On Holiday Gifts:

I will be giving very few gifts in person. Most people like mail, so I'll be making and mailing gifts to y'all. 100% unique, but somewhat cheap and lettery. But they're a one-at-a-time process, and I'm taking my time because I want them to be good. Sam's is in the mail. I've got ideas for most people, but I'm taking my time on a few people (Areli being an excellent example -- but hers will evolve into a birthday thing anyway, so maybe that's a bad example) because I want them to be fully-formed, not some half-assed thing I whip out. So it's a slow process, but most people (read: Alaskan buddies) will be receiving mail from me over the next couple of months.

Clearer above: You'll all get something eventually. And it will be a thoughtful, personal gift.

In other news, I'm home.

I am still reading y'all's journals and whatnot. But don't expect replies to anything until the weekend. I'm in PDX without much computerage. This is Kyle's laptop at the commie cafe open mic night. Free wi-fi and loud grrrrrrrrrrrrrrl rawk,etc. Expect me in Anchorage late on the 20th. 21st, really. happy 'olidays.

It occurred to me today that a lot of my life is complete escapism. But I don't really object to that because what exactly am I escaping? I'm more or less at peace with the burning philosophical questions with my unique blend of existentialism and bullshit, I meet my basic survival needs admirably (we made a hearty Irish stew!) and my various mental illnesses are usually at some kind of equilibrium. So why not distract myself with blogs, chocolate, movies and Dave Eggers? Other than it feeling kind of superficial in that leaves-a-bad-taste sort of way, I mean. I haven't created much lately. That kind of smarts. The rut I'm in now was better than the rut I was in before, which was better than the rut I was in before, which... is this recursive, relative non-suckitude life? Gotta say that's not so attractive. Good thing I bought an iPod (20GB).

Hey, please don't read this as self-pity or any of that crap. I'm totally smiling right now. There's some funny stuff in here. I mean, I know that little consumer thrill people get when they indulge themselves. Usually, since I'm cheap as hell, it's how I feel when I buy myself a book or a new pen (and don't pretend you don't enjoy it -- you're all like me). And then later, you're writing with your new pen, and it's awesome. Great flow, nice grip...it's a fucking RUSH! But after a little bit, it's not necessarily the first pen you reach for. It becomes one of the half dozen you carry in the front part of your backpack, and whichever one you fish out first takes the notes that day. A different, older pen will splutter out of ink, and hmm. Maybe you oughta get a new pen. If you're like me, you'll hold out until most of that half dozen needs replacing, and then you'll make a calculated decision with a coupon. It totally looks like you're a dorky miser, but you are fucking STOKED when you try out every color in that style you like. Check out the ballpoint on THAT bad boy! The coupon and test pads are just icing -- the hunt for acquisition is definitely the cake AND ice cream. But what happened to that pen you bought X ago? Oh, it's okay, but just get a load of this one! And I've got a coupon!

Or buying a book when you know there are at least two new ones sitting unread, pining for attention on your shelf, looking to your battered Neruda and Steinbeck for guidance. Pablo and Johnny aren't much help. They've always been well-thumbed. I got The Best American Nonrequired Reading 2004 for my birthday, but I'm not quite done with 2002. And I bought myself the complete short works of Kafka in PDX. So Old School is giving me a dirty look, but Cruddy is trying to calm him down. I got around to Lynda Barry, and I'll get around to Tobias Wolff, and man. It's worth waiting for.

Grabman, Sophie, Meg, whoever else may know: Where can I find Dreamweaver for no money? Or at least a trial version that I can scam?

Taking a brain-break from the final chapter (!!!!!) of Ulysses, on which I must give a presentation tomorrow. School-wise, tomorrow sucks. But otherwise, it should be awesome. I am leaving my teen years behind. In fact, in about 34 minutes, I'll be 20. The Awkward stage will cease. I will neither stumble nor walk, but float. Glide, if you will. (Ha. Given my absurd level of klutziness, I may have to hold out for 30. Or my next incarnation.) Kyle has taken over celebration plans, and I know nothing of what's going on. It's like Christmas eve, here. Except for the studying.

I SWEAR TO GOD I saw Snoop Dogg talking on a cell phone, smoking a cigarillo and driving a white Honda Civic (California plates) through the streets of Eugene today. Seriously. Down to the cornrows and mad cheekbones.

U of O has suddenly become a very alienating place in many ways. It doesn't always feel like I have a lot of friends here.

I will return to Anchortown on the 20th, and depart again on the 31st. Missing everybody ridiculously. I even found myself missing Europa (hellish bakery at which I slaved for almost two years).

There's a lot to say. I think of things I want to tell everyone every goddamn day. But I never write it down and it gets lost in the brainstuffings. More later. Perhaps much later. It IS dead week, after all.

A small preface: if you haven't seen sorryeverybody.com, (go to the gallery) I have linked for your convenience. These pictures, some quite eloquent, are pretty damn expressive of my feelings about the election. So I made my own to send. It's the new hip thing, so why not?



Sophie, you have formal permission to iconize. In fact, I'd like to commission that, if I could.

So. I was thinking about alphabet soup when I was eating my apologetic dinner. And it occurred to me that alphabet soup must not have hit the consumer market until most of the buying public was literate. When was literacy so prevalent that alphabet soup could be successfully introduced? To Google!

...so naturally, the internets crash. I'm having laptop difficulties like no other. Our wireless is incredibly unreliable and now my sound driver is fucking up for no discernable reason. I NEEDS MY MUSIC. This is making an iPod more and more attractive. Ima go reinstall some drivers now.

I promised pictures, and be damned if I don't deliver! VIEW MY APARTMENT AND ITS SHABBY GLORY!


Our lovely view. All you New Englanding foliage elitists can shove it. Eugene is gorgeous in the fall.


Unfortunately, Smoking Dude is not out smoking. We tend to stare at him, and laugh when he tries to adjust his (very nice) aloe plant and fails. He seems mildly intrigued by the three girls living yonder, but our relationship is limited to staring, laughing and the occasional wave. We can see into his living room (and he ours) -- we're glad he moved his furniture because now we can't see his creepy ceramic monkey. This thing could have a series of horror films. Seriously.


Our kitchen has a pointless wall. It seems to be there only for toe-stubbing reasons. I managed to get three toes simultaneously today. Needless to say, it better be load-bearing or else...


The rest of our kitchen. Note the bright orange countertops (only the finest in 70s decor here at Club Mill) and mostly-done dishes.


Here's the living room. The couches and endtables were so free. As was the lamp. In fact, we have tons of free stuff in our apartment.


Living room, different angle. I need to remember to post a picture of Awesomesaurus later. Truly Awesome. Saurus.

Okay. This is the only decoration in the living room, wall-wise, and it isNOT mine. Nor is it Kyle's. This tackiness, which I can't even enjoy ironically, brought to you by Marie. The one with the dragon and the yin-yang is (thankfully) in her room. She's a great roommate otherwise. Except for the bathroom time issue. But enough words. More pictures!


Show-ah. Our bathroom is pretty tidy. Current reading material: Trader Joe's Fearless Flyer. We read about yuppie food in our water closet.


Close up of a shower tile. Does anyone else think this looks like what I think it looks like?


Mah room. Note the posterage. One is of Mannhattan, another is pasta. Quilts courtesy of my mom.


The built-in desk/dresser. It's pretty nice, but I never do work there. I haven't once. Great place to put stuff, though.


You may have noticed the floor is clear of clothing. It was once not so. Piles of clothing EVERYWHERE until we invested in this fine device. I can walk without tripping again! I've reclaimed my life!


The obligatory mirror shot. The better of two.


I loves me the Freudian criticism like I loves me the barbeque.

General update: I am buried in work (for which I finally got paid. bastids) and schooly-school. My brother is officially coming down to Eugene over spring break. He's going to have a blast. Or he better, if he knows what's good for him...
Our friend Aaron came over last night, ridiculously stoned. He wanted to have a nerd party. That may or may not happen. He's a nutty guy, and he's got that lovable college scruff going for him. He'll have some great stories when he's 40.

To bed!

Short post for the moment, but if you're not actively seeking independent news sources by NOW, you may as well plug into FOX news. So try Salon. You have to watch a short ad to log in, but it's worth it and the cookie lasts all day. They carry Tom Tomorrow and WayLay too, so all the more reason.

Also: Forgive the lack of postage, please. Like all of you, I'm ridiculously busy. The next post will have pictures. I promise.

Since it seems to be trendy to bitch about the election and/or make stirring posts about Our Civic Duty, consider this my two bits.

First, I'm disappointed and shocked. Our civil liberties will need defending. Chances are, the US will continue to lose international support. The US may end up very alone. Things look bleak, and action will be necessary.
That said, I want to give my gut to the noble e-speeches cropping up in my Friends List, in high-profile political blogs, in a few scant op-eds floating around. I do agree that we will need to shout louder and hit harder and raise more money and cause more hell. But will the inspiration be there for the public? My first reaction to Kerry's concession was not plotting to overthrow the Bush regime, nor was it dreaming up a new non-profit to defend us. It was to leave. Expatriation for an ex-patriot. In essence, I said, "Fuck this." Because I didn't choose him the first time around, and I didn't choose him this time, but apparently by dint of being an American, I deserve this circus. My first point: I, like many, simply want to leave it all behind.
A mass exodus, however tempting, seems unlikely. At the first signs of the flood, most industrialized countries would close their borders, leaving the ones to whom our lined American pockets would be a boon. Historically and by the fact of human nature, no one does anything until their standard of living is in peril. Not just in rhetorical terms. The Patriot Act chafes us and robs us of our basic right to privacy, but it doesn't keep food off of our tables. Until, like wars past, everyone knows someone who was injured or killed in Iraq, Afghanistan, or whereever we invade next, nothing will change. The US presence stayed in Vietnam for almost a decade --that's how long it took the people to impress upon the government that something had to change. And that was a certain majority America talking. Second point: When people can live normally, politics floats to the periphery.
The majority was tired of seeing the death toll. For some reason, the number, somewhere near 1100 now, of Iraq casualties flashes on the screen and then goes down the memory hole. No one is impressing the horrors of war onto us. No one is showing us that No Child Left Behind is a steaming heap of shit that will make struggling schools worse off than before. No one is showing us how borrowing some healthcare ideas from those Crazy Canadians or "Old Europe" may actually help us, especially our senior citizens choosing between food or pills. The media is failing us because, pay attention, they make money off of partisan politics. The punditry and business and dog and pony show of it all is good for business. Don't want to alienate the (left/right)-leaning advertiser? Tweak the story, change the wording. It doesn't seem to make a difference because we're locked into the two-party system anyway. Another crazy idea from those countries that aren't US. Final point: Media + two-party system = political circle jerk.

So my basic message is, yes, your heart is in the right place. I will help, for as long as I'm an American. But please, and I mean this without aggression or arrogance, put your money where your mouth is. A lot of people can talk or write well, but who can follow up?

This is hilarious. It's already been Sophie-approved, so don't just take my word for it. These people are passionate about their cheese. I mean Wallace passionate.

I'm trying to solve the "More..." dilemma with the last few posts. Ideally, I'll have the cut-text option with some nifty little code bits, but I guess I did something wrong.

NaNo: 706 wds.

So...who's NaNoWriMo-ing with me? readysetgo.

Update: This is amazing. It's already gotten Sophie-approval. Check out the mirror site in Italian.

I NaNo'ed a bit at work. The excerpt is up at nanowrimo.org -- my author name is (you guessed it) ericarothman.

HOLY FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS, BATMAN. One of the reasons I wanted to buy Adam's ipod is for picture storage reasons (I could do that with the old-school LCD screen jobbies, too.) But now...well, let's just say as long as I'm window shopping, I may as well go for the gusto.

Maybe it's all of the bleak reading I've been doing for class (The Waste Land isn't exactly an upper) -- I'm blue. Could be the weather changing from those picturesque fall days to grey and rain. Could be could be. I'm bored as hell, but I still fall behind in my work. How does that happen? It pisses the hell out of me because if there's one thing I hate, it's apathy, especially in myself. But I want to hibernate through the term, the election, Christmas, my job, and the convoluted footpaths people lay out for themselves and each other. I feel like I could wash my dishes forever and slide down the drain when I'm done. My dad, french-fluent, taught me the word "ennui" when I started seeing someone for Depression. I had to deflate that D in a big way -- all of our problems are so much more when we're 16. Gee whiz, what a wise nearly two decades I have!

Christ. Look at that. Too. Much. Joyce. But it's what I look forward to. It's what actually tires me out. Sometimes I have to fight Ulysses or TS Eliot. The more I fantastize, the more appealling academia looks to me. Ph.D?



Even if you didn't really read anything up there, click the linky. Our president, the sniggering frat boy. Unbelievable.

My weekends have been flying away from me lately. The last one was dedicated to Mom and her Visit. The one previous was largely worked and pizza-ed away. I'm not really sure where this one has gone. It's not even the conventional "lost weekend," though I can tell you which I prefer as easily as I can tell you that I like not puking.

I saw a dead raccoon today. It was very clearly hit by a car last night. Being the one to call the sanitation department has never been fun. I once saw a dog get hit by a range rover. It was a big poodle (standard? are those the big ones?), running fullshaggy tilt at me. But there was a busy street -- northern lights at latouche -- between he and I. After he went down, I ran straight into the road and wrapped it in my coat. The driver looped around eventually. She was someone I knew, which made it so much worse. Her son later told me that the dog was okay; I didn't believe him then, although I think I do now.

Not to be depressing or anything. Strange mood. To radically change the subject, I'm discovering Rilo Kiley. Erica likey. I've been downloading from amazon's free downloads like a fiend. I can't really bring myself to download more than a song or two illegally. If the artist is still working, I won't do it. More often than not, I won't anyway. That's reasonable guilt, right?

I can't fucking wait until the election is over. I've filled out my ballot -- it waits for stamps and signatures. Politics needs to leave me alone for about five months. In Oregon, Prop. 36 translates to Gay Marriage Ban, and it's pretty hotly contested. If it passes, marriage is restricted to a man and a woman, but if it's defeated, nothing changes. But the Yes-on-36 people are fighting as if NOT defining marriage means that men can marry other men, their cars, heifers of all breed, and any sort of thing they find on the floor. Likewise for the ladies. For a piece of thinly-veiled bigotry, they're awfully vehement. I'm glad people have stopped asking me about it; between prop. 36 (which, I might add, I can't vote for ANYWAY because I'm registered Alaskan) and the presidential business and Tony v. Lisa (Tony's up, I hear) I'm about ready to join the legions of the apathetic and turn on, tune in, and tweak out. Political burnout, thy name is Erica.

If anyone tried to call this weekend, when the phone wasn't broken (IHATEQWESTTHEYAREVILESCUMSUCKINGBASTARDS), Marie was attached to it. I'd say "sorry 'bout that" if it were actually my doing.

Ulysses Update: Mid-way through chapter five.
NaNoWriMo: Some minimal outlining and a reasonably good idea.
Mother situation: The visit went well. As usual, I freaked out over nothing. But to my credit, the freaking out was pretty low-key. She left today, mid-afternoon. We had a really nice breakfast, followed by a walk around campus. (Unfortunately, I was in my new Birkenstocks, which leads me to my current footpain...nonetheless, I loves the Birks. Mom bought 'em for me while she was down here -- Kyle put it best, "Your mom just wants to spoil her little girl." Granted that buying me shoes and a couple meals is pretty damn awesome, the visit was a lot more meaningful for both of us. I mean, I think it put a lot of parental issues into perspective for me. She's my mother, but that in no way renders me less of an adult. I define that. She, on the other side of the coin, saw first-hand that I am not doing a wholly terrible job of defining this adulthood. Hell, I payed the electric bill in front of her. Mmm...time to end the parental thesis parenthesis.) She mentioned trying to get my dad to come visit. I doubt it will happen, but it's looking like a sure thing that Adam is coming to Eugene! It's going to rock.
Whether or not I buy Adam's iPod: Still up in the air.

Hot damn. This is why Jon Stewart rocks so hard.

Done gone signed up for NaNoWriMo. Better dust off that creativity thing.

Other than that, life remains normal. The Mill Alley kitty is officially the most awesome Eugene cat. She's always around when I need pet therapy. Oh yeah, my mother arrives tomorrow. I'm not sure how I feel about that. Maybe I need her to visit in order to prove to both of us that I am, in fact, doing just fine with this on my own thing. Maybe I'm just neurotic. Better take notes on this --neurosis is great in novels. Roth, anyone?

Yoga may be having a strange effect on me. Lately, especially on Mondays and Wednesdays (post-yoga), I'm very, very okay with myself. Sometimes, like when I did that stand on one leg then stand up using only the abs thing, I'm even kind of impressed with myself. Or when the German test goes unforseeably well, despite the GTF's best efforts. This thought came to me when I was out for a stroll in Eugene's duskiness, and it was revelatory.

It didn't last. I came back to finish off a paper, which made me cranky, and more reading, which made me insecure about my comprehension of the material. Tenuous now.

I see at least one cat everytime I go for a walk. Eugene is not a large town.

My mother is coming to visit this weekend. I got her a ticket to see Michael Moore -- I'm doing set-up and take-down!! I'm starting to get a little bit ansty about the mom thing (Michael Moore not so much); my Real Life is something that has detached from her idealized Erica, and for some bizarre reason I feel the need to protect her from...me. And my collegiate scruffiness?

Ah, the joys of living, but not voting, in a swing state. Partisan fire-spitting, hostile college groups, and we can't forget the endless, ENDLESS canvassers looking to "get out the vote." (Incidentally, I hate that phrase for grammatical and content-related reasons. Get it out where? Just one?) I get asked several times daily on and off campus if I'm registered to vote, if I'm registered at my current address, if I want Bush out of office, if I want a job (canvassing.) All of these pitches aren't just getting old -- they're staler than green and blue cinnamon buns. I'm dead sick of being approached while I'm walking to class because I'm either talking to someone or I'm thinking. Even if it's just, "Goodness, it looks like rain!" I passionately dislike being taken out of my reverie. Repeatedly. It came to a bit of a fever pitch yesterday, when a group of trustafarians* that had been lingering around Starbucks' outdoor tables with clipboards asked me as I passed if I wanted Bush out of office. Resorting to one of my pre-fabricated, get-the-fuck-out-of-my-face responses, I said, "Sorry, not today." The lead stoner monkey said to my back, in a tone of voice designed to show his buddies how apathetic and callous I was, "If not today then when?" This was met with a small murmur of assent. So I turned around and walked back at him, shouting about the fact that I can't change my voter registration without losing my dividend (Alaska oil money share) and that I was sick of being approached by all kinds of people who think they have the right to harass anyone on the street by nature of holding a clipboard. I would have gone on about how I'm just as much a valid liberal as he, and that he should stop wasting his time on people that don't want to talk to him, but Kyle sort of dragged me away. After a cooling off period (which involved petting a local cat for a good ten minutes), I felt quite satisfied with myself.

I watched part of the presidential debate tonight. It was shockingly boring. As expected, Kerry was well-spoken and Bush was a bumbling incompetent. Big news. We left early and hung out in Marc's dorm for a little bit. Then we came back to the apartment and made cookies. I've been feeling sick off and on for the past few days. It's like my cold can't quite decide what to do with itself.

It's that time of rainy season: I'm really starting to miss a lot of people. Mostly Anchoragers, or displaced ones. Maybe I should write more letters.

*Trust-a-far-i-an: noun. One who emulates or embraces the stoner/Bob Marley worship/Rastafarian lifestyle, but is fully funded by parents.

Happy Birthday Bailey Christ! I hope you got your mail...

The party went pretty well. People mixed reasonably well and no one seemed inordinately bored. Talk of comic books, politics, and dorm horror stories abounded. When things started to slow down around 11, Kyle and I busted out the Katie game, which was greeted with hilarity. I burnt the tips of three fingers (well, two and a thumb) on a pot lid and was in considerable pain for a couple hours, but other than that, there wasn't a hitch. The spaghetti sauce was one of my better sauce endeavors -- fully loaded with farmer's market veggies and a little bit of red wine.

The next day my fingers felt better, but I had a headcold to beat all. I went to the health center today, but apparently it's viral. The doctor must have been feeling generous, or perhaps I was looking especially hangdog, as he wrote me a note for some codeine-laced Tylenol to ease my monstrous throat demon.

German class has been kicking my ass lately. Ich muss schwerer arbeiten!

In the spirit of expanding my horizons and doing things on my list of undone, I am A) having a party in my own apartment and B) reading Ulysses. For real this time. I'm in a class, so I have to. I got the annotations from the library and I'm going to do it right. Already it's dense as hell, but the more I learn about Irish history, catholicism, Shakespeare, and modernism the more amazed I am with this book. It's the only novel I think I've ever read where each word, sentence, paragraph, and chapter are labored over in both minute and grand scales. Or at least the only one where every word has the greatest possible meaning. Granted that I'm only up to chapter two, Joyce is awe-inspiring nonetheless. I'm hooked enough now, scant pages into the work, to consider a life as a Joyce scholar. If only someone would actually pay me.

The more interesting subject being the party, I'll go on about that now. Yes, it's a collegiate party with booze and revelry and more people than the fire marshall would approve of (admittedly not that many considering, but we've invited everyone we know and like.) We have agreed, out of cheapness and practicality and safety, that we aren't going to provide enough alcohol for any one person to get shit-faced. This will be a social, partially BYOB, and hopefully monstrously fun occasion. I'm cooking up a huge thang of pasta and several huge thangs of sauce (perhaps veggie and meaty, though entirely veggie may be how it goes), and the bottle of wine we hoarded in the dorm for half the year will finally be deflowered. Funny thing: We're asking everyone to bring a plate because we don't have enough for everyone. In fact, we have five plates for three people. I actually consider that quite respectable, given our student status.

Meine Deustch Professor ist nicht gut, aber nicht schlecht. Er spricht als wir Kinder sind. Meg, wer hast du? Hast du Maria wieder?

I have the same birthday as the following celebrities:

Britney Spears
Lucy Liu
Maria Callas
Julie Harris
Ed Meese
Nelly Furtado
Stone Phillips
Nigel Spackman

The following people died on my birthday (among many others, no doubt):

Philip Larkin
Desi Arnaz
Marquis de Sade
Harrison Ford (not Indiana Jones, but a silent film actor of the same name)

Connie Chung and Maury Povich were married the very day I was born.

---

With all of that out of the way, I figured I should update. Cultural Forum (henceforth "the cult") training is going well. My job is probably the least labor-intensive, which is good because my stipend is crap. It's also something I would probably enjoy doing in the real world. I'm curating two small galleries in the student union. So far, so good.

My apartment is starting to take the shape of a home now that we're stocked up with food and shelving and a vacuum cleaner. We (myself, Kyle, and Marie) are waiting for classes to start, revelling in freedom/boredom. Marie has taken to walks about campus and Eugene, while Kyle and I are researching food-making ideas. Homemade bread and pasta, as well as homegrown herbs, are in our future. (!!) This will also be the point at which I mention that Marie is 21, so I can ACTUALLY cook with wine and liquors. And enjoy a glass of vino with my well-prepared meal. Soon, we roast a chicken and make stock from the carcass. Hooray for chicken noodle soup!

On the downside of apartmenty things, we have ants. It's a minor problem, so we probably won't spray. Infestation still bothers me a great deal, but they're leaving my goldfish crackers alone. I guess I can't really complain. Qwest, however, is on my shit list. Boycott them whenever possible. Their phone service alone gave me a fucked-up little run-around, and apparently we need to "apply" for internet service. My ass.

Classes start on monday. Tomorrow night, I host the comedy open mic night for the cult as a part of "intermingle" -- basically, a big UO block party. (Eugenians: It's at 11 in the buzz. Please come and laugh and bring funny friends.) Until classes start, I'll be cooking, exploring Eugene, and camping out in a library from time to time to work on my other web projects. If I haven't emailed or written you, it's not personal. I'm lazy. This is something I am making time for over the next few days. Expect emails and letters. I still miss everyone fervently. Eugene is not quite home yet, no matter how much ramen is in my cupboard.

I can hear "Radar Love" coming from another room. Oop, crossfade to Pearl Jam. An improvement. Anyway, I've been not-blogging for a while because I decided that livejournal et al was equal to poison in its addictiveness and ability to hurt people. The stalking thing, too. It enables stalkers easily. However, it's one of the easiest ways to keep in touch with people. So: Yes, I'm still reading you all. No, I (largely) haven't been commenting much. No, it's nothing personal. Yes, I'll eventually be more dilligent about it. No, I don't really think I'm going to switch to LJ for anything other than accessing friends-only posts.

In other, more relevant news, I'm thinking of starting a new blog dedicated to shoestring photography, digital and film. It would be an excuse to post photos as well as research and get creative with cheap tricks, goods, and services. And if there's anything I love, it's cheap services.

SERIOUS QUESTION ALERT: I'm in a new music/reading material mode. Please tell me what you've been reading and listening to lately. Do eet!

But I love your feet
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me.

final lines from Pablo Neruda's Your Feet

Dear Mom,

I don't judge your emotional outpourings -- I admire them and wish you would have more. Maybe you'd be happier if you took off the teacher face once in a while.

Love,
Erica
____________
Adam,

Go easy on our folks, mmkay? I know you're 15 and all, but please. For their mental health.

Love,
Erica
____________
Dear Dad,

Where have you been? Why do I only see you for a few minutes everyday? Why are those minutes so often filled with criticism? I still love you, you know.

Always,
Erica
____________
Kyle,

You're cute when you're shelving.

Remembering what Natalie said,
Erica
____________
-----------,

I'm beginning to doubt your intentions, and whether you are who you say you are. Maybe that's convoluted, but so is the damn internet.

Erica
____________
-----------,

As always, I'm a flake. But you're a flake too, and too often incapable of seeing that. I can't bring myself to say it because I fear for our (fading?) friendship.

Erica
____________
-----------,

Chill.

Erica
____________
-----------,

Were you not so far away, I'd suggest a shot of local music and maybe a gin and tonic. Glad to see you are thriving.

Missing you constantly,
Erica
____________
-----------,

Everyone has doubts, but they're just doubts. Which is rich coming from me.

Erica

I love Lake Tahoe. The Washoe believed that the place had powers of cleansing and relief -- I'd have to agree. My family has had a cabin there for several generations, and the general state of repair reflects that. It's falling apart. Ownership has shifted from the Greatest Generation to my father and his cousin. What To Do is the big issue. Renting it out is the main option, but no one wants the place to be treated like a hotel room. Renovations are destined to be expensive, though. I spent half of my first day there digging for a water main. Despite all of the labor that will inevitably be involved, no one mentioned selling the place altogether, which gives me heart.

When I got home, it seemed like everything was wrong. Subsequently, my stomach rebelled. I'm finally getting over that, and I feel light and easy for the first time since my return.

Alison, a former neighbor who babysat me eons ago, is getting married today. Going to a wedding is the last thing I want to do today. Ah well.

Currently reading The Accordian Crimes by Annie Proulx. It started very well, but I think my enthusiasm is flagging because I'm already starting to look at other books.

Work sucks in a big way. Just a month more.

Sophie: Check out the Arts and Entertainment section of Salon.com -- they have a huge article about Mark Ruffalo.

Everything we shut our eyes to, everything we run away from , everything we deny, denigrate, or despise, serves to defeat us in the end. What seems painful can become a source of beauty, joy, and strength, if faced with an open mind. Every moment is a golden one for him who has the vision to recognize it as such.

Henry Miller

A little something for sustaining us all, I guess. I leave for California on Thursday, to visit family. Don't expect a lot of posting, but I'll make an effort to swing by the inbox at least once.

Guess where I am! Guess! Guess! I'm at Cafe del Mundo, home of the free wi-fi. Sweet indeed. Now that I can easily slide onto the internet from any number of ridiculously named "hot spots" (including my front lawn, since my next door neighbors got wireless a few months ago), my photos are finally web-accessible once more. Which means that my Great Internet Project (or GIP! if you're Sophie) -- putting up pictures on an online space, namely, my UO space, is forthcoming. I need to renew my FTP program (it's a demo), and then it's all ready to rock. Until then, I'll continue to use photobucket. As I mentioned eons ago, the user name is ericarothman, and the guest password is heyjude.

New toys aside, things have been pretty good lately. Although a bit of awkwardness occurred at work yesterday when Aubrey came in again. I didn't realize she was in my line until I looked up to say some sort of can I help you bit. Surprised, I didn't handle it well. It seems like she's playing a game with me or something. An awkward game.

This is the kind of day where it's in my best interest to stay the hell away from bookstores, music stores, even Fred Meyer at the risk of treating myself to a big-time splurge. Which sounds harmless worded that way, but as we all know, splurge spelled backwards is egrulps: latin for "dwindled checking account." But it's a strange mood I find myself in, this "I need new books/music/canned foods because I feel like it" mood. It's dangerous. The old money bags have been fluctuating wildly as I make money, spend it, find odd jobs, spend more, get reimbursed for some things, pay people back, pass go, collect $200, pay luxury tax, etc.

This may take the cake for best opening paragraph ever.

After more than 600 years, it was his handwriting that gave him away. A scribe - who until the weekend was known to history only as Adam the scrivener - so infuriated Geoffrey Chaucer with his carelessness that the poet threatened to curse him with an outbreak of scabs.

More here, for you anglophiles.

About ten minutes ago, I was cruising down C street, having dropped Kyle off moments before. Tuned out and listening to NPR, it took me a little bit to realize that a large Dodge ram (newer than mine, at least a '96) was pacing with me. Its occupants? Two young fellows, who could have passed for 15 easily, staring at me with what they must have hoped was suaveness. I accelerated; they accelerated. I rolled my eyes; they made kissy-lips. Stop light. The driver said, originally enough, "Nice truck, lady." I thanked him and turned.

Lady? LADY?! I'm what? Pushing 20? The big 2-0? Oy. Kids these days.

My scrappy little kitty got into a fight; she's covered in scrapes and scabs and walks with a slight limp. I'm not surprised at all -- she tends to strut around the nieghbors cats with a bit too much swagger. They, being larger and not declawed, usually come out on top.

Getting back online when it's so gorgeous out is criminal. We've had about two more or less complete weeks of awesome weather (aside from the intermittant smokings from nearby forest fires), and my outside time has been disappointing at times. Blaming work isn't entirely accurate, but BT and the subsequent BT-induced exhaustion are sleep-inspiring, not hike-Flattop-for-a-midngith-picnic-inspiring. But that's just me making excuses.

Natalie left for Europe two days ago. Her boyfriend put it best, "I'm going to miss the everloving crap out of that girl." I'm jealous of her trip, but glad that she's taking it because she deserves it.

Part I: The Sweeping Update

In no particular order: I saw Rita, back from Brooklyn. She's living the dream as the night manager of a bakery there. I missed that girl and didn't even realize it until she walked up to my register at Bear Tooth. Auntie was there too, who I also missed. The both of them need to give lessons in awesomeness. On the other hand of coincidence, I've seen a lot of people I'd rather not see at work. People whose names I've forgotten, people who I don't care about and don't have the energy to pretend, people that never gave me the time of day before but decided to become my buddy now. It's quite a schmeet. Also seen at work: Sam Beck, who is nice to talk to. His overall decency as a human being slipped my mind because I associated him with a certain bloc of West '03 males. And: Aubrey. Not sure if she's still reading or not. I interpreted her not coming to my register as a sign of indifference, which is probably how these things ought to be. Work, all of this, aside, is pretty good. Considering that I forgot Saturday's little shift switcheroo with my long-time pal Toby, and simply didn't show (prompting a call and a lot of embarrassment, guilt and tears on my part), yeah, it's been okay. I like my coworkers, for the most part. And it's an easy job. Other things: I haven't been hanging out with people as much as I'd like, and I still have yet to see a lot of people period. Like Ness. And Bob. And more. Tonight, though, I fucked up. I sort of gave Areli and Sam a big cold shoulder because I misinterpreted Kyle's wanting to go home remark. Guilt abounds.

Part II: A Clever Segue

The guilt thing is well-documented. But it's clear to me that I over-react. I felt like crying after running out of paint for my grandpa's fence, for god's sake. Call me the gulit machine. This troubles me, but I don't know what to do about it.

Part III: Realizing there's nothing to segue to

I'm kind of tired, so this may be completely incoherent. But I thought I should mention a few more assorted things. The stain I used on Papa's fence was the color of caramel. I have bruises, but I don't know where they're from. The CD in my car has Ella Fitzgerald, Sarah Vaughn, Dinah Washington and Billie Holliday. My parents are driving me mad. I need to put the oven mitt away. I'm re-reading The Odyessy because I'll be reading Ulysses next term. I have the best friends in the world.

Like A-Train at work says, "It's all milk."

I pity any hairdresser that gets me as a customer. Today, it was a poor lady named Robin who moved to Alaska from Florida eight months ago. At the urging of my dad, I stopped talking about getting a haircut and actually did it. Usually, this process takes a few weeks -- I need those weeks, too. I learned that today. First, I step into the hair joint and my hairstylist/dresser/cutter/designer/whateverer starts to crow about my loads and loads of thick hair. "People spend so much money to get hair like this!" After I get this latest incident straightened out, I'm going to grow that bitch out and donate to one of those wig groups. But I digress. I'm not very good at articulating what I want in a hairstyle, and people tend to interpret that as conservtism or reticence. Today, I decided I wanted something drastic, and I just got something bizarre. So I went back and asked her to taper because it was a little too Uma Thurman in "Pulp Fiction" crossed with Annie Lennox at any point (except for the total buzz-cut thing). If that means anything to anyone. Long hair story short, it's tolerable now, but she told me to come back for some trimmage in a week or two. For those of you who know her, I was going for something along the lines of Savannah's hair (from second floor) -- it didn't quite work out.

What a way to break the silence, eh? Bitching about my HAIR OH MY GOD etc. As far as general life updates go, I'm okay. The job is good, the family things are as good as they'll get, and so on.

Does anyone know if a Daria DVD set is coming out anytime? And subsequently hitting Blockbuster's shelves? It won't be long before I run out of Cowboy Bebop...

Not dead, but suffering from a slower-than-normal connection. I know, wah wah wah. So...I got a job, thanks to Awesome Toby. I now work at Bear Tooth Theatre Pub, a reasonably hip pizza/movie place. Due to laziness and seeing the people I use this thing to keep in touch with, I think posting will be very light over the summer. But I hope everyone is well and stays that way.

Prefacing: I told myself (and Kyle) that I wouldn't read anyone's livejournal until I got home because it made me miss everyone too much. Unbearably. It made me grumpy and kind of hard to deal with, so I decided to butt out for a little more than a week. Today I broke down and read a few, though, and now I don't know what to think. Will someone fill me in? I keep thinking the worst.

That said, today didn't exactly turn out as planned, what with the ending up in the emergency room and all. I woke up this morning with tear-my-uterus-out bad cramps. Kyle and I trudged over to the dining hall with ibuprofen in our pockets, and sat down to another disappointing meal. I had some breakfasty potatoes, some salad, orange juice, two ibuprofen, and a coffee-like product, but I still felt shitty, shittier by the minute -- dizzy and in severe abdominal pain. When I put my tray into the dish-washing conveyor belt, my cone of vision started to do wonky things. Blackness irised in, and I fainted. I have never considered myself the fainting type -- there's no shrinking Scarlett over here, I tell you what. Nonetheless, I passed out at the crescendo of dizziness and pain. Some guy caught me, and I wish I knew who because he saved me the hassle of a head injury, and I'd like to thank him for that (first typing: "tank him for that.") Apparently, I was only out for a few seconds, but I remember it being longer. Everything was surreal when I woke up. I was dandled from dining hall manager to DPS (campus police/cop in the box) to the EMTs. There was vomiting and unpleasantness all around -- emphasis on all around, as I was still really dizzy and my cramps/abdominal pain was killing me. Two or three friendly EMTs loaded me into an ambulance and whisked me away to Sacred Heart hospital, which is about a five minute walk from campus (even needing Kyle and dining hall lady to help me walk, I felt bad about using an ambulance -- and I'm sure the inevitable bill will have something to say about that.) Once there, Friendly Nurses Kris and Natalie (two names with Anchorage counterparts of whom I've been thinking of) ascertained that A) my blood pressure and heart rate were just dandy, B) NO, I was NOT pregnant (the dining hall lady, the DPS lady, the EMT, a nurse, and the doctor asked me if there was "any chance" of that, C) I could use a steady IV drip of saline and some blood work, and D) that I was all snuggly in my gown and thin blankets (it was cold, and I was shivering anyway), they let Doc take over. Get this: Kenneth Starr, MD. Not the same Ken Starr by a long shot (you think I'd let that guy near me?) -- this Ken Starr was tallish and clearly not enjoying the thought of giving a girl (on the first day of her period) a pubic exam, but examine he did. With the speculum from hell. THEN they took a "cath sample" -- cath...catheter...get it? Never again. After all of that, I gradually stopped shaking, the pain went to a totally tolerable level, and my head stopped doing loop-de-loops. Doc Starr told me that they weren't really sure what was wrong, but it could have been a number of things, most likely dizzines (my official diagnosis) and a helluva cramp. One of the nurses postulated the flu, but the whole affair, from getting up to leaving the hospital took less than 5 hours. My dad, when I called, thought it was food poisoning (entirely likely), and Mom decided dehydration played a role (unlikely, but I'll let her have it). I'm going with a combination of all of these and what Kyle calls "the body hitting the restart button." At any rate, I'm fine now, although a bit more careful than usual. Kyle, by the way, was there the whole time, proving how awesome a girlfriend she is.

This is dead week. Next week is finals week. I'm writing papers and moving out and getting all of my crap straightened out. Just so you all know I haven't been hit by an errant volkswagen.

Gentlemen...BEHOLD! My project is FINISHED!

That's all for the moment.

Funny story (via Atrios and the General). So it seems that a community in Missouri appropriated more than a quarter mil to eradicate "the Goth problem" among teens. But the thing is, they had to return the money, because the community wasn't interested, and the problem disapated. Here's the article. Thought some of y'all, being recovering or retired "goths," would get a kick out of it.

Oh...can Kyle and I get a ride home from the airport, June 11th, at 1:30 in the morning? Anyone? Anyone?

Quixotic posts are as fun as the word quixotic!

Lots of stuff to take care of, if I want my summer to fall into place. The Cult[ural Forum] is riding me like a three-legged mule, so I needs to get crackin' on that. I also bit off waaaaay fucking more than I can chew with my final project in drawing. It will be internet-friendly, though, so's y'all kin see what I've done.

In the meantime, expect light posting (not that there's exactly been a torrent lately...)

But I won't turn down phonecalls and letters...email me if you want numbers or addressy things.

BAH!! These pigeons keep landing on my open window (the window itself -- I can only see their feet and tails), and they're really goddamn startling. Everytime it happens, I jump and yelp. Jelp. Yump. Hee. Yump yump yump.



This ended up not being a very quixotic post at all. Damn.

The last day of the Willamette Valley Folk Festival is here, and not a moment too soon. I volunteered four hours of my Saturday to sell CDs at the merch booth and watch old hippies dance in a fashion that can only be called "expressive." For Anchortowners, this is like the stage from the forest fair (and half the food booths) plunking themselves down on the student union quad for the weekend. For once, the folks tripping around on one substance or another aren't necessarily students. The music has been mostly hit or miss, but entirely local. The Ovulators, a chick glam rock thing, played a good set, and a woman with guitar number -- Laura Kemp -- sold most of her CDs within twenty minutes of her set's finale. She was good too. But the screeching/wailing/moaning has yet to stop wafting through my window, as well as the tantalizing meat-on-stick (and other fair fare) aromas. Funnier than the dancing: shirts with sayings like "FREE TOMMY!" on them, with Mr. Chong's face emblazoned behind bars, and the lemming-ness of the crowd's search for shelter from Eugene's ever-present rain showers.

Me? I'm doing homework. Or rather, I was. Now I gone done distracted mahself.

I copied about a tenth of my CDs to my laptop so I can listen to a nice varietal shuffle whilst I computerize. Thing is, I chose all the CDs that give me those sudden bolts of memory or emotion. Right now, it's "Hey Jude" -- if this song does nothing for you, you must be a robot -- which is a Bailey song. Admittedly, there are a lot of Bailey songs (Scattered and Haushinka by Greenday, anything by Counting Crows or Against Me! or...), but this is one of (if not the) original Bailey song.

There are Bailey songs and Areli songs and Natalie songs and Kyle songs and Katie songs and driving-around-Anchorage-on-a-sunny-day-with-the-window songs, and they're all playing randomly. It's a memory parade. A magical mystery musical montage.

Job status: None, but awaiting call-backs for interviews from a couple places.
Home status: Searching. Lots of leads, but nothing has coalesced.

The way my job search is going, I would say going home is a viable option. But it's not. This Cultural Forum position, which, as I have said before, will NOT pay the rent, starts in July, and I'd rather not completely flake out on them. So I can't go home.

I'm a bit grumpy because I just walked to this apartment we applied for...it's right next to the goddamn athlete dorm. Well then. No wonder it's cheap.

I apologize for the grumbles, and I'll write more eventually. more better. more better later.

I will scan the results of my polaroid transfer class as soon as the pictures are satisfactorily dry -- this will be in a couple days, just to make sure I don't gunk up Kyle's scanner. And, as a super photo-fun bonus, I'll throw in some pictures from my adventure last night and the results of my latest photoshopping. (Wow, how "tune in next time!" was that?)

In the meantime, I still have no job, no place to live for the summer, and no clue about when those things will come into focus. But I do have pictures!

Say Erica, what's with the sparse posting?
Well, you know...homework, friends in the flesh, photography stuff, getting re-addicted to a silly computer game...you know, the usual.
What was that last one?
Getting re-addicted to a silly computer game. There. Happy?
Mm-hmm.

Yep. Yahoo Towers has been eating away at my time and brain-cells for a couple of weeks now. I'm going to have to enter a 12-step program or something. The game is fun (although I'm not especially good at it) -- like Tetris on speed -- but, you know, that whole life thing.

I just walked over to Kyle to make sure she was still breathing. She fell asleep with my overly-floppy pillow on her face and looked a little bit too still. All's well.

Over the course of this term, I have watched more anime than I had ever watched in my entire life. Mostly movies, but some of the bits on weeknight Adult Swim, too. I never really gave the stuff a chance; some of it's pretty good, but I'm not about to become a fanatic. Cowboy Bebop is fun stuff. On the flip side, don't watch "Perfect Blue" unless you're feeling emotionally intact. While I'm on the subject of movies, have any good ones come out in the last 3-6 months? I haven't exactly been connected to a TV, which was my main source of trailers. Now I don't know what's out there, or if anything is worth the money.

Massive second-thoughts about staying here over break, but I don't have the guts to change the plan now. I'm not even attached to the plan, really. The anxiety builds and builds as I get continually turned down in the job department. The fish job is a no-go. The wanted a science major. In any case, and totally unrelated, I have mail to send out, including a mix cd for Katie that I listen to and don't send.

Oh. As if I weren't starting enough projects, I'm taking my free 100MB with the UO web directory. That will hopefully morph into a standing site. That, and I've started posting to PhotoPoints, a photo critique site. I'll post links to the latest stuff ASAP.

Even though my attention span and amount of free time have been all over the map for a while, I've been inspired to learn more about web design. This woman I met at my cousin's wedding in March, a friend of his from their undergrad years, blew me out of the water with her webpage. It's amazingly designed and well-organized, and I'd love to be able to do something similar with my whoozits. Criticism, photos, writing stuff, etc...I'll link to her at left.

More house-hunting, for the summer and for next year, abounds. That's where I'm off to when I finish this post, actually. Thing is, I need a job as well. I interviewed for a job with UO Neuroscience -- to feed their fish. They breed, splice and stir-fry sticklebacks, and they need someone to clean tanks and such over the summer. That went well, but it's only 12-15 hours a week. I wouldn't turn it down though, because it's a job and it's really flexible. Another interview on friday for a cushy part-time office job. Here's hoping. More later.

LATER...
My dad called (!) to chat and give me some relatives' addresses and phone numbers. We ended up talking for more than an hour, and even when we talk about stupid things it makes me feel really comfy. But that's not The News. The News is that my brother will probably come down for a visit in July! We didn't always get along (what with being siblings and all), but all through my senior year and since I've been away, things have been swell rather than swollen. Adam's sort of shy around just about everyone that's not family, but he's got a great sense of humor, which he naturally picked up from his big sister. Anyhow, that will be supercalifragilawesome. (I'd put "(sp?)" next to that, but...)

Crossing my fingers for the fishyjob.

A couple days, some house-hunting, and a massive Blogger change later, she emerges for a quick post. A very quick post.

My thoughts on death have been galvanizing over time; as people who are close to me or my loved ones pass away, my perspective gets a little tweak. I don't know Carrie that well -- at best, we could be called mutual friends. The sorrow I feel now is quite different from the sorrow I felt when Joy Greisen died, which is different from the feelings I had when my distant relative Vera died, and on and on. I have yet to lose a close friend, family member, lover. But gradually, I'm learning what it is about death that makes me cry and clutch my pillow and wish for impossible things. I grieve for the dead -- like we all do -- and wish they were not so, but what makes me equally or more sad is the anguish that friends, family and lovers go through. There aren't any words for the simplicity and sadness. When I read the livejournal circuit, I see Areli, Sophie, Katie hurt and seek refuge from it. I'm crying with you.

Carrie's loved ones, the ones that I love as well, will not be the same. And in a removed, but powerful way, neither will I. Because it will be my turn one day to receive the wound that doesn't close. I've been lucky (I guess that's one way to put it) enough to be eased into the concept of death. But every person dies, and that is part of the greatest tragedy. No one wants to bury their best friend, mother, next door neighbor, but we can't all die first. I dread the day of the accident or the news, though rarely do I dread it actively because for the moment, my inner circle is safe. Everyone is mobile, concerned with all shades of their lives -- from the lightest to the most grave.

I've been thinking a lot about mobility. We all control our limbs, walk and all that. But we control our bigger motions too: moving out of state, moving toward our various goals, moving away from the old. I'm hyper-aware of the ramifications of this mobility and the responsibility it gives. In the small scale, I'm looking for a home to move into. It will be the first time I seek my own housing, and whether or not I end up in a shanty made of sticks and Elmer's depends entirely on me. More broadly, I hold my life between my fingers every day. I've put myself on a path that veers away from Anchorage, and anything that resembles a home. This too makes me cling to the safety of my friends and family, and yet I drive myself away. It's starting to scare me more than a little.

My dorm is adajacent to Straub hall, the Psychology area. When I walk back to my room after classes, I walk past a bird's nest that I can't see. The baby blackbirds' crying and cheeping gives it away, as does the ever-present mom bird with some kind of tidbit in her beak. We had a (very small) thunderstorm tonight; I hope the nest is safe under the eaves.

Funny, there was something here a moment ago...

My oblique muscles aren't happy. They're bitching on about how walking somewhere in the neighborhood of nine miles was a bit too much. My shoulders are whining about sunburn accrued on the same walk -- it was blazing again yesterday. The dogs would be barking, to get colloquial on your collective ass, but they're recovering from blisters too big to decently describe. Nelly and I went for a stroll yesterday, which was a lot of fun because we don't get to talk one on one too much. I also found some stellar graffiti that I need to go shoot.

I started The Unbearable Lightness of Being, mostly because it scared me with its depth. So far, it's great. I haven't picked up a book that I need to seriously digest lately.

Last night was Pizza Friday, and for the past few weeks dorm life has been fun.

Happy May Day! [God, can it be May already?]

After two and a half hours of frisbee, I now smell like grass. It reminds me of elementary school, not having homework, running around until exhaustion, soccer practice and mosquito bites.

Tomorrow is Foreign Language Day -- no class, just optional workshops on culture and such like. I'd go to one, but the only session that interests me (German hip-hop, taught by my awesome GTF) is at 9:15. That's when I normally get up, and without German class at 10, I can sleep even later. The sleep factor wins.

I caught myself narrating in my head today. Does anyone else do this? Kind of like... "It had occured to me that even though I didn't study, I kicked that test's ass. Funny how that works." Thinking in sentences that could be a journal or a book. Good sign? Incidentally, I did kick my German test's ass. And I didn't study.

It took me damn long enough, but I finally bought darkroom chemicals. I need to mix working solutions, but after I do that, the darkroom is my domain. My oyster. My BIATCH. Which reminds me of a funny picture. Here:



I love graffiti. Hip-hop biatch indeed.

Here's hoping that my browser-related problems are gone. Does this work?

Well, bronchitis was a product of my over-active inner hypochondriac, but I have a head cold that prohibits me from breathing nicely. I think it's on the way out, so it's the least of my concerns.

I went to the cultural forum (the place I'll be working for part time this summer and next year -- the art thing) today to get some basic orientation. It was very basic. Apparently, they're just going to throw me in there and say, "Good luck!" It doesn't seem like it's going to be that hard, for the most part. I'm trying to think up some interesting ideas for shows now. Maybe I'll ask the molecular bio folks if they ever do micro-photography. That would be way cool.

Funny thing happened today: It was eighty goddamn degrees. I hate the heat when I'm sick, so I sort of wasted a sunny day. My drawing class was held outside, though, so I sat next to this fountain and drew these guys doing tai chi. Tai chi is rather nifty.

I think I might have bronchitis AND Marc has to move out of our hall for reasons too stupid to explain here. Not to mention the fact that I'm buried in homework. At least it's a nice day.

I thought about raving on for a while about the asshole at the tennis courts today, but I have reconsidered because I'm suddenly feeling rantless. In fact, I don't have a whole lot to say. Bailey's letter arrived today, and the one I sent to Natalie should arrive today. Getting a letter is so exciting, and apparently now it's old fashioned. I like sending letters -- they're little word-packages. They have more thought, time and money (37 big cents, baby) put into them. All of the little scratched out words are there, all of the doodles, all of the enclosed bits of stuff. I don't draft letters (waste of time!) so the ones I write tend to be a little stream of conciousness-y. I like postcards too, and I have depleted my stash. Bah. I'm starting to get bored. I wonder if the cubs won their game...

A modicum of venting:

Ahem.

Dorms aren't fun. Wandering into a toilet-paper free bathroom at 3am isn't fun. Nor is falling asleep to the delicate honking of Iranian syth-pop. Don't get me wrong, the people (by and large) are great. I like my floor (for the most part), and the bottom two floors are (usually) quite friendly. Third floor leaves me alone, so that's cool too. But KEE-RIST! Today and last night have been microcosms of all the suckitude of "residence halls." Yeah, all of this, and it's not even a dorm. We're sub-dorm.

But we're moving on up (movin' on up!) to the outside! Soon, my pretties, soon I will be able to cook with ease and have toilet paper on call.

Today, my drawing prof said I had an excellent eye for value (thus making my face turn about seven different shades of red while I stumble-mumbled something like "thanks" and "black and white photography") -- that was the triumphant part. The more realistic part is the second half of the phrase: "...but you have a very novice hand for lines." Still, though. I'm getting a lot better at this drawring thing. I'll take pictures of the charcoal stuff later on, when he's done grading.

Here's another little sketch book clip.

Went to the Spike and Mike Animation fest -- it was both sick and twisted, though I think Tenacious D fans may enjoy the "Fuck Her Gently" video. It was a bit over the top for me in places.

Doin' better, for the record. I'm swaying around in ambivalence quite a bit, but largely things are a-okay. I'm looking into study abroad programs for my junior year, as I won't be able to go next year. I'll be taking two year-long series, and I want to complete them before I wander off. The destinations? Germany or the UK. Most likely Germany, depending on where I can go. If I could go to Heidelberg, I could die happy. It sounds like such a cool place. I want to pick my German GTF's brain about where to go sometime.

We may get thunderstorms tonight. To filch a Corey-ism, Rockin'.

First things first: My Creme Egg hunt would have been a bust were it not for Meg and her donation to the cause.

Now we get to the sticky center of the last few weeks. I don't make any secrets about the fact that I, like everyone and their sister it seems, had/have what most people call "problems with depression." It's kind of a conversation killer, so I don't wear on my sleeve. This is, lately I've been feeling more and more like garbage. When I'm alone, it's crushingly lonely and I want to be surrounded by my friends. But when I'm with my friends, I start to feel frustrated and snippy. Sometimes I can't even relax around Kyle. It's full of catch 22s like this -- I can keep it at bay when I'm having fun (hanging out with people, taking pictures, etc), but if I have a moment to breathe, it swoops in on me. The only difference between this and the episodes in Alaska is I can't always tell what's making me feel so empty.

Last night, I went with Kyle, Marie, and Megan to Shawn's room for a little bit of alcoholic fun. We watched "Igby Goes Down" -- one of my favorites -- and enjoyed Corona and Mike's. As I expected, I felt better when buzzed, but there was still internal debate. This was the first time in almost 3 years that I'd been drunk. I didn't want the buzz to go away, and that was frightening. That's kind of a substance abuse sort of attitude. I've been feeling guilty all day, and I think it's because I let myself get out of hand. I want to issue a mass apology for myself, but that's self-pitying.

It doesn't especially help that some of my online Alaskan pals are conspiring to work in a cannery together for six weeks during the summer; slime line plus overtime plus Katie, Sophie, Ness, and whoever else equals a complete blast. And I'm not going to be there. It's torture to read their plans on livejournal. I'm homesick, even though leaving Anchorage was something I looked forward to with anticipation and excitement for years. It's stupid and immature, but I feel like I'm being left behind.

The questions thing from the previous post still stands. Ask me anything.

If anyone knows what the hell I can do to get my style sheet to fucking behave and let me make another sidebar, let me know. I'm at my wits' end, and Blogger help is no help at all. So...CSS or HTML help needed here.

I'm getting hired all over the place. Starting this summer, I'll be curating two small galleries in the student union, one of which is exclusively photography. The kicker? The university PAYS me to do this. I get a small monthly stipend to take the edge off of my bills.

I searched for post-Easter candy (read: cheap Cadbury Creme Eggs) and I found NOTHING. On monday, Safeway had zilch. Dammit! I want my Creme Eggs! Hopefully, Fred Meyer will yield something, but I'm not getting my hopes up.

I'm starting to have my doubts about this canvassing job. Even though it won't be as difficult as it would be in Anchorage, it's still going to be really hard. The nightly quota is $100. I'm seeking other options -- this job has a very high possibility of sucking.

Audience participation time! Ask me anything. Yes, this is an original premise, and you can ask me anything anytime anyway (whoa alliteration). So let's call it spring cleaning. Everybody GO!

Hello. My name is Erica Rothman, and I am a grammar Nazi. Der Grammatisch Polizei. In order to stave off implosion, I must vent two of my biggest pet peeves; one of them is an oral communication thing, the other is written. Though the impulse is often there, I rarely correct people when they speak. Very, very rarely. Because I'm not that kind of asshole. But it drives me fucking crazy when "there's" replaces what should be "there are." Subject-verb agreement is SIMPLE. Schoolchildren all over the planet do it everyday, some in more than one language. So be wise: pluralize! Next on the docket* is the constant fucking up of the word definitely. THERE IS NO A. I don't care how you mispronounce it, the A ain't there, honey, and ain't no bad spelling ever gonna bring it back. Cain't ever lose what you never had. Other remarks vaguely removed from country music go here.

Our ride up to Portland was police evasion-tastic. We caught a ride with a grad student that really didn't want a ticket. I think he was kind of embarrassed for blatantly breaking a couple laws, but I didn't really mind. I thought it was kind of funny.

The concert was fun, although I think having two opening acts is superfluous, no matter how much or little the band rocks. When a gig starts at 9, I want to see the band by 10. Not 11:1fucking5. But I guess the waiting around was okay too because I saw three people I knew from Anchorage there, and all of them were people I liked. Oddly, I didn't recognize a single soul from UO, but I digress. Amanda Howard, a girl I lost track of after graduation, turned up. She's been living in Portland since winter, studying at a rather pretigious cooking school. She (and Pachel) made US Government decent. If Areli actually reads this, I'll get a big OH MY GOD!!! out of this one. I saw Andrew Merrell (and Josi whatsherberry), and I'm pretty sure he recognized me. I mean, we were neighbors and all, and I interviewed his band, etc, so I'm not surprised. Strange to see him, though. Strange, strange.

Roberta gave us wine and Easter candy. I returned to find more Easter candy, a book, a sketchbook, and tax papers awaiting me. Now if only I could get them to airmail my guitar...

The girl at the far north end of our hall moved out, Ashley, and I wish I had gotten to know her better. She's gone, and I probably never had a real conversation with her. The most substantive chat was along the lines of: Did you dye your hair? Yep, about a week ago. Oh man, am I inobservant. Don't worry about it. (I finish washing my hands.) G'night. Night. There's some regret, but it stems from the fact that I'll forget she was here in a week or two, which is sadder than never getting to know her, I guess.

There are many more sketchbook pages, and some stuff that is yet unscanned. Do you want to see it, or is it boring/whiny/stupid?

*Enormous tangent: Hallmate Charlie used this phrase at the hall meeting last tuesday, making him the only person other than myself, my father, and his father to use it in my presence. Charlie also puns. Thus, I think he is awesome.

One too many falling-down halter tops. Blatant cleavage is the new subtle mystique! However, the over-abundance of skin on campus does indicate one beauteous thing: THE SUN IS OUT! God Bless temperate climates.

In a couple of hours, I'll be headed back to Portland for the Modest Mouse concert. This is tres awesome. I haven't been to a decent concert since...Matt Sheehy (of Gravity and Henry) at Sidestreet Cafe, I think. This will be awesome. So to tide all three of you over, I'll post some more scratchings. I'm assuming that since no one has complained, that's okay.

Typically, I am loath to spend my hard-earned cash impulsively. I'm not the type to walk into a store and walk out with half the rack and an empty wallet. People who know me well can tell anyjury that I'm cheap. But today was a bit exceptional because the new Ben Kweller CD came out today and the end to the Descendents' seven year dry spell is available now at a record store near you. So I bought them, and I never want to spend money again. Overall, BK's new one is good, up to the lyrical standards of Sha Sha, but a couple of the songs are a bit too love-songy for me. I like it, though, and it was worth the 13. The Descendents...they always blow me away. I get so caught up in their music -- it's direct and driving.

Now that I'm done with my CD review, I'd like to mention that the Modest Mouse concert is this saturday. There would be some sort of WOOOHOOOO! here, but we still have no ride to Portland to speak of. Hmmm.

Oh, if you can't read the writing (that makes two of us), feel free to copy and enlarge, if you're willing to expend the effort.

I'm becoming more and more Eugene. The last things I consumed were granola and green tea.

As promised...

BIG NEWS! I'm staying in Eugene for the summer -- Kyle and I found jobs! The Campaign to Save the Environment, a grassroots fundraising non-prof, hired us ON THE SPOT. We'll be canvassing in Eugene for petition signatures, memberships, and (of course) donations. The guy who hired me said that I could easily rise through the ranks to a media relations position, given my Anchorage Daily News experience. This means that I won't go home, which is mostly good for NOT living with my parents, NOT working at Europa or some similar slime pit, and NOT getting that overwhelming sense of I'm-wasting-my-time-in-the-most-god-awful-state-in-the-union. On a gigantic downside, it means I won't see a lot of people I love until Christmas. So the cry goes out: VISIT ME. Seriously, if anyone roadtrips to the lower 48, make a detour my way. I'll make it worth your while. Eugene is a cool place, and every summer during the country fair, a Slug Queen gets elected. So visit.

In other, somewhat less large news, I'm probably going to take pictures for my friend Hannah's wedding. I offered to do it for free, as a wedding present sort of thing. I'm excited. The ceremony is going to be on one of the prettiest parts of campus this summer. This is another benefit of staying in Eugene.

I have scanned the Portland papers, and I'll post them here after editing. Maybe I'll do it one at a time and serialize them. Maybe not.

away!

Why I'm a lazy fool:

Three job applications, all due tomorrow, are sitting on my desk. Not complete.
Homework
I spent last night taping a broom to a ceiling and playing hall diplomat because of aforementioned taping. Also: watching Family Guy and Futurama. God Bless adult swim, which, as much as I love 'em, isn't enough of a reason to justify buying an idiot box.
I'm procrastinating like a mofo in heat. Bad habits all over again.
It's the first week of the term, so everything goes into the "I'll do it later" sort of jive.

In other news, last night was hilarious with the brooms and exchange students and antics and whatnot. OH! ANCHORAGE OUTRAGE: There are fliers around campus for a little indie-looking gig. Who's the artist? Matt fuckin' Hopper, Anchorage's ego-driven, self-proclaimed rock star. This guy is so whiny, so quinessentially "emo" (hate that term, and a good deal of that music), and so pompous...gragrrr. It leaves me speechless. Needless to say, I'm not going.

Today was the first day of drawring in my drawring class. The assignment was to complete 30 drawings by the end of class. I didn't budget my time too well, but I came up with some reasonable stuff. Even though there are some snooty arr-teests in there, I think I'll have fun with the class. The prof is very cool; we discussed crossing media, and how drawing skills could be helpful or interesting in photography in terms of photoshop and darkroom processes.

Scanned stuff forthcoming.

We got back from Portland yesterday, and I'll spare you the blow by blow account right here. I'll scan and post it from the sketchbook I wrote and doodled in there later. That may take a while and might not be worth the effort. It's just my little travelogue with pictures and such. Not to mention I'll be editing it for content, you bet your Photoshop I will. Some items will be funnyish removed from context, which is just as well because I don't want to share the context with all three of the people who read this thing.

So instead of my Portlanding, you get the first day of spring term! Gorgeous day, I might add in that special gloating tone I save for comparing Eugene weather to Anchorage weather. My German class is not only sans frat boys, but it's smaller than last term by about a third. I have the same GTF, Maria, as I did last term, and she's her usual perky, Teutonic self. On a related note, first floor has some new students (two Steves and a Simon), one of whom is from Germany (he's the Simon). Interestingly, this gives them two Steves and two Joels, and both pairs are roommates. Marie, my kitty-corner neighbor, got a new roommate from Korea, whose name (this is edited is Jee-Hai) Then Troll invaded the conversation and all was lost. Lost! Back to my classes, though. On Mondays and Wednesdays I go for five hours straight, although that wasn't the case today. The next hour is an english class I'm taking with Kyle that covers representing nature in the 18th century. Mmmm...Wordsworths. Yes, that's plural. William and his doting sister, Dorothy. The professor is a bit school marmish, but, to coin a stolen line that applies so aptly to many things (my mother inclusive), when life gives you a school marm, make school marmalade.

I love that one, and it definitely deserves a line break. After that class -- my first upper-division class ever! -- I have my three hour drawring class. (For Bailey!) The prof seems endearingly anal. He's the artist who is clearly tired of dealing with business majors in drawing classes, and he wears red hi-tops. So far so good. Tomorrow I have my astronomy class, which will probably be huge and easy. But I'm really geared up for it in a grinning, juvenile way because Kyle, Roberta (Portland connection) and I went to OMSI* for their Star Party. That wasn't as glamorous/childish as it sounds; it was a smattering of amateur astronomers sharing their telescopes with whoever showed up. Apparently, in order to earn one's stripes as a gazer of stars, one must take on these lists of celestial bodies and spot all the items on the list. The guy I spoke to had the pin for a French guy's list...I think the name was Massier. Something like that.

Sara from across the hall distractifies me. I think I'm gone for now. Sketch pages forthcoming, though censored.



*Oregon Museum of Science and Industry aka Really Damn Cool Place

Howdy from Portland! For some reason, it's sunny, but I'm certainly not complaining. I've already done quite a lot: wandering around downtown, wandering around in Hawthorne, marching in a HUGE crowd in an anti-war protest, making cookies, sitting in a communist cafe...you know, Portlandy things. I'm finally unwinding a little. More later, Kyle and I are babysitting a cool kid at the library.

Good:
Kyle is feeling better
I'm done with my finals (I need to turn in papers, but that's all she wrote -- so to speak)
I'm leaving for Portland in 14 hours
Had a great eat session at Grab and Go with Marie, Sara and Katharine.
I'm finally not being a grumpy pain in the butt
Did I mention the Portland thing?

So I'm leaving soon. Posting will be very, very slim, as I'm not taking my computer. Happy Spring, yo.

PS. I had the worst Danish ever for breakfast today. With every bite I could hear a collective groan from Copenhagen.

My brain and I are at odds right now. I need to do my take-home final (I know, it's awesome) for my Lit class ASAP. I also need to photocopy an obituary and type up my notes for the Warner papers project. The old braineroo has decided to conveniently forget these things, instead opting to distract me with (in no particular order or preference) food, blogging, reading, writing, studying for other finals, messing around with my camera, going for walks, cruising the 'net, messing around with my other camera, visiting first floor, making tea, sitting in the sun distinctly NOT getting things accomplished, wishing I had some biscuits, talking to Aaron while he's stoned, contemplating my sudden affinity for the Naked brand of juice, reading the comics, fussing over Kyle (who is feeling better, but isn't entirely herself again), talking to hallmates, going to Ben and Jerry's, composing haikus about feet in my head, calling people I haven't spoken to in a while, trying madly to figure out what I'm going to do this summer, playing with magnetic poetry, half-assedly shifting the recycling pile, and, of course, procrastinating. Yeah. Needless to say, I haven't been as productive as I'd originally planned. If I used my day planner, my day would be planned thusly:

10:00 -- wake my ass up
10:30-11:15ish -- eat
11:15-noon: make myself presentable, brush up on german vocab, gather studystuffs to meet Will at Espresso Roma for a study session.
Noon-1 or 2ish: Study with Will.
1 or 2ish - 4:00 -- study history.
4:00 -- Timberline meeting
After Timberline: eat

after that: type up warner notes and do lit final.
Sleep, probably around 11.

What a joke. Here's how it all went down:

10:15ish -- woke my ass up, fussed over Kyle
11:00ish -- ate
Just before noon: hurried out of carson to meet Will because I'd gotten caught up in a lively conversation with Parker and his roomie, John.
noon -- noon:45: studied with Will. Drank coffee. Will left to do his Shakespeare paper, and we figured the material was pretty well covered.
Spent some time at Roma with Kyle. then we went back and laid in the sun doing and not doing studystuffs. This went on until 4ish.
4ish -- went to the timberline meeting, which got cancelled. But we didn't know that until we waited there for 20 minutes.
I lost track of what went on here. Not studying. Some summer job hunting. Some chatting with Areli. Other stuff too, but I don't really remember. It's hazy.
We ate.
And now I'm typing this. Time to actually work -- 9:09 pm. Good call, brain, you stupid bastard. Why can't you be more like the liver?

I inherited worrying from my mother. My dad gets worked up, agitated, anal, and assholish, but worried is a mom thing. Kyle's stomach is hurting with no real explanation. (Wouldn't it be great if one's body DID explain this stuff? Hi, it's Uterus. I'm going to be cramping in about an hour and a half. Why don't you take some Midol to nip that in the bud, eh? Or: Colon here. Don't worry about me. I'm just having some trouble with that crap food you got at the dining hall. Nothing serious. Shout out to the liver! LIVA FO' LIFE!)

Clearly, I am tired and wired.

Digital camera batteries may be a gigantic rip-off. I discovered that I can use four AA's instead of two massively expensive digi-cam batteries and save el dinero. I invested in some rechargable bat'ries yesterday. As such, a sudden influx of pictures. I'll post them, but I want to make a banner or something out of some of the good ones. I also want to get pictures of all of my friends and likable hallmates, more for my purposes, but posts-a-poppin'.

Wow. De-gen-er-a-ting. Ting!

It bears repeating that first floor rocks the house.

At this point, I really wish I were more spiritual than I am. I wish I could believe in something bigger than myself that we all belong to. My substitute for religion is a muddled structure based on optimism and love; when I get depressed or overwhelmed or lose my momentum, it's difficult to keep that tenuous card castle that is my faith from blowing away. I don't want to say that religion and spirituality are cop-outs -- they aren't. They're integral parts of billions of lives. Mine included. I simply don't have the spiritual stamina to keep my chin up when Carrie has cancer and my cousin is ill with who knows what.

It's difficult to enjoy the satisfaction of finishing papers and the termination of the term. I can't say I've known Carrie long or in significant depth, but the beauty of the Steller community is such that I didn't have to. Before I met Carrie, I knew all about her. I cheered when she went to Florida because they have an excellent music school, again, before I met her -- news from Areli, mostly. Now I'm not sure what to think. Am I allowed to be this way?

And I wish to god that I could get the image of my coz, sitting in his room doing nothing with a forlorn scowl on his face -- doctor's orders.

I've been feeling so awful lately on top of all of this. Old befuddlements are coming back again, and despite their name, they're no good. They're draining. They're depressing.

I caught myself wanting to go back to Anchorage the other day. Thing is, I don't. I want to go back to the state DDF tournament or Solstice, but not Anchorage. I'm not sure I can go back to Anchorage.

Ahhh. My J201 paper is finally finished. I am essentially finished with that class; the curtain closes when I turn in my pape tomorrow and play a cute little game of Stump the Prof, asking my prof and GTF questions about the media for extra credit. If it's anything like the J201 poetry slam (ho-boy...), class will be short. And I will laugh all the way to the used bookstore. They'll pay cash, even if the book isn't worth it. It's not worth a handful of beans. I would honestly take a fist full of legumes over John Vivian's The Media of Mass Communication. So glad this class is nearly over.

I didn't blog on it earlier, and I'm probably not going to blog on it much because it's breeching someone else's privacy as opposed to my own. But I found out over the weekend that my cousin (remaining unnamed, of course) is in poor health. He has epilepsy, or something like it, but that is such a difficult disease to diagnose and treat. Epilepsy and epilepsy-like conditions are often extremely hard to distinguish. My cousin, who is 7 months older than I to the day, has something like epilepsy, and his seizures have been increasing. A neurologist told him to drop his classes (he's studying anthropology at UAA) and move out of his dorm. He's under orders to stay calm and take it easy. Thing is, all the stuff he enjoys (Japanese anime, drum and bass techno, track and field -- specifically sprints) is designed to get his heart rate going. I understand that this calmness edict is temporary, but I don't want my coz to be rendered vegetable-ish because of what the doctors say. Just had to get that out. It's been on my mind. I've known the guy for as long as I've been alive. He's nutty, sure, but I don't want him to be unhappy in any way. Some of my earliest memories involve running around in our grandparents backyard with him, playing some nonsense about Tom and Jerry (our favorite of all the moldering videos our grandparents let us watch -- the rest were musicals like The Wizard of Oz and Meet Me in St. Louis) or kickball. Oh, and we'd always mess with the neighbors' funky lawn ornaments. Canada geese, of all things.

Lo! I procrastinate like the mighty oak!



Errr...yes. So, general update. The wedding was, as I mentioned, lovely. There's no marriage on the horizon for me, but this was the sort of ceremony I'd like to have. Very relaxed, original vows, outdoors, and small. Small is good. I met some Rothmans for the first time, too. My great uncle Frank, a former professor and dean at Brown, was a riot. The weather was beautiful and I got back in time to write papers and put on a German skit. Weatherly speaking, Eugene is having a nice little sunny spell. It feels like spring to the Oregonians, and it feels like July to me. Ahhh. And as soon as I develop pictures, I have some nice family shots I'll put up, more for storage purposes than anything else, but if you're interested, I haven't changed the guest password. My cousin and his wife were so happy, and I have a couple of my immediate family, my aunt dancing, etc. Oh. Heh. Thanks to the obligatory wine, (Rothmans drink wine. If I don't acquire this skill by 21, I'm no longer family. That's just how we rationalize it is.) I actually got out onto the dance floor. The dance-phobia may yet vanish. Maybe.

I'm putting off a couple of papers right now; they're more or less under control, but that doesn't change the fact that I should be doing something else. Yeah. Should.

This term is almost over, thankfully. After this, I have no intentions of enduring classes that bore me. Speaking to a professor of my cousin's (who in a strange sort of way got him and his wife together) gave me the resolve to not put up with any garbage the honors college and various pre-recs put me through, but to maintain everything on my plate until it becomes clear that something MUST go. This guy, a photography guru no less, was clearly a good mentor to have (and a good dancer to boot -- he and my aunt actually jitterbugged.) His advice will be stashed away with everyone else's, though. The last thing I need is ANOTHER set of two bitses thrown into my line of fire.

My literature final is a TAKE HOME FINAL. Beautiful.

UPDATE: I'm almost done with one of my papers, so a break is necessary. Positive reinforcement and all.

Fifteen minutes later...I just wrote a tirade about how dorms make girls into third graders (with more beer), and that prospective suitors should be aware of this, but it was way too crass. It got away from me and took me to a point where I was either a total prude or a total hypocrite. Not wanting to be either, I deleted. Now I'm sort of at square one again. I suppose I could still try to rant about the puffery and showing-off that just went on in our hallway, but now the topic seems stale.

Speaking of hypocrites, Salon.com did a thing about Marty Beckerman and he got panned by readers in a follow-up. In truth, it was a terrible interview, and I know Marty is more articulate than that, but I do agree with some of the reader's comments about his content. He appeals to prudery by saying that kids are having too much sex, booze, tobacco, debauchery, and fun. Gee, a generation of young people experimenting with sex and substances...how unheard of! Does anyone see the irony in the fact that he is published by MTV? He didn't exactly score points with me by implicitly comparing himself to Fitzgerald and Ellis, nor by stating flat-out that his purpose at that point was the naked ambition of being a 21 year old published writer. I promise I'll never spout my Marty-spleen again, but I'd like to conclude with the fact that I can't respect him because he used being an asshole to springboard himself to success. And now the topic will never again come up on my blog because any and all further thoughts are just rationalizations of my jealousy. Damn that published little...

Back in one piece, although I don't feel that way. Discombobulated is the word for me right about now. More on the trip later, but I have only two things to say: The wedding was a truly beautiful ceremony. (and) I have sunburn. Pigment! ROCK ON!

sleep now.

Not only do I hate air travel because I have an awful fear of flying, I also hate air travel because it involves so damn much WAITING. In airports. Airports are designed to be the worst places to wait ever. They provide the most essential things (for a price), but it's all so sterile. Especially post 9/11. Safety scissors society. It makes me uncomfortable, and lately tends to cause lots of coffee drinking on my part. I'm not sure why -- usually, I'm not so gonzo on the coffee. Although Espresso Roma makes a mean cup. Mmm. The thought of Espresso Roma and its fabulous selection of pastries sidetracked me. This place rocks. I worked at a cafe/bakery for almost 2 years, and if I can find pastries that don't make me want to jump off a bridge or vomit then I'm doing pretty well. These are delicious. Nothing like the mass-produced Europa mumbo-jumbo. Wow. I digressed quite a bit there.

Back to the wedding, though. My cousin is one of my biggest heroes, and has been since forever. If he were getting married in Siberia, I would go. At this point, travel anxiety and parental crap is getting to me, so I'm trying to balance out the cons with some major upsides. Mostly non-nuclear family related upsides. Although my mother did offer to take me clothes shopping, which is usually an ungodly ordeal (Adam, if you're reading, feel free to back me up on this)...but I'm beginning to get a little more raggedy around the edges than usual. The cheap college student instinct kicked in when she made her pitch: "Free pants? Sweet!"

In the meantime, I have little else to offer y'all with the bloggity. I won't post again, in all reality, until Monday or Tuesday. So take care, and feel free to use the comments thread to rant, rave and roast.

I began the last post with "I'm getting really sick of the news." Now it's just the getting really sick part that applies. Waking up this morning was a chore. I couldn't swallow for a while -- that was unpleasant. I've been fighting a sore throat and related head coldy things all day, and of course, today is the day the uterus decides to go terrorist on the rest of me. Thanks to a hefty dose of vitamins, sudofed, and ibuprofen, things were under control for a bit (and it was SUNNY!) However, the magic of the pills is wearing off, which just makes me bitchy. I'd take another pill cocktail, but I'm afraid that the sudofed will keep me up all night. Since I'm voluntarily avoiding the pain killers, I really have no right to complain. Okie dokie. Health rant over. And I'll save the additional "I don't want to travel while I'm sick boo hoo" for some other time. The whining in my head is enough for me, and probably everyone else.

On the completely awesome side of things, I got all of the classes that I wanted. The physics class filled up before I could get to it, so I put the back-up science credit (astronomy, which is apparently interesting and easy -- and relevant! Mars was leaky!) in there instead. Everything worked out wonderfully, as I'm hardly crying about not taking physics. I gots my 10:00 german to start the day, then Nature in the 18th C (with Kyle! we're taking a class together!), and three hours of drawing. This is going to be awesome.

You may (or may not) notice that there aren't any honors college classes in that schedule. I'm going to take a break from that and see what happens.

My bonehead J201 class is drawing to a close, and it's really too bad that the GTF didn't get as much lecture time as the Prof. I know that's how it goes, but the professor was a windbag, and the GTF was cool. They passed back the second round of papers today, and Seth (the GTF) pulled me aside and told me my paper made him mad. I didn't say anything -- who knows how to react to that? I must have looked apprehensive; he quickly said that it was because he had to look up a word while reading my paper. This easily made my day. Later, out of curiosity, I emailed him, asking what the word was. The reply: "you would ask me that. :)

sitting here in the law library, exhausted and brain-dead from hours of writing, I can't remember. But I think it began with an "a." I could tell you if I saw the paper again..." This guy is a much better speaker than our professor, who tends to bluster. oh well.

Dubious academic triumph: The honors college put me on the "Director's list" -- equivalent to the Dean's list, I guess. Thing is, I don't care. Again: oh well.

I'm getting really sick of the news. Another day, another country invaded. What, we're up to three for this administration alone? Another day, another absolute SHOCKER that this fundamentalist country doesn't want gays getting married! Another day, another horse race election story. Another day, another revocation of our civil liberties. Then there's the litany of pundits that I once listened to (or heckled) -- they've lost significance to me now because they're just nit-picking over news carcasses. Maybe I'm embracing jadedness, but I don't have the energy to chase down every outrage the mill churns out. I didn't even watch the Oscars. I worked on my Christopher Marlowe paper. I'm not sure if this means I'm losing my curiosity and zeal, or if I'm just getting swamped. Pretty sure it's the latter, but we'll see.

My trip to Arizona looms. Suddenly, I'm not at all looking forward to it. Going to see my family means I'll have to deal with my family, and at this point, even a call home depresses me. My parents and I don't know how to deal with each other. It's awkward, and inevitably falls to the old patterns that drove me insane in the first place. The worst part is that right now, my life is in complete limbo. I don't know what I'll be doing three months from now. I have no home (not in Anchorage, and certainly not this dorm), just a hometown. Every vapid asshole in my classes undermines my sense of accomplishment. (The degree I get will be the same degree handed to Jack McAsshat and Tiffany Paidfor come 2007. This is why I'm considering staying in the honors college. It's so sad, but I want elitist distinction. There. I said it.) ARGHHHH. I'm disconnected, self-absorbed and full of contradictions.

On the plus side, I register in 30 minutes.