Wednesday, I promise

I promise I will make a real entry on Wednesday. I've just been so damn busy. I have a one act play due tomorrow at 11:30 and I am 1o pages short and its 11:44pm the day before. However, lots of things; exciting, frusterating, really uber-exciting and great things have been happening and I really need to unload as soon as I finish this play.

Something

Something moved, not a something that can be defined, just a something. I'm not sure if I could even describe it to other people. Its not a concrete something and its not a tangible something, just a something. Someone said something to me on Saturday morning that made me realize that it had moved. I'll use the analogy of gears. Gears rotate and they line up perfectly, well, when I hade my first breakdown, it was like someone had hit the gears, so they were misaligned and they kept moving, but they never quite lined up and now it's like they line up again. Perfectly insych with one another. Its amazing. I feel whole again. The sunshine is warm and people are friendly. I know that sounds cliche, but its the most amazing thing ever. And I'm happy. Just happy, simple and pure.

SISTER

While, I've already started the subject of sisters, I'd like to go on about that for a while, before I return to my day to day activities.
I had a dream about my sister again this morning, because again I was not in bed until, well, this time, 5:30ish. Yeah, I'll talk about that later. So I was dreaming about my sister. This was a very different dream then the one from before. In this dream my sister came to visit me here at college, which is actually something I've been trying to get her to do. So my little sister came to visit me because she had just had a baby. I'm not sure why my sister would be pregnant so young, because a) she's a virgin, b) she recently came out as bi and c) she never, ever wants to have children, like me. So the image of my sister just having had a baby is rather silly. It is quite a dream image. In my dream I aked my sister about her baby, because she hadn't brought it. Yes, the baby was an it. No gender. She, in turn, said that our mother was taking care of it. Which was odd on real life. I'm not sure what my mother would do if either of us had a baby so young. I know my father would support out decision to have an abortion, but I'm not too sure of my mother's stance on that issue. I know she is pro-choice, but there is a difference from believing that women should be able to make the decision for you and actually making the decision. I know many pro-choice people, who would never get an abortion themself, but support other women's rights to, because it is a right that we deserve. They make me happy. "Pro-life" people just seem so ignorant. They are really infuriating. For that reason I will leave this line of thought and return to my original line. My sister. She is quite and interesting character. I respect her more now that I view what she does from a distance and also that i'm not out of high school. I have a more bird's eye view on her life and struggles which make me more encouraging of her strong suits. Like art, she's a really good visual artist. She really sees how images can be put together.
When we were little and would fight and tell each other we hated each other and so on, etc....Our mom would always tell us that we should be nice to each other because in the long run, she's the only person who will always stand up for me. (or at least the would be the ideal) Its a really sweet thought. I understand what she means my it now. Its interesting how you reach a certain age and realize that your parents are right sometimes, I'm not saying always or often, but they have lived longer then you and they've had experiences that you haven't. Its then that you see you parents as adults and people, not just as parents. It really interesting. My parents are people too. Its a much more fulfilling relationship, treating your parents like adults/people and then they'll treat you like an adult/person. I know my mom is having problems with that change in our realtionship, but I think overall its going pretty well. I'm just super glad that I was on the other side of the country when she found out I wasn't a virgin. I thank the goddess, for that one, but she would never have found out if my silly immature friends didn't feel the need to tell their mothers everthing about my private life. My virginity, or lack there of, is my business and no one else's.
Ultimely, my sister didn't find out from my either. That was an odd series of events. Anyway, they still creep me out and I prefer not to talk about them.
All in all, I do really love my sister. She is a source of amusement and enjoyment.

In about an hour the boy I briefly mentioned last week is going to come and pick me up, then we're going to dinner and something else, which is to be decided later. I'm very excited. He is so nice and smart and kind and intelligent and caring and considerate and I could go on, but I'll probably just keep repeating synonyms. So I'm very excited, which I already said. Since, I've already told myself not to repeat myself and in turn repeates myself, and am creating overconfusing sentences, I'm going to go read. I'm reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M. Pirsig. Its a very thought provoking book. I do suggest it for anyone who wants to do yoga for their brain. At the beginning he gives an authors note which is, in my opinion, the best author's note I've ever read: "What follows is based on actual occurrences. Although much has been chnged for rhetorical purposes, it must be regarded in its essence as fact. However, it should in no way be associated with that great body of factual information relating to orthodox Zen Buddhist practice. It's not very factual on motorcycles either. " That just about sums up the book. I think it is amazing. Over and Out.

Singular

I had a strange dream last night, which was probably really this morning since I didn't wake up until noon. It wasn't so much that the dream itself was strange, because dreams are generally regarded as strange because they don't resemble real life in anyway. There was a singular haunting moment of the dream, which in a way does seem like real life, because there are singular moments of life that still haunt me to this day, but happened when I was in kindergarten. The dream wa going along as dreams do. I was at some sort of party where everyone was dressed up in very bright, unique outfits. Something happened where people were trading costumes or something - that's the fuzzy part - for some reason or another I got mad, about something or another. Anyway, the moment that haunts be was a point in my anger where I was so mad at my sister I was physically beating her and when she was lying on the floor bleeding, I stepped on her head and cracked her skull. Her brains didn't ooze out or anything, but in my dream I heard a crack. The very thought still makes me sick to my stomache. Yet, in my dream self a part of me wanted to stomp on her head again and kill her, but another part of me, the part that won out, knew it was wrong, it was murder and she's my sister.
They say dreams are distortions of reality, desires or subconscious thoughts. I've even had dreams that tell the future. Not very much of the future, just snap shots, like photos of the future, singular images without a context of time. I never know which ones will become the future, usually its the dreams that don't matter too much. They don't scare me, or bother me or capture beautiful images. The future is usually the dreams I remember when I wake up and wonder what the rest of the dream was and promptly forget before breakfast. Those are the dreams that come true. They sneak up on you unexpectedly and jolt you out of reality for a moment.
I know this dream won't come true because of the vividness of the entire action. I could never do anything like that to be sister. Speaking of my sister, I wrote this play that in the back of my mind relates to my relationship with my sister. It is not autibiograph, and I'm sure no one but myself would be able to draw the connections besides that the main character has a younger sister. Jeanette Winterson says: "The most powerful written work often masquaredes as autobiography." Then Toni Morrison argues that other way, all fiction comes from autobography.
JAKE(male,18) and SAM(female, 18) are playing chess.
SAM
Ya know what I’ve never done before?
JAKE
What?
SAM
I’ve never mowed a lawn.
JAKE
So?
SAM
Its such a mundane thing. You’d think every eighteen year old would’ve mowed a lawn once in her life.
JAKE
Its really not that exciting.
SAM
So? I have a lawn. In fact everyone I know has a lawn. You’d think that one day I would have mowed a lawn; out of curiosity or for money or sheer boredom. I am bored a lot.
JAKE
I play chess.
SAM
So do I.
JAKE
I mowed a lawn once. With one of those really old push mowers, that you had to pull a cord to start. It was my neighbors. He said he’d give me 10 bucks and when you’re 11 that’s a lot of money.
SAM
Did he pay you?
JAKE
Of course he paid me, but it wouldn’t start and when it finally did it would only run for like 15 minutes then die again. So it took like an hour to mow the entire front lawn and its the same size as mine. Which isn’t very big.
SAM
Yeah, but you’ve done it. You’ve experienced mowing a lawn. I’ve never done it.
JAKE
If anyone ever needs their lawn mowed I’ll call you.
SAM
Thanks.
JAKE
How can you still be beating me, when you’re talking about mowing lawns?
SAM
I’ve played a lot of chess.
JAKE
But usually you don’t let me talk, so you can concentrate.
SAM
Yeah.
JAKE
Then how are you still winning?
SAM
I’ve played a lot of chess.
JAKE
That doesn’t explain how you’re beating me.
SAM
I read a lot of books, I study the moves, I study the champions, I study my opponents, I practice against myself.
JAKE
You play a lot of chess.
SAM
Yeah. More recently.
JAKE
Why?
SAM
My sister has a boyfriend.
JAKE
Little Sophie?
SAM
Yeah, Phie has a BF. She’s not so little anymore either.
JAKE
Is he nice?
SAM
I guess.
JAKE
You guess?
SAM
I’ve only met him once.
JAKE
You’re little sister has a boyfriend and you’ve only met him once.
SAM
Yeah.
JAKE
You’re a horrible older sister.
SAM
I know.
JAKE
If I got a girlfriend, my older brother would be all over me with questions in like 5 seconds.
SAM
Yeah, because Jeff’s a good older brother.
JAKE
He’s fine.
SAM
I’m a horrible older sister.
JAKE
No, you’re not.
SAM
Yes, I am. I use to beat up my sister whenever she bothered me. I would punch her as hard as possible until my mom would stop me.
JAKE
So? Jeff would hit me sometimes, but I hit back. That’s what siblings do.
SAM
I would hit her so hard. I haven’t much recently ‘cause she’s bigger than me now, but I’d just keep punching her and punching her. I really wanted to kill her and for nothing. Sometimes it was because she said something I didn’t like or because she took something of mine without asking. I would just punch her until she cried and I pulled her hair and beat her head in the floor. I just wanted her to go limp and be dead, but I never got that far. Mom would always stop me.
JAKE
I...I’m sorry.
SAM
Then for a while I tried to make her anorexic. I always told her she was fat and would remind her of what she was eating and how much weight it would make her gain. I even explained to her how to make herself throw up.
JAKE
Did she?
SAM
No. I guess that’s good. She has always been stronger than me. I think that’s why I hated her so much. She was everything I wasn’t and never will be. Maybe I was jealous of her? I don’t know. I think the things I really hated her for, the reasons that I hit her, were the things she did that reminded me of myself. People have always said we look alike, like twins, and I have always struggled to be the older one, to be different, but I could never break away. They always thought I was younger. I hated myself too much. Maybe the things I hated my sister for, were the things that I hated in myself. So I tried to beat them out of her, so she’d be better than me, do better than me, or maybe because I thought that if I beat them out of her, I could beat them out of me. I never did beat them out of me. They’re still here, but she’s not. She’s not here physically and she’s not the same person mentally. She’s not me. I guess I did beat myself out of her, but its still in me. In here. I’m still here.
JAKE
Where else would you be?
SAM
Out there.
JAKE
hat’s out there?
SAM
Life.
JAKE
We’re living in here too, Sam.
SAM
Are we?
JAKE
We’re breathing right? My heart’s still beating. I would call that living.
SAM
Is it really living? I mean really living. I sit here and kill plastic pawns with my plastic rook, who carries a plastic sword. Is that living?
JAKE
Yes.
SAM
No. I’m not out there doing things. I’m not out there...mowing lawns.
JAKE
You don’t have to mow lawns to be alive.
SAM
Its not about the lawns, Jake. Its about being out there and doing something, really doing something. Its about feeling the sun burning your skin, the lawn mower blistering your hands, the grass bits hitting you in the eyes, the smell of the cut grass, the sweat forming all over your body, the salty taste of sweat, the way it makes your shirt stick to your back and breasts, so all the neighbor boys watch you.
JAKE
Sam, its about making the grass shorter.
SAM
Who really cares what length their grass is? Its about not sitting in the dark watching plastic wars won and lost.
JAKE
I like chess.
SAM
There are real wars out there. The lawn is a war. The grass fights to grow on forever and be whatever length it wants. The mower fights to keep it short and tamed. Its a struggle for power. One side having power over the other. Just like I wanted power over my sister.
JAKE
What does your sister have to do with mowing lawns, and how do either have to do with war? Sam are you stoned?
SAM
No. I hate pot. I like being in control. That’s why I beat up my sister, that’s why I play chess, that’s why I want to mow the lawn. Power. I want power. Now my sister has a boyfriend, I have never mowed a lawn, but I still always beat you at chess.
JAKE
You always win. You have a lot of power. I’ve never beat you.
SAM
So? It doesn’t matter. Chess is not real. My sister is real, lawns are real, chess is not. JAKESam, what’s wrong? We never talk about anything. Not even chess. We just play. SAMI tried to kill myself on Thursday.
JAKE
Oh my god.
SAMThat’s why I haven’t been at school.
JAKE
I thought you’d finally convinced your mom that you’re too smart for high school.
SAM
No. I slit my wrists.
JAKE
God Sam. Are you all right?
SAM
I’m...
JAKE
What am I saying? That’s the dumbest question ever. You tried to kill yourself. Or course you’re not “all right”. I sound like such an idiot.
SAM
Its okay. I didn’t give you any warning. Its not exactly a chess table topic.
JAKE
Yeah.
SAM
My mom came into my room to tell me dinner was ready and saw my blood all over the floor. Dad called the ambulance. Phie wasn’t home. I’m glad she didn’t see it. Mom cleaned up the blood before she got home. We haven’t told her what happened. I don’t remember much after the paramedics got there. I think I blacked out, ya know, loss of blood can do that to you.
JAKE
Yeah, I guess.
SAM
I remember waking up in the hospital on Saturday. There were flowers and my Gramma had send me a teddy bear. She always sends teddy bears. I think its her solution to life.
JAKE
Its a good solution.
SAM
Life doesn’t have a solution. It simply is and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.
JAKE
Yes there is. You can play it until its over.
SAM
I tried to play it, then I tried to hit the stop on the clock, but mine was broken and instead of the game stopping, it just made the clock change speeds, sometimes its too fast and other times its too slow, never consistent and now I just keep playing because there’s no way out. The stop button didn’t work, now I have to keep playing. I guess I have to wait for someone else to win, so I can get out. Because if I win, it will just keep going.
JAKE
Sam, there are so many people who want you here and it doesn’t matter if you win or lose or beat your sister or mow a lawn or have power. You’re here and you’re alive, that’s what’s important.
SAM
That used to be all I needed. To simply exist, nothing more, nothing less. Now I need something and I’m not finding it. It doesn’t matter if other people want me here and it doesn’t matter who those other people are. I have to want me here and I don’t, but I can’t leave.
JAKE
I don’t want you to leave.
SAM
That’s the whole point. I don’t have any say over my own life, I don’t have any power. My mother always stopped me from beating my sister and then my parents stopped me from killing myself and now you’re stopping me. I can’t live and I can’t die. What am I suppose to do?
JAKE
Try.
SAM
I’ve been trying for 18 years. I’m sick of trying. I don’t want to try anymore. Everything I’ve tried leaves me more and more powerless. I couldn’t even kill myself. I tried that, but was stopped. I don’t have any power. Not over my life, not over my death.
JAKE
You always beat me at chess. You have power over the chess armies.
SAM
Chess is fake. If you study the moves enough you can win. Its not about control or power or anything. Its just about knowing and doing. Like math.
JAKE
Math is hard.
SAM
Chess is just the same as math. You memorize formulas, then you learn how to apply them .
JAKE
I always had problems figuring out which one to use.
SAM
That was the easy part. It was so cut and dry. I never had to think about it. You have a problem, you apply a formula, you get an answer. That’s the best part about math, you always get an answer and its either right or wrong, there is never any in between. Life is only the in between.
JAKE
That’s what makes it exciting.
SAM
But I never know if I’m right or wrong.
JAKE
That’s the best part. Sometimes you’re right, once in a while you’re wrong, but most of the time you’re neither and you get to decide for yourself what you think about it or how you feel about it.
SAM
But I don’t feel.
JAKE
How can you not feel. You’re human. All humans feel.
SAM
I don’t.
JAKE
Not ever?
SAM
Never.
JAKE
Not even a little sometimes?
SAM
Never.
JAKE
But that’s the grey area of life. Feeling. You’ve never existed in the grey area?
SAM
Not ever.
JAKE
Never?
SAM
I’ve never existed in the black, the white or the grey areas of life. I have simply existed.
JAKE
But you exist.
SAM
Life should be more than existing.
JAKE
It’s not. You have to make it more than existing.
SAM
It wont let me.
JAKE
Life isn’t stopping you.
SAM
Its not stopping me, but its not letting me.
JAKE
What?
SAM
How have I lived? I’ve tried everything. I’ve tried chess, I’ve tried kissing, I’ve tried beating my sister. Life won’t let me live and it wont let me die.
JAKE
There’s more to living than dying.
SAM
Dying is the ultimate act of living.
Sophie(female, 16) enters.
SOPHIE
Sam, Mom told me to come get you for dinner. She really wants you home. She made your favorite. Greek Salad and pasta shells with meat sauce.
SAM
I’m going to finish this game first then I’ll be right over. Okay?
SOPHIE
Okay, but you better be there. Mom’s really worried about you. Its funny. Sophie makes to exit. SAM
Wait, Phie, don’t go. Come here. Stay, we’re almost finish.
SOPHIE
Are you wining?
JAKE
Sam always wins.
SOPHIE
You’ll have to teach me sometime.
SAM
Sure, but you have to tell me about your boyfriend.
SOPHIE
Yeah, sure. If you want.
SAM
I want to know who you spend time with.
SOPHIE
Okay. Whatever, chess-nerd.
JAKE
Checkmate.
SAM
Ha. I lost. Congratulations.

Well, that's my little play. I do love my sister and the play is dedicated to her. I think the fact that I love her so much is why I was so distrubed by my dream.

Today I had dinner with Scurvyseawench, her dad, countrybird, her mom, tokentestostrone, and his ex-girlfriend/love of his life. It was all fairly awkward. The Dad and The Mom are both pyshcologists and talked about that across the table to a while. Tokentestostrone and his girl were very couply on one side of the table and shared a meal and everything. It made me want to puke*. I have reasons for this desire to puke 1) I am no longer fond of PDA, I used to think it was cute, but no more 2)I've never seen tokentestostrone like that before 3) It made me nervous in front of the parents. However, I did not puke, but a shot of insulin might have been nice. I really like countrybird's mother. She is very sweet and genuine. She's seems like a great mom. Scurvyseawnech's dad on the other hand, while he seems nice, I think I've heard too much about him from Scurvyseawench to have an unbiased opinion of my own, besides I've already met him briefly before, when I visited Scurvyseawench over winterbreak. Despite the awkwardness of the dinner, I was nice and did a good deed. Tokentestostrone wanted to take his girl to see RENT, so I helped him rush it by putting my name in too, so he had a greater chance and what do you know, my name was called. Then his girl's name was called, but mine was called first. Anyway, we bought all four tickets and scurvyseawench and her father went to see it also.
My head is spinning. I've went to the gym today and haven't eaten much, and it was rather carby and starchy, I usually need fruits and vegatables or I pass out. I don't know how I've made it so far. On that note, I should go to bed before I pass out.

*PUKE: although a word regarded as gross and "uncouth" (note: not actual quote) by my mother. The word was first used by William Shakespeare. It has been claimed that he made it up. I don't know about that, it might have been in spoken english at the time, but he was the first one to write it down. So, if Shakespeare uses it, it can't be bad.

Your Seduction Style: The Dandy

You're a non-traditionalist, not limited by gender roles or expectations.Your sexuality is more fluid than that - and you defy labels or categories.It's hard to pin you down, and that's what's fascinating about you.You have the psychology of both a male and a female, and you can relate to anyone.

What'>http://www.blogthings.com/seducerquiz/">What Is Your Seduction Style?

offended

I was not offended. My class had a discussion about being offended. It was very thought provoking. I used to get offended, but have been less so recently and a friend made a very interesting comment. She said "its like the department is breeding us not to get offended". Its almost like we're not allowed to be offended. However, I think being offended is a very reasonable response to somethings. Why can't I be offended when someone uses the word (warning: a word that is sometimes found offensive is coming up, weak of heart turn away) cunt. I think most normal people should be offended by it, but then they keep telling us that we're not normal: we're writers. Ha. Well, besides that we moved on to what would cause a modern audience to tear a theater down because of the performance. Now this sort of thing actually happened once upon a time. When Ibsen's A Doll's House first opened the audience refused to leave the theater at the end because they refused to believe the ending (I will not spoil it for you), it is also said that they rioted after the show, when they finally left the theater. Also, in France, a play called Ubu Roi, which roughly translates to Ubu the King, the audience actually distroyed the theater, they tore the entire building down. The only modern equivilent I can think of is when people in LA rioted after the Lakers' games. I think they rioted twice. Once when the won and once when they lost. Who knows about that one, even I don't want to specualte. Anyway, the point I'm getting at is that it would be very interesting to teach or take a class on "How to Offend your Audience". I thought it would be amusing. That's all. P.S. the movie Ed Wood, by Tim Burton with Johnny Dep is hilarious.

The Gates

The Gates. An art project by Cristo and Jeanne-Claude which involves filling Central Park with giant saffron gates with curtains hanging from the top. There are thousands of these gates lining every walk way of Central Park. The one question that every one in New York and around the country seems to be asking is: "Why?" The only adequate response I've heard is: "Why not?"
Cristo and Jeanne-Claude says The Gates only serve and aestetic purpose to the park. They struggle over three decades to construct these gates because they would look cool. Yet, this answer doesn't seem to satisfy anyone and I ask: Why not? Why do teenage girls pierce their bellybuttons or bleach their hair blonde? Why do mid-aged men drive Corvets and wear sunglasses? Are they trying to make statement? The teenage girls and old men do it because it looks "cool" by their standards. So, Cristo and Jeanne-Claude think the saffron gates covering Central Park in February looks cool. Who's to question their personal taste? I'm not defending Cristo and Jeanne-Claude's actions nor am I denouncing them, I'm just presenting a side that I feel hasn't been addressed.
Let me start at the beginning of my experience with the work of Cristo and Jeanne-Claude. I was seven. I was sitting in a hot Honda Accord with my mother, my father and my annoying younger sister sweating beside my in the back seat. As a side note, I don't find my sister annoying anymore, we've both grown up a lot since then. So, my parents loaded my sister and I into the car one morning and drove into the middle-of-California-nowhere. Let me set the scene for you. Me, my family, a hot car, a two lane highway weaving through the California plains and giant yellow umbrellas. What would you think? I had no idea why they were there. To a seven year giant yellow unbrellas in the middle of nowhere is VERY confusing. I wanted to know WHY there were unbrellas in the plains and WHY they were open when it was sunny and WHY we drove in a hot car for hours so see them. To a seven year old they didn't make sense. Now, as a nineteen year old aspirering writer I understand that they don't have to mean anything, but it took twelve years to figure that out. So seven year old me needed a reason. The umbrellas needed a reason. So I came up with a reason. The umbrellas were there because a big company was having a company picnic. I picture lots of men and women in suits milling around eating picnic food while enjoying the shade of the giant umbrellas. For a seven year old this was enough of a reason and when I had my reason I was ready to go home. Now, I back to the umbrellas and the few visual memories I have of them stretching out across the grasslands. Then I understand something, its not a point or a reason, just a something. The presense of the umbrellas emphasized the endlessness, expansiveness and exposedness (I know this is not a word, let's pretend) of the plains of California. Before they were just plains, but now the complete nothingness of them seems so evident.
How does this relate to The Gates, well aside from the fact that the two projects are by the same artists, The Umbrellas is the one project that is remotely similar to The Gates. The other projects of Cristo and Jeanne-Claude generally involve what the media calls "wrapping", a title that Jeanne-Claude does not hestitant to label rediculous. The Gates are thousands of individula structures, alone they might be cute and not given much notice, but when thousands of them line every walk way of such a public space and Central Park people stand up and take notice. As I walked through Central Park the first afternoon that The Gates were "opened" other things began to jump out at me. On previous visits to Central Park I has seen the joggers and the trees and the ponds and they were very nice. When I visited with The Gates the bright saffron invading this place of nature jumped out at me. It was intruding. It forced this unnatural creation of man into nature, almost like Frankenstein's Creature. Yet, when I started to look for The Gates as I walked beneath then and tried to see where the other paths lead, I didn't see The Gates anymore, I didn't see the saffron billowing in the wind. I saw the trees. I saw the mud. I saw the tourists. I even saw th Hawk that lives in Fifth Avenue. The Gates slowly disappeared and everything else popped out, particularly people who were wearing any shade of orange. I had never noticed so much orange before in my life. It was overwhelming and I'm not sure I care to see that much ever again, but something calls me and even now as I sit here typing with my still busted hand I have a great desire to go back to Central Park and just watch The Gates and beyond The Gates. I'm not the only person to notice that you seeing orange more because of The Gates, one of my teachers was talking about it too.
The idea that The Gates makes everything around them more visible is a really interesting and confusing idea. I feel I can see Central Park better because The Gates are there. Maybe its because they offer a gateway for my to see the park through or they make me really look at the park, or more likely, because The Gates are in the park and I'm looking at them as if they are an art object, so I see the space around them like an art object too.
Either way I think that it is very important that I have taken these experiences in. I hope that one day they will be of value to me as a writer. Or in the very distant future, my god-children (because I refuse to have my own, but I have already been promised god-parent status to some) will come up to me and say "Auntie, what was it like seeing The Umbrellas and The Gates by Cristo and Jeanne-Claude?" and I will NOT say 'pointless', like so many people are apt to predict, I will say "I was an event that define a period and a generation, but it was not my generation. However, I feel lucky to have been there and I feel that in someway it impacted me. I'm not sure if it was for the better or the worse, but it did, for how could something like that not?
Today I heard someone say that they thought The Gates was funded my Osama Bin Laden and was an act of "artist terrorism". I would like to refute this statement. I do not see how, to any stretch of the imagination, anyone could believe that The Gates had anything to do with terrorism. Cristo and Jeanne-Claude themselves say that The Gates are not a statement of any kind and have nothing to do with politics. I understand. Firstly, they were first designed in 1979 (I think, I might be a year or two late), so for them to represent present terrorism is rediculous. Also, if The Gates represent anything, whether the artists say it or not, it has more to do with peace then anything. People from all over the country, all over the world, I'm sure are focking to New York City's Central Park to see them. If anything The Gates are bring people together and into a place where they discuss art open, whether they like it or not. Mostly, whatever The Gates may or may not represent or what you think they may or may not mean, doesn't matter, whether you think they are pretty doesn't even matter, they are opening a public forum on the discussion of art, which is important.

Today is Tuesday!

Today is Tuesday and yet nothing happened. In improv training the phrase "today is tuesday" was used to remind us mid scene that something had to happen. We couldn't just do nothing. the scene has to be about something. I can recall fond memories of having "today is tuesday" yelled at my from a stressed out, underpaid actor, or "Improv Coach". My coach, Andy, a girl, seemed to be mostly due to the fact that we had talent and understood the priciples, but didn't do them in scenes. I understand where the frustration comes from.
So today is tuesday and I haven't done anything. Well, i should do something. I should remember the frustration of my improv coach and be motivated to act. SOMETHING MUST BE DONE. or i should just do my homework now rather then later. Today is tuesday. What makes today special? I........My friend met John Stewart. Well that's something.
The Today is Tuesday approach has come in handy when writing for theater also. It reminds me that something has to happen in each scene which furthers the action of the play. Theater is about action, without action there wouldn't be theater. And so i motivate myself to act, and by act I don't mean as in like an act, but as in to do soemthing. Today IS Tuesday!!!

Valentine's Day

And now back to my regularly scheduled blogging.
I'm going to sound like an old women in a second, so please pardon me. I haven't blogged for the last few days or....cough.....more then a few days, because my hands are shot, chaputz, done for. Well, not now, but they were before. they are better now and I'm kinda taking a risk typing now, but oh well. I probably have carpal tunnel, but I'm not sure. I hope not. I'll go get them checked out on wednesday I think. They've been hurting pretty much since wednesday and typing papers has been a major drag and homework takes presidence of blogging, mostly due to the price of tuition.

And now a message from my sponsor.
Okay, I don't have a sponsor, but that would be pretty cool, or as my roommate would say "wicked awesome". So today is Saint Valentine's Day as it has been called in this christian dominated time and place. I would like to make a few notes on Valentine's Day. Although the origin of the name Saint Valentine is christian, named after a few different dead guys of the same name, who have martyr stories about dying for their faith or something....blah, blah, blah......christianity.....blah.....indocttination.....blah......appropriation of other, older religions......WAIT, that's the important part. So, Saint Valentine's Day was originally of Celtic Origin? That's right. It all started as a Celtic festival and it had some Greek origins too, but they get credit for everything.
Here's a website discussing the conversion from the Greek sex fest to the Christian love fest.
http://www.me2u.com/LoveLore/Valentine/
The Celts though were experts in sex fests. Most of the major holidays have something to do with reproduction and although it often relates to the harvest they would celebrate with sex amongst themselves.
- As a side note, I'm not adovating wild sex parties on Valentines or any other Celtic based holiday. I simply want my people to be given the credit they are due -
Anway, February 2nd was Imbolc which is the Celtic basis of Valentine's.
On a related note, there's this boy, who's really great and I don't want to say anything more so I don't mess anything up.

Le Petite Prince

You are the pilot.

Saint Exupery's 'The Little Prince' Quiz.
brought to you by

All Better

Well, I can now get into my old blog, but I think I will keep my new blog. We'll see as life goes on.

Another day that just passes as it pleases. I slept for most of it, thank goodness. However, I did have class this morning. Actually, two classes, at 8 and 9:30. Talk about hell. Italian was fine, even though I didn't do my homework. Doesn't much matter because I didn't have to turn it in. However, for my freshman writing class (which I feel is a complete waste of time because I'm studying DRAMATIC WRITING, so obviously I know how to write, and well) I did have an essay due that I completely forgot about, but I was very literally saved by the bell. The fire alarm went off 15 minutes before the end of class and the teacher told us to email them to him. So I went back to me room (well after breakfast) and wrote my little essay and then emailed it to my teacher. Talk about that for luck.
Yes, I've had a very lucky weekend. On Sunday, I rushed Wicked The Musical and got a ticket. Even better though, yesterday I was accompanying my friend, who in another blog is referred to as scurveyseawench, for reasons unknown to myself. So scurveyseaswench and I were going to see the second act of Dame Edna (for free. yes thats not technically legal) so while mingling with the crowd for the show next door, waiting for the Dame Edna audience smokers to come out for intermission, we were approached by a women and asked if we want two tickets to Dirty Rotten Scoundrals for free. So we got free orchestra tickets to Dirty Rotten Scoundrals. I feel lucky this weekend. Wow. I'm happy. Well, away go I. Good bye.

Today

I can do this everyday. Yes I can. Yes, yes, yes I can. Thats all for to day. Thank you.

Well, I finally have a blog. Actually, I had a blog before, but something happened and I can't post there any more. It was very frusterating. Anywho, this is my new blog, so welcome one and all. I shall try to by kind, but I am the goddess of death and fertility, so i'm not promising anything.

Today was a rough day, like any ordinary college student - we'll define ordinary later - I own a printer. However, today that printer decided to rebel and it was spurting ink, yes spurting. It was spurting ink everywhere. I'm lucky I didn't get any ink on my clothing On the upside Epson is sending me a new one, because they say the problem is there's and I bought the warrenty. They are very nice. I highly recommend Epson. Good quality, good service.

I mostly wanted to say "I BACK" and now that its been said, I think I will go to bed. Ooh, accidently poetry. Its my favorite kind. Good night.