Debbie Does Dialysis
2002-09-09 - 10:50 p.m.
Darren Aronofsky must bless himself when he sneezes, because he is god. I saw 'Requiem For A Dream' for the first time this last weekend, after renting it twice over the summer. Beautifully insane, and a wonderful use of colour. The flash-filming scenes were amazing.
Enter one Lindsay. We met on the bus and talked from just after Portland to Bangor. Proverbial semi-perfection. A long-time AD+D player and 5'1" on a good day...happy to be a dork. Someone worth smiling with.
On the way back to Boston the next day, I met some German chicks on the bus, and proved my theory that I've been pronouncing a great deal of my German vocabiliary incorrectly.
Goblin #568. The second time I used my key this year, it bent in my hand (through no fault of my own, I'm nearly sure). So, this weekend when I returned, the lock had been changed. In the time that it took me to fail in finding a roomate with a new key and stumble into the RA that had my key, someone made off with the backpack that I had left outside my door. Of course, it was stoopid of me to do, but it's my personal opinion that my clothes should be relatively safe from the drunken brain-swills of my suitemates (at least on the basis that no one else would want to wear them). I have a sneaky suspicion that he guy next door got my Ramen Noodles (TM). Fortunately, my driver's license, loan application, credit cards, etc. were recovered in their completeness. And hell, I needed to do laundry anyway.
'if i could buy a different life in a used CD store, i'd be sure to check it for repeated tracks.' -Nemo
So it was that when I woke up on Sunday I was all for opting out. Monday morning I planned to make some plans. A call to Hudson Valley Community College to see if I could clear the deadline for application, a call to Mitch to check for a temporary vacancy at his apartment in NY, a walk over to the financial aid office to double-check that my scholarships would cover any sort of irrevocable expense. I know that I'd have more fun at HVCC, get a better education and it would cost several thousands of dollars less. But that's not really the issue at hand anymore, in fact, the issue really isn't in hand at all. Even if I could get to another college and settle in within the week, there's the issue of getting my stuff from pointA to pointB (without a car); there's the issue of pains and groans that those closest to me would be suffering. After seeing how many people got involved in my ultimate decision not to buy a car (the F-85 mentioned earlier)...a college move is just not something I'd want to put people* through. Holy lands are never what they're cracked up to be anyways.
Related Note: Even though I've decided to stay here doesn't mean that there's nothing to learn, or that it'll be too easy. I'm having a fundamental problem with my accounting class, in that I cease to see the definition of 'value'. The instructor says that if I buy a chair, the value at which I bought the chair equal to the price I will pay to buy the chair [to posses the chair]. But this doesn't make business sense because I can buy two chairs, at different prices, and sell them at the same, or even a higher, price. Thus, the value of the material is defined by its sellability, or its resale value. But what if I don't want to sell the chair? If I kep the chair, then the sellability is reduced to zero, and I've just paid someone for a chair that has no value, by definition. The only remaining value is sentamental...what it means to the buyer, or the convenience it grants to the buyer. And thus, what is the intrinsic 'value' of the dollar itself? It grants me no confort, and in not doing so, I am confused.
Until today, I only knew two meanings of the word 'shit'. And I appologize for my method of reference, but some things is just...culture, mann. The first 'shit' is that of the superpale professionally-dressed man, the man that knows right from wrong but doesn't wonder where his values came from and rarely acts on them. Exiting a cab, whiteboy steps in a pile of previously unclassified feces and properly, logically, enunciates the experience with a single word: 'shit'. The second is an Irishman picking a friendly fight, who gets hit hard in the ear. Before the blood starts falling and as the pain is settling in, he makes it known that first blood has been called by cursing 'shyte!'. And finally, the third, through which the very knowledge of makes me feel more whole. This is a young black kid sitting at his computer, after just having recieved a long e-mail from a cute girl he met on the bus. He smiles and squints his eyes ever so slightly, bobing his whole upper body in pleasure. 'sheeit'. That shit be the love, mann. That shyt be the peace, the comfort, the chicks. That be the kinda 'shit' I like most.
*the use of 'people' here is mostly a refernce to Mitch, but also a refernce to his roomates, his parents, my parents, and the occasional passer-by who might be hurt by the freefloating chaos of the situation.
