Keep Your Latvia Off My Cherry Coke

Hi. Happy New Years. Now, curl up with yourself and watch The Twilight Zone Marathon on the SciFi channel. Later, party @ RingaRingaRinga's and Jessses. Earlier, getting acquainted with my new iPod, which is the coolest piece of technology I will abandon an old fashioned record player for. (And I know that the record player will haunt me still!...) Anything the size of a deck of cards that can play music, with decent sound, consecutively and without repeat for 2 and a half weeks is pretty cool. Though, with its spacey metallic mirror back and steril white theme, I find it not as lively, as "personifiable" as the Haunted Record Player.
...
I did my hair with my new curling iron. It looks RAD! It's all funky and cool and yeah.
...
I was listening to Stories From the City, Stories from the Sea by PJ Harvey (on my cd player, mind you, I was doodling my hair, and the cd player may soon be coughing restless spirits) and I realized the album's theme of time and place. The whole thing is about falling in love (Oh, such an original idea) and then out. Still, it's my favorite PJ Harvey album. The songs that are the most "lovey dovey" are in past tense and set in the city, like "You Said Something" and "Good Fortune." Then, the sad ones are in present tense and are more psychological, take place in the mind. "We Float," you can say, is sort of predicts the future and is more bittersweet so to say. So, a combination of the past and present is the future? Hrm... Anyway, I thought that was good what she did, though, it seems kind of obvious to me now, but still, it could be subtle. And maybe Pajamas Harvey didn't mean anything like this at all and I am just weird. Though, I will keep it in mind~
...
Happy Birthday!

Where have you gone Clinton administration--

"They can't see us, we can't see them, we're all alone in this little shack," he said, as her bare feet shivered on the tangled vollyball net.
And then, she beat him, and the rest of them, off with her coral flipflop, sprinkled in Southern California sand.
***
Ms. P's glasses clung on the cliff of her bony nose as stow-away granuels of Southern California sand festered in the princess's penny-loafers, reminding her of the cause of the photos of a supposed party girl in nothing but a green skirt obsessing in rotten shacks...

I'm watching "The Princess Diaries"

______________________________________________________

Everyone see this movie

Hello, Angela.

This is M31, better known as the Andromeda Galaxy, saying hello hello to you. I hope that you are looking forward to exploring the cosmos with me. Soon, we will be taking a mission to the center of your galaxy, the Milky Way, and visiting its BLACK HOLE. It shall be a long trip many lightyears long, so don't forget to bring extra underwear...

A bientot,

M31.

Our Spacey Adventures

Andrew was on his deathbed...

According to my mom, two weeks ago, Andrew, my pet betta fish, was close to death. I was at school still while my fish were already at home. My parents were left to feed them. I said to the parents weary of changing water and cleaning tanks, "All you have to do is feed them!" My mom insisted on using tweezers to drop in the amount of blood worms for the fishies. She said, "UGH, eww, I'm not touching those, it's gross!"

So, I was on the phone with my mom two weeks ago while I was at school, and she said that Andrew didn't look so good. She said he won't eat, but spit out his food. She said he had no color to him and that he would just lie on his tummy on the gravel all day. His fins were clamped tight to him, she said he looked like a little spear, an oil slicked little "shoootthh" and made a motion with her fingers like a swift pinching motion. She said, "I don't know Ange, I don't know if he'll make it." She also said that she tried talking to him. I laughed, because I can't imagine what my mom would say to a fish. She always talks about how she can't imagine having fish for pets, since she had always fished for lunch and dinner with her brothers and sister when she was little. So, my mom was at home, talking to a half dead fish.

When I came home finally, last Friday afternoon, Andrew did look pretty blassblass and pastey. But then, a miracle happened [A Christmas Miiiiiirical!]. I put my finger up to the glass and, as usual, Andrew swam up to it and kissed my finger with this little fishy mouth and flared at me with his fishy gills. There, all his fins fanned out and he swam circles all around the tank. My mom said, "Oh my goodness!!!" She insisted that he was seriously about to *cough* *cough* and X X. But, no, he was quite alive, and at the sight of my fingertip, he rejoyced and yay! living again!

I tell this because non-stop since last Friday when Andrew started tap dancing off his deathbed, my mom has talked about Andrew coming back to life. At least twice or thrice a day does she bring it up. I admited today that it is a little funny, that a fish seemed to recognize its owner so much as to stop pouting suddenly. Dogs and cats, and I bet even birds do that, but I would never imagine fish. So, here's to my mom, for feeding Andrew and talking to him (which she still does now, she yells "Hi Andrew!" while crouching down at his tank.)

And yes, fish do have feelings! He missed me, and I have to say, I missed him too during that week I was at school without him. Now, here we all are, to celebrate Xmas together, me, the fam, the dogs and cat, and the fish...

MC Hawking

MC Hawking made an album. He made 3 of them. Now you can buy the "Hawkman's" Greatest Hits on amazon.com, here.

I am very excited about this. This is the stupidest thing I have come across in a long time.

Meanwhile, you can email the real "Hawkman," Stephen Hawking that is, at

S.W.Hawking@damtp.cam.ac.uk

I don't know what anyone would say, since his official website gives explicit intructions on what not to email the man. Anyway, it may be fun. He just might email you back!
...

Stephan Hawking...

In this passed Sunday's New York Times Magazine, Stephen Hawking was briefly interviewed. Here are some of the things I thought were intereting:

NYT: What's your I.Q?
HAWKING: I have no idea. People who boast about their I.Q. are losers.
...

NYT: Are you always this cheerful?
H: Life would be tragic if it weren't funny.

NYT: Seriously, how do you keep your spirits up?
H: My expectations were reduced to zero when I was 21. Everything since then has been a bonus.

...

NYT: Do you believe in God?
H: I don't believe in a personal God.

NYT: What do you think of President Bush's plan to get to Mars in 10 years?
H: Stupid. Robots would do a better job and be much cheaper because you don't have to bring them back.

NYT: Do you think people will ever line on a planet besides Earth?
H: Yes, if we don't self-destruct first.

~

I like him. I would love to have lunch with him because I bet chatting with Stephan Hawking would be a lot of fun and interesting. I like his mixture of cynicism, honesty, and optimism. I shall invite him over for cards along with Einstein, Newton, and Data from Star Trek...

The Best of Shontae and Angela

So, since I am murdering Shontae next Tuesday...Oh wait, nevermind.

Actually, I'm never going to see her again because she is going to marry a kilt wearing bastard in Scotland and give him blow jobs every afternoon under his skirt...Oh wait, nevermind.

Shontae, like I said, I'll miss you. We had some damn good times together since freshman year, and I will have to put them on hold for a while, unless I dream about you. I'll dream about a Candy Colored Clown they call the Sandman, that tiptoes through my window every night, just to sprinkle stardust, and whisper, go to sleep, everything is all right. I close my eyes, and I drift away, uhh, I can't remember the rest. Watchting Blue Velvet with you is always a good time.

Riding the bus together is always fun, since you like to fall on people on the bus. Not only that, we seem to attract a lot of weird people, like Dan, who never woke up, and that lady who was asleep next to you, drooling all over the place. And that one guy who was eating his face. Geez, I'm never riding the bus with you again. -Oh, but I want to...

Target trips with Shontae...--Crispin Glover. The all nighter I pussied out on because I was tired and fell asleep, and woke up and the school had blown up and opened to a vast unknown land of red soil and giant cockateels, and you weren't there...because you went to Scott-Land.

Gyroscope Man.

...Well Shontae Blevins (HA!) I will see you soon! Send me a postcard. *smile and wave goodbye, maybe even a wink if you are lucky*

"Think about this"

The Center of the Milkyway is Somewhere in Ohio--

Four times in the last 3 years I have traveled the Ohio roads, around and in Cleveland, and 4 times I have witnessed the great unknown that seethes in the air that skims the asphalt...

Oh, haha it's funny at the time, my mom and I laughing at our action movie maneuver-quickly crossing 3 lanes of parkway traffic to meet a backwards exit, but we could have fucking died. Worst, we could have gotten sucked into a parallel universe, never to return to the unpaved and pot-holy holy holy roads of PA...

We could have gotten sucked into a parallel universe where there is sense in the road signs in Ohio, where Interstates don't appear and disappear without reason, and the Turnpike isn't an elusive road HOME. (A parallel universe where the interstates in PA aren't like booby traps and dead bridges over ravines.)

Ohio wanted us to stay, it kept swinging its arms around us, kindly, yet with all evil and loathsome intent. But, fortunatly, we made it out...alive even. And here I am to tell the story...

Yippee! Presents...

I just got done wrapping presents and putting them under the tree. Yippee. I had on Morrison Hotel, and since my door was open, Dana across the hall listened in too. While she tolerates the Manzarek organs on most songs, I hate it. I always say that it could be replaced by a really good guitar solo. But, on "Blue Sunday" and "Indian Summer" we both agree that those songs would be ruined by the stupid organ. Speaking of which, I remember one of the first times Natalie and I hung out, we had a discussion about The Doors and I talked about the very subject of the organ and how it sucks. We joked that Manzarek could only play that one intstrament and he really, really, really wanted to be cool. So, he begged Jim to let him in the band. Only, Jim was reluctant because Ray is a loser with his one instrament and would scare off all the girls...BUT, we all know that's not true.

Anyway, presents, Christmas, tree, under it. I wrapped everyone's presents. Well, not quite everyone's yet, Nat and I have yet to go to Target on Monday. But, so far I have wrapped the Milano Cookies and Beef Jerky for Stacy. I wrapped the giant Hershey Kiss for Megan, and I wrapped the homemade picture frame and boxers for Natalie. It was exciting to put the wrapped presents under the tree, even though our tree is 2 feet tall and on top of the microwave. It's nice though. We have homemade ornaments decorating it. There's the ones I made over the years: the paper crane one, the Heineken lable one, the glittering snowflake. There's the Cartman one Heather made, a snowman that Kathryn made...I can't think of what else. Then, there are the ones Nat made for us this year, a picture of a big, burly pirate looking guy for Stacy and a hot picture of the lovely Karen O for me. We have a lovely tree.

So, later today my friends and I in the dorms are going to have a little party and exchange presents. It shall be good times, good times.

My last day of classes for the semester was today too. Noon, I was done. Phew, this semester sucked. I did well, but it was tough. I don't know why exactly. I'm just glad it is over. That does mean only 3 more semesters of my college life left. It's going fast. Before I know it, I will be 88 years old wearing broaches on my cardigans. I bet I will still have brown hair though. Which reminds me, I was going to dye my hair before I leave for home next week. If I do it here, I don't have to worry about my mom blassblassing about hair dye in the sink in the shower in the hair...I don't know if I want to go with the dark auburn I've been using or a dark brown, like dark chocolate. Dark chocolate sounds tastier. Yum, hairdye.

So, today was a good day. Tell me about yours...

RIP Pookie

I found this written in the back one of my notebooks today,

"Time pulls us toward death and while changing us so, time -- this controlling force, takes us toward death -- an inevitable disordering, disesembling force time makes up and lets us go and we are off and fall and takes death takes us apart No point in controlling time."

I copy that exactly. Though it may seem incoherent, it's kind of neat. I was having a mini epiphany while writing my term paper on Gothic elements in Wuthering Heights...

And so, Pookie. I came back from my first class this morning to feed my fish, and there was Pookie one of my painted tetras with its nose stuck to the filter siphon. Pookie was long passed by that time, poor kid. I don't know what happened. I haven't been incredibly attentive to them lately, I must have missed something. The other 3 look fine though. Hrm, I don't know. Anyway, I was sad for my fish. I told Pookie I was sorry I didn't pay enough attention lately. Pookie was actually my favorite out of the tetras, with the crooked eyes. It was the rejet fish no one wanted, but I took it in...and killed it. Usually that doesn't happen, honest, I take care of my pets. I really think it was the story I revised the night before. I re-wrote a story that featured my fish with all their agressiveness and cannibalism, connecting it to the relationship between the two characters. It was a funny story. But, the CURSE isn't funny. The last time I wrote the story, fish died too. Something

fishy

is going on.
So, as I was saying, Pookie, time grew him for a while, guided his little fins, and then let go and there death in the filter took him. Pookie is now part of something bigger than a 10 gal tank, bigger than the Carlow septic tank...

POOKIE

I know who?

Someone posted a comment today HERE. Thanks for your input. Only, I don't know who "you know who" is. That's fine if you wish to remain anonymous, but if you're one of my friends and you think I know who you are, I don't. Actually, I think it's Shontae, but I don't know. Someone posted a while ago HERE and this may be the same YOU KNOW WHO character, I don't know. But, honestly, I want to know who YOU are.

YEAH, YOU!

Come forth with your sins, man. (or woman...)

Today I learned...

about the Mandala. It is an artform of self-expression in Buddhism.

Really, that's all I learned about it. Someone mentioned it in their poem today, actually, it was Mary who mentioned it in a poem. If anyone else knows anything about it, speak up, and we will learn together. Learning is fun!

One last romp out with Shontae, and new friends...

Looking through my old posts, I realize I haven't typed a real good Journal entry in a long time. I mean a real good one. One where I'm not being terrible reflective and smart, where I just talk about what I did that day or the day before. So, here is what I did yesterday,

Shontae and I went to this girl Molly's house for a poetry reading. Molly is some Carlow employee, our age, who is a writer as well. She has a neo-beat style, and I kind of like her work. Crystal talked me into coming, and I'm glad she did. Molly had some of her Chatham MFA friends over too. So, there was Crystal and I (Shontae just along for the ride-the Psychology major!) and Molly with our styles of writing, and there were the Chatham girls with theirs. Though, they each were very interesting-especially the one girl, I think her name was Adrianne or Andrea, who is doing her senior manuscript on reinterpretations of women in the Old Testament, through poetry. I was impressed by her. She seems like one of those real serious type of writers, the ones who know of all the current writers, all the Pulitzer Prize, all those little awards and who won them. I don't think I understand the value of knowing all of that stuff, but good for her I suppose. It doesn't matter to me if a particular writer won a particular award, they could still be shit to me. And, I didn't like the way that Adrianne (?) read her poems. She did the thing where she accents the last word in each thought with an upraised inflection, does that make sence? I can hear it in my head, I don't like that. Erin Emily Engle in my Surrealism class does that too. It seems almost pretentious to me. I wonder what I sound like when I read. I would think I sound conversational, natural, maybe storyteller-like, depending on the subject matter.

Speaking of subject matter, that was the major difference bet-no, not so much subject matter but style, usage maybe, I don't know how to describe it. Perhaps the difference is in the things that we would use to make comparisons, or even mention at all. Using the "Colorado River swimming through the Grand Canyon" as a metaphor for a girl's fluids running between her is not something I think that the Chatham girls would think of to use in their poems. They were much tamer and, I don't know, not as lustful I think. They used a lot of imagery but it was literal imagery. One of the girls was talking about how a poem she wrote made her mom cry, while Carlow a girl writes poems based on her experiences as a waitress in a stripclub. See what I mean?

Still, it would be good to keep in touch with Molly and workshop with these girls, since for a while it would give each of us an objective veiw on each other's writing. It's good when you learn someone's style, but after a while, it's like reading your own work and you don't catch things that others would who've never read you before.

After the Chatham girls left, Crystal, Shontae, Molly and I hung around and drank (more) wine. I got to know Molly, her story and such. Very interesting. It was nice to hang out with newer people and fit it well. I usually need a lot of time to warm up to people, but it was cool with Molly. Crystal too, though I knew her a little from before. Perhaps it's because we're all writers, poet people at that. We're all quirky and accepting and interesting. Plus, never before did I actually know people who were willing to listen to or to read each other's work, other than in school. This is what we all should be doing. I always read about groups of writers and how they would sit around and smoke and drink and talk about writing and talk about the world. I always thought that sounded pretentious, but still it seemed like a lot more than what I've been doing. So, that's what we did last night. I feel that it was a good experience, and I will be seeing them again.

Then, the second phase of the night began. Shontae came with me to Molly's because afterwards we planned to go to a party that was near Molly's house. Crystal walked us there, and wanted to use the bathroom, but after that she was set on going home. Though, she ended up running into a guy she knew from high school and ended up staying with us the rest of the night. In fact, the night ended at Crystal's place at around 4:30 am as we watched the A and E Biography on Fidel Castro...

Crystal is a lot of fun at parties, as in, she is not shy and she will take care of the attention. Maybe it is just that she wants attention, though she's not annoying or rude in any way to me. She knows when to stop. I like her a lot. She also likes to spout off theories about cheese and Reganomics and such, cows, landowners, definitions of self...it was wacky.

I talked to this guy who I knew a long time ago, the one that would come into the Diner all the time when I worked there, the one I doted over like a 1965 Beatles fan at the Ed Sullivan Show. He was looking like he felt out of place, walking around inside with his wool coat on, and he refused to talk to anyone, but sign. I thought it was kind of funny, but sad too, because he looked like he felt he wasn't pulling it off and he felt dumb himself. Eventually, he went to stand on the back porch, with some other guy, this loud annoying drunk guy, so I went to say hello and talk to him. See, I haven't probably talked to him since maybe I was 16, 17 or so, and even then I didn't talk to him much. The extent of our talking was me saying hello or "do you want more coffee" (but in my head it was really "dear god, I want to lick you") and then the time when I went to Borders, where he worked, and we talked about poetry for a little bit, and I gave him a poem that I wrote about birds. A few days later he came to the diner and he wrote me a note on a placemat about what he thought about my poem. Of course I still have it, somewhere. After that, I don't remember. I've seen him around town for years, but I never talked to him. I don't know why. I guess I just didn't care anymore, I mean, I had a 15 year old girl crush on him.

Still, I think it's rude for people not to at least say hello to people they know, so I approached him. I got him to talk, haHA! He said he remembered me. Mostly he was apologizing for the loud drunk annoying guy that kept interupting our short conversation. All I was concerned about was him looking at me the way he was, hrmmmmm, and his pretty brown eyes and his smile and his shyness, and his talking about how talking is overrated. True, I have a note from him, he must either be incredibly shy at times, or he is just fond of antique things like letters and such, which I assume is the case. Oh, and he asked me if he was mean to me, after I told him I remembered him from the diner, and I said, "No. I had the biggest crush on you." to which he replied, "humphhphh / embarassed laughing" into his coat. He was very nice, to me and to my friends. It was good to talk to him, briefly as it was. Geez, by the way, his name is Jasin. And by the way, still he is so good looking. I honestly think that he is the most good looking person I know, I think he is the most good looking person I have seen. Gosh. Heh. Really, I think that.

And so, after he left, I decided I'd let myself get drunk, and I did. I had quite a headache. Though, by the time I got home at 5 am sharp, I was absolutely fine and felt like staying up some more and doing homework or something. If only I could have fallen asleep before and not feel like I was being tumbled around in the ocean and feeling like I was going to puke. Puke Puke Puke.

But, it was a good weekend, I made better friends with Crystal and Molly, and I had a good last romp out with Shontae, who is going to Scotland next semester. Oh Shontae, what will I do without you?

...

Two Carl Sandburg Poems

Chicago
Hog Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders:
They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I
have seen your painted women under the gas lamps
luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it
is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to
kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the
faces of women and children I have seen the marks
of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who
sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer
and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing
so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on
job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the
little soft cities;
Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning
as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
Bareheaded,
Shoveling,
Wrecking,
Planning,
Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with
white teeth,Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young
man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has
never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse.
and under his ribs the heart of the people,
Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of
Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog
Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with
Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.

Fog

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

...

So, when I was in 1st grade, my teacher read us these two poems. I don't know why she would have read us this kind of poetry, if any at all. I think maybe she just liked Carl Sandburg. I remember her talking about these poems fondly. Perhaps she got tired one day of teaching us simple nouns and verbs and wanted to talk about what she wanted to talk about. So, she read us some poems. She wanted to discuss and analyze them with us, somehow. On "Chicago" I recall her emphasising the first line about the butcher and how in Chicago, around the early 20th century I suppose, the whole city would smell like fresh meat in the summer. That's pretty gross. I remember her talking about "Fog" for its metaphor between fog and a cat. I imagined this small bald headed older guy, who I thought would be Carl Sandburg, sitting on a dock in eerie mist with smokey fog creepy up on him, and he is perfectly content, possibly even oblivious.

I post these poems because I came across Chicago Poems by Carl Sandburg today at the library. I immediatly thought about what I explained above with my teacher. He was probably the first poet I ever heard of, those were most likely some of the first poems I ever heard. I 'd say a good first poet. I find it very interesting too, my whole memory of this. What an odd thing to remember from 1st grade.

Etre et Avoir

Today, this woman told us that when she would eat dinner with her family as a child her dad would make she and her siblings tell everyone one that they learned that day. So, I think that's neat.

Today, I learned a little about this tiny school in this tiny town in the South of France; we're watching a documentary in my French class called Etre et Avoir. And, kids and families in the South of France are a lot like kids and families anywhere.

Everyone tell me one thing that you learned today...

Cut and Paste the and do not waste

II.
Then I recalled
while — "sitting
at my window
today watching
the rain I felt
very happy."

— Maybe like Mary
I believe, when
she saw
something on TV
with rain...