I am walking
out in the rain
and I am listening to the low moan
of the dial tone again
and I am getting
nowhere with you
and I can't let it go
and I can't get through...
the old woman behind the pink curtains
and the closed door
on the first floor
she's listening through the air shaft
to see how long our swan song can last
and both hands
now use both hands
oh, no don't close your eyes
I am writing
graffitti on your body
I am drawing the story of
how hard we tried
I am watching your chest rise and fall
like the tides of my life,
and the rest of it all
and your bones have been my bedframe
and your flesh has been my pillow
I am waiting for sleep
to offer up the deep
with both hands
in eachother's shadows we grew less and less tall
and eventually our theories couldn't explain it all
and I'm recording our history now on the bedroom wall
and eventually the landlord will come
and paint over it all
and I am walking
out in the rain
and I am listening to the low moan of the dial tone again
and I am getting nowhere with you
and I can't let it go
and I can't get though
So now use both hands
please use both hands
oh, no don't close your eyes
I am writing graffitti on your body
I am drawing the story of how hard we tried
hard we tried
how hard we tried

Goldschlager fucked up our golden boy, B Jen, if you wanna know the truth. With Candice in the next room, trying, in vain, to fall asleep, Ben and I continued drinking the golden ambrosia, cider jack and rum. Just a minute after I got out of the bed I returned to find him becoming one with his intestines. It was hysterical because he was so horrified and embarrassed. I actually cleaned a lot of the puke while he showered, which should say something, because I'm so not about that.

Speaking of puke, I threw up 5 times in the shower the morning before I left. Snarf + puke = good times. The kicker? The shower was slightly clogged, so I was literally standing in a pool of vomit.

Just another tasty treat from your friend at vignette.org.

In a while we'll begin a 170 mile journey to Chico Calif. to go to a rave. I have ticket #4,431. Isn't that beautiful?

Take care tonight, everyone, and please avoid resolutions. No more bullshit than necessary this year.

Goldschlager.

I didn't mention that I threw up five times in the shower tomorrow. And the shower was clogged. I was standing in a pool of vomit.

So not cute.

I'm in Oakland. As much as *he* would like you to think it's Berkeley or even San Francisco, it's really Oakland.

Ben talks to himself a lot. It's funny. Except when it's not.

I went to Dillon Beach and Berkeley today. Ha! I went to the beach and everyone in NJ is preparing for a blizard. This makes me giggle. Like a schoolgirl.

I've been waking up really early since I got home. Somewhere between 7:30 and 9:30 every day.

I fear I'll wake up in the strange house in Oakland at 5:30 a.m. and not be able to fall back asleep.

I'll deal.

Kickin' it west coast style in 24 hours. See you.

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

The day after Christmas.

It's about curling up on the couch with a fleece blanket, dipping left-over ginger bread in homemade whipped cream. It's about braving the mall traffic for sales and last-minute shopping for friends. It's about anticipating New Year's Eve, the next big party.

Typically, New Year's Eve is lame for me. I suppose it's because I'm not 21. Last year was great, visiting Melissa in Rhode Island and celebrating the new century in the freezing-cold Providence, gazing at a never-ending fireworks display. This year should be even better. I'm really quite psyched. I feel like I should be nervous or a little worried about flight delays and getting along with Candice and Ben for a pretty solid block of time. But I'm just totally grinning like a goofball at the thought of spending the holiday weekend in my favorite place in the country and with two people who are really my newest friend, but to whom I feel the closest.

Rock on.

The thing about Christmas is there is this horrible couple of hours between opening presents and the arrival of guests. I actually watched a rerun of Regis with some chick from "Survivor" before finally fleeing to my room to read "Sex and the City," a gift from Cathleen (weird book, interesting, though).

The gifts were practical. Pretty much all cash, which is definitely the way to go since I'll be needing some spending moola in San Francisco (three days and counting). Um. I bought some great gifts this year, which I'm psyched about. I got a framed print of "Starry Night" for everyone. Continuing the stocking tradition, I got all of mom's stocking stuffers (she always does ours, but how lame is it to have to stuff your own stocking?). I found some kick-ass festive socks, including red and black babies with jingling bells on them. When she walks around the house she sounds like a cat with a little bell collar.

I thought it would be cute to buy a ton of little green Christmas tree candles for place markers at the dinner table. I wasn't expecting them to try to kill me. As I was attempting to pass a piece of pumpkin bread to someone the bottom of my sleeve hit the candle and about six square inches went up in a quick flame. I kind of yelped and flailed my arm once and it was out. Very bizarre.

What else?

Did I mention I've had a throat infection since Thursday. White stuff and all! I put off going to a doctor and it finally seems to be fgetting a bit better today. We'll see.

So, hope you guys had a great day with family and food and FUN!!! Oh yeah!

Merry Christmas, you guys.

May the sprit of Christmas be with you tomorrow (and long after).

More later...

When I interview people for stories over the phone, I just type most of what’s been said into a word file as we’re talking, instead of using a tape recorder. It just saves time for me, and I’m a decent typist. But the funny thing is going over interviews to shape comments into useable quotes. I notice all of my repeated type-os. I always mistype “tion” words. So I’ll write “informaiton” instead of “information.” I also tend to start second words early. Like, I’ll write “Ther eis” instead of “There is.” Have you ever noticed random things like this? Sometimes when I’m trying to get down a statement, I’ll come to a long word and blank out on the spelling and just freeze for a few seconds, which is an eternity when you’re trying to catch up with someone spouting important informaiton. So I’ll just freak and write “oblknfgfs” and hope I realize it means “obligation” later on.

Fascinating stuff, huh? The fun never ends at Vignette.org.

Good news from our friends at the Associated Press:

"Fewer journalists were killed world-wide this year while working to uncover crime and corruption or expressing political dissent, according to a report released Tuesday. A total of 62 journalists lost their lives in 2000. That is down from 86 deaths in 1999, which was the second-worst year on record, the International Federation of Journalists said in its report."

Woo ha!

Hi there.

Here's a quick life update:

1. Finals are over. My school career may be, as well. Can you say F? It's easy, pronounced like ehph. We'll see what happens when I get grades back.
2. Have yet to begin Christmas shopping. I'll start tonight.
3. Countdown to San Francisco: 8 days.
4. I'm (play) warring with my work neighbor, Stephanie. Here's the latest:

TJ,

Can we talk?

I feel as though a truce needs to be called between us, regarding our recent behavior toward one another. When I discussed the situation with my anger management counselor, he suggested I initiate a dialogue with you in the hopes that a cordial working relationship could be establish, which may produce a long-lasting, and rewarding, friendship for years to come. I shared with him our good times - your faxed love letter to me, "D" as in "DeGroat," when you pulled the handle off the fireplace at Clyde's, Leonard - those were good times. However, I also mentioned some of our darkest days - my punching you and pouring water over your head, you calling my hair ugly and saying my nails looked trashy, and you're over-competitive bowling attitude. With a little effort, and a lot of love, I think we can work through all this bitterness, before real violence occurs.

What do you say? Can we be friends?

Your sincere neighbor,
Stephanie
*
Dear Stephanie,

Please notice the following spelling/grammar corrections:

"could be establishED" - line 2
"your" instead of "you're" - line 4

Once you've mastered the English language, perhaps we can heal. Until then, bite me, number one Heather.

Warmest regards,
T.J. DeGroat

5. I've written even more Boy Scouts stories! but the communication guy from the GReater New York Council finally acknowledged my existence with a fax, which is good times.

So, first let me tell you that I ripped through two blue books for today's essay. I've never done that before. 11 pages on the first essay alone. The only reason for this insane exploration of Walter Lippman's "Public Opinion" as it releates to "The Selling of the President," "News From Nowhere," "Campaign America," Bill Cosby's 1970s documentary on black history and essay about the power and responsibility of the media, is that the professor wanted us to use the topic sheets he gave us last class. I had notes all over my sheets. Woo ha. Still doesn't guarantee an A, though...

While I was writing my thumb was throbbing...literally super tender and in all sorts of pain.

Why?

Because yesterday's Christmas party mystery afternoon was a bowling excursion. Kim hearded us into the conference room and passed out blue and black bowling shirts with our names on the front and the name of the company and website on the back. They are hilarious! I am all about wearing that bad boy around campus...perhaps to the New Year's Eve festivities...

Bowling. Well, I hadn't bowled in two years, but I get super competetive about team sports. And it didn't help much that I was on the CEO's team, so I was feeling the pressure to perform. So, keep in mind, I hadn't bowled in years. What was my score?

One. Seven. Five.

175, baby. Four strikes (including the big, fat turkey) and two spares. Rock on! My other scores were all over 100, as well. Not bad. But, using that heavy ball to perform such magic really destroyed my thumb.

Leave it to me to get injured while bowling...

I just finished my first final of the semester, a marathon essay for Mass Communication and the American Image. I decided to walk to SCILS to find out my grade in Editing and Writing for Print. A. The lowest grade in the class was a B, and there were only a handful. I told you this guy was a sucker. I assume this will be my only A of the semester, incidentally.

But it's nice to have a 4.0 semster as of now, you know? False realities are neat.

"Can you make a new version of you?"

There are no words...

http://dailynews.yahoo.com/h/p/ap/20001212/en/rock_hall_of_fame.html

It's 5:08 eastern time. I'm writing my final Spanish paper. Webcam is on.

Oh! My CEO used the award-winning and critically-acclaimed Farley/Spade film, "Tommy Boy," to explain why we shouldn't write a story about pervasive racial discrimination at paint company in California. Yeah.

[Thanks, Andrea.]

You see, we were standing outside as arctic gusts of 30-mph winds blasted the area because there were no tables in Au Bon Pan. I was meeting with Jes for the first time in months and talking about San Francisco and graduation and hostels and writing and life. So, you see, with a tall hot cocoa in my hand and a Jes sitting next to me I did not feel the wind, I didn't notice the sun setting or the students wrapped up in huge wool coats walk down College Ave.

Blogger just ate a really long post.

Piece of ass.

Have you ever walked so hard and so fast that you feel every muscle in your legs extend and burn with each step?

That was me at 9:45, running out of the house and speed-walking to College Ave. and down toward Scott Hall. It was the kind of walk that feels more uncomfortable than running, but the latter would have made me feel and look ridiculous. Also, I was wearing black boots that rip my feet apart of I do anything more than leisurely stroll down streets.

When I got to room 240 at Scott and waited to see my professor (for our mandatory meetings with him before finals) I was shocked to realize this was the first time I'd ever been to office hours. How is that possible?

Our meeting went really well. This is the insane Ivy League-educated brilliant professor who has taught since the 40s, founded the MPAA ratings system and wrote the "Documentary History of the United States of America." He asked me how the semetser had gone, and I worked in info. about my job, so he seemed impressed with that and asked me questions about the online media. He told me I should take his seminar next year. He'd "love" to have me. Booyaka!

He gave me back my papers. One was an A -. Now, I was in class when he handed this paper back (to those who finished it on time) and only a handful (of the 75 or so) people got As, so I was psyched. (Yes, I'm bragging, but my semester has been less than stellar and this guy is tough, so it's warranted). The other paper had no grade, it just said very good with a line to my title: "Washington Meets Madison Avenue: The Packaging of a Political Candidate." I'm just gonna go ahead and assume I got an A, because I thought that was the better of the two papers.

So, if I don't completely fuck myself on Friday's final (which could happen, I've yet to read four of the required books), I should get a better grade than I expected and perhaps, just perhaps, salvage this semester's G.P.A.

"Sometimes there's so much beauty, I just can't stand it..."

Ben gave me the link to the New York Times Magazine article about teenage gays turning to the Internet to find information, reflections of themselves, etc.

"Lonely Gay Teen Seeking Same: How Jeffrey found friendship, sex, heartache / and himself / online" wasn't an amazing example of journalism, in my opinion, especially for something as gut-wrenching as the plight of young people trying to find themselves. Nevertheless, there were some really memorable moments in the long, long, long piece (and it's amazing I even got through the whole thing since my attention span for online articles is really short).

Jeffrey told me once, speaking of his relationship with C.: "I think it's almost like an accelerated relationship. You can't go out to the movies, so there's nothing to fill the space. You have to talk. It creates this intimacy between you; it draws you closer. Our relationship isn't based on looks or financial status or anything physical. There's no space fillers, because you can't just sit there for 15 minutes and not say anything."

This is actually how I feel about the few online relationships I've cultivated. I've never really developed anything romantic online, but, with Ben, for instance, with whom I speak, well, a lot, there is so much knowlege shared between us. Add the hours of IM to the ability to read my thoughts on a daily basis on my site. I always compare it to living in a dorm. No matter how close you think you are to you high school friends, living in a dorm for just one semester can yield intensely personal friendships because you're just so close both physically and emotionally, 24/7, really.

Jeffrey and I left the restaurant and drove around his town in the thick, dusty light of sunset. It took all of 10 minutes. We passed his high school, where, he said, separate proms and homecomings are held for black and white kids. We joggled over train tracks into the shell of downtown. It was such a quiet place. "I feel like an alien here," Jeffrey said, and it wasn't hard to see why he lunged so heedlessly at something else, or why losing it had left him feeling empty-handed.

It's amazing to me that places like this still exist. I mean, it's not hard to imagine that Jeffrey could live in a homophobic town, but one that's segregated?! Insane.

Am I naive? Perhaps. Lucky? Certainly.

I'm at home for my brother's (19th!!!)birthday. As I was hidden in my room trying to make my (incredibly creative) Christmas cards, which only a very few people are getting since they're such a bitch to make, Earl came home with a tree. They bought a live tree with a huge ball of dirt so they can plant it after Christmas instead of throwing it out!

I'm so proud of my family for being so environmentally savvy.

If you haven't bought a tree yet, get a live one! The increased price is worth it since it serves a double purpose.

After "The Shortest And Most Efficient Shower In The History Of The Universe," I'm off to work.

Gotta "dress to impress" today because there's a potential client coming in. Doesn't she know it's Casual Friday?

A college apartment with two bathrooms and they're both taken! They're never taken this early on a Friday.

Ooooh, I hear a door opening... Good boy, Jeremy.

I think it's amazing Ben could italicize and link to Razorfish - he was a bit smashed, it seems.

"We are going to have the fucking best time!"

TJ also got a slightly drunken call from a still drunek Benjamin Jenkins while at his work holiday Festivus party. Hooray for Holiday! Hooray for TJ! Hooooray!!!!!!!!!1

I just spent a close-to-perfect evening at Candice's with co-workers. During the more than five hours, I gossiped like a schoolgirl, mercilessly made fun of Candice, coerced Surya into spilling secrets and reinforced the belief that Abbie, our newest intern, is the most adorable being at Rutgers.

She's a prettier version of Melissa from Real World - New Orleans, dresses impeccably and is funny, but thoughtful. And cute! When we were walking to our cars I noticed really tiny snow flakes. She literally skipped over to me and shouted, "Let's dance! It's snowing." So, close to midnight on the otherwise abandoned Duke Street, we grabbed each other and excitedly danced while singing, "Oh the weather outside is frightful..." Her spirit is infectious.

I also got to bond a bit with Suyra - since we're both in similar boats at work. I learned a lot of disturbing things, but most importantly, I realized he's a cool guy. The other interns and I had a less than positive opinion of him during the summer, but I'm over it. Always a second chance with TJ!

I just handed in my final project for journalism (without writing a single original piece – thanks to the job). One class down, many more to go.

As I was walking through the journalism dungeon/building I ran into Chavonne, with whom I worked very closely at Targum. She was the Livingston correspondent when I was campus editor, so I was her supervisor. It’s fun to run into the ghosts of college years past.

Also, on my way back to the classroom I walked past a guy who look a lot like Tim. Very creepy. (Not that Tim looks creepy, you see, but the way online personalities permeate my world)

Yay.
______________________________________
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So, anyone else wanna head out to SF for the New Year's celebration? :)

Some very interesting quotes from Bill Clinton's interview with Rolling Stone, as reported by The Times:

The Republicans "didn't want me to have a honeymoon" in his first days in office, Mr. Clinton said, and so forced the issue of his campaign promise to allow gays to serve openly, knowing they had the votes in Congress to defeat it.

"And it was only then that I worked out with Colin Powell this dumb-ass `don't ask, don't tell' thing," Mr. Clinton said in the interview, one of several he has granted recently looking back on his eight years in office.

Another hysterical quote from the lead of a Wall Of Sound story about the success of the Backstreet Boys' CD:

Here's a little riddle: What's over-processed, meticulously groomed, and double platinum? If you guessed Christina Aguilera's hair, you're wrong. It's the Backstreet Boys' new Black & Blue, which remains the No. 1 album in the country, selling another 689,578 copies in its second week in stores and sailing past the 2 million sales mark.

Ha ha ha. I'm so immature!

I'm sitting in a chair with one leg bent under my body. I'm wearing a bulky sweater and fleece pants and thick black socks. I feel like you need to know this. You need to understand that I'm finally warm. It's cold outside. The wind is fierce and painful at times, but right here I'm completely comfortable.

Jewel is sliding into her head voice to sing to me about angel voices and nights divine. That's it for me. That's the Christmas season. Sure, the presents, both giving and receiving, make me smile and shake with anticipation. But the music. Even cheesy arrangements of harps and bells can lift my spirit if there's a beautiful voice whispering to me about joy and peace and silent nights.

I am such a rockstar.

I'm writing a story about Duke University allowing same-sex ceremonies to take place in its chapel even though the chruch with which it's affiliated (United Methodist) opposes same-sex unions. And in the story I wanted to explore the recruiting angle, if this is a move to attract more gays and negate its reputaiton as a homophobic school. Problem was, I knew they were ranked as one of the worst colleges for gays somwhere, but couldn't find it. So I spent about 30 minutes searching everything I could find online and finally, struck gold.

Rawk on.

Maybe there is a solution...

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

Candice can't get off when I'm off.

Anyone wanna accompany me to San Francisco from Dec. 27 - Jan. ? I'm so not kidding.

Words of wisdom from my CEO, regarding the financial troubles of DoubleClick.

“That’s their problem. Flying repeatedly in concentric circles, you eventually fly up your own ass.”

Journalrageous.

There's nothing I can say to make this any funnier. Go, now.

Oh, right, so I watched "Queer As Folk" and I have a couple of criticisms.

First, Justin and his high school pal are complete morons. Maybe it's just me, maybe my high school was full of intellectuals, but does anyone who's 17 years old talk like that? 7th graders, maybe.

"Guess what I did last night? I had sex with that guy, all night."
"So what are you now, boyfriends?"
"I dunno."
"Well, do you love him?"
"I dunno. YES!"
"Does he love you?"
"I dunno."

Also, the main guy who's supposed to be really hot, isn't sometimes. He has a weird look.

And the opening? With lots of goofy rainbow disco graphics and naked bodies is trite.

I think the direction was awesome, but the acting was weak and the story line was less than brilliant. But the thing is, the gay community is always so thirsty for its image to be reflected by media that it welcomes anything, crappy movies or TV shows, just because they get to see themselves on screen. It's reall unfortunate.

Not that the show is awful or anything, but it's a gay Sex and the City without the sense of humor.

Guess what was just on HBO Plus. Guess!

The Legend of Billie Jean.

Do you realize how this movie shaped my childhood?

Well, it didn't, really, I just liked it a lot. The best character? Yeardley Smith's, totally.

Best scene? The kids march to Kenny's house to save him from being abused by his dad, with Billie Jean in full character as the avenger for troubled youth.

I’m sorry I ever mentioned the Boy Scouts back in July. I’m really, really sorry I suggested we look for an appropriate angle to this story because now, in December, if I see a headline with the word SCOUTS I’ll smash my head against the lovely, 19” screen.

So, yeah, just wrote story # 7 about the Boy Scouts. Have any questions? I’ve become a freaking authority.

5 bucks on jenks not having a username and pw to this blog for much longer. :)

And FYI, $5 bucks is redundant. $5 is 5 bucks.

$5 bucks on TJ being the one who said the thing about the eyebrows.

We posed as Ivy Leaguers, walking down Nassau in Princeton jokingly shouting, "We don't go to Rutgers!"

At the foo-foo Italian restaurant I couldn't take my eyes off the woman sitting at the table next to ours. She was repulsive in her WASP demeanor. The painfully adorable blonde waitress replied to every thank you with, "You're so very welcome."

Bits of conversation:

"Did you really think I was a lesbian when you first met me?"

"What would you think if I started plucking my eyebrows and going to the tanning salon?"

"My defining Princeton moment was waiting for Scott to shit in the church."

"Do you think Nico is still alive?"

I studied the other day for the first time all semester. I mean, the real sitting down and reading for more than 15 minutes kind of studying. And lo and behold, when I took my Spanish essay exam I knew the answers to the questions! Insanity.

In other news:

I'm feeling quite journalriffic (and much better physically, madre, thanks for the message).

Two new sets of photos for your viewing (dis)pleasure.

This one is my favorite, at Stephanie's house. This is when I was starting to feel really shitty, but I managed to feign happiness. From left to right this extremely white and homogenous looking group is: Stephanie, Me, Amy, Nicole, Tim and Mike.

I am beginning to understand how wonderful two-hour naps are.

"The furthest distance I've ever known is from my head to my heart."

Evan and Jaron, my new favorite band. (Everyone download my new favorite song, "Outerspace," by my new favorite band.)

The thing I miss most when I'm sick is the ability to sing. When I'm congested and try to sing I realize how much of my nose I use to make certain sounds (which isn't really a good thing, anyway).

Oh well.

You guys, my family is adorable and, at the same time, very scary.

On Thanksgiving my grandmother walks in and comes over to me to give me a kiss. She smiles and says, "Oh, I look at you every day! I really do." Meaning, she sees me frollick on the beach right here every day.

Today, when I went to my grandfather's room to say goodbye, he whipped out a piece of paper and said he wanted to show me something. "I rectructured the government," he said. "It's a tier system."

Enough said.

Back in New Brunswick.

The entire time I was driving Nicole to the airport, in the pouring rain, in horrendous traffic, with my nose dripping, I just really wanted to bash my head against the steering wheel.

Journalicious.

There's a small calendar sitting on the new computer desk. Every month has a photo of New York City. My favorites are the aerial shot of lower Manhattan and the view of the bridge from Fort Tryon Park. I'm going to steal this calendar, cut out all of the photos and make a collage.

I am crafty.

Hanging out with the high school clique is always so strange. Add to that an extremely congested nose and I was having minimal fun last night.

Nevertheless, I did see tons of people. Nicole, Tim, Mike, Stephanie, Renee, Jeff and Amy were at Steph's. Everyone except Nicole bounced to Friday's, where we ran into Danielle, Tina, Julie and Chardo. As we were walking past their table we did the head nod, "hello" and smile, but it turned into one of those awkward conversational moments. But the funny thing was that as soon as we stopped, Danielle and I made eye contact and started talking, same with Tim and Tina and Steph and Julie. It just struck me as odd and yet completely natural that we paired up.

Did I mention I was sick? From my brother, who was sneezing and coughing all Thanksgiving. I got less than six hours of sleep yesterday and was running around all day, which contributed to my miserable condition last night, I'm sure.

Blah blah blah.

My mother just walked into my room and semi-dramatically threw herself on the futon. I wonder where I get it from. :)

Dar Williams discusses the title of her latest CD, "The Green World," a concept she learned during a Shakespeare class at Wesleyan.

"The closed world represented court life in Elizabethan England which set all the patterns of the day. It was the orderly part of life," explains Williams. "The green world was different. It was unpredictable and chaotic. It was an unmediated place literally represented by the forest, the wilderness, where you learned things you don't necessarily want to know about yourself. Then you would bring the lessons you learned back to the closed world, ultimately spurring the process by which civilizations change. In that respect, the closed world can only renew itself and grow with the green world's influence."

How can you not love that?

Driving home, Nicole in the passenger seat, Joe driving. The window was down, the air was freezing and the Eminem was blasting. Not my ideal situation.

The rest of the night was much better.

Village. Burrito Loco. 101 on 7th. Margaritas, Coronas, Budweisers. Almost got thrown out of the last bar for being under 21 (The Save Ferris song is right: It sucks to be under 21). Nicole talked to the waitress, whose manager said we "looked fine." But we drank quickly and booked out of there anyway.

(Yeah, so I pikced Nicole up at Newark airport last night. She's here. She's the same. She almost started crying when she came down the escalator and saw me. Adorable.)

Today is Thanksgiving. So, I'm gonna take an Oprah moment and share my spirit, or whatever, and tell you what I'm thankful for, because I really do have a lot of great things going on right now and I'd like to throw them in your face (b/c isn't that what it's all about, really? Kidding.)

I am thankful for all of my adorable Internet friends, my mostly cool job, my infrequent moments of fun in classes, my roommates, my ghetto apartment, Snickers, my fantabulous family (especially mommy), the study abroad Spain program, my Visa check card, my black Aldo shoes, old friends, puerile senses of humor, PJ's Pizza, Ben Jenkins' and Candice's funny websites that make me giggle all the live long day (Ben's for the face photo and Candice for the plethora Mr. Belvedere comments), Britney Spears' fierce music, AIM Express and, last but not least, YOU!

What are *you* thankful for? :)

While walking down College Ave. Candice and I are stopped by a shady crackhead asking for $3 "to get back home to Trenton." Apparently, she her things were robbed. Yeah. Go back to Clothier with the other Rutgers College druggies and leave me along, chick. Then we're harrassed by a man telling us we can make $5 for trying on cologne or some such nonsense. "It's beer money!" he says. My mini-crush from Spanish is walking in front of us, as well. We make idle chit-chat; instead of using the opportunity to be adorably charming and interesting I practically ignore said crush. Brilliant.

At Cafe 52 we run into Janet, a friend (of Candice's) from the freshman dorm. This little skater Asian girl is a total pothead space cadet (majoring in English and philosophy for god's sake.)

And I absolutely adore her.

sometimes i feel like i'm

l
o
w
e
r
i
n
g

my standards...

[so you can meet them]

I have all my music theory homework online, see? And computers are stupid, right? Well, they must be cause as I was trying to complete this INSANE scales project the stupid web site kept shouting at me, "Time has passed to complete this!!!"

Time had not passed and I kept doing it until I realized none of this shit would count. Why was I busting my balls?

So I emailed my professor a really pissy letter saying as much.

And I'm skipping his class tonight to protest. :)

you are

[to me]



life renewing itself



and so much joy

And Melanie dies, too? Jesus.

I didn't remember that Bonnie dies!!!



That's awful...poor Scarlet.



:)

I'm in the middle of watching Gone With The Wind for class. I really should read the book, but, you know, 1,000 pages of the old South is not for me. I can hardly stand four hours.

And for the love of God, why did Cliff's Notes overlook this beast of a book? Same with Monarch Notes (whatever that is - blatantly ripped-off idea and the cover the same freaking books, anyway!)

Journalicious.

Powerhouse Notre Dame traveled to Rutgers Stadium to take on - and destroy - the Scarlet Knight football squad today.



The most interesting part about it is that downtown New Brunswick is packed with out-of-towners. There are tons of people wearing ND logos taking up tables at restaurants I wanted to eat at!



It was kind of like New Brunswick was a real college town for a night.

"In the capri pants?” you ask?



Yes.



There is this man who works in my building, not for my company, mind you. We are the fashionable bunch. This other company, on the other hand, is sad and pathetic, home to very stereotypical Jersey girls who wear tights, big, oversize sweatshirts and have huge helmet hair.



Let’s get back to this man. He wears capri pants. I swear! No one else in my office had ever seen him. I was beginning to feel like I was seeing a ghost, a capri-pants-wearing phantom. It all seemed too preposterous.



But he exists.



Yesterday, as I was about to go to the bathroom, I spotted his … pants … floating past the door. I look at Kim, who was standing closest to me, and whispered, quite loudly, “The man in the capri pants! There he goes!”



After a brief moment of confusion, Kim realized what was happening and we jumped to action, walking quickly down the hallway toward the stairs, where we caught one glimpse at his … pants, and his pasty white legs.

What a fucking ridiculous night: stealing, breakdowns, losses and capri pants.



I'll tell you all about it tomorrow.

There was this meowing coming from the bathroom. Upon further investigation I discovered an actual kitty cat frantically meowing. It was sitting on the window sill, staring at the closed storm screen. I tried to pet it, cautiously, and when it tried to climb down to the bathtub it slipped and fell. I giggled. Silly cat. I opened the window and closed the door.



I wonder if it fled.



I wonder how it got in the fucking house.

I’m wearing a tie.



I never wear ties.



Today I realized that my dark gray V-neck sweater never looks right with a button-down underneath it because it requires a tie. So I put on a tie. I black and gray striped tie – over a light gray button-down, under a dark gray sweater. With gray pants.



It’s all about grayscale.

Even more Bush-Gore fun. This is the best ever!

Bored? Tired of checking CNN every five minutes to see if there's new news? Then sit back and be entertained by the stlin' moves of the two would-be presidents. Dance, fools!



It's actually a metaphor, see? The page is a joke, just as the election is a complete farce.

Go to Andrea's site and read more about my favorite subject: me.

I find it pretty ironic that Germany of all places, which persecuted gays as well as the more often talked about Jews during WWII, is in the process of legalizing gay marriage while America, land of the free, still offers second-class treatment for the most part. Get ready for even less if Dubya pulls through, folks.



[There are a few news stories about Germany, which joins Denmark, Norway and other countries in legalizing same-sex marriage, but I'm too lazy to go search Yahoo! for one]

I'm impressed. I stuck to a schedule.



I read the majority of "The Selling of the President" this afternoon, started writing a bottom line paper on the book and a documentary about the packing of a candidate for a local NY race in 1967 and the role the media plays in manipulating campaigns at 7 p.m. and was done before 9. It's decent, to boot.



(My ass still hurts, though)

Interesting. I do not remember writing the first post last night? First of all, I don't say "digits" and second, if I did get them, where the hell are they?!



Anyway, my ass really hurts. I'm serious. During my mad rush to go to the second party I fell down the entire flight of stairs down to the first floor...on my ass...and I didn't feel anything then, of course. I went to the party, danced, macked it, and then about 6 of us went to a diner to annoy the waitress be ordering water and bagels...and then I started feeling it. And this morning, waking up at 10:30 after getting to bed around 5, it hurts like hellbitches 2000.



Besides being the most drunk I've been in months, last night was surreal because I was surrounded by new Targum people I've never met. At one point a few new people came in and I turned to Sally and shouted, "Who the fuck are these people?!"



I'm a charmer, I know.



Time to wake Cathleen up so she can make me waffles. :)

I'm a little better. Went from my house to another party, then was macking on some girl, then we all went with Sally, the only spber one, to Somerset diner, and like total college kids we all ordered bagels :)



I'm still drunk. It's 5 a.m. On the way back I realized if I wanna sleep 10 hours i'll have to sleep 'til 3. Eek!



bye.

i've never been so fucking drunk in my entitere life, and i'm getting some digits rigtht no. woo ha.

The three drinks were more like 5-6 since each one came with extra in a shaker. :) I'm not that weak.

I sunk a little deeper into the abyss of corporate America tonight: Happy Hour.



About 12 of us went to Clyde's, a martini bar in New Brunswick, after work. Our CEO set up a tab, making this poor student a very happy boy.



But, we got there at 6:30-ish, and by 9, three strong drinks later, I was on my way to drunk. You see, I'd had no breakfast, cheese doodles for lunch, and then the drinks: a victoria's secret (fruity yum yum vodka malibu), a secret strawberry (fruity yum yum lots of vodka) and a girl scout cookie (minty yum yum voda chocolate liquor).



So I was basically drunk by 8. How silly!

I just finished a 40-minute interview with a kick-ass advertising executive who has led the most interesting life. Born in New Jersey, grew up in three different areas of Venezuela, including a jungle town, went to school in New York City and wound up in Santa Monica, Calif.



She’s this brilliant woman who understands the Latino community and knows how to succeed. Super. Really helpful.

The bartender bit is really strange because a similar thing happened to me this weekend at the Latino Expo.



I walked over to the Merck table to interview one of the HR reps. about the importance of targeting the Latino consumer group and recruiting talent from all segments of the population, yadda yadda. Before I could ask her any questions she said me face looked really familiar. She asked where I graduated from. "Rutgers," I said. She said she knew it and asked which campus. I told her New Brunswick and she was convinced that's why she knew my face. She said she graduated in 1994, though, which was way before I started. It's just super strange that she thought she knew me from school - which isn't possible - but we did in fact attend the same university.



Incidentally, she didn't let me quote her because all of those corporate types are hunted down and destroyed if they speak to the press without approval from internal PR. She actually hunted me down later, shouting "Mr. Reporter Man!" across the hall, to make sure I wouldn't use her name.

One more reason, thanks to Candince:



"The mother of a gay teen suicide has won a federal appeals ruling allowing her to sue the police officers who threatened to out him."

When people wonder why I hate 90 percent of the population, this is the kind of example I can give them:



"A 12-year-old developmentally disabled girl was grabbed, beaten and sexually assaulted by nine boys after school, police said Tuesday."



Penises are a huge (or small, depending) problem and they should all be cut off. Except mine!

We smile at each other as she takes her usual seat two rows in front of mine.



Everything about her is deliberate, from her even, golden tan to the honey-blonde highlights in her perfectly tossled curly hair.



*Someone could write a song about a girl like her.



She's well dressed, but a sporty backpack and climbing shoes balance the otherwise preppy image.



Before class, she works on her assignment, casually flipping through the text book and jotting down notes on loose-leaf paper. Outside of class, she never thinks about her work.



With her beautifully manicured and jeweled hands she picks up a Snapple bottle and slowly eats salt and vinegar potato chips.



She know why the curly haired boy moves closer to her seat every class. She knows we're watching.

Amen, brother friend.



The electoral college is for punks.

The political process may be awe-inspiring, Tim, but there are definitely some major flaws.

Oh lord.



As of 11:17 a.m., Bush leads (disgusting, grotesque) Florida by less than 2,000 votes. Do you know how many votes Buchanan may have stolen in Palm County? More than 3,000. This is such a movie. It's not reality.



Oh, Nader, you are the death of me.

I don't know quite how to describe how I feel right now. It's sort of like I'm balancing on the edge of a platform and one gust of wind could make me plummet or fall back to security.



When I came home at around 9:30 I was cautiously happy. When projections showed Bush surging ahead in the electoral college I was devastated. I saw the Supreme Court in my head. I saw Roe v Wade flying out of the window. I imagined gay rights regressing. Now that Gore is seen as the winner in California I'm a little less anxious, but Florida still has me worried.



God. This is killing me. Why is this election so fucking close? This country is full of imbeciles who don't care about personal liberties, that's why. Fucking ridiculous.



I am truly psyched for Hillary, though... Rock on.

This is the kind of apocalytpic event we'll all have to get used to if Al Gore is not elected president.

Actually, my friend, I own one of Love's CDs. How can you not support a Kids Incorporated alumna? It's not quite the Mickey Mouse Club, but it's close. In related news, Love was signed to Jive Records, home to Britney, N sync and Backstreet Boys. She asked Britney to sing a duet with her, but Ms. Spears said, "Oh, helllllllllls no."

(If "you" were more than just a Web site I use to easily update vignette.org, I would apologize for the lack of humorous, intelligent content. But since you're an inanimate object I won't bother.)



I'm just having a totally shitty day. I'm tired as hell, after a long weekend of the Latino Expo, Rent, shopping and catching up with Alli. There are blisters all over my feet, I get nothing done at work ever, my classes are horrible, I spent all of my money this weekend, I can't register for next semester because there's a fucking hold on my account (probably from parking tickets) - deja vu - and to top it all off, there's a fucking pimple on my face! Right. Between. My. Eyes.



On the bright side, Candice, Andrea and I wrote a German rap song tonight. I couldn't even attempt to spell any of the lyrics, though.



Ugh!



One thing that made me laugh tonight? Listening to Oscar de la Hoya's CD at a listening booth at Border's.

I saw a very svelte Allison for the first time in a few months. She gave Lauren and me Aida tickets for Jan. 2. I saw Alexis Canonico at the supermarket. She asked me about Veronica! We were stuck in traffic because the Palisades Center was evacuated due to a bomb an electrician found. I bought $90 Aldo shows only because I have a work function tomorrow and forgot to bring shoes besides my sneakers home to Waldwick with me. The shoes are really cute. I have to be awake in less than 7 hours to go into Manhattan. At 6 p.m. Lauren's meeting me at Penn Station for her birthday surprise(s). Britney is now stronger. I heart.



And that's all I have to say about that.

Charlie's Angels rocks it hardcore.



And that there's the truth.

This was the first Halloween in a long time when I put a lot of effort into my costume. Lauren and I waited until the last minute, hitting the mall at 7:30-ish on Monday night, but inspiration struck and we pulled something totally cute together.



After throwing around impossible ideas like the cheerleaders from SNL and Britney Spears and the astronaut from the “Oops! I Did It Again” video, we decided on Venus and Bacchus, Roman gods who married but had infidelity problems. Our Latin teacher, Marco, would have been so proud.



As we were walking down George Street toward Tumulty’s pub I heard, “Toga! Toga! Toga!” I turned my head, expecting to see a drunken frat boy, but it was a police officer driving by. Only in New Brunswick.



Later on we hit a party a few blocks away, where, surprisingly, a few of the drunken girls I spoke to knew who Bacchus was. Lauren and I were definitely the best dressed in the dingy, dark basement. And probably the most coherent. As I was talking to Carrie, a girl know from Targum, a blonde girl dressed as an angel randomly – for now reason – fell onto the floor. She got up in a daze, mumbling, “No one saw anything!” and then came over to our group a few minutes later ranting, “My leg is bleeding so much!” I had to turn my head because I was laughing so hard. Is that rude?



As Lauren, Ben and I were walking back to our apartment in the freezing cold, we decided to be bad-asses. It was garbage night, so I picked up a garbage bag in front of someone’s house and carried it over to another family’s front porch. Lauren, meanwhile, was running down Huntington Street knocking over a garbage can at each house along the way.



Aren’t we absolutely adorable?



Andrea is here in good old New Jersey. Despite a completely fucked-up interview at my company yesterday, Candice and I have been showing her a good time. Yesterday we shopped at the fashionable C.H. Martin, where you can buy a pair of sweatpants for $9.88, we ate dinner at Nova Terra, a super trendy restaurant where a small plate of disgusting paella is $22 (but the wooden cigar boxes serving as bread plates were ripe for stealing), and I ditched journalism to take Andrea to Ocean Grove, where we interrupted a 50-year-old man from making out with his teenaged daughter and dove off of 13-foot sand cliffs.



Let’s say it together: good times.

I’ll tell you all about Halloween and post a photo or two later today. I’ve been absolutely swamped. Yesterday I had to finish a Spanish paper about the conflict between love and honor depicted through the characters of El Cid and Jimena in “Las mocedades del Cid” and I have an exam in a few hours on that book and “Lazarillo de Tormes” as well as general themes of the Siglo de Oro, or golden age of Spanish literature.



Until I delight you with tales of drunken mischief, take a look at these links:



It’s amazing how many groups are turning on Nader now that they finally realize the potential catastrophe that obtaining the lucrative 5 percent could cause.



“I have seen acts of betrayal I just can't believe,” Nader said Wednesday in Madison, Wis.



No kidding. Read more about Dubya and make an educated decision on Tuesday. [link from the blorg]



Also, the prospect of online voting is really intriguing, but I still think the digital divide and online security are huge negatives.

Crisis # 1:



The white sheet is not long enough for a traditional toga praetexta (who knew my four years of Latin would come in this handy?). It has to be about 3 times as long as the body. Mine is about 1.5 times. So, Cathleen, my savior, the house mom, is going to stop by the house on her way down to Night Pro (a Targum thing) to help me cut my sheet in half and sew it back together... In the meantime, I will gliterate.

Lauren will be back from class soon (why recitations weren't cancelled on such a holy day I'll never understad).



Crown? Check: Green leaf crown covered with glitter spray.

Sandals? Check: Tan, with matching glitter spray.

Henna tatoos? Check: red, on hand, wrist and ankle.

Toga? Check: white sheet from Walmart.

Jewelry? Check: copper bracelet, celtic necklace.

Accessories? Check: long glittery chain of green and white flowers.

Hair? Check: gold highlighted twists with glitter spray.



Pictures coming soon, I'm sure. I'm off to shave. Roman gods should have smooth, glittery faces ala Mid Summer Night's Dream.



Have a kick-ass halloween everyone.

I was sitting in my Spanish class, listening to my insane professor spout out the intricacies of the 5th tractado of "Lazarillo de Tormes" and gazing out the door.



My eyes moved from left to right across the room, but then they darted back toward the door.



Outside was a big guy wearing a ...



... Jason mask, with wild hair and dirty clothes. And he was staring at me and pointing. For ten seconds. Then he turned and ran down the hall.



It was so ... hysterical. There I was, just sitting in class, when I saw an icon of American horror movies point to me like it was my turn to die. I looked at the girl sitting next to me and we both started laughing like hyenas ... and my clueless professor just smiled, assuming we were laughing at his clever antics.

It's already time to start thinking about classes for next semester. This is insanity.

After throwing my Spanish paper into the abyss of procrastination Lauren Duffy and TJ DeGroat hit the mall and were inspired by the spirit of Halloween.



Venus and Bacchus, goddess of love and god of wine, wife and husband.



We have tons of jewelry, Roman-esque sandals, body glitter and hair mascara and the all-important toga material.



Watch out.

You know what's fun?



Getting an invitation to join the Golden Key National Honor Society ...



... five days after the deadline to respond. Whatever, I'm still putting it on my resume.

All of these celebrities and people with influence are saying, "Please vote, everyone. I don't care who you vote for, but vote, make your voice heard."



Well, I do care who you vote for. Vote for Al Gore. Vote for someone with experience who can actually take charge of this country without drilling it into the ground.



Do not vote for Dubya. I will probably throw myself head -first into a wall if he wins. I am not exagerating. I will be distraught. The thought of that little illiterate boy making Supreme Court appointments that will decide the quality of my life makes me sick to my stomach. And Nader? He's creepy. He's become the college kids' candidate, but he's really just a thorn in Gore's side. He. Has. Got. To. Go.



Read about their stances on the issues. Read the candidates web sites. Do what I do. I am a smart boy. You will thank me in eight years.

I've been re-reading "Franny and Zooey," by J.D. Salinger because, after reading it two summer ago, I was pretty unmoved. A few people in my family said they actually like the book more than ... gasp ... "Catcher in the Rye," which I hadn't read at that point, either.



Anyway, shocked that I'd almost made it through teen years without touching a Salinger book, I grabbed the book from my grandmother's house. I think I rushed through it, sticking to my usual bad habit of focusing more on the short snippets of dialogue than on the longer detailed passages. I read "Catcher" a few weeks later and absolutely adored it, but didn't give "Franny and Zooey" a second chance until this week.



I completely love this book, though. Partially because it plays on my insecurities, which is why I think most of are drawn to books and characters. We either identify with them or want to be them, but I think most of us want to be them, are attracted to parts of them we think we could never be or could never get away with. Not only am I in awe of the two title characters for their intense capability to think and challenge, but I'm in total awe of Salinger for being able to create such a detailed story in wsuch a relatively short novel. (How absoluteley American and college of me to fawn all over J.D. Salinger) My puerile dream to have written a book before 20 is completely laughable - the amount of work thought that goes into just a description of a very secondary character is mind-boggling.



I'm so affected by books - it's a familial attribute. I fall into these landscapes and family lives and take on qualities of the characters, sometime without realizing it.



And incidentally, if you really want to know, I adore the font on the cover of the edition I have (Bantam from 1964).



...God, I just want people to quote me like I quote authors:



"But don't go screaming about egos in general. In my opinion, if you really want to know, half the nastiness in the world is stirred up by people who aren't using their true egos."

How's this for crazy college life?



Cathleen has a small dinner party where she, in all her domesticated glory, cooks garlic bread, pasta, sauce with meatballs and sausage and chocolate chip cookie bars. The six guests sit around the living room throwing around titles of obscure 80s movies they're sure someone else will remember (and everyone did, except for one movie I remember with Kathy Ireland when she still had a squeaky voice. It had monsters and roller skating and underground tunnels to L.A. - that's all I remember).



This morning I wake up, delighted at the saved time, and Cathleen makes a now-customary Sunday breakfast for me. We eat our fench toast while reading the Sunday paper.



Kids these days. Insanity, eh?

There is nothing weirder than picking up your cup, expecting the content to be water, but tasting apple juice.

After reading Tim's comment about the site I realized something: the design has shades of the Britney video for "Sometimes." Do you see it? Totally inadvertant.

It is so like me to get all affected by a schmaltzy movie like "Remember The Titans." But sure enough, during the hospital scene and when the mother entered the stadium during the final game my eyes were kind of misty.



I'm a putz.

I'm writing a follow-up story about Duke University being forced to pay $2 million in punitive damages to a female place kicker who was cut from their football team. She alleged it was because of her gender and a jury agreed.



In a press statement an attorney for Duke said, "There was no legally sufficient evidentiary basis for a reasonable jury to find for the plaintiff on her Title IX claim or to find that punitive damages were warranted.”



Is that English? I bet he had his "people" thumbing through the thesaurus for hours trying to find the most convoluted way to say "there was no proof."

There's nothing like beastiality in the morning.



"Students at Hawkeye Community College's farm at 5503 Hammond Ave. discovered 46-year-old Robert Allen Broderson hiding naked in a hay loft shortly before 8 a.m., according to Waterloo police. An ewe -- a female sheep -- was tied up in the corner."

Hi. Allow me to re-introduce myself.



I'm T.J. and I'm listening to Mandy Moore sing "I Wanna Be With You" on the radio. It's a live version. She has a great voice. Don't judge me.



I'm a 20 (and a half)-year-old college junior at Rutgers in New Brunswick, N.J. I used to live in the offices of the Daily Targum, the daily student paper at this fine university. Then I was offered partial tuition payment, a 401k plan, stock options and profit sharing if I stayed at my internship. Being quasi-intelligent, I ditched the paper and sold my soul to corporate America. So, I'm now a full-time student and a reporter for an online news site. I also am in the process of co-founding a social justice organization called P.E.A.C.E. at Rutgers. Impressed? You shouldn't be. I'm also incredibly unmotivated with regard to school and lazy in general. A slacker, a procrastinator. But I embrace it.



I've been busy having a life for the past month. But now I want to share it with you. Start by reading the latest journal entry.



My Web site is not that cute right now, but I needed a change and was sick of waiting, so I put up what I had. Things will most likely be tweaked throughout the next few weeks. Feel free to email me with suggestions.



[Also, I do not think it's cool to delete ridiculously false posts made by fools like Ben Jenkins, but I do plan on posting many things throughout the next few days to push that sucker down down down.]

Man oh man! Living and working in San Francisco is a big trip. So far I've been doing a lot of social activities, mostly hanging out at gay bars and meeting people. I've met two really nice guys named Nate and Soho. I SWEAR that's his name. Anyway, Nate and Soho actually live together. They're sort of dating but not exactly. If you get my drift. They just sort of live together and have occasional guests. It's a fun place to be!



Anyway, so I'm over at their place a lot doing my thing and also hanging out at my place where we just had a hot tub installed. Aaawee yaaah baby.



The Folsom Street Fair was a few weeks ago. That was HOT. So many hot guys wearing little to nothing -- or tight leather chaps and jock strap things. Man, heaven, hello! Oh, Soho is here! Gotta go.

I won! I've never won anything.

Two things.



I participated in the "Behind the curtain - day in the life of webloggers" project. Boy, was it a pain in the ass putting this photo album together. The actual photo-taking didn't turn out as I'd planned, my batteries were dead Sunday so I started late (hence the Tuesday photos), I didn't document my evening at Candice's, either. But there are 24 photos of work, class and home. The last is my favorite.



Check it out here. The list of the other participants is here.



The second thing: I've obviously been neglecting the site. I have absolutely no motivation to write anything right now. It's partially because I'm busy, partially because I have nothing I really want to say. So, I'll provide to t-u-s to Marcus' h-i-a. Just temporarily. Back soon, I promise.

Not such a great day. I have this insane class called Mass Communications and the American Image, all about how the public's opinion is framed by the media. We have crazy reading and quizzes to accompany said craziness. Our professor is this super accomplished Ivy Leaguer, he founded Channel 13 Public TV and was the founding chairperson of the MPAA ratings system, in addition to his teaching duties (since the 40s!) at Rutgers, Yale and Berkeley. So, yeah, we had a quiz. Short answer. Filling in blanks in quotes!!! Total lunacy.



Then I had my audition for the a cappella group.



Yeah. Mediocre, completely. I am so much better than that. Chromatic scales? Totally forgot. Sight reading? Totally unprepared. My song, "Barely Breathing," was average. If I hadn't fucked up both sight reading and chromatic scales, I'd be okay, but I definitely wouldn't have selected myself if I were in the group... I find out tomorrow, but I'm not holding my breath.



I totally don't have time for another group, but still I feel like shouting.



WAAAAAAAH!



It's very frustrating when you know you're much better than your performance. The strange thing is I wasn't nervous at all, I was totally confident, but my voice was very shaky...loud, but not really strong, per se.



Blah.

Sunny and hot. Highs from the mid 80s at Ocean Beach to near 100 east of Twin Peaks. Light wind becoming west to 15 mph in the afternoon.



:-)

It really feels like Fall today in New Jersey. This is a good thing. My favorite time of year, by far, is Oct. 1 through Christmas, when the air is cold and crisp, the leaves begin falling, the air smells of chimney smoke. Sigh.



It's probably in the high 60s right now and I can smell the cold air. Time to break out the fleeces...



Love love love it.



_



"How cute is cute? Me. Soooo cute. Unbelievably cute!"

Tell me I don’t have time to join an a cappella group. Tell me I’m already super busy and the few hours I have left in the day should be devoted to studying (ha!) or being social. Tell me that even though the most established group at Rutgers (not saying much), Deep Treble, is having auditions specifically because they need a tenor, I shouldn’t try out.



Go on then.

This big story I've been working on, on historically black colleges and universities, suffered a major setbakc today. Everything I did on Wednesday, which was adding two key interviews and writing the first 1/4 of it, is gone. Not on my computer. Buh-bye. Something fucked up happened or I didn't save. I don't know. But I felt like I was gonna die. I've been so psyched about getting it done today that I made an outline this morning about what I wanted to do.



And now I've had to backtrack and reinterview people and try to come up with a new interesting lead because I can't remember the old one at all. This blows, completely. Fortunately, Barbara sensed how upset I was and was totally understanding.



But it still sucks. I hate computers. I hate technology.

Hi. I'm around.



I started my internship/classes/P.E.A.C.E. schedule this week, so I'm a bit discombobulated, not to mention exhausted. I want to write all about Vassar and the organization and work and my insane Mass Communication and the American Image class.



But not now.



Later.

Off to Vassar. Anyone who reads my site go to school there? If so, stop by the P.E.A.C.E. conference and say hello.

Blogger is a beast.



I wrote a long schpeel about how fucked up the MTV awards were and blogger decided to eat my post. Just watch a rerun this weekend, and look out for numerous fuck ups from the Wayans brothers, Britney Spears' almost nude gyrating on the floor and Eminem's "hardcore" stylings. Yeah.

The sign was just a few feet away, but I refused to go near it. Instead, I slowly walked toward the Rehearsal building. After a few minutes wandering the halls and realizing there was no room 200 I paced, then walked into another building near the Levin Theater. Wrong again.



I sat down on a bench, watching a bus load of students cross George Street, staring down the sign with the map of Douglass campus. I sighed as I stood up and paced for a minute before jogging over and scanning the list of buildings for the mysterious ARH I had assumed was Rehearsal Hall. Art Research Hall, across the bridge, was my destination. So I booked across the creaky, wooden bridge and followed a few other guys into the medium-sized lecture hall.



The class: Intro. to Music Theory. After the debacle of Intro to Music last semester I am determined to make an effort. Fortunately, the class is designed to force students to participate. We have tons of assignments we have to complete through the Web site, which is interesting (and lends itself to a bit of help from knowledgable friends).



The professor, though, is a total tool. He is kind of old, and talks in that really condescending way. He speaks slowly and repeats himself excessively. Have you ever seen the company computer guy skit on SNL? He's almost there. But he seems like he genuinely wants to help us, so I can't be too negative after just one class.



As I was leaving, the guy sitting next to me rolled his eyes and sighed. "It's gonna be a long semester," I said to him.

Reflections whle watching "Say What? Karaoke."



TJ: You know what sucks more than being a midget? Being a really, really good-looking midget.



Lauren: I know! Cause you know you'd be hitting it all the time if you were normal-sized.

The are pros and cons to Rutgers' layout. Having completely separated campuses throughout two neighboring towns has its downfalls, the obvious being travel time between classes. But each campus has a unique feel to it. Each time I walk across George Street - Douglass campus, from the New Gibbons parking lot to Hickman Hall, I feel like I'm at camp, in a woodsy, quiet area that's cut off from the rest of the world. In a sense it is, because every class I've had in Hickman (except one) has been Spanish. So, my way of thinking changes. Despite my early morning nerves, I am normally very comfortable in my Spanish skills, so I almost strut to class. I'm sure that sounds ridiculous, but I do tend to walk with my back straighter and my chin higher up as I head into the building.



-



Despues de leer el Targum fuera del edificio, camine por los pasillos hacia el cuarto 118. Me sente y busque a Leslie, pero ella nunca vino a la clase. Creo que cambio su horario, que me frustra mucho. Pero he tomado una clase de espanol con algunos de los estudiantes en esta clase. Por ejemplo, tome 333, literatura de Latino America, con Nilo, un latino (creo que es cubano) muy inteligente y es un encantador. Es uno de las personas que he conocido con quien quiero hablar y ser amigo - Melissa fue otra persona asi. Bueno, el profesor entro y inmediatamente yo empece sonriendo. El es un caracter. Es un viejo muy feliz, con mejillas rojas, que siempre esta riendo. Pero es espanol, y todos mis otros profesores han sido latinoamericanos. Por eso, el acento es muy distinto y es un poquito dificil entender (porque el pronuncia una "c" como si fuera "th" - Valenthia en vez de Valencia), pero voy a Salamanca, Espana durante el verano que viene y tendre que oir este acento todos los dias durante el programa. Bueno, me gusta el profesor, pero no me gusta el silabus. Dios mio, es que tenemos que leer tantos libros en espanol: "Las mocedades Del Cid," por Guillen de Castro; "Lazarillo de Tormes," por Francisco Rico; "Novelas ejemplares," por Miguel de Cervantes; y "El garrote mas bien dado," por Calderon de la Barca. Tambien hay bastantes handouts que tienen cuentos, poesia y articulos. Tendre mucha tarea, y no me gustaba leer literatura de la epoca medieval ni reacentista durante la clase AP en la escuela secundaria, pero espero que estas lecturas, y mis companeros de clase, sean interesantes.



After reading the Targum outside the building, I walked through the hallways toward room 118. I sat down and looked around for Leslie, but she never came to the class. I'm guessing she changed her schedule, which totally frustrates me. But I've taken a Spanish class with some of the students in this class. I took 333, literature of Latin America with Nilo, a super smart latino (I think he's Cuban) who is a charmer. He's one of theose people que I've met who I want to be friends with a talk to - Melissa was another one. Anyway, the professor came and I immediately started smiling. He is a character. He's a really happy old guy, con red cheeks, who is always smiling. But he's Spanish, and all of my other professors have been Latin American. His accent is really distinct and a bit difficult to understand (because he pronounces "c" as if it were "th" - Valenthia instead of Valencia), bought I'm going to Salamanca, Spain, during the summer and I'll have to hear this accent every day, so... Anyway, I like the professor, but I don't like this syllabus. Christ, we have to read so many freaking books in Spanish. "Las mocedades Del Cid," by Guillen de Castro; "Lazarillo de Tormes," by Francisco Rico; "Novelas ejemplares," by Miguel de Cervantes; y "El garrote mas bien dado," by Calderon de la Barca. Also, there are tons of handouts with stories, poetry and other articles. I'll have a lot of homework, and I didn't really like reading literature from the Medieval period and the Renaissance during AP Spanish, but I hope these readings, and my classmates, are interesting.



-



After Spanish I met up with my Aunt Laura, who's taking master's classes at SCILS. Very bizarre - but in a good way. Tomorrow: no class until 6:10. Ha! So, who's gonna stay up with me on AIM tonight?

Off to my first class. Looking decent. Kind of nervous.



I need to start thinking in Spanish.



Hola, me llamo TJ, soy un estudiante de tercer ano. Mis concentraciones son periodism y espanol. Quiero hacerme periodista porque a mi me encanta escribir. Y el estilo de periodismo es muy conciso y el escritor esta informando al publico. Bla bla bla.



How do you say diversity and internship in Spanish? :)

New entry up in hee-ya.

At the Orientation Fair I signed up to audition for OrphanSporks, one of the two co-ed a cappella groups at Rutgers. As I walked away with Rennie I said, "I am such a chicken shit when it comes to auditioning, but I have to do this. I will do this."



I don't know if I can do this. It's simple. I just go in there next week, sing a song a cappella, sing some scales and harmonize with other members.



But ... what song do I sing? I mean, I have to find the one perfect song for my range, one that's not too low for me, so when I get nervous and my voice gets shaky I can try to salvage it. And I haven't done scales in forever. And harmonizing! So nerve-wracking. I mean, this is all stuff I can do, but can I actually do it when it counts.



Auditions freak me out.

Labor Day will be full of work for me.



I'm about to go to the Orientation Fair, to represent Targum, before heading to my final edit board meeting at 2 p.m. to announce that I'm not coming back. I need to get a haircut (the weird, sun-dyed hair has got to go), buy at least some of my books, print out my schedule so I have a clue as to where I'm going tomorrow. Then, most likely, I'll have to put the paper online tonight, since I said I'd help out for the first week. I really don't want to do any of this, but I will, and I will smile, and I will have as good a time as possible.



Dream: I was at our old house on Knolton Road in Allendale, it was a big family gathering. But for some reason I was feeling like the asshole, my family ignoring me and giving my attitude. I glanced at my mom, said I'm leaving in a bitchy voice, and ignored Laura as she tried to hug me. I got into John's car, for whatever reason, that retarded Saab station wagon (if you're going to get a Saab, for the love of God, do not by a wagon) and drove off. As I got to the top of the hill to turn onto East Crescent, three police cars came toward the street, and turned, coming into my side of the road. I backed up, with no concern for the car behind me, because I was deathly afraid the cops were after me.



I also dreamed about high school friends, a big portion of the dream was about Matt Kraus. Maybe I should email him.

And finally, I was sitting in my car at the gas station and I look into the little booth and realized the attendant was playing Nintendo 64. How bizarre.

Related to the last post, I have been writing down bothersome thoughts or dreams or whatever on a post-it and sticking it in a little box so I can make the thought real.



It's been nice.

It sucks. Good word. It ... sucks ... when I have something I want to vent or discuss or lament, and I can't because too many fucking people read this site. The lines between the web and real life have blurred to the point where I have to bite my cyber tongue as much as my real one. And it's kind of unfair. I refuse to write anymore allusive, obnoxiously vague entries I hope the right people might understand and the wrong people will ignore. Yeah...



(You did it. I'm glad I could help, in my insignificant way.)

The humidity is oppressive. As I was assembling the new computer chair I bought today (amazing how much a good chair can make the web experience much more enjoyable) sweat was dripping off of my face. It was really disgusting.



Also disgusting: it's the last weekend before classes begin. Ben is in San Francisco for good.



Less disgusting: I am drinking with Lauren and Jeremy. Hopefully I'll be totally bombed by midnight.

Lauren moved in this morning. That means Snickers, our beloved wonderdog is back. He had his testicles ripped from him a few days ago, so the poor thing has one of those insane cones around his neck. And since he's stupid (well, stupid or persistent) he keeps trying to lick himself and continuously knocks his cone into walls. Very much like the dog in that John Cusack 80s movie, I think it was "One Crazy Summer."



Also, the two amazing couches her parents gave us would not fit through the stairway. Wonderful. Back to Allendale they go.

Jesus Christ, Andrea. I can't believe you did it, you traitor, you silly, dirty, freaky ho. You're selling those tickets to heaven to randomite 14 year-old shriekers on ebay?



As we used to say in 8th grade: I kill you with my plastic straw.



Oh, and Happy 3rd anniversary :) You dirtbag.

I officially resigned as an editor at The Daily Targum. No longer am I a member of the 132nd editorial board. I have very mixed feelings about this.

Also, my girlfriend had another kick-ass day at the Open.

Yesterday I wrote a story about a nude statue honoring Arthur Ashe at the U.S. Open.



Today the NY Post had a story about the statue, with typical NY comments that make me giggle like a schoolgirl.



"Everything in New York they have to display genitals or vagina in order to shock. They just can't show him like he was. I expected something like this from New York - it's like another continent."



So, who wants to come visit? :)

I remember coming across this last year. I don't know if I posted it on the site, but it's worth a second look, regardless.



"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.



Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond

measure.



It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.



We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous,

talented, fabulous?



Actually, who are you not to be?



You are a child of God - Your playing small

doesn't serve the world.



There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that

other people will not feel insecure around you.



We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is

within us.



It is not in just some of us; it is in everyone.



And as we let our own light shine,

we unconsciously give people permission

to do the same.



As we are liberated from our own fear,

our presence automatically liberates others."



------ Nelson Mandela, 1994

"Two-person toilet cubicle installed for sociable clubbers"



Isn't there such a thing as too close?

Apparently, I am not receiving some email.



Apparently, email I send to people from pine decides it doesn't want to allow people to respond.



Apparently, I am going to have to kick a little ass.



Has anyone responded to me, expecting a reply, and receiving nothing? Let me know.

Good day.



Managed to get Britney's name included in a story. Ha!



"I'm the shit, so take a big whiff."

An email sent to one of my co-workers:



Hi XXXX,

How are you? Fine i believe. How did you move yesternight? Were

you able to drive home after all those glasses of beer--then you must be a

"strong girl." I felt really vivacious yesterday because of the company

we had and the delectation that we all shared.

Although i was opportune to go into an indept discussion with you,

but based on the little chat i had with you, i think you will make a good

friend. Your social demeanour savors(smacks) of good behavior;i could see

a good relationship between us as a result of your kind gesture. I promise

to be a good commaraderie of yours.

After i left you, i went home to sleep because i have to wake up

early for work. Well, in response to the "Club Issue", I would proffer

you look for a suitable club that we could go and dance. I would like to

dance with you. You see, there aren't nice spot(club) that am oblivious of

in New Brunswick. Makedas on Georges' street would be considerable:the one

i told you of yesterday. It's a block from Harvest Moon-so if you will

like it over there that will be gratitious thing to do. Every friday from

10:00Pm, there is always a show. If you will want us to meet there

tonight, just email me prio to the time or should you have other places in

mind feel free to call or email.

Extend my regard to your sister and her friend.

Thinking about you!

Have a great day....

XXXXXX





Classic!

On the one hand, I think Chris and Luke are the most clever high school seniors I've ever come across. Their ploy to go to college through corporate sponsorships is ingenius and an interesting indication of the commercialization of, well, everything.



On the other hand, I think their bios are ridiculous. Hey, Luke, didn't I read this ... on yahoo personals?! I'm surprised he didn't write about his enjoyment of "long walks on the beach."

Oh, Ben, you silly bear...

I keep tearing up. It's irritating. But. I'll see you there.

They are few and far between, these moments when everything is fine, but I plan on making the most of this one.



Driving down Route 9, the lightening made the sky glow purple, and it made me smile. I don't know what it is, I guess I've just come to an understanding about this life, about where I am now and where I want to be, about what I've done - the good and the bad. It's all alright. For now.



"There's always the sky..."



Flying high through the sky. Ben is off to the big city, San Francisco, where instead of gold the streets are paved with high-tech stocks. He is leaving everything familiar and taking a huge risk. Big deal, I say. It will be amazing. It will be new, adventure, love, difficulty, opportunity. I am kind of jealous, of course. But it's not my time. As much as I think school is just teaching me things I could learn in the real world, I find the experience invaluable. But, I'll get there. People don't take me seriously when I talk about it, but I will get there, in two years. The next two years are all planned out, and unless something amazing comes along, I mean to stick to this plan.



See you there?

Well, I did brave the teeny boppers and see Bring It On last night, with Christina in a very strange Jersey town called Succasunna (which I kept calling sucky sucky, much to Christina's dismay). The movie gets an enthusiastic thumbs up. I mean, it's total cheese and fluff, but thoroughly enjoyable. Kirsten Dunst, while not giving a powerhouse performance, is incredibly cute, and the cheerleading competition scenes are classic.



I left the theater with "Mickey" stuck in my head. So today I bought the soundtrack, along with Dar Williams' new CD, "The Green Room." Both are good. Dar's album, what I've heard so far, is excellent, as expected.



I just may have to bring it on again, tomorrow.

I just wrote my third Boy Scouts story, this one was an update on the corporations pulling financial sponsorship because of the anti-gay policy (you'd think I work at a gay publication with all of the stories I wrote on the topic). But all of the sudden I started singing, "Boy Scouts, Boy Scouts, whatcha gonna do? Watcha gonna do when they come for you? Cause you're GAY!"



I can't stop.

i am so selfish. so selfish.

new one

Apparently, the BBC has hired that beacon of knowledge, Britney Spears, to pen an advice column for teens. Do you think her mom will be writing it with her?



read me

During this morning's news meeting:



While I was talking a spider crawled down from the ceiling toward my head. Carol flipped out. She started flailing her arms and yelling, "T.J., there's a spider, like *right* over your head. Oh my God! Don't move back, it's gonna land on you. AHHH!"



And when it did land on me, on my neck, she had to turn away.



It took her five full minutes to compose herself.



Also, during the meeting Luke mentioned putting me on salary again, in front of everyone, so I can take advantage of the 401k/ profit sharing plan. We had a meeting with the insurance people and I was there with my complex insurance manual. How bizarre would it be for me to invest in a 401k? Christ.

So, after months of avoiding the lame Survivor phenomenon, I have been forced to confront the beast by writing an artciel about gay winner Rich Hatch. Blah.

Stalker boy, you are a very, very weird kid, you know?

HA!



I'm writing a story that talks about Christina Aguilera (gross, I know) and spell check doesn't like her name, of course.



Guess what it suggests?



Come on, guess It's perfect!



Uglier.



Ha!

What the fuck? I do *not* like NKOTB nor Backstreet Boys. And what is wrong with a cappella? Do I even have to guess who the culprit is?

________________________________



tj@vignette.org, someone has asked us to tell you that you have poor taste in music. Please do not be offended. Just a Tip is only trying to help.



Here is what the person sending this tip said about your musical tastes:



Apparently, you listen to a capella.

You seem to like artists such as Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears, and NKOTB.

You compound the problem by singing along, dancing, playing the music loudly, talking about the music enthusiastically, refusing to listen to other music, and acting pretentious about musical tastes.

Teen Choice Awards:



Britney and Justin's acceptance = brilliant.



BBMak = awesome. Christian, um, oh yeah.

The books I most enjoy are those that use interesting narrative styles to tell a realistic story about average people dealing with real emotions. I've read Good Boys by Paul Reidinger four times. Each time I finish the college graduation/party scene, where the three main characters weep in each other's arms before saying goodbye, I choke up. I feel what they're feeling. Just a few minutes ago I realized this part of my life is not so far off and the worst part about it is I don't think I'd feel that sense of urgency in showing my emotions to people I'm leaving if the day were today. That is to say I'll be with close friends who've become an important part of my life, but as of now, there's no one true love I'll be leaving. Me entiendes?



Two years.



If I were leaving for a new city and a new life like Mr. Ben, I would want tears and heartache, as ridiculous as it sounds. I would want ...



I don't know. More than this.

El web cam is on (2:55 p.m.) for a bit.

I couldn't figure out which municipal building to go into to pay the parking ticket that caused my mom's license to be suspended. So, I sat down on a bench outside of the Middlesex County Administrative Building and flipped through my planner looking for the notice. This homeless guy walked over and sat down next to me, asking for change. I had none. Asked for a light. I had none. Asked for friendship. Could I give him that? Sure... Could I tell him about the love Jesus had for him?



"Well, if you know he loves you, that's all that matter, isn't it? Gotta go."



His reply: "You young people don't know nothing."



Uh huh.



...



Also, there's a new journal entry. Another long one.

TJ gets parking tickets.



They don't get paid.



Mom's license gets suspended.



TJ gets a headache.

I emailed the link to my story on the CEO of Gay.com/Online Partners to Lowell Selvin (the CEO) and his communications officer. The comm. person emailed our webmaster about reprinting that story and two others, which could boost traffic, since Gay.com has 2.6 million unique visitors each month.



The CEO responded to my email as well, saying he appreciated "such a supportive" article. He also wrote: "One of our Board members, someone who could be very important for you, surveyed your site after reading this and was concerned about navigation, inability to jump pages, find links,

etc. Just wanted to let you know so you can forward to the powers that be."



This board member (who could be very important for me – how ominous is that?) is an executive VP at CNET and the founder of Parenting Magazine. Luke and Debby said she’s known in the publishing world. Well, this women also sent an email to our webmaster complaining about the force registration on our site after a few clicks and said, "When you're ready for primetime, let me know."



That's so obnoxious!



But, she could totally talk our site up and get some features written at CNET or other places, she mentioned. And the Gay.com CEO suggested I profile her, as well. So, I would love to do that because she'd be an interesting interview, but her reciprocal actions could be huge for us.



I just thought it was hysterical that she said, "When you're ready for primetime!"

In 100-degree heat, an 83-year-old woman survived being trapped in her car by drinking rainwater. Can you imagine the potential for strange diseases?



Read all about Tillie Tooter.

OK.



Hello!



Anyone who works at a dot-com:



I'm writing a story about age discrimination at dot-coms. Basically, I wanna talk to people who think there is a lack of older workers in "young: start-ups, that everything is equal, or whatever. Basically, if you are at a dot-com and wanna be quoted in a news story, email me.

"Every day, in every way, my life is getting better and better."



So, yeah, losing my wallet at some point yesterday is making my life better?

By T.J. DEGROAT

©2000 My Internship

Aug. 15, 2000



Today’s business world is home to female CEOs, African-American presidents and Latino chairpersons. But despite how inclusive corporate America considers itself, there remains at least one taboo: many gay professionals are in the closet.



In July 1999, when Lowell Selvin became CEO of Online Partners and the Gay.com Network, he was not just fueling his passion for the high-tech business world, but he was publicly serving the gay community as a role model and advocate.



"There is great fear in gay and lesbian professionals and business people in coming out," Selvin says. "As a teen-ager growing up in today’s world, you’re hearing Republicans talking about inclusion but not mentioning gays and lesbians. You hear Dr. Laura telling you everything about you is wrong. It plays out with professionals, too."



When Selvin began his career developing information systems at Light Signatures in the early 1980s, he feared coming out. "Even though I was in a long-term relationship, and still am, the last thing I could do was come out," he says.



During the past two decades, tolerance has increased and Selvin decided he couldn’t hide part of himself from co-workers. Now, he always tells potential partners and clients he is gay before beginning a business alliance. "I decided to come out in waves. It’s a continuing management process," he says.



Despite increased corporate diversity initiatives there still is a long way to go, Selvin says. In his last position as CEO of a network marketing company, advisors repeatedly suggested that Selvin remain in the closet.



"We’ve made some improvements in the world of fashion, media and even politics, but I think the business world has a very long way to go," he says. "There are important contributors to businesses who are afraid to come out. They are CEOs, they are senior vice presidents and they are also mailroom clerks and assistants. So my underlying personal mission is to use this job to build acceptance."



Acceptance is also a mission of the company, which provides a place for the gay and lesbian community to come together. The San Francisco-based Gay.com provides interactive services such as news, shopping and chat to about 2.6 million unique visitors each month.



The network and its parent company, Online Partners, recently increased its global presence when it opened an office in Buenos Aires – an area not known for tolerance of gays - to coincide with the launch of a Spanish-language site.



There are offices in New York, Paris and London, as well. There also is a French-language Web site and the company is about to launch a Portuguese-language site.



Since Selvin joined Gay.com, revenue has increased five-fold. In March, he raised the largest amount of funding for gay-identified business, raising $23 million from investors such as Chase Capital Partners, Flatiron Partners and The New York Times.





Selvin came to the company with about 20 years of experience in business management and consulting. After graduating in 1981 with a specialized degree in human factors engineering from the University of Illinois, he worked with Fortune 500 companies such as Johnson & Johnson and MGM. He served as CEO for Arbonne International and as a practice director for Arthur Andersen Business Consulting.



Selvin believes that in the business world, 80 percent of success is perseverance, but the remaining 20 percent is timing and good fortune. Both factors came together last summer when he Online Partners and Gay.com were looking for a CEO.



"I always said when I hit 40 I would retire to teach and consult, but after just a few months I realized I wasn’t ready to stop," he says.



The position was a perfect fit for Selvin, who always had been an activist. He is a founder of the Los Angeles Gay & Lesbian Center, serves on the Capital Committee for the Human Rights Campaign and is a committee member for AIDS Project Los Angeles.



The company is involved with youth organizations such as the Gay, Lesbian and Straight Education Network, and works to create "a world-class site that presents a great face for gay and lesbian youth. How do you reach the 18-year-old in Topeka, Kan.?"



Selvin’s ultimate goal is to reach people. "To have people say, ‘Wow, they’re Gay.com and they’re a great, well-run business," I think sends a very strong message."