Day 2037 - Ramapalooza

So another year is starting, and it feels like I've gotten really old this summer.

I don't really know what else to say.

love always,

jim.

Day 2065 - My Discovery

Being the Box Office Manager is pretty much the same as being the Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher.

Day 2025 - Another Generation Gap

I'm feeling whatever that feeling is again. Not quite nostalgia, but not really close to anything else.

It's a sort of slow movie montage sort of feeling. The movie montage towards the end of the story where you see what all the characters are doing by themselves before the ending brings them all back together. There's always some sort of mellow music playing--Nick Drake or Colin Hay or The Smiths. The fades are really slow. It's the sort of montage that emphasizes the moral of the story I guess. Even though it doesn't use words or significant actions. It's like this:

He's floating on an inner tube in the pool, looking straight up at the clouds while wearing sunglasses. He spins in clockwise circles as the water moves outward in tiny ripples. Not frowning, but not smiling either. He is a floating gargoyle--not in the Gothic sense, but simply in the fact that he is solid--an unmeltable iceberg in the deep-end of the backyard pool.

And she's staring at the ceiling fan, her feet hanging off the end of the bed, the light flickering with each pass of the fan blades. She's holding a pillow in her arms. The one with the green and purple stripes and the frayed tag that tickles her face when she goes to sleep.

The middle aged man is sitting at the breakfast table reading the news paper while a thin cloud of steam rises from above a waffle, and he sips his coffee.

The little boy is riding his bicycle down a street with large trees, because it is always appropriate for little boys to ride their bikes down streets with large trees--especially in Autumn when the montage takes place. He doesn't do wheelies or pedal backwards or bunny hop. He just stands on the pedals and coasts.


It's that sort of feeling.


A sort of stand still--waiting for what will happen next. Eagerly anticipating movement but seeming permanently static. Full of potential energy, like stones mounted at the edge of a cliff waiting for the slightest breeze to send them careening--down, down, down to the valley below.

They are all in that in between sort of time.

Well, so am I. And that description may have made it sound like I'm sad about it, but I don't think I am. I think I'm just somehow in the middle. In the gap between time periods and actions and feelings and everything. On the brink of something new, but also completely engaged with all the things that have passed.

I don't know what that means. Perhaps its too metaphorical.

So, in order to keep some bearing on reality I'll just say--
I am living in a new house, with a new job, and new classes, and new people, new responsibilities, new engagements, new feelings, and a new desk with 4 drawers and one dent in the side.

Love always,
-jim.


Also, provolone cheese is very expensive.

Day 1935 - Dr. Worm

Currently Severe Tire Damage By They Might Be Giants see related

The other night I tried to sing a song. . . and I realized I don't remember the words for any songs.

So I just sang the same chorus over and over.

They call me Dr. Worm.
Good morning, how are you?
I'm Dr. Worm.
I'm interested in things.
I'm not a real doctor,
but I am a real worm.

And I couldn't help but think,
that was the best senior quote ever.


love always,
jim.

My day thus far:

Currently Meiko By Meiko see related

I had the weirdest dream last night.

I was walking along Shields St. to get to my apartment. But it was like a mixture of Shileds and Kipling back home. Basically where the University was supposed to be it was the old Fun Plex.

Somebody kept calling me on my cell phone over and over again and saying they were at Blockbuster, and for some reason I got the feeling that it was someone very important to me. But everytime I tried to respond they just blasted Rihanna through the phone.

This weird cat started following us (there was somebody with me now, but I'm not sure who it was). The cat was brown and it's spinal cord seemed like it was protruding an abnormal amount from its back. Sort of like a dragon or something.

A rabid dragon cat.

So we keep walking, and this rabid cat is following us, and the phone keeps ringing, and I keep answering, Rihanna.

Then we turn around, the cat attacks, my friend is yelling "A snake! A snake!"

Suddenly the cat stops, stands back, and my friend says "Mommy will teach you how to sing."

She begins to move her hands like a conductor, the cat folds his paws in front of him like an opera soprano, the phone rings, and the cat begins to sing along with Rihanna.


--

I wake up and think: I wish I could have talked to whoever was on the phone. And then I start to wonder if the cat was really rabid or not.

I look at the clock. 10:07.

Class starts at 8:00.

Work starts at 10:00.


Three seconds later, my phone rings.

"Hey it's Allison from work."

"Yeah, I'm on my way."

I keep expecting Rihanna to blare through the headset, but it doesn't.


And I think: "Life is much more interesting in a dream."

My major.

Currently Songs for Silverman By Ben Folds see related

Yesterday, I was listening to a professor give a lecture about what he did after he got his English degree. He served coffee at a coffee shop that rarely had any customers, and he read Moby Dick. Eventually, he developed a fascination with the book, and spent 15 straight years (so far) reading it extensively.

Last night, I was listening to This American Life, and they had a story about an English major who became the Jose Cuervo man after he graduated. He had people drink tequilla shots out of a shot glass balanced on his bald head and danced around with free t-shirts sticking out of his speedo. Now he is doing commercials for razor blades. Most of the ads feature him jumping into fountains or being sprayed with fire hoses.

I learned that, after playing Kevin Arnold on The Wonder Years, Fred Savage pursued an English degree from Stanford. After his graduation, he appeared as a womanizing professor on Boy Meets World and a serial rapist on Law and Order: SVU. He played in the World Poker Tour. He then won the award for Worst Director at the 28th Golden Raspberry Awards for his work on Daddy Day Camp. Now he directs kids' shows on Nickelodeon.

Vin Diesel was an English major. Enough said.




Basically, all these things made me wonder:
what have I gotten myself into?

I've always thought that I had some stories to tell--that I hopefully have enough inspiration to make telling stories a career. But I just looked over my past blogs and realized that since last year, I have written around 3. That is 3 times that I was motivated enough to write something. That means that as far as motivation goes, I basically died when summer came around.

So, this is an attempt at a revival. This is me taking those chest shocker thingies and rubbing them together and going all out.


Bzzzzzt!

love always,
jim.