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Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Suburbdog Fewbucksaire
Current mood:I dream a highway back to you
Maybe I need to see an uplifting movie such as “Slumdog Millionaire,” because lately kids are so sad sometimes. The other day, a first grader almost cried while telling me he was upset that he went to the city library and found out his address is outside city limits which means his family would have to pay for a library card and they can‘t do it. I have never seen a 5 year-old get this worked up over books, but then again, I never met myself in such a circumstance, because I lived in The Inner City [hah] when I was that age. Then today this 7 year old girl was telling me “I was so sad last night…[seriously, she looks like someone died]” I said, “Why?“ “We were baking fish sticks and the glass pan broke when we took them out. We had to throw them out. Every single fish stick had glass in it.“
Then other stories started to pour out…“Grandma won’t give me the dresses she made for me."Why?“ Because mom won’t let Grandpa see my brothers anymore. Grandma threw away the dresses.“
Sheeshus Christ! Used to be, I had more funny kids stories than not. Nowadays, fish sticks and libraries are sob-worthy luxuries and grandmas are petty enough to throw away gifts! Let us move to the slums of India! There must be a better culture somewhere!
Meanwhile, Mango’s been dying to see Oscar and BAFTA winner “Slumdog Millionaire” but we can’t afford to see it until it hits the $1.50 theater and I can afford a purse large enough to conceal a 10-lb wiener dog. Not surprisingly, it just recently hit the regular theater cuz here we apparently ain’t all that interested in brown people, especially not slum dwellers, here in the Valley of the Um, Whatever, oops, we need to move outta here.
So while we wait, Mango is busy proposing and drafting screenplays such as “Horndog Zeronaire,” which is the story of our defunct dating life thus far, unless you count the ones that we didn’t really date, but instead had tortured undying affections for, e.g. that time we starred in “Love in the Time of Cholera.”
Not that we want a Millionaire. Recently have watched a few episodes of “The Millionaire Matchmaker,” [no really, it’s funny to watch hapless millionaires try to date hoochie girls] and if this show reflected reality more than it does, I would never ever go back to LA.
Excerpt-
Matchmaker to woman: If you want a match, you MUST straighten your hair and get extensions by tomorrow. And none of this [gestures at clothes, looks as if about to vomit]
Woman: Ok!
..AND...drumroll...
Millionaire studonnaire um, eck: “For most people to be presented with 30 or 40 gorgeous women, it’s a wonderful opportunity. For me it’s called a Wednesday,”
*
Fortunately, MY LA is more typically the slum where you can buy T-shirts featuring fuzzy [furry? tactile?] images of 80s bands for $5 and immigrants dwell in multigenerational adorable crumbling shacks with nonfunctional landlords, and somehow this Spanish-speaking district was included in Koreatown, though little Korea is many blocks away. Only twice did any of my neighbors make any derogatory comments to me and once wasn’t really meant to be bad, it was just idiotic and hilarious:
Dude: Hey.
Me: [Still walking, not registering fact that any dude yells at me on the street]
Dude: Hey! [Running to catch up]
Me: [wishing I wasn’t wearing panty hose and skirt to interview]
Dude: So, I was wondering if you would like to go out. I’m in the drug rehab program across the street and we don’t get to see women for 60 days, so ya know, I’m kinda desperate…”
Me: Oh really [oh, did you say “Desperate?!!!” Golly Gee! The Flattery!]. I’m kinda focusing on my “career.”
Dude: Oh, in what?
Me: Law.
Dude: Oh, I love lawyers! …
Me: [walking faster, not bothering to correct the premature assumption, figure lawyers seem like asskickers]
Dude: [keeping apace, I wonder if he needs a lawyer currently?]
…then the other time I was wearing soccer shorts and something else equally unsexy on my way to the Laundromat, er lavenderia, incidentally which is cheaper than the crap one near here in Springfield. I also loved this one because I could leave my clothes there and go home instead of guarding the clothes. Maybe this is because everyone in my neighborhood was 5 feet tall and therefore had no use for my clothes. Or my clothes were worth $5 and not worth stealing/getting beat up by Amazon Whit-ish Woman. I prefer to believe the people were just nice. Anyhoo-
Dude: [in Spanish, seems to be asking "how much?" but is giggling too hard]
Other Dude: hee hee
Me: [inward gag, brief confusion…I‘m not carrying anything….what could I be selling?…oh]
So I guess they were asking for my price? I don’t know, I’m not hip and I‘m so damn naive. Oh wait, there was one other time on the other block, I briefly mentioned this before:
Me: [Hustling home in the dark. Wearing little hooded red velour jacket, looking like child. Oh wait, maybe I do that a lot. Yesterday as I channel-surfed with ignorance and little skill, a dental assistant named five channels for me to watch on their satellite TV. Cartoon Network most enthusiastically and sincerely. Jigga wha? I chose Animal Planet. Did you know that rats gestate for just three weeks? Or that if laid on a blanket, locusts would cover 1/5 of the planet?!! The Biblical Horror!]
Dude: [sitting on step, aimlessly. Or with very poor aim.]
Dude: Hi!
Me: Hi. [hustling past]
Dude: God Bless You!
Me: [Bless what? The fact that I say Hello? Why do I always answer? Except I didn’t answer the price-asker dude. Now I’m almost long past, not too sure I’m interested in this new dude’s version of God, me now silent]
Dude: Don’t be rude!
Me: [wondering if this shade of red is too... whorish? or...welcoming?]
….so as you can see, all of this slum behavior is much preferable to millionaire behavior, though none of it is datable either. So as soon as we can swing the tickets, Mango and I are going to take a worldwide trip to hunt down a dawg for her, and something for me that DOESN’T have dog in the title. As for the Zero or Million factor, whatev. If he doesn’t mind my $8 velour jackets, we can deal with the Zero.
Meanwhile I only listen to 4 Gillian Welch songs before I go to sleep. Time (The Revelator) album: Revelator; Dear Someone; Everything is Free, I Dream a Highway. Then by day in the truck it's the Bajofondo Tango Club. Or rather, the one free download off KCRW, bah.
My #1 slumdog who rose from puppymill to rescue shelter to, um...online fame and being totally spoiled by me.
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Monday, February 23, 2009
FYI for women
Current mood:the age of enlightenment
Category: Dreams and the Supernatural
So if you pay attention to these sorts of things, you've probably already heard of (warning: eeww, squeamish-worthy, but worth reading!)...the Diva Cup and Instead Cup. I heard years ago but was dubious until recently and now am a loyal convert. It started because I was hanging out with a friend and some babies and talking about how disturbing it is that diapers are filling landfills. Then I was reminding myself that once a month I ALSO fill landfills with my own mini-diapers, that cost a fortune, are uncomfortable, and irritating to the skin, etc. So my friend said her sister swears by The Diva Cup. I laughed about the name and then ran out to PC Market of Choice a week later to get my own. A small investment of 20some dollars but within a couple months I'll recoup the loss by not-buying those other formerly-used landfillers.
Anyhow, it takes a little practice but overall I find it comfortable when in place properly. There are two sizes, so if you're older, have had a baby, or are otherwise needing a Size 2, whatever, they've got it.
and now I'm getting a job as a Diva Cup Rep, or rather, am typing blogs about it in plain view of any creep in the library who wants to read over my shoulder, hah.
Um, if it were up to me, "Diva" would not be the word. but whatev, I'm not sittin' around inventin' Va-jay-jay gear.
Currently listening:
Multiply
By Jamie Lidell
Release date: 2005-06-28
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Wednesday, November 26, 2008
or you might know it
Current mood:and we all make it through another day
My aunt sent me an article from DailyOm.com the other day that included the phrase:
"You may be a human angel yet not know it."
I have to say, this brightened my day, not because of the article's sincere intent to highlight the idea that there are Good humans out there (you might be surprised to learn this if you've spent much time watching election ads on TV), but anyhow, I smiled at the article just because the phrasing of that really cracked me up.
I mean, really. I picture it like this:
*
Person 1: I was unaware that I am a human angel until I read an online blog post at DailyOm.com. today and suddenly it just all dawned on me. Were you aware that I am a human angel?
Person 2: "....um......."
Currently listening:
City Of Angels: Music From The Motion Picture
Release date: 1998-03-31
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Thursday, August 07, 2008
Obama would never do that to your children
Current mood: but Cheney already did
So I am hot to trot down the campaign trail and it is magnificent times. or.
I'm donating my time and risking my brain to cell phone deathrays (studies say...eeek)...because in Lane County we don't deserve a real phone bank.
...and they give me the Springfield numbers to call, just cuz I'm "Springfieldian." Whatever. Springfield isn't Obama town and that should just be accepted:
Me: So do you have a decision about the presidential candidates at this time?
Woman (friendly, but raging against the machine): I hate both of 'em. I wouldn't vote for Obama if they put a gun to mah head. No, I wouldn't vote for him if they put a gun to my children's heads. I don't think Cheney [sic] is worth a chance either. [insert cosmic rage]
Me: Oh, I see. Well I definitely encourage you to go ahead and vote! (please do vote for Cheney)
Woman: Oh I will vote, I definitely think voting is important.
Currently listening :
A State of Wonder: The Complete Goldberg Variations (1955 & 1981)
By Johann Sebastian Bach
Release date: 2002-09-03
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Monday, August 04, 2008
two turntables and a microphone
Current mood: the purse was actually macrame
This has nothing to do with this blog, but on Friday I went to a bar to see a music show, or rather to a bar to sit by myself, but the strangest thing happened: A man raced by, shouting, "Nice Purse! Crochet! Did you make it yourself?!!" Then he disappeared in a whirl of glory. Then he blew past again, this time fondling my purse (which was in my, uh...LAP), and sayyyyinnggg, "Crooooooooshhaaaaaaaaay!!!!"
So now I know it is not true that men don't talk to me in bars. It's just that only acidheads talk to me in bars.
*
So, because I've allowed a few or several bad or mediocre hands to be dealt to me on the relationship or extended-dating front (I'm taking credit for participating, though emphasizing that I don't seek the particularly incompatible connections, but they somehow seek me, in incredibly patterned ways), I've had more than one friend say I need to think hard and explicitly about what I want instead of just flowing with "Like." One of the reasons I get burned is that I just tend to like people when we're even marginally compatible, because I have a tendency to think a lot about a person's "Potential," which means when I see little pieces of good qualities and compatibilities I tend to think it's worth investing energy there, though a lot of the time it just leads to unnecessary bruises, because energy spent is somewhat energy lost when it doesn't grow into anything you can hold onto or even recall fondly. Funny how you can start out feeling pretty good on your own, but then when you add and subtract someone from your life, you might end up feeling like you come out with less than you came in, though you're still the You that came in, and the rest of your world is probably fairly intact. Still, there's this new hole. The energy equation, of course.
*
This description isn't really a Hypothetical Man. I know a few like this - they just aren't available to me. So. anyhow:
I'd like to know someone energetic, invested in meaningful pursuits, and inquisitive, with a range of hobbies and interests he'd be willing to share but who is also a person who knows how to entertain himself together or alone without the aid of video games, TV, and other mostly-passive kinds of activities, though I wouldn't say any of these things are bad in moderation.
I need someone with emotional and intellectual depth who isn't afraid of his own depths nor the depths of others. I want someone who means what he says, and is reliable in words and actions. I respect someone who knows how to say what he wants and knows how to set reasonable limits, and also respects my need to do the same. I appreciate someone analytical who recognizes the difference between critical idealism and just plain Cynicism. I pay attention to problems in the world because I think we can do better, whereas I'm not interested in bonding with people who think the world and their personal circumstances just plain "suck."
Most of all, I would like to become close to someone who feels whole alone but would be even happier to share life with a partner in addition to circles of close friends. Whether our interests or circles of friends overlap a great deal or not is not a big concern to me. I just see these investments in hobbies and interests, idealistic pursuits outside of ourselves, and a variety of close friendships (formed in the past and present) as necessary elements in my life and the life of anyone who would be lifestyle-compatible with me. A summary of this would probably be: energy levels and levels of mental & emotional engagement need to be similar.
Also, lest you think I take myself Way Too Seriously, let me emphasize that anyone who can make me laugh is always welcome. Chances are, if we laugh together on a regular basis, you naturally possess most of the qualities I hope to see in a person, and neither of us will have to think too hard about my detailed lists of ideals, and I probably don't care whether you're a detail-lister or not, as long as you have a pretty strong sense and expression of what you want, and are capable of laughing or not-laughing at my list, as appropriate. Have you seen the movie "Best in Show?" Parker Posey's character or her husband talk about how their relationship is good because they can "Talk or Not-talk, together." It was funny, but also true.
*
So, now that you're all completely uninterested in dating me, anyone up for Bingo or Yahtzee tonight? I also have a complete bike map to all of Lane County, and I want to start a group mural, if only I had a wall and a local group of painters or willing spreaders-of-paint. I swear I'm not going to do graffiti with the acid-head.
Currently listening :
Sea Change
By Beck
Release date: 2002-09-24
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so I'm re-posting the myspace stuff I may have missed here (reverse chronology, sorry)...may be some redundancy but I'm too lazy to edit. I hope I get all the pics in here, have some faves of mango and nature too. God help me if all this is redundant, but I doubt that because I forget about the LJ mostly, since I'm hopelessssly deeevoted to..myspace and rupert murdoch and the 4 real friends I ever met on myspace, and the 90 real friends I have easy access to, thanks to rupert.
Friday, September 14, 2007
butterfly in the sky (reading rainbow!!!)
Current mood: if by, "me" you mean, "you"
Today, I coined a new Awesome Term. Last time I coined an awesome term, Eddie and I started calling guys "Peacocks" if we noticed that when they walked into a large room they first of all acted like a king, and second of all, acted as though people were watching them, and third of all, seemed as if they were trying to figure out who's watching but at the same time they try not to really seem like they're surveying the room for watchers, though they obviously are. Little did they know, no one was watching except us. And we were watching for the wrong reasons, as far as they were concerned.
Today, I was being told that dealing with a difficult person's bla bla bla was a good learning experience. I have been through this same deal plenty of times, and there's really nothin' much to learn from this particular grind, so I was like, um, "guess what, I don't need a Reading Rainbow."
It was awesome. I would've laughed really hard under other circumstances. For instance, if Eddie had been at my side, and we had burst into song, "Butterfly in the skyyyyy!!! I can fly twice as high!!! Take a look, it's in a book, a reading rainbow!!!!"
It would be even funnier if Eddie and I were wearing matching rainbow tube tops, and then out of my cloud-shaped purse, leaps my dog, who is also wearing a rainbow tube top. Then the object-of-irritation strolls past and he/she's dressed as a huge rainbow with spectacles and a book permanently affixed-to-self somehow.
I can't say for sure why this didn't happen today. Maybe tomorrow. (?!!)
!!!!)
Currently listening :
I Will
By MoZella
Release date: 07 November, 2006
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Friday, August 31, 2007
11:37 in the Garden of Good and Less-than-Stellar
Current mood: distant but cheesy
Here's a picture of the plants (I wackily arranged) from A's organic garden:
Today was the Cusack-a-Thon. So I started off with Better off Dead and that definitely had more than a few great lines, but the ski sequence was deadly long, and the French girl wasn't really as charming as she should've been, plus JC was never really that depressed. Still, I suppose the point is for John to be the most adorable thing on the screen, so mission Accomplished. Then I watched Grosse Pointe Blank, and remembered the reason why I couldn't remember if it was any good: JC does just fine but the women are frickin' annoying. And there isn't any particular palpable force that leads to his desire for transformation or transition or whatever it is you can do with Minnie Driver as your love interest, which is not much, in my opinion, because she is still a robot.
So that show is ok, but has really just one good set of great lines, that I think goes like this [spoiler]:
JC: [saving dude he isn't supposed to save] I love your daughter and I have a renewed appreciation for life.
Bad Guy [squint-ily observing at a distance]: He either loves that guy's daughter or has a renewed appreciation for life.
*
As I watch JC back-to-back, I'm getting the feeling he's sort of a Robin Williams actor, you know, the type who makes up his own little jokes and throws them in. It's either that, or he has a little fan club among screenwriters, and these dudes (screenwriters are mostly men, right?) sit around trying to come up with lines that sound JC-like. Probably both things are true. I imagine it would be easy enough for men to fall for him, because he's completely ambiguous as far as I can tell. Mostly because I've never thought he seemed he was attracted to anyone at all. He sort of deigns to be in the presence of mere humans, and every once in a while looks at a girl with either a "I've just smoked something, and I'm not totally sure, but I'm having some sort of feeling and you're in my visual path," or, he just sorta looks the way a clever, mildly-hungry rat would look while picturing a distant cheese in a maze.
God, I can't wait for somebody to give me that look. Oh wait. I think that might be just about the speed of look I probably get, if any.
Cameraman: No, Saffron, that's not it. I was trying to capture more of your "distant cheese" look.
Me: um. This?
Cameraman: No, no. In a maze. Act like you're in a maze.......Excellent, excellent. Distant cheese in a maze...wonderful. Let's get JC in here-
Currently listening :
Why Do Birds Sing?
By Violent Femmes
Release date: 30 April, 1991
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Monday, August 27, 2007
but she had a pizza coming to her, and you have no idea what I’m talking about
Current mood: homely
So there's this movie called "Jersey Girl," which as of 12:30 a.m. today, I think I've seen twice. Somehow. Don't ask me how. Here's the formula:
Plucky small-town person has ordinary but warmhearted job, quirky and hard yet tender close-knit circle of friends. Loving father who thinks she's the best thing ever. Because she is plucky, person feels the need to find something "better." Finds that betterness in big-city boyman Dylan McDermott. Seeks to impress McD. McD F's up bigtime, revealing inherent weakness. Ms. Plucky Realizes she is in some ways better than the McDerm. Her friends steal back the goldfish she gave to the McDerm. McDerm realizes the value of plucky small-town girl. Proves his goodness by trashing his BMW. "Sha la la, la la la la la" goes the closing song.
I'm sorry, but I have a soft spot for this particular formula. Even though, even though...I never ever come out of it wishing I could find that McDerm. Sheeshus, what an idiot. He had to be convinced of her worth. He allowed his on-again off-again pseudo-classyrichgirl armcandy to foist Plucky's heartwarming gift goldfish on his secretary. He thinks he is somehow worth her time because he trashed a car? Come on. Do I need to retell the parable about the poor man's 2 cents versus the rich man's BMW?
Nah. I come out of it with this warm sappy feeling, not because there was much good in the romance, but because I....
really wish I had those three tacky girlfriends. Cheap pink nails, poodle perms. Tacky outfits. Greasy food. Bad taste in movies.
The three tacky girlfriends who storm up the Manhattan highrise to steal back the goldfish I mistakenly gave to the soul-less businessman.
Here's the main problem with this movie formula: Honey, it ain't that easy to help a person recover his soul. It is probably easy to remind him that he sold/loss that soul. But he cannot recover it by denting his Beemer or kissing you.
So anyhow. I guess I used to have those diner friends, although mine weren't really tacky enough to be charming. But. They were on Yearbook and Newspaper staff, which is certifiably nerdy. Half of those were boys, which totally ruins the poodle perm dynamic. Still, we had a certain number of very tacky inside jokes about a certain "teacher" and her absurd phraseology. Which is almost like having matching hot-pink acrylic nails.
As for my lame-o bestest girlfriends, they were mostly not tacky enough to remain single. This is unfortunate. At age twenty-five, I feel I am a few months short of being too old to land a position as a trophy wife. But I can't say I'm in a hurry to cook for anyone but my mother and me. I mean, come on. On the few occasions that I have cooked for some other non-goldfish-appreciating person, I have severely regretted it. And not because there was anything wrong with my cooking.
Currently listening :
My Hometown
By Bruce Springsteen
Release date: 08 December, 1998
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Thursday, August 16, 2007
Survey of Unpopular Culture
Current mood: and/or
Ok, so this is another bogus header. I'm actually here to discuss popular culture. But it occurs to me, there are so many pop culture experts/critics out there, maybe it's time to breed more UNpop culture experts. Food for thought (speaking of which, I'm rather peeved at the response to my demands in the last blog. You know, you were supposed to propose Objectionable Foods to me, or I was going to make my blog inaccessible to you? So you didn't, and I couldn't stop shopping at the grocery store, and then I just gorged myself all night long. And then I couldn't bear to cut you off from my blog, because I know it's the only thing that keeps you alive. Or rather, the only thing that keeps you eating Doritos at 3 in the morning).
Anyhow, you may have surmised that I am not incredibly impressed by television, but I do have to watch it a bit to keep my finger on your pulse. To be more specific, I need to watch the commercials to which your will is bending.
Exhibit A:
...Enter Unattractive Yet Mysteriously Titillating Robotic Lady
[Robotic Lady opens up her chest/torso cavern. In Romance Novel Terminology, we call this bodice-ripping. Ta da! She's filled with a keg o' Heinie! (Heineken, to those of you who aren't in the brewskie know-how)]
...other stuff happens. Unimportant details, really. Point is, this is a lady filled with Beer! And she doesn't talk, either! Can I just say Dreams Come True!!!!
*
Ok, gag. Meanwhile, I do truly love the commercial for the GoPhone. If you haven't seen this yet, please park your behind on the couch until it comes on. Do it!!!! I wish I could quote it fully, but I can't, and not even Wikipedia is here to save me this time. Anyhoo, it's a father-son convo in which they say the converse of every typical father-son retort. As in, when the boy says something the father disagrees with, the father says:
"I raised you to say that!!!"
I'm not doing it justice it all. So just get on over to the TV. Just sit there, please. Sometime in the next 24 hrs it's going to come on, and you're gonna love it.
*
I gotta confess. I didn't just watch the adverts (gasp!) I also took a dose of Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, and Conan O'Brien. These are men with Essences so powerful I really only need to see them once a year to continue having healthy, shiny hair and feeling awesome.
Nevermindyou that I might be willing to become your friend solely based on your cable subscription to Comedy Central, I'm going to maintain, for the sake of our progeny, that TV is still not very much worth watching unless you haven't yet seen the GoPhone commercial, and/or you haven't seen Fabio carry Conan across a stage, and/or you haven't seen the commercial where the tortoises keep saying "and/or...."
Currently listening :
Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover
By Sophie B. Hawkins
Release date: 06 October, 2003
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Friday, August 10, 2007
Movie of the Year. Buuuurrrrrp!
Current mood: fantasmic
I don't care what anyone says, Shrek III is the best movie of the year. I just paid $2 to see it, and it was worth at least 6. This means a lot, if you know how cheap I am. Very cheap.
I don't think many people can say, "Damn, Shrek makes me miss college." But if you could hear me and Colin do the call and response girl-and-bird theme, you would weep to remember it. It was beauty at its truest, and for sha, Colin is secure with his manhood. This is why I lived in alcohol-free housing freshman year. Because non-drinkers are so much more creative. I mean, ya gotta have fun somehow, and WITHOUT BEER, WHAT ELSE IS THERE?!!!! Um, hello...CARTOONS!!! Yeah. I also lived there because I like sleeping and I don't like vomit. And I also have a lot of faith in my ability to meet people without livin' in tha part-ay zone. However, would you believe me if I said that the ONLY time a guy ever hit on me (try to believe I'm not incredibly unattractive, just for a moment) at a college party was at....a queer resource center event? yup. I have a few theories, one of them being....I musta let my guard down! oops!
This whole phenomenon was so notable, in fact, that Eddie and Kristina followed us back to my dorm to find out wha' tha wha' was going on, and as they hovered outside my window (dude, way too many people frequented my courtyard window) they were awfully disappointed to hear....a full-fledged conversation going on. Some people just don't understand what kind of smooth operator I am. I am so fiercely intimidating (yet seductive) that what they were hearing was....the boy telling me all about his summer work as an HIV counselor. Har! I am awesome! I inspire people to prove their responsible natures to me!! I'm sure I didn't ask for this info/argument! I was probably just talking about how much I like the song "Dancing Queen"!!!
Oh, and then I guess one time N stared at me for a long time at my Fondue or Fondon't party, but staring doesn't count as hitting on, unless you're...a creative writer. Oh wait, but he was! Thereyago, I was hit on twice in four years.
More to the point: I gotta admit some bias* on the Shrek thing. I have been in love with Shrek ever since I saw the look in his eyes when he fell for Fiona. I have seen this warm look in a man's eyes just once, and I wanted to inform him of his likeness, but I wasn't sure he'd understand. So I just kept my mouth shut and sighed internally, pretending I was actually fascinated by the details of a filing task. Then at some other completely unrelated moment, I told him Shrek was a kindred spirit. I had very little excuse to say this at that moment, but I gotta say I musta been somewhat right, cuz he didn't even flinch or really laugh, and he wasn't passed out cold at the time, nor could he have been distracted by Important Thoughts, because really, what man has those? urp.
But anyhoo, ya, I had a big crush on Shrek ever since he busted onto the screen, jumping in mud puddles and farting. Frankly, he can do very little wrong in my eyes. The only reason I've laid off is that I see he has already met his match. A very good match. So.
ExtremeShrekLovinBiasnotwithstanding, this movie was not only Freakin' Hilarious, it was also:
1. A women's empowerment film
2. A nerd empowerment film
3. A peacenik nerd empowerment film
4. A musical smorgasbord (on the goo-oo-ood ship, loll-i-pop...among other brilllliant classic ditties)
...and fifth of all, I'm in love with the Gingerbread Man. Oh baby. I love him even though he poops gumdrops when he's nervous (sorry, is that a spoiler??)
I mean, I don't gotta taste that bread to know he's good. Just look at the look on his face....the sound of his voice...those delicate, luscious lips...the way he mooooooves...sighhh.
Whew, somebody's gonna need a sleepin' pill to-night! Sorry buds, I won't be returnin' phone calls anytime soon. I am busy trollopin' through Far Far Away with my little breaded honeybun.
*oh, and somebody said my name in the movie too. Right before something about honeybutter or something else delicious.
Currently listening :
Begin to Hope
By Regina Spektor
Release date: 13 June, 2006
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Thursday, August 02, 2007
Women: Not Worth the Trouble
Current mood: androgynous
So I saw the movie, "Knocked Up." Whoa, not a moment too soon. I was just about to head out to tha club to tap some chick, but now I am going to wait at least 3 minutes before I do that again.
So here's the thing about women, the thing I didn't quite get until just now:
They are conniving, controlling little demons in a boob-suit. I mean, really. Let's face it: The boob is not part of the woman. It is just part of the convenient packaging!
So women. They will….snoop in your email, unapologetically ruin your Dude Time, idiotically encroach on your Dude Time and then act like it's Your Fault.
They will walk around acting like having a pair is an excuse to act like one (boob).
I never did figure out why a dude would put up with any of this. And to let the woman use hormones the way some people use beer (i.e. I'm so Hormonal/Drunk, what I'm saying doesn't really count)?
So let's face it, there have got to be better ways to create offspring and maintain the species. Let's circumvent the women, because women* are good fo two things only. Ok, maybe three:
1. Something to look at.
2. Something to touch.
3. Something to inspire guilt in you.
So let's find some remedies:
1. Picasso made some o' these. He's a man. I don't think he actually needed female models to create these visual feasts.
2. See movie:
Dude 1: Tell him not to jerk off while wearing a noose-
Dude 2: He says don't jerk off while wearing a noose-
Dude 1: Tell him if he's going to do it, don't do it without a Teammate or a Spotter-
Dude 3: (?)
…So you see, if you've got friends (or teammates, at the very least), you have other avenues for touching.
3. Guilt? What's that for? I dunno. I certainly don't find myself looking for a dispensary of this. Especially now that my needs in Categories 1 and 2 are already taken care of.
In one scene we see Married Dude, in full-on Woman-inspired-Manguilt mode, confessing his little bleeding heart out to Unmarried Dude. They're in Vegas, because, of course, there are two places to be a man:
1. At home with your wife.
2. In Vegas.
Married Dude: "bla bla bla, she loves me so much!! and I can't accept it!! What is wrong with me!! she wants to be with me all the time, she loves me so much she wants to be with me all the time!! and that is our Only Problem!!!"
....aherrm. ahemahema. uh. only? only problem? She loves you So Much?! How much exactly? Enough that she disregards your human need to have...time of your own? Last time I checked, loving someone included....ummm, considering that person's needs. Maybe. I may be totally outta line on this one. Let me think.
Ok, I thought. I'm ready to call this lady a total idiot. Ok, done.
--
*this discussion addresses the North American variety only. See field guide for exceptions.
Currently listening :
The Awakening
By Melissa Etheridge
Release date: 25 September, 2007
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Sunday, July 29, 2007
jus d'orange, avec tous les Cheetos orange (pronounced sheeetoes)
Current mood: posh spice
Before this summer is over, I will Definitely sample every single reality competition show on the Bravo channel. They all just strike so close to home!
Take today's treat, 'Welcome to the Parker….'
Food Critic Chick: [cheeks full, squirrel-style. chest, amply freckled with days of sunshine. legs crossed, lounging on pool chair.] …"Some people think this is like, being on vacation. They don't get it. It's like a marathon! ...The last resort fed me 18 courses!!! [now feed me, Nowwwww.]"
…Aherrm. I totally feel ya. The other day, I woke up next to a small pile of Cheetos. The bag was nowhere in sight, but my fingers were coated telltale orange. I looked up at the clock and realized I'd been asleep for 11 hours. I still could not recollect the full nature of the encounter with the Cheetos, though I do recall some sort of midnight salt-craving. Some people think sleeping 11 hours is like vacation, but lemme tell ya, it is a MARATHON. Now where's my plushy bathrobe?! You know, the white one. Not the one streaked Cheeto-orange.
Currently listening :
The Very Best of War
By War
Release date: 15 July, 2003
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Friday, February 03, 2006
l'arches golden
sometimes the modern advertising industry worries me. for instance, have you heard this McDonald's radio ad? goes something like:
"Knowledge is Power- that's why the modern woman meshes with Mickey-D's!!!"
umm...this is how I picture this alternate reality:
Lady 1: Hey girlfriend, there's this lovely little cafe I want to take you to. It totally meshes with our modern ways. I feel empowered there.
Lady 2: I've been wanting to mesh with an eaterie.
Lady 1: Yeah, you will. I feel empowered just thinking about l'arch-golden. They're fast. And my taste in food is like my taste in men.
Currently listening :
The Definitive Collection
By Patsy Cline
Release date: 22 June, 2004
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Monday, November 12, 2007
[Finite] Jest.
Current mood: those cutoffs took Courage.
By the way, my blog is still basically dead. I'm not about to share any particularly personal or original thoughts. I know, I know, I know how to sell a story, don't I?
I'll be working at the university starting next month. I went to get my ID today so I can start rampantly using the bus and univ library for free. I decided to pick up Infinite Jest, which I never bothered to finish a few years ago (or barely started) because it was overhyped and I was underwhelmed by the first chapter. So I read The Broom of the System and that was the extent of my brief like-affair with DFW. That's right. A like-affair. I don't really fall for authors. For one thing, I have a little bit (or too much, rather) of experience with the Creative Writer type, and let me tell ya, if anyone has rated those Highly, they are surely Over-rated. A little bit too egocentric and irresponsible, to start a Very Long List of reasons for avoidance of anything that calls Itself a 'Creative Writer.' My best friend is a creative writer but if you asked him to define himself in a paragraph I doubt that term would be included.
Anyhow, I liked that one book which wasn't so infinitely long as to require any sort of investment, and then I was done with David Foster Wallace until he got that illustrious Disney endowed professorship at Pomona and because I worked in the English & Classics department, I was subject to that glamor. Or Glamour, really.
Anyhow, again, the like-affair did not blossom further. I mean, this guy had greasy hair, ugly boots, and untitillating cut-off jeans atop legs that were probably on the hairy monster-side. Anyhow, I did like him because one time he came in to use the xerox and-
1. He didn't order me to do it for him, though I probably looked 16 which is a look that generally inspires people to order you to do stuff (note: according to the image on my new University ID, I am actually looking like I'm in my mid-twenties or even late-twenties now! Unlike in the Age 23 default icon on my MySpace! I think my face went on a Diet!!!).
2. He then politely asked for help with some clearly-advanced feature.
3. He then acted appreciative about the knowledge I bestowed upon him.
4. No wait, he wasn't acting. But I chalked it up to Midwestern Charm. I'm guessing I'm overestimating Iowans and whomever else exists in the land of No Oceans.
Anyhow, I was sitting in a waiting room the other day waiting for my dad to be cured of pneumonia. Naturally, I picked up Oprah's magazine. Thank god every issue features her heavenly face on the cover!!!
So, I re-read DFW's Kenyon commencement speech in that magazine and remembered why I knew he wasn't "acting" that time I spoke with him. It starts with a cute fish story:
There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says "Morning, boys. How's the water?" And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes "What the hell is water?"
...but then moves past cute:
But anyway, you finally get to the checkout line's front, and you pay for your food, and you get told to "Have a nice day" in a voice that is the absolute voice of death. Then you have to take your creepy, flimsy, plastic bags of groceries in your cart with the one crazy wheel that pulls maddeningly to the left, all the way out through the crowded, bumpy, littery parking lot, and then you have to drive all the way home through slow, heavy, SUV-intensive, rush-hour traffic, et cetera et cetera.
Everyone here has done this, of course. But it hasn't yet been part of you graduates' actual life routine, day after week after month after year.
But it will be. And many more dreary, annoying, seemingly meaningless routines besides. But that is not the point. The point is that petty, frustrating crap like this is exactly where the work of choosing is gonna come in. Because the traffic jams and crowded aisles and long checkout lines give me time to think, and if I don't make a conscious decision about how to think and what to pay attention to, I'm gonna be pissed and miserable every time I have to shop. Because my natural default setting is the certainty that situations like this are really all about me. About MY hungriness and MY fatigue and MY desire to just get home, and it's going to seem for all the world like everybody else is just in my way. And who are all these people in my way? And look at how repulsive most of them are, and how stupid and cow-like and dead-eyed and nonhuman they seem in the checkout line, or at how annoying and rude it is that people are talking loudly on cell phones in the middle of the line. And look at how deeply and personally unfair this is.
Or, of course, if I'm in a more socially conscious liberal arts form of my default setting, I can spend time in the end-of-the-day traffic being disgusted about all the huge, stupid, lane-blocking SUV's and Hummers and V-12 pickup trucks, burning their wasteful, selfish, forty-gallon tanks of gas, and I can dwell on the fact that the patriotic or religious bumper-stickers always seem to be on the biggest, most disgustingly selfish vehicles, driven by the ugliest [responding here to loud applause] (this is an example of how NOT to think, though) most disgustingly selfish vehicles, driven by the ugliest, most inconsiderate and aggressive drivers. And I can think about how our children's children will despise us for wasting all the future's fuel, and probably screwing up the climate, and how spoiled and stupid and selfish and disgusting we all are, and how modern consumer society just sucks, and so forth and so on.
You get the idea.
If I choose to think this way in a store and on the freeway, fine. Lots of us do. Except thinking this way tends to be so easy and automatic that it doesn't have to be a choice. It is my natural default setting. It's the automatic way that I experience the boring, frustrating, crowded parts of adult life when I'm operating on the automatic, unconscious belief that I am the center of the world, and that my immediate needs and feelings are what should determine the world's priorities.
The thing is that, of course, there are totally different ways to think about these kinds of situations. In this traffic, all these vehicles stopped and idling in my way, it's not impossible that some of these people in SUV's have been in horrible auto accidents in the past, and now find driving so terrifying that their therapist has all but ordered them to get a huge, heavy SUV so they can feel safe enough to drive. Or that the Hummer that just cut me off is maybe being driven by a father whose little child is hurt or sick in the seat next to him, and he's trying to get this kid to the hospital, and he's in a bigger, more legitimate hurry than I am: it is actually I who am in HIS way.
*
anyhow, I must have infinity on the mind today, because aside from picking up the Infinite, I also re-listened to Smashing Pumpkins 'Thirty-three' and declared it The Greatest Love Song Ever, despite Billy Corgain's godawful voice (I suppose he carries a tune, yeah?)...well, he's heartfelt and that counts more than mel·lif·lu·ous·ness any day:
Speak to me in a language I can hear
Humour me before I have to go
Deep in thought I forgive everyone
As the cluttered streets greet me once again
I know I can't be late
Supper's waiting on the table
Tomorrow's just an excuse away
So I pull my collar up and face the cold, on my own
The Earth laughs beneath my heavy feet
At the blasphemy in myold jangly walk
Steeple guide me to my heart and home
The sun is out and up and down again
I know I'll make it, love can last forever
Graceful swans of never topple to the Earth
And you can make it last forever
You can make it last forever
And for a moment I lose myself
Wrapped up in the pleasures of the world
I've journeyed here and there and back again
But in the same old haunts I still find my friends
Mysteries not ready to reveal
Sympathies I'm ready to return
I'll make the effort, love can last forever
Graceful swans of never topple to the Earth
Tomorrow's just an excuse
Tomorrow's just an excuse
And you can make it last forever
*
I'm guessing this means I'm not romantic in the ordinary modern sense (definitely the Wuthering Heights sense though, unfortunately) because there's nothing seductive about this song, it really doesn't inspire any sort of getting-jiggy, and it doesn't even imply that any actual love affair has taken place or will take place. It isn't written as if toward one person, and it's more about the World than the Self.
Sometimes I wonder if DFW writes to his potential or if he writes to the level of what he believes America can digest. I'm leaning toward the latter because, as I said, Infinite Jest is a little underwhelming and for chrissakes, this is a man with unkempt hair, ugly boots, cutoff jeans on a not-hot bod, zero xerox skills, and really all the other features of Genius just reeking from his unshowered Self.
Or whatever. But I don't think any one person ever writes more than One* Great Book, and I preferred The Broom of the System.
*so shoot me, Shakespeare.
p.s. I was enjoying Psapp's 'eating spiders' again too. Again, sort of a song about love but not a love-song...
Currently listening :
The Mirror Conspiracy
By Thievery Corporation
Release date: 22 August, 2000
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Sunday, October 28, 2007
You could plant a Tree in the city-
Current mood: yeah, I know a few things about monkeys
I've been thinking about what I would do if I could listen to only one song forever. Most songs are really only good as part of a collection, but some are repeat-worthy. One of my top life-soundtracks is How to Make an American Quilt, in particular 'The Diver' and 'The Life Before.' I don't suppose the movie was particularly brilliant but it was well-crafted in terms of imagery, music, interweaving of time periods, casting, and metaphor. I'm thinking The Diver ends up being my life soundtrack because much of it takes place in water or air, or both upon entry into the other. I can't quite remember the full story of the diving character. She was very beautiful as a young woman and had some sort of torrid affair, and somebody saw her diving into a pretty little pond at some point. I've always been jealous of these sorts of wilderness features. I mean, I guess I'm ultimately a city-girl for purposes of diversity and career opportunity, but if I'm going to live somewhere backwoods-y, there should be a swimmable pond there. Reese Witherspoon had one in 'The Man in the Moon' too. Really every good coming-of-age tale has some sort of significant water feature, I'm guessing. Or I'm making that up. Anyhow, The Diver's romance disappeared and so did her passion until she was very old, wrinkly, and lumpy, and clambering up onto the high dive once again. Then she was more beautiful than ever.
Please god, don't let that be me. I mean, if I do happen to lose my lovely metaphorical ponds and all that, I would be glad to regain that whenever possible, even if in loud public pool full of chlorine, but really. That's not my plan. The point is not to lose it in the first place.
So anyhow, I've always liked tales that interweave stories happening simultaneously (Crash, Babel) but the quilt movie does an even better device: the interweaving of stories happening in different time periods (best done by Faulkner, cf. The Sound and the Fury). As much as you are surprised to see that that ol' bulldog Maya Angelou used to be the pretty girl in the barn, you can ultimately believe that she was that girl and the girl she bears is the daughter of that woman. I like The Diver character as a metaphor, but in terms of reality I probably identify more with the main character, by Winona Ryder. She's writing some sort of graduate thesis and insists on using a typewriter. The huge stack of thesis gets blown all over the countryside by a huge storm. She's out in the middle of nowhere communing with a bunch of quilting grannies who used to be passionate lovers and such, and she's out there in part to avoid her intellectual/emotional partner in the city (Dermot Mulroney), who she's sorta not ready to marry even though it would make sense. So she takes an untamed lover in the countryside, which turns out to be unsatisfying (duh). I wouldn't likely take the paths she takes, other than the writing of a huge document and the eventually-settling-down, but I identify with the story just because I know what it is to have something lacking in the areas of relationships or career.
So anyhow, the countryside lover is good at things such as sensuously devouring strawberries porch-side and orchestrating clandestine meetings in orchards, but those things can only take the thesis-writer so far. Meanwhile, the grannies are weaving quilts and histories like Nobody's Business. Also, a couple of crows are mischievously flying around ('The Crow' is a good song too) and the city-boy is still waiting for the free-spirited thesis writer to direct her perhaps overly-free spirit away from the strawberry-fiend.
I don't know exactly why I find all this charming, but it is. Crows and quilts and history and orchards and relationships that are only partially satisfying, whether because they are tragically (and sometimes unnecessarily) forbidden or because they were really only meant to be summer flings, or because they had become a little bit too bookish and practical in the city, and were waiting for a Big Countryside Storm to shake things up.
Then there's the water and air, both of which, alone, can carry a story pretty far. Maybe I identify with the birds even more than the sometimes-free-spirited-thesis-writer. It used to kinda bother me that a number of people seemed to treat me as though I were just passing or flying through. If in California, I seemed to be on my way back to Oregon. If in Springfield, I seemed to be on my way back to The Big City. No matter what I called home, someone would tell me I didn't fit there. And not necessarily in a bad way. Just sort of a semi-confused look of "Why haven't you flown south or north yet?"
Man, it sucks to be a bird!
Hah, not really. It only sucks to be limited by the expectations of others. Eventually you might find that someone thinks your patterns of flying, roosting, walking, swimming…all make good enough sense. Then you throw the strawberries back in the country-boy's face and take the country-quilt back to the city with your intellectual/emotional partner (both of you having realized that the missing element didn't have to be found in any particular time or place, and next time you could type that big thesis on a computer because you're done learning lessons from storms).
anyhow, not that I've spent that much time thinking about that movie. I just watched the movie one and a half times on the Starz or Encore channel, and then played the soundtrack on repeat for quite a while during my freshman year in college (sorry, Amit!), and then listened to 'The Diver' on repeat while walking back home from the pool this afternoon.
It took me a while to find as much satisfaction in walking as could be found soaring down a hill on bicycle or frog-legging through ponds. And I was never much good at diving, perhaps because of a habitual-pausing-to-calculate just as I started to jump, which led to an angle not-quite as acute as a successful dive needs. Took a while to get over that habit of lingering in analysis rather than just Living.
Currently listening :
Svefn-G-Englar
By Sigur Rós
Release date: 06 November, 2001
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Thursday, November 15, 2007
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah
Current mood: I type too much, but a quick brown fox also jumped
Gracias a la Vida - Mercedes Sosa
Sober - Kelly Clarkson
Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol
The Greatest - Cat Power
La Belle et le Bad Boy - MC Solaar
The Garden - Cut Chemist
Live With Me - Massive Attack
Clandestino - Manu Chao
Delicate; Cold Water - Damien Rice
So Close - Libbie Schrader
Untouchable Face; Pulse - Ani DiFranco
Promises - Badly Drawn Boy
Girl - Beatles
Fight Outta You; Put it on Me; Paris Sunrise 7; Lifeline - Ben Harper & the Innocent Criminals
Rose in Spanish Harlem; Stand by Me - Ben E. King
I Love My Man; I'm Yours - Billie Holliday
Play Dead; Hidden Place; Isobel - Bjork
Just Like a Woman - Bob Dylan
Anthems for a Seventeen Year old girl - Broken Social Scene
Everywhere - Fleetwood Mac
Over my head (cable car); How to Save a Live - The fray
Marching Bands of Manhattan - Death Cab for Cutie
Colorful - Rocco Deluca
Made Up Lovesong 43 - Guillemots
Here (In Your Arms) - HelloGoodbye
Over the Rainbow - Israel Kamakawiwo'ole
The Way I Am - Ingrid Michaelson
Naked as We Came; On Your Wings; Cinder & Smoke - Iron & Wine
Fade into You - Mazzy Star
waking dream; no one else - Natalie Walker
various U2 stuff, esp Joshua Tree
The Scientist - Coldplay
Quand je marche - Camille
Ride - Cary Brothers
Breathe In, or most of Details album- Frou Frou
Angel - Gavin Friday
Regina Spektor - most of Begin to Hope
Oblivion - Gideon Kremer
Ballades - Chopin
You Belong to Me - Patsy Cline or Rufus Wainwright, or perhaps You
Natural Mystic - Bob Marley
Svefn-G-Englar - Sigur Ros
At Last - Etta James
Miss You - Rolling Stones
Not quite in that order. I never claimed to be a good DJ.
*
Hallelujah - John Cale
I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Your faith was strong, but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you
To a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Baby I've been here before, I know this room
I've walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you
I've seen your flag on the Marble Arch
Love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah
There was a time you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show it to me, do you?
I remember when I moved in you
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Maybe there's a God above, all I ever learned from love
Was how to shoot at someone who out drew you
And it's not a cry you can hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Currently listening :
Starbucks Collection ~ Cafe Cubana ~ A Flavorful Blend of Latin Sounds
By Various Artists
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Saturday, October 20, 2007
you and the Ocean
Current mood: ~ saudades
today, you and the ocean are
the only things I miss about los angeles
no number of bright lights,
no number of skyscrapers' heights
no pavement's stars
no Hollywood fate
no gilded plastic, insensate-
just you and the ocean, and-
perhaps sky for once, unveiled
washed clean, smog paled
there you're looking
out that window,
again
and I wonder how often
you think of the father you lost too soon,
too quietly
and I miss you, but not too quietly
and none too soon-
*
by
starlight, I miss-
you
and the ocean,
and I-
never saw you together.
Currently listening :
Chasing Cars
By Snow Patrol
Release date: 06 November, 2006
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Tuesday, September 25, 2007
not to brag, but my kids were Students-of-the-Month
Current mood: bestcaptured in bright light e.g. football stadium
Today I cut my own hair. At this point, I am more or less inclined to believe I am ready to take over the world and rule by autocracy. Let's face it: I have my own set of Allen wrenches and I know how to artfully wield a scissor.
Meanwhile, Mango & Zeeva (motto: We's just Foster Sistahs) were posing on my futon couch. As I have sort of a weakness for any sort of languid beauty, I whipped out my Kodak EasyShare C310 (EasyShare: The Pictures are Easy, but not Easy on the Eyes). Yet again it was a nightmare of too much flashing and not enough flashing, in the effort of Ms. EasyShare's bulb:
Mango sort of yawned and poo-pooed my efforts. She said she is "best captured in pastel tones of oils or acrylic paints" and I had to remind her that she comes in brown and black, not pink and violet. She said "Well Comment allez-vous to you!!"
I pointed out to her that she had just asked me how I am. She said I am without literary imagination and should get a life. I proceeded to quote her in my blog.
Currently listening :
Transfiguration of Vincent
By M. Ward
Release date: 18 March, 2003
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Sunday, May 18, 2008
you crack me up like OMG x 2!!!
Current mood: oh no you didn’t
No sooner than I post a blog referring to "nude fountaining" do I receive two messages about hot women. I refer to these women rather than myself because I refuse to be hot on MySpace unless you are Bob in Minnesota, in which case you are grandfathered into online hotness due to senior year of college boredom and desire to make my thesis less smart-sounding by means of entertaining emails. BTW, that thesis-stupidifying totally worked, except according to my advisor, my dad, and that adorable Flemish linguistics/cognitive sci professor who now lives in the boonies somewhere, similar to these random Myspace messagers.
I would like to point out that I am...not actually a Nudist. My neighbors have a bumper sticker about nudism and that is why my blinds were always closed until yesterday, when I did not yet yield to nudism as my primary means of spiritual connection, but rather desired to open my windows and also head out to Clearwater to put my feet in the McKenzie river. I would rather swim in a lake but I couldn't remember how to get out to that one in Jasper area. Stupidity abounding, or maybe a desire to forget parts of high school, though the lake was always a good memory.
So anyway, I got totally mentally nude, slapped a bumper sticker where the sun was, well, actually rather shining that day, and took my wiener dog to the countryside, where mysterious gaggles of teen boys walked around smoking and looking somewhat miserable, except for the ones who were mysteriously friendly and looking down my apparently over-summery shirt. Whatever. Ever since last summer when I changed my clothes in the car without shame, I really could care less about that sort of thing, especially when knowing I will never see these Jasper dudes again. I will refrain from blatant bumperstickers stating "I don't care if you see me change my shirt and I don't have cleavage anyway so feel free to have roaming eyes, yo."
Dammit, where is that bumpersticker?! I want to be the one who has the company that makes original pins, those little round ones with tiny slogans and small propaganda, and also bumperstickers. Jennifer from the office of the Claremont colleges chaplains once had a bunch of red "remember love" stickers made and gave some to the five of us who did a volunteer trip to San Francisco in 2002. At the YMCA, British Ben claimed that I do strange things in the night.
"Admit it! You do strange things in the night!"
I was actually going to the restroom and also drinking water, but I also like to give myself weird reputations so I didn't bother to justify my nighttime needs. His words are funnier with his accent, which is one of the cheaper Brit regional accents. I learned it in one week, much to my amusement if no one else's. Later I found out he was "crazy" and ejected from his roommate's room permanently, though he was on some prestigious fellowship exchange from Oxford or some other bastion of insanity. Then in some other year Ben talked to me over instant messenger about SugarLoaf Mountain. I don't know what that is and please refrain from telling me because I know it has to be something bad where strange things are wrought in the night.
As spring days head toward summer, funny and poignant things happen but they are not so important that I remember to write about them in later days when I access computers with internet capacity. My mind is in some other tired latitude and I know it like there's no tomorrow. Then unnamed persons resurface, making the thoughts less tired and less abstract, and I'm like, omigod, WHY?!!!
I know why. So instead I write about crazy Brits in colder climates. I am not really listening to Gipsy Kings right now, but am listening to a rather pious and angelic Charlotte Church album and at the same time hoping you would listen to the songs "Aqueous Transmission" and...
Incubus - I Wish You Were Here
I dig my toes into the sand
The ocean looks like a thousand diamonds strewn
across a blue blanket
I lean against the wind, pretend that I am weightless
And in this moment I am happy
Happy
I wish you were here
I wish you were here
I wish you were here
I wish you were... here
I lay my head onto the sand
The sky resembles a back-lit canopy with holes punched in it
I'm counting UFO's, I signal them with my lighter
And in this moment I am happy
Happy
I wish you were here
I wish you were here
I wish you were... here
Wish you were here
The world's a rollercoaster
And I am not strapped in
Maybe I should hold with care
But my hands are busy in the air
Sayin'
I wish you were here
I wish you were...
I wish you were here
I wish you were here
I wish you were... here
Wish you were here
*
It's not like I spend evenings reading Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I promise I'm reading 'One Hundred Years of Solitude' and not 'Love in the Time of Cholera.'
Eddie told me I would be the man in the cholera story, gallivanting around with shallow dates I don't really care about, just wallowing happy-sad in the lightest and most moderate of serial attractions, just waiting for my dream lover's spouse to die so we can get together around age 80.
Um, hold on. 80 is awfully far away...
Gotta find that lake soon.
Currently listening :
Cantos de Amor
By Gipsy Kings
Release date: 1998-08-11
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Wednesday, May 14, 2008
I guess it’s time for nude fountaining.
Current mood: let’s throw the electronics in the fountain
It's 72 degrees and rising. My ideal temperature is around 70 and not much higher, so I'm happy but apprehensive about June. Today I was appreciating the fountain outside the library. It's a full size fountain and it's been there my whole life. I want to jump in it the way I jumped in the fountain outside the south dining hall at Pomona, but the police station is around the corner so I guess I best keep that idea to myself.
Some animal chewed my computer cord and I had to buy a new one for over $100. Someone please tell me how a $700 computer has a cord at this cost? Errg. I'm selling my Motorola Razor cellphone because I lost it for a while, got a new phone, then the Razor resurfaced. Whooo!!! I know how to spend my money!!!! My only consolation is that the new phone has better sound and is less over-trendy looking.
Anyhoo, let me know if you need a phone or a chewed up incredibly valuable computer cord. I'll be at the fountain around midnight. My truck will be blaring Dave Matthews' Crash, which for some reason I had forgotten about until recent warm temperatures.
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Monday, January 07, 2008
I believe(d) in
Current mood: drop the parentheses, left without dreams
You may remember the Cardigans from the Claire Danes version of Romeo and Juliet. That little "Lovefool" song that's infectious in a good or bad way depending on who you are and how you feel. The following song is way way far off that track except the fool part.
You're The Storm
oh it's healing - bang bang bang
i can hear your cannons call
you've been aiming at my land
your hungry hammer is falling
and if you want me I'm your country
I'm an angel bored like hell
and you're a devil meaning well
you steal my lines and you strike me dumb
come raise your flag upon me
and if you want me I'm your country
if you win me I'm forever - oh yeah!
'cause you're the storm that I've been needing
and all this peace has been deceiving
I like the sweet life and the silence
but it's the storm that I believe in
come and conquer and drop your bombs
cross my borders and kill the calm
bare your fangs and burn my wings
I hear bullets singing
and if you want me I'm your country
if you win me I'm forever - oh yeah!
'cause you're the storm that I've been needing
and all this peace has been deceiving
I need some wind to get me sailing
so it's the storm that I believe in
you fill my heart, you keep me breathing
'cause you're the storm that I believe in
and if you want me I'm your country
*
I've felt this way toward a couple of people, though I can't say it was quite the desire to be flagged. haha. ha.
Currently listening :
Buenos Hermanos
By Ibrahim Ferrer
Release date: 18 March, 2003
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Sunday, January 06, 2008
moment of Incredible Pride
Current mood: somewhat credible, but always incredulous
So if I know anything at all, I know that if you want a rocking new year's eve or a rockin' 26th birthday, you either have to take matters into your own hands or grab hold of Dick Clark. On new year's eve I made an awesome hat and on my birthday I wore that hat AND threw a rockin' birthday party. Dick Clark was nowhere to be found but approximately 10 or 12 people were subjected to the terrors of Charades in my living room and nobody died or fainted even though one total Jerk person chose "The Katzenjammer Kids" as an item in the "Cartoons" round.
I have not been missing the blog and that is a good thing because that means I am not running a constant internal dialogue that needs to be compulsively strewn onto keyboards. Wow! To make a long story short, I also happened to do another round of "Sense and Sensibility that should not be ignored, but I Shall Ignore it for like, 5 minutes, or whatev."
Bah whatever. Not bah humbug, it was an okay holiday season after I managed to make it through the rougher part of December and I am a little bit happy about some of the jobs I see opening up.
Mango is at Aunt Jasmine's house playing with cousin Loki. Which means she ran around for 20 seconds and came in to sit on my lap and watch me type. I told her I am tired of her reckless blogging and she has got to stay off her aunt's keyboard. She told me she can't wait for Leslie to finish that cute blue robe for her so she can go eat some snow.
Currently listening :
The Beatles (The White Album)
By The Beatles
Release date: 25 October, 1990
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Wednesday, November 14, 2007
earthquake weather never stopped this Force of Nature
Current mood: hurricanes can be kinda difficult though
So as I was driving (gasp!) down 126 this morning, I noticed a semi-truck full of bound-up Christmas trees (even bigger gasp!). All I could think was WWJD??! (what WOULD Jesus do?). Probably cry. At that point, thinking about Jesus got a little painful so I decided to think about another Manly Icon of Benevolence. Namely, Beck (d'Odelay, if not Nazareth). Blasphemy aside, I was once about 50 feet from The Beck. I have never paid more the $25 to see a musician (I'd rather have them for free, or At Most, $5-7 at the Viper Room on Sunday or the Hotel Cafe anyday). So Beck was playing Bridges Hall for 20-some bucks and I went. Unfortunately, I didn't get to manage that concert and attend for free. Most of the concerts I managed were in the classical, jazz, experimental Gamelan, or mediocre Podesta Lecture domains. No really. I guess Beck isn't too far off the experimental Gamelan track (he has a way with an esraj or sitar, let me just say, and that is Nobody's Fault but His Own), but he disappointingly referred to some sort of Encounter with a Pomona College female (Sagehen!) in some year past. It sounded as though he moved on from that phase, which is unfortunate because I, being an industrious Sagehen, was all set to whip out my portable griddle and fry up some eggs the next morning. Or-
well nevermind (this morning I stopped by the post office and as I was about to pay, I noticed a piece of corn sticking to my beautiful red leather purse. How Apt! I love all forms of corn and thrift-store purses!)
Anyway, Beck was feeling mildly melancholic but a little bit hypnotic today so we were sharing an 'Earthquake Weather' and then 'Missing' moment:
Doo doo doo doo
Doo doo doo doo doo doo
Doo doo doo doo
Doo doo doo doo doo doo
Ohhh doo doo hmm
Ohhh doo doo doo doo
I prayed heaven today
Would bring its hammer down on me
And pound you out of my head
I can't think with you in it
I dragged all that I owned
Down a dirt road to find you
And my shoes worn out and used
They can't take me much farther
Ohhh
Something always takes the place of missing pieces
You can take and put together even though
You know there's something missing
The sun burned a hole in my roof
I can't seem to fix it
I hope rain doesn't come
And wash me down the gutter
Something always takes the place of missing pieces
You can take and put together even though
You know there's something missing
She rides in a car
Like a queen on a card
And the guns of her mind
Aim a line straight at mine
To a heart that is broke
Tried to feel but got choked
In the smoke of a desert
A beach with no treasure
A night that's so blue
Feed the aching in you
And the background birds
Take a flight from the earth
Where the bonfire burns
And the night current turns
On a lifeboat floating
Down a river of sleep
Can't see her hollow eyes
I'm walking along with my boots full of rocks
I can't believe these tears were mine
I'll give them to you to put away in a box
Something always takes the place of missing pieces
You can take and put together even though
You know there's something missing
Something always missing
Always someone missing something
Something always missing
Always someone missing something
Something always missing
Always someone missing something
Something always missing
[...]
*
I think Beck didn't graduate from high school and lived near lead-poisoning environments in the inner city (note: I am soon moving to Springfield's Inner City, as termed by Nick the grocery clerk, who, in 2007 said I was the "first person to talk to him" in 2001. I hope he meant in the grocery industry, and not the world at-large), but that didn't stop Beck from attending the School of Hard Knocks...but eh, what do I know about Beck's dark alleys anyway?
Nothing.
So whatever Beck, get over it. You passed up some great eggs circa 2003 and I have nothing more to offer.
Anyhoo, moving right along. I have yet another person to eat with today and I am setting some sort of Joint-Eating record this week because these are the last of my less-than-fulltime lazy days (I guess I've set myself up for some 50-55 hour 2-job weeks in the near future).
Nobody's Fault but my Own. So buy me a sitar and let's discuss that at length.
Currently listening :
Harvest
By Neil Young
Release date: 25 October, 1990
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Friday, May 30, 2008
ladders to climb (none under the bridge)
Current mood: plenty of cities of angels here
Not too long ago I met an on-again off-again homeless lady. At the time she was gladly housed in a nice enough single-occupancy house, but some jerk had followed her in and bashed her head against the wall repeatedly, then did any number of other unmentionable things. So that's why she was at the hospital, in addition to a lifetime of that sort of thing. I talked to her long enough to get a full picture of her life, which included a lot of time as a lone prostitute in this town. It was somehow worse and somehow not as bad as I would have imagined. The part that pissed me off was when I learned that the homeless men typically force all homeless women within range to service multiple men sexually, every day. She calmly told me that in the white man's camps under the bridge, the women have to be prepared to take a different guy(s) every night. This, for the right to sit on a patch of dirt under a bridge where the cops will ultimately chase you out to the woods and such. However, she found that if she camped with the "Mexicans," they were nice enough to limit their demands to one man per woman, instead of the white men's more aggressive demands. In my many days on this earth I had heard tales of prostitution but it always seemed to revolve around the pursuit of food, shelter, protection, etc...I never thought about how a woman might do this just for the "right" to sit on a patch of wet dirt and pigeon feces under a Eugene-Springfield bridge.
Sounds more like wartime horror stuff to me. Oh no, not US. Not these great states. We don't exist with this sort of savagery. Come on, We volunteer at the soup kitchen once a month and we keep our damn lawns green enough to please the neighbors! errrg.
It's been an eventful couple of weeks in my tiny work arena. First, the good news is that I've been hired by another agency to work at halfway houses for people with mental illness. Currently both houses are filled with all men, which will be interesting but apparently this can be more manageable than mix-gender groups in that setting. So now I am a substitute at two brain-injury residences and the two new halfway houses. Who knows if I'll make enough money to pay for my health insurance, car insurance, and phone, let alone ridiculous items like food and the tea I am trying to mass-force down my gullet to train myself not to drink so much orange juice. Not the worst of vices, but very close to the top, I swear.
So otherwise work things were not so good. First, one of the brain injury clients died. I had known him for about a year and the news didn't come in the most delicate of fashions. I popped into the office one day, noticed he was not in the charts, and when I asked if he'd been sent away, I was informed, "He died." Period. Awkward silence.
Then I learned that the cause was considered uncertain (though it was easy enough to hazard a guess) and apparently local autopsy process could take months. Huh.
It was very sad news. The event was sudden, but not a total surprise. Many people had been struggling to help him for a long time, with many setbacks over the last several months. Later that day I was incredibly grateful to be distracted by a client who came in to talk to me about his plans for making a set of greeting cards that he wanted to give to, "the public." He can't speak very well and his thinking is slow and sometimes confusing, so I spent considerable time figuring out what features he wanted before speaking to a Kinkos rep who was surprisingly friendly. Who knew? An evil giant like FedEx Kinkos has nice employees, who are willing to spend several minutes on the phone figuring out the price for generating a set of ten little cards? I counted my blessings and couldn't wait to see how the artwork would turn out. I had seen some of the client's work in the newspaper and it had the sort of amazing intricacy that most people can't achieve with healthy brains and non-disabled hands.
Two days later, I had just gotten to work when the same client strolled in, grinning and pushing his walker semi-steadily along like usual, but this time with a huge gash on his forehead. It was deep enough that you could see white tissue in the gash. I have seen some sort of tissue like that, the time a sharp rock rammed itself 1.5 inches into my leg (as if I didn't have the right to be hiking on unstable rock! What an incredible jerk that rock was!), so I was both not-too-alarmed but yes, alarmed at the sight, and I asked him a bunch of questions about it. He thought it happened a couple of days ago. Hmmm. I hope not, because he should, at the very least, have been seen by other staff at 8 p.m. the night before. In any case, it had definitely been hours since the fall and somehow he didn't realize he should tell anyone. I had to call 911 and send him to the hospital to take care of it, and gladly he was back home within 8 hours. However, he showed up with little more than a bunch of stitches. No paperwork, no note, no evidence of any sort of ointment on the wound or any sort of aftercare instructions. Man, I guess I don't work in the whirlwind world of the Eugene ER, but I do know that this particular ER is not that fast-paced exciting world you see in TV dramas about Chicago. So, if anyone wanted to give a damn, this client would have gone home with, at the very least, a friendly pink Post-it note stating the number of days until proper stitch removal. I am hoping they just figured he would be taken care of since he was sent by our agency, but we don't have medical staff, so that's a silly assumption if that was the reason. This isn't the first time the local hospital has blown* my mind. One time one of the clients showed up with a noticeable wound on the back of his head and I asked what it was. He said he had just gotten back from getting surgery on his brain shunt.
Surgery. Brain Shunt. No documentation and no apparent instructions. No really.
So I asked if they told him anything about what to do, or gave him any shred of paper, or even a hint as to whether a Band-Aid would be appropriate or what might be signs of say, raging lethal infection or complications, etc….
Nah. So I racked my brains for "Handy Brain Shunt Surgery AfterCareTo-Do List" and came up with, "Uh, I wouldn't take a shower for the next 24 hours if I were you, or cover it with plastic if you do…and uh, Call your doctor on Monday!"
…ultimately, he did come out ok, yay! Maybe I should stop getting so worked up about these super-minor procedures!!! It's just a brain, after all! A very plastic organ, capable of growth and change, unless you're George W. Bush!!! Si se puede!
*
These days I can't help but continue my current non-boycott of TV and appreciate the Bravo channel's reality competition shows. Maybe it's because they're creative, and the contestants seem more real than contrived, and I can't help but water at the eyes when a good one gets eliminated. First there was Shear Genius, with the amazing haircuts/styles, then Top Chef, with the food wizards, and now Step It Up and Dance, with the iron-willed dancers of soft hearts and weepy eyes. I can't say that Bravo caused it, but I did strangely cut off most of my hair a few weeks ago. On a good day it makes sense and sometimes looks good, on a lesser day it's sort of humorous and/or reminiscent of Dorothy Hamill, but it always makes sense in the pool, since I've always had a hard time dealing with those ridiculous rubber caps. The cooking show makes me want to cook, but not as much as the dance show makes me want to dance. Makes enough sense, given that I've been notably gastrointestinally ill for maybe 5 weeks now, and food is hardly a cause for excitement, though I'm proud to say I'm learning to shop cheap groceries. The key is to shop stores that give zero service, e.g. no assistance on the floor, no bagging, no personalized service by butchers, no smiling, etc. Also the warehouse look is a plus. It all kills me because I was trained in "Superior Service" so zealous I was required to offer samples when working the seafood department. "Umm…here's a delish scallop…?" That unnamed giant supermarket chain apparently saved money by sending $7/hour ambitious courtesy clerks (me, and me only) to run the seafood department, sans food handler card and really any expertise in raw or cooked dead fish whatsoever, but somehow managing to not get sent to jail by state inspectors...
Anyhoo, the guts currently say don't eat, and offer a rebellion often enough, but I'm not yet alarmed, just chronically tired. 8 years ago I felt about the same but it wasn't bad until it went on for several months, followed by an autoimmune response in the form of painful reactive arthritis that sometimes made joints too painful for walking, and mostly too painful for sleeping, and there were also those huge strange hives, especially that one that temporarily elongated my chin. Then there was the 30 pounds of weight loss in a month, the last straw that led the campus doctor to send me to the hospital, which was mostly not useful but eventually I got good treatment, but not before a host of other problems sent me to another hospital, and eventually sent me home to rest for 3 months and then work full-time at the grocery for another year, where small children would point to the gruesome skin of my face, and asked their mother what was wrong with me. Can't say it was a wasted year, as I learned that I was capable of conquering a set of illnesses that supposedly should have knocked me out for a year, and I also took a bunch of classes at the U of Oregon, which convinced me that I made the right choice in not attending there on a regular basis, because unfortunately my tolerance is challenged by way too much mediocrity in a significant portion of co-students. Anyhow, not yet concerned about the early symptoms of Nightmare of the Year 2000. Just wondering why it started up, but resting assured in the notion that I know what the proper line of treatments would be, even though most doctors would rather cause a person to endure many useless tests (EKG?! For a gut problem? Um.)
Fortunately I had the time to go to the client's memorial today. It was more pleasant and heartfelt than I had imagined. I have never been quite sure how much the clients bond with each other, though the living setting could be as friendly as a dorm if they made the effort. I'm actually jealous of that group living. Still looking for a few more people to join my future cult, which won't be scary at all. You will just be stuck living next door to me and sharing the occasional joint-cooking experience, but I will kill you if you use a gas or electric lawnmower. God invented biceps and push-mowers for a reason. To cause you to grow bigger biceps and a sense of Righteousness. So those are the minimum reqs for communal living, and you will also be forced to dance. All the time.
* p.s. I probably shouldn't dis the hospital too much, since they covered over $100,000 in bills for me with some mysterious enormous tax-deductible treasure chest, and I have no idea where that comes from but I won't question it too much. Just sit around thinking about starting up that nunnery I've been threatening to start since 2004. Recruits included Eddie, Colin, and Khrissy. Khr fell by the wayside pretty fast and Colin eventually moved to Florida to be with Christine, so that leaves Eddie and me. I'm not going to comment on our questionable merits. We are definitely worth 6 figure grants from hospitals started by nuns, and if hospitals don't want to be started up by nuns like us, then hospitals can go ahead and hear me critique their brain-shunt aftercare tactics. so Ha!
ok I'm done, bye!
Currently listening :
Waiting for Your Letter
By Cary Brothers
Release date: 2005-09-20
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Friday, May 23, 2008
Keep your hands off Pat’s Cabbage.
Current mood: Martha says so
Since I am always pretending I am on the verge of starting a new awesome job, I spend a lot of time simulating Vacation when I am not picking up random work hours (if I do well in my interview next week, I will soon have two new facilities in a new organization in which I can pick up more random hours!). So, late this morning, Mango and I were simulating vacation by watching The 700 Club (Good morning to you too, Pat Robertson!). Today they were having an incredible fundraising drive and I could not help but whip out my Finances Notebook to learn the ways of Pat. So while the sweet multicolored staff manned and womaned the telephones, Pat got right up in my face and taught me the ways of the Lord and his/her/its Dollars. To summarize, I would like to inform you that if you give money to Pat, the Lord will give you a lot of money back, way more money than you even gave to Pat in the first place. For it is the way of the Lord to deal in monies/Benjamins and to tempt you into giving him money so that he can give you money back tenfold, so that you can live in comfort in Middle/Upper America, while occasionally contributing to cleft palate surgeries for kids in Cambodia where there is no access to fresh water unless you are Pat.
Anyhoo, testimonial after testimonial, nice people tell you how they were in dire financial straits (tens of thousands in debt) but then learned to tithe that 10% of their next-to-nothing-salary directly to Pat and now they are, frankly, freakin' zillionaires because they went from Aquarium Cleaner to Aquarium God/Entrepreneur with a direct donation line to Pat's coffers.
So as one of these nice, reformed persons tells us that we "might as well try it [throwing money at Pat], see what happens!" I'm like "Oh, so I might as well….try God via Pat…? See how God happens to my bank account in manners of subtraction and huge addition??"
But it gets better. Pat then turns a sparkling smile at me and suggests that I test God!
Oh.
Now, I'm no biblical scholar and I am not even claiming to have/have not any religious views in this particular Important Blog, but I am pretty d*** sure that I am Right(eous) and Pat is Wrong, so let me just whip out my Gideon's Pocket New Testament and find 10 or 20 references that suggest I should, perhaps, maybe, I guess not…no, not tempt/test God.
Yeah whatever. If God doesn't want to be tested, God shouldn't have invented TV. Duh.
You of course will understand my relief when I say I was incredibly relieved that Martha Stewart soon took over the screen and didn't ask me to do anything but forgive/forget her financial selfishness/white collar crime/moral Turpitude, while I cheerily bake pies and properly fold flags for Memorial Day. A pound of chicken's flesh and a bowl of coleslaw later, I wasn't left with any sort of burning unanswered questions/moral ambiguities except, "Why do they call it red cabbage when it is actually PURPLE?!!!
..and how much cabbage do I have to give to Martha until she throws cabbage back at me tenfold?!!! And how much coleslaw do I have to donate to Southeast Asia before I can justify my new backyard pool?
Oh, and please also run the coleslaw calculation for the package deal including a Pool Boy. Just in case, wink wink.
Currently listening :
Become What You Are
By The Juliana Hatfield Three
Release date: 1993-08-03
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Monday, May 19, 2008
Movie of the Year! um, er past 5 years. or whatever.
Current mood: I can’t count anyway.
Last night Mango and I watched 'School of Rock.' Jack Black's performance was billed as "manic," but as an extreme expert on all things mentally "ill," I have to say that Jack is not particularly manic, but more likely, "Alien," or maybe even, "Alien vs. Predator." In any of the 3 cases, his condition cannot be treated but it CAN be inflicted upon precocious little children of various ethnic backgrounds and musical abilities. And soooooo, that is where the Number One Movie of the Century comes in, AKA 'School of Rock.'
So Mango had been channel-surfing obnoxiously for hours, when suddenly I caught a glimpse of Black's shapely calves. I would hazard to say these are even, perhaps, "Mega-Calves."
Naturally I snatched the remote out of Mango's selfish claws and stomped on it really hard until it broke, so she wouldn't be able to change the precious channel again.
We watched the second half of the film, not knowing what special treat we were in for.....the film was repeated again!!! In a standard musical format, you might play section A, then B, then A, or whatever, ad nauseum. If you were using your mother's cable and your dog's remote control, you might watch movie in sections of part B, then A, then .5 of B. This would lead to an overall really good time.
But in all seriousness, the kids were mostly so natural I had to search and search to find ways to get annoyed by their over-coached fakeness. Even the ones who seemed fake were fake in a believable way, I swear. I spent a lot of time with kids age 3-12 between 2002-2005 and I know what Real Fakeness looks like. These rockin' kids had it down, except for the 95% who seemed to be just enjoying learning music from Jack Black.
So anyhow. This is the best movie you've never/ever seen. It also has a happy ending that is believable if you have faith in Joan Cusack's ability to forgive. And faith in rich people's ability to forgive. And Jack Black's ability to wake up in the morning...
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so I'm re-posting the myspace stuff I may have missed here...may be some redundancy but I'm too lazy to edit. I hope I get all the pics in here, have some faves of mango and nature too.
...
I think earlier I mentioned my intentions to take photos at Hendrick's rhododendron garden before the flowers fall off. Here's a sampling of the effort.
I'm pretty sure that this variety of plant doesn't yield any 4-leafers, but I've always been a fan of them anyhow:
...Who needs Luck when you could use your very own Choices?
Currently listening :
Possibilities
By Herbie Hancock
Release date: 2005-08-30 |
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Friday, June 27, 2008
I would never waffle
Current mood: on the other hand,
So, recently I have visited Rachael's church's young adult group a couple of times, as this is one of the few ways I know how to meet quality young people who are not
A) between the ages of 3-12
B) brain-injury survivors (not to dis them, but I'm not allowed to hang out with clients outside of work)
C) committed for life to halfway houses, due to past murder offense, etc.
So in case you're wondering, those three categories are actually summaries of my summer jobs. I am a seasoned pro when it comes to the first two, but the assistance of murderer(s) [um, not assisting them with murder] will be a new addition to my extremely wide span of Incredible WorkSkills.
So between rounds of sand volleyball at the church, I heard the best sexist pseudoscience I've heard in a long time. I have to say, it was way too true for comfort. I try not to overgeneralize any category, even if all men are Cavemen and all women are She-Ra, but here goes:
Men's brains are like waffles. Women's are like spaghetti. The waffle has separate compartments, so you can completely forget about stuff while thinking about other stuff. Also, there is at least one totally empty compartment, where you can permanently chill, thinking about Nothing.
I pointed out that this is actually called "Zen," but no one seemed to hear me. I guess they were busy watching that one guy wear a girl's skirt while she wore his jeans. It took us a while to notice the shenanigan because this was such hardcore volleyball (ahem), but he looked really great in that form-fitting corduroy skirt and I'm guessing his wife was probably a little concerned about the alluring nature of the whole thing. Whatever. It'll be up on Facebook in no time.
So anyhow, women's brains are like spaghetti. It all mixes together and everything is connected to everything else and I guess there are no gaps within which to chill. That is why I've been wanting a Brain Injury for a long time.
Now, bearing keen androgyn-oid skills, I know how to employ analytical thinking skills to maintain the infrastructure of the floppiest of waffles. But in my heart of hearts, I'm more of a Spaghetti, both emotionally and when thinking about most things freeform. I can keep my sauce out of the lab/courtroom, but ultimately if you give me a lot of orange juice and some spare time, the waffle turns pancake and my syrup is all over the place.
Omigod. Don't ever let me use food metaphors Ever Again.
anyhoo-
So otherwise, I have about 5% of a decent social life, due to the on-call and random round-the-clock nature of my work, and also due to my good friends being married and with 1-2 babies already. Oh whatever. So I guess I'm behind the local times. But all that means is that when my kid is 3 and yours is 12, mine will be throwing football spirals and yours will be...reading books, I guess. No wait, mine will already be writing blogs.
but yes, I know a 3 year-old in the park program who can throw a spiral, and not with a mini-football. It's like a junior-high football, actually. Don't ask me where this kid came from. He's half-Japanese, which probably explains it, because we all know that mixed heritage leads to Superpowers, cf. Jessica Alba, Tiger Woods, and...me, of course.
I gotta admit, I like the new Coldplay hit, Viva la Vida. Can't help it. I swear they're not my fave band, but this one makes Mango dance. And wiener dogs can't dance easily-
Currently listening :
Viva La Vida
By Coldplay
Release date: 2008-06-17
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Note: The library is so full I couldn't find a parking spot for 10 minutes today. What kind of intellectual renaissance exists herein?! I can only dream!!! I had taken to using Aquilah and Priscilla's cafe wi-fi which they kindly advertised on highway billboard, but the other day the cafe-dudemeister kindly but anal-ly came over to point out to me that I am a "Single" and that he hoped I would consider moving to a different table if the crowd got bigger, which "we can't tell at this point, it's only 11:45..." or, maybe I could, eek, consider sharing my bounteous table..." and I'm like, "dude, if there were an open SINGLE or even DOUBLE I'd be SO THERE right now...."
furthermore, how did he know I wasn't waiting for an uberdate? One time a guy waited for me for over 2 hours at the Pasadena Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, whilst I tamely road-raged my way down the I-10 through traffic that made a 45-min jaunt into an embarrassing 2-hour testament to my lack of balls on the road. I never figured out why the guy waited. Either he was just super-polite or didn't want to waste the black tea he had ordered for me (Caffeine?! for ME?!), or....he thought I was a high-class (or low-class??) call-girl and he really didn't want to give up the chance to superscore that night. Or-
so in February 2008 or so, I looked tired and haggard but coiffed sorta, face scarred due to too much time in hospital beds with face on pillows, but I am handy with the allium cepa, allantoin, and Colonial Dames products in general, so whatever. I will be having baby's skin in like 3 months, I swear. And I'm totally vain and unashamed yet self-aware of the shame I should bear if I were Jesus.
one fine day in May, I got tired of being so elect-able and took a scissor to the matter (photo cropped to, uh, protect my identity):
I am sorry to say I now look like my dad did when he was 20. Those roguish waves did something for him, but for me, they just make me laugh my way all the way to the Headband Store.
It's a studied martyrdom, and I am relishing it. What?! You don't want to date me and my tan Ford Ranger Pickup? You won't vote for me for student council?? Well my dog doesn't want to drive your mom's car either!!!
p.s. if you're horrified by the short look, never fear….it's already grown .5 or 1 inch and now looks…even uglier! Viva la headband!
..In other fashion news, I don't think I should be allowed to vote for President. It's just not fair to America. Every time I look at Barry Obama, I'm like, "oh Barry, oh, Barry, you're so....oh....would you please tell Hillary to stop sending me text messages?!!!"
Really. The jerk has been sending me text messages ever since I attended her rally in Eugene and subversively participated in calling some Dems for her. Don't tell Hillary, but I didn't actually tell them to vote for her. I just asked them to share their feelings about Democracy, and/or please generate some feelings if feelings lacked. I charged a small fee to those of them who seemed to really need my counseling. Then for weeks after, Hillary charged me 10 cents per inane text message ordering me to do her bidding and participate in the bodysnatching of the Democratic party.
I have to admit, I was fond of Hilary's tendency to talk specifics. Obama talks a pretty word, a hell of a lot of them, and I'm sure he's all full of ideas, but he is not or is currently afraid to be the technician that Ms. Text-a-Lot can be. So I wasn't exactly just sitting around criticizing her mullet and subversively contacting Democrats from her rally just to assure them that Barry really Is That Hot.
Anyhoo, Hillary blew everyone's minds by refusing to stand down last night and I guess maybe that'll merit her an extra line in the 2080 History of Feminism textbook, but according to Anderson Cooper's staff, maybe she just stabbed Barry in the foot. Or poked it, at the very least. I promise I'm never going to get a Hilary haircut. |
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saffronh's journal
