friday . april . fourteen . two thousand paul and I ordered a pizza last week. the delivery guy called because he didn't have our apartment number. it arrived soon there after, we paid him and he left. about a half hour later, the phone rang. paul picked it up but there was no response. he heard some noises so he put it on speaker phone. we were listening to these different noises; footsteps, rustling paper, etc. at that point, paul said "hey! i bet it's the pizza guy!" he was right, of course. through the telephone we heard a knock on a door, and a complete pizza delivery transaction happening somewhere in the city. the delivery guy must have realized at that point that the phone was on, because *click* and it was over. i wish things like this would happen more often. what's better than impromptu virtual pizza delivery? --- tuesday . april . eleven . two thousand writing class #2: for class tonight, we had to do some readings and bring in a 3 page story sketch to workshop with a partner. my story is about a girl starting her senior year of high school. it's part of a collection of short stories that i'm trying to write. i don't really want to talk about it too much until i've completed more of it. for more detail than that, you'll have to buy me a cup of coffee sometime. my partner was a .com guy in his late 20’s. i was sort of bummed at first, because i didn't trust him to understand the story i'm working on because he's a man. i'm so judgmental that i disappoint myself sometimes. it turned out that he gave me some extremely helpful feedback. his sketch was about a big time financier who gets cancer and goes back to his rustic beginnings. it's a novel, not a short story and i would have almost no desire to read it when it's done. i don't have a lot of interest in stressed out rich people exploring the proper balance between exploitation and “the simple life”, but i enjoyed talking with him about it. he's off to a very good start. in addition to homework and lessons on writing theory, each week one person signs up to bring something in to be work shopped by the entire class. this week it was a part of a novel in progress brought in by one of the computer programmer women. she chose not to read it aloud herself, so i volunteered. i figured it was a good way to be active in the class without really putting myself out there too much. how hard could it be? it turns out that her novel is about the life of a pakistani family. the scene she brought in was a dinner party celebrating the college graduation of the family's son. i don't think it would be fair to give you an example paragraph, but i'd like to list some of the names of the characters introduced: mr and mrs jaafri, the mirzas, the two khan families, the farouqis, uncle junaid, the daultanas, the shaikhs, auntie jameela, saleem, mirza, nasira and paaro auntie. i read three pages of this. out loud. in front of people. beautiful names and beautiful language, but for the love of god, not the kind of thing that would make me look...articulate in any way. the writing itself was interesting, but hard to get into because it was out of context. i was impressed by the caliber of feedback she received from our classmates. they were very tuned in, making their criticism as palatable as possible. and next week, it's my turn. --- wednesday . april . five . two thousand i had my first day of writing class last night. i worked during the day and was relatively successful in staving off any anxiety until about an hour before the end of my shift. paul drove me to class and said all the right things (including "would you shut up already? it's going to be fine"). i sat in the back of the mostly beige classroom. the teacher seems pleasant and interesting, although it must be noted that a majority of the pieces he read to us had something to do with sex. not that there's anything wrong with that. there are 12 people in the class, including me. a nice mix of men, women and ages and we all did the obligatory introductions. 9 of the students were technical writers, science writers or .com people! from what i heard when they read their class writing exercises out loud, they are all extremely talented. the writing exercise: we were given four (4) minutes to write a piece exploring the tension between desire and duty. i'm not good at writing under pressure like that. give me 15 minutes and i can produce something at least coherent. this exercise was four (4) minutes and i felt unable to accomplish the requested task. most of the students wrote about an opportunity or desire to cheat on a loved one. one woman wrote about two pubescent boys exploring new sexual territory. three people opted not to read their exercises aloud, including me. I have a certain amount of boldness and no fear of public speaking, but i just couldn't read mine to the class. i'm too green. however, for the sake of on-line journal street-cred, here it is: they sat on a cold metal park bench, surrounded by colors, noises and a very slight breeze. neither of them spoke. she was too sad, and his mind was blank. she sighed and said "it isn't that i expect my parents to be perfect, or even to be different than how they are. but i did expect them to stay together." she gently wiped a tear from her cheek. he knew that he was supposed to comfort her now. she expected it, and she had every right to. he wanted to believe that nothing he could say would help, but he knew that he simply didn't want to help her. he shifted his weight, and she leaned in to him slightly, but instead of reaching for her, he crossed his arms over his chest and contemplated the places he'd rather be. -- monday . april . three . two thousand i have begun socializing with the mad scientist. he's one of my customers and a student at uw. (studying mad science, of course.) i sometimes wonder what he thinks of me. he's nice and extremely intelligent. in a logical, mr. spock kind of way. now, i'm not what i would consider book smart, but i have been told by many that i have an emotional intelligence. i'm good at understanding human relations, communication, etc. he's kind, but he likes to push buttons so having a conversation with the mad scientist is like intellectual bungee jumping. there are times when i can't tell if he is fucking with me so i have to swallow whatever insecurities i have and take a step off the bridge and ride the air. we were sitting on a park bench on monday, analyzing some sprinters across the ship canal, talking about plants and ducks and things and stuff. there were some of my favorite birds around...i don't know what they're called. i figured that the mad scientist knows...everything, so i asked him what they're are called. he said "which one?" i pointed to the tiny round one a few feet away and began to describe it. "see the little round guy with the brown..." and the bird i was pointing to hopped towards us and stood at our feet for a while, as if responding to our attention. i thanked it, and it flew away.