buttery birthday

Hi all--

If you have not gotten books you requested from me at the last two dance classes, I will be at Buttery Birthday in the late afternoon/early evening today. I will also be at dance class next Wednesday. If neither of these days work for you, write me a response here on LJ or email me with your contact info. I will be in touch within the next few days to arrange something. If I have not heard from you by Wednesday and you do not come to dance class, I will be giving them away to whoever shows up and wants them, as I will be officially moving out of my apartment next weekend.

The exception to this rule is Sara Ravid, who is unlikely to be either at the Buttery or at dance class: I will be in touch towards the end of the weekend, Sara.

I will also try to post an updated version of the list on Sunday, taking out items that have already been claimed and perhaps adding in a few more at the last minute (ex. anybody interested in VHS copies of Willow or Labyrinth?).

Thanks for all your help,

Book and video list

So my roommate and I are moving at the end of the month and are doing a bit of clean-up around the apartment. We have compiled a list of books and videos we haven't read or watched in a good long while and we would like to give them away. So, of course, our friends ought to get first dibs.

If you see anything in the following list that tickles your fancy, shoot me an email at shana.heller@simmons.edu. I can bring items to Wednesday night dance classes or arrange another time and place to meet up. And if you have any questions about a particular item feel free to call me at 617 277 3056. So without further ado:


1. 2 children’s books about Abraham Lincoln
2. children’s book about Ben Franklin
3. children’s book about Thomas Edison
4. Practical English textbooks and workbooks
5. The Color of Magic—Terry Pratchett
6. The Perilous Gard—Elizabeth Marie Pope
7. Cold Comfort Farm—Stella Gibbons
8. Mutant Message Down Under—Marlo Morgan
9. The Dark is Rising Cycle (5 books)—Susan Cooper
10. Outlander—Diana Gabaldon
11. The Princess and the Goblin—George MacDonald (2 copies)
12. The Princess and Curdie—George MacDonald (2 copies)
13. The Sword and the Dragon—Diane Duane
14. Small Victories—Samuel G. Freedman
15. The Fountainhead—Ayn Rand
16. The History of Sexuality—Michel Foucault
17. Angela’s Ashes—Frank McCourt
18. The Ladies’ Auxiliary—Tova Mirvis
19. Emily of New Moon—L.M. Montgomery
20. Emily Climbs—L.M. Montgomery
21. Emily’s Quest—L.M. Montgomery
22. A Place for Joey—C. Harris
23. Naked Pictures of Famous People—Jon Stewart
24. A Room with a View—E.M. Forster
25. The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes—A.C. Doyle
26. Fiction in the Archives—Davis
27. From Reliable Sources: An Introduction to Historical Methods—Howell and Prevnier
28. The Persistence of History—Sobchack
29. Visions of the Past—Rosenstone
30. Public Vows—Cott
31. American Diplomacy—Ferrell
32. Contemporary Europe: A History—Hughes
33. A Diplomatic History of the American People
34. The National Experience
35. Great Expectations—Charles Dickens
36. Rob Roy—Sir Walter Scott
37. The Picture of Dorian Gray and other writings—Oscar Wilde
38. Bananas, Beaches, and Bases
39. Blues Legacies and Black Feminism
40. Inheriting the Revolution
41. The Use and Abuse of History—F. Nietzsche
42. People of the Century (Time/CBS News)
43. children’s book about Leonardo da Vinci
44. Human Motivation—Franken
45. Psychology Dictionary
46. Pioneers of Psychology
47. The Handmaid’s Tale—Margaret Atwood
48. Sophie’s World—Gaarder (2 copies)
49. Homer’s Daughter—Robert Graves
50. Black Dogs—Ian McEwan
51. The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman—Gaines
52. George Washington’s War—Leckie
53. None Died in Vain—Leckie
54. Women’s Magazines—Walker (ed.)
55. 6 Women’s Portrait Cards—J. S. Sargent
56. John Winthrop, Oliver Cromwell, and the Land of Promise
57. The Weaker Vessel—A. Fraser
58. Sources of 20th Century Europe
59. The Human Record, Volumes I and II
60. The Earth and its Peoples
61. A History of World Societies
62. The End of the European Era
63. Barricades and Borders
64. The Tools of Empire
65. The good city
66. Readings in Western Civilization
67. Stalin—Deutscher
68. Modern Europe: Sources and Perspectives from History
69. Hitler, A Study in Tyranny
70. An American Death—G. Frank
71. Ivanhoe—Sir Walter Scott
72. Thomas Jefferson, An Intimate History
73. The Guns of August—Barbara Tuchman
74. Where the Girls Are
75. Across Five Aprils—Hunt
76. April Morning—Fast
77. The Shoes of the Fisherman—West
78. Amsterdam: The Life of a City
79. 2003: Writer’s Market
80. It’s a Hit! The Backstage Book of Longest-Running Broadway Shows
81. The Trivia Encyclopedia
82. Grants, Fellowships, and Prizes of Interest to Historians, 2000-2001
83. Liberty, Equality, Fraternity: Exploring the French Revolution (missing the CD that originally came with it)
84. Readings in Western Civilization
85. East Asia at the Center
86. The Witchcraft of Salem Village (children’s book)
87. May ’68 and its Afterlives—Ross
88. children’s book about Joan of Arc
89. children’s book about Cleopatra
90. The year’s Best Fantasy (2nd annual)
91. Memoirs of a Geisha—Arthur Golden
92. Can Jane Eyre be Happy?—Sutherland
93. Leonardo/Raphael
94. Elvenborn—Andre Norton and Mercedes Lackey
95. Shadowmancer—G.P. Taylor
96. The Children of the New Forest
97. The Water Babies
98. At the Back of the North Wind
99. Time and Again—Finney
100. Writers of the Future
101. Power Lines—Anne McCaffrey
102. Power Play—Anne McCaffrey
103. Sun-Runner’s Fire
104. Dinotopia Lost
105. Shakespeare’s Scribe—Blackwood
106. The Shakespeare Stealer—Blackwood
107. I, Robot—Isaac Asimov
108. Robot Dreams—Asimov
109. Gold—Asimov
110. The Caves of Steel—Asimov
111. The Naked Sun—Asimov
112. The Martian Chronicles—Ray Bradbury
113. 1984—George Orwell
114. Neuromancer—Gibson
115. The Ancient One—Barron
116. The Salmon of Doubt—Douglas Adams
117. 40 Short Stories, A Portable Anthology
118. The Year 1000
119. Jane Austen’s Guide to Dating
120. A Lady Raised High—Gardner
121. The Black Tulip—Dumas
122. La Reine Margot—Dumas
123. Get Off the Unicorn—Anne McCaffrey
124. The Dolphins of Pern—Anne McCaffrey
125. The Weyrs of Pern—McCaffrey
126. The Renegades of Pern—McCaffrey
127. The White Dragon—McCaffrey
128. The Masterharper of Pern—McCaffrey
129. Nerilka’s Story—McCaffrey
130. Moreta: Dragonlady of Pern—McCaffrey
131. The Chronicles of Pern: First Fall—McCaffrey
132. The House of Dies Drear—Virginia Hamilton
133. The Organic Machine—R. White
134. Jovah’s Angel—Sharon Shinn
135. The Alleluia Files—Sharon Shinn
136. Deerskin—Robin McKinley
137. The Mallorean (5 books)—David Eddings


1. The Accidental Tourist
2. By Way of the Stars
3. Follow the Stars Home
4. Loser
5. Pride and Prejudice (Olivier and Garson version)
6. Some Kind of Wonderful
7. Tales From Avonlea
8. Ninotchka
9. The Parent Trap (Haley Mills version)
10. The Black Cauldron

Check these out...

I know I haven't updated in a frighteningly long time and that's not very likely to change any time soon, but in the meanwhile, here are some websites that I think some of you would appreciate:

The ONE Campaign (www.one.org)-- "The ONE Campaign is a new effort to rally Americans to fight the emergency of global AIDS and extreme poverty. Each ONE of us can make a difference. Together as ONE we can change the world." Go to the site, sign their petition, email your friends. If the folks in charge won't do anything about it, we certainly can.

This is Not Over (www.thisisnotover.com)-- If you are at all unhappy with the current administration (and I sense some of you are) or the general scary trend some current events have been taking lately, check out this website. Started by the sharply clever Sarah Bunting of TomatoNation-- (www.tomatonation.com--absolutely fantastic essays)--and other equally talented writers, This is Not Over searches the Internet for any and all pertinent articles about what's going on in our world that we ought to know about but doesn't always make the nightly news. They also provide email addresses, phone numbers, and petitions so no one has to go silent.

The National Women's History Project (www.nwhp.org)-- The founders of this site are the blood and guts behind the formation of March as National Women's History Month. For educators especially, the biographies they provide about underrecognized women are a wonderful resource.

And just for fun:

Go Fug Yourself (gofugyourself.typepad.com)-- Ever wonder how celebrities can get away with setting the most god-awful trends when you know you could look ten times better in that outfit you got on sale at Marshall's? Writers Heather and Jessica wonder that too. And boy do they have vicious fun cutting down our pop culture idols to mortal size.

Enjoy, everybody! I'll be back someday. :)

Take Me Out

I was all set to write a nice entry about baseball. I was at the game tonight--very exciting. The seats were phenomenal, right near the visitors' dugout. I was with my family, I had a foot-long hot dog, and I was happy. I was going to write about how I never get over walking into Fenway Park, climbing up that incline and seeing that great expanse of field, the crowded seats, that magnificent left-field wall. I was going to write about dancing in between innings when they play "Sweet Caroline," the thrill of watching the twist of power in a hitter's arms and back and then the great soaring arc of that small orb that everyone pins their hopes on. I was going to write about how proud I am of Red Sox history: how the last player in all of major league baseball to hit over .400 in a season was our very own Ted Williams, how the last player to win the Triple Crown was our man Yaz.

And then the game just kept going on and on and on. It started at five-ten and I hoped to be home at a decent hour, to finally write a new entry, to take a long hot shower and drink a mug of steaming tea, and go to bed at an hour that would guarantee me more sleep than I've been getting lately. Instead, I've been home for almost half an hour and I'm still not completely warm. I'm exhausted, certain in the knowledge that I'm going to be late for work again tomorrow because I can't ever seem to sleep enough. I left at the bottom of the thirteenth inning, after swearing I'd leave after the eleventh and then the twelfth and bursting into tears several times. My dad just called to tell me they won in the bottom of the fourteenth and I'm not sure I can expend the effort to get excited or really even give a damn. They have to win the next two anyway if they're going to progress further and meanwhile the Patriots have won an historic twenty games in a row and everyone just brushes it off.

I don't know how I'm going to feel in the morning but right now I think I'm over all of it. I'm over Aaron Boone and his homer last year, I'm over Rocket Roger and his betrayal, I'm over Bill Buckner and the '86 World Series, I'm over Bucky F-ing Dent, I'm over '67 and '75 and I am very very over Babe Ruth. There is no curse on the Boston Red Sox; things just are the way they are. Whether they won or lost tonight, whether they win or lose the next two games, even whether or not they win the Series, I still have a full day of work tomorrow. I still have a room to clean and laundry to wash and a to-do list almost as tall as I am. I am so so tired, tired in general and tired of the Red Sox-Yankees rivalry. I will never like the Yankees and I will always hope they lose. But I can't condone the stupid T-shirts that we sell, that get stupider as time goes by: Yankees Suck, Jeter Swallows, Jeter Swallows A-Rod, A-Rod is an A-hole, Posada is a Little Bitch. This is not the game I want to share with my children someday.

I don't care about the unspoken rules of crowding the plate; I can never be happy that an entire stadium full of people burst out cheering when Hideki Matsui has to bend over backwards to get out of the way of a pitch. Does no one remember Tony Conigliaro? I don't care that you didn't like the call that umpire made: continuing to yell at and threaten him twenty minutes after the call is childish. I don't care that this is your time to "be loose" and "have fun:" you are sitting in front of me and you are disgustingly drunk. You yell obscene, useless things at the opposing players, you give the finger, you stand on your chair. Quite frankly, I don't know how you are standing up on your own anymore. As the night gets later and the game stretches longer, my patience grows thinner and I contemplate homicide. What if I poured your beer on you? What if I pushed you into the Yankees' dugout? What if I gave you a right hook instead of the sloppy high-five you are looking for?

I should be on an emotional high right now. It was a tight game, the Sox led and then fell behind and then came back up and then took over at the last possible minute. They are keeping themselves alive against monstrous odds. These are my boys; I have loved them forever, I have alternately wanted to be them and to marry them. I should not be able to sleep right now--I should be bouncing off the walls. Instead, I want to tear things apart, I want to weep with abandon, I want to sleep forever, I want to curl up with a book and not speak to anyone ever again.

This will go away, right? Baseball will be my favorite sport again, the Red Sox will rule my summer, and I'll be proud to call myself a Bostonian. But first I need to sleep off my rage--in my head I'm alredy waiting for next year and the year after that and the year after that and the year after that...
  • Current Music
    "Ghost"--The Indigo Girls

The dreams in which I'm dying

Real life update in bullet points:

* After spending four years preparing for the graduate year that would propel me into the classroom with my masters' degree in hand, I'm taking a leave of absence to contemplate the flunking of my summer courses.

* After wondering for over a decade why I cannot get organized or finish things on time or stop prostinating or concentrate on the important things or prioritize my life properly, I've been diagnosed with inattentive attention deficit disorder.

* After years of being uneasy with the idea of alcohol and prescription drugs due to my fear of addiction and dependence, I'm about to begin taking two different forms of prescription stimulants, drugs that will activate my moivation, change my work habits, and suffocate my appetite. The likelihood of a lifelong dependence upon these pills seems imminent.

* After spending five weeks attempting to get a job with the Bostoninan Society, finally obtaining it, and then getting promoted to keyholder, I have quit in order to run the learning center at the English High School. After casually suggesting to my boss that I could help with tutor placement in the classrooms, he handed the extra responsibility over to me without asking.

* After promising myself that I would go to sleep early, it is 11 pm, I have not finished sending out my work-related emails, my bed is a mess, I've not washed the dishes or cleaned the living room or showered, and I must must must be up at 5 am tomorrow and still be awake and professional enough to conduct four interviews.
  • Current Music
    the actual sound of silence

And April is the cruelest month

While I fully intend to elucidate more thoroughly upon the meanderings of my last post and the commentary it generated, now is not the time for that. Now is the time to focus completely on academia, on my students, on job and grad school applications, on apartment hunting and graduation invitations and my father's wedding gift, on buying my cap and gown, on attending the senior-faculty banquet, on wondering where the hell my mother is, on applying for fall classes and figuring out why I haven't been placed in my internship yet. Now is not the time to wonder why my heart is both lead and feather within my chest and why my head is full of visions of a picket-fenced future on the one hand and a lonely existence on the other.
  • Current Music
    late night thoughts in a minor key

Just beginning to live

Procrastinating leads to pontificating and, as this is a topic upon which I have pondered a lot lately, (and also because I'm having issues writing my World Civ paper), here I go...

So in that whole "My First..." meme, I answered the question of my first true love with the name of my current one. This is both true and not true at the same time. I love my boyfriend with a depth which I am not yet comfortable plumbing completely. But if you want to get technical, the very very first time I fell in love was at the age of fourteen. His name was Cassiodoran, he was unbearably good-looking, and he was an elf prince in a disappointingly mediocre Esther Friesner book that I snuck out of my high school library.

Cass was brash, cocky, infuriatingly pig-headed, and downright cruel at times. Serious bad boy aura--not my type at all. I was absolutely mad for him. I thought his sarcasm was witty, I felt sure he was really very vulnerable under all that surliness, blah-blah-blah bad romance cliche cakes.

Eventually he lost his appeal. Someone new came along. There was always someone new, considering how much of my free time was spent reading. There was George Cooper, king of the thieves and baron of Pirates' Swoop. Eliar, the hunchbacked lute player with the "tortured soul." Mendenbar, king of the Enchanted Forest. And, inevitably, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy himself, who would certainly drop Elizabeth Bennet in a heartbeat if he knew of my existence.

And therein lies the point. He doesn't know of my existence because he has none of his own. (Unless you get kind of existenstial here, but I am firmly against existensialism. :)) None of these men really exist. None of the clever things they say or the romantic things they do or the happy endings they achieve are real. And for someone who has spent so much of her life with a book in one hand, it gets easy to forget that.

I wonder what really qualifies as a happy ending. What does a person have to do to prove that love is really what it is? How can you recognize love in someone else? Is it based in actions? In words? Is proof necessary? I took naturally to happy endings as a child, I assume, because of my parents' divorce. But I've long since substituted my desire for palaces and dancing halls with a desire for stability and safety in my future. I've had a harder time with the other questions though.

The books I've read have taught me to believe that love is this massive, demonstrative emotion. I half expected someone to start calling me "dearest, loveliest Agnes" and credit me with changing the way they view the whole world. I know I expected constant declarations of affection, maybe even sweeping romantic gestures. I live in a world of words; it's where I am most comfortable--reading, writing, expressing myself. I live there because no matter how many different things a word can mean, once it is said or written it is out there. (What's that Emily Dickinson poem again? "A word is dead when it is said, some say; I say it just begins to live that day.") It is out there and it cannot be denied in its existence, its defiance, even; it is not subtle and I am not a subtle person. The love I read about in books is huge, monstrous, undeniable, unstoppable in its force--it will be heard no matter what, it will be declared in words loud and clear and in gestures large and obvious. I'm beginning to think they fudged the truth a bit.

Maybe love really is a subtle force. Sneaks up, lurks quietly in the corners of your mind, always there. Maybe it soothes--and hurts--the most in its smallest gestures. And what about on my side of it all? Wasn't I supposed to hear bells and horns? Didn't the books say I would be overwhelmed, swept off my feet, struck by the realization of love, consumed by it at all times? But I don't feel consumed--content, yes, but not consumed. How can I know that I'm right? Not one of my immediate relatives is still on their first marriage. I can't fathom being mistaken in that manner. Which goes back to the stability thing. Which means I'm rambling, damn it...

I'm sure I'll figure it out as I go along. But it's sad to know that the books on which I relied so greatly to fill the loneliness I often felt, even amongst large groups of my peers, only separated me from reality all the more. Back to the history paper now I suppose.
  • Current Music
    Four A.M. silence

All my burning bridges

The next person who asks for anything from me--and I do mean anything--is going to get their head bitten off and mounted on my wall. Just "finished" my political science midterm. I screwed up so badly at the beginning that I had to START OVER halfway through the time limit. I ended up having to write my enire second essay in outline form just to show him that I knew all the information before he kicked me out of the classroom. I now have to go write a paper for that same professor. i better do really well on it to balance out this midterm or am i absolutely blown out of the water grade-wise.

I have a three hour class today, a ten minute dinner break, and the honors seminar from hell. I have another midterm and the poli sci paper due tomorrow. I have a week to write four lesson plans and get together field trip forms. I have a wedding shower to plan and a scrapbook that I am supposed to be working on except that none of my relatives will send me pictures for it. I have a map-painting session in the basement of my dorm on Sunday after I have worked all morning with the world's worst-behaved nine-year-old and NO ONE is showing up for it. I have an education portfolio that consists of a pile of papers, a checkbook that hasn't been balanced in eight months, a resume to write before I can begin interviews for my internship, summer classes to apply for, and a dual degree program to create from scratch. Last night, I tried to do two things at once and screwed up at both of them. I'm done, done, done with feeling guilty about things and being walked on and talked into things. The focus is going on me for a change. I will fulfill all the responsibilities tht I have undertaken and then everyone will leave me the hell alone to graduate college and get into the classroom where i belong and really wish I was right now.

Suffice it to say I threw shoes last night.

And screamed.
  • Current Music
    Dorothy Parker's Hymns of Hate--every last one of them

Shall I creep or shall I fly?

The key to writing the perfect lesson plan is knowing that it doesn't exist. It can be a very good lesson plan--chock-full of knowledge, engaging for your students, approved of by the administration and the DoE, blah-blah-blah-effusive-praise-cakes. But it can always use tweaking: modifications for individual students, accomodations for recent current events, etc. And that is what I have to keep reminding myself. So that next time I'm writing one of these puppies, it hasn't taken me three weeks of personal agony.

Since procrastination and perfectionism are traits that I've been dubiously blessed with for over a decade, I thought I'd take a crack at this new meme. I fear i don't know how to cut a section so that you only read it if you won't. I'll just post this and if y'all'd rather not read it, skip to the end and send me a nasty comment. :) Besides, I appear to be making a habit of writing irritatingly long journal entries and then not updating for months...

March, 2004: Spring of my senior year of college. Taking five classes, working two jobs, "propping up" Lear, and attempting to create a dual masters' program at Simmons in which I can participate. Life is busy and stressful but blissfully full. My brother's a college freshman, my dad's getting married to a lovely woman in May, my friends are steady and silly (an excellent combo), and my relationship with my boyfriend of 16 months is as dizzingly, delightfully confusing as it's always been.

March, 2003: Recovering from a rather spectacular academic and emotional breakdown the previous fall. Having a blast in Midsummer's, my first play in almost three years. Acclimating my self to the SCA; getting used to being called Agnes. Four months with boyfriend and beginning to think I'm in love (know it now :)).

March, 2002: Almost halfway thru college. The world is shifting for me in tectonic ways: reminders of September 11th are everywhere, I've been to Israel on my very first far away trip from home by myself and fallen in love with it, and my dad has begun bringing home a very nice woman from work named Anne. I'm hoping she sticks around.

March, 2001: Have decided I really like living in Boston. My roommate is officially my best friend at school and we do absolutely everything together. As always, my side of the room looks like a bomb hit it. Every Wednesday night, Alie and I watch the West Wing with a devotion so true that our families know not to call while it's on. In addtion, I discover the addictive joys of fanfiction.

March, 2000: Spring of my senior year of high school. I receive more awards at class night than any of my fellow graduates; it does not induce me to want to stay in Sharon. I have the world's greatest A.P. English teacher and my writing has never been better. My drama club is practicing for the semi-finals of the local one act play competition. I harbor a not-so-secret crush on my friend Steve but am going to attend the prom with my friend Adam. We have decided to make as big an entrance as possible and so I am currently searching for a lace parasol. (Which I find the day of the prom!)

March, 1999: I begin the search for colleges. Intending to major in musical theater, I spend two months searching for the perfect school, only to discover I don't want what I thought I did. My dad and I go out for pizza and I tell him I want to be teacher. I have never regretted the decision. I am also preparing for my first advanced placement exam--.

March, 1998: Is there really a point to sophomore year? I didn't think so then and I don't think so now. I take junior Jason Moldoff to my semiformal dance; he flirts with me, holds my hand, sends charming grins in my direction, and then drops me like a brick for Jamie "wanna see my BMW" Kaufmann. Not that I'm still bitter or anything.

March, 1997: My grandmother has passed away the summer before. My mother, intending to move from New Hampshire back down to Massachusetts, decides to first visit her sister in Florida. Her visit becomes permanent and our relationship has been tenuous ever since. Freshman year drags on and on.

March, 1996: I have officially celebrated being Bat Mitzvah--daughter of the commandments--four months ago. I will not truly appreciate the meaning of it for at least another five years or so. I am participating in my very first musical, "Give My Regards to Broadway." It wants to be "42nd Street" with George M. Cohan; it falls rather short of the mark. The experience is thrilling nevertheless: I will join community theater that summer and will do two musicals every year until I graduate high school.

March, 1995: This is my first full year living with my dad. We have just moved into our new house in December after living with my grandparents for a few months. I have just hit puberty and neither my father nor I have any idea what to do about it. My aunt gets a lot of desperate phone calls from us. I develop a deep, obsessive crush on Craig Simons who goes to hebrew school with me and delivers my grandparents' newspaper.

March, 1994: My what change a decade wroughts. I am five months shy of 12 years old. I am living in Londonderry, New Hampshire, with my mom, stepdad, brother, and two stepbrothers. I am under the impression we will be moving to Nashua this summer. My friends are in the process of planning a surprise going away party for me. They accidentally drop a lot of hints; thankfully their lack of subtlty is in direct proportion to the thickness of my skull--I have no idea what's going on. I also have no idea how much my life is going to change in July. I have already begun to leave childhood behind--I get my first "D" on a report card--but I will never, ever be this innocent again. Ten years later, I'm still not sure how I feel about that.
  • Current Music
    the humming of my computer

First and Last Meme

This looked really fun. I don't exactly know what a meme is or even if I'm allowed to participate in one without asking someone's permission, but here it is. If I shouldn't have it up here, just someone please let me know and I'll take it down. Thanks! :P

FIRST REAL KISS: On stage in Guys and Dolls during my senior year of high school. I was Sarah and my friend and ex-boyfriend Ted was Sky. We had to kiss and then the script said I was supposed to slap him. So we did and I did and I made him bleed. Whoops?
FIRST KISS I ENJOYED: Also on stage, the summer following Guys and Dolls. I was in West Side Story and the guy who played Tony to my Maria was nine years my senior and absolutely gorgeous. His fiancee was apparently less enthused about the stage kissing than I was; she thought he was cheating on her (which he was but not with me--ah theater).
FIRST SCREEN NAME: Same then as now: agnescopperfield because I love Charles Dickens' semi-autobiographical novel. Incidentally that's why I leaned immediately towards Agnes when picking out an SCA name.
FIRST SELF-PURCHASED ALBUM:I can't remember. I know the first CD I ever owned was the Beatles' Revolver but I didn't buy it for myself.
FIRST FUNERAL:I think it was my Great-Aunt Ida; I can't remember if I was at her funeral, the unveiling of her tombstone, or both.
FIRST PETS: Either goldfish who ate each other or sea monkeys!
FIRST PIERCING: Both my ears, when I was seven and scared out of my tiny little mind.
FIRST TRUE LOVE: My current one.
FIRST BIG TRIP: That I can't remember--back to America from Germany at the age of 6 months; I was born at a military hospital in Frankfurt. That I can remember--my first big trip by myself was to Israel for ten days the summer before my sophomore year of college.
FIRST MUSICIAN YOU REMEMBER HEARING IN YOUR HOUSE: Live--my brother, first on trumpet, then on guitar. Recorded--Garry Lewis and the Playboys.
LAST BIG CAR RIDE: Really big one? To Gettysburg with my brother and father at the end of summer 2002.
LAST KISS: Last night with first true love.
LAST GOOD CRY: Also last night, but not related to kiss. :)
LAST MOVIE SEEN: The Hebrew Hammer--far funnier than it had any right to be.
LAST BEVERAGE DRUNK: Cranberry-apple juice at my cafeteria.
LAST FOOD CONSUMED: Four mini chocolates shaped like little globes from multicultural night at the Simmons dining hall.
LAST PHONE CALL: My grandma just called to see if I felt better after the migraine I was suffering from on Sunday. :)
LAST TV SHOW WATCHED: The proposal episode of Monarch of the Glen...about half a dozen times.
LAST SHOES WORN: Lazy black canvas flip-flops.
LAST CD PLAYED: Currently in the middle of Bleu's Headroom.
LAST ITEM BOUGHT: Pizza and beverages for me and Heather Saturday night in Andover.
LAST DISAPPOINTMENT: No motivation on paper talked of in previous entry. ERRRGH! And I really do find the topic interesting! So infuriating...
LAST SODA DRUNK: Diet Coke accompanied by fabulous take-out Thai food in the dorm of my ex-roommate while recovering from migraine on Sunday night.
LAST ICE CREAM EATEN: Something from the cafeteria.
LAST SHIRT WORN: Black turtleneck, topped by green cable-knit sweater, topped by grey hooded sweatshirt all being worn currently by consistenly cold me. :)