I’ve just installed some nifty software, and am in the process of creating a weblog. I’m a little too sleepy this evening to continue the set up, but in the next couple of days, I should have everything up and running, along with my back-entries from the past few days that I’ll transfer over from the make-shift weblog that I had going.stay tuned, kids.
(from the old journal)
April 21, 2003
Found some software that I think I’ll like that will make this journal fulfill its potential of blogginess. For years I’ve been typing away at the computer, recording my thoughts, printing out the pages, and having people comment on them. I’ve known about this whole blog thing for a while. After all, I have really geeky friends, and they’ve been involved in this “scene” since way-back. However, I’ve been reluctant to join the millions of netizens who partake of the weblog goodness. Perhaps even suspicious… reluctant, even. That is, until now. I was determined that once my site got up and running, I’d begin a web journal and then poke around for some super fine software and eventually have a real blog of my very own—complete with a place to make comments and everything. Stay tuned, kids.
So, it’s a holiday (Patriots Day, if you’re not from Massachusetts), and I’m only here to keep the office open just in case someone needs to suddenly do research that they can’t wait until tomorrow to do. Yes, I’m in the Archives, and yet, I’m not archiving anything. Oh well. You know, I only have a couple of months to finish this project and I’m going so slowly. When I first started working here, I was quick and efficient. Now, I don’t just go through the files and process them, I actually have to read the files. Well, “have to” is misleading… rather I am compelled to. Not that old memos are particularly interesting—I think I’m just nosey or voyeuristic or something. I’m working on the files from an old art school that my university assimilated in the late 80’s. I like reading all the little details that happened behind the scenes. It’s really interesting to read about conflicts that happened twenty years ago (or 100 years ago, in some of our stuff). I read the good stuff… I read the boring stuff. I just like reading it all. But I’m not actually working on anything today.
No, instead I decided to go online and teach myself a lesson. More specifically, I decided that my “I’m the only ‘Joelle’ on the planet” bubble is silly. In fact, my name is certainly popular in France… and I’ve heard of a few other Joelle’s in the States that exist. For so long, I’ve refused to even acknowledge their existence. I’m getting a little better at that, but not much. It’s an interesting phenomenon that I think only happens to children with unusual names (and yes, I know that “unusual” is a completely relative term, by its own definition, actually). Johns and Marys all over the world have had to get used to this whole name-sharing business, and now I think it’s my turn. I’ve spent 25 years with this name—all the while forbidding anyone else to have it as long as I’m alive! Granted, my prohibitions have been about as effective as those that caused the repeal of the eighteenth amendment, and so I’m following suit. I will begin to allow people to do that which they’ve already been doing.
Just to torture myself, I conducted an egosearch in google. I’m a little shaken, but I think I’ll recover. I can’t even bring myself to write just how many hits that search got. And to torture myself further, I searched for both Joelle and sparkle as keywords… oh, and then I got really masochistic and decided to search for sparkle j. GASP! Can you imagine my surprise to find that there are other people out there calling themselves sparkle j? Oh, the horror of it all. There’s some DJ out there on some hip hop web ring who calls him/herself sparkle j… but with a capital “s,” so I’m still at least a little unique, right?
One thing this experiment has taught me is that everyone named Joelle happens to think that they rock. But I’m not so sure I agree with them. Far too many of them use webspeak on their personal sites and in their blogs. I wonder if people actually enjoy reading sentences like: “omg, can u believe those ppl? r u serious?” Does anyone else pronounce the sound “errrr” in their head when they read “ur?” I mean, I know it means “you are,” but it also can mean “your” and this kind of typing just leads to the further degradation of the already-thin line between you’re and your in real life. I just can’t stand for this.
I may be loosening my grip on my unique claim of Joelle-ness, but I’m only allowing those Joelles who truly rock (and have a decent, not necessarily perfect, grasp on actual grammar) to really own their names.
Dammit! The world will succumb to my rules! (Perhaps I’d succeed if I whined more… or maybe stamped my feet?) It’s easy to know that you’re better than everyone else—especially in the distant, you’re-an-object-for-me-to-scrutinize world of the internet.
By the way, most often I spell my name with a tréma: Joëlle. (Hey, I’ve got some French back there somewhere, so why not go all out?) I started doing that when I entered the world of work, and realized that nametags suck. I got tired of the customers calling me Joel, so I started emphasizing the separation of the syllables with orthographic cues. It worked. So there.
Should go outside… or at least do something physical today. I’ve spent the last few days inside (with at least a few hours of exception) tooling around on the computer. I haven’t worked out in about a week, and I’m feeling cranky, so I think some Kari Anderson, or Karen Voight fun is in order today. The thermometer says “62″ right now… I NEED WARM WEATHER!!! This 6 months of winter thing has really got me down, and it’s gotten to the point where even sixty degrees is too cold. I need summer. right now.
I was bathing suit shopping yesterday. Well, if you count looking through a catalog “shopping,” anyway.
(note: Jesse is jumping on the trampoline, while TMBG is playing… he’s stealing my gig. hee hee)
Anyway, the swimsuits. Yeah. I’m going for one of those “tankini” things… although I hate the word. “Tankini”… ick. It sounds so unappealing and slimy. Like “scrunchie” or “panties.” I hate those words. But I’m getting one anyway, with the little bootie-boy-shortie-shorts things. If I’m going to be practically naked, I’d rather at least attempt to cover as much flesh as possible. I’m not “ashamed” of my body… nor am I particularly “modest” but I just have issues around associating (practically) naked time with my friends or public display, that’s all.
But I did find this really cute swimsuit: it’s hot pink and orange and extremely obnoxious. I’m also of the opinion that since the fabric involved in making swimsuits is so small, one can get away with wearing horrible color combinations, like orange and pink. (I think the only person I know who can get away with the orange-pink combination is Amanda). At least it’s not an orange and pink muu-muu… that would be just unforgivable. Or would it? When does the awfulness factor become trumped by the “so awful it’s awesome” factor? hmmmm. (As Eddie Izzard says) Too much, and you go from “looking cool” to “looking like an idiot.” Before you know it, you’ve lost all your friends, and no one will talk to you at all.
Ah, fashion risk.
April 20, 2003, Easter
I awoke rather jarringly this morning. The tail end of a dream still very fresh in my mind, I began thinking of all sorts of stuff, and therefore couldn’t fall back asleep. The dream itself wasn’t that odd. I was making a color guard routine to the “2001: A Space Odyssey,” which is pretty normal fare for my dreams. Of course, in the dream, my mad color guard skills are appreciated, and everyone (who all happen to have flags of their own, of course) joins in and learns the routine that I’m doing. There’s the big finish… we all laugh, because it was such great fun… I walk around to talk to the people who I haven’t seen in years (because apparently now I’m attending some sort of high school reunion– but just for my old marching band friends).
Then it happens: I run into the boy I had an obsessive crush on but never actually talked to… you know, that one. For some reason, in the dream, we’re talking as if we’re old friends. Then he gets visibly upset, and has something dreadfully important to tell me. Jesse happens to be in the background and he’s calling me to come over for some reason. I tell him to wait, but when I turn around, (the adult version of) the boy is gone.
Then I wake up.
In my groggy state, the first thought that struck me was “what the hell was he doing in my dream?” And then I started to try to figure out what he was trying to tell me… but then (groggy states being what they are) I got side-tracked into thinking about obsessive crushes in general, and this one in particular. My main memory of him consists of one specific, very traumatic event. I’m not going to get into the gory details here, but “I got caught staring at him, was really embarrassed, began to cry, so everyone assumed I was crying about the fact that he was sitting next to some other girl, and later he tried to talk to me about it, but I couldn’t say anything coherent” pretty much sums up the situation.
I hate being misunderstood. I think I fear it. That fear is what probably drives my incessant explanations and ramblings. I really freak out when I think I’m being misunderstood. Even the perception of misunderstanding drives me to tears sometimes. This fear is often apparent in my writing. I have to write everything ‘just so’ so that there is no shadow of a doubt regarding meaning or implication. I am also perfectly aware that once something is written, it tends to take on somewhat of a life of its own. But I’m not willing to completely separate the written word from the writer– at least not in some Karl Popper sort of way. But I digress.
As I gradually wake up (remember this all started with that damn dream), I begin thinking about self-definition. Throughout my adolescent life I defined myself by the obsessive crushes I had. Eras of my formative years were categorized depending on which boy I had a crush on that year. Even as a senior in high school I leaned towards that tendency. At least now, I can look back on the decade between fifth grade and age twenty without thinking things like “oh, that happened in tenth grade. I remember because I had a crush on X that year.” Seriously… I used to think things like that.
I wonder how many adolescents, girls in particular, use this form of self-identification. I know it’s perfectly natural to define yourself, at least partly, in negative terms, i.e. I am not xyz. However, I think we tend to take it too far, really. How did this manner of self-definition hinder my ability to accept myself as an individual? I’m not saying self-definition happens best in a vacuum, but I do think that some crucial parts of our definition can (and perhaps should) be separate from those with whom we associate.
April 19, 2003
Darn– My digi cam is being wonky this evening… for some reason the software is not acknowledging that I actually have a camera attached to the computer. And me without my trouble-shooting hat today. Ah well. The pink looks awesome. I went with the “Fucia Fatale” variety of pinkiegoodness.
Dying my hair today… I guess I just got tired of the three-inch long, dark-brown roots on my pathetically faded, bleached bangs. Not sure what color they’re going to end up being… I think I have a little red left. And some lame purple (which isn’t a lame color, but it just happens to be approximately 7 years old, and has the staying power of wilted spinach). I also have various shades of pink. I’ll probably go with the pink, even though Melissa just dyed her hair exactly the same way a few days ago. We just happen to have the same (sorta) hair cut and very similar tastes… it also happens that we’re both going through the “I’m only in my early twenties (well, mid-twenties for me) and I should look way cooler than I actually do right now” sort of phases in our lives.
Just last night at our weekly “Crafty Friday Night” gathering we were commiserating over our lack of outward coolness. Yeah, yeah, we know: “The coolness within shows on the outside.” Well, we still think we could use some snazzing up, so next crafty night will be devoted to making our clothes look as cool as we are. Yeah, we rock. I hope I can get Missy in on the deal… and I be Amanda would love to come, too. We all rock so hard… it’s time to tell it to the world! woo!!
Anyway, back to my hair. It has occurred to me that I won’t have a job this summer, and the one I have now doesn’t care whether or not I have hair or whether or not the hair I do have is a natural color. Therefore, I plan on having some major fun. Can you imagine: I actually contemplated dying it back to my natural color… I mean ALL of it? I decided that was just crazy-talk, and probably the result of having inhaled too many hair coloring fumes, and so promptly set out gathering the supplies to do the necessary re-dye. (Meaning that I sent Jesse to the store whilst I lounged in my p.j.’s tooling around on the internet– hey, he was going out anyway.)
I’ll post pictures in my images section once I’m all done.
It’s also just occurred to me that I’m speaking as though I have an audience… pretty presumptuous considering I’ve only just this weekend made any substantial updates to the site, and those who would want to stop by probably grew impatient and left AGES ago. Ah well… I’m still cool. WOO!
Replies: 1 Comment… hooray!
You have an audience!!! Me! heehee…
Ok, I’m eating my lunch during my last day of my temp job and thought I’d peek in here to see if you’d added/changed anything and realized I hadn’t read all of this yet, so I just did.
You definitely provided some happy entertainment while I was eating! And to think I’d been so depressed when I realized that I finished my book last night and would have nothing to read during my lunch!
I’m so glad I’m not the only one who rambles like this in their journal
Posted by Kristen @ 04/24/2003 01:25 PM EST