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.
______________________________________
Confirmation of your LowestFare.com booking

Thu 12/28/00 5:15PM
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From: EWR Thu 12/28/00 5:15PM
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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.