aunt acid's harry rag

There was an upswing in ookiness and that up jumped the boogy. The boogy man'd the station with the hips' invaduation. Aiyaiyai, it will all be over tonight, right? And then I'll on se casse myself from this campus. That, if you haven't noticed, is my favorite thing I've ever learned to say.

on se casse
on se casse
on se casse

Voila la la la la.

Vous voyez, le problème is that who wants to listen to guillaume du fay's stinking polyphonic masses when you could be listening to the davies sing their Kinks-y hits? I know, since when did I turn up my nose at ancient music history? I'm usually the champion of studying the obscure and outdated. I'm rolling over in my grave. Butsa whateva, whateva, whateva eva.

Also, can we make note here that to the untrained observer there is no difference in the phoneme of the "oi" of french words like voila and the "oy" in voyez, BUT there is a HUGE difference and even though I'll never have success with my ridiculous obsession over tiny details comme ça I can rest self-satisfied.

I know Mom, I'm getting pompous. Apparently lack of sleep makes me spout gibberish, become pompous, and french.

la la la la la

c'est tout !

love,
M

P.S. I guess you hate all this dribble laying before your eyes but I was just getting so tired of waxing profound. I'ma go James Joyce on ya'll. HA!


ok, here's the translations:
on se casse: LET'S GET OUT OF HERE!!!!!
vous voyez: you see
comme ça: like that
c'est tout: th-th-th-that's all folks

just to keep up with the times

Dear You,

I'm stealing a moment to write to you, it will be our secret moment together. I can only stand to watch so many hours of kindergarten un-interrupted and the massively large film student headphones wrestle my ears to the ground (c'est à dire*: squish my ears). My hair is so thick you didn't realize my ears poke out, did you? When I was a bit younger (14 years younger), I contemplated taping my ears back at night, hoping they would grow into the more socially acceptable flat-against-your-head-ears, but I had it from a reliable source that it didn't work (merci, mon père).

I've just had fleet flit thoughts lately.

1. The New York Times is lovely and/or/but overwhelming.

2. Still the best year ever.

3. oh...I don't know. Maybe I haven't had that many fleets of thoughts, I've been filling my days with daytime documentary making in the cave and nighttime-not-enough-sleep socializing. I go in bouts from foggy brain to clear and excited to I'm sinking in a sea of inexperienced filmmaker. I'm sure that's fascinating for you all to know.

However,

4. If I could be anyone for a day I would be Kim Jong-il. I wonder what it would be like to drive your country to starvation and defy the world with repeated nuclear tests.

5. If I could go anywhere in the world I'd try the Bermuda triangle. Or Russia. Or somewhere south of the United States. Or home.

6. Wonder, my trusty bicicleta and the only inanimate object I've named, is in the shop and I miss him madly. I've been six days without him, one more day to go.

7. I know more Armenian than my average blog reader.

8. Lists are silly.

Love,
Marge

*pronounced as if you'd just set down to some camambert on baguette and were saying, "set a dear," and means "that is to say"

quince

I have an Abuela who doesn't speak any English. Yet every Sunday dinner she spills out her compliments and questions and I look around for a relative to translate as I say, "Que ? Que ? ¡Si !"

Today we had an extra long time to sit across the table and chat with each other as the rest of the family worried about the cooking time, consistency, and location of brown saffron rice compared to white (final and only consensus was that brown rice takes a lot of planning ahead). She showed me how her wrists hurt and and how it's hard because you use your wrists as you eat, but what are you going to do? You eat anyway. And today, as she has every Sunday for the last two months, she asked about my novio (boyfriend). My Tia (aunt) explained that we had broken up. But I liked him, Abuela said. I couldn't remember how to say, "Yo tambien," quickly enough so I made Tia teach me how to say "I'm good, he's bad." And also, "Voya querer atantos muchachos commo pueda." Which may not be remembered exactly, but at the time I did tell my Grandma correctly in Español, "I'm going to love as many boys as I can."
She then explained how when she was young she always had boyfriends, if she didn't have real ones, she'd make them up.

Yes, Grandma and I had some great bonding today.

puis-je écrire BIEN ? qn ? qn ? qui sait ?

Things I've Learned While Trying to Write an Informative Paper in French on the Effects of our Preoccupation with Eating Healthily
(writing that title made me wish we were French where they only capitalize the first letter of a title. Makes SO much more sense and looks A LOT less silly)

Nous voilà propres ! - Now we're in a fine mess!

Ce n'est pas la peine d'y penser ! - Don't get any ideas!

C'est simple comme bonjour - It's as easy as taking candy from a baby

Gobelet en carton - paper cup

saponification (english word) - the conversion of an ester heated with an alcali into the corresponding alcohol and acid salt; specif., this process carried out with fats (glyceryl esters) to produce soap

Santa Gertrudis (english again) - [so named after a section of the King Ranch, in Texas] any of a hardy, red-colored, American breed of beef cattle, developed from a cross of Shorthorn and Brahman stock and able to thrive in hot climates on sparse forage.

flummery (english) - 1. any soft, easily eaten food; esp., a) orig., boiled oatmeal or flour b) a soft custard or blancmange 2. meaningless flattery or silly talk

Muzak ® - musique enregistrée

how to type ®

avorteur - abortionist

seasons of transfixture

YOU

had me at hello.
And then I was looking around today and I saw the boy who was the first...oh no, the second to ask for my phone number but I was so naive I believed in platonicy, I mean we were all there as a chummy little group and I thought, great wonderful I'm in a new place lets all have each others' phone numbers, and I asked for his friend's number.
He's married now.
And she, over there, is a widow.
And we're all 21?

What markers do we rate ourselves by? The generalizations of age and grade and promotion. Class descriptions and money makers lenders borrowers takers.
Well, I'm 21, sometimes aimless, frequently on the quiet side, happy to curl up in my hovel and imagine everyone's stories. My friend from high school who is a month younger than I am is married with a child who is almost two. I explained sex to her when we were 15. My junior prom date is married and has two kids, one named Bubba. That transfixes me.
The Onion Cutter I used to work with, I think is 24. He would write love notes on paper towel to the Danish girl. And he dreamed of being a chef.
T is 22 and she dies her hair black and feels like 21 is so very young.
The Dreamer is 30 and he's my best friend. Sad, I think I've neglected him since I left the grille. Must rectify that.
Ma soeur âgée told me she sometimes thinks I'm more mature than her. I think she likes to make jokes, sometimes.
Some day I'll be 50 and I'll still feel like me. Not like one of those people who are 50. But like I'm me and 50 and all of my peers (all 50 of them) are just 50 like me. So to speak, when I came to university and they put me in a world full of my peers I realized it will be like this for the rest of my life. There will never again be that mystery of having mature people to run the world. Tomorrow they will expect me to run the world. It's utter mayhem out there. None of us are qualified and we're only skin filled with organs, blood, opinions, heart, inspiration and sometimes lice.
I have no lice.
Thank heavens.
But somewhere a 21 year old has lice.
If you think this post is confusing, heads up because I get to vote this year.
Il mondo è bello perchè è vario. Vive la difference!