and the heart says write a fucking post in autowin, like now!

I've spent most of the weekend reading. Not books or anything important like that really. Well, I did read an essay from Zadie Smith's book Changing my Mind called "The New Direction of the Novel" and I did re-read Emily Gould's And the Heart Says Whatever; or at least my favorite pieces of it.

It comes out May 4th but she sent me a galley in January (I think) so I ate it in January. Since the first reading I have been reading bits and pieces of it again, here and there. And I did another formal re-read about two weeks ago to prepare to write about it.

I spend a lot of time preparing to write about things, but then I never have time to do said things until the last minute, because every minute is the last minute for something else! I'm not sure if there's a way to describe in words how fucking busy I am, and how much shit I could/should be doing at all times, and how I have invented a totally rewarding but also completely logistically impossible life for myself, which is strange, how it just happened and all of a sudden here I am in my life, where all the minutes fly away from me like blackbirds. Like bye bye birdie, It's exactly like Bye Bye Fucking Birdie!

It's difficult to figure out exactly what to write about And the Heart Says Whatever on my cutting-edge relatively-literary-minded immensely popular website Autostraddle.com because my number one feeling about the book is "omg me too" which I think, given the nature of the book and the inevitably bitter criticism it's going to get (Emily Gould makes people violent or whatever) (she's a lady, writes about herself without apologizing for writing about herself, is pretty etc) (yeah i don't know either) is redundant and maybe irrelevant. But it's also the most relevant thing I ever could say about the book, particularly because if you're the kind of person that might be interested in reading about all the ways my life has been similar to Emily's or my feelings have been like Emily's feelings, then you're definitely the kind of person that will like the book, and should get it.

So I decided to work on two pieces about it; a relatively straightforward review for Autostraddle (which'll be, clearly, so "autostraddley" that it's actually unlikely to be straightforward at all), and the same for this blog but with more of the incoherent rambling that I've convinced myself you all must enjoy if you're still reading this space after all this time.

I was also writing something else for this blog, totally unrelated, which I'm confident I'll finish on some yet-to-be-seen night in the future when I magically have free time. I actually haven't had free time since... I dunno. It's hard to remember what life was like before this. Well, it's not. It's just hard to figure out how to let my life evolve, rather than frantically darting about like my life is clay comets I must catch and mold consciously, each one further away from the last.

I've been really fucking busy. Like really fucking busy you guys. This thing that I do? This thing that I do is fucking hard. I wouldn't recommend it to anyone, it will eat you alive! I have been eaten alive. I am currently running Autostraddle from the inside of its stomach. It's funny that people don't realize that I write most of the website myself. I'm trying to stop doing that. There's been a lot of general behind-the-scenes stress as well lately, which is exhausting and in my opinion really unnecessary.

In any event, I'm very proud of us. Of our amazing team.

Alex too. Is everyone proud of Alex? Let's all be proud of Alex. Due to her amazing infographics, she's going to be on a panel at BlogHer as an EXPERT on how to use visuals to make blogs interesting or something.

Don't worry Emily Choo, I love you most of all (I link to that quote b/c that's how I imagine saying it out loud, not b/c the situation or emotions are similar, so really I should link to a video clip, but who has the time).

I'm also really proud of me and everyone who I work with and talk to every day and everyone who's still involved with the project and still giving as much if not more energy to it now. I'm proud of our consistent quality, our community, our growth rate, the important things we talk about and how we refuse to play stupid SEO games, as The Awl said they attempt to do when reflecting on the spirit they were founded in. I'm trying to own my feelings like Sady Fucking Doyle right now btw, is it working? I'M PROUD OF MYSELF AND ALSO OF YOU. please donate $$.

[Also, if you haven't started watching Julie & Brandy in Your Box Office, which is the show that I'm editing for Autostraddle, starring Julie Goldman and Brandy Howard, then you really should because I'm proud of that too. I KNOW IT'S VIDEO AND YOU'RE SO FUCKING LITERARY. Try it! Also we're doing this Queer Feminist Roundtable thing this week, maybe you will like that too.]

I'm still scared & sad a lot of the time, when I'm alone, because I think that humans are generally supposed to become more financially stable as they get older, but I was much better off at 18 than I am at 28 (so much debt you guys! so much debt! and no income!), and, and basically things have gotten progressively worse since about 2004, with the exception of the first few months of 2007 before my life fell apart and started getting worse again. Then as soon as I had money I gave it away anyhow, so there you go.

This weekend a lot of my surprisingly popular tumblr followers have probs wondered where are the photos of Kristen Stewart, what's with all this fucking text. Because of all this online reading that I've been doing that I mentioned in the beginning of the blog post. So I quoted some things.

I think I've been reading a lot this weekend b/c I've been thinking (because of Emily's book) a lot about writing on the internet and discourse around cyberculture, the future of publishing et al. Also I've been sort of trying to like, change some things about how I live my life, or something, and I think I needed time for reflection. I was hoping this "reflection" time I imagined having this weekend because I can't afford to leave my apartment would be "writing time," but instead it has been reading time. Reading BLOGS, honestly, mostly, when I haven't been doing Autostraddle work. Which I felt guilty about (whaaat?) and therefore wrote/am writing this post, to feel better.

These are some things I read this afternoon that I liked, in addition to The Economist's special section about the future of television and online television, which is not available online, dangit:

• Metacriticism; or, olds vs. youngs by matt langer
• [BONERS], For Fun and Profit: The Extent To Which You Don’t Care About [BONERS], Revealed!, by Sady Doyle.
• That post partially inspired this post at Shapely Prose, called I'm Kate Fucking Harding. I'd already read Sady Doyle's piece when I came upon Kate Fucking Harding's piece, which made me feel very prepared for class when I was lead to Kate Harding's piece by the very excellent blog Heather & Rachel Have Feelings. Rachel was an Autostraddle Intern but now she's an "editorial assistant" and basically we are attempting to promote her as high in the ranks of Autostraddle's Unpaid Leadership Club as she can go without not liking me anymore, so we'll see how that works out for everyone/her.
• The Intellectual Situation at n+1. This one is especially long, but you must read it. Even if you aren't into the story parts, the parts of analysis/essay/WHATEVER are important; "Addled" and "The Internet as Social Medium" etc.
• Alienated Confusions: The Black Girl's Mainfesto: The Basic Rights of Femininity
  
• I read other stuff too but now my time is up and I have to go!
  

Is that okay? Are you still here? Are we still in love? I'm still broken on the inside, but you'll have to keep that between you and me for now, because I have to act "as if" right now. Just right now though. You know one day I'll tell you everything, right? I never did, really, because I couldn't. There are only two or three things I know for sure and that is one of those things; one day.

Autofun 5.6 - But This is How the Revolution Begins

Wow, so. Life! Geez! What a trip! I mean it! Every minute is so much! Well, in any event, I wanted to touch base. I used to hate that phrase and I told my Mom she wasn't allowed to use it. I also hated it when she referred to my female friends as my "girlfriends." In retrospect, tht may've been partially due to my secret yearnings to make these ladies into my girlfriends, but actually no, it wasn't, though that would've made me unnaturally clever for my age.


Quote:

"But this is how the revolution begins: a few of us start chasing our dreams, breaking our old patterns, embracing what we love (and in the process discovering what we hate), daydreaming, questioning, acting outside the boundaries of routine and regularity. Others see us doing this, see people daring to be more creative and more adventurous, more generous and more ambitious than they had imagined possible, and join us one by one. Once enough people embrace this new way of living, a point of critical mass is finally reached, and society itself begins to change. From that moment, the world will start to undergo a transformation: from the frightening, alien place that it is, into a place ripe with possibility, where our lives are in our own hands and any dream can come true." (crime-think ex-workers collective: "there is a difference between life and survival. ")

---

Links:
+ What a bizarrely interesting question: I'm a Harvard Grad who can't hold a fast food job (and that's not all). The intriguing answer includes the following: "When I set out in my 20s I understood very little but I understood this much: Any educated white person in America is privileged, and no one is going to allow us to starve. We can't even starve if we want to. People keep inviting us to dinner to talk about Robert Lowell." (@salon)

+ I think I'm gonna do a Top Ten on this topic very soon: At The Morning News, "Devotees of periodicals refuse to give up on their first love. Our READERS AND WRITERS extol their favorite ink-based publications."

+ I have SO MANY FEELINGS about this article: Creative Minds - The Links Between Mental Illness and Creativity (it also goes into comedians w/r/t depression). One of them is "Am I crazy?" and another one is "Were they NOT crazy?" and another one is "reading this makes me feel like everyone and everything is crazy" and another one is "Tinkerbell, eat your pudding."

"It can be difficult for people to reconcile mental illness with the idea that traits may not be disabling. While people accept that there are health benefits to anxiety, they are more wary of schizophrenia and manic depression. There is now a feeling that these traits have survived because they have some adaptive value. To be mildly manic depressive or mildly schizophrenic brings a flexibility of thought, an openness, and risk-taking behaviour, which does have some adaptive value in creativity. The price paid for having those traits is that some will have mental illness."

+ Emily Gould reminds me of me a lot, and so this is from a few weeks ago, I guess that's how long I've been waiting to share it with you: Spring Rude Awakening (@emily magazine)

+ Me & Green read some YA Lesbian Novels and talked about them on Autostraddle you should read it it's really good, we're gonna read more and talk about more too

+ The Future Is Wow (@good)

+ The Glory Days of Online Sex : "I went to chat rooms looking for sex, which is what everyone seemed to be looking for. And the anonymous nature of chat rooms allowed people to completely blow off any pretense of reality. Why tell people you’re 40 when you can tell them you’re 38?" (@the blowfish blog)

+ I put in a request with John Moon at Achtung Baby! to do Night Truths by Stephen Dunn and he did it (@achtung baby)

+ Lady Gaga's Looks: A Retrospective (@missbehave)

+ Why are we always the ones having conspiracies and agendas ? Are we too evil for straightforward smear campaigns, like the one the world consistently wages upon us?

+ It's Get Me Off This Rock Week at Gizmodo! "So get ready for the present and the future of space trips, the design and the function, the science and the fiction, the technology genius and the courage, the quest for intergalactic neighbours, and all the spectacular views ..."

+ Our moral judgement: not so good after all. We all have stumbling blocks on the road to self-righteousness. (@nytimes)

+ Ten Porn Stars gone legit .(@nymag)

---

----

Pirates vs. Ninjas: An Insomnia Poem
-dedicated to team autostraddle interns, who are all autowinners-

our minds buzz like bees minds
is a line from a poem by jim harrison
that i can't get out of my head
this is why i can't get into bed
my shoulder's lead

it's dreams vs. dreams, no game
my dog is silent and it's a shame
i'd wanted to bring her
fame

the first time i wrote an insomnia poem
it was about candy
i wanted it to be really bad
and make my puppy very sad
and inspire my mom to wrap some food using glad.
(that's a brand of saran wrap
wrap it up, rap it out.)

we come demanding
cultural clout

I have a million unmarked dreams in a briefcase
I'll meet you on the corner, bring the girl and

if the internet was someone's boyfriend
i feel like sometimes he'd be a pretty shitty boyfriend

I was trying to remember the first time I said it
and if I meant it,
about changing the world
and i remembered that i did

And I Am Telling You, I'm Not Goin'

I'm writing a really terrible Top Ten! Hi internet! What are you wearing! It looks RAVISHING!

Here's the thing: it's hard to maintain a personal blog for a long time. One reaches a juncture when one must either pop out a fried chicken baby or eight (therefore providing lots of baby stories, nap/diaper opinions etc.), stop blogging, or stop writing about themselves and start writing about sports, or shoes or something.

I feel a lot of anxiety that I haven't updated in many days, maybe 'cause I'm all about the follow through? But at the same time, I'm so just really truly happy about this new project and I've been waking up feeling more energized about my work and excited for the day's unraveling than I've been in as long as I can remember, perhaps since some really engaging classes I've taken in college and high school.

This comes at a time when I recently had a final straw of sorts with a girl I considered -- and said as much, to her -- my sister. She was a big cheerleader for me. Even if it wasn't true, it helped me and it felt real and empowering. I mean don't forget: when a madwoman shouted nonsencial insults to me, it too felt real and still feels real. I haven't forgotten a word of it. Whether any of those conversations were real -- the good ones I had with (uh huh) her, or the bad ones I had with another Her -- their emotional impact was cavernous as sky. Of course I'm lucky to have plenty of amazing friends in my life who've always been there and I know always will be -- Haviland, Natalie, everyone on Team Autostraddle and more ... but that doesn't seem to lessen my sense of what's missing.

I've sort of hinted at this in my last few posts, and it feels tacky to say it all outright, or even to go into any more detail than that, but it's left this strange hole inside me. But I think I have most of my feelings in this weird gray matter that doesn't have its own noun yet because that space is like the "opposite of "noun," it's "adjectives waiting for a noun and they will never find it but that's FINE." So it's just always a bit harder to navigate in the fog.

I don't know why I feel I need to apologize for taking five days off when only two or three people have expressed anything remotely similar to demanding an apology. Because I don't know how the new facebook works I'm not sure if Lozo has registered a complaint quite yet. So I ramble. Typetypetype.

When I said two weeks ago that I'd be back to a regular schedule here within a week, I was totally wrong -- if anything, every day has contained more and more things to do -- good things! - but things.


So what I'm saying is that I've been doing this long enough that I hope -- despite my complete weirdo-hood -- that you know I'm not going anywhere.

If anything I hope that going forward my posts here will be better than before. They will be more necessary.

Writing on the internet is fucking scary because I have about a bajillion words in the archive of this blog that probs haven't been combed over in months. I write something new and the old fades away, and that can be disheartening, and the temporary nature of it makes it easy to get away with sucking sometimes.

And I'm in that same spot I was in this time last year where I felt like I'd already said all the stuff about myself I was willing to say and every Top Ten I started to write required 40 searches of the archives to be sure I hadn't already said it. That's followed by an hour of self-doubt -- "Who am I kidding? Who would even remember what I said in June 2007?"

[That being said, when I don't update for a week, check out the ARCHIVES!]

I don't want to say something just to say something, I want to say something because I have something to say.

So if you've been here for a while you know that I never run out of things to say, and I haven't. I just need a bit more time to figure out how to say them, or for it to come to me in the night.

And I do hope to be back up to reasonable speed (aside from autofun, I haven't really been doing more than one or two full blog posts a week for a long long time now) once Autostraddle is established enough that I can stop freaking out about the financial risk I'm taking (and I wouldn't even be where I am with it were it not for the generosity of readers like you) and when things are running more like those well-oiled machines I hear of so often. I comfort myself, as I so often do, thinking of how Emily Gould doesn't post as much as she did before she became Emily Gould, but when she does, I think it's worth it.

autophobia is "the fear of being alone." fun! today is 8-5-08

[sarah wilmner]
you should check out her website for real, it's kinda magical work she does

---

quote: "Perhaps her mother had never shown Abby affection, not really, but she had given her a knack for solitude, with its terrible lurches outward, and its smooth glide back to peace. Abby would toast her for that. It was really the world that was one's brutal mother, the one that nursed and neglected you, and your own mother was your only sibling in that world." [from ""Which is More I Can Say About Some People." by Lorrie Moore]

---

links:
1. FLIRT! is up! I made it! Watch it now! Starring Haviland of course, and featuring Daphne Rubin-Vega, Andrew Keenan-Bolger, Rosie and Kelli O'Donnell, Anne Van Cleave, Andrea McArdle, Lillias White, Christine Ebersole, Seth Rudetsky, Tressa and many more! (@broadway world)
2. Clara. By Roberto Bolaño. Please read. It's short, I promise. (@the new yorker)
3. The Battery's Down! w/Havi-land and smokin' hot Cortney!: Episode 6: Ro, Ro Ro Your Boat (@battery's down)
4. 35 Beautiful Music Album Covers (p.s. I heart that pixies album, and the michael jackson brings me back to the 90's) (@smashing magazine)
5. Sam Anderson! How James Wood's 'How Fiction Works' Works: and why it sometimes doesn't. (@ny magazine)
6. 50 Sexiest Music Videos of all Time (highlights include Rilo Kiley,and the video for God-des & She's "Lick It" which's actually awesome and redeems its inclusion in The L Word. (@nerve.com)
7. I am really really confused about this: Irvine Welsh calls 'A Bright Shiny Morning' "an uncompromising affirmation of our humanity."? (@the guardian uk books)
8. In art and politics, 'elitism' gets unfair rap.: "Elitism" also is being sullied in the political arena, where Democratic candidate Barack Obama has been accused of thinking he's smarter than the average guy. To me, this is an astonishing attack strategy. Do we not want the president of the country to be smart? (@the review journal)
9. American Film is Obsessed with Teens but Try as one might to carefully slot teenagers, and adolescence, into designated cubbyholes, some part of the whole is too messy, too real, to fit. (@boston globe)
10. Thank you, finally, someone for agreeing with me: Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog: In Online Musical Serial, the Mad Doctor Is In (@ny times)

---

insomnia poetry #7

open letter to our parents:
we know you meant well &
wanted all best things for us
but wtf re: college?
no, not the college itself, not the learning?
but the certificate at the end, the receipt.
meet, greet, we've got the whole world under our fat feet
it's like clay, like a curtain.
I've got so much paper I should burn 'em.
I just want to be a hiro, kick past august three - zero

I'm starting a 'zine called "the yellow wallpaper."
I've always wanted to use the word "xerox" in a poem.
The word xerox / is in a poem.

Just so you know I think Haviland reported the earthquake first
to me on bbm. not that other girl on twitter.
She said something about it
I was saying something else
like a ship and an earthquake,
passing in a storm.
If you were xeroxing the earthquake
it would be smaller and darker, with little dots
are those people, or rocks?

---

So I was thinking earlier about Julia Allison. If you're not familiar with J.A., check out this month's WIRED cover story "How to Get Internet Famous (Even if You're Nobody)" on Julia Allison. I get her Twitter feed now. I don't know, I can't help it. It just keeps coming and I let it spiral out of control. Here's the thing: she has the platform to offer something compelling to the world. What is that going to be?

Like Julia, Emily Gould also writes, primarily, about herself, but she does so with an inventive and curious tone. Her navel-gazing aims for insight, hopes for a breakthrough. I believe Gould has a mission with her work, even if she's still figuring out what that mission is ... it's got something to do with what most of the best personal bloggers are looking at: the impact of pop culture, art, economics, feminism and sociology upon personal identity.

Like Julia, Paris Hilton is also famous for doing nothing, but she has a product to sell -- herself as an actress, herself as a clothing designer and so on. She's got heaps of money, which's a unique trait, and a sort of sassy attitude that can be interesting.

But Julia Allison has no mission. It's not even like she wants to make people feel less alone or sell her handbags to save the whales. She just wants to ... get more people around who want to talk about her? Her new website NonSociety has this mission statement: "Your window into our crazy lives. See what we're up to and what we have to say. Take it or leave it. We hope we inspire you to live differently." This is followed, of course, by a site map of self-indulgent conformist nonsense. It's the same way I feel about "The Hills" or "Gimme Sugar" : you appear to be the people I avoid in real life, why would I pursue you on the internet?

When asked why she does what she does, her answer is both telling and desperately un-interesting: "I'm a writer!" If I asked a Gap salesman why he sold khaki pants, I bet he'd at least try to talk to me about style 'cause "because I'm a retail salesperson!" is not gonna seal any kind of deal.

I always give female bloggers who blog about themselves, especially ones who are often already hated on by gawker and the like, the benefit of the doubt. But I don't dislike her for any of the reasons that gawker doesn't like her. I don't care that she talks about herself or wants attention or makes bad decisions in public. Those things can be pulled off quite eloquently (see: Emily Gould, Tracie/Slutmachine).

I don't judge her for putting herself out there -- but I'm intrigued that she doesn't have a point and she is in and of herself all there is to her. I wish she could get more weird and Elle Woodsy so she could be made fun of in a new/interesting way. My question for Julia Alison is "what's the point?" and the answer cannot be "Julia Allison." I think she could be so much more than she is. I'd like her to be the editor-at-large of The Yellow Wallpaper, my new 'zine. Since I'm much better at telling other people what to do than I am at getting my own life in order.

Anyhow. FLIRT BETTER BE UP TODAY OR I'M CRACKING SKULLS.

I Feel Like I Wouldn't Like Me if I Met Me

[I'll probably think more wisely about posting this post in the morning, we'll see, isn't the internet fun!]

Maybe you're just passing through and figure it couldn't hurt to ask, and so you do: "I know you don't like to leave your apartment, but I'm gonna be in town ... I'd love to buy you a drink" -- you're nice and friendly and I read these messages several times a month and what do I do? Nothing. Silence. I'd like to understand/explain why. 'Cause it's not that I'm trapped in agoraphobic paralysis, it's 'cause let's say we do meet and you don't like me, or maybe you do like me or one of my friends in a way we can't reciprocate or the ensuing social evolution isn't what you'd wanted and then meeting me kills the desire to read me. Then you'll stop commenting, and I rely on commenting and emailing to give me the cyber-community that reminds me why I love blogging and like that I can do it for free.

[I'll stress: big difference here between literally meeting people (me: this is me! you:this is me! handshake/hug/hi!) -- which usually works, and I love it -- and hanging out -- which doesn't always work. Usually it works better with other writers, and I'm also not referring to logical hang-out situations like: we're working together professionally/artistically, you're in a similar industry in the city, there's a reading, we're in a vacation situation/travel-spot together, you want to date Haviland, etc.]

So I grapple with this -- the balance between being polite/true, between good/self-aware ... is it inherently bad that I'm literally scared to meet anyone new from the blogosphere right now 'cause I think they'll never engage with my written words again -- whether it be via email, facebook, blog, twitter, whatever? I mean it's popular to hate on internet writers who need attention, but whatever, y'all can suck it, it makes sense.

Anyhow, then, when I write -- how personal is dirty laundry, how much honesty is just a bitch, and how much can I withhold while still protecting my friends' privacies? Should I be giving more? Do I overshare? Am I too illusive?

Am I just rude?

The invitations are flattering! I like them! They flatter me and make me happy, as all correspondences from readers do. But: unless we're in a perfect circumstance, it's likely you'll sooner or later dislike me, just like most of my normal friends do, except for the 2 or 3 I see a few times a week. At first you'll think that I don't seem awkward, like I said I would, and then you'll notice that I only have one leg, and then you'll wonder what I'm hiding after all and what happens after that ... I dunno. It's not that I think I'm too cool for you ... quite the contrary, almost everyone is better socially than me. I can carry on a conversation, sure, but I fail at social events, prolonged engagements.

And then I was reading Jessica Roy's piece in New York Magazine: Au Revior! to the New York Media Scene" (Radar's response: New York Media Scene Disappoints Young Girl). Roy, a 20-year old NYU student & aspiring member of the intellectual elite -- has been to a lot of media parties, met or observed many NYC bloggers, attended The Great Jezebel Event of '08, and has some feelings about it.

Here's one of them:

"These people that I had admired my entire New York existence — they all disappointed me. I don't understand how people can exist in such a dishonest way and still call themselves writers. Isn't it the responsibility of a writer to be honest?"
(Jessica Roy)
++

My initial response to this: OMG WTF? Media people let her down at a birthday party she wasn't invited to? Isn't a friend's b-day bash exactly the place to share inside jokes and common reference points w/your friends? What was Jessica expecting? Keith Gessen spooning oysters onto her tongue, Tracie & Moe violating her hips with feminist tattoos, Emily Gould shooting super-secret private b-berry messages to her iPhone? Were the media people rude or just -- well -- honest?

While working at nerve I learned something about silence. Yes! The silence! The endless silence, mediated by Bright Eyes or The Roots and occasional editorial meetings. We communicated via IM only, not talking. These witty, charismatic writers I'd so admired were just like US! Though they were in totally capable of pulling it together for tv appearances and media events -- w/r/t everyday social behavior, they'd just prefer to IM. They weren't rude or cliquey, they were just Writers.

Last week while cruising I observed Ross the Intern successfully charm all reader/meeters w/effortless accessibility, and Ross endears literally hundreds of commenters per post even though he calls vlogs "talkies" which grates me. Wired writes about Julia Allison creating her own stardom, I'm reading about how Sassy's insider-y hipsterdom attracted readers and alienated others and I'm planning a big project right now that explores these questions/walls ... so I've got all these questions?

Are writers supposed to be removed in some sense? And did I feel more comfortable writing about my life, the personal scathing parts of it, when I hadn't already seen so many of you eye-to-eye, and then felt you disappear, like the truth of my social performance betrayed the work? Did your secrets become my secrets? Did my secrets become broken records and you saw the band live already: loud, steady. But it doesn't make you dance anymore. It's those blank dumb eyes in the singer's sockets. Blink. Blink.

++

I don't blog 'cause I wanna meet people in person, I blog instead of meeting people in person. I want community -- it's important to talk to people -- I'm so vigilant about comment responding 'cause I want everyone to know I'm compelled by their contributions. By "I never leave my apartment," maybe I mean; "Don't expect much when I do." 'Cause I'm ambivalent about the face-to-face thing. I've got no faith in it, I've always preferred writing & books for social behavior -- pen pals, 'zines, thinly veiled truthful novels, notes, letters, mailing lists, magazine, plays -- the internet's a convenient technological surprise. I've got a handful of people who I feel comfortable with socially and chances are if you've seen me out, you've seen me with them and that's why I'm there.

Or maybe we're talking and I'm often thinking: "How can I make up for what I'm doing in person via print over the next day/hour/week? How can written discourse fix my failures right now?" Can I write a blog for them and pretend it's for everyone?

Recently I met a woman who'd come into my life through my blog. We had dinner a few weeks ago, Caitlin and Alex came along. She later emailed me to ask: "Why is it that in writing (and perhaps even on the phone) your depth and substance implies a very well developed self reflexive quality, while in person you are almost alarmingly veiled — funny but massively shielded ... almost as if you've built a force-field of buffer personalities?"

Um. ?

++
Me: "I don't want to meet anyone else from my blog anymore, 'cause the thing is that once they meet me, I end up letting them down in some way that i manage to let down everyone in my life aside from maybe 3-4 people, and then they like me less than they did before."
Stef: "I liked you way more before I met you in person."
Me: "I know you did. See. Case in point."
++ 

"I was afraid to be alone
but now I'm scared that's how I'd like to be all these faces and none the same
how can there be so many personalities?"
-Azure Ray, "November"

Now I'll speak of exceptions: Caitlin (my best friend in the tri-state area, responsible for Saving my Life), Alex (my babypop) and Crystal (my co-worker & dear friend who exchanged emails with me for a year without any expectation of ever being 3-D friends due to her Australian residency) -- they comment more or the same as they used to, despite already knowing everything I'm talking about. So do most people I've just met here and there but never spent many hours with, or people that attend events but never request reciprocity.

So I should tell y'all now that actually I am a monkey named Xavier, and it's better you know now than be disappointed the next time we bump paws at a Dani Campbell-hosted lesbian event. You know, like, I'm a monkey, this is me, eat my ear.

 *

Way back in '06, Lozo and I were both invited to a lot of "NYC Blogger Meet-ups" and though we didn't know each other then, we later bonded about our refusal to attend. Worst case scenario; they think I'm awkward and gay, never read or comment again. Best case scenario; my blog becomes a play-by-play of the inside jokes volleyed about during our gloriously clever and snarky Prospect Heights bar hop. Also best case scenario is I'm on Bloggorhea more often, but that's defunct now, so whatevs, hey-o!

But then I started shifting my policy when my life turned inward -- from the real world to the cyber-world when the real world had done gone -- and picked up some incredible people during that time. We all did, but it felt organic, too. Like if real life was more present than cyber-life, it could've happened there too. I'd still be friends with Carly, Crystal, Stef, Caitlin, Alex, et al.

I have such love & support from these tangible internet peoples; I'm so grateful.
And y'know, happy to see Alex's blue eyes, etc.

But what else can happen?

Maybe we'll hang out once or twice and then I'll start flaking like I do with most of my friends and then you'll lose patience and refuse to comment as a protest of my personality.

Maybe we'll fall in love, and then again, and then becomes now and now we can't communicate in any formats, most of all this one.

Maybe you'll respond to my open invitation to an ambitious social meetup and it'll be the first time I've been out in months and I'll be overwhelmed by everything about that night and then afterwards you'll stop commenting, forever, and I'll feel bad, like maybe I did something wrong when we met.

Maybe you'll email me and I'll write you back or not and freak you out or charm you or not but either way I've broken the fourth wall by responding and it's DOWN and what now?

Maybe you're Lozo and you're punishing me for something, like not providing you with the grapefruits you desired late at night.

People I meet always tell me I'm much less awkward in person than I claim to be in print, but something still breaks during that physical connection that can't be fixed, I think. Why? I dunno, maybe it's harder to compliment when you've put a name to a face, harder to criticize when you're not anonymous, either.

It's hard for me to know why 'cause as a writer I have specific rules to how I behave online regardless of who I know and don't know, so I don't know what it's like for those who follow instinct rather than gospel -- it'd be like how I feel about teevee-watching compared to someone who works in the industry.

My first reader ever is in New York City right now, this week, and we've never met though she's the first person I'd never met that I actually loved like a flesh-and-blood friend. (Crystal became the second) After we'd communicated so much in the personal electronic realm, she stopped commenting here.

And I'm scared to meet her 'cause I've got this feeling that when the fourth wall falls down, she'll see a monkey and not a real girl, and this monkey will do tricks and eat bananas on her pinkberry and make a lot of noise but no music. And that nothing I write down before or after will be enough. I'll do it anyhow, because my want overrides my fear in this situation. That's unusual for me.

So anyhow, the reason I never write back is 'cause I don't want to lose you as a reader or as a commenter. It's because if you were to meet me you might find me alarmingly veiled. You might find Haviland alluringly veiled, which's why I always joke you should meet her instead of meeting me. I guess that's what I want to know how to do: become alluringly veiled or compellingly open or something altogether new that'll transcend three dimensions, regardless of if it smashes in the fourth wall to get there or just shortcuts around it. Do you know what I mean? If so, please comment, I'm genuinely asking.

Also I have this uncanny tendency to read vibes pretty full on, so I'll delete the paragraph about how absurd it is of me to even claim to matter to anything and go on to what happened next -- an event I dreamt about a few days ago, actually.

++

Before publishing this i went to the kitchen to make a waffle and my roommate told me I have to move out by September 1st. They're totally sweet kids, my roommates, but I don't think I was what they were expecting (I do required cleaning, pay bills, etc., but other kinds of differences) and they have a friend who needs to move in. I've been expecting this for a while -- I actually had a dream on the rosie cruise about him asking me to move out, which's funny I'm clearly a psychic-- and sometimes too I've been plotting my own conversation announcing my intent to leave (always deferred by logistical concerns), but it's an interesting conclusion to this particular ramblerambleramble. You know, about people meeting me.

I've got a little over six weeks to get it together, I'm thinking about fly-fishing in Northern Michigan.

Sunday Top Ten: Automatic Fundamentals/Look At You, You're Growing Old So Young

I was thinking about a Sunday Top Ten and ten hours later I was knee-deep in the cyber-quicksand created by switching topics every five minutes, trying to escape via creating a New Topic that'd encompass All Failed Topics. A-ha!: 'TOP TEN THINGS I HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS ABOUT." I asked myself "is that the best you can do?" Then, myself said: "Yes, it is."

[Yes, it is: a conversation between me and memememememe.] [It was maybe two years ago or thereabouts when she drew me a diagram on scrap paper to explain to me the "me" and "not me" -- the stack-sullivan psychoanalytic theory of selective inattention. good me, bad me, not me. she was explaining to me how, exactly, I'd managed to rationalize talking my way out of accepting responsibility for being an asshole.]

So I'm just gonna ramble. Ramblerambleramble.

Gimme Gimme Gimme Gimme Morons

I saw Gimme Sugar. It's a new show about lesbians. The topic is: "Lesbians are pretty!" The sub-topic: "Much like straight people on scripted reality teeevee shoes, lesbians can also drink too much and talk about nothing." The girl who narrates sounds just like Jackie Warner. It's the "scripted reality voice-over voice."

I'd like to corral the writers of Gimme Sugar and the creators of Tila Tequila into a dark cave with The Iliad, The Bible, Mediated and "All Aboard!".

The thing is ... Gimme Sugar isn't even terrible/awesome. It's just terrible. After-Ellen thinks so too. I'm not sure why I care so much about the portrayal of women -- and queer women in particular -- in the media, but I do. I care deeply. AE says, and I agree, that basically if you're already into [other, hetero-based] shows that involve "seeing young people doing nothing and clubbing and coming up with bad business ideas" then you'll like this show.

Speaking of sugar, this weekend the woman brought us breakfast and announced the contents of the tray in great detail: "splenda, sweet & low, equal," etc. Everyone in Atlantic City says: "good luck!" 'cause they're counting on the gamble. We didn't know how to gamble [at games], we just thought the city itself seemed like a funny place to go. But we got lucky, and had good luck.

My first love [of all trump cards: "first"? of all first things: love] wore those jeans with "Lucky You" on the fly. In case we got there, and I forgot.

*
Taking Back the Internet: Last Week's Topic of Cyber-Talk

I don't know. We're/it's young, we're cyber-tadpoles -- still lightyears away from universal broadband access or a "worldwide" network that can provide all people worldwide w/high-speed uncensored content. There's problems with overexposure and conspicuous anonymity, the tipping balance between emotional withdrawal and frightening investment. Our backs hurt, our eyes burn, our wrists hurt. But everything has pros and cons. [Howevs, it'd be a 100% tragedy for interwebs users to inadvertently lose deep reading skills.] We live in a world where too much ice cream makes you fat. Just think about that.

*
"What the future might bring, Heaven only knew.
Change was incessant, and change perhaps would never cease.
High battlements of thought; habits that had seemed durable as stone went down like shadows at the touch of another mind and left a naked sky and fresh stars twinkling in it."
-Virginia Woolf, Orlando
*

I think we're still figuring it out. It's like when the cavemen first discovered fire. And Caveman #1 was like; "wtf why is my toe burning off?" and Caveman #2 was like; "OOOO all warmed up for the winter season!" Now, a bajillion years later, we know how to use fire responsibly, more or less. See what I mean? We're still figuring out how to keep warm without burning ourselves.

I like Emily and Keith and Tracie. I don't like Perez or TMZ or their collective insistence on permeating relevant spaces frequented by those of us who don't care.

Also, I like that the internet has enabled strong global grassroots networks like Students for a Free Tibet, smart pop culture commentary like fourfour and helpful gadgets & resources like MapQuest and Bartleby. I like when I read articles worth recommending. And poems.

I think, w/r/t Gimme Sugar and The Internet, that we've got to do our best to keep our fictions scripted. Also, we'll keep our realities improvised, and work with wherever we naturally attract reflection/attention, rather than attention for attention's sake.

In the future, we may find that the internet was invented in response to the hefty portion of the population who are simply more comfortable/eloquent when communicating via written words rather than spoken ones.

I think you can divide people into two categories: people who're content to live within anything that'll fit within (even just barely) the status quo, and people who'd like to change it. The first category also includes people who've chosen instead to live in the past, or recreate it in fear.

*
The Long and Winding Road

I've traveled a lot this year. I was asked: "Do you guys think it's possible you're running away from something, maybe?" and I answered, "Obviously." I'd like a short & happy life, like Francis Macomber's, or a Short & Wondrous one like Our Friend Oscar, running could be involved. But really it's that we prefer fun to not-fun. We try to have fun. Okay, okay, it's Tinkerbell. She's a diva.

Don't get confused, I'm still only somewhat employed and owe Visa a baby or two. The rest is semantics or logistics --

Speaking of numbers, I missed Four -- me, Caitlin, Alex, Haviland -- and now my friend is back on this side of the country. Briefly, but here. Shortly, happily, wondrously.

So many things can go wrong when you're traveling, like our unexpected pullover en route to the airport to fly to The House of the Mouse -- we barely made it to the flight.

But this weekend we went to Atlantic City and we weren't surprised when they said our hotel was overbooked, since ridic snafus are our collective travel-fukù and we were prepared to pop a cot and then take a morning swim w/asbestos at the Seaside Motel [later this experience could become a rich source of anecdotes, in-jokes and makes-life-worth-it-style laughter] --- but the desk-woman tells us how the problem's been solved: we're being moved to a better hotel ... for free.

Again, that assumption about gambling. Really, we're just amused by anything that's heavily thematic -- lit up by bells & whistles & glitter & graffics and big laminated promises in disguise as the Queen of Hearts/Spades.

Then Caitlin totally WON big-time at the slot machines -- waiting for me and Alex she just stuck a nickel in and gave it a go, like to kill time and -- Magic! Later that day, an escalade took an illegal left in front of us, like that shit that happens all the time in the city and you almost die and then somehow you get a ticket for someone else's mistake 'cause you've got expired plates ... and he got pulled over!

Also, we saw Melissa Etheridge. They surprised me with it and got away with it 'cause Caitlin pointed out that she never asked for anything, so asking me to put some pep in my step for an 8 PM fireworks show wasn't much to ask-- even though I insisted it was still totally light out and we can't miss the fireworks, they're in the sky.

Anyhow, the ploy worked and we were on time for The Eth. The lesbos sang our little hearts out for every window we've ever screamed at, bare and wide-open. We listened to the gauzy-voiced acoustic assurance that sometimes love means following someone around until you've lost all your fellow travelers. Pretense-free, open-air I feel my feelings. She carved out her heart in the 90's, left it on the doorstep of a recording studio and then ran -- a prank played in the game of falling apart -- and we got to see her hold that heart in front of her face and then sing through it. Amazing.

Happy independence day!

"When I first heard "Like the Way I Do" in 1988, I had no idea that Melissa Etheridge was gay, and I thought she gave voice to us obsessive, neurotic women who long to be this direct and obvious about the neediness we feel for the men in our lives ... perhaps the joyfulness that I feel seething, overbrimming from so much lesbian music, even when it is at its most heartbreaking, has to do with the simple fact that just to have the courage to find a voice to sing with in the context of societally censored desires means that anything you say, no matter how depressing the thought, will never come across as completely dispirited."
-Elizabeth Wurtzel, "The [Fe]male Gaze."
*
dear good me & bad me & not me & also me & mememe, sincerely anonymous
or "the babies were only water balloons."

What if from now on I made my blog into a retroactive game of self-indulgence. I provide excerpts from my past diaries for the present date in different years. You match the lines to the years and if you're right, you win the next book club book.

July 7th Throughout the Years, Compiled on Monday July 7th, 2008:
[Options: 1986 (age 4) , 1991 (age 9) , 1996 (age 14), 1997 (age 15), 1999 (age 17), 2000 (age 18), 2002 (age 20), 2003 (age 21), 2006 (age 24), 2007 (age 25)]
[Names have been abbreviated when appropriate]

1/Michigan: "I feel like we'll never truly connect 'cause Chris's 100% un-interested in what art has to offer him as a human being. He likes things cut and dry. He wouldn't like my writing, because he never reads, he's detached completely from literature. His scope is narrow. I'm afraid he'll try to compare his career goal to be a vet to my writing. It's not just my Top Interest, it's How I Think."

2/Boston-->Michigan: "Today we drove for five hours and we finally came home. I saw Anna first, but we had nothing to say. My room had hebrew posters all over the walls and all my animal posters except for three were gone! My drawers were broken, and there was mold in the teapot, yuck! The people who lived in our house weren't very neat! The toddler scribbled in Lewis's books. We had homemade pizza for din-din."
3/New York: "When E has the nerve to go off at me, I say-- 'It doesn't matter, I'm leaving!' E says -- 'You're not leaving soon enough.' So now -- I am. Now. I'm in the airport, going. I feel like Marc's going-away party was mine, too, not 'cause the people cared/knew about me leaving, but 'cause it's the end of something. An era. But M said, 'You're the guest of honor's special guest.'"

4/Australia:" "It was hilarious to bring these grungy surfer boys into a nice restaurant. Clinton insisted we go back to the hotel so he could experience the sauna and they'd left their bags and surfboards there. They went swimming. We took pics, they listened to our music, we talked. Jeremy made fun of our accents a lot. They go to raves at night. Clinton is 17, he dropped out of school to work in a Toyota Factory. Jeremy's 15. We have their addresses, thank god."

5/Michigan: "We made our certificates and then we decorated the knight in armour. Then we rescued the baby from the dragon. And after that we played a kind of hide and seek and some people pretended they were he dragons and some pretended they were persons who catch the dragons. The babies were only water balloons. our mommies or our daddies came and we had cake and ice cream after we had cake and ice cream we went home the end."

6/New York: "I don't know what to do, if there's anything that I even can do. It's terror. I feel powerless."

7/Michigan: "no cherry bombs, no sparklers, black cats, etc this 4th. u know, explosions -- go america. Scot took my car to canada and left me a love note. life has been up and down. absolutely unbearable, sometimes absolutely pleasant. i present the "every other day theory": one day he's delightful, the next day he balances it out by being a dick."

8/At Sea: "It's difficult to open myself up to another strong connection w/a friend this year, I feel so exhausted by last year's. I don't know if she really communicates honestly with me about when or if I bother her. She seems both set in her ways and not argumentative. Is it because we click so well, or is it 'cause she doesn't ever want to talk about what's really going on?"

9/Michigan: "Yesterday went to a whack party, talked to AG 4eva. It was weird, like a punk rock show, I don't dig that scene. At the start it made me depressed to be there. It was fresh as hell that I got to drive home though. Well, not home. To L's. Today MR and I watched Altman's Nashville, saw Casablanca at the top of the park, Amanda came just to see me! Wowsers ... I had a freaked out dream about Interlochen."
10/Michigan: "Tonight, Mr. D told me he thought I looked about 10 pounds less than I did when he last saw me. He asked me if I was okay. The doctor told me I was too skinny and asked if I'd been losing weight. All these comments make me happy. I wish none of this had ever started. I wonder why my Mom is letting me go sometimes. I wonder if I'd let my 17 year old daughter move to the same city that Son of Sam is about."

---

11.
Today I wrote this, and went to bed, and thought, holy shit, I talk a lot of whack hands down totes crazy. Will I ever learn to speak the grammar?
Stay tuned!
*
[all photos by julia fullerton-baten]
*
So, guess: match the number with the correct year, win a prize! The Dear Diary Award, very special.

I Wanted To Paint Nothing. I Was Looking For Something That Was the Essence of Nothing, and the Soup Can Was It.

[Attempting to construct a frivolous Sunday Top 10 with disproportionate self-consciousness, I figured I'd just write down my feelings -- mostly carry-overs from a few weeks ago -- and move on from there. Here they are. Yay! Sunday Top 10 is finished, will come tomorrow (it's finished, so that's a real promise)].

An Open Letter to All Interweb Haters and Self-Righteous Anti-Blogging Journalists:

[Not Good Autowin Readers, I love y'all. You're the best! This is directed at interweb haters, which sometimes includes people I know, but 95% of the time, doesn't.]

You Chorus of Cuntish Commenters [not my commenters, obvs], your twatiliciousness skyrockets. You under-sharers! You private, nasty people with little boxes of secrets in your stomachs! You're still riding the self-righteous tails of That Emily Gould Thing, a "kids these days" nose-snubbing/squabbling, or you're fired up by a number of additional fuels: NY Mag's recent "microfame" dissection, Keith Gessen's me/"the me you hate" breakdown, Julia Allison's continued Julia Allison-ness (although even she called it quits once).

The problem is: I let public & private negative discourse pervade my headspace. I get beautiful, supportive emails & comments from Autowin/straddle readers and yet a few negative voices overwhelm them. It's precisely the grateful notes that stop me from giving up -- it's not about ego-stroking, or wanting attention, it's about feeling that it matters though Old Media says it don't.

Why is sharing inherently bad -- and NOT sharing consequently "good"? There's plenty of bad oversharing out there, of course ... and I don't read it. Furthermore, I understand we must withhold most things, in fact, our hearts & guts tell us precisely what to hold back, just as it tells us it's time for lunch.

I like the internet! I LIKE IT! I'm sick of apologizing. I'm tired of reading over & over that the cultural pulse is beating inside an indulgent body and that this body is sitting & judging while we bloggers croon on like washed-up lounge singers. Watch me, watch me, I'm a lock-free Dear Diary, my Hooker Name is Elizabeth Wurtzel and my special trick involves opening my whole mouth and letting you touch my wisdom teeth. My Pandora's Box was opened against my wishes, but I haven't figured out how to close it and besides, everything happens for a reason.

In fact, this here blog has lead to many fabulous beautiful intangibles and I think it's better karma to keep going than to stop. I refuse to believe the internet isn't a little magic, look at this video from Kelka Pride. It's easy to scowl protectively at everyone, but it's more fun to play with them. Next year, p.s., we're all going to Kelka Pride.

(I read: "On the Internet, a person can enjoy all the downsides of fame without actually being famous. You can inflate your ego, betray your friends, alienate your family and earn the contempt of strangers without earning a penny in extra income" here and wonder -- am I about to make a ridiculous, flagrantly wrong point? But then I think -- I'm a young earnest writer, isn't it only natural that I'd write a blog, explore the medium? I wouldn't be the first "artist" to forge on so foolishly, w/o it being my "job"?)

[self portrait with sunglasses, andy warhol]

Watch me! Stick a tip or a word in the g-string of my informational striptease. I'm human. I've got a concrete heart & walls like pink floyd ... but humans, even loners like me, need some connection to the rest of the world, even if they hate the rest of the world. Even better, I like feeling that I've done what can to change it just by being me. And that live person-to-person thing -- that petrifies me, and I'm getting too old to keep drinking every time I'm forced to cross the gulf to strange strangers. But I'm safe here, and I like it here.

[Ten Portraits of Jews of the 20th Century Portfolio: Sarah Bernhardt
by Andy Warhol]

Example of Magic: Women's voices. Queer voices. Are everywhere. There's still a million differences between how they're received vs. the traditional voices but to simply exist is a big step in the right direction.

And here's what really I don't get -- and didn't get, re: the emily gould debacle, or any situation in which the writer isn't actively attempting to incite/provoke argument/debate, expressing hateful or bigoted ideas, or auto-playing an annoying song on launch ... if you don't like it ... don't read it. I don't like video games, but I'm not writing Nintendo to critique their latest version of Death Killer Raider Game #456 and, while I'm at it ... "p.s. Nintendo is fat & ugly!"

But -- commenhaters, you do read it! You eat it, devour it, lick the plate click-by-click and then smack your lips and vomit on the cook's face: "That was terrible."
The cook will ask: "Why'd you eat it?"

“Life will give you whatever experience is most helpful for the evolution of your consciousness.”
- Eckhart Tolle

Writers (and musicians) have been oversharing forevs, it's just more searchable now. We're not savages. But we're vulnerable, 'cause we've taken off our armor and are now sitting behind it, naked & waiting. And there you hatoraiders are with your daggers & shimmering shields. You see our weapons and our best defenses, but decide instead to plan attack based on your feelings about our underwear (and women's underthings: far better to criticize). I didn't ask you to undress, so you don't have to, but you don't have to watch my undressing, either.

[Andy Warhol -Burkley Reinhold]

What can bloggers say in return to anyone who isn't "out there" like we are? I don't even know, 'cause I don't sit around thinking about why I hate people and where I can yell about it. I have complete respect for cyber-"anonymity" (in fact! Not only do I respect it, but I think it's a good thing that the blogosphere seems to be getting less crowded -- those meant to endure, have, and those who haven't, haven't, for whatever reason. Also 'cause if I add one more blog to my Google Reader, I'll have a heart attack), what annoys me is self-righteousness about cyber-anonymity ... the chip on the shoulder of many cyber-anonymous/non-bloggers ("learn your lesson from Emily," they say); loyal only to native art.

In fact -- bloggers can get fired (or -- just to avoid risking a blogger will blog about work when there's plenty of applying talent w/o blogs -- never hired in the first place) simply for having a blog, w/o first amendment protection. Your online-self is so damaging that companies exist now simply to erase it (for a fee). Blog-to-book sales have disappointed. Blogger-to-paid-blogger tales are increasingly less frequent. Oversharing's the Eighth Sin.

Sometimes "I'm not an internet participant, just an observer," is the new "We don't have a television, it's in the closet." (P.S. My teeve's in the living room, though I don't turn it on. I'm so cool, aren't I? For not watching teevee at home? I'm so much better than you. Don't worry, I'm also just like you at your worst and ugliest. Wanna hear about it? Listen: I watch TV at the gym, or with friends I'll stare blankly at its cheap stories and flat people w/expressive eyes and let it fill me like so much styrafoam.) Don't get me wrong -- I don't want you cyber-anonymous, or anyone who doesn't want to, TO participate. But if you do observe, and consequently choose so participate, I'd hope your contribution would be productive rather than just bitching at the content creators.

"The price of being known has gotten really low. I mean not the price, the reward.
Or whatnot. Andy Warhol could more accurately have said in the future everyone will be famous for $15."
-Emily Gould, Emily Magazine
*

[Screen Test: Edie Sedgewick. By Andy Warhol.]

So here's the kicker: the thing about microfame is that it doesn't necessarily bring any profits whatsofuckingever. It can even be a liability. This can be tough, I imagine -- dealing with the cons of fame (being recognized, criticized, insulted, gossiped about, dumped or attacked by a friend/partner) without the pros that make the cons bearable (this is how I make a living and feed myself and my family, so the sacrifices are worth it). I say "I imagine" because I'm not famous enough to deal with those cons, not because I have dooce.com-ish economic "pros." I don't know if the financial rewards for blogging will change, or if that's even the point -- though in a capitalist society, it sure seems like it is.

Saying you're a "blogger" once meant you were part of a forward-thinking generation of new-media enthusiasts, dreaming of an age that marries art, community and self-expression and births an international and ideally merit-based medium. Now, it kinda means you're a sucker, unless "for Deadspin" or "for Jezebel" are the next two words rolling off your tongue. Hell, it's gotten so bad that even Gawker seems to be pretty nice these days. Everyone's been snarked at, it's boring now.

The only thing left to do is be earnest, I think.

[In the Bottom of My Garden, by Andy Warhol]

What I like about Andy Warhol is his playfulness -- this can be fun. It can be entertaining or poetic, but bloggers can't have a deep thought or pull off perfect similie every day. Personally, I've lately tried to save those moments for the Sysiphean task of my novel. (Not a memoir anymore. I just ... can't.) Also, personally: my commenters don't yell or hate and are usually encouraging, and I like the challenge of increasing the user-friendliness and overall derth of fulfillment and format I can do with a receptive audience ... and at its very best most thrilling moments, it's like being an editor of my own little magazine, which has always been my dream job. I like dreams and the beach!

I've got faith that this medium's ultimately good for humanity, and also -- this medium's one of the only things I believe in that I can elect to take part in w/o spending money or leaving my apartment. There's frivolity, but there's also stuff I'm passionate about: group therapy, internet performance art, literature, book club, making people feel a little less alone.

The journey is all. We'll see.

*

The magic of the internet, again!: I just went online to track down some referenced posts, and found this at Slut Machine/Jezebel, expressing similar resolve. When I went to Gessen's blog to grab a link for my earlier graf, I found he'd posted this, which says what I just said, but better & briefer, and includes this exchange, which reminded me of conversations I've had:

Hampton: Rich people don’t blog. Happy people don’t blog. Successful people don’t blog.
Gessen: I’m not any of those things.
Hampton: But you’re those things enough, man. You wrote your book out of pain, and that’s why your book doesn’t suck. I don’t care what these people say. Whereas this blog is just the result of pique and wounded vanity.

[ Details of Renaissance Paintings (Paolo Uccello, St. George the Dragon), by Andy Warhol]

So, all ye haters, just shut your mouth. If I've learned anything of substance from blogging, it's that human beings are, by and large, better than we expect -- or could be. I think we will make this matter. We enjoy the first bite so we'll take it, and when we're all certain it's not poisoned, I'll pass it on to your grandchildren. I could do doomsday too, dressed in black for you, skip to my deepest blue. But this is much more fun.

Because I'll never be happy, therefore I must try whenever possible to feel happy, otherwise I'll die like a SIM, plunging red, time for bed, the hitch is dead.
I can't prove you're wrong about this medium ("the medium is the message"), but you can't prove I'm wrong about it either.

I've been obsessed with Andy Warhol lately, following the recent Interview Magazine issue dedicated to remembering him, which Alex brought me one evening and which enthralled me. I bought The Warhol Diaries and we need to finish Factory Girl. We wanna re-create The Factory, yes! we are such posers! Even my desire is a clichè, and I don't care! into something we call "The Warehouse." Like many things, it may not happen. Also though; it may. There was dry lightning for thirty minutes before the rain, and then the heat returned, following thunder. And then we went to bed, and then we woke up.

Brigid Berlin: He'd sit behind me reading The Post. He'd say; "Well isn't this a great story. Why can't Pat make a script out of this?" I'd say, "What are you talking about?" I didn't have the Post in front of me. "Well, this is a great murder, why can't we do this?"
Vincent Fremont: Or, "they're so peculiar."
Brigid Berlin: "All these young kids, they're doing such great things, and we're doing nothing."
Vincent Fremont: "He liked youth and he liked the news. I think that Andy would have been with the kids at 80. He would have appreciated anybody creative who was young, and helped them go forward. ..
*
Vincent Fremont: It's hard to project what Andy would be like today because he was so unpredictable. People always ask me what Andy would have painted. I think, with all the scandal that's gone down over the years, Andy would have been fascinated. And all that world of technology -- we would have stayed with it. Andy was very curious and he always wanted to know what was going on, and that keeps you young. I'm still trying to emulate him in that sense. Can you imagine how many young artists would have been coming to visit him?
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Just Talkin' Nonsense & Auto-Fun :: 5-31-2008

Welcome to "Just Talkin' Nonsense, " a new regular feature from autowin. What can we expect from "Just Talking Nonsense?" Well, you can look forward to the lowest possible interpretations of "form," "content," "art," and "language." Furthermore, you can expect both "deep thoughts" and links to other people's legitimate thoughts. How do we define "Just Talking Nonsense"? JTN = posts both started and completed AFTER midnight. The starting is key -- I usually finish posts post-midnight, but they'll contain writing begun in a more lucid state of mind. The late-night failures aren't substance related, it's just that by that time I've been alone in my room with the door shut for so long that I've become Emily Dickinson, except less good at poetry. (And also it'd seem, less good at grammar) (If I was a Native American, I'd want my name to be Riese LessGood)

Why midnight? 'Cause that's when I turn into a pumpkin. Pumpkins can't write, 'cause they don't have arms, and that's where I come in. The pumpkin speaks, and I am the vessel of his words. The pumpkin has been gutted, it needs me. The pumpkin is always a he. It's not sexist or anything, I don't believe in men or gender at all necessarily, just words. I believe in a whole lot of different ways to be alive. So many ways to be boys and girls and men and women that really, the binary's as old-fashioned as cholera.

Rose & Olive's nerve photo blog is my favorite. I discovered nerve photo blogs while working there. I was interning during Hurricane Katrina and Siege took a break from his usual subjects to photograph New Orleans, his hometown. His family is there, and so on. It was devastating, the photographs are incredible. My brother, who also lives in NO, said: "I'm fine, I'm at my friend's country club in Atlanta drinking beer. Worry about the people who can't leave." Have I mentioned that even though he was born after me, he somehow got older? I must have.

Also during the Autumn of my Internship, Kate & Camilla launched their photo blog. Lo and I went to their launch party in Faraway, Brooklyn. We emerged from the subway and dashed across the wet street and I screamed "Go! Now! Go!" and she said, "This isn't My So-Called Life!" But it was! It was my so-called life. The party was fun, we laughed at everyone. About a year later, I went to a Kate & Camilla gallery opening party with Stephanie, who'd modeled for them. Maybe a year after that, on the subway, I ran into the designers who's clothes Steph had modeled in Kate & Camilla's photographs -- they recognized me and were adorable, snapped me out of the mindset of whatever gross place I was traveling to.

See: life brings itself back around, you just have to stay awake.

Anyhow, Kate & Camilla don't have a photo blog anymore, which brings me back to Rose & Olive. I usually get uncomfortable looking at photos where people aren't wearing all their clothes, but somehow the nudity they employ isn't so much "look at me I'm sexy" as it is, "we were all naked in the womb, what's the big deal." Which also makes me uncomfortable, but life is supposed to be uncomfortable, right? So, they take good photo.

I only look at nerve photoblogs after midnight. Not 'cause I'm killing time but 'cause there's no time to kill. Time is not a pumpkin or a bunny, obviously. Time is a stapler. If time was applying for a temp job, it would list "collating" as a skill.

The photos I've got up here today, all taken from Rose & Olive, look like the houses I imagine sleeping in during that mythical/future part of life between sunrise and the rest of it when Alex and I will be in a car listening to loud heavy sweet popcorn music and the sun'll beat like beating and we'll be driving to California. Except actually some of the houses are more like houses I imagine I'll want to live in, in Eugene or Missoula, when I see how cheap/inexpensive the rent is everywhere but here and say "Pull over." ("If they say in the car that I am insane, I will take over the wheel." - Thomas McGuane, 92 in the Shade) (my "quote" in the senior yearbook) I'll make a CD for the car and name it "California." This'll be the playlist:

California - Joni Mitchell
Hotel California - The Eagles
Southern California Wants to Be Western New York - Dar Williams
California Uber Allies: Dead Kennedys
Goodnight, California: Kathleen Edwards
California Girls: The Beach Boys
Going to California: Led Zepplin
California Sky: Unwritten Law
California: Rogue Wave
California: Rufus Wainwright
Dani California: Red Hot Chili Peppers
California Dreamin': The Mamas and the Papaps
California Stars: Billy Bragg & Wilco
California Love: Tupac
California: Low
California Sun: The Ramones

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Quote: "I woke up as the sun was reddening; and that was the one distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn't know who I was -- I was far away from home, haunted and tired with travel, in a cheap hotel room I'd never seen, hearing the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of the old wood of the hotel, and footsteps upstairs, and all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling and really didn't know who I was for about fifteen strange seconds. I wasn't scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost. I was halfway across America, at the dividing line between the East of my youth and the West of my future, and maybe that's why it happened right there and then, that strange red afternoon." (Jack Kerouac, On the Road)

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Auto-Fun:
1) Thank you, Rebecca Traister, for this: Female Writers, Emily Gould, Sex and the City, The New York Times: Another Pretty Face of a Generation @salon.com: "It's been a nasty couple of weeks for New York's writing women, both real and imaginary." (Also, cheers to the Elizabeth Wurtzel related graphic.) Here's some snippets:

"What provokes such fury, over Carrie Bradshaw, and -- for a flash -- over Gould (barring a book deal and TV show that will turn her meanderings into cultural furniture) is that in a media landscape in which there are a severely limited number of spaces for women's writing voices, the ones that get tapped become necessarily, and deeply inaccurately, emblematic -- of their gender, their generation, their profession. More annoying -- and twisted -- is that those meager spots for women are consistently filled by those willing to expose themselves, visually and emotionally. And not accidentally, by those willing to expose themselves in a way that is comfortable, and often alluring, to many of the men who control the media, and to many of the women who consume it."

"We have to remember: There is nothing wrong with women writing about themselves, their youth, their indiscretions, their habits and values and personal development. Men have been writing about this stuff for thousands of years; they call it the canon."

2) The latest show: "They all feel the constant, mind-numbing urge to remind us of just how crazy and dramatic and hardcore their lush lesbian lives are." Boobs, Elbows and Asses: Lesbians Get Another 'Reality' Check with 'Gimme Sugar' (@nypress):
3) My hero Sam Anderson reviews Robert Olen Butler's The Sex Lives of Others (@nymag)
4) Seriously, I thought this was my secret trick, and if other people start being clever in their cover letters than I'm back to where I started from, which's "no marketable skills." 'Cause clearly it's worked so well for me thus far ... um.: "It's No Act, I Need a Job" (@the nytimes)
5) I just discovered this blog today; she's gay, is trying to start her own indpendent bookstore in Brooklyn and has an incredible link list/blogroll. (@written nerd)
6) Let's talk about SATC forevs and evs!! Patricia Field on Her Favorite 'Sex' Outfits and SJP's Crazy Hat, (@nymag), Sex Writers on "Sex and the City" (@salon.com), and @entertainment weekly; a 100% SATC issue.
7) Do You Hear the People Sing? The Modern American High School Musical (@the simon magazine)
8) "Thanks to Eggers’ own books, McSweeney’s can continue to bankroll what it wants to publish. " Renewing the Faith: McSweeny's Goes Back to Basics, Making Publishing Fun Again. (@laweekly)
9) In Which Women Are Changing the Sex Industry from Inside. (@this recording)
10) Ian McEwan says that "prophets of the apocalypse have become a new and very real danger": The Day of Judgment. (@the guardian uk)

"Her art inspired me to do my best and,
To paint my music like, like I saw it best.
And she says I grew up well. Well, well I grew up strong,
Cause no one's got my back. No one's gonna write me my songs.
I've been tired for days and days."
-Tegan & Sara, "Days and Days"