Overdue

I forgot about the power that internet reflection holds and by god I need reflection

I had a crazy many weeks and I am feeling all sorts of crazy shit

Of late I've (I had) been spending time with a group of NYC teenagers who know how to have good time and have been kind enough to let me tag along. But in my awkward lurking amongst their group I learned a few things:

a) I really have had a fucking lonely high school experience

b) Hanging around other people's friends makes me feel even fucking lonlier

c) I've really missed whatever friends I have - and need to make the most of their time before we all go off to separate places

The NYC kids are awesome they are rad and when they talked to me it was fun. But I am not so into the hovering bit.

Last night I went to a show in Brooklyn with them - and it was quite electrically charged and hot and sweaty and I got into it. The train ride back sucked. Everyone was reveling in their enormity and singing and swaying and I watched them quitely from my seat and realized THIS IS THEM. And I AM NOT THEM. This is their senior year as well and they want to soak eachother up in the best way possible and what am I? I am some random chick from somewhere elese who is sitting bruised and beaten and reticent on the subway seat watching all their shit unfold around me. If everyone bone in my body shattered at that point and I was just one bloody sweaty fleshy mess on the train floor it would probably take a while for them to notice if at all. That is a sad thought but I'm really not so sad. I know when I should exit. So I went home and silently left them and walked away in the warm city night. I don't know who noticed my absence if people noticed at all and I'm really not concerned if they even did. I needed to exit.

I'm also really fucking anxious for June and graduation and everyone around me is making a big deal about the prom and the sadness of leaving and I'm the only one who can't stand to be around these people for another minute and just want my fucking sqaure hat with the tassle so I can walk off into the sunset and move onto the next chapter.

I feel like I must be doing something wrong for not being overcome with this grand sense that an era is ending. This was a huge fucking part of my life. But you know what, a huge sucky part of my life.

Last time it was real good was 4th grade before people started caring about pointless shit and separating into useless cliques and allowing clothes and friends and tv shows to define identities.

(I sound like an angsty middle schooler - ha). Middle school and beginning of high school I was overweight and knew that people didn't really want to be around that becuase I didn't fit into their image of beautiful glistening youth. So I brooded and devoted my time to being "different" and bought weird clothes and cut my hair weird and listened to weird music. So now 8 years after 4th grade I'm not overweight - men have told me that I'm "beautiful" but I don't care about that shit because this primary education had left me kind of jaded. So I melt into the background and am the only girl in my high school to wear black boots and say weird shit and not be sad that I'm getting the hell out.

And I still feel like I'm doing something wrong becuase instead of pool parties I read Kafka and instead of house parties I read Kerouac and instead of afterschool junk food nailpolish parties I painted pictures of one-armed pin-up girls and instead of driving around in nice cars I listened to music that musicians actually put their blood in and that make people FEEL (anger, elatedness whatever) So instead of memories of crazy times with my friends I have books and paint globs and cassettes and a cynicism that amuses only my father.

And I'm not going to prom and I'm not going to parties and I'm not crying and I'm not reminising I am just lacing up my fucking boots and praying to god that I will just fall asleep and wake up in June in time for summer and college and all that other stuff that will have its fair share of shitty moments but won't ever compare to the searing lonliness that has consumed by life thus far.

Yes I'm fucking lonely and yes it hurts but you know - maybe if I had painted my nails and didn't read books I wouldn't be who I am and I kind of fucking like who I am and I like that other people will like who I am and I can revel in the enormity of life when I am an active participant. This is just one sucky blip on the screen and I am going off into the future now and I am SCARED to death about what is going to happen but that fear feels so fucking good.

becuase for the first time in my life there is so much fucking POSSIBILITY I can't even believe it.

All Apologies

I apologize to myself for not being better about maintaining this thing. Having a consistent blog takes discipline. Discipline I don't have.

But I felt this moment was a good one to steal away and type nonsensically for a few moments as my house/life is falling apart.

As I am graduating this year, we are selling my childhood home. I was okay with this for the 12 years I have lived here (I have very few memories of our apartment in Manhattan, therefore no so much nostalgia) but now that we're down to the last 5 or so months, I am a complete mess (actually, the messy bit has been going on for a bit longer).

Example: the fam was at my sisters home in DC for a few days and at the dinner table my parents began talking about selling our house. My eyes became all watery and gross and I asked to be excused from the table and went to go cry in the kitchen. And this says a lot as I really never cry. REALLY. So, yes, I know there is something terrible going on when crying just becomes a little easier for me.

I actually didn't intend for this post to go in the home-selling direction but I guess it is. There is no stopping it!!

Selling this house feels like we're offing a dear dear dear old old old friend. "Oh, sorry, you've been in our lives for a long long time and we love you to pieces but its time to move on." But instead of sending a christmas card and going for coffee every few years to annull the friendship we instead resort to murder. Charming.

At this present moment, my bedroom is in shambles. We're re-plastering/painting the walls/ceiling and I had to take down most ofthe pictures and posters I so carefully selected and placed upon the wall and all the furniture has been moved to the center of the room and all my crap is scattered about the house. I am without my OWN SPACE. It makes me crazy. I never unerstood the importance of a bedroom until now. My dad spent his adolescence on a pull-out couch in his living room. I really really feel for him.

I also have a serious issue with fixing up this house to make it more presentable for someone else who when they buy it will most likely alter it beytond recognition as is the current trend when people buy charming homes from the forties. I smell stucco coming on. I feel ill.

A Monday sort of Day

"I don't have low self-esteem, I just have low esteem for everyone else."

Daria sums up my entire existence thus far.

Persepolis

Friday, while perusing the mangled shelves of Borders, I came upon the graphic novel version of "Persepolis." I had really wanted to see the film (IFC or Angelika, can't recall) but never got around to it as it means an irritating bus ride and then subway and then awkward wandering as I'd most likely be alone (as I have a problem with asking people to do things with me). And wandering Manhattan alone makes me feel... uncomfortable (in the awkward, not unsafe sense).

So, I bought the novel. I am very glad I did.

Perseplis is a memoir by an Iranian woman who talks about her changing relationship with her country in the form of a graphic novel. Because of my Germanophilia, I have neglected pretty much every other culture known to man. In my free time I watch German films and read Kafka, Günther Grass, Hesse, Schiller, Rilke, Goethe, etc... And while I thought this made me multi-cultural, in reality it only makes me bi-cultural. I NEED to expand my horizons.

So, "Persepolis" is wonderful. I am a big proponent of the graphic novel anways. But I am finding that I am really fascinated by the subject material. I did a report my Sophomore year on Westernization from the POVs of Peter the Great and the Ayatollah Khomeini so I had some background information on what was occuring in Iran. But I find that now I am more fascinated by it than I was then.

There are so many interesting cultures in the world (yes, besides Teutonic). I have been interested in many over the years but am admitting I have fallen into a rut. What mainly pulls me to books like "Persepolis" is my fascination with how culture defines us; whether we remain within our orginal borders or not (much of this comes from my disillusionment with my own country).

What is also intreging for me is the art. I would consider myself a writer and fine artist and of late have been working to combine the two. Seeing it done so sucessfully is inspiring.

This book is quite literally all of my interests wrapped into one. Cultural studies, literature and fine art. Do I smell a Div II project idea?

Monday Shmunday

It is officially 2nd semester senior year. My time is beginning to free itself.

What shall I do?

I am going to watch old movies until I am no longer a functioning human being.

The Residents

I am in love. I have been listening to this band on and off for a few years now and only yesterday decided to check them out on Youtube. Wow, what an idiot I was for not having done so before. To whomever is reading this: do yourself a favor and do the same.

I really, really feel like an idiot for thinking of that so late. They fit perfectly my grandiose sense of the absurd and ironic (and many know how grandiose it can be). They make no sense and they are just plainly strange (my Friday-flight-group would say that we were meant to be -and I hope that's true). I would marry the idea of them if it were possible (maybe after gay marriage?).

I have watched some of their videos over and over again and have felt a resurgence of inspiration! Release the floodgates! I feel an artistic connection - which everyone knows is more important than a romantic connection.

Watch this and this and this. You will not be sorry.

Another appealing thing about them is their mysterious personas. No one really knows who "The Residents" are. They hide behind their giant eyeball masks never revealing themselves. Some silly humans seem to think its actually The Beatles. The Beatles really aren't that cool, trust me.

Some Wikipedia tidbits:

-"Whilst attempting to make a living, they began to experiment with tape machines, photography, and anything remotely to do with "art" that they could get their hands on."

-"Much of the speculation about the members' true identities swirls around their management team, known as "The Cryptic Corporation."

-"The group purchased crude recording equipment and instruments and began to make tapes, refusing to let an almost complete lack of musical proficiency stand in the way."

-"In 1971 the group sent a reel-to-reel tape to Hal Halverstadt at Warner Brothers, since he had worked with Captain Beefheart (one of the group's musical heroes). Halverstadt was not overly impressed with "The Warner Bros. Album" (he describes it as "okay at best" in "Uncle Willie's Cryptic Guide to the Residents"), but awarded the tape an "A for Ariginality". Because the band had not included any name in the return address, the rejection slip was simply addressed to "The Residents". The members of the group then decided that this would be the name they would use (first becoming Residents Unincorporated, then shortening it to the current name)."

D.C. Excursion

I went down to D.C. this weekend to visit my sister. The whole family was there, The Parents, The Sister, The Brother-in-Law, The Dog-Nephew.

I love my family, BUT it feels that when we're together people are always unintentionally taking sides/ feeling attacked. For instance, if my sister and I disagree with The Mom, she feels as though we are ganging up on her. And often I feel attacked because I am the youngest, and people always seem to have it in their head (despite how old the young one is) that they are naïve, and slightly daft. They don't want to acknowledge whatever intelligence I have. Even when I kill them in Scrabble.

My sister usually forgets she's supposed to be on my side. So, when I'm relaying some grievance I may have with the 'rents she argues for them, and then remembers that siblings are supposed to be in on it together and quickly changes her tune.

She's also getting into family planning mode. Scary stuff.

All family stuff aside, D.C. is a really cool city. My sister lives in Capitol Hill and its really beautiful. Though, there are a lot of ritzy shops and Yuppies around the Eastern Market area. I did, however, stumble upon this crazy used book store on a side street a block past the market. It was 3 floors of floor to ceiling shelves of bookcases that were packed together so tightly it was hard to move. It was a little pricey for used bookstores, but I was in heaven. I'm at a point where I no longer find main-stream first run book stores enjoyable. I really enjoy the hunt for treasures hiding in stacks and behind other books. I found this big-ass book of Icelandic Sagas, way cool. In the front they had all these books on display and they had a copy of Mein Kampf and they had a little tag that said: "Mein Kampf by Adolf Hitler. Not signed."

I so want to work in a used bookstore. Maybe when I move to Boston after graduation. We shall see.