Who Needs Sleep? Me.

You know how I said in a previous post that I'll sleep when I'm dead? Well, I think I might be dead, but I'm not yet asleep. It's only Wednesday but I'm already exhausted enough for about two weeks.
On Monday I went out with my friend from GMU, Alex, who works for CEI, a Libertarian think tank in D.C. I invited Mark along to meet another Libertarian, one who would actually enjoy arguing with him about obscure and unlikely happenings, and maybe help Mark in finding a job that he would like. We met up at this bar in Arlington that Alex goes to often and by the time Mark showed up I'd had two glasses of white wine and was now working on a gin & tonic. After four of those Alex suggested we all head back to his place with a 12 pack. I crawled into bed and the bus ride to work on Tuesday made my stomach quiver.
Tuesday, or Super Tuesday to some, meant another Libertarian event. Alex invited us to the Stupor Tuesday mixer at this magazine, Reason. I was hesitant to go being afraid of potential grilling and roasting since I'm an intellectual, bleeding heart liberal, but I'm a nice person, and it was a chance for Mark to meet more Libertarians, so I went, being the link between the two. And drank some more. I'm not a huge lush, please don't get that impression. But when someone offers I find it hard to say no. Maybe because I'm such a nice person. My mom can't say no to anyone either. I'm going to blame my upbringing on this one.
Whatever psychological default I'm blaming it on, I'm really tired today. I can't keep my brain ravelled around one thing. And I use metaphors like 'ravelling my brain around it'!My stomach hurts from two days of poor eating and excessive drinking and I need sleep. But, we're having a dinner gathering tonight, so I still won't get it. At least not yet. Maybe next week.
When I was in college I sort of mourned the fact that I didn't do the college things--drinking too much on weeknights and never sleeping. I stand corrected. I don't want to do that, I'm glad I didn't. But I wish I had found this out before I was required to be at work at a certain time.

I Hope Pascal Woke Niall Up

More great finds from Found. I love this one. It was found in Dublin, Ireland, not surprisingly, since those Irish are known for their silvered tongues. I like that it's on an old record sleeve. You can imagine exactly what Niall must be like.

I think I'm going to start using hyperbole in my everyday notes as well. The world would be a better place.

By the way it says: "Pascal- for the good of my eternal soul and to enable me to meet several pressing commitments please wake me (with extreme prejudice if necessary i.e. removal of blankets, application of water. Ignore my screams of outrage. Yours in horror. Niall"

Eye of the Tiger

This girl is awesome. She sums up childhood for me. Wearing ridiculous clothes and thinking you look awesome. I had a swimsuit that was hot fuschia with a cheetah face on it. It had little sparkles where the spots would be. I thought it was AWESOME. But I didn't have this hair, my one regret.

It's Friday and I Finishe My Applications, Time for FUN

So I just finished my grad school applications. It is now out of my hands and I have to sit back and wait. For a person who likes to be in control as much as I do (on occasion), having this out of my hands is surprisingly relaxing. I was getting close to going a little crazy with it all and had to keep reminding myself just a little longer and I'd be completely done. It's sort of like finishing up the final paper for the Spring semester, knowing you're doing a good job but so ready for summer to begin. This is something that has been hanging over my head for about a year, and only growing larger as time went on. But now I can't do anything. It isn't my responsibility and I've done what I could. Let's hope I get in somewhere.

Here's where I've applied:
University College of London - top choice

Queen Mary, University of London - sounds good, doesn't it?

King's College of London - Not bad sounding either, but for some reason not my top.

George Mason University - Mixed emotions about this, I wouldn't mind returning to my alma mater, and the education is, obviously a good one, but of course, London. I'd go here, but I'd rather go to London.
I have all these visions, based mostly on name association, for what these schools might be like. You wouldn't want to know. You'd be wondering why someone as obviously delusional and out of reality would even be applying to grad schools if you knew the pictures that pop in my head at the different names. For example, while addressing Queen Mary's envelopes I was very careful and formal, because I associate it with this pinchers on a narrow nose, tightly pulled-back, white haired English teacher, who will definitely be reading my application and questioning my dedication to the noble study of Literature. And she says it like "Lit-ter-a-tor" with a rolling of the tongue.
With King's College I was a little more relaxed. I said it wasn't my top college, even though the program seems fine. The website wasn't hugely impressive, and I'm pretty shallow. I also sort of associate Kings with a little easier going attitude than Queens named Mary. Kings seem only to be interested in hunting and playing chess in fine castles, they probably only funded a university because it looks good, keeps their name alive, and the people appreciate it. They probably think universities are musty and damp, full of shelves that reach endlessly into the sky.
University College of London--rational, humanistic, open-minded. Founded as the first public university, where anyone, of any religious background, could go (before you had to be of the Church of England) on the principles of a leading English philosopher,Jeremy Bentham, and located in Bloomsbury, home to the Bloomsbury Group. There is actually a research project on them right now. I really want to go there.
Oddly enough, all of these English colleges are under the UCL umbrella, sort of how the universities of California are all UC-Berkley, or UCLA. So I'm sure all of them would be fine, but those are just the associations I've made, based on rolling these names around in my head for the last year.
George Mason, well I've been there, no need to imagine it. But I would like to get my MA there, be close to friends, live with my sister, get a good education with professors I already like, and I could go to London when it's time to pursue my PhD.

To celebrate my newfound freetime I recklessly ignored my internal nagging need to always be doing something and watched this movie at work:

Which has a cheesy name but in German is Himmel uber Berlin or, Heaven Over Berlin. It is beautiful, and German, and sad, and sweet. If you want to see a shitty, watered down, completely unartistic, and therefore forced to be tepidly, predictably romantic you could watch the Nicholas Cage-Meg Ryan City of Angels. But don't waste your time. You won't see Nic Cage looking as cool as Bruno Ganz here:

Or nearly as artsy. It made me think of the Berlin I had just been to, except in black & white, back in the 80s and structured to be part of German existential film.

Feeling A Little Camus? Sarte Got You Down? Welcome to the No Exit Club.

This morning as I was driving to work I began to have an existential crisis. I know, I know, why am I having an existential crisis on the packed suburban highway at 24, on my way to my first real job of five months? Wait a while and come back to me, you're saying. Well, I disagree my friends. Now is the perfect time for an existential crisis to begin. Here I am, just finished with my grad school applications, soon to be 25 (in May), in a decent enough job that if I wanted to live in a mediocore reality I could spin out indefinitely, and all I can see stretching out before me is a bland, mashed potatoes, middle class, suburban destiny. Where is the joy that comes from life? Where is the excitement? Why am I still waking up in the morning, if this is all there is?

Maybe part of this stems from having just returned from a trip and settling back down to the regularly programmed schedule, but I sort of feel like I'm getting old and letting opportunities pass me by. I feel like being in America, having the American Dream forced down your throat precludes you from living an interesting life. Job security feels like a dirty word to me. I don't want to worry about these things, certainly not now, and hopefully not ever. Whenever I get like this I try to remember this quote I like "The future, unimagined for the sake of the glorious, difficult present." But what if the present doesn't seem so glorious or difficult, and continues on conventionally into the future? Can I handle a conventional future? Am I becoming conventional? Somebody help me out here. What do you think?

Danke Schon, Darling, Danke Schon

So I have returned from my jaunt across the ocean. I hope you didn't miss me too much. Oh, God, you did! You missed me! That is so sweet of you! I missed you too. Well, I'm not going to update you on every little detail, that would be long and boring and utterly pointless. Later, I will fill you in on some stories, but for now I will just tell you a little of what I saw and learned. This is all about Berlin. I went to Vienna too, but Berlin took my breath away. And how could it not, with architecture like this:

This is the Scandinavian embassies' building. A green, curving, organic shape lit like something fantastic under the sea, or a ghostly visage in the woods by night. By day it is the perfect embassy for these five countries whose landscapes are almost otherworldly beautiful, and are known for their clean design.

As you might be aware, after World War II, Berlin was flattened, devestated, and divided. In fact, the oldest building in the city only dates back to the 17th century. That might seem ancient to our young country, but to a city that dates back to the 13th century, it's astounding. After the war, and after its re-unification, Berlin has come back with some of the most inventive, creative and beautiful modern architecture to be found in one city. In fact, one thing that amazed me is that most of the really unusual architecture was for the government buildings. Being used to the formal, neo-classical government buildings in our own capital it gave me a feeling of lightness, and forward thinking optimism to see this government building:
This is the Reichstag, the parliament building that was originally built before the war, then burned down (supposedly by a Dutch Communist, but it might have been by the Nazis in order to suppress civil rights and remove Communists). After the war it was rebuilt, and the glass dome allows one to look right into the heart of the government, a symbol of the openness of the government today.










Here's our hotel:
It was cheap and stylish. Not to mention friendly, clean and staffed with helpful people. Thank you Motel One!






And although I am not usually a fan of commercial spaces and shopping malls, I was interested to see Potsdamer Platz, which in the antibellum days was a city center;

then a symbol of the divided city,

The Berlin Wall is a misnomer, as I learned, it was two separate walls on each side, with a Death Strip down the middle, for gaurds to patrol. Guess which side is which!
Underneath this cooridor, and parts of East Berlin, ran the West Berlin Unterbahn, the former entrances that remained on the East side were closed off and the platforms gaurded, as the Western trains sped past without stopping. This gave rise to what was called the Ghost Underground.

Now, after the wall has come down (we're still going to refer to it as a wall, even though we know what it really is, okay?) and a few years of desolation, Potsdamer Platz became a city center once again. A double cobblestone line runs the length of the city where the two walls once stood. It's surprising to come across it and imagine how divided the city was, and yet, so close.

I'm a sucker for history of any kind, and so I was intriqued by everything there is to learn about Berlin's recent history. And therefore we went to one of the most interesting buildings in Berlin. That squiggly metallic building is the Jewish Museum. You might think this was all about the Holocaust, but you'd be wrong. Surprisingly, there is less than you would think. And that has received some criticism. From my perspective, the good side is that as you are walking through the museum you learn about Judaism throughout Germany's history. Unfortunately it feels as though the facts of the atrocities were brushed over a little. I don't want every detail, but I do want a little more than the paltry information they gave. Despite those sentiments, parts of the museum were powerful interpretations of the isolation, terror and fear that Jews in Europe might have felt at this time. The Holocaust Turm, or tower, is a small, dark, unheated metal room with a sliver of a window at the top, where outside noises can be heard, muffled and frightening. The damp cold of this dark room, along with the street noises, made me understand for the first time the emotional isolation and terror that they might have felt.

Later on we went to the Fernseherturm, or TV tower at Alexander Platz, affectionately called "der Alex". Der Alex was built during the height of the divide, as a sort of Communist display of pride and power. It is pretty impressive. I like to think of the West Berliners wondering what was going on as this tower steadily rises on the other side. The view from it now is pretty incredible.

Berlin is, as I have heard, 'young, poor and sexy'. I would have to agree. I can't wait to return to this city and explore what else is hiding away in it. I feel as though it is a place I could live, the streets are wide and the city is spread out enought to make me feel like I'm not too crowded in. It is a place you can be alone with your thoughts, or be inspired by all the activity going on. I hoped to find that in New York, but I always felt crowded, or swept along, out of control on those streets. Here, I could have the best of both worlds, and practice my German too.

Going to Berlin

I leave for Berlin at 7:30 p.m. tonight. Everyone keeps asking if I'm excited and I have to feign a level of excitement I feel they expect. It's not that I'm not excited, I just don't know what to expect, and haven't even realized I'm actually going yet. I never really get excited until I actually see the city spreading out below me, or have been there before and can anticipate what I'm in store for. I am very curious, and very ready to go somewhere new. I'm excited about that. I haven't gone anywhere since 2002, and have never been to Berlin, or Vienna, where we're spending half our time, even though I sort of speak the language. We'll see how much I actually speak, vs. what I think I speak.

And as excited as I am to be going somewhere new for a little while, getting away from work and boring Nova, I know I'll miss all my friends here. It's always that way, I see so much of them that when I don't see them I kind of go through withdrawal. I wish we were all going together. And it's hard to believe I won't be able to call them up, or let them know what I'm thinking at a given moment. I know it's only 10 days, and I will be with one of my friends, will be so busy doing and seeing new things that I won't have a minute to spare, that's not entirely true, I'll be doing these things and thinking of them, too. So, if you're reading this and you're one of my friends, know that despite the tons of fun I will be having, I'll think of you too.

And that clock to my left? That's what time it is where I am, and I'll be back the 27th, so you can think of me too, and anticipate my return. A parade would be nice.

Troubling A Star

My mom called this morning to tell me my biggest teen idol was dead. Brad Renfro died yesterday at the age of 25. He was a heroin and methadone addict who had spent the last few years plagued by legal troubles. But I remember him better as this mischievous, bad kid who appeared sweet and sad and was a remarkable actor. It's strange when your teen idols die. I haven't thought of him in months, not since I saw Bully, but I could still tell you all these details about his life culled from the pages of humiliation inducing Teen Beat magazines. I used to convince my little brother to go up to the register to buy these for me because I couldn't bear the embarrassment. Brad Renfro was born July 25, 1982 and raised by his grandmother in Knoxville, TN. Learning of his love for Led Zepplin they too immediately became my favorite band, even though I wasn't sure if it was a solo singer with a strange name, or an actual band. That is a love that has stuck with me, so thanks, Brad. Once on a road trip through Tennessee to visit some of my mother's friends we drove through Knoxville and I got my mom to pull over so I could buy make-up, on the very slim chance I saw him hanging out somewhere in the city, while we stopped for lunch. I had a poster of him on the wall across from my bed, and the nose had mysteriously turned white. I kissed it goodnight so often that it got rubbed off. But as I grew older, reality set in, the chances that I would meet him growing slimmer and slimmer, and my interest less and less. I still liked him as an actor, but I didn't really care what his favorite band was, they had become my own, somehow, not just a band I listened to to feel closer to a distant, troubled star, but something I listened to because of their own worth. I also started to realize that even if this goodhearted bad boy somehow descended from that Hollywood pillar I had put him on, I probably wouldn't like him all that much. He didn't have any of the qualities I admire, and didn't even have that swoon inducing shaggy hair anymore. I'm sorry about what happened to him, I wish that his talent hadn't led him down a path that would allow him to indulge in the drugs that killed him. I do think he would have been a good person, someone who began to realize there was more to life than that, maybe he would have stopped acting altogether and moved back to Tennessee; started a new life. I'm sorry that Hollywood took what it could from him--a smart mouth and a vulnerability that was tangible on screen, a pretty face with problems, and once he had given them what they wanted, turned its back on him, allowing him to fall in with the rest of the failed actors wandering its streets. I wish things ended differently for this child actor.

I'm slowly becoming more OCD

I've been accused of being anal retentive and a perfectionist before in my lifetime, but I don't think that I actually believed it until I began applying to graduate schools. I was just writing the addresses on manila envelopes for a few of these when, suddenly! oh, no! the Q on Queen Mary's looks a little weird! and how could I not have read the address properly and written Queen Mary first when the first line clearly says "The Admission and Recruitment Office". Maybe I should start over. And then, the fear sets in. Should I start over? Is it okay? Who's really going to care? All these questions start running through my head and my hand clenches up on the pen as my heart clenches in my chest.

So on the second one I write quickly, trying not to care that the s at the end of Admissions looks a little messy. Reveling in the fact that it looks kinda cool when I write fast, as though I'm so busy and confident that I can't be bothered to make it look perfectly neat.

And that's just the envelope. Imagine what happens when I have to hand write the application itself, the thing the admissions people will actually be reading and judging me on. Suffice it to say, I used that adhesive correction tape and cut it off so that the edges were nice and neat and covered my mistakes perfectly.

I think all this anal retentive behavior stems from my fears that I won't measure up, that my grades, references and CVs will not be good enough to get me into a graduate school that I want to attend. After doing the best I can on my applications and in my classes and trying to improve my resume, the only other thing I can actually control is the way it looks. And looks count for something, right?? Right? I mean, an admissions officer might see my neatly written envelope and application and think, hmm, she's so neat she obviously is ready for the high intensity of grad school!! She put so much thought into each and every answer.

That must be why i'm freaking out about things as banal as how my handwriting looks on the envelope of my applications, rather than the actual content off my work.

Waiting For Flight

There is a certain spine tingling elation that exists in the bubble of time when something stops and something new is about to begin. It is a pregnant pause before something new is born and the world's frenzied reaction to it begins. The calm before the storm has always held an appeal for me, energy gathering in the warm dusky night, waiting for the crack of lightning that will signal the heavens to open up. It is like a gasp, with the remembrance of all that came before it, and all that will be lost when the air is released, and words or actions flow out with it. Then there is that moment when the lights come down and the orchestra pauses from their chaotic, melodic warm ups and you know the show is about to begin. Or the tension of two opposing armies lined up and tensed, but not yet begun to fight, still waiting for the twang of a bow that will decide fates. No man is dead yet, nothing is destroyed, the adrenaline of fear pools in their muscles, and they know a release is coming, but not what pain or victory will come with it.

The problem with loving the silent moment before the world changes is that it is almost impossible to realize which moment is the one before the end. It takes a vaccum, sucking the rest of the world away, so that one is forced to stop and look around in order to realize it and cherish it. Before the tumult and horror of World War I came an idyllic summer, and the world didn't know it. Early mornings are good for this appreciation, and the seconds when the movie has not yet begun, as the production companies show their logos, getting you excited for the movie you’re about to enjoy. When you’re sitting on an airplane, waiting for take off, and you can feel the engines girding up, like the muscles of a lion bunching together for the leap. And then suddenly the ground falls away and you’re unexplainably airborne. And you’re off, on an adventure, beginning life in a new world.

This time next week I will be in Berlin. That adventure will have begun.

The Lion's Den

I was hanging out at the Black Cat on Friday with one of my co-workers, Eric, as we began to proudly carry on that tradition of co-workers everywhere: talking about the workplace. I told him about a co-worker I couldn't stand and he told me about his daily routine, which consists of reading the newspaper, going to the bathroom, chatting by JR's desk for half an hour, going back to his desk, getting water and starting the cycle through the office once again. In a good day he does about 1 1/2 hours of work.

We started talking about his boss, Charlotte, who he sits behind, in what he calls "The Lion's Den". I, poor little Christian that I am, am constantly being fed to this lion, who--and I swear this is not hyperbole or metaphor-- likes to play with me before eating me for lunch. When I give her work that needs to be done by her designers she looks at me with a quizzical eye, stares at the paper I gave her, contemplates it and then, in a mock questioning voice asks, "but where's the ms number?" "So you need what done, now?" or other various questions, knowing full well I've forgotten once again, and will stutter and run back to my desk, wondering how I could keep screwing up. You would think 5 months would be enough time to know what I'm doing.

I have come to realize that the thoughts I have in my head are not articulated as clearly as I think they are, because when she stares at me they come out all jumbled and confused. When I think I am so right I am quickly put in my place. Eric told me sometimes when he hears a question I ask, something simple, like, "Will it be able to be done by the end of the day?" He just shakes his head, waiting for the slow burn that is Charlotte's response because I've asked another stupid question.

Sometimes Charlotte is alright, she can be witheringly funny, and I'm sure her area of interests extends well beyond the office, but I get the distinct feeling she doesn't think much of me. Maybe it's the way a conversation will be going on by her desk, until I walk up with some work and they grow silent, waiting for me to speak and ruin their fun. I don't know, but until I do, I'm going to be refering to Eric as Princess Leia, and Charlotte as Jabba, because there are distinct similarities (even without a gold bikini).

I'm In a New York State of Mind

I don't know what it is exactly, but this lovely weather we're having right now has put me in a New York kind of mood. Maybe I'm just imagining how everyone is probably out enjoying the weather, being nice to each other, taking walks along rain slick sidewalks. New York in the springtime is an interesting place. People wake up a little, realize they haven't died, or aren't being buffeted by chilling winds. The black trees start sprouting and the green comes back to the city gardens. People remember why they like the city, and are filled with hope again. Snow starts melting and dripping, and it's like the ice is melting off the frozen heart of the city.

I always fall for these false springs. I start getting spring fever and going a little mad, and then, just when I'm expecting green things to start pushing up from the dirt, snow comes and I'm left out in the cold. But when spring really does come, I will take a weekend and go up to New York, even if I'm all alone, to see the city go a little mad too.

Happy New Year's!!

It was a last minute idea, but some of the best are. None of us knew what to do; go into the city, go to the Frown Center, go down to Charlottesville, have a party. Finally, at the last minute I remembered my mom was going to a party and wouldn't be home that night. The perfect time to act like a crazy teen again. So I went to the store, bought some food and booze, and waited for the party to show up. And show up it did. Four a.m. and the party was still going with Aja, Mark, Alan, Julia and Paul (finally showing up in the end).

At first I thought I'd be like Martha Plimpton in 200 Cigarettes, wondering where the party was while getting drunk and passing out before anyone got there. Fortunately, my friends continually prove they are the best ever.

It Was the Worst of Times; It Was the Best of Times

When I was in 4th grade, and an innocent, some girl with fat sausage curls declared at the lunch table that her mother said the world was going to end in the year 2000. This was before the hype about Y2K and I was already worrying. I did the math and realized I would only 16. My life would only be half lived. I wouldn't get to do anything I wanted because the world was ending. And from that day on I hated New Year's because with every one we were inching forward to the End of the World. Of course when I got older I realized what a ridiculous mother that girl had, what idiot thinks there will be a specific date when everything poofs out, as though the world just couldn't handle coming to an arbitrary date like 2000 and imploded. What a megalomanic idea. What if we were following the Islamic calendar, or the Hebrew one? We'd be goners years ago.
Anyway, I've gotten over my fear of the world ending, but I still don't like New Year's all that much. It seems so sad to see the years pass, and who wants to celebrate it going out with a big drunken party? It doesn't seem like a great way to start a new year. I think the new year should slip out on the dawn, silently, and shining. But, since I can't have my way I've gotten used to it, and I'm even going up to New York this year, not to Times Square, however. That would be a nightmare I don't want. And I've adjusted to the idea that the old year is passing, and change is a good thing. We'll have a new president by the end of next year, and I'll be 25, even more grown up! I'll start grad school, maybe in a new country. Who knows what exciting things could happen.
2007 was an important year for me as well. It's funny how it's gone so full circle. Last year, on January 1, I was making my way up to New York to start a new phase of my life. With my big bags and my new coat I said goodbye to my close friends and sister and got on that bus. Now, at the end of the year I am back here, and going to be getting on a bus on January 1 to come back home. I like that circle.
This year I also started my first real job, realized I wanted to go to graduate school and teach, interned for Robert DeNiro's production company, worked in TV and made some great friends. I started relationships and ended them, became closer with some of my friends and watched as others moved away. I'm so grateful to have my friends around. They make life so much more fun. I can't imagine this time in my life without them. I'm excited to see what will come because of how much I have enjoyed what has passed. I feel as though things can only get better, even the hard things will be exciting because they are all part of this new passage in my life.

List of Videos

These are just a few of my favorite videos lately. Since I don't get to watch videos at work I kirk out on them at home. They go from funny, pretty, and cute to a little melancholic but beautiful.

Kings of Convienence- I'd Rather Dance With You
This video is hilarious and sweet.


Belle & Sebastian- I'm A Cuckoo
Running is actually Stuart Murdoch's hobby, so I like that the video seems like a little, crazy snip of his life.


Kings of Convienence- Failure
One of my favorite songs, and a pretty video.


The Smiths- Bigmouth
Not exactly a music video, but a funny example of young Morrissey in concert. And a good song.


The Smiths- This Charming Man
Another example of young Morrissey, this time in an early, low budget music video. I can just imagaine watching this back in 1985 and thinking he was super cool.


Feist- Secret Heart
This reminds me of seeing Fiest for the first time, and I just think this song is so sad but pretty.


Feist- I Feel It All
Played on a bus and she still makes it very cool.


Iron & Wine- Naked As We Came
I think this video perfectly reflects the music. Lush but calm, beautiful but on the edge of decay.


Ray Lamontagne- Jolene
Not the Dolly Parton song, but emotional in a sparse sort of way.


So I'd like to see what your favorite videos are. Make me a list! Or, here's an idea, go through your itunes and whatever is most popular find a video for it and post it. That will yield some interesting results.

Gonzo Living

I've learned two things about myself today: One is that I can no longer go out and get drunk and show up at work the next day as though nothing had happened. I went to McCormick's last night to drink a shot in memory of Pletch and all my friends came too. Drinking seemed to make things better, so I kept doing it. I stumbled into bed at a reasonable hour and my dreams were full of more friends joining me at the bar. I woke up in time for work and got here early, but was still a little drunk. It is an uncomfortable thing to realize you are still drunk as you stumble up to a gaurded entrance into a military zone. And I don't think my lack of balance has to do with my shoes. It's going to be a difficult work environment, because although I have lost this ability at 24 I will probably not lose the habit until much later.

The second thing I learned today is that I'm really quite jealous of Hunter S. Thompson, who despite everything still managed to get writing done. Granted, he did have an assistant who babied him until his fingers were on the typewriter, but the copious amounts of drugs and alcohol in his body didn't seem to prevent too much. And I'm also jealous of that crazed, lifestyle, uninhibited by social convention or 9-5 jobs. I want to get out of these jobs too. I don't like the idea that I can't get drunk the night before if I want to.

Pletcher Forever

A friend of my ex-boyfriend's just died. I knew him only through Mike, and yet he still touched my life. Life with Pletch in it was a more exciting place. The way he lived was reckless, and dangerous, but fun and carefree. He was like a younger version of Hunter S. Thompson, minus the writing. When I first heard of him, I didn't know how such a person could exist, outside of a work of fiction. He seemed to deny all rational explanation. That night he showed up at Mike's 21st birthday, driving from Hagerstown, drinking all the way.

He carried firecrackers wherever he went and his jeep was filled with gun parts and bullets.

He once couldn't find parking at a bar so he parked across the street in a car dealership, and just happened to have a For Sale sign in his car that he placed on the windshield.

For Mullinex's going away present, when she was leaving Shepherdstown for grad school, he gave her a gun clip. We joked that she was going to keep it until he came busting through her window, dangling from a helicopter and demanding ammunition. Then he would swing back out, guns blazing.

Later that day he was captain of our pick-up rugby game, and we all did shots of whiskey to fortify ourselves during half time. When I told him our victory was due to his daring leadership skills he denied it, saying it was a team victory.

He shot himself December 23, the result of a drunken accident having to do with his friends taking his car keys away from him. He was 23.

Pletch was insane, and wild and funny, but I also got the sense that he could be kind and sweet. His girlfriend certainly put up with a lot, so there must have been something besides a fascination with guns and a high tolerance for alcohol. He was a crazy kid that should still be here with us. He should be telling stories about his antics to the future children of his friends, and boasting about his college years, without fading at all. To think that Pletch and all of his exuberance for living a crazy life, should be gone, and with it, those exciting moments, makes me incredibly sad. Even though I only met him a few times, the loss of his vibrance makes the world as gray and dreary as the view from my window today. I wish he had gone out with his guns blazing, I hope he did not go gentle into that good night, just as I'm sure his friends are raging against the dying of the light. Goodnight, Pletch.

Christmastime is Here

After work on Friday I went to the Mall and did my Christmas shopping. 2 1/2 hours, bitch! I got my friend's wedding present and a cute velvet jacket for the wedding at BR for $41.99 as well as all my remaining presents in 2 1/2 hours. Did you hear that? Must be a new record. I just like to brag. Then I met up with Chris Nixon to see Juno. Loved it. Liked it so much I saw it again the next night with Julia and Ariel.
And then I hung out with my favorite ginger-haired English major visiting from Boston.
Christmas eve was spent with my family eating Chinese and watching the Golden Compass. Fun family gifts all around. Including photos of our impending presents from my dad and a nice colorful clamshell of a laptop for Julia. I think we should set up a museum for it.
Christmas today I got some money for Berlin, Our Dumb World by the Onion from Julia, a Pudgey Pig battery operated wiggly pig from Joong Chal. Minus the batteries. That new book from the guy who wrote the Kite Runner, and I guess I forgot the rest. Some mushy vegetables and roast beef with Asians, a Harry Potter movie and some family time around the Gilmore Girls and Christmas is over for the year.

Scrooge'd

It's the day before the Christmas break, here at my first real job. It's kind of funny when things like snow days and short days break up the monotony of the regular schedule. People congregate by cubicles talking about what they're buying, or baking, or doing. Jokes are called out over the walls and work is slowed down.

I'm still trying to get last minute things done before we leave for the day at one and it struck me, as I brought some work over to the head designer and she and my boss stopped their conversation about Christmas dinner, that I am reminding myself of those mid-eighties comedies where the young go-getter doesn't take a break for the work place festivities, only to learn a lesson the hard way come Christmas night. I print off the work, highlight what needs to be done and expect it in on time, then head back to my desk to answer emails (fortunately, not on those black screens with the blocky green text, like I always see in these movies.) Maybe I'll be played by a young Michael J. Fox, or a Phoebe Cates, if it's a girl's movie. My mother will be played by Dianne Wiest. I can see myself now, swept away by a tide of red and green sweatered shoppers while I'm trying to get my last minute gifts, because I was working too hard. I'll have to climb over them in a mad panic and my trench coat will be knotted around me. I'll be swinging bags full of gifts like makeshift weapons.

Man, I need to stop watching AMC's holiday movie line up.

The Morning Sun Is Shining Like A Red, Rubber Ball...

Today is a day for writing. I could feel it as soon as I got on the bus and saw my fellow bus riders. One was a man with a white beard and tangled hair over his shoulders tinged with yellow like dirty snow, wearing a Santa hat but looking like his spare time was spent on a Harley. Across from him were three old ladies, cooing and chatting while they handed each other things from their bags. Dressed all alike but with different caps they looked like old maiden triplets. One strained forward as she carefully applied rosy lipstick. I smiled and knew good things would come of this day.

Right now I'm a little swamped under taking care of loose ends at work, but as soon as that is done I will get down to the real business of the day...