saturday, june 16

hello it is very hot. those of you who are in the vicinity of north america probably know that already. but did you know that in my room it is ten degrees hotter than it is anywhere in the rest of the house, which made it 92 this morning when I woke up at nine? what is that? hurry up, thunderstorms.

all night I tried to escape the air crawling across my skin, and I chased the empty spaces next to me around and around until I fell off the bed headfirst. (this is not such a big deal, since my bed is really just a skinny little mattress on the floor, but skull-meets-wood is never a particularly pleasant sound.) this morning I mixed blueberries from the freezer with fresh pink lemonade in the blender, and while they struggled to subdue the blades with inertia I watched their movements against the glass, imagining satellite storm patterns in dark frozen purple swirling overhead. outside the sky is blue and cloudless, but there is wind to tell us rain is coming. I suspect it won't be purple, but we can always hope.
11:24 ++

friday, june 15

in my dream last night we were all photographs, me and my old friends from new york city. that makes no sense, because I was not yet four years old when we moved from the city to north burke, but my photo was the one from school picture day in second grade, where my teeth are different sizes and my bangs are almost in my eyes. the others, timmy and mia and sean, were all pre-school age, so I looked like some sort of rapidly-aging freak.

we were colored in that funny sepia-tone, not quite black and white but certainly not in anything resembling living color. it was like we were in one of those public service commercials sponsored by non-profit orgs or tv networks that apparently think those cheesy just say no commercials actually work; the camera panned slowly across us and we stared back, tracking it with somber gazes and big innocent eyes.

and our message? "I didn't know until it was too late that I was at risk." "I only wish she had told me." "now I'm going to go crazy too, and there's nothing I can do about it." tagline: tell your kids what's in your genes. it could save their lives. it was odd.
10:22 ++

thursday, june 14

there's a man at a cd store I frequent who repeats everything he says. everything. I don't know if it's voluntary or not, but it's disconcerting, even though years of shopping in basement and back-alley stores have gotten me accustomed to all kinds of strange characters. while I was there he was appraising a near-mint copy of the beatles covering "where have all the flowers gone" (or something like that -- it looked to me like it was just the "love me do / ps I love you" single, but I don't know all that much about the beatles). he kept calling across the store to the co-owner in the back:

"look at the label!"
"look at the label!"

and the guy would look up and nod, yes, the whole thing was quite beautiful and in remarkably good condition.

"listen to that. perfect."
"perfect. listen to that."

it was pretty breathtaking, actually. I rarely get to listen to vinyl that hasn't been used and abused and passed down through several generations of people I may or may not know, and I almost never get to listen to it on a turntable that actually turns at a uniform speed.

"at least two hundred dollars, I think. no less. we could get more. two hundred. at least. no less, I think. could get more, but two hundred is good. I mean, look at that. no less than two hundred dollars. look at that! definitely two hundred dollars."

you got it. two hundred it is.

later he fast-forwarded through part of a song because it was (clearly, from the surrounding bits) about getting high, and told us:

"this part has some controversial lyrics."
"this part has controversial lyrics!"

this was funny for some reason, because he laughed both times, and later he restarted the same song before it had quite reached its natural end.

I'm mildly afraid to engage him in conversation, because I know from experience that it gets really confusing really quickly. so I never bother telling him that he's left his recordbooks on top of the electronica boxes, making it impossible to see into them, and I get annoyed with myself for getting annoyed at him for saying everything twice when it's probably not his fault at all. shopping there when he's on shift can be a bit frustrating.

but he will give you a $6.99 cd for seven dollars even, because he likes calculators less than he likes sales tax laws. I wanted to ask if the $199.99 beatles record would be $200 or $210, but somehow I couldn't find the words to form the question, as if his extras had all been drawn from my own reserve.

not that being wordless is an unusual phenomenon for me, so that probably wasn't it at all.
15:28 ++

"the average length of a food-stamp application is twelve often impenetrable pages; a permit to sell weapons is just two."

what?
09:28 ++

wednesday, june 13

you might be interested to know that the final tally of unique albums recommended to me (not including things I already have) is 112. I've picked up six of them already, and I'm going shopping this evening after work. however, since I have a hard and fast rule that I'm not allowed to spend (on non-necessities) more than seventy-five percent of the money I make during a given time period, and I'm currently making around four hundred and fifty dollars a week, this could take me a while. (obviously this rule is relevant only when I have seventy-five percent of my income left over. if there's anything I actually do know how to prioritize, it's money.)

I've been somewhat surprised (and also amused) by the numerous responses I've gotten in the vein of "I wish I had enough money to do this!" well. I can't guarantee anything, but here are some helpful pointers:

• start saving early. I started getting a dime-a-week allowance soon after I learned to read numbers. by the time I was six I was getting a quarter a week; between that and the presents I got from my grandparents on holidays (and visits, which always brought fresh-from-the-bank singles), I had saved over a hundred dollars.
  
• do not own a car. do not buy a car. do not drive a car. do not ride in cars (unless you know you won't be under any obligation to help pay for gas). I am lucky enough to live somewhere that makes it easy for me to get around on my bicycle (which is seven years old and can be kept well-maintained for around fifty dollars a year), so I don't spend much on public transportation either. but hey, I've been known to go on hour-plus bike rides to get somewhere in the suburbs. it's a lifestyle choice.
  
• don't drink, smoke, or do drugs regularly. wow, I sound like an idiot. let me rephrase that: drink, smoke, and do drugs only when it's free (and you're not freeloading, unless your friends don't mind). easy for me to say, I suppose, when I've never actually touched a cigarette, let alone put one in my mouth. (I do have my own vices, but I imagine the cost of band-aids for bitten fingertips is much less than the cost of supporting a non-social smoking habit.)
  
• get all your books and magazines from the library. I've been fortunate to live with people who subscribe to various interesting things for most of my life (I don't know why my roommate's parents thought she needed to have time and discover delivered to her mailbox when there were always copies delivered to the libraries as well, but whatever. maybe they secretly wanted to support my collaging habit.) read newspapers that the libraries don't keep in hardcopy on the web. I'd say at least half the time I spend in the library at school (which is a whole freaking lot of time) is spent with periodicals.
  
• buy (or otherwise acquire) stuff secondhand. clothes (but not underwear okay?), furniture, books (when the library isn't good enough), music, anything that doesn't suffer too much from age. if that's not possible, make stuff yourself. I learned this from my grandmother, who kept my sister and me supplied with more garage sale clothes than you could shake a stick at, and from my parents, who furnished our apartments and most of my childhood either with stuff (tables, chairs, baby toys) that other people had left curbside on the manhattan sidewalks for the garbage collectors or with stuff they built (desks, shelves, a swingset, our birch-trunk clotheslines, and even a cabin, after one of my father's more ambitious construction moments -- of course, that was after we left the city).

enough of that; you get the point. believe me, I know how expensive life is, and I certainly could not have done this during the school year. but music is very important to me, and so I make room for it in my budget. obviously I couldn't do this if I didn't have a job (and marketable skills), or health insurance, or free housing and food for the summer courtesy of my parents, or if I had a child to support, or any other major financial commitment beyond those I already have. the (possibly sad) fact is that once those other commitments are taken care of, which happens more smoothly some times than others, I think of my surplus money in terms of how much music it will buy. if I didn't play rugby, I could probably buy about ten more cds a year. rugby is totally worth that. however, three round trips on the subway are not nearly as valuable as a good used disc, as long as I have functioning legs.

also, this is the most disposable income that I've had since high school, and it's fun. so there you go. sorry to get pedantic; hopefully I've satisfactorily dispelled any notions that I'm some sort of heiress. I'm just a working college kid with unbalanced priorities. fun!
13:56 ++

tuesday, june 12

thudcrashclatter! and then silence. so I opened the door to see what happened, and there was c.c. sitting amidst a pile of broken, scattered sugar cones, with the pink cardboard box lying empty under the table.

so I stuck my tongue out at him and started to pick them up, but then I thought maybe it was the universe telling me I should eat an ice cream cone. I picked up one of the cones off the floor (well, I picked up three, but the first two disintegrated in my hand), gave the cat a headscratch, and went to the freezer.

when I opened the door, a bag of tortilla chips fell on my head. but I thought those wouldn't go so well with the ice cream.
23:53 ++

junk food in the microwave! ferris bueller on tv! was I going to accomplish something tonight?
22:22 ++

I am feeling very dissatisfied with myself today. I think I need a nap.

(no, I know I need a nap.)

I can't work in this office when the lights are on. they're kept inside golden quarter-spheres mounted on the walls, three in front of me and three behind. six shiny convex surfaces, each holding me and the walls and each other hostage inside a funny wrong-colored world where parallel lines converge w and I can see both sides of my head at the same time. it's too much. so no lights, because they distract me less when they're asleep. (I wish that worked with my subconscious.) when I pulled the venetian blinds all the way open this morning, they screamed at me. this window is bigger than the entire floor of my room at home.

you will own exotic pets like flamingos and walruses. if I ever start drinking coffee it will be such a disaster!
13:40 ++

monday, june 11

faraway thunder reminds me of my inability to escape myself, and then it rains.

when we taught the fourth graders about the water cycle last fall, we started off the conversation by asking them where rain comes from. and so many of them said it was god crying that I think we almost gave up right there, because really what right do we have to tell them that their parents have just been making stuff up? especially involving god?

even before I started feeling weird about religion (which was frighteningly early, now that I think about it) I had trouble with the idea that rain could be god's tears. rain is many things to me, but never anguish or misery. sometimes sadness, perhaps, but for whatever reason I don't associate sadness with tears -- it's too quiet and heavy for that. and what of the rain that makes you feel clean and alive, reborn? or the rain that falls like an undeserved punishment, beating the immediacy of your surroundings into you? (I remember being spanked and staring at the pale green checkered pattern on the raggedy ann doll's dress, the pocket on her apron with the embroidery about the edges, as every strike were stitching the thread into my brain and wrapping it up in rickrack trim. I do not remember what I did to deserve the spanking.) what about the rain that smells like the entire universe, or the rain you wish you could keep in the back of a music box? sweet rain.

I always thought it would be romantic to kiss someone for the first time in the middle of the rainstorm. so maybe I could believe raindrops come from tears of joy, but whose?

ideas develop into sweet dreams develop into ideas.

and also: it's been something of an in-joke around here (at least to me) that I'm never smiling in any of my pictures on the web. that's sort of not true anymore, because of last halloween, but I was also covered in little white spots. last week my little sister's assignment for photography class was to find profiles. and, well, she made me laugh.
21:58 ++

hot still, air ready to implode. central square world's fair today. watermelon & vegan brownies & pakura & veggie samosas. gospel music, carribean music, sing/dancealong. man with a big! sharp! machete! chopping whole pieces of sugarcane. smacksmack. my signature x14, petition-petition-letter-petition-list-&soforth. the legendary little joe cook, larger than life in real life. dream bear & cosmic moose, black on purple/yellow/blue. graffiti, little boys with plastic trumpets. drippyhot. friedhot. people! girl with guitar, like still life with fruit. only not still. naps between emails, sweating in creases. mussorgsky crescendobang! & dreams of dead children, buried under leaves. hot, 450 degrees in the oven. rain waiting in the air for tomorrow. lava & parrots. currysmell. now bed. heavy. &thick.
00:00 ++

sunday, june 10

you like music, right? me too.

want to play a game? sure you do. well, it's sort of a game. here's the thing: I have a lot of music, over a thousand albums at this point. I am not by any means running out of new things to buy or listen to. in fact, I have the opposite problem. I get so caught up with my own explorations that I don't pay any attention to (most) reviews or word of mouth. lately, though, I've been having a great time listening to things that other people have mentioned in conversation, in email, on the web, whatever. I'm also, in case you couldn't tell, very happy to be back in the land of of weekly paychecks and used cd stores. I want an excuse to keep enjoying all of this.

so! here's the game: you tell me the name of any single album, and I'll buy it. it has to be an album you think is musically worthwhile from start to finish; no making me buy things because of one transcendent track or really cool package design. if I like it, you get linky love (where applicable). if I really like it, I'll send you a postcard or a souvenir from my daily adventures in the city or something. I'm serious about this.

I don't want to end up bankrupt, though, so there are a few rules:

1. no out-of-print, only-on-vinyl limited edition things. however, I will buy used records if I can't find cds, so bear that in mind.
2. if I've already listened to an album all the way through, I reserve the right to refuse to buy it (unless I find it on the dollar rack or something). it's totally fine if I've heard some of the album, or some other stuff by the same artist.
3. I have to be able to find it somewhere in the greater boston area. I'll buy a new cd if there are no used copies anywhere within biking distance, but I won't pay shipping and handling. besides, ordering things online is much less fun.
4. baroque/romantic/classical/20th century music is fine, but you must give me the name of a specific recording, because I'll go crazy otherwise.
5. imports are also fine, but only if the same album is not in print in the united states. this goes against my normal philosophy, but I don't usually go around buying things on blind recommendations, either. besides, if it's that one bonus track on the japanese import that makes an album worthwhile, you're missing the point. the only exception to this rule is if the u.s. version is missing some tracks that the rest of the world has.
6. if I can't find it by the end of the month, I'm allowed to give up. (that doesn't mean I necessarily will. also, I'm not shopping at wal-mart or best buy or anything, so don't worry too much.)
7. you must either email me or respond here before this post scrolls off the front page. if you post a comment instead of emailing me, you must include your email address. (it's easier for me if you email me, but you don't have to. the little star at the bottom of each post is an email link.)
8. don't worry about duplicates -- if I like it I'll send you both stuff. (but don't just echo what other people say, because that's boring.)
9. only one guaranteed album per person. period. I'll tell you if I already have something, and you're welcome to send another suggestion, but I won't promise to buy it.
10. I don't really have a rule here, I just thought there should be a number ten. to go with all the fingers and toes, you know. :)

so there you go. why should you do this? because you like music and you want to get the word out about your favorite obscure band, maybe. or you want to see if you can come up with something that I'll like but that I don't already have. or you think I've been missing out on something really great. you think I need something fun to do. you like humoring me. perhaps you just want a postcard. anyway, I'd love to hear from anyone with a suggestion, whether or not I know you already. I'll probably end up writing about some of these over at corlog, so stay tuned.
11:34 ++

morning: next door, I dug up old flowers and planted new ones, most of whose names I don't remember, balancing on the balls of my feet in the dirt because the garden is three feet wide between the fence and the house, and with the plants on both sides there's only six inches left of open space left for humans. it was eighty-something degrees out but also sunny and so I had long sleeves, which kept getting wet and falling over my hands into the mud. across the street my neigbor who is a composer in red sneakers was working at his piano, and the air between me and his open windows was sweet with the sound of music being born. when I turned on the hose it squirted backwards out through a leaky connector, drenching me in hose-warm water and a cloud of rainbows. when I was finished I was covered in mud and I got sixty dollars for my trouble.

afternoon: dressed in newly-clean hair and a checkered jumper, of all things, I listened to five bands play at planet aid, and then wandered out to find more music scattered around the square. the incan pan fluters, as reliably omnipresent as the people who stick out their paper cups for spare change, played an eerily upbeat version of scarborough fair in between their traditional andes mountain songs, all the while sweating under those pink-orange-green striped ponchos. two blocks away a folksinger watched his hand on the fingerboard very intently, making me wonder what his song was really about, while a group of people from some elightenment center handed out pamphlets on self-realization and inner peace. I didn't find enlightenment, but I did see a guy in a turban and m.c. hammer pants, disney-aladdin-style, so it was worthwhile. many things I wanted to take pictures of, but didn't (even though I had my camera) because I thought it would be rude: skinny girl with black hair and glasses, green shirt and too-big-jeans, dancing in the basement and looking as joyful as I have ever seen a person look; toddler and father in matching outfits, t-shirts that said "big red dirt" and navy baseball caps, wearing headphones and sharing a song at hmv; man sprinting by with a sneaker on each feet and another on each hand; baby sleeping slung upside-down over his father's shoulder; the homeless man who had drawings on his napkins today.

night: home by myself at nine-thirty, I made something that started out as pad thai but ended up not so much thai at all, except for the rice noodles and lime. I also made a lovely big mess in the kitchen; even now when I walk across it the uncooked noodles go crunch and I watch for sticky spots of soy sauce, sugar, peanut butter, little sloppy landmines. except I am not walking at the moment -- so much sun and walking and garden acrobatics have settled their punishment into my ankles in spite of my shiny stripey pills, but being trapped here in my room with just myself is a charmed and happy imprisonment, tonight. my hands smell like soap from being washed so much but I still have dirt and the tiniest bit of garlic-scent clinging around my fingernails.
00:00 ++