When I was 13, a typical entry in my diary looked like this:
Today Shannon and I went to the mall. I can’t believe I’m a size 7. We both got really inspired to lose weight and are going on diets tomorrow.
I really love Spanish class. Yesterday John Peetz and I talked a lot about the present tense. He has really nice eyes.
In other words, my diary (and I was always compulsively starting a new one, so my closet at my dad’s house is full of little pink books with five or six pages filled) existed mainly to document goals (because once I lost 10 pounds, wouldn’t I want to look back at the fateful day when my miraculous weight loss began?) and prove that I did, contrary to popular belief, have a life. If I did something fun or if a cute boy talked to me, I wrote it down. Or if a cute girl talked to me, I’d write it down in a way that didn’t acknowledge, even to myself, that I thought she was cute: “Anita subbed my jazz class at Act III tonight. She was a really good teacher and used to be a gymnast and has a really good body. I want to be just like her.”
I like to think that my current diary is much more well adjusted. It’s not the same as my blog, by the way—the diary is much more boring, therapy-esque and, occasionally, R-rated. But you’d have to wade through so much boredom and self-therapy to get to the R-rated parts that it wouldn’t really be worth reading. Anyway, I like to think that now I know life is not just about documenting coolness and professing ambitions.
But when I decided I wanted to blog about this weekend, I couldn’t come up with anything except little nuggets of coolness that felt utterly necessary to document, yet utterly un-profound. Stuff like:
On Sunday Meehan and AK and I saw this feminist burlesque group called the Miracle Whips. They wore stewardess uniforms and strap-ons. The one girl who emceed was really cute.
On Monday I went to the beach. I hadn’t been in a long time. It was sunny and nice. AK’s friends talked about their friend who used to wear jeans to the beach because he wanted to be a model of Christian modesty.
AK has really nice eyes.
So those are my big revelations. Very eighth grade-esque, except I probably didn’t have much occasion to use the phrase “feminist burlesque” when I was in eighth grade.
It’s June 1 today, and I’ve always been fond of making first-of-the-month resolutions, but even though hanging out in Newport Beach in a swimsuit is not a great way to feel thin, I can’t muster any real goals, weight loss-related or otherwise. I’m just too relaxed. The weather is just too nice.
Okay, so maybe I did make a tiny little secret goal to do some more writing. If I follow the patte
Speaking of writing, and specifically writing that I wrote years ago (though only four years ago in this case), I’ll be reading from The Commuters again this weekend:
Rhapsodomancy Reading Series
Featuring Eileen Myles, Cheryl Klein, Ariel Robello and Christopher Russell
Sunday, June 4, 2006
Doors open at 7 p.m., reading begins at 7:15
Good Luck Bar
RSVP at email@example.com
$3 donation at door; a portion of the proceeds will benefit a nonprofit organization.
There will be a cash bar.