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Thursday, July 05, 2001
So, the 4th. Went down to the Mall to see fireworks, got completely drenched in the rain and evicted from a concert tent because of lightening. Some old friends from high school were supposed to be there too. And they were, just on the opposite site of the same area. We were probably a couple hundred feet away from each other. Now, since we made no plans to get together, there was obviously no great need to see each other. But I was definitely expecting it. Oh well. We did watch an ice cream vendor get cuffed and taken away in the paddy wagon... they impounded her ice cream cart too. I guess she wasn't supposed to be selling. The illegal ice cream trade was flourishing on the Mall, though. Guys in Good Humor trucks opened their windows periodically. Amanda and I ran over when we saw a line forming, and the police showed up nearby when she reached the front, so the man threw her change at her (giving her a $5 bill instead of a 1) and slammed the window: "The police are coming!"
13:47
Tuesday, July 03, 2001
The American flag still looks cluttered to me, crowded and detailed with symbols. The Danish flag is bright red with two crossing white lines. And they're everywhere. Flags come out for every special occasion, birthday, anniversary, birth, confirmation, religious holiday and union holiday. And now I'm in the capitol of the U.S. for Independence Day... surrounded by the American flag all of a sudden.
Tracy's coming to visit tonight (yay!) and we're going to watch the fireworks downtown tomorrow. Then I work on Thursday but take off for Boston Thursday night.
17:31
Monday, July 02, 2001
This weekend someone asked me about this page, and why there's stuff up here that I never talk about. It's because I'm a words person. I write stuff. And in the process, the physical motion of putting words to page and the mental translation of abstract thoughts into sentences, I figure stuff out. Most of what's here is me figuring stuff out. Most of the time I don't know how a post will finish up when I start it. So why do I post anything at all? What's wrong with just keeping a journal, or a document file, or writing directly to my friends? Well, people save letters and emails, but this page keeps changing, so my words are in some kind of context that's always flowing. Besides, I don't know who'll happen to come upon this page. I might make some random friend or reader think about something new. Or maybe no one will see them at all. It takes choice out of my hands. If I'm obliviously writing something no one should see, maybe no one will. And I do keep a journal, sporadically. But this is like... it's like the journalism lab, or my locker, was in high school. I could throw all my stuff in there, put stuff on the walls and have something of mine, a stopping place I could always access, inside the chaos.
13:27
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