Sunday, April 29, 2007

Sunday Top Ten: This Might Be It, Actually

"I want to be consistent
with the truth as it reveals itself to me," Gandhi said, and I felt
the hard permission right words give us
to disobey, to become ourselves.
I loved thinking that integrity
might be fluid, and still do,
though the indulgent, rudderless
and without shame, love to think so too,
and the truth is
the indulgent are my careless brothers
half the time.

-Stephen Dunn, from "Loves"

The last non-English-350-related all-nighter I pulled was December '99, and it ended in the same spot that April 28th's wake-a-thon did. I didn't go to Columbia but I took summer school here and still prefer its serious buildings and ancient/earnest embrace of sunrises/sets more than just about any other Uptown Park. One of my favorite parts of the island, fo' sure.

December 1999, Harlumbia:

....we ate the inside of our cheeks, and then each other's hearts. I tapped frustration on tabletops.
"Let's go see Jake," I said, grating my cheeks to my teeth like sanding wood. "Let's go to Columbia and see Jake."
"Let's!" Meg said.
"How far is it?" Ingrid asked.
"One hundred and ten blocks," I said. "We can totally walk."
"Let's do it," Meg said. We ate our cheeks, then our cookies, and then we walked as far as the 1-9 stop to go uptown.

This time: April 28th. 8 A.M. Sleepy sun rise, we emerge on 113th, Rex-Walls style. TB smokes primary cigarettes, makes promises.....I desire Zen, I listen, place faith, I squint because one never anticipates such disasters, never prepares appropriate eyewear: it was night-time when I left, it's suddenly bright I would like to step out of my heart and go walking beneath the enormous sky.

"The times are so peculiar now, so medieval and so unreasonable, that for the first time in a hundred years; truth is really stranger than fiction. Any truth."
-Gertrude Stein.
I'm waiting for edits/approval on the Sunday Top Ten. Because we can only say so much before we say too much, or the wrong thing, or not enough. You never think before you talk, chose your words, be careful:what happens when all I've got left is words? Sometimes it seems really lame that English is the only language I'm fluent in. It's a cop-out. There's gotta be other ways, you know? To say what I mean? Someone in some country is getting it out and I'm not, and I want their linguistics.

UPDATE: Killing the Sunday Top Ten that was in progress for this week. Totes TMI. I gotta hold some things back, yeah? It's hard, always (always!) to determine how much, exactly, I oughta give here. Right now I'm in a new apartment, surrounded by boxes, putting together a new life, or something.


Where's the joke? Where's my punchline, punch-face? Automatic Laugh!

Where's the joke?

Knock Knock.

Because it wouldn't be autumn at Marie Claire without Marie Lyn Bernard,
my essay "Feels Like Teen Spirit," to appear in "The Bigger the Better, the Tighter the Sweater: 20 Funny Women on Beauty, Body Image, and Other Hazards of Being Female" [Seal Press/Avalon, June 28], has been picked up by marie claire for their August issue.
Eat THAT, [redacted] magazine.


I had another idea for a Sunday Top Ten:
Since I'm moving, I thought I'd catalogue the top 10 weird stuff I found while packing. For example:

The photographer asked: "You wanna try again?" and I snuck a look and noted: Why, when this one is perfect?

I wasn't actually happy though. I was like, what am I doing with all these patchoulli-pothead-flowy skirted-lesbians? Then I went to University of Michigan and was like: what am I doing with all these Hard-Tail-Pantsed Herve-Bag-Toting (TOTES) douchebag-sorostitutes? Then I realized: Whoever is alone will stay alone, will sit, read, write long letters through the evening, and wander on the boulevards, up and down, restlessly, while the dry leaves are blowing.



I also found a story--some notes for stories, handwritten and typed--and started reading it, thinking maybe it was mine or TB's, and I could quickly ID and store appropriately. The language was familiar but then gradually the story became that way, too, and it was really really really good, and I kept reading it though I knew I shouldn't, but it was about things I knew about, so I think that's OK. So, you, I hope it was.

I'm dipping my spoon into a jar of Skippy and then rolling it all about the field of mini-chocolate-chips and then eating it like that's not totally weird.

From the currently-under-consideration Sunday Top 10, entitled 'What's Really Been Going On' or 'Nine True Things' :

8. Two-Spirit/Loki/Fire Hydrant/TRANNY PRIDE

T.B.'s just announced she's becoming a man. I'm not kidding, kids.

"I'm getting involved in the transgender rights movement. Totes campaigning. Go trannies! Like is that okay? Can you be--
[erupts into totally non-maniacal laughter]
--straight again? After I just like, totally made you into a lesbian? Is that okay? Can you be straight now?"
"Oh my God. What will we tell your mother?"

She's not cutting her tits off, like Max. Just dressing in drag.

"I usually wear men's clothes. Why, I don't know. I'm not a Freudian."
Kathy Acker, Empire of the Senseless

"I'm gonna be the most hipsterish man ever. I'm gonna be a drag king, like the hottest and fittest drag king EVER. Vita Sackville-West, whatever."

Saturday, April 28, 2007

New Leaf, Sunrise/Sundial

I'm allowed to do this now, so I must, immediately, as it has only recently become my right and I am giddy with freedom and promise:

Blog-to-reassure-everyone will come tomorrow. Right now, we're taking a long nap. In my brand new Tommy Hilfiger sheets!!! They are so soft, heather grey with red trim. Just in time to take them off and moveeeee! I haven't slept in forever-ever. Go St. Luke's Hospital--we had a time.

She's alive, y'all. And totes just kidding about lighting herself on fire. HILARIOUS, RIGHT? (right.)

Details in the Sunday Top Ten.

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Sunday Top Ten: How to Clerk in SubUrbia While Biting Reality in the Mall

"Somewhere around 25, bizarre becomes immature."
-Janet, Singles

Generation X-ers who preferred The Couch, the poorly-tuned guitar and marijuana to "jobs" and "stable relationships" spawned a sub-genre known as the "slacker movie." These films, best enjoyed when you're in high school and it all seems so far-far away, characterized the unemployed/underachieving twentysomething as a beer-guzzling, television-watching, psychic-hotline-calling, mall-crawling, pot-smoking, shampoo-foregoing, ironic-vintage-t-shirt-wearing quasi-hipster who spends 95% of their time tucking their hair behind their ears and pontificating: "There's no point to any of this. It's all just a ... a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. So I take pleasure in the details ..." [Troy, Reality Bites], or "I'm nostalgic for conversations I had yesterday. I've begun reminiscing events before they even occur. I'm reminiscing this right now. I can't go to the bar because I've already looked back on it in my memory ... and I didn't have a good time" [Otis, Kicking and Screaming] or "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned for Sega." [Brodie, Mallrats] [Unfortunately, I repeated that one many times, usually re: Tony Hawk.]

Basically, if you, as I did, watched Mallrats, Clerks, Reality Bites, Kicking and Screaming, Suburbia, Singles and Empire Records, in one year, your life goal became something like this: Don't be Brodie. Just like: do anything but that. Don't be Winona Ryder on the phone with Miss Cleo. Don't work retail. Don't buy 95% of your groceries at the 7-11.

Most of my peers have chosen traditional escape from the risk of Slackerdom: employment. However, I've long suspected my productivity would, in fact, INCREASE without employment. Due to this succession of events ...

1. The Great Article-Kill of '07 (P.S. I read the mag today, quickly determined: the kill is this woman's fault.)
2. My Girlfriend Getting Mugged and Beaten, thus landing her in the hospital--and obvs I had to visit daily, bear gifts, etc.
3. The fact that I'm moving this weekend ...

... I can't really start a job right this moment. This does not, however, mean I'm becoming Brodie. I don't even know how to play video games, except Mario Kart. I used to like Jeopardy for Nintendo till I learned all the "questions." I didn't have a Nintendo (obviously they were forbidden in the No-Yellow-05-Zone), my friends did.

I've been working at least part-time since I was 14, which's when I made Honey Mustard Chicken Pasta Salad, mopped floors and stole cookies for $4.75/hour ... so, despite what I see as remarkable productivity, I'm applying for jobs AS WE SPEAK. In the meantime, this is how the hours have gone by:

1. Revising my Resume:
Charlane: Why don't you get a job at the Burger-rama? They'll hire you.
Lelania: Because I was the Valedictorian of my University!
Tom: Well, you don't have to put that on your application.
(Reality Bites)

It's always good to revise one's resume. You can look at it and think, Where've I been? And then, Where am I going? Personally, I'm going to CRAIGSLIST! I'm convinced "items wanted" is the best place to make money, not "part time" or "writing gigs." Like, I'm certain someone's hunting for promo-copies of The L Word Season Four. JK; Mica from Showtime, I'd never do that. [P.S. Rumor has it, no Papi next season. Also, the show in general will be very bad. That part's not in the press release, I'm just guessing.]

2. Reading, Mega-Ancient and Contemporary Catch-Up
STAY LITERATE: "If Plato is a fine red wine, then Aristotle is a dry martini."
(Chet, Kicking and Screaming)

Including: Girlbomb (by Janice Erlbaum, reminded me of Blake Nelson's Girl, reads super-fast and smooth and breaks easy into brilliance when you least expect it to), Revelation (BEHOLD!), Collected Works of Rilke, "Thunder Perfect Mind" [I am the First and the Last, the Alpha and the Omega, I am the Best and Worst Girlfriend Ever], dream whip issue no.14, Gospel of John, Exodus, Plato's Allegory of the Cave in Republic, Socrates' speeches in his own defense [Apology, Phaedrus, Crito], Thomas Szasz's "The Myth of Mental Illness," The Dharmabuddha, and begun A.M. Homes' The Mistress' Daughter, The Paris Review Interviews Vol. 1, Jeanette Walls' The Glass Castle and the Torah. And of course, more than one magazine and newspaper, and many podcasts (This American Life, The Planet Cast At Last!, NPR Shuffle, Fresh Air, The Rabbi-Cast, Grammar Girl, etc.).

3. A Confession:
THE ODDEST SENTIMENTS ENDURE: "Let's save our Hallmark Moment."
(Deb, Empire Records)

I'm watching Jennifer Hudson and Patti LaBelle do some serious justice to Nobody Knows at the GLAAD media awards on logo right now while I eat my sushi and um ... cry.

4. Meeting the Parents:
STAY PRESENTABLE, BE A GROWN-UP: "On prom night at the hotel when you told me to sleep under the bed in case your mother burst in, I did it. And even during my grandmother's funeral when you told my relatives that you could see her nipples through her burial dress, I let that slide."
(Rene, Mallrats)

TB: "No massive black rims of eyeliner, no PDA (sidekicks or side-grabs), no swearing ... and uh ... don't say 'like' ..."

I got Town & Country-ed up to visit Westchester on a Spring Sunday, to sit on the water with big sea creatures on our plates, discuss topics intelligent enough for the 'rents to like me. Like how we color-coded our towels at The Macaroni Grill, and stuck filthy salad tongs in the salad bowls of our most annoying "Family" members at The Olive Garden [cause as TB's brother pointed out: when you're there, you're family]. Sophisticated. It went well. They liked me. Parents usually do like me. Also they usually want to feed me.

5. Manic Depression, Deep in my Soul:
DON'T FORGET ABOUT THE PLIGHT OF THE WORLD: "At least I admit that I don't know. I know that things are fucked up, beyond belief, and I have nothing original to say about it ..." (Jeff, SubUrbia)

As you read; I became wholly obsessed and horrified by that whole gun-killing-people-violence-thing. And could do nothing but yell about it, read,, watch The View, and read about gun control.


What's really funny is that as I've tried to write this blog post, I've started watching television for the first time this week [except for like, one tiny nibble of America's Next Top Model at Tara/Lainy's place. But that doesn't count 'cause we were having educated conversations at the same time. You know, like in Reality Bites.]

7. P.S. This kid's the future:
Leliana: I was really going to be somebody by the time I was 23.
Troy: Honey, all you have to be by the time you're 23, is yourself.
Lelaina: I don't know who that is anymore.
Troy: I do. And we all love her. I love her. She breaks my heart again and again. But I love her.
(Reality Bites)

Total chess genius. I used to know how to play chess. Now I stare at the board like it's Scrabble and wonder where did my mind go? And then I start to think about the answer to that question: I think it's related, somehow, to that game "Girl Talk." On 112th and Broadway, where Ahmad sells books, he, TB and others play chess, TB gets lesbionic with her acoustic guitar, strumming Hendrix and Zeppelin, while I read Dorothy Parker and Truman Capote interviews and we drink from hidden juice bottles on the sidewalk.

8. Another Day for You and Me in Paradise
GIVE BACK, Y'ALL: "I don't, I don't need money, man. I don't, I don't even need, I don't even need a future. I, I could knock out all of my teeth with a hammer. So what? You know, I could poke my eyes out. I'd still be alive, you know? At least I'd know that I was doing something real for two or three seconds, you know? It's all about fear and I'm not afraid anymore, man. Fuck it! Fuck fear!"
(Jeff, SubUrbia)

My girlfriend's favorite hobby is taking long walks while giving money to homeless people. On Thursday night, we walked from 106th to Times Square, clutching spiked juice bottles, dashing under scaffolding to play tag, which's practically a metaphor for our relationship anyhow: You're it, you're it, no, now you're it ... knock knock ...

We met so many superheroes, veterans, strivers ... one of whom asked TB: Are you a chick? Or a dude? I thought you were a dude at first ... but are you a chick?

She laughed, gestured: totes breasts! Paused. But yeah, I was born a chick ... not into gender/labels, etc., though, y'know?

An Anna Wintour-ish looking woman coldly passed by, large tote-bag slamming into our backs, TB yelled, "It's okay, you got really important things to do in your Prada, yeah? You gotta go check your MySpace, yeah?"

Where Am I Going, Where Have I Been? [a book by Joyce Carole Oates: Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been? TB bought it at a street-stand for me (We gotta get something from the street-booksellers, support them, yeah? Pick something out? I always liked JCO, envied her productivity, suspected she was slightly un-human.]

For Your/My Reference, Previous hobbies of significant others include:
-"The Yankees!"
-Watching The Big Lebowski in bed, eating Flamin' Hot Cheetos (which probably causes hypertension or cholera).
-Dating other girls.
-Beer Pong.
-Writing Gothic horror films with Joycean overtones, which we'd then shoot in the guest house on his ranch in Oklahoma, and I'd almost pee in my pants watching him select his little farm-boy outfits or when he made his Mom act like a possessed lunatic in Prairie-garb. Obvs, another one of his hobbies was dating boys.
-Dating other girls who happen to work summers as Ariel from The Little Mermaid in Disneyworld.
-Dating other girls who are still in high school.
-Watching whatever movie was showing at the United Artists theater [cause he had free passes, post-management-position] even when that movie was Mission to Mars. Once he made me pick between Pearl Harbor and The Animal. I picked the latter 'cause it was shorter.
-Going to Newfound Glory and Blink 182 concerts, where my BF would recklessly crowd-surf while I ate my fingernails and wished we were playing beer pong so I could pass out on an empty couch somewhere.

Obvs: I've grown/changed/matured as a person. A lot.

Also, while we're on the topic of me indirectly "giving back" ... we tried to go to this Darfur lecture at Columbia, because then we could save Darfur? But we couldn't find it, though we found someone TB lived with in John Jay in a Russian classroom.


In conclusion, I have only this to say:
Why would I need 5-10 years of fact-checking experience to check facts for How hard is it to check facts? This world is bogus, and mediabistro jobs in particular.

Sunday, April 22, 2007

Sunday Top 10: Miss Hip and Fit New York 2007

i. exhibit a:

When this masterpiece of graphic design arrived in my inbox, I LOLed till I actually exploded and died: the pseudo-firestarter shadow girls, the edginess photoshopped into Hav's typically guileless appearance, the language of the contest itself, the endgame-aesthetics. I mean: !!!! Look at that thing! That's the most amazing invitation to anything, ever.

Obvs Hav is fit. She climbs the barricades to sing the song of every men because is the music of the people who will not be slaves again, which is much harder on one's back than the Stairmaster. She's likely the fittest broad on Broadway. Secretly she's not that hip because she won't let me get skinny jeans. She says it's for my own benefit, but I wanna be cool too, like the kats in W'burg, where I no longer live, because I'm old now, and prefer to eat ice cream with my girlfriend in an uptown villa. [villa=teeny tiny apartment]

Re: Hip....well, speaking of neighborhoods, Hav's is not hip. Like Lower Midtown or something? Things you can't buy in Hav's hood past 11 p.m include: a vodka-tonic, a cappucino, groceries, a book. [Really anything but McDonalds and Adult DVDs] But the locale's perfect for her super-hip actressing job. Hav herself is quite hip, but; this being NYC and all....on a scale of 1 to 10, I'd give her a "5" which means "not exactly Dash Snow, but not your Mom, either."

Regardless, she's hipper and fitter than all those other bitches, whoever they are.


10. From Karen, our Nyack sweetheart:
(that's Hav, Karen and Christine, in Nyack: respite from the MTA)

herself with the hottest lesbians in the world
friends with the hottest lesbians in the world
melt a glacier with one look with her emerald eyes with one glance from
emerald eyes thru mink eyelashes
any crowd and makes smiles
THIS coming from an UNhip and UNfit old dyke

9. I'd Like To Feed Every Single Hungry Child EVER.
Directly after being crowned Miss Girl Nation, Hav descended into the crowd of her admirers and noted: "I wish they would've given me a mike. I woulda been like: world peace."

8. Hav's high school buddies are still keeping score:
"I was cleaning out my parents basement this past week and found some great pictures of me and her at Disney World when we were pre-teens. I'd show you but they would incriminate me too ... Let's just say that it shows how far she has come!" (Christine)

"I knew Haviland in High School, and even then, she was the hippest girl in school, never one to compromise herself for others. I hope she wins!!" (Rachel)

(True dat, Rachel. I was like "Haviland, just get me some crack rock from the corner," and she was like "No, Riese, I will not compromise myself for others." I was so pissed! Also, though, totes impressed. So I got my own crack, and then she wouldn't smoke it with me, and I was like "compromise THIS, bitch!" and lit her hair on fire, took a photo of it, and tripled it on photoshop and transformed it into a bizarre promotional postcard. That's why it looks "cracked out.")

7. Haviland's girlfriend Heather preaches to the hip-n-fit choir:

well, i speak for the majority of men and women across the seven continents when i say that HPS is CLEARLY hotter than the gates of hell ... end of story ...

BUT .... more importantly -- if you wanna discuss an AUTOMATIC WIN for this hip and fit hottie, the contest should obvs be re-named "THE HIPPEST AND FITTEST AND MOST EDUCATED, POLITICALLY AWARE, AND RIDICULOUSLY TALENTED LESBIAN IN NYC".

I obviously don't need to say more. We all know. Yah. We know."

6. She Don't Need the Drink to Rock the Dance Floor
Haviland Stillwell: always the only sober woman in the room. Sometimes I wonder: what's it like to be Haviland--to be clear-eyed and bushy-tailed while the rest of us stumble aimlessly, groping for icy drinks between icy bodies, stepping on feet, shooting dashing side-smiles?

Then I drink more.

tb: "Are you one of those girls that only dances when she's drunk?"
[long pause]
me: "Um ... really?"
tb: "Are you?"
me: "I mean, do you mean that proverbially? Because like...yeah. Totes. I seriously only dance when I'm drunk. Or alone. In my room. Or in the shower. I dance alone probably like, 2 hours a day. But in public: only when drunk."

That being said, rumor has it that sober dancers have superior coordination talents. This'll work to her advantage.

5. Angels Would Fall
A former admirer of Pekor [who prefers to remain anonymous] has lent us a few lines of verse, penned in Hav's honor, for the purposes of this Top Ten:

The silence of the morning lingers and with it brings only thoughts of you...In my solitude your spirit comes to me... in shades of crystal your body glistens in my mind and my fingers caress gently the fragile pieces of your flesh...

TOTES! Hav's body always glistens in my mind too. I'm like "Stop glistening, you fragile fleshy body! STOP IT!" Hurts my eyes.

4. I Know Where She Lives.
Speaking of Haviland's minions, she's got quite a few on The L Word Online. It's OK, 'cause I've always been best friends with the prettiest girl in school, so I don't mind fielding comments and requests [e.g., "Will your best friend go out with me? Circle one: YES/NO"] from my best friend's admirers/stalkers. Apparently, the pretty-girl friendship's a predicator of future lesbionic activity. Anyhow, two of the best:

u guys are hilarious in those pics. love them. makes me feel like i'm there.(however, as i said in my other comment, haviland and i would be missing from this pic, cause i have her in another room room in a horizontal position, and creating our own sexy lesbian momnet.-if i were single of course.)

k first of all, Haviland is hott.
for many reasons. the most important being that her love for Helena evenly matches mine. and wait, she started the GSA??? i have this great idea where Havi runs for president and i'm her "political advisor" hint hint nudge nudge k ill stop now...and umm... there is no 'second' part to this. sorry. haha.

3. Like, Seriously? Hip n' Fit? Why Those Adjectives, Exactly? Really Papi?
Because she might be the only contestant who rocks the irony. I mean, she's totes doing Lucky Star, you know?

2. For They Know Not What They Do
Because even though the doors open to this event in 12 minutes and I'm still wearing leggings and argyle socks while my girlfriend downloads the entire Ancient canon onto her Sony Ebook Reader, Haviland will still love me. As she does every time I am significantly/tragically late. It's part of my charm. Right?

1. Because she like: IS. Obvs.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

And These Children That You Spit On


June 9th, 2006:
In one of many
old-school blog posts that probably no-one read ['cept my brother & his friends, Haviland, and Lo, though likely not all the way through], I announced: "the apocalypse is totally nigh." My evidence: 1. that movie, Cars ? Weird. 2. Gay people want to get married and, for their honeymoons, kill people in Iraq [sarcasm]. 3. The government announced it was gonna troll for terrorists on MySpace.

Obvs, this practice is well underway. So like, watch out! This administration is super-good at stopping killers before they kill. Like, getting down to the marrow of the issue, etc.

i. "It's stealth design delivers SHOCK and SURPRISE! AQUASHOCK LEVEL 3.0!"
In the early-nineties, my brother argued the "Educational Toy" cause and managed to procure a wooden sword from the Renaissance Festival in direct defiance of Mom's No-Violent-Stuff Rule, but we had no such case for Super-Soakers.

And I wanted a Super Soaker really badly.

In our school's front lawn, kids executed massive games signaling the [then-timely] start of summer, wielding Byzantine bright-neon plastic tools designed aesthetically to imitate murder but physiologically to expel tiny sprays of harmless water. On the sidelines, growing groggy with sweat, I'd boil with resentment at my mother for enabling my exclusion. I boiled over other deprivations, too: Nintendo, GI Joe, Lethal Weapon, He-Man--whatever the other kids had. Surely, I thought, the anger I feel over not getting a SuperSoaker would be best cured by a good go-round with a SuperSoaker.

[Side note: Two weeks ago at Le Monde, I totally threw a glass of water at TB/Tara. See! You can make your own wet projectile! And then run from the restaurant as fast as you can!]

Now my aversion to violence is so thick, so true--that despite all that remembered resentment, I can't imagine giving my child a water gun. Not even 'cause I think violent toys make violent kids [I don't think it would've made a difference with me necessarily], but just because the concept makes my stomach hurt. I know what you're thinking: YOU? Have a child? You can barely take care of yourself, Auto-Win!

And let me just say: I'm pregnant. Just kidding! [Impossible!] But if I was, I'd be like "Junior/Juniorette, squirt guns are for J-Ro and Jim-Bob down the street, those 8-year-old pudgettes who drink Natty Light and do perverted things to their Little Bratz dolls and have birthday parties at Long John Silvers. Let's go play with our Lincoln Logs and pick apples."

I mean, violence: not fun/entertaining to me. Is it fun to other people? Is it so fun that we can put it on TV all the time, like anything else, like 30-seconds-for-mass-murder, 30-seconds for HEAD-ON-APPLY-DIRECTLY-TO-THE-FOREHEAD, 30-seconds for a Dancing with the Stars preview? And then make it really easy to buy guns? But really hard to buy birth control? Because, after all, when the censorship powers-that-be wield their misled campaigns, they equate sex [sex. which, unlike guns, is essentially an act of .. um .. LOVE!] with violence.

As my girlfriend (who's getting out of the hospital today after being beaten and mugged on Chrisopher Street)
said better than I can, there are certain problems with over-exposing oneself to sexual imagery and language. These problems are, in my words: saturation in sexual words/images takes some of the fun/mystery/passion out of it. But that's got no relation whatsoever to the dangers of over-exposure to violence.

So: "
the [Virginia Tech gunman]s writing was 'macabre, twisted'"?" [knowing fully 85% of Americans have no clue what "macabre" means?] Boo.

ii. "If you're not angry, you're just stupid, you don't care, how else can you react when you know something's so unfair, when the man of the hour can kill half the world in war, make them slaves to a superpower and let them die poor?"
or: Why I love Rosie O'Donnell, and always will.

This morning on The View, Barbara told Rosie that it made her "sad" to see
Rosie admit yesterday that it is not just "futile" but "impossible" to fight for gun control in this country. Rosie's response:

I know. It made me sad, too, but it was really hard, you know? We did the "Million Mom March" after the 1999 Columbine shootings, I mean, everyone thought that would work. What else would it take besides pulling high school kids bloody out of a second floor window? What else would it take to get sensible gun legislation? No one wants to take away hunters rights to hunt. We just want to sort of have sensible gun laws. You know, a teddy bear has more regulations on it than a gun in terms of safety ... I do feel defeated. I have to tell you. When that happened yesterday, it felt like, well here we go again. You know, it’s like "The Truman Show" or "Groundhog Day." We just wake up, and it just continues, and continues.

Rosie's one of a desperate few in the US with a voice and a forum who is moved so much by national/global PROBLEMS that it affects her, deeply, makes her depressed. We should all feel that way, and it makes me sad that people find that dangerous and/or irrelevant. She gives millions to charity and expresses a POV on daytime television that is desperately needed right now. Maybe I admire her so much because that's what I want to do: create a relationship with the mainstream through my non-controversial writing that eventually will earn me the "power" to speak out and be listened to by a lot of people--people on all sides of the political spectrum.

iii. make love not war
People who censor, e.g. the MPAA, assess sex and violence as equally "damaging" and "immoral." That's like: one falsehood. From which to start. Figuring out how we got here.

Everyone is numb to violence, and so used to it, that it starts to seem like one of many ways for an unhappy kid to act out.

Everyone please rent This Film is Not Yet Rated thanks. And
Bowling for Columbine, but since I'm preaching to the choir, I'm sure you've already seen it. Also, the Free Press's website for the National Campaign for Media Reform.

I've not seen [and likely will never] the following "entertainments": Kill Bill, Pulp Fiction, Goodfellas, The Godfather, The Sopranos, Lethal Weapon, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, Die Hard, any Jackie Chan or James Bond movies, Final Destination, Scarface, Braveheart, Friday the 13th, Mortal Kombat, video games. I think violence is awful and horrifying: I can't comprehend picking up a gun. But clearly this guy could. And he liked shooting that gun enough, once he got started, to do it over and over and over and, ultimately, kill 34 people.

Because irony is always, it seems, the last man standing: Virginia Tech's Department of Communication determined that "prolonged exposure to media violence can facilitate hostility indiscriminately." I'm not saying this kid was a violent-movie buff. All he had to do was turn on the television a few times, or like, exist, to be completely bombarded by imagery--out of context--that enabled him, at the very least, to know what kind of gun to purchase.

I know: I'm supposed to make jokes. What do I know about anything? Who am I to speak of such things? [No-one! That's the point, I think? I am no-one, just like everyone with the ability to speak?] I will make jokes, I promise! Y'know how most people [with hearts/souls] have a "thing" that really gets to them? A specific "news-worthy" event that makes them totally insane? That's me, with respect to school shootings.


So, since we're censoring people this week for expressing damaging concepts on television, and we're seeing yet another product of our violent morally bankrupt culture march into his school and open fire, here's some things on television TODAY, Wednesday the 18th, that I think are also damaging and should be fired:

World's Wildest Police Chases:
I used to wonder "Who watches this show?" Then I met someone who does. So I'll tell you: young men who smoke pot and drive large vehicles, specifically those who I quoted in my last blog entry as claiming: "You can run from the cops if you know how to sit right, because my theory is: skipping is faster than running. You know, like Hercules, or like the horse?"
MORAL: Obvs, skipping is faster than running. So is driving your car really fast like you might kill other drivers [the other drivers are also in cars, so you can't see their faces, which means they aren't real. Like ice hockey, drag racing or video games].

I Love New York:
I'm sure you've also made this mistake. "Oh fun! A show about loving New York City!" This show is not about New York City. It's about a girl who calls herself "New York." I don't know why. I'm not sure why these dudes are competing to marry her, or why she once competed to marry Flava Flav, which's how she got this gig. I totes understand the Appeal of Camp (hello, America's Next Top Model! [don't ask me to defend that show though, 'cause I can't]) but why is this show always on? I'd offer more commentary, but after about ten seconds, I tried to strangle myself with my hoodie.
MORAL: If Flava Flav won't marry you, some other douchetard totes will. On television. And people'll watch. Which makes it important?

Right now, Pat Sajack is talking about winning a trip to Bermuda, while the news text-scroll on the bottom of the screen kindly informs us that 35 people were killed today in a Baghdad hospital.
MORAL: You too can win a trip to Bermuda! Don't think about Iraq! Don't think about Iraq! They aren't real people! They are people in Iraq! Iraq isn't real! BERMUDA, y'all! (
Unless you're gay, in which case: don't think about Bermuda ).

Style Her Famous:
Summer, a busy Mom of 4, can have celebrity style. She too can look like Halle Berry, which will help relieve the burdens of single motherhood in a racist classist quasi-Democracy like America. The host is Jay Manuel (from America's Next Top Model), who's really annoying.
Jay: "Look at you."
Summer: "Look at me! Who is this person in the mirror?"
Jay: "It's the new Summer. That's all I can say."

MORAL: I've got no clue.

Plastic Surgery Nightmares:
So "E! Investigates" has cut together ominous action-movie music with blurry blue surgery footage, mixed it up with some interviews of the unlucky "patients" who got wronged by their plastic surgeons, and has created a two-hour television program. For the three minutes that I could bear to watch, a woman described almost dying from a botched tummy tuck/eyelid lift.
MORAL: There are many ways to risk ones life. If you're poor, you can be sent to Iraq. If you're not poor, you can get tummy tucks from sketchy doctors. If you're not poor, hate rich people, feel lonely and "twisted," you can create a "multimedia manifesto" about "rich, spoiled" students, and then shoot all your classmates and then yourself.
MORAL, ACCORDING TO E!: "Donna did her homework before picking her doctor, but it wasn't, a story of a woman who did NO research before choosing her plastic surgeon!"

1. (the apocalypse is nigh?)

2. "but there come times--perhaps this is one of them--when we have to take ourselves more seriously or die; when we have to pull back from the incantations, rhythms we've moved to thoughtlessly."
-Adrienne Rich

Monday, April 16, 2007

Sunday Top Ten: Automatic Skills


So: it occurred to me that any prospective roommate or employee who googles me will find this. After they die a little inside and their whole heart explodes, they'll be like what's this "Automatic Lose" about? And then think: "Will she pay the rent?" and "Will she ever truly understand the grammatical purposes of that vs. which?" It'd be better for them to find the "I'm So Rich I need 20 more IKEA shelves just to store my money" post, the "How many months can I win 'Employee of the Month' before the other employees kill me? Oh wait: they'd never kill me. They love me!" post or the "I'm Such a Great DishWasher, my Dishes Get Clean Before I'm Finished Eating" post. But life is not always "better," kiddos.


DISCLAIMER: Mid-draft of this week's Sunday Top 10, I totes FOUND AN APARTMENT! With two amazing kids uptown. I don't even have to change the banner, because it's still Warlem/Harlumbia.

AND THUS: This whole Sunday Top 10 is semi-obsolete. Ten Little Pieces, if you will.


I'll say this, and I mean it [!!!], thanks, all ye fans who've sent me encouraging e-mails/comments. I'll think of you when I'm wearing pantyhose at the Dairy Queen in Greenbo, Alabama.

I've been offered the following living arrangements:

-Heather's futon is "comfy" and they have "wifi and junk," "a trampoline," "nintendo wii," and a "40-oz or two."

-Natalie's invited me to "crash" with her in Cleveland, Ohio, "any time, baby."

-Rachel'd love to, but there's that "living with mother thing" and "aforementioned zillions of miles" away thing. That's fine, she's got suggestions: The Mormons would find me "very entertaining" in Utah, and the Peace Corps would "EXPAND" my "WORLD" and add "DIMENSION," DEPTH," "SHINE" to my shag and my writing. Also told that school's a waste of everything--that's from the employed dropout of my high school, Interlochen. I'm the unemployed graduate, so--I trust her.

Rachel/Mercury/Noxious also wins the 'COMMENT OF THE YEAR' award.

-"Chase"/TD says to "fuck" her offer made earlier that day, re: living with cats [that I'm allergic to] with her and Chelain.

-"moonkiller" says I could be homeless, but by homeless she means "Starbucks," which would actually be perfect, because my situation is basically their fault, like all the world's problems are. I'll be like "hey, you Capitalist warmongers, look who's sleeping in your customers-only restroom now, bitches!

-razia says "move to Australia" where its "patriotic to always be drinking." C'mon, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible No Good Very Bad Day: we're moving down under. With Adrienne and Sam and maybe Alicia some day?

-Cameron's pull-out couch is "totally here for [me]!" It's described as "not uncomfortable."

-A series of platonic sleepovers with Haviland [I already have keys, so like: see you in ten].

-TB says to "never worry about anything" ever, and that I will "never be homeless," and if worse comes to worst, she's got at least 5 back-up plans for me. It's good to have a girlfriend handy during Winters of my Discontent.

But Karen hands-down totes wins, with an offer to come stay with her in Nyack:

"It's not exactly the most convenient place, but there's heat, air conditioning, cute dogs to play with, endless supplies of granola bars and kickass wine and vodka." Um--it will BECOME the most convenient place, because it will be the only place I want to be. Every time Hav and I go to Nyack, we moan for the last three hours about how
we wish we could stay forever.


Sunday Top Ten: Marketable Skills, Nunchuck Skills, Bow-hunting Skills, Roommate-able Skills

10. Typing.

I'm a super-fast typer. I just took an
online typing test: 113 WPM. HOLLA! In 4th grade, I clocked in at 80 WPM, and all the future lezbos wondered: "Hmm...I wonder what else she can do with those fingers," and my other classmates gaped: "Marie, you're the fastest typist in the Universe." That was '91, so just imagine how good I am now. For example, I didn't even KNOW Algebra then, and now I can totes solve for "x." Maybe I could be one of those girls with the type-machine things in courtroom dramas. Or Dame Sally's typist in Little Britan.

9. Talking about Myself/Listening to you Talk about yourself

I do 2-3 paragraphs about myself, followed by 2-3 paragraphs of apologies for talking so much about myself. This would be a good service for old people who's children won't talk to them anymore, or for annoying people with no friends. You can just sit down in my room and yabber your melon all day long. I won't move, because I'm in an abusive relationship with Real Estate. Totes cycle of abuse, etc.

8. Food Services:

I've been serving bad food to annoying people since 1995. I've served four years at bad Italian restaurants and I was even a trainer at the Mac-Grill, but I was secretly a terrible waitress. I couldn't "sell" food to diners. I mean, they came to a restaurant to eat, right? Who am I to tell them what to eat? I am not their stomach. Also, sometimes I'd just completely forget stuff. Like, completely. As in, 12 hours later: "Oh yeah, lemons!" The up-side of this experience: I know how to pair bad Italian food with wine, how to cook some things, and how to deal with people I despise. Also, as a young deli-clerk in Michigan, I closed 3 nights a week [couldn't open, due to high school], which means I washed dishes and floors and windows and cases and jars and coolers for many hours for $4.75/hour, which means I know how. Hypothetically. To clean. Kitchens. For "free."


When Don made me the Vice Prez of Accounting, he said: "You'll be able to put Quickbooks on your resume now." This felt strange. I'd started working at the lit agency because I like literature, but then he offered me a raise to do accounting and Quickbooks. But would I EVER want to do Quickbooks again, on purpose? Because, like, it led to spending 100% of my work-hours on AIM talking to J-Nads about our lesbian sitcom and checking Gawker every ten minutes and writing this blog more regularly than I do now. Wait. Those things sound not so bad.

6. Sort of Mediocre Web Design:

I am the webmaster at a lit agency. I am my own web master. I think "master" is a really lofty term. I bet whomever designated "master" to the "person in charge of web design" position was once a "
Dungeon Master." If you know what I mean.

5. Therapizational Skills:

I think my true fate in life is to be Dear Abby [I mean that proverbially, as I've never read Dear Abby]...Maybe I'm so good at playing therapist is 'cause I've experienced firsthand and/or 'therapized a good friend" on most fathomable varieties of relationship issues/conflicts...or it could just be that I'm totes non-judgemental. I'm so open minded, it's like there's a wind tunnel in my brain. Except I'm no good at assisting you if your cat just died. I just feel like: it's a cat, you know? News flash: cats don't live forever. I didn't cry at graduation either. Usually I'm okay if I know what's coming, it's the surprises that get to me. e.g. articles being killed.


Two primary thought-lines simmered in my brain during my "Reiki I" certification workshop:
1. does the instructor know her fly is unzipped,
2. why is it so unfathomably hot in this room? I am going to die.

But side note: I'm good at massage, too. I used to do Reiki on Matty, he said it worked like magic. However, Matty also planned to "build marajuana groweries in outer space" and "teach the retarded kids to make birdhouses" and claimed that "you can run from the police, if you sit right, because my theory is: skipping is faster than running."

3. Exercise:

I don't know much about "weights," though Lo gave me one free hour of un-certified personal training at her gym once. But I'm really good at motivating you to go to the gym. 'Cause sometimes, when it's raining outside and my heart is heavy and my soul is uneasy, I'm all: "Gym time, bunnies!" Then we get there and you realize I spend 30 minutes reading a magazine on the Stairmaster, do 3 crunches and bounce. But I got you there, right? Like, run, yeah? RUN! Skipping is faster than running!

2. Ghostwriting:

In college, I made some quick bucks writing papers for my less linguistically-inclined classmates/friends. This started as "proofreading," but the papers'd be so bad I'd say: "Just let me write it for you, yeah?" I can read someone's work and get into their head real fast. This is problematic re: my own writing, as I take on the style of whomever I'm reading at the time. I can locate my specific phases of writing directly influenced by, consecutively: Beverly Cleary, Our Town, Raymond Carver, Jonathan Franzen, Lorrie Moore and Mary Gaitskill.

1. Jester-Related Skills

In the old days, kings would be like "I'm sad. Geoffrey, bring me a Jester!" Now kings probably just read blogs and troll College Humor. I'm bringing jester back so I can sport leggings 24/7.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Automatic Lose, OR: "How About Ohio?"

My life and this blog have a very clean-cut relationship:


x=the quality and rockstar-factor of my actual life
y=the quality and rockstar-factor of Automatic Win's life

This equation ensures that I appear 100 times cooler than I am. I think. I haven't taken math since like, before the internet was invented.

Let's look at the numbers:
-I've been going crazy/writing an article for [redacted very well-paying] Magazine for 5 weeks--it's just been killed. No "launch-pad," no "income [aside from kill fee]."
-I've got 18 days remaining in this apartment. Aforementioned sublet: fell through, obvs.
-I'm totes hands-down under-employed [by design, but still.]
-I've gotta re-work my book before I can sell it.
-I've got a weird feeling I'll forget to do my taxes.
-However, I don't live in Darfur. That's something.
-Which doesn't make me feel much better.
-So now I just feel like an ungrateful asshole. Still reading?

Those unlucky few who've had the pleasure to speak to me on the phone this morning have suggested I think of this as a great opportunity to "start all over." Hm. "Start all over." I've started brainstorming:

Move to a Square-Shaped State, Purchase Panty-Hose and "Pumps."
This might be super-educational. Like: what's a hedge fund? What's insurance? What's "investing"? What are "tax professionals"? What is "human resources"? These are all questions I cannot answer. But if I worked for a "distribution" or "sales" company or something? Then I'd be knee-deep in the salt of the earth, etc. Also, hello tinted stockings, goodbye TANNING!

I've never done heroin; does it look better in the movies? I should do laundry so I can have appropriate bender clothes; like something hot-hot-hot and devastating. All like "Look at me, I am so tortured on my mattress, I am writhing, I am hot and writhing!" Currently: wearing Abercrombie sweatpants from 1999, eyeliner-smeared wifebeater. More devastating-dorm-style than devastating-Little-Girl-Lost-style.

Renouncing Material Possessions, Living on Street, Eating Macaroni con Queso
Which might make me a spoiled girl who's used to a standard of living she takes for granted when she should realize there are plenty of people out there with bigger problems than no apartment, no job, and a month spent on an article that just got killed. Seriously, though, this article has not only BEEN killed, but it's killed me. [I'm moaning about this on my mac-book.]

Getting Million-Dollar Abs for a Buck
Seriously, I'm watching this thing on TV RIGHT NOW. What if my ABS were worth a million dollars?!! I just need to order this chair. Then my abs'll earn money in my sleep.

Go Back to School
According to, the best fields for the Class of 2007 include such tempting careers as "Auditor," "Registered Nurses" and "Computer Software Applications Engineers." I think what I really need is an M.F.A! Then I'll be a REALLY good writer, which will make me 0% more employable.

Peace Corps
I wonder if I could get to Guatemala before May 1st? It'd suck to go through the trouble of finding a new apartment just to move to a shack in South America.

Go Live with My Mom
Dial-Up problem aside--there's something about surburban Detroit that makes me slightly suicidal. However, there'd be free food and no rent. Until I drove my Mom completely crazy. Approx. 10 days?

Watching Americas Next Top Model marathon, crying softly to self, writing embarrassingly self-pitying blog entry
Oh wait. That's what I'm already doing.

Sunday, April 08, 2007

Sunday Top 10: A Year of Automatic Winning

Anniversary Blog

Welcome to Anniversary Week here at Auto-Win. It is Spring. A time for re-birth, bunnies/snowshowers, Jesus, layering, and breads of affliction. This week, Auto-Win turns "ONE." If you'd like to celebrate Auto-Win's birthday with style, please give me money, thanks. Tip jar on the left. Or you can sponsor a starving child in Ecuador.* Your call.

*or both!


the first post: "wrap me up, unfold me." saturday, april 8th, 2006.

Many things have changed since then. For example: world's one step closer to apocalypse, I got me a BFF (Haviland ) and a GF (Tara ), I'm less employed but more published, hair's blonde again, one of my former blog-stars recently called me "toxic" and totes meant it ("Well you are toxic. To her." -Haviland)*, and I've switched from Georgia to Trebuchet.

*I think we're both totally over it now. Peace on earth, etc.

Some things haven't changed: still owe Visa my first-born child and my left arm, still can't spell, still afraid of the telephone, still usually 5-25 minutes late, still sleeping on Krista's sheets with Ingrid's comforter, still haven't read any Russian literature (crime/punishments, brothers-k, anna-k, etc) except Nabakov, still write intros that are often longer than the post itself, still a little moody about Winter and New York City.

April 8th:
"So, a public blog. The kind of blog that someone I: dated, share DNA with, sat next to in 7th grade spanish, lived with in 1998, live with now, see ever yday, work with, have applied to work for, barely even know, is obsessed with me(more people than you would think, seriously) can access and read.

I've kept a livejournal for about 4 years, but the audience for that is fairly limited." (FOOTNOTE: HOLLA JENNA)

But--maybe it will be good for me. I think, especially now, my personality has become kinda fragmented. And although there are far more important things in the world than the Generation X Search for Self, it might be a good idea for me to try to consolidate myself into someone I recognize, and therefore not panic when someone random asks to be my friendster."

Obviously this is so 2006, because no-one uses friendster anymore. Have I become less fragmented? I think so. Or else I've just chosen one part, put it here, and waited for people to get it. For example: one may argue that I used my blog to "come out." Cowardly? Yes. But also efficient? YES INDEED.

Though I was unawares at the time, I introduced my very first Sunday Top Ten on my very first blog entry. I wrote "I am fairly sure that every post I make will fall into one of the following 10 categories" and then listed them. In an exercise of remote vanity, I have decided to test the truthiness of this prediction. This is the "meat" of this blog entry.


10. So, today I was at _________ [Duane Reade, Gristedes, D'Agostino, Rite Aid] and my service was so bad that I ____________ [yelled at the pharmacist, stole a Cliff bar] and all the cashiers were just standing around like morons doing ___________ [their nails, nothing]. How can they provide such terrible service?

I def. talked about this way less than I expected to. In order to achieve inner peace, one might want to avoid Rite-Aid. Krista spent two weeks on hold with various insufferable insititutions, including : "duane mother-fucking reade: on hold for the majority of the best, most beautiful years of my life (as they tried to locate my prescription. and they are all retarded. literally. retarded.)"

Anyhow, I don't gotta do this no more, as someone's created an entire blog dedicated to hating on Duane Reade. I salute you.

9. If I ever get cable again--

We totally did. Lo and I got DirectTV in Williamsburg, just in time for me to move out. They continue to mail me the bills, and her new roommate continues to call them, pretend to be my husband, and pay the bill when they shut it off. Obviously remote responsibility is not my thing.

--I would talk about the progression of my favorite programs, e.g. America's Next Top Model. Oh wait, except I don't watch that show anymore, it's over for me and Ty-Ty after she booted Kim with a swift kick of utter unfairness and possible homo-phobia, I mean winner-phobia.

Yeah. Totally don't watch that show anymore. Or any shows, really, except at the gym, when I'll watch whatever they've got on while I work out and read a magazine. And here in Warlem, we DO have cable! Sometimes I like to watch the news. Today I was on the phone with my Grandma, and she was all like "I can't watch the news. Grandpa likes to have it on but I can't stand it, it's never good news, do I really need to know how many people got shot in Cincinnati today?

I could also talk about The L Word, but the season just ended,

OH DID I EVER. Automatic Straddle. Which launched me into a stratosphere of meta-television-fandom I can't even begin to comprehend.
I met Shane. And there's not enough sex on The L Word.

or shows that piss me off as a feminist, like Room Raiders (not gay room raiders though, which rules) or those shows where women wear shiny dresses and cry a lot over douchebag guys that are seeking a wife who will fill the void left in their hearts after they graduated from Wash U in 1987 and left their Alpha Phi brothers behind. P.S. Josh Lymnan is so fucking dreamy. The West Wing is such government porn.

Rosie announced that she would join the cast of The View (little did I know one day I'd be ON the View!), which was the same day I watched Brokeback Mountain, finished The Well of Loneliness, and killed myself. Also, MTV is no longer a good television channel. And I heart Emmet Honeycutt more than just about anyone else in the whole wide (imaginary) world who (doesn't really exist and is) awesome.

8. Where's my money? When will I be rich?

I think this is more of an "overarching theme." Specifically adressing these references would be like if this blog was The Old Testament and number 8 was "Where's the Jews? When is someone gonna try to kill off the Jews?" (side note: I'm a Jew, and I'm gonna live forever, watch me, bitches!)

All it takes is one jaunt to the hinterlands to remind you that living in NYC keeps you very poor and very young, re: pensions (1. not having a "pension," 2. not knowing what a "pension" is), re: not owning a car, re: not earning a "salary" (which I claimed "keeps me on my toes," which I now realize is the same thing Matty said about why he missed "the voices" and didn't want to take his medication)

7. I am so funny! Here's what I said today that was funny: ____________ 7a. My friends are so funny! Here's what they said that was so funny:______________ 7b. Jon Stewart is so funny! KC and Elka from the Planet Podcast are so funny!

We've got our own little glossary of commonly used phrases for you to enjoy and incorporate into your own vocabulary, which is likely not near as hip as ours. OOPS I did it again, providing explanations for commonly referenced phrases/cultural moments like "Rex Manning Day," "I must pass," and "the suicide of Kurt Cobain."

At the end of 2006, I re-capped the best written quotes of the year (including the now oft-googled Natalie Raaber classic: "Question: is it okay to febreeze my hair?") and the best spoken quotes of the year like:

Marie: Remember when I made the password on your computer "Michigan" so you'd remember where I was from?
Matty: Yeah, but then I fucking stabbed that computer with a really big knife.

6. Links to things I have written, or mentions of things I've written being published.

What boggles me about this is what is the difference between the first part of this sentence and the second part? Is there anything I could possibly publish that wouldn't be, in some way, linkable? And if so, would that story be published in: a) a cave, b)stone tablets, c)The DeLorean, d)outer space? Also, why does my new phone say "new message" every time I have one? It's totally freaking me out?

But actually I had trouble with linking at first, until I learned the fine art of self-promotion from h.p. stillwell. Not enough to link to these things again though.

5. I should stop eating so much candy.

Dude! I TOTALLY DID! Actually, my candy-consumption can be blamed on various playmates (e.g. Matty, Lauren, Stephanie) who encouraged candy consumption by consuming a lot of candy. Living with Lo was tough in this regard, as she often came home bearing large bags of Hersheys Nuggets--bags which, previously, I believed one could only purchase circa Halloween.
Fuck! There goes my Sidekick again! I need a Twix.

4. Isn't it interesting, how technology has changed our world?

E.G. Right now my Sidekick keeps going "new message" like a robo-totesbag.

Also: everything I have in life I owe to the internet, specifically craigslist. That post was what first landed me on craigslist, thus igniting the road my ego has taken from "insecure" to "insecure with more reasons not to be." Also, CRAIG totally just commented on that post, like a month ago! Hot, right?

New York Magazine noticed that kids have no desire for privacy. They called this the: "i am" generation. I think: "I AM gonna make my own myspace page as if I was 15." It was one of the most clever/time-consuming blog-worthy decisions I've ever made in my life. One of my favorite bloggers, high class jackass, linked to me 'cause she thought it was funny. I love it when people you read who might read you reveal that they DO read you.

I've got a Guestbian blog on all about it, totes.

tb: hi
i destroyed donna at pool tonight
like all 5 games
during one i got all strategic
3:41 AM she was about to take a shot
and i was like,
me: NICE
tb: i gotta tell you something
me: haha
tb: and she was like, "what?"
i was like,
"dude, i joined ourchart."
totally missed her shot
she was like, wtf?
i was like, yeah dude
tb: i rock the chart that is ours
our bodies our selves our pride our fucking chart dude
and she like died
3:42 AM right there
so yeah
me: that's hillarious
i'm LOLIng
that's like the best strategy EVER
tb totally
tb: i talked about you tonight

me: what did you say: "even though she likes the l word, she also knows how to read?"

3. I miss ________. [Pretty generous list of people to pick from here]

I thought I'd see if Ryan was google-able, he emailed me that same day. The long stream of cosmic coincidences continued, culminating in the seizure of a Dionne Warwick album from a street-corner. I knew I'd miss Williamsburg cuz I'll miss me some Spoonbill & Sugartown bookstore, some Wonder Twins, but totes would obvs never, ever, in a million years spent on Rockaway Beach with visitation to Astoria, miss the L train. OMG. That would be AWESOME for a title of an episode of "The L Word."

I miss the boat. I miss that Illinois t-shirt but Stephen won the hotties in publishing contest and I got Cowboys are my Weakness back. Also I miss FLANNNEL.

2. America is so fucked up! George Bush is dumb! Why can't gay people get married? Nebraska: WTF?!!!

The army is recruiting it's new troops off of craigslist (it's all like, NO NUDITY! PLEASE LEAVE NAME NUMBER TIME 2 CALL @), my psychiatrist asked me if I had gender identity problems and then theorized that I have men AND women "lined up around the block" for me and George W. interrupts "The View" like every day.

1. I heart _________. [Mary Gaitskill, Eggo Waffles, the skyline, etc.]

See that? See how I was already copping out, so early in the game??

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

Sunday Top 10: We Come Together Cause Opposites Attract

In the grand tradition of outsources past, this week's Sunday Top Ten [which I earnestly believe, each and every week, will in fact appear on Sunday, not Tuesday, as it so often does, like today] is penned by one of my favorite bloggers ever TB [my girlfriend]. Also in aforementioned grand tradition, I've added my own notes here and there, indicated by italics and my initials. Lez go...

Hi. I'm Tara/TB. Marie's swamped with work/stress/TKs and so I'm guest-lesbian-blogging her Sunday Top Ten (on Tuesday; go team).

And can I add that we're totally sickening right now? Like, quarantine us.

Marie: iii. omg i'm so in love with you, part duex, truex, googlgeuex, grammatical nightmare, shock you shock you with my poor conjunctions and fake words.

We need to be (quarantined, shot) cause if you chilled with us, your increased allegiance to vomiting/nausea would make you wanna murder yourself. Or us.

Prologue. Marie and I are different, to put it plainly. She's rather sunshiney/bright and me--moonshiney/dark. [mlb: the fact that she considers me to be "sunshiney" is testament to the depths of her darkness.] Her pop culture references fly past my head, as I'm sure mine past hers, re: Coptic scriptures and weird esoteric lit stuff.

But in the end I've faith in the words regarding our "twin flame," "soul mate" or "other half" in Aristophanes' speech in Plato's Symposium, a text about a drinking party replete with fags, philosophy, Socrates and encomiums to love.

"Each of us when separated, having one side only, like a flat fish, is but the tally-half of a man, and he is always looking for his other half."

I think I found mine.


SUNDAY TOP TEN: Why We Hope the Cliche's Sound: Opposites Attract.


10. Gin.

I heart Tanqueray, which is such a shady thing to say, but I do. Marie literally can't tolerate it. I'll be snoring my ass off in her bed after a night of transgressive partying while she, if she were to drink gin, would expel the contents of her gastro-system into the toilet and into dawn.

9. Marie: "I don't think I'm ethnic enough for your drum circle."

[mlb: I'd like to take a moment to name-drop that I am related to Pocahantas. So is
Allison Janney. We're both tall. Coincidence?]

I'm nursing a giant, very attractive bruise on my right palm. And by "nursing" I mean constantly massaging it, cause I like feeling the tiny flickerings of pain shoot through my forearm. Totes fun. And injury acquired from banging on a conga all Sunday night. Jackie the Hydejacker and I performed percussive stuff at this new monthly Queer/Trannie Ethnic Drum party in Brooklyn. I was initially under the impression that it was a down-to-earth spiritual, tabla/djembe, chill-in-living room sorta thing, but when I arrived, like--whoa nightclub, ethnic hipsters and miked percussion. I invited Hebraic Marie and her mother Maureen to come watch and apparently Marie thought I was joking. [mlb: I thought there would be like, actual granola involved. But like, Aborigine granola, or something.]

M: "I don't think I'm ethnic enough for your drum circle."
TB: "Dude, whatever. You're with me. Just come."
M: "Should I go tanning first?"
TB: "Huh?"

They come. A blast is had; I get blasted.

Jackie/Mona: "Dude, what's up with this Raga shit? Like 4/4, yo. You're throwing me off!"

Expectedly, Marie and Maureen were the only white people there [mlb: all the other white people were daunted by the prospect of taking a shuttle bus from where the C line stopped running in mid-Brooklyn-ish-somewhere. But Mom and I are super hardcore, and by that I mean we obviously freaked out and got in a cab after about ten unidentifiable stops on the bus.], and nobody seemed to mind. But I'm glad they met Mona, who's hardcore Palestinian. Mid East conflict micro-symbolically reconciled.

8. MySpace and Photography

Marie said the cutest thing the other day while I was checking my profile, leaving a comment for Haviland:

"Tara, why are there no photos on your MySpace?"

[mlb: Not like TGCAW has anything to do with the truth, but I must add that I've asked her this question approx. 10,000 times between February 1st and today, like, more than any other question I've asked Tara, ever. Aside from: "Where's my shirt?"]

Marie always calls it "your MySpace" and omits the term "profile," like Murdoch's virtual death camp is MINE, ALL MINE. But the photo-thing: Marie addressed this already in her
OurChart Guestbian column. I'm kinda anti-promotion. What with ad/branding-oversaturation and visual-cue overkill in media, in Me Generation, the world doesn't need another Narcissist [mlb: my desire for Tara's photos is more related to enhancing my own Narcissism than forming hers.] ... is all I'm saying. Though I've no problem with people into taking pics. That's their thing. It's Marie's thing. And that's fine, each to her photogenic own.

7. Processed-Snack Foods

There's a section in Marie's deli next-door for really shitty food that'll kill ya. Debbie Cakes, Drake, Hostess and lesser obscure forms of comestible self-immolation. I don't get it. By "it" I mean fast food, artificial "flavoring," and just bad bad bad "food." Not that I'm vegan/vegetarian, I just feel like maybe it's a good idea to eat healthy (and smoke a pack of Parliaments a day). Typically, I'll eat fish: New Zealand mussels, spicy crunchy tuna tempura, smoked salmon, etc.

Marie: "I don't eat raw fish."
Me: "Insert lesbian joke here."

And yet, Marie'll totally eat the 25 cent cookies in that above-cited deli section. Which drives me insane. But it's okay, cause I love her anyway.

[mlb: In my defense, I don't eat fast food, and the only processed snacks I do eat are cookies. And candy. And peanut butter crackers. And Lean Cuisine microwave meals.]
[mlb: I'm eating those cookies right now, totes coincidence.]

6. Women's Magazines.

Sometimes Marie'll drop seemingly insecure hints that her body's larger than it ought to be. And I know she doesn't honestly believe that, but it manifests sometimes. I, meanwhile, often believe I'm too skinny, and I'm about 3x Marie's tiny frame and three inches shorter. The reality: we're both delusional. Probably--it's like, who knows. But what I do know: our body issues stem from somewhere--many places actually. And it's almost trite to say, but: WOMEN'S MAGAZINES have an unhealthy effect on WOMEN'S MINDS. Yet at least it's true--they don't do shit for our psychological betterment. Vogue, Elle, Jane, Marie Claire, etc., these rags litter Marie's bed, scattered women on covers beaming in airbrushed perfection. Like, fuck them. I toss them off the bed and put Marie there instead.

5. L Word / Kate Moening.

Marie and I are laying around, staring at
Janice Erlbaum's Girlbomb, a new paperback we both need to read. She turns to me:

"I've got some good news."
"Okay ..."
"Don't worry--despite rumors to the contrary, Kate Moening's coming back for another season!"

F. I don't dig the L Word. That is all.

4. Lesbo Music.

[mlb: aka Melissa Ferrick, Indigo Girls, Ani DiFranco, Chris Pureka, Dar Williams, Melissa Etheridge, Jill Sobule, etc.]

Me: "Dude, what's this whiny music we're listening to?"
Marie: "You don't like the Indigo Girls?"

And meanwhile, back @ Marie's shower, she's blasting showtunes. [mlb:
Spring Awakening, FYI. Just don't want any of you thinking I'm Pantene-ing myself to the sweet sounds of "The Music of the Night" or "On My Own" or something. TB: Also, I love "Castle on a Cloud"; I hum that sinister melody while sweeping Marie's kitchen.] I'm cringing. Cause music is nearly everything to me. Therefore, Marie and I agree to disagree, re: tastes, and that's cool. Cause now she's nearly everything.

3. Gawker.

Gawker is a Manhattan media news and gossip site. Marie and I actually met via Gawker, they linked to her blog, etc. Marie was initially all: "Did you find me through my L Word blog?"

Me: "Huh? L Word? Who?"

But yeah. I read The Gawker. I mean, for the most part it features a petty mindless parade of socialite twatwaffles and their goings-on: the Tinz, the Toos, the Kucz, the Blasberg, the Allison, the who-cares-about-these-douche-du-jours. Leave no brain cell behind, is what I like to think's my motto and M.O. So I sift through Gawker half-squinting in search of gems/substance (Kreepie Kats, n + 1-bashing, NYC To Dos, etc.), and here/there I'll find talent: The Assimilated Negro, Slut Machine and Marie ... who meanwhile enjoys that Gawker links to her so much she's coined a term for it: "Gawkered!" ... is now a verb. Rock on.

P.S. Marie would like to add that she doesn't enjoy Gawker's questionably unwarranted life-destroying, e.g. Douchebag Hall of Fame,
Eric Shaeffer. Totes warranted.

[mlb: ok, except for that guy.]

2. Bisexuality.

For personal reasons--having just been royally screwed over by one, it's natural for me to dislike them as a whole, a group, a stereotype in an orientation-profiling sort of way. Bisexuality rings with associations of wishy-washiness, hedonism, polyamoury, people who can't-sit-still for like two seconds. But ... Marie identifies as bi. And I'm accepting this cause ultimately, it's not what you say about who you do, but who you do.

1. Marie's Fisher Price Play Center, her Mac.

A war between two inanimate objects is pretty douchey in general, but re: the Mac/PC divide, I'm definitely a PC person. When I check my OurChart profile on Marie's Mac (cause that's all I do), it's like manning a cessna after having flown stealth bombers all your life. Device-drop: ASUS, Averatec, NEC pda, Linux, BitTorrent downloads, Zunes, external flash drives on Swiss Army knives, 1TB (terabyte Hitachi hard drives), and so on. As in, dude--Mozilla, hello and how are you? ... like what's Safari?

Yay! I'm on a Safari, look at the monkeys!

I like my women, liquor and computers user-hostile. Macs are for Brooklyn hipsters tweaking Pro Tools for their mawkish trance music. [mlb: and cool people.] PC-ers are Hodgmanites, as in
John Hodgman, that dorky four-eyed lit agent/Daily Show-cameo dude who appears opposite the Mac punk (no one can stand) in those Mac ads. And I second-guess myself. Cause in a way, Marie having a Mac is totally cute. Like the cutest thing in the world ... next to her.



Me: "Let's name our first child Product Placement. That, or Nimrod."
Marie: "K."