:: Quiche of the Day ::

:: 02.28.2003 ::

Someone once told me that Radiohead is good music to listen to while you have sex. I don’t really know anything about that, but it is frankly horrifying music listen to if vicious candy is hell-bent on destroying your mouth. What at first seems like a perfectly harmless piece of cherry-flavored hard candy, turns out to be Pandora’s box when I bite down and unleash a sticky, “juice-filled” center, a demon bent on negating nearly 20 years of dental hygiene. Through some kind of alchemic bond with the candy’s crushed and jagged outer shell the demon converts my mouth into a sugary, shiny-red horror-movie, to the tune of “Karma Police”:
Radiohead’s music is to the experience of time what a fun-house mirror is to a reflection: moments stretch and bend like oils on an Edvard Munch canvas and you get lulled into the elongation and then you can’t escape, it’s like pulling taffy.
The sticky, spiteful substance has latched onto my teeth, cementing itself to the parts of me most vulnerable to sugar. I attempt to pry my sweet, no-it’s-not-funny-anymore predator free but only manage to transfer it from one tooth to another again and again and again. And I never thought of myself as candy’s predator, but now I find myself becoming the prey of its vengeful purpose. It does not matter that my craving was born more out of boredom than lusty desire, gluttony is a sin and gluttons must pay! I feel the desperation of a small, scared thing faced with fangs and claws as my tongue fights a losing game against this relentless gunk. The moment is sticky-slow and there’s no escape. In a panic I realize that neither floss nor toothpaste can save me from this parasitic confection methodically eating away at my precious enamel and replacing it with perpetually hungry, imperialist plaque, and Radiohead drones on, merciless: “this is what you get . . . if you mess with us . . .”

:: Aaron Humphrey 12:23 AM reply [+] ::
...

:: 02.27.2003 ::



I can't believe it. I am such a hippie. A look in the mirror today made me suspicious and a quick self inventory confirmed my fears.
Radically long hair? check.
Unconditionally opposed to war? check.
Overriding beliefs in peace and love? check.
Uninterested worldly, material goods? check.
Unquenchable desire to film rainstorms and sunsets? check.
Unemployed? check!

Why did no one tell me this eariler?? I don’t even think my parents were hippies! Damn!

I’m not alone in this startling trend, though. Behold, my roommates:


This is Grant's new favorite shirt. He also plays bongos, the bass guitar, wears used clothing almost exclusively and keeps announcing that he's growing his hair out. His girlfriend teaches grade school kids Jewish history at her temple and she wears more skirts than anyone I know.


Ed dreadlocks his hair himself, plays acoustic guitar every night and, with Grant, is a member of a Christian rock band. Last summer he lived in the closest thing you'll find in Orange County to a commune.

However, even with all this hippie-ness invading my life, it should be noted that I’ve have not ingested, snorted, shot-up or otherwise consumed illegal drugs (even alcohol! I know!), and have no plans to do so in the future. Also, I can’t say that I’ve been exposed to a whole lot of free love. But it sure sounds nice.

:: Aaron Humphrey 1:02 AM reply [+] ::
...

hi kids! it's been called to my attention that while me, Ed and Grant thought that my last post, featuring the lyrics to the emotional song "Time After Time" by the venerable Cindy Lauper was a minimilist, post-modern laugh-riot, some of you didn't seem to quite "get it." Hmmm. How much of a wimp do you think I am, seriously? Granted, even the punk rawk version of that song still manages to make me tear up, but that's just because of its heart-wrenching lyrical depth, and not any sort of indication of my emotional state. Although if you are lost you can look and you WILL find me . . . time after time. That part was true. Anyhow, you can stop asking me if I'm ok now.
cuz I am. Isn't it a great song though?
Here's another one!


(Spin it!)
Ooh-ooh-ooh-oohooh ...

(Let's begin it)
(Bear 'n grin it!)
(Spin it!)

Oh-ee-yeah (Tale Spin)
Oh-ee-yoh (Tale Spin)
Friends for life, through thick and thin
With another tale to spin
Oh-ee-yeah (Tale Spin)
Oh-ee-yoh (Tale Spin)
All the trouble we get in
With another tale to spin

(Spin it!)
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh ...
(Spin it again!)
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh ...

Oh-ee-yeah
Oh-ee-yoh
Oh-ee-yeah
Oh-ee-yoh
Hey! Hey! Hey!
Spin it
Let's begin it
Bear 'n grin it
When you're in it
You can win it
In a minute
When you spin it, spin it, spin it!
So spin it!
Tale Spin!

Oh-ee-yeah (Tale Spin)
Oh-ee-yoh (Tale Spin)
Friends for life, through thick and thin
With another tale to spin
Oh-ee-yeah (Tale Spin)
Oh-ee-yoh (Tale Spin)
All the trouble we get in
With another tale to spin

(Spin it!)
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh ...
(Spin it again!)
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh ....


:: Aaron Humphrey 8:30 PM reply [+] ::
...

Lying in my bed I hear the clock tick,
And think of you
Caught up in circles confusion
Is nothing new
Flashback warm nights
Almost left behind
Suitcases of memories,
Time after

Sometimes you picture me
I'm walking too far ahead
You're calling to me, I can't hear
What you've said
Then you say go slow
I fall behind
The second hand unwinds

If you're lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you I'll be waiting
Time after time

If you're lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you I'll be waiting
Time after time

After my picture fades and darkness has
Turned to gray
Watching through windows you're wondering
If I'm OK
Secrets stolen from deep inside
The drum beats out of time

If you're lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you I'll be waiting
Time after time

You said go slow
I fall behind
The second hand unwinds

If you're lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you I'll be waiting
Time after time

If you're lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you I'll be waiting
Time after time

Time after time
Time after time
Time after time


:: Aaron Humphrey 12:35 PM reply [+] ::
...

Spent another long day on the set. I'm sleepy, my feet are tired and I want a sno-cone.
though I'd settle for getting my backpack back.
but a good night's sleep would be fine, too.

:: Aaron Humphrey 12:04 PM reply [+] ::
...

Huge world-wide anti-war rally today, which I think was actually kind of successful. We were talking in my urban lit class last week about how protests and democracy seem to be kind of useless these days, so it’s encouraging to read that the bigwigs are regrouping. Apparently G.W. (NOT George Washington) thinks that since he didn’t need the support of the populace to get elected, he doesn’t need it for anything else. Here’s hoping we proved him wrong, kids.
Oh, and when I say “we,” I guess I mean “y’all,” since I was working on a movie set all day and didn’t get to go to the protest. What can I tell you about the shoot? The movie’s a graduate student thesis project and called Look Away. If it’s good or not will have very little to do with me. There are pictures of it here: Observe!
And here’s one that’s even of me!
I was the boom microphone operator which means I held the microphone on a big long pole and tried to make sure that no one saw me. Usually (as in yesterday) this job is so boring it actually wears you out, but today I got to mic from beneath a table, inside a cramped 100-year old bathroom and under an umbrella for the scene with fake rain. So it wasn’t a bad day. Also, while student films are a very bad way to make money (especially if you’re the one funding them), they’re a great way to save money. You get free food, and since you’re stuck on the set all day, not only are you unable to go to anti-war rallies, you’re also prohibited from going anywhere you could spend money. The director in the meantime is paying 20 dollars an hour for the location, 100s of dollars per-day for the equipment, 100s more dollars on buying and processing the film, and close to 100 bucks buying food for the crew each day. Economically, it makes a lot more sense to be a boom op.

***
Last night: it’s the evening of Love, but I’m in my dorm room alone with just the light from my laptop and desk lamp, when the bathroom door opens slightly and Math Mike peaks tentatively into the room before coming all the way into the half-darkness. We share our bathroom with two other guys who live in the room next door: Math Mike and Eyebrow Mike. Math Mike likes math and Pokemon, and Eyebrow Mike is a film student who is not called Eyebrows Mike for a reason. We just call them both Mike to be safe, which makes it really easy to point fingers when something’s wrong with the bathroom: Mike keeps stealing all the toilet paper; Mike’s been in the shower for two hours, Etc. Anyway, nether one of them usually come to our room unless we’re playing music too loud or something, which is why we still don’t know their last names, but Math Mike is standing in the middle of my dark, rather deserted room, and it’s Valentine’s Day and it looks like he’s combed his hair very recently. I never expected that this guy would creep me out so much, but then again, at one time I never expected that there would be so many bad Star Wars movies. There is a short pause, which keeps getting more and more akward, until Math Mike puts up one hand in greeting and says:
“Hi. How’s it going?”
“Um, not too bad. . . . how’s your Valentine’s Day been?” I say, trying to get the subject out the way as quickly as possible.
“Oh, it’s ok. How about you?”
“Not bad.”
“So um, do you want to see my collection of all the Godzilla movies?”
“Um . . . I . . .”
“Oh, I didn’t mean watch them! Do you just want to look at them?”
“Er, sure.”
I didn’t have anything better to do. Sure enough, he had a whole duffel bag of Godzilla tapes. Nothing shocking there When we had our first all-hall meeting at the beginning of the semester everyone else said things like “I’m Katie and I think puppies are cool!” but Math Mike talked for 15 minutes about why Godzilla is under-appreciated, as well as describing Godzilla’s history, the current state-of-Godzilladom, and his adventures at many GodzillaCons. I oohed and ahhed appropriately over his collection, though, pointing out funny covers and listening to his put them in historical context. Mike’s always seemed kind of lonely to me (probably the aftermath of his Godzilla orientation speech) and I didn’t have the heart to tell him I didn’t really care. After a few minutes I escaped to my room, feeling just a little violated and confused. Unfortunately, the bathroom door doesn’t lock any more.

:: Aaron Humphrey 1:00 AM reply [+] ::
...

Both of my stupid roommates are out on hot dates and I’m alone with my word processor and a half-finished bag of heart-shaped Sweetarts. Yippee. I suppose y’all want me to talk about love or Valentine’s Day or something. Too bad. I gots nothing to say that hasn’t already been said. The whole thing’s silly, but Sweetarts are actually quite good, so I’m not gonna complain. Instead of love, I’m going to talk about blood. Love = hearts and hearts = blood, so it’s not really that far off. There was a blood drive at school the other day, and I was determined to donate, since I’d signed up for the last one and totally forgotten to go. Too help me remember, I changed my computer wall-paper to this:

I still haven’t changed it back, because I’m still not sure what it says.

Anyway, I had my act together this time and made it to the conference room they’d outfitted with lots of beds and needles at my appointed time. Then I got to answer the requisite safety-survey with lots and lots of “life-style” questions. “Have you spent an amount of time outside of the United States and Canada greater than four months?” “Have you gotten a tattoo in the last 12 months” “Have you had sex for money or drugs EVEN ONCE since 1977?” “Do you have AIDS?” I’ve filled this thing out a bunch of times, but for some reason I still study each question carefully and search myself for the right answer. HAVE I ever had sex with someone who used Heroin? The fact that I’ve never had sex makes recalling the answer a lot easier, but I still pause each time my “questionable” past is questioned and consider all the people I could have been and all the choices I take for granted. If I did take Heroin would I still be trying to donate my blood? Maybe it’s just an attraction to needles, ha ha.
Anyway, after being quizzed about foreign travel, mutilation, sex, rape, drugs and HIV, I got stumped by the wimpiest question on the sheet: “do you have an infection?” Why yes, I think I actually do have an ear-infection. Does that mean I can’t donate?
Yes it does.
Since I was in the building, I checked my mail before I left. Valentine’s Day cards from my ex-girlfriend and my Grandparents on my Dad’s side. Somehow if felt just like not being able to give blood.

:: Aaron Humphrey 11:01 PM reply [+] ::
...

The rain finished its stay with us today, and left a goodbye note of far-away cottony peaks on our familiar, vibrant blue sky. If I sound a little too poetic, it’s probably because my backpack’s been missing for two days now, a victim of my glorious, rain-drunk mindlessness when I left the cafeteria Tuesday night. You have to understand, my backpack is what I live off of, one of the few objects that I see myself reflected in. My Create-A-Skater in Tony Hawk 4 wears my hair, my clothes and my backpack.
When I go anywhere unfamiliar, it comes with me, as back-up. Without it I’m like Batman without a utility belt.
That stupid Create-A-Skater never loses his.
I carried books, assignments and occasionally food in my backpack, but most importantly it was where I kept my spiral-bound notebooks. I shoved pencils into the bindings, filed important papers away between the pages, took notes, brainstormed, journaled and scribbled in the margins of every page. Everything’s shoved together in a order that even I can’t quite fathom, but my notebooks are where I keep me and keep track of me. I don’t want to write on loose notebook paper, computer paper or a fancy journal . . . unless it’s spiral bound I don’t even know where to put my pencil.
No backpack. No notebooks (I’m even out of blank ones). Also no glasses, keyes or library books. So I’ve felt a little . . . off, maybe stranded is the right word, for the last few days. I feel a little bit like when you sit down at your computer and realize that not only is the Internet down, but it might never be up again, so you stare at a blank Word document for a while, play some minesweeper, then realize that you have no idea what else to do. I’ve been rolling up handouts from class and shoving them in the back pocket of my jeans. Where else can I put them?
I visited every place on campus where my backpack could have ended up, found nothing and went through a brief period of “oh holy crap!” anxiety, and left desperate messages on lots of dorm-room white boards, but just when things looked hopeless, my desperation faded and the familiar boundless optimism set in. Yeah, paying for all that stuff is going to suck. But wishing I had everything I lost won’t help me get it back.
I actually bought a brand new notebook Tuesday afternoon. Two dollars and 16 cents from the corner liquor/convenience store. Went straight into my ill-fated backpack. I bought it for the potential of all the empty pages, pages that I could fill with being twenty years old. Though I never got to take it out of its crinkly, black plastic liquor-store bag, or make a single mark on a single page, what I wanted was a fresh start. And though the circumstances could have been better, I’ve just been handed one.
So somewhere a fresh notebook lies wrapped up, 170 pages of nothing and anything. And maybe somewhere someone is flipping through a couple of worn notebooks full of a stranger’s nutrition notes and old secrets.
But right here my mind is full of poetry and potentials. I’ve got some new secrets, and I’m not planning on taking nutrition class again.

:: Aaron Humphrey 8:49 PM reply [+] ::
...

Woke up Tuesday morning underneath warm blankets to the sound of someone in the bathroom singing just loudly enough to seem like a dream, and outside it was raining like at home.
Rain here is different than in Oregon: there isn’t any natural ground, just florid spots of transplanted grass breaking up and miles and miles of pavement. When the skies open up there’s no amount of urban planning that can hide the fact that underneath this concrete mask is a desert, and a desert can’t take the rain. It piles up on the sidewalks, fills in dips in the parking lots and rushes along the curbs into storm drains, which by the second day are already overflowing. Anywhere you look down it’s a liquid mirror.
The wheels of my skateboard slice through the standing water on the walkways that reflect me and the trees, sending out ripples in double diagonal lines, mixing their patterns with the splatter of raindrops and I remember why grade-schoolers make sure never to walk around a puddle. My arms are spread open, parallel to my board, through I don’t need them for balance, and the legs of my jeans are soaked. I was on my way home, but there’s no way I’m giving this new playground up. Who’s having more fun, you or me, Mr. Red Umbrella? This rainy day could last forever and I wouldn’t mind.

... also forgot to post a picture of Mr. Corn last time. Here he is!

:: Aaron Humphrey 11:05 PM reply [+] ::
...

Got a yummy/cool/care-filled care package from home, and unfortunately I have no where to put all the stuff that came in it, so I’m happily surrounded by all sorts of food like Wildfruit UFOs Real Fruit Snacks, Sweetarts and Peppered Beef Sticks, things that are good, but not good for me. Anyway, I’ve been snacking on them all day, cuz hey, who can’t use a few more calories? I also got this stuffed corn man, though I’m not entirely sure why. But it’s awesome. Everyone who reads this should send me vegetables that look like people!
More soon . . . right not I have too much to read to be able to write.

Also, I sent all of 2002 into the archives with 2001 and generally made the archives a nicer place to hang out in. So go hang out.

:: Aaron Humphrey 8:13 AM reply [+] ::
...