2002-04-13 :: 2:45 a.m.

i should never buy tickets for anything ever again

Soundtrack: The Beatles, Past Masters: Volume I

Today I found out that a guy from the same freshman dorm as me is in a coma. Apparently he fell off the stage into the orchestra pit during a dance rehearsal, hitting the back of his head, jarring his brain forward, causing swelling in the front of his cranium. He came out of the coma briefly and was put into an induced coma to reduce the intracranial pressure. It turns out that one of my roommate's dads treats cases like this; she told me the after-swelling he's currently experiencing is what usually causes the brain damage, and the extent of the damage is generally impossible to determine until the coma is over. The thing with frontal lobe cases is that they tend to lose social graces; when a patient is "frontal lobish," it means that nurses can expect to be hit on, and everyone else can expect to be insulted.

It's very weird because he and I weren't friends. We weren't what I'd even term friendly. I am more friendly with his girlfriend -- not from our dorm -- than I was with him. We roamed between neutrality and mild unfriendliness, I suppose. What I knew of him was that he was smart, egotistical, and socially inept/uncaring/unconcerned (depending on what you thought of him, whether you like Howard Roark, etc.). I remember that he often wore a jacket with a large label: "Corrections." It's odd to use the past tense here, as if I can guarantee that who he was is no longer who he will be, but that's probably the case. Who knows.

I'm fairly divorced from the majority of my freshman dorm cohorts. I didn't even get the email when it went out; it had to be forwarded to me. Jenny and I hang out a lot, and she is one of my best friends here. Aside from that, it's almost tense to talk to a freshman dormer, because it reminds us of how often we don't speak or even acknowledge one another. Part of me wants to go to the card signing for this guy just to see all of us in one place again, but A) it's such a weird context that I think I won't end up going, and B) why would he want to see my name on a get well card? It would be a hollow gesture. For the same reason, it would be rather lame to grandstand here about how you never know, how fragile life is, how you have to always say goodbye as if it's the last time you'll say it, because my reaction to the news is more to ponder my disconnect from the people I started college with rather than consider these deeper (and, theoretically, more socially appropriate) issues.

Tonight there were naked people on the balcony of the co-op next door calling down to Miriam and me as we went home. I didn't even register that they were naked at first, but then we realized there was a naked party going on. There were people dancing elsewhere at the LGBTA semiannual rave thing, but I couldn't bring myself to go. I had tickets, but I sold them at half-price, desperate to recoup at least some of the $20 I'd blown. It was also somewhat confusing: last semester (and most semesters prior), the tickets were in high demand -- people offered sexual favors on the anonymous campus bulletin boards to get them and it was hard to know if they were kidding -- but this semester, not at all. I'm wondering how the bad buzz was started this time 'round. I'm sick and tired and it was probably better that I hung out with my director (formerly my actor), my stage manager (formerly another of my actors), and another actor from the show about to go up tomorrow, drinking and having one of those "philosophically deep" bar talks that are fun to have but never really change your mind about anything. (I suspect that more than anything, they help you figure out just where you stand on the critical issues -- or at least where you stand with a few drinks in you.) I've only got a few lines in the show, but I've really got no time to be doing it. I did it as a favor to the director, but it's kind of fun. I can see why people do it; theater is cheap therapy.

I had a reading on the 9^th, the first reading I've ever done, and I was reading from the first long work of fiction I've ever done. It was weird since there was violence and sex in the stuff I was reading, and my sister was in the audience, along with a guy I was in first grade with (thankfully, both of them liked the piece). He wore sweaters and cowboy boots back then; he looks a little more hippie-esque now, but not by much. I always did appreciate his inviting me to the end of sixth grade pool party he threw at his very nice home; we ate KFC in our swimsuits. It's funny what you appreciate when you're not popular, what you remember.

At the end of this month, I have a reading of a heavily-revised "This Boy" (with many more footnotes), which, along with the piece I read from on the 9^th ("A Hygienic Love"), comprises my creative writing thesis. I'm still trying to think of an all-inclusive title for the two, but I keep going back to something simple, like Two Obsessions, or something like that. The second piece could be expanded to a novel, but since it's due on Monday, I don't think that will be happening before then. While my advisor is pleased with my output, I feel that should have done more. It's my fault; I've been watching my roommates playing Final Fantasy X like it's my job. Pathetic.

I saw the White Stripes a little while ago, like a good college student. Jack had lost his voice. Meg drummed in that naughty little way she drums, and I, like all the other guys in the audience, was in love. The day before Cat Power played, but I was too fucking beat to get out of bed and go. I was curious about her show, which I hear is either really good or hideously bad (i.e., she plays three songs, then breaks down and flees the stage). Lots of indie points missed there! Losing money on tickets sucks (like tonight, selling half off just to make some cash back? Suck!). Oh well, at least my $11 can go towards her next bottle of Prozac.

Tomorrow I go out to brunch with Nick. It's been so long since we've talked, and we live together! A couple of days ago he asked me if we were still on. I said, "Of course -- we have to do this before we're on opposite sides of the country," and then laughed. I walked out of the apartment saying, "I can't believe I just said that. I can't believe that's true." But it is true. There's so much to do, and the regrets are inevitable. The question is, what will they be? And what happy memories will be made between now and the end of May, the end of college?

One nice thing: the bartender tonight is our set designer, and she comped me for my beer. How cool is it to get free beer from a female bartender?

I don't know why I'm not journaling as much at a point where I would think I would want as many permanent memories as possible, but there's no time to figure that out now. Now's the time to sleep off more sickness. Hopefully my right ear will be able to resume normal hearing functions tomorrow.