The New England Society for Tea Fetishism

Firefly-a-thon 2003 is back on!! God bless Borders. And with the gift certificate my mom gave me and a 20% after Christmas discount, it only cost me 11.99. I really should be getting some exercise, so maybe I'll take a walk to the elementary school to see how construction is going as an intermission. Three unaired episodes and three that I didn't get to see when the show was on. Oh, joy!
I'm feeling a lot better. My shoulder only hurts when I laugh or take a really deep breath, and I can actually sleep on my left side. But I still have this weird occaional twitchy, spasm-y thing going on right below my ribs. Maybe I'm gestating an alien. Not the kind of baby you were hoping to kidnap, huh Amy? Anyway, life is good and I have Firefly!

Hello everyone. Merry Christmas to all. There shall be no Firefly-a-thon as the dvd set was nowhere to be found. But dude! I got a Dell! My mum got me a laptop. How effin' cool is that? Now I don't have to go to the stinky computer labs to do work. And if my dad ever gets around to giving me my money I can use it to buy clothes and food and other handy dandy things. I got him a nice Eric Clapton cd boxed-set to replace the cd I stole from him. He is sick, so I won't see him today, but when he is better and gets his car fixed he'll come by.
My spleenal problem moved up into my ribs and my shoulder. I can't breathe or cough or burp or hiccup or sneeze without it hurting and I can't lay down on my back or my left side or roll over without it really hurting. So tomorrow I'm going to call my pediatrician, who has recently banished me for becoming an old hag, and see if there's anyone they recommend their patients to. And then I will go there because this is a major owie that needs looking into.

I love being home alone. I'm free to be El Dorko Grande and talk to myself as loudly as I want to. I've been hand-washing my sweaters in cold water and my fingers are all slow moving right now. Wool holds a lot of water. I'd hate to be a sheep in the rain. Also, I've been having pains in my side like my spleen is damaged. I just realized a minute ago that maybe it's because my pants shrunk a little in the dryer. Unbuttoned pants=internal organ comfort.
Dinner and Jess Klein and the company of dear friends is just what I need. That and contacts, but that's besides the point. Call me, Amy, and let's set this up.

Well kiddies, it's happened sooner than I expected. I have been irrevocably damaged by my graduate education. I was watching ER last Thursday night and thinking about how downhill it's gone in the past few years. Kovac was in trouble. Again. The episode started out with him in a car crash with a med student in the passenger seat. After they got to the hospital the episode proceeded with a bunch of flashbacks a la "Memento" and eventually ended up back in the hospital after the crash. About half way through I realized that there was no element in the story (like a guy without a short-term memory) that required or enhanced a reverse narrative structure. It actually would have been a decent episode if it had gone from point A to point B. But noooOOOOooo, the writers felt like being tricky and making the viewer wonder why he was in the car with the student right at the beginning of the episode when really, who gives a shit about Kovac anymore? Yeah. So it's been a long time since I could read a book without noticing all this crap. Now I'm ruining television, too.
Speaking of television and series with episodes that have funky timelines, I know that my Firefly dvd set is under that tree and for the love of all that is holy I am refraining from tearing into it and watching it all day today. Three unaired episodes and two-hour pilot movie that I never got to see. I am counting down the days to Firefly-a-thon 2003.
In other news, my father sold his house and is currently moving into his new apartment. Unfortunately, he is still in Lynn. Hmmm.....I guess we'll see how that turns out.

I'm home!!! I had a completely uneventful trip, except for the sad fact that Emma's car had no heat. Brrrr!! And look down at the puppy dream--I have my first anonymous post since like, forever. Only, it's not anonymous, it's Brian. That onion article, what a hoot we thought it was, and yet, it keeps coming true. You know, except for the fact that Brian isn't my mom. I'm so uber-happy to be home I'm scaring myself. I already have plans with my dad and tomorrow Tracy should be calling me so we can go shopping in her brand new Ford Escape. Her death-trap taurus which she effectionatly calls" Ya Mule!"(as in Ya! Giddyup!) will be donated to charity since the dealer will only give her $200 for it.
There is a large, rectangular, surprisingly heavy box under the fake tree for me. My mother says that it should be a big surprise. I'm hoping it's a juicer. Oooh, wouldn't that be nice? And when I come to live with you this summer, Amy, we can buy produce and have smoothies all the time. But I won't get my hopes up too high. I love all you guys and I miss you. Have a happy holiday season.

You know, you make one post about your effed up dreamlife and you end up with banner ads about kittens and puppies.
I spent way too much time online yesterday reading about the Denver International Airport, henceforth known as the DIA, on anomalies-unlimited. I think I've reconnected with my inner conspiracy theorist. It's all very weird. So, they built the DIA, even though there was already an airport in the area that worked perfectly well and was easier to get to because it wasn't out in the middle of nowhere.

Other "facts" (I really have no way to prove what is on this site, except for the stuff about the murals, and the layout of the airport because there are pictures)
--It was supposed to be built at a cost of 1.7 billion dollars but ended costing 4.8 billion.
--It's built on a 53 square mile property, most of which is unused. They say that this is in case they want to expand.
--It's built in a high wind area and subsequently has many flights cancelled. The other airport, which was closed down after DIA's completion, was not in a high wind area and also had more gates and runways.
--The automated baggage system is so comlicated and extensive that it never worked and is now an industry joke.

Yeah, pretty mundane stuff. But then the site goes into how there are at least 8 sub-levels to the ariport with tunnels wide enough to accomodate a two-lane highway, how two multi-story buildings and an entire runway were constructed and then buried because oops! they were built in the wrong place, how there are ventilation ducts sticking out of the ground nowhere near buildings and the ducts are surrounded by chainlink fences with barbed wire on top that faces inward, and how the roof is made of teflon-coated woven fiberglass that, while very pretty, also reflects radar and infrared. It's said that layers of companies were hired and fired during construction so no one would have a complete picture of what they were building. The theory is that the DIA is actually a front for an underground military base and civilian detainment camp.

So, even if all that stuff is bullshit, there's still the matter of the freaky-deaky murals painted inside the airport. There were four. Two have been painted over. They're supposed to be about peace and the environment and happy children. Instead they're quite disturbing and contain a lot of weird Nazi and Masonic symbols. Also, Asian people in the murals tend to face away from the direction everyone else in the mural is facing. There's also a capstone over a time capsule that has the main Masonic symbol that almost everyone has seen, you know, the compass crossing over that bent ruler-looking thing. Oh, and the aiport layout looks kinda like a swastika. Honestly, it's all really fascinating if you ignore the wacked-out stuff about the New World Order and aliens. It could totally be a military base, though.

Oy vey! It's eight o'clock and I want to go to bed. I need to get some exercise. Maybe that'll help me perk up a bit. But good news--I heard Sonia on the phone today and I think she might be transferring next semester. Hooray!!

So, I was at this county fair and everything had this golden tint to it on account of the slanty sunlight and all the hay, and I came across this big slide, like the wavy kind at carnivals that you slide down using a burlap sack. Except this slide was much taller, completely straight, made out of wood, and only had two thin lanes. The lanes were too small for people. Do you know what people were hurling down the lanes instead? Tiny kittens. They were racing tiny kittens down a ginormous slide and calling it wholesome family fun. And there wasn't any kind of slow-down lane at the bottom--the slide just stopped and they tumbled to the ground. After they were done with the kittens they used tiny basset hound puppies with really long, floppy ears. One of the puppies picked up so much speed that his ears flew straight out like wings and he took off like a glider. Now you might think, "a flying puppy, how cute" but it was terrible, I tell you! Puppies don't have engines or propellers, so he flew up and then down very quickly and crashed on the other side of the slide. He was DEAD! Dead, I tell you! A man holding a black shovel and black toilet seat (which I think symbolically means that poor puppy went down the crapper) went and cleaned him up. The horror! I was sobbing. And then later on the slide somehow got larger lanes and parents were racing down the slide on little trains with their terrified children in the cabooses and crashing at the bottom, though no one seemed to be hurt. And then later on I was accosted by a very friendly, pony-sized elk that wouldn't let me leave a restaurant.

Another sign of my creeping senility: On Sunday morning I noticed a bruise on my leg right below my knee cap. I have absolutely no idea where it came from. And this is no little oops! I bumped a desk thing either. It's a nice, meaty-looking, half-dollar sized welt. Looking at it, one would think "Man, that must have hurt like a bitch." Maybe it did. Personally, I have no knowledge of the event.

It snowed all day yesterday and then it rained all night. The wind was crazies!! There are at least fifteen shingles hanging out in the quad. Oh, and last night I was in the middle of watching the Battlestar Galactica mini-series on Scifi only because I found out that a Canadian actor that I really like is in it for about ten minutes, and it turned out to be a good movie. I was really into it--and then the power went out for the rest of the night. What a dope I am. I have matches but no candles. What was I thinking? Where was my head?

Hooray for me! I won my very first game of mixed-doubles beer pong. My partner George managed to sink exactly one shot. I got the other five, including the game-winner. I've been feeling kind of down lately because I have no social life here, and lo and behold, Nicki asked me if I want to go to a party in East Quogue at a house that some of the boys in the MFA program are renting. It turned out to be quite fun, and more than that, I met a bunch of people who seemed to like me. Maria and Monique, the two other girls we went with, kept calling me an undercover freak because they've only seen quiet, "classy" Sarah at dinner (remember those days Amy?) and not talkative, off-color remark making Sarah. Wisely, I stayed away from the punch and drank Smirnoff Ice, which allowed me to wake up at 11:30 this morning feeling slightly parched but otherwise fine. Hard liquor is the devil.

Okay, I can't leave this space blank because it's driving me crazy. So I want to ask Amy if she remembers the brown boots that I bought at Nordstrom's one day. They have hard heels and they make a lot of noise. When I walked down the hall they went **click, clock, click, clock** You came out of your room and yelled at me to stop sounding like a grown-up. I've been wearing them for the past two days while my big black shit-kickers recover from surgery. The right one was pfffoooing mightily when I walked so I put superglue in the holes in the sole. I hope it works.

Ye Gods, it's hot in herrre. And the capuccino isn't helping. But it is fixing my other problem, which is soul-deadening fatigue. It wouldn't be so bad if I were in the other office where I could listen to cds or internet radio, but Alice took the day off and I'm stuck at her desk having hot flashes. However, I am thoroughly caffeinated, and things are looking up. I am done with classes and plan to put in a minimal effort on my final, which will inevitably earn me an A. This week while I have nothing to do I'm hoping to polish the second story I wrote for class and get it ready to send out to various magazines.
During my last class, which was the aforementioned carrot-cake class, two students got into a shouting match over someone else's story. And Blaise just sat back and let it flow. I have since heard that one of the students was drunk. And I sided with him. It was one of those "everyone is different" kinds of arguments that I detest, regarding the way the author presented her story as a diary. The girl arguing for the story remarked that not all diaries are the same and who are we to say that a real person wouldn't actually construct a diary in this way. Drunken Craig made the point that if the author is writing a story for other people to read, she might want to write her "diary" in a way that most people think a diary is written, which means not introducing a character as "Chad, my son." At any moment I expected furniture-tossing and eye-gouging. It was great fun.
Oh, and the other day I was at work and someone said, "Do you know what I heard?" I had to fight back with all that is proper and decent in my being not to give the standard Hood reply.

I was the first one on the dance floor last night. Not really. But it's a nice metaphoric equivalent to what I really did, which was to open a box of carrot cake and eat the first slice. It sat on the professor's desk for an hour-and-a-half. You know how people won't touch food like that unless someone has already been at it? I knew that everyone was staring at it, so during a break I said loudly, I'm having some carrot cake. Would anyone like a slice? I felt so true to my phat girl heritage that I almost shed a tear. It was a beautiful moment.
Said cake was brought in the formerly mentioned Brian, who brought it into class because it was given to him as a gift from a friend for graduating. Yes, my friends, this is his last semester. It's a shame because he seems so nice. Randy said he invited the guys over his house last night for fried tuna and waffles. How cute (and incredibly and endearingly weird) is that? But I don't know what he's really like. After my first semester I have found that all writers, at least all male writers, are a.) completely neurotic, b.) alcoholic, or c.) total bastards. Maybe I should go trolling in the marine science department and hook up with a surfer.

Meanies do evil things
Some are crooks and some are kings
One's a taxi driver and another one sings
One only wanted a one night fling
And in history, meanies had us digging their ditches
And those meany women, they're just... well
One of them bit me and gave me seventeen stitches
And my roommate bugs me to do the dishes
Meanies never listen to a word I said
We should all go bite 'em in the head
Because they're meanies

I was attacked by a feral staple last night and now my fingertip has a moveable flap. Also, last night I was in the library reading magazines because the book I had to read for class today was sucking my soul out through my eyeballs. And while I was flipping through the 500 greatest albums extravaganza in Rolling Stone, in walked Brian from my short story class. If you remember, he is the boy that I talked to after I was invited to a party or a trip to Manhattan or a visit to a museum, (maybe all three) by Jhon (and no that is not a typo, his name is Jhon). I was sitting in the periodicals section, which is made of four slim shelves--Beneficial Hodson this library is not, but they do have Out and The Advocate--and he started with the small talk, asking me if there was anything good to read over here, and if I read the New Yorker because the fiction was going down hill. I mostly made grunting noises and then berated myself for not having something clever to say. So he sat at a table with his back kind of to me and read something that looked literary while I browsed through Rolling Stone thinking about how if we got married would I take his name or hyphenate, and I started thinking about what our kids would look like, because he's an attractive guy and his features would look good on a boy or a girl. And then I realized what a humungeriffic dork I was being so I stopped. I do have a habit of looking at random guys and doing an "If They Mated" thing like on Conan O'Brien, like, "God, if the kid is a girl I hope she gets my nose." Enough of that. So I have no actual plans and absolutely no expectations with this boy. But he seems like a nice guy. He doesn't run away screaming when he sees me. He makes with the chit-chat. (Hey Kirsten--You know I don't like the chit-show). So I thought I might profess my utter lack of a social life and ask if he would like to hang out sometime. It's worth a shot.

Bruce: That's all I wanted. That wasn't so hard was it. Next time, give someone their bill when they ask for it.

[Bruce is now in a nutty bunny suit.]

Bruce: It works to your advantage. [He starts to walk out and then turns around.] I'm not unreasonable. I'm a nutty bunny.

Kevin: I never got my water.

Bruce: I don't like to complain. I like to frolic. I'm a nutty bunny. I'm a little creature.

Wow. The grounds crew around here sucks. They didn't even shovel the side-steps to the main administrative building. If this were Hood, all the paths would have been cleared since Friday afternoon. I think they just started yesterday.

If there were one thing I could change about this college, I think I would institute an honor code. Honestly, I had no idea how good we had it. No RAs, self-scheduled finals, tests with no professors in the rooms, and a 24 hour computer lab. Yes, I think that a 24 hour computer lab is also tied into the honor code, because we don't have one here. I went to the Queen Anne lab that's right in my quad and it was closed, so here I am on the piddly little gerbil run computer in the deserted Galley and I think I smell yesterday's garbage. I will be here all day because I have to write a paper and I haven't come up with a topic yet. I hope my urge to get out of here will speed up my creative and analytical processes, and I will be finished before dinner. Jeez, it stinks in here.

Hey all. I went to msn.com to check out the weather and there's an article about the storm with a picture of a car stuck on 270 in Frederick at the top. Way cool! I was like "Hey Ashley (the cute little work study student in my office), look. I used to live there." And I have a snow-day-come-lately. Everything's closing at 3pm. I've been here since 9. Oh, well, at least they're still having the windmill lighting ceremony. Free food! The snow is coming your way, Amy. Bundle up, my dear.

Mark: Okay, gents, I'd like to be a dyke.

Bruce: Ha ha.

Scott: Who wouldn't?

Mark: Don't be crass! I meant that. I'd like to be buried in the sisterhood of women.

Bruce: Yeah. Lesbians are so great. They get so much done in a day.

Dave: [quiet] Yeah.

Mark: Yeah, yeah. You know why? Because they get it done together. There's no competition. With them, it's "go team" all the way.

Dave: Wow, women together, huh?

Nanner Bread!!!! Grrrarrrrgh!! I am hungry like the wolf. :) Amy takes such good care of Sarah.

My office doesn't feel very cold, but my runny nose tells me otherwise. Or maybe I'm just getting sick. It's effing cold here, so I can only imagine what it's like in the frozen north. But I got a warm and sunny picture of flowers from a crazy madame who needs a bevy of guests to come to her aid this winter, so I think I'll be okay.
Have any of you seen 28 Days Later? Good movie. Not even half as scary as I thought it would be. And who doesn't love watching full-frontal male nudity with their mom and cousin?

Back at school. Blaaaaaahhhh. Listening to Ani at work. That's okay. I wish I knew shorthand so I could have made a transcript of my Southern Lit. class last night. Oh, the humanity! We crashed and burned aroun eight o'clock. I'd like to explain the whole thing to you, but that would be a very long blog indeed. The main point is that one guy was all-encompassingly convinced that we were all wrong with our interpretation of the ending revelation of a story because 1.) he doesn't like revelations in stories, except for James Joyce 2.) he doesn't believe in religion (which is fine and dandy, but can't he at least believe that the character believes?) and 3.) I have a feeling that he just doesn't like female authors. It was highly entertaining, if not a little embarassing.

I think I have a new favorite movie. Have you ever seen "The Iron Giant"? The Cartoon Network ran it all day on Saturday. I must have watched it three times. It makes me feel all squishy inside.