It was this dream I had last night...

Maybe it's the TV I've been watching...or the fantasies that Americans have with war...but I had a dream that when I woke up, I assumed I was dead.
I want you to picture army headquarters looking like Hogwarts from Harry Potter. West Point but with a whole old castle and fortified walls and a moat. I was skiing on the ski slope when I see two Apache helicopters come over the ridge. Holy shit, that's the navy! I ski back to tell my superiors yelling, "The navy is coming!" I was Paul Revere on Skis. We batten down the hatches and I run upstairs, not having enough time to go to my quarters and run into Alex's room, but he's not there. Everyone's running around screaming and yelling, trying to find guns, armour...this isn't a drill, the navy really has come to take the Army down. I find Alex's M-16 leaning up against a wall in his room and open the stained glass windows, Jason comes up next to me with his gun and there they are, in droves...dressed as Redcoats, The navy has come to take us down. The electricity dies and we're sitting in the darkness, looking through the action through the barrels of the guns. Jason says we better start firing and I agree. I've never shot an M-16 before. I pull the trigger and fall back and hit my head on the hardwood flooring. I feel blood at the back on my neck but manage to stand up and fire again. I can feel the bloodlust going through me...no one messes with my headquarters.
We ran downstairs to round up more ammo and the navymen are almost dead...piles of dead redcoats are seen everywhere. The army then breaks out into celebration. While the bodies are being burned, we retire to the dining room, some of us covered in blood, some of us missing...Alex was missing. We manage to not mourne about the dead but drink wine from goblets stored in the basement, eat bowls of mac and cheese, and party till 1 AM when I was called away from a special assignment.
The Army has requested that Jason and I become spies for Iraq. They give me a small flat panel monitor on a string and tell me to be careful...using my fighter plane, Jason and I fly on dangerous low level missions around the no fly zone...constantly being hit by enemy missiles. The small monitor around my neck keeps beeping, taking pictures...picking up radioactive materials. The Iraqis start to follow us and Jason loses ground and crashes on Iraqi rt.22...I manage to help him before he explodes and we're back to Army headquarters. The general congratulates me and Jason and lets us go skiing again.

this dream has a sort of "Lord of the Rings," "1984" "Harry Potter" feeling to it...but I don't know how to feel about myself when my imagination is coming up with these dreams...do I have problems?

Damnit, I want some fucking pancakes!

It's because Darien is sucking me dry, isn't it? Everyone from Darien who I can depend on to help me with pancakes are back at school...learning, doing something constructive. I am here watching "Craziest Game Show moments." I saw an IHOP commercial and it make me want fluffy pancakes. I could make them at home, but it's not the same...being me, I would mess them up.

My mother let me loose in Barnes and Noble today, a bad mistake on her part as a parent. I marvelled at the rows and rows of books, pulling countless books off the shelves, wanting every single book. I spent my 50 dollar gift card with pride:
Fierce Pajamas: An anthology of humor writing from The New Yorker
Purple America by Rick Moody
The Neon Bible by John Kennedy Toole
Now, Let me Tell you What I Really Think by Chris Matthews (one of the only Republicans I can stomach because he's so loud and he likes to yell at foreign advisors, that's so cool!)

My friend Jason told me that I was Thora Birch in "Ghost World" a few days back but she has sex with Steve Buchemi (who is kinda like Braden, but weirder...and I know Braden's a little on the strange side but God help me, I adore him) in that movie...I don't know how I feel about that. She's pretty cool and just like me, but she's in your face and I'm more indirectly in your face...but she's going nowhere (just like me so it seems), she's lost in trying to figure out how much life sucks and in the end, gets on that bus to nowhere because the shit has hit the fan. Jesus, if someone told me there was a bus to nowhere, I would of gotten on it a long time ago.

It's sad that my vacation is wasted in front of the television or the computer, in front of a number of glowing objects...but it seems to me that if I wanted pancakes, I could go the diner by myself...if I was that hungry...
but I'm a girl...we are used to doing everything in packs...we ladies have to pee in numbers.

13 days...13 days...13 days...till the suite life...and then I can curl up with Braden, watch a DVD...and everything can be "normal."
But when was I, Braden, the suite, Bard, life...ever normal?

And now commentary on America by Emily Sauter
"It's true...everything is bad for you...except war"

Chris Matthews this morning was saying that we pay 9 dollars to see a movie because we don't want to think of the three fears: "Sadaam, N. Korea, and the Stock Market." The commercial fifteen minutes back said that when you drive an SUV, you start wars, kill Americans, helped 9/11...at least they admitted that it all stems back to oil and gas comsumption in American culture.
TV has a big influence on us now...because we as Americans, believe everything the TV will tell us. A three year old came into the pharmacy and picked up a bottle of shampoo. "Can we get this mommy?" and the mother asked, "now why would you want that?" and the girl, without hesitation annouced "It makes your hair smooth, I saw it on TV."
We rely on TV for everything...and when the TV says that you shouldn't eat cheese...subconsciously you will look at cheese and think that you really shouldn't eat it because of what the TV said. Now men should drink 2 cocktails a day to keep heart disease at a distance...but if women drink 2 cocktails a day, breast cancer is on the way...how do I know this? By sitting in a burger king on the Garden state yesterday and listen to some woman on headline news tell me. We're a fear based society because George likes it that way...it elevates his power. When he said after 9/11 to "buy things," Americans went out and bought shitloads. Now that we're going to war (no smoking gun...oh whatever pull the trigger anyway) the news is full of heartwrenching pictures of wives kissing their husbands goodbye, maybe forever...pulling the heart strings is a good way to get support. Of course becuase of the war machine, we'll never see any real action of the war...just a smarty dressed correspondent talking while the green bombs light up the night sky. No one in America saw anyone die on television during the Gulf War...
Will Gulf War II be different then its elder? It only seems like the only thing that the TV is saying is actually good for us is war. And I'm smart enough to know when to turn the TV off.

Nothing important has happened to me...nothing important has happened to me...

Tonight I would like to explain to you the joy that is the music of Sonic the Hedgehog
Whoever came up w/ these tunes has to be some sort of musical genius, because they spark something in my mind of innocent behavior, of reaching your goals...fighting robotnik...figuring out that in helping Sonic, you indeed help yourself.

I have downloaded all the levels (except Green Hill, it's downloading right now) and it invokes something that I have only wanted to grasp, a feeling of what it was like when I had sega genesis...I was 10 and I was just figuring out what it was like to be growing up, to understand that I can't be the way I am...and still today, as I listen to the Star light Theme (my favorite level if you must know), it makes me remember when I would hear this melody after school and cry because I just thought it was so beautiful. I had a really hard time in fifth grade because I couldn't be who I was. In Darien, showing your true personality resulted in making you the meat in a locker sandwich. My laid back style of tomboyish attitudes had a few teachers telling me I would'nt amount to anything...that it was important to "be a girl"...wear pink, look pink, think pink...I just wanted to play video games.
Now that I'm at Bard...I realize that nothing has changed. You can be who you are at Bard, but with a price...Bard's a sheltering environment...where the kids who were the meat of the locker sandwich converge and discuss...and being around their own kind is comforting...but when it's time to pack up and go into the real world...will Bard be ready?
As for Sonic the hedgehog...he was different too, and he fought Communism (come on...with a name like robotnik?) and he didn't have any friends except in the 2nd one when they gave him tails (who i thought was a wuss) and then they gave him knuckles (who i hated). Sonic was a loner like me...who had great theme music and the will to go it alone. So Bard kids, be Sonic...just don't try to roll yourself in a ball and roll down hills like Sonic did.

Wow Emily, that was very meaningful...somewhat

Jesse called me last night...and he was freaking out...I asked him what was wrong and he told me to look at my email.
Judge this for yourself...

jesse aylen- you are quite possibly one of the worst individuals we know. how
can you be so mean spirited? what in the world did megan fishmann ever do to
you? we know , believe me, we know that megan can be a bit overwhelming
sometimes, and her choices in clothing are anything but understated, but she
is one the sweetest, most kind- hearted girls we know. why would you slander
her so? you of course are entitled to your opinion, but we don't really think
that it's necessary to berate her where the world can read it. you have no
idea how much what you wrote will hurt her. we know that she thinks no ill
will of you.

sincerly,
minka marcom-rehwald (her equally slutty friend, in case you don't know me)
and oliva flynn (her biggest fan and admirer of her writing)


For those who don't know, everyone hates the Fishmann, so Jesse wrote about her and apparently Minka (her equally slutty friend, jesse recants) read it and freaked out...should we feel bad for hatnig fishmann? No way man! I say this means we're going to have a very interesting 2nd semester...

The New and Improved Blog of Emily!

Thanks to Kevin, my blog will be beautified (soon to be complete with picture)...and I thank him heartily for his actions. Kevin republished my archives, so now they extend back to April, when I first started the journal. I reread the old posts, noticing how obsessed I was with our old pal Johnny Garrison (Alex tells me he's too low on the chain of comand to go to Iraq to die...so damnit)...I didn't realize how much of a rut I was in until I looked at proof square in the face. Thank God that I have some semblance of a life back (though Alex assures me I don't...but the thing is I am not all secure like he is and that's fine with me). Baby steps Alex...remember I am not as big and as strong with good Midwestern values as you are...I am only a stand-offish shallow New Englander...with much to learn (please, note sarcasm)...
Today my uncles took my mother and I out to eat at the Culinary Institute of America or the CIA...A man in a suit took my coat, pulled the chair out for me, and a man kept pouring me iced tea after iced tea. I had my own personal waiter at the French restaurant who served me food hidden under those silver tray covers (I thought those only existed in cartoons). I had the lamb chops, dipped in a chicken based batter with red wine sauce...it was heaven on a plate. For dessert, I had chocolate mousse, swimming in sauce with a chocolate leaf pointing out of the top. The food was so beautiful, I wanted to take a picture of it before I ruined it with my fork. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was important, like these people were serving me because I was me. I know that's not the case, but I wish it could be. I long to be important in someone's eyes...
After I left the CIA, I wanted a hot dog. I figure it was because I had been treated like a queen for three hours, I wanted to get back onto my level by eating something 2nd rate.
A 2nd rate meat for a 2nd rate girl...

Dear Mr. Sadaam,

First of all, I would like to ask you how you feel right now…you aren’t sick or dying, you have a clean bill of health? I always thought for a man of your stature that you always looked healthy and in control but when I watch American news, it seems like you have no idea what’s going on. Is that because the American war machine is making me think you’re a bad person or is that you really are? I wish I could know the real Sadaam without all this Iraqi and American bias. You know, understand how you really are, without making you think that you’re the next Hitler. But, of course, Hitler did build the Autobahn and fed the poor. So can’t there be a good side to everyone?
As an American, I warn you that I’m objective about the whole war thing because as most Americans, I’m ignorant about what’s really going on. Mainly I’m ignorant because everything is classified. Do you make everything classified in your country? Because I think it really sucks to have it all be classified. I want to know because I believe I have a right to know. I’m sure you don’t tell your countrymen much. Hell, you won’t even tell people where your nuclear reactors are (not that accusing you of having a nuclear reactor, we Americans just assume you do…so why can’t you just come out and tell us you do…I think that pulling Mr. Dubya’s chain is a pretty stupid idea).
The main purpose of this letter is to warn you to cut the shit. That’s about it, I’m being blunt. I see all the news in America about you claiming all this crap, and it makes me sad that we have to go to war because of this. I’m not blaming you because it’s more America’s love of the black gold and corporate foul play that’s making this war possible. I just think that we wouldn’t have to have anyone die if you said something. I want to know what you think, not what a correspondent in Washington says you think. So Sadaam, please help me out and tell me what you think. I am tired of using my imagination.
I also want to apologize for my country’s involvement with your country. You see, right now in American history, we’ve reached a time where we’re all a little paranoid and we’ve begun to point fingers. It so happens also that our president and his little white (Colin Powell is white, but everything thinks he’s black, just so you know) are pretty ideological that they can stop terrorism single-handedly, which is pretty much, never going to happen. I’m sure you’ve figured out that America is a hole and we need to get out, so we’re pointing the finger at you, Daddy’s nemesis from the Gulf War.
This letter is just to warn you that you might want to change your policies a little. I am not a supporter of pro-American beliefs; I am strictly against the Republican regime, which I am forced to live under. I am just warning you because I believe that everyone must have a chance to run and change their course before they meet their end. If we go to war with you Mr. Sadaam Sir, you will die and your country will become just another McCountry under a ruling of Pro American businessmen. Please change your tune before you end up whistling ‘God Bless America’ in a cell before you are killed off by an American made bullet, made by one of our illegal immigrants.

I only wish you luck because you will need it…and I am sorry.
Fondest wishes for a quick death by a serviceman,

Emily Steele Sauter