floating off the map

packing, cleaning, arranging & re-arranging,
oscar valdes (cubano, african latin jazz) singin in the background,
two lamps lighting my room as the lightbulb is not only out but severely corroded/broken,
i just want to say i will miss this computer, which fails me religiously, this bedroom, with all its lime green charm, my formerly flea infested cotton-candy-pink carpet, and my finally functional toilet. which i re-stocked last night with toilet paper. (i’m turning into such a domestic goddess!)

incidentally, i intended to write a big i’ll miss you / thank you for being supportive & kind friends
type of entry, it just hasn’t worked out that way. yet.

friends! thank you. un millon besos.
i’ll give israel 10 or 20 or 50 or so vehement belly shaloms, one from each of you.

a very happy birthday to my grandmother, who is undoubtedly not reading this.

love,
marisa

Days Until

my next birthday: 575 ish
college: 60 ish
landing in tel aviv: 4
the present: 0

Now Everybody Chance
a drum in the still life

for the love of…the game
please
can we please play some futbal.

today i scuttled around: the perfect office crab.
in the morning, i burrowed in my white office dune demonstrating infinitely less competence than my peers, other lawyers’ offspring, the complacent, respectable beings.
before long i was i lobbing binder clips at one of the four blank walls, trippled over in laughter.
i clocked out, took a short break. meandered to starbucks, scowled, and drank.
hiccoughed and clicked back to the dune.

p.s. ronaldo – muito obrigado

i am beginning to believe that the beach missiles were actually palestinian mines; apparently the explosion could not have come from overhead, and, furthermore, hamas officials blocked off the area from journalists immediately following the incident.

and evidently, the palestinian “civlians” killed recently were members of hamas trying to extract from the van the smuggled katyusha (russian, by the way) rockets, which survived the first missiles intact and were intended for use on israeli civilians. the israeli missiles were fired to destroy the rockets.

according to the rabbi according to an israeli government briefing.
hmmmmmmm.

too, israel is giving $/weapons to fatah in hopes that hamas will be overthrown.

he shared more still: how egypt is intercepting $$, preventing it from reaching hamas in gaza, why the israelis are being remarkably quiet about iran despite the existential threat its nuclearization poses israel (because israel doesn’t want to be blamed for future american involevement in iran – in a word, PR), and how only military intervention will thwart iran’s nuclear development.

i remain confused.
reader, shed some light. i double-dare you.

i wanna dance.
teacher. i need a teacher.

today is rainboic.

my reaction to the gruesome news (missiles, gaza – more of the same) is remarkably detached.

to the 10 (more by now? the horror) blasphemed corpses i dedicate one modest post and what compassion i can summon.

[...continued after a long argument with my father during which i vainly swiped my little paw...]

i do not oppose the idf but its reluctance to live up to its name. without a steadfast army, israel would likely crumble. but why, why after weeks devoid of violence, has a “defense” force attacked civilians?
an “accident?” both times? unlikely, i think.

i am wary of the direction my wordpress is taking, noting as i have the title of this new design scheme: Contempt.

i hate no one. i suspect a few hold me in contempt, especially an one with plow horse features and syntehtically blonde hair, but such ice is beyond my concern.

i am a playalover.

you, to change the pronoun, curious reader, might consider the obvious lack (if not absence) of hurricanes christened in the african- and asian-american traditions. bespectacled, puritan William, fashionable Florence, hamburger Patty, phoenetically deranged Isaac, even hispanic Alberto, are all grunting from the 2006 starting line-up bench. what we’re missing is fair and accurate representation. tell me, dubber ruck, what black-skinned person goes by “Beryl?” and while i personally don’t know any originally thai “Kirk”s, i suspect the reader does not, either, and will kindly consider writing the bureau of storms. (how can the divided states of america cultivate a cultured, accepting populous under such a circumstance?)
i thank my very caucasian friend andrew, who hails from the very caucasian, hurricane ridden rhode island, for bringing to my attention this ill-publicized matter.

one love.

p.s. what’s up with ronaldo?

rain always brings me peace.

today sam and i dunked cookies&cream poptarts in peanut butter and ate them, lean with it/rock with it providing a lively backdrop as our bloodsugar levels escalated.

a bird sings. translated from birdspeak: “eeeee eeeee eeeee!! i love rain, eeeee!”

i am fresh. mother bird is home. father bird works. ghettobird frolics at camp. wingedbird sits, “a little bit good.”

tonight i will finish lolita and lick the bowl at the end.

today is thursday!!!!! OW OW!!!

i have so much energy i think for two reasons
1. the cia is finally on to my brother (the stolen cacoons in his socks were a prenatal giveaway)
2. the flutter byes are bursting forth. iique energia!!

shit. alguien esta aqui. no mas paz.

surrounded by blank walls in an otherwise fascinating cubicle
before an empty desk except for RedInk phone numbers on post-its, i decide to add one to the amalgam:
PIZZA
644-PAPA