collegiate diversion

going to start the note this way: “everything just got ridiculously dark in the fog, I cannot even see the city.”

And then, I look out my window and realize everything is back on and apparent. The other half of the hill, and Cornell University which I can see clearly from my thirteenth floor, just went out.

That was amazingly weird. I’m fortunate to still have my energy. Not that I’m more deserving of the electricity, I’m just doing a lot of work on my computer right now that would not be cool to lose in a black-out.

Or brown out? I can never tell.

I do love the sounds though, of all the rain and thunder and cars skirting along the slick roads. What appealing sounds.

It was even fun to be caught in it this afternoon. My one class today was cancelled so I had the entire time to myself.

I woke up to my sunny room at a perfect 10:35, feeling surprisingly very rested. Like I never do. I guess it took my body getting outrageously sick that then I realized the importance of actual REST. You don’t get enough when you’re neurotic like me and want to be awake for all of it, like a James Bond villain all most. No can do, I want to be on the good side.

Or at least, one of those sultry and voluptuous Bond girls.

Did some interviews over the phone from bed, had so much catching up to do now that I’ve sort-of got my voice back. Nice to communicate with the humans again! I even set-up some interviews for tomorrow, but still had to go through the usual brigade of sexist-bullshit.

“Ohh, a college student, so Samantha are you attractive? Us guys at the Fire Dept don’t like to talk to un-cute college journalists.”

Fuck you guy, I’ll giggle if you give me the video slot I requested. You will? Aww, god, you’re soooooo great.

One more selfless-task-of-flirting-and-flaunting-my-sex for some story. Good job me. (for the record, I’m sorry, okay? I am.)

Then an interview at my hero’s office, talking about everything from online journalism to Jon Stewart’s Cramer madness to RING RING!

(my cell goes off)

“Oh, I’m sorry Parkhurst, I have to take this.” And us snickering at the other equally-sexist-and-forward-and-aggressive fireman from the department. I think Parkhurst is as equally SORRY as I am.

I took a bus over to Cornell to put up some posters for the up-and-coming IZZY AWARDS (check it out! Amy Goodman’s coming. ithaca.edu/indy). And then I hopped another bus back to the Commons just in time to grab some macchiato at the Mate Factor (I know I sound like one of those rich-bitch-Starbucks-yuppies, BUT, macchiato is a totally different and EARTHY concoction at the cult-run café).

And then to my surprise, the cult finally approached me (at last, why don’t these guys just go for it!?).

“Haven’t see you around here before…”

But hey, I’m not going to judge the Twelve Tribes Ithaca cult anymore, they are totally cool! And have folk dance nights every Monday. And they invited me. And I want to go. And they made me a “get well soon” special tea brew concoction. Awfully sweet, although the drink was very bitter and kind of nasty. But out of kindness, it just tasted and felt amazing.

And they gave me a copy of their newspaper and pointed out a really beautiful poem for me. I won’t write the whole thing here, although it deserves a full presentation for justice. It was an entire man’s life, how he moved from the worst to the best part. Away from heroin and into marriage and religion with the cult. This is one of the worser, darker parts (which of course, I loved):

“And your songs don’t answer my question.
And you sell your music
And you’re rich and miserable
And I’m miserable and miserable.

I hate the way things are
And have hated the way they happen
And people hate me
For what I’ve put on them –
I have failed at everything except failing

My hope is this –
I want to change
And no one is saying
You need to change
In fact, they assure me
i’m ok
But even they aren’t

It’s not money,
And I always come
Down from drugs
The band always goes
home without me
and my life is injured
and I don’t think God
wants people
to be like I am.”

No name here, but you have to check it out if you can. Very cool - entitled ‘A Simple Story’ in the free Twelve Tribes paper. Get a copy. I urge.

So, those guys were pretty cool. I would never follow their God but, why not hang out? I don’t think it’s that harmful, and I don’t think they’re psycho.

And then I got on another bus to get home, complete with my save-yourself-and-have-mirth-in-your-life (they told me all about MIRTH, doesn’t that sound good?) TEA, and then who should hop on the bus but –

That guy from the Kosher Kitchen at the IC dining hall! Who always seems to be on crack! Maybe he’s not really on crack though, perhaps we were all too quick to judge. Maybe he’s just always that hopped-up, and excited.

We talked about *matza ball soup (of course, they make the best!) and he told me some illegal things he “may be” doing, according to college policy.

Every time he mentioned it (and it’s a fairly harmless thing), he looked around wearily and put a “shh” finger to his lips. I like having a secret with the Kosher Kitchen guy.

And he stayed on an extra bus stop to keep talking to me. This has been happening more and more in my tally of strange encounters in my life, especially on the bus.

I’m going to evaluate myself from now on based on how long people stay on the bus to talk to me.

So, like I said, a very good and beautiful and fascinating day. I concluded it by finishing my paper, and writing a song, and calling my Dad, who told me that all the tests came out negative, his catscan went well, and it looks like he’s going to be okay ☺.

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