Death

Last New Year's Eve was really awful. One of my friends died (the second in as many months), and I spent the whole evening sobbing in the dark wanting the world to end. I think this year will sort of have to be an improvement.

It doesn't seem like a whole year has passed since a year ago. Since Kronowitz died. (death, dying, dead, to die. No, I don't know what it means, either.) I feel like he's still at college, like maybe if I went to my old high school at the end of the year, he'd be there visiting, too. But he won't, because he's gone forever, and that's really weird and scary and I forget sometimes but then it hits me all of a sudden. There have been others (AliceCaseyStephenPaul) but I think the only other person this happens with is Jessie, but with her it's been four and a half years, and that's forever. I can't remember either of their faces except as still photographs. I can't remember their voices, but I remember what they said. Sometimes I miss them so much it hurts, even though they'd been gone for so long already before they were Gone.

I think I'm partially thinking about death because of Kronowitz, but partially because of the tsunami. There are millions of people who all of a sudden know people who are dead now, and I know how they feel, but I can't comprehend hundreds of thousands so I have to think about the people I know, because death is death is death. When I cry I'm not sure whether I'm crying for them or for them, but I don't think it really matters, because we're all just people.

I don't know where people go, or if they even go somewhere, but if they do, I hope they're happy there.
(I miss [you] a whole lot.)

Things to do in the next year:

1. I'd like to start going to temple more regularly, and check out the UU in Oly. Every once in a while I realize that I can feel my spiritual self withering, and it's really not a good feeling. I just feel more like myself when I have a religious experience in which to participate. Plus, as of this afternoon I have a UU buddy. No more excuses.
2. I'd like to make use of our gym facilities more than once in a quarter, and in this way maybe get into not quite so pathetic shape (like, being able to run for any amount of time without wanting to die would be nice).
3. Getting full credit in my classes is a must, and not just because they'll kick me out of school if I don't. There's this thing we call self-respect.
4. Re-learn how to read knitting patterns, and actually make things.
5. Become proficient at an instrument. Probably guitar, because I have a head start on that one.

I think these are doable. Yes?

Random not very Christmas-y photo of the day:

My cat and my dog. Notice the homicidal glint in Chester's eye. My mother and I decided today (by which I mean that I said and my mom warily agreed) that in addition to being Orson Welles reincarnated, my cat is sort of a Bond villain. Or possibly a mafia boss, or really anyone who could feasibly nod to a lackey to indicate that someone needs to be "taken care of".

Christmas was excellent. Coolest gift was undoubtedly the iPod, which was a joint present from the entire maternal side of my family. Other awesomeness included scarf handmade by Aunt, Paul Simon songbook, and futuristic silicone potholder/trivet. Oh, and chocolate. So much chocolate.

Happy winter, all you people out there in intarwebbland!

Ahahahahaha! Ahahahaha! Aahahaha! BEWARE!!!!! Yrs sincerely, The Opera Ghost.

Today I saw The Phantom of the Opera with Lemon and her mother. (I'm trying out this pseudonym thing, to see how it feels. Is it working?) I used to listen to the original cast recording obsessively at a young age, and seeing the thing in all its ostentatious glory really was a nostalgic experience. I have small complaints, like how the Phantom's cape swirling was just silly, and how if it were a really GOOD production it would have made me cry, and how Christine's only two facial expressions were chin-wobble and ecstatic, but otherwise I was very impressed. The (quite negative) review I read admitted that the reviewer didn't like the musical at all, which I thought sort of negated his whole criticism.

Later we went to the mall, because who doesn't love a good hour of overstimulation at the end of the day? My aim was to buy presents for other people, but instead I bought myself some things to put in my ears. I bought them from Hot Topic. Shh! Don't tell anyone. The cashier there was terrifyingly cheerful. I also almost bought an adorable dress (not at Hot Topic) that only made me look like a sausage a little bit.
While I was sitting in Nordstroms spilling perfume on myself, an older, slightly inebriated man came up to me with a sculpture he'd made of a man fishing in a kayak. He showed it to me, and I said, "That's very nice."
"Just like you," he said. His smile was huge and didn't contain many teeth. "You're beautiful."
I thanked him, and he wandered away to show someone else. As we left, a Nordstroms staffer was ushering the man and his friend out the door. It really was a nice carving.

The Pastry Sessions, and the Aging Process of the Surrogate Sibling

Recording was dismal. As soon as I get a copy, I'll post some songs so everyone can shower me with false compliments and temporarily boost my self-image. It really was terrible. Every time I started to sound good, my throat would close up and I'd make this disgusting gurgling hacking sound. True, we'll be able to just use these as scratch tracks and rerecord everything individually, but that plan only works if my respiratory system decides to start cooperating. In other Pastries news, Our Guitar Player is well on his way to growing an Unfortunate Moustache. I'm debating with myself whether or not an intervention is needed.

Today V and her Little Sister and I went to see Finding Neverland, where I cried like a fucking woman. Little Sister is getting into that dangerously-close-to-grown-up stage, by which I mean she's much taller than me. No, no, seriously, she's terribly mature, and although that's a bit unnerving I now feel as though I can swear around her without feeling insanely guilty. This is a big step.

K and I had the best thing today. We were standing in the entrance to Title Wave (local used bookstore), and K asked, "Where's your mom?" to which I immediately and matter-of-factly replied "She's dead." K responded without an ounce of contrition, "Well, then, I'm sorry I asked."
This exchange caused a woman to chuckle as she walked past us out the door, and I was in the middle of thinking "It's fun to make strangers laugh," when her teenaged son said quite loudly "I wish MY mom was dead!" I made a loud and ungraceful noise of laughter, and as the kid left the building he shouted "Merry Christmas!" at us, and then we laughed so hard I coughed up a lung (LITERALLY! No, not literally at all. But that would have been impressive, no?). It was beautiful.
I think this probably lost quite a bit in the transcription. Oh well. It made my day.

closer, lungs, knack.

V and I went to see Closer today. Hum. Excellent acting, but incredibly unpleasant. Basically, it's horrible people doing horrible things to each other, over and over again, with no resolution or redemption. Which is sort of like life, I guess, except for the part where I don't really think that. I hate that this movie made me think that that was true.

It's very possible that I'm allergic to Anchorage. Since I've been here, my lungs have decided not to work. My voice is all gravelly and I have a cough that sounds like a really old car starting to start... Tomorrow the band is going to go record some songs, and I'm going to sound like crap. Lovely.

While looking for Christmas music I stumbled upon my dusty old copy of "Get the Knack," and spent the afternoon dancing in my living room. I really seriously truly madly deeply need a turntable in Washington. I may have to steal the one in the living room, and smuggle it on the plane with me. Not like my mom ever plays records anyway; when I got here the same Siouxie and the Banshees album was sitting in it right where I'd left it four months earlier.

Iron Man, Mr Sensitive, and me.

I've discovered that I feel more like myself when I'm at home, with the people I know. Or even if I don't know them very well, I feel like I know who I am. At Evergreen, it's hard to tell who I am and how this "me" person acts, but when I'm at my old high school everything seems familiar. Odd. I think I might like me better here. At Evergreen I'm never sure what to say, so I don't say anything, or I say something awkward and unfunny, and everyone tries not to look. I think it's because I don't really know anyone there. I know their stories, and I know how their lives have happened to them, but I don't really know them. In Anchorage I don't necessarily have to hear a person's stories before I know how to act. I think. Maybe. I don't know.

On a different note entirely, witness this X-Statix insanity! Man. It's amazing, isn't it? Seriously, go read it. Bwahahaha.

I hate you, barbeque.

Our Guitar Player makes the best dinner conversation. Topics included the logistics of being raped by Care Bears, and how he used to root around on his carpet in desperate pursuit of cocaine, and try to get small animals stoned. Also, I figured out that his new speech patterns are identical to those of his Woman, which is sort of sweet.

My mother and I went to a terrible barbeque place to hear Our Banjo Player play his mandolin. I ate some terrible cowflesh, while Our Guitar Player ate the 5 Meat Plate, or "meat salad," as he called it (we identified turkey, chicken, beef, and pork, but the fifth remained disturbingly unnameable). I went home and fell asleep, only to be woken by my stomach stabbing me with tiny sharp knives. So I've sort of been trying not to puke for the past three hours, and distracting myself by reading about how Dominic Monaghan is quite the homosexual, and how anyone who says otherwise is in denial. I think I'll become a vegetarian.

I've been listening to a mix lately that's mostly Cat Stevens, Joy Division, and A Tribe Called Quest. It blends suprisingly well.

Should I dye my hair dark? Not crazy omgimsogoth dark, just closer to my natural colour.

Anbidiað eow her mid þam assum sume hwile.

Why I am not like normal people:
I'm sitting here waiting to go home. I think, "Hey, I have a couple hours to kill. Why don't I learn Old English?" So I've been sitting here mangling the story of Abraham and Isaac. I think maybe I should pick up a copy of Beowulf over break. *sigh* Or maybe not.

Also on the linguistics front, here's a thing
that relates to a several days old conversation with Z and J. In case you were still interested.

This is what I miss in Alaska.

Today a friend of my father, whose film version could quite easily be portrayed by Fred Willard, told me that once a family is in the restaurant business, there's no way to leave it. Well, what he actually said was "There's ketchup in your blood, and there's no way to get it out!" Which I found a little disturbing and a lot funny, and so tried not to catch my dad's eye, because I knew that we'd both crack up. But then the guy said "You can try as hard as you want, but you just can't quit." And then I whispered something to my dad like "Man, that ketchup-heroin is a bitch to kick," and we both started giggling, and even though it wasn't all that funny, we just couldn't stop, and I had to run to the restroom to escape.

In 24 hours EXACTLY, I will be home in Anchorage. I will sleep on my terrifically uncomfortable bed, and my stinky dog will come snuffle on my feet, and maybejustmaybe there will be snow... We will light candles for the last three nights of Hanukkah, and on Friday we will sing folk songs and eat brownies. I will see my friends I haven't seen in four months, and we will eat stomach-annihilating tuna melts at Leroy's. Soon enough I will start missing my Evergreen friends, and I'm sure there will be stupid Alaskan drama, because there always is. Hopefully no one will kill themselves this time, though. That wasn't fun. It's never fun.
On New Year's I will hold a sparkler and think about kissing someone, and probably fall asleep curled around a best friend or two. And then it will be time to come home to the place I've lived for a year and a half... It seems funny to call Olympia home, but I suppose it really is now.

Tchaikovsky, you old so-and-so. How the hell have you been?

I went to the Nutcracker today for the first time in years. My family went every year when I was small, and I have vague memories of dressing in my poofiest, most Christmasy dresses and snow boots (dress-up has a different meaning in Alaska than in other places), climbing to the mezzanine of the Performing Arts Center, and wishing I were a ballerina. This was the first time I'd gone since I was younger than all of the performers, and it was an odd experience. As could probably be expected in most small towns, the stage was smaller, the dancers less polished, the music prerecorded. These didn't necessarily detract from the show, but it was definitely different than I remember. Anyway, it was nice to return to an old tradition, albeit in a different town, with a different parent.

I have no idea if I'll keep updating this, but I'm getting tired of LiveJournal, so maybe I'll switch over.