Category: Jon Brasfield and Amanda Richardson

November 29, 2003 /

I normally don’t much like shopping the day after Thanksgiving, not so much because I mind crowds as because it’s the day Everybody’s Supposed To Go Shopping and I don’t like being manipulated by faceless corporations to engage in something that really shouldn’t involve faceless corporations so much.

As Maria and I did not previously own apartment-decorating paraphernalia, though, and as it was on sale, we went forth to Target and bought a horrifying amount of stuff, including a five-foot-or-something artificial tree (previous trees in my [non-Richmond] places of residence basically included Jon’s eighteen-inch tree, decorated with a Centre Debate 2000 button) and ordaments. We spent a LOT, just about everything I saved off the food budget this month by feeding my sister ramen noodles.

But we have shiny things now. And it’s snowing!

October 25, 2003 /

I found this thread about messing up your child’s vocabulary a while ago, but I guess I never posted it. I think it’s great, because a) it uses the word “xorph” and b) I plan to do that stuff to my kids all the time.

Well, actually I plan to do that stuff to Jon and Amanda’s kids first. If necessary, I will create props.

Small Brasfield: Mommy, can we go to the store and get some more Super Snot? We used it all.
Amanda: Get some more what?
Small Brasfield: Super Snot! The stuff you use to stick things together.
Jon: You mean glue?
Small Brasfield: Uncle Brendan told me it’s really called Super Snot! He showed me in a book.
Amanda: Okay, listen carefully. From now on you can’t trust books Uncle Brendan gives you. Okay?
Small Brasfield: I can’t trust the Bible?
Amanda: (begins smoking from her ears)
Jon: Wait. How did you use up all your Sup–your glue?
Small Brasfield: Uncle Brendan showed me how to make Smaller Brasfield’s hair look really cool!

After that, Jon and Amanda should have the messing-up-my-kids part well in hand.

Apparently only my boy friends have blogs.

October 9, 2003 /

Yo ho. I emerge from the shark-thick waters, knife in my teeth and a steely glint in my eye, having taken all three of my double-damned midterms in ONE DAY and lived to tell the scurvy tale. Yo ho.

And now, in lieu of booty, I go to Lexington. What reward holds Lexington, you ask? It holds Jon. It holds Monica. It will hold me and Ken and Maria, and most importantly, it will hold ANGIE APARO!

October 1, 2003 /

“Coleman said he remained worried about the ‘heavy-handedness’ of the lawsuits, which carried fines of up to $150,000 for each song shared from their hard drives. When asked whether the fines were excessive, Bainwol said they got consumers’ attention and established a deterrent. ‘Public floggings would get attention, too, but we don’t do that,’ Coleman responded.”

Well played, Senator Coleman. Well played.

Meanwhile, over at Music That Is Free And Also Fricking Rocks, Amanda informs me that Jon has put new songs up on his IUMA page. (I have to find this out from Amanda because someone else never updates his blog. But I digress.) And! They fricking rock! “Later” and particularly “Gun” remind me of the reformed-ELO-fan sound of 56 Kilobit Sentinel, and the lo-fi / high harmony contrast in “Letting Go” might be my favorite moment in a Jon song yet. Plus the outro rocks like Silverchair.

September 3, 2003 /

Fun With Iteration

Jon once proposed that Will Smith produce a franchise of songs in the same vein as “Miami,” ranking each city in order of preference:

“Miami, my second home!”

“Los Angeles, my third home!”

“Dublin, my… 467th home.”

More Fun With Iteration

This morning, TARCing in ten minutes late to my advisor appointment, I managed to correctly get his office extension by picking a known number down the hall and trying each subsequent number.

August 21, 2003 /

I had two fears come true in the last twenty-four hours. This morning, I wasn’t looking, and for the first time ever I got on the wrong bus for work. It took me another three hours just to get back to where I started. I don’t know how late I’ll be here tonight.

And last night my fish finally winged his way to The Land Where Fish Are Eternally Blessed. I don’t really know why–this was about the best his life has ever been. I’ve been changing his water regularly, feeding him once a day, and he hasn’t been moved in weeks.

When he first started acting oddly, Maria and I googled frantically for betta diseases, and checked him for all the symptoms. There was a little while when we thought he had a fungal infection, but we proved ourselves wrong. For all appearances, he was a perfectly healthy fish, except didn’t swim around–he just hovered at the top or sank to the bottom of the bowl. He was still breathing when I left for work yesterday morning, and he wasn’t when I got home.

I never liked the idea of flushing fish, so we gave him a burial, in a small cardboard box lined with paper towels. Maria suggested putting some of his things in with him, which we did: some of the red glass stones from the bottom of his bowl, and the little ceramic tank goblin.

We closed the box, said thank you and goodbye, and slid him into the trash chute. I think it came open on the way down, because it made a lot of noise, like stones hitting the walls. I was proud of this; he went out like a rock star.

He was only a fish, but since I’m a human, I ascribed to him more importance than fish usually get. He was a constant in almost-a-year of rapidly changing roommates. He was a dependent at a time when I very much needed to take care of something, as a means of being okay again myself. This was something Amanda knew, magically, empathically. In three years of gifts, he was the best she ever gave to me. I very nearly named him Hope.

I might get another betta eventually, but not until I have a bigger tank, a heater and a water filter. Some of the stuff I read while I was looking for symptoms the other night made me wonder how he lived this long at all (but then again, I’ve wondered how he lived through a lot of things).

He only started really flaring at a mirror a week and a half ago: he was learning to stand up for himself. When I had loud music on near him, he’d dance to it, out of time. He was quite a lot like me, or what I’d like to be: shy, red, beautiful, effortlessly able to forget.

August 18, 2003 /

I hated “Too Little Too Late” for a long time. After he picked up the album at Sam Goody in what, September?, Jon left it in his stereo most days; since it doubled as an alarm clock, we’d both wake up to that raucous opening riff every morning, puffy and tired and grouchy. I really resented that guitar, and even though I loved the album, I had to skip the first track to listen to it.

That was the Autumn of Sleepovers, when everyone in our little accidental clique ended up in bed together in some kind of combination. It was all very innocent, except when it wasn’t. And it was all very intimate, and a little desperate, in ways we couldn’t see at the time.

We never had any intention of becoming as self-involved as we did, but that’s the way structures function in small, overeducated, post-adolescent Western society. It tightened until it snapped, and after that we were both more free and more disparate.

I never had any intention of going through an experience like that, either, but I did. I learned a lot when I didn’t think I had much left to learn. I came out the other side still angsty, of course, but I’d grown; I’d also learned how to express myself in cartoons and small sentences. A year later I started this journal, in the small warm shelter of a dorm room shared with Jon and Amanda and sometimes Ken, and the urge to write had some of its origin in the fall of 2000.

I listened to Maroon for the first time in months today, which maybe wasn’t the wisest idea. I’m still at the office, and it’s all very vivid now: nostalgia, unfulfillment and ache.

Amanda, Tara, Lauren, Alison, Rachel, Darren, Ken, and most of all Jon: Forgive me this outburst. I miss you. Come back.

August 5, 2003 /

Okay, one more nitpick. From Jon:

“… a Danville Cracker Barrel restaurant has been unwittingly selling postcards of Louisville’s skyline, emblazoned with ‘Lexington.'”

Danville: Home to Centre College. Host of a 2004 Presidential Debate. Thanks, Danville. Danville.

Did you know you can make nachos in a pie pan?

July 20, 2003 /

Last night, DC and I were fortunate enough to host an exCentriate dinner party, and I was an adventurous cook! I made fajitas in the absolute minimum possible time: dinner plans were made at 1500 hours, and we ate at 2030. That included biking to the store, buying everything, making the marinade and pico de gallo from scratch, allowing said marinade and pico to refrigerate, setting up the table with the extra leaf and Foreman-grilling the steaks. I can’t claim to have done it alone, as DC helped with shopping and Alison actually fried the vegetables, but I’m still really proud. I mixed and matched ingredients from different recipes, and I even added ideas of my own (strawberries in the pico and Crazy Salt in the marinade).

And the amazing thing is it all turned out really good. We all ate until we couldn’t move; the only things left over were tortillas and pico, because the recipe I used made WAY too much (but now I get to eat fresh salsa on my nachos for a week). Afterwards we sat and talked about Centre people forever, the way Centre people always do, and Alison told stories and we played with Lucy (from The Yellow Dar) and it was really, really good to see them all again.

Jon said last night that it feels like it’s been a very long time since we graduated, and it does feel that way, even though it hasn’t yet been two months. We’ve all changed. For one thing, I’m suddenly this person who loves to cook, even as I’m still stumbling through things like the difference between pan- and stir-frying. Maria and I are making sweet and sour chicken later tonight, and I’m looking forward to it as much as I would to a game of Halo. Am I the same at all?

Well, yes, or I wouldn’t miss them so much again. I lived with Jon and Amanda for almost three years, really, and even though I love my new Louisville life, that’s not something I’ve easily let go.