Who would you rather be?:

• Tim
• Dawn
• David
• Gareth
  

The Fortune

This one says “people count up the faults of those who keep them waiting”

“What does that one mean?” I asked. “If you show people one fault, and let it linger then they’ll start noticing your other faults.” He answered.

Hmmmm, ok. “What about this one: ‘Honesty is the best policy, but while there is truth in humour there is no humour in truth.” I frowned “that isn’t true…” He agreed “Yeah, what about that saying ‘fact is stranger than fiction.’”

Some of them weren’t fortunes in the slightest. She read aloud “One should feel freedom of the mind.” Someone pushed a filled wineglass to her, which she cheerfully accepted.

I held up the one I’d gotten last night “A fall in a ditch will make you wiser.”

Well. Surely they could have used a better metaphor. Something like, if you play with fire you’re likely to get burned. “A game of sticks can end with one eye out.” I suggested.

Someone down the far end held up theirs “Mine isn’t so true, I’m too far at the end of the table.” “What’s it say?” his neighbour turned quickly to look, knocking over a wine glass which splashed all over the fortune holders front. There was a moment of silence as happens in unexpected accidents. Then they laughed with a surprising ferocity, unable to speak they handed the fortune to the clumsy neighbour who read aloud “You are the centre of every groups attention.”

The Meaning

“Now, I just have to see this tattoo of yours, what does it say?” he paused to take it in and then, aloud read “Can’t believe how strange it is to be anything at all” and smiled thoughtfully. I hadn’t come up with a good sound bite for why I had it and what it meant but for the most part it hadn’t mattered. Most people didn’t attempt a meaning. “So…is that like that feeling you get every now and then, when you can’t believe that you’re a being alive on this little spinning rock in a massive universe and you’re heart feels so big yet you realize that you’re so small and it’s all so amazing and overwhelming?” he asked.

I blinked, totally bewildered at his description. “Yes. Yes it is. I…can’t believe how accurate you just were.” He grinned “Life really puts the blinders on, doesn’t it? Thank god for that feeling”

The reason that there are vegetarian foods shaped like meat foods is that we live in a meat eating society. If you are invited to a barbecue and are vegetarian, what will you eat? What can you bring to the table that will fit on those hamburger buns, those hot dog buns, what will go with that mustard or ketchup?
If you are vegetarian and American and you find yourself on Thanksgiving AKA Turkey Day, what is going to be your central dish? Are you satisfied with a bevy of side dish types?
You like chicken but you don't like the politics of meat. You love bacon. You like hot dogs. But you aren't one for creative cooking, you don't know where to begin. What are you going to eat? The Ficken, the facon, the Tofurky...those are just replacements. And they don't taste like meat, anyway.

One mans trash...

"Alright give us your arm" he instructed. I put my arm into a strong man pose obligingly and watched as he placed the sticky stencil carefully on the inside of my bicep. "Is this lyrics from Tool or somethin'? he asked. Oh God, Tool? "No, it's from a band called Neutral Milk Hotel." I said, paused for a moment but he showed no recognition so I continued, settling onto my back "They're very good." He smiled, then leaned over to begin work. I noticed a flaming Chinese symbol tattooed on the center of his head. He nodded his head over to a man with huge arm muscles and comically tiny head "When I was getting it formatted a ol' Barry wondered why anyone would want to get this on 'em". I took another look at Barry "Is that the guy with the Superman symbol tattooed on his chest?" I asked. "Yeah, that's him." I relaxed back again, contemplating his words. I sighed, "Well, everyone has their own interpretation of life, I guess."
He nodded again. The needle buzzed away on my arm. No going back now, anyway/

I understand that you are not just the person that I knew when I met you. You are the layers of experiences over a lifetime. Who you are is a growing concept that should not be boxed in to one experience. I'll not box you in, I'll just let you be you instead.

Hopes and dreams

Rivers and streams

Boats slowly sailing

Come in between the real world and me

Got to forget to remember to play it naturally

Come out of your shell, what’s that you’re protecting underneath

Consider please, a little less dignity

If playing it safe means keeping it boring

Hopes and dreams

Rivers and streams

Boats, are always sailing through coming

In between the real world and me

I never was as good at jumping right in

Making all new strangers into ten new friends

But that doesn’t mean I don’t want ‘em

again and again

It’s like “I notice you don’t have too many friends”

I’m just deep that’s all, just deep into myself,

Reading all the books on the library shelf (so deep)

Working on the newest project that nobody can see but me

Hopes and dreams

Still, deep rivers and streams

Boats sailing, just passing through

Coming in between the real world and me (and I let ‘em)

The sons gotta shine
yeah he's gonna need time
to figure out a few rhymes
and...work is just a distraction
a forced life time of bizarre interactions
with people you'd never think to call friends but
in the end it builds character.

The Burn

Today at work I had to cut onions. They stung my eyes and made me cry in front of everyone. I looked like a terrible fool. I hate onions!

What a beautiful face
I have found in this place
that is circling all round the sun
and when we meet on a cloud
I’ll be laughing out loud
I’ll be laughing with everybody I see
can’t believe how strange it is to be anything at all

It's hard being a girlfriend these days. First things are great - you get to have sex with a new person, you're feeling liberated and ready to have new adventures in the bedroom. Then you realize how common putting it in the butt is, and you aren't so sure that's for you. But everyone is doing it, it's the new oral. Speaking of oral, don't forget to swallow or it means you don't care/are stunted sexually. You think you want a threesome but actually you're suddenly too shy and too afraid to find someone and if you did try they'd have to be just right so there'd be no regrets. What about the poop, girls? That shit on his wee man doesn't fuck with your head? Man...

There's also no such thing as "environmentally-friendly." The environment doesn't need friends, because it is the environment. And even if the environment wanted friends, do you really think it would want to be friends with you? I mean, come on, look at you.-Jeff Rowling

Dear Daughter-of-mine,

I finally realized the (evil) genius of that dog of yours this morning. All this time I excused him thinking his wee pee brain just couldn't learn anything ! As I put him out (like every morning) he did his pretense of peeing in the yard, then came in the house to crap on the den floor like usual. Standing off in the corner to enjoy watching my reaction. I enjoyed fantasies like shipping him off to Michael Vic or beating him with the roll of paper towels in my hand. I did notice the large lake of pee he put in the kitchen sometime during the night, but only now realize it was placed there to give me false security as I walked into the dining room.

As I slipped, almost falling for the 19th time, I finally put it all together. He is subtle: the amount of pee was small enough in the dining room for me not to see it, and the clever placement in the grout made it all the more invisable. I know now he IS out to kill or mame me, that he does plan to take over once I'm out of the way.

If I'm found on the floor with a broken neck, DO NOT pass it off as a common household accident! Closer inspection will reveal Reggie Mantle, the adopted pet, the pet we raised as one of our own, is indeed the murderer.
I'm leaving it to you to see justice is done: I want him to go to the gas chamber (I assume they still have these somewhere, I know he wouldn't fit in the electric chair). Do not bring him into your home, once he has killed, he will only kill again! Never underestimate the cunning wile of this monster!

Have a nice day,

Dad

I leaned in close to his face. "Com'on" I breathed "Why don't you act like ya love me?"
He smiled like a sweet little boy "I can't let anyone know!"
I laughed and smushed my face on him, kissing his cheek. His face was warm. I wanted to hug it- hug his whole head nice and hard.
I kissed his mouth and then felt the urge, the hugging urge, again. "Gimmie another" I said childishly.
"Owch! It burns!"he squirmed from my kisses, which were all over his face.
"Just one." I pleaded. "No way!" He said

I stomped "I never liked you anyway." and turned to leave.
He sat up quickly, sweet blue eyes filled with hope.
"Give us a kiss?"

Aguilara get the flu

We sat by the windows, reading the newspaper. The radio blared in the background. “Last night Christina Aguilara cancelled her Wellington concert a mere 2 hours before kickoff. Many fans were infuriated”. The station cut to a medley of interviews with the fans who hadn’t known of the cancellation and had turned up ready to rock.

”I can’t bloody believe this! We’ve been drinking all day to prepare!”

"I'll never buy another of her albums, that's for sure"

"If she's a genie in a bottle then that starlet is not doing her job very well"

"She can make it up to everyone by saying sorry to New Zealand at the next Grammy Awards ... Otherwise she can get stuffed and no one should ever buy another one of her albums."

“Look at this, it’s all over the newspaper as well” he pointed to a large article with the head line “Christina @#!!#*@ Aguilera!”. It was placed directly to the left of a photo of an enraged middle aged woman in leopard print lycra.

“People weren’t this upset when Mob Deep cancelled!”

Now in the West the slender moon lies low,
And now Orion glimmers through the trees,
Clearing the earth with even pace and slow,
And now the stately-moving Pleiades,
In that soft infinite darkness overhead
Hang jewel-wise upon a silver thread.

And all the lonelier stars that have their place,
Calm lamps within the distant southern sky,
And planet-dust upon the edge of space,
Look down upon the fretful world, and I
Look up to outer vastness unafraid
And see the stars which sang when earth was made.

Marjorie Pickthall

LambMan

It was nearing the end of work today and everyone was busy at a task. Dylan was cutting pieces of lamb from a roast for sandwich meat, Wren was cleaning the floor and I was scraping the burnt, baked on shit from a huge stack of baking trays. Dylan turned to wash his hands and felt something gross and smelly being placed on his shoulder. He looked over and saw Wren, grinning as she moved her hand quickly away from the huge piece of lambskin that was now on his shoulder. "Oh yuck!" He exclaimed "I thought I felt something disgusting on me!".
"Hey" I interrupted "people pay a lot of money for lambskin. You should be thinking about what you'll do with it." I paused with my work "and maybe thank Wren, while you're at it." I went back to scraping a tray, "Ungrateful!"

He laughed, holding up the skin "Maybe I could make a suit."

"I think you'll only get a thong out of that"

He shrugged, "I'll collect so much that I'll have a whole outfit. I could be LambMan" He skewered a piece of meat and held it up to me
"forgo your vegetarian ways, they are useless against the LambMan!"

"Will you make a mask as well?" I asked, swatting away the meat.

"I'm not Hannibol Lector" He frowned

I was in the ladies room of a music venue, waiting for a stall to open. A dark haired woman of about 22 was washing her hands. I was very tired from staying out late the night before and then walking all over the city and it’s suburbs for most of the day. Before we came to the show it’d seemed like every bar and pub was standing room only. It made sense though, the All Blacks had just finished winning against the Aussies and after the game the people poured out of the pub and into the street, crowding into the bars to induce a celebratory hang over for the next morning. When we arrived at 10:00 for the show meant to start at 9:30, we stood again in a crowd with no where to lean or place one’s bum. All this meant that my legs ached and I was looking forward to being able to have a nice sit-down when my chance for a toilet came. The dark-haired woman turned to me suddenly and stood close. I managed a vague smile.

“Do you remember The Exponents?” she said strongly.

“Er, yep.” I flustered, confused by the unexpected twist the trip to the toilet had taken.

“Name some of their songs then” She demanded, crossing her arms.

Was this a test? What was going on? What are some Exponents songs?!

“Victoriaaa, what do you want from him, waaant from him” I sang.

“Yeah ok, and what else?” she said, her intensity bizarrely out of place. I trucked on, not wanted to fail, not when it came to music quizzes.

“What Ever Happened to Tracy?”

“Yeah, yeah” Unimpressed, she moved her hands in the international “move it along” rotation.

“Fly awayyy into the blue skies.” I sang again, privately thanking my father for a singing voice.

“And?”

“Um, yeah I can’t think of anything else.”

“Ok.” She nodded, as if committing my answers to memory. Then she left.

I stood there for a moment. I still couldn’t think of any other Exponents songs.

A stall opened and I looked at the eyes of the girl who came out, to see if she’d over heard. She looked back impassively, then washed her hands. She hadn’t.

“huh” I Thought as I went into the stall “I’m definitely telling the guys about this.”

Words that mean the same thing

• Vomit
• Barf
• Puke
• Regurgitate
• Reverse
• Toss your cookies
• Purge
• Hurl
• Sick
• Throw up
• Upchuck
• Use the big white telephone
• Worship the porcelain God
• Check on lunch
  

Ugh. Hungover at work. Peeling the ride from 35 lemons, squeezing out the juices. Repetitive. My hands hurt. The little cuts from the little knives, my hands are cracked and dry from over-washing. Workers hands. hmph. Thinking and over thinking everything-king.King. Ugh. So repetitive this work, this life. No it isn't. Yes it is. Cyclical, typical, is that what you want to be? Iis that what you want? Melt into boredom and just give up on anything? Is that what you're doing? Boss says that my saying that giving up (temporarily) my education isn't very feminist is a strong statement. I suppose to some the word feminist is a strong statement. These people are nice and sometimes hilarious, but far too straight for my liking. They still think interracial relationships are "wow" worthy. They still mull over the "how" and"why" someone "chooses" to be gay. I keep my mouth closed at these mullings because it seems possible that where I am is not where they are and that maybe where I am is "far out". I am "hung over" good Gooood. Lemons. Lemon cakes need lemon juice needs sugar. Needs...760 grams? I don't want to ask again, she'll know I've forgotten and possibly, therefore, don't care how many grams of sugar this juice needs, even though I've done it every day for 2 weeks. Who cares? Do I really want to be good at baking anyway? Some people aren't good at some things. Then again...if I were crap at something I'd gotten into, like sword fighting, even if I didn't really like it I'd do everything to not be the worst and possibly be the best. And if I were shit I'd crack jokes to distract from my shitty sword work.
People who are into swords are often weird. I don't know anyone that does, anymore. Greg is getting married. He's the first ex of mine to get married, weird. No, that's not true, Jed is getting married and I knew that over a month ago. I guess I'm truly over Jed but not enough over Greg to not be affected by his getting married. It's not like I want to marry him though. I guess I'm less connected with his life. It's more of a suprise. Marriage. How do people decide when it's right? To me traditional marriage feels like a sham. I couldn't do it without feeling like a liar. I'm more freaked out by the idea that I'm of an age where it's normal for people to get married. It's so far and away. I get the idea of a long-term relationship. I don't get the idea of monogamy for years and years. I get trust, I don't get suffocating. Ungh, why so many wines with the girls, the night before work? I can't get out of my head and...eh fuckit.

Mary Oliver

A Visitor by Mary Oliver

My father, for example,
who was young once
and blue-eyed,
returns
on the darkest of nights
to the porch and knocks
wildly at the door,
and if I answer
I must be prepared
for his waxy face,
for his lower lip
swollen with bitterness.
And so, for a long time,
I did not answer,
but slept fitfully
between his hours of rapping.
But finally there came the night
when I rose out of my sheets
and stumbled down the hall.
The door fell open

and I knew I was saved
and could bear him,
pathetic and hollow,
with even the least of his dreams
frozen inside him,
and the meanness gone.
And I greeted him and asked him
into the house,
and lit the lamp,
and looked into his blank eyes
in which at last
I saw what a child must love,
I saw what love might have done
had we loved in time.

In Malcolm Gladwell's book "The Tipping Point" he talks about the roles people play socially. One of these roles is as a connector-someone who introduces people to each other as well as to new situations, new music, new places. They are the information bringers, the social butterflies. They know everyone and your social circle is actually their social circle, you just happen to be in it.
He said one way of figuring out who the connector in your life is, is to write down the names of all the people in your social circle, and how you came to know each one. I did this and had a somewhat disappointing/curious result. Most of the people I've known in my life, I met myself either through work or school. I'm not a connector though, I don't think, and it didn't seem like I fit into the other 2 categories either. My theory for this is that, because I move around so much I don't truly have a social circle anymore. The people I know best right now are scattered all over the world and the friends I have in this city are scattered as well- I've met them either at parties or from work. When I first got to Wellington I went to every party I was invited to and picked up other people for friendship the way people go about finding a date. That worked out alright and I'm cultivating small friendships everywhere so maybe in a year I'll have a connector to pin point. Actually, I think my friend, Lee is one, but we haven't known each other long enough for me to be really certain. In any case, it's an interesting project to try, watching your life's direction unfold through the help of a friend.

Your Net Work

In Malcolm Gladwell's book "The Tipping Point" he talks about the roles people play socially. One of these roles is as a connector-someone who introduces people to each other as well as to new situations, new music, new places. They are the information bringers, the social butterflies. They know everyone and your social circle is actually their social circle, you just happen to be in it.
He said one way of figuring out who the connector in your life is, is to write down the names of all the people in your social circle, and how you came to know each one. I did this and had a somewhat disappointing/curious result. Most of the people I've known in my life, I met through introducing myself, first contact being either through work, a party or school. But I'm not a connector, I don't think, and it didn't seem like I fit into the other 2 categories either. My theory for this is that, because I move around so much I don't truly have a social circle anymore. The people I know best right now are scattered all over the world and the friends I have in this city are scattered as well- I've met them either at parties or from work. When I first got to Wellington I went to every party I was invited to and picked up other people for friendship the way people go about finding a date. That worked out alright and I'm cultivating small friendships everywhere so maybe in a year I'll have a connector to pin point. Actually, I think my friend Lydia is one, but we haven't known each other long enough for me to be really certain. In any case, it's an interesting project to try, watching your life's direction unfold through the help of a friend.

my shitty exflatmate broke into the house (aka, let himself in since he refuses to give back the key...) while I was home alone. I heard foot steps creaking quietly in the next room. In the middle of the day the chances of them belonging to any of the guys(flatmates) is pretty slim so I decided to check, to be sure. Sure, it wasn't them at all, it was fucking Matthew J. Goggin, standing in the effing kitchen. I ahemed. He ignored me and rifled through the mail. I stood by the door as he walked toward and then by me. I asked him what he was doing. "What are you doing" I said. He smiled smugly, thin hair trailing behind his ugly head .
"I'm getting my mail. Until you give me my deposit I have right of entry." smug smug smug bug. I laughed, disbelieving. "What a crock of fucking shit! what a bunch of made up shit! What shit! " I thought and should have said. Then he left.
We kicked him out over a month ago! He keeps emailing Dan condescening emails and setting deadlines for us he can't back up! He's threatened to take us to small claims tribunal over 80 dollars! He broke the oven door then refused to pick up the glass! He eats babies!
I wish the property managment company would give us an estimate already, so he'd fuck off.
I hope his stringy hair catches fire from a shitty oregano-filled blunt.

Some kind of guy

Cam was about a year older than me and my height, which is 5'4 most of the time, 5'5 on a tall day.Within the first few minutes I met him I wondered if he was the sort of guy who'd lie about his height. Would he meet my gaze, eyes level to each other, and declare himself 5'8? No matter how short a guy was, there was a certain kind of guy who'd lie so obviously. They dare you to challenge them. They defy height charts and doctor's exam reports. Because 5'8 is the minimum height men are allowed to be if they are truely men and if God did not touch upon your legs and make them grow then the best you can do is lie about it. I'd met guys like that before.
Was he one of the over-compensators? I was to be his trainee for the day at my new baking job. If ever there were a time to assert his smidgen power, this would be it. "Hey! You must be Madge" he smiled openly, I found myself smiling back, bathing in his cheer "just throw your stuff over there" he pointed to an open locker "and let skip on down to the chiller so I can show you where we keep everything." I did as I was told, then followed behind him as he skipped to the chiller.
He was some kind of man, but he was definitely not that kind of man.

Google Image Search: Mother

Happy Mothers Day!

I was watching a recording of Nirvanas rehearsal for Saturday Night Live when I noticed the drummer. "Jesus, Dave Grohl looks completely different in this video. And he's really throwing his head into the drums." This made me want to look at other pictures of Dave Grohl, to see the progression from a skinny long-haired lad playing drums to a dude with a stylish haircut and permanent goatee, fronting his own band. This led me to a website about one woman and her secret love with Dave Grohl. Enjoy Dave Grohl's best-kept secret

Work solutions

“God, I hate work. I just want to leave.” Sighed the dishwasher.

“Do you think if I shat my pants I would be able to go home?”

I looked up at him skeptically.

“I wonder if you shat your pants, would you be allowed back? Or” I said laughing,

“if you did come back, would anyone be able to look you in the eye?”

Pointing towards trouble

It was around 6 AM, I was alone at work, chopping spring onions hastily and obviously not paying much attention. I glanced down just as the knife nicked my finger. I was using a new, sharper knife that day and had underestimated it's finer points.
"Ah, shit." I said, unworried. Then I actually looked at my finger and noticed a sizeable piece missing.
I wheezed in surprise, a few thoughts went through my head in rapid succession as I tried to figure out what I should do:

• Oh shit, I've never cut my finger, this is the first real cut I've ever had.
• It's not bad enough to warrant a freaking out or calling anyone.
• It is bleeding rather profusely though, more than a bandaid could handle
• It really fucking stings!
• I should do something and not just stand here.
• I'll hold it over my head and get a napkin to stop it from running everywhere.
• and cut off the circulation.

So I did. It took a while and I ended up taping a fat napkin over my finger while it insistantly bled. Later, though, I realized that was a bad idea. The napkin had dried to my wound and peeling it off felt like a slow, zinging burn. "AHHHH" I said.

Later my flatmates and I sat around in the kitchen and shared stories of people we knew losing pieces of fingers.

Wooing

It was shortly after midnight and already the street was littered with drunk people who were just getting started. I was sober as a new born babe and walking home from a late movie. I’d just reached the homestretch, just a few more flights of stairs and I would be home.

“Oi, girly what’s your star sign?” Shouted a drunk scottishman behind me. I didn’t bother to turn around, just a few more flights to go.

“Baby, don’t ignore meeee” he whined.

I considered throwing my water bottle at him, or perhaps telling him to piss off, but nothing you do to a drunk person ever has good results.

“White shirt! Oi, white shirt don’t walk away! Come here!”

And then, when nothing came of that:

“Stupid whore!”

I laughed loudly, surprised and yet quite unsurprised. What a sweetheart.

If he hadn't been here I would have put the container on the floor and poured the water in safely, making sure it only splashed on things that would dry easily, not be damaged. But he was there, and I set the container on an uneven surface of a folder containing his notes for class, next to his digital camera. He watched me as I began to pour. The room was dim and I guess I was feeling reckless. He cautioned me to be careful with the water. I continued to pour, sure that it would be fine. He grabbed the camera just before I splashed an unhealthy amount of liquid. He got upset, I felt indifferent. Anything is fixable, I figure. He accused me of being irresponsible with his things. He's somewhat right. I suppose there are a few reasons why:

1) I can be fairly irresponsible with many "things". I treat them as replaceable. Mostly my things and I guess Dans things are now under the veil of my things, since we share them so often.
2)I must like to rile him up. Not consciously, since I don't like being yelled at, especially if I know I'm mostly wrong and don't have a solid, winning comeback. But we have a pretty calm relationship, and this is something we've talked about before and, aside from not leaving his laptop on the floor(something HE does sometimes, ahem) I haven't tried to make a conscious change.

In conclusion, we fight because he's right. This time.

How to eat

"Where's the can opener" he asked
I popped a piece of pinapple into my mouth "I think it's by the sink."
The pineapple fell out of my mouth. "Oh, oops" I laughed
He made a disgusted face "Jesus, don't eat with your mouth full!"
"Don't eat with my mouth full?" I said, humored "how the hell else am I supposed to eat?"
He stared for a moment "Oh, I...shut up!"

Immigration Complication

Life as of the last 7 months has been webbed back and forth and around from happy to sad to muddled. From positive to confused to definitely not sure. I go from solution to solution and then back to the real problem. Any solution I have ends up sounding vastly complicated.
When I try to peice it out, break it down, keep it simple.It ends up clumped and unlikely.
Should I admit defeat, admit that that isn't a winning solution? It's either break up and go home or stay together and miss school for the next several years?
There are so many variables in the whole dilemma.

Staying here means putting myself at risk insofar as, what if we break up? I don't want to find myself in the same place a year from now, without the relationship and all the promises it holds. Sent packing, back home. At the least, though, if it'd been a year or more, I'd have residency in NZ when I wanted it.

Going home means letting go of a desireable relationship with an actual future and all it's accessories, his family that I've come to love, him, and his big head, the friends I have here, as well as letting go of living abroad.But it also means being in Austin, with the great music and the great friends and the great family and that's great. But a future in the US really sounds shitty. Shootings, no public health care, a general feeling of distrust when it comes to the government...

Whatever decision I make, I have to know I won't regret it. For the last 7 months I haven't been able to picture an outcome I won't regret. And yet I can't stay the way I am, stagnant with a side of restless.
Dan's no help either, god love ya. He can't come up with anything so he always says "we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." When I remind him that the bridge is now he replies, sheepishly, "I'd hoped you hadn't noticed that." And then we both ignore it for a few more days.

Normally, when I get these feelings, the indecisive feelings, these mushed up shitty feelings, I look at the scource. Then I look at my options. Then I think about it a hell of a lot, then I make a desicion, then I cut and run. Then I feel better, no regrets. I've thought about it and I made a choice and now I don't have to wonder about it any more.

Comon brain, come up with something good.

We'd been stuck in the glass shelter for days now. There were almost 20 of us, but our anonymity was so intact we might have been a real crowd. Eventually the endless night cleared and we were allowed to make our way out. The ocean hadn't lost its swell though. We each swam up the tunnel but instead of reaching the surface we had to hold breath, squeeze tight our eyes, be propelled upward by a big shot of air. I was nearly the last through so that when I opened my eyes to the frankness of the stormwashed air, I had only a moment to consider what I'd been through or where we were going. I swam to keep up. The sky was greeny blue, sun shining golden down on mountains sitting atop big islands that hung back in the distance. I looked down through the water at the sea life. That was when I noticed a huge cloud of inky pinky jellyfish drifting toward us. Others had noticed as well and someone was yelling. I couldn't hear them, I was too busy trying not to panic.
It seemed nearly impossible that in this peaceful setting, in the calm at the end of the storm, that we should be attacked by anything, much less these fragile floating membranes. I fought my fear and it fought back, rising ever faster as the jellyfish brushed around my legs. They didn't seem to be moving, just hanging around. They felt warm against my skin and when they suctioned all around my body they felt like soft hands just out of a thick glove. I felt confusion, my emotions battled for a place at the front of my heart.
"Don't struggle!" someone yelled from the front "if you struggle they'll swarm you."
I let my body relax, starfished on the surface, sun on my face. I gave in to the warm hands carrying me home.

Author

An excerpt from "The wall of the sky The wall of the eye" by Jonathan Lethem, brought to you by www.Nerve.com

Q. If "going to school is my job" how come i'm not getting paid?
A.Supposedly you're getting paid in smarties.

Wednesday with Lenka

"That scarf makes you look like a Brethren" she said, her thick Czech accent making her sound like a female Arnold Schwarzenegger. "Or a smurf."
"A smurf?" I thought. "That doesn't even make sense..."
I didn't care, but I also wanted her to know I didn't care.
"I don't care" I said, hands on hips.
"Hey, I'm just being honest." She said and reaching up to adjust my head scarf
"Pull it up, like this"
"I'll look like I'm from "Little House on the Prarie" I pouted
"Little who?"

Monday with Lenka

"God, your image changed." she said with a little laugh
"Huh? What do you mean?"I asked
"You're such a baker now, what happened to sexy Madge?"
Now I gave a little laugh "she died the first time I had to wake up at 3AM."

Hey Cow!

As recently as last weekend I went on a road trip to a wild foods festival located on the West coast of the South Island. I went with a good group of friends, one of whom, Heidi, taught the rest of us how to play "Hey Cow". The way to play is, you spot an oncoming herd of cows in a field, roll down your window and yell "HEYYYY COOOOWWW" as loud as you possibly can. Then you count the number of cow's that turned to look at you. Whoever gets the most cows wins.
Heidi demonstrated the game for us, her hollar rewarded with 6 out of 12 bored looking cow faces.
What a great game! It was my turn next. I was nervous. What if they didn't look? I cleared my throat in preparation and I rolled down the window. "HEy cow?" I asked, apprehensive.
2 cows looked up. "Good effort" Heidi said sympathetically. "No, no, no, that was crap! You didn't even try!" cried Roger. The others agreed, it was a poor effort. Oh well.
"Let's do it all at once and see if we can get all of them to look" Heidi Suggested. We rolled down the windows and everyone, even the driver, leaned over to get a closer range in which to yell.
An unsuspecting herd came up just after the hill. "HEY COW!" We screamed in unison.
one
two, three, four cow heads turned. Six, Seven, Eight Ni...Oh!...uh.
A rather rotund woman stood amongst the cows in the field. Her glare was not pretty.
"Er..." Roger said. The rest of the car was silently suprised and embarassed.

The woman standing in the field watched the car drive on down the highway till it was out of sight. "Lunatic kids" .

Things Dallas

Things that are Dallas:

1)Dallas,Texas
2)Dallas Tamaira, lead singer of Fat Freddy's
3)Dallas Castle in Scotland
4)Dallas, T.V. series
5)Dallas,George Mifflin-11th U.S. Vice President under James K. Polk

The initial problem with getting Internet at home was that no one else had laptops besides Dan. Once they moved out we made sure to ask incomers what they thought of getting Internet. Then came the laziness. No one was very motivated to get net while we could steal it from surrounding wireless users. Once we were cut off from there we had no choice but to get our own. Slowly we decided on what type of Internet, and from who, then we called ihug to set it up, and sat back, a week before Christmas, in anticipation of the downloading free-for-all that was to come. It would only take a week. Two weeks later excuses were made about the holidays. Three weeks later pending processing was mentioned, we'd have it by the end of next week. At the end of the fourth week we called up and were told we weren't actually allowed to have ihug yet, because we had a phone plan with someone else, but maybe we could work something out. The reasoning became jumbled, we started to spread the blame from just the company to each other. At the end of this week, they promised, voices bland, uncaring. Sorry for the delay.
5 weeks after we were meant to be online we called up. "You're wired with another company, we can't hook you up at all" they said, ineptly."We should never have said we could."
A month and a half later we're still sitting with laptops disconnected from the world.

6 things seen on the way to work:

1. A guy passed out on the side walk.
2. My drunk flatmate and the girl he brought home that night.
3. My drunk coworker, on the way to a strip club.
4. A drag queen prostitute and a very dirty looking man, huddled in an alley, giggling.
5. My drunk friend and some strangers he just met making giant bubbles in the middle of the street.
6. A cat, asleep in the road. I know it was asleep because I shooed it out of the road when I saw a car coming.