Today is Richard Brautigan's birthday and so, in honor of one of the founding fathers of my personality, here is his poem from page 70 of The Pill Versus the Springhill Mine Disaster:
Comets
There are comets
that flash through
our mouths wearing
the grace
of oceans and galaxies.
God knows,
we try to do the best
we can.
There are comets
connected to chemicals
that telescope
down our tongues
to burn out against
the air.
I know
we do.
There are comets
that laugh at us
from behind our teeth
wearing the clothes
of fish and birds.
We try.
"All of us have a place in history. Mine is clouds." -RB
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Monday, January 23, 2006
Concrete vs. My Leg
Warning: the pictures at the bottom of this post are a disgusting attempt to share my fascination with my wounds with YOU. How lucky you are. But seriously, if gross things make you unhappy, this is fair warning not to go all the way to the bottom of the post.
Last Tuesday I fell while walking to work and landed on my knee and the top of my foot. Needless to say, it was not pleasant, but I thought: "it can't be so bad, I'll check my mail and then see if it still hurts." (the P.O. is in the same building as my job, so this is not some 8-mile treck, lest you think I'm tougher/dumber than I am) Well, when I left the postoffice with blood dripping into my shoe, and someone looked at me with the great concern you show someone who has just betrayed the fact that they're psychopathic... I went to the nurse.
Turns out I hurt myself pretty badly and have been ritualistically bathing myself in Neosporin everyday.
Now, here's the part where some clarification might be necessary. I lived my life relatively accident-free. I was bitten by a dog and lost a pint of blood in 1995 and I got out of PE for six months because of it, but I also lied to my gym teacher about how serious it was(n't).
This wound is out of my realm of experience. It's not that bad, but I'll be damned if I don't feel like it's some kind of trophy. This is why I felt it absolutely appropriate to commemorate the event with photographic evidence. I'm telling you, the photos don't do it justice.
I have to take this opportunity to thank Tim from the deepest abysms of my gimped heart. (I'm not sure how many of those words were legitimate words.) He saved me a lot of pain and trouble and was very gracious about running errands and fetching things for me while I rolled around like a fat, broken goat. Had I carried on much longer, he surely would have put rat poison in my milkshakes. Actually, I don't think I got any milkshakes, but had I asked, it would have been my dying request, I'm sure.
Anyway, that's enough. I like wounds. They're scientific.
Last Tuesday I fell while walking to work and landed on my knee and the top of my foot. Needless to say, it was not pleasant, but I thought: "it can't be so bad, I'll check my mail and then see if it still hurts." (the P.O. is in the same building as my job, so this is not some 8-mile treck, lest you think I'm tougher/dumber than I am) Well, when I left the postoffice with blood dripping into my shoe, and someone looked at me with the great concern you show someone who has just betrayed the fact that they're psychopathic... I went to the nurse.
Turns out I hurt myself pretty badly and have been ritualistically bathing myself in Neosporin everyday.
Now, here's the part where some clarification might be necessary. I lived my life relatively accident-free. I was bitten by a dog and lost a pint of blood in 1995 and I got out of PE for six months because of it, but I also lied to my gym teacher about how serious it was(n't).
This wound is out of my realm of experience. It's not that bad, but I'll be damned if I don't feel like it's some kind of trophy. This is why I felt it absolutely appropriate to commemorate the event with photographic evidence. I'm telling you, the photos don't do it justice.
I have to take this opportunity to thank Tim from the deepest abysms of my gimped heart. (I'm not sure how many of those words were legitimate words.) He saved me a lot of pain and trouble and was very gracious about running errands and fetching things for me while I rolled around like a fat, broken goat. Had I carried on much longer, he surely would have put rat poison in my milkshakes. Actually, I don't think I got any milkshakes, but had I asked, it would have been my dying request, I'm sure.
Anyway, that's enough. I like wounds. They're scientific.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
A woman's love is wasted...
...when she loves a Runnin' Gun...
This is so important, in fact, that I forgot to write about it because I was too busy being wholly greatful and thrilled. Most likely, you already know that for as long as I can remember, I've suffered from Migraine Disease. if you've never had migraines, you might not believe that it's truly a disease, to which I reply, migraines are more than a disease, they are the kind of curse that make you question whether or not it's really worth it to be alive. I read a quotation the other day which said something to the effect of: "People have often asked for death, but no one has ever asked for a migraine."
At the Richardson Library over Christmas break I read a book that was clearly written by a person who actually experienced migraines and used that experience to write about about a cure. It took me an hour to devour and memorize all 164 pages of that book and if I could sell myself as an indentured servant to this man, I totally would, well, to him and Dr. Ceriani, who wrote my perscription.
So, essentially, using a combination of B Vitamins, and a practiced application and understanding of my wicked headaches, I think I've gotten it pretty well knocked out. It's no TKO, but if you've ever been around me when I have a headache and I can't look at you, stand up, hear anything, receive and process information or stop crying... you know how important it is that I've learned to see a headache coming and stop it before it knocks me over.
I'm a much nicer person.
The only problem is that now I can't use my headaches as excuses for avoiding homework, cleaning, admitting that I'm wrong, etc... Not that I ever did that. Really.
I really can't explain how freeing it is to go three days without a headache. I would do anything to keep it that way.
The book I read is called Migraine: Winning the Fight of Your Life and it's $13.00 on Amazon. If you have Migraines, I recommend reading it, or any other book that might have the key to solving the mystery of your personal struggle with this evil and ridiculous thing.
This is so important, in fact, that I forgot to write about it because I was too busy being wholly greatful and thrilled. Most likely, you already know that for as long as I can remember, I've suffered from Migraine Disease. if you've never had migraines, you might not believe that it's truly a disease, to which I reply, migraines are more than a disease, they are the kind of curse that make you question whether or not it's really worth it to be alive. I read a quotation the other day which said something to the effect of: "People have often asked for death, but no one has ever asked for a migraine."
At the Richardson Library over Christmas break I read a book that was clearly written by a person who actually experienced migraines and used that experience to write about about a cure. It took me an hour to devour and memorize all 164 pages of that book and if I could sell myself as an indentured servant to this man, I totally would, well, to him and Dr. Ceriani, who wrote my perscription.
So, essentially, using a combination of B Vitamins, and a practiced application and understanding of my wicked headaches, I think I've gotten it pretty well knocked out. It's no TKO, but if you've ever been around me when I have a headache and I can't look at you, stand up, hear anything, receive and process information or stop crying... you know how important it is that I've learned to see a headache coming and stop it before it knocks me over.
I'm a much nicer person.
The only problem is that now I can't use my headaches as excuses for avoiding homework, cleaning, admitting that I'm wrong, etc... Not that I ever did that. Really.
I really can't explain how freeing it is to go three days without a headache. I would do anything to keep it that way.
The book I read is called Migraine: Winning the Fight of Your Life and it's $13.00 on Amazon. If you have Migraines, I recommend reading it, or any other book that might have the key to solving the mystery of your personal struggle with this evil and ridiculous thing.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Saturday night's alright for fightin'
Considering that I know nothing about music other than that I like it, generally, unless it blows, I have to comment that I think my friend Austin' band, Tuesday's Debut, from Lake Charles, LA, puts on a badass show. There's something boggling to my mind about talented musicians. Perhaps it's because my own attempts at learning the piano ended with a song with 12 beats about a train entering (or maybe it was leaving) a station.
Oh, and I once learned how to play one Jewel song and one Green Day song on the electric guitar.
Anyway, Austin's band was awesome (despite the venue's best efforts to suck) and I'm not sure I've ever seen anyone freak out and totally become part of a drum set before. It was basically awesome.
Austin freaked out and become the drums in the same way that I freaked out and became my homework this week. First week of school and I had a presentation worth 20% of my grade that basically consumed my life. C'est rien, I say... I'm glad it's over before The Conglomerate kicks in.
Here's the best part EVER: all of my teachers this semester are totally in their element, teaching their favorite classes, cracking jokes, drawing diagrams, using emphatic hand-motions and generally hamming it up, left and right. It's the dream semester. The one where you're finally in all of the classes you've been waiting to take for our entire college career. I could only be happier if I was in Botany or Tree House Construction 101: but those do not exist at Centenary which means that scientifically speaking, I'm as happy with my classes as any human could possibly hope to be. Gush.
Should anyone really be this please with learning about rhetoric? I take it as an indicator that I'm definitely in the right major.
If you want to be competely freaked out and fascinated for an hour or so, do a search on "BODIES: The Exhibition" or just click to go to the Bodyworlds website.
And if that's not really what you wanted to think about, everything in this catalogue either smells or tastes good: http://www.watkinsonline.com/default.cfm
Oh, and I once learned how to play one Jewel song and one Green Day song on the electric guitar.
Anyway, Austin's band was awesome (despite the venue's best efforts to suck) and I'm not sure I've ever seen anyone freak out and totally become part of a drum set before. It was basically awesome.
Austin freaked out and become the drums in the same way that I freaked out and became my homework this week. First week of school and I had a presentation worth 20% of my grade that basically consumed my life. C'est rien, I say... I'm glad it's over before The Conglomerate kicks in.
Here's the best part EVER: all of my teachers this semester are totally in their element, teaching their favorite classes, cracking jokes, drawing diagrams, using emphatic hand-motions and generally hamming it up, left and right. It's the dream semester. The one where you're finally in all of the classes you've been waiting to take for our entire college career. I could only be happier if I was in Botany or Tree House Construction 101: but those do not exist at Centenary which means that scientifically speaking, I'm as happy with my classes as any human could possibly hope to be. Gush.
Should anyone really be this please with learning about rhetoric? I take it as an indicator that I'm definitely in the right major.
If you want to be competely freaked out and fascinated for an hour or so, do a search on "BODIES: The Exhibition" or just click to go to the Bodyworlds website.
And if that's not really what you wanted to think about, everything in this catalogue either smells or tastes good: http://www.watkinsonline.com/default.cfm
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Blond on Blond
I'm not sure if you can tell what's going on in this picture; it's buff guys with chainsaws carving up a huge, fallen tree. This is an allegory for what my stomach did today as I attempted to salvage the last scrap of my last Saturday of freedom, instead of vomiting (i.e.: being ripped apart from inside by my stomach with a chainsaw). Fie, I say.While I was laying in bed I heard the most god-awful sound and recognized it immediately as a dog being hit by a car. Buster has been hit three times, so it's familiar. My neighbor hit her tiny dog and broke the dog's pelvis. While I wait for her to return the towel she borrowed from me, I hope they consider building a fence so that their other stupid dog doesn't get hit. God, that poor dog. I suppose I shouldn't complain about my stomach, at least my pelvis is intact (as far as I can tell).
Here's the real news for the day: (and I have no photographic proof, but Stevie does) last night we went to the Noble Savage and had a beer ten feet away from Jimmy Fallon (yes, THAT Jimmy Fallon), who told Sarah that she was cute and awesome and took a shot with Ryan Walsh, who has the power of ten men in his pinky finger. I resisted harrassing him, as my good deed for the day. He's enormous and his head is huge. WAY bigger than it looks on TV, so I don't believe that whole "the camera adds ten pounds" thing.
Tim comes home from Choir-Kidnapping tomorrow and then, TA-DA!! class starts. I hope this semester proves to be less terrifying than it looks. I have less books but more work, I'm sure. After this semester my grammar will be able to beat your grammar into a pulp. I shall challenge you to a battle of grammar and rhetorical skill!! Huzzah!
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