my moods are predictable. i lose a scrabble game and get a nasty review at trigger street: i droop. i win a scrabble game and get accepted into the poetry workshop: i perk up. now i’ve lost another scrabble game, but i’m still in the poetry workshop (although it may or may not be good. plus the last guy to hate my screenplay listed con air and tombstone among his favorite movies.) words, words, words.

i cleaned like a maniac today in preparation for tonite’s comotion meeting. exposed the top of my desk to the air for the first time since day 1; exposed my carpet; filed things away; just generally tidied up, in conjunction w/ brigid, and while ben read shakespeare in the window seat. the results are quite satisfactory — my mother would be proud. if only i liked the cleanliness enough to maintain it.

my friends convened at harvard for the vs. yale football game, and more specifically to visit ilana in her new nest and see the new bunny she’s dragged in to keep her company during the cold winter months (ahh mixed metaphors). after some deliberation i decided to hang out here, attend the formal saturday nite and just relax. it worked out well. a group of us set out for goodwill in preparation for the dance. i didn’t find a pretty but did happen upon a perfect hardback copy of the corrections for a dollar. then at the end of our 3 hour spree, someone found me a blue feels-like-silk kimono robe. someone else suggested i wear it to the formal and i was tempted; in the end decided against it.

then, at the formal, couples galore! stefanie, with an improvised outfit that looked straight out of chicago, and her elizabeth, in a suit. both looked fantastic. sarah c., the latest loveless girl to turn her fate around, a vision in aqua, especially with her new bunny as an accessory. ross in a hilarious ivory suit, complete with cowboy hat and bolo tie. for once i got to be in a couple on the dance floor too, as ben wasn’t djing, but we spent more time in the casino set up in the back room. i figured out a decent strategy for roulette but was too timid to make substantial amounts of money. of course when i gathered courage my luck ran out.

speaking of luck, i need some to get through this final stretch. so much due, so much not done. tomorrow they post the list of who made it into the poetry workshop. i wasn’t worried about this until someone reminded me. i think i need to work myself into the “it doesn’t matter” mindset, which is of course easier said than done.

i have this theory that college oversensitizes us to such a degree that we will not be able to function in the real world. reemerging into a space where, for instance, people don’t recognize either the validity of the judgement “heteronormative” or the damned word itself, will be a jolt. but that said, i found this article laughably offensive. tyra banks should shed 15 – 20 pounds? models should be seen and not heard — “and for supermodels, silence should be mandatory”? and the ending — where the author quotes the fiancee’s admission that she likes to talk and then advises the bachelor, “run”? my god! that’s not hypersensitivity, is it? people out there find that ridiculous too, right?

at least we have solidarity in our indignation here. at this point the phoenix exists entirely to make people angry and give them something to bitch about (here’s my review, btw). but that’s not so bad. it creates a sense of community. yes, sometimes it seems like it’s an aggrieved, self-righteous one, but we also learn together too.

hmm. i was starving but located a squirreled-away banana. howzaboutthat. i also happened upon a fortune cookie whose fortune reads, “you will turn the scraps of misfortune into a beautiful quilt.” to what that refers, i couldn’t tell you: the fact that drama board has decided we must audition for an ideal husband next semester instead of this? my life of late otherwise hasn’t been too misfortunate — indeed i’m virtually “ms. fortunate”. after a harsh start, november eased up on me, and i’m grateful. so long as it stays that way.

in about five minutes, tim wise is going to start speaking. as you can tell from my comfortable, trix-are-for-kids t-shirt wearing position here at the computer, i’m not going. it’s a shame: he’s an anti-racist activist and i, like everyone, need some good anti-racist instruction. but he’s not talking about anti-racism, he’s talking about anti-zionism. there are two positions on this campus on the israel question, just like there were 100 years ago when people started raising it. there’s zionist — right wing, and then there’s anti-zionist — the left. except “zionist” means “im tirzu,” in english, “if you desire it,” and the group is vocally in favor of a two-state soltuion. “anti-zionist” means “jato,” technically “jews against the occupation,” who’re also in favor of a two-state solution.

you wouldn’t think there could be such an abyss between two groups who would be happy with the same outcome. yet there it is, an abyss large enough to comfortably fit every individual, pundit and college student, who’s ever been moved to voice an opinion on the subject.

i keep my distance. in betweens like i are meta-marginalized. with no place on either side, we’re shifted upwards to merely observe and be ignored. and, in my case, to bitch about it online.

my excellent excuse for not going to hear mr. wise was my film class showing of star wars. having decided, however, that i’m not in the right mindset for the Force, i returned to my room to write about my underwear. it’s new, y’see, and black. it’s boxer briefs. i’ve never felt so securely packaged. wearing them i’m constantly reminded of the first time i came in contact with black boxer briefs. when i was fifteen i went to miami to visit my camp friend, and idol, emile. she was tall and thin and blonde, and the cute little CK underwear looked like it was made for her. on me it looks like what’s beneath has been edited out, like the underwear should read “CENSORED” in chalky white letters. ever since i met emile i wanted to be more like her; maybe this is just another step along the way.

oh, i imagine, the many many things i could be doing. working on any of the four major projects/papers i have due in the coming weeks. going to the gym maybe — i hear people do that. cleaning my room, clearing off my desk (it’s five layers deep), hanging up sweaters … yawn. no, no, it’s november 19, which is a different anniversary of sorts, and in honor of today i’m going to focus not on what i’m not (i.e., industrious, atheletic, tidy, organized) and instead dwell on what i am ( … well, at the very least, the kind of person who remembers bizarre anniversaries).

brigid: [knocks] are you naked?

ester: oh, hang on. [opens door] no, sorry. i was just getting dressed. in fact i’m wearing two sets of clothing.

brigid: hmm, too bad. well, i think i’ll go shower.

ester: copycat.

brigid: okay, i’ll never shower again. that’ll show you i don’t want to be like you. … wait a minute: gloria steinem showers! i’m so torn …

i heart my living arrangement. i am trying very hard not to dwell on the possible depression that will set in when at least two, and possibly three, of my closest friends leave this immediate vicinity. as the move will quite possibly make two, if not three, of them sublimely happy, it is quite selfish of me to think in these terms — and worse, to mention it to them.

quick! think of something else. my desk! presently boasts, just in front of me, the following items: a small stuffed one-eyed duck; an empty water bottle; a box of floss; a plastic spoon; an unused coffee cup top; a copy of fires in the mirror; a tape dispenser; catie curtis’s truth from lies; two bandana; and an orange and black toy gun-like object that i think you’re supposed to use on potatoes. and that’s just strata I.

i know i’ve pledged to be apolitical, but this is too adorably ridiculous to ignore. (WILPF, take notes.) {via east/west}

weekends are such interesting things. they’re there simultaneously to allow enjoy yourself and to sleep, except those two things are often at odds and you end up feeling guilty choosing one over the other EVEN IF by SLEEPING you manage to ENJOY YOURSELF.

yes. weekends are strange. this weekend i’ve spent more time than usual with the ben, appropriately tho accidentally because today is our one-year-and-three-quarters-of-what. we sat next to each other at harry potter 2: actually better than you expect friday and othello: not shakespeare’s finest last night w/ ben’s english class. i saw a terrific production of othello: inverted a couple years ago at the shakespeare theater in dc. patrick stewart played the tortured moor as the only white man in a black cast. that blew me away. this one just … well, you know. it was ordinary.

hp2, while ordinary in some respects — still-too long; still-directed by christopher columbus (motto:”who needs instincts when you can mimic steven spielberg”); and still-scored by john williams (motto: “here, let me hit you over the head. now cry!”) — is better than the first one and largely enjoyable. in parts it’s scary, in parts it’s clever, and it keeps you absorbed. sadly it leaves out my favorite line from the book: “never trust anything that thinks for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain.” but it does make the character of lockhart much more appealing than the book does. thanks, branagh.

so one-year-and-three-quarters … 21 months … feels like a rather substantial time to spend with one person. well, i’m impressed. on one hand, we’re both stubborn and opinionated, we both like to be right, and in our respective ways, we both want to be known. on the other, we’re music v. movies, djing v. dancing, dancing v. watching, all lines v. all curves, serious v. sarcastic, widespread v. tightknit, self-possessed v. self-conscious, masculinity issues v. femininity issues, ego v. ego. somehow, through copenhagen, swarthmore, philly, new york, san francisco, dc, and the never never land of the world wide web, we’ve managed to make this work.

i am coping with this: “Convenient and tidy but a writer with potential. I may be wrong, but I would wager that the writer is either a teenager or a college student, or both. It reads like it was written by someone who is young and lacks the life experience to add the depth and richness her story and characters deserve for this kind of plot. Millie’s redundant cheerful food-making for the girls shows a two-dimensional appreciation for what parents are and do; the other parents – Dale and Nora – are treated two-dimensionally also, as if written by a person who is neither a parent or full-grown adult. Only more life experience can cure these ills. It’s a one goal story – essentially, “get to the part where she comes to her parents,” but it begs for more creative twists and deeper layers than that. If I am wrong about the writer’s age, then her writing is immature and she simply needs to write more. But she has potential! The dialog is quite good – not earth-shattering, but natural and funny in spots. The emotional interaction is fairly relaistic. But the author’s understanding and portrayal of Christians and Christian beliefs is cliche and lacks depth or thoughtfulness. Throw-away tags like “fundamentalist” and “Republicans” and “Seventh Heaven” references says more about the author’s bias and agenda than about a thoughtful understanding of her characters and conflicting views that conflict with the gay/bi/rainbow views. This movie would have a very limited audience because the story is just two insular and convenient, too “small” and self-promoting – not universal and mature enough for a broad audience.” thanks to the folks at trigger street.

my grandparents heard about this other screenwriting thing and passed the tip to my mother who passed it to me. unlike greenlight, you don’t need to pay anything — you commit to reading 2 scripts. once you’ve done that, you get to submit your own. your reviews are posted as are other contestant’s reviews of yours. it’s a little stressful, if instructive (and i’m trying hard to focus on the instructive part).

the other review thus far: “A book maybe…? Certainly not a feature film — indie or studio. The writing is good and there are some really nice lines but that’s about it. It’s one long conversation. Nothing happens, and that’s not good considering the medium. The author has something to say but needs to be a bit more compelling about how it’s said. Yes, I’m a guy, but you gotta give me something I can sink my teeth into for for 8 bucks a ticket.”

on a scale of “shrugg-off-able” to “crushing,” these register around “doubt-inducing.” maybe i’ve jumped the gun on this whole screenwriting thing. or maybe i shouldn’t let the opinions of someone whose bio reads “I write screenplays. I eat pizza. I drink beer. And I miss Dean Martin.” shake me to the core.

i understand how the choice of this woman to stand for the dems in the house could be controversial, but it just makes me happy. very little exists on the political horizon, just a gloating pink mass of republicans.

but enough about politics — that’s my brother’s domain this year. i’ve sworn off it except for a bare-minimum, subsistence-level to keep me generally informed. have i mentioned i’ve been happy? maybe i’ve been scared to. hey, it’s been a week or so even at this point. much of the happiness stems, of all things, from confrontation. sometimes you just have to step up and talk to the people who are upsetting you. sometimes that actually works.

not everything’s been golden. last night for our film class’s showing we saw jaws, which thoroughly freaked me out. i am not meant to see movies like that. i take them much too seriously. (and who really needs to see a great white methodically chewing his way upwards through a screaming man who finally expires with a last gasp of blood? not to mention the film’s first victim, the naked woman who dies after five minutes of orgasmic writhing?) now harry potter 2: equally disappointing on friday, now that i can handle. one hopes.

my review of 8 mile. feel free to disagree, but please note that the onion’s review, written AFTER mine, supports me 110%. funny always = right.

m: we listened to this kenny g. song at my observation today

b: tell stefanie! he’s like her cousin

m: i thought he was black

b: [breaks a rib laughing] he’s whiter than white

m: but he plays saxophone

b: so does bill clinton

m: exactly!

[moments later, as b. exhibits a picture]

b: he’s got awful hair.

m: brigid, that is culturally insensitive

[later, with b.’s boyfriend]

k: you know who warren g. is, ester?

m: warren g. harding?

k: right. our black president.