Jack, Jack, Jack, head in a sack...

I drafted the last post because when I got my piece back yesterday evening my teacher had really understood it and also found its weaknesses in ways that I hadn't been able to see. She's really pretty sharp. And the piece needs a lot of work.

Here's to keeping one's ego in check.

I guess I have this simultaneous inferiority-superiority complex. I get nervous talking to people and stuff, and easily intimidated, but I also think I'm pretty smart and like to hang out with people who I feel are also pretty intelligent. I make up for my internal timidness by being pretty outgoing, but it's always a push. I feel like people are judging me by a different standard than the one I use to judge them, I guess, and I don't know how I'm going to measure up.

The thing is, in spite of understanding that I have this complex, I still think I'm pretty smart and I still get intimidated by people. At the same time I know that I'm no prophet and I'm no Katz; I'm not drowning in either belief. Anyway.

I've made another blog to post my crappy poetry on, although there's nothing there yet. Don't feel pressured to read it; it's really just for me, a motivation to keep writing, so I don't slip up and stagnate. I'm not going to put a tracker on it or anything. Maybe I'll take it off the site and just give its URL to people who ask me for it. Or something. It may just die as I get too lazy to type everything up.

After being sleep-deprived all week (mostly because I've been watching Star Wars with Elena past midnight for the past two nights--I have a new convert!), I finally slept until noon today. When I woke up this morning the house was empty--Renata went to see a movie with her boyfriend--and the computer was already opened to TKTS.com. I took it as a sign and checked everyone's blogs over Honey Nut Cheerios.

When Maya sends me the rest of the pictures from Elena, Maya, Hally and I's day at the beach in fifty-five degree weather, I'll post them. (Grammar nazis, I beg your forgiveness.) It was ridiculously fun. We wandered to DUMBO and mingled with the artistes and ate at Grimaldi's and had ice cream and spilled Snapple in the car and generally had a great day. More about this later, though. The pictures are hilarious. I promise.

My mom has gotten into this kick where she really wants to spend time with me. I'm not objecting, because my mom is pretty awesome, and "quality time" between us usually involves going to Daffy's or the Strand, although our seperate tastes also make these occasions tense. Recently, though, she's started trying to get me home earlier and continually poking me with her hands and feet while I watch Star Wars with Elena and Hally from a beanbag chair. She thinks it's very funny and laughs when I protest--"I'm trying to watch the movie, mom!" "V, you're a cutie, you know that?" "Mom!" "Ooooh, you're so fiesty! You're a real teen-ager now, right, V?" How is one supposed to respond to this? The things we live with. If I turn into an insane old lady with lots of cats, you'll know why.

I still need to buy a new harmonica. I'm thinking of trying a lower key so that I can play more blues. Still, a fancier harmonica costs more, and it sounds less raw. I like playing five-dollar Bluesbands that are harder to work. They give a wider range of sounds. Buying a Bluesband is like buying a crappy amp so you can play with the feedback. It sounds crazy, but there is a point to it.

Oh slutmonkeys, I'm turning into Lucas. Time to take a shower.

Edited in:

Unhappy harmonica :(



Found this in my iphoto thingy. It's Harry's, but I thought it was awesome and I wanted to share it. He really is hilarious. I try to refrain from blogging about him, but it's hard, especially since even as I speak (you know, type) I'm wearing his flannel pijama pants.