Colored Ink
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miss something? check the archives about me name: n/aaliases: kit, kits, kit kat, the smart girl, foxay, an chin age: 20 location: oakland, ca hobbies: anime, manga, comic books, reading, writing, doodling, video games likes: all of the above, being lazy, mushrooms, animals, food, laughing loudly in public, SUSHI dislikes: nuts, stinging/biting insects, religious fanatics, violence, olives contact: coloredink(at)gmail.com wishlist playstation 2car a good night's sleep money stress-free life trigun long colt keychain ipod hardon-kardon speakers 19" flatscreen monitor world peace realistic wishlist dvd-romlucifer vol 7 transmetropolitan vol 3-10 sandman vol 4 long-term obsessions anime/mangayaoi/shounenai/slash writing music animals life and living current obsession(s) smallvillecurrently reading the dark is rising by susan coopercurrently watching hana yori dango (20)utena (23) witch hunter robin (18) naruto (58) get backers (27) rose of versailles (19) matantei loki ragnarok (15) scrapped princess (14) peacemaker kurogane (15) fullmetal alchemist (28) sailormoon live action (25) smallville (2.19) |
Thursday, April 7, 2005 [link] 01:27 p.m. listening to: "Opportunities" - Petshop Boys One of the advantages to living in my room is the early warning system. I can hear anyone coming down the stairs quite easily unless they're purposely trying to sneak up on me. So I opened the door just before Eleanor knocked this morning, still clad in boxers and t-shirt and chewing my just-prepared smoked turkey sandwich. I eat a lot of sandwiches these days. "I was wondering if you want to go to the Sequicentennial thing," she said, "in the interest of free food." I vaguely remembered deleting the several emails I'd received in my Mills inbox advertising the Sequicentennial. I hadn't thought to check for food. These things usually have pretty good catering. But on the other hand, I'd already prepared two sandwiches. "What time is it?" I asked. "It's--" Eleanor checked her watch. "Like, right now." I waffled, eyeing my whiteboard, which still had "sleeping" written on it. "It said 'light luncheon,'" Eleanor prompted. I thought of curry scone sandwiches. "I'm there." "All right. Put some pants on, girlie." I quickly pulled on shorts and a different t-shirt, splashed some water on my face, and ran a brush through my hair. I found Eleanor in her room, checking details and looking for her ID card. "It's supposed to be from 12:15 to 1:00 at the art museum, light luncheon followed by presentations," she reported. "Can we get in, grab free food, and get out?" I asked. "I hope so. I don't really want to stay, either." We scampered down the hill to the art museum. There was a gradual trickle in the museum's general direction, but as we approached there were a few people sitting outside partaking in the free luncheon, and a few just leaving altogether, clutching plates of horderves and bottles of Juice Squeeze. The line leading to the horderves was gigantic, but quick; I loaded my plate fairly quickly while the president was speaking. Fortunately, the tables--and hench, the speeches--were in a different part of the museum. Great, I thought. We can make a quick escape. I wolfed down a turkey and smoked gouda scone sandwich while I waited for Eleanor to finish picking her way through the table. There wasn't a lot of vegetarian food there. "C'mon, let's stay for a little bit," Eleanor said, just as I was about to suggest leaving. I must have given her an incredulous look, because she added, "I feel bad." Feeling that we really needed to do something about this rather inexpedient conscience of hers, we moved closer to the partitioned-off tables and listened to the rest of the President's speech. I didn't pay attention to a word, instead inspecting what seemed to be a grilled eggplant and brie sandwich with pesto. "Gourmet" seems to be an excuse to put things together that should never be together. "She's not a very good speaker, is she?" Eleanor said quietly. I nodded my head in agreement. The President started to introduce the other speakers. I stared meaningfully at Eleanor. Finally, she caved and asked if we should leave. I thumbed towards the doors, and we made good our escape. I grabbed another scone sandwich on the way. "That was pretty good," Eleanor said. "Worth walking for, right?" "They didn't have enough vegetarian food," I said. "Yeah. So she's just not a good President all around, is she? Bad speaker, bad goals. . ." "Bad budgeting," I agreed. "Ew, this sandwich has applesauce or chutney or something in it," she said, further reinforcing my opinion of gourmet catering. And that, my dear reader(s), is college. Wednesday, April 6, 2005 [link] 05:46 p.m. listening to: "Highway Kind" - Cowboy Junkies Hump Day, Hump Day. It's Wednesday and it's Hump Day: the hump in the middle of the week before the weekend comes hurtling towards us. I'm thinking of attending APE this weekend, but I'm still not sure. It's a very lazy sort of day today. For me, at least. I have things I need to do, I know, but I know equally well that they can wait until this weekend (some of them, at least). I need to stop procrastinating. Not having as much work to do also means I have difficulty getting anything done. "You should be getting A's!" my aunt protested when I saw her a few weekends ago. "Eh," I said, shrugging. "Why work so hard when a B will do?" This is not how I performed years ago, in high school. It's funny how grades suddenly matter so much less now that I'm in college. Maybe it's the feeling that there isn't much for me beyond this. Real Life doesn't really care what grade you got in Chinese 1BX or GOVT101. Grad schools do, maybe, but I don't think I'm going there. Not anytime soon, anyway. I can hear the sound of my future rushing toward me, and I'm looking for ways to evade it. I'm hungry. When's dinner? Monday, April 4, 2005 [link] 12:04 p.m. listening to: "Chaconne" - Secret Garden The campus is filled with butterflies. The other day I passed a flowering bush and upset a cloud of them, which dispersed into its individual components of orange-and-black wings. A simple walk from dorm to dining hall inevitably upsets a slew of them, lifting one after another as we progress, a wake of butterflies in our passing. One time, many years ago, I found a dead butterfly in the garden. I tried to pick it up, and it disintegrated in my hands. It was the saddest thing I'd ever seen. I had no idea butterflies were so fragile. Saturday, April 2, 2005 [link] 01:06 p.m. listening to: "Kaddish" - Ofra Haza On the last day of Easter, our Holy Father John Paul has returned to the House of the Father. God bless, Karol Wojtyla. God bless. Friday, April 1, 2005 [link] 09:06 p.m. listening to: "The Ballad of Barry Allen" - Jim's Big Ego Went to work today. Nope, not an April Fool's joke. My ex-boss called me sometime around noon and asked, "What're you doing this afternoon? . . . actually, what're you doing right now?" I didn't want to work the rest of the day and hoped I'd be relieved, but nobody else showed up, so I worked until closing. It was all right, actually; the store was fairly busy, I sold about $200 worth of merchandise, and the boss didn't give me any especially annoying tasks. And I made some pocket money, so yay. It's the weekend, soooo. . . time for another to-do list! Try and restrain yourselves. - - study for Chinese test on Monday - read next chunk for American Lit - Thursday, March 31, 2005 [link] 05:07 p.m. listening to: "The Ballad of Barry Allen" - Jim's Big Ego Another unseasonably spring day, with the sky so blue and clear it seems like the rain will never return (though it will, I'm sure of it). Again, the trimmed green lawn is littered with winter-pale bodies sprawled on towels and blankets, reading books and typing on laptops. I almost wanted to wear my shorts; the shedding of long trousers is a sign of spring and summer. Therapy has made me a little more introspective, which is both good and bad. There's nothing quite like therapy to show you all the cracks in your facade, all the ways in which you're broken. But it encourages me to examine myself and approach things from a new perspective. Take, for instance, my unending practicality: I've always been proud of my effiency and practicality, but now I'm beginning to realize that there are things you can't or shouldn't approach from a purely logical angle. I'm missing out on something here. In other news, this is clearly the best song ever. I'm not such a big fan of Barry Allen, honestly, but this song could really apply to any of the Flashes (even Impulse/Kid Flash, who's probably my favourite). Tuesday, March 29, 2005 [link] 10:29 p.m. listening to: "The World I Know" - Collective Soul I've started buying store brand medicine lately, in any attempt to save money. So, instead of Sudafed or Benadryl, I have Wal-phed and Wal-dryl. They seem to work fine, as far as I can tell, but they don't last as long (or maybe it's all in my head). However, I'm running into some problems with the Wal-dryl. Namely, it's in capsules instead of pill form and I've actually crushed the capsules while trying to extract them from the foil. It's all very annoying. Tuesday, March 29, 2005 [link] 05:16 p.m. listening to: "Godwhacker" - Steely Dan Where is the rain? The weather reports tell one lie after another, conjuring up images of torrents and waterfalls and buckets of rain. "It's supposed to rain tomorrow," the van driver tells me. "It's supposed to pour." The mornings dawn gloomy and dim, but the clouds burn away without a single drop touching the ground. What am I supposed to make of this? I wish very much that I were Alexandra of technicolor.org. She has a way with words that makes me wish she wrote poetry. Or that I wrote poetry, really, but I don't, and I'm not her, and I'm very envious that she's younger than me. A year shouldn't make that much difference, but it does. Sunday, March 27, 2005 [link] 10:56 p.m. listening to: "Battle Hymn of the Republic" - Joan Baez Just a quick update to let you all know I'm alive, and then it's bed for me! The reason for the radio silence: Adam came to visit! So much running around the Bay Area was had, and I think we've half-convinced the poor guy to move out here. But hey, it's awesome here. I'd encourage more people to move to California if it wasn't a) insanely overpopulated, b) insanely expensive, and c) governed by Arnold Schwarzenegger. I still have no idea how that last one happened. In other news, I attended Easter service online, got comic paraphernalia for my birthday, and rented a tux. Life is good. Monday, March 21, 2005 [link] 07:18 p.m. listening to: big honkin' playlist Things I need to get done over Spring Break: - - - - read whatever we're supposed to be reading for Faust Nice extras: - do some research for Archaeology paper - put together Faust project Monday, March 21, 2005 [link] 01:59 p.m. listening to: big honkin' playlist Theoretically, the advent of the Internet means we don't have to spend as much time on the phone. However, occasionally, you just have to play the great Phone Book Game. This is where you get your phone book, flip it to the service you need, and then call down the list getting prices and store hours and product information etc. This is where phone manners are really important. I just called six tuxedo rental places and I'm leaning towards two not just because they have lower prices, but because they had great phone manners. Take, for instance, Seigel's Tuxedo Shop. I called and a man boomed into the phone, "Seigel's, how can I help you?" Identify the place you're working for. Also, enunciate. Okay, maybe the guy was a little startling, but that's so much better than the thickly accented mumbling I got from a previous store. I told him I wanted to ask about tuxedo rentals. I asked for his prices. He quoted some eyebrow-raising prices (as in, suspiciously cheap) and added that shoes and vest were extra. Good, good, don't hide things from the customer! That makes the customer cranky. The next place I called, Selix Formal Wear, was much the same. A lady answered the phone and introduced herself as Rhonda. This is important: introduce yourself. State your place of employment and your name. This no only gives the caller an idea of who they're talking to, this means that if the caller calls back, they can ask for you (or, alternately, blame you for misquoting them or whatever). She gave me her store's quite reasonable prices and asked me what this was for. A dance, I told her. Oh, like a prom? We have a special prom deal! This store totally gets extra points for trying to meet the customer's needs. I think I'm going to call these two stores back later to get a better idea. Right now, I'm going to try and get something actually productive done. Sunday, March 20, 2005 [link] 12:03 p.m. listening to: "You Won't Find Me" - Peter Bruntnell HOME AT LAST. LAX was a complete madhouse. More than usual, that is. My plane departed at 9 AM. I got to the airport around 7:50 AM. "Don't worry," I assured my cousin. "Plenty of time. Unless it takes me, like, a full hour to get through security or something." Actually, it took me exactly 55 minutes to get through security. The line was so long that it went out the door and stretched from terminal 1 all the way to terminal 2. Those of you who are somewhat familiar with airports may realize what an incredibly long line this is. By the time I got close enough to tell someone that, uh, my plane was leaving in half an hour, they redirected me into a line that was only slightly shorter than the original one. Fuckers. The only thing that kept me going was the thought that I was leaving from Gate 1, so I wouldn't have to walk very far after getting through security. At 8:50, while I was waiting to be let through to security, a young woman leaned over my shoulder and said wearily to the TSA lackey, "Excuse me, but my plane probably left four minutes ago." "Excuse me?" said the TSA lackey, who was not paying a lot of attention. "I said, my plane probably left already. 8:45." She showed the TSA lackey her boarding pass. "Oh. Yeah. It probably left already. Unless it was delayed or something," the TSA lackey said helpfully. "O. . . kay. . ." said the extremely tired and patient woman. "I can let you through now, but your plane's probably already gone," the TSA lackey offered, in case the poor woman didn't quite realize that her plane was, you know, gone. Then my plane was moved from gate 1 to gate 5. Fortunately, I made it. |
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