I'M BACK FROM CANADA!
Man's Chest Hair - I missed you! You still smell funny and it gets dark really early here! Er!
There is a green glass goblet on my desk and I don't know where it came from. My mum isn't here, and my brother seems to have vanished. Wait, everyone's asleep... makes sense, eh? I think I'll post my trip blog on here as soon as it's finished... I can put up whatever now, get a start, eh? EH? Can you tell I've been to Canada?
31 July 2005
27 July 2005
Food and Trombones
7-27-05
4:20 p.m.
Listening to the album “Guero” by Beck with some batteries pilfered from K8. She’s from Colorado, also a trombonist and vegetarian. Her trombone is very old and silver; the back of the bell, instead of having plumbing that makes a 90-degree angle, is set on the diagonal, and there is a complicated design including a faun with panpipes engraved on the bell. The entire trombone is silver. K8’s hair is blondish with blue streaks and short in such a way that it brings a pixie to mind. She’s a lot of fun.
Also there is Kaylee. She is from Manitoba and has introduced me to ketchup-flavoured potato chips and flavoured Corn Crunch. It’s great! I have wrappers. She just had me try an Eat-More bar, marketed as the “original dark toffee peanut chew”. It’s made by Hershey, so I don’t understand why we don’t have them in the States. Also they have French on their wrappers as well as English, instead of the way we have it, with Spanish and English. I’m supposed to check out puff wheat cake as well. Hmm.
They have Big Boy restaurants up here, like in the book “The Perks of Being a Wallflower”. Totally awesome.
Dr. Hall is an awesome trombone teacher and is known to randomly burst into old English. He says to practice for three hours per day, but to rest for twenty minutes every twenty minutes we play. So we rehearsed for a few minutes on “Circus Suite” and then tramped around the hut for a bit discussing flora and climate.
Speaking of the huts, I want to live in one. Ten-by-ten hut with a door and three windows, a bamboo mat to sleep on in one corner, a camp stove in another corner, cans of food on the bare walls, tea things in a picnic basket. I’d call it a “back-to-basics” routine, but I envision a laptop in this as well.
Gotta go, supper, be back later.
4:20 p.m.
Listening to the album “Guero” by Beck with some batteries pilfered from K8. She’s from Colorado, also a trombonist and vegetarian. Her trombone is very old and silver; the back of the bell, instead of having plumbing that makes a 90-degree angle, is set on the diagonal, and there is a complicated design including a faun with panpipes engraved on the bell. The entire trombone is silver. K8’s hair is blondish with blue streaks and short in such a way that it brings a pixie to mind. She’s a lot of fun.
Also there is Kaylee. She is from Manitoba and has introduced me to ketchup-flavoured potato chips and flavoured Corn Crunch. It’s great! I have wrappers. She just had me try an Eat-More bar, marketed as the “original dark toffee peanut chew”. It’s made by Hershey, so I don’t understand why we don’t have them in the States. Also they have French on their wrappers as well as English, instead of the way we have it, with Spanish and English. I’m supposed to check out puff wheat cake as well. Hmm.
They have Big Boy restaurants up here, like in the book “The Perks of Being a Wallflower”. Totally awesome.
Dr. Hall is an awesome trombone teacher and is known to randomly burst into old English. He says to practice for three hours per day, but to rest for twenty minutes every twenty minutes we play. So we rehearsed for a few minutes on “Circus Suite” and then tramped around the hut for a bit discussing flora and climate.
Speaking of the huts, I want to live in one. Ten-by-ten hut with a door and three windows, a bamboo mat to sleep on in one corner, a camp stove in another corner, cans of food on the bare walls, tea things in a picnic basket. I’d call it a “back-to-basics” routine, but I envision a laptop in this as well.
Gotta go, supper, be back later.
Lunchtime and Songs
7-27-05
11:50 a.m.
Mmkay, it’s raining like mad! It’s beautiful! Hee, anyway, rehearsal was pretty normal; we had to get up and dance in turns to “Puszta” so we could feel the tempo changes. It was so cool! Methinks I finally have “Circus Suite, Bareback Riders” figured out. Huzzah. We need to play “Moreton Bay” in regular band at home because it’s so beautiful.
People have asked me what I want to be when I grow up. I say that I want to be a writer and philosopher. Brigette was very kind, in my opinion without realizing it, by saying she thought I already was both. Lunchtime, cheers.
11:50 a.m.
Mmkay, it’s raining like mad! It’s beautiful! Hee, anyway, rehearsal was pretty normal; we had to get up and dance in turns to “Puszta” so we could feel the tempo changes. It was so cool! Methinks I finally have “Circus Suite, Bareback Riders” figured out. Huzzah. We need to play “Moreton Bay” in regular band at home because it’s so beautiful.
People have asked me what I want to be when I grow up. I say that I want to be a writer and philosopher. Brigette was very kind, in my opinion without realizing it, by saying she thought I already was both. Lunchtime, cheers.
26 July 2005
Second Day
7-26-05
10:30 p.m.?
Second day of camp. It’s almost lights-out, so I’ll write quickly. Basically there was a dance tonight, and we hung out for a bit. I introduced myself to the kid who was wearing the Led Zeppelin shirt the other day, because today he was wearing an OpIV shirt. Turns out he listens to reggae, metal, classic, and punk – lots like me, only he’s a dude and named Evan and from Bismarck, ND. He plays bass, too.
The nasty screeing noise last night turns out to not have been pipes, as suspected, but the wind under the door. Blocking the gap with a towel should improve the temperature and eliminate the wind noise.
I’ve named K8 “Roller-Skate Kate” like the John Entwhistle song. Then a male friend of hers whose name I don’t know has become “Mr. Roller-Skate” so I can call him something I’ll remember. This dude plays percussion. Victoria – she’s a t’bone – is also called University because some of our music comes from the University of Victoria, where Dr. King teaches.
Lights out is soon. It’s a huge pain to walk to the nurse for meds all the time. Lights out!
10:30 p.m.?
Second day of camp. It’s almost lights-out, so I’ll write quickly. Basically there was a dance tonight, and we hung out for a bit. I introduced myself to the kid who was wearing the Led Zeppelin shirt the other day, because today he was wearing an OpIV shirt. Turns out he listens to reggae, metal, classic, and punk – lots like me, only he’s a dude and named Evan and from Bismarck, ND. He plays bass, too.
The nasty screeing noise last night turns out to not have been pipes, as suspected, but the wind under the door. Blocking the gap with a towel should improve the temperature and eliminate the wind noise.
I’ve named K8 “Roller-Skate Kate” like the John Entwhistle song. Then a male friend of hers whose name I don’t know has become “Mr. Roller-Skate” so I can call him something I’ll remember. This dude plays percussion. Victoria – she’s a t’bone – is also called University because some of our music comes from the University of Victoria, where Dr. King teaches.
Lights out is soon. It’s a huge pain to walk to the nurse for meds all the time. Lights out!
25 July 2005
Lights Out
7-25-05
10:45 p.m.
It’s been classes, classes, classes since breakfast. We woke up at 6:30 a.m. to shower. Breakfast for me was an omelette (complete with Government cheese!). At 8:30 was rehearsal at the Masonic Auditorium down the road. BIG building. Dr. Gerald King is our conductor. He’s an average-height man with a fringe of bleach-white hair around his chrome dome. He’s from BC and seems okay, like he makes jokes and stuff. First rehearsal goes until 9:30. My water opened in my bag; my notebook and sweatshirt were all WET – it was cold in the morning. One of my cameras got waterlogged and was destroyed, dang it. At 9:40 was a sectional, but the lights just went out. Will finish tomorrow.
10:45 p.m.
It’s been classes, classes, classes since breakfast. We woke up at 6:30 a.m. to shower. Breakfast for me was an omelette (complete with Government cheese!). At 8:30 was rehearsal at the Masonic Auditorium down the road. BIG building. Dr. Gerald King is our conductor. He’s an average-height man with a fringe of bleach-white hair around his chrome dome. He’s from BC and seems okay, like he makes jokes and stuff. First rehearsal goes until 9:30. My water opened in my bag; my notebook and sweatshirt were all WET – it was cold in the morning. One of my cameras got waterlogged and was destroyed, dang it. At 9:40 was a sectional, but the lights just went out. Will finish tomorrow.
24 July 2005
Barenaked in the Morning
7-24-05
8:29 p.m.
Leaving Grand Forks, ND, going someplace called Rugby. It can’t be all bad with a name like that. There was a problem with our room at Days Inn, so we had to switch to a smoking room. I walked in, stopped breathing, and barely got to my inhaler in time. To clear my lungs, Molly and I watched the sun set. The cloud formation was incredible, and the sunlight splayed out like golden angel’s song over the tops of them. We went back to the room (puff, puff on inhaler) and had a shaving party in the tiny, dirty bathroom. We went to sleep a little later, Molly and I on one bed, Joanie (Molly’s mum) and Luann (sp? Molly’s aunt) on the other bed, and Lindz and Heather (Molly’s sisters) on the floor. Woke up this morning, showered, ate the free continental breakfast, and left. I’m boycotting Days Inns, now.
The clouds this morning are like whisps of angel hair. It amuses me to picture cherubim and seraphim in a salon, chatting away to their stylists.
“Maroon” by the Barenaked Ladies proves very appropriate to this trip. Lindz has graciously provided me with new batteries. I’m hoping these last. Molly’s listening to AC/DC. I wonder how that suits this glorious morning.
Unused as I am to morning light, I find that it is very pretty. It seems sort of paler, more delicate, than the afternoon daylight I cavort in. “Falling for the First Time” really is a good song, perfect for watching dust blow over fields, for watching shadows cast by this oddly warm pale light. As the song changes to “Conventioneers”, I think two things: that Jim Creeggan is my favourite living bass player, and that Steven Page is one of those lucky people who could soothe a squalling baby just by singing to them.
8:29 p.m.
Leaving Grand Forks, ND, going someplace called Rugby. It can’t be all bad with a name like that. There was a problem with our room at Days Inn, so we had to switch to a smoking room. I walked in, stopped breathing, and barely got to my inhaler in time. To clear my lungs, Molly and I watched the sun set. The cloud formation was incredible, and the sunlight splayed out like golden angel’s song over the tops of them. We went back to the room (puff, puff on inhaler) and had a shaving party in the tiny, dirty bathroom. We went to sleep a little later, Molly and I on one bed, Joanie (Molly’s mum) and Luann (sp? Molly’s aunt) on the other bed, and Lindz and Heather (Molly’s sisters) on the floor. Woke up this morning, showered, ate the free continental breakfast, and left. I’m boycotting Days Inns, now.
The clouds this morning are like whisps of angel hair. It amuses me to picture cherubim and seraphim in a salon, chatting away to their stylists.
“Maroon” by the Barenaked Ladies proves very appropriate to this trip. Lindz has graciously provided me with new batteries. I’m hoping these last. Molly’s listening to AC/DC. I wonder how that suits this glorious morning.
Unused as I am to morning light, I find that it is very pretty. It seems sort of paler, more delicate, than the afternoon daylight I cavort in. “Falling for the First Time” really is a good song, perfect for watching dust blow over fields, for watching shadows cast by this oddly warm pale light. As the song changes to “Conventioneers”, I think two things: that Jim Creeggan is my favourite living bass player, and that Steven Page is one of those lucky people who could soothe a squalling baby just by singing to them.
Watches and Pink Floyd
7-24-05
6:00 p.m.?
I’m starting to wish I’d brought a watch. We’ve had auditions, and I did terribly. Eurgh! Mollz and I are in the same dorm, though, and might be able to trade bunks so we’re next to one another. A lot of people are Canadian. K8, another trombonist, is from Colorado, in the mountains. Memo to self: Get bass tabs for “Waiting for the Worms” by Pink Floyd.
6:00 p.m.?
I’m starting to wish I’d brought a watch. We’ve had auditions, and I did terribly. Eurgh! Mollz and I are in the same dorm, though, and might be able to trade bunks so we’re next to one another. A lot of people are Canadian. K8, another trombonist, is from Colorado, in the mountains. Memo to self: Get bass tabs for “Waiting for the Worms” by Pink Floyd.
Dunseith, Freddy Mercury, and Death
7-24-05
1:16 p.m.
Dunseith, ND, is pretty much nothing. It has charms, though. We stopped at a truck stop for a restroom break and lunch. The bathrooms were surprisingly good-smelling and had automatic paper towel dispensers that you waved at, and they spit out just the right amount of paper towel. However, the women’s restroom had two toilets, but no stalls; how bizarre. We’re fifteen miles from the Peace Garden. For lunch I had French fries with VINEGAR! Complete YUM! I about died of ecstasy. My BnL gave way to the Killers, who gave way to Queen.
There’s water all over the place here, just standing and being unbelievably blue. Cattails grow in the shoulders on the sides of the road. Birds play in roadside ponds. The water really is beautiful.
There’s something about Freddy Mercury that makes me smile. Maybe it’s the fact that he sang so well, or that he had the courage to be so rampant about his sexuality. I love Queen in a big way, but it’s times like this, when I think about people like Freddy Mercury, that I wonder if anyone loved him enough to be with him when he died. Following that I start to contemplate my own death. I think just now that I want to be buried in North Dakota, just because we passed a cemetery that was ever so pretty.
Thinking about Freddy Mercury also puts me in mind of homosexuality in general. Two kids tease each other, calling each other “poop-brain”, “diaper-head”, and “gay”. It hurts. I might not be completely gay, but the only reason for this is because I’m attracted to personalities, not looks, so it holds nothing with me what set of parts you have in your pants. But it rankles with me still because of my gay friends. It also rankles with me when you get girls who are all like, “Hey, guys! Omigod! Guess what? We’re lesbians! Isn’t that hot?” Followed by mad giggling. It’s not, though, or it shouldn’t be. Because a real lesbian would ignore guys, at least sexually.
We’re half a mile from camp.
1:16 p.m.
Dunseith, ND, is pretty much nothing. It has charms, though. We stopped at a truck stop for a restroom break and lunch. The bathrooms were surprisingly good-smelling and had automatic paper towel dispensers that you waved at, and they spit out just the right amount of paper towel. However, the women’s restroom had two toilets, but no stalls; how bizarre. We’re fifteen miles from the Peace Garden. For lunch I had French fries with VINEGAR! Complete YUM! I about died of ecstasy. My BnL gave way to the Killers, who gave way to Queen.
There’s water all over the place here, just standing and being unbelievably blue. Cattails grow in the shoulders on the sides of the road. Birds play in roadside ponds. The water really is beautiful.
There’s something about Freddy Mercury that makes me smile. Maybe it’s the fact that he sang so well, or that he had the courage to be so rampant about his sexuality. I love Queen in a big way, but it’s times like this, when I think about people like Freddy Mercury, that I wonder if anyone loved him enough to be with him when he died. Following that I start to contemplate my own death. I think just now that I want to be buried in North Dakota, just because we passed a cemetery that was ever so pretty.
Thinking about Freddy Mercury also puts me in mind of homosexuality in general. Two kids tease each other, calling each other “poop-brain”, “diaper-head”, and “gay”. It hurts. I might not be completely gay, but the only reason for this is because I’m attracted to personalities, not looks, so it holds nothing with me what set of parts you have in your pants. But it rankles with me still because of my gay friends. It also rankles with me when you get girls who are all like, “Hey, guys! Omigod! Guess what? We’re lesbians! Isn’t that hot?” Followed by mad giggling. It’s not, though, or it shouldn’t be. Because a real lesbian would ignore guys, at least sexually.
We’re half a mile from camp.
Langdon and Hannah
7-24-05
10:54 a.m.
Just now we’re in Langdon, ND. On the way here, we passed bright yellow fields we reckoned were mustard, and some smoky blue ones that we didn’t recognize. [Note: it was later found out that the yellow fields are canola or rapeseed, and the blue ones are flax.] Langdon had some very nice houses, one painted bright green with yellow and purple accents that was VERY PRETTY. There was an intriguing tree someone had assembled from pots of purple flowers.
Matchbox Twenty’s “Yourself or Someone Like You” replaced “Maroon”, but now I’m listening to BnL’s “Born on a Pirate Ship”. The farm fields don’t have fences around them. I wonder what that means.
Driving and facing west, there are no clouds in the sky. This is the sort of light, now, that I’m used to, so the fields glare emerald, topaz, and sapphire. The water reflects the sky unflinchingly. I wonder how these fields look in the morning light. Never have I seen water so blue; we just passed another lake.
There’s a town called Hannah nineteen miles form the sign we just passed. I want a picture of myself next to that sign.
It seems that people around here keep bees, as well. I think that would be crazy cool. Of course, I’d probably be scared to death, but oh well. I mean, people terrify me, and I put up with them.
Another lake. “Same Thing” by the BnL might be the perfect song for this drive. A pretty song to accompany all this pretty scenery. I turn the volume up to drown out Lindz and Heather. They are some of the people that scare me, but they’re far better than some I could mention.
10:54 a.m.
Just now we’re in Langdon, ND. On the way here, we passed bright yellow fields we reckoned were mustard, and some smoky blue ones that we didn’t recognize. [Note: it was later found out that the yellow fields are canola or rapeseed, and the blue ones are flax.] Langdon had some very nice houses, one painted bright green with yellow and purple accents that was VERY PRETTY. There was an intriguing tree someone had assembled from pots of purple flowers.
Matchbox Twenty’s “Yourself or Someone Like You” replaced “Maroon”, but now I’m listening to BnL’s “Born on a Pirate Ship”. The farm fields don’t have fences around them. I wonder what that means.
Driving and facing west, there are no clouds in the sky. This is the sort of light, now, that I’m used to, so the fields glare emerald, topaz, and sapphire. The water reflects the sky unflinchingly. I wonder how these fields look in the morning light. Never have I seen water so blue; we just passed another lake.
There’s a town called Hannah nineteen miles form the sign we just passed. I want a picture of myself next to that sign.
It seems that people around here keep bees, as well. I think that would be crazy cool. Of course, I’d probably be scared to death, but oh well. I mean, people terrify me, and I put up with them.
Another lake. “Same Thing” by the BnL might be the perfect song for this drive. A pretty song to accompany all this pretty scenery. I turn the volume up to drown out Lindz and Heather. They are some of the people that scare me, but they’re far better than some I could mention.
23 July 2005
On Location
7-23-05
8:04 p.m.
The sky is clearer now, and the blue is breathtaking. Lindz took a picture of another billboard, this one saying “Be Polite”. I like those billboards. The speed limit is 75 miles per hour, which I find both crazy and exhilarating. We are about twenty minutes from Grand Forks.
[In this bit, I wrote about something very, very personal that I don’t feel comfortable posting online involving someone I know I love. You see, I don’t know exactly what sort of love I feel for this person, and I was getting frustrated.] Why don’t I KNOW?
Fourteen miles to Grand Forks, something like 164 miles to Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. If I were not attending to other business, it would be conceivable to drive to Winnipeg tonight. I think that’s crazy. Distance is insane. It’s also crazy that I woke up in Iowa, and I’ll be going to sleep in North Dakota.
We just passed another billboard, “Be Kind”.
Seven miles now until cable TV, batteries for my poor CD player, and a nice shower. Good. I need to wash my face; you could probably burn a lamp with the oil on my skin.
I want to buy a field and restore it to prairie. Or maybe a patch of woods with a nice glade in the middle, where I can sit and write and talk to myself if I need to.
Across the way is another field full of houses. I can’t stand those houses, all so similar. When I “grow up”, I want a geothermally powered adobe house in Canada somewhere. I want it to be empty except for some bamboo mats, tea things, a camp stove, and me. That’d be nice.
We’re in Grand Forks.
8:04 p.m.
The sky is clearer now, and the blue is breathtaking. Lindz took a picture of another billboard, this one saying “Be Polite”. I like those billboards. The speed limit is 75 miles per hour, which I find both crazy and exhilarating. We are about twenty minutes from Grand Forks.
[In this bit, I wrote about something very, very personal that I don’t feel comfortable posting online involving someone I know I love. You see, I don’t know exactly what sort of love I feel for this person, and I was getting frustrated.] Why don’t I KNOW?
Fourteen miles to Grand Forks, something like 164 miles to Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. If I were not attending to other business, it would be conceivable to drive to Winnipeg tonight. I think that’s crazy. Distance is insane. It’s also crazy that I woke up in Iowa, and I’ll be going to sleep in North Dakota.
We just passed another billboard, “Be Kind”.
Seven miles now until cable TV, batteries for my poor CD player, and a nice shower. Good. I need to wash my face; you could probably burn a lamp with the oil on my skin.
I want to buy a field and restore it to prairie. Or maybe a patch of woods with a nice glade in the middle, where I can sit and write and talk to myself if I need to.
Across the way is another field full of houses. I can’t stand those houses, all so similar. When I “grow up”, I want a geothermally powered adobe house in Canada somewhere. I want it to be empty except for some bamboo mats, tea things, a camp stove, and me. That’d be nice.
We’re in Grand Forks.
Dreams plus John and Yoko
7-23-05
7:10 p.m.
Just ran out of batteries for my CD player. Also just saw a street sign in the middle of a field. Highly amusing.
We’re spending the night in Grand Forks, North Dakota. I wonder what it’s like to live in North Dakota; I guess I will find out. I will be in Canada at this time tomorrow. Weird thought.
I’ve been thinking about [anonymous] a lot lately. What I can’t figure out is why. I haven’t even seen him in, like, a year. So why the dreams? I dream [his sister] is off somewhere with her [boyfriend], and [he] and I walk onto their front porch; each of us has a glass of ice water. We sit on their deck furniture and sip our waters for awhile in silence, until I turn to him and ask if he’s ever been kissed. He says no, and I tell him that that’s good, because you should love the first person you kiss. He says nothing. Another sip of water, and we begin a conversation regarding human fear of emotion and being afraid to tell someone you love them. You shouldn’t be afraid of this, I say, because if they can’t deal with it then they’re not worth the trouble. I set down my water glass, and the next thing I know, he’s kissing me. No, kissing is the wrong word; it’s more like snogging. I don’t know if I understand – or want to understand – this dream.
We crossed the border into North Dakota at 7:19 p.m. I wrote as we traveled, and Lindsey (a.k.a. Lindz, Molly’s 13-year-old sister) took a picture of a billboard that said nothing but “Be Nice.” A few more billboards like that, and maybe the world would be a slightly better place, like when John and Yoko did the “Happy X-Mas” billboards. I miss you, John.
7:10 p.m.
Just ran out of batteries for my CD player. Also just saw a street sign in the middle of a field. Highly amusing.
We’re spending the night in Grand Forks, North Dakota. I wonder what it’s like to live in North Dakota; I guess I will find out. I will be in Canada at this time tomorrow. Weird thought.
I’ve been thinking about [anonymous] a lot lately. What I can’t figure out is why. I haven’t even seen him in, like, a year. So why the dreams? I dream [his sister] is off somewhere with her [boyfriend], and [he] and I walk onto their front porch; each of us has a glass of ice water. We sit on their deck furniture and sip our waters for awhile in silence, until I turn to him and ask if he’s ever been kissed. He says no, and I tell him that that’s good, because you should love the first person you kiss. He says nothing. Another sip of water, and we begin a conversation regarding human fear of emotion and being afraid to tell someone you love them. You shouldn’t be afraid of this, I say, because if they can’t deal with it then they’re not worth the trouble. I set down my water glass, and the next thing I know, he’s kissing me. No, kissing is the wrong word; it’s more like snogging. I don’t know if I understand – or want to understand – this dream.
We crossed the border into North Dakota at 7:19 p.m. I wrote as we traveled, and Lindsey (a.k.a. Lindz, Molly’s 13-year-old sister) took a picture of a billboard that said nothing but “Be Nice.” A few more billboards like that, and maybe the world would be a slightly better place, like when John and Yoko did the “Happy X-Mas” billboards. I miss you, John.
Supper and Flashbacks
7-23-05
5:30 p.m.
Just attended mass at Our Lady of Victory church. Lucky for me it was a Catholic church, or I would have been even more lost. I was baptized Catholic, you see, though I’ve never had a First Communion. I would have, but by the age of six I had declared myself an atheist (though I did not then know the word).
~FLASHBACK~
I was a “tomboy” and did not like dressing up to go to church. One day at church I got all huffy and asked the priest, wouldn’t Jesus forgive you for not dressing up? The priest gave me a reply involving “showing your best face to God”. Thinking to myself that God would see every face you have, I vowed to myself and my parents that I would never attend church service with a congregation who wore a Sunday best. So I go in body when it’s necessary, but in spirit I sit and ponder things instead of paying attention to any homily or verse. I believe and ghosts and reincarnation, but all the hype about God has led me away from “Him”. There’s my feminist as well; I will never allow a male to dominate me.
We ate supper at Perkins, and as usual the food sits uneasily in my stomach. It was, however, a narrow escape from chicken-abusing KFC. It was Molly who spoke up and saved me.
Verve Pipe has given way to the Jimi Hendrix Experience. I’m currently listening to “Stone Free”. I really love Hendrix’s story, how he rose to Guitar God-dom from poverty. I love how Hendrix was who he wanted to be, no one else. I love to read what my other guitar-playing idols – Pete Townshend, John Lennon, Eric Clapton – had to say about him. I hope that someday, people that other people respect will be complimentary of my work.
I’ll be in North Dakota by 9 p.m.
5:30 p.m.
Just attended mass at Our Lady of Victory church. Lucky for me it was a Catholic church, or I would have been even more lost. I was baptized Catholic, you see, though I’ve never had a First Communion. I would have, but by the age of six I had declared myself an atheist (though I did not then know the word).
~FLASHBACK~
I was a “tomboy” and did not like dressing up to go to church. One day at church I got all huffy and asked the priest, wouldn’t Jesus forgive you for not dressing up? The priest gave me a reply involving “showing your best face to God”. Thinking to myself that God would see every face you have, I vowed to myself and my parents that I would never attend church service with a congregation who wore a Sunday best. So I go in body when it’s necessary, but in spirit I sit and ponder things instead of paying attention to any homily or verse. I believe and ghosts and reincarnation, but all the hype about God has led me away from “Him”. There’s my feminist as well; I will never allow a male to dominate me.
We ate supper at Perkins, and as usual the food sits uneasily in my stomach. It was, however, a narrow escape from chicken-abusing KFC. It was Molly who spoke up and saved me.
Verve Pipe has given way to the Jimi Hendrix Experience. I’m currently listening to “Stone Free”. I really love Hendrix’s story, how he rose to Guitar God-dom from poverty. I love how Hendrix was who he wanted to be, no one else. I love to read what my other guitar-playing idols – Pete Townshend, John Lennon, Eric Clapton – had to say about him. I hope that someday, people that other people respect will be complimentary of my work.
I’ll be in North Dakota by 9 p.m.
A Second Song
7-23-05
2:53 p.m.
The Verve Pipe – Photograph
If you want, beautiful, pitiful, have me in a picture
And if you want, make me dance
Throw me round, spin upon your finger
Blind labours the blind
And I am unwilling to uncover my eyes
If there’s a crease in my face over time
Rifle through, find a very nice one
There’s plenty more where that came from
Words, frozen, will thaw when I am wasted
I am better shut up, and a frame is quite confining
Hang me up…hang me up
I’m in the photograph
When I’m alone and the world is a fist, I am weightless
A universe, gravitate, orchestrate, I am fearless
And spin, the sky surrounding free from all the picture perfect
And spin, the sky surrounding larger than life
Meanwhile, I’m in the photograph
2:53 p.m.
The Verve Pipe – Photograph
If you want, beautiful, pitiful, have me in a picture
And if you want, make me dance
Throw me round, spin upon your finger
Blind labours the blind
And I am unwilling to uncover my eyes
If there’s a crease in my face over time
Rifle through, find a very nice one
There’s plenty more where that came from
Words, frozen, will thaw when I am wasted
I am better shut up, and a frame is quite confining
Hang me up…hang me up
I’m in the photograph
When I’m alone and the world is a fist, I am weightless
A universe, gravitate, orchestrate, I am fearless
And spin, the sky surrounding free from all the picture perfect
And spin, the sky surrounding larger than life
Meanwhile, I’m in the photograph
Golf courses and Hell
7-23-05
2:25 p.m.
A third stop. Again, I don’t know the name of the town, but near it was a road I liked called Opportunity Drive. In essence, the Road to Opportunity. At CD change, I took out AFI’s “Sing the Sorrow” album and replaced it with the Verve Pipe’s “Villains”.
We are passing a silo covered in ivy, and I think that it has beauty. The propeller on a boat on a trailer is spinning. Here’s a mobile home with Saskatchewan license plates, and I am reminded of how close I am getting to Canada. A semi from Ontario, now. The song “Villains” by the Verve Pipe mercifully drowns out Shania Twain. “Villains” proves an appropriate anthem for this stretch of road as we pass the exit for St. Joseph, Minnesota.
The trees sense rain; you can tell by the leaves. Something is coming for sure, as the sky is angry and overcast. Even the interstate looks as though it is preparing for rain. I wish it would storm, because nothing is so pleasant as wet hottop with “Reverend Girl” playing to keep you company. Then again, rain might make for in increase in tension here in the van.
We pass a town called Avon and a factory outlet cheese store. Another cemetery. Thoughts of my own mortality swarm my mind, and I find myself checking my seatbelt. The track changes on my CD, and in the Verve Pipe’s silence I hear Shania Twain again. This is followed by a brief wondering: have I died and gone to Hell like my mum’s side of the family has told me I will? But no, “Cup of Tea” starts, and it turns out that knees sore from sitting and a touch of loving writer’s cramp are indeed my reality.
I see fields full of houses, and the houses are all the same. Not exactly so, but their slight differences lie in siding colour and garage placement. I am lost in confusion when I try to think why anyone would want such a house. Certainly the nearby eighteen-hole golf course cannot be that big of a selling point. However, I am saved by “Myself” and the countryside.
2:25 p.m.
A third stop. Again, I don’t know the name of the town, but near it was a road I liked called Opportunity Drive. In essence, the Road to Opportunity. At CD change, I took out AFI’s “Sing the Sorrow” album and replaced it with the Verve Pipe’s “Villains”.
We are passing a silo covered in ivy, and I think that it has beauty. The propeller on a boat on a trailer is spinning. Here’s a mobile home with Saskatchewan license plates, and I am reminded of how close I am getting to Canada. A semi from Ontario, now. The song “Villains” by the Verve Pipe mercifully drowns out Shania Twain. “Villains” proves an appropriate anthem for this stretch of road as we pass the exit for St. Joseph, Minnesota.
The trees sense rain; you can tell by the leaves. Something is coming for sure, as the sky is angry and overcast. Even the interstate looks as though it is preparing for rain. I wish it would storm, because nothing is so pleasant as wet hottop with “Reverend Girl” playing to keep you company. Then again, rain might make for in increase in tension here in the van.
We pass a town called Avon and a factory outlet cheese store. Another cemetery. Thoughts of my own mortality swarm my mind, and I find myself checking my seatbelt. The track changes on my CD, and in the Verve Pipe’s silence I hear Shania Twain again. This is followed by a brief wondering: have I died and gone to Hell like my mum’s side of the family has told me I will? But no, “Cup of Tea” starts, and it turns out that knees sore from sitting and a touch of loving writer’s cramp are indeed my reality.
I see fields full of houses, and the houses are all the same. Not exactly so, but their slight differences lie in siding colour and garage placement. I am lost in confusion when I try to think why anyone would want such a house. Certainly the nearby eighteen-hole golf course cannot be that big of a selling point. However, I am saved by “Myself” and the countryside.
Rocky Horror and Minnesota
7-23-05
12:32 p.m.
We just made a stop in a town. We are in Minnesota now, and I am listening to “Dammit Janet” from the Rocky Horror Picture Show sound track. We passed a town called Hope a ways back. It was lovely; there was a sign pointing up the exit to Hope. Yep, folks, Hope’s just up thattaway.
I told someone last night that I loved him, and I’m pondering now whether or not I told him the truth.
The sun lost. It’s completely overcast now. Clouds brood over the thick emerald fields, and in this aspect Minnesota and Iowa are identical. We are now 37 miles from Minneapolis. Less now. Less now. Time and distance are one, here on the interstate.
Signs, blue for food and gas, green for New Prague and Exit 69. Everything is coloured, any colour you like. I wonder if, secretly, the colours people pick for their automobiles are coded. I wonder if all people who drive grey minivans are culture-starved kids who listen to “Sweet Transvestite” while writing travel journals and tell people they love them even if they’re unsure how.
A smiley face raised its shades and winked at me from the side of an outbuilding. Gravel roads have rustic charm, indeed. There’s something about listening to Tim Curry while driving through the countryside. Two new towns, one of which is Elko. The speed limit is 70 miles per hour. I wonder if, in Canada, the speed signs display in kilometres per hour. That’d make sense, I guess, but blimey. Did you know that Minnesota has a Turkey Council? There was a billboard.
In the unlikely event I get married, the wedding march-thing will have to be played on electric guitar like in “Charles Atlas (Reprise)”.
12:32 p.m.
We just made a stop in a town. We are in Minnesota now, and I am listening to “Dammit Janet” from the Rocky Horror Picture Show sound track. We passed a town called Hope a ways back. It was lovely; there was a sign pointing up the exit to Hope. Yep, folks, Hope’s just up thattaway.
I told someone last night that I loved him, and I’m pondering now whether or not I told him the truth.
The sun lost. It’s completely overcast now. Clouds brood over the thick emerald fields, and in this aspect Minnesota and Iowa are identical. We are now 37 miles from Minneapolis. Less now. Less now. Time and distance are one, here on the interstate.
Signs, blue for food and gas, green for New Prague and Exit 69. Everything is coloured, any colour you like. I wonder if, secretly, the colours people pick for their automobiles are coded. I wonder if all people who drive grey minivans are culture-starved kids who listen to “Sweet Transvestite” while writing travel journals and tell people they love them even if they’re unsure how.
A smiley face raised its shades and winked at me from the side of an outbuilding. Gravel roads have rustic charm, indeed. There’s something about listening to Tim Curry while driving through the countryside. Two new towns, one of which is Elko. The speed limit is 70 miles per hour. I wonder if, in Canada, the speed signs display in kilometres per hour. That’d make sense, I guess, but blimey. Did you know that Minnesota has a Turkey Council? There was a billboard.
In the unlikely event I get married, the wedding march-thing will have to be played on electric guitar like in “Charles Atlas (Reprise)”.
The Song for New Hampton
7-23-05
9:52 a.m.
New Hampton, IA
Coldplay – The Scientist
Come up to meet you
Tell you I’m sorry
You don’t know how lovely you are
I had to find you
Tell you I need you
Tell you I set you apart
Tell me your secrets
And ask me your questions
Oh, let’s go back to the start
Running in circles
Calling tails
Heads on a science apart
Nobody said it was easy
It’s such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard
Oh take me back to the start
I was just guessing
At numbers and figures
Pulling the puzzles apart
Questions of science
Science and progress
Do not speak as loud as my heart
Tell me you love me
Come back to haunt me
Oh and I rush to the start
Running in circles
Chasing tails
Coming back as we are
Nobody said it was easy
Oh it’s such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be so hard
I’m going back to the start
9:52 a.m.
New Hampton, IA
Coldplay – The Scientist
Come up to meet you
Tell you I’m sorry
You don’t know how lovely you are
I had to find you
Tell you I need you
Tell you I set you apart
Tell me your secrets
And ask me your questions
Oh, let’s go back to the start
Running in circles
Calling tails
Heads on a science apart
Nobody said it was easy
It’s such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard
Oh take me back to the start
I was just guessing
At numbers and figures
Pulling the puzzles apart
Questions of science
Science and progress
Do not speak as loud as my heart
Tell me you love me
Come back to haunt me
Oh and I rush to the start
Running in circles
Chasing tails
Coming back as we are
Nobody said it was easy
Oh it’s such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be so hard
I’m going back to the start
Plainfield and Floyd
7-23-05
9:32 a.m.
There is an indescribable beauty today. I am on the interstate with Molly, Molly’s mum, Molly’s aunt, and Molly’s sisters. To the west it is overcast, but to the east the clouds all look like they’ve been sucked up by a vacuum cleaner… but I suppose that’s not a pretty enough image. They look more like they’ve been summoned upward by the will of the cherubim, so they’re all slanted toward the sun. The sun, while seeming smaller and paler than is typical, gives me warmth and light by which to write.
We are still in Iowa. The daylight is not full, but instead casts a thin beautiful luminescence over the fields of beans and corn. From the hilltops it seems as thought these fields, cast in light of chilling gorgeousity, go on forever. They look as though one could reach out, touch them, and be forced to marvel at their softness.
We pass a town called Plainfield that is tiny. Its visible components are one miniature water tower, a cemetery, a baseball diamond, and a field for American football. Typical Iowan small town. It takes us about two seconds to pass Plainfield, and we have returned to the middle of nowhere. The landscape is dotted with old white houses, huge red barns, and tall blue Harvestore silos. I think for the first time of home, because there by my computer I have a lamp shaped like a Harvestore silo.
Some people crave familiarity. I have never counted myself among those people. But I might be one.
Nashua is bigger than Plainfield, but still discernable over the treetops are the lights of the ball diamond. We are in Floyd county, and the instant my Coldplay CD finishes, I’ll listen to some Pink Floyd to celebrate.
9:32 a.m.
There is an indescribable beauty today. I am on the interstate with Molly, Molly’s mum, Molly’s aunt, and Molly’s sisters. To the west it is overcast, but to the east the clouds all look like they’ve been sucked up by a vacuum cleaner… but I suppose that’s not a pretty enough image. They look more like they’ve been summoned upward by the will of the cherubim, so they’re all slanted toward the sun. The sun, while seeming smaller and paler than is typical, gives me warmth and light by which to write.
We are still in Iowa. The daylight is not full, but instead casts a thin beautiful luminescence over the fields of beans and corn. From the hilltops it seems as thought these fields, cast in light of chilling gorgeousity, go on forever. They look as though one could reach out, touch them, and be forced to marvel at their softness.
We pass a town called Plainfield that is tiny. Its visible components are one miniature water tower, a cemetery, a baseball diamond, and a field for American football. Typical Iowan small town. It takes us about two seconds to pass Plainfield, and we have returned to the middle of nowhere. The landscape is dotted with old white houses, huge red barns, and tall blue Harvestore silos. I think for the first time of home, because there by my computer I have a lamp shaped like a Harvestore silo.
Some people crave familiarity. I have never counted myself among those people. But I might be one.
Nashua is bigger than Plainfield, but still discernable over the treetops are the lights of the ball diamond. We are in Floyd county, and the instant my Coldplay CD finishes, I’ll listen to some Pink Floyd to celebrate.
22 July 2005
Location
Righto, chaps! I'll be in Canada for the next week. Don't worry, the Sebhar pearls of wisdom will still come... I'll be journaling, however, so they'll be delayed. Good bye, all! Keep jammin' on the low end and I'll see you on the flipside!
Before Wartburg
7-22-05
4:32 p.m.
Riding in the car with Alexa’s mum and dad, Mia and Dave. Scenery speeds by like it’s got to get somewhere: power lines, fences, water towers, flora. We’re on our way to the concert put on by Wartburg College’s summer jazz band. Alexa plays saxomophone. Dan-ness is at Wartburg as well.
They caught two of the terrorists involved in the 7-7-05 subway and bus bombings. I haven’t heard from London Dan since these aforementioned bombings, and there were more the other day. I think I’ve heard from all my other British friends, though.
Some people have described roads as laying out before them like ribbons. I think that, while a nice simile, this is silly. Roads are more like tour guides; some slow, some fast, some loud, some quiet, always taking you somewhere or showing you something. The baseball field on your left, that’s the finest field this side of the Volga River, and that, ladies and gentlemen, is Our Church of the Virgin Mary.
Skies are crazy. People say the sky is blue, but I know different. I have seen red skies, purple skies, grey skies like goose feathers and skies of fiery orange. No wonder people used to believe in magic. The wonder is that we stopped believing.
Maybe that’s why people do “bad” things. They’ve stopped believing in magic because they can’t see the sky. It makes me worry about the world. What will become of those born in the generations that will never see the sky?
4:32 p.m.
Riding in the car with Alexa’s mum and dad, Mia and Dave. Scenery speeds by like it’s got to get somewhere: power lines, fences, water towers, flora. We’re on our way to the concert put on by Wartburg College’s summer jazz band. Alexa plays saxomophone. Dan-ness is at Wartburg as well.
They caught two of the terrorists involved in the 7-7-05 subway and bus bombings. I haven’t heard from London Dan since these aforementioned bombings, and there were more the other day. I think I’ve heard from all my other British friends, though.
Some people have described roads as laying out before them like ribbons. I think that, while a nice simile, this is silly. Roads are more like tour guides; some slow, some fast, some loud, some quiet, always taking you somewhere or showing you something. The baseball field on your left, that’s the finest field this side of the Volga River, and that, ladies and gentlemen, is Our Church of the Virgin Mary.
Skies are crazy. People say the sky is blue, but I know different. I have seen red skies, purple skies, grey skies like goose feathers and skies of fiery orange. No wonder people used to believe in magic. The wonder is that we stopped believing.
Maybe that’s why people do “bad” things. They’ve stopped believing in magic because they can’t see the sky. It makes me worry about the world. What will become of those born in the generations that will never see the sky?
21 July 2005
What is a ghetto booty?
I don't understand the concept of ghetto booties.
I like talking to people, and I hope I can go to the concert tomorrow.
New favourite movie: Pink Floyd's The Wall
I like talking to people, and I hope I can go to the concert tomorrow.
New favourite movie: Pink Floyd's The Wall
19 July 2005
Older
If this is what getting older is, I'm just going to stop. I don't like it. I don't like it one bit. And I'm only fifteen...imagine! My midlife crisis will probably occur around twenty. Erlack.
Songs for today: "Highway Chile" by Jimi Hendrix, "Gasoline" by Seether, "Brand New Colony" by the Postal Service, "Asleep" by the Smiths, "The Freshmen" by the Verve Pipe, and "This Song Has No Title" by Elton John
Songs for today: "Highway Chile" by Jimi Hendrix, "Gasoline" by Seether, "Brand New Colony" by the Postal Service, "Asleep" by the Smiths, "The Freshmen" by the Verve Pipe, and "This Song Has No Title" by Elton John
12 July 2005
Patriotism
I'm so glad patriotism is popular. There used to be two American flags on my block: mine and my neighbours. Since 9-11, we've got about twenty. God Bless American Dollars. Little window stickers in the backs of cars, flagpoles, the little flags the kids were waving last night at the parade as they stuffed their faces with candy... it's all so magical (if you're a capitalist). The magnets ordering us to support our troops and the media quashing our viewpoints are SO patriotic it makes me want to...defocate, actually. Interesting how you buy that American flag to show your support of American troops and what we're really supporting is the Chinese or Japanese economy. Remember how you drove to the family gathering for Independence Day? Yeah, you drove your Hummer, your big urban assault vehicle, and they don't even have the courtesy to send you an e-mail... thanks for supporting Saudi Arabian Oil!
If you read this, it is most likely that you'll feel angry. And well you should. You might want to send me an angry message; if there's a comment box on this blog, feel free to use that or send me an email at amarcelon@hotmail.com . However, please refrain from profanity and foul language, and try to spell/capitalize/punctuate correctly or you'll be proving my point. Any emails will not be read if you don't specify in the subject what you're emailing about as I have an exclusive junk mail filter. Also, try to bear in mind that I'm a 15-year-old girl from the Midwest. Thanks.
If you read this, it is most likely that you'll feel angry. And well you should. You might want to send me an angry message; if there's a comment box on this blog, feel free to use that or send me an email at amarcelon@hotmail.com . However, please refrain from profanity and foul language, and try to spell/capitalize/punctuate correctly or you'll be proving my point. Any emails will not be read if you don't specify in the subject what you're emailing about as I have an exclusive junk mail filter. Also, try to bear in mind that I'm a 15-year-old girl from the Midwest. Thanks.
06 July 2005
There's no need to satisfy tonight.
This weekend was awesome! Dan came over from Glidden, which is 4 hours from where I live, and spent the weekend in my dining room. We went to the Jazz Fest in Iowa City, where I was of course flooded with memories of Summer Camp at the Blank Summer Institute last summer. The pedestrian mall where we all made observations for stories, the sidewalk with all the awesome stuff printed in it, the Record Collector... I love Iowa City. Watching the Dubuque fireworks from my uncle's sailboat with Dan was beautiful; as Deep Purple would say, smoke over water and fire in the sky. Dan seemed to enjoy Moondog Music in Dubuque; if you live in that area or are going to that area, go to Moondog. What a great place! Well, I've got about eight minutes left online at the library and I want to update www.modblog.com/sebhar , if you don't mind. Ta!
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