Katie Park wrote an entry about how songs, no matter how juvenile, retarded, capture a moment, a feeling, an occurrence.
They define us in a moment.
And I thought what song defines me?
Call Me by Blondie.
Call me on the line
Call me call me any anytime
Call me my love you can call me any day or night
I know I told you not to call me. I know that I pleaded to a higher morality. You know what? Why? Why must I, all of a sudden, subject myself through the added trouble of a higher morality? [Gross change in tense!] Why must I care about his prom? Why must I care about some girl in North Caroline who twirls her hair around, flashing him a smile, and, God forbid, agreeing! I am so jealous. I don't even know this girl and I am so, so, so jealous. I make plans. I think, "Oh! Next year, hopefully, I'll be in Paris, and he'll be in Oxford, and we'll have the most amazing romance."
Then I dream: this summer, he would like to go to Europe. Summer. Europe. Us in a car. Driving to the South of France. Sleeping in a field. Grapes. Blue skies. Flash thunderstorms. Leaving. Russia. Paris again. London. Oxford. University Parks. Him meeting from the train. I'm leaving. Darkness in the Chunnel. Satisfaction. Arguments. Making up. Confessions and denials. Small streets and big hopes. Acceptance.
Geographical location is the mos idiotic of things, really.
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Oo, appelle-moi mon cherie, appelle-moi
Anytime anyplace anywhere anyway
Anytime anyplace anywhere any day, anyway
Call me my life
Call me call me any anytime
Call me for a ride
Call me call me for some overtime
10 hours. I need to stop. I need to think about the attainable: Alexis. I am attracted to Alexis, yes, but, there's something about Joe. There's that x-factor.
That x-factor that I've missed since Sasha.
Sorry for the rather disjointed nature of this post!
I'm so confused.
I don't know why.
But I'm so, so confused and frustrated and ARGH.
I wish everything was as simple as academic endeavors.
I hate distance.
I hate oceans, land, states.
I hate being confused since I always know what to do.
Postscript: I was looking back entries and in the personality profile said that, "You're not much of a talker."
He is the brilliant kid that is accepted to Oxford.
He is my hero.
joebruner17 (21:12:07): hey!
Erradhadh (21:12:15): Hello!
joebruner17 (21:12:27): <3 my articulate flatterer speaks to me live at last
Erradhadh (21:12:55): Tsk, flattery is only that when it's not deserved.
Erradhadh (21:13:18): (Ha! How's that for more flattery!)
joebruner17 (21:13:32): touche
joebruner17 (21:13:53): on the bright side, i can get away with calling your gorgeous under your definition
Erradhadh (21:14:35): Well, as you have never met me, that would be a rather guess, but, you, I judge you on presented facts.
joebruner17 (21:15:05): facebook pictures are at least a good a measure of beauty as test scores are of intelligence, no?
Erradhadh (21:15:52): Well, in that case, the compliment is humbly received.
Erradhadh (21:16:39): (I feel distinctly Victorian with such banter. I feel like I should lean over to my escort and whisper something.)
joebruner17 (21:17:15): i certainly hope you'd be whispering to me in that case
Erradhadh (21:18:06): Well, any proper lady would never dream of being so impetuous as to assume that.
joebruner17 (21:19:34): once i'm yours i don't forsee you needing to be proper with me anymore
Erradhadh (21:21:46): Well, if living in the Vicotrian era, impropriety was severely punished by social ostracization...however, I might act rashly and break from prescribed conduct.
joebruner17 (21:22:44): fortunately, you can instead just exclaim good fortune at NOT living in the bloody victorian era
Erradhadh (21:23:07): And that would be true!
joebruner17 (21:23:09): and possibly have your way with me
Erradhadh (21:24:40): With the added pleasure of knowing that I'll become an Oxonian by association...in addition to the pleasure of ravaging you, of course.
joebruner17 (21:24:58): you
joebruner17 (21:25:03): you'd find me pleasurable?
Erradhadh (21:26:10): Well, considering that if I would have my way with you, I would do this for pleasure, not pain. That would be a logical human response.
joebruner17 (21:26:59): i see no reason not to be yours, then
Erradhadh (21:27:56): Other than, of course, geographical bounds.
joebruner17 (21:28:44): a whole new incentive for you to end up at oxford
Erradhadh (21:30:21): AH, yes, quite of the different sort...and may I add, slightly more thrilling...
joebruner17 (21:31:00): come interview, you'll get a preview
Erradhadh (21:31:56): Well, it's good that next year I'm going to Oxford the interview.
joebruner17 (21:32:14): maybe fate will bring us together before then
Erradhadh (21:32:37): Maybe, though, I could not forsee how. Though strange are the workings of fate...
joebruner17 (21:32:54): indeed, darling
Erradhadh (21:33:33): Such quick endearment is rather strange...but...
joebruner17 (21:34:03): throwing caution to the wind is fun once in awhile
joebruner17 (21:34:06): and there's nothing to lose
Erradhadh (21:34:36): And all to gain, I presume?
joebruner17 (21:35:51): none of me that you're willing to ravage is going to be witheld
joebruner17 (21:36:35): so that's to gain
Erradhadh (21:37:34): There are contigencies to this aforementioned ravaging.
joebruner17 (21:37:43): like?
Erradhadh (21:39:48): To put it blankly, there are two main ones, one superficial, one not quite so much. One: you are attractive to me. Two: you are not, for lack of a better word, a douche.
joebruner17 (21:40:24): one; you've seen me somewhat, so you have the general idea
joebruner17 (21:40:34): two; define douche
Erradhadh (21:42:40): One, a rather bad quality photo is no indicator, though, it does please me. Two, that was a bad contigency, because well, I'm rather arrogant so I cannot expect otherwise from anyone else, plus, having unpleasant characteristics is unavoidable, and having marked ones makes a person more memorable and intense.
Erradhadh (21:43:42): I will return in a bit. I'm going to dine.
joebruner17 (21:43:48): please do return
joebruner17 (21:43:52): i'm enjoying the banter
Erradhadh (21:50:14): Well, I did so. And such banter is pleasant as I don't engage in it that often.
joebruner17 (21:50:37): haha, i hope you didn't rush yourself for me!
Erradhadh (21:50:57): No, no, we had crepes. It does not take long to eat a crepe.
joebruner17 (21:51:18): hahahahha
joebruner17 (21:51:22): can't argue with that
joebruner17 (21:51:32): although i would probably have eaten four today
Erradhadh (21:52:24): Bah, I ate two. Crepes are such a staple in my household that it's rather dull.
joebruner17 (21:53:27): never heard of crepes being a staple american food item, but i don't think i'd mind
Erradhadh (21:54:04): Haha, I'm not american though. I'm Russian and we stole the idea shamelessly from the French, and called it a different name.
joebruner17 (21:54:32): you're in america, you want to better yourself
joebruner17 (21:54:38): you're american by my definition
Erradhadh (21:56:32): Tsk, I disagree with you. I'd actually rather have stayed in Moscow (though I am vehentmly against the current politics there), and better oneself does not qualify one as an American. If it is the official nationality that you aim for, then my passport is from the Russian Federation, and I'm here on a green card.
joebruner17 (21:57:22): i've met a few russians, but none that liked moscow better than here
Erradhadh (21:58:48): Right, Moscow is...particular. Some have a taste for it, others don't. I dislike the largely suburban aspect of America, the mentality of the greater whole.
joebruner17 (21:59:13): i'd love to visit it with you
Erradhadh (22:00:01): I would give a very different perspective on it than others...in addition to it being just fun.
joebruner17 (22:00:15): all the more reason to go with you
Erradhadh (22:01:40): Well, if there is anyone who knows Moscow from as many different perspectives as I do, I would be hard-pressed to find them.
joebruner17 (22:03:17): very compelling.
Erradhadh (22:03:38): I'm a compelling sort of person, what can I say?
joebruner17 (22:03:51): arrogance is hott
Erradhadh (22:04:50): Of course, someone who is doubting themselves is less of a stand-out. Arrogance is in-your-face.
Sunday was a most ordinary day.
I woke up.
Brushed my teeth.
Put on clothes.
Went outside. Read a book on a swing. Listened to music.
A rather uneventful day...the most exciting thing was probably washing the dishes.
How wrong! Jean-Phillipe, one of my best friends from France, came back to the US Saturday night. So, Sunday, naturally, Jonathan, JP, and I hung out. Ah, yes, how rather simple.
Two absolutely fantabulous things happen in the last weekend of break.
1. Michael Andrew Barnes, one of my best friends was present though he lives (kind of) far away.
2. I got
from Jean-Phillipe that he brought from France.
We were at Cafe Parisien, a pseudo-french/european cafe way back in Cross Creek. Jean-Phillipe, of course, kept commenting on how fake it was, with it's french coffee.
And then he said the pastry was delicious. How two-timing of him! The evening was perfect (or well, it had a couple of ups and downs, but generally, it was nice!).
Afterwards, we went to see Charlie Wilson's War. I hated that movie. Such propagandist bullshit. It made me furious; I have no problem in seeing Russia get slandered; it's when I'm given a false, lop-sided perception of events that it infuriates me. Afterwards, I ranted for a bit on the logical fallacies and government sponsorship of media.
I don't like this entry.
Like, the writing style.
Dear Parents Who Will Never Read This:
I have compromised with you; since I want to apply to Oxford 2009 entry (try, try again!), I did not apply to any out-of-state schools. Yes, I dreamed of Columbia, living in NYC, but so shall it be. Though I hate the use of complementary colours, UF is probably my destiny for 2008/2009. I understood your financial concerns, thus I did as you said. There was clear and direct logic involved; I did not send in my applications that I've worked ever so hard on. It's okay; maybe someday someone will want to read an essay about history books for fun.
Ah! But then I was researching internships and I stumble upon one to international law firms (one in Paris, one in London) who provide pre-university students the chance to do real work in the field of human rights (AKA ME). Yes, it's rather competitive position for 6 month internship, gap year placement. Yes, I probably won't get it. BUT LET ME FREAKIN' APPLY. Honestly. ONE YEAR WITHOUT SCHOOL DOES NOT EQUAL THE END OF THE WORLD. In fact, you have to sign a contract stating your intent to go to freakin' university after those six months.
But, oh, apparently, I'll become working-class and forever be stuck in a dead-end job. Just because I'll get out of the "intellectual environment". I will fail at life if I take a PRESTIGIOUS INTERNSHIP POSITION. That's failure: direct and deadly.
I'm sorry I'm not doing things your way. I'm about to press the APPLY button to one of those internships. And if by some miracle I get it, I'm going. You're not paying for shit anyways, and the internships cover basic living costs.
So, dearest mumsy and papa, FUCK YOU. My grandfather will still give me money for university, though you're dead set against paying for me. And even if he doesn't, student loans are great. In fact, it's one of the safest loans to ever take out according to statistics (oh sorry, dearest father, I did not care enough about the probability of probability, because shit happens and that's all the probability I care about. And I hate physics. All those fucking springs. Maybe more theory would be fun?)
I hope my brother is an average students with average SAT scores. Oh, that's right, unlike me, you'll probably send him to some prissy boarding school that promises a spot at Princeton. It'll be like Gossip Girl, except with less Botox. At least I'll know I did it myself. You? Supportive? Like I had a choice of failure. When we first moved here, you sent me back because I wasn't good enough IN FIRST GRADE because I didn't know English. That's really good support there: oh, she's away. When someone gets a 1500, they were deemed beyond comprehension intelligent, when I got a 1580, you said, (and you were NOT joking, there was not smile on your face, don't lie), "Where are the other 20?" Sorry that I get home late, sorry that I have a social life, sorry that I don't want a Nobel Prize, sorry that my goal is to experience life and not earn two Masters and a PhD. If it happens, great. If it doesn't, then...just that, it doesn't.
Now let me go out and argue that Great Britain is becoming more polarized, America too jingoistic, and coffee too Cuban.
Oh, and mother, giving birth isn't special. Lots of people do it just fine. You can't use that as an argument. It's a really weak one. That's like if I kept yelling about being human. (Really? You thought I was a chinchilla...!)
Sorry about the rant.
P.S. to my P.S.
Dear reader again,
If you would like to hang out sometime, let's.
I'll find what I'm looking for.
The problem with that is that sunrise illuminates all and I don't know that I want everything to be illuminated.
What am I looking for?
Life drifting past.
One minute until today is not to be.
I wrote that line yesterday; yesterday will never come to pass again, and I don't know if today is better, or tomorrow is worse, or if, just maybe, there is no reason for being worse or better, but the trick comes in just being...so that I, too, can contribute a part.
After all, all the word's a stage, Bill.
Can you tell me when there's the final curtain call?
"Haha, speak french?"
"Yes, speak french. Come on...," he teased.
"Je n(e) voudrais parler en francais...parce que shuis (je suis) stupide quand je l(e) parle," (not even pronouncing 'quand' incorrectly) I stated.
"Haha, non! C'est tres, tres bonne response! You speak like a parissienne," he pronounced.
"Vraiment? Comment une parissienne...c'est une bonne chose?"
"Mon ville favorit est Paris. L'air de Paris, l'air de le peuple...de la femme...c'est...c'est..." Alexius mused.
I finished, "Comme un ville europeanne."
"La vie y occure...ici.."
"La vie nos passe," I finished for the second time.
We were standing outside, gesticulating, diving into the conversation, impassioned with this common love of cities. Smoke curled around our heads from people smoking, foreign languages dripped from tongues, Smirnoff Ice and Bacardi and orange soda stood in cups abandoned and not so much abandoned. Without coming home, I was home.
People smoke. People drink. Yes, yes, but most of all, most important in this is that people live what they say, they are taken up by the words, caught in a spell-binding time of night, Europop, and smoke, lifted up by ideas from small apartments and meager means.
And I leave with this bit of propaganda (note the Republicans in the back):
Disclaimer: I do not promise that the french above has perfect spelling, grammar, or etc. I did not proofread, nor did I try.
I'm so excited.
I know what I want:
Oxford. So bad.
I feel like a little kid who wants to taste the candy from that "special box for Christmas" or the people who open December 25th on December 3rd in the Advent Calendar.
Oxford is not just airy spires, and intellectual haven. Oxford is a step closer to going home. Forever. Law with European Studies can give me the degree, the prestige that it takes to receive a well-paying job in Moscow. That's where my career is. I don't see myself as a person who stays demurely in one place. Moscow is not demure. Moscow is ostentatious. Moscow is wild. Moscow is historic. Moscow is modern. Moscow, Moscow is my home. I can do legal work concerning relations between the Russian Federation and the EU. Is that not me? I know it is. I know the mindset of Europe, the US, and of Russia. Three different worlds, I can, since I intimately know all three, give a meeting point.
Most important is the personal aspect, though. Ambitions, which reach taller than the spires of Oxford and Empire State building combined, take a back seat to a basic, innate emotion: the feeling of home.
I know I have a home. I know where it is. It's not going to change. My city, my home is Moscow, Russia. I am not stuck in the past, I am not obsessed.
If you want, I can tell you all the drawbacks of Moscow.
But, like true love, I love not only in spite of it, but for it. It endears my city, my home to me.
In the modern world, I think most people have lost the concept of home. Home is a very transient thought in most people. I, in my speech, never use the word home regarding 19009 Silverbrook Dr., Tampa, FL 33647, USA. I say "my house", "where I live."
Home is Moscow.
Home is the very air that I breathe there...filled with smog, of course. Tell me about the evils of Moscow and I'll tell you with a grin that I know that dirt, I know that mud into which I step. I don't care. It inspires within me an air of resistance. I know how to manipulate Moscow. Moscovites. Russia. It's not transient. It's real. It's right there on the map. I can point my finger to it. It hasn't changed since I was born, nor is it going to. I know where I feel "right."
I'm going home in December.
If only for a little while, I can know that I'll be where I belong, where I fit in completely. I'll never completely fit in here. I have my niche, that's true. I have my friends, that's true too. However, what I have in Moscow...is that feeling of serenity that only comes from the place where you belong. Going home, I'll revel in the small. The magic of that certain shade of street lamp shining through the night, snowflakes dancing in the spotlight. I'll revel in the fact that my bottom refrigerator door never closes on first try (though the refrigerator is new). I'll revel in the fact that I belong.
Oxford is a stepping stone to where I belong. Maybe I'll belong in Oxford a little more than in Tampa, but it can never win out again my love of Moscow.
I'm not religious, but I'm ready to pray:
Please, God, give me a chance. Allow me to take the first step to the rest of my life.
Please God, let me belong again.
Please God, let me be home again.
Why do humans have the capacity to wish or to hope?
What ridiculous authority condemned us to this?
If I could be content with my plot and realize that I, as part of the postmodern world, am insignificant.
Yet, I still hope...
Yesterday, Vadik and Tanya were killed in a car crash.
A drunk man on an expensive car had a head on collision with them.
Both of them burned alive.
Both of them were my relatives.
Their six year old son still doesn't know.