REPORT A PROBLEM
Some conversations about movies
"I don't see how anyone could like that movie," Lessem said.
"Did you see it?" she asked me.
"Yes," I said.
"Twice," I said.
"It's probably my favorite movie right now," I said.
"Oh," Lessem said.
"I just saw that movie," Dave Frost said.
"I didn't like it," I responded.
"You have bad taste in movies then," he answered.
"What is wrong with you?" I wondered out loud.
"You have terrible taste in movies. Never speak to me again," he said.
I blinked and skated towards darker ice, only to later repeat the argument in Wawa.
I imagined myself driving to your house this late at night and surprising you. I figured if the door wasn't unlocked, I could throw plink plink throw stones at your window until you heard me and let me in. And if that didn't work, I was going to try to open car doors on your street until an alarm went off and then you'd come outside maybe and see me. Not like I have anything to say really. Maybe just so you could see the expression on my face, and even then I'm not quite sure what it would be.
Regarding your Hundred Words December: I seriously doubt whether me seeing you at all is good for you. I wish it was because I really really really... I mean... for as long as I can remember... you are so cool... I don't understand what's so great about kissing anyway. Kissing sucks. I hate it. Once you start kissing, you start missing out on everything else. The whole issue hangs over your head like mistletoe. I dont know. If you didn't want to see that movie again why didnt you just say so? Oh, and yesterday was for you too.
Funny how: the older ladies get, the higher up they wear their pants. And it looks sillier and sillier. The same with permanents and hair dye. And ridiculous handbags. These are the things that scare me. And what REALLY REALLY terrifies me is when people sleep on their backs. When they’re on their stomachs or on their sides, it doesn’t bother me a bit, but when they sleep on their backs, propped up on a pillow, or with their mouth slightly open, I can’t help but imagine the sleeping person isn’t sleeping but actually dead. Scares the Hell outta me.
I came back to school to a new name on the door next to mine, and stacks of boxes and luggage on the other half of my room. But now it looks like I don't get a roommate after all. Jazmin Dejesus moved out this afternoon. (I didn’t get to find out how that was pronounced either) I met her just for long enough for her to tell me she wasn’t going to be living with me, while she and her friends took away the boxes. Maybe I'll have to buy myself a roommate. One with whiskers and a tail.
So I just got this e-mail from Jeff Koyen. He said he liked my December words, and found them “inspiring.” He signs his e-mails with his initials, but it took me a while to realize that he didn’t mean “just kidding” But he must have meant it, not only because his initials are JK, but because he changed the “Everything is fine!” to “Oh, everything’s just peachy, guys!” I can’t tell if he’s doing this to mock me or in support of my December 14 entry. Either way, I’m amazed to see what an effect I had on 100 Words.
My building is mean. It teams up with the wind to tease me. Together they push snow off the roof so that it falls in front of my window and I get all sorts of excited, thinking that it’s snowing again. but it isn’t. It’s old snow. My building is mean.
I sincerely hope that people enjoy seeing me almost slip so much in the snow. I hope that the people walking behind me get a good chuckle from seeing my arms flail around for balance every once in a while. It would make me feel better about being clumsy.
When I am visiting Lucy and Trapani, I sometimes feel like I’m visiting an aunt and uncle, or some friend’s parents. They’re always that nice and hospitable. Lucy will always try to feed me, and ask me how my classes are. Each constantly jokes at the other’s expense. Lucy will shake her head in expectance, sitting down facing me. Trapani will roll his eyes and continues to cook or maybe do dishes. He is always standing up. It’s probably because they’re so familiar with each other. They don’t seem so much older than me, but they make me feel young.
The History of Lord Sebastian Bearsworth. Sebastian was born in Toysville, a small village near Glasgow in Scotland to parents Theodore and Anne Bearsworth. He is the youngest of 23 brothers and 16 sisters, making him his parents’ 40th cub. (Come on, they’re bears, it’s not so uncommmon) He was educated, on academic scholarship, at the University of Ursinus at Jolley, Scotland where he earned a degree in Toy Psychology. He has written several books on the topic including, “Bear with me: Raising Human Children” and “Neurotic Toy Syndrome.” This honourable bear is known and revered throughout all of Scotland.
Everyone who is walking around today wearing coats has the same “What the?” confused expression. There’s still snow on the ground, so people bundle up. But they’re startled at how WARM it is outside. Puddles form from snow that lost its battle against the heat of the day’s sunlight, trickling down sidewalks and into streets. The squirrels, neurotic in their confusion over the change in weather, dart dangerously across paths where people walk quicker than they did yesterday. I take off my mittens and put them in my pocket, watching winter’s wonder melt. Oh, what a world, what a world…
One of my math proffessors, Yakov Pesin, who teaches 312, definitely wins the award for “Person Whose Eyebrows Most Amuse Me.” They’re salt and pepper gray to match his nicely silvering but unthinning hair. And they stick out enthusiastically from his skin. His Russian (I think) accent is charming too. R’s are rrrrolled. V’s are pronounced as W’s, especially fun when he talks about derivatives, and his Th’s are turned to Z’s. He looks in good shape but has quite a pot belly that makes his belt look like the equator. He cannot be much more than 5 feet tall.
The most vivid dream I’ve had in a while. I was on a swingset with my cousins, Holly, Katie, and Shawnee. I was singing along to the Blue Album. I remember very specifically the exact part, because Katie asked me, “Was that word, ‘hold?’” I nodded and continued singing, as the song changed to “Say it Ain’t So.” I noticed also that above the swingset was a slide, and people were climbing the ladder to go down it. And the slide was covered with brown sugar and cinnamon. I woke up and I could swear I’d been singing out loud.
Picture this: I’m walking along on the sidewalk, and I pass a trashcan, from which I hear a little shuffling, a squirrel searching for remnants of food in there. As I pass, the squirrel jumps to the other side, away from me. Maybe instead he jumps off the trashcan and runs to the safety of a tree. That’s what any squirrel would do, right? Then why did this squirrel lunge at me, latching onto the arm of my coat, terrifying me as I batted it off with gloved hand? It didn’t bite me but dammit if that squirrel didn’t try.
Here’s a thought: how about we start sentences and trail off. It’ll be a blast, like fuckin madlibs. Only it’ll be more like those Teen magazine quizes where there’s the answer you obviously want, the answer you could deal with, and some ridiculous not funny joke of an answer. Only there’s no answer for me there. How about you ask me questions that you wondered “all along” How about you tell me things you’ve noticed all along. How about, since the roof fell in, you tell me the walls are weak too, and maybe I should see somebody about that.
You can imagine how surprised I was when I got back from class today and God was sitting indian-style on my bed reading comics. He jumped up to greet me: “Hey roomie!” and gave me a chummy punch in the shoulder. His bed was already made. He has zebra print sheets and a gigantic pink pig stuffed animal. He’s hung up his N*SYNC poster and one from the movie City Slickers. Other than these and his clothes, all three-piece-suits and dress shoes, he doesn’t have many belongings. What’s God doing at Penn State, you ask? Getting a degree in advertising.
a creature hard to tame .. once tamed it will not return easily to its wild state .. you let it go .. it looks around in complete confusion .. you wave goodbye and it looks at you .. you encourage it to run off and enjoy its natural state .. but it runs back to you burrowing into the comfort of your arms .. it has learned to depend on you .. it may run off only to find someone else to “tame” it .. or perhaps .. it will wait outside your door until you let it in
Recently, it has been brought to my attention that a number of you have continued to exhibit laziness in the face of increased robot craziness, a course of action in direct opposition to our firm’s motto, which explicitly states: “DON’T BE LAZY WHEN ROBOTS GO CRAZY.” The notion of having a motto demands our adherence to the principle or principles there specified. This is not the first time we have required reminders of appropriate reactions to extreme technological situations. In light of these recent informations concerning said lazinesses, certain members will soon be under critical investigation. (More news to follow.)
I’m considering, instead of the math major I’ve been planning to get with English minor from all the poetry classes they offer here, a double major in math and english (mutually exclusive, I know). It would require a lot more English courses, certainly, and quite possibly a fifth year. So if I’m staying here for five years and graduating with two degrees (is that how it works?) I will definitely go abroad somewhere, I’m not sure where. I think a five-year plan would suit my Peter Pan complex nicely, because it buys me time before I need to DECIDE... everything.
I think about Rushmore. I think
About Malefyt. And about
Mika. And then Dave. Then boys. And
Snow. I think
Of climbing trees. And of
Love songs. And
Of poets. Poetry. Infinity.
Lack of intensity is intense. I think of
[Facing my own mediocrity on all fronts. If I could paint. If I could run very fast. If I could sing. If even I could be a genius’ muse. If I could be some mad Dali’s Gala. What have I got? Will I ever be happy with myself if I continue to believe in infinity?]
My little brother Sean is so funny. I remember he had this ruler since he was like ten years old. He took a Sharpee pen and wrote on it: THE ULTIMATE RULER! (It’s a pun, get it?) in his handwriting that looks like he’s a lefty even though he isn’t. He thought it was the greatest thing. And, of course, it was. He’s also a big fan of satires. When Dave Frost used to leave his sneakers in the hallway when he came over, Sean would put all of the shoes he could find in the hallway too. Silly kid.
I woke up when my clock said 2:30 which means it was 2:10. My head pounding. My throat Saharic. I moaned a few phrases of extreme self pity. Filled up a water bottle. Brushed my teeth trying to get rid of my sick-breath. I put on my shoes and my vest. Going down the hall was a chore. The most difficult it’s ever been. I tried to put my hands in my pockets, but my vest was on inside out. I swallowed two Advil dry. Somehow I was only thirty seconds late. My fever finally broke halfway through math 312.
Somehow my stepdad Craig had rented a young kangaroo, not a joey, but probably a teenage kangaroo, because dude that thing was tall. I was watching it bounce around in the cul-de-sac in front of our house. And he had dressed it up in a baseball uniform. And it kept sticking out its upper half way out in front of his lower half, and I said “He looks like a semi-retarded child.” Then Craig showed us a home-video he made of him playing with his rented kangaroo. In it he was doing more bouncing and flips than the kangaroo was..
so I said, “Why did he need to rent that kangaroo anyway? He could have impressed us by doing these flips on his own!” Because seriously Craig was doing like triple flips off of couches and twists and stuff, it was SICK (Sick-nasty, Matlack). Then I went to the backyard, but the pool was rotated 90 degrees so that it was parallel to the street. And I was like: “What? Mom put it [the kangaroo] in there?” And Craig was like: “She did earlier, but I think he’s on the trampoline now.” Which was true. But when I looked closely..
Mom had put a shark in the pool, I’m talking JAWS in my pool, swimming around. And there were swans swimming on the surface that the shark wasn’t interested in. Mom said: “I put Misty in there too” My cat was at the bottom of the shallow end (breathing? beats me!) When she saw me, she started to walk towards me, slowly and not blinking. Jaws noticed and swallowed her! But in slow motion so I had time to reach my hands in there and save her. And I was like: “MOM! How come you let Misty in the pool?”
What if each person only gets a certain amount of creativity, and then use it up on, say, 50 poems in their fall semester of their sophomore year of a state school that they didn’t want to End Up at, but complacency and resistence to change has decreased the likelihood of Someplace Better to about 1 in 100, and the poems weren’t even all that good, I mean maybe there were a couple that were actually decent but not enough of them to be publishable? What if that’s it. No more poems. I mean, Jesus, I dream in math proofs.
Things I like: running; writing poetry, stories; soccer; riding bikes; climbing trees; reading books, poems, stories; watching movies; math; bears; music; singing; cuddling
Things I’m bad at: running; being creative; soccer; things that require arm strength; finding the thing to say that is right, true, and relevant; sounding smart—fuck that, being smart; letting people know how much I love them before it’s too late; the whole self-image thing; music
Things I’m good at: algorithms; tetris; dr. mario; mrs. pacman; writing lists; grammar; memorization; getting my little cousins all rowdy; grocery shopping; baking cookies; cuddling; twenty-four; binge eating; disappointing myself
the real reason why you can’t love me is that I don’t exist... not in the way something must exist for you to love it... I have understood this for years yet only now am I able to articulate it... my existence, what is truly me, is of an 8-yr-old, a very loved 8-yr-old... what you see of me, what appears to be Erin Luhks, a 20-yr-old math student... is simply the home of my true soul... but since you have never experienced that truest part of me... you have never experienced Erin Luhks... and you can not love her
you slow you stop you feel
and you breathe you really feel
and you get this weather
or not the weather
weather that’s all about
weather to be
and you feel it and you breathe
and you really feel
you like this weather
or not weather
Reminder: I am not to be taken seriously, really. I get over things. The only time I think I’m sad all the time is when I’m sad, which is NOT all the time. Sad thoughts come slow; they seem longer. But fast is happy. Er, happy is fast. You know how it is!
Sitting there in bed last night after having not slept the night before I was listening to Dave Frost’s radio show when I had the sensation a cotton ball was sticking to the roof of my mouth and to my tongue and then I felt my skin expand and my limbs and face balloon and I could feel myself getting really fat I think my thoughts slowed down and my mind was bouncing around like a tennis ball between new levels of cellulite that had just appeared on the inside of my skull. Dave Frost’s radio show makes you fat.
I’m so glad there’s such a thing as socks. They are so great: I’m talking about the fresh white quarter length ones that are thick. Not too fresh though—having been worn once before and broken in so they’re all smooth and toasty and warm yet still white and perfect. Feet look so cute when they’re in a pair of comfy white socks. They make them look more like paws. Socks are like blankets for your feet. Putting on socks is almost as good as going to sleep, says my brother. He knows about socks. He also knows about sleepin.
Words to meditate on: challenge, potential, Sweden, dares, 1:15, why, why not, relentlessness, Batman, dare, future, identity, BE, bee, control, capability, forever, time, stargirl, capacity, manana.
The solution is obvious.
Some people develop destructive patterns of behaviour intentionally so that when they bring them to people, they get all sorts of sympathy. I don’t want to be some people.
It wouldn’t be fair to have one only to abandon it for Sweden.
Every instant I can choose to.
Even if it’s a disorder, dammit if I will …
I have the option. Why would I choose not to?
The Tip Jar