So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.
Ethnicity. that of my father and his father before him
Location Cherry Hills Vil, CO
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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
The Tree and the Telephone Pole
I Do Not Know Their Names
Today I am Young
A Night Poem
Siren of the Sea
If I Were a Dragon
To the Dreamers Leave the Sky
The Honor of the Oyster
Return From San Diego
A Late Summer's Night
Of Dragons and Men
The Edge of the World
The Snake's Terror
Metaphysics and the Middaymoon
Of Adventures in Foreign Lands
The Rogue Wave: The Unedited Version
Adventures in the PRC
Voyage of Discovery
Drinking the Blood of Goats
Ticket for a Phantom Bus
Os peixes nadam o mar
Three Villages Far Away
The River Weser
Children I Should Have Kidnapped, Part I
Let's Get You Out of Those Clothes
If Underwear Could Speak
Croc Hunter/Combat Wombat
Only My Favorite Baseball Player EVER
Aw, Larry Walker, how I loved thee.
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
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 Dust and Dust Deposits
The City of Ember
The People of Sparks
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
The Elves of Cintra
The Gypsy Morph
Animorphs #23: The Pretender
Animorphs #25: The Extreme
Animorphs #26: The Attack
A Journey to the Center of the Earth
A Great and Terrible Beauty
The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian
To Sir, With Love
Alice in Wonderland
Through the Looking Glass
20,000 Leagues Under the Sea
The Hunger Games
Shadows and Strongholds
The Jungle Book
Beatrice and Virgil
The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks
No One Ever Told Us We Were Defeated
The Name of the Wind
Tao Te Ching
What Paul Meant
Lao Tzu and Taoism
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 Road to Serfdom
De La Terre à la Lune (ip)
In the Light of What We Know
Devil in the White City
The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August
How to Be a Good Wife
A Mote in God's Eye
want to read: Last Hunger Games Book, Honeybee Democracy, The Bell Jar
Tuesday. 8.7.07 10:02 pm
When she opened the tiny door the flood of noise that had been heretofore muted sprang into lively eddies of echo throughout the small shaft. Her way seemed blocked once again, this time by several large, dusty barrels which had been pushed up against the opening. Through the barrels she could just see little flashes of color as people milled about outside. A marketplace!
She could hear a multitude of strange, rasping voices like thatch on burlap, hawking their wares. Birds this way! Here, some fish! Five! said a woman, Not a penny less!
What a relief to be in a marketplace! No more sneaking about, a real crowd of people out in the sunlight, friendly people, going about their business like nothing at all had happened! She pushed at the barrels with her hands. They were very heavy. Smoothing the bottom of her jumper under her legs and sitting back on her hips, she braced her arms against the frame of the door and pushed heavily with her legs. The barrel slid a little way out. She gave another push, and it gave another inch, turning slightly along its rim. She slipped down from the door and into the space behind the barrels.
From here she could see the marketplace. There were a great variety of tiny carts and shops, each shadowed by its own awning and obscured by its own mass of customers. The were carts selling great heaps of vegetables, including a cart selling only radishes. There were so many radishes they overflowed onto the ground and the shopkeeper was angrily defending the edge of his domain with a broomstick from a group of little urchins who squatted in the dust nearby.
But this is not what she noticed about the marketplace.
The people... if they could be called people... were not people at all, but only the clothes of people, animately moving about the scene as if filled by flesh. But they were glarely empty of anything like living bodies. Why, but they must be invisible people, she thought, a wave of fresh sweat breaking suddenly across her brow.
The shopkeeper at the radish stand was nothing more than a study brown work apron, a pair of coarse brown trousers and a stiff white shirt. He wore a key round his upper arm on an elastic band. His cuffs were wrapped around the broom, which he continued to wave erratically at the young... rags... that's all they were, a pile of dirty rags and faded t-shirts, darting out and fetching radishes, which disappeared into the folds of their clothing. That's all they seemed to be, her mind said, checking itself. Invisible people!
Everyone (Helena) was doing it...
Tuesday. 8.7.07 8:08 am
Your mom has a nice wand
Monday. 8.6.07 6:07 pm
Everybody was doing it....
Your Score: 9 3/4", Oak, Phoenix
You scored 47 wisdom, 27 bravery, 10 emotional, and 27 martyrdom!
Oak signifies wisdom, endurance, protection, and authority. The phoenix tail feather as your core means that you have the capability to be an extremely powerful wizard or witch and that you will defend those you love at all costs.
My life, or a soap opera???
Sunday. 8.5.07 8:10 pm
"I have a lot of things to talk to you about," said my roommate as I came out of my room. "First of all, where were you for the past three weeks? I thought you got in an accident or something, I thought you were only going to be gone for two weeks!"
Me: I was only gone for two weeks.
Him: Oh..... Huhn.
So apparently while I was gone my landlord asked him if he would move out a month early. It might be because the kid that wants the room needs to move in at the beginning of August. Or, suggests Chris, since the landlord asked both of us to consider moving out early, he just knows that he's charging the new tenants $200 more dollars a month for Chris' room and $100 a month more for mine and charging both $50 extra for parking and $10 extra for internet and he wants to start making that kind of skrilla as soon as possible. "Well... he is Jewish...."
Apparently my landlord said of me to Chris: "Hey, will you make her move out a month early?" to which Chris replied, "Why, yes, seeing as she's under my magic spell, she will do anything I command."
In other news, our house was ROBBED. And when I say robbed, I mean that Patrick, the medical student from downstairs, is also a stripper at a (gay?) club in downtown Providence and he had a huge drawer in his room filled with $1600 in ONES and someone came into his room, bypassing his laptop, mp3 player, and other valuable items and went straight for the drawer, emtpying it of its contents. Patrick was so angry at the theft that he punched two holes right through the wall, meaning that Pedro, (an immigrant from Western Africa who later converted to be an Orthodox Jew as well as our creepy handy-man (once I woke up from a nap and he was in my room, just standing there-- "looking for Chris", he said; once Sarah woke from a nap to see him looking in through her window)) had to come and fix the holes in the wall on the first floor and then come up to the third floor for no reason at all.
Meanwhile, Chris moved out on my landlord's orders, but as it turns out the kid moving in can't come yet anyway. Oops. Then my landlord asked Chris if he would sell his bed to the new kid because the last time they had to get a bed into his room they had to put it in through the window. Chris can't say no to anyone, so he's selling his $800 mattress to the kid for a somewhat unfairly reduced price. My landlord furthermore asked Chris to do a little carpentry work in the basement, which isn't very convenient because he just moved out.
So now Chris is sleeping in his own room again (unbeknownced to our landlord) with nothing in it but his mattress and box-springs and his computer on the floor and fixing up the basement (I haven't noticed a difference, besides the fact that someone apparently removed all of Chris' clothes from the washer down there and threw them on the incredibly, incredibly (like the dust and dirt from several construction projects and like 100 years) dirty floor.
Then Chris noticed that his fan was missing from his room. He had seen Sarah up here stealing random dishes from our kitchen (she's taken whole rolls of our paper towels before, too), and decided that she was the only one who could have taken it. So he calls her and he's like, "Sarah, did you take my fan?" And she's like, "Yeah." and he's like, "WHY did TAKE my FAN?!?!?!?!" And she says sorry and that she'll bring it back. She didn't say why she was in his room, of course, which is two floors above hers with the door firmly shut. And people wonder why I lock my door.
So... the police say that they think someone in the house stole Patrick's thousands of dollar bills from the drawer. Patrick thinks it must have been one of the many little skanky girls (Chris' description: "For a gay guy, it's amazing how many little skanks he has parading through that room. But I guess that's what gay guys do") that Patrick always seems to have over, since they know where he keeps his stash of ones. Everyone else in the house was out of town except for Sarah and the incredibly nice girl on the second floor. Hmm... need a little extra money for your many drug habits/art projects, Sarah dearest? Maybe you had to buy a new fan? Some paper towels? A large glass mixing bowl, perhaps?
Chris: Ones, huhn? You're a stripper, aren't you?
Patrick, smiling guiltily: Well I'm trying to be a model.
Chris: But you're a stripper, aren't you. I saw your furry handcuffs.
Patrick says that he really wants his modeling career to take off because he's tired of going to medical school at Brown University.
Chris: I don't mean to be catty... I mean, I'm not a catty guy or anything, I don't do that... but, I mean... his body isn't that good. I mean, it's ok, but those stripper guys have to have really good bodies, and his... ehn.
Me: Maybe the whole "medical school" thing has been getting in the way of his workouts.
MEANWHILE meanwhile, this company that Chris might work for has offered to pay for the rest of the medical school stuff that stands between him and his MD. In return, they want him to move to a small Caribbean Island in the Dutch Antilles off the coast of Venezuela and tutor kids at the med school there and work in an AIDS clinic, all while preparing for his boards. They're going to pay him, too, in return for agreeing to work for their company for five years afterwards. They don't always do this, he says, but "apparently it's because of [his] transcipts... straight As all the way though, you know, [he's] not bragging, that's just the truth... apparently that like NEVER happens, so you know."
But that causes a problem because he just signed a year's lease for this other house, and he already moved in because my landlord kicked him out (if he hadn't, he would have been able to move directly from our house to the Dutch Antilles). So now he has to find a way to get out of his lease, find a replacement, or sublet it. The problem is magnified because he does need a place to stay when he comes home for the month of December.
He says I can come down and visit him and we can go snorkeling in the crystal clear waters.
So between that and someone having a medical emergency on the plane on the way home from Baltimore and getting sick AGAIN, I'd have to say that my life is almost as interesting as Southern's! Hoo-RAH!
Mary got to find her baby-daddy
Saturday. 8.4.07 7:29 pm
There are Plenty More Voyeurs in the Sea
Tuesday. 7.31.07 9:42 pm
So I was surfing on tehfacebook and what should I find, but the engagement page of some guy I knew back in high school. Let us call him "Matt". Apparently they're going to be honeymooning in Bora Bora after their wedding in 2009. Here are some pictures of where they intend to stay:
"How cool is that!" I exclaimed to my sister, "You could look through the floor of your hut and see the fish!" My elder sister, in her wisdom, mused, "What if someone went snorkeling under your hut?" She made a face that such a snorkeler might make as he or she swam under your hut and looked up through your floor, and it was very hilarious and troubling, indeed.
So perhaps a glass-floored cabana isn't the best place for honeymooning activities, not to mention the difficulty in going to fancy dinner parties when the only way out of the cabana is by wading through 5 feet of water. Your rolley-suitcases wouldn't seem to do you much good either. Perhaps they outfit the place with a small rowboat or gondola. Hopefully you'd get a singing gondolier in the bargain, because I dare say if they didn't I'd make my husband do it, and I don't really know how well he'd like that after the fourth day of singing. Not to mention he probably doesn't know that much Italian. That's only a guess though, as I haven't actually met him yet.
I've also heard talk about some completely underwater hotel rooms (specifically in Dubai, in the United Arab Emirates, see: 'Hydropolis'). In some of these the bathtub is made of clear plexiglass so that it will feel as if you are bathing with the creatures of the sea.
Now the question here is: At what point do you begin to feel uncomfortable- like, when do you start suspecting that instead of watching the fish, the FISH are watching YOU? You really want all them fish watching you with your body awkwardly pressed against the plexiglass bathtub? You wouldn't sit in your room, gazing starstruck at the passing schools of fish, but then awkwardly jam yourself into the closet to change, lest the fish with their wide, blank, unblinking eyes seem to be staring at you? I wonder how long an alien could charge you to stay in a plastic bubble in the middle of his alien starship before you realized that you were the one in the zoo, and not the other way around?
What are the fish really up to??? Are they in league with THE ARABS??? Are they just a whole society of voyeurs, luring us to build hotels in their midst so as to get a proper look at us? Sure they always seem to be frowning, impassive, those fish, but you know they're smirking at us on the inside!
If I lived near the underwater hotel in Dubai, I would perhaps build a pair of underwater binoculars... and charge a fee for a little look-see beneath the surface. And you can bet my customers would react with a face not unlike that of a sub-honeymoon-cabana-snorkeler.
I'll Always Remember Montreal
Sunday. 7.29.07 8:46 pm
I had a dream that I was in Montreal. No, I've never actually been there. But I was there in the dream, and I was playing a video game. Or shall I say, living a video game. Luckily I was playing a level that I had already beaten once a long time ago.
It consisted of a room much like a messy basement or attic, with many random items strewn about. I recalled from when I'd last beaten this dungeon that the first trial was a terrible high pitched screeching whistle, which laid most people flat on the ground. I was immune to it of course, for reasons I could not fathom. However, I knew that once I made it through the other dangers awaiting me in the room, I would encounter The Shroud. The Shroud was not a particularly difficult monster, just a ghostly apparition that erupted out of the floor in a manner reminiscent one of the booby-traps that the children encounter in Number 12, Grimmauld Place... if you know what I mean. Anyway, I knew that my own inherent weakness was this monster and that alone I could not hope to defeat the dungeon.
I knew I needed the help of ranor, who, while greatly affected by the high whistle, was immune to The Shroud. I sent for him and he came forthwith. We entered the room, I first, to dispatch the source of the monstrous noise. We fought forward into the room. Random junk went skittering across the floor as we whirled on, back to back, slashing at the monsters who attacked us. One victorious kill followed upon another. Dusty boxes, parasols, piles of books, old board games, nothing in this attic/basement was innocuous; each pile hid another vile attack. But none was a match for our deadly skill.
At last we reached the back of the room, and The Shroud. I was instantly rendered powerless as it erupted from the floor, but ranor turned upon it and ran it through, punctuating the kill with two slashes to its blackened hide.
We had won. We stumbled back into the busy streets of Montreal, with its merry people completely unaware of the battle we'd just fought. I knew that I should suggest that we visit our beloved friend J, since she lived in Montreal. (Montreal also happened to look a lot like Boston, where she actually lives.) I think both of us knew that I should suggest we visit her. But for some reason I suggested that we find a pair of good warm soft pretzels to eat instead. So off we went, arm and arm, eating pretzels and exploring Montreal.
I mean, after all that, was I wrong to want ranor all to myself, just for a little while?
Thursday. 7.26.07 11:27 pm
As he sat, he absent-mindedly crushed the wasps as they emerged from the gap in the boards. Their nest lay within, who knows how many there were. At first he had left their bodies at the entrance, intent more on exterminating then eliminating. Their bodies would be swarmed with other wasps for a time and if left the spot would eventually clear with no trace of the deceased save a pale stain upon the wood. Now he planned a little better. He scraped the dead off the ledge into a rough pile. This way they would not know their fate.
He wondered, suddenly, about this catastrophe visited upon the wasps' nest. He imagined killing every wasp in the colony like this, one by one, sitting here for hours until none were left. How long would that take? He felt up to the challenge. And what then? When would the Queen, sitting pampered in her inner sanctum, come out to see where her generals had gone? Would she notice as fewer and fewer wasps crawled in her corridors? Would she hear and feel the death in the new silence? Would she wait until all the food was gone and her belly ached before venturing out into the empty corridors, shouting "Where is everyone?" Asking herself, "Where have they all gone?" Searching with increasing terror....
Would she stay within her dark and silent stucco'd catacombs, like a captain with his sinking ship, until starvation and desperation had its way at last? Or would she finally come out, squinting into the sunlight, her royal stature reduced to tentative creeping, alone to meet the reckoning that his boot would deliver?
Mwahaha. Crush, crush. As long as they came out one by one he could get them all without fear of being stung. Crunch, crunch, now he would be able to enjoy his porch in peace. The wasps should have stayed in the fields and meadows, if they valued their lives. Obviously they didn't. So he didn't, either.
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