Oh. Oh. Just Oh.

"...I fear we shall find that popular elections are not oftener determined, upon pure Principles of Merit, Virtue, and public Spirit, than the Nominations of a Court, if we don't take Care. I fear there is an infinity of Corruption in our Elections already crept in. All kinds of Favour, Intrigue, and Partiality in Elections are as real, Corruption in my Mind, as Treats and Bribes. A popular government is the worse curse, to which human Nature can be devoted when it is thoroughly corrupted. Despostism is better...we are sowing the Seeds of Ignorance, Corruption, and Injustice, in the fairest Field of Liberty, that ever appeared upon Earth, even in the first Attempts to cultivate it."

-John Adams to Joseph Hawley, 8/25/1776.

Time of the badasses. Found in one of my Revolutionary America class books, the readings for which I haven't been to in weeks.

And now, I am off to the girl-instructor's remaining lecture about how the revolution changed but didn't really change the role and limitation of women.

Talking about men is hard! Cause they're like, looking at our chest and stuff.

I Am Exhausted and Don't Like You

My sister-in-law relative (as opposed to any of the "fucking shit these people exist!?" relatives) called me last night. What do I want for my buh-buh-burfday coming up, what Chis'mus gifs do I want-I guess I might as well...and gawd Amazon needs to change the pictures of stupid broads on its main page. I am so sick of "my family didn't move the border moved geopolitics lol!" I want to see like...explosions. Or pictures from badass earthquakes in black and white.

What was it...oh yeah. I don't...I realized this morning after maybe-high-C-ing a midterm why my in-law and brother's family's holiday celebration always bug the hell out of me. No, not Christmas or Thanksgiving, but Holiday. Not only that all I do is just sit there, watching everyone tell each other stories of how their dog barks and has fat legs or O God the election (my tinfoil hats are pretty obvious to them), this time around I can have the excuse of "I have to read, it's for school" and not insult anyone, but the way that they all go about buying each other gifts.

Lists. They make lists together, and then go buy it. They know exactly what to get everyone, and everyone else knows exactly what to get them. It's so boring to listen to them talk about buying crap. No wondering "gah, I hope they think this is junk so I can have it" or "man so and so will shit their face when they see this." Oh well. Perhaps they do shit their face, just in a way that I don't recognize.

In other news.

Being in school is actually... Actually going. I'm not getting sleep, drinking way too much starbucky cans, and only occassionally talk to Riley on the phone until he's rambling about something and I'm wondering with my eyes closed whether I had just said outloud what's in my head or not. But stuff is getting done.

Essays are getting turned in. Midterms are done the night before they're due (story of this post's title) with only small corrections made. In-class midterms are not...eh. They're not As, but since it's Geology there's at least the modicum of being able to think through the questions to answer. I guess like having something to translate and while you don't know the exact vocabulary, you can figure from the shape of the bound morphemes what's going on. Plus the TA being ridiculously smart and patient and dayum fah-hine doesn't hurt.

Not all is super. I have two 12-15 page papers due by the end of the quarter. One I'm freaking over because I don't have a theme or thesis yet, just simply been reading on the Anabaptist kingdom in Munster (they are dumb muthafuckers).

The other is ethnic studies and I'm pissed 'cause I know that I can't go to my professor to ask him for ideas because he doesn't have any. So far I think I want to just go for a boring point-by-as-many-points-as-I-need-to-fill-up-space analysis of the debates between Booker T. Washington and WEB duBois (also a dumb muthafucker at times) and how they reflected the ideas in one of the few readable articles in the course. If there is a way I can try to argue Uncle-Tom-ism in both people I'd rather do that; but I'm not sure if that would count as "doable."

In conclusion, these stupid azzzzzzns in the computer desk right next to me in this library won't shut up. So I'm leaving.

Not as funneh

But still rad.

"We know what we believe, but it's difficult to live that out. That's not just Ted's struggle. It's our struggle."

I wasn't all too thrilled with what I knew about this guy, but couldn't help but laugh when I watched the Dawkins film linked onto youtube, with Haggard basically asking Dawkins to calm down. His goofy-ass grin made "but please, don't be arrogant" all the more funneh.

Oh oh oh, but schools need more moneys!

If not then some lazy slut would have to actually type in numbers. Oh the horror.

"It's so archaic to transfer something from a sheet of paper to a computer day by day," Hope schools Superintendent Gerrie Fausett told the Santa Barbara News-Press.

I bet that for every Tina Dabby there are twenty households that think that they need this. While the fifth-grader who doesn't know where her mom was last night lost all interest in reading and can't multiply.

More Conversations Of This Order

Riley: So wait...your dad is Jewish, and he was born in-
Matildah: Israel, like...
Riley: But his parents aren't Israeli, 'cause there wasn't any-
Matildah: No, his...umm, one was from Hungary and one from Romania so. So there.
Riley: You're a quarter Romanian then!
Matildah: Yeah, I guess so...maybe more 'cause I don't know about my mom.
Riley: What is she?
Matildah: She was born in Germany I think, but said France, and said England, but was adopted by a Cuban lady and her American army something husband, I don't know anything about-
Riley: So you're...you're a first generation American, then, Matildah.
Matildah: a;lksjdf;laksjdl...yeah I am.
Riley: You know what that means, Matildah?
Matildah: What does that means?
Riley: YOU TOOK OUR JOOOOOOOOBS.
Matildah: a;lsdfjliawkejfl;asjdfkajshdflkjasdl
Riley: Jaaaaahbs.
Matildah: I took a lot of your jobs, Riley.
Riley: *sigh* Yeah. They have to take a lot of jobs to take all the jobs that I won't do.

Seems I did a self-portrait over the summer, and forgot about it. 

De re something or other

Ha ha ha I'm lurning lol.

There was only one at the "University Village" shopping center down the street from campus when I first moved here four years ago, and when the second one on the same block was built, I wondered about it.
I can't stand the drinks they make in-store and their shitty loud ass "oooooooh oh oohhhhh independent" music they blare, though.

I Like Headphones

Headbangin to Bach=being on campus bearable.

Dear Voices In My Head

Maybe I should point out that my research paper has to be on the Reformation period. I can run through economic stuff, but I'm pretty sure it'll have to be between 1450-1650.

I know that Latin down a couple days is shit grammar. Die, already. And buy me a dictionary before you go.

Be Thee A Research Topic?

"The elector August I of Saxony found his own solution for the problem of landless peasants: he bought up property and divided it into allotments."

Double you tee to the eff?

From The Rise of the European Economy: An economic history of Continental Europe from the fifteenth to the eighteenth century.

The author is too cool to have footnotes or endnotes, though, just a bibliography. Oh em gee I know I'll wikipedia the guy up and see what little it says there.

Augustus II, King of Poland and Elector of Saxony (Augustus II the Strong) (12 May 1670 – 1 February 1733)

Dammit.

Dear Everyone, Though Probably Not You

I do not want to "dress up" for the Martin Luther debate. That is incredibly stupid, this is not high school, nor is this the only effing class I have. Nor is it a drama class. It is pretty bad when I'm the one who doesn't want to "get into" this role playing crap and just read the lines.

I will read Luther/Erasmus/Liepzig/Marburg debates.

I will take good notes, and create a semblance of dialogue.

I will know mah shet when one of the shutupshutupshutupannoyingfatdudeswhocouldn't makeitasanythingotherthanahistorymajor asks a stupid question. Even better because I will be playing Luther, I can just say he's blind and is going to hell.

The idea of having to use powerpoint is absurd enough to me. But "smoke machines?" Die.

The Worst Part

is when your tears run down the side of your face and into your ear.
not when you're lying there, staring up at the ceiling like you've ended up doing every night since he's been gone
not accusing yourself of really being an atheist or just a really bad liar because why don't you do such and such for ex or why or thee or hating him for leaving those words on that message when believing it is even worse than just....

why say that? because you mean it? So. So do I. Cute. Great. I'm supposed to believe it, to tell you what you already know, what I'd been telling you at the end of every phone converstation not expecting agreement but still noticing each time there isn't any and then when he's adamavit aliquem ut adamandus, ut cupiendus. Then I shouldn't have believed it. amehercule credo id. cupio credere id? non. ita. cupio...non audire eo. and then right now. I mean right now, as soon as I finished non audire eo he signs on and we talk. nothing big. nothing much because he's got a meeting in an hour and i have a midterm in 5-

which reminds me. fuckity fuck.

Found it

"...even though some are now probably calling me a heretic--this truth is very detrimental to their treasury--I do not pay much attention to their bawling, for their reactions are those of clouded minds that never got a sniff of Scripture, never read the Christian teachers, never understood their own teachers, but are almost decayed in their riddled and mangled opinions. If they had understood these, they would know they ought to defame no man unheard and unchallenged. But may God give them and us right understanding. Amen."

Martin Luther, A Sermon On Indulgence and Grace, 1518

and this also, from the introduction to the book that that is from:

"...a bull was drawn up threatening Luther with excommunication. The bull was prnted in complete form in June 1520, sent to Germany, and distributed in the fall. On 10 December Luther burned the bull at the Elster Gate in Wittenberg. This happened after papal representatives in many places had already commited Luther's writings to the faggots with due ceremony. The significance we attach to Luther's act today is far different from what his contemporaries thought. To them the really provocative act on 10 December 1520 was Luther's burning of the books of canon law, together with the writings of the Scholastic theologians and his Roman opponents."

Tis rad. Tis rad.

I Wish Everyone Else Hated Groupwork

Debate whether Martin Luther was a heretic.

How can that possibly be difficult or boring? Simple. Make it a group assignment.

Maybe tomorrow when 3/4 of my group meets tomorrow after Reformation I'll be surprised; and we do have another 2 weeks to work on this.

I've been reading on Luther, reading his own letters/Theses/pamphlets, and he's sooo funneh. Do I have with me (in school library) the book with the part I read to el Katolico yesterday?...no. I'll add it later.

But there's plenty of material to make for a mock debate in class, where the actual written and published insults are thrown, to make everyone laugh and forget for one split second how much I want everyone to die for not stoning the professor for making us do a stupid ass group...thing.

In conclucsion, tell me he ain't Catholic.

oh and...

Heiko Oberman is hot.

And Booker T. Washington.

I could eat their words. I just might. Yum yum yum.

Stop. Just stop.

Stop underlining crap. I hate you whoever you are.

Oh, for my Ethnic Studies reader? Yeah I know who you are, you intellectual imp. Just because you have me for 3 hours a week and about $40 worth of assigned readings, you think your incoherent scribbles are salivary droplets of wisdom?

You can't even underline anything, you end up just crossing things out. Or circle the last paragraph in an essay. Oh now I'm supposed to read it? Fukin-A.

You have such beeee-eeeeesssss in your essays you assign, too. Week 1: "During the 1970s approximate one millino Camobodians-30 percent of the population- were killed or died from hunger, disease and overwork as a result of conditions created by the American bombing that devastated the country and by atrocities committed by the Khmer Rouge."

American bombing civies....oh yeah and the Khmer. Effing. Rouge. The only good thing about that essay is that it quotes Thomas Sowell. Even though it has no answer at all for what he says other than "well he's wrong," it's still badass to watch him stomp your ass with logic.

...fan mail to Mr. Sowell pending.

I am not fond of waking up to my roommate's trance music, especially when it reeeeeeaallly sounds super de duper shitty by the time it comes up through the downstairs walls/floors/ceiling into my room.

Fuckers.

I don't think I like my roommates. They make the nervous. Well one just weirds me out, one gives me the feeling that I'm always saying something wrong, and the other one's kinda okay. But still...don't personally favor them. Although muuuch better roommates than wommins.

especially right now when I'm just woken up cause of their stupid music. And why is it so effing bright? This is crap. crap crap crap and I am turning my windows back to dark to sleep more.

mmmmmmmyummy.

The Height of Feminism

Good gosh I hate jeans. I hate buying them, I hate getting them handed down from a roommate-a roommate who was about two of me but whose jeans are really tight with me and if they didn't have that stupid "white stripes down the ass and the front of the legs" I'd have no problem wearing them because a normal sized t-shirt covers everything, and then these jeans I'm wearing right now I don't remember how I got them but I do and not only are they really tight but they also have that extra room in the back that just hangs out. Standing up you could drop an orange down the crack of my jeans if handing it to me proved to be too burdensome. I think Dickies are worse because they sooo just box your ass in.

It fits in my purse.

Satisfactory. Most satisfactory, indeed.

mmmmhmmm.

...Ethan Allen, a settler in the Green Mountain region of northeastern New York...was found guilty of assault twice within a month. When hauled into court the second time, he exposed "his naked body and in a threatening manner with his fist lifted up repeated these malicious words three times: 'You lie you dog,' and also did with a loud voice say that he would spill the blood of any that opposed him."

Yeah, he kicks ass. I know.

Stop It

Do you know I had a dream last night where I was so angry that you left me in the middle of the parking lot that I called you and I don't remember what I said perhaps I remembered when I woke up this morning but not anymore and I was crying and said...I don't remember but I know it was viscious and it hurt you and oooh I was so fucking glad.

I think of you all the time. Even when I read for my classes, I come across something funny or bullshit or derogatory against Irish animals, and I've just barely gotten out of the habit of reaching for my phone to call you to read it to you.

I don't know why you keep calling me. It's expensive for you. I don't... we're not ... anymore. Because of something I can't control. Nor should I, if I could. I know how...uh. But you're not me. You have to find out on your own.

И тебя тоже люблю

I love to see how Mexifornia's government sieves through most of the labor pool in my area. Weeds out people who have every incentive to bust their ass and work hard and please customers--that would be people who are totally new to this country and have few marketable skills; while brat kids with no demonstrated incentive begrudginly show up only half an hour late instead of an hour. But then, the brat kids can check off that they're a citizen or at least have the right magic numbers to put down on the other columns, so they don't have to work in a field or whatever.

Because Cigarettes Make the Best Tea

It's a pdf.

Bellflower, CA (PRWEB) September 18, 2006 -- Proposition 86 will amend the California Constitution to expand the California Healthy Families Program to include undocumented immigrant children under 19 years of age who are from families with incomes up to 300 percent of the federal poverty level. Currently, children in Healthy Families must meet citizenship or immigration requirements to receive health, dental and vision coverage. The proponents claim that this expansion will be paid by a $2.60 tax increase in a pack of cigarettes.

Oh. So that's what the big deal is with that the guy posted on the door to the liquor store down the street, holding up a long receipt from a 10-key.

Do I like calling the state I live in Mexifornia? No. As an American, as (more central to me) someone who was raised not just financially poor, but...*rolls eyes, 'cause that's not my place to assert any such thing* but someone who's had to earn what I have or *finger quotes* had things stacked against me...had to do things the hard way, whatever you want to call it, I have no problem saying that I'm appallingly insulted to see others not have to follow laws.

This irk applies to those who some people who break immigration laws to get here.

Some. What matters to me is what they do once they get here. (I almost typed "why they came," but who seriously would say they came to America so they can get on welfare with their five kids, or deal drugs in local neighborhoods.)

Do they work their ass off, getting screwed out of higher wages because minimum wage laws make other jobs practically at "English-speakers only need apply"? *Hint: No law dictating wages=no legal jurisdiction to snoop around in employee files, para uno. Or as Maddox says so much better...* Then gosh but isn't it terrible to see someone get poorly paid, not because their work yields poor benefit to their employer, but because of something as stupid as a price floor on other people are demonstrably not worth their wages.


Is that because I really love laws, or is it just sour grapes because I don't/never have the guts to not obey?

Doesn't matter because a state full of people voters feel the same way 'cause ain't no one got no crystal stair, and O, if only a man were to be elected to office who would right the wrongs of our own past cowardice for us.

...and of course here is where you all breathe a sigh of relief because you just now find out that I refuse to vote. So all you political mercantilists get one less vote cancelling yours out.

Where was I? Oh yeah. I started out with having just Googled Art Olivier to see his...I don't know what. If there were anything other than immigration he was running on.

But damn if Depeche Mode music videos aren't incredibly distracting.

Odio.

Everything at once. I haven't talked to anyone all week. No one...everyone is no one. Mark is always with his girlfriend, Derek is always with his girlfriend...I saw both TehLarz and Jess Friday and neither recognized me. Well, like all the way across the street, and then like, 3 feet away. Do I have to say out loud how lonely it is?
Ah the hell with it. Not like complaining would make any difference anyway.

Bored.

What the fuck is going on. Billy Crystal is not that great.

He was attractive in "Soap" even though he was gay. He's not that attractive anymore.

This is like the 3rd dream. Stop it, brain.

When Two Days Is Too Long

I wanted to leave as early as Monday night.

I imagined that I would get my beanie, that warm thingy that goes on before the beanie-I don't know what it's called, I have socks and my running/walking shoes. Jeans. A long sleeved at least shirt, that fake light sweater zipped thingy, and the real sweater Will gave me.

Was about midnight or so that I decided I wanted to get out. Figure I could have had adMaganline keeping me going, to continue walking until daylight. By then if I wasn't in another town I could at least figure out which direction was southwest. Hmm. No, I think it would have been best to stick to the Interstate 80 and eventually hit Reno or something. A Greyhound station in the middle of nowhere.

Why? 'Cause I'm fuckin pissed. He doesn't fucking understand English, so when he reads something I wrote, either in the letter I wrote or on my blog back in April, he can't fucking GET the fact that it was first impression. Don't they have figures of speech for that in Hebrew? His wife should be able to understand, she's from Tenneessee, dammit. So she takes something I said as to being totally sensitive and that Av probably shouldn't send me a tape about 10-12 years old, of when social services filmed an interview of him at this house so they could also watch how the 3 girls interacted to make sure they weren't being abused (the youngest stopped talking for some reason, and abuse is a possible reason for it-it was unfounded in this case, but that's what happens to you ask the government to help you raise kids). He thought it'd be an interesting thing to watch. See my sisters as little girls, see him being a not-beating-kids person, idunno. He said that his wife advised him that I probably don't need to be reminded that he was a father to x-children and not to me. His summary of her words.

*shrugs* I would have only brought my purse. Left my clothes books and everything else here. Probably a note so no one freaked out. No CDs or anything.

Anyway...fuck that. No, I wouldn't have wanted to watch it months ago.

Also...I wrote the letter. He wrote me back. He mentioned at the end of the two paragraph letter that I look like his oldest daughter. Judging from the pictures of them that he sent, I thought me and the youngest one look more similar, but whatever. So I got kinda...not really insulted that...the 17 year old is "his oldest" and not...just "Matildah" (yes we have almost the same name)...'cause my thinking at the time was "for all I know he's never seen me, and does not know if I'm even his because Magan's a crazy slut; so if he considers his legitimate daughter his oldest, then...then that's how it is. It makes sense. I'm not considered his daughter, just some fucking clown asking a bunch of questions, telling him a bunch of crap about indirect consequences of his actions. And nonactions."

*Magan was drunk one night, I was between pre-kindergarten and second grade. All my brothers had left because...shit I would have left too, and left a scapegoat sibling at home to take her crap too. So she got the great idea in her head to call me into the living room, sit me down on the side of the couch, face me, and lecture me for about 20 minutes (for all I know it was longer or shorter) about how She doesn't owe me anything. If I don't like it I can get the fuck out. I know now that she's just poison, and everything she told me was a lie including "a" and "the". But it still lingers. The idea that you're a burden to everyone just by existing. Every time you would ask someone for a ride anywhere, you quietly wish for them to say they can't so you walk home and get mugged and killed 20 yards away from your apartment. Just to save everyone the trouble.*

So, I'm/I was fine with Av thinking his 3 girls are his only kids. It's understandable. Didn't really help that his entire letter was composed of typos and non-sentences about how Magan told me stuff I don't know about...stuff I was already prepared to be surprised about. I think I was more hurt that there was no "how did you grow up?" which gave me the impression that he didn't care. At the time I figured he didn't have to. He still doesn't. No one does. I mentioned the "oldest" thing in my blog. Not much else to, really. Hopefully I'd have something to mention, and such.

****Av came back from his English class as I was finishing the last sentence. Asked me if I wanted to go get lunch, we went to a Mexican place. I came up from the basement (shoes and sweater and such) and he was already playing the video. Cute kids.

Wherein Everyone Looks Like a Bigot

4 Show me your ways, O LORD, teach me your paths; 5 guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my Savior, and my hope is in you all day long.

Baruch said tonight not to get the information from Orange County CPS. Not as in I'm not allowed to; he's been quick to point out the obvious, that he can't tell me what to do or anything.

"Zo, you vil get mour garbash on your mudder. Itz in dhe pass..." And on and on. Knowing more of the past makes it easier to use the past as an excuse. Energy and attention should be on the present, hopes for the future. Stuff that when I hadn't told myself such when I was younger I was able to excuse a lot of dumb and evil stuff I did. Smart things, things that possibly any man in his mid-fifties who had gotten his shit together after having flung it around a bit when he was younger would say to me.

But he told me. Not any. And yes, it does matter. A year-heck, six months ago-I wouldn't know that. Wouldn't have believed it, even if I did know.

There was this exchange:

Him: You didn't ask about me when you were younger? *I don't have the patience to imitate his accent anymore*

Me: Not really, no. I mean, it was her, so I didn't want to talk to her, and..." *not mentioning the whole bullshit guilt-trip I was always on*

Him: It's okay that you didn't. I know I did bad things."

Me: Yeah. So no....I mean, would you have wanted to talk to her about it la;skjfl;aksd;l?"

Him: If I were the daughter, and ask her about my dad?

Me: Yeah I mean-

Him: Well I think...hearing all dese bad tings you know I would be kissing at her feet. Thanking her, to have gotten me away from such bad Middle Eastern man.


Huh. Believe a lie and sin because of what you believed, you still sinned. But God's not stupid; He knows our hearts better than we do. Maybe that's the good that God has been able to squeeze from my indifference towards her; that when faced with the truth, it was easier for me to believe it. Not that accepting it was easy, but believing.

I've more than often wondered where I'd be today; if the past had been a little easier. Would I have believed what I've seen?

I can't do anything about the past. Just what little of her I found out from my dad was hard to sift through, on top of what I'd already been burdened with of her. Empathy. Sympathy. Pity. Shards of friendship. Vanity, materialism. Greed. Jealousy. Rage. Hatred. Betrayal, distrust. And possbily (probably?) somwhere in there, Love. If that weren't there, how could I bother with the others? Could I really take any more about her that I could find from some idiot social worker's typo-filled reports?

All I have is this right now to use. As I explained to myself when I was in elementary/junior high: some things happened to you, and they were bad. They were evil. When you were a kid, they messed you up and for awhile you were just be reacting to the past, on autopilot. But now you're too old for that shit and besides, you know it doesn't do any good. So you have to cut the crap.

Of course, it was relative. I'm still trying to tell myself to cut the crap.