Hubbly Hoyden

2007-04-23T10:15:00.001-07:00

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Anniversary

2006-11-03T15:57:00.000-08:00

This server served me well. In five days it will have been one year from the day I began blogging. It's become a part of my life and there is nothing I regret about recording my experiences online. Not only do I learn about computers, participate in blogging communities, and have a record of what I do, but along with writing I improve in my analysis of situations. It's a kind of forced level-headedness. I admire those who blog and absorb the lessons it has to offer.

Servers.

2006-06-06T11:52:00.000-07:00

I have officially switched to (LiveJournal.)

"Army of Darkness"

2006-05-20T01:09:00.000-07:00

Eleven 32 keeps rolling around. Here we are again.
The contractor, the crew and I just watched "Army of Darkness." We couldn't decided whether it was a spoof or genuinely horrible. There were explosions, dead people, ugly blood-seeking creatures lurking in pits, and a fabrication of cliche's acting as protagonist. He was rude, and traveled in time from the 21st century to the renaissance.
Last night the Cody Rivers Show made a repeat performance at the school. They tried their new act on us. Though this performance was weaker than the first it was more impressive. Afterward and feeling moody I walked to the dock, hitching a ride from a cordial couple, and there experimented with flashes on the anemones under the float. I got the clearest pics at -2 exposure time. Generally I'm against flash. The wince-inducing blinder sucks the reality out of most pictures. Inspired by dark daffodil pictures (DaffodilPics) I took photos of the clouds over Bitte Bear. Playing with these at home I had a hell of a time getting them to look like anything at all. I ended up turning the white level inside out so that what picture I was left with was grainy and black and white, but looked like Something.

The anemone pictures are alright, but I didn't get many because flash eats battery charge. No sooner had I figured out the right exposure time than the little red "replace battery pack" light came on, and I was left, all alone, no one beside me, to cope in the darkness.

I tested the water and found that the phosphorescence were especially thick. I scooped them up and they blinked innocently, batting their photonic eyelashes.

To warm up I walked home briskly. Like so many important scientific statements, I've come to a realization, and it sounds obvious. Sometimes not liking something is a good enough reason not to do it. I don't like walking in the dark alone. I don't think I'll do it anymore.
Last night I thought I would challenge myself and take the shortcut home, but the reason I hadn't before was because I cannot see in the dark. The entire walk I worried about staying on the path, tried to guide myself by looking for the light line where the trees separate, and not seeing it. Dave comfortingly told me that many people have trouble with the path. I want an eye test. That or a guide dog.

Awumbuk.

2006-05-18T14:44:00.000-07:00

The word is "awumbuk." It's from the language of the Baining people of Papae New Guinea. It combines sadness, tiredness and boredom and is brought on specifically by the departure of visiting friends or relatives.
A fun German one means the pleasure derived from another person's suffering; "schadenfreude."
Mwahaha.
This pic's inspired by Charlie's bird photos.
Here I was messing with exposure time.
Salmon! Those are salmon!

Stupid beauty.

.nORMAL

2006-05-17T15:31:00.000-07:00

I wish there was a good onomatopoietic word for the sound of knocking. The heat is bringing out my curiosity and pointless creativity. There are plenty of words for sounds that don't sound like the real noise, and weren't originally supposed to sound like it anyway. Why is this? Where do words come from, they obviously being sounds, beside a sound someone relates to the sentiment? For example, a knock on the door. "Knock" doesn't sound like the booming, rattly, sharp sound of knuckles on faded oak. Maybe the word is based off of the sensation of knocking. Maybe sore skin inspired "knock."
I feel really relaxed. Not normal, but relaxed. When do I ever feel normal? Maybe to feel normal you need to be rememberring and labelling, or maybe to have the combination of memory and consciousness. Maybe I do feel normal. Huh. Relaxed though. I definitely feel relaxed.
Yesterday I was happily lazing in my bed when I heard knocking and looked at my collapsable travel clock. It was much too early to get up and go to the door, and early enough for the person at the door to know that I wasn't getting out of bed for them and their bloody knuckles. They persisted and got louder. I figured it was a carpenter hammering.
"Oi!"
"What?!"
So, reluctantly I decentized myself and went to deal with the racket, finding a painfully awake Tristan in the spacious mud room. He reminded me of microscopy class.
In microscopy we collected and looked at samples of murk on storage Rubbermaid tubs behind the cabin. We saw dafnea, water bears, looked for amoebas, and squinky things of all other flavors. We also looked at the plaque on the jaw bone of a dead sheep (which turned out not to be plaque but dried gum) and the plaque on Tristan's teeth after he ate delicious and fatty chicken. We looked at mosquito larvae and a spider. If you desire arachnophobia you should examine a spider under 30X magnification. There's white hair everywhere and all the legs were still attached. The best part were the pincers. The thing became more lovely when we shined a lazer at it (we didn't have a good overhead light). It was so beautiful that we recorded footage of me prodding it with the camcorder. This brings us to noon.
Julie made lunch.
We did stuff and bickered about schedules stupidly. Then Dave offered to take us youngin's to haul up prawn pots. The industrial fisherpeople have wiped out many of the best spots which means that Dave's pots were far offshore. Past White Rock. The guys pulled up more than 300 meters of line (for two nearly empty pots. I think we got six prawns total) while Camilla and I swam around the boat. Rock heated air off Point Disney blow dried our hair on the ride back. Quite satisfactory.
In the evening we played pounce. It's odd the sensation of having one day erase another. This morning one of the most "present" times in my life was yesterday. In one week it will be a distant memory, and even now, I can't remember what essays I wrote, why I didn't work harder, if we had visitors. After pounce we had an improvisation session with rhythm and decks of cards and singing and harmony and playing with each other. I had a really good time.
We bickered about what to do and I was elected to get the tv from the cabin. We watched "Bowling For Columbine" and I was reminded what a fantastic movie that is, and what an excellent director Michael Moore is.
I don't have the resources right now, but in a book about language that we have there is a list of emotion words from other cultures that we don't have in English. There's one that means "the emptiness and lonliness that presides, the proverbial anvil of emotions that smashes when a friend leaves." It may be Yiddish or something. Tristan has gone to Seattle.
I couldn't concentrate in math and doodled so thickly on my paper that the numbers don't show. We went to a marimba concert at the school and held art class under a tree while spectators didn't dance. Elementary students curiously looked over our shoulders, received compliments ungracefully, and several proved superb models.
We chilled, I returned "Monkey Wrench Gang," and revolved back.

Let Me Title This Later.

2006-05-16T19:42:00.000-07:00

Our Fatastic Cosmos.

2006-05-16T19:30:00.000-07:00

Fourteenth.

2006-05-14T19:46:00.000-07:00

I smell homework on the horizon. A dusky, savory, rich and afternoon aroma, mixed adjectives all the way to make like a flavor depiction on paper labels hugging coffee cans. Hope you noticed that descriptions of coffee taste are contradictive.
Julie built me a top to my bookshelf.
I played with the cat in the cabin and made plans for school's end. We're in tossups about where to store people when they visit. After rousing rounds of pounce we went to the dock to seduce salmon onto our videotape. Tristan employed his genius (the iota $7.35 an hour) and made it possible to attach the camera to a cement block. With the rig we got adequate footage of the fry. Then we jumped off the dock, recording all the while. On the way home we read the funnies. I still bite my nails.

House Work and Fry Filming.

2006-05-13T11:58:00.000-07:00

Birkenstocks.

2006-05-11T18:24:00.000-07:00

Stupid emotions. I've been dealing with emotions.
I seem to ignore myself when it comes to assessing hormone inbalances. The past two days held emotional situations which required tact, willpower, and reason; the theoretical trio of doom. I felt like crap after the first confrontation, then had a fever which remained vibrant and flaming until this afternoon when it took a break from the hounding.
People keep pointing my emotions out to me. I'll be toodling along and then someone will remind me that I'm feeling forlorn, and I'll say, "Oh yeah. You're right."
I spent the morning on homework, finishing several half done essays and clearing my desktop.
Julie went to Friday Harbor shopping and bought me Birkenstocks and orange juice.
I spent the afternoon at the dock trying to film baby salmon. If we succeed in filming Chinook then we are likely to get enough funding to buy better cameras.
The cieling of the house had impressive perforations. Three large holes in the floor not to mention a new hole created for a door, now shielded by plastic. The old stove pipe hole was patched up, leaving the hole from the old staircase and the hole for the new staircase. The new staircase is lovely and strong, normal sized and fun to jump on. The carpenters have broken into the cardecking and everyday significant and seeable progressions are made.
Last night we watched "The Royal Tenenbaums, and the night before, "The Fifth Element."

Splurge.

2006-05-09T10:42:00.000-07:00

Let's Make Like Fabric Softener and Snuggle.

2006-05-07T17:25:00.000-07:00

According to Tristan I am a feather duster.
We've been tired and in funks, headachy and listening to Moxy Früvous. Homework is stacking up, and the end of semester isn't long off.
Inspired by, "You're sin squared and I'm tan squared; together we can be one," we searched for pick-up lines. Our favorites consisted of;
"Can I call you Captain Kirk when we do it?"
"You're like a bowl of Lucky Charms, magically delicious."
"Hey, you're looking sharper than a page of Oscar Wilde witticism that has been rolled up into a point, sprinkled with lemon juice and jabbed into someone's eye."
"You must have a keg in those pants, 'cause baby I want to tap that ass."
"Excuse me, can you change two nipples for a dime?"
"Hi, I'm incredibly rich."

Every day Camilla and I go swimming. After transporting wood from the boat to the dock Camilla and I leapt off several times; today we went to experience the Pacific in a gale and leapt off in our pajamas. When returned home we experienced the mysterious "hot tub." It was, indeed, warm.
The chamomile has arrived.

Cinco de Mayo Log Hauling.

2006-05-06T16:35:00.000-07:00

Opinion.

2006-05-06T14:33:00.000-07:00

According to Camilla I am a dusty dried olive.

Underwater Vision.

2006-05-04T16:03:00.000-07:00

I don’t want you to suppose my math book is propped up by two cellophaned cans of Crown Prince Lump White Crab Meat. I want you to be assured. Quality Products Since 1948. The use of adjectives in writing is a style I’m looking into. In “Monkey Wrench Gang” Edward Abbey uses them as often as possible.
A carpenter is working on a plank above the stairwell. The stairwell will be moved next week, if not this one. I am positioned in such a way that I can see between every stair, sitting at the kitchen table, so that when the large, say, 2 inch by 2 inch chunks come skittering down the stairs I can see them jump past every gap.
On average women use about 15,000 words per day while men use about 7,000.
When I was fetching a PBC pipe out of the water with Dave yesterday (he reminded me that there is a town in Japan where the women dive everyday) he fixed some diving goggles for me. It appears that I can hold my breath longer when I am distracted by the moist sites below. Early this afternoon the water was frigid, I’ll say that just to get the answer out. This is because it was mid-tide. We shared the dock today with several mammals; one cleaning and fixing his boat, and a couple later who were installing necessaries and launching their yacht. Dave arrived after Camilla and I had our fill of marine plants sporting bubbles on tender tendrils, sandy bottoms littered with mathematically random sediments, waving anemones, and foggy portions of H2O near piling bases. Also, for those who care, there is a soft-core porn novel entitled, “Raven” in the post office outhouse.
The sun is shining like a cheesy new penny in a cheesy old movie, and I’ll walk to Point Hammond and do some math this afternoon.

Snowy and Stilt-toe.

2006-05-01T22:26:00.000-07:00

May Day.

2006-05-01T21:36:00.000-07:00

We watched an episode of "Destinos," the Spanish soap opera, and hiked the shortcut to Point Disney. On the cliffs before the glamorous point we met what Camilla later confirmed as seven turkey vultures.
Everyone invariably looks over the side of the cliff.
Tristan helped me realize that the phrase "alterior motives" is actually the phrase "ulterior motives."
The bountiful wildflowers attracted bees, one in particular, that buzzed around my feet, then my head, and back to my feet while I lay in the grass next to Tristan and Julie who were racing to the end of their problem sets. Stupid math adept people.
Camilla graciously hauled lunch up for us; fresh eggs from chicken who were fed grain and kitchen scraps, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, soapy water, and fruit. I got sun burnt.
At the peak of the heat Camilla and I climbed down Disney and went swimming in President Channel. Dave came by and said hello, and we climbed back up.
In honor of May Day we, Waldron Island Alternative Experimental High School, discussed Pagan rituals and the symbolism behind may poles. Across from the elementary school the community celebration that we skipped took place, the "Flower Amble."
Tony Wayne and Isa came by for klezmer while T, Camilla and I were bumming around downstairs, talking about creepy men. Is staring at someone a violation of their space? Do people have a right to stare at whom they please for as long as they like?
Julie leapt in with high spirits from the addition and we played some tunes. Amusingly, none of the six of us had gone to the community celebration, but Tony brought tidings that "it was good."

Dad's Easter.

2006-04-29T20:07:00.000-07:00

April Portland Journey 038
Originally uploaded by plumosita.

Isn't he cute?
Yoga this morning, denique math, igitur Latin and drawing Tristan. Camilla, Julie and I visited just before dinner time and checked out three great horned owl chicks in a snag in the backforest. The mom was no doubt lurking around, but we couldn't see her. It rained postquam a fairly long dry spell so All the Giant slugs are out. Camilla and I tortured the cat and tandem went swimming.
We're thinking of switching from Latin to linguistics nunc. I must remember that "susarrans" means "whispering" and that "quamquam" is "even though."
-Carpe diem quam mimime credulam postero-

Diamonds.

2006-04-29T20:06:00.000-07:00

April Portland Journey 048
Originally uploaded by plumosita.

Bleary Eyed.

2006-04-27T19:46:00.000-07:00

I had a nightmare last night that was startling enough to wake me up at 4:07. I stumbled off, confused and REM-ing. I was dizzy, and when I fell back into bed I dreamt of swimming at a familiar dock with red hair and red eyebrows. My name was Sam. This is significant and disturbing because my father's name is Sam, and he has a disease that causes dizziness. This got me thinking of my future, my health, how to better take care of myself.
Of course, in the morning I ignored the 7:15 wake up call from my alarm clock and actually moved around (yes, legs and arms and stuff) at 8:30 ready and rearing for yoga. In the loft I read "Monkey Wrench Gang" until Julie arrived and began the lesson. The most memorable position was plough, where the yogaist tosses their butt and legs into the air, putting stress on their shoulders. While in the position I felt fine, but coming out of it my back complained. I've asked to continue doing that pose to ease the discomfort. Also, tree pose is getting easier.
I did math today, 2 problem sets, with a side dish of no concentration.
Now I'm bumming around, maybe I'll write an essay on the Dead Sea, and if not I'll play a little music, bury myself in a book, or go on a dusky walk.

Self-Portrait.

2006-04-26T20:22:00.000-07:00

This is the rough draft.

And this is the final.

Two Days.

2006-04-25T16:25:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I got up and went for a run because yoga was cancelled. Then we had classes and learned. After school Camilla and I went swimming and at seven Tony Wayne showed up for klezmer. Around tenish we had Latin and around eleven watched a movie. After the movie I read some and then did a self portrait. This morning the high school attended an improvisation class which I enjoyed, but we won't schedule another because of conflicts. I fell asleep on the balcony and then went swimming with Camilla and the Jules. Tonight is contra night at Tony's.

Wa and Aikido.

2006-04-23T18:52:00.001-07:00

It seems every day I'm determined to do the work I put off yesterday, but save it for tomorrow. Why is it people have a high opinion of future selves and a low opinion of past selves? They're fairly consistant, but it's hard to see in a front row seat because the screen is way too big.

In English we are supposed to read five novels, and write one too, using a heroe's journey layout. We've read "Maskerade," "American Gods," "Life of Pi," and are reading "China Mountain Zhang," "Quicksilver," and most recently "Angry White Pyjamas." Camilla and I went on a walk to North Beach and I read said recent novel. The main character is a ...well, loser, living in Japan with his two fat friends in a small apartment. They decide to join a martial art dojo to get in shape. The main character chooses to partake in an intense boot camp, this excruciating butt kicking is the plot of the book, which boosts his self confidence while at the same time, tortures him physically. All the people at the dojo are men save one woman who has just entered the story. I can't imagine putting my body through such unnecessary strife. What is it that I'm missing that makes getting thoroughly whooped worthwhile? I predict that Rob, our hero, will come through a better man for having put up with the training, get himself a new apartment, a new life, and give up the practice forever to revel in the good old days at the dojo.
Camilla and I stopped in and said hello to a gardening Babs, discussed knee problems, and made our way to the school soccer field where we sat, sunned and read a bit more. At home I wrote an essay, chatted with Tristan, ate some cereal, debated with Tristan, listened to "Rent," distracted Tristan, and helped move wood.
Last night we watched a scary movie called "Pi" (1998) about a mathematical genius looking for a magic number in pi that'll unlock the mysteries of the stock market, the universe, and the true name of the Jewish God. In the end he puts a drill to his head, and is happier for it.
Tonight we'll watch for the second time an incredibly stupid movie called "Mystery Men" about three super heroes who are down on their luck. There are three lines worth remembering in the movie, and they're why I'm willing to watch it again.

I Don't Mind the Vase.

2006-04-22T20:17:00.000-07:00

Any reasonable person would say that my day was easy. I didn't have to run the five kilometer fundraiser, I didn't have to finish two problem sets of math, I wasn't pestered.
But I felt like I had a fever, and took many naps. I kept falling into an unconcious sea and swimming around until I couldn't breath, then surfacing to take a huge gasp of real life and diving down again. One story showed up both when I was awake and asleep. In it I was walking to the dock when Dave turns a crimp in the road and hits me with the left front wheel of the truck. Guts are hanging every which way which alarm Julie and Dave who are now out of the car, looking at me and wondering, "what now?" I proceed to tell them my last wishes, mostly things I want them to tell people from me. One of the most potent phrases was that "My life is insignificant, though I would have liked to keep living it." I don't know why I had this hallucination today. I do consider my life, my existance, insignificant when compared to the future. Nothing would change if I died except that my intake of life would be brought from and thundering "everything" to a less boisterous "nothing." If life were a snowglobe, people could slam away with pitchforks or axes or hammers and would have a hell of a time making a ding. It's shatterproof glass.
Together, united in our stupidity and obliviousness, humanity can melt the ice caps. We can also melt eachother with atom bombs. Very soon (so says Vanity Fair- a source I trust) the glacier balanced on some buried islands in Western Antarctica will slide off, causing a giant tsunami aimed at Chile not to mention a 20 foot rise in sea level world wide. Formulating ideas around the kitchen table last night we decided a campaign to build a continent made completely of solar panels to replace the North pole would be awesome. The panels would bounce the suns rays back into space, (an important job that the ice used to assume) not to mention give us tons of power.
While we're on the topic of ingenious plans- do you want to live underwater? Of course you do. You've got your plasic bubble, and you've got your crops all set up. Eheu! What's this? It's too dark or the plants to grow because YOU'RE AT THE BOTTOM OF THE OCEAN. Thankfully, you can install bright electric lights as an artificial sun. Unfortunately you have nothing to plug your light into. So, you set up a water wheel on it's side, half in and half out of the Pacific Ocean current. The shaft is vertical, sticking out of the water. The bit above the surface is wrapped with wire, standard shaft type electric current stuff, so that, bad conductor as it is, no energy is wasted in the water. Et voila! Take that constant energy down with wires and plug in your fake sun!
Google has just informed me that today is Earth Day. How fitting.
I continued work on a self portrait and bonded with Lucky. There's a certain abundant plant that's a mix of stinging nettle and geranium that really greenifies outside. Julie showed me the peppermint patch, so now I can make tea.

Small Pupils.

2006-04-21T13:52:00.000-07:00

I am a night owl, but I work best in the morning. Apparently it's been proven many times that teenagers, though more grumpy, work bettter in the morning.

Around nine I interrupted my dreaming, thought about reading a book, but decided to tend to hunger and the room. I walked up to the school reading and drinking tea to return a manga book about the bombing of Hirsohima. Rushed back to the house and biked to the dock where I dove in for a quick swim, then hurried home in time for Spanish and a short student teacher conference. I cleaned, organized books, papers, painted the words "logophile" and "discipulus" over my door frame, and went outside to play with a piece of glass in the sun.
From Portland I brought one of my favorite musical soundtracks, that of "Chess," which I'm listening to now.
Camilla, Julie and I have given up sugar for the sake of not being evil. Tea is no good without sugar. Thankfully blue cheese is sweet (dulce). My psychology end-of-term project will be charting the effects of chocolate or no chocolate on my mood.
Good afternoon!

Flour Geisha.

2006-04-20T19:05:00.000-07:00

Back.

2006-04-20T14:35:00.000-07:00

It's odd to feel nostalgia for a place where I've lived for only eight months.
There are more than a thousand details to recall of the car ride home, the boat ride, people, seats, thoughts, but they aren't all that enthralling. Or they are and I don't want to write them. Or they are and I can't remember. Anyway, more than a thousand. The one thing that hit home on this visit were the people at my old school; they're jerks. I visited for one day, 3 class periods, a study hall and a lunch. During that time I talked to dozens of people, many of whom came shouting up to me asking how I'd been (not caring), where I'd gone, and why. First of all, it isn't their business. I'm sure they meant well, but they didn't act well. I mean act in two different ways there. Firstly, theatrically. They didn't pull off the "I actually care what you're saying" thing. Second, I mean morally. The majority of these people are hardly aquintances. Perhaps I had a math class with them in seventh grade and since then have periodically said hello in the hallways. We had gone our seperate ways. This is the case, so why did they greet me so warmly? Is it to establish (and in some cases, pretend) that they had a relationship with me before? Is it because I'm just that cool? Maybe because absinthe made their heart grow fonder? I have no idea.
Inspired by the perfectly awful pun above, I should explain that absence has not made my heart more fond of many things I left behind. Instead staying on Waldron has simply made stereotypes and horribleness clearer. People at Sunset, in general, are rude and cruel, and every student there needed more hugs when they were younger. Also, they each need about a month and a half of quiet time to themselves to reflect on things, people and why they are alive, not to mention twice as much time in therapy.
Wow, a conversation about functionality just walked in. Gotta go.

Sunset.

2006-04-18T12:02:00.000-07:00

I'm back in school. This morning Alex and I walked to Sunset where I popped in at the library to read. Also visited the College and Career Center where I picked up brochures about Reed College. I went to Study Hall to commune with my homies and finally ended up in photography, where I am now, looking at examples of A grade montages. Last night we watched a movie called "Into the Blue," which was made to show off the actors bodies, and therefore was interesting, but I wouldn't go so far as to say it was intriguing.
I visited my future art teacher and showed her my sketchbook; she gave me advice. She said I need to keep up with realism, so I've just completed a sketch of Alex in pencil. It's very real. Truly, very realistic. Realistically, very true.
I miss the island.
Yeah, I'll shut up now.

City Life.

2006-04-17T11:25:00.000-07:00

People, sheesh.
Last night we went out in search of jazz at a PRIME RIB Restaurant and Bar. Unfortunatly we didn't all pass for over 21 so we ate chocolate moose instead and later a banana desert which spilled onto the cup. Yum.
Easter was forced and a little terrible. Family gathered and glued grins to themselves. Holidays aren't fun unless you mean them.

So Far.

2006-04-16T10:47:00.000-07:00

We've been to the Portland Art Museum and OMSI and been schmoozing with family. We went to the Blackcat Cafe where Tristan and Julie and Charlie worked online and I continued to develop the style of drawing I'll present in the show. Me le gusta mucho. Charlie then played with a (very) cheap movie camera and I fell asleep under the power adaptors.
At OMSI we went to the IMAX show "Wired to Win;" inside the mind's of the athletes in the Tour de France. Afterward we explored the submarine that sits outside the museum, guided by a theatrically inclined man who had worked in the Navy for about four years searching for submarines (successfully finding over fifteen from scattered nations), petting in admiration gadgets and gizmos. There is food everywhere and today is Easter, so the majority is chocolate. Hoorah for zits. Later there'll be an Easter brunch at my grandmother's house. I'll walk over twelve-ish to greet family and friends and hugs and participate in touchy feely junk.
It's fantastic how quickly schedules overflow. Large portions of each day are spent on the phone, calling back and forth, forth and back, making sure everyone is on the same page, usually forgetting one or two people who need to be in the know, but end up being forgotten. Yesterday, at the Creperie on Hawthorne Street I made a phone call to friend informing her (in a message on her cell phone) that we would be late to the cafe. She, moments later, called the restaurant back, resulting in a humorous exchange between her, the waitress, and myself, all of whose name is Emily.
The mussel's were spectacular.
It's morning again, leaning into afternoon, and I'm at my Dad's. He's going to show me pictures from a family album. I'm going to photograph a wooden box that he had commissioned six months ago which is finally finished.
Here's hoping.

Oh My Goodness.

2006-04-08T22:23:00.000-07:00

Oh my goodness.
It's a wonder my head doesn't fall off, roll into a corner, squash a ten year old soggy corn chip, and die.
Finding the milk had turned to cheese, I turned my attention to cold corn beef stew for breakfast. I packed my bag and lugged the music stands out to the truck. Julie, Tristan and I rode on the bow of the Merlet to Friday Harbor where we dropped our boxes and assorted carry-ons at the back door of the gallery and split up. In Ace Hardware Julie bought six gallons (48 lbs) of Peach Sorbet Satin Gloss paint and found me some green garden clogs. When we go to Portland Julie's agreed to be transformed into another person, any other person or persona. I looked for base in the makeup section of Ace Hardware, but they didn't have any. Last time we made Julie up without base we were short of makeup remover as well. She submitted to two long days of black eyes.
At Serendipity, a used book store, we met Tristan and went out to lunch at a sports bar called "Haley's." On the entryway wall there was a shrine to deep sea fishing, complete with talking bass. Twnety five low resolution pictures of people standing and looking adoringly at fish as tall as them and half again hanging upsidedown by a cinnamon roll sized hooks. Across from the death shrine there is a fish tank with a sign reading "Don't tap on the glass. It hurts our ears." The tank has two inhabitants each about 6 inches long.

"All sounds are made from vibrations, so hearing is really a kind of feeling. You can feel these sound vibrations, or waves, when you touch the outside of a ringing bell. Your ears "feel" sound waves, too. Nerve endings in your ears send messages to your brain about the sounds they feel. Sound moves through water the same way it does through air, so a fish actually "hears" water movement.
The moving water flows through the skin at the back of the fish's head into its hidden ears (two hair-lined sacs that contain fluids) and moves the hairs in the lining. Scientists aren't sure, but they think tiny nerve endings attached to the hairs then send signals to the fish's brain.
Most fish can't easily hear really high-pitched or low-pitched sounds. To help hear very low sounds, some fish use a special fluid-filled tube, called a lateral line, as a kind of built-in hearing aid.
A line of tiny holes run along both sides of fish from their head to their back fin. Inside the holes are special nerve cells that sense movement, a lot like how the ear works. It doesn't look anything like an ear, but it helps fish "hear" or feel very low vibrations from moving objects."

What? I was curious.
We orderred shrimp ravioli and left muttering about football, licking our lips.
Out back the gallery Julie and I warmed up and reviewed tricky measures. When tuned we postponed playing for an hour and I hid behind the counter with the hostess of the gallery, Evette. She told me how physiologically inadequate she felt and how generation gaps confused her. I took out my knitting, settling into the island chick stereotype and felt comfortable there.
Face language matters buckets in a room of people who know you. Most of the crowd was from Waldron, hardly anyone I wasn't aquainted with. Meeting people for the first time allows a certain freeness to say anything and get away with it. Meeting people for a second time makes you trust yourself to have told the truth previously or otherwise dig yourself into a hole of fast, inadequate corrections. A smile and a good word can get you through it, but people want intimacy, for the most part. You either reciprocate and have a quiet whisper in the lull of murmurring praise, or give them a social cold shoulder saying, "not now. I'm keeping within protocol, I'm being polite, but let's not go there, okay?" Open for business, but too nonchalent to do anything about it. That's what I went for. Later and braver I moved to the front of the room working on my scarf, letting people come to me and satisfy their conversational quota.
At 2:10 Julie, Tony Wayne and I played klezmer tunes, followed by a lovely choral duet, and finally wrapped up in a tidy penny whistle/recorder/bass contra dance medley.
Tristan and I went to the bookstore overlooking the ferry landing and hung out for a few afternoon hours reading and chatting. At five we went to catch the boat and finding it late took shelter in the small park covering with other passengers. Smoozing is hard. Is it possible to be comfortable with aquaintances?
Stupidly yet graciously we sat at the bow and froze our buns off. The raindrops were sharp and they attacked my face. "Ow!" I said, but they wouldn't go away. The last bit past Point Disney into Cowlitz Bay feels like home stretch if that's what it's called when you're running from third base to home plate. The mountain shelters you from some of the more spear-like precipition.
We loaded the truck with art and food and walked home, starting a fire and greeting the cats. Pounce, and then we watched the movie "Official Story" about missing persons in Argentina, Las Abuelas Del Plaza de Mayo, fascists and how to give up things that you love. Dave thought the movie expressed gender differences, which wasn't a theme I noticed initially. Then again, no one even mentioned the theme I associated most with the film; how to deal with losing something you love. Tristan associated with the bad guys of thr movie, Camilla with the good guys, and Julie with the big picture; an individual waking up. Our interprettations could vary because of the genders going on, or personalities, or backgrounds and background knowledge. Of course all of these are true and more, but I'm talking the majority of the difference.
Because it depended so much on inferrence this movie would have been completely different if any of us were fluent in spanish. Then again, on a larger scale, our patterns of thought would be alien (a mi, ahora) if I spoke spanish.
A friend came by and showed off a freshly pierced ear (that took 20 minutes to pierce- ¡ay!) and discuss the movie with us. He stole Tristan and I'll continue in "Life of Pi" tonight. Do you have any idea how vicious hyenas are? They snack on eachother's ears for crying out loud! Eat bloody grass, pick through hairballs...whatever floats your boat I suppose.
I've returned to my room though my clothes department remains situated under the scaffolding in the addition.
The walls are halfway painted, but more importantly the futon is made up, blankets and all. It's good to have my space back.

Shopping Trip.

2006-04-06T11:54:00.000-07:00

On the mainland Dave bought guacamole, conditioner and shampoo, a cheese selection and a meat selection. He also brought a shiny red wheelbarrow, 30 lbs of chocolate, and tacitos. Two nights past we watched the movie "How to Irritate People" with some man from Monty Python. I thought it would be awful, and it was, but in a good way.
I'm still living on the futon, but my room is almost ready to be primed. Yesterday the loft was sketched out in wooden planks, and the 4x12's are installed and ready for liftoff. I'm going to the dock this afternoon to call my beloved, though some will be unavailable in classes. On the schedule are papers, papels, and/y/et papiers.
In psychology we have been discussing motivation, and verdict is I'm the most distracting and the least distractable of the group. Therefore I need to set an example and shall. The bruises on my legs, Ophelia and Buster, are healing primely. Drinking hazelnut tea, E

Ditch.

2006-04-04T18:29:00.000-07:00

I was distracted by the moon and walked off the road. Sitting there, nonchalant, chilling, one piece of a watermelon jolly rancher demanding attention. I blame those white craters, they sucked me in.
Tristan doesn't like Mr. Piggy, a stuffed animal I sleep with. Anybody else notice that the critical have less fun?
Dave brought his wife a weird bouquet and it's making the air around the table smell like the big imported flowers from Hawaii. The ones that cost $7.99 per stalk. Yeah, those.
Post today delivered me letters from Seattle Art Institute inviting me to a seminar, my Damoner, and Em Ritchie (my arch nemesis). In Cowlitz Bay Camilla and I tried to unscramble a quickly scrawled thank you note which turned out to be in russian. I saw a live snake and later saw it laying on the road, it's head squashed. I put it in the rosehips. The apple blossoms smell like marzipan.
Sol, playa, I hung out on the tree swing in Francis' Cove and later went swimming. A crab nipped at my toe, so I nipped her finger back, but we're friends now.
Stopping in at Tony Wayne's I found a map of Canada spanning the living room floor, but was quick to distract him in an enthralling conversation about sandfleas. I poked at a snake who stuck it's tongue out at me, then tried to gum me to death, and por fin dozed of in the stargazing chair until the salt water evaporated from my shirt. Then I went home and put on a Jazz/Rock Compilation.
Want to make something of it?

Rooster.

2006-04-04T11:29:00.000-07:00

We were innocently pondering life after a definitive and highly productive psych session when a flamboyantly dressed three legged pigeon dropped in to visit. She came bearing a rooster recently parted from his cabeza in a bag in a bag in a box. Similarly, due to misfortune and ill fate, a nephew of the pigeon had recently been parted from an unshattered leg, and she had to rush off to help him through this breakage. She felt, rightly, that skinning and plucking a chicken in the ferry line would not only be impolite, but would also be rather distracting for the ferry attendants and patient future passengers. We stopped class, got some wood for the stove, and ate lunch. After drawing the bird in art class I made a movie of Tristan taking it apart while Julie sautéed vegetables for a stew.
For the upcoming art show I will pursue line drawings; I want to finish at least five pieces. My first experimenting in this style was on the rooster and I liked the result though I need practice. Instead of the vibrant and page expansive drawings I usually do in my sketchbook I'll substitute simpler and more definite lines that capture the curve of the thing rather than expressing it with color. In examining earlier pictures I found that though the curves are important, they don't draw the eye from the demanding color. That's a present ambition.
Yesterday afternoon was about pounce. In fact we finished no homework, which means today will be piled high.
¿¡Why do we do that to ourselves?!
Camilla is officially faster than me, and Julie has more brains for the game that any of us.
At twenty past seven we realized that it was klezmer night (starting at 7:30) but I desperately needed a run, and did, with Camilla, run to the school. Afterward I changed quickfast, ran downstairs and practiced contra dance medleys with Julie and Tony Wayne, my usual partners, but also with Charles who backed us up on guitar. Soon enough Julie and I dropped out in favor of dinner, rooster and celery stew. While we sat, ate and communed with a freshly returned Dave (who came bearing groceries, bless his shop-'til-you-drop soul) TW and Charles entertained and delighted us with mellow waltzes. They thanked us for our hospitality and left.
More pounce and I tranferred all my bedding from my bed, so as to safe it from an untimely death of suffocation in plaster dust fumes, to the futon. Finally, we watched the third section of an amazing "Underwaterworld Trilogy: Deep Encounters/Ocean Allies/ Blue Voices." If you're at all interested in the ocean and who lives there, this is the best underwater phtography I have ever seen. Two hours and 36 minutes well spent.

Crash.

2006-04-02T20:26:00.000-07:00

Well I just crashed. Apparently Drew doesn't read my emails. So, basically life is a deadfall. You know, like the ones that Pygmy hunters use to catch the tricky okapis. Today I did two spanish essays, then sheet rocked the ceiling above and outside my room. Hoorah for vocational ed. I still have two more essays to go. In the evening I went the Francis' Cove and went swimming with Julie, then caught a ride home.

¡Today!

2006-04-01T15:10:00.000-08:00

Seattle Propaganda.

2006-04-01T14:35:00.000-08:00

Seas of money saving vestaments!

The native species.

Show.

Statue out front the SAAM.

Morning coffee stop.

Bonfire.

2006-03-29T21:37:00.000-08:00

This morning I felt terrifying. I'm glad I was not on the opposite side of my face. That seems like a scary position.
Tristan walks in, timely as usual, saying, "hello merry sunshines!" I'm standing by the stove, having tripped downstairs. So it's essence of grumpy versus essence of everyone else.
E-Grumpy+ E-Everything Else=Bad.
Eventually I snapped out of it, somewhere in Spanish maybe, after a few gallons of tea. During lunch I worked in a sketchbook and after classes I ate raman and sardines. Years ago I took a picture (back in the centuries before my digital camera, Latisha) of Karl Andrew (my romanian lover) and an iguana. Karl Andrew is actually the name of my brother. My romanian lover lives in Romania; his name is Vlad Nicolai Rochofski. This picture was the inspiration for an acrylic painting I did this afternoon in the backfield. It's on my wall now as a reminder to keep at it.
Speaking of room, the sheet rock was installed surrounding the skylight. The carpenters mudded and taped for me too. Tomorrow I'll pack everything into a box so they can sand off excess mud. I am looking forward to it.
Skipping some stuff...and zing!
The sun's left and the day is kaput...or is it? In fact, Dave brings us tidings of a bonfire happening on North beach. We pack scarves, gloves, hats and Tristan into the back of the truck and set off to celebrate with a friend another year of her life, making a pit-stop at the Delahunt's to deal with goats and geese and sheep. The kids are like cats, really. We fed and watered them and generally put them in their places. Dave drove us off and Camilla and I sang unharmoniously until beach loomed past the plum tree in the driveway. The sand was dry and chilly, but what's this? No bonfire? Luckily, a light gleamed from a small bed shack where we peered in and said, "Hallo!" Uncerimoniously we woke one inhabitant and sang her rounds and rounds of rounds and musical tunes. When we petered out everyone's night had been brightened, missions accomplished.
This morning seemed complicated. Now things couldn't be simpler. I wonder what's changed.
A theme this week will be happiness, a discussion of it spurred in psych that will prey on my mind. Yes indeed, questions will stalk my little gray cells like tigers for an antelope. Rearing their sharp yellow talons, stretching for the kill. They'll leap up, eyes focused on the heart of the beast, galloping 'cross desert plains. Red slicing grass shifting in the wake of the tiger, some stripes not able to keep up with he 900 mile an hour lunge and

Whatsoever is the Truth.

2006-03-28T15:08:00.000-08:00

I spent all morning screwing.
Sorry, it had to be said.
Well, this morning I woke up, praise the gods. Julie was hammering something in the next room so I went downstairs and made myself an omelette. In it was fake crab, egg, cheese and a really really underripe avocado. Seriously, this avocado was hard to bite into. That's how underripe it was. Otherwise the omelette tasted pretty okay. Eggy, if you know what I mean. Like it had some crab in it or something, and a little cheese.
Then I found myself a thingy and some mud and began mudding and taping the seams of the sheet rock in my room and using the screwer to screw. You put the mud on, wipe it off, attach the tape, put more mud on, wipe that mud off, and whamo! There you have the answer to life! No actually, then you have the first coat of mud on your walls.
Wow, who knew you could overdose on Florida's Natural? I certainly did not. I mean, woah man. Woooaaaahhh, man. Florida's natural premium is some hard core stuff. Like, the back of my throat is stinging. Woah.
For dinner last night we had crunchy pasta and some klezmer. Later, aroung nine thirty or tenish some people showed up with instruments. They said they played klezmer so we played a few songs with them. They had a fiddle, mandolin, small guitar, and some other junk. Good stuff. We kicked them out and watched Napolean Dynamite. That is some kinda movie. "Bodaggit!" Anyway.
I should spend today in bed. OMG Becky. Look at her butt, it is so big. I just cannot believe it. Holy smokes. I mean, you've been to Alabama right? Yeah, it's like bigger than that. The perfect day today would be lying in bed, dozing on and off, having someone massage my feet. WOAH, that would be good. Runner up perfect day would be doing a problem set of math and walking to the beach with some warm and dry (I know, why is my sweater wet right now?) sweaters, reading on the tree swing at Francis's Cove until it's too dark to see. Yes indeed, I think I'll do that. Good idea Emily. Oh, why thank you. I thought it sounded quite pleasant myself. Why the heck is my sweater wet?
We're planning a field trip to Portland to go to art museums and to meet my grandmother. That will probably happen in mid April. Darn, we didn't have Latin yesterday. Do you know? I am tired. I am more tired than I should be. Seriously, I don't know what's wrong with me. Sheesh. I have no right going around and being this sleepy. It isn't right I tell you, it isn't right!
Oh, if the moon were made of cheese.....ladedah a'vagavit, sicut pica, est caudex, mendax est, versipellis, howdehowdehow...

Privacy.

2006-03-26T23:33:00.000-08:00

"You may as well be awake and tired than asleep and tired."
- Jazzy Conked Out Magee

Insulation.

2006-03-25T21:28:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I agreed to help with the insulating of the upstairs. Instead I went to the post office hoping they would mail my letters though it isn't a mail day, and ended up working on the pebbly beach. I brought my math book, "History For Dummies," paper and pen. I finished a problem set and began a long and involved note to a friend on a 12x8 piece of paper with green lines.

Said Just Now:
"Life without chocolate powder, I'm not sure it's worth living."
-Tristan
"Chocolate is the best thing ever. Life isn't worth living without chocolate."
-Camilla

Finally Dave and Camilla showed up and invited me on a trip to Friday Harbor. On the way I met a man much revered and outlawed. There is a warrant for his arrest. He lectured Camilla and I on our nonexistent love for Waldron Island and complimented that we looked "purdy." He really said it. With the u and everything.
So, we went off on the bow of the boat, spring wind in our short hair, cotton blankets slipping toward the buoy on the ground. The ride was smooth. We went to the hardware store to look for paint for Camilla's room. On the street people, especially other girls, sized Camilla and I up, the alpha female being assigned. At Kings we stocked up for a few days, then popped over to the lab dock to pick up some alcoholically impaired passengers. They gave us party favors from a wedding and described the union. There were the most amazing clouds (did you know that cumulous means pile in Latin?) on the way home above San Juan that flaunted their silver lining. Below them was an orange sky that looked like marbled paper. Progressively the clouds dimmed until, by the time we got to the Waldron dock, the orange was frighteningly brilliant and was bleeding down into reflections on the water. Our sloshed friends invited us to a drinking party and we drove home. Dave made tacos and Julie and I insulated. Latin, and now I should be mathing. Alright, I'll get to it.

For you, yes.

2006-03-24T19:52:00.000-08:00

Quoting people is great. It's amazing how much literature flies past your ears everyday- thousands of books worth! That's not counting the ideas behind the words. Sheesh.
I went swimming after a day of math and a conversational spanish class at the picnic table. I insulated part of the ceiling above my room, tottering ominously over the Savoy Theatre, no, actually it was over vacant air and a theoretical fall to my painful and prolonged death, while Julie worked behind me. We're logging Vocational Ed. hours. Dave made dinner for us and now I'm keeping my word, updating this melancholy webpage. It's so alone! There's no one there beside it!
Last evening we watched a Norwegian film called "Kristen Lavransdatter." As we later described to Dave, it had an obvious theme (lust and its tribulations), good filming and interesting cultural differences though the characters...er...sucked. It was three hours long but satisfied our "making fun of people" cravings.

It's at 82.

2006-03-23T18:05:00.000-08:00

The generator, that is. It's little red charge light is blinking and humming outside is the fossil fuel guzzler. We try to dampen the noise with insulation, the same insulation that keeps the hot tub warm, and it helps. The insulation is pink but is covered in dust and dirt from the tools stored next to it.
The rule of indents in paragraphs makes sense. Essays that have indents are easier to read, and look more inviting. If people approached the same words in the same order on in paragraph form and one without, people would read the segmented one. Thank goodness, Dave found the steaming pan and comal. Camilla's just announced, "I love picking nettles." She's frying some for me.
As I was brainstorming to say, "whelp."
I guess I should write about my day. It was completely mushroom free. We haven't had mushrooms in quite a while, but they would be tasty. Or zucchini. Hole moly, zucchini would be good. I set the alarm last night for seven o' clock and dutifully it started beeping one minute after 6:59 and one minute before 7:01. So, I whacked the wall with my hand and said "ow" and then turned it off. Dave was downstairs and he made coffee while I started my first problem set of the day. Fast forward to two o'clock when I am just finishing the second problem set of the day. Upstairs Wayne has started the mudding and taping of skylights and Julie is taking the walls off of my room. Camilla's sheet-rock is being replaced as well, the inner insulation is stained with water from when the loof reaked. Excuse me, roof leaked.
Sitting in the living roof for the past three days was not good for my body. Oh, I moved some, not a fair amount, and definitely not an adequate amount. I do feel bogged, swamped, or even marshed with work, but sacrificing my health is not on my to-do list. Pues, I went on a walk to Point Hammond and I read a book from one cover to another cover about the bombing in Hiroshima. It had graphic and fairly disturbing manga in it, but also interesting facts I hadn't known before. At the point I wrote a letter to my grandmother and took pictures. I won't post them tonight, but I do plan to get back to my daily schedule of blogging.
At home I sat down to post, hence the previous byte, and was diverted by a bass player on a mission. We practiced klezmer tunes we'll play at an upcoming art closing in Friday Harbor.

So...

2006-03-23T17:13:00.000-08:00

Whelp. Things are going. Klezmer rehearsal junk is going on unexpectedly. Glad I started this new entry.

Read it.

2006-03-21T00:21:00.000-08:00

This isn't a standard essay, I don't want or need it to be. It isn't a rant and I could list one thousand other things that it isn't. You could too but we don't have the time. I'm not in a funny state of mind, just grounded in a formerly pissed off kind of way, and I don't want to think about who's going to read this or why, I just want it to be comprehensible so I can learn from it. I adore harnessing passion, don't make fun of my words you dipshits, making sure I still have some spontaneity. But nothing should be about words. They are too essential to describe when you're not thinking clearly. I just like the busy tap of fingers when you can't type as fast as you are thinking and your head spews yesterdays pork omelette into the toilet bowl of thoughts undeveloped and probably dead wrong. I'm not promising I won't edit it. Watch out or I'll edit you.
I leaned against the tub, an archetypal picture of sad and lonely girl, bent sideways to her knees and weak hip joints, weeping at a pool of water. This will be an unfortunate piece of writing. It shows my most basic instincts after a recent disorientation . I was weeping on the ground by the hot tub and thinking that the water was too hot to touch because it would burn off the disease, create a fever, scorch the untruths, and damn it all anyway, my sense and humor are coming back to me. Go away! I was thinking of San Francisco's steep streets where the cars cough and sputter with the effort of getting up the roads. I was thinking that if only I could accept that I am my mother's daughter I would have an IQ ten points greater than that which I have now. And why can't that be, and will it be tomorrow? I'm not full of windmills and don't tell me that I am. I came rushing into the house accidentally slamming the door in my hurry to write it down and it wasn't a mistake. I'm not preaching my philosophy. I'm not being a hero and I'm not looking for pity in readers and I'm not asking to be or have these things by saying this. But it isn't about you, it's about me. I was feeling overloaded and I was upset with myself that I feared I would not be able to complete the goals I had set, when I was beset with a severe case of ambitiousness. It was my bodies way of ensuring that I get the homework done. By having the petite breakdown I could get my monthly quota of tears filled, with class and dignity no less, no less, and free myself of the insults in my head, protecting me from the inner workings of Melany, my subconscious. I'm glad she acts as some pseudo cilia, the little hairs that take out all the the garbage before the air and inspiration hits my brain, my conscious, and before the cogs get too clogged. I fancied the hot tub too hot until it was proven survivable by my lovers, and a little of the hurtful steam was released in an apology. How can brains possibly be so magnificent that they heal from past gouges? Yes, this article is like a wad of fat, sickening the usual working artery of my blog, but it's personal and blatant truth, and it isn't well developed and it isn't eloquent and that gives it a whole new power. Tears can do the same thing. They aren't pretty unless you look at them in the right light. You can hate people who use puppy eyes, but you can't escape the blatant desires behind them. Yes, they are manipulative, they know that, they are practically making fun of themselves, but if you can't see the beauty in that than you are missing out in all the shadows of life. If you think that you would rather unplug your grandmother than sell a grand house which has been in the family for years, you are missing a point. You know who you are, and now maybe you will see what you've shoved into ill fitting drawers. It isn't about appreciation, it isn't that I have 15 pounds of sugar in my blood, you have to look at the dark side of the papa. Papa no tienes pello. It's a fact of life, just like wondering if the guy sitting next to you is wearing underwear. If you jump off a cliff, take drugs, have the ride of a lifetime, lick a slug, dance on a table, do your homework, are a geek, are a nerd, like beef and cottage cheese, exaggerate everything, lose your virginity to a bore, read away your summers, like to wander around naked, admit to reading porn, never learn the majesty of literacy, don't return your library books, or get a score of 2 on the interpersonal part of your Multiple Intelligence test, than you know what I say. It's all there, obviously, you can see the words. Talk about a sander on the kitchen counter. Talk about upsetting a cousin, talk about not finishing the work or maybe about reading a post. If you spell it wrong, look it up. The OED comes with a magnifying glass for crying out loud. I'm very sorry that I haven't updated this blog in a long while. I apologize for hurting you, but I am not sorry that I did. Life isn't too short, but I just am not sorry that it happened. I can't end this without sounding dramatic, but I refuse. There have been too many negatives to be able to end with one in the final sentence or out of it. Fine like a good marble, one with scratches and black corneas.
And I looked up at the stars and got the feeling that I couldn't hold up my head, but then did. It's the muscles, they arched. Let all the little kids of the world be born just as they are. Let everything and nothing change. Let profundity take a walk in the park and let spontaneity lead the fingers of tomorrow. Fingers have no muscle in them, did you know? I got a letter from my Dad and from my Damoner today. Snail mail is better than many things. Vaguery shouldn't have a negative connotation. Paper marbling went well, our experimentation led to good results though they could have been better. Night.

Uncovered Files From Plane Crash in Lima.

2006-03-17T19:20:00.000-08:00

This is more frustrating than trying to pull duck's teeth.

Eighteen Percent.

2006-03-13T21:59:00.000-08:00

I feel like such a cheapskate when I write a short post. Here's a rundown;
Okay, perhaps more of a brisk strut;
Alright, alright- a meandering amble;

We had classes today, and after I woke to the twiddly sound of piano keys, their accompanying pitches, and a shout upstairs, I made a bowl of cereal and ate a pot of tea. Julie found a scrumptious batch of chai tea mixes at Costco which are near extinction. I found a spare bucket of Palmolive and now my hands are silky smooth. Wait, I just checked that. No, they aren't. They feel like I took a bath in a quart of pigs blood, poured turpentine on myself instead of toweling off, tried to make a paper cutout of a fiddle jumping over a cat but forwent the paper and used my flesh instead. Yesterday I spent a considerable amount of time, the entire day, editing a story and discovered that my use of commas is appalling. Tonight was klezmer and we were honored and viewed and heard by a group of related women who claimed to be an, "audience," heavens forbid. There are several stray cats strutting about the garden and the outskirts of the property. One is gleamy black and the other's colors are nondescript, but it's fat. We put chocolate ice cream on the shopping list for tomorrow. Yesterday I had a vague and charming mullet, but was reluctantly convinced to chop it off. The sad feat is finished. The mullet lives no more. We also put melons on the shopping list.
*Arpeggio's Dull."*
You didn't think arpeggio could be a verb, did you? Show's you. If there is such a thing as normal, I feel it right now. Okay, perhaps not normal, but wait, yeah, normal. That was right. If you want normal, come to me.
Hah, moments gone.
Maybe it will come again.

The "E" Key.

2006-03-11T18:41:00.000-08:00

Camilla cleaned her room today and I read an SAT prep-book. In Spanish the word believe is "creer," and the word create is "crear." On Fridays we have an extra Spanish class, and the last one we had a theological discussion. My hair is slightly too long to look reasonable, and is just too short to be manageable. Yesterday and the day before we had wet snow which melted the night it arrived. I've been considering the purpose of overuse of the word "that" and family and work and summers. A few posts ago I wrote about the insignificance of writing, and I agree with what I said then (that too much writing is a good thing, but that significance doesn't always pertain to goodliness), but... Damn. Lost my train of thought. This post is as much explicative as it as ranting or raving or mad in and of itself. What does it matter what is said if it is open to interpretation as all writing is? To read a thriller and find it disturbing is a weakness of the soul and not a flaw or cherished aspect of the plot or theme. Because of the openness of society today, the fact that all issues are internal comes to light, and that is what being disturbed is about more than anything else. It IS disturbing to realize that in the past people were shunned, killed, tortured, living in exile over as silly and miniscule a thing as their own mind and it's confusion. I didn't intend to leave this open ended, though that was a naive intent. There is no avoiding dispute, denial or debate. People are so small, so small, what does one more piece of repeated pseudo-wisdom matter? It won't clutter up someone's desk job, but thinking about hard-come-by theories and life philosophies being vanished when/if my blog is destroyed, the internet turned off, Pangaea re-forming, or my brother's head bursting into flame doesn't comfort me. Because I know this and more, I wouldn't say I was disturbed by those things. I would say to myself, "Emily, what's next, and how do you handle this, and how do you pay for the therapy?" but I wouldn't admit to being disturbed for a long while because it isn't logical. And it wastes time. After all, it's only a word. How can you prove it means anything at all?

I resumed and finished an acrylic painting of an older man singing and we will have asparagus for dinner. Also, the "e" key is sticking.

Examples.

2006-03-08T23:09:00.000-08:00

Example One: It isn't so much that I'm lazy, just that the world is against me. It's so unfair!

THE ABOVE IS WHERE THE SANE QUIT READING. Here's another one;

Example Two: I just don't understand men. One minute you're just hanging out, then next he wants to get in your...

OR ANOTHER FLAVOR (THAT WAS STRAWBERRY...I know, kinky);

Example Three: Here I inhabit, an autodidactic Dubliner, far from the reaches of society, but with a blooming, communal fleshpot of sensual idolatries blistering in my monochrome mind...

-I'd like my writing to be original and occasionally interesting, with a low crap count. But then, is that a worthy goal? Maybe crap is part of the deal. That must be true, for what is uncrap if there is no crap? Maybe life without crap is nothing, NOTHING I TELL YOU! Yes...put that in your pipe and smoke it.

(You guessed it, the last paragraph is Example Four.)

Going Away.

2006-03-06T13:25:00.000-08:00

I'm going away and off island for a few days. Julie, Camilla and I are going on an art field trip to Seattle and to as many art museums as we can find there. Just now we are learning about novas and giant "WHUFFS!" and stars exploding. Speaking of which, today is my father's birthday; happy birthday Daddy! Last night Camilla and I went to Babs' house where she showered us with gifts from her shopping excursion and recent travels. In particular we were pleased with a pair of knee high flaming red boots. They have a zipper along the inside calf bit, and I am looking forward to taking a series of pictures of the boots in different situations. I may even take them to Seattle. We are leaving tomorrow morning at eight, and will be back late Thursday, or possibly Friday. Carry on!

Day.

2006-03-04T19:06:00.000-08:00

I sheet-rocked and grated my knuckle on a cheese grater and started the hot tub.

The Spiderweb Series.

2006-03-03T23:24:00.000-08:00

Haaa.
Sea Shanties.
As I me-walkéd, on a May morning, I heard a bird sing, Coo-Coo.
I'm stoked.

Just a Little Exuberance.

2006-03-01T15:45:00.000-08:00

These pictures are (a) of some string that didn't quite fit in a drawer, (b) of a fun rat Camilla found in her room, (c) through my thumb, and (d) of a magnet we were playing with.

The bare necessities. Applesauce. Camera. Book. Cat. Computer and modem. Hugs. Ninja movies. Good jeans.
I was wondering this morning about good manners. To be polite you not only need to know how to behave, but to instate the manners that you know. This seems stupid. To be educated all you have to do is be knowledgeable. You don't have to flaunt to the world. To be a cook you don't have to flaunt your cookiness. To be sporty you don't have to challenge opponents 24/7. To be polite however, it seems the polite button has to be glowing green (green means go. And on.) all the time in order for the politeness to count. All or nothing. If this is so, then I prefer people who are not polite.
On Procrastination;
There is no excuse for procrastination which only means that you should enjoy all of it as best you can and dismiss any worry. The key is to do the work.
On Long Distance Relationships;
There is no hope. A relationship is based off real life meeting and nothing else, so talking is simply a communication skill rather than a relationship in itself. While far away from known ones writing is helpful, and talking is helpful to keep the connection, but only if both sides are committed to articulating full throttle-like. Writing is helpful because essays and letters are so easy to see through if they are written sincerely and without a prim and proper layout. Letters are better without a stilted format. Long distance relationships are only short distance relationships farther apart. If this is true, it is the same backwards, and therefore short distance relationships are just as shallow and difficult to control. To make any communication count you have to mean what you say. And also you can't do or say anything incredibly stupid. Okay, I take that last bit back. But otherwise I mean what I say.
Things progress, and right now I feel youngly old, or to make any sense- like many things are slipping past me. And they are. I'm okay with that.

Spice.

2006-02-27T20:28:00.000-08:00

I had a plan to make this the most interesting entry ever read or written. Plan, smlan. How can it be true that I work better without a blueprint of precise everything? In any case, my day was progressive and satisfying.
First, have I mentioned that the spice collection is on the table? That includes tea, cereal, and challah ingredients. If one attempts to walk in the back door they are greeted with the almost un-maneuverable obstacle of the cupboard previously known as table, which is piled so high and deep that the top is out of view. Now, this is hardly an adequate description given that even when the spices were in their original cupboard this was still the tables melancholy state. Once past this ominous deathtrap, carefully avoiding the cats which scurry beneath who tripping you on their outstretched paws, one encounters the dozen dish derby of doom. This station, sometimes known as sink and surrounding counters has an unending mound of dishes which hide the pitted board surround. There is always a full dish-tray of sparkling cleanliness however, which keeps the inmates sane. The Stove is situated between the futon and an area sometimes referred to as Dave's Office, and other times referred to as The Cave of The Unknown. The Stove is where all good things go and where all good things come from. It is usually warm and has shiny brass pipes coming out of it's back end which lead up to the ceiling. The futon is an extremely uncomfortable but very loved piece of furniture that carried a full load of pens, pencils, fruit drops, gummy bears, sticks of gum, a library and 6 different types of footwear at all times. It feel barren without these accessories, but we strip the bashful thing down for movie nights. Chairs are important to this home, and are essential to the soul fire of the house because they represent that something might just stay glued together against the odds. All of the wooden kitchen chairs have bits of lime green paint invading their backs and bottoms, and one of the chairs is getting so on in his years that we have tried to fix it with string. One may wonder why we tied this poor lost soul together with string because string so clearly would not hold a chair together. Oddly, the chair seems happier for it, and has not collapsed recently. And now, one meets another door of the lower half of the old part of the main house. Next to it is a mudroom and a stairwell. This place is very dusty, and there are many shoes and hats scattered about. This is where, descending from a mattress, one meets the real world in a morning. The cats claw the stair well and rip up the wood, but it is old and doesn't mind. They bat at ones feet as you walks past, and whine for their food bowl to be filled at the top of the stairs. Such is what I attempt to describe.
The neighbors new baby goats are named after types of coffee.
I got up this morning and sheetrocked after guzzling buckwheat pancakes. They were a disgusting brown color and delicious. We got all the walls finished our large crew started cutting out the windows. The small stove was going the entire time and ate our scraps. After a lunch break I went to school, oceanography and watercoloring, and we had Latin after official school let out. Then, sheetrocking. We started doing the ceiling, and later Julie and I cut out all of the remaining windows and cleaned up for a fresh start tomorrow. Here my energy petered out, so I went downstairs and ate and joined in klezmer night, and was online for a time.
This is Emsa "Worse Than Elves" Bushinski signing out.

The Cat's Yawn.

2006-02-25T17:36:00.000-08:00

In accordance to the lately popular theme of naming the post something entirely random; voila. C'est ca. My day had nothing to do with a cat's fatigue. So, here's how it went. At six o' clock this morning my internal alarm went off and I utterly dismissed it, but wrote down what I could remember of the dream I'd been having.
Drew was looking for a mud puddle at a party that he remembered playing in before, and he couldn't find it so I went to find it for him. I couldn't, and actually there wasn't any mud anywhere, but I did find a beach. So I dug him a pit, but it still wasn't wet like mud so I tried to make it a mud pit by spitting in it, but that didn't work either. It was okay though 'cause he jumped in it anyway.
More sleep, and then, around nine thirty-ish Julie started playing the piano to wake us up. I woke up, then went back to bed. Ten thirty I got up (God forbid!), and decided that was about as refreshed as I could get. And indeed it was. The whole day was sleepy. I did some math, ate some food, checked my mail, sat on a cat (spat in a vat, tread on a bed, wept while I swept, worried in a flurry, and used force with a horse), and eventually started practicing various instruments. Messed about on the piano and the guitar and then Duskin showed up to gift Camilla with a coronet and I listened to her lesson, and got to spit into the mouthpiece. Woohoo! If anyone wants to tell me why a B flat instruments d is a c instruments c, feel free to leave me a note. We pondered and poured over circle of fifth charts and sheet music, but couldn't figure out a reason. We decided it was because many B flat instruments are used in jazz, and jazz is a penis envy type of a sport. Like, "Hey, let me solo now, and look, I can play this weird B flat instrument and read this transcribed music that is way too confusing for anyone else to figure out. Haha! Yeah, didn't think you could. *Yacht, yacht, yacht*" And so on and so forth.
Then we decided to have a Happy Fun Insulation Party upstairs. Duskin and I insulated the first section of ceiling on the North wall. Half way through it started to snow. I've had about 25 chocolate covered espresso beans, so sleeping tonight isn't an option, but at least that means I can catch up on some math, and it gives me an excuse not to proofread this. Maybe I'll do some more musicing later. Anyway, for now I'm just communing with some alphabet soup.
-photo courtesy of Camilla Loyd

Classes.

2006-02-23T14:23:00.000-08:00

I can't say I feel inspired, but I'd like to keep my relation of my life up to date. Yesterday I asked Dave to drive me to the dock so I could make a phone call desperately requested by my friend. She was helping me register for the courses I will take next year. We decided on (approximately, I don't remember it all);
World Literature
IB History of the 20th Century,
IB Art,
Health 2 (no laughing at me, I'm just a slacker),
Pottery (possibly photography if I can't get into the ceramics class),
Spanish 2,
IB French,
IB Theory of Knowledge.
At this point the phone cut out, so these are set in paperwork, which is, in my experience, stronger than stone.
This is a full schedule, and the most IB classes I have taken my entire high school career. It is too bad that there isn't any music built into my schedule, but I do have art, which is kinda the same, just quieter and more 3D. I've never taken a formal art class before, so we'll see how that works out.
Camilla has been cutting out the toes of all of her socks, and doing a little math when the sock murdering got old. If I can, later I will do some finagling with my flickr accounts and post buckets of photos. If not, well, then we will continue carrying extremely fragile pages of sheet rock up the stairs precariously, the edges acting as catalysts for blisters. Common topics have been why my cat always has something in her eye, why it is desirable to draw nude people, and a woman's use of puppy eyes and pouty lips to get what they want throughout history. Also women's rights today and generation gaps.
-photo courtesy of Camilla Loyd

Bouncing in My Head Before Ten.

2006-02-21T10:03:00.000-08:00

A Few Too Many

There have been a few too many days in a row I've woken up screaming, "Ayudame,"
and a few too many ticks from that pink bug-eyed clock.
How can I handle the somersaults of yesterday
in this tumult of mental fireballs and fatigue?
What do you get from the "more?"
Can I get a wick with that candle?
and I check for holes, every crevice and pore
but the enslaved claim the earring clamp holds.
Let's get theoretical-
Say I've got it down and I know what's up.
The fragile sticker is heeded on my life puddle of petrol.
What worries me is the potbellied chain smoker 15 feet off.
Could be in two minutes he'll throw back his head and laugh
flicking his Marlboro into oblivion along with my life.
Pero,
even if he does.
Even if he does.
I guess I would only grow.
My volatile, two dollars a gallon, prehistoric algae toxicness expanding, lighting up, secretion of what used to be but isn't.
I might step back and say, "Smoking causes cancer."
Then again, I might not.
-photo courtesy of Camilla Loyd

Discussion Topics of Late.

2006-02-19T19:44:00.000-08:00

Tristan says everyone should have the experience of killing an animal. Lately we've been having long and involved conversations about whether or not this is a logical activity to hope people will go for. It's true that in the past, history-wise, homo sapiens hunted to stay alive. There is no doubt we have a hunting instinct built into it. More than I was interested in the outcome of the debate I was fascinated with how the chat was gone about. There were no bad feelings, we simply asserted ourselves. I think it was fabulous conversing practice and I liked everything except leaving the topic open ended. Though that too I enjoy because I can embrace not having an answer for things. A good thing since many topics are open ended. If they were all closable there would be more densely populated by logical fundamentalists.

Camilla says that up until she was about ten she rebelled against philosophy. I wonder how many other children are like that, and I also wonder how many older siblings have felt frustrated because there little brothers or sisters didn't want to learn what they were trying to say. Another thought has to be given to how many of the younger siblings ever paid attention to philosophy when they "grew up."

In oceanography we are studying plate techtonics and the Earth's magnetism. Dave and Camilla are magnetizing a piece of steel right now, and I must say the study is really amazing. In a few minutes I'll write a paper on the possibility of the magnetic North switching in the next 2000 years. Right now the magnetic North is not as strong as it used to be, and scientists are taking this as a hint that the poles might switch any day/year/century now. Hmm, did you know that if you sharpened a pair of scissors enough it would become a magnet?

I got my SAT scores back a few days ago and was pleased to see that they were alright, but not fantastic. I know a little of everything, and I can live with that. I have plans to retake each standardized test that I choose twice. One I will study for and another I won't. It'll be neat to see how studying affects my scores, though that's assuming I'll actually study. *grimmace* Right now is the last 5 or 6 hour stretch before another batch of sleeping and school. I wonder how I'll use it and I wonder what it will hold. I feel really twisted and crinkled up. Yes, like a piece of paper that I scribbled an idea on, then tossed over my shoulder, aiming for a wastepaper basket but missing. I have some ideas on me, but they're kinda smudged and confused.

Our Walk.

2006-02-18T19:47:00.000-08:00

Extras and Some Cold.

2006-02-18T19:43:00.000-08:00

Icicles and a Cow.

2006-02-18T19:35:00.000-08:00

Cupboard on the Kitchen Table.

2006-02-16T19:14:00.000-08:00

I can feel the inspiration draining away into the pipe below the sink of the muse. All the fat drippings and compost and garbage disposal detritus is chunking down the black plastic PBC pipe underneath and soon enough it'll hit the ocean and dismiss itself to the bottom of the sea to rot. Such is the mind.

People think their writing is powerful, but how much power could there possibly be? Let's relook at the debate quantity versus quality. If you write enough, you will get better. Then again, there are some famous authors (not to say that they are good) that think about their writing, edit seven million times, and write down their pure angelic visions. I was invited to a writing conference where I met many well-known writers who wrote "well" but not very much. How does this happen? It's hard for me to fathom because I feel the best and most efficeint and most rewarding way to get better at anything, to become good essentially, it to do it a bunch. Which brings me to my next topic; talent. What is talent anyway? My family had/has a bunch of artists in it. Some people say that our family is artistic, and has artistic talent. Uh...no. I do art. It is fun for me, but saying that I have artistic talent is stretching it. Mozart wasn't an excellent musician and composer because God told him he would be, or because he had insights as to how to do write an opera without practicing. His entire family were musicians, and he grew up in an encouraging environment. Yes, he was a marvelous composer, but this wasn't because he was touhed by a divine spirit or because his noodle was covered in a special genius pasta sauce. I feel that if I write enough, I will improve. This conclusion I can gather because reading back, I can see improvements in my writing, and I feel more in control now than ever before. These weeks Camilla and I are putting together 2 sketches per day, and since starting I have a better grasp on my medium and my hand. The dictionary says that talent is a marked innate ability or natural endowment or ability of a superior quality. Last year I entered into a conversation with a woman (related to me, no less! though distantly...) who said her father, her brothers, and her closest relatives didn't have an ear for music. They weren't talented at it, and none of them had had any success at it. Excuse me. I wonder just how hard any of them worked at it. I wonder just how much any of them were interested in the topic. That's like saying you can't do a language because you took a first year course at it and weren't fluent. Come on people. There are matters of dedication too. No patience or interest= no mastering the topic. I learned in school that a clean way to wrap up an essay is to tie the thesis statement into the conclusion. There is power in writing, but it doesn't come from the ruffled edges. People write for themselves and for others too. One of the issues I see often is people not knowing where to aim the power. And furthermore they don't give off the kind of power they wanted. Or not at all, or in a stupid way. And. Further. More.

Yesterday's Pictures.

2006-02-16T12:16:00.000-08:00

Moving the Back Stairs.

2006-02-16T12:05:00.000-08:00

Dave on the Floor.

2006-02-16T11:59:00.000-08:00

Where'd My Picture Button Go?

2006-02-13T22:47:00.000-08:00

On my blogger Create Page my picture button has died, to my Large disappointment. Camilla is ranting about electric irons. Lucky's looking at me like, "Hey bitch. Who put you in my viewing area? Move." I didn't move though, so she left in a huff. There are chocolate chips on the floor. Dave's office erupts nearby, and I'm wondering why I am using passive voice in my writing.
After some daylight hours full Spanish class, a math section an art class at the quarry, Michelle, Camilla and I ate, drew eachother and sat around wondering where the chocolate was. There's supposed to be a NorthEaster by the end of this week. Our plumbing continues to happen. The stove grows more pipes everyday, but the plumber has gone on leave for a while, so who knows how that will end up.
When Tony Wayne showed up klezmer night started, and we played until nine or nine thirty and had a grand old time. I was astonished and a bit disturbed to learn that Isa had never played Boggle before, so I made her stay afterward to play a round or two. Entonces Julie discovers that neither Isa nor I had ever played the word game Take Two, so we learned and I lost badly twice. Or was it three times? A hour and a half later... The hot tub was toasty and the moon was strutting its stuff like so many months before.

Extreme Croquet.

2006-02-12T17:01:00.000-08:00

The house continues to grow, and being part of the growth feels tingly. Camilla and I moved the backporch from the makeshift door we have been using to the original backdoor which, up until now, had been used as a window and backer to a kitchen counter. The job took approximately 2 hours longer than it should have, and when we were done...well, I'll post pictures later tonight when the camera battery is charged. In any case, the whole thing is being held up with dirt which we stole from a trench for the water line. A neighbor plumber came to visit, hauling a sack full of goodies (a wrench, a flame thrower, pipes and assorted shining danglies) and tried to bring us hot water which we haven't had since mid-September. At one point he and Julie cut a pipe which they thought was irrelavent; it turned out to be quite important. It was so relevant, in fact, that a considerable portion of wet burst out and is currently being mopped up from the majority up the upstairs, the ceiling downstairs, the counters downstairs, the cupboards downstairs, and the floor downstairs with freshly washed beach towels. Other than that the day was dry, and Camilla and I chased the cats around trying to get them to go out the catdoor, the one in the old backdoor that now has only a bit of picnic table to shield them from a fate more terrible than death (a five foot drop and a clonk to the stairless Earth).
This morning, after resolving to finish two problem sets, I set about sweeping the floor, doing the laundry, and making general merriment while my math book lay forlorn on the rock ledge outside. My pen ached for the concentrated grip of my forfinger and thumb, but no grip did I offer (never do your math in pen). The plumber didn't want the stove on, so I'm feeling a tad chilled. Next thing on the agenda is finding where Dave has hidden the chocolate chips, and perhaps reading a little.
Aww. Dave brought Julie and Camilla and I red roses. I'll go find a vase.

Dave Makes Dinner.

2006-02-11T21:29:00.000-08:00

I was playing with over exposures, and had a great time.

Cool Miscellany.

2006-02-11T21:25:00.000-08:00

Photo Marathon (I found my camera today).

2006-02-11T21:20:00.000-08:00

We moved the outhouse.

boo

2006-02-11T21:11:00.000-08:00

hello?

Spring Cleaning.

2006-02-11T18:12:00.000-08:00

I keep beating at the dusty mat of life, suspecting that one day the thwap of the broom won't shower me with dirt. For now, it does, and that's fine.
Today I found my camera in the pocket of my trenchcoat. About a week ago (a long week), I lost my camera. Tristan remembers me betting that it would be in a pocket of one of my clothing. Today I asked myself where I would be if I were a camera, a question which showed me straight to the Canons hideout. Again, I woke up late, and had what was left of the morning to myself until Camilla woke up. While the house was quiet I worked on rewriting a bit of a story which I accidentally deleted yesterday. It is nearly up to par, but I need to recreate one more vignette. Camilla woke up, and went across the street to her favorite study spot. I did some math, and eventually procastinated myself up to the top of one of the scaffolds on a shady side of the house. I was playing penny whistle, dangling my leg off the edge when I curly haired fellow called up from below. "Oi," he said. I said hello back, guessed his name, and introduced myself. He is a trumpet player and will be joining us for what I hope to be an expecially noisy klezmer night. We've been looking for a trumpet player for years, so this really will be exciting.
Tristan showed up, and I started an avalanche of cleaning projeccts. Camilla returned, chilled, from across the street, and together we cleaned a substantial part of the downstairs. Stoves, floors, mudroom, front porch, stairwell, table, counters, futon, lazyboy, we've seen it all. And it was scary.
In fact, we even kept the (terror of terrors!) outhouse in mind. Not only did we keep it in mind; we kept it in hand, moving it from it's old (incredibly used) hole to a new previously clay filled hole a few feet away. Hence the picture that I will put up later. I also have a plan to post a sequece of our extreme croquet game from a few days ago.
Finding my camera made my day. Just in time for the daffodils.

Math Homework.

2006-02-10T23:47:00.000-08:00

so that's an eye
Originally uploaded by thehouseaddition.

This pseudo spring keeps poking at my judgement of the seasons. Today it was sunny, warm, and as you can see I sat outside "doing my math." By the time I complete one page of math my mind has wandered into countless dark corners, my paper is crawling with doodles, and I've considered going on a run for approximately half the time I've been sitting staring at the math book.

The other day I singed all the hair off of one of my fingers. The burnt chunks fell off like a scab. That was pretty fun. Snacked on countless bowls of cereal today (two) and didn't do any laundry (that's bad). Moved two freshly chopped trees to the woodpile, and a wheelbarrow full to the hot tub campus.Tonight we considered making a movie with the equipment Tristan figured out how to work of the bottom of the ocean, but decided to watch the back end of "Amadeus" instead. Great movie, but if you ever have the chance, watch the first half followed by the second half. It was only until we took it out of the player and wondered which side was up that the lightbulbs above our heads lit up, glowing dimly. Después, we watched a few more episodes of "Creature Comforts," which is a claymation British TV show in which animals assume human dialects and express what they feel about a variety of topics (gardening, veganism, the circus). Recommended.

Meditation.

2006-02-10T15:28:00.001-08:00

Just now I was meditating by the hot tub and staring at a nearby tree. For a moment I could have sworn there was a hippograph behind it. Yep, a graph of a horse, not one of them half eagle half horse type thingies.

Last night I dreamt I was in love with the nutrition facts on a yogurt container.

Cambridge Latin Two.

2006-02-09T18:21:00.000-08:00

IMG_3972
Originally uploaded by thehouseaddition.

Last night we finished the Latin One Course. I can't say that I feel like I can successfully put together a sentence, though I have high reading comprehension, and....and, Camilla says the picture of the apple looks like her head. That was my train of thought getting taking a false detour and running off the edge of an unexpected cliff. This is a wonderful rafikitiki Bob Marley song. I have decided that in order to make this blog as interesting as possible for the newcomer, I should describe Waldron. Waldron is a small island near Canada on the Pacific Coast. We, some speciman of life here, are thinking of making a photograph book of all the different faces here on Waldron. You've got your spunky dreadlock types and the people who have more beard than head. You've got distinguised straw hat wearing people, and leprechaun folk who have hair redder and straighter and longer than long straight railroad tracks. With freckles that stand out in the sun. Recently Camilla drew a picture of me, and stuck each of my freckles on a pole. I would say that I have no comment, but, really what comes to mind is that she is creative beyond belief. Either that or extremely, extremely random. Maybe a little of both.
There are quirky folks who live in ramshackle homes and have parts of their houses delivered in big white trucks to the back driveway where they throw an unloading party to get the job done. These folks are young and have a different haircut every week. They giggle too much and their favorite foods are chocolate yogurt and cantelope. You've got the Bob's, famous types, tall, short, fat, skinny, rotund, voluptuous, you've got it all.
In the middle of the island is a three room schoolhouse for the youngest children. For high school age youth there is home schooling available, but usually young adults go off-island to attend a big high school. As of now, there is a high school in our backyard, in the guest house/studio/extra rooms that we call the cabin. The high school started out with 6 students, but ahora we are down to three.
To get to Waldron, you have to be ferried by a person living here. The dock juts out picturesquely into Cowlitz Bay, and is fun to skip on. Also, of course its surrounding beaches, and all beaches, are fun to visit. The water is warm, relatively, and the sand is smooth and white/black/brown/yellow/purple/you get the idea. To amuse themselves the inhabitants of this 9 square mile haven like to attend music nights; marimba, klezmer, or contra dance, eat freshly smoked salmon, go for long midnight walks, run naked in the moonlight, read books, examine the wildlife, and talk to close friends and neighbors. They adore felines, and like to see the sunshine dapple on the road.

¡¿Spring?! ...knock on wood.

2006-02-08T23:10:00.000-08:00

IMG_3720
Originally uploaded by thehouseaddition.

It was sunny and *warm* today. I feel as if I haven't blogged in an age.
I've been wondering about writers block, and the different atmospheres (ambientes) one needs to really get the fingers tapping at the keyboard. The other day (el otro día) we had on some Asian music on by Putumayo and I wrote a good five pages off a novel for English class. With any luck this will not be another started and un-continued story. I figure if I work hard enough at it, quizás it will be bueno by the end of this thing. I'm following my wise cousin Camilla's advice; You start, and eventually you finish, and then you stop. Yep, that's my strategy.
And my foot keeps cramping up.
Hey.
Stop that.

Post from 3 days ago.

2006-02-07T10:02:00.000-08:00

This post was accidentally deleted when it met with pure evil in a dark alleyway on a stormy winters night. Thankfully, it was recovered, shallowly breathing, in a friends browser.

Tomorrow there is supposed to be an enormous storm. Some are
calling it the storm of the century. Dave is wandering around in his
bathrobe. Tristan was supposed to be here half an hour ago;, he will be
walking through the door any minute, no doubt. Either that or he was caught
in a crossfire between a branch, the wind, and the road (the branchs final
destination).
Our walk today at the Nature Conservancy was exsquisite. Nature is just too
damn beautiful. It's like a chocolate croissant. You know it is in a higher
class than you, but then it goes and flaunts itself anyway, just to prove a
point. See this chocolate in my croissanty goodness? Well, you can have me.
Yeah, nature is like that and I like it, but a croissant tastes better. Pebble anyone?
Julie found a heavy piece of wood on the beach and carried it all the way back
to the house so she can carve it. There are swirls in the bark, and
it's smoothed out from being in the tumbling ocean currents for so long.
Speaking of currents. We were at Sandy Point where the tide was fairly low.
From one direction came a current nearly perpendicular to the current coming
the other direction. They met, and Camilla and I stood where they joined.
Very neat. No big signs of the storm yet, but it's coming. It should
"land" on Vancouver Island tonight.
Due Randomosity:
There are two exemplary towns in the state of Washington whose names are
worth mentioning; Shittum Gulch and Humptulips. I have yet to visit Shittum
Gulch, but Humptulips I have experienced up close and personal. It was
small, yet inviting.
We continue and plod at the nature of things, tred through their muck and
cream filling. Hotting the feed tub. Dishing the washes. Booking the reads.
I think I will go cat the pet.

Laundry.

2006-02-06T18:16:00.000-08:00

Sadly, I couldn't edit my last post. I haven't blogged in what seems an age, and the fact is taking its toll. Last night I nearly got up to write because I was so restless in bed. Things were preying on my mind, obviously not only my lack of blogging. The cheery glow comes from the modem light, and people are comparing Stalin to Vlad the impaler. Speaking of which, there is a bookstore which has recently changed owners in Friday Harbor.. From the town it is to the right of the ferry landing. Apparently the last owners name was Vlad. How cool is that? He had long blond hair, and looked like Jesus. I never met the man, but oh, if I had (Vlad, not Jesus). It would have been a magical moment, that's all I'm saying.
We had school, yet again, today. We made the majority of our new journals in art, which was the most memorable class. Yesterday we spent our time writing essays, and I started a story that I like. We listened to some freshly recovered cds, and had a meaningful chat to their tunbling measures. I haven't been doing enough music lately, but that's not to say my time wasn't filled with ther interests. Tonight is a klexmer night however. Hey. There are apricots in my tea.

Scary Place.

2006-02-02T20:19:00.000-08:00

IMG_3502
Originally uploaded by thehouseaddition.

This is a very old picture. A few days ago I recovered my camera from its hiding place (Camilla's cubby, where else?) and now I have lost it again. We are all keeping up in our journals. We sit in front of the fire and wonder when we will sheetrock the wall that we de-sheetrocked today. Homework keeps on truckin' and I am online less than I was in the winter which makes me feel like I am living more fully. Camilla, Charlie and I in the small hours this morning bombarded eachothers heads again with a pair of orange scissors, and a pair of blue scissors. The blue ones were sharper. Cutting hair has been a common theme this year. It is just so darn addicting. A snip here, a snip there, and pretty soon you realize your hair has lost some of it's altitude. Of course, Camilla says she doesn't know what to do too my do, and Charlie says that he only knows two haircuts- less hair and no hair, so I resign to chopping my own hair, looking at a mirror once in a while from across the kitchen and mudroom. Camilla debates whether or not to go all the way. Yes, no, yes, no, yes. And so I snip away. Shorter? Why not? Who needs hair anyway? Moral of the story; She has no hair. With a few dozen razors and high hopes the trimming trio make their way out to the hot tub, it's raining, and the chilly pre-ice seems colder than usual landing on our bare-er scalps. Half an hour, three rinses, and numerous shivers later, we all clamber back inside, Camilla one coiffeur less.
Today we were pleased to watch mouths gape and jaws drop when hats flew off with pizazz.
The addition is coming along, and the chocolate yogurt is plentiful. I have established a behavioral conditioning assignment which is to stop biting my fingernails- to completely kick the habit by June.
It's raining again. I'm off to watch Lord of the Rings on a coverless futon with some people I know.

Sleep my demon, sleep!

2006-01-31T23:39:00.000-08:00

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Originally uploaded by thehouseaddition.

Check out those cobwebs! Corn on the cobwebs. Wow. Today was a magical day. I got up and washed dished for a large chunk of the day. It was great. Then Camilla and I went on a run in the blustery bustle of trees and the stuff around them. We kayaked in Babs' front yard and met up with Charlie soon after. We then proceeded to go on a magnificent hike to another friends house, and practically interviewed the sights while we were at it. The ocean, it's color. My gods! There was no excuse for being inside today. We hung out with the friend and her daughter, talked, had tea and guacamole, and eventually risked getting home.The wind wailed, the trees swam back and forth from side to other side of the wind gusts. At one point a branch flew out of the middle of nowhere (I'm writing metaphorically) to the side of the road, transforming into a giant bat on the way there, and only when it touched the ground did it turn into a Fir branch again. I was jogging, but broke into a run to shut out the sound of the whistle and crack of the trees, to reside in the sound of my heartbeat and breath. I reached back for Camilla's hand, and felt steadied by it. When the wind died down, we slowed, and when the flurries started again, we speeded up. Finally at home we stomped about, too hot, too cold, donning sweaters, and tearing them off again violently as the stove warmed or cooled. Dave had brought home no groceries, so we gathered all the protein we could (a can of sardines for me, and a bunch of tuna for Camilla) and stuffed it into a few tortillas. Charlie looked on in awe as we quenched our voracity.
Klezmer night! Isa, Julie and I reconveined for the first time in what seems an age! Klezer music has grown on me like a new fingernail. Unlike the fingernail though, there was no past fingernail that had been bitten off. My love for the music simply comes from having played it until I liked it. An addition to already vast expanse of favorite things ever. This evenings musical selectins also included a gather 'round the piano and fading score of the "Mikado," one of the best Gilbert and Sullivan operettas. Isa played and we sang, she sang and we played, it was all rather lovely. Plus, Dave made a killer pasta with mushroom sauce. Today is February Eve, and I'm wishing everyone a happy one.

We Have a New Teapot.

2006-01-30T00:51:00.000-08:00

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Originally uploaded by thehouseaddition.

We had two teapots. One was old, and one was new, and we broke both in the same week. This shiny new addition makes a lot of noise, but gets the job done. The two kettles breaking in one week reminds me of two other losses a neighbor suffered lately. Both his mother and his brother died in the same semana. Camilla, Tristan and I went to the funeral of the mother this afternoon. It rained and winded, blustered and blew off my orange bandana with whisky skill. In the front driveway a perfect crow lay upsidedown and dead beneath a harp tree. I showed my awe by taking pictures, while Camilla stood nearby, gazing at one of her favorite animals, and a cousin taking snapshots of it's blue black feathers.
The funeral was funeralish. I've only been to two, but it seemed generic. Food, people, reminiscing about the good old days when ____ was alive and playing scrabble in the kitchen. When I die make sure I'm cremated and have a party.

The Skies Limit.

2006-01-28T23:20:00.000-08:00

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Originally uploaded by thehouseaddition.

Well, my dears. It's over, done with. Fíne. Terminatus. Acabado. Gefertigt. There is a chocolate yogurt container on the armrest of the most comfy chair in the downstairs, covered with a worn purple sheet. In the folds of the sheet no doubt there are mysteries untold. Orange peels, a book or two, maybe a few cats.
It's five in the morning and there's a knock at my door. "¡Quick! ¿¡What were the dreams!?" Of course as soon as I question in this abrupt fashion the thoughts go tumbling out of my head like so many environmentally friendly wood chippings. Reluctantly I fall out of the bed and onto the clothes I tossed in the planning stage of our departure last night to the floor. Well, now that they have been mussed, so has my sleeping mindset, and so I resign to the ugly fact that the eyelids are officially open for another day of business. "Hot lemonade! Get it hot! Get it lemonade!" Dave makes my omelet and I devour its avocado and fake crab goodness. Got to have that protein and glucose for prime brain abilities. Piling into the truck, four people in the cramp space meant for two people, maybe two and a half, I love the warm cuddly flesh that makes my waking experience just that much better. The radio goes on, it's chant spinning round and round the ear, spiraling into it like water down the pipe at the back end of a toilet. Eventually the flush is complete and the music hits our inner ear, hammer, anvil, and in due time gets to the processing plant and it's early morning appointment with the brain. It's been rescheduled twice, so this meeting is appreciated. Down the road we go, leftover gale droppings shift on the road, tastelessly blustering in a manner so unfit for road debris. Little branches and large, we pound over them, a high carriage worth it's weight in broomsticks and other things. At the dock we walk spaced out, single file. I am second in line, walking behind Dave and checking out the remnants of this storm. His head is bowed and his headlamp shines a round halo on the dock boards. Beside this beacon I watch with amazement something waving to and fro, drastically flipping from left to right on the horizon. I realize that it is a mast of a sailboat, a little out into Cowlitz Bay waving at the shoreline, begging for attention. I take shelter in the dock house, peering out at the stars that are so clear. I should get up early more often. The boat. Ah, the boat. I think about the reality. A life-changing test is our destination. The choice is: Life-Changing Test vs. Life. My gut says to remain safe in the mentally sound abode of "Loyd Casa," but I leave the decision in Dave's hands. He's seen this all before. He knows if he can handle it or not. Verdict; Yes.
We pile in, and I wonder if I am prone to sea-sickness or not. "Keep your eye on the horizon," Dave says encouragingly. And I do. I suggest that we in the cabin sing some rounds to pass the time and to take our minds off the life or death journey. Julie declines saying she needs to focus on not being sick. "We are going to die, we are going to die, we are going to die," I think to myself. I start planning what I am going to hold onto when the boat flips over. Which island is the closest? I keep the horizon in sight on all directions, checking out the available shores to swim to. Acting a bit like a flying fish, the aluminum can, scratch that, I think the technical term is, "boat," leaps up out of the waves for a momentary glimpse at the world, then descends dramatically into the navy-gray chunk mist again. Dave is drenched, but stands his ground, or rather, lack of it. I'm glad he likes swimming. About half way through the journey some phosphorescence lands and shallowly breathes it's light breath on Dave’s coat and "windshield." Por fin we round an island corner and I can see Deer Harbor. ¡The end is in sight! ¡Now when the boat sinks there will be a light that I can swim toward! Against all odds, Dave’s craft ends up at the dock. How he managed it, no tengo ni una idea.
One terror over, and one to go. My shock settles as I thaw in the green Honda and Julie drives to Orcas High School, home of the Viking Testers. Our testing room is upstairs and down a few unlit corridors. On the walls are portrayed profane acts of aggression to be avoided in the students. There is a silhouette of a boy sexually abusing a girl, and a sign reading, "If differences were bad, we'd all be the same." Not to mention a “Say No to Drugs” drawing above a trashcan. Good news is, the bathrooms were clean and inviting. Hot water to boot. Eight o'clock on the dot we're in the test room, not paying attention to the sub. She wears green corduroys and doesn't have a grip on the students. Lucky for her it is so early in the morning the students don't have a grip on themselves and follow her weak demands. Despite being the only student from another island, I feel only vaguely disassociated from the others.
-Test, test, test-
For ages and ages, in a good way. We had five minute breaks now and again when clans of girls would run dangerously down the halls to the bathroom, chattering, and liable to form a mob, and possibly injure a rhinoceros. I felt out of place simply walking to the bathroom in my walky kind of way. I found myself thinking, "Hey, I should run or something. Maybe gossip about my boyfriend. Wait, no." Around the sixth testing section one boy lay down on the carpet and proclaimed that he couldn't go on. The sub laughed and so did the students. He got up, and we did the next section. The girl sitting next to me ate some trail mix. I sat cross-legged, as I always do, bent over the thin newspaper print pages of the test booklet. The scantron answer sheet flaunts its blue bubbles at me and dares me to fill one in insufficiently. Maybe to put an x or a smiley face in it instead of filling it out completely,
...And..."Put down your pencils. Do not write any more. Please put your answer sheet into the test booklet and do not review any of the previous sections."
Just like that.
Easy as cherry-tomatillo pie.
I chat with my peoples. I tell the principal that the test was fun, and she mistakes my meaning for distasteful irony. Dave picks me up. The afternoon I spent in a bookshop, looking at music books and deciding not to break my twenty. At a new bookshop I discovered I bought 2 postcards to send to my aunt and my brother because they will enjoy the humor. I talked to a crafty salesman whose chin moved twice as much as his mouth when we spoke. On the way home my soft and fuzzy hat fell over my eyes and I snuggled down into the warm abyss of freshly knit scarf (Julie taught me how to knit a few days ago; I made a scarf). Other passengers included some Wagners, a man with an amazing hat sheltering some dreadlocks, a Galen, Tristan, the aunt and the cousin, and our worthy captain.
The crew shivered and ate ice cream, knees knocking under the folds of soggy blanket. Our journey complete, we returned home. The fire was out, the house was chilly, it's frozen majesty impressive. This evening’s recuperation session included chatting with a friend, torturing the cats, and hauling a few sad lumps of firewood. Latin has been cancelled. Spanish has been dealt with. Tomorrow is a Sunday, and this moment's platitudes disappear from anything I can imagine.

Bubba- Meet the Sky.

2006-01-28T21:34:00.000-08:00

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Originally uploaded by thehouseaddition.

Somehow I ended up at the dock a few days ago and took this photo right before a storm came to make us say, "Ooo." And later, "Ahh."

The Boot.

2006-01-27T20:06:00.000-08:00

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Originally uploaded by thehouseaddition.

The arts fly off the handle here. I asked Camilla what we did yesterday. "Read, drew, wrote, sat around, watched "Tank Girl," and studied." It's true. Then today we started out working in the backyard. We had to remove a stump and move some piles of lumber across the yard so that a truck coming later could fit past the driveway and close enough to the house that it would be useful. After a while Tristan and Zephyr showed up and helped in the action. Gradually, as if they two had started a movement, more and more people accumulated. At the climax of the process, must have been 15 people were milling around, pretending to be helpful, watching us move dirt around the backyard. Thankfully, the trucks showed up, and then we did need their help. The first was a "Handy Andy" rental truck service truck. Full of environmentally friendly insulation. Camilla and I, outstrengthed by all of the manly men milling about, stood inside the addition, catching the loads they threw up to us, passing them off the Zephyr and Wayne to stack on the south wall.

Julie says, "If you want to slice the salami, you can do that."

Sorry. That was off topic. So, there we were, inside the

"It's one of those gratuitous things. It's not like the best salami is the cheapest," Dave mutters.

Sorry. That was off topic too. So, there we were inside the addition, mindlessly passing off sacks of insulation. The flow slowed, then stopped. People stood around. The Handy Andy truck drove off. People stood around. Another truck pulled in, this one piled high with sheetrock. Camilla and I took the first 80 lb sheet, impressing the truck driver whose name was Charles. Let's just say that I have a few calluses. It's not that we're weak. Just that everyone else is so much stronger. After about 8 sheets we took a break. They really were too heavy for Camilla, but I went back and worked taking them off the truck and passing them up to people inside the hollow door of the addition. If I am sore tomorrow, I'll know it was too much. As of now, I feel fine. Many chores were accomplished today, journals continue to undergo competent graffiti and the Nesquik hot chocolate mix that Charlie bought for us is disappearing fast. I went on a walk up to the school wiht Camilla, hitching a ride a few steps onto the road in a blue truck. At school we reconnected with the kids, drawing a few busts, and helping them in their striving to comprehend the card game "Hearts." Tomorrow morning I am getting up at 5:00 to leave the house at 5:30 for a 6:00 departure from the dock. The SAT is from eight to noon, and frankly, I am looking forward to it. I haven't seen the early morning in a while now, and spring is a terrific time to experience it. Also, getting the SAT over will be a relief. As always, my grand plans of studying were not fulfilled, but I have hope. Dave's dispatcher is picking me up after the test. I don't know where, and I don't know what she looks like. I hear she might have a small dog though. If I never blog again, you'll know what happened.
So, think happy thoughts. High scoring ones too. Then send them this way.

Tie it up.

2006-01-26T13:15:00.000-08:00

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Originally uploaded by thehouseaddition.

One of the most important things for each blog entry to have is a beginning, a middle and an end. It all needs to be tied together. Like a piece of music. Each bit doesn't have to be entirely definitive, but the title need to tie to the conclusion, the middle section to be descriptive, and the introdution to be vaguely interesting.
Ah, well, for the sake of irony, and because Julie just asked me to play some klezmer with her, there will be more later.

Alone.

2006-01-24T23:37:00.000-08:00

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Originally uploaded by plumosita.

I had the house to myself today while the fellows were off island having their teeth probed. Forced myself up later than I meant, scrambling my dream like a hearty breakfast, started the fire in the cabin and made some tea that didn't steep. Hunched on the red floor and huddled near to the bulky stove, I completed half a problem set of math, mussed and tidied my internet situation, turned on the tunes, turned off the tunes, did art homework, and finally resigned to a walk and a good paperback ("American Gods" by Neil Gaiman). They found me sitting on the futon still reading when they walked in from their excursion, and I swept the floor and dusted the ceiling. Soon settled, Dave read to us from "Dracula," and I wound up some wool. Psychology reading, a slow and dreary Spanish essay, and now I have come outside to print out my homework. There is a stack of Encyclopedia Britannicas on the table next to me, archival glue, cold tea, and some linen string.

Teeth on the Plastic Zipper.

2006-01-23T19:18:00.000-08:00

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Originally uploaded by plumosita.

This semester I aim to work harder than last. First classes were today. I am adding to my list of classes Italian and an easy French Listening credit. Thankfully I passed all my classes, and the next six months promise to be studious, and tightly packed (That's what I like to hear). Soon on the agenda are learning to knit so I can fiddle as I sit and listen, as well as keeping up this blog and a new journal we are starting for english class, probably incorporating art into it too. The focus of the school will be on psychology, art and fictional writing. With any luck, we will stick to this plan, and not do much shifting about, playing with possibilities. I find this usually gets in the way of getting anything done. Camilla and I, and occasionally Dave are reading Dracula. More books include; A Mark Twain Collection, that sociology book and hopefully I will finish up The Man Who Mistook His Wife For a Hat soon. I have misplaced it. We've been talking about the whirlpool effect that the house has. Items get sucked in, whoosh around for a bit and eventuallly surface again afetr a set period of time. In, at some time or another, we always know where everything is!
Today we began practicing and wrangling some calligraphy pens around. As the ink seeped through the cheap paper and out of our mind's perfect invisioning of our, "p" or "q" or "a," our eyes drifted to the stove, adn the flames lapping at the shaking door. Que sera sera.

Back Walk.

2006-01-23T02:07:00.000-08:00

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Originally uploaded by plumosita.

I feel I owe my readers "a little snack," as a certain man-hungry Austrian would put it. As life goes on as it inevitably does (that is until you are hit by a chicken bus speeding across the Guatemalan wilderness) many things make the cosmic sound "Clomp," as they click into existance. Hence the revolutionary bumpersticker, "Shit Happens." In my time off from blogging, a grand total of 2 days, many of these clomps clicked. We molested the outhouse with purple paint. We heightened the cabin experience to one of more, how shall we say...colorful amplitude. I claimed right to the debate of chatting online vs. talking in person in a chat session ironically. To speak in perosn is a privelege, just as chatting online is a privelege. Chatting is all fun, conveinant and well, until you deal in the factor that the surroundings and intensities of the chatters involved is often monstously different. One person could be happy, while the other depressed, and none of these feelings being expressed through the chatting. Especially when you deal in all the happy little shortcuts for words that people use now. For example, "lol," makes everything seem alright because of the psychological conditioning that's gone on in each chatters head. One of the only ways to minimize the amount of bad feelings at either end is to articulate precisiely what you are feeling, and also to keep the mood light. A good chatter is like a good host/ess in that s/he makes her guests feel welcome, not pressured, offers them tea and a chair, one lump or two. People who are hostile or who use too much of their daily speach in their chatting without warning other people, often convey the wrong feelings and impressions. Also, as in most situations, being cool is always hard. You have to make sure you don't put the other person in an awkward position, and it you do, you have to be prepared to make a joke, and get them out of it so they aren't embarrassed. It's amazing how people have started using type time to their advantage. If you've digitally stepped on someone's face, they may wait a while to reply, or just (irrationally, in my view) sign off, or block you from chatting with them. These actions being so easy, people don't think about the consequences. They may keep the other person up at night worrying and going over what they said, how their former friend might have been affected. Also, if you aren't good at writing and articulating your thoughts, you can get them completely wrong! The way that people use phrases can be totally different all over the globe. This puts a great deal of responsiblity and power in the hand of the person interpretting the chat, trying to figure out what in hells name the person was trying to say. Again, the best way to avoid bad feelings is always to articulate as best you can, and not talk about anything you feel vulnerable about online. On the other side of the spectrum is talking in person. This is just better all round. You can't just say whatever without consequences. You have to deal with your converser the next second, and therefore the relationship evolves in bigger strides, and you can get to know them on such a deeper, no, not deeper, but certainly flatter, larger, and more steady level. Talking in person is as much an art as chatting online is. Facial expressions, the time it takes them to come up with a resonse to your thought, and body language in general helps. I find myself longing for a nice "hang-out" with people. Discuaaing whatever comes to mind, and not feeling obligated to say something witty every ten seconds. I love just sitting around, feeling comfortable with another person. I don't think that with only chatting you can get to the level where you feel at ease with the person. With the mispelling of a word, or the wrong clause you can hurt them gravely. Verbal abuse is so much more hurtful than physical, so much more of the time. Of course, chatting is hardly ever abuse, and if it was, you could always sign off, but being hurt verbally often hurts more than physicallly. Not to mention how much conversation gets lost if you chat with a person, and then talk to them in person. I think the two communication techniques must be stored in differernt parts of the brain because it is really tricky to pick up a chat where it left off if you have switched from chatting online to talking in person. I'm sure it can be done, or at least we can try. But people just can't portray a controlled amount of their personas while chatting. So- if you can, talk and avoid chatting. One final benefit is that you learn more about yourself if you drag yourself away from the computer screen for an hour or two and make sure your vocal chords stop their mucus rusting. Maybe oil them up bit. Converse!
As you see below, we've been doing a little spring spruce. Watching more of the ever more juicy Spanish soap opera "Destinos," and I have started yet another book called, "Wrong About Japan.' A touching book about the minimizing of a generation gap between the author and his son, manga and anime in Japan and the United States. Yeah...I know. But there are some good facts about Japan in it. The hot tub has been perfect two nights in a row! We like it quite toasty, in what I hear is the Japanese fashion. One of those tubs where you really should obey the sign that says, "Maximum Tub Time-15 minutes." Tomorrow the new semester, week, and day begin. I'm getting up at 8:59, no earlier, you can count on that. That's my story and I'm sticking to it!

The chairs are red too.

2006-01-23T00:44:00.000-08:00

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Originally uploaded by plumosita.

The cabin's red now!

2006-01-23T00:41:00.000-08:00

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Originally uploaded by plumosita.

Microscopy.

2006-01-21T16:42:00.000-08:00

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Originally uploaded by biscotti321654.

Yesterday morning the high school had its first microscopy lesson. We looked at a moth's eye, a piece of wool, a corn chip, and a dead hummingbird under the scopes 10 magnification lens. We also got a history lesson on the magnifying glass, and I got aquainted with our teacher who I really like. We spent the rest of the day doing homework.
This morning I woke up at eight and wrote down a disturbing dream I was having, decided that my headache needed a few more hours of sleep to concentrate itself, and slept until after noon. Oops. At which point I got up, wrote down yet another disturbing dream, and found everyone downstairs, sitting. I scoped out thier positions, they admired my tossled hair, twisted sweatshirt, and rumpled sweatpants. Typical morning scene. I devoured countless pieces of Julies loaf of deliciousness (yeast, milk, eggs) and she made me some tea.
Yesterday we decided that for the new semester the classroom needed a makeover, and Julie bought us some paint in Friday Harbor. Later tonight I'll put up some pictures of the finished product. We painted the floor an alarming red which we thought was orange, the posts and trimmings a shade of "wild grape." To the enchanting trills and tinkling zills of bellydance music the room was tranformed from it's cold limegreen sheen, to that of a purple and red furry monster, slowly being squashed to a pulp by a purple and red squashing machine.
As soon as this headache goes away, I may be able to say something coherent.

Pearls?

2006-01-20T03:09:00.000-08:00

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Originally uploaded by biscotti321654.

I wonder about the pearls. They stick out on that outrageous pepto bismol cat like a thumb, not only sore, but so ill that it's amputation date has been rescheduled to a nearer date. Are they supposed to make it classier? As classy as this cat clock is, I don't think the pearls suit it.
It's a new day already. How does that happen anyway? I figure the years seem to go by faster and faster because they are less and less percent of our lifespan each year. When we are one, getting to two is a big deal because it is fifty percent of our lives. Now, getting to seventeen is a sixteenth of my life, so the time seems to zoom past faster.
People say that high school is over before you know it. It hasn't been long, but it hasn't been short. In my search for a grasp on time, high school is something I can use comparetively because each year has been so diverse, and I can differentiate between them easily. Still, considering the single year I have remaining makes me think again about the association of "four years" to "a long time." I plan to continue doing my "thang," learning a lot, and laughing it off.
Chickachickawah.
It's the end of the semester!

Mushroom on the Warm Worn Planks.

2006-01-18T19:50:00.000-08:00

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Originally uploaded by biscotti321654.

If keeping an journal is important, it means I'm curious about myself in the past. Z has expressed a bunch of times that reflective blogs are often tedious, and I'm afraid this is a reflective post. My goal isn't to be tedious though. Also, this isn't an entirely reflective blog. Before I had the weblog I wrote inconsistently in handwritten journals for myself, and no one else. I often asked myself why I was writing. For who, and if it was reasonable or not. I continued using them, so on some level I had decided it was a beneficial thing to do. One excuse I leaned on was that it was a good way to express myself. The same relief after writing that I got from painting or playing music.
Other people I know that kept journals played games in them. Cracking jokes, pondering, running experiments (on themselves). This never occured to me, partly because in my mind a journal was a place for serious musings only, something consequential, you know. Like, if you have nothing to write about, make it worthwhile anyway! Though, written down, this seems like a lame excuse. Oh well. It is amazing, absolutely amazing, how many things get muddled up in the mind. I spend so much time working on justifications, and trying to broaden thoughts, twisting them around, that sometimes my justifications can be as backwards as a math problem in which a negative or positive sign was lost. The thought just ends up backwards. This seems scary. Maybe it isn't though. Maybe it isn't scary at all, and my reasoning has been total fabrication. We may never know.
Julie once was listing the steps of growing up. Unfortunately, I don't remember everything she said. What I do remember was the sequence of realizing a trait in yourself, and enjoying it, whether outside sources say it is good or bad. I skip this much of the time if I don't remind myself of it. The thought never occured to me to be happy and settled about what goes where, and who I am. This isn't rare either. I've seen it in many people at my old school. I still see it. Though, a majority of people don't ponder life at all (VERY BAD) for fear of finding something out. *coughreligioncough* The idea of feeling alright with yourself is rare, and I don't think it is the same as self-esteem. Living on Waldron has helped me to accept more of Em. I have stopped worrying about myself, and feel like I am living. Living. A whole new mindset is being developed, I can see it, and even attempt to blog about it. Where before I maximized all of my flaws, and elevated my eyebrows in concentration, I now can relax, and watch the world without peering through a glazed psyche.

Very Possibly the Best Sibling in the World.

2006-01-17T00:58:00.000-08:00

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Originally uploaded by biscotti321654.

Here is a picture of my adorable and marvelous younger brother looking rather peeved. He doesn't like the constant picture taking and drawing I do of him. Eh. Too bad! He lives in Portland with the rest of my immediate family, and I miss him. Today especially, for no particular reason. Maybe it's that there are more than the usual 2 Delahunt brothers here, or that Charlie has come back to stay with his family for a little while. Anyway. Drew!! I miss you! I'm sending you a whole bunch of smiley faces, Mountain Dews (not really, sorry), girls in bikinis (not really, sorry again), and sober penguin rides. Make sure you eat your vegetables and stay away from drugs. Don't drink, don't drive, use condoms. I love you!

Phew. Thank goodness that is over with. What? You want me to blog? Sheesh. The nerve of some people. I tell you.
This evening at the dinner table around 6 thirty Dave sat down with a knife and four lipbalm tubes. He then proceeded to scoop the last (tasty) smears of lipbalm out of his three Burts Beeswax tubes into a fourth, and ancient tube. Now that is dedication. I shot him a questioning and amused look. He replied with one that said, "What? You think I'm going to give up the last bit of lipbalm? I don't think so. I paid good money for this stuff." With this straightened out, my face got side-tracked with some other fascinating event. It's attention span is shorter than that of my little grey cells, and I have to comply.
In terms of how cram week is coming along- I was able to get up this morning, so I think I win. No, in actuality I'm not as worried as I was before. Now that all the projects are started (and are all about half completed) much of the leaden stress has vanished. It's left me feeling a little lightheaded with relief, not always a good mentality for concentration, but what the hey.
Yet another goal has been established, and that is for all characters of the household to get to bed a little earlier. Julie introduced the fact to us a few nigths ago that staying up late and sleeping in mornings increases the chance of breast cancer, and I am not willing to take it, nor any of the rest of us. Apparently some necessary chemical doesn't get made, or maybe it is overproduced, I forget which. I'm going to start this plan in motion at the end of this week, but until then, I'm trying to get the work done, acting only somewhat time aware.
The mud today was fantastic, not surprising considering the record amount of rain we are getting. Going out to start the hot tub I enjoyed a lovely squelch under every step, watching puddles grow, and water scurrying off in any trail it could find.
Later tonight, Camilla, Charlie and I went on a walk to the Delahunts to return a book to Charles which has now experienced a cycle round the mess of the Loyds. Most likely it's seen drawers, booksheves, table tops, crusty boxes, the occasional wandering eye, and a pile of laundry. Well, it lived through it, and is probably stronger for the experience. Hopefully, because I plan to borrow it next week.

Les Pieds.

2006-01-16T00:51:00.000-08:00

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Originally uploaded by biscotti321654.

Lately we've been dealing with scientists. And, we've been having a hard time of it. A scientists job is to find out about our universe, but that's a very general definition. After all, some might say that it is the responsibility of all inhabitants of Earth to learn about the globe they trot on (my opinion of people who say stuff like this genuinely is lower than of people who don't, but who am I to judge?). A non scientist (referred to from within the scientific community as a, "cad" which stands for "community altered disaster,"...I'm joking) interprets the world piece by piece, usually using either the 'a priori' or 'a posteriori' method (learning from experience vs. having knowledge when you were born, and remembering it each day) depending on their beliefs. To simplify my point, a non scientist observes by exaggerating points. An examples is, a relationship with a teacher growing into an assumption about all teachers. Hmm, maybe that is not the best example because that just sounds like the making of a steroetype. What I'm trying to say is that a scientist follows the same basic principle, taking a small point and examining its every possibility or detail until every last drop of non examinedness has been squeezed out of it and into the pitcher, some sugar added, with the sad little rinds tossed mercilessly in the direction of the compost bucket. The difference is that they parade their findings on a poster. Not only that, but they apply "math" (yes, I typed the dreaded word) to their results until it makes sense in numbers.
In a book called "The Man Who Mistook His Wife For a Hat" there is a chapter on some twins who, though thoroughly retarded and with a low IQ, communicated successfully to eachother using prime numbers. Apparently there is such a thing as a knack for understanding primes without calculating them, One of the games the twins played involved stating a prime number out loud and the other twin stating the next highest possible prime number as fast as they could. These were 6 figure primes! The scientist doing the inquiry on the twins played along using a cheat sheet (a page of already printed out primes), and introduced a seven figure prime number. The twins were impressed and delighted and soon worked their way up into 8, 9, and ten figure numbers. An average time for a turn was five minutes.
In the same book I was reading about a feeling for numbers without the understanding of calculations or what they stand for. Or at least, not the well known concept of what they stand for. Some people, I understand, treat numbers as their friends, as other people. My understanding of 4875 is a four and an eight and a seven and a five, but a person with this rare ability would have an attatchment and preconcieved knowledge of the thing. If I said to them, "Four thousand eight hundred seventy five," they would reply, "Divisible by 13 and 25." The twins, sadly, were separated "for their own good," and became more well rounded, though at the cost of their idiot savant talents. The author asks, "Is it worth it, and did it enhance their lives?" My first and last response is no. It changed their lives, yes, events have a tendency to do that, but it did not enhance it. Unless, of course, they were happier (which doesn't sound likely). And, we are back to the topic of scientists. In experimenting with the twins, their goal was to....what? I have no idea. Make them better people? Now, that is a vague term if I have ever heard one. Please, readers, leave me a comment on what a "good person" is. I'm interested in your thoughts. In any case, if these scientists were decent and moral (and a little dull), I would expect that they were aiming for the twins to lead a richer, more normal life. More questions:
Can a retarded person conceptualize "normal?"
Does he/she appreciate it?
Can a person of "normal" intelligence appreciate it?
Why, in heavens name, would the twins want to be more well rounded? They weren't ever going to fit in, the scientists knew that. And if they did, they wouldn't be able to grasp the idea.
Also, throughout history it has been proven that being good at one thing is more evolutionarily helpful than being well rounded. Though, and by this time, I am simply rambling, I recently heard it said that science can never prove anything, just disprove many things. A also recently heard a recommendation to never say never. And there you are. One of my goals is to be well-rounded. I would also like to major in something in college, meaning that I would be centering my studies on one topic. For many people this is true, and for todays society it makes large amounts of sense. Though if we graphed it on some big, important, this-chart-tells-all, graph, we would see that big picture there is no logic to it.
And now, my dears, it is later then I intended to stay up.

Blue Skies!

2006-01-14T15:42:00.000-08:00

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Originally uploaded by biscotti321654.

It' a real shock to see pictures so bright. I'm comparing the picture of Camilla and Julie through the smoke and realizing that it's a good example of the duller palette I have recently been displaying. So much of my life is examined in the blogs, that it's important to have photos that stimulate the mind, and get the point across. Like story telling, a good picture sets a mood too, not only a first basis understanding that it was "a cloudy day" or that "two people were in attendance." A picture doesn't have to be a thousand words, but should at least make our insides go, "ting" or make the viewer say, "oh-ah". And, on that note, I would like to mention my dear cousin Charlie's blog (link to the right, "Chaz's Blog) which not only holds the key to the universe, but also has some really fantastic pictures of it. All in all, he's a whiz.
No need to summarize this day, in my mind it is organized in blocks already.
Did of the math. Hauled wood across the yard. Did of the eating tamale pie. Went on a run, and halfway through it met Camilla and the esteemed aunt on their run. Ran home, socialized with "The men," (I know, it sounds ominous) and finally, had a charming, if a tad on the cold side, hot tub. Nothing like hair that is not slippery enough to slide off ones scalp (George Orwell would have a cow if he saw this sentence).

Family in the Flame.

2006-01-14T15:21:00.000-08:00

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Originally uploaded by biscotti321654.

Burn pile.

2006-01-14T15:20:00.000-08:00

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Originally uploaded by biscotti321654.

Carnations.

2006-01-12T22:51:00.000-08:00

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Originally uploaded by biscotti321654.

Tarnation! I mean, Carnation!
Today was interesting. -Interest, interest-
I got some math done and played some guitar. I went on a run and I got some dirt in my eye. Leftover artichoke pizza for dinner, and fun movies played backwards constructed by Charlie and Camilla. Seems like I'm not doing much, but that can't be right.
Gobbet:
a morsel; lump or mass.