my brother and i were watching the Transformers trailer today...to which my brother complained, "unh, Bumblebee!?!" ever a Mace. (perhaps he was more articulate, but you get the idea).
how does Bumblebee go from a VW bug to [what looks like] a Chevy Camaro? (not that i have anything against the new Camaro: see my ode to the 2009 Camaro) i can see the producers over at Dreamworks now; “so, the VW bug is a bit 80’s and, well, German. How about something a little more American, like a Chevy! Chevys have such an American name. Chevys are ‘Like a rock.’ I like the sound of that!”
“But rocks don’t transform, sir. At least not very quickly.”
“We can fix that. What’s our budget?”
i say this a lot it seems: “oh, Michael Bay.”
*sigh*
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Monday, December 18, 2006
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Progression, I swear (New York round).
what i've learned this week.
moderate binge drinking is the best cure for a head cold. immoderate water and Naked juice drinking does not really cure a hangover however.
it is entirely possible to drink all night for free. you just have to 1) know a bartender, 2) crash a pretentious private party with an open bar, or 3) be female. if all of these things apply to you, you're in trouble.
you can beat box on a flute. to Herbie Hancock no less. which actually sounds pretty sweet.
New York is a small town. don't let that population of eight million thing sway you. if you think you won't run into people you know, you're wrong.
the motion-sensored artistic light installment in Union Square is a close second to being on drugs.
i'm pretty sure a grande carmel macchiato costs more in New York than anywhere else.
it is entirely possible to subsist on pizza and nothing else. it is entirely possible that i did this for the year and a half that i lived in NY.
moderate binge drinking is the best cure for a head cold. immoderate water and Naked juice drinking does not really cure a hangover however.
it is entirely possible to drink all night for free. you just have to 1) know a bartender, 2) crash a pretentious private party with an open bar, or 3) be female. if all of these things apply to you, you're in trouble.
you can beat box on a flute. to Herbie Hancock no less. which actually sounds pretty sweet.
New York is a small town. don't let that population of eight million thing sway you. if you think you won't run into people you know, you're wrong.
the motion-sensored artistic light installment in Union Square is a close second to being on drugs.
i'm pretty sure a grande carmel macchiato costs more in New York than anywhere else.
it is entirely possible to subsist on pizza and nothing else. it is entirely possible that i did this for the year and a half that i lived in NY.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
sure doesn't feel like a vacation...
New York is the worst place to be sick. There's just something about the city that screams "you should not be at home sick in bed." better yet, sick in somebody else's bed. always awesome.
this has, of course, not stopped me from going out, high on sudafed (they should really tell you on the box: this drug may cause tangential thoughts and sentences. normal people may look at you questioningly). i've been drinking a lot more tea than alcohol, though. unfortunately, my partner in tea is on the other side of the country. and when i say tea, i really do mean tea.
this has, of course, not stopped me from going out, high on sudafed (they should really tell you on the box: this drug may cause tangential thoughts and sentences. normal people may look at you questioningly). i've been drinking a lot more tea than alcohol, though. unfortunately, my partner in tea is on the other side of the country. and when i say tea, i really do mean tea.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Progression, I swear (Round Four).
what i learned this week:
bringing up religion, abortion or the death penalty will at best beget discussion of the topic, and at worst, an all-out argument. or a war or something. unless of course you are with me, and the topic is the death penalty. which i apparently don't care about one way or the other. (in discussing this with Glenn the other night i believe my response was, "in 16th century England, they used to behead people and display the head on a stake on the London Bridge for a month. at least we've progressed.")
who says i'm not an optimist.
saying that you "don't respect people's [religious] beliefs" may come off as callous. but then, people sort of misconstrue the meaning of that statement.
that one person i know who voted for Bush over Gore in 2000 is completely misguided. and, you know, a few million other Americans as well.
the outpouring of a santa claus convention can really back up traffic.
two-year-olds can push a stuffed animal down a flight of stairs for hours and be thoroughly entertained. two-year-olds are also better at pronouncing my name than most adults i encounter.
bringing up religion, abortion or the death penalty will at best beget discussion of the topic, and at worst, an all-out argument. or a war or something. unless of course you are with me, and the topic is the death penalty. which i apparently don't care about one way or the other. (in discussing this with Glenn the other night i believe my response was, "in 16th century England, they used to behead people and display the head on a stake on the London Bridge for a month. at least we've progressed.")
who says i'm not an optimist.
saying that you "don't respect people's [religious] beliefs" may come off as callous. but then, people sort of misconstrue the meaning of that statement.
that one person i know who voted for Bush over Gore in 2000 is completely misguided. and, you know, a few million other Americans as well.
the outpouring of a santa claus convention can really back up traffic.
two-year-olds can push a stuffed animal down a flight of stairs for hours and be thoroughly entertained. two-year-olds are also better at pronouncing my name than most adults i encounter.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Saturday, December 02, 2006
we fear change
some technical things (announcements, if you will).
i'll be revamping this site in the weeks to come (on account of my finally having some time to fuck around with code and shit) this will likely involve site feed, possibly adsense and i don't know. a different font maybe. i know. try to contain your excitement. i'll try to implement some clever weekly bit. which may or may not last (if you've been paying attention, you know that i've already sort of done this. albeit a bit slapdash).
my blog won't get you drunk or give you an orgasm (well, i kind of fucking hope it doesn't, for that would imply your life is more pathetic than mine) but regardless, something to look forward to. like Lost and that trip to Hawaii you can't afford.
shockingly, i have to go to a party now.
i'll be revamping this site in the weeks to come (on account of my finally having some time to fuck around with code and shit) this will likely involve site feed, possibly adsense and i don't know. a different font maybe. i know. try to contain your excitement. i'll try to implement some clever weekly bit. which may or may not last (if you've been paying attention, you know that i've already sort of done this. albeit a bit slapdash).
my blog won't get you drunk or give you an orgasm (well, i kind of fucking hope it doesn't, for that would imply your life is more pathetic than mine) but regardless, something to look forward to. like Lost and that trip to Hawaii you can't afford.
shockingly, i have to go to a party now.
Progression, I swear (Round three).
what i learned this week:
if you write a really good term paper, your professor might accuse you of plagiarism.
high school drama never really ends. in fact, it may actually occur after high school.
i really need an xbox360 (i'll note here that this may not be construed as "work safe". i'll also note that even digital avatars have tan lines. who knew?)
it is entirely possible to purchase every meal at starbucks.
it is entirely possible that i drink too many energy drinks which do not actually provide energy (she types, glancing over at the collection of empty Rockstar cans on her night table. squinting, she notices the words "energy supplement," suddenly realizing her problem)
if you write a really good term paper, your professor might accuse you of plagiarism.
high school drama never really ends. in fact, it may actually occur after high school.
i really need an xbox360 (i'll note here that this may not be construed as "work safe". i'll also note that even digital avatars have tan lines. who knew?)
it is entirely possible to purchase every meal at starbucks.
it is entirely possible that i drink too many energy drinks which do not actually provide energy (she types, glancing over at the collection of empty Rockstar cans on her night table. squinting, she notices the words "energy supplement," suddenly realizing her problem)
Thursday, November 30, 2006
i wish you'd open up to me. i need some ammunition.
i do apologize. i'm in the middle of writing a play. there has, unfortunately, been more drama in my life lately than on the page. and i'm coming up on finals.
note to self: next time, in fighting via email, ask antagonist to write in pentameter with an a/b rhyming scheme. kill two birds with one stone.
also: out of narcissism, i googled myself. which i haven't done in a while. i apparently made the President's List at my school over the summer term (i'm guessing for bullshitting my way into a 4.0; don't worry. it will never happen again) i'm right under somebody named Sassafras.
the things we learn about ourselves on the internet.
related: my therapist actually referred to somebody i was talking about this week as "sounding narcissistic". i think this one's a keeper. unfortunately, she wasn't referring to me.
in the meantime: Borat: the memo
note to self: next time, in fighting via email, ask antagonist to write in pentameter with an a/b rhyming scheme. kill two birds with one stone.
also: out of narcissism, i googled myself. which i haven't done in a while. i apparently made the President's List at my school over the summer term (i'm guessing for bullshitting my way into a 4.0; don't worry. it will never happen again) i'm right under somebody named Sassafras.
the things we learn about ourselves on the internet.
related: my therapist actually referred to somebody i was talking about this week as "sounding narcissistic". i think this one's a keeper. unfortunately, she wasn't referring to me.
in the meantime: Borat: the memo
Saturday, November 25, 2006
i wanna go home. i miss my cook.
detritus.
i always had this feeling as a teenager that i didn't belong in my hometown. there's nothing like a trip home as an adult to remind you exactly who you aren't.
i had to go to a baby shower today. which was preceded by my having to go shopping for baby accoutrements this morning, marginally hung over and sleep deprived. my mom accompanied me, for it seems she thinks this is something i am inept at. which could be true. the last time i was in the baby aisle, i was eighteen and searching for drug paraphernalia and raver toys.
my brother brought a mac into my parents' house for the first time. i'm surprised my father didn't throw him out.
boys never really grow up. if anybody ever tells you otherwise, they are lying.
i always had this feeling as a teenager that i didn't belong in my hometown. there's nothing like a trip home as an adult to remind you exactly who you aren't.
i had to go to a baby shower today. which was preceded by my having to go shopping for baby accoutrements this morning, marginally hung over and sleep deprived. my mom accompanied me, for it seems she thinks this is something i am inept at. which could be true. the last time i was in the baby aisle, i was eighteen and searching for drug paraphernalia and raver toys.
my brother brought a mac into my parents' house for the first time. i'm surprised my father didn't throw him out.
boys never really grow up. if anybody ever tells you otherwise, they are lying.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
blocking out the world
things:
i had to write a 16th century style dramatic scene for a class last week. when my father read it, he told me his first thought was, "did she plagiarize this..?"
i'll take that as a compliment.
also, Sasha Frere-Jones reviewed the Deftones' new album in this week's New Yorker.
"With his black hair and small beard, [Chino]Moreno, who is thirty-three, looks like someone who's stranded between boyhood and adulthood."
yes, i would say that's fairly accurate.
i had to write a 16th century style dramatic scene for a class last week. when my father read it, he told me his first thought was, "did she plagiarize this..?"
i'll take that as a compliment.
also, Sasha Frere-Jones reviewed the Deftones' new album in this week's New Yorker.
"With his black hair and small beard, [Chino]Moreno, who is thirty-three, looks like someone who's stranded between boyhood and adulthood."
yes, i would say that's fairly accurate.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
so...can I go back to not writing?
the weather gods, it seems, are in tune with my emotions. there's been a veritable deluge in the northwest the last few weeks. Washington is a lake; Oregon, more of a puddle. my father bought a $500 (yellow)gore-tex rain-jacket, which i had no comment on. i will say this: for $500, it had better not just deflect rain, but send it straight back up into the clouds and break that motherfucking cloud into timid vapor.
anyway. my point...
i was explaining to a friend tonight that Portland has rid me of 6 years of urban irritants (read: traffic on the 10 freeway, Los Angeleans, terrorist threats, the NY marathon running down my street, that lovely perma-urine aroma of the NYC subway, drunken Poles at 4am...) and then it occurred to me: maybe this was not a good thing.
sure, i'm less likely to punch somebody out. i'm less likely to have a crowd-induced panic attack.
here it seems i have nobody to hate, no daily irritants to focus all my hatred on. suddenly i'm left with trees and rain and peace and quiet. and self-loathing came out of hibernation.
oh man i need a parade to ruin my Sunday morning.
anyway. my point...
i was explaining to a friend tonight that Portland has rid me of 6 years of urban irritants (read: traffic on the 10 freeway, Los Angeleans, terrorist threats, the NY marathon running down my street, that lovely perma-urine aroma of the NYC subway, drunken Poles at 4am...) and then it occurred to me: maybe this was not a good thing.
sure, i'm less likely to punch somebody out. i'm less likely to have a crowd-induced panic attack.
here it seems i have nobody to hate, no daily irritants to focus all my hatred on. suddenly i'm left with trees and rain and peace and quiet. and self-loathing came out of hibernation.
oh man i need a parade to ruin my Sunday morning.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
moping and working is surprisingly taxing
i'm on...um...what we'll call a personal hiatus. try to contain your enthusiasm.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Friday, October 27, 2006
iEgoism
Ok. We’ve all seen the slew of Macintosh ads featuring Justin Long and John Hodgeman. We try to fast forward through them on our Tivos, but, well, shit happens. And I love John Hodgeman. Alas, he has gone over to the dark side. I digress…
In opening up this week’s New Yorker, the pages immediately flipped open to a Mac ad, cleverly made of paper stiffer than the rest of the magazine complete with a little fold-out brochure. This annoyed me for two reasons. One: it makes the magazine a trifle hard to fold over and stick in my bag, and Two: I fucking hate Mac advertising.
“PCs are for the stuff we have to do, like pie charts and spreadsheets. Macs are for the stuff we want to do, like photos, music and movies.”
(I’ll let the grammatical context of this ad slide for now, though I believe they’re missing a few key verbs)
I have a PC. I don’t believe I have ever made a pie chart or a spreadsheet. I might have made a spreadsheet at work once or twice, and to be honest, I think it was on a Mac.
I recently had to write a discussion response for my Persuasion and Compliance Gaining class (don’t ask; it fills a requirement), in which I detailed a marketing campaign that used contrast or social comparison in an effort to persuade consumers. I used Macintosh’s marketing campaign as an example of this. They have taken the idea of the Mac versus PC “persona” to a literal level; they don’t even show their product in the advertisement anymore, it is simply two actors attempting to embody a brand of computer, from an Apple-biased standpoint. The initial Long/Hodgeman commercial revolves around the concept that Macs are, stated simply, “better.” This, of course, is entirely subjective to whoever is buying the product; it depends on what you are looking for. In Mac’s case, it often depends on how you want to look .
In some ways, it is an effective campaign, at least to reinforce Apple’s already loyal Mac customers. But one has to wonder, does insulting the competition really sway them to change brand loyalty? Listing off possible faults in PCs may not necessarily be the best way at winning over that demographic of computer users. Whether or not it is ethical is also subject to opinion. I personally don’t like this type of advertising; companies who ascribe this sort of egoistic approach to advertising generally turn me off (I can’t say that makes me more inclined to, say, Microsoft, or Dell, but I can’t think offhand of a similar marketing campaign on their part, but then I try not to watch commercials and believe that advertising is the bane of American society. Well, that and religion. But that’s a whole other blog entry).
You are not your computer. If you were, you'd be better at binary.
In opening up this week’s New Yorker, the pages immediately flipped open to a Mac ad, cleverly made of paper stiffer than the rest of the magazine complete with a little fold-out brochure. This annoyed me for two reasons. One: it makes the magazine a trifle hard to fold over and stick in my bag, and Two: I fucking hate Mac advertising.
“PCs are for the stuff we have to do, like pie charts and spreadsheets. Macs are for the stuff we want to do, like photos, music and movies.”
(I’ll let the grammatical context of this ad slide for now, though I believe they’re missing a few key verbs)
I have a PC. I don’t believe I have ever made a pie chart or a spreadsheet. I might have made a spreadsheet at work once or twice, and to be honest, I think it was on a Mac.
I recently had to write a discussion response for my Persuasion and Compliance Gaining class (don’t ask; it fills a requirement), in which I detailed a marketing campaign that used contrast or social comparison in an effort to persuade consumers. I used Macintosh’s marketing campaign as an example of this. They have taken the idea of the Mac versus PC “persona” to a literal level; they don’t even show their product in the advertisement anymore, it is simply two actors attempting to embody a brand of computer, from an Apple-biased standpoint. The initial Long/Hodgeman commercial revolves around the concept that Macs are, stated simply, “better.” This, of course, is entirely subjective to whoever is buying the product; it depends on what you are looking for. In Mac’s case, it often depends on how you want to look .
In some ways, it is an effective campaign, at least to reinforce Apple’s already loyal Mac customers. But one has to wonder, does insulting the competition really sway them to change brand loyalty? Listing off possible faults in PCs may not necessarily be the best way at winning over that demographic of computer users. Whether or not it is ethical is also subject to opinion. I personally don’t like this type of advertising; companies who ascribe this sort of egoistic approach to advertising generally turn me off (I can’t say that makes me more inclined to, say, Microsoft, or Dell, but I can’t think offhand of a similar marketing campaign on their part, but then I try not to watch commercials and believe that advertising is the bane of American society. Well, that and religion. But that’s a whole other blog entry).
You are not your computer. If you were, you'd be better at binary.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Baby...did you forget to take your meds?
what constitutes "good writing" is entirely subjective. if you ask me, i write devastatingly good letters to exboyfriends and particularly awful research papers that lack discernible theses. my grades would suggest otherwise; every time i am certain i've turned in the most god-awful piece of crap term paper, i get an A on it (oh happy day!)and from a difficult professor at that.
conversely, every time i am certain that i have missed at least half of the questions on a science or math exam, i am indeed correct. without exaggeration.
this is why i have tremendous respect for doctors. and think that they're crazy.
unrelated, the new Placebo album is really good. *NOTE* since i have have gotten an inordinate amount of google hits for this header, let me help you out. The song is called Meds by Placebo. it's on their new album. aptly titled, Meds. go figure.
and i am inept at grocery shopping. among other things.
(and perhaps i'm just going blind, but did the new iTunes interface make all the icons smaller? is that what they call an improvement?)
conversely, every time i am certain that i have missed at least half of the questions on a science or math exam, i am indeed correct. without exaggeration.
this is why i have tremendous respect for doctors. and think that they're crazy.
unrelated, the new Placebo album is really good. *NOTE* since i have have gotten an inordinate amount of google hits for this header, let me help you out. The song is called Meds by Placebo. it's on their new album. aptly titled, Meds. go figure.
and i am inept at grocery shopping. among other things.
(and perhaps i'm just going blind, but did the new iTunes interface make all the icons smaller? is that what they call an improvement?)
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Progression, I swear (Round two).
I’ve had interesting things to say; they now elude me. It’s the drugs. I’m sorry. It’s like being stuck in bullet mode in Word. Man I hate that. Where was I…oh yes.
What I learned this week:
It is difficult to run gracefully with coffee. The only thing I miss about Dunkin Donuts coffee: lids with a convenient sippy-cup tab. (If there’s a name for this, it is lost on me. if you don't have a clue what i'm talking about, you probably live in the NW)
Drunken pumpkin carving is awesome. Just be sure to buy plenty of band-aids.
House of Leaves, though terribly interesting, is not the most portable of novels. Thanks Mike.
The Dresden Dolls are the best band ever. Have you ever heard an analytical cover of Bon Jovi’s Livin on a Prayer? The lyrics are a bit contradicting.
Lance and Matt aren’t gay. "I think people see pictures and they think we're these overgrown frat guys," says Armstrong. "We all have buds, we all take guy trips.” Do we? Do we all take guy trips?
Tom Tykwer is my hero.
Jimmy Dean is destroying America one Pancake & Sausage on a stick at a time. Curiously, only in the Southeast.
What I learned this week:
It is difficult to run gracefully with coffee. The only thing I miss about Dunkin Donuts coffee: lids with a convenient sippy-cup tab. (If there’s a name for this, it is lost on me. if you don't have a clue what i'm talking about, you probably live in the NW)
Drunken pumpkin carving is awesome. Just be sure to buy plenty of band-aids.
House of Leaves, though terribly interesting, is not the most portable of novels. Thanks Mike.
The Dresden Dolls are the best band ever. Have you ever heard an analytical cover of Bon Jovi’s Livin on a Prayer? The lyrics are a bit contradicting.
Lance and Matt aren’t gay. "I think people see pictures and they think we're these overgrown frat guys," says Armstrong. "We all have buds, we all take guy trips.” Do we? Do we all take guy trips?
Tom Tykwer is my hero.
Jimmy Dean is destroying America one Pancake & Sausage on a stick at a time. Curiously, only in the Southeast.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Progression, I swear (Round one).
In an attempt to instill some semblance of routine and actual, oh I don’t know, effort in my life, I have decided to begin a weekly “themed” piece concerning things that I have learned each week. Why? Because it’s a proven fact (the proof of which I shall subsequently google in an attempt to back up. I’m nothing if not credible) that people love lists. Of things. Grocery lists, for example; I bet you’ve never seen a grocery paragraph. A grocery haiku? I think not.
Donald Trump isn’t gay. And has really bad taste. We knew this.
George Eads in my hero. Yet somehow, he inspired very few adjectives when I was writing his bio earlier this week.
Broken Halo gets me drunk.
That shape in the foreground of Hans Holbein’s The Ambassadors is a distorted skull. And I totally have a crush on my 16th century English drama professor.
Eighth graders are now apparently required to take molecular biology (and posting death threats against Bush on your Myspace profile is a bad idea).
Babies are the new Glock (side note: the Glock E-Tool is not, as it might sound, a web browser).
NyQuil’s website has a sleep aptitude test, which I flunked, even though I drink NyQuil every night in order to fall asleep (I’m the reason they card for it in Oregon). Ironic, no? “You are a "walking zombie" and unproductive.” Yup. That’s me.
Donald Trump isn’t gay. And has really bad taste. We knew this.
George Eads in my hero. Yet somehow, he inspired very few adjectives when I was writing his bio earlier this week.
Broken Halo gets me drunk.
That shape in the foreground of Hans Holbein’s The Ambassadors is a distorted skull. And I totally have a crush on my 16th century English drama professor.
Eighth graders are now apparently required to take molecular biology (and posting death threats against Bush on your Myspace profile is a bad idea).
Babies are the new Glock (side note: the Glock E-Tool is not, as it might sound, a web browser).
NyQuil’s website has a sleep aptitude test, which I flunked, even though I drink NyQuil every night in order to fall asleep (I’m the reason they card for it in Oregon). Ironic, no? “You are a "walking zombie" and unproductive.” Yup. That’s me.
Friday, October 13, 2006
it's hard out here for a hooker.
you wouldn't think it would be hard to find white ruffled panties...
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
"This is not the comedy we intended to do when the week began..."
In navigating my brother’s social circle this weekend, (which as it turns out puts both a damper on my “game” as well as his; let me state here for the record how generous I was in sharing my female friends with him in high school. Moving on…) I was asked the ever popular small-talk question of, “What do you do?” Though I am often inclined to offer up the self-aggrandizing, “Oh I do nothing” reply, I instead responded with the truth, that I write freelance biographies for an entertainment website. To which my friend replied, “You can get paid for that?”
Yes. If the United States Postal Service doesn't misplace your paycheck for over a month, you can.
Yes. If the United States Postal Service doesn't misplace your paycheck for over a month, you can.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Spartans!
Frank Miller's 300.
I read the comic when I was working in the story department at Regency four years ago. It's about freakin time.
ADDENDUM: i received a couple of comments regarding the music in this trailer; if you're awesome, you know that it's Nine Inch Nails (Just Like You Imagined. off The Fragile. great album) if you didn't know that, well now you do.
i am personally susceptible to any marketing campaign/trailer/movie that incorporates NIN into their soundtrack. see Man on Fire (which might be the only case of cleverly woven in Linda Rondstadt i've ever witnessed as well).
I read the comic when I was working in the story department at Regency four years ago. It's about freakin time.
ADDENDUM: i received a couple of comments regarding the music in this trailer; if you're awesome, you know that it's Nine Inch Nails (Just Like You Imagined. off The Fragile. great album) if you didn't know that, well now you do.
i am personally susceptible to any marketing campaign/trailer/movie that incorporates NIN into their soundtrack. see Man on Fire (which might be the only case of cleverly woven in Linda Rondstadt i've ever witnessed as well).
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Sometimes I doubt your commitment to Sparkle Motion.
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Sunday, October 01, 2006
Then one day Holly swallowed all the pills in the house.
Portland State University recently conducted a survey of how kids, aged 8-18, perceive mental illness.
"Results show that youth expect that a child with depression or ADHD is more likely than a classmate with asthma to be socially shunned...Youth on the surveys indicated that if they thought they had depression, they would most likely talk to a friend, talk to their parents and pray."
pray?
"Results show that youth expect that a child with depression or ADHD is more likely than a classmate with asthma to be socially shunned...Youth on the surveys indicated that if they thought they had depression, they would most likely talk to a friend, talk to their parents and pray."
pray?
Thursday, September 28, 2006
ah, die Freude des Films.
due to my proclivity towards transferring colleges every year and some other technicalities, i somehow ended up taking an "understanding movies" class this semester. the professor of which looks eerily similar to my film history professor from five years ago. and, as i glanced down at the syllabus for the class, i realized that my life has either 1) come full circle, or 2) been sucked into some strange time-warp wherein i will forever be subjected to discussions of mise-en-scene, motif, allusion and allegory.
i got to watch (with weeping joy, for the third time) the clever-if-not-bizarre double-billing of Night Mail and Nuit et Brouillard (which translates to, in English, the most depressing movie ever).
if one frame of Birth of a Nation sneaks its way onto the syllabus, i'm staging a walk-out.
i got to watch (with weeping joy, for the third time) the clever-if-not-bizarre double-billing of Night Mail and Nuit et Brouillard (which translates to, in English, the most depressing movie ever).
if one frame of Birth of a Nation sneaks its way onto the syllabus, i'm staging a walk-out.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
even apples are fattening
um. New York is trying to ban trans fat from all restaurants. (i can't wait to see the thrilled look on my Nutrition professor's face tomorrow) everything has just fallen apart since my departure. if they ban pizza, i'm never moving back.
(and don't ask me what the hell i'm doing up at 8am; i really don't want to talk about it.)
(and don't ask me what the hell i'm doing up at 8am; i really don't want to talk about it.)
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
capitalizing on JRR Tolkien
i don't know if this will be any good, but i love me some evil John Malkovich.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
people like us
I sleep mostly with a pen and a notebook. I am, indeed, a notebook slut (but that'’s between you and me). When I can'’t sleep I watch infomercials on mute and write middling little villanelles built upon one person, a line and complete obscurity. It's like math with words, and the only math I'll do willingly. Like most things in my life, this one's a work-in-progress.
We cast our thoughts so we may understand
Drop words like crumbs so that we may be found
We try, as much as people like us can
What two upon meeting achieve unplanned
There is no you or I, save vowel sounds
We cast our thoughts so we may understand
Affecting silence when all this began
Too taken, ill at ease with the profound
We try, as much as people like us can
Where once you stood, when you were just one man
We build upon, where accord can abound
We cast our thoughts so we may understand
To see what comes before us over land
Is acute, coaction gaining ground
We try, as much as people like us can
We walk our path, supply what we demand
It's life my dear, existing to confound
We cast our thoughts so we may understand
We try, as much as people like us can.
We cast our thoughts so we may understand
Drop words like crumbs so that we may be found
We try, as much as people like us can
What two upon meeting achieve unplanned
There is no you or I, save vowel sounds
We cast our thoughts so we may understand
Affecting silence when all this began
Too taken, ill at ease with the profound
We try, as much as people like us can
Where once you stood, when you were just one man
We build upon, where accord can abound
We cast our thoughts so we may understand
To see what comes before us over land
Is acute, coaction gaining ground
We try, as much as people like us can
We walk our path, supply what we demand
It's life my dear, existing to confound
We cast our thoughts so we may understand
We try, as much as people like us can.
Friday, September 22, 2006
once you take your pants off d’accord isn’t really O.K. anymore.
i'm working on something really meaningful, i promise.
in the meantime, here's some David Sedaris. because you probably don't read the New Yorker. even though you should.
in the meantime, here's some David Sedaris. because you probably don't read the New Yorker. even though you should.
Monday, September 18, 2006
"I'm on a little Vicodin and some Percocet and a steroid called Nortisone, the side effect of which is mania. I swear it said so right on the bottle."
If you missed Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, I feel really sorry for you.
ADDENDUM:
so...as a rule, i try not to write about people i know. or employers. or former employers. or former co-workers. but this is too easy.
one of my former co-interns (now apparently an editorial assistant) at Nerve wrote this scathing review of Studio 60.
now, go read the New Yorker review.
that's all i have to say.
ADDENDUM:
so...as a rule, i try not to write about people i know. or employers. or former employers. or former co-workers. but this is too easy.
one of my former co-interns (now apparently an editorial assistant) at Nerve wrote this scathing review of Studio 60.
now, go read the New Yorker review.
that's all i have to say.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
"it's really so much better if you take it up the ass."
In case you can’t tell from my lack of posting, I’m on vacation. Sort of.
Far be it for me to barrage you with the banalities of my moderate hibernation, but frankly, I’m bored. And I haven’t actually left my apartment today. Why, you may ask? Because, like Paris Hilton releasing an album, I had no good reason to.
A few things.
The already anorexic iPod Nano has lost weight. Why? Because thin is in, sweetie dahling. It now comes in a plethora of Easter-egg colors no self-respecting techno-gadget ever should.
In an effort to leave my apartment, I joined an athletic club. Because, really, who’s going to stare at my ass at home? Seriously though, athletic clubs bother me. I weigh less than 120 pounds, I’m fairly good at hiding any cellulite I may have and I own all the right curve-hugging-i-look-hot-when-i-sweat work-out clothes, but there’s just a vibe about chain fitness establishments that makes me feel like I’m thirteen years old and the last girl picked for dodgeball. It’s as if they bottle that vain you're-not-pretty-or-tan-enough vibe that Los Angeles emanates and filter it through the air conditioning vents.
Also:
Back on the topic of men’s magazines, I found a heartening copy of FHM in my mailbox last week bearing a mostly naked Janet Jackson on the cover next to the eminent pull-quote “I’ve never worn so little.” I always wonder how it is in an interview that women work in the phrase “I really like to garden naked. I enjoy being dirty,” when they’re promoting a movie or album. I’ll state here for the record that it is now my lifelong goal to get the pull-quote “The only thing I love more than Camus is some good old-fashioned anal” published on the cover of a men’s magazine, next to a picture of me in a thong with my breasts covered only by a cleverly placed inanimate object.
Far be it for me to barrage you with the banalities of my moderate hibernation, but frankly, I’m bored. And I haven’t actually left my apartment today. Why, you may ask? Because, like Paris Hilton releasing an album, I had no good reason to.
A few things.
The already anorexic iPod Nano has lost weight. Why? Because thin is in, sweetie dahling. It now comes in a plethora of Easter-egg colors no self-respecting techno-gadget ever should.
In an effort to leave my apartment, I joined an athletic club. Because, really, who’s going to stare at my ass at home? Seriously though, athletic clubs bother me. I weigh less than 120 pounds, I’m fairly good at hiding any cellulite I may have and I own all the right curve-hugging-i-look-hot-when-i-sweat work-out clothes, but there’s just a vibe about chain fitness establishments that makes me feel like I’m thirteen years old and the last girl picked for dodgeball. It’s as if they bottle that vain you're-not-pretty-or-tan-enough vibe that Los Angeles emanates and filter it through the air conditioning vents.
Also:
Back on the topic of men’s magazines, I found a heartening copy of FHM in my mailbox last week bearing a mostly naked Janet Jackson on the cover next to the eminent pull-quote “I’ve never worn so little.” I always wonder how it is in an interview that women work in the phrase “I really like to garden naked. I enjoy being dirty,” when they’re promoting a movie or album. I’ll state here for the record that it is now my lifelong goal to get the pull-quote “The only thing I love more than Camus is some good old-fashioned anal” published on the cover of a men’s magazine, next to a picture of me in a thong with my breasts covered only by a cleverly placed inanimate object.
Monday, September 04, 2006
I lost my memory in Hollywood. I've had a million visions, bad and good.
Los Angeles.
Where do I begin.
My father once said to me as I drove him to LAX at 7:30am, my most unheard of hour, “you might never forgive me for saying this, but you fit in here.” It wasn’t until this last week, three years later, that I became truly offended.
A few highlights.
I got a parking ticket within 24 hours of my arrival. I witnessed a car crash while sitting at the intersection of Wilshire and Sepulveda. And a white pick-up truck with the peripheral vision of Polyphemus nearly sideswiped me on Sunset Boulevard; so bland was my nondescript Chevy Cobalt rental that it rendered me invisible to other drivers.
I marveled at the shiny new abundance of American Apparels. I gasped at the moderate attempts to bring “class” to Hollywood Boulevard (read: the pretty pink façades of Geisha House and Hillview Hollywood.) And while strolling past memory lane (read: Whitley Ave. at Hollywood), encountered this fantastic sight (courtesy of Virginia's camera phone).
In case you can’t make it out, this is my old street blocked off by an exciting assortment of emergency response vehicles.
Some things never change.
Where do I begin.
My father once said to me as I drove him to LAX at 7:30am, my most unheard of hour, “you might never forgive me for saying this, but you fit in here.” It wasn’t until this last week, three years later, that I became truly offended.
A few highlights.
I got a parking ticket within 24 hours of my arrival. I witnessed a car crash while sitting at the intersection of Wilshire and Sepulveda. And a white pick-up truck with the peripheral vision of Polyphemus nearly sideswiped me on Sunset Boulevard; so bland was my nondescript Chevy Cobalt rental that it rendered me invisible to other drivers.
I marveled at the shiny new abundance of American Apparels. I gasped at the moderate attempts to bring “class” to Hollywood Boulevard (read: the pretty pink façades of Geisha House and Hillview Hollywood.) And while strolling past memory lane (read: Whitley Ave. at Hollywood), encountered this fantastic sight (courtesy of Virginia's camera phone).
In case you can’t make it out, this is my old street blocked off by an exciting assortment of emergency response vehicles.
Some things never change.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
I have to make money. I have a car. I have a Camaro. I mean that costs money, you know?
I don’t read women’s magazines. (I have a really awful addiction to People.com, but that’s a whole other topic.) I read The New Yorker, I drool over Maxim or FHM, and I peruse, with moderate interest, GQ and Esquire, the latter because it pops up in my mailbox every month (oh, free subscriptions from Nerve). I used to read Rolling Stone, but that one didn’t forward. I hear there are a few months worth piling up in the west village for me, but I doubt I’ll ever see them.
My point? Men’s magazines are better. Period. I could go into a whole diatribe on the sexist implications of the magazine publishing industry (read: Hearst and Conde Nast. Note: should I ever become employed by either of these companies, directly or indirectly, this line will be omitted. Ah, editing.) But I digress…
I would rather know How to Have Sex with Mary Louise Parker (p. 225, Esquire) than learn 101 Sex Tricks to Try Before You Die (Cosmopolitan. I would tell you the page, if I read the damn magazine. But I don’t. See above.)
Related: I would like to take a minute to talk about cars. Yes, cars. One car in particular; the 2009 Chevy Camaro concept car.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. “It’s a Camaro.” But it’s the coolest thing I’ve seen since Tybalt’s royal blue Executioner from Romeo & Juliet, which, in addition to Claire Danes, I’ve had a hard-on for since 1996.
As Esquire writer Ezra Dyer describes the Camaro, “The front end, in particular, is not just angry looking but utterly filled with contempt for the world.”
Yes, indeed. This is the car for me.
My point? Men’s magazines are better. Period. I could go into a whole diatribe on the sexist implications of the magazine publishing industry (read: Hearst and Conde Nast. Note: should I ever become employed by either of these companies, directly or indirectly, this line will be omitted. Ah, editing.) But I digress…
I would rather know How to Have Sex with Mary Louise Parker (p. 225, Esquire) than learn 101 Sex Tricks to Try Before You Die (Cosmopolitan. I would tell you the page, if I read the damn magazine. But I don’t. See above.)
Related: I would like to take a minute to talk about cars. Yes, cars. One car in particular; the 2009 Chevy Camaro concept car.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. “It’s a Camaro.” But it’s the coolest thing I’ve seen since Tybalt’s royal blue Executioner from Romeo & Juliet, which, in addition to Claire Danes, I’ve had a hard-on for since 1996.
As Esquire writer Ezra Dyer describes the Camaro, “The front end, in particular, is not just angry looking but utterly filled with contempt for the world.”
Yes, indeed. This is the car for me.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
hi! i'm the bluebird of death!
Two things…wait…three.
One.
I’ve discovered a wonderful new diet. I like to call it the CSI diet. (granted, there are other things contributing to my lack of appetite lately, which are not blog-worthy fodder. But I swear, the pounds will just fall off you. I know, because I’m a trained nutritionist. I’m also a trained assassin. But don’t tell anybody)
1 Quiznos smoked turkey sandwich
1 glass grapefruit juice (this may be substituted with a good bottle of Guinness or a nice Oregon hefeweizen. None of that Budweiser bullshit though [sorry Brian])
60 minutes CSI (which, if necessary [read: Monday night] may be substituted with 60 minutes CSI Miami, but may NOT be substituted with 60 minutes CSI NY. We all love NY, but we all don't love CSI NY [sorry Gary Sinise])
Place self in front of television with sandwich and choice of beverage. Turn TV on. Choose CSI episode from plethora of Tivoed episodes (note: Spike airs CSI all freaking day apparently; if you have a season pass, make sure you have some space. If you’re lame and don’t have cable, insert Netflix CSI DVD. If you’re lame and don’t have Netflix, you might want to take a long look in the mirror and ask yourself why you’re not in therapy) Play episode. Raise sandwich to mouth. Take bite of sandwich. Watch Grissom poke and prod mutilated dead body and make quirky comment about his entomological fascination. Look questioningly at sandwich. Look back at dead body on TV screen. Put sandwich down. Take swig of drink and suddenly realize you really aren’t all that hungry.
Ok, to be honest, CSI doesn’t actually make me all that queasy. But it occurred to me tonight, as I ate my umpteenth meal while watching the damn show, that it might not be the best dinner companion.
Two.
I love strippers. I especially love strippers on my birthday. There’s something a little odd, however, about the combination of family and strippers. I was lucky enough to spend my birthday, the first in years, with my parents and my brother (as well as a number of friends). It was a lovely get-together, during which my father (who children believe resembles Santa Claus but I believe bears a more striking resemblance to Obi-Wan Kenobi) jokingly referred to my mother as his “bitch.” In a really endearing manner, mind you. I hugged my mother lovingly and proceeded to drag my brother and some friends to Magic Gardens, which is the Coyote Ugly of strip clubs. Here I say “drag”; my brother lives a block away from the place. Which makes it sound like he lives in a really classy neighborhood. Anyway, strippers and family, it’s that dichotomy of naughty and heart-warming, much like the cracked out eye-contact one of the strippers kept giving me all night.
A few points:
In Oregon, they take it all off. And serve alcohol. You wish you lived here.
Going to a strip club with your older brother is weird. Fun, but weird. Probably weirder for him, though, as I was the one up by the stage.
Magic Gardens does not, however, have a pole. it's really much better with a pole. [insert joke here]
Three.
wait...i forgot what three was. alas.
One.
I’ve discovered a wonderful new diet. I like to call it the CSI diet. (granted, there are other things contributing to my lack of appetite lately, which are not blog-worthy fodder. But I swear, the pounds will just fall off you. I know, because I’m a trained nutritionist. I’m also a trained assassin. But don’t tell anybody)
1 Quiznos smoked turkey sandwich
1 glass grapefruit juice (this may be substituted with a good bottle of Guinness or a nice Oregon hefeweizen. None of that Budweiser bullshit though [sorry Brian])
60 minutes CSI (which, if necessary [read: Monday night] may be substituted with 60 minutes CSI Miami, but may NOT be substituted with 60 minutes CSI NY. We all love NY, but we all don't love CSI NY [sorry Gary Sinise])
Place self in front of television with sandwich and choice of beverage. Turn TV on. Choose CSI episode from plethora of Tivoed episodes (note: Spike airs CSI all freaking day apparently; if you have a season pass, make sure you have some space. If you’re lame and don’t have cable, insert Netflix CSI DVD. If you’re lame and don’t have Netflix, you might want to take a long look in the mirror and ask yourself why you’re not in therapy) Play episode. Raise sandwich to mouth. Take bite of sandwich. Watch Grissom poke and prod mutilated dead body and make quirky comment about his entomological fascination. Look questioningly at sandwich. Look back at dead body on TV screen. Put sandwich down. Take swig of drink and suddenly realize you really aren’t all that hungry.
Ok, to be honest, CSI doesn’t actually make me all that queasy. But it occurred to me tonight, as I ate my umpteenth meal while watching the damn show, that it might not be the best dinner companion.
Two.
I love strippers. I especially love strippers on my birthday. There’s something a little odd, however, about the combination of family and strippers. I was lucky enough to spend my birthday, the first in years, with my parents and my brother (as well as a number of friends). It was a lovely get-together, during which my father (who children believe resembles Santa Claus but I believe bears a more striking resemblance to Obi-Wan Kenobi) jokingly referred to my mother as his “bitch.” In a really endearing manner, mind you. I hugged my mother lovingly and proceeded to drag my brother and some friends to Magic Gardens, which is the Coyote Ugly of strip clubs. Here I say “drag”; my brother lives a block away from the place. Which makes it sound like he lives in a really classy neighborhood. Anyway, strippers and family, it’s that dichotomy of naughty and heart-warming, much like the cracked out eye-contact one of the strippers kept giving me all night.
A few points:
In Oregon, they take it all off. And serve alcohol. You wish you lived here.
Going to a strip club with your older brother is weird. Fun, but weird. Probably weirder for him, though, as I was the one up by the stage.
Magic Gardens does not, however, have a pole. it's really much better with a pole. [insert joke here]
Three.
wait...i forgot what three was. alas.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
loneliness is worse
I spend about eighty percent of my time alone. Most of that time is spent with my HP Pavilion dv 1000. The rest is spent on introspection and trying to fall asleep. I have no idea how this compares to other people’s lives; when you’re lonely, you are the only one.
According to cnn.com though, loneliness has become an epidemic.
This is no huge comfort.
According to cnn.com though, loneliness has become an epidemic.
This is no huge comfort.
Friday, August 04, 2006
my heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
by the age of 26 (before, actually) John Keats composed a body of work that made him one of the greatest romantic poets. ever.
i've accomplished a bit less, you might say.
i've accomplished a bit less, you might say.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
still crazy after all these years
Yesterday was my parents’ 35th anniversary. They, reportedly, got married so my father could share my mother’s medical benefits. I had the pleasure of crashing their quiet dinner-for-two last night. They wore matching outfits. They still hold hands. They probably still make out, but I don’t really need to know about that.
I don’t know how they’ve managed it, but I know it’s possible.
I don’t know how they’ve managed it, but I know it’s possible.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
it rains a lot in Seattle
so, i was perusing the headlines over at CNN.com today and i found this gem of journalistic prowess: "Seattle stunned by 'bizarre' killings"
"Law enforcement officials said they couldn't recall a similar string of multiple homicides in the Seattle area."
they're kidding right? Ted Bundy...the Green River Killer...Seattle practically spawns serial killers. all that rain and such. we northwesterners are crazy bastards. tevas and shorts in December? i rest my case.
if you google "Seattle serial killers", this is the first page that pops up. and it scrolls.
it was precisely because i lived in Seattle (circa 1998-2000) that i developed some wicked fascination with the subject; i once checked out a stack of books at the Federal Way library which included such titles as Hunting Humans, The A-Z Encyclopedia of Serial Killers, Helter Skelter: the True Story of the Manson Murders, and the requisite A Stranger Beside Me: Ted Bundy, the Shocking Inside Story. the librarian gave me a look i have never seen on another human being's face since.
i've probably been flagged by the FBI.
if people didn't kill people regularly in Seattle and the greater northwest region, Ann Rule would have nothing to write about.
"Law enforcement officials said they couldn't recall a similar string of multiple homicides in the Seattle area."
they're kidding right? Ted Bundy...the Green River Killer...Seattle practically spawns serial killers. all that rain and such. we northwesterners are crazy bastards. tevas and shorts in December? i rest my case.
if you google "Seattle serial killers", this is the first page that pops up. and it scrolls.
it was precisely because i lived in Seattle (circa 1998-2000) that i developed some wicked fascination with the subject; i once checked out a stack of books at the Federal Way library which included such titles as Hunting Humans, The A-Z Encyclopedia of Serial Killers, Helter Skelter: the True Story of the Manson Murders, and the requisite A Stranger Beside Me: Ted Bundy, the Shocking Inside Story. the librarian gave me a look i have never seen on another human being's face since.
i've probably been flagged by the FBI.
if people didn't kill people regularly in Seattle and the greater northwest region, Ann Rule would have nothing to write about.
fucking moron flavored morons...
day four of Sonata [my ass]. it's 3:25am. shit's bunk, i tell you.
quote of the day: "I have to go. I have to do a whole day's worth of work in 12 minutes so as not to raise anybody’s expectations." -my father-
i have so much to live up to.
unrelated: i've developed a new affinity for Cool Heat pain relieving cream. seriously. is smells exactly like Pepsodent. it's like an Altoid for your whole fucking body!
quote of the day: "I have to go. I have to do a whole day's worth of work in 12 minutes so as not to raise anybody’s expectations." -my father-
i have so much to live up to.
unrelated: i've developed a new affinity for Cool Heat pain relieving cream. seriously. is smells exactly like Pepsodent. it's like an Altoid for your whole fucking body!
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Sunday, July 23, 2006
diddy speaks (interlude)
so, being the insomniac that i am, i was channel surfing just now (this i alternate with net surfing, eating chocolate pudding and playing online trivial pursuit. did you know that there's a man-made "reef" off the coast of Delaware made out of old NYC subway cars? neither did i; i guessed New Jersey) and i came across the usual slew of infomercials, inclusive of the requisite Proactiv commercial. p. diddy is now one of their celebrity endorsers.
it's hard out here for a pimp[le].
(i'm so sorry. i watch far too much Daily Show)
ironically, what i've never seen an infomercial for at 3am is an ad for an over-the-counter sleeping aid.
i obviously don't watch enough television.
it's hard out here for a pimp[le].
(i'm so sorry. i watch far too much Daily Show)
ironically, what i've never seen an infomercial for at 3am is an ad for an over-the-counter sleeping aid.
i obviously don't watch enough television.
Friday, July 21, 2006
106
a few [more] things.
es ist sehr heiß. das ist nicht so gut.
i realized on my way home just now that New York really screwed up up my sense of temperature (among other things); i was thinking to myself, "my, it's sort of nice out" followed by "ok, perhaps it's a bit warm..." according to weather.com, it is 106 degrees in the Pearl district at present. and here i was thinking maybe 90ish. seriously. way off. i will, however, take an Oregon 106 degrees with 22% humidity over a New York 80 degrees with 90% humidity any day.
also, i was perusing the quicktime trailer site the other day (i'm really out of of the Hollywood loop these days. a tragedy, i know) and i came across this. now, i'm thinking, did we 80's children just not know how good we had it? if they're resurrecting 80's cartoons, the shit they have today must just completely suck. personally, i'm waiting for GI Joe: The Movie (i shit you not, my friend. i have a script for this kicking around in my collection of unproduced scripts somewhere. i think there was a Thundercats one as well. oh Cheetarah).
the Baroness was hot. crazy, but hot.
also, my mom priority-mailed me sleeping/anxiety pills. my mom is better than your mom.
es ist sehr heiß. das ist nicht so gut.
i realized on my way home just now that New York really screwed up up my sense of temperature (among other things); i was thinking to myself, "my, it's sort of nice out" followed by "ok, perhaps it's a bit warm..." according to weather.com, it is 106 degrees in the Pearl district at present. and here i was thinking maybe 90ish. seriously. way off. i will, however, take an Oregon 106 degrees with 22% humidity over a New York 80 degrees with 90% humidity any day.
also, i was perusing the quicktime trailer site the other day (i'm really out of of the Hollywood loop these days. a tragedy, i know) and i came across this. now, i'm thinking, did we 80's children just not know how good we had it? if they're resurrecting 80's cartoons, the shit they have today must just completely suck. personally, i'm waiting for GI Joe: The Movie (i shit you not, my friend. i have a script for this kicking around in my collection of unproduced scripts somewhere. i think there was a Thundercats one as well. oh Cheetarah).
the Baroness was hot. crazy, but hot.
also, my mom priority-mailed me sleeping/anxiety pills. my mom is better than your mom.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
...Miss Mace, if you're nasty.
the dude at Videorama just told me that i have a good stripper name.
this explains everything.
this explains everything.
Friday, July 14, 2006
it's not the same without Psycho Safeway
a few things.
i saw The Appleseed Cast at the fez ballroom the other night. i highly recommend.
killing time at Powell's beforehand, i found myself in the health/self-help section. there's an entire section on death and dying. go there. just read the titles. it's in the red room along with travel and linguistics.
in an attempt to figure myself out, i flipped through You Mean I'm Not Lazy, Stupid or Crazy, a self-help book for people with ADD. it was 450 pages. it lost my interest.
also, i really never needed to see John McCain from this angle (on the cover of Esquire). i've found better things in my mailbox. bills, for example.
i saw The Appleseed Cast at the fez ballroom the other night. i highly recommend.
killing time at Powell's beforehand, i found myself in the health/self-help section. there's an entire section on death and dying. go there. just read the titles. it's in the red room along with travel and linguistics.
in an attempt to figure myself out, i flipped through You Mean I'm Not Lazy, Stupid or Crazy, a self-help book for people with ADD. it was 450 pages. it lost my interest.
also, i really never needed to see John McCain from this angle (on the cover of Esquire). i've found better things in my mailbox. bills, for example.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
apply to be my boyfriend.
i'm so completely biting my friend Jason's style here, but fuck it. it made me laugh, so i made my own.
Disclaimer: this is intended to be a humorous send-up of my pathetically redundant and unsuccessful attempts at dating men. it was not written with any lingering animosity. Ok, it was written with a little animosity.
Regardless.
a few simple questions...
1. Do you live in the 503 area code?
2. Are you Jewish?
3. Are you a Republican?
4. Are you an actor?
5. Are you in a band?
6. In the last five years have you been subject to a traumatic, life-changing event (e.g. cancer, a terrorist attack, a mullet)? Did you seek therapy for it? Did you wait four years before seeking therapy?
7. How do you feel about the word “girlfriend”?
8. Do you believe in “God”?
9. How do you feel about plaid? As an interior decorating pattern? As a fabric one wears?
10. Have you read any of the following: Love in the Time of Cholera, The Bell Jar, or the Eyre Affair? Without my suggesting that you read it?
11. Do you have residual feelings for an ex-girlfriend? a female friend?
12. I say “I’m naked, come over” you say…?
13. Do you own a cell phone? Do you answer your cell phone?
14. Is your name Mike or some variant of (e.g. Michael, Mikey)?
15. If I call you a "cad", would you have to look it up? (hint: I’m not talking about Computer Aided Design)
16. Do you snore?
17. Do you smell nice (where nice = Tommy Hilfiger, Cool Water, Polo Sport or Polo Blue)?
18. Would it bother you if I smelled nice as well (where nice = Tommy Hilfiger, Cool Water, Polo Sport or Polo Blue)?
19. Would you throw me up against a wall and make-out with me? At your parents’ house?
20. Explain the difference between “your” and “you’re". It shouldn’t be difficult.
21. Do you drink beer? Do you drink good beer?
22. Can you dance? If you can’t, do you have enough sense not to?
23. Do you watch ESPN? Do you work for ESPN?
24. Do you have an inordinate amount of body hair? Could you ever be described as “furry”?
25. We book a tropical vacation together (this involves me in a bikini, or less, for the duration of a week. There’s also a private hot-tub involved). Would you cancel our trip for any reason?
26. Do you have a dog? Do you plan on getting one?
27. Are you allergic to cats?
28. Have you ever voted for Bush?
29. Do you know who George Eliot is?
30. Would you ever list The DaVinci Code as one of your favorite books?
31. Define “belligerent” without looking it up.
32. How do you feel about Lindsay Lohan?
33. Would you ever wear white sneakers?
34. Do your pants go all the way down to your shoes (meaning, do they cover your ankles and break nicely over your shoe)?
35. Does the sentence, “There’s many things that I can do,” bother you in any way? If so, why?
36. Have you ever said, “That was fun!” after having sex?
37. If I ask your best friend about you, will he respond something like this: "Don't get me wrong...I love [Your Name Here] like a brother, but he's completely fucked up about women."
38. Are you a Red Sox fan?
i'm sure i'll add to these...
Disclaimer: this is intended to be a humorous send-up of my pathetically redundant and unsuccessful attempts at dating men. it was not written with any lingering animosity. Ok, it was written with a little animosity.
Regardless.
a few simple questions...
1. Do you live in the 503 area code?
2. Are you Jewish?
3. Are you a Republican?
4. Are you an actor?
5. Are you in a band?
6. In the last five years have you been subject to a traumatic, life-changing event (e.g. cancer, a terrorist attack, a mullet)? Did you seek therapy for it? Did you wait four years before seeking therapy?
7. How do you feel about the word “girlfriend”?
8. Do you believe in “God”?
9. How do you feel about plaid? As an interior decorating pattern? As a fabric one wears?
10. Have you read any of the following: Love in the Time of Cholera, The Bell Jar, or the Eyre Affair? Without my suggesting that you read it?
11. Do you have residual feelings for an ex-girlfriend? a female friend?
12. I say “I’m naked, come over” you say…?
13. Do you own a cell phone? Do you answer your cell phone?
14. Is your name Mike or some variant of (e.g. Michael, Mikey)?
15. If I call you a "cad", would you have to look it up? (hint: I’m not talking about Computer Aided Design)
16. Do you snore?
17. Do you smell nice (where nice = Tommy Hilfiger, Cool Water, Polo Sport or Polo Blue)?
18. Would it bother you if I smelled nice as well (where nice = Tommy Hilfiger, Cool Water, Polo Sport or Polo Blue)?
19. Would you throw me up against a wall and make-out with me? At your parents’ house?
20. Explain the difference between “your” and “you’re". It shouldn’t be difficult.
21. Do you drink beer? Do you drink good beer?
22. Can you dance? If you can’t, do you have enough sense not to?
23. Do you watch ESPN? Do you work for ESPN?
24. Do you have an inordinate amount of body hair? Could you ever be described as “furry”?
25. We book a tropical vacation together (this involves me in a bikini, or less, for the duration of a week. There’s also a private hot-tub involved). Would you cancel our trip for any reason?
26. Do you have a dog? Do you plan on getting one?
27. Are you allergic to cats?
28. Have you ever voted for Bush?
29. Do you know who George Eliot is?
30. Would you ever list The DaVinci Code as one of your favorite books?
31. Define “belligerent” without looking it up.
32. How do you feel about Lindsay Lohan?
33. Would you ever wear white sneakers?
34. Do your pants go all the way down to your shoes (meaning, do they cover your ankles and break nicely over your shoe)?
35. Does the sentence, “There’s many things that I can do,” bother you in any way? If so, why?
36. Have you ever said, “That was fun!” after having sex?
37. If I ask your best friend about you, will he respond something like this: "Don't get me wrong...I love [Your Name Here] like a brother, but he's completely fucked up about women."
38. Are you a Red Sox fan?
i'm sure i'll add to these...
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
every line is about who i don't want to write about anymore.
it's a holiday, i think. but i've nothing to celebrate.
i think somebody told me last week that i'd been glowing, of late. i've gotten a number of comments such as this in the last two months, that i seem really happy.
that's pretty fucking gone.
due to this weekend's sudden drama and also a consequence of my NyQuil and Codeine-induced coma of the last two days (to counteract the effects of my bleeding like a wounded artery and the fact that i was not really feeling very good in the first place), i am confined to my apartment working today. which is awesome.
i feel like throwing up. only i've been so depressed, i just realized i've hardly eaten in days. and i actually had nightmares last night, the kind where you physically jerk upright in a sweat; i actually thought somebody was standing over me.
yeah.
i need a hug.
i think somebody told me last week that i'd been glowing, of late. i've gotten a number of comments such as this in the last two months, that i seem really happy.
that's pretty fucking gone.
due to this weekend's sudden drama and also a consequence of my NyQuil and Codeine-induced coma of the last two days (to counteract the effects of my bleeding like a wounded artery and the fact that i was not really feeling very good in the first place), i am confined to my apartment working today. which is awesome.
i feel like throwing up. only i've been so depressed, i just realized i've hardly eaten in days. and i actually had nightmares last night, the kind where you physically jerk upright in a sweat; i actually thought somebody was standing over me.
yeah.
i need a hug.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
It's such a lie that you should do what's in your heart. If we all did what was in our hearts, the world would come to a halt.
I made a joke once, a few years ago to a friend, I believe after one of my ex-boyfriends informed me most asininely that he was getting married (to the girl he dated before me, whom he got back together with within weeks of our splitting) that I was the girl you date to figure out who you’re really in love with.
The humor in it has since depreciated.
What sort of pains me, when I think about it, is that my first thought whenever a guy picks another girl over me, is “Am I not pretty enough?” Which is, of course, supremely superficial and likely unfounded. And then I marvel at the fact that I’ve been raised in a society which has programmed me to think that my beauty and my body are the entirety of my self-worth. That I’ll spend countless waking hours comparing myself to all the Beckys, Leias, Emilys, and Megans out there, wondering what it is that I’m lacking. Like the racehorse nobody bets on, you begin to wonder if it’s your limp they aren’t betting on, or just the fact that some breeder named you Unlovable.
Another point: Men don’t grovel.
I was discussing this with Chaya last night over the ever-popular even-the-nice-guys-treat-you-like-shit martini. It is an entirely fictionalized idea, likely put into effect by Hollywood, that men ever see the error of their ways and come groveling back to you, admitting that you were really the one. You’ll never get a phone call in the middle of the night, or a letter, or a boy on your doorstep sopping wet with rain, professing his love and need for you to forgive him. It’s never happened to me once.
Men don't do this. Men are cowards. Or, likely, he just didn’t care for you in the first place.
I know this from experience.
The humor in it has since depreciated.
What sort of pains me, when I think about it, is that my first thought whenever a guy picks another girl over me, is “Am I not pretty enough?” Which is, of course, supremely superficial and likely unfounded. And then I marvel at the fact that I’ve been raised in a society which has programmed me to think that my beauty and my body are the entirety of my self-worth. That I’ll spend countless waking hours comparing myself to all the Beckys, Leias, Emilys, and Megans out there, wondering what it is that I’m lacking. Like the racehorse nobody bets on, you begin to wonder if it’s your limp they aren’t betting on, or just the fact that some breeder named you Unlovable.
Another point: Men don’t grovel.
I was discussing this with Chaya last night over the ever-popular even-the-nice-guys-treat-you-like-shit martini. It is an entirely fictionalized idea, likely put into effect by Hollywood, that men ever see the error of their ways and come groveling back to you, admitting that you were really the one. You’ll never get a phone call in the middle of the night, or a letter, or a boy on your doorstep sopping wet with rain, professing his love and need for you to forgive him. It’s never happened to me once.
Men don't do this. Men are cowards. Or, likely, he just didn’t care for you in the first place.
I know this from experience.
Friday, June 30, 2006
capital N, small y, BIG fucking Q.
i got carded for NyQuil today.
oh Oregon, you are so bureaucratic.
oh Oregon, you are so bureaucratic.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
i can't sleep. there are birds chirping.
so, it occurred to me, just now at 5:22am lying awake for no good reason, that my recent return to chronic insomnia might very well be due to a lack of urban noise infiltrating my bedroom.
oh, where are my traffic noises and drunken Poles?
here, there are birds chirping (incessantly) and, in the distance, a train at Union Station. then, intermittent silence.
it's so relaxing, pleasing to the ear.
it's just not the same.
oh, where are my traffic noises and drunken Poles?
here, there are birds chirping (incessantly) and, in the distance, a train at Union Station. then, intermittent silence.
it's so relaxing, pleasing to the ear.
it's just not the same.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
the page is blank, my pen is down; i'm working it out.
So, I spent the weekend in Seattle, a place to which I had not returned in four years.
Point one: Laser Tool is awesome. I don’t care what my friends think.
Me: “dude, Laser Tool tonight. You in?”
Dave: “what are you, thirteen?”
Dave Hawkins: Thrill Kill. (love you!)
Loud as hell, and come on kids, the Seattle Center needs the money. Go in your jammies, stoned. I don’t care.
Point two: the Broadway Market is now a QFC, which is weird. Definately a sign of the times (pointing towards the fact that Broadway just isn’t the punk, raver, indie-kid drag it once was). If you like to juxtapose your Urban Outfitters i-needed-an-overpriced-Ramones-shirt shopping with your grocery shopping, then you’re in luck. Otherwise, just fucking weird.
Point three: late teenage drama makes for fun reminiscing. As do Kickwear pants, bad hair-do’s, and former drug-usage. Those were the days.
Also, a shout-out to Jason’s cat Miss Nixie (sp?), who provided ample cuddles and purrs and whose hair has indelibly attached itself to all my clothing.
Point one: Laser Tool is awesome. I don’t care what my friends think.
Me: “dude, Laser Tool tonight. You in?”
Dave: “what are you, thirteen?”
Dave Hawkins: Thrill Kill. (love you!)
Loud as hell, and come on kids, the Seattle Center needs the money. Go in your jammies, stoned. I don’t care.
Point two: the Broadway Market is now a QFC, which is weird. Definately a sign of the times (pointing towards the fact that Broadway just isn’t the punk, raver, indie-kid drag it once was). If you like to juxtapose your Urban Outfitters i-needed-an-overpriced-Ramones-shirt shopping with your grocery shopping, then you’re in luck. Otherwise, just fucking weird.
Point three: late teenage drama makes for fun reminiscing. As do Kickwear pants, bad hair-do’s, and former drug-usage. Those were the days.
Also, a shout-out to Jason’s cat Miss Nixie (sp?), who provided ample cuddles and purrs and whose hair has indelibly attached itself to all my clothing.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
surly and disinterested
A few things.
I have a wicked crush on Jason Jones ( a product, strangely, of Hamilton, Ontario, producer of my favorite Canadian, one Jennifer Sgro. [Whom, my thoughts are with, and I miss terribly]).
(Parenthetical within a parenthetical [I could footnote it, but I found Jasper Fforde’s use of footnoting in Lost in a Good Book disconcerting. Hilarious, but disconcerting. ])
Where were we? Ah! Yes! Mr. Jones.
Point one: prior to cutting it up on The Daily Show, he had recurring roles on As the World Turns and Queer as Folk. Which makes him more hilarious.
Point two: he is a classically trained cellist.
Damn you Samantha Bee.
Unrelated: I finally have my own apartment again. And, for whatever reason, I cannot seem to leave it this week. One could write it off as an “I work from home” thing. One might also call it a “lazy” thing. Maybe I’m moping. Or hibernating. Or celebrating.
We’re not sure yet.
I did have to venture out of the building this afternoon; I ran out of Red Bull.
Related: my parents just happen to rent the apartment directly above me. Which is, you know, um, something. I heard a loud thud at 7am the other morning. So instead of silently cursing the upstairs neighbor, I can silently curse my father. Which I do a lot.
Tragically, a potted orchid was knocked off a table. My mother’s potted orchid, to be exact. Snicker.
Answers. It's the difference.
More interesting things have happened this week. (but why would I write about them here?)
I have a wicked crush on Jason Jones ( a product, strangely, of Hamilton, Ontario, producer of my favorite Canadian, one Jennifer Sgro. [Whom, my thoughts are with, and I miss terribly]).
(Parenthetical within a parenthetical [I could footnote it, but I found Jasper Fforde’s use of footnoting in Lost in a Good Book disconcerting. Hilarious, but disconcerting. ])
Where were we? Ah! Yes! Mr. Jones.
Point one: prior to cutting it up on The Daily Show, he had recurring roles on As the World Turns and Queer as Folk. Which makes him more hilarious.
Point two: he is a classically trained cellist.
Damn you Samantha Bee.
Unrelated: I finally have my own apartment again. And, for whatever reason, I cannot seem to leave it this week. One could write it off as an “I work from home” thing. One might also call it a “lazy” thing. Maybe I’m moping. Or hibernating. Or celebrating.
We’re not sure yet.
I did have to venture out of the building this afternoon; I ran out of Red Bull.
Related: my parents just happen to rent the apartment directly above me. Which is, you know, um, something. I heard a loud thud at 7am the other morning. So instead of silently cursing the upstairs neighbor, I can silently curse my father. Which I do a lot.
Tragically, a potted orchid was knocked off a table. My mother’s potted orchid, to be exact. Snicker.
Answers. It's the difference.
More interesting things have happened this week. (but why would I write about them here?)
Monday, June 12, 2006
Sunday, June 11, 2006
these follies are within you and shine through you like the water in an urinal
I saw The Two Gentlemen of Verona on the Elizabethan stage in Ashland the other night. Imagine my surprise when, in Act IV, the Mantua outlaws bounded upon stage in full goth gear, blue mohawks and all (all this in a replica of the original Globe Theatre). They have a sense of humor, those Oregon Shakespeare Festivalians.
So.
My body is adjusting back to pacific standard time. I’m not sure if I feel at home exactly; Oregon was home, but now I associate it more with being on vacation, so I’m not sure what it is I feel here. Displacement, perhaps.
It feels a little empty, sleeping alone. Very empty.
I am suddenly aware that I have gotten very little affection, affirmation and support from any of the guys I’ve dated in the last five years.
“Ask me how it feels to vie.”
Of all the guys I’ve been with, not one had ever looked me in the eye and said I was worth the effort.
Sad, but true.
(thank you, B)
So.
My body is adjusting back to pacific standard time. I’m not sure if I feel at home exactly; Oregon was home, but now I associate it more with being on vacation, so I’m not sure what it is I feel here. Displacement, perhaps.
It feels a little empty, sleeping alone. Very empty.
I am suddenly aware that I have gotten very little affection, affirmation and support from any of the guys I’ve dated in the last five years.
“Ask me how it feels to vie.”
Of all the guys I’ve been with, not one had ever looked me in the eye and said I was worth the effort.
Sad, but true.
(thank you, B)
Sunday, May 21, 2006
so dark the con of man, indeed.
so, The Da Vinci Code was underwhelming. potentially snooze-worthy, which could have been the effect of a number of things (Tom Hanks' acting, Ron Howard's directing, the fact that i saw it at 12:30pm EST) i'm inclined to go with Ron Howard's directing, but the crack of noon matinee is likely the more accurate culprit. i saw it on Google's dime, though, so who am i to complain.
lovely company, that Google.
the last few weeks have been, easily, the best i've had in my tenure as a New Yorker. Bri, this is all your fault; you don't suck at all!
however.
a few things have encumbered my joy this week.
1) my grandfather is in the ICU for a pulmonary embolism.
2) my cat is in the ICU for cancer.
(as a direct or indirect result, i'm not sure, my parents bought a BMW, which, if you knew my parents, is weird) sports cars are common remedies, i've heard.
3) (however unimportant) i've gotten a number of curiously random comments from prior romantic attachments about occurrences in my life writ below. which is...what it is.
4) and my flat-panel LCD monitor has magically disappeared in transit from Queens to Brooklyn.
also strange; i seem to have surpassed my it-tastes-like-crap/dimetapp opinion of Red Bull this week. surpassed to point of near addiction. Bri, this is also your fault.
lovely company, that Google.
the last few weeks have been, easily, the best i've had in my tenure as a New Yorker. Bri, this is all your fault; you don't suck at all!
however.
a few things have encumbered my joy this week.
1) my grandfather is in the ICU for a pulmonary embolism.
2) my cat is in the ICU for cancer.
(as a direct or indirect result, i'm not sure, my parents bought a BMW, which, if you knew my parents, is weird) sports cars are common remedies, i've heard.
3) (however unimportant) i've gotten a number of curiously random comments from prior romantic attachments about occurrences in my life writ below. which is...what it is.
4) and my flat-panel LCD monitor has magically disappeared in transit from Queens to Brooklyn.
also strange; i seem to have surpassed my it-tastes-like-crap/dimetapp opinion of Red Bull this week. surpassed to point of near addiction. Bri, this is also your fault.
Friday, May 12, 2006
lions and tigers and hybrids! oh my!
so, the first documented case of a grizzly-polar hybrid bear in the wild...and what do they do? kill it.
way to go, geniuses.
way to go, geniuses.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
ode to a room with a door.
i have, for the time being, situated myself in a room of my own. with a door and everything. i have a clever little quasi-bathroom. and a bed that is not a couch.
and, of course, now that i have a bed, i've been sleeping in somebody else's.
i'm sure there's some cardinal rule about dating one's roommate.
two points.
one: it eliminates that whole pesky phone tag how-do-we-coordinate-our-lives thing.
two: you'll never have to borrow a toothbrush.
(it would be cumbersome to speak of the fact that i finally found a pleasant living situation, one with ample cuddling, only weeks before i move across the country. so i won't speak of this. at the moment, i am quite pleased. with the nagging exception that my cat of eleven years is likely dying. which is impending heartbreak. but truly, pleased, i promise)
yes, i know. proponent of the parenthetical.
but i have laundry in my apartment. which is blissful.
and, of course, now that i have a bed, i've been sleeping in somebody else's.
i'm sure there's some cardinal rule about dating one's roommate.
two points.
one: it eliminates that whole pesky phone tag how-do-we-coordinate-our-lives thing.
two: you'll never have to borrow a toothbrush.
(it would be cumbersome to speak of the fact that i finally found a pleasant living situation, one with ample cuddling, only weeks before i move across the country. so i won't speak of this. at the moment, i am quite pleased. with the nagging exception that my cat of eleven years is likely dying. which is impending heartbreak. but truly, pleased, i promise)
yes, i know. proponent of the parenthetical.
but i have laundry in my apartment. which is blissful.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
viva Mexico!
so, mexico is about legalize personal use of pot, cocaine and heroin.
who the hell would emigrate from a country like that?!
also: this whole "Great May 1st Boycott," or "A Day Without an Immigrant" is some major bullshit. i think there's some rule about naming a historic event before if happens. "A Day Without an Immigrant" just sounds like a bad novel.
why am i always in New York when shit like this happens? oh. i live here.
sigh
who the hell would emigrate from a country like that?!
also: this whole "Great May 1st Boycott," or "A Day Without an Immigrant" is some major bullshit. i think there's some rule about naming a historic event before if happens. "A Day Without an Immigrant" just sounds like a bad novel.
why am i always in New York when shit like this happens? oh. i live here.
sigh
Thursday, April 27, 2006
the Word: English!
as in, the official language of the United States of America. thank you Stephen Colbert.
unrelated: if you'd like to feel better about your life, stand on the corner of 23rd and Lexington in front of the United Cerebral Palsy center of New York (across the street from where i'm staying this week) and watch a busload of visibly handicapped people in wheelchairs wheel their way at you down the sidewalk. either severly amusing or terribly sad; that fine line.
CSI: Miami on HD is veeeerry pretty. David Caruso, not as much (though i had some wicked strange crush on him in his John Kelly days).
i feel ok. there are some people here that i really will miss, come June. and some, i realized, i won't really miss at all.
unrelated: if you'd like to feel better about your life, stand on the corner of 23rd and Lexington in front of the United Cerebral Palsy center of New York (across the street from where i'm staying this week) and watch a busload of visibly handicapped people in wheelchairs wheel their way at you down the sidewalk. either severly amusing or terribly sad; that fine line.
CSI: Miami on HD is veeeerry pretty. David Caruso, not as much (though i had some wicked strange crush on him in his John Kelly days).
i feel ok. there are some people here that i really will miss, come June. and some, i realized, i won't really miss at all.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
MTV spring break Portland Oregon stylee
...wherein melaina wakes up late, shuffles her pajamaed ass down the hall, out the back door, around the corner to Starbucks for a grande Misto and a scone, returns to apartment, positions self in front of laptop, checks email and...does work.
(which in no way involves MTV save perhaps a guilty rerun of Laguna Beach which will reaffirm the fact that i think Kristin Cavallari is deeply irritating and i will later deny having ever watched said show)
this of course differs from my non-spring break life how? you might ask.
(i am, of course,still in New York, where it happens to be sunny. on a day i had devoted to getting some work done. which will obviously happen)
I would like to point out the 10-day forecasts for both New York, New York and Portland, Oregon this week.
note the fact that it starts raining on friday in New York, gets sunny for a week, then starts raining again at the end of next week, around say, the 21st. also note how in Portland it starts raining this Friday and pretty much rains on through until next Friday, the 21st.
mmmhmm.
(which in no way involves MTV save perhaps a guilty rerun of Laguna Beach which will reaffirm the fact that i think Kristin Cavallari is deeply irritating and i will later deny having ever watched said show)
this of course differs from my non-spring break life how? you might ask.
(i am, of course,still in New York, where it happens to be sunny. on a day i had devoted to getting some work done. which will obviously happen)
I would like to point out the 10-day forecasts for both New York, New York and Portland, Oregon this week.
note the fact that it starts raining on friday in New York, gets sunny for a week, then starts raining again at the end of next week, around say, the 21st. also note how in Portland it starts raining this Friday and pretty much rains on through until next Friday, the 21st.
mmmhmm.
Saturday, April 08, 2006
death by guinness
So.
It’s been a perturbing month. I’ve lost my train of thought. Scratch that. I’ve lost my train of living.
I am particularly homeless for a while. Which is awesome. This week, it’s a lovely room in the west village. Next week, it’s Portland’s Pearl district. The week after that, I’m not particularly sure. The window I am presently staring out of overlooks the corner of Hudson and Perry, in particular the gold and brown striped awning of Citi Habitats.
Irony for you.
I’m two blocks from Magnolia Bakery. Which is fantastic and overrated. I’m half a block from the White Horse Tavern, where, in 1953, Dylan Thomas drank himself to death. So, at least there’s always that option.
Yet, like everything else in my life, save my tattoos and my parents, this is only temporary. Then, I hear there are lasers. For the tattoos. And not the parents.
I saw The Merchant of Venice last night at The American Globe Theater; my friend Robbie was a particularly good Gratiano. Then followed a lot of Guinness. I’ve had my nose stuck in a book for a while; it was a nice respite. today's headache, almost welcome. almost.
I wrote an eight-page research paper this week on chastity and women’s roles in The Tempest. I forgot to cite the bible.
It goes that way.
It’s been a perturbing month. I’ve lost my train of thought. Scratch that. I’ve lost my train of living.
I am particularly homeless for a while. Which is awesome. This week, it’s a lovely room in the west village. Next week, it’s Portland’s Pearl district. The week after that, I’m not particularly sure. The window I am presently staring out of overlooks the corner of Hudson and Perry, in particular the gold and brown striped awning of Citi Habitats.
Irony for you.
I’m two blocks from Magnolia Bakery. Which is fantastic and overrated. I’m half a block from the White Horse Tavern, where, in 1953, Dylan Thomas drank himself to death. So, at least there’s always that option.
Yet, like everything else in my life, save my tattoos and my parents, this is only temporary. Then, I hear there are lasers. For the tattoos. And not the parents.
I saw The Merchant of Venice last night at The American Globe Theater; my friend Robbie was a particularly good Gratiano. Then followed a lot of Guinness. I’ve had my nose stuck in a book for a while; it was a nice respite. today's headache, almost welcome. almost.
I wrote an eight-page research paper this week on chastity and women’s roles in The Tempest. I forgot to cite the bible.
It goes that way.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
what better can we do...
I feel dead.
But it’s not as dramatic as all that.
I reconnected with somebody last week with whom I had not spoken in eight years. She had a severe impact on my life, back then. What matters to you, likely, nobody else remembers.
It goes that way.
I ended up in Westchester with Mike on Sunday, which was a nice respite from my life. Those were the best hours; the last, though, are always clocks ticking. People who see you every day take so much of you for granted. They don’t ever see you walk away. They don’t see you drifting. It’s in the periphery.
I think only strangers really look at you anymore. Like babies, they don’t know any better.
“Oh my god,” said a man on the train in Hartsdale yesterday. “You look like Debbie Harry.”
But it’s not as dramatic as all that.
I reconnected with somebody last week with whom I had not spoken in eight years. She had a severe impact on my life, back then. What matters to you, likely, nobody else remembers.
It goes that way.
I ended up in Westchester with Mike on Sunday, which was a nice respite from my life. Those were the best hours; the last, though, are always clocks ticking. People who see you every day take so much of you for granted. They don’t ever see you walk away. They don’t see you drifting. It’s in the periphery.
I think only strangers really look at you anymore. Like babies, they don’t know any better.
“Oh my god,” said a man on the train in Hartsdale yesterday. “You look like Debbie Harry.”
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
give Crash a break, yo
Annie Proulx is pissed about the Oscars. bitching about beautiful rich people handing out accolades to other beautiful rich people? it didn't go your way? awww.
it's strange. i've heard nothing but negative comments about the movie Crash since it won Best Picture. it got ripped apart in my women's(read: gender/race) studies class last week. "it promotes racial stereotypes" well, unfortunately, stereotypes happen. "it was written by a white guy" Canadian white guy, mind you.
interestingly, the female producer (who received one of the Best Picture Oscars) never actually got paid for working on the film. gender stereotypes you say...?
i don't know. i saw it twice in the theater (the first time alone, the second, with my then-"boyfriend" Mike) didn't anybody listen to the dialogue?
if you're going to bitch about it, bitch about the snow. that was a bit Hollywood.
it's strange. i've heard nothing but negative comments about the movie Crash since it won Best Picture. it got ripped apart in my women's(read: gender/race) studies class last week. "it promotes racial stereotypes" well, unfortunately, stereotypes happen. "it was written by a white guy" Canadian white guy, mind you.
interestingly, the female producer (who received one of the Best Picture Oscars) never actually got paid for working on the film. gender stereotypes you say...?
i don't know. i saw it twice in the theater (the first time alone, the second, with my then-"boyfriend" Mike) didn't anybody listen to the dialogue?
if you're going to bitch about it, bitch about the snow. that was a bit Hollywood.
Saturday, March 11, 2006
also, i can kill you with my brain.
i don't really know what the hell i'm doing with my life. which is fun.
when i was eight, i wanted to paint stripes on my face, don a fur-lined unitard and sing jellicle songs for jellicle cats. that, i thought, was a reasonable thing to do with one's life. but then, that was 1988.
in a lovely turn of events, the temperature hit a sweltering 65 degrees this weekend. i, of course, spent the better part of my day shut up in the stale air of an auditorium taking a three-and-a-half-hour proficiency exam. it's fun being told that you can't go to the bathroom.
also fun: panic attacks in computer science. holding back unexplainable tears in a crowded subway.
normality is relative they say.
related: i'm in the middle of The Tempest.
at least my laptop shipped.
when i was eight, i wanted to paint stripes on my face, don a fur-lined unitard and sing jellicle songs for jellicle cats. that, i thought, was a reasonable thing to do with one's life. but then, that was 1988.
in a lovely turn of events, the temperature hit a sweltering 65 degrees this weekend. i, of course, spent the better part of my day shut up in the stale air of an auditorium taking a three-and-a-half-hour proficiency exam. it's fun being told that you can't go to the bathroom.
also fun: panic attacks in computer science. holding back unexplainable tears in a crowded subway.
normality is relative they say.
related: i'm in the middle of The Tempest.
at least my laptop shipped.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
i'd like to start a religion. that's where the money is.
so, there's a really interesting article in Rolling Stone this month on Scientology.
"The history of Scientology
asserts that 75 million years ago, an evil galactic warlord named Xenu controlled seventy-six planets in this corner of the galaxy, each of which was severely overpopulated. To solve this problem, Xenu rounded up 13.5 trillion beings and then flew them to Earth, where they were dumped into volcanoes around the globe and vaporized with bombs. This scattered their radioactive souls, or thetans, until they were caught in electronic traps set up around the atmosphere and "implanted" with a number of false ideas -- including the concepts of God, Christ and organized religion."
hehe. false ideas...the concept of organized religion...oh the irony.
did you know L Ron used to write old sci-fi pulp fiction back in the day? come on now, i know you're shocked.
(i couldn't make this shit up if i tried. it's just so wonderful.)
"The history of Scientology
asserts that 75 million years ago, an evil galactic warlord named Xenu controlled seventy-six planets in this corner of the galaxy, each of which was severely overpopulated. To solve this problem, Xenu rounded up 13.5 trillion beings and then flew them to Earth, where they were dumped into volcanoes around the globe and vaporized with bombs. This scattered their radioactive souls, or thetans, until they were caught in electronic traps set up around the atmosphere and "implanted" with a number of false ideas -- including the concepts of God, Christ and organized religion."
hehe. false ideas...the concept of organized religion...oh the irony.
did you know L Ron used to write old sci-fi pulp fiction back in the day? come on now, i know you're shocked.
(i couldn't make this shit up if i tried. it's just so wonderful.)
Saturday, February 25, 2006
not the mama
my father is 60 today. i've known him a while and, well, i still like him. ;)
I'm gonna watch you shine
Gonna watch you grow
Gonna paint a sign
So you'll always know
As long as one and one is two
There will never be a daughter loved her father as much as I love you
I'm gonna watch you shine
Gonna watch you grow
Gonna paint a sign
So you'll always know
As long as one and one is two
There will never be a daughter loved her father as much as I love you
Thursday, February 23, 2006
prevarications
i'd thought we were on the same page
but you read between the lines, you'll see
it's just fiction
it's nothing real
there's no difference between
what you do
and what you feel
but you read between the lines, you'll see
it's just fiction
it's nothing real
there's no difference between
what you do
and what you feel
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Scientists say that the brain chemistry of infatuation is akin to mental illness
so, this is actually the first Valentine's Day since i was 20 that i have not been with anybody. which is actually quite odd.
my mom pointed me toward this National Geographic article on love (unfortunately, the entire article is not online). i sat down in the self-help aisle at Barnes and Noble yesterday to read it in its entirety. (as an aside here, only in a Barnes and Noble in New York is it difficult to find carpet space to sit and read an article. good god!)
so, if you're single and alone this Valentine's Day, it really only means one thing: that you're not crazy.
(or, for the mopey and depressed single: Fuckvday.com)
my mom pointed me toward this National Geographic article on love (unfortunately, the entire article is not online). i sat down in the self-help aisle at Barnes and Noble yesterday to read it in its entirety. (as an aside here, only in a Barnes and Noble in New York is it difficult to find carpet space to sit and read an article. good god!)
so, if you're single and alone this Valentine's Day, it really only means one thing: that you're not crazy.
(or, for the mopey and depressed single: Fuckvday.com)
Sunday, February 12, 2006
...wish you were beautiful.
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Track fishing and seat hogging are both forbidden
so, a number of ads for the Bahamas have been yanked from the NYC subway system. my first thought was, oh thank god. they finally realized that these ads make 7.5 million subway commuters want to slit their wrists (being that it is the most gawd-awful time of year here). every fucking day, G to the 7 to the 6 uptown, these fucking plucky colorful banners remind me exactly where i'm not: on a tropical island (an island, yes, but the most populated and suck ass concrete jungle of an island).
thanks. way to ruin my day.
but apparently, according to the article, the ads were pulled, not because they were depressing New Yorkers, but because they "advertised" illegal behavior on the train.
now, to my knowledge, they recently banned beverages from subway cars.
there go the Dewars, Budweiser and Courvoisier ads. damn. (a clever co-marketing campaign i'm sure, with those Bahamas people. because you know my first thought after being depressed by one of the Bahamas ads is damn i need a drink)
thanks. way to ruin my day.
but apparently, according to the article, the ads were pulled, not because they were depressing New Yorkers, but because they "advertised" illegal behavior on the train.
now, to my knowledge, they recently banned beverages from subway cars.
there go the Dewars, Budweiser and Courvoisier ads. damn. (a clever co-marketing campaign i'm sure, with those Bahamas people. because you know my first thought after being depressed by one of the Bahamas ads is damn i need a drink)
Monday, February 06, 2006
Sunday, February 05, 2006
how big is your flux capacitor?
Brokeback to the Future. in case you haven't seen it (courtesy of my mom. ;-)
Thursday, February 02, 2006
truthiness
James Frey needs a new agent.
i'll state here, for the record (yes, this does seem to be, increasingly, my new catch phrase): who the fuck cares [that he embellished his memoir]? i'm sure many parts of the Bible were 'embellished', yet millions of people live their life by it. of course, those people are crazy...where was Oprah then? "Jesus didn't actually say that? God really didn't create man? I have to say, it is difficult for me to talk to you because I feel really duped."
unrelated, i saw Imagine Me & You. my life would be so much easier if i could just fall in love with a beautiful [gay]woman. well, ok. that may not be true.
i'll state here, for the record (yes, this does seem to be, increasingly, my new catch phrase): who the fuck cares [that he embellished his memoir]? i'm sure many parts of the Bible were 'embellished', yet millions of people live their life by it. of course, those people are crazy...where was Oprah then? "Jesus didn't actually say that? God really didn't create man? I have to say, it is difficult for me to talk to you because I feel really duped."
unrelated, i saw Imagine Me & You. my life would be so much easier if i could just fall in love with a beautiful [gay]woman. well, ok. that may not be true.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
knights of the fetal citizen
this guy is the new Sandra Day O'Connor. *cough*
i read this harrowing article in Rolling Stone [on Senator Brownback].
and...insert mopey comment here about assinine exboyfriend causing me emotional strife from afar. (i know nothing of his stance on abortion except that he would not have wanted to have a child with me)
regardless.
it's been a depressing day.
and my motherboard is dusty.
i read this harrowing article in Rolling Stone [on Senator Brownback].
and...insert mopey comment here about assinine exboyfriend causing me emotional strife from afar. (i know nothing of his stance on abortion except that he would not have wanted to have a child with me)
regardless.
it's been a depressing day.
and my motherboard is dusty.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Sunday, January 29, 2006
rumination
They say that the left side of the brain
Controls the right
They say that the right side
Has to work hard all night
Maybe I think too much for my own good
Some people say so
Other people say no no
The fact is
You don't think as much as you could
-paul simon-
Controls the right
They say that the right side
Has to work hard all night
Maybe I think too much for my own good
Some people say so
Other people say no no
The fact is
You don't think as much as you could
-paul simon-
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
4:26am
it occurred to me today that my life would be fantastically better if my body just got tired at 12am and felt rejuvenated by 9am. this has never, in my life, been the case.
as a result, and a fault of 1990's VH1 late-night programming, i always get the first few bars of Bjork's Possibly Maybe stuck in my head in the middle of the night.
it's been a lackluster week.
it's tuesday.
as a result, and a fault of 1990's VH1 late-night programming, i always get the first few bars of Bjork's Possibly Maybe stuck in my head in the middle of the night.
it's been a lackluster week.
it's tuesday.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
shouldn't you be off bringing religiosity to the fuzzy wuzzies or some such?
so, firstly, i have enabled anonymous commenting (which, unbeknownst to me, was not previously available here until my mother brought it to my attention.) endless possibility for rebuttals, provided they're not pious and, well, full of shit. my gift to you.
(for fuck's sake though, let me know who you are. there's nothing more irritating than my having to track anonymous IP addresses to figure it out.)
secondly, this whole Roe vs Wade deal...
today was the 33 year anniversary of the famous Texas ruling. i was reminded of this by a number of friends' bulletins about various rallies. one of which was promoting a pro-life christian rally (love the dude dearly, but if our conversations every stray from relationships, hip-hop, and Breakfast at Tiffany's, we'll have problems) weird that in the five years i've known him, it never has been an issue.
so.
though i may be the first woman to tell you that chicks can be crazy, and i'm usually the closest gawker at the feet of a hot stripper, i have a violently feminist opinion when it comes to women's bodies and abortion.
pro-lifers, whether they're singing kumbaya or throwing stones and holding a picture of an aborted fetus (who takes a picture of an aborted fetus? whose job is that?) make me a violent one.
i especially have issues with men's opinions on this topic. which is a whole other argument. regrettably, boys, i'm going to say you have to sit this one out. I have friends who've expressed their strong opinion on the fact that they won't fuck a girl who isn't comfortable with the option of abortion. i've also known a guy who accused a girl of 'faking'[an abortion] to get attention (as a first-hand witness at the fucking clinic, his disbelief and lack of concern was rather appalling.)
sigh.
on this topic, men and women will never be equal. it's just not possible.
i believe that this is not, nor should it ever be, a government's decision. period. under such circumstances, it is, and will always be, the worst, most painful and most difficult decision of a woman's life. but it is her choice alone. it is not the decision of a man in Washington, or some chick in Texas, or a church group in Delaware, or that guy on the corner who sells you the Post.
the sad truth is, wherever one might stand on the topic of abortion, i'll bet that a good percentage of college/high school students today couldn't even tell you who either "Roe" or "Wade" was. but that's a whole different issue.
(for fuck's sake though, let me know who you are. there's nothing more irritating than my having to track anonymous IP addresses to figure it out.)
secondly, this whole Roe vs Wade deal...
today was the 33 year anniversary of the famous Texas ruling. i was reminded of this by a number of friends' bulletins about various rallies. one of which was promoting a pro-life christian rally (love the dude dearly, but if our conversations every stray from relationships, hip-hop, and Breakfast at Tiffany's, we'll have problems) weird that in the five years i've known him, it never has been an issue.
so.
though i may be the first woman to tell you that chicks can be crazy, and i'm usually the closest gawker at the feet of a hot stripper, i have a violently feminist opinion when it comes to women's bodies and abortion.
pro-lifers, whether they're singing kumbaya or throwing stones and holding a picture of an aborted fetus (who takes a picture of an aborted fetus? whose job is that?) make me a violent one.
i especially have issues with men's opinions on this topic. which is a whole other argument. regrettably, boys, i'm going to say you have to sit this one out. I have friends who've expressed their strong opinion on the fact that they won't fuck a girl who isn't comfortable with the option of abortion. i've also known a guy who accused a girl of 'faking'[an abortion] to get attention (as a first-hand witness at the fucking clinic, his disbelief and lack of concern was rather appalling.)
sigh.
on this topic, men and women will never be equal. it's just not possible.
i believe that this is not, nor should it ever be, a government's decision. period. under such circumstances, it is, and will always be, the worst, most painful and most difficult decision of a woman's life. but it is her choice alone. it is not the decision of a man in Washington, or some chick in Texas, or a church group in Delaware, or that guy on the corner who sells you the Post.
the sad truth is, wherever one might stand on the topic of abortion, i'll bet that a good percentage of college/high school students today couldn't even tell you who either "Roe" or "Wade" was. but that's a whole different issue.
Friday, January 20, 2006
oh how i love thee
let me express my complete jubilation upon discovering that the Whole Foods in Union Square carries Rogue Chocolate Stout.
1 pint 6 oz. of Oregon. mmmmm.
1 pint 6 oz. of Oregon. mmmmm.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
other people's words
my writing professor from UCLA has a piece in this issue of Fail Better.
cool guy. nominated me for an award and always sent me home with lemons from his garden.
i've yet to make lemonade.
cool guy. nominated me for an award and always sent me home with lemons from his garden.
i've yet to make lemonade.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
not regret but thought of paths not taken
What if the right part of leaving
Turned out to be wrong
home n.
1. A place where one lives; a residence.
2. a. An environment offering security and happiness.
b. A valued place regarded as a refuge or place of origin.
3. The place, such as a country or town, where one was born or has lived for a long period.
I never really missed Oregon until I moved to the east coast. I can't explain why. Even in the five years I resided in California, I don't remember ever feeling so distant and nostalgic for the northwest, though I'm sure there must have been such moments.
The transition, both to and from, New York and Oregon is a difficult one. A lot of it has to do with pacing. Most of it has to do with time difference. And the rest has to do with my heart.
It took me a week in Ashland just to relax. Now, back east, I feel a bit displaced.
But you can never really go home. The past is a curious thing. Returning to it, well, it's not what you expect. They way you remember things…a red house that was actually blue.
When I moved out [at seventeen] I had no attachments. The friends I had [then] were never a huge part of my life. And for whatever reason, I've never had a problem moving on, at least in physical terms (count the six cities I've resided in since). But I've never regretted leaving. And I've never moved back since. It had never occurred to me, to be honest.
For the first time upon returning home, I realized how much I care for the people I grew up with. Sad that ten years had to pass for us to get to know one another. Some I've known all along; Ben and I still curl up on my parents' couch and watch action movies the way we have since 7th grade (we contemplated briefly about departing from our genre of 13 years, but decided against it). We still drink my parents' booze, only now, we're allowed to. Which takes the fun out of it. Others, I've 'known' for ages, but have only recently learned who they are. Still others, I thought I knew, but I was wrong (I ran into my best friend from high school, who hardly even acknowledged me).
Most difficult though, was leaving behind someone I really care for. I've know I liked this person since I was twelve years old, the way you know you're an uncoordinated dancer or bad at math. It's just a part of you. He still makes me nervous, reminds me of all the fantastic awkwardness of being a teenager. He'll always have that. And no one else will.
It makes it difficult to come back to a city where nobody really knows me, not in that way.
Turned out to be wrong
home n.
1. A place where one lives; a residence.
2. a. An environment offering security and happiness.
b. A valued place regarded as a refuge or place of origin.
3. The place, such as a country or town, where one was born or has lived for a long period.
I never really missed Oregon until I moved to the east coast. I can't explain why. Even in the five years I resided in California, I don't remember ever feeling so distant and nostalgic for the northwest, though I'm sure there must have been such moments.
The transition, both to and from, New York and Oregon is a difficult one. A lot of it has to do with pacing. Most of it has to do with time difference. And the rest has to do with my heart.
It took me a week in Ashland just to relax. Now, back east, I feel a bit displaced.
But you can never really go home. The past is a curious thing. Returning to it, well, it's not what you expect. They way you remember things…a red house that was actually blue.
When I moved out [at seventeen] I had no attachments. The friends I had [then] were never a huge part of my life. And for whatever reason, I've never had a problem moving on, at least in physical terms (count the six cities I've resided in since). But I've never regretted leaving. And I've never moved back since. It had never occurred to me, to be honest.
For the first time upon returning home, I realized how much I care for the people I grew up with. Sad that ten years had to pass for us to get to know one another. Some I've known all along; Ben and I still curl up on my parents' couch and watch action movies the way we have since 7th grade (we contemplated briefly about departing from our genre of 13 years, but decided against it). We still drink my parents' booze, only now, we're allowed to. Which takes the fun out of it. Others, I've 'known' for ages, but have only recently learned who they are. Still others, I thought I knew, but I was wrong (I ran into my best friend from high school, who hardly even acknowledged me).
Most difficult though, was leaving behind someone I really care for. I've know I liked this person since I was twelve years old, the way you know you're an uncoordinated dancer or bad at math. It's just a part of you. He still makes me nervous, reminds me of all the fantastic awkwardness of being a teenager. He'll always have that. And no one else will.
It makes it difficult to come back to a city where nobody really knows me, not in that way.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
and i swear to god i've found myself in the end...
i'm *cough* home. in a fortunate turn of events, New York didn't implode while i was away.
darn.
when did Home become where the problems are and not where the heart is? i missed that transition.
I've been thinking of everything
I used to want to be
I've been thinking of everything
Of me
Of you and me
(i was going to say last night, graduated cynic; burgeoning realist. but i thought of it later.)
sigh.
darn.
when did Home become where the problems are and not where the heart is? i missed that transition.
I've been thinking of everything
I used to want to be
I've been thinking of everything
Of me
Of you and me
(i was going to say last night, graduated cynic; burgeoning realist. but i thought of it later.)
sigh.
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