It was in the form of an absent-minded me forgetting to look to my left before crossing the street, and my catching a glimpse of the yellow car that applied its brakes to prevent any hurt.
I don't know why I forgot to look. This is the second time in a year. It's a sign.
I've completed my first full all-nighter this year.
There's not much holding the four sections of my paper together; many holes to fill; 737 out of 1000 words actually written; completion and closure will slowly take place for the rewrite, during the week, now that my 72-hours-overdue paper will be turned in.
I'm going to make blueberry pancakes with blueberry syrup.
What I really want is sleep. Damn Monday morning studio sessions.
I love grocery shopping. And today is perfect beach-walking weather? And I'm dangerously low on money. Sigh.
That's when my Sunday morning started. I've eaten breakfast and accomplished laundering thus far (including bedsheetings that haven't been changed in nearly three months, but they don't smell bad. I'm generally clean like that).
I wish I had even half of 515 words for my story.
So it was he, the hairy-bodied,
twenty-something boy-man, the one called
Kaiser, molded from dirt and water,
sat first and alone upon the Quad
on this Saturday morning, reading,
dressed to the two's among Autumn's hues.
The winds of North and West bellowed down
from the heavens, chilling the tips of
his fingers and nose, startling trees
whose leaves fell, freeing color and life.
Then it was he, the hairy-bodied,
twenty-something boy-man, the one called
Kaiser, molded from dirt and water,
taking his goods, his book and his bag,
he walked, among the people, along
a street of Green, along machines that
roared. The winds of North and West bellowed
still, leaves running from his every step,
leading the way for his journey home,
as the clouds closed in, enveloping
the city in a grayness. Morning
lost its warmth; his tasks darkened the day.
I came across this page after searching for ‘how to write a feature story’:
Spell-check your documents, and whenever possible, ask an experienced copy editor to review them before posting them on the web. Copy editors study the nuances of proper grammar and usage and live to find mistakes in writers' copy. Even after you've pored over your text a million times…
Today is in the 50s, of degrees fahrenheit. Sun shines mightily and happily. Greens, Oranges, Yellows, and Reds are vibrant and luscious. Gusts gather strength between buildings based on the formula
(The As and vs are surface areas and wind velocities, respectively.)
Price tag on such a wonderful, no-coats November day? An overdue story that has yet to find a coherent flow and voice. Why is it so hard to disseminate and construct?
(Help?)
Tomorrow. See? Good thing one of Ryan's teachers knew (knows) Paul and told Ryan, because I wouldn't have found out otherwise.
I'm now hoping that I can get an interview. I need something for a feature story. Due Friday.
So I was in Studio E doing some splicing and whatnot, making slow but steady progress on study #2, when I thought, ‘I could come into the studio on Friday night and kill myself with my single-edged razors’. It'd be a surprise for the first person to come in on Monday; I'd just have to wait for the janitors to empty the trash first.
You needn't worry about me, though.
Ah, but the walk home was refreshing. I never noticed before how the street lamps made parts of the campus look like a movie set. Exaggerated, focused lighting. And the autumn leaves were saturated with orange-yellow, but they looked prettier that way.
I passed up an opportunity to eat dinner and talk with Howard Lyman at Mandarin Wok because I didn't want to feel ostercized for being the only person eating meat. I don't associate non-meat with Chinese food.
For the better: Andrew and I went to Bo-Bo China (or whatever silly name they gave it after five-plus years of Yen Ching), and that was the highlight of my day. I was so happy and excited to go to a buffet and have power over what I picked (and the quantity therein). I've never been so enthusiastic about a buffet. Maybe it was just a welcome break from worrying about things.
I get immense pleasure loading up on [pseudo] wasabi.
I'm at the Union computer lab right now, on an iMac (with keyboards and mice that have always bugged me) and I'm seeing text in a whole new way in Internet Explorer: text looks pretty. This is definitely a huge improvement over Windows browsers.
So what I don't understand is if Microsoft makes the browser and the operating system, why can't they have better text rendering in IE on Windows platforms?
Damn you, Bill Gates. (But I'll still remain a Windows user until I find a need to change.)
C S 333 01598 M LECD 3.00 H 9:30-10:45 TUTH
C S 338 01600 R LECD 3.00 H 12:30- 1:45PM TUTH
ECE 205 02560 F LECT 3.00 H 2:00- 2:50PM MWF
ECE 206 02564 F3 LAB 1.00 H 8:00- 9:50 M
MUSIC 322 05769 A LABD 2.00 H 3:00- 3:50PM MW
PHYCS 114 06423 A LECT 2.00 H 8:00- 9:15 TUTH
06446 T5 DISC 3:00- 4:50PM TH
06476 W2X LAB 5:00- 6:50PM TH
Aside from music, no other ‘fun’ classes for me. Unless I get permission from the dean to go over 18 hours. But I want my degree ASAP, right? Without going over my current limits (which can sub-adequately handle five classes).
In short, I want closure. I guess. Then I have the freedom to come and go and wander as I please. Wonderful end to my four years. But I'll probably end up working for the state until something good actually comes along. Or whatever. I'll be too lazy to make things happen for myself.
I shouldn't think that this is the end. I'm fuckin 22 years old. Sigh.
It was quite fortunate that the pen I put in my writing utensils pocket of my bag at the end of class disappeared when I got home. I was confused at first, then started groping through all the pockets, annoyed at losing yet another pen.
I accidentally grabbed hold of two pens, but this confused me more, because I was holding them through the nylon cloth. I'd stumbled upon some sort of pen limbo. Very strange.
Closer inspection of all the pockets, along with some careful groping, exposed a small hole in my writing utensils pocket. I recovered my pen and the two thin tipped permanent Sharpies a few moments later. (A relief bubble momentarily formed from my mouth.)
Duct tape will seal part of my pen worries tonight.
…is hot. Just watching Melting Pot on Food Network.
—I have a good track record of losing pens I adore and love
—I have terrible time management skills, especially in times of multiple things to be done
Case in point: my two thin tipped permanent Sharpies have disappeared; I've wasted 16 hours today, shoveling this week into an already horrid start.
Horrid start. I suck as an overall entity. The cycle continues.
I just opened a letter from the university. It was dated 2002 September 10. But it was for some study abroad junk.
(I prefer the Year-Month-Day format because it makes no sense to sort dates first on month, then day, then year – 09/21/1980 before 10/01/1969? Bah. Year precedes all. It also avoids the ambiguity of Americo-Britainic dating practices. Make me happy by adapting ISO 8601 as your own.)
Oh, and Punch-Drunk Love was quite good. Very strange and funny. A must watch, kind of like ‘Rejected’. (WinXP users may have a problem opening the link; ask me for further help.)
And, I bought SimCity 3000 Unlimited last night for $20. It'll go great with my manual. I've never played the Unlimited version yet (aside from not owning even an official copy of the basic SC3000). And I just found out they're making a SimCity 4, which will support an idea I had: being able to incorporate The Sims into the greater structure. Should be fantastic, as always. Maxis can never disappointment with the SimCity series.
It was pleasant to have both my roommates up before noon on a Saturday. Dave and I were in the kitchen making breakfast (well, as making as making pre-packaged foods get), chatting and whatnot. I made coffee for both of us. Derek reared his reclusive head. Arun and Andrew came by. There was ‘normal’ activity going on, and it was good.
Dave let me in on a secret: he bought Grand Theft Auto: Vice City while he was out buying groceries. I told him we shouldn't tell Derek, or else we'd never get around to cleaning the entire apartment. Well, he did tell Derek but kept the game hidden, saying that he'd open it after we cleaned up.
A few minutes later, Derek turned into the child who got cranky when his parents kept something from him for a reason. I'm not kidding, unfortunately.
Some minor hostilities ensued between us and him, but Dave caved in to the whineyness. It's four hours later and the PS2 hasn't been left untouched yet.
Vice City is very pimp, though. Aside from new weapons and being able to ride motorcycles and jump out of moving cars, it takes place in the '80s! In a Miami of sorts. Cheesy and more ‘vulgar’ dialogue in the movies and in normal game play. A totally '80s soundtrack. Ability to decapitate someone through sniping (finally). Helicopter gun battles. Burt Reynolds. Great stuff. (This posting title is taken from a game radio station commercial snippet.)
Of course, the game really grabbed my heart when I heard ‘Out of Touch’ playing in the background of one of the early movie scenes. Best song ever? Almost. Best song of that era? Indeed.
Amazingly purty. I'm walking around enough that my calves are sore, and I'll go ahead and walk some more.
Fresh air helps to filter and purge.
I larged down the boulevard
—Clutch, ‘Tight Like That’ (1995)
I assassin down the avenue
—Wilco, ‘I am Trying to Break Your Heart’ (2002)
Hmm…