que voy hacer, je ne sais pas

I admit that sometimes I like bad music, but not that often. Lately, I'm all about the MJ--you can probably see me moonwalking across busy streets on my way to class in the morning (yes, this actually means that I've been attending them lately--for the most part).

I figured out my life plan earlier and wrote it down on a piece of paper--but I think I lost it. Oh well, just one more paper in a room full of paper that's covered with scribbles and half-thoughts. There are probably enough pages with my written words all over them to reconstruct a redwood.

But I did decide that I want to continue with the writing. That maybe an MFA is in my future--at some phatty university, like Stanford. So I can just write and hit on those cali boys all day long. I've dreamt about the Writer's Workshop since birth, but I don't know if I could put myself through an existence in Iowa--Kurt Vonnegut, or no Kurt Vonnegut. I have two books by one of the professors sitting next to me on my bed right now--John Allen McPherson, who won a MacArthur Fellowship Grant. [sidenote: I just found out that I did research with someone who won this same award--holy fucking shit, right?]

So the plan is to be in grad school some time before the little kid [read: younger sister, aged 17, senior year of high school who is entering college this fall] graduates from university. That gives me 4-5 years, pretty good, right?



I finished The Hours by Michael Cunningham [who I will hopefully meet later this summer, when he does his book tour...] and am currently reading The Known World by Edward P. Jones. The Hours ripped me to shreds inside and highlighted all of the things that I don't want to happen to my life [the whole muse/artist thing that Kait brought to my attention--who the fuck wants to be the muse? A lot of good that does you, right? Wouldn't it be more fun to be the artist? oh, this deserves its own entry entirely]. I need to read Mrs. Dalloway as soon as I can, but first I must read about 5,000 Faulkner novels.


I think I decided that my final paper for Faulkner will focus on the tragic mulatto in his books and then seeing how they were depicted otherwise in popular media, like the movie Pinky.

For my Caribbean Cinema course, I think I will focus on the films of either Tomas Gutierrez Alea or Rauol Peck. Then it will either be to see if it is indeed true that the characters of any given director are all tied together somehow, or focus on the African diaspora into the Caribbean.



Advising appointment is this Friday, then I will figure out the next steps in my academic life. This also means that I will call the brother later on Friday to propose his... sponsoring me, in sorts.


Books on my reading list:
The Stories of Breece D'J Pancake by Breece D'J Pancake
Pobby and Dingan by Ben Rice
Selected Stories by Andre Dubus
FBI Girl: How I Learned How to Crack My Father's Code by Maura Conlon-McIvor

They may have to wait until the summer. Bummer, right?

nights like these

Where “see you soon” are the hardest words to pronounce in the English language. “goodbye” does not translate into anything useful—“travel safely” are simply words you use to fill the void, but that you mean nonetheless.


I think that maybe I thought it’d be easier to say goodbye to trainees once I wasn’t VP anymore—but it’s not. it’s been months since I did anything more with a reception week than spend a few hours with the trainees—but I suppose I didn’t bank on them leaving when I was still around.


Tonight was Alex’s last night in Ann Arbor—at first it didn’t hurt a lot, but then I talked to Sandhya about it a bit and the old burn and sting was back.


I still have saved all the emails that trainees have sent me—especially when they’er leaving. Matthi wrote me about this saying they have—that it’s never goodbye, just see you later and that he always has a couch ready.

The sting comes in because you hope to god that that’s true, but you’re young and the world is ahead of you and you have no idea. So Matthi has that saying—and David Bowie has another, faith isn’t faith unless it’s the only thing you’re holding on to. so that’s what’s difficult with AIESEC—walking home and thinking about that maybe the last goodbye as the last goodbye [and I remember planning out the reception—picking the coordinator, the trainee manager, feeling happy that we were receiving a German because her license would be that much easier to procure in the state of Michigan—and being excited about the airport pickup (my favorite part in all of the exchange process, I swear). Remembering the week… and the traineeship—and feeling happy about the involvement, about the conference attendance, the impact upon members, with a few in specific].

So this is faith. AIESEC faith—that the good times have not yet begun, that the party will continue and will be harder and fiercer than ever before.

(I have also learned that the better the last night, the harder it is to say goodbye—take tonight for example, shots of tequila, rounds of kings, shouting PROST!, watching people learn how to dance for the first time… fuckin’ a—time to stop writing a drunken entry. Goodnight)

nights like these

Where “see you soon” are the hardest words to pronounce in the English language. “goodbye” does not translate into anything useful—“travel safely” are simply words you use to fill the void, but that you mean nonetheless.


I think that maybe I thought it’d be easier to say goodbye to trainees once I wasn’t VP anymore—but it’s not. it’s been months since I did anything more with a reception week than spend a few hours with the trainees—but I suppose I didn’t bank on them leaving when I was still around.


Tonight was Alex’s last night in Ann Arbor—at first it didn’t hurt a lot, but then I talked to Sandhya about it a bit and the old burn and sting was back.


I still have saved all the emails that trainees have sent me—especially when they’er leaving. Matthi wrote me about this saying they have—that it’s never goodbye, just see you later and that he always has a couch ready.

The sting comes in because you hope to god that that’s true, but you’re young and the world is ahead of you and you have no idea. So Matthi has that saying—and David Bowie has another, faith isn’t faith unless it’s the only thing you’re holding on to. so that’s what’s difficult with AIESEC—walking home and thinking about that maybe the last goodbye as the last goodbye [and I remember planning out the reception—picking the coordinator, the trainee manager, feeling happy that we were receiving a German because her license would be that much easier to procure in the state of Michigan—and being excited about the airport pickup (my favorite part in all of the exchange process, I swear). Remembering the week… and the traineeship—and feeling happy about the involvement, about the conference attendance, the impact upon members, with a few in specific].

So this is faith. AIESEC faith—that the good times have not yet begun, that the party will continue and will be harder and fiercer than ever before.

(I have also learned that the better the last night, the harder it is to say goodbye—take tonight for example, shots of tequila, rounds of kings, shouting PROST!, watching people learn how to dance for the first time… fuckin’ a—time to stop writing a drunken entry. Goodnight)

Ok, I'm admitting it here that a pretty voice will catch my attention, even if the lyrics are godawful and the music is not quite up to ... current standards. This explains my interest in Ari Hest--it doesn't hurt that he was tall and attractive and very polite, even though he was a bit quiet. I must say, I love doing signings at work.

The more time I spend thinking about what I really want to do, the more I think that grad school may actually be in my future [we're thinking the next 2-5 years]. I have an appointment where I want to talk about what the whole grad school thing would be like--I need to go into the office hours of another of my professors that has to do with the admissions of the MFA program here at UofM.

Tonight, when I ran outside to make a phone call during Matching Mania, I ran into a friend. He's either going to be moving to Stanford or Columbia quite soon--which made me think about that Stanford dream of mine. They have a fabulous creative writing program--so I think I might bust it up and look more into their program, see what would get me in.

First, I need to get out of Michigan. I need to just... roam. For a while, not sure how long. It'd be nice if I could just win the lotto--or if that stupid telemarketer/scam thing that keeps calling me were actually true. They called today to say that I was at the top of the priority list to get a grant from the United States government. Yeah, if only life were that easy. Five grand. What the fuck, right? Five grand... everything that you could [and I would] do with that. Fuck.


I've spent a lot of the day listening to music. Just stuff from high school. It's funny how it can take you back, like old journal entries. Whoops.

teenage angst

We're sitting here watching Hercules (yes, the Disney version) because classes were cancelled due to the strike. So then I'm going through my old diary--four years ago to the day. I said it was too embarrassing, Connie said to post it, so who am I to go against the wishes of my AIESEC twin?

March 24, 2001. Titled: "breathe out so i can breathe you in"


i get home at midnight--ten after. driving around just listening to music for a while. cherishing the ringing in her ears from leaning against the speakers the entire concert [ataris, vandals, lagwagon].


i wake up at six thirty when my alarm first buzzes, gets up, turns that off. repeat at ten minute intervals until seven when i decide it's time to drag my ass out of bed and take a shower. the shower is cold--the water doesn't seem to get hot enough [read: scorching---i'm an odd shower-taker], it never seems to get warm enough in the morning.

i take time deciding what i should wear that day. my new ataris shirt? no, i pass as i heard something about "Dressing Up" --- since it was the day to go to this diversity 'conference' and i have to represent the All-American Fucking-Backward Suburban School [that's a real term--look it up in colleen's Dictionary of ((Fuck You))].

i get to school at ten to eight and think, shit. in hand, i hold my creative writing journal and also my cw folder. on the cover and back of the folder, this time, are two large pictures [eight x ten] of my younger sister [only sister, stupid]. on the divider is a picture of the back of her dog's head---he's looking out the window--- on the other side is a picture of his (rather dirty) drinking ... bowl thing... other pictures include:: a very pissed off picture of her sister holding a shovel upright [much like american gothic], dog shit is on the shovel it seems; a picture of a bumper sticker on a car that reads::::: "STOP YOUR BITCHIN // START A REVOLUTION" ; a picture of katie sitting at this table on some random person's porch--their house looks like a castle. she looks like she is deep in thought; the doors on the first floor of school, main enterance--it shows the top of the doors and the EXIT sign above them ; a picture of my father's cat--the evil bitch who won't let anyone pick her up--ever ; and, a picture of two windows of the house katie was sitting at---one window, on the bottom, is lit up and the other is just... there.. .with curtains parted showing a lovely lamp.

i see my friends walking further down the hallway as i comes into the school. my voice is destroyed by some unknown force [which happened the morning of the ataris show] and i decide to not call out in a prepubescent boy - esque voice. drei turns around and sees me. she accompanies me upstairs to turn in the two projects. they stay and "chat" [charlar] for a few minutes [para ... unos momentos (?)] then they go down where everyone who is going on the field trip is meeting.

they then, the group, goes to the bus. i sit with jillie. on the way there, we talk about... stuff. stupid stuff. futures. marriage, children. perfect mates. going to the n'sync concert. yes, you read that correctly. there are reasons, but we're not going to go into those now. and, no, it's not to go back stage and give that dreamy, dreamy hunk, justin timberlake, a good ole American hummer.

we arrive at this place, this conference which is in southfield somewhere. and sit. first, they listen to


Captain Bill Pickney--one of the five americans who has ever sailed around the world on their own. these are two of the things that jonnie wrote down --- what he had said:

if our mothers are the same, how can we be different?
-and-
don't let anyone tell you who you are. you control your image

the first---he was talking about how there's one thing... ok, someone asked a question---if language was ever a barrier in his travels and he answered in spanish, which was very cool. i understood all of it. he begins to explain that there's one thing in common with everyone. he then begins to talk about mothers--and how they know things. how they can see what your'e doing through anything and how they can always tell that you're lying. then came that above quotation.


the second came... not soon after. he was talking about image for some reason--he said how he was sure that the image of teenagers out there today, that not many people in that room would fit that image and that they wouldn't agree with it.


this man also built another amistad [slaves were brought over on freedom, carried on friendship, and returned by gentleman]---this he traced the route of amistad with.


next was a man named ron bachman who was perhaps my favourite of the entire day. if he wasn't, he was damn close. damn close.


this is the quote i copied: Get your ticket for the clue bus in life. it was so corny it was perfect and i just had to. he was born with a genetic defect and when he was four years old, both of his legs were amputated.


he told this story of when he was ten years old--- he went one day to the store on his big wheel, or some such... he could pedal and steer with his hands. he went in and bought his things, came back out and these roughly-fourteen-year-old boys had thrown his bike on the roof of the store [this he begins, the whole story, after explaining that this boy at one of his ... "appearances" ... don't know what you'd call it ... asked him what the worst day of his life was]. he explains that's not why it's the worst day of his life.


they then took him by the arms and carried him into the alley. there was some restaurant // food place next door. they got a pepper shaker, held his eyes open, and poured the pepper into his eyes. he said, yeah, it hurt, but that's not why it was the worst day of my life. he explained that he was so upset when he went home and that his parents were furious. he told his mother that night that he didn't want to live anymore. that night he said he prayed to god to come and take him. at ten years old, he stressed. ten years old, praying for the lord to not make him wake up in the morning. ten years old telling his mother that he wanted to die.


he explained that the worst thing about it was that he knew he had never seen those kids before. not once. and he was pretty sure that those kids had never seen him before. that they did that just because of how he looked.

there was this point where he pointed to a girl in the front row and started talking to her. i don't remember it all that well, but it choked me up. i know that much. it reminded me of the conference the week before, or before that. don't remember/know when it was. he asked her how it would make her feel if he told her that he loved her. and he said i love you. and he said that thta's a great thing to hear. [because he could tell-- she was "turning ten different shades of red"]. then he went on to say that if someone told you that they hate you, hate your guts not because you did anything to them or anyone they know, anyone at all for that matter, but just because of how you look. that's why they hate you. how that's a horrible and shit-filled thing to hear.


i think he was amazing. his time was over the quickest. i think that's because he was so nice to listen to. i wish he could have spoken longer, i would have listened to him for the entire day.


next came mark "doc" andrews followed by his wife, amy andrews. they brought out their three children. we watched the video of this man for a good while and i hadn't even noticed that he was a little person the whole time. not until he came out on stage and stood next to the podium. yeah, just call me observative colleen. i'm not sure, yet, if it's good or bad that i didn't notice he was.


he became a news caster for the free games. i dug that tons. tons. i also dug how he's so fucking successful and how so many people got in his way the entire time. i like how his wife talked about mendalian genetics. i think that's what you would call it. mendel--or mendal. i don't know. either way.


then was mister harry belafonte. first, i'm gonna say the man is hella impressive. he's done five times everything i want to do with my life. at first i admit that i was annoyed as hell at how long the video explaining all of his accomplishments was. i didn't see why tehre had to be some huge list of what he has achieved and what he hadn't. well, not what he hadn't.


later it just seemed so... dumb. i dug, tons, once more, how he said that the corporate pharmacutical companies were basically full of shit. how they always say that everything they charge is ok because it's... well, it helps pay back how much they spent with research. he said that this last year they got over one billion from one medication for AIDS [i think that's what he was saying it was for, can't remember now but i remember thinking AZT so.. maybe]. it cost thirty-seven million for research. they didn't pay for research, i forget who he said, which program within the government paid for research. this program within the government recieves that money from taxes. how they put a price on... he said something about morals, but the whole time i thought he should have just said on a human life. he said it was a price on ending suffering of the individual and those around -- i think by doing that i'm placing words in his mouth though he did say something about ending suffering.

these are the quotes i culled:


we live in a place that is filled with censorship...

unfair, corrupt, and unjust
-speaking on some of the courty systems in the GOOD OLE USA!!

he mentioned violence through justice when someone asked him if there was ever a time when he considered using violence rather than his whole non-violence stance which he shared with many, many people during the civil rights movement.

i wrote: the Art of Non-Violence. i can't remember if i just wrote that or if he said it. who knows.


next came ex-detroit lions mike utley. beautiful paralysed man with a mullet-esque hairstyle. beautiful man.

and i quote:

god came first, then family, then football. anything under that meant nothing to me.

tough times never last, though tough people do.


i thought he was very cool and i think that the determination he has, the drive, and the... patience to try and try and try ---is amazing. and it's nice.

live, sleep, eat---football.

i would have felt bad if he didn't have everything so together. he also said that, in response to a question, he and god are going to have a discussion when he dies. that refers to his paralysation.


next was a woman named sybil evans. she talked about "hot spots"--complete and utter bullshit. for the most part. everyone knows you get angry. she could have just stood up there and said: when you get angry, don't be a dickhead and control your fucking anger, you losers.


afterward, she shamelessly, as we were leaving to the bus, thrust her postcards to us that had the name of her book and told us to go out and buy it or tell our parents too. i wanted to throw it on the ground where she could see it. utter crap. she looks a lot older than her promo picture would lead you to believe. you know what that means? tons of makeup and touch-up work.


jillie was focused on her outfit the whole time. the ugly flower she had on her suit and the hideous colour of her suit in the first place. she was wearing a turtle neck under it to hide her chin[s].


yes, the only reason i disliked this woman and have no respect for her is because of the shameless way she attempted to sell herself to us. just like out of the movies. go buy my book!!


the last speaker[s] were coach bill yoast and coach herman boone. both were very interesting although i must admit coach boone was a bit more interesting to me, probably because coach yoast told the story and coach boone went more into it. they're the coaches from remember the titans. you know, the big movie with denzel washington. i still havne't seen it, but i'm making sure i will now. that and amistad.


he said the idea of acorns... that we, the young people, are the roots and i think he also said leaves--of the oak tree. that the oak tree is the strongest wood there is in this world. how it just begins with one little acorn. we are the roots of this acorn. he also said that he believed youth violence could be stopped overnight. i can't really remember how he said right now. i'm just tired.


so. we'll end that there. oh, his quote::: i have been told... a candle loses nothing if it continually lights another candle.



effectively missed the father parent today. was at concert when he was here picking up the sister. didn't remember about him until later.


i decided i'm not dealing with him until he can act like an adult--i decided this a long time ago, but i announced my intentions to my mom tonight. i hope you're not holding your breath, she said.

i'm not, i replied.

my little acorn-
body of wood
and blood of water,
heart open like
leaves to the wind.

oh. also saw a girl i hadn't seen since seventh grade. wears... a ton of makeup. a ton. she looked beautiful though, in that fake sort of way.

So last night was the latino culture show and, of course, Vania and Carlos won big time in the bachata contest, even though they selflessly decided to take the less-sexy song. There was a piece where they took these poems [some of the best from the nuyorican poets, TRUST ME] and blended them all together. I think my ears had a soundgasm.

Piñero’s “Lower East Side” rips my insides up every time I read it, especially when I hear it. I’ve seen one of the kids perform spoken word before—you can feel the beat of the words when he speaks and you get so into it. he dresses the part with that hat, I don’t know which kind of hat it is, what it’s called, but it’s the perfect I Do Spoken Word So Well I’ll Rock Your World kind of hat.

They also took poems from Esteves, Baez, and Piedras. All the biggies—but Baez, I don’t know well, but she was there last night.

To me, good literature is like nuyorican poetry. It’s raw and real—it talks about the things that we’re overlooking. The city is such a dynamic place, as is the country, but the country has had its time. I like writing driven by thoughts, not so much narrative and description. It’s nice when you read a sentence that forces you to audibly respond: shit, fuuuuck, oooowwwuuuch.


[I heard some of the saddest words last night from my AIESEC twin, but I can’t say I wasn’t thinking the same thing. So it’s sad because the words are sad, but comforting that someone else is actually thinking the same thing that I am at the same time, you dig? I’m glad I’ll get to see her shortly—we’ve been apart for far too long.]


I’m torn with what should be the next step in my life. I’m trying so hardly to figure out what I want the end point to be—what would be the ideal? Obviously, making a living [and a nice one at that] off of writing, but what kind of writing? Do I want to do the whole travel writer thing? A novel? Short stories are the love of my life, but they don’t take short story writers seriously.

And how do you get to that point? All the time I was doing AIESEC, I probably should have been working with student publications and trying to get something published—but I wouldn’t take that time back for anything, I promise that.

So it hit me on perhaps Monday that I should be doing something to reach this goal, right? You don’t become recognized overnight because someone likes a story you wrote in about three hours because you couldn’t get it out of your head. That’s not the way that this fabulous world works.

My mom surprised me back in February or some such—she told me that neither she nor my brother are expecting me to do something outright fabulous immediately, since it’s harder to get your feet under you when you’re pursuing something like this. that his route may have been easier since being an engineer—you kind of know what the hell you want to do.

I think I’d fall out from shock if those words ever came out of the mouth of my dad, the one who kept trying to get me to change my majors back in the day. He would go, well, I don’t know why you’re majoring in those, what are you going to do with them?

Secretly, I know they all hope I do the whole law thing—one way or another. That wouldn’t be horrible either, you know? Law is something that gets my blood pumping in a nerdy sort of way, but I’m not sure. There are a few years to go yet—decades.



I love talking about writing because it’s like talking about breathing. You know what I mean?



This is a terribly disjointed entry and I’m just going to slap it up there. I moved paragraphs around [because I learned that whole highlight and drag trick a few months ago and the novelty has yet to wear off], but I still think it’s as disorganized as it was before, if not moreso.



I have an advising appointment next week for a few different purposes: to make sure I’m all set to graduate, to see if I can take spring courses if I do graduate [I really really want to take another sociology class and am DYING to take a creative writing workshop—like holy shit dying] and then to see what the hell there is to do—what’s the next step? What’s the point of an MFA? Will it cost more money than it’s really worth? Ug. Futures. Bills. Tuition. Bullshit.

You know that poet in Before Sunrise? Do you think it’s possible to live like that? Perhaps if I spoke French…

annie, are you ok?

I think my [ultimate] ambition in life is to win The Genius Award. That’d be hot, huh? To be a recognized genius. All you’d have to say to anyone is, bitches, please. I won 500,000 for being fucking amazing, what the hell have you done?

I have to be at work in a half hour. I'm thinking the whole working at a bookstore ship is sinking rapidly, so I need to look into other options so that I may survive without starvation. It's funny to watch a business change--simply working from certain areas and to know how much and frequently they're changing. It's all bad business lately, I do believe. There are structural problems that could easily be remedied, but it seems that they're hiring a lot of people who never once worked at the lower levels of the company--that must make things difficult, right?

Still, I am stuck on The Postal Service--and i know that everyone thinks their lyrics suck, but I get that one line: and i kissed you in a style that clark gable would have admired (I thought it classic). I dig it.



I've been getting bored in class so much that I sit there and cover an entire page in words. I bought these new pens that blow my mind away. Usually, I'm a strict black bic girl--and not the clear ones, but the white ones. It has to be those cheap, one thousand for ten cents pens. And fine is much better than medium, I have found. But these pens... oh, these pens are fabulous. The way they glide over the page and make heavy, serious lines when you form letters. And they're so easy to draw with--that's another thing. They have to be able to draw. It helps when you can make every word that you're writing in your infinite boredom beautiful. Exaggerated and stretched out--fabulously so.

The question that I asked myself the other day was why write? and i filled a page and wanted to keep going a bit more.

Last night served to answer that question just about as well--why write turned into a vehicle to capture words and memories because I know that I'll forget some of the things that are happening now. Well, at least I hope that I'll forget some of them.

We started at Pizza House with those lucious milk shake and liquor things. Cookies n'cream is enough to turn any child into a raging alcoholic--why not take Bailey's with one of the best ice creams ever? Psssh, exactly.

Then we headed out to Full Moon on Main Street--to down three or four pitchers between the four, then five, of us.

Well, that's all for now. Must be at work in nineteen minutes--clocked in by 23 if I don't want to be considered late. Fun. Seriously, I just need that Genius Award now. To be able to live life, then spend the day reflecting on that and capturing words--even if you're not telling that story directly, you still are, you know?

The One-Drop Rule

I’ve been thinking about this entry for a while, but haven’t sat down to write it all out because I never knew where to start. There really isn’t anywhere to start because it’s fifty pages all twisted together in thought, comprised of incomplete sentences.

When I was five years old, one of my closest friends paused right in the middle of us playing with barbies so that she could apologize for her ancestors enslaving mine. Sixteen years later, I still don’t really know what I think about that happening. It leaves me a bit tongue-tied and perplexed. I can joke and say that’s what it’s like coming from Ann Arbor—but it’s still odd, isn’t it? to have that statement posed to you by a six year old? Can I really understand the gravity of slavery at twenty any better than I can at five? Where the hell does a six year come up with the guilt for something like that?

People get really confused when they hear my name. I can’t say that I blamed them—it’s almost like my parents were playing a trick on the world by giving this brown girl a white and very Irish name. With exception of the middle name being Spanish, everything is pure Irish. It’s a fun game to play when people are guessing what I am—or interesting when people just start speaking to me in Spanish.

I talk to my brother a lot about race lately. I’m taking these classes where race comes up a lot and it makes my insides bubble. I don’t know a lot of people that I can talk to about race where they can really understand what I’m thinking and saying and feeling, so I’ve been talking to him about it more and more. He’s dating someone else who’s mixed—she’s white and Asian, but she sees the world so differently than either of us do.

I firmly identify as mixed and don’t want any other term applied to me. I know that some people don’t mind the term mulatto, but it makes my skin crawl and I want nothing to do with it. Even terms like “bi-racial” or “multi-racial” make me turn my nose a bit. I’m not exactly sure why, but maybe because it just seems so… just trying to be polite about something you don’t need to be careful about. A lot of people become uncomfortable when you tell them call me mixed and I haven’t really figured out why yet.

My brother is maybe as dark as me, if not a bit more. His eyes are hazel, whereas you can’t see my pupils because my eyes are so dark. Our little sister, she could easily pass and I think she does to a lot of people. Why wouldn’t she, right? The only thing is the hair—a bit frizzy, borderline of kinda kinky. I don’t even know if people ever wonder if she’s anything but white.

The last conversation we had about race was maybe two weeks ago. He thinks it’s so curious that I identify as mixed [and neither of us know what the little kid thinks of herself—it wouldn’t even shock me that much if she’d never thought about it] and it makes perfect sense to both of us why he considers himself a black male. His experiences in life are far different than my own and a lot of my freedom to identify as I please comes from my being female.


People come to me and they say things like, I don’t mean to offend you, so I apologize if I am, but what are you? Honestly, I have no idea why that question should offend anyone, but I suppose I’d understand if someone was. No, scratch that. I wouldn’t understand. It’s not something… that should be kept quiet. Race is such an interesting concept and topic—why not talk about it as much as you can? The world from my eyes isn’t the same from yours.

But they usually say that. Some sort of preface to their question about not offending me when that is one of my favorite games. I don’t get as much a kick out of it lately as I used to. Everyone nods appreciatively when I list off all the ethnicities.


The main reason I filled out an application for Michigan State was because that was the first form that I ever saw that allowed me to check more than one box. The first time I had to check a box was in seventh grade and I was so fucking confused. Didn’t know what the hell to do. Pick One Box.

Today, I came across this initiative on the MAVIN Foundation website: http://www.mavinfoundation.org/about/news_021505.html

It’s impressive. I’m going to print off a few and bring it into the next GMM. Then I’ll email a link out to some of my friends.


The first laws drawn in the United States against interracial anything appeared in the 1640’s. Loving v. Virginia [http://www.ameasite.org/loving.asp] only happened in 1967, which is the US Supreme Court judgment handed down that stated laws against interracial marriage is unconstitutional. In 1999, Alabama was the last state to take miscegenation laws out of the state law books. The last state to do so. South Carolina did the same in something like 1996—they cleared up language in their state constitution, or something like that.

The upsetting thing isn’t the date—although that’s very troubling—it’s that the law was taken off by such a slim margin. There were 41%-49% of Alabama voters who wanted that law to remain. Whenever I think of this, I just feel crushed. It’s like when I have conversations with my friends and they mention some opinion of their parents, who think interracial marriage may not be such a hot idea because what do the kids do? What about them? Is anyone thinking about them? How would they identify? Bla blab la. I just stare with my mouth hanging open a bit—because they’re fucking joking, right?

But it’s why we should talk about race more, right? Seven million Americans checked more than one box on the 2000 census—that number will go through the roof in 2010.



When I took that rhetoric class, we looked at the social movements in the United States and the last we examined was the gay rights movement that’s been going on for the last thirty years. People always say that you can’t compare it to the interracial battle that’s been happening for centuries, but you can. I never see why it’s not a good point for comparison because all that really matters is that progress happens. Six years ago, people were up in arms about a law being taken out of a state constitution that was ruled unconstitutional 32 years ago. Now, they get upset when you mention the word “marriage,” but sometimes they’re okay when you say “civil union.”

I hate that I live in a state that added a bigoted law in the year 2004. one more reason to move, right?

I am quickly becoming addicted to hommus. i am honestly contemplating purchasing a food processor so that I may make it from scratch--could you imagine how wonderful fresh hommus tastes?

This week has been a little lackluster--I will admit that freely. Right now, I'm debating skipping class or not. I should really probably go, but something in my fourth-year-about-to-graduate self is saying that my bed is far more comfortable and it's better to capture my thoughts in word, so that my head won't explode. Really, how important is graduation if you don't have a head?

Last night, we took the cake into Sarah's room and talked about life. Growing up is a pain in the ass. I've moved around more than enough and got pretty good at not caring much about it--into believing that the next step was more exciting and promising than the last. I like moving from home to home. It's simply another way that I shape my life--people count cars, or teachers, but I can go by homes. Different cities, locations within those cities.

The hardest part about moving is the people. I don't like counting my life through stages of best friends, but that seems to be what happens. I never thought it'd be hard to leave college--because it was never hard to leave high school. It's not that I hated high school completely--it was close, but not quite--and the friends I made there were amazing, but I was so eager to leave. And it's not that here I have no idea what I'm doing--that my future is one empty slate in front of me. Not it at all because that really excites me. Sure, it'll be stressful in a pinch, but--the world is too big and there are too many opportunities to be bogged down by fear like that.

I didn't look to the end of college as something that would be painful to leave. I've left other places that were as good as they could have been, considering. I've had good friends before, so maybe that's not it either. It's definitely not that I'm not ready to leave this town--although I wouldn't mind one last summer in Ann Arbor, but 22 years here will be more than enough for me. Mostly, it's because I never thought I'd make such good friends--and the fear of global scramble, which is the hardest part of any crowd, but it seems that these damn @ers take it to a new level, right?

It's exciting, nonetheless. And quite the challenge--to take the last few months to the next level, heights before unknown, all while still maintaining a strategic balance so that we may graduate.

I suppose that's why the four of us spent a good hour sitting on the floor in the bathroom, talking and laughing until, well, you know.

I think it was about two years ago when I last wrote about getting a piercing. That one happened on Spring Break also. It seems to be that any time I spend a bit more than a few days outside of Michigan [when not in conference], I come home with a new hole in my body.

At least, this time, I shot the idea past my mother like a homerun in the bottom of the ninth. She didn't exactly make the happiest noise, but she wasn't threatening death--so I took that to mean that all bets are on.

I'm not too sure how well my grandmother will respond--but hopefully she won't notice it. Not many people have. Even some of the Wisconsin kids hadn't even noticed it and they saw me immediately before and after the lovely experience.

I don't remember the name of the piercing place--maybe smething like the piercing parlour. Nothing too catchy. The industrial that I got in my left ear was done at The House of Freaks in Melrose, or Santa Monica. The piercer's name was Angie and she had this long, red hair and looked like she was standing too close to a freckle bomb at detonation.

There's something about piercings--and hopefully I'll never move onto tattoos because, well, that would be disasterous. It's the smell--something about provon that is absolutely exquisite. And the whole experience. When you sit down and think, holymotherfucker, I really shouldn't be doing this, huh? Dropping sixty dollars for someone to inflict pain upon my stupid self. But it's always worth it.

That's when you notice the gloves on their hand and they open up the package with the needle and pop the jewelry out of the disinfectant. That's also precisely the moment when your heart starts to race and you try to remember what the last piercing felt like, if this one will hurt more or less--was there cartilege involved? hmm.

It always hurts worse the morning after, but it wasn't bad this time at all. Tiny little dot on my nose. I dig it. Doing the sea salt is a pain and a half, but it's really not that bad either. The jewelry itself is also weird as hell and maybe i'm not that big a fan of it, but I dig the way it looks--so it's in.


It's just funny. The way that time passes--that's what made me start thinking about all of this. Rachel was with me when I got my first one. There was this place right across the street from the dorm and I remember that I called right before we were heading out to a show and they squeezed me in before they closed. Sarah was with me on the second in Cali, then Stacey was with me this last time. The tattoo is coming up soon--and I think I know what my next piercing will be. We'll see.

But. Yeah. You know, just a weird time. Odd, odd time when you're moving from one stage to the next. And this transition is harder. Because it's a build up on all the old ones--and, well, there are other transitions to be made than simply leaving school. Right? pssh.


All I know is that I have this jones to go climb a tree. So I can't wait until the spring. I'm making a list--so far it includes baseball, laying in the diag looking up at the trees instead of being in class, and climbing a tree.

what i am to you

for the life of me, i coulnd't tell you why i'm awak at 11:07am on a saturday when i'm still feeling a bit drunk. well, yes i could. it may have had something to do with the evil ambitions of a good friend to wake me up at 9:30am. he told me it was noon and that made me go, oh fuck, there goes the day. good thing for me that he was lying.

the house is a mess. that's what happens when there are parties at the 507. it smells like spilled and stale beer downstairs. i hear that we got a noise violation last night, but who knows. the boys from the frat used the house and i'm sure they'll be down there cleaning as soon as they wake up from being passed out in the common room in the upstairs.

yesterday was... unfun. suze orman came into the store and i got to meet her for a bit. the things she said were interesting, but didn't add any goodness to the already-financially-stressed day i was having. something about a fico score and on and on. there were certain things that were said amongst staff, but i shall not repeat in case any of them are rude.

last night, i got a good, long hug and talked about my frustrations in spanish--it's funny how you can translate emotion into the silence of searching for the right words. and how indirect and direct objects fall can be pushed into place by a drunken tongue.

there are student loans that may last forever, but that's fine. i was talking to one of my coworkers about money and the stress of it--she's putting herself through college too. i think she might be working a bit more than i am. and we both could probably make more money somewhere else, but there's something nice about working in a bookstore. even when you're working events and people are unfun--it's nice to smile at them and force them to smile back, no matter how annoying they're being. there's something satisfying about working with people--about interacting with strangers. especially when you work somewhere that has books after books everywhere. it's nice opening boxes and pulling out books--sorting onto the carts. and, honestly, i'll tell you this: there are few things in life as satisfying as the sound of a book clunking onto a shelf and sliding into its proper place. trust me. the weight of a perfect book in your hand is almost as good as a minute of laying outside in soft, green green grass and staring at the clouds.

i might be a nerd, but that's how it goes.

fiction isn't my favorite section anymore. maybe it's nature/ecology, or sociology. maybe the gender studies [which they placed in the psychology nook and i am not pleased--gender studies does not belong after recovery, which is after self-help, which is after death, abuse, aging, family psychology/divorce, child psychology, psychology, erotica, sex--gender studies do not belong in this family, they belong with the studies: archeology, sociology, asian studies, latino studies, af-amer studies, native amer studies]. i started reading this book called Goat yesterday. just real fast in the time i had for a break. the writer is amazing. i'm shocked it's published because the way he writes isn't what you normally find on the printed page--publishing doesn't usually seem to want to do that sort of thing, you know?

ultimately, my favorite section is travel. there arent that many different publishers--once you get to france, then you start to get a lot of independent books, written by authors on the joys of shopping in paris. you get some like that for italy, about rome and walking in tuscany, but not many before that. definitely not for the u.s.--nor for canada. you start to see that one dude once you get to hawaii and the caribbean, jimmy something. the books that offend and annoy me--but not as badly as those dr. laura ones that talk about the proper care of husbands, like they're little animals that may die if you don't feed them once every other day.

i've never made it past china when alphabetising. they thought it was a feat that could never be done--getting through that entire section--and they were pretty much right. i got bored and it is frustrating when people undo your work, like they know what they're doing. someone goes through and pulls all the guides together in sections like south america. i told customers about AIESEC up in there once, but they made traveling like a conquest, not an experience. fuck that. life as a conquest is a sad concept. The only sin in life is unhappiness. there are a lot of things that go into that--so it's not as simple to say something like that, but you have to find the common denominator so that it can translate person-to-person.

long and longer, ramble ramble. i should do that sleep thing.

I know that this is one of the most disjointed things ever--no flow, no common tie. i stopped talking about what i really meant to write about because... eh, that's a thought that maybe i'm not ready to flesh out enough for print [read: willing to put out there where someone may actually read it--someone that i know, worst of all because anonymous thoughts aren't so bad at all], although it's certainly there in its entirety in my own head. but yeah, that's what the inside of my head looks like. here, there, everywhere. i swear, there are links to things--even if they're not apparent. it's what i try to explain to everyone. i'm really not that random, my head just moves at three million miles per hour.

Today's status: decent.


Class kind of sucked a lot. Regardless, I saw a total of four Detroit Tiger's hats today--so that bumped it back up after a lackluster time in class. I'm glad to see that more people were thinking about baseball than just me.

They Might Be Giants were definitely cool. A good set of guys--someone took the promo out of my mailbox though and that's kind of [definitely] uncool. oh well. They played the two songs I wanted to hear [Partical Man and Constantinople]. At one part of the performance, they had people clapping. Then stomping. Then jumping. Apparently everyone was really into it and no one was as afraid as the staff were--since we know the floor is made of cardboard boxes and were afraid that we would fall through the floor. It was definitely an experience seeing the info desk bobbing like that.

Afterward, we headed over to Cottage Inn where we ran into the They Might Be Giants crowd. We said our hellos, then had a good time pigging out on bread and pizza. Not to mention buttloads of soda.


Beyond all this, the highlight was most definitely when Brad got me to go work out. Who would have thought I'd leave the comfort of my home, pass up watching a movie with the roomies, just so that I could jump on a machine for an hour plus? Yeah, that's right. Not a damn one of us. But I did do it. And the workout was sponsored by Janet and Michael--for the most part. There were some guest appearances by Liz Phair with Fuck or Run, a song that takes me back to the high school days when Exile in Guyville rarely left my cd player.

I know this much is true [which is also a good book--by Wally Lamb, his second novel. You should read it]: work outs are made so much better by all the nicely toned males lifting in front of you while you're going at it on the elliptical.

Well, it's beautiful outside.

You know what that means: Opening day for baseball is on its way.

For some reason, I wake up and immediately start thinking about baseball. Oh, how good it would be to sit at a game under that warm sun--overpriced beer in one hand, overloaded hotdog in the other and fabulous company sitting around you so that you may wax philosophic on sports, love, sex and life. Tiger Stadium would be better, but Comerica will do.

Baseball has a quiet beauty that even Brad Pitt can't overshadow--and that is a fact, my friends.



So here's to a day of classes where I will be staring out the window [well, for the classes that have windows... ug], wishing it were April 4th and that I were watching the glorious Detroit Tigers in a sun-shiney day.

my favorite snob

AKC BEAST (12:30:31 AM): wtf do they know??? HAVE THEY ACTUALLY LIVED, BREATHED, TASTED AIESEC????
AKC BEAST (12:30:34 AM): NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoo

Easy like PIE

pies,
originally uploaded by mcnutty.

This picture is going here because I'm schooling Arnaub in how to add a photo to his blog. Yes, that's right. I, Colleen McNulty, am teaching Arnaub Chatterjee how to do something on a computer.

This means that I am The [Wo]Man.

Damn. He still can't get it to work. I guess a woman's work is never done...


[Yes, Holly, these are the pies that I wrote about in all their glory while they were still in the oven. This is what it's like over at 507.]

Today--the weather was beautiful. I woke up early and didn't really mind that much. The sky was this color that seemed to go on forever. I listened to Tom Petty on the way to work, like usual. At lunch, they were even playing my favorite Van Morrison song [I'll Be Your Lover, Too], which is completely, utterly obscure.

They Might Be Giants is coming into the store on Tuesday and I get to work it. Not exactly sure what time I'm supposed to be there, so I'll call Tank and ask him. They made a kids' album, which isn't as cool as if it were just a new release, but whatever. It's standing around, listening to cool music and having fun--I even got a free cd out of it, but I'll probably send that off to the little cousin. The daughter of my uncle who went to Michigan State--whenever she's here, I make sure that she remembers to scream GO BLUE and all the words to the fight song. That comes in especially handy when we spill Spartan blood on the field, like last year....


I can't wait for the spring. I want to take a road trip out west along the northern route--spend some time in Wyoming and swing through Montana. Just lay in some fields and watch the clouds hang out.

On the way back from work, it hit me that it's been years since I've been somewhere absolutely dark where all the stars were visible. When I was little, it used to scare the shit out of me when we'd go visit Stephanie, the family friend with a horse and two ponies, because everything would be pitch black. Those were back in the day when the mom was still in law school, still in her early thirties.

Don't know why, but I've bene jonesing to get out somewhere green. Really, insanely green.
Until then, I'll just silently wait for the spring and try to get some of my homework done. Graduation really could be a cool thing to do. You never know.

throwing all my thoughts away

Spring break is officially over, I suppose. Got home around 6:30 from Madison and I spent the time between now and then talking to Arnaub on the phone and taking a nice, warm shower.

The house was pretty empty when we left. Burbs was passed out like none other--waking him up was not something that was going to happen so we left a note. Then we stopped at a McDonald's to snag some food [they were still serving breakfast--so that fills me for my annual egg mcmuffin].

When we were pulling into the lot, there were two guys who parked their Molester Van and went inside. Initially, we parked next to them, but then moved since there wasn't that much space in the spot we chose, which turned out to be a very smart move on our part.

Once inside, we stop to look at the menu to see what kind of crap we wanted to put in our body. That's when the comments began. He must have been at least forty and he kept staring at me, absolutely would not stop. When he placed his order to the kid at the counter, he said something about taking the two of us also, which I ignored. But then he just kept talking. and talking. and talking. Of course, I pull the old ignore trick, but that didn't work today.

He started to walk toward us and he said something about how, yes, he had already been drinking and he wish that he hadn't so he could talk to me better. He was there with his nephew, who didn't seem that much older than us, if he was at all.

Creepiest McDonald's trip ever. It just makes me think of a lot of things that make me mad. It's funny being a female in the world--kinda sucks a lot sometimes. Mad at myself for not being more rude and saying what i was really thinking, but it was just a really odd situation. One of those times when you're not really sure if what's going on really is or isn't.




Beyond that though, Madtown definitely showed us a good time. It was so nice to just be able to relax and hang out with everybody. Getting away from Ann Arbor and going somewhere like that was exactly what I needed. I feel nice and rested--ready to start up with the humdrum school life again on Monday.

I'd never been to the city before, but it definitely had the right kind of feel--like Ann Arbor in the summer, but year round. Hot. Maybe I'll look into the MFA program there.

All I know is that they have some damn good food out there. I don't know if I've eaten that well all this year. Bummed we didn't get to try that macaroni and cheese pizza, but I suppose that simply means that a return trip is in order.



Also, I have a new background for my phone now. It may or may not be a fridge stuffed with two cases of fortys. You never know.

laziness owns you

never let anyone tell you that laziness and/or vanity doesn't save lives.

because i decided to be lazy and wanted to do one thing over another, i had to go downstairs. i thought it was amazing that, when i initially walked into my room [before the laziness set in], it still smelled so good. you know, like the pumpkin pies--even though they stopped baking hours ago.

it's funny how it struck me how well i could smell it in my room.

i then decided that i woudl be lazy, so i went downstairs to grab what i needed and was again struck at how well i could smell the pumpkin pies, even though they'd definitely cooled.


that's when it hit me that rachel never turned the oven off and that her squash was still in there.
so there you have it, LAZINESS CAN SAVE LIVES FOLKS.

Sorry it's like this

Scene: It's Spring Break and the campus is empty. I'm sitting across the table from Rachel in the Science Journal Reading Room in the UGLi right next to the windows in nice, cushy chairs. The dude who I once thought was homeless, but found out is a professor is outside three stories below us playing his harmonica like the world would end without it. Listening to Jem on the i-pod [so dubbed c-pod], feeling the burn from the morning's work out in a nice and fabulous fashion.


The list of things I want to do in life never changes that much. The past few days, with all of the BTK things in the headlines, made me think about how I used to really want to do forensic work. Eventually, I'm sure I'll end up doing some sort of law--one way or another. It's too intriguing to pass up.

Today, we talked about how nice it'd be to live out in the middle of nowhere so that you could run through the woods every day. I suppose you really don't need to be in the middle of nowhere to do that, especially in Michigan, but it'd be nice to live like that for a while.

That book Cowboys Are My Weakness by Pam Houston--love love love. It reminds me of that--living freely with a dog where it's green and green, then more green.


But. I suppose I should do that whole studying thing--since we're off to Madtown in a day or two. Details to still be ironed out...

a night of self-exile

Tonight, we are heading off to random areas of campus to spend the night--the reason for this i will leave to be the secret of those who live in this house. all i know is that i hope the night is good. well, anything less than amazing would be frowned upon, here at the pimp pad.



beyond this, rachel and i are heading off to stacey's to have a movie night, thanks to the Second Best Kept Secret on campus: students can rent movies from the Film and Video library free of charge. Glorious and great movies they are, at that.


so here it goes. Working out in the morning--goin all out.