September 30, 2002

Feeling at home

I spent the whole day today in the gallery... taking down artwork, patching holes, sanding. Tomorrow I'll be doing more sanding and painting the walls. I'm tired. And it's hot. And my wonderful dorm has no air conditioning (thank God I don't live on the fourth floor). But I like working in the gallery. I belong there. Cheesy, but true. Right now I have to study for my methods test. I hate methods.

Yesterday Steph and I actually got our lazy tushies out of bed and went to church down the street. There were a lot of other BW students there, and the pastor was really friendly. She greeted everyone afterward, and seemed to know everyone's names (except for ours, of course). We were given paper grocery bags to take home and fill with food for the local shelter. I don't have anything, so I'll be food shopping as soon as I get my check on Thursday. I am definitely going back to church there next Sunday.

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September 28, 2002

Thanks for nothing.

My dad told me on the phone earlier today that I got a letter at home from my school's financial aid department. I got all excited thinking that the school was giving me more financial aid, since I wrote them a special cases letter letting them know how much money my family lost this year. It turns out that it was nothing more than a "we don't give a $hit" letter. All they did was give me a work study opportunity, which won't help me one bit. First of all, the jobs on campus that I can fit into my schedule have all been snatched up already. I got a job the first week thinking I had the work study offer, and then it was revoked when I found out that I didn't. They're too late. The lady who hired me, then unhired me, decided to hire me back (sort of) for only a couple hours a week (I think she felt sorry for me). But that's it. How is that supposed to help me? How is it that tuition can go up, my family's income can go down, and the financial aid department cut my aid? How?

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Dictionary.com

Dictionary.com has my name listed in their database. I checked, because I'm trying to avoid reading my research articles for my million and a half page methods paper. I think it's cool, though, to have your name in the dictionary. I feel important now. I'm also sitting here trying to figure out the meaning of the dream I had this morning before I woke up. I was fighting the Starkist Tuna. He was at my family's house (my parents were going to barbecue him for dinner) and all of a sudden he got loose and started attacking people. He grabbed this one woman by the ankles and pulled her under a table. I jumped for them, grabbed her arm, and pulled her to safety. Then I knocked him down and made him sit against the wall with his hands in his lap. Real superhero stuff. Crazy.

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September 25, 2002

Yes, grades matter

I just came back from my abnormal Psych class in which our exams from last week were passed back to us. With all of the stress and madness that have plagued me this week, I needed something good to give me a lil' boost --and I got it. A+. It's about damn time, that's all I have to say. After growing up as the nerd in my family and getting A's all my life, I was starting to lose confidence in myself as a student with all the bad grades I've been getting. Well, only one bad grade, really, but it was D-. I've never, in my entire life, recieved a D- on anything ('cept that time I failed gym because I didn't want to go swimming in the yucky pool). I'm happy. Now all I have to do is figure out what I'm going to do with the rest of my life and I'll be all set.

I've also been surfing. According to the Beliefnet.com Belief-O-Matic Quiz, I am 100% Orthodox Quaker, 95% Moderate to Liberal Mainline Christian Protestant, and 83% Moderate to Conservative Christian Protestant. Those were my top three matches. I have no plans to join an Orthodox or Evangelical Quaker church, but it's nice to know there are others out there who are just as weird as I am. Yiss.

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Tragedy hits the class of 98

One of my high school classmates died over the weekend. This is just so wierd... how does this happen to a 22 year old? I don't know.

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September 23, 2002

Friday Five

Friday Five

1. Would you say that you're good at keeping in touch with people? Absolutely not. My friends will say that I'm the kind of person that, unless they put forth the effort to keep in touch with me, they'd start to forget what I look like. I rarely return calls, and I make the first call even more seldomly than that. I'm a bad, bad friend.

2. Which communication method do you usually prefer/use: e-mail, telephone, snail mail, blog comments, or meeting in person? Why? I'm an e-mail girl. I like e-mail, because I can edit my message if necessary. It kinda corrects for the foot-in-mouth thing I have going, and it also lets me get my thoughts out to a lot of people at once. I should also mention blogger. It lets me say things I have a hard time saying otherwise.

3. Do you have an instant messenger program? How many? Why/why not? How often do you use it? AIM, I use it everyday. Boredom.

4. Do most of your close friends live nearby or far away? Most of them live very close by, within about 20 miles of home. I have a friend that lives in England, and one that moved to Colorado, but that's about it.

5. Are you an "out of sight, out of mind" person, or do you believe that "distance makes the heart grow fonder"? This subject was a focus of one of my psychology classes. I'm an "out of sight, out of mind person," as are most others out there. Being in close proximity with other people increases liking. It's hard enough having a relationship when the person is close --being far away is a stake in the heart of love. Oh God how cheesy. I'm tired.

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September 22, 2002

The Tumbling Woman

The Tumbling Woman Controversy

I'm an artist. Or, at least an artist-wannabe. So I guess that means I'm going to be a wee bit biased where the issue of art is concerned. This story has been all over the news for the last few days. A statue created by artist Eric Fischl in remembrance of the World Trade Center attack victims has been covered, sectioned off, and censored over the complaints that it was too graphic.

I wasn't at ground zero on 9/11/01. I was safely watching the carnage on television, hundreds of miles away. I have no idea what it must feel like for those who witnessed the event in person to see this statue in public. I don't think it should have been displayed publicly in New York, at least not as long as the emotions were (are) still so raw. But I have two issues with those who believe that this statue isn't 'art' because it's 'ugly' and 'graphic.'

1. It's too graphic... How can anything portraying the events of that day not be graphic? No news story that I've heard of mentions complaints about other graphic images taken from that day. The videos on CNN showing planes plunging into buildings are graphic. Shots of people hanging out of windows on the 98th floor are graphic. Clips of American planes dropping bombs on mud huts are graphic. And yes, the sculpture is also graphic. What else could it be?

2. It's not art... I'm not sure that I understand why it is that some people believe that in order for something to be considered 'art' it must contain pretty flowers and use the color dusty rose. I remember the day after the attack my art teacher said she saw in the newspaper that morning a photograph of a man falling from one of the towers. He was wearing a white dress shirt and black pants, and was falling upside-down. His hair was a mess, because the wind was whipping it around. But even as he was falling to his death, he looked peaceful. It's almost blasphemous to say it, but I feel the same way about this piece. It's graphic, disturbing, and really, really, beautiful.

That thing needs to be seen, by those who want to see for themselves what was happening to those people who chose to jump. Maybe not in a mall or a train station --not any place a person who was at ground zero 9/11/01 would be forced to look at it (I don't think looking away is really an option). But somewhere. It really does have to be seen.

My two cents.

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September 20, 2002

Atomic (exam) bomb

Test anxiety has ruined my future as a psychologist. Well, maybe not my future, but at least my goal of getting straight A's in all of my psych classes. My Psych of Learning test this morning has so discouraged me.

I bombed. The test consisted of six essay questions that we answered using those damn little blue books that gives college students across the country panic attacks. When my prof handed out the test paper, I must have stared at it for at least five minutes, reading and rereading the questions. I knew I'd be one of the last students left there, still writing. The first few questions I managed to get through despite the cramps that seized my right hand (two hours later it's still shaped as if holding a pen). But the fifth question got me. I skipped to question #6, and then came back after finishing, but by that point the class period had already ended, and I really had no clue what the hell the answer was. I just didn't want to write anymore.

I handed it in, smiled at my prof, and walked out. And I wasn't halfway to my dorm before I figured out the answer --I just misunderstood the question. So I stood there, in the rec center parking lot, and released an expletive that made bystanders stare.

I knew the answer. And it was the easiest question on the test. Dammit.

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September 19, 2002

Richard Rogriguez

Richard Rogriguez came to speak on campus today, telling us to not be afraid of living in the proverbial burrito. Long story. I'll explain when I have time to get my thoughts together.

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September 18, 2002

Drina is happy.

Drina is happy. Okay, there I said it. My psych prof keeps telling me to "fake it until you make it," so in an effort to give me a sunny attitude in life, I'm going to fake like I'm little Miss Positive until it happens. Life is good. I love my classes. Having no cash gives me nothing but gratitute for the things I do not lack (birthing hips, perhaps?) because I am a happy person. Smiling. Shining. Big bright wonderful ray of sunshine. Happy. Happy. Happy.

This sucks.

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It's a bait & switch, I tell ya

All this time I thought BW stood for Baldwin Wallace College. I now know the real meaning: boring weekends. I've decided to go home this time around, and hang out with my friends there, because this last weekend the campus was completely deserted. Why am I talking about weekends? Procrastinating on my methods paper. But you knew that.

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September 14, 2002

Random things

Steph and I slept in until about 1:00 pm today (yes, we're lazy) and then we watched Frontline : Faith And Doubt At Ground Zero. Very emotional program. So yeah, I've gotten nothing done. I resolved at the start of this semester that I would spent my time constructively, but that's not going to happen. It's already five o'clock, and I just changed out of my pajamas. Pathetic, I know. I did wash my clothes, though. Only $2.50. And I'm considering getting off my rear end and go walk upstairs to yell at whoever it is on the second floor that is making so much noise. I love Saturday.

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September 13, 2002

Rat poop. Yes, I said rat poop.

My hands are raw from washing them so much. Rat poop. Everywhere. In psych of learning, I picked up one of the rats to put him in the experiment cage, when he started squirming around. I put my other hand underneath him just in case he fell (not a good idea). He pooped all over my left hand. I couldn't go wash it right away, because the room was dark, and if I opened the door, it would let light into the lab. So I sat there, poop on hand, for the entire experiment. All I was doing was working the stopwatch and timing the light intervals, so it wasn't too bad. But afterward I washed. And washed. And washed. And I think all the poop is now gone. Yick.

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September 11, 2002

Another beautiful service of remembrance

Another beautiful service of remembrance at Kulas hall. The orchestra and choir performed Lacrymosa (which gave me chills), and the gospel group sang a freedom medley. The program was more meticulously planned this year and the emotions were less raw. After the program ended everyone went outside to light candles and sing. There was a man in a turban bearing a striking likeness to Osama bin Laden in the crowd. The people around him lit his candle and shared their lyric sheets with him. That's exactly the way it should be.

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A beautiful service

My roomie, Steph, let me borrow a black shirt for the funeral. I wore a long grey skirt and black sandals with it. I didn't make it to the wake, which was at 8:30 in the morning, because I went to my research methods class. I shouldn't have. When my professor walked into the room, I told him that I was sorry, but I had to leave early. He shot me the dirtiest look I've ever seen a teacher give me. It was a mistake to even show up. He's mean, and now he doesn't like me. There goes my passing grade. After leaving class early, I raced to the eastside to make it to the church on time. It was the same church where I went to school as a little kid, and it was a little strage being back there. The bells were tolling every 5-10 seconds, and it reminded me of a John Donne poem... Do not ask for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee. The funeral procession made there way into the church, and it was nice to see so many people there. Sarah, Matt, Missy and I were all wearing coordinating outfits (although we didn't plan it that way). Some people had trouble doing the readings because they were crying, but Sarah's eulogy was awesome. It was funny, uplifting, and exactly like Nanna.

I rode with Sarah, Joanne, and Poppy to the cemetary. Everyone seemed relieved, even Poppy. He said he just did not want to see his wife in pain anymore. Joanne was even joking about how the young funeral director was hitting on her. The gravesite ceremony was short, and afterward we made our way to Aunt Noreen's house to eat. The little kids were happy to be seeing their relatives and eating pizza. I don't think they quite understood that this wasn't just another family party. But when I was a kid, I didn't understand these things much either. After that I went home, and looked through the obits in the Plain Dealer. Her name was there --a whole life, reduced to a small entry in the back of the metro section. I saw another entry from a man who had the same last name --Keller. He was only 41. I wonder how his family is feeling today.

September 11th.

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September 09, 2002

No clothes

I have nothing to wear. I have not been to a funeral in a long time. Actually, I don't think I've ever been to one. I've attended viewings, but never funerals. Are you still supposed to wear black clothing? Is it too morbid to do so? I don't know. Personally I don't think black is even appropriate for such an event (and this coming from someone whose wardrobe is composed almost entirely of black t-shirts). The whole Life --> Death --> Life thing I wrote about in a previous post... that's why black seems unnecessary. But unless told otherwise, I guess I'll still wear it. I have nothing else.

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Nanna's funeral

The funeral is set for tomorrow morning at 10:00. I'm going to go tell my research methods teacher that I can't be in class. He won't be happy, but at this point I don't care.

I was talking to my friend on aim last night, and I told him that everyone was expecting this, since she was so sick the last few months. He made a good point that even when it's expected, it's still somehow a surprise. It really is.

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September 08, 2002

Rest in peace, Nanna

I went to see Nanna last night. She was asleep and looked so weak. Poppy kept saying how he just wished she wouldn't be in pain anymore. This morning Sarah woke me up to tell me that Nanna died a couple hours earlier, and that she had already been taken to the funeral home. I'm really glad my mom called me to tell me to come home.

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September 07, 2002

Going home for Nanna

I am going home for the day. My mom called and said that Nanna, who has been very sick the last few months, in doing really bad and could die at any time. All these life and death issues coming up all of a sudden is very strange. I don't know.

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September 06, 2002

Waiting for those cute lil' furballs

Today was the first lab day for my psychology of learning class. The shipment of rats has not come in yet, so we didn't get to do any experiments, but we got to hang around the lab and become familiar with the equipment. I think I'm going to like working there. Most classes are endless lectures and paper presentations, but this one is hands-on experience working with lab animals. And we don't have to hurt them --no shocks, no invasive surgical procedures... just rats and food. Yay. And I'm done for the day ;)

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September 05, 2002

Thanks, Roomie

A much needed e-mail from my roommate. An oldie, but a goodie:

A Fairy Tale for the Assertive Woman

Once upon a time, in a land far away, a beautiful, independent, self assured princess, happened upon a frog as she sat contemplating ecological issues on the shores of an unpolluted pond in a verdant meadow near her castle. The frog hopped into the Princess' lap and said:

Elegant Lady, I was once a handsome Prince, until an evil witch cast a spell upon me. One kiss from you, however, and I will turn back into the dapper, young Prince that I am and then, my sweet, we can marry and setup housekeeping in our castle with my Mother, where you can prepare my meals, clean my clothes, bear my children, and forever feel grateful and happy doing so.

That night, while dining on lightly sauteed frog legs seasoned in a white wine and onion cream sauce, she chuckled to herself and thought:

I don't fucking think so.

Thanks, Steph

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The $7 to my name

Right now I have $7 in my pocket. There's a tad bit more than that in my bank account. I have this feeling that unless I find another job (to replace the one that the financial aid dept. ripped away from me) I will soon be discovering what poverty feels like.

Scheduled for next month is a program on south campus featuring a gospel choir. From Sweden. When I think of gospel, I picture a white-robed black church choir jumping around and singing their hearts out. I just can't see blonde-haired blue-eyed glow-in-the-dark Swedes singing gospel. But from what I hear, they're fantastic. We'll see.

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September 03, 2002

Death is dead

Hmmm, I just had an interesting AIM conversation with a friend of mine about death. Like a lot of people (and I do mean a lot), she is afraid of it. Millions of Americans are. Just witness the poll numbers on CNN with yay-high percentages of people who are terrified of terrorist attacks (which we all know will happen again eventually). People are afraid. But why? Is it because they're not sure of what's looming around the corner? Are they afraid that there isn't a corner around which something would otherwise be looming? Are they afraid that it really will be payback time? I don't know. But this is something that intrigues me --I really don't understand it, because I don't have that fear. And I don't want anyone else to have that fear, because fear is no fun. But why be afraid to die?

The way I see it, death is part of the life cycle. A couple of decades ago I was born. Right now I'm in the process of living my life (albeit pathetically). And eventually I'll die. Heck, maybe tomorrow I'll die. But these are not uncharted waters I'll be sailing. And maybe it's the illogical, weak-minded, childish, nonsensical, (other adjectives I'm missing?) believer in me that eases my mind, but I'm honestly not afraid to die. Not anymore.

I was riased Catholic, and when I was younger, purgatory scared the hell out of me. I mean, if even good people go there, how long will bratty little kids have to hang out in this torturous purification? How many skipped masses (I reall was feeling sick, honest!) will eventually come back to bite me in the ass? I was worried, because I knew that I had not filled my good deed quota. And the Marian apparitions my mom was (is) obsessed with always seemed to speak incessantly of the unspeakable terror of H-E-L-L. It's hot. Even knowing that my parents had me baptized as a baby did not alleviate the worries that had crept into the dusty corners of my mind. Wow I should write that down. Okay, so I was worried, because I though God was going to smack me around for being a brat. But He really wasn't kidding when He said that the truth would set you free. And it freed me from being afraid of something that has no hold on me.

Death should not be feared, because the cycle doesn't stop there. I'm not kidding. So, if I die tomorrow, it's nothing but a step up for me. And then what? My sister can have all my cd's, my roomie can have this whole place to herself, and Shaine can have this stupid domain name if he wants it. Life --> Death --> Life. That's it.

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September 02, 2002

Friday Five

I completely forgot about the Friday Five on Friday, so I'm doing it today.

1. What's your favorite piece of clothing that you currently own? My favorite black sweater with the red and white stripe across the front. I bought it five years ago, and I will not chuck it even though my mom has had to do work on it several times already. The sleeves have damn near fallen off, but I have faith that black thread and Mommy's sowing skill can fix it. It is my favorite, and I will not let it go. Ever.

2. What piece of clothing do you most want to acquire? I would love to have these black boots I saw on Hottopic.com, but I doubt I would ever have a chance to wear them. They're too high for me, too, and I can't afford them anyway. I'm out of a job, remember?

3. What piece of clothing can you not bring yourself to get rid of? Why? See question 1.

4. What piece of clothing do you look your best in? I think I look best in my usual --black t-shirt and jeans. I think I would look weird in anything else, because this has been my uniform for the last few years. I know, big loser.

5. What has been your biggest fashion accident? The four years I spent in high school. Plus the nine years I spent in grade school. I think everything I wore before my eighteenth birthday was a fashion accident. Black spandex shorts in junior high, plaid shirts in high school (did I think I was a lumberjack?), that poofy red formal dress I wore to a New Year's event when I was 13... Yeah I've have plenty.

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