(no subject)

I started an entry last night at 12:33, but mama made me go to bed.

Basically, I had a blast. I love the Borodin, the Bizet, and the Gounod. The Verdis are all fun, too. Long live opera choruses.

But then. We went to Chuy's. Salad on my right, Mermel on my left, Bill across the table. I had a moment of pout when Arielle sat down on Salad's other side, and said half-joking-half-sullen, "there goes my conversation". I think he noticed, because he didn't leave me out at all. There were a bunch of stories going around about the NY trip that the director's church chorus took volunteers for this summer, and apparently there were a lot of fun stories to trade around. Chris Ortiz came, too, for the first time in a long time. He's very fun. And the jokes made about various slashes at the table were even funnier because anything with him in it was plausible.

It was freezing. This was a bad thing until I discovered the warmth of male metabolisms. Chuck gave his jacket to Arielle, so I had an excuse for freezing Mermel's and Salad's hands. Actually, they didn't care, even when I stuck my hands on Salad's neck. They were warm, crazy people. Bill was going off about mammalian metabolisms"we're mammals", and I'm kind of proud of my response; "we're more mammal than you: we have what they named it for!". It got a pretty big response. Heh. Lots of fun things were said.

But Salad's leaving, and I have to endure a rehearsal and afterout without him. Well, I'll survive, but still. He's going to the UK, and gave me his email so I could get his phone when he has it and we could talk and maybe arrange a meet when we're in London. That would be superb. I told him he was infamous among my circle of friends, and I even had one who worried about his alcohol consumption, who was also going to be in Cambridge. He was surprised.

It will be fun. I'd say more, but I have to go back to school now; it's 12:05. Agh, Saladless. Not that the rest of the table's not entertaining. They're just not him. And he pays attention to me.

(no subject)

It's amazing how much an instant can change one's perception of another person, even without words. I'd been thinking about going up to Jesse and saying something like "It's safe to smirk across the room at you because then I don't have to talk to you, but ..." and ask about the cds the teacher keeps giving him. I'd been thinking about drawing off of him (very good hair, nearly Afri-quiality but dark blond). But then, as I came back to school from lunch today, he was going to wrong way, and there was a cigarette in his hand. It was like there was a sound in my mind that was a compromise between FOOM, WHAP, and FWACK, one syllable but very profound. Goodness. It's a very deeply held prejudice I have that I just recently considered contemplating. All people who smoke are not inconsiderate bandwagon fools, though they may all have been at some point. The government teacher quit smoking 10 years ago. Salad himself quit smoking, though I don't think he was ever really addicted. But that was the immediate perspective shift I experienced: I don't want to associate with this person! he's a _smoker_. I guess it's worsened by the fact that he's my age and probably doesn't know what he's doing.

So I put aside all thoughts of trying to be friendly and engaging in conversation. I quit staring at him in amusement as he shied his eyes away. But I still couldn't help glancing at him occasionally. I guess he's still really the same potentially cool person to know. He still might like classic rock and play guitar and smile shyly. But I find it a little harder to acknowledge that. Maybe it's an intrusion of reality; we're all dumb teenagers, so what would make me think he was any more interesting than the rest of them? His silence in discussions may not be painful shyness, but lack of effort, or even of intelligence. Oh, who knows. I'd have a much harder time approaching him now, though, if I did. Should I, I wonder?

Did you mean this week or next week? I can come tomorrow if you're there.

The magazine's called Strange Horizons, and their fiction submission guidelines are at http://www.strangehorizons.com/guidelines/fiction.shtml . They do art and poetry too. I read a couple of the stories they printed, and I think they have pretty good taste. I dunno how much publicity they get or how much good a foot in that door would do you, but we'll see if they like DU.

Oh, Yes.

http://www.disenchanted.com/dis/technology/game.html?id=ddVncMG4

Quite.

(no subject)

Hmm. Bill didn't drop by like he said he would today (not that I expected him to). I left the little black book at his house last week. He has a mine of blackmail material if he wants; half of the dreams I wrote down in there are in English. (Note: facetiousness. Bill would never blackmail me). Although, I imagine he wouldn't want some of those getting out, just for how they portray him! Amusement. Heh. Oh, but I want it back. I like to reflect on my dream weirdness, and write down the new ones.

Bill had better bring it to the next rehearsal. Actually, from what I heard, he may not come. He'd better. He's the only other one who talks to me like I'm worth talking to, and he has my dreams in his posession!