| (no subject) |
[Apr. 11th, 2006|12:46 am] |
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One of these days, I'm going to slip up and click "Send" instead of "Save draft" and then where will we be, my friend? |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 19th, 2006|08:15 pm] |
I have an address!
Holly Painter
250 Castle St.
Dunedin, New Zealand
Send me letters. 84 cents is a small investment for my mail happiness.
Also, I have finished my first study abroad mass email. Let me know if you want it sent your way. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 20th, 2006|03:15 pm] |
Hello People,
I am now in Dunedin, New Zealand. I won't have internet for three weeks, and the Dunedin Public Library computer I'm on blocks email sites and facebook, so this is all I'm allowed for awhile. So comment if you want to say hello. When I have an actual address in three weeks (my current one is temporary), I will post that, too, and you can all send me letters. In the meantime, everybody take care.
Love, Holly |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 26th, 2005|11:16 pm] |
When there's something you could have done, you spend the rest of your life regretting that you didn't do it.
When you did everything you could have, and there's nothing you could have done, you spend the rest of your life trying (unsuccessfully) to figure out what it is that you could have done and regretting that you didn't do that thing that you can't seem to think of.
Which is worse? |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 27th, 2005|07:01 pm] |
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My toaster is broken. But not to worry, folks. I'll fix it, one of these days. |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 28th, 2005|11:09 am] |
I'm sick of these fucking games. I hate games. I don't play games. I can't. The only way to win is not to compete. I hate competing with him. I'd rather just drop out than make you choose. Because I can't play these games you two are playing. And God knows I'd like to start giving ultimatums about now: Either tell him to stop or I can't be with you anymore. But I can't give ultimatums, and besides, you'd sooner choose not to be with me than to feel like I've told you what to do. So you won't tell him. And why?? So you can keep your options open? So you can have us both in your back pocket, him strung along and me going insane with fear and worry because losing you would kill me? Just another mindgame. I can't live in this world of games. It's not me, and it's unraveling me day after day.
Just thought you might like to know. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 30th, 2005|11:51 am] |
Nice work, Canada!
Three countries down, a few hundred to go.... |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 24th, 2005|11:02 pm] |
Oh my goodness, my girlfriend is the coolest person ever...
Molly on distance in relationships:
"Lots of things follow the inverse-square law. Love doesn't have to be one of them." |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 9th, 2005|11:30 am] |
| [ | music |
| | bob dylan - tambourine man | ] |
A fun survey I stole from Jeremy:
Using google image search (limiting yourself to the first ten results of each query) post pictures to answer these questions:
( do it ) |
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| More details on the JavaHutt gathering |
[May. 20th, 2005|12:46 pm] |
When?
Monday, May 23 at 10:00 pm until
Tuesday, May 24 at 4:00 am
Where?
The Birmingham JavaHutt on Old Woodward at Merrill
Why?
I will only be home for a week this summer for my brother's graduation, but I'd like to see all of my friends while I'm home. To facilitate this, I thought some sort of party would be best. Unfortunately, as my parents have work and my grandmother is in town, there can be no such event at my house. Therefore, I am holding an all-night session at the Bham JavaHutt. Come eat, drink, talk, play chess, read the random books on the shelf, whatever.
Please let me know if you can come. (Comment, email me at hpainter@usc.edu, or call me at 213.999.2719.) Thank you!
-Holly |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 10th, 2005|02:37 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Matthew Good Band - Heather's Like Sunday | ] |
Do you remember the moment you first realized everything was going to be alright? I do. I was driving west on the Santa Monica Freeway with Paul, Emily, and Cassandra, and the sun was setting and we were listening to "Everything Will Flow" by Suede with the windows down. And I knew things were going to be okay. Just for a second I felt it and I was sure my chest was going to explode from a heart so full. As it turned out, I still had quite a ways to go before there was any noticable realization of that feeling, and even now, I'm not there yet, but everything is certainly more alright now than it's ever been.
Paul says that the difference between children and adults is that adults have this notion that everything will eventually fall into place. They see every action as a step in the direction of this ultimate together-ness. So they get frustrated when their linear progression toward wholeness is disrupted. Children, on the other hand, can just say, "Today was a good day" without it having to amount to something in the grander scheme of things. They're not waiting for everything to come together. So I'm not waiting either. The pieces will never all fall into place at the same time. It'll never be perfect, but I'm pretty sure now that it will be alright. I feel it more and more often now, and if my heart doesn't explode, then everything's going to be just fine.
I know I haven't really updated in a long time, so here is a state of the alright-ness:
First of all, I have a wonderful girlfriend, Molly. Yes, our names rhyme. What more could a person want out of life? We've been together for six months now, and I'm unbelievably happy with her. I tried to write a brief description of her, but it got way too long to be considered brief, so if you want to know about my ridiculously amazing girlfriend, you will have to ask. I will be glad to talk about her, ad nauseum. : )
My spring semester was really, really unnecessarily easy. I didn't intend to pick such easy classes, but it happened that way, which was actually rather disappointing, since the lack of a challenge gets boring pretty quickly. But I read a lot and distracted Molly, who actually did have things to do.
This summer, I have a job at USC, which appears to amount to being paid to sit around and read. I mostly just have to hand out keys to summer campers and do a little bit of filing. But there may be some catch. We shall see. At the very least, I luck out because the job comes with a free apartment, so I have an excuse to stick around LA for the summer. Molly will be in LA too, but sadly Paul is going to Toronto for the summer to pursue other ambitions. (He doesn't yet know what those ambitions are, but they are in Toronto; he knows that much.)
I am coming home for a week for Kevin's graduation. So I'll be home May 21-26, and I think I might hold an all-night gathering at the JavaHutt, so that I get to see everyone. Watch for details. Unfortunately, I'll be flying, so I'm going to miss out on the cross-country drive this summer. I'm really kind of sad about that. What will I do with my wanderlust?
Anyway, that's about it. The brief summary of the last several months. Thanks for reading. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 8th, 2005|04:21 pm] |
Dear Everyone,
I'm tired. I don't want to shuffle around after you mad ones anymore. I want to be a mad one. I say I want to go home, but that's not really true. I just want to hang out with my own friends, not other people's friends. I want to feel like my time is as important as other people's time. I want to feel like what I do is as important as what I help other people do. I want to be something other than the eternal sidekick. Just for awhile. |
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| Poetry |
[Feb. 28th, 2005|01:18 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  sleepy | ] |
| [ | music |
| | arcade fire | ] |
I haven't updated in quite some time, and I am sorry for my inattention. I offer, therefore, two poems I've written for my poetry class this semester. The first is in anything-I-want style and the second is a sestina, which has a very specific structure. (That's why there's patterned repetition of words.) Enjoy!
( Poems ) |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 14th, 2004|08:02 pm] |
Don't ever change, don't ever worry
Because I'm coming back home tomorrow
(And now, I am home. Call if you would like to hang out with me.) |
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| There's no lovers up above. There's no lovers, only love. |
[Nov. 18th, 2004|02:09 am] |
To keep the level of angst to a tolerable level, I will stick with my decision not to get into a lengthy rehashing of Rosie and my break-up. Despite popular notions, this is not, nor has it ever been, the proper forum for such conversations with oneself or such explanations for one's friends. If you want to know what's going on, you may inquire in person. But I would like to mention two things which are on my mind, so you will forgive this hopefully innocuous relaxation of my self-imposed prohibition of Rosie-discussion...
-- Today, I came home to find on my keyboard a check and some pictures, not of Rosie and me together (thank God), but of Paul and me, borrowed by Rosie for her trip home. One thousand and 00/100. Memo: 'thank you'. That's all. Now, Rosie could conceivably never see me again. The next line in the solemn voice-over could be "That was the last young Holly ever heard from Rosie." Perhaps it will not be. She is leaving next week for Detroit, with the intention of staying there until February, but I will also be in Detroit for three weeks at Christmas, so it is possible that I will see her. Even though she doesn't have a cell phone, so I won't be able to call her. Even though she may not respond to my emails. I don't know. I just hope this is not good-bye. I hate money. What a way for any person to part from another, but a lover especially, with a check, a sum owed, a debt paid, an impersonal sheet of paper indicating- after all that's transpired between two souls- a simple business transaction. This girl whom I loved with more feeling than I knew myself capable of feeling, who taught me how to laugh again in a way I'd forgotten, who reminded me every single day of how much there is to love in the world, whose touch I can still feel if I allow myself to think of her too much, with whom I spent nearly every waking (and sleeping and ought to be sleeping) hour from June to October, this girl who meant everything to me, left me with this. After everything, she signed her name for me one more time, in the lower right corner of a stupid check, a piece of paper I will soon lose, trading it for the thousand dollars I lent to her a month ago so that she would be able to return to me in LA quicker. Such is the last remnant of love? I would have preferred a letter, a short note, a few words scribbled on a post-it, anything to hold onto and remember on the increasingly frequent occasions when I begin to forget that she ever loved me at all.
-- Rosie hates the word "settle." To her, it has exclusively negative connotations. She challenged me once to come up with a positive usage of the word. I thought about it. There's settling for less. No good. Settling down. Well that's relinquishing one's youthful restless passion. No good. Settling in court. Generally associated with situations that were negative in the first place. The dust settles. Maybe, but that usually follows wars, bombings, earthquakes, and the like. No good. In the end, I conceded that I couldn't come up with a good kind of "settle" as, by and large, it relates to forcing yourself to be satisfied with something short of what you really wanted or needed. But today, I found it. Too late now, but I found it. Rufus Wainwright sings a song aptly titled "Want" in which he explains what he does and does not want in his life. At the end of the first verse, he sings: "But I'll settle for love. Yeah, I'll settle for love." And at the end of the second, he concludes: "And will you settle for love? Will you settle for love?" So there it is. A positive usage of the word, but maybe that's only for me, and only because the very concept defies the meaning of the word. If settling is being satisfied with something less than what you wanted, then the lyrics would imply that there is something greater than love to be desired and love is just the consolation prize. But I say no; love is never the consolation prize. Regardless of the potential pain and subsequent loneliness, love is absolutely and unexceptionally the grand prize. So "settling" for love is, by definition, not settling at all. So I'll settle for love any day of the week. But, as I said, that's just me. And there are those who disagree... who will not settle for love. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 14th, 2004|06:42 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Wilco - Jesus, Etc. | ] |
A brief random useless survey to help me procrastinate this evening:
1. What would you guess your mother is doing right now? sleeping
2. Your best friend? making out with his boyfriend on the other side of the room (that was a tough one)
3. Your boyfriend/girlfriend? something productive, no doubt
4. An odd material desire? a personally tailored (to fit me) Charles Dickens era boys outfit, like with the knickers, paper-boy cap, etc.
5. An odd personal desire? to operate a lighthouse
6. Ice cream in your freezer? Moosetracks
7. Books you are reading? Paradise Lost (John Milton), Republic (Plato), Love in the Time of Cholera (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
8. An on-command happy memory? Riding bikes out to Lake St. Clair with Steve, ducking under the pink-flowered trees
9. Three songs that invariably put you in a good mood? Good Vibrations (The Beach Boys), Joy the World (Three Dog Night), Mellow Yellow (Donovan)
10. Three songs that often make you cry? Sweetest Day (Control Freq), Pictures of You (The Cure), One Day (The Verve) (and lots of others)
11. Where would you soonest get a piercing? eyebrow
12. And a tattoo? "What goes around comes around" going around my wrist
13. Most desired car? my grandmother's teal green 1976 Cadillac convertible with a white top, wood and leather interior
14. One thing you wish people understood about you? don't feel like it's your responsibility to help me or fix my life... I'll be alright.
15. One thing you wish people understood in general? being free is not the same thing as running away from what scares you
(Feel free to respond with your own answers if you are also in the mood to procrastinate.) |
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| She is gone, and it feels like the words to a song... |
[Nov. 6th, 2004|06:28 pm] |
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( Rosie and I broke up. Once upon a time, I was magic, an angel who could make her happy with just a word, a kiss, or some ice cream. Now I can't do anything right, and I'm left with the often torturous memories of the days when I could. Shall I give the months, the days, the hours, the minutes? Shall I be every teenage angst cliche? No. Just: I hurt. Bad. We tried everything we could. I must now refrain from watching any movies featuring Jimmy Stewart or involving heroic, quixotic, or romantic plotlines and from listening to music, period. Then maybe I'll understand. ) |
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| Down with categorization |
[Oct. 19th, 2004|01:37 pm] |
Why is everybody so goddamn scared to just be what they are? To do what feels right without needing to categorize the feeling? Enough with the categories. Sure, they're helpful, the Cliff's notes of a person. Saves you the trouble of actually getting to know another person before making a judgment. Saves you the trouble of getting to know yourself.
But here's the thing...
Tight jeans are for sorority girls, nerdy boys, gay men, straight men, hippies, cowboys, youngest siblings, models, rock stars, ANYONE WHO CARES TO WEAR THEM.
"I love you" is a phrase for brothers, girlfriends, barbers, grandfathers, teachers, husbands, mothers, daughters, librarians, boyfriends, straight lovers, gay lovers, transexual lovers, aunts, wives, sons, friends, mentors, fathers, ANYONE WHO CARES TO SAY IT.
Questions of life, death, love, the universe, and "why" are for physicists, lovers, writers, anthropologists, sanitation workers, theologians, Darwinians, artists, 4-year-olds, philosophers, politicians, junkies, archaeologists, doctors, astrologers, teachers, actors, ANYONE WHO CARES TO WONDER ABOUT THEM.
Once upon a time, science, religion, and philosophy were the same thing and everyone was free to wonder about the big questions as they pleased, without stopping to consider if something was a religious issue or a scientific issue. What purpose was ultimately served by placing restrictions on our thinking through oppressive categorization? Did religion advance more satisfactorily once Socrates (with his ridiculous notions about non-Olympian caused rain clouds) was declared impious and executed? Did earth science and archaeology yield greater rewards for those scientists who chose to ignore the recurring flood myths found in the religious traditions of nearly every culture on the planet? No. The parceling out of "appropriate" questions for religion and science to deal with, respectively, has only limited our understanding of ourselves and of our universe. It is entirely possible that it's all there - the meaning of life, the origin of humanity, the fate of the universe, the whole bit - if only the right people (from every field, however seemingly irrelevent or useless) were to sit down together and compare notes, rather than continuing to categorize and exclude one another from the process.
On a smaller scale, Zorsky, the main character in the screenplay Paul is writing, cannot fall in love with his male best friend. And why can't he? Because then it would be a "gay movie", an "art film" at its broadest categorization. And Paul, in an effort to defy categorization, refuses to be what people would expect: a gay screenwriter who writes gay films. But even in his defiance, Paul is being controlled by categorization. Similarly, I am relinquishing my control when I put on baggy jeans and a wifebeater in the morning then decide to change because I am afraid of looking too much like the image of the stereotypical lesbian people hold in their minds. Or when I avoid playing certain CDs in my car where others will hear them because I am afraid that liking certain bands will earn me the label "emo" and all that that entails. Despite our defiance, the categories control us.
Paul does not write what he wants. I do not wear what I want or listen to what I want. For this sacrifice, we gain the chance to reveal ourselves a little more before we are categorized, the chance to buy a little more time before our lives and personalities are neatly summed up and placed into boxes on the basis of some superficial quality we overlooked in our attempt to avoid stereotypes as we dressed ourselves in the morning. It is a paradox. We gain the opportunity to show ourselves at the cost of necessarily hiding little parts of ourselves. And the world misses out. Maybe not on my stunning fashion statements, but perhaps on Paul's storytelling, on my music, on Paul's poetry, on my political ideas, on all the things we hide because it would be too easy for the world to seize upon them, mistake them for Us, and assume a thousand other things about us based on the stereotypes of those categories.
But we're not any one thing, so slow down. Each of us is a million different things all jumbled up together. No, it's not convenient, I know. It would be so much easier if we were all just cliches, stock characters with a previously established set of mannerisms, talents, interests, and expectations. But we're not. And it takes time, effort, and energy to sort through these things. But I believe, for the sake of not limiting ourselves or each other, it's worth trying. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 17th, 2004|12:43 am] |
| [ | music |
| | Billy Joel - Travelin' Prayer | ] |
Hey Lord, take a look all around tonight
And find where my baby's gonna be
Hey Lord, would ya look out for her tonight
'Cause she is far across the sea
Hey Lord, would ya look out for her tonight
And make sure that she's gonna be alright
And things are gonna be alright with me
Hey Lord, would you look out for her tonight
And make sure that all her dreams are sweet
Said now, would ya guide her along the roads
And make them soft before her feet
Hey Lord, would ya look out for her tonight
And make sure that she's gonna be alright
Until she's home and here with me
Hey Lord, would you look out for her tonight
If she is sleepin' under the sky
Said now, make sure the ground she's sleepin' on
Is always warm and dry
Hey don't you give her too much rain
And try to keep her away from pain
'Cause my baby hates to cry
Hey Lord, won't you look out for her tonight
'Cause it gets rough along the way
Said now, if this song sounds strange
It's just because I don't know how to pray
So won't you give her peace of mind
And if you ever find the time
Won't you tell her I miss her every day |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 27th, 2004|04:34 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | SICK | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Keane - Call Me What You Like | ] |
A Prologue:
Pacific Time is 3 hours behind Eastern Time. I know that you know this. If you call me before 10 am (that is 1 pm EST), then you are bothering me. I am either sleeping or up early for something and therefore busy. Either way, I am not available to talk to you. The only exception is if you have an emergency (physical, mental, or emotional) which requires my immediate attention. Naturally, I can spare some sleep time to listen to your emergency and try to help. But if you are just calling to say hello, to check up on me, or to ask me to call you later about something, kindly wait until after 10 am (1 pm est). Thank you.
I am sorry that I have written nothing in here for a long time. I have written nothing in any other journal either. I am a slacker. I did write a very short play yesterday and some papers this month, but that is all. I have also taken no photos of my house, my room, the murals in my room, my purple hair, my girlfriend, my trip across the country, etc. Again, I am a slacker, and I apologize. What I have done this month is to go to many of my classes, go to the beach, abhor my French teacher, read some books, handle situations badly, assert myself fruitlessly on occasion, AND most recently, sleep, become dehydrated, drink, eat, throw up what I ate, blackout, have Vonnegut-esque nightmares, trip when I try to walk, visit the ER and various doctors, and generally feel like death. Yes, I am on week two off school for viral meningitis. That's not the same as bacterial meningitis, which is equivalent to death. This is the one where you just feel like dying. So much more manageable. Anyway, long will this September live in its proper glory. Thank you for reading. |
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