Blog by Sumana Harihareswara, Changeset founder

13 Sep 2002, 0:11 a.m.

The past few days, I've had great times hanging out…

Hi, reader. I wrote this in 2002 and it's now more than five years old. So it may be very out of date; the world, and I, have changed a lot since I wrote it! I'm keeping this up for historical archive purposes, but the me of today may 100% disagree with what I said then. I rarely edit posts after publishing them, but if I do, I usually leave a note in italics to mark the edit and the reason. If this post is particularly offensive or breaches someone's privacy, please contact me.

The past few days, I've had great times hanging out with friends and celebrating my birthday. I've seen Zed, Adam, Seth, and Zack, among other people. Zed appreciated Leonard's and my suggestion that the Bible's Apocrypha are history's first fanfic, and suggested Cain/Abel slash. Adam gave me a decorated mix CD. Seth and I went to see Michael Newdow give a terrific speech -- we weren't expecting him to sing! (Very interesting fellow. The ultra-skeptical sort that I wouldn't necessarily want to befriend, but I admire him and am glad he's on our side anyway.) Zack and I wandered and did errands and ate and reassured each other about anxieties business and personal. More on personal anxieties later.

Perhaps crepe restaurants, like gas stations, cluster at intersections, for two different crepe places live at the intersection of east Shattuck and University in Berkeley. Crepe de Vine is now called "The Lying Crepes of Marrakech" or something. Zack says that he suspects it's been bought out by the restaurant Marrakech, since once he saw a waiter there whom he had previously only seen at Crepe de Vine. Coincidence...or merger?

I also saw the film Rivers & Tides, about the artwork of Andy Goldsworthy. He works in nature, in ephemera. And I enjoyed the film, and later was reminded of it by a line in "110 Stories": "It goes, like, something mighty, and despair." I think the author is referring to "Ozymandias," and Goldsworthy avoids the Fundamental Ozymandias Fallacy, as Leonard might put it; Goldsworthy embraces the eventual destruction of his art, he welcomes it. He looks death in the eye each time his work collapses or fades or washes away. A worthwhile lesson.

I visited friends a bit on Wednesday, and visited the peace rally "Our Grief is Not a Cry for War" in San Francisco. I learned how to make paper cranes, and folded a few. I wore a t-shirt with "Peace" in many languages surrounding a globe, and I met a fellow with the least LiveJournally LiveJournal ever, and I signed up to help Food Not Bombs sometime.

Non-profound stuff break: I love having a salary. Like the man said, newfound wealth! Whee!

I've long been meaning to quote this passage from Arthur C. Clarke's Imperial Earth, published in 1976:

"...Despite Colin's efforts, I don't really understand Terran economy.

But I'm learning many things, fast. For example, there are some smart operators around, on the lookout for innocents from space. Yesterday I was going through a display of Persian carpets -- antique, not replicated -- wondering if I could possibly afford to take a small one back to Marissa. (I can't.) This morning there was a message -- addressed to me personally, correct room number -- from a dealer in Tehran, offering his wares at very special rates. He's probably quite legitimate, and may have some bargains -- but how did he know? I thought Comsole circuits were totally private. But perhaps this doesn't apply to some commercial services. Anyway, I didn't answer.

Nor have I acknowledged some even more personal messages from various Sex Clubs. They were very explicit, and I've stored them as mementos for my old age. After the carpet episode, I was wondering if any would be tailored to my psych profle, which must be on record somewhere -- that would have made me mad. But it was very broad-band stuff, and the artwork was beautiful. Perhaps when I'm not so busy..."

Back to intimacy: I'm a woman. I'm in my early twenties. I have never been pregnant. Especially recently, with reminders of death nudging me at the anniversary of the terrorist attacks, and with my birthday, I've wished I were a mother. I'm not going to be a mother for years, if ever, and I worry that working with kids would only exacerbate these desires, not calm them.

I need a hobby.