Sunday, July 10, 2005

I added some links today; James Lileks' page is utterly hilarious while still possessing substance. The Nation is a good indie-ish news source, which basically means it's not owned by Rupert Murdoch. Mother Jones and Clamor are other great news sources for those who prefer NOT to have the Man's pablum spoonfed to them (sorry, Revolutionary Anne comes out to play sometimes), and Bitch and Bust are independent feminist mags. Bust is slicker, but in my opinion Bitch has more to say and says it better. Go forth unto the local independent bookstores of the land, and purchase unto yourself these publications!
And have a beautiful day.

Thursday, July 07, 2005

Today, against all odds, was a good day.
I was up late last night, and woke up inexplicably early this morning, and I don't do well when I'm sleep deprived. Bitch and moan, I know, but it's true. However. Ahem.
I was up late last night because I was having not one but two really good talks. That sense of connectedness is so important, and yet when I'm feeling stressed or overwhelmed my first instinct is to curl up into a ball by myself. Behind a locked door. The people here are amazing, though, and slowly they've been working at my locks with the picks of patience and openmindedness and good old-fashioned love. Is that the weirdest metaphor ever? I really feel like I could just, I don't know, ask to be held or something, and have that honored or at least responded to in a positive way. See? Beneath the sarcasm and the ascerbic wit, I am in fact a big softy whose primary ambition is to accumulate as many hugs as possible Sure, winning a Nobel Prize for literature and graduating at the top of my year in medical school are also important; without affection, though, it would all be hollow.
That's enough sermonizing for now; more updates (and semicolons!) as events warrant.

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

I got lost on the subway yesterday.
Well, not ON the subway per se--while I was sitting on the rock-hard orange plastic seats I was fine--but rather in the contorted concrete warren that constitutes the Philadelphia subway system.
I got out of the subway car and followed the crushing mass of people, you know how you do, and suddenly the other people were gone and I had no idea where I was. I followed the old tagged signs that pointed me toward Suburban Station, but after about ten minutes of solid walking (through a tunnel that neatly approximated the inmate's "last walk" in The Green Mile) I decided that the signs were either too old to be of use or deliberately deceitful. Lies, all lies. Well, that and construction.
To make a long story slightly shorter, I eventually escaped, but I felt like a character in a video game--mapping where I'd been before, finally realizing that I was under where I usually walked. I escaped with enough time to feed the pigeons by the City Hall fountain before catching the train home.
I thought I would have to spend time and energy and breadcrusts to convince the pigeons to come to me, but this has proven not to be the case (what can I say, I'm from Missouri. I'm not sure if we have pigeons; maybe we just call them something else--"dinner," in certain parts of the state). They'll eat right out of your hand.
I have considered, though not seriously, catching a pigeon. I don't know what I'd do with it. Probably just let it go again, as I can't imagine pigeons making very good pets.