"I take a breath,
pull the air in til there's nothing left.
I'm feeling green,
like teenage lovers between the sheets.

Knuckles clenched to white
as the landing gear detract for flight.
My head's a balloon,
inflating with the altitude.

I watch the patchwork farms
slow fade
into the ocean's arms.
From here they can't see me stare;
the stale taste of recycled air.
Calm down, release your cares;
the stale taste of recycled air."

-The Postal Service

A pile of random zines mysteriously appeared on our coffee table the other night. I used to be a zine addict, but sometime during my second year of college, when I no longer had the time or energy to create my own, my addiction faded and I really haven't even glimpsed one since then. I had kind of forgotten all about them. And now, this mysterious pile of them in our living room.

A lot of them are just amazing and beautiful. There are lovely silkscreened covers and fancy typography and one has a tiny envelope pasted to the inside backcover, with another tiny zine inside, closed up with little silver star sticker. So much energy, and time, and dedication, and creativity put into intricate projects for no real reason whatsoever. I loved this little corner of the world, these people. I miss it all. I remember that there was a time in my life when I actually did things.

Now I just sit around on the couch and read books all day. I don't create anything. Nothing original or interesting comes out of my head.

I can't decide if reading all these mystery zines is making me happy and excited to do something again, or just sad and even more exhausted.

Why do I feel like such an old lady?

Oh if I could only find the time, the energy, the mental prowess, to write. Something...anything. I can't even write a decent email anymore. I no longer have anything interesting whatsoever to say. According to some people, I never did have anything interesting to say, but I know those people (and you know who you are) were really just jealous of my eloquence and wit. So ha.

You have nothing to be jealous of anymore, however, as both the eloquence and wit have disappeared.

Just go read the news, it's much better than this. And then come back and tell me what's happening in the world, as I no longer pay any attention. Yeah, theeeeanks.

I'd give my big toe to get out of going to work today. These 11 hour days are kicking my arse to hell and back, and I'm not sure how much longer I can keep it up.

I interviewed for an Editorial Assistant position yesterday. This is the job I moved here for, this is the company I moved here to work with, I want it so badly it's like an itch somewhere deep in my brain that I can't scratch, and I think I really fucked up the the interview. Oy. I am quite possibly the world's worst interviewee. I'm going to be a waitress forever, I can feel it.

Shoot me.

I think I realized why I feel so at home in Boston, why I loved it almost instantly. Boston clings as tenaciously to its history as I do to mine. It feeds on its history, it obsesses over its history, it seizes every opportunity to talk about its history and point out significant features and events. History settles over the landscape of Boston like a fine, golden dust. Things that are happening right now in Boston are already history; you can almost hear the city figuring out how it's going to tell the story later on, in the future.

I am the same way. Me and Boston, we're like soulmates.

I work way too much. Way, way too much. And when I'm not at work I'm usually too tired to do much of anything besides sleep. I haven't written anything in I don't even know how long, and it's taking me over two weeks to read one measly book (About Town: The New Yorker and the World it Made), which is unprecedented. But by some kind of blessed miracle, I have tomorrow off. ('Yes,' most of you are probably thinking 'of course she does, it's the 4th of July.' You've obviously never worked in the food service industry.)

I turn 24 on Sunday. Half of the time I feel like I'm still 13. The other half, I feel 80. Does anyone ever feel like they are the age they are most of the time? Is it some kind of weird generational glitch that people my age feel like it's impossible for us to grow up? And is it ok for me to hate all those people who were published in The New Yorker by the time they were my age?

I'm starting to doubt that I'll ever be a writer. I guess I'm starting to doubt a lot of things. Like my sanity.

But to answer my own pondering non-question of the last post: I love Boston. I remembered it the minute I got on the train coming back from the airport. I don't really know why, but I love Boston intensely. Is that strange?

Hm. I still need more coffee.

I'm heading back to Massachusetts. Sweaty humid goodness...yeehaw.

Kick me in the arse if you will, but I'm starting to wonder what the hell I'm doing out there.

I know I couldn't live in Santa Cruz anymore. I know I love Boston, and it's good that I live there, and I don't regret it in the slightest. But...

Hm. I need coffee.

Ahhh California. I am beginning to realize that even if I never come back to reside in this state, it will always, always be home. And despite my all too frequent complaints about Santa Cruz, it has an insurmountable charm. Sitting in the Poet and Patriot yesterday afternoon I realized that, while Boston may be the US capitol of Irish pubs, the Poet blows them all away. I fear I may never find a pub as great as that one. Le sigh.

Everything is the same, and yet slightly, almost imperceptibly not. I feel at home and yet displaced. It's strange, but I'm still happy to be here. I got my tasty nachos, I saw my favorite Zachary's peeps, I got to drink beer in the Rush Inn and complain about the fact that it's being overrun by hipsters, and the weather...oh, the weather. It's fantastic.

But I'm tired and hungover, and I have to get ready to eat excellent Chinese food tonight (once you've eaten at the O'mei, no other Chinese food will satisfy you, I promise you that). I don't care what I say, I heart Santa Cruz. We just have a very volatile relationship.

I'm heading out to Santa Cruz tomorrow YAY!! Four whole days of normal California weather (where it stops raining when spring is over), and bars I can still smoke in (in Santa Cruz they know when laws are meant to be broken), and Mexican food! Real, live Mexican food!!! And Kathy! And Kim! And Mikey! Oh my!

In the meantime, I've been trying to write, but I'm wondering if maybe I just have to hang up my hat (er, pen?) and realize once and for all I'm not really a writer. I guess I'll have four whole days to ponder this, too.

From the joys of unemployment to the wonders of overemployment. The fun never ends. I've been working my arse off, but it's really not bad. After the first 10 hours you can't even feel your feet anymore, so it doesn't really matter that they hurt. And the delirium from lack of a sleep makes trying to give water to 13 people simulataneously feel like a very strange but entertaining game.

Actually, I'm really pretty happy with it all. I've met some very cool people, I'm making pretty good money, and my addiction to espresso is strong and healthy once again. Oh yeah, and I have a crush, which is always fun. I haven't had a crush on anyone interesting in along time. I forgot how exciting and silly they are, with all the giddiness and the flirting and the telling your friends how very, very cool Super Person X is (yeah, I'm stealing that from Crystal. Thanks Crystal.). Hee hee hee. I feel like a 15 year old. It's great.

The only thing that is stupid in my life right now is that I'm supposed to be in a field with thousands of people listening to Radiohead. Field Day Fest was cancelled, the bastards. They cancelled it on Wednesday. I was supposed to go see the Matthew Barney show at the Guggenheim, too, but no Field Day, no trip to New York. Stupid stupid.

Even that's really ok, though. At least now I have a few days to recuperate and sit on the couch watching old episodes of Sex and the City. And I get to hang out with Crystal. And I get to sleep.

New reviews should be up soon. For now, I'm going to go drink more coffee and read the paper. I heart Saturday mornings.

I have now rejoined the ranks of the gainfully employed. Yeehaw! Not only did I get a job, I got TWO jobs. I'll be your friendly waitperson at Bella Luna, and the person who aids and abets you in your caffeine addiction at Torrefazione.

It's been awhile since I've done the customer service thing, and I think it's going to take me a few more days to readjust, but so far I like it a lot. And service jobs are definitely more conducive to meeting people than temping in an office somewhere; I already heart my coworkers. So yeah, I'm a happy kitty.

And the $2 beers at the Milky Way don't hurt, either.

Oh yeah, and I get to go back to Santa Cruz for a few days. My excitement is boundless. Kathy is my goddess. Kathy, if you're reading this, you are my goddess. God. Dess. Those of you at the Rush Inn...be forewarned. I'm coming back. Mwah ha ha ha ha!!!

I'm doing my best not to let the thrills of unemployment get the best of me. I'm putting up a semi-decent fight. I think.

I just started an internship at Beacon Press, and this internship was one of the things that I had high hopes about before I even got out to Boston, so that's a good thing. It's one day a week, unpaid, but even after only one day I feel like I've learned new things. I'm excited just to be there. And I just hope I meet all those important people I could potentially meet who could potentially find me a real, live job some day. I'll just have to brush up on my networking skills. Or something. Yeah.

And I'm pretty sure I got a job at this coffee shop down on Newbury Street, Torrefazione. The manager told me that I was basically hired, but that, due the changing student schedules and all that other fun, end of school year stuff, he doesn't yet know when or how often he's going to need me. So I just have to sit tight for a week or two (hopefully only for a week or two) and then I'll be back behind the counter, your friendly espresso queen once again. I'm actually kind of excited about the prospect of working in a coffee shop again. I really miss it.

I'm heading down to the bookstore this afternoon to beg for a job. Wish me luck.

God all this job search stuff is boring. Sorry. I promise to be more entertaining next time.

So, the company I interviewed with didn't hire me. And the temp place kicked my arse the curb. Apparently my distaste for the job was more apparent than I thought. So I have joined the ranks of the unemployed. I actually just found out that said company didn't hire me, so I'm still in the early stages of disappointment and I'm feeling more than a little deflated.

Good thing we have Spinal Tap to watch tonight.

I moved all the way across the country because I wanted to work in one specific industry. I want to be an editor, it's the only thing I really want to do in the world. I know I'm qualified, and I know I'd be damn good at it. I don't want to waste the hours of my day being an Administrative Assistant for some company I don't care about, or serving eggs to a bunch of snarky people who probably look down on me because they have great jobs and they assume I'm uneducated. I want to be an editor, and I wouldn't even mind starting out in the freakin mail room, or serving the boss coffee, as long as I was doing it in a publishing house. I'm not in college anymore and I don't want to the kinds of jobs I had when I was in college. And I'm pissed that I live in a time when people have to spend their whole lives working the kinds of jobs they had in college because there is nothing else out there.

Oy, I'm just venting because I'm frustrated. I'm trying to be optimistic, and even to look on the bright side of working in a restaurant or coffee shop- at least I'd be able to meet people, and possibly have some kind of social life again.

I'm not always this grumpy. I just want a job.

Oy. I wish I had something interesting to say, but I don't. I just need to kill time. I'm struggling to stay sane. The last 15 minutes of work sometimes seem to be the worst. They were obviously invented by the Axis of Evil. I don't know what I'm going to do if this company I interviewed with doesn't hire me. I haven't had any other prospects return my call for gainful employment, and this temp thing is the worst thing I've ever done.

In other news, I'm getting kind of addicted to this.

This might be one of the funniest articles I've ever read. These people can't be real. They are characters from some wacky novel. I swear.

Whoo-hoo! Updates!!! It's like a miracle or stuff. I actually wrote something. And let's just say that from now on, you can expect updates weekly. Riiiight.

My friend put this song on a mix tape she made for me, but she neglected to write who it is on the case. Jeorb. It sounds a little like Pinback. But I can't tell. It's driving me mad.

As is this temp job.

This sounds like a great idea.

I'm trying to convince myself the living in the US is not becoming a nauseating endeavor, but my convinction wanes a little more everyday.

"Lt. Gen. David McKiernan, the commander of ground forces in Iraq, issued a proclamation putting Iraq's politicians on notice, saying, 'The coalition alone retains absolute authority within Iraq.' He warned that anyone challenging the American-led authority would be subject to arrest."

But we aren't there to run the country for them. We're fully committed to an Iraqi government for Iraqis, made up of Iraqis, and under Iraqi control. Obviously.

You can read the article from which the above quote comes here.

"We've made clear to Iran that we would oppose any outside interference in Iraq's road to democracy." -Ari Fleisher, White House spokesman

Right. Because the US obviously doesn't constitute outside influence. This must be a new game, the "Let's See How Arrogant We Can Get" foreign policy game.

You can read all about it here.

Wow. I'm on some kind of roll - another new review up today.

If I don't find a decent job soon, I'm going to go completely batty. This place is starting to make me feel all full of rage and impotence or something. I hate doing busy work just for the sake of being kept busy. Especially when you know that what you're doing really isn't useful to anyone. I really don't want to complain too much. I'm just tired. I kept dreaming that our cat was breaking into my room and trying to eat my hand. Plus, I think I heard mice scuttling around upstairs, which made it nearly impossible to sleep. Jeorb.

In much more exciting news - my housemate and I went to see The Postal Service on Sunday night, and they were so badass. It might be the best show I've seen so far. The actually covered Phil Collins. HA! It was phenomenal. I have a new love.

I'm hoping to convince my good friend, the Empress Crystal, to write some words of wisdom for the Smarmy Gator, so you might actually have something interesting to look forward to.

That's all for today. Bye now.