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Monday, October 6th, 2008
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8:36 pm - A response to an e-mail from an old friend I haven't talked to in a while.
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I like VA. It's better than MA in that people have less of a collective bug up their ass. It's worse in that the area I live in is filled with political/legal yuppies, everything is getting gentrified (and despite being one of the oldest places in the country, there's almost no old architecture where I live. . .making my neighborhood look something like high-rise construction projects for really really rich people), all the good bars are disappearing, and people generally look like douche bags instead of people.
My parents are good. My dad has a bad back (sciatica), but it's getting better. My Mom is relatively healthy and still teaching. Her email should still be the same if you'd like to talk to her. They have a little dachshund named Billy. Because of Billy, they rarely ask me to make them a baby, so I like him. Except when my Mom's talking to me on the phone and then randomly breaks into crazy baby-talk (I assume because he starts playing with a ball or something).
I do not get to Boston often. About twice a year (Christmas/summer). I don't miss it very much. The only thing I really miss is the music scene, and my few friends that remain there.
My friends here are pretty great. I've been really lucky to meat some really good people.
I have a girlfriend. Mary. Last we talked of it, it was a law-school relationship. Something fun and temporary. But we've become really close. I don't think I'm ready for commitment yet, but I'm trying not to say anything definite about the future. Especially today, as you will understand upon reading further.
About 9 months ago, her father suffered a stroke. Apparently I have been a great support to her, as her father tried to recover very slowly. I don't know how I was a great support. I feel more like a bum (she has a full time job, and I basically live at her place, and she buys me food and stuff). But that's what she says.
Last Thursday, her father suffered a second, more significant stroke. He did not survive. His funeral was this morning. I attended. I never met him or much of her family.
I've been talking to her via texts of various sorts for the past few days. I haven't seen her since Thursday morning. I miss her, I think, mostly because I feel like I should do something for her. Despite our time together, I'm not family, and this has been family time.
She has another guy, Pete, whom she broke up with at about the same time she started with me. I think he's the guy she'll be with once we're over. He's more like family I think.
For now I feel awful. I feel like I haven't been as close to her as I could have been. I didn't want to be that close to her. I wanted some kind of space. Today I feel responsible, and I feel like I can't be there for her as much as I'm willing to be (if only because of the gravity of the situation).
I cried a lot at the funeral. I cry a lot at those kinds of ceremonies anyway. I'm a sucker for sentiment and pathos. Today, I kept seeing Mary crying (in my head, she was generally composed), and I felt so much for her loss and wanted so much to be able to cushion it somehow.
She's the third close friend of mine to lose a father in a year and a half. You've met Eric (one of my roommates in Boston). His father passed last summer (2007). My oldest fiend (from second grade) Jon's father passed this past summer. Those deaths were far from me, despite the depths of my feelings for my friends. They didn't affect me as much.
It's my last year of law school. Last week, I was very very nervous about my future. I don't care so much now. It's better to live and be with people today. My studies don't matter. My future career doesn't matter. My money issues don't matter. I'll find something. All that matters today, or any day, are the friends you make, and the people who love you. They are the only one's who can give your memories meaning. For a secular empiricist like me, they are the soul.
I'm very bad at keeping in touch with people. I'm very sorry I haven't kept in touch with you, or talked more to my friends who have recently lost loved ones. I don't think I'll change that bad habit of forgetting to write or call any time soon. My parent's don't even get that much attention from me.
I'm very glad you wrote to me. I haven't had a reason to write any of this down, and I needed to. I'm happy I haven't lost you.
Love,
Natan
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| Tuesday, February 26th, 2008
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12:36 pm - My First Mix CD
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My friend's father recently had a stroke. She's been dealing with it well. She asked if I could make her a mix for when she's driving around in her car. It's supposed to be filled with "pensive" music.
It has been a long time since I've made a mix. All of my past mixes have been to tape. Her car does not accept such things, nor do I have an adequate device to produce such things here in D.C.
Therefore, this is my first mix CD.
Cry Baby Cry - The Beatles
He - Moby Grape
Grounded - Pavement
Interstate 8 - Modest Mouse
Beware of Darkness - George Harrison
Listening Wind - Talking Heads
Tom Traubert's Blues - Tom Waits
There is a Place - Silver Jews
Joan of Arc - Leonard Cohen
Where is My Mind? - Pixies
The Windmills of Your Mind - Dusty Springfield
Waterloo Sunset - The Kinks
Fixing a Hole - The Beatles
Waitin' For A Superman - The Flaming Lips
It flows pretty well, and I especially like the last few songs together. I had some trouble making the mix cause I don't like to make sad mixes. It's a bit droney and heavy and it doesn't really bring you anywhere. It just sits you down in your car for a lonely ride. I got over it a bit, while still fulfilling the request, by making it sort of melt into a thinking about stuff mix, instead of a moping about stuff mix.
Whatev. It was nice to think about and complete a mix again.
current mood:  pensive
current music: Mary's Sad Driving Mix
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| Monday, February 11th, 2008
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5:13 pm - What fools these mortals be/ or patience.
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HERMIA If then true lovers have been ever cross'd,
It stands as an edict in destiny:
Then let us teach our trial patience,
Because it is a customary cross,
As due to love as thoughts and dreams and sighs,
Wishes and tears, poor fancy's followers.
--Shakespeare. A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act 1. Scene 1.
LVIII.
That god forbid that made me first your slave,
I should in thought control your times of pleasure,
Or at your hand the account of hours to crave,
Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure!
O, let me suffer, being at your beck,
The imprison'd absence of your liberty;
And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each cheque,
Without accusing you of injury.
Be where you list, your charter is so strong
That you yourself may privilege your time
To what you will; to you it doth belong
Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime.
I am to wait, though waiting so be hell;
Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well.
--Shakespeare
PATIENCE, n.
A minor form of despair, disguised as a virtue.
--Ambrose Bierce. The Devil's Dictionary.
current mood: Patient
current music: Patience - Guns N' Roses
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| Wednesday, April 11th, 2007
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3:44 pm - An addendum to the conversation.
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"I feel that I have nothing to share other than thoughts and observations, and all of those incomplete."
That's what keeps me from writing. I need experience. I need something to say. I don't feel like I have anything to say. Half thoughts. Maybe interesting or illuminating. But not perticularly original or fulfilling. At least not to me.
I'm really not unhappy being here. It's something to do and I learn a lot about myself and about people in general. That's a perfect situation really.
Unfortunately it comes with the chance of failing doing very boring work. But if there wasnt a cost it wouldnt be fruitful I dont think.
A good career would maybe be one full of costs that I feel are worth it. Rather than one's I struggle through halfheartedly. But maybe I just have to learn how to get through shit. Maybe it's a character flaw I have that I can't deal with costs, and so any worthwhile occupation seems not...worthwhile.
I'm hoping law school will help illuminate the truth of this dilemma. Or rather I'm hoping that getting through law school will teach me how to cope with it, or will get me around it, or will give me the tools to deal with it.
Something like that.
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| Tuesday, March 20th, 2007
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12:32 pm - Another e-mail I wrote
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I went to law school for lack of anything better to do. I don't know what I should be doing. I don't know what I want to be doing. The "prospect of not knowing what I want to do" doesnt scare me. I'm dull to the fear now.
It does frustrate me. You're working towards something. Most people in this school are working towards something. No one knows, really what they're working towards here. Some have interesting goals, some just want to make money, but you don't know what you're going for till you get there. I don;t have the data in front of me, but lawyers drop out of their careers like soldiers in the trenches within 5 years of graduating law school.
I'm not working towards anything. I don't think I want to. I'd like to be doing things I like, whatever that may be at whatever time. I don't know what I like. It makes things frustrating. If I knew what I liked maybe I could make it work out for however long I liked it.
But I don't, so I do something "productive" like go to law school. At least I'm getting a degree that people respect. At least I'm trying to achieve something that would make myself and my parents happy should I accomplish it. Just the degree.
I think there's three things keeping me in law school. The first is the people here. I don't want to leave them just yet. I've only begun to get to know them and I'm making some good friends.
The second is I don't want to return home without the accomplishment. I don't want to say to my friends and my parents and myself that I didn't finish what I started...again.
There's not much else that keeps me going here. I think that's sad. There's nothing else to do. It's really hard for me. It's not something I'm good at. I tell myself that if I can make this happen I can squeeze out that bit of dedication and responsibility and self-control that's needed in life, to move and prosper and be a generous human being who can give something back to the world he lives in. I feel like if I can;t do it I'm just a leech, with nothing to give, because I can't put the effort into anything that isnt something that strikes my fancy at the moment.
The only thing I do well is think. I'm really fucking good at staring at a wall and comming to conclusions about abstract things. Conlusions in my head don't equate to product in the real world. It's all in my head. Not only do other people not benefit from it, but I don't benefit from it.
Maybe if I beleived in "enlightenment" I would be ok with myself. But I don't. I beleive that this world and this life is all I have. I need to find within myself the ability to use up every last drop of it. Putting myself in such an uncomfortable position as law school has only proven to me that I need to work a lot harder on myself if I'm not going to waste the one life I have.
It's difficult, and, as I said, frustrating. Perhaps I shouldn't be here. There's no where else to be.
Which brings me to the thrid thing that keeps me here: I should make the most of my time here. I'm not doing that so far. I don't want to leave without something. I don't want this year to be another unproductive one. Another year where I just scratched the surface of something and then left to do something else. It's a selfish and cowardly lifestyle. At the very least it feels empty and it makes me feel empty. I feel that I have nothing to share other than thoughts and observations, and all of those incomplete.
I have to get around that feeling. I'm hoping law school will somehow help me.
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1:12 am - Or maybe it's just her boobs.
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I had the thought, this morning, that perhaps I don’t really like her cause she’s not curious. She lacks this personality trait that I find so important in a close acquaintance. She needs to be looking at everything, and, if for something in particular, than for that particular something in everything. Can we even have a conversation otherwise?
On earlier days I had the following thoughts: I like her because when she’s happy it makes me happy. It truly brightens up my day. Her little dances and big smiles, and ridiculous laughs, are sunshine. When she doesn’t let them out I’m sad.
She’s stubborn, sincere, kind, motivated, proud, insecure, fearful, inexperienced and modest when she’s not pretending otherwise. She’s very attractive, incorrigibly cute, kisses perfectly, and feels great.
I am attracted to her because of all of these things.
Alas, she’s career-oriented, a curse among young women. The forced opposite, and twin, of the ancient marriage-oriented. Nothing can stand between her and some imagined ideal, not even herself. Not even all the cool shit that happens between point A and whatever point B is supposed to be.
I have been denied her because of this, and the accompanying insecurities and fears.
Do I care anymore? If she’s not curious why should I? A couple moments of thought reveal the emotion: I want to make her curious. I want my interesting/interested self to engender that curiosity in her. The initial attraction is obvious and not directly related.
So, this is a pride thing? I should be a door to the wonders of the world and she should be made to recognize this? Is this what everyone goes through? How many times have I gone through it? I’m writing this shit down so I don’t forget it again, or at least so I can remind myself that I once started sort of figuring something out.
I believe my desire to share whatever I can is a manifestation of generosity. Generosity as opposed to vanity, or selfishness. It would make me happy to show her shit, and see her smile. So far, I’ve only been successful doing so with some music. I wouldn’t mind being shown shit too, but I don’t think I’m looking for that at all. At least not now. We’re not dealing with that here, but that may be where my generosity ends, vanity/selfishness begins, and I should work on that for my soul.
I like sharing shit. I like talking about the stuff I’ve seen and thought about. In a much older journal entry, buried deep in the calendar section somewhere, I use the metaphor of a child who finds a stick that’s just so awesome, and goes to show it to adults who don’t give a damn, and so the kid adds his new stick to his old pile of sticks and waits for someone that wants to look at all the sticks he’s collected and is so excited about.
For all that I’m proud of my sticks, I am eager to find more. I think good love would come when a stubborn girl with sharp eyes and a quick tongue showed me stick for stick.
What I’m saying is I don’t think simply “I want you to want me,” though the emotion, the feeling, is essentially the same, or can be depending on mood. And it is not “Baby, let me follow you down” at all. Maybe more of a “Baby, come and follow me down, there’s a killer fucking landscape over here that you just gotta see, and if you don’t come and see it I’ll feel like I failed somehow.”
Did I fail? Did I fail to convince this girl that there was some interesting shit over there that she should let me spend some time sharing with her? Or was she simply never capable of seeing that interesting shit in the first place?
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| Monday, March 19th, 2007
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1:46 pm - By request
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"Laura Faintuch" (1:34:06 PM): heehe...he's wearing a laurel...i just read in metamorphoses of ovid about the laurel...my name is from laurel
"Laura Faintuch" (1:34:13 PM): her name is from laurel
NIP214 (1:44:52 PM): I aways wanted to rape a tree
"Laura Faintuch" (1:45:30 PM): hahahahhaha
NIP214 (1:45:00 PM): it's a thing I have to deal with
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| Wednesday, February 21st, 2007
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9:49 pm - A response I wrote to an e-mail sent to me today.
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This pretty much sums up where I am right now.
"I've been pretty drunk and stupid.
As far as that relates to relationships, there's only one girl here I'm interested in. Despite her intial rejections, she decided for some unknown reason to start a sort of non-relationship with me. Nobody knew about it (she's a catch and all the boys want her...heaven forbid they get jealous because she told them all she didnt want to be with anyone), and that was fine with me. Every once in a while I'd go to her place, and that was fine with me. After a few weeks she told me it was disturbing her too much, she needed to focus, she didnt want it to end badly, and so no more.
Not like there was much to begin with.
And that wasnt so fine with me, so I guess there was something, but I respect her wishes, cause it's not worth it if she can't be happy, etc.
So now my goal is to be completely "drunk and stupid" and fool around with whoever I'm willing to fool around with, and that's been going allright. Not ideal, and it takes effort to make sure nobody gets hurt, but that effort, and the reasons for it, keep me sane.
I hate school. I forgot how bad I am at school. But I'm here and I'm gonna see this through. I did this school thing for two reasons: 1) to keep from having to grow up for a few more years, and 2) to put me in a situation where I have to overcome my weeknesses and grow up.
I think I'm succeeding slowly but surely.
I'm actually happy doing all this. It keeps me occupied, and though the actual subject matter is boring like crazy, the entire experience is very interesting.
I think you're the first person I've told this two (particularly the part about the girl...s). Thank you. It needed to be said.
I'm currently in the process of writing a long and boring memorandum in support of a Motion for Protective Order for a made up trial scenario in legal writing class. About half way done with the first draft. It's going well.
Once that's done I'm getting seriously drunk and stupid. Yay weekend!
The fancy telephone picture was taken last weekend at the Barrister's Ball, which we all call "Law School Prom" because that's basically what it is. Law School is much more like high-school than college.
Dave Eggers is cool. I read McSweeneys to keep myself awake during class.
Work sucks, it's true. I wish I had some sage life advice, but I'm still in school, which means I don't know jack about life other than what I imagine.
I suppose work needs to be fulfilling, or something outside of work needs to be fulfilling. If you can't find either where you are you can do what I do:
Make your experience meaningful.
I'm the type of person that generally isnt happy where he is. Law school is not for me. Law work is not for me. Not being in law school wasn't for me either. But who I am in any situation is interesting to me. The people I meet are interesting to me. Our interactions are interesting to me. My life is interesting to me.
As long as I keep trying to understand myself, and improve myself, I can deal with wherever I am. And I can be fairly happy doing it.
I had a lot of trouble being happy before law school, but that's because I secluded myself, and didnt give myself any opportunity to interact with the world. I was a lump of dried up clay.
Throw some water on yourself and start molding. See where it goes. Find where you can be shaped and where you are firm. Make choices. Any kind of choice. Small or big. Don't dig ruts and develope habits. Try new things. Try old things.
There isnt a place on this planet that's more interesting than yourself. Travelling only exposes parts of you. If there isnt anything to expose, travelling wont expose it. With enough effort and imagination, you can find those parts of you without stepping out the door.
Easier said than done. But it'll get you through the boring times.
Love,
Natan"
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| Thursday, February 1st, 2007
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11:06 am - Viva me.
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| Wednesday, December 6th, 2006
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3:35 pm - La La La
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I am at peace. My mind is whole. I am Natan again, with a smile.
My cram session ended with me feeling relatively comfortable with what I had accomplished. I calmed myself for the exam. When I sat down to take it, I didnt feel too much pressure. No more so than any test I have ever taken. I finished it. I dont know if I did well, but I don't feel at all bad about it. I feel that I did it as well as I could have wanted. I have to wait until February for the results.
Tests are tests. These arent any worse than any other. Maybe more information needs to be in my head beforehand, cause you dont really knwo what they'll ask you about, but it's not a big deal. Not worth flipping out over. I was going crazy. I'm at peace again. It feels good. The other exams will come and go, and I'll do ok.
It's interesting how psychologically tender I became. I started crushing on a girl just as I was losing it. You know, just to make me lose it even more. Now that I'm steady and strong again the crush has subsided. I woke up this morning without it. She's a sweetheart, and I am most certainly interested in knocking boots. But she's also most certainly the kind of girl that you do not ever get crushes on if you want to retain your sanity.
I'm so silly. And happy. Vacation is comming. I'm gonna drop a tab or something when it's all over. Go crazy, go up to Boston for a couple weeks and love my friends, then come back and do it all over again.
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| Sunday, December 3rd, 2006
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8:55 pm - Random Cathartic Entry Number A Lot.
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It's 7:30ish in the evening on Sunday. Tuesday is my first exam in law school. It's Contracts.
Contracts isn't so hard, and it's only 2 credits (as opposed to some classes which are 4). This is significant, because the goal isnt so much a good grade as it is a higher overall GPA than most other people. That is, the goal for all is to be in the top 10% or top 20% of the class. Being at the top of the class is the open door to job opportunities (many big law firms, for instance, require top 10%). Being at the top of the class is also a status symbol, of course.
There's a very tight curve to a 2.9. This means it's both very hard to get an A, and also very hard to fail. So failure is not really an issue.
So why am I so stressed out? I don't want to get into a big law firm. I care about the status, but not to the extent that I should be so worried about the Contracts final. Torts and Property are the money finals, so to speak. I wont fail.
I came into this with so much motivation. I still have it, on and off. I want this. I already feel like I fucked it up though. Not that I regret severely any individual choice I've made here. I have enjoyed my experience here immensely. But those choices I make so easily are the same choices I have always made. The ones that kept me from the top of my class in college. The ones, had they not manifested in act, and had they been replaced by choices related more closely to getting to the top of the class, would not have prevented me from getting to the top of my class (see? this sentence is what studying for Contracts gets you).
All these little details. All these loopholes, and variances, and cases, and facts, and words words words. It's like climbing a mountain without learning how to climb properly. I have no "study habits." I have no practiced discipline. I read everything this year. I did all my homework, so to speak. That's friggin incredible in my world. It also is about as worthwhile for climbing this mountain as going out and buying all the flashiest gear, without having any idea how to use it.
I feel a bit lost. I am prone to severe mood swings. The first half of this day I was on fire. I was so happy with everything. "This shit is easy!" Now I'm tired, and all the easy shit feels like the tip of the iceberg.
I could completely own this material. I could. It's not that hard. I'm so afraid I'm not going to.
That's the greatest mistake of all. My mistake of mistakes. The One, amongst many others, which I never ever have learned from. Even a little bit. They call it a fear of failure. But it's not failure, as such, I'm afraid of. It's fear of not doing the best I can. "I'm not going to do the best I can, so why even try?" I ask myself... Bad question. I shut down.
So it's a back and forth battle in my head. One minute, "I'm superman and nothing can stop me." The next minute, "Who am I kidding? I'm gonna screw myself by thinking about how much I'm gonna screw myself. See? See? What did I tell you?"
So I just need to get over that. No biggie.
Also pretty blue eyes. That's not what I should be thinking about. It exacerbates the situation, on both fronts (the superman and the loser fronts). And it makes my mind wander. And it's another mistake I insist on making time and time again.
The ultimatum is not good. "If I do well, I'll prove something to myself. If I don't do well, I'll remind myself of the 'obvious.'" The first is success. The latter is failure.
All this being said, I'm very happy I made the choice to go to law school. These are already some of the best days of my life. It's a stage that feels solid, and productive, and memorable. And it's fun. There's no denying that. I just need to remember it.
current mood: determined
current music: iTunes
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| Tuesday, September 19th, 2006
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7:29 pm - Is saying "I love you" and not meaning it a tort? and other things I'm thinking about.
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It is no surprise that I have yet to write anything in this since moving, even though I said I would.
I'm just not really good at the blog thing. There are boxes in some house somewhere that have half started journals from various moments in my life where I swore "Now! Now is the time when I shall start my journal so that the thousands of young boys and girls that will one day dream of being me shall be able to learn from my mistakes and take sustenance from my victories!"
Alas for them, I dont record much of value.
Is there much of value in the weeks I have now spent in Arlington VA? Perhaps. The problem is, I think, that the value of any given moment only presents itself at some time after the moment passes. Recording the moment may be wise, but I can't be sure. When I finally realise the value it is perhaps so well after the fact that I don't remember it clearly enough to write about with any true authority. My memory has never been very clear. Ghosts of the past emerge from the deep caverns of my consciousness, speaking a laguage only I can understand.
Suffice it to say that I'm having a blast. I love law school. It's like summer camp. With more alcohol. And the reading can get really annoying, but annoying in that "I have to do it" way. Not annoying in that "I dont have anything to do" way. The latter plagued me for years, and I welcome the former.
The one great pressure is the fear. I have no idea how well I;m doing, and I wont until the results for the final exams return, at which point it will be too late to do anything about it, and my future, to some unclear extent, will be decided.
Wish me luck.
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| Tuesday, July 25th, 2006
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3:48 pm - My Goodbye Show
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Ketman's last residency show is tonight. Ketman is joined by Hellelujah the Hills, Paper Thin Stages and Reports. These are easily 4 of the best bands in Boston. Check them out on Myspace, and also, if you're a Bostonian, pick up the Weekly Dig and the Noise for articles about Ketman.
Ketman has constructed a setlist, complete with covers, for my benefit, as I am leaving for law school in a matter of days.
The show's at the Abbey Lounge in Inman Square. Please come to the show and say goodbye if you're in the area.
I found a place to live in Arlington, VA last week, directly across the stree from the law school. It is the bottom floor of a townhouse owned by a political analyst for the Republican party. Her house is filled with bunny rabbits. Stuffed ones, painted ones, porcelain ones and even a real live one.
The top floor (of 3) houses her office and the rooms wherein her interns live. It's like a strange hostel for those interested in politics and, perhaps, Easter decorations. Apparently one of her interns next year is a law student from Germany. Why he would choose to intern for a Republican Political Analyst in Washington D.C. I dont know. But it should be an interesting household.
So I've been waiting for this show for this show for a looong time. I'm excited. And I've been waiting to move and start my life for a looong time and I'm excited. D-Day is August 12th.
If you want to wish me farewell you have until then. Unless you think the internet offers as substantial a relationship as our relationship ever was. In which case, nothing will change and we can continue as usual. I shall be here always, barring significant physical debilitation or power outages.
I'll miss Boston a lot. Expect me to be very drunk and full of nostalgia tonight.
current mood: Rockin'
current music: ITunes on shuffle cause my shit is in storage.
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5:53 am
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I've stayed up all night reading this thing. It is now morning. The sun is out. I have not yet slept. It's a trip.
I havent posted in it for a long long time, due to many changes, significant ones I can see that were only materialising in my last posts.
I will now continue to write in this I think, as my life is about to change drastically, and this change would do well to be recorded.
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| Wednesday, August 10th, 2005
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11:22 pm - Well sit right there, my wicked son, and let me tell you a story.
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I should be writing a paper on identity, individualism, and federalism for the seminar, or “Summer University” I will be attending at the place I worked at in Switzerland last winter, but I do my best work (only work) under pressure. So I’ll write this instead.
Most of the people who will read this that I actually know were there with me. Congratulations to you all for time well spent, and may you be as lucky in the future.
My friend Sasha (may she live forever) manages the box office of the Paradise, an excellent smallish venue in the B.U. area of Boston. The Paradise frequently hosts those bands I wish to see when they come to Boston. Sasha frequently helps me see them.
Last Friday (I think it was) she called me a told me this: The Pixies had planned a “secret” show for the filming of a Live DvD. The show was on Monday. Tickets went on sale at 2:00 on Sunday. There were 300 tickets available at 15 dollars each, and there was a two ticket per person limit.
I had seen the Pixies on their recent tour some 3 times. Twice in state college stadiums, which both had poor sound, and once in the Avalon, a large dance club in the Dance Club area of Boston (aka The Baseball Stadium area of Boston), which has incredible sound. I had never seen the Pixies in a small club venue such as the ‘Dise, as they had not played in such a place anywhere near where I lived since their breakup in the early 90s.
A dream fulfilled this was to be.
I immediately called Eric, perhaps the one person I could not afterwards look in the face had I gone and not told him. He was out of town. I had to get his ticket.
Expecting the Serpent that is “word of mouth” to cause the greatest of tragedies, I became very nervous and clothed myself. I also ended up pulling an all-nighter that Saturday as there was to be no rest that Sunday as far as I was concerned.
I fidgeted about all morning on Sunday until I could contain myself no longer and walked the 15 minute walk from my apartment to the Paradise at 10 minutes to 10:00.
When I arrived I was relieved, and slightly surprised, to see that no one was there, waiting. I went to one of the nearby Starbucks to get some “energy” for the long day. When I returned, one other person was waiting. He was listening to his Ipod and reading a local free weekly. He ate a sandwich he had packed for himself.
It was another half an hour before a third arrived. She had the foresight to bring a towel to sit on. She and I began a conversation about the Pixies, our friends, this show, other shows, the Sun, and how we heard about all this in the first place. It was another half hour before another person added himself to the line (complete with Ipod), and the line grew at a very slightly faster rate for the rest of the morning and past noon. Cell phones were urging friends to come and help other friends get tickets. Mine was no exception. Mike was called to get Joe his ticket.
A bored cameraman came by and asked us about the show. At first we were suspicious of him, wary of anyone who would buy a ticket before us. When he asked us what we were waiting for I said The Spindoctors, half in jest half to get him to go away. It quickly became apparent though that he not only knew what we were waiting for, but had some official position given his rather expensive looking video camera. He took some shots of the four of us that were there at the time and interviewed us for no reason, complaining that he didn’t have his producer and never asked the questions, but as he had nothing else to do he might as well get some extra footage. He was nice but not a Pixies fan.
At 1:30 the line expanded to a good 50 people from about ten in under 15 minutes. A small amount, considering the magnitude of such an event, and the influence of that vile Serpent in such a small city as Boston. The producers/promoters of the show were visibly troubled and wondered where we had heard our information and why it hadn’t been clearer. The answer, we decided, was that, like us, no one wanted anyone else to know about it, including the more generous avenues of information such as radio stations and newspapers.
I received my tickets without trouble given my early positioning and had nothing to do but wait some more.
As the show was the next night I didn’t have to wait long. Hallelujah.
The show was as good as could be. After a shaky, nervous start from the band on the first song, which had to be restarted they got into their groove and sped through an excellent set list. Unfortunately they didn’t play everything I wanted, but this is reality and it was already starting to break the rules. After an hour and a half of rocking out like I haven’t since I can’t remember, the Marshals like the sound of many waters crashing on my face, my body was sore for three days. Still, I could’ve gone another hour easy.
That was lots of fun.
Sorry to all who could not attend. I’m glad I’m not you.
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| Thursday, June 23rd, 2005
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5:16 am - The 250
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I recently spent three months interning at the Institute of Federalism at the University of Friboug. It was during the worst winter there in fifty years. Every morning it would snow, and every afternoon it would rain. Within the first week, I stopped wearing my nice shoes to work. They would not be nice for much longer on sidewalks like that.
I stayed in a dormitory housing the Theological students. The building itself had been an ancient monastery. Every night I could hear organ music moving through the worn stone, to my room on the fourth floor. Every morning I would greet the students at breakfast as they came from their morning mass. The students were quiet, and hard to talk to, but the priests who led them were very willing to make me feel welcome, and to speak with me about religion in the U.S. and Switzerland.
I would take the bus, past the military base, to the office building in an area by a small casino and some shops. My office itself was two floors above a strip club. Sometimes, in the evening, as I was getting ready to leave, the music from the club would blast through the thin floors of the building.
When spring finally came, and the snow stopped falling, I could see the long mountain chains that surrounded the town. Every morning, the sheep from the farm beneath my window would wake me with their constant “bah!” I still didn’t wear my nice shoes.
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| Monday, June 20th, 2005
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12:45 am - an essay
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When I was sixteen, after my sophomore year of high school, I decided to leave my home, my parents, and my school, to live with a friend of the family in New Hampshire. I made this decision because, like many teenagers, I felt home and school were two rapidly burning ends of a very short candle. My parents were gracious enough to let me leave and live with a single woman, a widow, around the age of sixty, named Harriet. To understand my experience there one must first understand Harriet.
Harriet is a retired middle school teacher, well liked by her previous students, many of whom I was to meet in my new high school. She lives on her small pension and occasional tutoring. A defiant Democrat, who talks constantly of the unfairness in society due to the immense disparity between rich and poor, Harriet is a devoted Episcopalian, working and baking for her church. She is also the closest friend of the preacher and his wife. Her husband died of alcoholism when her two children, Sam and Margaret, were very young. Harriet claims a fierce dislike of alcohol, and drugs and drug users. All the same, she drinks an occasional glass of sherry in the evening. Harriet opposes gay marriage, although she has nothing against homosexuals. She is pro-choice, but thinks abortion is wrong.
Harriet’s son lives in Chicago, with his female life partner. They do not believe in marriage. Harriet respects this choice. Sam is a Communist, poet, student. His bikes are often stolen, at night, from outside their apartment. Sam listens to much of the same rock and roll that I listen to. In fact, he gave me most of his tape collection. Margaret, Sam’s younger sister, lives in a town near Harriet. She is married to a Catholic working-class Republican. Harriet respects this choice. Margaret’s husband has a son from a previous relationship with a cheerleader for the New England Patriots. He has full custody of this son, who is ten and likes to play football. Margaret, her husband, and her stepson live in a one room, trailer-style house behind her husband’s parents’ larger house. When I go to visit I see: on the walls, paintings of Jesus on the cross; beside the VCR, heavy metal CD’s, and a forgotten adult film; on the new computer, evidence of internet pornography. When the ten-year-old is not talking about football, he is often reciting his catechism.
Harriet has a brother and two sisters, one of whom I met. The other sister I only heard of in stories. She had suffered, since early childhood, from chronic, severe depression, caused, Harriet says, by chemical imbalances. It may be that I was told these stories in order to make me understand that my own depression was somehow not real, that it was a matter of choice, not as significant or uncontrollable as the depression of the sister.
Harriet’s brother was often away, sailing tropical waters. He was an extremely wealthy businessman. Harriet talked of this brother with disdain. She told of a trip, by her brother’s family and her own, to New York. Her brother had handed a crisp one hundred dollar bill to each of the children, including Harriet’s, and told them to go have fun. Harriet was proud to say that her children chose to save the money. They had never seen so much before.
Harriet lives in a very small red house on a relatively unpopulated stretch of road. Her address is a rural route and post -box number. She has an impressive garden. Gardening is the primary subject of discussion with her close friend, the preachers’ wife. Harriet also likes bird watching, as most retired women in New Hampshire seem to. I found myself unable to resist bird watching.
I was staying in a small room upstairs in that small red house, which used to belong to her children, across from Harriet’s even smaller room. I woke up at five every morning to catch the bus, for the long ride to high school in another town.
When I came home from school, Harriet could be found knitting in her chair, or planting exotic flowers in her garden, depending on the season. She would greet me and ask about my day. I would spend the afternoon doing homework, and she would cook us dinner. Sometimes she would have me help her with dinner, so that she could teach me to cook a sauce or some other dish. After dinner we would play Scrabble, or watch TV, and talk.
One night, after dinner, we were having a discussion about ethics. There had, no doubt, been something on the news or at school that I responded to with moral statement of some kind. Perhaps I began talking about human morality in general terms. Perhaps I asked a question about why people do some things that I would find wrong. I can’t remember what exactly spurred her to ask the question she asked. “How can you have morality without God? Where else can your morals come from?”
Harriet, as I have said, was a devoted Episcopalian. She was not, however, an evangelical, and she never took to preaching about religious matters (political ones yes, but not religious ones), so the question was not delivered from the mountain, but asked in polite confusion. Her own morals, according to her, were derived from her belief in the Lord Jesus Christ, His words, and His words alone.
How could I have a firm moral center without having such a belief in God to guide me? I answered something like “I don’t know, I just do.” I wanted to politely avoid a confrontation. Also, though I knew I didn’t need a God to speak truths to me, I didn’t know exactly why this was so. Wherefrom did my morality truly come? Why did I believe what I believed, if I had no religion, and no clear guide? I thought about this for a while, and the answer came to me. I remembered another conversation I had with Harriet, in which she told me of her personal journey through life thus far.
Harriet was brought up on a bean farm in the Midwest. Life was hard. Her parents were strict but kind. When asked if they were religious, Harriet could not recall. If they were, their spirituality certainly did not find its way into Harriet’s life. When Harriet’s childhood ended she set forth to find her way. She had a few tales I believe she now considers heroic. After graduating from college, a feat in and of itself for a girl at the time, she fell in love with a black man. She took part in protest demonstrations and parades. She also, either before or after college, actively looked for a church to call her own. According to her, she chose the church with a doctrine most closely matching her moral beliefs.
I never compared these two conversations in her presence, respecting her own beliefs about her beliefs. The truth, however, as it seemed to me, was that Harriet did not get her morality from her religion any more than I did. It must have been there already for her to choose a church that matched it. There was a desire for a house of worship to call home (or perhaps just a place to seek shelter from some storm) but she clearly had not acquired, for example, her strong political views from the Episcopal, or any, church.
I stayed with Harriet, in New Hampshire, for two years, until I finished high school. By the end of those two years I stopped taking my prescribed medication, for no reason other than I didn’t want to. I also stopped being depressed, I believe for the same reason.
current music: Gram Parsons - She
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| Tuesday, March 8th, 2005
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12:33 pm - Talk about...
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I got this meesage on myspace today:
"talk about a blast from the past!!!
Never thought I would see or hear from you again! Do you remember me at all? We used to have creative writing together, and like, break. Dude, you wrote the filthiest shit in my junior yearbook! How have you been? I don't really keep in touch with most people from gilford, other than my brother, Mandy and Paulina. I live in Florida now, just graduated college last semester. What have you been up to?"
hehe. Break. I dont remember what I wrote in her yearbook.
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| Thursday, February 10th, 2005
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5:20 pm
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Neuer Eintrag...
My journal is suffering. I know. I keep coming up with good ideas for things to update with. Indepth, longwinded descriptions of my morning commute and such. But then I sit down to a computer and it all melts away, la-di-da, like the sun into clouds.
So what, WHAT??, am I doing here now?
Nothing!
Haha! That's right. Just a-rambling on till quittin time. I suppose I could a-be quittin now if I a-wanted to.
Bu that wouldn't be fair to my adoring public. No. What would you do without at least a little meaningless me every one in a while. You would be lost, no doubt. Lost upon the seas of melessness. Yes. Me-Less-Ness. Oh what a horrible fate.
I can hardly stand to think of it.
And so I write you this...this whatsits, so that my conscience won't have to bear the weight of all of you far away meless people. It's true, it's true. I do it not for you. A-haha.
In other news, the internet in my abode has been out for two days. If it isn't operational tonight I'm gonna have a hissy-fit. Is that how you spell hissy-fit?
You know, I think I've seen one pidgeon my entire time here. THAT is wierd.
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| Monday, February 7th, 2005
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1:44 pm - I hope someone taped it for me...yeah right.
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I can't believe I missed it. I can't believe I missed it. I can't believe I missed it.
I can't stop reading about it.
What the fuck.
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