Sunday Top Ten: I Just Wanna be Good

The key to high self-esteem for Grown-Ups is to craft an adult life composed solely of things you're already good at. I don't feel smarter now than I did at age 13 'cause I AM smarter, I feel smarter now 'cause I'm not spending twenty hours a week staring dumbly at mathematical equations, Spanish verb conjugations and photosynthesis diagrams wondering why I've got chapstick for brains. The second runner up key to high self-esteem is alcohol or cocaine. The third runner up is actual self esteem. I don't know what's wrong with you people, what time did you wake up today?

Top Ten Things I Wanna Be Good At But I'm Totally Not
(some are from the list you made in the comments of what you're good at, those are indicated by an asterisk.)

10. **Grammar - It's just kinda embarrassing. I've got several years of education on this topic. I wonder if my occasional mistakes make people violent like how I feel when I see apostrophes in plurals. I really get so upset about it, I'm just sick to imagine what it'd be like if you ever looked at ME that way. La la la. Preposition.

9. Dancing - I secretly love to dance, I'm just bad at it and therefore often avoid it. How do you learn to dance? So far my best strategy's been to get really drunk,'cause then you know I just pick up the beat straight away, it's like magic suddenly I am ready to take baby out of the corner and do that big lift like Swayze-Crazy style.

8. **Sleeping - What a cop-out! I thought seeing "sleeping" as an answer and then I realized no, she is, she's a great sleeper. Her head hits the pillow and she's out, the alarm goes off and she's miserable but up, and I've always been fascinated by those who master this skill I've never -- literally never, not for one moment of childhood even -- possessed. I've generally dated excellent sleepers, sleepers who'll sleep through everything that keeps me up, when I wake up sick, or typing, or not sleeping, or reading or going to the bathroom, getting more water, hunting for chapstick, checking email, thinking thinking thinking thinking. They can snooze away. Haviland's a bad sleeper too, but she wears ear-plugs and wakes up at dawn w/o an alarm.

7. **Writing news stories quickly and efficiently - I am OBSESSED WITH FIGURING THIS OUT. Why? Why do I write so many words? Why are my blog posts so long? Why must I recap every minute if I'm gonna recap a show at all? Why must I be so thorough? What does it mean that I once used David Foster Wallace to justify this behavior and he killed himself this year? It's just I have so! many! thoughts! this is too long.

6. CSS/HTML -- You know that feeling you'd get while doing homework for a class you're bad at -- for me, this was all maths, sciences and languages (by that I mean, "Every class except English") -- a class you're required to take although your brain executes no apparent skill or aptitude for it?

That feeling don't end on graduation day, kids. We've got a kickass programmer now, but there's some things one must attempt to do oneself before one can even tell the designer what to design let alone tell the programmer what to put into code and godDAMN that shit is hard. After I finished my college requirements I thought from here on out, I'll only do shit I'm good at, but no. There's always new opportunities to feel that way, wheee!!

5. **Bullshitting - So I'm working, any job, being paid for something and I'm barely even initiated into the computer system before I begin breaking everything down 'til it barely even exists. I'm at a restaurant and my co-workers are earnestly absorbing information about the specials and I'm analyzing the macro-structure of going out to eat as a luxury commodity, how much food America throws out while in other countries starving children fight over bags of rice, how mealtimes are such an imperative part of family, social and worklife structures, how we've made something so animal totally civilized, and so what if you've got an eating disorder and therefore avoid going out to eat then what do you miss how do people look at you and what if we just talked to each other like real people, why do we agree to accept that the waitress will be nice to earn a tip while we all pretend that she's being nice 'cause she honestly cares, honestly thinks you'll be happier and healthier with Grilled Pork Chops or a soda refill. Well at least this job is better than retail 'cause I honestly do believe that people should eat food, but I don't believe they need a fried appetizer, and this is why it's better for me to just go into business for myself because there's a product I can talk about if it's a passion project and omg DO YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN! I mean don't even get me started on psychoanalyzing all my co-workers, we could be here all night/day/whatevs/shift.

They say "get a job you love and you'll never work a day in your life," I say, "Get a job you love and you'll probs avoid getting fired."
photo by cass bird
4. Letting Go For Reals - I never change, it's just circumstances that fit better. The only thing that ever helped me get over something was to replace it with something better or to run away or to change everything about my life completely so that whatever I'm holding onto wouldn't have a place in it. I did that at 14 and again at 23. Now I just write stuff so I'm not allowed to forget.

3. Remembering Numbers -- I'm severely, severely number retarded, and it makes me look really stupid a lot. I get numbers mixed up, even after months working at the same address I often misdirected deliveries. Despite frequenting the joint, I gave Haviland's address as "3E" in a recent reply-all and, back in '06 when I first started coming over, she'd have to stand outside her door at "2E" to intercept me on my way up.

It's not just numbers, it's symbols too, any kind of arbitrary pattern, I get mixed up. My first year at U-Mich I sent all my mail to the last four digits of my SSN 'cause my actual address was the same sequence with the first two numbers reversed.

I used to chalk this all up to flightiness and an inability to pay attention. But as I grow into the mature blossom of a person that I am, I realize that it's not. I'm gonna start writing shit on my hands again! That worked before. My hands are the softest post-it notes in the world.

2. **Speed-Reading! SPEEEEEDDDD READDDINNNNGGGG!

1. Winning I'm trying to remember if I've ever gotten first place in anything. Every competition I've ever been in, I've never lost -- I've always gotten 2nd place or some kind of semi-finalist position, but never first. From the Ann Arbor Public Library Short Story Contest for Children to the 50-yard-dash to the ARTS Competition to National Merit Scholars to the Hopwood Awards to the Lesbian Blog of the Year. It's good, always placing but never finishing. Gives me something to reach for and a persistent sense of being one step away from greatness, which enables a humility that's quite necessary when one ventures to talk about oneself so much. La-di-da but anyhow you have two more days to vote! Keep voting! Remember we can't let the republicans win, yes we can.

Oh wait! We won the Uh Huh Her SXSW contest. Does that count? I don't know if our competition was even soapbox derby level.

You know what I was thinking about what I really like in a person? I like people who remember things being better than they were, who conveniently forget the hardest parts. I like that and I like good sleepers, and I like chips and ice cream (not together) and lately I've been really into these sandwich cookies that are like Oreos but the filling is sort of pepperminty.

Oh Carly if you've made it this far: IDEAS. You're genuinely good at ideas. Me too.

Sunday Funday Tuesday Top Ten: Top 10 Weirdos of 2008

When did "weirdo" become the go-to noun for personal greetings? See, all my language is stolen from other thieves, or from an ex, or a BFF. Language is funny like that. I'm going back to school, I'm studying Linguistics. (Other subjects I've claimed I will soon pursue a Master's Degree in, due to recent falling-of-sky, etc.: Education, Welding, Computer Programming, Nursing, Opera.) Because most people I know and/or read about and/or watch on various screens are at least slightly insane, it's always a challenge to select the Top Ten Weirdest Weirdos of 2008. There are so many weirdos. There's obvious choices I'm not allowed to write about, and then other worthy contestants I just didn't include, like Tegan & Sara and eric mathew.

This year we have three repeats from last year's list: Jenny Schecter, Haviland, and me. I will always be number one. Trust me, if last year's number two couldn't beat me out for top spot, then no one can.

Actually I had a hard time writing this, it took forever. I think it's been a really long time since I've actually talked directly about my friends or other living, breathing people who will read this -- like who they really are. I don't know how long it's been, maybe just a few weeks, but possibly that's been a long time for me, relatively?

And now I'm like "what's up, this is me."

Sunday Top Ten: Top Ten Weirdos of 2008
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10. Rachel Maddow

"I have a little stockpile of lawn mowers, some of which it has been years since they worked.
But it seems wrong to get rid of lawn mowers, so I keep them."
(Rachel Maddow)

I've enumerated her many virtues many a'time on this here blog because I love Rachel not only for her political acumen & homosexual hair, but also for her weirdo dorkdom. She's the geek the popular girls are too endeared towards to talk shit about. She's bright, earnest, humble, knowledgeable, well-informed. And Rachel crushes aren't really about sexified passion as they are about being sort of warm and settled, intensely satisfied by the quality of life enabled by this supreme physical and intellectual union.

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9. Stef

"I really want to express first and foremost that my hair in this photo [on my blog]
is inspired probably 99% by alanis morissette,
the only person in the whole world who really GETS me."
(Stef, on an adolescent photograph)

Stef is Weirdo Pride, one day she will write a book like John Waters yet-unwritten Role Models ("a self-portrait where I write profiles of other people and how much I love them and how much they changed my life and influenced me—famous people, criminals, people you’ve never heard of"). Stef faces every day with a Sharpie on a rope looped around her belt-loop, black eyeliner and sunscreen. Stef, fastest texter in the West, is an obsessive conisseour of all things terrible/AWESOME and their bretheren: JT Leroy, Lindsay Lohan & Samantha Ronson, fedoras, The Spice Girls, Amy Winehouse, Courtney Love, Alison from Intervention, etc. and is "a totally shameless nerd about theme parks, water parks and zoos." She's not just moderately interested in things she is interested in. She's also totally ironic about most of those interests, and ironic about the irony of me using "ironic" to mean whatever I want it to.

I've come to realize life's got a lot to do with who knows what you're referencing when you reference something. If it's something weird, I know Stef will get it.

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8. Jenny Schecter

"Well you know what, Kevin? I don't really care what you and your
fucking
purple
tie
think about my whereabouts, okay? What the fuck do you think this is, 1952?"
(Jenny, The L Word)
Initially, including Jenny on this list for the second consecutive year brought me joy. Now, I approach this task solemnly 'cause now I know that Jenny's gonna kick the bucket in Season Six. But y'know. What better time to honor her memory? Right-o. In Season Five, Jenny built upon Season Four's steamrolling glory with all new levels of megalomania, but this time her initial divaliciousness changed as the season went on -- ultimately we saw it morph, like a butterfly, into something laced with humility and sadness and a sort of muted humanity that evolved and then self-combusted.

Though I described Jenny as a "manipulative weirdo amazing ball of psychotic joy" early in the season, things changed by season's end. After losing Niki and her film to All About Adele, I described Jenny as a "dark angel from dark angel heaven" and declared "We love you too Jenny! Even though you've combined a doilies with your garbage bag dress for an all-around disaster, it's fine, at least your tights don't have holes, you've grown up so much."

Although often insufferable, she had some really vulnerable/self-important moments in Season One. What I mean is she was only a weirdo insofar as I, also, am a weirdo, and all of us, who think too much about ourselves, are indicted in this too.

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7. Natalie

" I just feel I'm not human, more of the animal world. I wish I was an animal & I could have puppies."
(Natalie, on how "moo" became a part of her vocabulary)

Natalie is a very special person who I've been besties with since the year 2001 and now we live together. Sometimes when she knows I can hear, she'll burst into the opening chords of "Circle of Life" or "Jingle Bells" or "Where I Stood" and then I'll sing back, from my room, the next line or two. Natalie's pick-up-the-phone greeting: "Moo moo moo?" Natalie believes there are 24 usable hours in every day and each of these hours is equally adequate for any given activity -- the gym, sleeping, working, phone convos, a long walk in the freezing cold, dinner, breakfast, coffee, etc. Natalie talks to strangers. Strangers on planes, in lines, on the street, apparently in the gynecologist's office, at the car rental place, everywhere. Natalie wants her gynecologist to be her friend and just came into my room to announce that she's pretty sure she could seduce Shane, given the chance.

Natalie is also legitimately brilliant and actively contributes to the betterment of the world via a Women's Rights in Development (whatever that means) NGO.

Natalie watches Office Space every night while she (tries to) sleep. When Natalie comes home, she goes: "Bernie?" and then I go "Rabie?" (variations on our last names) or sometimes we'll switch. Natalie wants to walk to Pinkberry right now, and it's about 23 below zero, windy like apocalypse.

There's this part in My So-Called Life where Angela emotes: "there are so many different ways to be connected to people. There's people you feel an unspoken connection to, even though there's not even a word for it. There's the people who you've known forever who know you in this way that other people can't because they've seen you change. They've let you change." That's how I feel about Natalie.

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6. Andy Warhol

"I wanted to paint nothing.
I was looking for something that was the essence of nothing,
and the soup can was it."
-Andy Warhol

This year I became obsessed with Andy Warhol (coincidentally, it would've been his 75th birthday this year, thus inspiring millions of media tributes) and secondarily, Little Edie, who was my party-fashion icon far before I took the time to learn who she was. I feel like I get him. I don't feel like we could've been friends, but if the dead lived among us, I feel like his ghost and my real self could be friends. You know? "Meeting creative new people -- especially young kids -- was always important to him; he thrived on it. But he knew that people only come to you if they think you have something to offer them."

I want to make the Factory, you know, still I do. I mean that's still the point, I guess, if there is one. We can get Rite-Aid brand tin-foil, print our magazine on all the unused credit card applications that still come every day in the mail as if we've got anything left to owe. I'm 27, for Chrissake!

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5. Michael Scott on The Office

"Yes. Money has been a little tight lately. But, at the end of my life, when I'm sitting on my yacht, am I gonna be thinking about how much money I have? No.
I'm going to be thinking about how many friends I have, and my children, and my comedy albums.
I mean, I have a yacht, so I obviously did pretty well money wise."
(Michael Scott, The Office)

If you haven't really watched a sitcom, besides occasionally Arrested Development on DVD, in several years, and if everyone's been telling you to watch The Office and you've thought to yourself; thanks, thanks really but no thanks, when you do, you love it, and watch hours & hours back to back while cleaning .... you eventually begin embodying the spirit of Michael Scott. He's not even my favorite character. After several hours he annoys me. But in some way, sometimes, I get this man.

Though his character is sympathetic but still quite unlikeable, one often desires to inappropriately interrupt people diligently doing work because work is what one does with pointless, poorly executed hijinks and other totally non-productive activities in the name of "having fun." You can see this effect directly in our NewNowNext movie.

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4. Autumn
"ok so i read, re-read, and re-re-read this post. sadly i am at a loss.
maybe i would understand if i would have read the book. that might have helped.
just a little. but the one thing i understood was that hitler sucks."
(one of autumn's first comments ever, on the Oscar Wao book club post )

Starting now the Weirdo Commenter of the Year will be an official designation with a voting process. However I received a lemon tree last week in the mail, therefore cinching Autumn's auto-win. The tree's currently living in our living room. Natalie's singing to it.

Here's the thing: back when we made the 'zine, Autumn declared: "not that your poems arent great and stuff, but i think i can pass on buying stuff, especially when i dont get it." We clearly took action mailed Autumn a 'zine immediately, therefore extending an olive branch to the red stated plains of Kansas, where Autumn lives. But obviously she was already turning around even before receiving the 'zine and becoming the best commenter ever. She even took a photo of her 'zine with Lieutenant Teddy and emailed me a photo of her toilet-paper-hosted list of Cool people, and I was totally on it! Rock!

As I write to you today, Autumn has sent us a lemon tree, no longer lists Jesus as top interest on facebook, and voted for Obama. That means I [kinda indirectly in this sitch, but whatevs] influenced 5 people to vote for Obama this year. That's pretty much my biggest accomplishment of the year. Srsly.

I mean, seriously, actually. It does mean a lot to me to engage someone in a dialogue about political issues that's not possible in their 3-D lives. I think it's really cool.

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3.Haviland
"If I told u where I was and what I'm doing right now, u might wanna kill yourself.
Alternative universe faux reals."
-Haviland, BBM, yesterday.

Haviland is a weirdo still just like last year. Actually, she's even weirder, 'cause I think we are all getting super weird with age.

PRETTY PARTY PYRAMID!

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2. Caitlin
"A hoodie does not a critter make."
(Caitlin)

A quick confession: I listen in, you should know this. I pick up voices, phrases, words, expressions, we swap and cut and paste and incorporate and then develop an intricate and multi-sourced linguistic web. After Cait & I landed in L.A. in February, Haviland declared "you guys are totally talking the same." Some melding of cadence, volume, vocab ... later we determined it probs made it really irritating to hang out with [all of] us. But still, we go on; i have a lot of feelings right now, time for sleepy sloos, this makes me itchy, okay i have a lot of feelings about this first of all, team meeting, i have a lot of questions for [person], hot panic, my head's gonna explode, mouthing off, talking crazy, crazytown, and really an endlessly bountiful bevy of phrases and words we've picked up this year. Like I said in the intro, I'm sort of interested in linguistics these days. When I say "these days" I mean it, 'cause I usually keep an obsession for about 3-4 days.

Caitlin prefers to be the one sitting or lying on the floor and is grossed out by the thought of hot soup.

Caitlin is frequently mistaken for the elevator guy, a situation that [in order to be true] would require serious time travel (which luckily I love), I mean who still uses elevator operators? Paddington Bear or something? By "Caitlin is frequently mistaken for the elevator guy" I mean that when other people enter the elevator and Caitlin is in it, they are inclined to announce, loudly, their intended floor: "TWELVE!" "FOUR!" "THIRTY-TWO" expecting her to press the button.

Anyhow: who among us have not wanted someone else to make that final action, anyhow, the action directed by your choice, let someone else conduct as to how far up you'll be going, how high you can get. Who among us haven't dared to lean against the mirrored walls of that tiny industrial transportation machine with the confidence and surrender and complacency of a person traveling but not conducting, traveling sweetly and laughing, not a care in the world besides to, once you get off into the world; to save it. The thing is, she does do it. She does press the button for them, and it happens all the time. Usually in the time it takes for someone to yell "TEN!", for her to press the button and for us to arrive at our floor, we can hold the laughter and laughter-inducing looks in. More often we can't, and so we laugh and smile as we go up into the air. And so on.

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1. Riese
"Obvs."

Because I still write this blog. Wouldn't it be funny if this was like when Time made "YOU" the person of the year with a reflective cover? I remember thinking it was "YOU-tube," I just couldn't see the "tube" from the street when the cover flashed by. That'd be funny if I could do that here. They'll invent that soon I bet. Then ... who will be Number One? Huh? Joe? Joe Who? Joe Mama, totes.

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In conclusion, one may ask oneself -- "how does one become a prestigious weirdo?" You may notice that this year's list does not include idiots from OurChart or soulless bisexual dating show contestants, like last year's. That's 'cause I've grown & changed and feel it's more important to honour only weirdos with good hearts rather than wasting one's time on the scourge of the earth.

One becomes a weirdo by harboring strange obsessions, maintaining inconvenient neuroses, greeting prescribed situations with unexpected behaviors, being someone that I love, etc. Any sort of functional yet serious psychological disorder enhances one's weirdo-hood, though it is not necessary for your success. One becomes a weirdo by paying attention, and, consequentially, totally freaking out about it. This freakout is the most beautiful thing forevs and evs, I promise. Don't trust me, but I promise for real!

Tuesday Top Ten: All About Your Mother

[hello! It's me in the brackets! I was writing something kinda heavy for the Sunday Top Ten but then it got so heavy that it crushed me. Luckily, inspiration struck once again like a light object (e.g., a koosh ball, Tinkerbell) upon my braincase and here I am on Tuesday w/the Sunday Top Ten. In other words: The Tuesday Top Ten! ("holler alliteration!" - carlytron)]

Though I haven't lived with my own mother since 1997 [Because my Mother's become a more sensitive fact checker than my ex at the height of psychosis, I should add: "because I chose to leave, not because my mother didn't have a home for me to live in between those years of 1997-2002, complete with three full bathrooms, cable & internet, etc. and, although my mother moved out of that house in 2002, she still took me in at her tenement - esque one-bedroom for 24 hours in June '03 when my boyfriend dumped me and I needed to cry in an environment free of Kappa Kappa Gammas. Furthermore, during said hibernation, my mother even gave me $50 to go to the mall for "retail therapy," where I bought a cute pair of Mavi jeans I wore to my ex-boyfriend's apartment that afternoon to tell him I was moving to NYC for the summer, a plan he rejected in favor of his apparent summer plan to run over/play with my heart a few more times before school started back up. Furthermore, despite the menagerie of animals and children living in my Moms' current house, she is always very kind about wanting me to stay there and insists that I feel that I have a home somewhere, even though my stuff is in storage and during the winter holidays of '07 I was kicked out of said house by my mother and sent to a motel.], I've spent many a night with the mothers of others.

In addition to my uncanny ability to date people who under some circumstance or another are living with their mothers or other parental guardians, I'm currently living with Semicolon's mother, and the first week of September I lived with the random mother & children that Natalie is randomly living with (not her mother, obvs, her mother lives in Cleveland Ohio, land of champions). AND! I just snagged an October sublet with Hav's mother! Then! in November the sky's the limit you guys. Good news, November is my favorite month, it's the month that my brother and I try to remember which day my Mom's birthday is and decide who's gonna call first to find out.

Since I'm on such a roll with mothers, I got to thinking about ...

++
Sunday Top Ten: Other Mothers I'd Like to Live With

10. Beverly Crusher, Star Trek: The Next Generation

I love Beverly not only 'cause I had a boi-crush on Wesley Crusher, Beverly's son (who looks like he could've easily made it to the final round of Brandon Teena auditions), but 'cause she's wicked smart and for vaycay would clearly take me to strange new worlds, seeking new life and and new civilizations and boldly go where no man had gone before. Her husband is dead but clearly I'm used to that, and besides she has Captain Picard as the resident surrogate father, I could live with that.

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9. Lindsay Bluth Funke, Arrested Development

The only element I ever disliked about Arrested Development was the Lindsay-Tobias marriage -- I don't think they did a good job of selling that to the viewer. Regardless, Lindsay's smokin' hot, loves charity, and accidentally makes jokes all the time. Keep in mind this is mothers I'd want to live with, not mothers I'd want to be mothered by. Not that I wouldn't want her genes, but you know, it'd be skeeze to crush on my Mom, and it'd be really skeeze to have Haviland crush on my Mom.

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8. Me & my Gay in H.S. - he had the best Mom ever, Christie!

Christie was my first boyfriend's Mom. Of course Ryan wasn't my actual boyfriend, he was my gay BFF with benefits, but Moms love gay boyfriend's girlfriends the MOST, 'cause not only am I the potentially-cute-if-she-did-her-hair super-fun smart girlfriend but I'm also their son's ticket to hetero-ville. Alas, conversion didn't stick, but let me tell you how I met Christie for the first time: Valentine's Day '98, a man in a trenchcoat shows up at my boarding school dorm to 'escort' me to a mysterious location -- Ryan's parents' motor-home, it turns out. The driver turned out to be Ryan's step-dad, and just as I entered the lux motorhome, Christie burst out from the bedroom in a french maid's outfit with champagne. She kept character for about three minutes before busting into, "Oh my god, I'm so glad to meet you!"

They had a ranch in Oklahoma with hills and rivers. She'd mail me newspaper clippings, beanie babies, cards, little gifts she'd just "thought of me" when she saw. She looked like Sally Field. It was so easy, winning her love, she liked me straight away. It's never been that easy since to snag parental affections. Maybe it's cause I was 16 and right on track, and now I'm a homeless delinquent with a weird blog.

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7. Peggy Peabody, The L Word

She's a crap Mom, but she's got the best lines on The L Word , did pay (unknowingly) for the entire De La Pica Morales clan to go to Canada for The Little Wedding that Couldn't, and is therefore my favorite character, besides obviously Papi, my favorite character of all time who unfortunately is not getting her own spin-off.

If Papi had a kid, what would they name it? Nino? Papi Jr.? Mini-Papi? Chi-Chi Rodriguez?

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6. Michelle Obama

I'm gonna do this thing where I not-so-subtly work Obama into every post until he wins in November. If he doesn't win, I want you to know I am going to quit all of you. I'm going to set the building on fire that's my cake. I'm going to take down all my posts like I do when I have a lot of feelings, post only song lyrics on twitter, and lie on my mattress in a street alley chanting "Dark Come Soon" to myself while eating the black polish off my fingers. Intervention won't be able to TOUCH me!

No but really, she seems like a sweet Mom. I'm not sure why everyone's freaking out about her ability to parent and campaign. If the Republicans had their way, women on welfare would all be working 60 hours a week and leaving their kids at home to eat fruit roll-ups and shoot each other. That's no good. The Obamas have it together, they match, and she's a beautiful, beautiful woman.

YES WE CAN! Vote!

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5. Marge Simpson, The Simpsons

I feel like this woman put up with some serious shit. Also her children never age, which is cheaper than the Oil of Olay my Mom uses.

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4. Kelli and Rosie O'Donnell

It's not the multiple homes that draw me in -- it's the arts & crafts hut. They're the most famous gay Moms ever, staunch democrats, philanthropic wonderwomen and genuinely caring & loving people. Rosie'd make jokes, teach me collaging and sing showtunes with me. Kelli's hot & capable and my siblings would be remarkably down-to-earth smart cookies who, much like me as a child, aren't allowed to watch the teevee. They're homos too, like my Mom, so it'd be basically like living with my Mom except with more trips to Miami and less yelling. Then I could go on the cruise for free and get free soda.

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3. Kanga

What if my Mom's name was "Ma" and my name was "Rie" and she carried me around in a fanny pack, like the turquoise one she used in the 90's'/probs yesterday? Then we'd be one-tenth of the way towards the coolness of Kanga, who had a kid named Roo she carried around in her pouch. I had a kangaroo stuffed animal with a Roo (a non-brand name version of the Pooh-Corner pair) and I got really upset when they'd be separated. We could live in the woods and eat coconuts and play with koalas and boomerangs, and I'd never have to pay rent or use craigslist again.

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2. Lorrie Moore, author

""The Mother does not know how to be one of these other mothers, with their blond hair and sweatpants and sneakers and determined pleasentness. She does not think that she can be anything similar. She does not feel remotely like them. She knows, for instance, too many people in Greenwich Village. She mail-orders oysters and tiramusu from a shop in SoHo. She is close friends with four actual homosexuals. Her husband is asking her to Take Notes. Where do these women get their sweatpants? She will find out."

(Lorrie Moore, "People Like That Are the Only People Here.")

I'm not into "Mom Lit," or Mom-Bloggers, or really any books about mother-daughter relationships. This's probs 'cause most mother-child focussed movies end with someone dying and lots of sentimental speeches that make me barf, or 'cause good mothers don't make very interesting protagonists, but ultimately the only time I can stand reading someone talk about child-rearing is when they approach it with the barenaked humility and admitted incompetence that Lorrie Moore does when she talks about motherhood. (Tama Janowitz fairs admirably in this area, too) In her novel Anagrams [SPOILER ALERT], we eventually discover that the protagonist's child isn't even real! She's an imaginary daughter! basically I feel Lorrie Moore knows how to mother 'cause she doesn't know how to mother, and I'd like to be a part of that. Or maybe I just want to move to Wisconsin, 'cause getting fat in Long Island isn't as accepted as getting fat in Wisconsin.

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1. Susan Powter

Alex: "I miss Susan Powter yoga."
Me: "We only went once, Alex."
Alex: "But I miss it."
Me: "How can you miss something we only went to once? That's like saying I miss my Bat Mitzvah."
Alex: "Can't I miss it if I want to?"
Me: "I think you're projecting your real sadness over missing the cruise and the team onto Susan Powter's yoga class."
Alex: [makes pouty face]

[this is the level of conversation we've come to during these weeks of forced co-habitation.]

I just feel like if I lived with Susan Powter, I'd probs get killer abs. Plus I'd want her to say "Tell Riese I'm looking for her. In heels."

Sunday Top Ten: I Used to be a Superhero, No One Could Touch Me, Not Even Myself

Google has many superpowers, like keeping track of everything I do. E.g., Google tells me I've apparently perused the wikipedia entry on superpowers many times, leading me to think, halfway through writing this week's Top Ten, "Omg, have I written on this topic already? Why have I already read this wikipedia page 10 times? Am I that interested in phasing through walls?"

So. A brief Autowin PSA (see what I did there? That's what Lozo does): Does this post feel familiar? If it does, you oughta lay off the pipe and/or you might be thinking about Channukisits Wish List Things I Can't Have Because They Don't Exist. This isn't that. This is SO different. When I wrote that, I'd never even seen Heroes. Though I'd heard plenty about it since Haviland talked about it constantly. Also; December's basically ten years ago, who knows what I wanted back then, probs an innocent youthful frivolity like Tickle Me Elmo. And coal, I always want coal and I never get it. It's kinda like how Claire Bennett is always asking people to shoot her in the head with a nail gun and they won't do it.

My friend asked me last week if I think it's possible for her to find a boyfriend who will be willing to smack her in the face & make her bleed during sex but also hold her hand at crosswalks and cuddle during teevee-time. Obvs I said the latter is part of someone's essential being and the former can be taught. Anyhow, if she had Regenerative powers like Claire Bennett it wouldn't be such a big deal. She could be like "See? my lip isn't busted anymore, time for muffins!"

Um, so guess what i discovered this week? Gawker Media has this i09 blog about Science Fiction and ... it's secretly like; the awesomest thing they've got going on over there. I'm really upset right now that Season Two of Heroes isn't out on DVD for another ten days, so I've only seen Season One.

Oh, also; when writing the Top Ten about Needing an Unpaid Intern, I requested the following in all applicants:

"One or more of the following super-powers: Seeing Through Walls, Precognition, Cross-Dimensional Awareness, Zach Morris Time Freeze, Flying, Spider-Vision, Telekinesis, Ability to Teach Public School in a Low-Income District, Go-Go Gadget 'Brella."

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[colleen cunnigham ]

Wish List: TOP TEN SUPERPOWERS

The thing about superpowers is that we witness their application in extreme-stakes books/movies/tv shows/comics, so trying to think about how these powers would apply to my actual life isn't easy (though I think that's the point of Heroes, right? Like, let me light your cig with my finger, etc.?) And there's all kinds of powers that, when employed in everyday life, are sort of assclownish things to do; mind control, memory manipulation, etc. That's mean. Hiro wouldn't do that. He also wouldn't be invisible just to steal money.

Do you ever think about what your team's superpowers would really be in real life? I'd probs get telepathy 'cause I tend to know what people are thinking more often than most people. (or psychometry) (or automatic writing, 'cause of auto-win). Caitlin would get Claire Bennett healing powers or Peter Petrelli powers 'cause she can fix everything and make everything okay when we think our guts are bleeding or we've taken a sword to the soul, etc. Powers would be very useful now for her to get over The Plague. Haviland might get power bestowal (bringing out other people's latent powers) or shape-shifting 'cause of her supreme acting skills, A;ex would have her energy manipulation/conversion for bringing happiness & light into a room, thus warming its energy. Also eternal youth = A;ex. Natalie would have persuasion 'cause she charms everyone's pants off.

Questions like "What superpowers would my friends have?" are the questions you can ask yourself if you want to waste your life and squander the best most beautiful days of your maidenhood straight away. I know I do.

[gaston liberto]

10. Telepathy: When I was little/innocent, I wanted more than anything to read minds. I dreamt of a magic ticker w/red words that we'd wear like wristwatches to illustrate our companion's secret thoughts. Now I don't want telepathy. Now when I want to figure out what someone's thinking, I just write stories.

I learned my lesson well & young by doing what many wannabe mind-readers do -- reading journals. It's heartbreaking, actually, 'cause we've all got callousness underscoring expressed affections. I don't wanna know what anyone's thinking anymore. It'd be nice to have telepathy for lie-detecting, I guess, and in work situations to tailor my output. I guess I'd just have to be careful. Generally I feel that ignorance is bliss.

9. Flying: Does anyone know if you can wear a backpack while you're flying? Like if I wanted to go to L.A. to visit Haviland or go to Vegas to see Bette Midler, would I be able to take someone with me, a là Lois & Clark, or could I take a carry-on suitcase or duffel bag or something? Someone get back to me on this, thank you, pronto, Olympics Oshmylics. I can't travel without Caitlin and five v-neck t-shirts so I need to know ASAP thanks.

8.Technopathy: I'd have about 75% less mental breakdowns if, instead of having to call the Apple people & shell out $50 for them to tell me to control-alt-delete and then bring it to the store, I could just be like "Mac! Get your shit together!" Also, I'd like to be able to control ATM machines, it's so Tom Collins. And I could find Rovermom, track her down, and tell her I know that's not really her on her myspace profile, it's Alice.

7. Power Absorption: This works better if your peer group also has powers. But I'd settle for powers that are helpful, if not necessarily "super." Of all powers; infinity. Of all potential dwellings; sky. I'd like to pick up someone's social skills. Swimming is a thing I never mastered. It would've been easier if I had, and my basketball skills could help the Rockford Peaches win a game maybe, eventually. I'd stand next to LeBron James and just wait to dunk. I'd speak like Obama, make applesauce like my Mama, flip like Oksana. I'd also like to be able to speed-read like Caitlin and speak multiple languages.

6. Duplication: My Mom used to respond to many of my childish requests by saying "There's only one of me!", etc., 'cause I wanted her to do a lot of things, I was very into activities. I'd like there to be another me to visit Pathmark , do my laundry, call the dentist, stand in line to return things, and go to the post office. Hm, maybe all I need is an assistant, e.g., Monica Lewinsky or Jessica.

OK! Fine. I'd like the other me to handle unproductive emotions, too. It can sit in the dark, feel sad, watch Sugar Rush youtube videos, eat pizza in her underwear. She can scream at night to see if anyone can hear her. My replicant can face my fears for me. E.g., life.

6a.Temporal Duplication: I would like to see the old me. I mean all people really talk/write about is what we used to be like, what we might be like later on. I'm not certain the present is real. If I saw the old me on a street corner, I'd ask for directions. She'd lead me to an even younger me and then I could look at her and figure things out. Also I could get my 50 year old self back here and make sure all her organs are okay.

5. Enhanced Memory: I spend a lot of time looking things up. Like how superpowers work or what song lyric is running through my head. I also forget what people say and I forget what I read and I'd like to just be so super smart, I'd just remember all of it, every every minute! Even the hard parts. I feel like this could help my friends too, especially on their birthday. And y'all, 'cause I would've remembered Strunk & White.

4. Time Manipulation: See also; Zach Morris Timeout. You could use it when you need another minute. Then I'd never be late for anything. In matters of lateness, it is best to pick me up. If only I could fly or teleport. Superheroes bring themselves back around.

3. Mediumship: I could hang out with my Dad again forever. I could have dinner with Dana Fairbanks, River Phoenix, Oscar Wao, Andy & Edie, Strunk & White, Amelia Earhart, Lassie and Caroline Knapp. Also if someone needed a good band for their party and DJ Carlytron couldn't do it, I could be like "Hang on, I've got Elvis on line one," or whatever. Beethoven, The Four Tops, whatever it is you senior citizens are into these days.

2. Regenerative Power (healing): I'd like to fix people when they are hurt. I could walk with danger but never die, which's surprisingly relevant in Planet Harlem. At night, I could walk to Pathmark in boots and hot pants like a bat out of Sixth Avenue/hell and a bullet to my brain would be like a messy splinter. Then I could get my ice cream and go home, clickity-clack clickity-clap. Basically I could act in the city like I did when I was 18, which's to say = sans fear. Also if anyone else got hurt, I could fix them. Then I'd probs feel guilty that I wasn't always fixing people all the time and then I'd develop the most complex complex EVER! But it would be worth it to make everything better.

1. Teleportation: This is all I've ever wanted, ever, in my whole life. I think the best I'll do is a chauffeur. He'll drug me and throw me into a giant car and on the inside it'd feel like sleeping inside a giant slick shoe. Then he'd wake me up and deposit me. Everyone would be invited to travel with me. There will be champagne.

Also; as a side note, I used to get so jealous of kids in books who figured out how to turn their animals or toys to life, like Calvin ("Calvin and Hobbes") and the whole premise of Indian in the Cupboard. Actually I still am. I feel like Tinkerbell could hang out with me for the next 20 days or so.

OMG!!! I just had an amazing idea! What if The L Word spinoff was a sci-fi show? Firstly, Max could be whatever gender he/she wants. Secondly, Dana could come back and be the lead character and Shane's sexual prowess would be replaced by complete mind control powers and Jodi could dance even wearing a bed-sham when she can't hear the music.

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We Will We Will VLOG You

So much footage and so little time! Speaking of time: time has a way of ticking on, 'cause of clocks, and before long it'll be Thursday night and The Rockford Peaches (a prestigious team including all-stars like me, Carly, Caitlin and Alex) will be playing their second basketball game in reportedly ugly shirts. I missed the first game, which was probs best for everyone. In this vlog, we discuss our impending athletic doom (facilitated by Carly, who roped us into a NYC Professionals Basketball League even though I'm defo not a professional. I actually thought it was a lesbian league, which'd mean all the players are bonded by sexuality and therefore not implying particular athletic prowess by participating. This is not the case. Mostly, we're hoping it'll provide fodder to make fun of each other afterwards).

Also, Haviland's here, we snatched her up at the airport on Monday night at about two hours past my [aimed-for, but never achieved] bedtime. The whole place smelled like B.O., but we waited, which is true love/friendship, clearly.

Riese: "I'm gonna sweat so much at the basketball game, it's gonna look like I just took a shower in all my clothes within 20 seconds of the first quarter. I'm gonna be like the Swamp Thing."
Caitlin: "Everyone will be sweating."
Riese: "No one will be sweating as much as me."
Haviland: "Riese, you published an article in MARIE CLAIRE about how much you sweat. You won a sweating award. I think everyone's fully aware that you have hyperhidrosis and will be sweating."
Riese: "They'll probs just think I'm a cokehead."
Caitlin: [does the groan she does that means the same thing as Haviland's "Really Riese? Really?"]

As I've mentioned probs 500 times this week, I haven't played basketball since my 5th-8th grade tenure on The Emerson Eagles, which concluded just before puberty (I was a late bloomer). We played spring ball in a Rec league & fall ball in a special private school league, and managed to lose every single game except one. Emerson performed a lot better in Mathletes, Quiz Bowl and Magic the Gathering than it did in girls' b-ball.

So. Today I have this pebble for you. A vlog of some quality featuring Carlytron & Matthew as well as never-before-seen footage starring Haviland and Alex. This is what's in it:

1. Discussion about Incest.
2. Haviland's reading of Supr's supreme drunken comment from autowin.
3. Our basketball team.
4. A preview of our basketball game.

And also, so much more.

Stuff I've Been Reading: April & May Edition

I'm 26. It's possible I have a few vital organs that've been less-than-impressed with me for at least eight years, I regularly step into busy intersections without regard for traffic's deadly possibilities, I haven't been to the doctor in two years, my teeth are probs rotting out of my skull, and I live in a neighborhood where two people getting shot is a brief aside tossed at the end of an article about a dude opening fire on a crowd and shooting 8 people on Memorial Day 'cause someone took his basketball. I don't remember the last time I ate a piece of fruit.

I work out every day, but that's only because I'm neurotic and anxiety-ridden and 'cause if I didn't, I'd officially never leave my apartment for days at a time. I wouldn't even know what the weather was like.

So, I figure I've got about 10-15 good years left. If you think about it, that's not really a lot of time to read every book I want to read. At this pace, I'll be 40 before I embark on the most recent round of recommendations, including:

This Book Will Save Your Life (AM Homes)
Crime & Punishment (Somethingosky or Soemehingoskyov)
Shantaram (Gregory David Roberts)
Savage Detectives (Roberto Bolando)
Orlando (Virginia Woolf)
The Yellow Wallpaper (Charlotte Perkins Gilman)
The Night Watch (Sarah Waters)
The Broom of the System (David Foster Wallace)
Class Dismissed (Meredith Marin)
Fingersmith (Sarah Waters)
Norweigian Wood (Marukami)
Electroboy (Andy Behrman)
The Sound and the Fury (William Faulkner)

Is that everything you guys have told me to read? I think so. What if I gave a really bogus recommendation but acted like it was real? If I was like, "You guys, everyone needs to read Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants RIGHT NOW," or like, "Have you ever read Jurassic Park?" We had a convo about Jurassic Park last week actually. Raise your hand if you'd never heard of veloca-raptor-whatevs until you saw the movie/read the book, now raise your other hand if they seemed very real and you used to have nightmares about raptor attacks. Now lower your hands, and gimme a hug. That's right! Hug it out. Model through it. You WORK.

Also; still haven't finished Don Quijote.

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Welcome to "Stuff I've Been Reading." Inspired by Nick Hornby's "Believer" column by the same name, "Stuff I've Been Reading" examines the wide terrible gulf between what I'm buying, what I'm reading, and how smart I'm becoming.

BOOKS READ:
The Best American Essays of 2007 , edited by David Foster Wallace
Frantic Transmissions to and From Los Angeles, by Kate Braverman
Have You No Shame? , by Rachel Shukert
Drown, by Junot Diaz

BOOKS BOUGHT/RECEIVED:
The Savage Detectives, by Roberto Bolano
Final Cut Express 4: A Visual Quickstart Guide, by Lisa Brenneis
Have You No Shame? by Rachel Shukert

BAE '07 was given and suggested to me by someone I'm now prohibited to talk about on my blog, so I'll just say that "someone" lent me this book, "someone" took it back, and now I can't reference it or my plethora of underlined passages. What can I say, clearly if I remembered things I've read, I wouldn't feel the need to cart 200 books with me every time I move. I recall! The introduction was golden. David F-W is a superior introduction writer.

First off; The Dog Whisperer. I'm not a fan of animals, but Malcom Gladwell's essay about the Dog Whisperer was pretty engaging ("What the Dog Saw")-- this master-of-movement stuff. How do I get him to come fix Caitlin's dog? It's his birthday today and he bites people. Do we have to move to L.A. to get the Dog Whisperer's help? Anyone know the Dog Whisperer? Tell me.

Due to my "must read everything in an anthology" rule, I was subjected to several unpleasant experiences in this anthology. All BAEs and Best American Non-Required Readings have the same problem; by the time the book hits the shelves, I already know that the U.S. uses torture unethically and that we shouldn't be at war with Iraq. I'm totally over reading anything else on either of these topics, unless the headline is "We Are Getting out of Iraq today." It's just depressing, and old news. Yet I soldiered on. (Get it? "Soldiered on?")

I was reading this book during some of April's cruelest days, and so my attention was erratic. There's entire essays I don't remember reading, though I know I did. I remember most acutely: a study of stage fright called "Petrified" (John Lahr), "Afternoon of the Sex Children" (Mark Greif) from n+1 and "Shakers" by Daniel Orozco, which was about something I don't remember, it was well-written though. Oh yes! Earthquakes. I think. Sigh.

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I read Frantic Transmissions to and from Los Angeles on my way to and from Los Angeles way back in April, which's poetic, yes? The subtitle, "An Accidential Memoir," drew me to it, as did Kate Braverman's oft anthologized short story "Tall Tales from the Meekong Delta." The book was like a long prose-poem about ice cream and streets that got dirty and women growing up and out and the history of a place that seemed all veneer the first time I went there. I like urban history; until I feel that a city has roots in something, it's easy for me to feel it's just all gloss. It probs subtly affected my impression of the city this time around.

Although I didn't think I would -- I really loved this part: Interview with Marilyn Monroe. If you've ever been intrigued by the dichotomy of image and reality, you'd enjoy it too.

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At a nerve.com party in December of '05 (which I barely remember, except for the part where, inspired by the sexual avant garde spirit of the party's host publication, I left with a boy I'd just met 'cause he looked good on paper (Ivy League alum, an artist, rent-controlled West Village apartment, friends w/a nerve editor) and good enough in person, at least that night), I met Rachel Shukert. I was thrilled, 'cause I loved her essays muchly.

In a state of disorderly drunken-ness, the following exchange occurred:

Me: "I really love your work."
Rachel: "Thanks!"
Me: "No, I mean, I REALLY love it, you're one of my top ten heroes. You know what I really liked, that essay where you said, [I go on to misquote a section from this essay about how the author's pissed and confused that her boyfriend's not okay about her kissing other girls]."
Rachel; "That wasn't me. I didn't write that essay."
Me: "Yes, it was, I'm sure it was."
Rachel: "No, it wasn't, I'm sure it wasn't."
Me: "It was you."
Rachel [laughing, backing away]: "No, it wasn't me."
Me: "Are you SURE?"
Rachel: "Yes, I'm sure, I didn't write that."
Me [turning away, muttering]: "I think you did."

Humans generally make those mistakes when they don't recognize their conversation partner; but I did know Rachel's work. Her personal essays reminded me of -- well, mine! -- and I'd wanted to make a real connection to express my genuine love. However, like most situations in which I attempt to communicate love, I screwed up big-time.

In retrospect ... I know why I thought she'd written that essay -- she hadn't. It's cause at the time, Rachel's bio photo on nerve (which's changed now, to something more professional and new-book-writer-worthy) and Carrie Hill Wilner's (the actual author of this essay) both featured girls with long brown hair who looked kinda drunk and maybe Jewish. I have this weird photographic "memory" that lumps images together thematically and confuses me. Howevs, it's possible I'm wrong about this too (their previous author photos), my memory clearly isn't stellar, that's why I keep such fastidious records.

I loved reading Shukert's recent excerpt from the book -- "The Anorexic's Cookbook" -- on nerve and so did Haviland ... and so I bought the book. I ate it real fast. It was fun and light and funny but also sad sometimes and poignant and you should read it. In fact, I'd recommend it for the apparently imperative "beach reads" list so many people are making these days. It got me through a one-hour wait for a prescription at CVS and also affirmed many of my opinions about my overall unemployability. I quoted a large section about temping to Natalie, and even LOL'ed a few times.

Shukert deftly mines a (relatively) unremarkable life for gems of comedy and tragedy -- moments of explosive tenderness and LOLity -- displaying brightly how entirely possible it is to write a solid book without making shit up about being in a cult a gang or spending time in jail after a dangerous bout of drug addiction. Her parents actually seem kinda nice. So, James Frey and all ye like him -- write this down: you don't need to sensationalize. Have you no shame?

RKB's recently done an interview w/Shukert: watch it here and here.

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Junot Diaz - "Drown." Beautiful. "The Brief and Wonderous Life of Oscar Wao" won every award possible this year, "Drown" was shorter, so I picked it up. I've enjoyed Diaz's stories in The New Yorker on more than one occasion, even though I thought I was maxed out on Latino-American lit after taking an entire course on it and o.d.'ing on Cisernos in high school. Clearly I prefer reading novels and stories about suburban housewives with dark secrets or young girls in big cities with lots of opinions and sexual deviance. To really expand my horizons.

In fact, Drown's compact size means I've carried this book all over the country, but hadn't started it 'til (obvs) recently, 'cause I thought: 'it is time.' There were a lot of characters named "Papi," which's always good. His sense of place is thorough and vibrant, his sentences precise and perfect. If you haven't read his work, then you are stupid and should be drowned in the local swimming pool. It will be a hate crime, but you will deserve it. Read!

I just heard a gigantic explosion, what happened? Maybe it's Al Queda.

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Thoughts on my Inability to Read as Much as I Should:

I keep thinking I must be missing something on this list; surely that's not the sum of my accomplishments? It is. It certainly is. When left to my own devices, I'm sometimes not such a good reader, and I don't really know what to do about that. I mean -- I feel extra-motivated to start a book when someone near & dear to me forces it upon me, but when people who are far-away & dear, or near & not-incredibly-dear force books upon me, I take my sweet time. Unfortunately that time is running out, so omg, what am I gonna do, someone hit me over the head with a book right now.

I feel guilty as I believe it's my personal life mission to revive the art of reading, which's dying. How do Bookslut and RKB and Sam Anderson find time to read all the books they write about? [Someone] told me that speed-reading is about recognizing words as symbols rather than a series of letters. I've been trying to do that but then I realize I've just "read" four pages and don't remember a thing.

A few other ideas:

Situations that force me to read faster/at all:
-Reading contests (e.g., Tipping the Velvet contest w/Alex)
-Someone I'm trying to impress asks me to read something specific
-A new book by one of my favorite authors
-Beach vacations
-Airplanes
-The subway/train
-Desperate for writing inspiration, facing "the block"
-Waiting rooms
-School
-Eating a lot in the kitchen instead of in my room, usually a result of critter-related paranoia, requiring a book as I must be entertained at all times.
-Stability w/employment and overall position in life, subsequently enabling relaxation and concentration
-I claim to have read something I have in fact read, but it was a long time ago, and so if I'm gonna keep up with this new present-tense conversation, I'll need to play catch-up fast
-A book totally grabbing me -- or a new writer totally grabbing me

Situations that make me not read something I've been told to read:
-A suggestion being contradicted by a counter-suggestion --
Caitlin: "Don't read This Book Will Save Your Life, it's not that good, but if you want to read it, I own it."
Adam: "I would only read The Savage Detectives if you're willing to give a couple of days/a week to it and just do it all in one big rush. The form is just too confusing/convoluted otherwise. I mean...he pulls it off...he really does have a cast of like 25 characters all of whom have distinct voices and can narrate and contribute...but gah... also, I'll prepare you now, after 150 pages of making you like your rather unlikable friend and narrator he's going to take him away and not give him back for another 300 pages."
Haviland: "I could never really get into Night Watch, I don't think I finished it."

Auto-Win Book Club?

Perhaps I should start an Auto-win Book Club to force everyone to read a book with me, like we're all having reading contest. I know fo'sho that Caitlin and Alex would participate, but that's sort of a My Friends Book Club. The thing is it'd have to be a new book so that no one would've already read it, but it'd also have to be a paperback 'cause I'm not going to make y'all go get hardcovers. Perhaps we'd have to choose a new book in trade paperback. I'll think about this and amend this section. Then if you wanna buy it, you'll click through from here and for every book you buy, I'll make .005% of a cent, and when I save up enough I'll buy a dolphin and we can all go swimming.

Suggestions? FYI; no chick lit, nothing about people dressed in period costumes, no Native Americans or really any stories involving native peoples/tribes especially if it's about the clash of the white man and the natives, no pre-electricity lit, no "Bright Shiny Mornings" of any kind, no spiritual quests in Southeast Asia, nothing by a guy who beat up his wife, no memoirs by television actors and nothing over 500 pages. I'll probs be amending this list too.

Also I have another question; is it strange that while you have a visitor from out of town, it's rude to just sit and read in front of them, but it's okay to watch television together? I understand why this is, but I don't like it.

Sunday Top Ten: Entries From a Smokin' Hot Pink Notebook

When I was a little girl in Dork Middle School, anybody who was anybody (which was almost everybody, 'cause there were only 16 girls in my graduating class) read Lurlene McDaniel novels ravenously -- stories which confirmed our suspicions that the world was a cruel, cruel place. Also, anybody who was anybody was allowed to go to the mall alone w/o parental supervision, except me, 'cause my mother was a fascist dictator who didn't want me to have fun or be happy. (JK Mom! Love you! Loved going to the mall with you too!) (Wouldn't it be fun if instead of Mother's Day being "Celebrate Mom" day, it was an April Fool's Day combo? The fam pools collective wisdom to play a big trick on Mom? Like in Home Alone, when Kevin sets booby traps for the thieves? Mom'll get up expecting breakfast in bed and then be like wtf are there micro-machines on the floor, um, hello blowtorch, KEVIN!") Anyhow. What was I talking? Oh yes. Literature.

Since leaving my Dork School peer group for greener pastures, I've not met another fan of McDaniel's cannon of Dying Children Lit -- until last weekend when I met my friend's sister who was also a big fan, which is AMAZING, and we bonded over it.

Also, I just started reading Rachel Shukert's Have You No Shame, in which the author's mother uncovers her daughter's collection of Holocaust Lit and replaces the books with Babysitters Club and Sweet Valley High, delaring that: "I'd rather have you shallow and sexually precocious than morbidly psychotic."

So I started thinking about all the morbidly psychotic books I read as a kid. I wasn't allowed to read Christopher Pike or R.L Stine like everyone else (see: mother's general desire for me to be ostracized from peers), but I feel like the shit I was allowed to read was probs way worse for my little baby mind than those authors' straightforward & blatant horror/violence.

Which brings us to an actual Sunday Top Ten. For the first time since um ... oh, I don't know.

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SUNDAY TOP TEN: SEEMINGLY INNOCUOUS YOUNG ADULT BOOKS THAT PLEASED MY TWISTED LITTLE SOUL, AND WHY
or "Things that affected me more than going to the mall w/o a parent would've."

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10. Cynthia Voigt's "Tillerman" Series: Homecoming, Dicey's Song, et al., also The Boxcar Children
Amped up my desire to be an orphan forced to live by my wits,
as well as my certainty that I'd be better off alone like the pop song "Better Off Alone,"
therefore increasing my implicitly unfair & ungrateful resentment towards my family for feeding, clothing and loving me,
inspiring me to write my own bad novels about runaways.

In Homecoming, 13-year old Dicey Tillerman and her three younger siblings experience the literal opposite of my life situation -- they're actually abandoned at the shopping mall by their mother, who subsequently lands herself in a psychiatric hospital. Meanwhile, I was being followed around the mall by my psychiatric mother (ten steps behind, providing both protection and distance), therefore preventing me from Having Adventures like Hunger, Misery, Orphanhood, Eccentric Aunts on Dilapidated Farms and Evil Catholics. Reading the plot summary of Homecoming, I realize it's possible I stole it for my epic novel Fly by Night, in which young pyromaniac Erin leaves her abusive home w/precocious brother Tommie, eventually meeting a guy named "Fly," who looks a lot like Jordan Catalano. 'Cause Erin can't stop burning things down & 'cause their number-one income source is carrying groceries to cars (in real life, I suspect this is not the growth sector Voigt's novels implied), they're forced into homelessness and then communal living with Fly and his super-fly buddies. There's a happy ending, I won't spoil it!

Also, how dykey does Dicey look on that book cover? Yow.

As I mentioned in the "Family Film Edition" of "What I Learned from the Teevee," I was a big fan of Orphan Lit and wanted to live in a Boxcar, eat hobo stew and scavenge for loaves of bread, etc. Unfortunately, I was never orphaned, though I enjoyed building forts and pretending to run away from home. Honestly, my coping mechanisms haven't really changed much since then.

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9. The Face on the Milk Carton, by Caroline B. Cooney

Among other imaginary acts of heroism, I often hoped to find a classmate or friend on a milk carton and save the day, like in America's Most Wanted which I wasn't allowed to watch. Once a lax babysitter let us watch the show (she was fired, clearly) -- this guy killed his wife and hid her in an egg incubator behind his trailer, I still have nightmares about it. Also I believe this book fueled my fear of being kidnapped, and a ridiculous obsession with cults. Later, this became a TV movie staring the foxy Kellie Martin.

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8. The Clockwork Orange, by Anthony Burgess

I know what you're thinking -- "The Clockwork Orange" is not a young adult novel. This is true. Howevs, my father felt I was very mature, and 'cause he wanted me to become a great filmmaker like Stanley Kubrick, he made me read this book (we had a serious book-before-the-movie policy) when I was 13. Though most grown-up lit was off limits (e.g., Stephen King, other crap), I was permitted both this and Lolita. This is the essence of hippie intellectual spirit. I was like "Dad, what's 'the ol' in-out-in-out'"? Which was a very special moment for everyone and eliminated any perceived need for a "birds and the bees" convo.

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7. Face at the Edge of the World, by Eve Bunting
Romanticisation of Suicide, Additional Reasons to Fuck it All

I'm not sure if this is the right book, 'cause I probs read more than my fair share of suicide-related narratives. But I think this is the one where the protagonist spends the whole book trying to figure out why his successful and talented BFF suddenly offed himself, eventually (SPOILER ALERT!) determining that perhaps he simply wanted to "quit while he was ahead." So basically all bets are off, re: offing oneself, not good news for me as I believe I was diagnosed with clinical chronic depression at the age of 5. Logistically, it would've been impossible to do myself in since I was so well supervised, especially at the mall.

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6. Eating Disorder Lit, including:
Second Star to the Right, Stick Figure, and Little Girls in Pretty Boxes

As I've noted previously, I was the scrawniest little kid you ever did see. Howevs: my Mom was a nutritionist who helped people diet, I wanted desperately to gain weight, I was a first worldian adolescent in the 80's/90's surrounded by body image obsessed girls. Therefore, I was totally fascinated by everyone else's fascination with thigh girth. As a chronically pre-pubescent teen, I looked to literature to psych me into understanding wtf the deal was ... later, I employed this background when counseling the reedonkulous number of severely anorexic and/or bulimic friends I acquired over the years. I think it's 'cause subconsciously, ED'ed peeps are drawn to me, thinking "what is her secret of svelte-hood?" and then eventually they learn that I hate myself too, it's just more annoying coming from me, 'cause I'm not actually fat, just completely insane, and have read too many books about eating disorders (late-adds include Appetites, The Body Project and Wasted) and also; the media, etc. Calvin Klien fashion magazines hoo-ha. Kazaam.

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Teacher: How would you describe Anne Frank?
Angela [distracted]: Lucky.
Teacher: "Anne Frank perished in a concentration camp. Anne Frank is a tragic figure. How could Anne Frank be lucky?"
[Jordan Catalano walks in, late]
Angela: "I don't know... Because she was trapped in an attic for three years with this guy she really liked?"
(My So-Called Life)

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5. Judy Blume Novels

As I've mentioned 500 times, I'm essentially a human sponge, willing to take orders and absorb desire from whomever's speaking the loudest. Through Judy Blume, I verified that I was, indeed, justified to angst over my bust which wasn't increasing though I thought it must, it must, and that the best way to bond with other girls was via boy-related discussions. I've since learned otherwise, but I still love Judy. The girls in Blume novels are relentlessly catty and tell me srsly if you can't imagine this on the back of a porn DVD: "Rachel is Stephanie's best friend. Since second grade they've shared secrets, good and bad. So when Alison moves into the neighborhood, Stephanie hopes all three of them can be best friends since Stephanie really likes Alison. But it looks as if it's going to be a case of two's company and three's a crowd." Anyone? "In bed"? I know I was reading Lolita at 12, but c'mon now ...

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4. The Quiet Room, by Lori Schiller and Amanda Bennet

I'm 99.9% sure schizophrenia is one disorder I defo don't have, but I seriously used to hear voices sometimes as a kid (probs it was G-d, before She lost faith in me altogether), and reading this book really freaked me out -- clearly I had enough neurosis w/o worrying that one day the voices would stop arguing with each other about my self-worth and instead command me to kill someone. Luckily they went away ... now the only voice I hear is Tegan in my iPod. Who's going on MONDAY!?! TO TEGAN & SARA?!!!

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3. Entries From a Hot Pink Notebook, by Todd D. Brown
Felt I related to the protagonist's psyche deeply,
began early fascination with gay male culture,
subsequently realizing literally as I write this that perhaps I identified with the narrator's feelings of alienation and outsiderdom for other reasons,
e.g., personal gayness.

So, it featured my fave plot device, the gay reveal and subsequent gay crush gay reveal (y'know, the "OMG, my BFF I'm in love with is kissing ME BACK!" thing) and it's actually a really good book, though I realize the title suggests otherwise. Sometimes it hurts: the titles given to brill books. It's much easier to recommend a book called "The Sound and the Fury" than "Entries from a Hot Pink Notebook." I read this approximately around the same time I was writing in my own diary: "my greatest fear is that I'll turn out to be a lesbian. Yuck." Also, gay men were sorta "in" in the mid-nineties amongst liberals -- Rickie Vasquez, etc.

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2. Lurlene McDaniel books

According to Lurlene McDaniel's website, "everyone loves a good cry," which's why McD's written 40+ books about "kids who face life-threatening illnesses, who sometimes do not survive." Sample titles include: She Died Too Young, Sixteen and Dying, Please Don't Let Him Die, The Girl Death Left Behind, Letting Go Of Lisa, When Happily Ever After Ends, Goodbye Doesn't Mean Forever, etc. The best was when two kids with different illnesses fell in love (e.g., cystic fibrosis + leukemia = true love) or when everyone would get into a car accident right before they were supposed to go to college on scholarship (w/bright futures, obvs) except for one girl who'd be left behind to angst. In a rare appearance by an African-American character, McD brought us Baby Alicia is Dying, in which a teenage girl grows attached to the HIV-positive black baby abandoned by her crack is whack mother, probs in Planet Harlem.

Basically, Lurlene McDaniel peddles the most demented books of all time, and I somehow ate them up. We all did. I imitated them, too, with similar plots in novels I wrote (for fun?). I guess we all felt strange and sad all the time for no reason, our little Dork School, filled with kids who suspected that, given the chance, public school would eat us alive and stuff us into lockers, and also: that perhaps we weren't fooling anyone (least of all ourselves) by avoiding the resolute knowledge that our problems weren't really problems, actually. We read the newspaper. We had politically aware parents. We didn't know jackshit, hadn't lived through anything worth crying over. Faces on Spilled Milk Cartons.

I coped w/my sense of alienation as a kid by reading, constantly, both intelligent books not mentioned here and the lame stuff I'm talking about here ... or by trying to be like everyone else as best I could though I felt hopelessly different. I'd been sad all the time for no reason as long as I can remember ... while driving w/my Mom from one place I was running from to another place, I mentioned wanting to get back to some childhood place where I'd been happy and she said I'd actually never been. "Intense," was her word. I guess I knew that already, I just wanted her to disagree, or blow it off. 'Cause I mean, seriously. I don't mention Elizabeth Wurtzel all the time for no reason, I'm legitimately afraid of her & her entitled torture, her ... whining.

I had an association and fascination with terrible & morbid circumstances and latched onto the littlest things to excuse my moodiness -- these books tapped into the part of me that wanted a reason for it. I wanted to be told, again and again, that tragedy waited around the corner. I'm certain there must've been wood nearby worth knocking on, if I'd known enough to do so. Clearly; I knew nothing.

*
"I know sad stories aren't for every reader, but it's the kind of story that most of my readers like from me. When I write "happy" books, many readers complain. So I focus on what I do best---stories that might bring a tear, but that focus on real life (where happily ever after rarely occurs). And while the books may not have "happy" endings, I try to give readers a satisfying ending---life is full of trouble and matters out of our control. How we deal with troubles determines our own character."
(Words of Wisdom from Lurlene McDaniel, clearly a Sick Puppy)

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1. Sweet Valley High

I actually was prohibited from reading these books an account of their apparent vapidity, etc., But I finally sneaked one home, probs using crafty techniques learned from another YA novel. Just my luck: I got the book where Elizabeth gets kidnapped. Not good. This verified, to me, that my Mom was Right about these books being Bad; which's why Mothers have special powers that cannot be questioned. Like how the first time I drank alcohol, I threw up all night, which's exactly what she'd told me would happen. Actually, that still happens. Yet I continue drinking. Hm.

Howevs, I'd like to once again point out that nothing scary ever happened to me at the mall, except for this:

On that note of "things I did 'cause everyone else was doing it," if anyone's got a bridge in Brooklyn they'd like to sell me ...