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Saturday, April 27, 2002
I love those nights when the moon is so full and bright that the sky never gets quite black, only dark blue, and shines through my window like some cool, calming streetlight and casts a beam on the floor. Last night was such a night.Today as I walked to Tai Jitsu, wondering if I was the only one who would be there because of SPW, I heard a loud rustling in the bushes by the stairs I was walking on. Then Trevor shot out of the underbrush, running down the steep slope alongside the stairs, followed by Paul. Adam ran down the stairs behind me. Yay for the nondrinkers of Tai Jitsu. Then, Paul snuck up behind me and grabbed my arms, and Adam grabbed my legs, and they proceeded to carry my down to Huntington, through the building, and up the stairs to Tai Jitsu. Twas fun. After a light practice a few of us went with Leah to Uno for pizza, and we sat there and talked for hours about Classics-y things and about the various ways that people are stupid, as usual. Days like that make me happy.
Afterwards I went down to Whitnall to see what was going on there. In most ways it was just another day to be disappointed in the things that we amuse ourselves with around here-- the annoying rappers, the pointlessly superficial King and Queen of SPW contest. But as I rounded the corner of the student union building and saw the carnival rides set up, I couldn't help but smile. How can you not smile when there are carnival rides next to Whitnall? I don't even like carnival rides. I didn't even go on them. But the fact that they were there just made me happy for some strange reason.
After dinner today Maggie and I went to Taco Bell. I don't know why. She just wanted to go to Taco Bell, so we did. I just liked going somewhere, being on the open road listening to 3rd Eye Blind and talking to Maggie, planning for the summer and next year and years to come. On the way back Maggie saw a playground off to the side, and we pulled over looking for the road to get to it. It reminds me of Rainbow's End back home-- the same style playground, but smaller, all wood and towers and tunnels and things. And they also had seesaws and swings, of course, and one of those big things that you spin around on. We played there until it was dark, then drove back to campus, remembering where it was so that we could bring more people there someday. I love playgrounding.
Friday, April 26, 2002
There should not be snow on "Spring" Party Weekend. Also, the smiley-face condom signs around campus are really weird. And I find it amusing that the East Hall custodian has posted a public service message about safe sex and not pressuring/being pressured to have sex in the bottom of the stairwells. (That is, the message is posted in the stairwells; not warning against sex in the stairwells.) And throughout the dorm there are signs warning about the dangers of alcohol poisoning.
Today at Frank they had zucchini parmesan. And it actually wasn't bad, although apparently they don't know yellow squash from zucchini. It amused me.Also, to our further amusement, Keito and I found an ethernet hookup at Frank. Not that I can ever imagine going to Frank and wanting to connect to the Internet ...
Wednesday, April 24, 2002
In a way finding a religion is like learning to sing. Did I ever tell you about learning to sing? It's an instrument without keys or valves, the voice, nothing you can touch, nothing you can even manipulate consciously like telling a finger to move up or down. So voice teachers are endlessly full of analogies and visualizations, silly-sounding exercises to try to trick you into doing something that you can't make yourself do by thinking. "Your body is a column of air; we want to make that column longer." "It's like the feeling you get just before you sneeze. Can you feel that little muscle?" "Pretend that the sound forms behind your eyes, not in your throat." "Let the energy come like a waterfall." They give you this analogy and that image, and if it doesn't work they come up with new ones about bubble gum and horseback riding and anything else they can think of until finally something clicks and you do what they meant for you to do, and suddenly the sound is fuller and stronger and you're not making the mistake you were making before. With religion, as you go from one to another people keep speaking to you in different words, some speaking of prayer, some of magick, some of one god, some many, all with different mythologies, all with different rituals. And as you look at them all suddenly you find one that makes sense and feels right and seems to you just like religion ought to be. But underneath them all there are the same means to the same ends, just covered with different layers of words and traditions, all accomplishing the same sort of thing, and in the end no matter what analogy you use everyone is forming perfect music in their own way.
Gaaah. Why do I always get stuck with the worst group project situations ever? Is it something I'm doing?I proclaim today to be an Official Day of Screwedness. Whee!!
Tuesday, April 23, 2002
Most of the time when I'm at Case I forget what libraries are all about. Either I go all the way down to the basement and work for a few hours, or I go up to the fourth floor to do my Greek or something. I'm very rarely in the areas where there's nothing but shelves on shelves on shelves of books. But now and then I actually go to get a book, and I go to the second floor, and they're all lined up in immense quantities: shelves of just Kosovo, shelves of just Sophocles, shelves so that you can't see the sides of the room and you don't know how long it goes on. And then there's the smell of new books and the smell of old books, which are both neat but very distinct, and the feel of old covers and of smooth new paperbacks, and I can't tell which is more exciting, the old musty books with the rough yellowed pages and fraying covers or the fresh new ones, smooth with pure white pages and shiny covers. For some reason I don't get the feeling that I want to read it all. I don't know why, but it's not just the information and the knowledge that's stored in the books. I get all caught up in the tangible, sensual aspect of the books. It's like a big book orgy down there.
Monday, April 22, 2002
Sunday, April 21, 2002
Anger is located in my head, but fear is located in my chest. The irrational frustration wells up and clenches my teeth, turns my face red, forms tears in my eyes, tenses my throat that wants to yell. But at the same time, pulses, almost shivers, like electric currents, run out from my heart to my arms and hands and neck and even legs and feet. Fear of my anger, warning me against it, holding me back, preventing action. Frantic hurried waterfalls of something or other, racing to my fingertips as if somehow from there they'll be able to keep me from doing something I'll regret. It lasts long after the anger has faded, and once the fear finally stops I feel drained, as if everything flowing through my body somehow did seep out through my fingers and toes, evacuating desperately from a building they think is sure to crumble.
