Now I want a [Palm Pilot]. I'm torn between the cool functions of a digital hand-held organizer / address book / photobook / music player / e-mail / web device and going the way of making paper trails in my life. If I had a Palm, I wouldn't be keeping all sorts of useless scraps of paper documenting events and such (ticket stubs, announcements, fliers, etc.). Hmmm.

Fun and relaxing evening yesterday, made dinner for Elizabeth (and Joe). Had very good, fresh swordfish covered with a layer of miso. Not sure why I was so tired-out by eleven p.m., though, or why I couldn't get out of bed this morning until after ten a.m. And then after lunch, such lethargy weighing me down. My whole body felt as if it were filled with lactic acid (is that what the muscles produce when they've been worked out? -- the stuff that makes you tired) and I just wanted to crawl back into bed. I did, but didn't need to take a nap really before I sprang back to life. I think my body was just missing the feeling of being in bed.

. . .

Glad my sister sent me [this article] about [Kenji Yoshino] and his work in the law with anti-discrimination and sexuality. I've been meaning to read the law reviews he's published on models of anti-discrimination law and cases of discrimination against gays and lesbians. What I like about what I've read about Yoshino's work is his emphasis on moving away from legal protections based solely on essential identity and towards an understanding of behavioral or performative identity. This re-evaluation of how we view differences of culture, sexuality, etc., is particularly effective in moving beyond ideals of assimilation and conforming to societal norms.

It gives me a tummy-ache, but I still want to eat it. I made this yummy, simple strawberry cake/torte yesterday, but then ruined it by covering the still-warm concoction with foil and then sticking it in the refrigerator. All the moisture condensed into the cake and made it soggy. I think something went awry chemically, too, because it makes my stomach feel a little unsettled. So sad.

I've decided I'm wholly unsuited to the summers here. It's strange to think that my sense of direction, of purpose, is tied to the visibility of blue skies since I am very much not an outdoors person (even aside from my insistent allergies). But clear skies and the sun hold for me a sense infinity, a sense of something out there beyond. The climate here provides only a whitish expanse above the horizon. It is unvariegated, covering the whole upper-half of my world like a translucent dome. (And if I were in some sort of biosphere dome, at least I would have climate control.) I feel an odd mix of mild claustrophobia and agoraphobia. I'm hemmed in, circumscribed by a dull here-ness that is devoid of excitement or simple variety. Even thunderstorms provide much needed relief for me -- the heavy rain (as opposed to the light to moderate rain that threatens and teases constantly every day); dark, even black, clouds; lightning flashes (see the wall brighten for a split second, cast-shadows marked starkly against the blankness); and the wonderful rolls and claps of thunder. The only drawback of these storms is how they make Joe antsy, and yes, if they were to cause real damage, that would be awful. But at least they offer some feeling to the drone of summer days (am I investing too much into pathetic fallacy?).

. . .

I used to dream about being a recluse, living by myself somewhere away from the currents of social life. I imagined myself a hermit, living in a cabin somewhere in the woods -- the typical American ideal of rugged individualism embodied. But I also found myself craving the anonymity of crowds, of busy city streets and the rush of people's lives that I did not have to engage. I'm thinking about all this again because I've been thrust into a number of new (for me, that is) social situations lately -- parties and such. I've realized I have absolutely no idea how to negotiate greetings, conversations, and especially leavings (how do you make an exit before the party is "over"?). I must admit I still have little desire to become more familiar with these things. I wish I could feel less awkward, though, at least -- a large part of that transformation will involve becoming more comfortable with myself (that pesky self-consciousness). As one of my friends pointed out recently, these social gatherings are largely inescapable, no matter what career you choose -- you must talk to people you don't know. But maybe I can still remain a recluse, cultivate that aura of mystery that has tended to surround me (because I seldom make social appearances or talk -- I know people must sometimes wonder what I think or whether I think).

Sitting here utterly unmotivated to go up to my carrel to read. I should go do laundry as well. Can't think of any more pages to visit on the web. Is it the middle of June already? Needing and wanting things to do for fun. But all that stare back at me are words, words, words.

Midterm for my class is a collaborative essay. I've never done it before, and while the idea of collectively producing knowledge, writing, arguments is attractive, it is also very difficult in practice. It took us an hour-and-a-half to decide on a topic and then an outline for the paper. It all has the possibility of being interesting, but also the possibility for being trite and utterly boring (compare and contrast, how is such-and-such similar and different). I spoke up at one point, trying to make sure we came up with a good, hard thesis arguing for a concrete statement (rather than just saying, such-and-such is good and bad -- trying to answer the question of why it is good and bad, maybe, and why we care). And since I'm not very good in group situations -- at voicing my thoughts, articulating them -- I often feel like a disempowered bystander. But then again, isn't that how I feel all the time? Life passing me by, nothing I can do to make things different or better?

Wish list item: [Panasonic RR-XR320]

Although really, I was thinking in the more sane hours of today that I wouldn't really need such a high-tech toy. I'll maybe carry around the microcassette recorder my sister lent me for awhile. I wouldn't be able to manipulate the sounds digitally, though, and I think that would be half the fun.

I wandered around the Circuit City in town today. I've been there maybe one other time. I was lost among all the new gadgets. The Game Boy Color units are so much sleeker and cooler than the old original Game Boy unit my brother and I used to have. The computers on display looked so futuristic with their shiny surfaces and curved edges. And the size of the store itself was simply overwhelming. I don't know whether there has been a boom in amount of inventory the store sells, or if that particular store is just much bigger than the ones I used to visit in California. I know that there didn't used to be a whole half of the store devoted to digital products, though. Digital cameras. Digitial communications ware. DVD players, MP3 players, aisles of CDs and DVDs. Makes my head spin. So much consumer technology available to manipulate images, sounds, information, ideas. There is clearly no turning back to a pre-digital age (though why would one want to escape the digital except for neo-Luddite fears of technology and an insistence on the "real" of Nature? -- there must be something somewhat ironic about a neo-Luddite [presence] on the web, even though their views aren't necessarily anti-all-technology but more precisely anti-technology because of an essential, pure, biological, natural humanity).

Been thinking about getting some sort of handheld digital recorder so I can go around recording snippets of sound. I like acoustics. The past week or so of eye-strain has been frustrating. I've been thinking about non-visual things that make me go, "oooo...." I like the way sounds sound different depending on the space. The echoes, the frequencies that have special resonance. I like the way two televisions in the apartment in different rooms, tuned to the same station, create an eerie surround sound effect. I like the intensity of my pop music played loudly over the speakers in the living room, sound flooding the room and spilling into the others. I like stepping outside to check the mail, returning to the front door, and hearing that music muted, yet still insistently exuberant behind the closed door.

The other day, Elizabeth commented that I do not show my enthusiasm for ideas and plans-of-action very much. And in general, I don't seem to show my emotions much at all. Which is not to say I do not feel anything at all. I do think that I haven't been well-socialized to show emotions (or well-socialized in general). I chalk it up to a lack of experience in displaying appropriate reactions, etc. What am I supposed to say to a particular kind of comment? What kind of facial expressions am I supposed to show? It's strange that I am aware of these things because they haven't passed into the automatic, the subconscious.

I laugh now when I think about the one time I auditioned for a student production of a play in college. I had no idea what I was getting into. I didn't really consider what it would mean for me to act. The director asked me to act certain ways, to show emotions as if I were such a person in such a situation. And I was confused. Is this what acting is? Imitating surfaces? Afterwards, I felt incredibly stupid, not having realized what I would have been doing as an actor. I think my audition must have confused the director, too. I "acted" all wrong. Asked to portray someone who had just lost a loved one, I could only think of extreme melodrama, rocking back and forth with arms around knees -- catatonic -- and being the un-dramatic person I am, couldn't bring myself to enact that part. So I paced instead. And I think I ended up pacing for each situation the director asked me to embody.

Been trying to rest my eyes a lot these last few days, so haven't been on the web much. Also bought new glasses today (they'll be ready in the next two weeks). I'm returning to the plastic frames I prefer. The last few times I've gotten glasses, the opticians have always talked me into getting metal frames (for the adjustable bridge supports that plastic frames lack). But this time, I decided I just want to go back the plastic frames. And I let the optician know that I realized the plastic ones would probably slip more than the metal ones. But it's something I have to deal with in either case.