what is the deal...

...with dudes sneezing into the inside of their elbows? who okayed this? all of the sudden, I see men catching their sneeze flecks inside the crooks of their arms. I guess it's a little better than sneezing into your hand and then rubbing it all over someone, but is it all that much? I mean, can't you just lean over and grab a kleenex? jeez.

...people thinking that just because they can't see something going on behind them, it means no one else can. note to you, dude in the elevator this morning, just because you can't see yourself reach behind and pick your underwear from deep within the crevice of your ass doesn't mean I can't see you do it. and one of the last things I want to see at 9 in the morning is someone's forefinger disappear up to the second knuckle into their own ass. or anyone else's for that matter.

...with people pronouncing plural words ending in "--es" as "ees". it started with a meeting three years ago where I heard "processes" pronounced "processees" and thought that was a semi-lame idiosyncracy. but now I'm hearing it all the time. it's as if we as a people aren't able to absorb more than one spelling rule at a time. as far as I know, you only say "ees" if the word already ends in "-is" and you have to change it to "-es" for the plural. you don't pronounce any word ending in "-es" as "-ees". just the other day I heard "practicees". ermf.

there are many things to be said about batman returns, and I plan to get around to saying them all. just not quite yet.

until then, I leave you with this:

and, no. none of the things I want to say can ever be filed under "heath ledger's oscar-worthy performance".

why getting your phd is like getting your hair done

"hey blondie!" is how bill greets me every time he sees me. and I have to admit it gives me a secret thrill.

it was only supposed to last a couple of months, for fun. but somehow it stuck, and sometimes I find myself forgetting that I'm not actually a blonde. I look in the mirror and I forget that if I don't go to my hair people every 6 weeks, I don't look anything like this.

sort of like grad school, actually. statistics, ha. the little thrill of seeing the look on my friends' faces--why in the world would you get a phd in statistics?--was enough to make the joke worthwhile. are you seriously moving to the east coast? made it fun to pack up and do it. but here I am, now forgetting the joke and starting to believe that actually, yes, this is my life.

besides, I like the way it looks:

Rupert!

and introducing my new obsession:

Rupert

why I hate flowers

it's because invariably, when someone gives you flowers, they're really trying to say one of the following:

12345 * I know you said you didn't want a corsage of white baby
12345 * roses but I'm a college sophomore taking a high schooler
12345 * to prom and I say you wear these white baby roses
12345 *
12345 * I brought you a $20 bouquet of flowers. so...ah....what
12345 * are my chances of...ah...you know...tonight?

12345 * I'm sorry I fucked up

12345 * I'm sorry I fucked up again


sigh. at least it's not prom season.

hippie advice

the reason I don't listen to hippies is that they're so hyperbolic. everything is so amazing, so delightful, so awesome. this is especially true when it comes to their hippie treatments and cures. remedying everything from migraines to dry skin to cancer, these secret recipes are usually handed down from a friend of a friend of a friend who met some tribal healer during a climbing/walking/being tour of nepal/india/tibet and brought back the ancient secret to share with close friends of the modern world. a lot of the time, this ancient secret was brought back through customs, wrapped in several layers of socks and smelling suspiciously like bad pot. but, whatever.

so of course, when I first heard about the neti pot from a hippie friend, I acted all interested but immediately filed it away in my "riiiight" file. the thing is, I've suffered from allergies and sinus infections for most of my life. doctors have put me on all sorts of medications, and I've tried everything in the Allergy & Sinus aisle at the drugstore. none of it works, and so the thought of mixing up a tub of salt water solution and then hosing the inside of my nose with it every morning didn't seem all that promising. besides, all I could think of was that feeling you get when you're at the beach and you accidentally breathe in a wave of seawater. the way the inside of your head burns and is raw for hours afterwards.

but after I moved back here, my allergies and sinus infections flared up like never before. they were so bad they started triggering migraines, and entire months went by where I felt like I was looking out at the world through a grease-smeared lens with an arrow buried deep behind my eyes. and meanwhile, it seemed as if everyone was talking about how the neti pot had changed their lives. so the next time I walked by the hippie store, I picked one up.

it took me a couple of days to actually take it out of the box, but I finally mixed up my 1/4 teaspoon of kosher salt with warm water and tilted my head over the sink, with the spout of the pot firmly plugging my nostril.

and, voila! it is surprisingly easy to use. almost failproof. the water actually just flowed into my nose and out the other nostril. just like they said it would. no coughing or choking. yes, it did feel a little odd to feel water so close to my eyeballs. but not painful. like a bath. a salty one. for the inside of your head.

and now I've been doing it almost every day since, and it's been almost two months.

so, do I have some great turnaround story for you? living an allergy- and sinus infection- and migraine-free life? turning to the hippies for all the secrets of life?

hardly.


the moral of this story is, sometimes, you're just screwed with bad sinuses.

the fourth...dimension

all my growing up, I waited in anticipation for the fourth of july to roll around, so I could wake up and park myself in front of the television for a 16-hour stint of the twilight zone marathon.

twice a year, on the fourth and on thanksgiving, channel 5 (ktla! home of the family film festival!) would run an 8am-to-midnight marathon of rod serling-hosted morality tales. be nice to your neighbors, even when under threat of alien control. think happy thoughts lest the neighbor boy turn you into a human jack-in-the-box. be vigilant in checking your walls for rips in the fabric of time and space. you know, the usual.

there were some that you'd see every year: the murderous chatty cathy, darren from bewitched and his day being able to hear people's thoughts, the nerdy book-loving banker at the end of the world, willoughby, "to serve man", all of the ones where you accidentally sell your soul to the devil only to have him cash it in at the worst time possible (pb, beware!)...

but there were always a few that I was never able to catch. my sister told me of one where the humans kill the alien bearing the gift of a cancer cure in a fit of humanness (that on the twilight zone always expresses itself in murder), and I waited around for years trying to catch it. I even doubted its existence, considering that by the time I left my parents' home (and its cable hookup), I'd taken it approximately 350 hours of marathon time. surely, I'd've caught it once?

you would think that, wouldn't you? but it wasn't until I bought myself Twilight Zone: The Complete Definitive Collection last year that it was confirmed--Season 3, Episode 97: The Gift. after all these years, I feel like burgess meredith's henry bemis. all the time in the world to luxuriate in all the piles and piles of episodes I've ever wanted. of course, now that I have it, I haven't even opened most of the DVDs. who has time for 156 segments? how do you choose which ones to watch?

thank god for the sci fi channel. it's 1.25 and I've already gotten in billy talking to his dead grandma, a colony face-off between martians and venutians in a diner, and several planes flying into the future/past. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that there's an alien walking into a mexican village with a notebook under his arm coming up.

Happy Fourth of July

dried up

it really just feels like there's nothing left to say. or rather, that there's nothing left in me worth saying. or maybe I'm just full up on things that aren't sayable?

what is this?



as my mind aimlessly ambles through time and space, I can sometimes feel a few brittle marbles clacking against each other:

are kate perry and zooey deschanel the same person?
does amy winehouse wear that beehive switch even when she's alone?
how can a gang of chumpsters like coldplay keep producing such great music?
is john mccain's cheek looking more swollen than before?
when did eating at the olive garden become the new "I shop at target" for celebrities?

reasons why ABDC2 isn't as good as the first

1. the judges are watching a little too much american idol
1. and adopting stock personalities. it's not natural to
1. pause so dramatically between words. simon,
1. randy and paula are the reason AI sucks. I don't
1. want to see them here. just talk to us about the
1. dancing.

2. the I-want-to-dance-to-gain-my-parents-love-and-respect
2. thing was already taken by kaba modern's yuri last
2. season, cute asian girl from so real crew. make up a new
2. dramalogue.

3. what made fysh n chicks so great was that they were
3. girls but danced like the boys. take a note, girl crews
3. who are really trying to be the pussycat dolls. this is
3. a breaking competition, not an ass-shake festival.

4. jc chasez has stopped listening to his stylist, as evidenced
3. by his outfit at the the first showcase--grey leather
3. wraparound 80s zipup vest over a heavy black shirt
3. complete with wrist tassels???!!!

5. they still haven't gotten rid of mario lopez

scavenger hunt

things I would do if I had insurance

1. figure out what the tiny lumps behind my ear
1. are and why they hurt like m#$%#$@%ers
1. every few weeks and why they MOVE.

2. get a doctor to tell me why my nose has
2. been bleeding on and off for months now.
2. did you hear me? months.

3. ask someone to get me something to let
3. me sleep. someone I don't have to meet
3. in the back of some abandoned parking lot.

4. ask a dentist if the pain in the the molar
4. on my upper right is something I
4. should be worried about

5. get a dog.

Indy!

for those of you in the know, it's no secret that I've been awaiting the latest indiana jones film like it was christmas 1988. it all started with indiana jones and the raiders of the lost ark: the adaptation, which I've obsessed over and written about here.

so it was with all this anticipation that I settled myself down in the theatre on friday night, extra-buttered popcorn in hand. and waited for the lights to go down.

it should've been somewhat telling that the theatre was fairly empty on an opening weekend. although to be fair, I went to see it at the bridge on campus. most of these kids weren't even born when the first indiana jones film came out in 82. it probably doesn't even make sense if you didn't fall in love with indy the first time around, why you'd watch a near-geriatric harrison ford gimp along on screen in search of a skull made of quartz? in fact, it made really little sense to me why I was watching it, once the halfway point hit.

what started off as a promising drag race in the desert slowly ground to a halting jerk and shudder of plot advancement. there's something off in the balance of this film, something that takes the charm that carried the first three even through bad dialogue, lame plot twists and embarrassing clichés. somewhere in the 25+ years since the first, indy and his fellow characters have lost their senses of humor. and even worse, their sense of style.

crystal skull is set 20 years after we last left indy, meaning that it's now the 1950s. it was the sleek, snarky tilted-fedora-over-your-eye cheekiness that made it possible to overlook the flaws in the earlier films. that audience-engaging wink at the jokes mixed with just raw run-for-your-life action that kept you on the edge of your seats and laughing, in turn. it just doesn't translate to the landscape of the pre-coldwar 1950s. it's like comparing a pouting, unfocused teenager (e.g., shia labeouf) to the sultry but snide marion ravenwood (e.g., karen allen in Raiders). this labeouf guy, really, just wasn't given the in on the joke. he was by turns marlon brando à la wild ones, pouting and glowering in leather and james dean à la rebel without a cause, pouting and welling up in a tee. but both versions of the 50s teen played as if reading from picture cards without any backstory. the best (looking) character in the film was cate blanchett's soviet agent, à la natasha from rocky & bullwinkle. but really, all she did was give galadriel a kgb-fetish makeover, complete with skintight pantsuit and rapier, and leave her sense of humor at home.

so often, the setups to the jokes you expected fell flat because everyone played their characters so straight. only marion ravenwood still held a reflection of her old self in her eyes as she bickered with indy. indy, on the other hand, was almost aggressively active, as if daring you to suggest he may not be able to make the next leap. yeah, we get it, you can still jump moving trucks. but can you charm us? can you make us root for you and forgive your lame jokes because you let us know you think they're lame too?

the answer can be summed up in this picture:












does it make any sense to you?

yawn

for the last couple of weeks, I've been sitting around, trying to pull myself together. not in a you'd-better-start-worrying sort of way (not yet). but in that way where if you're not focused on something, all the molecules that make you up start to float away. it's like when you're so tired that if you're not actively moving, and moving fast, you start to drift into sleep. even if you're standing up. or talking to someone. you're not all there, and it all makes less and less sense.

I know when this happens that it'll pass. at least in the short term. and here I am. back again. and with tons to write about. because even if it felt like I've been sitting in the dark, staring at the stucco bubblets in my ceiling all day long, it's not all I've been doing. a lot of what I've been doing, but not all.

anyways, so I checked my most recent stats, and take a look at all the places I've had people reading from in the past month:

I think most of them are mistake-hits on their way to the site they actually meant, but still. hellow, hellow. and hellow to me again.

not time to scavenge yet

I'm not dead. thanks for asking, though.

in repose

I've taken to evening walks in the cemetary, which is less than four blocks away. it's small, and bounded by a busy street on one side and the railway on the other, so even at its very core, you can't escape the sounds of the city that surround it.

but just at dusk, in between breaths of traffic, it is quiet and still. you can hear the birds coming back, the sweep of the branches, and the night slowly drift over.

it's right then that everything feels right to me. under the shade of the dogwood tree, shimmering in the evening light, the air is like cool velvet and I can let go. even if just for a moment.

from me to you

in memory of crazon's youth. RIP.

love like this

when I was 5, the great love of my life, cody-from-across-the-street moved away.

for several glorious months, we avouched our love affair by trading pushes on the swings and licks from our handi-snacks cheese and cracker packets. we lived the summer in the sun, swinging our feet over the pool in his back yard and re-enacting that week's episode of SuperFriends, which he had to recap for me since I wasn't allowed to watch it. of course, I was always wonderwoman, and my wonderwoman action figure even had a detachable lasso. and cuffs that lit up. but I was always envious of his plastic man, which had been stretched beyond repair from an episode in which he had been stretched around the earth and tied hand to foot at the north pole. sadly, he didn't quite reach around my globe, and worse yet, he never recovered.

I didn't even know he was moving away until one day he was no longer there. and to mark the end of our summer together, was a shallow grave under the pink rose bush in our front yard.

my dad was weeding when he found the poorly dug hole. he rooted around for a couple of minutes and then came into the house to find me. "I think these must be yours", he said, holding out his hand. and when he uncurled his fingers, lying in his palm, were plasticman and the atom.

a summer in two sun-warmed bits of colored injection-molded plastic.

mom-pom!

today is mother's day, and I miss my moms.

sometimes, she'll come into a room doing this crazy dance, punching her fists into the air and shuffling her feet and wiggling her body. all the while grinning with all her teeth and looking at you all twinkly, because she knows you're thinking, "whoa, that lady is cuh-ray-zee".

once, she tried to persuade me to change up my hair more often, and stop being so conservative with my haircuts. the solution, she tried to convince me, was to cut my hair as short as possible, and wear wigs. that way, I could try new and exciting things. that night, she left me a wig catalogue on my pillow, and offered to buy me my first one.

when I was 12, I asked my mother what "oral sex" was, after hearing jackie edwards talk about who had been doing it at school. she told me it was when you talked about sex and I wondered what all the hoopla had been about in the cafeteria earlier that day, since my mother and I were doing it right then. in fact, it seemed like all anyone ever did at school was engage in oral sex when the teachers weren't around. to this day I don't know whether she didn't know herself or made up something to keep me from asking again.

in college, when I was going through a dress-like-a-60s-stewardess-on-acid phase, my mother sent me a day-glo orange mini-(and I mean mini-)dress. idaho's eyeballs practically popped out when he saw exactly how mini it actually was. and all my friends always shook their heads and looked at me, "your mother sent you this?"

my mother just does things. like, she will say, "I'm going to start making dolls! dolls that are custom-made to look like people who ask me to make dolls for them!" or "I'm going to start painting! and I'm going to be so good people are going to shake their heads and wonder why I haven't been painting for the past 30 years!" or "I'm going to crochet quilts for everyone! pick out your colors now!" and then she will do them.

what does your mother do?

here is the thing

it's getting better. every day. and sometimes, I'm even able to lift my head up and look forward at more than just the next breath, the next step, the next bite. it's not easy, but it's getting easier. and that overwhelming sense of vertigo that swirls around me like everything is going to implode into soft ash can be swallowed back. most of the time.

and I can make it through most of the days now, with a smile that looks genuine enough not to crack the corners of my face into a shattering of crumbles and tears. and sometimes it even feels genuine. and sometimes it actually is.

so I made it. I'm hoping. and I know it's not the end. because all I've done is crawl out of a dark hole enough to see that there's a huge mountain climb ahead of me. and if I actually look at what I've got to do, I know I'll never make it. I won't even be able to try.

but I'm going to put my right foot forward and then follow it with my left, and then the right again, and then the left. and sometimes, I know it'll be on my hands and knees. or on my belly inching forward. but as long as I do something, some day, I'll be able to look up and see that it's all over. I'm hoping.

I also know that it's uncertain. and that tomorrow morning I might wake up, unable to call up the energy to open up an eye, much less both, to face the day. and that every particle of myself will have to concentrate on not evaporating, holding on for yet another moment longer.

so for today, I'm here. and I fully expect it to hold out tomorrow too.

see you then.

sneakahs

another conversational mobius strip:

I said: I think my new goal is to get you
I said: into tennis shoes
he said: I don't wear sneakers
I said: I know. hence the goal.
he said: but I don't want to look like one of
he said: those guys who try to look really
he said: young but end up looking lame
I said: what are you talking about? it's
I said: not like I'm trying to cantilever
I said: your feet into a pair of fluorescent
I said: orange patent-trimmed padded nike
I said: basketballers. yeesh.
he said: you know, I have running shoes
I said: that's not what I mean. I'm talking
I said: casual shoes, that you can wear,
I said: just around, so that they're not all
I said: pointy and fussy. you know, a pair
I said: that you can kick around and not
I said: spend 15 minutes polishing every night.
he said: I don't think my shoes look fussy
I said: ...
he said: and I don't want to look like everyone
he said: else, in a pair of dirty white tennis
he said: shoes
I said: well, they don't have to be dirty.
I said: and it's not like there's only one kind
I said: of tennis shoe. I was thinking a pair
I said: of custom Vans. or a pair of suede etnies.
I said: something you can slip on when you're just
I said: lounging around, all casual.
he said: I think these are pretty casual
I said: really? those stiff, ultra-shiny leather
I said: lace-ups with the ultra-pointy toe and
I said: gloss laces that keep coming undone every
I said: block or so?
he said: ...
I said: I guess I was thinking of a different
I said: kind of casual...
he said: I don't understand why you want to
he said: get me into tennis shoes so much
I said: I don't understand why you resist so
I said: much. I mean, it's just tennis shoes.
I said: not like I'm asking you to grow a
I said: beard. or cut off your hair. shoes.
he said: I guess it's just one of those things
he said: you decide about yourself. at some
he said: point in my life, I decided that I
he said: didn't want to be someone who wore
he said: tennis shoes. it's what defines me
he said: and sets me apart from everyone else
he said: who does. it's about who I am.
I said: o.
I said: I guess I just didn't realize it was a
I said: philosophical thing.

the boy who cried salad

a conversation I had recently:

lui: spring is finally here!
moi: about time. how sick am I of winter?
lui: the flowers are coming up! and the
lui: trees are in bloom!
moi: achoo.
lui: and now the new jersey produce will start
lui: coming in. I can't wait.
moi: for what?
lui: the new jersey produce
moi: what do you mean? what's so great about it?
lui: well, it's so much fresher.
moi: why?
lui: because it's coming in from new jersey.
moi: as opposed to coming in from where? wouldn't
moi: pennsylvania produce be even
moi: fresher? and where is it coming in to?
lui: well, there are farm collectives
lui: and places where you can get
lui: fresh produce. and now the seasonal
lui: produce from new jersey will be coming in.
moi: you mean like the farmer's market down
moi: in clark park?
lui: well, there are also specific farm collectives...
moi: yeah, like down in clark park. or at least
moi: there used to be.
lui: mmm, I don't know. these are things you
lui: sign up with, and then get the produce
lui: delivered on a weekly basis
moi: yeah, I know. I used to be part of a csa
moi: in the city. and every saturday morning,
moi: I'd have to go up to pick up a bag of
moi: organic vegetables, most of which I ended
moi: up donating to the homeless man who
moi: rooted through our garbage cans every morning.
lui: o, so there's one in clark park?
moi: there used to be. across the street.
lui: that's good to know.
moi: what for? to pick up this new jersey produce?
lui: ...yeah..
moi: so, where else does one find this new jersey
moi: produce? will it make it's way into the
moi: grocery stores? and what is "new jersey produce"?
lui: what do you mean?
moi: well, you talk about it like it's a thing. so, what
moi: is it. is it just all kinds of vegetables, just from
moi: new jersey? and if so, why are we waiting for
moi: spring to get at it? or is it a specific crop from
moi: new jersey that we're waiting for, like tomatoes
moi: or something, that now that it's spring, we can
moi: eat? and regardless, why wouldn't it be coming
moi: into the grocery stores too? what's so special
moi: about this new jersey produce? I mean, we're
moi: eating pennsylvania produce every day. and
moi: isn't that even closer?
lui: well, I mean, I have friends who are farmers,
lui: and understand agribusiness and other friends
lui: who are part of these collectives, and they're
lui: all ah...waiting for...ah...new jersey produce...
moi: you don't even know what new jersey produce
moi: is, do you?

what I like about you...

and you..and fine, you.

so all right. hold me to my word. when I said I was going do more of telling my friends what made them so great, I didn't expect it to kick into effect so immediately. but a promise is a promise, so for those of you've who asked (and also for those who haven't, but the former definitely outnumber the latter), here's a (partial, and growing-every-day) list of the reasons I think you're the bee's knees:


1. I love the way you see the world around
1. you through rose-colored glasses, and your
1. unabashedness about it. the world needs
1. more of you and so I do.

2. you let me talk to you during movies, and
2. answer my questions right away, even if
2. something's happening on screen. I know
2. it's annoying but I can't help it and I appreciate
2. that you never make me feel like I'm
2. interrupting you or hold up your hand
2. shush me. this makes you great.

3. you're always up for an adventure, and I
3. can convince you to watson me for just about
3. any escapade. I love you for it.

4. you're not afraid to disagree with the new yorker
4. or the new york fucking times book review.
4. yay.

5. you talk back to runar instead of to me. because
5. duh, it's runar what's asking you a question,
5. not me.

6. you give a really great head squish, and I
6. miss them. advil just doesn't cut it.

7. you always know exactly how to cheer me up
7. or calm me down with your dry sense of
7. humor and wry smile. even though you are
7. so far away, there isn't a day I don't miss you.

8. you know that there's nothing in the world
8. that needs to be taken that seriously, and
8. you're able to remind me of that without
8. being condescending or holier-than-thou.
8. that's a rare and very much appreciated skill
8. and I appreciate it more with every new
8. person I meet.

9. you know what you want and are unafraid
9. to go out into the world in search of it, no
9. matter who or what stands in your way.
9. and even when the obstacles seem huge,
9. you're undeterred. I love watching you
9. attack the universe with your unlimited
9. enthusiasm for how things should be.

10. you're always completely open to the
10. new, even if they come at an expense
10. because you appreciate the cost of
10. learning about the world around you.
10. you reaffirm my belief in the world's
10. ability to learn.

11. I absolutely love and admire your passion
11. for the things that are important to you
11. and your indefatigable enthusiasm
11. for the things you love. you inspire me.

no friend of mine

Lamo Lamerson pulls one of his patented chumpwad moves on a close friend of yours. A very close friend. Your reaction is to consider Lamo your:
	ENEMY! You mess with my friends and you mess with me, m$%@#er! Enemy of my friend makes you my enemy!
	FRIEND. I don't let issues bleed over into other relationships. I mean, he may have been a total wad of fuck, but he didn't do it to me...
	UMMMM...I dunno...I mean, I'd like to be fair...and weigh all the issues...and hear it from everyone's side...I don't want to judge anyone...

9 to 5 is a toughguy

deacs: they just changed our core office hours
deacs: to 9-5!
me: so?
deacs: I'm gonna crap all over it
me: is there an uprising?
deacs: yes!!
deacs: also...!!!
deacs: "those working on Projects A-J or
deacs: with clients K-Z, you must be available
deacs: starting at 8am"
deacs: EIGHT?!!?!?
deacs: I feel nauseous
me: ha ha ha
deacs: I'd have to get to bed at 11!!!

welcome to the adult world, deacs.

details obscured to shelter certain deacsters from corporate retribution and/or spankings

is it so wrong?

so a friend of mine--I'll call her Betty, is seeing someone I'll call Archie. and before they began seeing each other, Archie basically went through his rolodex and asked out just about every girl he knew. Betty just happened to be last on that list.

my thought (yes, completely unsolicited. so what?) was that Archie was more interested in seeing someone than in seeing Betty. and that if any of the stops beforehand had yielded any interest, there'd be no Betty + Archie inside a heart.

so here are the questions:
1. isn't there something lame about that?
2. doesn't Betty deserve to be with someone
2. who wants to be with Betty?
3. was it so wrong of me to tell Betty so?

sick-o-fant

in reference to item 7, it's got to be on my own time, chumps. stop writing and calling and asking me to tell you what's so great about you. it's like the emperor's new clothes. if you have to ask someone else what it looks like, it prolly doesn't exist.

addition #9 to the aforementioned list: tell it like it is.

yes, this makes sense

The Shanghai Sheraton, a 5-star hotel in China, was undergoing a week-long cleaning of their windows. How to minimize the disturbance of their guests during that week?

"Nobody wants to see a person suddenly appear outside their window, so we thought of dressing them as [Spiderman]," said a hotel spokesman. It only makes sense.

charm, mother$#@%ers!

this is what my chicken rice soup and sesame tofu last night yielded:


maybe I haven't been laying on the charm and personality thick enough of late?

more or less

things I want to do more of:

1. take walks for no reason other than
1. the pleasure of taking a walk
2. take photographs of things I might
2. not remember otherwise
3. draw pictures
4. write letters to friends
5. eat salads
6. make things
7. tell people what makes them great
8. sleep


things I want to do less of:

1. eat crap chocolate
2. fall asleep with mascara on
3. not make the bed before leaving
4. stare blankly into the future

bboy pop

if you can do any of the following, or know anyone who can, please contact me asap:

tokio hotel

brought to you by my 13-year old self, in conjunction with my present-day self who realizes that her 13-year old self was imminently cooler than she will ever be again:



I did use to love the pretty long-haired boys in eyeliner. where did they all go?

the lead singer, tom, reminds me of j, whom I used to have a crush on and would steal glances at all the time when I was dating i. I'd make excuses to catch him in his velvet-suited glory, leaning against the streetposts on telegraph or at popscene at the cat club, before it moved to 330 ritch. all hair and dark-rimmed eyes and thin, long fingers.

I'm sure he's probably the bagcheck dude at an amoeba somewhere or something.

o, back to tokio hotel. the obligatory ballad:


I told kisling that they were like an early crüe, circa too fast for love or shout. but I take that back now. more on the realm of theatre of pain. but cuter? and cleaner?

wednesday morning, 4am

and I'm up. awake without even the slightest hint of sleep hovering anywhere near me.

are you wondering if I'm still an insomniac? guess.

pussy cow

does anyone remember cal worthington and his dog spot? I don't really remember much from the 80s, but I remember these commercials:



and apparently, he wasn't saying "pussy cow" but "go see cal". eh. 24 years in translation.

Planet *s!

If you haven't already, I really encourage you strongly to check out Planet B-Boy if you're lucky enough to have it playing near you.

In one of the parallel versions of my life, I am a breakdancer. Of course, a great one. A girl one. I would be known for my crazy blowups and over the top footwork. In this version of my life, tho, I have to live it vicariously through real bboys.


I want someone to say of me, "there's nobody that can touch *s! when it comes to _____" and say that without referencing peeps or sugar consumption. I love the idea of loving something so much you can't contain yourself. And I'm envious of the passion and desperation it takes to throw your life into something. Anything. I mean I'm pretty passionate about Reese's Pieces. But I'd give them up rather than put up a fight. I'm just like that.

More from Last For One, who were the undisputed heartbreak champions of the film and the 2005 International Battle of the Year:

I love their intensity, their complete focus, and most of all, their green and white puma tracksuits. Also, ♥ BBoy Joe ♥

And from France, Phase T, who are probably the most poetic of any of the finalists:

Lil Kev, the eeny white boy, is almost too twee to take seriously. Until you see him fly across the stage.

And then of course, Gamblerz, the defending champions coming into the 2005 Battle:

They're like a series of explosions. One of the only crews to build a storyline for this competition, and one that works whether or not you know it. I love that they're a powerhouse team, but knew that they needed to round out to become a more cohesive team. And then did it.

Finally, just for fun, a clip of Gamblerz v. Ichigeki during the Pre-Elim battle:

I love the in-your-faceness of it all. The show and tell structure of a story told in dance.

melting my days away

some days I just sit and stare blankly at the wall, trying to tune out the hum of crickets in my head.

some days it is figuratively. others it is literal. every day, I want it to stop.

before there was john

there was julian


Julian Lennon, Too Late for Goodbyes. Valotte

my first obsession. I used to carry around the lyrics of this song in my big google-eyed kitty backpack. and call up michelle vatcher any time either of us heard this song on the radio. it really made the third grade for me.

intermission with the decks

okay, so I'm really not a baby person. I mean, I'm a fan of warm, squishy things. especially if they smell good. but I've been known to hiss menacingly at children who wandered too close to my personal space boundaries and snarl, "suck it up" at crying ones in restaurants and theatres.

but what I am a fan of, regardless of age or size, are sunshiny happiness and teethy smiles. and boy, does the decks have that. in buckets and to spare. how do you not want to squeeze this:


or this:

seriously, everyone, just everyone loves the decks.

look here for more photos of the deckleston. as an aside, I totally think the decks needs to be in print and film ads, don't you think? I keep telling TC this is the time to do it, before the decks realizes what's going on and develops a cuter-than-you attitude, which could ruin him.

okay, back to our regularly scheduled programming.

obstacles

in the way of my living my life like a normal person:

* need to get glasses
* need to get prescription to get glasses
* need to see optometrist to get prescription for glasses
* need to reserve car on phillycarshare to get to
* optometrist to get prescription for glasses
* need to pick up phillycarshare membership card
* to reserve car to drive down to optometrist to
* get prescription for glasses
* need to get someone to drive me back from
* optometrist (after they dilate my eyes) with
* prescription for glasses
* need to coordinate schedules with this someone
* who maybe could drive me back from the optometrist
* who I need to see for the followup visit so they will
* release my prescription to me so I can finally get
* glasses and new contacts so I can see

why is everything so difficult? don't even get me started on the rest of my To-Do list:

* Spring Cleaning
* Stop Being Depressed
* Finish Dissertation and Get Out of Grad School
* and Move Somewhere with a Proper Spring
* and Fall and Close to the Ocean and Get a House
* So I Can Stop Living On A College Campus and
* Actually Live a REAL LIFE

that last one, especially. that one's a doozy.

menny hapy returns

from my sister, bean! I absolutely love these, and have been wearing the silver ones nonstop. aren't they just beautiful? I almost can't believe she made them. and yet, I can, too. they are really, really perfect.

these are so delicate, and rich at the same time. I love the way the loop at the top is heavier, more luxuriant in all that gold.













these are my personal favorite, because they are something I would want made for me. and they were! all soft silver and organic curves. and so featherlight, I can hardly feel them.

and my ears, which are allergic to everything. love these.








I'm saving these for a special occasion. I love how pretty they are. with the gold wrapped wire around the top of the carnelian like the neck of the j'adore bottle. or those ndebele women.

angelyne

raise your hand if you know who and what this is:


if your hand isn't raised, you're no southern californian. sit back down.

can you tell me how to get,

how to get to sesame streeeeeet?

what I love is that they're still filming sesame street right on the streets of new york, and not some soundstage in burbank. I don't know why it's so comforting, but it is. the fact that my friends and neighbors sometimes will stay in the places I expect them to be, and I might run into them on my way back from the park on a saturday afternoon.

wait a minute. WHO is that with his hand up murray's ass?

coulda been me

last week, I read about nicholas white, who was trapped in an elevator for 41 hours. FORTY ONE HOURS! and the entire thing was caught on the security camera video, a particularly fine condensed version set to music by the New Yorker:



there are two really salient points in his story for me. the first is that no one even realized he was trapped in the elevators the whole time. not the 8 security guards who ostensibly sat in front of the video monitors watching him pacing around and waving at the security camera mounted in Car 4 for nearly two straight days, not the attendants in the lobby where the elevator never returned, not the servicemen who took care of multiple repairs in the other elevators, not even his colleague, who instead taped a snide note onto his computer screen so everyone could see that he'd left her in the lurch.

the other point is more mundane, and yet closer-hitting. this idea that we live in a world over which our ability to control is just an illusion--one which we must create ourselves to trick ourselves, metaphorically illustrated by the door-close button in the elevator. a button whose main purpose is to "make you think it works", providing an outlet for the primal fear of losing control of one's surroundings once you step into that steel and concrete box dangling over thousands of feet of yawning nothing. most of us, step into one of these every day. putting our lives and fate into a mechanism of which we understand relatively little, if anything. and yet, we do it, cajoling ourselves into believing that we, not the elevator, are the ones in control. how many times have you watched someone, or yourself, step in and automatically reach for the door-close button. and of course, that the doors eventually do close, which only serves as evidence for our need to believe in the purpose and authority of that button. as nick paumgarten writes, "Elevator design is rooted in deception—to disguise not only the bare fact of the box hanging by ropes but also the tethering of tenants to a system over which they have no command." isn't it the same with the world we design around ourselves?

just saying.

It's Passover, Peeps

As my (reprisal) Passover gift to you, let me present my re-enactment of the Ten Plagues:

DAM: River to Blood

TSFARDEIA: Frogs!

KINIM: Lice

AROV: Flies

DEVER: Death of Livestock

SHKHIN: boils

BARAD: Hail and Fire

ARBEH: Locusts

CHOSCHECH: Darkness

MAKAT BECHOROT: Death of the Firstborn

time to find a new library

not 5 minutes ago, right here, au bibliothèque:

some kid: hi
me: hellow
kid: hey...
me: yes?
kid: do I know you?
me: I dunno
kid: are you sure?
me: fairly
kid: really?
me: pretty
kid: haven't we met somewhere?
me: I don't know
kid: I think I might know you
me: well, I don't think I know you
kid: really?
me: more so now
kid: that's weird
me: which part?
kid: well, I feel like I know you. from somewhere.
me: . . .
kid: where do you hang out?
me: mostly, here
kid: are you at the library a lot?
me: yes
kid: maybe this is where I know you from?
me: maybe
kid: so what's your name?
me: *s!
kid: I'm Dennis
me: hellow, Dennis
kid: so, I guess we hadn't met before
me: no, I guess not
kid: okay, well, maybe I'll see you around?
me: maaaybe

it's spring!

so they say.

all things considered...

..it really oughtn't feel so bad. but it does. and how do I account for that?

it's like a trip I took. it's night and I'm driving on an unfamiliar highway. but there are sodium vapor lights overhead, and I'm making okay time. and then for some reason or reasons--which seem vague and unclear to me now--I decided to take an offramp exit onto a side road. and, without really thinking too carefully about it, I toodled down that road until I realized it wasn't fully paved. I seemed to be alone and there weren't any lights. and the surrounding trees were growing in closer and denser.
the thing is, I'm not one to really turn around and go back. so I keep pushing forward. and soon, I'm inching along, completely surrounded by branches that are scratching at me, in absolute darkness. I don't even know that there's a road beneath me. now, it feels like I can't move forward or back. I can't even get the door open to assess the situation from another perspective. I'm stuck behind the wheel, staring forward at what seems like impenetrable darkness.

does this sound familiar to you? I hope it doesn't, for your sake. but for mine, I hope it does. just so I know that I'll make it out of here okay, in the end.

IRS: 2,251, ME: 0

if I weren't diametrically opposed to guns. and Idaho. and large crowds of white people who live in compounds wearing clothes from Fashion Bug and Gunne Sax, I would totally join one of those anti-income tax clubs.

right now, I am wikipediaing Ron Paul.

comfort house

I'm just going to have to assume the worst on this one.

THIS POST UNDER CONSTRUCTION

jeopardy

CLUES:
1• you know, I've heard of people who can sleep just 2 or 3 hours
1• a night and still get their work done...
1• at least you're getting some sleep. that's better than no sleep.
1• have you tried just going to sleep?

ANSWER:
What are, "responses that could be construed as unsupportive or unhelpful when someone tells you they haven't been able to sleep for months, sometimes going days without any sleep at all, leaving them fighting to breathe in air that is suddenly too viscous to move through and feeling like the universe might implode at any second in a shatter of faded color."