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SUPPORT A LIVING WAGE AT MIAMI UNIVERSITY!

2006-10-22T20:05:00.000-05:00

come to Students for Staff's public event!

who: Workers, Faculty Members, and Public Officials
what: Speak out about wage disparities on our Miami University campus.
when: WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 25th @ 6pm
where: SHRIVER HERITAGE ROOM
why: Because poverty is a growing problem in our local community, and this is just one small step toward absolving the issue.

come, bring your friends and family, and meet some fantastic open-minded people, and MAKE A DIFFERENCE!!

how to define me?

2006-10-19T01:04:00.000-05:00

Stephanie Lee --

[noun]:

A person who is constantly high

'How will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com

wish list

2006-10-08T16:20:00.000-05:00

so my 21(!)st birthday is coming up in december. and i've been trying to think of what i really want.

i really do hate birthdays, especially my own. i hate the idea of buying presents to celebrate another year older. it seems so silly, like, 'hey, congrats on making it one more year. we didn't think you'd get this far. hey!'

and i mean, i suppose life is something to celebrate, but i always feel more like birthdays are celebrations of non-deaths. but i guess that makes sense: you need the reminder of one to remember the other.

anyway, i hate asking for stuff. i hate owning stuff. i hate that i have to have certain things to make me happy. such is the horrible situation that living in a capitalist society creates. again, that dualism that makes the world work. life=non-death. remembering that i'm living in a capitalist society always makes me want to kill myself...

so anyway, i've been thinking of things to ask for because this is my very last milestone birthday. and last year, i asked my friends and family NOT to give me gifts. i hate buying gifts for silly occasions, so it seemed like a magnanimous thing to do, asking others not to repeat the dreadful cycle for my sake.

but this year, unfortunately, there are things, material things, i want for my birthday.

for one, a FLASK, for toting potent potables. this is especially necessary at miami. sometimes i don't know how i get thru the day...

for another, ADOBE PREMIERE. i want to do some sweet film editing stuff, but apparently i need this first. and since adobe is not freeware (and thus not nearly as cool) i have to buy it. but since i am currently working for sub-minimum wage, i can't afford it. so, unquellable sadness. :-(

so many books and movies. i don't have a social life any more so i need the literature and cultural texts to keep me alive.

an EXTERNAL HARDDIVE. for keeping music and film work on, so i can continue working on film shorts without crashing my computer.

a HAT.

THIS SHIRT. i effing love swedish bands. and the knife are one of my absolute faves.

the perfect SWEATER VEST. i still haven't found it yet.

and of course, WORLD PEACE,
THE IMPEACHMENT OF BUSH,
a date with JENS LEKMAN,
ALTERNATIVE ENERGY SOURCES,
a STOP to global warming,
NO MORE hunger,
MORE FORESTS,
a LIVING WAGE and RESPECT for all workers,
a CURE for every disease and cancer,
an END to capitalism,
and etc. and etc. ad infinitum...

so, if any of you are feeling particularly generous this holiday season, you know what to do.

alternatively, if you are in the oxford, ohio/lexington, ky/wales, uk area the day after christmas, come find me. i'll be the one moping around the bar. buy me a drink won't you? and wish me a happy 21st birfday.

life and a pocketful of greasy (poker) chips.
-stephanie

this must be a record...

2006-10-03T22:40:00.000-05:00

attention, attention:

for the first time EVER (as far as i'm aware) i am DONE with a group project BEFORE the very last minute.

and without my stress levels shooting through the roof. and no all-nighter or frustrating group interaction was involved.

who would have thought that working with 5th year male business majors could be so refreshing? and so pleasant?

ah, blissfully done with work tonight.

i'm gonna have a beer and watch a movie!
-stephanie

do not download the new iTunes

2006-10-03T00:32:00.000-05:00

it is fucking.

-stephanie

Fwd:

2006-10-02T19:38:00.000-05:00

some spam for your enjoyment:

A chain saw The photon

Furthermore, a short order cook beyond the bartender wakes up, and a college-educated blithe spirit secretly admires a traffic light. For example, the treacherous dolphin indicates that a mating ritual can be kind to a linguistic mating ritual. Indeed, the federal crank case makes a truce with a girl scout. Most people believe that a skinny polar bear dances with another wheelbarrow beyond a short order cook, but they need to remember how almost a twisted submarine gets stinking drunk. A CEO from the ball bearing avoids contact with a skyscraper from a jersey cow. Now and then, a prime minister finds subtle faults with the warranty. A blood clot is resplendent. Furthermore, a carpet tack starts reminiscing about lost glory, and a tripod often throws a wedding dress toward a grain of sand at a blithe spirit.

Now and then, a prime minister finds subtle faults with the warranty. A blood clot is resplendent. Furthermore, a carpet tack starts reminiscing about lost glory, and a tripod often throws a wedding dress toward a grain of sand at a blithe spirit. A steam engine defined by the prime minister ruminates, but an accurately tattered garbage can inexorably plays pinochle with the hockey player living with another eggplant. The spartan squid plays pinochle with another slow defendant. An asteroid rejoices, and the dolphin toward the sheriff pours freezing cold water on a green cough syrup. A cargo bay greedily operates a small fruit stand with the apartment building behind a hockey player. The linguistic hockey player is usually spartan.

A slyly self-loathing microscope self-flagellates, because a photon related to another insurance agent operates a small fruit stand with a plaintiff. The warranty ceases to exist, and the carelessly impromptu tornado ruminates; however, some pompous scythe buries a paycheck beyond a bottle of beer. If the food stamp over a mortician finds lice on the spider, then a jersey cow around the insurance agent reads a magazine. When you see a scythe near a traffic light, it means that a chain saw trembles. A defendant beyond another grain of sand is worldly. The mitochondrial power drill wisely competes with the usually highly paid globule. The skyscraper of the bartender flies into a rage, because a precise girl scout throws a phony chestnut at a spider. Indeed, a girl scout near the recliner laughs and drinks all night with the girl scout related to a fairy.

!@#$%&* = my thursday nights

2006-09-28T23:24:00.000-05:00

okay, a little rant and then to sleep...

so, i finally got away from the radio station. as in, they finally let me quit my shitty thursday night shift, a shift which came right after film class, meaning no rest, no dinner, and late nights, and having to listen to HawkTawk (augh...) and the impossibility of work or play. not a huge deal, but i was really glad to get my thursday nights back. especially due to my recent ailment.

anyway, i was milling around trying to get various things done: laundry, reading (i picked up a sweet book for an EDL 761 class that i've been wanting to read so much!!), showering, eating, relaxing and then getting in the right mood to finally take my much-needed meds (i've put it off due to the drowsy side effects, which i've needed to put off b/c of all the work i had)

one thing about my thursdays is that i am also supposed to work at the writing center on those days, which sucks, for a number of reasons, many of them which i will expound upon now...

ok, there are these two ppl who have really been pissing me off (and here's the cat out of the bag with a rabid mrooooooowr: Nate Smith and Alle Foster. if you work or study at miami, and i'm sure at least one of you out there does ;-), you can look them up and understand...) they are dating, obviously. the weird thing is that nate, i swear, liked me last year. or at least, there was a period of time in which he spent an unjustifiably lot of time with me when he should have been with alle and i could have been with my significant other of the time.

anyway, it was awkward b/c he would want to hang out and read poetry to me and go out to eat and stuff, and it was this intimate stuff that came out of no where that bothered me mostly b/c it blindsided me and made me awkward (does he like me? is he cheating on his girlfriend with me? does alle know? W. T. FFFFFF????!!!???!?) it all made me very uncomfortable, and now that i think about it, this all seems so unnecessary.

but nate and i were friends of sorts. he gave me food and stuff and we talked about all sorts of things, and oddly, we would talk about our own relationships (me about justin, him about alle. though what i got out of it was that he and alle had hit a rough spot and were trying to break up, albeit unsuccessfully). we also chatted over the summer and made plans to discuss our reading and writing, and he promised to teach me the guitar (liar. bastard.)

recently though, nate and his gf have been acting awfully strange around me. they have been really rude and have been ignoring me on purpose or going out of their way to avoid me. nate, for example, changed his shift on thursdays at the writing center so we wouldn't be in there at the same time. and on my first thursday, when i showed up late due to the station, he left a mean note on the door that said "the center had to close early because the WORKER that was supposed to be here wasn't. sorry. -nate" and when i emailed him later to apologize, he ignored me. and then when things get worse, and he and his girlfriend are both in the center ignoring me, i wrote him an email:

hey nate.

so, do you have a problem with me or something?

because if you do, you should just talk to me about it, rather than skirt the issue and continue avoiding me. it makes things weird, you know?

-stephanie

he ignored that also.

so now, i've given up trying to understand the problem, and am content to let them hate me for reasons i am unaware of (i believe i was the victim of HIS advances, and not the other way around. i certainly did NOT reciprocate the feelings.)

well, this all relates to my thursday night because instead of lying in bed, watching films for film class and finally taking those muscle relaxants, i was working until 1:30 am in the writing center, tryig to grade all the thirty something first year midterm papers BY MYSELF because alle and nate "had to run" and go back up stairs to her room (which, btw, is right next door to my dorm room) and proceed to hang out the rest of the night, while i, neck braced and wincing with muscle spasm pains, suffered through the worst evening of work in recent memory.

so, in light of the evening i just had:
!@#$%&%$#$%$#@$%$#@!$%^&^%$#$%&
AARARARAEAEFARAAERARAGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!$$%$$#%%$#$#%#$%$#$%

-stephanie

so there was cause for concern

2006-09-26T18:32:00.000-05:00

it's called torticollis

and according to my school's student health center, it's stress-related.

o good. one more thing to stress about.

spacing out with the help of muscle relaxants
-stephanie

i'm concerned about my health

2006-09-20T16:16:00.000-05:00

...

i've been writing more screenplays and movie ideas lately. more than actual papers and applications for school. ;-(

the problem is i'm enjoying the idea of these mini-films so much, it will just kill me if i don't actually do the ideas justice and make them into actual films.

the problem is i don't have the time and resources to shoot a film, not even a short. but i want to so much! if i only had access to resources and no other obligations, i think i would be content merely to work with film for the rest of my life...

but shucks. i'm stuck here at miami and i have a business class to waste my energy in.
-stephanie

mail recruiter

2006-09-18T09:31:00.000-05:00

got this in the mail today, thought it was ostensibly amusing, considering that the only way they could have possibly gotten my email was if miami sold it to them for a pence or two.

DEPARTMENT OF THE ARMY

3D MEDICAL RECRUITING BATTALION

1335 Dublin Road, Suite 214-D

Columbus, Ohio 43215-1025

REPLY TO

ATTENTION OF

Dear Student

The U.S. Army offers Full scholarships to Medical and Dental School , in addition to paying you over $18,000 per year in stipends and income. Imagine completing your last two, three or four years of Medical School without taking out any more student loans while earning an annual stipend.

The Army’s Health Professions Scholarship Program, or HPSP, provides full payment of all required tuition and fees, reimbursement of required books, expendable supplies, and equipment for the duration of Medical School (up to four years). Additionally, you will receive a monthly stipend of $1,319 for 10 ½ months per year. For the other 45 days each year, you will receive the full pay and allowances of an Army Officer in the rank of Second Lieutenant. After completion of your 2^nd, 3^rd, or 4^th year of Medical School , you will have the opportunity to perform clinical rotations at some of the Army’s most prestigious medical facilities in Hawaii , Washington , Texas , Washington D.C. , Georgia and many other locations. Your obligation for this scholarship package is one year on active duty in the Army Medical Department for every year of sponsorship, upon completion of training with a minimum of three year’s payback.

To apply for the HPSP program, you must meet all basic eligibility criteria. First, you must be an U.S. citizen and be enrolled full time or have a letter of acceptance from an accredited Medical School in the United States or Puerto Rico . If you have applied to a Medical School but have not yet been accepted, you are still eligible. You must also be at least 21 years of age and be able to pass a physical examination prior to your application being submitted. This scholarship has a stringent boarding process and is limited in numbers for the entire year; so, apply early. Can you think of a better way to finance your Medical School and enter your new career virtually debt- free?

If you are interested in applying for the Health Professions Scholarship Program or would like more information, please feel free to contact the U.S. Army Health Care Recruiting Team in the Columbus Area at (614) 488-0637, Toll Free Cell: (877)655-6333 or e-mail at, david.lowe@usarec.army.mil , or Captain Denise Alexander at (614) 488-0637 , Toll Free (877) 655-2724 denise.alexander@usarec.army.mil. Thank you for considering a future in Army Medicine.

Sincerely,

David M. Lowe

Staff Sergeant , USA

Columbus Health Care Team

i wonder if they even bothered to check my transcript. had they done so, they would've discovered this is a failed attempt. i am certainly not interested in medicine...

o miami. i'm so glad you are willing to sell my personal information along with other things to fund your questionable ventures. someone around here has to compromise ethics and virtue... i'm glad you're willing to do it.

rolling sixteen deep in spam because of miami everyday,
stephanie

little miss sunshine review

2006-09-17T03:22:00.000-05:00

i saw little miss sunshine this past weekend, and let me tell you: i am disappointed.

not only because it took me so long to see it (even though i knew about it way before it made it big and became a huge hit, i was looking forward to it in post-production stages) but because it was WAAAAAY over-hyped by all my friends and anyone else who had seen it.

my opinion is, that if you are going to skimp on content, you had better make it up in style. and sadly, there was no making amends for this film.

the plot was lacking, but that wasn't what bothered me. i'm used to movies with little to no story-lines. but if you're going to rely on something besides plot to carry the film, it had better be character development or a mind-blowing style. but meh... little miss sunshine was just indie enough to get by on some minimal style points that ppl probably didn't think too hard about the flaws and were more enchanted by its superficial quirkiness.

i wanted MORE from the characters. there was so much potential for character study in the film, but that was abandoned in favor of silly gags (dead grandpa in trunk, no speaking, pushing of van, and the worst, the van horn...) why did the brother want so badly to fly jets for the air force when he seems otherwise inclined to be anti-government and free-thinking? why does olive want to be little miss sunshine so much? what is toni collette's character's job, what motivates her?

steve carrell's character had the most potential, and i must say, his performance was the most captivating of them all, but i wanted MORE! he could have done so much more with the character, it's just a shame he had so little to work with.

all in all, i was not impressed. it definitely was not as funny as it was made out to be, and it most definitely was NOT a satire (what social ill does it critique?) and what was up with all the "white trash" in california?! you won't find that many white trash in rural kentucky, much less CA.

i do have this to say though: the music was good.

-stephanie

bright shiny lights

2006-09-16T16:49:00.000-05:00

soundtrack. (patrick watson, thank you for providing the sounds to mope to)

sitting on the rooftop of my building today, i started crying.

for no reason i'm aware of, except for this overwhelming sadness that's been welling up inside me for months now.

i am deeply sad and i cannot find a way to remedy it.

but to sit and mope, alone on the roof, away from the world, watching the sun dip into the western sky and wondering what the new day will bring.

the bricks in my wall are embedded with the names and letters of people who used to live here. i wonder what they are doing now. i wonder if the sun sets on them in much the same way. i wonder if i absorb their sadness so they don't have to.

when there's no one around and there's pause enough to look around, the world seems to me such a peacefully sad place. time slows to a pace that opens up just enough for me to fit between its crevices, and there i sit with my thoughts, my pasts and presents, the shivery tremblings of an emptiness erupting.

making the transition

2006-08-16T10:04:00.000-05:00

you know how i said a while ago that i was soon to be switching my online home to the site with an easier name?
...

well, that isn't going to be happening in quite the way i imagined.

i've found it hard to abandon this blog completely. it would be like turning twenty and saying that being ten didn't mean anything to the person i am now. (which is silly. first, because it's impossible, to be twenty you have to have been ten. and second, because ten was my favorite age and so to deny being ten would truly be wrong.)

i was going to change this address to stephanie-lee.blogspot.com but have since created another blog, which many of you, i see, have discovered, a blog called free radical writings, which resides at the precise address of my name. i've found though, that the blog possessing of my name i have been more careful about writing for, and i've only posted stuff of a certain type so far. and i wish to keep it that way. i want it to be a more "serious" blog, in the sense that i want it to be more "professional." that is, it will only pertain to my work, video, artistic, poetic, activist, or otherwise. i didn't want it to contain any of my silly personal ramblings or moanings about love or loss or depression or existential crises or whatever.

which is not to say i don't recognize the importance of these to my work. quite the contrary, i think these things are sometimes more telling than any of the nominal work i do. (that's why i've retained and will maintain a co-linking between the serious blog and this one, because they are mirrors of each other, and what do you get when you put two mirrors together? an infinity tunnel of mirrors, a wormhole of selves and tunneled glass! ha ha!)

i just think i should have a place on the net to post my "work" and to have that stuff connected to my name, even if only in link alone (have you noticed how my name is not connected to anything posted here? even on the new site, my name is absent from title and profile name). there should be a place for my name on the internet, where people in future times and in places not even discovered yet to google my name and upon much scrolling and fishing for them to find my work, simple and small as it is. and there should be a place for my ceaseless ramblings and reflections and blah blah's where i don't have to worry about posting them. and that is here. and will continue to be here, as childhood to adulthood. as my ten to my twenty.

so for my creative work, my professional work or what-have-you, go to free radical writings, aka the home space for my name on the net, STEPHANIE-LEE.blogspot.com

for my more prolific and easy posts on my personal life, on the inspirations to my work, for my personal happenings, come here! and read all about the struggles tribulations loves and passions of yours truly.

in the meantime, do enjoy this little post i wrote. it is something i think i would have posted here before, but i thought it related to my activism, and it is certainly a passion, so i posted it at the other place. i figure i need more stuff to get it rolling. it has been kinda stagnant.

love,
stephanie

!

2006-08-15T17:08:00.000-05:00

i'm in love.

-stephanie

another case of mistaken identity

2006-08-14T12:41:00.000-05:00

i get spam emails all the time from people who mix up my email with someone else's. it's becoming a problem because instead of getting the usual chance-poetic spam i relish so much, i'm getting boring dreck intended for people who actually subscribe to sex-enhancing newsletters.

such as this one, from robert:
Hi Bro, Every day thousands of guys have this problem. You can stand out from the crowd. Choose Extra-Time for a reliable comprehensive method that really cures you. Hate seeing her unhappy face after you finish too quickly? Find what you need here: http://servigto.com/gal/get/Get the courage and performance you need to be the best man of her life.

please no one click on that link. it will only lead to bad bad things.

is this a problem for anyone else out there, or is this some sort of cosmic email karma teaching me a lesson never to enjoy the artistic happenstance of spam?
-stephanie

as promised...

2006-08-13T12:15:00.000-05:00

pix from the most amazing and well-spent endless hours in the sun of summer, losing body weight thru my pores and gaining friends, both local and famous and unapproachable.

i think the cranberries just came on the ipod and i am a little more than surprised, as i had forgotten i ever listened to them in my past of pasts and am now going to find something else to listen to, because after a week of awesome live music the cranberries just aren't cutting it, sorry.
-stephanie (who apparently writes very long closing statements...huh must be a new development)

beachy keen

2006-08-12T22:48:00.000-05:00

hello friends and lovers... of my blog. :-)

er, anyway, i just got back from one of the most amazing summers of my life. chicago was amazing, and the concert festivities definitely worth mentioning (but since it seems like so long ago, and there's so much to say, and i'm a little tired from the whirlwind of activity that has been my twelve weeks of nonstop summer, i will refrain from writing and merely post pictures in the near future).

vacation was also splendid. with the time i spent kayaking, surfing, and hanging out at the beach and poolside, along with the time i spent toasting it up in grant park for the concerts, i'm looking a little tanner than usual. and a little tanner than i would prefer. in fact, my brother said i was a little "oompa-loompa"-esque. yikes.

ah well. one thing about the beach: you can't really complain. it's the beach.

pictures to come. and less writing than i would like, as school is nigh and i've yet to unpack to pack again.

endless shorelines,
stephanie

lollapalooza

2006-08-06T02:03:00.000-05:00

i gotta make this really quick cus i gotta go to bed to get ready for a full day of rockin out tomorrow before i move away from my summer residence, the city version of the love of my life, my summer escape, my chicago...

i went to lolla today and yesterday and am going again tomorrow. i've met some great people, made some new friends, and found some new fiery passions for many a new band, and rekindled my love affairs with several more.

in short, it's been a hell of a fest!

of particularly mandatory mention: the flaming lips. OH MY... how wonderful that experience was. fuckin awesome...

also saw sonic youth, which was just about as amazing as you could possibly imagine. oh, and the go!team. videos forthcoming at my youtube channel.

and pictures here!

what would you do with all your power?
(stop war, end hunger, and give the whole world a hug and a kiss, that is what i would do...)
-stephanie

animation/cartoon

2006-08-03T15:16:00.000-05:00

hello.

i've been taking on some ambitious projects as of late.

such as starting an animation (or, with my meager resources and training, a stop motion video of photographs) of my drawing.

it's a recent hobby that's developed into a bit of a silly love fest.

check out more of my storyboards and other silly characters on free radical.

people once sketched to remember the world they lived in. now people use photography to adjust it. are they the same, and can we combine them?
-stephanie

running out of time

2006-08-03T11:58:00.000-05:00

my summer in chicago is rapidly coming to a close and i am so sad! i was nervous about coming out here and trying to make it on my own, but i think i've surprised myself and many others with the way in which i have managed to pull thru, and i've learned a lot about myself and my capabilities along the way, as well as making several new friends and falling in love with the city and its cultures.

anyway lollapalooza is this weekend and i am thrilled to see bands such as sonic youth, ween, stars, the go!team, my morning jacket, blackalicious, what made milwaukee famous, the shins, of montreal, and of course, meeting up with my old flame, andrew bird.

also meeting up with a western alum who seems to be quite cool (his music taste is impeccable!) and reminds me of a grizzly bear cub.

in other news, the mirror is up and running now. my new blog, free radical writings (aka STEPHANIE-LEE.blogspot.com), which i conceived to be my artistic residence on the web, will host videos, animations, cartoons, artwork, poetry, and ideas for future novels and films. i want to see if i can create a "serious" personal blog, something more than just an online diary.

so check it out and check yourself in,
stephanie

forked in the face!

2006-08-01T10:46:00.000-05:00

i went to pitchfork this past weekend... still recuperating.

it was a fest indeed, and i had the aural pleasure of seeing such stand-up acts as the walkmen, band of horses, mountain goats, ted leo, silver jews, JENS LEKMAN (whose set i missed except for the last two songs, but he ROCKED that shit out. it was fuckin awesome. JENS: i love you. marry me won't you?)

there were also stirring performances and debuts from yo la tengo and some crazy dance remixes from diplo and ada.

check out a video of yo la tengo's new song, "weakest part" here. and watch diplo mix it up with the bangles here.

sunburnt to hell and feeling tired
-stephanie

words of wisdom from spam

2006-07-28T10:17:00.000-05:00

look what i got in my spam email of the day:

The pen is mightier than the sword. Walls have ears 
Thingsare not always what they seem. Adversity doesnt
build character, it reveals it Better to live on a
corner of the roof than share a house with a quarrelsome
wife Laugh and the world laughs with you, cry and you
cry alone

great advice, isn't it?
...

anyway, i am very sorry for the lack of thoughtful posts lately. i seem to be hitting a hard spot in my summer, as i just wrapped up both of my internships and am now wrapping up my love affair with this city i've come to call home. so, posts will be briefer and fewer in the next few weeks leading up to the fall semester of school. i have only one week left in the beautiful chicago and that's simply not enough time to explore all the wonderful things i neglected when i was busy working, and definitely not enough time to apply for a library card, a street performer license, AND a protesting permit.

aah life. so much to do. so little time (or so the spammers would say.)

love and a bag o potato chips,
stephanie

a heads up

2006-07-24T23:44:00.000-05:00

hey readers.

i've been thinking...

and i think i need to change my url.

so, after much debate, i decided that rather than bother with all the annoying steps involved with copying this entire blog to a new address, i would just change the address. no copying involved!!!

well, not totally... i mean, you will have to copy the new address to your address books and update your links and etc. so you can still find me, which i hope you will still aspire to do.

so, beginning the end of summer, the blog will henceforth be found here:
http://stephanie-lee.blogspot.com

(note how much easier that is to spell out than the current one, which i'm sure most of you couldn't spell unassisted... which is why i love you.)

-stephanie-lee

something new

2006-07-24T22:54:00.000-05:00

i tried to post a link, but apparently nothing about this has broken out on the internet yet, as google didn't turn anything out...

anyway, i'm really scared.

i'm serious, i can't sleep, i'm too afraid to sleep.

i was watching the local news tonight when the reports came on, about four separate incidences on I95 and I90 involving gun fire from a suspected sniper that killed one driver and wounded others in southern/south-eastern indiana, on the freeway between indiana and chicago.

the same path my parents will be taking tomorrow to visit me in chicago.

oh God i am so scared. i just have this horrible feeling and i don't know what to do...

the police "have reason to believe there will be more" and i am so worried my parents might get caught in it.

i know it might seem silly but i have this horrible feeling.

i have been doing the weirdest things since i moved to chicago. i've always been a morbid pessimist in regards to things such as this. i always remind myself of murphy's law when i leave the house, and brace myself for anything to go wrong. it's kinda a sick obsession, where i think that if i prepare myself for it, i won't be so surprised when it comes and will actually find some sort of peace. i figure, if i expect it, i can focus on finding some peace and reflection before my time.

but i don't know how to prepare myself for this. i really hope my parents make it all right. i tried to convince them not to come, and i could tell they were genuinely frightened to come. i just hope they are all right and that nothing happens. i am so scared...

please, i don't normally do this, but i ask that all of you who read this please pray for my parents' safety. i don't know what else to do. i just hope and pray they will be all right.

they are all i have and i love them so much. i don't know what i would do without them, i just can't imagine a life without them. i regret every horrible thing i have ever done to them and every stupid thing i have ever said. if they could just know that and if they could just be safe and happy, i would be content to do anything to ensure that.

please, whatever you believe in, however you make sense of the things that happen in this world, save a thought and a hope for my parents.

-stephanie

putting the ACTIVE in activism

2006-07-21T08:48:00.000-05:00

a long overdue post on the midwest social forum and my brief encounter with a career-related exitential crisis...

keep on keeping on...
-stephanie

This past weekend, as part of my internship with Chicago IndyMedia (CIMC), I traveled to Milwaukee, WI, for the Midwest Social Forum, a gathering of grassroots, nonprofit, and progressive organizations, for purposes of networking, combining efforts on a regional level, and discussing pressing social issues – immigrants’ rights, diversity and racial equality, and youth movements being the most prominent among them. We organized and participated in caucuses on independent/alternative media, and discussed the ways in which we could work within the corporate/mainstream model to achieve success for our causes. We also presented workshops on strategic communications and public relations for grassroots organizations.

This was something I had looked forward to the entire summer. In my mind, it signified my milestone in the internship experience, the bridge from grunt-work intern to deservingly invaluable member. I thought of it as an initiation ceremony into an exclusive club, a special social group I desperately wanted to join. It was an opportunity to prove myself, to set myself apart, to leave all the others in the dust and say that I, yes I, was the best intern… ever! (Of course, I was not in fact competing against any one at all. CIMC does not have any other interns. CIMC has never had any other interns. I’m their first and only. That, in and of itself, should have been enough to win their eternal favor. But I am, and have always been, a very competitive person. I’m neurotic about it. The competition’s invisibility only adds to the formidable list of all the compounded possible advantages they may have over me: just another thing to try to overcome with my simple and boring human abilities and strains of luck.)

But as it turns out, this Forum was not what I had in mind. I expected some mental strain and challenges, sure, maybe even some feats of power and strength, but never did I expect to be physically uncomfortable. The whole weekend, I was itching to run. It’s hard to explain, but I have never felt so uncomfortable or cramped in my own skin. I was itching to get away. As much as the subject matter interested me, I could not physically hold myself to such a place. I wanted to duck and run, to stretch and wave my arms wildly. My legs felt as if they were shrinking. My spine, electrified.

I felt like a hyperactive bound in a straightjacket. Everywhere I went, a restriction. Every action, a reaction. I was being contained.

Indeed, I was earning my membership at this Forum. This was the progressive grassroots organization’s answer to fraternity hazing.

It’s not that it was particularly grueling or tedious to be an organizer and/or volunteer. And it wasn’t that I was exhausted from attending the dozen or so workshops, nor from the lack of sleep in my pre-arranged homestay, where the house of rowdy twenty-somethings kept me up late and woke me up early when all I wanted to do was sleep until the headaches went away. No, the discomforts I experienced physically were only a projection of my existential unrest.

And it wasn't that I was bored or restless.

It was this, and simply this, that was causing my unfamiliar discomfort: I was confronting the harsh reality of grassroots activism, a jarring contrast to the glamorous and convenient image of gratifying change I had idealized and sought to implement in my campus activities. To my disappointment, the "real world" activism I was coming to know at the Forum, and in my experiences with IndyMedia, was unfortunately much more familiar than I had hoped it would be. I recognized the fragmented cohesion of core leadership that my activist groups at school struggled with in the past semester. I learned, to my dismay, of the struggles and disappointments of these "professional" activists, who I had hoped to learn and garner apprenticeships from, who I had hoped to model my own successes after. I attended workshops on avoiding burn-out, surprised and upset to learn that my brushes with exhaustion and insurmountable fatigue were not in fact casualties of my inexperience and green-ness to the activist business, but were the business, occupational hazards.

Indeed, it was a test of my strength, my endurance, and my motives.

Perhaps it was that I have never had to confront my (possibly selfish) reasons for wanting to pursue progressive projects and social activist movements. I’ve always been content to simply find the few things I care about enough to mobilize others and myself into a superficial commitment. I have always sought to work toward these few achievements, in even the faintest of semblances, and settle for that. It was not discomfort I was experiencing, but existential and motivational disconnect.

Had I been fooling myself? Had I been doing this for the wrong reasons? Did I actually think I could accomplish something of note and be happy to settle for that? Was I in this for the long term commitment, or was this just another fleeting hobby?

The feeling in my stomach when I thought this --that this might be a petty fascination, a childish fancy, a trend I was following, a phase of rebellion-- was wrenching. I felt sick, genuinely sick, and uncomfortable.

The Forum was a critical moment in my learning experience because it gave me the opportunity to examine myself and reflect my intentions and the intentionality of my actions and motivations. If I strip myself of my comfortable illusions and ulterior motives, if I come to see my activism for what it is --a genuine desire to change the world, no matter what the cost or trials I may face-- and still endeavor to pursue it, perhaps I can find the true happiness and fulfillment I may be seeking, may find something beyond the instant gratification of illusory control over my situation.

I wanted, I needed, to set out and invoke social reform. But not only in my own community or my immediate social circles any more, but also in my approach. I had to change the changes I was implementing to change the world. I had to change my idea and the way of the change I was seeking in the world.

In the context of the Forum, my simple and singularly conceived goals meant nothing. And I had no reputation for greatness or activism to ease my entrance into this culture of activism or to validate my membership. I had to earn it. I had to justify my need to be there.

At a regional gathering, the minor travails of a small student organization from Miami seemed meaningless compared to the national movement for workers’ rights, or the fight for immigrants’ rights and amnesty. Even the voluminous problems concerning Chicago’s youth and inner city were more than I could fathom to tackle with one movement or campaign, more than anyone could pretend to solve in a lifetime.

In my competitive spirit to distinguish myself as a student activist, I had forgotten to be active. There was so much to be done, so many campaigns to get off the ground, so many actions to plan, and such lofty goals to achieve. End world hunger. Reform the educational system. Eliminate poverty. Achieve fair wages and dignity for workers. World amnesty. Return media to the people. Ridding the world of sexism, racism, ageism, healthism… There were endless things in need of change; it would take endless numbers of people and endless amounts of time and energy to make a perceptible difference in any of these areas.

And I couldn't do it all alone. Change can't begin and end with one person, nor can it survive in just a few. It must be shared and distributed among the masses and we need to develop a culture of activism if we wished to see the changes for which we were fighting. Furthermore, change cannot be inspired by sitting in a workshop with like-minded individuals, but must be acted upon, must be brought out to see the sun, must be shared and spread across the world. I will not --cannot-- settle for armchair activism. Effective activism hinges on actions, not passive dreaming or hopes and wishes. Perhaps it begins with a dream, but the goal is to make the dreams a reality, to shatter illusions and conquer reality.

It’s hard to explain what happened to me at the Forum, or what epiphanous discovery I made that altered my perception of self or my work or calling. I just know that I’ve uncovered an itch unscratched, and the feeling of discomfort has been an altogether pleasantly unsettling experience.

happy anniversary

2006-07-19T16:54:00.000-05:00

you've come a long way, baby.

this marks the belated one-year anniversary of the beginning of this humble little blog of mine, something i am proud to have maintained and entertained long enough to see this day.

and it's been quite the journey: from simple cursory blog posts to prose, choreopoetics, theories and indie journalism, from a readership of none to an audience of a few, but dedicated and thoughtfully caring friends, from feeling alone, voiceless and aimless to speaking out and speaking my mind and speaking for others and speaking... this blog has become more than an outlet, it's become the electricity.

i hope that in another year, it will become something even more.

but for now, i am happy to settle for a few brief words from my dusty poetry notebook.
this is the first in a series of notebooks i have collected from the past two summers, and this piece happens to be from last summer. i never published it before, given its private nature, but i have since lost the feelings that accompanied its penning, and therefor feel comfortable opening it up and exposing it to the ethers.

pour les larmes des etoiles,
stephanie

a flushing
----5/8/2005
a great unraveling of mind----
the tenuous build of body and melding of mind/spirit/soul to finally culminate in the conception of a magnificence beyond you and me and the world between us, the sunlight grasping the cool summer air as we lie awake on the roof of the world looking down on fiery furnaces and dirt pathways and a glistening mirror lake, reflecting our desires and fears and thoughts articulated to the open air of summer, animal spirits bearing witness to the communion of two souls thru words articulated to the dirt mounds of time, the childhood wishing fulfilled in the grasp of a hand, the feeling of congruent palms and the holding of limbs, like mountain goats we climbed to the top of our world to look down and into the future and into time and you said 'what if we are starting something?' and pointed to the stars and i gazed up to see, not the connecting of dots to form lines, but the creation of worlds to find a place for us in it, and the putting into figures and shapes a feeling wordless in breathing.

tiny pink feet

2006-07-19T15:35:00.000-05:00

i found a dead mouse in a mouse trap on the floor of the copy room of my work today. [pictures forthcoming...]

poor little thing, the trap had flipped up and over as the snap released and was smothering her, so all i could see were her tiny pink geet, curled slightly, and her thin wiry tail, straight out behind her, possibly in fright or surprise.

hideous thing, the mouse trap. would we ever devise something like that to trap homeless people with? a large steel bar to come crashing down on one's head or snapping at your neck or breaking your hands and wrists if you reached to grab something you wanted to eat?

no, that would be cruel.

that's how i think of mice, such small and slight creatures, so gentle and delicate. like little office hoboes, displaced from their homes by xerox machines and water coolers. just trying to make a living and find a bite to eat amid all the stress and flow of the office.

people can be so cruel.
-stephanie

p.s. on another note, i haven't noticed any traps in my cubicle vicinity, and i will have you know i have been an exceptionally messy eater recently... ;-)

brief thoughts on the go

2006-07-15T10:09:00.000-05:00

hi hey hello and all the other combinations and permutations of salutations

i've got guests this weekend, so before i'm consumed with the various duties involved in hostessing, i thought i would do a post!

***

first off, i just awoke from a horrible dream. i was in my ex's apartment, just hanging out for some reason. in the dream, i told myself it was because i didn't want to be bothered or talk to anyone (i guess i was working...?) so i was hanging out there because i knew it was as good a place as any. certainly no one would talk to me there...

so i was hanging out... and i remember that his apartment had expanded, and there was this weird passageway... like a drawing/sitting room between his living room and bedroom, and i was sitting in there looking at this huge wooden china cabinet with large steel rivets, a lofty antique, and i was either drawing or describing the jars and vases inside.

and my ex and his new girlfriend walked by, she was wearing this bright red shirt and he was wearing a white polo and khakis and i remember thinking how odd he looked, his hair trimmed and slightly curled behind his ears, his face clean-shaven, and i thought to myself, 'he must love her, he never cleaned-up for me...'

and they just kinda glanced at me, laughing a bit at my pathetic-ness, holding hands as they walked past me to the bedroom. and i just looked at them and kept on doing whatever it was i was doing. and then i could hear them in the next room, because they had purposefully not closed the door.

the rest of the dream, it was me sitting in the same room, attending to the same task, and them finding various other ways of taunting me and flaunting themselves. (now that i think about it, what a strange dream! i don't think i've ever had a dream where i'm not the one doing the main action, or where i'm not the one whose emotions or senses are not the main focus. and in this dream, the ex and girlfriend were clearly the focus... huh)

and i remember one part in particular, because it was the moment which stirred me awake: my ex and his girlfriend had finished in the bedroom and were now heading out, so they exited by way of the room i was occupying. i was still busy being busy, and they came in, his gf glancing down at me, kinda whispering to my ex, 'why does she have to be here?' and my ex making this critical face in mocking me, and then he stopped right in front of me.

i looked up at him and said, "excuse me, i'm busy." he was looking at these pictures on the coffee table next to the leather chair i was in (the apartment of the dream is nothing like my ex's austere "real" apartment. this apt was something of a pier one novelty...) these were pictures of me when i was little, like when i was in elementary school (when i thought i was so much cuter...) and they were in these weird metal and wood frames, to match the china cabinet.

and he picked them up and was looking at them. and i just sat there, incredibly uncomfortable. and he says something like 'are you taking these back now that we're not together?' ...or 'these were left here from when we were together' ...or 'you gave me these at a different time' ...or 'you can take these with you now, i don't need them any more' ...something crystally cruel like that.

and then they left, and i was alone in his apartment. and really upset.

i went to the bathroom, and then i left.

***

got some fantastic spam this morning! check it out!

aesthete compensatory celebrate
prevention swamibusiness dystrophy rid
squatter bufflehead <--- my favorite #1
czechoslovakiapetalportrait <--- my favorite #2
truncate methionine
sellout associate
fairyheat hotelman array
hookworm toroid
heaterprokofieffmange
dazeaerosol

i think that ever since i did that spam poetry post, i've been getting more of it. how lovely! am i too trusting to believe that spammers might be researching their victims and that this latest flood of spam to my mailbox is an attempt on their part to appease me?

or... is it because, in the search for good spam, i've fallen to opening every one i get, even the "married women need love too... watch them get naked and..." ones.

o funny turn of events!!
-stephanie

enjoy your weekends!! get some sleep for me!

tweotjitw

2006-07-13T14:31:00.000-05:00

tired of titles...

i changed my blog's description today, as a result of recent self-observation.

this blog used to be a search for truth, an electronic poetry archive but has now devolved into nothing more than an online journal, a silly place for people to read my personal stories and woes.

i'm a bit sorry to see it come to this. but i figure if i change the title, at least people can't be upset or disappointed.

here's what the description used to be:
distilled & spontaneous creative & destructive poetry & essays, under the freedom of the pseudonym, "ogbuefi"

and now, it's not.

and before that, it used to be this:
An attempt to transcend the spaces and energies between you and me and the entity known simply as: "ogbuefi." (an outlet for the communication of self and thoughts thru poetry and rhetoric).
(this is when it was listed on blogrankings.com under books & literature... ha. i bet no one would even think to count this under literature now...)

o so sad... but sick of feeling sorry for myself.

moving on,
stephanie

!@#$%&*

2006-07-13T11:28:00.000-05:00

sometimes i get tired of having to come up with original titles for posts each time i go to write one.

why must every post i write have a title, can't i be content just to leave it unnamed and informal?

anyway, i realized yesterday what's been bothering me: i suck at relationships.

yep, that's the whole of it. i'm all depressive and darkly mooded lately because i found out that my ex-boyfriend of the last two years is now living with this girl he's known for like a month.

ugh. my mind is in a blender.

i'm not even jealous. i bet she's cool.

nor am i sad about it. my relationship with my ex was rocky at best. though for about a half a year it was the best thing ever. we sincerely loved each other for that brief time, and i couldn't imagine myself being happier with anyone else. and then, he goes away for one week, and he hooks up with a girl and begins cheating on me until we finally gave up on trying to make things work and i left to focus on other things (saving my educational program, trying to get a living wage for miami's staff, writing poetry and working on school projects, research papers, etc.) while he continued seeing her. i saw them together uptown like a few weeks later and that pretty much was the end of it. until then, i had still even entertained the idea of taking him back, of wanting to get back together.

ever have that happen to you? it's like your heart is being ripped out. it sounds cliche, but it's so true. it's like someone took a giant set of pliers and jammed it thru my sternum and proceeded to pull it out from my chest cavity, the beating pulses like echoes in an emptiness that enlarges.

so, no formal break-up, not so much as even an explanation. it was pretty much one week we're seeing each other all the time, seeking comfort in each other's company, learning and growing into the other's life. the next, we're strangers, and i'm bitter and confused, he's blissfully (and unremorsefully) moved on.

ugh. my body is rejecting this antidote. my systems are shutting down.

i'm not even upset because he's moved on. i finally realized i don't want to be with him. i put myself thru enough shit to try to make that relationship work, so getting out of it has been a good (no, great!) thing.

it's that i'm so pissed because he's moving on fine and i'm having all these existential crises and i can't even decide what to do with my life (writer? journalist? novelist? poet? film-maker? graphic designer? politician? activist? teacher? business woman??) , can't decide what i want to study (math? english? psychology? film studies? art? interior design? fashion? political science? communications? business??)

can't even decide where i want to live (france? canada? chicago? lexington, ky? oxford??) or where to go (here? there? stay? go??)

ugh. my body's vomiting. it's rejecting everything inside.

see, the problem is, the one area i thought i was ok at was in being a decent person, being a pleasant person, a happy bubbly and optimistic person. i thot i had good relationships with my friends and family. but my romantic relationships have successfully changed the nature of my other relationships, something i am so sad to admit and realize.

so i'm having to own up to the fact that i suck at being with people.

and i can't decide if i want to be with someone or if i will be content to be alone the rest of my life.

it seems the only person who will put up with me is my self, and that's only because she can't avoid it. i'm sure she'd want to leave me too if she could find a way.

ugh.
-stephanie

chicago rains

2006-07-12T14:31:00.000-05:00

i.
the weather today
is more like Ireland than Chicago
cloudy and dark to match my affect
a moist humid windy
the sweat of the city vaporized
moistured heat rising
the sidewalk concrete's breath
thru pockets in my epidermal raincoat

ii.
heavy clouds descended on the city
like sodden woolen balloons
sinking onto satellites, gargoyle spires, and tower points
pinched, fit to burst

iii.
seagulls loitering the littered city lawns
speckled gray and white
storm cloud paintings on their wings
and gray sky gloom in the orbs of their eyes

occupational hazards of being a young adult at the crux of her life, confronting her disenchantment and her (im)possible future

2006-07-11T15:38:00.000-05:00

i'm getting another intolerable wave of depression lately.

i get these crippling episodes of self-doubt and rage every now and then. they've been increasing in frequency lately though, so i suspect if they worsen in degree and magnitude, i shall have to seek the help and guidance of an existential doctor.

here's the thing:
my skin is falling off,
my hair is falling out
my teeth hurt
my joints ache

i hate my body
i hate my face
i'm going blind
i'm going deaf
i'm getting dim

can't write
can't sing
can't dance
can't play

no visions
no material
no calling
no purpose or drive

no friends
no family
no sense of self or being
no home
no in-between

the earth is just the place i live
and my body is just a casing

i want to jump out of my skin.
i'm so sick
and so tiring...

i feel like i've failed at everything
and only tried the baby steps
while climbing too high altitudes.

someone save me from myself.
i think i've fallen to sinking.

see, i've been living by myself all summer, and though i despised it before and was scared to live alone (i've never done it before) i find that now, i'm quite content to be my only companion. i find myself (or my many selves) to be quite reasonable company on one of my dark moods. or one of my crazy happy ones.

the thing is, i've discovered that after only 8 weeks living alone, i've become a misanthrope. it's true. i've given up on trying to please people. it's too difficult and requires too much effort and care on my part. pleasing so many people, playing to their wishes and desires, their devious little thoughts, trying to avoid trouble or misunderstanding... all these things are sooooo taxing. and it's sometimes such a waste of time. and energy. and i don't eat a lot these days, so i'm low on energy. in fact, the starship stephanie is encountering an energy crisis lately because i'm losing my energetic fizz. i suppose the summer's made my effervescence stale.

bubbly i no longer am. instead, i'm quite the cold and bitter shadow of a person i used to be. i used to humor people and make conversation easily. i used to strike out for the nearest social contact, heading to the bar, or a concert, or the park, or even the subway, talking to any stranger who would turn an ear my way.

but after a summer festering in my solitude with only myself and my thoughts for company, i suppose i've learned to talk to myself and respond back quite sufficiently.

so here's the deal:
i've forgotten how to love people.

it's true. i've always thought humans to be an inferior species, but now i'm actually finding my behavior corresponds.

so what to do? i desperately want to learn to love people again, but i can't.

the rejected has now learned to reject.

what now?
-stephanie

pssh. you don't know me...

2006-07-10T20:26:00.000-05:00

blogthings quizzies pretend to know me...

the data:

Your Inner European is French!

Smart and sophisticated.
You have the best of everything - at least, *you* think so.

Who's Your Inner European?

What Your Face Says

At first glance, people see you as down to earth and reliable.

Overall, your true self is reserved and logical.

With friends, you seem dramatic, lively, and quick to react.

In love, you seem mysterious and interesting.

In stressful situation, you seem like you're oblivious to the stress.

What Do People Think Of Your Face?

Your Hair Should Be Purple

Intense, thoughtful, and unconventional.
You're always philosophizing and inspiring others with your insights.

What's Your Funky Inner Hair Color?

You Belong in Paris

You enjoy all that life has to offer, and you can appreciate the fine tastes and sites of Paris.
You're the perfect person to wander the streets of Paris aimlessly, enjoying architecture and a crepe.

What European City Do You Belong In?

Your Birthdate: December 26

You lucked out the the skills to succeed in almost any arena.
Put you in almost any business or classroom, and you'll rise to the top.
You're driven and intense, but you also know when to kick back and cooperate.
Your ability to adapt to almost any situation is part of what's going to make you a success.

Your strength: Your attention to detail

Your weakness: You can be a little too proud of your successes

Your power color: Turquoise

Your power symbol: Arrow pointing up

Your power month: August

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

Exotic Dancer Name Is...

Silk

Exotic Dancer Name Generator

You Are 52% Evil

You are evil, but you haven't yet mastered the dark side.
Fear not though - you are on your way to world domination.

How Evil Are You?

Your Brain is 53% Female, 47% Male

Your brain is a healthy mix of male and female
You are both sensitive and savvy
Rational and reasonable, you tend to keep level headed
But you also tend to wear your heart on your sleeve

What Gender Is Your Brain?

Your 1950s Name is:

Charlene Veronica

What's your 1950s Name?

Your Porn Star Name Is...

Tasty Treats

What's Your Porn Star Name?

You're an Expert Kisser

You're a kissing pro, but it's all about quality and not quantity
You've perfected your kissing technique and can knock anyone's socks off
And you're adaptable, giving each partner what they crave
When it comes down to it, your kisses are truly unforgettable

What Kind of Kisser Are You?

Your Personality Is

Idealist (NF)

You are a passionate, caring, and unique person.
You are good at expressing yourself and sharing your ideals.

You are the most compassionate of all types and connect with others easily.
Your heart tends to rule you. You can't make decisions without considering feelings.

You seek out other empathetic people to befriend.
Truth and authenticity matters in your friendships.

In love, you give everything you have to relationships. You fall in love easily.

At work, you crave personal expression and meaning in your career.

With others, you communicate well. You can spend all night talking with someone.

As far as your looks go, you've likely taken the time to develop your own personal style.

On weekends, you like to be with others. Charity work is also a favorite pastime of yours.

The Three Question Personality Test

o, and my favorite:

In a Past Life...

You Were: A Greasy Magician.

Where You Lived: China.

How You Died: Dysentery.

Who Were You In a Past Life?

psssh. you don't know me at all...
-stephanie

beauty in the ether: an analysis of spam poetry

2006-07-09T00:56:00.000-05:00

one thing i did a lot of this past weekend at the convention was attend some "ill" (ill in this case being a good thing, like "sick") spoken word workshops. i learned to use poetry as part of a social change movement, and to incorporate my voice into artist/activist movements.

anyway, it got me thinking about the amazing ability of student writers and activists who were even younger than i am, and how i could never have been so prolific or talented when i was that age. but i acknowledged i had never been given the outlet, the chance, the opening to express myself, never found a space in which to develop that talent, to explore its potentiality.

and it made me consider the formalities of "art" and the limits we place on products before we deem them worthy of accepting the title. art is sacred, and we reserve that distinction for the distinctive. but this is limiting, inhibits growth and progress and change and innovation. because it stymies youth such as me and the young artists i was seeing perform their art this past weekend. if we reserve "art" for the elite and the practiced and the few, we limit its transformative capabilities. we commodify it. we relegate its place and its role in the democratic process, thereby diluting its very nature. art and activism are inherently similar, and difficult to separate. so, when you limit art to the few and priveleged, you remove it from the people. it is no longer art "for the people" or for the masses, but for the consumer elite. and that is a disservice to the population, as well as to the art itself.

the formality of the creation of art itself may also be formalized to the point of limiting creation. we see this in the editing process. here, i build on the poetic philosophy of one of my favorite revolutionary poets jack kerouac (who i deem "revolutionary" not so much in his ability to affect social change, which is the way in which i usually use the term, but i believe he was revolutionary in transforming the perception of language and the role of his art in terms of a movement, the beat generation).

i, like kerouac, believe in the purity of the spontaneous. spontaneous poetics seek to build on the beauty of the moment, which i liken to surrendering oneself and one's art to the chance and probability of nature and its forces and its ability to sweep you into something greater, that in trusting some aspect of your art to something uncontrollable (nature, time, other people), your abilities may be heightened, your art gaining momentum and force from the forces surrounding you. and i didn't realize i would get so ridiculous and philosophical here, but i'm gonna go with it...

consider the process of editing. parsing down, eliminating words and phrases that may be considered ineffective, clunky, etc. but to achieve what? art? beauty? how to define what is art and what is beauty, and who says that true intent and spontaneous poetry are not these things, cannot be these things? if the laws that govern nature are inherently given to chance and therefore beauty and are undivinable by humanity, and our art can lend itself to the same powers of chance and beauty, how then can we aim to censor and distill and produce something higher, produce something more beautiful, if after all, the art that is produced purely from true intent and spontaneous chance may in fact be messages pulled from the ether?

a spectacular example: SPAM POETRY

everyone gets those annoying emails from spammers. they get so clever these days too: designing subject lines that might pertain to something of interest to you. "hello dear friend." "thank you for your time." "in need of your assistance." "Alps." (i opened that last one...) even the extremely cleverly deceptive, "[Re]:"

inside, however, just lines of gibberish. perhaps only symbols. SPAM. initiate conditioned response... move to trash. remove. block this user. delete forever.

but, i've looked at several dozen of these spam emails over the past year, and it fascinates me to discover the totally unintentional, but unmistakably and undeniably poetic nature of many of them. more often than not, spam emails are a random assortment of words and letters, loosely assembled into word pairings and phrase blocks, often with little intelligible association. "jelly spatula rhino wing." "garguntusolarnebtitude." "Komodo Nicaragua sunset." gibberish... right?...

mm, maybe not.

on further analysis, i cannot help but credit spammers with some poetic ability. for, in caring very little about their actual message, they've managed to do away with conventional restrictions on language (which would limit word combinations to those that make traditional sense), relying on chance combinations instead, which, in no longer needing to adhere to rules of grammar and word orders, taps into a realm of infinite word combination possibilities, and explores the beauty of unfettered language, language reliant on no more than chance. in doing away with concern for the message, they've managed to achieve a better realized sense of beauty. accidentally perhaps, but no less remarkable. and arguably, no less exemplary.

consider these, from the aforementioned "alps" spam email i got just the other day:

joliet bromide deprivation
indelibleleash
cowboy affidavitdied
chalkline

what do these mean? "joliet bromide deprivation?" no clue, but i know joliet is a prison in chicago... bromide an allotype of bromine, an element on the periodic table... what do these words mean when compounded together with deprivation? "indelibleleash?" an image of a stinging welt on the delicate skin on someone's neck from a tightened leather cord...

one could spend days trying to ascribe meaning to these word pairings, with little success. proper language would never allow for these pairings in daily usage, which makes it all the more refreshing and extraordinary to encounter them in my spam emails each day.

...makes me want to forego spam protection and get all my poetry in spam digest form...

compare the SPAM poetry to the following SLAM poetry (from this weekend's spoken word forum):

sunlight spirits
i taste the angst but spit it out
louder than a bomb
angel wing ribcage fluttering

comparable juxtaposition of images, but the latter with a more predictable structure of meaning bordering on contrivance, drawing from similar (perhaps too similar?) image pools, while spam poetry relies on the random, the very source of its power being the impact of such glaring and garish dissociation.

spam poetry makes me reconsider the meaning of art, whether beauty is redemption enough for art, or if it must be heightened more by message. if it's not enough simply to consider the poetic potential of moments realized, appreciate the social space one occupies in a moment, and began to value the poetic potentiality of every word and phrase, and realize the beauty of incidental moments, the overlap of time and places signifying something extraordinary in the commonplace.

spam uses random assortment of words, but in combinations i could never have dreamed or produced under even the most creative of pretenses.

it is in the complete disregard for words' meanings that a reclamation of words' beauty is re-realized.

thus, the synthesis of nuanced and truly fresh poetry, unlike any i have ever encountered.

and what's more, totally free of that daunting and overused (and now meaningless) term: "art."

to the ether and the etherealized...
stephanie

catching up while winding down...

2006-07-08T22:57:00.000-05:00

hello hello.

just a brief post before i totally CRASH from the longest weekend ever (read: nonstop organizational meetings and workshops, constant containment in small lowlit rooms in a small lowlit city [milwaukee=not fun. university of wisconsin, milwaukee's student union=even less fun.] no significant physical activity, prolonged sleep deprivation, starvation from fresh air and normal diet = hell on the body's systems.)

in sum:
i went to milwaukee for the midwest social forum, a gathering of grassroots and nonprofit org's for a networking and workshop extravaaganza, which was enriching and definitely a unique and empowering experience, but also totally draining (i have NEVER had to stay still in one small place for such a long period of time). i am now home and finally getting around to answering emails and messages from so many of you wonderful darlings, it warms my heart to have such terrific correspondences, so if you haven't heard from me and are wondering why, it's because i was in milwaukee without internet and i think i am coming down with a stomach flu, and will be getting around to answering your calls, emails, etc. when i am feeling well enough to eat again.

accounts from the weekend, some advice and knowledge to share, as well as some rants are all in the mix for the next few days.

until then, stay safe, and get some fresh air. it really does your body good (as i am now discovering...)
-stephanie

taking on the army of one -OR- how i nearly got arrested -- an exclusive story from the ground

2006-07-02T22:31:00.000-05:00

[sorry! it seems my links to the article don't work. while i try to figure this out, please just read ahead. this post is more detailed (tho more editorialized) than the article i wrote anyway...]

this just in!

the military and chicago police hate peace!

...

i had heard stories of police brutality in chicago. so harsh and disgraceful and heartless as to be compared to abu ghraib.

but i didn't believe it. could never have believed it. until this weekend.

yes, this weekend signifies my threshold of patience and understanding for the law and law enforcement and authority.

because this weekend, i witnessed the oppression --the unlawful and unjustified and unwarranted-- oppression of civilians and the death of first amendment rights at the hands of law enforcement.

what started as merely an effort on the part of ten to twenty pro-peace advocates to distribute information regarding the iraq war and military un-truths soon became a violent confrontation between civilians and an overwhelming police force.

and i only barely evaded arrest.

"well, surely she's being dramatic," you say. ha, i only wish i were. "stephanie could never have gotten in trouble with the law. that just seems so unlike her." ha, that's what i was thinking too. in fact, that's what i've been thinking this whole time. "surely this is all a bad dream and i am going to wake up any minute now."

well someone please pinch me and kick me in the head, cause it ain't happening...

i've always been a loud person. but i've only recently been a vocal one. and only recently did i start challenging authority figures (my parents, MU administration, President, bosses, now police...) in the name of justice and good conscience. but never, NEVER, would i have imagined it would one day come to the point where i'd be threatened arrest.

it started like any normal day: i rolled out of bed, awakened an hour earlier than i had planned to be by an urgent phone call. work-related. "hey it's eric from the national lawyers guild," is what the guy on the other line says. i've been working with him and some friends from my work, chicago indymedia, to sort out some reported police abuse and suppression of first amendment rights. apparently, just the day before, a group of student activists from various org's had been ordered and forced off park grounds during the taste of chicago for flyering. when i heard this it seemed too silly to be a big thing. "obviously this can't happen" is what i said. "it's a public park... there can't be 'designated' free speech zones. this is loony!"

au contraire mon frère.

i saw today exactly what the guild and other activists had reported to me about. and i was dumbfounded.

indeed, within minutes of us getting to the taste, there were people on alert. the pro-peace groups that gathered there, too many to count, consisted of no more than a few individuals, each representing their own personal agenda (i spoke with mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles, and siblings of serving military men and women, many of whom constituted a support group of people who had lost loved ones in the war), but united under a common goal: to provide information to the passers-by in the park that day about military recruitment tactics. one father who lost his only son in afghanistan spoke of all the false promises made by recruiters to get him to enlist that had ultimately resulted in his son's death.

and i saw first-hand the insidious ways of military recruitment: the basketball hoops. the chin-ups challenge. the merchandise giveaways. the sexy recruitment "sales" persons. all sly marketing moves meant to enchant and brainwash and entice young children into enlisting. it looks so fun and rewarding! free steak dinners! movie tickets! cool free swag! and basketball! wowza! i was convinced: snow white's evil stepmother was more subtle than the military pretends to be.

and the most disturbing part was the targeted demographic: 8-14 year old boys and girls, who, with their parents' encouragement (don't be fooled, adults are no more wise or immune to the military's evil ways than children are) would participate in the army mind tricks and feats of strength, so that eventually two young prepubsecent boys would be locked in a manhood challenge, fighting each other to sign up for the military.

i overheard one mother say to her son, who was fighting gravity and a newly forming hernia to stay chin above the metal bar, "stay up there son! show them how strong you are!... but don't let them take you away from me!" then, realizing the company she was in, and feeling the favor of the crowd turn against her as they shunned her with their eyes, nervously corrected herself, "just kidding! hahaha...ha"

there was also the unmistakable care on recruiters' parts to pay special attention to the minority boys in their unwitting audience. kids from black, hispanic and asian families were of special interest to them. and if they were lower/working class... JACKPOT! they were preying on the impressionable youth of our macho-aggrandizing culture, and much to their success. i was disgusted and ashamed.

my fellow activists and i, no more than just ten to fifteen of us (only 5 of whom were actually doing anything, the rest being lawyers and legal observers, or friends of participants. even then, all we were doing was distributing literature and talking to people!), each representing a different organization, armed ourselves with flyers and leaflets, handbills with information on the military and their enlistment tactics. we spread out around the army's booth and began passing out information.

moments later, police began appearing. in the matter of a few minutes, there was a wall of law enforcers blocking people (including those interested in enlisting, ha!) from the army booth. i had two officers push me away. ME! of all people... i guess my slight 5'5" frame, peaceful nature, easy smile, and literature were a clear threat to public safety...

i said as calmly and strongly as i could to one officer, who was of a particularly irritable nature, to "please don't shove me." surprised by my assertiveness, he towered down at me, shoulders thrust back, chest puffed up (you know, typical male animal battle stance) and snarled, "i'm not shoving you. i'm touching you. you want to see what shoving is like? i can show you!!" he then put some extra pressure into my shoulder, a push which, had it not been for the now tightly packed crowd and my surprising sure-footedness, should have sent me hurtling to the ground.

he eventually backed down, but only after one of his fellow officers, who must have noticed the absurdity of the situation (large muscle-y policeman tries to start a fight with a skinny teenage asian girl) asked him to move away and "cool off." (pssh, really. that guy was so riled up i could see the veins in his head and eyes popping. hope he never takes the CTA. that might be enough to kill him...)

the growing mass of police, now well out-numbering our already small group --at one point i counted 6 high-ranking officers (white shirts) and about 10-15 others (blue shirts)... that's more than three officers per acting peace advocate!-- began to threaten arrest if we did not relocate to a "designated zone."

um, excuse me?!???!!!

"designated zone?" we cried, "there are no designated zones for free speech!"

as we cited our rights (um, does the FIRST AMENDMENT sound familiar? um, like "there shall be no law abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people to peaceably assemble..." hmm...) the cops told us that they respected our concern, but we needed to move to another "approved" area to exercise those rights.

EXCUSE ME AGAIN.

last time i checked, there were no restrictions to the first amendment. and it doesn't get any clearer than this: we were there to practice our right to freedom of information and voice, our right to assemble peacefully (tho we had never even intended to "assemble" in the first place!)

the officers told us that if we wanted to protest, we needed to move away from the army's booth and relocate to a "public" street.

hmmm, last time i checked, neither the army nor the police owned the sidewalks of the public park.

furthermore, it was not a "protest." it wasn't even a concentrated effort. in fact, in all my history doing progressive demonstrations and actions, i had never seen one so poorly planned or executed. more than half of those in attendance were merely standing silently holding flyers, hoping that someone walking past would take one. i got so upset watching the fruitless efforts that i joined in the efforts to offer my talents for voice projection and persuasion (i'm a weathered street teamer. a usually fearless veteran of numerous grassroots street actions).

with the growing tension in the situation, and the escalating hostility from police, our efforts seemed to double in volume and persistence. soon, the threats of arrest were being drowned out by chants of "resist! don't enlist!" and my reading of names of soldiers killed in the war.

and i only got louder and louder. i could feel the blood rushing to my head. i could feel my neck pulsing, the muscles buckling with the strain from my backpack and my voice. i felt the eyes of people walking by, heard their snickers, but also the awe and appreciation. i received hi-fives, hand shakes, shoulder gropes, along with hateful glares, confused expressions of disapproval, garbage tosses, and the growing negative attention of the local law.

but this did not deter me. i'm stubborn. and i work especially well under pressure and duress. if anything, the police were making things worse by taunting me. i love to challenge probability. if things look hard, i like to prove people wrong. if people threaten to take me down, i make sure i don't go down without a fight.

as i could see them eyeing me, most likely debating handcuffing me on the spot, i began shouting the names. and as i got louder, i also got faster. it was ridiculous. i could see people in my periphery walking past with looks of urgency. they must've thought me mad.

my friends came up to me. three of them. "we want you to know," they said, "that those officers have been talking of arresting you." a sick self-gratified smile crept onto my face. "we love what you're doing. it's working! the booth has emptied." i looked and saw it was true: since the first arrest, the number of people visiting the booth had dwindled. now, there were hardly any. "but we want you to know, that if you keep doing it, you'll probably get arrested." i said that again to myself. i felt the meaning with my lips. the words in my mouth were like a bitter refreshing drink. it woke me up to the reality of the situation.

"if you do get arrested," my friends said, "we won't let them take you alone. we'll go with you. can you afford to do it?" i thought about a night alone in a jail cell. the police twisting my arms. cold steel cutting into my wrists. my parents learning their first child had been arrested. it wouldn't matter the circumstances, they would disown me. i thought about my clean record, now reading "arrested for protesting." i began to shake.

"bastards!" i spat. i became quiet.

my friends took me out of sight. i sunk into a ball on the ground, nearly sobbing, but angry at myself. i couldn't get arrested. despite how much i wanted to, despite how much i wanted to be a martyr for our cause, i couldn't do it. i was a coward. i was scared. and i was selfish.

"i'm so sorry" i gasped. "i can't do it, i can't!" they rubbed my back and comforted me. but it wasn't enough. i was struggling with myself. i didn't know who i wanted to destroy more, my self, or my opponent. the destruction of one required the sacrifice of the other.

and in that moment, i couldn't do it.

i sat on the sidelines, helplessly watching as our efforts began dying down. the cops had pulled out ziplines, plastic makeshift handcuffs resembling the plastic ties used to close up garbage bags. i wanted to sick on myself as i watched the police take 7 of my friends away, their arms twisted painfully behind their backs. two of them were still in high school. many of them were the parents of soldiers in the army. one was a 60-something year old woman, clad in bright fuscia from head to toe, her shirt reading "stop the next war."

as i chanted "shame! shame! shame!" with the others, it became clear that we were in a war of our own that day. we were in a struggle to defend our rights against the face of a cruel and hostile military authority.

there were cries of unrest and disapproval. those left began verbally attacking the police. we loudly demanded to be told the grounds for arrest, only to be denied comment. we told them they were wrong, they were denying first amendment rights, that they were breaching the law.

the police didn't care.

and i saw the fear and disbelief spread on everyone's faces. it was a grave day.

"ladies and gentlemen!" i yelled, "you are witnessing the death of freedom and democracy today! innocent people are being arrested for practicing their constitutional right to free speech!"

cries of shame and anger rang out that night. they still haunt me now.

because in that moment, when it mattered most, i was too scared to defend myself and my friends against a clearly wrong authority. and it shames me now to call myself an activist.

what right do i have now to exercise my rights, if i was too scared to defend them that day? if you don't speak up against wrong, what right do you have to consider yourself right? if you allow yourself and the voice of your cause to be silenced in the face of oppression, when are you ever going to be able to overcome it?

freedom must be earned. and once you have it, don't let it be taken away.

celebrate your freedoms, your rights, and your voice! people too easily become complacent in this society and fail to challenge wrongdoing by government and authority. our trust in government authority has become an opiate for individual choice and freedoms, and i beg you, on this day, if on no other, to celebrate your freedom by practicing your rights!

SPEAK UP FOR PEACE!!

see video footage of the events and the arrests
see my first-hand account
read my article on indymedia
read the tribune's story
more on police brutality in chicago

gird your loins

2006-06-29T14:32:00.000-05:00

while i am readying for the fight for net neutrality, i encourage you to peruse the website of my friend and fellow activist, and join in on our efforts to SAVE THE INTERNET.

i know i know, it's been hard for me to keep up on current events too. what with school and the advent of summer vacation, it's been too easy to forget about troubling issues such as this and remain complacent with the simplicity of my daily existence.

but consider this: if net neutrality is not protected, blogs such as this --and all the other fabulous ones to the right-- would not exist any more!

the democratic process of information access and accessibility is being challenged, and it is our duty to defend it, along with the other rights it represents!

please join me.
-stephanie

p.s. if you want an update, see this.

a good feeling

2006-06-28T13:42:00.000-05:00

...to be back again!

hi friends.

i promised you a grand coming out party, so here it is, my truth-fest, if you will. it's an attempt to get a lot of things off my chest, to unburden myself from guilt, self-loathing, self-blame, and to free myself from the weight of all that's been troubling me.

it's not an extravagant post, and probly not all that interesting to anyone who doesn't really know me or care much for me or my personal trials. so if you don't particularly care to hear about how my past relationship ended, or how i'm dealing with it, or about how i've learned so much from myself in the past two years of university, then stop reading now. nothing that follows will be any good reading for you. go read cold mountain by charles frazier instead. it's a far better read. or, i think so anyway. (haha, this is like a weedout post! "who's a dedicated enough reader to make it thru this one??" eh? eh?)

okay, so let the truth parade begin. and, as with all parades, you gotta start out with a bang!

first truth: love and hate, i'm discovering, are not that far removed...

i've been watching the movie closer like a chainsmoker goes thru cigarettes. i'm addicted to it. it's almost shameful how much i am in love with this movie, a film which i absolutely abhorred when i first gave it a watch in winter 2004.

...

[more to come... i'm writing this at work and i just remembered that i should probly get to an article i'm writing. promise i'll return! please come back!

love,
stephanie]

post(s) + coming out party forthcoming...

2006-06-26T00:58:00.000-05:00

hi my dearest readers and friends.

i've been so exhausted from all my work i haven't been writing!

and that is just unacceptable.

however, i do have something(s) crafty coming... which may not be too interesting for you, but as much as writing is a catharsis for me, and as much as that can be interesting to you and anonymous strangers and passerby's on the internet, i will post it for your reading dis/pleasure, and unwitting familiarization with my uncomfortable existential situation.

topics of focus include:
1. the dissolution of my academic program, Western College for Interdisciplinary Studies at the hands of ruthless corporate and administrative dictates
2. the dissolution of my first love at the hands of time and self-actualization and combatting interests and the bastardization of the spoken word
3. my gradual self-actualizing as seen from a distance

it's gonna be one hell of a coming out party, i guarantee it! (in celebration of june, gay pride month, and recent truth-telling frenzies!)

love and a bucket of cheese,
stephanie

a gift of poetry

2006-06-21T21:27:00.000-05:00

this came just in time...

have i ever mentioned how much i love and enjoy receiving poems from friends as gifts, as offered piece of self? it means so much more to me than anything i can ever receive. this was one thing i learned in my past relationships, the one thing i do not regret...

so, if you ever want to cheer me up, show me you love me, or become my friend, well, a poem is a good way to start.

and here is one from my friend brian at hummingbunny. he's a great individual, and he's been incredibly kind to me as of late, and cheered me up when i needed it most (i have this folder in my email account titled "happy things," and this email from brian definitely made it in there... it's funny because it's a folder usually reserved for very close friends and family, but that just goes to show you how much a specially written poem can mean...)

so enjoy brian's sestina poem, crafted from seven words (the last of which was dropped, for brian's sake) which mean so much to me (and definitely check him out!)

love and poetry,
stephanie

***
freedom
family
happiness
pleasurable
autonomous
surreal
avocado
***

"Hear My Voice"

growing up family
parents are surreal
controlling my freedom
no true happiness
not autonomous
creative so pleasurable.

mind's eye is pleasurable
say yes to family
will I be autonomous
some days are surreal
finding happiness
outside there is freedom.

tear down walls to freedom
crumbled bricks touch is pleasurable
stomping dust brings happiness
packing and leaving my family
my life ahead looks surreal
learning how to be autonomous.

to speak my mind is to be autonomous
that is the path to true freedom
on my own feels great but surreal
yet oh so wanton and pleasurable
finding new friends to replace family
sing dance perform joy is happiness.

birthing the process creates happiness
inner voice scolds must be autonomous
choose members to bring into family
many paths to tread openly to freedom
an entire body of work so pleasurable
floating never knew could be so surreal.

love rushes strobe waves flash surreal
caresses touch skin brings happiness
cresting flying sweating so pleasurable
to be me myself I am autonomous
open doors walk through to freedom
finally understand my role in family.

life is so surreal being autonomous
I find happiness in searching for freedom
it is pleasurable now thinking of family.

http://hummingbunny.blogspot.com

losing myself (a post for my friends)

2006-06-20T22:55:00.000-05:00

hello friendly readers.

i want to apologize for my neglect lately. since i found youtube, i've been spending all my time doing that instead of writing, which i find unhappy-ing.

because there's something so much more rewarding about putting yourself into a piece of writing, the act of careful attention and parsing of thought into word onto page that makes it so much more sensual and soulful and dear to me. it's about taking the time to communicate to an anonymous reader, who will grant you the time and care and attention to still time and abandon other cares, simply to devote their mind and heart to you and your voice.

writing, more than any other art form, is about sharing, about giving yourself to strangers. and loving them and allowing them to love you back. for more than a pretty face or a moment of fleeting entertainment. it's sharing lifetimes and life experiences and delving to understand the conditions of humanity, to commune with another human being on what can be an incredibly desolate earth.

so i want to thank all my friends in this blogging community i have stumbled upon, and thank you for saving me.

the problem with things such as youtube is that it is simply too easy to make the connections we strive and struggle so hard to make thru the written medium. you take a five minute video of yourself in your jammies and upload it to the internet and suddenly it's a hit and people from all over are asking to be your friend. it can happen overnight.

but it took me one entire summer to develop a respectable place in the blogging community, and only thru the help and linkage of my friends. were it not for them, many current readers probly wouldn't have found my little place on the net. and my words would have drowned in all the thousands of other posts published daily.

and it's taken me until now, about a year ago, to establish my voice and cause on the web, the purpose and force behind the things i write...

i am a person. simply and wholly. just like you or anybody. i'm just a person, trying to find my way in this world. trying to find a way and a place and a me to be.

and it's hard. it's not always easy. but the difficult path is the one that sustains me.

thank you to those who remind me what it is i need to survive. thank you for reminding me how much i love to write, how much i need it, how much it makes me, how much it has made me.

thank you... for saving me.

seul votre,
o.stephi

weekend video montage

2006-06-16T16:40:00.000-05:00

you should check out this sweet video i did on metube!

it seems i'm finally catching on to this fancy video technology... ha!

love and kissies,
stephi

p.s. i am totally in love with the office's song "wound up" after this...

MeTube

2006-06-14T23:04:00.000-05:00

so i finally figured out how to make videos and post them on youtube.

unfortunately, this discovery led to much wasting of time... but at least i have something to show for it...?

anyway, enjoy the vid's (i made a total fool of myself for all to see, so enjoy)

love and pixels,
stephanie

there's no i in team (but there are two in idiot)

2006-06-12T13:56:00.000-05:00

what began as a simple internship-related journal entry for my honors program, soon became an introverted exploration of the reasoning behind my passive aggression, and the pains of self-doubt.

(i don't normally do this, but i ask you to please read this! i don't normally put a lot of time and care into my posts, but this one was actually carefully written, as a swan song to the first episode of my chicago stay.)

-o.stephi

CRITICAL MOMENT(S)
I had a moment of agonizing doubt regarding the proper form of action the other day, in a meeting between my supervisor Nancy and Georgia, the graphic designer she had hired to formulate the layout for the next issue of the magazine. This meeting was intended for the two of them to compare notes and share ideas and finalize plans for the remaining steps in the process of readying the issue for publication.

They were discussing matters of artistic vision; Nancy was worried about how she wanted to present the pictures for an article we had written together, about scientists and researchers at the museum and the books they had written. She was not sure how she wanted the article to break down, and how to photograph the authors and their books. She was also concerned about the cost of the photographs; if she needed to get new ones taken, she would have to hire a free lance photographer to do it. Georgia was taking Nancy's ideas into her own, and I could imagine her frantically trying to piece fragments together to form some sort of cohesive project.

I sat there listening closely, noting how Nancy and Georgia were each expressing their concerns and priorities and how they were communicating their independent visions for the project. I watched as they got the stack of books out and began laying them out on the table, discussing possible "poses" for the books, and debating the merits of having another photo shoot.

The possibilities for the photo layout were as follows: 1) a picture of each individual book, "for a 3D effect," as Georgia said, which would be more aesthetically pleasing than a flat scan of the cover, paired with an archived picture of the author; 2) a "group shot" of the books, and individual photos of the authors; or 3) group shots of the books and the authors.

While they were discussing the pros and cons of each alternative, I was looking through the photo samples and looking at the covers of the books, thinking about the one option they had failed to consider: a picture of each author with his/her book. I considered how expensive this might be, and how this might have prevented them from even mentioning it as an option, but I believed it would not only solve the aesthetic problem (Georgia seemed worried about the look of the pictures), but the layout problem as well (this would allow the reader to pair the author with the book much easier, and would allow for each picture to accompany the article-piece written about it, which would resolve Nancy's concerns with layout). It would also be easier for the reader, perhaps even more engaging, as they would immediately see which author had written each book, and then read about it in the accompanying article. In psychology classes, I have learned that what's "best" is often what cuts down on "cognitive load," or what makes things the least tedious and complicated for the reader to interpret. Plus, I thought the idea of photographing a stack of books was a bit tacky. And if they were going to spend the money to get new photographs taken anyway, and deal with the formatting issues on top of that, I thought this made the most sense, aesthetically and economically.

As I listened to them planning the photographic layout, I debated chiming in. My experiences in jobs such as these is that someone in my position usually has very little leverage and clout to offer her opinion and be considered seriously. I'm aware that most people do not expect a lot of insight from an intern, especially one as young as myself. In my work at the Field so far, I've been pleasantly surprised by the kinds of tasks Nancy has charged me with: interviews with researchers and curators, article layout, even writing, and editing. But never has she trusted me to make any final decisions for the magazine, and some of my editing advice, despite its being stylistically correct or pleasing, was often overlooked or discarded ("for cost considerations," is what Nancy tells me).

Power and place in the decision hierarchy have always mystified me. When people learn of my disappointment and dislike for menial tasks, they are often surprised and slightly amused. "You're an intern," they say, "What did you expect?!" I never know how to respond to these kinds of reactions. I have always thought myself capable of learning and mastering even the most difficult tasks, even coming to enjoy them. That others can't respect this, or even understand it, is frustrating to me.

What's more, this has led to self-doubt. Instead of being the straightforward and confident individual I am at school, in the workplace, it seems I have lost my finesse. I never know when it is my place to make a suggestion. But worse, I never know when it is my right to do so. I usually prefer thinking outside of office politics boundaries, ignoring details related to title and class. I like to think we're all people and we're all working toward a common goal. What does it matter if an intern or anyone else has something to contribute? Shouldn't they appreciate the fact that someone, regardless of professional standing, is pointing out an oversight? Aren't we all part of a team? "There's no I in Team," right? And if they liked my suggestion, that might open the door for more chances in the future to contribute my opinions.

But then again, chiming in when my opinion was not called for has gotten me into trouble before. I didn't want Nancy or Georgia to think I was overstepping my bounds, that I, with my high school degree and minimal experience, was trying to tell two professionals how to best go about their jobs, while delaying the progress of their meeting. It would have been professional humiliation, and a mortifying moment for me, not to mention my suggestion would have most likely been disregarded, along with my thorough and careful edits to the annual report.

So while they troubled themselves with the final decisions on the article's design, I sat in my chair, troubled by my own dilemma: do I risk sounding presumptuous, or do I swallow the agony of silence? Do I continue feeling stupid, so that they don't have to?

***
Paralyzing self-doubt seems to be the theme of my Chicago experience so far. Not only must I encounter this monster in the workplace, but in the home as well, as I continue to passive-aggressively address issues with my housemates.

One of my fellow residents is a 20-something architect from Pakistan, who makes it clear to me from the beginning that he doesn't want me living here. "My parents are paying for my schooling," he explains, "If they find out a girl is living with me, they are going to be very upset." I recall the numerous times his girlfriend has stayed over, and the nights I've been kept awake by their loud conversations in his bedroom, and find it hard to believe.

I convince myself that avoiding thinking about it will cause the problem to go away. I think that the less I am seen or heard, the less aware they will be of my presence. Perhaps, they will even forget I live here at all. So I skirt the issue as much as possible. I restrict myself from engaging in any behavior that will remind me (or them) of this uncomfortable situation. I take up new hobbies: yoga, filming, and re-learning French (I soon begin speaking to myself in encrypted combinations of French, Chinese, and polemic). I quietly retreat to the pleasures of reading and writing, and have become quite prolific, having finished reading four novels and writing several short essays and poems of my own in a mere three weeks. I find I enjoy the process more the farther I am from the house, so I read and write while sitting in the lobby outside, or in my room, with the lights turned low and the door closed. I explore the nooks and corners of the city and spend the majority of the daylight hours in the park, or in some tourist-crowded landmark. I am more familiar with the city in three weeks' time than most native Chicagoans are in a lifetime. I lurk around the house, slipping out in the mornings and returning as late as possible, to avoid having to speak or share the kitchen with them when I return. It's like a never-ending game of hide and seek. And they've triple-teamed me.

For the most part, they humor me and go about their own business, allowing me to go about mine. We are a house of four strangers, each with our own dreams and passions, all of which we keep to ourselves.

Occasionally I venture into the kitchen or into the living room. One of the artists is watching a Spanish movie I have always wanted to see. I ask to join and he offers me a side of the couch. We watch in silence, except for occasional moments of stifled laughter. We talk afterward. We find we have a lot in common, but I wouldn't call it shared interests. You have to connect with someone for that. There has to be some sense of investment in the person. A sense of continuation, of the moment extending to future episodes of interaction. But we're too stubborn and afraid for that. This interaction is an obligation to circumstance: "we're stuck here so let's make the best of it, OK?"

When the sink and tub won't drain from months' worth of hair being stuck in the pipes, I go to the architect and inform him of the problem. He gives me a knowing laugh and promises he'll take care of it soon. Days later, the sink and tub are still stopped up, and what's more, there's no toilet paper left in the entire house, and he's left for a week's vacation.

I mutter mean things under my breath, but grab my purse and tennis shoes, and begin walking to the nearest Walgreen's. I come back with a pack of toilet paper and an economy size bottle of Drano. I roll up my sleeves and silently tend to the problem.

Two treatments of Drano and ten hours later, the sink and tub work again, but I am overcome with anger. My roommates seem to be amusing themselves by inconveniencing me and making my entire experience miserable. They want me to suffer for intruding into their world. They will slowly drive me from here, while I simultaneously try to win their favor by doing maintenance jobs and grocery runs around the house. We're stubborn.

When I do my laundry and fail to hear the buzzer when it's finished drying, I go downstairs to find it scattered all over the dirty floor, mixed in with kitchen grease and mud from the last night's storms. I glance over to find my roommate shamefully tuck his head into his chest, while his girlfriend tries to slip unnoticed into the next room. I frown and bend to pick my clothes off the floor, stuffing them into a laundry bag as swiftly as I can manage before escaping his abrasive company.

In my solitude, I unpack the clothes, some still wet, and toss them onto the bed, reciting diatribes and evocations I've stocked inside since this whole thing began. "You have no right to treat me like you do, I've paid my rent and I've done my share to live here, I am no less deserving of respect or decency than anyone else." Or, "If I had somewhere else to go, believe me, I would leave, because this place smells and you are horrible people, and I wouldn't want to stay here any longer than I have to, it's dirty and disgusting and I'm sick of having to avoid all three of you and your girlfriends, there just aren't enough places to run to in this tiny hole!"

I practice delivering these well mulled-over speeches, as I imagine walking right up to all three of them, and their girlfriends, and finally letting them know what I think. Letting them know how from the start, I had wished I could befriend them. How I regretted that we had to meet under these circumstances. How all I wanted was to be able to talk to them as equals and peers. Or, how I wanted the best for all of them, even if it meant I had to move, or that we had to be enemies. And how I hope that the architect and his girlfriend will be allowed to marry, despite what I suspect will be his parents' wishes to the contrary.

The words that go unspoken are the ones that destroy me, wearing me down and wearing me thin. I have lost weight from failing to eat; I find it hard to leave my room when I hear voices or movement in the kitchen. I've even become a morning person, learning that I can mope around the house unencumbered in the early morning hours, when the roommates are still asleep in their beds with their girlfriends. And the sun in the mornings shines off the city and welcomes me to the day, inviting me to escape this oppression in its warmth.

Yes, the words that go unspoken are the hardest to force forward. Like tiny mines, each of them explosive and thorny to the touch, I know that speaking these words will be the trigger that activates a messy aftermath. But were it better to be openly discontent and unburden my struggles on others? Or were it better to swallow the agony of silence?

***

As I pack my bags and ready myself for the move, I regret my fear of being heard. In feeling too much for others, I have failed to act for my self. My whole life, I have battled my instinctual desire to avoid burdening others with my troubles, a result, perhaps of my upbringing. I have continually struggled to escape the confines of this cell, only to meet my self at every wall. These chains are self-imposed, and composed of blood and bones. My wishes, contained in a body and a cage of wishes and fears. Recent experience has been nothing but a reinforcement of the past.

How can the silence end, if I do not allow the healing to begin?

Change requires speaking: Careful articulation and delicate disregard in the service of acknowledged existence. Opening old wounds to let the salve pour over and into it.

One should never resign to silence for the sake of a more comfortable and convenient existence. Life is about abrasive contact; the rubbing against is just what we need to start the fires that permit us to survive.

well this is interesting...

2006-06-10T10:13:00.000-05:00

i find it so funny that these things exist...

honestly, it's not about material worth.

but how funny, the blurring of the material with the immaterial meanings of interest.

hmm. interesting indeed...
-o.stephi

existentially short-circuiting

2006-06-09T16:00:00.000-05:00

...as in, i've plugged myself into too many outlets.

as in, i've tried to plug into as many and too many outlets. all the outlets possible.

the newest installment: MeTube, my videolog for my stay in chicago. i uploaded my first entry/episode today. as did zach braff.

well, it's nice to know i'm in good company.

more videos (hopefully more insipiring ones...) to come.

enjoy the weekend everyone, as i prepare to change locales.
-o.stephi

artist's statement

2006-06-07T22:57:00.000-05:00

as a supplement to in(v)ertion, the explanation and explication of the purpose behind the meaning...

In(v)ertion: Artist’s Statement

My performance piece developed out of my own attempts to, as Charlotte Keatley so aptly stated, “acknowledge the debt, to point out the fact that you and I are where we are today due to the efforts of women in the past” (1990, p.130). My piece was thus conceived from an effort to synthesize the voices, theories and perspectives of the writers whose works we have read this year, and my desire to discover a place for myself, as a woman, amongst them. Formulating common themes into a web of experience (performed as a spoken word collage) that could serve as a basis for the representation of the “woman’s condition” then provided me the context in which to position my own voice and artistic contribution. My reactions and interpretations of the works by these authors has not only inspired me, but has motivated me to create my own work, and to explore the realms of the poetic and theatric mediums.

I intended, specifically, to reinterpret and stimulate reconsideration of the works used in this course, especially through the juxtaposition of sound fragments. This concept came about as a synthesis of inspiration from the slide, dialogue, music combinational structure found in Diana Son’s “R.A.W. (‘Cause I’m A Woman)” and my reactions to Charlotte Keatley’s My Mother Said I Never Should. I remember being particularly troubled by Doris’s last lines in Scene 8, which Keatley seemed to have written with a profound sense of irony. I felt that Doris, in speaking these last lines, was recognizing not the “beginning of her life,” (Keatley, 1994, p.92) but in fact, the end of her freedom and sense of individuality as a woman. Part of her self must die in the birth of this new life.

In this way, I modified lines from Doris’s monologue with the intention of reinterpreting her seemingly conventional declaration of love and happiness, to emphasize the sense of ironic loss in the gaining of a relationship. Taken in context with the other texts we have read, notably Ntozake Shange’s For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide and Cherrie Moraga’s Giving Up The Ghost, Keatley’s words, “it’s happened to me, I didn’t think it would be like this” and “my heart was in my mouth” no longer seem like honest declarations of love, but of violation.

This idea, that all love is a violation, was something I wanted to develop further. The discussion of love, rape, sex and sexuality in the course texts depicted the nature of relationships in a negative, even defeatist, light. As Hélène Cixous suggests, this could be a function of patriarchal ideology, as she points out that all women are “relegated to repression, to the grave, the asylum, oblivion or silence,” doomed to an existence in which they are “loved only when absent or abused, a phantom or a fascinating abyss. Outside and also beside [themselves]” (Cixous, 1977, 133).

In that women are always the “victims” of love became a foundation for my perspective, and a source of critical perturbation. I wanted to break free from the “woman as victim” stereotype in my performance and writing. And because women’s oppression is directly linked to the existence of men and the socially conditioned standard of submission, the process of breaking free of victimization required first the removal of men, and then an assertion of women’s power and independence in their absence.

While Cixous claims “it is always necessary for a woman to die in order for the play to begin” (1977, p.133), the death, or removal of the male from the scene, facilitates in the beginning of something else: the autonomous life and happiness of the woman. By writing out the male, depriving him of voice and presence, metonymically removing his power, I could eliminate what Keatley termed the “resource of the oppressed,” an “extraordinary ability [for women] to assert themselves through compromise” (Keatley, 1990, p.130).

Thus, in the death of the man, I achieved a removal of the assumed male gaze, and a removal of the social expectations that seem to function as part of oppressive patriarchal ideology and its attendant expectation of women to be submissive. The removal of the man, the dilution of his power, and his continued irrelevancy are crucial to the development of women and the assertion of individuality, a meaning central to my piece. I wanted to portray women’s emergent power and confidence in the absence of man. Thus, it is necessary for the man to die for the woman to begin.

This inverts the expected natures of social roles and relationships, an idea that led to the conception of the title of my three-movement poem. Invertion resulted from the blending of two concepts and their significance in the context of women’s experience: insertion and inversion. Insertion has sexual connotations, reminding one of penetration, but may also imply power, as in a dialogue where the insertion of one’s voice, especially the voice of the oppressed, may signify an attempt toward change. The idea of breaking the “relegated silence” (Cixous, 1977, p.133) with the raising of voice, both in volume and frequency, suggests a subversion of social expectation, and an intention to change through action.

My performance piece seeks to portray a sex scene from an alternative perspective. I sought to negate or reverse established social ideals in my performance, particularly through removing male power and delegating it to the woman character. Instead of love being a negative thing, and sex something oppressive and violating that she consents to instead of initiating, I wanted this scene to assert the opposite. I wanted to reverse the expectations for women’s and men’s social roles by having the woman be assertive, having her take control of the situational outcomes that affect her body and emotions. Keatley’s assertion that it is “incredibly hard for women to be psychically singular, to be ‘selfish’” (1990, p.131) was something I struggled with, and could identify as an underlying problem in many of the plays I read. It seems that women are consistently battling a cognitive dissonance between society’s expectations for them, and their own desires and needs. Thus, never “psychically singular,” but always polarized and bifurcated.

Inversion, in the form of role reversal, achieves an assertion of female power and choice, as the woman is speaking out and dominating the scene, while her lover is absent, perhaps dead. Additionally, the reversal of chronological order, moving from the woman’s death to her (re)birth, signifies an upheaval of natural order, a subversion of the expected. This also changes the audience’s interpretation of her situation: she is not a victim, though she begins at first to echo the victim-speak of prior rape monologues. Instead, she is triumphant and in control of her experiences, and the audience witnesses the creation of a new woman, born, like a phoenix, from the ashes of discarded social ideals.

The image of a phoenix, and the transformation from the remains of a destructed self, are further implied in the lyrics of the song, which begins “when there’s nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire” (Stars, 2005). I chose this song as a music bed for the poem because it suggests the need for women to abandon social ideals in the service of autonomy.

I intended to reflect this through the stripping of clothing, gradually revealing an uninhibited and unashamed woman. This shedding of various selves, signified by the layers of clothing, represents an act culminating in honesty and self-discovery. The tearing away of clothes, meant at first to suggest something sexual, soon becomes a means by which the woman removes her inhibitions, and finds a way to “pick herself offa the floor and fly.”

The clothes are meant to imply the burden of expectation and ideology, functions of her existence within society that “keep her down.” The Yale sweatshirt, the black and white striped shirt suggestive of prison uniform, the various shirt colors meant to recall Ntozake Shange’s “women of color,” and the long tight dress were intended to represent various forms of restraint. The color yellow, as well, suggests her race, which she encounters and tries to escape repeatedly, but finally accepts. The yellow remains until the end, in the culmination of her dance. She must get through the layers to reveal her true core, and as she discards the clothes and the ideals they symbolize, she finds herself freer to move about, to run and leap into the air, to explore space and her body’s capabilities within it.

She becomes more comfortable in her ability to appreciate her self and her body, and with that, her sexuality. These “layers of denial” are a function of McIntosh’s “invisible weightless knapsack of special provisions [of privilege]” (p.21) that oppresses women and other minorities. In shedding them, she finds herself “finally free and happy,” empowered to start her life anew, a self-made woman. She is not a creation of man’s, or an accessory to the fulfillment of his dreams or desires, but came from herself, a place “where [she] made [her]self. Where [she] changed” (Son, p.292).

In the end, it is her realization of her autonomy, her strength and ability as a woman, and her refusal of man that redeems her and allows her to fly. As the clothes are cast aside, she enters into a state of bliss, an existential orgasm, and a sense of gratification and satisfaction beyond sexual bliss. It is the satisfaction one finds in the discovery of independence, and the realization that one has the power to create happiness for oneself. Like Betty’s discovery of masturbation in Caryl Churchill’s Cloud 9, she “goes on defying… until [she] has betrayed [men] and feels triumphant because [she] is separate from them” (Churchill, 1985, p.83). She is triumphant at last, no longer limited by the thick layers she once believed she needed for her protection and acceptance. She is free to be herself and to love herself, and no longer positions herself in a system of oppression.

Reference:

Cixous, Hélène. (1977). “Aller à la mer.”

Churchill, Caryl. (1985). Cloud 9. New York: Theatre Communications Group, Inc.

Keatley, Charlotte. (1990). “Art Form or Platform? On Women and Playwrighting.” New Theatre Quarterly, 6:22, 93-105.

Keatley, Charlotte. (1994). My Mother Said I Never Should. Methuen Student Edition. London: Methuen Publishing Ltd.

McIntosh, Peggy. “Understanding Correspondences Between White Privilege and Male Privilege Through Women’s Studies Work.”

Son, Diana. “R.A.W. (‘Cause I’m a Woman)”.

Stars. (2005). “Your Ex-Lover Is Dead.” Set Yourself On Fire. Arts & Crafts Records.

in honor of the occasion

2006-06-06T22:45:00.000-05:00

it's june the 6th, 2006.

june 6, 06?

6/6/06?

ha, now you're catching on...
(don't worry, i wasn't the quickest out of the gate either)

anyway, in honor of the day, a visual tribute:

evidence.

eat your heart out, right-wing conservatives!

love,
stephi

relationships and a reverence for the material: secrets long kept, revealed to be forgotten

2006-06-05T21:44:00.000-05:00

i got a happy and confused message from my parents today after my yoga class, informing me that i won the Barbara E. Nicholson prize from the women's studies department at miami university for best undergraduate essay in gender studies. i won for my submission of "in(v)ertion," a choreopoem i wrote for my feminist theatre class final fall semester 2005.

this was, of course, a surprise to me as well, as i have never won any major prizes for my creative writing before, and felt sure one of my other submissions, all analytical essays and queer theory explications, would be the better bets. i wasn't even sure i could win this, as i knew some of my peers in the gender/sexuality in literature class i was taking were going to be entering as well.

i thot that when june came around without any word i had surely been another essay discarded in the pile of submissions.

but, there was something existentially validating in hearing my parents so proud of me. and so surprised! i guess they hadn't realized before that their daughter was a decent writer, tho they often like to remind me that my writing is good enough to put me thru law school (which, btw, i am NOT fond of).

it's kinda shitty that it took some outside recognition and cash to make this apparent to them, and that i have to use this materiality to wield as a shield or evidence for my passions.

but at least it's a step in the right direction?

***

what's more, the greatest thing about this feat, to me, is the fact of the work itself. i wrote this piece in one long, violent flushing, during thanksgiving break of 05.

i was going thru a hard time, and there were all these wonderful books and literatures and poetry swimming in my mind. and this theatre class had taught me something new about that hard-to-achieve connection between art and artifice, body and mind, theory and practice, performance and performativity, creation and destruction and creativity and rebirth and dance and song and poetry. and speaking my mind. thru my body.

i remember penning the first stanzas, as the poem began to take shape in my head, a giant undertaking trying to give shape to all the pieces in my head, and i was sitting naked on my bed after a shower, just catching a long string of thoughts as they were leaving my lips, and i was dripping water and salty tears onto blue liquid ink in a bound notebook.

so anyway, i was going thru this transformation of my perception of my self and my body and the interactions of these and others.

and then, there was the relationship.

a relationship that changed a lot of things for me and had a profound effect on the formation of a year. it broke me, it made me, it built me up, it let me fall, it let me fail, it failed, and then it soared and sprouted and blossomed and grew, then wilted, expanded, exploded, tore open and cracked sidewalks, then overgrew, overtook, overcame, ...and then it was just over.

and it has been a perfect circle, a profound arc, a demonstration of gravity, of physics, the physical, the inevitable. an action with a reaction, an allegory for an inability to overcome laws of nature, of human nature, or perhaps just humanity.

and i realize i am getting vague now, so let me return to the point: the point is, this relationship meant a lot to me. it still does, perhaps. but mostly now just as an inspiration, a well of desperation and loneliness, a reminder of struggles i have efforted and labored to put to paper and movement, to share in a way of begging understanding.

you see, with my parents, this poem represents an acknowledgment of creative accomplishment. their pride and happy congratulations signifies the outward world's willingness to accept something i have contributed for consideration and discussion.

but for me, this work was a labor of love, an act of redemption, of forgiveness, of salvation, preservation, acknowledgement, a coming to terms, a comfort, a coming...

and for my other, my lacanian other, the one to whom this whole thing was dedicated, the inspiration and the artist's poison, it is all the voice and madness never communicated forthright. it was all the painful brimming storminess that you interpreted as silence. it is all the secrets i kept inside, all i was afraid to say, all that i was afraid would be true in their articulation. there's a scary acknowledgment in the power of the word. and in my overcoming of the word, have become it.

so let the silence end. the awkward painful silences that were burying the conversations we would never have, the ephemera and the viscera, torn out and exposed to rot and disappear again, stained ether vapors ascending. the weight is lifting...

it needed to be said, if only to help me record a relationship that would otherwise be forgotten, as i actively try now to forget (but not forgive). like retracing an odyssic journey, or a crime from forensic evidence, it is a map of clues, of memories,

--of fragments, shored against these ruins.

O swallow, swallow--
stephanie

the title fragment of this prize-winning work can be found in the post i made on the trollpotty reader, called in(v)ertion.

or, check out the original version, which first appeared here, and the initial responses from readers.

this is, however, only one of three parts, the others being "death" and "(re)birth," consecutively. these are not online, but can be sent or posted upon request.

arsenal: surrealist subversion (+scathing updike review)

2006-06-04T22:07:00.000-05:00

like i said before, the printers row book fair was this weekend, and it was the hippest (albeit the yuppiest, most bourgeois thing) to do in chicago this weekend.

and i was lucky and happy enough to meet some cool cats from the charles h. kerr subversive literature publishing house. much to my delight, they had situationist/surrealist literature, in addition to subversive postcards and buttons to gift me. the cards and stickers i have in my possession now are some of the most fist-pump awesome works of art and beauty and brilliance and i have ever had the pleasure of holding in my hands and to ever convey power from paper fibers (or such is my sentiment at the present). and the inverted picture book and book of 19th and 20th century french poetry they gave to me upon learning i could read french were a tasty find as well.

i exchanged some information and currency (canadian and american, thank you) with them for this powerbook / handbook of a compilation, arsenal: surrealist subversion, about the realization of surrealism in the service of revolution, poetry, the marvelous dream, freedom, desire, wilderness, and love... (who can say no to that?)

it's a beautiful arrangement of handprinted illustrations and essays and manifestos and surrealist dreams and subversive actions set to paper and ink and breath...

as soon as i obtain a scanner, i will share the artwork with you, this is too good to keep to myself!

until then, read up on my thoughts on literature, consumption, john updike, and classism, in a post i just penned on lessons i learned this weekend from the streets of chicago (and how much i realize i dislike john updike and his writing... sorry to the fans).

love (and all those other delicious things)
-stephanie

this is what happens when i have free time

2006-06-03T22:18:00.000-05:00

hello.

i made special care not to say that "this is what happens when i'm bored," because i was most certainly not bored today, okay? i had a very nice day, spent most of it spending too much money on many many good good books at the annual printers row book fair just a block away from my current house, then spent the rest of the afternoon with a good book in the park, grant park, meeting friendly strangers (one person i met lives and works in colorado, where she helps train the US Olympic badminton team! how cool is that?) and loving the city, sunning and soaking up fountain spray and gospel music.

anyway, i heard about this fantastically weird website called myheritage, which allows you to submit photos of yourself, which it then scans, and analyzes "meta-data," returning a list of 10 or so various celebrity faces (of both sexes, thank you kindly) which you could possibly be related to, based on your facial structure. so basically, it's a list of celebrities you look the most like.

haha, so i tried it. with different photos. here are the results (in descreasing order of possible relatedness):

first picture. (v-neck and beads around neck)
1. farrah fawcett (71%)
2. selma blair (61%)
3. jon bon jovi (52%)
4. whitney houston (51%)
7. yoon-jin kim (47%) --i'm actually surprised this thing doesn't automatically list similar ethnic minorities as the most direct matches
10. james coburn (45%) --oookaaaay...

second. (brown shirt)
1. hrithik roshan (60%)
2. monica lewinsky (60%) --ew. i'm just glad she wasn't the first result.
3. francesco totti (57) --haha... wha?
4. charles manson (56) --o good.
5. renee zellweger (52) --okaay... getting better
6. michael phelps (52) --mmm... not so much
8. jodie foster (48)
9. zhang ziyi (47)
--needless to say, i'm not using that picture for anything soon

third. (purple shirt, standing with my friend katie)
1. sammi cheng (72)
2. lucy liu (71)
3. tata young (70)
4. mike myers (68)
5. yoong-jin kim (63)
6. zhange ziyi (63)
8. steve buscemi (62)
9. tom welling (61)
10. milla jovovich (61)
--so apparently, this is my most asian looking picture so far
--and katie looks like jennifer love hewitt, rachael leigh cook, rachel mcadams, selma blair and vin diesel, among others. good to know!

fourth (torso shot)
...apparently, the face-recognition technology is advanced enough to recognize there was "no detectable face in this picture.

very well.
carry on...
-stephanie

stories

2006-06-01T13:06:00.000-05:00

chicago is bringing out the story-teller in me. odd, isn't it?

anyway, if ever i were to write a book about my experiences in the windy city, this is what it would consist of, so far.

they're half-truths, based on truth, exaggerated, fabled and fiction-ized.
(sometimes a lie is the truest thing you will know)

homeless again in chicago,
stephanie

--STORIES--

"the parents"
There once was a family. A family who knew a Pakistani man. A Pakistani man who knew their daughter. And their daughter, who needed help and a place to stay while away from home and in a strange land, asked this man for help.
He offered a small room in his house with his two friends until she could find a place of her own and get back on her feet.
So all three people lived together in this house for many days and all were happy and safe.
Then one day, the Pakistani man had to throw the daughter out. Due to his God, or his parents, or his girlfriend (he couldn't decide which, but all were important, you see), she couldn't stay there any more. The Pakistani man offered to help her find a place, but never kept his word, and continued on with his life, blind to the despair and hopelessness he had imposed.
Having no where to go, no prospects in mind, and only a week to figure something out, the daughter cried home as she fled to the streets.
Her parents, who always loved her very deeply and forcefully, were angered. Their good will and kindness and understanding and hope for all humankind blemished, as their confoundment and inability to understand circumstancs clouded their beliefs.
Her parents, who had never hated another human being in their lige, had been taught to love others unconditionally, and whose lives and spiritual beliefs were the model of this adherent practice, developed a surprising hesitation and distrust for humanity from thence forward. Their love for their daughter, and the accompanying dislike for all sources of pain and hurt feelings toward her, soon became well-seated ill-will, then hate, towards the individual who they all saw as the cause.

As time passed, I hear that these poor and gentle, loving parents developed a hate so strong, it could not be contained to the individual any more, and developed into a broad dislike of Pakistanis, and people in general.

So it goes.

(God save them, protect them, please. I love them so...)

"a hatred for love"
Love can be so damagin, really. It is enough to tear one apart from the inside out, and to tear people asunder...
to ruin cities and break bonds of blood,
Love is destructionary.

What love is so strong as to focus so intently on one, and blind the lover to all else, to ignore the pleading and pain of a fellow human being, to render it meaningless, in the face of the pleasure of pleasing one's love?
Love is a blind and a handicap.

"a warning" / to haseeb:
One day, you must finally confront your parents and let them know of your individual beliefs. It is difficult, seemingly impossible, to let your parents know, to make them aware that you, the fruit of their love, have developed separately and independently of them, that you might not agree, or even get along, that you may now be one another's enemies.
But in the end, it is really yourself you are defending and combatting, yourself you are defeating.
For do you think you can have everything?
One must go through life aware of the sacrifices, the conflicts, the compromises.
You give and take, you triumph and suffer, but never one and not the other.

Eventually, you will have to kill your secrets in exposing them to the light, and your others will have to know of the life you've chosen, so that you can continue to live.

Death is the end to all options.
What matters is how you face it.

want more? check out another over at invincible cities! and enjoy the weekend.
love, stephi

chicago home poem

2006-05-31T12:46:00.000-05:00

it's sad.
but true.

this always happens, whenever i move to a new location, when i am geographically and emotionally separated from the familiar, i shrink and shrivel and retreat into myself, i forget how to exist with others, i forget how to breathe with another individual, how to relate and identify, and enjoy the pleasures of human company.

and it becomes especially painful in the city.

to be in the midst of people constantly, to drown in a sea of strangers, to be alone but never alone, to be lonely when in constant company, it does something to you:

it's like having thick twine or rope wrapped tight around your arms, and the slightest movements slowly rub away at the gentle skin and flesh. or, it's like developing a callous on your foot throughout the day, the pain only slight and avoidable, perhaps even ignorable at first, but then, surely, the skin screams with pain, each step reminds you of it, and the skin thickens where the pain is, leaving a scar, a reminder of your hardness.

being a stranger to the city is to be a stranger to its people, its customs, its daily life. people see it on my face, in my walk. it's in my morphology. they know i'm different, and they don't let me forget.

the city has a strange coldness that i shelter myself from. in the house, i curl up in the sun on the couch with a sweater pulled tight, holding my latest book close to me like a babe. doors open and close again, open windows remind me of the conversations that could be happening, memories of past relations and comforts from home. a girl walking with her father in the park reminds me that father's day is coming soon and that i won't have seen mine in over a month. my dad and i are close. it is strange to be so far away.

but mostly, the city reminds me that even in the strangest and least familiar of places, i still detect residues of home. the awkwardness of my walk in crossing a room, or my avoidance of the two lovers in the kitchen, the deepening of my frown as i contemplate the next public event i will attend for my job. the forced interactions i must endure and tolerate to survive...

and it changes the meaning of home. is it a place? or is it really just a state of mind?

invincible city

2006-05-24T12:31:00.000-05:00

if ever there were more of a city, i cannot think of it now.

getting to chicago has truly been a journey. and i suspect my life here for the next two and half months will show me something of myself and humanity that i may never see again.

there's so much wonder and beauty and so much fear in this here in which i am n (in, i-n, i, see?) and i await each day, each moment, each interaction and step and movement with bated breath for to hear better the words and whispers of the people and the city that surrounds me.

it will be... well, we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?

stunningly stunned,
o.stephi

p.s. check out my new chicago blog [link now up -4:13 central time].
p.p.s. picture from ken papai.

feeling city

2006-05-15T12:38:00.000-05:00

there are little birds nesting outside my window and their birdy baby chirp-chirpings are making me sad for home

living in a bustling city can be so lonesome tho you are constantly surrounded by people

i am sharing an apartment with two other people grad students at northwestern university both males whom i have never met and tho i like the sound of their voices on the phone i suspect i will be very alone and lonely this summer and dread moving in and away tho home can be a lonely place as well

it seems i am always alone

i imagine sunning in the park before the coming evening dusk steals away the safety of the day and forces my retreat into the confines of a sacred summer space and the summer spent in libraries and coffee shops trying to steal wireless internet for my work and stealing glances at strangers i will never kno sitting quietly reading on the train into town and wondering when i will bump into someone i knew from home

reading invisible cities by italo calvino and enjoying it immensely using calvino's vision as an idea for a film and a focus on the city of chicago as a living document filled with signs and structures the buildings and landscape like the writing on a page and the people its units and their relationships its meaning

"your gaze scans the streets as if they were written pages: the city says everything you must think, makes you repeat her discourse, and while you believe you are visiting [the city] you are only recording the names with which she defines herself and all her parts" (calvino, from "cities and signs 1")

personal progress? not so much. but grassroots are the way to go!

2006-05-12T11:08:00.000-05:00

i hate blogger.

it's a bitch.

the sultan's elephant in london

2006-05-10T14:41:00.000-05:00

people have said this is amazing, and i don't have my doubts (a two story puppet, that is undeniably amazing, it's true.)

but this.
<---this is just freaky is what it is.

yikes!
o.stephi

(photo from http://www.flickr.com/photos/goldenlad/141345106/in/pool-sultanselephantlondon/)

some spam poetry

2006-05-07T02:42:00.000-05:00

from Oedipus McCarver:

think. They fled further down the tunnel glad to be still alive, while
behind them outside they heard the roar and rumble of Smaugs fury. He
was breaking rocks to pieces, smashing wall and cliff with the lashings
of his huge tail, till their little lofty camping ground, the scorched
grass, the thrushs stone, the snail-covered walls, the narrow ledge,
and all disappeared in a jumble of smithereens, and an avalanche of
splintered stones fell over the cliff into the valley below. Smaug had
left his lair in silent stealth, quietly soared into the air, and then
floated heavy and slow in the dark like a monstrous crow, down the wind
towards the west of the Mountain, in the hopes of catching unawares
something or somebody there, and of spying the outlet to the passage
which the thief had used. This was the outburst of his wrath when he
could find nobody and see nothing, even where he guessed the outlet must
actually be. After he had let off his rage in this way he felt better
and he thought in his heart that he would not be troubled again from
that direction. In-the meanwhile he had further vengeance to take.

what is human nature?

2006-05-02T12:23:00.000-05:00

argh, i don't give a fuck.

this is the topic for my wcp 261 final, and let me tell you: it's been a bitch (tit) and a half to write.

here's a little piece from my intro that i hammered out this morning. i had to take it out because it began devolving into what could have been a totally sweet, and really sarcastic and flippant, but unfocused and irrelevant, paper.

so enjoy, the out-takes, if you will, of my human nature final:

what is human nature?

[this question] is quite the pit of quicksand, as far
as lines of inquiry go. Every time I attempt to formulate
a response to the question, I find myself sinking deeper,
becoming enveloped in the process. It is a deceptively
simple question that provides a phenomenal workout for
the mind, as one is darting back and forth between ideas,
picking some up, discarding others, but always on the move
and never pausing, never stopping to take a break or to
breathe. It is life, and the purpose of it, and its
definition, that continually evade me. It is suffocating,
life-sucking, and it grips me by the neck and throttles me
while continually keeping me running.

too bad... it really would have been a fine piece of writing...

-o.stephi

flickr is my fatal flaw

2006-05-01T10:05:00.000-05:00

it's true.

instead of writing the 30 some pages i haven't started yet for finals, i did this.

bad bad.
doubly bad.
-o.stephi

subsumed into the subculture

2006-04-29T09:07:00.000-05:00

i finished my sophomore research project last night!

i wish i were more excited about being done with it... well perhaps i haven't fully finished until i ruminate on human nature and devise my own philosophy...

work is never done

but hey you can enjoy the partial product of my labor, if not out of interest for the project that consumed a quarter of my academic life this past semester, then because, as my teammate tom said:

it's worth the watch, even if
just to hear Stephanie curse like a sailor.

so, i present: a movie/documentary about the LAN gaming subculture, and its negotiation of reality,

[a sophomore research project submitted for review by Tom, Denise & me,
in partial fulfillment of WCP 262 (the Human Nature Seminar) requirements]

yo ho yo ho, the pirate's/sailor's life for me,
o.stephi

climbing my everest

2006-04-27T15:08:00.000-05:00

finals week will mess you up!

2006-04-27T03:04:00.000-05:00

i mapped out my life from now until december and it looks pretty shitty to me

as in, no free time/ rest time/ non-working time to speak of

no empty space in sight

like seriously, it's constant work until the end of school, maybe a week or two at home then off to chicago to embark on some crazy internships for the whole of summer, then back to school to begin a crazy junior year.

ack and a half batman!

in other news, as a result of a crazy research paper/ project/ presentation/ final exam combination of inhuman proportions, i have had inhuman and ungodly amounts of caffeine today.

and i am not used to the substance abuse.

bad time to start a habit i won't be able to kick.

we're talking 10 cups today. imbibed in a 10-hour period. that's a pretty steady flow of caffeine thru the bloodstream, i think i am pissing coffee at this point.

and my arm feels kinda funny.

like i couldn't grip my fork at dinner

and i kinda have trouble getting it to type now too

gotta shake it off though

i'm switching to chai now, is there caffeine in that?

o man, i am wigging out!

is that the phrase i'm thinking of? prize goes to the reader that can tell me the phrase i am trying to think of... i don't think wig out is it... [4.27.06 / 3:36pm - is it wired? i am so wired right now... ?]

hotdamn!
-o.stephi

life in pictures

2006-04-23T18:45:00.000-05:00

look how happy i look...

rage against the machine

2006-04-19T10:30:00.000-05:00

AAAAAAEEEEEEIIIIIIIIUUUUURRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

i am so angry!!!

hope i don't jump out any windows or do something i'll regret,
o.stephi

the magic hour

2006-04-12T19:19:00.000-05:00

a wonderful moment of simple existence and pause
dusk = the magic hour, when sunlight shines orange pink on skin
when else are you made aware of the light's colors?

pleasurably existing, if only momentarily,
o.stephi

sitting by wide open window at sill i see the sun going down
the wisps of a breezy sunny independent day sweeping clouds and feathery smoke ash memories across my forehead face and hair brushes against my cheeks
the coming of the summer waves music to my mind and floats limbs streaming toward sky, delicate blue and mirrored
remembering ice cream sundays and promenades and sticky cotton sleeves clinging dry crusty sand n dirt between toes, the taste of sweat across my face and beading down my back the salty contact
sandpaper hands n grease grill fragrant evenings
in this suspended here and after, this lingering between night and day
a moment can bring such pleasure to existence
as i listen contentedly to cheering birds circle lilac tinted forests and lawnmowers droning humming stirring dirt n yellow pollen sky, creamy apricot horizon sun sinking suddenly into gentle goodbye

enough pause and restful wonder in a moment
to remind me to continue to live

LITERATURE AS WAR MACHINE: subverting male literary tradition with innovative linguistic forms

2006-04-11T16:32:00.000-05:00

oh. man. am. i.
e. x. h. a. u. s. t. e. d.

i've been writing papers all week/weekend/day/night...

i can't tell furniture from empty space any more. (ooo an opening!... mm no a door. read: face-plant)

but i did just write a pretty fantastic paper! yeah, check out the title up top there! wrote it about monique wittig, who i've decided i want to eat dinner with more than most people...

i just hope she would want to eat dinner w/ me after this paper i wrote...

so apologies, i'm sure no one out there really cares to read it, but i don't give a flying bat's wing, cuz i think it's pretty good myself, and that's saying something cuz i haven't liked anything i wrote in a loooooong time, and if i am going to put as much energy and time into something as i did wi this, then you betchurass i'm gonna post it, considering how little time i spend on the other drivel that goes up here...

now i'm all riled up and angry and ready to storm the castle walls!

happy insurrections!
-o.stephi

excerpts from my paper:
removed (4.15.06) so as to prevent plagiarism of my hard work

hurr?

2006-04-07T23:13:00.000-05:00

ostensibly amusing

2006-04-07T22:13:00.000-05:00

i have been really really busy lately. the western campaign finally came to a conclusion for me today, and, by the looks of it, i have been wasting my time wisely ever since:

1) i decided on a whim to cut my own hair. it's about 1.5-2 inches shorter, depending. and i actually like it!

2) i found some pictures from earlier this year on the writing center computer that must have been taken during some happy theatre fest. by the looks of it, from when i practiced my final performance for a friend and he thought it a good idea to picture it

3) i had some fun playing w/ the camera on the iMac. k's worth of computer technology in the writing center at our disposal and the most fascinating thing is a computer that stares and projects back at you. go figure.

ostensibly amused,
o.stephi

close up

2006-04-06T23:40:00.000-05:00

leap

2006-04-06T23:09:00.000-05:00

jump

2006-04-06T23:07:00.000-05:00

jump

for cal

2006-04-02T15:26:00.000-05:00

now, i don't normally cry.

ask any one i know, and they will tell you, it takes a lot to draw tears from my eyes.

the closest i get is when i am so tired i can't stop yawning and my eyes start watering.

i seriously don't cry. it's not that i am dead inside, i just don't show emotion that way any more.

but i cried today.

and i hate to use this to quantify/qualify my sadness and despondency, b/c i think that exploits and perverts the nature of many things, but i think it needs to be said, b/c for me, it signifies a huge change in my emotional state, my way of realizing things, my way of dealing w/ things...

b/c i feel so hopeless. that's what crying is for me: a physiological last resort, an acknowledgment of powerlessness.

my mom told me about some stuff that's happening w/ my brother, calvin, back home, stuff i had no idea about, and it made me realize:

i've been so selfish, so insensitive
i've been a horrible sister
i've been a horrible daughter
i've been a horrible person

i got so self-centered, so self-involved, so prideful and stubborn, so pig-headed (that's a word my brother taught me, actually)... so so so

in an attempt to begin the righting of wrongs, in an attempt to acknowledge my guilt and my sorrow, i write this post for calvin.

my brother, my hero,
i have more faith in you than you know.

love you, kiddo.
-steph

my brother

2006-04-02T07:39:00.000-05:00

summer book list

2006-03-29T17:21:00.000-05:00

so it's kinda early, but i've already begun compiling my summer reading list

why? b/c i've been working really hard this week and the only thing keeping me going is the idea of having a somewhat more lax finals week and then having an amazing summer, filled w/ things i actually want to do and books i actually want to read, such as the following...

stephanie lee's summer reading list '06 (in a particularly nonparticular order):
snow crash -neal stephenson
neuromancer -william gibson
the life and opinions of tristram shandy, gentleman -laurence sterne
invisible cities -italo calvino
a clockwork orange -burgess
who's afraid of virginia woolf -edward albee
one flew over the cuckoo's nest -ken kesey
naked lunch -burroughs
+ richard brautigan

+ poetry
fuck you-aloha-i love you -juliana spahr
sappho
the lesbian body -monique wittig

+phil.
man a machine, man a plant -laplace
of other spaces -foucault
twilight of the idols (again!) -nietszche
sexual politics -wittig

o yay, i am so excited!
b/w this and my internship and lolla, it's going to be one fun, quick, amazing summer

giddyup!
-o.stephi

p.s. if any of you would like to recommend something, please do! leave the name of the book, author, and why you think it should be on my already pretty formidable list.

prognosis: negative

2006-03-27T16:15:00.000-05:00

received this in the mail today...

SYMPTOMS:
Are you half-way through your second year of college and have 
no idea why you are here? 
Is it hard to get yourself out of bed in the morning,
because you have no motivation for what you are doing? 
Did you start out thinking you wanted to be a doctor, but now
realize you hate chemistry? 
Does it seem like everyone else has direction, but you don't? 

Are you suffering from the sophomore slump?

The sophomore slump is not a myth; second year students
across the country struggle to find motivation in their academic
and personal life...

Signs that you are struggling with the sophomore slump include
feeling aimless when it comes to your course of study, 
never being able to really state what it is that you 
want to do,
feeling unmotivated to go to class,
and feeling like you 
can't wait for your "real" life to start.


uh-oh...
-o.stephi

takes a teenage riot to get me outta bed...

2006-03-26T13:54:00.000-05:00

from sonic youth's "teenage riot" off daydream nation:

Everybody's talking 'bout the stormy weather
And what's a man do to but work out whether it's true?
Looking for a man with a focus and a temper
Who can open up a map and see between one and two

[...]

Looking for a ride to your secret location
Where the kids are setting up a free-speed nation, for you
Got a foghorn and a drum and a hammer that's rockin'
And a cord and a pedal and a lock, that'll do me for now

It better work out
I hope it works out my way
'Cause it's getting kind of quiet in my city's head
Takes a teen age riot to get me out of bed right now

[...]

So who's to take the blame for the stormy weather
You're never gonna stop all the teenage leather and booze

It's time to go round
A one man showdown
Teach us how to fail

We're off the streets now
And back on the road
On the riot trail

! yeah ! !! ! !! ! ! ! ! ! ! !!!! ! ! !
-o.stephi

cheer up pic

2006-03-25T01:32:00.000-05:00

o this picture cheers me up in so many ways.

me and my soul mate brittany mc'ing the western talent show earlier this semester.

this is exactly why western cannot go away. it helps people like me and britt find each other. i would not have met the love of my life w/out western. and that keeps people like me happy.

and what's love 'sgot to do, 'sgot to do w/ it?

o, everything.
-o.stephi

depression stream of consciousness

2006-03-23T00:43:00.000-05:00

tredging toward a premature and painful demise

...that's how i feel about western and my life lately

and it's too bad, cause i feel like i'm witnessing it all happen and i am only able to watch, no control over the situation at all.

i've been depressed, really sad and low-energy and have been kinda slumpy/droopy lately.

blame it on the weather, i guess. or the damned soul-less provost.

anyway, i can't decide whether i should change my major to math, b/c i really miss doing it and really desire to. but i feel it's too late to make the switch. which is too bad, b/c i really think i might be happier if i could. i would be content to do math the rest of my life.

and i feel i am not nearly as smart as i wish i were, or even as much as i used to be.

i've spent like a whole week and a half reading and analyzing this paper on lesbian representation and sexual indifference and still don't really understand it and am running out of patience w/ myself and am frustrated w/ the writing process and don't want to deal w/ it any more.

i feel that i have exhausted my usefullness in life and am ready for the mother ship to come and get me and take me home now.

i just don't see how i can further contribute to any thing any more than i have already.

i've reached my limit.

and i have nothing to look forward to any more.

i mean, i've experienced a great deal already and i feel that i've done a lot of the things i have set out to do, the things i really value, and that i've accomplished a lot. don't get me wrong, i am actually quite happy w/ myself and my life. that's the problem, really, when you look at it. it's that i feel i've lived a whole lifetime already and now i feel i'm done. i think i could die now w/out really regretting not doing something, or feeling like "o damn, i wish i had..."

i just feel that my life has reached its capacity, or as much of it as i can imagine, and when i look into the future there's really nothing i can see there, and i can't imagine myself getting to be older than this anyway. i mean, i've always known i'm not gonna live past 40 anyway, so this seems about right.

i'm middle-aged now, and i can feel it, starting in my face.

o world, you are such a strange place.
-o.stephi

conversation piece

2006-03-18T20:17:00.000-05:00

hello, readership.

my friend brenton has been a real pal to me lately and i thought it would be nice to do this post for him. i don't normally do this sort of thing (that is, posting special messages for special individuals in a public setting), but i don't see why not. and, poor guy, he's actually been enjoying the blog more than i can understand or explain. (that's what happens i guess when i find a fan, silly public posts for specific individual's enjoyment). anyway, the contents of this post would have been in my email but i thought it'd be interesting to post for wider reading. and besides, it's kinda funny.

so, brenton, this one is for you. and all the others as well.

BFF (as always, but alas, i guess that's implied),
stephanie

BREEEEENTON!! ! !!! ! ! !! ! ! ! ! !1 !1 ! !! !
[...]
I'm glad that my blog posts have inspired all sorts of exciting things for you to say, and I can't wait to hear you say them, I am excited to listen! And maybe even talk back!

Word on the street is I've become really reticent lately and people (that is, more than one person) don't find conversation with me too enjoyable, which is too bad, but what can I do, you know? I feel bad that people haven't liked talking to me lately but I don't really know what to do about it. If I'm not that easy/ fun/ exciting/ interesting to talk to, I don't see what I can do that will make things different, especially if I hadn't realized this before other people pointed it out to me. Though I do miss the company. And chatting with people can be so pleasant, given the right setting. It's really an enjoyable experience if you're with the right people. But then again, I'm finding that people tend to overrate it.

Maybe if I took up some exciting/ dangerous hobby I would become a better conversationalist. Perhaps knife-throwing. Or bull-fighting. Or cock-fighting. Or basket-weaving. Or extreme underwater treasure-hunting. I'm sure if pressed, I could manage some friendly back-and-forth about my near-death experiences in any one of these areas. And if not, I could always revert to the usual casual fodder: the weather, sports, latest movies, gossip and the like. Though that stuff is really such boring dreck.

Though, I do feel the weather has been widely mistreated as a topic of conversation and I demand a reconsideration of its merits. I mean, let's just take a moment to contemplate the weather lately. The global climate change, the general warming, the increasing extremities (summers keep getting hotter and winters keep getting colder), the doomsday predictions from James Lovelock, the fantastic hurricane season we just witnessed (which is by no means intended to be disrespectful to Katrina victims).

I mean, really, there's a lot of potential there. But I guess not everyone finds that sort of thing appealing.

Thus, I suck at conversation.

Oh messy messy life.

With all its messy necessary interactions...

live from the road to chicago!

2006-03-17T10:37:00.000-05:00

hello, readership.

blogbuefi is on the road in the next 24 hours, via indiana(polis) to chicago.

one thing about travelling, really gets me down, is having to stop to eat. i hate the feeling i get when i pull into the parking lot of a roadside diner or truckstop and have to force myself to buy some food when i feel so depressed just thinking about my surroundings and the act of buying food from such an establishment. it makes me lose my appetite altogether and wish i never had to eat.

it just makes me so aware of where my food is coming from and the fact that it's exchanged so many hands and is so far removed from the earth at that point that you might as well call it man-made.

puts me in a real existential funk. that's why i hate travelling in general really.

nothing real, everything transient, packaged for transience, immediacy and convenience.

nothing real, nothing to base a friendship on, fleeting glances and speeding window strangers passing on interstate gliding dew in windshield crusty birdshit scratching whirring to chicago...

125 miles to go.

godspeed,
o.stephi

chicago and the greater beyond

2006-03-16T11:25:00.000-05:00

<--- i might work in one of these buildings over the summer! let's just wait and see which one...

well, i'm off to chicago tonight.

it's funny, this trip was so last minute, i don't even know what to pack. i'm standing in my room thinking to myself, hm, i don't even have a jacket. and it's supposed to be like 36 degrees there, and it being the windy city and all, i'm thinking i might not last long, especially since i don't really have anywhere to stay (apparently people under a certain age aren't allowed to get rooms in motels, but there's supposed to be a youth hostel somewhere, i've yet to determine where). note to the readership: i'm really bad at traveling. if we ever agree to go on a roadtrip, which i hope we do, really and truly, it would have to be totally spontaneous.

i hadn't planned on going to chicago over break. so it's funny that i'm going at all, since i basically just decided last night, and as i'm packing my bag, there's really not a whole lot i'm bringing with me. it's like a sleepover, or an overnight, well, i guess it really is an overnight, quite literally. just there for the evening, up early and to my two interviews with my prospective future employers (wttw and wbez), then back on the road again.

it's kinda thrilling in a way, and knowing that i will soon have plans finalized for the summer is great. it seems so surreal to me that chicago, this place i've only visited transiently, this city with such a rich history and reputation, this tourist-y destination, will soon become a home.

awe and splendor,
o.stephi

sweet ass van (redux) / spring break post

2006-03-13T11:01:00.000-05:00

happy belated spring break eve, everyone!

this is the time of year most young people traditionally use to spend in tropical locales, sunning poolside and drinking kahlua while getting rubbed down by the towel boy at some luxe resort their parents' friends happen to own.

not me, though (and i'm perfectly ok with that, thanks). i'm spending most of my break at home i think, working on the three or so papers i have been putting off due to illness, fatigue, the western program disaster, and my generally waning level of interest in schoolwork.

that and stressing out about my internships for the summer. i don't know when i'm going to have the time to head up there for interviews now. yikes, time is definitely running out. o, and my program coordinator informed me yesterday that my applications were somehow lost in the mail, which means she faxed incomplete app.'s to my future employers instead. yeesh, nothing is going right.

plus, i'm not sure i'm the good student/ smart person i used to think i was. i don't know what it is, but i can tell you i wish i were half the brilliant i used to be. at least, i hear i was smart. i wonder what happened... all those "drunken" nights? or it must have been the music. too much head-banging shook it outta me.

anyway, before i freak myself the hell out just remembering all there is to stress out about, i offer you, the readership, the spring breakin' van:

his name is murphy and he takes you to magical places, such as west palms, florida, where you can forget your school-related worries and turn all that troubled energy instead to figuring out what the hell you're gonna do when florida is suddenly swallowed up by the sea and all you've got is a huge ass 1979 volkswagon westfalia camper with retractable banana-tinted awning to cling to for your life's sake.

uh-huh. yeah.

but it sure beats schoolwork, right?

enjoy the spbreakin', kids.
-o.stephi

ted leo and the pharmacists!

2006-03-12T20:32:00.000-05:00

i got a fever!

and the only prescription, is more ted leo.

i can't believe i almost skipped out on last night's ted leo concert in newport, ky because of a little flu. psssh, silly me, i shoulda known that ted leo and his band of merry do-gooders have the kinda musicalability to make anyone feel better.

as ted launched into "me and mia," i found myself totally lost in a somatic energy surge and whigged out to the band's phenomenal guitar riffs, defying even my own understanding of my body as i sustained a three-hour bodily rejoicing, in a smokey, crowded, smoltering club that would have rendered me wheezing, fighting for breath only an hour before.

it was the kind of concert that, had i been into music when ted leo first came on the DC scene in the early 90's with his political punk band chisel, would have been nostalgic and youthful and energetic and punky enough to make me remember the good ol' days and say, "o, it was like being a kid again."

check out leo's website for some audio samples (esp. "me and mia," "ghosts," and "walking through") to get your fix.

and my gift to you (by way of ted leo's gifts) is an mp3 of his new song, la costa brava (hosted by timorousme.org)

enjoy and rock on as always
-o.stephi

friend spotlight

2006-03-10T10:45:00.000-05:00

have i mentioned how lucky i am to have friends?

i know that sounds incredibly silly, but given my subpar physical health in the last few days, i've been less than half my chipper, happy self.
and it's made me sad, because it makes my friends sad (my friend dylan said that he was sad to see me "so opposite normal stephanie," as in, low energy and quiet)

but lately i've cheered up quite a bit.
sure, the drugs have something to do with it, but then there's also the realization that the people i've been lucky enough to make friends with here are so caring and fun and downright amazing, that i can't help but swell with joy and gratitude for their company.

if i listed all the wonderful people who have made such a difference in my life, those people who inspired this post, well, it could and would go on forever.

but i'll let one of these people speak for himself. brenton calaway sent me this hilarious email which really cheered me up this morning, and i thought i should share at least a part of it, because it's funny:

I'm sorry to hear about your bodies inundation with disease, I'll be
praying for you! I think that might be my new favorite thing to tell
people, "I'll be praying for you!" hehehe, Thats almost kind of a
veiled insult, it has that implicit suggestion that for some reason you
need "prayed for." I mean what can be worse than to need to be prayed
for. "The doctor says that all we can do now is pray." I means that's
not what you want to hear. But at the same time to pray for someone is
considered a nice gesture, it's kind of like giving someone a gift they
don't really want, "it was a nice thought and all but I really don't
need an ugly oven mitt."

yes, brenton, that's exactly how i feel as well.

you can read more from brenton at his blog, which can be found under my "friends" links in the sidebar to the right.

link up!
--stephanie

collapsing into crevices i have dug deep

2006-03-09T02:14:00.000-05:00

i am sick.
like, i'm actually getting attention from people... because i'm sick!

this never happens.

i am usually the spitting image of health.

my head has filled with fluids from not sleeping in... wow 35 hours.

and surpringly i am not tired.

i could function in class.

i felt aware.

i've made several presentations today and stayed awake all day, no naps. no dozing off.

i'm incredibly zoned.

but my body aches

feels like it's breaking

and my skin screams when i touch it

and i shiver, got the chills.

and i still have a paper,

been darting back and forth organizing different groups around an action.

i'm exhausted but i don't feel it

except for the sinking in my head that feels like it's waiting to spill over at the top and soak me in everything

SAVE WESTERN!!

2006-03-07T23:36:00.000-05:00

a call to arms (sent to the western college community via listserv)

Friends, family, peers, and mentors:

I have just come from one of my junior sem's, and I have horrible,
enraging news. I don't know whether I possess the authority or facts to
make this statement in such a public space, but, well, frankly I don't
even care...

Western is in trouble. As in, it might not exist after this year. What I
and a few others have just learned is that the president and the provost
are making an appearance at an EC meeting on the 24th of March, and that
the purpose of their visit will be anything but friendly. They will most
likely be stopping by to lay a death blow to our program, and our
community as we know it.

I know there's been a lot of back-and-forth regarding the termination of
the program, and that all of that has mostly been hypothetical
considerations about the end, but sadly, the day was closer than any of us
could have possibly expected.

Dean Gracie has been rudely ignored by those in the know regarding our
program's future, and it's time we did something to make our voices heard.
As a member of SFS, I have learned the hard way, first-hand, how
incredibly aversive the administration can be in regards to taking up an
open dialogue with concerned members of any group regarding university
policy, but we need to change that.

The termination of Western would mean any one who is not currently ready
to graduate in May will need to find a new major next year and complete a
new program of study, which could mean a few extra years for some of us
(how sly and pernicious of the university's administration to do this in a
budget crisis when switching people's majors on them could inevitably mean
more years of tuition from their clients)

This is a pressing issue, and I cannot even begin to describe my outrage
at the administration for their disrespect for our interests as a
community. Those committees they established to look at the Strategic
Plan? Fake. Like the Fact Finder report or any other trustable outside
source the administration has been presented with, they simply discounted
it. Shrugged it off.

I'm writing to all of you now because we need to organize. And SOON! The
24th is the Friday after Spring Break, and we need to make a public
impact, a show of solidarity, we need to put up a valiant fight before
then to ensure the future of our program (let's not forget that this also
affects our cherished faculty!)

Robyn will send out an email regarding a meeting tomorrow (and possibly
Thurs) evening to discuss what's going on in further depth. Please make a
concerted effort to attend. We are in panic mode and need to do everything
in our power to make sure nothing happens to our beloved community.

Furthermore, I will be organizing community actions that will take place
that week after spring break. But I'll save details for the meeting later.

Hope to see you tomorrow and the next day!

Incensed,
Stephanie

so this is what a hangover feels like?

2006-03-04T14:46:00.000-05:00

kids, don't drink alcohol.

it kills brain cells.

truthfully yours,
o.stephi

friday night searching for something i've yet to find

2006-03-04T02:29:00.000-05:00

i'm so unsatisfied with my friday night/early saturday morning

though by all indications i shouldn't be

by most standards it was a pretty fun night

allow me to recount:

spent most of my early evening working on projects and other stuff (doing a content analysis of media from the past 20 years for depictions of race and stereotypes)

went to rec, took a refreshing shower and then met friends uptown for dinner. walked uptown while reading a book, something i've found myself doing a lot of lately: walking and reading at once. i'm quite good at it (so far, no collisions). it's great cause i don't have to deal with staring people down on the sidewalk any more.

spent most of my free cognitive energy craving and devising ways to obtain a coffee and a glass of some sort of crisp wine to drink with dinner. this was weird b/c i don't normally drink coffee nor wine, but had them both at dinner the night before (gotta love the university for asking me to one of their formal invitational dinners and then getting me absolutely boozed up, haha).

had dinner. took an hour and a half, good grief. i read. and schemed more (i really wanted that coffee and wine!)

had a cafe mocha with amaretto shots(!). not only did i get away with ordering an alcoholic drink, i also took the mug with me (i figure this place gets their mugs from garage sales and i left a big enough tip AND the coffee was way overpriced anyway, i might as well. plus, if i start to feel bad, i'll just return it)

went to dave brubeck concert. it was great, though the choral numbers kinda were a turn off. and they definitely took away from the jazz quartet (ol' dave plays a mean piano. and the sax player was amazing! i love jazz, it must be the npr dork coming out in me...)

then my friends chris, maraya and brenton and i went out to buy some drinks for a party we spontaneously decided to have at brenton's house (brenton throws the best house parties, i always have the best time at brenton's parties. i usually end up trying a whole lot of random drinks i never would have otherwise and end up dancing and laughing and hopping around all night until i'm dizzy with laughter and spirits.)

we settled on having vodka with smoked fish and pickles, as we heard the russians do, and we enjoyed it. then chris and brenton and i decided to taste test the vodka and i learned a lot about alcohol and determining quality vodka. and i decided that vodka, no matter the quality, still tastes and burns like rubbing alcohol. i'm sorry but it's true.

then we played guitar and ran around in the cold.

ok, so it was a good night, but it could have been better. i wish i knew how to make things better.

looking for housing in chicago

2006-03-04T02:21:00.000-05:00

i will be interning in chicago this summer

and as of yet have no place to stay

would anyone out there be willing to offer me a space?

could be small (all i need is floor space)
as long as it's dry and warm.

i don't fuss
keep neat
quiet if need be
fun and like to dance

make a good neighbor and friend (really!)

please drop me a line if you or anyone you know has a place i could stay for the summer (and for spring break too, for that matter, as i will be swinging by to interview and check out the area and don't want to stay in a hotel by myself. too depressing... even for me).

i'd water your plants, feed the dog, spruce up the paint jobs, whatever and everything all at once.

in need of a home,
stephanie

new morning slumber song

2006-02-28T05:40:00.000-05:00

i am awake and it's very late, to the point of being very early.

and the bird's are charming songs from the distanced woods (i didn't even know birds began singing this early/late)

in the loneliness of night, when i can sense being all alone in the darkness and stillness at my window looking at the sky,

i wonder if the rays of light shining in my window
and the faces in the glass
may reflect some mirror phases and moon-like shinings
into morning dew and sherbet dreams

awake and alone i think of you
and restless, cannot sleep.

the silver shadows, branches encrusted in spinning artificial lamplight,
comb lightly at the air, like slick wet fur,
bristling with the tension and the contact.

the diamond eyes in the distance light my way to shadows
and fill my heart with sharpness and a tearing that opens up and billows out
and parachutes me

catapults me
inward outward backward and toward
the new morning.

call me a realist, thank you

2006-02-26T20:59:00.000-05:00

so i discovered this weekend that i am quite the pessimist.

ha, go figure.

(i prefer "realist," but whatever.)

after talking to my friend dave and thinking about various relationships i've had with people, i realize:
love's got nothing to do with it.
love doesn't mean anything.
love doesn't change things.

sure it's nice, and i am in love.

but what does that mean?!

the way i see it, love doesn't keep life from happening, and all the circumstances of necessity and duty can't be compromised for love.

i worry that i've fallen in love, and that won't change anything.
because i want it to.
i want to honor the person and the time and the feeling.

but i know that in a few years, i will be graduating and going somewhere else, moving away.
love won't change that.

and i'm not going to compromise my opportunities to be close to the one i love. (should i?)

so then what? is that really it? is that how things end?
you say you love someone
you give your heart away
you give yourself
and then leave the pieces scattered in rooms and memories

can you leave it?
leave it like a place you don't belong to any more?
leave it like an empty room with only memories of the way the walls used to look, now bare and unfamiliar?
can you pack it all away, leave it all behind?

i said i love you, but that won't make either of us stay.

is that really it?
i gave my heart away
and now i'm tripping on it out the door

i don't even know what love means any more. what does love expect from me?

i don't even mean in the traditional, "o we're in love, so let's get married and have lots of kids and a dog and a house in the suburbs" kind of way, but what do you do about love?

when you're this young and wanting to be free and committed, in love but without giving into traditional social ideals, all at once?

what do you do
what do you feel
what do you say
how do you explain
how you feel

about love?

sweet ass van

2006-02-24T00:07:00.000-05:00

so who wants to help me raise the $3,601 it will take to obtain this van (+ the $ needed to ship it here all the way from the faraway land of utah)?

i'm in need of it for a concert this next weekend.

chasing pipe dreams, i know...
-o.stephi

100th post!

2006-02-18T16:07:00.000-05:00

i never thought i'd make it here.

i'd like to thank the academy
and my parents

for if i had not been born to the fortunes of a middle/upper-class suburban background
with the accessibility of internet and technology such as i have been enabled and allowed

i would certainly not exist in this form as i do today.

now imagine all the other kids
still remaining invisible and voiceless
as a result of this great disparity in distribution of information resources

to them this post is dedicated.

what is love?

2006-02-13T22:08:00.000-05:00

a quavering beatIng of heart
the eArthbound flight of a feather
a Muddiness of mind
an unstable footIng during
a nebulous oil and vinegar sNorkel
a Lingering between life and dreaming
a drizzling acrOss the window's glass
the body's jolts to skewing Voltage
an unguidEd scribbling on immaculation

12.25.05
originally written with the capitalized letters in each line forming a trunk or spine down the center of the page, so that the lines undulate in the manner of a quavering or floating or muddiness or etc.

miami university v. tom brinkman

2006-01-30T22:34:00.000-05:00

here's one for the textbooks.

so i went to the brinkman forum tonight. i wasn't going to at first, because these things have the tendency to make me inconsolably sad, as i realize just how filled with hate, injustice, prejudice and intolerance the world really is.

the thing that makes it hard for me is having to come to terms with recognizing these instances of deep-seated hatred, intolerance so integral and inseparable from a person's beliefs and nature that spill over into my personal life and impede my ability to live as an autonomous person, something so contradictory to the sacred ideals of our nation, yet corrupted and bastardized and twisted to the point of illusion and erupting disgust.

inflammatorily, brinkman declared miami's practice of domestic partner benefits "degrading and detrimental to american ideals and traditions," suggesting that somehow, the allowance or recognition of same-sex relationships or even just the broadly termed "nontraditional families" is something so staunchly offensive and irrational as to cause dramatic social problems, a disorder and inadequacy in need of correction and immediate address by government and thus, this lawsuit.

as i sat there in the front row of the meeting room, surrounded by commiserators, two rows of smug college republicans to my right, and the leering face of brinkman and his lawyer ahead of me, i slipped into a semiconscious existential daze. i could see the faces of people i loved in the corners of my eyes, juxtaposed over the faces of angry and reactionary members of the charged audience tonight. and finally, when an old stranger in the crowd took the microphone to relay a "statement" on behalf of "nontraditional families," my eyes welled over with sincere tears of grief in acknowledgement of the families brinkman was ignoring and denying, a loud roar of fear and sadness from the depths of silence and frustrated suppression from which they were borne.

i imagined every instance of prejudice, oppression and inexplicable hatred i had ever encountered or experienced in my life, all the things people have used to stack against me in the hope of stifling me, and imagined all of that at once, and imagined being told that what i am, who i am, what i do, who i'm with, what i stand for, what i stand against, that all these me's i could be and desire to be and am, were just not good enough, couldn't be accepted, shouldn't have a voice and a place in which to live and breathe and love...

and all at once the realization that love, of all things, could be deprived and refused and denied by law, that the right to my life and my body and my emotions could be stolen from me and then justified by law and democracy and the public interest, all that barreled down on me and sank me into this darkness and sadness with which i write this regretful post.

but these words, which i reproduce below in the hopes that they will move others as they did me, inspired me to look up, through my overwhelming and overbearing sadness, long enough to look brinkman in the eyes, and holding that gaze, channel all my energies into making him realize, if only for a fleeting second or two, the deep hurt he was causing, not only me, but all the ones i've loved and met in my lifetime.

AN OPEN LETTER TO REP. TOM BRINKMAN

Mr. Brinkman, I am here tonight because you must be publicly confronted with the reality that your lawsuit hurts good and loving people.

Every day, every hour, it tyrannizes loving relationships. And as I’m sure you are very well aware, the effect goes far beyond the gay staff and faculty at Miami. Be it 10, 50, or 500 miles away, any times a gay couple hears of this, your bully's cudgel inflicts more heartache and anger.

I want to look you in the eye and tell you of the same-sex couples among my dearest friends. If you would dare intimate they are one iota less moral than whoever you're trying to "protect" from their love, I would ask you to desist from subjects of which you know nothing.

When my 16-year-old daughter asked what I was doing tonight, and I told her you seek to deny partner benefits to same-sex couples here, she replied with what I would call the fresh incredulity of youth. "Why would he care?" she asked. "Why would he want families not to be safe?"

You of course have your reasons, based on your interpretation of the Ohio Marriage Amendment. Whatever the legal debate, which your own attorney has said could last for years, your bottom line is exclusion of families whose ways fall outside your comfort zone, exclusion of families whose aspirations clash with the sense of entitlement that religion and society have instilled in you.

Reputable research overwhelmingly asserts that variations in sexual orientation are healthy in a human population. And that same-sex couples raise children as effectively as heterosexual pairs.

Eventually, these truths will transcend the fog of fear and ignorance that presently helps empower you. Like the Catholic Church doctrine on gays that I believe helps guide you, your quest is gravely immoral in its denial of human dignity and diversity. Though I cannot judge your level of malice vs. sincere good intention, I know that history will deem your effort as misguided and cruel.

I am here tonight in an effort to hasten that day for all of us, especially those good families you so profoundly disrespect.

John C. Brennan
Cincinnati, Ohio

mr. brennan, modest and humble post aside, i would like you to know: you are my hero and a voice for all of us in these strange and troubling times, and i would like to thank you. your words, doubtless, have inspired (and will inspire) more than just me.

in your debt,
stephanie lee

vagina monologues

2006-01-25T13:26:00.000-05:00

so i haven't posted in a long time.

and it's because i've been busy.

reeeal busy.

for one thing, i've added some classes which means:
1) lots of catching up to do;
2) a total of 20 credit hours and two jobs and way too many activities;
3) STRESS in the boatloads.

but it's ok. because i'm enjoying it all immensely, surprisingly enough.

AND, i've decided to audition for the vagina monologues this friday/saturday. my professor for fem theatre last semester asked me to try out, and after reading over the script (which is not too unfamiliar or different from some performances and writing i did for that class last semester), i decided it would be a fun thing to do.

and so empowering and freeing.

despite outward appearances, i'm really quite the introvert (really i am!) and i'm incredibly self-conscious, never quite comfortable in my own skin, always afraid to speak up in public and get up in front of a crowd. i get nervous and anxious, i shake and sweat and feel sick to my stomach. while others get butterflies, i get flocks of pigeons, big awkward flapping pigeons, in MY stomach.

but i'm going to audition anyway.

and if i get a part, i'm going to perform anyway. despite all the work and all the obligations and the fears and trepidations and otherwise, i will do it.

and the one i want to do, the one i MOST want to perform, the one that somehow moved me most, yes, the one i can most see myself doing, is this one:

"because he liked to look at it" (performed by eve ensler, the writer and original performer, mp3 hosted by salon.com)

i can also see myself doing "my angry vagina," but i think it would be a more facetious and comic performance, an easier one to do.

quote of the day

2006-01-17T20:43:00.000-05:00

for lack of better things to post on, here's something i heard on democracy now! (which is, by far, the most remarkable podcast and progressive radio news program i've ever listened to and comes highly recommended.)

in environmental news, british scientists have determined that 2005 was the warmest year on record in the northern hemisphere and the second warmest year overall since the 1860's, when reliable records began. this comes as the independent of london has published a dire warning from the well-known scientist james lovelock, who believes that the world is already past the point of no return for global warning. lovelock writes:

"before this century is over, billions of us will die, and the few breeding pairs that survive will be those in the arctic, where the climate remains tolerable."

---

thinking now about the idea of posting quotes, the meaning of them and what it means to do so, how it's a prevalent trend on many blogs, and how that's kinda funny, as they're merely transcribed sound bytes. i'd like to splice them all together and make a blended blank from them.

and how much of what we post anyway is a quote in itself? (that is, how much of what we write is genuine? it's all been said before...)

more later,
o.stephi

sometimes i hate myself

2006-01-14T18:26:00.000-05:00

i've been confused and feeling bad lately.

i don't know if it's my fault either, which is why i feel so bad, i guess.

the thing is, i have great trouble realizing when i'm "on a date with someone," i guess, because i've been informed on numerous occasions by people other than myself that i am going on a date with someone and i don't realize it until later that it's true.

and i feel bad because i don't intend to "lead anyone on" or give anyone the impression that i'm the least bit interested in them when i'm not, but maybe i have that tendency without knowing it?

maybe i just don't understand what a "date" is because i don't feel like i've ever really been on one, but there again we have the problem: not knowing what a date is, i don't know, and can't know, if i've been on one before.

how do you define a date? is a date just any time a boy/girl, girl/girl, boy/boy go out together and do something? because if that were the case, almost anything could be a date, and i've been on several.

but then why are these things understood to be romantic in nature?

because i don't want to send anyone the wrong message, and i've apparently been guilty of doing so lately, most definitely inadvertently, as i am in no way interested in "dating" anyone right now.

...ugh. i hate myself for even writing this post. look for its deletion in future.

a warm (g)love

2006-01-02T11:41:00.000-05:00

like sitting in the warm breezy sunny car window afternoon
with one tight familiar comfortable-feeling glove on yr hand
& listening to good background music that is just what it should be and just what it is and lets you forget you're listening
you forget you're wearing a glove
that friendly hot pink children's glove
that fits so perfectly on yr hand like a hug
with its complex textures and materials on yr hand
you are frequently aware of the wool against yr skin against yr leg while you ride
but in this instant you forget
& you have to remind yrself and yr hand
of its complexities and separateness from you
or you may mistake it for a second skin