we're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year.

14 July 2001

Racist: Someone who engages in the practice of racial discrimination, segregation, etc.

I was called this word today. I was called this word today because I don't talk to people, and people don't know how to talk to me. I was called this word today, and it hurt me more than any name I've ever been called by anybody in my life, because it was said by someone I love.

Maybe this will turn into a tirade about race, about where I come from. Yes, I am white, yes I am Irish, yes I am American. But I also know what it's like to be hated by people who don't know you just because of where you come from, or where you've graduated high school, or because of who you are.

When you've backpacked around Europe for three weeks, and when in the middle of those three weeks your country invades Bosnia, the rest of the world hates you, regardless of whether or not you agree with what your country's doing. I know what it's like to walk down the street in Milan, looking like any other person, and being stared at because you obviously look American. I know what it's like to stand on the platform of a Metro station in Paris and get sneers because American English comes out of your mouth. You're stupid, just because you're American. Go back to your country. I know what it's like to get into arguments with Britons over the policies that your government makes while racial bombings are going on in London.

I know what it's like to graduate from a suburban high school, a school where you were called "Evil" because of your religious affiliations, and still be snickered at because you came from such priveledge.

I know what it's like to go to college and get scholarships because you are a girl and because you are smart enough to earn those scholarships.

I know what it's like to get surprised stares because your band comes out, and your the only girl there, playing bass, and then the audience claps after you do the song you wrote.

I know what it's like to feel left out of friends' family gatherings because you will never feel your mother's touch again.

And I also know what it's like to be lonely in a town where nobody wants to talk to you because of your body and because of your mind.

I know about these things. Sometimes, I wish I didn't, that I lived in complete ignorance of the world around me like I was when I was a child. But I can't change how my life is. And I can't change how I was brought up, with humor and with appreciation for people's quirks. If someone makes a joke, it's in jest, and it leaves room for others to take the joke as it is.

A lot of people wonder why there are race tensions in the first place. I honestly believe it's because people purpetuate stereotypes, even when they don't mean to, and when they let other people in on their inside humor, it draws a very fine line.

In other words, if you're going to make a joke about your own race, and include me in the joke by allowing me to say something, don't call me on my shit when I say it. If you leave me room to be able to say something, then don't bitch when I say it, when you say similar things.

That sounds mean. It's not meant to be.

And if I really felt that way, that I was truly a racist, then why would I love my nephews so much? Why would most of my best friends have been of Hispanic decent? Why would I have even dated black (or even mixed) men? Why would I ever talk to most of my family ever again? Why would I ever go out and talk to people at all?

Now I sound like I'm defending myself. And maybe I am. But I'm never going to be called a heavy word that is going to be used lightly. It's not fair to me, especially when it comes out of left field, and especially when it's used to get me to talk. That's really not fair. In fact, it implies more ignorance in throwing words around rather than explaining things.

It's so hard to talk to you. Then just say something! Just ask me! I'm here! Hello! If you want to know something, just ask me. It's not that hard. I'm probably one of the most internal people in the world, this thing I'm doing now called writing being one of my only safeguards in this life, and I use it for all of my emotional states. It's a double-edged sword: It heals me, just as it creates a confusion for everyone else around me who wonder if I'm okay because I don't say anything because it all got worked out in writing.

Underneath it all, I'm just a girl. I'm just a person trying to figure out who she is in this life. I write because I breathe, and I breathe because I write.

.the girl who is not very 7:59 PM [+].

13 July 2001

[on the stereo: 80's radio station]

The fact that I'm writing in here is a miracle and a half.

I've been having trouble connecting online lately-- the past few days, in fact-- and today I backed everything up, erased the rest of it, and started over. I try and sign on. I have the same problems as before.

So after several failed attempts, I call AOL customer service, to see if maybe they can help me. A very nice guy named Brian tried to help me by making me erase all my AOL software and trying again.

I'm still, after all of that, having the same problems. Like I said: Me. Here. Miracle. I might just end up getting a new iBook, like I've been eyeing for months now.

Tonight, however, I'm going to House of Blues for 80's night, and I'm going to dance and forget about things for awhile.

.the girl who is not very 8:46 PM [+].

12 July 2001

Just got back from work, so I need to get my brain in check...

You know, I don't even know exactly who reads this. If you do, let me know. I should maybe make a guestbook or something...

It seems my California report-journal-thing is getting some attention. lucy anne posted a link to it at The Dreaming, basically the definitive Neil Gaiman page online.

I was pleasantly surprised to get an email asking if it was okay to link to it. I said I'd be honored. (And I am.)

Been having a good couple of days just being productive since I've emerged from the journey of The Page, which is freaking me out. And I even have a couple of things that I'm working on, too-- stories that crawled out of my head after having a Neil overdose.

(And he's peering at me from two angles on my computer now-- one of them being the picture I took with him and his goddaughters in West Hollywood, and the other being a picture on my desktop that peers out from under windows in. I think it might be a little much. But I also have pics of Thingies hanging up too, so that makes it all better.)

I've been having this weird feeling that something big and good is going to happen soon, even though I've had a lot of things on my mind lately-- mostly about myself in reference to relationships, and being alone.

Don't misconstrue that as something bad, because it's not. I think I'm starting to come to the conclusion that I'm very selfish. I'll have to think about that some more before I come to any exact conclusions on that.

Ack. Argh. Eh.

Maybe I'm starting to get bored. I miss traveling.

.the girl who is not very 12:43 PM [+].

11 July 2001

[on the stereo: mix chill CD]

It was so nice. I finished Catch-22 and read out of Watchmen and slept, and even got up to play with my nephews this morning, and read, and even went to work and got some shit done, and polished some of the page, and wrote to people I was supposed to write to... I love being productive.

And it's barely even seven o'clock. I think I'm going to stop by Ye Olde Cafe and see what's going down over there.

You know, I always feel like I have something really significant to say when I write in here, and then I blank. It'll come out eventually. Of course, I keep telling myself that.

.the girl who is not very 6:59 PM [+].

10 July 2001

Actually got some shit done today. Deposited my checks (including the one that the paper had shorted me on for 4 months of articles), started on laundry, and finished my page. Okay, so here's a formal announcement.

Ladies and germs, presenting to you a probably-never-quite-finished page: hello-remember-me: A Neil Gaiman-Inspired Online Scrapbook and Journal.

There ya go. Now I can venture out in the world again, not really worrying about if I have it done or not. I'm just waiting for pictures now.

Today was good though. I had it all to myself, running errands. And I can read in bed, and turn in a little early tonight. Nobody even called me today, which feels a little weird.

I need to finish Catch 22 tonight, and move on to the stack of books I've yet to read.

.the girl who is not very 11:38 PM [+].

[in the computer: Lori Carson and Graeme Revell\Fall in the Light]

I read my horoscope just for fun. Usually they aren't very good. But Jonathan Cainer writes the horoscopes for me I wish everyone else would do.

For today:

As Mercury and Jupiter prepare to conjoin in the final degree of Gemini, we see a real sense of "eleventh hour" excitement arising in your world. You have all but given up on something or someone. After having made as much of a reasonable (and even an unreasonable) effort as possible, you have been forced to conclude that a hope is never going to be fulfilled. You are resigning yourself to a sense of disappointment and to the idea that perhaps it is for the best. Ha! But the story is not yet told. As you will soon see.

It's 3 in the morning. I'm going to bed. If there's any drama, I'll let you know.

.the girl who is not very 3:02 AM [+].

09 July 2001

[in the stereo: still got that 90's mix-- I'm on a nostalgia kick.]

The first thing I get this morning is a call from The Boyfriend, wanting to ask me something and have a little State Of The Union discussion so he can go off to work feeling better. The thing is, he just can't let things go naturally and let things happen. He has to know about the status of everything, all the time.

That sounds bad-- he's not obsessive, or controlling, or a jerk (if he was he would've been gone a long time ago); but it's frustrating when you just want things to fall into place rather than forcing round pegs into square holes. I understand that you have to work at these things. I'm learning a lot about myself just by his actions. But at the same time I have a lot more trust and faith invested in Fate than he does. I don't worry about the big things anymore, because I don't have the time to. I live my life day to day, living, and doing what I want to do. And it's not like I don't worry about things, I just don't let them rule me.

Face your demons, tell them they suck, and move on. It's been my motto since I was seventeen.

Yeah. Then I get online, ready to work on my page, and I get an email from my editor about how he changed my article around, didn't like the beginning, and that I put in a "let's cross our fingers" comment about sucessful music events, etc. So I wrote him back to say that the edits were fine (he really didn't change all that much, just a few sentences), and to sort of argue back about how I put the article in the order I did, with the winners right off the bat in the first paragraph of the article. I told him that if I were interested in a Battle of the Bands story, especially how some music events are poorly organized and are sometimes even shut down, I wouldn't really care about who won, but rather what the whole experience of being there was like-- how big was the crowd, what kind of comments were people making, that kind of thing. And the "crossing our fingers" comment might go without saying, but any kind of statement that diffuses a jaded sentiment is a good one, even if it's plainly obvious. I'm not really jaded, yet, but considering the mediocre turnout it was disheartening.

He wrote me back saying that if I was jaded about the scene, it surely didn't show in the article and was that much better for the readers. What can I say, I'm a Gemini-- I'm good at putting on masks.

I called CHP about my speeding ticket in Buttonwillow. They don't have any information on it yet, after waiting 11 days. I'll call back on Thursday, when it's been 14 days. Dad says I may be lucky and they forgot. Yeah right. Walker's chanting "GoodTripKarma" out there in L.A.

I just want to pay for it and get it out of the way. But I'll probably call on Thursday and they'll still have no idea.

It's been a frustrating day, to say the least.

It got a little better when I finished Day Four on the Trip Page, but I really need some more pictures, and I hardly have any except for some from the Book Soup signing. If I'm really lucky and get done with the Vroman's signing I can get to it tomorrow, and then I can polish it off and wait for pictures to come in.

It's Monday. That means it's poetry tonight. I should venture out into the world again. And I will.

.the girl who is not very 6:10 PM [+].

08 July 2001

[in the stereo: a '90's mix CD]

Since I'm such a diva at multi-tasking, I'm going to write my article while I talk about it here...

My editor calls me up Friday afternoon. He never really calls unless it's something last-minute that he needs. Usually it's just emails about what I'm writing that week, which, for this week, I've already turned in. He says, "Hey Kari, what are you doing this weekend?"

I think for a second, consider the fact that all the partying done this week was on Wednesday for the 4th. I was supposed to go to The Boston with Kim and check out some friends' bands. "Nothing, really. Why?"

Bad question. Bad, bad question. It turns out all the stories that were going to be done this weekend fell through. Even the backup stories. So that means I'm left, as the Local Music Bitch, to go to the Battle of the Bands at Gameworks and write a 600-word article on it. Either I can write a scathing criticism if it's that bad, or talk to people and criticize, either way.

Fine, I'll do it. Maybe I'll spend some money and play some video games. I call friends, see who's available-- nobody. Usually I'll bring someone along with me to my little events, both for moral support and for the fact that sometimes it helps to have another set of eyes there, to kind of confirm things.

I had to go it alone, however. In a way, I'm glad I did. I haven't had a Me night in awhile. I still don't want to write the article, however. But I'm doing it.

I got there ten minutes late, partially because of Strip traffic and partially in the hope that musicians never start on time. They did start on time at this event, and I walked in in the middle of The Kill's set, which really didn't do anything for me except give me a headache, make my ears bleed, and gave me motivation to enjoy it all from the over-21 loft. Said loft being where I could drink in peace.

I enjoy a nice Smirnoff Ice as the event continues. One of the local poets, Renee, is emceeing, so I know at least one person there. I don't even see any familiar faces from any local acts, which made my heart sink. Of course, looking at the flyer, I only recognize one of the band names, and I'd never heard them so I wasn't sure what I was in for.

Surprises and headaches, that's what I was in for.

I drank the Ice faster than I should have. Not that I wanted to get buzzed. I just happened to get to that point.

Renee saw me, and recognized me, and she moved upstairs to hang out with me while bands were playing and I could get some information about how things were going with the event, which was cool. See, it's much more helpful to get information from people you've met before. They're much more apt to vent on you. Renee wasn't venting, however. She just made me feel more comfortable being there, since I look about 14 and was getting carded every five minutes. Most of the crowd was definitely under 18, which in a way is good that the kids are supporting the scene. The older crowd, however, was mostly absent, probably somewhere not as kid-friendly.

I watched. I went to the bathroom, got a margarita, slurped it down and became more buzzed than I should have been while watching more bands and spending the $5 game card I got at the door when I paid the cover on playing House of the Dead. I think the alcohol enlightened my experience.

All the while I took notes on all the bands, just in case I would forget, which I wouldn't. But it made me look all journalist-like, so I had to play my part.

Towards the end, my boyfriend tried to call me, but I had absolutely no reception, so he had to leave a message. A very sad message. He hadn't seen me all day and wanted to say hi and maybe do something. But I was having very valuable Me time, and thinking about him, so I'd have to call him back tomorrow when it wasn't so late.

Plus I was still coming down from the buzz, which wouldn't have been good because I'm quiet when I'm buzzed until someone talks to me, and then my tongue slips like a fish through my fingers. I was probably bound to say something really dumb. Not that I'm not used to that, especially in front of famous people.

Afterwards, when I was sober again, I talked to quite a few people about the show and about who's doing what demos, and specifics about the show; and I even talked to an out-of-towner about reading my article online. Without even realizing it, I was schmoozing. I'm getting there.

I went outside, where it was a very gray sky, and humid. I tried calling people to meet me at Crown and Anchor; no go. So I went alone. More Me time. I was in the mood for chicken curry. I ate, and read a chapter out of Catch-22, and it was nummy. And I went home, and checked my email, and went to bed.

Me time is good. I need to do that more often. But I need to finish my article now.

.the girl who is not very 5:42 PM [+].

So. The official move of A Thin Spider Line is now finished. It's still the same page, just at a different address, and it's got this nice Blogger thing on it.

Yay.

Now, I have to write that story, and finish that other page...

.the girl who is not very 3:42 PM [+].

Okay, it's tweaked.

And I now understand why some people get frustrated with this. You start to write something, you adjust a window, and it's all gone.

Not good.

So I'm procrastinating on a story about the Battle of the Bands I'm supposed to write today. I'll write more about that particular experience soon.

I'm working on a couple of things. First, moving my personal page to a new server, which has been easier than I thought. Second, trying to finish up on the online scrapbook of my Neil Gaiman trip through California, which is harder than I thought.

It'll all come together soon. I swear.

.the girl who is not very 2:35 PM [+].

We've started. Er, I've started. I'm going to try this, and see how it works, make it tied in straight with my site-- I've been so disconnected with it, I think, because I have a diary-log-thing somewhere else that I write in with a vengance and then don't for a couple of weeks. Maybe this will be better.

.the girl who is not very 1:47 PM [+].