Election Day Live-Blog: Either the Best or the Worst Night Ever [UPDATE THE BEST!!!]

Hi kids! Welcome to the Election Day Live-Blog. We get to find out who wins tonight, right? FYI, we still don't have a couch, and I was trying to screw in the curtain rod and I fell through a bookshelf, breaking it and slicing my left leg open. It's pretty sexy. I think things can really only go up from here. Like we could win the election.

12:49 A.M.: Oh and happy birthday Autumn!!! OMG you guys, I am so proud of everyone. I wish my Dad could see this, he'd freak out for sure. I'm so happy and stuff!!

12: 31 AM: AND WE DID. Planet Harlem is AMAZING right now. They've got a big screen on Adam Clayton Powell, no one is yelling at me about the apocalypse and there is just pure, unbridled, genuine, fearless JOY on the streets right now. I love everyone.

Don't talk to me about Prop 8 right now, I can't handle it, just need to sleep and will deal with that, and my re-opened leg wound, in the morning.

10:48 P.M.: WE ARE GOING TO HARLEM TO VIDEOTAPE AND PARTY!!!!

10:35 P.M.: PARIS and Semicolon support Obama for president.
I love this wig, I love America, and I love John McCain. (KIDDING! I mean ... I do! 'Cause he lost so that my true LOVe Obama could WINN!!) We're going to go next door and see if we can make our friends as excited as we are. BRB in like five minutes, 'cause NO ON PROP 8 HAS JUST BEGUN.

10:25 P.M.: In 2000, I was asleep in my dorm and I woke up at 2 A.M and heard my friend yelling 'we won! Gore! Gore in Oh-oh!" and I went to sleep happy and then I woke up the next morning and the whole world changed. But this is shaping up to be so much better than that, and so much more.

Natalie: Your leg looks like HELL by the way. I hope you don't have rabies.
Me: That's your name! Your NAME is RABIES!

(It's Raaber, but when we joined the gym together as a lesbian couple, they sent the mail to Marie Bernard and Natalie Rabey.)


10:21 P.M.: We might need to go next door and excite Devilkitty 'cause we feel like she is not excited enough.

NYTimes says 159 Obama, 36 McCain. I knew it! I knew this was gonna happen, 'cause polling "likely voters"? Who are they? Who's ever been polled as a likely voter? Not me. Young people and black people were not polled and they all voted so BOOYA pollers. People who don't answer their phone are autowinners. Yayayayayay!

10:13 P.M.: This is like a dream, except my dead Dad and my ex from middle school aren't in it! Um, anyway so ...

My nail polish DOES match my blood, holler!

You know why I'm bleeding? 'Cause I'm a liberal, and that's my bleeding heart!

Natalie likes Rachel's hair better too. It's been universally confirmed that Rachel's hair looks better tonight and that is probs why Obama is winning and will win and YES WE CAN


10:05 P.M.: Live pictures from HARLEM?!!! This is the first thing to ever happen outside of Dr. Jay's Shoe Store since 2007 and now I live a little bit too far west for my lazy ass to trek.

10:02 P.M: Update on my leg:

Update on the election:

Natalie just came home and we all screamed about Ohio! Her parents voted Democrat for the first time ever, and she made her brother vote, and he just came in and she was like, "Matthew, it's because of you! That he won Ohio!" See, heartwarming moments are happening all over the place.

9:50 P.M.: Someone explain to me the psychology of people who totally just don't vote?

9:48 P.M.: First occasion for "my number one feeling is Miami" tag since um ... actually going to Miami!

9:46 P.M: I'm not entirely sure I have any idea how to act when something reliant on a popular vote totally goes my way.

9:43 P.M.: Finally, college-educated whites have achieved SOMETHING. We're cited as Obama's number one pushers for this election. We don't have jobs that pay our rent, but we're all about the audacity of hope etc!!!

OMG OMG OMG! OHIO!

9:40 P.M.: A;ex loves maps and apologizes for not knowing "where that state is that's next to Michigan." Also she can see Angelina Jolie from her bedroom!

NPR says Obama wins New Mexico, but NY Times says McCain wins New Mexico. I feel like the NY Times is being a serious old grey lady tonight.

9:36 P.M.: Haviland vounteered today in L.A. and said everyone was like "oh, obvs I'm voting against Prop 8" She also says "Hi Autowinnners!" and "Hi!" on behalf of all L.A. Power Lesbians. Wheeeee!

9:35 P.M.: A;ex just asked "what's that state next to Michigan?" Sigh.

9:32 P.M.: Okay a lot of things are happening ... and I think they are all good.

9:23 P.M.: OH! OHIO! Ohio! My home and native land, where I celebrate the Jesus related holidays and my dear family lives! YOU GO ERMA! YOU GO ERMA AND GLEN! (those are my grandparents). Yay Ohio, birthplace of my father, yay Ohio, homeland of Natalie! OHIO! Home of the many Wal-Marts and Odd Lots! Ohio land of the free home of the not that brave but very very tenacious sometimes when they want to be! Ohio headquarters of the homosexy Abercrombie and Fitch!

9:16 P.M: I wish Elisabeth Hassleback's career was on the ballot so I could vote her out of it. I hope she deflates a little and then Whoopi and Joy can eat her. Also, the polls close in California in an hour and 45 minutes, so I guess we'll find out about No on prop 8 um ... well I'll be up all night. Is legalizing cocaine on the ballot? It's only 9:17! A lot of talking not a lot of results.

Still those white dudes are overpowering Rachel.

9:14 P.M: McCain's Mom is talking crazy. She doesn't care if he wins and thinks he's going to die soon or something. She must be at least 500 years old.

9:11 P.M.: OMG It's GRANHOLM! In Michigan! She pioneered the lesbian haircut! She has high hopes for Obama obviously. Talking about the auto industry. Love the multicultural electorate everywhere except at Obama rallies.

9:05 P.M.: I've never been to Virginia or South Carolina. WILL I EVER? We'll find out tonight. A;ex is cleansing my wound. Oh good, Rachel is talking, I think they did her hair differently tonight.

9:04 P.M.: Peter and A;ex want to order pizza 'cause Chris Matthews told them too. Obvs brainwashed by the liberal media elite.

8:54 P.M.: In response to various comments -- I never let not being able to focus stop me from liveblogging! Yay! I'd feel weird if I lived in Anchorage, my tear ducts are totes prepped for tears of joy, and I am wishing myself good luck as well.

There is not enough Rachel Maddow on MSNBC. If my cable worked well I could flip back and forth between this and BET.

I think Delay just tried to talk "street" and failed. "I don't hate!" Okay. Haters wanna hate, lovers wanna love, I don't even want, none of the above ...

8:48 P.M.: If you want to feel better just read Huff Po. They have lots of big letters announcing nice things, like that Obama wins it all. But this asshat on MSNBC is like "cool your heels in Grant Park." Yeah I'll cool your heels in your mom or whatevs whatevs whatever.

A;ex: What the fuck would it take for these red assholes to wake up and change their fucking minds and vote Democrat?
Me: If they could just feel the pleasure of another man's penis in their assholes, they'd flip like THAT.
A;ex: I mean how can they ignore what's happening in this country?
Me: There's a g-spot up there.


8:45 P.M.: So far Obama has not flipped a red state blue. That's fine. Purple is my favorite color.

8:41 P.M.: FreshDirect is 41 minutes late. I'm hungry. I wish I lived in a socialist country. I cannot drink fast enough for this night. I tried to take another picture of my bloody leg 'cause I think it's gotten worse, but I don't think any photos can do it justice. There are three of us in one room using the slowest web connection ever. I wonder what I'd pick for my headshot in the upper left.

I saw McCain speaking this afternoon to his "supporters" and he kept saying "my friends." Does he do that all the time? That's so irritating, if he wins I'm going Office Space on my teevee so I never have to hear his stupid annoying voice, he is so not in my top 8 and never will be. If I had a top 100,000 he wouldn't be in it either.

8:36 P.M.: The NY Times poll is completely whack! How can they keep reporting all these random Midwestern states before ANYONE has reported? Has anyone counted MY absentee ballot in Michigan yet?

8:33 P.M.: Barack is barely winning the popular vote. I don't care about the popular vote. AUTOWIN: Not caring about the popular vote since 2000.

8:31 P.M.: Obama is gonna win Maine. I knew it! Everyone in Maine is a hippie who lives in a tree. My Fresh Direct is totally late. I need to open this bottle of wine to drink right out of it. BRB.

8:26 P.M.: I'd like to speak to the 9% who think the economy is good. Actually I know one person who thinks we're all just being pessimistic. She doesn't live in Pennsylvania though so I don't know what to tell you. Maybe that's also the same percentage of people in Pennsylvania who live in caves and/or the hills.

8:22 P.M.: Thank you for the demonstration of how to fill out a ballot. This is like the SATs. Bring a Number 2 pencil and cocaine.

8:17 P.M.: I feel like if Ice-T had gone in another direction in his career, he would look a little bit like the token they've got on MSNBC ... I'm not just saying that 'cause they're both black. They look alike! I mean I know the difference between Barack Obama and Will Smith. I totally voted.

The NYTimes is projecting Texas to go Obama with 0% reporting? I feel like they should re-hire some of those 1,200 people they fired.

8:08 P.M.: Natalie says "Peter keeps saying OH NO! What's happening?" I tell her McCain hasn't lost a red state yet but we think Barack won Pennsylvania.

BTW, I'm losing all kinds of red blood coming out of my leg, and I still believe in the audacity of hope.

8:07 P.M.: Chris Matthews says that in Pennsylvania, "change" isn't always a good word 'cause the kids grow up and then move to New York or D.C. I think the implication is that they then become HOMOSEXUALS.

8:05 P.M.: PENNSYLVANIA!!!

7:47 P.M.: @lozo - too close to call! Obama will school McCain later.

I feel like it's still noon in California. FreshDirect is late, I wonder if that's related to the election. I hate it when Red States report first.

7:35 P.M. A;ex is putting up my shelves! Chris Matthews's voice gets a little grating sometimes. I think Rachel's worn that jacket before. But look she's blue and red! Like America! Except I hope America is more blue. Just like her outfit!

Also, I got some late-adds for the No on Prop 8 Quilt, so I must re-post it, 'cause it's two hot lesbians and a cute dog, which's the American Dream obviously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Am I just rude?

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

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

Here's one of them:

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

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

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

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

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

++

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

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

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

Um. ?

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

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

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

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

 *

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

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

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

But what else can happen?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

++

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

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

So Much More Than Just Auto-Fun of the Day :: 3-31-2008

While writing yesterday's Top Ten, I often got stuck spending valuable time going through the multitude of posts I'd already written about my relationship w/this city, and consequently re-working the new post to avoid repeating myself. It took forever and I wasn't happy with the result. Also: every time I trek back into the archives, I'm truly stunned by my capacity for repetition. I wish I had a "Mark as Written" tag on my brain, so I could easily recall what's already been covered.

How consistently I say the same things like they were new things. I've got a common nightmare: I'm relating an anecdote as though it's fresh and exciting while my audience, eyes rolling to skull-backs, suffers through the stale & eager repeat, seething with resentment. Like: on the cruise last summer, Rosie accidentally told the same joke twice in one set, and the experience was to be honest --- jarring. She caught herself, took a drink and apologized, turned it into a new joke, but witnessing the same delivery, made me think -- I do that.

In Ariel Levy's John Waters article, she says any Waters fans would see "his conversation is peppered with reruns and standards ... but it's fine. John Waters's recycling is more interesting than most people's virgin material." Which's something to aspire to.

As a kid, I'd interrupt my Mom if I'd already heard her story: she told me this was rude, as were my corrections. Stephen Dunn, in "The Answers," responds to the question, "why did you leave me?" with "You began to correct my embellishments in public. / You wouldn't let me tell my stories."

Possibly, I've even written about repeating myself before.

There's stories/experiences I already know I tell too often (Olive Garden, life of housewivery/frat rathood, being raised w/o television and artificial coloring, in public high school i wore boxers & skater pants and stared at the ceiling fan a lot, when Matty went to the park to look for osaama and never came back, my ex the cop [what's unfortunate is that I've only got a few exes who I'm certain will never read this, and therefore they're often spoken of/for]), but there's some I don't mean to. Stories about my father I may've told before are the riskiest to re-tell, 'cause no-one wants to interrupt a ghost story. But maybe I don't talk about him as much as I think I do. Which is the problem: I write down so much of what I think, it's nearly impossible to remember what I kept in my head, and what I put into words (therefore changing it immediately).

So, a reader survey! I know, I totally ask so much from you, it's actually semi-obnoxious. But ok -- no need to identify yourself (but you sure can!), and though your comments will be addressed in a larger sense (and possibly specifically, who knows), I don't plan to run down the line in response as I traditionally do. Also; I realize 95% of you won't answer, and that's fine, clearly I took Statistics 350 for a reason, know all about sample size, etc., and also, you don't have to, I appreciate your mysterious eyes. Also if you're my 3-D friend you still have to answer. Feel free to skip one, some or almost all the questions, like if you don't know who Lozo is. Just answer whatever you want.

It's almost time for Auto-Win's SECOND BIRTHDAY! Aren't you excited? Tinkerbell is1

1. How long have you been reading this weirdo's blog? [this weirdo = me]
1/a. Have you read archives?
2. Fill in the blank: "When you're here, you're ______."
3. What's your favorite thing to read on the internet besides me obvs.
4. What's Lozo's favorite position?
5. Have you seen The L Word and if so where is Papi.
6. Name of a blog post title (and, by implication, subject) that'd make your head explode with excitement to read it 'cause it just sounded so good!
7. omg, thanks!
8. Do you think I repeat myself on this blog a lot? Like, in a bad way?
18. anything else? okay.

---

quote: "I could say that telling her our story, / was a way of bringing you back to life, / and for a while it was, a memorial / made of memory and its words. / But here's what I knew: /Watching her react, I was sure I'd tell our story again, to others. I understood / how it could be taken to the bank, / and I feared I might not ever again / feel enough to know when to stop." (from Stephen Dunn, "The Stories")

---

links:
1) RKB is on Martha Stewart today, Monday March 31st! (@lusty lady)
2) The 10 Most Insane, Child-Warping Moments of '80s Cartoons (for you who watched teevee as a child) (@topless robot)
3) Insightful thoughts on blogging, privacy, sex writing from Sex and The Ivy, as a response to Randall Patterson's NY Times Magazine Article "Chastity Clubs: Virginity" (@sex and the ivy, the ny times)
4) "The deaths of a number of celebrities may well be warnings about the dangers of chronic sleeplessness" : "Can Insomnia Kill?" (@the latimes)
5) "How to Fix Starbucks: "A few helpful suggestions from our panel of coffee geeks and empire builders."
6) A comprehensive list of movies in which poetry takes "center stage": Poetry in Movies (@the michigan quarterly review)
7) Where the "real housewives of NYC" actually really hang out! (@gridskipper)
8) The 101 Most Useful Websites (@telegraph uk)
9) A fantastic 2005 essay from Rick Moody about teaching and learning to write: "Writers and Mentors" (@the atlantic)

a blog about nothing which i will never proofread. (which/that?)

tonight in harlem we were on the roof and we heard a car crash. that was nothing. then another -- louder -- so we went to look: a police car, crashed into a chased car, then maybe twenty cars rushed in, two men got arrested. a plethora of undercover cops in puffy coats, lights & noise. we need loudspeakers on 125th to play ave maria, handcuffs need opera.

handcuffs need bedposts. i've never had bedposts. of all the bones in the body, my favorites are wrists and hips. then fingers. of all body parts: hands.

i think every tuesday night (or monday, wednesday, thursday) i'll sit down and write about nothing. tuesday top nothing. earlier, i wrote something: a sunday top ten. i don't like it enough for show & tell.

i have a chronic shortage of ibuprofen. i should deal with headaches/mylife more maturely, like a grown up. chocolate is forever, i'm still eating it. many of my nearest & dearests got born in january or march, which requires rubber cement and cardboard. i haven't spoken to my mother in three weeks. we'll pick up where we left off.

i didn't like my fortune, i gave tinkerbell my cookie. last year i didn't go anywhere, this year i'm everywhere but here.

*

the other night, i was talking to tara about the rainbow depot, other trivialities, and suddenly i opened my mouth and said --

me: "sometimes i just want to scream and break my walls open."

tara: "why?"

me: "i don't know, sometimes i feel like this room just remembers too many things, i just want to smash it! i want to kick the walls!"

tara: "so many crazy things happened in this room ... literally."

[i like the idea that pauses can be pregnant. that giving birth is sometimes speech not life.]

now memories replace memories, old memories become well-oiled stories with loose ends waiting in wings. new sheets, new people, old people with restored minds, new books, new socks. still i keep the bottom sheet, the softest sheet. it's just so soft, it's so hard to get out of bed because of that sheet. sometimes other reasons. now; it's just that sheet.

*

crystal and i stood at the edge of the roof where we could see the cars, lights, cops, criminals, and the standard neighborhood hooligans who flood the streets for such events. a woman was wailing, two men held her (undercover or real/uncovered?) and one said: "that's him, there he is," pointing at the criminals. the cops shined flashlights up at us.

me: "they think we're the fourth gunman."

crystal: "it's the grassy knoll."

we retreated down and indoors where my roommates were at the window. then they said to crystal: "welcome to harlem!"

*

some parts of my life are sweet, like my bottom sheet or lemon drops. other parts are solid like bones. other parts are mushy like organs. other parts are air and planets that swirl around me and i can't figure out for the life of me which parts are authentic and which are just talkative comets/ambitiousrocketships. either way, isn't the moonlight lovely. isn't the moonlight terrible.

the roof makes me feel alive because i've never jumped off it. when i'd say i thought of such things: that was drama. not the feelings, but their respective actions. i like long, flat islands, or rather, the dream/drama of them. me in a boat.

memoirists keep making things up, they should just write novels. that's novel. my book is honest. maybe it isn't. maybe i'm copying someone else's words from accidential memory, i'll need a fact checker.

"a fat checker," susan powter said when we showed up for her yoga class at nine, not eight.

the internet is space you can call up if you want to, like photographs or a song you once knew by heart. it's virtual reality (the one we've been dreaming of) without helmets, it's Tomorrowland, specifically oriented dreamscape. books are hard and solid like bones, i mean, like moans.

*

the air was cool we snuck into the swimming pool you dove headfirst
i waded in
the scent of chlorine upon our skin

*

something haviland & i often spoke of was how much we'd like to need nothing. little self-sufficient spaceships. i'd still like that sometimes, but i know it's not true. besides, it's better this way: for example, i have good friends. some of my friends are not only friends but also miracles. i even have a friend who's not only a friend but a miracle and a blessing.

*

the stars were bright, the water clear,
i felt your heat, as you swam near
i held my breath, you held my hand
moving away, further from land
the moon was full, everything blue
the water stilled, reflecting you

*

have i mentioned that life is good? my water tastes like soap. sometimes skin tastes like soap.

i liked zipping through the canyons with haviland & cait, driving out to malibu sans traffic. i liked that we (natalie & cait & alex & I) made it past the singing bears and then down the flume alive, soaked & smiling & squeegee, and then dashing past tom sawyer island to get out before they cut the lights. i like wide eyes, i like wide full futures.i'm not sure anyone (not even me) knows how different it feels to stop daring my heart to attack. truth or dare: dare, always the dare, and then, maybe, wait a few months (close your eyes) and then and then, right, the real secret is, and then: truth. i don't know it.i'm a fundamentally ridiculous person ("you need to stop using that phrase, marie"). i'll never shake the feeling that this self-indulgence is wasting everyone's time. the starving children, and so forth. the handcuffs, the crash and the direction of sirens.

sometimes i'm alone in an unfamiliar room and think i could be anyone (now, later). sometimes i'm well aware that's a clichè, is the real secret. i find that feeling less scary then i used to. i'm more scared that i'll be a cockroach tomorrow morning than of guns or car crashes. i don't feel obligated to control traffic.

does anyone else worry you'll love a person just like you love a song -- completely, on repeat, and then ... boredom, or bad memory?

*

i'll finish my book by june first. and then.

* floating right here with you next to me gazing at stars, we drift silently

*

possible titles:
Sancho Panza - Behind the Music
my word verif is wtf just happened
me and being

*

Cait: "Sometimes you're talking about something, and then, an hour later, you'll say something else about that same thing, and I think, have you been thinking about that same thing all this time?"

Me: "Yes."

Cait: "Isn't that exhausting?"

Me: "Yes."

* late at night, the air was cool we snuck into the swimming pool i went under and you followed let's not think about tomorrow

*

What I've Been Reading:
the best first lines of a poem, possibly ever ...

I love you too
don't fuck up my hair
I can't believe
you almost
fisted me
today.
-Eileen Myles, "Dear Andrea"

*

A few weeks ago I had a lot of feelings and decided to eliminate my website. semicolon is making a new one, she's got all kinds of visions to put into practice, she knows what she's doing. I just need a bio. It's me, so it's an auto-bio. I know what happened, I've been here this whole time, I'm pretty sure I know what I did too, and what's worth mentioning, but I also feel

Anyhow, I do not know who I am. I've got some hyperlinks to some stories, essays, etc. I published stories about fucking, even the ones that weren't about fucking were also kinda about fucking.

*

When I was little, I was mostly scared of being kidnapped. Every summer, my father installed the screen windows. "If anyone tries to kidnap you," he told me, "I will wake up. I'll hear the kidnapper cutting through the screen windows." I'd imagine daggers slicing dirty cool metal screens and a sound that spoke to fathers. I trusted that.

*

possible titles:
before my head exploded, i wrote this book
i think uh huh her is a real band and i like their music
it's likely i accidentally plagiarize stephen dunn
i wrote about you, but i changed your name
this book is actually true i swear
after he died
i hate los angeles so much it hurts
this week in corrections
this might be boring but it's got a nice spine for your shelf
my spine
your spine
our spines.
everything is perfect now.

Why Don't We Get Drunk and VLOG?: A Place For Friends

Artists face many roadblocks on the path to brilliance. For example, I edited this vlog on an airplane while a man with no consideration whatsoever for my process fully reclined right into my lap. I could've kissed him on the nose to see if he'd turn into a Prince (like the Frog Prince) but I didn't, I'm not the poky little puppy, I'm a mature adult with important things to do. Although I quickly developed a physical/logistical solution to this spatial dilemma (thank you, college!), I was plagued by homicidal instincts that continued to hinder my efforts. Furthermore, I learned mid-flight there's a new version of iMovie I haven't yet acquired, which means other You Tubers are operating with a clear advantage over me, which gives me intense techno-jealousy. How can I compete? I mean, I know it's not a competition. And even if it was, it might just end a day early without warning anyhow.

Nevertheless, I have completed Vlog #19 featuring Guest-Host David Lozostieburgsmith of Why Don't We Get Drunk and Blog?, and consequently I've posted it here for your enjoyment.

Lozo and I shot a lot of footage for this vlog, so there'll for sure be a #20. I was careful this time to save the really good stuff for next time. Topics discussed in Vlog #19 include The Sport, The Haviland and Lozo's feelings about children. It also features Semicolon/Alex/Littlefoot and a special surprise ending with a special surprise guest. No fast-forwarding, this isn't Back to the Future. There's also a special Lozo PSA, and I want to emphasize that the views expressed in this PSA do not necessarily reflect the views of the station or its owners.

I was in L.A. this weekend and I've determined I could never live there and would probs rather live in Ohio, 'cause then at least I could get a cheap apartment, shop at Odd Lots, and go to the Corn Festival with my Grandma. Also I think living in Ohio would be a valuable cultural experience. In the photo above you can see Tinkerbell is enjoying the sunshine.

Okay, here's the vlog!

Wednesday Top Eight: It's a Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow

This weekend I had the esteemed privilege of visiting the real "Carousel of Progress" (inspiration for my "Carousel of Progress" blog segment), now located permanently in Tomorrowland, Disneyworld, Orlando, Florida. Howevs, my so-called friends didn't exactly grasp the glory of this laid-back journey into innovations past -- post-Carousel, Cait wouldn't even look at me and Natalie used it against me later when she wanted to ride this lame-o car thing. Believe it or not, this silence/blackmail treatment was a much more promising response than the group reaction to "The American Experience" at Epcot (also my idea -- I sort of go crazy at Disney, like I fully had maps and itineraries and stuff, which made everyone's heads explode), which I thought they'd never forgive me for. As soon as the lights went up, Cait said, "I can't talk to you for about ten minutes." Also though, I feel it was all very educational and they'll thank me later, probs around Christmas-time when someone breaks out the Trivial Pursuit.

So yes, last weekend I went to Disneyworld w/Cait, Alex and Natalie. It was wonderful! Magic! We made memories! Seriously, I can't talk about it right now, I miss it a lot, I'm moving to Tom Sawyer Island, my number one feeling is nostalgia. Actually, my number one feeling is "sick," 'cause I am. My glands are plum-sized, and the turbulent flight that made us all puke this morning didn't help this throat/ears situation. Luckily, I didn't start feeling sick 'til last night, so it didn't ruin our lovely weekend.

We Love Magic!
*

Normally in this state of illness, I'd be lying in bed moaning softly to myself while reading. Howevs, now that I'm a finalist in the Lesbian Blog of the Year contest and receiving a lot of referrals, I figured I should probs update my blog so as to look deserving. I don't want people thinking Auto-Fun is all I do, 'cause obvs Auto-Fun's really like the potato product to the beefy entree of the blog posts themselves. I don't like beef, except cheeseburgers, but you get my drift. In the future, there will be no beef, only robots and spaceships, FYI. I've been to Tomorrowland, I know whereof I speak. Also I'm an astronaut, see photo, to the right to the right. So you have to vote for me now -- it's really important; if I don't win I'm going to scream and cry. Also, thanks for getting me this far kids, you're special people, I mean that.

So, back to my topic. Urm, I like things like the Carousel of Progress 'cause I love robot-people, a.k.a., auto-animatronic figures. I like history and I love old-school Disney stuff created to promote bizarre outdated American propaganda and a quaint exclusive belief that family, national history and Inventions are the foundation of society/alleged prosperity. (In truth, the foundation of our society is money, drugs and sex, obvs.) I just find it interesting from a cultural P.O.V., especially in comparison to my childhood memories of these exact shows. Also, I think it's super-weird and obvs I love weird stuff. For example, my friends are total weirdos; Natalie spent the entire flight to Orlando talking to the flight attendants in the back of the plane, seriously, the entire flight. She got free wine and cashews too. This is why Natalie is a Supreme Being, and one of my heroes for life.

When I told my Mom that everyone hated me after "The American Experience" she fully understood my affections: "It's like animated wax figures!" OBVS. My Mom gets me: we're bonded 'cause when I was a little fetus, I lived inside her belly for nine months, we had a lot of feelings together.

Howevs: we all decided that every Disney ride (aside from the 'coasters and Splash Mountain) could be improved by a sudden steep drop at the end. For example, Cait suggested that The American Experience end with the Mark Twain/Albert Einstein robot (he claimed to be the former, but looked like the latter, who yes, isn't American, but whatevs) saying, "Oh, BTW: gravity!" and then the whole theater just going WHOOSH and -- A DROP. You know?

Anyhow, The Carousel of Progress, which, as I said, my friends didn't appreciate, was a very cathartic experience and inspired me to think about all the ways in which progress hasn't been actual "progress" but rather "annoying." Coincidentally, I do think about this periodically for your entertainment in a little Segment I call "The Carousel of Progress." Previous editions include: COP: Melted Cheese/Dead Poets Edition (May '07), COP: Beverage Bottles, Google Empire, Transportation, Interns (May '07), COP: Promise I'll Be Perfect From Now On (Jan '08). This one, inspired by the number of "new-fangled inventions" cited on the ride, will cover some historical things that I wish we still used. It will be shorter than the introduction.

Also amazing: the real COP hasn't been updated since '94, so the "family of the future" is wearing virtual reality helmets, talking to their oven, and sporting high-tops, striped rugby shirts and pleated pants. Apparently the COP was Walt Disney's favorite attraction so they're not allowed to take it down ever, I dunno, there are some crazy COP fans out there. Hurrah! I'll be torturing my children with this in twenty years!

The COP focused heavily on electricity and so forth (it was originally sponsored by General Electric), like, "We've got this fancy gas lamp nowadays" and, "It only takes seven days to get to California by railroad train!" So I got to thinking about seriously old-school stuff that I wish we still had.

Wednesday Top Eight/Carousel of Progress: It's a Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow

8. Horses
First off, you can ride a horse home even if you're drunk. I mean, I wouldn't recommend it, but it's possible. Also: less pollution. In 8th grade, our Sex-Ed guest-speaker told us that girl horseback riders probs have special sexual thoughts while riding, which I don't think was true ... though it stirred up a lot of controversy among the disproportionately large horseback riding population of my dork-school. Another advantage to horses is that they're less expensive and they can talk, like Mr. Ed.

7. Non-Digital Cameras
Now that digital cameras are an option, you've gotta have one, otherwise everyone else is gonna have way cuter photos than you 'cause they deleted the ugly ones even before the three-second auto-save kicked in. But I miss the surprise -- that eager awaiting of your mysterious post-vacation photo development. Also -- I miss the efficiency afforded by winging it. Like: take the photo, the end. There's no taking it, checking it, taking it again, checking it, taking it again ... and so on. There are advantages to Digital Cameras, but my glands hurt so that's all I'm gonna say about that.

6. Telegrams
I'm not sure how these worked exactly, but I feel like it forced people like me to choose sparse and specific poetry over endless ramblings, and forced people like you to choose sparse and specific poetry over the telephone, which I loathe. Honestly most of my knowledge of telegrams comes from YA Historical Fiction novels where the protagonists received a telegram that Papa had got himself killed or had his leg blown off in World War I or whathaveyou. Really I just don't like the phone.

5. Record Players
They feel organic. I like the way albums look, and how they age, and the scratchy sound that may or may not be how records actually sound. They remind me of being a kid and leafing through my parents' collection of Beatles albums. I remember the smell. As far as I know, mp3s do not have a smell: they're just another set of words on a screen, like everything. Also records are super hipster now, yeah? And I'm an almost-hipster. So.

4. Letters in the Mail
I like e-mail too, but I really love old-fashioned letters. I've talked about this before, I think. Pen pals and so on? I won't repeat myself.

3. Dirty Books and Magazines
I feel there was something elementally pure about the (proverbial) old days when kids would discover sex by digging up an old magazine or finding a steamy scene in a pulp fiction novel, rather than clicking on a computer and seeing some weirdo woman made out of plastic getting sperm sprayed in her eye. Sexual activities are highly personal, generally intimate, and ridiculously specific and it seems our first encounters with sex should be either actual or, at the very least -- personal, intimate and specific. Books force you to engage your imagination in a way that television and movies, by definition, don't.

2. Knickers/"Knickerbockers"
UPDATE: My usage of this term has been questioned in the comments section, so let me clarify. The term "knickers" is now generally used to refer to underwear. Howevs, if you read pre-electricity lit, you'll notice that "knickerbockers" are commonly referred to as "knickers."

"The term "Knickerbockers" traces its origin back to the Dutch settlers who came to the New World — and especially to what is now New York — in the 1600s. By the late 19th century, the term had come to mean the style of breeches the settlers wore that buckled just below the knee, which became known as "knickerbockers," or "knickers".

"Until World War II, in the USA and Canada boys customarily wore short pants in summer and knickerbockers or "knickers" (or "knee pants") in winter." (Wikipedia)

Anyhow, I always wanted to wear Knickers like in Newsies. They're not really flattering, and some mainstream fashion providers have unfortunately attempted to co-opt the Spirit of Knickers into Capri pants, which are not the same thing. A lot of my pants that I think are long pants turn out to be knickers at heart 'cause I'm too tall for pants. I think baseball players still wear knickers, right? That's a funny word, knickers. I wonder if I have any NyQuill around.

1. Treehouses
As expressed in the Tegan & Sara song "Come on Kids," "we've got trees we've yet to live in." While in the D-World, we obvs took a climb around the legendary Swiss Family Robinson treehouse. It's probs the best ever made. I've decided that when I get older I am going to live in a tree like The Swiss Family Robinson. When it rains, I will wash my hair, and when it's cold, I'll curl up by the fireside and write letters to Mama, B., and Grandmama. I'll be like Julia Butterfly except with no purpose. Seriously, we were taking notes on the design of this thing. How hot would it be if I blogged from a treehouse? Then I'd win the contest for sure. I'd need a waterproof computer though and a better hairstyle (also waterproof), someone invent that stuff STAT.

You may notice that knickers are being worn in the center photograph.
*

Monday Top Nine: Auto-Win Endorses Barack Obama

I make a lot of recommendations on this blog: melted cheese, Stephen Dunn, honesty, solitude, bi/homosexuality, Tegan & Sara, dog-purses like Tinkerbell, last-fm, cities, solitude, Mary Gaitskill, Savage Inequalities (the book, not the experience), abbreviated words, making out, laughter, jokes, ethical consumerism, apple products, auto-apparel. I know whereof I speak -- I've enjoyed melted cheese in a number of contexts, including two just this very day (omelet, garden burger), I've read everything Mary Gaitskill's ever written, and I've obviously made a LOT of jokes. I won't talk about my making out expertise -- ladies, you know who you are. (JK, seriously) (Though, that being said, I hope you do?) Due to a limited number of hours in the day and my super-important obligations to bad lesbian television, I haven't been educated enough about the election to feel confident declaring an affiliation -- I often defer to Krista 'cause I trust her education on the issue (thorough) and her personal politics (they're just like mine). She told me: "Obama is a revolution." And so, I've given myself a crash-course this past week ... Ultimately, I'd be thrilled to see either Clinton or Obama in the White House. But I gotta say, I really dig Obama. I really hope he wins, and I've got at least nine reasons why, and about five unrelated tangents.

*

November 3rd, 2004: Our city had just lost the election (Manhattan is more homogeneously democrat than the worst red state is red) and most people still weren't over the Red Sox winning the series. I had a discman -- no ipod yet, couldn't afford it -- and a CD called "winter of my discontent" and its contents are embarrassing: I was listening to Coldplay's "The Scientist" on repeat while walking through a cold/gray/rainy/miserable day to my fourth evening of training at a swanky Upper East Side restaurant that felt, inside, like a deep maroon/sharp crystal womb. The uniform was all black, and so, as I proceeded to the back table to wrap silverware with other servers (still listening to Coldplay: Nobody said it was easy, I never thought it would be this hard), I thought, shit, it's like a funeral in here. The manager burst forth from the kitchen and announced in his ambiguously European accent (he was American, so it's anyone's guess): "I do not want to hear about the election, enough depression, it is not the end of the world. One word on this election and you are going home. Let's begin." It was time to talk about tuna tartare. It was time to serve overpriced food to rich people and pretend like it wasn't the end of the world. A few days later I'd quit, dramatically, with a speech. This is a bad habit of mine: if I know I'm never coming back someplace, I may as well make a point. Every restaurant I've worked in has its own special recipe of soulless cold lawless douchebaggery , so as soon as the rules aren't mine anymore, I wanna tell the man in charge why he's a bastard and hope it'll make a difference for those left behind. What did I care anyway, the world was clearly ending. My number one feeling was apocalypse. On that day (that day that I quit) in East Harlem, Krista -- still recovering from the election (she'd been at the Air America party that night and was crying on public transportation for days afterwards) -- told me I needed to read this speech that this Illinois senator had given at the Democratic National Convention. "Ri," [pronounced "ree"] she said, extracting pages from the printer of our discontent, "This man is hope." Honestly, I was blown away. I couldn't believe it wasn't an Aaron Sorkin production. (9) I read it and it reminded me of "The West Wing," a television program featuring a charismatic, religious, educated left-wing president who's deeply affiliated to his own integrity. "The West Wing" is not real, but because it's a show and therefore written by writers who believe in words, their president knows how to develop a thesis. He mobilizes language as power/hope rather as a manipulative tool (e.g., "Enduring Freedom," "War on Terror"). (8) But Barack, unlike Jed Bartlett, is real.

"In the language of metaphor, Clinton is an essay, solid and reasoned; Obama is a poem, lyric and filled with possibility. Clinton would be a valuable and competent executive, but Obama matches her in substance and adds something that the nation has been missing far too long -- a sense of aspiration." -The L.A Times Endorsement of Barack Obama

Until I read that speech, I did not believe that there was a single politician who still believed in -- of all things -- "America." I thought we'd all given up on that -- admitted this country was totally fucked, hopeless, that the best I could hope for was a politician who held my opinions despite his or her inevitable corruption. But also: I saw that Obama was an African-American man and therefore I didn't think I'd one day be able to vote him into office. I didn't think that'd happen in America in my lifetime. But he totally IS running for president, (7) because now is the time when we need change moreso than we ever have before, because we're ready for revolution and that revolution needs a soul, because that's what we've been doing without for the past eight years.

"I think we're in a historical depression right now, because everything has failed so entirely. This could be a great moment because we have to re-think everything: Okay, we're absolutely at a dead end -- an absolutely devastating impasse.' Which means that one has to think one's way out of it." -Avital Ronell, 1991

**

I understand the arguments for Hillary -- prior White House residency, a better chance of beating McCain, required experience, ability to get things done. But c'mon. Hello! it's me, I'm a sucker for a good speech! Obvs I'm gonna go for the poet/politician over the politician/politician. Yeah there's some things about Hillary that don't sit right with me (like her failure to appreciate staying home and baking cookies), but I know there's spin on all sides and I'd still love to see her as president. But I'd la-la-la-LOVE for Obama to be president, and that's who I wanna talk about. Obvs I still believe in Revolution simply because I think WE CAN. I really think WE CAN. I think that financially comfortable (I make the distinction because for the working poor and those living hand-to-mouth -- ideals are a luxury, obvs) humans are selling themselves short left and right, including me, including -- to my consistent devastation -- people I love. There's a viral divide within most humans right now between what they're doing and what they're capable of doing. Our culture's working hard to ensure it remains impossible to actually pursue idealism & strive for true fulfillment and still remain employed and fed. I think that the disparity between the working poor and the wealthy in this country is disgusting. It's embarrassing. Our education system is embarrassing. The influence of evangelical Christians on public policy is a disgrace. This country is no longer a meritocracy, it's an aristocracy, and Obama would be very very clear step away from this legacy. I think we need something seriously NEW to get away from where we are. Something totally totally NEW. I think it's lame to give in. I think everyone's taking hypocrisy lying down 'cause we don't think it's possible to live otherwise, and it's sad that one's ability to live ethically is so closely correlated to economic advantage -- and that even when it isn't, people remain prone.

(6) "If you find yourself swept up in Obamamania ... you're perfectly aware that politics is often a dirty business. But you believe it could be a bit cleaner, a bit nobler, a bit more sustaining. You think that paradigm shifts can happen, that the system can be rebooted. Most of all, an attraction to Obama indicates you are, on some level, a romantic. You never had your JFK, your MLK, and you desperately crave one: What you want is to fall in love." -"The Amazing Race," John Heileman, New York Magazine, Feb. 4, 2008

And the more I read, the more I realize that it's not that black and white -- Dreamer vs. Doer. You can find statistics and arguments on both sides -- their policy initiatives are virtually identical. Obama is certainly qualified and has the experience needed to get the job done, regardless of how it compares to Hillary's. But Obama's candidacy, as Andrew Sullivan so eloquently promotes in this article in The Atlantic, is (5)"potentially transformational." ** I preface most of my beliefs with a plainfaced declaration of the impending apocalypse, the world going to hell in a handbasket, widespread human soul corruption and the degradation of humanity through a worship of consumerism. To quote Sullivan again: "If you believe the America's current crisis is not a deep one, if you think that pragmatism alone will be enough to navigate a world on the verge of even more religious warfare, if you believe that today's idealogical polarization is not dangerous, and that what appears dark today is an illusion fostered by the lingering trauma of the Bush presidency, then the argument for Obama is not that strong ... but if you sense, as I do, that greater danger lies ahead, and that our divisions and recent history have combined to make the American polity and constitutional order increasingly vulnerable, then the calculus of risk changes. Sometimes, (4) when the world is changing rapidly, the greater risk is caution." I believe, as he does, that we are in danger. I believe in a few things: honesty, generosity, kindness, second chances, selflessness, humility, freedom of expression, no judgments, possibility, and love. I believe in fun, and art, and truth. I believe that people who (needlessly) measure success in terms of financial power are cheating their souls and the world. I believe Obama is not one of those people, which is a true political anomaly. I'm bored with practicalities and tight-faced emotionless censored bullshit. I'm sick of bullshit. This guy makes my heart sing and he makes me cry. And because I'm a sucker and cause y'all have helped me believe in the transformative power of words, I still think that's a more important quality in a leader than who you know. I believe in the purest most idealistic thing possible, and I think that thing is this man. And I think ultimately it is the content of our hearts and souls that define our ability to make the right choices for the betterment of the human condition, not a set of policies and procedures and rules. He's real, authentic, honest, and we'd be foolish to let him pass us by.

"... the true genius of America [is] a faith -- a faith in simple dreams, an insistence on small miracles; that we can tuck in our children at night and know that they are fed and clothed and safe from harm; that we can say what we think, write what we think, without hearing a sudden knock at the door; that we can have an idea and start our own business without paying a bribe; that we can participate in the political process without fear of retribution, and that our votes will be counted -- at least most of the time." -Barack Obama, 2004 Democratic National Convention Keynote Address

**

"How did the fairy-tale prince from Camelot vanquish a field of heavyweights led by the longtime liberal warrior Hubert Humphrey? It wasn’t ideas. It certainly wasn’t experience. It wasn’t even the charisma that Kennedy would show off in that fall’s televised duels with Richard Nixon. Looking back almost 30 years later, Mr. Goodwin summed it up this way: 'He had to touch the secret fears and ambivalent longings of the American heart, divine and speak to the desires of a swiftly changing nation — his message grounded on his own intuition of some vague and spreading desire for national renewal.' In other words, Kennedy needed two things. He needed poetry, and he needed a country with some desire, however vague, for change ... For all the Barack Obama-J. F. K. comparisons, whether legitimate or over-the-top, what has often been forgotten is that Mr. Obama’s weaknesses resemble Kennedy’s at least as much as his strengths. But to compensate for those shortcomings, he gets an extra benefit that J. F. K. lacked in 1960. There’s nothing vague about the public’s desire for national renewal in 2008 ..."

(Frank Rich, The New York Times, Ask Not What J.F.K Can do for Obama )

** When I try to explain what I want to talk about in my book, the basic idea is this: I've been through enough to relate to a lot of stuff, but nothing so weird as to be too "out there" to be related to. I've straddled, embraced, struggled and commanded a number of difficult dichotomies and tried to ensure I don't let them become hypocrisies. I've failed more often than not, and I'm still generally guided by self-doubt, insecurity and the suspicion that I'm secretly a bad person. I'm not confident that I know what's going on, but I trust that I want to be a better person. And I think I need -- WE need -- heroes. And so, this asset is one I believe in: the power of varied experiences -- even just being close to, or working amongst, a relatively diverse sampling of our citizenry --

(2) to create a powerful person with something to offer to the world in return. I'm glad he's made mistakes and done drugs and been through it. Diversity of experience is, in my opinion, the single most powerful attribute for a leader of such a diverse nation. 

And also: I think he could be a hero. I've found myself thinking a lot about Pump up the Volume lately. That might sound crazy, and it probably is, but the film centers around an outcast kid played by Christan Slater who starts his own underground radio station, where as Happy Harry Hard-On he gives the kids in high school something to believe in. A voice that makes sense to them. The parents and the powers-that-be freak out because he tells kids to think for themselves and preaches "TALK HARD." It's an awesome movie. He's a hero. People who fight against the grain are always heroes to me. You guys should see it. 

 ** 

 On November 3rd, 2004, near closing time, I was in the back kitchen eating discarded bread from ignored bread-baskets with some line cooks and sous chefs and so on -- the other servers were all bitches, the kitchen staff was better company (this is true in most NYC restaurants, I've found). They were talking about the election (apparently they'd missed the rule of the night), though most of them weren't citizens and therefore hadn't voted. But some were, and still hadn't. "I didn't like any of 'em," a cook declared between bites. "Kerry, Bush, they're all the same. I'll vote when they get a black guy. Clinton's the closest thing we ever had to a black president, man. If we get another guy like Clinton, yeah, I'll vote, I voted for Clinton, both times." And so I hope people like that guy are voting, and so I think that they are. Krista told me that though Clinton will play the game well, Obama could re-make how the game is played, and I like that idea.

 **

Also you guys should all vote 'cause I totally forgot to register, I've never voted in a Primary before 'cause I didn't really care about the Primary elections in '00 or '04, Gore and Kerry had it in the bag. Also though I voted for them to be Presidents in the Important Election and they did not win, I was not impressed. Anyhow, so I didn't really think about how I hadn't registered to vote in the Primaries until like two weeks ago. Ho-hum. La di da. And by "ho-hum, la di da," I mean ... fuck. ** Yes We Can.

UPDATED! Sunday Top Ten: You Tell Me

On Sunday I said this: "I'm accepting suggestions for the Sunday Top 10, as "The L Word" and other catastrophes* are crowding my brainspace. It's my job here at AutoWin to provide the illusion that it is possible for a semi-intelligent human girl to produce an endless flood of ideas, howevs, this is not true. Therefore, I'm fully prepared for the possibility that no one else has any ideas, either. But I thought I'd throw it out there. If I pick your Top Ten topic, you can win an auto-apparel item of your choice pending size availability. Or stickers. Um, or nothing. Soundtrack? Haviland? Just the joy of the game. The spirit of the game? It's not if you win or lose, something something. OMG, I feel like Snoopy or something, it's really gross. Hm. Well, here goes.

*JK!"

Now it's Monday. There are so many beautiful Top Ten ideas, I barely know where to begin! Some of the ideas are kinda similar to stuff I've already done, but I think I might end up doing alot of them as time continues to go on like sand through a hourglass. I've put the list of all the ideas here. And I'm thinking about it. Input is always welcome. I also have to get a passport today and a number of other important tasks, but this is totally like the top top ten list on my list of top things to do for the day of today.

Someone suggested I do a Sunday Top 10 of the Best Top Tens. So, while I ponder the next Top Ten, here's an old school link dump for ya'.

Ten Best Top Tens of 2006:
12.28.06: Top Ten Books of 2006, Some of Which I've Actually Read
12.24.06: Things They Are Better At Out Here in the Heartland
11.26.06: How to Provide Visitors With The Ultimate NYC Experience
11.19.06: Relationships I've Had With Animals
10.29.06: Revivals
10.15.06: Reasons Apartment 1A Is not A Place For Good Clean Living
10.8.06: Things That Are Cuter than Cute Overload
10. 1. 06: Yom Kippur Edition - Things I'd Like to Repent For
8.20.06: Things I Would Like Back, Please
7. 23.06: Appearances by Flannel Shirts in My Videos From Middle School

Ten Best Top Tens of January --> June '07
1.30.07: Why You Don't Want to Date Me
2.27.07: Dreams You Want to Hear About
3.25.07: Apartments I Want To Live In
4.15.07: My Skills
5.8.07: Potential Reactions To The Loss of One's Sunday Top Ten
5.13.07: Summer Scattergories
5.20.07: Requirements for My Unpaid Intern
5.28 & 5.31: Top Ten Clubs To Which I'd Be a Member: Part One & Part Two
6.11.07: I Am Not The Only One Without a Phone
6.19.07: On Camp

Ten Best Top Tens of July '07 --> December '07
7.2.07: Team Awesome's Gay Teevee Show Is Unlike All Other Gay Teevee Shows
7.22.07: Things That We Lost Along the Way/Concepts Abandoned Prior to Execution
8.13.07 & 8.16.07: Things I Want to Do Before I Die Part One and Two
8.30.07&9.2.07: Worst Nightmares One and Two
8.23.07: Live Through This And You Won't Look Back
9.16&9.20: Dream Jobs Part One and Two
10.2.07: Great Mysteries of Life Part One and Two
10.22.07: Things That Were Harder Than I Expected
10.28.07: Things You Might Not Agree With
11.26.07: Cities I Could Totally Never Live In

The New Sunday Top Ten will drop on Tuesday, fo'serious ...

This Girl Called Automatic Weirdo

Hi! I've got some things I wanna say and so I'm gonna write them down here in this google doc, then cut and paste them into a blog and then publish it. Carly's coming over in about 30 minutes and then Haviland 'cause we're gonna make some vlogs that're gonna be awesome and make you LOL your asses off, so I've got about 20 minutes to figure out what I need to say and say it, and I'll edit it later because it's gonna be totes muddled. First off; I'm not depressed right now, I'm not in a Bell Jar or Emily Dickinson mood, nor am I about to renounce all things in the world, delete my blog or myspace, go out and drink into an oblivion, fuck 'til I forget who I am, change all my goals in life, move to Michigan or run away to my emo cave, suddenly fix relationships I've let falter or neglect new and thriving ones. In fact, I'm not gonna do anything besides exactly what I've been doing and planned to do, like tonight we're making some vlogs, I've got some phone calls and emails to return, I'm behind on Google Reader like WHOA, I still haven't edited last week's blog or this one, I need to clean my room I think, and tonight Tila Tequila's gonna meet Dani's parents which is a very exciting moment for everyone in the whole wide world, obvs. I think I owe a lot of blog comments, emails, etc.

Okay so I'm just writing, seriously not deleting anything unless it's a typo, this is a totes stream of consciousness nonsense. [UPDATE: I've edited it as little as possible just so it makes sense, but remains almost exactly what I originally wrote. Sorry, I used "its" wrong and it was ruining my life.] I think I'm going to finish the secrets blog this week, or maybe not, but I probably will. It might not make sense and you don't have to comment, maybe it'll be weird?

My brain's a little confused these days, it's trying to wrap itself around paradox and that's hard to do when I've got a lot of lock-boxes and storage space up there that's already maxed out and when I've got so much I'm excited about and for and when I feel so much of ME and so much of my friends have changed over the past few months in a way that's really quite beautiful. I think we've become more humble and I hope I've inspired a few friends to live more for the moment and wait for the next joke and to dance, I like dancing even though I'm bad at it. I like a lot of things that are actually a lot like dancing.

About a month ago, one of my best friend's infant brother died suddenly from an aneurysm, he'd only been alive for about six weeks. It just didn't make any sense whatsoever. I remember when I told Lozo about this baby's death and he said nothing surprises me anymore or something to that effect. I was like, but wait wait isn't that so fucked up? A baby? Like, wtf world? And then all that other shit happened with the job and me getting fired and all this terrible out-of-the-blue stuff w/r/t Olive and he was like seriously, nothing surprises me anymore. I remember when I first read about this on his blog, I thought, OMG, seriously? REALLY PAPI? Like, no. You know? just NO. And when he told me that he wasn't surprised by this shit that was knocking my world off its feet I said no, if we accept such tragedies and also if we accept such unfair and ridiculous behavior out of the blue and when we accept the failure of the medical system to take care of the mentally ill properly and when we accept death before the word "surprise" turned tragic on our tongues then how do we prevent these tragedies and he said, well, we can't. I said how do we keep on? But I already know the answer to that question, obviously. I know how we keep on, wanna know how? WE JUST DO.

In the ensuing weeks following that whole week of hell in which I almost broke my computer from crying onto my keyboard, I swear I read about six bloggers write about the death of a loved one from illness or something unexpected. Perhaps you are one of them. I seriously feel like every day my Google Reader announced one obituary at least, and every time I was like "Seriously, G-d, wtf, stop it! Stop it now!"

Over the weekend I was frolicking with two people I love very much and having a good time and enjoying things and being laid-back. As I did this someone else I love very much almost died but didn't. I don't want to say anything about it but that, and I won't, and please don't ask, or guess who it was, or anything, and I'm not asking for pity or sympathy or even trying to incite a reaction of any kind or anything. I just need to say this to get on. I'm just saying this : it happened and I cannot loose this person, I absolutely refuse to.

So, it was Monday and Cait and Haviland and I were at an art exhibit called WHACK! at this D.C museum in a room dedicated to feminist porn from the 70's and there were all these naturally hairy and un-airbushed women fucking with strap ons and whipping each other and making out with 10 people at once and got this text and I thought right away that I knew who it was texting and I picked it up ready to read something totally adorable that would make me smile and other things but instead it was not that or from who I'd for some reason assumed it'd be from, instead it was news that someone I love very much had almost died and so I sort of just fell on the ground all of a sudden because my heart fell out of my body and Cait was like "What's going on?" and for a long time I could not speak, and then I did.

Then we were in the gift shop later and Natalie called excited about this awesome vaycay we're taking next year and I got so happy talking to her because I love Natalie and am excited for vaycay and I don't feel bad about that either, or weird about it, even, or weird about anything.

Okay so moving on; everything is fine w/r/t this person I love and will be fine. [By that I mean she is alive, fortunately.] That's all I'm gonna say on that.

On Sunday night, a beautiful girl I've never met, but who was one of the people who sent me a secret I'd written about on my secrets blog and one of the people who thanked me afterwards, was hit by a car when she was driving home on her motorcycle. I'll call her Kelly, because that's what I called her in her secret. Kelly read my blog in the first place because she'd been told about it by someone who loved her very much, one of my Top People/Brightest Ring Of Angels, who I'll call "B," was an inspiration to C and helped her to change in ways that were visible, tangible, gorgeous. When B first met Kelly, B said "she's totally out of my league, stunning, kind ..." On Monday, Kelly, after bleeding from her brain for hours and hours and hours, died. She was 26. What's worse, if anything could be worse [not worse, but also terrible and tragic], is that B's done this before. She's already lost someone super-duper-close to her-- NECESSARY (what a word! how nothing truly can be, after all, except life itself!) -- to her from a car accident before. I literally did not think that things like this were possible. I mean, I know from tragedy, obvs, but in some weird way I felt protected by my father's death, like terrible things might still happen to me [and have, from time to time, relatively] but I wouldn't have the exact same thing happen to me again any time soon, no more unexpected or unbearable deaths in a top spot.

When I read about what happened to Lozo in April, I couldn't fathom it. When I relay the entire story of my summer to friends, or the story what happened in October with Olive, I witness shock and awe and more often than I'd like -- disbelief, actual disbelief, these things do not happen in the world they live in either, or so they thought. Like how we all thought for a moment on 9-11 that it was a movie.

So this weekend, I was driving back. I'd had a fun weekend with girls I love and couldn't live without (don't knock on anything, certainly not some dead tree, because there's really no such thing as supersition, it's just an abstraction, all we have really is faith and hope and love, srsly), I realised I'm maxed out on expectation. Stephen Dunn, in one of my favorite poems of all time, "Grudges," wrote this: "Easy for almost anything to occur/Even if we've scraped the sky, we can be rubble./For years those men felt one way, acted another." Obvs it's about 9/11, and the last verse contains, among other words, these lines: "Before you know it something's over/Suddenly someone's missing at the table./It's easy (I know it) for anything to occur -- "

When I read that poem, I thought of my father's heart suddenly attacking and dying, I thought of 9-11 which didn't effect me personally [I am lucky for that], but effected I think everyone's ideas of the Possible and Impossible, at least those of us protected in America and relatively privileged in our lives so far, just a reminder of the implicit mortality of life. Now, when I read that poem it seems universally applicable, and I guess that's sad as hell, but well, life is sad sometimes, and what can we do? Which I guess is what Lozo said when he wrote that top ten for me , and I can't believe I'm quoting wisdom from Lozo, but oh well.

I don't intend to make any dramatic decisions or react as I've reacted in the past to these crises of faith -- in many ways my life's been one long reaction to November 14th, 1995. I'm not threatening benders or a loss of control or inhibition or becoming totally healthy or Zen or really changing any of my present habits. I'm not less excited or energised or happy about any of the truly fantastic things that are happening right now and nothing has or will change how I feel about everything that's going on and all the people I've extended purely excited and optimistic energy towards while simultaneously moderating tragedy on the other line. I'm not numb or over-feeling. I'm not impatient with people's little problems and I'm not any different than I've ever been about how I feel everyone's entitled to their own sadness, their own tragedies, I'm not less worried about the aesthetics of my thighs or my expectations for the fucking L Word premiere or anything.

I guess I'm just slightly more grateful to be alive and I guess I wanna say also, and I say this purely, and not like, cheesy or trying to make anyone react, that ... well, okay, recently Haviland and I were talking about our career goals and I realised suddenly that most of mine are no longer so urgent as they once were. There's a lot of things I want to do still obvs, and sooooo many projects I'm really extra excited about like the teevee show and the BOYSHORTS and my new website and my book and our vlogs and etc. But all I ever wanted to do from writing was help people or help people through times that hit them hard, and I feel so grateful to have done that for so many of you. If you've ever emailed me or commented to tell me how you feel or if I told your secret and you said it changed you, that is the most fucking beautiful thing ever. If I made you LOL or like The L Word more or feel okay about who you are even for half a second, that's worth more than a New York Magazine article or a Conde Nast job or a million dollars or maybe two chicks at once too. After all, the jokes are all we have, guys. Seriously, I think LIFE IS NOT BULLSHITTING WITH US SO WE SHOULD STOP BULLSHITTING WITH EACH OTHER. Totally just used all caps, next thing I'm going to be emailing you about enlarging your penis or pissed at you about something retarded or I'll be Carly texting me to say I GOT AN IPHONEIPHONEIPHONEIPHONE which my phone has never forgotten because every time I type "I," the t9w is like, "oh do you want to say IPHONEIPHONEIPHONE" and I'm like, no, but I'm glad somebody did. I'm excited about the Britney Spears album and about mashed potatoes for Christmas and about going shopping to get gifts for people and about 2008 and about dancing and about hopefully becoming a better person too, about The Planet Podcast and about writing and publishing more and sleeping and being sad sometimes and laughing and making out and going to strip clubs with Lozo. There's a lot of things I want, obvs, as we must want as we are wanting monkeys. Also, I swear, I'm not on crack. I believe in G-d, the children, and that I can fly. Clearly.

Anyhow, what was I saying? Oh yeah. I'm grateful to what I've got now that have made these recent blows easier to weather, and I'm happy to have so many friends who I've met through my blog and know what they're getting into therefore, friends who haven't gotten annoyed at me when I pull crazy shit like deleting my blog or being totally sentimental and ridiculous or exploiting cliche or myself or telling things about other people maybe I shouldn't say, or relishing in attention I might not deserve, or attention that's not healthy for whoever's providing it.

OK so Carly is gonna be here soon. I just wanted to type this stuff out, and it makes me feel important to have a place to put it, because I am a fundamentally ridiculous person. This year has sucked for so many of you, and for me too sometimes, but wow I sure have learned a lot.

You guys should totes cry if you need to and laugh too. Life is really funny, seriously, have you ever seen it? It's fucking ridiculous and hilarious and random as hell. It's fucking tragic. So you know, like hang in there. I'm not gonna say it'll get better but it'll be an experience for sure.

Today I sat down to write a journal entry in my paper journal and all I ended up writing was two pages that started like this: "Tara, I forgive you," and kept going like that, you know, like, also forgave kids who made fun of me in middle school and my retarded ex-boyfriends and the guy who didn't care that I said "no" and just about everyone except Ilene Chaiken and George W. Bush and then I forgave Tara again and again, like Bart Simpson writing on the chalkboard every week during the opening of "The Simpsons."

I know there are a lot of of people I've wronged too and I'm sorry, and I'll probably fuck up again 100 times while I'm still alive, and I'll be sorry when I do.

I'll probs emo out on y'all 100 more times too and get wrapped up in self-pity or self-centered excitement and I'm not really sorry for that, actually. You shouldn't be either when you do those things. I've never judged anyone for anything because we've all got our dark unbearable secrets, things I've done that maybe you wouldn't like me anymore if you knew about, habits I need to break, commitments I've failed on and stuff. But there's a lot of things I'm totally doing good on right now.

Also, I am going to find this entire post unbearably embarrassing and completely retarded and/or inappropriate in about 10 hours.

Also, clearly I am disassociating right now, but oh well, it's a great strategy. Also, I love Six Feet Under, it's the best show ever, you should all watch it.

Rain

Woke up this morning with
a terrific urge to lie in bed all day
and read. Fought against it for a minute.

Then looked out the window at the rain.
And gave over. Put myself entirely
in the keep of this rainy morning.

Would I live my life over again?
Make the same unforgivable mistakes?
Yes, given half a chance. Yes.

(Raymond Carver)

Ok! Carly's here, ttyl.

That's all. No point. I told you I was a total weirdo. Later, gators