So I guess I should update my blog

I saw a burly soldier today nonchalantly sipping a Strawberries and Cream frappucino. It made me happy, although I admit it's not the most breathtaking or original of poetic images. But if there's one thing I appreciate, it's a man with a frothy pink drink. No, that's not true. There are lots of things I appreciate more than a man in a frothy pink... no, with a frothy pink drink, but I am really tired right now. Or not so much tired as confused and lethargic. Although I wouldn't say no to curling up into bed with a mug of hot chocolate and something really fluffy to read. Ohhhhhh, I'm making myself tired. Aaaaaagh.

At the magazine last Thursday, the editor (in chief), Katherine, came up behind me and started talking about the publisher, Nicole, who btw has terrible taste imho with her freaking ORANGE, but anyway, Katherine said Nicole loves the history issue, layout, readability, and "especially the photos," which I worked on a lot. I was all "Yay! A kudo!" Also, I got an assignment today to write a real article. Huzzah for me. The other two interns are bonding over their shared young adult experiences, though, and I'm just like uhhhh? The only thing we all have in common is (a) our hatred for the orange cubicles and (b) lovins for Arrested Development. It's weird how with some people, you just click and always seem to find stuff to talk about. Like the weather or anything, and there's comfortable banter. And with others, you're trying to fill this gaping hole of silence and you say something about the weather and the other person's like "Yeaaaaaaah, The Weather." And it's all awkward. It's like non-sexual chemistry. God, I'm not making much sense, huh? But we've (me + other interns) exhausted the conversational possibilities of the orange hate, so I'm thinking of moving on to point (b), Arrested Development, and coming up behind one of them, massaging their shoulders and doing the "Heeeeeeeeey, co worker!" in the Buster voice. But that would suck if they didn't get it. I'd be an eternal pariah and people would always glance over their shoulders when I entered a room. Ironically like Buster. Poor guy!! In other office stuff, my mom was just telling me how she hates work parties and birthday parties at work, and I was thinking Well, I love that idea! I wish I worked in a place where people would sing and give me cake and Kelly (receptionist and by that I mean Office Manager) just sent an email today asking for birthday dates so we could have little cake get togethers, and I was all, yaaaay! But I may not be there on the 21st. I'll have to wait to stop for the summer until the 22nd, or something. They'll probably figure that one out.

Speaking of boring stuff like offices and school, isn't it weird that I should choose some super obscure topic for my thesis - legal pluralism in Egypt, namely - then find another girl in the 13-person group is doing the same thing? I nearly jumped out of my skin when I opened the file and saw "Legal Pluralism in Egypt" as her title. So she was the person I just requested five books from online. Hmmm.

I saw on a Harry Potter news site the other day (oh, quiet, you) that JK Rowling had updated her website with stuff about skinny celebrities and Pink's Stupid Girls song, and also about how hard it was to find normal lined paper in Edinburgh. Well, I'm on the treadmill at the Y and what should I see but a CNN broadcast about "The Skinny from Rowling" or some such thing. And this morning in the paper there was an item about how she can't find paper in Edinburgh. Wow, that woman has clout. Clout, such a nice word. Like a big club in a Gary Larsen cartoon. With lumps and thorns. Bring it down on somebodys head. Your enemy's head. CLOUT.

Okaaaaay I think I'm gonna zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Shallow post

Hmm... now that was a boring spring break. Oh, and Sasha Cohen lost the world championships again. I'm completely over figure skating - tired of getting my heart broken, you see. (But why, Sasha?! Whyyyyy?!?!)

On the good side, I watched all of Arrested Development seasons 1 and 2. Is it extremely freaky that I think we should all give Jason Bateman some hot tea, because he is a Hottie*? That's right, so responsible yet disheveled. The bedhead CEO look, I think I like it. *Don't answer that; I don't want to be teased. Only if you agree with me.





















See? You just want to unbutton him. And even when not playing Michael Bluth. Viz:

"Hips Don't Lie"

So catchy... sooooo catchy.

stuff

I slept in till 10.15 this morning, but it felt like much later. I was surprised when I checked the time and found that I hadn't been tossing around in bed until some ungodly hour, because that's what it felt like - weird and decadent and surreal. I guess I was having weird dreams, like the night before, but I can't remember most of them. I think, in my dream, Woody Allen was hosting the Oscars, and I was reporting on it for the magazine. But I wasn't doing a good job of it. They were disappointed, I think. He spent most of the time doing really elaborate performances of the "Best Song" nominees, and didn't have enough time to get through the other awards.

I know - weird.

Yesterday in the mail I got my UPASS for next quarter (that's right, they do love me as much), the Vegetarian Times magazine which is kind of disappointing, and the Jackson School's student services winter bulletin, which is kind of scary - it's all about graduating. Also, I realize I had better decide what my thesis is going to be about before next quarter. Still, I kind of think this writing and researching thing is what I do best, so I'm semi-excited about it: as excited as you can be about a multi-month, 65-page paper, anyway, which is not hugely excited.

Task Force is finished. The presentation went down really smooth. I kind of wish people had spent more time on the little things with their papers to make our report look better, because I wasn't able to do it all in the two days I had after all the final drafts, bibliographies etc., came in, and before I had to hand the CD into the copy center. But overall, it was great, I was really lucky with the group and the professor. Having no fake ID, I didn't get to be the token underage drinker at the Emigrant after the dinner. Apart from it being a Jackson School tradition, I was most looking forward to Scott, the prof, getting tipsy on free shots... haha. He's a really nice guy - sent us a sweet email afterward, probably a good father, also really smart. Definitely one of the best teachers I've had at UW. The others are... um... Jon Herron was a good prof, but I didn't know him well. Resat Kasaba was a good lecturer. Noam Pianko was really nice, but I wouldn't say he blew me away. George Behlmer was honest, funny, and committed to his work, and he's definitely up there. Migdal is Migdal and I have him again next quarter.

Oh, and global warming is bad news...

Yesterday, I hung around UW while Liz was taking her final: read some of that bad book on Reading People, slept on a bench, saw the most hideous bridesmaid dresses I've ever seen, including those ones people post on the internet, and wondered if they were a joke (but they COULDN'T be!) I wandered around thinking "wow, I'm close to graduating and I don't even feel like I've gone to college." Not a good feeling.

Liz very nicely agreed to go to Araya's, a Thai restaurant, which was really good. Well, I'd go back. We bought stuff to make salad, and made salad. My parents, me, and Sharon went to a Thai restaurant for dinner (le sigh). Mmmmkay... I really have nothing else interesting to say. Only that I don't know what to do with the rest of my life.

SASHA!!! WHY?!?!?!

It was the pressure.

It was not the lack of training, concentration, or skill. To pick yourself up after a fall and skate a flawless second half, fighting exhaustion, groin injury, and the knowledge that you've blown your chances for gold, just shows the amount of strength and concentration that girl has. Miss Sore Russian Loser fell too, but the media focus will be on Sasha, that she's betrayed her potential "again" even with an Olympic silver medal. But she worked hard and she is still #1 in the world in my eyes. I just hope her career isn't over. There's great things in your future, Sasha! If you give up, the sport will be doomed to mechanical Russian robot-type zombies, unartistic American teenagers and Japanese skaters with no fire or emotion.

Stay in the game, girl.

Figure Skating. >->

I have gone crazy. I am obsessed with figure skating. It's not because of the Olympics - I've been watching all season, since the Campbell's Classic in the fall. It's because of Sasha Cohen: beautiful, artistic, full of energy and attitude, she rocks my socks!!! She won nationals for the first time last month, but she had the flu, and was slow. So there I was yesterday at work, casting furtive glances behind me and to the sides, pulling up the Torino 2006 window that automatically refreshes itself every time new marks are posted (Italy, of course, is 9 hours ahead of us, which I'm sure NBC regrets very much). Just my luck, Sasha was the last to skate, and someone strode by as the second-to-last lady was about to take the ice: "Editorial meeting! Editorial meeting, everyone!" So I sat in the meeting, laughed at the editors' jokes (which are quite witty, actually), and twenty minutes later, what do I see but Sasha's in first place, above Miss Russian Perfect Gold Medal Favorite. YAY! I try to remain dignified (fortunately my boss is finishing a story and is firmly ensconsed behind his frosted-glass door).

Because the overpaid executives over at NBC (who I'm sure are all fat. Ha.) decide to intersperse the most popular Olympic event with really thrilling sports like bobsledding and, get this, curling, Sasha didn't come on until after 11 pm. But wow! Woweeee! Spectacular! (Video at nbcolympics.com). So now I'm gearing up for the same tomorrow, only much more pressure, because it's the long program, and will decide everything, and Sasha doesn't have a triple-triple jump and the other top ladies do. But I will still be at my desk at the magazine, heart beating like mad, refreshing the Olympics page every few minutes. As long as she hangs on to those jumps - and skates with abandon - anything can happen. That's right, folks. And now, the end of my little figure skating hoopla. I am so busy right now (task force editing - six papers to do! - introduction to write, history paper to write (UGH)) but I can't help but be caught up in this competition.

GOOD LUCK SASHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

PS - Internship

In other news, I am now a intern at the Seattle Metropolitan magazine, from this morning. I start Tuesday morning.

I like everything about it - the Portland magazine, the focus on writing and researching, the nice man who interviewed me, the pretty old building.

And the magazine is launching, which makes it even more exciting and scary.

I know I've been taken on solely for the history issue, but my hope is to try to make myself useful enough that I can work on more general, long-term aspects of the magazine. I'm not getting my hopes up, though.

I didn't get my hopes up about the interview, but I got the job. Other things that helped were the comforting presence of Liz and Greg in the conference room, and my stolen Harry Potter watch.

Unrequited love is the only kind that lasts.

But can it be love if you don't even know him? Of course not. It's not love, it's worse - it's a pathetic, debilitating, overpowering teenage crush.

Here's the story so far: girl sees boy. Girl notes idly that boy bears odd resemblance to well-known fictional character. Girl chuckles. Girl notices nothing unusual.

Girl begins to note how boy has thick dark hair, rosy cheeks and an intruiging personality. Girl starts sneaking sly glances at boy.

Girl tells friend about boy. Girl then notices that boy is not as quiet as originally thought. Girl observes boy's adorable smile, ready laugh and friendly demeanor.

Girl looks boy up on facebook, the UW people search, and Google.

Results disappoint.

Girl sits on bus, staring out the window, having fantasies about boy. Girl meets boy's parents. Boy puts arm around girl in movie theater. Boy and girl ice skate - surprisingly well. Boy and girl snuggle by generic fireplace, arms intertwined, talking late into the night.

Girl sees boy standing at one set of doors and promptly decides to use the other set.

Girl notes boy coming towards the building and hightails it out the other end.

Girl is sitting around, reading, feeling pretty good. Boy enters and immediately girl feels an ache in the general area of her chest. Girl feels very down, and keeps her eyes on the book.

Girl writes blog about boy.

He's so close - frustratingly so - all the time. But more significantly, he's very far away.

He's in another social set which I have made no effort to infiltrate. Do I try, merely for the sake of boy?

Do I take a time-consuming risk for someone I don't even know?

Do I do nothing, consigning myself to fantasy and regrets?

I know I can't talk to him without blushing. Quite aside from any attempt at flirting, I make every effort to appear invisible when he's in the room.

I'm not being melodramatic - I'm being honest. I don't think about him all the time; it's not that bad. But when I do, my thoughts are rather strong. And given I'm so picky about guys, shooting way above my attractiveness level, discounting most based on looks, personality, or both (or the fact that they aren't Mr Darcy), finding that I like and want one is startling.

Damn it! Why!

"A mighty pain to love it is,And 'tis a pain that pain to miss;But of all pains, the greatest painIt is to love, but love in vain."

Int

meaningless blog

Yay my last final is done! Now if I can only forget that grades will be published by Christmas, things'd be good. "Common People" by Pulp is a fun song. I didn't connect with any of my professors this quarter. This is just a bunch of unconnected sentences. I think I should wear more black.

You scored as Severus Snape. Well you're a tricky one aren't you? Nobody quite has you figured out and you'd probably prefer it stayed that way. That said you are a formidable force by anyone's reckoning, but there is certainly more to you than a frosty exterior and a bitter temper. Severus Snape 80% Ginny Weasley 75% Ron Weasley 75% Hermione Granger 70% Remus Lupin 70% Harry Potter 60% Draco Malfoy 60% Albus Dumbledore 50% Sirius Black 50% Lord Voldemort 30% Your Harry Potter Alter Ego Is...? created with QuizFarm.com

Snape! Oh no! Should I be worried? Will I be killing Dr. Sisko any time soon? But maybe we'd have an unspoken agreement about it, you know.

The Blog for Liz Project

I have so much shit to do today, so here I sit writing a blog. Let's break it up into sections. BAM.

'Harry Potter Premiere' by Team Innocent feat. Sinclaire
Fun times, definitely. Feels like way more than two weeks ago. Loved seeing all the crazy fans together (although was slightly dismayed by the rap-off/let's get ourselves on TV scream-fest going on at the front of the line). Impressed by the way the IMAX staff had decorated the theater for us. Enjoyed running down the ramp into the theater, though I'd lost my voice by that point (talking too much, clearly!) Was very excited to see the movie; left the theater satisfied. The good was that the actors are maturing, Ralph Fiennes was an excellent Voldemort, the Yule Ball and the jokes were funny and the special effects and cinematography (Quidditch world cup!!) were three million times better than the first two movies. The bad was when the licorice snaps attacked Harry and made him get to the Pensieve (W.T.F., who the hell decided that would be a good way to advance the plot), when the dragon suddenly forgot how to fly and breathe fire and decided to scrabble around on the shingles instead, and when Ron says something about dragons at the end. As if that's important now that Voldemort's back. Come on, people, the dark lord has risen again! The ugly was... erm... Madame Maxime eating something from Hagrid's beard? Funny, though.

Actually, I do need to get working now so that's all I have time for at the moment. To match the theme of this Blog for Liz, I leave you with a Harry Potter Joke:
Knock, knock.
Who's there?
You know.
You know who?
Exactly. Avada Kedavra!

Tacoma-U District Bus

I already knew my bus, Route 586, was a veritable hive of Health Sciences/Medical Center employee chit chat and bonding, but I never knew it meant quite this much to those riders who consider themselves part of the "Living Room." In 586 lingo, the Living Room is the seats facing each other up front, always full of chatter and animated discourse. The Bedroom is the back, where people study and sleep. I always sit in the Bedroom. Have I missed out on a true community by being so reclusive? I have to say that most of the student-age 586ers, like me, prefer to remain silent on their daily commute, while the 25-and-much-older UW employees have a real discussion going. Sometimes I appreciate their cheer of a morning, and other times, they make me want to... well, fall asleep. It's 7.56 am, for crying out loud. What's with all the friendliness? Perhaps this attitude has manifested itself in my outward behavior as only other students (never the Chattering Classes) have asked me about myself. Or maybe the Chatterers only talk to fellow oldies?

Piroshky Piroshky

I have lots to do, but I didn't get any of it done today. Why?! It'll just mean a crazy day tomorrow. I'm applying for Alternative Spring Break in El Salvador. One week building a school or laying water lines in some remote community with outhouses. On the plus side, the food is vegetarian, so no roasted cat, or whatever they eat in El Salvador. On the other hand, admissions are rolling, they close on Friday, I haven't written most of the application and I may not get in.

I called Katie Leung, the actress who plays Cho Chang in Goblet of Fire. She's gorgeous! I always thought so! Go to Getty Images and search for her in the Editorial section.

I went to Piroshky Piroshky today, that Russian place in the market. The apple cinammon roll was really good, but my dad called (to ask what time I was coming home) as I was completing the transaction, and I think the Russian lady behind the counter was displeased that I was talking on the cellphone as I paid. I decided I like the street where all the shops are lined up one after another in Pike Place Market, but I dislike the indoor areas.

When I live alone, I'm going to create marvelous meals with fresh produce from the market, and cook them for hosts of guests in my spotless apartment. Or, maybe not...

boursin cheese is the best

Sigh... The end of another weekend. I didn't do anything much - didn't want to face the rain-slicked freeway and the Seattle buses, nor stay on SinRyan's couch - but it was a good weekend nevertheless. I went shopping with my dad, who is such a nice guy, really. With my mum, I can try to be all girly, but she's incredibly outspoken, about what looks good and doesn't, she always likes to pick clothes for me (and calls them "a little outfit" - as if I'm seven years old, because I thought it was girls of that age who wore Little Outfits), and she limits herself to discount stores: TJ Maxx, mostly - because she prides herself on being frugal, smart and bargain-spotting. Oh, and she occasionally makes comments about my figure, which my dad would never do. When I go shopping, I prefer to wander the brightly-lit, music-filled mall department stores (Nordstrom, Macy's) than browse the chaotic back-aisles of cavernous TJ Maxx. Yes, that is irrational and spendthrifty, but it's just nicer to see cozy corners overflowing with scarves and hats and colorful tights, than the sales bins. Anyway, I got two tops - a V-necked red knit one which is my new favorite, and a striped pink/blue/purplish one which is remarkably like Liz's, so hopefully we won't wear them on the same day... Also, a new bra, and some maroon tights, and a pair of training sneakers for the gym, and, best of all, some low-heeled ankle boots, because walking around in them is so much better than anything else - they give you height, they look so flattering in jeans (much better than sneakers), they're black and subtle, and - oh, I don't know - the small heel puts spring in your step, sass in your walk, it just works, what can I say. The ones I really wanted were the softest leather, but they were $239 on sale, so I decided to pass. The mall was absolutely jam-packed - Nordstrom was having its Women's Half-Yearly Sale, and the women's shoe aisles were bedlam, shoes and boxes littered all over the floor, teenagers preening in mirrors and tottering around on high heels and bumping into each other, awkward men being strong and silent, indulging their women (wives and daughters) in their ruinous Cole Haan habits, saying "Uhhh, the black ones are cute, honey" as they disappear into the pink armchairs.

My dad said he wanted Montesquieueueueue's (remember him? That's right, Halvorsen History) Essays for his birthday, which made me feel rather guilty, as although I'm not an anti-intellectual, and really want to read and enjoy Literature, not for snobbish reasons or bragging rights but just because it's insightful, and important, but I wouldn't ask for something like that for my birthday. My mum may give them (Important Books) to me anyway, but not as the big gift, not the Main Attraction, which I prefer to be something of the electronic or clothing nature.

Anyway, my mum got home shortly after we came back from the mall, the earliest she's gotten home from work in weeks, and my parents watched KCTS Cooks, which is a pretty bad cooking show indeed, but they got all fired up about this recipe for Butternut Squash Soup, featuring Yams, Sweet Potatoes, Onions, Curry Powder, Nutmeg, & etc. Subsequently, my dad (after watching a four-hour Seahawks game with his friends. Ick. I mean, I thought he "didn't care about football." Right, no, he cares about anything involving a ball...) got all the ingredients, plus gourmet cheese, pate with truffles in, salami, and salad stuff, and they made dinner tonight. The soup was golden in color, Autumn leaves, and very cold-winter-nights-in-front-of-the-fireplace-with-a-cat-on-your-lap-reading-a-good-book-and-listening-to-jazz-whilst-the-snow-falls-outside-and-your-family-is-gathered-around-you-contentedly-with-blankets-on-their-laps-and-Mummy-is-knitting-sweaters-for-your-cousins-in-Maine, humming-contentedly-to-herself. That sort of soup. Except that we don't have a working fireplace or a cat, we never listen to jazz, snow?! This is Seattle for God's sake (sorry God) and Mummy hasn't knitted in God knows how long (oh whoops) although she does, in fact, know how, and is suprisingly and impressively competent at those Householdy things (knitting, sewing, even crocheting, cleaning, cooking especially...). Oh, and no cousins in Maine. Don't even know why I put that bit in. But anyway, it (the soup) was tasty, although a little thick. The gourmet cheese was the best part. Boursin is the best cheese ever, it's wonderful but completely clogged up with cholesterol and fat. Every bite is one part sodium to six-bajillion parts Fat. But does that moderate my intake of Boursin? No, no it does not.

So my parents are downstairs digesting their soup and pate and talking to their guests, the famous Sharon (my not-wealthy benefactor) and Debbie, my mother's good-natured friend, who also works in my dad's university, about the Plagiarism Scandal. There's been a Plagarism Scandal in my dad's department which has been the subject of constant discussion in my house. It involves Sex, both Licit and Illicit, Violence, Irresponsible Journalism, and Corruption and Intrigue at the Very Highest Levels of Power!!!!!!!! Oh, and Death.***

***To be fair, there has been no Violence or Death yet, although certain facts have yet to be revealed to the wider community, so it may still descend into a bloodbath. The UPS Administration is, perhaps, not the Very Highest Levels of Power, but oh well. Everything else is there, although there isn't an awful lot of of Sex, but there is some.

So, yeah. Gossip Galore.

Oh, what else? They assigned me to the Japanese Textbook Task Force (that's an International Studies requirement, very intense, Winter Quarter) although I really wanted Medicines in Third World Countries, or Covert Action with a former Johnson White House Staffer. But we can't always get what we want, as the Beatles say. :-( Japanese Textbooks it is, folks. Oh well... (makes hands into fists and mutters mutinously, Japanese-Bloody-TEXTBOOKS!) Also, I was accepted into Departmental Honors. So my plan for graduation is not ruined. Depending on my successful completion of Spring Junior Seminar, I will be writing a Thesis. A Senior Thesis. God help us all...

I'm thinking of getting my hair cut short. Not chin-length, that's the worst style for me, but short - as Dr.Sisko/Ariel style. I'm not going to do anything for at least a week and most certainly longer, so let me know what you think, readership... Liz. Also, personal-appearance wise, it has become increasingly clear to me that deep, royal red is my best color. Who'd a thunk it? But it is. Maybe it's the dark hair/pale skin combination? [That sounds rather disturbing, doesn't it? As in, "I'll have #5 - the dark hair/pale skin combination," said Hannibal Lecter menacingly, smacking his lips, "with a smattering of freckles, and a helping of medium-sized breasts."]

I've been randomly thinking of terrible B-names for cars. On the treadmill, mostly, to save myself from stultifying boredom and Rage Against the [Workout] Machine. Bennet? Maybe you should choose the name of a character from a book or movie you like.

So, I think that's a nice long blog for this week. Less whiny than the last one, but dear Lord, I don't want to go to school tomorrow. I don't, don't, don't, don't, DON'T!

Alright.

I also started writing a screenplay for Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

Yes, you read that right. Do you need to read it again?

I have started to write a screenplay for Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, which, incidentally, is 870 pages long.

I haven't actually written anything yet (and probably never will), I've just highlighted some lines and scenes that I think are indispensible. Beginning the pruning process, you know. But why, you ask. Why?!?!? After all, they already have a screenwriter. And he's already written a script.

Well, I dunno. I just thought it might be interesting, and I never have any ideas for writing. And I was pretty bored.

Oh, Liz? Two things. Somewhat related. (1) I'm really sorry that the picnic didn't work out. Friday was a bit of a dismal day and I know the little things can be upsetting - because they work that way on me too. I totally owe you Thunder Thighs Coffee. Probably even a doughnut, as well. (2) I would really like to help plan the dinner party. Boursin Cheese, the official website of Boursin (www.boursincheese.com) has a bunch of tips for parties under Entertaining & Recipes, and we could make invitations and set the table with flair and elegance, and invite lots of people, and it would be much fun. Although I have to admit, they scared me when they said,

"When your guests ask what variety of cheese you're serving, dazzle them by casually mentioning that Boursin® is authentic All Natural Gournay Cheese."

That wouldn't dazzle so much as alarm me, if I were a guest, but that being said, their tips in general are interesting.

Right, toodle pip.

A Blog for Liz

Whoo! So, let's see... this past week has been not so hot. Friday I went to a really boring EEP get together for about 20 minutes, involving Christine showing a few inches of creamy thigh, which was pretty unnecessary, and Max and Tyler... shirtless. Unnecessary, also, but funny. Until Liz suggested going to the HUB, which was a brilliant idea, and bowling was fun. Everyone went off to do stuff, but I decided to go home because when I got into my mom's car I looked into her eyes and said something along the lines of "Well, people were going to Red Robin but I thought I should get home in time for dinner [unspoken subtext] Maybe acting like I am so happy to be home with my beloved parents might allay the regular evening shouting-match?" Sharon came for dinner, and asked me to go to a piano concert with her on Saturday night. I was like, "Oh hell. No excuse... no social life... what to say... oh God oh no... erm... yeah, why not?" So on Saturday, after swimming (ew... swimming laps is not fun) and studying, I went to this "Russian virtuoso"'s concert at Sharon's church. There were about 15 people there - literally 15. It was sad and pathetic and although the pianist was very good, nobody likes to be somewhere empty, the energy is just sucked out of a place. Sunday, I worked out (trying to make a habit of it) and came back feeling faintly ill. Spent most of the day lolling around, not-studying. Monday, I had a midterm which I wasn't prepared for, and in the evening, my parents and I are being all chummy and I make the mistake (but the inevitable one) of mentioning that unfortunately I have a midterm the day after the premiere, and BANG! There goes my chances of doing the one thing that I was really looking forward to, and kept checking my planner to see how many weeks were left until it occurred. I tried to make my case (that lack of sleep won't affect my performance on a midterm if I'm prepared, which is actually true) but I couldn't get a word in edgewise. Also, the tickets are unexchangeable. So, I'll be spending all of Thursday afternoon and night trying to concentrate on studying, wishing I was at the premiere with Team Innocent featuring Sinclaire - and that'll really make me do well. Damnation!
So, today, what fantastic adventures did I have today?. Spent two hours sitting in a bus in the pouring rain. Got to class halfway through section, got back a paper with another perfect score, and my fourth note from a professor/TA asking if they could put it on the course website - hooray, clearly I can spend the rest of my life writing papers and be supremely well-qualified! Went to work out at the IMA, bought a celebrity magazine to read because I can't exercise my head and body at the same time. Vogue, a "classy" mag - i.e. how to strengthen your vagina, and make him breathless with pleasure - was almost $5, so I went for InStyle, and learned that Jude and Sienna have split for good and Nicole Kidman might have had breast implants. But I couldn't concentrate on that even, because when I'm exercising it's always like "Oh, this is SO boring. I just want to curl up in a chair. When will this end? Gah! Booooooring" and the magazine didn't really help. I talked to Greg in the annex, then went to the library, read Liz's blog, discovered that I'm not sexy enough to wear low-rise jeans, and now I'm writing this - just like SpaceBalls, the past merges with the present! I have a feeling this rather unstructured entry was not up to the standards of my previous ramblings, but it will have to do.

My Current Life Goal: Convince my parents to let me go to the premiere. This means:
-Study/practice violin every single minute I'm home, or at the very least stare at my books and sigh meaningfully as if I'm studying, because I've perfected that (God if my parents somehow find this blog, I am so dead)
-Be perky and polite and share fascinating details about my classes and life
-No parties or otherwise fun activities if my parents show any signs of reluctance
-Get back tons of good grades
-Do not mention the premiere - number 1 rule of parent-handling.
We'll see how it turns out. Any suggestions let me know. Oh, Liz - congratulations on the blue Honda!! YOU HAVE A CAR!!! Let's see... the only name that keeps popping into my head at the moment is Davis, and I have NO IDEA WHY.

The Wisdom of My IPE Prof

"Anyone who sends me another email saying the website doesn't work...will be shot."

"Comparative advantage means what you suck at least. It's not what you do best it's what you suck least at. Someone told me that in a few years everything will be made in China and the US will go broke. An absurd argument, of course, but the Chinese do everything better."

"Markets didn't evolve because a despot said, [funny voice] 'I like to watch these markets. I find them very intriguing. They give me knick naks, and such!"

"The special thing about Europe was there was a market for ideas, so if someone was kicked out of England he could go to a university in France and they could advertise - the famous heretic will be giving a lecture tonight, and you'd all go to that one, right?"

"The state is like a toaster."

"It's clear that some people's lives were far less affected by Katrina than others, even though it's never nice losing all your shit."

"You buy the ability to use something, not the thing itself. For instance you don't buy a dishwasher just so you can go around bragging to everyone that you OWN a dishwasher. And you don't have unlimited control over it; you don't go around selling shares of the dishwasher to family members, or to other people in the neighborhood."

"One of the main tragedies for political economists is that the people who really increase the growth of an an economy are so much less sexy than the people who, in fact, ignore the rule of law and the protection of property rights and thus promote an unfavorable environment in which to do business. Have you seen 'Pirates of the Caribbean'? Well, the love interest, the blacksmith Will Turner, played by Orlando Bloom, is a business owner, somone who will have an increasing marginal value (? can't remember what he said here... some econ babble) and her father is therefore quite right to support the marriage, but all the attention goes to Captain Sparrow, played by Johnny Depp, even though his activities greatly increase the risk of investors in trading ships back home in England and the likelyhood that a profit would be made on the transaction. And this is really emphasized in a scene at the end when Elizabeth, played by Keira Knightley, decides to marry Will Turner and he says 'I'm only a blacksmith' and the last line of the film is 'No, you are a pirate!' So that's very disheartening for us."

"The mercantilist partnership is the trading pants of capitalism."

"You probably have an image of the industrial revolution in your head as being a time when everyone was poor and exploited and the streets of London were crowded with pickpockets and grubby urchins and the factories with their black smoke polluting the air, a very Dickensian vision, when...when everything was just knee-deep in shit."

"The world was so sparsely populated, imagine a dorm, you're duking it out with your roommate whenever you want to have sex, but there's all the other rooms in the building available for your use!"

"Capitalism is about doing business with strangers because when we see people from far away speaking with funny voices with different color skins our initial reaction is to make fun of them, and to kill them."

Title?

I have exactly 1,000 messages in my inbox.

Just wanted to share.

Still trying to get in my mother's good books - with limited success. If goal of living in the dorms is to be achieved next quarter, I'll need more than that.

Now, need to go and write my thesis topic. AAHHHHHH!!! Five pages! I mean, really! I'm such a procrastinator, I could have done this over the summer. But whenever a topic starts seeming interesting, it all of a sudden seems... not-interesting. Funny, that.

I got my period and I'm a little puffy feel like a man

This occured almost an hour before I got my bus, but I still didn't get home until 6.15. Apparently it wasn't an isolated incident; the gentleman has climbed traffic signs and draped banners over the freeway once before.

Also, in Germany, where HP #6 has just been translated, an impatient fan got violent: "'Suspect said he could not stand the suspense of not knowing who the half-blood prince was,' a Hanover police spokesperson said." I feel his pain. When I got home from Liz's house on the morning after the release, my dad drove me to his friend's house. I was helping them move. I did about an hour of work, went home, ran gleefully to the front porch and... nothing. Only a note saying that they were instructed not to leave books when nobody was in the house. I was in such distress, tears were shed. I called my parents, who were at Costco at the time, and they bought me another copy. I turned on the TV and paced back and forth between the kitchen and the living room, calling my parents every fifteen minutes ("What are you doing? Is Costco so interesting?") until my mother came back and gave me the book. At which point it seemed like I had all the time in the world on my hands. I went upstairs and started reading, almost skimming it, because I had waited so long for the book I wasn't even believing that I actually had it in my hands. I missed a lot out. I wonder what I'll be like for the seventh. I'll probably cry. I've never cried at a Harry Potter book before (not when Sirius or Dumbledore died) but just the prospect of it being all over is quite daunting. This woman I know says she's going up to her beach house, alone, to read it. I don't have a beach house but maybe I'll go to a park. Who am I kidding, I'll read it in bed as always. The seventh Harry Potter, that will be an event.

My mom thinks I'm fat. She keeps telling me to exercise, it's incessant, and when she's not offering me pie or making me dinner, she's criticizing my diet. And doing things like poking me in the stomach when I'm standing in a weird position against the wall and (when I express confusion) saying "I was just wondering if that was really you." Or giving me meaningful looks and being all bitchy when I outgrow two pairs of pants - wait, scratch that. I didn't outgrow them, she bought them for me, unasked, they're sizes 4 and 6 and I'm an 8 so they never fit. It's strange how I can love and respect my mother, but at the same time, really, really loathe her sometimes. I mean, as if she couldn't stand to lose a little weight herself, not that it really matters. Apparently it's more important for me because I'm young, but really, is that the way to go about helping your daughter to be healthy? I don't think so. I really, really don't think so.

Auditions tomorrow. Whoop-de-hoop. I wrote Greg a Director's Guide and helped him copy the scripts. I'm actually auditioning, for the smaller female parts. Felicity, Dawn, and Minnie, I think. I might actually have to act.

My immigration prof is incredibly boring and I just don't like her at all. She has the most horribly irritating habits and she doesn't treat students with any respect. She's one of those black-tights-and-skirts female professors, all she did the first day was read out the entire fucking syllabus (oh, nice learning experience there), she's fond of "multiculturalism," and she just... the class just doesn't work. It needs something more, from her, mostly. It's not as if immigration is a dry subject, there are lots of possibilities. My dad was thinking of teaching a course on immigration last year (he eventually decided on revolutions instead) and he came up with plenty of ideas in about an hour so it's not as if reading the syllabus out loud or taking up four hours of class time writing different theories on the overhead (that's all we've done so far) are the only options.

I'm completely just procratinating on doing my reading, here. For some reason all I want to do, when faced with reading this quarter, is stare into space and different time in the future when I can do the reading, other than now.

"I'll have to go now because I'm actually... I just got on the uh... I'm on the... I'm in my car."
-Unidentified woman, talking on her hands-free phone as she gets on my bus

So yeah. I have a violin lesson in 15 minutes. Better go.

My Inferiority Complexes

I have an inferiority complex. In fact, I have several. I have an entire colony of inferiority complexes, going about their business, copulating and forming knitting circles inside my head. I have an academic inferiority complex: I no longer have the capacity, it seems, to read so-called "enriching" books and stick with them, every time I get a good grade something tells me that it was a fluke and I won't be able to repeat the performance, I feel anxious about my future (jobs, experience, qualifications) and yet I am only seventeen. I'm a senior in college, but more importantly, I'm seventeen. This is supposed to be a time for fun, not for Embarking Upon the Rest of Your Life unless you know exactly what you're going to do with it.

I also have a social inferiority complex. This one's more complicated. But something inside me prevents me from opening up fully with people who I don't trust. Yet how can you ever learn to trust people when you don't give them a first chance? I'm worried that EEP was a bad choice for me socially, that I might have been better in high school, where there are lots of options, at least, for friends, and then starting college in a structured, freshman sense, living in the dorms with ready opportunities for friendship. I don't have the kind of social initiative that going to school in Seattle but living in Tacoma, and at the same time being only 17, really demands. Yet when I'm thrust into close contact with people and almost forced to make friends, I usually do quite well - because I can listen, maybe. In orchestra, for instance, I thought the dynamic was better than EEP which is quite ironic if you think about it. But I look around at the EEP Lounge and see people full of bombast and in love with their own sense of being cool and "on the edge." They're loud and unrelenting and when you talk to them you think that somewhere inside of them they're laughing to themselves about how boring and young you are. They're always laughing and forming plots and gossiping and I wish that I had the...what? Intrigue? Ready supply of personal anecdotes and salacious information? to participate, because I tell myself I like people with a sense of humor and I'm not one to be a stony-faced spoilsport, but I can't, just can't, because I am an introvert, and I do prefer quieter friendships. It's not that I can't be crazy and loud when the occasion demands it - and I like gossip as much as the next teenage girl - but when it's unrelenting and always seems to exclude me, and it's practiced by the people who are, basically, my primary social circle of friends but most of whom don't care about me at all, it's nothing but frustrating. Because these are the people I'm around, but if I was gone they wouldn't notice. And I need a better social circle than that.

I suppose I was struck when Asian Chris came into the lounge yesterday, actually remembered me, treated me like someone worthy to talk to and was pleasant and self-deprecating and all around sweet, because you see very little of that in EEP guys, generally. Generally, in fact, they're too impressed with their own self-importance to take real care in social interaction. So as I watched Asian Chris listen to White Max's lengthy anecdote about a backpack, a mountain and a rogue car, without interruption or boasting, I thought to myself: "Must get to know more people like this. Because listening without sensationalising is something I value in a friend."

So I find myself lonely and unfulfilled, if you can use that word in a very mild, teenage sense, rather than an alone-in-the-world tortured-artist sense, wanting urgently to move on, to be in a position to fully enjoy this period of my life without having to compromise myself to fit in with a social culture which is frankly a little scary, sometimes. Not all the time, and I actually think many of the people I was referring to earlier are genuinely friendly and good people, but for me, maybe not right. Also, it's not like I don't have good friends in EEP - namely, Liz and Greg - but that's about it. And as friends, they're about as funny and as sweet as you can get, especially Liz, but it's not enough, two people, is it? Even Sinclaire, in TS we were like twin peas in a pod, as the expression goes, but now she's becoming harder and harder to talk to, really. I never know where I am with her - whether she's interested in what I'm saying or just dying for a pee - and when Liz is there as well, she's fun, but by herself she's a little hard to take, because she doesn't seem to give anything to the friendship, just asks general, aloof conversational questions and then gives me no help when I attempt to answer them. But then I'm being harsh because it's probably me, too, I've helped lead to this decline in our relationship.

So steps need to be taken to take the edge off my social inferiority complex, to stop it from establishing huge metropolises in my inferiority colony, and I'm thinking that drastic action might be necessary: moving into the dorms next quarter. I'm wary of raising this topic with my mother, for fear of starting a shouting match.

With my family I have no inferiority complexes, although there are a host of other psychological issues involved in our interaction which I have no interest in discussing here. God. Parents!

I have an appearance inferiority complex, but really, it's no different than most other teenage girls, excluding the ones who are rather self-satisfied with their own appearances. Oh, don't we all hate the pretty girls. It's not really as prominent as the academic or social complexes (at least I don't have acne anymore), but it's there, in the back of my mind, and I'm generally able to not pay it too much mind, because really, you can be a contented person without being a beauty. And sometimes - if the lighting's right and the makeup's carefully applied - which is VERY rare - I'm not that bad. I could, at any rate, be a lot worse. Liz mentioned a Turkish bear-woman a few weeks ago.

I'm not religious, so I don't have a spiritual inferiority complex. But sometimes I think of the possibility that God DOES exist in the way that I believed perfectly in Jewish-Sunday School, and I think, "Damn!" But to be fair to my secular self, those occasions are quite rare and hardly able to be described as a true complex.

I have a musical inferiority complex, but that's just because I don't practice enough and have no plans to make a career of violinning. The Carnegie Hall experience pretty much made it all worthwhile, though. Proof of the complex is evident in nightmares about performing, and being reduced to tears before an informal recital that I ended up pulling out of - this from a person who hardly ever cries, although I cried quite a lot when I was younger.

I don't have a theatrical inferiority complex because I directed A Midsummer Night's Dream. I think it will be good for Greg to be director this year.

I have a creativity inferiority complex. When I read something truly original, whether it's comedy or tragedy or poetry, it always seems so startlingly... obvious is the wrong word, but so simple to come up with, I think how come I couldn't have put that on paper first. Because I've always been The Writer, when I was younger I was always, always the Reader and Writer, but I just don't have any ideas, so when I find that a good one's been taken up, I think, "Oh, shit. One less floating out there." I wish ideas were like wildflowers in an untouched field, but actually, you have to really work to create, don't you? Maybe I can find a niche for myself where I can come up with things naturally, freely, and that's what I'm hoping for.

Romantically, I don't even know if I can claim a complex, because I haven't had any experience, and there's something about the idea of connecting so completely and intimately with one other person, and a male person no less, that seems scary to me, and I'm just not sure how a relationship could start out at the moment, especially since I've sworn off all EEP guys forever.

So, in summary. I would like to be intellectually...er... curious. And I would like to be able to talk about the things I read and learn about in an interesting, intelligent way. And I would like to have friends to whom I can discuss important things without pretention - just because they're interesting. But not things like etymology, and where the Phoenicians came from, and military strategy. They just aren't interesting.

I would like to be, socially, like my parents' friend Mary Ellen: a good listener, able to make conversation and make the other person feel respected, which is what she's so amazingly good at. To just look at you, start talking and make you feel like what you say, no matter how pathetic it is, is funny, fascinating and worthy of comment. (Well, she does that if she likes you, anyway. And she likes me). That would be a good skill to have.

I would like to have made my peace with God, who probably doesn't exist but possibly does (oh - sorry God!) and to be able to perform musically without having a nervous breakdown. I'd like to write something original. And, on the beauty front, I need to learn how to maintain my eyebrows (they're already growing back) without being at the mercy of Liz, my Personal Eyebrow Maintainer. And on the romantic front... oh, God... (sorry God).