Sunday Top Ten: If We Took a Holiday, Took Some Time to Celebrate

Hallo! First off, check out the list of books on the Saturday Auto-Fun and let me know which one you'd like to be the first Auto-Win Book Club selection. I'll make a decision soon and I la-la-love/need your input ... I'm pretty sure that we've reached a consensus, but you never know, look what happened to Al Gore! Hey, speaking of voting, are you going to VOTE? -- WAIT! this just in ... I could've sworn I saw Wao in paperback at a store recently, but all online booksellers seem to suggest it's not coming out in paperback 'til September. In which case, it can't be our book club selection 'cause $24.95 is a lot of money, right? (Or, rather ... $15 on amazon, it'd seem)

Anyhow ... Happy Father's Day! Hm, obviously this isn't my favorite holiday. What IS my favorite holiday, you ask? Do you like ANYTHING, Riese, or are you all rainshowers and spoiled pudding? Yes, I do like things, I am rainy pudding but I'm also sunshine and bunny rabbits. I like Tinkerbell, matzoh ball soup, presents, unicorns, the smell of rain, making out, the next joke, tweezers, wax museums, ipods, books and children in puffy coats. Also; always been a fan of Administrative Assistant's Day.

I don't mean to pull a Lozo and execute an entire post just to complain, but the topic of "holidays I don't like" offers a mine[field] of possibilities. You step inside it, and there's ten smiling children all saying "no" while shaking their heads "yes." There are nine pictures of children who enjoy the company of other children. In the tenth picture, a child is eating pudding underneath a giant red rain-hat and she's ready to go home. The tenth picture is me.

Sunday Top Ten: Hello Holiday. It's me, Tinkerbell. I'm Just Not That Into You.
*
10. Fourth of July

The hot outdoors. Sticky hands. The inevitable consumption of beer, subsequent desire to nap and/or feeling of belly bloated by froth & bubbles & popsicle. Grilling meat into humid air, the clank of cheering bottles, the anticipation of watermelon never matching the pleasure of the fruit itself. Lying in dry grass, near dirt. The assumption that we ought to love America so badly we explode of it. Sometimes I avoid this holiday altogether, and instead write crazy blog entries ...

... but this year, we're celebrating! 'Cause it's Caitlin's favorite holiday and Alex is "really serious" about it. I've actually had some really spectacular July 4ths in my life ... and this year, it'll be the most fun ever. Like independence, which was also fun for the [white male] Americans.

Best July 4th Ever: 2001 -- my diary says; "What's better than the world -- literally -- bursting into sky? Cliches are cliches for a reason." I met up w/Olive Garden friends and we snuck into a private party at a riverside apartment complex to watch the fireworks. I wasn't carded so we drank free beer, ate from big bags of candy and shared candy with children. It rained afterwards and we dashed through it like sparklers.

New Best Fourth of July Ever: 2008! Can't wait!

*
9. Lent

[fumiko shibata]

When I'm like, "I want to eat a cookie" or "I want to get sloshed," and you're like, "OMG, I gave that up 'cause of Jesus and Easter and bunnies," I'll be like, "That is lame, I hate you and your holiday, you're gay." Though I liked it when my friends would give up Nintendo, then we could play Pretend or House instead and I wouldn't be left out.

*
8. Yom Kippur

This is the day of atonement. Though fasting is a thrilling & self-destructive way to pass the day, it's this holiday's persistent habit of falling on my birthday that makes me dislike it. 'Cause I don't want to atone on my birthday, I want to celebrate, I want cake, I was told there'd be cake, you know?

Best Yom Kippur Ever - 1999: Alone at Sarah Lawrence with an unstable body & mind, I managed Yom Kippur. I went to four services that day at the temple synagogue, fasted, slept, sat in the library with books and pencils and then went back to temple. I broke fast alone, and slowly. I felt actually quite connected to my spirituality that day -- to something larger, and to everything wrong inside of me -- and I'd like to get back to that place some day. Where I could be like, "Are you there, G-d, it's me Marieeee?!?!"

Also, I've been known to enjoy a noodle koogle or two. Break-Fast is the best.

*
7. Malcom X's Birthday

I realized I'd been in Planet Harlem for way over a year when I went to 125th to get some coffee and found EVERY SINGLE STORE shuttered for five hours, just like LAST YEAR! -- even the corporate chains closed in "observance" of Malcom X's birthday. If Malcom X were still alive, he'd march right into CVS and get some Aveeno even if he had to get violent, I don't think this was his dream. So it's like a double penalty holiday. Personally, I like to celebrate birthdays of important political leaders by treating myself to a nice cold beverage at Starbucks, but that's just me, keep marching and yelling, wheee!

*
6. Thanksgiving

I don't like meat that's on the bone, let alone the whole honking animal sitting there looking at everyone. Either I eat a lot of potato products or there's not anything I want to eat and then I'm hungry. So as you can see it never ends well, look what happened to the American Indians, I rest my case.

Best Thanksgiving Ever: 1999 - So weird that the holidays of my semester at SLC are far more memorable & brighter than my other SLC days and also brighter than holidays celebrated in other years. We made dinner in Meg's NYU dorm with portobellos instead of turkey and we drank Pepsi One and I read The Iliad and Stephen Dunn and wrote. I transcribed "Essay on the Personal" into my journal next to a postcard of a purple & yellow watercolor painting.

2006 was a good one too, 'cause my brother came all the way from New Orleans with home-made macaroni and cheese as his carry-on.

*
5. Valentine's Day

[artist]

I think we should all buy each other presents every minute we want to, and sweet things for our lover's mouths. The problem with Valentine's Day is that everything is too crowded to make a reservation except way ahead of time, which means you'll need to have been in a relationship for at least a month, and who has that kind of time, you know? JK. It's just a lot of pressure on an arbitrary day of the year, I like things to mean exactly what they mean, no less or more. I feel gross about buying into the corporate hoo-ha. I do it anyway, but that's 'cause I've been brainwashed by The Man.

Best V-Day Ever: 1998 - Ryan pulled out all the stops. At boarding school, this was difficult, but he did, and he did and he did. The first Valentine's Day on which I had a Valentine, even if he was a homosexual.
*
4. Ash Wednesday
'Cause the first four ashed-up people I see make me really confused. On the fifth I say "A-ha!" but those first four were like : "whoa, where's the fire?"
*
3. St. Patrick's Day/Puerto Rican Day (TIE)

I don't like anything where streets are blocked from cars and opened to drunk lusty boys & parades, unless it's the Gay Pride Parade. Hey it's raining outside, someone's raining on my parade! Everybody loves a parade, except me. We used to go to a circus parade every year in Ann Arbor, there was always a big elephant and then little people running around the elephant cleaning up after it. I thought, I'd like to have little people like that, following me around with a bucket of water and a proactive protective spirit.

Best Puerto Rican Day Parade Day Ever: 2008! I saw Gypsy with my Mum and Alexandra and Caitlin while the parade raged on, then afterwards we dined at 44x10 at a table by the window. The atmosphere @44x10 is a lot like Cafeteria, so sometimes I mix up my memories from those places 'cause I've got a handful where I'm with Alex and Caitlin and Alex's hand is on my knee and I'm eating smashed potatoes and around us bright spritely servers with perfect gay hair weave between tables, their slim hips bopping in and out of eye level. The first time I ate there was w/Haviland for Kelli's birthday, and the costume of the day was "Tipping the Velvet," but I hadn't read it yet.

Best St. Patrick's Day Ever: Probs 2002. 'Cause I was with Chris at the fraternity, and I believed in jungle juice (that's what they called the red vat of alcohol and fruit we drank from, it was too dark to see the syphillis in the moonlight) and the pure, green holiday. I sat on the stairwell gossiping with two younger girls I'd befriended (other frat "girlfriends" -- we stuck together), one of whom would eventually be using my drivers license as her fake ID, and I told them all my ugly eager secrets as if they weren't ugly but glossy grasshopper gemstones. In the juice, the pineapples turned red, and then our mouths.

*
1. Father's DayLast year's Father's Day was one of the worst days of my life, but that was just a coincidence. I was gonna do this topic last year actually but then got distracted. I like that on father's day I can say things about fathers without anyone worrying I'm thinking/talking about my father on purpose and therefore must be whining again, or truly upset. I will buy myself a tie or a pie, or maybe tell a lie to the sky, or have a baby and name him "Guy." The thing about Father's Day ... and Valentine's Day ... is that they're basically created to make us spend money at Sears or get a Chili's gift card or something, and so if you can't celebrate it and that makes you upset, you're letting Sears and Chili's win.

I remember me and Lewis on the couch, watching television in our bathrobes while our friends ate creamy breakfast foods with their stalwart fathers. We weren't the only kids on our couches, I'm sure. I didn't know that then though. Now I do.

Also, 'cause my parents apparently enjoy conceiving nine months prior to unhappy holidays, Lewis's birthday often falls on Father's Day. Not this year! Lewis's birthday is tomorrow! What are you gonna get him? I haven't decided yet personally, but probs an orange or a squeaky dog toy.

That's one of the things I heart about NYC; on any given holiday, there's at least a bazillion other people not celebrating. In other towns if you're not doing Christmas or St.Patty's, you're well aware that everyone else is. Skipping Independence Day or sans Valentine? You're never alone in New York! And we're all far away from our families -- logistically, tangibly. Or not at all, for some people. la-di-da!

*
Just FYI, these are my favorite holidays (in random order):

10. Pride: good costumes, many gays, ppl feeling not alone and loathed in the world, lots of big gay parties.
9. Passover: Matzoh ball soup. Egg whites in saltwater. Honey Cake w/matzah meal. Macaroons. Passover Marshmallows. Atkins Diet.
8. Christmas: The spirit and everything. the ritual.
7. Columbus Day: ''cause that was always exactly when you needed a day off from school, not 'cause I like Columbus, obvs.
6. Halloween : I do not know who I am, but I know who I can wear.
5. Hannukah: Latkes, hot crackling oil, presents.
4. Take Your Daughter to Work Day: I love GapKids
3. Election Day!: Vote or DIE
2. Martin Luther King Day : liked going to the gym and singing "we shall overcome" with the whole school holding hands.
1. Rex Manning Day:
We mustn't dwell... no, not today.
We CAN'T.

Not on Rex Manning day!

Saturday Auto-Fun :: 6-14-2008

So, re: Book Club. Ideally, I can find a book most of us haven't already read ... e.g., books that've just come out in paperback. Even better: a novel by a contemporary living writer who I could possibly interview. Obvs I'd have to pitch the interview as if I was not ME but someone cooler, like Deborah Soloman, Oprah, The Chart, Larry King or Lozo.

Another thing ... any books w/blurbs including the following words/phrases are auto-disqualified: Victorian England, Southeast Asia, provincial, Grandmother, Grandfather, dog, cat, bachelor, holocaust, war, widower, the history of bottled water, fish, culinary, Wales, Iraq, family history, lifelong bond between sisters, motherhood, knitting, Afghan, tapestry, villagers.

Here's some ideas, please give me your feelings on them:

No Man's Land: A Memoir, Ruth Fowler
The Emperor's Children, Claire Messud
Live Through This: On Creativity and Self-Destruction Edited by Sabrina Chapadjiev, featuring stories, essays, artwork and photography from authors including Nan Goldin, Eileen Myles, bell hooks, Annie Sprinkle, Daphne Gottlieb, Cristy C. Road, Particia Smith, etc.
Girl Walking Backwards, by Bett Williams. (Not new, but I don't know anyone who's read it besides my agent)
I Was Told There'd be Cake, Sloan Crosley
Candy Everybody Wants, Josh Kilmer-Purcell
While They Slept, Kathryn Harrison
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Junot Diaz
My Mistress's Sparrow is Dead: Great Love Stories, from Chekhov to Munro (includes stories from Miranda July, Lorrie Moore, Faulkner, Joyce), edited by by Jeffery Eugenides
Madness: A Bipolar Life by Marya Hornbacher

I'll probs take a month to read whatever we pick and I want us to experience the book together, as if we were The Sims, sitting on the couch and watching television as a family while Billy Bob runs into the house plant and Anastasia talks about sailboats and practices her social skills in the bathroom mirror.

The thing is -- and most of you don't know this -- I actually did a report on Oprah in 5th grade. The project required a class presentation, I dressed up as The Winf and related my experiences growing up in the Chi-town ghetto and getting plastic surgery to fix my African nose. I wore leggings, a turtleneck, and an ambitious black-and-white checked blazer. So, you know. There's that.

---

quote: "Yes, we were stupid for disrespecting the limits placed before us; for trying to go everywhere and know everything. Stupid, spoiled, and arrogant. But we were right, too. I was wright. How could i do otherwise when the violence of the unsaid things became so great that it kept me awake at night? ... All the meat of truth was hidden under a dry surface, and so we tore off the surface with a shout. We wanted to have everything revealed and made articulate, everything, even our greatest embarrassments and fears." (Mary Gaitskill, Veronica)

---

links:
1. Lozo hadn't even gotten to him yet. (@the stranger)
2. I will take this job if no one else wants it, no probs.
3. Probs a lot of "how to become a millionaire fast" books purchased by people who just got fired. (@publisher's weekly)
4. Really, I just can't get enough. Really, I can't. (@gawker)
5. Via Alex, another cool Mac thing I probs can't figure out how to download. (@lifehacker)
6. Oh, holla. (@tango magazine) (via dirty girls)
7. Right On, Right On. (@emily magazine.)
8. Crazy is the new Gay. (@the advocate)
9. 50 worst sex scenes ever does not include tina-henry copulation. (@nerve.com)
10. "I'd always been a night owl, but for years I'd longed to defect to the other side. In my fantasies, I was a Fortune 500-type who threw off the covers at 5 and engineered a hostile takeover by 7. Instead, I generally stayed up until 1:30 in the morning, reading magazines or clicking aimlessly through Wikipedia, waking up grumpy and remorseful at 9:30, if not later. Over the years I'd tried all the usual tactics—multiple alarms, earlier bedtimes, lab-rat levels of caffeine—and nothing had worked." Can a Night Owl Become a Morning Person? (@slate.com)
11. Bonaroo! (Tegan and Sara!) (@nytimes)
12. Women are aroused by everything except dudes. (@nymag)
13. The teen idol is dead, tila tequila and heidi morgan are unfortunately very much alive. (@the fug girls)
14. Revenge of the nerdettes. (@newsweek)
15. We can dream. But then maybe animals will get married. "The rights and privileges restricted to family, they argue, should be given to friends."(@boston.com)
16. Deborah solomon's questions for gore vidal. (@ny times)
17. Haviland and I should take on this format. (@jezebel)

Stuff I've Been Reading: April & May Edition

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

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

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

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

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

Also; still haven't finished Don Quijote.

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

A few other ideas:

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

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

Auto-Win Book Club?

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

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

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

Pardon Me, But Wasn't that your VLOG? That I Felt On the Bed In Between the Sheets?

The thing is; I have an air conditioner in my room. But what happens when I leave my room? How long can I survive on only crackers? It's totally "Do the Right Thing" around here, and "around here" extends to both my kitchen and my neighborhood. Anyhow, some of you live in other countries and aren't experiencing what we're experiencing. Want an experience we can all experience together, like a family? Well, I've got one. It's called "a vlog," and if you've got broadband internet access, we can share this moment together, 'cause caring is sharing.

Haviland's coming to visit super-soon, I can't wait! But in the meantime in between time, Carlytron has valiantly stepped up and vlogged her little ass off with her roommate Matthew and her lesbian dog Saffron. Topics include: flying lesbians. Also, Cesar was there but he wouldn't participate and therefore he was punished.

A;ex just told me it's hard to hear in some parts and that she'd probs have to listen to it 7-8 times. Which's fine, that ups the views. I-movie won't let me make the music quieter than 7%, which is actually apparently a lot. What you're going to have to do is listen up. Like in gym class, when the teacher was like: "listen up."

I got nostalgic for Final Cut (which I didn't use, 'cause I film vlogs on imovie, so that seemed counterproductive) while editing this today. I feel like that's a good sign. It's a sign that one day, I'll learn how to use Final Cut. As Adele would say: "cut, print ..."

Auto-Fun of the Day :: 6-9-2008

Mom's going back to the midwest tonight, and then ... well. No. I'm remembering now a conversation from my prolific past of advice-giving (I'll bring this back around, I promise) with a friend who was having troubles with her significant other. "It's just really hard right now," she said. "We're both totally stressed out and overbooked and busy working [insert ridiculous amount] of hours, not sleeping, and with [insert additional health or job/apartment/family-related difficulty], we're just both on edge --" And I was like "But you've been saying that for years. It's always like that. You're going to have to stop waiting for things to go back to 'normal' to get better, because I think stressed out and overbooked is your 'normal.' This is where you're going to have to be working from when you're trying to make it work." Anyhow, I think they screamed at each other for another year or so before breaking up, I don't remember -- the point is: I was about to say, "and then I'll get back to a normal blogging schedule," but clearly there's actually no such thing. Also I don't now what happened to me that I started using "blog" as a verb, and like ... often. But next Sunday would be a primo opp for a Sunday Top Ten, and Stuff I've Been Reading is happening, and so is more advice columns (have you read our first one?!), and the Carly Vlog! OMG! What am I talking? I gotta get crackin'. Auto-fun is good for me though, it makes me read and stay aware of the webbernets world.

Oh um : askautowin@yahoo.com. Send us your questions. I know you have them, as well as feelings., 'cause if you didn't, you'd be Old Macdonald E-I-E-I-O. Today I found out that even though my Mom has a degree in Hamburgerology, she never finished McHamburger School for reals 'cause she got preggers w/me which makes me feel a bit guilty. I dashed her dreams and it would've been really fun on Take Your Daughter to Work Day if I could've had all those french fries. No worries, everything's coming up roses! I'm gonna be a writer, like Ann M. Martin.

---

quote:"No I can't write for you because I have promised myself I wouldn't take on any new writing deadlines for a year because I'm working on a self-assigned project and I don't want to continually be distracted from it. I am of course continually distracted from it enough as it is, it seems like I work on it less than everything else, in fact, very admittedly just-in-time if you will. The pieces I'm making continue the theme of "structures that fit my opening," a phrase that speaks quite directly to the question of necessary, of forms that fill entryways, needs, desires, etc. ... Maurizio Cattelan was once quoted as saying: 'If I didn't have any shows, and there wasn't any interest, I wouldn't do anything." Right now I don't want to write anything now, and yes, I sort of have, but this doesn't count, or does it?" (From "DEAR X" by Frances)

---

links:
1)Peach Arse has got your book all ready: "You're Not the Only One - Charity Book for Warchild: "Ok, so it took three months, but rest assured it is three months of BRILLIANCE, of EXCELLENCE, of carefully chosen GORGEOUS bits of writing, of lovingly tendered editing and proofing, of gently nurtured and carefully catered for tastes and styles and with over ONE HUNDRED BLOGGERS' ENTRIES - woo hoooooooo!" (@peach)
2) Sad Doesn't Have to Mean Hungry: Elif Bautman is commissioned to dig up what all the sad young literary men eat to help her friend Carey, who's writing this article on the topic of Keith Gessen's chosen feedings from his novel All The Sad Young Literary Men. "Rice and Beans for Grad Students" has an answer. (@steam thing) (@muskegee phoneix)
3) How to organize or get rid of your book collection. (@the washington post)
4) A Grrl and Her Gun : On Valerie Solanis, author of the SCUM Manifesto, who shot Andy Warhol in 1968 -- ", her work has the rare virtue of seeming at the same time totally insane and totally right." (@the la tiimes)
5) Everyone has to go out and buy The New Yorker if they want to read the latest offering from my favorite author Mary Gaitskill. Here's the abstract. (@the new yorker)
6) It's summer! Time to buy shorts! SHORTS! The word "shorts" sounds like a quick and swiftly applied physical punishment. "Watch out or I'll short you!" etc. (@nymag)
7) Lesbian and Bisexual Women in Reality TV 2008. "For the first time ever, this week there are at least a dozen lesbian/bi women in prime tine TV reality shows. With the exception of Jackie Warner, all of the women on all of these shows appear to be drunk, almost drunk, wishing they were drunk, or pursuing a career in "promotions" or "theme bar waitressing." No judging, I've got no career and no likker. Just saying. I don't want our people to be just as retarded as their people. Is this democracy? (@afterellen)
8) Salon suggests summer reading, this week's category is memoir. (@salon.com)
9) I mentioned the butterfly effect on Friday. Now someone's written an article about "why pop culture loves the butterfly effect, and gets it totally wrong." : The Meaning of the Butterfly (@boston.com)
10) David Sedaris might occasionally exaggerate the truth for dramatic effect. Doesn't everyone? Since when have memoirists been held to higher standards than even our friends & family? Anyhow, he's funny: What You Read is What He is, Sort Of. (@nytimes)

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!

---

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.

---

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.

---

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.

---

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."

---

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!

---

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")

---

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.

---

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)

---

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.)

---

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)

---

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.