Unspeakable Terrors!

 I was 15. It was a rainy afternoon in Rhode Island, where my family and I were on vacation. It had been raining for most of the two weeks we had been there, so instead of frolicking on the beach, we had spent much of our time sealed indoors, playing board games and listening to music.

That afternoon, my cousin put an album on the boom box that I had never heard, by an artist of whom I was completely unaware. She said, “When I first heard this album, I thought his voice was too whiny. It’s grown on me, though.” We listened as we talked and joked, and gazed longingly out of the window, wishing that the sun would make even a brief appearance. At the time, I didn’t think much of the album. I enjoyed it, but only heard fragments through our distracted conversation. This first listening was by no means thoughtful or deliberate.

About a week later, when I was back at home and the sun had come out again, my mind, as if a CD scratched beyond recognition, began to remember one plaintive, crying phrase: “Oh, if only you’d come back to me…” I knew it was from the album my cousin had played that day in Rhode Island, but the rest of the song hadn’t permeated the membranes of my subconscious, and I couldn’t recall it. The lyric was oddly appropriate, as I wished for days that I could hear that song, just that one song, once more.

Eventually, I got smart and consulted Napster. After all, these were the days during which downloadable music was still an embryonic, developing paradigm. With the help of my sloth-like 56K modem, I downloaded the first three songs that I could find by this “Jeff Buckley” guy. These songs, as I would later discover, were the the first three tracks found on his only completed album, Grace. The first of these songs was “Mojo Pin,” which contained the phrase that had been haunting my thoughts. My longing had been quenched.

I listened to those three songs over and over again, and I eventually began to crave something more. Because downloading music was painfully slow in the days of dial-up, I knew I’d have to purchase the CD. I didn’t have a job or any money at the time, so I waited almost a year before I was able to buy it.

Listening to the album in its entirety was, well, life-changing. Perhaps this makes me weird, but I have a small list of very formative albums that I can say, without equivocation, changed my life. This is one of them. Every track seemed perfectly written, recorded, chosen, and placed in order. What struck me most, of course, is what strikes everyone else who has heard the album: Jeff Buckley’s soaring falsetto. Sometimes it is soft, smooth, a whisper. Sometimes it shudders with tremolo, crying out in raw beauty. As a singer myself, I couldn’t help but appreciate this aspect of his talent above all else.

I can’t name a track that I consider to be a definitive favorite; each one is distinctly beautiful. If I had to choose two songs that stand out as being particularly superb (because I couldn’t possibly choose one), though, I’d pick his cover of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah,” and his rendition of Benjamin Britten’s setting of “Corpus Christi Carol.”

His version of “Hallelujah,” a song that has been recorded countless times and by a diverse array of artists, is one of the best known, and the most beloved. Those who haven’t heard the Buckley version have probably heard versions by either John Cale or Rufus Wainwright, as both of these renditions were associated with the movieShrek. Cale’s version, which mixes and matches various verses from two different sets of lyrics written by Cohen, serves as the basis for both the Buckley version and the Wainwright version.  I bet you’ve never seen the word “version” used so many times in so few sentences. The lineage of the song, its lyrics, and the people who have recorded it, is anything but linear.

Jeff Buckley, more than any artist I’ve heard do this song, captures the purity and underlying melancholy present within it. Cohen’s versions are sort of plodding and funky (and great, don’t get me wrong), but Buckley makes fully transparent any clandestine grief that Cohen may or may not have intended. In short, it’s just gorgeous.

There isn’t as much to say about “Corpus Christi Carol.” It is as beautifully sung as by any professional countertenor, albeit probably not as polished. Buckley’s own accompaniment on guitar is almost harp-like. His diction and phrasing are, in a word, lovely. I think Benjamin Britten would have approved of it, to say the very least.

As with all of the albums that have made my life-changing list, I listened to it religiously. It became a soundtrack for the summer prior to my junior year of high school, a time I look on with extreme fondness. Whenever I listen to it, it summons thoughts of good friends, love, and warm weather. But, as is to be expected when one listens to an album as frequently as I did Grace, I got pretty sick of it. Sure, I’ve listened to it and rediscovered it countless times since that summer, but I often have to take a step back and abandon it for long periods.

Last night, I had the urge to listen to listen to Grace. And the more I listened to it, the more I wanted to listen. This morning, I woke up singing its songs. For the first time in a while, I can truly appreciate its greatness, and I can comfortably remember who I was and what I was doing when I first discovered it. I have heard people call it “overrated,” and countless people have asked me, “Isn’t that the guy that all the college chicks cream themselves over?” College chicks may quiver with delight over Jeff Buckley, and it may be a critic’s darling, but to me, it is immeasurably more than all that. Years ago, I fell deeply in love with it, and that love has matured, evolved, and will likely last forever.

Hey guys. Fill this out if you want:


( Tell me about yourself. )

I had the most fascinating dream this morning, between 5 and 6 am:
I decided to drive down to the Connecticut shore early one weekend morning. Jack was still asleep, and I felt like having an adventure (this is not something that I would ever dream of doing, what with my crippling fear of highway driving and getting lost and all). I arrived in a small town of which I didn't know the name. The town center was sort of a triangle, and each corner was a place of worship for all three different Abrahamic religions (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam). For some reason, the Christian church was of the Mormon persuasion. Faced with a feeling of compulsion to enter one of the three buildings, I decided to go into the synagogue.

The rabbi (who was really more of an amorphous religious figure, since I've never actually attended a Jewish service) stood in front of a wall that was entirely made of clear glass, out of which the sun came streaming, and I could see this field over which a sunlit mist hovered. The opposite wall, which was also glass, looked out over the bay, where sailboats floated leisurely. It was so beautiful that, for a moment, I felt convinced that I'd come here for a service on every sabbath, just to gaze on the beauty of the place.

The people were intensely welcoming. They allowed me into their community instantly. One woman in particular, when my interest in the service waned, took me outside to iron and glue a poster/quilt thing. Many of them warned me, however, that you couldn't belong to this particular synagogue without paying a membership fee, and that I wasn't supposed to even be in attendance that morning. For some reason, they all chose to cover for me. They even allowed me to stay for breakfast, which was an absolutely lavish buffet of fruit and pastries, and every conceivable kind of juice.

While eating, I began to worry, because I hadn't told Jack where I was going. I suddenly felt an intense need to go home. The woman who did the arts and crafts with me sensed this, and simply said, "I hope you had a great time. Goodbye!" And with that, I woke up.

It was very vivid. Yesterday I just about killed myself studying for an incredibly hard test (which I don't think I did very well on), and my brain was exhausted (I had been studying all day Sunday, and much of the day Saturday as well). I wonder if this was a response to that.
Had anyone had any good dreams lately?

I know that some of you love Nine Inch Nails, and I know of at least one fellow WKUK fan (Hi, Leah!), so I thought I'd share this hilarious video from this week's episode. It's not so much a slam on Trent, I think, as it is on Sublime! I love you, Trent, and I know this isn't how your albums came about. Still, Enjoy.

Jack just informed me that his parents want us to travel to Corpus Christi, Texas for Christmas. They'd be springing for the tickets, and a condo to stay in. We'd go to the beach and enjoy the warm weather, a concept utterly foreign to me in the depths of winter.

My brother is moving to Colorado in two weeks, and he'll be staying there for the winter. Very few siblings of mine will be present at my dad's, and if I were to go, my mom would be all alone, probably for the first time, on Christmas morning.

I know that his parents would very much like for me to go, and, although they know it's a familial obligation for me to remain here, I don't know if they understand how I can pass up tropical weather and free lodging in the dead of winter. It's understandable; their offer is tremendously generous, and I'm flattered that they want me to meet Jack's grandmother so much. Still, I don't know if my heart can handle abandoning my family on an already somewhat barren and transitional Christmas. Aside from that, my soul aches a little at the thought of a hot Christmas.

I will miss the annual Christmas concerts to which I desperately look forward, my aunt Chrissie's annual Christmas Eve party (of which I've skipped only a few in 23 years), my grandmother's lasagna (which I was resigned to eating in spite of its wealth of refined carbohydrates), and my father's raucous holiday dinner. I will miss the potential for snow, and if none should come, I'll miss the drizzles and the complaints.

If this trip were offered to me under nearly any other circumstances, I'd be elated. As it stands, I feel as if I have to choose between my boyfriend and my family. Any ideas as to what I should do?

I woke up this morning with a fever, so I decided to take election day off. I've been watching CNN (and, occasionally, Fox, for laughs) for most of the morning. Right now I'm watching Sarah Palin discuss her hopes and dreams for the election after casting her vote. Let's hope they don't come true.

I must say, I am hugely glad these campaigns are coming to an end.

I had an awesome lunch. I made myself an egg white omelet with sliced cajun turkey. The whole omelet was less than 100 calories. I also had some greek yogurt, and an apple. I wish I could eat like that at school. It would be awesome.

Well, that's about it, I guess. I'm feeling a little better, and I'm having a relaxing day.

So, ever since I started back at school, I've had a problem finding nutritious/filling things to pack for lunch. There are a few factors that make it hard: a) I have no way to keep anything cool. I'd like to avoid carrying a cooler/lunchbag around with me all day, since I already have an incredibly heavy load. b) I don't particularly want to eat peanut butter or nuts of any kind, because they have a ton of calories and quite a bit of fat. They'd be good for a small snack, but won't leave me sated. c) I'm sick of fruit, salad, and eating nothing.

Today, I brought an apple and some Trader Joe's beef jerky. My boss, wonderful lady that she is, brought me some green beans to munch on. That seems to have worked out pretty well. Beef jerky is surprisingly healthy, in that it's extremely lean and full of protein. It has a little more sugar than I'm comfortable with, and a ton of salt, but oh well. The only other draw back is that it's expensive, and I don't know if I can afford to keep buying it in bulk.

So this is the part where I ask that you give me your ideas, if you happen to have any. I'd sure appreciate it.

(By the way, I hit my goal weight, after much difficultly losing those extra two pounds. I'm psyched.)

I have my first power point presentation ever in about two hours, and I'm rather nervous. I did the entire project for a class group with very little help. I'm so sick of doing other people's work for them.

I received an email today that read: 
               

It is important that all students are aware of the University-   wide class cancellations on Thursday, 30th October, 2008. E-mails have already been sent by the President.

 

The email appeared to have been sent from the Vice President, but I was suspicious. I didn't receive an email from the President, and the email itself reads like some nineteen year old wrote it in the hopes that it would sound authentic. I, mere moments later, heard a few professors complaining about a hoax email. It was then that the small glimmer of hope that had been lit inside of me flickered out.

Why can't things like that ever be real??

One note of awesomeness: I am going to see the Daily Show live tomorrow!

Edit: I just read an announcement on the website regarding the email which said, "Classes will run as scheduled on 10/30. The email regarding class cancellations is totally bogus."

I didn't realize that Bill and Ted were responsible for web announcements.

Jack and I went to a Halloween party at our neighbor's place last night. We went out a few hours before and bought a couple of things to complete costumes that were mostly comprised of items we already had, and had a blast hanging around in a few of those shady "Halloween" stores.

We don't know our neighbor all that well, but he lives in the house directly next to our apartment, and often hangs around the store located below us. He's incredibly friendly, and he's invited us to several parties in the past, but we've turned him down for fear that it would be awkward hanging around with a bunch of middle aged people we didn't know. We didn't want to snub him again, however, so we decided to accept this particular invitation.

We were right. It was indeed incredibly awkward hanging around with a bunch of costume-clad (and rather eccentric) adults. One guy talked our ear off about the work he does for Pratt & Whitney, and another gave me some advice regarding my teaching career. He mentioned that he was a retired teacher, and when I asked what subject he taught, he replied, "Sex and Manners," and wiggled his eyebrows up and down suggestively. I'm still not sure if he was serious or not. Still, they were a nice bunch, as I have an appreciation and feel an affinity for weirdos.

Our neighbor and his son gave out awards for the best costumes, and with each award, Jack and I mutually prayed that we wouldn't be the winners. Thankfully, our costumes weren't all that impressive. When all the awards had been given out, the son announced that he had a "bonus prize" to award. He asked his girlfriend to stand up, gave a speech about how they'd been together for four years, and how college has tested their love, and got down on one knee and proposed. The room went wild. Shortly thereafter, we decided to go home and watch a horror film.

Before getting undressed, we documented the first Halloween costumes that we've donned in two years (we were Vampires, if that's not obvious). 

I wasn't able to post the pictures of our costumes here, but you can view this same entry + pictures here.

Jack and I stayed at his parent's place over the weekend because they were out of town. Trooper, their german shepherd, can't stay at kennels because he's aggressive towards other animals and because he has abandonment issues, so we stay over to keep him company. He's (literally) a big sweetie.

The rest of the day on Friday was pretty horrible. There are some tensions at work that I won't get into, and I splattered bleach solution all over one of my favorite shirts. Finally, one of our girls got her first period, and we, miraculously, had no pads. 

Now, I have personally purchased several bags of sanitary pads with my own money. Where they went, I haven't a clue. This poor girl, who is developmentally delayed and, despite being fourteen, has the maturity of a six-year-old, had to sit on the toilet for nearly an hour while we scrambled to find something for her to use. Finally, my boss had to call her foster mother and ask her to come and bring something. The poor thing handled it very well, but it reflected badly on us. I stayed and talked with her while the others were madly searching and all this, on top of my mortifying failed quiz, made me desperately want to go home.

Well, home I went. I always like being able to give my mother a hug when I've had a bad day, so that was nice.

On Saturday, I was nearly successful in forgetting Friday had ever happened. Jack and I had a nice breakfast with Jimmy, went to see W. (which was highly mediocre, as expected) with Norm, and then made ourselves some grilled (and lean) steak sandwiches with sprouted grain bread for dinner.

On Sunday, we climbed Haystack Mountain with Jimmy. Being in tip-top shape, Jimmy sprinted to the top, leaving me to trail behind, heaving and wheezing. He kept calling for me as though I were lost, even if I was right behind him, which only made me laugh and struggle to breath all the more. I have so many fond memories of climbing up there as a kid with my dad and siblings, and the view from up there is pretty stunning. It was worth the wheezing, I think.

On the way down, Jimmy grabbed me, slung me over his shoulder, and sprinted down the mountain. It was one of the scarier moments of my life. It's sort of funny to think that at one time in our lives I could kick his ass with ease.

After that, Jack and I went to Passiflora where we had delicious sandwiches on whole grain bread with some seriously awesome oolong tea. After eating, we gathered our crap and went back to Farmington, where I stewed some 99 percent lean turkey meatballs in a red sauce.

That was long. I guess a lot of stuff happened this weekend.

So far, only a total of six girls have come to the program, and never at the same time.
I always sort of enjoy dealing with fewer kids at once because we're able to give them more one on one attention (which they all desperately need). The foundation from which we receive our grant, however, doesn't feel the same way. We're expected to serve (I think) 75 kids total, from all four schools, and we topped out at about 30 last year.

We've always been sort of the black sheep within our after school program cluster.Most of them have disappointing numbers, too, but not quite so disappointing as ours. This is partly because our program, by definition, cannot appeal to every demographic. It's an all-girls program, we expose them to sensitive issues with which some parents are not comfortable, and we fulfill the requirement stipulated in our contract that we must supplement all academic subjects by giving lessons on each one at least once throughout the week. Needless to say, we barely have the time to accomplish all of these goals, let alone enrich the program with things like "fun." I'm sorry, but the promise of help with academics and sex ed does not appeal to these girls. We are left with few things to entice them.

Many of the other programs do not even attempt to accomplish all that we do. But the foundation looks at the numbers, and the other programs see us in a poor light.

Anyway, I hope we get more girls soon. I'd like to feel proud when we go to those cluster trainings or meetings rather than like a pariah.

I'm writing in the hopes that I'll wake up a little.

Fluorescent lights on an overcast day hurt my eyes and make me feel sleepy. This must stem back to those rainy days in elementary school spent baking under a fluorescent glow for six straight hours. 

For lunch, I have a very small amount of peanut butter spread on Ezekiel bread. I'm told you're not supposed to mix carbs and fats while attempting to lose weight, but I have no way to keep anything cool, and I am absolutely sick to death of bringing an apple and banana for lunch. I really need to eat more protein and fewer carbs. I wish my daily schedule made this goal easier to achieve.  

I'm sort of excited for the holidays. I look forward to the music, the gift-giving, and I'm dreading the food. I plan to eat as I normally would on the Thanksgiving and Christmas, but on the surrounding days I'll stick strictly to the diet. Decisions, decisions.

I suppose I feel marginally more alert. I want to be at my best for the first day of the after school program. I can't believe this is my third year working there. I'll have to update on how it goes.

Someone just emailed me on okcupid and told me that I look like Meryl Streep. While (I guess) she's attractive in an unusual way, I wouldn't really want to look like her. She's what I'd term a "handsome woman." I mean, I know I have strong features, but sheesh. Bleh. I'll be agonizing over that one for a day or so.

Anyway, I had a pretty cool weekend. On Friday evening, Dad decided he wanted to read aloud from Richard III, so we sat around the table and he read in funny voices. I kept getting distracted by my copy's footnotes, which Dad didn't like much. Also, I was overly fascinated by the differences in Dad's text and mine. His is a rather old Cambridge Complete Works, and mine is a Norton collection (based on the Oxford). His had no footnotes, and barely even introduced the plays. Anyway, he kept insisting that his was more accurate, or that mine had been "modernized." I maintain that he's mistaken.

I also spent much of Saturday with him, since we both wanted to check out the Riverton Fair. It's such a quaint little affair. When I was a kid, I used to look forward to it all year. Now, it often passes before I even think of going. I never realized how small it is. Still, I have extremely fond memories of it, and I still really enjoy it. Dad and I watched some of the rides and talked about how unsafe they looked, looked at the animals, sniffed the fried food, and left.

For dinner, we had mussels, he had fries, and I had beans. Jimmy came by, and Dad roped him into reading Richard III with us. Jimmy wasn't terribly interested in this project, so he devised some absolutely hilarious voices for the characters he was asked to portray. He had me cracking up for nearly an half hour. He has a flair for the dramatic, though I was always thought to be the family actress. I'll tell you something: he's much, much funnier than I am.

On a completely random note, in light of Paul Newman's recent passing, I'd like to take this opportunity to say that he was extremely, extremely hot (not to mention talented and philanthropic and what have you, but seriously).

The after school program starts tomorrow. I'm both excited and a little nervous. I hope this year is a little easier and more organized than was last year.

Woah, excellent question! 

I think that, with the help of The Beatles and their willingness to experiment, pop music has abandoned its center and has instead sprouted multiple foci. Before The Beatles, pop music was largely comprised of rockabilly, gospel and jazz influenced rock (which would later be known as "soul"), and Elvis, who was a manifested combination thereof.

The Beatles were not only innovative, they were willing to draw upon the influences of fellow innovators. The White Album is a great example of this in that, on it, The Beatles drew from styles either created or popularized by several of their contemporaries. This willingness to integrate different styles, as well as an impeccable skill in writing catchy, widely appealing songs made them the focal point of pop music in the 60s.

It would be difficult (although not at all impossible) to find a band today that doesn't list The Beatles in their collection of influences. I think, from them, like the branches of a tree, sprout hundreds, possibly thousands of different kinds of pop music. This wide variation makes it impossible to specify a center in today's musical climate. I think, even if one were to try, it would be impossible to integrate all these types of music into one, Beatles-like juggernaut, because the range of genres is so expansive.

In a big way, I think we have The Beatles to thank for much of the music we enjoy and are inspired to make. Even if you don't personally enjoy them, I think it would be hard to deny that they have opened a world of musical possibilities that might otherwise have not been available to us.

I skipped my Shakespeare class for the second time this week, partly because I was still feeling a little sick, partly because I had a huge paper looming over my head, and partly because I felt like going home.

I feel badly for skipping twice. I know it won't make much of a difference to my grade or to my understanding of the material, but I like my professor, and I know that he looks on poor class attendance as a slight, or a comment on the quality of his class. I was legitimately sick on Monday, but today, I really looked forward to finishing my paper while watching political coverage on TV. It's not like I make this sort of thing a habit, but I still feel guilty.

There, I confessed it.

I came home and had some greek yogurt. I didn't like greek yogurt at first, but it has grown on me tremendously. It's actually a little better for you than regular yogurt, so that's cool.

Fox News is hilarious.

I wonder if I were to dress up in some Playboy bunny costume and go trick-or-treating if I could seduce my way to not seeming like a creepy 23 year old. I totally miss trick-or-treating. I suppose the most recent Halloween nights that I've spent in, watching a horror movie have grown on me over the years.

Okay, I'm going to stop now.

I had a pretty cool weekend.

I had a gynecologist appointment on Friday, which meant that instead of going to work, I took a nice long drive under an overcast sky and through the newly fallen leaves. This fall weather and some good music made for an incredibly pleasant (if slightly long and expensive) drive from Farmington to Torrington. I found the new office with no trouble, and discovered that both the location and the building are quite inviting.

I waited a while for the exam to begin. When she came, she immediately started pushing the HPV vaccine. I've been thinking about getting vaccinated for a while now, but I'm poor and it hasn't been a priority. The clock is slowly ticking, though, so I've begun to think more seriously about it. When I mentioned it to my mother later, she gasped in horror and asked why I would ever do such a thing. She said she's heard "horror stories" about the vaccine. I asked what she had heard, and she responded with, "I don't remember, I just know it's bad." I have a feeling that Rob and his mistrust for vaccines has something to do with it.

I had a pleasant dinner with dad, at which there were a couple of surprises. I got my shot, was up a little with a fever, and fell asleep.

In the morning, Jack and I left for Vermont. The drive up was really gorgeous, although I had to fight the urge to sleep for most of the trip. We arrived, had an awesome time wandering aimlessly around Burlington and the surrounding area, and had a wonderful time catching up with Holly.

I ate two delicious samosas, which was a huge, huge treat because I haven't eaten anything even remotely fried in months. I wanted to let loose from the diet for a while, as I've been getting kind of exhausted with being as strict as I have been. Besides, I've hit a plateau with my goal weight only two pounds away, and I am incredibly, unbelievably frustrated. I haven't lost any weight in over a month despite my best efforts, and sometime last week I broke down and then gave up. I haven't given up on my change in diet, and I have kicked exercise up a notch, but I have given up on weighing myself everyday. I can't deal with the daily disappointment, the failure to meet my goals. Anyway, I mostly disregarded my diet on Saturday. I had two samosas, a delicious stir fry with white rice, brownies (all of which Holly made), some Ben and Jerry's, and almost an entire bottle of wine. Given that I haven't eaten anything that could be construed by anyone as unhealthy in many months, and have been carefully monitoring my calories, carbs, protein and fat intake for what seems like an eternity, I splurged. It felt great, and I have no desire to do so again anytime soon. /rant

Dinner, which I already mentioned, was delicious. Holly invited her friend Toby for dinner, and he was totally awesome. We all watched Myth Busters, and then SNL. I got fairly drunk, apparently hid it very well, and had an awesome time.

The drive home felt long because I was incredibly tired. We had a somewhat harrowing experience when we decided to wait until White River Junction to stop for gas and discovered there was no where to stop for at least 9 miles. We had been driving for about 20 miles with the gas light on, so this was a little scary. We got off the highway, followed the signs pointing towards gas, drove and drove, and started to freak out a little when we realized we were in the middle of nowhere. We stopped at a shady looking gas station only to discover that is was closed. We began to panic. We drove about 5 or 6 more miles until we finally found the center of town where there was some gas.

When we got home, we went to Trader Joe's to pick up some essentials. It was very crowded, and I was totally grouchy. We finally got home, I took a shower, and spent some quality time shirking my homework and catching up on the internet.

Now, unfortunately, I've caught a cold, so that sucks. I stayed home today in the hopes that it will not get any worse, because I have a shit load of stuff to do this week.

Wow, that was really long. Thanks to Holly for hosting us, and for showing us such a great time in VT. It was so wonderful to see her and to spend some quality time with her.

My boss is out of the office today for Rosh Hashanna, so I've been answering her phone and taking messages. This guy just called and asked for the other advisor here, who only works Wednesdays, and he horribly butchered her name even though he's spoken to her several times. (She has a difficult last name to pronounce, but her first name is "Lauren," which he pronounced "Lawreen.")

He said he's been trying to get into the elementary education program, but that his GPA was too low. My boss told him to request an appeal, which, with a well-written letter and some further letters of recommendation, will usually get you admitted. He didn't know what to call the appeal, though, since his name for it was something like "that thing, you know, where you try to get in even though you didn't before." I told him about Rosh Hashanna, but that I would email Lauren to ler her know that he had some questions about the appeal.

The exchange after that went as follows:

Jerk: Yeah, make sure you have Lawren call me, dude, because Marilyn was really rude to me. I'd like to have Lawren call me.
 
Elena: ...

Jerk: Hello?

Elena: Sorry...it's just...Marilyn is a really nice lady. But I'll be sure to have Lauren contact you.

Jerk: Yeah, I dunno, she was a bitch to me.

Elena: ...Okay, no problem. I'll have Lauren call you.

Jerk: Aw man what holiday is it?

Elena: Rosh Hashanna, like I said.

Jerk: What's that?

Elena: It's a Jewish holiday.

Jerk: Oh, well that explains it. Anyway, my brain is fried, I just got outta work, dude. Make sure they get back to me.

Elena: Yeaaahhh...

My boss is like, the most wonderful person ever. How she could ever have been thought of as "rude" seems like an impossibility. Also, what the hell with this guy calling someone named "Lauren," "Lawren/ Lawreen?"

Wow.

 I need some opinions.

I want to submit some of my poetry to my college's literary magazine. Unfortunately, the two best poems I've written lately are, well, controversial? I mean, not by serious standards, but probably by this magazine's standards. One is about hot sex, and the other is about Pentecostalism. Sex and religion FTW.

Should I submit one or both of them? Should I hold off until I produce something a little better fit for CCSU consumption? 


Edit: I forgot to mention that the sexy poem proposes some rather...antifeminist sentiments about men and penetration. It's also very pro heterosexual sex. Could that be construed as tacitly anti gay sex? It could also possibly paint me as a huge slut? The Pentecostal poem is highly critical of the practice of glossolalia (or speaking in tongues) which won't upset the academics, but could have the school Bible groups upset. I mean, I've upset Christians before, but never, you know, hordes of them. Help!