A story i wrote in college.

You know those mornings you wakeup, and you’re not sure why, but something just feels off? You question it. Does the air feel heavy? Is the sky a little too dark? Is it me, or does the light inside seem unclear, like there’s a yellowish-brown tint to it? It’s slightly hard to breath and your brain feels, for lack of a better word, fuzzy. It’s the kind of day you call your best friend and he’s feeling off, too, he’s upset/pissed/sad, but not sure why. Basically, you feel like you’re in the beginning of a Quentin Tarantino film. That’s how last Saturday began for me.

After spending my first two hours awake trashing empty beer bottles, mopping the stickiness off the kitchen floor (that I hoped was beer), and washing the blankets my buddy pissed on, I decided I deserved a break.

As I packed the bowl I bought while in Telluride over break, god that was a great trip, I thought about how excited I was to finally take Miranda out that night. She was, by far, one of the greatest girls I’ve met in college.

See, in college, girls are a dime a dozen—if you aren’t ugly and capable of holding a ten-second conversation. But Miranda’s a different type of girl. It wasn’t just that she has a great smile, great mind and tight ass; our personalities clicked. She smokes with me and even offers to buy sometimes. We can talk about stuff, from Ronald Reagan to Jack Johnson, and she’s funny, god is she funny. She can hold her liquor with the best of ‘em, rarely turning into the “annoying drunk girl”. She was comfortable in heels and those little “look at my tits” tops, but she can also sport a pair of Birkenstocks and a Northface, no problem, and still look wicked hot. She’s the type that was born with a golden apple on her shoulder, a person truly blessed, things come easy for her and everyone always likes her. Normally, this person would have some jealous enemies, but not her, you just felt lucky she let you in her world.

At five, I left my house and walked across the empty campus to pick her up. It was odd seeing the dead campus. There were no students rushing to get to their next class, no students walking with their heads down cell phones pressed to their ears, no student rally trying to stop abortion/war/taxes/Bush/whatever. As I looked at the old-gray-stone buildings that were darkened by the cloudy sky, as well as the large overly grown tree branches, a chill went up my spine. How many of these buildings are haunted by the spirits of students? Some kid killed himself at a dorm last week. How many other places on this campus could somebody have died? No sign to commemorate their deaths, already forgotten, and the only thing remembering them—the walls of the buildings. I think I’m losing my buzz.

I walked up the old wooden steps of the red brick house she lived in with six other girls. The glass pane shook when I knocked, and I noticed paint was chipping everywhere. Obviously, the land lord took very good care of his investment. When Miranda opened the door I felt a grin come across my face, and when she smiled and hugged me I forgot to breathe—but just for a second.

I thought our hands fit perfectly together as we walked to a local Italian restaurant. I teased her when she told me her friend was in a local commercial for the restaurant. She giggled when I said that every 30-seconds I wasted watching that piece of cultural pollution was 30-seconds I’ll wish for when lying on my deathbed. She jokingly agreed.

The light was dimly lit inside and we sat at a plastic table in the corner of the building across from a high-hung television. I ordered wine, she had beer. I loved that. I love kisses that taste of beer, which was what I was hoping for. As we finished our second basket of bread and fourth round of drinks, I noticed a weather report on television. Just then our waitress told us there was a tornado warning, it was to last all night, and they were closing early. She asked us to leave and by this time it was dark.

Miranda wanted to come back to my house, and who was I to argue with a lady? I was excited. Creepy as it sounds, I knew there was no way she would be able to walk home in a storm. We continued through the dark campus, this time it didn’t feel quite so haunted, and just as I put my arm around her the rain began. It rained harder and harder as we ran down the empty streets. The lightning lit the sky and thunder shook our eardrums. The wind blew fiercely, but we kept running. It was exciting, the slight wine buzz helping, until the hail came. That, quite frankly, just hurt. I wasn’t sure what to do until Miranda started pulling me towards the English building.

The doors slammed behind us and the foyer became completely black. I told her I couldn’t believe they left this building unlocked. She told me all of the buildings were left unlocked on weekends. Who knew?

Miranda led the way upstairs with help from our open cell phones and I couldn’t help but notice the smell of moldy books and dust. I’d never been in this building, but she told me she was taking me to her favorite place on campus.

I could tell we walked into a large room, the air was slightly colder and the ceilings felt higher. It wasn’t until lightening lit the room and my eyes adjusted I could see where I was. There was a spot that a fireplace had once been, with marble encasing. The room must have had 30ft ceilings and was lined with old dark brown empty book cases. The wood looked like it was from the ‘60s, but that meant it was probably 20-years-older than that. Where the book cases stopped, 4 large windows on every wall began. In the middle of the room stood three tables with six chairs around each, and a large folded banner draped across a fourth.

-This is the Center for Literary Arts, she said.
-What is it about this place you like so much?

She told me there was something old and beautiful and romantic about it. She said she loved coming here in the spring and reading while sun shone on her through the massive windows. She loved to watch the snow fall in the winter and the leaves fall in the autumn. I asked her what she liked about the room in the summer. She didn’t think I was funny.

As her chattering teeth became in sync with mine, I coyly suggested we take off our wet clothes and use the banner as a blanket. I almost choked when she agreed. The banner was old and rough to the touch, and the situation became awkward as we stared at each other naked. I could tell she felt it too, but all was recovered when she suggested we trip on shrooms. I was a little shocked when she opened her purse and pulled out a little plastic baggy, but at least the girl was prepared.

We sat in the dark, no longer shivering, while a warm and clear image of the world came over us. Everything was breathing. The chairs, the windows, the tables and even the banner. When it thundered, it seemed to shake every bone in our body and when the lightening struck it created a euphoric feeling that brought us to our feet.

We spoke to each other. We completely understood everything about each other. Her mind was clear and touchable to me. She told me she thought the chairs were angry at being locked in this room for so long. She went to talk to one while I sat on the banner and watched. When she came back she told me they were from Jamaica and then sat and watched the room breathe with me.

I’m not sure how long we tripped before she kissed me. And I’m not sure how long we had sex before I realized I was watching her nakedly climb one of the bookshelves, I suppose she was trying to free the chairs. I also have no idea how long I waited before I approached her lifeless body after she fell.

There will never be a plaque that reads, “in memory of Miranda,” outside the English building. People enter and exit this campus every year, and like everybody’s life, it will soon be forgotten. What’s left? What’s ever left of a life lived and a life forgotten when the only thing remembering are the walls of a building.

I am tired

And I can't go to sleep because these are the things I am thinking about

1. How is it possible that One Tree Hill has out lived The OC. I don't think I will ever get over it.

2. I can't believe that I am not going back to school for my hc.

3. My roommate is being a little crazy. I understand the world of getting wrapped up in a guy and losing sight of all previous existence, but does it not bother her that he is smoking pot in her room at 7:40 in the morning when she has already left for work? Nast.

4. Why doesn't the United States already have a declared month named after the P- a- n- i- n- i?

5. I am having a dinner party tomorrow night and have invited a total of 8 people. I own a dining table that only sits four AND I only know how to cook eggs and artichokes. This may cause some trouble.

6. Why is Jimmy Fallon engaged?

7. What do you think Jimmy Fallon is doing right...now?

8. I hate billing

9. I hate bills

10. When I was in high school and college I would attend parties or events with my grandparents and people would always tell me that college was the best time of their life. I would always think to my self, "that's because you're a loser who couldn't get over it and move on to the next best thing." However, now I think it's a different story. I miss the days of only worrying about if I'm going to have time to work out and tan or what bar is going to have the best special this semester on Wednesday nights instead of Thursday nights. It gets better, right? Or not just better, it gets awesome, right? Or, as we age, does something click or change. I have begun to notice that if I see a cute baby or even baby clothes I get all maternal. I was never like that before. I miss my old Passions loving, sleep until noon, completely non-maternal self.
dang.

11. TMZ is pretty funny

12. I'm not very detailed oriented.

13. I love Chipotle

14. I should probably join Weight Watchers

15. Take me home tonight. i don't want to let you go 'till I see the light. Be my little baby....

good night

Work on that, Ed.

Oh, Ed Begley Jr.

This is the best thing I have read in a very long time. One of my clients is trying to work with him. I love it.

Going green, the Ed Begley Jr. way
By Joel Stein
Article Launched: 10/09/2007 01:34:49 AM PDT

Of all the horrific changes that global warming is causing, none is quite as bad as the fact that we have to stop making fun of Ed Begley Jr. It's like finding out that Larry Craig has been diagnosed with restless leg syndrome.

So, knowing I had to do something to make my home less polar bear kill-y, I invited Begley over. Sure, there's tons of information online on how to reduce my carbon footprint, but blindly following the advice of a celebrity seemed much more American.

Begley immediately said yes, which isn't surprising because people cold-call him all the time for environmental advice. Lucy Liu, whom he'd never met, called to ask about his solar panels. Leonardo DiCaprio came by with his father to check them out too. And since Begley started hosting "Living with Ed" on HGTV, he's also answering about 100 e-mails a day from viewers. This, I like to believe, is why we don't see Begley in more major motion pictures.

Begley arrived in his electric car bearing a pile of presents: canvas Whole Foods bags, Seventh Generation paper towels and a bunch of Begley's Best household cleaners. As long as he continues to do this every two months, I will be living much, much greener.

Looking around my house, Begley cleverly began by complimenting me on basics. "Oh good! You have a smart thermostat," he said, then showed me how to use said smart thermostat to turn off the air conditioning when I'm not home. He spotted the new bamboo flooring in my office and
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nodded approvingly, prompting me to pretend to know why killing bamboo was good for the planet. He liked the tankless water heater I got so my wife and I could take long, simultaneous showers, but which apparently can be up to 24 percent more efficient. I was expecting him to get excited about my ingenious system for reducing electric lighting by the use of windows.

When the green suggestions did come, they sounded suspiciously reasonable - as if he were softening me up before the hard sell to drink my own urine. Begley suggested a power strip for all my portable-device chargers, to keep them from sucking power during the day. For a little over $1,000, I could even get GreenSwitch, a system that shuts off everything you don't need when you leave the house with the press of a button. Though for $500, I could probably hire someone standing outside Home Depot to just do that every day.

There was a flurry of excitement about solar panels, causing Begley to run back to his electric car and pull out a compass, but he found that my house's south side was too well-shaded, which he said was a good thing because it reduced my air-conditioning use. He also said something about calling a drought-tolerant landscape designer, but I really couldn't focus on anything except the fact that a grown man in a major city keeps a compass in his car. Is he orienteering? Looking for magnets?

When I proudly pointed out my bottle of Simple Green cleaner, Begley pulled the cap off and inhaled deeply. "To me, it smells like pretty strong chemistry," he said. When I politely informed him that the chemical in question was green-colored, and the bottle featured the word "green," he shook his head as if Simple Green were made of people. "It says green, but I don't rely on that," he said. Then he pushed the Simple Green to the far back of my counter, proving that there's nothing wimpier than green-on-green violence.

He also said I should stop buying non-recycled paper at Costco. "I go to Costco too for some stuff, but I go to Whole Foods for Seventh Generation paper products," he said. This sounded like a good idea, until I got a better one - one that would change the habits of not just me but thousands: wait for Costco to start carrying recycled paper products.

In general, Begley seemed impressed. "You're a good man," he said. "You've got insulation." Then he took a look at my energy bill. Even in the dead of summer, I was spending only $65 a month on electricity - not far off from his $50 monthly average, even though he's got solar panels. Then he saw my water bill. It was not pretty: $106 a month, nearly 900 gallons a day, which is five times the American average, 10 times the European average. "Because of that, I'm going to give you a C," he said. "But I'm going to move you to a B because of the wonderful shading of the house. And if you can keep the mature trees but get rid of some of the smaller plants, you'll be at a B." I'm glad Begley isn't in charge of a classroom.

After he left, I reset our sprinkler system from seven to three minutes a day and gave a really mean look that I hope bordered on withering to the water-sucking bird of paradise. Then I waited to feel the jolt of moral superiority, but it never came. I think I'd be a lot more into greening my house if it meant I could put a big "hybrid" sticker on my front door. Work on that, Ed.

http://www.mercurynews.com/opinion/ci_7124799?nclick_check=1