H & R! Haviland and Riese Advice Column #1: You've Got Feelings, We've Got Answers

Hello! Welcome to the first installment of H&R: Haviland and Riese's stunning advice column. This is where we fix all your problems instead of fixing our own. By default, we're answering the first five e-mails we received but keep 'em coming, and we'll keep on coming ... all over the keyboard. Also, P.S., my Mom is here this weekend, and she's: 1. watching some weird "Broadway Promos" channel where Mary Poppins is singing crazy, 2. Convinced I need to get a master's degree in social work, so that I can devote myself to advice. That's great advice. That's exactly what I need to do, is pour additional money into the University system, which's so far proved immensely useful. Anyone want a ten page paper on the rise of the modern American novel? I'm selling it for $10, it's a buyer's market. 3. Is now telling me that I need to begin this column with a disclaimer that we are not mental health professionals, we are "literary" and "humor." If you have a real problem, you should see a professional. Like my Mom, the social worker.

Mom: "If someone asks you advice about killing themselves or killing somebody, you need to direct them elsewhere. People take things seriously and they will find you and track you down and kill you. If you think I'm joking or exaggerating, I'm not. You think I'm being overdramatic, don't you?"
Me: "No! I'm trying to transcribe, you're talking too fast."

Got it? Okay!

Also -- we'd like to invite you -- the reader -- to chime in with your advice if you've got it. Also, this is sort of a test run. Hav's coming out to NYC in a few weeks, so we'll do an advice vlog for a few special questions, and we're gonna cover some questions on ichat, etc. So send us more questions, we need more questions, more! more!

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Dear H & R,

My new boss recently relocated desks and is now sitting next to me. Her ringtone is 'Clocks' by Coldplay, and every time I hear it ring I want to throw myself off the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Her taste in music is severely affecting my time in my cubicle. My co-workers have advised that raise this issue directly with her, however confronting people just isn't how I roll. If you could suggest a more passive aggressive solution to my problem then it would be well appreciated.

-Cold for Coldplay

Dear CFC,

Haviland: Confront. Srsly. Try this, "hey, would you mind turning your ringer to vibrate?" You obviously need to learn to be more aggressive. Do it with a smile, and your boss will understand. She's being very disrespectful to have a cell phone ringing in the workplace, anyway! This happens in dressing rooms all the time, and the best way to go, for sure, is just to ask nicely. I'm all about the direct approach. (of course you could just say, "oh em GEE!" every time it rings, but like i always say, why waste that kind of time?)

Riese: Although I'm a big fan of passive passiveness and aggressive aggressiveness in relationships w/friends, I fully support passive aggression in the workplace. What Haviland is suggesting is the kind of thing you might do if you were a confident, pro-active, forward-thinking problem-solver with a great deal of poise and direction. I'm not like that, I'm a wimp at work. Let's go:
1. Find out what music she hates the most and make that your ringtone, then set your phone to email alerts so it'll go off all the time. I can email you all day. Oh wait, I already do, Secret Person. She'll get so annoyed that she'll start to question her own behavior.
2.Next time it rings, grab it and throw it against the wall and go 'I HATE COLDPLAY!'
3. Start playing "Clocks" by Coldplay on an old-school boom box on repeat all day so she can't tell if it's her phone or the boom box. And if she's like "Stop playing Clocks on repeat all day, it's annoying," say, "Funny you should mention that ..." and so on.
4. All of those things take longer than just confronting, but c'mon, what else are you gonna do at work? Work? Right-o.

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Dear H&R,

My girlfriend is moving cross-country to live with me (we've lived together before, so those dynamics are worked out). So, what should I do to make things easier for my girlfriend when she moves here? I worry pretty equally about the outcomes of either forcing her to hang out with my friends endlessly (whether she likes them or not) or leaving her at home alone all the time while I go socialize. Not that I don't think she'll make her own friends, of course, I'm just worried about the transition period between cutesy I'm-so-glad-you're-finally-here-let's-do-everything-togetherness and normal (somewhat separate, I hope) lives. Any advice would be appreciated.

-Full House

Dear FH,

Riese: So I have this theory which's that people expend the least amount of effort possible at all times in order to make it from sunrise to sundown without slitting their wrists. Which's just to say that if she gets on w/your friends straight away, she'll probs never bother to make her own, and then you'll be trapped in a 24-7-togetherness that'll eventually lead to either double suicide or the end of sex. I think you must ask yourself: "Do I truly want my girlfriend to attend this social event? If we didn't live together, would I invite her?" and if the answer is "yes," then invite her. But if you start inviting her for any reason besides a genuine desire to have her there (e.g., obligation, wanting her to feel included), that'll get unhealthy fast.

I did the cohab thing once. Howevs, 'cause I'd cheated on my boyfriend with a pledge at his fraternity as a prelude to what I saw (incorrectly) as our impending breakup, I was actually formally prohibited from attending his social gatherings. Then about four months post-cheating, he went out of town and his "brothers" invited me over and ragged on him all night and I had an a-ha! moment. Was there a point to this story? Oh, then I dumped his ass and his "brothers" helped me move out. Don't let that happen to you. Hey-o!

Ok, enough about memememee. Also, totally JK'ing, I just wanted to talk about myself and be humor, that would never happen to you, speaking of you; let's get back to you. Leaving her at home alone won't do anyone any favors, 'cause she's not gonna make new friends with your couch (howevs, there is the internet!). Work or school will be the best area for her to have a life separate from yours. Also, make out frequently and when she arrives, answer the door in nothing but whipped cream.

ALSO! (omg, I have so many feelings about this) If it's a big group gathering, you never know who your gf will click with. Maybe she'll end up being besties with a peripheral friend. Magic social evolution! KaZAM! It's not bad to have many of the same friends as your girlfriend, it happens often, just try to be aware of it happening organically instead of by default, if it does.

Tinkerbell says that your girlfriend wants a vodka-tonic and a back massage.

Haviland: I basically agree with the Riesling, except I haven't had the experiences of which she speaks, with the frat boys, etc. The main thing is to make sure you're still living your life, even while she's entered it. You absolutely do want to make her comfortable, but not at the expense of making yourself miserable. Make sure she feels like your place is also her place, and that can be as simple as picking out some cute things to decorate - candles, throw pillows, autowin collages, whathaveyou. I'm hoping she has a job, and she'll be able to make friends there. In any event, you should talk about this with her - tell her your concerns and that you are excited about making a life with her, but are cognizant of being too codependent, and want to keep your relationship great and sexy and honest and healthy. Hopefully she'll be respectful of your alone time with your friends, she'll meet her own, you'll have date time, alone time, etc...and it'll all work out. Just keep those lines of communication flowin'. (Did I just say that? oy...)

Riese: The main thing is to be sure you make an effort to maintain some romance and mystery -- a romantic night out is often less romantic when you witness your partner preparing for it, instead of seeing her just show up looking fantastic. Don't pressure each other to check in all the time (it's nice sometimes to go to Wal-Mart w/o your SO knowing you're going to Wal-Mart) and be sure you have lives just separate enough so there's still stuff to talk about. Like don't be "How was your day?" "Um, you should know, you were there for the whole thing." Etc.

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Dear H&R,

How can you make people attracted to you without always having to be the friend... i.e., I would rather not be Ross to the Rachel, the Will to the Grace ... In other words ... what do I do?

-Friend Without Benefits

FWB,

Haviland: Oh, honey, haven't we all been here! You can't make anyone like you, dear - it'll just happen. If you're into someone and you're not sure if they reciprocate, flirt a little bit and try and figure it out, or ask one of their other friends. Leave a little "circe" (gift) at their place or at their work...nothing too romantic at first - better if it's sweet and/or funny. Make sure whatever it is can later be sluffed off as being a friendly gesture, but also, something that, if they are into you, they'll think is super sweet. If you find that they aren't into you, let it go! Don't waste your precious time obsessing over someone with whom it just ain't gonna happen!

Riese: I think what Haviland is saying is "lower your standards." Howevs, I think you can sometimes win someone over by showing them (subtly!) you can treat them right (if that's what they want) ... or by making yourself indispensable to them, like make them super codependent on you and then be like "look, either we take this relationship to the next level, or I'm outta here," and then they're like "fuck, I better keep you around otherwise who's gonna make dinner?" Mostly, I'd say that you need to talk about other romantic exploits (make some up if you don't have any) to make yourself seem like you're being desired by people all over the world.

But srsly, the most attractive trait a person can carry off is confidence. If you don't wanna be slotted as a "friend," then you need to be someone who knows what they're doing. Don't confess anything embarrassing or radiate neediness or inexperience right away. That'll come later, once you've already had a few rounds of riding the hobby horse wink wink.

Also:
1. Axe Body Spray.
2. Be mysterious and aloof, or better yet -- mysteriously aloof.
3. Didn't Ross & Rachel end up getting married? Just sayin' ...
4. I believe a great pop song once sang, "I can't make you love me if you don't, I can't make your heart feel something it won't." Right? Yeah. Think about it -- you can't force someone to be with you and you wouldn't want to. If they don't see how fabulous you are, then they're not the "one," 'cause "Thinks I'm fabulous" is a very important trait in a partner.
5. Get drunk and go to Manhunt.com, it works every time.

Haviland: I agree about the confidence thing, but the other advice? hm...maybe the axe body spray...this is a very good idea.

Riese: Secretly, I think my brother wears Axe Body Spray. And for someone with my genetic makeup, his luck with the ladies is not too shabby.

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Dear H&R,

I've been with my girlfriend for about ten months. We're good together. The only problem is, she bites me. Really hard. I don't know how to explain away neck and shoulder bruises. What do you suggest?

-Bitten

Dear Bitten,

Riese: Listen up, Semi, I told you to just say you fell down the stairs! Oh wait -- ten months. NM. Um, okay anonymous Bitten, if you were my friend and you had neck and shoulder bruises and I was like, "what are those?" and you went, "my girlfriend bites me. Really hard," I'd be like HOLLA! and give you a high-five, and then we could go to the record store and have a few beers, maybe listen to some rock n' roll, etc.

But seriously, I think you need to make up a story -- like tell your girlfriend, "OMG, so apparently everyone at work has been chatting about my shoulder and
neck bruises and they think that you're like, abusing me, or -- I dunno, everyone's looking at me funny and thinking i have some sort of sordid secret life. So you have to stop! I know it's hot and fun, but I can't explain away these bruises forevs!" or something. Also, are you sure she's not a vampire and she's actually eating your blood? I think there was an L Word episode about this.

Haviland: I don't know about "making up a story." I'm never a fan of this. Do you like the biting? If not, then just ask her to stop, that you're into her, but not into that. If you do like it, you should just ask her to take a nibble on all the places that people at work won't see. What I would do is tell her she's really sexy (make sure to boost her up, so she doesn't think you're putting her down) and all the true things you love about her and her biting, but tell her you're afraid people are staring at your bruises. Suggest some places to nibble that aren't so visible.. In any event, talk to her about it - tell her this is kind of hard to bring up (obvs it is if you're writing to us about it and not just talking to her) but that it's important to be honest, because you do really think the relationship is great and that you're good together. This is a minor thing. The thing is, if you're in an intimate situation, and your mind is on "omg there she goes with that - how am i going to explain it this time?", then you're not really being all that intimate, and your mind is taken off of her. And don't you think she wants it to be on her and how good she's making you feel? So, thats the deal...communicate.

Riese: While we're on the topic, FYI ... DO NOT TOUCH HAVILAND'S FACE."

Haviland: "Do NOT touch my face."

Riese: "I just had another idea -- coat your body in poison, like people do when they don't want to bite their nails."

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Dear H & R,

I came out to my parents two years ago, when I was 18. My mom's Cuban (w/very strong religious beliefs & "family morals") and my Dad had just been getting back into religion again. My mom stopped speaking to me for five months and my Dad thought I should let go of all my sins so God would forgive me, but I don't like being forced into religion ... or anything. Also, they asked me not to tell my younger brother, who was 15 at the time, and I agreed to wait 'til he was older -- I guess I wanted to give my parents something.

Last November, I put my foot down. I told my Mom I didn't want to just be "tolerated" and I had a right to tell my brother and so I did. He said he kinda already knew but it was still weird and when I tried to talk to him about it, he'd just shut down.

To make everyone else comfortable, I never talk about being gay or about girls I find attractive, but it's getting to a point of ridiculousness. Today I was driving my brother home from school, listening to Katy Perry's CD -- she sings "I Kissed a Girl" and "UR So Gay" (although Perry herself is straight). My brother FLIPPED OUT and asked me to change the song 'cause the last seven songs have been about "that." He can't even say the word "gay."

I love him so much and I'd do anything for him, but I'm getting so tired of trying to make everyone else comfortable while sacrificing being myself. I don't ever overstate it or throw it in anyone's face, and I never would, but I think listening to a song that mentions girls kissing each other or uses the word "gay" shouldn't be a problem.

Am I overthinking this? How do I approach my brother w/o him shutting down? Do I have a right to feel the way I do?

-IM So Gay.

Riese: Do you live at home with your parents? I feel like maybe you feel a little guilty for being gay 'cause they've told you to be, and that repressed self-loathing enables you to not feel you've got a right to actually be a whole person and demand that your whole person be loved and respected like everyone else.

Have you had a girlfriend? I'd suggest that you find a smokin' hot girlfriend who's totally into you, and then bring her over, and your brother will think it's hot and your parents will be like "omg, there are lesbians who don't wear flannel and chop down trees with hairy armpits," and she can win them over, etc. Actually I think what I am describing is a prostitute (not a bad idea!) In general ... I think it's hard to live your life feeling any kind of guilt for how you've chosen to live it. You'll never be able to feel fully comfortable in your skin until the people who love you can look at your skin and your face and your whole self and say, "it is good."

Haviland: I have a lot of feelings about this. Do you have anyone in your extended family or family friends who could be your ally on this, and help you to talk with your family? You need a team. Sadly, many, many people go through what you're dealing with - a family who believes fully in the "don't ask, don't tell" policy. So you're left feeling that if you even reference possibly thinking someone might be attractive, that you are being sinful and inappropriate and wrong. YOU ARE NOT WRONG. It's amazing that you told your mom you didn't want to just be tolerated -- maybe you can take it a step further and get her help on this? I think it freaks out families to think of their kid/sister as being gay because it, annoyingly, puts their mind into thinking of that person (you) in a sexual situation, and no one wants to think about their sister or kid having a sex life. What's important for your family to understand, and MORE importantly, for you to really be at peace with, is the fact that being a gay is really not a big deal. Really. Instead of dating a guy, it's going to be a girl. That's all. Align yourself with an ally or two, or 100. They are out there. You've found a blog full of them here, in fact! Didn't Jimmy get the memo that lesbians are hot? Send him the links to our websites! I'll leave you with this, from "Silent Legacy" by the Queen of being guilt-free about who you are, the extraordinary Melissa Etheridge, "Mothers, tell your children -be quick - you must be strong. Life is full of wonder. Love is never wrong."

Riese: I think you need to ask your Mom what it is precisely that concerns her -- is she worried you'll be poor w/o a man 'cause women have unequal earning power, or that you'll be ostracized, or is she legitimately worried that you're going to hell? Confront those concerns head-on. (Directly to the forehead.) Also, I feel like a lot of homophobia stems from the homophobic person being angered by/ashamed of their own gay feelings (a.k.a. The Fairbanks Syndrome) (see also: the evangelical Christian preachers getting blown in gas station bathrooms). 'Cause sometimes we're all a little bi. Ask your brother what exactly it is that bothers him -- is he embarrassed? Grossed out? (and if so, point out the idea of thinking about him having sex with a girl also grosses you out). Maybe if they're just worried what other people will think, you can offer them your closeted behavior around their friends and family in exchange for love within your immediate family. Or say you understand they don't approve, and that that'll never change, but you'd like to be able to be yourself around them, and that accepting you doesn't mean they're backing down on their beliefs. Ultimately it's their problem -- you've got no problem with how they live. They're the ones creating all this drama.

They need to know it's not their "fault," and that it's not gonna change. Show them books and movies and shows and Ellen & Portia! As long as you internalize their loathing, they'll get away with it -- they probs still think you can change, 'cause they don't understand that it's a part of you that you can't change. Once they do, they'll realize they've got two choices: accept it, or loose you. And the art of losing is hard to master, no matter what Elizabeth Bishop says.

FYI; there's nothing in the bible against lesbians. Just -- so you know. As Ruth told her gay son in Six Feet Under when he came out; "I don't get to chose which parts of you that I love like some kind of chicken."

Haviland: Yes, asking your mom what scares her so much would really put the ball in her court. Also, the more I think about it, I feel annoyed by everyone always saying that they aren't flaunting their sexuality or whatever - like as though you are walking down the street naked, waving a pride flag? I don't really get this. Most lesbians I know are pretty boring, actually - they live in homes, some of them have kids, many of them engage in gossip and obsession, not unlike seventh grade girls...but basically, if "flaunting" it means just being cool with who you are, whats the problem with this? I used to feel awkward about holding my girlfriends hand in front of my parents. But then I had to think, ok, if this were a guy, would I feel awkward? Well, probably. But the point - when you are passionate about something, don't you want to share it with the people you love?

Riese and I obvs have SO many feelings about this, and since I've been thinking about it for 15 years (srsly, I'm not kidding about that), I have a lot to say, and I feel like many of our readers might have thought a little about this, too! So, let's continue this dialogue!

Auto-Fun of the Day :: 6-5-2008

FYI, our advice column is totally gonna rock! We're going to change people's lives, like Sally Jessie Raphael and Joni Mitchell. Our first installment is coming together as we speak. Keep sending your questions to askautowin@yahoo.com!

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quote: "At a time when increasing numbers of women were demanding the right to take up more space in the world it is no surprise that they'd be hit with the opposite message from a culture that was (and still is) both male-dominated and deeply committed to its traditional power structures. Women get psychically larger, and they're told to grow physically smaller. Women begin to play active roles in realms once dominated by men (schools, universities, athletic fields, the workplace, the bedroom), and they're countered with images of femininity that infantilize them, render them passive and frail and non-threatening. The female body is the place where this society writes it's messages, writes Rosalind Coward in Female Desires. A response to feminism was etched with increasing clarity on the whittled-down silhouette of the average American model: Don't get too hungry, don't overstep your bounds." (Caroline Knapp, "Appetites")

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links:
1) I thought this was a good article, but then I read this: New Yorker Film Critic Anthony Lane Has Female Trouble, and so now I take it back. Per always/often, Jezebel is right ... or, rather, I am wrong. (@jezebel)
2) "Every theory we have about the human world and about the future is vulnerable to the black swan, the unexpected event. We sail in fragile vessels across a raging sea of uncertainty." Fun!: Nassim Nicholas Taleb - the prophet of boom and doom. (@times uk)
3) So You Want to Write a Memoir?: "Make sure your life hasn't already been lived." They've catalogued addictions, trauma, diseases, disorders, family , foodstuffs, religion, upbringing, employment, travel, etc. Really, an extraordinary list ... read it. (@ew.com)

''The bar keeps going higher,'' says Sara Nelson, editor in chief of Publishers Weekly. ''Well, you were a drug addict, but did you kill anybody? Well, you killed somebody, but did you do it with your bare hands? Well, you were hungry, but were you as hungry as Frank McCourt? The more that's written, the harder it is to come up with something new or dramatic to say.''

4) Finally a movie-to-musical adaptation that makes sense -- Saved! the musical. (@culture vulture)
5) Fuck SATC -- The entire series of Absolutely Fabulous is now available on DVD. (@afterellen)
6) From "Next-Door Neighbor: A Series of True-Life Webcomix Featuring Today's Best Artists and Writers" - "My Neighbor the Dickhead" by Ed Piskor (@smith magazine)
7) The beauty of shared items -- Alex shared this, then I shared this, then LK shared this -- howevs, I still can't get any of these wallpapers to actually download. Rawr! Desktop Wallpaper Calender: June (@smashing magazine)
8) Three Poems: Focal point of repeated ekphrastic stanza, A least feast, An image play: Center Stage, by Bob Hicok. (@Fou)
9) "Women's Studies" Does the fairer sex need its own instructions on how to do ... everything? (bookslut @the smart set)
10) Illustration from Anne de Renzis

Auto-Fun of the Day :: 6-4-2008

Two major announcements:

1. Tomorrow (Thursday) evening, while the rest of you are watching Friends and Seinfeld, Carly and I will be creating a vlog for your entertainment pleasure. If you have any questions for Carly, topics you'd like to see discussed, L Word scenes you'd like re-enacted or special comments about the DUke of eDunburgh award you'd like to hear out loud, please do say so.

2. As you may or may not've gleamed from my careful presentation of Haviland's personality traits, Haviland and I are very different. For example; Haviland plans ahead for the future, and I live as if I will get hit by a car tomorrow. Also, because I drink and have ADD (and she doesn't), it's far more likely that I will get hit by a car tomorrow. Haviland's type is "whomever is on the cover of MORE magazine," and I'm a little more Teen Vogue. What's the point of all this? Well, because of our divergent approaches to life, we give very different advice, like Lipstick & Dipstick!*

SO! We're gonna start an advice column segment here on Auto-Win; we think it'll be funny. We've been talking about this for about nine months now, which tells you how good I am at getting things off the ground. "Launching" if you will. I secretly give really good advice. Many of you perfect strangers enjoy telling me about your girl troubles anyhow, so I figure this way it'll be official.

We'd like to stress that this is not a girls-only advice column. This is for men, women, men who used to be women, women who used to be men, people who don't believe in gender, and stuffed animals.

And, if you give us your address, Haviland will mail you an autographed headshot sprayed with her perfume. I haven't run this part by her yet, but I'm sure it'll be fine.

E-mail your questions for Hav & Riese's yet-unnamed advice column: askautowin@yahoo.com.
You can be anonymous or named. Whatevs. Ask anything.

* The advice columnists at Curve: The Lesbo Magazine.

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quote:""That's the thing about depression: If you really allow yourself to feel it, it gets very boring, very fast." (Brenda, Six Feet Under)

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links:
1. I would really like an Obama-Clinton ticket, thank you. (@nytimes)
2. In Case of Actual Death. (@kfan)
3. Lisa Simpson: Feminist Hero -- a supreme video montage. (@jezebel)
3. I can't really say anything about this article without being sarcastic, so um, here it is: "The Science of Sarcasm" (@nytimes)
4. "Tour-Ettes Syndrome": a ride on the Sex and the City bus. (@radar)
5. "Conversations My Parents Must Have Had While Planning to Rasie a Child"

DAD: I don't think we should talk about feelings.
MOM: Never.

(@mcsweeneys)
6. The Art of Complaining (@financial times)
7. How lovely: Why Poetry Matters. (@the independent)
8. E.g., Hoop by Rae Armatrout. (@poetry)
9. I don't know why I find this unbelievably interesting, but I do: "What I Ate This Morning: A 60-Person Poll." I had a Lean Pocket and a Venti Iced Skim Latte, FYI. You? (@nymag)
10. [Photos: Julia Fullerton-Batten]

Auto-Fun of the Day :: 6-3-2008

quote: "The more withered the reality, the more gigantic and tyrannical the dream. From the dark hole of a bar on a street of sickness and whores comes a teeming cloud of music sparkling with warmth and glamour: Sweet dreams of rhythm and magic-- Look in and see dark dead blurs slumped on stools." (Veronica, Mary Gaitskill.)

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links: 1) Okay, now The New York Times Magazine has officially gone from being controversial to just being weird. This Sunday's cover story: Tyra Banks. Good thing she doesn't have any tattoos or ex-boyfriends. (@the new york times magazine)
2) The Coffee Junkie's Guide to Caffeine Addiction (@nymag)
3) A surprisingly eloquent article about Angelina Jolie. With links to a retrospective of prior articles including one from 2005 which she states: "Men don't really like skinny, do they? Ever since I dated a woman, I know what it is to grab a curve on a woman's body. Skinny's not fine when the lights are low." (@vanity fair)
4) The Book Collection That Devoured My Life: "I'm not a snob about books, but I'm probably a show-off -- as who isn't? My showing-off is of a pretty low-key if not completely abstruse sort, though ... it's rather a closed circle; I impress myself." (@wsj)
5) My neighbors smoke crack on my stoop, but apparently the real problem worthy of immediate legal action is when your neighbor is a "bohemian" woman offering tantric massage. Goddess Bless America. Let the woman spread the tantra! Damn the Man! (@sexpros)
6) RKB talks to The Reality-Cast (RH Reality Check: Information and Analysis for Reproductive Health) about the links between feminism and erotica and her new book Dirty Girls! The podcast also covers an NY sex ed battle involving the crazy pro-abstinentence people, gay couples celebrating their new rights, etc. From the podcast, RKB is talking about "Fucking Around, " AKA MY story!!!:

"It's really beautiful, and what I love about it is that it almost makes me cry when you read it, but it's also really sexy. And anyone who can do all of those things; who can make you laugh and can make you cry and can really turn you on ... is a really good writer."
-RKB, talking about memememeemememe

7) Poem: "Dearborn Suite" by Phillip Levine: "Henry, master of Dearborn, / who loathes sharing the light / with the unenlightened among us." (@the new yorker)
8) "Chances are, if you came of age in the '90s and have an even glancing relationship to music, you made your fair share of mix tape for various friends and lovers. If those parties reciprocated, and if you are a pack rat, their lovingly curated compilations are probably still in storage somewhere in your home. Go dig one up ... let the aforementioned wistfulness wash over you."Mix Tape Nostalgia"(@utne reader)
9) "The tip of the tongue state" occurs once a week: "What's That Name?" (@the boston globe)
10) "It’s not just about bodies, or running time, of course but of dramatic scope, theatrical invention and sheer entertainment value. “August” is a big play in just about every way.": "The Big Cast, Bigger Canvas, of Broadway" (@the ny times)

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most recenct autowin: "It's 4 AM and your girl is lovely, hubble (Obligatory SATC Post)"
[all photos by julia fullerton-batten. see more of her work : here.]

It's 4 AM on a Monday Morning and Your Girl is Lovely, Hubble. (Obligatory SATC movie post)

[UPDATE: Somehow this published last night without the last two paragraphs. Sorz .. Fixed now.]

*

I saw the colors and the wind in their skirts; four women clompity-clomping down a sidewalk and the sheer power of their power seemed like parting seas. I saw Carrie perched like a cat at the edge of her bed, typity-typing words that were just for us to eat up like bon-bons stuffed with both alcohol and fortunes. We could crack open our sweetest spots and inside we could read: "Do mistakes make our fate?" "Do we ever give up the ghosts of relationships past?" Then we'd eat our cookies and the sweetness would stick to our teeth.

I believed those were our sweetest spots: "Is it smarter to follow your heart or your head?" "Is hope a drug we need to go off of, or does it keep us alive?" Our sweetest spots weren't what we'd suspected (animals wanting their bellies scratched, or food), they were what we'd hoped (a drug that keeps us alive).

And then; we could eat our cookies.

And, in Michigan, alone at night-time when I'd feel like an alien accidentally born on the wrong planet, I'd watch this show called Sex and the City on DVD and I'd write in my journal: ONE DAY YOUR LIFE WILL BE FAR MORE FABULOUS THAN THIS. I'd cut out magazine pictures of women in powersuits and paste them into my journal and draw pictures with colored pencils. A boy would call and I'd glance benevolently at his name on the ID and sigh at how silly and small he was compared to this city. He was insignificant and mean, I was clompity-clomp and mean, he'd eat my dust like an expensive bon-bon and it would taste like my mouth and then I'd bite his hand.

I saw the sex. I saw the city which got dark and dirty at night -- teeeming with prostitutes and puddles and heartbreak and shoe-break. I saw these things only -- the way the word "brunch" sounds like "french," like french kissing, or french toast. I heard other sounds too; women laughing, the self-assured lilt of Samantha's unapologetic lust, full of pride and self-reliance and hunger. I heard Charlotte's lips twisting in prudish neurotic adorable Charlottehood. I felt Miranda's eyes rolling far far away and then reluctantly returning to the table like someone who'd just eaten your fourtune without reading it and then offered you a really good book in exchange.

I heard Miranda; "We're four smart women with jobs and men is all we can talk about? It's like seventh grade with bank accounts." I thought; true story. I thought; let's talk about women instead. Let's talk about other kinds of desire, the kind we already understand but maybe don't know what to do with yet. Not these strange games and boundaries, where closets and rings mean more than poetry.

"Carrie" was right about one thing -- it is our mistakes that make our fate. And that's got nothing to do with mistakes and a lot more to do with fate. We've all got the same one, and maybe we come here to escape it. And if we don't come here -- to this immortal city -- it doesn't matter. What we come here for is the same exact feeling that every person everywhere feels through fucking or through drugs or through a car speeding through a clean night or through laughter or the kind of love you can't put on a keychain or in a newspaper or on a blog.

Through the moments when stars looked like bright lights, big cities. Through silence. We came here 'cause we wanted it double, which means paying double too.

Here, here, here, this city. Its lights and garish billboards of women selling shampoo like shampoo is secretly a blow job from a girl made out of candy and colors. Women selling underwear like underwear is sex or a city or sex in a city or women on magazine covers, the sides of busses, is women still making less than men but fighting just the same. Is women made immortal by the ambivalent wave of an airbrush, like photographs are magicians and women are bunnies with their ears pert and open. And also by the dirty things women don't talk about, by the compromises.

This is New York City: sex isn't always a soundbyte, isn't how Samantha comes like she's warning the neighborhood. Sex is not always brunch or french.

Sex is not always coloring though sometimes it is. Sometimes it's like the colorful dresses the girls wore in the movie and the show that I liked when I used to have dreams like balloons that kept getting bigger as long as you remained willing to blow.

Sometimes sex is like touching someone's skin with your fingertip and feeling that you've accidentally split their lungs right open and then saying "It's okay, I can teach you how to breathe." It's saying, "trust me," and then leading them underground with one finger latched into their finger and a darkness only you understand.
It's saying "look me in the eyes and tell me how much you like me," and then crawling inside of that feeling like it's a swimming pool you can sleep in without drowning. You can just dream and kiss forever after all.

Is like hitting someone in the face, or just wanting to.

And sometimes sex is a strong hand on the back of your skull, is a moment when you close your eyes and think about ponies and pudding and the sound of your best friend laughing and licking frosting off the spoon while your mother makes cake and you are small and far away. It's thinking these things until it's over and you're still gasping for air and then later, alone in Manhattan at night, walking towards wheels to take you home, you'll hold a cigarette tenderly to your lips to remind yourself that sometimes you can choose the kind of death you let inside you. It's how easily smoke covers his smell and every smell you've ever smelled.

It's the relief of a night where no one gives a shit, where you could drown in a puddle or a pool of pudding.

And the city ?

Is work. Is women working their assess off as if we never took back any kind of night. Is everything that happened after the year 2000 when we realized actually none of us had the right to vote. The city is women working in big, hulking, angry buildings that raise triumphant and phallic into the sky. Is women winning and losing and giving up and leaving and winning and auto-winning some.

Is Samantha in Richard's office, determined to get the account. Is Miranda. Is everything about Miranda until the movie. Is the episode when all four women admit they've been taking care of themselves for a long time, and they aren't really necessarily ready to let someone else take that part over. The film at times felt like women begging for someone else to take over, clinging to prior independence like an illness they couldn't shake. Not 'cause they were tired -- which I fully understand-- but because it just wasn't so important, not as important as keychains and purses.

In the finale, I cried when Big said; "You three are the real loves of her life." Did you? And I wanted a moment in the movie like that. Some were close -- the girls shuffling Carrie into the car outside the library (I'm trying to refrain from spoilers) -- but I wanted one step closer. Clickity-clack, and how do they feel about Carrie's book? How's she doing?

**

I came here expecting that kind of life and it hasn't been that way at all -- not even for one minute. I came here expecting lessons and shiny shoes and the colors. Tutus. Pillows like apologies and/or hugs and a world where women could have their cake and make it, too. Men like tiny snacks on little pieces of bread. Clackity-clack go the women on the street. Typity-type on the computer.

I'd never understood why people got upset that TV characters had unrealistically large Manhattan apartments, like Rachel Green in Friends. It's teevee, I thought, who cares? It isn't real, we all know that. Who cares?

I guess ... I did. I cared. I believed in Sex and the City.

And watching the film, I couldn't help but wonder ... how, exactly, does Carrie manage to write about her sex life in a weekly column and regularly publish mysteriously profitable books while managing to avoid that occupation's two elemental repercussions:
1) conflict over writing intimately about the lives of her friends, lovers, and friend's lovers.
2) financial struggles.

The L Word unquestionably cloaks characters in Free City, but it's easier to swallow Shane's $200 t-shirts than Carrie's shoes 'cause we literally see Carrie shop. It's part of her character. She cabs, she brunches, and -- most enviable of all --- lives alone in a nice neighborhood in Manhattan while putting in approximately two hours of work per week.

I came here expecting that but with no real “plan” for obtaining it. I wanted movie magic. Did Carrie have a plan? Did you?

The only part of a wedding I ever got excited over was picking bridesmaids, and thinking about a dress I could wear that'd piss everyone off besides whatever woman had agreed to marry me, and that woman would think the dress was sexy.

What happened when she'd put out three books divulging all her personal failures, put it out there for everyone, and was still the only one without a savings account? Did anyone care that she wrote about them? Did Gawker cover the Vogue fallout? How, how, how ... I wanted to see Carrie's plan, the overlap of the personal and the professional. Her body, her self.

**

"So here I was, a 35-year-old single woman with no financial security, but many life experiences behind me. Did that mean nothing? After all, heartbreak and breakups are the hardest kind of work. So shouldn't there be some sort of credit for enduring them? And if not, how do you retain a sense of value when you have nothing concrete to show for it? Because at the end of yet another failed relationship, when all you have are war wounds and self-doubt, you have to wonder, what's it all worth?"

-Carrie Bradshaw, episode 64, "Ring a Ding Ding"

[Howevs -- she has $40,000 of shoes. In the Book of Riese, ebay gold star seller, those be some assets, SRSLY.]

I came here wanting experience ... and rewards for experience ... at at times, I've had it!

I've had moments that make me jealous of myself and they all felt like magic and gifts. Almost everything I've gotten here has been through magic and love and things I deem unquestionably real, deserved.

This isn't a good long-term plan 'cause magic comes and goes but 9-to-5 jobs are forever, but luckily I believe very strongly in the moment and try not to think about next week.

As for financial security and white knights ... I guess I was looking for a different kind of rock. For what I loved about the show and loved for those brief, multi-colored moments in the film when the four girls rounded the corner and they could've been twenty or two hundred, what mattered was they had each other and they had themselves. Which matters to me more than any kind of deep deep closet.

**

We saw the movie on opening night in Chelsea at midnight. A drag queen introduced the movie. I raised my hand when he said "Who's a Miranda?" Miranda didn't believe in jackshit. 50% of the theater -- mostly gay men -- cheered for "Who's a Samantha?"

I was entertained and delighted and sometimes moved to tears. I had to hide under my hoodie a few times when it got too cheesy -- most scenes involving J-Hud, or when our dear Stef, fully wasted, punctuated her favourite moments rock-show-style with a scream and a fist in the air. But I believe in that, too.

**

I didn't come here expecting to give up men altogether, I didn't come here expecting anything that I got. I may've come here expecting the precise opposite of all this in which case yes, my mistakes did make my fate except I don't believe in fate. I believe in many silly things, but not that.

As for this city and what it's got that I believe in; I believe in love, and I believe in Caitlin and I believe in Alexandra (though they don't live in the city proper, 'cause no one does anymore) and Natalie, and I believe in music and I believe in english muffins and Team Emily and words and books. In art. In everyone who lives here that I love and who will walk down the street with me in Chuck Taylors.

As for that silly movie -- I found Charlotte charming, Samantha oddly bearable, Miranda not pleasant though she's usually my favorite, and Carrie -- I don't know. I liked the fashion show in her closet. I liked the moments that reminded me of 80's movies about cute girls in suburbs who wanted to have fun. I was thoroughly entertained. I didn't like the parts where strong women had nothing else to talk about besides men.

What I love about SATC the show, and what changed my life while I thought I was watching love stories and colors in fabric, was that it challenged my perceptions of the centrality female friendship could hold in one's life. Prior to SATC and TLW, most onscreen female friendships were a series of Brenda and Kelly esque catfights -- competitions over boys or cheerleading squad, etc.

This was embodied in Carrie's walk to Miranda's apartment in the movie -- so totally bogus, and yet so beautiful. And the snow. And the city and the sex inside it and all over it. The places we dream of, the places we can't bear to be found.

Later that day, I got to thinking about relationships. There are those that split you right open like the heart is just another fruit and those that yank you from your present and drop you mercilessly into the feelings of someone you thought you'd left behind. There's those that remind you of where you were, those that help you get where you're going, those that make you think you've got it all wrong and those that lift a heavy gate revealing something right and full of color. There's those that bring you back. But the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous.

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

---

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)

---

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"

Auto-Fun of the Day :: 5-30-2008

I still don't know how to use Final Cut, but I gave it my all -- the Logo NewNowNext Awards Red Carpet Video is up on youtube: (1) Part One & Part Two. It's also up on The L Word Online's video page.

---

quote: "Sometimes I think the people to feel the saddest for are the people who are unable to connect with the profound -- people such as my boring brother-in-law, a hearty type so concerned with normality and fitting in that he eliminiates any possibility of uniqueness for himself and his own personality. I wonder if some day, when he is older, he will wake up and the deeper part of him will realize that he has never allowed himself to truly exist, and he will cry with regret and shame and grief." (Douglass Coupland, "Life After God.")

---

links:
2) Jenny Allen is The Sleepless Woman -- "I fall asleep, boom, and then, four or five hours later, I wake up—like it’s my turn on watch, like I’ve just had a full night’s sleep. But if I act as if I’ve had a full night’s sleep, if I get up and do things, I will be pitiful tomorrow. I will confuse the TV remote with the cordless phone and try to answer it. I will not notice any of my typos—I will type “pubic school” this and “pubic school” that in e-mails to people whose public schools I am looking at for my daughter.": I'm Awake. Are You Awake? (@the new yorker)
3) This article reminded me of what happened with me & [redacted] magazine ... except my story never ran. [blessing in disguise, in so many ways.]: "The Times Magazine dapples Sunlight On Its Memoirist." (@the ny observer)
4) Jeanette Winterson interviewed for the Sydney Writer's Festival (@sydney morning herald)
5) "What is it about designers? Who are we and why are we the way we are?" Because they're cute, obvs! : "Defining the Designer" (@viget inspire)
6) RKB interviews Kerry Cohen on publishing and her "memoir of promiscuity" (@lusty lady)
7) Video games might not be that bad for you, but I still don't want to watch you play them. (@the prospect)
8) We'll find out tonight! "If SATC the series was promotions heavy, SATC the movie is positively heaving.": "Why retail hopes for Sex and the City won't pay off." (@slate.com).
8a) Classical Allusions in SATC: "Urban Mythology" (@radar)
9) "12 out writers share insights into the genres in which they tell their stories" -- this segment includes Sarah Waters and Rebecca Walker: In Their Own Words (@afterellen)
10) Hope! Hope! Now gays can get married in the sunshine, return to the trash and traffic, remain married: Paterson Sneaks Gay Marriage in Through the Back Door (@nymag)

Sunday Top Ten, Part One: I Wish I Had a River I Could Skate Away On

It is a truth universally acknowledged that it's lame to open any piece of writing with a quote -- even a self-indulgent blog post (update for those not aware: as of May 20th, 2008, "blogs which employ first person narratives" are the default "lowest possible form of written communication/art," ranking only slightly above: emails from technologically incompetent grandmothers, the Yahoo! front page headlines, Goofus and Gallant, Nicholas Sparks novels, negative comments on youtube, text messages from pre-adolescents and the screenplay for Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo). But it's also a truth universally acknowledged that the truth is a silly animal and there's no hunting allowed (we saw the signs this weekend), so I will persist -- I will open by quoting someone far wiser than I'll ever be. Although ... actually, I did just talk so much nonsense that the opening's already taken care of (opening with nonsense is punk and not lame), therefore I'm not opening with a quote, except that I secretly actually did. Hey-oh!

The Great Jim Harrison (The Legends of the Fall, After Ikkyu & Other Poems) once wrote: "One day. Standing in the river with my flyrod, I'll have the courage to admit my life." My writing teacher transcribed this quote in my "book" (I have this special book of my favorite poems & stories and I'd give it to friends/mentors to make a page or 2-3) underneath a 70's b&w of himself (my teacher). Above the photo, my teacher wrote: "Marie - Don't forget -- you owe me a big check so I can do a lot of thinking." See; I was supposed to get famous (due to my fingers allegedly being on the pulse of my generation -- a grave miscalculation), make money, and then send him to Montana where he could fish and think all his life.

Missoula, Missoula, Missoula, I'm yours. Eugene, your name is so terrible that you must be terribly lovely and green. I went to Ashland (same state), there were mountains, they were beautiful.

That's what they do (mountains). They sit there, look good.

I was upstate for Memorial Day weekend -- Alex's family has a cabin up there. Last night I came home. The sirens started after dark. A few, then a hundred, and then helicopters, then the people on the street with something to yell about and loudly. Seven innocent people shot, a few blocks away: "The gunman is still at large, and residents have been advised to stay in their homes." I miss East Harlem sometimes. No cab-drivers or delivery people or friends dared to tread into Sparlem, but people danced to music there. Here, on the West, music just thumps out of cars like it's fighting with the pavement, there's no dancing.

My favorite is NY1's article today, which ends with "two other unrelated shootings also happened in the area last night." (Subtext: "but we don't care.") -- shooting a 13-year-old boy in the leg? How the fuck does that happen? Seriously. How the fuck does that happen?

I don't know. And so, I keep talking about myself. Which I don't know either, but I know it enough to try to talk something. Crazy. Burma. Shoot.

Missoula, Missoula, Missoula, Santa Monica, San Francisco, Eugene, Tacoma, La Jolla, Raleigh, Anchorage, Chapel Hill, Concord, Santa Ana, Savannah, Interlochen, Missoula, Pierre, Charlotte, Colorado Springs, Mesa, Missoula, Des Moines, Providence, Montreal, Sioux Falls, Southampton, Escondido, San Antonio, Tulsa, Thousand Oaks, Topeka, Lafayette, Baton Rouge, Little Rock, Clearwater, Athens, Missoula. Those all sound nice. Literally.

One day, standing in the river with my flyrod, I'll have the courage to admit my life.

SUNDAY TOP TEN: Things I Used to do All the Time but Hadn't Done in Long Time, Until Recent Time.

TO BE COMPLETED IN TWO SEGMENTS
PART ONE : 10-6
*

10. Hiking in the Woods

Once upon a time, I didn't own a laptop case but I treasured my hiking backpack. The straps were adjusted for my then-narrow boyish hips. I needed help to cram a sleeping bag into its lower pocket.

Saturday I was standing in the river and remembered everything.

Specifically: rivers I'd crossed before, tents slept in, that wilderness survival class I'd taken at thirteen where I had to build my own shelter from tarp & sticks and sleep in it for three days (but! I was young and we got mooned by the boys. All we could see was leaf-shadows on pale pre-adolescent ass, but what a thrill! Mooning!), getting lost in the Smokies, trekking the Tetons, singing bad hip-hop with backaches and bandanas somewhere in Northern Michigan. Afterwards I'd forget how bad my back hurt and remember the Nalgene bottle and the smell of fire.

It's always bizarre to have dozens of strong memories of a certain activity -- a non age-specific activity -- and then realize the memories are all at least ten years old, like when you go to the doctor and they ask when your last physical was and you feel like it was probs last year but when pressed realize, omg, it's been way more than a year.

I missed the woods. Hark!

*

9. Gone w/o Internet for over 48 hours

In the week preceding our recent jaunt to Malibu, I'd been wallowing in an imploding and increasingly boring state of depression/anxiety. Haviland said there was no internet at her temporary Malibu digs but 'cause Haviland's technologically impaired, I took this to mean, "I feel there's no internet in my house, but also I don't know how computers work and therefore I'm sure that You! Riese! will find the magic key to wireless." Howevs, I was wrong, Haviland was right as she always is. (First rule of fight club is "Haviland is right") Ixnay on the interent. This weekend upstate -- also, no internet ... and nowhere to drive to and get it, either. And ... it was actually totally ... fine. In Malibu everything was shiny with big lapping waves, upstate everything was green and familiar and safe. Wireless, shmireless. Once the panic passes, it's a whole new kind of calm.

*

8. Talked to Strangers A LOT

In the past three weeks I've met Alex's family & friends, gone to two parties in one night, hugged Leisha Hailey and interviewed -- on camera -- a plethora of B-list homosexual celebrities. So, screw you, ex-boyfriend who said I had no social skills! (I mean, I don't. But whatever.) (Sidenote; nothing wrong with the B-list. I think I'm on the W-list or something, optimistically). I think waitressing was my old unreal social outlet, I miss it sometimes. Good workout.

*

7. Hung up On Someone, Over and Over

This technique, employed popularly by dramatic adolescents, can also be enjoyed by full grown adults, if the situation merits. Have you ever had a hang-up relationship? You know what I mean? I had one, 4-5 years ago ... it made me insane and anxious, 'cause I never knew when he was about to hang up and depending on the circumstance, call back or wait for my call back, etc. If I hung up -- would HE call back? How many times would he have to call back before I'd pick up? Vice versa? OMG how did this become my fucking life, etc.?

Once you get used to it, hanging up becomes really not so different from just saying something. As an adult, I feel it's only necessary when someone insists on saying things you don't want to hear. Or! You can take "hanging up" and raise it "hurling phone against the wall," that's fun.

I made the poor decision of raising the topic of Emily Gould's article -- and subsequently, the "self-indulgence-of-bloggers" debate -- with B.

B.: "You're such a good writer, Marie, and you have so much substance, and so much to offer --"
Me: "Wait, slow down. I'm going to transcribe this for my blog, because I'm very self-indulgent and want to air all my personal conversations in public. Okay, got it -- I'm at "so much to offer," keep going--"
B.: "Okay ... really?" [laughs] "You have so much to offer, and yet you're wasting your time on things that are superficial -- I wonder whether or not it ever occurs to you that your endeavors are not as fruitful as they might be, or that they might be superficial, or not be worth your time as much as other endeavors."
Me: "Like what?"
B.: "Like not writing for a body that needs to be entertained. About lip gloss and manicures."
Me: "I LIKE LIP GLOSS AND MANICURES!"
B. : "You say you feel empty, you might want to look at your work and ask why you feel empty --"
(I hang up)

B.: "What if I was your -- your creative writing teacher, coming to tell you this, would you listen?"
Me: "Yes."
B.: "Because of academia's institutions and --"
Me: "Because I'd take this advice from anyone other than you."
B.: "So it's just 'cause it's me."
Me: "Yes."
B.: "So, then, don't listen to me."
Me: "I'm not, when I do, it stresses me out and I can't write anything. Don't read my blog if you don't like it."
B.: "I'm only saying this -- and continuing to call you back when you hang up on me -- because I believe in you, weirdo, and I want to read your blog. I love your writing."
Me: "You haven't liked anything I've written all year."
B. "I liked that auto-portrait piece."
Me: "UGH. Okay, you didn't like anything besides that."
B.: "Okay, tell me what was the content in your most recent post?"
Me: "Nothing. Nothing it was totally irrelevant, worst blog ever, you should just read Elif Bautman and Arts & Letters and The Guardian UK and skip my vapid blog."
B.: "Just tell me what in that post --"
(I hang up)

And so on. Eventually we reached a truce related to different feelings about art vs. entertainment and clearly life in general. Whatevs. "Blog" is such a weird word, it sounds like "bog." Which is a swamp. "There's just no pleasing you, there's just no talking to you." (Ani DiFranco) But I don't know the answer to the question, "why do I do it?" The answer I gave: "I don't know yet." I'm ok with that. It'll be my final answer.

Seriously, I wish everyone in this neighborhood could just truce for like 20 seconds so that a solid hour of my life that could pass without the sound of sirens. I'd prefer to hear cows or chickens.

If I started an Emily Gould fanclub on facebook, I wonder if anyone would join it. Actually, that idea is probably so May 26th, and it's totally the 27th already. The slogan would be "If you don't like what she's doing, don't read it, weirdo."

Emily has spoken:

Q: Like you, Joni Mitchell was extremely self-referential. Many people liked this at first, but they eventually grew tired of it. When she finally stopped writing about herself and turned her attention elsewhere, most people had already lost interest and moved on. Do you worry that the same thing will happen to you?

A: Have people grown tired of Joni Mitchell's self-referentiality? I haven't.
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(me neither)

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6. Rode Bicycles

As I mentioned in "Top Ten Sport," bike-riding is one of my favorite life activities and has always been. Remember when you didn't know how? I can't imagine that anymore. I sold my bike when I left Williamsburg though and then the guy I sold it to emailed me and said that he'd fallen off the bike and was paralyzed for life or something and it was my fault for selling a bad bike. Except that I'd ridden it the week before, so whatevs, and also he test rode it around our 'hood before paying for it and riding away. Really I don't know what to say about that whole incident, it makes me itchy. Riding bikes in NYC is like Frogger. Riding bikes upstate, or along Venice Beach, is like perfect. Except for the inner thigh sweat and going uphill.

So anyhow, one day, standing above a river on a bicycle, I'll have the courage to admit my life -- lip gloss and all. For now; sirens, gould, self-indulgent english muffin eating. Ehhh. Scream.

We've Got Hamlets to Visit, We've Got Trees We've Yet to Live In

This weekend I am going to a mysterious "place" upstate where I am told we'll be playing a game called "Manhunt," which involves running around in the dark w/flashlights and touching others with physical aggression. I just set myself up for a lot of really good jokes, I can't even decide, I choose both/neither. You decide, it's a contest, the winner gets a free slice of Key Lime Pie from the Denny's restaurant closest to their home.

Maybe it's not a joke, maybe it's a reality TV show, check it: there will be no internet and my traveling companions include Caitlin, Alex, and Alex's entire family who I will be meeting today.

Also by "place" I mean "house." And by "mysterious" I mean "I am a melodramatic person."

Alex feels it's possible that Cait and I's arrival will be much like Paris and Nicole dropping their credit cards on silver trays before trucking off to hicksville in The Simple Life, but little does she know that basically I am a woman of the wilderness like Robert Bly, Pam Houston, Jim Harrisson, etc., and that I also went to school in the woods for a long time and have, as evidence of that period, the following "poems" on my hard drive: "First Snow," "How to be a poet," "Hearing," "Smell," "Returning to Earth."

Also, "Banana Dreams" : "All the teenagers wanted / to be rock stars, / but you wanted a boat, / an isolated island, you wanted / horizons." What was I talking about? I don't know. I was 17. I was in the woods. I wanted HORIZONS!

This just in! Marie Lyn Bernard and Stephanie Whited reading at "In the Flesh." I don't look at the audience at all, which is cute/not. I stumble on the words twice, because of The Drink. Otherwise, great video, watch it!

Part one:


Part two:


One more thing before I retreat -- I finally read Emily Gould's NY Times article. I loved it. She said so much of what I've been thinking about lately. I also have always enjoyed her writing -- her voice reminds me of me sometimes. I started writing about it -- and about truth, and novels, and art and entertainment and emptiness and fulfillment and lip gloss -- but what I started writing is a mess, so I'll save that for when I return, at which point I will be the 30,000th voice to do so. But let's be honest, mostly I'll just be writing about myself, which is a brand new undiscovered topic rich with gemstones of delight, like a pirate chest.

The biggest shock was realizing on page 6 that Heartbreak Soup was her, primarily 'cause I'd really loved that blog and therefore had a meta moment to see that name dropped. I found them 'cause they linked to me ... secondarily because clearly I'm the worst reader ever, as I never picked up on the many hints dropped about Emily's identity/workplace.

OK! Y'all have a nice weekend, don't forget to Memorialize something unless you live in another country, in which case, um, I have no words for you. HORIZONS! That's all.

Auto-Fun & NEWNOWNEXT VIDEO of the Day :: 5-23-2008

Ladies and gentlemen of the press, fairies, ponies, unicorns, uh huh her groupies, tinkerbell and littlefoot, etc.: I'd like to share with you, before the auto-fun and the snack (graham crackers and peanut butter w/apple juice obvs), a short film. This film was created by me because last week we attended the Logo NewNowNext awards and now I'm supposed to have a video for The L Word Online documenting our efforts. That video will come. Just like rain, snow and me to Carly's office to teach me this g-dforsaken program (Final Cut Express). Using the four or five skills I mastered on FC today, I've assembled a little preview/teaser. I like the word "teaser," it's like oh! Is that a feather on your nose or are you just happy to tease me? Etc. I encourage you to visit the youtube page to view this, you can select "high quality" and it's way better. This video includes superstars like Me, Alex Vega, Caitlin's voice behind the camera, our friend Carly, Michelle Williams, Heather Matarazzo (and her GF Caroline who we know from Cruise '07), Wilson Cruz (RICKIE VASQUEZ!), Candis Cayne, Cyndi Lauper, Billy Eichner, The Dazzle Dancers, Heloise Williams and the Savior Fair, Michelle Paradise, Maeve Quinlan and Jack Mackenroth.

Also our super talented friend Robin does photography for them and so she made lots of memories for us:

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quote: "We can so easily slip back from which we have struggled to attain, abruptly, into a life we never wanted; can find that we are trapped, as in a dream, and die there, without ever waking up. This can occur. Anyone who has lifted his blood into a years-long work may find that he can't sustain it, the force of gravity is irresistable, and it falls back, worthless. For somewhere there is an ancient enmity between our daily life and the great work. Help me, in saying it, to understand it." (Rainer Maria Rilke)

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links:
1) How to Judge a Book by Its Cover:"what makes a good blub?" (@the guardian uk books)
2) Possibly not just in it for the drama: La-Lohan & Sam I Am (@jezebel) Although I don't link to the blogs of people I know (in some way) in the auto-fun (see: shared items), I occasionally break that rule when Lozo turns three, or when Stef writes basically a Pulitzer-Prize worthy poetry series about the iconic lesbian couple, LOLohan and Sam-Ro. It's not to be missed, that's why it's linked here AND in the shared items. Forevs and evs. (@big-exit)
3) This year at Thanksgiving I can't forget to be grateful for the cutting-edge New York Times Thursday Styles Trends Pieces, like this one! "I Love What You Didn't Do To Your Chip Nails" : "Like untied high-tops, thread-worn jeans and bedhead, [chipped nail polish is] now part of a deliberate look." (@nytimes)
4) Cameron Mackintosh is trying to "rediscover the heart of Lez Miz." I hope it's in the first hour or so 'cause after that I drifted off. (@The Philadelpia Inquirier)
5) It's the guy they wouldn't let into the country! Sebastian Horsely interviewed: "The Dandy Man Can: Sebastian Horsely, lover of rock and Francis Bacon, gets deported for 'moral turpitude." (@nerve.com)
6) Ellen DeGeneres asks McCain to walk her down the aisle. (@salon.com) and the video is up at jezebel.
7) Thirteen Ways of Looking at Super Mario Bros (@yankee pot roast)
8) I LOVED THIS: "Exposed" by Emily Gould (@the ny times magazine)
9) Poem: "Neck" by Sarah Arvio : "I love you with all my soul / and all my I don't know what else to say / my friendishness and my girlishness." (@the new yorker)
10) I am not the only person on earth who reads while in traffic, in line, on the exercise bike, at the dinner table. This girl does too. She's also got tips on a site that offers books as disguised workish documents: "Wherever you may find the moment". (@reasons you will hate me.)

Auto-Fun of the Day :: 5-22-2008

quote: "Just as the eye was unable to turn from darkness to light without the whole body, so too the instrument of knowledge can only by the movement of the whole soul be turned from the world of becoming into that of being, and learn by degrees to endure the sight of being and of the brightest and best of being, or in other words, of the good." (Plato, The Allegory of the Cave)

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links:
1) "There are four ways to survive as a writer in the US in 2006: the university; journalism; odd jobs; and independent wealth.": Money, by Keith Gessen (@n+1)
2) Proust Discovers Livejournal. (@mcsweeney's)
3) Truth! This list of The Cutest Jewish Boys on TV includes Fred Savage, others. (@popserious)
4)I love this series, in which authors provide a "music playlist that is in some way relevant to their recently published books." This month is Lavina Greenlaw's The Importance of Music to Girls (@largehearted boy)
5) Once again the power of small unfiltered voices on the internet, combined with that reckless and Opinionated young urban demographic, are ruining the economy, the lives of others, old people, etc. This time, it's Yelp! (@the nytimes)
6)"The nomineees in the Samuel Johnston Prize for Non-Fiction feature a surprising number of novelists, as the Guardian notes, as well as a record level of assholes." (@bookslut)
7)"The desire for a writer to find readers is perfectly understandable, just as it is for a writer to fear judgment": Jonathan Franzen and Phillip Wood converse in Harper's New Book Blog: An Egg in Return (@sentences)
8) JK about the Apocalypse. (@universe today)
9) Chicago is the city of the year, probs 'cause of Oprah or the Cubbies! (@fastcompany)
10) It's Lozo's third birthday! (@wdwgdab)
11) Do 1.3 million people really make a living on ebay? Probs not. (@slate.com)
12) Andrew WK went to my high school. He was actually legitimately too cool for school then, still is: "I had some notes that I'd made to give me a starting point, sometimes, lyrically. But I misplaced those notes." (@the village voice)

Tuesday Top Eight: Time, You've Got Me Running

Clearly I'll believe almost anything for at least a minute if you yell at me loud enough, but it's never been difficult to win me over re: the possibility that we're spiraling slowly/quickly into mass apocalyptic extinction -- especially after George W. took office. Then, last year; getting my nails manicured black, listening to Lavar Burton (from Reading Rainbow and Star Trek: TNG, two of my fave shows!) and James Earl Jones perform The Book of Revelation for "The Bible Experience" audiobook (I like to educate myself via i-pod during mani-pedi time) (I'm a weirdo), I looked outside at April's snow and thought "yup, we're totally in for it."

Luckily, I'm Jewish and don't believe in Revelation, and 'cause the Jews are Chosen I'll probs survive the apocalypse anyhow ... um ... I actually have 'the apocalypse' as a tag, which is telling ... Where was I? I'm sick. I used Carly's chapstick last night before confessing my sickness, so I've been trying to downplay my sickness since then to relieve the guilts I've got over that. Coincidentally, I'm also getting way better.

Sidenote, not related to apocalyptic anything -- in fact quite the opposite! -- we went to the NewNowNext Awards last night and Alex and I pretended to be real reporters (and Cait pretended to be a real cameraperson) for "The L Word Online," the video's gonna be kickass!! I just need to learn Final Cut. Erum today maybe? Look at Michelle Paradise and Tinkerbell! They're so cute and clearly in love!

"What's that, Tinkerbell? You wanna go to the awards with me?"
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Seriously, this video is going to be amazing! More about that later. Back to Top Ten Signs of the Apocalypse! I feel like this post is old-school autowin.
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... Right! Yesterday at the gym I was watching The View (cue endgame music) and all these ladies -- there's four of them, they're all shiny with serious hair and they are all Not Rosie -- agreed that the end is nigh. They were so casual about it. "Yeah, I wouldn't be surprised," etc.

Then I flipped the channel to MTV during a commercial and confirmed immediately that the world'll probs end in 2010 for sure.

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Tuesday Top Eight: Signs of the Apocalypse

8) My Super Sweet 16

The birthday girl hopes it'll be Usher, or someone like that, someone with a name like Skee-Lo or Lil' Romeo, and meanwhile in a gigantic clear wind tank labeled 'Daddy's Money,' other sixteen-year-olds have 20 seconds each to grab for dollar bills. Some kiss the money, some stuff it in their shiny white suits (they're all wearing white, it's a white party), omg, it's the musical guest -- but it's not Usher, it's two ballerinas. They're not wearing white, but they're graceful and talented and for the first time since the 45 seconds prior that I flipped to this channel to begin with, I'm actually interested. Something beautiful is actually happening.

The birthday girl disagrees -- she's horrified, "Oh my GOD this is so embarrassing, what was he thinking?!" she says. She's losing the crowd, her friends are giggling/whispering/aghast. She has failed to provide K-Fed or Kriss Kross. Her father slips into the background, avoiding the camera's reproach, as the birthday girl asks the DJ to stop the music right now, everyone hates it. "I'm here to party, not to see the like, ballet," one dude, the scent of money still fresh on his skin, laments. Anyhow, all is forgiven, her present pulls up outside: "Oh my God," a friend drops jaw for the camera. "She got a new Lexus. I'm so jealous."

All is forgiven. Let us rejoice!

I actually didn't know anyone who had a Sweet 16, is it normal to have one? I guess I went to a lot of Bar/Bat Mitzvahs, though.

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7) Another Shot at Love With Tila Tequila

Ok so let's say hypothetically that you're in a swimming pool with a girl you fancy. There's approx. 50 others in the pool, one's named Glitter, the dudes are named Bo, Jay, etc. -- one-syllable words they'll later hurl at each other with the fury of a thousand tattoos of suns. Then, your fancied girl starts making out w/three other girls, and then she makes out with two other dudes, and then makes out with about 100 other people right there.

Would you:
a) Think "OMG, I love this girl, she's the one for me."
b) Try to start a fight with whomever's kissing her.
c) Boil over with jealousy because she is your one true love, you guys hung out for three minutes yesterday, it was awesome, you're in love, wtf.
d) Get out of the pool and be like, "this show isn't about bisexuality, it's about polyamory, which is totes fine, but also not my thing clearly as I've been brainwashed into believing she's my one and only soulmate, and also, Tila is dumb, I'm gonna go nap on that big-ass bed while all these losers duke it out in the pool."
e) Make like Ophelia and drown.

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6) Our Stummies Hurt

As a wee lassie, I'd call my stomach my "stummy." Get it? Stomach + tummy = stummy. It often hurt. Everyone's stomach often hurts. In fact, I don't know any woman who doesn't have some kind of serious stomach issue. I think this's 'cause the food industry's semi-evil. We eat crap, everything, unless we're just eating organic, which's expensive, and sometimes not organic. I love string cheese, sidenote. Maybe I'll have one right now. I try not to eat lunch-related foods before 11:15. That's when Fourth Hour starts at Interlochen, a.k.a first lunch period.

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"The world is ending out there and people are just getting cosmetic surgery and watching debutantes get screwed up the ass."
(Claire, Six Feet Under)

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5) OMG WTF LMAO ROFL

I read this article and my first thought was, OMG, if the Sex and the City movie is already sold out, I'm gonna be so pissed. THEN! I saw this, which is a timeline of when things'll go extinct in the future, and thought OMG, it's fate. Then I realized "I just thought 'OMG' twice and it's only 9:30. I've been awake since 7, when I awoke to cough. It was so much fun I figured I'd just stay up, and write nonsense all morning long. OMG. Blogging is supposed to go out in 2020, which is good, I'll probs run out of ideas by then. Or perhaps I already have!

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4) Save the Cheerleader, Save the World

I started watching Heroes last year 'cause Haviland wouldn't stop yapping about it. After Episode One I told her I couldn't go on, it was making me feel crazy -- believe in magical powers, especially w/r/t apocalypse prevention -- but I started watching again. I'm about six eps in. It's making me feel crazy again, but I'm at peace with that, 'cause it's just so good.

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3) My Requisite Angela Chase Moment

Things are one way, here's the evidence, things are another way, here's more. Write someone off, then back in, love them then hate them. It's easy, then, to make a case for just about anything ... for or against almost anyone. I'm gullible, sure, but I don't know many people strong enough in their convictions to never change their mind, or flip-flop. I used to think it was me -- I'm the one changing from one kind of person to another kind of person -- but now I think no; the facts can often line up neatly and eagerly on both sides no matter how still I stand, almost everyone's got a case, and no-one really knows what happened. The world is ending, it'll go on forever, it's ending in 2010, if we lived in Burma or Iraq, it's possible we'd feel it's already ended.

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2) Check this out:
Monday 12th - Tegan & Sara concert
Thursday 15th - Uh Huh Her in Philadelphia
Saturday 17th - Carly's housewarming (gay!), Alex's friend's rooftop b-day party (kinda gay!)
Monday 19th - Logo NewNowNext Awards
Tuesday 20th - Uh Huh Her in NYC

That's what I've been doing. Seriously, gayest.week.ever. After tonight I'm not leaving my apartment again until Ellen & Portia's wedding. This has nothing to do with the apocalypse, I just wanted to chat.

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1) Doesn't this feel like a countdown? Like now I'll be like, kazaam! Where's Will Smith?

But there's lots of reasons why the world might not be ending: like the gay marriage ban being lifted in California, or that right now most of my friends seem to be recovering from things rather than going through them. There's forgiveness still, and hope. There's misunderstanding, too, but also hoodies and lip gloss and kissing and Uh Huh HER.

You know how when you're sick, you hear everything like you're stuck inside a giant plastic bag? That's how I feel now, but it'll pass. It's like jittery and hollow and rainy, and made me write all this nonsense. Which is incoherent, but in my mind, has a thesis, maybe even five paragraph, and fireworks at the end.

For now, the world spins madly on. I'm hungry.

And ... We're Back!

This morning circa 8 A.M., the Verizon man added himself to the short list of "men who've recently seen me in my underwear" ... and by that I mean ... after a week of intense first worldian struggle resembling the struggle of people who are drowning and can't swim & the struggle of people who do not have real problems like me (Sia is the one with real problems, FYI) : I've got internet back now! For longer than random ten minute intervals! For reals reals! so I'll be responding to comments, posting, reading your blog, etc., with something resembling "regularity," really soon. Possibly even tomorrow, like Annie! Also, big up to Malcom X, apparently it's his birthday today and that's why Starbucks is closed.

Oh and, by request, here's Tink in her hot UH HUH HER-signed outfit. It's hard to read in the photo, 'cause reading is hard (just ask YouTube!) but Leisha wrote "HOT DOG," which coincidentally is the object Tom pondered shooting down a hallway in TLW Episode Five-Something: Blackout Sexathon. If you missed it, his final decision was to do Max like a man.

There's a lot of sexual references to men in this "post," I guess I may as well mention Lozo. That's all. Just throwing it out there for good measure. Ha ha measure ... um. OK, girls are hot, xoxo gossip girl.