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a little way past memorial day  
03:05pm 28/06/2008
I made this cake on memorial day, it was a white chocolate w/ strawberry preserves. it was good but my first attempts at decorating it, well i just felt it looked to messy, but oh well.
tags: b
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09:36pm 24/06/2008
I am happy to say I got something off it's feet. I basically met this guy for Pride Parade, and hung out. Took pictures for my book, exchanged emails. Met some people, saw old friends. Yes I did. So here are some pictures for the book. I'll be posting excerpt from my book as well. Im not sure whose going to publish it but I hope to find someone. Or I'll just do it on my own. I'v done it before, and it would have been a success if I just toured on my own at the time. Anyway. I found another couple to interview, I'm not sure when we'll meet but soon. It's a couple that has been together for 11 years. I managed to send my questionaire ahead to them. AND IT worked so far. So they possibly are my next subjects. aWESOME isnt it.

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Im The straight eye, for the gay life  
07:25pm 19/06/2008
I have decided to start a small diy publishing company. One that organizes and raises awareness about social change. You would have to find a way to print your work, but anything you wrote would have a team working with you to get it done, and on the shelves of book stores. I decided this today. But also, I'd like the start off by saying I'm writing this because there are little sources of books written entirely of the gay community. I don't see to many books like that. If there are, throw some my way but its not going to stop me from writing. I will be jumping into investigative journalism, freelance style. I will be going all over New England, investigating the gay community for all their glory, and because I feel this is the time where a movement has definitly put itself from roots to finish. Gay marriage needs to get pushed, and there needs to be as many sources for the explaination, truthful look at the gay community. I'm not gay, but I believe that there shouldn't be anyone preaching about who your married to, as long as your in love. I decided to write a picture book of investigative journalism, interviewing all sorts of people all over new england. From Boston to Portland. I will go into the lives of gay people, and I will be reporting the culture as it approaches a change in the law in every state. Also I will be contributing half of the proceeds to the AIDs project. Because my mother, being straight, has AIDS, and I want to support this fund because it's needed for straight and gay people. The rest goes to publishing and my college fund (hehehe). I figure if I can't get a scholorship I might as well, create one.

If anyone reading this gay or straight wants to contribute to this project. Let me know, If you live on the west coast,midwest, south, and looking for a project and this one sounds like the one for you. Would you like to develop a wider perspective for this book. Let me know. rmrodi@ccri.edu or just send a comment on my journal. Also if you have recommendations for freelance publishing houses let me know. thank you.
ps: anyone on my friends list, also gets exclusive documentation of progress in the book. I'll be posting pictures and stories.
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maybe im a spoiled poet  
01:51pm 20/05/2008
I don’t give a hoot about grammar, but it distracted someone so bad yesterday. I post my story on some live journal blog and all she could say was I needed better grammar. I’m sorry, I was like just read the damn story. I didn’t say that but wanted to. I don’t care about fragments. It’s like just read the story. It may be the writers style if you focus on the story. It’s like some asshole who corrects your spelling mistakes. Fine you’re a picky reader. Yes your criticism was construction, but if your going to complain about grammar read the whole thing and correct the errors all the way through. I need someone to dot that for me, I’m a lazy writer. I know I shouldn’t be that way, but I read good stories with many errors before. I guess it’s their point of view. Whatever. Cause it didn’t make me want to edit my grammar. It made me want to read it to her. I guess that is when being an actor comes into conflict with being a writer. You need to express it by speaking it in order to get your point across . I’m used to speaking it. It’s a new terror Tory. I wasn’t taught good grammar in elementary school. I guess I should take a class on it first. But it doesn’t mean to much to me at this point. If anyone wants to run one edit over my story so it’s readable to grammar snobs. I’ll do you a favor, two actually, I can teach you how to speak your work, or I could give you a review of your story in return. If not, don’t bother me about it. Just read it like poetry. See there is a form of everything. And some people have been taught it. I’m not on that page yet. But at least I’m gifted at saying it. Some people don’t have that. I have an imagination, some people lost that along the way. I’m blessed the way I am, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to change. That’ll happen one way or another.
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my mother and providence  
12:57pm 20/05/2008

Here are some photos from the day I spent with my mother on wensday at prospect park.

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(no subject)  
06:57pm 13/05/2008

I’m banned

By Rachel Rodi


The breeze was crashing into trees, the ground was wet, yet the rain stopped.

My grandmother was going through the cleansing part in her depression. You know that part where you can’t stop cleaning. I made myself some cereal, toppled with 8 spoons of sugars. Grabbed myself a sip of water, and began to watch her. She was entertaining to listen to, plus her room was full of colors. Fabrics, looms, aisles, fitting in a room no bigger than a bath room.

“How do you fit everything in there.” I ask, chewing on a mouthful of cereal. Her jaw dropped, her hands down to her sides and her feet stopped slightly.

She replied, “You know, I just threw out my television. To give me some more room, it’s been in my closet distracting me from my weaving. I can’t even paint in here without turning to the television, eight or nine times.”

The phone rings and I am slurping up the rest of my cereal. I put the bowl down, then run picking up the receiver.

“Hello, Rachel…it is Angela from next store. I am just letting you know that Steve Ricks died last night, I was wondering if your parents knew that”

“Angela, no….I don’t think they know this…Let me give you my grandmother.” My grandmother picked up the phone.

They spoke a while, then my grandfather walked up stairs. I turn to him and say,

“Steve Ricks, across the street died last night.”

“I knew something was wrong…” His face dropped of expression.

“Who is he? Isn’t he that cop who parks his car outside of his house every day.” I asked, because honestly I didn’t know who Steve Ricks was, but when she said across the street…I figured it was him.

“Yes…yeah, when’d you hear this?”

“Angela, she’s on the phone.”

I sat and thought to myself. ‘Where death comes from? What causes someone to die? I thought about what I would do with my grandparents.’ The mere thought became unbearable.

My grandmother hung up the phone.

“Maybe I should call him.” My grandfather said, grabbing the phone off the hook.

“Hey Joe, I heard about your father…I saw all the cars, and would have came over but I didn’t want to get in your space….Yeah Joe……I’m sorry.” He stopped talking to listen to Joe speak. “Yeah Joe, if there is anything I can do let me know.” He hangs up.

My grandmother started to cry.

“You know…I felt so bad for him….he used to like to go flea markets…drive his car and go to flea markets and he would collect things. His son made him throw out all the things he collected. When I’m near my death, I want no one to touch a thing from my room.” She said wiping her tears away.

“Yeah Steve, would take daffodils out of baseball parks and plant them in his yard. He was a funny guy. But his son, did take his car away because he drove 5 miles an hour. He was bound to kill someone by how slow he drove.” Says my grandfather.

“He was probably scared, knowing this day and age.”

I walked out of the room, it was time for a hit from the bowl, I was so angry at the fact his son made him throw away his collections, before he passed.

A few weeks later, was the most dreaded day of the month. Buying weed day. It’s horrible. I have to call this guy and beg him to sell me pot. He’s super paranoid, and thinks everyone in my neighborhood stares out their windows. He makes me flash him every time to prove I’m not a cop.

But this time was different, he made me meet him a half a mile away from my house. Which he didn’t like meeting me because of Officer Rick’s cop car being parked in the street. He had a blunt lit, and he passed it to me.

I got out of his car, and for some reason I felt like the paranoid one. A cop turned around the corner, and I literally flew into a bush. The cop had to see me, and that he did. He parked right up to me, and I tried to curl up as tightly as I could.

It was surprise! Officer Ricks…I thought this would be easy, I’m fine…He’ll let me go, he’s my neighbor.

“Is there anything wrong here.”
“No…I just got paranoid.” I did not just say that……I did…

“Paranoid….ey? You have an id on you?”

“You’re my neighbor…I thought you would know who I am”

“What does that mean…let me ask you again, can I see your id?”

I reached into my pockets.. And pulled out the weed. Shit…..

“drop the drugs!” He squawked, and I wanted to run….but there was no bush.

“Look officer…I need this stuff, it’s my medicine.”

“Do you have a marijuana license?”


“Then your in trouble”.

Sitting in his car as he drove, my high was reaching it’s peak.

“I‘m totally banned from the outside deals…for now on!” I then began singing, he didn’t look amused. “I’m not a bad person or anything….just some weed…ma-y-un-….you smell like onions..”

This guy sucks… he doesn’t even care, about my problems and this is the same guy who threw out all his dad’s belongings before he died.

“Yeah, you’re the asshole who threw out of all his dad’s belongings before he died.” The car stopped…shit. It all went silent. He opened the car door, and let me out.

“Your right I am an asshole…whose got a change of heart.” He gets back into his car, reached into his pocket. Then handed me back my weed, and he drove off.

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Opium: A History day 28  
02:32pm 21/04/2008


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Mad girls love song  
10:30am 18/04/2008

by Sylvia plath

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead
I lift my lids and all is born again
(I think I made you up inside my head)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red
and arbitrary darkness gallops in
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
and sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said.
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
atleast when spring comes they roar back again
I shut my eyes all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head) 

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Opium: A History day 27  
10:27am 18/04/2008
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Opium: A History day 26  
12:04pm 25/03/2008
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