They Are Lying

The newspapers and the TV say that we were mainly anarchists in Washington on Saturday. They say that we burned flags. They saw we fought the cops. They say that we got arrested. They say we got pepper sprayed. They are lying.

The truth is that there were two rallies on Saturday. One of them started at 9am, and was against the IMF and World Bank. That was the one with the anarchists and the violence and the police and the flag burning.

Our rally started at 12am. It was bigger than the IMF/World Bank rally. There were anarchists there, but they were just a small part of the rally. We were peaceful, which was fitting, since we were a march for peace. There was no trouble with the police. Everything went fine. We came, we listened to speeches, we marched, we chanted, we went home.

I went to Washington because I wanted my voice to be heard. Apparently that isn't possible. Apparently my country doesn't want to listen. Apparently the media only wants to spread messages of war and hate and violence. This is not helping my trust issues with the media.

There are some good, honest reports about the rally (It's the ANSWER march) at indymedia.

Why I'm Going To the Peace Rally in Washington This Saturday

Because I believe that we should not go to war more strongly than I have believed in anything in a very long time.
Because I think that if we kill thousands of innocent Afghani citizens, we will be the biggest terrorists of all.
Because I think that war is what the terrorists want, and I don't think we should give it to them.
Because if the Taliban asked us to give them someone in our country with no evidence of guilt, we would laugh at them.
Because I know that most people in this country want war, and I think it's important that those of us that don't make our voices heard in every way possible.
Because I think that by taking out our agressions on Afghanistan, we're showing that the United States is a country that will bomb the shit out of the first available scape goat if we can't find the real enemy.
Because George Bush says this is a war on evil, and it's our responsibility to fight it, and I think that (and he) is completely ridiculous.
Because the Soviet Union has already shown how futile war in Afghanistan is.
Because the Afghani people have suffered enough under the Taliban without us adding to their suffering.
Because it's not unpatriatic to disagree with the majority of people in the country, it's our civic duty to make our voices heard.
Because nothing can bring back the dead.
Because an eye for an eye will leave us all blind.

Super K

We went to Super K at ten last night, allegedly to buy supplies for the Peace Rally. In reality, we all kept being distracted by shiny objects. The small girls section of Super K has the coolest shit on earth. I'm wearing a PowerPuff Girls shirt purchased there right now, and it is damn cool.

It helped that we were all sick, and a couple of us had consumed both beer with dinner and a some medicinal hot chocolates with brandy. Your body is all crazy about alcohol when you're sick. You drink one beer and your body is all like "Whoa! I'm in boozeland!" It won't listen to you, either. You're like "Body! We can't be drunk! We had one beer!" and your body goes "Fuck you. We're going to fall over now."

I bought a new wardrobe rack ($50, Martha Stewart Collection), so my room is now longer convered in prom dresses. We ended up with such a random selection of objects that it wasn't even amusing. Usually when you buy fifty random things, they end up with some sort of weird theme, like "drugs" or "small children" or "small children on drugs", and it's funny. But our theme was just "Random shit distracted sick people who are going to a peace rally buy."

It's a Dog's Life

You know how dogs do that little dog dance, where they prance around and shake their doggy butts and sometimes kick the dirt? Usually they do it for other dogs. They're all "Look at me! I'm the coolest dog in the world! There is no possible better dog to be than me!"

Wouldn't it be great if humans looked that happy when they were trying to act cool?

Be The Riot Cop of my Heart

I've accepted the fact that I'm actually sick, with some sort of snotty cold/cough thing. So I decided to do what all the really responsible sick kids do, and go to a party. I didn't drink that much, but I smoked half a pack of cigarettes, and I'm coughing up shit that tastes like death this morning. I did drink tea and take echinacea when I got home last night.

The party was fun. I got drunk enough to be loud and crazy, and there were lots of wacky people there. Em and I bonded with this girl Denise, who said that we were like two characters in Ghost World. I've been told I'm like a character from Ghost World before, by my Creative Writing advisor, so I feel I should go see it.

Em and I wandered home at two-thirty, bemoaning the complete lack of hotties on the Oberlin campus. We were like "It's gotten to the point where I'm like 'Yeah, I saw this guy in Tappan Square today who wasn't completely physically repulsive. He might have been a high school student, though.'"

I Think I'm Allergic To Cold

I'm on Flownase and Claritin, and my sinuses still will not stop flowing. I think it's because it's so goddamned cold. My sinuses are like "The body is cold! We will keep it warm! We will cover it in a thin layer of snot!" I'm like "Um, guys, it's nice you want us to be warm, but could you stop it? I can't even snort things anymore." It's a sad sad day when your nose is too runny to get Flownase up it.

Bisexual Island

We watched Go Fish in my Queer Film class tonight. Everyone in the movie seemed really butch to me, and the whole thing just seemed to show that lesbians are big dorks, but everyone in the class was like "I love that movie! It's such a great portrayal of lesbian culture!" I don't consider myself a lesbian, although I do occasionally consider myself a dyke, so I was just kind of like "Okay, y'all. You go with your bad hair."

There's a scene in the movie where this character sleeps with a man and then there's a crazy dream sequence where all these lesbians accuse her of being a sell-out and (god forbid!) a bisexual! And she's all like "No, I just slept with one man, I'm still a lesbian, I swear!" The people in the movie act like being bisexual is roughly the same as say, death. They're like "You can be a bisexual, but if you are we'll excile you to Bisexual Island with the rest of those little sluts."

Then after the movie we had a discussion about it, and most people were cool, but this one girl was like "Well, you know, it's an issue because lesbians don't practice safe sex, and if we stick our tongues in bisexual snatch we might catch man-cooties." (Well, okay, she said "stds" not "man-cooties." Also, I made up the bisexual snatch part.) This is what sucks about being bi. Straight people think you have homo-cooties, and gay people think you have straight-cooties.

Plus, the movie had all these random art film parts thrown in. They were like "Now, a top spinning! Now, a scene shot from inside a washing machine! We're lesbians! We reject the patriarchical notions of linear film-making!"

(Just kidding, lesbians. You know I love you. Why won't you date me?)

Every Time a Lab Gets Graded, a Fairy Gets Its Wings

Everyone in my house except Julie woke up at eleven today. It was freezing, we had no choice but to curl tighter under our blankets. I'm not ready for this sort of thing in the slightest, the cold needs to go away! I dressed very unsensibly for the weather, in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with a light sweater over it. I wore my fairy wings as protection from the cold. (It didn't work very well.)

I spent most of the day in the computer science lab, grading. This involved running the same program over and over and writing down the results. My mind was in revolt by halfway through, but I made myself do all of it today because I had time free and the teacher wanted it done. I finished half an hour before I had to go to a meeting, but I was so thrilled to be done that I ran away from the lab and went to the student union and watched CNN until it was meeting time. I must reiterate that I hate the TV.

The First Organ of Acknowledged Communion Is the Tongue

(tripartate diplomat, which after tongu-
ing a less voluble expressive organ
to wordless efforescences of pleasure
offers up words to reaffirm the pleasure).
-from Canzone, by Marilyn Hacker

I've had a day of meetings. Left my house at 12:30 or so, didn't get back until nine at night. Errands, class, hour break, class, meeting, forty-five minute break, meeting, twenty minute break, meeting, home. Spent the free time in the computer lab, trying to work on grading. I couldn't get it to work (half my fault, half the teacher's). The teacher wants it graded by tomorrow night, which means tomorrow is spent in the lab.

I went to CVS and bought more wings, angel wings and fairy wings. I want to wear them every day. My excuse is that I want to wear wings to the peace protest in Washington, but don't want to ruin the butterfly wings. Wearing angel wings to a protest seems odd, so I think I'll wear the fairy ones. I'm wearing the angel wings right now. They have sponge printed feathers, not real ones, but they're still oddly elegant. I didn't really like them hanging up, I bought them kind of as back up wings, but wearing them I like them. This brings my total pairs of wings owned to five. One of them's at home, one of the pairs here is a pair my mom made for me when I was in fourth grade. They might be a new addiction, along with Shoes of the Future and tiny furry backpacks and Hello Kitty.

When I finally got home, Ben came over and made tons of hot chocolate for us. It was beyond delicious, and we drank hot chocolate and read poetry aloud. This is college at its best, but I hope there's a little of it out there in the real world. I read lots of Marilyn Hacker - so much I almost felt guilty. I love her beyond belief, I wanted to read all of Love, Death, and the Changing of the Seasons aloud tonight. She is mad crazy lesbian poet genius. I want to have eighty-million of her babies.

If I was in love with a girl I could read Marilyn Hacker poetry to, I think I would be perfectly happy.

I Don't Like Lambda Calculus

I spent most of the day yesterday doing homework for my Programming Languages class. We're working on The Untyped Lambda Calculus (not just any untyped lambda calculus, but The Untyped Lambda Calculus). This shit will blow your mind, y'all.

The best way I can explain it will make sense only to the Computer Science people in the room: Imagine Scheme, or another LISP language, only with no data - no numbers, strings, booleans, etc. Everything is an application. (Joey Lawrence voice): Whoa, Blossom.

The rest of you can imagine math with no numbers. Yes, it's some crazy, crazy shit.

So, on the one hand, it's actually really weird and cool, but on the other, my fragile little mind just cannot handle it all.

Yes, These Are Bruises From Fighting

I went to a party at my friend Ian's house on Saturday, and it featured a wrestling room. So, yes, wrasslin' (as I like to call it) is the reason that I can't really move my upper arms and I'm covered in weird bruises.

First I wrassled my friend Phil, who I actually wrassle pretty often, as it's just something we like to do. He is very tall and muscular and also already knows how to wrestle, so even though he kicked my ass I felt really good about not getting pinned for as long as I did.

Then I wrestled both my roommates, because it's important that we all be as homoerotic as possible. While I was wrestling Em, Julie shouted "Go faster!" at us, and someone in the crowd shouted "No! Take your time!" I kicked Em's ass, but ended up calling a draw with Julie. (Which I am blaming on 1) smoking 2) two hours of sleep, and 3) being worn out from my last two matches.) Julie and I are actually pretty evenly matched, cause though I have more body mass, she's all little and quick and also knows about wrestling.

The most spectacular match of the night was the Computer Science Major's Grudge Match, me and Phil against Mark and Lincoln, two other CS majors who happened to be at the party. (It was, as I so elenquently put it, freaks vs. straights. I don't think I need to say which side Phil and I were.) In our first round, I took Mark and Phil took Lincoln, and it was a draw between all of us. I think I could have gotten Mark if Phil and Lincoln hadn't kept getting in the way. I kept pinning him, and he kept wriggling away. However, to be fair, I did have an advantage, because I think he was afraid of touching my breasts. (At one point Julie yelled "Use the breasts!" at me.) Our second round was tag team, and Phil ended up pinning Mark. We kicked some ass for the freaks.

Ain't No Power Like the Power of the People, Cause the Power of the People Don't Stop

I went to a peace rally yesterday. It was really amazing. There were tons of people there, and a lot of people from outside Oberlin, which was great. There were a lot of speeches, some of which were good and some of which were not so good. There was a lot of God stuff, which bothers me, but which I think you're going to get in any sort of movement. The people, they like the God stuff. I didn't agree with everything that was said, but I think that I'm not going to agree with everything in any kind of large movement, and obviously everyone wants to use this particular opportunity to speak on behalf of their specific group.

The sheer mass of people who showed up was really cool. We marched around Oberlin, which I think is kind of futile, since everyone in Oberlin is either like "Damn college kids." or agrees that they want peace. It was really nice to be around other people who were against war, since I've felt so overwhelmed by everyone being for war lately. I'm going to go to the protest in DC next Saturday. I'm not really the activist type, I haven't been to any big protests before, but I feel really strongly that we shouldn't start a war, and I'm going to do everything I can to make sure my voice is heard.

Yawn

So, in Cynthia language, it turns out "clean the house" is top-secret code for "pick up one item. Decide to sit on couch and read book. Fall asleep on couch for two hours. Wake up and clean house," cause that's what I did. The world feels like it pretty much always does when you get too much speed and too little sleep. It's a little far away, and my head feels a little too tight. Also, I have that smoked too much taste in my lungs that I associate with not sleeping.

My roommate apparently read my blog to figure out what I did last night and why I was sleeping on the couch, which I think is funny. Because, you know, I live with her and all. It's kind of like how some people read my blog but don't answer my email, which I also think is funny. Because you're choosing to have the same me that everyone with internet access gets, rather than personalized me.

It took me ten minutes to get out of telnet because I kept pushing the wrong keys. I haven't taken any more uppers today, amazingly, but I think I'm going to later because I'm going to a party. I should eat something at sometime, though, because otherwise there will be much puking in Townesville.

Food and Sleep Are For Humans

So. Last night. Yes.

It all started around six, when I got home from classes/errands/things of that nature. I got my period yesterday, and I was having some cramps, so I decided that the wise thing to do would be to take some codiene and wash it down with a beer. Julie was doing laundry at the laundramat, so I went over and crawled into one of the dryers, which was fun. Then we all brought her laundry home in the rain.

I ate dinner, and then our friends Chris, Ben, and Claire came over at random points in time, and I proceeded to get exceedingly intoxicated. Also, I smoked a bowl and snorted some Adderalll. We wanted to go to a party, but we got to one party and it was too crowded and they were out of beer, so we decided to go to another party. We ended up gathering enough people that we decided we were a party, so we all went to Ben's and ordered beer from the Feve and sat around and drank and hung out and grabbed each other's boobies. Around two, people started going home.

I had taken some ephedrin, so I wasn't tired. I decided to go look for some of my other friends so I would have something to do. I was combing the campus looking for people, and at some point the drug cocktail hit and I started freaking out and it became absolutely vitally important that I find my friends. I finally found one of them outside one of the dorms, and he was about to go to sleep, but he told me where I could find the rest of them. (The house of some guy I don't really know.) So I went and found them, and we all ended up snorting dexidrin all night long.

I have work to do today, so I've decided that sleep is for wusses. I don't need sleep. I can be productive instead. I got home around eight-thirty, showered, got dressed, and hooked my computer up to the phone line so I could get dial-in internet. (I could have done this a long time ago, but I am a lazy lazy slacker.) I'm going to clean my house now. It's okay if I'm twitching. And if I don't have any fillings left. And if my blog is boring and doesn't really make sense.

On The Flownase Train

I'm on this medication, Flownase, for my allergies right now. It's so dorky! I love it! You squirt it up your nose every day, and it makes your allergies go away!

When I got prescribed Flownase, I was pretty much like "Score! Prescription drugs I'm supposed to put up my nose!" Plus, at that point my allergies were so bad that at one point I was with one of my friends, and he gave me five codiene and an antihistamine to reacte with the codiene to make it stronger. (God bless chem majors.) I was like "You have antihistamines? Do you have more of these? Can I get Allegra off of these sketchy online pharmecies?"

My roommate Em is on the Flownase train with me, so I wrote my name on my Flownase bottle with sharpie so that we wouldn't get confused. I am totally in love with the sheer dorkiness of this all. I have medication I have to put up my nose every day, and it has my name written on it! I'm so cool!

We Are Pig People

My housemates and I smoked a bowl of what turned out to be crazy magical pot last night and ended up totally stoned. We were up until two, eating everything in our house. We are out of food now! We ate Forc Chip Nachos and Garlic Bread and Cheese and everything in the world. It was so great.

We were incredibly silly. Highlights included crotch vacuuming, us all lying on top of each other on the couch, and the phrase "Now kids, don't make me turn this kitchen around!" Also, Em and I rekindled this joke from our Freshman Year: If Oberlin was a Spice Girl, it'd be Ani DiFranco.

One Of Those Days

I had a meeting with my super-cool writing teacher, Papatya, today, and I totally forgot about it. Of course, I forgot about it because I had to do crew in the co-op, so while I should have been discussing my story revisions with Papatya, I was scrubbing tables and washing pots. I remembered about it at 2:30 (my meeting was supposed to be at 12:45), and ran to her office, but she wasn't there.

I did run into my other writing professor, and he said he liked my essays, so that was nice. I might put some essays up here, especially ones I don't think are publishable.

Then I went to the lab to print out my essay for tonight, and the printer wasn't working. So I went to the library, where the printer refused to print more than one copy at a time, so I had to hit the print button thirteen times to get enough copies. I'm not sure I have enough, but I got sick of waiting, so I left.

Basically, it's been a running around, missing apointments, having to do everything the hard way kind of day.

I did get my DSL router in the mail, which is super exciting. Too bad they're not going to hook up my cable modem until Oct. 3rd. Also, I got a paycheck, which is good, since my jobs here are not going so well, mainly because I haven't been on the ball.

Activisism

Please, if you're against US military action in Afghanistan, write to your congresspeople. It's really important that everyone write, especially because the majority of people in this country seem to be for military action. You can get addresses at Electronic Activist. If you're lazy, you can send email to your congresspeople. It's best to write, though. Politicians consider phone calls most important, then letters, then postcards, and email is really just about shouting at them from a moving car. Basically, the more effort you put into it, the more they'll respect it, as long as you're not a total wackjob.

I know that everyone is out for revenge right now. But I think it's really important that we all remember that this was a terrorist action. It represents the actions of a specific group of people with some really fucked up beliefs. It does not represent a specific country or religion. Punishing the people of Afghanistan will not bring back the dead, or even necessarily punish the terrorists. The Afghanis have suffered enough under the Taliban government. Please, let's not punish them further because we need a scapegoat.

I know I don't have to tell you guys this, but please, don't hold Islamic/Arabic people in the United States (or anywhere) responsible! There's horrible, horrible stuff going on out there. Please be careful, everyone.

Pretty Picture!

So, here I am, with my pretty new dyed hair and my fairy wings. I'm doing a little Cynthia Fairy Dance in the picture, but it looks like I'm looking at the whip hanging from the ceiling. Also, I'm wearing my second favorite blue t-shirt. I got it for 99 cents at a thrift store, and no, I don't know what Glass Town Sound is all about. But there's an accordian, and that's good enough for me.

Flags

Someone commented on my saying I hated American Flags yesterday, and I actually had a conversation with my roommates about this a while ago. I think the reason I dislike American flags is that they seem to only be whipped out when America is preparring to kick the shit out of someone. That, and like, Labor Day. And the Forth of July, which celebrates us kicking the shit out of someone. And Memorial Day, which celebrates people who died kicking the shit out of people for the US. So, for a complete pacifist like me, the American flag just isn't really my bag.

My roommates and I discussed how we felt about the American flag, and the best analogy I could come up with was this: It's like that kid you knew in elementary school, and you grew up together and hung out all the time and had a really good time, and then at some point you guys started having different friends and not hanging out so much, and now when you see them they say all kinds of horrible stupid things and you're kind of appalled but you can't say anything because you remember all the good times you guys had when you were little.

Beautiful Thing

I saw Beautiful Thing last night for my Queer Film Exco. I'm taking a Queer Film class mainly because I'm pretty much completely out of touch with the queer community on campus because I hate the LGBTU, and also I like movies. So far it's fun. Plus we're going to go see Hedwig in Cleveland next Tuesday, and I love me some Hedwig.

I'd seen Beautiful Thing before, but I managed to completely miss somethings, like the rampant ecstacy use throughout the film. The English are so much cooler than we are. The main problem I have with Beautiful Thing is that Jamie, the main character, is such a huge dork, and he does things and I'm just like "Ahhh! Ahhh! Don't do that! Wny are you doing that?" and I squirm around and feel all awkward. I hate Jamie. He's such a little punk-ass brat. Stee totally deserves better. Also, the ending of the movie doesn't really resolve anything. I love Leia, the neighbor, though.

Exciled To The Ghetto Lab

There's an actual class going on in the good CS lab downstairs, so I'm writing this in the upstairs crazy ghetto lab, where the chairs suck and the linux is old and nothing works right. I had a cute picture scanned and on disk for you guys, but in the crazy ghetto lab the floppy drives aren't mounted. I hate this lab.

I Hate CNN

Specifically, I hate their little QuickQuiz boxes. I hate that today, it asked how long you would support military action in Afghanistan, and there was no "NEVER NEVER NEVER Not for a fucking milisecond!" option. So I filled out the Ask CNN form and asked them "Why isn't there a 'I don't support military action AT ALL because it's the WORST IDEA EVER' button on your quick quiz, ya fucking war mongers?" We'll see if my question makes it on the TV. Actually, we won't, because I don't have a TV and won't be watching.

While we're hating things, I hate that there are American flags everywhere. I hate that this has turned the country nationalistic and jingoist and crazy. I hate that apparently 70% of the population is pro war. I hate that I feel isolated from my country over this, I hate that I feel this isolated over the kind of tragedy that should bring everyone together to heal, I hate how powerless I feel, and I hate that I feel powerless not because of terorrists but because of my own government. Oh, and I extra special hate George W. Bush.

Writing My Body

I'm writing an essay about my body for my nonfiction class. The format is pretty simple: For each body part, I tell some sort of related anecdote, talk about how I feel about that body part, whatever. What I've realized writing this is that about half of my anecdotes, if not more, involve my roommates/best friend. This is partly because if I just talked about how I felt about my body, it would be a lot of stupid "my ass is too fat," shit, and that sort of thing is boring as hell. But it also made me realize how much other people in general affect what I think of my body. I wonder how I would feel about it if I was some sort of feral child living by myself in the forest. But then, if I was a feral child I'd probably be too busy hunting for nuts and berries to think about that sort of thng.

If I Were A Snake

If I had venem, I would sneak up to my enemies while they were sleeping, and bite them and then run away and they would never know. Not that I see my enemies sleeping much, as things are right now. So maybe I would just sneak up behind them while they were talking or distracted or something, and then bite them and run away and they would never know. Not that I have that many enemies. I mean, there are definitely people I find annoying and thus hate, but I don't think they really count. I used to have an archnemisis, but she didn't actually know she was my archnemisis, and I haven't seen her around lately, so maybe she fell into a hole and died or something. Anyway, the world would be very different if I had venem, believe you me.

Babe: Pig in the City

I watched this last night. It was actually quite dark, as it was reported to be. But man, do I love that little pig.

I think the freakiest part for me was the monkeys wearing human clothes. Let me repeat that: There were monkeys wearing human clothes. That's not right, people. In fact, that's very, very wrong.

Also, there was some major creepy clown action.

You definitely should watch this movie, if only for the part where the pit bull puts Babe in charge of everything. Also, Babe wears the pit bull's collar, and he's all punker pig.

"Thank the pig."

Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory

I saw this Friday night. I saw it a long, long ass time ago, and I forgot how completely fucking trippy it was. Also, the line between this movie and kiddie porn is very, very thin indeed.

Part of me wants to watch this movie while tripping, and part of me realizes that if I did I would go completely crazy.

Remember, kids: "We are the musicmakers. We are the dreamers of the dreams."

Talking Bout Good Vibrations

I got a new vibrator. My old one broke at a very inconvient time, making for a very cranky and sad Cynthia. So my roommates and I had been discussing a sex toy run for a very long time, and we finally got around to it on Saturday.

I got a silicon one, and whoa, boy, do I recomend it. Plus, it's incredibly cute! It's blue and it has glitter in it! Glitter! In my vibrator! What could be better?

If you need me, I'll, um, be in my room. Knock first, okay?

I Know It's Monday. It Says So On My Panties.

The search is finally over. I went to the mall on Saturday, and I found Days of the Week underwear. I actually got two sets, one with planets/space stuff on them, and one with food and words like "spicy" and "sweet". I'm so excited. I've been searching for Days of the Week underwear for like, a year now.

I also got three thongs, one of which is this strechy shiny material and is plaid! I have a plaid thong. I'm so amused. I wore it yesterday and it was the comfiest thong ever.

I got a tiara, too. It's blue and glows in the dark and has feathery stuff on the bottom. It goes very well with my hair. I really enjoy stuff that I wear on my head - I have cat ears and these stars and now a tiara. The only downside is sometimes when you wear silly things on your head people ask if it's your birthday, and then you have to be like "No. I just happen to enjoy wearing tiaras." Maybe I should start telling people I'm going to prom.

I got a new belt, which has stars on it and is super-cool. I got it at Hot Topic, because I'm a big fat poseur and I love Hot Topic. I also got a t-shirt I'm wearing right now. It has a panda bear on it, and he's holding glow sticks and wearing a whistle and a pacifier, and he's running from the police. It says "Busted" on it. So cute! Little bear, running from the po-pos.

I Hate the President

I tend to think of George Bush as some sort of large angry monkey who has the country grasped within his paws, and is now banging it against rocks until it breaks. He seems to have now turned from banging to making loud noises and flinging poo.

His speeches are so terrifying. He keeps saying things like "It is the responsibility of the US to rid the world of evil." Um. NO. He referred to the terrists as "folks." He is a crazy angry monkey armed with jingoism and folksy sayings, and he's in charge of my Nation in Crisis!

I think the main problem here is that the US is prepared to deal with these sort of attacks. We tend to think in simple binaries here. Good (Us) vs. Evil (Not us). Freedom vs. Repression. Peace vs. War. So what happens when our peace is disturbed? War. We still don't know who these terrorists are. What if they wanted us to go to war with Afghanistan? We're so predictable and easily manipulated.

Revenge is pretty much a foriegn concept to me. It's just not an idea that comes naturally to my mind, for whatever reason. It seems so weird that most people want to answer death with more death. What's the difference between terrorists killing innocent Americans and the US killing innocents in Afghanistan? Aren't we just turning into the most powerful terrorists of all?

Little, Yellow, Different

Friday afternoon, Emily, Ben and Chris spent about an hour trying to get a lemon wedged on top of the transistor on the phone pole in front of our house. It ended up stuck under the transistor, after it had split in half, been reassembled with packing tape and been covered in inside out packing tape to make it sticky. We also had to enlist the help of our upstairs neighbor when it got stuck on the roof.

Chris and Ben are apparently fans of sticking things to our telephone pole. They used epoxy to glue a leaf to the no parking sign on it earlier this week. They're turning it into an art project. A big, rotting art project.

Is Anybody Out There?

No one's commented in days. Of course, I haven't blogged since Thursday, since I've been living in HouseWorld where there is no internet. Expect me to make up for it today.

Schism

Half of life is completely fine and nothing has changed and in the other half everything has changed and nothing is fine. No one I know was in New York or DC, thank god. The weather here seems fitting for the first time in the last three days. It's gray and raining, finally, rather than obscenely sunny. I haven't been keeping up with news reports, I've been getting my news third hand. This morning I started to read a newspaper article about what happened on the plane that crashed in Sommerset county (my roommate showed it to me, because she knows I'm obsessed with the planes right now), and I couldn't do it. I felt sick, reading about what happened.

Vague platitudes: I really hope that this doesn't cause a lot of racist incidents. Or any, really, but I think that's too much to ask for. Also, President Bush is a moron, and this countries need for revenge frightens me. Lots of people are saying that they feel nationalistic for the first time. Well, I don't. I feel scared. I don't see how we can stop this, and I don't see how bombing the shit out of whoever is going to cause anything but more death.

Cyn on the TV

I've started referring to television as "the TV" to amuse myself. It's a good crabby old lady thing to do. "I'm going to watch my stories on the TV." Not like I have a TV to begin with, which makes it a little more difficult. I also feel that referring to shows one watches as "my stories" is good, although Julie thinks calling them "my programs" is better.

I went to art rental last night. The Oberlin art museum has a program where they rent out actual art to students for $5 a semester. They have good art, too - I've had, so far, a Picasso, a Warhol, a Cindy Sherman, a Ruscha, and a Lichtenstien among others. It's really cool to be able to live with a piece of real art for a semester. Students started the tradition of camping out overnight to wait in line for art. There's a list of names where you sign up, and they call roll every hour, and you have to be there or get someone to proxy for you. (There was actually an incredibly complex point system involving proxies and absenses this year, but it confused me so I won't explain it.) I got there at five yesterday and was number 122 on the list. With people dropping out, I was actually number 80. Completely ridiculous.

But spending the night in the art museum courtyard is always fun. I brought a jug of Carlo Rossi, as is traditional, and shared with anyone with a cup. Someone had a hookah (Actually, it was another thing that had a name starting with N that I don't remember. Whatever, it's a fucking hookah.) that a bunch of us sat around and smoked flavored tobacco. (Yes, just tobacco. Not that I didn't smoke weed, but we did that out of something else.) It was incredibly cool - completely different from smoking cigarettes. Very smooth and sweet, partly because of the tobacco, but also I think because it goes through water. Or, in this case, vodka. The flavor was intense. I need one of these things. Also, the guy with the hookah, kind of a hottie.

We played sculptionary at two am, which involved getting covered in clay and gesturing a great deal and generally being crazy. Then we finally went to sleep around 4 am. Woke up for roll call at 8 am. You know what's worse than a cheap red wine hangover? A cheap red wine hangover when you've gotten four hours of sleep on a brick sidewalk. So I went to the gas station to get coffee, which helped. Then, when we were sitting around, this film crew was doing a story on art rental, so they filmed us drinking coffee and then interviewed me and Emily. I hadn't realized how much my roommates and I talk as a group. It was very hard not to chime in while they were interviewing Em. So, I may be on the TV, but unfortunately I was all crazy hung over and tired and I didn't ask when or what channel they were going to show this on. This may be a blessing, since I was, as mentioned, crazy hung over and tired, and hadn't brushed my hair or anything of that nature.

Then after I was filmed for the TV, an odieous little man came over and was like "Did they interview you because of your hair?" I replied "No, they interviewed me because of the charm and grace with which I drink coffee." Then he said "It's a good thing they didn't interview you last year, the camera man would have tripped over a 40." I was very confused at the time, because I'm not used to people insinuating that I used to be more of a lush than I am. (Anyway, the time I puked in the courtyard at art rental was two years ago, not one, and I wasn't drinking 40s, I was drinking Rossi, so if the little man was trying to make reference to that, he was totally off.) In retrospect, what I should have said is "Well, this year they could trip over you sucking my dick."

So I ended up going home with a lithograph of a man and a hourse, by an artist whose name I disremember, and Star Doll, a piece by Mariko Mori. It's a doll wearing the outfit she's wearing in the Birth of a Star picture in the link. I rented this piece last year, too, and I love it a lot. I'm thinking of dressing up like my art rental for halloween.

The Nation May Be In Crisis, But Our Kitchen Is Not

My mind is starting to accept all of this. It's worked it's way up to believing that the people in the planes that crashed were real. Everything else, not so much.

After I stumbled naked it Emily's room yesterday, and told her the news (Em must have had quite the awakening), we went to Wilder, the student union, to watch the big TVs. Julie was there, and we talked to her briefly, and then she went off to class (classes were still going on, but mainly as a support system). I went out to smoke with DJ, and when I came back, Emily was not where I had left her. I became quite panicked and felt completely lost. I searched the entire student union for her, and finally found her outside one of the dining halls. She had thought I had left because I spent too long smoking. I took bites of her food, because it is comforting to eat other people's lunches, and we looked at posters at the Poster Sale outside the library.

We went to Harkness and helped them make lunch, because they didn't have enough cooks. I didn't have any classes besides my Queer Film exco, from 7-9, yesterday, so it was very weird. Everything was exactly the same but completely different. After lunch I went to the CS lab for a bit, did email/blog things, and then went home. I tried to work, but ended up sleeping on my couch instead. (Our couch is a well known Field of Poppies, in which one is helpless against sleep.)

We decided that we should call people we care about, even those who couldn't have possibly been affected, just kind of to check in. It was nice talking to everyone, I wish I hadn't waited for a national crisis to do that. Julie vacuumed, mopped, and did dishes, so our house is amazingly clean. We ate dinner at home, just the three of us, and then I went to my exco.

The gas station down the street from us had a block long line to get gas from when we left at seven to when I got back at ten, and the price of gas rose 30 cents. Apparently after I passed by at ten, something happened and there were four police cars at the gas station. Gas is at $2 now, but if any gas station charges above three dollars, they're going to get shut down. Or so my neighbor told me this morning. I can't believe people are panicking like this.

When I got back from my exco, we sat down and smoked a lot of pot. A guy who I know vaguelly from parties was passing by our house and ended up coming in and smoking with us. He was rather drunk, and we all spent a lot of time talking about the terrorism. Then he left, and we ended up on our porch, me smoking and Em and Julie keeping me company. Our above neighbors stopped by and gave us dum-dum lollypops, and we discussed the buttered popcorn flavor of one of them. (It was quite a taste experience.) It's probably innapropriate to spend the evening of a day of national crisis stoned out of your mind on your front porch, laughing hysterically, but it felt really good to be around other people, to feel like a part of Oberlin, to reassure ourselves that our community, at least, had not fallen apart.

Then we went inside and baked sugar cookies. It started off as an excuse to eat dough, but we ended up with a sheet full of cookies with sprinkles on them. I think baking may be an ingrained genetic thing. When I told my mother about it when she called, she said she had made sour dough bread. People may be dead, but we can still nourish the living. Or, alternatively, give them chemically good cookies.

When I went to go to bed, I discovered my wardrobe, this cheap metal thing from Ikea I bought because I don't have a closet (It's basically a rolling clothes rack), had collapsed on top of my bed. It's quite, quite broken, and I don't know what I'm going to do with my clothes. Stupid Ikea.