The Message is the Medium

My Mom won't be in videos 'cause she doesn't like her voice. Therefore, as a kid I was provisioned only an 8mm film camera that by definition didn't pick up sound and required outsourced processing and I could only ride my bike so far and so I had to wait for my Mom to drop off the film, get it processed, pick it up, and then I had to wait for my Dad to set up the film projector and the screen [requiring lots of furniture-moving] and all of this just to avoid my Mom's voice being on camera for ten seconds.

Howevs, as camcorders became commonplace, I grew increasingly suspect of my Mom's insistence that this antique 1970's-purchased camera was acceptable gear for a budding young video artist who desperately needed to record her Lego Pirates & Firemen advancing down a self-made felt road through Lincoln Logville as Boyz II Men wailed "End of the Road" on her portable cassette player. So obvs Dad took me out when I was 13 and bought me a real camcorder.

I'd always try to film Mom anyhow -- sneak attack style -- but there was never any variety. Always just be a quick shot of her giving me Stealth Glare Version #8b and, then, for no discernible reason -- but with great consistency -- she'd snap her fingers and point, firmly, at the floor. I think she meant "why don't you film the floor?" but what was on the floor, nothing, obvs, who wants to see a picture of the floor. If there had been something on the floor, who would've been told to pick it up, me. Then where would my movie be? The ceiling or something, sans Kriss-Kross or the Cher wig.

Basically right now what Warner Music Group is doing is interrupting a very successful video remix of my brother & I playing soccer to the tune of "roll the bones," snapping its fingers, pointing at the floor and asking me to film the floor as if ANYTHING EVER HAPPENS THERE. It's shutting off the music and reminding me the silent film camera is still in the upstairs closet. It's crunching my brand-new camera with its fat greedy mouth, grounding me for ten days from doing anything fun, and then, while I'm grounded in the cellar; they're giving away all my toys that I built myself out of wood from a tree that I grew myself.

YouTube you are not my mother but you are acting like my mother.

YouTube, you're an asshole! You can't just change the rules of the game you've built your empire upon. If you haven't heard -- YouTube is slowly & systematically muting all videos that contain copyrighted music -- absolutely everything from self-recorded covers to remixed soundtracks to unintentional background music. I hope you got the rights on the music at your wedding 'cause that shit is going down. They've got sophisticated robots now, it don't matter how big or small you are.

Jan 14th: "YouTube has started muting videos that use unauthorized copyrighted music (and that pretty much means all user-created videos.) ... If YouTube starts being thorough about this, you can expect to see a significant percentage of all YouTube videos muted. The implications are a bit different than with removing copyrighted professionally produced content, like an official music video; we’re talking about tens of thousands of fan made videos, funny spoofs, remixes and the like being pretty much destroyed, and I’m guessing users will be less than thrilled about it. " (Mashable )

So far I've had one video muted (Riese & Hav & Alexi Vlog #32 -- in its memory, I've replaced its star spot on the channel with a video of my dad, brother and i making funny faces which'll never get muted and Vlog #32 is now on vimeo) and one removed altogether (Lozo Vlog #20) if this continues it's likely they'll all be down soon. If another goes down I'll add it on my new vimeo channel as well.

In December, ads were added to one of my vids 'cause 30 secs of background music had been identified as Warner-owned. That was fine, seemed fair, and, consequently , because i knew of these repurcussions this I went on making videos with music believing the rules weren't about to change. Previously YouTube hadn't cracked down on videos like mine citing Section 512(c) of the DMCA. The artists themselves disagree with Warner's choice -- all these background clips are just free publicity for them, that's obvious.

• 5 Stupid Implications of YouTube's Video Muting - mashable
• Warner Music Group and Others Muted on YouTube - wired. com
• YouTube Users Lash Out at Warner Music (and Google) with protest videos - techcrunch
• YouTube Users Caught in Warner Music Spat (tech-chuck)

I never expected to return to video editing and initially Hav & I were both uneasy about being "out there" -- almost for opposite reasons (I'm uneasy about my moving/speaking image out there, she's comfortable with it, it's her livelihood. She's more careful with words, I'm comfortable saying anything) and I certainly never thought we'd make more than two or three.

But now we're proud of what we did, and I'm happy with what I've learned as an editor and pleased we've built a solid number of subscribers, attracted readers and garnered connections and even better gigs. I'm depressed that soon enough the hundreds of hours I've spent editing videos will be silent as my mom's floor -- the vlogs have value because they're on this youtube channel, they don't have a value separate from its medium or independent of the internet's reaction to & expectation of them.

YouTube's visibility enables this and other sites just don't -- at least for now. (And some have rules like this one from day one.) So I'm figuring out what to do from here, hoping there'll be a revolt and this sitch'll get fixed or ... people think vimeo is pretty and it is pretty ... I dunno. Switching platforms is depressing 'cause endless hours of unpaid work reaps different less tangible rewards like my subscribers and their/your views, honors, anticipation, links, conversations, gigs, etc. -- this is what fulfills us and enables us to gauge how we're doing. I don't want to loose my old videos on youtube as they are right now -- my portfolio, basically, legitimized as good by subscribers -- not to mention Haviland! This really gets my goat!

The platform itself is the thing, and I like[d] it. That was my mistake! Taking it for granted. I totally understand taking down entire musical tracks or any copyrighted video shows or if we were making a profit -- I get that. But I don't get eliminating small clips as background music -- un-rippable songs, so to speak. Warner doesn't necessarily have a case for that, this is just the part where logic dissolves and it just becomes a fight betweeen two giant dickweed organizations.

---

But you know, who needs lovely music when you can enjoy some of the writing available on youtube. For example, I've selected some choice comments from my first episode of Lezberado. Don't worry -- these are totally okay things to say, this is what YouTube is 100% okay with.

Just don't play Prince in the background when you type them:

Commenter #1: I want fuck her in a mouth
Commenter #2: FUCK YEAH
Commenter #3: Why? She has horrible teeth!

"ur pathetic for posting a sexy pic to get views u suck shit u fucking scab on society, i hope osmebody inur fmaily dies soon u fucking spawnof satan nothing u say is relivent to the human race u are a fucking intoxicated ametuer lame piece of shit and u deserve nothing except sexual advancement against ur will."

"would you shut the fuck up an go suck a dick thats all you can do and who says your hoe mom is gay i fucker last night."

"this bitch will suck the devils cock."

"vagina's are built to house dicks."

"As is was in the days of Noah and Lot, so will it be in the days of the coming of the Son of man. The world is going to be like it was when 2 men, Noah and Lot lived on this earth. What was different about their time then any other time in history? Immorality, heavy sexual immorality, and specifically homosexuality."

"how do you tell a lesbian from a real woman??? well just look at her freaky ugly haircut!!!"

"Why would the Bin Laden family just happen to be in New York on the eve of 9/11? 9/11 was a red flag op."

That stuff -- that'll never get muted. Thank G-d!

YouTube, I have one thing to say: fuck you, you carwash cunt. BAM! ROASTED.

Sunday Top Ten: Each From Different Heights, Who Saved Me From Suicide This Week

The "T" Key is broken again. So is my soul. However, I have not jumped out the window or stopped using words with "T"s in them. You know what that's called? Inner strength. Know where I learned that? R&B/Hip-Hop, especially Beyonce.

This's one of the worst Sunday Top Tens ever written. Because I cannot possibly do any less than ten things at the same time right now, which means I can't do any of them well.

UPDATE: This post is a mess. However, I am not.

SUNDAY TOP TEN:
EVENTS OF THIS WEEK THAT HELPED ME STAY ON THIS SIDE OF THE OPEN WINDOW, WHICH I WILL ATTEMPT TO RELATE TO GAY PRIDE WEEK.
OR:

omg!!!! The "T" Key situation is driving me crazy. What if I wrote this whole post w/o Ts? And was just like "Figure it out, bitches, you know the alphabet, yeah? You know how words work?" But then I remembered I have international (that word really wanted to be "inernaional") readers who have a hard enough time reading my rambling whathaveyous. Seriously. I need o go o he apple sore asap.

There is a little dog on my bed. Oh. He just left. Sad. What a lark!

You know what? MySpace should have a category called "Damaged." I rejoined myspace. I like MySpace, it's cute. Try and find me, grasshopper.

10. My Friends

Y'all are totes hands down awesome. Also, I'd like to thank AIM for making our friendship possible. And thank you for taking that extra minute for yourself every morning to make sure you're pretty, otherwise we wouldn't be friends. Some of you are GAY and that's okay. I love gay people. That's why I'm excited about the cruise, which's so soon I'm getting tan just thinking about it. Wheeee! Love GAYS! I cannot wait for Susan Powter yoga, I need her to tell me how to become a warrior ASAP.

9. Depression Diet=Donuts and McDonalds

I recently lost much of my emotional and digestive capacities, and though I've always been a bit lanky, it's especially pronounced now. I had to purchase an actual belt and wear it every day, which's never been my habit. [People're often surprised that I don't own any: belts, earrings, necklaces, lube.]

"You look completely wrecked, to be honest with you."
-My Therapist

(Obvs I am speaking to her upside down with my legs hanging over the top of the chair which is not a Freudian couch, it's an actual armchair, so this's not how it's meant to be sat in, but I was too wrecked to be upright, obvs.)

It's ridiculously symbolic, the taking back of one's alloted space--"no, it's okay, you can have that air back now, I'll just take up less room"--into a bony shell of your formerly robust self. But the best part of Depression Diet?! When you finally DO acquire an appetite, you can eat whatevs you want because you're just so proud of yourself for eating at all! For example, I haven't had a donut for breakfast since I was like, 12. Until this week, when I had like; 12. Donuts are delicious. Howevs, donuts would be even better if Dunkin' Donuts could just hire one person with an IQ over 40. I don't want sugar in my coffee so cut it out!

They should hire more gay people. GAY people are smarter than other people, because they need to figure out how to have sex, it's not just like get on top, stick it in, bang-bang-bang, it involves either: a) passion and dexterity, b) fitting a large object into a way-too-small hole without causing rectal bleeding. Sorry but someone had to say it.

8. My Mom.

I love my Mom. She's awesome and helpful. Also, she's GAY! Here's my Mom and I at her gay wedding. We're clearly eyeing different cameras. I'm wearing all pink, because it was a gay wedding and pink is the color of The Gays. No one thought this was as funny as I thought it was, unfortunately.

7. Alcohol

I can't say enough about this particular substance. It's reliable and it's always there in a pinch. Some totally flawed studies in the 70s and 80s suggested that GAYS are more likely alcoholics, but if someone did some new less dubious studies with better sample sized populations, I wouldn't be surprised if it was at least a little true. I mean, it's really depressing sometimes to be ostracized by your friends and family and denied the same political rights as strais. I've been very lucky to live in a tolerant little bubble of Gay Pride, though, thanks guys. Personally, I'd find it depressing to be regularly rammed up the ass. But that's just my own personal thing, and I'm not a good sample size, so that's that.

6. Chris Pureka

K-Lilly (GAY!) turned me on to Chris Pureka (GAY!), who sings perfect sad GAY folk music about how we lose each other, feel about it afterwards, and think about it later. but we never explain why we treasure our secrets we're in love with our sadness sometimes. I honestly don't know what I'd do without Chris Pureka. I put my ipod ibuds in my ears and she cries straight into my brain-cage. She validates me.

5. My T-Mobile Dash.

I haven't really figured out how to use it yet, but it looks really neat. It's everything I've ever wanted in a phone: a full keyboard, internet, and larger than a GAY fetus. I don't like small phones, as I've said before, because they remind me of my iPod and I don't wanna be all like "Hello? Prince?"

4. Going Out to NATION: Actually, Not So Bad.

Saturday night: Washington Square Park, an hour past dusk, met up w/Tara-D and her crew of GAYS. Split off from the Under-21s and went to GAY night at Nation. I've mentioned before that I despise Nation, as it is never fun. However: we had fun.

During a breakup, your priorities get shifted quickly. Emotional survival is your only task, really, which's why I spent the entire Summer of '03 playing 'The Sims." You're just trying to stay in the green, you know? Fun skyrockets, and the best way to enable fun is to drink as much as you can without dying. Tara, Vicky and I met up with Carly and we drank, danced [I only "dance" when drunk and/or alone and/or I think no one's watching], talked.

The music wavered somewhere between decent and fantastic, and pure, uncomplicated fun was had. SoCo and lime shots, like kids on vacation. As if we are not adults, as if life is not quite so serious as all this. All action, no head, like a Zen superhero, like your first time flying.

Nation employs these whore-ish girls to dance on the bars. One of 'em's ass cheeks were hanging out and then all this money came out of her shirt, like money was flying in the air, and I took it. That came in handy later when some whore-ish someone stole Tara's bag. I won't talk about that though, because it was depressing.

3. The Best Moment of My Life So Far: Sunday Night Dance Fever

After dinner at Vinyl, we [Carly and her friends Stuart & Matt, and obvs me] venture, full o' Pride, to Posh, a GAY Bar for homosexual men who like to have sex with other homosexual men, often via asshole.

My face still hurts from laughing at Stuart's story of last year's "Himalayan Hunter" Halloween costume (told during dinner) which involved a thong, a lot of feathers and very serious boots but most importantly: actually changing his skin tone via three day fake-baking/spray-tanning regiment. He took three days off of work to develop the proper skin tone for his Himalayan Hunter Halloween costume. I kept thinking: would someone've been like "You know, if you'd been just a tad whiter, I woulda thought Deer Hunter. But that orange glow just gives you away!"

I've been here, I think, as our quartet approaches the throngs of men in tank tops and cargo shorts. The boys at Posh look like frat boys, but with expensive hair gel and shinier muscles, and once inside I remember: I lost my cell phone here, '01: Happy Hour after a lunch shift at the Olive Garden. I remember telling James I'd never talked to the new girl, Karen, because I was intimidated by how pretty she was, and he said, but you're the most beautiful girl at The Olive Garden. This is depressing on many levels:

1. I totally wasn't AT ALL. I mean, total over-compensation complement Thank You James. The Olive Garden was full of hot girls, which's pathetic.
2. He's GAY.

Yes, that afternoon, 'o1: On the black couch I felt Jason's hand on my thigh, thought: You have a girlfriend, seriously, what the F is wrong with you? He tried kissing my neck, disguised as something he needed to say immediately, like via teeth-to-neck transmission. I squirmed. At some point, I put my Nokia on the glass table.

Then I remember vomiting in the Times Square Burger King bathroom, stumbling back to the NYU dorm I lived in that summer, mumbling some nonsense to my BFF, then calling my phone from her phone, affirming I'd left it at Posh, and passing out. I returned later, when it'd transformed into a meat market, and I was like a vegan angel parting the waters of disappointment.

Anyhow, back to present tense: Stuart danced with this woman and it was really funny/amazing, Carly and I were like, this is the best thing to ever happen in the history of mankind. Also, this's one of those things that I should probably just write about in my livejournal, as it's hilarity has no hope of translating onto the page or feeling remotely relevant or interesting to anyone reading this blog besides me. But I don't have a livejournal. Or a t-key, p.s.

2. In the Flesh

On Wednesday, I attended the Special GAY In the Flesh Reading with Tara-D, Vicky, Angelica, and four other girls who's names I forget because I was depressed and wanted to die, therefore I was not paying that close attention. Also, I possibly put too much vodka in my Vitamin Water considering all I'd consumed on Wednesday was four four-packs of cheese-and-peanut-butter crackers and a Lean Pocket. [Note to readers: I need to eat massive amounts of food about every two hours, so this's like, imagine if that's all a Sumo Wrestler ate all day.]

[Also, I'm refusing a return trip to Pathmark: last time, I literally waited THIRTY MINUTES to check out, which made me want to smash my by-then-spoiled Stonyfield Farms yogurt into the retarded eyes of the cashier til all the fruit sunk to the bottom of her retinas and blinded her for life, thus enabling her acquisition of a Seeing Eye Dog who could probs do her job better than she can.]

We saw JD Glass read, and I met her and Radclyffe, who edited that "Lambda *GAY* Award Winning Stolen Moments anthology I was in. Radclyffe's written about 5,000 books. She's even more prolific than my hero RKB.

Speaking of RKB, I talked to her (while drunk) and ... !!! .... I'll be reading at The Best of "In the Flesh" on September 19th. Clearly Haviland's reading with me. I think I'll extend the city-tour begun in last year's story, "Fucking Around." It'll be like: Philadelphia looked like a sweetheart, I thought he was gay, maybe, but then he stole my Sidekick. JK. Go Philly, I love Philly. Good cream cheese, travel/tourism campaign for homos, etc.

1. Y'all

I had an idea for this section: I was gonna get one of those ridic greeting cards with the sunsets and scan it and it was gonna be this weird like poem-y Thank You card or something, 'cause I was gonna be like "how can I talk about how my readers are so sweet and sent me not just comments but emails and stuff and honestly like, opened up to me and all of this and that's just really like, amazing, and unexpected, and heart-warming. Like my heart is officially warmed.

So yeah, I love all of you readers, GAY, straight, bisexual, red, blue, green, Jewish and Muslim, poet and preacher, administrative assistants and girls who spray perfume on you at Bloomingdales, I love all of you. Thanks for being really cool.

Sunday Top 10: Saturday Night Sapphic Fever

Every now and then, we like to go to Nation on Saturday nights to remind ourselves why we don't go to Nation on Saturday nights anymore. As I've mentioned before, I am not the biggest fan of "going out," which is why we always have to go out in costume, because it makes my favorite part of the night ("getting ready") even more fun. (My other favorite part is "the part where we go to Pancheros." All that stuff in between is an elaborate and expensive game of hide-and-go-seek.) The costume of the day was "Willy Wonka/Stripes," p.s., which made sense to us.

Have you ever seen that movie Bar Girls? I tried to but I got super-bored. Like I did when I tried to watch Go Fish. And The Incredibly True Adventures of 2 Girls in Love. And Everything's Relative." And "Citizen Kane."

SUNDAY TOP TEN: WHAT WE WERE MISSING BY FOREGOING SATURDAY NIGHTS AT NATION FOR SEVERAL WEEKS, A.K.A. CENTRAL CASTING FOR GIRL-NATION


10. The Fake ID Squad: Inspired by Spencer and Ashley, these young fresh-faced girls venture into "The City" from the 'burbs (while their classmates drink stolen gin in the basement of vacationing parents and stick their tongues down each others throats) or to midtown from their NYU dorms (while their classmates drink overpriced gin in a seedy East Village bar that "never cards"), armed with glossy black fingernails and giddy ripe libidos. (Here's the thing: are t-shirts-over-long-sleeve-shirts the new "flannel shirts"? I have seen more women sporting this "style" at Nation than I have just about anywhere else since 1993. There's nothing wrong with it, really. Just sayin'. And while I'm sayin', I'd like to show you how to do it right:
See how the under-shirt is tighter than the over-shirt? Really the most important part of this illustration is that the under-shirt is tight. That's really key.)

(Side note: In last Sunday's top ten, I was wearing shortalls, and even though I was like, 11, in that picture, just keep that in mind when I offer fashion advice.)

You can feel them nearing you, blinding you with the flash from the camera they are using to capture precious moments for their myspace pages. You will note they have nice shoulders from playing lacrosse or rugby or softball. You will notice that they appear, in general, quite fuckable, that they'd make up for inexperience with enthusiasm (which is something) e.g. the cute blonde wearing the shirt with the number "11" on the back this past Saturday night. Maybe she's reading this from her living room in New Jersey, or--giving her and me the benefit of the doubt--her dorm room at Barnard--and she wants to move in with me and be my concubine while I help her with her Algebra, or whatever it is the kids are studying these days.

9. The Tall Beautiful Black Girl: She is the first girl you notice and the only girl who's movements you realize you are furtively tracing. She is the best dancer in the room and she is usually rocking a fashion statement that you've never seen anyone pull off besides her, ever, e.g., skinny jeans with ankle boots, e.g. 3/4 length sleeved color contrast vintage baseball jersey, e.g. blazer with nothing underneath. She's not there with a girlfriend because she doesn't have one, because she doesn't settle for second best. Her friends barter for attention from the Troposphere. You cannot dance when you are near her. She makes you look clumsy and thirteen, and you start panicking because you can't find your fake ID.

8. Those Swedish Girls: They might not be Swedish but they are blonde. They read about Nation in their PlanetOut travel guide and took a cab from the Marriot Marquis because they didn't realize it was within walking distance. Maybe they are lovers, maybe they are friends, maybe they are ex-lovers, you can't tell, maybe they are French and don't French people kiss each other a lot for no reason? All you know is they won't leave their perch which is inevitably in a prized area like the bar or the back corner that has shelves so that you can lean great or set drinks upon them and have full usage of your hands. Sometimes they aren't from Sweden. Maybe they aren't ever from Sweden. They won't speak to you but if you speak to them they will perk up, smile and nod, eagerly answer questions like: "Is this what gay bars are like in Denmark?" and then you can feel like you learned something. Which is something.

7. The Girl Who Really Wants to Dance on the Bar, Like BADLY: You notice her cleavage first and that's the last positive impression you have of her all night. You will watch, or rather, try not to watch, her futile attempts to climb aboard the slippery bar and make her debut. The bartenders stop her before she attracts any attention. She watches the paid womanservants (the bar is their domain, they dance the hell out of it) who pour alcohol down the open throats of the eager birds below. When it gets to be that time, the girl eventually will climb on top of the bar where she will either make out with a womanservant or will bring up all of her friends and they will rub their butts to each other's genitals. They might do this to a techno remix of "Since You've Been Gone" by Kelly Clarkson. Sometimes she is a straight girl with a lot of lesbian friends and she just got dumped by her boyfriend, sometimes she is just a drunk gay girl in a low-cut shirt who is glad to be out of Peoria.

6. The Girl You Either Made Out With In Line for the Bathroom at Henriettas OR maybe She's Just A Girl You've Seen On Myspace: You can't remember which. Also it seems possible that she just looks like someone you saw on some reality TV show. Maybe one of those Road Rules/Real World competition shows. The Sword in the Stone, or something.

5.The Why-Did You Leave the House Anyhow If You Aren't Gonna Talk To Anyone But Each Other: They are making out usually, or grabbing each other suggestively, as if they are all alone. At home. Where they live. Together. The funny thing is that when they are at their mutual home there is not so much grabbing and/or making out, but out here with all the potential for jealousy and flirty eyes beckoning beneath backwards baseball caps, there is more grabbing. You try to play the eye contact game with the cuter one. This fuels the other girl's fire, and we all go home a little bit lit.

This is what happened before they came to Nation:

Girlfriend 1: We never go out anymore.
Girlfriend 2: I thought you hated going out.
Girlfriend 1: Yeah, I know.....but maybe it would be different now?
Girlfriend 2: Now? Why would it be different now?
Girlfriend 1: Because I'll be with youuu.
Girlfriend 2: You're with me right now.
Girlfriend1: I just don't want to become one of those couples, you know?
Girlfriend 2: What? The kind that don't go to places where they have historically consistently always felt semi-miserable?
Girlfriend 1: You won't be miserable if you're with meeee.
Girlfriend 2: Jesus Christ. Put on some mascara, let's go.
Girlfriend 1: Mascara? Are you joking? I'm not wearing this!! I need more than mascara! I have to go change!

(Girlfriend 1 dashes to the other side of their studio apartment in Red Hook and starts surveying her closet, filled with hope and optimism, while Girlfriend 2 checks her email and ruffles her hair a little.)

4. The Gay Guy: These guys are trying to be in monogamous relationships with their boyfriends, which means they aren't allowed to go to boy-bars because they'll probably end up in the back room with Brian Kinney, and they aren't allowed to go to straight bars because they'll probably end up in the back room with some girl's bi-curious boyfriend. Or they are accompanying their best friend who just came out and doesn't have any lesbian friends yet. Or they didn't know that Saturday was girls night.

3. The Straight Bartender: She tells all her friends (she lives with 3 other girls, all fellow students at AMDA, in Astoria) that she loves working at Nation because she doesn't have to deal with men "like, hitting on me!" She thinks that all people are beautiful and that everyone is bisexual at heart but there was "society conditioning" that made us into boys and girls. She thinks kissing girls doesn't count as cheating. She wears a cute headband and never puts enough liquor in anything. She wishes her ass looked as good as the asses of the womanservants on the bar.

2. The Are-They-Or-Aren't-They Team
These are two girls who could be best friends or could be girlfriends, sometimes it's a blurry line, even for them. The couple themselves kinda love it or are kinda over it, but either way it won't change anything. This is further complicated by the third possibility which is that they are two girls who are good friends and both drunk and kinda lusty, and so they keep touching one another suggestively in order to seal the deal that they can be one another's back-up plan if it comes to that. Which it probably will, because they are ensconced in a circle of dyke drama so thick you can sense the laser-lines of complicated history from the other side of the room. You can sense it from fucking coat check.

1. Me, Us, Whomever I'm the girl with Owl-ADHD, we are heads turning, jerking, looking over (I'm taller), surveying, assessing, wondering, hoping, noting the cliches, judging and being judged, dancing like no one/everyone is watching, what am I looking for? What are we looking for? Do we want to be looked at, looked for, looked after, look look look. Smile. Flash. Look. Drink. Who knows why we do it? Who knows why we keep going out into this specific world, all I know is that we do, and we will, and again. Maybe even soon. Maybe even this Saturday. Maybe the blonde girl will be there wearing her same t-shirt. Maybe that's her going-out shirt. Maybe she's dumb. What does it matter the next morning, besides, just another phone call to ignore, another aggressively amorous e-mail to negotiate or the opposite of that, another phone call to wait for, another google search, another moment where you care too much or not enough or maybe both. Maybe, I think, both.