i was gratified to realize that i’d read a majority of these. some brought back fond memories: i read scary stories all at once, walking back and forth in front of my house, and then couldn’t sleep for nights afterwards. in middle skool i played with earth’s children, even though my history teacher wanted a note signed by a parents before she released them to me. (like hell: i just found myself a bookstore.)(then of course i couldn’t read them in public without the uneasy sense that someone could tell that i was reading prehistoric porn.) bridge to terabithia made me weep; a light in the attic made me laugh, toni morrisson made me think … what kind of adolescence could kids possibly have if you took catcher in the rye or forever away from them? growing up purely on disney movies is potentially far more destructive than any influence of roald dahl.

anyway, it doesn’t affect me. i’m privileged. i’m at swarthmore. we read whatever we want here; we look down on those hick states that run Just Say No to huck finn campaigns. a first-year came to the co|motion info session and said she was going through remembrance of things past for the 2nd time. bully for her. what she’ll come to realize, which is even better than being in a place that will cheerfully engage you in conversation about proust, is that if she wants to progress to orson scott card, she could find any of the ender books is under 5 seconds, and no one would think less of her.

sporadic posting because, as i wrote to darling overseas becca, when i’m cheerful i’m usually not in a position to journal, and when i’m glum i don’t want to inflict my glumness on my little audience here. yesterday i was quite glum, at least at points. but in the evening, i showered, i chatted with my sarahs, laughing as one attempted to simultaneously look tough and drown her smith-inflicted sorrows by swilling malibu straight from the white, chubby bottle, and then i communed with my ben while pre-partying frisbee players screamed in the hallway, psyching themselves up for Phi Psi.

today everything’s gone right. for the first time, i beat ross in scrabble. he took the defeat amicably and afterwards we sat in the amphitheater together composing missives to miss becca abroad. i’ve had cheerful conversations with anyone i’ve come across, including just now my precious mother. apparently i inadvertantly outed myself — as having been Questioning in high school — to both my parents when i mentioned it in a previous entry. she took it well; my father was more shaken up by it. i can only imagine how awkward things could have been had they gone another way. it makes me conscious of how fortunate i am — a straight white upper/middle class american female. even the jewish thing has only served as a perk, though in the real world conceivably that could change.

i’m steeled to set up an appointment with the special major guru here. marge murphy, my personal diety, suggested i meld my film minor and special-major in american studies into some specific american-history-and-film-honors-special-major. unlike regular old special majors, who have to write regular old run of the mill theses, *honors* special-majors get to do a Project. in my case perhaps that could be a (my) movie. wouldn’t that be spectacular? it’s so exciting i can’t even truly consider it.

dirt like skidmarks on my feet. how unattractive. usually i think my feet are cute from a distance, although up close they’re problematic and i prefer to ignore them. today i’ve walked and walked and walked, and it shows. it was “college day” or something in philly so swat sponsored buses to transport eager students into the city. i was not so eager as most cuz my movie-dates fell through, meaning i had to walk 60 blocks and see igby goes down alone. as i feared, igby went down as a disappointment (dammit, it looked so cute in the trailers …) i was tentatively supposed to meet two people outside the theater afterwards but i knew neither would show. indeed neither did.

even though i didn’t write a review this week, my presence did not go unnoted. a girl i’ve never met nor heard of (marc says she dresses well and smokes cigarettes) wrote a letter into the paper criticising last week’s review of the pretentious, ponderous lucia y el sexo. she accuses me of “misunderstanding spanish cinema.” my film teacher today read that part aloud in class, raising his eyebrows at me. controversy is fun!

scrabble tonight. before then, i have to get some history reading done and a lot of revision on my screenplay which i will throw out of the nest, ready or not, on oct. 2. hooboy, the excitement. i almost threw it out entirely yesterday after an emotional discussion with someone who, in venting about the occasional ineffectiveness of allies, made me feel like i also just thought i was “down” with the queer community. when i cited the globs and globs of queer people i love, she compared that to someone saying, “how could i be racist? some of my best friends are black.” considering how strongly i identify as an ally, especially after so much struggling about whether or not i was queer myself, and how afraid i’ve always been of that word, it sent me reeling. which wasn’t her intent. we talked at length later, clearing things up, and venting more, productively. i leant her a dress and let her research porn on my computer and she told me i was a good ally, not necessarily in that order. it was an important night.

fasting worsened my cold. in fact, i didn’t really have a cold until i fasted. i had no voice and no cold. now i have some of both. but i wouldn’t have felt like it was yom kippur if i’d just gone along my merry way. if this isn’t worth it, at least it feels necessary.

i’m unabashedly glad it’s over, though, and i can go back to properly hydrating myself. the sense of vertigo that hit this afternoon returns when i think about the nearfuture. like an idiot, or an optimist, i’m applying to project greenlight. i haven’t sent any of my work off in ages; i’m usually too timid and frightened of failure. the submissions window extends from 9/19 to 10/2 — not much time to nudge true love waits from 1st draft status to Fine Piece o’ Art. co|motion, my cuntlovin community service group, is starting up again. since i’m clearly incapable of doing anything halfheartedly, i’m up to at least a scrabble game a day. qsa; film reviews; and all the durned skoolwork i haven’t as yet begun to take seriously (and thus need to catch up on.)

at least the important holidays are over. now i can concentrate on getting the blasted credit for my study abroad work. i can’t believe 5 — the maximum — number of classes in denmark might not equal 4 swarthmore credits. i can’t believe the number of hoops i have to jump through simply for that. that deadline’s early october too. mmmmm. i need to get better quick.

also, an enjoyable stumbled-upon website: mighty girl.

as often happens, my voice has deserted me. maybe it’s a reaction to the reacclimation to living in a dorm. all those wacky germs floating about; worse, all those wacky people. having gone a year without being in this situation, maybe my body’s defenses are shot.

bad timing. right on the cusp of a weekend and no voice to shout at concerts with, or to use in sarcasm, or to play I Never. tho we didn’t end up playing I Never anyway, and it’s just as well: the small party i was with last night has played that game more than once before and there comes a point when you wonder what’s left to ask or know about your friends. it’s difficult to come up w/ interesting drinking games, ones that involve conversation, preferably the revealing kind. there should be a book or something.

the alcohol didn’t help my throat. now i have an unsightly pile of cough drops next to the keyboard, and a little plastic cup filled helpfully with packets of salt. i’ve never done that gargling thing and i’m skeptical. meanwhile yom kippur, the Please God Forgive Me day, starts tomorrow night. i haven’t done much apologizing (this is one of the great jewish rituals, incidentally: you have to obtain forgiveness from anyone you’ve offended or hurt over the past year. it’s kinda like a treasure hunt you have ten days to complete. at the end of it, you show what you’ve collected to god and say, well, this is the best i could do. … and then god judges you.)

last ditch effort: if i’ve transgressed against you, please accept my heartfelt apologies. you can even email me and yell at me one last time before you forgive me. or leave it in the comments, hell. i live a public life.

where are those famous endorphins everyone’s always talking about? an hour and a half of tennis this morning and then another hour and a half this afternoon, and i’m not high and peppy, i’m exhausted. and kinda depressed, although i enjoyed playing both times. my right forearm hurts and i don’t know any exercises that work that muscle. or stretches, or whatever.

in my film class i discovered i had a fan group of one. he was reading my review as i walked in and chuckling to himself. at one point he quoted me to me and said, “this sounds like something from the onion.” i nearly fell in love with him. luckily i had the vivid memory of ben to hold me back. but a fan group of one isn’t so bad. i mean, everyone has to start somewhere, eh?

i ended up not doing much for september 11th yesterday. i paused by the peace booth and listened to an earnest rendition of “blowing in the wind.” i discussed, first with ben and then with ross, that i wished people could take it out of historical and political context, just remember back solemnly to the day america realized – quite harshly and suddenly – that we aren’t invulnerable.

but the history and politics of it, which are inextricable, just make me tired. the idea that america deserved it doesn’t speak to me, even if i understand the logic and frustration behind that sentiment. governments make horrible foreign policy decisions all the time: when other people die for those decisions, it’s tragic. period.

the argument that we should strike back is untenable too and has been since day one. i don’t believe there’s an insidious global conspiracy that we have to destroy and shooting blindly, or using this as an excuse to take up old grudges, won’t help a goddamned thing.

i think we were Got. we didn’t expect it; we hadn’t been looking for it; we didn’t even realize we should have been on guard. and we were hurt. we’ll be more careful for now on. but the ones who Got us have vanished again like a mole in one of those Whack-a- games and most likely he won’t surface again. we should learn, and mourn, and let this increase our sensitivity and empathy (as once again an attack from abroad reminds us our comfortable isolation isn’t either). and move on.

are males or females funnier in general, to you? my instinctive reaction is to say males but when i count the people i know, more females make me laugh. it’s definitely not conventional wisdom; women rarely star in comedies, or if they do they’re not often also sex objects. hmm.

tomorrow’s september 11th. i have classes all day and a screening during the silent vigil. i wonder if i’ll think of it as i rush from a to b. i wonder if i’ll be able to escape it. i wonder if i should feel more than i do.

what a bad day; and at the same time i hope all my bad days are this mild. the badness, such as it was, started when i went into the city by myself to see sex and lucia. there’s nothing out now really, so i chose this hot though strange looking spanish flick for its convenient show-time. the train stalled, however, which meant i had to huff and puff to make it. almost immediately, once i settled in, i felt like pee wee herman. around me individual men sat slouched, discreetly apart from one another. the movie spared me excess time to ponder this and perhaps take a cue and leave: it started.

two hours later it ended and i walked out, shaking my head in disgust, a feeling not allieviated by the sight of the individual men around me, hands in pockets, eyes down, making their way to the bathroom or the door. essentially the first half of the movie, interspersed with artistic shots of the moon, is hardcore sex until it reaches a point where it begins to get boring and at that exact moment a dog eats a child. it’s tragedy from that point on until the ultimate redemption, interspersed relentlessly with artistic shots of the moon.

the train stalled again on the way home, and a friend over dinner lectured me cheerfully on why the state of israel shouldn’t exist, and at my meeting with my foreign study advisor he assured me the skool appreciates me experiences and encourages all students to go abroad, but despite the fact that i took the maximum number of classes (5) i may not receive 4 swat credits. don’t worry, said he, if it comes up short you can do extra work over christmas break.

i walked out, shaking my head in disgust. that was the nadir, at least. after that, qsa and chillin with folks exorcised my demons. today perhaps i have the distance necessary to write a review that’s more than the words “incomprehensible pornish eurotrash” over and over again.