mychai's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dinner. Opera. Prom. Write. I've had worse weekends. Yet I still look at my screen for five minutes trying to find interesting ways to relay what it is I did. And upon looking back, it doesn't seem like I really did all that much. Dinner. Opera. Prom. Write. Wouldn't it be a bit of a letdown if I started writing all of my journal entries as a short, dumbed-down list of everything I did? About a year ago, my dad sat me down and said that I had a tendancy to do this. When someone would say to me, "Hey, JP, what did you do today?" I would reply, "Woke up, had lunch, went for a hike, and that's it." Not only is it uninteresting, my dad said, but it doesn't foster good relationships. I had a good excuse -- I can't verbalize things nearly as well as I can write them. Expression comes easiest when I can look at it, edit it, think about it as I write. I can be more eloquent, witty, and ironic than when I talk. And better yet, when you write something, no one interrupts you when you talk. I can't think as well verbally on my feet as I can when I write. I'm like George Costanza when someone insulted him, and it took him 3 days to come up with a comeback. And still, the comeback was weak at best. I'm a very erratic thinker. When I go out with friends, if I don't keep up a level of giddiness and somewhat gentle hyperactivity, I end up over-thinking. Someone will say something about going to a party with a hottt chick. This will link with something in my mind, which in turn links with something else. Voila, I'm thinking about Feng Shui. Crap. Where was I? Ah yes. My weekend. What did I do? Dinner. Opera. Prom. Write. Friday night had myself and two others going to see a mini-opera at the university. At first, I was a bit uncomfortable about going to see the opera. I've always loved music, but the opera has always escaped my interests. But I love live music. And it has been a good month or two since I have seen a good symphony. I was itching for some good music. Actually, I didn't really realize how much I was missing it. Ever have someone come up behind you and lightly scratch your back, and then you think, Ooo. That feels good. Didn't realize my back itched so badly... That's how the symphony felt when the first notes rang out. I didn't know I had missed hearing the music as badly as I did. And then the first singers came out. And I thought, Well, here are the singers with their loud, prolonged sung words in another language. Time to go to sleep. But they sang. In Italian. And in a weird way... I understood. It was amazing. I wanted to go today for their second performance, but it started before I got off of work. Too bad. Some of the female singers were incredibly beautiful. Added on to the fantasy of marrying a girl with advanced talents in music. Oi. I was in heaven. ... Oh, and before hand, I cooked dinner. It was totally stolen from the Naked Chef. But it was good, low-fat, and easy. And clean-up was a snap! Dammit. Once again, I am becoming what I hate: TV commercials. And prom was last night. In case you forgot: My friend, Angela the Hugger, is a teacher at a school about an hour away from here. She signed up to be a chaperone, and she wanted someone to go to prom with her. Never someone to pass up a chance to parade around in my mafia suit, I jumped at the chance. We ended up meeting with one of her teacher friends -- a guy named Tim. He was very funny, although he held a die-hard fanaticism for basketball. All three of us ate dinner. I had a taco salad, in case you were wondering. It was good, but their idea of mixed greens was "bits of lettuce cut in different shapes." Quite different from what I consider to be mixed greens. We went to the dance, and we sat at the "adult table." Which was strange. When I was in high school, I always thought all of the adult-types who dressed up and went to prom -- but didn't really do anything -- were just trying to hang on to every last thread of their lost youth. And yep. I was about right. But it was a lot of fun. I saw all of the nifty tuxedos. Most of the girls' dresses were nice. One guy wore a kilt. I think he was a Scottish exchange student. He looked quite sharp, actually, and I wondered if my days of trying on my mom's dresses were as weird as I had originally thought. Going to a high school prom when you are nearly 25 really gets you to thinking. Especially when they show the senior video, showing how fun and care-free all of the seniors are. How much I would give to not have to worry about anything! If I could go back and do things differently, I surely would. There wouldn't be much of a decision. I'll spend a whole entry sometime saying what I would do differently. It ranges from not leaving a couple of dear friends at a boarding school I attended to spending more time with people who eventually died. Oh, well. What can ya do? And now, I write. Well, not much longer. I need to go running, eat a bit of dinner, and go to bed. Yes, I know it is now 11:15pm. One last thing. A bit of a complaint. But I am SOOO FUCKING SICK of smelling cigarette smoke. SICK SICK SICK of it. At first, I was tolerant of the smokers of the world. But I have since changed my opinion. Thank you, and good night. 10:00 p.m. - Sun., April 21, 2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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