Friday, November 14, 2003

blogging: what i do when my roommate's not here

So I got this really cool idea to blog in rhyme, but you know, that's much more work than I'm willing to put forth. Maybe someday.

I went to ESO's poetry reading. I didn't realize it was raining. Walking from my car to Fine Arts and back was a little cold and wet, but that always makes for nostalgia. The reading was good. Boy, there are some interesting people out there in the world of English. And I wonder, do I belong? Eh, probably so. Speaking of weird, when I got inside Fine Arts, I hopped on an elevator, and I was glad to hear another girl asking me to hold the elevator for her. It's a little creepy being on the elevator in Fine Arts. By yourself. At night. So we only make it up to the second floor (we were going to the sixth), when the car stops and some fellow reminiscent of Norman Bates steps in and asks us to hit seven. The elevator door proceeds to close, but just as it gets closed, it opens again. The other girl keeps hitting "Close Rear Door," and it keeps closing. And opening. And closing. And opening. We were already late for the reading, so we thought, anyway. The guy gets off and goes I-don't-know-where. We get off and get into the other elevator, with a fully operational door, that stops on the third floor where a foreign maintenance guy thinks he's found the elevator that needs working on. We inform him that he's got the wrong elevator, he thanks us, and we finally make it to the sixth floor.

I love walking into that art gallery. You can smell the art. And I mean that in all seriousness. I don't know if it is the smell of pastels, charcoal, oil paint, and linseed oil or what, but art has a smell. It's a very comfortable smell to me. I have just diagnosed myself as utterly weird.

Anyway, I saw something tonight that made me want to do the post in rhyme, poetry, something. But since that didn't work out, I decided to haiku it. Seeing as she is the be-all and end-all of poetry, I'm going to take Ann Neelon's word for it and claim that even though this doesn't fit the traditional 5-7-5 form of haiku, it is still haiku.

Twenty-five miles per hour
Yellow lights flash in beat
With Bigger than My Body

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