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15:14 - April 12, 2003 Also a few pictures from yesterday: on the rockslides on the way down, lucky to be alive
12:03 - April 12, 2003 When we got to the top (the top for us, where there's a cave-like crevice right under a curve of the side) we smoked a little and then headed down the path, this time. It was 9 before we got back to the dorms, partly because we stopped at Half Fast Subs [say it quickly] and observed a group of sorority girls and a group of frat guys in a 'mating ritual', which it really, really was. The guys were established at their table and the girls walked in. A guy complimented a girl on her skirt. The girl invited him to her table. Like lemmings, after a shout from their fellow (about to score) lemming, they all toddled over to the girls table, complimenting skirts like mad all the way. Yesterday was weirder. In terms of theory, I'm fucked (piano concertino by Monday, must be able to play it, analysis paper, etc.) so I did that all day, and then at 10:30 we (same group) went to the Pink Floyd Laser Light Show in the planetarium. They were playing Welcome To The Machine. We thought they were playing The Wall, but Chell hadn't read the sign correctly. I would have loved it if it weren't for the fact that we were lying on a hardwood stage and my head started throbbing from the one place it touched the wood and kept moving out out out even when I put my coat under my head for pillowage, out out to my neck and my forehead, where it pulsed warningly. The light show probably didn't help matters by being 3D and huge (two prerequisites for making me sick; I always ran out of the IMAX theatre on elementary school field trips) so eventually, luckily only two songs before the end, I just lay on my side and enjoyed being enveloped by the music. [A sidenote: I am almost never affected as much by visual stimuli as by any other sort. For example, right now my suitemates are blasting something terrible out from their room with a constant pulsing bass beat and those annoying fucking synthetic snares, and even though both their door and mine are closed, I can hear it as though it was coming from my own stereo, and it's making it very very difficult to write coherently. So sounds affect me. So do smells, and remembrance of touches, but visuals go away very quickly. For example I could write perfectly fine were there flashing lights going off directly above my computer, which there kind of are; the CD rainbows from the sunlight through my window.]
Anyway, after the show we were hungry and stopped by the Hardrive Cafe at Kittredge, which was five minutes from closing, but we ordered and sat down anyway. We hadn't really started our food when the guy who had been making the sandwiches came over to the microphone on the stage and said we had to leave or otherwise he would sing. Predictably, we started clapping and chanting, 'sing! sing! sing!' at which he became super bashful and blushed, and said, 'do you really want me to sing?' This went on for quite a while. When finally he sang, in his thick Indian accent, Sarah McLachlan and then Bryan Adams, we clapped wildly in between his laughter, our laughter, and his co-workers laughter. 'Do not eat those tortilla chips while I am singing!' he admonished Lara at several points. 'Do not eat your ice cream! It is Ben and Jerry's! It will never go bad!'
On the way home we were wondering if any of it had actually happened, and then we got into Andrew's where everyone, as Lara and I concluded, was being twice their normal personalities. Brendan was asleep. Chell said 'maaaan' at every third word and chain smoked cigarettes, Jeremy had 3-D glasses on and screeched periodically, Felix and Chris pounded each other on the back enthusiastically and drunkenly, Aaron had met a million new people as always and had sequestered himself in the fort with them.... Quote of the night: 'We're not praying over the bowl, Felix.'
11:34 - April 09, 2003 Past the March madness, yearly, here is April and the end of school is within counting distance on your fingers if you use weeks, even more so here since we end insanely early (May 8). There were two people behind me on the bus discussing the pros and cons of being almost out. (their two points being mainly: 'sweet, no more school' and 'bummer, no more parties', but who's surprised?) I, on the other hand, like it here so much I would consider spending my summer here. I won't, of course, but let's say interstates were closed because of... I don't know, threat of terrorist attacks on our highways (you laugh now, but when Bush actually issues something like that...) I wouldn't be all that torn up about being stranded. Snowstorm Monday, cold clear Tuesday, warm dry sunny Wednesday in Boulder. The sky behind the mountains holds its secrets well.
12:55 - April 07, 2003
Before I could get too angry, though, they all came in, pretty much all at once, cracking open beers. 'Are we leaving?' I asked. Now, I know in order to get these guys moving you have to tell them at least ten minutes in advance, so I waited five minutes, and then got up and said, 'I'm going, at least,' and left, with Lara, Aaron, and Nick behind me. I assumed the rest of them would either follow me or at least catch the bus when it got there, but they never did. We ended up with just the four of us, which was fun, of course (Aaron refusing to eat sushi but still trying to eat more wasabi than Nick, and Nick, as a result, trying to eat more wasabi than Aaron), but Lara and I got all righteous and angry and were like, 'we're not going over there tonight! not ALL night! nope. fuck them. fuck them! they missed my birthday dinner to DRINK. it's not like they had anything better to do,' etc., etc., and, true to our word, did not go over there all night. We stayed in my room, got insanely high, and drew gay monkeys on a pad of paper and talked about how my bed was an ocean. We went to bed early.
So at one a.m., I'm fast asleep in my bed when my door cracks open and I hear barely suppressed whispers. 'Is she in here? Is she... Hannah? is she....' There is such a difference between them. Suddenly.
Chris is angry. His eyes are wild. I get scared of him when he gets drunk. He doesn't hear things, and he doesn't think anything, I don't think. He stands in the hallway, chest heaving, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. 'If you wanna get CRUNK,' he yells at Brendan, thumping him on the shoulder, 'then let's go get Crunk.' The door shuts and I can hear them fighting in the hall, the thud of someone's head hitting the wood bathroom door. 'Don't touch my cigarette, thug,' Chris hollers, and Brendan's voice is only a faint mumble after the elevator door closes. I hear later that Chris gets his lip split by someone outside and wakes up in an ice puddle. In some ways I still thought they were kidding about the surprise party, trying to cover their asses, but everyone I asked says it's true, and I don't know whether to feel bad or not. Andrew, who wasn't there for it either, being in another state, only said this: 'They got food for you, man. They never get food for anyone.' He always has a very simple way of putting things. So this weekend has me very muddled up. not sure whether I have anything to be regretful about, or... what.
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