N* came home this weekend from a long summer in Q*. We went Saturday afternoon for a haircut and then had lunch at the Abbey. I had forgotten how much I absolutely adore this girl. Later that night, CPH and I went to see a movie with her and R*. The movie was not spectacular, but I would watch him...um…I mean it again.
B* and P* stopped by to borrow a movie last night. They were talking about a church that is for sale in the neighborhood next to ours. The price is very good and they are considering buying it and living there once they get married. After we went to take a look at their (possibly) future home, we sat on the porch and smoked Nat Sherman’s and drank Peppermint Tea. We laughed as we talked about raingear fetishes, having s*x in a church, and losing your sanity on long road trips.
I feel so blessed to have friends like these.

Can it really be happening?

It’s been a running joke for some time now that when God wants us to move to California, He will intervene. Our good friends R* and N* have even suggested disguising our little babies as cats so that we could all move to the West Coast and live happily ever after.

So, if this happens I either have to admit in the ability of God to do miraculous wonders or I will have to admit that Arnold was a good choice for governor.

And I’m not sure which will be harder for me to do.

I was sitting on my porch last night rummaging through old photos that I have been wanting to put in photo albums since we moved into our new place. Our neighbor, R* came out to say hi at around 7. We sat and talked for a good hour or so. First, we talked about the problems that he and his boyfriend/roommate have had with their side of the house. Then we talked a bit about his job. He’s a flight attendant and one aspect of his job is transporting troops to Kuwait and Iraq. He told stories of kids (19-20 yr olds) waking up from being drugged, realizing that they were wearing desert fatigues and completely freaking out. He was in Kuwait on the second day that we were there. He said, while there, the sirens went off and the crew had to close off the aircraft, don their chemical warfare suits and wait for approval to leave. I told him about J*. We talked about the garden. We paused in our conversation becaue he needed to call a friend. While he was dialing, I ran inside to grab some fresh tomatoes for he and J*. As I walked across the reading room, I noticed the orange raincoat lying on the ground. Of course! I could ask R* if he knew the owner of the raincoat.
I walked out and sat on the concrete divider between his porch and mine. “R*, can I ask you a question? Did you know the people who lived here before us.” He says yes and asks me why do I ask. “Well, We got this very interesting package the other day and we think someone who used to live here before us had sent it, but without enough postage, so it was sent back. But I can’t remember who had sent it.” He asks what it was. “A raincoat.” He covers his ears and squirms like a three year old who is introduced to a worm for the first time. “Too much information”, he screams. He asks if it was Troy, who had sent the package. “Troy, that’s it”. He tells me that Troy has passed away. He asks if he can see it.
We go inside and he sees the orange raincoat and he laughs. He sits on the floor beside the raincoat and asks if I want to hear the story of the raincoat. And of course, I do want to hear the story. He tells me that before CPH and I, three guys lived in our apartment. Two of them were a couple and both were HIV positive. One early morning, our neighbor was sitting on his front porch and a guy comes out of (what is now) our apartment and is talking to R*. He tells R* that he really can’t get into what they’re doing in there; that they’re crazy about rain gear.
I feel sorry for R*, because he will have to tell the story three more times before we leave for dinner.
Last night was the first time that R* and I have sat down to talk in the 2 months that we’ve lived there. He and J* will be moving out by the middle of September. It makes me a little sad that I’ve met this wonderful and amazingly fun guy that will no longer be my neighbor in less than a month.
But, so it goes.

So it looks like I’ll be going to London in November. I’ve never been and I’m quite excited.
Other notes of excitement –
Seems my friend R* (with whom I’ll be experiencing London) is going to stay with us until we leave in November. She and I worked together at the library. Some of my favorite memories of R* involved she and I sneaking away to the parking garage connected to our building and smoking cloves and talking. She smoked a clove with me the day of my interview for my grad-school fellowship.
Plans are underway for Thanksgiving 2004. Last year, we went to Boston to be with friends. This year, they are migrating our way. It feels so good when friends are willing to travel long distances to be with you.

I picked up a copy of Stiff from the library this weekend. I am enjoying the book. It’s an easy read. First, I’ve found that the author does an excellent job of dumbing down the mortuary concepts in the book. Second, the only edition of the book that didn’t have multiple holds at the library was the Large Print Edition.
As a child, I was fascinated with death while being very much afraid of it at the same time. I remember once, catching myself, while riding in the back of my dad’s pickup truck, imagining the headline in the morning paper after I had died by falling out of the truck onto the pavement. I was the child who consistently, while napping beside her, put her hand on her mother’s stomach checking that her mother was still breathing.
Even into my adulthood, I have been afraid of death, or more importantly of non-existence. Because I call myself a Christian, I am bothered by this fear because I think I should not be afraid. If I believe in a Christ who took away all my sins, should I not also believe in a Christ whom I shall join after I die?
I was sitting on my porch on Saturday reading this book. I looked up and said to myself (something to the effect of), “I remember when I used to be afraid of dying, or more importantly not existing anymore”. So, it stands to reason that I am no longer afraid. I’m not sure if the reading this book, which strongly objectifies the body as simply a host that you maintain (the best you can), helped me realize and perhaps defeat my fear of non-existence or if it was just while reading this book that I realized that I am no longer afraid. Regardless, at the moment, I do not fear.
Sadly, I don’t think my un-fear has anything to do with my Christian beliefs (that Jesus will wake me up when it’s all said and done, so I really have nothing to be afraid of), but has to do a great deal with being un-afraid of not existing at all (just plain, non-existence). Of course, if Jesus woke me up after I died and asked me to come stay at his house, I wouldn’t be disappointed at all.

Last night, CPH and I enjoyed dinner and a movie with our friend R*. We stopped by a smokeshop and picked up some cloves for after the movie. As we sat down for the viewing, CPH leans over and says (something to effect of), “if this movie is bad, I’m taking away your cloves”. And can I just say that I was a little worried that I would not be smelling the sweet aroma of cloves mixed with tobacco after the movie.
I saw my first screen adaptation in college, probably nearly ten years after it was first released. My friend became a lukewarm Irving fan after reading Owen Meany. We sat down one night to breathe in our first long drag of the quirkiness of characters that I would not only learn to love, but fashion myself after in many ways and to choke on the the bizarreness of situations that don’t really seem that bizarre today. No more than a week passed before I picked up a copy of Garp and began my affair.
The next movie I saw was mediocre, at best. I mean, how hard could it be to make a unicycling bear become a credible character in a movie?
I still haven’t been able to sit through an entire showing of Simon Birch, which was (and how can I stress this enough) LOOSELY based on Owen Meany. Okay, okay. It did have the most important themes of the book; a runt kid with a funny voice and lots of mentions about b**bs.
I had not read The Cider House Rules before I heard talk of its movie release. I watched the movie first and read the book after I had seen the movie. Usually, when I do this, I have a hard time enjoying the book simply because I already have a visual of what the characters are supposed to be like and can’t match those behaviors to those behaviours portrayed by the book characters (i.e. high fidelity). But once I read the book – even though Irving wrote the screenplay for the movie – I was introduced to whole other persons and saw little similarities between the flat characters of the movie and the full and vibrant characters in the novel. I ended up buying the dvd, just to show my support to Irving as a screenwriter, but later sold it at a used bookstore, because I just couldn’t get over the small things that the movie writer seemed to overlook completely. I should mention that the first screenplay that Irving wrote for the movie would have made the movie last longer than Dances with Wolves, which we all know was way too long. So, I know that John wanted to add the little things and for that I am thankful.
I was not expecting much out of this latest adaptation. I wanted to see it for the same reason that I want to buy new music from the Lost Dogs or The Choir. I have stuck with these entertainers for many years and they have, in their own ways, touched a part of me that will make me read (or listen to) their stuff until they stop producing.
But, I walked away from the movie with a smile on my face. Of course there were parts where I cocked my head and thought (something to the effect of), “is that how it happened?”. But overall, this movie stands on top of the mount and scoffs as he looks down at the other adapations and proudly screams, I am the King of the Hill.
I am so ready to see it again…after I read it one more time.

When you expect little, you will, undoubtedly, be surprised. Do you see that? T* just stuffed my words back down my throat.

CPH amazingly walked, step by step, beside me as I figured out how to get my delicious bookmarks set up. I’ve picked up from a few people that this is an amazing little tool. But, quite frankly, it looks a bit overwhelming and i just got plain nervous to even think about looking at it.
But, because he’s just that amazing (like I said before), CPH set up an account for me and then tutored me in delicious bookmarking.
Here it is, thus far.

Robot Johnny has started a new blog about the movies he sees. It’s yummy and scrumptious and he calls it Cinema Toast. What a clever one he is!

I forget just how much I love it until it challenges me to a staring contest and then I kick its ASS.

excellent links, btw, for excel formula help.

Happy Anniversary Sister-in-law and Brother-in-law!

Happy Anniversary to the Thaggards!

I was ultimately disappointed by the reunion. Our friend T* says that my expectations were too high. She, before her 10 year, considered not going because she knew that it was going to, as she says, stink. And because she expected nothing, she actually enjoyed herself. I find holes in this theory of T*’s because I’m pretty sure that our friends D* and M*, who were at the reunion with us, expected nothing and had about as much fun as we did. Oh well. It was good to be home and good to see my mom under different circumstances.

We got home around 7pm last night and walked over to the A*’s for a farewell party for our friends T* and L*, who are moving to Norway. As soon as I entered the backyard, I gravitated towards B*, who was holding his baby girl on his shoulders. I offered to take her so he and L* could, as I said, enjoy the night, you know…have a little fun without having to worry about the baby. In reality, N* was, quite simply, my excuse to be able to sit in the corner of the yard, far away from pressured conversations and awkward laughs. She allowed me to be the wall-flower that I am destined (my anxiety forces me) to be.

What I love (truly appreciate) about our friends is that, I think, they get me. I think they understand, without really knowing that I have a hard time entering into conversations; that I didn’t inherit many of my mother’s “bad” traits, but the ones I did capture have formed me into someone who is (perhaps, sometimes, detrimentally) trusting of others and someone who needs others to invole me in conversations, rather than waiting for me to start the dialogue. A few people came over to me during the night, knowing that I needed them to be bolder than I could be.

Can I just say that those people made me smile?

The only request that L* and T* had for the evening was that their musically inclined friends bring their instruments. The circle of music started midway through the night and was, by far, the most enjoyable part of the evening.

CPH and I are going home this weekend for our 10 year high school reunion. We’re both fairly excited about it but wonder if the night might not live up to our expectations.

But would it be so bad if everyone is not married with 2.5 kids and working with their fathers?

When I was in Boston, my friends and I made the mistake of getting on the subway right around the time when everyone was leaving their offices for the day. My friends started walking onto the train and i could see them swimming with the flow of business suits and white headphones. After going under and around people like a 7 yr old on a jungle jim, I finally made my way onto the train and I turned and looked toward the door and was amazed that even though we were packed tighter than a million dollar antique being shipped to its new owner, still more were trying their damnest to board the train.

I felt a similar way this weekend.

the letter i began sits in my my documents folder like a piece of fruit in a cooler(thanks B* for the visual on that). And now nearly a year later, I’ve opened the cooler and it’s stinks like hell.

i used to have a cousin named J*. Today (or last night), he decided that he didn’t want to be my cousin..or a son…or a brother..or anyone, ever again.

and i can’t understand why.

and i know that makes me naive..or lucky…or confused as hell..

but it’s nice to be able to at least feel something.

looks like edith may start touring again and that just makes my little heart very happy.

wow, what a fun weekend.
On Friday night, I went to see The Village with CPH and M*, both of whom were not ultimately dissapointed by the movie but thought it was the worst of all of M. Night’s movies. I, on the other hand, thought the opposite. I can imagine some saying that the acting in this movie is bad. But I beg you to give the guy more credit than that. Don’t you think that he has the ability to detect bad acting? I say that the acting was intentionally melodramatic. I think that it was his purpose to make the dialogue seem a bit too coerced and practiced. I think it was his purpose to make the conversations and the actions of the actors seem just as bizarre as the monsters in the woods. I remember thinking, at first, that it felt like I was watching a play, and wondering why M. Night had decided to direct this film in such a way. But in the end, I think the overly dramatic words and action were justified.
M* is a fun boy to be around. He’s a graphic designer who apparently spends way too much time in front of his computer. Everytime he talked about going online to do anything, he would act out the motions of typing on his keyboard. We went to The Abbey after the movie and then went in search of some cloves (which I thought would be impossible at 11pm at night, but was successfully accomplished thanks to the smokeshop knowledge of a certain life-long I* dweller). After we got the cloves and made a stop at Taco Bell for a midnight snack, we sat out on our wonderful porch in our wonderful swing, smoking cloves and pipes and talking about architecture. It was a wonderful night.
Spent Saturday morning (unsuccessfully) shopping. Our friend D* drove in around 4 pm from O* and had to sit on our lovely swing for about 15 to 20 minutes because we were dropping our sick ferret off at CPH’s parents house (who were ferretsitting for the night). We arrived in Bloomington around 5:30, where we met our old friend M* at a local cafe. We walked over to a Thai restaurant where I thoroughly enjoyed my dinner. After we finished dinner, we had about an hour or so before Danielson’s show was (supposed to be) starting. So we walked around and ended back at the cafe where we had originally met. We had some coffee, listened to D* do what he does best and then had discussions debating the merits of oral vs. written stories.
We started walking towards the venue right aound 9 (the supposed door-opening time). Once there, they informed us that the doors would not be opening until 9:30 so we walked down to an ice cream shop. I think we entered the venue around 10pm and noted how few people were there. More people arrived later (I’m assuming that they understand the timing of the Bloomington music scene). Before the show, we had a little fun with one of M*’s friends who was rumored to have gotten a small crush on one of our college buddies after he made an appearance on Jeopardy, calling M* to let him know that he had a fan right here in Indiana.
The opening bands were rather mediocre, but Brother Danielson did not disappoint. It’s always fun to see the reactions of our co-attendees of a Danielson show when he appears on stage (this time clad in a large tree). We left Bloomington around 2 am and we all fell asleep around 3:30.
I think I slept nearly all of Sunday away, waking up only to eat and go to the bathroom.