Archive for August, 2001

August 21st, 2001

» blue squares and red swirls

La la la, I haven’t written in ages. You’ll have to forgive me, though in a way I’m giving you two for one. (Yes, it took me a week to upload the birthday entry. Pfftb.) I don’t have a lot to say, but I wanted to break the little spell of silence I cast here.

I’ve been dreadfully busy this past week, and it’s only going to continue that way. In a week I will be done with my first day of classes. I’m leaving this Friday so I can move into my dorm on Saturday. This is insane. The summer seemed long while it was happening, but it’s ended very abruptly, and I want it back now. I want afternoons reading in my dad’s hammock, I want fighting my horse down the mosquito-swarmed trail, I want 110 degrees, I want film festivals and laughing until I cry. I want California.

But I want school too. Interview night and sewing and talking in the dark until four a.m., and everyone so delightfully close. I can even get laughing until I cry there.

Also, when I get some more money (maybe next year) I want some Brian Andreas books. When I am selfish (always, I know) I think he might as well just write them for me. They are one of my favorite things.

“We lay there and looked up at the night sky and she told me about stars called blue squares and red swirls and I told her I’d never heard of them.

“Of course not, she said, the really important stuff they never tell you. You have to imagine it on your own.”

And my favorite:

“Are you a princess? I said. And she said I’m much more than a princess but you don’t have a name for it yet here on earth.”

You can check out some of his work at, a site which I thoroughly enjoyed, even at my low connection speed. His stuff is much too expensive but I will own a book or three one day.

This will probably be my last entry until at least Sunday, if not later. (If I were you I’d count on later.) My room looks like it’s been host to a private little tornado, as does most of the rest of the basement. Ah well. Either I’ll get it straightened up or it will stay this way and I’ll end up forgetting half the things I wanted to take back to school with me (could be a good thing) or taking about a zillion things I don’t need or want (will be a bad thing).

I’m going to bed now. Tonight I sleep with David Bowie close to my…heart. Heh heh heh. It’s okay because I’m carrying his love child. Really. God bless the 80′s.

P.S. I found my moose.

August 14th, 2001

» obligatory frivolous birthday entry

Mmm…birthday… I spent the whole day feeling unrepetently selfish. I slept past noon and instead of breakfast in bed my mom took me out to Big Bowl for Chinese — which, if you ask me, is way better than breakfast, even in bed. I am not a fan of most traditional breakfast foods. I had to go to the dentist, but that was okay because the dentist is hot. Such pretty blue eyes, and he always smells good. I’m not usually as much into blondes, but I’d take him any day.

I got 128 megs of memory for Das Komputer, four dvds (the Ethan Hawke Hamlet!, Chocolat, Shakespeare in Love, and Good Will Hunting), Tori Amos’ “Under the Pink”, a superquiet hair dryer, an iron (mmm…steam…), a “thunder stick” (blender/juicer/grater/chopper/frother/et cetera), a quilt, silverware, a cow mug!, a leather bag, a shirt, stationary, a ruby slippers doorstop, three roses, and an ice cream cake. We went to Buca’s for supper — me, my sister, my mom and dad, my aunt and uncle, and Jo. It was fabulous and I ate way too much. We also got a tour of the men’s rest room from a very hot waiter, which was great fun. There was a woman at the table next to us who was also having a birthday — they told everyone she was turning nineteen (sixty-one upside down), which I found amusingly ironic.

This beats last year hands down. There are other things I could say, about starting school and the conversation I had with my mom about the house fire, but I’m going to save them because I like that this is a frivolous entry just for me, just to help me remember.

August 13th, 2001

» two one play

Sarah made me cry on my birthday.

It’s the good kind of crying, though, which I haven’t done for a long time. She gave me the best birthday present ever. I can’t think of a better way to describe it. I will never hear “three, two, one” the same way again; it is best started, stopped for laughter, and restarted.

I don’t know where I was going with this. I don’t have a lot to say about my birthday yet, and I’m hitting the three a.m. (yeah, I’ve been thinking for a while) honesty/silliness skid. I used to be terrified of three a.m. When I was little, if I woke up at three I would cry myself back to sleep because I heard somewhere most people die then. I’m cured, though. Three is confessional time instead.

My new favorite thing is falling asleep in daylight. I used to think night was my favorite, but there is something cleansing about six a.m. outside your window, the moment of wondering whether it would be more worth it to go to bed or just push through the sleepiness into a second wind and catch the next night, being so caught up in what you’re talking about that you lose four hours. (And I love sleep very much; I would sleep fourteen hours a day if I could.) Anyway, I’m not going to come to that point tonight, because I have a date with breakfast in bed tomorrow, not to mention the dentist. That and I’m mostly incoherent now.

The Cap’n is my hero, and she can hump me any time.

August 11th, 2001

» sliced bread has nothing on this

This will be the quickest journal entry ever, because it’s just me waiting for Sarah to get back. Last night (this morning?) we were up until 6:45, watching Schindler’s List and talking. Doing a lot of talking, considering we were on the phone for over five hours and the movie’s only three.

Her long distance plan is the “greatest thing since sliced bread,” as the saying goes. I love it. A lot. I slept in the light again today, took an hour long bath (hellooo wrinkly fingers), squirreled something away somewhere on this site (you all love a challenge, don’t you?), and napped.

And now Sarah’s back, and this is a laundry list of things I’ve done, and I don’t care. We’re going to continue our Fine Fiennes Flesh Fest with Sunshine (mmm, nudity) and Quiz Show. Ralph makes for happy happy Rachels.

August 9th, 2001

» let me tell you about winds

“…let me tell you about winds. There is a whirlwind from Southern Morocco, the Aajej, against which the fellahin defend themselves with knives. And there is the Ghibli from Tunis which rolls and rolls and rolls and produces a rather strange nervous condition…and then there is the Harmatton, a red wind which mariners call the sea of darkness. Red sand from this wind has flown as far as the south coast of England apparently producing showers so dense they were mistaken for blood…”

- from The English Patient: A Screenplay, by Anthony Minghella,
adapted from the novel by Michael Ondaatje

In Ralph Fiennes’ mouth, words are more beautiful. “Fellahin,” “Aajej,” “Ghibli”. My favorite, however, is from the novel. “There is also the —–, the secret wind of the desert, whose name was erased by a king after his son died within it.” The Count is the desert’s secret-keeper, though. He would know the name of this wind, be able to find the warm, dark little cave where it begins, the long, round shore where it loses itself over the ocean. Maybe it was that wind, his secret desert wind, that caused their sudden sandstorm, the catalyst for the collision of two hearts. Count Lazlo de Almásy, King Aeolus, Regent of Winds. Present tense.

Once upon a time there was water in the desert, which was not a desert. That is the beauty of the Cave of Swimmers, although in the paintings there are only people with two legs, no blur of mermaid fin. Perhaps the water was there for too short a time: a day, a thousand days, it doesn’t matter. Such clever water creatures must have sensed the sand so near, just waiting for the right turn of sun, waiting for its secret wind. Perhaps they changed their shape to hide among all the earth and air, took a deep lungful of water and stepped out, holding this last wetness in until their home bubbles back up through all the heat. Or those who did not are now bone far beneath the shifting dunes, less than bone, soaked away with their

I found my mermaid blanket today, which is why I think of mermaids now, and drying up. “Found” is not quite the correct word, because I don’t believe something is lost until you miss it and begin looking for it. (Like my moose slippers, which I hope to really find soon.) It was tucked between my bed and a box, down where it had fallen some fitful night. Anything at the foot of the bed tends to work its way off at some point or another. I am trying to think of a way to say why I am glad to have found it without using the word “comforting”, because too many things I have written about have been comfort things lately. It has only one full side of trim left, and even that is loose, disconnected in long gaps. The rest of it is in my mother’s hope chest upstairs, gathering cedar-scent. She got tired of sewing it back on (she must have done it a hundred times), and by then it was okay with me.

This and my yellow blanket (which is much more tattered, more hole than blanket) are my two oldest possessions, in the sense that I have had them the longest. They came home from the hospital with me after I was born — almost nineteen years ago now. I remember this boy down the street, Brandon, had a blanket similar to mine. His mother was weaning him from his dependence on it several years after I was less clingy about mine, since he was several years younger than me. I remember quite vividly the day she was telling my mom about this, because how she had decided to wean him off of it was to cut it in half. Then, later, in half again. And then again, until it was just a very small square, until he didn’t need it any longer. I think at that point it was one of the worst things I had ever heard. Children’s blankets mean the world to them. Parents, do not cut your baby’s blanket. Do not destroy something that sacred.

My mom came in earlier while I was cropping the above picture, and she sort of laughed, in that loving, touched way that mothers have. I think in her own way she has been as sad as I have lately. Sometimes she’ll look at me and say that summer has gone by too quickly, that I am leaving too soon. I know that she’s already crying about it sometimes, and I don’t know how to feel about that. I don’t deserve a mother who cries for me before I’m even gone.

I got news (it is good, I just can’t call it that right now, as sick as I am for home already) from residential living today. Because I live so very far away I can move in on Saturday the twenty-fifth instead of Sunday. It will definitely be nice to move in without all the rush and have the extra day to get settled. Not to mention I’ll then be completely free to help everyone else move in.

I’m going to end this now, because it’s wandering nowhere, and I’ve been not-writing far too long.