who has time to write these crazy days? 9 page paper due monday, huge history project due wednesday, 15 page film paper due thursday (i’d forgotten about that last one. heh heh. at least i convinced the prof to move the deadline to thursday from its initial deadline, noway-day at impossible o’clock.) so far i’ve been handling it relatively well. stef, eliz and i bought a lot of junk food early in the week, knowing we’d need to bunker down and stay up past 7, when the dining hall closes. vending machines, while okay for some, can’t provide anything that compares to duncan hines icing with or without graham crackers. or mmmmmmmm milanos.

even with i’m done with this batch of crap, i have 3 finals, a curriculum project and all my observations to hand in. this may be the worst finals period yet — it’s certainly up there. bizarre since i enjoyed such a managable semester. anyway, the point is i’m sane, even if i am sore, and it will all be over soon.

i’ve never eaten so much grapefruit in my life. the whole room smells of it (tho better citrus than dirty laundry, eh?) everyone marveled, peeling one after another, at how incredible they were. only a single grapefruit of the batch remains, snug and smugly yellow in my fridge. perhaps it will serve as reward when i finish the other major thing i have due early this week. i just handed in a history paper, whose construction mostly absorbed my weekend.

i did manage to get in some culture. senior company put on paula vogel’s minneola twins and the dance concert presented an impossible number of gay men with impossible bodies doing impossible things. perhaps because the latter engaged me on more, er, physical levels, i enjoyed it more. both were nice though. i’ve seen a lot of movies this semester and less theater or dance than usual.

of course i watched movies too. when harry met sally, my hands-down, no-argument, sentimental-and-otherwise favorite (harry burns = still my ideal guy); friday night with a cheerful kahlua soaked group. raiders of the lost ark the following evening. felicia and i knew both by heart and often turned to each other to mouth the lines that you simply can’t let go by.

having covered theater, dance, and cinema, all that remained was voice. last nite as stefanie, elizabeth and i each busied ourselves at our respective word processing stations around the room, stef murmured a line that sounded like, “i dreamed a dream in time gone by … ” like hunting dogs, eliz and i perked up and howled along. we made it all the way through that song, and then, of course, “on my own,” cuz we’re such a room full of eponines (did ANYONE like cosette? she’s such a little pure-soul heroine, the kind of girl who says “papa” and wears white dresses. why on earth did that marius prefer her? how much of a bastard was that kneejerk revolutionary to hold eponine, who was DYING FOR LOVE OF HIM, and damned cool besides, and then forget her entirely the next second?).

HEY!! aw, what a good day. beautiful sun glinting off six inches of beautiful snow, plus all the artwork made with it or juxtaposed to it (the bright green cactus for example that popped up next to my history building, with an appended sign that reads, “MOMENT”). my beloved nervous this morning before an important interview with Mr. Watson, but looking beautifully suited up regardless. my fondness rekindled for the three beautiful women professors i have this semester, each a swatticon in her own way. a huge box of grapefruit so big each looks like athletic equipment, and burstingly pink on the inside. ohh they’re so good. straight from florida, in the middle of december! thanks, mom. an equally sweet, if less citrussy, response from katie (of magicwand4katie fame).

and, a tenth review at triggerstreet, this one by a gay man. hands down the most positive so far. i’m glowing. joepat says, “Cute Story. I liked the way the story flowed and how it kept my attention. I am not an experienced screenwriter but I did feel that the characters were fully realized and the voices rang true in my head. I twould be easy to imagine this story as a film. It would also make an excellent stageplay as well.”

fruits! my food AND my people.

hey! two more straight american men reviewed my screenplay and didn’t hate it. that makes the ratio 5 scathing to 3 moderate, with 1 lukewarmly positive. in celebration of that, and the snow, and the general good luck experience by most folks around here today, i bought two movies at half. neither of them, harold and maude or heathers, were too cheap, but i figured i owed myself a festival o’ lights present. and, as i said, it was a snow day (“it’s like raining snow,” commented my beloved). no class — teacher couldn’t make it. this looks promising. cathartic discussions. an aborted attempt to watch molly ringwald be pretty in pink. the truth is, redheads shouldn’t wear pink. any film that begins with that abominable a style choice is as big a mistake as that is.

being charitable, sarah kelly and i gave it a chance. but the only thing i gained from what we saw was an increased, further solidified appreciate for not having to come of age in the 80s.

i love away messages/AIM info bits. they’re so telling. (screennames abbrieviated to protect the perverse)

sl15: “snow, snow, you make me glow”

hm83: “hilary from freshprince: who are all these ladies, and why do you feel like you have to have sex with them?

leon phelps: well, hmmm, let me see…have you ever had sex?

lp: “hannuka party and much drunkenness”

t2: “WWBD?”

b101: “:-) 🙂 🙂 🙂 :-)” (he’s in love)

and my little brother: “I am not available because I am playing a computer game that takes up the whole screen.”

okay, for love of lana (and elke — hi elke): the canadian response to what apparently has been generally dismissed as an immature, uninteresting screenplay, worthy only of serving as a sex education video for midwestern gay high skoolers. in comparison, high praise indeed: “Some witty writing but an incomplete third act: Hi Ester, This is my first crack at a review so please bear withme. I found your writing to be very easy to read and the script moved along at a pretty good clip and kept me interested in what was happening to these characters. I really thought some of the pop culture references were hilarious – the mourning for Martha quip in particular! I found that your characters, while interesting, lacked a little originality – which is fine I suppose but I found myself thinking that these people could have been taken out of central casting (thora birch in ghost world or american beauty etc..). I struggle with that in my wriing too – how to keep situations and people fresh and not cliched. It is clear that you have a tie with these people and I think you could easily make a few edits to tighten them up and give them some unique attributes. The biggest suggestion I could give would be to fill out the third act – I found the story ended just as it was heading toward some real conflict and tension. I’d like to know what happened to htese people. Enjoyed it and hope you can flush it out at the end and make it work! Cheers.”

as previously noted, the only [other?] positive review came from the only female to read the script. sn = mango. hint hint, nudge nudge.

more importantly, david horowitz spoke here last nite. by nearly all acounts, he was sensationalistic, abrasive, and pompous; worse, he didn’t substantiate any claim he made about the “hate-america left.” it’s true, leftists tend to be more critical of the u.s. its good points, i guess, are considered too obvious to state. follow me here: the country is like your offspring. a lot of factors shaped your country before you arrived, like genes contribute to the identity of your child. but instead of dwelling on the immutable genetic makeup of your kid, you as a parent concentrate on your child’s potential. you attempt to mold it, share your morals with it, affect its character. you don’t focus just on the things you love about your kid — obviously you love your kid if you’ve held onto it and let it hold onto you for this many years. you challenge your kid, expect the best from it; and when it lives up to your standards, you give it a hug. right?

to compensate for that little ranty thing, enjoy the following link: this is the story of one woman’s fight for justice from the noble savage {from lara, amazingly, and not ross who also picked it up somewhere}. if katie writes, acts clever, and and self-deprecates while self-promoting like a swattie, it’s because she is one. so’s jonathan franzen! what a small world.

oh, and my review of far from heaven.

perhaps my belly is growing. ( +4 femme points for noticing, -13 for not caring) frankly i think it’s the only way to survive the winter. when i went home, another of my aunts asked me if i’d lost weight. i lashed out at her. perhaps i shouldn’t have. i know it seems like an innocuous — or flattering — question, but since to my knowledge i have not, it just makes me think that everyone’s mental image of me is as chubby. you know?

today, for the last time, i woke at 7:15 to toddle off to my ed observation at a not-so-local (hence the inordinate amount of travel time) middle skool. these observations had the potential to be fascinating windows into education in america. but they weren’t. teaching’s not for me. it seems like these exhausted women expend as much energy on disciplining as they do on imparting information; that’s not fun to watch let alone enviable. ultimately, spending two hours in a classroom felt like having to spend two extra hours in a classroom, only one in which nothing i didn’t know was taught.

in going to my last observation, though, i missed rabi’s radio show. she’d invited me to come read poetry. that’s one of two very recent ego-salves. as the other, a male finally reviewed my screenplay at triggerstreet and didn’t pan it. he had insightful comments and constructive criticism, and he even pointed out parts he really liked. naturally, he’s canadian.

on the bus yesterday stef and i argued over which of us is femmer. i don’t remember why we decided being femme was better than the alternative — somehow it just came up, so we had to fight about it. we didn’t reach a conclusion. it did however remind me of an exchange i had with my aunt. have you, she asked me, become interested in the domestic arts? i nearly choked on my broccoli. when i recovered, i handled the question most suavely and democratically ( +2 femme points). no aunt marge, i said. i cooked for myself a little in denmark, but generally i just want to live in a dorm for the rest of my life ( -15 femme points). i think the unfortunate idea is that since i’m the only girl cousin of the 6 of us, the responsibility will eventually fall to me to host these extraordinary dinners and occasions for which the blooms are famous.

in response, i can only say: this morning brigid asked me for the second time, in the same plaintive tone, whether i had a little sewing kit. the answer, folks, is no. i mean, you can search through the pile of my dirty laundry (incl. 2 pairs of sheets) on my unvaccumed floor, or you can just take my word for it.

the soda machine failed me but sorelle came through, offerring the remnants of her last nite’s smirnoff ice. flashbacks to copenhagen: sitting on the square, next to the fountain, watching everyone else drink beer, trying to enjoy the sunlight and pretending it was as warm as it felt like it could be.

(me: ooh, already i feel buzzed.

veronica: you’ve had three sips!)

but i’m back at swat. maybe i’m high on the latkes and chocolate gelt sorelle brought from home, or the shorter-than-expected bus ride with stefanie. when has a greyhound bus ever arrived an HOUR ahead of schedule? we took advantage of the gift by dining out lusciously in chinatown. we had a great bonding talk throughout, as we’d been having since about noon. a perfect cap to a largely enjoyable weekend. the previous night stef had accompanied me to a typical fuelo gathering — all my friends sitting around in nomi’s living room, talking. luckily she got along well with everyone. the love, indeed, from all sides, was palpable.

other friend situations were enjoyable too. watching notorious c.h.o. with liz and her little sister. shopping (and finding a great cheap pair of purple pants) with a newly giddy lana. long conversations about sex/gender, sex + gender, SEX GENDER, and life in general.

family time was a little more up and down, of course. 20 people, mostly relatives, streamed in and out. my incredible mother just kept on chugging, producing, with my uncle, first a thanksgiving feast; then, the next night, a shabbes and 1st night of hannukah feast. tonite latkes, but i’m missing those. housing dozens of cozens, washing dishes, keeping everyone happy, distributing presents. she amazes me. all that family, however, did mean a lot of sorrowful talk about kenya, one uninvited comment about “[my] friends, the palestinians and al qaeda,” much small talk, and some mockery of my friends at skool and skool itself. it was worth it for the hugs and the scrabble, and certainly worth it to take showers in my shower and sleep in my bed.

only 20 days of skool left in which to do everything i need to do. holy god.

also, yay!, why didn’t anyone tell me? aldaily is back.

after dire warnings from everyone and their mother about snow, today burst on the scene as fresh and pristine as a newly cleaned toilet bowl. my brother drove down from cornell yesterday and slept over with the intent of leaving early-ish this morning. while he was forcing his way southward, ben and i wandered into the city to see far from heaven, the new todd “velvet goldmine” haynes flick. initially i was suspicious: i’ve seen parts of the original douglas sirk melodrama and in no way could i conceive of anyone wanting to remake it. but you have to give him credit. haynes maintained a smooth, authentic 50s tone without descending into parody, and he simultaneously updated just enough of the details to make the story believable to viewers now.

on the way home, ben and i discussed the inter-racial relationship around which the story revolves. that julianne moore’s character’s love interest is not just a gardener but a black man is one of haynes’ twists. their interaction bears racial — as well as class — baggage. setting up the black man as a counter to moore’s gay husband has the potential to enforce the stereotype of “savage” virility, but the interaction they have remains so chaste that that fear dissipates. they never even kiss. that makes the drama more wrenching somehow: not only is it impossible for two adults, one white and one of color, to have a romantic attachment, it’s even impossible for them to be friends. at least in the 50s.

and that’s the second question. placing this story in the 50s is safe. attitudes then are easily catelogued, and you can portray the drama and hypocricy of them without having to exaggerate. what about nowadays? in some parts of the US, the social stigma remains nearly as intense as it was half a century ago; in others, it remains, just in subtler form. a film that attempted to address that issue would really be something to see.

still, i enjoyed far from heaven — more than velvet goldmine, i think. marc, who my brother kindly let hitch a ride to dc today, informed me that sir haynes is actually good friends with one of my professors, the one i’m taking a film seminar with next semster in fact. it is possible he is the one who will be called in to evaluate my honors project and honors standing at the end of next year. that would be the most frightening two hours of my life.

happy turkey or vegan equivalent, folks. wish my dog luck, she’s back in the hospital. be well.