n e n i e

Ahhh, the VMAs. Back in the day it was the highlight of fall. Now, it's something I read about at CNN.com since I have class on Thursday nights.

Looking at the pictures from last night, I have to wonder. Doesn't Justin Timberlake look a lot like George Michael these days? Look at J.Timberlake on the left, and then George on the right. Kinda scary right? Or am I just seeing things? Talk to me people.

In other news, there's a new Charlie Brown Special on tonight. Lucy Must Be Traded, Charlie Brown, is tonight at 8p CT, on ABC. I'm intrigued to watch this, if only because Charles Schultz was very much against anyone else doing Peanuts after he died.

Posted by nenie at 08:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

I'm a jerk, I don't forgive. I've never really thought of myself as a particularly vengeful person or a grudge holder, but I am.

In our travels through this life we fight, we bicker and do terrible things to one another. I've always thought that I was of the forgive and forget school but every once in a while, when I stop and reflect on it I realize that I have not so proud moments in this respect.

The people I have these feelings towards fall into two camps; those that were unforgiveable to those I love, and those that have never appologized to me. The first camp is frustrating because others are free to go on with their relationships with these individuals. They're free of the knowledge of how truly terrible this person can be to someone else. They hang out, they do things you'd love to take part in, and all the while you wonder how people you respect so much, can hold in such esteem, someone whom you can neither trust nor respect. This is the worst kind, because you're sticking up for someone you hold dearer than yourself.

The second group is a bit more touchy. In a perfect world, they'd know there was an apology to make, and they'd do it. The hard part is, being strong enough to not ask for it. What good will it do in the long run to ask for an apology that isn't heartfelt. If anything else, it'll set you up for a larger disaster than the one that created this mess.

In and of itself, this isn't so bad. It's the seperation that inevitably occurs after a while. When other people go back and forgive and forget, leaving you all alone in your disdain or dislike of these individuals. You get fed up, you want to scream, "HEY DID YOU FORGET HOW SHITTY THESE PEOPLE ARE?" More often than not, what really hurts is that you start to think that people prefer others to you. And that's what really hurts, the ego bruising. It feels like another layer of hurt and betrayal heaped on top of the original.

And that's when things really start to suck. The whole situation becomes cyclical. It makes the grudge last longer, maybe indefinately, or until individuls fade out of your extended consciousnes forever.

The first camp, I can take or leave. OK, that's a lie, or maybe it isn't. I'm not too terribly concerned about them. It's the second group that stings. The longer persist in your mind, the more you wonder if maybe you shouldn't break down and call them. Maybe you should just suck it up and start over. Maybe somewhere, deep down, you really want to be friends again. But being friends, would mean admitting you were wrong. And that's something I just can't do. Especially when I wasn't wrong to begin with.

Posted by nenie at 11:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I don't live in the past. I know, for all the talking I do about it, you'd think I have a nice 2br house there. Honestly, though I don't live in the past. More than anything else, I'm intrigued by the things that remind me of the past, trigger wormholes of memory and take me back to a different space, time and mindset.

It's the mindset that's the most interesting part of it for me. It's also more often than not, the most vivid. I can follow my ancient logic and begin to critique it from my current mindset. Looking for flaws, or nuggets of brilliance that I'd do well to replicate. Most of the time, though I'm just amazed at the differences.

Tonight's been one of those nights. I went up to the Observatory to catch a glimpse of Mars, and the whole episode began to toss me about, like a ragdoll caught in the Bermuda Triangle of the Time-Space Continuum.

On the drive over I was, 15 and excited about astronomy, going off to IMSA to be an engineer. I was going to design rockets that would some day take us to Mars. My excitement at seeing Mars was undeniable this night. It was going to be so cool.

I got in line to see the telescope and I ended up behind a boy and his mother. He couldn't have been much more than ten, and all he could talk about was Mars. "They're trying to see if Mars has water. If it had water, then it probably had people on it. This is the closest Mars has been since the ICE AGE!!! And it's not coming this close again for a really long time. " His mother stood there, bleary eyed at the prospect of being up until God knows what hour with her child, but she seemed to understand how important this was for her son. So she soldiered on.

I thought of my parents. The late nights when I'd demand to go see some astronomical phenomenon. When they'd help me make a pinhole projector for an eclipse, and then how they wouldn't laugh as i sat out all day in my makeshift observatory, taking careful measurements of the sun. Suddenly, I was 10 and sitting out on a blanket in the front yard, giant umbrella shading me from the sun, notebooks strewn about the blanket, and my precious pinhole projector in my chubby little fingers.

It started to dawn on me that all of this, everything I have, had its seeds in those moments. The times when I reached for the stars, standing on the shoulders of giants. Well, my parents have always seemed like giants to me. Friendly approachable giants, but giants none the less. Giants in every way.

I couldn't be around strangers at this particular moment. I was 10, and it was late, and I was alone in the middle of Kansas. Well, not the middle, more like off to the corner. All the same, I had to go. On my way back to 'Turo I stopped and looked up, and there he was, Mars: The Bringer of War. He stood up in the sky looking down on me, shining away, the only thing in the sky. No amount of light pollution was going to keep him from shining his light on his sister and all of her children.

In that moment, all of the wormholes brought me back to this place, this time, and I smiled. On the way home, the radio announcer was hyping the KU/Northwestern football game this weekend. My parents used to go to Northwestern games when they were in college. My dad was DePaul student, and with no football team of his own, he adopted the Wildcats. As I grew older, wanting to be like my father in every way, I adopted the Wildcats as well. My fondest memories of going to or watching or listening to Wildcat games is the band. The Northwestern Marching Band is great, and their signature song is reserved for tense, normally defensive stands.

When the time is right, they pull out the old standard, a marching band arrangement of Holst's Mars.

It all comes back around again, doesn't it?

Posted by nenie at 11:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

First day as a TA; discman packed, bus pass in hand I headed up the hill to KU. Such a strange and different world from my undergrad days. I have to take a bus to class, gone are the days of mindlessly wandering down the middle of College St. staring at the colors of the leaves, or the ice on the ground. The only thing that hasn't changed, is the discman in my bag.

The music hasn't changed much either. Wheras before I'd have Sugar's Besides in as an undergrad, the graduate version of me rocks out to their The Joke Is Always On Us, Sometimes Is there a significance to the difference? I don't really know.

I got to campus and did some paperwork before walking over to class with my fellow TAs. I felt slightly underdressed on the walk over. I'm the only male TA for this class, and the other two women looked very nice in their casual skirts. I, was out of place in my khaki shorts. Shorts, I now realize, just aren't professional enough for this situation.

This got me to thinking that I really had no socially acceptable response to the casual, flowy skirt. Sure, I'll probably go the Dockers route for the rest of the term, but they're just not as fun as shorts or the flowy skirt. Yup, there is no male counter-salvo to the flowy skirt, and that saddened me today as I felt conspicuous by being the only authority figure whose legs you could see.

Nena suggested I just wear a flowy skirt, tell them I'm a Carl and let that be that. Sadly, however, I don't think that telling people it's OK because of where I did my undergrad is going to work in this case. Her suggestion also made me think of just wearing it and using it as a teachable moment re: gender construction. But again, I just don't think it's going to work. Eh, it really doesn't matter, I'll just start wearing pants and be done with this conundrum.

In the midst of all of these thoughts, a student spoke to me. What he said, or needed to know isn't important. What is important is that he called me "Mr. X." I was stunned for a second. My father, he 6th grade math teacher, is "Mr. X." I'm Nenie, not mister. Then I realized, to his 18 year old eyes, I was my father, pants or no. In that moment, I didn't know how to feel about any of that. All I could do was answer his question as best I could.

On my way home, I was listening to Sugar, as I had on the way up the hill. The songs ripped through, one after another, and I began to think of my time in Minnesota. First to NicePersonality who shares my love of this band, then to the many associations Sugar has to that period of my life. Most of all, to a romantic past that I'm glad to be ending, that's when I reached my stop.

I got off the bus and started the short walk home, when If I Can't Change Your Mind came on. This was the late undergrad anthem for me. Not the full on album version off of Copper Blue but rather the solo mix off of Besides.

There I was, then. With a third version of the text blaring into my ears, Bob Mould's voice twisting the familiar candences of an old friend. In that moment, I noticed something that I hadn't made note of before. In this version, there isn't the longing of the other versions. This version is more intense than any of the others, and it does it without the longing. This song isn't a plea anymore, it's a defiant statement. The mind hasn't been changed, and he's OK with that, he's moved on. Yeah, that's right. Moved on.

There I was, standing in the parking lot, I had my old theme song again, to guide me through my new life. The words are the same, but the meaning is different. Is there significance to the difference? Hell yeah. This version belongs to Mr. Cruz. And my dad doesn't listen to Sugar.

Posted by nenie at 04:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

It's been a pretty good weekend. There was a Grad. College Welcome Reception at the Alumni Center on Friday evening, so some folks and I went to that. Around 7:10 or so we'd decided that we'd consumed enough free hot wings, cocktail weenies, chips and crackers to qualify as a dinner. We looked around, and realized that the one free drink we each recieved when we arrived wasn't doing it for the first Friday of the Academic year, so I was introduced to Louise's.

Lousie's is a bar in downtown L-Town that reminds me of the Rueb back in Nfld. Two floors, not entirely clean, interesting mix of locals and college students. . .but this is where the similarities end. The first thing you notice about Louise's is the great taps. Boulevard Wheat, Guinness, Bass, Newcastle. . .yeah, I know Scotish Browns should settle more than a tap will allow, but all the same, it's a nice beer to have on tap. Another nice thing is the decent selection of cigars at said bar. Then you add in the Schooner.

The Schooner is a shitload of beer. Don't ask me for how many ounces, I just know it's like drinking a soup bowl full of beer. A very large soup bowl. Hrmmm, maybe it's more like a small mixing bowl. I really should take my camera out with me next time. Anyway, I ordered what had to be the world's largest Black and Tan. This thing was immense, I nearly cried when I saw it. It was like the world's most perfect meal.

Later in the evening, I was wishing I'd stopped after my Smirnoff Ice. But the lure of the Schooner was just too strong. I can't drink anymore, I did so much damage to my stomach drinking alone in college that at a certain point in any session, my stomach distends and tells me I've had enough. I can see the warning signs a mile away, so I have a way of knowing I should stop, but I don't always do that. Nevertheless, I had too good a night to let this condition bother me.

We talked shit and shop for a few hours, grooving to a wicked great jukebox. Louise's has one of them internet/mp3 Jukeboxes. This thing is pimp, and the mostly Grad. Student crowd had wicked good taste last night. Old REM, Sugarcubes, DJ Shadow, Radiohead. . .good stuff for drinking and talking with new friends.

At some point in the evening Nena showed up. She'd driven down to spend the weekend with me, and she fit right into our booth. I'd realized that I couldn't finish my Black and Tan so I'd saved the last third for her. She downed it pretty quickly and then raced to catch up to the rest of us.

Around Midnight, Nena and I decided to head home, and home we stayed most of today. I did some cooking, we watched Selena on Bravo, along with a little Queer Eye thrown in for good measure. Yeah, it was a pretty chill weekend. I haven't gotten as much reading done as I would have liked, but I think I'll be fine, I have all day tomorrow, and a large chunk of Monday as well.

Word, Life.

Posted by nenie at 10:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

OK, so you know how I was complaining about the whole big state univ sucking thing? I take it back. Cuz I get the NY Times for free, just for being a KU student. Granted, this offer is only good on campus from the vending machines scattered about, but still. It's a pretty hott deal. Slide your KU ID (which they charged me $10 for) in, pull it out, get your news. They also have the Lawrence Journal-World, the KC Star and USA Today. But who need any of that when you have the Times?

This is all really funny when you realize that when I was in HS, I loathed this paper. I thought it reaked of East Coast Elitism. Who knows, maybe it does. But getting it for free makes me happy.

(OK, OK, I'm sure some part of my activities fee, buys me this paper, but since I don't have to pay money to the machine, or buy a subscription, I've cognitively disassociated money from getting a newspaper. Hence, it's free in my world, yo.)

Posted by nenie at 10:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Josh lived across the hall from me when I was in High School. He was, in many estimations, the coolest guy on our floor. He was into bands we'd never heard of, was incredibly smart, played soccer like a machine and had this "just don't give a fuck" attitude that I was really blown away by.

Whenever I think of Josh, I think of a time when I honestly thought I was invincible, that I could do or be anything I wanted. And that the world was at my feet. That's the thing about being 15, you believe what you're told and you haven't been around long enough to know that things don't always go your way.

It's this knowledge that manages to keep my creeping sense of inadequacy around. I've been reading for class, working on my syllabus for the class I'm TAing, and all the while, I just don't feel good enough at any of it.

Nena's tried to help me, Alphasarah and a few others as well. But it just wasn't going away. I was ready to pack up and go home. Which is a pretty big deal, because I don't quit. Nevermind quitting on the first day.

It's in this mindset that I jumped in 'Turo and drove off to pick up a Parking Permit and a Bus pass. My radio was set to KJHK as I drove off. The next song, Big Black's Kerosene brought the ghost of Josh back from wherever he is now, and had him riding shotgun with me. In the process, he took me back in time.

It's amazing how a song can remind you of another time, take you back there so completely. I didn't feel like the inadequate 24 year old I am today. In his place was the invincible 15 year old that used to listen to to Big Black and Shellac and Fugazi in Josh's room. Suddenly, I realized that I could do this. I realized that I am every bit as invincible and strong as I thought I was all those years ago. I realized that sometimes, all you need is a song.

Posted by nenie at 03:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Classes start tomorrow, and already I'm tired. It's been a long day, and it's not over yet. Still more reading to do, and a syllabus to finish. Oh yeah, this is gonna be a long year.

It's such a long day, that I'm going to keep it under one of these nifty Extended Entry Tags

I woke up this morning and took 'Turo to get his starter fixed. The operation took a few hours, and I used the time in the un-airconditioned waiting room to start reading for class tomorrow. Remember when I complained about the heat a few days ago? Yeah, it hasn't gotten better. I sat there and felt the air temp slowly warm up. Not terribly fun when you're trying to read for class. Especially when you're having adequacy issues about this whole going back to school thing. Maybe it'll get better when I'm not reading Historiography.

After I was done with 'Turo I grabbed lunch/breakfast downtown and read some more. I finished the first group of articles and decided to head on up to campus for the day.

When I got to my office I tooled around looking for the other two articles I had to read for class. They were in the Libe, so I grabbed my binder and walked over to the Libe.

I'd only been in the building twice before, and I've never had to actually find anything in it. Needless to say, it was a bit rough. I went up to the Periodicals desk on the 4th floor (you enter on the 3rd) and asked the guy at the desk where I'd find the following call number. Behind him, down to the right, stacks on my left, gotcha.

I walked through the rows and rows of shelves until I arrived at the correct one. Only current issues up here. IE- not the one I needed. Great. At this point, I realized I could find the other journal I needed down the row. I poked around for a bit and finally found the right journal. On the shelves before me were like 30 years worth of "The Journal of American History." Save for the one I needed. OK, don't panic, it says here that I can find both titles in the general stacks as well. No problemo.

At this point, I know I'm in over my head so I ask the guy at the Periodicals desk how the hell the stacks work in this library. He pulls out a map. I shit you not (and I realize that right now I might sound like some sort of idiot to those of you who went to large state universities, but I don't care) The guy shows me how to read the map, and I'm off. To the 1.5th floor. Yeah, half floors. This gets better all the time, right?

I get a bit lost on my way down but I eventually find the right spot. There it was, 25 years worth of "Diplomatic History" the journal. They had every issue, except the one I needed. It is at this point that I start to panic. I find the space for the "Journal of American History" but these editions are older than the ones upstairs. I decide to give up and head back to the office. I'm hot, and I don't care anymore.

I get to the office and ask the Graduate Admin. Asst. if she knows how I can get the paycheck that's coming out today. She agrees that this is a good thing to know, so she calls the right people, and has the following conversation.

Money People: That money is availible to the students starting today.

GAA: Wonderful, so how do they access it?

MP: Well, it's availible to them, so they should avail themselves of it.

GAA: Great, so how do they get their money?

MP: Well, it's there for them to get, so they should get it, since it is availible to them.

I can't make this shit up. Eventually, she is told that I need to hike over to Carruth-O'Leary to pick up the check. I'd been told that this building is where your wallet goes to die. In the words of one of the older grad students, "I like to keep an extra shirt with me when I go in there. Because they're probably going to take the one I have on from me."

Oh, did I mention it was 104 degrees at this point? Yeah, so I hike across campus to get my money. I get lost, again since I'm not reading the signs that I thought didn't apply to me, and eventually I get my money. Since I have money, I figure that since I'm here, I should pay my insurance premium, so I find that office. I was also told when I called to make sure my check was actually there for me to pick up, that I owed $10 for getting a KUID. I therefore figured that I should stop by and pay that off. I do, and am in the midst of a froshling wasteland. Just amazing, really. All the wide-eyed blonde kids. It was like being back in Minnesota, only whiter.

I pay my $10 and bolt from the building, since I had a meeting in 10 mins back in Bailey. As I'm booking from the shirt robbers I hear the following conversation between two young women.

"Cheese and rice it's hot."
"I prefer rice and beans actually."
"Right, but 'cheese and rice' sounds like 'Jesus Christ'"

Yeah, I'm going to leave that alone, y'all can mess with it if you like.

I make it back just in time to cool off and drink a lot of water before my meeting. The meeting goes well, and a lot of things are ready for next week as a result. As the meeting ends, however, I notice that behind me, in a really big bookcase in the Dept. Conf. Room is something like 30 years worth of the "Journal of American History." Yup, they had the one I needed. AND since the assignment was to read any two articles off a list, I changed my second article to one that was in the same volume I now had. Yeah, life was good.

It was now 4:25p and I had my check. It is now that I realize that I can't park on campus tomorrow, since parking regulations take effect. Translation: I need to buy a parking permit. I hadn't done this yet, because I'd been broke until this check came in.

Now begins the time trials for the "World's Fastest Fat Latino" competition. I run from Bailey and hike past Carruth-O'Leary to get to 'Turo. It's 4:42 at this point. I have to get to the bank, cash the check and back to Parking Services by 5p, when they close. I can do this. I know I can.

I make it to the bank, and I race back onto campus to get to Parking Services. I arrive at 4:55p. I feel like a god. Too bad they closed early. Yeah, the day before classes, and Parking Services closed early. I nearly lose my shit as the woman that works there gets mouthy with the guy who arrived a split second before me.

"We've been here all day, all week actually. You didn't have to wait until the last minute to come by."

I'm sorry, but my mommy and daddy don't pay for everything. I have to wait for things like paychecks to become availible before I can do things like BUY AN $85 PARKING PERMIT THAT WILL ALLOW ME TO FIGHT FOR A PARKING SPOT FOR MY ANCIENT TOYOTA.

That's what I would have said. Had I been sure that my volume and heat wouldn't have caused me to have a heart attack.

Annoyed as hell, I walk back to 'Turo and drive to the bookstore. "Books" I think. "I can buy books now." I get to the Jayhawk Bookstore, grab a basket, head upstairs to the textbooks section. . .and nothing. They didn't even have space on the shelves for the classes I'm taking.

You seen Father of the Bride? Not the old Vincente Minnelli one with Spencer Tracy and Liz Taylor. But the newer one with Steve Martin. You know the scene where he flips out and starts messing with the hot dog buns in the middle of the grocery store while wearing a tux? Yeah, well I was really tempted to do that in the middle of the bookstore. Instead, I ask one of the people that works there why my books aren't there.

She tells me that each Jayhawk Bookstore is independantly owned and operated. Translation: My Profs ordered from one of the JHBS's and they can't tell me which one it is. They just know it's not that one.

Right now, Steve Martin is my hero. But I resist the urge and leave very quickly and quietly. I drive to the JHBS in the Union, and low and behold. They carry books for my classes. Too bad they didn't have all of them. So I pick up maybe half of my books, pay for them, and go home a tired, beaten man.

I eat dinner, work on my syllabus, clean my apt, and start reading for class tomorrow. Venting just now was my study break. So I should probably go back to reading about "Synthesis in American History."

Posted by nenie at 11:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

My brain is a strange place. It's always churning and working on something or another. It's something that helped a lot in undergrad, because I could take the ingredients for a paper, and let them roll around in the back of my head for while. Then, one morning I'd wake up and *Poof* the paper would be written.

One of the drawbacks to this kind of processing is that I sometimes come to realizations about myself and my behaviours a day or two after I've done something. Yesterday's orientation is one of those things that took me a night's sleep to fully process.

Living in Missouri was killing me slowly. I know this now. When I was there, I withdrew in a lot of ways. For someone who messes with the Myers-Briggs because of the way I straddle intro and extroversion, I'd gone way towards the introvert side. After two years of this slow death, I believed that I'd never be able to go back. I was wrong.

Yesterday, I rediscovered the other side of me. The engaged, outgoing, self-confident me. I'd missed him so much. It was like finding a long lost friend. For the first time in years, I was truly comfortable in my own skin. I wasn't putting on a show, or trying to run out a script the way I'd done in Missouri, and even in the end of my stay in Minnesota.

I was "on." This, however, wasn't the performative "on" that I've grown to despise. This was a natural exuberance for my life and my surroundings that I thought I'd never have again.

This is going to work out fine. I can tell.

Posted by nenie at 10:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Holy mother of SHIT. That's the real temperature here in L-Town right now. I didn't doctor the image or anything. The surprising thing is that it's not too bad. Growing up in the Midwest, I've been through some heat waves (Chicago '96 anyone?) and this is, in all honesty, the nicest 107 I've experienced.

Granted, I haven't had much to do outside today, and I've been in air conditioned buildings for most of the day as well. So that's probably a factor. I had my departmental orientation this afternoon. We took a tour of campus around 2:30 or so. As scary as the prospect seemed, of walking outside in all that heat, it was really pretty nice. Warm, but nice.

In other news, the Cubs are screwing up again. That's all I have to say about that.

Tonight, departmental pot luck. I have some chicken hotdish in the oven right now. I know, I know. I bitch about the heat and I'm making something called "hot dish" in the oven. I'm a bastard, what can I say.

So anyway, send cool thoughts down our way. Looks like the week's gonna be like today.

Posted by nenie at 06:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

My apartment is a 1br that's really a glorified studio. I'm not knocking it, I really like my apartment; save for that really nasty stale smoke smell that I can't seem to get rid of. It's a glorified studio because while it has a bedroom, the wall between the living room and the bedroom doesn't go all the way to the ceiling. It stops at about 5'.

It's kind of a neat thing, it allows air and sound to flow between the living and bed rooms. Since I live alone, the sound part of the equasion isn't a bad thing. On the contrary, it's kind of nice. I can have the Cubs game on WGN on in the other room while I'm online or working or whathave you.

Even with this sound flow, I've been listening to music almost exclusively on Han. I've always rather liked Han's speakers. They're small but they have a pretty nice sound to them. Today, while working on the syllabus for the class I'm TA'ing I decided to burn off a playlist and play it on my stereo.

Damn. Just damn. The tones were so clear and clean and rounded off. It was amazing, as if I hadn't really been listening to these songs at all. That in using Han's speakers I was, in some way, kidding. Threw me for a loop. I really need to go to Radio Shack and pick up an FM Transmitter so I can line Han out to the stereo. The only problem is, that I don't want the Fire *ping* to go out through the stereo. Han's speakers are good for that.

Posted by nenie at 04:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

And now for the Friday Five. It's not the best Friday Five ever, but it'll do.

1. How much time do you spend online each day?

That's a really good question. I'd say I spend 7 hours or so actually sitting in front of Han. The rest of the day I'm in and out. It all really depends on what I'm doing in the rest of my life. Right now, I don't have a whole lot to do and a cable modem. So I'm on a lot. This summer, I averaged maybe 7 hrs a week with all the traveling I was doing. I'm expecting to see my stats take a nosedive after I start classes.

2. What is your browser homepage set to?

I actually don't have one. I start up with a blank page. It's just part of the way I surf. I use Safari with tabbed browsing on. So when I open a window, I want to be able to go someplace immediately, I hate having to wait for a page to load, or to have to use my mouse to kill the load. Yeah, I know. I need help.

3. Do you use any instant messaging programs? If so, which one(s)?

Yeah, I'm on AIM and MSN messenger. At the moment, however I use Fire. It's a program that allows me to use multiple IM programs with one interface. I love it. It isn't the prettiest looking window, but it gets the job done.

4. Where was your first webpage located?

My first website was located on the servers of my High School. That was a really long time ago, actually. I remember when Netscape 1.0 came out. It was like a campus holiday. No more using Lynx or Mosaic to get on the web.

5. How long have you had your current website?

It's been what? 6 days? 5 days? So, let's hear about you guys. . .

Posted by nenie at 05:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

The hard part of loving someone, of being in love with them; is dealing with all the information about their lives before they fell in love with you.

What do you do with this information? Do you file it away like a book on Subatomic Physics, that Distros required you to take in college? A book that was worth $3 at the end of the term, so rather than sell it back, you held onto it and put it on your shelf. A shelf full of books that were there solely to show your friends and relatives that you were a well read, well rounded scholar. A pursuit that was worth more than the lunch the $3 would have bought you.

The problem, question, situation is made worse when you're me. I've made a career out of loving women from afar. I've turned rejection and heartbreak and chasing the wrong women into an art form that rivals anything the Dutch Masters ever produced. But not surrealists and some of the Italian Renaissance guys, they were the TRUTH. Can anyone tell me what happens, when Mr. Bitterness falls in love? I'll tell you. All hell. All hell is ripped from the safety harnesses that keep it from breaking loose. It's like when Hannibal Lechter escaped in Silence of the Lambs. Bad scene, yo. A really bad scene.

I'm in love with an incredible woman, a woman that previous experience would lead us all to believe I am incapable of appreciating and less capable of even knowing existed. Why? Because, she doesn't treat me like shit.

There's a long list of women that I've wasted my time on. La Jovencita, La Fea, Pelo Crespo, La Reina, and so on. All women, coded by my mother according to their least desirable traits. My mother is pretty remarkable like this. She'd listen to my stories of loss and heartbreak. Assess the situation, and in a few seconds come up with a name that would encapsulate everything one needed to know about the woman. This list of my mother's is long, to be sure, and one that I'm not particularly proud of. They're all part of the learning curve that led me to the woman my mother has named Nena.

The issue here is that I've been in love with this woman for years. She's the last remnants of this former part of my life. She's the one woman I fell for that was actually good for me. The one who actually cared about me for who I was, not who people perceived me as. Unfortunately, we both had to go out into the world and find each other again to realize this.

Which brings us up to speed, of a sort. She's really pretty incredible. And she, like me has her own list. Hitman, Old Guy, Mr. Producer, Homebody, etc. . .Which brings me to the "I'm an asshole" part of our story.

I'm an asshole. Why can't I come to terms with these stories of her past the way she's come to terms with mine? What do I do with the information of Old Guy's failed attempts at romance? Especially since while he had her, I wanted her.

That's the crux of the issue. How do I come to terms with wasted time that was never even mine to waste? How do I deal with the fact that there is a yesterday that I can never reclaim? Memories that are not of me and how great I am? It's selfish and wrong, but we all do it. Jealousy is a human trait, and it's like leptons, it comes in many flavors.

Sure, I could avoid the jealousy by not asking, not knowing, insisting that there was no life before me. But that would be a lie, and it would create an incredibly unhealthy relationship. Instead, I'm left to try and shelve these books on Subatomic Physics, in a vain attempt to remember what the hell a quark is, and what the hell leptons do.

My generation doesn't date. We fall. We're all living the joke about the two lesbians and the U-Haul. And while we might not move our physical stuff every time we meet someone, we do move all of our emotional baggage. And soon enough, the two of you need a bigger emotional space to put all the emotional Physics books you've accumulated over the years.

Why does this matter? What in the world is the use in hanging on to these books, and bits and pieces of failed love? Sex run amok, love disguised as lust or longing or loneliness. These are components of who we are, and where we've been. They're proof that we took that class on Subatomic Physics, that we learned the lessons on top and bottom quarks, and flavored leptons.

If I'm going to love Nena, I need to love her books as well as mine. They're the libraries that make up our lives, and maybe I read some of them, and maybe I don't. But I'm starting to be cool with the idea of them being there. I think I'm starting to figure it out. Bit by subatomic bit.

Posted by nenie at 11:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (12)

Two things. 1) Maureen Dowd of the NYTimes had a great little Op-Ed Piece today on blogs. More specifically, how politicians are using blogs these days. You need to have a NYT account to read the article. But it's a free registration, and it's an interesting article. The text of which is right here.

2) One of my favorite sporting events is coming up. The Little League World Series. I love baseball. There, I said it. And to me, the LLWS is one of the last places you can see real baseball anymore. These kids aren't gunning for endorsement deals or contract extensions. They're playing because they're 12 years old and baseball is fun.

Yeah, there will always be a Danny Almonte's Dad out there, waiting to ruin things. And there are still pushy stage parents who torment their children by making them play the game. But at its heart, the LLWS is about kids loving to play, and being afforded the oportunity to play. If you were a 12 year old, could you imagine a better way to spend your summer than playing baseball with your friends, traveling to CT, living in a dorm for a few weeks with said friends, and on top of all this, you play baseball on TV. Just like Sammy Sosa, or Derek Jeter. These kids get to wake up every morning and live out their dreams, they get to be the superstars they look up to.

Like many dreams, however these kids will wake up. I can hear the critics' voices in all this. So I'll speak to them. Yes, kids lose. Yes, kids cry. But as Freesia so eloquently said today, sometimes children astound us all by showing "how strong they have the potential to be." When I look back at my own childhood, a lot of the things that have most positively impacted my life, are the times when things didn't work out. When I tried and failed. Because it is in the failing that true learning very often takes place.

So I'm happy because for every infuriating Cubs loss, there will undoubtedly be a LLWS game to make up for it. Sure, the level of play isn't great, and they all use those stupid aluminum bats, but this is sport as it was meant to be. It's an expression of the joy and hope of youth. This is baseball without stars and smaller egos. It's baseball that's fun. It's life that reminds you why we live.

Posted by nenie at 03:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

I'm not reallly a snooze button fan. It's one of those things that drives Nena crazy, becuase she would more than likely ditch me to marry the inventor of said button if she could. I'm one of those obnoxious people that 99 times out of 100 will wake up right when the alarm goes off. It's one of my gifts, I guess.

So last night I didn't get to bed as early as I would have liked. I tossed and turned, and got up, watched some of the 1a SportsCenter and then flipped around to find the first 30seconds of an old Star Trek episode. "I Mudd" It's the one where they find Henry Mudd as the ruler of an android planet.

It made me wonder, in my groggy state, why TNG and the other iterations of ST never truly mined some of the missions from the old ST. I mean, here's this planet of androids why did Data never speak of it, or attempt to learn about it? You'd think someone would have mentioned this to him in the 30+ years he was in Starfleet. Or maybe the Android planet was destroyed, I didn't watch the whole episode.

Anyway, I'd been asleep maybe 5 hours when my alarm clock went off this morning. I jumped out of bed and hit the shower. Arturo had a 9am appointment at the mechanic. I had no idea where the mechanic was, but i had an address.

One of the things I love about Lawrence is the relative simplicity of the layout. If you have an address and a working knowledge of how the city's addresses work (Numbered Streets run E/W. States run N/S) you can find where you're going. Granted, there are exceptions to the rule. And they stopped the State naming pattern with states that entered the Union in 1846. . .but by and large the system holds well.

I'm running ahead of schedule when I find myself square in the middle of an anomaly in the Lawrence grid. So I stop and call the mechanic. . .little did I know there was a North Side to Lawrence, ie- everything over the Kansas River. Yeah, I'm an idiot. He's on the North Side.

So I get over to the mechanic's a few minutes late and sit down to read while he check 'turo out. An hour later, the verdict. Starter has a "bad spot." Parts and Labor I'm looking at $225 or so. The upside is that 'turo's brakes are spot on. So once I manage to get 'turo started, I can stop. That's good news, right?

Frustrated, and wondering where I'm going to get the money to fix my boy I drive to campus to get an ID and buy a bus pass. I find the ID office and the student worker tells me that I can't get an ID until next Monday. I don't quite understand this, but I accept it. I can register, but I can't get an ID. Without an ID there are a lot of things I can't do around here. Like use the Libe or the Gym. I shrug and ask him where the bus pass office is. He tells me and I head over there. I walk in, ask about the bus passes and am told that I can't get one until. . .yup, next Monday.

So next Monday I will undoubtedly have a post about the long lines for bus passes and IDs that I had to stand in. And how silly it all is because I could have gotten it taken care of last week when there was no one around. If only they'd let me. IF ONLY THEY'D LET ME.

Yup, gotta love red tape. Right now, I'm really glad I did the small Lib Arts thing as an undergrad.

Posted by nenie at 03:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

So its dawned on me that this space isn't terribly informative about what it is I do every day. Well, that because I don't really do anything these days. My current situation affords me an incredible amount of free time. I'm a graduate student without a job to go to, or classes to attend. My time is my own, and I've saved up enough from my last job that I didn't need to work in the space between the real world and academia.

As a result of this, my days are remarkably uneventful. I wake up sometime between 10a-noon turn on my iMac (Han, he's of the iLamp variety) and stay on the internet until 4p. I go to the living room, watch an hour of ESPN, shower, watch The Simpsons and That 70s Show and then I either go back to the 'net, read, or watch some PrimeTime.

I know, it's a rough life. And one that ends this week. Classes start on the 21st, and as such I have a few meetings and places I need to be this week. I'll be sad when this life goes away, because I won't have as much time to read online newspapers and talk to people, but such is life. The other downside to that is that the "Deep NeniePost" will more than likely become an endangered species. Then again, some of y'all might think that's a good thing.

And so it begins. I just registered for my first term since June 2001. It was such a different world then. I was such a different kid. Amazing, really. I don't think I'll be going through this spate of study in a drunken, horny stupor. Not to say that the drunken, horny stupor was a bad thing. There's a lot of really fantastically bad poetry that came out of that period of my life. Not to mention some lessons learned and theories formulated. Anyway, Arturo (my car, a 1989 Toyota Cressida.) Has an appointment at 9am, so I should get moving. . .time to go back to having places to go and things to do.

Posted by nenie at 08:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Herb Brooks, coach of the 1980 US Olympic Hockey team died today. I was short of my 1st birthday when the Miracle on Ice occured, but I grew up a fan of a world that Brooks impacted.

I grew up as a hockey fan, a Chicago Blackhawks fan in specific, but more a fan of the game itself. I can play, and have played organized versions of all the major sports. But not hockey. When I was a kid, I wanted to play but my mother said it was too dangerous. So instead I watched hockey from afar.

It wasn't until I was much older that I heard the name Herb Brooks. But when his name was mentioned, I saw the heroes of my youth bow down to this man. To me, that says something.

Over the coming weeks and months sports writers and maybe some historians will talk about the significance of the Miracle on Ice. It was a different world, a different time, and one that my generation knows nothing about having not been there.

But I know that today hockey lost a great ambassador for the sport. Sport lost a shining example of why we play and why we watch. And humanity lost a pretty good guy.

Tonight I, along with many other hockey fans, go to bed with a heavy heart. Thanks Herb. Thanks for the sport and world you left behind for me.

Posted by nenie at 12:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Today, Liberia swore in a new President. Moses Blah, the former Vice President took office after the resignation of former Strongman Charles Taylor resigned. Today's events come as yet another chapter in a story that's been unfolding for more than 15 years.

While this transfer of power itself took place without bloodshed, the transfer would not have occured without the deaths of many. Reading about the goings on in Liberia have, for me, been an intriguing counterpoint to reading about the US's presidential elections.

The battle to replace the our nation's Court Appointed Guardian (TM) is one in which no one will die. Howard Dean's supporters will not run through the streets of Clear Lake, IA killing anyone whose house sports Kerry for President sign. Over the next year+ we'll argue and banter and sling mud, but stones will never be thrown.

Reading about the civil war that led to Taylor's election as President of Liberia and the rebel insurgency that removed him seem completely alien to my suburban sensibilities. I cannot imagine the above scenario playing out in this country. Even in 2000, with the debate over who actually won the US Presidential Election, there was never the threat of actual violence.

But this is actually a better end than the last one in Liberia. The last time a President was forced out, Samuel Doe was killed in an office in Monrovia. So maybe this is a sign of better things to come. A more stable future started by a less brutal transfer of power.

They say Blah will rule until elections in the fall. I'll be interested to read what percentage of Liberians vote in that election. I'll be interested because that percentage will most undoubtedly be higher than the percentage of Americans who voted in the last Presidential Election, or the recent Midterm Elections.

My point, is that everything is relative. This ending in Liberia is better for Liberia, and tragic for the US. Our current confusion is a dream for Liberia. But not matter what. Everything's better than California.

Posted by nenie at 06:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Life. It's one of those things that we all take for granted, until it's too late. In High School, my friend Mente used to tell us all that we needed lives. We'd be sitting around on a Friday night, watching "Homicide" and he'd turn to us during the commercial breaks and say, "We need LIVES dude."

But we had lives, and good ones at that. We were young and free. We were living away from home, at taxpayer expense. And seldom a day went by that some adult didn't tell us that we were princes among men, destined for greatness.

However, at 24 I look back at that 16 year old and wonder if this is the life he imagined for himself. I know it isn't. I know that he didn't expect to be living out his 20s in Kansas. I know that he didn't expect to be less than a year away from his own wedding. I know this isn't the life I dreamed for myself all those years ago. For this life is better.

Maybe in an alternate universe, that 16 year old would have grown up to be a Captain of Industry. Living in Chicago or Boston or Seattle, running with his crew, drinking and whoring his 20s away. Until some day near his 30th birthday he realized that there was more to life than this and he'd settle down. Move to the suburbs, like his father before him, have 2 kids and live happily ever after.

But that universe is not the one in which we all live. And for that, I am grateful. I am happy to be from Chicago, engaged and living here in Lawrence. I moved here a little over a week ago, and already it feels like home. A home I haven't known since my undergraduate days in Minnesota. Days that seem like an eternity away from today. I'm happy to be here, for this life is a good one.

Life. I like mine. I like the new beginning afforded me by this place. It isn't what I imagined, but it's proof that imagination is sometimes limited by experience. Word.

Posted by nenie at 02:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)