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| September 2002
August 30, 2002
Litza told me that "questa sedia solo per me" (see picture number 2 of Edith, below) means "this chair just for me." Also, that's a lollipop in her hand in picture 1 (inscription: "my house," but you probably figured that one out). The sucker has been mostly licked, but does not appear to have been bitten. Anyway, a lollipop makes more sense than a french fry or a piece of straw (two other hypotheses).
Steve is on the cover of the Pittsburgh City Paper this week. He's moving to New York on Saturday, but his visage will remain in the Pittsburgh area until next Thursday. It will be seen on bar counters and café tables, school desks and sidewalks, discarded without thought. It will quietly haunt those who are sad he no longer lives among them.
Anyway, how strange it must be to be on the cover of a publication. People on covers are the norm for so many publications, but I rarely think about how the person on the cover feels about being on the cover. It means much more to them, probably, than it does to everyone else. Unless they are on covers all the time and are accustomed to that sort of not-quite-famous thing. I wonder, were I on the cover of something, whether I would start looking more familiar to people (in a "have we met before?" sense), or whether the separation between a cover with an unknown girl on it and real life would be great enough to remain anonymous.
August 25, 2002
How I Spent My Saturday, By Beth
Chrissie and I left early to visit Becca
in Baltimore. I am jealous of Becca's downtown apartment,
particularly of the three tall windows in her living room
area. The visit made me pine for the sort of comfortable domesticity
she seems to be sharing with her boyfriend George. But I'm
split regarding whether cohabitating is a good idea for me.
I have at least six months to figure that out, but having
a long time to think about something doesn't necessarily help
We went to a junk sale a few blocks from
Becca's place. Most of the things there truly were junk, but
I bought two photographs of someone named Edith. I can't translate
the writing on the second one. There are no dates, but I think
the photos were taken some time between 1938 and 1944. I wouldn't
be surprised if they were slightly older or newer, though.
After perusing the junk, we went to Cafe
Hon, which was cute and friendly and served tasty food.
Then we did some thrift shopping, and then I watched a video
of Becca's television debut on a Beloit public access show
from 2000 (I think), hosted by a
guy who is really into Deloreans.
Chrissie drove us back to Media and I
went to dinner with my parents. Then I tried to drive back
to my apartment, but there was an accident on a road right
near my abode. It's a twisty road and it was wet at the time,
and people regularly do twice the 25 mph speed limit there,
and accidents happen sometimes. I'm okay with that. But I
really had to pee. I waited awhile. I called my parents to
ask if they knew an alternate route to my apartment (I should
have figured one out by now, but I'm a dork), but no one was
answering any phones.
I sat and switched among radio stations
impatiently. I watched cars turn around on the road and emergency
vehicles drive by on the wrong side of the street. Ten or
so minutes later, Mom called me back to tell me her own pee
story: she had set off the alarm on my dad's car when she
went to pee at a bookstore. Dad was returning movies and was
taking awhile. Mom didn't know how to turn off the alarm,
and Dad was in the movie store unaware; a crowd gathered and
Mom had to find Dad to fix the situation. I told her, "I
don't care, tell me if you know how to get to my apartment
or I'm driving to work to pee." She didn't know. Dad
So I drove the twenty minutes to work
and tried to think about other things. Work was dark and kind
of creepy, but I peed there and it was good. When I got back
into my car post-piss, the phone was ringing. It was Dad.
The road with the accident was closed in both directions,
he told me, because of the accident and because it was flooded.
So, since 10:30 p.m. is not the best time to try to figure
out new routes to places, I drove to my parents' house and
slept rather restlessly in my old bed. I dreamt about a talent
August 12, 2002
I spent a longish weekend at the beach
with my folks in Ocean City, NJ. In between playing a very
long game of miniature golf, walking a lot, getting knocked
down by waves a few times, admiring humanity on the boardwalk
in all its unabashed cellulite-ridden glory, getting ice cream
all over myself, and drinking a lot of lemonade, I read. Mostly,
I read newspapers. I also read my free monthly copy of Jane
magazine. And I continued to reread Please Kill
Me, which has been my standby book for a number of months
I really like the New York Times. I
learned a lot this weekend. I think, too, that when I read
things on paper, they stick better than when I read them on
a screen. Normally I would not have remembered that the country
whose leader is renaming a month after himself is called Turkmenistan.
Normally, in a conversation about something that would lead
me to reveal this strange tidbit, I would say, "I read
this story about some country in the Far East, or maybe it
was like the Middle East," and then I would try inarticulately
to remember the details of the story and ultimately feel foolish
for mentioning it, because this is just how poor my memory
retention is. Anyway, this
is the story.
Things I could talk about now, but lack
the energy to explore at the moment:
- A fascination with the fact that people of all shapes
feel perfectly comfortable wearing so little clothes in
the boardwalk setting
- The memory retention issue and whether the internet is
to blame, or whether I am just getting stupider as I age
- The possibility of attempting to become a vegetarian (I
think, if anything, I'll just become a sort-of vegetarian)
- Life plans and how I should start making some
- How, when reading about just how bad it is for people
in some countries, it makes me think, "I have no reason
to complain about anything, ever," but how, ultimately,
I don't really believe that. Everyone's individual problems,
even when compared to the outrageous injustices throughout
the world, should be taken seriously, if only because each
person is as intrinsically valuable as the next. Many of
us may not be trying to live in a three-room apartment in
Algiers with twenty-four other people with no running water,
but everyone has his or her own private tragedies, and they
affect us as deeply as any other. And besides, our conflicts
(and how we respond to them) sort of define us. They keep
the plots of our lives skidding along. But perhaps only
someone who has never known constant discomfort and pain
would say such things about problems, right? Ergh. I'm not
being very clear about this, but it doesn't matter.
August 07, 2002
[today was an uncharacteristically huge bore...]
Today was an uncharacteristically huge bore. But the week hasn't been terrible. Monday I cut out early to go to a baseball game with Dad. Sunday I spent at Knoebel's, an amusement park that reminds me of a European amusement park but also makes me think of 1960s America (because I was alive then, right, so I would know). It's a really nice park, though.
I've been twisting my hair a lot lately, which is something I do when I'm anxious. So I'm anxious, I guess. It's annoying, not being able to pinpoint the anxiety. Maybe I just need to think harder. I mean, I can think of all the things I'm not completely happy about in Life, but they just add up to a bunch of little things. It's almost like, I haven't had a lot of time to reflect lately, and it's thrown me off, because I'm used to having way too much time to reflect. So I'm out of touch with me. (As a result, I write crappy, boring updates.)
Tomorrow I am going to visit Greg (who just received an offer for a new job, finally) and we are going to see Laser Britney and Christina at the Public Museum. I have never been to a laser light show of any sort, so I expect to be thrilled.
I took a lot of personality quizzes today, because I had so much to do at work, but I just couldn't keep myself from learning about what flavor I am. Not really. I'm mocha, though. I'm also a movie star, and my "celebrity style" is Casual, similar to that of Meg Ryan, Sandra Bullock, and someone else.