the voices dying with a dying fall

You can’t post videos on friendster, but for one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen, tied up in a 4 minute video, go to my myspace blog and watch it.

Song of the Hour: Crazy by Gnarls Barkley
                                    Assorted G’s from Grandaddy to GLB

So,
in all this silence, I’d like to tell you I had accomplished great
things. Joined
Greenpeace, or signed up as a Cancer research assistant,
maybe even picked up roadside litter. But no. That would be lying.


I
spent last week watching 3 seasons of Veronica Mars so I’d catch up in
time for the
finale on Tuesday. Which I did. Which has left this gaping
VM shaped hole in my life. The other shows I’ve watched from beginning
to end– Buffy, Angel, X-Files, Star Trek TNG– had all known they were
canceled in advance, and thus provided an ending. VM didn’t, and left
its fans with a tricycle-tassel-full of hanging threads. I’m not going
to rant too much, but it was VERY, VERY DISAPPOINTING. More
disappointing than Carnivale. More disappointing than the Matrix
trilogy. More disappointing than finding out that Howie Day was dating
Britney Spears. Very, Very Disappointing.

I’ve started summer
school, and my intense, high stress, 4 day a week Bowling class is up
and running. There’s a science to Bowling, and I am its mad scientist.
There is a textbook. There are angles and linear fulcrums and slippery
soled shoes. There is form, force, tilt, and balance. There are balls
and pins and gutters. For the low, low price of $220, you too can bowl
4 hours a week with teenagers dressed in stylish NCSU fashion wear; you
can listen to the instructor use titillating military jargon as you
attempt to "deliver" the ball and "execute" a strike. You, too, can
escape having to take the only remaining available PE at UNC,
"Lifeguard Training" by stealthing your way into another university’s
summer program. You, too, can benefit from my genius.

In other
news, the social overload from my last post left me in a cocoon of
anti-sociality that I have yet really to shake. I did take some time to
finish a short story. It’s not good for anything other than an
exercise, but it was nice to finish something on my own that had
nothing to do with school. Andy has determined that we will both get
published somehow somewhere this summer, and his enthusiasm is
infectious so I’m on board. It demands a level of courage to which I’m
not accustomed, but I’m trying.
As a testament to my growing
pro-activity, I managed to overcome my overwhelming and overwhelmingly
bizarre social anxiety last week, and took care of a problem I’ve put
off forever. 2 1/2 years ago I joined a gym and signed a 1 year
contract. The next day I fucked up my back trying to lift a 6×12 Uhaul
trailer at a bad angle, and didn’t go back to the gym. Eventually
months passed, and honestly I was just too embarrassed to go back in
general for not having gone at ALL, so I never went back. The gym
auto-renewed my contract for a second, and then a third year, so that I
have now spent $500 on a membership I never even picked up my card
for.Why didn’t you just go by there and talk to them about it, you say?
Why, because I’m retarded, of course. That kind of confrontation is the
bane of my existence, and in my screwy mind it was worth the monthly
fee just to avoid it. So I did. But something possessed me the other
day, and I drove straight there and went in and was as nice as I could
possibly be and worked it out. Of course, it was a piece of cake and I
feel ridiculous for having put it off for so long, but well, that’s how
I roll. Point is, score 1 for pro-active me.

I have a Joss story
I wanted to share, but it’s going to have to wait. Now that schools out
we’ve been spending a lot more time together, and it’s been a little
rocky. I think the child genuinely believes that the word "No" means
"Ask again in a either a more demanding or more pleading tone". It’s
very, very frustrating. Anyway.
We went outside yesterday to toss a
football around, and I was shocked at how good he was. He throws
straight and the ball does that twisty spirally thing.  The last time
we went to the  park (last summer) to play he didn’t want to catch it
because it hurt his arms and he’d curl up and duck when I threw it to
him. I don’t give a damn about sports really, but he’ll get no end of
torture if he employs the duck-and-hide strategy playing with other
boys; so I tried to coax him out of it but he got mad and stopped
playing. But he seems to have grown out of it now, and says "Watch this
mom!  I’m the all time QB!" every time he throws. I have no idea what
that means exactly, but he’s determined to be a quarterback. Except
when he misses. Then he says "I’m really a soccer player, you know."
What
a goof. Well, at least he won’t get beaten senseless during recess for
cringing. What the hell am I gonna do when he tries out for a varsity
team? Have a heart attack, I guess. My kid the football player. Jesus.
Well, they’re his knees, his choice.

Ok, enough for now.
Sorry for lameness of post. I think the interesting part of me died
during the VM finale. Ah, Logan, I’ll miss you so.

Song of the hour:  Mojo Pin by my baby Buckley via jukebox. Not my quarter. Never my quarter.

    I’m surviving social overload.
   
I’ve been to 2 parties this weekend, which is 2 more than the last 3
months; not to mention being already jaded from "Tuesdays with Andy" at
Mitch’s with even more social contact… the kind that involves loud
explicit sexual content that makes me cringe as it echoes.

   
Marco’s birthday was a success, in that he’s now 30. The party, too,
was fun. It was more mature than other birthday parties that spring to
mind, the ones where people get slobbery drunk and make out with people
they didn’t make out with the day before, nor would they tomorrow.
Wait, that was my birthday. My bad.     Anyway. even though I knew
maybe 4 people there, I managed to not hide in a broom closet… though
if I had seen one I may have caved. I felt like I knew a lot of the
guests just from listening to Marco’s work stories, which includes a
full cast of characters in the tongue-in-cheek sense, so it wasn’t
quite as intimidating to the socially terrified such as myself. As with
most things that make me nervous, it was fine by the time I left. How
he manages to absorb the bizarre and eclectic types of people into his
life that he does fascinates me. Engineers and writers and trapeze
artists and everything in between. It was a beautiful night to spend on
a porch, which is what we did and it was wonderful. Happy birthday
Marco, hope you had a great time. One day you should tell me who those
other 30 people were.

     Amanda, however, had to endure
the more reclusive me. After driving through that major monsoon that
saturated raleigh, 4 hours ago I made my way to Amanda’s door and then
through Amanda’s kitchen and living room and then I proceeded to hide
in her office/library for the next 90 minutes. It was FASCINATING to
see her parents again, who I haven’t seen since Joss was born, so far
as I can remember. I know she has a great relationship with them now,
but when I see her mother I can’t help but think of the white sofa we
ruined, that one goddamn beer cap after the party that gave it all
away, and mental institutions for teens. I can’t help it. The
church-going doesn’t make it any better. I’m going to try to figure out
what 10 years means to other people’s lives and get over this, but if I
didn’t see them grow and change it’s like it never happened somehow,
you know?
    So I hid in the office/library. Amanda’s bookshelves
are a tangible reminder of all the books I know I should have read by
now but haven’t. I was in lust. I reread parts of The Hanged Man. I
read parts of Election. I looked at the original art for V for
Vendetta. I read some Borges. Pyncheon. Collins. Plato. It was my
little idea of heaven, except for the part where there are windows. My
heaven is in a cave and it has one of those ashtrays from a 1970’s
airport. Otherwise, it was perfect. And she was kind enough to abandon
the other party goers (comers?) and talk to me and Brian while I left
thumb prints on everything she owned in paper format. Her house is
adorable and I plan to start tracking her movements so I can slip in
while she’s out and pretend I live there. Wait and see.

   So,
again, sorry I’m such a social spazz. Everyone was really nice to me
and maybe if I had consumed some alcohol or had a less social week I
would have been interesting and participatory. My dad kept calling me
though, so I bailed without talking to anyone for longer than 3
minutes. But, as a step above Sara’s wedding, at least I said goodbye. For the record, Amanda’s new sister-in-law is friggin’ gorgeous, and
Mr. Paul Straw is as adorable as ever.

Okay, it’s wind-down
time for jenny. If anyone needs me, I’ll be alone in a dark room with
the shades drawn curled up in a corner either reading with a flashlight
or watching Veronica Mars with my head under a blanket.

(as she
finishes writing, the Jukebox sneaks up and spits REM’s Country
Feedback at her like sound wave tear gas. Holy shit. How long has it
been? Seriously. It’s crazy what you could of had, I need this… what
are the chances? )

night all.
love.

Song of the hour: Whiner’s Bio by Mates of State (how appropriate)

It is finished.
I
just took my last exam, and I’m proud to say, I enjoyed it thoroughly.
I wrote profusely on the role of belief systems in: Scarlett Letter,
Moby Dick, Gatsby, Invisible Man, Sound and the Fury, and Tracks. I
wrote like there was nothing else I would rather be doing. Because
there wasn’t. Which is impressive considering it was 8 am and all. I
loved that class, I loved that instructor, and dammit I loved every
exam.

So, I have 2 weeks before my rigorous summer school class
of "Beginning Bowling" begins. Can you imagine? Oh my god, how awesome
is my life?

As you may be able to tell, I’m in a pretty good
mood regardless of the toilet the rest of the world is swirling down. I
got my grades back, and whether or not I get a 3.93 or a 4.0 for the
semester depends on whether or not my 16th century lit teacher counts
93.3 as an A- or an A. As much as I slacked off this semester, I’m not
complaining. About anything. For a while.

For the next week,
I’m going to be writing submissions for a writing contest, deadline
5/15. Andy’s been very encouraging (threatening, really, with the dead
rabbits and 2 am phone calls of "are you done yet?" but whatever,
that’s friendship, right?) and I’m working on something new that I’ve
never tried before on the short story front. What with the 4 stories
I’ve ever finished in my life. Anyway, that’s what I’m doing, that’s
how I’m feeling, that’s where I’m at.

I don’t want to be one
of those people that only writes when they’re sad. So, I’m happy and
excited and relieved and I have a story to finish.

love you guys. Hope you’re remotely as happy as I am today.

Song of the hour: Trying to drown out juke-box-drivel with
               
    Lonely Soul by Unkle, via Youtube b/c my itunes is screwed up. again.

Where to begin? I’ve written so many papers lately I feel like I need to blog in essay format. Score 1 for higher education.

School: I’ve finished all my finals but one, and the one left (american lit) I’m actually looking forward to. How Hermione-sick is that? Looking forward to a final? that’s just obscene. My math final was stupid-easy. My final for psych was a lab report on an experiment I ran, and it about killed me. My 16th century lit final, the worst of the bunch, was atrocious and I’m sure I did atrociously but right after the final we took our professor out for drinks and that made everything ok. I’ve never hung out with such cool undergrads for such a long period of time. And drunk, talking about Moby Dick when no one can quite say "Queequeg" properly will go down as one of the highlights of my college life. Hopefully I’ll find my grades out soon before I pull what’s left of my hair out. My Invisible Paper has me anxious– I didn’t tackle Ellison to the best of my ability.Anyway.

More importantly, Brian, Joss and I saw Spiderman 3 last night and screw the critics, I loved it. I knew it was going to be darker than the others, and that it was 2 and a half hours, and I worried about Joss– but he loved it and sat through it like a trooper. I understand why it got a lot of bad reviews, but the varied look at vengeance and forgiveness on such a  psychological level made up for the weak plot points. I give it a thumb up.

[Oh, and cuteness: During the credits, I said to Brian, "Did you notice that the Venom suit was way more powerful on Brock than it was on Parker? What's with that?" and before Brian could even say much of anything, Joss piped in "That's because Spiderman was still trying to be a little bit good. The other guy wasn't fighting it, he wanted to be bad, so he was stronger." And you know, I completely hadn't thought of that. And for Joss comprehension, it was astounding. Seriously, astounding. My little baby bit is growing up. ]

I had a moment during the movie, that when I thought about it later helped me to verbalize a lot of my political issues. So, NYC is throwing a parade for Spiderman, and  there’s a camera shot that has him posed against a gianormous american flag; he lands, and somewhere soon after it cuts to a shot of cheering NYC firemen. I rolled my eyes, and I couldn’t stop laughing at the ridiculousness of it.

Now, I realize that of course there would be firemen and such at a parade. It makes perfect sense. Nevertheless, it aggravated the shit out of me. Every time I see a NYC fireman/policeman with a flag, it makes me violent. I’ve been very perturbed by this aspect of myself, because I couldn’t understand why I had such a violent gut reaction to it. Baseball, apple pie, mom, the american flag, and firemen– it goes together, right? But the only other thing, well, two things, that make me have that reaction are Jesus Camp style fundamentalists, and the Bush administration. Being perfectly honest, the word "hero" (or "patriotic") has had a similar effect on me. I hear the word on the news and my jaw clenches. I can’t help it. And it’s bothered me immensely. The WTC travesty, and the risks and sacrifices the fire/policemen  endured justify the term by definition. So why the violence?

Later last night it clicked.          

I think of the 9/11 aftermath, and the government agencies and spin machine, and how amazingly quickly the whole clean-up operation was subsumed by the administration, and you know what it is? Classical Fucking Conditioning. I know this is probably obvious to everyone else, but I was too angry to even formulate it, so I just got angry and then mad at myself in an endless cycle and never bothered to work out my exact feelings. It’s the way the Administration swept in like a pack of goddamn vultures to claim any "noble deed" done by any citizen as their own, and made sure that every single publicity operation they concocted was contrived to put every victim and every victim’s family as being in full support of the administration, so that to question the administration was to insult the grieving. I think we all realize this. it’s the exact same shit as what they’re doing with the "heroes" of Iraq. But my distaste for the administration was so strong it just ended up working the other way– my disgust with the Bush admin. was transferred to every other citizen in a 5 foot radius of a flag. Heroes, patriots, soldiers, firemen, policemen, New Yorkers in general, all got sullied with the Bush taint. And that’s not fair, and I knew it; and then to exacerbate the situation, everyone bought the conditioning bullshit, enough to reelect him at least, so I got even angrier at everyone.

Writing this out, I feel like I’m explaining an elementary school multiplication table. I guess what I’m getting at, is that I got had. Feeling hostility towards anyone I have no experience with is ridiculous, and demonstrates how I fell just as much to this conditioning bullshit as the people that voted for him– I just fell the other way. This makes me horribly ashamed of myself, and I’m trying desperately not to react violently to these "power words" created by the media monkeys and spin machines. I keep seeing Wag the Dog and "old shoe" every time I think about it. To be fair, I think the whole contrivance of such icons and bullshit manipulation techniques is enough to justify some amount of hostility, but I hate that I do it so automatically… like I’m drooling at the sound of a bell. Because that’s what it’s like.

Ok, this is long enough and embarrassing enough for now. Thanks for enduring. Please let me know if you think I’m crazy or if  I’ve offended your sensibilities. This is a learning experience, and I welcome insight.

On a side note, I wanted to compliment everyone’s high school albums list. Beautiful stuff, and Amanda I hate you and your imagery and I hope your thighs inflate until you’re stuck in a wheelchair (ok, so maybe a little jealous…).
I’m glad you guys remembers all the things I’ve forgotten. For those that haven’t done them, I wish you would.