Because I'm excited about it, look at this present from Sean. That's a Eucalyptus leaf bracelet yes it is.
So, until the 12th, my friends, when I'll come at you with pics of Amsterdam, Barcelona, Padua and places in between.
Friday, December 29, 2006
I've been away.
I'll be away some more...until Jan. 12th or so. Cool things are happening.
Because I'm excited about it, look at this present from Sean. That's a Eucalyptus leaf bracelet yes it is.
So, until the 12th, my friends, when I'll come at you with pics of Amsterdam, Barcelona, Padua and places in between.
Because I'm excited about it, look at this present from Sean. That's a Eucalyptus leaf bracelet yes it is.
So, until the 12th, my friends, when I'll come at you with pics of Amsterdam, Barcelona, Padua and places in between.
Monday, November 20, 2006
10 tid bits on my mind
1. My mom calls my life in Ireland cerebral slapstick. How'd she get so quick and alliterative?
2. Today I laughed out loud in public for the first time in about a month. It was a tee-shirt that did it.
Haikus are easy
But sometimes they don't make sense
Refrigerator!
3. I was paid money for a published piece. I have just tasted virgin blood and my wig is askew. I won't go back to eating rats, Louis!
4. I watched part of Interview with the Vampire today while I made lunch.
5. I made a pita pizza with mozzarella, basil and tomatoes, but then I wanted to puke when I saw the cooked tomatoes.
6. All I eat are pita pizzas and clementines, or "mandarins," as in, "12 mandarins for 1 Euro, love. I see you looking; come buy me mandarins, love. One Euro. Thank you, love. Good day, love. Come back."
7. Playing fast on the mandolin is very hard.
8. Part of me feels claustrophobic, conflicted and awful when reading Beckett. Why? Because he builds a house with sentences like, "he had expressed the wish to get up and go out into the fresh air, but timidly, as when one asks for the moon,"-- beautiful bricks-- and right next to them he places, "our concern here is not with Moll, who after all is only a female." It's because he hates women worse than death. He says so over and over and then over again.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
IIIIIIIIIIIIReally.Hedoesreallysaythat.IIIIIIIIIIIII
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9. My sleeping, drunk professor across the way didn't open his blinds last week. Where is he? Where is he!
10. West coast or east coast?
2. Today I laughed out loud in public for the first time in about a month. It was a tee-shirt that did it.
Haikus are easy
But sometimes they don't make sense
Refrigerator!
3. I was paid money for a published piece. I have just tasted virgin blood and my wig is askew. I won't go back to eating rats, Louis!
4. I watched part of Interview with the Vampire today while I made lunch.
5. I made a pita pizza with mozzarella, basil and tomatoes, but then I wanted to puke when I saw the cooked tomatoes.
6. All I eat are pita pizzas and clementines, or "mandarins," as in, "12 mandarins for 1 Euro, love. I see you looking; come buy me mandarins, love. One Euro. Thank you, love. Good day, love. Come back."
7. Playing fast on the mandolin is very hard.
8. Part of me feels claustrophobic, conflicted and awful when reading Beckett. Why? Because he builds a house with sentences like, "he had expressed the wish to get up and go out into the fresh air, but timidly, as when one asks for the moon,"-- beautiful bricks-- and right next to them he places, "our concern here is not with Moll, who after all is only a female." It's because he hates women worse than death. He says so over and over and then over again.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
IIIIIIIIIIIIReally.Hedoesreallysaythat.IIIIIIIIIIIII
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
9. My sleeping, drunk professor across the way didn't open his blinds last week. Where is he? Where is he!
10. West coast or east coast?
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Mom giving me updates from home on Skype
Karen Farris 08/11/2006 07:37
scofie ate a spider yesterday and I thought Lindsay was going to throw up
scofie ate a spider yesterday and I thought Lindsay was going to throw up
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Friday, November 03, 2006
Three things outside of my window that I particularly love.
1. This. The clouds. They're low and quick moving and the sky makes me want to drink cold water.
2. Rainbows. I haven't taken a picture yet that does one justice; I have to practice. Ireland often mixes its mist with sunlight, which results in rainbows so bright and low you can taste them. They're loud like Cyndi Lauper. They're almost offensive. When was the last time I saw so many bitchin' rainbows? Probably 1989 in my backyard sprinkler.
3. This guy. Every day he falls asleep in his office. When he's not sleeping he's frenetically talking to students with hands waving and head back in laughter. He drinks from a mug constantly. I like to think he's this bacchanal genius and no one cares that he's drunk because he's so fun.
Other things I see out my window while reading (who now?) Yeats:
Loose dogs
walkers/runners
drunks
birds
planes
drunks
2. Rainbows. I haven't taken a picture yet that does one justice; I have to practice. Ireland often mixes its mist with sunlight, which results in rainbows so bright and low you can taste them. They're loud like Cyndi Lauper. They're almost offensive. When was the last time I saw so many bitchin' rainbows? Probably 1989 in my backyard sprinkler.
3. This guy. Every day he falls asleep in his office. When he's not sleeping he's frenetically talking to students with hands waving and head back in laughter. He drinks from a mug constantly. I like to think he's this bacchanal genius and no one cares that he's drunk because he's so fun.
Other things I see out my window while reading (who now?) Yeats:
Loose dogs
walkers/runners
drunks
birds
planes
drunks
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Recent news.
There exists a street in Dublin where one can buy 12 mandarins for 1 Euro. Also 1 Euro: 10 bananas, 2 avocados, 8 apples, 8 pears. I don't know about vegetable prices because I can't remember the last time I bought and ate a vegetable.
I play Texas Holdem very well, but not quite well enough.
Sean and I went to see M. Ward last night. We hope the M stands for menage because both of us want to marry him. He was playing in a tiny cave. Here is the best shot we got because we didn't want to scare his gentle spirit with a flash.
We went dressed as an old, rich married couple. We planned to drink only gimlets and slow gin fizzes and manhattans (that's what I've got there) but then I changed out of my dress and unclipped my clip-on earrings and Sean took off his button down and tie and we bought a Guinness because my body wanted to put the Manhattan back into its glass after I'd had a sip.
So then we were just a guy who can sip a Manhattan without vomiting and a girl who can't.
I play Texas Holdem very well, but not quite well enough.
Sean and I went to see M. Ward last night. We hope the M stands for menage because both of us want to marry him. He was playing in a tiny cave. Here is the best shot we got because we didn't want to scare his gentle spirit with a flash.
We went dressed as an old, rich married couple. We planned to drink only gimlets and slow gin fizzes and manhattans (that's what I've got there) but then I changed out of my dress and unclipped my clip-on earrings and Sean took off his button down and tie and we bought a Guinness because my body wanted to put the Manhattan back into its glass after I'd had a sip.
So then we were just a guy who can sip a Manhattan without vomiting and a girl who can't.
On one bridge looking to another
At night parts of the Liffey glow because there are lights under the bridges.
Friday, October 27, 2006
They do not have pumpkins here.
Also, no Goldfish snack crackers.
Or good avocados.
What they do have:
Jarred herring displayed prominently in food stores (thumbs down).
Prawn coctail potato chips (thumbs down so far they're in the iron inner core of earth).
Hobnobs oaty biscuits (thumbs up).
This place (thumbs touching Jesus).
.
Or good avocados.
What they do have:
Jarred herring displayed prominently in food stores (thumbs down).
Prawn coctail potato chips (thumbs down so far they're in the iron inner core of earth).
Hobnobs oaty biscuits (thumbs up).
This place (thumbs touching Jesus).
.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
UCD on a Sunday
One tiny car in the parking lot.
One cheapo wine bottle in the woods.
One beauty bird chilling on the green.
Friday, October 20, 2006
EAIP Post. (Excusable and Inexcusable Post Post).
I've been thinking a lot about what I find excusable and inexcusable in myself, the people around me and just the world in general.
Last night my class went out to a bar called Zanzibar and it bothered me that the sign said Zanzibar bar. That reminds me of how I almost chose Trinity College over UCD because UCD's placard says UCD Dublin, which is University College Dublin Dublin. Repeated words in signs are inexcusable.
So we sat in Zanzibar bar and the Americans drank Guinness. We all warmed up with the elation of sitting two inches away from people we knew only by comments in class and we had each others' breath on our ears because the music was too loud. I told and heard of secret insecurities, jokes and worries for the future. My favorite part was being asked so many questions and asking so many back. I can't remember the last time I was around so many questions; I especially can't remember the last time someone asked me to dance. I learned about a classmate's cocaine bout, another's time in Shanghai and the way another only dances with his shoulders. I split a cab home with Anne from Wicklow and Kara from Oklahoma and then went to bed purposefully and without taking my panic medication. I did wake up three hours later with fierce chills and a tight, fast chest so I took my pill then went back to an uneasy sleep hoping I wouldn't feel like a failure in the morning. I didn't. I think relying on something has finally become excusable to me.
Today I made a list of things to do because I was afraid that I would become lonesome on a listless day and therefore eat and spend money. I finished all on my list around 5PM and what did I do? I ate a week's calories then bought songs and shows on iTunes. Here I offer two little slices of advice free of charge:
1. Don't eat when you're bored because someday you'll be really bored and you'll eat a whole pizza with a half bottle of wine and some frosted flakes and then you'll pass out with your spiked bloodsugar and wake up 6 hours later bright and ready for the day, which is good, except that it's 12 AM.
2. Buy a song by The Weepies- maybe "Keep it There." I don't think you'll regret it. You wouldn't regret a song by M. Ward either. How about Chinese Translation? And if you're bored and have a buck to spare and if you like CSN&Y, buy "Tree Top Flyer" by Big Daddy O. Then decide you're sad that Nick Drake is dead and buy some Alexi Murdoch songs. Then listen to "Lord, Blow the Moon out Please" by Hem because I said so. Because spending money and time on music when you're a poor and busy student is a rebellious act against loneliness so excusable it's almost law.
Last night my class went out to a bar called Zanzibar and it bothered me that the sign said Zanzibar bar. That reminds me of how I almost chose Trinity College over UCD because UCD's placard says UCD Dublin, which is University College Dublin Dublin. Repeated words in signs are inexcusable.
So we sat in Zanzibar bar and the Americans drank Guinness. We all warmed up with the elation of sitting two inches away from people we knew only by comments in class and we had each others' breath on our ears because the music was too loud. I told and heard of secret insecurities, jokes and worries for the future. My favorite part was being asked so many questions and asking so many back. I can't remember the last time I was around so many questions; I especially can't remember the last time someone asked me to dance. I learned about a classmate's cocaine bout, another's time in Shanghai and the way another only dances with his shoulders. I split a cab home with Anne from Wicklow and Kara from Oklahoma and then went to bed purposefully and without taking my panic medication. I did wake up three hours later with fierce chills and a tight, fast chest so I took my pill then went back to an uneasy sleep hoping I wouldn't feel like a failure in the morning. I didn't. I think relying on something has finally become excusable to me.
Today I made a list of things to do because I was afraid that I would become lonesome on a listless day and therefore eat and spend money. I finished all on my list around 5PM and what did I do? I ate a week's calories then bought songs and shows on iTunes. Here I offer two little slices of advice free of charge:
1. Don't eat when you're bored because someday you'll be really bored and you'll eat a whole pizza with a half bottle of wine and some frosted flakes and then you'll pass out with your spiked bloodsugar and wake up 6 hours later bright and ready for the day, which is good, except that it's 12 AM.
2. Buy a song by The Weepies- maybe "Keep it There." I don't think you'll regret it. You wouldn't regret a song by M. Ward either. How about Chinese Translation? And if you're bored and have a buck to spare and if you like CSN&Y, buy "Tree Top Flyer" by Big Daddy O. Then decide you're sad that Nick Drake is dead and buy some Alexi Murdoch songs. Then listen to "Lord, Blow the Moon out Please" by Hem because I said so. Because spending money and time on music when you're a poor and busy student is a rebellious act against loneliness so excusable it's almost law.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Romance Sean style.
Sean: I love your eyes.
Me: Thanks.
Sean: You know the most beautiful part about them?
Me: What?
Sean: Sometimes when I look into them I can see my own reflection.
Me: Thanks.
Sean: You know the most beautiful part about them?
Me: What?
Sean: Sometimes when I look into them I can see my own reflection.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Everybody hurts sometimes.
I walked into a door; he poured scalding coffee on his hand. When we press on that top blister liquid comes out from some secret opening arond his wrist...very cool. I, however, can do nothing cool with a bruise on my nose.
Friday, October 13, 2006
SEVEN!
We talk about important things- socialism, vegetarianism, Pynchon, Marvin Gaye. We drink a beer brewed on the premises called Brain Blasta. 7% alcohol by volume. I typed that correctly. It's a pun on braon blasta, an Irish phrase meaning tasty drop, which is what we call it for short; it's Christian name is tasty drop-kick to your sobriety.
After 2 of those babies, Cody dances. He makes white cool and then does the best moonwalk so Sean and I make him teach us and now I practice it every morning. Sean says, "I love all your clothes, man. You've got style." Cody says, "Well, I've been wanting to say that you, my friend, can grow a beard." I'm tired from beer and nights thinking instead of sleeping and Cody taps my elbow, "You hanging in there?"
It's 1:30. We write email addresses on the backs of free magazines and put them in our bags. Hugs are given, taken, returned to their owners tighter. Sean and Cody hug and I realize how tall Cody is and how neither of them begin patting. It would have been an awesome year getting to know Cody. I do know that.
Today Cody's getting on a plane back to the states and I'm going to read Lady Gregory, write a report, watch last week's Lost, go for a jog and call another of the numbers I got from class.
After 2 of those babies, Cody dances. He makes white cool and then does the best moonwalk so Sean and I make him teach us and now I practice it every morning. Sean says, "I love all your clothes, man. You've got style." Cody says, "Well, I've been wanting to say that you, my friend, can grow a beard." I'm tired from beer and nights thinking instead of sleeping and Cody taps my elbow, "You hanging in there?"It's 1:30. We write email addresses on the backs of free magazines and put them in our bags. Hugs are given, taken, returned to their owners tighter. Sean and Cody hug and I realize how tall Cody is and how neither of them begin patting. It would have been an awesome year getting to know Cody. I do know that.
Today Cody's getting on a plane back to the states and I'm going to read Lady Gregory, write a report, watch last week's Lost, go for a jog and call another of the numbers I got from class.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
This will be the last post in which I mention Yeats.
I miss just about everyone I know- all very indivdual misses with distinct tugs as fast as a glance and unaffected by the new relationships I'm making.
I miss my mom especially today, though, because I thought several thoughts this morning that I would have shared with her immediately if not for the freakin 8 hour time difference. I'm bad at math and I hate this whole counting back 8 hours crap. Stupid round earth.
Anyway, people often note our similarities (including Papa Don, who made this side-by-side for me a billion years ago). We have freckles and auburn hair and I don't know whether I imitated her or called up the noises from my genes, but we both have the same laugh, too. We laugh at the same things in the same way and usually cry at the same books and I think she's super smart, (use your deduction) so when we talk a lot I feel reinforced. Plus she's fun.
You know what else is fun? Yeats. I'm serious. I have an oral presentation coming up this week and I'm excited because the class is so divided and electric in their opinions of him. My professor constantly talks about how Yeats wanted his work to be ratified (ratify: to approve and sanction formally) by the Irish people, which it wasn't because he was a Protestant and at times rather pretentious. He might not have been ratified as he wished, but he's about to be radifed (radify: to make rad) during my presentation.
Yeats...and Tiff, Dickie, PJ and Tammy
Sometimes after I read about silver apples of the moon and golden apples of the sun I run to YouTube and zonk and feel great about life in a different way.
And hell yes, I will wake you up at 2AM to watch this.
And hell yes, I will wake you up at 2AM to watch this.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Knock, knock.
Who's there?
THE AGING PROCESS!
About two months ago, the first gray appeared. Soon it had a friend. The friends invited others up and now there's a rockin' party on the back left of Sean's head. I told him about it and he made me pull one out to prove it; then he stared at it like it had grown a pair of lips and announced, "I hear oak is nice. FOR CASKETS."
Sean refused to believe there were more so I pulled out another, and then another. I should have said, "That's all!" but because I'm horrible I took a picture instead.
It adds character.
THE AGING PROCESS!
About two months ago, the first gray appeared. Soon it had a friend. The friends invited others up and now there's a rockin' party on the back left of Sean's head. I told him about it and he made me pull one out to prove it; then he stared at it like it had grown a pair of lips and announced, "I hear oak is nice. FOR CASKETS."
Sean refused to believe there were more so I pulled out another, and then another. I should have said, "That's all!" but because I'm horrible I took a picture instead.
It adds character.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Malkovich, Malkovich, Malkovich.
Sometimes this MA in Anglo-Irish Lit. feels a bit like the scene from "Being John Malkovich" where everyone is Malkovich and the only words in the language are Malkovich, Malkovich and Malkovich spoken in different pitches like Madarin Chinese. Here at UCD, Yeats is Malkovich. But sexier. Every time my professor, Dr. Clutterbuck, talks about him, she moans a bit and sucks her index finger. She has a mean stutter with the words "and" and "of" and gets stuck on them sometimes for 15 repetitions (I counted). The last stuttered "of" or "and" comes loose in a loud and elongated way as if to recover ground for all the previously clipped and quiet ones. Because she works up into these tiny fits of ecstasy, it's easy when she gets to her fourth frustrated "of" to imagine it as "oh" and to imagine her "and" as "ah." So, in my head, her sentences sound like this, "Let's think about symbols and and and and ah ah ah ah ahhhhhh! bondage in the poetry of of of of oh oh oh oh oh ohhh! Yeats."
Roar.
Soon I'll be swimming on through the years of Anglo-Irish writing with my knowledge of Yeats like some orange floaties around my arms. Right now I'm tired from breathing my life into them.
I'm holding on to a lot of soons right now. Soon I will have a student number, soon I will figure out how to keep more water within the shower curtains than without, soon I will talk in class, soon I won't want to karate-chop the faces of most people holding positions of any authority Ireland, be it the woman who makes me pay 20 cents to go to the bathroom or the man who threatens to confiscate my library card, soon I won't feel homesick, soon I will manage my time like a navy seal on a mission instead of a baboon blissfully munching on his friends' lice.
Speaking of friends with lice, Kate and Tad, Sean's sister and Bro-in-law, were here this weekend. We went to St. Patrick's Cathedral where I condemned myself to an eternity of rubbing Satan's soldiers by underlining select words in the service booklet to make hilarious sentences. I know now that the more intense and serious the service, the more irreverent I become. The pastor was monotone and the choir was all boys. I couldn't help myself. Soon I will find religion.
We also went to the Kilmainham Gaol, a spooky place where pretty much every important Irish politician until the 1920s had a room; so did Maude Gonne, none other than Yeats' forever un-him-loving love. Yeats, Yeats, Yeats, Yeats.
The Guinness Factory called for us next, where Sean and Tad were talking about cigarettes. Sean being Sean nodded to the others already in the elevator, ignoring their language and said, "You know, Lucky Strikes killed more Americans than the Germans." Turns out everyone in the elevator was German.
I've added a few pics HERE! of this weekend with Kate and Tad. They're coming back to Dublin on Monday, after which Sean and I will have to see a new favorite movie and talk of home over thick Irish Stew.
Roar.
Soon I'll be swimming on through the years of Anglo-Irish writing with my knowledge of Yeats like some orange floaties around my arms. Right now I'm tired from breathing my life into them.
I'm holding on to a lot of soons right now. Soon I will have a student number, soon I will figure out how to keep more water within the shower curtains than without, soon I will talk in class, soon I won't want to karate-chop the faces of most people holding positions of any authority Ireland, be it the woman who makes me pay 20 cents to go to the bathroom or the man who threatens to confiscate my library card, soon I won't feel homesick, soon I will manage my time like a navy seal on a mission instead of a baboon blissfully munching on his friends' lice.
Speaking of friends with lice, Kate and Tad, Sean's sister and Bro-in-law, were here this weekend. We went to St. Patrick's Cathedral where I condemned myself to an eternity of rubbing Satan's soldiers by underlining select words in the service booklet to make hilarious sentences. I know now that the more intense and serious the service, the more irreverent I become. The pastor was monotone and the choir was all boys. I couldn't help myself. Soon I will find religion.
We also went to the Kilmainham Gaol, a spooky place where pretty much every important Irish politician until the 1920s had a room; so did Maude Gonne, none other than Yeats' forever un-him-loving love. Yeats, Yeats, Yeats, Yeats.
The Guinness Factory called for us next, where Sean and Tad were talking about cigarettes. Sean being Sean nodded to the others already in the elevator, ignoring their language and said, "You know, Lucky Strikes killed more Americans than the Germans." Turns out everyone in the elevator was German.
I've added a few pics HERE! of this weekend with Kate and Tad. They're coming back to Dublin on Monday, after which Sean and I will have to see a new favorite movie and talk of home over thick Irish Stew.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
TWO LITTLE BIRDIES!
Sean's parents flew to Ireland last Thursday night and stayed to Sunday. On Thursday Sean and I canoodled while waiting for the bus that would take us to his parents. By canoodling I mean I stood on Sean's steel-toed boot and asked, "That doesn't hurt?" and he didn't push me off. As I stood on his boot a sweet troll of a girl walked over, stared at us and shrieked, "TWO LITTLE BIRDIES!" Sean and I were like, "Wha?" She walked away and we wondered why she was alone at a bus stop at 9:30 PM and how it was possible, at 10 and as a girl, to sound so much like Steven Tyler. We let it go and started talking about how excited we were to see his parents when she came back over and screamed a raspy, "KISSIN AND HUGGIN!!"
Lately whenever anything strikes me as totally Irish and odd, I look at Sean and scream, "TWO LITTLE BIRDIES!" with a brogue.
On Friday, we went to the National Museum of Old Stuff and saw bodies preserved in bogs from the year 100 or so that still had curly hair and beards. We saw brooches and earings from 230 B.C. That's right. B. freakin C. There were swords and bowls with intricate decorations that kidnapped my brain so that all I thought about that day were hands from 2000 years ago holding swords and bowls.
We went on a rail and bus tour up to the Cliffs of Moher and Burren on Saturday. I've posted some pics of it HERE!. Beware- these are so Irish.
Sunday morning we all went to mass then ate an Irish breakfast with black and white pudding (TWO LITTLE BIRDIES!). After the Doc and Mrs. left Sean and I went to see "Little Miss Sunshine"; it's my new favorite movie. I know I lack the distance needed to correctly compare it with previously seen awesome movies. Also, I recognize that every book I last read is my new favorite book, as is the case right now. But they feel so favorite still. Anyway, after seeing my new favorite movie, Sean and I stood outside of the Savoy and Sean looked at me and said, "I'm homesick" and I said, "There's an anvil in my stomach" and he said, "I'm going to cry." And we totally did.
We're feeling better now. I started classes yesterday and want to adopt all of my professors. They will be my entertaining children. Teach me something new, Declan. Make Mama some waffles while you talk about Yeats, Dr. Clutterbuck (her real name).
Above are photos of my new favorite movie and new favorite book. Note the book is not Gulliver's Travels or Castle Rackrent, the other two books I'm reading, which indicates a lack of interest in the subject matter of my classes.
Lately whenever anything strikes me as totally Irish and odd, I look at Sean and scream, "TWO LITTLE BIRDIES!" with a brogue.
On Friday, we went to the National Museum of Old Stuff and saw bodies preserved in bogs from the year 100 or so that still had curly hair and beards. We saw brooches and earings from 230 B.C. That's right. B. freakin C. There were swords and bowls with intricate decorations that kidnapped my brain so that all I thought about that day were hands from 2000 years ago holding swords and bowls.
We went on a rail and bus tour up to the Cliffs of Moher and Burren on Saturday. I've posted some pics of it HERE!. Beware- these are so Irish.
Sunday morning we all went to mass then ate an Irish breakfast with black and white pudding (TWO LITTLE BIRDIES!). After the Doc and Mrs. left Sean and I went to see "Little Miss Sunshine"; it's my new favorite movie. I know I lack the distance needed to correctly compare it with previously seen awesome movies. Also, I recognize that every book I last read is my new favorite book, as is the case right now. But they feel so favorite still. Anyway, after seeing my new favorite movie, Sean and I stood outside of the Savoy and Sean looked at me and said, "I'm homesick" and I said, "There's an anvil in my stomach" and he said, "I'm going to cry." And we totally did.
We're feeling better now. I started classes yesterday and want to adopt all of my professors. They will be my entertaining children. Teach me something new, Declan. Make Mama some waffles while you talk about Yeats, Dr. Clutterbuck (her real name).
Above are photos of my new favorite movie and new favorite book. Note the book is not Gulliver's Travels or Castle Rackrent, the other two books I'm reading, which indicates a lack of interest in the subject matter of my classes.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
He said, you're my favorite person. I said thank you! He said, I know I'd be yours too if my name were Karen Farris.
A Swede, a Norwegian and a German come over.
This is how our conversation ensues:
I say, "I have family in Norway!" She says, "Where?" I say, "I don't know, but I have family in Germany too." He says, "Where?" I say, "Ack. I don't know that either."
Some silence.
I say, "You know what I do know? The Norwegian name for grandmother is Mar-Mar. Whenever I would call my great-grandmother Grandma Mar-Mar, she would say, "You know Mar-Mar is Norwegian for grandmother, why are you calling me grandma grandmother? Haha. Haha."
She says, "No, Gammelor is Norwegian for grandmother."
The Swede offers, "Mor-Mor is Grandmother in Sweden, though."
"Oh." I say.
So I wrote my mom the following email and included her response. Amen, lady. Amen.
Re: Did you know?
jessica farris wrote:
Gammlemor - Norwegian for Grandmother
Mor-Mor- Swedish for Grandmother
Karen Farris wrote:
I did not know. I feel misinformed and bereft of country identity.
More embarrassment-- Sean and I have been calling my Argentinian flat-mate Dada. Her name is apparently Theresa, as we found out from one of her friends. I can't count the amount of times Theresa would pass me something, or say something nice, or offer me some tea when I would say, "Thank you, Dada." Awesome.
In other news, today one of Sean's classmates stopped to talk to us outside of the Arts Building. She told us a story, while she ate her salmon on white bread, about how she was evacuated out of Lebanon on a US Navy ship. She smiled the whole story through and Sean and I couldn't close our suprised mouths. I love this place.
This is how our conversation ensues:
I say, "I have family in Norway!" She says, "Where?" I say, "I don't know, but I have family in Germany too." He says, "Where?" I say, "Ack. I don't know that either."
Some silence.
I say, "You know what I do know? The Norwegian name for grandmother is Mar-Mar. Whenever I would call my great-grandmother Grandma Mar-Mar, she would say, "You know Mar-Mar is Norwegian for grandmother, why are you calling me grandma grandmother? Haha. Haha."
She says, "No, Gammelor is Norwegian for grandmother."
The Swede offers, "Mor-Mor is Grandmother in Sweden, though."
"Oh." I say.
So I wrote my mom the following email and included her response. Amen, lady. Amen.
Re: Did you know?
jessica farris
Gammlemor - Norwegian for Grandmother
Mor-Mor- Swedish for Grandmother
Karen Farris wrote:
I did not know. I feel misinformed and bereft of country identity.
More embarrassment-- Sean and I have been calling my Argentinian flat-mate Dada. Her name is apparently Theresa, as we found out from one of her friends. I can't count the amount of times Theresa would pass me something, or say something nice, or offer me some tea when I would say, "Thank you, Dada." Awesome.
In other news, today one of Sean's classmates stopped to talk to us outside of the Arts Building. She told us a story, while she ate her salmon on white bread, about how she was evacuated out of Lebanon on a US Navy ship. She smiled the whole story through and Sean and I couldn't close our suprised mouths. I love this place.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
I submit that it cannot!!
Today I found the school store, (which I thought was imaginary), set up a loan and got a library card. I felt drunkenly independent as I walked back to my flat with a florid face and the plan to grab some dinner then traverse outside the Dublin area alone. I went into the kitchen to grab a pita and slice an avocado. There, I flit into conversation with Dada (or Tada? who knows), a woman in my flat from Argentina. Then Stephen came in, then David, a second and third flat-mate. I've met them all before but it was way back last Tuesday when I hated life. I realized this was my time to start exuding awesomeness immediately or risk sticking in their minds as the Plath-like American who looked like someone ate her puppy. And so it went, with poor Whitney as my internal soundtrack, that I stayed in the common area and made a new impression that didn't conjure thoughts of an oven.
As I ate my pita
I BROKE MY HEART
I realized I was in a ring.
FOUGHT EVERY GAIN
I'd thrown some bad punches. Some desperate, sad, last Tuesday punches.
TO TASTE THE SWEET
And now, after dancing around and pumping myself up
I FACE THE PAIN
I was ready to get some good ones in.
I RISE AND FALL
And I could see the others dancing, too.
YET THROUGH IT ALL
So I tossed a few out out. A good line, an articulate compliment.
THIS MUCH REMAINS
And they hit back with the same.
GIVE ME ONE MOMENT IN TIME
I made fun of Sean and they laughed.
WHEN I'M RACING WITH DESTINYYYYY.
We talked and laughed more, getting easy with each other, making plans.
THEN, IN THAT ONE MOMENT OF TIME...I WILL FEEL...I WILL FEEL...ETERNITY!!!!
Ooo. What's that feeling? That tingly goodness ah. It must be eternity or something.
That's how it happened. Thank you, Whit.
An hour later, fed by the pita and avocado and by finally making laughter with some flat-mates, I went back into the weather and roamed. When I recognized places on my roam, I paused and felt I'd finally arrived here and then I pushed beyond. Later I will recognize and arrive in farther out places and soon I'll cover Ireland with my recognition like a tipped molasses covers a table.
Today = the tomorrow I kept telling myself was coming.
As I ate my pita
I BROKE MY HEART
I realized I was in a ring.
FOUGHT EVERY GAIN
I'd thrown some bad punches. Some desperate, sad, last Tuesday punches.
TO TASTE THE SWEET
And now, after dancing around and pumping myself up
I FACE THE PAIN
I was ready to get some good ones in.
I RISE AND FALL
And I could see the others dancing, too.
YET THROUGH IT ALL
So I tossed a few out out. A good line, an articulate compliment.
THIS MUCH REMAINS
And they hit back with the same.
GIVE ME ONE MOMENT IN TIME
I made fun of Sean and they laughed.
WHEN I'M RACING WITH DESTINYYYYY.
We talked and laughed more, getting easy with each other, making plans.
THEN, IN THAT ONE MOMENT OF TIME...I WILL FEEL...I WILL FEEL...ETERNITY!!!!
Ooo. What's that feeling? That tingly goodness ah. It must be eternity or something.
That's how it happened. Thank you, Whit.
An hour later, fed by the pita and avocado and by finally making laughter with some flat-mates, I went back into the weather and roamed. When I recognized places on my roam, I paused and felt I'd finally arrived here and then I pushed beyond. Later I will recognize and arrive in farther out places and soon I'll cover Ireland with my recognition like a tipped molasses covers a table.
Today = the tomorrow I kept telling myself was coming.
Megamylove and puffy-paint, up close and personal.
Here's a bit more of the dog I WILL steal from the haters to bring to Amevilca and raise as my own. And here, as promised, is some puffy-paint in your face. Sadly, the tackiness doesn't transfer as well as I'd hoped, but you get the idea.
Monday, September 18, 2006
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Electric word life, it means forever and that's a mighty long time, but I'm here to tell you there's something else. Searsons.
We found a pub with leather couches. The one Sean and I claim sits in front of a real fireplace. When the fire dies down people come to stoke it and I repress an urge to hug them, to smile in their faces, to ask their names and offer to carry their empty trays back to the bar.
These same people serve us chicken and leek pie. They serve us spring rolls with mango chutney. They serve us bangers and mash. Kopparberg's pear cider? They serve us that with ice. With a feast pulling at our forks, we eat, drink and watch soccer (fine, football). On a flat screen. This place feeds more than stomachs.
I think Sean and I lead responsible, kind lives and I also think that if we both happened to die on that couch, with the food, fire and flat screen before us, we might wake in the afterlife to the exact same surroundings. The bar's called Searsons, but I call it the big H, ma friends.
These same people serve us chicken and leek pie. They serve us spring rolls with mango chutney. They serve us bangers and mash. Kopparberg's pear cider? They serve us that with ice. With a feast pulling at our forks, we eat, drink and watch soccer (fine, football). On a flat screen. This place feeds more than stomachs.
I think Sean and I lead responsible, kind lives and I also think that if we both happened to die on that couch, with the food, fire and flat screen before us, we might wake in the afterlife to the exact same surroundings. The bar's called Searsons, but I call it the big H, ma friends.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Wisconsin
So, as some may know, I am in Belfield, Ireland. Truth is, but for a few blatantly Irish moments, it could be Wisconsin. To stitch up our disappointment, Sean and I wrap hands around Guinness and Carlsberg at the student pub. We buy bus passes into City Center to read the signposts and memorize the statues in the park. We appreciate the sun and the building out my window.
I've included some photos down below. I can't include them in the text anymore because I just can't figure out how to do it on the mac. So down there you can find Sean and me on the day after I finally slept. That's me on my bed without anything on the walls or a cup to drink from- a stark image of me having my priorities straight. My room is there. And that building is what I see out of my room's window. On a campus of tired 60's concrete and cement, my room overlooks the only building on campus I imagine some beautiful Irish woman designed. I took pictures of my window sill where my friends and family stay. Those stores are part of the town Donnybrook. Sean and I sometimes stop there on our way to City Center to get a bottle of water or a new candy bar. I was going to post some residual Yosemites. Distance hasn't rubbed that place from my heart yet. Ah, Yosemite. But I'm sure you've had enough of that. And finally, that's a beautiful male model sleeping. I won't be seeing that anymore because...
Sean finally found a room in a house!
It's close to campus and somehow the greenery on the walk there smells better than any natural scent ever to enter our noses. The dog living in the house, Mega, is my new love. When I come in, I stand with my feet apart and she puts her body lengthwise against my knees, with one front paw on one foot and one back paw on my other foot and then she tilts her head back to make pleased eye contact with me as I all but lick her back, pick her up and carry her out of the house to be my own. I'm this close to being a dognapper.
I dislike John, the man who owns the house. Dislike in the same way I would dislike it if someone stabbed a needle in my eye. He's a proud, bitter, crappy, failed artist and he's demeaning. Sean laughs politely but a defiant anger colors my face when John lumps us with freedom fries or mentions how much we must like TV and Walmart. Yesterday John berated me for thinking TK MAXX would be like the States' TJ MAXX. "This isn't America." You know what John? Are you listening to me? Are you? Stop filling your house with tie-dye and puffy paint a minute. TK MAXX has the exact same label off by one letter in the exact same colors. Lay off me, PicassNO. Heh.
I'll take pictures of Mega and the art. It really is tie-dye and puffy paint.
.
I've included some photos down below. I can't include them in the text anymore because I just can't figure out how to do it on the mac. So down there you can find Sean and me on the day after I finally slept. That's me on my bed without anything on the walls or a cup to drink from- a stark image of me having my priorities straight. My room is there. And that building is what I see out of my room's window. On a campus of tired 60's concrete and cement, my room overlooks the only building on campus I imagine some beautiful Irish woman designed. I took pictures of my window sill where my friends and family stay. Those stores are part of the town Donnybrook. Sean and I sometimes stop there on our way to City Center to get a bottle of water or a new candy bar. I was going to post some residual Yosemites. Distance hasn't rubbed that place from my heart yet. Ah, Yosemite. But I'm sure you've had enough of that. And finally, that's a beautiful male model sleeping. I won't be seeing that anymore because...
Sean finally found a room in a house!
It's close to campus and somehow the greenery on the walk there smells better than any natural scent ever to enter our noses. The dog living in the house, Mega, is my new love. When I come in, I stand with my feet apart and she puts her body lengthwise against my knees, with one front paw on one foot and one back paw on my other foot and then she tilts her head back to make pleased eye contact with me as I all but lick her back, pick her up and carry her out of the house to be my own. I'm this close to being a dognapper.
I dislike John, the man who owns the house. Dislike in the same way I would dislike it if someone stabbed a needle in my eye. He's a proud, bitter, crappy, failed artist and he's demeaning. Sean laughs politely but a defiant anger colors my face when John lumps us with freedom fries or mentions how much we must like TV and Walmart. Yesterday John berated me for thinking TK MAXX would be like the States' TJ MAXX. "This isn't America." You know what John? Are you listening to me? Are you? Stop filling your house with tie-dye and puffy paint a minute. TK MAXX has the exact same label off by one letter in the exact same colors. Lay off me, PicassNO. Heh.
I'll take pictures of Mega and the art. It really is tie-dye and puffy paint.
.
A thousand apologies for how long this has taken. And then a few more.
Sean's and my family- you've heard this already, but we have learned new things if you want to check them out below.
It's taken a long time to update the blog because when I first got to good ol' Belfield, Ireland I went into a panicked, anti-sleeping, questioning all decisions I've ever made in my life state that I (of course) thought I would never leave. I was ready for the straight jacket, but I've gotten a load of sleep and feel much better now. As Sean said a few days ago, "Jess has finally arrived in Ireland."
We've been walking a lot and stumbling into a few welcome stereotypically Irish moments. The other day we saw a cemetary on a hillside with high, vivid grasses reaching up to the Celtic crosses on the gravestones. We heard an old man in a jeff cap ask another old man, "Who's your mummy?!" We read on the website "overheardindublin.com" a mom on a bus say, "But you HAVE to go to school!" to which her 5-year-old son replied, "I don't want to. I know a-fu*kin-nough.
things we've learned so far---
We miss everyone we know.
Convenience store french bread. Buy it. Eat it. Dream of it.
When the butthole whose house Sean lives in assumes he intricately knows my whole sordid and consumerist value system, the only thing that cheers me up is to assume his opinion of me and sing, "And I'm proud to be an American, where at least I know I'm free. And I won't forget the men who died and gave their lives for me. And I'm going to stand up! next to her and defend her still today. 'Cause there ain't no doubt I love this land. God bless the USAaaaaa"
Everyone says "You're okay?" instead of "May I help you." The first time this happened, I replied, "Oh, I'm great, thanks. How are you?" and after the woman said, "I'm fine." She stood there and I stood there and I waited for her to ask if she could help me. She said again, You're okay?" and I just stood there some more and looked at her.
Everyone dresses like Posh Spice. Everyone means guys too.
A pitch is a field.
The hash sign is the pound key on a telephone.
Tooken means taken (they do weird things with the past
tense a lot).
Dublin loves corn on its pizza.
Somehow, I don't know how, it's ridiculous I know, but Sean and I agree that almost every girl here looks
like they weave silk and gold into their locks and have professional make-up artists and almost every guy dyes his tips.
A can is a beer.
A biscuit is a cookie.
Take away means take out food.
They don't seem to laugh as much as Americans.
Look left when you're crossing the road or you will die.
It's super cool to smoke.
EVERYONE wears jeans, whoever said it was a tourist thing was a jackass.
All condiments in even nice restaurants come in packets and they are stingy with ketchup (or don't think we want as much as we actually want....like they give one packet at a time).
Black coffee means cafe americano which means espresso with water.
The Dominos guy informed us that the word dorm doesn't exist. It's residences.
Bulmer's cider smells like pee.
Even though I've been horrible at keeping in touch with every person I know and I don't deserve any letters or phone calls, here are my address and phone number. I fell behind in life but I pinky promise to be better.
Jessica Farris
Room No. G-10-10-05
Glenomena Residences
UCD
Belfield
Dublin 4, IRELAND
011 353 85 778 8985
It's taken a long time to update the blog because when I first got to good ol' Belfield, Ireland I went into a panicked, anti-sleeping, questioning all decisions I've ever made in my life state that I (of course) thought I would never leave. I was ready for the straight jacket, but I've gotten a load of sleep and feel much better now. As Sean said a few days ago, "Jess has finally arrived in Ireland."
We've been walking a lot and stumbling into a few welcome stereotypically Irish moments. The other day we saw a cemetary on a hillside with high, vivid grasses reaching up to the Celtic crosses on the gravestones. We heard an old man in a jeff cap ask another old man, "Who's your mummy?!" We read on the website "overheardindublin.com" a mom on a bus say, "But you HAVE to go to school!" to which her 5-year-old son replied, "I don't want to. I know a-fu*kin-nough.
things we've learned so far---
We miss everyone we know.
Convenience store french bread. Buy it. Eat it. Dream of it.
When the butthole whose house Sean lives in assumes he intricately knows my whole sordid and consumerist value system, the only thing that cheers me up is to assume his opinion of me and sing, "And I'm proud to be an American, where at least I know I'm free. And I won't forget the men who died and gave their lives for me. And I'm going to stand up! next to her and defend her still today. 'Cause there ain't no doubt I love this land. God bless the USAaaaaa"
Everyone says "You're okay?" instead of "May I help you." The first time this happened, I replied, "Oh, I'm great, thanks. How are you?" and after the woman said, "I'm fine." She stood there and I stood there and I waited for her to ask if she could help me. She said again, You're okay?" and I just stood there some more and looked at her.
Everyone dresses like Posh Spice. Everyone means guys too.
A pitch is a field.
The hash sign is the pound key on a telephone.
Tooken means taken (they do weird things with the past
tense a lot).
Dublin loves corn on its pizza.
Somehow, I don't know how, it's ridiculous I know, but Sean and I agree that almost every girl here looks
like they weave silk and gold into their locks and have professional make-up artists and almost every guy dyes his tips.
A can is a beer.
A biscuit is a cookie.
Take away means take out food.
They don't seem to laugh as much as Americans.
Look left when you're crossing the road or you will die.
It's super cool to smoke.
EVERYONE wears jeans, whoever said it was a tourist thing was a jackass.
All condiments in even nice restaurants come in packets and they are stingy with ketchup (or don't think we want as much as we actually want....like they give one packet at a time).
Black coffee means cafe americano which means espresso with water.
The Dominos guy informed us that the word dorm doesn't exist. It's residences.
Bulmer's cider smells like pee.
Even though I've been horrible at keeping in touch with every person I know and I don't deserve any letters or phone calls, here are my address and phone number. I fell behind in life but I pinky promise to be better.
Jessica Farris
Room No. G-10-10-05
Glenomena Residences
UCD
Belfield
Dublin 4, IRELAND
011 353 85 778 8985
Friday, August 25, 2006
G-strings in the woods.
Ah, Yosemite.
Ah.
Ahhhhhhh.
More than being cradled by mountains on all sides, more than the rivers, the bear, the deer, the stars that took your loneliness from you, the cedars, more than the crickets, do you want to know what part of Yosemite my mom and I most enjoyed?
The ten thousand-year-old, wrinkled, chestnut-colored white man in a G-string. In only a G-string.
"Oh, Jess meant to type Speedo. Those are pretty funny."
No I didn't. I mean he was wearing a G-string.
"Maybe she means small shorts. That girl sure exaggerates a lot."
I do not mean small shorts. I mean a tiny, black, beautiful, satin G-string semi thong. I do not exaggerate.
My mom and I saw him on our second day in Yosemite as we were pumping away on the bike trail. I thought he was a mirage, there to lift me from my pine tree and mountain reality. Our legs pedalled slower and then not at all and we turned to watch him walk over a hill. I thought, I guess he likes the sunshine and his own groin area a lot. But then as I climbed Yosemite's mountains and explored waterfalls and fell into a tumbling love with every piece of dirt in that park I thought, you know, this guy knows what's going on. He makes sense-just being with nature, no clothes in the way, letting the sun love you; Mom, let's strip!
We didn't, but we totally almost did. Yosemite makes you want to roll around in it naked and never leave. In fact, I don't even want to be a professor anymore. I want to be a mountain.
Please feast on these delicious views.
.
Ah.
Ahhhhhhh.
More than being cradled by mountains on all sides, more than the rivers, the bear, the deer, the stars that took your loneliness from you, the cedars, more than the crickets, do you want to know what part of Yosemite my mom and I most enjoyed?
The ten thousand-year-old, wrinkled, chestnut-colored white man in a G-string. In only a G-string.
"Oh, Jess meant to type Speedo. Those are pretty funny."
No I didn't. I mean he was wearing a G-string.
"Maybe she means small shorts. That girl sure exaggerates a lot."
I do not mean small shorts. I mean a tiny, black, beautiful, satin G-string semi thong. I do not exaggerate.
My mom and I saw him on our second day in Yosemite as we were pumping away on the bike trail. I thought he was a mirage, there to lift me from my pine tree and mountain reality. Our legs pedalled slower and then not at all and we turned to watch him walk over a hill. I thought, I guess he likes the sunshine and his own groin area a lot. But then as I climbed Yosemite's mountains and explored waterfalls and fell into a tumbling love with every piece of dirt in that park I thought, you know, this guy knows what's going on. He makes sense-just being with nature, no clothes in the way, letting the sun love you; Mom, let's strip!
We didn't, but we totally almost did. Yosemite makes you want to roll around in it naked and never leave. In fact, I don't even want to be a professor anymore. I want to be a mountain.
Please feast on these delicious views.
.
The new house.
This is the house.
This house has a billion shelves. These are my favorite.
This is the view from the patio.
.
This house has a billion shelves. These are my favorite.
This is the view from the patio.
.
Monday, August 14, 2006
What God has joined together...
Early November '88- A handsome man knocks at the door to ask my mom and me out on a date. We go the movies and see Crocodile Dundee II. Also, we eat candy. After the movie, the man gives me a stuffed lion and brainstorms names with me. Maybe Fred, he says, but I say that's ridiculous. It's a stuffed lion. My black cat is Black Kitty, my stuffed animals are Brown Bear, Medium Brown Bear, Purplish Monkey, Pink Baby and so on. Fred? No. I suggest Bigger Lion as I have a smaller one already.
August 13, '88- My mom marries Mitch Farris, the man who brought me Bigger Lion.
Happy anniversary, you two.
August 13, '88- My mom marries Mitch Farris, the man who brought me Bigger Lion.
Happy anniversary, you two.
hey CA
In the Philadelphia Airport, a security guard said, "Didn't I just tell you to take your cat out; you don't want to put a cat through the X-Ray machine. And again, you need to take off the sweater around your waist." She said it like I needed a babysitter. Or a helmet. "You're right, I don't want to X-Ray her. I was taking her out slowly because she's really scared," I said. I wanted to say, "I'm not stupid, I'm great, and you're bad at life." My eyes teared up because I hate when people talk like that. When I was putting Ebony back in her case a little girl- nine maybe- in a hot pink shirt said, "Love your cat." "Sorry?" I said. "I said, I love your cat. She's fabulous." And my eyes teared up again because she'd erased the security guard.
I saw the fam as I was coming down the escalator. They jumped and grinned. I'm finding, I think, that we are all sensitive from too many recent changes, like cold hands that burn when held under water that's only tepid. Things in the world- like a sigh- feel extreme, even though they probably aren't. Mom, why are you breathing that way? I don't ask that, but I do almost say, Tell me anything right now to all members of my family all the time. I want to know how they are.
The house looks like my family's house. It's wooden interiors and bright spaces look like my mom. The small moments of beauty- an old picture in the back of a shelf that you have to peer at from up close- look like my dad. Lindsay is everywhere in classy black frames and pottery arrangements. The dogs pant and shed. The views shake your heart up.
Pictures are coming.
Yosemite is coming.
My Mac is coming.
No more posts are coming for at least another week, though.
I saw the fam as I was coming down the escalator. They jumped and grinned. I'm finding, I think, that we are all sensitive from too many recent changes, like cold hands that burn when held under water that's only tepid. Things in the world- like a sigh- feel extreme, even though they probably aren't. Mom, why are you breathing that way? I don't ask that, but I do almost say, Tell me anything right now to all members of my family all the time. I want to know how they are.
The house looks like my family's house. It's wooden interiors and bright spaces look like my mom. The small moments of beauty- an old picture in the back of a shelf that you have to peer at from up close- look like my dad. Lindsay is everywhere in classy black frames and pottery arrangements. The dogs pant and shed. The views shake your heart up.
Pictures are coming.
Yosemite is coming.
My Mac is coming.
No more posts are coming for at least another week, though.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
What's the story, morning glory?
In my apartment building this morning, while waiting for the elevator to arrive at my floor, I looked out the window and saw a beeeeeautiful woman sleeping on the roof two buildings away. She wasn't on a roof deck, or even a flat roof; about 3 feet from where she lay, there began a decline. Dangerous! She slept curled on a huge, blue blanket and with nothing over her. A small duffel bag supported her head. She wore blue jeans and a red tee-shirt with a bandana around her neck. Her long nut-colored hair lifted in the wind. I ran back to my apartment to get my camera, but I forgot about the whole lost keys situation, so I went back to the window to stare at her some more.
Who is she?! What was she doing?! Where'd she get the bravery to sleep on a slanted rooftop?! Is her story a happy or a sad one?! Why is she so pretty!? Where are my keys?!
I'm making up a million stories about her.
Who is she?! What was she doing?! Where'd she get the bravery to sleep on a slanted rooftop?! Is her story a happy or a sad one?! Why is she so pretty!? Where are my keys?!
I'm making up a million stories about her.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
"Teacher, there's an eyeball on Basil's pencil."
Sean and I fight about pens. Why do I steal his deliciously thick G3 pens? How do those fat, luscious writing utensils end up in my bag after he bought them? Because I believe in taking responsibility for my actions, I’ll explain it to you- by blaming it on my 1st grade teacher.
I trace it back to September of '88....
My family moves to Bensalem, Pennsylvania and I enter a new school. I’m scared every day to go to class because my teacher, Mrs. Dameron, has one good eye and one eye that looks like a cracked marble dipped in mucus. Long ago, when Mrs. Dameron attended fourth grade in London, a school chum bit off the eraser from his pencil and accidentally gouged her eye with the metal end. We only use crayons in class.
Naturally, because my fine motor skills developed with the use of chunky crayons, I gravitate towards chunky pens. I’m helplessly attracted to them and should be lauded for my self-knowledge and strong instincts rather than scolded for thievery.
P.S. Eventually, Mrs. Dameron became one of my favorite people. I learned to look past hideous disfigurement to appreciate the person inside; thus my relationship with Sean can exist.
P.P.S. I’m just kidding about Sean being disfigured. He has impeccable bone structure.
I trace it back to September of '88....
My family moves to Bensalem, Pennsylvania and I enter a new school. I’m scared every day to go to class because my teacher, Mrs. Dameron, has one good eye and one eye that looks like a cracked marble dipped in mucus. Long ago, when Mrs. Dameron attended fourth grade in London, a school chum bit off the eraser from his pencil and accidentally gouged her eye with the metal end. We only use crayons in class.
Naturally, because my fine motor skills developed with the use of chunky crayons, I gravitate towards chunky pens. I’m helplessly attracted to them and should be lauded for my self-knowledge and strong instincts rather than scolded for thievery.
P.S. Eventually, Mrs. Dameron became one of my favorite people. I learned to look past hideous disfigurement to appreciate the person inside; thus my relationship with Sean can exist.
P.P.S. I’m just kidding about Sean being disfigured. He has impeccable bone structure.
Oh yeah? Well, my Dad is 12 feet tall.
I used to work with a lady at Cambridge U.P. named Ana-Claudia. She told great stories- the one about her and her mother’s secret language was my favorite. On the subway one day, at age 7 or so, A-C asked, “Hey Mom, what’s a vagina?” She posed it loudly, freely, feeling secure in their blanket of secret syntax and vocabulary. Some people in the car burst out laughing and A-C’s mother told her to hush. “But why?” asked A-C, not understanding despite the “hush” and the laughter, “this is only ours. No one knows what we’re saying, silly.” Turns out the “secret language” was Spanish.
My Dad and I have a secret language- as complex as Spanish- constructed over time by fights, contentment and trying to know each other instead of just be related to each other. It’s mostly a language of cadence and tones. We communicate in the downbeats between “okay” and “well.” When I’m sad especially, he locates my rhythms and beats back his own in a “so” and a pause, then a question. He’s like a heart monitor or a vibrating locust.
Sunday night, I washed my face in tears. They were stress tears and left red streaks down my cheeks like a too-strong astringent. So what’s the big deal? I cry all the time- happy tears like spritzer, angry tears like pop rocks or lightning, nostalgic tears like happy tears but milky, sad tears, frustrated tears, oh man it’s only Tuesday tears- seriously, all the time. The big deal this time was that the tears accomplished nothing. Usually, crying allows me to acknowledge things and leave them; the tears tip their hats to the emotion or cause of emotion and walk on with a, “Good day.” Two days ago, though, I sat in tears, in a cluttered apartment, in the midst of moving and throwing things I loved away and so when my Dad called, I paused, sniffed, waited and lilted while saying I was fine, really fine, no problem here, just fine. I sounded competent and sturdy like an oak bookcase- an oak bookcase anchored to a wall!- when really I was a nylon with a run. I very much like being self-sufficient.
My dad called yesterday and confirmed his daughter comprehension skills. He’d made a few calls, and a man who works with him, transporting apples in his truck from east to west, planned to pick up all the things I cried over and bring them to California where they will sit in the garage of my parent’s new house- my dresser, with a thin, flat surface that pulls out so I can write letters on it, my butcher block table that can take a knife chop or the hot metal of a cookie sheet and still look beautiful, my clothes (my personality), my bike, my pictures, my books (my companions)- everything! Sean and I wrapped, boxed, taped, drank, sweated and lugged and soon enough Dave pulled up in his slightly-smaller-than-an-18-wheeler truck and helped us lift my life into the sweet smelling trailer. When we were finished, I asked, “Will you take this?” and handed him a 20. He smiled with his one front tooth and from behind his thick glasses his eyes looked huge and swimming and imploring, which is probably why we talked for a half hour about his daughters, his dinner and his boss.
After Dave left, I climbed the stairs to a different apartment. The empty places weren’t sad, they just were. With bigger motions than I could use an hour before, I danced a bit. Dust bunnies spun around from the air I pushed while I stomped some happiness into the floor. I called my Dad, “Was that a dream?” I yelled into the phone. “Everyone at the restaurant under us was looking and laughing and Dave was cool and acted like this was so normal! Jesus. Thanks Dad. That was ridiculous and awesome.” And I beat out rhythms of joy and ease then went back to packing for Ireland.
My Dad and I have a secret language- as complex as Spanish- constructed over time by fights, contentment and trying to know each other instead of just be related to each other. It’s mostly a language of cadence and tones. We communicate in the downbeats between “okay” and “well.” When I’m sad especially, he locates my rhythms and beats back his own in a “so” and a pause, then a question. He’s like a heart monitor or a vibrating locust.
Sunday night, I washed my face in tears. They were stress tears and left red streaks down my cheeks like a too-strong astringent. So what’s the big deal? I cry all the time- happy tears like spritzer, angry tears like pop rocks or lightning, nostalgic tears like happy tears but milky, sad tears, frustrated tears, oh man it’s only Tuesday tears- seriously, all the time. The big deal this time was that the tears accomplished nothing. Usually, crying allows me to acknowledge things and leave them; the tears tip their hats to the emotion or cause of emotion and walk on with a, “Good day.” Two days ago, though, I sat in tears, in a cluttered apartment, in the midst of moving and throwing things I loved away and so when my Dad called, I paused, sniffed, waited and lilted while saying I was fine, really fine, no problem here, just fine. I sounded competent and sturdy like an oak bookcase- an oak bookcase anchored to a wall!- when really I was a nylon with a run. I very much like being self-sufficient.
My dad called yesterday and confirmed his daughter comprehension skills. He’d made a few calls, and a man who works with him, transporting apples in his truck from east to west, planned to pick up all the things I cried over and bring them to California where they will sit in the garage of my parent’s new house- my dresser, with a thin, flat surface that pulls out so I can write letters on it, my butcher block table that can take a knife chop or the hot metal of a cookie sheet and still look beautiful, my clothes (my personality), my bike, my pictures, my books (my companions)- everything! Sean and I wrapped, boxed, taped, drank, sweated and lugged and soon enough Dave pulled up in his slightly-smaller-than-an-18-wheeler truck and helped us lift my life into the sweet smelling trailer. When we were finished, I asked, “Will you take this?” and handed him a 20. He smiled with his one front tooth and from behind his thick glasses his eyes looked huge and swimming and imploring, which is probably why we talked for a half hour about his daughters, his dinner and his boss.
After Dave left, I climbed the stairs to a different apartment. The empty places weren’t sad, they just were. With bigger motions than I could use an hour before, I danced a bit. Dust bunnies spun around from the air I pushed while I stomped some happiness into the floor. I called my Dad, “Was that a dream?” I yelled into the phone. “Everyone at the restaurant under us was looking and laughing and Dave was cool and acted like this was so normal! Jesus. Thanks Dad. That was ridiculous and awesome.” And I beat out rhythms of joy and ease then went back to packing for Ireland.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Helen?
Phone rings.
HELEN: English and Drama Graduate Studies office.
ME: Hi. My name is Jessica Farris and I’ve been accepted to the Masters program in Anglo-Irish literature. I think we've talked before. I just have a quick question.
H: Sure (but it sounds like shooer). How can I help you?
M: Oh, well, you know how I’ve been accepted? Ha, of course you do. I just said it. Heh. Well, I’m still not sure when classes start or when I can move in or when any fees are due.
H: We’ll send the information out in a week and a half.
M: Oh, great. Okay, great. Thanks.
H: You’re welcome. Goodbye.
M: Bye.
Two and a half weeks later.
HELEN: English and Drama Graduate Studies office.
ME, CHECKING UP: Hi. I've called before. My name is Jessica Farris and I’ve been accepted to the Masters program in Anglo-Irish literature. I just have a quick question.
H: Right (but it sounds like reight); hello. How can I help you?
M,CU: Well, my parents just moved across the country and I used their address as the permanet mailing one. Should they be on the lookout for that packet of information yet? They say it hasn't arrived.
H: We haven't sent it. It will go out shortly.
M,CU: Oh, gotcha. Sorry to call again; I'm just so excited to know what's going on! I'll let my parents know.
H: Okay. Goodbye.
M, CU: Bye.
Hey, look at that. Two more weeks went by.
H: English and Drama Graduate Studies Office.
ME, SLIGHTLY WORRIED: Hi. My name’s Jessica Farris. Sorry I'm calling so much. I’ve been accepted to the Masters program in Anglo-Irish literature. I just have a quick question.
H: Great (but it sounds like greeeet) yes; I remember you. What’s the question?
M,SL: Oh, it’s the same one I guess. I feel like I’ve called you for like the seventh time. Haha. Hahahaha. This is probably annoying. Sorry, but I still haven't gotten the packet. I think the term starts on the 11th, but I wasn’t sure whether there was an orientation before the class starts or not and I'm trying to plan when to quit my job and visit my parents and...
H: We’ll send the information packet out in a couple of days. Orientation starts September 28th.
M,SL: The 28th? But? If the term starts...oh it’s okay. Hey, thanks. You’re always so helpful. I’ll wait for the packet.
And then guess what…
H: English and Drama Graduate Studies Office.
ME, THE AMERICAN DRIVEN TO INSANITY, WITH BAGS UNDER MY EYES AND A JAR OF FINGERNAIL CLIPPINGS WHICH I CALL "BUDDY" AND CARRY EVERYWHERE UNDER MY ARM: Hi. My name’s Jessica...
H: Farris, (but it sounds like, Police? I need to take out a restraining order); I know. Yes?
MTADTO,WBUMEAAJOFCWIC"B"ACEUMA: Oh, well, oh man, I need to take you out for dinner or something, huh? We’re in a pretty committed phone relationship. Haha. Hahahaha. This is probably annoying again. Sorry. I’m sorry. Sooo, when do you think the info will be sent out? Did you do it already? I only ask because I want to book my ticket and stuff. You know, there's so much up in the air right now.
H: We’ll send it out in another few days. You can move in the week of September 4th, if you want.
MTADTO,WBUMEAAJOFCWIC"B"ACEUMA: But I don't even know if I have housing yet.
H: Right, but if you do, you can move in the week of September 4th.
MTADTO,WBUMEAAJOFCWIC"B"ACEUMA: Wonderful. Awesome. The week of the 4th. But remember when you said orientation was the 28th?
H: Yes, I do.
MTADTO,WBUMEAAJOFCWIC"B"ACEUMA: Well. Hey, I’ll keep an eye on the mailbox. Haha. Okay, but Helen?
H: Yes?
MTADTO,WBUMEAAJOFCWIC"B"ACEUMA: Do you know when this is going to arrive?
H: Yes, I do. In some time soon it will arrive.
MTADTO,WBUMEAAJOFCWIC"B"ACEUMA: Sure; of course. What did you say, Buddy? You can't wait to slap Helen's face when you see her? You're the only one who understands me. Wanna make toast?
Click.
HELEN: English and Drama Graduate Studies office.
ME: Hi. My name is Jessica Farris and I’ve been accepted to the Masters program in Anglo-Irish literature. I think we've talked before. I just have a quick question.
H: Sure (but it sounds like shooer). How can I help you?
M: Oh, well, you know how I’ve been accepted? Ha, of course you do. I just said it. Heh. Well, I’m still not sure when classes start or when I can move in or when any fees are due.
H: We’ll send the information out in a week and a half.
M: Oh, great. Okay, great. Thanks.
H: You’re welcome. Goodbye.
M: Bye.
Two and a half weeks later.
HELEN: English and Drama Graduate Studies office.
ME, CHECKING UP: Hi. I've called before. My name is Jessica Farris and I’ve been accepted to the Masters program in Anglo-Irish literature. I just have a quick question.
H: Right (but it sounds like reight); hello. How can I help you?
M,CU: Well, my parents just moved across the country and I used their address as the permanet mailing one. Should they be on the lookout for that packet of information yet? They say it hasn't arrived.
H: We haven't sent it. It will go out shortly.
M,CU: Oh, gotcha. Sorry to call again; I'm just so excited to know what's going on! I'll let my parents know.
H: Okay. Goodbye.
M, CU: Bye.
Hey, look at that. Two more weeks went by.
H: English and Drama Graduate Studies Office.
ME, SLIGHTLY WORRIED: Hi. My name’s Jessica Farris. Sorry I'm calling so much. I’ve been accepted to the Masters program in Anglo-Irish literature. I just have a quick question.
H: Great (but it sounds like greeeet) yes; I remember you. What’s the question?
M,SL: Oh, it’s the same one I guess. I feel like I’ve called you for like the seventh time. Haha. Hahahaha. This is probably annoying. Sorry, but I still haven't gotten the packet. I think the term starts on the 11th, but I wasn’t sure whether there was an orientation before the class starts or not and I'm trying to plan when to quit my job and visit my parents and...
H: We’ll send the information packet out in a couple of days. Orientation starts September 28th.
M,SL: The 28th? But? If the term starts...oh it’s okay. Hey, thanks. You’re always so helpful. I’ll wait for the packet.
And then guess what…
H: English and Drama Graduate Studies Office.
ME, THE AMERICAN DRIVEN TO INSANITY, WITH BAGS UNDER MY EYES AND A JAR OF FINGERNAIL CLIPPINGS WHICH I CALL "BUDDY" AND CARRY EVERYWHERE UNDER MY ARM: Hi. My name’s Jessica...
H: Farris, (but it sounds like, Police? I need to take out a restraining order); I know. Yes?
MTADTO,WBUMEAAJOFCWIC"B"ACEUMA: Oh, well, oh man, I need to take you out for dinner or something, huh? We’re in a pretty committed phone relationship. Haha. Hahahaha. This is probably annoying again. Sorry. I’m sorry. Sooo, when do you think the info will be sent out? Did you do it already? I only ask because I want to book my ticket and stuff. You know, there's so much up in the air right now.
H: We’ll send it out in another few days. You can move in the week of September 4th, if you want.
MTADTO,WBUMEAAJOFCWIC"B"ACEUMA: But I don't even know if I have housing yet.
H: Right, but if you do, you can move in the week of September 4th.
MTADTO,WBUMEAAJOFCWIC"B"ACEUMA: Wonderful. Awesome. The week of the 4th. But remember when you said orientation was the 28th?
H: Yes, I do.
MTADTO,WBUMEAAJOFCWIC"B"ACEUMA: Well. Hey, I’ll keep an eye on the mailbox. Haha. Okay, but Helen?
H: Yes?
MTADTO,WBUMEAAJOFCWIC"B"ACEUMA: Do you know when this is going to arrive?
H: Yes, I do. In some time soon it will arrive.
MTADTO,WBUMEAAJOFCWIC"B"ACEUMA: Sure; of course. What did you say, Buddy? You can't wait to slap Helen's face when you see her? You're the only one who understands me. Wanna make toast?
Click.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Oh my God, this is delicious. I should have another.
The memo I wrote in my head today while standing in line at Rite Aid:
_________
MEMO
_______________
August 2, 2006
To: Brunette Rite Aid cashier
From: This girl watching you eat it right now
From: This girl watching you eat it right now
STOP! eating your boogers in public. Or all together if you'd ever like to not be a gross weirdo. We do see you. Being behind the counter does not and has not ever made you invisible. You are handling our purchases and our change and you're making us gag. Don't you care? On a nice note, your eye make-up is lovely.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
LOVE!
Longtime neighbors invited my mom, dad, sister and me to their home on my last night as a person whose family lived in Mahopac, NY. They kept Lindsay’s glass and mine filled with homemade chocolate milkshake while they popped beers for my Dad and replenished the Merlot in my mom’s wineglass. The neighbors asked and asked and asked us all questions then they listened to our answers. Three children tried to sit on me at once and a smile washed my eyes in tears . While sticking a finger in Wendy’s (one of the three) armpit, I tried to secure the warmth of the Wallis’ home in my memory so I could give it to others later and because I would miss them all ferociously.
Yesterday, my great aunt Cosi wrote a note the length and width of the paper towel she’d used as paper. It began, “Hello Yung'uns!” and ended with a drawn heart. Zippered into a vibrant cloth bag next to the note, a scarf waited for me to find it. It was a thank you scarf in a thank you bag. Strong threads of green, blue and indigo will soon decorate my shoulders or dash color around my hips when I wear a black dress. I’ve already planned the scarf's participation in many future outfits.
Cosi knocked on the door after her first day of Philadelphia travel and entered with sunflowers. I was modeling the scarf and saying thank you and she stood under her bag straps with full hands while I held nothing but my present. I didn’t take the flowers, thinking they couldn’t be another gift for us; but of course they were and of course they needed water. Cosi set down her bags and, with her fingers, wrestled the rubber bands binding the flowers and the tape closing the paper and the paper covering the flowers and I watched without helping which makes me disappointed in myself when I think of it.
Last night, we all ate different shrimp dishes at Vietnam. Cosi reflected on the primal comfort of being sheltered in someone’s home. She thanked Sean and me for what she compared to stopping on a journey and having one’s feet washed and swathed in ointments. We feel thankful for free dinners and the songs in her voice.
To be worthy of these presents, flowers, dinners, and her! I'll continue to offer berries and bread thick with nuts and seeds in the morning. I'll ask questions about her Philadelphia days upon returning home from work, listen to her answers, give her an extra blanket at night when the air conditioner blows a chill draft in her direction, make Sean wear shorts to bed instead the usual boxer-briefs so she doesn’t catch any cracks or morsels through the open door and I'll try to create a warmth strong enough to secure a memory.
Yesterday, my great aunt Cosi wrote a note the length and width of the paper towel she’d used as paper. It began, “Hello Yung'uns!” and ended with a drawn heart. Zippered into a vibrant cloth bag next to the note, a scarf waited for me to find it. It was a thank you scarf in a thank you bag. Strong threads of green, blue and indigo will soon decorate my shoulders or dash color around my hips when I wear a black dress. I’ve already planned the scarf's participation in many future outfits.
Cosi knocked on the door after her first day of Philadelphia travel and entered with sunflowers. I was modeling the scarf and saying thank you and she stood under her bag straps with full hands while I held nothing but my present. I didn’t take the flowers, thinking they couldn’t be another gift for us; but of course they were and of course they needed water. Cosi set down her bags and, with her fingers, wrestled the rubber bands binding the flowers and the tape closing the paper and the paper covering the flowers and I watched without helping which makes me disappointed in myself when I think of it.
Last night, we all ate different shrimp dishes at Vietnam. Cosi reflected on the primal comfort of being sheltered in someone’s home. She thanked Sean and me for what she compared to stopping on a journey and having one’s feet washed and swathed in ointments. We feel thankful for free dinners and the songs in her voice.
To be worthy of these presents, flowers, dinners, and her! I'll continue to offer berries and bread thick with nuts and seeds in the morning. I'll ask questions about her Philadelphia days upon returning home from work, listen to her answers, give her an extra blanket at night when the air conditioner blows a chill draft in her direction, make Sean wear shorts to bed instead the usual boxer-briefs so she doesn’t catch any cracks or morsels through the open door and I'll try to create a warmth strong enough to secure a memory.
How I learned I hated freedom.
A funny email from the boss-man--
This is truly a sad day for the AACR.
Just in case you misunderstood—August 2 is the last day to sign up for events at the AACR Picnic. There’s no law that says you can’t sign up before then.
Signing up early allows the Picnic Activities Committee to more effectively schedule the events. Here we are, 5 days after the signup sheets were posted, and let’s just say the response has not been overwhelming. Heck, it hasn’t even been whelming.
Did you realize that twice as many people have signed up for badminton (8) than softball (4)? Are you kidding me? I’m sure badminton is very popular among the hoity-toity upper crust, but softball is the people’s game. You don’t need skill, you can drink beer while you play, and trash talk is not only permitted, it’s encouraged! What could be more American than that? So do your patriotic duty and sign up to serve on the softball roster. The choice is simple: either you like softball, or you hate freedom.
Friday, July 28, 2006
And another thing about Sean...
Once, Sean tried to tell me that he liked M. Night Shyamalan despite the many faults of his movies. He said, “Anyway, I like M. Night Shmyamlan…Shymalama…crap. I like M. Night ShyamaLAMA-DING-DONG.” Well, now we both LOVE Shyamalamadingdong. Sean compared seeing "Lady in the Water" last night to watching "The Neverending Story" when we were 6. He was right. Go see it if you like things that are awesome.
EQUALS
EQUALS AWESOME.
Q.E.D.
EQUALS
EQUALS AWESOME.
Q.E.D.
He takes my heavy things from me.
Sean kissed my forehead and took my heavy clothes from me last night.
He did this after we stripped, giggling in the hallway leading to our apartment.
We stripped after we walked, with patient steps past questioning faces, without any free records, doused by a thunderstorm for blocks and blocks.
We walked after we helped a music store owner rescue his sidewalk records from a light rain.
We rescued after we decided we loved (too much to take cover!) the few, chilled raindrops that landed on us like tiny birds and then flew away by evaporating on our hot skin.
We loved the few, chilled raindrops after we sweltered on the sidewalks of South Philly, walking home from a movie theater.
We sweltered and walked home after we saw "Lady in the Water".
We saw "Lady in the Water" after we meandered to the movie theater.
We meandered to the movie theater after Sean met me on the street, kissed my forehead and took my heavy bag from me.
He did this after we stripped, giggling in the hallway leading to our apartment.
We stripped after we walked, with patient steps past questioning faces, without any free records, doused by a thunderstorm for blocks and blocks.
We walked after we helped a music store owner rescue his sidewalk records from a light rain.
We rescued after we decided we loved (too much to take cover!) the few, chilled raindrops that landed on us like tiny birds and then flew away by evaporating on our hot skin.
We loved the few, chilled raindrops after we sweltered on the sidewalks of South Philly, walking home from a movie theater.
We sweltered and walked home after we saw "Lady in the Water".
We saw "Lady in the Water" after we meandered to the movie theater.
We meandered to the movie theater after Sean met me on the street, kissed my forehead and took my heavy bag from me.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
A list of 5 things of which I currently cannot get enough (2)
Spinach salad with mango spears
www.gofugyourself.com
The stories in "How We Are Hungry"
Old postcards
Old people
www.gofugyourself.com
The stories in "How We Are Hungry"
Old postcards
Old people
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Asking to Pee or How to Pour a Cool Death on My Usually Burning Love.
The fight began before it began. We were at 30th Street Station waiting for a train to Atlantic City. At Au Bon Pain, Sean failed to estimate how much his sandwich would cost and so he failed to take the appropriate amount of money from his wallet. He waited for the cashier to display the amount then rifled through his wallet and pockets, like a normal person . I don’t want to date a normal person. I want to date Efficient. We sat to eat. Clocks ticked and our train’s number worked its way to the top of the Arrivals/ Destinations board. Sean failed to wrap up his sandwich and screw the cap on his sparkling soda before the board displayed our track number. The board displayed our track number. People rushed to track 4 and we both saw it. I got up, speaking with my actions. He stayed seated, wrapping up his trash. Finally, he stood and stepped towards me, but instead of walking towards track 4, he shot all of my remaining love dead by asking, “Mind if I go to the bathroom real quick?”
We got the last two seats together on the car. It took me 20 minutes to open my mouth about it. If I'd said anything sooner, it would have started with, “It’s over” and ended with, “because!! I!! hate!! how!! you!! do! everything!" I would have easily exceeded a rational person's exclamation point quota. The fight filled the car with fierce whispers and bursts of noise. Finally, Sean spackled my mouth shut and dropped my heart when he said, “You’re such a stress-case, Jess; you stress about things after they haven’t even happened. We’re sitting together, right? We got seats, right? You complain and you stress and you worry about EVERYTHING.”
So this is the background for the questions I lately mull over.
1. Where exactly is the line between efficient and stress-case?
2. Why is Sean so freaking relaxed (read: slow)?
3. How much is a crack-pipe?
We got the last two seats together on the car. It took me 20 minutes to open my mouth about it. If I'd said anything sooner, it would have started with, “It’s over” and ended with, “because!! I!! hate!! how!! you!! do! everything!" I would have easily exceeded a rational person's exclamation point quota. The fight filled the car with fierce whispers and bursts of noise. Finally, Sean spackled my mouth shut and dropped my heart when he said, “You’re such a stress-case, Jess; you stress about things after they haven’t even happened. We’re sitting together, right? We got seats, right? You complain and you stress and you worry about EVERYTHING.”
So this is the background for the questions I lately mull over.
1. Where exactly is the line between efficient and stress-case?
2. Why is Sean so freaking relaxed (read: slow)?
3. How much is a crack-pipe?
California, the time is right.
Today my mom called from the road to tell me she was safe. She called yesterday to say she was safe in Missouri and the day before, she was safe in Indiana and the day before, Ohio, and the day before, PA, and the day before that, she and my father and my sister and my cat and 2 dogs spent the last night at our once-home in Mahopac, New York 10541.
Dad told me he narrowly avoided two car accidents in New Jersey on their first day of driving. Rather than lauding his excellent driving skills, I convinced myself that all statistics stand in favor of my family's certain death or loss of limbs. As I see it, they are tempting fate. They might as well climb a mountain with golf clubs raised in a lighting storm or cover themselves in honey and salmon for a hike in bear country. A pit stop at my grandparent's Arkansas home keeps them safe right now, leaving my worries hushed and my sleep restful. The only threat I can think of Arkansas bringing is a very real one- that a spankin' new Walmart might fall from the sky, crushing my family flat as that posessed smiley face that knocks the prices (as well as my mistaken belief that rampant sexism and monopolies were illegal) down to the ground.
"So, I'm half way, now. Half way between my old life and my new life. I feel weepy," my mom said on the phone.
Soon, the fam will settle into a small house overlooking the Pacific ocean in Rancho Palos Verdes, California. There, banana leaves shade people and Birds of Paradise adorn front lawns. My mom worried about and mourned the move for months. Of course she did. Time and energy drove her roots deep through Mahopac. Circumstances pulled and tugged until my family separated from New York soil and they're all sore and dying a little bit right now. Soon, though, soon soon Thursday soon, they'll be sinking into Califonia soil and their frayed ends will heal while seeking drink and food. They'll settle themselves in the ground again. Friends wait to be made. Boys wait to pass out from Lindsay's hotness. Yoga classes wait to be taken. Legs wait to be slimmed on beachy walks and skin waits to be dipped in the ocean.
Dad told me he narrowly avoided two car accidents in New Jersey on their first day of driving. Rather than lauding his excellent driving skills, I convinced myself that all statistics stand in favor of my family's certain death or loss of limbs. As I see it, they are tempting fate. They might as well climb a mountain with golf clubs raised in a lighting storm or cover themselves in honey and salmon for a hike in bear country. A pit stop at my grandparent's Arkansas home keeps them safe right now, leaving my worries hushed and my sleep restful. The only threat I can think of Arkansas bringing is a very real one- that a spankin' new Walmart might fall from the sky, crushing my family flat as that posessed smiley face that knocks the prices (as well as my mistaken belief that rampant sexism and monopolies were illegal) down to the ground.
"So, I'm half way, now. Half way between my old life and my new life. I feel weepy," my mom said on the phone.
Soon, the fam will settle into a small house overlooking the Pacific ocean in Rancho Palos Verdes, California. There, banana leaves shade people and Birds of Paradise adorn front lawns. My mom worried about and mourned the move for months. Of course she did. Time and energy drove her roots deep through Mahopac. Circumstances pulled and tugged until my family separated from New York soil and they're all sore and dying a little bit right now. Soon, though, soon soon Thursday soon, they'll be sinking into Califonia soil and their frayed ends will heal while seeking drink and food. They'll settle themselves in the ground again. Friends wait to be made. Boys wait to pass out from Lindsay's hotness. Yoga classes wait to be taken. Legs wait to be slimmed on beachy walks and skin waits to be dipped in the ocean.
Monday, July 24, 2006
What I read when the thought of leaving chills my skin.
From A Year in the World, by Frances Mayes:
Travel pushes my boundaries. When you travel, you become invisible, if you want. I do want. I like to be the observer. What makes people who they are? Could I feel at home here? No one expects you to have the stack of papers back by Tuesday, or to check messages, or to fertilize the geraniums. When traveling, you have the delectable possibility of not understanding a word of what is said to you. Language becomes simply a musical background for watching bicycles zoom alongside a canal, calling for nothing from you. Travel releases spontaneity. You become a godlike creature full of choice, free to visit the stately pleasure domes, make love in the morning, sketch a bell tower. You open, as in childhood, and-for a time- receive this world. There’s the visceral aspect, too- the huntress who is free. Free to go, free to return home bringing memories to lay on the hearth.
Travel pushes my boundaries. When you travel, you become invisible, if you want. I do want. I like to be the observer. What makes people who they are? Could I feel at home here? No one expects you to have the stack of papers back by Tuesday, or to check messages, or to fertilize the geraniums. When traveling, you have the delectable possibility of not understanding a word of what is said to you. Language becomes simply a musical background for watching bicycles zoom alongside a canal, calling for nothing from you. Travel releases spontaneity. You become a godlike creature full of choice, free to visit the stately pleasure domes, make love in the morning, sketch a bell tower. You open, as in childhood, and-for a time- receive this world. There’s the visceral aspect, too- the huntress who is free. Free to go, free to return home bringing memories to lay on the hearth.
Friday, July 21, 2006
A girl can dream...
I received an email at work this morning. This is my dream response to it:
Dear Dr. Dalton,
Please find my responses in bold below.
Hello, hi, butthead,
I declined to review this manuscript after recieving IT’S I BEFORE E EXCEPT AFTER C, IDIOT an email voicing the opinion of being "very disappointed" in my inability to review this paper in a timely manner, and that I am "ignoring" professional reminders. BUT YOU WERE UNABLE AND YOU WERE IGNORING- YOU'VE HAD THE PAPER FOR A MONTH! DO YOU READ ONE WORD PER HOUR? Rather than prolong the editor's agony AGONY? UGH. I HATE HYPERBOLE MORE THAN DEATH and to continue to promote extreme EXTREME? AGAIN, I HATE IT WITH THE STRENGTH OF A THOUSAND BURNING SUNS disappointment, I felt it best to decline to review this manuscript.WHERE'S YOUR SENSE OF COMMITMENT, WIMP? I HATE YOUR GUTS.
William S. Dalton, Ph.D., M.D., LOSER
Worst regards possible,
Jessica
Dear Dr. Dalton,
Please find my responses in bold below.
Hello, hi, butthead,
I declined to review this manuscript after recieving IT’S I BEFORE E EXCEPT AFTER C, IDIOT an email voicing the opinion of being "very disappointed" in my inability to review this paper in a timely manner, and that I am "ignoring" professional reminders. BUT YOU WERE UNABLE AND YOU WERE IGNORING- YOU'VE HAD THE PAPER FOR A MONTH! DO YOU READ ONE WORD PER HOUR? Rather than prolong the editor's agony AGONY? UGH. I HATE HYPERBOLE MORE THAN DEATH and to continue to promote extreme EXTREME? AGAIN, I HATE IT WITH THE STRENGTH OF A THOUSAND BURNING SUNS disappointment, I felt it best to decline to review this manuscript.WHERE'S YOUR SENSE OF COMMITMENT, WIMP? I HATE YOUR GUTS.
William S. Dalton, Ph.D., M.D., LOSER
Worst regards possible,
Jessica
SEAN'S COMING TO IRELAND.
I opened the letter.
I read it over the phone.
He called his family.
He came home.
I did a jig in the bathtub.
He threw his head back, grinning face to the ceiling.
We danced to Fergie's.
We drank beer.
We planned adventures on bar napkins.
We gobbled food and laughed.
We’re going to Ireland together.
I read it over the phone.
He called his family.
He came home.
I did a jig in the bathtub.
He threw his head back, grinning face to the ceiling.
We danced to Fergie's.
We drank beer.
We planned adventures on bar napkins.
We gobbled food and laughed.
We’re going to Ireland together.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Passing on the crazy
When I walk home from work, I pass a crazy (maybe?) man who looks perpetually suprised, bemused and harmless, kind of like Crabman from "My Name is Earl."
I can't stop my face from imitating his because I want to see how it feels on and when I do, I become the crazy (maybe?) person for other people. I wonder if those people imitate me and then other people think they're crazy and so on and so on until a bunch of quickly-Crabmans roam the city inspiring others to be quickly Crabman around 4:45 PM Monday-Friday.
I can't stop my face from imitating his because I want to see how it feels on and when I do, I become the crazy (maybe?) person for other people. I wonder if those people imitate me and then other people think they're crazy and so on and so on until a bunch of quickly-Crabmans roam the city inspiring others to be quickly Crabman around 4:45 PM Monday-Friday.
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