so this is what it feels like to break your own heart.
Archive for August, 2002
my general happiness, graphed by month over the past three years, on a scale of one to ten.
i’m thinking i need to get out of this town in the summer.
i like this girl, who talks about her one-year-old son “lying on his back in our hallway flipping through Henry James’ Portrait of a Lady“
today in art history class (20th century photography), the professor had us pass our drivers’ licenses up to the front of the room, where he shuffled them and handed them out to us. we were supposed to write a page about whatever drivers’ license photo we ended up with. “analyze it,” he said. “just write about the photo.” i got the professor’s license; here’s what i wrote:
i always found it hard to smile when my drivers’ license picture was being taken. some middle-aged, bored lady behind a counter is aiming a camera for the eight-thousandth time that day; how can i be expected to smile at her? at the wall behind her? at the camera she’s maneuvering with a three-foot pole?
this, perhaps, is why you are not smiling.
your hair looks different in the photo. it’s longer, browner. mine is different too; i’m starting to get strange looks from bouncers and bartenders when they look at me and then at my photo taken six years ago. its’ an odd sort of record, a drivers’ license photo–like a reminder in your wallet of that day you drove to the DPS and waited in line behind a mother and her two screaming children. whatever became of that haircut, that expression? what were you doing that day? did you stop there on your way home from work? on your lunch break? whatever happened to that t-shirt you were weraring? i bet you use it to wash the car, to dust furniture.
a drivers’ license photo is, i suppose, meant to capture the essence, the uniqueness, of a person’s physical being. that we try to do that in a one-inch square with a camera you aim with a pole is rather astounding.
i thought about writing “by the way, i’m an english major” at the bottom, but i think he could probably tell. after all, big-boobs mocha-frappuccino girl next to me was writing “it is a drivers’ license. he is a capricorn. in december. he probably gets a lot of ‘merry birthday’ presents.”
the sign in front of the university center has one of the i s missing, so it looks like un versity center. yep, this is definitely an un versity.
“invisible argument” is the best new phrase i’ve heard in a while.
the rules:
- the game will take place over three dinner shifts: friday night, saturday night, and sunday night. daniel and alison will play as many rounds as can fit into said shifts, depending on customers, managers, coworker issues, and kitchen emergencies.
- each round will be played to ten points, a point being awarded to the answerer of the question in the event of a correct answer, or to the asker of the question in the event of an incorrect answer.
- a shift may be left in the middle of a round, but not in the middle of a question.
- there is no set time limit to how long the answerer may take to answer the question. if he or she doesn’t know the answer, he or she will admit it within a reasonable amount of time.
- in the event of an ambiguous or semi-correct answer, todd (a waiter) will decide if the answer should stand. for example, if alison asks daniel for the name of homer simpson’s half-brother, and daniel says “herb” instead of “herbert powell,” it is up to todd whether or not it should be counted as a correct answer.
- score shall be kept on the dry erase board in the waitstation, using fake initials so that todd will not know who is winning.
- no outside research may be done between shifts. questions and answers must be, as daniel said, “from the noggin.” there are no rules about the questions that may be asked. everything is fair game.
- the game will end with the last round of the sunday night shift, unless the game is tied, at which point an additional round will be played. whoever has won the most rounds at the end will be the winner.
- the loser must make the winner a trophy. the only rules governing the making of said trophy are that the trophy must bear the words “winner’s name here is so smart! S-M-R-T! I mean, S-M-A-R-T,” and that the loser must make a trophy that he or she would enjoy receiving him or herself. there will be no lame trophies or trophy sabotage.
this game will, you understand, take place while daniel is cooking steaks and fish and making salads and i’m opening bottles of wine and taking away empty plates and saying “thanks, you guys have a good evening!” i am so going to win.
