Date: 2008-06-12 17:18 Subject: Cuticles Security: Public

Smoke wafts indiscriminately from the lit tip of her cigarette
Blurring her already indistinct figure and face.
Chipped and faded nail polish on shipped and faded fingers
Turn into a nervous blur in the air
As she brings her digits to a mouth of shockingly white teeth.
The fingernails have already been gnawed down to their cuticles.

Skin, white as anxious snow,
White as anxious sheets,
White as anxious sterile doctor’s floor,
Binds together nerves of brittle ice, veins of solid stone.
Angst and unease toy with her troubled mind.
You can see the drama in her subconscious played out in her eyes,
Eyes so pale and bleary.

Date: 2008-03-14 17:31 Subject: Mr. Rakowski Security: Public

As most of you who go to Miller Place schools already know, our high school band teacher Mr. Rakowski passed away last night. To help myself cope with it, and to hopefully help others too, I'm going to tell a little bit about my memories of him and hopefully pay him some tribute.

I first came into contact with Mr. Rakowski back in sixth grade. He always seemed to be the mythical figured of musical godliness that awaited me if I stuck with the music program, which, thankfully, I did. As my band instructor for seventh grade, Mr. Rakowski was truly an inspiration, his humor and dedication truly refreshing.

Again, I had the pleasure of being taught by him for eighth grade, in both the jazz band and the regular band. His love and knowledge of jazz soon spread to me, and broadened my horizons as both a musician and a listener.

At the end of eighth grade, I have a specific memory of Mr. Rakowski ingrained in my memory. My baritone saxophone was broken, and it was the same one that I was supposed to take to high school with me. I remember sitting with Mr. Rakowski for an hour after school, tinkering with the saxophone, thinking that this was the last time I'd ever have him as a teacher, as it was the last day of classes. We'd finally got the sax working, shook hands, and he told me that "if I ever needed him to just ask." I was touched. His compassion for my musical education knew no bounds.

I entered into freshman year being taught by Ms. Schaefer for band and Mr. Von Bargen for Jazz Band. Both were great teachers, and I still talk to both of them regularly. At the end of freshman year, Von Bargen retired and Mr. Rakowski stepped up to fill his shoes.

Sophomore year was a bit more difficult for Mr. Rakowski. It was his first year in the high school in a long while, and he was nervous. However, his devotion to both music and his students insured that we were still a fantastic band and a tight group of kids.

Junior year came. Mr. Rakowski had loosened up quite a bit and seemed much more comfortable with teaching in the high school this time around. Both the jazz band and symphonic band sounded incredible, playing a wide mix of different song genres, and Mr. R seemed very proud of us.

My last memory with Mr. Rakowski happened only yesterday. After having two periods of music in that day already, I had a lesson eighth period. Just the two of us, we set up in the storage room between the chorus and band rooms. I'll never forget his somewhat loud canary yellow sweater that he wore that day, nor will I forget the story he told me about the janitor's brooms as I set up my sax. We rehearsed Graysondance for about 30 minutes, and Mr. Rakowski told me that I did a great job. We had about ten minutes left, so as I took apart my sax Mr. R went and ate some almonds in his office. With about five minutes to spare, we talked about the band songs, and about popular contemporary bands.

I wish that I gave Mr. Rakowski a more meaningful goodbye, other than "see you, Mr. Rakowski!" but I can't say that I did. I had no idea that he was in the last few hours of his life.

Mr. Rakowski essentially changed my life. His love and passion for both music and for my own musical abilities honed me to be a fairly proficient multi-instrumentalist, giving my life a meaning that it honestly lacked before. When I look back, before I got into music, there seems to be a void in my life. Mr. Rakowski filled that void with his vigor for music. For all I know, Mr. Rakowski might have saved my life with that.

I don't think I'll be able to look into his dark empty office, still decorated with his personal effects for many weeks to come without crying. I will truly, with all my heart, miss Mr. Rakowski as I would a father or a brother or a friend.

Date: 2008-01-28 15:11 Subject: with the straps Security: Public Location: Miller Place Music: Rilo Kiley

I've been drumming to quite a bit of hip hop lately. I'm not particularly proud of that, but it's the truth. It's a blast to do, and most rap songs sound better with the added percussiveness, I'd like to think. "Low" by Flo Rida is a joy. Plus, I have a soft spot for anything featuring T-Pain.

Last weekend I did absolutely nothing. It was kinda glorious, I'm not going to lie. One of my only treks out of the comforts of my house was to Borders over by the mall with my dad and siblings. I had a gift card for twenty dollars! Score! So I went with the intention of getting Cobra Starship's new CD, "Viva La Cobra!" because it dropped last October, when I had no money. However, I was reminded of why I rarely, if ever, buy CDs from Borders. 1) Their stuff's expensive. Annoyingly so, especially when you know that FYE has the same CD for five bucks cheaper. But noooo, my gift card's for this store and this store only. 2) The layout of the music section must've been designed by a crack baby after huffing a bag of paint thinner. "Alphabetical order? Ha! I'll put the "A's" over here, and the "B's" far away! Good luck finding anything!" 3) They don't have much of a selection. They sell out real fast and they don't restock for a while, so you're stuck perusing through a solid block of one CD that they didn't sell, trying to find what you came for.

I walked out with Rilo Kiley's "Take Offs and Landings" and a Death Cab for Cutie CD who's name escapes me. Both are simply excellent. Rilo Kiley's got a sonically interesting blend of country, folk and pop combined into one nifty little indie package. Delightful. I haven't listened to Death Cab's CD in depth yet, only as background music in the car, but I'll get there soon.

Finally got new drumsticks and another guitar cable to replace my stolen one. I hate not having any money to go out because you have to spend it on your instruments. Thank god I have enough guitar strings to last me though the next millennium, that used to be a big monetary burden for me.

Date: 2007-12-03 18:33 Subject: it's not alright Security: Public

i'm under lots of stress.

that's lame.

word up.

Date: 2007-11-09 17:46 Subject: dearest denmark, what's been on your mind? Security: Public Location: Miller Place, New York Music: Regina Spektor

I haven't been able to focus on much lately. I'll sit down to work on something but can't be motivated enough to follow through with it. Blah. Lassitude isn't normally in my list-of-things-to-describe-myself-with, but it seems to be edging its way in.

I did manage to start four song/poems in the last few days though. I haven't finished them yet. I'm not sure if I'm going to. The line in the title of this ('dearest Denmark, what's been on your mind?') is from one of them, and it seems promising, but I just don't seem to want to finish it. What a waste of paper. Sometimes I write things that I think are pure gold, and I reread them a day later and want to tear them out and destroy them before anyone can see them.

Judgment's a bitch. A bitch that I don't go out of my way to associate with.

I'm supposed to go to Miller Place Idol tonight, but I really don't want to go to be honest. I didn't tell many people, but I got into a shouting match with one of the producers. It's quite a story, trust me, but I don't feel like reliving it.

If I see him, I might have to punch him.

Someone stop me.

Ah fuck it. I'm going. A nice hour-long cross-town walk to the high school with the moon and the stars and Regina Spektor on my iPod sounds good. Maybe Applebee's after. They've got half off appetizers after ten, didya know?

Add the stand-up bass to the instruments-that-I-want-to-learn-how-to-play list. Jazz stand-up bass is such a lovely sound.

I need to rediscover jazz. I've been listening to Charlie Parker CDs lately, but I'm getting bored of him, despite his virtuosity on the saxophone that stuns me every time I pop him in. Maybe John Coltrane or something like that.

My record player needs fixing.

Date: 2007-10-16 19:06 Subject: Un, Duex, Trois Security: Public Location: Miller Place, New York Music: The Arcade Fire

I keep a notebook full of assorted junk that floats into my consciousness throughout the day. Sometimes I'll be making toast on a lazy morning and I'm hit with a lyric or something that I think is lyrically or poetically interesting or notable, and I jot it down. Sometimes I'll be taking out my contact lenses and a line comes to life, so I'll rush down the stairs with only one contact in and half blind to grab the book and a pen. Sometimes I'll be shaving, think of something good, and nick myself, splattering the paper with little droplets of blood.

I've filled up about thirty pages and I don't intend on stopping.

Date: 2007-08-30 22:21 Subject: The Beach, Under Threat of Tunderstorms Security: Public Location: Proctorsville, Vermont

Lia and her mommy. Gangsta gangsta!



Nipple.



DFA!



Make a scary face.



Eric's good at that.



Whodunnit?



Bee ball?



Twas a bit nippy.



Icky pizza!



That's shocking.



Lock up the children.

Date: 2007-08-25 16:53 Subject: Eggs, Bed Sheets, and Expiration Dates Security: Public Location: Miller Place, New York

Funny how simple things that you haven't done in an obscenely long amount of time can be such simple pleasures. Last night I made breakfast for dinner, which I haven't done for years. Shame, shame on me. I'm not such a huge fan of cooking or baking, at least when I'm the one doing said culinary arts, but I enjoyed myself nonetheless. I put my Regina Spektor collection on shuffle on my iPod speakers, raised the volume, and cooked up two eggs, sunny side up, along with four pieces of toast, slightly burned. But that's how I like it. Not the toast that's so undercooked it seems raw. Or maybe raw isn't such a great word to use for toast: it's not like it's meat and you're going to get sick from E. Coli if you don't toast your bread long enough. But regardless, a fine meal, cooked up with me wearing only a pair of jeans. It was hot out, so I shed my shirt. I believe my old Home Economics teacher, Mrs. Norden, warned us against cooking without a shirt on, but it was eggs on a frying pan, not like a deep fryer of potatoes at McDonald's.



The sheets on my bed are shredding. I'm not sure exactly how that happened. Paper shreds, sheets shouldn't shred. But regardless of the verb involved, they're tearing apart. I woke up this morning with my arm through a hole in the sheet, and without realizing it, made another huge rip in the fabric when I stretched out. Ah, no matter. I'm not a huge fan of those sheets anyhow, they aren't the flannel sheets that I've come to love so much. Instead, they're those thin sheets that you put on the bed in the summertime, because they aren't as warm as its flannel brother. But they simply aren't as comfortable, at least to me, so I leave the flannel ones on year round. I forget why I put on the summer sheets, and now that I think about it, I don't think there was a good reason.



I drove my Mom and sister to Blockbuster today, because they wanted to use some gift cards and return a movie. The cashier informed my mom that her ten dollar gift card had expired, and Mother-Dearest goes on a tangent about how morally wrong it is for companies such as Blockbuster to make their gift cards expire. To the cashier, to me, to my sister, for the entire ride home. I offered to give her the ten dollars, and that merited me a cold look. Instead of sit there in an awkward silence, I simply turned the music up loader in the car. That seems to be a solution to many problems: turn up the music. There's a noise distracting you? Turn up your favorite CD louder than the offending sound. Need to concentrate on work, but there's to much clatter from other people? Crank the iPod.



Fin.