JESUS GOD!!

I am so happy that I never have to write in this blog again.
I love writing, don't get me wrong, but blogging, in my eyes, is one of the cockiest types of writing ever.
Some blogs are... decent. However, most are just random rants posted publicly.
Hey bloggers........ I DON'T GIVE A FUCK.

haha, the irony of me posting this rant on a blog just hit me.

Goodbye forever, Blogger!

Well, bye for now!

2:20pm
Ellen
peace, thanks for listening.../reading.
see you in class? maybe.

2:21pm
Ethan
I'll be there.
Haha.

2:22pm
Ellen
i probably will be. i dont know though im driving around after this class and i may never return.

2:22pm
Ethan
If I were you I don't think I would ever come back.

A slice of life.

I feel like slicing off a pie-piece of life,
spoon feeding it to a frozen statue.

ELLEN'S THEORY ON "LEFT" AND "RIGHT."

"Right" is the right direction, as in, correct.
"Left" is what's left to take if you don't go the "right" way.

New best friend.

I just had the best experience.

Standing outside, smoking an American Spirit alone, hood up, probably looking very, very pissed off: me.
Took note of a man wearing a drug-rug poncho, camera case slung across his torso.
He walked by, turned, and said, directly, "Ah, another outcast."

once upon a time

There was once a girl who used to talk shit to her clothes.
They revolted and refused to be worn.

ELLEN'S THEORY ON PATCHOULI

Patchouli is an essential oil, derived from the flower of the Patchouli plant. It is commonly associated with "hippies," also known as "longhairs," "flower children," or "DAMN HIPPIES."
Patchouli is known by most hippies to be the one and only scent that fully masks the scent of Cannabis Sativa, commonly known as "Marijuana."

Now, I have a theory about patchouli. Back in the day, hippies used to wear real patchouli oil. Real patchouli oil now is as extinct as the dinosaurs.
The current process for the manufacturing of patchouli is as follows:
Neo-hippies, wishing to be fully legit in their hippie-ness, obtain the ashes of the real hippies from back in the day. They proceed to mix the ashes with scent-free oil, purchased from your common supermarket. Next, the ashy bits are strained out. The neo-hippies massage the oil into their skin. They break out in pimples, and possibly hives, however, they have achieved the scent of a true, unwashed, bathed-in-patchouli, non-conformist hippie-douchebag. Great job, faithful free spirits!

Over-break logic.

Fact:
This break, the only time food made me feel sick was Thanksgiving. Then, it was because I was extremely full.

Fact:
I do not have a weak stomach, nor am I picky.

Fact:
All food does not make me sick, only Wege cafeteria food, and Corner Cafe food.

Statement:
In consideration of above facts, I do not want to eat food that makes me sick.

Resolution:
I will no longer eat the food that makes me sick, i.e., the food provided by Wege Cafeteria and the Corner Cafe.

Issue:
Wege cafeteria and the Corner Cafe are generally my only options for dining, because I have a limited amount of expendable income.

Conclusion:
Therefore, I will only eat the food at Wege cafeteria and the Corner Cafe that I deem safe and healthy for consumption. I will not eat food I expect to make me sick.

opportunism

A friend of mine, Brian Clarkston, told me tonight that he believes me to be an opportunist.
The Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary defines opportunism as, "the art, policy, or practice of taking advantage of opportunities or circumstances often with little regard for principles or consequences."
This definition makes opportunism sound somewhat negative. However, in my case, it holds less severe connotations. I do try to take advantage of every opportunity, in the sense that I never say no. I try to experience whatever I can and take chances, even when I am afraid or nervous. I generally consider the consequences and keep good principle in mind, but they usually do not stop me.
The guide I use to my opportunism is simply, others. I never take an opportunity that will severely, negatively affect other people. I do not want to hurt anyone else in any way, ever.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

Talking about money frustrates me.
Especially because I have none...
I almost cried for no reason, while discussing money with my parents.
I NEED A JOB.

Jesus God, why am I so stressed?

Cheesecake Champ!

I just made a cheesecake by myself and didn't ruin it!
I'm so happy!
It took me a little while, but I paid attention, followed the recipe, and didn't get distracted!
I did make a mess.
BUT I STILL DIDN'T MESS UP THE RECIPE!!!

Thanksgiving.

The one thing I hate about Thanksgiving is cooking.
I mean, I love it when my mom cooks.
I love it when someone else's mom cooks.
Pretty much, I love it when someone, anyone else is cooking.
I don't cook.
Sometimes it can be fun... I guess... but a high-stress cooking situation is definitely not my idea of fun.
For one thing, I am an awful cook.
I always make a mess, and I always screw up the recipe.

Thanksgiving Day:

I hide out all day to avoid cooking. My mom finds me. Brings me into the kitchen along with my grandma, aunts, and cousin. I am instructed to cook something. I make a mess, or ruin the recipe. My aunt Tracy, a real hyper lady, gets mad because I made a mess in her kitchen. My mom has to figure out what to do with my variation on the recipe.
I run away and hide out again for as long as possible.

GOOD, GOOD, GOOOOOOD MORNING AMERICA!

Well, last night I decided to go to bed at ten o'clock at night, six or seven hours earlier than I usually would... AND I FEEL AMAZING! I woke up this morning at nine a.m. and I don't have class until twelve fifteen, so I got ready slowly, and decided to go to breakfast. When I walked downstairs, I looked outside and the snow was STICKING. It still is snowing and STICKING. It's not even that cold, either! I called my mom and brightened up her day with my excitement. I'm glad I was able to do that. I just finished an excellent breakfast and I'm now ready to go outside and play in the snow. By myself. I can't wait until friends start waking up.

A typical attitude.

I know this is really a typical smokers' attitude, but here it is:
I can quit whenever I want.

The issue is...
the simple concept of wanting to.
I don't want to,
so I will not.
I will not quit until I truly want to.

I do have a basis for this attitude, however. It's not just based on simple confidence in myself.

Here is my basis:
1. I have the ability to psyche myself out to deal with small amounts of physical discomfort. For example, last winter, I was able to survive the cold in just a light coat. Sure, I was cold, but I didn't let myself shiver or react to the fact that I was cold.
2. I have previously quit obsessions and habits. I can change aspects of my personality fairly easily. I do have a strong willpower, and a good ability to focus on what I really want, and more importantly in this situation, what I do not want. When I really want something, I go for it.

A fellow smoker.

I talked to a man today as I stood outside Wege smoking a cigarette with some friends.
He was smoking, too.
He was wearing a t-shirt in the cold.
He was an older man, probably in his fifties.
As he walked inside, he stopped.
He turned.
He looked at us and said, "Never let anyone tell you who to be. Make your own ideas, decide who you will be and what you will do for yourself."
He is my new hero.

Kids.

I don't think I'll ever have kids, but I might.
I don't really want kids, to be honest.
However, if I do, for some reason, end up having kids, this is my plan:
My kids will be educated about drugs, drinking, smoking, and sex.
I will not be one of those mothers who lets her kids drink at home because it's safer. That's just stupid.
I will, however, have an open door policy. My kids won't get in trouble for drinking, doing drugs, having sex, or smoking, as long as they don't lie about it or try to hide it from me.
I plan to share with them all my knowledge, so that they know their personal limits, especially when it comes to drinking. I don't want one of my children to be the kid who does not know his limit and gets alcohol poisoning his first time drinking.
As for smoking cigarettes, my plan is to tell my kids that if they ever want to start smoking, to tell me, and I will buy for them. I'll buy them packs of Bugler, and tell them if they can stomach smoking unfiltered cigarettes that they will have to roll themselves, they may continue to smoke. If they can't handle it, hopefully they'll realize that they don't really want to start smoking.
If my kids are going to smoke, they better be badass about it.
Basically, all I will require as a parent is honesty. I'll teach my kids to be good people, and to think for themselves.
I really hope I never have kids, though.

Lucky Day

Yesterday was overwhelmingly lucky and productive.
I discovered I can make up my math test.
I received my french test back and got an A.
I found out that I don't have french class next week at all.
I scheduled my classes, and am so excited about them. I have the history of jazz, and American Indian society in Michigan, as well as some other interesting classes.
I had a car, got to drive around.
I got to go to the gay bar and club.
I went to IHOP and got blueberry pancakes.
I also met some people who were drunk and had a fun conversation.
Then I slept.

run on.

I am happy
and I'm tired although I thought I got enough sleep
and I want to take a nap
and I am happy
and I know that it is because I got to dance last night
and I should do that more often
and also I had a car
and that made me happy
and we broke the door
and the door is tied shut with yellow rope
and it's alright, I think it's alright
and I don't think it will be a big deal
and I am happy.

Rumors.

Last night I went to the gay bar and club, Rumors, on Division, in order to work on my anthropology project. It was an amazing experience. What delighted me the most about it, and indeed, what delights me the most about all clubs, is the homogeneous quality of the dance floor. It does not matter your age, race, family background, career, sexuality, gender, outlook on life, or political views. All that matters is that you are a person, surrounded by other people, a massive blob of constant movement.

The will to dance brings everyone together. The driving need to express yourself and let go of emotional and mental barriers, allows you to live and breathe the moment. We all can leave behind our hangups and just let go. Dancing is a beautiful and perfect release for those who are willing to throw insecurities aside. You are free to do whatever you want, be whatever you want, uninhibited. It is a beautiful and perfect thing, living in the moment. I love the sense of unity, the sense that everyone has of being there, together, to share this piece of time. There's no need to feel self conscious. Nothing matters.

November 9th. thoughts.

I have the need to share everything about myself
Every thought
Emotion
Physical sensation

I want someone to know.
Even when I am writing,
I really want someone to read it.

I don’t want to just talk to myself
I need to communicate
I am willing to listen
But you need to listen to me, too.

Why am I so desperate for that?
For attention
It’s pretty fuckin pathetic
But I do not know how to change it

mmmmmmhmmm.

Restless from a life of fright—a fright of life—and feeling light, she lights a cigarette, at the pause of a stoplight.

I feel very strange lately. I know this is transitory, but as always, I am wrapped up in now. There is no future for me, only this moment, and what has led me to this moment.

Life is not a pleasure, only a necessity. The bright times plus the ugly ones do not add up to the sum of a whole—there is a hole.

Morning Star Bathroom, the clap

The door of the Morning Star bathroom says,
"NOT a bathroom,
especially if you have not bought a drink."
A sign above the door is pink decorated with hearts and handwritten reads, "YOU NOW HAVE THE CLAP."
I'm not afraid, and I did buy a drink, so I enter.
Inside, on the walls, on the cabinets, patrons have written words.
My favorite is in the middle of an empty maroon wall,
"Embrace the Woods. You will never defeat them."
I thought it might be a selection of song lyrics, but upon further investigation, it seems to simply be a statement.
And I love whoever wrote it. I love that piece of his or her mind that generated a statement of such beautiful, simple truth.

4:42 in the morning. Sunday.

The brain is filled with gaps as if ecstasy really did eat holes in it
Snap crackle & pop
I should focus
I should start working on my projects but
Now at 4:42 in the morning on Sunday it just seems so futile
Strange thoughts… I just, for some reason, missed Adam. Probably because at this point I’m idealizing his memory and I have pretty much forgotten the searing psychological pain he caused me.
I wonder what Joel is writing about.
I wonder what Joel is writing about.
It occurs to me that so much of my life is based on fear
Fear that I won’t survive long enough to do what I want to do
Fear that people won’t like or accept or listen to my words or care
That’s what’s really getting me right now
People not listening
I listen
I always listen
Listening is so important especially after fight club how they spoke about people really listening, not just waiting for their turn to speak
After I read that book and saw that movie and heard and read the words I strove to really listen, to really care, to give my friends and the people around me true attention
Lately I’ve been straying from that and I am disappointed in myself
Ever since I realized that a lot of the time no one listens to me I have caught myself not listening
Or listening and not comprehending or paying attention
It disgusts me.
I am so disappointed that my friends don’t listen to me though a lot of the time.
I know I talk kind of a lot
But I mean it’s a basic human need to be heard
And maybe if someone tries to understand it’s really nice
And if someone does understand it’s even nicer

“it's interesting how your words change me
and
how this music makes me tap my foot
i will always remember that”
thank you, Frank

11-11-2008

So many sounds under the electric lamps here at eleven thirty
Doors opening and closing
Guitars shouting out
Mechanical humming of the heating system
Cars ripping by
& disjointed sounds of speech and laughter, too far off to define

I don’t fabricate I describe
I would like to learn how to do both simultaneously
Write meaningful lies & truth

I wish the sky was not so dull
Gray-pink-brown and starless
Light pollution is a bitch(!)

11-10-2008

Well it is nice to have some alone time finally
I was getting a bit overwhelmed though I didn’t realize it
At least I had the sense to come outdoors
Though it’s cold
The air is clear and still and I can think

If I live too long, I'm afraid I'll die.

Have you ever noticed that the majority of songs either have gorgeous musical qualities and shit for lyrics, or beautiful, insightful lyrics, paired with substandard music?

Tonight was a strange one, indeed.
The snow defined my mood. It created a overwhelming sense of euphoria in me which still has not dissolved.
My faith in my friendships is stronger than ever.
I planned to sleep, but then, when I got to my room at 4:30 a.m., time passed more quickly than I thought it would. By the time I had time to go to bed, the time was almost 6:00 a.m., and time had run out for me to sleep.
Instead, I hung more pieces of magazines around my room.
Now, in addition to,
-Marc Jacobs boys in trendy dresses,
-Woody Allen looking pensive,
-an Andy Warhol exhibit advertisement,
-Hlep Kdis Raed,
-a man on an old bicycle, the kind with the huge wheel and the tiny wheel,
-a rainbow girl,
-Cig Smoke For OBAMA,
-and a U DECIDE poster,
my walls are hung with,
-a Hunter S. Thompson biography advertisement,
-a Ralph Lauren suit model,
-a man seated outside a blue hair salon,
-a Swedish Fish advertisement I found particularly clever,
-The Clash,
-a girl and a boy in a van,
-Indian artwork,
-and a hand-drawn picture of a man with two bloody knives, surrounded by his victims.
Immediately following the decoration festival, I walked to Family Fare to purchase some groceries.
A man stopped his car as I walked and offered me a ride. I politely declined. He offered again. I declined again. A third time, he offered; a third time, I declined, maintaining a relaxed and polite tone. Finally, I convinced him. I wonder at his intentions. His very young son was in the car, and he seemed to be an honest man, but you never know. Was he a good person? I have never developed any skill that allows me to perceive people for who they are based on first impressions. Our society is so largely based on self-sufficiency and mistrust of strangers, that we have no reason to develop such skills. We simply stay safe, and alone.

A horrible legal drug experience: SALVIA DIVINORUM.

The drug came on with a hellish intensity like a serial killer moving on to his next victim. Most drugs take over the brain gradually, and assimilate each cell and nerve to the new state with care and compassion. This one rushed in, and sadistically twisted every cell and nerve simultaneously, bent them all to its will, with gusto. The first two minutes of the experience were laced with pure terror, and exhilaration, which led to a complete lack of mental control, and psychologically induced paralysis. Following that, a light body buzz and slight intellectual incapacitation, as well as a lack of self awareness. Curiosity led me to try it, but it left me humbled and nervous. I doubt I'll ever sample it again.

I miss last fall and winter.

The time here passes too quickly.
I have been enjoying it, but the thing is, I really don't have anyone exactly like my friends at home.
I have close friends here. People I can talk to. People I can be with.
However, they are nothing like my really close friends at home.
I don't get individual time with anyone here. And I really miss that aspect of my life in LO. That kind of relationship is so valuable to me, I wish I had it here.
I miss being serious.
Goal: start getting really close with people. Relating and discussing more, not just goofing around.

Mother

My mother was so happy last week to hear Cynthia, Linz and I mocking each other's choice of reading material. Cynthia loves Bukowski, Linz loves Harry Potter, and I have a healthy appreciation for both. Linz began the argument by rawly imitating Bukowski's style. Cynthia retaliated by picking out JK Rowling's writing flaws. I contributed my minimally clever comments to whichever side I saw an opportunity within. My mother was shocked at first at our brutality, but soon that impression dissolved into hesitant delight.

Top Five Conversation Topics

1. Zombies
2. Heroin
3. Charlie being crazy/Carrie being a bitch/Joel being a big smoking baby
4. Donnie Darko
5. Cigs

RIP John

This is the worst story.
Don’t read it.
It is about a boy named John.
John is…was a boy who went to my high school.
Our senior year, a week or so before graduation, he died.
The way he died, is that he killed himself.
He killed himself in the worst way I could imagine.
The way he killed himself is he hung himself. And the worst detail is that the rope dug into his neck, cut into his neck, and they had to take him down.
They were his best friend’s parents.
What happened is all John’s friends were at a party with him. And John and all of his friends passed out that night at John’s best friend’s house.
In the morning no one knew where John was, they thought he went home.
Later the next day, John’s best friend, whose name is Andy, went to find John at John’s parent’s house where John lived.
John was not at home.
His parents didn’t know where he was.
Andy looked all over town,
Looked every possible place John could be.
He called everyone he could think of.
A few people got text messages from John around ten that morning saying I love you, this has nothing to do with you.
Andy was worried.
Andy went to his house, thinking maybe John passed out somewhere where Andy did not see him.
Andy realized he had not searched his house.
Back at home, Andy looked throughout the house.
Andy went down into the basement.
He walked into a small back room, and there was John.
John was dead. On a rope. Hanging from the ceiling.
Andy screamed. Screamed. Screamed. Screamed. Screamed. Screamed. Screamed. Screamed. Screamed. Screamed. Screamed. Screamed.
Andy’s parents ran down the stairs.
Andy’s parents dragged their son out of the room.
Andy screamed. Screamed.
Andy’s parents had to cut John down from the ceiling of their basement back room.
The rope was embedded in his neck.
Andy’s parents had to call the police and tell them what had happened.
And Andy would not… could not stop screaming.


I was not there, and yet,
I am so haunted by this.
But how is Andy?

Some words on life at AQ, Pt. 4

Every night is different, yet, in the most rudimentary sense, the same as the one before. Almost every night we go on a walk. These walks differ in length and direction, but remain consistent in that we never seem to have a destination. We walk for the sake of walking, largely because it is one of the few options of things to do late at night, or very early in the morning. Much of our time together at night is spent either in the lounge of St. Joseph Hall, where we all reside, or outside on Cig Isle. In the lounge, we talk to each other over Facebook chat—quite pathetic, but it allows for private conversation within the large group we constantly gather in. The fad used to be comparing people on Facebook, but now has mutated into a Solitaire epidemic. Often, some time is spent at the Arts and Music Center, practice room 130. Charlie beats the drums, Joel strums and picks his guitar, and Carrie and I satisfy ourselves creating ambient sound by tapping the cowbell, scraping two rough rocks together. Often these jam sessions take place after our walk, usually around one or two o’clock in the morning. Each of us prides ourselves in our ability to stay awake until the early hours of the morning. Days blur and melt together, especially when we fail to sleep for two days straight. This happens more often than is generally healthy, but as Joel says, “Sleep is for dreamers.” We prefer to maintain consciousness for as long as our bodies will allow us to, and sometimes longer. We like to test our physical limitations, push the boundaries. As the early morning progresses, our numbers slowly decrease as people get sleepy and retreat to their rooms for rest. It is fairly standard for me to go to bed around five. Joel, Conor, and I are generally the last people in the lounge. Conor falls asleep there, and sometimes I do too. Soon, it is time to sleep. I wake Conor up and tell him it is time to change sleep locations. We go outside for a final cigarette before bed, then back inside, and up the stairs to the second floor. Conor and I change, wash our faces and brush our teeth, then pull ourselves up onto my lofted bed. I look out the window as I wait for sleep to overcome my mind. I shut my eyes, the dreams begin.

some boys i hang out with just were making jokes about people killing themselves
& i told them not to, they just kept on fucking laughing & it's not even funny and they don't even fucking understand how many kids at my school last year died either by killing themselves or otherwise & they don't know how hard it was to deal even though i hardly knew anyone that had died & now i am about to fucking cry in front of everyone, im going to have a cigarette.

This says it all:

"It's a fucked up world... and sometimes you gotta just try to unfuck it."
Kill Two Birds and Get Stoned, by Kinky Friedman

"My God--life! Who can understand even one little minute of it?" "Don't try," he said. "Just pretend you understand."
Cat's Cradle, by Kurt Vonnegut

"Most ignorance is vincible ignorance. We don't know because we don't want to know."
Aldous Huxley

"If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is, infinite. For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things through narrow chinks of his cavern."
William Blake

Some words on life at AQ, Pt. 3

After class on Mondays and Thursdays, I go straight to dinner with Carrie, Joel, Charlie, and whoever else comes along for the ride. Dinner time always promises awful food, accompanied by excellent company. The best thing about our friendship is that I rarely am required to think before I speak. It is perfectly legitimate for any of us to vocalize any thought. We all have opinions, and we do not hesitate to share them. Most conversations are overridden with frivolity and comedy. All we need is each other, and any dull moment subsides. Tuesdays and Fridays are different. Classes only run until twelve for me, so I spend some quality alone time, or go back to bed and nap with Conor until we wake up. In my alone time, I wander Wilcox Park, sit at the Smoker’s Table thinking thoughts, read, go for bike rides, check out the bookstores in Eastown; really, whatever I am possessed to do. I prefer to be alone outdoors. It is easier for me to think when I can really breathe. Wednesdays there are no classes, a completely open day. I tell myself that I will do homework during the day, but it never happens. I was born a procrastinator, and will die a procrastinator. Wednesdays play out like Tuesdays and Fridays, in the absence of classes.

autumn thought.

Frigid hearts & minds have wet dreams about those hearts & minds & things which they imagine they can never possess. Place themselves in attaché cases with locks. What they don’t know is these locks and cases are fabrications, emaciations of the human spirit. Newest trend is to be alone rather than seek warmth in companionship. People need people, but people often do not realize the necessity of people; it is easier to hide from the self when alone. No new perspectives to cloud & confuse & maybe galvanize change. Rather use falling leaves & flakes & pikes as a hiding place than to squint through falling leaves & flakes & piles at the who’s and what’s of surroundings. Don’t you know that you can be just as disillusioned by your own thoughts as someone else’s? Beauty is in the eye of the beholder & it works for ugliness too & I do not need to explain myself.

today is good.

I got everything I needed to accomplished.
I have a new Ipod now, his name is Quentin.
I miss Mona, my old one, but Quentin works, so I like him too.
I feel so relaxed,
so open.
New perspectives, perspectives that have been within my mind for years but are just now being unearthed.
Excellent company.
Good day.

Beautiful places, beautiful faces.

When I look back on my life and remember the places I've been, one stands out distinctly among the others. It is a place of such natural and absolute beauty, it sends shivers down my spine to recollect the time I spent there. The Pacific Northwest is the kind of place that I'd love to photograph, but I realize the pure futility of trying to capture the essence of each and every gorgeous scene. Places like these give me a reason to exist. They inspire me to explore and appreciate. Thank you, Earth.

This is too much.

This is one of those situations where "the grass always seems greener on the other side of the hill."
When I am at home, I miss everyone at AQ.
When I am at school, I miss everyone in LO Town.
Oh, man.

Some words on life at AQ, Pt. 2

It is time for class. I gather my books and walk over to the Academic Building. When it is warm and sunny, I wear my sunglasses and walk at a normal pace. Today, it is cold and dark, so I’m bundled up in my hooded brown coat, hood up, with a scarf and mittens, and walking quickly. The speed of my pace, as well as the promise of the toasty Academic Building, warms me up considerably. I look around me as I walk, appreciating the beautiful campus I live on. Leaves of all autumn hues are scattered everywhere on the ground, swishing and crunching as students tread over them. In the trees above me, red, gold, brown, black, orange, yellow, and some green leaves cling for dear life to their branches, as the wind whips around them. The gray sky provides a sharp contrast to the colors, intensifying their glow. I finish my cigarette outside of AB, by the table out back, toss the end into the ashtray, and walk inside to class. I try to go to every one of my classes with a desire to learn. I pump myself up as I walk through the building, telling myself how excited I am to learn some new things, to think new ideas, to go to class. This technique is usually effective, with the exception of my Algebra/Trigonometry class. Algebra/Trigonometry is the most frustrating of all my classes by far. My teacher is Indian, and speaks English as a second language, so he is hard to understand. It does not help that math is my least favorite subject. In that class, my motivation to stay focused drops to zero. Most days, I zone out during math class, and just teach myself how to do the homework later. Otherwise, classes are pretty good. I like my professors, and I like the course material. Even in the instances where I do not have an interest in the material, I try to use the knowledge I am gaining to make connections to other subjects.

Some words on life at AQ, Pt. 1

On sunny days I awaken to light glistening in through my constantly open window. Cloudy days, the light is diffused and soft. I wake up at a different time each morning, or afternoon, or sometimes evening, based on the amount of sleep I obtained the previous night. Today is one of the grey days. I open my eyes and look across the room to see the time on my crimson microwave perched atop the refrigerator. I lie on my side with Conor’s arm limply draped over me. He is still asleep, and I am not surprised. I cuddle in closer—it gets chilly in the mornings—and due to the fact that my blankets have been dislodged and are no longer tucked in, several of them are on the floor below, further accentuating the shiver of the brisk morning breeze. It is too early. I turn my alarm off, and unwittingly drift back off to sleep, missing my 10:50 French 102. I do wake up with ample time to get to my 12:15 World History 162, however, and I am grateful for that. I roll over onto my left side and if Conor’s not awake yet, I whisper his name into his ear until he responds, usually with a groan, or a, “what time is it?” This morning, he is awake, and asks me what time it is. I tell him, and as usual, he replies, “FUCK!!” This signifies that he, like me, has slept straight through his first class. We talk in quiet voices for a bit until I decide that it is time for me to get out of bed. I kiss him on the cheek or forehead and say, “time to get up, kiddo,” or something of that nature. I swing out of bed like a clumsy, inexperienced acrobat, using the pipe above my bed. I push off the radiator or the windowsill with my toes, and land on the ground. My next destination is the bathroom. I wash my face and brush my teeth and sometimes my hair. I go back into my room, boil some water from the bathroom sink, and make some instant oatmeal, with some apple spider on the side. Clothes are scattered beneath my bed: I grab a shirt, a sweater, and pants, and put them on. Finally, it is cig time. If Conor has dragged himself out of bed yet, and gone to his room to get ready, I walk down the hall to his room. I place a cigarette between his lips, one between mine, and we walk down to the ground floor, then outside to Cig Isle to start the day right. The first cigarette of the day is always a good one. My body has been deprived of the constant nicotine intake of my waking hours, and as I smoke, I wake up, due to the gentle buzz spreading throughout my system. Conor and I are fairly quiet, retaining our morning voices, and sometimes I bring a mug of hot chocolate for us to share. We pass the mug, and exchange gentle conversation between ourselves, or with the other people sitting at the Smoker’s Table.

Goofballs.

Charlie,
Joel,
Carrie,
and I
just galavanted around the town,
acting like complete assholes.

I really appreciate...

I really appreciate this class.
I appreciate classes that force me to write without many limits.

Gives me a chance,
to give myself
a chance.

Yet another update on the moon:

As I sat outside, smoking a cig-- appropriately, on Cig Isle-- I observed the moon hanging in the sky, a bright white overinflated football.
Earlier, it was a soft, pale, opaque yellow. It glowed lopsidedly, hanging like an awkward hat on a hat rack, shedding shimmery light-- a dying glowstick in the morning.

Vignettes from the past few days.

A little boy used to put his forehead against the microwave while he cooked his food and say to his mom dad brothers sisters friends mentors acquaintances look at me look at me im getting superpowers, well in high school he got leukemia and died a year later a great tragedy of our generation, our time.

A child used to play in a foreign yard. The man who owned the grass hates children on his lawn overprotective of the things he owns letting the things he owns his personal blades of grass and clots of dirt own him, got fed up one day saw the child in his yard and shot him, called the police said, I just shot a kid. Didn’t even say my bad obviously he has no empathy never had children of his own or just has a vendetta against children. Abuse of power.

A man stood on a porch last night at three twenty six in the very early morning and shouted he can do whatever he chooses and he wished us a merry Christmas on this crisp October day, what a trooper. What a Christian. He has faith, he does. Called after us all down the block words that he wanted to say, no Announce because they seemed important at the time and indeed they were they were not wasted they were valuable.

A beautiful early morning spent laying in the center of Rosa Parks Circle, seeing the sky.

Johnnys in the basement mixin up the medicine im on the pavement thinkin bout the government lookout kid don’t matter what you did the man in the trenchcoat

Keep a clean nose you don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows
And I just did hear it blow along with click-tapping in the pipes I assume I don’t know I assume

That was a poorly constructed sentence says Charlie, I think, or did I just make that up and if I did then why is his voice repeating that in my mind?

Is a college degree really what I need right now?
Can I go through four more years of systematic brainwashing towards societal assimilation and still turn out ok?
My biggest fear is that in four years I wont want to live my life the way I want to live my life now which is in a sense ok because changing your mind is all a part of growing up but I don’t know if I really want to grow up in that direction and if I don’t grow up in that direction am I still truly grown up? Maybe not by societys standards but isn’t the whole point of this to not end up as a part of society but if im not a part of society can I still be successful. Yes the answer is yes. I can be successful in my own eyes. whats wrong with not growing up anyway? Whats so great about growing up being an adult taking responsibility?
I do want to be educated but there are other options for education than a college degree. Who the fuck decided that a piece of paper and some bullshit background classes make a person intelligent because that person, he, or she, is a half rate asshole. And also wrong. I don’t agree.
But then I go back and ask myself, is this just about me being lazy or is this true thought?
I wouldn’t search for answers to questions like that Jolie says, they’ll just show up he says
Im not searching im just questioning
They will show up, the answers, all in good time but that’s the problem all in good time I don’t have time I do but I feel I don’t I want to know now my mind is not built to wait to be patient to learn slowly I want to know it all, all at once.
Down by the whirpool
Don’t follow leaders watch your pawkin meters

A bitch with legs walks into the bar, and I mean a real bitch, four legs, shaggy fur and all that shenanigans.

Id like to define what truly makes me happy I mean I know some things that make me happy but overall what gives me satisfaction what is my drive ive told people its my interest in learning ive told people its my interest in the world but ive told people a lot of things including I love you and some of them were true and some were only true at the time and some of them were never true but will be in the future and some of them were not true and wont be and I accept that.
Some of the people can be part right all of the time
Part of the people can be all right some of the time
All of the people can be some right part of the time
But all the people cant be all right all of the time
Bob Dylan said that, or something like that, it’s a paraphrase. A personal interpretation.
Ill let you be in my dream if I can be in yours
I said that
Harmonica solo, I want some hot chocolate so im going to leap out of my high bed onto the hard floor to make some because I am cold and in need of some sort of beverage for warmth.
Chewing a cracker too many times to savor the flavor and absorb as many nutrients as possible

Choking on coughing is awful it will not stop however no matter how much I complain or will it to go away it is stronger than me and will overcome. Hopeful that my immune system will gather some more rebel soldiers together and start a movement in my body towards health. I need to start believing in this cause.

I am grateful when I lean off the bed and Conor holds my leg so I don’t fall and hurt myself.

My moon.

La lune est tres, tres joli ce soir!

It is very round, bright, and defined.
A voluptuous moon.

A letter to a former mentor

Hello Mr. Larsen,

It's possible you don't remember me, at least not by name, but I was in poetry class with you sometime at the end of 2006, I think fourth term. I guess it was my junior year. Well, I'm a freshman at Aquinas College now, two years later. I just picked up my sealed journal from your poetry class a few weeks ago, and I wanted to thank you. It was late one night, or, rather, early one morning when I decided to read it. I was sitting with my friends Joel and Conor when I remembered that journal, and how you instructed us to keep it until college, then read it. I literally ran upstairs to get it.

I started at the beginning, reading aloud. It was a huge shock to me, to read about my pathetic little struggles from junior year. I realized the magnitude of how much I have grown up in the past two years, as well as how much learning and growing I have yet to do. Going back and reading that journal really did teach me a valuable lesson. I got a chance to really look back at myself, and realized the futility of putting myself on a pedestal. I really try not to put myself on a pedestal, but sometimes it happens without me even being concious of it. I truly understand now that as evolved or educated as I may think I am, I still have learning and growing yet to do.

I've never burned, or otherwise destroyed anything I've written before, but I took that journal, crumpled up each and every page as I read it, and burned it all, just to confirm the fact for myself that I am past that point in my life. Though that person two years ago was me--one version of me, at least--I am different now. At least a bit more grown up. Reading that journal completely tore me apart. I couldn't even believe some of the things I had written. I couldn't believe how absolutely pathetic I sounded.The only saving grace in all of this was the last page, when you told us to write a letter to ourself, in the future. That was the only part I could even come close to identifying with, and I was grateful for that.

Anyway, Mr. Larsen, thank you so much for being the only teacher to date who has forced me to question myself. Thank you for providing me with the most valuable class of my life so far. You taught me one of the most important things I could ever learn-- to think for myself. Keep up the good work. Really. You've changed my life. Thank you for giving me a completely different perspective on education. Thank you for helping me realize that as smart, or evolved as I believe I am at any given point in my life, I still have so much more potential to develop on. And most of all, thank you for teaching me how to learn.

You're the best!!! And I really hope you're still kicking along, strong as ever. Really, I know you must be. I'll most likely come visit at some point.

Sincerely,
Ellen

An ode to healthy lifestyle-livers

You,
Healthy lifestyle-livers,
I salute you.
You,
equipped with
your bicycles and
your Gatorade
your protein shakes, bars, etc.
and vitamins.
Yes,
a multitude of multivitamins.

All you healthy lifestyle-livers,
carrying with you all your weapons and armaments of choice
I do salute you.
I cannot join your ranks
You see,
I smoke.

Untitled

I have the ability to put shutters on my eyes. Pull down the shades and I'm not there.

wow.

I miss all of my friends at home so intensely right now, I could cry.
I can't wait until two weeks and one day from now, when I get to see all of them.
I haven't been home the whole time since August 21st, the day I arrived here.
It's a funny thing, your whole senior year you cannot wait to get out. Get out of town, get away from all the same old people. Then as soon as you leave, you cannot wait to scurry back on home.
LO Town, I truly miss you.
One week. One day.

Le Matin

it is about to be a
ridiculous
extravangant
and overall
excessive
DAY.

with help from
brian clarkston
a top hat and
some fuckin accessories

Things.

Tea shades tweaking out

orange jello- intangible

accessories!

Obama Drama.

Setting
Barak Obama Rally, Downtown Grand Rapids

Exhibit A: Gas Station Knockoff Ray-Ban Sunglasses. Scarf. Olive Green Army Surplus Jacket, Ripped, Red Thread Mending.

Exhibit B: Woodland Mall Knockoff Ray-Ban Sunglasses. Silver Buttons-Up The Front White/Red Stars V-Neck Tee. Blue, White, Red Striped Pants. Four More Years Stapled On His Back.

Exhibit C: White Fifties-Style Sunglasses. Scarf. Vintage Gray, Purple, Brown, and Cerulean V-Neck Baggy Sweater. Fur-Hooded Faded Chocolate Brown Jacket. Mocs With Socks.

Exhibit D: No Sunglasses: He Does Not Own Any. Waist-Length Wavy Strawberry Blond Hair. Tie Dye Bandana. Caramel Leather Jacket.

Exhibit E: All In Tan And Desert Sandstorm. Waffle Shirt. Khakis.


A: "You want I should wipe da dead bugs off da windshield?" "We want Barak!"
B: "I'm Uncle Sam's illegitimate son," "Who's Obama?" "Want a cig for when Obama comes out?" (Directed toward a local contender for Judge)
C: "Chin up little Conor," "I saw Barak!"
D: Constant motion.
E: Driver. "Bitch!" "Well, thank you very much!"


Onlookers:

"You two are the Blues Brothers."
"Would you be willing to do a phone interview?"
"Can I bum a cigarette? This is the only time I will ask, don't worry."
"Hey it's, a Hipster bunch!"
"No, dude, no."
"Can I take your picture?"
"This is the Smoker's For Obama section."
"OH-BAM-AH! OH-BAM-AH!"

Bad Choices, Pt. 1

The Dreaded Sickness+Absolutely No Sleep Whatsoever+Copious Cigarette Smoke Intake+Torturously Horrid Cafeteria Fare+Sharing a Bed with Someone Sicker than You+Mocking Barack+Full Day of Class+Working a Job You Hate+Test Make-Up for a Class You Barely/Rarely Understand=

Dying, Dead, Death.

AMC 130, 4 AM, Tuesday Night. Thoughts.

This is what I've learned-- given a lull in conversation, or an awkward moment, or any discomfort whatsoever, most people will embrace the opportunity to talk shit. At least this shit reminds me of who my real friends are and why they mean so much to me. I still am overcome with frustration knowing that NOT ONE of my friends from home would call me first about this business. NOPE. Only Amber. One more reason to value and appreciate her as a genuinely good person.

----------------------------------

rock me mama like a wagon wheel rock me mama any way you feel
ay...yadda yadda
rock me mama like the wind and the rain rock me mama like a southbound train
ay...yadda yadda

I am now the manager of the most epic band to form on Aquinas soil.

Name: Bam Bench and the AfterLaughter
Upcoming Album: Rape in Wilcox Park

Band Members

Drums, Vocals: Casual Charles
Guitar, Harmonica, Vocals: Big Smokin' Baby Jolie
Rocks, Cowbell, Vocals: The Original Carrie Veldman, Me

Specialties: 80's hair metal covers, cover of The Offspring's "Self Esteem."

WHAT UP, WHAT UP!!
AMC 130.

It's Alright, It's OK!

Once again my honesty gets me into trouble.
Apparently,
though I've only been here for five weeks,
I've been informed that there are people on this campus that hate me.
Wow.
Excellent.
What did I do? I am not a mean person, not an asshole. I actually am quite kind, even to people I somewhat dislike. I make an effort to be.
The way my friend Josh explains it, I am too blatant.
I say what is on my mind.
True.
But I do make an honest effort to be subtle, to talk about the right things with the right people.

Apparently I have some developing to do in the people skills area.

Or not.

I'd rather be in the company of people who appreciate me for who I am.

Yes.

And these people do exist.
I've already met them.
And they are the only people I need.

Honestly, I would rather not have people hate me.
But in the words of Kurt Cobain: "I'd rather be hated for who I am than loved for who I am not."

Yes.

very lucky

Tonight I walked around with a friend of mine.

I am happy

that I can say anything and he will not judge me,

that I can feel comfortable telling him things that are bothering me and he will listen, because really all I actually needed was to get these ideas out of my head. Get them out in the open where they cannot hurt me or trap me in overanalyzing.



I am dreading sleep.

My roommate is gone,

and Friday nights I don't share my bed.



I do not like sleeping alone.

I like being alone.
And sometimes sleeping alone.

But,
There's always a but, isn't there?
Not tonight.

Honestly,

When it comes down to it, I am basically a selfish person.
It is much too easy to "turn on tune in and drop out," rather than focus, work for a living or an education, care.

The only constant in my attitude towards life is,
"Whatev."

It is just too easy... not... to care.

I am not sure if it is a good idea to post this as a school assignment.
Might give me a bad rep.
"Whatev."

(I am pretty sure I overgeneralize and judge myself too much.)

More thoughts on living without sleep

I am not an insomniac.
For me, not sleeping is a lifestyle.
It is a concious choice.
I didn't sleep last night, not until 7:30 in the A.M.
I am once again awake, have been all night.
And I have four classes today.
Good choice?
YES.

Horrid student.

I feel like quite possibly the worst student ever right now.

Here's the deal: I got my Mondays and Tuesdays mixed up.
Well, fuck!

Mondays: Four classes, so much homework.
Tuesdays: Two classes, almost no homework.

Can I say this again?
Well, fuck!!!!!!!!!!!!

So I'm sitting here at one in the A.M., just starting all my homework.

These things happen, I suppose.

Good thing I never sleep.

NATIVE IS A REALLY GOOD BAND!

Experienced: an hour truly spent.
Decided: to build a pool-- it was warm outdoors and I wanted to go swiming.
Today was gorgeous as days go. For some reason, I feel discontent?

Morning. 11:40, approximately
Woke up after a night of real sleep, woke up naturally-- strange.
It's always nice to wake up with someone beside you, and that's the truth.
Jordan (my roommate), Josh Devitt and I left to eat an apalling excuse for breakfast in Wege cafeteria. Then Josh Derezinski, Joel and I went on a bike ride, them on borrowed bicycles.

Afternoon. 2:00, approximately
The Eastown Street Fair. Walking to. A garage sale across the street intrigued me. I bought other people's old clothes -- colorful shorts, a dress-- gray, acid wash corduroy with ruffles and snaps-- a black lace vest, a sweater, and a shirt for Conor. Altogether, the clothing cost $4.25.

(writing makes me feel better).

The Street Fair was, is, and will continue to be wonderful.
MUSIC PEOPLE THINGS TO BUY
CONSUMERISM/ENTERTAINMENT
It was hot. And I felt sick from the Wege food. Everyone else went to dinner, and I built a pool.
Materials:
One white storage container w/ lid
One small red trash can
WATER
Oh, you clever, resourceful college student.
I filled the bin on smoker's island with WATER using the garbage can (felt like an African woman hauling water home except I didn't balance the can on my head). Ideally placed pool, well shaded, cool. Laid in my personal swiming pool wearing a bathing suit (black and white, retro) and sunglasses, smoking a Marlboro Red 100, BY MYSELF. I felt very eccentric. VERY WEIRD. but I did what I wanted, accomplished a goal, and it was OK.

DETERMINATION: to live as truly as the children I'm watching dance right now.

Unfortunately...

Unfortunately, most perceptions are just that: perceptions.

p.s.
I'm angry, my blog post yesterday somehow did not post, and now I have to write a new one.

try to make an effort.

I don't make choices.
Beyond what cereal I'd like to buy from Family Fare, I am hopeless.
Anything more complex than that, and I just don't do it.
Complex situations scare me.
Not that I couldn't think them through,
if I tried.
I just don't want to put in the effort.
And maybe I am afraid that if I did try, I still wouldn't understand.

I really have no boundaries on this online journal. I've noticed that other students in my class hesitate to get personal. For some reason, I've never really been worried. This format effectively psychologically distances me from my audience.
It's kind of nice.
Gives me a chance to be honest with myself as well as the world.

A day in the life

Around here, I never do anything. Rephrase: I do the same things every single day.

Top Seven:

1. Take several long walks
2. Eat at Wege
3. Sit at Smoker's Island
4. Watch movies in St. Joe's Lounge
5. Do homework!
6. Quote Donnie Darko
7. BE AN ASSHOLE.

I wish I could think right now.

Well, for some reason, one of my friends from high school, the boy I walked with at graduation, and his girlfriend just broke up. Because he "wasn't happy." I can't even believe it. This feels absolutely tragic to me for some reason.

Two days ago I got an e-mail that a close family friend of mine had finally died from cancer. Is it wrong of me to feel worse about the current situation than the death of a friend?

CAPSLOCK.

I ENJOY DOING THINGS I AM AFRAID TO DO.
I LIKE BEING SCARED.
TESTING MY PSYCHOLOGICAL LIMITS.
TONIGHT I WALKED THROUGH WILCOX PARK.
I NEVER SAY NO BECAUSE I AM AFRAID. WELL, I TRY NOT TO.
I WOULD RATHER BE AFRAID AND HAVE THE EXPERIENCE THAN BE TOO FRIGHTENED TO DO SOMETHING AND NOT.
I WANT TO WORK THROUGH MY FEAR. NOT NECESSARILY TO OVERCOME IT, RATHER, JUST TO FEEL IT.
TO FEEL.

Sunday September 14

Lately, I have been such a good student. Not only have I been doing my homework, I've been taking notes on reading that I don't need to take notes on, answering questions, in writing, that i'm not required to answer. Studious.

It feels sort of good.

Saturday September 13

People are funny. Do odd things to get a laugh, to get attention.

Case in point: this afternoon, as we left the Habitat for Humanity Volunteer House in Baldwin, MI, Dustin made a scene. No, not a scene. Let me rephrase: he made everyone laugh. He stole the toaster. No, not really. He openly pretended to be very stealthy about stealing the toaster. The thing is, he wanted some one to see him. To see him, and laugh. You see, he did not want to steal the toaster.

No shit, you’re saying, right?

But this moment struck me as a prime example of the layers and complexities behind human emotion and action. Dustin did not want to steal the toaster. He really just wanted to steal our hearts.

This is one of the sloppiest things I’ve written in the past year.
And I have no motivation to make it better.
Not today.

Friday September 12: Scattered.

All I want to do is Destroy. I do not want to Create. I want to Ruin. I want to Ravage. I want to Kill. Building is futile. Construction is irrelevant. I want to Hate. I want to Hate.

NO I DO NOT.
I DO NOT KNOW
I CANNOT KNOW
WHAT I WANT

I feel like I’m writing a novel based on my life. I don’t feel like I’m living in a novel, though.

Thesis: some people really are just bitches.

Thursday September 11

I am naive. Oddly sick. I have been. My mind regularly goes back to the guiltiest moment of my life. The day I killed the baby birds. I was only a little kid, and I really didn’t mean it. I don’t think. But at the same time, in my head and heart, I was strangely fascinated. What happened, is under my deck, there was a robin’s nest. There were eggs in the nest and they were beautiful. I picked one up: it dropped down onto the concrete and rolled down the hill, cracked and runny. That tiny, perfect blue egg. I killed it. I killed a baby. I was so entranced by my small power. One by one, I dropped all the eggs on the concrete and down the hill. Was I held in a trance, amazed at myself and my destructive power? Did I consciously understand what I was doing? I remember feeling a horrible sorrow, but at the same time, an intense triumph. Evil. I felt evil.

did this really happen?

“Good morning,” said the biker to the three curb-sitters, and they appreciated it. He wore a safety vest—like an elementary school crossing guard—with two neon reflective stripes, up and over the shoulders. He bicycled quickly, in the middle of the road. The sky was dark, but streetlights created the illusion of sunlight, the orange effusion casting long shadows. The shadows seemed colder. This did not matter. The curb-sitters still sat. The biker still bicycled.

The biker passed. And they (the three curb-sitters) all agreed. It was a good morning, indeed. Right at this moment, it was a good morning. 4 A.M., early on Wednesday.

well. I didn't sleep again. anticlimactic.

I write how I talk.

I talk how I think.

I think how I write.

Focus. Make choices.

As of late, nothing really riles me up. The closest I've been to anger was this morning around 8:40 A.M. when some jerk did his job and mowed the lawn outside my dorm window, awakening me prematurely by ten minutes.
Perhaps it's just the effect of this transitional period, but I'm rather apathetic. I am determined to pay more attention and to take opinions. I will gain an edge.

I should really sleep more.

Friday Night: Awake until 6:30 A.M. on Saturday, slept until 1 P.M.
Saturday Night: Awake until 6:30 A.M on Sunday, slept until 11 A.M.
Sunday Night: Awake until 4:30 A.M. on Monday, slept until 10 A.M.

Monday: Fell asleep in three out of four classes.

Thought Pattern.

Inspired by the book “Knots” by R.D. Laing

I feel good
I feel good because I look good
I look good because I feel good
I feel good because I am good
I look good

I feel bad
I feel bad because I look bad
I look bad because I feel bad
I feel bad because I am bad
I look bad

I feel
I look
I am
I am
I am

College Goals and Deterninations.

1. Ask, "why?"
2. Never hesitate to question the validity of information, even from textbooks or professors.
3. Take nothing at face value.

Sparrows.

Sitting on the sidewalk outside The Sparrows: Carrie, Lauren, Joel, Ellen. A man approaches. “Hey can I ask you a question? My name is Korey, I go to Grand Valley, and my car just stalled out. Could any of you spare two bucks so I can make it back to Allendale?” “Um, no. I’m out of money,” –Carrie. “Me too,” –Lauren. “I have no money,” –Joel. “Actually, I don’t either,” –Ellen. “Korey” motions at three men. They are in their early twenties, and are careful. The one in the center comes outside. (He’s wearing a blue and yellow plaid, short sleeved shirt with two snap pockets layered over a gray t-shirt, brown cargo pants, and glasses. And he has curly brown hair.) He is unconvinced. He is skeptical. He offers “Korey” a ride to the gas station. “Korey” says no. Says he is not comfortable riding with strangers. “Korey” gives Mr. Careful his phone number and tells him to call tomorrow. “Korey” raises the request to five dollars, then ten. Curly brown hair says Ok, ten. “Korey” is gone.

An hour later, “Korey” walks up to Carrie, Lauren, Joel, and Ellen. “Korey” says, “Hey can I ask you a question?” then realizes. “Oh, I already talked to you guys. Sorry,” then goes to hustle some adults on a porch for cash. Yelled: “How’s your car?” –Ellen.

An Apple a Day.

I recently recieved some of the best advice I've ever heard: never say, "no" to anything. Any opportunity that comes along, no matter how far out of your comfort zone, do it. Try everything. Never miss out because you are afraid or uncomfortable.

Just a tip.

Never walk to Meijer. Don't be fooled into thinking it won't take too long because of the ten-minute driving time. It takes two hours, and the whole way is uphill. Especially don't walk there at night, because you will be blinded by car headlights and likely will fall into a ditch. And when you get there, do not walk back. It is not a good idea.

Wallflower.

There is a restaurant in Gaslight Village, East Grand Rapids, where the casual people-watcher may sit and take note of his surroundings. Seated near several large open windows, snatches of conversation may be caught by those with good ears and a bit of focus. September 3, 2008: about 3P.M.: Weather: Hot, with a 100% chance of sunshine. Two girls, approximately fourteen years of age, average size, dressed in tank tops and shorts of the most regular style leave an ice cream shop. They walk towards Wealthy Street, cones in hand, licking their dripping, yellow cake batter flavor ice cream. Pause in front of an open restaurant window.
"Oh my gosh, did we pay?"
Giggles.
"No, we forgot!"
"Hold this, I'm going back!"
She begins to hand off the ice cream.
"Should we just forget about it?"
Giggles again.
The other doesn't answer for a moment.
"Ok, let's just go."
"Ok."
Giggling, walking again towards Wealthy.

A Love-Hate Relationship.

I am a telemarketer. I'm the person on the other end of the line that you mess with, get annoyed with, or simply hang up on. I hate telemarketing. And the funny thing is, I like my job.

School.

I love school. I actually enjoy learning new things and making connections. I like applying what I've learned to real world situations. What I can't stand, however, is homework. I hate proving that I understand the concepts I've learned. I wish I could just live at college, go to class, absorb information, and pass.

Pumas.

I have the best conversation starter in the world: obnoxiously flashy shoes. See, I own these Pumas. They're high-tops-- olive green snakeskin with gray stripes and neon yellow piping and laces. Almost everyone I've met this first week at AQ has opened a conversation with me by complimenting my shoes. Sometimes obnoxious is good.

Well, how delightful!

Fun fact of the day: Apparently, according to Fox News, "Britney Spears’ Set Designer Built Obama’s Invesco Stage." That's some news!

What's hot on the Campaign Trail

This photograph of Obama flip-flops is surely one of those images that can easily-- and distatefully-- speak for itself.

Kilpatrick cutting deals?

Is it not apparent by now that Kwame Kilpatrick is an asshole? Yet, Detroit ministers only recently stopped supporting him, and as we speak, his legal team is negotiating, with partial success, to lessen the allegations against him. Politics.