am tired today, and down. is what i get for staying up till 4 last night working on an art project only to skip this morning because i was simply too tired to show up. and still not entirely done with the project either. am pissed off.
does styrofoam packaging kill?
am eating reconstituted banana bread. it was given to me in loaf form (in a great big ziplock bag) by my mom when she visited; i put it in my backpack as emergency sustinence in my times of need, and it was promptly dashed to crumbs inside its bag. my backpack is like a rock tumbler in that way. never, never put anything of value in my backpack. so now i'm squeezing the banana bread crumbs (massive quanity of crumbs) back into some semblance of solid form to take out in chunk and eat with my fingers. i was going to eat spaghetti, but i'm scared now... it's in a styrofoam container, and i heated it up in the container and ate some last night, and today i heated it up in the container again and began to eat it...
i have this fear that when i heat food up in styrofoam containers the food sometimes absorbs the fumes or even the styrofoam itself into it's little food pores and becomes toxic. sometimes you can tell most definitely that this has happened - holes melt away in the styrofoam and the food nearest the holes is oddly crunchy and puffed up. or things taste slightly off, or such... i can't tell how much i'm being paranoid and how much not. i wonder if my body can take the styrofoamed food and extract the nutrients without being poisoned. i wonder if styrofoam is deadly-noxious or just unappetizing. i suppose it's meant only as temporary storage and not as the actual thing you eat the warm food from, but i'm just a poor college student with no plates currently anywhere to be found.
at any rate, my spaghetti crunched, and so i stopped eating it. i want to eat my frigging spaghetti, but then i can't help but think of my internal organ linings getting stiff and encrusted with styrofoam like the food. and then i would die, and that would suck.
the thing that gives me pause before i worry too much is that they put warning labels on eveything nowadays. hair dryer labels tell you not to take the hair dryer into the shower with you. so surely if it were bad to heat up food inside the styrofoam containers there'd be some kind of warning? but i've seen the food absorb styrofoam and leaves holes before, i tell you...
why wearing pantyhose is like cutting off a cat's whiskers
so today was stupid. i'm in a bad mood lately, if you couldn't tell. slept in, then packed nice clothes for the 'hump day soiree' (stupid showcase for stupid digital art class of frustration) and got to work late (and of course my coworkers noticed. though they occassionally notice when i stay late, too, so with any luck it's okay). made the mistake of wearing pantyhose (that is what it's called still, yes?) all day long, thinking it'd be safer on me than in my rock-tumbler backpack. pantyhose sucks. i haven't worn the stuff for at least 4 years... the only thing of pantyhose i had here is the kind that wants to act as an alternative to drastic body-shaping surgery. so i was walking about unable to tell which parts of my legs were feeling weird because i'd overexerted them from working out yesterday and which parts were being pulled into new configurations by this second skin of constricting fabric. i especially thought the wide bands of super-industrial-strength ribbed stuff running across the undersides of my rear were a nice touch. the structural equivalent of steel girders beneath one's rump. all day long as i walked about, with every step all i could think was, "what the hell?"
other random pantryhose-induced thoughts: if a guy ever wants to know how it feels right after you shave your legs but doesn't actually want to shave his own legs, he could put on pantryhose under a pair of pants and know the feeling exactly. because the panty hose presses all the little leg hairs down you experience a diminished sense of propreoception - usually you can tell where your legs are inside the pants even if they're not actually touching cause you can sense the bending of the little hairs, but not right after you shave, of if you're wearing pantryhose. i remember when i was a little kid there was a museum exhibit that related to that - you got to strap a set of cat's whiskers to your face to pretend you were an alley cat and then you crawled down this big pipe in the darkness but you could still tell where the edges of the pipe were really easily because of the feedback from your whiskers. i was enthalled, since i was actually being encouraged to imagine myself an alley cat, and the fact that cats had additional sensory stuff going on like that was kind of like superpowers, but created by something as simple and physical as whiskers.
so yes, these were my pantyhose-induced thoughts as i walked in late to work feeling those weird "what the hell?" walking sensations.
had to skip out early from work (in addition to having arrived late) to attend soiree. i am an uncool person. hot dogs and forties do not excite me. in fact, they depress me. i ate a hot dog and simmered in my fatigue and pantyhose. the room was drafty, and bogdan made a speech, and i watched footage of myself building spires of frustration, playing on repeat. partway through skipped out with some other people to go to nearest vending machines (which were buildings away through the cold damp chilliness in wee skirt and not-warm-enough legs - huddled in coat with skirt and panyhosed legs sticking out seemed to look a bit knobby, perhaps, but eh). got a big kat, and too much change was in the coin return so that it very nearly paid for itself. score! then hung out in the warm vending machine room reading the dec while the others talked about the philosophy of aesthetics. came back to stupid art show to help clean up but they'd already done so. changed back into lovely warm cordorouys (pantryhose still on because desperate for warmth and insulation in all forms) and walked home through the damp. not hungry enough to waste dining hall meal, not feeling rich enough to go to pav, went home and sought fatespawn (watching kill bill downstairs with zach - not in the mood and movie already well into plot and perhaps too violent for wuss self anyway) and then in moment of insight sought spaghetti (which crunched) and in desperation ate reconstituted banana bread, of which there wasn't much left anyway. am still hungry - ramen? sushi if i gird myself to spend the cash. am such a frigging freeloader.
ha... just walked to the bathroom sans pantyhose to fill water bottles as desperately thirsty. and my thighs felt so... free...
thoughts from the art show: watched myself build spires of frustration as well as catching glimpse of self in other filmed moments. is a weirdness to see myself on film and not be able to tell what i'm feeling.
friends: am i placid? am i "bovine?"
in junior high school i had a friend named ellyn (of the green hair - my first goth friend, ha) who one time around the lunch table challenged us all to tell her what kind of animal she'd be if she was an animal. everybody seemed to find her quite undefineable within this rubric and told her so and she was exceedingly pleased. that's a thing i've found to be typical - as much as we human beings enjoy being defined and described, it delights us still further to be told that we defy these descriptions, that we are somehow something larger or between or new. i kept it to myself at the time but rather snidely i knew this and i also knew that ellyn was quite clearly a black cat, mysterious perhaps in the stereotypical black cat way but not anything overarching. i don't know if somehow she could sense my cynicism (i was good at hiding emotions like that back then) or if she was just being honest, but when i asked her what she thought i'd be she said, with certainty and without any malice, that i was a cow. there was, she said, "something unexpressibly bovine" about me.
this bothered me a lot. cows are dumb and slow and stupid. they are massive, inertial hunks of domesticated meat. they're herbivores. they're frigging food-beasts! even to be classified with something like a deer (a thing that could happen only by virtue of my tendency to freeze up like a deer in the headlights - dunno if i've overcome that yet - than by any physical grace of mine. i lope, or something, and often don't know where to direct my eyes or put my hands.) was somewhat problematic for me because of the heribore/lower-end-of-food-chain/prey animal thing, but at least deer live in the wild. cows live because some of us happen to like how they taste.
in my heart of hearts i'd want only to be a carnivore or omnivore, but i didn't say that. when i pressed ellyn to tell me why she associated me with cows, she just said she took it back, nevermind. i didn't care *what* she said about me, i just wanted to know why, but i guess i'll never find out.
but anyway, seeing myself on video reminded me of that. i can't tell. i can't tell if i really do wear this expression of blank placidity most of the time or not. it could just be that i was being brutally bored out of my skull at the time that cameras were rolling. but then, i think i'm bored more often than i'd like to be. i don't know why. it bothers me. and i still don't show emotion very well. that i could look so placid when frustrated-wanting-to-crawl-out-of-my-skin because of the stupid-class-that-wastes-my-time-right-after-i've-had-to-work-for-5-hours-without-having-any-time-for-myself-twice-a-week is a troubling thing to me. but i'm probably making it bigger than it is just because i'm tired. perhaps any of you who know me in person and actually happen to read this can let me know: do i look continually, blandly placid? am i bovine? ...and if i am, what the hell do i do about it? get out of stupid dull classes to start with, i guess...
i wish i had more time to play, or even just to focus on Things That Matter like creating True Coolness rather than crap-you-make-a-speech-about-as-an-excuse-to-eat-hot-dogs-and-drink-forties. *bitterness* i think what's wrong is that i want so badly to care about these things i do and make and when the caring is nonexistence but the doing and making still required it becomes so very twisted and i make bovine faces while thinking about killing things. i do not think cows do this. therefore, i believe am not cow-like, even if i do on make bovine faces.
ah, i feel better already.
and now...
fatespawn came by - kill bill is over. yay! and he brought me a kit kat, and offered to make oatmeal...
am going to go downstairs and hang out with fatespawn and zach playing 007. and eat oatmeal.
i need to get more sleep. i am still wacked-out from craziness and emotion of last week. sleep will help. staying up till 4 working on art project like an idiot procrastinator does not. i think my extreme pissed-off-ness at the world stems somewhat from this. i am also still pissed off that kudos died and that i am sad and that this does not bode well for future life in which there will continue to be things that die. we need more sleep.
on a different note, was thinking about the museum with cat's whiskers and wondered in passing if i am perhaps a repressed physio-kinectic learner, or whatever it is they're properly called. i wonder this largely because i'm curious why i naturally like to use these crunchy words with multiple parts and tripping tongue-ness, and why these knotty convoluted sentence stuctures feel so natural to me, why i actually seem to prefer to spin out all these tangled threads of thought running together rather than say straight things straight-out, plainly, in lines. i wonder if it's partly because it's nice to say things large here when in real life i say little and speak softly, and if also it's nice to have so many places for ideas to hide in the words i say. i like connections, and not just the clear and logical ones... sometimes i feel when i'm writing these a little like growing out a mess of roots with tangles and knobs and knots and overlaps and branchings that all sort of smaller things can hide in, and peek in and out. i'd like to think that.
off i go.
does styrofoam packaging kill?
am eating reconstituted banana bread. it was given to me in loaf form (in a great big ziplock bag) by my mom when she visited; i put it in my backpack as emergency sustinence in my times of need, and it was promptly dashed to crumbs inside its bag. my backpack is like a rock tumbler in that way. never, never put anything of value in my backpack. so now i'm squeezing the banana bread crumbs (massive quanity of crumbs) back into some semblance of solid form to take out in chunk and eat with my fingers. i was going to eat spaghetti, but i'm scared now... it's in a styrofoam container, and i heated it up in the container and ate some last night, and today i heated it up in the container again and began to eat it...
i have this fear that when i heat food up in styrofoam containers the food sometimes absorbs the fumes or even the styrofoam itself into it's little food pores and becomes toxic. sometimes you can tell most definitely that this has happened - holes melt away in the styrofoam and the food nearest the holes is oddly crunchy and puffed up. or things taste slightly off, or such... i can't tell how much i'm being paranoid and how much not. i wonder if my body can take the styrofoamed food and extract the nutrients without being poisoned. i wonder if styrofoam is deadly-noxious or just unappetizing. i suppose it's meant only as temporary storage and not as the actual thing you eat the warm food from, but i'm just a poor college student with no plates currently anywhere to be found.
at any rate, my spaghetti crunched, and so i stopped eating it. i want to eat my frigging spaghetti, but then i can't help but think of my internal organ linings getting stiff and encrusted with styrofoam like the food. and then i would die, and that would suck.
the thing that gives me pause before i worry too much is that they put warning labels on eveything nowadays. hair dryer labels tell you not to take the hair dryer into the shower with you. so surely if it were bad to heat up food inside the styrofoam containers there'd be some kind of warning? but i've seen the food absorb styrofoam and leaves holes before, i tell you...
why wearing pantyhose is like cutting off a cat's whiskers
so today was stupid. i'm in a bad mood lately, if you couldn't tell. slept in, then packed nice clothes for the 'hump day soiree' (stupid showcase for stupid digital art class of frustration) and got to work late (and of course my coworkers noticed. though they occassionally notice when i stay late, too, so with any luck it's okay). made the mistake of wearing pantyhose (that is what it's called still, yes?) all day long, thinking it'd be safer on me than in my rock-tumbler backpack. pantyhose sucks. i haven't worn the stuff for at least 4 years... the only thing of pantyhose i had here is the kind that wants to act as an alternative to drastic body-shaping surgery. so i was walking about unable to tell which parts of my legs were feeling weird because i'd overexerted them from working out yesterday and which parts were being pulled into new configurations by this second skin of constricting fabric. i especially thought the wide bands of super-industrial-strength ribbed stuff running across the undersides of my rear were a nice touch. the structural equivalent of steel girders beneath one's rump. all day long as i walked about, with every step all i could think was, "what the hell?"
other random pantryhose-induced thoughts: if a guy ever wants to know how it feels right after you shave your legs but doesn't actually want to shave his own legs, he could put on pantryhose under a pair of pants and know the feeling exactly. because the panty hose presses all the little leg hairs down you experience a diminished sense of propreoception - usually you can tell where your legs are inside the pants even if they're not actually touching cause you can sense the bending of the little hairs, but not right after you shave, of if you're wearing pantryhose. i remember when i was a little kid there was a museum exhibit that related to that - you got to strap a set of cat's whiskers to your face to pretend you were an alley cat and then you crawled down this big pipe in the darkness but you could still tell where the edges of the pipe were really easily because of the feedback from your whiskers. i was enthalled, since i was actually being encouraged to imagine myself an alley cat, and the fact that cats had additional sensory stuff going on like that was kind of like superpowers, but created by something as simple and physical as whiskers.
so yes, these were my pantyhose-induced thoughts as i walked in late to work feeling those weird "what the hell?" walking sensations.
had to skip out early from work (in addition to having arrived late) to attend soiree. i am an uncool person. hot dogs and forties do not excite me. in fact, they depress me. i ate a hot dog and simmered in my fatigue and pantyhose. the room was drafty, and bogdan made a speech, and i watched footage of myself building spires of frustration, playing on repeat. partway through skipped out with some other people to go to nearest vending machines (which were buildings away through the cold damp chilliness in wee skirt and not-warm-enough legs - huddled in coat with skirt and panyhosed legs sticking out seemed to look a bit knobby, perhaps, but eh). got a big kat, and too much change was in the coin return so that it very nearly paid for itself. score! then hung out in the warm vending machine room reading the dec while the others talked about the philosophy of aesthetics. came back to stupid art show to help clean up but they'd already done so. changed back into lovely warm cordorouys (pantryhose still on because desperate for warmth and insulation in all forms) and walked home through the damp. not hungry enough to waste dining hall meal, not feeling rich enough to go to pav, went home and sought fatespawn (watching kill bill downstairs with zach - not in the mood and movie already well into plot and perhaps too violent for wuss self anyway) and then in moment of insight sought spaghetti (which crunched) and in desperation ate reconstituted banana bread, of which there wasn't much left anyway. am still hungry - ramen? sushi if i gird myself to spend the cash. am such a frigging freeloader.
ha... just walked to the bathroom sans pantyhose to fill water bottles as desperately thirsty. and my thighs felt so... free...
thoughts from the art show: watched myself build spires of frustration as well as catching glimpse of self in other filmed moments. is a weirdness to see myself on film and not be able to tell what i'm feeling.
friends: am i placid? am i "bovine?"
in junior high school i had a friend named ellyn (of the green hair - my first goth friend, ha) who one time around the lunch table challenged us all to tell her what kind of animal she'd be if she was an animal. everybody seemed to find her quite undefineable within this rubric and told her so and she was exceedingly pleased. that's a thing i've found to be typical - as much as we human beings enjoy being defined and described, it delights us still further to be told that we defy these descriptions, that we are somehow something larger or between or new. i kept it to myself at the time but rather snidely i knew this and i also knew that ellyn was quite clearly a black cat, mysterious perhaps in the stereotypical black cat way but not anything overarching. i don't know if somehow she could sense my cynicism (i was good at hiding emotions like that back then) or if she was just being honest, but when i asked her what she thought i'd be she said, with certainty and without any malice, that i was a cow. there was, she said, "something unexpressibly bovine" about me.
this bothered me a lot. cows are dumb and slow and stupid. they are massive, inertial hunks of domesticated meat. they're herbivores. they're frigging food-beasts! even to be classified with something like a deer (a thing that could happen only by virtue of my tendency to freeze up like a deer in the headlights - dunno if i've overcome that yet - than by any physical grace of mine. i lope, or something, and often don't know where to direct my eyes or put my hands.) was somewhat problematic for me because of the heribore/lower-end-of-food-chain/prey animal thing, but at least deer live in the wild. cows live because some of us happen to like how they taste.
in my heart of hearts i'd want only to be a carnivore or omnivore, but i didn't say that. when i pressed ellyn to tell me why she associated me with cows, she just said she took it back, nevermind. i didn't care *what* she said about me, i just wanted to know why, but i guess i'll never find out.
but anyway, seeing myself on video reminded me of that. i can't tell. i can't tell if i really do wear this expression of blank placidity most of the time or not. it could just be that i was being brutally bored out of my skull at the time that cameras were rolling. but then, i think i'm bored more often than i'd like to be. i don't know why. it bothers me. and i still don't show emotion very well. that i could look so placid when frustrated-wanting-to-crawl-out-of-my-skin because of the stupid-class-that-wastes-my-time-right-after-i've-had-to-work-for-5-hours-without-having-any-time-for-myself-twice-a-week is a troubling thing to me. but i'm probably making it bigger than it is just because i'm tired. perhaps any of you who know me in person and actually happen to read this can let me know: do i look continually, blandly placid? am i bovine? ...and if i am, what the hell do i do about it? get out of stupid dull classes to start with, i guess...
i wish i had more time to play, or even just to focus on Things That Matter like creating True Coolness rather than crap-you-make-a-speech-about-as-an-excuse-to-eat-hot-dogs-and-drink-forties. *bitterness* i think what's wrong is that i want so badly to care about these things i do and make and when the caring is nonexistence but the doing and making still required it becomes so very twisted and i make bovine faces while thinking about killing things. i do not think cows do this. therefore, i believe am not cow-like, even if i do on make bovine faces.
ah, i feel better already.
and now...
fatespawn came by - kill bill is over. yay! and he brought me a kit kat, and offered to make oatmeal...
am going to go downstairs and hang out with fatespawn and zach playing 007. and eat oatmeal.
i need to get more sleep. i am still wacked-out from craziness and emotion of last week. sleep will help. staying up till 4 working on art project like an idiot procrastinator does not. i think my extreme pissed-off-ness at the world stems somewhat from this. i am also still pissed off that kudos died and that i am sad and that this does not bode well for future life in which there will continue to be things that die. we need more sleep.
on a different note, was thinking about the museum with cat's whiskers and wondered in passing if i am perhaps a repressed physio-kinectic learner, or whatever it is they're properly called. i wonder this largely because i'm curious why i naturally like to use these crunchy words with multiple parts and tripping tongue-ness, and why these knotty convoluted sentence stuctures feel so natural to me, why i actually seem to prefer to spin out all these tangled threads of thought running together rather than say straight things straight-out, plainly, in lines. i wonder if it's partly because it's nice to say things large here when in real life i say little and speak softly, and if also it's nice to have so many places for ideas to hide in the words i say. i like connections, and not just the clear and logical ones... sometimes i feel when i'm writing these a little like growing out a mess of roots with tangles and knobs and knots and overlaps and branchings that all sort of smaller things can hide in, and peek in and out. i'd like to think that.
off i go.
VIEW 9 of 9 COMMENTS
stockings=evil. my toenails of destruction rip them to shreds whenever I put any on. plus, it means skirtage, and I detest those.
By the way, I am pretty sure you are not supposed to put styrofoam in a microwave.