Thursday, October 11, 2007

You Can't Just Hop a Plane : On Australia

I was a big fan of "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good Very, Bad Day," in which the protagonist suffers a series of crippling ailments, including being forced to sleep in his railroad-train pajamas and getting gum in his hair, prompting him to repeatedly resolve to move to Australia. I related, 'cause of Big M. You know what? My hair looks a lot like Alexander's. Maybe tomorrow when I'm trying to put off re-starting my life and joining the world, I'll re-create that photo on Photobooth but with lip gloss. That would be really funny, actually. Maybe just to me, but that's fine. [UPDATE: This could still happen. You never know.]

I promised recently that I'd dedicate an entire post to the country "Australia." This is that post.
As this chart demonstrates, Australians are the second-coolest people on Planet Earth, second only to Americans, who're slightly better than everyone else by alot. Hey, Japanese readers: how do you read this blog? Does it translate to Japanese and, question two, if so, is it good? In Japanese? Do you LOL, or whatever it is that happens over there? Luckily, I speak Australian. As you possibly notice, I use Australian spelling. Also, I have this problem with contractions, but that's unrelated.

I tried to think of a good theme for this Australia-post, like "Reasons Australia's Better Than America" or the opposite of that. Howevs ... I'm not sure if y'all are aware of this, but America's not rocking so hard right now and thus I'm having trouble bashing it [too obvious, possibly ungrateful, also problematic as I'm passport-less and therefore trapped, furthermore probs some Norwegian Star employee's got my passport and is doing dirty things with it] or endorsing it [we suck], so I'm just gonna ramble, per ush.

-A Special Place in My Heart for Australia: I've got a lot of connections to this country. I've got family there [in Melbourne and Sydney, my Mom's side], have traveled there five times, work as a copywriter for an Australian company and write for "The L Word Online," which's co-run by an Australian. Also, my dashboard clock is on Sydney-time, in order to best enable the delivery of about 50% of the work I get every day, which is a lot more than 0%, so that's something. Also, I LOVE SILVERCHAIR. JK, I don't like them, but they looked like girls, which's hot. They opened for the Red Hot Chili Peppers, I kinda went to that concert.

-Handjobs for the Holidays: I attended second grade in Melbourne, Australia for a month. For fun. I honestly thought attending school was fun, isn't that badass? Unfortunately, the Australian teacher immediately noticed my improper pencil-holding skills: I wrapped my fist around the pencil, rather than gripping it properly like a douchebag. The teacher made me cry [first day, keep that in mind] and gave me a "pencil grip," which cramped my style big time. I'm back to the old way now, which makes my hand ache on occasion, but such is life. Other things don't make my hand ache, so that's something. I never learned it proper.

-Fun Vocabulary I Enjoy: , Have you noticed American slang, aside from AutoWinSpeak/Maviland, always sucks? E.g., "Sucks."? "NOT," "the bomb," etc. That's not near as awesome as how Australians talk. Wanker? Dropkick? Full on? Ace? I love "can't be bothered," too. Ace.

-Big M: I don't know why exactly, but as a kid, I felt drinking Big M was like drinking nectar directly from the inner organs of twelve dancing deities. I recall there being far more flavors when I was there than there are now. Someone tried creating flavored milk in the U.S. but it never took off, 'cause Americans are dumb and want to die. I'm one of them, what can I say.

-The Piano Has Been Drinking: Every restaurant is like, BYOB [right?] Saves money for more important things, like having afternoon tea with Queen Elizabeth. Oh wait, that's um, England. Hooo-haaa. Also, they're not so uptight about drinking over there. Kids can drink socially pretty young and consequently, they have less alcoholism and probs less blogs cause people learn to drink responsibly before they turn 21, instead of going off to college and becoming binge drinkers like in MTV True Life: I'm a Binge Drinker. I don't have any data to back this up, but I'm pretty sure it's true.
-The Yellow Book: This show, PlaySchool -- great show. We watched it every day. Bananas in Pyjamas eventually came to the U.S.A. and got kinda annoying. The theme song of "PlaySchool" chanted "open wide, come inside," thus inspiring young trashwhores everywhere to you know -- open wide and come inside, etc.

-The Australian Dream: The American Dream is a cool idea, but it doesn't really work, 'cause you're sorta fucked if you're born into a hands down totes shitty family in a super-poor area. I mean, you've got a shot, especially if you're good at basketball or strike oil in the Oklahoman hills, but you might not get toilet paper or textbooks at your shitty local public school, so you're gonna have to pull some Stand and Deliver shit if you wanna be president, which isn't really fair. Yet, Americans insist that we're indeed, a meritocracy [esp. laughable with the Blue-Blooded White House right now] -- that if you work hard enough you can be whatever you wanna be, if you can dream it you can do it, and if you fail, you've got no-one to blame but yourself. Or your parents I guess, but no one really wants to hear about your parents, like shuddup already.

So, this is what Australia and Europe have over us: they're not in denial about how the world works. America's not really a meritocracy, but we prefer to claim we are. In Britan, they're totes like, "yeah, aristocracy, totes," acknowledging of nepotism, the politics of silver spoons, the value of blood, the fact that life isn't really fair, that people aren't exactly where they deserve to be. They just are what they are -- more realistic about expectations and therefore less likely to judge a person straight off based on their occupation.

In America, it's all about "What do you do? What's your job?' It's so common, the first thing to ask straight away. I've become highly conscious of trying to make it not the first thing I ask now, because I don't like being asked, I hate it, actually. I guess it'd be cool if we could just be like "what do you DO?" like, with your time, things you might ask a school-aged kid. You're not gonna judge him on if he's in second grade or not, you know, he's totes just like a second grader or he isn't. Does he play soccer? Enjoy arts & crafts? That kind of stuff. And if the answer is your job, then that's cool.

I mean, people [strangers!] literally ask me "So what do you do for money?" all the time. I can't believe that's appropriate for human people to ask other human people they barely know. This might not be on topic, actually, moving on.

-The accent is really cute. Totes.

-And I Take Into Myself ... The Power of Drugs: I used to have this honesty problem. My Mom smoked a lot of weed and was very paranoid, and thus she swiftly convinced me to also be paranoid. This acceptance of paranoia was the beginning of my life-long personal dedication to humoring the insanity of others, which has paid off and not paid off in a number of interesting ways. Anyhow, when I was in Surfer's Paradise/Gold Coast in the summer of '96 w/my BFF Kristyna, I don't know why I thought the ticket-taker at The Craft would see into my skull and discover I was 14, not 15, and bar us from the film, but I did, and so when he asked my age, I fessed up.

Kristyna was unimpressed: she had a lying problem, and my compulsion for truth-telling habitually cramped her style, and she had significant style. What would we do with the beautiful evening that now stretched endlessly before us? Well, things worked out for us after all -- we trudged to the boardwalk and bought cigarettes and a lighter -- the salesman asked if we intended to "set the world on fire" -- I adopted the phrase immediately and permanently ... obvs. These cute boys asked for a cigarette which's teenage code for "Hi, I also like to live on the edge." They clearly both wanted a pass into Kristyna's pants, which wasn't a hard thing to procure really, but anyhow, they were surfers, invited us to their shady Motel, we clearly went.


Clinton rolled a joint. I tensed up. "Just do it, Marie," Kristyna said. "Just take one hit, your Mom won't know." I knew I was on thin ice already, we'd just met cute boys which was more or less the point of life at that time, and so, I just like, did it. I didn't cough or die or anything.

Clinton had longish blonde hair and sand in his ears, stylish swim trunks, clean pure tan. Jeremy was quieter, funnier, and kept his hoodie on -- we met up with them outside our hotel the next day and took them out to dinner on my Grandmother's dime. She was unimpressed, obvs, as I woulda been, were I her ... the problem was Kristyna, I just couldn't stand up to her. She was my best friend. I loved her and hated her so much.

Clinton and Jeremy kept telling me to take my "toboggan" off 'cause that's when I wore a winter hat 24/7.

So, that was the first time I ever smoked pot. I didn't feel anything, I just waited to feel things, all the time then. The second time I smoked pot was three days later, with my Aunt Alicia, who's only a year older than me. Alicia, Kristyna and I were staying with my cousin [I think?]'s family in Australia and my cousin's husband took Alicia and I to their study and started rolling a joint, using this joint-rolling contraption. I felt like I wasn't allowed to say No, so I said Yes. He took us out to the backyard.

Kristyna was sleeping, so it felt secret and special, maybe the first time I'd done something cool without her. The lawn was dark green and wet. Alicia was a far more developed badass than I was. I was innocent then, like tigerlilies. It was weird. My head felt sorta large and puffy. Barely felt anything though, as I hadn't yet learned to inhale.

[Kristyna, Alicia, Me.] That's my winter hat that I wore every day, even in the summertime. I thought it balanced out my lack-of-chin, but in fact it only extenuated the problem. Luckily I am far older & wiser now.

-Frozen Hands and Feet: During my most recent visit, in 1999 for my step-grandmother's wedding, I swear I was freezing my ass off the whole time I was there. No central heating. Also, I managed to gain five pounds in one week, pretty impressive. Sticky Date Pudding, spaghetti and meatballs, pastries at three in the afternoon, and fish 'n chips. Also, alcohol, obvs. My Mom freaked out that I was drinking, as I was merely 18. I really hadn't drank much then. I also went running every morning on the beach in Melbourne, listening to Jay-Z. Hot.

-Some Noted Exports: Rachel Griffiths-love her. Kylie Minongue- also noteworthy. John Marsden and the Tomorrow series. A series of books of children's rhymes, including: Unreal, Banana Peal, Alright Vegemite, Captain Cook Chased a Chook and Far Out Brussel Sprout! which are all apparently no longer in print. Olivia Newton-John.

-You Take a Second, Take a Year: The flight to Australia takes approximately a gazillion years. You stop in Los Angeles, then New Zealand. Howevs, Qantas, as referenced in the classic film Rain Man, is an ace airline. I had an ex-boyfriend who'd always joke that I was like Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man. Like whenever I wanted to drive he'd be like "I'm an excellent driver." And he'd call me Rain Man. That was nice. Autism. ha ha.

The Night Starts Here: In the Flesh, Hustler Club, Shot of Love, Favor Club

I wrote this blog in pieces, subsequently demanding that y'all refresh 'til I finished 'cause I like to keep you on your toes, you know? Also, occasionally I like to keep you on the heels/balls of your feet, just to switch it up. Sometimes, I like you on your knees. Sometimes, I like you up against a wall, or bent over ... JK. Mostly, I like you right where you are: reading my blog.

So anyhow I've actually finished it now, and organised it in a way which is more aesthetically comfortable. Last night (Tuesday), I didn't finish it on account of being a monkey with Jell-O Pudding for Brains. I also said "I think I just took an Ambien but I'm not sure," and, in case you're wondering, and I know you are: I did.

I feel like "secrets" are the new "sex." Like how last week I said "lame" was the new "badass"? Y'know, the overload of sexual content in the media, which isn't bad for children or anything, it just takes away a lot of the mystery & discovery that makes sex interesting to begin with --- real secrets, naked humans, love, etc. [Pot, meet Kettle, Hi Pot.] I was thinking about that 'cause I was like, wow, this whole post is going to be sort of "sex-themed," I wonder if that'll inspire increased traffic and then I was like, "Nah, I doubt it, not like secrets do!"

Another cool part of secrets being the new sex is that sex used to be a secret. Simmer on that.

Topic: In the Flesh Reading.

Anyhow, speaking of speaking of sex, the video from the "In the Flesh" reading is now on RKB's YouTube channel! I clearly didn't locate the microphone until about 30 seconds in, so if at first you think you can't hear very well, stick with it, it gets better, I promise. Also, I think I get better as the reading goes on. Yup.
So, here's the links, it's in two parts:
Part One: New York I, New Jersey, Westchester, Astoria, the start of Williamsburg
Part Two: end of Williamsburg, East Village, Greenwich Village, Chelsea & The Meatpacking District, New York II


Topic: Our Trip to the Strip Club

Stef's recap is in CARTOONS, and hence far better than anything you'll read here. E.g., here's her picture of Lozo's lap dance. Note my facial expression. Srsly, something this amazing doesn't come along every day.
Also, now Lozo's written his recap, and honestly, I'm not lying, I LOLed like, way harder than I've LOLed at any blog entry I've ever read before.

12:36 P.M. , Monday, October 8th.

Lozo: I need to take a shower.
me: Yeah, so do I.
Lozo: I smell like stripper and subway
me: I feel covered in stripper.
me: JINX


Those are the matchbooks I took from the Hustler Club. Notice I'm wearing hangover shirt. Seriously,
I am ready to light the world on fire. Who's WITH ME?

i. I Can Jump Ship and Swim

So, on a scale of one to ten, my stomach totally hated me on Monday morning. It was like, "Really Riese, really?!!" One of the cute things I like to do in my eternal pursuit of Dying Young is pre-party. Like in college, when it usually involved more than one person, e.g., Natalie and I doing shots of Raspberry Stoli [out of coffee mugs cause no one'd done the dishes in 30 years], employing orange slices as chasers because not one of the 8 girls we lived with consumed liquid calories. Soooo anyway [I love the way Jonathan Ames says "anyway" when he's reading his audiobook. Seriously, it's the cutest thing ever, it makes me wanna be his wife or live-in companion of some sort], when I got home Sunday night @4 A.M., totes ready for dinner, I opened the fridge and found a 35% full wine bottle, implying that I'd consumed 65% of the bottle (more than "one drink") prior to departure. I was like "oh, fuck."


Anyway [anyway!, aw, Jonathan Ames], that's fine. Luckily I'm very smooth/slick, or else I've developed quite a tolerance, as I still felt relatively sober when I arrived at THE HAWAIIAN TROPIC ZONE, where Lozo & Stef were already enjoying some pre-party drinks.


ii. In the Zone

If Lozo'd been standing up, I woulda come up behind him and tried to pull his pants off, just to set it up right away that we're all friends here who can jokingly remove each other's clothing if they want to. Unfortunately, he was sitting.

Sidenote: I'm not lying when I say I've been a little weird/agoraphobic lately ... I've been staying in lately and I felt like a Brave New Girl going out into the world, like Britney. I had a discussion with Shy, one of our strip-club compadres, re: What a Hot Album That Is, especially for working out. Anyway [hmmm ... ], I've gotta say that this place defo made me feel good about re-entering the world. I mean, Times Square, that's the center of New York City and the capital of the world! [Innermost circle of hell] I LOVE people, seriously.

So, I know what you're all wondering. What's Lozo like in 3-D?


That picture isn't from Sunday night, I just found it on Lozo's myspace.

Well, let me tell you this: he has a very nice shoulder. Also, he informed me within ten minutes of my arrival that his latest blog post, when he left home, had amassed 47 comments and would possibly exceed 50 that same evening.

Also, he watches sports both on his blog and in 3-D. Luckily for his sports-fan contingency, television monitors displaying various sporting events graced the walls of all our testosterone-oriented establishments, including the Hawaiian Tropic Zone. If naked ladies aren't enough for you, there is also The Yankees. So he didn't miss a thing, like Aeorosmith.

The uniforms at HTZ: bikini tops and tiny skirts. That made me uncomfortable for them, which was a bit disheartening re: how I'd handle the rest of the night.

Michele, a.k.a. RocketDyke, and her friend Shy, [Sounds like a stripper name kinda, yeah? Well, he's not a stripper, the strippers are later in this story] joined us at HTZ. Anyhow, Shy wasn't shy, he & Michele were both awesome. Before their arrival, I'd said: "No rocket scientist jokes, you guys," 'cause of her commenter-name, rocketdyke. I thought that was pretty clever. See, I was clearly sober.

Then, skies opened up, lights flashed, and girls in bikinis began parading on an above-bar catwalk: AMAZING apparently there's a nighty beauty pagaent at HTZ. We had a plethora of laughs at their expense--the only hot girl was #13. She was dumb though, she said "I'm lucky number 13!" which isn't true, 13 is an UNlucky number. All the girls had tattoos and bellybutton rings. So do I, but less slutty. Not that there's anything wrong with sluts, there totes isn't, I'm just explaining that I have a different "look," so to speak.

I enjoyed an overpriced glass of tonic water, topped off with a small splash of vodka.


iii. Some Conversation Topics I Remember:

1. Someone asked why Lozo used the name Lozo on his blog and I was like, "Because that's his last name," and everyone was like "NOOOO it isn't." It isn't, "LOZO" stands for Legend Of Zelda Online, actually. JK. It's his last name. One of the evening's finest running jokes was that 'Lozo' is short for Lozostien or Lozo'grady or something. Get it? Funny, right? I know. We're funny in 3-D too. I'm bad at recapping actual events in my life, can I make a list or something, or tell you what happened on the teevee? [UPDATE: This is now a list.]

2. I feel like I kept referencing The Office, 'cause I hadn't sat down & watched it 'til Saturday night, when Jim & Pam made me believe in love. It's such a funny show, seriously. Very smart.

3. Lozo wanted to know how to pronounce the word "obvs," and wanted to hear me use "probs'll" in conversation.

4. Someone asked: "Is this weird?" Personally, I didn't feel weird at all. I dunno, maybe I'm not as awkward as I think I am. I rarely feel weird. I AM weird. Feeling weird would just be repetitive.

5. Lozo told me he was 6'3: "I'm just throwin' it out there." And I was like "BACK OFF!" JK. That didn't happen.

Let me tell you a little something, grasshopper, about the internets. In the past four months, I've met two new people with whom I am quite funny. If you've ever had the pleasure of Riese & Carly's company, you know that we're really remarkably funny as a duo. That's one of our selling points, in fact, re: teevee show. Also, now it's been confirmed that Lozo & I are also funny. Not Riese & Carly funny, but funny. Also, I've just met him, things could get more or less funny.

Anyhow, this would be an advantage to meeting people through blogs -- you can usually gather from someone's internets self-presentations if their jokes are gonna jive with something intangible deep inside your snarky soul. So, there. That's one. Also; Stef is the only living soul who's had the pleasure of hanging out with both of the aforementioned match-ups, which makes her the luckiest person on the whole planet.

We hit up another bar to amp up the pre-stripper likkeration via shots of Maker's Mark. It was fierce. Then we headed to the West Side Highway, like a band of wild hooligans.

iv. She Can Pop It, She Can Lock It

Haviland's been to The Hustler Club "a few times" and apparently endorsed it to Stef. Therefore, because Haviland's my BFF and a Rising Star and an expert on half-naked ladies, we went to The Hustler Club which employs, apparently, only skinny perky-breasted girls w/significant quadriceps. They wear dangerously high heels and grind against patrons half-naked, hoping to sell dances, like Yankees game vendors, except they're vending their bodies. Most patrons were male, but there were a lot of lesbians on Sunday night, probs 'cause Sunday's no-cover night and lesbians are cheap. JK, they just don't like paying for naked girls to dance on them. Still though: fun, yay, girls, dancing, gymnastics, etc.

Good choice for "first time," howevs, probs too classy for me. Next time, I wanna go somewhere that doesn't try so hard: deviants doing crazy shit, trashy lunatics galore, chaos, yelling/screaming -- general grit and swarthy underside of life shit. I mean, if I'm gonna step into the Dark Side, I'd like it to be seriously Dark, not some cartoon plastic version of darkness. This red plastic ring on my new shelf [uncovered during furniture moveathon] was an engagement ring stand-in from T[]B[], not from Count Chocula, you know? I don't fuck around.

We enjoyed a variety of activities: arts & crafts, canoeing, lanyards, and hopscotch. In our downtime, we busied ourselves ascertaining which tits were real & which were fake. I kept asking people about Perky & Punctual, but no one knew what I was talking about. That was a little frustrating, but fine.

So: THESE GIRLS CAN DO GYMNASTICS. Dude, this is SERIOUS. Like, I wanna learn to do all of those tricks. In general, it seemed the girls were totes getting a good workout & that's good, very empowering. Seriously, I want very badly to go off into feminist theory, get all Carol Queeny or something right now, but I won't.

*
vi. Are You a Player?


I kept thinking about that episode of The L Word[Episode 202, entitled "Lapdance"] in fact, when they take Tina to the strip club and Alice comments that Tina's stripper looks like Bette, which's funny, because obvs she doesn't: she's simply ambiguously ethnic w/long dark hair, like many females do. A cocktail waitress asks Shane if she's a "player," which's awesome. Happens to me all the time.

Anyhow, wouldn't it be awesome if strip clubs had a method of finding dancers who looked just like your ex? I mean, who doesn't want to re-visit getting their heart torn out, but in a safe and fun environment like a strip-club? Yeah?

"I am not getting a lap dance. If you buy me a lap dance, I will get super uncomfortable on 100 different levels/positions and make everyone feel weird. FYI. Don't do it. I beg of you." -Me

A lot of girls tried to sell us dances, though we looked much less monied than many other patrons. One smokin' hot girl Leiliani (that's what Lozo thinks her name was] wouldn't take no for an answer: she sat on Shy for a bit 'til she realised he wasn't gonna go for it, then hopped on Lozo--also uninvited, but he didn't seem to mind. I couldn't look--I just told Stef to relay via facial expressions what exactly was goin' down. I felt like it was a private moment beween Lozo and and Leliani and I didn't want to, you know, watch. Plus, she looked a little bit like my ex.

So, anyway, Lozo is deaf in one ear. If you add up all his disabilities, it's almost like Boxing Helena. It's okay. I love Twinkies.

She sorta talked like a cheerleader, like she was gonna be like "Hey! Ready to strip! LEETSS GO!!" She had a deep-ish voice. I like that in a woman. [Really, I do.] How do I know all this? Because she was forced upon me by my "friend" Lozo. I mean that in all possible permutations of the word "friend."

Leilianahaha shared the following tasty tidbits of information with me:
-"I love dancing for girls. Girls are easy to dance for, I love girls."
-"I love girls."
-"You have a really good body, I can tell."
-"I love girls."
-"Private rooms upstairs are [massive amount of money I don't have, totes tuned out] and [something else I can't afford] is [another massive amount]."

Stef said the look on my face was "priceless." Howevs, there was a price, luckily I wasn't the one paying it. There are def. worse things in the world than a beautiful half-naked girl grinding her ass between your legs with her tits in your face. But I just can't buy into it, and I've got this problem with all salespeople -- I'm always trying to engage the bill collectors in conversations about their lives. I'm like "Let's cut the crap and get real."

Anyhow, Michele told the strippers that we knew each other from blogs. Lozo & I decided it would be much cooler if we were twins who knew each other from the womb, but Raven stopped believing us when we disagreed over who was born first.

We closed the bar down, made out, and walked Lozo to the PATH train. It was all just kinda funny, yeah? It was funny. Maybe it was what I needed.


Topic: A Shot at Love With Tila Tequila

I figured this show was a strong sign of the apocalypse and the eventual destruction and complete moral bankruptcy of the entire country, guaranteed to be chock-full of bikini-clad trashwhores and bisexual stereotypes. I figured clearly I could remedy its evil by recapping it. The first ten minutes were so offensive to bisexuals I had to leave the room, Zoey and I were stunned. It was like watching a bunch of dumb elephants: who cares if the elephant is hot and bisexual, what does that have to do with me?

Made me want to die. I don't mean that, not literally, don't panic. I would never do that. I love life. For example; I love flowers, sunshine, and hugs. Also I like scratch-and-smell stickers. Do they still make those?

So though I missed the first half, I caught the second half of A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila at the gym on Wednesday (10-10) morning, because I was filled with multifarious energy of all emotional extremes and needed to run it out. Like walking it out, only faster, and worse for your knees.

Second half: way better than first ten minutes. Though she continued to say ridiculous things about men vs. women, everyone became so intensely ridiculous that the entire show reached farcical proportions possessing measurable entertainment value. Also, Tila's not as retarded as I thought. I could shoot the blonde girl who was like 'I don't get butch women, like, ew,' but I might never get that chance.

At the end, at the "big reveal" of her "big secret" (I'm A bisexual, as in "bisexual"=noun. WTF?), I found her choice of words alarming. "I've never told anyone this before ..." Except the producers of the show? Right?

The clips for the upcoming season -- AMAZING. This's going to be the best reality show of all time, and by that I mean the best/worst. Offensive, but then again, most television is offensive, it's just more innocuous.

Also: as one of the 60 gazillion lesbians/bisexuals who received the casting call for this show -- well. I'll talk about that later. They're tricky bastards, MTV. Also: Steffanie from Irvine, California? I have a feeling you're about to get kicked off the show. I want you to know you have a shot at love with me. JK. No one does, I'm an emotional basketcase obvs. JK. Ugh.



Topic: Natalie Needs a Job, Tara [D] Needs a Roommate.

My friends think that my blog is like craigslist sorta. The thing is, a lot more people read craigslist than my blog. In any event:

1. Natalie needs a job. She's very beautiful and can do gymnastics. Also, she has great breasts. No seriously, she's really smart, has a Masters in Policy and Philosophy or something something from the London School of Economics and a B.A in Psych and Women's Studies from The University of Michigan and a lot of experience in non-profits and also was a paralegal and worked at the gardening store. Her first job was at the Dunkin Donuts in Cleveland, Ohio, when she was 14. There she is! See:

2. Tara [D] needs a roommate. She's very beautiful and can do lots of "gymnastics." Also, she has great breasts. She sent me the ad they posted on craigslist, but it's a little long, and I like to be brief here on this blog, so I've summarized it for you, and also just quoted it:
-Looking for a girl to move in ASAP to a Warlem apartment and split a huge walk-through double w/curtain currently dividing the room, though a temp wall is "def an option." Spacious apartment, beautiful hard-wood floors, white walls, large kitchen, living room, bathroom. Tara's a "down-to-earth, friendly, easy-going girl" and her two "flat-mates" are "independent, intelligent, hard-working and pretty much rock!" They're grad students/young professionals in their twenties who like to "have a good time" but also "take care of business." $700/month with one month's rent security deposit, utilities are extra and split between everyone, they've got wireless and SERIOUSLY EVERY TV CHANNEL THAT EXISTS. The best part is that there's a liquor store that delivers, a good deli with an ATM, right by the 1-9 and Columbia, and you'd get to hang out with memememememe. She'd like to add that they are "LGBT and cat friendly." If it wasn't for the cats and the fact that I've already got an apartment, I'd live there, no joke. Seriously though, you'll meet a lot of hot & fun girls if you live there, it's like, instant social heaven. Also they take care of business.
These are two of your potential roommates, Tara and Vicky:


If this post really was about the Yankees, it would have an opening paragraph much like the one I just read in the NY Times while waiting for my latte at Starbucks: "Everything changes. Things fall apart." [holla, Yeats by way of Achebe!] "For 12 seasons, there was sunshine on his shoulders. But now there is darkness ..."

Sunday, October 07, 2007

Sunday Top Ten: Apropos of Nothing

I gotta catch some shut-eye/beauty rest/sleep. You know? You should be sleeping too. Unless you're in Australia, then you should um, have tea.

10. Sunday Bloody Sunday
Of all nights of the week: I loathed Sundays the most. Well, actually -- when Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman aired Sunday nights, my Mom (now gay) and I (now dubious) crushed on Dean Cain, and so we had our viewership rituals together and that was nice. Now, Lois is on that annoying show about the housewives with the ad campaigns that make my corneas hurt. Honestly, there's so much American media that hurts my retinas, corneas, and epidermis, that it's a wonder I'm still alive. [She says from her emo-cave] I actually intended to improve the quality of Sunday nights via the introduction of the Sunday Top Ten--Ryan and I'd always declared Sunday nights the most depressing of all nights, thus the "you cannot make definitive statements about your life on Sunday nights" rule. AND THEN Angela Chase said there's something about Sunday nights that makes you want to like, kill yourself, and thus, it was written. Oh, but during L Word season, Sunday nights are alright for me 'cause I get to see all my friends w/o leaving my laptop or my apartment. I have absolutely no point whatsoever, and I'm not just saying that this time. The topic of this paragraph is "lame?" The topic of this Top Ten is: run on sentences.

*
9. Lying's the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off, But It's Better If You Do
This week's Sunday Top Ten is a bit of a smorgasboard. Speaking of smorgas, this Sunday night I am going to a dancing establishment with Lozo, whom, despite spicy rumors to the contrary, I've never met. There'll also be some random homos there. And Stef. I'm a bit nervous about the strippers, as I'm historically unable to have fun in environments designed to appeal to the heterosexual male libido, e.g., college, faux-dive bars on the Upper East Side, football games, "bar & grill"s, parties, TGI Fridays, Spring Break, professional wrestling. HOWEVER, then I started thinking about how these ladies are probably aspiring artists or writers of some sort, perhaps not so different from myself (except with larger breasts, longer hair, better dancing skills, etc.), just girls in the big city chasing their dreams. You know? Yeah, that's probably it. Also, as I am wont to mention, Alice Ayers in Closer, one of my favorite characters [better in the original play, Alice, but also hot in the movie, Natalie Portman, ow], as quoted above. Below we have Gina Gershon, she's an actress from a bad movie about Strippers. A lot of people wish she was a homosexual, so, in lieu of that, she's a homosexual icon. And bi, holla!

*

8. An Update on the 59th Annual Kings County Whathaveyous. (picture reprinted, see right, to refresh your memory)

[Scene: Riese is sitting on the couch, knitting scarves for cold hungry children in freezing cold countries, Zoey enters]

Zoey: Soooo .... Riese. You've uh, got a problem with my King's County sign?
Riese: Excuse me, I have a 5,000 mile walkathon to run in for charity, to cure RABIE'S. JK. FOR RABIES. No, it's for babies. GTG.

I told her I'd clear this misapplication of stupidity points. As Jaime pointed out, "TONY" is actually four letters that stand for other words, and therefore the apostrophe is POSSIBLY appropriate, but, the point is: this sign, which does in fact display a great deal of artistic prowess if you can avert your eyes away from the grammatical catastrophe and towards the cute & tender children illustrated below it, was created for some hooha Putnam County Spelling Bee play thingie oh man, I already forgot. Well, whatever it was, it was for something where a kid was supposed to've made the sign, and kids make grammatical errors all the time, get it? Like how the "8" is just drawn over with a "9." I suggested to Zoey that a better choice to demonstrate the fake artist's age woulda been the classic inversion of the letter "S," often used to indicate childlike scrawls. So, that's that.

Zoey is very smart and very beautiful, she's the best roommate ever, I heart her. Today, in fact, she carried out all the glass bottles for recycling, which was 95% alcohol consumed by yours truly (and Carly, actually, to be fair/honest).
*

7. Gossip Girl
As I've mentioned, I read the whole Gossip Girl series. I'll tell you why, totes serious: excellent storytelling. I select most of my reading material with intentions to: get smart, enjoy literary talent, be a better writer. But books like Shopaholic or Gossip Girl aren't about the quality writing, they're quality storytellers. I'm glued to the page, wondering what'll happen next, etc. Cecily Von Whatevs is like, mistress of Plot. Actually I read them initially 'cause I wanted to be a ghostwriter for a book packager but then Don talked me out of it, anyhow, the point is that I kinda like this show. I actually sat down and watched it with undivided attention, which is more than I can say for any other teevee show I've watched in the last like, ten thousand years. Until about three weeks ago, I was consistently insanely out of my mind busy with 500 imperative activities involving other humans; I never sat down, never relaxed, never let my brain take a natural course. It's weird. Suddenly: this. I've still got no time or resources ever, it'd seem, but all at once I'm only answering to myself. Like, "Hi, me. What's up?" Eek.
*
6. One Less Duty for my Hypothetical Unpaid Intern
On Friday I went to the dentist. I know, I could hardly believe it myself. I was lying in the chair like, wow, I'm actually at the dentist. The feeling was not unlike the feeling I felt upon finding an anthology with my story in it at Barnes & Noble for the first time. Like: is this really happening? Am I really here, at this point -- this glorious crossroads -- in the rocky road of my smokin' hot life?
*
5. Do You Think I'll Make It to the Morning If It's Written

I had this friend, Alina, we met in seventh grade at my private school for weirdos. That's us in the photo doing a lip-sync to "Material Girl," in drag. Alina was Seventh Day Adventist, we were best friends, we laughed so hard we'd collapse all the time, just from a quickly exchanged private joke or biting Ace Ventura imitation or, occasionally, something we'd made up ourselves and then died over. Her Mom, like mine, was super strict and, thus, her and I were often prohibited to attend the same events and I was the only person outside of church she was allowed to have sleepovers with. So we both had overprotective mothers but Alina was also constrained by her ardent observance of the Sabbath. Her Sabbath was sundown Friday night 'til sundown Saturday, like the Jewish Sabbath, I liked that, like we'd read the same book.

Anyhow, the summer of 2001 I was living in New York and my Mom kept telling me; Alina called you, call her [this was back when your Mom could actually be getting phone calls intended for you, before cell phones took over], but I thought Alina was in California or Michigan or Boston or something, I didn't realise all summer she'd been calling me 'cause she was living in the city too.

At the end of the summer after our lease was up, I was staying in Westchester with Becky at her big house with her Kashi and big swirling staircase, high ceilings and jungle pool out back, and I finally called Alina and we made plans for me to stay the night with her at her apartment in Warlem before my flight back to Michigan and so I did. We had dinner at Cafe Mozart, she was always a weird eater, I feel like she had chocolate cake for dinner or something -- in middle school she wouldn't eat in public 'cause she was intensely paranoid she'd get food on the face, wow, she had so many weird "things" like that, it was part of what made her so ridic awesome -- all these randomized quirks she'd already developed even at the age of 12 .

So, back at her place, before bed I asked her to set the alarm for me to catch my flight.

"Oh, I just tell G-d when to wake me up."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, that's what I've always done. My whole life."

"And it works?"

"Yeah, He always wakes me up when I want Him to."

"Wow--just. Wow, that's amazing. Has it ever not worked?"

"Just once, I was supposed to go to this Church Retreat and I told G-d when to wake me up, and he didn't, I slept through it and missed the departure time for the trip. So I just knew, for whatever reason, G-d didn't want me to go on that trip. I trust that."

"That's so cool."

"So do you want to set an alarm, still? We can, if it'll make you feel better."

"No, I trust you. 5 A.M."

And what do you know, she woke me up at 5 A.M. I got my plane, and got back to Michigan. That was, I guess, thinking about it now, like, end of August, 2001. I flew out of New York City, didn't fly back again 'til October.

Anyhow, I was thinking of that 'cause I stopped setting my alarm this week, to try to get my body back to normal and not have so much fibro flare-ups as I'd been having back during Writeathon Mania '07. I've been waking up early anyhow, 8 or 9 every day, so I guess I don't need that much sleep really after all. I don't know, sometimes my days lately feel like so much fog.
*
4. Go to the Edge and Barely There
I did a lot of randomised reorganising today. I built a shelf over my desk using things that probably shouldn't be shelves, and sometimes I think; that shelf might fall, maybe I shouldn't've loaded it with burning candles. Also, I got another filing thingie, because there's too much paper around and I'm always digging through it like a manic rabbit and that's no good for anyone, and I had to go through all this stuff today, all these papers, and the words written on the papers. So much recent history, so much not really history at all, but words-in-hands-right-now present tense action. Drawings, too. Things I wrote to myself not so long ago, automatic writing.

There are so many things still on my mind about so many things, so many unanswered questions. So many perceptions I'd like to verify, breaths and instincts and awarenesses and suspensions of belief in irrationalities held inside to best facilitate holding hands into the clear where one could speak clearly if such a time would ever come. So many people with the appropriate degrees who didn't do what should've been done, so many times nearing people who couldn't see what I saw when all I needed was for someone else to see what I saw. So many questions, so much sadness, so much anger, so much retro-frustration, confusion, so much ... what if. So much paper, so many things to file.

*

3. New Ice Cream Flavor Idea: Hipster Heaven
Also, the other night, Stef described Williamsburg as "hipster heaven, where hipsters go to die" and Haviland told me to write that down and then put it on my blog. You know what though, I lived there once, and my hips were actually wider than per ush, though I blame, primarily, Lo, because she liked to eat chocolate kisses and mini candy bars out of the bag, like straight out of the bag, and I'd often partake, and also our freezer didn't work so we had to finish the ice cream before it melted. Like, we'd buy a pint of Ben & Jerry's, watch Pretty Persuasion or Grey Gardens for the 40th time, and have to finish the B&J before it melted because our freezer wouldn't freeze it. See, these are the problems that people like me face every single day, out there, in the world. Every day.

*

2. The Girl and the Dragon

So, I was "talking" to Crystal about how today I downloaded this audiobook that I thought was gonna be about this girl who is drunk for ten years but then, in the prologue, she's all like "drinking is very bad and all girls drink because they are unhappy and it'll ruin their lives even if they aren't alcoholics" and I was like, whoa, tell me about that time you got drunk, please! Then I was annoyed that I'd used my one monthly audible.com credit on that book, and then I told Crystal about how at first, I'd joined audible to listen to "The Bible Experience"; this group of esteemed African-American actors who do live-recorded readings of books of the bible on audio. It's hosted by Levar Burton. My ex'd wanted me to read Revelation and was unimpressed I'd cheated by listening to a recording with these incredible sound effects, like you could hear all the people dying in the apocalypse and killing each other, and the white horse, sharp double-edged sword and the beholding and coming as a thief and stuff, and I was like, that's semi hilarious in retrospect, like me getting my nails done while in my ears Levar Burton's like: "The one-hundred and forty-four-thousand ... " Haha. Oh, that. Crystal said I should do a top ten of "things I've done to win the hearts of others." It would start in 1992, when my boyfriend and I both quit choir so we could go hang out alone. Luckily, we were both bad singers anyhow.

*

1. The Feeling That I'm Here Again
I feel like there's crack in Tegan & Sara. I cannot stop listening to these girls sing songs, sometimes I miss it or need it like crack. And my favorite songs've continued to change, too, from "So Jealous" to "Frozen" & "Underwater" to "Soil Soil" & "Dark Come Soon" to "Nineteen" & "City Girl" & "Back in Your Head" to "Where Did the Good Go?" & "You Wouldn't Like Me" to "More for Me" & "The Con" to "Fix You Up" & "Are You Ten Years Ago" ... it just doesn't stop being exactly the only thing I can even think about hearing, it's just like my life is an elevator and this is my music, and the elevator is stuck. If only Dean Cain, as his character "Superman" from the show Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman could come and rescue us. See that? See how I brought that back around? Yeah you did.

Thursday, October 04, 2007

Tagged: All The Good and All The Bad That Comes With Me

I think it takes me about a month to implement my initiatives, e.g., a month ago I expressed an intention to blog more frequently and with greater brevity. That mos def didn't happen, though, arguably, if you include auto-straddle, it totes DID HAPPEN, except for the brevity part. I'm still rolling with that Great Mysteries of Life topic in a google doc somewhere, to be continued soon enough. But then yesterday I got tagged by Jaime and I figured I'd get it out of the way.

TO DO: List 5 things that certain people (who are not deserving of being your friend anyway) may consider to be "totally lame," but you are, despite the possible stigma, totally proud of. Own it. Tag 5 others.

That "TO DO" could be the subtitle of my blog. I've done research to uncover what's considered lame by other people who've done this meme by tracking back Jaime's tag. I discovered a whole parade of theater bloggers, it was very educational. I learned a lot about Molière, he really pumps my nads. [NAME THAT MOVIE, LAME-OS]

At first, I thought everyone was copping out and secretly posting the Top 5 reasons they are super-awesome, especially since Jaimie's list was essentially "Things that make Jaime Riese's hero and idol for all of time." Then, after the track-back, I re-read the topic and realized everyone was doing as they were told -- the instructions, after all, did specifically state that only "certain people" need to find this thing lame. Touche. [I really need to figure out how to add accents to letters, anyone?]

There's this quote, from Ghost World?

Rebecca: This is so bad it's almost good.
Enid: This is so bad it's gone past good and back to bad again.

That's sort of how things are with lame, except that it goes back to good again just one more time. Like talking about my affections for Star Trek has become post-hip, like, it's pretty much cool again, 'cause it's sooooo not cool.

ii. You Wouldn't Like Me, If You Met Me

So I'm trying to think of things for this list that are Actually Lame and simultaneously Appropriate for Public Consumption and Yet Unsaid and Ownership-Worthy. Hum. Not much overlap. I need new life experiences so I'll have more material. [Looks out window.] NM.

Also: stuff that happened in the past doesn't count as lame, because it's in the past. In order to be truly lame, it has to apply to the present, completely and without apology.

I think I just sprained my finger from typing. Seriously, I'm not lying. That's probably the lamest thing to ever happen to me ever. Ow. Wow. Seriously I. Fuck. ow. Urgh. Surely there's a Percocet (ow) around here somewhere. (eeek)

Then there's the things I've admitted to, probs more than once, that truly are lame; like honestly loving The Indigo Girls, drinking too much, owing Visa my first-born child and all my limbs (notice that since April, the stakes continue to raise), reading the entire Gossip Girl series (last year), not returning phone calls, having bad time management, knowing more about Beverly Hills 90210 and The Real World (old school) than I do about Russian Literature, and not leaving my apartment really ever due to a variety of unresolved issues pertaining to the state of my heart, mind, soul, and psyche. I could go on, but I already have. As I said, could totes be a subtitle.

iii. I Love Y'All More Than You Know

Don't you feel like "lame" is the new "badass"? Like, people, including me, especially me, like to make confessions about things they know are actually super-cool, like "I go to art museums for fun, alone," because the right sort of people will see that and be like "OMG, that is so not lame! I also go to art museums for fun! We should go together, except that you like to go alone." Like if I say I used to write novels for fun as a kid, I don't honestly think that's lame. I think that's badass. But I can't say that, that would sound egotistical, so instead I'm like "OMG I was suuuchhhh a dork! I used to write NOVELS for FUN while other kids were smoking crack!" knowing that most people will see that and be like "OMG, she was uncool before uncool became cool," or whatevs. Then you'll lean over and take a deep inhale off your crack pipe. Earlier today I was thinking: what's the difference between me and the lady who lives on our stoop? Not much, besides crack.

I'm reading Jonathan Ames right now. I've read all the other Jonathans (Franzen, Lethem, Safran Foer) already, he's my last one. He reminds me of Lozo, except with a lot of differences. I've been bugging Lozo to read this book I Love You More Than You Know and he finally said he would, which inspired my consent to item "one" on this list. You'll see. The anticipation is whetting you to the core, I'm sure, you're resisting the urge to skip ahead, like cheating at Choose Your Own Adventure.

Ames is pretty unapolageticaly lame & gross a lot of the time, even moreso than Lozo. Most popular contemporary humor writers, especially men [as our society gives men greater latitude for public confession of repulsive/lame behavior], these days are intensely self deprecating. But there's like, Nick Hornby self-deprecating, where you admit to being lovesick or dumped by a pretty girl or being impotent or liking cheesy music or some such thing, and then there's Jonathan Ames self deprecating, in which you admit things that are truly worth embarrassment, like battling a persistent anal itch for over a decade. If you do these things well, you endear your readers, intimately and fondly. [Also, in today's reading Ames quotes Sylvia Plath: "Every woman adores a Fascist/The boot in the face, the brute," perfect lines, those.] Nice work, boys.

iv. Right, So The List of 5 Additional Lame Things About Me

Anyhow, obviously I am putting off writing this list. This list is the Lamest thing about this whole Lame post. There're many lame things (like I remembered I referred to myself as "totes lame" in therapy yesterday, but as for why, well, that's between me and the Doctor) not included here. That's why I'm writing a book. It's called "26 Years of Automatic Lame."

OK, I think I feel self conscious a little, like, still recovering from that thing where every retarded thing about myself I'd ever confessed to & owned was attacked viciously. Trying to forge ahead anyhow in this world-changing mission of Being Lame.

v. Five Things About me that are Actually Lame:
(oh wow I really want to insert something that's secretly badass and dorky, secretly relaying my intellectual achievements and lifelong commitment to learning and education under the guise of lame-ness, but totes trying not to cheat waaa)

5. I just wrote a recap of The L Word Season Five PROMO. You know how long a promo is? One minute and eight seconds long. That's being generous, too, I think there was some empty space at the end. Because I LOVE/HATE THIS SHOW. Seriously, Season Five is gonna be HOT.

4. Even When I'm Broke, I Still Buy Magazines. This annoys Haviland most of all. Actually, when thinking about this post, I thought mostly of Haviland going 'That's LAME, Riese," and making an "L" with her fingers, then re-stating: "LAME!" Avoiding that statement and that gesture is a primary motivating factor for me when pondering life's choices, like: "Do I really NEED to buy Nylon, Paper, Glamour, Radar, Bitch, Bust, Curve, Marie Claire, Vogue" -- see, just then, I was about to insert some "smart" magazines in there to sound cool, like The New Yorker or something, but let's be honest, I've bought The New Yorker four times in the last 12 months, and one of those times was for TB, though, actually, I read it on the train to Mt. Vernon and enjoyed every minute of it, honestly. I'm gonna be a magazine writer though so I gotta read these things OBVS. Okay, I'm done with this one.

3. I Keep Nearly Everything: I keep everything: at least three forests' worth of paper in my room/storage space in Michigan/boxes/closets. HOWEVER now that I'm writing this book, which is, surprise, mostly about memememememe, I'm glad to have Everything, though it makes me a highly immobile pack rat, which isn't conducive to my fly-by-night lifestyle. Presently I'm sorting through middle school notes, it's crazy, we were all such gossipy bitches. Our tiny school for gifted kids, our tiny social circle, three guys that weren't ugly/into GURPS-- and we were obsessed with our drama and subsequently so blunt/straightforward & unself-conscious about our cruelty ... playing w/adult emotions, mimicking adult situations, but going about it all as children. Our obsessions: the "list" of Who David Liked [we all liked him, though most of us turned out to be gay or bi, oddly enough], who was allied and apart, who'd talked to who on the phone, who was BSFs or BFFs. [ BSF=Best School Friend, opposed to BFF. 'Cause it was private school with kids from all over the city geographically, everyone had two best friends: school-friend and "home" friend. Remember when you used to just have friends based on who lived in your neighborhood? I guess we mimic that in college, kinda, but we acknowledge the strange artificial quality of our friendships, determined as they are by who happens to be assigned to our hall.]

Our fights back then were vicious and unrestrained, executed via insidious notes passed in class. Sometimes it seems like maybe it'd be easier if we still did it that way, instead of cloaking all our conversations in niceties. Like: DEAR ANN, I HATE YOU AND SO WILL DAVID WHEN HE HEARS ABOUT THIS. YOUR FORMER FRIEND, MARIE. That's actually a nice one, because I was clearly being melodramatic. Usually it's far more biting and subtle.

2. My fashion icons include: Tank Girl, Annie Hall, Roller Girl, Blondie, randmoized girls in magazine ads and layouts, David Bowie, Sporty Spice, Ellen, Shane and Joan Jett.
In fact, I've got an entire file folder of ripped out magazine pages of people sporting looks I like. They collect dust. But every 2-3 months or so, I'll come up with a fairly brill outfit, and I like to think it's the influence permeated as I ripped. Also, mostly I think I keep magazine pages to make me feel better about "4." Oh wait, I'd like to add someone to this: Serena Van Der Woodson. The outfit she just put on to go to school is one of the hottest things I've seen in my life. I'm not attracted to her, but she rocks that field hockey outfit. That's a lie I am attracted to her, though I usually don't go for blondes. La la la. Sometimes though. Whee la la.

1. This Sunday, I've agreed to participate in the BLOG EVENT OF THE CENTURY: Riese & Lozo's Strip Club Trip

Who: Automatic Win and Why Don't We Get Drunk and Blog?, supervision provided by Big-Exit, and accompaniment provided by anyone who's interested. Seriously, anyone. Even if we've never met. I'd like to make this as weird as possible. Seriously. Although after the party is the after party, and after that is the hotel lobby, etc.
Where: A Yet-to-Be Determined Location, Probs in Midtown Manhattan, The Innermost Circle of Hell.
Whence: I've never been to a strip club before and I'm afraid the stripping ladies part will make me sad, like when I see mainstream pornowhathaveyous and I get depressed thinking about the girl and all her problems and wondering why she's in porn (this doesn't apply, obvs, to honest women-empowering porn producers, I guess), but I'll likely be too drunk to notice. Lots of strippers are empowered. I knew a stripper once, she was drunk. Hi-dee-ho. No really, a lot of them are. It's hard work, stripping. Need good leg muscles, etc. Long, strong, firm legs ... etc.
Also: In addition: It'll be funny. I mean, tell me you aren't already counting down the minutes, because you probs are. We might pre-party at the Hawaiian Tropic Zone. Seriously, I think it'll be the most hilarious thing ever and if you're not excited well then YOU SHOULD BE.

Now that I've fully explicated all the details of my lameness, I will go to my emo-cave, then perhaps eat a meal best suited for a 12-year-old, like a bologna sandwich and Campbell's double noodle soup.

Oh, I need to tag people. It's okay. Urm, I'm too lame for that. Anyone wanna do it? Last time I tagged people, compliance was reluctant by all parties. I'll retro-tag you. I'll think about it. BRB.

Tuesday, October 02, 2007

Sunday Top Ten Part Two: I Refuse To Believe That It's Only Me Feeling

First of all. Good news. Good good news. The source of HPS's email conundrum: her signature. This issue has been targeted and subsequently conquered.

So: more questions in life, not in dreams. I have weird dreams. Last night, I was on vaycay with my Dad and my brother, and then we went home and I had all these Calvin & Hobbes books, and I was like, "I should text Carly about her tattoo." That's not supposed to make sense, it's just what happened. In my dream. Haviland was sleeping next to me, dreamily, with her earplugs. Platonically, obvs.

Questions. Things that I do not understand. I gotta say, the first round of this was pretty hot. The "59th Annual Kings County Tony's" are still raging on -- but Jaimie's informed me that they're possibly not incorrect -- AND we've fixed Haviland's email, I've got plans to fix my phone problem, and Stef was not The Biggest Loser. Um, did anything else happen? I forget what my questions were now. Oh, yes! I encouraged one person to buy a book, so we're closer to fixing that problem. I should ask "Why Is There World Hunger?" But, you know, that's awfully ambitious, and I am, as we all know, a bit of a self-depricant. I just made up that word, P.S. Actually, I thought it was a real word until my auto spell-checker underlined it, informing me of it's Non-Reality.

SUNDAY TOP TEN, PART TWO: ITEMS 5-1 OF
THE GREAT MYSTERIES OF LIFE THAT I DO NOT UNDERSTAND

5. Why Do Men Yell At Girls On the Street?
I've gotta say first off, the short hair's reduced this by at least 85% which's, honestly, fucking amazing. This city is a hotbed of women who've got interesting methods of dealing with women. I don't get it. Does it work?  I look down, and I walk, and I seethe, 'cause I've got my little baby wrath. If I'm eating an ice cream cone and some dude yells that he'd like a lick -- chances are pretty high I'm not gonna give it to him, unless it's like, Leisha Hailey, or um, Abraham Lincoln. 'Cause you gotta admit that actually, it'd be pretty awesome to hang out w/Abraham Lincoln. Also, if I'm with another girl and you tell me that it's "a beautiful thing" or that you support gay marriage or something, I hope you vote and masturbate a lot. I don't know what I hope or what that means. type type type. I'm fairly confident that there's not a huge crossover between Cajolers and Autowin-Readers, so this is really just me doing what I do best, which's complain to no avail. To hell with all that progress we made earlier this week, let's WHINE.

4. Why Does Everything Take So Long?
Like, when was the last time I said to myself "Wow, that was quicker than I expected?" Um. Hahaha. No, seriously, a long time ago.

3. Why Does my Gym Suck So Bad?
New York Sports Club sucks. I'd join a more expensive gym, but: 1)I've got no money and NYSC currently just continues to charge my credit card obvs, 2)NYSC is already about as expensive as gyms go. I mean, the next step up'd be like, Equinox, or Reebok, or New York Health & Raquet Club, but then I'd be surrounded by Serious Douchetards and it'd be farther than two blocks away. New York Sports Club charges $90/month and what do we get? Crap. I've complained about NYSC before, so I'll be brief and only mention here New Complaints:

-Many of the machines (about 33%) audibly creak or make otherwise unbearable noises, and there're rarely signs warning you of this. Really the best you can hope for is that no-one notices that it's you doing all that creaking, 'cause then people will start glaring at you, like "get off that machine, it is creaking super-loud and annoying everyone," when they oughta be glaring at the maintenance staff, who're doing nothing.

-The magazine rack is a total tease. I don't even know why it's there. I've stumbled upon an Entertainment Weekly maybe twice and GQ once, but generally it literally contains CATALOGS (Like, is that good gym reading? Maybe it is if you can afford things in catalogs. Also I'm not talking good catalogs like delia*s, but useless ones like um, furniture homewares whatevs. I don't know, are catalogs good gym reading, you tell me, I'm the expert.) and back-issues of Cookie (a parenting magazine, not, unfortunately, a magazine about Cookies).

-Jackie Warner does not work there.

Does your gym suck? Does everyone's gym suck? My gym in Ann Arbor, Liberty, was awesome. That's the Brazilian Women's Soccer team in the picture, no joke.

2. Why Does [redacted] magazine continue to rock my world, month after month?
Although it's clearly just the nature of the beast [is that the right expression? Whatever means like, obviously, "a natural consequence of the freelance writing biz to begin with"?] that just happened to befall me at The Worst Moment Ever, one might think my affections for this publication would've lessened following the Great Article Kill of '07. I've tried to hate them but I don't. It's my favorite magazine. This isn't even intended as a way to sleep myself into the "comments" section they've recently added to the front of the mag, which, p.s., I think is totes retarded [and you can quote me on that] or garner a staff position [though obvs I wouldn't mind one, I suspect this isn't the most mature path to such a thing], I genuinely find this magazine to consistently rock my world.

I've blogged about them before: on their bizarre habit of declaring the Mood-of-the-Moment and then contradicting themselves the following week, the "I am" cover story about the "ME" generation which inspired me to create Riese's 15-Year-Old MySpace Page, their "Best of New York" feature which inspired my short-lived "Best of Not New York" feature, um, and, etc., etc. Bla bla bla, me me me.

Okay, so:
1. (August 27th) This story, "Conspiracy of Two: Why did Artists Theresa Duncan and Jeremy Blake Commit Suicide? A Chronicle of Their Descent Into Madness," literally gave me goosebumps and actually partially inspired my August OverShare; "they were artists, after all, and artists are allowed a degree of lunacy" ... looking at this article gives me goosebumps again, all over again, it like, stabs me and guts me, this fucking article.
2. (October 1st) On a lighter note, the unthinkable's recently happened to me: my agoraphobia's resulted in a lessened desire to go to the gym, previously cited as the One Thing I Always Can Do. No longer true. Even though my habit of exercising is not an attempt to get thinner, as I am already thin, I still enjoyed "Does Exercise Really Make Us Thinner?: The Scientist and the Stairmaster: Why most of us believe that exercise makes us thinner--and why we're wrong" it's like, the ultimate validation for lazy-asses everywhere. Genetics is Destiny, y'all, so give the fuck up, sorz. Personally, I can give you this advice: when depressed or overwhelmingly passionate regarding someone who's got my heart and/or body, I get emaciated. When not at this elevated or rock-bottom state, I stay the same. Exercise's pretty much irrelevant, but it gives you endorphins and has kept me alive even though most other parts of my life are dedicated to the pursuit of pleasures that're not so good for my heart, like drugs, not sleeping, drinking coffee, drinking alcohol and heartache. Also I'm always letting things tug at my heartstrings. Haha. Puppets. Ha. Hm, you know Heart the band? Good band. Know Heart the song? Good song. Know heart the organ? Good organ, beware of attacks.
3. Other articles I've enjoyed recently include: August 13th's "The Near Fame Experience," about the aftermath of Bravo TV-reality stardom, "The Deliverymen's Uprising" about the shitty conditions and attempted unionizing of NYC's delivery guys [I always overtip, now moreso] and "Awkward Phase" about Michael Sera, August 20th's "Why New Yorkers Live Longer" which points out why you totes should exercise and reinforces my monthly hypocrisy theory about this magazine and September 3rd's "Watching Matt Drudge," because I'm always intrigued by the simultaneously famous & illusive. Also, August 6th's look at secret gay relationships enabled by craigslist: "Married Man Seeks Same for Discreet Pleasure," and July 2nd's reminder of how much cooler everything was before we were born, "Long Hot Summer of Love."
4. Following the "1" theme to "stories about quasi or completely insane artists": Sep.24th's "How Edward Mapplethorpe got His Name Back: His long, tortured road through art, drugs, and brotherhood," October 1st's "The Life Obsessive with Wes Anderson," September 17th's "MisShape's After-Party" (I just noticed this was written by one of the best editors I've ever had the pleasure to work with, at nerve obvs, Michael Martin, which's also funny as we were banned from pitching party-photo-related stories at editorial meetings, in addition to any Scientology, Star Wars or burlesque related stories) and 'Spring' Allergy: Jonathan Franzen because I love Jonathan Franzen and Spring Awakening: The Musical both.
5. Just today: Totes overstayed my elliptical trainer's welcome reading a solid cover story about the hypothetical Hilary Clinton presidency re: Bill, "The First: Female President, Male First Lady, Former President in the White House" and, for some bizarre reason unknown to me as I find real estate to be resolutely Not Interesting, "Apoplectic at the Apthorop." Like, I was glued to that article. Sometimes their cover art is totally retarded though, I gotta say.

1. Why Aren't We Massively Faboulous/Achieving Our Wildest Dreams In Life/Writing and/or Starring In "The L Word"?
[This question, unlike, say "Why is my phone bill so high?" is more-or-less rhetorical, like, I'm not asking anyone who's reading this to help us in this area, as you've (you=readers) all been remarkably and inspirationally helpful in every way you possibly could be as far as this is concerned, OBVS.]
Eddie: Your epitomb. What is that you want on your epitomb?
Patsy: I want: "She was fantastic...."Patsy was here."
Eddie: No, daring, you can just have "Patsy Stone".
Patsy: Oh, Eddy, Eddy. Wait for this. Wait for this: "Eddy: Still no thinner."
Eddie: These are really funny. We could sell those.

[She calls it "epitomb," I know she means "epitaph."]
Did you read The Devil Wears Prada? That book sucked. Also, The Hills? I just don't get it. There're so many things that I don't get. The L Word? The weirdos that always win America's Next Top Model? Elisabeth Hassleback? I may've mentioned this before.

I feel like this one -- "1" -- is probs inappropriate on a number of levels, including: totes biting the hands that [literally] feed and validate and agree with us, there are children starving AND un-fabulous all over the world, I think I've talked about it before, probably more than once. Just pontificating, and sharing with you a piece of our world, because ...

It's just that: to be honest, this is, seriously, our Number One Mystery of the World Conversation Topic. And for some reason I continue to feel like I must always Be Honest. Srsly. (It's less serious when you spell it like that.)

I mean, did you hear Haviland sing "Part of Your World" on my cruise video? Well, yeah. I've been described as probs no less enjoyable than whomever wrote the copy for my smartwater bottle or wrote some crap somethingsomething. Why aren't we [we=all my wonderful talented friends] as fabulous as Eddie & Patsie, Paris & Nicole, Ariel Levy & The Wife of Ariel Levy or Ernie & Bert? Like, I want to be like in the Oliver and Company song: "Perfect Isn't Easy," which COINCIDENTALLY I happened to lip sync ON MY FUTON in the mid-nineties, and I think I used a necktie as a boa, which was a little forewarning of things to come.

One might argue: in order to become a famous author, I need to write a book. To which I would say: touche.

It's weird, over here, on this side of things. It's like we're so close we can touch it, we can wear its wigs and its shoes. But it's also very distinctly Not It. I guess we don't know if we'd like "It" either, we're just guessing, and mostly, we want stability, somewhere good to start from instead of to look at. Somewhere with less roadblocks.

I clearly can't talk about this in any rational sense. Because -- because life is irrational, p.s.

Off topic, kinda: Sometimes, almost anything seems better than this, even things that are worse, or were worse, at the time. Sometimes it's refreshing to get shaken to the core -- no, it's actually terrible -- but it's more exciting while surviving the shakedown than to be wrecked on the other side, which's like, not only just as depressing, but slower, and with no chance of instant turnaround. I clearly am no longer talking about anything. Let's segue, shall we?

Yes, lets: fear is the color you've all exposed, now I gotta get up here and prove the importance of my clothes of my pose ...

So there're a lot of other mysteries of life that didn't make the cut, which means I might continue on this topic for a few more posts, even though it'll no longer be Sunday or officially part of the Sunday Top Ten or potentially "good." Many interesting topics've been passed over, like "Why does Kozmo.com not exist anymore?" and "Who watches Everybody Loves Raymond even though My So-Called Life got canceled?", "Iraq: WTF?", "Why do I wear makeup to the gym?", "Why is it so difficult to perform very simple tasks?" and "Why does that one Rilo Kiley song have like, a whole minute of empty space at the end?" "Why doesn't i-tunes sell every Tegan & Sara song ever written?" "Why're we perpetually out of paper towels and/or toilet paper even though we're all super good at stocking up?" "Why do all music lyric sites have 500 pop-up ads?" etc. No seriously, there are other good ones I promise. All up in the ol' noggin. Tick-tock.

Soon my face will be on every magazine
and then my voice will be on every frequency
take my heart while you're at it
why don't you sign me up to sell me out,
Hard core superstar by far you're the ultimate star,
Hard core superstar by far, you're the ultimate star,
Do you wanna be a superstar?

Do you wanna be a superstar?
I am my angel 'til death I do
I saw my first angel and it was you.
-Tegan & Sara, "Superstar"

Oh, you know what. False alarm. One more question:

0. Does Anyone Feel that "Serving Size" is an adequate serving?

I know why serving sizes are oriented as they are, obvs, as my mother was a professional Nutritionist and I know way more about food, nutrition, the food pyramid, calories, diets, carbohydrates, food groups, vitamins, low-fat cooking etc., than I ought to, but I feel like the word "serving" is misleading, and it annoys me when the lady & fitness mags try to "remind" you how big a serving size is, as if that's the source of your dietary issues--going over a palm-sized amount of chicken -- as if that's actually an adequate amount of food for anyone over the age of 8 months to consume. Also, I think I use too much coffee, because I seem to go through a bag of coffee and a thing of creamer in like, three days, and I only make coffee in the morning, the rest of the day I go to D2. That's all, fo'real.

Seriously. Srsly.

Saturday, September 29, 2007

Sunday Top Ten: I Saved Up All My Sunshine Just To See You More Clear

Clearly, there are a lot of things about life that I don't understand. That's right, M[redacted] V[redacted], my English 125 professor who drilled that we shouldn't ever open an essay with a trite & broad generalized statement: There Are A Lot of Things About Life I Do Not Understand! Also: the world is composed of many different kinds of people, since the beginning of time human beings have grappled to comprehend the meaning of life, literature explores topics that expand our views of the universe, and the personal is often political.

[One thing I don't understand is why M.V. was such a cunt ... but English 125's how I met Natalie! I should probs adjust that name in case M[redacted] V[redacted] googles herself. Done and Done. She seems like the kind of person that would. Let me google her right now, BRB.

Holy shit. "Rate my professors dot com"? Why didn't this exist when I was in school?!! Whoa. You can indicate if your teacher's HOT OR NOT. This is brill. Anyhow, she's got a 3.8/5 for her teaching skills. Hm. Oh wow, someone wrote that she accused them of using someone else's paper to write theirs. She totes did that to my friend Inga. Looks like she's still up to her same old tricks. Tsk tsk. Oh man. She won something. A Fulbright? Damn. I guess she wasn't that bad. I loved her class, actually, it's just that she accidentally caused my One and Only Actual Mental Breakdown. Did I have a point? Chances are good that I did not.]

OMG, someone's grilling cheeseburgers or something outside my window. It smells like childhood. Usually people're getting shot outside my window, so this's pretty effin exciting. Seriously last night someone got shot outside my window. Not kidding.

Sunday Top Ten: The Great Mysteries of Life That I Do Not Understand, PART ONE

(Items 10-5, Posted Early, For the Reason Why, See "9.")



10. Why's My Phone Bill So High?
My phone bill inspired this post. I've had this issue since 2000, when I got my first cell phone. Somehow I talk less than everyone I know, and yet I always have the highest bill. My total text messages sent/received number (837 in August) is higher than my minutes-spent-on-the-phone. My phone got shut off for like, 24 hours, earlier this week and though I found it slightly odd that I seemed to've lost communication with a few key players, I wasn't necessarily shocked by the silence echoing from the chambers of the Dash. I just thought "Oh, Haviland must be busy," etc. But um: totes shut off. Apparently I owed them $250. I don't understand this. Can someone explain this to me?

I want a no-phone Phone Plan. I just need email and texting, and the calender and calculator. The rest I could do without. I don't need voicemail or any kind of minutes--I'm equally uninterested in daytime, nighttime, weekends, and other T-Mobile customers. I mean; I got T-Mobile 'cause my girlfriend at the time had it, as does Haviland. I tend to pick my phone companies based on who I'm dating at the moment I need a new phone, that's how I got stuck with Sprint for three years, thanks Scot.

[This's what I've got: 600 Whenever minutes (I use about 200/month), unlimited text & picture messaging, unlimited nights and weekends, unlimited tmobile-to-tmobile, Total Internet Add-on, equipment protection, and er *cough* late fees. Also last month I sent a text to Australia, that cost 0.15. That's really the only place I see where I could possibly cut back, and I'd rather not. That's right Crystal, you're WORTH IT]

9. Why Don't We Get Drunk and Blog?
I mean, you know? Why not? Really, I'd like to talk about something else. Why is Stef losing Lozo's join-my-top-25-blog contest by such a gigantic margin? That's why I'm posting this right now as opposed to three days late, per ush. Stef was kidding when she nominated herself and she doesn't want to win 'cause she doesn't really want people to read her blog, and I probs don't have enough readers to make her win anyhow, but she'd like to lose by a less significant margin. Please go here and vote for her, thanks, you have 'til Sunday night at 10 P.M. I can't relate to the not-wanting-readers thing, as I clearly want everyone to read my blog, obvs, esp. Ilene Chaiken, Shane and G.W. Bush, and, whenever I blog about doing something fabulous, I hope all my exes are reading it and feeling bad for cheating on me with 16-year-old synchronized swimmers.

Sidenote, 9a: Lozo and I were discussing our lovely inter-blog traffic flow, and how it's resulted in many new lady commenters for WDWGDB, but not necessarily vice versa, though Lozo brings me lots of traffic which's fabulous, mwah. Anyhow, Lozo said it's "intimidating" to comment on my blog because my commenters are so awesome. Is this true? Do you people feel this way? This is sort of a retarded question to ask, as probs if you do feel this way, you won't comment, which is totes fine. I think it's a Catch-22 or whatever. I mean, because srsly, say whatever. Long, short, true, false, funny, insightful, brief, beautiful, retarded, whatevs. I talk in abbreviations, have a compulsive urge to overshare, and I frequently live-blog my emotional breakdowns and I can't spell. Again: not complaining, I totally understand, there're lots of blogs I read & never comment, and I don't really know why, I just don't feel like I can. I love & appreciate all my present commenters and I would make love to all of them if I wasn't so busy being Emily Dickinson, or if I hadn't already, or they actually wanted me to, or whatevs.
Lozo: Commenting on your blog is intimidating.
Me: It's intimidating? Really? But I comment back! I'm so nice! You're like: "Alex: Fuck you. Gina: I'd only do you if you had a bag over your head. Matt: You are wrong about the Yankees."
Lozo: lol. Not in that sense. Your commenters write lots of deep stuff.
Me: I'm like "Alex: I love you!, Gina: You're so special!, Matt: Good point! I feel that way too sometimes!"
Lozo: But my commenters are one-sentence people. Yours are people who tell stories.
me: I know, but I like one-sentence people too.
Lozo: It's a fitting in thing. You know what would have made this conversation awesome?
me: If it had been live? In person?
Lozo: Naked girls and drinks.
me: In bikinis?
Lozo: I like that you have my setups to my jokes read already.

8. Why Does Haviland Still Use AOL?
She's answered this question approximately 500 times, I forget the answer. I think it's got something to do with her career and keeping the same email address or something. But! AOL's just started doing this thing where they insert about 40 yards of white space to the end of all their emails. It's insufferable. I've communicated this. Here's what a quick gmail search turned up:

-August 17th, ME to HAVILAND: "Why does your email attach 30 pages of blank space to the bottom of every email? It's maddening and it must stop."

-August 20th, ME to HAVILAND: "The white space that follows every email is ruining our friendship."

-August 30th, ME to HAVILAND: "Dude that white space at the end of your emails is the most maddening thing on earth. Does anyone else tell you about this? It's going to make me into a crazy person. Oh wait, I already AM a crazy person!"

-September 12th, CARLY to ME: "I liked the unnecessary amount of white space at the end of your email, I thought of Haviland's emails when I saw that and then I laughed."

-September 13th: ME to HAVILAND: "1. Dude, you have to do something about this space Is there any way to fix it? Can I write someone at AOL? It's really maddening and unbearable."

Another question would be: Why do I repeat myself so often? Or, better yet: why does AOL make me repeat myself by sucking so hard?

8a. Why Does my Mom Still Use AOL?
Mom?

7. Why Don't More People Read Books?
It's just that I get depressed when I feel like people don't read books, and then I use that as an excuse not to write mine. "It's not like people read books, anyhow," I'll say. But actually, the real mystery to me here is: who doesn't read books? Everyone I know reads books. You probably do. So why's publishing in such a dismal state? I don't know. It keeps me up at night, obvs. I also enjoy listening to books, like right now I'm listening to "Lucky" by Alice Sebold. I get really into it, I listen to it at the gym. Ppl are all like "what's up, gonna do a delt fly," and I'm like "She got raped in the tunnel!" It's like, serious.

I feel like books can be a lot better than movies or the teevee, cause there're books about everything. Books can offer special POVs and voices that you can't get from most movies or teevee, which first must receive "funding" and "distribution," which means that someone with money has to like the idea. It just becomes part of this big system. I mean, so is publishing, but you know what I mean, yeah? Here's some of my favorite books.

They're definitely better than doing nothing. E.g., on public transportation, while waiting in line, while walking (books-on-tape), while sitting on your ass, waiting in a doctor's office, waiting for your life to begin, waiting for your date to show up so you look smart, sitting at a bar alone not like I'd do that, etc. I dunno. I guess that's just my opinion. I also enjoy magazines.

6. Why Do People ADD Apostrophes to Plural Nouns?
There's this poster on our wall in the living room that makes me want to tear my hair out. It's a drawing and it reads: "The 59th Annual Kings County TONY'S." Probs it was drawn by some kid who's dead of a drive-by shooting now or something, and I'll feel really guilty when Zoey sees this and clues me in. Or maybe Zoey drew it herself, in which case I'll make fun of her about it. Starr's boyfriend was here last weekend and also got annoyed by it. He pointed out two additional errors, further fueling my fire. Sometimes, during Writeathons, Carly'd suggest we switch seats 'cause looking at that poster made me miserable and I commented on it often.

It's just that you have to ADD AN APOSTROPHE. WHY?!!! What goes through your head when you add that in?!! Like, what are you thinking?
This would be a good opp for y'all to inform me that I don't know the difference between "its" and "it's." I know. I'm working on it. (Kinda) I'm v.busy.