And I am a writer, a writer of fictions, I am the heart that you call home

Painting is kind of like writing is kind of like living.

For my best friend, Sarah, who embodies my Charles to Sebastian, I painted this picture of Charles Ryder and Sebastian Flyte, as portrayed by Jeremy Irons and Anthony Andrews:
In drafts, it looked like this:


Now it looks like this:


It says "every place that I've been happy," in reference to this scene:

“On a sheep cropped knoll, under a clump of elms, we ate the strawberries and drank the wine.... we lit fat, Turkish cigarettes and lay on our backs, Sebastian’s eyes on the leaves above him, mine on his profile.....the sweet scent of the tobacco merged with the sweet summer scents around us and the fumes of the sweet, golden wine seemed to lift us a fingers breadth above the earth and hold us suspended. ‘Just the place to bury a crock of gold,’ Sebastian said. ‘I should like to bury something precious in every place that I've been happy and then, when I'm old and ugly and miserable, I could come back and dig it up and remember.’"

Every place that I've been happy. Mmmm.

So, when you're painting, you probably draw first, then you paint. One's drawing is never reliable. It gets some of the angles wrong - the eyebrows and the shadows on the lids. Those are hard things to draw. When you're looking at someone, you take them for granted. A real artist knows never to take eyelids for grated.

When these drawings are off - even a little - the painting is off. Sometimes, the painting being off in color or shading actually makes it more recognizable as a painting of, say, a banana, or the Eiffel Tower, or the stars of Brideshead.

But that doesn't mean I drew them right. I made them palatable and recognizable, but Jeremy Irons' skin is not yellow, and the shadows of his face are not green.

When I talk about my friends, their actions are not black,nor their virtues white. Every time I talk I am developing another layer to the beautiful canvas of fiction that creates our life.
But it is not real.
It is not who they are, no more than a self-portrait is who I am.


So you have to be careful about art. It's your life, and it's here to stay.

tum. buh. lurr.

another version of who i am happens here:
http://lizzydeeter.tumblr.com/

art projects will probably be documented on there. so keep tuned.

Conversations With Funny People

This happened December of 2008, while I was in German class at EMU.

I sent a friend, J, this table, in reference to the contents of his refrigerator. He thought it was an ass-ish thing to do. I, however, couldn't stop thinking about condiments, and sent the following text:

'I'm sitting in German class coming up with as many condiment puns as I can.'
J responded: 'Wouldn't do that... You might have to play ketchup with your homework if you can't cut the mustard.'
And I: 'Well, for now I'm relishing this...'
J: 'Trust me, it'll get you in a pickle.' Then, after a brief silence, 'Uh-oh. I broke her. Now I'm in a jam.'
E: 'Excuse me while I find a dressing for my wounds.
J: 'I can't help it if I was born and bread for puns.'
E: 'Don't butter yourself up too much.'
J: 'Eh, either way olive to see another day.'
E: 'If this gets any saucier I'll have to can it!'
J: 'Jar you sure? It's all gravy.'
E: 'Just spicing it up a little! I'm not salty or anything.'
J: 'I couldn't tell, the way you peppered those sentences with puns.'
E: 'Well, I'm just rolling with the food puns!'
J: 'Lettuce put a stop to it!'
E: 'Yes, peas!'
J: 'You'd have to be nuts not to.'
E: 'Cashew just let it go?'
J: '[...] That was one bad egg.'
E: 'You're just jelly-ous of my skill at this game!'
J: 'Sounds like you've a chip on your shoulder about my superior corniness.'
E: 'Would saying 'You're cheesy' be a cop-out?'
J: 'I'll shred what little romaines of you if you do...'


And they say text messaging is adding to the intellectual decline of our generation.

You will resume your callow ways, but, I was meant for the stage

"I was meant for the stage,
I was meant for the curtain.
I was meant to tread these boards,
Of this much I am certain."
The Decemberists, "I Was Meant For The Stage"

Sponberg! Thine boards shall I tread.

It is still surreal that I have been chosen to represent Strinberg's, and in turn Bergman's, Miss Julie. She is insane. She is loose. She is obnoxious. She is self-serving. She is despairing.
None of these things am I.

Meryl Streep played Miss Julie in college, too.

Sid said she was happy it was me.

It felt so right to get screamed at... "Servant's slut...!"

I am so nervous: British RP!? What will I do with my hands? What if I'm too quiet? Don't pronounce the French right??



But, hell. Hell. I can't wait. I can't wait to be... Julie.



And: Scene.



"What has been will be again,
what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun. "
The Book of Ecclesiastes 1: 9

"You tell me, How does it make you feel? You tell me what's real"

I feel like a lot of well-meaning individuals are undermining their own political agendas* by being under-informed.

A woman (whom I've never met, but) has been involved in many arguments (online, so quoting is made easy!) with friends of mine, has said the following:
"On the topic of the shooter from Ft Hood, he will be made out to be someone who's just "crazy" or something. there will be excuses, and God knows why. The guy has middle eastern ties and now there is speculation that he had extremist views as well based on internet posts made by him. This is the riff raff we're allowing in our military. It does not make me feel very secure as an American!"

So, what about people with "extreme" Christian views? Should we keep out that "riff raff" too? I know lots of Christians who would be honored to be called "radical," or "extreme." Seriously, standing up and defending your belief in the resurrection of a human from death by crucifixion is pretty extreme. Conviction shouldn't be something to be ashamed of. So what if this soldier was "radical" about his beliefs? None of the posts by the shooter to whom she's referring said anything about killing people.

Later in the arguement, after Christian organizations which have been labeled as terrorist organizations had been brought up:
"I would be willing to bet that the muslim terrorist organizations have killed FAR MORE people than the so-called Christian groups. You can't even call them Christians honestly. Especially considering that one of the commandments is "Thou shall not kill." What laws do the muslims live by, do anything for islam. C'mon...this is one you're probably not going to win on. ... The US should be "profiling" at the very least for our military!"

Uhhh...

I would here reiterate my previous statements.
And I would add that this woman's apparent racism is unbelievably irritating.


But additionally annoying, is the way this woman is completely incapable of effectively communicating what are reasonable Conservative views! She disagrees with the health care legislation on its way through the Legislature at the moment. Okay. Sure. Tell me what you think, my dear....

"Abortion is a HUGE issue in the bill. It is, you can sit there and deny it all you want but that's called denial! I hate it when people try to shove their beliefs down other peoples throats and that's what you're doing. I am entitled to my opinion and my beliefs and convictions WITHOUT being persecuted and belittled for them as does everyone else and you my friend are being quite disrespectful to me and everyone else who has the same view as me."

Ugh. I would, first of all, say that every medical practice is a huge issue in the bill...but regardless... She's accusing someone of denial, then she's playing the victim. This is not the way to argue. No, no, no.

A list of grievances regarding this woman's debate:

• Her grammar and syntax have been consistently confusing.

• She can't cite a source to save her life.

• She complains that she is being personally attacked (she is not, she is merely being accused of being under-informed), then personally attacks my friends.

• She complains that she is misunderstood, but she can't communicate effectively.

So I guess what I'm saying is this: Your unpopular views are worth stating! We need intelligent discourse to facilitate change in all sorts of academia. My friends are not opposed to changing their views. They, and myself, get upset even when views with which we agree are expressed stupidly, or by the under-informed.
Lastly, okay, I know not everyone is obsessed with language, with the Oxford Comma, with the proper place for prepositions.... but rules exist to facilitate communication. You'll never convince me if you can't communicate; you'll never communicate if you can't use our language.
I just... I'm just tired of this useless kind of discourse.

I'll leave you with this little gem from our femme fatale of political discourse:

"Ok, well your views are getting people killed. Let's protect our people for a change. Keep doin' and believing what "feels good". ...the whole country has turned into a bunch of liberal idiots!"

It's not clear (as so much of what she says) which "views" she's referring to. Maybe this? :
"The US should not be profiling anyone, so as not to tread on the Constitution. See the 4th and 14th amendments."

ANYWAY... smart-up, everyone, please. (And I'm following my own advice starting...now. Now.)



*All systems of belief are, in varying ways, agendas. They can't help but be - get over it.

Ne Me Quitte Pas

FDA You Made It So We Can't Have CLOVES

"SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING:
Quitting Smoking Now Greatly Reduces Serious Risks To Your Health"

"Quitting smoking now"

"Now greatly reduces"

"Now...Serious"

"Now Greatly...Serious"

"Now...Reduces"

"Now...Risks"

"Now...To Your Health"

[what am i going to do with the black turtleneck i wore to rendezvous?]

nay may qwittay pah
nay may qwittay pah
may may mittay mah
pay pay pittay pah

(downt leev mee)

"ooo oo oo ooo"

naymayquittay

whatta pittay

Very afraid, however, of Randall Munroe's superlative characters.

I'm about to become this guy:

SHIT.

I actually did put whiskey in the lemonade.

Boston, then a pool of blood, made me hate my city. There's something in the air that feels rotten lately.
Martinis, then a chilly conversation, gave me a lot of hope. Hope for much, much more than all this. A three-dimensional existence. This existence is more, believe it or not, than quoting. I quote less and less these days; I write more and more these days. (That said, I will assert that everyone who cares about words should listen to the Mountain Goats. John Darnielle makes sweet, sweet love to language every time he opens his mouth. I don't care what anyone else says.)
I want to be quieter. I want to speak with a manner in which only my bottom lip moves toward, then away from, my front teeth. Also, when I'm seriously making a point, my nose would bend slightly towards my mouth. I would bite my lower lip when nervous. I wish I could speak like that, but I can barely use the language anymore. Despite shortcomings like that, I'm a sweet girl; I should really be nicer to me. I'm always blaming myself for things! It's true because I am always apologizing. "Sorry", it turns out, is my default word. I use it to mean all kinds of things. I say "sorry" when I mean "excuse me" or when I am embarrassed or angry. Mostly, however, when I say "sorry" I mean "I love you." See, in the event of regret, I regret deeply. I've never not regretted being in love. I am terrified at the potential of my own love. I am also terrified of dying. But I am dying. And I am terrified. I am, therefore, dying terrified. (Whether or not I would rather, I will not live forever.) I can't get comfortable or I might die and not notice.

This is a song. It might be called "Carbon Monoxide"...

I woke up to sunshine
And I thought about gas jets
I thought about carbon monoxide
I wondered that I'm not dead yet
I wondered that I'm not dead yet

I stirred 'cause you were beside me
And I thought about cars in garages
I thought about discovery
All kinds of ways to fall asleep
All kinds of ways to fall asleep
I put whiskey in the lemonade
Hoping that you'd stay
I played Death Cab For Cutie
So we could sing our pain away
But you don't like that song
You don't like that song, do you?
You don't like that song
You don't like that song anymore, do you?

I fell asleep at two-fifteen
After telling you to think about it
But we had bad, bad dreams
They were all about our old life
They were all about our old life

I woke up at six
And the streetcars sounded like horses
It's been a long time since
I've been out of this city
I can't remember real horses

I put on Death Cab For Cutie
Hoping we could sing away
There's whiskey in the lemonade
Have a drink; will you stay?
But you don't like the taste
You don't like the taste, do you?You don't like the taste
You don't like the taste anymore, do you?

There's whiskey in the lemonade
But you don't like the taste
No, you don't like the taste

Mr. Postman do you have a letter for me? (Maybe in a "bundle on the route yesterdays"?)

Today in Pray-Harrold, there was a used book sale. After getting our after-Audition coffee, before our outside-Quirk cigarette, Sid and I perused the literature. Lots of philosophy, some economics, lots of logic... and a BASIC programming book from 1978. Naturally, I bought it for $1.00. (Along with Marx Selections and Classic Essays in English.) To my surprise and delight, inside of the front cover of Basic BASIC: An Introduction To Computer Programming in BASIC Language's Second Edition by James S. Coan, there was a folded peice of notebook paper - now yellow with age. At first, I thought the paper was blank but upon closer inspection discovered faded handwriting in pencil, written and spaced very much like this:

"Karen

- Thanks for the book -

Sorry about missing the last bundle on the route yesterdays.

- I would like to start going out with you -
call me tonight if you have any time -

- Tim"

(The word "last" is written above the other words, as if Tim had put it in as an afterthought. And yes, it does say "yesterdays".)

Who's Karen? Who's Tim? What book is he referring to? Basic BASIC? Or is he giving her the BASIC book? Or is it some other book entirely? Did he ever even send Karen the note? Did they end up going out? What bundles? "The route yesterdays"?
I am incredibly intrigued.
There are, however, no more clues in the book. There is a similarly faded peice of blank scratch paper at the beginning of the chapter on Loops and Lists, but no annotations from Tim, Karen, or anyone else. Thus, it remains a mystery. I do hope everything turned out well for Tim and his Karen; Tim has inspired me with his bold note more than he will ever know - and assured me that there may be some hope for geeky love.

**Note: It was later suggested that Tim and Karen are actually employed doing some sort of delivery and Tim wants to start making deliveries with Karen. I still think that they are in love.

"Our house wrapped in disrepair, a small mouse peeked out from a hole beneth the stairs..."!

I am pretty sure there is a mouse in the wall of my apartment. I'm convinced by the squeaking and scuffling coming from the wall between the kitchen and the blue siding outside that this creature has taken up residence in my abode.

I came home from buying a pound of coffee at the Mug and sat down at my computer to read some news. After a moment I hear: Squeak! Squeak! Scuffle-scuffle-scuffle. Perplexed, I made my way into the small kitchen, apparently the location of said ruckus. Yes, I thought to myself, that is certainly squeaking... Could it be... ? No... Oh! It is! I yelped quietly as I realized that this was certainly a mouse, and it was certainly in my wall. Frantically, I grabbed my cell phone and called John. "I'm being stereotypical!" I told him, "But there's a mouse in my wall!" Calmly, he told me to call the landlord's office and leave a message. After our brief conversation, I did so, and explained that I am convinced that a mouse is squeaking around inside my wall.

Now, I know that a mouse is no great threat to me. He may be a threat to my food or to the cleanliness of my floor, but he can't really hurt me. (In fact, he's probably pretty freaking adorable...) I cannot help, however, imagining fantastical things about my new, uninvited, room-mate. I imagine Archibald (that is obviously his name) escaping the confines of the wall and entering my kitchen. He then eats all the food he can get his grimy little claws on. Nourishment causes Archibald to grow bigger than any mouse ever has before. He is so fat, and so cunning that he takes over my entire apartment, forcing me out of it onto the street.
The vision of a fat, greedy mouse sitting in my computer chair using my Facebook, listening to my Motion City Soundtrack CD's, and wearing my earrings is going to haunt me for days. Days.

In conclusion, I'm no big proponent of personally owned property, but, Mr. Archibald Mouse, I pay rent for this bedroom, kitchen, living room and bath room! Get the fuck out or I'll send your ass over to the folks at FU, Penguin.

The Academy will be a bunch of "crooks" if they don't give this film some serious awardage.

Friends! Neighbors! Americans!
Go, as soon as you can, and watch Frost/Nixon at your local movie theater.
Basically everything about this movie is phenomenal. Most importantly, I can't think of a more timely film about, well, I would have to say, weakness. The weakness of leaders, the weakness of journalists, and the weakness of a disenfranchised American people. But the screen shines from every facet. Acting? Superb. Period? Felt like I was there. Directing? Well, Rotten Tomatoes describes the film as "a cross between a boxing match and a ballet", and I couldn't agree more. From the opening interview with James Reston Jr. (Sam Rockwell) in which he discusses his outrage at Nixon's lack of apology to the American people, through the moment Richard Nixon (Frank Langella) infamously declares that "When the President does it, that means it is not illegal," I was riveted to this display of men at their lowest.
I can't say enough good things about this movie, so I'll stop here. Go see it.

The film's trailer.


From the actual interviews. Absolutely amazing. I cannot believe someone can actually think this way.

Scrapes, headache, fuzzy memories - welcome to 2009!

Happy 2009!

I am of the idea that making resolutions for the new year is incredibly silly, so these aren't resolutions, per se.....

Foods I want to consume and digest in 2009:

• Pie of any variety.
• Spinach.
• Bacon.
• (Are coffee and beer "foods," really?)
• Cheeseburgers. Many.
• Some fiber. It's important to stay regular.
• Anything made with a lot of honey.

Animals I want to touch with my hands in 2009:

• A horse or pony.
• Some sort of kitten-like creature. They are quite soft.
• Cute human boys.
• A bonobo, if at all possible.
  
• (Resisting the urge to say "Your mom"...)
• A couple of dogs, probably.
  

Words I want to use gratuitously in 2009:

• "Gratuitously."
• "Defenestrate(d)."
• "Your."
• "Mom."
• "Phone," as a verb instead of "call."
• "Brevity." (Um, I guess there will be a lot of Big Lebowski quoting?)
• "Sublime." But I won't be talking about the band.

Ways in which I plan to waste time in 2009:

• Trolling Reddit.
• Facebook stalking.
• Trying to figure out addresses of webcomic artists. (So I guess being generally creepy....)
• Meticulously arranging my hair.
• Writing blog posts.
• Writing C++ programs that don't do anything useful, but say sarcastic things.
• Sitting at the Ugly Mug.

Ridiculous assumptions I will probably make in 2009:

• Drinking beer will help me study. (I so wish though.)
  
• Money reproduces itself! (Not the case.)
  
• It is not creepy to Facebook stalk people. (It is WAY creepy.)
  
• My friends will never move away. (They will.)
  
• Gordon will do all the work at Puppets. (This might actually be true.)
• I can learn important things from the people on Reddit. (Just... No.)

Alright. 2009 will probably be mostly okay. Every year is, really.



So, I may not remember anything that happened after 1:00 last night, but at least I didn't kill a unicorn in my bathtub, like whoever lives here:

Or get champagne on my ceiling. Poor Pleasuredome kids...
(I did get quite a lot on my pants, however.)

I posess distinct affinity for tasty foods, the English language, wit, computer programming, and for the absurd.

A couple of things in no particular order.

• The water coming from the tap in my apartment occaisonally smells strongly of marijuana. I guess now we know why I giggle more when I am particularly hydrated.
• The neighbor with whom I share a wall is playing The Rolling Stones rather loudly. I am playing The Fiery Furnaces. It is one of the strangest mixes of sounds I've ever heard.
• This is my first complete day off in a long time - no responsibilities at all! I've read the entire Questionable Content archives. Time well spent; thank you J. J.
• Fact: It takes about 3 thick coats of Mod Podge to get paper mostly water-proof! Now you know!
  
• I haven't written anything in a long time. This is slightly disconcerting. (Well, nothing unless you count a C++ program which asks the user to input their age, and replies with a snarky comment about whether or not they should be consuming alcohol. Hey, it beats "Hello, World!", right?)
• I am shopping for a new car, adding to my already numerous fiscal worries. (I'm working on some sort of estimate describing how much beer I cannot buy while maintaining financial responsibility in lieu of purchasing an automobile. (Man, I would get so much programming done... (No, I do not subscribe to this hypothesis. (Or, in fact, most of his hypotheses...(Hypothesi?)))))

Wow, that last bullet had a lot of fucking parentheses at the end. (I maintain that those words should be "hypothesi" and "parenthesi." Firefox's spell-check disagrees.)

And now, some pictures of things I don't really like!:

A pigeon!
(He looks extremely concerned, which is a little bit cute, I guess.)


A bidet!
(I mean seriously, what the hell? Fellow ladies, just take a goddamn shower or something.)

Note: The Google Image results for "pigeon bidet" were entirely disappointing, even with SafeSearch off.

Things About A Person Who Is Me

My sister posted a similar list of things about herself.
I was mostly intrigued by the similarity and the differences between the way the two of us would answer these questions, so I am reposting it here.
Enjoy, and don't get worried or anything.

I am: an actress.
I think: it's later than it is, frequently.
I know: "the plans [He] has for me," but often I don't listen.
I have: a passport, a drivers license and a small suitcase. How would you feel about just getting the fuck out of here?
I wish: hearts and minds either kept separate, or decided to agree on anything at all.
I hate: being under appreciated.
I miss: being understood.
I fear: not succeeding.
I hear: that there is still time for me.
I smell: coffee, and smile.
I crave: attention.
I search: for people on the internet sometimes. I just wanted to know who you were before, so I could help you grow.
I wonder: what unanswered phones mean.
I regret: the impossibility of friendship.
I love: people.
I ache: when I feel a little lost.
I am not: that naive, I'm just hopeful.
I believe: in a lot of things you might make fun of me for.
I dance: to old 80's songs, or when I feel like you need cheering up.
I sing: karaoke. But never in church.
I cry: infrequently.
I fight: with people who don't realize we're fighting.
I win: at Scrabble.
I lose: gloves.
I never: go a day without showering.
I always: remember what I was doing the first time I heard my favorite songs.
I confuse: advice with condescension.
I listen: if you aren't creepy.
I can usually be found: making the same mistake over and over.
I am scared: when people look me too forcefully in the eye.
I need: very little.
I am happy about: poetry.
I imagine: graduating.
I can't: be unaffected by words.
I say: "I'm sorry" too much. Usually, I mean "I love you."
I write: vaguely, but I try to be poignant.
I play: the guitar, poorly.
I must: have listened to this song a hundred times today...

I am sadder when it rains than when the sun is shining, but I would take clouds and rain over just plain, droopy, gray and white clouds covering the sky any day.
It has been cloudy for days and days in Ypsilanti.

So there you have it.

Hello, Lizzy, Or, Why I Sing What I Do

I had an acting teacher once who said that musicals are the product of characters feeling something so deeply that the only way to express feelings of the characters is for them sing about it.

I am of the opinion that, if "you can't do, teach," well: If you can't live, act.

I have an entirely difficult time living, and so I act.

There are sometimes, in my acting, though in the real world, that I cannot express something except through song. Others songs, and sometimes songs I make up to express my deep, longing, lust for life. (Is it, really, if I am only acting? This is a subject for another blog post, promise.)

And so, I don't feel bad, playing a sappy song when my friends come over.
I don't regret singing at karaoke songs that are cheesy, or overplayed, or awkward.
Kimya Dawson or the Moldy Peaches, Ani DiFranco, mewithoutYou, The Magnetic Fields, Belle and Sebastian, The Velvet Underground, Hello Saferide, Vampire Weekend, The Pixies, The Decemberists, Tori Amos, Sufjan Stevens, Five Iron Frenzy or Yo La Tengo...
No, no I don't.

Cheers to the soundtrack of your life, and of mine.

Hi-ho Silver: A Tragic Tale of Love, Then Loss

Hi-ho Silver died this weekend. He was only ten.

The thing about Hi-ho Silver was that he really tried. He barely had a first gear, his gas gauge was always completely incorrect and he couldn't handle in the snow worth a damn, but this little guy fuckin' tried.

He was a good car, all "Escort" puns aside.

He taught like, 4 people how to drive stick.
He hauled ass through traffic, getting me to work, school, or any engagement mostly on time.
He had a weird 6 CD changer in the back, and I never really understood why.
He's gotten more people home safely than I'll ever be able to count. (At one point complete with decorated ceiling for their viewing pleasure.)
He went to the East coast, he made it Chicago, perilously, multiple times. He went to the UP and he dreamed of going West - to Texas, perhaps even beyond.
He displayed his appreciation for mewithoutYou, Haste the Day, WCBN radio, at one point, August Burns Red, love through sacrifice, and, towards the end, the Ugly Mug Cafe.

There are a lot of people who will miss him, if I do say so myself.

Silver, son, you'll make a damn fine parking lot ornament.

"People talk about my image. . .

...Like I come in two dimensions,
Like lipstick is a sign of my declining mind,
Like what I happen to be wearing is my new statement..."

I am of the growing impression that social networking devices on the internet are bringing me into a two-dimensional existence.
According to the internet, I am a successful (albeit unreviewed) actress, a quirky puppeteer, a "social butterfly," a slightly cynical but witty commentator who loves her friends, and have many other attributes about which one could conclude after sifting through snapshots, greetings to friends, self-descriptions, or just by looking me up on a search engine .
Well, now everyone knows me!
Or. . . do they?! Is this who I am!??
This is the thought plaguing me at the moment.
It's only really disconcerting when I compare these facts about myself with similar facts I've learned about others.
The internet has made me new friends and reconnected me with people I would otherwise have lost touch with, and I thank it for that.
However, the internet has replaced a genuinely human - three-dimensional, if you will - element of acquaintance. All the "necessary" information about practically everyone I know (favorite books, movies, quotes, what they did last weekend) exists in their "About Me" sections, or their most recent photo uploads.

By existing so openly on the internet, am I damaging my real life?
By putting so much stock into the persona of others portrayed on the internet, am I missing out on getting to know people tangibly?

I rarely ask my acquaintances what they have been up to, whom they are seeing, where they are attending school or working because I get unsolicited updates regularly in the form of "feeds" or uploaded photos very regularly.
While writing this I've been thinking of a certain friend of mine who avoids these social networking bull-shit-holes all together. I enjoy the company of this friend significantly because I always feel as though it is completely genuine. We see each other, we appreciate espresso at the same time, I can immediately see his reaction to my witticisms - such as they are without an hour of editing; comedic timing's not exactly my thing. This "three-dimensional" friendship is entirely refreshing.

And no, I'm not going to lie to you and say that updates on my friends aren't convenient. They're lovely; I love seeing what they've been up to.
I just wish it all seemed more. . . real
And in addition, I wish that I could be more real to them.

So perhaps in some sort of half-assed conclusion I should simply assert that I will henceforth appreciate the opportunities I have to interact in person, and set far less stock in the information derived from my triflings among the wires of the World Wide Web.

A weak conclusion? Maybe.
A comforting solution? I hope so.

(And yes, I do realize how rediculous it is to have blogged about problems with socializing on the internet. I do.)

"What did you do out there. . .

. . .what did you decide?
You said you needed time,
You had time."

I left Ypsilanti when it smelled like old gym lockers. That happens when it rains.
Trembling in my Ford Escort, I discovered how Noah probably felt during those forty days. (Later, I imagined I could commiserate with Moses in his journey to find the Promised Land. Why one city needs so many overlapping highways is beyond my comprehension.)

There was not nearly enough Mondrian at the Warhol museum, however, an exhibit I nearly overlooked proved to have the highlight of the excursion.
I discovered a cafe - not that it was in any way hidden - where smoking is allowed, regulars are kind, the internet is free, and the coffee doesn't suck completely. On the other hand, there were far too many of young people with silly faces, compensating for their self-perceived lack of social prestige with loud squeals and cigarettes, and a left-wing pretentiousness in the decor.

I acquired new lipstick and a pair of plastic earrings, growing nervousness about the state of my car, perspective on my own town. Perspective especially regarding the quality of coffee, the ease of navigation, and a place to call home, whether in the smiles of my friends, patterns in nightlife, or a small apartment on Hamilton.

I would be lying if I said I didn't think of you all the entire time.
I only do things when I am ready; I will be ready to be home next time you see me, thus, very happy to see you.

It's Gonna Be A Bright. . .

. . . bright, sunshiney day.

I can see all the obstacles in my way.
And how.

I am endeavoring to live frame-by-frame, and stop making up shit that just isn't happening. The next scene hasn't been written yet.

Anything I have with me at any given moment is all I have, necessarily.
One cup of coffee.
One glass of water.
The music from PTD's The Shadow Box.
A couple of people with whom I am loosely acquainted.
One computer.

Everything around me is serving its desired purpose for the moment - as am I; I honestly couldn't ask for anything else.

Because, you know, when I said "I'll take it," I meant as is.

"You can't hide behind social graces,
So don't try to be all touchy-feely..."

Really. I don't have any illusions about anyone.
Among our redeeming qualities - admit it - we're mostly trifling assholes.
At least you, and I, are in good company.

It was discussed, recently, the manner in which one may learn from discussing things with, and listening to various people. I have thus decided that in my dealings with people who tell me stories, tell me various interpretations, exaggerations, or reiterations of happenings, I have learned, consistently, about behavioral patterns. Patterns in which to behave, and in which to never to behave.
On the other hand - and to keep myself from sounding overly critical and obtuse - I can only assume that there are people learning the same thing from me.

I only hope you realize how much you can learn.

Carry on, my wayward [Ypsilantaholic] sons.


("...Those people who smile too much, watch their eyes,
I only know 'cause I'm like that sometimes...")