tavie.com

Ugh.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:31 PM | shower me with attention

Last night I read that in Iroquois tradition, dreams are the expression of your soul's desire and once interpreted, must be fulfilled or else you will get sick.

Then I dreamed that Scott Thompson and I were out in a rainstorm, waiting for my mother to get out of the A&P, and playing with a monkey that was my sister's new pet. The monkey bit me. Scott asked me to be his personal assistant and I balked and then reluctantly accepted.

Then I was in Prague checking out Sarah C's new digs. She lived in a castle with a lot of other girls. Elton John was performing in the common room, to three screaming fans and a lot of indifferent students.

This must be properly interpreted, else my soul will sicken. Heh heh heh.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:02 PM | shower me with attention

Dinner with Steph, Kirsten and Andrew at South Street Seaport. Andrew's sleeping over; we're watching G*U*E*S*S W*H*A*T.

It feels wrong, not knitting something now. Must get that fun stripey sock yarn and start on pair numero dos.

My life is boring.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:14 AM | shower me with attention

Friday, September 13, 2002

My last two posts have been play-by-plays of old Late Night with Conan O'Brien reruns.

Um.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:46 PM | shower me with attention

Rerun of Conan. Allison Janney just said, "My friend Octavia had to do that..." and my ears perked up. I wonder what her friend Octavia had to do.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:45 PM | shower me with attention

Jeff Goldblum is on Conan talking about plastic surgery and he just said, "You know what else Hollywood people do..." as if he, himself, were not a Hollywood person.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:24 AM | shower me with attention

There was a mishap involving a glass of Guiness, a bottle of Diet Coke, a thirsty father and a mistaken identity, but it's not that interesting so I won't describe it.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:55 AM | shower me with attention

I hope drawing class gets more fun. It was so great last time. I had a good rapport with everyone from the first day, including the instructors. This one is smaller, and mostly girls-- no cute guys, buh-hoo, buh-hoo-- and the teacher is quiet and sort of reserved. He took a moment to give us a tip about drawing the human buttocks (each class will consist of us attempting to draw a nude model in a series of poses, standard stuff) and he actually had a little trouble finding the right euphemism to use. So he'd go, "When you're drawing the, uh, the, uh, butt..." or "So remember when attempting the, er, uh, the rear end..." and I was the only one giggling at his clumsiness! So I guess I'm the immature one.

No one talks while we're drawing, which is okay, I guess-- but no one really talks while we're not drawing, either. Last time I got to be sort of class clown, you know, and I love that. There doesn't seem to be any bantering whatsoever now. Just business. Dull business. Draw, draw, draw.

None of which would be so bad except that in a class of 18 people, I'm the 3rd or 4th worst drawer in the class. I was too ashamed to put up a sketch at the end-- no one noticed-- but I took note of ability and noted that only 3 of the posted drawings were inferior when compared to my own abilities. Everyone else is pretty damned good. So, yeah. That sucks for me.

But it was only the second class. Maybe it'll shape up. And maybe I'll actually learn to, you know, draw. If the teacher ever opens his mouth. He didn't have a thing to say to me. I miss Professor Swain. He used to yell at me all the time. That means they think you're talented.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:20 AM | shower me with attention

Thursday, September 12, 2002

My mom did a little academic survey for me and discovered that after this semester, I'm only 2 courses short of having all of my anthro credits for an anthro major, and all but one art course for a studio art minor. I also need one more social science, one more humanities, a math course, and a science course (computer science, baby!). The monkey on my back is language: I need 12 language credits, of which I have none.

Still. Still... I may graduate within this lifetime.

Oh, lord, a language, a language. Oh lordy lordy lordy. I hate languages. I'm terrible at languages. And it will take four semesters for me to get them all, unless I do something called Language Intensive, which sounds horrifyingly difficult. And what language would I take? Most people go by their high school history. That doesn't help me at all. I don't have a goddamn high school history. It was:

Third grade - fifth grade: Spanish. Ancient history. I can't remember a single thing I learned when I was eight. Oh: la cucaracha, la cucaracha... something something something something...

Sixth grade - eighth grade: French. Don't remember hardly a thing, and I'm terrified of pronouncing it in public.

Ninth - half of tenth grade: Latin. First year was easy, second year was hard. Easy to pronounce but useless in life. And the idea of intensive Latin makes my brain shrivel.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

Maybe I should take Japanese. My sister could do all my homework for me, and apparently the one teacher our school employs is a very sweet old lady.

Oh, kill me.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:18 PM | shower me with attention

I'll be damned if I ain't wearing the prettiest, yellowest, comfiest, most satisfying pair of socks I ever did wear.

And I made them my own self.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:45 AM | shower me with attention

I suppose it's time to address this.

Please tell me what you did today. Please?

My technique has always been Self-Preservative Avoidance. I am an expert at it. I can very quickly be completely numb. I can turn emotion on and off like a tap. Mostly.

I've been going along with sort of a weary resignation. In my haht of hahts I believe I wished for today to pass without much overt acknowledgement. I wish it was possible to have one collective, centralized, exclusive Moment of Silence sort of deal, but that otherwise for today to be like any other day. (When I say "today" I mean "yesterday" according to the clock.) I thought of all the people who have been trying to spend the past year forgetting about it-- and I'm only basing this on my own limited experience of grief and my mental avoidance techniques-- don't think about the loved one gone, just watch a lot of M*A*S*H (or Kids in the Hall or The Wizard of Oz or whatever)-- and how they'd be forced, maybe outside of their will, to Think and Reflect and Dwell and all that stuff. But I recognized that not everyone chooses Avoidance and that it would be just as unfair to impose my Avoidance on others.

So, what I did today: I got up around 2 pm, as I have been doing lately. I got dressed. I surfed the internet and ate a very ripe peach, and the omelet my sister made me. I put Lost in Space in a discman and went to school. I did the crossword puzzle through Modern Theatre and passed notes back and forth with Terrence. I went to Sociolinguistics and suffered through two hours of that. Did more of the crossword and got away with a little covert Village Voice leafing. Then I exited the premises.

I walked past the Armory and all of the soldiers in combat uniform, complete with helmets. It was very, very windy out.

I got on the subway. I got off on Roosevelt Island. I walked home. On the way home I called Ade and had a chat with her. Outside of my apartment building there was a large, noisy congregation of people with candles singing along to the loud singing of whoever it was who had the microphone. I felt nothing at this display but irritation at having to fight through the crowd to get into my building. I tried to feel guilt at feeling irritation, but it did not come.

I came upstairs and ate Chinese food-- bbq'ed meats and bok choi-- with my parents, and watched Bringing up Baby. I surfed the internet some more. I watched David Letterman. David Letterman made me feel something akin to emotional reflection and remorse. When he said, "Let's take a moment and say a silent prayer to those who lost loved ones a year ago", I actually did such. This felt natural. I feel that Letterman did a service to us a year ago and I felt he was handling things properly tonight.

That brings me about up to date. I'm now watching M*A*S*H. I hope Gina is okay. I just saw that she left a message on my phone, which I neglected to take off of "silent" mode after class today. I hope she was okay and just calling to say hi.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:23 AM | shower me with attention

Wednesday, September 11, 2002

You're probably not looking for this, but just in case you are.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:08 PM | shower me with attention

I dropped a bottle of pineapple liquor and it shattered on the floor all sticky on the floor.
My head hurts like a caffeine headache and the tea doesn't help but if I have coffee I'm afraid I won't sleep in time to get up and get to Pearl Paints before 2 so I can make it to my class by 4 and I need to get a job don't I but I don't want to that guy called about a job but I didn't call him back oh well and my dad is retiring tomorrow and in a week he'll be 65 and I haven't read any of my sociolinguistics chapters but I don't think I really need to and I hope Professor Whatsherface ends on time tomorrow because I only have five minutes to get from Modern Theatre to Sociolinguistics and I don't want to end up in the sunny seat again because it will give me a headache speaking of headaches this isn't helping my current one so I'll go read this play in the other room at least this play seems to have some sex in it sex is always vaguely interesting.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:49 AM | shower me with attention

Tuesday, September 10, 2002

1. Vanessa Williams should be shot.

2. They sanitized it. They kiddified it. They stupid-fied it. They added stupid lyrics and took away good lyrics.

3. The. Acting. SUCKED.

4. Except for Jack's Mother, who was the cool old lady from Fuddy Meers*, and Cinderella's Stepmother was pretty good, and Jack was passable but too squeaky, and Cinderella was okay, too.

5. No chemistry at ALL between the Baker and his Wife. My favourite song ruined due to their lack of chemistry.

6. A minor point, but to NOT harmonize the line "Like father like son"? Mistake.

7. I tried to get into a childlike mood-- easy for me, easy-- but I just couldn't. Not comparing it to the 1987 production proved too Herculean a task for a weakling such as I.

8. Did I mention how Vanessa Williams should be shot? Or at least, you know, given some sort of acting lessons. Something. She was so wooden, and she covered up her woodenness with unnecessary shrieking. So much shrieking. Shrieking is not acting.

9. *Speaking of Fuddy Meers, I recall having a nice moment at Fuddy Meers wherein my friends and I were exiting said play, Fall 1999, and ran into Miss Danielle Ferland, who originated the role of Little Red Riding Hood and did a MUCH better job of it. So that's some sort of circle, there.

10. But, on an up note, when Milky White took off his cow head for his bow, I said to my sister, "Hey, he looks like the cute guy from that production of Godspell I saw with Gina" ( for her birthday a couple years ago), and I looked in the Playbill, and it was one Chad Kimball, who, yes, yes-- was the cute guy from that production of Godspell. Which was really cool. He was the guy who I found the cutest in the entire cast, he sang "We Beseech Thee", and at the end he was trying to get audience members to dance on stage but I Don't Do That, and he looked disappointed but then he got Gina up there to dance with him. So, yay, he was Milky White.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:41 PM | shower me with attention

Knitting and M*A*S*H: two things I find interesting.

Tonight: Into the Woods.

That is all.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:11 PM | shower me with attention

It is a real struggle to keep my head above water. Sometimes. Treading makes me tired. Wish I could just float. You'd think with this much body fat I could just float but it is there that the metaphor falls apart. The metaphor only suits me to a certain point and then it deserts me when the going gets rough. Thanks a lot, metaphor. Expect coal in your stocking this Christmas, metaphor.

Providence will fray the rope
and sink like a stone.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:32 AM | shower me with attention

Monday, September 09, 2002

Things are getting weirder at the speed of light
Oh Nightmare Girl...

What did I say about no more big surprises? No more big losses?

I'm on a train to Brooklyn
I'm on the IRT
I gotta think I'm saving the day
I get a call at midnight
I get a call at three
I gotta go and make it okay...

Well, scratch that, I guess. I don't understand. Is this another notch? Please don't make this another notch.

This song is so fucking apt.

Things are getting weirder....things are getting weirder... �Aimee Mann, 2002.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:31 PM | shower me with attention

I feel sheepish.

Lost in Space arrived today, bonus CD included.

Oh, it's beautiful.

But, of course, thanks to my buddy Mel, soon I'll have two bonus CDs. Anyone need an extra?

Why are you in Tavie's head? 7:02 PM | shower me with attention

I just made a pot of coffee that tastes like dishwater.

The day can only go up from here.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:18 PM | shower me with attention

Sunday, September 08, 2002

Fuck commenting systems.

Working on the instep of sock #2. Very exciting.

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

I'm very excited. Very excited.

I'm watching an episode of M*A*S*H in which Hawkeye and Beej are sitting around the Swamp trying to amuse themselves. Beej is reclining on his bunk as Hawk sits concocting a fantasy involving Beej and Lana Turner. As he is talking, Hawkeye is knitting.

I am very excited to see one of my favourite male tv characters knitting on tv.

As if this weren't enough, Hawkeye then puts aside his knitting and picks up a Times crossword puzzle. He and BJ then proceed to become obsessed with finishing the puzzle, having Father Mulcahy read the clues aloud during surgery, and finally getting stuck on the last clue: "Five-letter Yiddish word meaning bedbug, beginning with p."

They spend the rest of the episode trying to find the answer to this clue, which I, of course, knew immediately, being a big enough fan of Dave Foley's character work to have had my mother tell me, numerous times, the humour behind the name Bruno "Puntz" Jones.

I think this is my favourite episode.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 5:01 PM | shower me with attention

Kirsten wants to adopt a new cat to keep Lily company.

I don't want a new cat ever again.

Neither does my mom. I was explaining to my parents, "We get a new kitty, and then Lily dies and that kitty is left alone."

Dad: "You could get TWO kittens..."

Yeah. Thanks. Don't help me.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:33 PM | shower me with attention