The Hipster Brigade
Wednesday, January 28, 2004
the summer

standing surrounded by books in a narrow aisle. old man smelling like marlboros says to me, "move on over" or "have you read the new Grisham?" then, is her hair blue or grey? we take bets in the backroom and exchange stories. did you see him jacking off to the fitness books? i caught him so red in the face, zipped up his pants and he was gone, only to return with an envelope addressed to The Library, inside was a check for 500 dollars. on the bottom it read, "for my shame." we never saw him again all summer long. he has three overdue books. his name was henry. horny henry, we call him now. but we haven't seen him since.

there is a julia roberts at our library. she checks out true crime and classic horror films. her son reads manga and is trying to learn japanese. i offer to tutor him on wednesday nights. he accepts. i find myself attracted to him. he's 17. i'm 21. i think about what the meals are like in prison, and if they have a special vegetarian option. i decide not to take a chance, even though that is clearly his hand on my thigh. i hide my smile.

someone rips off the library everyday. i find the security stickers stuck on the undersides of the bookshelves. we close down for three days and do an inventory. nothing is missing. we re-open with a pizza party. they forget to order cheese, so i eat cheetohs from the machine. i almost get oreos and then remember at the last second i can't eat those, either.

sometimes there are librarian barbeques but i'm never invited. there are three vegetarians there and they never invite us. instead we go to the church events together. one saturday, they have a huge pet show. there is a turtle race and a hamster scuttle. there is a dog show where you dress up your dog in costume and give him a personality and make him talk. "hello, i'm mister chuckles." we all laugh. he wins. blue ribbon.

i hand out gold stars and curly straws to the summer reading program kids. a single father asks me out on a date. he says i remind him of his wife. the one that left him for the biker. he takes me out for frozen yogurt but we have to go to chuck e. cheese first, because he can't find a sitter till 8pm. i don't mind. he tries to kiss me in his car in front of my house, but i tell him, "this can't get serious." he understands and asks me to babysit for jeanene and carlos. i promise i will but i never do.

at the end of the summer, right before classes start again, they throw me a going away party. they remember to order the cheese this time and they take three whole rolls of pictures of me smiling and giving a speech. they say what they always say, "diana, i can't wait for you to come back to promote your book." and i shrug, because i doubt that will ever happen. i don't plan on writing a mystery or about finding the titanic. i'm more into writing about quiet girls that like books and listen to The Cure on vinyl, who never have boyfriends. i want to write the next: the perks of being a wallflower or weetzie bat or the exes. i probably will just end up writing a memoir since i'm best at nostalgia anyways.

i'll probably put a picture of me riding a horse on the cover to throw people off that it's about me. because i don't even like horses.
Tuesday, January 27, 2004
just a wee bit

i never feel sorry for someone when i read about them being sick in their blogs. in fact, i'd like them to cut it out. it's no longer funny to have SARS, syphilis or Space Herpes.

but then i forgot what being sick is like. how much it consumes you. how the only thing you think about is being sick and wishing you were better. you can't concentrate on your taxes, that good book or your lost financial aid papers.

yesterday, i woke up achy and beyond tired. i tried speaking and stopped myself when i realized i sounded like a pre-pubescent boy. yesterday, i stayed in bed and moaned. it was my right, because i'm going to milk being sick for all that it's worth. suck up all the pity that i can. cause i'm that kind of person.

then the glamorousness of being sick ends. you just want to get out of your room. out of the dorm. out in the middle of florida. anywhere where the weather isn't 12 degrees. i want to eat solid foods again.

yesterday, i had about 5 cups of tea and tomato soup. i had to force myself to eat everytime. remember, your fluids, they say. well, i'd like to say to they that i'm not just quite 50 yet and i can process foods that haven't visited the blender.

now i'm in the limbo of being sick. almost better but still coughing and feeling cold even when the room is a million degrees. but i know you don't care.
Monday, January 26, 2004
i think i missed the point completely

in 1997, i used to listen to a lot of alternative radio. practically any song could come on some alternative rock station and i would know it. i would yell the album, artist and song. it was a talent, really. i impressed my friends. i impressed myself. i impressed my mom. but despite knowing every bad and good song on the radio, i rarely bought cds. half of my collection was obscure smashing pumpkin imports and the other half were bands people had forgotten or didn't know about.

then there was everclear. i have to admit that "santa monica" is just a great song. was. really. i don't think i can stand it anymore. i can't listen to those albums anymore. my 1997 albums. i'm just not my 1997 self anymore. for which i am glad. my 1997 self was annoying, lost and hopeless.

but there is still one song that makes me want to write. one song from "so much for the afterglow" that makes me bob my head even when no one knows what i'm listening to and i dance all by myself in the Boston Common after class and everyone stares at me.

honestly, i think i just liked the bit about the record store.

"White Men in the Black Suits" by Everclear

I am just a boy working in a record store
Yes I moved to San Francisco just to see what I could be
I am a loser geek, crazy with an evil streak
Yes I do believe there is a violent thing inside of me
She is just a girl, she is doing what she can
She dances topless
When she's not playing in her band
Such a pretty girl, happy in an ugly place
Watching all the pretty people do lots of ugly things
I think it's getting better for the two of us
Yes I think it's getting better almost everyday
I could give a damn for what those people say
All I want to do is lose myself in your room
All you want is just a slow fuck in the afternoon
I still see those scary guys when I am all alone at night
I kiss the ring you gave me then I swing with all my might
I think it's getting better for the two of us
I think it's getting easier for you and me to agree
That the white men in black suits
They are diminishing
Yes I think they are diminishing
Yes I think they diminish you and they diminish me
I think they are diminishing
You know sometimes I hear those people say
Yeah she takes a bus
Over to the north side of the city
She goes to work stripping for the rich white men
All the words they give her
Make her feel so soft and pretty
She wears them but they never seem to fit
Yes I think it's getting beter for the two of us
Yes I think it's getting better in the worst way
I refuse to be afraid of almost everyone
Afraid of all the things they do or the words that they say
Let's live the way we want to live and hope they go away
I really hope they go away
I really hope they find a nice place
I hope they find it somewhere
I hope they go away
I can still hear all those people say

now good ole 2004 Diana doesn't touch everclear with a ten foot pole.
Sunday, January 25, 2004
the refurn of MAF


go here.

don't ask.

just go.

i apologize beforehand.
Saturday, January 24, 2004
cavity search

I used to call it the banana seat. yellow and worn leather. indented from all the other previous asses. some called it the dentist chair but I much preferred the banana seat.

I was never a fan of the dentist. I was hostile. I was violent. I did not want to be there. at the age of five, I sat down and then immediately realized, this is not a great place to be, struggled out of the hands of the nurse and ran out of the office. I had to switch doctors.

but despite hating the dentist, I still had terrible teeth. cavities and root canals. I blame it on bad genes. not on lack of brushing which I did frequently. obsessively.

in fact, I believed whenever I was in that chair it was my privilege to moan outloud at any time I felt was suitable. most of the time I wasn't even in pain. I just hated being there listening to my dentist hum the theme to the Brady Bunch.

now here I am owner of two crowns. nothing very Queen-y about it. feels more like two porcelain toilets for molars, but I like them. they haven't tried to escape a single time. I keep trying to floss finding myself unable to keep that resolution. I gave up hating the dentist, too. or maybe the dentist gave up on hating me, but either way, I find him more friend than foe. call me sick, but I actually look forward to the dentist.

but this is the problem. when I smile and the boston chill hits the right top row of teeth. I feel this unnatural tingle. this sensativity that previously did not exist, at least in that location. now i'm craving dental hygiene and Crest has become my best friend.

it's going to be a long winter.
Thursday, January 22, 2004
in response to sabrina and janice's posts on "why we kick so much more ass than all of your previous and current girlfriends."

honestly, i have found the best way to attract the opposite sex is by knowing an obnoxious amount of music. all kinds. which means i am constantly reading pretentious indie rock magazines. the glossies and the underground. i don't eat meat, thus i'm a cheap date. also, vegetarians taste better. i won't step near anyone that is obsessed with sports. not my style. but i can be found cheering on certain NHL hockey teams during the right season and i like watching the World Cup. i like talking about vintage cars. i talk a lot but i know when to shut up, which means good conversation. also, i'm funny. i will probably write about you, nicely at first. thus, immortalizing you forever. maybe in haiku form. i know you'd like that. i will buy you gifts and expect nothing in return, other than sex and thoughtful gestures. and if nothing else, i am asian and will fulfill your schoolgirl fetish. librarian fetish? no problem. i have the keys. and the glasses. and if nothing else, i give good head and enjoy it.

long awaited and very short but sweet

tonight on my walk back from class, i noticed that all the ducks are huddling together on top of the duck pond. on top of ice. they are sitting there lost and cranky, i'm sure.

then i pictured the solution.

nikki, will you please knit each of them little scarves?

you will?



the ducks.
Saturday, January 17, 2004
the shrine

don't worry, i will be writing again. sometime. soon.
Friday, January 16, 2004
the 'ole dorm room

i like to call it pizazz!
Wednesday, January 14, 2004
there will be no explanation provided

Me standing next to a big weiner.
Monday, January 12, 2004
losers weepers

my family is excellent at losing everything. they will look around the house, tearing up everything to locate the lost treasure, then i will get on the job, look underneath a book or on top of a high shelf and i will find the lost item

things i have found:

procopius -- "The Secret History" (on top of computer)
eye glass lens (sidewalk)
cell phone (in one of the pockets of the car)
emerson tuition bill (under some papers on the table, overlooked)
rebate information for the HP printer (also, on the table, overlooked)

one day, i was taking my dog on a walk and on the way home i found the lens to a pair of eyeglasses. i showed my mom who brought up the fact that my grandma had tripped and broken her glasses one night a couple of weeks ago, and maybe that was her's. so later that day, i asked my grandma. it was her's. i had found the lens to her glasses that had been lost nearly three weeks ago.
Saturday, January 10, 2004
do not mock my heritage, savage.

dear fader,

did you mean yoko ono?



p.s. you should check out the cast to The Last Samurai. there are a lot more where those came from.
Friday, January 09, 2004
reasons i might hate the internet

my junior year of high school my best friend moved away. actually, my best friend was taken away. nicole was sixteen years old and she moved out of her house to a new state, tennessee, with a 27 year old man she had met in a mIRC chatroom, john rich. he told her he loved her. and i told her that i loved her and wanted her to stay. i asked her about college. about finishing high school. about learning to drive together. about our plans to marry brothers. i told her that if he really loved her, that he would wait till she was 18. she refused the apartment that would get her out of her troubled home that my mom was willing to rent for us. she just left. me. everything. behind.

that was six years ago. october 1998. i have not seen her since.

she used to call me. write me emails. she got married on new year's eve of 1998 with her mother's consent in a courtroom in dallas, texas. she did not invite me. she had a child of march of 1999. a little girl. i don't even know her name.

i have a friend that has seen her a few times. random run-ins. he keeps "losing" her phone number. i don't really want to talk to her, but i'd like to see her. maybe through two-way glass. i want to see how she has changed.

my freshman year of college she called my home. i was in boston. my mom "lost" her phone number.

i think about her around this time of year. i think about my promise to myself to never meet anyone off the internet. i think about how many people i have met. i think about how i haven't run off and gotten married to a single one of them.

not yet.
Tuesday, January 06, 2004
scene from an elevator

"Well, isn't this awkward?" he said, glancing over to her as she pushed the already lit number one button. It was true, it was. She forgot that he lived here in the same apartment building as Franco, her lab partner and her current crush. She didn't even like science, but one look at Franco, and suddenly she was a whiz at everything she had forgotten so well in high school chemistry.

She didn't want to see Sean again. She never expected to see Sean again. She wanted Sean to be hit by a truck. Right now here in the elevator. She wasn't sure how it would work out for her, but hopefully the driver would be precise enough to avoid her with minimal damage to her favorite peacoat. It was then she realized Sean was still talking to her and she was just staring at her black maryjanes with the scuff mark on the toe.

"Sara? Earth to Sara." She hated that saying remembering it so well from middle school, where she'd end up in the corner for nothing more than harmless daydreaming. When did daydreaming deserve punishment?

She turned slowly towards Sean. She forgot how much taller he was compared to her. A towering six feet four inches to her very grounded five foot five. she had always appreciated her small frame, reminded her of the faeries her mother told her lived under the mushrooms in her backyard. "Hello, Sean. Never thought I'd see you again."

"Maybe it's fate. I've been thinking of you lately. I found your scarf between the couch cushions. The skinny one with the..." He stopped suddenly. "I guess you found a suitable replacement, Sara. You were always very good with clothes."

Just then she remembered she was wearing Sean's favorite dress. The red and white checkered one that he said reminded him of picnics in fields of fresh flowers. He always teased her about wanting to lay her down on the bed and eat off of her. She would never let him.

Sara looked at Sean. He was wearing his jeans too tight again and they hugged his ankles, where you could see pink socks peek out from overworn slip-on checkered Vans. His shirt was pink too. He had washed a red sock with his whites again. "Much better than you, I see." Then there was a jolt and she found herself in Sean's chest. "What was that?" She said backing up away from him, using her hands to brush herself off, like she had been hugging the dog too tightly and hairs were clinging to her coat.

"This happens sometimes, um, use the batphone to message out for help," Sean said, shuffling his feet, pointing to the red phone.

Sara picked up the phone. Put the reciever to her ear and nothing. Then the phone fell out of the box with a loud thump, a mix of wires at her feet. "Fantastic. This is fantastic."

Sean scratched his head. "Well, that's never happened before," he said, almost chuckling, only holding himself back once looking at Sara. "Yeah, this is quite a fix, eh?"

Sara rolled her eyes, put her back against the wall of the elevator and slowly slid down, and hid her face in her knees. the reciever of the phone still in her hand. Sean wanted to touch her, stroke her hair, like he used to when she got like this -- frustrated. finally, she looked up and she surprised him by smiling. Laughing out, "What do we do now?" Sean laughed and shrugged his shoulders, then sat down next to her.

Sara put out her hand, and they waited.
things i have been doing instead of updating my blog

-writing a story
-reading fabulous books to inspire me to finish my story
-watching television
-working at the library
-eating thai food
-avoiding writing said story
-watching ryan adams on letterman
-invading the post office
-running out of ideas
-making love to sabrina's new hat
-having a crush on the king
Friday, January 02, 2004
if it's supposed to be new, why does it feel so used?

this year i found myself putting out fires with my companion, Banditt the Monkey*. together we were on call the entire night to save people from the deadly terror known as fire.

we spent a lot of time playing hearts.

one woman, with a neon lit cocktail sign in her front window invited us into her humble abode. Banditt opted out as the woman ended up being a close friend of mine from the past. my high school japanese teacher. as i walked inside, noticing my parents partaking in sushi in the corner, i considered myself lucky to be relieved of such an important new year's tradition, my shift with Banditt. he understood. plus, he never liked me hogging the driving to myself as he has been licensed for the last 3 years.

so i partook in this hopping engangement known as New Year's Party. Here, one could have witnessed many events in which i participated. eating traditional japanese fare such as sushi and potato salad. being surrounded by hip japanese types which made me feel out of place as i was not one of them and i don't remember much japanese other than the word for milk and the days of the week and one through ten. much embarrassment was had when a japanese woman came up to me and spoke to me and i gave her a look of utter horror. then we watched the Japanese New Year's special where the pop bands race head to head against each other: boys vs. girls. my favorite was gackt. then i got bored because i started talking about taking up the shamisen or koto. then my mother and i sat in the corner making snide comments about everyone.

then we left before midnight. and i drank faux champagne at home with my sister and grandma.

the actual video of the event was damaged when Banditt gummed the tape. we are no longer talking.

*some names have been changed to protect some very ficitional characters
Laying the foundation for grown-up fairy tales since November 2001.

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Location: Boston, Massachusetts, United States

Nerd. Collector. Haiku Writer. Knee sock wearer. Umbrella holder. Polaroid taker. Photobooth sitter. Casual gamer.

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