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.

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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.

Automatic Fun House of the Day: 12.4.2008

When I stand on the windowsill and lower the windowpane I can see into other people's windows, right across the alley. I could do this all day. In Williamsburg, there was a couple we used to watch. While watching, I'd think; we could just as easily be the couple in the other window, if only we wanted totally different things than the things that we actually want.

I think I should've gone to school for web design programming or whatevs it's called. I want to be the person who can type in the special codes to make things look right on the interwebs. How many times have you been willing to die for a person like that? So many times. I've been trying to teach myself HTML, a quest that began in 1996. I've got italics down now, but tinkering with basic templates can be tough.

Also, I deleted my Google Reader feed on this blog 'cause I wanted to change it, but instead of changing it, Google Reader invited my entire address book to read my shared items in a deceptively personal-looking email. If you are one of those people, I'm sorry. And no, I don't really want to share any items with you, but thanks for checking in. JK I love everyone, please link me pot psychology.

No really, I have a weirdness with Google Reader, I use it very specifically. Most sites I read every day I won't have on my feed, I'll just check in -- Jezebel, Gawker, HuffPo, The New York Times, Arts & Letters. Etc.

---

Quote: “The same week of high school that I quit track, I missed a math test. I never missed math tests but woke up that morning and something about the sun through the curtains, rolling out in its smooth ivory rays, made me unable to move. The world can ask you to participate, but it's a day by day decision if you want to agree to that proposal.” (aimee bender, an invisible sign of my own)

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Links:
1. Aggressive capitalism has come to an end: "our future has never been brighter." (@ode magazine)
2. Paul Carr challenges Evening Standard film critic Nick Curtis to try Twitter for a week (@guardian uk) -- after Curtis wrote, after using twitter for two hours, that Twitter was "endless prattle from people with too much time and too little imagination" and "facebook statuses on crack," Carr makes Curtis try it for a week 'cause he used to think so too, and after a friend made him the same one-week deal, he's come to think that "Twitter, unlike Facebook, has the power to change the world." (@the guardian uk)
3. The Days of Their Lives - Lesbians Star in the funny pages of Alison Bechdel's "Essential Dykes to Watch Out For" (@nytimes)
4. Norton's Writers Recommend - includes Diane Ackerman, Andre Dubus III and Nicole Krauss. (@writers recommend)
5. Best Book Designs of the Year 2008 (@nytimes) and A Year in Reading 2008 (@the millions)
6. Princess Leia's wild, bipolar adventures (@salon.com)
7. Maureen Dowd's What Tiny Fey Wants (@vanity fair) and Emily Gould's take on it: "if this is the best magazines can do, then they deserve to die." (@emily magazine)
8. If you haven't already seen it: Prop 8 the Musical ! Sarah Chalke (LOZO!), Jack Black, John C. Reily, Margaret Cho, Maya Rudolph, Neil Patrick Harris and MORE! (@funny or die)
9. The "Mad Men" dilemna: why you might be suffering from Quality Show Fatigue. (@nymag)
10. In Which it Happened That Night: after canceling her 10-day membership to the NYC Republicans Club (the first person to ever do so) -- "my brief stint as a Republican was purely an all access pass into their election night event (“Victory 2008!”), which I attended, more or less, for my own amusement." (@this recording)
11. Check out Olympia Zagnoli, the illustrator who made that over there [15 Ways to Sleep on a Train]

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Last time, I brought you insomnia poetry of randomly assembled lines from my 2000 diaryland account. This time, I wanted to do the same thing -- but realized it's not the same with paper diaries that were written to be private. So I bring you livejournal randomly assembled poetry. This has three stanzas or whathaveyou.

LIVEJOURNAL MAGNETIC INSOMNIA POETRY

I just want to drive in the sunshine,
listen to sugarcult too loud.
Maybe if Britney Spears was my girlfriend then it would be o.k.
If I knew what was wrong, I could fix it. But I don't.
(march 2002)

This week begins Operation: Enduring Relationship.
Plan: you must love Stephen Dunn, strange food,
fantasies of trips to South America, art you don't understand,
theater, stories, books. My stories.
I want you to know me.
(october 2002)

this is our dog, oscar, eating his dinner
tonight i had salmon, baked potato and a spinach-feta-driedcherries-olive-oil salad.
I made it myself.
tonight, oscar had dog food.
that is one of many differences between oscar and i.
(december 2002)

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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.
*

2007: OMG lol lmao wtf what the fuck just happened

What's up. Sorry I'm completely 100% retarded. The post is now back. In full force: January AND February. I haven't been fired and I'm not reviving Ophelia ... just retarded, and deleted it instead of editing it. But while I have your attention, I'd like to mention that after last night's "episode" of Tila Tequilla, I like Amanda way more, Tila even less (if such a thing was possible) and on a scale of 1 to 10, find the entire "Shot at Love" program even more brill than I did last week, if such a thing was possible. Also to be honest, though I talk about this show like I know what I'm talking about, I've never seen an entire episode until last night because, like you, I was anticipating an actual finale. Anyhow onto the Year in Review.

Today marks the beginning of one of the most self-indulgent exercises of all time -- a recap of the past year of my life on this blog, but with insider extras, like "The ET Insider," my laundromat's favorite teevee program. This post is so memememe, it's like MEMEMEMEMEME. But also: if you're reading this, there's a significant (I'd say 70%) chance you weren't reading this in January, or if you were (and those of you that were: I love you a little bit more than I love the other children, you get extra dessert), you may've forgotten January now on account of drinking all that Drano in July, or maybe -- and yes, i'm talking to YOU now, you unknown people-of-the-future (Hellooo Marty McFly! Helloooo Cheerleader from Heroes!) -- this will be the Auto-Win Cliffs Notes for any latecomers to the game. Like today at the gym, I looked at the teevee and saw that fresh-faced kid that both the girls used to like on The Hills before it was called that and I saw that it was a Hills retrospective, catching the viewer up on where we've been before its most recent incredibly engaging season. I hate The Hills. Maybe you already know this. Maybe you don't. See: that's what I'm talking about.

OK SO: I'm going to start updating this thing and go through the whole year, I'll do the first three months in this post and then start a new post and so on and so forth. Yes, I'm asking more refreshment of you than Bud Light, Lozo's favorite beer.

There's other ways to figure out where we've been and where we're going, e.g., the archives, but maybe you clicked to the January archives, fell asleep on your keyboard, drooled all over it, and broke your computer, well, now you have your computer back if it's a Mac, and here I am to catch you up. Also, it's good for me, because I'm going through this partially to create the Year in Review and partially to outline a few chapters of my book and figure out what stories to tell in it.

People always tell me I have a lot of stories. This is true. I've always believed that we all have a lot of stories, we just don't all talk about ourselves as much as I talk about myself. But now I think: there's probs situations I've been in that other people would've gotten out of earlier, no matter what the cost to their hearts or minds, that I've managed to stick out thinking "well, at least it's interesting." That's probs why I've been close to so many weirdos, because at that point when other people can block their hearts and turn the other way, I have one more reason not to. Does that make sense? It might sound like a judgment, but it's not ... there's a reason that I'm a totes randomized weirdo and you are just a weirdo (actually, some of you are also totes randomized weirdos), and I envy all of you who've already achieved a level of stability that in 2008 is my number one goal. Seriously. I'd just like to coast for a little while. I'd like things to calm down, be stable. I've got a lot of shit from 2007 to work through, and that's fine, but I'd prefer to not have any new events to add to the must-work-through backlog. I already decided when the last day of my book is. I mean, it's passed. I knew it: that day, I knew it, I wrote in my journal: this is the last day of your book. And it was.

I'm listening to Heavenly. Do you know them? I loved them when I was 15. There's something super duper sweet about Heavenly. Have a listen. Someone from this band died and then they stopped making records. That happens. People die.

I have this idea that I should be as alive as possible at all times, which sometimes means being terribly alive, but at least it's alive. I used to confuse that with being self-destructive. I learned the difference a few years ago. AK just commented on my last post and said this: "Being in the act of writing a book can redeem one's sins for the better part of a life. " I agree. I'd like to expand "sins" to include "irresponsibility" and "unwise choices" or, rather, "unwise non-actions." Although it's good for Lindsay, my therapist, it's like manna from therapy heaven, me. Plus I make jokes, I can't imagine, I want to be her favorite client, that's what this is all really about.

But also, I've been without a doubt illusive about the hard facts of what's happened this year, especially in the beginning when I just did topical stuff with as minimal revelation as possible. That had its benefits, and that remains. But I'll fill in some gaps, totes ET Insider.

So the year in review, to the best of my current abilities will: provide an outline, fill in some holes, track the arrival of certain VIPs and phraseology and as I progress with it I'll be updating something I wanted to start earlier this year, which is The Glossary (more on this later) ... so this'll be a timeline, if you will.

I love timelines. Crystal wrote me the best one ever a few months ago, I even printed it out. I wish everyone could submit a timeline when applying for my friendship, so I could avoid getting their ex-boyfriends mixed up or remembering which school they transferred to or who was the BFF they had a crush on, which parent scarred them for life, who was the second marriage, what sports they played and etc etc. It's just a good reference tool. I actually write them out when I'm gathering information on people I'm getting to know in my journal, for myself. I take notes. I take notes on everything.

Yes: I do this all the time. I organise my life in lists and graphs. I've made probs 500 lists of "my friends" organised by level of closeness and various personality traits and connections to me and other friends ... you should see my journal. Actually you shouldn't, I probs say bad things about you in it. I'm reading my journal as I go through my blog and it's hilarious, really, the discrepency between what I talk about and what I write about. Especially in January and February, my blog was basically just like: "wheee!!! New York City subways, wtf?!"

[I'm still figuring out how I want to do this, so January is kinda a crapshot, as it was sort of a lame month blog-wise anyhow, I'll change it when I get into my groove]

January 2007

I began January 07 in the O'Donnells' Vermont chateau with Haviland & Heather, Sherri and Sherri's girlfriend. I'd initially refused to go on this little jaunt ("Fifth Wheel," obvs) but Haviland told me in all caps that she needed to ring in '07 with me. This was the first time I'd actually hung out with Heather: we got drunk, started a clubhouse in the pink-insulated roof crawl space, hung from the rafters in Amazing 80's Prom shorts and played in the snow in our skivvies. This overall level of ruckus was a strong forebearer of things to come (see: the cruise). Also, because this is apparently our number-one hobby, we did a photo shoot, using props found around the chateau, like Chelsea's snowsuit and Blake's snowboard. The photos have lived on forever, much like our love for one another. The post including these photos addressed our bizarre appropriations of the English language, also a forebearer of things to come.

(this graphic was created for a myspace comment I left for Heather. This comment,
along with many others, was deleted during the Great MySpace Deletion of 2007)

Also on our drive up, we all talked about the first time we'd liked a girl and made out with a girl, it was like the Dinah Shore Weekend episode from The L Word, Season One. I tried playing the Indigo Girls but no-one was having it, unfortunately. I'm not lying.

January 7th: The L Word premiered, and in anticipation of this event I posted an essay I'd written for my nerve.com application: "My So-Called Lesbian Lover: Why Shane is the New Jordan Catalano." We went to the premiere party at Copacabana in red & black outfits to be in photos, it totally worked, except we left early 'cause Haviland got bored with the show.

January 8th: January was crazy because I was finishing my book proposal. I know! Finishing my book proposal? How weird, considering I talk often of how I've yet to finish it, well I'll get to that. So, 'cause I was so so busy, I started soliciting guest bloggers. Natalie, my BFF from University of Michigan, explained Why New York City is better than London.

January 12th: Gawker picked up "I'll Send my Winter to You," described as "You know it's winter when hipsters start whining about their Seasonal Affective Disorder." I was kidding about the SAD -- I get SAD in the summer, not the winter, anyone who's ever listened to me talk knows that -- obvs they didn't read it, which's fine, they're very busy over there with the snark and stuff, there's no such thing as bad publicity.

January 13th: Heather, Haviland and I became somewhat delusional and went to Nation on a Saturday Night, which reminded me of why I don't go to lesbian night. I have no recollection why I decided to do this, probs 'cause of SAD.

January 18th: Gawker linked to this post, "New York Magazine knows why you're miserable, horny, happy and materialistic. Just never at the same time." -- this link is, in fact, the link that interested Tara, who later became my girlfriend. Isn't life funny like that? Also funny: this magazine would end up playing a major role in many future events, like my life, and our life, and our relationship. Obvs NY Mag is a lesbian, probs 'cause of Ariel Levy.

Also on this day, The L Word Online asked me if I wanted to join their homosexy team, and obvs I was like, "obvs." I mean: "obvs!"

January 22nd: Lewis Bernard, my little brother, stepped in as a guest blogger and gave Life Lessons.

January 30th: Then, just in time for Valentine's Day, I decided: time to get a girlfriend. Many doubted my ability to pen a book about bisexuality if I'd never had a serious relationship with a woman. But I felt like I'd had enough drama with women I was sleeping with to write ten books, I just hadn't wanted a relationship with anyone. As I stated in that Top 10: "I don't do relationships." Nice, Shane, really. I started changing my tune, because Haviland got a girlfriend, it was cold outside, and I was tired of all the drama.

Anyhow I posted that date-solicitation post on January 30th, so I can't talk about what happened next 'til February. Oh, what's funny is the comments -- though they weren't posted til February anyhow but whatevs -- K-Lily's comment promised to "ravage me with a fierceness and passion [I] will never see on Season 4 of The L Word" and Tara's, which is deleted, obvs, but tellingly followed by my hanging reply, and then followed with her first recorded comment: "Now sober, totally horrified, etc. But so as not to leave your reply hanging, here's my placeholder, as in ... lastnightIgotdrunkandleftadoucheycomment." Oh, the way we were, cue music ... drifting on a sea of forgotten teardrops ... Seriously, all this stuff is totes LOL-worthy now.

Foreshadowing:
-The Word "Critter": "When I see my lover in a hoodie I want to curl up next to them and stay there, possibly forever, or at least until March. I want to laugh while I stick my head underneath the billowy stomach of it and then push it off. I want to see you in a hoodie and then I want to take it off."
-I Did All These Things: "I don't do: relationships, sleepovers, brunch, 'talking on the phone,' feelings."
-Wow: "[if you dare to date me], you will immediately become a part of The Automatic Win World. That means you will be photographed, quoted, described, and flattered, 2-3 times a week, right here on this blog. You will be expected to comment. On the up-side, if we stop seeing each other, I won't bitch about you or mention a breakup. I will continue to speak of you only when appropriate, e.g. a yearly quotes round-up, appropriate photograph, when describing your assault on my ears with your finger (see "[redacted]" in "10").

Monthly obsessions: My So-Called Life, Jeff Buckley, Regina Spektor, Ira Glass, The L Word obvs, "I love Jesus but I drink a little."
Monthly Irritants: Street hecklers, Duane Reade, Rite-Aid, The Manhattan Mall, New York Sports Club, Ilene Chaiken, previews for "The Tudors."

My Favorite Post of the Month: I'll Send my Winter to You

"Listening to Jeff Buckley is like flirting with Death, except that Death is fashion model with expensive skin and eyes like bullets and she is wearing a white t-shirt and Jeff Buckley's underwear. Listening to Jeff Buckley is the closest we can get to unbridled pain without having any unbridled pain in our own lives. "Everybody loves Jeff Buckley," a friend said to me yesterday. "Not people who want to be happy," I said. In grey freezing January, you have no choice about happiness. Crank it up. Cold and broken Hallelujah ..."

January - 10 posts - (not counting L Word Recap links)
Sunday Top Tens:
-Why NYC is Better than London (by guest blogger Natalie)
-What We Were Missing By Not Going to Nation for Several Weeks, A.K.A. Central Casting for Girl Nation
-Life Lessons from the Lew-Man or "Things It Would've Been Nicer to Know When I Was Younger" (by guest blogger, my younger brother, Lewis Jacob Lyn Bernard Friend)
-Reasons Why You Should Totally Not Be My Valentine
*

Feburary 07

In which I stopped sleeping, started some kind of something, and experienced ...

WTF 2007 EVENT #1: Finding out after 4,000 hours of endless unpaid hard work that they were redesigning this magazine project and therefore wouldn't be needing me. This is how life is, especially publishing ... I realise that.

New VIPS: K-Lily, Tara

First of all, it's amazing to me all these people who used to comment regularly who I don't see much anymore. Ing! Rachel! And so on! Soooo ....

February 1st, I pen an epic rant to Ilene Chaiken regarding the lack of lesbian sexy moments thus far in Season Four entitled 'COME ON ILENE I'M BEGGING YOU PLEASE!' This will become one of several hundred such open letters to the love of my life, Ilene Chaiken, who continues to deny me. I think this particular rant was mostly inspired by This Film is Not Yet Rated, which got me really riled up w/r/t how homosexuality and female desire are curtailed from popular culture by our stupid media.

ILENE!!! ILENE!!!! Don't you see? I love you. I love you! I just want to sit with you for ten or fifteen minutes and talk at you. I just want one moment in the sunshine of your love. Obvs all this hatred is just because I care about you and know you can do better.

Why doesn't Ilene respond to my smoke signals, to my deep reverberating calls into the night? Probs 'cause I say stuff like this: "Come on, Ilene. For those of us who are not dating EZ Girl, sex is still something we enjoy having."

This is my ex-roommate Maggie, in her actual cleaning outfit.
She got dressed up for this photo shoot, it was rad.
We used to have a good time -- Maggie and I -- just embracing our total
agoraphobic starving artist chemically misguided selves.

February 4th: in honor of Fashion Week, I covered my "Top Ten Fashions." It was linked by Gawker which reminded a woman at a big magazine publisher that I existed, and she wanted me for a new project ... and thus I began learning about grammar w/Strunk & White and learning about gossip with Life & Style. Anna Nicole Smith died. I wrote and re-wrote an essay about Britney Spears's outfit to some awards show about 100 times. She was patient, kind, wanted very badly for me to work and for the project to work ... this is just the industry, the unpaid effin' industry, but I'm so impatient, hate spending so many weeks and so much expectation ("95% you have this position" she said ... the publication still doesn't exist, obvs) but I was exhausted ... working w/her on this for four weeks of non-stop edits, bleeding into my work-life and social-life and everything life.

I also realised, sadly, that I had no idea whatsoever how to write English -- 'cause I could already read and write when I started school, no-one ever bothered to teach me the basics. I mean, I used "its" and "it's" wrong ALL THE TIME until about six months ago. It was a combo of this experience and Tara that whipped me into shape, grammar-wise. And good ol' Strunk & White.

Feb. 8th: The First Time I Start My Blog By Talking Crazy on unrelated topics to the rest of the blog/my life:

"I just got an electric toothbrush and every time I use it, I wonder if my roommates hear the buzzing and think I'm like, rubbing one out in the bathroom? I wouldn't do that, because I'm not a perv, and who has that kind of time, and vibrators are expensive, and besides, like, Maggie is more or less deaf, so I'm sure she's not wondering if I got a new Dolphin, which of course, you know, I didn't, not that there's anything wrong with that, it's just that I am saving myself. For Leonardo DiCaprio. What am I talking to? Who's that? Today I was so involved in my book that I took the subway two extra stops and then took the wrong train back. Actually that doesn't mean much for me, that's sort of normal. Guess how many hours I've slept this week. I am not even funny anymore, I'm out of jokes. Like the bottom of a barrel of pickles."

Seriously though, that was one of the best posts ever, when I re-created my myspace profile from the age of 15. I later would mine this folder to see if I'd retained any traces of my old profile when I deleted my profile. Seriously myspace makes my head explode now, I can't deal, facebook is so much better.

This month is when I stopped sleeping. Between the online-mag project, book proposal, and my actual job, there was no time. I was talking to K-Lily often and she lives in Reno, which's three hours behind us. Maggie'd take long vaycays and I'd turn her room into my office, the lighting was just so, there was no time. Near the very end of the month I started actually talking to Tara. Constantly. Seriously: for hours upon hours. On g-chat, eventually on the phone.

And OH! I was up all night on Sundays --literally all night -- doing L Word recaps in my imaginary race with Scribegrrl, or up all night to get something to Conde Nast by morning, it was like college again. I was up all night because it was only eleven in Reno. Because Maggie was. Because Tara was. Because because. On Mondays I'd wake up after sunset, proofread, and publish, then go to the gym and receive texts about where I'd messed up and what parts I needed to fix.

I took a lot of photos in Maggie's room, like that one, there. I took that circa 2 A.M. one night.

February was heaps of drama, I think it was my last hurrah into being an asshole, or being impulsive when I should've been caring. You spend a lot of time indoors. You get cabin feeverish, there are candles and no overheard lights. Sometimes I'd draw pictures for Tara way past bedtime but Maggie was up, she always was up playing music, the same riff over and over while I drew pictures for Tara and drank red wine on my bed, and read poems on the internet that she told me to read. I felt very alive then, I felt too much, I felt am much too alone in this world, yet not alone
enough
to truly consecrate the hour.
I am much too small in this world, yet not small
enough
to be to you just object and thing,
dark and smart.

Feb 13th: I Think You're Crazy, Just Like Me: I divide the world into "Good Crazy and Bad Crazy." Oh, crazy. What a cute little word. I'm just glad I had a chance to talk about Perky & Punctual (good crazy!) and the Jesus Camp Weirdos.

Feb 18th: In How You Got Here, I shared some common search terms. I'd just like to know -- did any of my present readers get here by searching for "What is NSA hookup?" or looking for the number of calories in a cup of Tasti-D? I'm sure you've found a way to answer both of those questions this year on my blog. Actually, the first question hasn't been addressed so much this year. I heart Strings, apparently. Really lesbians aren't experts on the NSA thing.

February 22, I thought about the things you can't do in NYC that you can do other places, like put on deodorant or cry, because I was crying my way through The Lovely Bones on the subway. I had a lot of emotions in February. I made a lot of suggestions for drinking on the train that Mr. Redacted may've enjoyed had he read them, including confessing that I drank Mad Dog at intersections in my car on my way to The Macaroni Grill.

I also mention one of the staples of our lexicon, and also, coincidentally, Carly's:

Auto-Lexicon:

THIS IS ME!: The most ridiculous thing to say when we get to your house or stop on the subway. Like, "this is me?" No it's not. This is where you live, this isn't you. You're YOU, and no-one can take that away from you, okay?

Foreshadowing - All From the Fashion Blog:
Future Convos w/r/t girls-in-boy-briefs, penis pocket, over-ass considerations and etc: "The problem with girl-styled boy briefs is that they don't always go all the way over your butt (I like to think I am not the only one with this problem), and the problem with boy-styled boy briefs is that they have a big sack for your wiener. I don't have a wiener. Also I like the style of boy-briefs."
The Drug Addiction Rumor w/r/t Mr. Redacted: "I got [my wrist cuff] for 5 dollah in the East Village and it has a little zipper compartment in it. This is where I keep my heroin. And my magic fairy dust. And probably a lot of germs. I have it on always, like Jesus."
Strip Club Field Trip w/Lozo: 'If you look at the photo in the upper right hand corner, that's when she was telling me that we should do a blog about going around the city doing all the things that everyone has done except me. For example she suggested: going to a strip club."

Favorite Post: Come on Ilene, obvs, but as that was an Auto-Straddle post really, okay, I just want to mention that myspace-at-15 blog again. I was really proud of myself for that, because I spent about two hours on Photoshop making it happen. So rather than sharing a quote, I'll share this graphic:

Monthly Obsessions: My Yankees Hat, Documentaries from Netflix, Roses, Sofia Coppola Champagne in Cans, Cheese and Crackers, Maggie's Room, high school nostalgia
Monthly Irritants: Mass texts recieved on Major Holidays like Valentine's Day, Girl Drama, Working All the Time For Nothin'

February Round-Up - 8 Posts
Sunday Top Tens:
Sun. 4: Fashions
(Tuesday) 13: The Craziest of the Crazies, Both Good Crazy and Bad Crazy
2.18: Reasons Why You Might Be Here (Search Terms)
27: Dreams You Want to Hear About

The Secret of Monkey Island is That I Have Monkey Arms

So, I keep saying I'm gonna finish the secrets blog, and then I don't. Now I am. Oh wait ... did you hear that? That was the sound of Lozo clicking to another window, it's a subtle sound, like a mouse. Or ... like clicking a mouse! Hey, that makes sense! Also, Thursday night's GO-NYC magazine party, featuring Uh Huh Her (they're like my favorite band The Party from MMC but for The L Word, and also -- just like The Party -- I genuinely like their music. Also, obvs, I heart Leisha Hailey's lovely locks of hair) and special guest DANI FROM TILA TEQUILA (sidenote: I love how reality TV stars can be special guests. Like what is Dani gonna do as a special guest? Put out a fire? Go "Hey guys!" and look awkward and uncomfortable?), is sold out. I'm slightly concerned that A;ex and I will be elbow-and-shoulder-to-ass-to-elbow with about 50,000 insane lesbians, or 49,998 not including us. [UPDATE: We were.] And I know from insane lesbians, hello, I was raised by one. Hm. I mean, all lesbians are insane because so many are deeply in love with the same woman: Leisha Hailey. Seriously, tell me one lesbian you know who wouldn't sleep with her. Anyhow, speaking of insane lesbians: Amanda from Tila Tequila, how much did she look like Eminem's brokedown Mama by the end of the episode? She was one broken acrylic away from going "I gots to get my baby daddy off the crank. Everyone wants love, y'all, I just wanted a shot at love. But now I'm ready for another shot of Jack!" Also, I think I'd be able to tolerate Tila's voice for about five seconds, she has no emotions, is possibly a Maxim robot. OMG you guys. I've just spent like, four hours editing this vlog, and the i-movie thing -- which I'd been saving with remarkable compulsion about every ten minutes cause it crashes all the time, just crashed, somehow taking with it the two minutes of funniest footage we've ever produced, which I was editing at the time of the crash. I think that was the deaf community telling me that it's not funny to do a Jodi voice. But it is! Isn't it? We are all funny creatures, hello. Ever seen What's Eating Gilbert Grape? I didn't see retarded people protesting that. Probs 'cause they're retarded. JK, I love retarded people, seriously. Like, I've got retarded friends, like Haviland, she just hides it by being pretty. No seriously. I did have a retarded friend once, he was way more fun than everyone else cause he still thought he was 8 even though he was 16. I was like "I am totally down with also being 8." Anyhow, secrets secrets. What's my secret? This merch is gonna be hot!!! Sooo ... this is just a mock-up and therefore not what it'll really look like, nor does it reveal the item you'll be purchasing this fine design on, but whatevs , it is late, and I'm pissed about losing that fucking footage. I seem to have a problem with losing files. I think it's just statistically likely, if you think about it. What real things will I ever lose if I never leave my computer, I can only lose cyber-things. Wheee!

***

So, I'm finishing Secrets Week now. Refresh away, kiddos. Or you could go play outside. It's super cold though. Like, I have to wear three hoodies and a coat. I could just get one big coat, but that wouldn't be the cowboy way. This is where we left off. I don't know if I can remember which Tegan & Sara song titles I'd already used as titles of stories, and since we all know it's impossible for me to break the ridiculous rules I've actually imposed upon myself, which if you think about it, is both deaf AND retarded, I'm just gonna title these using book titles from my bookshelf. I put this quote in the auto-fun of the day, but I thought I'd add this here, now, with the next graf too, forevs and evs:

"I have never been able to understand the complaint that a story is 'depressing' because of its subject matter. What depresses me are stories that don't seem to know these things go on, or hide them in resolute chipperness; "witty" stories, in which every problem is an occasion for a joke, "upbeat" stories that flog you with transcendence. Please. We're grown-ups now, we get to stay in the kitchen when the other grown-ups talk. Far from being depressed, my own reaction to stories like these is exhilaration, both at the honestly and the art. The art gives shape to what the honesty discovers, and allows us to face what in truth we were already afraid of anyway. It lets us know we're not alone." (Tobias Wolff, from the Introduction to The Vintage Book of Contemporary American Short Stories)

I liked that, is all. For those of you who don't know the rules, this is it: people sent me their secrets, I turned their secret into a third-person story mostly using my voice but sometimes some or a whole lot of theirs.

THE FINAL SECRETS WEEK LIVE BLOG MOST RECENT AND LAST INSTALLMENT PUBLISHED AT: 11:54 P.M., FRIDAY DECEMBER 7TH

* 21. Fun Home

Melrose grew up outside of Boston and is Irish Catholic, a background that seems to suggest (I have learned) almost instantly, stories about secrets and the families who keep them, and she's youngest of five -- her eldest brother Nigel is about 17 years her senior, her closest sibling is separated by eight years. Nigel attended law school in Louisiana and by 28 was engaged to a nice girl with a younger sister who Melrose enjoyed playing Barbies with. Then Nigel came out as gay. Melrose doesn't remember this specifically but she knows it happened. One day the engagement ended, the fiancee vanished and stopped speaking to her brother, and sometimes on the phone Nigel would say things like "I'm going to buy a skirt." She would ask who it was for, he would say for himself, and she would laugh and store it away. At 11, Melrose asked her mother about a news story she'd seen about gay groups upset that they weren't allowed to march in the Southie St. Patrick's Day Parade. Her mother saw a door and walked through it -- told Melrose that Nigel'd come out that weekend he visited two years ago, the weekend her parents, bless their hearts, had rented JFK, and they'd watched it together as a family. "I didn't want to hurt you, I didn't know if you'd understand," her mother explained the two year gap of information relayance. "I don't want people to hate you over it." Melrose agreed on that and that alone: her friends, indeed, would've hated her over it. They were conservative Irish Kids in Massachusetts, and years later she'd describe them to her friends as the Future Alcoholics of America. She wanted her family to be perfect but most of all didn't get how two boys could do it 'cause when she played Barbies she'd mostly just mash them together. The Kens wore briefs. That summer, Melrose, her mother and her sister Carrie drove down to visit Nigel and his boyfriend in New Orleans. They sat tensely in sticky soupy Southern humidity, eating appropriate foods and not knowing how to interact with each other. "He's an odd duck, that one," Carrie said to Melrose in the ladies room. Indeed: he never became a lawyer. He moved to the West Coast and would mail Melrose birthday gifts that were always just slightly off, like a copy of a book she already had (it was her favorite) or a lamp that broke in the mail. They were cool and thoughtful but never perfect. Melrose is 18 when mother gets a phone call from Nigel's ex-boyfriend -- who they'd met at Carrie's wedding -- spurned and angry and vengeful. "Your son's a drug addict," he told her. "He's promiscuous and irresponsible and also, you should know that he's HIV positive." Melrose is 20 when her mother tells her about the phone call and the HIV. "I didn't think you could handle it, you were already so depressed," her mother explains. Because around the time that Melrose's mother learned that Nigel's blood had begun rejecting him, Harvard had rejected Melrose , and Harvard was everything to her -- it was what she wanted. She also wanted to not feel like she was being lied to all the time, or that she wasn't even a part of Nigel's life. Nigel moves home and his timing is uncanny 'cause Melrose has just graduated college and is doing that thing where she's sad and doesn't know what to do with her life, and her parents are doing that thing where they just ignore her (none of her siblings attended her college graduation, for her, that was the nail in the coffin). They never had to worry about her after all; she's always been consistent and perfect, a straight-A student, easy to ignore, Rory Gilmore with her scholarship that enabled their early retirement. So she's sad, deathly sad, and he's yelling at furniture and switching meds like whoa. Once he straightens out he works his ass off and gets a good job. Melrose still sees him sometimes: they bitch about family gatherings, she thinks about how she wished she'd visited him that summer in San Francisco or when he lived in London and sometimes she hates him and hates her mother. She respects his determination to go on and live his life and knows how liable he was to snap if he hadn't done so. She thinks it would've been so much different if she'd been the gay one -- it would've been after Ellen, not the early 90s when his oppressive environment led him -- like so many other young gay men of his generation -- to become a wanderer, bearing his severed life and a terminal illness. Melrose isn't close to her sisters -- they weren't there when she was growing up. One ran away to Europe and married a wannabe ex-patriot. They come home to bitch about their parents. "Mom cried every day when she was pregnant with you," they tell her. So she's been dealing with non-functional depression all this time, getting therapy, relying on friends like so many of us do without rock-style family. She's a little in love with her best male friend, he's a musician, he taught his younger brother all about music and cultivated his talent and now they've got a bangin' rock band together. When she looks at them she feels first just sad that she is not either brother or the brother of a brother like that, and then that coldness burns out into something that could be a crush or could be a lot like love. This friend doesn't know how she may or may not feel either. Meanwhile, her actual siblings bitch that she didn't send a birthday card to Finland. It's just that it costs so much. ***

22. Prep

First, a brief message from the secret's author: "I would have totes been able to pass up the opportunity...but then you had to go and get all Full-Housey on me and my secret shame started to surface like a bloated David Blaine. Not that I like to be reminded of it. Haviland's comment about doing Danny Tanner put me in full downward spiral. If she only knew." Megan and her girlfriend Amanda have been together for thirteen years and they know how it works: Amanda is the hot one, Megan is the smart one. Occasionally Amanda -- the hot one -- feels that little kick inside telling her to run off with older men. In the spirit of qualification, Amanda does always return and Megan, knowing her role too, does always wait. In 2003, Megan was teaching at an all-boys school in California with a staff that was 95% male. So she developed a 95% male social group there, a small tight circle of colleagues she'd hang out with on Friday afternoons that included Jay, who'd been on staff pretty much since graduating from that very prep school. Jay was 40. He'd never been on a date. He'd never kissed a girl. And he looked JUST LIKE DANNY TANNER FROM FULL HOUSE. The students found this ample fodder for mocking and humiliation, but Megan found it endearing. She found him practically irresistible, especially during the lonely days when Amanda'd run off with someone or someone else, and Megan knew it was only a matter of time before Megan couldn't restrain herself from doing to Jay what no-one else had the courage to do all his life. And so she did it. She totally did it with Danny Tanner and it was ... fine. But the important thing is that deflowering Danny Tanner has become something of her secret, some kind of super-hot shame. Now Jay is married and has a kid, so they don't talk much anymore. She knows Amanda wouldn't understand. But if she did talk to him about it, or to Amanda, she wouldn't tell them the real reason why she did it -- because to her, all that time, he wasn't Jay. He was hands down totes Danny Tanner, and who the hell doesn't want to sleep with Danny Tanner?

** 23. Blue Angel

Miranda's grandmother had a heart attack when Miranda was little -- open heart surgery resulting in a pinched nerve in her ribs, constant pain, and total dependence on Miranda's Mom. Grandmother moved in and existed sort of sad and grieving her independence, feeling like a burden. Miranda saw something impossible and scary, a huge problem she had no hope of ever fixing, and so she ignored it. Now, she just wishes she'd done more. Said more before her grandmother died. Could've just sat with her, talked to her, said she loved her. She feels bad about that. It's not a secret so much as a regret that is embarrassing, almost, but I think we all have that about a grandparent somewhere. What's my secret? Since his health started declining and the actual tangible pleasure of his company diminished, I sometimes know that I spend time with my grandfather mostly because I'm afraid that he'll die and I'll feel guilty for not spending more time with him. It's like Guilt Insurance. I think -- I hope (?) -- that at the base of it is deep and rootless love.

** 24. Surface Tension

Charlotte leads a double life: on the one hand, she's all spiritual and self-restrained. On the other, she's a "crazed Shane addict lesbian" who "indulges" in media addictions. She's far away from it now in India -- but -- the sacrifice! Oh! The Sacrifice! Emma's most serious problem is that she's such a prude, she's got no material to work from. Most of her life involves not having sex. She doesn't have orgasms with other people anyhow. Like: not having sex because Tyler's perfect studio apartment was full of Refugee photos from his photojournalistic work in various disaster zones of Africa, and really, who wants to fuck under photographs of decapitated hands? Not Emma. She had a scandalous affair one summer -- her lover was an athlete, her boyfriend back home was in something more drab, but he was really smart, she liked talking to him -- but she didn't even fuck this lover, they just made out and she pushed his hand away. She may as well be Jesus the way she behaves. She would like to sign a chastity pledge in retrospect. Also, she has a boyfriend. They're totes in love, for reals.

25. No One Belongs Here More Than You

Becky's at home with a girl she's just started seeing, Catherine. They're having Sweet & Sour Chicken. Becky's phone rings. It's Lorrie -- we all have a Lorrie. The One That Drove Us Insane, The One Who Might Be The One, The One Our Friends Hate. They'd been involved for about a year and though Becky's never really had Lorrie the way she wanted her but also Lorrie is under her skin, seething/soothing forevs and evs. At first when she met Lorrie it was perfect, there were requisite butterflies, as there so often are. And then less so. And Lorrie keeps Becky vulnerable and puppet-like but not minding the submission. "Can I vent?" Lorrie asks, "Um," Becky glances at Catherine. "Are you alone?" "Yes," Becky answers, without meaning to. It's just that the word comes out of her mouth and then sits there. The thing is that Lorrie drives her crazy, that Lorrie is what she'd like to vent about if anyone wanted to hear her vent, if there was someone like Lorrie to Becky who she could call and ask to vent and get what she needed from it. Becky tells Catherine it's an emergency and she'll BRB and Catherine smiles and chews happily because she's got no idea, as we so rarely do. This is probably, Becky thinks, looking back, the first betrayal that enabled all the ones to come--listening to Lorrie complain about a shitty situation she's gotten herself into but can't seem to be bothered extracting herself from. Lorrie talks and Becky thinks about how she'd like to lie in bed with Lorrie that night and possibly forever. The weeks go on -- Catherine sleeps over for the first time, and then again. And then just like that they are together in this relationship. She thinks about Lorrie but doesn't think as much about making out with Lorrie as she used to. It's effortless with Catherine, drama free, like it was when she first met Lorrie. She's cute, she's smart, she's funny, she makes her laugh. It's that feeling you get when you've just extracted yourself from someone you were mad over for someone who treats you well -- like how for a few months, the stability is refreshing and surprisingly beautiful. You find this kind of love is possible, even for you, even though your friends told you that you maybe just liked the drama (you disagreed). Now, look, here you are: functional, happy, comfortable, no drama. See? It wasn't you, it was her. No more crying and screaming and the hills and drops that made your life a thrilling and gorgeous rollercoaster through hell. Becky wakes up one morning next to Catherine but before she opens her eyes she believes for a moment she's with Lorrie, because she just dreamt they were in a room together, surrounded by people, and the room emptied, and then they kissed like in the movies when the whole room circles around the kissers. She kisses sweetly but wants to fuck. They undressed, they made love, all that, it felt so real that realising that it wasn't real broke her heart all over again, and then Catherine's expectant eyes were just really too much and she turned away. At night, Catherine likes to listen to music. Lorrie did too. The first time they make love it's to As Tall as Lions. "You are just ... so ..." Catherine says. Lorrie shuts her up with a kiss, because she's already thinking its likely she's gonna break Catherine's heart, it's just a matter of with who (Lorrie, or this sexy girl from Soho who keeps calling) and when. “Love, Love, Love (Love, Love)” comes on. It makes Becky want a cigarette or Lorrie. It makes her want to be alone if she can't be with Lorrie. Instead, she turns to Catherine and summons a great deal of wanting and it becomes real. Here is someone, it is easier to like her than she thought. So then it's a week after that and Lorrie calls Becky while Becky's at a party with Catherine. She didn't think she could do this, but she does: she leaves to talk to Lorrie (and Catherine walks home alone, about a mile at 2 A.M. in Detroit). Is it just that she knows Catherine will wait at home, but she doesn't know when Lorrie might call again? Lorrie and Becky wander the streets of the sagging sad city. Business as usual. Becky pours her heart out, Lorrie feels the same way. Becky wants to do something with how she feels and always has but it's always been Lorrie's thing to have feelings and declare and insist upon them but then not take the proper subsequent action. Becky: "I can't shake you." Lorrie: "Me neither." Becky: "But it wouldn't ever work." She knows this now because she has something that does work. Lorrie says: "You're crazy to think that, why do you think that?" Because it's the only hypothesis that's proven true every time: Lorrie would break her again, and she'd be dead again, but this time alone too. "I should go home." "Please don't. Keep walking with me." Lorrie makes eyes at her, Becky concedes, shakes her head, Lorrie laughs. Becky laughs too. It pisses her off that Lorrie laughs at everything but also Becky laughed at Lorrie the first time she cried, so. Becky kicks the guardrail in four different places, kicks the fence. "What the fuck? I left Catherine to walk home alone -- she's great, she makes me happy. This is so fucked up, you make me crazy." Lorrie shrugs. "Can I kiss you?" Becky says no, Becky says she wants to, she says she can't do it, they don't. They drive back to Becky's apartment, they hug for too long. Subsequently, they also kiss for too long. Becky digs her hands into the pockets of Lorrie's hoodie. It's terrible/awesome. Catherine answers the door, upset and tired and confused. Eager, though, to accept the lies that Becky offers and to make love for two hours. Becky decides she is definitely an asshole and lies in bed thinking about what an asshole she is all night, gets coffee, wants to puke, looks at Lorrie's text again: I want you, I can't stop thinking about you. And it goes on: Lorrie wants to know why Becky won't be with her. Becky tries to want Catherine, Catherine has homework, Becky and Lorrie sit on her roof in Lorrie's quiet neighborhood and they talk like they did when they first met. They cuddle in lots of locations and do a lot of pining and wanting and it's unfortunate that Lorrie couldn't have realised that she wanted Becky until Becky had someone else but also kind of predictable too, I guess. Becky thinks of ways to explain to Catherine that she never stood a chance, really. That there's nothing else she could've done or been that would've made anything else possible. So, then the next day Catherine's on the phone talking to her new sorority recruits, doing this thing where she massages the roof of her mouth with her tongue that's always driven Becky crazy. It makes this noise that Becky begins to think is probably driving her insane and driving them apart, and there's no way that she could ever be happy with her, absolutely not, omg, she's doing it again, omg, she has said "like" 40 times in this conversation, Becky hates the sorority lingo, and also. also. also. She hates that Catherine destroyed the cast iron skillet by putting it in the dishwasher twice. Becky doesn't like the taste of Catherine's toothpaste, either, now that she thinks about it. That's the moment when suddenly Catherine becomes something Becky isn't certain she can scrape from the inside of her own mouth, something unsavory and annoying. Suddenly all her tiny quirks become The Things Becky Will Think About When She Misses Lorrie, which is all the time. She just knows she'll keep wondering, if she doesn't go for it. And so she goes to Lorrie. She spends the night. And things go on. And so she was scared that things would be different now -- her touch, for one thing. It is, it's better. They can't tell anyone because Lorrie and Catherine work side-by-side in their campus's GLBTA organisation. Because it maybe doesn't seem like the right thing to do even though Becky knows that it is the only thing she could do. She doesn't know how it'll seem to people, what they'll think of her or of Lorrie or of Catherine or if it's just so much dyke drama. Whatever it is, she's happy now. She's so happy that she can't really even feel bad, but seriously, like, what do you do, you know? Because this is just how it so often is. There've been many songs for it, it's the oldest plot in the book, it's an easy way to become an asshole lightning-quick and like whoa because what do you do, really? We know that obligation never saved anyone's relationship, that sticking around with The One Who's Nice never really works out because still, always, there's the one you can't seem to let go of. Then there's the one who works with the more tangible and logical life that you've set up for yourself. Who's the liar? Who's the asshole? Who's keeping secrets, who's not playing fair, is there anything fair that could've happened really anyhow? Life isn't fair, love isn't fair. What's the real secret? I don't know anything. Like seriously nothing. But I think that it's possible we work like this: 1.gut, 2.heart, 3.mind, 4.body. It's hard to get your mind to conquer your gut and your heart, I think they're just like, stronger things. There's always inevitably a moment when the truth becomes the only thing you can do, and sometimes it comes sooner rather than later. Well ... some people aren't like that. They have mind first, which gives them the power to confuse your gut with their mind. Do you follow? I'm not making sense anymore. It's been a while since I got this story, I hope you guys are still going strong and in love. Love rocks. Don't walk the streets late at night in Detroit, that's where Amanda from Tila Tequila lives.

* "In one of the dialogues," I said, "Phaedrus asks Socrates whether it's better to spend your life with someone who you're compatible with, like a friend, or someone who you're crazy for, someone who'll make your life a living hell." "And what does Socrates say?" Henry said. "He says you should be with someone you can get along with, and he spends thirty pages proving it ... logically ... like a theorem." I watched the shadow of relief cross the faces of both men. "Then," I said, "he changes his mind." "And says you should be with the person who makes your life a living hell," Henry said. "What he says," I said, "is that when we fall full tilt in love with somebody, it's because our soul recognizes another soul that it was mingled with on some previous plane." "Socrates says full tilt?" Carter said. "He says, but what is man's logical reasoning, compared to the power of divine madness?" [from "The Moon is a Woman's First Husband," by Pam Houston] * 26. Demonology

This here's the last one, I think. I'm pretty sure I got everyone. There's a thing from this one that appeared elsewhere in the secrets blog. This one is not written by me. It's just one of the emails I got in its entirety. It struck me in a way that I aspire to strike people, and so, here it is, untouched (and anonymous, unless I hear otherwise):

Let’s be honest here. No one wants to read about lame secrets. So you ate a whole angel food cake once when no one was looking. Big whoop. You chew your toenails off in bed when your partner’s asleep. Yawn. Bottom line: Some secrets are more interesting than others. There exists a meritocracy of transgression, right? The most interesting of human emotions, in my opinion, are guilt, regret, and shame. I want to know what makes you feel guilty, what you regret, what shameful things you’ve done and never admitted to anyone but me. Now that is what I call a great first date. But no one ever goes for that kind of honesty these days, do they? What a shame. Right now, in some lab down a darkened hallway in an empty building on some campus in some town, a scientist is trying to extract the chemical marker that flashes shame as a red blip on a line chart on a computer screen that ultimately means nothing out of context. That blue line is regret. That green dot is guilt. But when those results are published in some obscure science journal, critics will say that the system that drives it all was not in the equation. You can’t feel any of those emotions in a vacuum; other people define when and if you should feel ashamed. They tell what to regret. They judge your guilt. I call bullshit on that. Do you control your own destiny? Can you decide if you will feel shame? Can you choose not? Who knows. Philosophers have debated the intricacies of guilt, regret, and shame since the days of Socrates or some other old Greek guy who got his robes in a twist when his wife found him in bed with his son. Now you know the real story of why Oedipus had issues and the mother of all secrets. So, yes, back to secrets. The best involve one of the following: sex, drugs, crime, violence, and a big dose of shame. Without the latter, it wouldn’t be a secret, it’d be a boast. If you can’t tell someone what you did, you have the makings of the perfect secret. If you can’t tell someone what you did because their view of you be irreparably changed forever, you have achieved the pinnacle of secretocracy. Go you! Go me! Here’s a partial list of my best secrets, some of which are very true. Others are a total lie. I choose not to feel ashamed of any of them. Other people’s perceptions have no power over me. Though, I have to say, if anyone I knew knew these secrets, which may or may not be true, were mine, I’d be ashamed. See that green dot? See the blue line? That bouncing red blip is me. 1. I once spent a New Year’s Eve bent over in a small supply closet getting fucked in the ass by a stranger. 2. Cocaine, crystal meth (accidentally), LSD, marijuana, mushrooms 3. I have committed a felony that would have resulted in jail time had I been caught. If necessary, I would commit another. Those crimes may or may not include theft, distribution, mercy killing. 4. If she asked me to (she has), if she wanted it (she does), and if I could make myself do it (I’ve tried), I would hit her for real and it would turn me on. Does this change how you feel about me?

* Check out the new Autostraddle trailer vlog. * xoxo gossip girl