to reply that Superman and I tried to make it work out but that we had too many differences and had been separated for some time. "Say yes," whispered Gina.)
"Yes!"
"Can you walk on water?"
(My favourite question.)
"That's JESUS!!!"
What I did not enjoy was the nasty trick played be by Goose afterwards. I wormed my way through the crowd to return the tie she'd loaned me (part of her stage-hand get-up, for some reason; she let me wear it because I liked it; Erica suggested that it looked like Clark Kent was in too big of a hurry to get completely changed) and she tugged me onstage to say hi to her winsome boyfriend.
"Oh, but," I protested.
"Say hi to Daoud," she insisted.
Daoud was surrounded by friends on this, the last theatrical performance of his high school career.
"But," I tried again. Goose was very intimidating, however, so I stayed.
It was a bit like waiting around to meet Sting or something. There were crowds of fans, Daoud was deep in conversation. I stood around awkwardly, clearing my throat. Finally, with the help of Mean Mistreater, Daoud looked up.
"Hi, Daoud," I said.
"Hi, Tavie," he said.
I would have done better with Sting, I think. He melted immediately back into conversation, and Swamp Witch cackled with glee as I fled the auditorium in tears.
(It's all true except for the fleeing in tears part. But that sounds better than "I found Gina and Erica and we went to the Bendix for some chow.")
I feel a little sad that tonight was the last time I'll see my bunny perform at that school. It's such a lovely school, although it always makes me feel a little wistful when I'm there, for reasons best left alone.
Oh, well, maybe he'll do drama at Yale.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:39 PM | shower me with attention
I also enjoyed intermission immensely, because a group of young children in the balcony above me noticed my Superman shirt and started waving to me ecstatically.
"Hi Superwoman!! Hi Superwoman!!!" they cried. "Can you fly???"
"Yes!"
"Where's your cape?"
"I left it at home!"
"Why is your hair in a ponytail?"
"So it doesn't get in my face when I fly!"
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-two and a half!"
"Are you married to Superman?"
(I hesitated. My first instinct was to reply that Superman and I tried to make it work out but that we had too many differences and had been separated for some time. "Say yes," whispered Gina.)
"Yes!"
"Can you walk on water?"
(My favourite question.)
"That's JESUS!!!"
What I did not enjoy was the nasty trick played be by Goose afterwards. I wormed my way through the crowd to return the tie she'd loaned me (part of her stage-hand get-up, for some reason; she let me wear it because I liked it; Erica suggested that it looked like Clark Kent was in too big of a hurry to get completely changed) and she tugged me onstage to say hi to her winsome boyfriend.
"Oh, but," I protested.
"Say hi to Daoud," she insisted.
Daoud was surrounded by friends on this, the last theatrical performance of his high school career.
"But," I tried again. Goose was very intimidating, however, so I stayed.
It was a bit like waiting around to meet Sting or something. There were crowds of fans, Daoud was deep in conversation. I stood around awkwardly, clearing my throat. Finally, with the help of Mean Mistreater, Daoud looked up.
"Hi, Daoud," I said.
"Hi, Tavie," he said.
I would have done better with Sting, I think. He melted immediately back into conversation, and Swamp Witch cackled with glee as I fled the auditorium in tears.
(It's all true except for the fleeing in tears part. But that sounds better than "I found Gina and Erica and we went to the Bendix for some chow.")
I feel a little sad that tonight was the last time I'll see my bunny perform at that school. It's such a lovely school, although it always makes me feel a little wistful when I'm there, for reasons best left alone.
Oh, well, maybe he'll do drama at Yale.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:39 PM | shower me with attention
Friday, April 26, 2002
The King of Hearts: Young Lady, look along the road and tell me: whom do you see?
Alice: I see nobody on the road.
King: I only wish I had such eyes. To see nobody at such a distance, too! It's enough for me to see real people by this light. [sees March Hare] Who did you pass on the road?
March Hare: Nobody!
King: Quite right, quite right-- she saw him too! So nobody walks slower than you.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:00 PM | shower me with attention
Alice: I see nobody on the road.
King: I only wish I had such eyes. To see nobody at such a distance, too! It's enough for me to see real people by this light. [sees March Hare] Who did you pass on the road?
March Hare: Nobody!
King: Quite right, quite right-- she saw him too! So nobody walks slower than you.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:00 PM | shower me with attention
I remember that diner well, and the Pepto Bismol, too. I'm much better about new people now. Well, a little better. For some reason in my head it's called Mel's but that's probably not its real name. It had a disgusting bathroom. WAAT was fun there; all of Gerard's words had to do with sex. Was that the night he read Tarot cards for us and you put on Into the Woods to put me at ease? That's the memory that makes me love you most because it worked; I started out shy and ended up belting "Giants in the Sky" along with Jack. That's an impressive transformation.
Japan is so far away. Come back and I'll move to L.A. and we'll form a band called Ass-Pink.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:54 PM | shower me with attention
Japan is so far away. Come back and I'll move to L.A. and we'll form a band called Ass-Pink.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:54 PM | shower me with attention
Woke up with a bellyful of restlessness. Had to take it outside, take it outside. Sister and I got dressed all spiffy (because, why not? And may I add, I looked hot. For me, I mean.) and went to dinner. Some Japanese place. Was good. Then went and saw some bad improv followed by some good improv. I can't believe how much money I ended up spending. No more pricey Japanese dinners for me, please. But the comedy was cheap and filling. (The good was by a troupe called Respecto Malteban. They were highlarious.)
Tomorrow night is pumpkin's play and then! And then! I was given leave to go home!
My sister is watching old Warner Brothers cartoons. I may join her. This isn't so bad. She's pretty good company, she is.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:00 AM | shower me with attention
Tomorrow night is pumpkin's play and then! And then! I was given leave to go home!
My sister is watching old Warner Brothers cartoons. I may join her. This isn't so bad. She's pretty good company, she is.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:00 AM | shower me with attention
Thursday, April 25, 2002
Aggie today rescued me from another drowsy evening of dust mites and internet-surfing by allowing me to invade her pretty Bohemian cave and share her company. The smallest change in routine helps. She allowed me to unload.
I am dreading the coming weekend of being stuck in the mire of this apartment, which swallows us like it was a Venus flytrap and saps us of the energy to fight for escape. We want to go out and enjoy the world but the clutter and dust bogs robs our will to dress and escape and do anything much but sit in front of the computer or the tv in crappy, falling-apart furniture.
Sister is having a tough time of it and I promised my parents I would not abandon her every weekend. She is welcome at Mint Manor but does not this time wish to go, for some reason. She has much studying and many cramps and much depression and I must be here to share in her discomfort. If this sounds like a complaint it's because it probably is, but I do not wish to complain about it. It's unsisterly. I am worried about her and try to tempt her with her favourite foods and promises of amusing activities we can do together. We must take care of each other in our parents' absence but I fear I am not doing a bang-up job of it.
I am so glad we are done with Ezra Pound. I was reading from Wallace Stevens instead of paying attention today and found I have scribbled on my hand, "I am too dumbly in my being pent."
Ah, resonance in a Stevens poem! I am finally relating! I will relate:
The Man Whose Pharynx Was Bad
The time of year has grown indifferent.
Mildew of summer and the deepening snow
Are both alike in the routine I know.
I am too dumbly in my being pent.
The wind attendant on the solstices
Blows on the shutters of the metropoles,
Stirring no poet in his sleep, and tolls
The grand ideas of the villages.
The malady of the quotidian...
Perhaps, if winter once could penetrate
Through all its purples to the final slate,
Persisting bleakly in an icy haze,
One might in turn become less diffident,
Out of such mildew plucking neater mould
And spouting new orations of the cold.
One might. One might. But time will not relent.
Yes, that works for me now. I am tired of being bored and angst-y, but as long as I am I'll enjoy poetry that reflects it.
I think Erica will come with us this Friday to see my little love in On the Town. I will be strong and
not follow Gina home afterwards, because I promised.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:07 AM | shower me with attention
I am dreading the coming weekend of being stuck in the mire of this apartment, which swallows us like it was a Venus flytrap and saps us of the energy to fight for escape. We want to go out and enjoy the world but the clutter and dust bogs robs our will to dress and escape and do anything much but sit in front of the computer or the tv in crappy, falling-apart furniture.
Sister is having a tough time of it and I promised my parents I would not abandon her every weekend. She is welcome at Mint Manor but does not this time wish to go, for some reason. She has much studying and many cramps and much depression and I must be here to share in her discomfort. If this sounds like a complaint it's because it probably is, but I do not wish to complain about it. It's unsisterly. I am worried about her and try to tempt her with her favourite foods and promises of amusing activities we can do together. We must take care of each other in our parents' absence but I fear I am not doing a bang-up job of it.
I am so glad we are done with Ezra Pound. I was reading from Wallace Stevens instead of paying attention today and found I have scribbled on my hand, "I am too dumbly in my being pent."
Ah, resonance in a Stevens poem! I am finally relating! I will relate:
The Man Whose Pharynx Was Bad
The time of year has grown indifferent.
Mildew of summer and the deepening snow
Are both alike in the routine I know.
I am too dumbly in my being pent.
The wind attendant on the solstices
Blows on the shutters of the metropoles,
Stirring no poet in his sleep, and tolls
The grand ideas of the villages.
The malady of the quotidian...
Perhaps, if winter once could penetrate
Through all its purples to the final slate,
Persisting bleakly in an icy haze,
One might in turn become less diffident,
Out of such mildew plucking neater mould
And spouting new orations of the cold.
One might. One might. But time will not relent.
Yes, that works for me now. I am tired of being bored and angst-y, but as long as I am I'll enjoy poetry that reflects it.
I think Erica will come with us this Friday to see my little love in On the Town. I will be strong and
not follow Gina home afterwards, because I promised.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:07 AM | shower me with attention
Wednesday, April 24, 2002
Spring is here, spring is here
Life is skittles and life is beer
Tavie's singing from old Tom Lehrer
Pollen's causing her eyes to tear.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:43 PM | shower me with attention
Life is skittles and life is beer
Tavie's singing from old Tom Lehrer
Pollen's causing her eyes to tear.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:43 PM | shower me with attention
If every anecdote I were ever to hear for the rest of my life had to do with Golden Girls, I would be perfectly happy. I laughed so hard at this.
I have this false, idealistic, naive, sort of sad idea that there must be one thing in my life that I am very good at, and this one thing is the thing that I am meant to do, hopefully as a vocation, but even as a passionate avocation on the side of some tedious (yet lucrative) career. I keep hoping I'll find it. I'll take the right class, meet the right guru, read the right book, and I will just know what the goal will be.
It is just beginning to occur to me that this is the kind of thing that keeps adults living in their parents' basements when they're in their 30's.
My parents don't even have a basement.
But no, no, no, I will not, I will not ever succumb to civil service.
(My biggest fear? Oh, I just might. Eventually. Just please let me have some sort of college degree first.)
Anyway. Some women are born great, some women become great, some women have greatness thrust upon them, and some women have great hair. I'll get by.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:14 AM | shower me with attention
I have this false, idealistic, naive, sort of sad idea that there must be one thing in my life that I am very good at, and this one thing is the thing that I am meant to do, hopefully as a vocation, but even as a passionate avocation on the side of some tedious (yet lucrative) career. I keep hoping I'll find it. I'll take the right class, meet the right guru, read the right book, and I will just know what the goal will be.
It is just beginning to occur to me that this is the kind of thing that keeps adults living in their parents' basements when they're in their 30's.
My parents don't even have a basement.
But no, no, no, I will not, I will not ever succumb to civil service.
(My biggest fear? Oh, I just might. Eventually. Just please let me have some sort of college degree first.)
Anyway. Some women are born great, some women become great, some women have greatness thrust upon them, and some women have great hair. I'll get by.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:14 AM | shower me with attention
Tuesday, April 23, 2002
I want to flirt with Curly right now, but I don't think it will make her feel any better. So I guess I'll refrain.
She's such a cutie-patootie, though.
Am I giving off a Rosie O'Donnell vibe? God help me. It's the food poisoning.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:09 PM | shower me with attention
She's such a cutie-patootie, though.
Am I giving off a Rosie O'Donnell vibe? God help me. It's the food poisoning.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:09 PM | shower me with attention
Because I haven't said it lately, I wish I was you.
I caught my sister reading Missy Shmardilla's blog the other day. She was just sitting there reading backlogs, old, old archives, and laughing and laughing.
I'm so proud of her sometimes.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:04 PM | shower me with attention
I caught my sister reading Missy Shmardilla's blog the other day. She was just sitting there reading backlogs, old, old archives, and laughing and laughing.
I'm so proud of her sometimes.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:04 PM | shower me with attention
Ha ha ha!!
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:01 PM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:01 PM | shower me with attention
I just paid a diner $25 to give me ptomaine poisoning.
I will be dead soon.
No, but really, avoid Eat Here Now on 64th and Lexington. The food is awful. Kirsten was right. She said "Let's go to Hale and Hearty, let's go to Hale and Hearty" but I had to insist on the crappy diner. The lesson to be learned: never settle for crap. Just don't. There's no need; there's none.
I feel sick. This may be my last communique. I love you all.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:00 PM | shower me with attention
I will be dead soon.
No, but really, avoid Eat Here Now on 64th and Lexington. The food is awful. Kirsten was right. She said "Let's go to Hale and Hearty, let's go to Hale and Hearty" but I had to insist on the crappy diner. The lesson to be learned: never settle for crap. Just don't. There's no need; there's none.
I feel sick. This may be my last communique. I love you all.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:00 PM | shower me with attention
Monday, April 22, 2002
There was a very localized earthquake at some point this weekend that affected only our apartment. Nothing else explains why everything once resided on shelves or in closets is now on the floor.
The bathroom was hit particularly hard. The mounds of clothing are now higher than the toilet.
Make it all blow up!
My indifference is frightening
And if you want me to see it
You'd better write it in lightning!
Why are you in Tavie's head? 8:53 PM | shower me with attention
The bathroom was hit particularly hard. The mounds of clothing are now higher than the toilet.
Make it all blow up!
My indifference is frightening
And if you want me to see it
You'd better write it in lightning!
Why are you in Tavie's head? 8:53 PM | shower me with attention
Sunday, April 21, 2002
I can't remember which Ezra Pound poem I was supposed to read for class Monday. I do remember that I was supposed to have read T.S. Eliot's The Wasteland, so I'm trying to read it, but it is both incomprehensible and scary. Scary. It makes me scared. I'll finish reading it in a minute. Honest.
Why does so much of the poetry I have to read have to be so incomprehensible? What am I supposed to be getting out of this? I'm going back to the social sciences. At least some of that is understandable in some sort of concrete way.
Wallace Stevens' first book was called Harmonium. I went through the compilation and discovered that it contains about 80% of the poems originally published in Harmonium. That will be enough for me. Let's call that a volume. So, there, I've done something. What's left? To actually read the poems? No, I think I'll go watch reruns of Three's Company and wait for my sister's CD of Japanese pop music to finish burning.
Thirteen Ways of Watching Three's Company
I.
Among Chrissy Snow's mountains
The only moving thing
Was the eye of Jack Tripper.
II.
I was of three minds,
Like an apartment
In which there are three roommates.
III.
John Ritter whirled in the Reagal Beagle.
His physical comedy resembled pantomime.
IV.
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and another woman
are a premise.
V.
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of Suzanne Somers
Or the beauty of Priscilla Barnes,
Or Jenilee Harrisson's ridiculous antics.
Why was she there?
VI.
Mrs Roper filled the apartment
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of her caftan
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Of Mr Roper
Was not affected.
VII.
O producers of bad 70's television
Why do you bring in Don Knotts?
Do you not see how Norman Fell
Mugs at the camera and makes us laugh?
VIII.
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms.
But I know, too,
That none of these are involved
In the opening theme.
IX.
When the program flew off of prime time,
It marked the beginning
Of a short-lived spinoff.
X.
At the sight of Ritter
Making a fool of himself
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.
XI.
He rode over California
In a metal airplane.
Once, a fear pierced him
That he mistook the success of his sitcom
For talent.
XII.
The ratings are jumping.
The sitcom must be flying.
XIII.
It was evening all morning
It was early
And Family Ties was ending.
Tavie sat
On the futon watching reruns.
My apologies to Wallace Stevens.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:23 AM | shower me with attention
Why does so much of the poetry I have to read have to be so incomprehensible? What am I supposed to be getting out of this? I'm going back to the social sciences. At least some of that is understandable in some sort of concrete way.
Wallace Stevens' first book was called Harmonium. I went through the compilation and discovered that it contains about 80% of the poems originally published in Harmonium. That will be enough for me. Let's call that a volume. So, there, I've done something. What's left? To actually read the poems? No, I think I'll go watch reruns of Three's Company and wait for my sister's CD of Japanese pop music to finish burning.
Thirteen Ways of Watching Three's Company
I.
Among Chrissy Snow's mountains
The only moving thing
Was the eye of Jack Tripper.
II.
I was of three minds,
Like an apartment
In which there are three roommates.
III.
John Ritter whirled in the Reagal Beagle.
His physical comedy resembled pantomime.
IV.
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and another woman
are a premise.
V.
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of Suzanne Somers
Or the beauty of Priscilla Barnes,
Or Jenilee Harrisson's ridiculous antics.
Why was she there?
VI.
Mrs Roper filled the apartment
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of her caftan
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Of Mr Roper
Was not affected.
VII.
O producers of bad 70's television
Why do you bring in Don Knotts?
Do you not see how Norman Fell
Mugs at the camera and makes us laugh?
VIII.
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms.
But I know, too,
That none of these are involved
In the opening theme.
IX.
When the program flew off of prime time,
It marked the beginning
Of a short-lived spinoff.
X.
At the sight of Ritter
Making a fool of himself
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.
XI.
He rode over California
In a metal airplane.
Once, a fear pierced him
That he mistook the success of his sitcom
For talent.
XII.
The ratings are jumping.
The sitcom must be flying.
XIII.
It was evening all morning
It was early
And Family Ties was ending.
Tavie sat
On the futon watching reruns.
My apologies to Wallace Stevens.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:23 AM | shower me with attention
Spanish appetizers. Tapas are Spanish appetizers.
And very good they were too, the few I could eat. A distressing amount of them were either breaded/encased in dough (nope!) or contained shellfish/seared fish/raw fish (nope!). But some of them were edible, and yummy. And I do so love sangria.
Now to address this:
How sad that I enjoy staying home on Saturday night. I used to love to go out. I used to see all the movies, go to clubs, go shopping, do anything but stay home. Now I'm just as happy to be curled up on the tufon with the cat curled up by my feet. I don't feel like I've gotten old or anything like that. I'm just too comfortable in my messy little house, which I should be cleaning.
Is it a coincidence that this laziness/homebody lifestyle started around the time that I started weekending here? No, it is not. I am a disease. I am Lethargy, personified in one large, rumply body. I make you sleepy. I make you complacent. I make you want to watch tv and never get dressed. But, on the plus side, I occasionally do the dishes.
I was never a party girl. I could never be a party girl. I was raised by nerds; but so was my sister, and my sister is a party girl. So... explain to me what happened.
My theory is that a large part of my brain is fuzzed out all of the time. There's just a grey buzzing where there used to be activity. In my imagination, the chemicals I take that fuzz out the part of me that is depressed and suicidal also fuzz out the part of me that likes to go out and do things. I do know that I never, ever feel fully awake, even at my sharpest. I am always in some state of cloudiness, and I was not always like this. Of course, to take away the grey buzzing would also lift the curtain on the will to die, and it's better to be partially alive than not alive at all, so I just walk around half-awake, always.
Best not to dwell on this. Not without the help of a professional. Which I haven't gotten for the same reason I haven't picked a book/topic for my poetry paper. (She knows why.)
I will say that I feel dandy right now and there is no need for concern, you worriers. And I would never stop taking my medication, not even to experiment. So worry not.
Now, guru lent me his copy of the complete works of Wallace Stevens. I have started to go through it, and I find it pretty but difficult. But it's the only lead I have right now...
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:15 AM | shower me with attention
And very good they were too, the few I could eat. A distressing amount of them were either breaded/encased in dough (nope!) or contained shellfish/seared fish/raw fish (nope!). But some of them were edible, and yummy. And I do so love sangria.
Now to address this:
How sad that I enjoy staying home on Saturday night. I used to love to go out. I used to see all the movies, go to clubs, go shopping, do anything but stay home. Now I'm just as happy to be curled up on the tufon with the cat curled up by my feet. I don't feel like I've gotten old or anything like that. I'm just too comfortable in my messy little house, which I should be cleaning.
Is it a coincidence that this laziness/homebody lifestyle started around the time that I started weekending here? No, it is not. I am a disease. I am Lethargy, personified in one large, rumply body. I make you sleepy. I make you complacent. I make you want to watch tv and never get dressed. But, on the plus side, I occasionally do the dishes.
I was never a party girl. I could never be a party girl. I was raised by nerds; but so was my sister, and my sister is a party girl. So... explain to me what happened.
My theory is that a large part of my brain is fuzzed out all of the time. There's just a grey buzzing where there used to be activity. In my imagination, the chemicals I take that fuzz out the part of me that is depressed and suicidal also fuzz out the part of me that likes to go out and do things. I do know that I never, ever feel fully awake, even at my sharpest. I am always in some state of cloudiness, and I was not always like this. Of course, to take away the grey buzzing would also lift the curtain on the will to die, and it's better to be partially alive than not alive at all, so I just walk around half-awake, always.
Best not to dwell on this. Not without the help of a professional. Which I haven't gotten for the same reason I haven't picked a book/topic for my poetry paper. (She knows why.)
I will say that I feel dandy right now and there is no need for concern, you worriers. And I would never stop taking my medication, not even to experiment. So worry not.
Now, guru lent me his copy of the complete works of Wallace Stevens. I have started to go through it, and I find it pretty but difficult. But it's the only lead I have right now...
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:15 AM | shower me with attention
Saturday, April 20, 2002
This, no longer around, was the site of what I realized today, coming home on the PATH, was a pivotal moment in my life. It's perhaps the single strongest memory I have of being a child. I don't really need to put it down here since I've always had it, but I guess I will anyway because Kirsten is taking forever to put her goddamn makeup on.
It was on maybe our second trip to Disney World, so we were four years old. We were in EPCOT, and Kirsten wanted to be one of the kids in Dreamfinder's School of Drama, an interactive exhibit at the Imagination pavilion, wherein children lined up in front of a blue screen on a black line painted in the carpet, and, in the video monitors in front of them, watched themselves be inserted into various pre-taped "adventures". At the beginning of each new group cycle, the children were asked to choose from three of such adventures: outer space, the old West and a fairy tale. Kirsten's group went to outer space. I stood on the sidelines watching on the monitors provided for the audience of parents, because I was too shy to participate. (I was the shy one; Kirsten was the fearless one.)
As I watched, through the magic of chromakey, my sister and her group of strangers traveled through outer space, battling evil anti-imagination space villains. Only through the powers of their imaginations could they escape! "Use your imaginations, now!" urged Dreamfinder from the video screen. "Go on, put your hands to your head, like this"-- he pressed his white-gloved fingers to his forehead-- "and imagine that they're disappearing! Go on!" And all the children pressed their hands to their foreheads, and I watched, transfixed, as my sister did this, and I could almost see the power of her imagination reaching out like an electric arm and zap those villains away. It was something real I was seeing, this power of imagination. I had never felt anything so magical. I had never been so jealous of my sister, who got to be there in outer space and fight the bad guys with Dreamfinder and the rest of the kids.
Now, I was four years old, but I was not a stupid four years old. I knew, rationally, that my sister was not really in outer space, because I could see her on the blue carpet in front of me. But at the same time, she was. She was there, and she was part of something fantastical and unreal and I wasn't, because I'd been too afraid. That moment when she pressed her hands into her forehead, and the music was playing, and the stars were all around her on the screen, it's burned somewhere very deeply into me. It was real, true, live magic. It was the first time I'd reached that duality of thought, where I could know one thing with my head, and at the same time I could believe another thing, with something other than my head.
Every year after that I always was first in line to be in Dreamfinder's Drama School. It was a ridiculous thing to be shy about; shyness was what kept me out of that marvelous adventure that first year, and I would never let it happen again. Even when I went to EPCOT later, as a teenager, with my friends (hi Ags!), before they took down the old Imageworks and put up that new crap in its place, we would go and stand towering above the small children, goofing off and pretending to be part of the adventure. Even after it was just a silly joke, some part of it wasn't. Because I think that that moment I described is what I've been chasing after since then. I think it's the reason I love EPCOT, and that my anxiety dreams are about EPCOT, and that I like to draw and that I read fantasy books and watch fantasy movies and am fascinated by the theatre and the magic created by a good group of performers. I'm chasing that one moment when I watched my sister's imagination destroy the bad guys, and I knew that I could do that, too.
Corny as shit, but it's utterly sincere, that. I've been trying to relive that moment since then, in various ways. It's in the back of every fantasy, every story, every movie, every adventure. I want to press my hands to my forehead and save the day.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:56 PM | shower me with attention
It was on maybe our second trip to Disney World, so we were four years old. We were in EPCOT, and Kirsten wanted to be one of the kids in Dreamfinder's School of Drama, an interactive exhibit at the Imagination pavilion, wherein children lined up in front of a blue screen on a black line painted in the carpet, and, in the video monitors in front of them, watched themselves be inserted into various pre-taped "adventures". At the beginning of each new group cycle, the children were asked to choose from three of such adventures: outer space, the old West and a fairy tale. Kirsten's group went to outer space. I stood on the sidelines watching on the monitors provided for the audience of parents, because I was too shy to participate. (I was the shy one; Kirsten was the fearless one.)
As I watched, through the magic of chromakey, my sister and her group of strangers traveled through outer space, battling evil anti-imagination space villains. Only through the powers of their imaginations could they escape! "Use your imaginations, now!" urged Dreamfinder from the video screen. "Go on, put your hands to your head, like this"-- he pressed his white-gloved fingers to his forehead-- "and imagine that they're disappearing! Go on!" And all the children pressed their hands to their foreheads, and I watched, transfixed, as my sister did this, and I could almost see the power of her imagination reaching out like an electric arm and zap those villains away. It was something real I was seeing, this power of imagination. I had never felt anything so magical. I had never been so jealous of my sister, who got to be there in outer space and fight the bad guys with Dreamfinder and the rest of the kids.
Now, I was four years old, but I was not a stupid four years old. I knew, rationally, that my sister was not really in outer space, because I could see her on the blue carpet in front of me. But at the same time, she was. She was there, and she was part of something fantastical and unreal and I wasn't, because I'd been too afraid. That moment when she pressed her hands into her forehead, and the music was playing, and the stars were all around her on the screen, it's burned somewhere very deeply into me. It was real, true, live magic. It was the first time I'd reached that duality of thought, where I could know one thing with my head, and at the same time I could believe another thing, with something other than my head.
Every year after that I always was first in line to be in Dreamfinder's Drama School. It was a ridiculous thing to be shy about; shyness was what kept me out of that marvelous adventure that first year, and I would never let it happen again. Even when I went to EPCOT later, as a teenager, with my friends (hi Ags!), before they took down the old Imageworks and put up that new crap in its place, we would go and stand towering above the small children, goofing off and pretending to be part of the adventure. Even after it was just a silly joke, some part of it wasn't. Because I think that that moment I described is what I've been chasing after since then. I think it's the reason I love EPCOT, and that my anxiety dreams are about EPCOT, and that I like to draw and that I read fantasy books and watch fantasy movies and am fascinated by the theatre and the magic created by a good group of performers. I'm chasing that one moment when I watched my sister's imagination destroy the bad guys, and I knew that I could do that, too.
Corny as shit, but it's utterly sincere, that. I've been trying to relive that moment since then, in various ways. It's in the back of every fantasy, every story, every movie, every adventure. I want to press my hands to my forehead and save the day.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:56 PM | shower me with attention
Kirsten and I came home from Mint Manor because Kirsten has tickets to the opera with Tante Joan tonight and they've invited me along for tapas, which I believe are Greek appetizers. I'm going to assume there will be food there I can eat. I hope I get back in time for Trading Spaces.
So we're home now and Kirsten's getting ready, all dolled up like Cher in Moonstruck. She really looks stunning. My sister cleans up quite nicely. She's got an ivory lace blouse under a black leather bodice and this drapey, gauzy black skirt. She can really pull off stuff like that very well.
As for me, I think I ruined a blouse in the laundry last night because I was lazy and tried to just will the colours not to run instead of washing the blouse by hand. That's me in a nutshell, I think.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:21 PM | shower me with attention
So we're home now and Kirsten's getting ready, all dolled up like Cher in Moonstruck. She really looks stunning. My sister cleans up quite nicely. She's got an ivory lace blouse under a black leather bodice and this drapey, gauzy black skirt. She can really pull off stuff like that very well.
As for me, I think I ruined a blouse in the laundry last night because I was lazy and tried to just will the colours not to run instead of washing the blouse by hand. That's me in a nutshell, I think.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:21 PM | shower me with attention
Friday, April 19, 2002
Craig talks like a caveman in his latest journal entry. I love it when people talk like cavemen. This is my favourite part:
Scott get black eye from fall on chair in dark in hotel room. He not cry.
Me love Craig.
When me try talk like caveman me sound like Cookie Monster.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:52 PM | shower me with attention
Scott get black eye from fall on chair in dark in hotel room. He not cry.
Me love Craig.
When me try talk like caveman me sound like Cookie Monster.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:52 PM | shower me with attention
The Phillips Twins at Mint Manor! It's like a Nancy Drew book, but not. At all.
It feels like summertime, and yet Summertime is not playing on tv. However, Bringing up Baby just ended and now The Philadelphia Story is on and that, my friends, is one of my definitions of heaven.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:22 PM | shower me with attention
It feels like summertime, and yet Summertime is not playing on tv. However, Bringing up Baby just ended and now The Philadelphia Story is on and that, my friends, is one of my definitions of heaven.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:22 PM | shower me with attention
Thursday, April 18, 2002
I am trying for most Amys linked in a single blog list. The Amys will soon outnumber the Sarahs in this world, and then where will we be?
I'll tell you where I'll be: tasting toothpaste instead of squeezed-out lemons.
Figure it out for yourself.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:55 PM | shower me with attention
I'll tell you where I'll be: tasting toothpaste instead of squeezed-out lemons.
Figure it out for yourself.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:55 PM | shower me with attention
I was thinking the other day about whether or not I am a snob. I am not a snob. Anyone with any sort of sense would know everything I like is shit, not "the shit," and I don't give a shit (again: not "the shit") about quality. So there you go. I am granted license to make fun of whatever I want. I hate you.
And I love you. Snob.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:51 PM | shower me with attention
And I love you. Snob.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:51 PM | shower me with attention
Hello, Terrence.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:53 PM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:53 PM | shower me with attention
These days are what my mom refers to as "turtle weather", and so it was that this late afternoon found me on the strip of lawn by the river's edge, the one with the rows of cherry trees, now in full blossom. (My old friend, Yorick, resides here, missing a few limbs but still flowering beautifully.)
Progo attracted a lot of attention from the passersby, particularly the children. He showed off, charming all around him, racing around and regarding everyone and everything with suspicion. He learned much on this outing: particularly, that cherry blossom petals may look delicious, but do not make for a sumptuous turtle snack.
He's a cute little bugger, even when he's spitting out pink chewed-up tatters.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:48 PM | shower me with attention
Progo attracted a lot of attention from the passersby, particularly the children. He showed off, charming all around him, racing around and regarding everyone and everything with suspicion. He learned much on this outing: particularly, that cherry blossom petals may look delicious, but do not make for a sumptuous turtle snack.
He's a cute little bugger, even when he's spitting out pink chewed-up tatters.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:48 PM | shower me with attention
There's something very freeing about a tank top.
Most people own at least a few sleeveless shirts, which tend to make for more comfortable summer months, but as for me, the tank top I am currently wearing is the first sleeveless shirt I have owned since I was ten years old. It's nightwear, a gift from my mother; it goes with the pajama pants my thoughtful mum got me as a gift from Old Navy several weeks ago. (I don't really like Old Navy, but they do know their pajama pants.)
The cool air on my arms is very pleasant.
I wouldn't even wear a sleeveless shirt as pajamas before. Not even in the privacy of my own home. I hate my arms that much. So this is a step of some sort; some sort of
progress in the effort to hate one's body less. I must, if I'm able to wear a sleeveless shirt around the house. That's something.
The smaller the garment, the larger the self-acceptance.
Gosh, but my arms are white.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:17 AM | shower me with attention
Most people own at least a few sleeveless shirts, which tend to make for more comfortable summer months, but as for me, the tank top I am currently wearing is the first sleeveless shirt I have owned since I was ten years old. It's nightwear, a gift from my mother; it goes with the pajama pants my thoughtful mum got me as a gift from Old Navy several weeks ago. (I don't really like Old Navy, but they do know their pajama pants.)
The cool air on my arms is very pleasant.
I wouldn't even wear a sleeveless shirt as pajamas before. Not even in the privacy of my own home. I hate my arms that much. So this is a step of some sort; some sort of
progress in the effort to hate one's body less. I must, if I'm able to wear a sleeveless shirt around the house. That's something.
The smaller the garment, the larger the self-acceptance.
Gosh, but my arms are white.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:17 AM | shower me with attention
Wednesday, April 17, 2002
I'm sure the Earth is hurtling towards the sun now. Soon we will all be bacon.
Tonight was some fine improv at the UCB Theatre with erin and sarah and erin's Dave. The air conditioning was cold and the comedy was hot. Together they evened out to create that much-longed-for 72 degrees in my head.
Kirsten made dinner when I got home, something I can eat, and delicious it was, too. She's a fine cook.
Still no urge to read poetry assignments or idea what exactly I'm going to write my final paper on. Ulp.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:12 PM | shower me with attention
Tonight was some fine improv at the UCB Theatre with erin and sarah and erin's Dave. The air conditioning was cold and the comedy was hot. Together they evened out to create that much-longed-for 72 degrees in my head.
Kirsten made dinner when I got home, something I can eat, and delicious it was, too. She's a fine cook.
Still no urge to read poetry assignments or idea what exactly I'm going to write my final paper on. Ulp.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:12 PM | shower me with attention
Last night, Scott-Jesus yelled, "LET'S ROLL, NEW YORK!" At every other show it was "let's rock".
I like to think it was in deference to Miss Frank.
In other news, I am tired beyond all reckoning, head aching, eyes burning, and yet Sleep, that bitch goddess, she is avoiding me tonight. Perhaps because I kept refusing to return her phone calls this weekend.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:27 AM | shower me with attention
I like to think it was in deference to Miss Frank.
In other news, I am tired beyond all reckoning, head aching, eyes burning, and yet Sleep, that bitch goddess, she is avoiding me tonight. Perhaps because I kept refusing to return her phone calls this weekend.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:27 AM | shower me with attention
Tuesday, April 16, 2002
Have been corresponding with my parents via email while they are at sea on their cruise. My father doesn't even know how to turn a computer on, but he's sending me email. Got the following message from him today:
Following up w/snail-mail to each of you--old habits R hard to break.
Few people reading this know my father, but this made me laugh almost as hard as Kevin McDonald's attempts to hide his open fly with his necktie on stage at the KITH show last night. My father is not one who uses abbreviations, and especially avoids new conventions such as the shortening of the word "are" to a single letter.
It's truly hilarious, this.
Elsewise:
It is funny you should mention it because Steve and I were just strolling down the street missing you yesterday. I can't remember if it was before or after we saw Beauty and the Beast on IMAX (finally.)
Yesterday. A wonderful day. Heterosexual lifemate had to work but I skipped class to soak up the time with Cheryl, Mike and Steve. We raced into the city in time to catch the 3 o'clock IMAX showing of aforementioned film, which Steve, Gina and I had been wanting to see since Christmastime. (Yes, I'm going again with Gina.)
I cried three times during the movie. Perhaps I'm hormonal. I know you're laughing at me now, but I don't give a hoot. It's my favourite Dizzerney full-length animated feature. I saw it five times in its original theatrical release. That's more times than I've seen any other movie in a theatre. (Except maybe Rocky Horror. Not sure.)
Anyhoo, then it was magical KITHy time, and magical it was. My favourite part of the day was when Mark saw us at the Xando's a few blocks away from the theatre and ran over to chat us up. Them's the warm fuzzies. But the whole day was simply brilliant.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:22 PM | shower me with attention
Following up w/snail-mail to each of you--old habits R hard to break.
Few people reading this know my father, but this made me laugh almost as hard as Kevin McDonald's attempts to hide his open fly with his necktie on stage at the KITH show last night. My father is not one who uses abbreviations, and especially avoids new conventions such as the shortening of the word "are" to a single letter.
It's truly hilarious, this.
Elsewise:
It is funny you should mention it because Steve and I were just strolling down the street missing you yesterday. I can't remember if it was before or after we saw Beauty and the Beast on IMAX (finally.)
Yesterday. A wonderful day. Heterosexual lifemate had to work but I skipped class to soak up the time with Cheryl, Mike and Steve. We raced into the city in time to catch the 3 o'clock IMAX showing of aforementioned film, which Steve, Gina and I had been wanting to see since Christmastime. (Yes, I'm going again with Gina.)
I cried three times during the movie. Perhaps I'm hormonal. I know you're laughing at me now, but I don't give a hoot. It's my favourite Dizzerney full-length animated feature. I saw it five times in its original theatrical release. That's more times than I've seen any other movie in a theatre. (Except maybe Rocky Horror. Not sure.)
Anyhoo, then it was magical KITHy time, and magical it was. My favourite part of the day was when Mark saw us at the Xando's a few blocks away from the theatre and ran over to chat us up. Them's the warm fuzzies. But the whole day was simply brilliant.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:22 PM | shower me with attention
One more thing, my hero (one of two) has eased my mind about her future. I sing the news like Julie Andrews on the mountain, spinning, arms flung wide, one hand atop my sun-kissed head...
The hills are alive with the sound of honking.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:05 AM | shower me with attention
The hills are alive with the sound of honking.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:05 AM | shower me with attention
I swear I will post properly on the morrow.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:01 AM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:01 AM | shower me with attention
A heady night. Good friends and good times; slight awkwardness, drowned out by the sweetness of a martini-addled head and the warmth of friends and admirees.
Mark McKinney, I do so love you.
The experience of being in a long row with my friends, from sarah to Steve is the stuff I'll take away with me. I love these people.
hic
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:00 AM | shower me with attention
Mark McKinney, I do so love you.
The experience of being in a long row with my friends, from sarah to Steve is the stuff I'll take away with me. I love these people.
hic
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:00 AM | shower me with attention
Monday, April 15, 2002
I'm so tired. I feel like I should blog something, but I don't know exactly what. I've met a lot of great people in the last few days and seen some amazing shows. I love my gang and I wish we could always be together, all the time. I miss the people who aren't here and should be. They know who they are.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:34 AM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:34 AM | shower me with attention
Saturday, April 13, 2002
I never imagined being the "best" teacher anyone would have, but to have people tell me that is like the biggest reward I could have.
You're the best teacher I've ever had.
I know it's not the same thing, but, just sayin'.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:41 AM | shower me with attention
You're the best teacher I've ever had.
I know it's not the same thing, but, just sayin'.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:41 AM | shower me with attention
Tonight was dinner with Steve, Gina, Erica, Erica's boyfriend Rich, Steph and my mom, at our favourite Italian place on Bleecker whose name I can't spell, in honour of Steph and Steve's recent birthday.
My chicken was delicious.
I talked way too much.
It was a lot of fun.
Tomorrow, KITH in Philly. Front row, baby. Lady Luck, she is sweet on me, ah?
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:28 AM | shower me with attention
My chicken was delicious.
I talked way too much.
It was a lot of fun.
Tomorrow, KITH in Philly. Front row, baby. Lady Luck, she is sweet on me, ah?
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:28 AM | shower me with attention
Friday, April 12, 2002
I love Craig Northey more and more each time I see him. Tonight he did three songs during the Wallingford show and each one was fabulous. I wanted to buy his and Bruce McCulloch's CD after the show tonight but American Express cards were not being accepted. To that, I say poop.
I was also distressed by the apparent restlesness of some of the crowd during Craig's songs. Certainly most people were enjoying it, but I kept seeing some people use the time to go to the restrooms or get new drinks or what-have-you, and it displeased me.
The show at Wallingford wass in the big barn and there were some appropriately yokel-ish individuals present. I'm thinking of one guy in particular: in the crowd near the merchandise table, standing nearby was someone who was obviously a post-op transsexual. She was very tall and wore all the accoutrements of femininity; there was no doubt as to her gender identification. Nevertheless, some fuckwit in a plaid shirt felt the need to comment loudly to his friend, "What is IT? I don't know what IT is. IT's so tall. IT has to be a man. Look at IT." With each IT I felt more and more like punching this guy in the face. How rude do you have to fucking be? In 2002, at a goddamn Kids in the Hall show we have to hear this kind of shit?
The show itself was wonderful. I actually took notes during the performance, a la Kitana, but it's the last time I'm doing that. Way too distracting.
Oh, we showed up in Wallingford way too early, of course. Gina and I arrived around four, and Cheryl and Mike wouldn't arrive until seven. We bought coffee and a deck of cards, wandered around the dull, empty streets for about five minutes, and then, like the dorks that we are, drove to the parking lot of the theatre, where we stayed in the car and Gina taught me gin. I'd never played before, and I quite enjoyed the game.
It was magic time soon enough. I can't wait until Saturday; my first time in the front row at a KITH show. I've seen these guys live 27 times, and this will be my first front-row experience. I am terribly excited.
(I really should do my homework or go to sleep now or something. But no.)
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:56 AM | shower me with attention
I was also distressed by the apparent restlesness of some of the crowd during Craig's songs. Certainly most people were enjoying it, but I kept seeing some people use the time to go to the restrooms or get new drinks or what-have-you, and it displeased me.
The show at Wallingford wass in the big barn and there were some appropriately yokel-ish individuals present. I'm thinking of one guy in particular: in the crowd near the merchandise table, standing nearby was someone who was obviously a post-op transsexual. She was very tall and wore all the accoutrements of femininity; there was no doubt as to her gender identification. Nevertheless, some fuckwit in a plaid shirt felt the need to comment loudly to his friend, "What is IT? I don't know what IT is. IT's so tall. IT has to be a man. Look at IT." With each IT I felt more and more like punching this guy in the face. How rude do you have to fucking be? In 2002, at a goddamn Kids in the Hall show we have to hear this kind of shit?
The show itself was wonderful. I actually took notes during the performance, a la Kitana, but it's the last time I'm doing that. Way too distracting.
Oh, we showed up in Wallingford way too early, of course. Gina and I arrived around four, and Cheryl and Mike wouldn't arrive until seven. We bought coffee and a deck of cards, wandered around the dull, empty streets for about five minutes, and then, like the dorks that we are, drove to the parking lot of the theatre, where we stayed in the car and Gina taught me gin. I'd never played before, and I quite enjoyed the game.
It was magic time soon enough. I can't wait until Saturday; my first time in the front row at a KITH show. I've seen these guys live 27 times, and this will be my first front-row experience. I am terribly excited.
(I really should do my homework or go to sleep now or something. But no.)
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:56 AM | shower me with attention
Thursday, April 11, 2002
Tonight: five Canadians and a big barn!
(Why can't people keep their willies out of hoooooooles?)
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:44 PM | shower me with attention
(Why can't people keep their willies out of hoooooooles?)
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:44 PM | shower me with attention
I was going to go to bed, honest I was, but she is online so rarely and I love her so very much. I love her so much that my heart is made of yogurt when it comes to her.
That made sense to no one in this world but me. I love it when that happens.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:37 AM | shower me with attention
That made sense to no one in this world but me. I love it when that happens.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:37 AM | shower me with attention
Wednesday, April 10, 2002
Ladies and gentlemen, presenting the best description of high school I have ever read:
...it is a hideously malformed monster sucking the creativity and soul from the vast potential of wonderful emerging individuals, designed as a cathedral of paranoia and angst for the most emotionally vulnerable people who wish to learn to be adults but, no, they only get to learn to be vicious nasty asswipes and/or cowering trembling shadows.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:23 PM | shower me with attention
...it is a hideously malformed monster sucking the creativity and soul from the vast potential of wonderful emerging individuals, designed as a cathedral of paranoia and angst for the most emotionally vulnerable people who wish to learn to be adults but, no, they only get to learn to be vicious nasty asswipes and/or cowering trembling shadows.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:23 PM | shower me with attention
I'm going to Sweden, yes I am. I am going to Sweden, yes sirree.
Thank you, frequent flier miles.
I am going to Sweden, and if the gods smile, it will be timed so that I can take 17 hours (each way) worth of train trips back and forth between Stockholm and Amsterdam for a weekend of fun with my dears.
Actually I want to see Berlin, too... but that may be pushing it.
The train part is not daunting, as I took plenty of Amtrakvaganzas with my family as a young teenager, and have spent two nights in a row-- more than once-- sleeping in the coach cars of overheated trains. And it was, at times, a hell of a lot of fun. If you don't mind peeing in sticky-floored Amtrak lavatories, I recommend it.
So, there you go. Don't say I'm not adventurous. I'm going to a country where I only know one person there. In the whole country.
(Don't ask me about summer school. You won't like the answer. Look, I can go to summer school any time. Like six credits is going to break me at this point.)
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:19 PM | shower me with attention
Thank you, frequent flier miles.
I am going to Sweden, and if the gods smile, it will be timed so that I can take 17 hours (each way) worth of train trips back and forth between Stockholm and Amsterdam for a weekend of fun with my dears.
Actually I want to see Berlin, too... but that may be pushing it.
The train part is not daunting, as I took plenty of Amtrakvaganzas with my family as a young teenager, and have spent two nights in a row-- more than once-- sleeping in the coach cars of overheated trains. And it was, at times, a hell of a lot of fun. If you don't mind peeing in sticky-floored Amtrak lavatories, I recommend it.
So, there you go. Don't say I'm not adventurous. I'm going to a country where I only know one person there. In the whole country.
(Don't ask me about summer school. You won't like the answer. Look, I can go to summer school any time. Like six credits is going to break me at this point.)
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:19 PM | shower me with attention
Hola! Holla! Ho-la-holla-doodle-all-the-day!
I've thought of something.
If I were a therapist, what I would say to me at this point is:
Tavie,
(I would want any therapist to call me Tavie, or it wouldn't work)
why don't you try this. Draw something every day. Don't show it to anyone. Don't do it for anyone but yourself. If you start despairing that you're not any good, push past it and keep on drawing until it goes away. Draw anything. Do it every day.
And it made me begin to understand art therapy. I imagine a bunch of self-obsessed depressives at long tables with butcher paper spread out before us, humming nervously to ourselves, clutching crayons in our hands, thinking, "Okay, I'm not M.C. Escher. Okay, I'm not Wendy Pini. I'm not Maxfield Parrish. I'm not Daniel Clowes. But look, I made this mark myself. It's pretty. Look, I made another. Art, art, art. Look at me being expressive. How expressive I am!"
Mmm, therapy fantasies. That's got to be a step in the right direction.
I am going to bed now.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:50 AM | shower me with attention
I've thought of something.
If I were a therapist, what I would say to me at this point is:
Tavie,
(I would want any therapist to call me Tavie, or it wouldn't work)
why don't you try this. Draw something every day. Don't show it to anyone. Don't do it for anyone but yourself. If you start despairing that you're not any good, push past it and keep on drawing until it goes away. Draw anything. Do it every day.
And it made me begin to understand art therapy. I imagine a bunch of self-obsessed depressives at long tables with butcher paper spread out before us, humming nervously to ourselves, clutching crayons in our hands, thinking, "Okay, I'm not M.C. Escher. Okay, I'm not Wendy Pini. I'm not Maxfield Parrish. I'm not Daniel Clowes. But look, I made this mark myself. It's pretty. Look, I made another. Art, art, art. Look at me being expressive. How expressive I am!"
Mmm, therapy fantasies. That's got to be a step in the right direction.
I am going to bed now.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:50 AM | shower me with attention
I don't remember what life was like before medication. I think it was pretty bad. What wounds us so much that we need chemicals to bring us up to a level where we'll choose cake instead of death? (Or an apple instead of cake, which for some of us is leading to death. Fuck this metaphor.)
It is these lonely, contemplative nights talking only to my blog that I can do without, I think.
Okay: it would not help me to know when it was that I lost any shred of confidence in my ability to create things to please myself. If I'd rather be dead than live a life without art (a bold statement indeed, a bold admission to myself, don't underestimate that please), but I don't have any confidence in my ability to create art (art, in this sense, meaning anything new that wasn't there before, that I made myself, and blogging does not count but other writing may, although I was never a writer, but I used to draw, dammit) then where does it leave me? Here at 3:30 am. (Not the physical here but this dry-eyed, squinty brand of hopelessness and restless foot digging a groove in the carpet)
The key to this is that I have not yet taken my nightly Effexor.
Before Effexor I used to draw a lot more.
Before Effexor I used to want to be dead a lot more.
It doesn't matter if you're not as good as other people, you hobo eating a rat. You used to do it for you. So do it again. How about it?
How about taking your book, taking your pill, going upstairs, puffing up the air mattress, climbing into bed, and being in Margaret Atwood's head for awhile.
Even when I hate you, I love you.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:33 AM | shower me with attention
It is these lonely, contemplative nights talking only to my blog that I can do without, I think.
Okay: it would not help me to know when it was that I lost any shred of confidence in my ability to create things to please myself. If I'd rather be dead than live a life without art (a bold statement indeed, a bold admission to myself, don't underestimate that please), but I don't have any confidence in my ability to create art (art, in this sense, meaning anything new that wasn't there before, that I made myself, and blogging does not count but other writing may, although I was never a writer, but I used to draw, dammit) then where does it leave me? Here at 3:30 am. (Not the physical here but this dry-eyed, squinty brand of hopelessness and restless foot digging a groove in the carpet)
The key to this is that I have not yet taken my nightly Effexor.
Before Effexor I used to draw a lot more.
Before Effexor I used to want to be dead a lot more.
It doesn't matter if you're not as good as other people, you hobo eating a rat. You used to do it for you. So do it again. How about it?
How about taking your book, taking your pill, going upstairs, puffing up the air mattress, climbing into bed, and being in Margaret Atwood's head for awhile.
Even when I hate you, I love you.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:33 AM | shower me with attention
She daydreams about building Muppets, which is what makes her so damned cool. That and the hair.
You don't play soccer, do you?
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:40 AM | shower me with attention
You don't play soccer, do you?
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:40 AM | shower me with attention
Got to keep on top of my life. The deal:
I'm now at Mint Manor for the week, until Sunday night. Earlier than usual because my poetry prof will be out tomorrow, and I have to miss Thursday's linguistics (exam) class to see the Kids in the Hall. And, of course, no school Fridays. So I came over tonight after class and I'm here for the week.
The week must include the following:
Tomorrow: do poetry homework. Make Hedwig tape. Get dressed at some point.
Thursday: Kids in the Hall in Wall-ing-ford!
Friday: Steve arrives! Take him and real-life Steph out for their birthdays to that Italian place whose name I can't spell on Bleecker. (Also present: mom, Erica, possibly Erica's boyfriend, heterosexual lifemate).
Saturday: Kids in the Hall in Philadelphia!
Sunday: Kids in the Hall at the Beacon!
Monday: Poetry class. Kids in the Hall at the Beacon, again!
Tuesday: Make-up linguistics midterm? Bye-bye Steve.
By this point, my parents will be gone on their five-week jaunt to Spain and Italy and wherever the hell else it is they're going. (I pretended to look at the itinerary but I was just skimming it looking for my name.)
So this is the excitement of my life. The whole time I will be wishing I was one of those sporty, artsy, healthy young girls with bouncy shampoo-commercial hair who play soccer and go to expensive art schools and are brimming with creativity and self-confidence. Like the grass isn't plenty green over here in overweight medicated groupieland!
Why didn't I play soccer as a child? My life would be so different today, I just know it.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:31 AM | shower me with attention
I'm now at Mint Manor for the week, until Sunday night. Earlier than usual because my poetry prof will be out tomorrow, and I have to miss Thursday's linguistics (exam) class to see the Kids in the Hall. And, of course, no school Fridays. So I came over tonight after class and I'm here for the week.
The week must include the following:
Tomorrow: do poetry homework. Make Hedwig tape. Get dressed at some point.
Thursday: Kids in the Hall in Wall-ing-ford!
Friday: Steve arrives! Take him and real-life Steph out for their birthdays to that Italian place whose name I can't spell on Bleecker. (Also present: mom, Erica, possibly Erica's boyfriend, heterosexual lifemate).
Saturday: Kids in the Hall in Philadelphia!
Sunday: Kids in the Hall at the Beacon!
Monday: Poetry class. Kids in the Hall at the Beacon, again!
Tuesday: Make-up linguistics midterm? Bye-bye Steve.
By this point, my parents will be gone on their five-week jaunt to Spain and Italy and wherever the hell else it is they're going. (I pretended to look at the itinerary but I was just skimming it looking for my name.)
So this is the excitement of my life. The whole time I will be wishing I was one of those sporty, artsy, healthy young girls with bouncy shampoo-commercial hair who play soccer and go to expensive art schools and are brimming with creativity and self-confidence. Like the grass isn't plenty green over here in overweight medicated groupieland!
Why didn't I play soccer as a child? My life would be so different today, I just know it.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:31 AM | shower me with attention
Tuesday, April 09, 2002
Y'all need to:
1. Shut up.
2. Blame sarah c:
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:47 PM | shower me with attention
1. Shut up.
2. Blame sarah c:
find your queer
as folk personality!
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:47 PM | shower me with attention
As an assignment for her media ethics class, my sister has to have Newsday fax her a copy of their ethics guidelines. She called on Friday and got a promise from their communications director that he would fax it ASAP. It is now Tuesday and she is still waiting. The conclusion to be drawn from this: Newsday has no ethics guidelines. The guy is sitting there right now typing them up.
In my head: Smokin' on a night train, chewin' on a jelly roll...
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:36 PM | shower me with attention
In my head: Smokin' on a night train, chewin' on a jelly roll...
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:36 PM | shower me with attention
I firmly believe that fruit ruins the taste of yogurt.
It can be an accompaniment, but any sort of real mixing-- may god forbid any actual blending-- renders yogurt inedible.
I fully expect the smoothie industry to take a major hit after the publication of this blog post, but I can't say I'm truly sorry.
(Synaesthetically, the following words taste like plain yogurt: love, glory, glorify, believe.)
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:41 AM | shower me with attention
It can be an accompaniment, but any sort of real mixing-- may god forbid any actual blending-- renders yogurt inedible.
I fully expect the smoothie industry to take a major hit after the publication of this blog post, but I can't say I'm truly sorry.
(Synaesthetically, the following words taste like plain yogurt: love, glory, glorify, believe.)
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:41 AM | shower me with attention
But I do. But it seems that, yes, we probably will not being to school together next year. And who knows what to make of that?
Oh please, oh god, let me stop living vicariously through people. Let me rejoice in other people's decisions to do what is best for them instead of wallowing in my own selfish fantasies that things will never change and Balki and Cousin Larry never take that last bow because their series is never cancelled due to lack of interest. This lord I do pray.
Repeat after myself: Anywhere Goose chooses to go to college is the best possible choice for her. I want her to choose the best possible choice for her. I want her to choose the best possible choice for her, not me.
Lighten up, lighten up: I wish this poet had a volume of work published before WWII, as he is my favourite and I could so easily write ten pages on him.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:05 AM | shower me with attention
which "monty python and the holy grail" character are you?
this quiz was made by colleen
Oh please, oh god, let me stop living vicariously through people. Let me rejoice in other people's decisions to do what is best for them instead of wallowing in my own selfish fantasies that things will never change and Balki and Cousin Larry never take that last bow because their series is never cancelled due to lack of interest. This lord I do pray.
Repeat after myself: Anywhere Goose chooses to go to college is the best possible choice for her. I want her to choose the best possible choice for her. I want her to choose the best possible choice for her, not me.
Lighten up, lighten up: I wish this poet had a volume of work published before WWII, as he is my favourite and I could so easily write ten pages on him.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:05 AM | shower me with attention
Monday, April 08, 2002
which "monty python and the holy grail" character are you?
this quiz was made by colleen