Archive for April, 2008

I walked out of my Program Evaluation class this evening — wherein we have learned to evaluate programs, as stunning as that is — and had to stop mid-walk when I realized the following: I will never walk back into a classroom for this master’s program again (unless I somehow bomb my finals which isn’t likely because I will not stop until I feel confident that they are sufficiently aced). I took a moment and wanted to feel more — like skipping or jumping up and down or drinking many shots of some nasty well-brand liquor until a friend finally coaxes me out the door with an embarrassed smile to the other patrons who have been quietly wishing my loud, obnoxious self horrible rashes and other nasties because I just wouldn’t shut up about how I’m almost finished with my master’s degree and how it was such a long time coming, etc. and blah, blah…

But I didn’t feel any of that. Instead, I just felt kinda tired and a little scared.

Tragic moment of self-awareness = realizing you’re lame for not being more proud of your accomplishments. Maybe I’ll realize one day that everything I went through to get here was worth it. But I don’t feel it yet. Help me people…my sense of entitlement in squashing my enthusiasm…

Addendum: and then this morning I remembered that my parents surprised me Friday and came up to see me dance. And I felt better again. Small gestures make all the difference. It’s funny how many people don’t know that…

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Little Lola’s pretty sad today and is likely to be for some time to come. For a writer, my communication skills are pretty tragic — I’m so bad in fact that I somehow manage to convince people I don’t care when I really do, that I’m useless when I’m really not and that I enjoy being treated like a doormat when, dammit, I really, really, for truly, don’t.

I also can stand up for myself and unfortunately people generally don’t expect me to and so are horrified when I do — to disastrous results usually. Or maybe it’s not that they don’t expect me to as much as when I do I am sort of a force to be reckoned with. I have a lot of my mother in me — it takes us a while to get angry but when you do you may just see the devil in our eyes. Seriously, not joking about that. My mother has actually thrown me a look that suggested that she regretted the day I was conceived, would just as soon have me off the planet, and was currently trying to figure out the best way to accomplish that end without getting caught (sorry mom but you know it’s true).

So, in order to quell the rage impulse I have, I cry a lot, usually out of pure frustration — I’m crying because the alternative is really bad. This leads to people thinking I’m overly sensitive and/or weak. Which leads to the aforementioned doormat thing.

I’m so screwed.

Right now the rage impulse is in full swing because I’ve recently had to break my heart a little in order to do the right thing and am hunting for work, a process that guarantees rejection after rejection until, finally, after months of trying, acceptance. I know this is coming and I’m anxious about it. The situation has been ramped up here recently as well but I won’t go into all that. Suffice to say that sometimes you can never do enough.

But dancing helps. And I’ll be doing a lot of that this weekend. It makes me feel like I can do something properly and with a little bit of grace, and that I can’t hurt or offend anyone by just trying to move beautifully through space.

Here’s one of the songs for a piece I’m in. I send it out to a friend of mine that I hope understands better than I think he does.

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Dammit I’m in a bad mood…

This is basically — exactly — how I feel today.

At least Scarlett Johansson didn’t embarrass herself covering Tom Waits. This is actually a great song.

But, to continue the dark theme I’ve got going, here’s my favorite of Mr. Waits’ songs.
I totally feel like a rain dog…

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Ro-ro turns 1

I attended a rockin’ birthday bash Sunday. All my favorite guys were there. How cute is the redhead declaring his gang affiliation? sigh…

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Which means that we all must search our feelings and turn from the Dark Side. If it were a Clash of the Titans Friday we would all have to find and fulfill our destinies, which is harder. So good for us.

Star Wars Main Title and Ambush on Coruscant by John Williams; London Symphony Orchestra

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I love all the names for these little guys. The lady’s all like “wooden leg goats, fainting goats, roll over goats, goats-a-go-go…” for like five minutes! Alright, like 6 or 7 seconds but still. It made me laugh. (many thanks to you again Mr. Zimmer)

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Blast it! Justin, if I actually set up a Facebook account it’s your fault since you refuse to communicate like a normal human being by using email and so you force me to discuss your baseball prowess via Stalkerbook. It just feels weird to me…I’ll think about it…

Addendum: I’ve done a little research and have found out the following: 1. the guy who started Facebook stole the code and the idea from people who had hired him — sans contract — to basically finish their Facebook-like project for them. Which means that this douche has made a killing.
2. According to a dude I work with, one of Facebook’s biggest contributers is a very high-level official with the CIA which of course means Facebook is Big Brother (I can’t corroborate this fact…ahem…), but is still less scary than the capitalists disguised as “caring liberals” who run Google.
3. Poking around Facebook makes me uncomfortable and I’m not sure why. I think because the whole friend collecting phenomenon, and the associated giving a crap about popularity, reminds me of “how many people signed your yearbook?” and “which sorority are you rushing?,” both of which were distasteful for me at the time and are even more distasteful to me now when I’m supposed to have more meaningful things to worry about.

But then another work mate mentioned that all the internet applications we use every day are conveniently stored in one place and isn’t that useful, which then led to a discussion about how we’re volunteering all this information for easy access to our lives and aren’t we just making it frighteningly simple to see ourselves as one gelatinous clump rather than as individuals (but all done under the auspices of individuality) and isn’t that kind of scary and evil…and on, and on.

In the end, I’m sure I’ll cave but I’m going to rebel as long as possible before drinking that koolaid…

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