My Life = School

I should be sleeping, but my brain won’t let me. It’s frustrating, because right now is when I need sleep the most.

So, I rode a bike again. It was AWESOME. It was only for about 10 minutes, in circles, in red square, really slowly, but I am still giddy about it, and am trying to build up my legs so I could potentially go on a real bike ride soon! I also have a killer cane now, and can walk quite a bit faster.

I recently applied for a second major in Art History. I don’t really know where I am going with it, but it seems like fun, will keep me in one place for another 6 months or so, and is doable. I actually got the okay from my adviser, when I was convinced she would tell me that it was a silly idea. I am hoping to really tie Film Studies and Art together, and I think with the help from an English Professor into art, and an Art History Professor into film, that it should work out pretty well.

I am currently writing a pretty big essay about Tim Burton and his relationship to German Expressionism. In the essay I end up talking about the Gothic and the sublime, as well as Goya… Which my Professor was actually into, he told me to add some images of paintings, and go a little more in depth. So it’s already working out really well. =D

I recently signed up for classes, and am incredibly excited. I am taking Trash Cinema, Culture and Politics of Desire, and Installation Art. Trash Cinema is about the aesthetics and appeal of cult films (among other things), Culture and Politics of Desire is about Cyber Culture and the visual culture associated with that, and then of course Installation Art is Installation art. I am hoping to do some video work for it. We shall see how that goes.

Anyway, while most of you readers already know all of this stuff, I just thought I would share my excitement, again. Because I am sleepy. And that is what I do.

Obama

I am not going to write much, mainly because I really am not a very political person. I’ve never really had any interest in politics. Most of my life has been during one Bush administration or another, and the last 8 years kind of made me think that there is no point. No point, really, in voting, in caring, in spending any time really thinking about politics, let alone doing anything about it.

Last night, though… Well, I was suprised. I never thought that I would cry when Obama was announced President-Elect. I was excited for the election, yes, I sat on the couch, watching my leg bend in it’s machine, and watching the votes come in. But when it actually happened, when the TV told me that Obama was to be our next president, I couldn’t help myself. My throat got that sore kind of feeling when you are really proud, and when he made his speech, I couldn’t help myself, I cried. It suprised me, a lot.

I didn’t even cry when the twin towers fell. It didn’t seem real, it was too far away, I wasn’t involved. But for some reason, I felt really connected to this. I felt like I did something, we did something. It’s almost like I am proud for our country, for the first time. That I might actually be involved in what happens in the future, and that we might have someone that can change things, and make that future something that I want. Something that I am part of, and interested in.

Can Not Sleep: Journals and Last Summer

I haven’t posted in a long time. I don’t know why. Sometimes I think it will be cool to blog. Then I realize that I don’t really have anything important to say, talking about myself the whole time and assuming the world wants to hear it is pretty egotistical, and people whom I don’t really want to share with read it… But whatever, I can’t sleep. So who cares? Why the hell am I posting this on the internet?

School is over. It’s weird. It’s been a day, and I already don’t know what to do with myself. I feel antsy, and bored, and unproductive (even though I spent all day editing a video. [Might be why I am restless.]). I was browsing through my journal (the one on paper), today, mainly looking at the hand writing. It’s pretty cool to see how it changes. There was one entry that really caught my eye. The hand writing started out all normal, and progressively got more and more crazy, until I could barely read it. The entry itself was really strange, too. It started out with saying that: I am happy now, I have realized where I’ve been going wrong the past year, I am interested in things again, and engage in fun activities. Then I started ranting about PSP boy next to me. Which lead to no hope for humanity. Then, why do I think I am so better than humanity? I am the same shit as them. I am a egocentric, elitist, miserable being.

I must say. It was odd.

But, it made me think about last summer, and the kind of flux I was in. While at times I felt pretty insane, I really enjoyed that feeling of not knowing what was going on, having no idea where I would end up next. Don’t get me wrong, I am incredibly happy right now. I am probably the happiest I’ve been in a long time, my life rocks pretty hard. But, while thinking about last summer, and not being sure if I was going to be in Bellingham very long, I miss it. I feel like I’ve settled for contentment, when I should be out, homeless, exploring the world, or living in NY, or SOMETHING exciting. That’s what youth is for, right? Fucking shit up?

But I do have some excitement. I am enjoying my life a lot right now. Yes, I did kind of settle for Bellingham, but that’s OK. I can’t really afford NY right now. I can still have fun and excitement in Bellingham. And if I want to, I can make myself feel fucked up. Intentionally not sleeping, or eating, or what have you… Maybe thats not the right way to go about it.

I am sick of taking care of myself well, I am sick of being happy and spoiled, fat and placid, secure, stable and sane. I am discontent with being content.

But hey, I’ll be in Japan in a month, that should help me with some of my summer restlessness.

(unrelated to anything important)

I just thought I’d let you know, this quarter fucking rocks. There have been some stressful moments, but over all, it’s kicking ass. I finally have a Japanese class that I don’t dread, I might be getting a job that doesn’t require me to wake up at 5 in the morning on weekends (and is also at a video production house), I am taking film classes all of the time, IT’S SUNNY, my bicycle is fast, I’m getting ready to go to Japan, I am able to be naked more, and more frequently, and I am applying for a really cool job for next year. Also, “Rotting Christ” is an awesome band.

*ROCKS OUT*

Oma

It’s weird how our perception of people changes as we get older. My parents used to be all knowing, strong, and fearless. Now, as my dad and I are both getting older, I can see that he is just as weak as any of us. He doesn’t know everything, I know quite a bit more about some stuff than he does. I never really realized this until I moved out last year. I have been aware of my mothers human-ness for quite a while, probably since they got divorced. Since then I became aware that she wasn’t perfect, that she cried too, that she was just as vulnerable as I was… It’s just a really weird thing to realize. That your parents are just as human as you are. It’s weird when you can see the flaws in someone…

I’ve noticed that this happens with other people, too. Since I have gotten older, and since I have, I don’t know, gotten a false sense of superiority, I have started to judge people a lot more. When I was little (even at the age of 16, to a certain extent), it didn’t matter who the person was, what they dressed like, what they were interested in. We could just play together. We could hang out, there would be conflicts, but nothing was serious, and it would be forgotten within a couple hours. Now, it’s just so very difficult…

This all came up because I was just thinking about going to spend the night at my grandparents house in a couple weeks, and it reminded me of when I was little. When my grandmothers house was a wonderful and mysterious place.

It always smelled like some sort of flower or spice, the rooms were strangely clean, and the beds the most comfortable thing ever, and the toys that I got to play with there were by far better than anything I had at home. She used to read me German fairytales before I went to bed, and I would fall asleep thinking about princesses, knights, and horses. I would wake up really early, and run and get in bed with her and grandpa (when he was home), and we would snuggle in her really big, soft bed. When she got dressed, I would get to go into her HUGE walk-in-closet that seemed to be endless, and I would hide in all of her dresses. Then we’d go downstairs, and she would make me her homemade apple pancakes with powdered sugar on top. Those were the best pancakes in the whole wide world, and I’ve never had anything like them since I was about 12.

I used to think that she was the best cook, ever. Every meal she made was superb, and I would stuff myself to the gills. I was convinced that somehow she was magic, and even though she would make the same food as my parents, it was always better. In some way.

Her back yard was great, too. It seemed so big, since I was used to my 20 square-foot yard back home. There was a creek where we could catch crawdads, a tree swing, and there were salmon berry bushes that we cut a tunnel through, and made a fort. We always did art, too, which was always loads of fun. We’d spend the afternoons in her yard or studio, and she would paint while I drew rainbow horses with crayons. She would also teach me German, the names for things, like crawdads, and other animals, and I would try my best to impress her by speaking in it. I don’t remember any German, now, and I don’t remember the nick-name she gave me…

Now I think of her as a funny, imperfect, older woman. She is amusing, but she has become so much more human. Her food really isn’t very good, it’s mostly cream, and meat, and her house kind of smells like dog. It’s cleaner than my house, yes, but it’s not magic, there is just no one living there. She isn’t all knowing, and infinitely caring. She gets irritated, she has her own interests, she doesn’t know everything, and can be kind of passive aggressive. Mind you, though, she is not ignorant, (although grandpa might be, sometimes), she is one spunky old lady. She could kick anyones ass, in German, nonetheless.

The City at Night

I love walking, or biking, or driving, through a city at night. It doesn’t even have to be a big city, Bellingham works well enough. Tonight I was walking back home from school, and I realized how much I really enjoy it. I was thinking about it, and while I enjoy walks in general at night, through the city is fantastic. Walks through the woods or neighborhoods are also cool, but they just don’t do the same thing for me.

I love how everything dark, but lit up with street lights. The mood is entirely different, during the day everyone is running errands, or working. In the night, people are just kind of hanging out, or asleep. Now that I think about it, I really like all of the different times of night, too. But, for different reasons.

In the late evening, say, 7-10, the streets are still busy, but everyone is in a good mood. The bums are all out doin’ their thing, shops are closing, bars are full of amusing drunk people, and the teenagers are running around trying to find trouble. Now, I don’t really partake in any of those things, most of the time, but I enjoy passing through it, seeing it.

Then, once everyone finally leaves, it’s even better. There is no one around, so you don’t feel self conscious. You can wander around where you please, and don’t have to feel silly turning around and walking back along a block, or singing to yourself. It’s also quiet (at least in Olympia, and Bellingham), so you can hear yourself think, or you can have conversations without distraction, or you can find a spot to stop and sit, without getting harassed.

Now, that’s not the case in NYC. There is no time of the night that is silent, or empty. There are usually people everywhere, but there’s something nice about that too. But that’s for another time… I haven’t really spoken about why I love NY to many people, maybe I will share with you at some point.

A quiet city at night also brings back some strong memories and feelings, which I seem to be having a lot of lately, but they are all pretty good. The most exciting, terrifying, and surreal time I have ever experienced was at 2 in the morning, in the summer, in Olympia, during the Lunar Eclipse, after I had just come back from New York. I will never forget that night, and I think that dark, quiet, empty cities will always remind me of it.