I got sunflowers for my birthday and I had them on my table/ desk to inspire me to write. Every little girl loves flowers right? Right. Only what I didn't have any idea about was that my beautiful sunflowers would start smelling like a sack of assholes.
Seriously. I was looking under my shoes, even took another shower (the inhumanity). After convincing myself that my computer wasn't farting (I've been drinking for like 2 weeks straight) went to smell the flowers.
Whew! I then told them, aloud, that they didn't smell like roses. Then I laughed the way crazy people who talk to flowers alone in their homes do.
Then I wrote this:
These sunflowers I got for my birthday smells like assholes. I just told them they don’t smell like roses, but I guess that’s an old joke to them. They didn’t laugh.
What is it about the American mind that insists that all inanimate objects must be infused with some sort of soul or personality? Have you watched that Tom and Jerry lately? It’s a horror show. It’s also my favorite, particularly during the Tex Avery era. Such exquisite violence. Watching it now makes me whence and understand where I get a ton of my violent fantasies from.
That's when I thought maybe I should ask my therapist if I might need to commit myself for a while.
The real answer is that I need more fresh flowers in my house. Despite the fact that my allergies have been a nightmare since the jack the ripper of pollen lived in my house stinking it to high hell.
Maybe I'll try daisies.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Synchronized Swimming is the shit
Man, how do these little dudes do that? Do they live inside of each other's minds? Do they have to sleep together in a cocoon like pre-butterflies? That spinning and hitting at the same time is just amazing.
But I've gotta tell you, those Canadian girls were thick as hell. I would have gone into their lockers and took their clothes if I was there. But their Canadian athletes, so I'm sure it would be all sweatpants and ugly shoes.
Oh, my favorite quote from the woman's freestyle relay was:
"And she's one of the best breaststrokers around." Tee Hee. That made me laugh out loud and wonder if they have any idea how idiotic they sound.
As for gymnastics, what can I say? That little Sacrimoni girl needs to be on suicide watch cause she didn't make one HUGE mistake that literally cost them the gold- BUT 2! She looked like she was about to lose it on camera. That's too much pressure for little girls, but we're Americans and while we like to coddle, we also like to criticize. And no they're no Dream Team. No Nadia's, No Kerry's, No Dominique's. A bunch of weird looking little dudettes who have destroyed their young bodies and will never recover from the punishment they've suffered. No boobs for you ladies. You'll never have the smoky quality of my voice unless you smoke as much as I do... but I doubt you could keep up. I have breasts... and a period. Bye- Bye period and children ladies. I hope it was worth it for a silver medal.
But I've gotta tell you, those Canadian girls were thick as hell. I would have gone into their lockers and took their clothes if I was there. But their Canadian athletes, so I'm sure it would be all sweatpants and ugly shoes.
Oh, my favorite quote from the woman's freestyle relay was:
"And she's one of the best breaststrokers around." Tee Hee. That made me laugh out loud and wonder if they have any idea how idiotic they sound.
As for gymnastics, what can I say? That little Sacrimoni girl needs to be on suicide watch cause she didn't make one HUGE mistake that literally cost them the gold- BUT 2! She looked like she was about to lose it on camera. That's too much pressure for little girls, but we're Americans and while we like to coddle, we also like to criticize. And no they're no Dream Team. No Nadia's, No Kerry's, No Dominique's. A bunch of weird looking little dudettes who have destroyed their young bodies and will never recover from the punishment they've suffered. No boobs for you ladies. You'll never have the smoky quality of my voice unless you smoke as much as I do... but I doubt you could keep up. I have breasts... and a period. Bye- Bye period and children ladies. I hope it was worth it for a silver medal.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Olympics 1- These will continue in the coming days
I'm going to start collecting the stupid quotes from the Olympic commentators. Tonight it's men's gymnastics after the Chinese clenched the gold medal:
"There's a new China Syndrome- and it's called China Gold."
I don't even know the name of the dude who said it. The commentators are less than talking heads, they're just disconnected voices creating a narrative Americans can follow so we'll watch. Capitalizing on nationalism and creating rivalries where there are none.
What's up with the crazy lady talking to the athletes seconds after they've won. Dude, they just got Olympic Gold Medals... leave them alone. This is why we have no interiority.
"There's a new China Syndrome- and it's called China Gold."
I don't even know the name of the dude who said it. The commentators are less than talking heads, they're just disconnected voices creating a narrative Americans can follow so we'll watch. Capitalizing on nationalism and creating rivalries where there are none.
What's up with the crazy lady talking to the athletes seconds after they've won. Dude, they just got Olympic Gold Medals... leave them alone. This is why we have no interiority.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
34
I'm sitting, listening to All Blues and remembering the first time I was aware of it. Aware of Miles. It was my sixteenth birthday and I was with Wyatt. He's made me a tape of Kind of Blue and told me it would change my life. He was right. He's dead now. OD'd when we were still in the blush of our youth. He was really funny and quite beautiful. I hated him when he died. Thought he was a bastard, he was a bastard, but.... anyway.
It always reminds me of sex. Reminds me of an intimacy one loses with each loss. It still makes me cry sometimes, like now. I think I cried the first time I really listened to it, but then I might have been crying cause Wyatt had just gone down on me. It was a hell of a great birthday. Then I went to see the Bolshoi dance Swan Lake.
Birthdays are funny like that. I always think they're such a big deal and do some kind of reflection or spiritual thing. Going diving, swimming with sharks, having some experience I think will add authenticity to my life, but this year, this quiet birthday year I'm taking a different approach.
This year I'm grown-up. This year I've finally figured out that life is life. Really figured it out. There is no magic pill, there is no story, there is nothing but the day to day and the practice of staying alive. Or the practice of killing yourself. I'm straddling that line and there's no judgment on it.
Everyday is practice. Everything is practice. I've been practicing drinking and watching TV and I'm brilliant at both. that's authentic. admission of flaws with no judgment. I've never felt so good in my life. and so crummy at the same time. life's not good or bad, it just is. i know that's not some big secret of nimh moment, but for me it's priceless right now. i feel like I've actually become free. the freedom I've claimed all this time i finally have.
birthdays aren't so bad.
It always reminds me of sex. Reminds me of an intimacy one loses with each loss. It still makes me cry sometimes, like now. I think I cried the first time I really listened to it, but then I might have been crying cause Wyatt had just gone down on me. It was a hell of a great birthday. Then I went to see the Bolshoi dance Swan Lake.
Birthdays are funny like that. I always think they're such a big deal and do some kind of reflection or spiritual thing. Going diving, swimming with sharks, having some experience I think will add authenticity to my life, but this year, this quiet birthday year I'm taking a different approach.
This year I'm grown-up. This year I've finally figured out that life is life. Really figured it out. There is no magic pill, there is no story, there is nothing but the day to day and the practice of staying alive. Or the practice of killing yourself. I'm straddling that line and there's no judgment on it.
Everyday is practice. Everything is practice. I've been practicing drinking and watching TV and I'm brilliant at both. that's authentic. admission of flaws with no judgment. I've never felt so good in my life. and so crummy at the same time. life's not good or bad, it just is. i know that's not some big secret of nimh moment, but for me it's priceless right now. i feel like I've actually become free. the freedom I've claimed all this time i finally have.
birthdays aren't so bad.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Come On Brooklyn: or, Do I Have to Tell You Babies Don't Belong in Bars?
I don't think this should be necessary to write but:
It's not cool to take a screaming baby into a bar on a Saturday afternoon and then proceed to breast feed it while drinking a beer.
I know I have an antiquated set of social mores, but last Saturday I really almost snapped. It was hot and I couldn't figure out how to set up my new home theater so I decided to go get a beer and sit in a little AC.
I walked in, said my hellos and then noticed that my skin was crawling. Nails on a chalkboard. As my teeth were sitting on edge and after I realized no one was playing The Whispers or Ashanti- I heard it. A SCREAMING baby. My shoulders hunched, my jaw was tight and as I looked around for the miniature offender I saw- a breast.
I have breasts. I've even been known in some circles as a bit of a flasher. Breasts are cool and I was breast fed. I believe the only reason women have breasts is for feeding babies. But not in the back of a bar with a beer in front of you. (Now I'm probably exaggerating about the beer. I don't know if I actually saw it, but between the screeching and the breast I might have began hallucinating a bit.)
I couldn't stay. It was so cool in there. It's so hot in my apt. The beer looked delicious. I just wanted to shout "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" Must adults be told this? I'm clear on the arguments that it's natural and all that. I honestly believe that. There is nothing more natural than a mother feeding her child. But it was a sunny summer day. There's a gi-normous park across the street. If it's the AC factor there's also a library across the street. I dig you want to be with your friends and socialize- but we can't do it all at once.
New parents want to live the same lives they did pre- progeny and I don't believe it works like that. I don't have any children for just this reason. I like being able to get shitfaced in the middle of the afternoon if I want. And I'm not begrudging a new mother a cocktail. But perhaps the two acts are mutually exclusive. The topper was one of her friends coming out of the bar telling someone on the phone "no, no dogs, but we're all here".
Like babies, dogs shouldn't be allowed in bars. Actually, if a dog is found in a bar, the bar owner could lose their liquor license. It's unclean. And really?
I know I'm not particularly dog people. I like my friends dogs to a point. Some have more agreeable personalities for me than others, but where my cocktails come from- I don't want to negotiate dog hair.
So, Come On Brooklyn. I know we've become all warm and fuzzy and suburban like, but again:
BROOKLYN IS NOT THE SUBURBS.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
I love Facebook
Only in America could such absurdity exist. Sure there are people from all over the world in it, but only a culture so set on separation could create something so false about bringing people together.
I have friends in there that I haven't seen or spoken to in years. Mostly from high school and I'm lucky enough to have gone to a small school, so we really do know each other. Or at least really did. I'm glad to be able to play word games with them, but I don't know them. One of my real best friends just joined and called me saying she's overwhelmed and is just accepting invites from people she doesn't even know.
We're in our 30's now so there's a bit of nostalgia regarding our former bonds and the looking back over the years to the lives we had once. I remember flashing friends, they don't specifically recall said instances (I was a mad flasher and would raise my shirt if the wind was blowing in the right direction... so it's easy to forget). We're scanning in old letter we used to write.
Actually those are really interesting. The letters I have from my childhood are bordering on pornographic- some outright disgusting. With pix and all. My best friend who joined a "group" later in life (i'm trying not to call it a cult anymore) was a whiz at chemistry (she later went on to be pre-med from an ivy league institution before "the group") and we'd write notes about a freshman boy (we were sophomores) and just giggle. I got a C and had to go to a tutor. She got an A and joined a cult. That's what nostalgia gets you.
But back to my point, in Facebook I'm a master drug dealer, a ruthless pimp, a millionaire mobster, a rogue soldier with the need to destroy, a word genius, and I like 24 and Lost. These things bring me a weird false sense of accomplishment in times when I dont' feel like I'm doing anything with my life. I'm beating someone at something instead of getting beaten (by the man, the system, myself mostly). But that doesn't say anything about the girl who lives in NYC and is sometimes so paralyzed with anxiety she won't leave the house for days (except to go to the gym around the corner and the bar downstairs).
Or the one who is negotiating this life on its terms and would love to know how everyone else is doing it. How do I write an abstract? What do I say when I present this paper in Copenhagen? Who will I be in Paris? Can someone help me focus and edit these stories that are driving me mad? What exactly is in a book proposal?
We poke and send kisses and crazy Japanese game show clips, but nobody's really talking. It's just more distraction. I'll sit up her bored but still playing Word Twist cause I can't quite wrap my brain around what my character does after she kills her mother and how that impacts the overall story arc. It's easier to have a false sense of intimacy (the same thing I think about IM...) under the auspices of communication than actual communication and intimacy.
But that doesn't mean I don't kick ass at Word Twist.
I have friends in there that I haven't seen or spoken to in years. Mostly from high school and I'm lucky enough to have gone to a small school, so we really do know each other. Or at least really did. I'm glad to be able to play word games with them, but I don't know them. One of my real best friends just joined and called me saying she's overwhelmed and is just accepting invites from people she doesn't even know.
We're in our 30's now so there's a bit of nostalgia regarding our former bonds and the looking back over the years to the lives we had once. I remember flashing friends, they don't specifically recall said instances (I was a mad flasher and would raise my shirt if the wind was blowing in the right direction... so it's easy to forget). We're scanning in old letter we used to write.
Actually those are really interesting. The letters I have from my childhood are bordering on pornographic- some outright disgusting. With pix and all. My best friend who joined a "group" later in life (i'm trying not to call it a cult anymore) was a whiz at chemistry (she later went on to be pre-med from an ivy league institution before "the group") and we'd write notes about a freshman boy (we were sophomores) and just giggle. I got a C and had to go to a tutor. She got an A and joined a cult. That's what nostalgia gets you.
But back to my point, in Facebook I'm a master drug dealer, a ruthless pimp, a millionaire mobster, a rogue soldier with the need to destroy, a word genius, and I like 24 and Lost. These things bring me a weird false sense of accomplishment in times when I dont' feel like I'm doing anything with my life. I'm beating someone at something instead of getting beaten (by the man, the system, myself mostly). But that doesn't say anything about the girl who lives in NYC and is sometimes so paralyzed with anxiety she won't leave the house for days (except to go to the gym around the corner and the bar downstairs).
Or the one who is negotiating this life on its terms and would love to know how everyone else is doing it. How do I write an abstract? What do I say when I present this paper in Copenhagen? Who will I be in Paris? Can someone help me focus and edit these stories that are driving me mad? What exactly is in a book proposal?
We poke and send kisses and crazy Japanese game show clips, but nobody's really talking. It's just more distraction. I'll sit up her bored but still playing Word Twist cause I can't quite wrap my brain around what my character does after she kills her mother and how that impacts the overall story arc. It's easier to have a false sense of intimacy (the same thing I think about IM...) under the auspices of communication than actual communication and intimacy.
But that doesn't mean I don't kick ass at Word Twist.
This economy is some BS
So I'm trying to find somewhere to lay my kinky head in Paris and this Euro to dollar conversion is a heartbreaker. Aren't we the leaders of the free world?
Yesterday, the world's most corrupt real estate manager said in a press speech that the economy is still growing.
WTF? IS HE ON CRACK? Every country on the planet is doing better than us. Mexican pesos are catching up with dollars. PESOS!! So I'm trying to be all international like and as soon as I buy a $1200 tix to Copenhagen and Paris... the news says, "not the right time for a European vacation". Oh, really? Thanks for the NEWS!
But more than that, are people even aware of the isolationism happening? If Americans, who are terrible travelers, can't make their annual sojourn to Europe, will the Europeans have to stay home and enjoy summers in their native land?
NAH.
Cause Manhattan is still cheaper than Paris if you get paid in Euros. I want to get paid in Euros. I really wish I'd done this traveling when I was younger. I wouldn't care if I had bedbug bites or if I had to share a toilet down the hall with a bunch of weird Germans (i mean... they're weird- they just are). I'd have been fabulous and free and tossing Francs around willy nilly. Or even when the Euro hit the scene and it was like pesos. Ahhh, the 90's.
So I'm going to stay with two of my friends for a few days all cramped up in a tiny French apt. in the 13th (maybe 11th) and when they leave I'll be able to stretch my legs and bring home strange Frenchmen. Good Living.
But he's going to have to buy the wine.
Yesterday, the world's most corrupt real estate manager said in a press speech that the economy is still growing.
WTF? IS HE ON CRACK? Every country on the planet is doing better than us. Mexican pesos are catching up with dollars. PESOS!! So I'm trying to be all international like and as soon as I buy a $1200 tix to Copenhagen and Paris... the news says, "not the right time for a European vacation". Oh, really? Thanks for the NEWS!
But more than that, are people even aware of the isolationism happening? If Americans, who are terrible travelers, can't make their annual sojourn to Europe, will the Europeans have to stay home and enjoy summers in their native land?
NAH.
Cause Manhattan is still cheaper than Paris if you get paid in Euros. I want to get paid in Euros. I really wish I'd done this traveling when I was younger. I wouldn't care if I had bedbug bites or if I had to share a toilet down the hall with a bunch of weird Germans (i mean... they're weird- they just are). I'd have been fabulous and free and tossing Francs around willy nilly. Or even when the Euro hit the scene and it was like pesos. Ahhh, the 90's.
So I'm going to stay with two of my friends for a few days all cramped up in a tiny French apt. in the 13th (maybe 11th) and when they leave I'll be able to stretch my legs and bring home strange Frenchmen. Good Living.
But he's going to have to buy the wine.
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