yoga tells me to breathe but I quit that

Quit yoga or breathing?

Quickly, fast, get ready for it! Before I go to bed tonight I have to figure out what I'm doing and write a treatment (pitch) for MY documentary and send it off to the FACULTY REVIEWERS (You know the documentary that I need to figure out and plan the next year of my life around and then convince people next week that they should give me $1500 and I'm only kind of sure of what I'm doing right at this moment), plan everyone's wardrobe for Friday and Saturday for that fiction film, wrangle up camera and sound equipment to do an interview tomorrow, cram for the test of the class that I'm terribly bad at and magically become a genius again, set up an interview for Saturday for the one of four documentaries I'm currently working on, go running and do yoga. So now you see which one I quit doing. I quit breathing. Who has time for it?

Does anyone else feel really exhilarated right now?

addendum:
My professor's advice to me today (which will actually mean something if you've ever had to take documentary history) was "Helluva good time; no whales." So I keep repeating to myself as I sit here, "Helluva good time; no whales. Helluva good time; no whales. Helluva good time..."
Another professor saw me this afternoon and asked me what I was doing then asked, "Is it crazy and different?" I thought about it for a minute, "Yes, yes it is..." and he replied, "Because we like that kind of stuff."

Helluva good time.
No whales.


Yeah.

documentaries that documentarians watch

desperately excited for this documentary: OBJECTIFIED

Gary Hustwit (Helvetica 2007) says, "if you could get all of these designers and design experts together at a dinner party, what would they talk about? This film will hopefully represent that conversation."

lalalalalalla, it's coming out on July 2009!!

met you in st. louis but had definitive feelings about not meeting you again

or a ramglings from a slightly nerdy direction


Today I learned lots of FANTASTIC THINGS and it confirmed my ever growing desire to stop stuffing my brain with cotton and instead do nothing but study my major, play with balloons with children, and do manual labor or work in a restaurant. And read poetry in periodicals and eat grapefruit.

I learned FANTASTIC THINGS from books entitled things like "Television and Child Development, third edition" and "In Front of the Children, Screen Entertainment and Young Audiences." And I might have snuck in "Dibs in Search of Self," because I love that book madly, truly, deeply. So now I have perused a lots-a-bit of what is going on in brains of children when they watch Blues Clues and Mr. Rogers.

Let's face it, Media is just about the coolest thing to hit this planet. Makes me want to don my proverbial glitter dress and dance on my roof.

ahem, to quote a great Saint (or Santi), "Another song."

youuuuuuuuuu, youuuuuuuuu, youuuuuuuuuuuuu

REALLY France!!! Is this necessary?!?!
Il ferme la porte de la ferme d'une main ferme.

Felicitations ma cousine et beau-cousin. Feliz Navidad.

Sometimes I feel as though I love what I'm studying, but what I'm asked to project-up for class is prodding me up a jungle-gym, baking cupcakes when cupcakes make me sick. Last week I was supposed to write up 12 story proposals. I have one down. Still, just one and no others are following. Read the newspaper, internet, take a walk, then write 12 story proposals. Oh no. Oh no no no no.
Alors, I've been reading the internet, my favorite sites, and what I find is my online literary journal (McSweeneys) has dedicated itself for the present time to the memory of David Foster Wallace. I've never read a word by the man, but I'm reading about him now. I'm captivated by all of the ways he touched these people's lives, this author and professor, and yet he committed suicide at age 46. How often do we not see the little things we do to make a difference in others' lives. He, he he...which gives me an idea for another story. O inspiration what a fickle mistress you are.

I've been remembering how much the bathrooms in the homes here all have the same aura. A compeletely different aura than the midwest I grew up in. Maybe because these homes were made in the 40's rather than the 1880's? (Indoor plumbing, no way!) Or maybe tis the bathroom windows that are actually openable, meant to be opened, and frequently have no screens. Probably tis because they have not been homes swaddled to boot through a blizzard. I will try to phonetically spell this out in Russian for you: étta interry-ace-na.

C'est l'histoire d'un ver vert qui va boire un verre vers Anvers.
OOOhhhhhh....