Thursday, February 26, 2009

Friday Autofunday 2-27-2009

Autoportrait 2.0 is in the works. Meanwhile, let's have some cheap sharp fun. What kind of fun? Auto-fun. Everyone likes fun, if you don't like fun then next time we wanna have massive amounts of kickass fun, we won't invite you. This isn't fun so far? Well I'm listening to the Classical Masterpieces Channel on Time Warner Cable. These channels are TW's hidden gift. What if I was like, bought out by someone you knew I hated and I had to promote them all the time. If one day I woke up and was like "Top Ten Ideas for Max's Baby Shower (so excitant for Season Six)!!!"

Firstly some bizness. I've decided to change the book club book because I realize I'll never read our current selection because it is too heavy to carry in my bag and I can't afford to give one away and I like to give one away and have a contest. So I picked another book. Because I want to read it and hopefully you will want to read it too? Susan Sontag's journals, Reborn: Journals and Notebooks, 1947-1963. Okays. I'll give you lots of time 'cause I just started The Heart is a Lonely Hunter. I'll talk more about Reborn in the next "Stuff I've Been Reading." Don't be mad promise.

Quote: "My eyes are vague blue, like the sky, and change all the time; they are indiscriminate but fleeting, entirely specific and disloyal, so that no one trusts me. I am always looking away. Or again at something after it has given me up. It makes me restless and that makes me unhappy, but I cannot keep them still." (from Frank O'Hara's "Meditations on an Emergency" from poetry magazine via achtung baby !)

Links:
[let me just say these are real gems.]
- I am so excited to bring you the auto-fun today, I'm doing it so I can make you read this article in The New York Times about living with monkeys !
- Tao Lin, my financial idol, shares his secrets at UrbanElitist . E.g., "I have had part-time jobs almost continuously since college (I am 25), I think, except for maybe one year when I shoplifted batteries and Moleskine journals to sell on eBay ... since [selling my next novel's royalties] my money has come from selling pre-orders and lifetime subscriptions to books ... Christmas and Chinese New Year’s money from my parents and brother; and selling drawings, drafts of things, and various “piles of shit” from my room on eBay."
- AM Homes has a new short story at The New Yorker: "Brother on Sunday. "
- Emily Gould has a dysfunctional relationship with her old laptop. MIT's Sherry Turkle has "spent several decades studying and writing about the way mechanical objects construct and complete the self." This is really interesting stuff, you must read it. It even quotes a Meghan Daum essay I once used to teach middle school kids in rural Northern Michigan to write personal essays. The Technology Review.
- Firstly - there is a magazine called Obit. Secondly, read this: Laughing Past the Grave .
- The Unrecognizable Internet of 1996 at Slate: "People still refer to the new medium by its full name—the World Wide Web—and although you sometimes find interesting stuff here, you're constantly struck by how little there is to do. You rarely linger on the Web; your computer takes about 30 seconds to load each page, and, hey, you're paying for the Internet by the hour. Plus, you're tying up the phone line. Ten minutes after you log in, you shut down your modem. You've got other things to do—after all, a new episode of Seinfeld is on."
- Leonardo da Vinci was a serious procrastinator too .
- NPR's intriguing essay on "the art of language, Obama style ."
- This is the part where it officially becomes cool. I think it's the counter-backlash. Yoko Ono's 25 Things .

Last week I became briefly addicted to hunting for celebrity photographs. I have no idea why, this has never been a thing that interested me before, nor could I refer to this compulsion as anything resembling "interesting." I was not being intellectually or creatively stimulated, I was not interacting with other people, I was not learning anything, or accomplishing any of my daily or life goals. Yet. One more page. One more ELLEN PAGE! Anyhow way too late in the game I discovered fanpop which incited a whole new round of gazing at celebrity photos when I had other things to do.

I've been off the sauce for four days now, I'm going to go back to Trivia Machine as my insomnia obsession. Like if I was advertising an insomnia obsession I'd say: "You know those things you do when your brain's too quick for sleep and too slow to be awake?" So. I have some holdovers from Autowin Surrenders week obsession that I will share with you, and therefore I'll feel accomplished and therefore not feel guilty anymore. See how we help each other?

"Here, let me help you, then you me, otherwise we'll die." (Stephen Dunn)


Shanyn Sossamon Good Tie Thursday
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Shanyn Sossamon -Whoodie Wednesday
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Nelly Furtado - Good Tie Thursday
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Liv Tyler - Boyshorts Tuesday
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Drew Barrymore - Finnneeee Friday
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Ellen Page - Whoodie Wednesday
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Angelina Jolie Saturday & Sunday
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My favorite hoodie of all time - Shane for Whoodie Wednesday Wax
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DJ Carlytron for Good Tie Tuesday
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TTYS!

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Autoportrait 1.6

[Autoportrait]

[I'm hopeful that this random mishmash of words came all in a row for a reason and so as I try to make it into something that makes sense and has a point, the version number will increase. Larger numerical changes reflect larger changes in content and structure. This here be Autoportrait 1.6. - shifting notes around -- Feedback is welcome & appreciated -- there's parts I wanted to cut that I didn't 'cause you said you'd liked them, so it's good. You can tell me anything, clearly I will tell you anything I mean look at this carnival.]

It begins last year. It's April. We're in Malibu and the wind is as perfect as wind has ever been. She's looking at the beach because she recognizes a celebrity and her dog down there and you're huddled in her hoodie, your whole body squeezed up inside it 'cause you're always cold and colder now smack between the pool beside us and the ocean below. We put rocks atop our construction paper and our crayons throw caution to the wind.

I come back to this beginning [Malibu, April] because this is the scene that opens the novel [fictionalized, of course, with everyone playing someone else, including me] I assume I'll eventually finish, otherwise this is kinda anti-climactic. In this novel's opening scene we're in Malibu and I get an email from my other half -- I've lost him, that much is true -- and it turns out he's in LA but doesn't know I am to. When I tell her and her, she says, Clearly we are going to stalk him right now. My friends love me like that, drive faster for me. It's a novel. This didn't happen.

Malibu in April was a place where everything felt perfect except me. And you and you and you and you and you. It was like when crying and laughing at the same time, which's something all people should be able to do, in fact I require my loves to be capable of doing the following things simultaneously: cry & laugh, fuck & laugh, yell & laugh, hurt & laugh.

Oh my G-d. I've just realized it. The air, and the sky, and how at night the stone floor would get so cold, and how I slept so easily next to her because I trusted the silence so bad. I was torn up from all sides, like a fistful of frayed rope. Hoods-up, phones out but easily forgotten, dream on, shades shading.

The three of us in the sunshine; three jellyfish. It was a reunion with her, and I needed it. But almost nobody knows how I self-destructed in New York during those warm dumb almost-spring days before Malibu and the week after.

In Malibu we spoke in little bright charges of electricity and then retreated like lights going off.

I've just realized I remember Malibu because of where it sits smack perfect between those weeks where my heart crashed. I don't mean broke. I mean everything breaks my heart and my heart still works though, I mean that my heart crashed. I was alone at the time.

Something changed that week inside me. I mean it changed before I went. In a way I knew what I had to do but I decided instead not to do it because I was scared that if I did what I had to do that I would end up alone and heartcrashed. I mean that writing this I have to pretend like you'll never read it. You, and you, and you and you and you and you and you it was not just you, or even just you, vosotros, you, you ah'tem, ah'ten.

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In the past week, three people have mentioned to me that it's still hard to see themselves, here, sometimes, in the right kind of light. If I get you at a bad angle. If I was in the right place at the wrong time. I was, I guess. I love the wrong time. I am the wrong time, you're a circle and I'm a fist and an angle. No, I'm a circle.

It's just that I don't know that much about the right time except that I'm determined to prove to you that right can come out of wrong, that right doesn't need to be new. Like I don't trust my own decision to always prefer the blank slate. Like I don't know what I want so I just feel like right now I am trying to remove myself from everyone who could be impacted by that decision.

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I'm in her basement right now as I write this. We were talking about the way we were, back then. Before I knew the jellyfishes I know now.

The red light bulb in my Brooklyn room which was fine, because benders look good in red -- all dressed up and no place to go. I don't think I could do shit like that anymore, I said, I mean. Now you can't pretend like you don't get what you deserve when you get it.
Dra-ma, she said.

I don't want to do anything we won't remember, I'd said then.
But it's fun, she'd said.

I don't know that girl back then. I was all desire, no want. I was patient and fast. I dug that Radiohead last night, she said the next morning a chunk of years ago. I love the things there isn't time to say at the time. That was years ago.

I was someone else. If you knew me then, I wouldn't want to talk about you. I wouldn't want to ruin what's left; or spoil what we did. It was so sweet. It was terrible, I loved every minute.

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I was born with three wishes, but I didn't know any words. My head like a cannonball and flames to the brain. I wasted my first wish on words. My second: no one can leave before I'm ready. Third wish = Infinity.
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In the past day, the same solicitor has called me twenty times. Finally I answered and she said I was a past customer but she won't even tell me what I bought. She wants to give me gas cards, I don't have a car, she says it's their way of thanking me for being a preferred customer, I say what did I buy, she says it's privileged, like you, our privileged customer, I say I don't even have a car, she says my friends and family want me to buy gas for them.

That man yelling in the stock-trading room or whatever, that man confuses me. I mean I'd like to see you take that to Camden and interview someone and see if anyone is audacious enough to declare want so loudly, and now, and I promise you that they wouldn't, because you know what they never thought anything would be that easy.

It's funny. Money money money. I don't know why I continue to refuse to take it seriously. I'm stunned at very basic symbolic level that it exists with such subjective power, and so consistently. I am interested in going back to a trade system.

I made an appointment with my local H & R Block Professional today so I can get my shit together for real this time but I don't know how to explain what I've done. I mean 2008. 07. 06. 05. I mean really all the way back. I just don't know what to tell you about what I've done, but I'm hoping for some stimulus.

I don't know what to say for this world right now, it's like we're all at a manic low secretly grasping for shooting stars and scared knowing they aren't there, and what exactly are we supposed to reach for if not stars.

Ultimately most education is traditional, life has its likelihoods, this is the national crisis. I don't love or hate it. I don't even know if I like my life. I've never been so detached from my own opinions. Not my feelings -- I'm down with my feelings. I'm confused about my opinions.

And we're pretty sure the sky's falling, we're just trying to figure out exactly how many hours we personally will be required to put in trying to hoist it back up. Pretty much since the year I graduated from an institution that had the balls to tell me I was preparing myself for a world where art matters I've been painfully aware of how little it ultimately does. I mean tangibly. First and foremost people need to eat and need to be safe I want art to be the safe part.

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Now she's picking glass out of her foot with tweezers.
I missed the part when she stepped in the glass.

"Don’t hurt me," she says.
Her first wish.
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Is that what you want.
You want me to buy you gasoline.

When I wrote a letter to my father, everyone with a stake in my heart read it and that letter was addressed to a ghost. No. It was addressed to a dream.

I mean everyone. I mean everyone who shared my blood or fucked it, a boring biological bond I've always disregarded in favor of the bonds I choose, which are many, and changing, and when she wrote me and said It's stagnant, and you don't like that, I said you're right even though I'd never really thought that before. I never thought I craved change because I didn't like staying still. I always assumed I craved change because where I am never feels right. By "assumed" I mean "I've always known."

They all read it and that surprised me. Things have been different since that time around Malibu when my heart crashed. But did I tell you about how the air in Malibu was so perfect, how everything was so perfect and airy, how slippery it is on top of a rainbow and skating.

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She just came down with a sandwich and asked her if she wants a the middle or the end of the sandwich
and she says she wants the end. She says she likes the ends of things.
"I like pretzel ends, I like hot dog ends, Twizzler ends. The ends of things."
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I'm telling you the air was perfect. I mean it when I tell you that I think it was in the air. In Malibu, remember? Where we were when this story began, and a place we will never be again. Those were the last moments of that dream. So there it is. Behind me. I had mentioned, after all, the ocean.

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I've never been good at describing the weather 'cause it always just seemed so obvious. Now I'm obsessed with it. I want to know about the wind and the ocean and all the things that people who like life like to be close to. I mean. I dunno. Maybe that was because that was the week I realized that everything was so much larger than me. The good and the bad. That's when things started changing in me. In the fall I decided I wanted to be infinite. In the winter I hid in the middle of everything.

Now there are so many yous, there are so many shes, it's like the universal you. The universal she.

What scares me is not what is said publicly, but what is said in response to what I said publicly when we're alone. It doesn't seem fair sometimes. This has gotten difficult at a remarkably easy time. It is never an easy time. I was in the wrong place at the hard time, the right time can appear similar to the wrong time at the time. But isn't the moonlight terrible.
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I think writers feel like they'll have a chance later to re-write it, so they're more comfortable with shit not making sense at the time.

When I re-write you, I will make the breeze breezier. I will make your eyes bluer even if they weren't blue in the first place. I pick blue because it's the color of sky. You will laugh at me when I say this. I kinda feel like one of you laughed at me from above me and the other laughed at me from below which means obvs I am in the middle laughing at myself and I can't hear.

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Which is to say none of the pronouns I so carelessly employ necessarily apply to anyone specific, I mean that.

I wish we had a proper vosotros.

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I feel like ... I have some questions for you, readers-you, internet-you. Some other stuff. More general stuff. Bigger stuff. About what you want. Some things to launch.

The world stuff.

We'll see.

A break from mememe.

I'm sort of on my own right now, in a weird way. Not for reasons I can explain. But I am, in my head. Oh, no one ever makes sense.
I think of Neal Cassady,
I even think of Old Neal Cassady the father we never found,
I think of Neal Cassady, I think of Neal Cassady.


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The ends of things.

Then she left, and I wasn't ready.

Friday, February 20, 2009

Friday AutoFun Day - 2.20.09

Guess what I won a contest! That's right, memememememe! Why did I win? Because my blog is better than all the other blogs in the world, except for Margaret & Helen. No, because of YOU! That's right, youyouyouyou! Thank you for voting once, twice, three times a lady. Thanks to my guest-poster Grace the Spot, who managed to win at least one legislative branch of the lesbian empire with Humor, and to the other two personal blog people Peaches & Coconuts and A Brown Girl Gone Gay, and congratulations to all the winners: Lesbian Dad, Sugarbutch, Dorothy Surrenders, Pam's House Blend, and Just Eat Your Cupcake. I am very excitant to have won a contest, next stop The Nobel Peace Prize, which has always been a dream of mine. Krista asked, "What do you get? A golden vagina?" and imagining that trophy was glorious. All in all, I was the blogger with the second-highest per-category votes of anyone so that was pretty cool. Basically to make a long story short, the only way I can win any contest in the future is if we off Dorothy. I don't even know what showmance means. Ilene Chaiken, don't steal that idea.

Quote: "So in America when the sun goes down and I sit on the old brokendown river pier watching the long, ong skies over New Jersey and sense all that raw land that rolls in one unbelievable huge bulge over to the West Coast, all that road going, all the people dreaming in the immensity of it, and in Iowa I know by now the evening-star must be drooping and shedding her sparkler dims on the prairie, which is just before the coming of complete night that blesses the earth, darkens all rivers, cups the peaks in the west and folds the last and final shore in, and nobody, just nobody knows what's going to happen to anybody besides the forlorn rags of growing old, I think of Neal Cassady, I even think of Old Neal Cassady the father we never found, I think of Neal Cassady, I think of Neal Cassady." (Jack Kerouac, On the Road)
Links:
- Just like we said when we made our Autowin 'zine : The Zine Lives - the 90s aren't as dead as you think .
- I Look So Alone, I Get Obvious
- He fairs much better than Sarah Pain - Diagramming the Obama Sentence .
- Joaquin Phoenix is not alone - Seven Great Talk Show Trainwrecks @The Daily Beast.
- Twentysomethings love Barack and Michelle -- "the millenials' dream couple."
- Jessie Spano - Friend or Foe ?
- From The New Scientist -- students do better when they listened to a podcast of the lecture rather than attending.
- I don't know why I want to see this, I just know that I do . Maybe I can babysit my way to Sesame Street.
- Commentary for the DVD of ""He's Just Not That Into You" from the writer of "The Wire" David Simon, at McSweeney's
- Read this and tell me if you thought it was bizarre that the author never once questioned the capatlist value system being played out by the protagonist.
- "A Note " for Facebook on CollegeHumor: "1. I Hate Facebook Notes."
insomnia poem #24

do you remember that part
in "the breakfast club"
lens-shooting circles
The Brain says "It's like you're outside
looking in on yourself,"
He says that or something like that.

He has a lisp or something.
Somewhere between tongue and teeth
a word got lost, a heart got tossed
and now who's the boss

I was outside looking in on myself
shooting circle-shaped stars
my hand in hers,
the way we move forward
the way we never change.

The gun and the bird
what will it be like now
without the word

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Wednesday Top Ten with GUEST BLOGGER Grace the Spot

Helloooooo INTERNET! This is Riese. I did a post exchange with Grace Chu of Grace the Spot, who you really must vote for today when you are voting for me. Between you and me and everyone else reading this, Grace hasn't got a shot in hell for Best Overall or Best Culture/Entertainment, Dorothy 's got that shit in the bag. But! HUMOR! Vote Grace in for humor! As of 2pm on Wednesday she is only 15 votes behind!!! So if y'all vote her in for humor right now, then she could take it. Look, she even made me funny screencaps with Alice in them and worked super-hard to get this to me by Saturday night, only to see my incredible productivity delay publication 'til the very last minute.

VOTE FOR HER RIGHT NOW, then read this, then go to her blog to read my contribution to "Stuff Lesbians Like" -- Bette & Tina.

As I've always done in the days of yore w/r/t Sunday Top Tens -- prior Guest Top 10s include my brother Lewis (Top 10 Life Lessons from the Lew-Man ), Natalie (Why New York is Better Than London ), TB (Why We Hope the Cliche's Sound: Opposites Attract ), Lozo (Top 11 from a Drunken Heterosexual Pinch-Hitter ) and Crystal (So She Comes From the Land Down Under : The Autowin American Experience) -- I completely slaughter and demean their hard work by interjecting what I believe to be my incredibly charming sidenotes.

Anyhow, so Grace has made an illustrated guide to the 10 Stages of Grief starring Alice Pieszecki. I'll amend this with examples from prior blog posts. Think of it as a trip down memory lane, where together we can remember all the fine personal moments we've shared today. My additions will be in red, coincidentally the color of blood.

Here's Grace!: Hello, Auto-winners. This is Auto-loser Grace Chu from Grace The Spot, who is guest-writing the Sunday Top 10 so that Riese may take a one-day break from being a cheese-eating surrender monkey. Instead, I will step into her Converses and
  • prepare Grace The Spot's readers for the probable outcome of our suicide mission against long-shot quest to unseat Dorothy Surrenders from her perch, and
  • trigger AutoWin's readers' PTSD symptoms from their bruising attempt to do the same last year.

So, without further ado, here are the 10 Stages of Grief acted out by Alice Pieszecki
with helpful examples from the Autowin Personal Vaults.

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10. Shock


From April '08- "The Kind of Girl Who Laughs and Says Get Up Off Your Knees":

"All day long it's been Monday. Perhaps you know this, perhaps calendars are an important part of your life. Chances are, you have been aware of Monday. Like the song "Manic Monday." Well, now it is 5:37 A.M. on Tuesday, so it's not Monday anymore. The point is that yesterday WAS Monday. But you wouldn't know that by speaking to me."


9. Emotional Releases - Cursing

E.g., June '08 - "I Wanted to Paint Nothing":

"You Chorus of Cuntish Commenters [not my commenters, obvs], your twatiliciousness skyrockets."


8. Physical Manifestations - Loss of Lunch

E.g., from April '08 - "A Silly Time To Learn To Swim":

"I've been a little feverish for a few days now. I might just be talking crazy. Life today isn't all that similar to life a week ago. Things keep happening that don't make sense, that seem wildly inappropriate, inspiring metaphors about being underwater and existing inside giant cottonballs. Yesterday: my head felt like the moment the jets turn off in a hot tub ... a durrrrring pool of disappointed/subdued dumb bare skin ... Yesterday I couldn't think/update (synonyms, maybe) 'cause it was my fourth morning running on no sleep..."


7. Depression

From October '08 : "And I'm Not Proud That Nothing Will Seem Easy About Me":

"I'm fighting competing urges to be productive or do all of the following things at once: lie on my couch, drink sweet wine out of the bottle, read Raymond Carver and watch Tegan & Sara."

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From June '07: "Failed Attempt at Gay Pride Post"

"I think I've got Toxic Shock Syndrome in my heart."


6. Guilt

From October '08 - "I Refuse to Believe That It's Only Me Feeling":

"Why aren't we massively fabulous/acheiving our wildest dreams in life/writing and/or starring in The L Word? I feel like this question is probs inappropriate on a number of levels, including: totes biting the hands that [literally] feed and validate and agree with us, there are children starving AND un-fabulous all over the world ..."


5. Anger

From February '09: "The Medium is the Message":

"YouTube, I have one thing to say: fuck you, you carwash cunt. BAM! ROASTED."

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From November '08 - "Obvs I Cannot Leave the Apartment Again Until December at the Earliest":

"I mean everyone should marry who they want to, and anyone who disagrees with me --- well, I hate you. If you voted Yes on Prop 8, I'm sorry, I just hate you!"


4. Idealism

From September '08 - "Sacred & On Fire":

"I miss the night-fires, I miss the abandon and the rampant self-destruction. I miss knowing everything wasn't right but not caring because I was so alive, because it was so fun or so vivid or so full or because I hit the streets with all I had. I miss absolving myself of responsibility for myself. I miss the future we used to talk about with such generosity. I miss the stories we believed in and I want to write the ones we never told. I want so many things."


3.Realization

From June '07 -"Top Ten Things Keeping Me On This Side of the Window this Week":

"The "T" Key is broken again. So is my soul. However, I have not jumped out the window or stopped using words with "T"s in them. You know what that's called? Inner strength. Know where I learned that? R&B/Hip-Hop, especially Beyonce."


2. New Patterns - Letting Go

From November '07 - "This Girl Called Automatic Weirdo":

"You guys should totes cry if you need to and laugh too. Life is really funny, seriously, have you ever seen it? It's fucking ridiculous and hilarious and random as hell. It's fucking tragic. So you know, like hang in there. I'm not gonna say it'll get better ... but it'll be an experience for sure."


1.Living with the Loss

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From July '07- "Where Do Teleplays Come From? They Just Appear!":

"I would like to stare at some french fries, or possibly a large deep body of water, or possibly an island."


Comrades, brace yourselves for the worst. But hope for the best. Let’s make this dream a reality. First, vote This Girl Called Automatic Win Best Personal Blog in the Lezzys. This blog deserves an award already. Then when you have completed that righteous mission, vote Grace The Spot for Best Humor Blog (and if you don’t think we’re funny, you can make it an “ironic” vote). It would be presumptuous of me to ask you to vote for Grace The Spot as Best Entertainment Blog over Dorothy Surrenders, but if you take a couple of vodka shots before you do it, it won’t hurt as much.

Finally, since I am standing in Riese’s shoes for this post, please avenge her loss last year for Blog of the Year to Dorothy Surrenders by throwing Grace The Spot a vote for Blog of the Year this year. After letting this coveted prize slip out of its hands for a year, New York City shall rise like a phoenix from the ashes of defeat. Make it happen! EAST SIIIIDE!!! (Yes, I know the last time there was an epic East Coast vs. West Coast battle, Tupac and Biggie got shot, but, comrades, we cannot be paralyzed by the ghosts of the past. We must go on. Life must go on.)

CLICK HERE AND VOTE, SOLDIERS!

Thank you for your time, consideration, and clickety-click-click love.
xoxo, Grace
xxx riese.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Autowin Presents Boyshorts Tuesday

I promised you a Boyshorts Monday, but I never promised you a rose garden. Let's compromise with Boyshorts Tuesday! I want your vote. I want you to want me, and then, because you want me, I want you to want to vote for me. That's why this week I am Autowin Surrenders, just like last year's winner, Dorothy Surrenders. It's explained in my last post in more detail. There's also a funny graphic there. Hi! You're all so beautiful today.

I also hoodwinked Grace The Spot [who you're also voting for -- esp. for best humor blog] into doing a post-swap with me, but I was completely unprepared for the 605 recap taking ten thousand years to write, so therefore I'm eons behind on absolutely everything, including writing her a post and putting up the post she wrote for me. Also I am behind on my life, possibly several years behind.

This is a personal blog. Isn't that the best oxymoron ever? It's hard to write personally & publically lately because every thought in my head is a secret from someone. Because I'm so confused that I seem calmer than I've ever seemed. I'm somewhere between "gaaa" and "ommm."

So instead let's look at the girls. The thing about the word "genderfuck" is that you're fucking something and the unfolding is brave and the payoff is ... it's just hot. It's like global warming for your pride. Look, this is pretty.

If you know where I can find more/better boyshorts photos please do email me at marielyn176@gmail.com! I'll update periodically throughout the day if I find more photos.

BOYSHORTS TUESDAY!!!

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Sarah Shahi as Carmen De La Pica Morales in The L Word
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Scarlett Johanssen
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You look very Shane Today
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Rosario Dawson
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Giselle
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Jennifer Aniston

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Dania Ramirez
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Alyson Hannigan
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Carmen Electra
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Charlize Theron
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Missy Peregrym
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Mia Kirshner

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Amanda Peet
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Halle Berry
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Elizabeth Hurley
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Eva Longoria
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Paris Hilton
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Jennifer Jason Leigh
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Keira Knightley
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Mischa Barton

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Naomi Watts

Friday, February 13, 2009

Autowin Will Never Surrender, No She'll Never Surrender - It's Fiiiiine Friday

Hellooooo! You look smashing today. As you know, I'm currently involved in a very serious do-or-die election. I know I promised to stop getting involved in voting-related situations, BUT I had to do "The Lezzies" 'cause last year Dorothy Surrenders demolished me by just a hair, and the year before that, Ham & Cheese On Wry crushed Dorothy's dreams by just an inch, so clearly history suggests that this year I will take home the crown. Look people, I'm not messing around here.

Howevs, my personal Herstory suggests that I will NOT ever take home any kind of crown (the Uh Huh Her video contest only partially counts, as our stiffest competition was an enthusiastic Welsh girl singing along to the teevee in her pajamas claiming that even though she hadn't attended the video-contest-required concert that she still deserved to win ... and were it up to the fans rather than Leisha & Cam, we would've lost. Luckily Rovermom did not have her day in the sun. Anyhow where was I, ah yes. I am still in the parentheticals, let's go) (oh also I did win the Hot Blogger Calendar thing, along with 11 other girls, and I'm pretty sure at least 200 of my votes were from Vashti & Autumn) (Thanks guys!) (400).

So, as I was saying, history shows that this year, I should be the one punching people in the face rather than, per ushe [again, questionable, but bear with me here, I'm trying to give you an ultimatium, which is something I have issues with] , an auto-loser. So, this'll be the last one. Probs. So please go vote for me (best personal blog) and Grace the Spot (best humor blog) and Sugarbutch (best gender-bender & erotica blog).

Also remember 8-Against-8, when we banded together to raise $13,759 to fight Proposition 8? I did that. Well Grace was in charge of that and other 8against8-ers include Sugarbutch, Pam's House Blend and Dorothy Surrenders, all nominees this year. Vote for them. NOW. Or die.

Anyhow during past elections, I've continued to be my typical self, bloggity blogging away all about memememe and the things I like. This year I will not let that happen.

This year, I'm going to spend the voting period doing EXACTLY what Dorothy Snarker does on her blog, because she beat me last year, therefore logic dictates I should emulate her as much as I can. 'Cause I'm not competing directly against her, it's totes ethical. Some might even call it "charming." [Bet You Can't Wait for my "Pre-L," otherwise known as "K." K what? You'll see. Special? Maybe. How good? K-good.]

I've already brought you Whoodie Wednesdays (a rip-off of Tank Top Tuesdays) and today I will bring you another series of photographs of ladies wearing fuckable things because today is Fiiinnneee Fuckable Friday obvs.

Howevs, I have no effin' clue where to find random pictures of hot girls. I'm familiar with a Kate Moennig fan site or two, but where do these other hot photos come from? Google Image Search is bunk, and I don't read any celebrity or fashion or pop culture sites besides the one I write for . Tips?

Today I will please you with photographs of girls who are looking & dressing boyishly. Why? Because, like hoodies, I think it's cute. I like boyish girls. I also don't believe in gender, but we'll talk about that another day. A day when I'm allowed to talk about Gender Trouble and Pomosexuals. That day will come.

Also, unlike Dorothy I don't have anything witty to say, let alone something concise & witty to say. But vote for me anyhow or I'll never blog again.

Actual Queer Girls Lookin' A Little Boyish Friday

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Kate Moennig
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Tegan & Sara, Amanda Palmer, Sara Cook, Invisible Ponyboy
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Ellen Page in drag > Ellen Page in preggo suit
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Rachel Maddow: Best Dork Ever.
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This is what Max is supposed to look like, dammit.
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Who wants a double shot of love with FUTCH?
Probs not me but still.
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Who cares if this fits 100% with the theme?
Aren't you just glad I brought it to your attention? Yeah you are.
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Every night Jenny Shimizu can go to bed, close her eyes and think:
"It is me. I am the woman who made love to Angelina Jolie."
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This is what I want is something like what these ladies have.
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The thing is about famous people though that once you meet them, they become people and not images. And then it becomes harder to deal with their images as images, instead of as pictures of people. I don't know if that makes sense. I guess I try to think of it as though these are all works of art. Like the photographer, the subject, they just come together to make art of some kind. Whether it's a commentary on culture or just nice to look at. If you are reading this blog for the first time, you will be really confused about why anyone reads it. Ho-ho-hum. Let's bang on the drums. HAY!