...offside/outside...

I think I have no future. I'm not accomplished. Or I'm accomplished without having accomplished; and in this bourgeois society it's the having that matters. I'm resentful about money this week, and employment, and those other corresponding factors of life. Really, bitterly resentful. That I need it for school when it keeps me from other things I need for school (or to get to what comes after school): perfect marks/perfect extracurriculars/perfect overachiever. I think we've established that I'm not going to law school - I hate saying that. I feel like it's permanently closing that door if I say it but the likelihood just happens to be high that it is not going to happen for me. I don't know a single reputable law school that takes students whose GPA is under 3.8 - do people even GET 3.8's anymore?

Of course they do. Just not anyone I work with. Because we're working.

And it isn't as if that was the only option, or even the most preferred one, but I can't stand the thought of being disqualified from anything because if I can be disqualified from anything I can be disqualified from everything. Which leaves nothing.

...obviously he was not at his office a lot...

Last night I dreamed Ignatieff was the devil. Seriously. Spirit of the underworld, superpowers and violent battle. I crawled out a window at the end, and the next day they announced him the Liberal leader. Meaning?

In other news, Farnam is off to the convention today so hurray for her delegate self. Howard Dean is the keynote speaker, and I wish I was there. I was on his camp remember, back when he was running in for President. Tres cool, although I have to wonder why an American is speaking at the Canadian Liberal Convention. Hrmm.

...that's a good thing...

i'll treat you so good girl you can't even know i'll make you dinner we'll have some wine play nintendo nintendo? nintendo and we'll chill just easy you me and the dog but i don't like dogs hey! the dog is part of the package ok? ok!

...if i did it...

My head is spinning. This paper has been the most difficult project in these last few years. Is he liable under contract? Is he liable under tort? Can he be liable under both, and does that mean he should pay more? What accounts for the difference in the courts finding in this case, compared to the two others? What is your reasoning?

My reasoning is he's guilty, period. He's smarmy, and he's guilty as sin.

That is not sufficient.

Fine.

In the middle of all this, this random completely unrelated came to me: Why isn't Shadow of the Wind a bestseller? Think about it. Why isn't it a bestseller?

...how the suburbanites roll...

In the car, going home. Showdown at the stop sign. Who will survive?

Rachel: Bitch I know you don't think driving an F150 makes you queen of the road. It's my right of way, I've got an Explorer. I'm built Ford Tough, too.

...fun to write things about...

"I love you"

Recently scrawled in bright graffiti throughout many parts of downtown. Means: there's free wireless service here.

"I love you" "Love is dead".

Also scrawled around the city, various places. Means: there used to be free wireless here, but it's not working anymore.

The poor man's Wireless Bandit, I guess. Things to know.

...the saints are already here...

"EW", she says, "this gross guy Chris just asked me out".
"Tell him you have a boyfriend. You still have one right?"
"I told him", she responds, "he said you can have two at once. And I do have one. Not TJ. A new one."

...

"Not TJ?" I repeat, "Darling, how many boyfriends can a girl have in one year?"
"However many. Just... not more than one at once."

Three boyfriends in one year. Must be nice to be thirteen years old. I will settle for just one. But honestly, she goes to an all-girls school; where does she meet all these boys?

...how long now...

The review said John Mayer's song "Waiting on the World to Change" could very well be the greatest anti-war anthem of this generation. I love this song, it's catchy and important. And John Mayer is a wonderful artist. This is not an anti-war song though; it's an anti-action song. I happen to think (I have to think) young people are willing and capable of doing more than waiting around for someone else to fix the problems, and writing the fight off as being unfair. Of course the fight is unfair, it always has been; does that mean we shouldn't fight it? There is no excuse for "standing at a distance" when you know what is happening in the system. A responsibility that comes with knowing is doing.

Alternate anti-war songs:
Metric - Suxxecy
Skids/U2/Green Day - The Saints are Coming
Dixie Chicks - Travelin' Soldier
Beastie Boys - In a World Gone Mad

Those are my picks -- what are yours?

...always worth the mess...

Fancy flowered dress, she's laughing it up in her picture. Her message to me says: "Gorgeous, there's more to life than word counts".

And I say it's easy for you to say! I don't have a fancy flowered dress. I have papers, and exams, and presentations. And deadlines. For me, for the next few weeks, there's nothing much more than word counts. Except maybe Grey's Anatomy. A girl has to negotiate her priorities.

...reagan did it better...

They installed these two massive tin soldiers at the entrance of the children's section, red cardboard. They look festive and re mind me of the nutcracker so secretly I love them. Less secretly, the cardboard is flimsy and the wide red base invites browser seaters, only to find themselves assbackwards head over feet when the cardboard collapses under their weight. Day one, a man took the liberty and upon falling, kicked it violently. Stormed out, came back, saw staff and management present and watching, kicked it *again*... then ran out the store. We replaced. Day two, a child of about 9 was sitting on it. I approached him and said, "oh honey you can't sit there". He begins to rise, upsets the balance of the soldier and the whole contraption starts falling in on him. He then promptly bursts into tears. I freeze. Awestruck at the sight of an older boy child in tears. Kate, one of the new staff, herself the mother of two young boys immediately takes over and calms him down. I flee into the breakroom, terrified if I stay I will make yet more children cry. The verdict later was the child was just very sensitive, but that made me feel only marginally better. I blame the nutcracker prince.

Then yesterday I came into work to find Kate laughing and one of my other colleagues looking slightly distraught. Kate says: "Ask Silvia how she made a child cry today". I go nuts at this point, at this new policy we appear to have. Crying jags free with purchase. "Bridget Jones, you are ridiculous"...

...hands in my pocket...

The nurse finished explaining the procedure of the labs to me, and started getting ready. I turned away and tried to think of different things. From the left side of the room, someone entered: a charming Italian man in a black turtleneck. From the way he started chatting to my nurse (standing leaning on the edge of my cubicle wall) I could tell he was a regular. But after a moment it wasn't to the nurse that he directed his comments, but to me.

About Olympic sports, and Ferraris. Then anecdotes about Ben Johnson, who he used to represent, and finally to German cabarets. He became increasingly animated with each story, each new topic of discussion. Meanwhile I'm wondering why this peculiar yet entirely jovial man was still talking to me. At the point where the nurse began to pack up and call it quits, he gave a little clap and said "Okay. Looks like my work here is done" explaining he thought I looked a little uncomfortable with the needles, and maybe I could use a distraction. And wished he could, also, offer me a cookie or something. He suggested I stick around and offer the same for him.

I had to laugh at that. It was a neat little trick.

...tired of looking for the electricity...

The theory was (back then, so they told me) my orderliness and hyperorganizational tendencies were meant to bring a semblance of control to my life, to compensate for those things I can't. In a way I only vaguely understood, the eating disorder was also related to that -- control, control, control. I'm watching "Phone Booth" after spending the morning (and my paycheque) at Ikea buying closet organizers, and the afternoon putting everything in an appropriately sized compartment. I'm not getting much of anything important done today. I'm relaxed though, and feeling easy.

Friday at lunch Laurie came up to me. "You nimrod" she said, "I don't secretly hate you. I just haven't seen you". Which was true, and valid. I laughed with B about it later, about this thing girls do where we take every missed invite or periodic absence personally. She said, and I agree, that it's probably a complex, from when we were fat. Hah! Makes sense to me. This was how I handled it: laughed, shook my head, and went dancing with a filmmaker at a Russian vodka bar. Healthy? I think so.

Unhealthy would be alienating yourself from all your friends, betraying them, destroying them and in the process yourself. Unhealthy would be keeping such a negative worldview that nothing can break in. There's someone else in my life, a sometimes friend with some of the same issues I have had in my life, and this is how she's handling hers. It's not going to make things better, and only seems to further isolate her. I try to break in sometimes and make some light, but she won't open. Hurts to see but there's only so much you can do.

The fax machine isn't working tonight and there's someone on the other end waiting for me. I could worry, or I could spend more time with Colin Farrell, drinking tea.

...this one will survive, this one will not...

I'm not going to lie to you, I love Christmas. I love the red and green, the garlands, the carols and the mass-merchandised holiday product. I love Santa, and teddy bear earrings with bells. Bells! I love all kinds of bells. I love the red paper cups at Starbucks and festive sprinkles on my latte.

First week of November, and (I work in retail; I can say this)... Christmas is here!