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i am walking around the library barefoot. the mirror in the girls’ bathroom assured me that i look quite as frazzled as i feel. lovely weekends like this past one (haha, funny that it feels like it’s PAST even tho it’s still sunday afternoon) make me forget the imposing, coming week: then it all hits me all at once.

frazzlement.

this, incidentally, is a spinoff of one of bunny’s methods, i.e.: reward thyself for every increment of work done. i just read 50 pages of polisci so — i get to babblebook. and what better to babblebook about than the lovely weekend?… so — ben and i went into philly to see ben (the other ben, my oldest male friend, whom we shall call PB for phillyben). our original destination, the gayborhood xandos was closed, so we went to Last Drop. the guys manning the bar were visibly distressed at the disappearance of my hot chocolate and fussed over the creation of a second, equally-special one. another guy, bald paunchy fifties tiny-mustache cute, approached PB to tell him he looked exactly like a guy from a movie, although, as he put it, “i don’t know what you look like without clothes.” the man seemed rather inclined to find out, and lingered to tell PB that he looked like PB does now when he was PB’s age.

after a while, PB took us to his new house on south street to show off his poetry, art, and paraphenalia. the atmosphere relaxed. it hadn’t been bad to begin w/, but at this point the two bens became actually friendly, or so it seemed. we had three-person discussions. it was very chill; we laughed a lot. no hostility. heaven.

leaving him made me upset, in conjunction w/ a few other people-related things and possibly fatigue. i got over it before too long with, you know, help.

didn’t see much of the barnies. ross’s band is performing tonite — i’m going to try to make it, altho i have stat review for our midterm tomorrow, Co|Motion meeting, a movie review to write for tuesday, a brink article for tomorrow, and a film midterm due wednesday to start. well. ross darling i’ll try.

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i was just talking to a friend of mine while doing laundry — he had a mini-breakdown last nite, one of those demoralizing someone-i-like-just-wants-to-be-buddies experiences. i know those all too well, or at least i used to. i lived for four months in israel w/ my graduating class and started hanging out a lot w/ a guy i’d never spoken to before. we got along great, connected, all that crap; he was cute and we both were lonely; and every once in a while, he’d comment on how hot some girl was. crushing. i endured it, only telling him how i felt much later, once i was hundreds of miles away from up-close rejection. in the meanwhile i felt rather awful about myself and wrote reams of poetry on the subject.

in short, i know how my friend here (college friend, now, not the high skool guy) feels. i told him that, altho i didn’t expect it to help. it’s universal human drama. up until the last couple hundred years, everyone realized that happy endings were mostly only for the folks who could afford them; that love and tragedy were inseparable dance partners that made for great, if tear-jerking, art. now people expect love to come trailing happy endings like a boy with a wooden duck on a string. hence the hollywood fluff machine.

now i’m in ben’s room. he’s behind me, eating cheese-flavored popcorn and reading pynchon. he’s even finding ways to relate the two. this evening, after my first meeting w/ the For Colored Girls … cast, i’m taking him into the city to meet the other ben. boyfriend meet oldest friend. i’m apprehensive. no matter of nerves or flip cyncism can make me forget how lucky i am, tho.

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just got back from apple picking w/ three of the do-gooders: sorelle and two sarahs. the wind blew our faces bright red and we huddled down in our sweaters and each others’ hats. we took pictures of each other posing w/ the trees, which were spindly, weighed down by the apples, and more or less our heights. then we sat in a circle, played nostalgic games, told stories. laughed a lot. of course, ate too much apple. you don’t have to pay for the ones you eat in the fields.

after we all wanted to go someplace warm and indoorsy. trouble is there aren’t any cute coffeeshops around here. we drove down various streets, making fun of signs we passed (cvs advertised, “generic prozac now available!”; arby’s brightly lit, 20-ft cowboy hat billboard, etc.) didn’t find what we wanted and settled for Nifty Fifties, a diner whose window dressing invited, “come watch us do it!” they didn’t specify what. the only veggie thing on the menu was french fries. i got a diet coke. it tasted strange and then sarah told me that was b/c it was diet “cola”. i looked at it distrustfully but drank it anyway.

we had as much good discussion as we did apple — perhaps even more. (“why do the protestant signs have a cross w/ flames on both sides of it? did they have a different jesus, one who was burned at the stake?”) very relaxing and autumnal. would have preferred coffee after — or real diet coke — but that’s quibbling.

returned Harry Potter III this morning. tried to obtain IV and found it already taken out. i growled; resigned myself to finding another way to clear my mind. very glad it’s the weekend tho i don’t have a costume for the halloween party tonite. might not even go — last year it wasn’t that great. ross is waldo, becca lydia from Beetlejuice. that means they’ll both be going around w/ cameras. what could i be? hmm …

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working w/ sorelle cheered me immensely. she was frazzled to but we had to get this thing done so we both put our frazzlement out of mind. somehow it worked and we a) finished and b) had fun.

at the subsequent group meeting, for which a whopping two other girls of the eight showed, we chatted more, then went, at sarah’s suggestion, to the top of parrish to scream. apparently everyone is having a stressful time of it. at first the sunset was so pretty — a peach baseboard on the deep blue sky — that all we did was “aww…” but then we recollected what we’d come up there for. “aww” became “argghhhhhhhh!” to our infinite satisfaction. then we went back inside.

apple picking tomorrow. whooo fun. then sat. nite, an eddie from ohio concert at bryn mawr. lana has already expressed jealousy.

read thru half of harry potter III in the library; took it out unashamedly to read more. it relaxes me, what can i say?

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i’m exhausted. to all of you who are confused by this “now you see it, now you don’t” blogging, i apologize. i’m just trying to remedy as much as the damage as i can and placate those i’ve hurt. god, this is ridiculous. i guess i should be moving on but mind is stuck on the subject. not that i can discuss it here. a part of me very much wants to, at least the abstract issues. we had a whole conversation in high skool about whether teachers could be friends w/ students. in college it’s automatically different b/c both are adults, or technically anyway. i’m definitely a fan of the idea: i’ve always liked talking to older folks and profs are more than usually knowledgable. but there are a thousand sticky little complications. at the beginning of this year, i read blue angel, which my friend donny leant me. she said i would like it; i didn’t; that’s not the point, tho. the story was about the little miscommunications and misunderstandings that can occur in such relationships and the disasterous effects thereof. the book was totally overdramatized, like oleanna, which i also read this summer and wasn’t a fan of.

i don’t want to inhabit a world fenced in by the severe limitations each of those works implies. one in which you’d have no freedom, where you could never trust that the person you’re talking to won’t use words out of context and ruin your career. that’s awful. but i guess the flip side of the coin is you can’t trust everyone either.

i don’t know. i need to think about all this more (don’t really have a choice: can’t think abont anything else.)

more grant writing this afternoon w/ sorelle. i met one of the sarahs and her yesterday and we worked on it. again it was one of the highlights on my day. hung out w/ bunny later, who swung from being lethargic to dancing energetically on his bed while i looked around to make sure all the blinds were shut. later still, reunited w/ jolly and mo at paces (the three of us lived in a cluster on the same hall last year) joined by a nicely toasted rob. it was a nice day except for the mess at the end. even that will pass, tho. i guess.

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um …: what does one say to this? i wish i could print it out and post it on the walls of this dumb skool. it’s the kind of thing i know i need to read more often b/c it’s very easy to forget. not just to forget, either: to trivialize, to dismiss. the world seems queer-friendly now! look, there’s that new ellen thing fridays, right? and there are regularly gay couples in mainstream movies like american beauty. they’re not central but they’re there and at least they’re functional. if pop culture’s cool w/ it, it must be accepted by people as a whole.

but like saying any –ism no longer exists, it’s wishful thinking.

moreover, we were talking about a similar issue in film class this afternoon. feminist criticism which rose in the 70s, pointing out that the gaze is male and the women subjected to it are frozen, passive, powerless. dutifully, a number of moviemakers tried to reformat mainstream movies to give women more agency (yay buzzwords!). the idea was partially that when audiences accepted these new images of women, their views in real life would come around also. so scenes featured women in suits, not bathing suits; behind desks, not men.

many critics remained unsatisfied. another skool of thought arose, maintaining that the system couldn’t simply be patched; a whole new system needed to be developed, an alternative original system in which film conventions were inverted from the start.

it’s a similar thing. can queer portrayals on tv/in the media simply be patched? or like women in film, does there need to be some kind of formal renovation? maybe one’s already happening. i can’t think of too many really good queer films i’ve seen. the only one that comes to mind is boys don’t cry — does that count? well, if it’s a new genre, of course it’ll take time to find itself. feminist film still has a ways to go. i mean, quick, try to list five films directed by women. when you’re done frowning into space, ponder the fact that that revolution supposedly started in the 70s. thirty years ago. and people say there’s no need for feminism ….

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highlight of yesterday was definitely the meeting w/ the do-gooders. they’re the most adorable group of girls, i swear … everyone makes sympathy noises together and has the same frowny-concerned face when any of us has a problem. they’re also really cool; i don’t mean to sound condescending. they seem perplexed when i revealed that i refer to them as “do-gooders” and when i said that i don’t self-identify. i just get a sense when i’m around people who are better than i am. they’re sensitive social-leftists who try to improve the world but aren’t self-righteous about it. that’s impressive.

one of the sarahs (there are three) and i talked a lot about folk music — she grew up in that scene, lucky *grumble* — and politics and race relations. great conversation tho it wasn’t too conducive to grant-writing. another of the sarahs asked me if what i write here is true. i stared at her. well, she said, defending herself, it would be cool to have a whole fake journal. i mean, i guess, but that would be an awful lot of trouble. anyway, i assured her that yes, this is all true. if it were fiction, i wouldn’t talk about my frizzy hair or blotchy skin or mood swings. (wait, have i been talking about those, or just dwelling about them? … )

marc found me yesterday in mccabe while i was working frantically to finish another history paper and print before the library closed. he told me i looked awful. i thanked him.

i finished all right, tho once i printed it out i refused to look at it. the film screening pre- that was fun. we watched Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, which was a lot more self-aware than i expected and very entertaining, and a german film about sexual liberation via porn called The Virgin Machine. this is supposed to be the feminist film week. we’ll see.

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it’s always funny to realize you have so much more work that you expected. i assumed this week would be easy but i keep discovering stuff that i’d forgotten i’m responsible for. (“go drug trade!” –elena, who’s here to eat lunch and covet the apartment. she laughs at our jokes: what a kind guest.) oh well. i guess if it were too chill a week, i’d fill the time mulling over nonconstructive things and somehow end up depressed.

at 4, the do-gooders, officially self-named Co|Motion as of sunday’s meeting, meet to write grants til 8. but becca, who’s back from paris, is making dinner at 6 and i’ll probably come home for that; then film screening this evening, 7 – 10. i love averaging one movie a day. stupid external things, like my 2nd history paper in 2 weeks being due tomorrow, prevent me. too bad.

ross accused me of being anti-john. let me clarify: i am anti-john doing what comes easiest, i.e.: playing the sappy, gotta-love-him roles. same reason i don’t have much respect for tom hanks or julia roberts. at this point, those people don’t ACT, they just appear, and smile, and say lines, and old women everywhere clutch their bosoms and wipe a tear from their eye. tom hanks used to play assholes but he’s foresaken those challenging roles — challenging both for him and for audiences — to play white bread parts. i don’t want john cusack to go down that road. robin williams has, albeit to less success. i miss the robin williams of fisher king (ooh, jeff bridges. now there’s a good actor). even if robin always played likeable parts — a litlte bit of mork in everything he’s done since? — they did use to vary a little. not so much now.

tell you what, john. i’ll forgive the 80s fluff as youthful indescretion if you wise up now. and for god’s sake stop the backsliding.

top five actors you can’t pigeonhole: the brave, the inconsistent:

choose among:

* steve buscemi

* philip seymour hoffman

* edward norton

* john goodman

* jeff bridges

* brad pitt

* cameron diaz

* frances mcdormand

* chloe sevigny

* winona ryder

* catharine keener

* uma thurman

or add your own!

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at some point this afternoon, my human interactions began to feel unnatural. again i wonder if this is somehow related to this kundera book which is somewhere between a novel and a long mediation on the human condition. maybe a combination of that and the movie i saw this afternoon: serendipity which i had to review for the phoenix. actually i had planned to see iron monkey, which i’d been informed is a chinese martial arts flick by the choreographer of crouching tiger but with no pretense at plot or seriousness. at literally the last second, i changed my decision and walked under the sign that said “serendipity.”

i have nostalgic connections to the word (to which my friend ari, hopefully no-longer-pneumatic, can attest) and i enjoy high fidelity so much that i have softened considerably towards m. cusack. my attitude pre- that was a bristly reaction to his 80s fluff. i realize now that my softness belongs to rob gordon; m. cusack is an unapologetic fluffmeister. he is best at being the adorably self-obsessed, serious romantic whose steps out of bounds are envied and indulged rather than critiqued by the world. personally i like him best as an asshole. no matter.

the movie put me in a sour mood. i can’t tell if i’m drawn to this kundera book or repelled by it. i haven’t had a real conversation w/ anyone in six hours.

last nite the bunny (cheerful, shorn) wanted to sleep early. compliant, i prepared to go to bed. when i reentered my room, i found him watching the opening credits of when harry met sally. it has always been a dream of mine to watch that, my favorite movie, with someone i love. but one friend of mine was ridiculed by her boyfriend’s friends for asking her boyfriend to watch it w/ her; i consequently became determined not to ever demand it of anyone.

last nite, it was just there: what i always wanted. i didn’t even have to ask. & it was just as wonderful as it would have been in my imagination, had i ever been so silly as to try to imagine those circumstances. yet today i go about my life, no different, cognisant of the fact that i’m lucky, somber (now that the bitterness has faded) regardless, thoughtful. maybe i just need to find someone to talk to. maybe it’s as simple as that.

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on the way to the train station, w/ a warm container of saag on my lap, my mother talked to me about luck. she’s never had much and she compensates by working hard. some people recognize that they’re lucky and don’t need to slave away at things. my theory is that luck works best when you don’t assume it’ll be five steps ahead, busy leveling all inclines for you. my father used to quiz me about the moral of macbeth. what was his downfall, he’d say. overconfidence, i’d answer. this was long before i’d read the play. i only knew his description of the story, and he lingered on the gruesome end. macbeth assumed he was invulnerable, but more than that, he assumed trees could never get up and walk towards the castle, that every man was born of woman. simple facts, maybe, but they contributed to his demise. the lesson: take nothing for granted, even the laws that keep trees plugged into the soil.

i learned various other things from my parents that stick with me. my mom always said not to take any wooden nickels. that meant don’t be stupid. they both said don’t talk to strangers which is stupid advice and i didn’t listen. if i didn’t talk to strangers, i wouldn’t be here on the internet now, babbling away at the abyss. ben just arrived. he’s gotten himself a haircut. haircuts are dangerous things: they change one’s image, one’s self-perception, and they make people reevaluate their opinions and impressions. i have kundera on the brain. oy. while i’m reading a novel, it becomes difficult to isolate my thoughts from the author’s. when i gobbled up Angela’s Ashes, i drove myself crazy by internally-monologuing in brogue.