Sunday, October 31, 2004

...celebration!...

A brief explanation as to why you will not see me around the next few days (in the real world), or hear from me (in the online). It was longer actually, but I realized after that a lot of what I had said I didn't want to share with everyone, and so I copied, pasted, and modified it to put it into an email instead.

Essentially, I am sad and dealing with this, and will not be around very much until I do.



Friday, October 29, 2004

...peace, love, joe...

It seemed appropriate that it was raining as hard as it was. There has to be some physical manifestation in the world of a grief this size. And when it stopped after 45 minutes, I was angry because it wasn't enough. How can less than an hour of wet weather symbolize the loss of an entire life?

In her own grief and frustration, Kelly said that why does it even matter now that he ever stopped dealing, ever got off the bad track, off the streets, if this was how it was going to end. I told her no, because we're all better for him having changed his life around. We're all better for having had him love us, and give us free hugs, and share his stories with us, and work endlessly to change the world, one person at a time.

I wandered around the city for over an hour. We said that the reason was because we wanted to find Alex and be around someone else who knew what we were feeling. I don't know about Janet, but I just needed to get out. I needed to have a reason to leave the house, a purpose, something to do - because suddenly I didn't know what to do anymore, and nothing had a purpose. In Toronto, in California, in Indiana, in Massachussetts, and countless other places, we are wondering what to do. The only thing we can do is sit here in front of the news, trying to soak up all the information we can from Buffalo, to find what happened, how it could happen, why.

I keep running over the phone call in my head, thinking maybe I misheard, maybe it doesn't mean what I think it means. Maybe the words "there's been an accident" and "he's no longer with us" can be taken in a way that doesn't leave such a gaping whole in everything that matters.

I want to be with the people who understand, because if you never knew Joe you will never understand. I want this to not have happened. I want to know what we're supposed to do now.

...cuz i'm super fly when i'm super high...

I did it again - the thing where I read a horoscope that isn't mine and project. I want the horoscope to be read and understood the way I understand it. Ok?

Today: worked 12-5
Tomorrow working: 8:30-3:30
Sunday working: 10-12 and 1-6 (two different jobs)
Monday working: 9-1

This is why I am tired. And, also, not doing well in school.

I want to play tonight. I want to see Matt at the Tranzac, and go to the Green Room, and stay out all night and party - but I have to be up at a god forsaken hour tomorrow, and I need sleep in so many ways, that it is not happening and I am sad. Also the hours are apparently changing tomorrow night, as in the clocks, and I don't know if forward or backwards and I have to know so I don't show up at the wrong time on Sunday.

Kill me. Now please.

...me-owwwwwww...

The problem with having an obnoxiously recurring crush on a guy with a girlfriend is that you'll hang out all week, even spend 2 hours talking on your own at the show of the guy you are "allegedly" crushing on (by which I mean, he's a poor decoy, poor poor musician boy) and your best friend will notice and say "I thought we were here for the show. You two should run away together", and you will think "Yes, yes we should", and you will trek home to bring back Persian coloring books for his amusement; the problem with this is that come Friday morning, he will fly back to the hometown to see his lady.

And then you will be sad. And will have to go to a concert to compensate.

I hate you guys with girlfriends, really I do. I hate you, and you, and you. But mostly you, because I wanted you most -

Incidentally I also hate the 6-year-old guys. AM is starting to become a problem and it is not fair because it is making my workplace environment rather uncomfortable. He is so out of line, and says the rudest things - all because I turned him down. Note to guys: If you turn into a snivelling 6-year old and be mean and plein d'attitude at rejection, you will immediately be categorized niftily as "pathetic" and "not a chance in hell" and lose any chance you *might* have had for any sort of redemption.

Also you run the risk of me wilfully playing to make you jealous by bringing the boy (oh, you decoy you) to the fundraiser, because I am mean and spiteful like that, and will make you feel about THIS small, because every time you are mean to me, that is how small you make *me* feel. And then I will hate you forever, which is sad because AM was one of my good, good friends.

I yelled at the receptionist at Women's College Hospital (by which I mean politely stated my displeasure) and she yelled back (by which I mean, joked that I should go to Buffalo or something). I want to go now, and now. And not in two weeks. Because hurting for two weeks is NOT part of the plan. Okay? *Whimper*

Pssst... I got the costume. It's ready and it's hotter than I thought, courtesy of Tara and her ruffley skirt.

...tawny gypsy girl... It was inspired. And is actually going to be the most perfect costume. You should all be there to see it, but alas the event is sold out. And also you are infinitely not-cool enough. But hot diggity-damn, it'll be a good night.

Thursday, October 28, 2004

...life's no storybook...

I thought I knew the drill down pat - I figured, hey, with the practise I have, there won't be any curve balls coming at me. Quick appointment, half-hour labwork, new round of antibiotics (I even won a bet - predicted Cipro), and boom boom I'd be out of there by 10.

No such luck, as you can see by the fact that it is now almost noon. Apparently, medical practitioners see things that I don't, because all of a sudden she's talking about ultrasounds and scans and all business of matters and before you know it I've bought myself a 2-day stint at Women's College (or as I like to refer to it, Hell) for monitoring and what have you.

It would appear that I was mistaken - no woman can be a superwoman. When juggling full-time school, 2.5 part time jobs, and a semblance of a social life, making little-to-know time for keeping the health business together hoping it will take care of itself... well, something gave and it's my kidney. Still? Seriously, I am so tired of this.

The question now is do I have 2 days to delegate to this, and the answer is, not really. Seriously, I'm working everyday until Monday that I know of, so unless we can make time stop for a while, this is going to be a bitch to fit in. And I hate that it must be made time for. Such a fucking imposition. I hate I hate I hate my body who obviously hates me.

...some work of noble note may yet be done...

They lighted a great torch then...

I suppose you're wondering why I'm reading Tennyson tonight -

I envy not the beast that takes
His license in the field of time.
Unfettered by the sense of crime,
To whom a conscience never wakes:

Nor, what may count itself as blest,
The heart that never plighted troth
But stagnates in the weeds of sloth;
Nor any want-begotten rest.


Because darlings (and this is a lesson you all should learn), baseball is just a game. In the end, it's just a silly American game. Not life, by any means. And I know we all want to be the Red Sox, personably manifest, but well - oh god, I had the best line to put here, which summed it all up but it isn't mine so I can't say it. And if I did, you all would know everything, and that's never good. So I'll give you the cliche instead - "that's the way the cookie crumbles".

Don't lie, you secretly love cliches. We all do.

I took the heart out of that poem - left the extremities, peripherals. Like me; from now on, all you get from me is peripherals.

(Are we surprised? Didn't we think, deep down, that I'd eventually become a cynic, too?)

I like to see it lap the miles...

In the funniest of situations, the male/female gender roles were effectively reversed tonight when Slick Tatum nagged to bring it to Sex and the City, and I fought tooth and nail to keep it on TSN.

I feel good all over...

Sometimes I read other people's horoscopes, and analyse it for them. And hope that they are living up to the signs indicated by their respective stars.

If I lived my life according to the signs, it would be perfect. Except that we interpret the signs we see, look for the ones we want. So really, it isn't true. It's not self-handicapping, that's the wrong term. It's selective perception, something along those lines. Confirmation bias.

See how many terms from class I can regurgitate? Why am I not doing better in school?

Wednesday, October 27, 2004

...i asked your name, you asked the time...

i) I spent 20 minutes trying to extrapolate myself from the chipped-paint, grimy-walled entrails of Wilson Hall. *Clearly* New College is the worst, most god-forsaken place in U of T.

ii) These three Persian girls in my bioethics class - I know one of them from parties and families and things. They always look down on me, constantly. I feel like I don't fit into some predecided view they have of what it means to be Persian, because I don't dye my hair, or wear predominantly black club clothes to class, or carry a Louis Vuitton or Gucci bag, or play dumb in class and pretend I don't understand things because it looks cute to question, and my daddy drives a Nissan instead of a "beh em veh".

To those girls, and the dozens of others like you I've known in my time - where the hell do you get off? I have such problems with this, honestly. Do you remember when Will would always tease Carlton in Fresh Prince, saying he wasn't black enough? That's how I feel. Just like that.

iii) Sunday is Halloween - we all know this. But do we also know that Sunday is the date of the Lone Star fajita fiesta fundraiser at the downtown location? $20 for all-you-can-eat fajitas, and all the proceeds to Free the Children. You should all come, those of you in Toronto. Email me for tix.

iv) I have an idea in my head to create pasta sauce. By tossing into a pot the following ingredients: cheese, milk, ketchup, salt and pepper, to taste.

What do you think?

Tuesday, October 26, 2004

...where's the kid with the chemicals?...

i) Ready for it? Slick Tatum has a blog, oh. Yes. As random wired as he is in the real world, this is my roomie y'all. Love him! Love him!

ii) Coner Oberst is so beautiful I can't breathe. He writes so gorgeously... I can't breathe. She says this is my song (from another's point of view) - god but I don't want to be that girl.

You didn't care to know
Who else may have been here before
I want a lover I don't have to love
I want a girl who's too sad to give a fuck...

He said "It feels good,
I think I'll give it a try"...

Let's just keep touching, let's just
keep
keep
singing

I got a hunger and I can't seem to get full.

I need some meaning I can memorize
The kind I have seems to slip my mind
But you
But you
Write such pretty words...


iii) Reasons for borderline happy:
- my girl Ashley left me a sticky note on my computer, for old times' sake (by old times, she means she did it once, she'll do it again - loves it)
- SM knocks on my door, I'm not anticipating. It's a mess, I feel ashamed (even though he won't care). Haven't seen him in awhile, he's gotten buffer. Prettier, oh such a pretty boy. Have I explained this? Everytime I think about how he is gay, something hurts inside.
- rosemary-sage candle and a mug of cocoa, half an avocado and a handful of sunflower seeds
- The Dylanist by Brian Morton

...be, be your love...

And all I have is your letter read
And I cannot get it outta my head
And I'm afraid
And I can't breathe
And I'm in love with you
But you are not with me
And I have put so much into a life
I made too much about you now to lie


There's a point when all you want out of life are chocolate strawberry crepes and cafe mochas with extra whipped cream. Tonight is one of those nights, and so we go, Meliss and I to get a chocolate fixin'.

There's a point when all you want to do is call someone (despite your self-made rules) and say "I'm thinking about you, everyday, thinking". And all the wonderings and desirings and frustratings and stomach clenchings that goes along with it. Running on "hot-boy-high" as Lizzy would say...

...darling what are you doing (we don't have time for this)...

You can stand at the seaside pleading with the tide to come in, but why bother if it's coming in anyway. Your anxiety concerning a critical issue is futile. You're wasting precious energy. Relax a little. Success is nearly within your grasp.

The problem with horoscopes is that they are so vague - which serves I suppose to make them credible. People will believe what they will and push their reality into the confines of a tenuous prediction. "Look! It worked!"

But my "critical issue" may not be the "critical issue" that might occur. And how is success nearly within my grasp? What do I *do* for it to be in my grasp? And how do you *know* anyway?

Do you want to know what I'm going to be for Halloween?

Monday, October 25, 2004

...workplace adventures: edition 1...

Two huge Italian guys in leather jackets come up to me at work, I'm in fiction today. They look like they could be mob bosses, honestly. Heavy, gutteral Italian accents, ask me: "You, you work here?"

I tell them "Yes, can I help you find something?". "Yeah", the first guy says, "I need a book. I need the Encyclopedia of Canadian Organized Crime".

I almost died for laughing. Oh lordy...

Sunday, October 24, 2004

...the societal rasputin...

Greg, answering non-committal "what's up?": Not too much, making plans and stuff (aside: he wasn't. He never has plans) - this week looks like it's going to be busy.

Dude. Don't even tell me that. My life is defined by busy. Sleep is an obscure fiction I heard about once. Maybe I'll experience it sometime. In the meantime, I go on, I go on...

There is a photography book by Roloff Beny called "A Bridge of Turquise". I showed it to Lizzy yesterday and decided I would bring it at some time to show Nick as well. Have any of you seen this book? It's gorgeous. Every family we know has one - it's a book of photographs of Iran, the people, the architecture, divided by theme. And in the midst of the photos, he includes text from different poets and Iranian thinkers. Lines of Hafez, verses of Rumi, beautifully written in script.

The reason I am so mean to Greg is that I want him to stop trying. I want him to stop being there, stop calling, stop doing everything. I have been trying to escape him since the 10th grade, and I can't understand why he won't just get a clue. You think that's a horrible thing to say, but you have never met him. He's the kind of person you need a court order to really escape. And he has two active ones against him already.

I was walking along Kensington today and saw a statuette of Casper the Friendly Ghost. I thought of you. (No not you - the other you).

...maddening shroud...

It can't be coincidence that Robarts sounds like Robots. This building is a giant impersonal steel trap eagerly smacking it's lips in anticipation of eating alive would-be studiers. How ironic that it is not conducive in any way, shape, or form to studying and yet here we all are. I could kill myself here - buried in the stacks, not only would no-one find me, but I doubt they would lift their heads from their books long enough to notice or do anything about it.

I kind of hate this school.

Amy's breezing through Dartmouth having cocktail parties. New Hampshire with it's pretty trees and quaint book shops. Her Ivy League seems cool, maybe I should hit that up. I want cocktail parties, classy frats. I love that paradox.

Farnam's friend Liz sent her a drawing of Harvard boys that made me laugh. Looks like frosh everywhere are essentially one and the same. Oh, boy...

McGill is rawking to the morning hours, and Trent has fall reading week (those lazy skids). U of T makes me cry - the boredom is becoming too much so. When you find yourself bailing on most of your classes because you hate them all... probably a good sign to try something new. But what?

I hate how much I hate this and I'm stuck. Because I'm "supposed" to be in school. Because at 20, what else is there? I want to learn and improve and even study - just not here, and not now. Like Les and his book learning.

Aside: The dependence of our society on institutionalized learning. You can't get anywhere without that itty bitty piece of paper. Les is probably one of the most knowledgeable people I chanced to meet, and he knows it all without the university cynacism and dog-eat-dog mentality. But he won't be able to do anything with it, they won't allow him that. I remember that this was Steve's issue with university as well. I want to get somewhere, but without all this in-between bullshit. We need to go back to the drawing board, revamp the system.

Rather problematic really. These days, I just want to dance the time away, drown in synth rhythms and snare beats.

Calling the boy to suggest Rachel Yamagata at Elmo tomorrow night. Three times in one week? Did I subconsciously decide to try for this? I want him to be another game, another gamer, just so I can be proven right. Just another who talks the talk, saying all the right things. Oh pretty boy, where did you come from? These musicians, what will you do with them.

...on l'a chante dans les rues...

On ne demande à l'amour
Ni serment de toujours ni des corps fantastique
Pour nous aimer il nous faut simplement
Quelque mots qui vont sur la musique

Besame, besame mucho
Si dans un autre pays ça veut dire embrasse-moi
Besame, besame mucho
Toute ma vie je voudrais la chanter avec toi


What do you want? What excites you, get's you moving, who? Who are you thinking of, right at this second (you're here aren't you)?

Spending the day in Oakville with my family, bringing Lizzy to hang out with them and chill in the O-dot. At one point sitting to catch a breather with Dorinda, getting my fix of big-sister talk (because let's face it, she's more my sister than she is the wife of my cousin). She's telling me I'm better than to make someone else's right decisions, or wait for them to do so. I just have to make my own right decisions, for me. You know what this means?

Make a choice. Make my choice. Make me the choice.

I'm bone-tired. I never really understood that phrase until today, but this is how I feel, right now. Bone tired. Tired into my bones. I want someone to come take care of me, bring me tea. I want to not have an essay waiting for me tomorrow. I want to disappear for awhile, become anonymous. Sans concerne, sans personne a plaire. Why doesn't Toronto have a Washington Park? It should.

The thing is, I think that Alessia just may be the most beautiful child on the face of the earth. An hour of my day, at least, was spent in playing peekaboo. My new sheer green scarf is torn in one place (tight fists, this one). And I am thrilled to bits and pieces.

Saturday, October 23, 2004

...it's the curse, you've been cursed...

The posing of a deep and philosophical question, with grave consequences. Come Tuesday night do I work on the Anthropology presentation I have to redo for Wednesday (the one I slept through), or pull another late night by going to see The Roots at Kool Haus, thus risking another sleep-in fiasco the next day?

It's close, I know - only for really pressing reasons can I justify missing The Roots. Esp. when I can get in free .The question is - how pressing is a paltry course in anthropology?

At Thymeless last night to see Wes's gig, Shannon greets me with "Hey, how are you?!" enthusiastically before launching into something so completely unexpected in the same breath, that made me effectively speechless for the audacity of it all. Eventually I managed a stunned "what?!" before moving on. Not necessarily angry, but it's unsettling to be reminded of something when you have no anticipation of it. I was not impressed.

I was impressed with Wes though - my first time seeing him spin. He's skill.

Last night I gave my best friend a run-down of Dating 101. He's cute when he's clueless. A-kheeeey!

...sunbeam, stop tugging me...

My second day on the job, I got accosted by a freak who wanted me to be his special friend, and who was then escorted off the premises by security. Later, a regular dubbed "zombie freak man" attempted to steal books from my section, from where he moved to kids and tried something there. He, too, was eventually led off the premises. It's certainly interesting, anyways.

Don't make a sound, hush listen

Sometimes I just want to keep my opinions/nature to myself because I'm just so sick of having to justify them.

Friday, October 22, 2004

...a woman in the moon is singing to the earth...

La la la...

Joel looks too clean-cut for a drummer. Such an odd image he makes in the midst of his drum and bass set. I love being on guestlists and using the artists first name to tell everyone, hey we're with him. Makes me laugh. Go up to the counter "hey, we're on the list. Sanam and Lizzy, for Joel?" Loves it.

I need to learn more about Canadian music. I don't know enough - and then they're post-set conversations go over my head. This will be a year of research: research for school, research for work, and research for social life. How droll.

I can't see you every night

Tonight we do anti-social. I need sleep and have to at least pretend to work on bioethics. We're going to figure out if it's possible to disappear in one's room and study in the midst of a kegger. And after 8 hours at work, I'm not going to want to do anything fun anyway - what, exactly, did I take on with this job? Don't ask me, I couldn't tell you.



Thursday, October 21, 2004

...caress that dissonance (if you dare)...

Mmm... nothing like the exhaustion that comes from stimulating classes and a challenging job. Official Day 1 was today and I love it. This is such a more challenging and intriguing job than my past/current one. And I just realised today how insane it is to work 20-25 hours a week at two jobs, and be in school full time. I am clearly off my rocker. Plus, the hours that aren't taken by that are taken by shows and pretty drummer boys who put me on their guest lists for nights like tonight, and eating out and drinking when I said I wouldn't and being generally out of trees. The catch? Sleep. As in, not having any. And a pervasively horrible mentality that class is optional, and sleeping in through the morning ones (which are nearly every day). So dangerous, this new me. A much happier me, but clearly self-destructive. How funny, that correlation.

The problem with M - He, like Kerry, has trouble picking a side to support, and it seems he is forever changing. Also, he is only ever supporting the winners. When the Leafs were winning last year it was the "Leafs for Life", then the "Sens 4 Life", and now I see "Never lost the faith - Bos.Sox for life". I hate that - I need people with opinions. And people with not the always popular opinion.

I'm so mean - I am too critical of him, really I am. But I mean, you know what I mean; which is I guess what it didn't happen.

The thing about standing your ground is that you get tired of waiting and want to sit down but if you do, you kind of... lose. So you have to stick it out, because you know you're right, so I'm sticking it out because I *am* right, but god help you if you don't do the right thing, because I will throw pie in your face. Or something.

...give me an hour and I'll give you your dream...

i) "How to be a groupie by Lizzy and Sanam" (or alternately, "what not to say when a hot musician calls you")

There are times when being a student first and foremost is really just an inconvenience. Because someone, let's call him... Matt Masters, will call and say "Hey what are you lovely ladies up to tonight?" and we'll have to stay "studying at the library... because we're only 20... and still in school... try us on Thursday".

This is obviously not the best way to create our identities as folk music junkies and groupies extraordinaire. We'll have to try harder tomorrow night. I'm seeing the need for another all-night music romp through the city. The party starts at El Mo - and ends, wherever the vibe carries us.

ii) These mishaps you bubble wrap

Relating the latest news to Meliss on the way to Robarts.

"Hmm... what are we doing about this?" - she asks.

Good question. And - nothing. It was important I mention it, because for some reason that was still important. But, it didn't need anything more than that. Actually, it needed only that. The telling to Melissa, because she got it. And it's okay, because the rest of it didn't need to be said.

iii) To ride a wave on your inhaling

I want a reality worthy of an event with such cosmological significance as the Sox winning an ALCS pennent. The ticker-tape parades, the Disney cliches - a fairy tale on golden-gilt pages, my life.

I don't want a wasted analogy, discarded parallels.

I had lyrics for you, too, but they were too strong for me. Maybe another time.

iv) Yes hello - we're back and we're taking questions. Now what was the question?

This could be a poem. Poetic, floetic -

When you're so tired, you're full of energy and incoherence... that's where I am. Not energy either, but nervous laughter. But the incoherence, that was right.

It's enough, time to go. Time to sleep, and then, with my luck, sleep in through another 10am class.

Wednesday, October 20, 2004

...guilty feet have got no rhythm...

I didn't think of that.

Fuck me, because of all the most obvious things that should have occurred, this didn't, and oh I'm going to be sorry. Let's just hope I'm smarter than the average bear. Or, you know, more lucky.

In my dream last night, my aunt died. I woke up crying and, even though I knew it was just a dream, I couldn't stop crying. I had never felt so scared, ever.

...c'est une lecon par la suite...

The reason they will tell you not to complete an anthropology presentation in the middle of the night at a 24-hour library the night before it is due is because invariably, you will sleep through the 10:00 class in which you were to present.

This is NOT going to be a good day.

Tuesday, October 19, 2004

...oh it's so amazing here...

The once-red tree in Queen's park is naked. Now, all the trees around it are glowing red and orange. Always a step ahead of everyone.

I've reached the point where I can survive on one-ish meals a day and copious amounts of Gatorade and/or coffee. It is alternately incredibly unhealthy and undeniably productive. Today I'm a utilitarian, and I say that my basic-electrolyte, high-caffeine existence may leave me on the fringe of general health, but is cheaper and provides more energy/adrenaline than, you know, food and stuff. What this is means is I work more, sleep less, spend less and so will get more done and go on to do great things in the world and as such, increase global utility around me? Yeah. Something like that.

I want a tangible, proactive, and in-my-favour solution to a problem which seems to have none. A problem which has me tied up nicely in a totally paralytic manner, hands bound and running on instinct. And nerve, oh boy the nerve. It's like, moxie or something.

In other news, me and the staff at U of T Health Services are now on a first-name basis. I chatted with the lab nurse about movies and she forewent the regular instruction/warnings/disclaimers, because let's face it, by now I know'em all and she knows it. Let's talk about how my body is not LISTENING to me. And here we go into round 3 of treatment. This time it's a SUPER antibiotic. I am skeptical as to it's super ability, but hey, I'm an optimist, bring it on.

FUCK FUCK FUCK - why am I an optimist? Such a no-good way to be, when they're all against you.

*bangs head on wall*

...don't be so mean (my jellybean)...

Cameron House is so replete with randomness that for the first 15 minutes I was just soaking up atmosphere, intangible essences. The blond in the cowboy boots had her baby with her in the bar. A giant pumpkin sat on the service station counter. A red-bearded hick wore a Googoosh Tour 2000-2001 t-shirt. The bassist was on crack, flying so high.

It gains the more you give

Justin is almost two different people. One identity is the performer - the wild, curly-haired musician who stood on a chair and held us all in the palm of his hand. The other, the shy guy with the thickest glasses I've ever seen, slouched in a baseball cap, nervous and adorable around my girl. Oooh child, I am happy for your life, for your living.

His songs are mellow, emotional - songs to ex-lovers and old times. This is how he leaves them behind, I guess.

And it rises with the fall

Lizzy told me about JK, and my first reaction was a wince. Whatever else happens, whatever logic I use, whatever clock to gauge the time that's moved forward - it was still a hit. A complexity of genuine emotion and residue of pride, because in the end, it was mine, it was mine.

When you give your heart away, it's hard to get it back. If you gave it to the wrong person, you're sunk. Because you get it back, right, and you want to hang onto it for dear life. It's hard, it's so hard because you want to go another run, but if you get hurt again? There's only so many times you can pull yourself together, and anyway you always lose bits of you for good. And you thought you could outsmart it, play with the dead-ends, knowing it would be good for you, no heart no foul - middle of the night, you start awake and kick yourself because, what do you know, it found you again, and you realize the wince was just instinct and that in the sense of mattering, it doesn't anymore because there's someone else in your head now - and it's still a dead-end. "A fine mess you've got yourself in". Tell me.

So hand me that remote

This was before the show. It seems silly to say that as the music washed over me, it wiped the slate clean. But it did, or tried to anyway. And although the chalk marks are still there, hidden, they are now background. Sitting on a stool, chatting with Joel, and Les, and Matt Masters - all these amazing people who are smart, fun, bright, head over feet amazing; and there I am laying claim to something I should have the balls to throw in the trash myself. Matt took my number, and invited us to see him at Tranzac. Joel did the same, for his show at El Mo. This is the life I want to live - this LIFE. I felt I actually was living too, and not this sleep-walking I'm used to.

Can't you see that all that stuff's a sideshow

My first sensation this morning was heaviness, weight of school, of world, of absolutely everything. But Boston won last night, dontcha know - triumph of good vs. evil, all's right with the world. Oh, it's light now, it's light.

Such boundless pleasure
We've no time for later now



Monday, October 18, 2004

...you've 20 seconds to comply...

DONE!

Law and morality has officially been made my bitch. And how! It's nice to know that this does not in fact mean I am done for the day. By "nice", I really mean "annoying". Because I have another paper to start now, and it's even more confusing than the first. Something about religion... and science... ?

I have three hours to finish it, then I have to start looking pretty to go to Justin's show - if it's not done in three hours, we cannot go TO Justin's show, so for the love of God it will be finished. Which means I will leave you now.

By "now", I mean "as soon as I mention this" - which is that Kristen's bro and his four homies will be crashing out house on November 12-14. I would like an excuse to not be here - too many people! The person who can provide me with said excuse gets a really delicious cookie. And, you know, my undying love and gratitude and stuff.

...there's beauty in the breakdown...

780 words and counting - that's *almost* half, I suppose. More like a third. Somewhere between the two.

I've been thinking about becoming a biochemist or geneticist in order to study whether the differences in which we drink coffee are hereditary or not. It occurs to me that I drink coffee quite quickly, without really stopping to really taste it - the same way in which my father does. I used to always tease him about it - "you don't really like coffee, look how fast you drink it".

Which makes me think that maybe I don't really like coffee either (blasphemy!) and drink it only because I recognize in it a means to an end (read: the ability to stay awake so I can write my papers and not fail).

Last night w/ Mike S. on MSN - his handle is "Alright caffeine, do your thing".

Me: HAHAHAHA I just made a fresh pot too so I feel your pain. Midterm or paper?
Him: Midterm, tomorrow. You?
Me: Two papers, Tuesday.
Him: Ouch, good luck.
Me: You too, see you on the dark side.
Him: For sure, major drunkenness will abound this weekend.

Sunday, October 17, 2004

...l'immortaliste and a glass of c-juice...

Do we remember those days when I kept you abreast of my academic endeavors (disregarding whether you ever wished to hear them or not)?

Well, sit back because we're going retro baby. A new pot of coffee simmers nearby, one cup already tossed back. We're not leaving this joint until this law and morality paper is written, and written well dammit.

At present: 165 of 2000 words. Not a bad start after... 4 hours. Albeit, 4 hours of almost constant procrastination and escape tactics.

Immaterialisms:
i) A hobo fire in a metal garbage cylinder, where we roasted marshmallows on branches and bavard-ed neighbourhood gossip with the dreadlocked hippie furniture maker from two doors down. Word on the street: the cat next door has been knocked up by JoJo, the corner store owner's he-cat.

ii) There is a tree growing from under the neighbours house. As in the roots must be right below the basement, because the tree is growing up from underneath the house, and looks as if it emerges from it. It's quite confuzzling.

iii) Pringles containers are nicely combustible.

iv) Combustible. Now that is a *great* word! I wonder if there is anywhere I can insert it into my essay...

...drink up baby doll (are you in or are you out?)...

i) There's something about giving someone a present unexpectedly, and seeing it make them so happy. It makes me happy. Nick-Ro is teaching himself Persian and Arabic, and I gave him a framed handpainted page of Hafez verse on thin gold plate, and he loved it, he really did. And then he hugged me and I was so thrilled that he liked it so much. Oh, pangs.

ii) I was walking home from school when I ran into Parker in front of the UC residence - hey Farnam, guess who dropped down a level in French because they found it too hard? Yeah. That's right.

It made me laugh inside. Does that make me a horrible person?

iii) You could say anything
Small talk will be - just fine
Your voice is everything
We owe it to love
And it all depends on you...

I'm a slow motion accident
Lost in coffee rings - and fingerprints
I don't - wanna feel - anything
But i do
And it all comes back to you


iv) You know, if I were a really tough and confusing essay, I would have the decency to be convenient and write myself. Fucking philosophy - you are always determined to be contrary, I know.

...the gladstone on queen...

It did that thing again, you know. Where you write all this stuff and then your finger accidentally (read: subconsciously) glances over the trackpad, and suddenly it's all gone. I think the computer is determined to protect me from myself, from saying things that I would learn to regret.

The question is can you ever regret anything like that? I mean - the hard things will have been said and the questions asked, and maybe it won't be what you thought, not at all, and maybe it won't be what you wanted - but you would at least know, right? You would at least have some more of an idea of where to go next.

This week is going to be seeing Confrontational Me. Everything will be done with tact, but with honesty. Confusion is not a state of existence, it's a pain in the ass.

This whole business (though fun and intriguing) is really just a pain in the ass. What can I say? I've always liked the straight-up best. Capisce?

...come any night you feel you fancy her...

A random survey, taken from Farnam - because I can't sleep and I won't allow myself to smoke anymore.

Eleven things you like to do in no particular order
1) read
2) write
3) sleep
4) play piano
5) download new music
6) eat sushi
7) check airlines for flight info of trips I'll never make
8) chat on MSN (dangerous addiction)
9) knit
10) pretend I can dance (I really can't)
11) tai chi

Ten bands/artists you like
1) lauryn hill
2) jill scot
3) decemberists
4) john mayer
5) tegan and sara
6) madonna
7) guns n roses
8) smashing pumpkins
9) ute lemper
10) counting crows


Nine books
1) the yellow heart - pablo neruda
2) immortality - milan kundera
3) the master and margarita - mikhail bulgakov
4) the bean trees - barbara kingsolver
5) a song for arbonne - guy gavriel kay
6) fouccault's pendulum - umberto eco
7) the fountainhead - ayn rand
8) middlesex - jeffrey eugenides
9) war and peace - leo tolstoy


Eight Foods
1) chelo kabab
2) sushi
3) khashke badimjoon
4) eggs, any and all kinds
5) chocolate, any and all kinds
6) McDonalds
7) home fries, the thick hand-cut ones
8) tuna sandwich on rye


Seven movies
1) amelie
2) dead poet's society
3) dr. strangelove
4) war and peace
5) love actually
6) au revoir, les enfants
7) the sound of music

Six things on your desk
1) candles
2) box of girlie hair supplies
3) empty ice-wine bottle
4) pens
5) my printer
6) music stand, w/ picasso's "girl and doll" temporarily sitting on it

Five things you wear daily
1) contact lenses
2) blue platform sneakers
3) joe boxers
4) silver hoops
5) my crusty $20 Aldo watch I've had for 4 years

Three things about you. . .
1) i love hard
2) i am emotionally volatile
3) i am loyal to a fault

Two shows you watch:
sex and the city, and the daily show

One secret:
i'm an open book - you know it all.

Last CD/vinyl/tape you purchased:
LAL, the band that played for Jian at Word on the Street

Last music you listened to:
frou frou after downloading, currently ute lemper

Last concert you went to:
matthew barber

Last thing you watched on television:
baseball. don't ask.

Last thing you ate:
a stump of baguette and some hummus

Last item of clothing you bought:
sheer lime-green scarf from sharon's on parliament

Last thing you said:
good night

Last person you saw:
janet after she followed me outside and caught me breaking the pact

Last time you felt scared:
the night i panicked about how university education might not mean anything in the real world

Last time you cried:
tonight

Last time you said you were sorry:
this morning

Last time you got into a fight:
i don't do fights - i guess last year, with laura is the closest thing to a "fight"

Last time you said "I love you":
about an hour ago, to janet

Last time you felt inspired:
whenever i'm around Cheryl

Last person you emailed:
k.s.

Last movie you saw:
jesus de montreal

Last wish:
if i tell you it won't come true

...the simpsons are going to africa!...

After five hours giving tours in rainy weather, a nap was in order. And was had, pendant deux heures. Mais maintenant, je ne peux pas dormir. Et j'ai besoin de quelque chose d'autre pour m'occuper. Comme un appel. Ca va?

Tick. Tock. I am bored. Bored bored bored. (Bored.)

I want distraction.

Right.

Now.

As of tomorrow we become androgynous. And essentially withdraw into our shell. When you can't be yourself around your friends, it's probably time to stop. When they don't like your "self", what else is there? I feel like I was kicked in the gut.

Saturday, October 16, 2004

...heaven knows I was just a young boy...

I am a 275 on the Type A/B personality scale, corresponding to the hard-working, fast-moving Type A personality. So why can't I get anything done?

...you hear me cry, i'll shake you from your sleep...

Sandalwood is not conducive to studying, I'll tell you that straight up. It's more appropriate for a dim room, candles burning. If you were here I would do a hundred million things, none of them in my nature. Except that they could be. Maybe it would involve... Maybe -

My life is a collection of scattered moments, vaguely sequenced by a common thread. Somewhere in all of it, I was only ever searching for tenderness, following the sensation (any sensation) to its end.

There has to be more than this superficial existence, a greater depth. If there's one thing I've learned is to have faith in that. So I do - but why am I the only one diving?

1.53 months. A split second, split everything.

Perched on top of my CD tower is a floppy-brim black straw hat. In the night, I wake up in the dark and in it, I see the silhouette of a figure watching me. You would think it would scare me, but it's a comforting presence. An empty presence, because in the end it's just a CD tower. But I'm still more glad that it is there than not.


You were thinking of me at the same exact instant that I was thinking of you. Isn't that funny?

...i'm going to shake up the system...

I'm going to ignore the massive pile of essays I have to have done by Friday (three of them) long enough to go see Justin's show with Lizzy tomorrow night. At the same time, I am going to be silly and naive and optimistic and hold out on the chance that Barber will be there - to this end, I will be holding nothing back as far as style is concerned. I think the time is ripe for the reemergence of the zebra earrings. If I can find them, I have no idea where they are. Haven't seen them in almost a year.

I just gotta say respectfully
I would love it if you took the cameras off me


From Lindsay Lohan's new song, Rumors. To which I say, yeah the fuck right. Because you are doing all of this so that the cameras will be *off* of you. And please, if you're going to play at being a singer, at least try for a teensy bit of originality. I know it's tough in this age of ditto consumerism but for my sake, make an effort. This song is completely Britney. "My Prerogative" for the bopper generation - the lite version. So frustrating. Stupid chit.

I was bad last night... let my petty 5-year old come out to play, and please don't hold it against me.

I have to download a work itinerary for 11am, and my computer doesn't seem to like the file. This could be a problem.

Friday, October 15, 2004

...ack rosemary...

Fuck, I stubbed my toe in the sprint for the phone (sprinting on meds - takes skill), and then it was just AM wanting to know why I'm not calling him, why I'm ignoring him...

I hate you I hate you I HATE YOU - WHY have you lost your fucking mind? Be my best AM friend again and get this flirtation nonesense out of your system. I love you but I don't, like, LOVE you. You know?

You know.

Had a chat with Lauryn Hill tonight. By which I mean she sang, I listened. I learned - "this second verse is dedicated to the men...". Then I got bored of the constant talk of this nature, and listened to To Zion instead. Because it's a love song, for her son. Which is beautiful, to me.

It could be appendicitis, could be an ulcer. Could be a host of different things. Apparently shares some of the same symptoms as a stroke as well, but that's like impossible at 20. Right?

Inna if I don't call you tomorrow, it's just because I'm dumb and forgot, so you call me but do not worry! Or, not much anyway. I love how you worry - makes me feel loved. Oh my Inna, when next shall we go to Thornhill greasy-spoon diner for steak sandwiches?: My arteries are feeling sorely neglected. We should get on that.

My body is tired and my head is wired. Sleep is being a non-happening. This is what coffee does to you. That, and double vision. Let that be a lesson to you.

...here i am in corduroy (catch it in your Polaroid)...

God, I do not have the strength or finesse to deal with this in the middle of a night when I am a) straddling borderline healthy, and b) trying to make sense of Gerald Dworkin.

I want to be in the middle of a REM cycle, dear lord - and I am working tomorrow, so let's talk about the chances of that and how it is slim-none.

Also -- ouch. This hurts, hurts. You'd think I was talking about the physical, but interestingly enough it's all the rest that hurts.

I love how Janet was talking about this earlier. How she wasn't going to be all diplomatic-friendly and shit and withhold her "I told you so's".

Fine. Be that way.

...copying and rental of this recording is prohibited by law...

"You know, if myself, and L and D-lo are all telling you that this is going to happen and you should get with him, then don't you think you should get with him?" - Althea tells me at lunch.

No, and no. And I tell her so - I don't think it's a good idea, and it isn't going to happen.

"It's not up to you anymore, it is officially bigger than you. And we *will* make this happen".


I thought I was speaking. My lips were moving, and yet she hadn't seemed to hear what I said. NOT GOING TO HAPPEN.

"You know, you can deny it all you want but you're just lying to yourself".

Oh good god, please let it go.

I'm going to scream!

...we don't even have a basement...

I'm watching My So-Called Life, in syndication on Family channel. Thinking that maybe I'm so dysfunctional and emotional and analytical because growing up in suburbia, Angela was who I thought all women were like, and had to be. And so - I became her.

The thing is though, that I never got out of it. I mean Angela Chase grew up into Claire Danes - but there's no Mod Squad in my future, nothing nearly as cool.

Thursday, October 14, 2004

...a no-excuses truth...

I re-read the Book and as valid as most of it still is, I had one problem with a) how harsh it is, and b) the sexist tinge I picked up in one particular aspect. Greg says that men should chase, women should not pursue - that any relationship where the woman got the ball rolling won't last, and I'm wondering what you think about that?

I am a front of paradox. "Don't mess wit me... (pretty please)".

The problem with a book like Behrendt's is that you're going to think someone isn't worth it, which may or may not be true - but it isn't going to stop you wishing they were. Live up to your potential! For the good of the naive, I mean honestly.

I have been sitting on my couch for the last four hours doing course notes. The whole time, there has been a banana sitting on the arm-rest, as if willing me to eat it. I have resisted this whole time... but... I think that will stop... now.

Call me. Call me. Call me. Call me. Call me. Call... (yes, I am talking to you).

- which is totally against the Book, because I shouldn't have to remind you that I have a phone -

...what's cookin', good lookin'?...

I think I decided not to go to work today. Yes, I definately decided that.

The reasons:

- I'm tired. Too tired to be productive in any way, or even move. So I'm going to sit here and do law readings instead so I can whip this assignment into shape for Tuesday.

- I'm strong on paper, but on practise I'm skeptical. So I'm going to avoid the office until I can face the AM and not crack. He text msged me the other night - "Good night! Me". I don't like that, not one bit.

- It's raining and I don't have subway fare. So walking would make me sad.

I will go tomorrow and work extra hard. And look extra gorgeous because Roxanne is back in the office and honestly, between her and Dalo, I want to give up - If I went looking like a 'mo, I'd just have to kill myself.

It's a good thing my French prof. loves me because otherwise, I'd be sunk after today's presentation. I mean, it's not as if I didn't warn her. I can't do public speaking. I close up and stammer and shake, and badness ensues. At least my points were right on and I incited much discussion, so she will hopefully concentrate on that.

At the south-west end of Queen's park, there's one young maple tree with bright red leaves standing alone in a sea of large green.

...if, in the middle of a vital conversation...

*Grudgingly* Okay so Farnam was right, I absolutely needed to read this book. EVERY woman needs to read this book, and most guys (just so they can learn what they are doing wrong). God help all the particular guys in my life, because you are all being cut. Cut, cut, cut - and you know why. The most important thing I learned last night? Of course guys know what they are doing. They know they're doing wrong, but they have no balls and so will do it anyway.

Relevent chapters (and what I learned from them) - authors, please don't sue, I'm just abridging:
i) He's just not into you if he's not dating you: Men want to feel emotionally protected too, and will lay claim to a relationship if they are into you. They will *want* to say "I'm your boyfriend" - i.e. if he is really into you, he's going to want you all to himself.

ii) He's just not into you if he's breaking up with you (and let's talk about how this chapter made me cry): "Dear Misty Watered Colored Memories" it starts.. ouch. I want to quote the entire paragraph by Liz, and the letter by Nikki (which Melissa realised I should have written), but I can't so instead I will just quote this one bit: "No talking, no seeing, no touching.. half the people I know move after a big breakup". Hmm.. sound familiar?

PS: I was cry-feeling for like a minute and a half. The rest of the time Meliss and I were cracking up at how stupid we are, and how this ends NOW.

Greatest literature line ever: "A breakup is a definitive action, not a democratic one". LOVE IT!

iii) He's just not into you if he's disappeared on you: Hit home all the major points, i.e. the "but can't I at least yell at him" excuse, and "but I just want an answer" excuse.

Key point: "The reason it's painful is you have to face the fact that the person you loved probably left a long time before he actually grabbed his coat" - BUT - it just means you were "dating the worst person in the world".

This chapter had a lot of key points in common with "he's just not calling you". Both chapters are clutch. CLUTCH.

iv) He's just not into you if he's married (or other insane variations of unavailable): Here's the lowdown -

- he's okay with being dishonest
- he's fine with cheating
- he has no real regard for his relationship
- or YOU if you're just getting scraps and stolen time

You are better than that, he says. And it's true, I am - I am not easily forgettable so he can find me when he's ready. Otherwise though, I am not playing a waiting game, or really any game, done and done. When you see someone you really really want, it's easy to get caught up in accepting less than you expect or deserve, even when that is such a phenomenally pathetic example of "less". I want to hold out for the "more than I deserve".

Damn straight.

Farnam will thank lord and high heaven for this, but all Greg's and Liz's words rang home and I AM BETTER THAN THAT. Better than all four of you (and oh do I have such a low low regard right now). I wasn't intending to read the book last night, not all of it, but I brought it out to show to Melissa and suddenly we kept finding relevent chapters. And yeah, at some points we felt like Greg was physically punching us in the gut, but at other times - like the letter from a future boyfriend - we felt awesome and empowered. I feel so strong, honestly. We sat and essentially read the whole thing, decided we needed a break and a walk, and with Swig, Lith and Slick Tatum in tow, went to sushi on Bloor.

Can you all go out and buy this book please? Please?! For the sake of all the best friends who's shoulders you will otherwise cry on, go to it. And if you have experience with any of the not-worth-it guys exemplified in this book, send them a copy too. Maybe they'll learn something, wisen up. Or maybe not.

Farnam - I owe you. Big time. HUGE. Love you so insanely much, you kooky nut. And everyone can be jealous that they don't have one of you.

Mwah kiddies, I am in such a great mood. I'm going to go kill my French presentation, and then have an amazing day. Hope you all have a great one too :)

Wednesday, October 13, 2004

...we're going to show you a good time...

"He's just not that into you".

That's the name of the book that Farnam brought me today. Literary prize, she promised me? Really just secret talk for "I'm going to make you a tougher cookie. Frosted with cynicism".

I love how my best friend subtly (BLATANTLY!) is trying to make me over into her own (admittedly cooler) image/mentality.

Apparently the book is brilliant and uplifting - insert skeptical snort here - , and it better be because the title made me want to cry.

I'll let you know -

...si je m'offre a toi...

Your own inner power has a tendency to wax and wane just as the moon does. Your extremes can be intense too. These last days of this lunation are bringing you some mixed messages at a time when you need clarity more than ever. It's coming. Have faith.

burnt parsley, calm my mind
wake in me the will to find
focus, concentration
on kant, the disintegration
thesis. i'm in a bind
can't focus on the things that matter
entangled in (is it) vacant chatter (?)

Anthropology readings to do: 4
Anthropology readings done: 0.7

*whimper*

Tuesday, October 12, 2004

...oh loup, y est tu pour moi?...

Sometimes, as when faced with long discussion on this month's Adbusters, I am frustrated by how much people speak about September 11th. We act as if no other great tragedy, no other *worse* tragedy, happened in the history of the world. I am not blaspheming - I just want to broaden your view.

The rest of what was written here didn't stay on for long; it was altogether too perky. And truthfully, though I am not down by any means, I'm just not feeling all that perky. Despite the fact that we just got a George Foreman grill, I got a great new job today, and I saw both Lizzy AND Meliss today - still feeling funky.

I'm feeling really pathetic this week. I'm surrounded by strong beautiful girls who did everything right and can look their past in the eye, dead-on, while I flipped the lid at an unexpected encounter on my way to Kelly library. So this time I'm doing everything right - I may have fudged it up, but I can still grab some saving grace.

Here comes another one...

Monday, October 11, 2004

...think I'm gonna get me some happy...

I've been jonesing George Michael circa 1990-1996 since he was playing in Marjan's car last night - listening to it today, I got stuck on Fastlove.

Looking for some education
Made my way into the sun
All that bullshit conversation
Well baby can't you read the signs?

I won't bore you with the details baby
I don't even want to waste your time
Let's just say that maybe
You could help to ease my mind
Baby, i ain't Mr. Right

But if you're looking for fastlove
If that's love in your eyes
It's more than enough
Had some bad luck
So fastlove is all that i've got on my mind


I mean honestly, if my life was going to be mirrored in George Michael lyrics, why this song? I think we need to have words. BIG ones. Full of anger and vile vile things. Maybe a finger or two. Some glares.

Incidentally, I couldn't help noticing that there was a lot of religion, a lot of God/lord/You in his songs. Is this new to anyone else but me?

Other small things:

i) The cursed French presentation is finished. For the love of my left foot, what the shit was with this assignment? It took me 5 goddamn hours! I have other things to do people, this is NOT working for me.

ii) $142 in additional transportation taxes? Are you f-ing kidding me? Where do they think I will get this kind of money from, I'm a student for chrissakes. Fix this, now please.

iii) I got a message from a spyware pop-up today: "We're sorry, you cannot download this program. It is incompatible with Macs." HAHAHA to all you suckers still on PC's, me and spyware have parted company for GOOD.

...cooking to hook up...

It's no good pretending that any relationship has a future if your record collections disagree violently or if your favorite films wouldn't even speak to each other if they met at a party.
-- Nick Hornby, High Fidelity

What Kind of Girl Are You? - An Indie Girl

An Indie Girl's life is a Statement with a capital S, but unlike the Granola Girl, the statement is not political -- it's artistic. Indie Girls consider themselves actresses in the movie of life. Your meal needs to be constructed like an independent film. If you're bringing her over for a date, you are playing a character in her movie. If you create a setting, props, and a soundtrack that are good enough to avoid the cutting-room floor, she's yours.

You can boil the Indie Girl down to two words: cultural literacy. Or how about these two: media consumption. As the Gourmet Girl loves food and all that goes with it, the Indie Girl loves media: books, movies, music, and art. The good news is you don't have to be rich, good-looking, or famous to win this girl's heart. The bad news is she will judge you based on your music choices, the books you read, and the films you watch.

She Might Be a Indie Girl if:
She drives: a classic car, a VW beetle, a Mini Cooper, or a Vespa scooter.

She can talk for more than ten minutes about: obscure pop culture.

She begins her sentences with: "It's like that Simpsons episode . . ."

She'd never: drive a mini-van.

She owns any of the following: TiVo, a mini-DV camera, an iPod, a pottery wheel, a serger, or a lava lamp.

...breaking my back just to know your name...

The cultural debate, let's get it on. Spurred by a comment left by Roba, I'm interested to toss it out at the rest of you.

The question is - Farsi or Parsi?

I have always heard Farsi. My family says Farsi. Everyone I know says Farsi. In Persian school, when we would write the word, we spelled it "Farsi" - "phe" not "pe" character used.

Roba's argument: Farsi is an Arab creation as they did not have the "p" sound in their alphabet.

I know we have a lot of Iranians out here who can shed some light - so umm... shed.

...je voudrais etre la tour...

i) Christopher Reeve has passed away. I am so sad to hear that - I had always hoped that he would do what he dreamed, to oversome his paralysis. Do you find recently, or have you ever found, that there is too much death around you? For me, it seems that lately, all my childhood movie heroes are passing away. Walter Matthau, Marlon Brando, Rodney Dangerfield, now Christopher Reeve. I cried for Jack Lemmon.

ii) I finally finished Jonathan Strange and Mr. Morrell. I want to sit down with Susanna Clarke and why she wrote such a pointless novel. I had such great hopes - the Harry Potter for adults, they said. It wasn't. Sorry to disappoint, but despite being veiled in 800 pages of verbose mystical ramblings, really it just amounts to a more complicated than usual love story having, in the true nature of ridiculous romance novels, a somewhat happy ending that could go either way. Bittersweet. You know? So frustrated - that's 800 essentially wasted pages that could have been spent reading Foucault's Pendulum, Paris 1919 or Even Cowgirls Get the Blues (these being the three books that await me at the moment). When Farnam allows, The Alchemist will be added to this list.

iii) The extent to which I am cold cannot even be described. It is a good chunk into October and our furnace is still off. I am going to call the landlord tomorrow, and I will bitch. Useless greedy miscreant. I want to threaten him with legal action. Can this be done? Do you understand that he does NOTHING that he says he will do, or that is written in our lease. I need a legal advisor. Alright? Alright.

iv) Even my fingers are cold.

Sunday, October 10, 2004

...SHOT!...

I found beautiful framed calligraphy pictures of Hafez poetry, and I am bringing it with me today (ssh... don't tell my mother) to show to Nick (aka the love of my life, seriously) because he is learning Farsi and Arabic, and loves the script and so we are teaching him because we love him.

Phew.

HAHAHAH - I watched this videotape of Faramarz Assef songs that I had and I saw the video for Kamar Barik and he is wearing a crazy white sheik outfit and dancing and lip synching and he looks like a stoned Arab, and it made me laugh. And yet, still - so attracted.

That is all.

...my sentiments exactly...

Gah.

I love it, she tore down my castles in white clouds in the space of 4 minutes. No, this is good. My idealism and naivete is complemented by her acquired cynacism. Put us together and we have a somewhat functional entire person.

Essentially, she played it like a strategic problem. Took all the arguments, the lines - deconstructed them one by one, nothing left standing. Read between the lines what I missed because I take things at face value and add a pinch of optimistic denial. (Note to self: stop *doing* that.) Decided I need to be avenged or something, and (like the true Iranian revolutionary she is) detailed how we do have froshie troops at our immediate disposal on the ground (THAT ground, not this one), should we need them.

I told her to cool her jets, there's no need for a military strike just yet. I'm not saying there won't be, and if the need arises she will have ample opportunity to satify her residual anger.

Ana tells me that she is having trouble understanding my blog. Darling. *I* am having trouble understanding my blog. By which I mean, my life.

...excite the membrane, when the sense has cooled...

We have not reached conclusion, when I
Stiffen in a rented house. Think at last
I have not made this show purposelessly
And it is not by any concitation
Of the backward devils
I would meet you upon this honestly.
I that was near your heart was removed therefrom
To lose beauty in terror, terror in inquisition.


We tried Neruda, it didn't cut it. The day called for Eliot, what could I do? He talks a lot about aging, this one. Which is seemly, because I feel old. Old and unbelievably young, impossibly small. As evidently paradoxical and hypocritical as my very nature, it seems.

I spent a good 20 minutes tearing my parents' basement apart because I was positive I would find there an envelope which held inside a passport application that I had picked up from the post office a few weeks ago, and not filled out. This application, I had decided, I would take with me tomorrow and get signed by my uncle by marriage who is an orthodontist, and thus a professional who has known me for at least two years. Clearly, I am beyond help.

Allow me to segue here if you will - tomorrow we are going bowling. All of us, the cousins, the aunts, the whole kit and caboodle. This is what my family does. On holidays or nights before holidays (foreign holidays only - we celebrate with zeal the Iranian ones) we go bowling. Quality family experience + rented shoes. The potential for entertainment is paramount.

I didn't find the passport application, in case any one was wondering. What I *did* find:

i) "Searching for God: A Youth's Guide to Salvation" - given to me by Dee Lorusso's father when I was 15. He is a minister. I think he feared my soul was in danger. Or something. It wasn't.
ii) A card from my OAC French teacher - "Avec qui parlerai-jai le semestre prochain apropos des films? To aimes te plaindre (insert: it's true), mais tu fais tout a la perfection."
iii) A handful of stale Hershey's Kisses. Which were promptly eaten.

There's more, but it can't be now. Because my head (read: Farnam) has to go through it all first, and I am tired (read: she is not around).

In the meantime, I also found an old Faramarz Assef tape and I am shaking my groove thang around the guest room, in old grubby clothes, to Kamar Barik because I love it, and him, and everything in the world.

Even Kristen's rabbit, who chewed through my blanket, and thus is the devil.

Saturday, October 09, 2004

...the final cut went down to the very sinew...

My old computer, replete with spyware/adware, has finally been put to sleep.

I love Saturday morning television on the Super Stations because they show silly cute movies that make me smile. I.e. Miss Congeniality and Mickey Blue Eyes.

My inbox is empty - - I want emails. I want them now. Email me please, short little ditties to make me smile. Even if it's just "you loser, stop fishing for affection".

*sigh*

I heard Pierre Pettigrew speak a couple nights ago on the news, and I remember when I mentioned that I had a hard time taking him seriously because of his resemblance in name to a Harry Potter character. May I just say at this point that even if I had not said this, I would have found myself with the same amount of trouble in taking him seriously as soon as I heard him speak. He's very bright I'm sure, but I laughed all the same.

Friday, October 08, 2004

...a family by the name of greysteele...

The strangest thing - a migraine recurring over three days, and lightheaded and dizzy. To the extent that when I turn over in bed, while laying down, my stomach lurches soundly. In the morning, we go find Dr. Kara. He's the only one likely to be available on a Saturday morning, even if he is rather spacy.

I'm sitting on my bed as I am typing this. Oh, I missed having a laptop. I had a work one over the summer and it was bliss but it was nothing compared to my new computer. So pretty, and light and fast and perfect. I'm quite pleased.

We have become internet detectives, myself and SM. By that I mean I am the detective, and he told me what to look for. IP addresses and internet regulations are actually very interesting. Essentially what this means though is that I can find you *exactly* and not have to rely on speculation. Which is good I dare say as many of my speculations are rather... spectacular.

AM called tonight, around 7. To apologize, he said, for being mean as I was leaving earlier. I asked him if he had intended to be mean. He said yes. I asked him why, but his answer was drowned in static. It will wait until Thursday, because i will not email him and I will not go to the office before then. What I will do is call Dalal on Tuesday and go for coffee with her. She is perceptive, very much so, and will be able to tell me... something.

This is fairly significant, I think. I meant what I said in saying this came suddenly, but it is not unwanted. Not at all - though I am progressing with much caution and slow slow slowness.

Is it always like this? This blind-sight hit from a strange direction? I'm not exactly a fan, but hey, it's good.

I have to go to bed now. Vision receding - if the mono chain originating with Nick-Ro reached me, as Lizzy predicts, I will cry. Because I will have to miss weekends in Oakville, and Alessia is now a year old. So, fingers crossed.

...this is the trip trip trippiest (hippiest) ship...

The energy is fighting with my will, and I think I'm the one that's losing. Where in the world did this come from? I'm becoming more and more familiar with this feeling of being at the beck and call of sensation, where discipline and/or logical, practical thinking really have no place. And I don't really like that. My head is fastened tighter than this usually. Except today when my head is gone.

The implications have been here for some time, insinuations and the like. Am I that oblivious that I didn't see it coming until, wham, it's in my face? When things are this much of a surprise, there has to be something wrong.

I'm still in the office but not for long, because I am tired and I have a migraine now exacerbated by not understanding anything, and so I am going home. And that is essentially all there is to it. And by home I mean Trinity, because I need Cheryl (Cheryl, are you reading this?) and I need her now. Thank you and goodnight.

...rushing and rushing around...

Kristen said this would happen. She said, did she NOT say, that this is the shirt that gets me into trouble? And yes, I am going to blame it all on the shirt.

Oh go away, who needs you?

...they say I'm crazy...

I don't think you realize just how significant it is that I am awake right now, and almost coherent enough to go to work. I can't promise not to fall asleep or make mistakes or be a complete ass, and I can't promise I won't collapse on Aimable's shoulder and pass out - but hey, I'm up. Cheers me.

I feel a little bit like Julia Roberts' character in My Best Friend's Wedding. Tara says I'm insane, picking up on non-existant vibes, but hey, my vibe-sensing is just as good now as it always was (which really doesn't say much, because I don't know head from tails in this love game). The thing is though, that although the girl is every bit as stunning as Cameron Diaz, I am no Julia Roberts.

And I don't even have a gay friend to dance with at the end.

The way that the songs blend together in itunes so that the next song starts just as the previous song is still finishing, the way it does that, I love it. Makes me happy. It's these small touches you know, that puts mac's way up there.

...ready? let's roll, onto something new...

I met someone completely adorable and nice tonight - and I'm paranoid now because I want to chat with him again and hang, but he's friends with my history which is probably a bad thing, although Nick-Ro said "meh, do it" which made me happy, because he generally knows everything.

But then, before I left I saw that my friend was taking down his number. But, like, she hadn't even really talked to him a lot all night, and has another guy in the works. And then I was sad.

I have to work in t-minus 5 hours, but I am currently out of my tree. My tree is over there, and I am here, and we are aways from each other and this is clearly not good. We need to be LUCID for work, yes.

His chin was strong, strong. Playful smile, like those guys who you know are trouble. I don't know what it is, I always find the troubles.

Bed now. Goodbye.

Thursday, October 07, 2004

...breaking my back just to know your name...

I think I'm ill. Honestly, there is something wrong with me. Can you understand that I can't even COUNT how many times I listened to the Killers song today? Who are they and where did they come from? And why have I not met them? Let us fix this. Now please.

Tonight I am going to my Swig's bday groove thang. I am going to be quirky and I am going to be fun. Because this is not my night, there will be NO getting upset for ANY reason no MATTER what. I will just concentrate on being hot with my hot friends with my cool hair, and the really funky ring I found today which I think I bought a couple of years ago and forgot about. And that is all.

Good. Night.

...a magician might, but a gentleman never would...

Egads... woke up half an hour before my class. Should be getting ready to leave, and yet look, here I am.

Late last night and a French debate on the fall of feminism with Martha and Kristen, namely the trend of women to leave careers and pursue motherhood. In preparation for my presentation on this same subject, which thank the lord isn't until Tuesday I realized, but which I will ass-rape regardless.

Martha my darling, happy birthday!! You are as always the hottest thing walking, the funnest, and so brilliant and creative. Your writing and philosophizing is the kind of thing that makes me want to give up. So glad I met you and that I am living with you this year. Keep on rocking your groove thang forever.

Janet was right, after all. That was definately one of those decisions for which I should have sought approval *before* following through. Let's not make me regret this please, much thanks.


I wonder if any of you understand that Prince's "The Greatest Romance Ever Sold" is the sexiest song ever? Hmm?

Wednesday, October 06, 2004

...conveniently complacent...

he said "i've got the time, if you don't mind"
to close your eyes and be robbed blind
i'm in a bind, you'd be so kind
his words were sweet and silver-lined
i said fine... how could i decline?


The topic was witchcraft. On the surface anyway - in reality it was about feminism. The sexist connotations of the word "witch". Said Martha: "I guess calling someone a witch in a way is an admission that you are terrified of her and her mysterious powers." She was talking about men, men calling women witches; that was the context.

I replied, completely without purpose or any relevance, that in the past year I called only one woman a witch. My own context. And yet, what Martha said had complete resonance on that score as well, it would seem. Was I afraid of her, what she represented? Sure - because she represented a loss. You know how I am, I want to win. I still do, I mean isn't that why I told Meliss to hit her first and fast with her trusty aluminum bat?

I don't know what he takes me for
But he's had me, and he'll take me more
He said that's what sweet flesh is for...


It occurs to me that maybe you do not know exactly what to make of me. I want to be surface-clear and understood. By "understood", I mean "humoured". No, not humoured exactly. I want to get what I want, but not so that I can get what I want, rather because it could be what you want too. Or maybe I don't know what I'm talking about. That too is completely possible (read: probable). Am I making any sense at all here?

Yeah didn't think so.

There's a chance I have to do a French presentation at 10am tomorrow morning. I haven't started it yet, truthfully I haven't even opened the article. And because I just started talking to Cheryl, and because I am hungry, I don't think that I will tonight, thank you. It will have to inconvenience me another day.

...oh my, do I (honey.. indeed I do)...

i) I just finished telling Derek how frustrating it is when people go offline of MSN out of the blue, without saying anything... when he goes offline.

*sigh*

What am I supposed to do with this boy, can you tell me please?

Derelito, I love you, but honestly sometimes you drive me to distraction. But I am still coming to Burwash tomorrow to see you.

ii) Read this. From Solmaz, and thank you because it made me laugh and shake my head.

iii) Daniel said don't take no for an answer, when I went to pick up my computer at the bookstore. But then they said it *still* wasn't ready, so I had to take no for an answer after all. Which made me angry, but then I went home with Farnam and we ate true Iranian "pesteh".

Aside: Does SM *realize* how precious these pistachios are? How significant it is that I gave him one of my ONLY two tins? I hope he appreciates the love, seriously.

iv) I had another conversation with the beautiful philosophy boy. In which finally (FINALLY!) we learned his name and did a little introduction thingie that was cute, and we also learned that we have a common love for the following things:
- ibooks
- coffee
- philosophy (sssh... it's not really a love for me. I just love hearing him do philosophy)
- chocolate covered coffee beans from Kensington

Clearly, it is meant to be. *Clearly*.

Daniel mentioned how smooth I was when we were talking. I said that maybe I should wear my "smoothie sensation" t-shirt to the next class. Kristen pipes in: Isn't that the shirt that always gets you into trouble?

Well. Yes - but that is clearly the point.

v) In a very odd turn of events, I came home last night to find that itunes is now installed on my PC desktop. Which confused me, because I did not put it there. Explanations? Please?

...there's an angel, with a hand in my hair...

The only tangible evidence of the emotional upheaval that was my night is some pistachio crumbs left haphazardly on my bedspread. Ashley came to my room to see if we should hit up a Tuesday movie, and never left.

We digressed - the talk began in casual, small-talk, then migrated and spoke of other things, other people. The rest of the conversation was as convoluted and distracted as the thoughts perpetually in my head. It covered the broad spectrum of issues - love, hate, karma, change, potential, potential, potential...

Potential is a tricky slope. It exists and I can see it and it's great to have the potential to be someone amazing. But tonight I heard something that in all this time no one had said to me yet - potential has to be reached. Sometimes it won't be, and as frustrating as that is, so it is.

Life isn't a reciprocity theory. Somehow I came to believe that if I explained, if I answered, if I went on - that I would get the answers that I need in return.

Michelle, ma belle: C'est pas ton coeur qui sera déchiré en deux cette anneé, mais le mien.

I feel like I am constantly justifying myself. Explaining why I can't do certain things. Tonight I think I made her understand why she has to stop pushing, why it hurts me more. I know everyone thinks I am irrational, overly emotional - but at times, even I can be completely lucid. And there are reasons for what I do, and what I do not do, and who I see, and who I don't. I want people to start accepting that and stop questioning it.

I know she thinks I'm in a circle, a rut that I can't break out of. But Farnam, my beautiful wise Farnam who knows everything and the most gorgeous ways of saying it, explains it so well - I'm not moving in circles, but in spirals, she says. And even though it feels like I am always ending up in the same place, I'm not really because I am stronger every time - and even though I may have had a "night" this evening, it's different from the times when every night was a "night".

And because I will it to be so, and because I am actually afraid of the pile of anthropology readings I still have to do, I am calling an end to this "night".

Tuesday, October 05, 2004

...driving...

This makes me happy, and so I am sharing it with you.

One hand on wheel, one hand out of window : Chicago.
One hand on wheel, one hand on horn : New York.
One hand on wheel, one hand on newspaper, foot solidly on accelerator: Boston.
Both hands on wheel, eyes shut, both feet on brake, quivering in terror : Ohio, but driving in California.
Both hands in air, gesturing, both feet on accelerator, head turned to talk to someone in back seat: Italy.
And finally:

One hand on horn, one hand greeting, one ear on cell phone, one ear listening to loud music, foot on accelerator, eyes on female pedestrians,conversation with someone in next car : Welcome to Tehran!!!

...do not leave your belongings unattended...

I dreamt of the people who left my life, the lot of you - who woke up one morning and realized they no longer need my life, love, company. Walking to school, I almost choked on mango nectar that was too sweet anyway.

My lifeline is an ugly beige cardigan which goes with me nearly everywhere. I wear it over my soft red sundress, thus defeating the entire purpose. Heavy, and its shape distorted by too many washes, it covers me like a burlap sac. I'm a physically manifest contradiction.

More than sometimes I want to go back to a previous time and do things differently. I play the "it could have turned out differently..." game. Such a dangerous plan to follow, and so completely futile. My insecurities are swimming in me today, doing messy laps of butterfly kicks and making splashes everywhere, getting into everything.

I want to hear "you're beautiful in the morning". I want to be spun around spontaneously, despite my fear of heights. I want a hand on my knee, and the curtains drawn.

I want to skip school today and do the work I should have done last night, when I sat in my room with the candles burning and read Pablo Neruda into the night.

...net weight: 200 grams...

The laptop may be in intensive care, but thankfully the Mac-daddy got my desktop internet running again, so here I am, in all my Torontonian glory. He always does this - we break the internet, and he fixes it. We owe him so much seriously, although he says that most of the time it's his fault the internet goes out anyway.

I am paying him back in Iranian dried nuts. Rafsanjan pistachio, and such. I think he knows that I secretly love him (possibly even better than George Clooney - and that is saying a lot), but very politely pretends to not know, or care. Very chivalrous, I think.

So I made a horse's ass out of myself today, all for the sake of a good party. Because, when it comes down to it, I am the shiznit of friends and there are no ends that I will not go to for you. I will even speak to the scum of the earth (hypothetically speaking, of course), all so that you will have the party of parties of parTAYS. But really, it was an interesting sight. I stammered, and shook and did all kinds of non-me things, because there aren't a lot of people who cause me to lose my cool, but yet the cool was lost. And then I went to Tara's... and collapsed on her bed... and ate half a bag of marshmallows.

I'm done - that was my story. That's all. I'm going to bed now, because my room is pretty and nice, and I have an early class. If I weren't afraid of fire, I would leave the rosemary candle burning. As it is, I have to blow it out. Some things are just meant to be blown out, I suppose.

Monday, October 04, 2004

...breaking all the rules I didn't make...

Do you ever wonder if there are certain things that fate has ordained will not work for you, no matter what you do?

I kind of get that feeling. I have an idea that I am not meant to be techno-equipped with the facility that others seem to have. The essence of wired is going to elude me it seems. Who knows why? The powers that be have their own plans, and my hook-ups to the net seem to not play any part in them.

The only other explanation is that it is the university bookstore which eludes me - no product or service I commission from them will come easily. Maybe it's because I yelled at them that time. They could be peculiar that way.

Let's talk about my ibook. Let's talk about how it wouldn't connect to any network all weekend, how I spent an hour with Geoff the technician at the internet help desk at the big R - only to have him run a systems check and realize it was a problem with the hardware. Let's talk about how he sent me back to the store, to tell them that the computer I bought from them three days ago had problems.

Let's then talk about how the miscreant technician who was going to do the repairs wanted to charge me $75/hour labour + the cost for parts to replace hardware that was defective upon my receiving it. Let's talk about how that was vetoed quite quickly and I made it clear to him exactly why I was going to pay nothing, and how I would have my computer returned to me in perfect condition tomorrow morning. Yeah, That's right. It's like this.

you wouldn't let me say the words I long to say
you didn't want to see life through my eyes
you tried to shut me back inside your narrow room
and silent me with bitterness and lies.

did I say something wrong?...
did I have a point of view?...
oops - i didn't know I couldn't speak my mind.

and I'm not sorry, it's human nature...

I'm not your bitch, don't hang your shit on me


What's U of T's stance on dating TA's? What if you met before you found out they were your TA? What if they are a TA for your course, but not your particular TA?

I'm having a telepathic love affair with Madonna. By which I mean, I have played her songs again and again for the past hour and a half. God bless Martha and her clutch download skills.

...the suspect made a smooth and silent getaway...

I hate laptop cursors. i wasn't originally going to say that, except that because of this damn cursor, I lost the post I originally wrote. Which was just an eloquent way of telling you that I am currently without internet connection and will be blogging less actively until my no-good landlord decides to make an appearance to fix it. He may be a cute Persian grad student, but like all Persian men (at least the ones of my acquaintance) is generally useless.

Rachel was a tough cookie at work - an ex-guy of her life came into the restaurant where she works and she was charming, polite, gorgeous and by thus actions managed to make him so uncomfortable he left. I on the other hand am no such tough cookie. Upon exiting a music store on Bay street, I saw an ex-guy of *my* life and turned promptly upon my heel and went right back into the store.

Tales from my productive weekend: I applied for three jobs. The one I hope to get, which I actually have no chance at right now because they are only hiring full time, starts at $19/hour. BUT the manager loved me, and is keeping me in mind for fulltime work over the summer and the month between semesters, and is considering hiring two part-times (one of which will be me). So, fingers crossed.

Other tales: Pretty candles bought today have beautified the inner sanctum. Want to see? So easy, the way.

they can never take away your truth
but the question is
can you handle mine?

they say I'm crazy
but I really don't care
that's my prerogative...

Sunday, October 03, 2004

...the punishing kiss...

Do you understand how completely wrong this is? W-R-O-N-G.

He is beautiful, and it's a shame. A low down dirty shame. Fix my computer, fix my hope in the beauty of the world, and the beauty of guys who, truth be told, did not have a great standing with me recently - and then to know that... AHHHH.

So essentially it looks like this will have to be what is generally tantamount to a celebrity-type crush. The completely unrequited, never to be requited, crushes that make you weep for the unfairness of it all. So, contrary to Kristen's insistance that I "get over it" - I'm going to continue to crush and curse the unfair unfair un-FAIR nature of the world as it is, and wail and moan and "beweep my outcast state". Or something. And damn MTJ who said it quite well: "so hot you want to get with him.. but you can't". AHHHH!

But at the same time, move my thoughts to the more enticing thought of the guy who, although is not the "man of my dreams", is intriguing and fun.. and, oh yes, I can't date him. What, exactly, was I thinking with this plan? Can we tell me please? Self-improvement. Riiiigghhhttt.

She was never so witty
Always struggling to be full of fun
On weekdays from midday to one

I want karaoke on a Saturday night. I want a light-roast unflavoured coffee (even if it is free-trade). I want a new-found appreciation for electronica.

Figure it out yet? Keep working on it...

Saturday, October 02, 2004

...slinger...

Read this.

...the politics of idealism...

Walking back from late dinner with Tara, we ran into Sam and Talayeh on Baldwin coming out of a cafe there. I felt so ridiculously cool because I adore them and they were in my neighbourhood, which means that I live in the "cool" neighbourhood, which in some way then progresses to me being somewhat cool.

Right.

Lord, I'm so retarded.

Oh and ps. Talayeh also has an ibook. Yeah, that's right. We're like, computer sisters. Or something. I'll stop now.

The ibook is making me cry. Because I want to be on the internet on it, right now. And I don't know the password to the network and Mark, the mac-daddy computer genius of the house, is not around. This is frustrating.

My life as a romantic comedy - Martha said it would be so ironic if I met the man of my dreams while I'm on this self-imposed celibacy phase, and wouldn't be able to go out with him. Well, irony just hit me like a slap in the face and there's a light on in the attic.

It's October. Whoa. Where did that come from?

Friday, October 01, 2004

...aut lux hic nata est...

It's man versus machine in my life and tonight, the machine won.

This girl is now the owner of a brand-new ibook, beautiful beautiful mac darling that it is. For the next year or two, this baby will be my best friend and mister lover man, shabba.

Media is starting up hardcore at the office, and Russ asked me today if I'd be willing to write some of the articles for the various magazines/papers they are getting involved with. Um... died and went to heaven, honestly. I love that I'm finally going to get to do something fun at work. And something which requires actual neurons.

Witness me next week - sitting in Javaville, sipping a fair-trade mocha, writing for a magazine, on my little mac-baby. Who I have yet to name, but it will come. Finally, to be an actual pretentious writer, and not just a wanna-be.

I only kid - I'll never be a pretentious writer. Not pretentious enough.

I am completely adoring of Althea, the new girl at work. Love her to bits and pieces, honestly. We laughed so much today, mostly at me, mostly because I could not keep my eyes or thoughts off the good doctor (read: the smoldering hot plastic surgeon with an office upstairs).

Off to clean my room, then play with the new best friend. Why don't you bums go do something productive and make me feel super guilty?