November, 2000

November 1, 2000, 4:05 PM

pink nails le-fi-sol-sol-do along the ivory
(Steinway actually the first one to stop killing the elephants)
pink on white keys clicking
with the untrimmed talons of a vain amateur
who wishes she could play the pianistic Rachmaninoff half as well as she could her Bach cello suites
who won't cut the only three manicured points
that don't get in the way of her viola

(--pink on black fingerboard, against silver strings)

--orange of a bandaid from the music locker's bite
shines in the glowing sun through the glass wall over the forest
orange and pink against the le-fi-sol-sol-do neapolitan six of V black then white keys
hands too smal for the Rachmaninoff prélude in the same crashingly sonorant c minor
neon pink nails stretching across the lengthening shadows of the octave-spanning neapolitans:

Theory in the glowing afternoon triply-flatted concert hall;
orange and c minor pink fumbling dominant-tonics usurp the afternoon Steinway.

November 2, 2000, 3:53 AM

i had three dinners tonight. So excellent:


at Sharples, which was less than satisfactory, except i ate with Laura Wolfram of cantatrix, which made it cool and fun. We downed a bowl of fat greasy french fries dipped in ketchup and mayonnaise (à la Européen).


The Ruach jewish food fest. SAC gave these people money to cook for us, so after the grueling flamenco, Lisa Huang, Leaya Lee and I went and barged in before paces was really open and attacked the kugel, latkes, knishes, hamentaschen, challah, matzo ball soup, &c. I wasn't too hungry but it was great and i needed a break between the ridiculous hemiola-ful dance and the ridiculous meter-changing Appalachian Spring. Belly now full; i spend rehearsal half bemoaning the changing clefs on the page and half bemoaning my expanding belly.


at Tom Jones, this crazy orange-vinyl boothed diner about 10 minutes away. Peter called me around 1:00 AM, but i said no until half an hour later. hair down. He and Keith arrived around 1:45 in Pat Murray's car, a stick, which he was just learning to drive. Picked up girl Trang at the Barn and drove over, stalling at all the lights. Belgian waffles; peter's coffee more sugar and creme than coffee; early-morning banter offcampus with swatties. love it. (i drove back and the ride was much smoother.)

i am so goddamned full right now. ah well, better go sleep it off. I'm going to rehearse Debussy with Lisa in the morning.

November 5, 2000, 1:39 AM

I have a sharpie. I just made a "communal ramen" sign for our pantry and labelled everything laurel and I just bought--butter, shampoo, baking pans, generic saran wrap, baking chocolate, &c.

Friday night eveEve threw a slumber party which was very much along the lines of what i needed. very cute nonalcoholic hotchocolatesmoresbrownies (jenny&I brought some) ghoststorytelling pajamaparty chez cyndi & eve ("Cyn & EveL") in their woolman pad. I stayed till 12:30 and drew sketches of people around, making bracelets, &c.

pajama brownies:
eve wins out over liquor;
hurrah for baked goods!
It was pleasant. Weirdness in my head but unrelated.

Saturday morning PYO and firebird, Brahms 3. Goodness. But lunch! It was so chilly outside, and three violists (Laura and Eleanor and I) went to somebody's Coal Oven pizzeria on Walnut and they brought us steaming hot bread rolls which we ate in olive oil. a real italian pizza with cheesegoat and spinach and garlic and sooooooooo good. That night Peter Yoo took me out to dinner at Tokyo Peking in Media. I ate so well yesterday.

Look what I just figured out how to do! [nori]

I should really write these when I'm inspired to. I'm not now. I should instead be analyzing Beethoven or going to sleep so I can wake up and bake cookies for my seminar break.

today a cat licking itself on the steps outside bond, rubbing up against a girl drawing's legs. Sleep now and cookies in the morning. Genuardi's and Paul Simon, driving with laurel, this afternoon. Gado-gado for dinner and i brought the leftovers to cantatrix (we now have org space). Audivi good and half-memorized. Fifths working. sketch of Abram

November 6, 2000, 3:00 AM


Oh my god. God. Goddess! I am so scared for the fate of this country. I'm actually a little unsure about how crucial this election is to whether I live or die, but I'm pretty sure it has a lot to do with hastening the latter. Andrew Stout, Laurel, Jenny, Ben Schack, Geoff, Paul, Amelia and I just spent two hours canvasing the campus with signs like:

"When I cast my vote Election Day, I'm voting for Ralph Nader. 'Course, there's just one little hitch. In the swing states (currently, Florida, Michigan, Ohio, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Washington and Wisconsin), a Green Party vote really does mean that Bush comes one vote closer to winning.

While I am sensitive to the power of a symbolic protest vote, there are larger issues at stake in this election. It's true that Democrats and Republicans have grown disturbingly similar, but there are still profound differences between their agendas. If I found myself in a swing state, I'd remember the record number of executions Governor Bush has authorized in Texas, for instance, and I'd think long and hard about the bleak future of women's reproductive rights in a Republican-controlled White House.

And my vote would go to Al Gore."

~ A n i D i F r a n c o
Folk singer and radical activist.
In The Nation, November 2000
The Republican Party wants
to vote for
Ralph Nader.

Think about it.
"Some voters say they will vote for Nader to make a statement about their disgust over a process that seems designed less for the electorate than for lobbyists and party leaders. They are right about their disgust. They are right about the process.

They are wrong about the statement. Statements don't provide hot meals in poor schools, or contraceptives at family-planning clinics.

Statements help a small group of people to feel pure and pious and superior for a day or two, and there is still too much need in America to waste a vote on a feeling so fleeting and meaningless."

~A n n a Q u i n d l e n
columnist and liberal, in Newsweek this month
Latest electoral college count:
Bush: 213
Gore: 192
Up for grabs: 133

Status of Pennsylvania:

Number of electoral votes Pennsylvania gets:

Your vote could decide this election.

We hit all the dorms on campus, and all the bathroom stalls. That oughta mean total visibility--everybody has to pee. And everybody has to vote! Most swatties already have, via absentee, but there are a significant number who either live in PA or who have re-registered here. In that latter case, we really don't need to target them, because if they re-registered specificallly in a swing state, they're not voting for Nader, but what the hell. Get out the message, rock the vote. I'm so scared.

Laurel and Jenny and I came up with a great game for tomorrow night. The entire campus is going to congregate in upper tarble to watch the results come in, beginning at 7:30. There are 9 swing states that are actually toss-ups, and 3 that are leaning:
  • Pennsylvania
  • Maine
  • Tennessee
  • Florida
  • Michigan
  • Wisconsin
  • New Mexico
  • Oregon
  • Iowa
  • Arkansas (bush)
  • W. Virginia (bush)
  • Missouri (bush)

for every swing state bush gets (you get to pick if you're doing the 9-state or 12-state version), you take a shot. That way, if W actually wins, we'll be too drunk to care, and will drown our sorrows in the rest of our bottles, and if Gore by some miracle wins, we'll have an excuse to party, and will celebrate. I think it's an excellent plan. Trouble is, the spirits shoppE is going to be closed election day. I doubt we'll have much trouble though.

base 10base 2

Aside from election-related angst, my day has been pretty much unproductively wonderful. Or at least damn fun. I woke up, as seems to be my pattern on Mondays, well-rested and at noon. I got my ass out of bed and spent the next two and a quarter hours making cookies for seminar break (Morphology seminar started at 1:15, but the first hour of it was the useless Italian section, so i didn't feel too guilty). I brought a huge tubful of warm chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies (two separate kinds) up to Ling, and Donna Jo said, oh, you're such a wonderful person! it doesn't matter that you were late! you made us homemade cookies! :-) After which I went to Underhill to try and do the Music 40C stuff, but Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club BandMalika had abuducted the one copy of the tape, so about six of us sat around doing nothing. Peter Yoo was at the desk and in a shitty mood, and asked me to work for him until close (5:15--i had class at 5:00). I said okay, and put on Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, cranked up the volume all the way on the decrepit old Mac, and danced around loudly for the next hour with other stranded music 13 students. Difference was, I got paid for it. :-) Couldn't identify a minor 6th today in drill. Whatever; it was high, and i kicked ass on the harmonic dictation (i6 - N6 - viiº7/V - V) so i felt justified. DORKestra this evening; Beethoven IX. Goddess but i love the piece, and it's slowly coming, even if John does call french horns 'woodwinds' and bows 'sticks'. Paces with Phil afterwards, and Eve, who taught me binary. Note that every number that starts with a 1 and ends in all 0's is a power of 2 (in bold). Is that not cool? She can do this really fast and has pages of notebooks covered in counting by 3's in binary. Random skills that girl, like smoking, knitting, and rollerblading all at once. Quite a sight last year--took up knitting to try and give herself some other manual fixation that smoking, but quickly became so good at it that she found she could smoke and knit at the same time, and rollerblading was just a convenient way to get around campus, so there she'd be, whizzing by in front of Parrish, a scarf trailing out behind her, a cigarette between two fingers and long needles between two more, knitting and smoking and rollerblading. Eve. Her blue wig accompanied the binary on the back of a Paces menu tonight. (Awful vegan cheescake.) And just now by mistake managed to prove to myself (emailed Donna Jo) that the suffixes -y and -ish are not a minimal pair (affixing to derivational V. inflectional nouns, as DJ has asserted) by writing to laurel that this post going up was "angstyish," using the both of them at once. Gotta love morphology. :-)

Laurel and i just determined that one bottle of Absolut should hold the three lodge 2 girls in this endeavor tomorrow night. Even if W wins and we need to get shitfaced in order not to harm others or ourselves, we're all relatively small girls and can't do more than 3/4ths of a bottle between us. I'll try to procure it after quartet rehearsal tomorrow (which is going really well! I'm so excited for our december 9th concert!). Goddess, I'm so scared this idiot could actually win! As Phil so accurately said tonight, his dog could run the country better than W. Roe V. Wade! 3-4 supreme court justices! social security (which is a federal program, W.)! national debt! environment! aaaaaaaa!

if you have not voted, go out tomorrow and do so. DO NOT FORGET, ye responsible citizens. and look above if you need reasons to vote for a real candidate, not a clown who's fucking with a real election in a misguided attempt to shake up the political system at the expense of the environment, abortion rights, social security, the middle class and poor, and to the direct benefit of the wealthiest 1% of the nation and big oil. Bush's campaign is funding Nader ads!

Rock the vote, everybody. And don't make me finish that bottle of absolut tomorrow.


November 8, 2000, 5:21 PM

page of quiet minimalism and despair*

which is not yet black, only grey, because Bush has not yet won

Six shots:
  • Tennessee
  • Ohio
  • New Hampshire
  • Arkansas
  • West Virgina
  • Missouri
I was still sober enough to hear them call the election for Bush at 2:30 AM. i had bitemarks (my own) on my knuckles from all the tension. Many screams all along the way--cheers and huzzahs, throwing of plastic election hats, many celebratory toasts (Allan had teqila; Adrian spiced run; martin Skyy) when PA went democratic. Fun to watch with the 5 bush-shirted college Republicans sitting quitely in a corner, in upper tarble with all my friends and the whole campus screaming for gore. Went to sleep before FL, WI, and OR were called. Even Iowa went to Gore--why is WI taking so long? (Final tally: 1,242,115 to Gore; 1,235,991 to Bush in the dairy state.) I had fitful dreams of the 25-electoral vote FL doing a recount all night--kept having to wake myself up and tell myself no, it's a dream, it's a dream, we're all fucked. i woke up to Laurel's message on my voice mail telling me that FL was off by 600. Now it comes out that certain black voters weren't allowed to cast a ballot, that others were told that the Buchannan circle to punch was actually the gore one, that a box of ballots were lost and recovered this morning, &c. Nothing's actually over and we're still cliffhanging.

meantime i have to keep going to classes and doing homework. What's the use. Bipartisan america sucks, but nader can kiss my ass--way to throw the election, dipshit. I'm restraining myself--am still speaking to my Nader friends but with some difficulty.

Cross your fingers.

footnote: theme for the jamboree cantatrix is hosting this semester

November 9, 2000, 3:06 AM

i made hummus and spilled it on the floor.
this is how my life has been going recently.

keith tells me not to cut my hair.
tilting at windmills.
swat and the world are teaming up to kick my ass.

November 11, 2000, 1:11 AM


Gaston:  LeFou, I'm afraid I've been thinking ...
LeFou: A dangerous pastime--
Gaston: I know.

I've been thinking, too, perhaps too much, perhaps too little ... Academically too little, i guess, and in all other aspects too much. Hummus on the floor. (I actually made more hummus the other night, and while i broke Laurel's blender, I don't feel as guilty as I should, because she threw away my contacts!--but i didn't spill the hummus.) No president, and I'm learning more about Florida statutes than I ever wanted to know.

But all this thinking, while it has not made a philosopher out of me (and it never will--I'm waiting till Schuldenfrei's teaching Intro before i attack that heinous, irrelevant-yet-the-basis-of-the-entire-westen-fucking-cannon subject) has produced something useful. I think. (there i go again ...): a course schedule for next semester.

Astro 001
(pass / fail!)
Music 14
Music 31
Old English
The scientific investigation of the universe by observation and theory, including the basic notions of physics as needed in astronomical applications. Topics include astronomical instruments and radiation; the sun and planets; properties, structure, and evolution of stars; the Galaxy and extragalactic systems; the origin and evolution of the universe. Includes some evening labs.Advanced work with chromatic harmony and tonal counterpoint.A survey of Russian music from the early 19th century (Glinka) through Mussorgsky, Tchaikovsky, Borodin, Rimsky, and into the 20th century: Scriabin, Stravinsky, Prokofief, Shostakovich, Schnittke, Gubaidulina, and Ustvolskaya.A study of the origins and development of English--sound, syntax, and meaning--with an initial emphasis on learning Old English. Topics may include writing and speech, a history of morphology, the changing phonology from Old to Middle English, Shakespeare's puns and wordplay, a history of sounds and spellings, modern coinages, and creoles. We range from Beowulf to Cummings, from Chaucer to Chomsky.

"...from Beowulf to Cummings, from Chaucer to Chomsky." Yeah, baby. And it's crosslisted in English and in linguistics! So it counts towards my major. That's 3 credits in my majors, and one Natural Science PDC, pass-fail. Four classes and a do-able schedule. Music 14'll kick my ass; 31 will be cool; I love languages so Old English will rock, and Jensen is teaching Astro 001 so it'll rock. ::sigh::--i'm not sure i want to be planning to take more classes right now when the ones i've got aren't going so hot, but hell, that's what one does, right? Erf. Survival.

Ce qui ne me tue pas me rend plus fort.

or something.

rereading my journal from the PYO tour this summer. I'm so glad I did that. I'm really glad I'm writing this thing in general. And that you're reading it, nameless netizen (don't throw things; i got that term from ben). I love this format, this audience, and this archive. I get to write without descending into the shit that I won't want to read later, and create a few pretty things here and there.

But anyhow. rereading this journal, and maybe I really want to study abroad in Prague. Rachel Kane and Anna Woodiwiss are there right now, and i think they're enjoying it. It seems like such an intriguing place, and a cool language (i could have a rematch with the Slavic languages!), and such history, and there'd be opportunities for music. This may be it.

blah, enough of this writing shit. obviously no jewels of prose today. i should go to bed. i'm in on a saturday night pretending to work but have actually just made tshirts that say:

Nov. 7, 2000
Palm Beach Co., FL

with Ben Schak and Claire. Much fun but no work accomplished. Ice cream with claire at 4? Maybe i'll stay up; maybe not. I hate the sophomore slump! :-(

i got striped toesocks today though :-)

November 12, 2000, 2:33 PM

cloth between my toes
singly encased
cocooned toes like
i'm cocooning myself in striped toesocks
waiting for the new semester and the butterfly.

November 14, 2000, 2:03 AM

little baby centaurs
frolicking to this
sweaty-toothed madman's
sixth symphony
a fantasia of reptests
and all his sonatas, analyzed, neapolitans
have lighted fools the way to dusty death
as they try to make it in the brutal orchestral world
--Lord, what fools these mortals be!

November 16, 2000, 3:12 AM

joel price's 3-day-shorn head feels the same, stroked, as my black (laurel's black) velvet pants do, up. « bébé jésus en coulottes de velour » -- it's bébé djeesus een velvit paaahnts. Madame Delord, what you taught those of us who understood you. ma dame. notre dame de l'école de l'Ouest, nous qui avons vous entendu. Vous l'avez dit, « on n'est pas sérieux quand on a dix-sept ans », et moi j'avais dix-sept ans et je me suis pensée très sérieuse d'étudier Rimbaud. « Un beau soir, foin des bocks et de la limonade » -- mais moi ce soir j'ai bu un bière et un cappuccino, et un peu de gateau de plus. Les tilleuls seraient verts si nous en avions ... R. n'a pas entendu le rimbaud hier soir. i need to take more poésie française but they're not offering anything que les basic courses de littérature next semester. They'll probably offer good shit when I'm abroad (along with the entire fucking music department!) in the fall. Abroad! a broad. Dame. there is nothing like a dame ... patti and her tongue-in-cheek mockery of the patriarchy; susan mcClary and her vehement and bombastic mockery of the patriarchy (and simultaneous and unintended mockery of herself and of feminism); patti again and her blatant excoriation of the patriarchy and of men, grilling husbands. never was down with that i said and say again. ... nothing in the world ... a broad. I want to go to Prague, drink real beer, live in the city of kundera and kafka, hang out by the puddle by his house, play in the Praha Sinfonietta! i heard them do Mozart Requiem and dear goddess but it was heavenly in that small church simon and juda the clear notes confutatis ringing articulated and tight into the basilica--i played it tonight! or rather played. no italics yet. but aa! simply a gutwrenched monosyllable of hawaiian lava to express my adoration of the brilliance of tonic-dominant hanging on a neapolitan: Confutatis maledictis flammis acribus addictis, Voca me ... et de profundo lacu. Libera me de ore leonis, ne cadam in obscurum, ne absorbeat me Tartarus. la-ti-do-do-do do-ti-la-la-la vehemence for three hours tonight, and god but i love it. a tight show and joel and claire laugh. abram asks if analysis actually adds anything to your understanding of the piece and i try to explain the math in tonalities and why structure can add and become the basis for so much meaning. i desparately want to take computational methods of language in the spring, the cognitive science seminar, which would throw my perfectly-crafted schedule into Tartarus. I'll worry about that more in the morning, though. tomorrow to play the first movements of our shostakovitch and debussy, and then to practice them. peter yoo tells me i'm out of tune and i am, but not on those movements. scathing boy. good to take me down a notch or two from time to time, but not incessantly. tone it down, boy. down, boy. dmitrii the stuffed dog named after -dmitievitch shostakovitch--all russians have whats(patronymics)--on peter's bed (haydn on the toaster G4 computer). weirdness to eat today and sharples makes me cry. the comfort of purple sheets. i need to stop rubbing the nap on these velvit paaahnts and go to bed.

November 19, 2000, 1:19 PM

away messages from saturday, 18.XI.2000:

in the city
i'm still asleep
and i'm hungry
steamholes spewing yawns into the cold air
brahms 3 and firebird raucous from the church on the corner
where a crazy aged maestro waves his thin baton
to whatever beat he goddamn well feels like

first official concert of the season
first black since italy and prague this summer (--
black with vino rosso; black with u fleku beer--)
in a tight black dress
floorlength with a slit
black all through and a silver ring
even black skewers in the hair
'coal' the eyeliner
black on white
(i never tan)
playing one of the most colorful pieces imaginable:
Confutatis maledictis flammis acribus addictis, Voca me ... et de profundo lacu. Libera me de ore leonis, ne cadam in obscurum, ne absorbeat me Tartarus.

(fascinating manhole photography)

November 22, 2000, 3:40 AM

apologies. i have nothing to say except that i'm so goddamned tired, no coherent entry right now. was up till 6:30 writing a paper, and it got done, and on time, and it's good. Managed, however, to sleep through all subsequent classes. Going to bed at dawn is not conducive to getting up an hour later. So that hour turned into 8. Went and re-spelled a couple vii°7 chords of my chorale (due today for theory) and turned it in, then to the bookstore to purchase a new alarm clock. My chorale is actually good, and was actually done a week ago. Which is why it sucks that I slept through both classes in which i had large assignments due--becuase they were fucking done on time!! Rar. So it goes. I'm over it. But I certainly wasn't when i woke up at 2:30 PM and started swearing loudly for a few minutes. Laurel tried to tell me it was okay; i almost clocked her.

At least I was awake for my 2 hours of Quintett coaching with Tony [Barone] this afternoon. He's so cool, and such a good musician. I sometimes forget that, taking basic piano lessons with him. He'd sit down at the piano every so often to demonstrate something to Peter (Yoo, our pianist), and suddenly the music under his urging would fly off the piano and drive the entire insane third movement forward. He echoed David (Szepessy, our coach)'s sentiment--"If you're not crazy and about to die by the time the movement ends, you're doign it wrong." And we were. But it's going to be so cool. What an insane piece. I'm very excited for (a) Russian Music next semester and (b) our concert December 9th! I practiced this evening from 10 - 12 or so, just hacking out a few passages in the Shostakovitch. Crossed that off my to-do list (which is longer than God).

Talked to Suzanne the freshman cellist today for a while about conservatories, &c. She's going to transfer, actually go and play 6+ hours a day. Had a minor crisis afterwards back at the Lodge, the Lodge of Crises. Jenny rationalized me through it, as usual, saying that I just need to restructure my day, time, classes, life, &c., in order to have the time i want to practice, if I'm still intent on getting into Curtis by the time I'm 23. And I do. Which is nothing new, it just has special new resonance. I'm going to follow that advice. I'm just now completey unsure of what to major in. Music? Or would that actually take away from my practice time, it being one of the harder majors on campus? Just ling? Somehow a special major in a humanities-weighted cognitive science? I dunno. I'm going to do the theory anyhow, but we'll see. Not tonight. I'm not going to figure it out tonight. Tonight i need to get my body back on some kind of sleep schedule. It's already too late for that, but i'm going to go to sleep NOW.

But before I do--or rather, before you do--check out the beautiful shrine to my car (thanks to Allison, who has yet to create a webpage or else i'd link her, for the pictures) i just created. Look! Look!

my beautiful car ...

dude, i'm fucking beat. Laurel's taking a Physics 8 test on my bed. She needs to get her laundry from Willets and wants me to come with her. I think I will out of sympathy. We ate gado-gado leftovers and toasted with them. I love ritual. How's this for a ritual: 8 hours of sleep nightly! Ha, that'll be the day at Swarthmore. I love this school but it's going to drive me insane. I'm so glad this break is coming NOW. I've needed it since Fall break. How pathetic is that. Listen to me, i'm so fucking tired i can't even close this paragraph and get to bed. Bed. bed. bed. go look at my car.

November 24, 2000, 11:08 AM

Thanksgiving in college has been a little different. Nothing bad (well, last year was just dumb, chez my old roommate), but not at the Munyon's, not playing Trivial Pursuit. I called all them last night and talked to most people in the room. Peter's apparently now 6'2" (as tall as Chuck, dear goddess) and his voice is getting down there in octave, too.

It happens. So says Olivia's grandmother. Talking about growing up in the 1930's, insisting that wasn't that long ago. Talking about all the children there are nowadays. Trish Gruber says, mother, they all grew up. "Oh. It happens, I suppose." Peter's 6'2" and I'm 20. What will happen next? College and diplomas and declaring majors. Sophomore papers. Whatcha gonna do.

This Thanksgiving, though, has been fun--both advertently and in-. I woke up Thursday morning around 11, having of course intended to be up a couple hours earlier to finish things before driving to Haddonfield. But no tragedy; I called Richard (Tayar, who accompanied us in Italy) and postponed for half an hour. Mix tapes were more important than pies were more important than driving to New Jersey at the precise moment I awoke to Jenny in Jenny's bed and Amelia in Laurel's bed.

Jenny and I broke out all of our CDs and spread them on Laurel's bed. My six or seven pop ones--Sweet Honey, Annie Lennox, soundtrack to Reality Bites, &c.; her albumful! I need more pop(ular) CDs, but i should just burn them at this point. But they're so pretty when you spend actual money on them. I'll start assembling albums on mp3, then eventually burn some. I love my new computer.

CDs spread out and markers equally chaotically and chromatically arranged, we attacked Laurel's box. Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. Joni Mitchell Hits. an unopened Sweet Honey. Mixes were made. "Thanksgiving Driving to NJ Mix 2000 (with Jenny!)." I'll give a copy to Allison; i owe her a few.

Richard was there for the last har/r of it. We tried to drive to Genuardi's ("why do you spell it one way and pronounce it another," he asks) but after the 7 minutes it took to get my car going, the store was closed. No pies for me.

Tape finished, Richard and I drove to NJ, only getting lost four times, and only making a short excursion into Delaware. We arrived perfectly on time. Total present 'round the table, Martha Stewarted with chocolate turkeys wearing pilgrim hats with our names written on them, were me, Olivia, Morgen (16), Trish and Curt (all Grubers), Mrs. Gray (O & M's grandmother), the latter's friend Fran, and Richard in his suit and tie, looking Florentine and gentlemanly. A very nice meal, both culinarily and conversationally.

We tried to leave at 8:00 PM. Richard and I bid adieux, got in my car, and then he proceeded to laugh at me and my car for the next 10 minutes while the engine ground and refused to spark, or when it did, catch. We tried at three different instances, but to no avail. Maybe my orange behemoth is afraid of the dark. O. and I drove Richard back to Swat, where i got a change of clothes and my AAA card, conveniently forgetting my catpills (allergies to the beautiful Claudia). The tape deck in their car wouldn't work but we figured out on the way back that that was because R. had been putting the tape in backwards. Ha. So Van Morrison, the Indigo Girls, Rusted Root, and the Village People accompanied our gossip back across the accidental Walt Whitman Bridge (Commodore Barry got slighted several times that evening). Came back, called families, went to sleep.

This morning AAA came and even though all garages appear to be closed till Monday, the guy agreed to tow it over to his shop and take a look at it. [added later. 16:26 pM: the car's computer is gone. I didn't know cars had computers. The guy says he can't replace the part before monday, so now I'm at Swat, just chilling and back to public transportation for a week. Oh well and :-(.]

I've figured out what "AAA" stands for--it's not an acronym; it's what you say when your car won't start. Aaa!

Cat walking across the desk. I'm allergic but i love the felinity. Must remember to wash hands before touching eyes, but i love it when they purr. I wish my car would.

November 29, 2000, 1:09 AM

i smell like smoke. it makes sense as i've been in paces. didn't help that julie was smoking a clove. it was g minor all night--peter was sick so no drunken circus clowns throwing up, just sick pianists; oliver thought rehearsal was 9:30. which meant debussy as a trio--detail work; intonation and rhythm; exact coordinations. i'm now the bass instrument so the texture and balance is altered. i love doing good chamber music; it's unfortunate that i won't be able to next semester what with one violinist in france, one doing too much else, and the pianist graduating and needing to prepare a senior recital. unfortunate and it'll be a degree of tight harmony and refinement lacking from my life, but hopefully it'll make things saner in the long run. means (hopefully) that i can take four classes. i decided at around 1 last night that i really wanted to take life drawing, but then realized that it directly conflicted with my very cool cognitive science seminar, which should kick ass. scrapped and postponed that idea. i miss having charcoal all over my body, though, walking up to physics the four flights of stairs and halfway around the school, from the basement to the aviary-equivalent which only housed physics rooms, coated in black soot, gleeful fingerprints on my nose and the black solid dust at my fingertips, solid enough to draw in, put one final hipline on the paper, and then fading to a grey near the palms. i miss throwing myself into projects bigger than i am, working with my arms and the muscles in the shoulders instead of just the fingers to type. more impulsiveness, you feel a line rather than thinking out an argument. i miss fingerpainting my galen-sized huge hanging rainbow man, for mr. wo's rhythm and movement assignment, little people dangling from his outstretched arms. i miss painting the car. i miss huge chalkings. charcoal.

but this is sarah kate's cardigan, and now it smells like smoke. just one more reason to do laundry tomorrow morning. i got ten dolla in quarters this morning in preparation--cashed some much-needed checks. and i need to wash everything so i can wear my new pink leopard-print underwear again, and my beautiful new socks.

got to paces a few minutes early, no galen yet. julie and samaya and julia trippel around a table; it gradually filled up with eve and nik, &c., at a back table playing cards, passing a pipe (don't know with what), and half-gone bottles of bailey's and rum on the table. ben gazy in a blue turtleneck. i pulled a page of xeroxed russian text out of a binder and began babbling in an exaggerated hand. nothing said, and it looked prettier on the page:

Paces on a Tuesday night. Waiting and I don't know how long--told Debussy I had to leave his Augmented French Sixth ass and go sip cappuccino, little monks in brown hoods quaffing

  • upside-down eyelashes shadows
  • clove
  • cappuccino
  • puddle of wax, tealights
  • drumming from the belltower gets too cold; they come blast out the smoke-filled café
  • erin is drunk

this caffeine headache is really getting to me. i had a glass of water at my roommates' behest but it hasn't helped yet. it was only one cappuccino! this doesn't usually happen. we just finished the orgasmic carrot cake left over from my saturday-night dinner party over break (anni, chela, galen, claire w., amelia, & abram--amelia figured out the diameter of pasta we'd need to cook to feed peanut noodles to the masses of seven (and it worked!); anni brought the gin). think i'm going to go write a letter and eat some of those brownies whose mintiness is wafting into my room. yeah for kitchens; yeah for roommates and appeased tensions and rubbing my head (i had my hair up so tight yesterday that my scalp bled); yeah for brownies.

(just added a recipes page (though it's not much yet; it will be soon) and updated my photos page. go visit)

November 30, 2000, 1:50 AM

Dude. No one's going to come to Dip Of The Month with me! This is so frustrating. Everyone's having some kind of issue. Nudity issues; temperature issues (it is 40° out there right now, people--hardly antarctic!); homework issues; fat issues. It is dark. No one will see you naked.

Nightswimming deserves a quiet night. ...
The moon is low tonight. ...
The fear of getting caught,
Of recklessness and water.
They cannot see me naked.

It is the first of the month. As i stated in my email to them all, What better way could there be on a thursday night to unwind after six hours of ridiculous rehearsals (oh wait, that's only me ...) but taking off all your clothes and exposing your flabby, sharples-fattened ass to the elements with all your best friends? Lots of things apparently, by the way they're not turning out in droves at my doorstep to tromp around the Crum at 1 in the morning. Stinkers.

Perhaps I'll console myself with cookies or ramen. Both are about equally appetizing right now. For dinner I tried to eat some of the shit that sharples served up, and gave up in favor of a bowl of green peppers and a banana. Gummy bears were on the condiment bar, and i ate a bowlful of those monsters (decapitated and decorpitated, and restuck together in random color combinations), too. So my dinner was less than satisfactory. I fuckin' hate Sharples.

Oh my. Galen looks like he's aged about forty years, white hair (he's lost the beard so it's not quite as effective); Laurel is grimacing and has equally-greyed hair, which recolors itself as she shakes out the flour. Jenny just looks ridiculous. I'm sure I do, too, but it's hard to see with my glasses clouded over with flour.

It was Laurel's fault, I believe. Or maybe Jenny's. She smacked me on the back with a handful of flour in the middle of making cookies (we didn't have any butter; Galen came to our aid bearing requisite oleo around 1:30 AM). I didn't notice until Laurel pointed it out and dipped her hand in the flour. Galen says, "in the kitchen." So we migrated. Damn our tribal mentality. Abram, Jenny, Laurel, Galen, and I ended up in our little box of a kitchen throwing flour at each other, the white dust flying through the air like rosin released from an over-coated bow during the final tonic chords of Beethoven's Ninth ("I can't seem to find the tonic at the end of that piece!" Dan Blim jests about the page-long dominant-tonic alterations). Handfuls of flour pelting down, no two flakes alike. The kitchen covered finally when it all settles in a fine powder. We should have lain down and made angels. Instead we reverted into our violent four-year-old selves and threw more, stuffing it in each others' faces. Like Laurel in the Wharton-Willets snowball fight last year, when our dorm attacked hers and she was the only brave soul who came out and defended the honor of her hallmates. She took us all down, and violently!, stuffing snow in our faces and making us resort to storming through the halls, shouting for the rest of them to come out. Don't know what we would have done if they had.

Now Abram's left and Jenny's retired upstairs, and Keith has joined us--it's 3:19 AM--having called me half an hour ago inquiring about a Tom Jones run. My car's still in New Jersey (I'm trying to convince these cats (a) to come get it with me tomorrow, and (b) to still come out skinny dipping with me)--so i couldn't drive, but i offered Keith the cookies instead. A party chez Lodge Deux basement at 3:30 AM. Yeah, college. Now off to Crum Creek ...

all this ©nori heikkinen, November 2000

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