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[22 May 2008|01:25pm] |
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mood |
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 nervous |
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Me, my backpack, and my polka-dotted duffel bag are officially on the road, and should be assumed to be incommunicado until August 1st. I might be able to check in a few times between now and then, but no promises. I love you all, and I'll see you on the other side.
Cheers!
Elizabeth
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| It's raining, I'm moving out, and if anyone needs me, I'll be in the tree. |
[16 May 2008|04:38pm] |
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Just as the title implies.
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| Transit. |
[15 May 2008|06:23pm] |
I am probably alone in this, but I really love moving. In more than out - finding the little nooks where my beloved things will live! - but out is fine too. Boxes are exciting. Tape is exciting. Making piles and tromping up and down stairs like an ant is exciting. Plus, you find all sorts of things you never knew you had. Permanent moves are harder, obviously, though this one seems fairly substantial to me because I'm not going home, so there's a whole car-full to find space for. Like a reverse scavenger hunt - hiding all sorts of good things in dark corners just so I can be reunited with them in three months. Cooler on a roadtrip with the circus. Skillet in Dakin. Computer to Chicago with Kerianne. Plants with Flarnie. Socks in the bread machine in the storage place. I wonder if this is how squirrels feel. I can't wait to come back and build it up all over again with a new mod and new people. Next year has every chance of being amazing. Now I just need to find somewhere to keep the tiger.
If only I could find my bike...
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[08 May 2008|10:21pm] |
I haven't seen a movie trailer since the one for Pan's Labyrinth that made me want to actually see the movie it was advertising. But today, there was The Fall.
Want. Want. Want.
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| Maslow can suck it |
[06 May 2008|12:56am] |
Aliya is disgusted that kale and coffee fall much higher on my hierarchy of needs than ice cream. I just don't like ice cream that much, however.
Once again, I have left it until 1 pm to explain the intricate workings of the cosmos.
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| Evelyn "Crackerbottom" Underhill |
[04 May 2008|02:21pm] |
"based on own experience...seems a particularly important idea. are both an experiential and didactic source, and they interpret and teach their whatever, transcendency thing..."
Note to self: take notes that make sense. Much helpful later on when writing whatever things, stuffs.
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[02 May 2008|12:37pm] |
There is a ferret outside Rao's. I want a ferret. Even better, I want to be a ferret. All twinkly and predatory and cute. Ability to run like a see-saw...
I am really excited about living next year in my awesome mod with awesome people. However, I am increasingly not excited about this summer. Terrified. Actually.
UPDATE: When I came in, the guy with the ferret was talking to an old woman in a fur coat. A mink coat. Mustelidae-oh...
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| checklist |
[28 Apr 2008|07:55pm] |
Not in possession of: mod-filling double: spider: color: pants.
Tomorrow is free cone day.
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| Spider Update |
[28 Apr 2008|02:04pm] |
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mood |
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 buttoning down socks |
] |
According to the Audibon Insects of North America Field Guide, my little friend was a "Daring Jumping Spider." I dare say.
Watched too much House for my own good last night, worked not at all. Kerianne and Julie are a negative, evil influence. The girl in front of me has amazing boots. It's raining. If I were in that picture book with the amazing never come out 'till you're dead and maybe even longer markers, and I had decorated myself most intensely with them (multicolored paisley and dots and little ducks and red polka dots and green swirls and orange curls, etc), then covered the marks with the normal, washable skin-colored marker, but then went walking in the rain and the skin color washed off...well, that would be the color of those boots.
Am filled with an intense longing to be colorful.
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| Shitstorm shitstorm shitstorm! |
[27 Apr 2008|03:19pm] |
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mood |
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 cheerful, surprisingly |
] |
Crushes in springtime? Nyerh. Annoying. I'm giving it up. I hate having crushes on people, because I start to do things I would never do, normally, just to be interesting. It makes things very stressful, and you spend so much energy on being impressive that you never have time to actually get to know each other. Like some bizarre species of humanoid bowerbird. So forget it. If he wants me, he can say something. In the meantime, I'm going birding.
Yesterday at the Accepted Student's Day panel, of which I was the lamest member, I read my Literary Journalism piece on Chris, the guy with crutches that circulates around coffee shops in Northampton. And now he's here at Northstar. Ticklish, that. Still, on the whole, I stand by that piece. It was truthful, it was tricky morally, and I kind of aced it. I don't like it that much, but it's well done. It's too bad about this whole being an amazing writer thing. It really cuts into my self-defacement.
All the Hampshire profs are at Woodstar today, grading, and bitching to each other.
"Oh, that girl is in my class too!"
"Oh yeah? She's...um..."
"She's needy. She's very very needy."
"She is, she's whiny. Bad writer too."
Ever been paranoid that your teachers gossip about you behind your back? Well, you were right. Well, not you personally. But this girl they're talking about. I do wonder sometimes what the writing staff said about me when they were reading Div III applications. Did Paul tell them about the baked goods? Did Nell say how awesome I am? Did Michael Lesy do a line of coke and run around naked yelling "Shitstorm shitstorm shitstorm!", shaking his floofy hair dramatically? No, of course not. They don't invite Michael Lesy to these things.
I need to decide if I'm going to leave on the 4:05 bus, the 5:05 bus, or the 6:05 bus. In any case, I need to start actually working again now...
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| Rumped... |
[27 Apr 2008|09:07am] |
So I joined that backyard birds community a few weeks ago, when it was featured?
Oh, man do I want to go birding. First thing on the 6th. First thing.
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| Vreau o cafea si un baiat... |
[24 Apr 2008|10:34pm] |
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mood |
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very busy on unimportant stuff |
] |
On Tuesday, I made friends with the most adorable spider known to human kind.
She was thiiiis big.
By which I mean, exactly the size of that word. She was a wolf spider. We played Spider Yo Yo and Spider Mt. Everest, and then she bungeed away to go bother the ants.
Hurray spider!
Nu imi plac sa mananc carne, dar pot sa mananc cascavale si pane. (Not nearly as exciting without the proper accents.)
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| Itemide |
[22 Apr 2008|03:17am] |
Item 1: I still do not know where this bruise came from. On my wrist. Perfectly round. I'd say a bite mark, except it's lacking in the gradation of colors one sees in the truly magnificent bite-bruises - the ones with the lovely scalloped, wine-purple edges fading to blue, ringed with lovely, understated yellow. Oh, I dream of such bruises. I dream of them nightly. Except last night, when I dreamed about cows and video games and shrimp buffets.
Item 2: Of all the many things I must do before Friday next next, the only thing I've been able to make myself do is read The Romanians, a lovely but dense little text by one Vlad Dragescu (dead). My knowledge of Romanian history is quite expanded. And yet, not what I have done but by what I have left undone is in this case what matters. Oh dear. Oh deary deary dear.
Item 3: Am not a fan of Hair. The musical. Sorry Julie.
Item 4: The city aquarium in Constanta, a Romanian city on the Black Sea coast, is home to the largest collection of captive sturgeon in the world. Incidentally, Constanta is the sister city of Mobile, Alabama.
Item 5: Retrospectiva. Retrospectividium. Retrospectidia. Retrospectdidat. Retrospectodiddilio. I say that as if everybody hear knows what I'm talking about, as if everybody hear knew exactly what I was talking about - I'm talking about my Div II retrospective on the bottoms of my shoes. Sticky, you know, like gum. I keep trying and keep trying, but in saying that I mean: I think about it a lot, and whimper. It's due on May 1st. This is sufficiently far away. Oh, wait, I haven't read Moon in a Dewdrop. Yet another thing I have failed to accomplish this weekend. Not that I haven't accomplished much. Mostly of the lying in the sun and making people giggle variety. Not the sort I can retrospect about.
The problem is, as with so much of everything I do, that I have all laid out in my brain precisely what it is that Div II has been for me. This is like being an owl with a mouse stuck sideways in its throat. If it were in little mousey-chunks, you could swallow it or cough it out into an awesome pellet for fourth graders to dissect. As it is, however, you just sit there and gag with an alarmed look on your face. Not that owls aren't always alarmed. HOOT! But Div II for me hasn't been so much acquiring certain skills and certain knowledge, but working out a rhythm; a way to pay attention, a way to respond to situations. The calculus of the artistic life, with Buddhist meditation and an epic crush on Krishna added just for kicks. I can't tell Alan about that, though. He'd be so confused, poor thing. And since the library's lost two of my main sources for my final paper in Mystics and Texts, he's going to be sick enough of me by the time he has to read this retrodiddlyspective.
( Thoughts thus far: )
Item 6: I want a puppy.
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| Still the Prettiest Prince of All Parties |
[15 Apr 2008|11:32pm] |
I'm in the airport lounge and it's 11:33 and suddenly - BAM! - I understand why it is that Julie is such a prolific livejournal-post-ee (what's the feminine version of that? Post-ess? Postette? Sounds like a kind of cereal.)
Aliya and I have decided that everyone in the mod needs Flight of the Conchords nametags, to accompany our project runway nametags. I, of course, am the Pretty Prince of Parties. Aliya is the Boom King (who's the boom king? ALIYA'S THE BOOM KING!). Kerianne and Julie are Rhymenocerous and Hip-hopopotamus, because they live together, so naturally. Aliya said that Joe should be 'Business Time,' but I think that's not really a personality-based name like the others, and that he should naturally be "Albi the Racist Dragon." He cannot complain about this, as he went shopping without me this afternoon. Bastard.
If you don't have a blanket, you can just have someone lie on top of you. Then you'll be quite toasty.
I have decided that if Maude Ganley (who is 85, hasn't cut her hair since she turned 26 and they found half her fiance's jawbone and nothing else in the New Hampshire woods, and writes descriptions of tulips like this: "Dense, variegated foliage hide stocky stems and tightly furled buds that rise as far as six inches above the mottled leaves, a perfect Freudian garden, before erupting into a shock of yellow veined with crimson blood.") can't be named Maude because of the unfortunate old woman sleeping with young man connotations ALREADY contained in that name, then she must necessarily be Irene. Sometimes I live in the country/sometimes I live in the town/and sometimes I get a great notion/to jump in the river and drown./Irene, goodnight... Writing this piece is like repeatedly jabbing myself in the liver with a blunt hypodermic needle. Oh yes. Oh very yes.
Spent all of Alan's class today not paying attention (Apologies! Obesience to the great guru Alan!) and instead thinking of body paint which led to thinking of next Hampshire Halloween which led to thinking about the fire show and how if they keep it going even though basically everyone except James is departing, they should totally structure it like a Hindu Ugga, which is supposed to be a giant fire sacrifice anyway. There could be a 'creation' and then someone could dress up like Vishnu and 'sustain' the Ugga with various acts of circus awesome, and then of course there could be a frantic finale of 'destruction' and someone could be either Shiva or Kali and dance around and extinguish the final light and just SCREAM one big, primal, terrifying scream. Great with live drums, fantastic possibilities for makeup (Krishna is BLUE, people. And hot. Though that is possibly beside the point.), and generally a fun time had by all. Perhaps I shall suggest it. Though now I also just want to dress like Kali.
I have a Div III chair, by the way. And a $3745 debt that I really have no idea how I'm going to pay. And no groceries. And an unfinished story. And this incurable lust for the incarnation of a certain Hindu deity. All will be well and all will be well and all manner of things will be well. It's the getting there, however, that's a bitch.
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| And who will go with Fergus now? |
[06 Apr 2008|03:28pm] |
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mood |
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 blank |
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I don't know if I'm morbid or just contrary, but during the abortion speak-out all I could do with myself was think up names for potential children.
Girls: Hazel (as in -rah), Marina (as in 'Only earth, Marina, only sky') and Ada (of the Poisonwood Bible, the creepy deformed one)
Boys: Fergus (no more turn aside and brood), Charles Thomas (that very same unicorn riding, time-traveling Charles Thomas), and Bran (like the albino raven-boy of The Dark is Rising sequence; King Arthur's son, I believe)
I don't want to reproduce. I just want to name things.
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| Letre de dragoste |
[03 Apr 2008|06:22pm] |
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mood |
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 longing |
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Dear Spanish;
I know I am seeing another Romance language right now, but I still love you. I think in you sometimes when I am going to sleep, or when I am really really happy. This Romanian thing, it's a fling - you and me, we're in this for life. I hope you'll understand.
Te amo,
Elizabeth
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| Still the pretty prince of parties? Check! |
[01 Apr 2008|10:40am] |
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mood |
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 still ever so slightly ill |
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This is how to distinguish a House Finch from a Purple Finch. I've been needing help on this lately.
On Sunday, I saw my first phoebe of the year. "There you are!" I told it. It then looked surprised. Then it flew away so fast it almost ran into the library. Also, I'm starting to hear redwing blackbirds, and there are robins everywhere. I keep catching them in the act of massacring earthworms. It's quite distressing to see the worms stretch as the birds pull them out of the ground. One generally sees them as soft and curly, writhing on the ground like they do. They're very sexy, but you wouldn't think they'd have much tensile strength. Yeah, worms are sexy. That's right. I said it.
I was thinking that there's not much of a career in writing depressing novels about Romanian orphans. I think maybe next year what I'd like to start doing is writing a story that can be serialized - like a tv show, something with a plot that keeps on making twists you did not expect - except record it and release it as a podcast. I've thought about screenwriting a lot and I had that internship in New York and I really like it and all that, but there's just so many people involved in making a movie. A serial podcast I could just record on my own and release (low production costs), but if people were interested they would expect it to appear regularly and that would keep me writing, not like a novel where you just sort of sit around drinking coffee and staring at blank pages for weeks. It's such a simple idea that I'm sure someone's had it already, but obviously this is different, because of the level of awesome I bring to everything I do. Also, I got the idea from Charles Dickens, because all of his most famous works were written and published serially and readers got so in to them that people in America ran to the ships coming over from England and asked, "What happened to little Nell?" From Old Curiosity Shop, naturally. I learned so many things doing that research paper on Charles Dickens when I was in seventh grade. For instance, his nickname was 'Boz.' I wish I had a nickname. Well, one more like 'Boz.' More multisyllabic and Victorian and such.
So this is the first actual LJ post I've written in how long, exactly? It's just that I feel everyone is too busy with Facebook and other such networking applications to read LJ anymore. Poor neglected thing. In a way it's still my favorite of the random time killers, but I think if I do this podcast I should probably move onto a slightly more respectable blog site. But I'll do one of those connections, so anything I post there automatically updates here. Less personal, but perfectly acceptable.
On a completely unrelated note, what am I going to write about for my Mystics and Texts final paper? Hm.
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| Fundraising and Devices |
[30 Mar 2008|10:23am] |
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mood |
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 accomplished |
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Not that I expect my poor, broke LJ friends to donate anything, I just wanted to test out this widget...
Behold! I go to Romania! Maybe. If I get money. At some point...
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[16 Mar 2008|07:13pm] |
So, I might have spent the entire day listening to back episodes of Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me. Maybe.
But as a direct result, I now know what it looks like when a lemur wears a backpack.
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