Bruised Not Broken

I never thought I would post again!

2008-11-19T19:59:00.000-08:00

Aren't we the lucky ones! Guess what? I totally had a baby! Can you believe it? She's adorable (of course) and she has her own blog! She's so accomplished! She never uses exclamation points, and she doesn't need spellcheck! Her dad is pretty awesome, too. We are getting married next year, when I hopefully have shed the baby weight (it's an uphill battle). So now I'll probably post about wedding preparations and making mom friends, and a bunch of other things that regular ladies do, except I'm doing them out of order - that's the hook!

From the WTF files...

2006-10-20T13:23:00.000-07:00

There are so many things wrong with this story, it's almost unbelievable.

A change in the weather...

2006-06-16T13:50:00.000-07:00

I decided it was time to check out my on-line persona, so I googled myself. The only entry with my spelling was actually me! And it just showed that I had supported the Nordstroms Beat the Bridge Charity Run one year. What can I say? I’m a giver.

So I felt pretty confident – but I decided to check out alternate spellings – I found an Ivy-League women’s hockey player, a male Arizona elementary school principal, a Missing Person’s investigator from a British borough, and some sort of social engineer. All of their lives seem markedly more interesting than mine. But I remember what my mom always told me – “bored people are boring”.

So I alleviated that boredom by getting in my first car accident!

Too Self-conscious For Broadband!

2006-05-15T12:02:00.000-07:00

Hold the Havarti

2006-02-10T09:59:00.000-08:00

Obviously a lot has happened in the past month, but the Islamic protest over a Danish cartoon has now taken it's toll on the most innocent of victims - the curds and whey. This little bit of information hasn't been widely publicized - in fact, it was pratically buried in the recent article I read. But there it was - "In Pakistan, rallies erupted around the country after prayers with some protesters burning foreign-made cheese and breaking windows while others clashed with police."

I smell "freedom fries".

Full article here.

New Year's Eve

2005-12-29T14:33:00.000-08:00

Such a gloriously craptastic "holiday". For most of the country, it combines excessive drinking and icy, slippery roads. For California it's more of a date ruler - it seemingly marks the end of "that time when it gets chilly" and the beginning of "that time when water ocassionally torrents from the sky".

In either case, when it comes to an intoxicated public, I'm much fonder of St. Patrick's Day - mostly because the Irish people I know actually start drinking during daylight hours, but also because there are absolutely no preconceived notions attached to St. Paddy's.

New Year's Eve on the other hand, is built up as though the whole idea of the celebration is inherently fun - as though good times are mandated for all. And then there's the whole "kiss at midnight" thing. What a scam! I'm making it a point NOT to spend New Year's Eve with a guy I'm seeing, because I can't think of a single guy I've ever spent two with - in fact, hanging out together at New Year's pretty much assures I'll be alone again by March.

I don't have great New Year's, and if I'm honest I blame my mother - when I was 15, a friend and I went to a party thrown by a 19 year old. My mother found out and came to the party, and took me home. I was so humiliated. I was about to drink sake (At least I ran with a cultured crowd)! I spent the night watching the ball drop with my mom on the couch. I think I've only had one really fun NYE, and it was in London. Mom Mojo doesn't travel across the ocean...

There's a Santa Claus...

2005-12-20T12:21:00.000-08:00

and he came early this year and brought me something that wasn't on my list.

But before we get into all that, I just need to get something off my chest - nannies should probably not have blogs. I mean, I don't have as much time in front of the computer as I used to - or more to the point, extraneous time.

My daily adventures mostly consist of going to the park, playing some sort of unintentional contact sport, building forts and crafts, and cleaning up filth. Somewhere along the way I make and eat uncomplicated foods that always contain less than 3 ingredients. Don't get me wrong, I love what I do for money, but I'm not naive enough to believe others would be interested.

Which leads me to the other blog fodder - interactions with other people. Again, I come up short - most of the other adults I encounter on a regular basis are either clients, friends of clients, nannies of friends of clients, and random Spanish and Portuguese speaking nannies I befriend at the park. And I have a hard enough time talking to them, much less writing about them.

Then there's what my friends are doing - since a few of them read this, sort of redundant.

And then there's boys. I was taking some time off them. But remember what I said earlier about Santa? Apparently Good St. Nick was working off an old list, one that didn't take certain personal vows into account. Could've been worse - I could have been raising money for charity. At least I know no children are suffering due to my lack of control.

Make a monkey out of me

2005-12-15T13:32:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I know he's an ape not a monkey. And I'm sure there's some Old World/New World distinction I'm missing as well with my glib request, but the important thing is that you realize that King Kong is the most entertaining movie I've seen all year. My companion last night has some awareness of this fact, based on the bruises and bite marks he's sporting today.

Yes, I could have shaved 20 minutes off the total run time, but I wasn't thinking that while I was sitting there. I was glued to the screen, despite knowing how the movie ends, and that's saying something. I didn't even want to watch the last 15 minutes, because I was so heartsick about the inevitable climax. Kong strangely reminded me of my dog...

School Days

2005-12-14T09:05:00.000-08:00

So I'm hanging out with a 7 year old yesterday, and for some reason I started singing the ballad of Senor Don Gato - oh wait, I remember why - it was to get Mr. Roboto out of my head (we'd spent about 20 minutes changing the lyrics of that song to reflect toilet humor "Spank you very much, Mr. Roboto for helping me to poop just when I needed to!" - come on, he's 7, that was comedy gold!).
Anyway, he wanted to know where I'd heard Don Gato, and I told him I learned it at school in 5th grade. It's a powerful song, to have stuck in my head so long. We had to learn it for a camp performance - yup, in the 80s in Washington State, school districts actually took kids to camp. Public school kids. It was a magical time.
But the other song we learned and sang was Elvira by the Oak Ridge Boys. I didn't think too much of it then, but in these intervening years I wonder at having 10 year olds singing about "funny" feelings up and down their spines.

So I started dating again...

2005-12-13T13:27:00.000-08:00

don't worry, my virtue is still intact.
I had one disasterous date who managed to irritate my roommate with his conservative Libertarian (shudder) rhetoric and insult my mother (for being a single parent) in the first 20 minutes, then sulked petulantly when I told him I didn't think it was going to work out.
I'm making plans with a crazy Belgian who only lives in LA every other month, and I'm about to go on a third date later this week with a guy I met at the dog park.
I figure pre-third date is a good time to google someone, and he has a web design company, so I figured he'd have a presence. What I didn't figure was that he'd be a contributor to a website that so succinctly defined my checkered past.
It's some sort of karmic irony, isn't it?

Cutting the cord.

2005-11-21T15:45:00.000-08:00

So I have to break-up with one of my nanny families - it's the one with the "special needs"* child. I wanted to do it last week, but they came back from a parent-teacher conference and were all "He's doing so well, and we gave you alot of credit". My office boss told me I'm a sucker, and he's right. But I need to free up my schedule and have some time for myself, and it's just not happening. Besides, as he pointed out - I gave them notice 3 months ago. They were supposed to be finding someone to replace me as I took fewer and fewer days, but somehow the replacement nanny never fully materialized.
Now that my partner and I are going to be going out on pitch meetings, I need my time more than ever, so I'm going to have to cut the cord.

*if you're wondering what's involved, avoid any of the "best case scenarios".

I've been tired...

2005-11-16T01:16:00.000-08:00

As it happens, I have an epiphany to share. It wasn’t boys that were burning me out – it was my 5 jobs. Since my vow of celibacy, I’ve realized that I was seriously tired from work already. Boys were actually part of my release system – like opening the pressure valve on a fancy espresso maker. Not that I should look at the male of the species as a conduit to relaxation, which was another epiphany.
In any case, yesterday I was forced to acknowledge that I have to drop one of my jobs, ASAP.
It’s the job with the “special needs” child, and it’s more about the family than the kid – he’s cool, I just can’t deal with his near-divorce parents.
I’ve also discovered I have an addiction to the Sci-Fi series, Battlestar Galactica. Those of you that know my prediliction for Andromeda won’t be surprised, but I did watch the entire 1st season of BSG over 5 days, and then conquered my technophobia to download and watch 1/2 the second season in 2 days. My female roommate said "Look at all the tv you can watch now that you're not having sex!"

I said I'd only say it once...

2005-11-07T23:32:00.000-08:00

but if I type it, it's not really "saying" it, is it? Does it depend on what the definition of "it" is?

Anyway, tonight I saw The Celibacy Guy (Celig). That's how I'll refer to the XY who compelled me to my new path; trust me, it's less silly than his name. So I'm at my roommate's gig and Celig is there and he comes up to me and -

wait for it -

Puts his arm around my waist, cheek kisses me, and says something to the effect of "what's going on?"

Ladies and Germs, a moment of silence for the last shred of human decency.

I didn't want to dwell on it, but I felt highly disturbed by the whole situation, and I vowed to ask ONE informed witness about it. She immediately said "That was a little forced" of course, she also said she could see why he did it, which explains her nom de my plume "Soft Heart". She said it seemed too nothing-actually-happened for a first post -scuttle meeting. And as it's only been a week, I felt a thrill of vindication (those always feel good).

Then later I was in an unholy quadrant involving Celig and the guy I had been simu-dating, and another guy I'd made out with while seeing them both.

Celibacy will alleviate these situations! Yahtzee!!!!

Two Months Off

2005-11-03T14:42:00.000-08:00

So this is my horoscope today:

Why keep fighting a fight that you know you aren't going to win, dear Aquarius? Why keep trying to fool yourself and others into thinking that you have all the answers, when really you are just aware of the tip of the iceberg? The mass of knowledge lies well beneath the surface at this time. Instead of fighting, offer your surrender. At this point, others will be much more willing to quench your thirst for the truth of the situation. The key is for you to listen.

So I’m opening up the floor to discussion after I present this resolution – Mandatory celibacy for the next two months. For the month of November, I will not even date. By December, I will date, but will not participate in sexual activity. This all comes in the wake of realizing I had aligned myself with yet another alcoholic, one that followed, almost to the letter, the exact behavior of two previous sexers (I can’t call them boyfriends or lovers).

The pattern is this: I meet someone, I find them sexually irresistible, they have a substance abuse problem, things reach a comfortable plateau, and then something happens that, according to C@ , makes them realize that they are incapable of being supportive to another human being, because they “get their hugs from the bottle”. When I finally express need, suddenly they are “uncomfortable” (this is a key phrase in the pattern). With the first guy, it was about reimbursing me for taking care of HIS sick dog. The second guy, it conveniently “stopped working” after I became unemployed and needed emotional (not financial) support. And this third guy? It was a condom baby.

[For those of you not in the know, earlier this month I gave birth. It was in the bathroom of my partner’s wedding reception hall and I felt just like one of those New Jersey teenagers, except instead of a fetus, I expelled a condom. Six days after it’s inception. It had been lost. Apparently, during the rather raucous intercourse, it was replaced with another prophylactic, but like all those Christians threaten at the Rapture – it was Left Behind.]

Incredibly long story short, The RubberDad Man shows up at my Halloween Party, ignores me to talk to another girl, apparently gets loaded, vomits and then drives himself home (I say apparently because this is his version of events – as far as I knew, he just left without finding me to say goodbye). The next day I tell him to “fuck off” (which is what he was going for, and is another key phrase), get my coven working on vibing him, and lo and behold, I get my period and he gets rear-ended. Those are results!

Anyway, at the end of it all, I’m forced to address why I continue to pick completely unsuitable guys, even though it’s been pointed out to me that I usually find this type when I’m trying to be casual. But why am I always trying to be casual? And am I a drama-seeker? Is it easier for me to deal with addicts because I find them “mercurial and interesting”, despite their terrible track records? It’s not only in dating – this is actually a fairly new development; I’ve had at least 5 intense, close friends since college spiral into and up from addiction (sometimes on a mobius loop), in addition to 4 that are solid, works-if-you-work-it types. My roommate doesn’t have any. Something is going on.

So I decided I need to take a little time away from boys. It’s a daunting prospect. I’ve been dating at least 2 people at a time for the majority of the past year. I broke off my long-term (5 months) primary at the end of September, and now I’ve lost my short-term secondary (3 months) and it seems like a good time for a break. I’d already started recruiting, and had to deliver the bad news to one gentlemen who took it with aplomb; I’m calling the other guy (I met at the Foo Fighters show) later today…

On the plus side, it means I'll have a lot more time here, with you, bloggy :oP

Earning My Island Family's Respect...

2005-10-11T23:18:00.000-07:00

Since August, 2005. I went through a brief period of underemployment in July, and since then I have somehow acquired 5 jobs. I've been nannying for 4 families and working in product placement for a watch company. If you're wondering how I find the time, the answer is - I don't. My kind heart and tendancy to get attached to other people's children has trapped me in a 6 day work week, along with writing with my partner all day on Saturday. This week, I am officially burned out.
But I still find time to praise the heavens that I'm no longer in food service.

Community Pressure

2005-09-17T02:09:00.000-07:00

I’m a member of a cd club. It is the most unimaginable pressure you can imagine, Every month I get cds from some impossibly diverse musically-inclined person. I’ve come up with a concept for my cd (which isn’t due until April), and I hit upon a new song for it. It actually fills me with joy to know that I may be able to come up with something no one has since replicated.
These people are incredible – I started to panic around July, when a couple sent out their cd’s and at least 4 bands I had thought of including were included. But I think I’ve got the jump on them. They will never think of the songs I’ve decided to burn. Yes, now I can establish “street cred” with them, and it’s all due to my Party Shuffle. I’m going to end with the song I dedicated to my car – a song no one will (hopefully) include on their cds.
In fact, maybe I’ll scrap the concept idea completely in favor of a burning of my current Party Shuffle play list – it will save me a lot of time. Of course, as I type this “Afternoon Delight” by the Starland Vocal Band popped up, which may derail any chances of credibility…

Not the best idea...

2005-09-08T15:40:00.000-07:00

I have always believed, completely subjectively and unsubstantiatedly, that Black Americans must have a psychological aversion to boats. Maybe it was my upbringing - my uncle owned a boat, and aside from being one of a few less-than European faces in the harbor, few in our family shared his passion for the sea.
So aside from the trauma water has already inflicted on these people, a part of me thinks that deep down inside, a voice is saying - "You remember how this worked out the last time..."

Lord of the Flies

2005-07-20T13:06:00.000-07:00

Dear Sir,

Pleased to meet you. I've been under attack by the insectoid inhabitants of this planet, and I was hoping together, we could band together and form a pact.

As you know, I've long held a trap-and-release treaty with the spiders; the only caveat being the six-foot perimeter around my bed; the "kill zone". And you are also probably familiar with my "no swat" policy concerning your brethren (although I'm not at liberty to control my dog's "chase and snap" activities). Given my live and let die paradigm, I was surprised to find myself victim of no less than 10 insect bites and one bee sting in the past two weeks. This is unacceptable.

I'm assuming you're familiar with game theory. Up until this point, we've been operating in a state of mutual cooperation in the Assurance Game - but suddenly the insects are playing Chicken with a prediliction for defection. This type of game will inevitably degenerate to Tit-for-Tat, but I'm giving you one more opportunity to return to our previously mutually beneficial game; offering "forgiveness", if you will.

If a suitable resolution can not be reached, I am prepared to act in my own defense.

Thank you for your time, and I hope to hear from you soon.

P.S. Was it completely necessary to have the bee sting swell my forearm to Popeye-like dimensions accompanied by red, vein-tracing streaking?

Sweet!

2005-07-17T12:35:00.000-07:00

So the other night my roommates and I were watching Behind the Green Door, but we didn't really want to hear it, so on a whim I put The Teaches of Peaches on the stereo. And that's when I discovered the new The Wall/Wizard of Oz.

From the very beginning, each song on the album seemed to effortlessly meld with the visuals on screen (even the boring mime sequence; which suddenly became less boring). The lyrics, the beats and even the track order seemed preternaturally synchronized to the film. It was mind-blowing. And it made a classic adult film immenently more watchable. Check it out.

Where I live.

2005-07-13T23:19:00.000-07:00

Here in California, we have Megan's Law. And they have a website. On the website, you can punch in your zip code, your address, the name of your nearest park, and a variety of other criteria, and they will give you a list of all the registered sex offenders (with addresses and photos) in your neighborhood.

In the case of my new place, a list of 103. Disturbing enough; but you know me, I had to keep picking. So I checked my last two zip codes - 16 in my last place, and an astonishing 2 in my first place. I'm definitely slipping...but of course now I have a Rottweiler.

Just don't tell my mom, she'll flip out.

Scuttled

2005-07-11T23:44:00.000-07:00

So C@ and I have this phrase "scuttling the ship" - it's a nautical term for running a vessel aground; but in our case, it's when you break it off with someone you're not really dating - the "ship" is a relationship.

Usually, scuttling takes place early on - it's something you do before emotions are involved, before it can really be termed a "break-up". It's and awkward yet polite way of disengaging. Personally, I usually start it with "I can't see you anymore..." and for the most part, all my scuttlings have ended successfully.

But recently I got scuttled - after 3 months. To my credit, I was almost expecting it - I mean, it was someone I had scuttled in January, and we had started up again after my last exclusive relationship had ended; we never had any emotional connection, in a way we were just placeholders. We had never attained any real level of intimacy, and I had been wondering what the point was. So when he called and said "We can't date anymore..." I felt a measure of relief.

He had become reacquainted with someone he'd met years before, wanted to give it a go, and he "just wasn't the type that could date two people at once.". In reality, it was the almost the same speil I had given him lo those many months ago - except I'm perfectly capable of dating two people at once. When he thanked me for being understanding, I said "What choice do I have? You were understanding with me." I wished him luck, and I meant it.

Dismembering Last Night.

2005-07-06T14:36:00.000-07:00

This morning I woke up in the movie Memento. Well, I actually woke up on the couch...and it wasn't so much "morning" as it was "cresting to afternoon", but those details aside, I was in Memento. Except with even more of a twist, because I didn't think I had forgotten anything.

I got up, fed my dog and let her out to relieve herself. This also gave me the opportunity to see that my car was safely parked. I was definitely dragging - I went to take a shower and it turned into an hour-long soak.

During the soak, I thought about last night. Oh, what a great time we had! I had gone to Porn Star Karaoke for an acquaintence's going away party, made a few fans with my rendition of "Different Drum", and had a few celebratory cocktails. I had a vague recollection of two rounds of shots, seeing Ron Jeremy and Mickey Rourke walk in, and then coming home and evicting my roommate from the couch so I could crash on it. I must have felt a bit queasy, because I put a large bowl on the floor next to me - it was mercifully empty except for some drool.

I checked my email and saw a message from a friend with pictures. Pictures of our group, laughing and singing. Pictures of me with Mickey Rourke. Pictures of John with Ron Jeremy. Now it was starting to dawn on me. We had evidently talked to them. I called my friend.

"That was so much fun!" she said. I was a little distracted, because I had realized I couldn't find my car keys. I opened my car door through an open window. I found a tumbler in my cup holder. "Yeah, you left the bar with that." she provided. My friend is 10 years sober, but she doesn't advertise. I remembered picking up the slack on one of the shot rounds because someone who didn't know was ordering. "I think the Jagermeister shots put a few people over the top".

The what? There were Jagermeister shots?

Oh, there are my keys - on the ground outside the back door. "And when the pornstars got all pissed because you kept dancing in front of them." What about Ron and Mickey? "You kissed Ron Jeremy."

I did what?

"No tongue. It was a smooch. Although you did stare into each other's eyes for a while."

I also did the worm across the dance floor, twisted a stranger's nipples, and sang a great version of "Tainted Love" with creamy dollops of ranch dressing dribbling from my lips and down my decollete (I remember putting the dressing on my chin, the bouncer suggested the upper chest).

All in all, my friend said it was the best time ever. I wish I had been there.

Double Crush

2005-07-01T16:48:00.000-07:00

I just got a job today (part-time nanny to a 6yo with CP), and it's just in time. Because I have been going boy-crazy, and friends theorize it's because I have too much time on my hands.

I've been seeing someone for the past three months, and since our relationship is not legitimately exclusive, I've been dating other people. Honestly, it takes some of the burden off him - he can't be everywhere at once. But recently, a curious thing has happened. I've been taken over by the Crush.

In the course of my usual "hey there, wanna go out, how about the Dodger game/art opening/karoake showdown on Friday?" I have developed a Crush (actually two, but who's counting?). What they have in common with my usual "auxilliary dating partners"(ADP) is that they are both clearly interested, what seperates them is that I cannot have them.

Perhaps that's the overall definition of a crush, but when you aren't working steadily, you have plenty of time to replay conversations in your head, obsess about what you were wearing the last time you saw them, wonder what they are doing at this exact instant...essentially, you become 15 again. And for those of you that knew me then, I feel the cold slither, too.

Really it's not so much that I can't have them, it's more that I shouldn't. They both reside in that undesirable arrondissement of Ami des Amis, and the streets there are narrow and always have two sides - forcing someone to walk in the middle. That's why I'm glad to be getting back to work - I'm hoping what friends say is true; that with my thoughts occupied with tasks, I won't be tempted to take any detours through mysterious alleys, no matter how inviting they seem.

Ingy, I'm sorry!

2005-06-27T14:24:00.000-07:00

Yup, I missed one of my oldest friend's birthdays. I'm a schmuck. Nothing can express the emotional turmoil I'm in...if only there was some - some THING which could properly convey how upset I am.

Oh wait, there's this.

"Anatomically correct" they promise...

Happy Belated Birthday, Ingy!

Three things that didn't disappoint.

2005-06-27T12:58:00.000-07:00

1. Batman Begins. I was not disappointed in this film whatsoever. It was no more or less than it should be, Christian Bale is certainly believable as a morose billionaire, and you get Morgan Freeman and Michael Caine as sidekicks, a sort of post-modern Ebony and Ivory. Sure Katie Holmes didn't have much to do, but I didn't expect her to - thus, I'm not disappointed. And for the record, yes her relationship is a scam - but she will be paid well and given enormous perks over the next 5 years, and her "career" as it is, will not suffer; so best of luck to her.

2. Land of the Dead. I screamed. A lot. I also possibly bruised the gentleman sitting next to me, whom I had met only moments before in the lobby, and whose only crime was not being seated on the outside of our film-going contingent. As a precautionary measure in horror films, I like to grip something or someone in anticipation of a scare...I heard him scream a few times, but we'll never know if it was in fear or pain.

3. David Byrne and Arcade Fire. Arcade Fire sounded quite good. I'm not a superfan, but I'd love to see them again at a smaller venue; we were at the Hollywood Bowl and I think it sort of diffused their energy. But their "mad hatter's tea party" instrument antics still worked well. David Byrne still sounds fantastic. His voice is unchanged, lo these many years after originally posing that eternal question "Qu'est-ce que c'est?". He finished the show with "Crazy in Love" by Beyonce, accompanied by the Extra Action Marching Band from SF, a motley crew of - well, you know that guy that played trombone in highschool? And was REALLY into it? It's like 20 of those guys/girls and a pep squad that consists of men, women, and sparkling silver thongs.

Those are three things that didn't disappoint.

Forcing your Hands.

2005-06-18T14:50:00.000-07:00

I got a call from Ingy saying "what's up? You haven't updated your blog". It was then I realized the responsibility I had undertaken, and how neglectful I had truly been. More on what I've been doing later, but by way of olive branch, I'd like to offer you this -

Remember that thing I told you about that wasn't allowed to be on the internet anymore? Well I contacted the creator expressing my deepest sympathies; he, awesome as he is, provided me with this super secret link.

So get on with Determining Your Own Destiny!

Two things.

2005-05-13T16:34:00.000-07:00

1. I have, in recent times, found myself frightened by Will Ferell’s voice. It happens whenever a commercial for Kicking and Screaming comes on; there’s a part where they overlay audio from the movie of Will humming the song used in the commercial, and it sounds like he’s in the room.

I turn quickly, my peripheral vision heightened. I’m alone.

2. I got the new place, so all I have to do is set absolutely every aspect of moving in the next 48 hours. That’s all. Don’t be confused, I don’t need to have it all done, but I’ve got to get all organized.

“Math club. Physics club. Math and Physics club.”

2005-05-03T00:05:00.000-07:00

Special thanks to Ingy’s brother Arlo for reminding us of that brilliant quote from The Breakfast Club (and also for being the subject of my unrequited pre-teen crush).

But Math and Physics Club is more than a quote – it’s also a band from my hometown, Seattle. They opened, a bit awkwardly, for The Lucksmiths last Friday (only awkward in the sense that The Luckies were late and had their high hat and bass strap). They started anyway, the bassist sitting on the edge of the small stage, and without their cymbals. And they proceeded to spew their mellow flow “all up in” the place.

I bought the tickets months ago, expecting to take a special someone; after that panned out, I invited a gal pal (but she had to work late) so instead I managed to wrangle a show partner at the last minute, and we had a great time. I’m a big Lucksmiths fan – I flew up to Seattle to see them last year because I was going to miss them on their LA date; Ingy and I arrived during sound check and managed to threaten them into posing for pictures. So I knew I was already going to enjoy the show. But a good opener makes the best band better.

Math and Physics Club was everything an opening band should be – reminiscent of the headliner, but with a little less polish. Unlike Von Iva, they didn’t rock so hard that they overshadowed the main stage, but rather complimented them. And on their first outing from the PacNor! All in all, I was quite content, and parlayed that contentment into hanging out with my potential new roommates and then passing out on their couch.

I woke up the next morning with the beginnings of a cold, and spent most of Sunday in bed with OJ (the juice) and Kleenex. But it was worth it.

Queer Ear

2005-04-29T11:49:00.000-07:00

On Wednesday I saw a fantastic band. They are Von Iva, and they rock. Hard. All women; bass, keyboards, drums and vocal. Lead singer Jillian Iva has all the presence of Mick Jagger, strutting around stage with attitude, and in black pumps.

They were the second openers for a Detroit band called The Sights my partner had told me about, but in all honesty, as soon as Jillian, Elizabeth, Bex and Lay Lay left the stage, the show was over.

I had wondered about the crowd mix – there were more girls than I’d ever seen at Spaceland – it was a real bakery in there (re: lots of guys = sausage, lots of girls = buns) and I naively, and heterosexually, thought “Is this band cute?”

Well, the ladies weren’t there for The Sights, they were there for the sounds – of four bodacious chicks from San Francisco. When Jillian belted out the instruction to “put on your tight skirt and bend for me” during Not Hot To Trot, I felt strangely compelled. And when she flipped up her own black dance skirt to reveal her red ruffled panties, I couldn’t help but respond to the amped estrogen of the crowd and start shaking my groove thang.

Mark my words, Von Iva is the Visa of the music scene - everywhere you want to be.

The Week In Review -

2005-04-26T23:45:00.000-07:00

Keeping my fingers crossed about a new housing opportunity; the landlord has to discuss with his wife if a dog is a liability or an asset.

Went out again with vasectomy guy; ended up with him sharing too much information at a strip club - apologies have included flowers, A Confederacy of Dunces, and a forthcoming New Orleans thimble (for my collection).

Had two good meetings with production companies; made potential gig contacts for later.

My partner and I went camping at Mt. Whitney; my dog successfully boulder climbed with us AND intimidated a grizzled “desert livin’” enthusiast who decided 10pm would be a good time stop by our site to introduce himself.

Had a test day with a potential nanny family; twin girls under two with a definite Jacob/Esau dynamic.

My current roommate has informed me that she is marrying an out-of-town friend for medical insurance; only the tip of the iceberg that is her insanity.

"And then..." Part Deux

2005-04-19T18:47:00.000-07:00

I held it in (as instructed), and then started a hacking cough. While the rest of the party continued, I went into the kitchen to get some water. While in the kitchen, I started feeling “odd”. I started feeling like something was wrong, like this couldn’t be the feeling intended. I started to feel like something bad was imminent, and that these people were somehow responsible. I locked them out of the house.

Imagine their surprise when they eventually tried the door. They sent T as an emissary, and I let her in, but motioned frantically that no one else could come in. Yes, “motioned”. Did I mention that I had lost the ability to speak? Not a peep. I tried to communicate to her my fears, but struggled to write it all down – I think when the notes were found, they read “lacednot going to be Afterschool Special”.

T tried to calm me, and suggested I eat something. For some reason, we found oyster crackers. There I was, frantically shoving tiny salt bits into my already dry mouth over the kitchen sink. T quickly realized she could not handle this situation on her own, and reassured me that no one was going to hurt us, and that she was going to let the others in.

I dove behind the kitchen counter when she opened the door, and stayed there while she explained the situation as best her own altered mind could figure. The conversation was hilarious! There was discussion as to whether we could even go to the dance, could we risk exposure? My date started to panic. T’s date, a super-cool laid back guy was like “She’s just high.” I was still mute, but I was feeling less paranoid, and came out from behind the counter.

I wanted to tell them all not to worry – hearing their conversation had nullified my paranoia, but I couldn’t speak. I tried to write it down, but T’s date grabbed the pen and paper away from me, and kept ordering me to “Just say it! Just say it!”

After several attempts, I was finally able to say the one thing, the one word that would solve all our problems – “Rrrrelaxxxx”. Somehow I turned a two-syllable word into six. And the flood gates were open. I prattled on for 5 minutes about my experience. T’s date thought it was hilarious, my date worried if they took me to the dance, he wouldn’t get into Brown.

We went to the dance, we even took a group photo, which my mother placed lovingly on her mantle with typical parental pride, ignoring our bemused grins. And I didn’t touch the stuff again until sophomore year of college.

So yes, Virginia, you do get high.

"And then I got high."

2005-04-18T19:33:00.000-07:00

I was watching Joan Of Arcadia last week and they had one of the main characters smoke marijuana for the first time, and get incredibly high and paranoid. Other loyal viewers were critical of his experience, and I was surprised to see the “you don’t get high the first time” argument was the thrust of their criticism. I would like to dispel this myth, once and for all.

I encountered pot for the first time in 11^th grade (I could, and no doubt will, write a whole other post that it wasn’t until attending a private school that I was exposed to drugs, alcohol, and sexual exploration) and I got high.

It was the night of the “Sadie Hawkins”-style dance, and my friend T* and I had invited two of the most popular boys in school (we had actually plotted out asking them down to the minute, to be the first to ensnare them – we weren’t cool, but we had balls). Luckily we had drawn in another girl, one who was privileged and unsupervised (P&U*), for a triple-date.

Dressed in our finery, we attended dinner and took pictures with Santa. We then headed to P&U’s house (parent-free for the weekend) for a little pre-dance entertainment. At this point, T’s date pulled out his secret weapon, a bong the boys affectionately called “The Twister”. The name was indicative of its shape, but in retrospect, it was a double entendre.

Not being familiar with such things, yet capable of following direction, when it came to my turn, my date gallantly lit the bowl and instructed me to “suck”, which I did. After what seemed like an eternity to my oxygen-deprived lungs, he lifted the bowl, releasing the “carb” and a torrent of thick smoke into the vacuum of my respiratory system. And that’s when the trouble started.

What trouble, you ask? Stay tuned, reader!

* names have been changed to protect the "ahem" innocent

Too many elipses...

2005-04-16T19:46:00.000-07:00

There I go again. What the hell is my problem? I mean, sure sometimes you NEED the title to blend into the actual post, but most of the time, a single sentence would fair as well. From this point on, I will use my elipses wisely...or die trying.

The Umpire's Call...

2005-04-16T19:40:00.000-07:00

I went out on a lunch date the other day. A blind date. I knew the guy was older, a home (and dog) -owner, and once-divorced, but when we spoke on the phone a few times, there was a comfortable, easy rapport so I thought, “what the hell? I’m off on Fridays anyway…” and I was relatively secure (through description and anecdotal evidence) that he wasn’t hideous.

So when I met him at the restaurant, I had to admit he had a certain appeal – not perhaps the person many would see me with – shaved head, goatee, tattoos; a sort of “mature punk” look. But we had a really nice time, and despite his potential baggage, I’d like to see him again.

Here’s the problem – in the course of a post-date conversation, he made an off-hand comment about not having any kids, and I said “What, did you have a vasectomy?” and he said “Yup. I answer that question proudly” [insert screeching tire sound]. He asked if that was a problem, and I said “Well, since I’m 28 and my clock will hit countdown in 2 years, instead of calling you in 36 hours to schedule a second date, it may be 72.”

My mother’s position is that 1.) Going through the hassle of a vasectomy really indicates a non-desire for children (which in terms of her “Grandma” wishes is aberrant), or 2.) Someone who has a vasectomy doesn’t like to use condoms, and therefore may be disease-ridden.

My writing partner said “We can do better.”

Both of these women know me pretty well; my 72 hours will be up soon, and I’m still trying to decide whether to see him again – I’d rather not spend any amount of my energy getting emotionally invested with someone who can’t (without an expensive, significantly more painful, operation) provide me with what I eventually want.

Strike or Foul?

Can't...resist...must...upload...

2005-04-13T18:25:00.000-07:00

If you are reading this message, it means I am lost. Don't try to find me. Protect yourself. Be strong. "Hide out in the cellar..."

See? I can't even get through a HALish post without some song intruding...iTunes has taken over.

It doesn't help that my new employers have an even more fantastic record collection than my last - and they were a musical family. Today I spent 3 hours (my charge is a hellavu napper!) raiding their CD Collection. Nick Drake box set? Check. Every album by Beck and bis? Check. Jurassic 5, Method Man and Redman? Got it. And apparently Viggo Mortenson recorded an album...

I Party Shuffle all day long. I have a 24 hour pass to the best concert that never was. Belle & Sebastian pass the mic to Bob Dylan, who plays right before the Pretenders covering Gram Parsons on the Mainstage. The Libertines are playing with The Brian Jonestown Massacre on the second stage with special guest Edith Piaf.

It's like Amoeba Records in here...

28 going on 85...

2005-04-13T13:19:00.000-07:00

Yes, I admit it, I romanticize the elderly. It's probably one of the more bizarre aspects of my personality, thinking how great it will be I'm old and I can go around offending people with few repercussions. A friend pointed out that the elderly are more likely to be victims, but I said "by that time, I'll deserve it."

I think it’s more about being, seeming, feeling stuck at my current age. I see people older than me with relationships, houses and/or children, and I want those things, but I’ve always sort of said “when the time is right.” My philosophy has been that life expectancies are climbing, and that really, the 20’s are a drop in the bucket. But I’ve come to realize that most of the people with those things all started at my age or younger, and I’m finally experiencing the “quarter-life crisis” I previously mocked in others.

So here it is, the formal apology. I’m sorry I didn’t come “dream shopping” with you to open houses. I’m sorry I didn’t understand the crazy rhythm of your biological clock, or that cute onesie you bought and hid away. I’m sorry that even as I consoled you after break-ups, I didn’t realize the full emotional impact not finding someone was actually having.

I apologize to all of you. All I can say is that I had no idea what it was like, trying to become an adult. It sucks. But I promise to always tell you when support socks go on sale, and which checker tolerates our stories about “back in ‘aught five”.

What does it mean...

2005-04-11T16:23:00.000-07:00

when you're gleeful that people replied/responded to your CraigsList post?

I have avoided CL in recent times, because I knew my ex trolled there. When we first broke up, I posted a few things on there in a sort of immature, Glenn Close "I will not be ignored" sort of way, but I've let it go.

In a bizarre piece of happenstance, one of the people I'm seeing now saw one of my post-breakup post that was intended for him, but not really meant for him to see.

When we went out in a purely platonic manner, post-breakup, he asked me how it was going with my ex - I had decided on a "lie by omission" strategy, but the caveat was that direct questioning would be answered truthfully. So I told him we broke up, and he said "Did you send me a message in Missed Connections?" And I had, and he had seen it. In some ways it's made the whole "dating" thing a bit easier, because he knows exactly where I'm coming from (my post said I wasn't going to call him for a month or so, because he deserves better than being rebound guy).

Anyhoo, this weekend I replied to someone's post about a certain anti-depressant and got a response. And when I posted my Rave about iTunes (which I absolutely love 12 hours later), someone else posted on the Web site. And the reply I sent to someone's post about Ben and Jerry's Oatmeal Chocolate Chunk also garnered a response.

So basically, I'm on "Top of the World, Ma!".

Does that mean I need profeesional help?

Damn You, Legal Monsters!

2005-04-11T10:06:00.000-07:00

Apparently one of the links in my last post is no longer available "due to legal reasons". For those of you who got that link in an email in February, remember the the hilarity of "Sweatsuit Vampire" or "The Mystery of Bea Arthur's Vagina".

For the rest of you - there was a mirth-inducing page on the Lunchboxing site that featured the covers of Choose Your Own Adventure books with new, more cover-art inspired titles. If they lose their case, you may never see them again, but rest assured, they would crack your shit up.

"The best intentions...

2005-04-11T09:54:00.000-07:00

Are fraught with disappointment”. At least according to Grisolm on CSI. Usually I’m one of the few people that doesn’t find this ratings smash a well-written piece of hour-long drama, but for some reason his little cynical witticism stuck with me long after The Who stopped pestering me as to my identity (ie, after the credits rolled). Because I think it’s essentially true.

Now don’t panic – I haven’t lost my overall belief in human potential. Quite the opposite, actually. I have cracked the “Disappointment” code. It wasn’t easy, and I had scientists working around the clock, but if you follow me (watch the Bunsen burner) we’ve come up with something I think you’ll want to see.

It actually all started with an apology. Well, not so much an apology, but a request for one. Firstly, let’s just clarify that requesting an apology is not really about getting the apology, even if you think it is - it’s about giving the other person information. The information you give them is that something has affected you, and you aren’t happy with the result – a defensive strategy.

If you’ll take a look at the screen, you’ll see that “defensive” and “offensive” strategies are lumped together. It doesn’t matter if you’ve screamed your guts out at someone, offensively calling them every name you can think of; it doesn’t matter if you’ve purposely distanced yourself from someone, defensively closing yourself. In my formula, both these actions come from two sources.

The next slide, please -

1. Your Expectations were not met; 2. Your feelings were Hurt.

Now there are plenty of times where one source applies, but not the other. When you flip the bird at the driver that cut you off, the Expectation that they would be a courteous driver was not met. When a stranger calls you the “rudest bitch” at a bar, your feelings are Hurt. Singularly, either of the sources are easy to get around. But in those situations when both sources intertwine, you get a new emotion. Disappointment.

Disappointment is a train wreck. Disappointment makes you question everything you thought you knew about a person or a situation. Disappointment bears down on you, smothering you, masquerading as Anger, or sometimes Despair. Yup, that Disappointment is a bad mutha-

(Shutting mouth)

So here’s the thing; you feel Disappointed when your feelings are invested. And that’s great, because it means you’ve let someone or something in. Disappointment is a natural consequence of Caring. So when Grisolm said “The best intentions…” he was right – when we’re pursuing something in our lives, we’re letting that thing in a little. And Disappointment can be like a little “Choose Your Own Adventure” in your life. How you respond to it can often determine any one of countless futures.

And I say bring it on! As my bosom chum Erin sings – “Come on, and Disappoint me…”

In the Choir of Primates...

2005-04-10T21:47:00.000-07:00

While all my Windows Media files are converting to iTunes (It's currently on an album of the above title) , I thought I’d take this moment to update my blog. My writing partner’s fiancé seems to have all sorts of great music, and when I wanted to burn a few things, he said “Why don’t we just download from my iPod?” and I said “Do it” (re: “I have no idea what that means, or how it’s accomplished”).

So now, 5 hours later, my computer is converting all my WMF to iTunes. Now I have no idea if this is a good idea, despite my previous coveting, but I was feeling adventurous. On to the update:

1. We’ve had passes on the script. Our agent basically had some sort of emotional “mea culpa” and started talking about how maybe she pitched it wrong, since most of the passes mention a single element which is integral to the plotline. I can’t disagree with her, but I think she should accept some kudos that she was able to get people to read it quickly enough to pass on it. I’ve tried to remain positive, because just as Wesley Snipes advised “Always bet on Black”, I like to “Always bet on Lazy”. I’m not looking for the response of people desperate to find a hit; I’m looking for the people that can take time to read, and possibly take a risk.

2. Remember how my roommate’s dog got stolen? Well this weekend she had the dog in-house euthanized. Her canine companion had been experiencing a sort of downward spiral since the traumatic incident, and she decided to “put her down”. She had bandied about the idea when the dog started peeing in the house. I tried to remind her of the movie Ransom, where the kid spontaneously urinates after being traumatized (one of my favorite visceral film moments). She had previously asked me to give her a ride to the vet in the morning, and I agreed. Imagine my surprise when I came home especially to take her, and she told me now she only needed me to take her and the “remains” to the vet. I took my own dog for a walk, and realized I felt completely manipulated, so when we got back I told her she was going to have to find someone else to take her. Luckily, she had reconsidered and Dr. FeelDeath could take the remains with him. We cried together later that afternoon.

3. I’ve had two disturbing dreams involving my last boyfriend. Yesh, I said boyfriend. Ingy told me she was surprised I hadn’t been more down about the situation, and led
me in a mini-dream analysis that was surprisingly accurate. She’s brilliant, in case you’re wondering. If there is the psychological/metaphysical equivalent of a modern-day Cassandra, she might just be it – the only problem is that I asked her opinion too late…which is more a function of our physical distance than anything else.

On the plus side, I got a new nanny gig with a cool couple; and my previous employer is buying me a ticket to come up to Portland to see them. I’ve started to date (even though I still don’t completely understand the process), and I’ve made a new platonic friend. I’ve discovered a new body product from Lush, and bought a rad corduroy motorcycle jacket from Out of The Closet. I’ve actually spoken to my father twice in one month, and didn’t smoke for a week (a test-run for quitting). So despite the Mercury retrograde situation, there have been some high points.

Hope all went better for you,

AK-77

A part of me, is deep down inside you...

2005-04-07T16:22:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty sure Seals and Croft weren't thinking of anything this bizarre when they penned those lyrics.

My favorite part is "gloves that were stuffed with human hair".

Happy Thursday!

A Disturbing Dream

2005-04-06T11:14:00.000-07:00

A disturbing dream can just about ruin your day. I tend to wake up abruptly at the point when my brain can't handle the dream any longer, the point where even my subconscious turns on itself and says "Dude, what the hell?". Then I try to get out of bed all discombobulated, with a sort of urgent non-specified anxiety.

The thing about it is that when I described the dream to a friend (she had to be at work at 7:45 anyway), I realized that the actual events were completely innocuous, it was the palpable tone that unsettled me.

That's what makes a dream "disturbing" as opposed to "scary". Scary gets your heart racing for a few minutes. Disturbing scrambles your eggs all day.

When Pope John Paul II was in Japan...

2005-04-05T19:10:00.000-07:00

"he read a comic book there, about the life of Saint Francis of Assisi, and said the Pope 'I think there should be - a comic book about me, so let's call up Stan Lee." So goes the opening lyric of the Phranc song Caped Crusader*. It was about a limited edition comic book detailing the life of Karol Joseph Wojtyla, before and after he became Pope.

A bit odd, although if the lyrics are to be held true** a rather interesting subject. So this guy in South America has been working on the Incredible Popeman. In his comic book universe, the Pope dies and is resurrected infallible. He's been working on this since before the Pope's death, which makes it a bit more morbid, methinks.

* I couldn't find the full lyrics, but I found it referenced on the Feb 3, 2004 entry of a priest's blog about Mainstream Music.

** 1. C@ remembers a textbook using the exact same wordstring (he wrote a couple plays) as Phranc's song where she sings "he was gonna be an actor, but then he became a priest. Even after he joined the clergy he wrote a couple plays."
** 2. Phranc also mentions "64 full color pages" which appears to be the length of the one on Amazon. Personally, I want one of the original 500,000.

The Whole Day Down?

2005-04-04T18:15:00.000-07:00

I interviewed for a new nanny gig today, and I start this week! Our script goes out tomorrow, and we already have a few solid ideas to pitch at meetings! I ran into an old ex and it wasn't awkward! My friend got her wedding dress and it's beautiful! What a Monday!

So no, Inspiral Carpets, I can't tell you why you don't like them. But I can offer you some more intriguing posits with 13 things that do not make sense.

Takin’ it off; or how I abandoned feminist sentiment…

2005-03-30T13:03:00.000-08:00

and got my first Brazilian wax. I’d been curious about it for a while. I’d heard things. Things of a sexual nature. I was intrigued. Yet I felt conflicted. In the back of my mind was a scene from Female Perversions (a must-see for Tilda Swinton fans). A character talks about pubic hair as a sign of feminine power. It affected me deeply. But I was already toeing the line since I believed in modification.

I was a shaver, you see. I experimented with various configurations and boundaries, and had come up with my particular style; functional but, according to my old roommate, comical. I’d never experienced wax below my neck (except for a few “candle” incidents), and I was ready to go for the gusto. Besides, I’ll try anything three times.

My aesthetician, Meredith, on the other hand had a plan. “Let’s just do bikini, and if you can’t take it…” Sounded good. I was lying on the exact same type of paper as the doctor’s office, I thought to myself.

She started, and I was hanging tough; pain similar to eyebrows, actually. She kept up a good patter, and I started to concentrate on the conversation. All too quickly, she was prepared to move on. As Meredith bent one of my legs, foot to opposite knee (tree pose for you yoga enthusiasts) she posits “Are you ready for me to pour piping hot wax on your vagina?”

There are a few questions that you think you’ll never hear, but the trick of them is you don’t realize you’re hearing one of them until you’re, well, hearing one of them. Apparently that’s one of them.

I’ll try anything three times, I reminded myself. I’m a soldier! I started this process, and by all that’s good in the world, I’m going to finish it!

“Yup” I said weakly.

Holy shit. She was not kidding. She had told me the wax would be “incredibly hot”, but would not actually be burning the skin. And it was. It also was not the wax-and-strip kind used for the bikini. This motherfucka had to cool, and be ripped off in three quick jerking motions. Sweet Lord.

By the time she was finished, there was sweat on my upper lip and I desperately wanted a cigarette. It reminded me of when I had to have my nose ring put back in by some meth heads on Sunset. Or getting my nose pierced initially. Adrenaline rush. All that and weeks without shaving? Sure there were some compromising positions, but I was hooked.

Today I upped the ante. I had my armpits done. “Hurts worse than bikini” Meredith said, cooling the wax on the spatula.

And it does. But I’ll try anything three times.

Going Back(wards)

2005-03-29T10:04:00.000-08:00

Have you been feeling sluggish? Out of sorts? Are things just not getting done? You may be strongly affected by Mercury in retrograde.

Apparently it started on the 20^th, but last week was a surprisingly good one for me – closure, dvds from amazon, our agent was overcome with “love” (4x in one email) for our script, a response from Carl’s Jr apologizing for “offending” me with their commercial (in was “not their intent”, by the way), and a mystery email.

But around me, people were falling apart. Computer and car trouble, persistant colds, wacky apartment hunts, inexplicable rashes - the whole lot. Someone mentioned the Mercury situation, and it peaked my interest. I originally came up with a theory that Water signs were vulnerable. Then I spoke to a Capricorn who prizes organization, and she was a wreck. Some of these people knew of the retrograde, but not all.

It's hardly scientific, but it's something to think about. And possibly blame.

Anonymous Comments...

2005-03-25T18:31:00.000-08:00

It came to my attention that anonymous comments were dis-allowed - rookie mistake.

Anyway, feel free to post comments anonymously without signing up for an account - although, like me, you may sign up just to comment and then find yourself posting.

Registering, the gateway drug.

Das Letzte Einhorn

2005-03-24T20:00:00.000-08:00

That’s right, I finally obtained my very own copy of The Last Unicorn soundtrack. Only released in Europe. Used on Amazon. In perfect condition. In like, 3 days. Brilliant!

Fact – if you are on Jeopardy, and the category has anything to do with folk music or the 70s, America will be one of the “questions”. I personally have witnessed three separate instances – “Ventura Highway” “Sister Golden Hair” and “Horse with no Name”. You can’t turn around without running into America.

So after the whole Bee Gees as the Beatles fiasco, for a band to attach themselves musically to a film must’ve been a pretty big thing. They had a reputation to uphold – their sensitive rockin’ was practically patented. They choose a children’s book.

But they had a Grammy award-winning composer on board. And the adapted book was a children’s classic. The music and lyrics were on point. All that was left was the look of it, they had the sound. They needed an animator.

I get the feeling that animation houses were like directors of the genre – scripts could be brought in and completely styled and conceptualized by the animators. It wasn’t the “this is what Homer looks like, make him do this” animation of our day. The character design was done in-house. And the company that animated the movie had close ties to The Hobbit and Return of the King animated films of the time.

The style was both extravagant and realistic; the characters (with the exception of Amalthea) were cragged and angular, like harsh human faces can be. To the untrained eye, I think the film appears “ugly”. It’s like Willem Dafoe or Lance Henriksen – fascinating yet hard to look at.

Amalthea, the humanized unicorn, on the other hand, is a babe. Sailor Moon can eat her dust (gently shaken from her dainty hoof). And I love Sailor Moon, so that’s saying a lot. Amalthea has limpid violet eyes, and a silvery-purple aura. Sigh. My first girl crush.

Anyway, I think the look of it has something to do with the blank stares I get when I mention The Last Unicorn. That, or the disturbing and frightening scenes with Momma Fortuna (Angela Lansbury). In either case, I can’t understand why anyone wouldn’t love this movie, in it’s entirety. Especially the soundtrack.

Long story short, I'm cruising through LA bellowing "I'm alive" at the top of my lungs.

Email Rules.

2005-03-24T18:25:00.000-08:00

So I open my email and there’s a message there from a webmaster I wrote to months ago. His one-line response to my paragraph (detailing why one particular post was a complete revelation) was both biting and funny.

The whole experience made my day, and it got me thinking about how great it is to get email. It’s a little validation; a little pat on the back. Someone out there is thinking about you. Very Linda Ronstadt/Jeffrey Ingram. It’s nice.

When you get it from someone unexpectedly it’s even more of a thrill. “What could this be?” you wonder. “Why I haven’t heard from fucking ______ in simply ages!” you exclaim in a Dorothy Parker-like drawl. You read on, a quiver of anticipation.

Anyway, people used to have to go through a lot more to let someone know they were thinking about them. A musical tribute at the annual tribal gathering. A letter sent months, possibly years prior. A telegraph waiting at the station. Now you can sit down for 5 minutes, and press send.

Really easy.

We should all do it more often.

A Political Announcement

2005-03-24T09:52:00.000-08:00

About a week ago, I told my friend she could be the first female President of the United States. I don’t think she fully processed it – we were via cell and she was in a loud bar. But I meant it – I could believe it. But last night sealed the deal -

My roommate’s dog was stolen yesterday, and my President Friend saw a homeless person walking the dog on Sunset. At midnight. She pulled the car over, in front of a strip club, and took back the dog.

One woman.
Alone in the night.
Seeing a wrong and righting it.

I don’t know about you, but I have chills.

Representative Democracy Now!!

2005-03-23T08:28:00.000-08:00

Imagine if you would, that Elijah Wood and Napoleon Dynamite form a band. But that’s just the appearance – we’re in this for the music. So you close your eyes, and Kings of Convenience are a warm cup of herbal tea on a rainy Sunday afternoon.

I like to gauge a show’s “goodness” by a grouping of factors:

1. My own enjoyment – which increased exponentially with each of the duo’s song interstitials. These guys aren’t just musicians, they’re performers. Good show.

2. How much the rest of the audience is enjoying the show. Good show.

3. How many times I am forced to hear a tone deaf person hum/whistle in my ear…er,…ahem.

Okay, I just made that last one up for this show - which was, as you can imagine, good.

Take 5...in fact, take 2.

2005-03-21T11:03:00.000-08:00

Simply the most delicious confection to come from the Hershey’s kitchen in years. I suspect it’s British in origin. Have you had European candy? It’s out of control. It’s like a candy isn’t worth making if it only has one additional ingredient. And Take 5 takes the challenge, and sends the competition home humiliated. It has everything. Peanuts, Caramel, peanut butter, pretzels, milk chocolate. Fan-fuckin’-tastic.

I know what you’re thinking – pretzels? Yes, pretzels – salty, crunchy pretzels. Layered with peanut butter, caramel and sprinkled with peanuts, then enrobed in chocolate.

I’m looking at a commercial for Take 5 right now. One of the 7-11s in the neighborhood has a Take 5 brownie. The Take 5 is coming. Embrace it.

First off -

2005-03-20T00:32:00.000-08:00

Let's get it over with - Yes, I'm lame. Yes, I'm home on a Saturday night. Yes, these are the panties my mother laid out for me. Okay, I'm at home - but it gave me a chance to discover a peculiar phenomenon.

(Which brings me to second off)

There were at least eight anti-marjiuana commercials during MadTV. Eight. There was the "tell your little brother you forgot him" one, the freestyle rapping one to a fallen hero, and one other one which...let's be honest, I don't remember. They ran all three of those in different combo blocks - that's right, BLOCKS. They were the bread in a commercial sandwich. But I'm sure of the number, because when I noticed the second one, I started counting.

Then I switched to Saturday Night Live:

Beer? Yup.
Video games? Check.
A Different Beer? Righto.
Car? Si.

You get the idea. Not a single anti-pot commercial. Not a single one.

Anyway, I just thought that was interesting. I can't be the only one.

Cuts Heal Faster With...

2005-03-19T23:41:00.000-08:00

It felt strange. It felt like the clouds opened above me. I was suddenly in the middle of a Thomas Kinkade, painter of light, landscape. All the emotions that had been swirled up inside me floated away, riding that beam of light straight out to ether (where in an efficient manner it is cleansed and released back as energy, neutral and powerful). It was...enlightening.

At the same time, I now felt in the place it had taken up inside me. "It was a good thing we caught it when we did, Doctor!" . It was raw, but I could feel it healing.

And the best part was that it actually got better everytime I told the story. It was like describing it was Neosporin for the Soul. By the time I got to the last retelling (it took five) I had successfully passed through a few stages. Barely a dull ache, and the skin was partially sealed along the edges – if I was careful with it for a while, in time it would be good as new! Better even!

That’s right, disbelievers! I got "closure". It does exist. And it feels kinda good!

["Neosporin for the Soul" is held in it's entireity by bnotb as the possible title for the forthcoming self help book]

Oh, Canada

2005-03-19T09:24:00.000-08:00

My home and native land…okay, that’s all I know. But I do know this, them Canucks are funny. Oh yeah, you know about Jim Carrey and Mike Myers, but did you know about Julian and Ricky?

They're the Trailer Park Boys, and since netflix hasn’t added it yet, if you don’t have BBC America, you will have to resort to purchasing the past seasons on Amazon. I hesitate to claim it will be worth it, but if what I’ve seen is any indication, you may find it more than commensurate to the expediture (see if there’s any “new and used”, I don’t want to get blamed!).

Every season begins with them swearing they’ll never go back to the joint. Every season ends with our two protagonists back in jail. But such is the cycle of trailer parks, be they in Aberdeen, Tallahassee, or Nova Scotia. And the “reality show” backlash is hot – look how CBS scrapped their “Beverly Hillbillies” show.

This show is funny if you’ve ever lived in a small town filled with people with big ideals (Issaquah, anyone?). But it’s also just hilarious for the delivery; Julian tells Ricky he can sleep in his car for 3 days – Ricky says “Thanks man, it will only be like 3 weeks…” Maybe you have to see it, but a man eating cold hotdogs and swigging vodka from the bottle make that line genius!

To The Driver Beeside Me At The Stoplight

2005-03-18T23:54:00.000-08:00

Once, when I was a kid, we were out in the forest/green belt between Lake Sammamish and I90. We were tromping, single file, through the woods on a sort of adventure walk (re: insufficient supervision), and came across a fallen tree. I’m not sure who actually disturbed the hive; there were six of us, and I was about four deep in the line.

Suddenly, a lot of screaming and crying. And the running, lord how we ran. Unfortunately, since we were currently in the deep ravine of a clay riverbed, the running didn’t do us a whole hell of a lot of good. The bees swarmed, covering each of us on different exposed body parts. The kid in the front (which became the back) got it the worst, on his face and neck.

The next thing I remember about that day was having my hands tended to from about 8 bee stings. We effectively decimated our afterschool’s supply of baking soda and, I’m guessing, meat tenderizer. But strangely, I don’t remember the pain.

A few months ago I got stung by a bee again. And you know what I’d forgotten? It fuckin’ hurts! And it doesn’t just hurt when it happens, it hurts for a couple days. Arnica gel can only do so much. I won’t soon forget that pain.

So when you see me scrambling madly to roll up my passenger side window because I saw that bee drift lazily across the hood of your car, headed right for me, go ahead and laugh, white Corolla – but do not ask for whom the bee buzzes; it buzzes for thee.

Silent Running from Carl's Jr.

2005-03-18T07:56:00.000-08:00

That Mike & The Mechanics song periodically pops into my head when my cell phone loses reception. “Can you hear me? Can you hear me running?” I croon into my v600.

C@ and I were discussing this phenomenon the other day, and when we started singing the actual lyrics to the rest of the song, we realized how bizarre it is:

“Take the children and yourself, and hide out in the cellar”?

“There’s a gun and ammunition just inside the doorway – use it only in emergency”?

“Pledge allegiance to the flag, whatever flag they offer”?

Was this a Cold War anthem? Was I too young to fully grasp the pro-militia slant? I became disturbed. I became more disturbed when I realized I love that song! Not even in the past tense. It rocks!

After I recovered from that revelation, I turned on the TV. The ad for Carl’s Jr.’s spicy bbq burger was on. It features an ill-mannered baby in utero, speaking via sonogram. Disturbing enough, right? Wrong. At the end of the commercial, the baby issues a threat – stop eating spicy food, or I’m going to come out early, grab something from here and bring it with me. To illustrate his point, he tugs at the uterine lining.

WTF? Is he threatening to give his mother a hysterectomy? Over a burger? That’s just creepsville, man.

The time my grandfather died - Part II; The Funeral

2005-03-17T21:54:00.000-08:00

Because death doesn't really take a holiday...

Saturday morning, people converged on the house to follow the limo to the service. I brought out pound and coffee cake. My dad had a rum and Pepsi. Two of my dad’s ex-wives shook their heads at him. He and I shared a second drink as we were leaving.

About seven cars followed us through the streets of downtown Newark to the funeral parlor. I sat up front with the driver, who asked me to hold the paddle that said “Funeral” out the window as we cruised through the intersections. I started to cry a little bit.

I was supposed to read the obituary, and a few of the acknowledgments. The night before, my sister and her mother had gone through all the cards we had received and picked out the most prominent well-wishers to have their notes read during the service. In the front seat of the limousine, I read the program for a man I loved very much, but didn’t know very well.

He had been married to my grandmother for 63 years. He died when he was 84. He had spent roughly three times as much of his life with her than he had apart from her.

She cried at the service, which ended up being another exercise in morbidity. The casket was thankfully closed, but at the end they opened it up for one last goodbye. The mannish woman who ran the funeral parlor attached a handle to the head of the casket and cranked grandpa up like he was part of a magic act in Las Vegas.

In moments like that, you are holding your breath for the hijink. You’re waiting for the lever to slip and the body to bolt upright, or the table to collapse, or even for the mannish woman to trip and fall in a compromising position. I was almost wishing for it. But nothing like that really happens at funerals. They are chillingly ordinary, and overwhelmingly sad.

I made it through my speaking part pretty well, although to me my voice sounded young and far away. People congratulated me later. I didn’t know what to say, so I would just nod thanks. And at his last goodbye, I kissed his bald head and remembered what it was like to kiss that head when it was warm, and the skin was supple with Vaseline and perspiration. I loved kissing my grandpa’s head.

They lowered him back into the casket, and we filed out of the parlor to the cars. We drove by the house on the way to the cemetery, and the number of cars behind us was considerably larger. My grandfather had meant a lot to a lot of people. My dad got out to place a flower on the door of the house, under duress. “Why me?” he asked the funeral director. In protest, he picked up the mail while he was there and sifted through it on the way to the graveyard.

My aunt had held herself together well at the service, only waving childishly as they had lowered her father back into the casket. Now, as we lowered him into the ground, she put her hands on the casket lid and pleaded “Come out daddy, please. Please come out daddy.”

When the minister got to the “ashes to ashes” part, his assistant produced a vial of gold glitter which she sprinkled over the casket. That struck me as a little theatrical, and the type of thing my grandpa and I would have laughed about if we had seen it. We would have laughed about a lot of things.

People came over again, but this time they were impatient and hungry in their grief. I found myself acting as hostess to a gigantic buffet, reheating food people had brought, getting the older guests food and drink, stocking the coolers. My grandmother retired to her room, my aunt was incapable of processing so many tasks, my father had churlishly yet rightfully decided that people could fend for themsleves, and my sister had gone AWOL - ostensibly to get “more fried chicken”, but by the time she arrived two hours later, all I wanted to do was go up to my grandfather’s room and take a nap.

I don’t think I ate anything for two days. But in the spirit of the mourners, I tried my best to get drunk. I drank all day, and into the night, but I still remained painfully sober.

The time my grandfather died - Part I

2005-03-17T21:48:00.000-08:00

Because springtime reminds me of death, we take a journey back in time...

When my grandfather died I looked for him in his dresser drawers.

We went to the viewing and my aunt fell down sobbing in the aisle.

We all wanted to be alone, ashamed of her grief.

I had never touched a corpse. My aunt went up to the casket and draped herself over it. “My Daddy” she wept.

The viewing is a morbid curiosity. Here’s the shell of the man you loved. Doesn’t it look great? Doesn’t it seem so life-like? Like it will open it’s eyes, or maybe smile? Like he shouldn’t be dead?

But he was. After my aunt’s outburst, I went and touched his hand. It was cold and stiff like a plastic model.

At the house, we had food and drink. At one point my grandmother broke down in the kitchen and just started sobbing. She has Alzheimer’s. Every time she remembered he was gone, it was the first time.

I went into the backyard and smoked a joint I had smuggled cross-country. Everyone was laughing and drinking. People commented on how great he’d looked. They must not have touched him.

After most of the guests left, my grandmother and I cleaned up. She washed the dishes. I dried. I put away the deserts and snacks. My sister and my aunt tried to stop us, tried to make me make my grandmother stop and eat something. But I wouldn’t, and she couldn’t.

That was the closest we had ever been. In our rebellion. Because I am a firm believer that someone who has lived as long as she has should be able to eat ice cream and candy all day if they wanted. And they didn’t understand that she just couldn’t leave a sink full of dishes.

I dried.

My grand father was gone. Sometimes, when people die, you feel somewhat selfishly, that part of them is still around. I looked all over that house. I went to the third floor and the basement. There was only emptiness. Not the vacuum of a sudden death, like a trauma or something that leaves unfinished business. I felt like he had left before he died. He had been moving away the whole time and he never told us. It was painful to think he dismissed us so easily. I was angry at him and angry at myself for not saying goodbye.

He had gone into the hospital a month before. They said he was dehydrated. They gave him liquids and sent him home a week later. No reason for concern. A few weeks after that, he was back in the hospital. This time they better run some tests. I spoke to him on the phone. He didn’t sound like himself. He didn’t sound like grandpa. My sister called and said I should come, but my dad said she was an alarmist- which is true; and that I shouldn’t worry. Then they said grandpa had advanced bone cancer, and they gave him three months. A week later he died. They said he had probably been in pain for a while, but he never complained. He always kept everyone together. I felt like the diagnosis was his release. Like he now had an excuse - he was given a dispensation, he was pardoned, he was free to go.

I brought my grandmother a bowl of ice cream and rubbed her swollen feet. I made a note to myself: Don’t get old. She started to rambled about a theory she had about how Grandpa conspired to dirty her house, how she was very tidy, and he was always messing things up. Then she cried when she realized he was gone.

I thought I found him in the backyard. He used to grow roses and flowers on one side, and monster tomatoes and squash on the other. He had been a patient gardener. He always insisted on having plants in the flower boxes on the front porch. Theirs was probably the only house in Newark that always had something growing. But the yard had not been tilled in at least a year and part of it was fenced off for a dog run for my sister’s Labrador. There was a mobile basketball hoop set up where the patio furniture used to be, for my nephew. There was only one rose bush still growing in a wire trellis. My dad had given up smoking years ago, and he came outside and we had a cigarette in silence.

Mix CDs - The Poor Man's Greeting Card

2005-03-17T18:04:00.000-08:00

So I made another CD – I guess it’s my thing. This one was for a friend who was having trouble with her relationship, with her own insanity, and with the overwhelming pressure of living in LA. Each track was chosen with care:

Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood – Nina Simone
Her SO was not really supporting her decision to change as a person – when you’re not your whole self for a long time, change can be disconcerting.

When I Get It Right – Joan Armatrading
This song is about how people (in this case, her parents) make you feel like making mistakes is unforgivable; instead of unconditional love, you are faced with constant recrimination for your behavior. The confusion of being yourself in a society that demands conformity.

Safe and Sound – Idlewild
About how we embrace or don’t acknowledge our self-destructive tendencies until we are forced to confront them “you’re safe and sound, until you hit the ground”.

Can’t Be Trusted – One Star Motel
As a song sung to the self – about not knowing and believing in your own decisions and power.

Get Me Away From Here, I’m Dying – Belle & Sebastian
That overwhelming feeling that where you’re at is not where you need to be.

Don’t Be Shy – Cat Stevens
“Don’t be shy, let your feelings roll on by.” Yusef Islam claims, and I think he’s right about this one. “Don’t wear fear, or nobody will know you’re there.” If you are afraid of being yourself, then who are you?

Individuality – Phranc
“The world would be a pretty boring place, if everyone was the same”. Sing it sista, ...er, brotha,… er jewish lesbian folksinger.

Don’t Stop Believin’ – Journey
Because well, you can’t. That defeats the whole purpose.

Everyone Knows It But You – David Mead
“You’re a gift more than good, in a season renewed, and everyone knows it but you.” I wish I could send this song to all my friends when they feel alone or not good enough, because I truly feel it about the people I care about.

Google - The Poor Man's P.I.

2005-03-17T16:39:00.000-08:00

So I decided to google my past relationships. Well, not the “relationship” per se, but the other person in it.

Unfortunately, most of the people I’ve been involved with have fairly common names, but I may have found my first non-coital sexual partner. I was 15, he was 18. His parents thought I was a good influence on him, my mom actually evaded, then defied a police officer one night after she had to pick myself and some friends up from his friend’s house after the busses stopped running (we ignored the schedule!). I sent him an email asking if he worked at the Sweet Factory in Westlake Mall in 1992-93. Waiting for a reply.

Then I tried to find this guy I mentioned in my freshman year journal; he had been this Mormon guy I met while we were both counselors at a camp for the physically challenged. Our love was pure and chaste, and my freshman year journal reflected how I longed for a relationship without sexual pressure. A later entry talked about how he had completely changed and become a “Jack Mormon” – drinking, smoking, and having pre-marital sex which he confessed to me over summer break, sometime around the time he told me “I always wondered how big your breasts were.”

Anyway, I was curious about him – he had been a musician, and had loved the band Tool. I wondered what happened to him. So I looked him up. I didn’t find him, but I found this guy with a subtly amusing webcomic called Scary-Go-Round. So my search wasn’t a complete loss.

All I Never Wanted

2005-03-16T18:09:00.001-08:00

I admit it. I covet an iPod. It started slowly at first: in the beginning, my attitude was “whatever”. I found their silhouette ad campaign annoying. And the fact that it was Apple, for some reason, ignited an unexplainable rage.

But soon, I started thinking about driving in my car with it; all my albums? My visor CD holder only holds 12! Sometimes I have to stop before I go out and flip through CDs, gauging my musical temperature. I would arrive 5 minutes earlier with an iPod. It would change my life!

Then I realized they were sucking me in again. The Consumerist Machine was on the prowl, and wanted me to buy some other product. And yes, it will change your life –in that you will use your hard earned funds to fuel the economy, and end up with a thing. A thing that will inevitably need repair or assistance at some point, and you will continue paying for it’s purchase.

But then I thought about how cool the people passing me each day, with their little white earphones in, not acknowledging my presence, looked.

Luckily, before I did anything rash, I ran across this little wonder; iNo.

Via Attu

Two Types Of People - 1.1 or "The Toilet"

2005-03-12T20:17:00.000-08:00

“Two types of people” will be a continuing piece on this blog. In this first episode, we discuss the toilet.

There are two types of people in the world. Those that flush a dirty toilet and go about their business, and those that call out to the perpetrator and say “You didn’t flush” or “Something didn’t go down” and then walk away WITHOUT flushing the offending matter.

What is the purpose of this? You would really rather wait for someone to come in and flush the toilet rather than press the lever yourself? Really? It’s not like the handle is coated in shit! The building is from 1922, and the management company hasn’t fixed anything since 1982. Occasionally, something will float back up. I know it’s distasteful, but the shit/piss is not going to jump out of the bowl and beat you about the head and shoulders screaming “You’re not my mother!” if you are the one that sends it down the pipes.

Maybe my experience with children has desensitized me, but when I see someone’s leavings in the toilet, I just flush it and move on. That’s right roomie, remember when you had that bad stomach flu? I saw both the contents of your stomach and your colon, and I’m sure you don’t remember me pointing it out to you…because I didn’t.

I just shrugged, flushed, and “went to work” so to speak. I certainly didn’t take it personally, or if I did, it was in a sort of Freudian Anal Stage context of “Look what you produced, that’s fantastic!”

I’ve lived with two of these people. The first was a childhood friend who was cluttered yet immaculate in terms of housekeeping – with her, I truly felt remorse if it happened, because of her delicate constitution. The second one, however, is truly bringing stones into her glass house. I cannot count the number of times I’ve cleaned the bathroom and kitchen, scrubbing every surface, cleaning the knobs on the stove, while she has yet to once clean the small common area we share.

I can accept most personality traits with grace, but hypocrisy really gets my goat.

To FOX Broadcasting Company, local:

2005-03-12T01:06:00.000-08:00

Dear Fox 11,

I have to say, coming home from an acquaintance’s lonely bday drinks, that I am super-pumped that M*A*S*H is on right now! Kudos! I love coming home and knowing that Pierce and Hunnicut (or Trapper John, depending on the season) are here, ready to delight me with their war-time humor.

Like tonight for instance, it’s a Hunnicut episode with Potter and Winchester, about hemorrhagic fever. Those fellas know how to entertain!

Anyway, I just want to say thanks for this. But I do have a concern.

What is the deal with; 1) Bringing back A Current Affair, 2) putting it on at 11pm, thus displacing the 11pm-I’ll-go-to-sleep-right-after-it,-I-swear-episode of The Simpsons? What gives? That’s great that you’re once again going to be “breakin’ all the rules” with your cutting edge news program (previously hosted by Maury Povich), but at what price Homer?

Hold on –
The guys are going to try isotonic saline, it’s a crap shoot, but this poor kid’s putting out a liter/hour.
Are you sure? Any use of saline could result in dishonorable discharge and sanctions.
I say go for it.
Thanks, Colonel.

Okay, I’m back. Anyway, I rely on that nightly episode of The Simpsons – I know a few people who do; and well - we’re all pissed. It was important to know that all was right in Springfield before we drifted off to sleep.

Look, I forgave you when you tried putting Drew Carey at 11; we both realized that was a mistake (you were even still running ads that said “Simpsons at 11” for weeks into the schedule change; I was thwarted every night, but I still stood by you). And you fixed it; you did the right thing.

The guys have successfully used a microscopic amount of saline, and saved the troops!
They may even get published!
Oh, and Winchester didn’t really marry that woman while on leave, but they had an un-wedding ceremony anyway.

But now you want to put this “news program” on at 11, and I can’t understand where you’re coming from. I thought we had a relationship based on mutual respect and fulfillment of needs, but I can see that you’re not thinking of anyone but yourself. I never thought I’d ever say this, but I’m disappointed in you.

Let’s try to think of a way to make this right,

AK-77

Small world report 3/11/05

2005-03-11T21:31:00.000-08:00

It happens all the time, but many of us call it “coincidence”. There’s a metaphysical theorem however, that coincidences are just the universe telling you you’re on the right track. There’s also one that says the feeling of déjà vu is actually the remembrance of a precognitive dream, but I’m only going to deal with the coincidence one tonight.

My writing partner and I had some good news about our third script, so we decide to go out that night for celebratory mojitos and appetizers at our place in my neighborhood. We sort of “go Hollywood” and decide to write up our notes at the table, and our waiter, the fantastic Ray-Ray, asks us about our script, and what we write. We say this one is a comedy, but our first one (the one that initially attracted our agent) is a horror/action.

He mentions a production company that’s looking for horror – and, hold onto your seats, it’s the SAME company we just sent the script to! Coincidence? Then he says “My very good friend works there.” And is it possible? It’s the SAME person we sent it to! They knew each other from Austin (remember that town).

So the next day, while recovering from the inevitable sugar/alcohol over-hang, I get an email from an old acquaintance who is playing a show next week, after which he is headed to – wait for it…Austin! He’s going to be playing the South by Southwest (SXSW) independent musical festival!

Now this is where it gets down right spooky – you remember my ex? The Anatomy of a Breakup? So a couple weeks ago he’s gushing about this guy named Paul Barman – for some reason, I don’t place the name immediately, but when he plays him, I remember he had an appearance on Deltron 3030. I’m rather indifferent to his work outside that album, but it reminds me of this kid Rjyan who goes by the name CEX (by virtue of being a white kid from a prominent East-Coast school). He’s never heard of CEX, and thus the conversation, and later the relationship, ended.

So today I get my second CD from InRadio. If you’ve ever thrown out their tear-outs from the Utne Reader, I urge you to go through your recycling bin. For my ex’s birthday, I gave him a year’s subscription. The second song on the album? The electronic wonderment of CEX entitled “Get In Yr Squads”. This issue of InRadio? Sponsored by SXSW, with a special announcement thanking all the people who have given InRadio as a gift!

And thank you, universe! I’m listening!

Once, I put a desk fan under the sheets...

2005-03-09T11:59:00.000-08:00

while he was in the bathroom to try and dry out the wet spot. Who am I kidding? We were amazing together, it was wet spots. Anyway, the sheets just puffed up like the parachute in that gym game, but were still damp and clammy.

I wish I had known about these back then.

To porn or not to porn?

2005-03-09T00:19:00.000-08:00

My partner and I just saw Inside Deep Throat, and it's raised alot of questions. I've had a pretty loose opinion of porn, a sort of live and let live attitude with a little healthy curiousity mixed in. I own a few works of literary porn (novels by Anonymous, small magazines with names like Vibrations and Deviations), the Erotic Universalis by Taschen (17th century woodcuts are HOT!), and the film Behind the Green Door. I watched a little bit of contemporary porn with my ex, but it didn't really turn me on. I'm more into the "artsy" porn.

Anyway, the documentary, in its final minutes, really makes a case for the difference between the filmmaker-driven/revolutionary erotic movies of the 70s and the mass marketed, plotless porn of today. And I have to say there is something to it - you can almost feel the difference (pun intended) between the natural young women in the old pornos and the bleached, sculpted artificiality of today. Even though their attempts were flawed, the people in the 70s had a sort of naivete that makes their product more palatable to me.

So now I'm conflicted, because it seems erotica has lost it's heart, and the liberated have become the subjected.

Workin' it...er, maybe not.

2005-03-08T17:08:00.000-08:00

So I had an interview for a part-time job at a salon. I haven't been on a professional interview in over two years, and my skills, to be kind, may have been "rusty".

I first met with the owner. She asked some simple questions about my duties at the jobs listed on my resume, then went into Double Jeopardy -

"Which one of these jobs required the most teamwork?"
Easy - managing a coffee shop in college. With 5 managers and 25 employees, I learned to pitch in and manage personalities to get things done.

"Which one of these jobs was the most stressful, and why?"
Easy - being an agent's assistant at a Beverly Hills talent agency, because your job was never done, and came home with you - your boss calling at 9pm to ask about a task from the day.
(True story - 9pm phone rings "Hey, it's J".
I think it's some guy I met at a bar, so switch to sexy voice "J?"
"Yeah, did you send that fax to Elliot Gould?"
or, the other agent who called Saturday during the day before the Oscars to find out which restaurant the Dreamworks party was at. I had given him a printed out notecard with all of his party information on it, but he had lost it and he didn't want to call any of his coworkers to ask them, even though they were all going to the same parties.)

"How did you deal with the stress?"
"I used to drink alot" BUZZ!
I recovered with something about not internalizing things out of my control and staying on top of the things that were. And they did call me in for a second interview, but I'm pretty sure the girl who got the job didn't admit to a misspent youth.

Mais oui, mademoiselle

2005-03-08T10:41:00.000-08:00

Three words I long to hear. I've been checking into some tour packages to Paris, they seem pretty reasonable; with plenty of optional activities or the opportunity to just sit in cafes and smoke and drink all day and night. I'm already buying two additional black turtlenecks.

I remember hearing a piece on NPR about how Paris was no longer the bastion of racial harmony it once was for black ex-pats - the author remarked that as her french got better, the social climate got cooler. Lucky for me, my french is just this side of passable, but maybe I'll pack a few maple leaf t-shirts to be safe.

I've been listening to Nina Simone, Eartha Kitt, Edith Piaf, and any Ella Fitzgerald song with "Paris" in the title to psych myself up. I've always wanted to go to Paris, but always thought it would be with a significant other, or a group of girlfriends. Neither one of those has panned out, so I'm trying to get excited about drifting alone through the city streets. Maybe I'll try to look up that guy with the 9:10 am website that shows what he's doing each day at 9:10 in Paris...

In your face IRS!

2005-03-07T16:41:00.000-08:00

So I managed to drag myself over to my computer, gather my W2s and student loan interest statements, and filed my taxes this weekend. Hooray! Jessica said I could get more money back if I deducted our dinners (we write at night), and movie tickets (research) but I haven't been diligent about my reciepts. Next year, Uncle Sam is going to get taken to the cleaners.

Anyway, in 10-16 days I will be collecting some cash, and the age-old question has arisen - save the money and plan to move, or screw it and go to Europe? There are pros and cons to both suggestions, and the basic "instant gratification" premise with which to wrestle. I also toyed with the idea of using the money as a downpayment on a repossessed home, and becoming a slumlord. So many choices!

Cigarettes and Red Vines

2005-03-07T11:13:00.000-08:00

Yes, it's an Aimee Mann song, but it's also a message - "Two things that are delicious fresh."

And maybe that's why I've been smoking 10 cigarettes a day. They just taste better when they're fresh. I used to smoke a pack a week, before I was a confirmed smoker. I started to notice that by Saturday night, my Monday morning smokes didn't taste the same - a difference that became more noticable the less I drank.
Until recently, I was smoking only about 5 a day - the more I smoke, the less sensitive my taste buds, the more they demand freshness. A vicious cycle.

Anatomy of a Breakup, The Musical

2005-03-07T08:56:00.000-08:00

So I decided a healthy thing would be to make an album of our realtionship. You'll note that The Kings of Convenience have two songs, which is ironic because I bought the CD on my ex's suggestion. I found it mopey, but now I love them...coincidence?

Prologue:
Our young heroine fears for her heart, and issues a bold proclaimation:
Seeing Other People – Belle and Sebastian

First Act:
Time has passed, and our male lead has sufficiently enticed our heroine into exclusivity - now comes the confusion of emotions.
Love is no Big Truth – Kings of Convenience
Love Like Laughter – Beth Orton
Sorry or Please – Kings of Convenience
Bitter Strings – The Jealous Sound

The Breakup:
Unlike the song, our male lead does not "meet you here today", but rather comes to our heroine's house - although the heroine does not mind, the chorus is rather upset by this strategy.
Kiss and Say Goodbye – The Manhattans

The Aftermath:
Our heroine must grieve, and confront her own feelings. Sadness and hurt, but possibly some acceptance?
Ne me quitte pas – Nina Simone
Simonize – Pete Yorn
I Never Wanted - Idlewild
Tear in your Hand – Tori Amos

The Desperate Action:
The acceptance at the end of the Aftermath was false, and our heroine takes desperate action; contacting our male lead.
Hear Me Out – Frou Frou

True Acceptance:
The heroine, stymied by a negative response to her desperate action, finally accepts that this is, indeed, the end. She realizes that despite her feelings for him, our male lead is breaking up with her for his own reasons that she cannot change/influence.
Why Should I Cry for You? – Sting
How’s it Going to Be – 3rd Eye Blind
Smoke – Ben Folds Five

Resolution:
In some way relieved, and hoping that eventually perhaps they can actually "be friends" (she's always remained close with those for whom emotions have been felt), our heroine gladly accepts the lessons learned.
Another Lonely Day – Ben Harper
After You're Gone - Bessie Smith
The Hurt – Cat Stevens

Inagural Blogural

2005-03-06T16:30:00.000-08:00

Welcome to my first post!

[after 10 minutes of staring at the screen]

So...here's my theory - there are a finite number of experiences in life, and infinite reactions. Each time you have an certain experience, say - for the sake of arguement, ending a relationship - there are infinite ways you can react to it. Some of the ways I've previously reacted (not recommended):

1. Going to the person's house, drawing a chalk outline on their driveway, pouring condensed milk in the crotch of said drawing, and writing "excessive ejaculation" with an arrow indicating it was the cause of death.

2. Writing 10 letters to the person in the course of three days.

3. Attempting suicide.

4. Crying in bed for a week, claiming to have pneumonia to get out of work, not eating or showering, and listening to a specially prepared "sad mix" tape until it destroys itself to get away from you.

5. Complete and utter stoicism, followed by a 24 hour drunken binge wherein you makeout with any guy who happens across your path.

6. Making a friend into "rebound guy" by finally giving it up to him, only to suffer the inevitable consequences.

You get the idea. Anyway, it's happened again. But this time, Cat said "You are a new person in a situation that's all too familiar to all of us". And she was right. I'm none of those people now, but I embrace them; because without them, I would be making plans right now to show up drunk at his AA meeting.