Just so you know, not all of my poems are autobiographic, so don't you go sympathizing with me just because I produce depressing poems. I can write sad little lines while on a sugar high, which I think is a pretty clear indication of the relationship between my mood and the mood of my writings. Garrison Keillor wrote a book from the perspective of a teenage girl- don't mix me up with my insane subjects, okey doke? Especially if you're reading my angsty books.
Well, now that that's settled, I post a poem. No, I did not do the things the narrator has. Knock that off, you!
Untitled
The poisoned apple, you would knowingly eat
Wrap it in a layer of caramel, stab it onto a stick
And shake ten or twenty sprinkles over it like confetti
Treating the occasion like a grand celebration
You, who would have made of Jack the Ripper a great friend
And the Boston Strangler, your closest ally
Who would throw party after party, to allow John Wayne Gacy Jr.
To enter into your home bedecked as a clown
If you could, you would find seclusion, lock yourself away
In the most haunted house in a city with the most violent of histories
You sleep in graveyards as though you belong there
And claw at the ground and scream to be let in
Every day, you smoke a pack of cigarettes atop the roof
Of a building condemned these past ten years
At risk of collapsing and chock full of asbestos
And you stare straight at the sun for hours and hours on end
On the coldest night of the year, you stand naked
Beneath a sky that weeps large shards of ice
And a moon that promises to bring out vampires and werewolves
You walk slowly to the middle of the road
Then run down its length until you reach the highway
But the road is icy and everyone has stayed at home
So you stand there, shivering, for as long as it takes
And in the silence and the moonlight
And all those flickering stars of eyes
With no one else around for miles
Save those who are asleep
You wait
And what am I left to do?
Is it enough to allow you to encase yourself in a tomb of ice?
Would it be better if I sold my car and used the money to buy a handgun
And a box of 8 millimeter bullets
Aim my new possession carefully and let you fall beautifully red to the pavement?
Should I take you to a place of refuge and help you
Exorcise your sorrow like an evil spirit
As great as the devil himself
A Satan who took the form of a beautiful woman
And acted more like a succubus than a Prince of Darkness
That creature, who so fervently avoids the light
Take you to a rehabilitation center because you have become addicted
To the idea of escape
And the memory of a love long gone
Should I try to repair all of the damage done to everyone
Try to win myself a Nobel Peace Prize
Attempt to raise you from your tomb like Lazarus
And call you forth again to live a zombie
Or part the Red Sea to help you understand
That in this world, there are still miracles
Seek out the next solar eclipse and promise you
That the moon blocks out the sun so that the world
Can altogether dwell in darkness with you
And wish nostalgically for warmth
Find the smallest monkey in the world or the largest crab
Take you to ride on the back of an elephant or a camel
Listen to the greatest soprano sing the sweetest aria
And watch the most sure-footed ballerina defy gravity
In a manner both graceful and profound
Read to you from my favorite book, when the small boy
Questions again and again and again, why?
“Why was my father shot?” And “why am I alone?”
Because it is so much more tragic when associated
With one who is too small to even ride the Ferris Wheel
Go on a visit to the cancer ward at the local children’s hospital
So that we can witness someone too young to have learned to speak
Go gentle into that good night
Because no one had taught him yet how to fight the reaper of souls
Perhaps if you had visited the Holocaust Memorial
Looked at that pile of shoes that went up to the ceiling, a very tall ceiling,
And continued onward and upward like the Tower of Babel
Poking God in the eye and asking, “How the hell could you?”
Or looked at the gate of Auschwitz and read
Arbeit Macht Frei
Work makes one free?
How many were ever freed, I wonder
Or, perhaps, if you experienced this moment just passed
when I had no trouble, me, the most untalented of spellers
in depicting the name of Auschwitz with my clumsy fingers
And when my spell check,
Quickly riled to attack me by so many words and names,
Let the word Auschwitz pass by unmarked by that red, squiggly underline
What am I trying to say?
There are monsters in this world and they are always human
And they are always pretty in some way because we all are
They tell you jokes that make you laugh for years
Or wear provocative outfits that you cannot expel from your fantasies
Or write books that sit for months on end atop the New York Time’s bestseller list
And are damned good at pretending to love
Or maybe they do love, I don’t know
But all I know is that you are in such pain as I have only experienced once
When I stripped off every piece of clothing on the coldest night of the year
And sat atop a mound of snow while everyone for miles slept
And cried myself to sleep
See how we survive.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
I promise I'll update soon, but...
not tonight!
Here's a quote to keep you warm!
"I was born when you kissed me. I died when you left me. I lived a few weeks while you loved me."
- Humphrey Bogart
:( or <3?
Here's a quote to keep you warm!
"I was born when you kissed me. I died when you left me. I lived a few weeks while you loved me."
- Humphrey Bogart
:( or <3?
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
This is Bad!
... is it VERY bad?
Gotta love ReBoot for keeping things fresh ^.^ I'm rewatching it, yet again. Should be an Olympic sport.
<3
Gotta love ReBoot for keeping things fresh ^.^ I'm rewatching it, yet again. Should be an Olympic sport.
<3
poem in the wee hours of the morn
e.e. cummings lower case esque
not Forgotten but stowed away
i stand on the most pointed part of my toes
and reach upward, stretch myself until i am ten feet tall
and my shadow darkens the entire room
making the grey cat’s eyes glow green
like tiny wayward fireflies
i can just reach the box with my fingernails
and jump, bumping my face against the shelf
bringing the memories crashing down
braining myself with my lengthy past
and stowed-away passions
the photographs flutter downward
and the cat leaps after them like butterflies
gnawing at my image ten years ago
when i truly believed that i would become famous
and smiled in that knowledge
an eraser given to me by someone i thought i loved
ironic, come to think of it
the drawing that a stranger discarded
and i happily recovered from the trash bin
a thousand things floating from the tiny box
and lists, plans for my bright future ahead
now here, and so very dark
the faded, black and white photograph of my grandmother
seems to call me a failure
for being so lackadaisical to the importance of dreams
but, how could i forget my ambitions?
the first great love of any little girl
as aching as the new bruise on my forehead
as real as the cat playing with my memories
and barely reachable from the tip of my toes
and the painted nails on my long fingers
oh no, those wonderful thoughts,
they do not belong to the Forgotten
like those tiny, squared-in faces believe and express
but perhaps have been stowed away
just a little too long
copyright Amanda Martin 2009
not Forgotten but stowed away
i stand on the most pointed part of my toes
and reach upward, stretch myself until i am ten feet tall
and my shadow darkens the entire room
making the grey cat’s eyes glow green
like tiny wayward fireflies
i can just reach the box with my fingernails
and jump, bumping my face against the shelf
bringing the memories crashing down
braining myself with my lengthy past
and stowed-away passions
the photographs flutter downward
and the cat leaps after them like butterflies
gnawing at my image ten years ago
when i truly believed that i would become famous
and smiled in that knowledge
an eraser given to me by someone i thought i loved
ironic, come to think of it
the drawing that a stranger discarded
and i happily recovered from the trash bin
a thousand things floating from the tiny box
and lists, plans for my bright future ahead
now here, and so very dark
the faded, black and white photograph of my grandmother
seems to call me a failure
for being so lackadaisical to the importance of dreams
but, how could i forget my ambitions?
the first great love of any little girl
as aching as the new bruise on my forehead
as real as the cat playing with my memories
and barely reachable from the tip of my toes
and the painted nails on my long fingers
oh no, those wonderful thoughts,
they do not belong to the Forgotten
like those tiny, squared-in faces believe and express
but perhaps have been stowed away
just a little too long
copyright Amanda Martin 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Mega-Update
So, I had the thing on Friday-- the awards ceremony. For beating the other guy for the Asian Studies award (Albert Mann Award). Hrm. So, they called my name for a "National Award", the JASSO, which is international, but did not call me for the Albert Mann Award... which is the one that actually gets you on stage to receive your pretty medal. V. embarrassing but more for them than for me?
So, I tried to have gumption (I am woman hear me roar but only once a month...) and went up to get my durned medal. Apologies, etc. But I dooo have my damn medal and I wore it this morning for graduation.
...which was today. Tralala. Very boring. I met up with a gal I met in my Human Rights Leadership class, so that was nice. I should update this later to make it less boring....
this is all for the moment then
Updated 6/16
You couldn't really hear much at graduation because the feedback was CRAZY. You could hear the echo like a second or two after the actual speaking, so it was impossible to tell what anyone was saying. The only things I really heard were "Obama," "village, "Seattle U," and "revolution." What can it mean?
Went to Kidd Valley afterward as a major treat but, alas alack, sweetness and saltiness is never as good as you remember it being. Freeing myself from my diet for a few days wasn't as liberating as I'd hoped. I think maybe the fact that it's only for a few days kinda casts a shadow over the whole thing. Or maybe food is just food and isn't ambrosia. Sigh!
The party on Saturday was pretty great but I think I drank a wee bit too much. Everyone kept bringing wine! Which meant that I was really sleepy all day on Sunday, throughout the ceremony and afterward. Everyone was extremely generous with gifts- thank you!
Also got a new kitty on Saturday (see how non-chronological this is? What is wrong with my crazy brain?). He is named Seeley-Booth, after Seeley Booth, the foxy detective.
Seeley Booth:
Seeley-Booth:
I think that's about all... sorry for the crappy writing. I can't sleep because Seeley is up at all hours (and stuck in my room for now) attacking things! Eeeeek!
<3
P.S. finished Jekyll and Hyde, which was pretty predictable if you know ANYTHING about the story at all. Now reading (sorta... haven't much started) Edwin Drood by Dickens. Wish me luck!
So, I tried to have gumption (I am woman hear me roar but only once a month...) and went up to get my durned medal. Apologies, etc. But I dooo have my damn medal and I wore it this morning for graduation.
...which was today. Tralala. Very boring. I met up with a gal I met in my Human Rights Leadership class, so that was nice. I should update this later to make it less boring....
this is all for the moment then
Updated 6/16
You couldn't really hear much at graduation because the feedback was CRAZY. You could hear the echo like a second or two after the actual speaking, so it was impossible to tell what anyone was saying. The only things I really heard were "Obama," "village, "Seattle U," and "revolution." What can it mean?
Went to Kidd Valley afterward as a major treat but, alas alack, sweetness and saltiness is never as good as you remember it being. Freeing myself from my diet for a few days wasn't as liberating as I'd hoped. I think maybe the fact that it's only for a few days kinda casts a shadow over the whole thing. Or maybe food is just food and isn't ambrosia. Sigh!
The party on Saturday was pretty great but I think I drank a wee bit too much. Everyone kept bringing wine! Which meant that I was really sleepy all day on Sunday, throughout the ceremony and afterward. Everyone was extremely generous with gifts- thank you!
Also got a new kitty on Saturday (see how non-chronological this is? What is wrong with my crazy brain?). He is named Seeley-Booth, after Seeley Booth, the foxy detective.
Seeley Booth:
Seeley-Booth:
I think that's about all... sorry for the crappy writing. I can't sleep because Seeley is up at all hours (and stuck in my room for now) attacking things! Eeeeek!
<3
P.S. finished Jekyll and Hyde, which was pretty predictable if you know ANYTHING about the story at all. Now reading (sorta... haven't much started) Edwin Drood by Dickens. Wish me luck!
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Am too tired
to write before going to bed. Thus, I leave you with Neruda. This poem has been enchanting/haunting me all week:
A Dog Has Died
My dog has died.
I buried him in the garden
next to a rusted old machine.
Some day I'll join him right there,
but now he's gone with his shaggy coat,
his bad manners and his cold nose,
and I, the materialist, who never believed
in any promised heaven in the sky
for any human being,
I believe in a heaven I'll never enter.
Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom
where my dog waits for my arrival
waving his fan-like tail in friendship.
Ai, I'll not speak of sadness here on earth,
of having lost a companion
who was never servile.
His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine
withholding its authority,
was the friendship of a star, aloof,
with no more intimacy than was called for,
with no exaggerations:
he never climbed all over my clothes
filling me full of his hair or his mange,
he never rubbed up against my knee
like other dogs obsessed with sex.
No, my dog used to gaze at me,
paying me the attention I need,
the attention required
to make a vain person like me understand
that, being a dog, he was wasting time,
but, with those eyes so much purer than mine,
he'd keep on gazing at me
with a look that reserved for me alone
all his sweet and shaggy life,
always near me, never troubling me,
and asking nothing.
Ai, how many times have I envied his tail
as we walked together on the shores of the sea
in the lonely winter of Isla Negra
where the wintering birds filled the sky
and my hairy dog was jumping about
full of the voltage of the sea's movement:
my wandering dog, sniffing away
with his golden tail held high,
face to face with the ocean's spray.
Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of their shameless spirit.
There are no good-byes for my dog who has died,
and we don't now and never did lie to each other.
So now he's gone and I buried him,
and that's all there is to it.
Translated, from the Spanish, by Alfred Yankauer
Pablo Neruda
A Dog Has Died
My dog has died.
I buried him in the garden
next to a rusted old machine.
Some day I'll join him right there,
but now he's gone with his shaggy coat,
his bad manners and his cold nose,
and I, the materialist, who never believed
in any promised heaven in the sky
for any human being,
I believe in a heaven I'll never enter.
Yes, I believe in a heaven for all dogdom
where my dog waits for my arrival
waving his fan-like tail in friendship.
Ai, I'll not speak of sadness here on earth,
of having lost a companion
who was never servile.
His friendship for me, like that of a porcupine
withholding its authority,
was the friendship of a star, aloof,
with no more intimacy than was called for,
with no exaggerations:
he never climbed all over my clothes
filling me full of his hair or his mange,
he never rubbed up against my knee
like other dogs obsessed with sex.
No, my dog used to gaze at me,
paying me the attention I need,
the attention required
to make a vain person like me understand
that, being a dog, he was wasting time,
but, with those eyes so much purer than mine,
he'd keep on gazing at me
with a look that reserved for me alone
all his sweet and shaggy life,
always near me, never troubling me,
and asking nothing.
Ai, how many times have I envied his tail
as we walked together on the shores of the sea
in the lonely winter of Isla Negra
where the wintering birds filled the sky
and my hairy dog was jumping about
full of the voltage of the sea's movement:
my wandering dog, sniffing away
with his golden tail held high,
face to face with the ocean's spray.
Joyful, joyful, joyful,
as only dogs know how to be happy
with only the autonomy
of their shameless spirit.
There are no good-byes for my dog who has died,
and we don't now and never did lie to each other.
So now he's gone and I buried him,
and that's all there is to it.
Translated, from the Spanish, by Alfred Yankauer
Pablo Neruda
Friday, June 12, 2009
Wah! Delicia Fay is Following Me!
On Twitter. Here is the message of PROOF:
Date: Fri, 12 Jun 2009 20:57:28 +0000
From: Twitter
To: ajm32@u.washington.edu
Subject: Delicia Fay is now following you on Twitter!
Parts/Attachments:
View|Save 1 OK ~12 lines Text
View|Save 2 Shown ~90 lines Text
----------------------------------------
[twitter_logo_header.png?src=mail]
[arr2.gif]
HI, AMANDA MARTIN.
Delicia Fay (deliciafay) is now following your updates on Twitter.
A little information about Delicia Fay:
[DeliciaFay_400_normal.jpg] 2011 followers 660 updates following 2011
people
The Twitter Team
Turn off these emails at: http://twitter.com/account/notifications
---App. though, she followers all who follow her, which makes me a little less special. Anyway she is Felicia Day's alter-ego/evil twin who inhabits the same body/nemesis. I think... it's all a little confusing. In any case, I am being followed by a gorgeous redhead, and what isn't awesome about that?
<3
Date: Fri, 12 Jun 2009 20:57:28 +0000
From: Twitter
To: ajm32@u.washington.edu
Subject: Delicia Fay is now following you on Twitter!
Parts/Attachments:
View|Save 1 OK ~12 lines Text
View|Save 2 Shown ~90 lines Text
----------------------------------------
[twitter_logo_header.png?src=mail]
[arr2.gif]
HI, AMANDA MARTIN.
Delicia Fay (deliciafay) is now following your updates on Twitter.
A little information about Delicia Fay:
[DeliciaFay_400_normal.jpg] 2011 followers 660 updates following 2011
people
The Twitter Team
Turn off these emails at: http://twitter.com/account/notifications
---App. though, she followers all who follow her, which makes me a little less special. Anyway she is Felicia Day's alter-ego/evil twin who inhabits the same body/nemesis. I think... it's all a little confusing. In any case, I am being followed by a gorgeous redhead, and what isn't awesome about that?
<3
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Videos for Youse
My sweets.
I can't embed this one but The Ugly Truth has Gerard Butler in it with an American accent. Anyone else think his sex appeal is virtually murdered with the accent-drop/yicky facial hair/bad clothes combo? Honest to goodness, this is a gorgus (not a typo) gorgus man. How could they do this to him? Moment of silence.
....
Also saw the glorious-looking Shemar Moore on Ellen (on YouTube... the actual interview was a bit back):
I looooove his impressions of his mother. How cute is he? Want to embed him in plastic and mass produce him. ... But not really because I'm more selfish than that.
Reading Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde- pretty intense from the get-go. August's book for book club is Edwin Drood. All v. exciting/not so much.
Award ceremony is tomorrow. Apparently only one other person graduated from Asian Studies, so it's just the one person I beat out for the award. The whole ceremony seems a bit silly then v.v Really seems embarrassing compared to how many people in majors with a lot of grads are getting awards and then just me who had a 50/50 chance.
Not much to say, v. tired.
<3
I can't embed this one but The Ugly Truth has Gerard Butler in it with an American accent. Anyone else think his sex appeal is virtually murdered with the accent-drop/yicky facial hair/bad clothes combo? Honest to goodness, this is a gorgus (not a typo) gorgus man. How could they do this to him? Moment of silence.
....
Also saw the glorious-looking Shemar Moore on Ellen (on YouTube... the actual interview was a bit back):
I looooove his impressions of his mother. How cute is he? Want to embed him in plastic and mass produce him. ... But not really because I'm more selfish than that.
Reading Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde- pretty intense from the get-go. August's book for book club is Edwin Drood. All v. exciting/not so much.
Award ceremony is tomorrow. Apparently only one other person graduated from Asian Studies, so it's just the one person I beat out for the award. The whole ceremony seems a bit silly then v.v Really seems embarrassing compared to how many people in majors with a lot of grads are getting awards and then just me who had a 50/50 chance.
Not much to say, v. tired.
<3
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Neil Gaiman is so cute!
As if that were his crown achievement...
Man wins more awards than you need to float a house to South America, and all that stays with us is his insane beauty. What is the world coming to? (by the world, by the way, I mean me. Look how this comment just floats parenthetically in the middle of nowhere- singularity-esque.)
I have been so impressed with the work of modern photographers lately (as opposed to fifty years ago? What a bad joke...). I'm not sure if you remember the image of Felicia Day by the Bui Brothers:
Also am blown away every time I look up all the work that Tony Jay did in his brief but beautiful life by the amazing photograph on IMDB (note: it is linked from some random elsewhere, but I think IMDB has the rights??? Oh... World of Warcraft is in the html... what can this mean?):
I also highly (highly... see, if you put it inside the parenthesis as well as outside, the emphasis is doubly effective) recommend Elephant House or the Home of Edward Gorey. The photographer (Kevin McDermott) does an amazing job fusing the reality of Gorey's home with the vision of Gorey's work. Honestly, check it out from your local library (I bought it but oy, that hurt... it was a while ago though, I have recovered and fallen into financial sorrow again- but this time on no account of Mr. Gorey, thank goodness). Anyway, here is the cover:
If I remember some others, I will post them and you can be amazed along with me- huzzah!
<3
Oh, and I finished the Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao and it certainly did get worse as it went along (le sigh). Anyway, the chapters from the male perspective are genius but the women are just silly. I can't think of a single mother (much less a Catholic, Latina one) who would tell her children that she had "the best pussy" in all the land. Blows me away in a bad way. Alas.
Am now reading (as I ought to have long, long ago) The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by my birthsake, Mr. Robert Louis Stevenson (I hope I spelled everything correctly). Am sure to love it as have read various other works (his children's poetry is randomly glorious, esp. when realizing that the fellow also penned such swashbuckling adventures as Kidnapped and Treasure Island PLUS "The Body Snatcher" which, oh ho, circular, was featured in The Haunted Looking Glass, scary stories chosen and illustrated to by the illustrious Mr. Gorey. Am suddenly re-sorrowed by the loss of Mr. Gorey, as he would've done the best illustrations anyone could conceive to Mr. (pretty-face) Gaiman's The Graveyard Book.... end parenthetical rant).
<3 again...
Man wins more awards than you need to float a house to South America, and all that stays with us is his insane beauty. What is the world coming to? (by the world, by the way, I mean me. Look how this comment just floats parenthetically in the middle of nowhere- singularity-esque.)
I have been so impressed with the work of modern photographers lately (as opposed to fifty years ago? What a bad joke...). I'm not sure if you remember the image of Felicia Day by the Bui Brothers:
Also am blown away every time I look up all the work that Tony Jay did in his brief but beautiful life by the amazing photograph on IMDB (note: it is linked from some random elsewhere, but I think IMDB has the rights??? Oh... World of Warcraft is in the html... what can this mean?):
I also highly (highly... see, if you put it inside the parenthesis as well as outside, the emphasis is doubly effective) recommend Elephant House or the Home of Edward Gorey. The photographer (Kevin McDermott) does an amazing job fusing the reality of Gorey's home with the vision of Gorey's work. Honestly, check it out from your local library (I bought it but oy, that hurt... it was a while ago though, I have recovered and fallen into financial sorrow again- but this time on no account of Mr. Gorey, thank goodness). Anyway, here is the cover:
If I remember some others, I will post them and you can be amazed along with me- huzzah!
<3
Oh, and I finished the Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao and it certainly did get worse as it went along (le sigh). Anyway, the chapters from the male perspective are genius but the women are just silly. I can't think of a single mother (much less a Catholic, Latina one) who would tell her children that she had "the best pussy" in all the land. Blows me away in a bad way. Alas.
Am now reading (as I ought to have long, long ago) The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by my birthsake, Mr. Robert Louis Stevenson (I hope I spelled everything correctly). Am sure to love it as have read various other works (his children's poetry is randomly glorious, esp. when realizing that the fellow also penned such swashbuckling adventures as Kidnapped and Treasure Island PLUS "The Body Snatcher" which, oh ho, circular, was featured in The Haunted Looking Glass, scary stories chosen and illustrated to by the illustrious Mr. Gorey. Am suddenly re-sorrowed by the loss of Mr. Gorey, as he would've done the best illustrations anyone could conceive to Mr. (pretty-face) Gaiman's The Graveyard Book.... end parenthetical rant).
<3 again...
Oral Poetry
So, I finally got a voice-recording software. Yay! So I can just speak what I want to write and then type it up later. This is my favorite way to write, but it takes for-evuh. Oy. Nonetheless, here is the first poem I wrote using it, which is randomly depressing O.o
The important thing is not to let him know that you spent
two hours cooking that afternoon
You’d used a cooked book, looked up the recipe to something you hadn’t even heard of
that somehow made it more intriguing
The important thing is not to let him know that you spent
thirty minutes in the grocery store
and were harassed by every other man
Every other man who wasn’t him
The important thing is not to let him know that you had spent
almost the entire morning doing your hair, your makeup,
putting on a dress that fit so tightly you couldn’t breathe
You held your breath for the entire day
Perhaps it was this that made you beautiful to so many strangers
Yet made you ugly to him, and probably him alone
The important thing is not to let him know
how happy you were when you spoke to your mother
telling her that tonight, tonight would be the night
Tonight you would begin what would be forever
It would be tonight, and you knew it
You cannot tell him how happy you were
And then how sad
It isn’t his to know,
The effect he has on you
The reason he has on you
To make you live
Everyday
Make you get out of bed
to spend hours and hours and hours
at the gym, at the tanning salon, in your bathroom
How many bottles of perfume you wasted
trying to make him feel as attached to you
as you always were to him
One smell, that’s all it takes, they say
An animal instinct
So, perhaps, all along, he was really attracted to Coco Channel
The important thing is not to let him know
that you ate earlier, just before he came
so that you would look like a bird
as he took bite after bite, without realizing
that you had taken none
The important thing is not to let him know
that when he walked out that door and said “good-bye”
and you said “good-bye”
and he explained, “forever”
The important thing is not to let him know
That there was no more forever
After today
Copyright 2009 Amanda Martin (I don't think I actually have to put this, but just in case you are a poem-thief. Grrr)
The important thing is not to let him know that you spent
two hours cooking that afternoon
You’d used a cooked book, looked up the recipe to something you hadn’t even heard of
that somehow made it more intriguing
The important thing is not to let him know that you spent
thirty minutes in the grocery store
and were harassed by every other man
Every other man who wasn’t him
The important thing is not to let him know that you had spent
almost the entire morning doing your hair, your makeup,
putting on a dress that fit so tightly you couldn’t breathe
You held your breath for the entire day
Perhaps it was this that made you beautiful to so many strangers
Yet made you ugly to him, and probably him alone
The important thing is not to let him know
how happy you were when you spoke to your mother
telling her that tonight, tonight would be the night
Tonight you would begin what would be forever
It would be tonight, and you knew it
You cannot tell him how happy you were
And then how sad
It isn’t his to know,
The effect he has on you
The reason he has on you
To make you live
Everyday
Make you get out of bed
to spend hours and hours and hours
at the gym, at the tanning salon, in your bathroom
How many bottles of perfume you wasted
trying to make him feel as attached to you
as you always were to him
One smell, that’s all it takes, they say
An animal instinct
So, perhaps, all along, he was really attracted to Coco Channel
The important thing is not to let him know
that you ate earlier, just before he came
so that you would look like a bird
as he took bite after bite, without realizing
that you had taken none
The important thing is not to let him know
that when he walked out that door and said “good-bye”
and you said “good-bye”
and he explained, “forever”
The important thing is not to let him know
That there was no more forever
After today
Copyright 2009 Amanda Martin (I don't think I actually have to put this, but just in case you are a poem-thief. Grrr)
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
At long last! The pics of me with my crappy bangs...
Oh, snap. Self-snap? Like the sound of self-flagellation. Hrm.
I took three pics with my bangs (though my hair is pulled back because it is toooo hot not to).
Smiley
Smirky
Frowny
I think I look like Spock- practically a bowl cut! (oh, except that my hair is long...) Anyway, not so very attractive, despite what you or any of your brainwashed friends say (I know that you are merely trying to spare my feelings).
Whoa, my fingers are moving a lot more faster and accurately-typing-y than usual. Do you think it has to do with being done with finals? Or maybe I just got a lot of practice this weekend what with the essays and all? Genius. Will take a typing test and get back to you (brb).
86WPM?! I think I can do faster, durnit (I had a typo and had to go back >.< which just goes to show that you should just fix the durn typos as they happen instead of waiting until the end). Let me try again! Ah, 87 WPM that time. Can I round up to 90WPM for job-hunting purposes? Thoughts? Wait, is that fast or slow? App. above average but that includes outlier non-typians (ah, it sounds like an alien.)
Did not work to finish Bertie story today as per the genius plan, and thus have re-idiot-ified myself. Must try to get it done tomorrow, or at least a decent start (to the end...).
<3
I took three pics with my bangs (though my hair is pulled back because it is toooo hot not to).
Smiley
Smirky
Frowny
I think I look like Spock- practically a bowl cut! (oh, except that my hair is long...) Anyway, not so very attractive, despite what you or any of your brainwashed friends say (I know that you are merely trying to spare my feelings).
Whoa, my fingers are moving a lot more faster and accurately-typing-y than usual. Do you think it has to do with being done with finals? Or maybe I just got a lot of practice this weekend what with the essays and all? Genius. Will take a typing test and get back to you (brb).
86WPM?! I think I can do faster, durnit (I had a typo and had to go back >.< which just goes to show that you should just fix the durn typos as they happen instead of waiting until the end). Let me try again! Ah, 87 WPM that time. Can I round up to 90WPM for job-hunting purposes? Thoughts? Wait, is that fast or slow? App. above average but that includes outlier non-typians (ah, it sounds like an alien.)
Did not work to finish Bertie story today as per the genius plan, and thus have re-idiot-ified myself. Must try to get it done tomorrow, or at least a decent start (to the end...).
<3
Monday, June 8, 2009
Backing Up Everything Takes For-evuh
And is heavy. I backed up everything I've ever written that I have typed up, and it took almost 45 minutes and weighs a bazillion pounds. Will ultimately kill self in endeavor to lift the complete works of me. Still have $20 on student card... may have to get 20 sodas >.< Let us try the bookstore, shall we? Perchance, the card might be used there?
Wish me luck!
<3
Wish me luck!
<3
Sunday, June 7, 2009
I'm Done! But too Tired to Celebrate
I'm done! Yay! Essays written and edited- one turned in electronically, the other to be printed and turned in tomorrow. At 3:35 PM tomorrow afternoon, this whole BA thing will be ov-uh (assuming I don't fail the two classes I took this quarter that I need to graduate...).
Dance dance dance.
Except not, because I'm waaaaay too tired.
Goodnight my loves, and good luck if you are not done yet.
<3
Dance dance dance.
Except not, because I'm waaaaay too tired.
Goodnight my loves, and good luck if you are not done yet.
<3
Brain ejected from skull
I'm going to bed. Capped at five pages. Seven more to go- how can that be? I'm too tired to be philosophical and have failed in my endeavor to be done with this mess tonight/this early morning. Feeling very defeated and disappointed. Oh well, I guess I have all day tomorrow, even though that isn't really the way I feel. Burnt out, with not one more philosophical word left in me, must less seven pages.
When I am done with these essays, I'm going to explode with creativity, because I want to write so badly right now, just not what I ought to be writing.
Rewriting "Clover" as a novel. For now, anyway. I want it to be a script but I don't know how to do scripts. Sigh!
It probably would have been better if Jacob had gone into shock; instead, he merely sat and stared at the wound without any idea as to how he should free himself from the painful mess. The blood sputtered out of his leg like a tiny volcano, as hot as molten lava, and so dark that it was nearly black against the silver metal of what had once been a part of his bicycle. His head seemed to have grown in the past thirty seconds, so that his helmet, now marred with a long crack along the top, felt like a giant mouth crushing down, sucking on his head. The man in the car probably had gone into shock, sitting still with the airbag still pressed tightly against his face.
I thought an image of youth might be a more dramatic start, especially something violent. Maybe not.
Yours, pathetically and self-pityingly,
Me
When I am done with these essays, I'm going to explode with creativity, because I want to write so badly right now, just not what I ought to be writing.
Rewriting "Clover" as a novel. For now, anyway. I want it to be a script but I don't know how to do scripts. Sigh!
It probably would have been better if Jacob had gone into shock; instead, he merely sat and stared at the wound without any idea as to how he should free himself from the painful mess. The blood sputtered out of his leg like a tiny volcano, as hot as molten lava, and so dark that it was nearly black against the silver metal of what had once been a part of his bicycle. His head seemed to have grown in the past thirty seconds, so that his helmet, now marred with a long crack along the top, felt like a giant mouth crushing down, sucking on his head. The man in the car probably had gone into shock, sitting still with the airbag still pressed tightly against his face.
I thought an image of youth might be a more dramatic start, especially something violent. Maybe not.
Yours, pathetically and self-pityingly,
Me
Saturday, June 6, 2009
It is Getting Late and I Might Forget You,
Oh loyal readers. Apparently there are more of you out there than I realized- if you leave a comment, I will read it and respond (though I don't know if it notifies you when I respond... I almost always do!). Especially please please please give me feedback on random creative endeavors- I need to become a better writer and cannot do it on self-criticism alone (if at all. Self-flagellation in the creative mind is as conducive to genius work as a crowbar to the temple).
That said, here is a poem I wrote last night/squirrelly early this morn:
Just when I am beginning to think that I have banished you entirely from my life
There you are
Hiding somewhere in the background in the memory of my high school graduation
Caps and gowns, honor cords, anonymous speakers continuing on until sunset
“You are the future,” they tell us, every single one, even the few who seem to pass
with that fiery sunset and are gone youthful and inexperienced to a dark and womb-like home
There you are, somewhere between the self-conscious pride and free relief
The fading memory of final exams and research papers and SATs
I almost forget that you were there with me in my grandmother’s final moments,
almost
The way I can almost forget when she forgot who I was
Though, in some ways, it gives me hope that one day I will vanquish you from me
In the scent of the flowers, roses yellow and cheerful like a mask for the death chamber
We can convince ourselves that we are eternal in that one moment
One day, no one at all will know your name, but there you’ll be, hidden in my every poisoned line
You’re there even when you weren’t there at all, not even close
Those days long after you went away and life went on and I became an aunt and you weren’t there
Not when the baby sounds turned into almost words and became communication
And stumbles became steps then running fast as a lion, wild little girl with long braids
Who would have loved you if she’d met you
The thousand and one diapers but only a few stories, mostly from a book, but one, just one that was mine, but was secretly ours because you’re always there
I found solace in someone who wasn’t you to exorcise you from my being, but you were there too, more than ever even
I tried to make that someone you and transposed your face, your body onto my new lover
And she could do no right because she was not you, couldn’t be you,
except when I became alone again
With just the leftover smell of shampoo that I washed away in the laundry, like I did when you left, stupidly thinking I could send you away,
but no, you were still there, always here
The funniest movie with the most beautiful actors and movements of music and motion that drive your eyes and ears mad with euphoria, distract me please
Make me forget, steal those two or three years away like a wonderful bandit
A Robin Hood taking away the richness that was you and leaving me poor in your absence
But happy in the nothing I become
Perhaps not.
But you are always here and so many days have gone by
When you left, why, my dearest, why couldn’t you really leave, and take your whole wonderful, terrible self away with you?
My love, my darling, my memory who no longer belongs to me, not mine
You are not mine
And I will no longer suffer in my failure to recognize
That I have lost you irrevocably
And you are always, relentlessly here
Oh, there you are
-- thoughts? Fail? Epic fail? "Stop pestering us with your crapolla, hack!" Oh, my little peanut gallery, silencio.
Saw the Star Trek movie even though I ought to have been working on my phil paper all day (and now I get to work on it half the night instead- ew). Um, I don't think I can express it's amazingness. The writers are genius- creating an alternate universe to the already-established franchise with continuity mongerers /trekkies up the wazoo-- BEST idea ev-uh. I loved the new cast (even though they replaced the black actress with a Dominican actress... because they're the same?), especially Zachary Quinto who wasn't Sylar-evil-esque at all (I thought it would haunt me, but hurrah!). Action-filled with beautiful camera shots and exciting music. I loved hearing the old lines making their 21st century come back ^__^
Also, got my hair done today, and I have bangs now... and highlights. I don't want to take a final-paper-writing photo to document my current ugliness, so I'll show it to ya laters. Not entirely happy (which is optimist code for ew). I hope the highlights mellow down. Trying not to think about it, actually.
I want to see Star Trek again AND I want to write my sci fi story in a post-genius-sci-fi-movie-frenzy. But my brain is to shot for anything good to pop out of it (which doesn't bode well for my pape- I'm gonna keep chugging Little Engine that Could-like nonetheless). I'm a very successful auto-editor. No worries so long as I get the twelve ugly pages out (I got 4.5 ish now- huzzah! Ah, hell....).
Also want to see Up- Felicia Day said she cried almost the whole time (so did Nathan Fillion, I think...). Obviously, as actors, they know what one ought to cry at (again, sarcasm fails in text). But, you know what, I'm taking their gorgus words for it.
And want to see the second Night at the Museum...
and do anything that isn't writing Phil paper.... but not really. Be careful what you wish for, eh? Oh, cliche, I missed you.
<3
That said, here is a poem I wrote last night/squirrelly early this morn:
Just when I am beginning to think that I have banished you entirely from my life
There you are
Hiding somewhere in the background in the memory of my high school graduation
Caps and gowns, honor cords, anonymous speakers continuing on until sunset
“You are the future,” they tell us, every single one, even the few who seem to pass
with that fiery sunset and are gone youthful and inexperienced to a dark and womb-like home
There you are, somewhere between the self-conscious pride and free relief
The fading memory of final exams and research papers and SATs
I almost forget that you were there with me in my grandmother’s final moments,
almost
The way I can almost forget when she forgot who I was
Though, in some ways, it gives me hope that one day I will vanquish you from me
In the scent of the flowers, roses yellow and cheerful like a mask for the death chamber
We can convince ourselves that we are eternal in that one moment
One day, no one at all will know your name, but there you’ll be, hidden in my every poisoned line
You’re there even when you weren’t there at all, not even close
Those days long after you went away and life went on and I became an aunt and you weren’t there
Not when the baby sounds turned into almost words and became communication
And stumbles became steps then running fast as a lion, wild little girl with long braids
Who would have loved you if she’d met you
The thousand and one diapers but only a few stories, mostly from a book, but one, just one that was mine, but was secretly ours because you’re always there
I found solace in someone who wasn’t you to exorcise you from my being, but you were there too, more than ever even
I tried to make that someone you and transposed your face, your body onto my new lover
And she could do no right because she was not you, couldn’t be you,
except when I became alone again
With just the leftover smell of shampoo that I washed away in the laundry, like I did when you left, stupidly thinking I could send you away,
but no, you were still there, always here
The funniest movie with the most beautiful actors and movements of music and motion that drive your eyes and ears mad with euphoria, distract me please
Make me forget, steal those two or three years away like a wonderful bandit
A Robin Hood taking away the richness that was you and leaving me poor in your absence
But happy in the nothing I become
Perhaps not.
But you are always here and so many days have gone by
When you left, why, my dearest, why couldn’t you really leave, and take your whole wonderful, terrible self away with you?
My love, my darling, my memory who no longer belongs to me, not mine
You are not mine
And I will no longer suffer in my failure to recognize
That I have lost you irrevocably
And you are always, relentlessly here
Oh, there you are
-- thoughts? Fail? Epic fail? "Stop pestering us with your crapolla, hack!" Oh, my little peanut gallery, silencio.
Saw the Star Trek movie even though I ought to have been working on my phil paper all day (and now I get to work on it half the night instead- ew). Um, I don't think I can express it's amazingness. The writers are genius- creating an alternate universe to the already-established franchise with continuity mongerers /trekkies up the wazoo-- BEST idea ev-uh. I loved the new cast (even though they replaced the black actress with a Dominican actress... because they're the same?), especially Zachary Quinto who wasn't Sylar-evil-esque at all (I thought it would haunt me, but hurrah!). Action-filled with beautiful camera shots and exciting music. I loved hearing the old lines making their 21st century come back ^__^
Also, got my hair done today, and I have bangs now... and highlights. I don't want to take a final-paper-writing photo to document my current ugliness, so I'll show it to ya laters. Not entirely happy (which is optimist code for ew). I hope the highlights mellow down. Trying not to think about it, actually.
I want to see Star Trek again AND I want to write my sci fi story in a post-genius-sci-fi-movie-frenzy. But my brain is to shot for anything good to pop out of it (which doesn't bode well for my pape- I'm gonna keep chugging Little Engine that Could-like nonetheless). I'm a very successful auto-editor. No worries so long as I get the twelve ugly pages out (I got 4.5 ish now- huzzah! Ah, hell....).
Also want to see Up- Felicia Day said she cried almost the whole time (so did Nathan Fillion, I think...). Obviously, as actors, they know what one ought to cry at (again, sarcasm fails in text). But, you know what, I'm taking their gorgus words for it.
And want to see the second Night at the Museum...
and do anything that isn't writing Phil paper.... but not really. Be careful what you wish for, eh? Oh, cliche, I missed you.
<3
Friday, June 5, 2009
Am So Terribly Unmotivated to Breathe
Almost done with the first pape. About to spill onto page nine- I'm guessing it'll go eleven pages. Maybe twelve. Anyway, I'm at the final stretch, right? Right? Wonder if I can figure out how to use Garage Band (random segue). Every break I was working on this piano song and it sounds cool (because I made it rocky... or not. Anyway, I'm entitled because I'm so dead/unmotivated/zombies can eat my brain and I won't care even tho I'm a zombie too and we all ougtta stick together to de-human-ify the world/suck the juice from the humany marrow). This is what sitting and working on a bloody paper all bloody day does to the bloody mind. Bloody, because the zombies have sucked a hole in it- ew.
Can't figure out how to record the gosh darned song. Maybe will figure it out tonight and by figure out I mean ask C because she knows this kind of thing. Way to be techy, yo. (You can't hear the sarcasm... It sounds funnier aloud.)
Oy. Back to the pape-writing-death-ness. Wish me non spontaneous autodestructicide. Er, no autodestructicide at all. Too messy.
<3
Can't figure out how to record the gosh darned song. Maybe will figure it out tonight and by figure out I mean ask C because she knows this kind of thing. Way to be techy, yo. (You can't hear the sarcasm... It sounds funnier aloud.)
Oy. Back to the pape-writing-death-ness. Wish me non spontaneous autodestructicide. Er, no autodestructicide at all. Too messy.
<3
Stereotypes Hurt Feelings
And make it hard to sleep.
Climate of Chile
The climate of Chile comprises a wide range of weather conditions across a large geographic scale, extending across 38 degrees in latitude, making generalisations difficult. According to the Köppen system, Chile within its borders hosts at least seven major climatic subtypes, ranging from desert in the north, to alpine tundra and glaciers in the east and southeast, humid subtropical in Easter Island, Oceanic in the south and mediterranean climate in central Chile. There are four seasons in most of the country: summer (December to February), autumn (March to May), winter (June to August), and spring (September to November).
Santiago, Chile
versus
Seattle, Washington
It is a lot hotter than here but it is not the Galapagos Islands or anything and I am not of a dark-skinned people. Please do not use the term "ethnic advantage" with regard to tanning. My skin is pale and naturally so and that's okay. Why shouldn't it be? If I turn dark in the summer it will fade in the fall. Any shade is okay with me and all of the colors my skin and pale or darken to should be acceptable.
I know you didn't mean to hurt my feelings but you did. I can't dance because of my blood- I can dance because I took classes, and they were very hard. I can enjoy tango music because I enjoy all music. And it is perfectly acceptable that I cannot speak Spanish.
End mini-rant v.v
Climate of Chile
The climate of Chile comprises a wide range of weather conditions across a large geographic scale, extending across 38 degrees in latitude, making generalisations difficult. According to the Köppen system, Chile within its borders hosts at least seven major climatic subtypes, ranging from desert in the north, to alpine tundra and glaciers in the east and southeast, humid subtropical in Easter Island, Oceanic in the south and mediterranean climate in central Chile. There are four seasons in most of the country: summer (December to February), autumn (March to May), winter (June to August), and spring (September to November).
Santiago, Chile
versus
Seattle, Washington
It is a lot hotter than here but it is not the Galapagos Islands or anything and I am not of a dark-skinned people. Please do not use the term "ethnic advantage" with regard to tanning. My skin is pale and naturally so and that's okay. Why shouldn't it be? If I turn dark in the summer it will fade in the fall. Any shade is okay with me and all of the colors my skin and pale or darken to should be acceptable.
I know you didn't mean to hurt my feelings but you did. I can't dance because of my blood- I can dance because I took classes, and they were very hard. I can enjoy tango music because I enjoy all music. And it is perfectly acceptable that I cannot speak Spanish.
End mini-rant v.v
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Post Before Midnight- Gyah!
So...
I think I got it in before midnight, though now I am editing for content (i.e. for there to be any content at all O.o). Really ought to be going to bed but randomly attacked by midnight-ish nausea of an insomnia-causing variety. Hurrah for useless skills?
Feeling bad about being mean to prof in previous posts. I met with her on campus, outside of class today and she was really really nice. I think it's hard to know people when you just see them in class. She even offered to read my book/s and give a more discriminating opinion/advice on how to de-crap-ify it/them (maybe I need to be more literary in my blog posts; I've been reading random others online and they seem far more academic in nature). It would be pretty durned great if something could be done to mountain-ify those mole hills of novels that I spat out in a series of gasps over the course of a few Novembers. Ah, ugly metaphor.
The ballet was surprisingly good, though we left at "half-time." It was three acts of different ballets so we saw the first in its entirety and it was cute- a bit funny. I will come up with the name-- Dances at a Gathering. Music was random piano pieces by Chopin (have now reached daily quota on word "random" and will dismiss it from further written monologue)- very pretty.
Here is a crazy happenstanceful video from YouTube on that piece:
Notice how I cleverly avoided use of the word "random." True genius, am I. And Yoda, apparently.
Do not have class on Tuesday now and am uber excited to be done done done on Monday improv dance party wah! (but you can't see it... and I'm... really not dancing... feeling a bit deceitful...). Must write two papes this weekend (did anyone else see Newsies- "papes" for "papers" as in "newspaper" ought to work for "papes" for "papers" as in "research papers" too, right? My logic is amazing? Not so much?). Not thrilled about pape writing but will be done done done. Of necessity.
Poor waitress at Zeena's (there's actually nothing on their site yet...) on Capital Hill was having a bad day. Which is sad, because that's where I go when I'm having a not-so-great day (I had blood work done AGAIN and my arm is bruis-ed AGAIN). I ordered a veggie sandwich, which (ha) comes with avocados as a main ingredient, but they were out and I guess the kitchen said it ought to be okay for the customer anyway (i.e. ME) and not to charge less or anything. But the nice waitress (I should say "female waiter," it's less discriminating acc. Prof. Boyd-- did anyone read that post?) thought that it "wasn't okay" (I said "that's okay" and such is how she responded) and that she'd pay for my sandwich. AND these crazy ladies across the way asked for the manager to complain about the slow service because it had taken a whole FIVE MINUTES to get their food (horror of horrors!). Glaciers, poor waitress (female waiter...). So I tipped the difference of the sandwich cost plus 25%. I hope that it made her day ^_^ (esp since mommy paid for it..... I think I'm her proxy do-good-er. do-gooder.. how the devil does that get spelled anywho's?).
I have to write more because everyone else apparently writes long long long entries (thusly, I repeat things three times to add length not for emphasis). But I want to go to bed. Can I think of anything else that happened to day worthy of note?
We watched these music videos in Human Rights Leadership (last day!):
Diamond Sierra Leone- Kanye West (stupid "embedding disabled by request" gr)
and
I'm Like A Lawyer With The Way I'm Always Trying To Get You Off (Me & You) by Fall Out Boy
Apparently both bands are owned by Universal who doesn't allow embedding (that.. which... ?). But anyway, the presentation was on child soldiers and he showed these music videos. Must remember to return comic book to him on Monday (via his workplace. DO NOT FORGET. I should write this down somewhere less electronicky.) Interesting vids? Did you even watch them? Linkage is roughage, I understand.
Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao (this day forward, referred to just as Oscar... unless I mention Stalone) is going along swimmingly. I love that Oscar's a nerd in all the ways that I am but amplified. It makes me feel cool and less nerdy all at the same time (not synonymous, oh punk). This (lack of info-ness) is why I do not do reviews on Facebook or Amazon. Am complete and utter failure, but at least didn't spell it udder. Thank the goodnessess.
<3
I think I got it in before midnight, though now I am editing for content (i.e. for there to be any content at all O.o). Really ought to be going to bed but randomly attacked by midnight-ish nausea of an insomnia-causing variety. Hurrah for useless skills?
Feeling bad about being mean to prof in previous posts. I met with her on campus, outside of class today and she was really really nice. I think it's hard to know people when you just see them in class. She even offered to read my book/s and give a more discriminating opinion/advice on how to de-crap-ify it/them (maybe I need to be more literary in my blog posts; I've been reading random others online and they seem far more academic in nature). It would be pretty durned great if something could be done to mountain-ify those mole hills of novels that I spat out in a series of gasps over the course of a few Novembers. Ah, ugly metaphor.
The ballet was surprisingly good, though we left at "half-time." It was three acts of different ballets so we saw the first in its entirety and it was cute- a bit funny. I will come up with the name-- Dances at a Gathering. Music was random piano pieces by Chopin (have now reached daily quota on word "random" and will dismiss it from further written monologue)- very pretty.
Here is a crazy happenstanceful video from YouTube on that piece:
Notice how I cleverly avoided use of the word "random." True genius, am I. And Yoda, apparently.
Do not have class on Tuesday now and am uber excited to be done done done on Monday improv dance party wah! (but you can't see it... and I'm... really not dancing... feeling a bit deceitful...). Must write two papes this weekend (did anyone else see Newsies- "papes" for "papers" as in "newspaper" ought to work for "papes" for "papers" as in "research papers" too, right? My logic is amazing? Not so much?). Not thrilled about pape writing but will be done done done. Of necessity.
Poor waitress at Zeena's (there's actually nothing on their site yet...) on Capital Hill was having a bad day. Which is sad, because that's where I go when I'm having a not-so-great day (I had blood work done AGAIN and my arm is bruis-ed AGAIN). I ordered a veggie sandwich, which (ha) comes with avocados as a main ingredient, but they were out and I guess the kitchen said it ought to be okay for the customer anyway (i.e. ME) and not to charge less or anything. But the nice waitress (I should say "female waiter," it's less discriminating acc. Prof. Boyd-- did anyone read that post?) thought that it "wasn't okay" (I said "that's okay" and such is how she responded) and that she'd pay for my sandwich. AND these crazy ladies across the way asked for the manager to complain about the slow service because it had taken a whole FIVE MINUTES to get their food (horror of horrors!). Glaciers, poor waitress (female waiter...). So I tipped the difference of the sandwich cost plus 25%. I hope that it made her day ^_^ (esp since mommy paid for it..... I think I'm her proxy do-good-er. do-gooder.. how the devil does that get spelled anywho's?).
I have to write more because everyone else apparently writes long long long entries (thusly, I repeat things three times to add length not for emphasis). But I want to go to bed. Can I think of anything else that happened to day worthy of note?
We watched these music videos in Human Rights Leadership (last day!):
Diamond Sierra Leone- Kanye West (stupid "embedding disabled by request" gr)
and
I'm Like A Lawyer With The Way I'm Always Trying To Get You Off (Me & You) by Fall Out Boy
Apparently both bands are owned by Universal who doesn't allow embedding (that.. which... ?). But anyway, the presentation was on child soldiers and he showed these music videos. Must remember to return comic book to him on Monday (via his workplace. DO NOT FORGET. I should write this down somewhere less electronicky.) Interesting vids? Did you even watch them? Linkage is roughage, I understand.
Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao (this day forward, referred to just as Oscar... unless I mention Stalone) is going along swimmingly. I love that Oscar's a nerd in all the ways that I am but amplified. It makes me feel cool and less nerdy all at the same time (not synonymous, oh punk). This (lack of info-ness) is why I do not do reviews on Facebook or Amazon. Am complete and utter failure, but at least didn't spell it udder. Thank the goodnessess.
<3
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Burn Notice Tomorrow!
And Jeffrey Donovan's going to be on Regis and Kelly. V. excited- the last interview I saw him on was gorgus. How do you spell that (not gorgeous but pronounced "gore-gus")... I think I had the spelling right. Anyway, going to see BN on Friday morn because of the ballet tomorrow. Ugh, tomorrow tomorrow. Meeting with the prof, who I'm secretly assured (via my paranoia) reads my blog and knows of my silent disdain. Will surely d.i.e. Also more bloodwork, ew... But maybe they shall vanquish the fats using meds some more? (Maybe it's working and I just don't know?) Hrm.
Emily Deschanel is app. a size 8. Which makes me happy (why didn't the Dog Whisperer thing make anyone else happy?).
Speaking of lovely women (woman...), this pic of Felicia Day:
How pretty can one woman be? App. Aphrodite-esque. They always have Aphrodite as a blonde but I'll bet bet bet she was a sexy redhead (or is... being a goddess and immortal ... cripes). From the http://thebuibrothers.com/blog/2009/06/felicia-day-photos/ website. You can also watch the vid of the shoot there, if you are a stalker (i.e. like me).
What else what else? Last day of Human Rights Leadership tomorrow- huzzah! Pape for that class will be sadistically torture-murdered on Friday (I mean write it. Just in case you think I'm pulling a Dexter.). Then death to the Phil pape Sat/Sun with editing done on Sun and turn in-happy-ness on Monday (which gets spelled out for the occasion). Then I shall be done... er on Tuesday. Damn Chicano lit class going on for-expletive+ing-ever.
Oscar Wao is going alright. I want to just sit and read it tho- it's not an easy one to put down. + I want to write so I can meet famous people. Did I type that aloud? Crikey. If you become a famous writer, you probably don't get to meet all that many famous people anyway that aren't writers v.v right? write? wha?
BTW, if I didn't have to meet my prof because no one's fixing the DCSJ certificate (she told me to sign up but then they did it crappily wrong because that's what these people do, swear to god end rant), I could watch Jeffrey Donovan on Regis and Kelly at nine am. Blub. In a bad way blub. Drowning in own sorrow blubbing.
<3
Emily Deschanel is app. a size 8. Which makes me happy (why didn't the Dog Whisperer thing make anyone else happy?).
Speaking of lovely women (woman...), this pic of Felicia Day:
How pretty can one woman be? App. Aphrodite-esque. They always have Aphrodite as a blonde but I'll bet bet bet she was a sexy redhead (or is... being a goddess and immortal ... cripes). From the http://thebuibrothers.com/blog/2009/06/felicia-day-photos/ website. You can also watch the vid of the shoot there, if you are a stalker (i.e. like me).
What else what else? Last day of Human Rights Leadership tomorrow- huzzah! Pape for that class will be sadistically torture-murdered on Friday (I mean write it. Just in case you think I'm pulling a Dexter.). Then death to the Phil pape Sat/Sun with editing done on Sun and turn in-happy-ness on Monday (which gets spelled out for the occasion). Then I shall be done... er on Tuesday. Damn Chicano lit class going on for-expletive+ing-ever.
Oscar Wao is going alright. I want to just sit and read it tho- it's not an easy one to put down. + I want to write so I can meet famous people. Did I type that aloud? Crikey. If you become a famous writer, you probably don't get to meet all that many famous people anyway that aren't writers v.v right? write? wha?
BTW, if I didn't have to meet my prof because no one's fixing the DCSJ certificate (she told me to sign up but then they did it crappily wrong because that's what these people do, swear to god end rant), I could watch Jeffrey Donovan on Regis and Kelly at nine am. Blub. In a bad way blub. Drowning in own sorrow blubbing.
<3
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Curse You, Teacher-Beast!
She added a class day. So now I have class on Tuesday. Gr. Just want this durned quarter ovuh! Want to graduate. Want to never ever ever take a class like this again. It is not my fault nor any students that the prof was so disorganized that she didn't get done in time the material that had to be covered. Grr! -_- I am peeved.
Allergies are so terrible that i can't sleep. This is a complainy post, and so I end it here.
<3
Allergies are so terrible that i can't sleep. This is a complainy post, and so I end it here.
<3
Monday, June 1, 2009
The Asterisks are Abandoned
I just thought I should make it clear that I am aware that I randomly stopped using them. That is how cool I am, btw. In case you didn't know. (And enough...)
Throat closed up in an ouchie way today but I caught up on some TV, so it sorta evened out, except not so much because I spent like 5 hours on a bloody daily assignment for Human Rights Leadership and am still not done. Moan! Groan! Le sob. Anyway, I saw the Nurse Jackie and Mental premiers, and was pretty impressed. Nurse Jackie doesn't remind me of House at all, except that she's somewhat bitchy to colleagues and does pharmaceuticals. But she's really nice to the patients ("honey" was used), even when they did crazy things, and she was really upset when a patient was needlessly killed. V. intriguing character and I like Edie Falco in the role a great deal. Nice supporting cast as well. V. excited to watch it ONLINE for freeeez this summer. (Since Harper's Island was abandoned... the writing was just too bad!)
Mental is a bit like The Mentalist, as it looked, but in a good way. The character is a bit insane and unconventional in a Jane-type way but the difference in setting makes it unique. I lurved (ha) seeing the guy who plays Seymour the Arms Dealer (caps?) in Burn Notice (Silas... Weir?... damn, I know there are three names. Just a sec (because you're waiting?) Silas Weir Mitchell- I was so close!). He is pretty amazing actor-wise, in case you didn't know. I think he's one of those guys floating around just waiting for his own show to plop on his lap-- v. exciting when it does happen! And the main guy...Chris Vance... is quite hilarious and charming, but not so much in that sexy sexy Simon Baker way. I really liked the initial case as well- the artist who can't draw when on medication but can't function without. Intriguing. It reminded me a bit of Touching Evil- US version (Oh, Jeffrey Donovan, you are always on my mind in a Willie Nelson type way), but I don't know why. Maybe the whole Cyril/... ... main guy played by Jeffrey Donovan way. (What is his name- AH! Creegan! I came up with it! Huzzah). I loved their relationship- that and the acting made Touching Evil. If only it was enough to overturn the crappy writing- le sigh.
Wah! I have appts. tomorrow. Possible one at 10:30 (my teacher didn't e-mail me back, gr, but I'm going on the assumption that we're on, nonetheless. I hope she e-mails me in the morn if it is otherwise... yeek!). Finished rereading Thief of Always and am now, more impressively, reading the Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao- by un hombre (it sounds cooler in English...). BTW, did anyone know that the Dog Whisperer is Latino? I am filled with brown pride on account of this fact, but I'm not sure why it suddenly makes latinos cooler. Because there is no white dog whisperer? But there probably is.... hrm. Random.
<3
Throat closed up in an ouchie way today but I caught up on some TV, so it sorta evened out, except not so much because I spent like 5 hours on a bloody daily assignment for Human Rights Leadership and am still not done. Moan! Groan! Le sob. Anyway, I saw the Nurse Jackie and Mental premiers, and was pretty impressed. Nurse Jackie doesn't remind me of House at all, except that she's somewhat bitchy to colleagues and does pharmaceuticals. But she's really nice to the patients ("honey" was used), even when they did crazy things, and she was really upset when a patient was needlessly killed. V. intriguing character and I like Edie Falco in the role a great deal. Nice supporting cast as well. V. excited to watch it ONLINE for freeeez this summer. (Since Harper's Island was abandoned... the writing was just too bad!)
Mental is a bit like The Mentalist, as it looked, but in a good way. The character is a bit insane and unconventional in a Jane-type way but the difference in setting makes it unique. I lurved (ha) seeing the guy who plays Seymour the Arms Dealer (caps?) in Burn Notice (Silas... Weir?... damn, I know there are three names. Just a sec (because you're waiting?) Silas Weir Mitchell- I was so close!). He is pretty amazing actor-wise, in case you didn't know. I think he's one of those guys floating around just waiting for his own show to plop on his lap-- v. exciting when it does happen! And the main guy...Chris Vance... is quite hilarious and charming, but not so much in that sexy sexy Simon Baker way. I really liked the initial case as well- the artist who can't draw when on medication but can't function without. Intriguing. It reminded me a bit of Touching Evil- US version (Oh, Jeffrey Donovan, you are always on my mind in a Willie Nelson type way), but I don't know why. Maybe the whole Cyril/... ... main guy played by Jeffrey Donovan way. (What is his name- AH! Creegan! I came up with it! Huzzah). I loved their relationship- that and the acting made Touching Evil. If only it was enough to overturn the crappy writing- le sigh.
Wah! I have appts. tomorrow. Possible one at 10:30 (my teacher didn't e-mail me back, gr, but I'm going on the assumption that we're on, nonetheless. I hope she e-mails me in the morn if it is otherwise... yeek!). Finished rereading Thief of Always and am now, more impressively, reading the Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao- by un hombre (it sounds cooler in English...). BTW, did anyone know that the Dog Whisperer is Latino? I am filled with brown pride on account of this fact, but I'm not sure why it suddenly makes latinos cooler. Because there is no white dog whisperer? But there probably is.... hrm. Random.
<3
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