When I Can't Write, I Read

"To-day the sun is brilliantly shining; it is quite mild and warm. I go out for my last morning walk, without an overcoat or hat. The sun shines, and Hitler is the master of this city. The sun shines, and dozens of my friends - my pupils at the Workers' School, the men and women I met at the I.A.H. - are in prison, possibly dead. But it isn't of them that I am thinking - the clear-headed ones, the purposeful, the heroic; they recognized and accepted the risks. I am thinking of poor Rudi, in his absurd Russian blouse. Rudi's make-believe, story-book game has become earnest; the Nazis will play it with him. The Nazis won't laugh at him; they'll take him on trust for what he pretended to be. Perhaps at this very moment Rudi is being tortured to death.

I catch sight of my face in the mirror of a shop, and am shocked to see that I am smiling. You can't help smiling, in such beautiful weather. The trams are going up and down the Kleiststrasse, just as usual. They, and the people on the pavement, and the teacosy dome of the Nollendorfplatz station have an air of curious familiarity, of striking resemblance to something one remembers as normal and pleasant in the past - like a very good photograph.

No. Even now I can't altogether believe that any of this has really happened..."

Christopher Isherwood, early 1933

The Secretest of Santas 2008

My worst day yet at work was totally transformed by a sweet sweet Top 5 Secret Santa, complete with dance-offs and inadvertent gopher impressions from Juliette. Cleanup of the carnage tomorrow morning :)

The Magical Season

A pristine Christmas scene with the traditional dead body in the background.

Memories!

The Berlin Stories

A joy. I've only gone through one of the two stories so far (The Last of Mr. Norris - Goodbye to Berlin is still to come) but already I'm going to perch out on this limb and say that Christopher Isherwood is maybe the most masterful character developer I've ever read. Funny and sad and depressing and delightful, an even and open-eyed portrayal of the Communists and the Nazis, a sweet taste of the Berlin of the 1930s delivered on the silver spoon of the lovable hatable Mr. Arthur Norris.

We'll be there by 9.

Four turtles reunited to summit another mountain.




Winter things.

Pre-ski flat preparation, all done by Mike.

The prize.

FM portrait misexecuted :(

Stealth picture of that guy with a sandwich.





The door that would not open.

Mike reveling in the luxury of the Sands.

First tree.

Good Old Pater

Texted to Dad, 11:45am: The moon is waxing gibbous
Texted to me, 11:47am: Thank goodness ;-)

Cela que j'ai fait aujourd'hui.

Today was one of those "They're lucky I'm even here" days. So:

Ellie snagged me a packet of M&M's, so rather than chomp them down straight I decided to burn some calories digesting the stats:

16 Blues
11 Greens
5 Oranges
11 Reds
6 Browns
6 Yellows

Trying to dredge up standard deviations and likelihood of getting that many blues will be fodder for the treadmill tomorrow. Mindless math is the only thing that pulls me through my runs. I was pleased by the overabundance of blues, but what happened to yellow? Little disappointed. If I had my way, orange would be out.

Ate the Cal colors today and saved the harvest festival for tomorrow. All in all, thanks Ellie!

I also did this:

A Photoshop Romp feat. Nevan Krogan and a Ribosome.

I haven't posted in a while because 1) I was on post #108, which is a key number in LOST around which half the plot revolves, so I thought I should stick on it and see what happened (nothing), 2) I didn't mind having S.C. Moore stare me in the face as my most recent post, and 3) there has been nothing blog-appropriate to write recently. My book is sluggish at best and is sapping my energy in good and bad ways I think. My journal has seen a lot of action this week. It seems to be busiest when I am not.

Things:

I'm saying goodbye tonight to a handful of people that I never expect to see again. Our paths could easily cross, but it wouldn't be unusual if they didn't. I don't have much nostalgia left for this place; I've stayed a semester too long and everyone is worn down to the stubs of their being. I'm surprised at the one person who made me a little choked up, though. After a year-plus relationship of good, strong sarcasm and mutual schadenfreude, it took an unexpectedly sincere goodbye to show me what a good friend I'd made. With him I will keep in touch.

James Dean in East of Eden was pretty terrible. Go on, bring on the hate.

Regular, original Oreos are such a major disappointment now. Anything less than Triple Stuf requires removal of the top cookie at this point to get the ratio anywhere near palatable. Mint Stuf and Chocolate Stuf are treason.

The combination of table my dad made, lamp my mum found, and teapot my gran gifted is making the east side of the comfy purple couch one of my favorite places in San Francisco. Also, I like to see how long I can stand not turning on my space heater in the flat by pretending I'm in Bastogne. Related Note: Band of Brothers Is So Good. Even though I'm sure I can borrow it indefinitely from Ben, I think I might buy it myself, a rarity for me, because I love it so much. I am tempted to do an epically long Band of Brothers post, but I know there is absolutely no way to do justice to such a worthy showcase of such worthy subjects. If you are even a smidge interested WWII and are not too squeamish about the atrocities contained therein, please invest ten hours of your life in Band of Brothers. There.

My hair is now long enough to warm my ears again. Just in time for the year's first real cold snap, and it's about bloody time, because it's December 7.

Still no rain. SF disappoints on that front.

I hope there is some cake in my future, or some warm tea. I want to get a couple of little egg cups so I can have soft-boiled eggs and toast for breakfast. I guess I will need some bread too. Apparently egg cups are not a standard thing here? Fellow Americans, confirm or deny.

Sleepily sleepily churning on, missing deadline for the last time.

Bright Young Things

Very good I say. This movie is quite the inspiration for next month's novel fest, which everyone that reads this should participate in. 50,000 words, 31 days, at least 124 cups of tea, and no plot? No problem.

If I have a type, Stephen Campbell Moore might just be it. And the fact that he coincidentally shares a name and a personality with my protagonist is a plus. Watch the movie! Write a book!

Portrait of the Artist as a Young Dog

On the last day but one of my visit I was taken to Llanstephan in a governess cart pulled by a short, weak pony. Grandpa might have been driving a bison, so tightly he held the reigns, so ferociously cracked the long whip, so blasphemously shouted warning to boys who played in the road, so stoutly stood with his gaitered legs apart and cursed the demon strength and wilfulness of his tottering pony.

'Look out, boy!' he cried when we came to each corner, and pulled and tugged and jerked and sweated and waved his whip like a rubber sword. And when the pony had crept miserably round each corner, grandpa turned to me with a sighing smile: 'We weathered that one, boy.'

Thursdayne

Test of the new lab camera. Many boredom shots to be taken.

A very lonely day.

Wish I were asleep.

"I remember..."

So mumbles Robin as he drifts in and out of consciousness next to me at the DC.

Remember, remember the Fifth of November,
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,
I can think of no reason
Why the Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot.
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t'was his intent
To blow up the King and Parli'ment.
Three-score barrels of powder below
To prove old England's overthrow;
By God's providence he was catch'd
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, let the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!

Happy 22nd to Laura and best wishes to Guido, wherever he may be.

¿Atrévase me piden de dónde vino eso?
Temo ambas respuestas.
Envidio y respeto a la persona que puede decirle lo que usted necesita oír.

Mi solamente esperanza
Es eso que usted es Michael Fitzsimmons a mi Peggy Sue
Y quizá, en una noche estrellada,
Le inspiré, una vez.

Young Ones

Once in every lifetime,
Comes a life like this,
Oh I need you, you need me,
Oh my darling can't you see...
Young ones!
Darling we're the young ones.
The young ones
Shouldn't be afraid
To live, love, there's a song to be sung
For we may not be the young ones very long.

She & Him

When I was a little bit younger
The strain I was under could make me cry.
Now I'm a little bit older, a little bit bolder
Never so shy.

Sweet darlin', come hold me
Just a little bit longer now...



Thank you Benny and Juliette for this.

Some Recent Randoms

Flattin' with Hughesey.

Shelves: straight.

The ANGry MONSter.

R.I.P. Mother's.

Sweet Pete.

Pater goes overboard with kayak prep.

Kayaking dins. Sanny was the size of my head.

kAYAk. Nice skirt!

Skeptical about the kayaking getup.

Random Bits from Sunday Morning

Yesterday: a good day.

Nathan Yan/photo

Today:

Mike Pelayo/photo

Sitting here in the kitchen at the flat; Juliette's sitting next to me talking on the phone to the world-famous Vicki Hughes; Mike and Lisa are away changing the world, but they'll be back soon to watch the game. Comfortable and happy all.

I made a serious sin of omission in my previous Top 5 post. Somehow, Ordinary People didn't make my Top 5 Movies of All Time. This movie shaped my life and topped my list for a good 5 years, and I threw it in the gutter with all the other movies that missed the list, with America's Sweethearts and Blue Crush and Casanova. My apologies, Timothy Hutton. My apologies, 1980.

Now it is a few hours later and Mike and Juliette are in the kitchen arguing about two Italian phrases, one of which means "to have a party" and the other of which means "to cut someone's head off." How did we all get to this point, in this kitchen, in this city, with each other, with these pints of ice cream and cups of tea, wearing these clothes with these haircuts? Historical path dependence.

Time to go lie on my heavenly bed, read about German history, and pretend I'm still in school.

27 years ago in Reading, England...

Glad you're around for another year, big brother. It's legitimately your special day!

Remember that time we were in the kitchen, standing by the fridge, and you told me to remember the number 9?

I remember still!

I'm so hungry.

Meeee tooooooo.

You had dinner!

That was hours ago. I thought about calling you but I know you had a bad experience with Cheeseboard.

I would have gotten over it! For future reference, ALWAYS give me a chance to say yes to pizza ok? I'm effing starving.

You should eat.

That's helpful. It's 12:30.

Matt's eating. Hey sports! Where and when did you get that pasta?

Gypsies. Like half an hour ago.

Dude, Gypsies isn't open at one in the morning.

Hello? Are you guys still open? Ah, ok, thanks. Fuckers. Why would they answer their phone this late just to tell me I can't have dinner?

Vending machine time. But we practically cleaned that out, too. Haven't seen red vines in there since we polished them off over summer.

God, this is what I'm reduced to. Doritos for dinner at 12:30 in the morning.

::shuffle shuffle shuffle::clunk clunk::

Those look amazing. I want some too.

::shuffle shuffle shuffle::clunk::

::silence::

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

You ok?

A dangler! No no no no no no no!

Aw man that's really stuck.

Look at it! Just hanging there! What's holding it up? Nothing! It's the last bag! Stupid Ruffles!!! I knew I should have stuck to the script and punched in Doritos! Aaaaaaahhhh!

Shake it.

I'm shaking it! Everything is shaking but these damn Ruffles!

They are just cemented in there!

Are you going to be helpful on this one?

I'm just saying, they're stuck.

Damn it! This is what I'm talking about! This paper is all about cutting us down to size. You think you're having a good night? Here's a deadline story. You managed to get the story in on time? The printer won't print it. You missed your deadline? Have fun humiliating yourself by crawling on top of the desk to write it in red on the board. You still have work to do and you're hungry? All we've got is chips. Oh, you want the chips? YOU CAN'T HAVE THE CHIPS. You can only WATCH the effing chips! As they DANGLE in front of you!

I remember that Simpsons episode where Homer reaches into the vending machine and sees the detached hand in there next to him, just a bunch of bones.

Helpful. Thanks. Help me dislodge these damn chips or I'm out.

What the hell are you guys doing in here?

See the chips?!

Oh man, that sucks.

Thanks.

Remember when Skyler got that dangler over summer, and then Louis got both bags and wouldn't share?

That was epic.

Focus guys. The chips.

Ok ok ok. Where are all those coat hangers we used to have in here?

Are you kidding me?

Seriously, this is a weird place.

There are no coat hangers. You've just got to beat down the machine, Matt, you're stronger than us.

Just stuck!

YOU'RE NOT HELPING.

::shuffle shuffle shuffle shuffle shuffle::

They're moving! They're moving!

::shuffle shuffle shuffle::




::clunk::




Yessssssssssssssssss.

You're welcome.

Thank you! Two gold stars.

Those'll come in handy.

Want a chip?

No, thanks, I hate Ruffles.

Yeah, I'm not that keen on them either.

o_O

Struck.

Went to look for a picture of an old friend, a karassmate for sure, on my computer, but realized that there is nothing of him here any more. No phone number. Nary an address. Two dated photographs and one letter are all I have.

Some of those people were tumors that I wanted excised neatly from my life, just as they were. Not him, though. Three of them stand out above the rest, and I wonder here what I can't ask them anymore:

How's life, guys?

Half Doom 2008

September 26-28, 2008.
TWSS Count: 78.

The Costars:


Donatello


Leonardo


Raphael


Michelangelo

Not pictured: The Beam Team (Beamer, Ken, Juma, Perry, Cindy)

The Day: