Green in Greenwich

if anyone cares...

2007-12-21T14:03:11Z

http://ganjagoddess.blogspot.com/

ganjagoddess @ 2007-09-28T19:44:00

2007-09-28T23:59:38Z

Ihsan Teyze died last night. For those of you who don't know her (which is all of you, come to think of it), she was closer to my grandmother than her own sister, helped raise me, and was pretty much the kindest and most graceful person I've met. All day today I was in a foul mood, trying to get my essay on what Utilitarians believe we should do about taxation done, crying, whining to our neighbor Drew- the works. I cried so much that when I left the building, it took me a minute to realize it was really raining. That's the beauty of this city- it might kick your ass, but sometimes the sky opens up and New York cries just so you don't have to.
Tonight I'm seeing Okkervil River. Two weeks ago (I think?) I saw Girl Talk and left halfway through again, this time because of Ted. I hooked up with James, that guy I was crazy about last year. Apparently he and Stephanie broke up this summer. He said "I've always had a thing for you" and that kind of led me to believe it was more than just hooking up during Welcome Week, but worse things have happened. Oh back to Ted. Actually no, I'm done.
I'm taking Foundations of Journalism, which is about the toughest course ever (even though I've got this false sense of security cause I'm so far behind I've ceased to try catching up). And I'm taking Ethics, which makes me think a lot (not always about Utilitarianism, ya know).
Then there are my two bullshit courses, both of which I do the most work for. In Creative Writing, I'm starting to get into poetry again, particularly cause I keep having to write it and that's just a good excuse to get fucked up. And Intro to Painting is great cause it's fun and nice and in the middle of Stuyvesant Street and did I mention my teacher (who's a grad student) is beautiful?
I'm lonely a lot. Actually all the time. Watching my roommates' relationships seems to be enough. Actually it isn't. I'm trying to convince myself; it might take a while.
Last night I listened to Barack Obama speak in Washington Square Park and got so so hopeful.
Last Friday I went with my dear friend to an abortion clinic and wanted to scream so many things at once to the world... until I saw her. I could never have been that strong. I hope I'll never have to.
We have yet to decorate our room with Peako. It'll happen soon enough.
I saw the Summer of Love exhibit at the Whitney a while back and felt so at home.
I'm just waiting till I get fired up/ready to go.
It'll happen soon enough.

ganjagoddess @ 2007-07-22T23:52:00

2007-07-22T22:17:00Z

Earlier today my mother and I spotted a bird standing on her windowsill on one foot. And though it was standing steadily out of sheer necessity on that one foot, the bird had the saddest expression on its face, and we attributed this look to the fact that it was crippled... until it slowly extended its other foot to touch the ground it was standing on for a brief second- that crusted, wounded other leg that was not functioning but not quite dead, either.
I've come to regard this bird as a metaphor for the events today- leading up to this very hour- that shook Turkey to the core.
For the past one month I've been observing the social, political, and economic polarization in my country. The extent of contradictions readily viewable in everyday life at first seemed to reflect a nation struggling to evolve within and against itself. After a while, though, this beautiful-on-ugly paradox all the time, day-in and day-out grew so exhausting that I sought refuge in bitterly laughing.
Well, I can laugh no more.
I wish I could say I'm taken by great surprise at AKP's re-election; I'm not. And I can sit here all day long to agree with the journalists, politicians, and critics occupying our television screen for hours. Yeah, Erdogan appealed to the otherwise-uneducated and unenlightened masses with the sole vehicle of money- money undeniably provided by America for a particular agenda. Yeah, Baykal should have counteracted more effectively and made clear his agenda, his solution to real problems such as hunger, lack of jobs and poverty as opposed to focusing on Erdogan's inconsistencies and the turban issue. And yeah, he should resign from the leadership position of CHP. But what's killing me are the questions my generation is either too ignorant or too afraid to ask- let alone find answers for.
How does it happen that in a republic founded by Ataturk upon his principles and foresight, the political party established by this same man has come to appeal only to twenty percent of the population a mere eighty-four years later? How can we, the few true Kemalists by definition left in this country, justify asking the rest to choose a political ideal over everyday financial concerns? How can we even talk about being sovereign in any real way when we're willingly turning over our banks one by one to foreign investors?
We've either got to amputate that crusted left leg and give in to being half-alive, half-evolved, or we've got to find a way to incorporate cultural preservation into our idea of globalization, of modernism. And unfortunately,
in a country that's choosing a fundamentalist Islamic government by landslide just to get coal, bread, and water,
in a country where the only semblance of that post-Revolutionary War fervor and grace left is stories we hear from our grandmothers and grandfathers,
in a country where the context of textbooks is so filtered down they refuse to state that the red in our flag stands for the blood shed on these lands by our forefathers,
in a country where a self-proclaimed future prime minister/college graduate of public relations can get on national television and giggle-state that she has never voted because "she did not want the ink to stain her fingernails,"
in a country where the most heated issue of the summer is artists throwing dirt on one another's name and arguing over who's got cellulite and who doesn't instead of creating any music that isn't a remix,
in a country where the women are more concerned with dying their hair blond and protecting "chastity" by taking it up the ass,
I don't know what we're doing anymore.

ganjagoddess @ 2007-07-11T03:02:00

2007-07-11T00:29:38Z

It's three in the morning here in Ankara and I am staring out my grandmother's window at the city, dazzling like a billion diamonds thrown over the hills, and for the first time in my life I cannot find it beautiful- rather eerie. The last few gasping breaths of life. The intimate hopelessness of quiet tears.
In the past three weeks (exactly), I've seen so many different sides of Ankara- no, Turkey- that I had not been exposed to in my childhood of climate-controlled car drives and shiny crisp dresses. I'm still not finding it easy to identify with the slums, by any means, but (possibly unrightfully) I feel that I'm closer to what Turkish really means than most of my generation born and bred here.
I've gone to Izmir and gotten so sunburned that I am peeling in patches. I've even (mostly) made peace with the fact that my father is who he is. In fact, last Monday I found a blunt roach that travelled in my purse all the way from Georgia, and even though it might have been my first-and-last high of Turkey, it brought on this brilliant realization that even in showing me Melissa's pictures, he did all he believed he could do. And really, I don't have much else to ask of him.
By the end of my first week here, I had crossed off the "have sex with a Turkish guy" item from my lifelong list of things to do, and it was nice, really nice, mindblowing in fact. His name is Hasan and I see him quite frequently (it's a double-date situation), and no matter how charming he is, I find it difficult to be anything more than content for the company.
Meric (known to most of SUNY Albany as "Melody") and I have drank definitely-unhealthy amounts and freaked out quite a few people all over Ankara with our Turk-glish, but we keep it a good time.
I've even gotten a taste of the public hospital system, since my mother was admitted for about two weeks to run various tests. She's determined to get her life together and lose weight now (with the help of a gastric bypass surgery to be performed in December, according to her and therefore our plans), and I'm finding that I spend less and less time worrying about her.
Instead, I take bus rides across town with that time and listen to my iPod constantly and undertake huge projects like downloading all albums on the notorious 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die book/list. And I cry here and there at random songs, hiding my face the best I can. And I recall reading Invisible Monsters just a week ago, which then puts me in the mood to just say "fuck it" and make the biggest mistake I can.
So I stay up till three in the morning on MSN just hoping hoping hoping, two e-mails (different addresses) and one un-replied text message and an unanswered call from a private number and various other calls in half-hour intervals (no private number) to no avail later, unable to sleep and unable to wait till morning to try all over again. And now I'm here because I've got nowhere else to be. Yet.
There are signs all over the place if you choose to read them and there's love and heart and brain but most of all that gut feeling- the feeling that this is still something extraordinary, something worth pursuing after all these years, something everlasting just because I have not got the power to kill it.
Something like trying to reach Arda.

ganjagoddess @ 2007-06-02T15:07:00

2007-06-02T20:23:16Z

When I try to put a name on my time here in Statesboro, the album title Our Endless Numbered Days pops into mind. Since May tenth, my life has been characterized by waking up in the afternoon and doing much of nothing until the evening hours, which are usually spent compensating with various substances for things I'm not sure I could name.
Compensating for New York, perhaps.
If this year has flown by quickly, second semester seems the blink of an eye. In the wake of new (albeit fewer) daily friends, a budding romance, and insurmountable amounts of schoolwork, I lived for some time with the feeling of being "on the edge." I distinctively remember a few times when there seemed no future for me, as though life would end after this cigarette or this song or this exam.
Well, life hasn't ended. I've made lower grades than first semester while studying tons more, but I genuinely feel that, in a strictly academic sense, I've also learned much more. Even my roommate situation, which seemed as though it would never get resolved, seems far behind me: one probation and its later appeal, a billion petty little acts and words on both our behalf- the only place these can haunt me now is in my dreams, where some nights I still struggle with Anna. Then again, for the past three days I've been having feverish dreams and an unusual difficulty going to sleep, both side effects of the above-mentioned substance compensation routine.
I saw Peako one night in Tavares, Florida, and our adventure to Wal-Mart remains one of the best events of this summer so far. Just this morning I received a package from Appy I had been waiting for impatiently, but I want to wait till it's a bit later in the day to experiment with that Cali goodness. My exchange with Kristin is, as usual, brief, but I've made a habit of watching the video she made of the three of us (Peako, Appy, and myself) on a semi-regular basis. I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's hard to achieve a semblance of the Goddardite lifestyle, and many things- the hours spent in Brendan and Winston's room, the walk of shame out of room 402, the midnight chats I'd have with E. Daniel, the security guard lady- have fallen to the wayside. What I grew used to last year will never be so convenient again, but I'm done being scared of it now.
What I've been dwelling on more than anything- even more than my excitement for living with those three amazing girls in Palladium, the best of dorms- is this current situation with Ted.
"I'll write to you," he said in our last few hours, assuring me of it even when I told him "no, you won't." And that sticks out in my mind somehow because it is neither the first nor the last yet one of the most definitive instances where I knew better all along. During our last conversation, in the middle of me raving about how much I had missed him, he asked me "are there any boys in your life?" so casually that I just had to be baffled.
There were a million reasons what we found circa Spring Break would not last the summer (such as the distance), and I was aware of these beforehand. It still doesn't make it easy. When you have steady sex (no matter how great it is) with someone, that's replaceable. When you get used to sleeping with someone night after night in the same bed and waking up next to him, though, it's harder to detach yourself instantaneously.
Looking back on it now, of all the times I spent alone in New York City, walking is the main motif. Walking eighty blocks back from the MET is the most vivid example, yet it is not at all the most significant.
That day I caused a scene at H&M and stormed out to walk around Washington Square Park with Appy because his friend oh-so-casually told me, "Ted tried to sleep with me last night?!" he never did understand why that was a problem for me, while I still fail understand his "I don't want a girlfriend" line and consequent treatment of me as though I were just that. He even asked me that night on the benches outside of Bobst "why didn't you walk away?" I had no answer. And I'm not one to deal with not having the answer, so what I did do, in fact, was walk. I walked on Cinco de Mayo, after the Ted Leo show and the half-effective shrooms, iPod in hand, around the West Village. I did not expect to find myself in Chelsea, but once I did, I walked in order to stay up all night insufflating this same damn poison with Wolfe and Jake.
The next day, after I walked back to the Village shamefully, Appy told me that men cheat because they can, while women do so to prove a point. I'm still lost on what my point was, but having done what I did with Jake only made me miss Ted more.
And then I keep remembering that last morning, when I walked with him to the Eighth Street subway station, kissed him goodbye at the turnstile, and cried all the way back to Goddard just as the sun was coming up. I want to retain that kind of feeling for him always- the knowledge that, in Adaptation terms, I "owned my love," that whether it was requited meant very little. At the same time, I want not to feel like the fool. This might all be very jumbled and non-sensible to anyone else reading, and I apologize, but I've got to find a better way to deal than playing this song over and over again.
I now know that I have to go against myself to win on this one, yet it's so fucking hard to abandon being the Romeo.

ganjagoddess @ 2007-05-14T19:40:00

2007-05-14T23:48:21Z

In the realm of everything, what is one human life?
I've been thinking about this long and hard lately, thinking beyond all obligations and reservations, spiritual or practical. The current state that my family's in is never going to change. Nothing, in fact, will ever really change- one obsession will be substituted by another, one delirium will follow the next, and so on and so forth until we're all happily in the grave, bankrupt in every sense of the word. Aside from propagating the species, I fail to see any point in continuing this mess we call our lives.

ganjagoddess @ 2007-04-11T03:55:00

2007-04-11T10:40:10Z

"Tell me something interesting."
Sometimes that command becomes my whole world, and I forget why it is I'm here otherwise. I want to freeze time long enough to find that single right answer you're seeking. I want to compress all of my borrowed wisdom into the most flawless specimen of truth. Because in those four words lies the riddle of your heart.
Something interesting?
This past month, starting with Spring Break, has been the most euphoric time of my life, and very little of it has had to do with drugs.
The best word to describe my method of salvation is "gratitude." The more I grow cemented into Greenwich Village, the more I realize the city is too small and life too short for everyone's ego. I'm living off the simplest pleasures, like each time I get to do something thoughtful for my friends or each time I learn something new in class.
But waking up to find this incredibly sweet letter from you is no simple joy. In fact it's a high I'm afraid nothing can beat. Because it's physical evidence that I must have said something even better than interesting along the way:
perhaps something inspiring.

ganjagoddess @ 2007-03-08T08:00:00

2007-03-08T14:36:30Z

I'm sleeping a total of six and a half hours since Monday night. I'm dominating all of my midterms. I'm on residential probation and not on speaking terms with my roommate. I'm high at eight o'clock in the morning.
For the past two months, I've been going about my life as though it were someone else's. My left eye's twitching though so things must be good. And in fact they are.
There's gym everyday and the girls of Goddard+Peako every night. I've got challenging but enjoyable classes and unmanageable amounts of paper laying around the room. The list of drugs I've tried has grown proportionately to the chaos in my brain, and the music's been pretty dominant too. In fact I saw Girl Talk. And I am seeing Of Montreal on Friday, Explosions in the Sky later this month, Ted Leo & the Pharmacists in May.
And I miss my parents a hell of a lot.
There were some memorable moments. It dawned on me a week into the semester that Peako and I should room with Appy and Kristin. That progressed into me being "Team Captain" of our dorm room next year. Peako and I walked back from Rubalad crying tears both of joy and frustration at our first snow. At this point I no longer feel cold in 19 degree weather. I saw Scarface with Brendan and Winston. Now we know Tony Montana's state of mind pretty clearly. One night we watched back-to-back episodes of Sex and the City with Emilio and Ted. Now they ask me "when next?" all the time.
There was the night PJ had another party uptown when Peako and I ran into Marcus's brother Josh and his roommate Pat on the street and took them along. There was my goodbye forever to DXM with Peako and us getting lost in her pile of clothes. There was arguably the coldest night this year in Brooklyn when we waited outside for about three hours for the Girl Talk show. And even though I left the show earlier than everyone else, it was four in the morning before I could make it back to Goddard. I look at it as fate that I kept taking the wrong subways all the way to Jamaica Center in Queens and back. I did a lot of thinking that night. Of course now it's all gone out the window in favor of something dangerous.
The last time I did- and probably ever will- go to Rubalad, I was given a tangled web of strings (the 'placenta') by this person who I hope was on drugs. Conversely, the drugs that we hoped to be on turned out to be just about as intoxicating as the placenta-string for Appy and Brendan. However, I managed to be the idiot who was on Ecstasy in a dorm setting on a Sunday night. Just four nights after that, I had my first experience of shrooms with Sarah. Unfortunately, it was also the night Annette on the seventh floor decided to get completely drunk and pass out in her bathroom floor with the water running, flooding three floors. Of course I had to be in the first group of people who found her and thought she was dead. If it is possible to feel your brain permanently change shape, I swear I did. Two nights after that we threw an "Ayo for Yayo" themed party in our brains. Then last Friday something clicked within me to where I could not even bear the thought of Goddard. And so I walked- I walked eighty blocks from the Metropolitan Museum of Art to Greenwich Village on a cold New York night, with Ani resonating in my ear. And I became convinced that I had the ability to catch up, to figure out what it was I was meant to be doing.
But none of this- or maybe all of it- is even remotely indicative of what was to come the next night. Last Saturday. It is Adam's nineteenth birthday, and it is tolerably cold outside. We walk to Blarney's Cove, this Irish bar on Fourteenth between Avenue A and B. We're all at least partially drunk, trying to ignore the fact that Mariah Carey is blaring out of the jukebox. The next thing I know, he says "don't ever leave me" and we are making out in the middle of the bar, in front of all our friends' shocked faces.
I've been trying to account for the fact that this is the same guy who wanted to have nothing to do with me since winter break. It's an unprecedented incident of me seriously having no idea this would happen: I'm completely crazy about the person I was unsure I could even be attracted to without substances last semester.
But even if I keep falling, there's no way I'd let go of this restlessness right now.

ganjagoddess @ 2007-01-12T21:44:00

2007-01-13T05:05:10Z

Two months of our lives have passed by imperceptibly, and now that it's my last night back in Statesboro I feel I've reached a point in the fourth dimension higher than any. Not only in a stoner euphemism kind of way, but seriously I'm looking in the rearview and simultaneously watching ahead, yet none of it frightens me as it used to.

I slept through a midterm yet got an A in Statistics. In fact I've got unexpectedly good grades for this semester- a B in Physics, where all I learned was the difference between AC and DC power (mostly due to the rock & roll reference); an A in Conversations of the West, where I have yet to read a majority of the material, though I'm not all too proud of that. What I am and can be proud of, however, is my A- in Writing the Essay. Even typing it doesn't feel real. You see, I lived in, through, and because of Joan Didion for a month straight. I became immersed in her or, as Olivia liked to put it, began "thinking and writing under the influence of my author." And on those cold nights no other person or place is as welcoming as New York City's streets, I roamed SoHo trying to figure out Didion. I'll spare you the details of every "discovery of central preoccupation," but essentially her words reverberated in my ear as W.B. Yeats' did in hers until I woke up one day and I knew. I knew that no matter how much Slouching Towards Bethlehem might reek of cynicism and disillusionment, the reason this woman still writes to this day is because she is of hope.
There is a part in "Michael Laski, C.P.U.S.A. (M.-L.)" where she describes the character, this short paragraph that seems to have made itself a cozy spot in my long term memory.
"As it happens I am comfortable with the Michael Laskis of the world, with those who live outside rather than in, those in whom the sense of dread is so acute that they turn to extreme and doomed commitments; I know something about dread myself, and appreciate the elaborate systems with which some people manage to fill the void, whether they are as accessible as alcohol and heroin and promiscuity or as hard to come by as faith in God or History."
Brilliant.
So aside from that I suppose there were the shows that changed me. In retrospect the entire weekend of the Modest Mouse-Ani DiFranco fever seems like a long and drawn out trip on some exotic drug. First of all Anna was out of town, which meant nonstop partying in my room. The downside was that I managed to pour half a glass of red wine onto my beloved MacBook and render myself without computer access until the end of semester. Still, drugs and sex aside, it was the rock & roll I gladly remember. Modest Mouse was accompanied by the bassist from The Smiths, and as he was right in front of our little crowd, we got to witness some amazing guitar-playing. Isaac Brock began to gnaw at his guitar at some point too, and at other times he screamed his way through songs like "Paper Thin Walls", "Ocean Breathes Salty", "The World At Large", "Float On", and most notably "Dramamine," which they played (for what seemed like twenty minutes!) as the second encore piece. They are nothing short of godlike status in my eyes now.
Then there was Ani, huge belly and all, belting out some old songs along with a majority of the new album, Reprieve. I have the setlist jot down on the side of a cigarette pack, but it's in New York. Anyway, I fell in love with the song "Hypnotized" that night. At one point Ani confided in us that she had been wanting to play some of her older tunes but just couldn't find anything that fit her unusually happy mood these days. Even New York, she said, hadn't lost its effect on her. It seems she got off the tour bus, took a look around, and fell back in love with the city. And she said it, too, repeating "I love this city" a few times during "Coming Up." Seeing her gave me the idea that you absolutely can come to find something resembling happiness, even if you've ignored all of your better judgment and gone with your heart. I'm not so sure we are all as lucky as she is, but it's a good wish to keep.
I believe it was on the last day of November that I acquired food poisoning from the Quizno's at Upstein. I spent a few hours in the health center with IVs stuck in my arm and the rest of the night numbing the physical pain with wine and pot. What I carried away with me was that singular moment I lost everything and felt so alone, only to have the nurse come in and tell me that my mother had called to check on my condition. Anyway, hospitals make you weepy. And I guess I was pretty homesick by that time.
Well, then there was the Evens show at NYU. Apparently Ian MacKaye, one-half of the duo that is The Evens, was also behind bands such as Fugazi and Minor Threat. I've loved Fugazi for just about as long as I've disliked Minor Threat, but I hope The Evens will stick around for a long time because they are amazing. MacKaye's frankness especially struck a chord with me. All in all it was a perfect show for a school such as NYU, where liberal seems to be the norm.
The night of that show also began what is officially the craziest weekend I had first semester of college. Two Svedka bottles were opened, and ten minutes later every person in the room was incredibly drunk. I like to think that the sudden rise in our blood alcohol level was the reason all inhibition flew the coup. I recall very vaguely making out with Sarah all over the room, somewhat more clearly kissing with Peako, and all-too-vividly the entanglements with Callan. As admirable as it was that he felt the need to apologize for "fucking me over," something clicked in me that night; I think I got him out of my system or something.
As was, I knew I had to explain the situation to Teddy, with whom I had been teetering on the line of friendship, back and forth, for about two weeks. The next night didn't seem too fruitful because I accompanied about seven or eight people (mostly fourth floor) to Rubalod, a rave held in some warehouse in Brooklyn. Well oh my God. That was amazing. Not only was this place, which appeared to be someone's house, immaculately decorated, there was a live band and a pretty legitimate-looking bar. Though I can't say the booze was of much effect that night as I had my first (effective) pot brownie. It was the most incredible high I've ever felt- so good that my friends left me at a subway station around four o'clock in the morning, staring at the train tracks and contemplating the universe or some shit, and I didn't realize they were gone until twenty minutes later. All I can say about my state that night is God damn.
The next day I did something unheard of and went to the gym with Sarah. And that day of working out still half-stoned from the brownies began something with me: until my very last day in New York, I went to the gym every single day. Some days I'd operate the elliptical machines completely stoned and just move along with the music; on others, I'd replace the music with Joan Didion and let the hour roll by without even noticing. It's a habit I am resuming as soon as I get back this Sunday. Hopefully Sarah will join me.
Well that same night my friend PJ from Goddard had a party uptown at her parents' house, and so we all went. Walking into the apartment flat already smelling of puke, I headed straight for the liquor because I was there on a mission. About an hour later, Teddy and I were sitting outside on the concrete smoking cigarettes, both of us drunk as could be. That's when I decided to break the news to him. Oddly enough he didn't seem to care that it was Callan specifically but just that it was someone else in general. Topic closed.
It was a few days after PJ's party that I learned more. Again there was alcohol in our breath, and again we were outside of Goddard smoking cigarettes while I expressed grief over something or another. Finally Teddy dropped the cool act and said, "I've gotta tell you, it really hurt what you did with Callan." And as bad as I felt, I couldn't help but be just a little bit glad that at least he cared. I said that I was sorry, we walked upstairs, and that was that.
Then it was my nineteenth birthday, the first one I've had away from my parents. I don't know whether it was that Anna was being forgiving for one day or that we did a good job, but she didn't seem to notice it when Sarah and I hotboxed the bathroom for wake and bake before heading to the gym. That night the entire fourth floor found a hookup on pot cookies; around two o'clock in the morning, the floor was unusually quiet because just about everyone had passed out. I, on the other hand, ate my half of the cookie around midnight, when Sarah returned from the opera to have hers. Life felt miraculous for the next few hours. Then I half-assed a goodbye to the guys, quickly made it up to my room, and puked as quietly as I could manage. It seems the combination of alcohol, pot cookies, and smoking even more pot was too much for me to handle. Still, my fond memory of that night ensues when I think of the few hours I spent just walking around the West Village, all dressed up and nowhere to go, listening to Ani DiFranco.
Well so a few more interesting things happened after that night. I tried adderall for the first time when Steve, Kevin, and I stayed up an entire night with the purpose of studying that never got done. I didn't much like it; I found it a bit too subtle, like I could have achieved the effects by just drinking coffee and mere will power. Then I had these few days of loneliness with everyone already gone back home, and that was kind of nice.
Statesboro I found the same as it always was, just a bit more dreary. Maybe it's because I don't live here anymore and cannot sustain the illusion that I do. Still, my friends have been extremely accomodating, including me in their daily plans as though no change occurred. And honestly to me it initially seemed that things hadn't moved one bit, that I had been here too all these months, just not physically. But I quickly realized this was due merely to the slow nature of events in Statesboro (as compared with, say, New York City). I spent a few nights wrecking my brains for things to do that didn't include smoking or drinking, and I guess I found two: Guitar Hero 2 and DXM. On the twenty-ninth of December, two-thousand and six, a bunch of us gathered at our friend's pool house and divided into two groups as Team Zicam and Team Robitussin. We chugged down our nasty concoctions. And we waited.
That first night we robotripped, I felt this immense sense of unity with the people around me and with the world. Simple chores such as lighting my cigarette seemed intensely complex, whereas the relation of me to you but also to everyone else we know was a concept immediately graspable. I felt enlightened.
The second time we robotripped was on the first of January, two-thousand and seven, after we spent a majority of the preceding hours stoned on our collective effort, pot brownies. Perhaps it was that I talked to my mother for ten minutes (though it seemed to me like two hours) while tripping and heard her cry because I couldn't formulate sentences. Or perhaps it was the strobe light and fog machine my friends claimed "enhanced their high." Either way, second time was not as pleasurable an experience. At one point during the interminable night, Thomas and I apparently both fought the same peril, which was that if we dared close our eyes and go to sleep, we would die.
Ever since that night I've been sticking with Guitar Hero 2.
Being home has made me understand more clearly how unfair I was being to us NYU kids. You see, I went around believing we resembled all-too-closely the youth Joan Didion dissects in her essay "Slouching Towards Bethlehem." Yet even with our borderline addictions and our borrowed motto of "I'm trying to drink away the part of the day that I cannot sleep away," we are no match for the loss Statesboro endures. My first night here I spent some time with Jamey, whom I hadn't seen since my junior year of high school. He told me of all the people we know who are either in jail or rehab, and even though I didn't say anything, I've been plagued since with the feeling that everyone else is just on his way. I hope badly that I am wrong.
Then last Saturday I drove with John and Angelo to UGA, where I met up with Peako. That was pretty much the highlight of my break. I also got to hang out with Michael and Keith, since any Athens trip wouldn't be complete without running into them.
The next day Peako and I had our pictures taken for our $40 Georgia IDs before leaving for a sixteen-hour drive. First we drove to Tennessee to pick Tasha up; then we drove back to Statesboro. Having my parents meet them was genius! They absolutely adore my "new" friends, though when you live by New York minutes it seems four months is a long time to get to know people.
The next day we went to Savannah in my van, as I promised, and Matthew and Thomas came along with us. We didn't do much of anything, really, but the journey was our motive anyway. They left Tuesday, and ever since then I've just kind of been getting ready to go back to New York.
And I am ready.

ganjagoddess @ 2006-11-15T13:09:00

2006-11-15T18:09:36Z

Last night I couldn't sleep due to a combination of menstrual cramps and an overload of shit to think about. So naturally this morning I slept through a midterm for the very first (and hopefully very last) time. After I woke up and freaked out and calmed my shit down, I went to the health center to get an excuse; since Yu Chen's a pretty nice guy, I'm hoping he'll let me make it up. If not, oh well, it's only Statistics.
Though one good thing about being awake until 5:00 a.m. was that I organized almost all the music on my iTunes. Good to know a software program has overtaken my life.
Actually, no, it's more like excitement has overtaken my life because I'M SEEING MODEST MOUSE IN ABOUT EIGHT HOURS, and I can't fucking wait!
I keep running into people- people like my roommate, people like the ones I expected to be around for longer than the first three months of school- and seeing how everyone's got his shit "figured out" is about to put me over the edge. "I know all the classes I'm taking for the next four years," a friend of mine announced gleefully last night. I wanted to shoot myself in the face.
Honestly everyone here is perfect and fashionable and "hipster" and "scenester" and a billion other words that I have no idea what they mean, so most of the time I just find myself staring up at buildings and avoiding faces. The bewilderment's still there, of course, but New York's growing on me in a way that I'm afraid I can never leave because now all I've got is the city.
There are the people I run into daily- the people who have become a part of my routine without even knowing my name. There are also others, ones I see on the street and immediately forget afterwards. I've got instantaneous love affairs with these people, a lifetime of ups and downs wrapped in a shy smile or a look in the eye. I've just been wondering whether these condensed versions of what we're all "supposed to be" seeking aren't as worthwhile as the real thing. And there were questions I asked myself over and over again, questions like "when did we begin considering attachment beyond the physical form monotone?" and "why have we given up on love?"
But the other morning I found something I had lost long ago- on YouTube, of all places.
And if a blurry video of some man gliding on ice can still make me wish to be a person better than I am after all these years, then there must be other things that also stand the test of time.

ganjagoddess @ 2006-11-12T20:15:00

2006-11-13T01:15:39Z

The past few days have been like a vacation for my brain cells. Thursday night we had margaritas and nachos at Peako's Palace. Friday night we went to the Brooklyn Bridge with a bottle of merlot. Last night I bought a forty without the assistance of someone bearing an ID for the first time.
It was sometime nearing five o'clock in the morning when my Goddard friend expressed disapproval of the things I've been doing, which ultimately come to represent who I am whether I want them to or not. At the time I dismissed his comments with a "sorry, dude." Then I went on to spend an entire day walking around the rainy streets of New York with an iPod and a brain full of questions, and I've come to realize that I keep doing this damn thing of not explaining myself fully, whether in writing or in person.
Trying to deviate from the hit-and-run kind of loves I'm used to, I've been wondering whether it's possible to develop attraction over time. It is something I've never had to even consider previously; then again, what's come prior to this has all ended.
There's also the issue of feeling one way in sobriety and a billion different ways in altered consciousness. It could be that my feelings when unclouded by fear or doubt are what I'm denying at other times. Or reveling in sobriety and taking a more orthodox approach to my feelings might be what I need to do.
Partly in attempt to get away from all these questions, I did what I do best and sat with Peako on the stairs of some apartment building near Brittany for our obligatory Sunday chat. As we were passing Babar back and forth inconspicuously, I found myself feeling more grateful than ever for our friendship. It's so comforting to know that out of the entire freshman class, we've managed to find one another without even trying.
So maybe there's hope for a different kind of love, as well. I just have to keep paying attention to my gut feeling, in whichever state of consciousness it might become clear to me.

ganjagoddess @ 2006-11-08T02:18:00

2006-11-08T07:18:24Z

Peako's friend Tasha is in town until this weekend, and we've managed to bond already. I've spent the past two days in a daze with them; Monday night they even convinced me to go to a palm reading. She said quite a few things that I find to be helpful, so I don't consider it money wasted at all.
School's going alright. I have my second midterms next week in a few classes. But next week also happens to be when we'll get to see Modest Mouse AND Ani DiFranco, so it should be sweet.
I really need to call my cousin to tell him I won't be coming to Boston for Thanksgiving. It's just that there is a lot of reading I need to catch up on, in class and outside.
Today I worked my ass off on our Second Progression paper for Writing the Essay, and I have to say I'm pretty satisfied with it (especially in comparison to our first). This Thursday we're beginning our third and final essay, one in which we'll be analyzing several works by a single author. I've chosen the essayist Joan Didion because her work sounded enjoyable on Wikipedia.
Yet I'm finding that it's disillusioning sometimes that people you want to like are so different from your expectations. Take Callan, for instance: every time I see him I get to either hear about how drunk/stoned he was or how he got "raped in the ass by Rachmaninoff" or how The Outsider by Albert Camus quotes Tolstoy or Dostoevsky. People who actually care don't feel the need to talk about it; name droppin's bad, yo.
The other day during my advisor meeting, I learned that it might be possible for me to take some studio art classes next semester. In fact, I'm considering minoring in an artistic field of some sort. When I ran into Tyler Jones on the streets of New York yesterday I thought it miraculous and asked "what are the chances?" Now I'm thinking it was the jolt I needed to draw me back to reality, which is that I'm terribly lucky to be here.
And I'm lucky to report that we just bought some fire ass ganja, which came delivered in a vacuum sealed package. I love this city.

ganjagoddess @ 2006-11-05T14:01:00

2006-11-05T19:01:53Z

It's been a perfectly timed weekend of perfect timing.
Thursday night we gathered at Skirball Center in the name of music: Frida Hyvonen was deliriously eccentric, The Wrens deliriously, uh, dragging people onstage, and The Walkmen sawing off their guitars with an electrical saw.
Okay, backtracking. So Frida Hyvonen turned out to be this blonde model-esque woman oozing with sexuality at the piano. I wasn't too crazy about her music, but it was enjoyable nonetheless. Then The Wrens, who were the reason I went, played. And holy shit do they rock. At the very end of their portion of the show, a member of the band (I'm not too familiar with their line-up) jumped on top of the amps and played from there. And then they pulled a bunch of people onstage, including Steve and Alex. I loved it.
But The Walkmen... I cannot believe I hadn't heard of them until Thursday! We were at the very edge of the stage, so of course for half an hour or so after the show I lost all hearing, but it was totally worth it. Besides, I don't see shows on a daily basis, so I'm not about to ruin the music that I do hear with earplugs. Anyway, they are fucking AMAZING. And so so so talented! I had such an adrenaline rush throughout their show... and when they came back for the encore, the lead singer brought an electrical saw onstage and began hacking away at the end of his guitar; Kirsten has the sawed off piece in her possession right about now. Not only that, but he took the saw to the piano and almost to the microphone, as well. Oh, and some kid (who was freaking out throughout the entire show) STOLE the fucking guitar afterwards. Damn NYU kids.
Afterwards it was a Bacardi Gold shots/Dungeon/Goddard night for Peako and me. And I'd like to say that we are both Penny fucking Lane. We are amazing.
[cue Ani singing "I kissed you on the street that night on the far side of four..."]
So Friday after the recitation Anna and I ate lunch together. The second I stepped out onto the floor from the stairwell after coming back, I saw Stephanie R. running around in excitement: "The Shins are playing for FREE right NOW!" she tells me. So of course I didn't even bother taking my coat off.
Turns out Ian was a bit misinformed, as it was The Decemberists playing for free. But holy fucking shit was that exciting! Well, actually, in retrospect it was too clean of a sound, like that of a recording as opposed to a live show. Still, this went down at an Apple store, so I'm hoping at an actually legitimate venue they'd rock out more. That was still so fucking cool to see them. AND we all received a card each, courtesy of CMJ, for 100 free songs on iTunes. College kids love free shit for a reason.
That night Peako was gone to The Black Keys show, which was sold out by about last Wednesday night, so I just hung out with Kam on the fourth floor most of the evening. I like that we bond on things like soccer and our love of rap (as well as our questionable extracurriculars). I learned that he was Peruvian and that he had actually lived in Lima for some time. Then we went over to Hayden Hall for a ritzy-ish wine party, except we went with our forties as per usual. After a while, as with a vast majority of NYU parties, the RAs busted it. I don't think Kam and I are in any sort of real danger, though: I was sitting at the computer picking out music when the RAs came in, and neither one of us had any alcohol on his person.
Friday was also the night that Teddy called me from Canada saying he "couldn't move" because he had just "snorted cat tranquilizer." I have no idea what to make of that still, but I'm hoping he's doing alright.
Yesterday was probably one of the best days I've had in New York so far. Well, the part of yesterday after I went to the New York State Opera with my floor to see Hansel and Gretel. I have to be fair: the opera house was so beautiful it reminded me of one of Gustav Klimt's earlier paintings of the Vienna Opera House. And it was huge! But the play itself was somewhat disappointing. The actors, the technical parts were all great, yet there's something about the air of an opera (at least to me) that makes it require grandiose statements and emotions and poignancies. And here we were listening to arias on food and sleep, filled with colloquialisms and translation that did the original no justice. And of course at the very end there was the arbitrary tie-in to God because the message itself was oh-so-religious: don't eat other people's shit, but in the event that you do, you will be able to kill them regardless and be revered for it.
I guess it didn't help that we were all starving/sleepy, either. So after we got out Tia drags some of us to the Columbus Circle Mall (yes, there actually is a mall in New York City, I've learned!) in order to "sit down at a nice place and eat." The only place to "sit down and eat" in the mall happens to be this ultra-sheek gathering of tables on the third floor, and we're told that for seven people there would not be enough room (obviously). I love that Tia was supposedly raised in or around New York AND she's a senior yet somehow she doesn't know how to discern true New York dining from overpriced bullshit. Even I'm beginning to tell the difference, and I've still got newbie status.
So right around that time Josh Becker and I spotted a McDonalds across the street, which seemed irresistibly exotic to us. The taste of that Big Mac in my mouth was like a resurrection.
Then we returned to the Village, and I had just enough time to change into more comfortable clothes before I met my mom at Penn Station. It was so nice to see her again; every time the playing field for us seems more and more evened out. The infamous coat that was the reason for her trip fit me perfectly, and I'm seriously considering never buying another coat again... or at least till I'm an old pretentious New Yorker. But it's vintage (Istanbul 1980) and it was my mom's and it begs the exclamation "Penny Lane!"
[what the fuck is our current obsession with Penny Lane?]
So my mom and I spent a majority of our few hours together at Cozy Soup & Burger on Broadway, her hitting on the Eastern European waiter in between telling me stories I've missed hearing even if for the ten-thousandth time. I adore that woman.
Around 2:00 a.m. I waved "goodbye" to her and took the subway back down to West Fourth; something about being alone in the car with hobos made me feel at ease in my restlessness.
Kam and I met up with Peako and her friend Tasha, who's visiting for a week from Kentucky. We invited our friends Bacardi Gold and Babar, too. Had a jolly old time.
Sometime around "the far side of four," again, Sarah and I were sitting in the hallway talking about what's become our bonding subject when "bing" the elevator door opened and out came... Callan. That was perfect timing if such a thing ever existed. So then the three of us sat around outside of Goddard for a long period of time, me not freezing for a change but sucking down about half my cigarette pack (when I seldom chain smoke). It almost began to feel like a competition for "last (wo)man standing" when Sarah decided to go in, I lit one last cigarette. He looked conflicted for a second, then said, "ah, what the hell" and came back outside to continue the bullshit conversation. I say "bullshit" because this is about the tenth dialogue I've been directly involved in and/or witnessed in my time here that centers around the idea of communism, and we never solve or agree on anything. We just spout out facts to hear words boomerang back into our ears and convince ourselves we're smart.
At any rate, we hung out for about an hour or two in the piano practice room upstairs, not quite playing and not quite doing anything particularly productive, either. Supposedly he's calling me sometime today, but I'm not counting on it.

ganjagoddess @ 2006-11-02T03:04:00

2006-11-02T08:04:52Z

Tonight Kam and I hung out in U-Hall, which is on Union Square, with Kylene. She's this girl I've been running into at parties and such; she wears a ribbon around her forehead the way we've seen hippies back in the day do. She's also got this accessibility about her. I enjoy spending time with her. We smoked quite ridiculous amounts of OJ Kush. I'm still swimming in the love of it.
Afterwards Peako joined us; we hung out (and continued the smoke out) in Goddard for a while. I had had a pretty good dinner earlier tonight (with Anna, my roommate, actually), but I kept going for the ice-cream. In fact, Teddy and I just got back from a University Cafe run. He's fast becoming an indispensably close friend to me.
Tomorrow night (well, tonight) I have a choice of seeing Madlib at BBKing or The Walkmen AND The Wrens at Skirball Center of NYU. I'm guessing the latter's more probable, especially since Steve's going. Also, Friday night I might be seeing The Black Keys with Peako if we can purchase tickets.
Around noon time Saturday I have to go with my floor to see Hansel and Gretel adapted to a Broadway play. I'm pretty excited about it. Also, my mother will be here for a few hours in the evening before she heads back to Statesboro, so that should be nice.
Somehow a few people all at once have begun calling me "Penny Lane," and the more I think about it, they might just have a point. Likewise, I've got a plan and the diluted self-confidence fueled by unyielding optimism to carry it out. I want to see where this goes.

Halloween

2006-11-01T17:53:22Z

Last night was Halloween, and that's about the only thing I can report with certainty.
After classes were over, I came back to the room and got ready. Well, no, first I spent a considerable amount of time admiring the 2007 High Times Calendar Teddy "saw in the store and it reminded him of me" and thus bought me. This is the second High Times-related item I've received here at college. I guess it isn't so bad though.
Anyway, so I got ready to go as a bellydancer again, and I helped Anna zip up her dress for Rita Hayworth (she looked gorgeous, of course). Yeah, two nights ago whenever I was freaking out about the Callan situation I just wanted to fix something, so I apologized, she apologized, and we're okay now.
Then Peako- dressed as Jasmine from Aladdin- came by Goddard; Teddy and Kam helped us (or rather me 'cause Peako was already in a damn good mood) purchase some beverages, which we gleefully consumed, err, chugged in Kam's room. Everyone showed up, including Kylene, this girl from U-Hall that I'm starting to really bond with, which may or may not have something to do with the fact that she came into Kam's room and asked "Can I roll a blunt in here?" Eventually we walked over to Sixth Avenue around like 8:30-9:00 for the parade, blowing shotguns on the way over and everything.
The parade was fucking crazy. That's about all I can recall: fucking crazy.
Then we met up with Lulu, Teddy's friend from SVA, and a few of her other friends. Peako left to go to Brittany, so I had to maneuver around the minefields alone. And then we met up with a lot more people, including Alex from Third North that I keep thinking is really cute and his friend Mike and, shit, I don't even remember. But there was this hour-long stretch of walking around the streets drinking inconspicuously, which was tough with all the surveillance.
Afterwards we hung out some more in front of Goddard; I super-bonded with Sarah because apparently she's undergone the same exact thing I have (which also means Callan lied). So of course when the party moved to his room later, I went to Rubin. That was the first time I was remotely afraid of walking along the streets, considering everyone was drunk and had the desire to scream "Can you dance, bellydanca?!" But it was all good. I saw Peako, Kareen, Dennis, Adam, and a bum who wanted to "make love to me." So I headed back to Goddard around that time. Alone, of course.
And everybody was outside again. I went with them to sit in Callan's room for a while, this time knowing it was safe. Lulu got super-drunk; her friend and Dan had some private time; I just kept drinking to not think.
After everyone left, I rode on the elevator with the fourth floor guys, and being in the vicinity of such a distinct group of guys gave me this unexplainable feeling of contentment- with being alone, much less.

ganjagoddess @ 2006-10-31T02:57:00

2006-10-31T08:02:40Z

As self-righteous as blogging might seem to some, I have to get this out.
The weirdest thing just happened to me. I mean, even weirder than the fact that my roommate and I haven't said "hello" or "goodbye" to each other all day long (or anything else, for that matter). I just went outside with Teddy to smoke a cigarette and ran into Callan. And of course it didn't stop there because my dumb ass had to go back downstairs to "smoke a cigarette," which I'm sure he saw right through.
Our conversation was very limited; the security guard lady shared stories about her son, and Callan shared work memories from his oh-so-chivalrous job of tutoring kids. In the elevator he asked me how my weekend was, and I said that it was good. He told me he had gone home this past weekend and would be attending The Black Keys concert on Friday. "See you around" was the last sentiment before the door shut closed.
I don't know what to make of any single moment of that.

ganjagoddess @ 2006-10-30T00:47:00

2006-10-30T06:14:20Z

Friday night I hung out with the fourth floor of Goddard; it was all great fun until Tia and Katie Winner (our CDE) came into the room and took names, but I don't think I'm (or anybody else is, for that matter) in any sort of trouble. Besides, if anyone asks, I was simply there to "wait on the boy I have a crush on." The boy I have a crush on who happens to be the flesh-and-blood version of Henry Chinaski. As in I haven't seen him since last Sunday, and at first I figured it was the midterm situation, but the more I think about it I've realized it must not all be so coincidental. Looking back, I have to wonder what I was doing investing that much hope into one night right away. I wish things would've worked out, but that isn't to say that if he happened to call this week I wouldn't gleefully go spend time with him. I'm such a basket case.
Last night I went with Teddy, one of the guys from the fourth floor who's become one of my closest friends here at Goddard, to Columbia University. Apparently there you can smoke hookahs in rooms and walk around the halls with bottles of forties freely. Then again, their guards don't call you on the phone and ask what the fuck you're doing like H. Perez did to me last night (which was shocking and surprising and just a tad creepy, I have to admit). I met some cool people, some of whom were Teddy's high school friends from California. We had a good time discovering the underground "tunnels" located directly (fittingly) below the Applied Math & Physics Building. Teddy and I had an ongoing bet to see who would end up "gonzo," literally the last man standing after a drinking contest. Around five o'clock in the morning, sufficiently poorer in brain cells and having discovered that the basement "TV Lounge" of Goddard is actually a pretty cool hangout spot, we agreed both of us were "gonzo" due to general badass behavior.
So today, after a few hours of the usual Sunday homework routine, Peako and I met up to dish on the weekend. I thought I had the news, but her recount of the past two days I haven't seen her puts mine to shame. I think the turn of events for both of us has been pretty remarkable, yet as my usual state of consciousness yields, part of me wishes things were simpler, more like the first month or two of frustration. Perhaps I'm alone in this wishful thinking.
Afterwards we hung out with Dan, one of the coolest guys on the fourth floor of Goddard whom Peako happens to have a slight (so far requited) interest in. Of course Babar was invited along for the festivities, which ended promptly at 4:20.
Then James, Peako, Kevin, Steve, and I went to Regal Cinemas on Thirteenth Street (which, compared to Carmike Cinemas of Statesboro, seemed huge). We watched The Departed, starring, among many acclaimed actors, Jack Nicholson. Anything he touches seems to turn to gold. And if that movie doesn't get at least ten awards per category, I don't know what to say about Hollywood anymore. Such a great gangster time.
Speaking of, Hollywood has moved right in front of our dorm building- Will Smith's new movie set has been occupying Washington Square Park for the past two weeks or so. From zombies to blown up cars to fake corpses at two in the morning, we get to witness the drastic changes in scenery day to day. And of course we have to change our route often, but at least it keeps things interesting.
Anna and I haven't spoken in two days- I was gone a majority of the hours she was in the room, and now, during her usual sleeping hours, she isn't around. I'm tired of trying; at this point we've just got a cordial distance between us.

ganjagoddess @ 2006-10-27T13:56:00

2006-10-27T18:25:02Z

Last night was Steve and Kirsten's birthday; it was a perfect "dungeon" evening of hanging out and having fun. Actually, it got to be quite a huge party at some point. I think we took tons of pictures. I think.
Before the party, however, something happened that, no matter how much I try to shake it off, still bothers me greatly. You see, I thought things were going well with my roommate, and I even thought we were getting to a point of friendship rather than just circumstantial tolerance, but yesterday evening my eyes were opened.
Josh from our floor and I were hanging out in my room for a while because Anna was gone (which is a rare occurrence anyway), and after she got back Josh left the room, but I could tell something was amiss. Her phone rang, and she went outside in the hall to get the call (because God forbid I hear her secretive conversations). Well, I overheard her say something about "It smells like smoke in my room," so I decided to spray Oust all over and turn the AC on higher as a precaution for what I knew was to come.
About ten minutes later she walks into our room WITH THE RA and begins to speak to me in this demeaning, authoritative, accusing tone (the same tone I had earlier in the year heard her use with her grandmother and been appalled by). She said, "When I walked in here I just noticed that it smelled strongly of smoke for like the fifth time this year." So I totally remained nonchalant, calm, and when she exclaimed, "Well now it just smells like you sprayed Febreze everywhere!" I told her that I had just put some perfume on because I was about to go out (and my perfume bottle coincidentally happened to be sitting next to me on the desk at the time). Afterwards our RA asked me if I had been smoking, and I flat out denied it, and I could tell the blood was rushing to Anna's head because she was- surprisingly, shockingly- beaten to the punch. I looked her straight in the eye and said, "Anna, you see me smoking cigarettes outside all the time. You know I don't smoke in the room." Then our RA, Tia, asks her, "Well, are you allergic?" and Anna says, "No." I was kind of taken aback when Tia began speaking in my defense; she said, "Well, it's fairly common for smoke to travel through air vents." I told them my sense of smell was shot to hell and that I didn't smell anything. Then Tia used the all-too-familiar "well, smokers' clothes tend to smell like smoke, so maybe it's because you were just outside" excuse.
Afterwards Anna apologized to me and said that she "shouldn't have jumped to conclusions." At the time I told her not to worry about it, and really I wanted not to let this ruin my night, but now our room's in limbo, and we haven't discussed it any further. Oh, except wait, there was that incident of her walking into the room at 3:00 a.m. screaming to the people in the hall, "Check out how terrible it smells in my room!" So I, no longer Mr. Nice Guy, yelled at her and the rest of them, saying "Thanks guys, I have a class at eleven o'clock."
Fuck the third floor of Goddard.
What pisses me off is, okay, I might have been smoking or not, which we're going with not because they don't have any proof (although she's told all of our floor "her side of the story"), but she should've come and asked me before getting an RA involved. That's what roommates are supposed to do. There is just no trust in this room.
When I slammed the door shut this morning (because now I'm really not making any effort to be considerate, and as I type these words I'm blaring out music as loudly as my little MacBook will handle), I noticed she had erased the "Gizem=best roommate ever" note she wrote on our dry erase board outside of the room. And I just had to laugh.
In much, much better news, I might be seeing Adam, the fourth-floor RA, sing in an all-boys A Cappella group tonight. How sweet.

ganjagoddess @ 2006-10-25T03:21:00

2006-10-25T07:24:03Z

So far I've gotten Bs on all of my midterms, but otherwise my grades (homework, quizzes, labs, etc.) might be able to salvage the final letter outcome. Maybe except Writing the Essay, but I'm beginning to accept that it is impossible to make an A in that class. Then again, I do want to figure out what Judith Ortiz Cofer is trying to say in "Silent Dancing" because I think it's a beautifully complicated essay. For our most recent assignment I had to connect a scene to the piece, and I chose to write about the night I discovered my mother's "Cat Stevens' Greatest Hits" CD after work while driving down Zetwell and smoking a bowl. I hope Olivia likes my take on the song "Sitting."
Tomorrow is my last midterm, ConWest, and I'm surprisingly not too stressed out about it. Afterwards Peako and I are going to Dashing Diva for some sought out Brazilian pain. I also need to get a haircut sometime in the near future. It's tough not to feel like shit living with a physically perfect individual. Speaking of, Anna has her date tomorrow with Pat, and I'm so dying to hear the after-story. I think we're getting more and more adapted to each other, as should be.
Yesterday after class I walked to Union Square and went in Forever 21. It's such a nice store, but it was super-crowded. I was there to get a winter coat, but unfortunately everything I tried on was too thin. Weird how clothes I would have considered fit for skiing while living in Georgia seem essential for survival up here. I guess I underestimated how cold New York gets until these past two days. My God. I'm always wearing five layers or so, and I just end up feeling goofy.
My grandmother sent this winter coat that apparently belonged to my mother, except she sent it with some of her doctor friends who were coming to the States this weekend, and they apparently are staying in New Jersey. So Saturday I'm going to pick it up; that should be an adventure. I also need to buy boots, scarves, gloves, etc. It's so nice to walk outside sometimes and feel the cold wind on my face; I had forgotten what it was like before tonight. Peako and I walked to Union Square and then The Donut Pub at one o'clock in the morning. We were deliberating the lyrics to this song, and we agreed our nature doesn't even require being taken out of context- we seem so strange regardless.
Thursday night is Kirsten and Steve's birthday, so I want to retrieve my shaker from Hayden and make them some drinks. I've missed bartending. Besides, I figure it's about time to regain the Rubin family, if only for one night; the dungeon crowd has slowly been dispersing due to a million different reasons.
This time around worrying aside, I find going with the flow comes naturally. Well, no, there's still a side of me that insists on being neurotic, yet it's almost as though I'm revelling (British on purpose) in the misconceived flawlessness of what's possible.

ganjagoddess @ 2006-10-23T01:45:00

2006-10-23T06:15:34Z

We were supposed to travel to St. Marks but he didn't pick up his phone, so I called Peako and she was watching Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind with some guy from dramatic writing, who I later learned was her date of the evening. [Why we were in arid land and now there's abundance, I do not know.]
And I didn't wanna go in my room, and I didn't wanna wait in the cold, so I just kept trottin' my feet along the streets, and right between 8th and 9th streets he called me, saying "I'm sorry for missing your call" but really I didn't need any apologies 'cause when you have a crush hearing his voice is all you wanna do. So he said he'll call his friends at St. Marks and let me know whether we could make the trip. I kept walking towards Rubin and saw Kareen emerge with Dennis and a friend of hers named James. Of course the second I met him she said, "His name is James, you like that name, don't you?" and at that point I was kicking myself in the leg probably because God's sense of humor never gets old, while mine just diminishes upon sleep.
I smoked a spliff with them, and right around that time he called back to say that, no, his friends couldn't do it tonight but that they were in Goddard and I should hang out. And really, when your heart's off on a quest of its own even pot feels vaguely artificial, though I had a nice little buzz that floated me onward. I walked back to Goddard, and I noticed the display at the art gallery on our block was (finally) changed to modern art. [They had these depressing downward-facing condoms that made up a plane; when you see it everyday for two months straight, that tends to become your state of mind.] And so maybe as an act of cosmic defiance I hit the fourth floor button in the elevator, frantically making sure Lip Venom did its trick. I guess it did.
We sat in Kam's room and listened to this Nigerian musician called Fela Kuti, in particular a song named "Zombie" that had this fantastic story behind it. A song ends mass senseless genocide across the world, and here I am hearing this come out of his mouth but disrespectfully focusing more on his subtle lisp, which just happens to be awfully sexy. I chugged my beer because, to tell the truth, I'm a fucking slow drinker, but yet we had to go to Hayden for a "ghetto-themed" party.
Of course no ghettoness is complete without a few forties, so we picked those up on the street and just walked into the dorm of my orientation, the nonchalant badasses that we are. I remember meeting some really cool girls and displaying my lack of hand-eye coordination over a game of "flip the cup." By the way, the entire time I kept noticing how ghetto people actually were dressed and how the music was of this same trend, so I made some offhanded comment about not needing attire because I'm from the South, and in walked in this boy with a bottle of Southern Comfort, telling me to take shots. And so I just had to.
Then we went downstairs for a smoke, he and I, sloppy drunk yet knowing exactly what's to come 'cause, eh, New York is the last place on earth for innocent games. He began telling me a story that he didn't follow (or, for that matter, conclude) just as much as I didn't listen, and right at the moment everything's bound to go silent, passengers in a car chasing down the street yelled, "That looks like two girls making out!" He yelled back, "Fuck you," and I told him I liked girls just as much.
Afterwards I recall speaking to the RA of fourth floor for a good while, completely obliterated but feeling safe because he's the coolest RA anyone's ever met. Then there was Rachmaninoff and low lights, and I have to admit the whole setup felt totally classy, especially considering it was a dorm room (which I can actually see if I look up and to the left out of my window).
Right about the time I was trying to hide how hooked I already was to him, we headed back downstairs for a smoke; Teddy and Kam came charging about, so we figured it was the perfect time for falafel and began collectively stumbling toward Macdougal Street. If I concentrate hard enough, I can still remember the heavenly taste of falafel in my mouth.
Then there's more drinkature, and people came and went until we found ourselves, he and I, alone once again. So we chit-chatted and probably smoked a few more cigarettes in the meantime (actually I know this for a fact); I remember looking at the clock to see "4:28" and thinking that was the best 4:20 I ever spent.
So this morning he said "hey beautiful," and for some reason I had the burning desire to hear "Babe I'm Gonna Leave You," thinking the lyrics "we're gonna go walking through the park everyday" never were as applicable to anyone in the course of history. And that was terrifying. So we wake-and-baked, I came downstairs to my room, and the day continued on from there to statistics homework and Urban Outfitters with Peako and some medical cannabis from California.
I saw him later tonight inebriated once more; though I was indirectly responsible that he went to St. Marks and ended up at a bar, I just had to chuckle because I don't want the memory of this weekend to fade away.

new (york) storiez.

2006-10-22T14:26:25Z

Life moves and moves at constant velocity for a long time... then you accelerate negatively while you slow down, stop, and turn around to see that, hot damn, last night's events, from the party in Hayden to the party in Goddard, were fucking amazing.

ganjagoddess @ 2006-10-21T15:18:00

2006-10-21T20:06:20Z

IT GOES ON AND ON AND ON AND ON...
So last night I broke the screen of my phone but then resolved shit with my mother, and afterwards the hours progressed so fucking strangely that I can't make any sense of what happened except that I'm in a great mood today.
I met up with Peako and went to The Pizzeria for my only meal of the day around 9 o'clock, as I spent the "normal" hours of the day sleeping. Afterwards we walked into this store on MacDougal that sells random jewelry, bellydancing outfits, and, of course, bowls. Peako purchased a bowl in the shape of a fucking elephant! We named it Babar, and we tested him out in my room, as Anna was out at a Broadway play with her friends visiting us from North Carolina. Who, by the way, are fucking cool. Except they just left, so shit's pretty much back to normal in room 311. Anyway, Babar. He's amazing. You hit out of the trunk and tap-tappy the butt as a carb. And that bowl went on forever, while Peako and I just chilled and listened to music and I realized, hey, I should start hanging out in my room more.
So after Peako and I were sufficiently, uh, fabulous, we split 'cause she wanted to do homework for a bit, and I ended up watching Pulp Fiction in the dungeon with the guys. Then Joshstein, Marcus, and I bought forties from the Epicurean Market and pretty much walked around aimlessly for a good half an hour (do I need to mention that it's fucking FREEZING in New York City at this time?) before deciding to just head back to Marcus's room. The rest is kind of blurry, but basically we listened to Elliott Smith in celebration of today, met some random hot girls from Rubin and otherwise, and waited on Peako/Dennis. So then Peako, Dennis, and I go to Fat Cat because James is there with his "floor," which turned out to be these two kickass guys. One of them, Callan, I already knew, and then I met Teddy. It is around 3:30 (the last set gets done at 4:00) when we arrive at Fat Cat; there is this man playing something like a trumpet that makes these awful sounds, but yet it went along perfectly with the music and it was beautiful and artsy and ballsy and perfectly fitting of a New York evening. And I was getting zombie bitten the entire time, which is quickly becoming a favorite loving expression of mine.
Then we walked back to Goddard, bought a six pack, and chilled on the fourth floor, which may just convince me to hang around our lovely dormitory hall more because oh my God are they fucking cool. I made them aware of my wish to be adopted onto their floor numerous times.
So then at like 5:00 I rolled a joint and there is some badass drinkature behavior on the street and then it occurred to me I could be stone cold sober and still fall in love with this floor. James got drunk for the second time in two days and even took a few hits off the joint, which is hilarious in and of itself because a) I met this kid at Welcome Week and he said he didn't drink or smoke, EVER, and b) James is just fucking hilarious to begin with. So that was fun. And I met some more people, and there was this girl from Zimbabwe who actually lives in Rubin but has a British accent and... these things all culminate in my mind, to the point where I wake up each morning recollecting events of days past and just say "What?" So at like nine o'clock this morning the sun's beating down on four of us, Ryan, the girl from Zimbabwe, Callan, and myself, and we're thinking, "Hey, let's go to Downstein!" So I ate breakfast this morning, crashed, and just woke up a little while ago. And I'll do laundry, and Peako and I will go to Strawberry Fields in honor of Elliott Smith's death day because he was a huge John Lennon fan.
I learned that Callan, whom I had known for a few weeks just because we're the nicotinal kids of Goddard, is from Long Island and worships Hunter S. Thompson (he has a tattoo that says "Gonzo" on his arm) and purchased his multi-functional trench coat from Burlington Coat Factory. And we had this realization that we're in the same Physics class, which neither one of us attended prior to the midterm for like three weeks. Did I mention I have a huge crush on him?

ganjagoddess @ 2006-10-20T15:41:00

2006-10-20T20:03:25Z

These things crush as they crash, so I just end up straining my hand 'cause I'm hitting walls or screaming in derangement by Astor Place. It's been an Elliott Smith kind of week, but the hours prove better and worse at the same time, and last I looked out the window there was rain pouring down- now the skies are just sliding by in blue perfection.
Because I woke up this morning and walked back to Goddard, battling with the contact in my eye, and somewhere along the way I noticed I no longer feel the cold here. Instead, sixty degrees' weather feels really nice, like a slight breeze.
Last night Shireen and I went to the MET for the opening of the "Americans in Paris" exhibition; they had dedicated the first night to college students, so it was like a huge ball- literally, there were girls in ball gowns while we opted for Boho chic (except I just wore regular clothes with some of my grandmother's attire). It was a nice change in scenery, plus I hadn't seen Shireen in a while. There's some mother-daughter crisis going on, so Shireen had to calm me down for a while, but the rest of the night was good. Actually, it was more surreal than I ever recall the dungeon being because instead of the usual few, even the non-drinker, non-smoker crowd was drunk and high and generally in a very altered state of reality, and there was lots of live-and-otherwise music-playing.
Thus for the first time I officially spent the night in the dungeon... and so did you.

ganjagoddess @ 2006-10-17T13:26:00

2006-10-17T17:50:57Z

Okay, there's a lot of shit I'll put up with, but I wasn't raised as selfish, and so I don't deal with it very well.
I am so fucking tired of waking up to miss ex-model Anna blowing her nose or blending her health concoctions in the blender or clumsily-but-actually-on-purpose knocking shit over all around the place. I mean, I have to fucking tiptoe and not even turn the light on whenever I get back at 4:00 a.m., and it's okay and I manage, but just because you're a health nut (which, by the way, is totally annoying even in and of itself) and you're gonna go to sleep at 9:30 on a school night does not mean the rest of the world has to be up at 7:00 a.m. with you.
My pure pristine virginal roommate takes three hours in the bathroom every morning when I'm supposed to be in class in, say, ten minutes, and she'll just be drying her hair. And I'm tired of going into the bathroom to find that she "forgot" to put a new roll of toilet paper. I mean, shit, I'm buying it anyway, how fucking hard is it to show a little common courtesy? And I don't want to hear stupid elevator music in the room while I have to put on headphones to listen to, uh, actually good music. People with bad taste should just be eliminated. You know, it's the little things that add up, yeah, but overall I hate the "virgin whore" persona she's exuding. And yes, there is such a thing as a virgin whore because if you're malicious in your thoughts and actions, then I don't care who has or hasn't been in between your legs: it makes no difference. Besides, I don't really buy into Patrick just "coincidentally" asking her out: bullshit. Women who attend college just to find a rich husband should be slapped in the face, and I'm saying this from a feminist perspective. Seriously, if you're here just to sit in the room and pretend to do homework while you're looking up the 101 ways of becoming a trophy wife, why the fuck are you wasting your money on NYU? I'm beginning to feel like Holden Caulfield here calling her a phony, but, God, who the fuck listens to compilations filled with shitty renditions of "The Way You Look Tonight" at eighteen? And we have a poster of Audrey Hepburn on our wall. How fucking pretentious is that? There's also a poster of the Rat Pack SMOKING and DRINKING, and last time I checked my roommate did the retarded finger sign when she saw me smoking a cigarette on the street.
So I've resorted to using the room as mostly a shower/sleep destination, and I'm beginning to figure out when she won't be around so I can actually listen to music or do homework on the computer then. I wanted to be okay with her, but I just end up getting pissed off the way we're doing this dance of having a smile on our face and just overall avoiding each other. It's just infuriating because nobody lives with her but me, so nobody really understands how stressful the situation actually is: everybody on my floor's constantly saying "Oh, we LOVE Anna! She's so beautiful and graceful!" Yeah, I'm sure you'd think the same thing if you had to be the one cleaning the bathroom every week and dealing with her mess all over the room on a daily basis. And because she does this pretentious "nice" girl thing, I end up being the bad guy, which I'm fine with that title 'cause, uh, I'm actually a real person as opposed to a mere gym membership, but I've heard the way this girl speaks on the phone with her grandparents, and if I were to be even half as mean to Caba I'd probably go commit suicide from the guilt and shame.
The more I think about it, it's sad, really, and I should be grateful instead of pissed off. I mean, yeah, I love looking at Neiman Marcus clothes or reading Vogue or even admiring models, but at the end of the day I'm aware that I come from a upper-middle class family, and so I live accordingly. This bitch needs to wake up and realize that she isn't a pin-up model stuck in a time capsule.
No matter how much I say "fuck this, no more Mr. Nice Guy," I know I can't be as cruel as I need to be, but damn if I'll be considerate from now on.
Though it is kind of eerie how the names of women I just don't click with seem to be following a pattern.

"Don't Fall in Love with Everyone You See"... well, except Okkervil River.

2006-10-16T06:28:56Z

"I came to New York without a nickel in my pocket... and now I have a nickel in my pocket." - Will Sheff

Tonight was one of the most exciting/exhausting/exhilarating experiences of my life. Around seven o'clock, still recovering from having had to part with my mother yet again, I met up with Steve, Stephanie, Kevin, Marcus, and a girl named Carrie (?) so we could begin trotting towards Chinatown, to the Bowery Ballroom. Peako then met us there, and we waited in the lounge area until about 9:00 for the show to begin. I have to admit that I haven't been to many venues yet, but the Bowery Ballroom is one of the best I've seen so far.
Opening for Okkervil River were two bands, The Mendoza Line and Sam Champion. The Mendoza Line is a band from New York with a good country sound. At first I was skeptical, as it reminded me eerily of the county fair back in Statesboro, but the vast difference was that this music was actually soulful (as opposed to whiny) and could still rock. I'd like to hear more of their stuff and see them again perhaps after they've developed their stage presence more or something.
Sam Champion is a testosterone-fueled hardcore rock band, also from New York. And do they rock! Hearing them reminded me of why thrash was big to begin with- the best way I could describe Sam Champion is "harmonic noise." And their lead guitarist is immensely talented. We loved it.
And then came Okkervil River onstage. Hooooly fucking shit. I don't even know where to begin. Well, for one thing, they played all of our group's favorite songs: "Red," which I had not expected would be a "show" kind of song, was brilliantly converted into a ballad without being too slow. And hearing "Westfall" live was almost a religious experience, especially for Steve, whose face I've never seen as lit up as when they were playing that song. I was somewhat surprised to see how many people actually knew all of the lyrics to "The President's Dead," their single (that we've been playing on loop for God knows how many days at the dungeon) due to come out solely on vinyl in December.
Despite the drunk bitches dancing obnoxiously and pretty much trampling me to the ground, it was great to be front-row to see how fucking talented the entire band actually is. Hearing "The Velocity of Saul at the Time of His Conversion" always does something to me, but live is an even more indescribable experience. It's almost as though you can only then truly understand what Will Sheff means when he's screaming in your face, "while the angels stand by, I get high as a kite."
Hmm, what else... well, I definitely loved that they closed the entire act with "Okkervil River Song." Their encore was also fucking mindblowing, since they played some new songs none of us had heard before; they also did a cover of I have no idea whom, bringing a whole new definition to "rocking out" while doing so. Also, I noticed for most people "Black Sheep Boy" had become somewhat of an anthem, and that was nice to witness. I think it was during that song that Travis Nelsen, the drummer, winked at me for a second. And yes, I have to admit that in my little girlish way I felt a little starstruck then.
I guess there's no getting around the fact that everything else aside, the moment I heard them transition from "Black Sheep Boy" to noise to, expectedly, "For Real," my heart skipped a fucking beat. Seriously, as great as that song is on album, there's nothing quite like ("the blinding lights...") Will Sheff, the most accessible of any "rock star" I've seen in a long time, jumping around the stage with his guitar. It's just even that much better live. I wanted to die of happiness whenever the entire room screamed "if you're really finally mine, I need to know that you're not lying." AHHH.
Walking back to NYU, I knew exactly whom I had to thank for introducing me to the band (though, admittedly, I was the one who sought out their music beyond just "For Real," but credit where credit's due). I wish simple complications wouldn't render things so impossible, but ultimately I have to figure that whatever cosmic kind of reason there might be, it's the little things left behind of you I understand better, so it's those I cherish the most.