Author and Columnist
I've decided resenting you is unfair and unproductive, so I will do my best to love you instead.
Deal with it.
2002.01.14
She was wearing tight velvet pants and an evil fairy tank top. She was going to wear a short skirt and fuck-me boots, but she removed them upon realizing they impeded her ability to kick people in their heads.
Emily could dress for the occasion, even when the occasion was free tickets to a Biohazard show against terrorism.
I am happy to report, we left after the second (of four) opening bands. We just could not take it. The bands were taking themselves so damned seriously, the music was monotonous and uninspired, and you couldn't understand a damned word the "singers" were growling. Their Master Satan (or Marshall Mathers III, whatever) is not pleased.
You are more fun when you fully experience the event before you rather than mocking it from insecurity.
In the parking lot, a crazy homeless woman tried talking to us. I responded to her in a humorous fashion, realizing that my work at the library has desensitized me to the mutterings of the mentally infirmed.
Rude, but a skill that becomes increasingly valuable once you start teaching, especially when you begin teaching adjudicated minors.
Let's have little discussion of Peter Jackson, the purported genius director behind the new Lord of the Rings trilogy. I demand to know who greenlighted this freak to come anywhere near legitimate theater.
Jackson created a fantasy epic that will be cherished for generations. So what if he made movies with puppets having sex? You will end up creating similarly bizarre things.
We contain multitudes.
Our choices were blah blah shazblah to the blah From the 8th dimension or a puppet movie called Meet the Feebles.
Don't you blah over The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension, young man.
I figured, hey, puppets. Puppets are cool. Puppets are like Muppets. I love Muppets. Ergo, I would like a movie with nothing but puppets in it.
A puppet movie takes a lot of work to do well. People think the characters being puppets is the only punchline needed.
I regret to inform you that you will see several worse puppet movies than Meet the Feebles, which at least shot full-sized puppets full of raw meat with actual bullets.
You love bad and weird movies. Peter Jackson's shlock masterpiece isn't the most extreme example of either.
This wasn't even the worst act of puppet sex. There is an S&M scene between a cockroach and a cow, an all bunny threeway, and an attempted rape of a... um... husky by a chain smoking rat. Oh, and a frog snorts coke and shoots heroine. It ends with a spurned hippo machine gunning down most of the cast. The puppets bleed. Not enough of them, I fear.
Come on! That sounds great! I will make someone watch it as soon as I can. It has been long enough.
I still won't watch the Garbage Pail Kids Movie, though.
I have decided, with no evidence, that Peter Jackson is respected there and the government of New Zealand, which consists of the members of the defunct Monty Python, said the movie could not be made if this freak wasn't the director.
Lord of the Rings did amazing things for New Zealand; they adore Peter Jackson. They don't love how obnoxious the tourists are but love the money.
For obvious reasons, she saw justifiably fit to tell me that I was taking all of this too seriously. We were not going to Pine Bush to solve any great mystery, we are going there because it is fun.
I have made a section of my literary career on being pesky to the Pine Bush UFO community. I might be an expert on the book Silent Invasion, which is not an enviable thing. I am working on an article that might end up being a book on the Hudson Valley UFO phenomena.
Take this as seriously as you want to. It makes for much prose and occasional appearances, in person and in the media.
2002.01.16
We talked about our New Orleans trip on the way up.
This trip never happens. I don't see how it could have for you, but Melissa would have exhausted credit cards for the experience. (Not necessarily her credit cards, though she declares bankruptcy several times, but someone's credit cards.) I cannot say she was wrong. She once went to Hawaii on a lark, more than you ever did.
is willing to pay $300 for gas and hotels
will not laugh at voodoo priestesses
is going to be cool about visiting places like haunted houses, voodoo ceremonies, and Anne Rice's house
These are essential qualifications for a road trip to New Orleans.
Melissa regaled us with her tales of dropping out of her high school and having college professors congratulate her on making the best choice of her life.
I cannot imagine this was the best choice in her life. I do not struggle to finger decisions that led her further down the wrong path. Dropping out may not have been the worst, but it did not help occupy her mind.
Melissa had an addiction all her life. She made destructive, impulsive decisions--far worse than drinking out of Polynesian coconuts. She was never intellectually lacking. If she could have gotten a handle on her substance use disorder and mental health--I do not know that Melissa could have without being in-patient or monitored--I do not doubt she could have earned a master's degree and become a therapist. She had the capacity to be so much more but what person with an addiction cannot say the same?
If Melissa had stayed in school or returned in any significant way, she might have had more she cared about enough to make a better decision when it counted.
I do not think Melissa fabricated this story about a professor thinking she had made a good decision. However, I believe Melissa misunderstood (willfully or not) what they had said.
Melissa want(ed/s) to run for the school board, figuring, quite logically, that she can see best why the system is failing students because it failed her.
I wish she had, but it was only a comment to make. She is twenty-two, and it is the purview of such people to make grand declarations that they never take a step toward achieving.
she made a few poor lifestyle choices during the seven year duration of our friendship, but these are behind her and she is very strong now.
She is not. She can, at times, mask better. It would have been hell on her parents, but living with them was about the only thing that kept her remotely stable. Once she was out trying to care for herself, she had no external superego to pull her out of spins.
A few years ago, she shoved her 4.0 report card from DCC in the counselors face and she threatened to have Melissa arrested.
So, Melissa could have done it easily. It wasn't the academics that were a struggle. It was stability and regularity.
So blah to those of you who think my friends and I do not care about real issues.
You care, but genuine caring is more than noticing and complaining.
Emily just called me to inform me that the student of her father's that is staying at her house to help redecorate the living room was disturbed by flashing lights last night. Every time he would get out of bed to check them out, they would stop. From what he told her, this went on all night, to the extent that this 22 (I think) year old, stout male was cowering under his sheets, frightened, and ended up covering his head with a pillow to block out the light.
For the early parts of your relationship with Emily, you delighted in saying you believed these sorts of stories because they were spooky, and you didn't see the harm. It may have happened this way. You were not in the habit of seeking firsthand testimony of those who had purportedly encountered the weird, so you did not care about corroboration or even meeting this man.
Now, I would have interviewed him for a tongue-in-cheek article that would have been a sly way to discuss an actual issue.
It could have happened. Lights in the woods are not inexplicable or challenging to produce.
Of course, Emily was eager to please and understood you would respond to such tales.
Perhaps related - but Emily is hoping not - is the fact that M told me during a recent sleep-over that she saw vampires. One of the more charming habits of mine is an utter lack of incredulousness toward my friends.
As I said, eager to please. The best I could think for this is a hypnagogic hallucination, which is, of course, unverifiable. One can dream of anything. One, in fact, doesn't even need to believe it.
But, again, you see this as harmless fun.
In her words, "Either it was going to kill me (then there would be nothing to worry about, I'd be dead) or make me a vampire (which would be cool)." I get the feeling that it wasn't a very "real" experience, or she would have woken me up to watch her kill the intruder. She, again, saw the "vampires" in the same room a few days later. These, too, were male, still very pale, still with black hair. There were two or three. One was wearing an all black cloak. She did not feel great concern toward these.
That sounds like a hypnopompic hallucination, actually, as it occurred when she was waking. The rest is pretty textbook, though people are usually panicky about it. Emily took medication, which could have contributed to this blurring of dreams and reality.
I've had a few of these, though never as fun as vampires.
I am not saying she is asleep when she sees these things, because she knows the difference between reality and a dream.
She is, and those experiencing these hallucinations often do not. I would have reacted differently to my visitations if I had not been well-versed in the purportedly paranormal and its explanations. You, in fact, had one as a teenager and thought there was some tiny-handed imp under your bed, which you tried to flush out with a kitchen knife before rationalizing that nothing corporeal could move about in the packed messiness there.
(I'm omitting much of your entry where you explain this. The only difference is I know the words and have had a few more.)
Emily saw what she deemed vampires and the student was kept awake by flashing lights that seemingly knew his movements. I choose to believe there is truth to both accounts, as I have no proof or reason to think either is lying to me.
Both accounts are from Emily, who tends to be loyal to a good story without letting the truth get in the way.
You know perfectly well Emily lies to you, whether or not you acknowledge it openly.
My mother has been on an odd kick of late. Though she pushed me to get a job at the library, and I did, she is now insisting that I work as a substitute teacher at the high school.
You cannot do so because you are in college, and they only employ people with degrees. We can forgive your mother for not knowing this.
Primarily, this is difficult as I already have a fairly steady job and substitute teaching is anything but. The school could opt to not call me for months.
I worked as a substitute teacher for years, and it was rare that my dance card was not filled. I could usually choose my assignments.
She decided, I think arbitrarily, that a sub gets $75 a day. Never mind that, as far a I knew, subs got paid per period and had to pay dues to the school if they got work or not.
Depending on the school, $75 is possible. Subs get paid for the whole day and pay nothing to the school. Where did you get this idea about dues? That doesn't make any sense.
When classes begin anew, I shall be working two jobs, in addition to taking classes, doing homework and writing herein. It's a lot cheaper than therapy.
I assure you, especially as you are on your parents' insurance and counselors exist at your college, it is not cheaper than therapy. Getting your head together would likely have made you more able to complete your coursework, raise your grades, and find a better job.
2002.01.22
For Kate: Ross was not a booty-call. Ross has graduated from high school and is now a freshman in college. Kate has never had sexual relations with that boy Ross.
You are asking a lot of my memory here. I vaguely recall Kate, during the space between her sophomore and junior years, fooling around with a teenager she met at Boy Scout camp (working, not attending). He was not the only one on her roster, but she did like him especially. He was likely not a booty call, though still not a boyfriend--a role she was not keen to fill, and with good reason.
Had your brief and chaste affair played out differently, you might still be exhausting yourself trying to devour Eileen, still in high school, so let's not pretend you are a paragon of virtue here.
For M: M's not crazy. The vampires was standing on top of the stairs when she let the dog back in. They were not, in fact, anywhere near Ari's room. Actually, just outside, once. But never inside. And they aren't aliens, except according to the dictionary definition.
The vampires were a possible sleep hallucination. She did not see them anywhere outside sleep if she saw them at all.
That doesn't make her crazy.
For Sarah: She is no longer much with the sex.
Her sex life is not your business or that of your readers. That said, I would like to know why this is the case. Ethically, I stick to the first sentence. As a storyteller and your only current audience, the second is a tantalizing thread left unforgivably dangling.
Tomorrow, bright and early in the afternoon, I start another illustrious semester at SUNY New Paltz. If you could only see the exact lack of enthusiasm on my face...
New Paltz, the college, was never a place where you felt a sense of belonging. I wish you had tried. You love learning, but you bristle at people trying to teach you in a way you do not like or find effective. I imagine it has something to do with your mental health, but I do wish you had tried more.
One: I have no idea if teaching ill-mannered high school students is something I actually want to do with my life. The fluffy, white cloud concept of inspiring a student or bettering a life appeals enormously to me. However, nearly ever other facet of a teacher's life displeases me. The hours (I am not a morning person. I understand my biology). The pay. The lack of respect. The threat of harm to my physical and emotional health. The unlikelihood I will be able to attain a job in this field without radically compromising a big chunk of happiness and contentment.
I have no objections to your characterization of teaching here as someone who has taught in some capacity for the last two decades. You are occasionally prone to complaining hyperbole--and perhaps that was your intention--but these are all valid reasons for pause.
I don't mind the mornings so much. I work for the state, which offers a lesser paycheck than those in public school, but I also don't take any work home with me and get a chunk of writing done most days. The disrespect from all sides at present is worse than when you are writing this and is among the reasons I tell anyone who asks that they should not become teachers.
You do have to compromise yourself repeatedly to get a teaching job. You go through abject misery for little reward. I won't sugarcoat that. You will have to cut your hair short when you despair that no one will hire you or even take you seriously. You have to tailor your personality until you can figure out how to be in a classroom (this means getting weirder while retaining authority if that helps). You are all but committed to a boarding school for a year and a half--whether we take that to be in the context of devotion or a psych ward.
You would be better advised to do something else. You will, in fact, not graduate from New Paltz as an education major because the college decides next year to change the requirements, insisting you spend an extra year there--this is actually not something the college could do since they are contractually bound to the requirements they established when you were admitted, but they tried.
You opt to get your master's in teaching elsewhere.
Teaching high school students is just not what I can imagine myself doing with my life. I can imagine myself editing books. I can imagine myself writing articles. I can imagine myself writing informative books. I can imagine myself researching.
Yet you do all these!
Most of these are fun. Or it must be for fun because the amount I made in ten years from writing could buy a gently used car. Actually, I put a sizeable down payment on my current car from the $6000 I earned from writing clickbait articles about serial killers for half a year.
I can imagine myself creating web pages. So, it is possible I have no idea what I am doing.
You don't! Also, we could be better at making websites. I should take a class.
Ah, but I heard one of you say, "Come on Xen! No one does what they went to college for! Why, I was marine biology major and now I work with land tortoises.
Funny boy.
That I will find a job pertaining to my field of study that does not force me to be a high school teacher, likely in an inner-city high school (if I can find a job at all).
I work in the highest-security juvenile detention facility in New York because I could not otherwise find a steady job. Does that help?
No?
That is, in fact, the opposite of encouraging?
And if all else fails, my friends are the progeny of well-respected artists, writers, and actors. I will simply put all of my morals and ethics in a Mason jar under my cot at the YMCA and hope I have valid connections.
One of your friends got me to write an essay for a book about juvenile detention, which led to another, an online magazine buying a few of my articles, and then the clickbait company. That has yet to lead to something else, but it has padded out my bibliography.
That's as far as your connections have gone so far.
Not only was she back and looking marvelous, but she was still with her boyfriend Ian. In fact, she had reappeared in my life exactly on her one year anniversary with the boy. Fascinating.
I am no longer closely connected with Keilaina. I saw her a few years ago (after an absence of maybe a decade) and was grumpy because I had misunderstood the plan and had so little time with her. She has four children and a wonderful husband, Dan. They all presently live in a planned community in Costa Rica, which Kei assures me is not a cult.
I love Keilaina. Not in the sense of "Oh, she is cool, just the best." I genuinely love Keilaina in the way of family. I have adored many and used that word. I have loved only a few, and she is one of them.
Of the people you know and would say you loved, I might acknowledge only Keilaina now.
She, indeed, was there. We happily cooed at one another, like chipper doves. I suggested that she actually let me meet her boyfriend, who I intimated was imaginary, and go on a triple date with me.
This never happened, but what a lucky boy. I assume he was better suited to her than some long-haired college junior.
She did inform me, however, that she would be leaving the museum soon to make real films, for money, over the summer.
She does this! She worked for Vice for some time, aiding in a video about an Icelandic woman who thought she had physically unlikely sex with elves.
She did other things, but this was the most notable.
after that, she is off to some out of the area college. Then she will disappear.
Yes, this is accurate and good for her.
I can have a very strong friendship with Sarah, whom I have not seen in years.
You don't. Sarah is less than an hour's drive from you, which isn't an unpleasant one. I regularly make the drive from Red Hook to Beacon. Even meeting in the middle, maybe Hyde Park, to wander a historical estate would have taken her less than half an hour.
It wouldn't have taken much if she had wanted to be close with you.
I was in Sarah's area with Melissa and M. I, of course, tried to get in contact with her. I figured I could pull off a hat trick of friends I hadn't seen in a while. But no, her roommate informed me that Sarah had likely gone out after work and would not return for a very long time.
What a coincidence. I would bet even money on Sarah being at the apartment and telling her roommate to fob you off.
When I told Emily this morning, she calmly assured me that that was one of the "vampires" and they must have followed her to her apartment.
Why not? Her night terrors would accompany her to a new apartment and specifically affect your jewelry. What a sensible and likely thing.