This is a backdated and chronologically deficient post.

Bulletin
- Hereford is holding a pirate-themed banquet in early Nov, where everyone will receive free eye-patches
- Newcomb Theatre is screening Garden State and Requiem for a Dream as part of Substance Abuse Awareness Week

Watch Snow Falling on Cedars now- it is Angsty!Good.
Yesterday Jae's IRC friend called me out of the blue and zipped over to Hereford at 11pm, because her idea was to swap places as soon as possible. She stubbed out her cigarette and we moved onto the Runk high chairs, before starting to proposition. I received strong comm school vibes. But it did make me think about transferring there next semester, and grappled with indecisiveness. I may blame Hereford for relatively silent atmosphere, but what makes me think it's in the dorm and not in myself, or that I set standards too high?
Had pizza with the Agape girls at Natalie's beautiful apartment, and I could not stop thinking to myself, "This is the whitest conversation I've ever had." Not that I said much, as I do not share this history, but it was hazy ice-cream tea and candy-striped arm-chairs and boys upstairs who play their bass too loud(ly). In this light, it will be funny when I recall it tomorrow.
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I had dinner with the S'pore folks at Biltmore Grill and can't stop stuffing my face with the American-book food such as sloppy joes, meatloaf, pineapple upside-down cake and now, Philly cheesesteak.
Helen and I ran back to Newcomb to catch Green Street Hooligans, which is truly fantastic movie and so offensive = fun. There is cult possibility in the swagger and drawling accents. My main thesis, however, must be on the brilliantly unpredictable Charlie Hunnam.
I walked over to the IRC then, watched Jen and Mun Yuk contemplate Classical Greek History and The Art of Tabla, listened to Clara choose Engineering bash options, and us deciding between Haunted House at Brown College or crashing the French House. We manage to do both. Glowing pumpkins, my toes cubing (which I kept saying to annoy the world, though only Han and Mel will understand that cross-reference), elaborately costumed students milling around La Casa Bolivar. I see Seuss's Thing 1 and 2, a Jedi, Napolean Dynamite, but no sexy pumpkin, which should please Natalie (who dressed up as Jessica Simpson last year).
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Most of the boys of Norris 3rd taste-tested mysterious energy drink which resulted in their being up all night, and crashing all of the next day.
I was walking to class on a nippy morning and a guy stuck his head out of a passing car, whooping sarcastically, "It's MONDAY - woohooooo!"
People are walking around with ties wrapped around their heads for Assassins, and I wish I were on the committee for the creation of embarrassing-necessary exploits.
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I had to bumble around looking for the new SD meeting place on the Lawn at night, and when I did it was snug at a long wooden table with warm yellow lights. I want to stay there - see here and here, but that would mean becoming android + RJmugger x300000.
Feeling dank, I picked up I Capture the Castle again for my third re-reading. I got to the bit when the girls met the Cottons and they took lemonade to Miss Marcy's singing class.
"'Go on, make a speech - it's expected,' I whispered. He took me seriously and gave me an agonized look. Then he told them how much he had enjoyed the singing and that he hoped they would all come to Scoatney one day and sing for his mother. Everyone applauded except one small child who howled and got under her desk - I think she was scared of his beard." I sat down and laughed. Sometimes I believe I will laugh at anything.

Did you know that galoshes are in fashion when it rains? I have seen girls in assorted pairs, stepping carefully through puddles in polka-dot/striped/rainbow rubbers.
I just returned from UVA CultureFest with Jongie and sum it up, you have the Chinese Association fan-dance and suddenly OMG they are slipping into sloncey (there has never been a term more fitting) mode and shaking their azzes like good ol' Twinkies, and one half of me is TYPICAL, CANNOT DANCE NORMALLY, MUST ADD SLUTTY ELEMENT and the other half is JOIN THEM NOW. I am so conflicted.

The cosmic fish / they love to kiss



I cannot wait to call you and tell you that I landed somewhere
And hand you a square of the airport
And walk you through the maze of the map that I'm gazing at
Gracefully unnamed and feeling guilty for the luck and
The look that you gave me.
You make me somebody oh nobody knows me
But not even me can see it yet I bet I'm...
Leaving your town again.
~~~~~~~~~
By leaving your town again
Where I'm over the quilt that you've been spinning
And I'm up in the air, say baby hell yeah
Oh honey I can see your house from here
And if the plane goes down, damn
I'll remember where the love was found
If the plane goes down, damn
I'll remember where the love was found
If the plane goes down... damn, damn... damn.
- from Plane

And I love you too, Jason. Thank you for a magical night.
People didn't just groove, but hung on to every bitter, funny, astonishing word. Bolstered by the perfect opening act (Raul Midon), who is John Mayer of R&B, Jason advocates stylish sadness, but he's having to much fun in the process to mourn a la Damien Rice.

Photos? Up.

One-liner

Help!

Warning: Monster Post
(If I were on Livejournal I'd be slapped with an lj-cut order, but that's because LJ is full of annoying rules and wise-ass dictators.)

"The poetics of Neruda consisted in 'walking around', seeing his ghost in windowpanes, making love in sweaty beds, gazing at his shoes, and eating artichokes."
- Carlos Fuentes, from the introduction to Rodo's Ariel

Bernice is lying on her stomach in the middle of the floor, studying Bioethics, and I just got off the phone with my mum whose birthday is next week. Speaking of which, I had wonderful time with Helen some days ago, picking out birthday cards. You (not ambiguously directed at anyone, like you) will get one in a few weeks, I promise, designed precisely for your moment.
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Perhaps you've been wondering how people talk here? I finally asked a guy with very blonde hair and very brown eyebrows at Sustained Dialogue (which is where people sit around talking about why talking about racial/cultural issues won't solve a thing), because the accent is neither Southern nor Northern. In fact, I think I may have confused it with the surfer-dude accents of Finding Nemo and Totally Spies. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, check this out and pay attention to a shaggy-haired character called Wade. But it sounds overdone when I listen now, so could it be faux Mid-East Coast accent? Prof. Lefkowitz has given me a headache, which is, of course, his job.
Friday morning, and we squash onto the bus. The guy at the wheel is clearly a student. He squints out of the window, spinning, then freezes. "SHIT GUYS, there's a cop. GET BEHIND THE WHITE LINE. NOW!" I pack myself a little tighter, pushing an elbow deep into someone's stomach, pretending I thought it was a backpack. And later in the day we rattle like the last peas from a can wheeling past a truck too long to take corners safely, full of supplies for the Rolling Stones gig.
Annie changes the world each day, as I realised at the Hurricane Katrina HBCU (Historically Black Colleges and Universities) benefit concert. We curled up in chairs and talked Japan, spelling bees and red hair, waiting for it to start, and powwowed about cupcake and movie plans for Norris.
Back home, I might have strangled my RA for EVERYSINGLEamazing I have heard, but not here, where it is perfectly standard to wave your enthusiasm like a banner, be it religious anti-organization or anti-abortion rights. The latter made me furious, driving all over campus with huge, graphic images of mangled babies on their trucks, having children hand out their fliers. If you actually tried the links on these fliers, how dubious and misleading their message! But the fact that they are here for us to rampantly disagree with has its own strange goodness.
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Thursday night saw Bernice's high school teacher and three students from Cali camped out in our dorm, semi-enjoying the drama of being stuck in Virginian nowhere, because their car had been towed. They scrambled to the police station and I took the girls to our TV room. I hope they had fun, anyway, and they must have because that should always be the case when you road-trip into starriness.
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I wanted to go away for Fall break. I really did. Maybe it's Kerouacian belief that has me think I haven't experienced America until I am in the middle of flatlands with an engine. But readings envelope me and leave me really annoyed with life in general. I lie. I like my readings. Even if Rodo is a crazyass freak.
This weekend gave me time to take in downtown with Helen as well as the Cuban goodness of Mono Loco, a tea bazaar and the Pav where a blues band was playing, as well as Corpse Bride for Emilyn's birthday and driving in blissfully perfect weather. The sun drums on your face but the heat has lifted and is replaced with brisk coolness. It is quite upsetting to find that I have outgrown both Counting Crows and Disney in one fell swoop. It made no sense to me when the skeletons started to sing, but when a little boy lifted his arms and said, "Grandpa?" it made all the sense in the world.
I keep running into people at O Hill, and I'm beginning to like that.