The French writer Stendhal wasn't famous when he was alive, but he sure looked forward to being it when he was dead. He said that he would look forward to "the souls that [he loves]" reading his works after 1900, when he would surely be dead. I think. Anyway, regardless of how accurate that is, I wrote on my paper: "et moi, en 2000." My brain's not quite right right now. But that's funny, isn't it? One of the little things that amuses me for no particular reason and to no particular end is the fact that 2000 just isn't important anymore!
Unfortunately, y2k.gov is gone. It was hilarious when it was still there: your tax dollars at work. For 2000. For forever. For history.
Not. That didn't happen. New topic.
To quote K-Ci and Will Smith: "We're gonna party like it's nineteen-.... HOLD UP, IT IS!" Yet that song still fuckin' lives. I know Ashish hears me. WILL 2K!!! rockin' the dancefloor better than the Clash rocked the casbah or whatever that is. Check that; I can't say that; I've never heard the Clash's "Rock the Casbah." Maybe in passing.
So goes it. So goes it!
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Monday, March 19, 2007
A dream-memory
I was in the process of dreaming a few minutes ago. I got up and was a bit too dehydrated to continue getting up, so I went back to sleep. Usually, when that happens, my body goes through this really powerful sleep cycle where I always feel much better when I wake up and where I always dream. That's what happened today. And I had a very interesting dream.
I was playing in a basketball game and I lost the game when I threw this grape that resembled an orange to a player on the other team who looked like a kid I knew from 8th grade named Bobby Hadden. But not really, now that I think about it--he's just the most similar name to that face. Yes, we lost the game because I gave food to the other team, misunderstanding some rule. So I left with someone who I forget, possibly Ashish, and we went driving through Seoul. Yes, we were in Seoul. We saw a lot of Korean bunnies. They were gray and they were all facing in the same direction, and some of them were shaped like reeds. They looked cute but fierce so we didn't stop to pet them. At some point we had to have stopped driving because I was on my feet when we realized what the bunnies were looking at---a soldier pushing a guy dressed in white into a grave. I said to Ashish (or whoever it was) that this must be an execution. And then I realized that this was not the only execution--this was happening all over the bunny garden.
All over the bunny garden.
And so I walked away from ashish past a couple of new graves and I made the sign of the cross and began to pray because, well, that was what I felt was right to do, and I was thinking that it didn't matter whether I had the faith in my head or not that was connected to the symbol. Then my friend Stanley from Tufts randomly came into the scene and he's like "Hey, Alex."
I gesture him over and I'm like, "Shh. There's an execution going on, I think."
That's the end of the dream.
Am I still in the bunny garden?
I was playing in a basketball game and I lost the game when I threw this grape that resembled an orange to a player on the other team who looked like a kid I knew from 8th grade named Bobby Hadden. But not really, now that I think about it--he's just the most similar name to that face. Yes, we lost the game because I gave food to the other team, misunderstanding some rule. So I left with someone who I forget, possibly Ashish, and we went driving through Seoul. Yes, we were in Seoul. We saw a lot of Korean bunnies. They were gray and they were all facing in the same direction, and some of them were shaped like reeds. They looked cute but fierce so we didn't stop to pet them. At some point we had to have stopped driving because I was on my feet when we realized what the bunnies were looking at---a soldier pushing a guy dressed in white into a grave. I said to Ashish (or whoever it was) that this must be an execution. And then I realized that this was not the only execution--this was happening all over the bunny garden.
All over the bunny garden.
And so I walked away from ashish past a couple of new graves and I made the sign of the cross and began to pray because, well, that was what I felt was right to do, and I was thinking that it didn't matter whether I had the faith in my head or not that was connected to the symbol. Then my friend Stanley from Tufts randomly came into the scene and he's like "Hey, Alex."
I gesture him over and I'm like, "Shh. There's an execution going on, I think."
That's the end of the dream.
Am I still in the bunny garden?
Thursday, March 01, 2007
In memory of...
She's gone. Forever.
Danuta Sava-Wysocka, I think. I really hope I didn't spell her name wrong. But she died at 60 a couple of weeks ago, and I just found out. She was in the Chopin Conservatory of Music, and she taught voice. I remember her so well - all those concerts where she would accompany her singers on the piano, overpedaling, but she was just so charming. I will always remember her smile, and I've never said that phrase before. Not even for my deceased grandmother.
She's gone. Forever.
My grandmother on my dad's side died last year in February. I didn't get to see her final days, but my dad did, and I wonder whether he was traumatized. She had had a stroke after falling in the bathroom, which basically made her unable to do anything. So, she was in the hospital... She refused to eat anything but little pieces of ice cream, and my dad sat there with her, without a word -- a simple, single, comprehensible, communicative, message-sending word -- leaving her lips. This continued until she died, probably from starvation; I don't even remember. God, I even forgot that the one-year anniversary of her death passed. I feel guilty sometimes that we didn't visit her that often after my grandfather, her husband, died. It corresponds with us (or me at least) forgetting about her one-year death anniversary... God, I can't help but feel like I missed out on something.
They're gone. Forever.
And so my childhood is gradually passing away, like strips of wallpaper peeling themselves off the surface, bit by bit. These days I've been feeling more like I'm in the physical state of being an adult now, and I can't explain it, but it is just that way. You know, I didn't think that those monthly piano recitals would ever end. And now, I know there's one part of them that I can never return to... she's gone. When my grandmother died last year, I lost the cubbyhole of my childhood that was Cape Cod. You know, a little dusty in there, but that's where you go to get your stuff to play, your cubbyhole? Cape Cod attacked me with allergies, but before I picked up nihilism my junior year, Cape Cod was the place where I always came to just enjoy life and play, having a real childhood experience, and Grandma and Granddad, I thank you for that. Whenever I return to the Cape, I feel a certain impotence, because I can never have that back.
Which is why I will appreciate every moment with Lola while she's here.
This 90th birthday will be a blast for her, and for me, and whether I'm a kid anymore, I can end this phrase saying that I am coming home.
Danuta Sava-Wysocka, I think. I really hope I didn't spell her name wrong. But she died at 60 a couple of weeks ago, and I just found out. She was in the Chopin Conservatory of Music, and she taught voice. I remember her so well - all those concerts where she would accompany her singers on the piano, overpedaling, but she was just so charming. I will always remember her smile, and I've never said that phrase before. Not even for my deceased grandmother.
She's gone. Forever.
My grandmother on my dad's side died last year in February. I didn't get to see her final days, but my dad did, and I wonder whether he was traumatized. She had had a stroke after falling in the bathroom, which basically made her unable to do anything. So, she was in the hospital... She refused to eat anything but little pieces of ice cream, and my dad sat there with her, without a word -- a simple, single, comprehensible, communicative, message-sending word -- leaving her lips. This continued until she died, probably from starvation; I don't even remember. God, I even forgot that the one-year anniversary of her death passed. I feel guilty sometimes that we didn't visit her that often after my grandfather, her husband, died. It corresponds with us (or me at least) forgetting about her one-year death anniversary... God, I can't help but feel like I missed out on something.
They're gone. Forever.
And so my childhood is gradually passing away, like strips of wallpaper peeling themselves off the surface, bit by bit. These days I've been feeling more like I'm in the physical state of being an adult now, and I can't explain it, but it is just that way. You know, I didn't think that those monthly piano recitals would ever end. And now, I know there's one part of them that I can never return to... she's gone. When my grandmother died last year, I lost the cubbyhole of my childhood that was Cape Cod. You know, a little dusty in there, but that's where you go to get your stuff to play, your cubbyhole? Cape Cod attacked me with allergies, but before I picked up nihilism my junior year, Cape Cod was the place where I always came to just enjoy life and play, having a real childhood experience, and Grandma and Granddad, I thank you for that. Whenever I return to the Cape, I feel a certain impotence, because I can never have that back.
Which is why I will appreciate every moment with Lola while she's here.
This 90th birthday will be a blast for her, and for me, and whether I'm a kid anymore, I can end this phrase saying that I am coming home.
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