in this photo: stock trader, artist, medical student, bread

I just wanted to say, that I'm completely naked sitting at my computer when this happens, and I feel like a voyeur.

@ the rem koolhas designed campus center

I've been informed that Architecture students at main campus have their washing and drying machines hardwired into the network, so they can see when their laundry is done. From any computer or terminal. Sadly, the main campus tour will probably be the last time I visit main campus. I will be living in my locker, thank you.


Yesterday I received my very own

desk
locker key
security card
ID card
campus network ID
design school ID
intranet ID
banner ID
alternate PIN
2 out of 3 email accounts

and a messenger bag with a t-shirt and a USB drive.


I am very happy that a visit to the pub is officially on the orientation schedule.

just popping in.

I seriously doubt that the million spectators crowding the streets and buildings stand with their hearts swelling, conscious minds consumed with the symbolic emancipation from Great Britain's colonial government imperative. It's presently an hour into July 4th and this year's mark of American identity is already redundant, because I saw the fucking show already, it was fantabulous, and the ice is already melting in my cranberry screwdriver. I'm just happy to see things explode in technicolour glory, a construction or deconstruction, the big bang or genesis of creation that connects the small, lonely, and apathetic to the perceived universe. It's beautiful. Happy 3rd. July 2008 | 3rd of July Fireworks, Grant Park Click "Full Size" in the scrapbook browser for 1024x768

Flight 1723 landed with three minutes to spare. The Jeep pulled up as we walked out of the terminal and we climbed in like a hit squad being extracted.

Everything that followed seemed to unfold, somewhat impossibly, with the effortlessness of old friends that one sees every day. Nobody really surprised me. I knew these people from another lifetime. Nobody except Kendra, who was, strangely enough, both familiar and entirely unexpected.

I could have used one more day. A house with no furniture makes islands of its residents. I should have seen Wall-E with Nath. I should have gone shopping with Noelle. I should have had another drink with Shannon.



...but it's funny to think, after it all... that which most defines the trip to Florida transpired in the final seven hours sitting in a room, wrapping my mind around something I still can't define. The only thing I can say with absolute certainty is that it has nothing to do with me. A lot of people, sooner or later, will find themselves on the periphery of a loved one's situation, a spectator into a friend's life. And we put ourselves into the current, without really knowing what we are trying to prove. I don't know what I was trying to prove.

I looked and saw this tragic love story... only to realize that it wasn't a tragic love story at all. Or, perhaps more accurately, I was looking at the wrong love story altogether.

Current Location: somewhere in an airport in pittsburg

Welcome to Holland, Michigan.

We went mini-golfing at a place called Sundae Sundae Golf Golf.  They had 2 18-hole courses, but it seemed like they got really excited about building an artificial hill with a waterfall in the middle, and then ran out of money... or stopped giving a shit.  Seriously. 

how the storm outside makes the inside go quiet

Every few days, my email will announce that I have a Myspace Friend Request from somebody named Crista.  Or Crystal.  Or Jenna.  Or Mandy... I hate Myspace.  I never use it.  I barely sustain the hope that it will prove itself useful, someday, just once, as a bona fide networking device.  But I'll follow the embedded link anyway, and head over to the the shitty Myspace Friend Request Manager, and stare at pictures of women I definitely don't recognize.  I actually give each picture a good few seconds of consideration before duly clicking Deny.  They're never anybody I know.  Nobody from my past is ever that intent on showing me their boobs.  I reload my email and address my focus elsewhere.

But you know, there certainly seem to be a lot of people who habitually accept every online networking request that comes their way, in some fantastic effort to elevate themselves to virtual celebrity.  Out of 857 "friends", how many are shitty local bands?  How many are porn bots? Some people's Myspace ego monuments must consist of an army of porn bots.  Crista the Porn Bot doesn't really want to be my friend.  If only a Myspace Friend Request wasn't so disingenuous.  So notoriously disingenuous, at that, that I'm sure it's one of the major contributors to a bleak dilution of the concept of "Friend" or "Friendship".  Because I would ardently, unhesitatingly accept offers of friendship from armies of porn bots.

Think about it.  Armies.