A: my sister's bf and i got along very well. he was neither creepy, nor dripping with man-hormone. to be fair, he usually an affable guy, evenly-tempered, if not cursed with a way of speaking that makes it seem as if he is always being condescending. it took me a lot of time, and much attention to realize this is just his natural speaking voice. how unfortunate for him, i bet a lot of people don't dig it.

he made me dinner and didn't call me "toots" once.

though, he has gotten in the habit of calling me "sweetie" in the same way he calls my sister "sweetie". strange.

i'll say this, though: even though it can drive me mad, his machoness, coupled with his obvious affection for me (he has affection for everyone in my family) means that if the shit ever hits the fan in my life, i know he has my back.

and sometimes it's quite comforting to know you have a hyper-macho italian who knows jujitsu on your side.

B: for the first time since i have been in my room at this house, i lit a bunch of candles, put on music (f#a#) and watched the walls. i know this sounds like no big deal, but i have had virtually no furniture in my room, and a lot of mess. and as i have been here, i have bought candles and WhatNot to decorate, but i had no flat surfaces to set them on. any extra space on the shelves or desk have been covered by cds, as was a great portion of my floor.

but with the Great Clean of November 2001, i moved a small cabinet thingie donated by a friend and put all my candles, in addition to a few knick-knack-a-brack things that have followed me for years and years, out for my viewing pleasure. the cabinet thing is so small, and the number of candles so great (thank you McFrugal's), the table looks like a catholic shrine, except there are no saints and i'm jewish.

but it was beautiful. for the first time i was able to really appreciate the nice soft pink of my bedroom walls (i ignored the frightening stenciled trim) and the warmth of the candles just made everythign right. there was the sound of the train outside, and the sadness of the man's voice

"the car's on fire and there's no driver at the wheel
and the sewers are all muddied with a thousand lonely suicides
and a dark wind blows

the government is corrupt
and we're on so many drugs
with the radio on and the curtains drawn

we're trapped in the belly of this horrible machine
and the machine is bleeding to death"

and nothing else was there, it was just me, my brother, the music, and our momentarily slow sad eyes.

and then

my brother started taking monk monk and mr bickerson (read: my stuffed animals, monk monk the gorilla, and mr bickerson the big blue chenile bear) and making them either hump my face or hump each other, all the while giving monk monk (who was in his possession, while i clutched onto mr bickerson for dear life as best i could) the voice of Sandy the Breasted Man.

oh, he's a funny guy. and i'm glad he doesn't read my diary unless i want to show him something, or else i'd be in for a world of hurt if he read the above.

woops.

he started to show me the journal that he put together in poland. it's fantastic. his drawing has gotten so good, i am really impresesd. though, to be fair, i really can't say enough good things about my brother. even though he made my stuffed animals hump my face.

he still has emptiness in his face, and when he told me about birkenau (sp) tears rolled down his cheeks and his voice walked a tightrope. but it seems as if something has shifted in him, and for this i am glad.