Jamie's Idealized Version Of Life At TSAS-1 College-0

I have an hour until my next class. So I don't think I'll try to tell all. But I'm a little disappointed. I know it will get better, but it's just hard topping my image of TSAS. At this point, I'd prefer one of Ellen's classes to any of mine now. That's not to say they're bad, not at all. The teachers are intelligent and the classes are productive. It's just that I dont think I like their styles. I'm starting to think that a professor is definitally the career path for me. Either that or a conservative republican polititian. Where else can I excercise my arrogance so greatly?

And Jen, minutes before our first college class ever, gave me the pictures from graduation. The ones of her, Jill, A and I. The ones of Butler and I. The ones of John and Butler. Talk about compounded grief.

I'll try not to be so dismal. My last class I haven't been to yet is Sociology, and I know that prof already and love her. And sociology is the bomb diggity of a subject. And I have that in about an hour. So here's hoping . . . (takes swig of coffee and steels her will against thinking negatively.)

??EDIT?? Remember: Big Trucks

Mary Poppins

It's been a long, hard, emotional day. But a super cuddle session with my love, a scenic drive home, and the email reprinted below from my mother have made the end a little brighter.

Mahatma Gandhi, as you know, walked barefoot most of the time, which produced an impressive set of calluses on his feet. He also ate very little, which made him rather frail and with his odd diet, he suffered from bad breath.

This made him ....
A super calloused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis.

I've just got to let the people know. Any Quaker Fruit and Oatmeal product is, frankly, the bomb.

Salute Et Vale

So there's day two out of the way. That class that was supposed to be a class, yeah, it wasn't a class. More orientation shazzy. I'm sick of it like no other, y'all. Have more orientation shmorientation tomorrow, then I'm free until Saturday when I'm supposed to meet with my "orientation group" from intellectual hell. Then Sunday I get to attend a lecture (hurrah!) and a performance of the Illiad, and THEN class starts! Joy!

Met up with Joe, Jen and Little A at Gypsy tonight. We met there to humor A, since she leaves for St. Louis tomorrow. We went by my dorm, and ran into another girl from TSAS, Stephanie Richardson, who went to Costa Rica with our spainish program this summer and she told us how one of her friends got tossed by a bull, and how Brit drank three glasses of green, insect infested water. And how she had a really amazing experience. She was very changed, I thought. She was once sort of quiet, and when she spoke in front of more than maybe two people, she seemed very normal and akward. Today, she was open, interesting, articulate. She'd lost weight too and cut her hair prettily. It's nice when you find friends in people you'd underestimated.

Then we went to Jill's apartment for another guy's going away party, Jeromee, who I went to Memorial with and Jill works with. But we didn't stay too long because there were other people there and it was wierd. But Jill had made some killer bruchetta and artichoke dip, and it was awesome to hang out with her again and see her new digs. Then the five of us (John too) went over to the river for a bit, then back to my dorms where we sat and talked until after one.

There have been three people who have impacted not only me and my life, but the entire direction I was taking and who I was. They were/are John, Butler, and Allison Myers. Meeting that girl was a godsend. Besides John, I've never connected so deeply and so quickly with anyone. She's the only person who could actually say something to make me feel better. She was my other half through perhaps the most tumultous time of my life, and she helped me to pick up my feet and turn my life onto a brand new course. She helped me open new doors.

I'll miss you, A. Though we are not the same friends as we were, it's a comfort to know that you exist.

Though I Walk Through The Valley Of The Shadow Of Sorority Row

So there is this huge entry sitting on my desktop, just waiting to be published, that I wrote on the way home from Chicago. But it does not seem appropriate at the moment, so it'll have to wait.

And I am in college! Woo? Christiane is having fun. My friend Emily from TSAS is having fun. Craig, are you having fun? Alex? Chris, I know you're not. I'm not sure. Everyone just seems so damned normal. I'm on edge constantly, gritting my teeth against saying something that will scream, "ANTISOCIAL", because I can't do that here. It's been a long time since I was in a mainstream setting. Seriously, more than two years since I had to truly watch my mouth and have my gut wrenched because everyone around me seems to be a business major and listen to John Mayer. Yesterday, I had an "orientation meeting" and my "orientation leader" gave us the advice to "stay as busy as possible, join everything" to the point of exhaustion. Don't think, just join in. And the "orientation mentor" who is a professor said that "there are two kinds of professors, those who care about research, and those who care about you. And I am one of the second kind". This woman also advised us to make friends with professors. And for a great reason too. Because they can give you great recommendations when you're looking for a job. Tears came to my eyes at this point, thinking that these two people embodied everything that TSAS doesn't.

Anyway, I have a sort of a class today. It's technically an orientation class, but it's made up of honor students and taught by the dean of the Honors college. So hopefully that will be closer to what I'm looking for. This week is a waste of energy. Just give me knowledge.

My suitemates are blah. They all look about 14 years old. Katie, Rachel, Bridgett and Becky. I don't know too much about them. They're all from Kansas or Texas. Becky plays french horn in band. Bridgett is in the Honors program and does not seem to excited about it. Those four girls are roommates of eachother. The other girl with the single in our suite's name is Somelea, pronounced like Amelie. She's . . . well as far as I can tell she's just far enough away from normal to be cool, but just far enough past cool to be a little wierd. Like, she likes Lord Of The Rings, but she also likes to make jokes about Sam wanting to "get into Frodo's pants". And she's been here since Saturday and has yet to settle in. Her room is still covered in boxes and shopping bags.

And as for my room, I do have a single so that's a godsend. My mom thinks I'll regret it, but I would not survive a roommate. But I've got the place set up nicely. Lots of room.(Though when both my parents and John were here, it was a little cramped and I kept running into things.) I have my IKEA rug on the floor, all my favorite books, all my CDs, my coffee supplies, my record player, and my Jesus action figure. We're all cool. As my mother says, "It's you, condensed."

This will all be ok. I'll find someone cool, I have faith. And if not, I'll just make fun of everyone. Who cares if I'm "antisocial" again? I've got my life outside of school. And as John says, "One of the good things about starting over again, you get to be the punk". I've already taken the role of the freewheeling bad*ss, by skipping out on the Matriculation Ceremony and being the only one in my group to have the guts to ask if we actually had to go. So that will be fun. New identies are exciting. Just please, quickly, Lord, deliver me from school spirit.

Walking In A Hipness Wonderland

Day two in Chicagoland. This is what they actually call it here, Chicago and the surrounding towns. Chicagoland. Like a theme park.

I'll save my discussion of Sarah's church, Willow Creek, for another day, perhaps the flight home, because it will be very involved. But lets just say that though you still can't tell a book by it's cover, sometimes the publishing house does a very good job of portraying the theme of the book on the cover.

We went to IKEA today! Joy of joys! The Scandenavian designers finally called me home. I never truly understood the glory that is fuctional and elegant design until I entered that utopia of home furnishings, the Ikea Store.

And folks, this place is GI-normous. It's three stories high, each level the size of Target. And all of it chock full of adorable Swedish home accesories. I can only begin to describe to you how awesome this place is. My senses were bombarded with coolness to the point of numbness. This was me: "Can not compute, can not compute, hippness overload, hipness overload."

So let me tell you some of the things I got to make my dorm room the hippest place this side of the 36th Parallel. I got a rug with a cool geometric shape that would be like if you put a box around this ----> ) ( and colored the middle white and the outsides blue. I got a quilt cover that made Sarah go, "Hello, 1985!" I got a book case with a cabinet in it the door of which was plain white metal with a big blue dot in the middle. I got some kah-raaazy magnets. And much much more that I can't remember or can't describe.

And it's all so cheap! That's the other side of this coin of wonderfulness! The rug, which was a full floor rug, was only 20 dollars! The bookcase, which was solid metal sheeting, was less than a hundred dollars. I got a fancy light thingy that looked like a glowing almond for only 3 dollars! Chic, and affordable. That's the IKEA way. And not to mention socially concious, convenient, family oriented and globally minded along with all those other Bobo virtues.

Sarah's house is also a paragon of cool. The little town outside of Chicago, called Elgin, where she lives is just one big midtown Tulsa. All the houses there look like they'd be found between 36st and 15th and Harvard and Riverside. All the buildings are old and full of character. And I mean all. Literally. She lives in a house built in 1928 (that is actually on the Historical Registry, with a plaque and everything) with creaking wood floors, glass doorknobs shaped like diamonds, with a converted attic bedroom (not hers) and kitchen set up straight out of 1957.

Lord, I have died and gone to anywhere north of Oklahoma.

Keeping My Mind Off My Troubles

written yesterday, or something. Don't ask for numbers

I am currently on the airplane to Chicago. People, this is the first time I've flown in almost four years. And that's long before September 11. So yeah, I was a little nervous to go through all the checkpoints. Especially because I have two laptops with me. Mine, and the one my parents bought for my sister and I have to take to her. And you don't check a computer for the silly old baggage handlers to turn into a volleyball. So I had lug both computers through security.

But now, it's halfway over. I don't know if there are any security things I'll have to go through there, but O'Hare is a huge, unfamiliar airport and Sarah is not coming to meet me. I have to come meet her in the parking lot. Not her fault, parking costs astronomically. But it doesn't help my anxiousness.

When the plane took off, and I felt the wheels leave the ground, I was scared of flying, for a split second, for the first time in my life. I thought, how in heaven's name can this hairbrained idea of man flying actually work? I didn't care how many dozens of years airlines had been operating, or how many millions of successful flights there had been. At that moment, all I knew that this huge hunk of metal was not touching the ground, and I was terror stricken.

But I tried not to let that grip me. I kept looking out the window until I was comfortable with it. Took a bit, but I came around.

I sort of have to pee at this moment, but I don't want to disturb the businessman on the aisle seat, nor do I want to put my computer away. I'll just stop drinking my apple juice. But I know this won't do any good. I drank two shots of espresso before I even got to the airport. I may be only on my first supression, but this flight is an hour and a half long and I'll have to get up long before that.

So to keep my mind off of that, I'll keep writing. As soon as I get to Chicago, we're going over to Sarah's church. Woo. And I'll get to sit there all afternoon while she works at some quasi-volunteer production team thing. And then I get to go to the worship service. I reiterate: woo.

Oh man, I really have to pee.

Ok, so I went ahead and peed. I feel so much better. And now I can drink my teacup of apple juice with ice in tube shapes that they gave me. Standing up on an airplane is kind of an interesting experience. It's sort of like standing up on a boat, but a little more eerie because it's air that's making it rock slightly. Do pilots and stewardesses (typed that word with ONLY my left hand) talking about getting their "air legs"?

Speaking of boats, John and I decided his van was sort of like a boat. (Man next to me just gave me a funny look. Maybe I'm typing too loud. I've been accused of that before.) It bounces back and forth on turns and bumps just like a boat hitting a wake, especially when it doesn't have anything in the back. It's fun! But so we've named it The Hispaniola, like in Treasure Island or The Twilight Treader, a reworking of the Narnian ship, The Dawn Treader. We ought to refer to turning starboard and port instead of right and left and sitting fore and aft instead of front and back and talk about the van's hull and threaten to keel haul backseat drivers.

I'm sort of anxious about this trip itself. For one, Sarah attends and works for the largest protestant church in the nation, one that's full (as far as I know) of the things I dislike the most about the modern protestant church. I may be wrong. I hope I am. I don't want her to ask me what I think, and I know she will, otherwise she wouldn't be wanting to show it to me so badly, and have to lie or say something negative. It would really hurt Sarah, no matter how nicely I put it. And for two, apparently Sarah has a rather "itchy" roommate and I worry how well my presence in their house will go over. But hey! Sarah can be pretty itchy herself, and she'll tell the girl to shove it, cuz she's my sister! Yeah!

We're gonna go to Ikea and some museums and neat resturants. And that will be enormously fun. And it'll be good to just see her life there, it'll be good to be in touch with her that way. I mean, she knows my life right now better than anyone in my family, being closer to my age, having gone to TU, and being one of the most culturally aware people I know. So it will make it full circle, for me to be aware of her world too.

The plane is landing soon. I'll probably write a lot more while sitting around Sarah's church. I don't know what my internet options will be once I get there, so we'll just have to see when this is actually posted.

----------------------------------------------

So, I'm at Sarah's church right now. I've been up since 6 this morning. I'm exhausted. I got a phone call from John that contained pain and made me want to go home to him. My sister's church . . . I don't know what to say. I can see why Sarah or my mom would think I'd like it, but the fact that they think I'd like it just proves how little they know me. A church is not made good and right by having a cool stage with Ikea lights and hip looking people working for them. It's Christianity, not a fashion show. It's a belief system, not a social scene. Bah. I'm exhausted and stressed and wish I could just go throw myself down on my bed and cry for a little while, then have John come and hold me and we'd fall asleep. Then we'd wake up, go get some coffee and sit by the river wearing sweaters and singing.

And did I mention that I really miss you too, Chris and Kevin? I nearly shed happy tears when Kevin mentioned me in his livejournal. And Chris, I'll miss the sideburns. I miss everyone else too. I can't wait until life settles down again. Er, wait, does it ever?

It's A Three Parter!

So we've been in Colorado for a few days now. Sorry I haven't really updated. I've been doing a lot of reading in my spare time. I've nearly finished two books since we left. Euripiedes's "The Bacchae" and Ray Bradbury's One More For the Road. So yeah, now I'll give you all the lowdown.

The Mountain Folk

We saw our family the first night here. We went to my uncle's house for a very good dinner. I said I anticipated talking with my uncle and aunt, but that was before I remembered that they're rather self-absorbed at this point in their lives, and have forgotten how to speak to an 18 year old girl. That's ok, they're allowed to be that way. I had my cousins and their kids.

My cousin Terrell is married to a lovely Greek, Brooklyn native woman named Barbara. They have two adorable kids named Ethan Alexander and Saige Renee. Ethan is two and Saige is about 8 months. Terrell was an English major (now a corporate something or other) who reads as much as me and loves Ray Bradbury. He's reading One More For The Road right now too. Barbara is about the nicest woman on the planet and actually takes an interest in talking to me. I had lovely conversations with them both. Ethan and Saige were both sick while we were there, Saige especially. But Ethan is the smartest, sweetest, most adorable little boy I have ever met. I mean it. Smarter, sweeter and cuter than even my Tulsa nephews. (shh, don't tell my siblings) He just blew me away with how articulate and intelligent he is. Saige was crying, and he said, "Sister needs a bottle, Mommy." And he went to get it! Age two, people! He knew right where Barbara keeps them in the bag, but when they weren't there, he knew they were in the fridge! He has the most gorgeous big blue eyes and the classic Greek curly hair. He loves to eat Feta cheese and olives and drinks iced tea and Dr. Pepper. And this lovely little creature attached himself to me! Kids NEVER love me, but Ethan thought I was just the greatest thing in the world. He sat by me at dinner and we played together all evening. He is so precious. I wished I could have stayed in Denver a few more days and babysat him while they were at work. I've never liked a child as much as I liked Ethan Alexander Pierson.

My other cousin, Nikki, was there too with her son, Jesse. Jesse is cute too, but he's a bit of a loner child and didn't really like to play too much. He watched "Shrek" most of the evening.

Urban Mountains Majesty

We have a condo in a little town just outside Vail called Avon. We're in an area called Summit County, the northern part of the mountains. Here, nearly every town is a ski town. The town we're living right outside of is actually a preplanned, as my mother would say, "man made" town. Vail was built for the sole purpose of providing condos and shops for skiers. And Vail's not for your casual, college weekend, middle america family ski vacation. It's a fairly upscale, ritzy place for fat white people. All the stores sell designer ski equipment, or designer winter weather clothes, or tourist clap trap, all heinously overpriced. Not a single book store. And all in a "village" designed to look like a little Swiss town, but looks more like a theme park street. And it results in something entirely without character, without soul, without beauty. Even the gorgeous aspen trees that I could easily see the Druids worshiping, even the majestic peaks I envision Zeus sitting upon, even they are slightly covered by a plastic film by all the fakery of Vail.

The town we're living in is just a suburb. Basic, normal kind of place. Just lay Broken Arrow out on mountain roads and replace some of the stores with ski shops. But here, at least, the mountains are intact.

The town dearest to my heart, Brekenridge, could not be more different from these silly places. It's an actual town, originally a mining town and full of lovely uneven sidewalks and old buildings. It's got a lovely creek and all kinds of nature every where. It's so full of character and life and history. But even cooler, it's got some of the coolest shops I've ever seen. LOTS of old book stores and boutiques, situated in little houses along the street, with wooden front porches and swinging signs out front. Those old buildings with facades, lined up along the angled street like people watching a parade. There are pieces of artwork scattered throughout the town, lots of coffee shops. And surrounded by mountains. I think Breckenridge was designed for me. I does have your tourist shops, certainly, but nothing like the other cities. The atmosphere and spirit is just not the same.

Someday, I'll live there. If only for a summer.

We met up with the Maricles, who're staying a couple towns over (closer to Breckenridge than we are) and Craig, Steven and I went down the Alpine Slide together. For those of you that don't know, the Alpine Slide is a huge twisty slide built into the side of a mountain that you have to ride a chair lift to get to the top of, and you slide down on these little wheeled sleds. It's about the funnest thing ever. And about the most expensive. Something like $10 a ride, I think.

I Went To The Woods Because I Had Not Lived

Last night, we went camping. Have I ever expressed how much I love to camp? I long to sit by a fire with the Milky Way over head, sipping Shasta sodas or hot chocolate or (now) a Mike's Hard Lemonade with my family. I love crawling into a sleeping bag, freezing cold, on an air mattress under a tent or inside a camper, drifting off to sleep with the smell of woodsmoke in my nostrils, on my clothes, in my hair. I love to wake up with the sun and walk down to the lake, the kinks of sleeping on the ground not yet worked out of my limbs, my hands sore from chopping wood for the morning fire, the scent of camp coffee and bacon rising from the campsite behind me, the tip of my nose numb from the morning cold. I love to sit on the shore of Lake Dillion, the seat of my pants wet and cold from sitting on a wave washed rock, my eyes dazzled by the sun on the water, my heart overwhelmed by the sight of the enormous mountains engulfed in pine trees, ringing the stunning blue of the lake. I love to see a fire I built. I love to warm myself from the mountain cold with the hard work of setting up camp, or hiking and climbing. I love to eat plain, natural food on an uneven picnic table. I love camping.

I chopped a lot of wood this trip. I used to be too young to do it, but this time I split logs and chopped up dead trees with my father's hachet. I don't know how to explain how satisfying it was and is, but I loved it. I've always wanted to be able to, loved the feel of the ax and the way it bit into the chopping block, I'd sit and watch the chips fly when someone else would chop. But this time, I was the one making bits of wood jump into the air, seeing the tree limb narrow until it broke. It's just so satisfying, to do something with your own hands, to conquer something with your own strength. I have blisters on my hands and soreness up to my shoulders, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

When we left the forest, it was like a spell was lifted. My mother suddenly felt ill, and I got more carsick than I had the whole trip and felt very shakey. When we got back to the condo, my father was short with me for the first time this week. I had to talk my parents into letting us camp, but when we were out there, they talked about how glad they were that I had, and considered staying an extra night. I think that, somewhere inside of us, there really is a need to be in nature, a need to be primitive. Everyone who's ever said it, from Thoureu to the Native Americans to the hippies at TSAS, may have a little something there. We are creatures of earth, and sometimes we ought to be a little more in harmony with it.

Roadtrip 1

There are about three half finished entries on my computer and I'm wondering if I should try to finish them, but then I realize most of the people who read this sucker have already heard all the events I was planning on writing them about.

So as I was looking for that link in the last entry, I looked through some of my old entries. And I think I'm gonna try to write that way again. I like the way I write now, its more mature I think. But the old way had plenty to recommend it. It had lots of life and catchiness to it. It was a pop song to my current style's more post hardcore. Or maybe I don't know what I'm talking about.

I'm sitting in the backseat of my mother's Nissian, on the way to colorado. This should have been the first sentence. I am listening to the new Death Cab, stretched out over the knapsack we've taken on every Colorado trip since before I was born, which is full of trail mix, paper towels and batteries. I feel like a little kid, but akwardly so. I feel like that visual joke of an adult in little kid clothes, holding a lollipop. I'm living out one of the classic roles of my childhood, but I can't fit it. I can't fit in the back of this Nissian, it's no mini van. And I can't be little Jamie, adorable blonde haired Jamie. Carefree, elementary school Jamie with her sister's hand-me-downs, precociously reading a classic novel. I'm a big girl now.

Thats not to say I don't want to go to Colorado, or that it's unpleasant to be with my parents. I just don't know how to relate to them now. I suppose we all have this problem at this point in our lives. But I know Sarah didn't. My parents knew who she was and bent over backwards to help her be that person, because she couldn't do it by herself. Becky, I know she struggled here, but to try and talk to her can be hard, because she's kind of wrapped up in her own problems these days (and rightfully so) and her advice can be ambiguous. And I'm the youngest. I think my parents are just sick of trying to relate to their kids. They want to move on. They're happy to just ignore me, treat me like an extra pair of hands when a task needs to be done, and something to pay for until it can pay for itself. Oh yes, and they want to "make sure John and I don't get too serious". The only concern or interest in me they show is in the one thing they have no right to interfere in.

I don't mean to sound like a "teenager". I like my father a lot, I respect him enormously. He's actually fairly helpful and tolerant of me, I appreciate him even though he's often insensitive to me. My mother is funny and I enjoy her company, when she's not stressed and barking orders. Which is often these days.

Oh well, we're on our way to the mountains. And we'll spend a lot of time around eachother. Maybe it'll get to be ok.

Roadtrip 2

So it's day two. We're still driving. We used to do this trip all in one day, but now it's easier to do it overnight, because we aren't little kids who have to be gotten ready in a hotel the next day. My parents used to be very gung ho about leaving at 8 in the morning and driving hard all day long. In later years they have mellowed.

So last night we stayed at the Buffalo Inn at Goodland Kansas, a city made up of three hotels and a Walmart, as far as I could tell. They had stuffed full size buffalos in the lobby and buffalo wallpaper in the restaurant. They served buffalo burgers and a dessert called "The Buffalo Chip" which was a brownie with chocolate ice cream and chocolate syrup. Mmm, poop for dessert.

This motel had the biggest bathtub I've ever seen in a hotel. I could lay down in it. Crazy.

I miss John. In excess.

I've taken a load of pictures already. Major shout out to my boo for lending me his digital camera. At lunch today, my parents told me we aren't actually staying in Brekenridge, but in a stupid resort town thirty miles away from Brekenridge. Sure sure, it's still in the mountains, but it's about half an hour's driving from my favorite city. I was under the impression we would be living right above the city proper, like we did last year and I would be able to just come and go in the city as I pleased. That we'd just all be hanging out and soaking up the town and relaxing. But no. Now we're going to have to get up every morning and plan and drive and have a "vacation". Instead of just a vacation. But the whole point of putting that story in this paragraph was that just after I found that out, I discovered the coolest dishes I've ever seen at a trucker diner, and I cheered myself up by taking lots of pictures of them. (If someone will email me a way to upload pictures, I'll try to post them.)

I told my parents at dinner last night that I was a little worried about feeling left out and left behind by my family on this trip. They didn't say anything really. But I know that means they'll try not to let that happen, and that they know what I'm talking about. If they didn't, they would have tried to defend themselves and belittle my feelings about it. So hopefully, that will be alright.

I'm supposed to be listening to "The Illiad" on tape right now instead of Forget Cassettes. But I listened to it a lot yesterday, and there's really only so much graphic description of gruesome death by dismemberment that one can take in 48 hours.

Tonight we'll be in Denver, which means no mountains quite yet, to see my uncle and his family, including the two cutest kids in the world, Ethan Alexander and Saige Renee Pierson. Here's looking at historical discussions with my uncle and literary discussions with my cousin, plus really really good food cooked by my aunt. Family will suffice, and my cherished Rocky Mountains will wait another day.