E. E. Cummings on Winter

Saturday, 30 November 2002

ladies and gen­teel men, i give you…winter!

~

s(

these out of in
fi­nite no
where,who;arrive s
trolling­ly

:alight white­ly and.

)now
flakes:are;guests;of t
wi
ligh

t

~

the above po­em brought to you by e.e. cum­mings.

its snow­ing!

Bushelbasketed

Wednesday, 27 November 2002

who loves the hid­den sides of our­selves? if we give us a com­pli­ment on ex­pressed ac­tiv­i­ty why do we de­mur, or give back­hand­ed grat­i­tude? why then do we get blue when our bushel­bas­ket­ed tal­ents with­er in ob­scu­ri­ty? why is it so hard to ex­press love and the things of con­se­quence to each oth­er? why do we ques­tion in­stead of act­ing?

Assembly of Vice Versa

Monday, 25 November 2002

last night i put to­geth­er an as­sem­bly of the rush­es for Vice Versa. i think to­day we’ll prob­a­bly watch them in class. I’m pret­ty sure the rest of class time is go­ing to be spent watch­ing clips. and talk­ing about clips. or lis­ten­ing to Bill talk about clips. in minute and down­ward spi­ral­ing de­tail. i’d much rather just jump on the Steenbeck and go to town.

Slipping Beauty

Sunday, 24 November 2002

-she looked up at me over her falafel and told me about her plans for spain. lots of lit­er­a­ture it sounds like, and a film class that counts for lit­er­a­ture. i wish i could read her. it is so easy spend­ing time idly catch­ing up and its true, as she says, that when we are around each oth­er there re­al­ly isn’t a need for do­ing so.

she’d nev­er been to Elia’s which sur­prised me. its is awe­some mediter­ranean food. i was pret­ty sure she was a veg­e­tar­i­an, and Elia’s has a great se­lec­tion of said cui­sine. per­son­al­ly, as an om­ni­vore, i went with the kaf­ta.

some­one told me that she had bro­ken up with her boyfriend. i didn’t bring it up. i like her, but as things work out, my last se­mes­ter here she will be in Toledo. Where is the point in try­ing to see if she is in­ter­est­ed? I still re­mem­ber work­ing with her at the Huddlemart and crush­ing on her qui­et in­ter­est.

the same some­one who told me al­so heard from the same per­son that told the some­one who told me that she likes me alot. if of course i am the Adam that lives in Keough and is on the fenc­ing team. (i’m 87% sure that it is me).

she just turned 21, 2 days be­fore my 22nd. she seemed to have had an en­joy­able birth­day. and last night she had a wine and cheese par­ty which i was in­vit­ed to, but did not go to be­cause i had a bad hot­dog be­fore the game and was slight­ly nau­se­aous.

so is this beau­ty slip­ping away? is this an­oth­er end­ing? i don’t think i want it to be

Last Home Game

Saturday, 23 November 2002

my last home game as a se­nior at Notre Dame has just end­ed. right now i am sob­bing my eyes out. no longer will i be able to ex­pe­ri­ence the uni­ty and spir­it of the stu­dent sec­tion at a home game as a mem­ber of the stu­dent body. as much as i have hat­ed it here, see­ing my friend PJ cry­ing af­ter the al­ma mater was played struck a chord deep with­in me. it hurts. oh god, it hurts. sit­ting next to PJ who was a mem­ber of my sec­tion fresh­man year, and cry­ing with him re­mind­ed me of each year of my time here and the mem­o­ries as­so­ci­at­ed with it. Freshman year my seats were in the end­zone and i paint­ed my en­tire body for every game. sopho­more year was sim­i­lar ex­cept that my seats moved a lit­tle far­ther down­field. ju­nior year i learned a lit­tle safe­ty and start­ed wear­ing ac­tu­al clothes to the cold­er games. and this year, my se­nior year has ex­ceed­ed all ex­pec­ta­tion. i nev­er ex­pect­ed to be 10 – 1. i nev­er planned that my last home game as a stu­dent would be against the same team that my first Notre Dame game was against: Rutgers. both games were shutouts and both con­tain their own spe­cial au­ra. this is the first great end­ing in my life as a se­nior. when i called my moth­er she didn’t ac­tu­al­ly think i was cry­ing. she didn’t re­al­ly un­der­stand, which is ok. next, i called my un­cle Corbin, who took me to my first home game. he un­der­stood. it is in­cred­i­bly hard to not have any feel­ings for a team and a stu­dent body that you have re­joiced and sobbed with through vic­to­ry and de­feat for 4 years. oh god, i want my team to do so well, and i want to help them in any way i can. my heart is on the field with them every time they play. i might not un­der­stand the in­tri­ca­cies of foot­ball but dammit i know what it feels like to want to win with all your pow­er. its so won­der­ful and so hor­ri­ble. at least i rec­og­nize the im­por­tance of this day, but it hurts so much to know it will nev­er hap­pen again, in this same way. i re­mem­ber my sopho­more year and our game against #1 Nebraska. we took those moth­er­fuck­ers to over­time de­spite their sea of red. my fresh­man year, beat­ing Michigan at Michigan, and rub­bing salt in­to the wounds of those un­sports­man­like bas­tards. the de­ba­cle of the Fiesta Bowl and Bob Davie and his whin­ing. our los­ing sea­son my ju­nior year. and then, this year, not over yet, but glo­ri­ous all the same. an 8 – 0 start with a new coach Tyrone, who is noth­ing but busi­ness and re­spect, who rec­og­nizes and de­sires our par­tic­i­pa­tion and de­mands in the most im­por­tant ways, ex­cel­lence from my team: Notre Dame. This year has taught me what it means to be a Notre Dame fan. what it means to love a team, and scream un­til you lose your voice for vic­to­ry. when each half fights for the oth­er vic­to­ry is al­most as­sured. my tears have dried up a bit. but i hope the mem­o­ries nev­er will. this cry­ing sad­ness is a good one, i have loy­al­ty, re­spect, and dri­ve for my fel­low stu­dents, and i love the ways in which we show our own dri­ves for ex­cel­lence.

I’ve Got to Move Out of This Neighborhood

Friday, 22 November 2002

Before we get to the mp3 i’ve got some news. my good friend Meagan paint­ed me this sweet ass wa­ter­col­or from Lord of the Rings, Its when Sam helps Frodo out of the wa­ter af­ter Old Man Willow has en­tranced them. Its fark­ing badass. I have one and you don’t so there.

al­so, here are some pics from my film shoots and from the trip to Penn State.

The Friday mp3

I’ve cho­sen a song by B.B. King this week. I’ve Got to Move Out of This Neighborhood (Nobody Loves Me but My Mother). If you know any­thing about the blues I don’t need to say any­thing. If you know noth­ing about the blues…listen and learn.

Too Much Work

Thursday, 21 November 2002

i spent my birth­day asleep. i went to bed at 9:30. maybe i am de­pressed. i have three weeks to com­plete 22 pages of pa­pers and to ed­it my 16mm film. my day be­gan at 8am and will end at 1am to­mor­row morn­ing. i went to sched­ule a hair­cut for some­time next week and then went to the li­brary to watch the movie i missed on sun­day be­cause my film noir teacher for­gets stu­dents have oth­er things to do be­sides his class and as­signed an ex­tra screen­ing. ei­ther that or i was go­ing to watch a film for my 10 page film noir pa­per and pre­sen­ta­tion that he al­so is hav­ing us do. too bad the li­brary doesn’t have ei­ther film. wtf is that shit? so i wast­ed 40 min­utes walk­ing to and from the li­brary. i al­so have edit­ing to do the on­ly avail­able time in the edit­ing room is from 10pm-1am to­day, this is be­cause 6 oth­er in­ter­me­di­ate projects and 4 ad­vanced projects all have to use the same 4 steen­becks. 11 film projects + reg­u­lar classtime + partner’s sched­ule — Advanced class pri­or­i­ty /​ 4 Steenbecks = late night edit­ing for me. I just want my fuck­ing de­gree.