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Mon | October 31, 2005
happy halloween!
I have decided halloween is my favorite holiday. Children come to your house in cute costumes and chirpy little voices. And 4 to 6 year olds are my favorite people. We are giving out kit kats, oh henrys (which I like to think are literary, tho they are def not), and babe ruths. And I got to meet the new neighbor and Olivia, her baby. I actually don't know the new neighbor's name-- she forgot to tell me. She thought I was my sister, which is so horrible because everyone in this town, from the librarian to the new neighbor who hasn't even met Grace, thinks that I am my older sister. It's like I don't exist. Not that I care, it makes no difference to me who they think I am. "Are you Grace?" No, obviously not. Isn't it obvious? Or maybe I just don't like answering the same question over and over again. Maybe I should just start saying, "yes, nice to meet you." Just for a change. And then they will ask me about residency and I will say some bullshit I get from watching Grey's Anatomy.
Now is the time for teenagers, but I think they are probably trick-or-treating around Wickham Way, if things haven't changed.
journal | Posted by Lily at 08:17 PM
Fri | October 28, 2005
party city
Yesterday I got my Jedi costume at Party City. I don't know if it was just this Party City, or some sort of institutionalized bureacracy, but my visit went something like this:
I walked into the store and it was like a messy kid's room. I wandered around hoping I'd find a Jedi costume by myself, because interacting with store people can be somewhat exasperating. Besides, I had never been there and wanted to look around.
I became aware that everyone else in the store was relying on the staff to get them things from the back. So I got the attention of a man in a dark purple polo with an enormous beer belly. I wanted to say, "You should be 'pregnant movie star.'"
I asked him if he had any Jedi costumes.
"Adult or children?" he asked.
"Adult," I said.
He went into the back. Five minutes later he came back. "Nope, no more," he said.
"Do you have any children's?" I asked. "Sometimes I can fit into a large children's size."
He nodded his head and disappeared. Five minutes later he was back again. I wondered if he had a timer, to make you wait the same amount of time each time. "All we have is a medium," he said.
I opened it and it was a polyester print t-shirt and pants that were obviously the size of a seven year old. The pants were hopeless, but I tried the shirt on and it fit perfectly. I mean, it's not supposed to fit perfectly-- it's supposed to hang loosely. But, actually I think it looks better on me fitted like that.
The all-important light saber is absent from my costume because I had gone there a half an hour before a tutoring session and there was not time to engage the store person again. Notice how you can't just say, "get me a costume, everything I need at once." You have to ask for things one at a time.
At any rate I had fun because --well, the place was full of costumes. I looked around and tried on a lavender and white haired wig while waiting for the store guy. The place was full of trivial moms worrying about their children's costumes, but there were also a few guys just hanging around who smiled in approval of my wig. I think next year I will just be, girl in a wig.
The costume, which was not even a real Jedi robe, but a stretchy rayon shirt with the image of a robe printed on it, was a whopping $25. "Wow, that's really steep," I said to the cashier. She nodded.
journal | Posted by Lily at 01:13 PM
Thu | October 27, 2005
the sushi place
Today I went to this sushi place for lunch, because I could tell it was going to be one of those days where unless I get out, I will do a little of everything all day, and thus do nothing. The best thing for me to do on such days is pick a book, pick a notebook, and leave the house. That way the only choices I have are read the book or write in the notebook.
The sushi place had tall booths made of bamboo and wood of the same tan color. It felt spacious and private at the same time. It was a great place to write and I was glad I went. I got there at about 2 and stayed til 3:30. I was a little uneasy about staying too long, especially since they had taken my order, brought the food, and given me the bill all really quickly. But I figured I was justified staying as long as I pleased, especially since it was the middle of the afternoon and no one was there. And so I stayed until I finished a writing exercise. I wanted to do another one but I thought I had better leave. It was my first time there and I thought, I will come back, and maybe stay a little longer next time.
I got up to go. As I walked by the other booths, I saw that there was one person sleeping in each booth. All the employees were napping. Well that is nice, I thought. Sincerely, I was happy for them that they had jobs where they could sleep in the middle of the day if there was nothing to do. There was also something surreal about it-- I felt as if I had walked into a private dormitory.
I looked back on the door as I left and saw a "closed" sign, and reading the hours, found that the place is only open from 11-2:30 for lunch and 5-9:30 for dinner.
journal | Posted by Lily at 12:23 AM
Wed | October 26, 2005
atom films
How to Tell When a Relationship is Over in Ninety Seconds
liens | Posted by Lily at 11:02 PM
Mon | October 24, 2005
City Life
I have noticed that I go through phases of what may be called cabin fever, though calling it that somewhat trivializes the state I am in at these times. I live in suburban New Jersey and I work part time for an income, and the rest of the time I am "trying to be a writer." I do not have nearly enough local friends and am always a bit socially hungry. However, most of my friends and acquaintances would be surprised to hear me say that, because I am fairly good at shelving this when I do see people.
These episodes of cabin fever come somewhat regularly, and I sometimes wonder if they may be attached to the third week of my menstrual cycle. At any rate I had the idea to intercept the cycle by spending a few days at my friend's place in Brooklyn. I called up my friend and he said, "sure!" and that he gets lonely going home to an empty apartment. I had told him that I wanted to try writing in a different setting, for a change of pace, or scene, to see if I would get more done that way. This was true, and was really just another way of stating the same problem. If my cabin fever did not result in distraction, unproductivity, and finally despair, with respect to writing, I would not mind it at all.
My friend happens to be my ex-boyfriend, and he happens to have absolutely broken my heart about a year ago. Because of this I do not feel guilty asking him for anything. Nothing short of a donated kidney could make up the balance sheet between us. That makes it sound as if I am not really over it, but I know myself pretty well, and I know the relationship even better, and I am well over it all. I have forgiven and forgotten-- but I have the archives should they ever need to be retrieved.
We sat on the couch in his living room-kitchen, after having gone to dinner, after he met me, much later than he had given the impression he would meet me, at the cafe near his apartment.
"Do you want to sleep here, or in there?" he asked, pointing to his bedroom.
"And you would sleep here?" I asked hopefully.
"No, we would both sleep there. I think we could manage it," he said, without the least bit of suggestiveness.
"I think I had better sleep out here," I said neutrally.
That night I woke several times to rustling. Was it the shades? The windows were closed. I could see the streetlight through the interstices of the venetian blinds. There was no movement, although I stared until it seemed there might be. I feared that great New York fear, the everyday fear, of vermin. It sounded like the rustling of plastic bags or foil. It took a few wakeups to think of this. My senses were heightened as I tried to localize the sound. I could only fall asleep by saying to myself, it's only the wind.
In the morning I got up and brushed my teeth. Eric had left his dishes in the sink. I washed them. Then continuing with the cleaning theme I took a look at the counter. He had left the cutting board out with crumbs on it, and more crumbs on the counter. I remembered noting this habit of his a year ago when I had been there last. I emptied the cutting board into the sink and then used the board to catch the remaining crumbs as I wiped them off the table with a paper towel. It was then that I noticed the unmistakable sight of mice droppings on the counter by the wall. They are like dried henna, as it chips off your skin-- except they are shaped specifically as tiny long thin pellets. I swept them onto the cutting board and considered whether I would tell him what I had found. He would question how I knew those were mice droppings and I would say, when I worked at A&G we had a mouse problem and it kept us engaged for a few weeks.
I did not come to fill lacks in Eric's domestic duties, and I knew I must stop or I'd be cleaning the whole apartment. I did one more thing-- I wet the paper towel and gave the steel counter a wipedown. The upturned towel was black with soot. I felt a renewed gratefulness for my mother's neatness at home. As well as my own.
The rest of the day was much like any other day, with writing alternating with what must be called daydreaming. The difference was that I took the subway into Manhattan at around 4, to hang about a different cafe, and meet with a friend for an hour at around 5, and then go to Kurt Vonnegut's reading at around 6:30. However the reading was cancelled and I only met with the friend.
That night during the course of our conversation I diplomatically related my findings of the morning. "Oh, I know," he said.
"I thought I was breaking bad news."
"No," he said.
"And last night, I heard a sound like rustling, of aluminum foil--"
"I had a roll in a plastic bag," he said, "and there was a hole in it this morning about this deep." He held up his hand with his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. I was vaguely reminded of fish stories, wherein the teller brags about his catch.
He had gotten out two conjoined glossy styrofoam squares. "My landlord gave me these about a year ago," he said. "They smell like bananas and peanut butter."
"Your habits make the mice come," I said. "That won't really change anything."
"Well," he said, ignoring me, "should I put them out now or--"
"Wait until I'm gone," I said.
"Right."
Now I am back in New Jersey and the rain is clean and refreshing. I slept very late this morning. I might have had some catching up to do, because Eric's place also has a lot of street traffic noise, and I have never slept really well there, mice or no mice.
As I was thinking it all over I realized that he must have eaten the roll.
nonfiction | Posted by Lily at 10:47 PM
Sun | October 23, 2005
halloween costumes
I was hanging with Eric last night at Soda, after Will and Astrid left, and we started talking about halloween costumes. Will is having a halloween party that I am only marginally invited to.
Eric said that a good costume is one of the fad celebrities of the year. "Like last year was Paris Hilton," he said.
"What was Will last year?" I asked.
He said a name I didn't recognize and that I don't remember now, and that I don't care to google-- but it was that guy who messed up the baseball game by catching the ball (I don't remember the guy's name, or what team it was).
"So what would this year be?" he asked, somewhat rhetorically, thinking to himself.
"Well there's the runaway bride," I said. Eric's eyes lit up but rightaway I was disgusted with the idea. Talk about pointless news, and inane people.
"Pregnant," I said. "Pregnant movie stars are the fad of the year." And it would be such an easy costume. Just wear a big dress and tie a pillow around your waist.
If I went to a costume party I would still want to be a Jedi. It isn't very sexy but it's what I want to be the most. Either that or Avril Lavigne. That was the other idea I had, awhile ago, while listening to her songs.
I like that I have friends who want me to think of creative or clever costume ideas, instead of just, bunny ears and a corset.
journal | Posted by Lily at 12:07 AM
Sat | October 22, 2005
a respite in new york, and friendster scares me once again
I stayed my friend eric's place for a few of days for a change of scene. I got back to find that no one had really emailed me, which means I probably don't need to check email every day, as I usually do. I'll just check it every other day.
I also found that since as early as October 10th friendster has had a bizarre new feature that lets you see who viewed your profile. Why am I always the last to know these things? I need friends who tell me when things like this happen. I racked my brain but couldn't really remember whose profiles I viewed the last time I logged in.
At any rate, they scared me for a second there. Luckily you can turn that shit off. I looked at who's viewed me, and there were only five people listed. Four people I don't know, two of which were smileys (sans pix). The only one I knew was Allen, who claims he's my cousin. Apparently he's the only one who is more clueless than I am.
Maybe it's not so bad, as it is only showing those who viewed my profiles since 10/22, which is today. If it resets it every day then you won't be able to get too much information from it.
Anyway. I have a tendency to write about the smallest things, and never get around to the big stuff. Like how I have been in new york for the past few days. And now I have to go to bed, because I need to get up at 9 am tomorrow.
journal | Posted by Lily at 11:26 PM
Wed | October 19, 2005
this morning
this morning I went on a jog and came home to find out that I had not left the door unlocked.
I rang the doorbell, because henry is home, but the problem is that I bought him these noise-blocking headphones and so he doesn't hear anything. I rang the doorbells-- the side door and the front door-- and knocked on the door until my hand hurt. I threw sticks at his window. They fell apart upon hitting the screen. I think the recent week of rain had softened them. Then I got the garden hose and sprayed his windows with water. That was a pretty good idea (not to mention a lot of fun) but it didn't work. So I ran to phil's and used his phone to call and leave a message.
Now I am at the library. I emailed henry but he doesn't check email that often. Basically there is no way to get in touch with him. or to get into the house. Phil offered to break the window. "No," I said, I will go to the library. He had started to show me his coin collection but I was really not interested. I suppose I will read back issues of harpers and writer.
journal | Posted by Lily at 12:52 PM | comment
tonight
tonight I went to a-- what was it? a bunch of people in a room who happened to go to the same college. I hardly talked to the people I was most interested in. And one person I wanted to meet-- I didn't even talk to him! I wound up next to him, talking to this guy who, years ago, according to him, we were in multivariable calculus together. I do vaguely remember that. We picked up right where we left off-- pleasant chatting, happier chatting, then the gradual realization that if I did not extricate myself immediately, I'd have him asking me for my number. I think that's basically what happened seven years ago, except tonight we covered it in seven minutes. So hey I thought I let that go too long, but maybe I am becoming more efficient. But no, I still stayed too long, even after I realized what was happening. I talk to people all the time, whom I have no interest in. I am even friends with them. I can relax because there's nothing at stake. That is sort of a problem with me: I talk reflexively, but as soon as I try the reflex will never happen. I have survived so far this way so I suppose it is not fatal. I give up trying to fix it. Not that I have tried very hard. But I cannot think about it anymore. Not now anyway.
This not-talking bit, to the very people I want to talk to-- the same thing happened with Amy Tan tonight. I went to her book reading and she seemed like a nice person. talkable. I lingered at the end, and gradually there were only a few people around her, I could have easily stepped in-- but I did not know where to begin. Everything, every line, opening gambit, in my head, seemed stupid, irrelevant, insufficient. So I turned around and left. But I am still better off for having gone, even if the best didn't happen. I saw yet another real-life writer. I have been observing them like creatures at a zoo. And I ran into Flo. It is nice to see her. She's got good energy. She gave me a press copy of the book, which at least gave me the chance to go up and get it signed. Which opportunity I squandered by asking the author about the jacket she was wearing, which was really cool. It was a chartreuse brocade with a lofty circular collar. There was something just slightly space-agey about it without being too weird. I should start bringing my digital camera around, because Shirley would have liked to see it.
In sum, I said about two words to the people who mattered and about three thousand words each to the people who didn't matter so much. But a room full of friendly people will always make me happy, and there will always be something that didn't happen.
In conclusion, I give up.
journal | Posted by Lily at 02:19 AM
Tue | October 18, 2005
how to think of topics for a short story
I contributed an article to wikiHow, called how to think of topics for a short story. It was fun.
I don't know how wikiHow or wikipedia really work, though, so I'm going to resist the temptation to write a billion articles, only to have them edited to death.
Écriture | Posted by Lily at 02:15 AM | comment
Mon | October 17, 2005
Jun Choi
his opponent said something like "I think people want to preserve some sense of country" on the news today. I don't even watch the news but I have heard about Jun Choi running for mayor of Edison a few times. There was that incident with the local Edison radio station over the summer.
101.5 radio station controversy
There is a lot of thinly veiled and overt racism surrounding this election. I feel like I've blogged about it before... no... I sent an email to my writing group about it. Anyway, I used to work in Edison and it has a strong Asian community. Then after that I worked in New York, but the owner of the small business lived in Edison. I wonder if I called him up and told him to vote, whether he would do it.
liens | Posted by Lily at 07:59 PM | comment
Fri | October 14, 2005
wish come true
"Lil-y" he said somewhat lamely. Just slightly.
He never says my name. He never has to get my attention, as he did last night when he came out of his room and talked to me from the hall. My door happened to be ajar.
He found a convention for us to go to, by Digital Life. It’s tomorrow.
Hey wow— ask and you shall receive. Recently I’ve been saying, "where are we going to go on vacation?" because I think we both need a change of scene.
"Lil-y," he said, "I found someplace for vacation."
I am not so interested in the convention, actually. Anything that involves going to the Javits center and wandering among makeshift cubicles of junk (even if it is shiny cool electronic junk) will probably drain me and fill me with despair. It's like being at Costco.
However I am interested in getting my brother out of the house. Henry wants to check out Phantasy Star Universe. And I am also interested in being his sidekick, which I have always been in the best of times. When I haven't had the energy or confidence to be his supporter, things have gone wrong for both of us. It's a sign of a lack of faith in myself, in my ability to handle it all, to take care of him as well as myself. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy. And the faltering seems to trickle down to him somehow. Or maybe I feel too responsible for things.
journal | Posted by Lily at 02:36 PM | comment
Tue | October 11, 2005
picture of Lily
Ma inec in ochii tai,lal-la-lei/ Plange lumea dupa ei,lal-la-lei/ Esti un inger pe Pamant Despre tine cant si zi zi noapte,lal-la-lei/ Ma trezesc cu tine-n gand/ Despre tine vreau sa cant/ Melodia mea de dor/ Care place tuturor/ Nu raspunsi la SMS/ Eu iti scriu atat de des/ Poate m-am purtat urat/
Dar sa stii ca te-am iubit/ refren(2x)/ Ma inec in ochii/ tai,lal-la-lei/ Plange lumea dupa ei,lal-la-lei/ Esti un inger pe Pamant Despre tine cant si zi zi noapte,lal-la-lei// Daca mergi cu mine-n vis/ Am sa te invat sa razi/ Si-am sa-ti cant pana in zori/ Cantecelul meu de dor// Ma inec in ochii/ tai,lal-la-lei/ Plange lumea dupa ei,lal-la-lei/ Esti un inger pe Pamant Despre tine cant si zi zi noapte,lal-la-lei// Daca mergi cu mine-n vis/ Am sa te invat sa razi/ Si-am sa-ti cant pana in zori/ Cantecelul meu de dor//
nonsense | Posted by Lily at 01:41 PM | comment
Sun | October 09, 2005
KGB
I ran into Todd at KGB. This doesn't happen to me, I don't run into people, mostly because I am not out that often.
I mostly remember Todd Zuniga for channeling Willy Wonka in a dapper suit. Or maybe that's what I envision because I friendster stalked him and he's wearing a velvet blazer in his photo. Or maybe he's not but this is how I envision him in my head. No, I'm not in love with him. I don't know him. I can count on my fingers the things that I know about him. One— if he won 3K, he would "go to Paris, ASAP!" That's what he wrote to me in an email. I had written, "if I won 3K I would throw a party. what would you do?" He had emailed me about a writing contest, which expired about two seconds after he emailed it to me. I mean, not me personally, but, me and however million people he knows.
Two, I went to his Opium reading and he is kind of effeminate and flowy in his movements, shall we say gay? without actually being gay, while being clearly straight. Which you know by the way he looks at you. That, really, is how you tell. Like my MCM TA in college. I knew she was gay because of the way she looked at me. I can still remember that moment when, after class, when a few people were standing around to ask questions/ discuss things, and I was waiting my turn, she looked over and winked at me. Twice.
In retrospect that was really obvious. But Chrissa disagreed, years later, when I told her on the phone that that had happened. Maybe she had something in her eye, she said. No, I told her, she turned her head and winked. It was very deliberate. Chrissa didn't think it necessarily meant that, but she wasn't there. I mean, actually, she was, right next to me, at the time, but she didn't notice it. I turned to her to see if she saw, but she hadn't. She was thinking about film theory while I was formulating personal theories about everyone. I did this especially in humanities classes, rather than science classes. I hardly ever speculated about the people in those classes. Except for Hannah, who seemed to hate me for no, fucking, reason. Like she hated me. I swear, I have no idea why. I have turned this puzzle around in my head for years.
I would have doubted it except that she did it twice. Did it once, went back to talking for about thirty seconds, then looked over again. Why did she do that? So that is my gay experience.
The reason I am perpetually single, perhaps fated to be permanently so, is that I live off of these snippets. If I had a real relationship, like with Eric, there would just be too much to analyze. so much would be happening at once, all the time. He could never keep up with me, in the number of thoughts being had about the relationship. I always had a million and he had none. I think, in a way, you are only evenly matched, well matched with someone, if you have about the same number of thoughts in your head about something. or at least certain things, that are very important to you. or at least, about the relationship itself. if you don't have equal amounts of thought, one of you gets frustrated.
I said goodbye without even talking to him. There's that part of me that doesn't want to admit that I want anything.
This is why when Nick said, "I hope to see you again," I said the alienating conversation stopper, "I hardly ever go out. I live in New Jersey."
I really said that, I swear. I didn't even mean it as a back off (as opposed to a come on). I just said what was in my head. Nick is this other guy that was there.
I am a writer because I always say the worst thing. And then I rewind and revise it in my head on the train ride home.
"I hope to see you again," he says.
"Well do you want my number?" I say pleasantly.
You know-- he said it casually. "I hope to see you again," while, like, moving, like already on his way out. There was no stopping for the collection or exchange of numbers. That's why I kind of said whatever the hell I felt like, which was completely the wrong thing to say.
And then he looked put off, about new jersey, and I said "it’s ok," because I really am ok with it, now, for the most part. and he said, "well denial is a stage," or something like that. He was putting on his jacket. "I’m past it," I said. we were still acting friendly. we had just started to say mean things. but they didn't feel mean. they only look mean on the page. I swear the conversation was pleasant and cheery. But he probably felt like I had put him off when I was just like, you’ll never see me again. God, the more I review it the worse that conversation was. This is why I never talk to people.
Real life isn't like Sex and the City (or any television show or movie I've seen recently). Sex and the City is this La-La Land, where people just say and do these impossible things and relationships start in these impossible ways. They start just like that. It's a snap!
Everything is snappy on television and horribly wrong in real life. If even writers can't say the right thing, how will anyone end up with anyone?
After Nick and Tao went, I put on my jacket and left also, immediately, like in the next twenty seconds. Then I realized I was inadvertently following them and so went in a deli and stood there for about thirty seconds, and then resumed walking. And then I regretted being so honest because I actually wanted to follow them, but knew that I shouldn't, but that they would never have found out.
I am not religious but I say, "oh my god," "I swear," all the time. I picked it up from growing up in waspy chatham.
I am a writer because I analyze what I just said, and say, why did I say that? where did those words come from? They came from my head. But they also came from everything I've heard previously.
It never ends.
Three, he's tall, reminiscent of string, and kind of a goofball. He is allegedly like, 30, which I neither believe nor disbelieve. It's a hypothesis to be tested. Shirley's friendster says she's 41, because that's how old she feels.
I am too old for him anyway. I gather he's two or three years out of school. He looks older. He looks like he could be my age. I look like I could be his age. If you want to see me again you must have my number, I say archly. At any rate I want more writer friends, they need not be love interests. They need not be older; I am young as a writer.
I would know if I were in love. I am just crazy, I replay all these things in my head for no reason. And now I type them out for no reason. They're not even important, they are a look, a glance, a movement of the arm. I look at them again and again. I am not in love with them, but in a way, I am, in love with all of them.
I walked briskly home tonight. I walked faster than usual because I felt happy. I wondered, is the pace that people in general, walk, in the city— you know, there is a definite pace, that people generally walk, en masse, on the sidewalk, and you run into trouble if you are walking slightly slower or slightly more quickly— is that a reflection of the city's overall happiness?
nonfiction | Posted by Lily at 11:30 PM | comment
Thu | October 06, 2005
come again
Who reads this anyway? I can see in my site stats that a number of different IP addresses visit the site, but have no idea who any of them are. The reason I ask is, I am about to tell about my little trip today. It was all in the name of writing, I swear.
I went to an 'erotic emporium,' for a book reading, which wasn't a book reading, but a book signing, or a prostitute (sorry, I don't know the euphemism for the word) sitting on a stool by the counter, surrounded by plastic penises and other sex toys that were mostly some variation on that same theme. And then there was a surprisingly steady flow of creepy men, just slimy, gross men, I mean who literally looked slimy-- moist, clammy-looking, with oily skin, or just, long-unwashed hair. and long hair. long and long-unwashed. ahh!
I'm fairly unadulterated and this was out of character for me. It was scary. But also silly and exciting at the same time. I felt like I was another person. I certainly had never met people like that, only ignored them, as best I could, on the subway, or wherever they lurk. Somehow in the context of the store they were talkable. Talkable meaning, I could talk to them. Don't tell me that's not a word.
Oh and there was a book, which as far as I could tell was soft porn packaged in a cheery tone. It reminded me of that exercise we did in writing class, where we took a story, and wrote it in different tones: sad, happy, old, and young. I wasn't really great at that.
Actually-- it's not soft porn, it's just porn. I bought the book, it's right here, I've taken it out. I opened it and read just the first page. I don't even know what soft porn is, but this seems a bit too frank to be called soft. Anyway, the book is a manifestation of Asian obliviousness. Starting from this blissfully white cover with its yellow condoms that are the eyes in this smiley face, it's hard to describe, here is the amazon link, and block of magenta color at the bottom. And ending... well I haven't read it, so I don't know where it all ends. At any rate I'm sure it never portrays prostitution as the demeaning act that it is. The position is that they're respectable professionals. That's right, position.
But wait, she's Asian, yeah, that's why I was interested, really, because I want to save Asian culture from itself, and from the problems it gets into by being itself, and this is definitely one of the problems. This author is an ex-prostitute, actually (she's made a career change to writing, hurrah!), but why are there so many Asian prostitutes? I think they are unaware of how degrading it is. Things I will sort out later. Why am I writing so much? I have to go.
But wait, why did I buy the book? To be polite, really, because I hung around for so long, and because I liked her. And because I wanted her to like me. It would be nice to earn her implicit trust, and become friends. I would be a good friend. I told her about the Tale of Genji. And she wants to be more erudite, I can tell. Ultimately I'd benefit her more than she would benefit me. Currently I have a lot to learn from her about how to go about being a writer. She wrote for salon.com, she had a sex column. And I have nowhere to go but up.
If it did happen, it would be very gradual, a Jamesian progress, and over a long period of time, just here and there. It would be nice if I just met one really great person who would work closely with me and guide me along. They don't even need to be that great, or that close. They just need to be there. But I think what will happen with me is that I'll have to cobble it together from what little I pick up here and there. From many of these little appetizers I will try to make a meal.
nonfiction | Posted by Lily at 11:26 PM | comment
Tue | October 04, 2005
movable type 3.2 etc.
I now have dreamweaver on my laptop, along with a bunch of other macromedia programs, which is pretty cool, though I don't think I'll have much reason to use it.
I rearranged a lot of the programs on my start menu and now I'm afraid my computer will spontaneously combust.
It took me til now to read the movable type news, from 8.25.05, that they have released movable type 3.2. I am probably supposed to be excited about this because it has new features, but I'm kind of like, I can't keep up with this. I haven't had time to settle into movable type as it is, and now they are changing it already. but I think it will be ok for me to just use what I have, and not worry about keeping up with it until I am ready.
or did I know about this? now that I'm thinking about it I think I already knew. it is probably somewhere in my blog twenty posts ago. I am just thinking about it again.
I am also thinking about making a photoblog. just to see if I can.
you can waste a lot of time doing this stuff.
Web/Tech | Posted by Lily at 03:03 PM | comment
Mon | October 03, 2005
odd times to be awake
someone emailed me at 5 am this morning. I don't know whether he was up very late, or very early. It is one of those things you wouldn't have noticed except the person himself points it out. Why am I emailing you at 5 am?! I don't know!
sometimes I am up late, and very rarely I am up early... but never as late as 5 AM and never as early. that is the oddest time to be awake. I would say 4, 5 AM is the time that I am pretty much guaranteed to be asleep.
It would be cool to have a graph of whether I was awake or asleep at any particular hour. Like, of all the 5 AM's I've lived through, how many times have I been awake? probably close to zero. But, like 3 AM, I'd be awake more often than the average person, I think. But still not very often. If I am up late it will be only til around 2. These days that counts as late for me.
journal | Posted by Lily at 01:37 PM | comment
Sun | October 02, 2005
journal
some people leave the tv on all the time; we leave the computer on all day.
no one has emailed me since the last time I checked four hours ago.
class was pretty good this morning.
I am in a good mood
I'm killing time before the 1:31 train.
I don't usually check email so often. Once during the day and once at night, perhaps.
I made this notebook, or I took this notebook and put a cover on it and made it cool. Now it has Yoda on it.
I want to be a Jedi for Halloween.