Atari Teenage Riot

This afternoon I discovered a new band called Atari Teenage Riot.  It combines the anger and politics of punk with techno beats.   

After I watched this video, I was totally intrigued.

I really love this song "Revolutionary Action." I love the screaming. I love the symbolism of so many of the workers losing their faces.

There's something much more metal about this song, espeically the intro, though they seem to be doing their classic punk screaming and techno beats.

When it comes to "Dead For Me," there's something about the bass guitar that reminds me of Good Charlotte. (Good Lord, I haven't listened to that band in ages.) I really like that there's a woman in this band. One of the many critiques of punk rock was what a men's scene it is, and so even having one girl around is better than nothing. I don't know who did one of the girl's makeup, but I love the huge almost a black lightning streak going through her face.
It's like the politics of The Matrix was transferred into a soundtrack.

Tea with Mark

Went out for tea with Mark.  He had finished a class in the early afternoon, and I figured that he would have another one in the late afternoon or early evening, but he didn't, so we talked about about four and a half hours.  There are so few people in my life I can talk to for such long periods of time, and Mark is definitely one of them. 
As usual, Mark and I spent a ton of time talking about poetry.  He and some other mutual friends are all right now into Ann Carson, and Mark showed me one of her books.  I had heard of her before, but I had never actually seen any of her poetry.  And I could see why he was showing it to me.  There was something very prosy about it, but also something inherently intellectual and academic.  They were tight little pieces.  He had borrowed the book from a friend, and we both admired her handwriting, which decorated the margins. 
We also talked about book design.  There's this one cover for a poetry book that we both thing is miserably bad.  I told him my idea for an alternative cover, one that did a better job of displaying the title poem and looked prettier. 
"Well, do you ever think about what you'd want your poetry books to look like?" he asked. 
Oh, of course.  I fantasize about it all the time.  I don't think I'm silly enough to believe I'll ever publish a book of poetry, but I think about it. 
"I usually think of the art for the book as being highly related to the content.  So, I'm working on some science-related poems, and I'd like the book to be decorated with old school science drawings, the kind you see in old textbooks." 
Thinking of it, I'd really like to see some of Mark's poetry.  It's been a while since I looked at anything of his, though, the more I think about what I saw, the more impressed I am by it. 
We also reminisced about classes we took.  I confessed that Emily was sort of turned off by the way he use to talk, which maybe I shouldn't have told him.  I followed it up with "But I defended you because you had just changed your major and we're probably still finding your feet," which was how I felt at the time.  Plus, I honestly felt like Emily was being a tad persnickety.  I love Emily, but this was one of the few times I disagreed with her.  Mark wasn't that hard to understand.  
I might have also admitted my momentary annoyance with Mark.  When we first met, I didn't really have any thoughts on him either way, because I didn't know him.  Then he started always sitting with me in class, and because I had lots of friends in this class I found myself wishing he didn't.  But after a week or two I realized I really liked him and that he was my friend.
This this weird tendency around here for things to be super intense super quickly.  Natalie once described this happening to her and Mike.  They met and BAM!  They were best friends.  This was what happened to Mark.  We spent very little time between acquaintance and mutual adoration. 
It was mostly quiet in the tea house, but this punk guy sat down near us for a while, while I probably talked poor Mark's ear off.  
Mark told me a little about his upcoming trip to Germany.  He told me that he had wanted to go to London, but because of the price of hotels, he decided not to.  Instead, he's going to live in a tiny town near the French border.  What exactly he's doing academically, I'm not sure.  He apparently speaks very good German, so I'm hoping that in addition to the usual fun travel stuff (getting to know a new place, meeting new people, speaking the local language) maybe he'll be studying German literature.  There's a lot of important work that was done in both German romanticism and expressionism. 
While we were sitting there, Justin's roommate, came in and said hi.  He recognized me because I had met him recently.
"Are you two dating?" he asked. 
It seems like Mark and I have been getting that one a lot lately.  Mark said no. 
"We're more like work partners," I said, thinking about how frequently we worked on various projects together.  An idea occurred to me.  "We're more like partners in crime," I said.  Justin's roommate sort of chuckled at us for saying that. 
Eventually, I had to cut our chat to an end because I was meeting Gary for sushi down the street.  When Mark had originally asked me for tea, I thought that I would have plenty of time in between tea and sushi.  I was going to go lock myself in a study room and try to write.  But clearly, Mark and I were having so much fun, I almost lost track of time. 
Gary wasn't going to let me though.  About ten minutes before my sushi date, he texted me that he was going to be two minutes late.  That's right: two minutes.  I found this weirdly funny, because I can't think of anyone who texts to say two minutes.  I don't even know if it's necessary to text if it's five, because it seems like everyone I know runs on a minimum five minute late schedule of some kind or another. 
Mark thought this was funny too. 
Three minutes later, Gary texted again to tell me he was going to be on time, and Mark and I both found this funny. 
"He's like that.  One day you'll have to meet him," I said.  I had already told him tons about Jimmy. 

Novel Research

I've been knocking an idea for a novel around in my head for a while.  This afternoon, I sat down and started doing some research for it.  The research gave me all sorts of ideas for things for my characters to do.  I also got some ideas on what kind of setting I want to create.

I think that I am going to have to return to some old classics for some points of canonical reference.  I was thinking of maybe having a certain amount of illness, so I was thinking that maybe I would need to return to the early parts of Jane Eyre where Jane is living in that terrible "Christian" school.  And then I thought about returning to Wide Sargasso Sea, and then after that maybe the Anne of Green Gables novels. 
I've only decided on a few characters, but I know I want there to be a specific group of characters and have all sorts of dramatic things happen to them.  The one character I have decided on has personal motivations and I've already parsed out motivations other characters have concerning her. 
I don't think I'm going to have enough time to write this novel anytime soon, but doing the preliminary work for it is fun.  It sort of feels like day dreaming, only it's all about how I'm going to write something amazing and important.

Tripping Over Myself in Happiness

This afternoon, I was sitting on my computer, doing some writing.  Nina was in and out of the bathroom, doing various things. 
"I am going on a trip," she announced.  "I will arrive on Sunday." 
I paused for a moment.  It occurred to me this morning she might be going somewhere, just because a large bag appeared today at her desk, packed full of things, including her toiletries, which where on the top of the open bag. 
"Do you mean you'll be back here on Sunday?" I asked. 
"Yes."
Okay then, sounds good to me. 
Well, actually, it sounds better than good to me.  It sounds heavenly. 
The only sad thing is that it lands during Claire's birthday weekend.  We're all planning on going out tomorrow in celebration.  On a weekend like this, where I have guaranteed alone time, I would prefer to abuse it but staying in all weekend and enjoying the silence/lack. 
In any case, I'm very pleased with this turn of events. 

"You Kids and Your Social Life"

Tori and Ashley and I spent the afternoon out together.  We ran into Erik, one of the boys we went to school with.  Erik and I had been in a gym class together my senior year.  I knew him because, at the time, he was dating one of my friends.  We had bonded over a mutual love of metal music.  Erik is now at MSU with so many of my other friends, though I don't know what he's studying.  We run into each other sometimes at MSU, but today we ran into each other at my hometown.  It was nice.  He is lucky enough to have a job this summer. 
I came home.  As I was taking off my shoes, my Dad came in.  "You want to get dinner?"
"Can't.  I have to shower and then I am going to see a show with Madison and some other people."
"You kids and your social life."
I've been thinking a lot about my Dad and his social life, or his lack of it.  Everyone else in our house has got stuff to do.  My Mom is running a business, taking care of my Grandma, and getting ready for a convention.  My sister is taking a class and has a job.  I'm working on and off, writing, applying for jobs and internships and catching up with old friends.  My Dad isn't doing any of that.  He mostly just gets up early and watches tv and go out for drives.  I think it's why he balks so much at everyone else being gone.  He has nothing else to really think about, which is why I get such frantic calls from him about what I'm doing.
Because of the time, I had to hurry to get ready.  I showered, ate some dinner (Lemon Rice soup, a favorite of mine), and got dressed.  I had texted Madison to ask what I should wear.  She said just a t-shirt and some jeans.  I was going to go for slightly fancier, since it is always better to be more dressed up than not.  For the first time since my steampunk convention, I used makeup.  I almost never wear makeup, and I'm proud of myself for only using it occasionally. 
Tori came and got me and we went over to Madison's.  When we got there, we found Lisa and Michael sitting in Michael's car outside Madison's house.  We chatted a bit.  Tori felt my arm and was like "Oh!  So soft."  She took my arm and stuck it into the car.  "Feel."  Both Lisa and Michael felt my arm and agreed.  With other people, this might have been a weird thing, but we've been around each other for so long that it didn't really faze me.  It was like when I spent time with Paul.  Paul and I lay all over each other, and neither the two of us or anyone else gets worked up about it.  And, to be fair, Tori, Lisa and Michael are not the first people to comment on my soft arms. 
We went inside and found Madison and her boyfriend Ted hanging out.  I haven't seen Ted since New Years' Eve.  He seems like a pretty cool dude.  Michael wanted to play some piano pieces he's learning, and he did.  He's an amazing piano player.
As we sat around waiting for Ashley, Tori told us that we should have told Ashley a half an hour before we meant her to show.  Ashley is notoriously late, and we almost always run late when we get together because of her.  I once showed up to something a half an hour late myself, and Tori was like "No worries.  You still beat Ashley here."
We sat around and chatted about things.  We talked about Michael's Dad, who drives Michael a little crazy.  I mentioned to everyone that I had met Michael's Dad, but that his Dad didn't acknowledge me, so maybe he doesn't remember me.  Michael laughed and said it was true.

Doctor's Visit

I was getting ready this afternoon to go see my Grandma. I was going to be helping my Mom take her to the doctor's. I was having something to eat in the kitchen, when my sister yelled across the house that Tracey was coming.
"Tracey?" What the hell?
Let me explain: Tracey is one of my Mom's friends. I have mixed feelings on her, but it's unusual she would just come to our house without my Mom being home.
Turns out she was there to get me. And, of course, I wasn't ready. Damn. Tracey was coming to get me because the three cars my family owns were either out, or in one case, on reserve for my sister who was going to use one to get herself to class. (She's taking summer classes.)
I was planning on doing a lot more to get ready (like, you know, brushing my hair), but I didn't want to keep Tracey waiting. Seems rude, since she was doing me a favor.
One of the things I hate about riding in cars with people like that is that I always struggle to make conversation. With one of my friends, it's easy, because we can't get enough of each other. Someone like Tracey, a real adult, who is way older than me and has daughters slightly younger than I, is a totally different game. It's not like talking to Kelly, where we can giggle about how stupid certain other students are, or Paul or Tony, where I can talk to those two about anything.
I went with talking about MSU, since her younger daughter is starting there in the fall. I told her about how much I liked the floor right above where she would be living.
Tracey talked to me about something I had heard of but haven't really looked into much. Her eldest daughter is at U of M, and she was complaining that there were all sort of hard drugs there. Mandy had discussed it to me, but I was never sure how widespread it was. I have friends at or who were once at U of M, and none of them ever talked about it. Of course, they're very hard working, straight-laced people. It's hard to imagine them doing blow off a frat boy's stomach.
The good news is, Tracey thinks that MSU is actually not much of a party school. Truth.
So we took my Grandma to the doctor's. It was mostly fine, but my Grandma was being more annoying than normal. My Grandma kept asking where we were going and why. She really hates going to the doctor. I don't know why. Worst thing that happens is that she gets her arm squeezed when they measure her blood pressure.
I judge waiting rooms by the magazines they have. I'm looking for something good, like Time, Newsweek, National Geographic, Wired. There are lots of other magazines I like to read, but I'm lucky if a waiting room has the first two, let alone something like Mother Jones or The Economist. Best I could find at this waiting room was Elle. Ugh. I'll take it.

Ballbuster

Update today on Grandma: Turns out when we went to see her this afternoon, she didn't go to therapy. That's the entire point of being there. She was in her pajamas, asleep in a chair. My Mom made her change and marched her down there and made her do stuff.
Her therapist is really nice. My Mom mentioned that I had just graduated. "High school?" she asked.
Damn, if only. "No, I just finished up at Michigan State."
I have maintained for a long time that I look younger than I am. When I was in the seventh grade, one nasty piece-of-work eighth grader asked me if I was seven. Even now, I think I easily pass for much younger. When I mentioned this once to Dan, he disagreed with me (in a rare change up for him, it was one of the least diplomatic things he's ever said to me. International relations could use someone like him.) But ha, I'm right, case closed. Even a therapist says so.
But I digress. What's really heartbreaking is how my Grandma has basically given up the will to live. She doesn't want to do anything anymore, even the simple important stuff, like combing your hair or eating or walking. She fought with the therapist the entire time about walking with a walker and using a bike to exercise. At one point, she put her head down and cried. I've never seen her cry. Even when her husband died, her reaction was to be a pain in everyone's ass, take cold medication, harass her godson about his hair follicle situation and yell at her husband's corpse every chance she got.
The therapist asked what she was like when she was younger. "A ballbuster," I thought. I remember her being really harsh, and supposedly, I was a favorite and she softened as she got older. I can only imagine how difficult she was when she was at her prime.
I realized in October that this is one of the few good things about her dementia: it's erased ninety percent of her personality. She's still difficult sometimes, but in sort of a passive way. She just doesn't do whatever you asked her to do, but if you try to have a conversation with her, she'll sort of just tell you what you want to hear and keep on doing whatever. Before, she'd yell and carry on and actively try to make things harder on you. The whole passive thing is frustrating in its own way, but at least you don't get sworn at. In more than one language.
I find myself really annoyed with this whole thing, and then I feel bad because I've done pretty much nothing to help. Not because I didn't want to, mind, but because I was up at school dealing with at least seven other problems, most of them interpersonal. Which is also why I feel guilty about living at home again. I feel like my Mom would really appreciate me not being a layabout. If I was gone, she could at least delude herself into thinking I was being successful.
Also, my Grandma has a roommate at this place, and she irks me even more. The woman plays her tv SO LOUD. Like, it even gives me a headache, and I'm not the kind for headaches and am one of those teenagers who blasted their ears with the likes of Nirvana, AFI, and Alkaline Trio. The hell if I can hear. I would like to read my science book in peace without being distracted by some irritating design show about people with stupid condos who are way overpriced.

Nevermind

Took the afternoon off today to sit outside and read. Mostly, it was fine, but I wasn't out there as long as I initially planned. It was too cold. For at least a week now, I've been eyeing up a bit of grass under some nice trees, thinking I could enjoy myself after my papers were all done. Best laid plans, huh?

Golf Carting

I was on one of my infamous walks this afternoon, and while in between the Union and West Circle, Dragonfly came up behind me in a golf cart. She allowed me to sit in the passenger seat, and we drove all the way to her work headquarters. It was a lovely day, though a bit windy, and Dragonfly looked cute in her hat and pink tee, like a real gardener. We giggled and carried on a bit.
I'm terribly jealous of her new job working the north grounds of campus. I always enjoy manual labor of certain kinds, which is strange because I'm also bookish. Perhaps if I am unable to find a job at home I'll consider coming back here to look. I wouldn't mind doing her job or working maintenance in one of the dorms.