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A ship may be safe in the harbor, but that's not what ships are for.

The Profile

Age. 31
Gender. Female
Ethnicity. that of my father and his father before him
Location Cherry Hills Vil, CO
School. Other
» More info.
The World

The Link To Zanzibar's Past
This is my page in the beloved art community that my sister got me into:


Extra points for people who know what Samarinda is.
The Phases of the Moon Module
Croc Hunter/Combat Wombat
My hero(s)
Only My Favorite Baseball Player EVER

Aw, Larry Walker, how I loved thee.
The Schedule
M: Science and Exploration
T: Cook a nice dinner
Th: Parties, movies, dinners
F: Picnics, the Louvre
S: Read books, go for walks, PARKOUR
Su: Philosophy, Religion
The Reading List
This list starts Summer 2006
A Crocodile on the Sandbank
Looking Backwards
Wild Swans
Tales of the Alhambra (in progress)
Dark Lord of Derkholm
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
The Lost Years of Merlin
Harry Potter a l'ecole des sorciers (in progress)
Atlas Shrugged (in progress)
A Long Way Gone (story of a boy soldier in Sierra Leone- met the author! w00t!)
The Eye of the World: Book One of the Wheel of Time
From Magma to Tephra (in progress)
Lady Chatterley's Lover
Harry Potter 7
The No. 1 Lady's Detective Agency
Introduction to Planetary Volcanism
A Child Called "It"
Is Multi-Culturalism Bad for Women?
Americans in Southeast Asia: Roots of Commitment (in progress)
What's So Great About Christianity?
Aeolian Geomorphology
Aeolian Dust and Dust Deposits
The City of Ember
The People of Sparks
Cube Route
When I was in Cuba, I was a German Shepard
The Golden Compass
Clan of the Cave Bear
The 9/11 Commission Report (2nd time through, graphic novel format this time, ip)
The Incredible Shrinking Man
New Moon
Breaking Dawn
Armageddon's Children
The Elves of Cintra
The Gypsy Morph
Animorphs #23: The Pretender
Animorphs #25: The Extreme
Animorphs #26: The Attack
Crucial Conversations
A Journey to the Center of the Earth
A Great and Terrible Beauty
The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian
Dandelion Wine
To Sir, With Love
London Calling
Watership Down
The Invisible
Alice in Wonderland
Through the Looking Glass
20,000 Leagues Under the Sea
The Host
The Hunger Games
Catching Fire
Shadows and Strongholds
The Jungle Book
Beatrice and Virgil
The Help
Zion Andrews
The Unit
Quantum Brain
The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks
No One Ever Told Us We Were Defeated
Memento Nora
The Name of the Wind
The Terror
Tao Te Ching
What Paul Meant
Lao Tzu and Taoism
Libyan Sands
Sand and Sandstones
Lost Christianites: The Battles for Scripture and the Faiths We Never Knew
The Science of God
Great Contemporaries, by Winston Churchill
City of Bones
Around the World in 80 Days, by Jules Verne
Stranger in a Strange Land
The Old Man and the Sea
Flowers for Algernon
Au Bonheur des Ogres
The Martian
The Road to Serfdom

want to read: Last Hunger Games Book, Honeybee Democracy, The Bell Jar
The Juanes Module

Juanes just needed his own mod. Who can disagree.
Alone With the Sunset
Wednesday. 5.9.07 8:18 pm
Everyone was still at work, frittering over the same silly shades of grey, stretching photos beyond recognition, staring at computer screens. They were drinking the new types of brew my advisor had set on the table. Perhaps it was no accident that he had brought them in at a quarter to five, as a sly inducement that would keep his salaried workers a little past the hour. I did not partake- how could I? The world outside the doors of that building was calling me, beseeching me, "Come." I didn't bother to gather my things, I took what was necessary and left. I walked home and fetched my car. I went to the public library and got a library card. I checked out a book-- "The Uglies" by Scott Westerfeld. I heard about it on one of the nutanger's blogs. It takes place in a different sort of world, but its lessons resound poignantly in this one.

I drove to the park, you know, the one just off Cushing Street, where Roger Williams, founder of Rhode Island, looks in majestic statue format across his city of Providence. Words carved into the frame for the statue say, "HERE REPOSES DUST FROM THE GRAVE OF ROGER WILLIAMS". A strange inscription. It reminds me of some poem or something that I read where this fellow makes a woman out of dirt and then falls in love with her and marries her. Unfortunately she dries out and crumbles away. He holds a funeral for her with guests and a priest and everything, but when the priest gets to the "ashes to ashes, dust to dust" part, someone in the crowd can't help but snicker. This makes the man very angry. I don't really remember what happens after that.

I sat against a tree and read half my book. In the glowing late afternoon, the city looked like one of those pretend cities like they have in children's picture books, where the suburbs don't exist... there's just the countryside and one black two-lane road that goes over several hills until it reaches the City, where all of the buildings bow out a bit at the top as if the city can't all fit on the plot of land it was given. The only thing that makes this city real are its little imperfections- the eastern tower of the Westin that isn't quite finished yet, a thin and awkward crane bending over it, frozen until the start of another work day.

There is a boy in a red shirt who is lying in the grass.

I look over periodically and twice he is looking back. I am always impressed by solitary people who bring nothing to do, and then sit in a public place. It takes a certain strength of being to sit alone and be completely idle in a busy world where everyone is expected to have tasks and associations. It is a well known fact, for example, that a solitary person sitting in a public place, should he have no paper to read, must be constantly consulting his watch, even if he isn’t waiting for anyone at all. It is a courtesy for the people walking by him, so that they do not have to wonder what he is doing and why he is alone.
A group of hippies is smoking marijuana from a hookah in the corner of the park, the sticky smell of it begins to cover up the dreamy scent of lavender coming from a trellis down the street. I thought about the boy in the red shirt. Surely I should talk to him? Here we are, two solitary citizens of Earth, drawn to the park by the promise of sunset… what more need we have in common to know that we are of the same ilk? I rise from my seat, not even knowing what my body will decide to do. I walk to the fence and look out over the city.

“Hey!” comes a voice. “What’s up? Who are you with?”
It is the voice of another boy, speaking to the boy in the red shirt.
“Oh, uh, nobody,” he responds a bit uncertainly. There is an awkward moment, as the boy in the red shirt has just been made to indirectly admit that something of the Poetic lies hidden within him.
“I’ve wanted to come down here,” he explains, “but I couldn’t find anyone to come with me.” The way he says it implies that he probably didn’t look very hard.

The other boy invites the boy in the red shirt to come and “hang” with him and his friends, and the boy in the red shirt has no choice but to acquiesce. He is swallowed into a group and there is again just one person in the park who is alone with the sunset.

Comment! (3) | Recommend! (3)

This Semester is technically over now
Tuesday. 5.8.07 10:28 pm
From my professor, in response to my presentation today:

"Just wanted to say that you did a very nice job of presenting your project today. You described the goals, the physics of the problem and the nature of the inverse problem so clearly that it was hardly noticeable that you don't actually have results yet! I was impressed."

hahHAhaha. I don't really know how to take that one.

Comment! (12) | Recommend! (1)

Daaraan dink!
Tuesday. 5.8.07 10:26 pm
One of the better signs from my time in South Africa

Comment! (6) | Recommend!

Who's that handsome, mysterious gentleman?
Sunday. 5.6.07 10:28 pm

Comment! (12) | Recommend! (1)

Act II, Scene 3
Sunday. 5.6.07 2:42 pm
A sparely furnished kitchen. Z sits center stage at a small table. Her lunch is meticulously spread before her and she is slicing things to prepare them to put on a small, simple plate.

C enters stage right. His hair is slightly messy and bleached blond and he is wearing a ripped white tank-top with with a neon pattern on the front, splattered with paint, and a pair of old athletic shorts.

C (shouting towards stage left): HEY! I don't know what to throw away! You have to help me!

K, off stage left: Just throw away the things you don't want to keep!

C: I want to keep everything! He turns to Z, as if seeing her for the first time. I'm throwing away my old clothes today. It's killing me.

K enters stage left and they exeunt stage right. Their voices can be heard offstage as Z carefully assembles her lunch.

K: What about this one! We can throw this one out.

C: NO!!! I love that shirt.

K: How about this one? It says... "Deep Purple"

C: What?! How can you even say that! That's a classic band!

K: It's old.

C: No way.

K: Ok, how about this one. Can we PLEASE throw this one away?

C: What! You like that shirt! You like that shirt!

K: No, C, I don't like this shirt. Or this tank-top. We should throw it away.

C: But I need tank-tops!

K: Nobody wears tank-tops anymore, honey. What about this shirt? It's a wreck.

C: That's my work-shirt, though, I use it for work.

K: No you don't, when was the last time you wore this?

C: But I need it! I need it for work!

K: C, honey, you don't even do that kind of work anymore. What about this one, this one is really ugly.

C: That's not ugly! I just bought that this year. That is a really fashionable shirt.

K: Yeah, fashionable if you lived 100 years ago. Give me your belts.

C: No, I can't throw out my belts.

K: You are so past the stage of your life where you would wear these belts, sweetie. What about that?

C: It's my cousin's. I have to give it back to her.

K: You haven't seen your cousin in 8 years. Give it to Z.

C: But I'm going to see her this summer.

K: Are you sure? Why don't you just give it to Z.

C: If don't see her this summer, I'll give it to Z, ok? But I'm going to see her.

Some 80s glam rock starts playing which drowns out their voices. Z has stopped eating and is staring at her perfectly chopped food and single plate. Scene.

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Saturday. 5.5.07 11:52 pm
We're all standing there, waiting to eat the chocolate cakes. A is telling an interesting story about a vet friend of hers who takes in injured cats... so they always have the sorriest cats- cats with one eye, cancer surviving shaved cats, cats with tubes coming out of their necks.

"Enough, enough," her husband says. His arms are lovingly around her waist. She continues recounting the injuries of the cats a little longer. "Enough" he says, more forcefully, reminding her that we were about to eat cakes. Her story is winding down but not ending just yet.

He clamps his hand over her mouth to stop her from continuing. There is a little lull in the conversation, then she says awkwardly to break the silence, "well, what's next, then, are we going to eat?"

I wouldn't have said that.

No, I would have just killed my husband instead.

But then again, I would have probably divorced him more than ten years ago, before marrying him in the first place. Yes, yes, I think I would have left him the first time he ever tried to do something like put his HAND over my FACE when I was trying to talk. It astonishes me what some people put up with.

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