A-Lumpen-Proletariat

The End

2005-10-24T23:22:00.000-07:00

Good bye everybody it was a fun year sharing with you. Unfortunately I feel like I have little or nothing left to share, as you might have already noticed. Maybe closing my meaningless blog will bring meaning in other areas of my life.

Yours Truly and Forever,

A Lumpen Proletariat

Subversive Quote: "Friends applaud, the comedy is over." Beethoven

Retributions of an Insomniac

2005-10-24T00:26:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wonder: “ Why I can’t stand people?”

And sometimes I wonder: “Why I can’t stand myself.”

Nevertheless, I wonder: “What does this come from?”

Yet, it makes me think: “What is really what?”

Then, again, sometimes I wonder: “Am I living my life on purpose?”

But that makes me wonder: “Am I nothing but a ‘new age’ freak?”

So that makes me wonder: “Is this really it?”

And that makes me wonder: “What is really ‘it’?”

So, from now on, whenever you wonder: stop! Don’t get high. It’s truly bad for the sky. Take a glass of red wine—intentionally Bordeaux—and reach the divine.

Subversive quote: “Q: What do you get when you cross an insomniac, agnostic, and a dyslexic? A: Someone who stays up all night wondering if there is a Dog.”

Groucho Marx

Momentum

2005-10-19T21:59:00.000-07:00

The Drought is Over

2005-10-03T23:02:00.000-07:00

Thank you Mr.A

I need not say more.

Subversive quote: "Love is a matter of chemistry, but sex is a matter of physics."

Unknown

To Shinta

2005-08-25T22:52:00.000-07:00

Seven things I plan to do before I die:

Make my parents proud; I haven’t figured out how, yet.
Fall in love.
Learn to play the piano really well.
Live in a foreign country.
Be content with my everlasting existential angst.
Date a guy so good looking that he would make me want to vomit.
Learn to cook really well.

Seven things I can do:

Cook.
Play the piano.
Waste time.
Read till I feel like I can’t feel my eyes or brains.
Enjoy life regardless of existential angst.
Be straight with people.
Always wear really unique shoes. And I don’t mean that in a euphemistic way.

Seven things I can’t do:

Fall in love or feel anything even remotely close to it.
Not offend people. For me it comes naturally.
Have a day go by without obsessing over the state of my skin. I never should of bought the magnifying mirror in the first place!
Not be appalled by the “typical” Persian girl or guy.
Understand conservative or religious people.
Remember to take my medication on time. Ha ha. No I’m not crazy.
Balance.

Seven things that attract me to the opposite sex:

Intelligence.
Dark skin and facial hair.
Strength. Yes, both physical and emotional.
Generosity. I know I’m a feminist but sometimes I could really throw up on the stooges who take advantage of my self-proclamation.
Denial of social norms and conventions. Meaning: I would never be attracted to a doctor, lawyer, or engineer.
Willingness to explore new things. New things could mean a myriad of things.
Respect for family members.

Seven things I say most:

Fuck.
Ciao.
Boos Farsi for kiss.
Becholi. I have no idea what that would be in English, sometimes I doubt I even know what it means in Farsi.
I really need to get laid.
I’m bored.
Why am I here?

Seven celebrity crushes:

Ivo Pogorelich. If you consider a Serbian pianist to be a celebrity.
Seymour Hersh. I know that at this point if your still reading you think that I’m crazy.
Jon Stewart.
Bill Maher. I know that that is sick.
Jack Nicholson.
Nicholas Cage minus the Elvis mania.

Crimes of Passion and the Westside Outlaw

2005-08-23T22:57:00.000-07:00

Tonight something really funny happened but for some reason I have lost my flow-- writing. Everyday I sit to write and nothing. Nothing. Nothing? Nothing!
Tell me Mr. Westside Outlaw: "was my beating so bad?" Sure it was over a gay man but that wasn’t the point.

See, I really have nothing to say.

Subversive quote: "Nobody dies a virgin...because sooner or later life will fuck you."

Anonymous

Hella Funny and Hella True

2005-07-04T14:02:00.000-07:00

You Are 25% American

You're as American as Key Lime Tofu Pie
Otherwise known as un-American!
You belong in Cairo or Paris...
Get out fast - before you end up in Gitmo!

How American Are You?

Pasadena chalk art--what? I do have a life....

2005-07-01T10:27:00.000-07:00

House cleaning: I was gone for such a long time because I have actually had a life since being done with school.

New Graphics: Do you like it? I do. Those who know me might say that I'm really not that girl. But keep in mind this is a tongue and cheek version of me.

The Point: Last Sunday I attended the, Absolute Chalk, art festival in Pasadena. Wow! Did I see some amazing art on the ground and I don't mean that in any sarcastic way. Here are some pictures with captions:

This one is by an Iranian girl who makes me proud of being an Iranian girl. You go sister.

Very Dahli.

I actually voted for this one. Having two cats you can understand why.... I thought this was the most creative in every way.

Pasadena wouldn't be Pasadena without a political piece. This was hella hillarious.

Anybody see the movie: The Swimming Pool. If you have not you should. Great movie. This one was also amazing. Very three dimensional....

There was a lot more but because I don't have a camera I just got what other people emailed to me....

Play

2005-06-05T21:31:00.000-07:00

A few days ago Shinta, a dear friend, tagged me on her blog—www.fruitsofsilence.blogspot.com I still don’t get what tagging means but I really liked the game she started and have decided to answer the same questions she answered on her blog. So here’s to Shinta:

Ten years ago, I…

(1)I lived in Tehran, Iran.
(2)Thought the world would stop turning because my mother married my stepfather.
(3)Thought sex is disgusting and that I would never do it when I grow up.
(4)Thought if I do a lot of pull-ups and stretching, I would grow taller.
(5)Thought I wanted to be a theater actress or pastry chef when I grow up.

Five years ago, I…

(1) Thought I am doomed because I am five foot two.
(2) Decided to be a feminist.
(3) Lost my virginity with my first boyfriend.
(4) Thought I’m not smart and have to make up it by attending an Ivy League school.
(5) Decided I would never ever get married.

Today, I…

(1)Pitied my existence in this world.
(2)Watched an esoteric opera by Prokofiev, The Fiery Angel.
(3)Ate to the point where I felt nauseous.
(4)Got a neck and headache.
(5)Was worried that I might fail all my classes this quarter.

Tomorrow, I will…

(1)Attempt to produce a twenty-page paper.
(2)Go to my piano lesson and pity myself afterwards for not playing well.
(3)Curse myself for spending the best years of my life in a library.
(4)Continue my disdain for my roommate.
(5)Keep my head down in order to avoid eye contact with humanity.

My five all-time favorite songs:

(1)My Funny Valentine, Billy Holiday.
(2)Strange Fruit, Billy Holiday.
(3)Lucy and the Diamond Sky, John Lennon.
(4)Another Brick in the Wall, Pink Floyd.
(5)Emancipate yourself, Bob Marley.

Five things I would do if I had one hundred million dollars:

(1)Live in a palace in Morocco.
(2)Where haute couture clothing but still stay convinced that I’m bohemian.
(3)Buy myself a monkey.
(4)Donate money to help get rid of the current regime in Iran.
(5)Give shit loads of money to the Metropolitan opera and force them to stage obscure operas that are only intellectual abstractions.

Five famous people I want to meet:

(1)Noam Chomsky
(2)Angela Davis
(3)Daniel Barenboim
(4)Cecilia Bartoli
(5)Anthony Hopkins

Self Actualization is not Linear

2005-05-29T16:51:00.000-07:00

Tears gently flow down my face bringing with themselves a tingling sensation to my cheeks. In the span of about two hours I find out that I am not to X what I thought I was. I thought X knows me but X doesn’t even know himself/herself. Openness and honesty don’t get me credit and moments of vulnerability are even held against me as character assassination takes place. What if X is not the only one who sees me like this? What if the Y’s and the Z’s and even the Q’s think the same of me and only play along in the game of charade that we call life. I took the leap of faith that the father of existentialism, Kierkegaard, always talked about, but I fell in a ditch. I dared to feel but the feeling ended with emptiness. But I refuse to stop feeling; I will feel and feel again and again. I am strong. I am strong enough to be happy with knowing what I never thought that I didn’t know. The tears turn to graceful laughter.

Subversive quote: “For only one deception is possible in the infinite sense, self-deception.” Soren Kierkegaard

Sublimated Libidinal Desires and the Opacity of Sexual Intercourse

2005-05-26T20:58:00.000-07:00

The title speaks for itself.

Ten signs that I’m narcissistic and super lazy

2005-05-23T13:29:00.000-07:00

1) Whenever I have long bouts of depression I remind people that it’s because I’m like Beethoven, I have long dry spells, followed by periods where I produce a large amount of beyond excellent work.
2) Whenever I get a 98 on a paper instead of 100 because my paragraphs were too “long” I remind my professors that Hemingway’s paragraph’s were also very long.
3) When I can’t start a paper and hand it in late I tell people I need to first hear the tempo in my head, like Virginia Woolf.
4) When people ask me what I'm going to do with a PhD in Musicology I lie and tell them it doesn’t matter because I’m a trust fund baby.
5) When I get a B instead of an A I tell people its because I really know more than everyone who got A’s and that the testing system is faulty.
6) I always use intellectual catch phrases when I have no clue what I’m talking about. It’s amazing that it even works with my professors. “That music was so sublime…cerebral, although, ephemeral…it was an experience pushing the boundaries of tonality with all its aesthetic premises and intellectual might…. ”
7) I have only been sexually attracted to two people in the past year—now that’s being lazy.
8) I stop calling and seeing the people I know for months at a time and justify it by claiming my temperament is similar to that of Shell Silverstein’s.
9) I purposefully end sentences in academic papers with prepositions to annoy the fuck out of my professors. Reminding them that Churchill always did and liked it.
10) Never actually finishing anything, including but not limited too this list—as a kind of fuck you if you will.

HEY!

2005-05-19T22:40:00.000-07:00

You Are 23 Years Old

23

Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe.

13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world.

20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences.

30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more!

40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

What Age Do You Act?

No way. I thought I always act older than my age. People have even stopped carding me for about a year now. Shine thinks its because I order Scotch instead of Sex on the Beach...This sucks and I felt all grown up?

2005-05-17T18:56:00.000-07:00

There are some things that simply cannot be said, at least I can’t say them. What happens when you really want someone, and they’re right in front of you, but you don’t have the “balls” to tell them? There are two potential outcomes after you spill your guts: either the person will give a negative response, which is fine, or a positive one which is even finer because it leads to getting laid. Who doesn’t want that?

Salute Toreador

2005-05-17T17:50:00.000-07:00

A cliché: I must say having good friends is a blessing from God.

Thank you for giving me back my identity Shine (fixing my blog.) You prevented a nervous breakdown, God Bless. If there is anything, and I mean anything, I could do to repay your generosity let me know.

Subversive quote: “Friends are like bras: close to your heart and there for support.”

Anonymous

I am, I am, with Mr. Invisible

2005-05-09T19:31:00.000-07:00

Your Love Style is Eros

For you, love is all about the passion!

And chances are, you're currently in love.

You have a strong physical response to love...

And you are great at committing

(As long as the person makes your toes curl!)

What's Your Love Style?

2005-05-09T19:27:00.000-07:00

You May Be a Bit Borderline ...

Your mood swings make a roller coaster look tame!

When you're up, you're a little bit crazy...

And when you're down, your whole world is crashing

Scary thing is, these moods can change by the minute!

What Personality Disorder Are You?

Sorry about the all the quizes its just that I'm really bored and lazy so its all I can do at the moment...

The Martyrdom of Barbie

2005-05-09T13:34:00.000-07:00

“Vy vould you cut your hair, you knov hov many peopl enjoy lookeeng at your hair evereday?”

And that was what my dear friend said, in his Persian accent, over breakfast. Why would I cut my hair? It is one of the few things that I really love about myself; long, curly, with subtle blonde highlights (subtle blonde highlights is meant to be an oxymoron.) It’s the one thing I always get complements on. On more than one drunken occasion I have had guys tell me that they would love to “fuck” me while pulling my hair. Should I be flattered?
I have had long hair most of my life accept when I was in the first grade, when for some weird reason my mom thought it would be cool to shave my head!
It takes me about an hour everyday to manage my hair, is it really worth the time? I can spend that hour practicing, studying, reading, etc. And this made me think how much time we women spend on nonsense like hair. Till when in history, will we collectively as women be subject to shaving, bleaching, waxing, dieting, lightening, darkening, cutting, tanning, and just obsessing.
Every time I get my highlights redone I spend at least four to five hours in the salon and my pocket is considerably lighter considering I only trust hairdressers in the 90210 vicinity. So, yesterday I put my feministic faith to the test and chopped all my hair off, not to mention at Super Cuts. Twenty dollars and my hair is about ten cm shorter. I must admit, this new hair do is going to take time getting used to but surly it will give me back my much needed precious time. I wonder does society subject men to spending hours fixing and taming their locks? Still, I’m not going to give up waxing, after all I’m still a woman…

Subversive quote: “Feminism encourages women to leave their husband, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism, and become lesbians.”

Rev. Pat Robertson, 1992 Republican Convention

2005-05-05T00:48:00.000-07:00

Your Seduction Style: The Coquette

You are a pro at playing the age old game of hard to get.
Your flirting style runs hot and cold, giving just enough to keep them chasing you.
Independent and self-sufficient, you don't need any one person to make you compelte.
And that independence is exactly what makes people pursue you.

What Is Your Seduction Style?

Posthumous Homage to Honda

2005-05-04T19:50:00.000-07:00

Skid; shock; and the single second were you question if its all over. One totaled car later and I’m still here but my Honda no longer will be. My old white car will be gone forever. The car that never let me down, in rain or in snow. Well, not really, it stopped four times in one year and it doesn’t snow in Southern California. But I will always remember my first car, even now that it is gone. Good bye…good bye.

2005-05-04T18:59:00.000-07:00

You Are 35% Normal

(Occasionally Normal)

You sure do march to your own beat...

But you're so weird, people wonder if it's a beat at all

You think on a totally different wavelength

And it's often a chore to get people to understand you

How Normal Are You?

2005-05-04T18:38:00.000-07:00

Take the quiz at dicepool.com

2005-05-04T18:31:00.000-07:00

Your Inner European is Russian!

Mysterious and exotic.

You've got a great balance of danger and allure.

Who's Your Inner European?

Trousseau

2005-04-27T21:12:00.000-07:00

I have this colleague in the musicology department that’s the epitome of perfection. I look at her in awe and ask how can somebody be so perfect? She's a double major in history/music history, has a 4.0 GPA, and is a member of every possible honor society that exists. She’s trying to get her worked published next year in the school research journal—she has stiff competition, yours truly. She's active in a sorority. Not that there is any honor being in a sorority but I have to give her a gold star for doing so many things and doing them all so effortlessly.
Today she said in her voice that’s never devoid of hubris: “I’m going to be taking four classes this summer…I never get any breaks. Plus every quarter I have been taking 23 units.” I asked her why she does this to herself and (G)od I wish I hadn’t heard the answer. She told me she is pushing herself to finish in four years and finish well so that she can attend an Ivy League grad school with her boyfriend on the East Coast. Apparently if she doesn’t finish on time her boyfriend would leave without her. Wow! So that’s the motivation behind being a great student. As the cliché goes: no comment.

Subversive quote: “The hardness of the butter is directly proportional to the softness of the bread.” Anonymous

2005-04-26T20:32:00.000-07:00

The ten most romantic or sensual or erotic movies:

1. The Lover
2. The Quiet American
3. Cinema Paradisio
4. Talk to Her
5. The Door in the Floor
6. Baran
7. The Dreamers
8. Il Postino
9. Mulholland Drive
10. The English Patient

And this is in no specific order.

You can tell my life has become so boring that I have to make bloglists instead of my usual ranting.

2005-04-25T16:50:00.000-07:00

I feel like crying. I need to cry. I feel it in my throat but the tears won't fall. What happens when one can't cry?

Whore-moans

2005-04-25T15:39:00.000-07:00

If I have one more recurring erotic dream I swear to (G)od I’m going to get up in the middle of the night and start screaming naked in the streets.

Catatonic

2005-04-14T21:04:00.000-07:00

Spring is in full bloom leading into summer and once again instead of falling in love depression revisits me. I do nothing but stay in my room reading and occasionally lying to myself, thinking that what is scribbled in my notebook can actually be called writing. I have stopped practicing the piano completely. And interestingly it doesn’t even bother me. My academic writing has become meaningless. Only one thing this quarter has kept me alive, and that is my Thursday three to five class. My professor, who is also an esteemed LA Times critic, teaches us how to “mentor the public in the arts.” Finally a class where I can lay my hidden complexes, or maybe not so hidden, onto paper by unapologetically claiming that: “Yes, I’m smarter than you. So, I will decide what you should like and even transubstantiate that into what can really be accepted as ‘art’.”
Each and every one of the cells in my body scream: enough. I have started to sleep less and drink again. Hey at least I’m not smoking. Most people disgust me, my roommate more than anyone else. As time passes it seems she becomes more and more repulsive. I try not to look at her in fear that I might vomit. I wonder if I was on an acid trip when I agreed to be her roommate. I hope this depression episode will leave me soon. Maybe all I need is a good lover. It is starting to worry me that I am so comfortable and even joyous with being alone. People simply drain me. Although, in truth, I have long been drained.

Subversive quote: “Dying is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say I’ve a call.” Sylvia Plath

Martyred Butterflies*

2005-04-12T23:07:00.000-07:00

As we sat in the minivan, driving, the front window gradually but steadily turned into a Jackson Pollack. Splat. It sounded like someone was throwing paintballs at a glass canvas--orange, yellow, and maybe even for the keen eye, ochre. It wasn’t paint, though. They were just martyred butterflies. As we went on with our discussions about life and the meaning of it they died, one by one and two by two. Still: we laughed and talked. One of the butterflies escaped the gouache effect, and trapped itself in the windshield wiper, imprinting a permanent draconian visage into my psyche. Stuck, its wings flutterd with our speed.
My friend told me that the reason there are so many butterflies is because they’re migrating. It made me wonder how many of us are martyred, whether figuratively or literally, when we migrate. When we want or need to start things anew. Growing up they taught us that a worm morphs into a butterfly. But what happens next?
Maybe we too are just splat on the canvas.

Subversive quote: “ In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.” Robert Frost

*On my return home from a weekend in the mountains, with friends…

FINALS OVER!

2005-03-24T19:10:00.000-08:00

I feel like this after two weeks os finals. What do you feel like after finals?

Subversive quote: "I am always doing that which I can not do, in order that I may learn how to do it." Pablo Picasso

The Abyss-The Past

2005-03-21T20:00:00.000-08:00

The X called from San Diego and asked me to go pick him up so he could come stay with me. I said no. But this small part inside of me regrets it. I mean even if I vomit again the food might taste good…He has decided he is mad at me now and won’t talk to me. He says he came this close and I refused to even go see him. O well…

Subversive quote: “Although the fish come from the sea it doesn’t mean they don’t need salt.” My best friend at UCLA, A.K.A. Jesus Boy

Who Am I, Really?

2005-03-20T00:14:00.000-08:00

Tonight a man I am very fond of told me that I projected the image of innocence. He said that I project the image of purity or, from what I understood, a nun. He said that although he could figure out people by the way they play the piano he could never figure me out…. This entry is an attempt to portray who I see myself to be. And I admit that it is subjective.

-I am not innocent or anything close to a nun. I am proud to say I habitually watch and enjoy porn made for women or shall I use the politically correct euphemism “erotica.” I have visited a sex shop in the past, more than once.
-I have kissed three girls and although did not particularly enjoy it I thought it was adventurous. In addition to that I have had a one-night stand just because I felt like it.
-I love to masturbate. Being somewhat the naïve village philosopher I used to think masturbation was pointless because it was not teleological. I later found out that sex is not a place for my asinine philosophical meanderings. I love masturbating and think I wouldn’t survive the pressure of my demanding school if it weren’t for my own sexual creativity--feel free to use your imagination.
-I love philosophy. It all started with a charmingly simple book I read when I was about thirteen or fourteen, “Sophie’s World.” The ending of that book put me in a state of awe that still to this day has not worn off.
-I wish I were rich so I could see an opera every night of the week. I dream of one day visiting and seeing an opera in Bayreuth. I’m obsessed with opera and all 19th and 20th century art music, I specifically love Scriabin and Boulez. I also have a sick fixation with the colors Miles Davis produced and Gypsy Jazz.
-When I was a little girl I never felt like I wanted to be princess or a bride but I was certain that I wanted to be a queen.
-I am not religious but for about a year now I have been reading the New Yorker (every single issue) as if it were the bible. I am fascinated by cynicism and sarcasm.
-I am not a politician. What you see is what you get.
-I hate it when people ask me what a word means every two seconds. I genuinely envy the people who are ignorant and sincerely believe that they live happier lives. I fear my ego when I say things like I just did.
-I am terrified not of death but of dying. I always think I might die any second and hence think I need to get as much done as possible.
-I hope I can succeed at what I do and make my parents proud. I love my parents so much I feel like they are my veins.
-I never became a feminist after reading Gloria Steinem but I did after reading the biography of Catherine the Great (although poorly translated in Farsi.)
-I always feel like an outsider and take pride in that.
-I secretly enjoy reading books on grammar and that really worries me.
-I don’t like wine even though I have put an effort into understanding it. I love good beer and gin. I have gotten drunk on tequila a myriad to many times.
-Although I tell people I am not a romantic in secret I yearn for a man who will shower me with grand gestures and tell me how much he loves me. The thing I miss most about having a lover is sleeping in their embrace.
-I don’t believe anything is real. I think that word shouldn’t even exist. Sometimes I think so much I either walk or drive in the wrong direction for hours before I notice what I am doing.
-I think my biggest flaw is that I think I should get whatever I want.
-In the end I think this is all bullshit and who am I, really?

Subversive quote: “Hence the soul is nothing intrinsically real, nor is the body either; each of them exists in time only in and through the other. The only element of an individual thing that is intrinsically real is the identity of soul and body. Furthermore, the soul is not anything that is intrinsically real, since it exists only through its relative opposition to the body.” F.W.J. Schelling

2005-03-16T09:36:00.000-08:00

I dreamt of him again and this is what it looked like.

Subversive quote: "Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of our lives."
William Dement

Surrealisms Turned Real

2005-03-14T21:48:00.000-08:00

My x-boyfriend or shall we say my first “love” just called me on the telephone. The boy who wanted to marry me in Iran is here in a city five hours away from me. I thought things like this only happened in movies… What am I supposed to do now? Am I actually supposed to see him? This is scary. He wants to come visit me. I don’t want to see him. Should I say thanks for coming to the other side of the planet but I’m all penciled in for now?

Subversive quote: “Never befriend or get back together with an X. If you go to a restaurant thinking it has good food and then puke all night would you ever go back there?”

A-Lumpen-Proletariat

Bittersweet Confections of Intellectual Chagrin

2005-03-14T21:19:00.000-08:00

Last Saturday I went to my first musicology conference. Unassumingly titled “The Fourth Annual Women in Music Festival.” It was exciting. I was actually starting to feel like a professional, a feeling foreign to me. Everything felt right for the first time, I felt like a musician. The experience was bittersweet. Isn’t every first experience? Just remember the first time you had sex…
My old piano teacher, a zealous feminist, who doesn’t color her hair or wear any makeup at age fifty, was the one who invited me to the conference. The colour locale was made up of former bra burners turned relics, and new generation feminists still afraid of using the word post-feminism. Nonetheless, I was attacked by my own. Yes, the feminists attacked me, like ravage dogs they did. Their cynical attacks were the result of my own innocence, honesty, and naïveté, thinking they would embrace me for not who I should be, but who I have become. The story goes as follows:

Graduate student: “So what is your area of focus right now?”

Victim (me): “Wagner and nineteenth century aesthetics?”

Old professor in sudden state of shock: “Do you know he was a Nazi?”

Graduate Student: “Could you find anybody who hated women more than him?”

Composer in disbelief that an outsider had penetrated their click: “What! Could you repeat that?”

Old Professor in dismay: “This is all news to me. I mean what happened to you?”

For just a moment I was ready to scream: “You low-life, pretentious, shallow, bantering bitches, leave me the fuck alone. Go ahead. Live in your made up, mythical, fantasyland, wishful thinking world filled with composers like, Lili Boulanger, Ruth Crawford Seeger, and Amy Beach.”
Don’t get me wrong. I love all the “women composers.” Do I find their music worth my serious scholarship? In all honesty, no, I don’t.
With a nervous laugh and the aggressive hindered in my voice, I said: “I must disagree about your understanding of Wagner’s view towards women.” The moment I said that I heard the heaviness of their silence cut through the air. I won’t bore you. The discussions went well into to the night, dinner, and even after the conference ended.
The highlight of my night was when I got to meet Joan Towers, the famous “woman” composer. I also heard a great ensemble, “The Eighth Blackbird,” perform new music by women composers.
At the end I laughed at the dogma of my cohorts. In that laughter came the moment of self-actualization: I realized there is nothing in this world that I would rather do than this. I am a music lover.

Subversive quote: “Mr. Wagner has beautiful moments but bad quarter’s of an hour.”
Gioacchino Rossini

Why I love My Parents :

2005-03-09T22:15:00.000-08:00

My mother found me a date! She feels so sorry for me that she’s decided to take the matters of my love life into her own hands. Should I be happy or cry? But really, this is sad.
…

If it were not for my father I would have probably quit school a hundred times by now. I called him up today and said: "I have decided to change my major." He asked me why. I gave him a hundred reasons. He being the father that he is, said: "Get of your usual bullshit that gets you out of facing hard times and go do your music theory homework!"

How do parents know their kids so well? I was freaked out that he knew my somewhat sophisticated ramblings where to cover up my laziness and victimization more than anything else. Nevertheless, why does my mom care so much about my happiness? I don't believe in reincarnation but if it exists I must have done something rite to get such great parents.

Subversive quote: “When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much he had learned in 7 years.” Mark Twain

Amused and Bemused

2005-03-08T22:08:00.000-08:00

Today I thought to myself: "Is this the music department of a major university or a mental asylum?" The scenery I saw at school today made me wonder: "Are stereotypes true?" I was sitting by the library door finishing my bucket of latte-mocha-lait-fair-trade-chai-red-eye-extra-shot-of-bullshit, the drink that keeps me awake with only five hours of sleep a night, when I was observing the weirdo’s that are my classmates, friends, and future colleagues. The first thing I noticed was the fact a gorgeous man—the kind that makes a girl wet—in his fifties was cascading up and down his guitar painting images of Spain. I mean can it get anymore cliché than this. I don’t understand why the guitarists always have to play in the hallways. What happened to the old-fashioned thing we used to call, quote, practice room, unquote? The next thing I saw was the 28-year-old school conductor flirting with my classmate. She is a soprano, wears too much makeup, and bears too much midriff--use your imagination. Jesus! Get a room, in this case a backstage would work equally well, if not better. This was the second cliché of the day. Then this guy with a piercing red t-shirt and spiked hair on one of those weird tiny scooters was scootering around the hallway singing an aria in his falsetto range repeatedly asking me: "Do you think I’m cute? Do you think I’m cute?" He did this four or five times before leaving.
Are stereotypes true? Are all musicians just a bunch of weirdo’s who have lost touch with reality? Even if it is it doesn’t matter to me. After all I’m going to grow up to be a musicologist; the rational one who explains things and brags about writing a new book every year. I will have verbose titles that obfuscate the fact that I have nothing to say. Such as: "The Refashioning of Subjectivities in Post-Modern Hermeneutics" or "Hubris and demolition, Tristan and Isolde: reinterpreting Wagner and the End of Music" or even better since I will be going into philosophy and music, "Reconstructing Mystical and Metaphysical Aesthetics: Busoni and Scriabin A Sketch of Two Musical Outsiders," "The Mad Women in Opera: Salome and Lucia a Post-Feminist perspective," and so forth. Maybe if I’m lucky enough I will become one of those agent provocateurs who receive death threats for the articles they have written. Yes. Believe it or not we have a musicologist on campus that has gotten a death threat for an article she wrote on J.S. Bach. I mean, really, who would have thought that claiming Bach was not religious and was just being "religious" to get a paycheck would create so much controversy? Or maybe I will end up becoming one of those bitter music critics who really wanted to become a performer but ended up making good money telling people what to like. Who knows? I will stop rambling as you can see I’m sleepy and have nothing to say…*

Subversive quote: "I have played over the music of that scoundrel Brahms. What a gift less bastard!" Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky

*This post was written with my tongue firmly planted in my cheek.

New Apartment

2005-03-03T00:49:00.000-08:00

Today I got a new place for next year, school year that is. I know it's not until October that I move in, but I'm already excited. Finally I will be living alone. As strange as this seems I think I have wanted to live alone since I was in junior high. Just to think that my roommate won't be across me every night making annoying reductive remarks about life and relationships fills me with glee.
No more cheesy pictures on the other side of the room. No more poster of Homer Simpson abhorrently juxtaposed against my poster of the opera Salome. No more schoolgirl bed sets which carry slogans like: “It’s all about me” or “Perfect Flirt.” No more cabinets full of Campbell soup. The freezer will no longer be filled with airplane food--fettucini alfredo ready in 1 minute? No one to say: "O' so where were you?" I thought I moved out of my parent’s home to not hear that anymore. No more listening to Advil Lavigne; yes, I know its really Avril, but her singing makes me want to take Advil. No one who has a collection of plastic bags from different grocery stores; I know it's good to save and recycle bags, but they’re so aesthetically displeasing when there pilled up in different corners of the room. No more smell of garlic early in the morning--use your imagination. No more condom rappers accidentally left in the middle of the room. No more scent of cheap tacky perfume--Glow by J-Lo.
There will be, however, a collection of Gardenias and Narcissus, which I will probably manage to kill in a month or so. I've done it so many times it’s now become a hobby. My bed sheets will be as white and crisp as January’s dawn. There will be a poster of Maria Callas. Weird exotic candles with names such as Kama and Sutra will be abundant. I will also have a poster of Einstein or maybe Planck. I haven't decided if I like the creator or destroyer. Anyways which is which and what is what? I will definitely have a poster of "Ceci n'est pas une pipe." I will never keep frozen food in my freezer. I will have Persian ice cream instead. I will keep fruit on my table just like a good Iranian should. So, when my friends visit, I can say: "Why aren't you eating anything?" And I will only say this after they have already finished eating all the fruit. I will never, let me say this more emphatically NEVER EVER keep Bud-Light in the fridge. Do expect some brand of Heffewiezen. I will also keep a bottle of mature and titillating red wine, just in case I decide to take a lover. Of course, I will have an array of good music.
Please do come visit me.

Subversive quote: "Solitude: a sweet absence of looks.”
Milan Kundera

Solipsism In Toto

2005-03-01T21:10:00.000-08:00

Since Monday morning I decided no matter what happens I’m going to choose to be happy. It won’t matter if I get a C or D on music theory homework. It won’t matter that I’m underfucked. It won’t matter that my paper on aesthetics and Wagner’s opera, Tristan and Isolde, isn’t coming along. It won’t matter if my roommate wakes me up three times a night. It won’t matter that she constantly gets laid and I don’t. It won’t matter if I don’t feel like practicing the piano. I choose, not only to be OK, but also be happy with whatever my life is or isn’t.
It has been a strange experience. I have felt so good that things have actually reversed. I have been practicing the piano again. And I was astonished to realize that I love music theory. I think my professor is one of the funniest professor’s I have ever had. I mean who is lucky enough to have a professor who relates music theory--at times a tedious subject--to sex.
Yesterday he was explaining the difference between modulation and tonicization. Tonicization 1, he explained, is just like a one-night stand. It’s brief. You get in and out quickly—no pun intended. In music you only briefly or better said momentarily visit a new tonal area. Tonicization 2 is like a boyfriend or girlfriend. It’s good while its there, but you realize it wont work forever. In music this is hanging around in a new key for a while, but realizing you want to go back to where you were. Modulation is marriage. It gives the appearance that things are permanent. Be careful even in marriage there is a possibility of divorce! And I thought I didn’t like music theory.
The most surreal part of my Monday was when I was driving on Santa Monica and I suddenly realized that about six or seven traffic lights in the direction I was driving where green. It looked like a scene from one of those pseudo-scientific-spiritual-movies that have become popular lately. For some reason it reminded me of that great movie, What the Bleep Do We Know. I loved that movie. Please see this film if you haven’t. In all, I have come to the conclusion that I need to stop whining and enjoy the fact that I have got it so great.

Subversive quote: “What can’t I change? What am I addicted to? What will I lose that I’m chemically attached to? What person, place, thing, time or event, that I’m chemically attached to, do I not want to lose, because I may have to experience the chemical withdrawal from it?
Hence the human drama.”

Dr. Joseph Dispenza

Interesting...

2005-02-25T12:06:00.000-08:00

Take this quiz to find out what villain you are: http://www.liquidgeneration.com/quiz/villain_quiz.asp

I cant believe I'm Hannibal!

Subversive quote: "If you are going through hell, keep going."
Sir Winston Churchill

Belated Thank You to W

2005-02-25T02:07:00.000-08:00

I just want to take this moment to thank our president who up until now I had despised so vehemently. You might be wondering where the enlightenment came from. Well the explanation is quite simple. You see I hated our President because I thought his economic insensibilities would leave me with a financial future as shady as his gray hair. His denial of the environment being in danger is just like Cheney storing his lesbian daughter in a closet, like a piece of old furniture.
But, really who cares about all this liberal propaganda when we get heavy rainfall in Southern California, during February. I mean lets just be positive like are fellow Republicans (who are always glibly happy) and imagine we are living in Costa Rica. Seeing sunshine in the morning, pouring rain at noon, sun showers in the afternoon, a deluge when we are asleep, can it get any better? Aren’t we lefty’s being ungrateful. I mean sure maybe a few people get killed from mudslides. Yes there have been more accidents on the freeways. But it’s not his fault that he doesn’t believe in global warming. I mean he is just trying to be optimistic. After all if we disrespect him we would be disrespecting the troops.
In all, I’m just an old-fashioned gal who loathes, oops, I mean loves her president.

Subversive quote: "I was raised in the West. The West of Texas. It's pretty close to California. In more ways than, Washington D.C., is to California."
President Bush or King George the II

Slap in the Face and Glimpse of Hope

2005-02-23T19:02:00.000-08:00

Why am I so quick to judge? Why do I run to cash my chips so quickly? After a slue of depressing midterm grades, relentlessly, one after the other, I was ready to run with what I didn't have. Today was the last test. Scream. Two weeks of exams I feel I have gone through childbirth. I guess the intensity is somewhat sublime, though.
Today I talked to my "Renaissance Music" professor. I felt so bad after I found out how much she is willing to help me, considering how much I hated her. I actually persuaded her that she should let me retake the midterm in the form of a research paper and that she should offer extra credit. I have always been proud of my persuasion but today I really didn't think my charm would cut it for me. I got her to a point where she was convinced that I must get an A. Not only that, once I started talking about things she was so eager to help me even I started to get surprised and excited. She asked me about my plans and we found out that she knows the person I want to do my graduate work with. She said if things go well she could talk to her for me. I guess I shouldn't judge people so quickly. Something I do to often. Whatever...I’m just a bitch. I guess its part of the charm.

Subversive quote: “In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.” Albert Camus

Music Theory Revisited

2005-02-16T22:42:00.000-08:00

Music theory is like I’m tied to a moving car and being dragged along on the heated asphalt, in summer. I'm trying to untie myself. I just hope I can before I get killed...

Subversive quote: "One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one’s work is terribly important."
Bertrand Russell

Myself in the Future?

2005-02-15T22:49:00.000-08:00

Today I finally found out why I don’t like my “Music of the Renaissance” professor, this quarter. The reason is both scary and strange.
From the second I saw this women I knew I didn’t like her. From day one she annoyed the fuck out of me. But I couldn’t figure out why. Some days she annoyed me so much I would think of elaborate reasons to go and complain about her to the chair of my department. Yes, I’m a bitch. I thought we already knew that. Today I finally realized the real reason I don’t like her. I’m terrified I’m going to become her. I see myself so similar to her its scary and frankly I don’t like what I see. She always wears safe and demure clothing and seems to have an eternal affinity to earth tones. Her style is somewhat chic but she desperately try’s to look older than she is because she feels no one respects her—she is only thirty. We have the exact same hair color, the exact same cut, and the curly hair to go with it. She try’s to be funny but no one gets her deadpan humor. People get annoyed by the fact that she thinks what she’s doing should be as important to other people as it is to her. She desperately tries to convince everyone that she’s an intellectual by dropping words like raison d’etre, a priori, and zeitgeist. She makes references ranging to anything from Plato to Foucault. But, the doubt in her voice makes her seem pretentious rather than convincing. She always narcissistically thinks she needs to let us know what her area of interest is even when it has nothing to do with lecture: “the metaphysics and portrayal of the voice in 19th century piano music.” Thanks, but lets get the 15th and 16th century down first. Will I become her? I hope not…

Subversive quote: “If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is a part of yourself. What isn’t part of ourselves doesn’t disturb us.”
Herman Hesse

An Open Letter to Cupid

2005-02-14T20:22:00.000-08:00

Dear Cupid,

You make me nauseous. I don't like you! You scare me; tiny, asexual, wings, bow and arrow. You're the embodiment of prudish Victorian nonsense. On Valentines day: roses, cheesy cards, pink bears, tacky lingerie, cheap champagne...I decline. I'm terrified of all things pointy so don't aim at me. Or better yet, point you’re arrow at those ugly red shinny balloons that are shaped like a heart. Pop.
The last time I had a boyfriend on Valentines Day he gave me a doll. I guess the F*&$#@R thought I was a little girl. Needless to say, the next day, I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore. Yes I'm bitter and yet I'm excessively proud. But, if you do decide to point you’re arrow to someone and consequently to me, let me explicitly state what I'm looking for.

-He must be tall, strong, and readily willing to scoop me up so I can see the world from a tall and strong perspective. No romantic bullshit (in the bedroom I like it rough.)

-He must appreciate my insecurities and claim them to be a part of my humility and grace. He doesn’t necessarily have to be a feminist but it would help if he didn’t think all women are out there to get him because he’s a manifestation of God on earth.

-He must be smart and have a higher than average IQ; his EQ can be low. Actually I would prefer him moody and crazy.

-He must court me and be romantic yet be obscure and creative. In other words: NO RED ROSES.

-It would be delicious if he shared my obsession for fine food, philosophy, music and esoteric cinematic experiences. No more guys that ask me: “Sorry I don’t know what that means. Who’s Derrida?” In layperson’s terms no airheads who their main priority is the car they drive and maintaining six-packs.

-Please no skinny legs. Been there done that and it wasn’t working for me. Lets say MEN only, at least on most days.

-No one who works out more than I do. I only work out an hour and half a day.

-Please no more dates that end up being like cursory job interviews. No more men who think they have the right to order my dinner, ah the republicans. No more stalkers who keep on calling after I have explicitly stated that I have no interest in them. And no more facetious jerks who think just because I’m open-minded about certain things they can jam their tongue down my throat after a cup of coffee.

This list will suffice for now. I don't want to push it.
…
Subversive quote: “Love is like a piano dropped from a forth story window, and you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Ani di Franco

Reverie*

2005-02-13T10:37:00.000-08:00

Last night I had a dream of him. I dreamt we were making out. O' it was so good. Why did I have to wake up? Don't you hate when that happens. I wish the dream had led to sex. O well maybe next time. What if we could choose are dreams and live in them. What would be so wrong with that? Everybody would get what he or she wants that way. How amazing! ...Why can't I just have what I want, in real life? Good question.

Subversive quote: "I think we dream so we don't have to be apart so long. If we're in each others dreams, we can be together all the time."

Hobbes

*To my readers: accept my profuse apology for the fact that this is not my usual cynical style of writing. I feel like a teenybopper writing this. But it happened, so, be it.

g(G?)od Should'nt Masturbate at 2 : 30 am

2005-02-11T02:30:00.000-08:00

I have a midterm today at 10 am. I have been in the library since yesterday afternoon. I want to go home but I can't because God has decided to masturbate again. I left my umbrella in my apartment and for some fucked up reason I decided to wear sandals today. I don't want my feet to get wet. And honestly, I'm also afraid to go home. I told my roommate that I would spend the night here in the library so she's probably having a ménage a trois. Ah! Good Times.

Subversive quote: "Sleep--those little slices of death, how I loathe them."

Edgar Allen Poe

Culprit Identified

2005-02-10T17:56:00.000-08:00

Last night I found out who purchased a vibrator and decided to leave the box in the elevator. It was my next-door neighbor. He told me he bought it for his x-girlfriend who recently dumped him. I thought his choice was very creative. It reminded me of the black tulip Masons would send to someone to let them know they where going to die. Was it the Masons who did that or the mafia? I can't remember. Who cares they're both the same. To bad I forgot to ask him why he left the box and warranty in the elevator...

Subversive quote: "If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared."

Niccolo Machiavelli

Overworked and Underfucked*

2005-02-09T20:40:00.000-08:00

Today I woke up at 5:30 am to finish my theory homework. When I woke up I saw my roommate and an unidentified male in her bed. I started swearing at everything: "Fuck music theory--fuck life--fuck sequences--fuck the harmonic paradigm..." I did some work then went back to bed. I woke up at 8:30 swearing again. Music theory was really getting on my nerves. I went on till 12 noon when I went to my professor and suddenly burst into tears. He probably thinks I’m psychotic. I kept on saying: "I can't do this--no matter what I do its not turning out write--I have never been so upset over homework..." He looked at my work: first page then the second page. He looked at me and said: "I don't know how to say this--how to break this to you, but this is all correct. You are letting you’re insecurities get the best of you." He couldn't stop laughing. I, of course, was so embarrassed not only did I burst into tears over homework I also did it for no reason. Me the tough girl cried over homework in front of the most popular theory professor on campus.
The big joke was when I got home. I saw an empty vibrator box in the elevator. I wonder whom it was that thought: "I'm going to leave the empty box of my vibrator in the elevator." The person had also left the warranty. That’s bad. Imagine you’re vibrator not working in the middle of masturbating and on top of that not having you’re warranty card to call and bitch about it. “ Hi. I’m calling in regards to a vibrator I purchased from your company. Just before climax it stopped working. This is really unacceptable. I have been sexually traumatized. I ought to sue your company.” I can't imagine…

Subversive quote: "The only unnatural sexual act is that which you cannot perform."
Alfred Kinsey

*This title has been taken by one of the best-written blogs I have read so far. Here’s the address: http://offkilter.blogspot.com/

I quit

2005-02-09T01:42:00.000-08:00

Fuck this and fuck music theory. I can't stand this anymore. I have been fucking working on the fucking harmonizations since this afternoon and I'm still not done. And I know they are wrong. Why does he fucking give us a melodic line that will trick us. Fuck him to the power of n. I can't do this anymore. Graduate work should be stressful. Isn't the life of an undergrad supposed to be about sex, drugs, and rock and roll? Somebody rescue me or else I'm going to have to fucking quit school. Help. Help. Help. Maybe working at: "would you like fries with that?” isn't so bad.

Subversive quote: "Education is a progressive discovery of our own ignorance."

Will Durant

Facades and Soliloquies

2005-02-06T11:08:00.000-08:00

Have you ever wished you could wipe your ass with your principles? I'm so sick of my rationality permeating my emotions. Sometimes I thrust with desire but then this voice inside me says: "NO. Don't even go there." Then where should I go? Why do I always play it safe? Don't big things come with big risks? If we know this why do we always hide behind our facade of safe? My façade is my pseudo-intellectual bullshit. The kind I hope will cover up the fact that there’s only jelly and mashed potatoes up there. The kind where I say: “I hope they don’t find out that I’m a total fraud. The New Yorker on my desk will throw them off…”
Last night after my piano lesson my friend called me and asked if I wanted to go to an art gallery, to mingle with the pretentious-quasi-intellectual-inn-crowd. I went; I mingled; of course, in my newfound, feministicly approved, skirt. Two glasses of under whelming merlot, one debate over Che and Fidel “joon*” combined with cigarettes burning with the blazon fire of corporate America and the blood of the people, and three forced fake laugh’s later, I suddenly realized a fifty some what year old staring at my legs. He just wouldn’t stop. What was I to do? Two minutes at my legs, two seconds in my eyes. Repeat. This guy actually had gray hair. My friend, a bohemian wannabe, suddenly whispered in my ear: “it’s a rumor that he has the biggest penis in the room!” What was I supposed to do? Flirt. Be flattered. Go home with him? Answer D: all of the above. Answer E: None of the above.
Soliloquy: “Don’t worry just tell him you’re a feminist. That will send him running to the other side. NO. Better yet, just tell him you’re a lesbian. Yes. That’s it. No. That’s worse. He might like that. It might turn him on…”I eventually bore him away with why I want to learn Russian. It worked faster than I would have imagined. But then I was strangely upset that he left. I thought: “Why is it that I just can’t “be” when it comes to men? I’m not saying why couldn’t I be with him. O’ god. NO. I was thinking this is the way I always am with all men. I thought: “I want him…not the fifty year old. Someone else. Why can’t I have him? What must I do to have him? Wipe my ass with my principles…

Subversive quote: “When I’m good I’m very, very good but when I’m bad I’m better.”
Mae West

*Joon: A term of endearment in Farsi such as “Dearest” in English.

What's this poem about?

2005-02-03T21:05:00.000-08:00

Here’s an interesting poem I came across in my Music History class. I wish I could post the music, its so beautiful, but I can't. So, here’s the poem. Whoever figures out what this poem is about gets a prize! I should note, that if you're a musicologist or a Renaissance specialist of any sort you’re answer will not count.

The white and gentle swan
dies singing, and I,
weeping, approach the end of my life.
Strange and diverse fates,
that he dies disconsolate
and I die happy.
Death, that in the [act of] dying
fills me wholly with joy and desire.
If in dying I feel no other pain
I would be content to die a thousand times a day.

Shortened possibilities?

2005-02-01T23:00:00.000-08:00

Can new cloths change our perspectives?
Last week I wore a skirt for the first time in about five years. At first I felt naked; soon, I realized that people are starting to realize me. Do bare legs really make a difference? I have had different reactions from friends, but the most interesting one was: "so...is your feminism down the drain?" Could someone tell me where in the "feminist bible" it says "though shall not where a skirt...in order to subvert the innocent minds of men." Yes I had indecent intentions. I must admit. My sojourn into the world of mini-skirts has definitely been a fun ride that I hope will not end soon.

Subversive quote: "Any girl can be glamorous. All you have to do is stand still and look stupid."

Hedy Lamarr

SOS! PART 2

2005-01-31T01:02:00.000-08:00

SAVE ME THATS ALL I CAN SAY.

SOS!

2005-01-30T23:51:00.000-08:00

Somebody save me from my f-ing roomate. I hate this goddamn girl. She is having sex in my bathroom and thinks I can't hear. HELP ME SOMEONE PLEASE...

Subversive quote: I'm so distressed by this I can't think of a quote.

Insert witty title here...Why bloging is ruining my life...

2005-01-26T18:03:00.000-08:00

I don't really remember why I decided to start a weblog. What I do know now it that bloging is ruining my life. From the moment I wake up to the moment I go to bed I'm on my toes for a subject to write about. Even worse is the fact that I’m such a megalomaniac that as soon as I do write something I keep on checking for comments. When I am out with friends we are always talking about our blogs. "Hey I loved your entry...O, I loved your quote...That was so funny...That was so true…Why don't you do this..." And lately it just seems like people know too much about me. Do they care? I don't know. Maybe the unspoken rule is if you dare to share your life on the web that means your giving permission for solicitation. In any case, I know I will have less and less to write about in the following weeks, as 20 units in a quarter system seems to bare no mercy on the soul. Maybe I should revisit alcohol? I’ve also started research on 19th century aesthetics, with a very German professor—literally and figuratively. So, I don't think I will have any epiphanous moments that will lead to writing. But studying Hoffman, Kant, Schlegel will hopefully put me in the cliché of what a musicologist should be doing...Until then and there if anybody has any ideas on what I should write about or if I should write at all please leave me a comment. Criticism will be taken with a subdued ego, or more simply No Offense Taken Dude (If anybody likes the Simpsons please read the very entertaining “The Simpsons and Philosophy: The D’oh of Homer.) So please don't be meek…

"On a cold winter's day, a group of porcupines huddled together to stay warm and keep from freezing. But soon they felt one another's quills and moved apart. When the need for warmth brought them closer together again, their quills again forced them apart. They were driven back and forth at the mercy of their discomforts until they found the distance from one another that provided both a maximum of warmth and a minimum of pain. In human beings, the emptiness and monotony of the isolated self produces a need for society. This brings people together, but their many offensive qualities and intolerable faults drive them apart again. The optimum distance that they finally find that permits them to coexist is embodied in politeness and good manners. Because of this distance between us, we can only partially satisfy our need for warmth, but at the same time, we are spared the stab of one another's quills."

Arthur Schopenhauer

Born Again

2005-01-19T22:46:00.000-08:00

Spring has arrived. At least I think it has. When I am outside I can taste the honeysuckle in the air. My friend reminded me that that’s just smog. I think she was lying because she got scared when she sensed I was blossoming out of my cynical shell. Spring is the season for love, revival, and maybe even conviviality. If spring can melt my frost than I think something good is in the air. Don’t get me wrong I love winter too and I even love fall and summer, but there is something mystical about spring. Spring has even made me nostalgic. I miss Tehran; I miss my pool in our backyard; I miss the voyeurs who watched me while I swam; I miss my blind cat and my German Shepard who eventually grew bigger than me; I miss the scent of people’s sweat converged with the scent of confined lust; I miss the anonymous love letters my next door neighbor left me; and, I mostly just miss my friend whose name translates to Poppy. …

Perhaps
Behind their crushed eyes, at the depth of inanimateness,
Something confused, with s flicker of life,
Was still left;
And, with its faint effort,
It wanted to believe in the purity of the waters’ songs.

Perhaps; but what an infinite emptiness!
The sun was dead,
And no one knew
That the name of the sad dove,
Which had escaped from hearts, was Faith.

By Forugh Farrokhzad
Born Again from her collection The Earthly Verses

Passion or Stupidity

2005-01-17T01:13:00.000-08:00

Why can't I quit? Cigarettes, Sex, Alcohol... No! Why can't I quit the piano? Every week I feel worse than the last. As time passes it seems like I'm getting worse. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? I feel tired. Swimming against the current it seems like I’m drowning. People say if you have passion for something you can't quit. But when do are passions turn into stupidity?

I was reading a quote that went like this:

Commitment is what transforms a promise into reality. It is the words that speak boldly of your intentions and the actions which speak louder than the words. It is making of time when there is none.
Commitment is the stuff character is made of. The power to change the face of things. It is the daily triumph of integrity over skepticism. Coming through--time after time, year after year after year.
Live the actual moment. Only this moment is life.
--Thich Nhat Han

Sure that’s all true. I get it. I'm even inspired by it. But am I being naïve? Jabbing at something that just doesn’t get any better seems like stupidity rather than commitment. I don't know what to do or what to think. I’m at a crossroad. Should I just stop studying music altogether and be realistic about things or should I stay even though the road is getting bumpier than expected. Should I take the blue pill or the red pill (for all you Matrix lovers.) Now I will go because I feel suicidal. I will go and stuff my face with food feel nauseous and pity myself...

There is No Way I am Abandoning...

2005-01-02T22:14:00.000-08:00

my best source for self-indulgent aggrandizement. For a while I thought of abandoning the one hobby that makes me so happy, like everything else that I abandon. As always, I received a sign from whatever that is out there laughing at all of us and decided to write again. I read an article on the plane about the world of blonging claiming that Women are 50% less likely to abandon their weblogs in comparison to men. So here I am again ready to complain, whine, and be a bitch about life and other mundane things in general.

So for the beginning of the New Year I have decided to weed out all relationships that I feel to be superficial on my behalf. In an attempt to keep a circle of friends, in the past months, I have desperately tried to be what I thought was a good friend. I would give up being RIGHT with others even if I thought I was. As I always have I cheered my friends and worried for them, sometimes like a mother. I laughed with them and shared some of my most intimate feelings with them. I expected that just because I was this way they should be to. I know that is selfish and wrong. Its like saying I will be good to get into heaven, not I will be good for myself, selflessly. I feel so alienated from all my friends and so out of place. I have accepted that maybe Im just not fit to be in clicks. Lately I have felt more like that than ever.

Being an Iranian struggling with identity has always been an issue in my life. Which category do I belong to? The second generation Iranian, the nationalist Iranian who denies the effects of growing up in two different countries, or the one who denies the past altogether? Who knows? All I have learned from this past year is that I have always felt alienated by Iranians. I always feel like I have to second-guess them: What did I do? Did I say something wrong? This belief was stamped even further after a group of friends, who I considered close friends, had a party and decided not to invite me. I found myself bewildered on how one day I thought I know my friends but the next day I realize they are friends amongst themselves and I am not in the group. I thought about how I felt and realized that this has always happened amongst my Iranian friends. I couldnt remember even one occasion where a felt alienated amongst non-Iranians. I know the problem is not my Iranian friends. After all I am Iranian. And people are who they are. What I can do is just stop aggravating myself, and most likely them, altogether by not socializing with them. So I just dont understand who are our "real" friends? Or am I just a hopeless romantic who thinks that friendship still exists?

Subversive quote: True friends stab you in the front.

Oscar Wilde

Another night of Drunkenness

2004-12-08T01:02:00.000-08:00

*Last Saturday I got drunk again. It was painful. It was another reminder that I can't control my drinking. Why? I don't know. I can totally picture myself at an AA meeting in 10 years. I have reverted back to the old jerk I used to be. I’m smoking again. I’m bitchy and I’m depressed. Why? I don't know. Or maybe I do!

The Catalonian said: "Stop acting like this; you are only doing this to get attention." Maybe that’s why I drink? Are my complexes that shallow? There must be a more creative story behind my drinking?

Fuck that! I'm not depressed. I love life and love where I am in life. So what if I like to get drunk. Doesn’t everybody? So what if I’ve been smoking again? They’re my lungs, not yours. So: fuck all of you.

But, I promised myself I would never drink again. You laugh at this but don't. Really why should I drink if it makes me feel like a camel has pissed in my mouth the next day?

I hate life no wait I love life. Why am I so manic?

Let me move on. I met so many cool people Saturday night at the party. Here is a list and analysis of the people I met who I thought were interesting. Along with some short fragments of the conversations we had.

Robin Williams: A notable stand up comedian who claimed that he is currently working on a film--a cliché excuse for people without a real job. He claimed that he’s going to use me in his next stand up routine--an even more cliché pick up line. Or wait...am I just a joke? Shit!

Aging Punk Rocker: This guy let me touch his shaved head so many times I fell in love with him. I’m infatuated with shaved heads. He was cool and tall. I think those two go hand in hand. I think he liked me too. He said anybody who can use strap-on in a conversation is going to be on the top of his list. Hmmmmm............

The metro-sexual who claimed he's Italian: This guy was actually good looking but once he got drunk he started sharing information that I wish I would have never heard. For instance: "This girl I'm fucking has really hairy nipples." Yikes!

The Mad Physicist: This guy was really hot and could carry on a conversation about physics with a layperson like myself. I liked the way he danced and I am not being sarcastic...

The all-American who looked like a young Trotsky: Wow, this one was the real deal. All that and more than one can handle. I had seen this one before but without a beard and I really think the beard does him justice. Warning. He's like super sweet chocolate, divine but divinity that can only lead to rotten teeth.

The Player with the six-pack: This one wanted to rub his sex appeal in your face. He would take a shot of tequila and throw the shot glass to the side like a raging I'm-to-cool-for-you-so-stand-back-and-watch kind of guy. To rub it in, even more, his area of study is French colonialism in Algeria.

My most notable encounter was with the One-night-down guy: I don't have much to say about him. I told him: “I'm moving so I can no longer eat peas and porridge." This is an insider joke so don't worry if you don't catch it. *

*This is a work of the author’s limited imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is not existential, but rather coincidental.

Subversive quote: "God is a comedian playing to an audience to afraid to laugh."

Voltaire

The real truth they don't want you to know!

2004-12-03T01:49:00.000-08:00

*Last evening, at two am, I went to Denny's. All the studying in the library made me crave carbs. So, I went off on my solitary excursion. Sitting at the table next to me were two very attractive gentlemen, in their late twenties-early thirties. They were conversing while enjoying a very fine gourmet dinner--Moons Over My Hammy, the irony. Here is what they talked about.

Hot brunette guy: "Hey. I emailed that girl last night and asked her if she wants to do something this weekend."

Hot blonde guy: “So. What did she say?"

Hot Brunette Guy: "She's weird man. Listen to this. She text messaged me like at 11 in the morning and said: 'Hey. Sorry I didn't email you sooner I was out of town and I just got back.'"

Hot Blonde Guy: “What’s weird about that?"

Hot Brunette Guy: "Well I know she wasn't out of town."

Hot Blond Guy: "How do you know?"

Hot Brunette Guy: "I drove by her house last night and her lights where on."

Hot Blonde Guy: "Look. Just the fact that she contacted you is a good sign. I'm sure she likes you and even if she lied to you I'm sure she has a good reason."

...

From this conversation we can conclude several important things:

1. Guys don't just talk about sports or the length of their penises when they're hanging out. And that it is only a macho façade when they claim they never talk or think about girls when they’re hanging out.

2. Guy's who don't have the balls to ask a girl out in person or on the phone are ASSHOLES. Gentleman if you ask a girl out via email they will assume you have Oedipus syndrome and still live with mom. Be secure enough to handle a NO in person or in real time.

3. Guy's justify lying and childish hard-to-get games just as much as girls do.

4. Guy's are desperate..."I drove by her house." WOW. And I thought the females were the ones in trouble.

5. Last but most importantly guys are plain pathetic.

Some might argue that these two gentlemen are anomalies. And I agree that that can be true; however, I will conduct further research and gather more empirical data to support the conclusions made above. I really think I’m on to something. *

* This entry is somewhat tongue-in-cheek.

Subversive quote of the day: "Whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives."

Oscar Wilde

ode to a pigeon

2004-11-22T23:15:00.000-08:00

i dont know why but i have nothing to say nothing special to say but the same old clichés

i dont know why but when i look at the sky i see nothing but highs that make me sigh

i dont know why but when i think i only think to myself for myself within myself did i say myself

i dont know why but i am a megalomaniac beguiling insomniac morphing nymphomaniac

i dont know why but i have no more rhymes to drink with my lime in addition to thyme

o why o why

o why o why

o and who am i. I

subversive quote: for whatever we lose (like you and me)/ its always ourselves we find in the see
e.e. cummings

A Play on Love

2004-11-16T15:55:00.000-08:00

*Barbie looks under her bed: “Mr. Right are you under the bed?”

Barbie looks in the toilet: “Mr. Right are you in there?”

Barbie walks down the street, hollering: “Mr. Right were are you? Are you here?”

Confused Economist Girl: “No! Don’t scream whisper.”

Barbie while eating lunch in a fancy restaurant, (in a mild and submissive voice): “mr. right where are you? are you hiding here? come out come out wherever you are.”

Intellectual Teacher: “Barbie you’re too smart. Men want to dominate girls. You can’t be dominated. You’re just not that type of girl. What can I say?”

Barbie drives to the hospital to get a lobotomy. She wakes up, after the surgery, still groggy from the anesthetic. Lying in bed (in an even meeker voice than before:) “Someone tell me, can I be a dominatrix now?”

Cutie Pie with blond hair says to Barbie: “ Now that you got you’re lobotomy I will introduce you to Mr. Right. He is tall and handsome, he is a professor of anthropomorphism, and he even has his own kid.”

Barbie still in pain from her lobotomy meets Mr. Right. Except that he thinks Barbie is too young. Barbie is crushed by her youth and wishes she were an older woman.

Barbie thinking to herself: “It is a new fad for men to date older women. I wonder if there is a surgery that can make one look older?”

Barbie goes out with Ken the next night…*

*Any resemblance of original characters to any real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Subversive quote of the day: “ Love is the answer, but while you’re waiting for the answer, sex raises some pretty good questions.” Woody Allen

Tampon and Taboo

2004-11-05T04:01:00.000-08:00

I survived the past week. I should be commended. I survived the election of a moron--NO, not a reelection--midterms, and menstruation. On Wednesday I was prepared to die. I asked the universe to give me a sign that all will be well. I was in music theory class, the most unlikely place for a sign, when I received my token of "its all good." We were going over fifth species counterpoint homework when my professor said: "Please, please, play your counterpoint on the piano before you hand it in to me. You will be able to hear your mistakes. And, not playing your own composition is like making love when there is no woman...You have to get it in your ear...”

Question: Why is talking about periods or buying tampons so taboo? You’re probably thinking to yourself: “because they are gross.” O, sorry twelve-year old. No, but really, why? I was at the local supermarket buying tampons when my classmate who sits right in front of me passed by. He was about to say hello, but as soon as he realized he was standing in the girly isle he rushed off as if I had some contagious disease. Then, only to make maters worse, while I was in the checkout line the woman packing my things placed the box of tampons in one bag and my other item, which was a bottle of water, in another bag. Is there something inherently dirty about a box of tampons that create the need to separate them from other grocery items? Why are people offended by womanhood? Are these societal agreements symbols of how we view women? Or am I taking my feminist pride and amateur anthropology fervor to seriously? *

*This entry is somewhat tongue-in-cheek.

Subversive quote: “For most of history, Anonymous was a woman.”

Virginia Woolf

Sick of People

2004-11-02T18:09:00.000-08:00

I don't want to start nagging again, I don't even have time to--midterms. I'm going to post a poem from my utmost favorite poet Pablo Neruda. And all you Persians out there don't get all nationalistic and send me emails that Rumi is the best poet in the world.

Tell me, is the rose naked
or is that only her dress?

Why do trees conceal
the splendor of their roots?

Who hears the regrets
of the thieving automobile?

Is there anything in the world sadder
than a train standing in the rain?

Mood I'm in: Pissed. I'm sick of being a door mat and dumpster. I don't want to be complete with people!

Subversive quote of the day: "Silence is argument carried out by other means."
Ernesto "Che" Guevara

Confessions of an Insomniac

2004-10-28T19:18:00.000-07:00

The less I sleep the less I have to write about. Yesterday, I woke up at 4 a.m.--can you believe that! Who wakes up at 4 a.m.? I woke up to do my music theory homework. I’m sure all you procrastinators can relate to me. Please hold the applause. When I left the house at about 6 am, to go to Powell library, I hardly saw anyone on the streets. I pinched myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. Have you ever noticed that no one ever thinks of pinching to make sure she or he is not in a dream while in a dream. So if you even think of anything like a pinch or smack you should automatically know that you’re not dreaming.
The morning twilight and the empty streets reminded me of death. It was a surreal feeling. I felt light. It made me confront what we all hate confronting, the inevitable, the unknown, the final destination: death. Made me ponder life. Again the same question’s came back: Why am I here? Where am I going? How should I live? …” I thought of my anthropology professor. He told me once he wants his tombstone epitaph to say: "No carry-on baggage allowed."
A few hours after my existential episode I found out that a five unit class I am taking dosen't fulfill my major requirements. Why you say, because I didn't enroll in the concurrent honors seminar that goes with it. I was so angry I wanted to kill myself. I’m taking a class for no reason. Scream. The school policy is so asinine I don’t know what to think. Just because I didn’t want to waste my time in a three hour seminar once a week where I’m supposed to research the history and relevance of staging in relation to opera. And, because of that a five unit baroque opera class should not count towards my major? I don't get it. Looking on the rosy side I'm learning a tremendous amount in the class. But then again, when I go back to the question of life and death this all seems so insignificant.

Mood I’m in: ?

Subversive quote of the day: All our knowledge merely helps us to die a more painful death than animals that know nothing.

Maurice Maeterlinck

The Age-Old Adage: Artsy-Fartsy

2004-10-27T01:06:00.000-07:00

Five hours, five hours, five hours, and another five hours, only five hours… I need to get more sleep.
On Saturday night I went clubbing with my two good friends. I found out what an old fart I’ve become. I got home at five am, slept at five thirty am, and woke up with neck pain that still hasn’t left me after three days. I feel like I have a brick on the right side of my neck. Remember the time when we all swore we wouldn’t turn into our parents. Father Freud said we would, even if we promise that we won’t. I am experiencing that metamorphosis now. I have turned into a hypochondriac who’s lost the ability to party hard. SOS. I guess it’s not a metamorphosis after all.
On Sunday, my friend said that artist’s have their own moral universe, do they? I wondered why he said that? Is he implying that my morals are dubious? Or should I just take it as a complement because he called me an artist? Am I really an artist? I’m not a musician; I’m a music historian; a hagiographer of sorts; or maybe, just someone who found nothing better to do in life. There is always a divide between the people who do something and the group who explains what they do. This is a paradox I will elaborate exhaustively on in the future; for now, it needs to go through osmosis in my own vain brain. Until then I will just call myself artsy-fartsy.

Mood I’m in: No specific mood I’m just in pain.

Subversive quote of the day: “I don’t know anything about music. In my line you don’t have to.”

Elvis Presley

A Dessert Named Desire

2004-10-23T11:28:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I had a date with myself--figuratively and literally.
I got up at 6 am and thought to myself: "enough is enough...I am putting him aside!" The one I have been infatuated with for so long. So, I let go. After my classes I went to a gorgeous patisserie. I thought of him again when I ate a Desire. Again, I let go. I had some tee. Condescendingly named The de Moin.
Why is it that in America when they want to charge you outrageously they give their product a French name? Five dollars and sixty five cents for Monks Tea. The irony that occurred with the dessert and tea name made me wonder if someone up there is laughing at me. I have desire yet I must let go of it. I must be in search of something more lofty... like the monk.

Some thoughts about the previous comments:

Who is this person by the name of Yassi's man? I did not know I have a man?
G: I love you to and yes we will get sushi any night your free. We will go to Tengu my favorite Sushi place.
Sirkand: I'm glad you have been inspired to embrace your alter ego. Lets hang out and have Brazilian food.
MirnaMX: I am glad you to found your alter ego and also got in touch with your cats voice.
Azi: I love you so much. You keep me grounded and you always give the best advice. Keep on posting so I can improve my blog.
Marchegiani: What happened? Did aliens abduct you? You had the funniest comments but then you just stopped posting?

Anybody else who I forgot, I love you to. I feel like I am giving an academy award speech. From now on I will not reply to the comments but know that they are much appreciated.

Hello, My Name is Barbie

2004-10-21T01:53:00.000-07:00

I’m Yassmin's alter ego. I am the bitch in her--figuratively. Tonight she has asked me to take over her journal, because as usual she had a deluge of music history reading to get to. You will see me making entries more often now that her midterms are creeping up. I am her dominant alter ego, however, she does have others. The sophist, the martyr, and the poet are only a few of them.
I’m the one who reminds her that she should get a nose job. I even convinced her to meet with a few doctors. I’m in control of every aspect of her life, even if she is not aware of it. I’m the one who tells her to get highlights in an expensive salon so she could feel good about herself. I’m the one who tells her to buy French perfume, even though she thinks its bourgeois.
You might think I’m dumb because I have long blond hair and a skinny waist. You are wrong. I’m actually an ardent feminist. And, I have an impressive vocabulary to go along with the zeal. I am as sharp as a tack when it comes to debating people, whether the debate is feminism or any other word that ends in an “ism.” I am especially good at conning people. Sometimes, I am so good I even amaze myself. And I am the ego.

Subversive quote for the day: "Despite my thirty years of research into the feminine soul, I have not been able to answer...the great question that has never been answered: What does a woman want?"

Sigmund Freud

When God masturbates...

2004-10-19T20:00:00.000-07:00

We all have at least one professor in our life that changes us forever. That one professor we will forever be in awe of; the one that leaves a permanent imprint on our psyche. Today I thought of that professor. He taught anthropology, but beyond that he taught life. Today I remembered him because it was raining. Whenever it rained he would start to laugh hysterically. People either thought he was plain crazy or that he was just a happy person. So, I asked him why he laughs when it rains, he replied:"Whenever it rains I realize that God is masturbating..." Only an anthropologist could envisage life so ingeniously.

Today the rain was so beautiful I wanted to explode. I could taste and smell the freshness of the rain. I could feel it on my spirit. I was drenched when I got home but it did not matter. Life is beautiful.

What I am craving: A relationship
Mood I'm in: Poetic

Subversive quote: "The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore, all progress depends on the unreasonable man."

George Bernard Shaw

Lebanon, Lolita, and The Island of Lesbos

2004-10-18T22:11:00.000-07:00

I'm back again. I have been gone for 4 days, but it seems more like a century. I have so much to write about I don't know where to start. Let me start from my performance class on Thursday night.

I went to class with a fever. I have this fever that won't let go of me. I don't know if it's a psychosomatic-self-inflicted fever or just a cold that has dragged itself out because of my insomnia.

THIS IS AN EMERGENCY BLOG DIGRESSION! MY ROOMMATE IS ON THE PHONE WITH HER BOYFRIEND AND IS TELLING HIM WE TOOK A SHOWER TOGETHER. YES, YOU READ CORRECTLY. APPARENTLY, I TOOK A SHOWER WITH MY ROOMMATE BECAUSE I WANTED TO SEE A NAKED ASIAN GIRL. ALSO, BECAUSE SHE MISSED ME AND WANTS ME NAKED!

Back to the class. Let me get to the point. A Lebanese PhD student, in his fifties, hit on me in the most peculiar way. We started talking in the break and I was telling him that I used to study Arabic. I mumbled through a few sentences with him. Then suddenly he said:"Did you also study Lolita?" Being oblivious to the situation--I think it was the fever--I went on about Nobakov. I talked about, how it's important for his works to be tought in the Iranian school system. FUNNY. Lolita being tought in an Islamic Republic. Finally, after about 10 minutes I realized he just wanted me to ask him back to my place.... I was pissed, nontheless, I was flatterd.

On Friday, I had a big breakdown. I saw an awesome movie, Motorcycle Diaries, with great company. Anybody who has not seen it yet, you must see it.

On Saturday, I saw the other side of breakdown, BREAKTHROUGH. I was suffering all morning, until about 2 o' clock in the afternoon. When I say suffering I really mean suffering. Like you just can't stop crying suffering. I had not felt so shitty in a long time, about a year. Suffering sucks. I got over it with the help of my coach and my friends. Wow, did I get off it. Two breakthroughs followed. I won't go into the first one, but I will let you know that I found out something about myself that I was never really consciously aware of. I realized that I am apologetic about everything. "I'm sorry to bother you, I'm sorry I'm taking up your time, I'm sorry if I offended you, I'm sorry if your not having fun, and I'm always fucking sorry." NO MORE.

I will skip Sunday, just because I like my blogs to be somewhat anachronistic. O, and becuase I wanted to use the word anachronistic. Yes, I admit I am a pedant.

Today I was so pumped from Saturday I woke up at 5 am. I drove back to my apartment from Orange County to Los Angeles. I studied, went to class, and was on cloud 13. Correct, I was on cloud 13 not cloud 9. Don't worry you will get my humor someday.

I must go now. My roommate and I are going to the library to delve into the world of Gregorian Chant and Hildegard of Bingen. We have a quiz tomorrow. I should let you know the next entry will be written by Barbie. I'm super busy, but feel free to ask her anything. Just leave your question in the comment section.

To Sirkand: I love you; your so cool and even though we don't hang out I'm glad we are still in touch. To Marchegianni: Your writing is as cool as your piano playing. Your the hottest pianist I know and my friends keep asking about you. They are killing me! So hook up with them, God damn it.

Subversive quote of the day: "You don't know your ass from the whole in the ground." Famous Zen Koan

Yassmin's mood: High
What she is really craving: Sushi and good Sake
Music she's currently in love with: Kronos Caravan, Kronos Quartet
Requests she has from her community: Be Unreasonable and laugh at your own insignificance.
What she needs to give up: The conversation that something is wrong in her life

ailurophile

2004-10-14T02:25:00.000-07:00

Hello,
I'm Yassmin's cat Kafka and I'm taking over her journal tonight. She had a lot of music history reading to catch up to. Unlike Yassmin I have lots of time on my hand. I sleep most of the day and I sometimes beat up my brother Sartre. Some days I wake up thinking I'm an insect, but Yassmin reminds me that that's just my imagination. At night, when everybody else is sleeping, I ponder the meaning of life. But the more I ponder the more messy my thought process becomes. Where should one draw the line with questions like: "Who am I? Is it really "I" or is it "i?" Am I just being played in a deck of cards?" and so on.
By now you are probably wondering what an intelligent cat I am. I will elaborate more on that later. Let us not digress for now. Please leave Yassmin and I comments on the meaning of life or anything around that question so she and I can ponder these age old inquiry's, until we both go completely MAD!

I must go now. My alter ego is calling me. Her name is Barbie. I will talk about her in detail later. For now remember that she is a feminist.

About Yassmin--

Mood she is in: free to be...

Breakthroughs she has had: A victory over her past disdain for music theory along with a 91% on her species counterpoint homework.

Breakdowns she has had: Skipping Music Theory discussion for a nap and dream about water and the transcendental Etude by Liszt. IRONY.

What she constantly needs to give up: Being judgmental.

What she is currently reading: Love in the Time of Cholera, By her favorite author Gabo.

...

Quote of the day: "Bad Bartok!" --UCLA music theory professor on the rules of renaissance counterpoint.

Sleeping with the cello

2004-10-12T19:15:00.000-07:00

Today I had a bad day. Actually, I even had a bad day yesterday. You see my mind is infiltrated with junk and so I can't concentrate. I had so much junk in my head--the committee was hard at work--I got a headache. So, I had a good excuse to skip theory discussion. Shame on me. The committee is at work again. After an eventful 2 hours of medieval music, I came home and went to bed. Ms.Cello was playing. The deep sounds of the cello made me ponder strange things. I was not dreaming and I was not awake. Where was I? I know I was fantasizing--this is the part where you must chuckle and wonder about who. Ms.Cello does not need to fantasize. You see she is a realist. And, last night I escaped my world of fantasy in a divine strawberry and grand manier crepe. You see some real things can replace other real things that we lack in life. Actually, they replace them quite well.

quote for the day: "Inspiration is wonderful when it happens, but the writer must develop an approach for the rest of the time...The wait is simply to long"

Leonard Bernstein

A NEW BLOG!

2004-10-11T16:15:00.000-07:00

Hello Comrades,

I am glad to be back. Hope you will read my new blog so I can experience public humiliation first hand. So many interesting things have happened in the past week and I don't know where to start. Should I self-indulge in automatism--that would probably get explicit--or ...? Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy.