Turning Away at the Gates

Living in religious tension overkill again for the past few days, I've been letting my mind wander in the direction of heaven. Last May or so I realized that I wasn't sure if I wanted to get into heaven, even if I could make it past the gates. According to 'my' religion, my top three favourite people would not make it in with me. Realizing this, I thought, well, if the people I love the most won't be there with me, than it's not really heaven is it? So maybe I don't deserve to go to heaven at all. I remember reading one of those really normative story books, the ones that blatantly try to shape children's morals and opinions, when I was about seven. In the story Muhammad told someone that they should love God more than anything or anyone else. Not I. So if I don't place God at the highest echelons of my heart, perhaps I'm not worthy of heaven. I don't know how I feel about this. I just might be better off without it.

Stripes

Another one of those days. I went to four stores in search of a January student pass, but my search was unsuccessful. I was hectored at the security desk by a man who was displeased with my choice of identification, and again at the elevators by a man who paid little attention to detail. On my way back from Tower B I decided to stop for a slice. In the pizzeria I was hit on by a dangerously charming Lebanese pizza boy, the toppings were very fresh, and my crust was crisp and not at all greasy, just the way I like it. While at the pizzeria, and on my way home, I saw a boy, the same boy, wearing the same striped sweater and the same striped scarf, three times. I was struck by the striped boy, because every time I saw him I had the distinct impression that he was headed in the direction opposite to the direction in which he intended to proceed. I was also told that I use my vocabulary to "dazzle" readers. There are stripes here where there shouldn't be.

In all the Excitement...

I need someone that I can trust to lean against and keep me warm. I need someone who'll hold my neck and bring me ibuprofen when I'm too stubborn. I need someone to collapse into and lose my strength to and be sick and be helpless around. I can do a lot, but I can't do it all, and I certainly can't do this alone. I need a solid suit of armor with warm, soft insides where I can hide away and be small in the dark. I need a coconut boat and a teddy bear skipper to take me away to a sea of sleep and dreams.

Arms are for Hugging, and Other Cliched Criticisms

A month and a day after my foray into freedom, I've realized that today would be an excellent day to let you know just how I am enjoying said freedom. Today I condemned a regime that has terrorized the world for over four years. Today I exercised my right to have a voice. Today I told the world that I could not and would not be an accomplice to murder and injustice around the world. Today I marched through the streets of Ottawa and told George W. Bush NO.

The most profound lesson I learned today was that even in a country that claims to be a bastion of democracy, that boasts one of the highest national literacy rates in the world, and whose people claim to be so aware of and so opposed to the unjust and illegal actions of the Bush regime, people are still severely ignorant. Canadians don't seem to be aware of our own contributions to the violence in Iraq, to the spread of the AIDS virus, and to the arbitrary detention of people who have not been formally charged with any crime both internationally and within Canadian territory.

What pains me even more is that of those who are aware, very few are actually willing to make even the smallest personal effort to hold their fellow human beings accountable. In North America we have the right to protest peacefully, yet we content ourselves to watch events unfolding on television. We have the right to free, fair, and democratic elections, and yet our leaders continue to take power from corrupt and widely unsupported elections. It seems to me that only when our own children are starving, our own police are being turned against us, and our own cities are being bombed with Canadian-made artillery shells, only then will we Canadians abandon our terminal apathy.

The World is Almost My Oyster!

I'm about an hour and thirty-one minutes away from being unemployed, and it's a sweet, sweet feeling. It's funny how a person can feel so much richer on the brink of losing so much potential income. Ah well. Aside from the frequent murderous head pains, this has been the greatest week I've had in longer than I can remember. Actually, even with the pain, it's been pretty damn great. There were a hell of a lot of disappoinments, but it's really okay because things can only get better from here.

It's a Shooting Pain... It Shoots from Foot to Foot

I think that's how it goes. It also goes something like, seizure, thinking you're dehydrated, realizing you're not, realizing that five days of head problems could be more serious than you'd like to admit. Has she gone to the doctor yet? Of course not, she's Sarah. She's too busy thinking about relatively insignificant things to be worried about her health. So I'm opening her up to the diagnoses of the masses. Symptoms:

• head pain, occasionally very intense in the right temple, usually an overall brain ache, hurts at the back of the skull much more than it should when I shake my head a very little bit;
• neck pain, pretty much the usual, but the muscle stiffness extends along my back down to about the bottom of my rib cage;
• jaw pains, intermittent over the past week, a dull my-teeth-are-too-big-for-my-face-and-are-all-rubbing-together sort of pain

Any thoughts?

What to Do When a Wolf Chases You 700 Kilometres and Tries to Eat You, Causing You to Have Seizure-Like Panic Attack:

Dear Geneviève,

During the past few months I have experienced a great deal of stress that has affected my ability to work and has affected my daily life. I find that overall, the level of stress I am experiencing at work, in my academics, and in my personal life is steadily increasing. After reflecting on this problem for a few weeks, I have decided that it would be best for me to resign from my position here at ***. As you know, I have had ongoing pay and employment status problems with human resources since September, and during the first three months of my time at *** had no fixed work station. I feel that these issues were not addressed in a timely fashion, and that the delays in these matters contributed greatly to the work-related stress that I have experienced. I feel that the manner in which these issues were handled indicates a lack of respect for my role and the contributions I have made. Had these issues been handled differently, I believe I would not have experienced the same levels of discomfort and stress.

During the summer, when I was not trying to balance my studies with work, I was able to cope with this stress better than I have since commencing school in September, but I nonetheless saw negative impacts of work-stress in my personal life. Now that my main focus is my academic work, I find that I do not have the time or energy to maintain productive work levels at work and at school. The weight of my work-related stress coupled with the stress I expected to encounter at school is becoming quite overwhelming. Thus I feel that my best option at this point is to leave *** so that I can focus on my studies and hopefully forget the stress associated with my time here.

It is unfortunate that these issues did arise, because apart from them, I found my experience with the ************************** quite satisfactory. I am grateful for the learning opportunities that you and the team have provided me, and for the friendships that I developed here at ***. I would like to thank you for the guidance you provided me, and for acting as an advocate for me in situations where I could not do so myself. I know that you made every effort to resolve these issues, and although it would have been ideal if neither of us had to deal with the stress of these issues, I am glad to have had someone as kind and genuine as yourself to share the weight of these challenges. I hope that we can continue this relationship and perhaps work together again in the future.


Sincerely,
Sarah Malik

Please Charles, No!

Last night I witnessed a genocidal apocalypse. Note to self: consider the option of taking this as a bad sign for POL 3162, Political Violence: The Comparative Study of Mass Killing. There were two sets of bleachers, each on opposing sides of the room. The room was surprisingly small for the considerable number of bleachers and bodies and significant amount of free floor that it housed. We were all dressed in dark grey-blue uniforms, which we had been wearing at the institute we had recently escaped from. Various members of the X-Men and several people whose identities I cannot recall filled the bleachers on both sides of the room. I cannot remember what he said, but in a telepathic communication Charles Xavier made a fatal error. The impostor using Xavier's mind failed to recognize that his assumptions about me were incorrect, and I was able to inform a few members of my team (actually just the people seated on my side of the room, which also happened to be Xavier's). Somehow, despite my warning and the team's disloyalty to Xavier, he managed to slaughter all but myself and three or four girls of roughly the same age. We awoke in the next room to see the after-effects of a nuclear holocaust through the windows. As we tried to rebuild some modicum of comfort I could not help but think of the blue-faced bodies stirring in the next room.

Jumping, with Vigour

I've decided to dedicate this entry to my dear friend Ciara, one of my top five human beings, and one of the five-or-so people who actually read this journal(I assure you, not the same five as the top five). Although it goes without saying, I will say nonetheless, that were Ciara not a part of my life, I would be foreign to myself. There is no question that we could not be the same people that we are today without having met the people that we have. Our actions and interactions with these people, and our actions not directly associated with any recognised relationships, of course, also have a significant impact on who we become. The question is, how do the things we do impact the lives and paths of others? If, for example, I had stayed in London for university, would others have been more likely to do the same? If I had swallowed my pride and my intolerance for immaturity, would a few certain people have followed a safer path? The what if questions tend to be killers. When our elaborate worlds start to unravel, we begin to doubt ourselves, and when others seem to take some devastating blows, we fear that we have not done enough. We let ourselves forget that there were reasons. Good reasons. It's easy to think you have failed if you do not recognise the small successes, the wise, and sometimes selfish, decisions that have led you to your present stance. Recognition is not an easy state to achieve, but it is what helps us to maintain the slightness whereby we do not sink deeply and passively. If we do not acknowledge the good, we cannot feel it as it seeps into our skin.

Jeeves the Inept

I have long been under the impression that Jeeves could answer any question posed to him. I believed him a bastion of enlightenment, and his website a mecca of knowledge. So at 12:20 this afternoon, when I could no longer restrain the curiosity inspired by my lunch, I sought Jeeves' wisdom. I asked him, respectfully, "Why does a pita sandwhich taste better after being stored in aluminum foil than it does after being stored in tupperware?" He did not answer. Or, if his response could be considered an answer, he did not answer well, and did nothing to merit my reverence. In the eight minutes since, I've been projected into a tailspin of loathing and doubt. Is Jeeves, in fact, a spurious idol, a clever ruse designed to lull the masses into tepid semi-cognisance? Or am I simply unworthy of the wisdom of the sagacious Jeeves? I leave you with these questions as I part in search of some deity who can soothe my restless mind and quell my fitful curiousities.

Yogurt-Containered Peaches

Several years ago, my mother received a recipe for canned peaches. She would use the peaches from our tree, a peach tree, no less, and store the peaches in old yogurt containers (usually Astro, with the lime green graphics). I loved peaches. I adored them. I was infatuated with peaches. My mother has long since been divested of her domestic goddess status, the peach tree was cut down by irresponsible and unsavoury tenants, and all that remains of my infatuation are the smoldering remains of a peach cobbler. Note to self: find out how to cobble a peach. I wonder though, what ever became of my love for all things peachy. Did I simply grow out of the relationship, as I did with my love for all things purple, or is there a deeper cause to the rift? Have I, my tastes, and my thoughts changed so very much that I cannot reconcile myself to produce? If I can renew a friendship with a person I did not see for 10 years, why can I not renew a love that I have always cherished? Given that love changes a person, why does it change a person to the point where they no longer feel only that very specific love? Now that I've successfully read too much into fruit, I'm going to go back to being a productive member of society.

Fruitful Vexation

I once knew a person who ate kiwi - the fruit, not the bird - whole. Fuzzy skin and all. Most people I know tend to eat their peaches with skin as well. It's a curious thing, really. I cannot help but wonder what the nature of the natural human instinct toward hair really is. If most can tolerate the tiny amount of fuzz on a peach (which, for the record, I personally find rather irritating, as it causes my lips to itch), then why not simply buzz-cut all of our cows and chickens before we eat them? Now before you all start haranguing me with a chorus of Ewww! Gross!, I would like you to really think about this question. Give me your answer, and then you can tell me how repugnant you find the suggestion.

My Job is Very Boring - I am an Office Clerk

Much like Martha and the Muffins, I trifle my days away hoping for some infinity in an isolated paradise.  I don't think I've ever really had my own Echo Beach, though.  Not a real one at any rate.  Curiously, however, I can identify the feeling with great certitude.  It's familiarity, warmth, and respite all at once.  Intensity without tension, excitement without hyperactivity, and fulfillment without desire.  Not having a tangible Echo Beach, though, I feel almost as if I were at home where I had never been before *Note: there may or may not be a comma missing from the preceding clause; it's up to you to decide*.  But is Echo Beach a universal feeling?  There does seem to be a certain super-individual quality to the feeling, but I doubt that every person has the opportunity to experience it.  If every person had an Echo Beach, I doubt that there would be depression, exploitation, or punk rock.  But what do I know?  My eyes keep watching for the sunset at Echo Beach.

The Good Times are Killing Me

Every so often I manage to get myself into a bit of a masochistic state of being. This past week, for example, my parents came to visit me. Many will react with a clever and original pun on how anyone who takes pleasure in the company of their parents must be a masochist. Kudos my friends; rest easy, knowing that you have made the world of wit and high-brow humour the tiniest bit more unattainable for the rest of us. In fact, overall, the visit was not nearly as tense as it could have been, and all travesties and devastation were avoided, although my father was reduced to tears at least once. As much as my mother frustrates me with her utter and complete mental absenteeism, and as sleep deprived and ill as I was for the duration of their visit, I was a little reticent to see them go, quite nostalgic during the trip, and, being unabashedly honest, I could stand to have them back in the not terribly distant future. For all their flaws, for all the accidental trips to Hull and the boiled plastics, I always seem to forgive them, and in what seems like a considerable stretch to a good few, I always say I love you when they go.

Immodest

When who you are starts to interfere with who you want to maintain relationships with you are faced with two possible perspectives on the dilemma:

• You are lying to yourself; who you are is in fact not who you should be. If you are afraid or ashamed to expose yourself to someone you care for very much, then you must be denying that certain habits and practices do not truly meet the standards you set for yourself.
• The people with whom you wish to maintain relationships are stupid, narrow-minded assholes. Why exactly do you want to maintain relationships with these people anyway? They will take you as you are or will take who you are and fly with it.

So which direction do you choose to think in?

"My friends, my habits, my family. They mean so much to me. I just don't think that it's right." --Modest Mouse, One Chance, Good News for People Who Like Bad News

And Now We're Sexy!

Much to my chagrin, I have become an adult. I spend several hours of my day in a cramped cubicle doing work that I detest. I fret over botched service and poor customer care. I juggle more bills and accounts than any sensible person would bother with. I'm disgustingly adult. Hell, I'm even the type of adult that disgusts me most. I'm unbelievably caught up in the capitalist way of life and, as should be expected, it sucks the life and soul out of me little by little. I need to remind myself of the beauty in life. I need to not simply reminisce about the things that bring me pleasure, but to seek them out. I need to make closer note of the things that amuse me. I'm convinced that if I simply pay more attention to what I enjoy than what I dislike, I will eventually lose this negative energy that stalks me so incessantly. Show them my motto!

Retrograde Motion

They say that once every two years or so Mars starts moving in the opposite direction of its normal orbit for about two months. Apparently this happens to, or will happen to, every planet at some point. They - not necessarily the same they, but a they nonetheless - say that the Qur'an or Sharia or something to that effect states that some day the Sun will rise in the west until god wills it to do otherwise. They, yet another they, told me yet again that I would have phone service this evening, and they were erroneous in this claim. In fact, I actually have less phone service than before. I now have to use a payphone to harass them. Do all of these wildly unreliable claims Sarah a skeptic make? I doubt it. It seems god was telling the truth. The world is going backwards. For instance, I thought I would move up in the world by getting a job that would actually compensate me for my efforts. Very Marxist commodified wage-labour, I know, but what's a girl to do? Turns out I was wrong. At said movin' on up job, I actually work more and get less in return than I did at my previous slave-labour employment. Perhaps it's just me. Note to self: check that knees are still facing forward and toes are still intact. Perhaps I have gone the way of the witches.

They've Monkeyed Up Your Jumpers

So says James, the telephone technician. He had to phone two people from Nathalie's room in order to determine that my jumpers had been monkeyed. One was apparently named Quick, and the other was named Inna. Note: yes, indeed, this did immediately remind me of Inna Pesina, and subsequently Snenena, but we shall discuss Eastern Europeans at a later date. Unfortunately, it is not absolutely certain that my jumpers have been monkeyed, and since Bell Canada and 100 Thomas More are closed for the evening, I am screwed-o, out of phone service until at least tomorrow at 9:00, when my newly reclaimed phone service will not be enjoyed by me, as I will be at work. Note: coincidentally, I also am severely lacking in all things telephonically related at work. After three weeks I still don't have a phone, an office, a computer password, or a waste-paper basket. As I have discovered that Amanda, my cubicle-neighbour, and I share a telephone number, I have been led to believe that we are to share a phone, which I find quite amusing, as the only thing separating myself from Amanda and her (read: "our") phone is, well, a wall. The day was not, however, a total loss. I befriended a rather comical blind frenchman, and I had some rather excellent strawberry mousse. Congratulations Cynthia, and Chelsea, what do you want for dinner?

Playing with Liars

Ronnie, in reference to the term pistol:
"Personally, I'd love to know how 'thing that is designed to kill people' came to mean 'amusing young person.'"

My brother thinks that one day I will meet a man ("or a woman, because, you know, that would be cool too") who will crack through my sarcastic outer shell and find the soft, sweet, delicate Sarah inside.

• Problem number A) I think my brother may believe that I use sarcasm as a defence mechanism


• Problem part the second) I rather like being sarcastic, and don't particularly want to be cracked


• Problem section III) I continue to let my brother go on thinking that I will one day find this man or woman and turn into a docile kitten eating melty semi-sweet chocolate chips from a china dish painted with buttercups

Sorry Asim, but it's not happening. As much as I'd like to submit myself to the delusion that someone with such knee-compromising powers exists, even if he or she did, I don't think mine are the knees he or she would be compromising. No. Not at all a likelihood. I am, and will likely remain for much of my life, a stalwart sarcastic. If, in fact, I did use sarcasm as a method of self-defence, then I would be open to the change, as sarcasm is a terrible thing to waste on excuses and self-pity. I've realized that I tend to whine and blame-shift more than anything when I feel the need to protect myself; in fact, I lose the advantageous edge that my sarcasm normally affords me in everyday verbal combat. No, my sarcasm is strictly because I like it where it is. It is my sense of humour, my wit, my wiley guise against the less, shall we say 'bright', people in my life. My sarcasm is not something to be cracked or broken or discarded; it is my evil mastermind innate, and the source of a great many of my little pleasures. So Asim, my apologies; I did not mean to dash your hopes of dashing my wits, but it turns out that I don't want to lose an ounce of my sarcasm. And if there does exist some prince or princess charming who could soothe my tempest's tongue, well frankly I don't want to meet him or her.

Shoplifters Will be Persecuted

Note to self: YARR!
It's been another one of those curious sorts of days. Unfortunately not curious enough to constitute the amusingly quizzical type of day that tends to be my favourite. The pharmacist, unfortunately, seems to have injured his neck, and for this I feel great sympathy. I myself have experienced the woes of neck pain, and let me tell you, it's no picnic. I also have the sneaking suspicion that I might secretly be a size small at a few select locations. Curiouser and curiouser.
Postscript: the spell check database returns the "curiouser" query as "carouser". YARR!

Greater Than Less Than

Or... Equal to?

Thoughts that I wanted to share with you today:

• I've always been a proponent of the claim that an individual is better off having known any given person that they have encountered in their life. Recently my own behaviour has made me call this claim into question. Is there not an equal opportunity to be "worse off"? It really isn't a question of benefit or disadvantage; rather, it's a question of net benefit. Were there more positive outcomes in my personality, my intellect, my attitudes, behaviour, and soul, after knowing her, or more negative. I cannot decide.




• What do you do when you realize that you've become a part of an abstract entity? "Ottawa", "The Bureaucracy", and "The Government" were always very abstract entities to me. Even when I first rushed the scene, the city was still somewhere near Olympus. Even when I could see parliament hill and the Peace Tower from my high-rise living room, it was still miles away. Kilometres, my bad. Even when I met the people and walked the hallways the bureaucracy was still a sallow, faceless spectre. Ever so slowly, it's all becoming real. I'm not so much frightened by the existential nature of my post-modern conundrum. I'm more concerned by the question that I have to ask myself next: what do you do when you realize that you've become a part of an abstract entity that you detest?

Love, Sarah

Let's Get Quizzical

Oscar is an interesting young fellow. One night, probably around three in the morning, he came into the bedroom where I was asleep, but on the verge of waking. He crept to the far side of the bed, most likely by walking around, although I wouldn't put it past him to slink beneath the bed, and poked his head up just enough that I could see as far as the bottom of his nose. Note: I use the term "see" quite loosely, as I was not wearing my glasses and had not miraculously regained the third of my vision that seems to have gone the way of the heathens. He approaches me with a very curious manner, perhaps confused by the fact that I have all the trappings of his mother, but smell somewhat more like his brother. Note: As I cannot verify the similarity of our scents, this statement is almost purely conjecture. A few other curious habits include the occasional frenzied run around the apartment, and his affinity for running in front of my legs to "brush by" (read: trip me and leave me prone on the floor, unconscious, glasses broken, concussed). He also likes to jump in the bathtub just as I'm about to take a shower, which makes it somewhat difficult for me to achieve my desired goal. Such is the Oscar-Sarah continuum.

Good Golly Miss Molly!

What have they done to Blogger? Oh the agony! I'm appalled. I don't know when people are going to learn that change is only a good thing when things need changing. The nature of blogger was dynamic enough that they didn't need to shake things up. Fie! Fie on you reformatters! Fie I say!

Precious Gay Bars

Nothing beats some healthy nonsensical banter and bickering with your older brother. The vacation is going well, the spirits are high, and the turmoil of the underground is wondrously melodramatic. I'm off to enemize with the fraternity... Cheers!

A Welcome Change

The year from hell has finally ended. The room mate from hell is no longer my room mate. I flew like a bat out of hell... a bus-riding bat in a frantic hurry, but a bat nonetheless. I have finally returned from whence I came, and could not be more pleased. Have had an overall excellent two point six repeating days so far. I've done quite a bit of family activity though, and am starting to get the friend itch. The friends are a bit of a challenge, mostly because of my ghetto homestead and my more than slightly possessive family, but I think I'm up to it. Heathen-like revelry, here I come!

Not Recommended For Those Sensitive to Loss

There are days when you're just so soaked in sadness that the tears ooze from you. These are the days when you remember the dead. Not the happy times or the chance that in some time and some new space you'll be with them again. No. These are the days when you remember just that you will never be near them the way you were that day, that moment, that thirty seconds when everything was perfect. The sun cast a warm golden light. A blanket or a sweater provided a gentle tactile warmth that made you feel the slightest bit sleepy. Their body kept you warm and your chests rose and fell in synchrony. The air was sweet and clean, and all you heard was a heartbeat. This is the day that you remember how distant that moment is and how impossible it is to regain that feeling. When you finally realize that they are no dead, just gone, the tears stop. There is no catharsis. There is no sigh of relief. Just a sadness that swallows everything from within you, as though your soul was a parasitic ebb at the end of an expansive vacuum, waiting to swallow you whole. It's the days like this that you forget that there was joy in your life. You forget that there was ever anything good or warm in that moment. These are the moments when your soul is taken and turned over and over inside an hourglass so that no time passes and no respite comes. You roll endlessly until you have no strength to exist. When you finally drift back into consciousness nothing has changed. You are a little numb, a little lost for joy, and the burden of your sadness stays with you while you walk on into the day and try to work through the emptiness.

Active

This is the first time in several days that I have been fully functional before noon. I like the feeling of getting out of bed and starting my day early, I just don't seem to have the will to do it. Or maybe just the sense. Either way, it's something I feel I should make a serious commitment to. I remember as late as two years ago I would be out of bed by 7:15 am every weekday, enjoying the quiet of the street before all the morning traffic, the sounds of the birds, the rustle of the leaves on the tree outside my bedroom window, the occasional car on the wet pavement outside. I remember the brisk cool air in the store as I would rush from the heavy back door to the front counter to turn off the alarm. I remember the worn plush slip-cover on the chair, how it felt against my hands and legs as I kneeled down to turn off the alarm and grab a few coins from the rollers to buy breakfast. I remember the heavy knock of the bolt on the front door, and how I would have to pull the door towards myself just a little to slip the lock shut again. I remember that first breath of fresh, dewy spring air mingled with tar from newly laid asphalt. I remember the walk to school, the wet sidewalk, the wet sand in my flip-flops, the cool breeze, and the flitting sunlight falling against my skin. I remember the sounds, the birds, the trees, my shoes, the sand, and the traffic picking up behind my as I walked away from Ridout.

The most beautiful and peaceful moments were on that street, in those shoes, under the shade of those trees. I never shared those moments with anyone. When I go back there in a matter of days I will struggle to relive the beauty of those days and I will not match it. I will sleep in, be distracted by traffic and children, and be inhibited by the changes in my life. I only grasp the beauty and peace of that time years later, when I have forgotten all that distracted me from it then, but before I can forget what distracts me now. I don't know if I am sad. I suppose it's a sort of wistful sadness, the sort of feeling that comes not from heartbreak, but simply from knowing. Knowing how distant that time and place have become. Knowing that no matter how I try I will never regain those days and those sensations. There really is no way for me to end today. I could go on interminably, I want to go on interminably, half-willing to believe that if I do eventually I will be back there, but there is no road back. There is no real chance of regaining it. I can only move forward and hope that somehow I will stumble back into that place with all its beauty and serenity.

(((Doing)))

I have not written in a few days because, frankly, I have not had anything of interest to write about. However, something occurred to me just a few moments ago, and I thought that I would, in my own rambling and incoherent way, share it with you. Among many of my friends, the term booyeah has caught on in recent years. I am fairly certain that I know the general cause of this recent addition to our vernacular. My concern, however, lies in the particular pronunciation that my friends have adopted. At my earliest exposure to the term, I was under the impression that it was to be pronounced boo-YA. My friends, however, have adopted a very particular boo-YEAH pronunciation. Where, then, did I find this curiously unique pronunciation? Normally I adopt mannerisms and expressions through mimicry, but I have not adapted to the booyeah norm. Peculiar.

Just When You Thought You Were Safe

I was under the impression that the chickens and I had made peace. I stopped eating them years ago, and although they still seemed a little unstable to me, they didn't bother me for quite some time. This evening, however, when I checked my e-mail account, I found a veiled threat sent to me via my father's e-mail account. It seems the Nation of Chickens has kidnapped my family and is holding them hostage, forcing my father to send me disturbing messages via the internet. If you don't believe me just take a look at these eyes.

Slashes

I wrote a painting a few days ago. I tried to post it on the underground but it doesn't seem to translate very well into type-face. There is definitely something to be said for penmanship. I wonder how much more interesting books would be if they were all just photocopies of handwritten manuscripts*. The slant of the author's hand. The illegibility of the most inspired sections, when the author had to rush fervently to save all her words in ink and paper so that they wouldn't slip away. The scratches, the scribbles, and the spelling errors. Especially the spelling errors.
*I cannot decide if it is redundant to say "handwritten manuscript". While I am reasonably certain that contemporary manuscripts are not, for the most part, handwritten, there is still a certain echo in the pulse of both words. Like two very old men, dusty and tanned, who share the same heartbeat.

My Cousin the Commie

Disclaimer: Curiosity is not to be confused with caring.
I often wonder what a select few of my cousins think of my lifestyle and social and ideological moorings. The cousins with whom I have had the most contact throughout my life are all fairly average, materialist, capitalist conformists. They strike me as the type of people who would hold my type of people in utter and complete contempt. Of course, I would by no means be surprised if they were not aware of my uncoventional opinions and behaviour. I'd like to engage them in "hypothetical" discussions of politics, philosophy, and economy. Unfortunately I fear that the conversation would quickly degenerate to the subject of cars.

OMG

You must, you must, YOU MUST check this kid out!

Post Script

Okay, I know it appears before everything else but it really is an afterthought. More to the point, Ottawa actually looks like this.

When Friends Don't Know They are Friends

The scholastic year is coming to a close and I can feel my soul slowly creeping back in. My mind has been buzzing with activity in the past few weeks. I 'm philosophzing like nobody's business. The paintings are starting to parade again and it's all I can do to hope that I make it through the next three months (flash forward one and one half months) not only intact but intelectually and artistically plumper than I am now. Thanks to Damon for being damon.

She's Back

Unfortunately, my evil roommate has returned from the depths of New Brunswick. My three full days of peace and quiet were wonderful. No nagging. No slamming of dishes, doors, and furniture. No abuse of my precious mikey. No verbal and psychological assaults while I'm clearly occupied with more important matters. Chelsea keeps telling me there's only a month left but I don't know that I'm willing to let any more of her shit slide. Perhaps evil roommate is the first archenemy of the underground. I haven't used the word hate in any sincere context in several years, and I resent that this actually seems to be a viable course of action at present. I don't know how to react to people who try to make things easier for themselves at the expense of others, other than to get angry.

The Underground Has Gone International

Authority figures everywhere beware! Or at the very least, authority figures in English and French-speaking countries beware!

Yes, In Fact, Nickelback is That Bad!

I find it odd that even though you tell someone you cannot stand something, and give them a detailed explanation of why you cannot stand said thing, they still insist on informing you that said thing really is all wonderful and butterflies. What the hell? That's like telling someone who had to have their left arm amputated due to complications from a piercing that piercings are risk-free and fool-proof.

I Projectile-Peed My Pants

This was only the beginning. Late yesterday evening, after returning from the second of my many dinner engagements, Raja, Chelsea and I decided that it was payback time. We had yet to find a solution to our egg dilemma. I am referring, of course, to the eggs that caused our rather unpleasant case of food-poisoning earlier this week. Rather than simply throwing them into the garbage chute, we went on a campus-wide smash and bash vengeance fest. Unfortunately, we ended up in the alley right outside of our own apartment, and the contents of approximately four rotten eggs mysteriously found themselves on the walkway. Ever the responsible vandals, we decided we had better try and clean the mess as best we could. Unfortunately neither I nor Chelsea had brought our keys. As both of our room mates were somewhere between Markham and New Brunswick, we were faced with a certain challenge in terms of re-entering the apartment. After much running about, I managed to weasel my way back in, and we proceeded to take a few jugs of water into the alley and wash off the eggs. It was at this point that Meg from across the way happened to walk by and inquire as to what we were doing. I told Meg that some irresponsible hoodlums had egged the walkway and that we had taken it upon ourselves to clean up the mess before it became a nuisance. She was quite impressed and thanked us for our efforts.

No Offence

Please do not take offence, but the entirety of the membership has been, well, dismembered. I've finally found a comment host, so now all of your wonderful and whimsical thoughts have a happy new home. I know you must feel sad. This blog has, of course, been an important part of all of our lives, but don't fret! Now you don't have to log into blogger to make fun of me! You can do it at the click of a button!

The Way His Shirt Cuts in at the Waist

There is little that I find more attractive than a man in a well-tailored, ironed white button down and black pants. That three inch expanse of white cotton held so closely in place by a thin black belt and the rim of luxe black mid-weight fabric, just barely hiding a sweet strong angular waste is all it takes to send me into a reverie. This is the sort of thing that I imagine inspired Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

Sarah it's your birthday
Happy birthday Sarah
Yeah!
Presents and cake to come!
Happy Birthday! - oh wait, I said that already
Yeah Doubly Good

Getting Ready to Get Ready

I know what I want to do. Now I just need ideas. Anyone up for confusing the world one person at a time?

Dear Sir and Madam

Once again, my utter contempt for conventional attitudes towards death has gotten me into trouble. When am I going to learn to just keep my mouth shut and play along? I'll tell you when. When I am dead. While I cannot guarantee that I will keep my mouth shut, I am sure that this will be the one time in my life when I actually behave how others would expect me to given the situation.

Snap!

I have discovered the meaning of life. Well, the meaning of my life anyway. Of course, I cannot really be sure, as I am not really interested in blasphemy or heresy, but I am fairly confident that when the time comes for me to know I will have guessed correctly. Take that existentialists!

Core to the Right

My recent encounters with international relations and vandalism have me wondering how incompatible cultures really are. I consider myself to be a cross-cultural being, a sentient example of contamination, if you will. If I had never been exposed to one of the two dominant cultures in my life, would I still have made the choices that I have recently made? Am I driven by culture or personality? I am personally of the opinion that the two share a dialectic relationship, but there is a distinct possibility that one may dominate that other. What is the influential ratio of culture to personality with respect to individual behaviour?

Apparently Populated by Goats

Please note:

• Geese are returning on the red eye, landing at 5:00 am
• Sleeping with the upper half of one's body elevated by pillows is not as comfortable as one might expect
• This city is designed for rich and/or employed people who get out of bed before the hour of 1:00 pm

Budget Crisis

What is the one thing I care about even less than Canadian politics? Canadian economics. I've long been of the opinion that money should simply not exist. We made it up. It really can't be that hard to get rid of. I find it baffling that so many people are so unaware of their capacity to create change. Instead they rest comfortably in their little houses with their pile of little disappoinments, complacent about how the world violates their every human sensibility. I know we're all lying to ourselves, but I don't know what parts are the lies.

If You Lived Here You'd Have Less Non-Broken Bones and More Crushed Spirits

I do not actually have anything profound or even remotely interesting to say, I just thought that this particular quote was too fabulous to ignore.

Talking Turkey

My room mate is cooking a turkey. I've never been in the presence of a turkey before, cooking, talking, or otherwise. It's surprisingly loud. I wonder if tofurkies can speak as well. Perhaps, being soy-based, they can only say soy-based words.
Words such as:

1. Soya
2. Soybean
3. Meso
4. So you married an axe-murderer

Who would murder an axe?

Belated and Deflated

Happy belated St. Patrick's day, and sorry about the absence. I almost told a baby boomer that I was going to hurl myself off of a bridge today. At least I'm still smiling.

Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.

little pale angry men with black bags are annoying, they remind me of spanish doctors with flat black hats - hhmmm..........maybe it's the spanish out to squish everything that's for a good cause. when we sold tickets to the vagina monologues, one of the spanish professors at school decided to boycott us and do everything in her power (along with two others) to stop us from raising money. for the RAPE CRISIS center. i can understand their anger. guelph is going to hell in a handbasket. exactly one month till hometime!! yay!!

Tripping

The University of Ottawa chapter of Amnesty International was the victim of an institutional oppression of civil liberties today. With no real explanation, a very small, pale, angry man entered the room 219 of Morisset Hall. He was carrying two black bags, which several students speculated contained firearms. The man stood there, reveling in all his pale angriness, until he was acknowledged by Ben. Without wasting time on pleasantries, or enquiring as to why approximately 15 students were gathered in a classroom outside of class time, the angry man stated that Amnesty International would have to find somewhere else to prevent the abuse, torture, and unlawful detainment of human beings around the world. And thus, Amnesty International was denied the freedom of assembly it should be able to enjoy under the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms. The kicker? This man was not any sort of authority figure. He had no position of power. He was just an angry stooge from the multimedia department.

Pay no Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain

I may have to start carrying around a notebook or tape recorder. I keep forgetting the fabulously witty comments I've been thinking. Back in the days when I lived on top of hell and worked there after school there was a schizophrenic man who used to carry little squares of paper and write things down at random. I've accepted that I am destined to be crazy. Now I'm just going to enjoy the decent into madness.

What are You Looking For?

I strongly suggest watching More. It is some of the best art I have witnessed in quite some time.

Monty Pythonesque, eh? You naked...well, clothed in a helmet, elbow and knee pads running toward a cliff? That's not a sight I'd like to see. Before, or after!

God as a Monkey, Hell as a Black Hole

This is why I should not be allowed to take philosophy or art history. One day I'll come up with some crazy idea and the universe will cease to exist. I definitely would not have survived back in the days of the Spanish inquisition. Back when people were persecuted for ideas I would have gotten into trouble so fast they would have had to burn me at a sapling stake. Of course, the stake being so flimsy, I would have fled, and a Monty Pythonesque pursuit would have ensued, but let's not be realistic. This is no laughing matter!

I don't pretend to know anything about funerals - and given today's events, I hope I don't have to know anything about them anytime soon, but that's not looking too likely. But one can always hope. But in the way of control - that's more my area.... I figure it's the same for a lot of situations. Like OCD. It tends to flare up when life isn't going perfectly. If you can't control your life, often you feel like you have to control something - anything. So you'll control how clean a room is, or how many times you chew your food before you swallow it. Something that's trivial and easily controlled, unlike life.

Funerals send messages. They're your last message to your friends and family. Planning your own funeral is a huge comfort to them since they know it is the last message you want them to have. If you care about them, you want them to recieve the right message. It provides closure. It's not pretentious. It's not about you at all, it's about those you love, and it's entirely selfless. See how comfortable you are with your own death when someone you love dies.

Amen to that - if you don't have control, you really don't have anything

I think being able to control what happens to your body after you die is kind of a comfort. Since you can't know what's going to happen to the rest of you at least you can know what's going to happen to your body, which is the only part of you that really has any substance. Control is important.

Control

I realize this is a touchy subject but, well, I'm me, so I'm probably going to talk about it anyway. People tend to plan their own funeral proceedings more and more these days. While I can understand that no one wants to leave their loved ones with such a morbid and stressful task, I can't help but think that this is a bit pretentious. Perhaps I'm too comfortable with my own mortality, but I really don't care what happens to my body after I die. I'm pretty sure I won't have any use for it. Other than trying to make things easy on friends and family, the only reason I can really find for planning one's own funeral is control. For the most part we cannot control when we die, but we still try to control what happens to our bodies after we die.

I think it's pretty clear that Rousseau and Locke and Freud and all those other idiots were...well, they were idiots. Don't waste valuable time on their crazy ideas. I mean, how would desire create reason. From what I've seen, people act on desire without reason, clawing their way to achieving said desire at all costs.

Animal Urges

According to Rousseau, reason is cultivated in response to desire. What happens when we desire freedom from reason? Can we reason our way out of reason?

There's absolutely no way they'll figure out you've come of age for AT LEAST 2 years. Rest easy, and enjoy the spring!

I dare say madame.... are you feeling romantic? any particular reason besides the weather? Spring always fills me with an urge (which I've been feeling since sometime inJanuary actually) of going to the sugar shack..... which isn't exactly true... I just want de la tire..... (as I'm told I say it incoreectly in English - I thought it better to say it in French... so that's my springy comment for today... :)

One Month

I have one month left to figure out what I want to do with my bank account before they try to wrench it from me like blood from a beautiful and jubilant maid. The warmth and ebbing humidity has me reminiscing of April in London. Early spring is my favourite time of year. You can smell the green swelling up under the rain and the humidity starts to get just a tiny bit stifling when it's mixed with winter heating. It's all so romantic.

So forget being a tool of a patriarchal - the Sarah System is the way to go....?
Where personal preferences are disregarded for blind obedience replaces laughter, or even inwardly joy as the chief source of mirth.
Gotcha.
I'll get right on it....

Forget Personal Preferences. You Should Prefer My Preferences

Adaptation is a gift from the cinematic gods. I do not care if you do not care for art films. Even if you do not understand it, the movie is undeniably funny. You may not laugh. You may not even smile inwardly. You do not need to. Do not trust your own sense of humour. Trust mine. Adaptation is the bomb.

Who Wants to Be a Tool of the Patriarchal System?

Much to my chagrin, I have been watching Super Millionaire with my parents the past few days. While I do not particularly enjoy the show, or Regis Philbin, I do feel that it is necessary to comment on one of the new lifelines offered to contestants. The three wise men lifeline is a ridiculous attempt at political correctness and gender equality. Why would an internationally famous television program use a term that could be construed as connoting gender inequality and representing a bias in favour judeo-christian mythology and religious practice? To make matters worse, the powers that be have decided, probably in an effort to quell feminist criticism, to include one woman in the set of three wise men. Are these women not really women? Is it impossible for wisdom and femininity or womanhood to be reconciled? Is it legal to have women filling a role created for a man? The show is doing a poor job of covering up its oversight. Regis Philbin often fumbles through his introduction of the three wise men, calling them the three wise people or the two wise men and one wise women. Please note: the poor grammar in the previous phrase was not a personal oversight, but an example of Regis Philbin's inadequacy, copied verbatim. I sometimes wonder if quality of life is really much worse than it actually seems, even to someone who tries to keep her or himself educated on the reality of life in the United States. I assume that there are certain standards in the United States the are always upheld, but apparently Americans are not domestically demanding the rights that they seem to be so eager to impose upon others.

Though completely off topic, I would like to say that I quite enjoy the titles you have started using. Very fancy.

Starving

My brother once said that he couldn't imagine ever being full again if he became a vegetarian. My state of constant hunger over the past three days has led me to believe that my two plus years of herbivorousness have finally caught up with me. Possible solutions: 1)Eat a lot; 2)Stop being a vegetarian; 3)Practice some mind-over-matter meditation and transcend my hunger. Problems with proposed solutions: 1)I am eating a lot. I will probably run out of money with which to buy food before I run out of hunger; 2)I've tried that one. The transition back to the world of meat is too morally and physically painful. Plus it would make my parents happy; 3)Tried that too. No I'm lying. But I'm convinced it wouldn't work because my deep thoughts would be interrupted by my stomachs deep growls.

A Sinking Suspicion

I may or may not be smarter than I actually think I am. Vague, I know. I find myself in the middle of the semester, doing virtually no work. I honestly have not read any of my textbooks this semester. I don't know if I can get away with this or not. I got away with it unbelievably well last year, but I still doubt my ability to lie through my teeth to get a grade. One of these days my professors are bound to realize that I'm a total dunderhead. Until then I guess I'll just continue to set myself up for failure. Whatever works, right?

And Done!

If you will please take note of the new link under the Blog section of my sidebar, you will find a certain aforementioned list of MSN names. Well it's not really a list as of yet. Just one name really. Shh! It's too late for semantics!

In The Works

An acquaintance of mine made a brilliant suggestion today. Coming soon to an underground near you: a list of my msn monickers. I happen to find them quite humourous. If you don't, well, go away. That's right. Go away. You don't have to read this if it fails to amuse you. It can just be here, annoying you with it's unamusing existence. And I'll be sitting here in my twenty dollar computer chair mocking your frustration. On that note, if you can remember any of my msn names feel free to remind me of them. Thanks! You're swell!

We've changed - as much as I hate to admit it - as a often suffer from Peter Pan syndrome.... revel in the brief periods that I don't. But I definitely know what you mean. Over the past few years, I have become less in awe of my parents, and they now seem more like people with their own problems than people who know what to do all the time - because as some of you know - they have their fair share of problems. I figure this transition of how we see our parents comes for everyone. And for some people this transition comes easier than for others. (I like to imagine that the children of 'perfect parents' which mine were not, (they were lovely, but not perfect), have a harder time accepting this.... but I don't really know). All that to say - la vie est fluide. Elle change avec le vent, tourbillant dans le vaste univers.... mher.

A Return to the Norm

Every day things seem to change a little so nothing can quite work the way it used to. My eyes are doomed to a life of disfunction. I'll probably never stay with my parents for a period of more than three weeks again. I'll never stay up until three in the morning lying on my bedroom floor talking about nothing at all with my brother. I'll never even sleep in that bedroom again. Can anything ever really be the same, or is it just the details that change? Take my relationship with my father for example. I've always been much closer to my father than I am to my mother. While I still share a close relationship with him, I no longer forgive him as easily as I used to. As I've grown older and gained more distance from my father, I've become increasingly aware of his flaws and am more critical of and apt to scrutinize his actions. Despite this change in my regard for my father, I still love him. So what exactly is it that changes? Will things ever go back to the way they used to be, or have they not really changed very much to begin with?

A Note From the Editor

I've taken the liberty of making some slight alterations to Raja's entry. First, if you click on the address listed below, it'll actually take you to his live journal. Keep in mind that I use the term live loosely. It's more like recorded before a live audience consisting of the voices in Raja's head and then occasionally posted for kicks. Second, despite Raja's claims, this link will not actually take you the song; thus, I have added another link that will actually take you to the song. Or, if your name is Brain and you're a cartoon character from the early 90s, it'll take you to the technodrome. Whatever your particular destination might be, just click on the word song in the entry below and you'll get there. Unfortunately, if your name is Brain and you are a cartoon character from the early 90s, you'll just have to find your way to the song on your own. On a more personal note: evidently I suffered an unacknowledged period of withdrawal during my prolonged absence, and am now going a little blog crazy. Oh well, I'm reveling. Don't try to stop me.

Ahem. Consider Raja Chahal, Solo artist of former Miles Away fame.
Check out his latest song, everyone, at his site:
http://www.livejournal.com/users/funkiestjoe/
Shameless plug!!
I miss you Sarah. Let's play croquet sometime.

The End of An Era

I've come to a moment in my life that, despite it's gradual arrival, is so unexpected and deeply affecting that for once I feel it is necessary to write in unabstract terms about something taken directly from my real life. I am over Third Eye Blind. I never thought it would happen. For seven years this band was unequivocally the shit of my existence. The first album was, and remains, my first quasi-emo love. Blue was a masterful construction of experimentation and beautiful, beautiful music. If this band has been the shit, though, Out of the Vein was just shit. Oh well, I never said they were cool, just that I loved them. And so, while I will always keep a place in my heart for that which was my first musical love all of my own, I am no longer a one band girl. Please submit applications to become my new favourite band to C/My Documents/My Music.

My whereabouts are as yet undetermined. I find that generally every time I make a significant decision I feel an urge to backpedal. I wonder if I tried to go back to the womb when I was born?

Yes, and soon you will be away again. You come you go back you come you go back. So hard to keep track of - like an ected electron with just enough energy to jump back down to the ground state before being bombarded with the right frequency to reabsorb and go back up to a higher valence level. You crazy electron!
P.S. Yeah for jobbyness!

I have been away for quite some time now. That statement is rather misleading. I have not physically been away, as my blog exists within the realms of cyberspace, and my computer, from which I have not been away for any extended period of time, is my portal of access to said realms. I have not mentally been away, as I have been thinking of my blog, of things I might write in my blog, of who might be reading my blog and wondering why the underground seems so vacant. I have not been emotionally away from my blog, as I have been thinking, as I habitually do, of the matters which I normally address, directly or not, in my blog. So really I haven't been away at all; I just have not made my presence known.

And I'm not sure souls have a form per se, and so couldn't really break or explode in the first place let alone be reconstructed. That is, if "they" exist at all.

I thought you sold your soul to one of those intelligent raisins...

What's making your soul explode?

If my soul were to explode while my body was constricting due to atmospheric pressure, would my soul be pushed back together, possibly reconstructed through a synthesis of physical pressure?

I'm here, and in fine condition I might add. Les Méduses thought they could get the best of me but they were sorely mistaken. I am a little sorely stung, but their moral and physical soreness is more than enough to take my mind off the pain.

What? Sarah's gone??? Where did she go? Sarahhhhhhhhhhh???????

Sarah - where are you? I'm no good at lying to your parents. (fake crying to add drama) I'll never do it again! Ever! .... but ya... where are you?

Well, I for one refuse to eat jellyfish.

I bet the intelligent raisins are in league with the jellyfish. We should eat them all to foil their evil plan!

Should the plural of Portuguese man-o-war be Portuguese men-o-war? Also, what has become of the Portuguese women-o-war?

Portugese man-o-wars can cause paralysis...I bet the jellyfish overlords are breeding millions of them in an evil attempt to paralyze us all, then they'll make their move! That attack on my father was a prilimiary trial in order to see if the paralyzing juices were strong enough, and, seeing that they weren't up to their full potency yet, the jellyfish overlords must have decided to hold off on their attack for a few more years. That was about ten years ago. The first assualt could come at any time...

Yes, beware the jellyfish! Especially those cubozoids, they scare me the most....

I've decided to launch an aggressive campaign against jellyfish. Jellyfish once dominated this planet, and I have it on good authority that they are going for the top again. Unusual concentrations of jellyfish have been found in the waters surrounding the Hague. They're trying to take over the United Nations! Not to worry though, clearly they can't be too cunning if they think the United Nations is the key to world dominance. My plan of action is to establish attack bases at Wal-Marts across North America.

Not if all you have in front of you are words on a page.

I disagree with the premise that extent of vocabulary and extent of communication of thought are necessarily correlated. A person with an extensive vocabulary can still have considerable difficulties with either writing or speaking. Furthermore, speaking and writing are only a minute fraction of communication. I once heard that non-verbal communication accounts for 98% of all communication.

I eternally cling to the hope that someone can be a profound writer if they can't spell... if not, what have I been doing for the past two and a half years? Because let's face it, we all know I can't spell to save my life, but hopefully, I can still be a great writer.... Hopefully.
But it's true that there is a definite correlation between extent of vocabulary and extent of communication of thought... so maybe you can be a successful writer without really being a profound writer, that way, it would appeal to the masses, none of whom can spell....

Natural selection. Only the fit survive.

Can a person really be a profound writer if they can't spell? On the same subject, how important is proper grammar? There are many people who have prolific ideas but are unable to effectively to communicate them through prose. There are also many people, myself included, who have severely limited powers of rhetoric. What happens to those who lack both?

I think I'd go watch the Beatles play live. Or maybe Mozart. But more likely The Beatles.

Haven.

Now the question should be where would you go if you could travel through planes, dimensions, galaxies, realms or time, and had a general ability to transcend any boundary?

Umm, truthfully, I'd probably charge people I didn't know... unless they had a really good cause, then my rates would be flexible... but I'd charge a heck of a lot to people I didn't like, and really, unless I have massive amounts of time on my hands... I'd probably have to charge a little something because I'd have to go with them, and my time doesn't come cheap.... because you can't just let random people walk around in another dimention/time unwatched.... with great power comes great responsibility....

Hell ya...unless there was a life on the line like in Buffy when Willow goes all evil and kills people and tries to destroy the world. Man, I'd be rolling in the dough!

i bet all the money i have in the world that we'd all like to think we'd do the 'right' thing and not charge - but i can't believe that any one of us wouldn't charge some small fee.

hell - what can i say? i have no faith in humankind

Question: If you had the ability to travel through planes, dimensions, galaxies, realms or time, a general ability to transcend any boundary, would you charge people to come with you?

To test my theory.... does everyone remember the knock knock joke that goes... knock knock. Who's there? Banana. Banana who? Knock knock. Who's there? Banana... etc etc etc... until Knock knock. Who's there? Orange. Orange who? Orangechu glad I didn't say banana?
Do you remember how funny that was the first time you heard it? I thought it was ingenious. But now, if someone says it, as soon as they say banana, you know the punch line, and it's neer going to be as funny sa the first time you heard it. So it's not so much cynicism, as just conditioning that makes people hard to impress. And granted, it doesn't apply to every situation, some things never lose their appeal... but for jsut everyday, run of the mill kinda things....

I think that no matter what situation you're in, disappointment is almost inevitable because we always have such high expectations that we're bound to find something that has fallen short

Being disappointed with something implies that there was some kind of expectation though, doesn't it?

I don't think aging necessarily equates with cynicism. I feel like I'm becoming more and more powerful and fulfilled every year, and the positive potential of external reality is always there, just being tricky and elusive sometimes. Which is necessary- otherwise it wouldn't be any fun.
Maybe I'm just incredibly lucky and a little ignorant. Oxygen seems to stimulate the release of endorphins in my system sometimes. And I'm impressed whenever I see the law of gravity still holding. External reality is comforting that way, and never really disappoints me. If I toss my nerf ball into the air, it'll fall back down. If I bite it, it'll taste like nerf. If I study my ass off for a test, I'll do better than if I didn't study.
Simple rules to live by. Study hard and eat nerf.

I'm not really referring to expectations. Expectations, to me are limited to special events. I'm talking about everyday events. The mundane things that make up our lives. I still find the same things funny, take pleasure in the same simple things. It's not so much material reality that I'm referring to. I'm more disappointed with my interactions with people. Not all people, just many people. Many people are a disappointment to me.

It's obvious, isn't it? A simple equation: Aging = Cynicism. We've all grown into cynical bastards who are extremely hard to impress, and who express our dissatisfaction with the world through sarcasm.

So, I'm not sure if this is anywhere along the same lines as your thoughts Sarah... but I was thinking about something the other day... lets see if I can actually get across what I mean...: regarding when external reality ceases to have any positive potential... I'm not sure, but maybe it's just something like expectations become greater as one ages. Like when you're little, the simplest jokes are funny, hilarious, but when you're older, they aren't anymore because you've already heard it so many times that it's lost effect. Maybe it's the same with a lot of things. Normal responses to everyday events aren't good enough anymore, they've lost their positive response. It has to be something extraordinary, or else it's just seen as common, or insignificant. You know what I mean?

I cannot help but sigh. When did I stop sighing out of relief? It does not seem to happen very often anymore. Is there a point in the life of every human being at which external reality ceases to have any sort of positive potential. Reality just seems to disappoint me at every tiny evolution. These are moments that would seem insignificant to most, but to me they are definitive. It seems that every time reality has a chance to prove that it has something to offer to me, someone will inevitably do something so profoundly intolerable that my tiny glimmer of hope disappears into a frenzy of dark, empirical disappointment. My only solace is idealism.

Since when did everyone's blog entries become so very long?
Hehe I like the "IF PARENTS ACTED LIKE BUSH" one.

I have added a new link to the information section which I think is definitely worth the time it takes to check out. If you are interested in getting a better understanding on how corrupt and bankrupt the American government really is, this is the site to see. This site has been in the news lately because of its stance against the Bush administration and because of reactions the Bush administration has taken to it. Also, a particularly brilliant expression of the will of the American public can be found at the Bush in 30 Seconds site.

Humm, I think the only real way that a friendship would break off is if the common bond that the relationship was founded on isn't there anymore, and no new ones have been formed. If that's the case, then what does the relationship have to stand on anymore other than a history, which sometimes is enough to spawn new bonds, but sometimes it isn't, and if you can't find any common ground, where are you going to meet up? Also, I figure a lot of friendships that are formed fast are just because two people or three or whatever) have a lot in common, and just didn't know it before, so if you have a lot in common with someone, doesn't that make for good common ground and bond formation and all? What promped this entire discussion anyways Sarah?

Not what I meant. You asked about friendship that are intense and formed faster than other friendships, and that's what I answered for. And no, you don't break off the friendship. Not unless it deteriorates to a point where it's an unhealthy relationship for one or both of the friends. I believe the people you get to know fast are filling a need, spiritual or other, and that both the friends are having something fulfilled. It's not a selfish, one-sided deal, here.

i think that the reason we are so cautious about relationships is because they get really emotional and deep really fast (unless both people have set separate parametres - like fuckbuddies), and whether we know it or not, we don't give nearly as much of ourselves to friendships because they don't give us the emtional stability and love that a relationship does. I hope i don't sound pessimistic...hrm. I think that friendships start (i agree with sarah) with common ground, and grow to become, i don't know, something unexplicable...a bond between two people that is just short of a romantic relationship - simply because that isn't the purpose of starting a friendship, so already those boundaries are set - whereas, with a relationship - it can go anywhere. Geez, i hope this makes some kind of sense

Ha! I am quite comfortable with my sexuality thank you very much. Also with my vegetarianism. People seem to think I'm much more unstable than I really am. Crazies all of you! Right, so I actually have a point today. What was it? Ah yes. So when you no longer need a certain type of person do you break off a friendship? I don't know that I like the idea of friends being there simply because they fulfill a need. I guess I see it from the opposite direction. For me friendship starts out as a connection through common experience, which becomes an emotional bond. As far as needs go, I think of friends as the people who you hope will help in whatever way they can when you are in need. In terms of friendships developing too quickly, I think it is important to examine what the common connections are between two people and how they interact with one another before they make emotional commitments to one another. This is admittedly very difficult to do as it requires a personal removal from reality, but in many cases it would probably save a lot of... shall we say... unpleasantness?

hmm, I agree with Ciara (not on whether Sarah's quest. her sexuality though... but whatever hehe). And might I say... well put Ciara.... I enjoy your phrasing.

Questioning your sexuality there, Sarah? ;) Seriously though, I don't think friendships can really move too fast...as long as they stay on a friendship level. I just think the people you connect with really quickly and deeply are the kind of people you need in your life right at that time.

Can a friendship move too fast? Can you get in over your head in a friendship? I'm not talking about romantic developments, just a simple friendship. Can a friendship become too close, too intimate in a short span of time? We seem to be quite cautious about who we become involved with in romantic relationships but not in friendships. I don't really understand the grounds for this distinction.

No, m'dear. There's no way you were the spider. We all know you squeal like a girl and make Mike kill them whenever you see one, so the concept of you actually being a spider is absurd.

I was the spider.

Are you saying Bruce Lee is gay???

Disclaimer: Bruce Lee and Kung-Fu have no necessary connection. Yes, the man was a martial arts master, but it must be absolutely clear that the underground does not endorse misconceptions regarding Bruce Lee and his martial arts orientation.

As Real as The Car

Sofie, Christine and I were driving down the street late last night. We were in London. It was dark and rainy. There was no snow and it was surprisingly warm for this time of year. We weren't dressed for winter, which makes me think that perhaps it wasn't this time of year. Christine was driving our small white pinto, and Sofie was navigating, which is odd, because Sofie doesn't know London at all. I was in the back seat wearing my black winter coat.

As we came to the railway tracks at Trafalgar and Hale we saw a vehicle consisting of considerably sized pink vinyl lips and a shabby brown couch much like the one that used to occupy the basement at the Cascade house.

While passing through another intersection we noticed similar pink lips. These lips, however, were much smaller and stood in the middle of the intersection on stubby wooden legs. I happened to be aware at the time that the lips had just moved from the far right corner of the intersection into the middle. As we drove by I saw a phantom of these pink lips standing on the street corner, a vestige of a former life of harlotry.

We had turned left at that intersection, which was odd because I, wearing the white and blue jacket leant to me by Sofie, had the distinct impression that we were heading north, although we were in fact heading away from my house. At this point we found ourselves on Oxford, having somehow just turned off of Clarke, which runs north-south. We were driving westward on Oxford when we saw a dark brown station wagon that was plastered with brightly coloured stickers, giving it the appearance of a well-traveled oversized suitcase à la loony toons.

As we reached the point where Dundas became Oxford (an impossibility) we saw a large transport truck decorated in much the same fashion. At this point we were convinced that a certain art and home furnishings store, with which we were very familiar but which I cannot name at present, had fallen into some form of misfortune. Sure enough, finally driving eastward on Dundas and definitely homeward bound, we saw the store, with it's stylish bright blue signs and neon lights, ablaze.

At this point I suddenly became aware that we were no longer in Sofie's pinto but on an LTC bus. Also, Renata had joined us, but she was not quite herself. She had taken on the physical form of a personality, not a character but a specific type of personality, that I have at some point in my life personified. This personification has a name. I am uncertain at this time but I believe that it may be Peabody. Renata/Peabody made a rather intelligent observation about the state of the store and its merchandise, which I unfortunately cannot remember.

Having arrived at home, my home in reality but not in appearance, we all stood in the kitchen around a white island eating regular lays and drinking coca cola from cans. Ciara, Katie, and Anna had arrived. I cannot recall the conversation, but it was not particularly relevant. There was some discussion of the fire and generally a lot of joke-cracking and laughter.

Later on in the evening after the regular lays were finished and the gathering had dissipated into a few small groupings around the kitchen I, wearing my garnet nylon jacket, noticed a rather large spider on the countertop of the white island. After announcing my discovery the majority of my friends screamed and fussed in extremely girlish manners and I was left to address the issue on my own, while the others cringed but looked on from a distance, forming a broken circle around me within the kitchen.

The spider was a light tan colour, much like those often found within the home. He (there was no doubt that he was, in fact, a he) had six thick legs. Yes, I am aware that this means he was not really a spider. I believe that this is perhaps why he was so irate to begin with. His two middle legs were shorter than the others, and he held them rigid and back at an angle, giving him the perpetual appearance of a runner set to race. As I prepared to strike he motioned as though he was a miniature Bruce Lee, already preparing a Kung-Fu style counter-attack. His mouth, which was decidedly human in appearance and lacked any sign of pincers, contorted as though he were saying "hwaaa" in a stereotypically I-am-a-Kung-Fu-warrior-about-to-make-my-attack style.

I took a magazine and rolled it, aware that I would role it too tight and that the spider was too large to be affected by such a small weapon. Sure enough, my attack was successful only in propelling a now angry spider onto my shirt. Ciara yelled in horror and the others let out varied moans and shrieks. As I tried to bat the spider with the magazine Laura appeared and the party instantaneously returned to normal while I was left to fend for myself.

My only question: Where was Andrea during all of this?

That's true... how else can you explain the car crash, the random tumbles, the nearly being side swiped by a car... really... that's the only true explanation...

That's right Raja. You, as a system, do not tend towards chaos. You are in a permanent state of chaos. Chaos is innate in Raja.

Except me.

All systems tend toward chaos.

What are the necessary preconditions of perfection? If things are all good, does it follow that all things are good. Would it therefore follow that things are perfect? Or does a state of perfection imply that all things are better than good? Must all things be at their best in order to achieve a state of perfection? If this is so, then would it not follow that perfection would be impossible, as all things cannot simultaneously be at their best?

(And both of us laugh heartily) How is that NOT Mr. Skinny?.... Mr. Skinny.
No, you have to weigh more than that.... that's just not possibly... no body who weighs that little as that is as (for lack of a better word) built as you.... or can lift people as easily. Muscle mass weighs more than fat.... and we just don't believe you....

It's a season of returns. Welcome back everyone. Since I'm approximately the only person who really left, welcome back me. As I was saying last year, electronic communication is not real human interaction. One cannot interact with another human being through means of electronic pulses and currents. Electronic communication is an interfacing of electronic and/or digital representations of human beings and communication.