Monday, February 15, 2010
of the goddamn snow. Growing up as a little kid, that’s something I never thought I would say. D.C. winters are notoriously cold and rainy. Almost every time a system comes in from the west, the air temperature happens to be around 40 degrees. Or, should air actually be cold enough for snow, most of it breaks up over the Appalachian mountains. In general precious snow days were few and far between, and each one was cherished. Of course, now that it is snowing a lot I’m in college where they would think twice about cancelling class for a terrorist attack much less a little frozen precip in the face or blindness from platinum white snow sheets reflecting every source of light in town.
As you know I now reside on the other side of the mountains, yet paradoxically it’s been my homeland that’s been getting the vast majority of the snow. Last I heard Rockville was in 30+ inches (that’s a lot, for you metric-folk). And naturally this snow should hit (again and again and again) when I need my mother to do her taxes so I can fill out my FAFSA at a reasonable time of year. Kind of difficult to get to where she needs to go to do that when there’s three feet of snow on the streets. I imagine it’s also pretty hard for her to make any money or keep any sanity with the government, her employer, closing up shop day after day. Cultural attitudes tell me that snow is fun, innocent, romantic, and carefree. Hah.
Saturday night Nick and I saw a free play put on by the school of theater here. These plays are typically hit or miss, but atypically it was not snowing on Saturday. The play, “Proof”, is about an aged mathematical genius with Alzheimer’s being taken care of by his almost-as-intelligent daughter in Chicago and her not-as-intelligent sister trying to distance herself in fabulous New York. Because wasting away like that is Nick’s greatest fear, and I watched that happen to my grandmother for six years (and counting) it hit the both of us pretty hard. To be honest though, the thing that stuck out most in my mind about “Proof” was the cool summer nights they described. Fairly warm, pretty humid, the occasional blast of cool air reminding you fall is on the way. Cicadas in the distance, in the treetops; an orange sun slipping giving way to that navy blue/deep purple sky with the occasional star or satellite. Sitting on the porch with a glass of lemon iced tea, and being content, maybe even happy, with everything.
Monday, February 8, 2010
So yet again I’ve been out of it for a week or so. Of course I’m only talking about an internet presence; I’ve been fully conscious for the past week; my life has been very dry, very non-psychoactive as of late. A friendly reminder that I don’t actually have a drug problem is always nice, but then again so are drugs, especially during times like these. I thought that after I spent an unusually warm Tuesday night wandering around the pitch-black golf course (yes, Ohio University has a golf course, no I can’t tell you why) sobbing uncontrollably I would be good for a while. And I was, at least for a little while, but I can already feel those emotions slithering their way back in me. I finally got an appointment scheduled for Friday, though. With a permanent counselor, provided the one they gave me is someone I can work with (probably not).
Did you know it’s possible to get pre-evicted? The lease I had signed for a house next year required us to make some payments before we moved in this June. For myself and one roommate, let’s cal her Holly, our first payment was due March 1st. She paid ahead of time, I didn’t. For our third roommate, let’s call him Derek, his first was due February 1st because that’s just the deal he worked out. February 1st came and went without him paying our landlady, and she tried to call him but he didn’t pick up. The next day he wrote her a check and dropped it off at what he thought was her house but was actually her neighbor’s house. In the meantime, our landlady flipped shit and cancelled the lease because she didn’t get any word from Derek. In a way I lucked out because I had no idea where my payment of $650 was going to come from, and I get my $300 deposit back at a time when I could really use some money. However, the landlady violated the terms of the lease in cancelling it so abruptly, so for our vindictive friend Derek and those caught in tow this isn’t over. Also, where the fuck am I living next year?
Around the same time, through a good friend of mine and his intensely annoying sort-of girlfriend/boob support system/free ativan supply, I met this freshman. We can call him John. John is a bit shorter than me, a physics and math major (gah), and in the closet. At least to his rich, white, tax-evading suburban parents. I used his lap as a pillow while I was trying not to fall asleep during Little Nicky. Does the Devil’s white son remind anyone else of David Bowie? I get told incessantly by another friend that we’d “be really cute together” (John and I, not satanic David Bowie and I) but honestly I’m not that attracted to him, even though he seems to rather like me. Attracting the not-attractive is a pretty well-defined pattern in my life, whether it be guys that message me online without realizing we’ve met before, or 15 year olds with road rage and drug problems. I’d chide him for not being out to his parents, but then I remember only half of my parental unit has seen the light.
You know things are bad when I’m using Lady Gaga lyrics as post titles (Move Over Mr. L).
Listen to Gaga and Elton at the Grammys if you haven’t already. Personally I couldn’t handle the fabulousness.
Mass Effect 2 is a lot of fun, although resource mining is a lot more boring than it was in the first game. However, listening to Gaga while scanning planets for element zero makes it a little better.
Tell your friends about The Gagalicious Tome of Gagammunism