The redesign’s done and most of my film projects are finished — no personal film projects, just stuff I’ve been doing for class — so I’m resuming my online writing! Does this make your chest hairs stand at attention? Hmm? Does it!
Makes me wonder how many “triumphant returns” I’ve done during the life of this journal. Actually, now that I think about it, it’s kind of depressing — there’s less and less people to welcome me back each time, my popularity having waned since I’m no longer a part of diaryland or Girls-Suck anymore. Nothing I regret really, as they both represent a developmental stepping stone for me, from a maturity and writing perspective. Diaryland was what I wrote in up until I got into Long Beach State, which has grown me up quite a bit in the eight or so months I’ve been here, and G-S was what I wrote for when… well, when I was a whiny emo he-girl that needed an outlet for his social ineptitude.
Tangent: I had a musing about the concept of poetry as I rode the shuttle to class earlier this week. I appreciate the art form, but I really don’t think I’ll ever understand what makes really good poetry really good poetry. My understanding of how poets write is: they take something they want to say (”a girl made me feel sad”), apply the metaphor-o-matic once (”she made my heart cold”), twice (”she froze the drum of my soul”), and so on in this fashion until the original meaning is masked in an indecipherable mishmash of allusion and allegory (”the unpleasurable Dairy Queen of my insufferably consistant winter”). Of course, none of this applies to the timeless poetry of Roald Dahl.
Anyway. News on the eastern front: Trista and I are about to hit that three month mark, and I’m happy. Not as impressive as the six month mark that seems to mark the death of most couples, but all signs point to us making it with merit badges. I’d post a picture of us looking all happy and couply, were it not for the fact that she expresses great displeasure having her picture taken/posted/grafted to the bottom of a cereal bowl. If I were to do such a thing, our progress towards six months would probably be hampered by the fact that she had removed my arms from their sockets and bludgeoned me to death with my own bony elbows. You can see my situation.
So here’s a picture of me and her identical twin sister, Brista:
