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today’s tally

Limos ridden: 1
Marriages attended: 1
Laughs: many
Food eaten: lots
Um: yeah

Yeah.

Tomorrow is Monday.

he is a doll

monkey!
yummy

God willing, I will not come back to Springfield for a while.

[blank]

Rip my heart out.

I need to transcend.

My friend is getting married tomorrow. Tonight was the holud. Talked with the groom. He seems like a good guy.

So yeah, conversation centered mostly around computer science-related ruminations, and jobs, and Bangladesh. The latter topic was, of course, the most amusing. A bit depressing too? Or confusing. I don't know.

I'm feeling really weird right now. Like collapsing for 3 weeks and waking up with passing grades. Or becoming a farmer on some beautiful chunk of land somewhere that hardly ever goes below 50°.

I want some direction. I want more adults close to me telling me that I should find something in life that I'll enjoy doing for a living. I'm tired of this ‘find a job as soon as possible blah blah whatever it is’. Hardly anyone is encouraging me to enjoy myself. Everything has to be rigid. Formulaic.

I understand where it's all coming from. And at the same time, I'm not looking for that high paying, secure job that bores me and drains my life and thought to no end.

Mrs. Martin wishes me well. She always tells me that I have to find something I love, because it'll never feel like work.

I'm thinking of becoming a high school teacher. Calculus or physics. I want to be inspiring.

I need to pull through and get my credits this semester. I need to not have computer science beating me down anymore. It's just freezing me in such a shitty mental state. I'm not strong enough to brush it off.

Coherency is not so good right now.

Tomorrow will be wonderful. Like two people running towards each other across a lush green field on a sunny day, flowers in bloom, bunnies hopping around, with silly smiles on their faces. (Minus the clichéd lameness.)

‘the sylvan screen’

Experience has convinced me that calligraphy and printing have satisfied some of the deepest human needs, intellectually and aesthestically. A page of printed type is one of the most abstract pieces of communication I can imagine. Symbols of most ancient origin can be put together in ways that stimulate the eyes, through pattern, and the mind, through thought. For this reason, I believe that the area of communication now served by printing can never be entirely usurped by any other means.
—Warren Chappell, A Short History of the Printed Word

Just found that to be interesting. Carry on, with bags full of crap deemed important slung over one's back. Yes.

my brother laughs just as hard at Xiu Xiu songs

We're very similar. Yet very different.

writing ideas

Within the next few weeks I'm going to start writing essays for college applications. The ones I submitted five years ago were absolutely terrible. (No wonder I only got into two colleges, right? And only one of those required an essay. And that one college admitted me into my third major choice – economics.)

And given that I've had a solid three years of frequent, if often run-of-the-mill, writing, and have developed my own style in the process, I think I can destroy my former-former self.

Another project, which will tie into a design project that all the designer kids get to go through, is to write [at least by my choice] a semi-autobiographical story. Part fiction.

That should help to break up the monotony.

Before I get to any of that, I need to make a resolve to get through the next 2.5 weeks with dignity.

nightcrawlers, not early birds

Today marks the first time I've been up and to the stores as they opened. It's eerie to see lots of cars on the street or filled parking lots before 6 AM.

I saw Nick Gorsage at Staple's today after more than two years (again, at Staple's). He says he's been conscious, so that's good. He seems to be doing ok, and that's good too.

I have a DVD writer! The household has a wireless router.

(Knitting kept me company while I waited in the check-out line.)

for Thanksgiving

Well, for the end of Thanksgiving, I sat in a bathroom drinking tea and talking to Asma. (I feel a bit guilty for anyone who had a legitimate reason to use the bathroom but couldn't.)

And before that, I played with Rahat. I think I'm going to steal him from his parents. I'll post pictures whenever his dad gets them emailed to me.

And before that, we all ate and watched funny video clips. Like the black white supremacist skit on The Chapelle Show.

Tomorrow I'm going to wake up at 5 AM so that I can buy a DVD writer. I'm excited. Sort of.

Sleep.

and, and, and

On any given day there's some fault with me. At least according to my mom. She's right, but, I don't really care to correct these things right now.

Such as calling relatives.

There are only a handful of people that I'd willingly call or talk to on the phone. Because I am the worst on the phone.

the three of us agree

Between me, my brother Hasan, and Imran, we have a vast majority of the hip-hop spectrum covered. And none of us understand why people like The Streets.

As a rapper, he's terrible. His voice has an interest factor only because it's British. Otherwise, his word flow is non-existant and his lyrics are so-so.

True, this is a time where mediocrity rules and half-talents steal the spotlight, but, he just doesn't make sense. Rappers, almost by rule, have some basic flow. Paul Barman and El-P are a few of the exceptions, but their lyrics make up for that deficiency.

It's a see-saw balancing act. The Streets's is broken in two.

No offense if you like him. I'm just trying to rationalize him for myself.

Why don't more people listen to Eligh? His first album cover even has the Eye of Horus. Sigh.

the plus side of Glenwood High

I had some awesome teachers.

Mrs. Martin is simply the best. It's like she exudes warmth. All smiles with her. And she sparked my interest in mathematics until college professors came into play. I love her. I hope to transfer this motivation to someone else, but, unfortunately, it probably won't help change things.

Mrs. Sidwell and Mrs. Ruppell are also sweet. I sat in on a lunch with the foreign language teachers, who happen to be a fun bunch. (I did feel a bit out of place being the only male for some time, and in my early 20s. I had no complaints just listening. And I got to eat Twizzlers.)

Mrs. Ruppell said she can time when she started teaching Spanish by when I was first in her class. And that she wanted to include in my brother's recommendation letters that she knew me, although she didn't know how that would be useful. Aw.

The high school is under new leadership. I can no longer wander the halls and visit teachers at will. I have to have an appointment beforehand. Not that my former teachers would care, but apparently other teachers found it bothersome. Either that, or the ex-military principal wants things more secure.


Today has been pockets of good.

I watched a few episodes of Fawlty Towers while knitting. That show is wonderful. One of a few family favorites.

And I talked to Amy and Asma.

And I started falling asleep after reading a few pages from my textbook, which was a definite low. I feel like I won't get through these last few weeks.

I dunno. I just want to be. Societal standards are a drag.

I should also kick myself for being in a hip-hop lull. Can I catch up with the good albums? I've ignored the Living Legends crew until just a few weeks ago, even though I'd known about them for some time. This is inexcusable.

Or something.

YES! YES! YES!!

Betatasters, you are so one easy written explanation away from being done. And then I can move on to passing classes. And living life to the bone. (Mothership connection, take me home.)

[current mood: cheerful, calm]
[current music: my bloody valentine – (when you wake) you're still in a dream; eligh – 3 minute rip down]

why graduating will have another set of headaches

The last snippet of conversation with my mom's young sister, from just two minutes ago:

—So, do you have a girlfriend?
—Um, hehe, yeah.
—Ok… well, me and your Matin khalu are going to try and find wives for you and Ovi.
—Haha! No, that's ok. You don't have to.
—We'll find a nice, beautiful Bengali girl for you, ok?
—Hehe, no, you don't need to.
—No? Why not?
—Eh…it's fine. My mom wants to talk to you now.

And no, that wasn't me avoiding her. My mom did want to talk.

So, if you multiply that talk times four more of my mom's siblings, add my grandmother and family friends from around the US, you too would want to go into hiding.

They're not totally serious. At least I don't think so. I'm pretty sure my mom has told them that I'm not going for an arranged marriage.

Oh yes, over summer, my mom's brother was asking me what type of girl I wanted to marry. It was almost like a checklist from a dating service. All I could reply was ‘I don't know’ or ‘It doesn't matter’.

He said I should marry a professional. Then there'd be more income for the family.

True. But.

Meh.

If I ever resorted to marrying for more money, I'd marry someone much richer than me. Then I could pursue things that have a high chance of not making any money. And she'd pay off my college loans.

Shoot me.

for Eid…

I received $20 total. Wow. And I just spent 25% of that to put in some gas so that my dad wouldn't be stuck with a completely empty tank when he drives the minivan tomorrow.

Maybe I'll study tonight?

oh rats!

What I forgot to mention: an early hypothesis I had about Chris (from Charmed) turns out to be true. Wyatt did in fact go evil in the future.

Go me.

the Schick Quattro

It's taken science long enough, but there's finally a four-blade system out. This has the potential of making me happy, until my skin starts to toughen and that extra blade does no more good. Then it's back to hating the shaving industry.


The ISNA site isn't responding, most likely due to the tons of hits it's getting. American Muslims want to know what day ISNA declares as Eid. Screw all that science bullshit.

and that’s Lincoln’s house

I'm back in Springfield as of yesterday.

One of the first things that always comes to mind is that I can safely walk barefoot. I'm wearing socks around, though, because sometimes it's cold.

I'm not enjoying home as much as usual. Some things in my head to lose sleep over. I'm being stupid in the end.

My dad can talk a lot. He kept going on and on about planning for what I should do after this semester, and to not rule out grad school. He keeps bringing up the theme of me working in a company. I don't want that if I can avoid it. He knows that. It just doesn't sink in.

The biggest surprise coming home was seeing my brother's hair. My mom says he reminds her of one of the Beatles mixed with Danny Tanner (from Full House). I like my mom's humor.

I checked a text message from Andrew while taking a piss at a urinal in St. John's hospital. Wonderful, right? It doesn't beat the time I was writing a text message while driving. That's wholly unsafe and stupid. That isn't the highlight of my day, though.

I just bought some neat yarn for a special scarf. Rock.

Now it's time to wrap up Betatasters, take my brother to get his hair cut, and maybe collapse forever. Mind over body.

After some reflection, I really don't understand why I haven't failed most of my classes. It's a miracle. Or my genius. Or both.

Sigh.

mmm. oily

(Chopped mushroms & onions + salt + pepper + chili powder) × olive oil + onion garlic bread + cheese = rock.

We've got big, amazing plans for light rail. High-speed light rail. Midwest to eastcoast. It'll take the country by storm.

There's a habit I'm starting to cultivate in wearing my green Express pajamas back to Springfield. It's happened on three or four occasions over the summer, from Chicago and Champaign. And then today. (And I think back in September as well.)

They're wonderful. Comfortable.

to be vague

And it was.

lo lo lo

Andrew and I went to Empire for dinner tonight. I bought a lo mein dish for the first time. Ever. (Maybe not the first time I've actually eaten it.)

My ticket order number was 11,137. I think I recall a ticket in the 70,000's. I'd like to see what number they get to a year from now.

My fortune was that I'd be comfortable in my old age. A few moments later, a guy sitting at the next table read aloud the same fortune.

Art Coop is not Art ‘Co-op’, although I could see it being that way. How often does anyone use the word ‘coop’, anyway? I'm going to open up an Art Coup and keep track of how many people refer to it as ‘Art Coop #2’ (or ask why there's another ‘coop’).

There was a schizo guy sitting near the corner of 6th and Green. One of his exact words were: ‘don't fuck with my girlfriend or I'll kill you’.

Andrew and I talked about what we think about as we're walking. I might adopt one or two imaginery friends. A chimera and a griffin.

Why do some great things go away?

Fate be damned.