les rêveries merveilleuses de la pomme

the dreaded nonfiction piece

Yes, time and time again I will announce my hatred for nonfiction. Not nonfiction in general, please don't get me wrong, I've read some pretty amazing nonfiction in my time. The fact of the matter is my own nonfiction. Somehow Henry David Thoureau has entered my brain and turned a simplistic story into some monster rant on the destruction of nature for profit. I am scared. Yet, somewhere Walden pond is having a damned good laugh. Wish me luck, the 5,000 word piece is due tommorow. I haven't even hit 1,000 words. INSPIRATION PLEASE!

I'll console myself with Joshua Radin and copious amounts of French chocolate.

college life.

The second semester is upon me. I have one more day to sleep my brains out before I'm subjected to three weeks of supreme torture, living off of Ramen and Nyquil and giving up sleep to write three thousand term papers due the next day. Yeah, college is kind of intense at times. And when I say "at times" I mean all hours of the day. It's hard when you have to work two jobs on top of all of it.

And, that concludes my rant on the semester beginning. Here's to sleepless nights:

I submit a philosophy of life which has served me well for the past couple of years. I call it Metabolic Fascism.

There are several basic tenets to this philosophy, but one provides the foundation for the rest: You Are At War With Your Body.

Picture a table. A lobbyist for your brain sits on one side, a lobbyist for your body on the other. They are pushing their respective interests as you go through your life. In a democratic regime, one might overhear something like this during a normal day:

BODY: Nothing like a good, hearty breakfast to kick-start the day.
BRAIN: Yeah...I feel some serious creativity coming on. It's gonna be a banner day for original thought. Can we arrange a little rush
from a relevant gland to start things off?
BODY: Why, sure. (Drains a mug of java...) There we go.
BRAIN: Thanks.

(Some eight hours later.)

BODY: Okay, it's about time to wind things down.
BRAIN: But...
BODY: C'mon, it'll be better in the morning if we quit now.
BRAIN: Aw, okay.

(After some interval, sleep, then repeat cycle.)

Now, this has its obvious advantages. Brain and body maintain a working camaraderie, the cycle of ups and downs is never too extreme or debilitating, and the productivity of the two working in tandem is fairly consistent and predictable.

On the other hand, come the day when classes start again and your professor is breathing down your neck you might HAVE to trash that comfy little system for something a little more, well, authoritarian. My solution is simple:metabolic fascism. Not when you have to crank it out, but ALL the time.
To wit:

BODY: Not coffee AGAIN.
BRAIN: You don't want it, throw it up. But don't bother me. Have somedessert.
BODY: Marlboro Lights a la carte. Delectable. My lungs look like Fire-stones.
BRAIN: Listen. I'm on the verge of a universe-tilting breakthrough. I don't need your sniveling.
BODY: Are we gonna get some sleep this week?
BRAIN: Yeah, yeah.

(Some 14 hours later.)

BODY: Look, man, I'm gonna die here. I wanna go to bed.
BRAIN: SILENCE!

(Rains vicious blows upon the Body Lobbyist until he sinks beneath the table, a simpering lump of protoplasm.)

(Some 10 hours later, the Body Lobbyist has risen from beneath thetable, wearing full body armor and a catcher's mask.)

BODY: Sleep. Now.

(The Brain lobbyist produces a dreadnought Louisville Slugger, festooned with nails, and clubs the Body Lobbyist senseless.)

BRAIN: Where was I?

(Some eight hours later, the Body Lobbyist rises and leaves the room. The Brain Lobbyist, deep in some amphetamine-induced trance, fails to notice. Several minutes later the Body Lobbyist re-enters, carrying a bazooka. He liberally distributes the Brain Lobbyist about the room.)

BODY: Sleep. Now.

(Perhaps 20 hours later, another Brain Lobbyist enters the room. Repeat cycle.)

There are tradeoffs to this methodology, sure. But theadvantages are overwhelming.

First, it's more honest. After all, the first time a deadline or a good
idea rolls around, you're gonna shaft your body anyway, right? Why not accustom yourself to those inevitable caffeine fests BEFORE they descend on your unsuspecting, pampered physiognomy?

Second, there is no better way to accumulate a comprehensive, detailed knowledge of one's body than by abusing it regularly. Whereas most humans can only recognize vague, ambiguous bodily states and applyalmost meaningless words like "good," "bad," "tired" and "rested" to the way they feel, a metabolic fascist becomes sensitive to the most subtle
changes in his system. He learns to check his pulse by noting the frequency of the shaking in his hands. He learns to check his blood pressure by gauging the accuracy with which he hits the reboot switch.

That conclude's Sunday's post...

social punching bag.

Cold weather turns attitudes nasty.

Working with the public does not help me in any case. Especially a very frostbitten public. Today, in the market while I was checking, a vast amount of people must have had a virus attacking their central manners system. A lady screamed, and I mean scream in the literal nasty vicious term of screaming, when i went to put her groceries in a bag so that she wouldn't be juggling items in the frozen tundra on the way to her car. "DID I ASK YOU TO BAG THOSE???!!! GIVE THEM TO ME NOW, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU???!!!!!!!" I meekly shoved her purchases in her outstretched arms in a dazed state. Why are people so aggravated all the time?

Its not that hard to be courteous for at least two minutes while some poor menial minimum wage slave makes your day flow a little smoothly. We have to be nice to the customers, its our job, so I can't exactly say what I normally would in any situation. Why can't they at least try? People can really be irritating sometimes. When I'm working, it really makes my day when a customer is GENUINELY nice to me and tries to make me feel a little better after a serious "bitch-session". They smile, thank me, joke around a bit, and you know what, I appreciate it. Seriously, the nice people won't have any Karma debt on their hands.

So remember, the menial working class is NOT YOUR PUNCHING BAG SOCIETY!!!

Remember that we are people too. We clean up after your table after you carelessly dump sweet and sour pork everywhere and leave a bible verse as a tip. Jesus is not going to pay my way through college people!

Be kind, rewind.

the lonesome foodie.

I feel like one of those bride-to-be's that orders all kinds of pretty dinnerware on her wedding registry so that one day, she can have all of her friend's over for a lovely dinner party but ends up having to put the dinnerware in boxes eventually because she realizes that people don't appreciate dinner parties in this century anymore and that she forgot to mention that she hasn't made any friends in her new neighborhood yet...

I just made a cake. A really good one. But I don't have anyone to eat it. So, out of guilt for myself I tried eating some of it, but then I feel guilty eating it because I realize that I just ate cake and then start wondering how many calories are in this cake and wow, I really wish I had friends to eat my goddam cake. I go on cooking/baking binges where I will bake wonderful full course meal only to realize that, while cooking it was very enjoyable, I'm missing out on the people to eat it. I used to have little dinner parties with my friends on the weekends. It was wonderful because I could get all my cooking angst over with and my friends could eat and we could talk in the candle light on fancy dishes and have a swell old time.

Now I've become the unsocial moth that lurks in dark corners with a skillet. The wallflower at the Foodie prom. If I got all the people I consider "close" to me or friends...or even my boyfriend together, it probably wouldn't work out because secretly...they all hate each other. Augh, fuck peace. Is there anyone out in rural Montana that enjoys formal dinner parties, seriously? Or is it all about the buckwild drinking fests that only serves stale pretzels and sluts?

Am I going to have to retire my oven mitts? Is the china pattern going extinct? I may need to sit down...oh wait...blast it...I AM sitting down. Seriously, the invite is open, and I have lots of tea cake left...which I will RESIST eating even though its quite delightful...

hello, holga.

Holga came in the mail today. No, not a Russian mail order bride, a Lomography camera. I know it sounds creepy, but my camera, is totally my friend. This is where the term 'nerd' comes in. Yeah, I'm practically friendless and have to turn to technology for companionship. Nonetheless, I love Holga. Lomography, in any other words, is God in indie-DIY culture. I'm almost dirt-poor seeing as I have to pay my way through college, and digital cameras are so unethical and non-artsy, therefore, getting a cheap manual camera is equivilant to Buddha's 1/8 of a second enlightenment.

I'm very glad I took that 18 day photography course seeing as I'm quite the little amateur photographer. I can disassemble and reassemble the little manual cameras (120's and 35mm). Although, my composition almost failed in the classroom. I LOVE obscurity. I love portraits. I love obscure portraits of people. So, for my class projects, that's what I did. Everyone in the class took (and I swear) pictures of the same things. You couldn't tell their work apart. For example: everyone took a picture of a dog, a tree, and a fence. Same angles, same views, same boring blah blah blah. Yet, you could always tell which one's were mine, the pictures of girls laying in the grass with the sun illuminating their hair, or people shopping for bread in the supermarket, all quite the same, yet actually not. My pictures, of course got the worse reviews from my classmates...but why? Because they weren't like everyone elses. They couldn't grasp the overall significant concept I was portraying with my photos. No, it wasn't just a fence that I happened to take a snapshot of to get an assignment over. No. I did it for a meaning. Feng shui of photography. That girl's arm was in that particular spot because it meant something. Augh. People are losing the poetry in their minds.

That's why I bought Holga. The original camera I had been using, I loaned from someone, so, I had to buy my own. I own a digital camera, but there is something digital cameras lack. Mystery. Imperfection. I want that in a camera. So, once I can locate 120 size film...which I may have to buy online, I am going to mark the obscurity that roams the world. I am going to put it on film. Maybe, if I'm proud enough, I'll make an inquiry about getting it displayed. I want to tell the world something without using words. I want them to figure it out. Bring thinking back to humanity. That is what I want to achieve with my friend Holga.

the new year

I've been neglecting my blogging duties since before Christmakkuh. So, to recap the the very last moments of the year... all I can say for the moment is: Saddam Husseing is dead. My menorah caught on fire. Gerald Ford is dead. Last night I met the prettiest boy on the Eastern Seaboard. James Brown is dead. We rang in the New Year by watching the ball drop on television in New York City...which was followed by footage of Saddam Hussein wearing a noose...and the world's fattest man. I truly know...that I live in America.

Goodbye 2006. Goodbye popular culture. Goodbye...America?

I decided that this year I will not mope about so much and whine. And hate-blog about it. It's such a damper on my Karma to be so whiny and misunderstood all the time. The brooding isn't getting me anywhere...I realized this on New Year's Eve. At the "party" I ended up sitting in the corner with cookies while everyone was chatting it up. Everytime I had input on the conversation...it went unnoticed. So, I have a stomachache from all the blasted cookies and I was very pissed and my mood was misinterpreted as being very tired. I spent three hours contemplating blog topics I was so tragically unamused. But this I can say: "I went to a New Year's Eve Party." Not quite the elaborate schindigs I'm so very much used to with fountains of alcohol, DJ's, shiny party hats and French people. After you go to a party like that, everything else is one damned dissapointment.

I'm also going to try not to be so bloody homesick all the time. I think its my number one cause of moping. There we go again with the moping. No wonder people never call me back.

In 2007 I want to take pictures. Lots and lots of wonderful pictures. This morning I ordered myself a Lomography German Holga camera with optical lenses. Its an experimental piece and I'm dying to play with it. I've come to the conclusion that I want to major in photography. Screw writing for some paper. I realized that I'm happier when I can express myself through an image. If only amazon.com could ship my camera faster.

In 2007 I'm going to wear cute shoes. Or no shoes. Yay for shoes.

In 2007 I am going to take a mind blowing roadtrip.

In 2007 I am going to campaign for something.

In 2007 I will take more time to read MORE MORE MORE books.

In 2007 I want to learn a new language and perfect my French.

In 2007 I want to make an independently produced film.

In 2007 I am going to further my Greenpeace activism.

...and in 2007...I will make my blog better.

HAPPY NEW YEAR. *cue party blowers and confetti*

even though it sucked meeting you at first 2007, i'm sure we will get along quite well in the end.

This concludes the first post of 2007.

Hare Krishna Hare Krishna/Krishna Krishna Hare Hare/Hare Rama Hare Rama/Rama Rama Hare Hare

A side note...Times Square, please never book Panic at the Disco as your entertainment AGAIN.