Thursday, July 17, 2003
Perl is Fine!
“This is the 7th annual State of the Perl Onion speech, wherein I tell you how Perl is doing. Perl is doing fine, thank you. Now that that’s out of the way, I’d like to spend the rest of the time telling jokes.”
I’m not a Perl guru. I can barely read it. But I tell ya what, I really like those I’ve met that can write the hell out of it.
Wednesday, July 16, 2003
Nice Dinner Conversation
Last week I had dinner on my way home at the Wrap Works. When I got my number and sat down I noticed a man sitting at a table sort of talking to himself. All the empty tables were in his area, so I just sat at the most comfortable one and buried my face in my book.
But he wasn’t talking to himself. He was involuntarily talking. Shouting obscenities and mostly incomprehensible garble. Thus the perimeter.
“FUCKING ASS PLACE (sumthin sumthin sumthin) DIRT”
I glance up over my pages. My paranoia makes me face doors, people who are scary, etc. So we were facing each other from different tables.
“MUTHA kkrrrrp nnnnnBBuuuu” The man is trying to chew his salad, and something in his brain is making this happen.
Suddenly I feel better. He’s not angry. Is this turret’s syndrome? How do you spell that?
He’s got a briefcase at his side. I imagine people who sit near him at work. Did they give him his own office? Does he have a cube?
My food comes and I make busy with it. I sip my straw and our eyes meet. His eyes look tired and a little bored. But not angry, or completely crazy. By the way, angry worries me much more than any category of brain trouble.
“BUUHHIITT!” a small piece of lettuce flies. That must be really annoying for him — my projected feelings. He looks nonplussed.
An employee comes around and takes some of his trash.
“Thank you,” he says in a perfectly normal voice.
He gets up for a soda refill. Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney’s duo The Girl Is Mine begins to play. He dances, snaps his fingers and does a twirl but doesn’t sing. He’s crazy, I think.
But maybe he’s not at all.
Maybe he’s developed a wonderful and harmless lack of inhibition and self consciousness as a result of the Tourette’s. I have danced in grocery stores, mainly because they are such large and boring places. My brother has laid down on the floor in the subway to learn about the public’s response to the unusual.
I stand and clean up. The squawked and grunted wordthings continue, but quieter. Maybe the short in his brain gets food coma.
In the Waiting Room
I don’t want the news! just kidding.
I think it’s so cool there’s a machine here to use. I think it’s because there are a lot of GW kids here and they all can pay 32,000 to make sure their knees don’t go bad.
I think this is my last hand check up from when it went crunch. yay! he’s running so late but i’m happy for that now.
I still haven’t nailed down what mint jelly’s going to do. aside from giving me a place to be windy. which is dull.
poo. I forget. lots of interesting things have been going on. I just had the best weekend, and a fun bday party monday night. and last week, ate at a table next to a guy who i think had turrets. can’t beat that.
well, I should go for now. should make sure i don’t leave traces of anything on this machine.
Monday, July 07, 2003
The 'Unprepared for a Test' Dream
Last night I had the fabled Unprepared for a Test dream. It was a history exam. I hadn’t done the reading. Essay questions. I can’t bullshit that much! I have to KNOW what I’m saying! I’m going to do badly, maybe a D if I’m lucky. What will this do to my final grade?!
I’m not even in school.
I want to go to graduate school. There is only one program in the whole world that I want to do. It’s M.Sc. in Multimedia Systems at Trinity University in Dublin, Ireland.
A girl can dream. And this girl does. I’ve known about this program for years now. It’s like that one person with the light about them, you keep glancing. They are intriguing, you can’t forget.
I imagine our life together, one year. Life without seems pale and somehow disappointing in a most unfair way.
Circumstances keep you/us apart: I fear change (1999-2002). I am lulled by comfort (2003). I cave to a boyfriend (now ex-husband) who says I’m selfish for wanting to go (1999). I don’t want to quit my job (2000-2003).
I am ready to sacrifice my life as I know it. The scariest part—what kind of happiness will I have if I don’t get accepted?
I have to apply for one of the 30 slots for Fall 2004 if only to have honestly tried. I love my boyfriend/job/life-as-it-is (2003). I will be 30 when I finish this program. What if I lost the one who might be The One in the process? Where will my life turn? Will I be lonely?
The most critical things I have learned (1999-present) are
1. It is not selfish to have dreams and seek to make them solid. Others usually call you selfish only when you aren’t giving in to their own whims.
2. Regret sucks. Happiness requires attention, action and responsibility.
3. Love usually surprises, for the better.
4. 30 - bah!
I am going to apply. Rather, I am applying. I will do what I must to be able to say, “I have applied.”
Saturday, July 05, 2003
Broke Ass & Bust Ass
Two of three escalators were shut down at the Dupont station when I came back from Dave’s today. Neither one was barricaded. I usually walk them when they’re working. Not working, it’s maybe twice the steps to the top.
It’s hard to work exercise into life so one must seek it out. :P I walk a lot, and I like to move my furniture around, but that alone isn’t enough as the metabolism slows down.
one thingI never look up more than 2 seconds total during an accent (teehee it sounds like i’m talking about Everest, melodrama! woo). The straight metal fettuccine design of the steps always give me vertigo, and I swear the angle of decent changes from time to time.
Today it’s almost 100 degrees and the air was like exhaust from a vacuum cleaner. I balanced between keeping either my thighs or lungs from feeling prohibitively tight. My alveoli began to close, taking that familiar stance where they cross their tiny arms, lower their heads into a sulk and look at me like I’m crazy (see illustration).
When I got to the top, the path was blocked by an accordian metal barricade. A service person stood at the other set of stairs that were also stopped. People at the top looked at me.
I was already too busy lifting my second leg over the waist high block, keeping backpack, and two bags balanced to notice the maintenance person frowning at me. People smiled. A man on the sole moving escalator stepped off to my right and directed a “nice job!” at me. My shorts snagged on the metal.
I don’t embarrass easily which works out well.
I lifted myself off the metal fence and looked at ServiceMan.
me: “Sorry, it wasn’t blocked off at the bottom.”
him: “Next time you’ll have to go back down.”
He had a nearly French accent. I thought he was joking at first. Now I’m not sure. But he must have been. Why is walking on a stopped escalator TWICE better than walking on it once? seeelee man! hon hon hon! (laughing in accent)
Thursday, July 03, 2003
Waiting and Wanting
to leave! The rest of the entire building is empty. I can feel it. I am among the few left. Our VP said we could go so long as we didn’t have anything pressing. I don’t! I have work, yes. but I much rather just work harder on Monday.
I and another girl sought to lighten the bizarro office atmosphere by playing some tunes (carefull avoiding those that are not office appropriote) and everyone around us loved it. We were smooth DJs, iming each other to keep in step, creating mood, rythm, passing song responsibilities tagteam style! By golly there was life! One girl danced on a chair. We continued to do our work. Chair dancing girl got her 2nd variable to pass! (she’s trying some perl) And it was good!
Then the producers from like SUPER FAR away - sound dampened by about 48 fabric cubes and carpet and ceiling tiles - had to complain. They sent an emmissary - a girl I think is pretty cool most of the time. And it went like
she: “I’m sorry I’ve been sent to ask you to turn it down because it’s REALLY loud over there”
me: “the bass is traveling?”
her: “No, like everything! It’s really loud over there” (turns and gestures as if the music is somehow louder over from whence she came, as opposed to a place 3 cubes farther in the other direction away from where I sit.
Maybe i need to draw a photo to convery how FAR they all are. Even the VP’s in their offices didn’t mind. poo on that! grrr hiss phhffft raerrrr *swats with paw*
Happy Fourth everyone!! I plan on watching turtle races, fireworks, boating and swimming, ALL while eating hot dogs. Barfing should occur around 11am, then again around 4pm. Then perhaps again around 10pm from delayed heat stroke and warm beer. USA! USA! just kidding.
Monday, June 30, 2003
Why does the cherub pee in the pool?
Normally I’d be just getting out of Tae Kwon Do at this time, on this day, but I’ve damaged some tendons in my hand. It finally doesn’t really hurt to type, but I have to abstain from practice for a while.
Abstaining is never fun.
I am watching the completely bizarro (Derek Jarman, 1979) version of The Tempest and after seeing Prospero’s Books (Peter Greenaway, 1982) in college, I firmly believe these are the results of people trying to outweird each other.
Challenge my intellectual fortitude: Why does the cherub pee in the pool?