Sunday Top Ten: Gay Rosie Cruise Blog, Part Two, with VIDEO

7/14/07: The weirdest part of returning from the cruise is remembering that everyone's not gay anymore. You re-adjust your mindset to auto-gay while aboard, and I today on the subway I thought: "Wow, there're so many hot gay girls in the city these days!" and then remembered: "Oh yeah. Those girls look straight because they ARE straight."

Also weird: I got about 1.5 hours of sleep last night and I'm still awake. I don't know why. It's either stimulants or insanity or both. When I first woke up, I wasn't sure if my dreams were reality or not, and I had to double-check with Hav that no one had a foursome last night. Also, Lainy somehow packed one of my Chuck Taylors and both of my flip-flops (I hate flip flops in non-cruise context, so this's not a big deal, but man do I miss that Chuck Taylor) in her suitcase, and I'm supposed to go to her place to obtain it, which seems unfair. I cannot do this. Instead I will just wear my cowboy boots.

Somehow I managed to get off the boat without my passport or filling out a customs form and possibly still fucked up from the night before. I'm like Johnny Depp but without a stunning jawline. Where is my passport? Good question. I haven't seen it since I boarded on the first day. I've been feeling like Natalie Rabey lately [she likes to live on the verge]: though I frequently lose things like hats and sunglasses and umbrellas, it's rare for me to misplace a key item like a passport and I've never lost a phone or a wallet (howevs: the Philly phone theft was not my fault whatsoever, and I mean that: I'm really good about accepting blame for things, even things that aren't my fault, so when I say "not my fault," I'm serious). I'm really on a roll these days, though.

The most brill event of the cruise, as featured on broadway.com, was the reading Heather and I put together for "Living it Out"/"Live it Out" (I like the former, Carly prefers the latter). Everyone seemed concerned we weren't enjoying our vacation. However, relaxing gives me anxiety attacks, so I may as well be anxious, you know? It's more productive. Heather, who stage manages Altar Boyz and pretty much whatever else you throw at her, assured me it was "fun." It was fun! So yeah, we did a reading starring Andrea McArdle and Haviland Stillwell ... omg I have so many bug bites I am going to scream or itch all my skin off. Probs the latter.

[P.S. I stopped taking photos. Layla has a bunch, which I'll post as I get them.]

ALSO UPDATE: Speaking of the cruise ... I wrote an essay about the R-Family Cruise I went on last year (Alaska 2006) and my dear friend Haviland, and it just went up on OurChart! Check it out and write me something nice.

Sunday Top Ten:
Really Just "Cruise Blog, Part Two" but Told in the Format of a Top Ten, Highlighting the Highlights of the Last Four Days of the R-Family Cruise.

10. Night Watch: 7/13-14

Jenn, Riese [me, obvs], Heather, Megan, Haviland, Mary Mitchell

On the last night, backstage, following Annie: champagne for everyone and their mothers. Andrea threw Megan against the wall: "This is for the DVD extra deleted scenes, when Sydney pushes Parker against the wall and shows her who's boss." [Seriously though, that's only the beginning of the amazingness Carly and I have planned for the DVD extras.] Anyhow, the champagne: entire bottles. Of Moet. So Heather slipped one in her bag, later we uncorked it in the hallway with surprisingly minimal poppage.

We all needed to sleep, to pack, to get up early ... instead, we drank in the piano bar while campaigning for Megan to sing, for Hav & Megan to do "Take me or Leave Me," for more champagne, poured into flutes, filling empty air with sugary bubbles. Later in the night--though I don't know when, because I wouldn't let anyone tell me what time it was, Megan noted: "I have no recollection of any time before this conversation." It feels that way sometimes. We spent the last two waking hours -- Heather, Haviland, Megan, Layla, Maddie and I -- laughing in the smoky darkness of H+H's stateroom. The sunrise, I hear, was perfect.

9. Boogie Nights: 7/13

We're admiring A.McArdle's Juicy separates -- in particular, her bedazzled ass -- and telling her how smokin' hot she is, and she says: "But I'm like: the 70's!" This was much funnier in person. I don't know how to tell you that.

8.Wild Things: 7/10

Drinking Party, Courtesy of Room Service and the Pirate Liquor Store

Since I'm the Queen of Smuggle, I picked up some Smirnoff at the local liquor store in Key West and then poured said Smirnoff into water bottle and then re-boarded the boat. They don't let you bring liquor on board : I guess it's mostly so they can make more money, but perhaps there's more to it than that. International Outer Space Laws or something.

It just occurred to me: maybe I am invisible? I feel like I've opted out of everything required and all the rules all week, and no one seems to notice or care or I guess just dare to challenge me, which makes me worry perhaps I have no more skin and everyone can see through me?

I mean ... wow. OK:

I smuggled some prohibited things onto the ship.
Boarded without a ticket, also not on the room list.
Skipped the lifejacket drill.
Drank vodka from the mini-bar and replaced it with water, avoiding cost.
Smuggled Smirnoff onto the ship in a Dasani bottle.
Made about 400 copies without paying until the last 15 or so, when they got a new desk clerk.
Stole an inner tube that's supposed to cost $20 to rent.
Scheduled an event which conflicted with a already scheduled activity and got that activity canceled. for our event.
Enjoyed free drinks at private events simply for being best friends with Haviland .
Ordered room service simply to obtain mixers (juices are not free usually) for our smuggled alcohol.
De-boarded without a passport.
Walked right by customs, since I hadn't filled out a form yet, because I'm stupid and didn't know we had to.

I think that's only the tip of the iceberg.

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7. Incredibly True Adventures: 7/11

I'm not big into the beach, swim suits, sand all over my skin, etc. But this private island at Grand Stirrup Cay was too beautiful for me to be cynical, even when I got my hands sticky from watermelon. The Island was my only shot at getting tan but Haviland made me put on suntan lotion. Boooo . By this point, I'd totally stopped taking photos because Heather and I were so busy putting together the reading that I couldn't really think about much else, like pictures. But other people took pictures. Like Jenn and Nick, photographed on your left.

We stole a big raft/inner tube thing and laid on it--Heather, Lainy and I--talked about Susan Powter and stared at the clean blue sky and big sun. Then we heard a little voice yell "Heather Joy!" and turned to see a cute Havi-head bobbing in the water, nearing us. "Heather Joy I'm swimming all the way out here I better get a kiss!" And it was so funny. Almost as funny as my bathing suit which did not match. Layla's got a photo or two of that situation.

That's Jenn and Nick on the left.
Jenn, Ross and Nick after that, and then a lovely photo I took of Heather and Haviland on our way out to the island.

Heather and I had to go back to the ship to make fliers and stuff for the reading, confirm space and actors, etc., then we came back out for the island dance party and drank a lot of tequila really fast, then spent the night chillin' with Caroline, who works at Cattyshack and is Heather Matarazzo's girlfriend. Later she called Heather-M and I talked to her on the phone and was like "What's up? Why aren't you here?" because I've been her fan for like, for-ever, since Welcome to the Dollhouse, obvs.

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6. Boys on the Side

'
This is a photo of the one time I did not either eat at
The Garden Cafe
or skip a meal altogether.

I keep walking into the kitchen with my plate but there is no food to put on it. Where is my food? Do I have to make it myself? I'm gonna walk into another room with my plate and see if I can find some food. Perhaps some hummus or salad? The worst part of the cafeteria (it's called the "Garden Cafe" but we all know what that means: dining hall!) was that the fries were in the kiddie section, which is blocked off with little fences, a la McDonalds Playland, so I had to fully bend over to access the knee-high serving area to get fries. I'd eat adult food, but it looked un-tasty.

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5. High Art: 7/10

"I am WAY BUMMED to not be on the boat and the reading sounds like the most
exciting thing to ever happen to me - slash - not happen to me, as I
am not there."
-Carlytron

I wake up on Tuesday morning with my mind a-buzz, thinking: "We should put together a reading of this teleplay." I go to Heather and Haviland's room, relay this idea. Then Heather morphs overnight into Super-Producer. Seriously: Heather Weiss, you are abso-fucking-lutely amazing.

There was so much talent on the ship. Casting was fun. Most important of all was getting someone amazing to play Sydney and Andrea McArdle said she'd love to do it. And she effin' nailed it, it was brill.

So Wednesday, we're making invitations, securing space, inviting actors, she's calling Michael The Event Coordinator drunk after our night at the beach luau dance: "The thing is, Michael, that there are a lot of important people coming to this reading, Andrea McArdle is reading the lead ..."

Then he gave us permission (which he tried to redact the next day) and then we started handing out fliers. By that I mean we collapsed laughing in the hallway and handed out fliers with relative abandon. I think my flip-flop fell off. I don't know what happened, all I remember is sitting on the carpet while Heather was laughing.

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4. If These Walls Could Talk 7/10-7/12

Our girl ... Shaana? I forget her name. Anyhow, she rocked. We filled out a recommendation form for the desk clerk ... "Dude, she's gonna be promoted to ship captain." She even crossed her fingers for us when Heather was talking to Michael.

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3. All Over Me 7/12/07

"9:30 movie has been canceled for an event in the cinema. We apologize for the inconvenience."
-sign outside the CINEMA

Me: "This is the best thing I have ever seen in my life."
Heather: "We need to photograph this sign and then save it for our hypothetical scrapbooks. This is amazing."

(We totally forgot to do that, but it's true: the joy that swelled in our ambitious hearts when we saw it ... it felt real. So many of my projects exist only in theory--this one included, of course--but the fact that this reading was coming together, was official, had displaced The Pursuit of Happyness ... made me feel pretty excited about pursuing my own happiness. And Carly's, obvs.)

Because circa 24 hours ago, we'd reserved the space (or so we thought), confirmed it's availability ... and then seen The Pursuit of Happyness on the schedule. Obvs Heather took care of that immediately by opening the display case and removing that information, lest anyone get excited. I suggested we post a sign indicating "the movie's been relocated to your room, where it happens to be showing on your in-room movie channel at this exact moment,which's brill planning on behalf of the Norwegian Dawn."

I refused to accept that our reading could be displaced by a crap Will Smith movie (confession: I kinda love Will Smith sometimes, I mean, "Fresh Prince"? Holla! Also I.C. used to write for that show).

Back Row, L to R: Esera, Janet, Andrea, Craig, Anne, Jen
Front Row, L to R: Tara, Megan, Haviland, Riese, Nick, Lainy

So, that night, if anything could be more exciting than that sign, the men in black showed up with fruit and water and chairs and music stands and then our cast:

Andrea McArdle (Broadway's original Annie, obvs) as Sydney, Meeeeeee as Morgan, Haviland Pekor Stillwell as Samantha, Craig Ramsay as Caleb, Janet Caroll reading stage directions/etc, Megan Jacoby as Parker, Nick Nerio as Joe, Anne Steele as Courtney, Esera Tualo as Aiden, Tara Michelle as Kyra, Chelain Goodman as Hannah, and Jen Namoff as Deb/Lizzie Marriot/"Angry Dyke."

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2. Saving Face

"What're you gonna say before the reading starts?" Everyone assumes that because I don't like talking to humans one-on-one, I'm similarly frightened of crowds. So not true. I was an actress once upon a time in my youth, and though that was eons ago, I'm not afraid of stages, talking on them, or speaking to audiences. I love readings! Hello, sex and dating panel, anyone, obviously not. Howevs, I didn't know what I was going to say to introduce the reading, and I actually don't remember what I did say.

But I had this really fabulous idea to say: "HELLO! I'm Ilene Chaiken, creator and executive producer of Showtime's hit series The L Word. Today we have a special new project to share with you, starring Jonathan Rhys Meyers..."

Here's the thing about that: it's really effin' addictive. Once you start saying "HELLO! I'm Ilene Chaiken !" in an Ilene Chaiken voice, you can't stop. I kept saying it over and over. I wish I could've introduced it like that, but what if no-one laughed? What if they thought I really WAS Ilene Chaiken, you know? [Then I could probably get this show made tomorrow, even before Carly and I go back to do more revisions. I could be like: "This show isn't the greatest, but it's about lesbians!" and then, BOOM, made.]

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1. Imagine Me and You

There's so many good things in the air right now. It's hard to know which one to face and run at full-speed, and it's hard to know what full speed even is. I think I/we've done our best to go for it, though, re-channeling negative energy into progress and direction and dream-making.

Our cruise, in fact, was re-routed: apparently we were owed another day at the private island, but the boat was unable to run at it's optimum speed and we had to cut out the extra morning to make it home in time. I didn't care because honestly I had no clue where we were going in the first place.

That's probably a good metaphor for life. I could use a lot of boat and water related metaphors right now, like stuff about going with the flow and seeing where the wind takes you or something, but those are all pretty passive. I wanna be a little Jet-Ski like zzzzzzzz.

Really though: one of the best things about coming home was checking my voice mail to hear one from my grandmother: "We saw your article in the magazine," she says, Ohio accent in full force. "Well, sweetie. We didn't realize you were in such a state!" Yes: Marie Claire magazine, this time featuring an article written by me and no terrible picture of me, is in stores now and buy it!

Below I've tried to construct a graphic like the kind they have in restaurant windows with the mag-cover and a little snippet of the article they're referencing. See, it's my first byline in a major magazine!! By Marie Lyn Bernard! It's like, 4 pages long, 'cause I tend to go on for a bit, but ay! Go buy Marie Claire. Anne Hathaway is on the cover, and she is smokin' hot.

I wish I'd written "Discover your Inner Fembot!" I mean. Wow. Who knew, you know?

Gay Cruise Blog: Part One

7.10.07: I am currently in Key West, the hottest place on the entire planet. I mean that literally, I could fry an egg on my head right now. Three drag queens just dragged [get it? drag queens? DRAGGED?] Haviland into a karaoke bar [circa 4 P.M., mind you] and made her sing "Like a Prayer" because she's FROM BROADWAY: Haviland LOVES karaoke. Almost as much as she loves chocolate ice cream and naked men, and almost as much as I love heat.

The best part of the karaoke experience, as described by Heather immediately as "the best moment of [her] life so far," was this woman who asked me all these random questions about myself and then told me I was in "Charlotte's seat," and I needed to move [I was videotaping Hav's performance, so this effed up my continuity]. Who is Charlotte, you may be wondering? Charlotte is a dog. That being said, it was a very talented and obedient dog. It hopped right up onto that barstool. I wish I had a girlfriend like that. Just kidding. Girlfriends are for suckers with feelings. I'm Miss Independent, like Kelly Clarkson.

My photographic record of the gay-cruise so far's admittedly a bit spotty: the first evening, for example, is on Jenn's camera. I don't have those photos. Also, my camera is bunk so I don't take pics that often, and Layla's been taking so many good photos that I haven't bothered? So what I've got below is totes randomized photography, via the cameras of myself, Lainy and Heather.

[Once upon a time, we had slide shows: the presenter inevitably finds his/her travels captivating (each and every time, really) while everyone else's like, please pass the Cheese Nips and a shotgun, thanks. Now, we have the blog-vaycay-recap. Is this an evolutionary advancement? You decide.]

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Pre-Day One. (Like preschool, but for days of the week instead of education.)
0. Live it Out.

Carly and Riese complete Live it Out, the best gay teleplay ever written. Have I mentioned that already? I have. Just sayin'.

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7-7-07: Saturday

1. Riese Obvs Forgot to Bring the Tickets.

Though I miraculously arrived at the Pier circa my intended arrival time, I arrived sans ticket. This was a pretty cool situation, especially since my ticket is also my friend and traveling companion Lainy's ticket. We weren't on the ship's register either (clerical error, also cool).

Lainy: Seriously? You seriously forgot the tickets?
Me: I'm thirsty. Ooo! There's a Coca-Cola Classic in that vending machine calling my name.
Lainy: [on the phone with Haviland] Haviland wants to talk to you.
Me: No, I can't talk to her. I already know what she's going to say and I can't hear it right now. ["Really Riese, really?"]

I literally had to boot up Sparky McMacBook and hunt down an old blog entry comment in the archives where Lainy'd cited our room number. About an hour later they found our reservation.

On our boarding picture, which I could probably scan onto this computer for $5.00/minute and a $10.00 service charge, Lainy's all like: 'Go Gay People!" and I'm in my Aviator Sunglasses talking to Haviland on the mobile. Go Gay People.

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2. If I Cannot Figure Out How to Put on a Lifejacket, I Deserve to Drown.

This is Jenn's photo of Nick, displaying how he feels about the lifejacket drill.
I am so glad we did not go.

Cruise Employee: Where is your room?
Us: Eighth floor.
CE: You must go to your deck captain for the life jacket drill.
Me: Oh, actually, we're meeting our friends on the pool deck right now.
CE: It is very important.
Lainy: Yeah, but we have to meet our friends right now--
Me: On Deck 12.
CE: It is required and important.
Me: We did it last year. I remember everything.
CE: Are you sure?
Me: We can just sink, it's okay.
Lainy: We did it last year.
CE: Well--

(we dash)

(Sidenote: Lainy was not on the cruise last year.)
(Sidenote 2: Heather and Hav were not on the pool deck actually. They were doing the life jacket drill, for some reason.)

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3. Drinking on Holiday, Starring Riese and Heather.

Around five in the afternoon (I think), Janet (an actress-friend of Haviland's) purchased me something large and mostly vodka. Somewhere between then and the next three hours, Heather and I did a shot or more, which for some sadistic reason beyond our control, were served to us in plastic cups and probs were more like 10 shots. We stole a picture of Ariel to color in and some chocolates and a shuffle-puck and some crayons.

I think I took this picture of H & H.

In Heather and Haviland's room, the sunset was more or less perfect, the water like in a commercial where a woman steps out of a waterfall and gushes about her body lotion, and while Haviland rehearsed for the night show, Heather and I made a video we found totally hilarious. What was in this video? Um, me talking, and Heather talking. Kinda like this blog, except with moving pictures. I'll post it later, when I have access to things like cords and the internet. I'm sure you are on the edge of your seat.

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4. Broadway Belters.

Rosie said "Don't put this on YouTube," a lot. There was talk of Hassleback. Andrea McArdle looks good in white pants. Haviland sang "Mama Who Bore Me," it was awesome, and Rosie said: "That girl is 100% gay. These are the new lesbians, you guys. They're totally hot, and they walk around holding hands."

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5. Everyone Goes Dancing, but only Riese, Jenn and Nick Stay Out 'Til Five A.M.

In 1992, I purchased my first cassette single, Rick Astley's "Togteher Forever." I love Rick Astley more than anyone else on this boat could possibly love Rick Astley, except Rick Astley's mother or girlfriend. Yet even I was not interested in hearing "Together Forever" remixed 300 times. Jenn and her breasts asked the D.J. for "Irreplacable." Apparetly, it is really hard for the D.J. to ever play that song and all I've gotta say Re: that is where is D.J. Carlytron?

The deck of the ship was wet from the rain that'd been at us all evening, and I said there's no way we're making it across here unscathed, to the Blue Lagoon where we'd eat/drink and of course Jenn totally fell on her ass. It was really funny.

There are some great photos of this night. I don't have them. But I do have this photo, of Jenn and I getting our first of 5,000 new magnetic strip cards at the front desk, because they stop working all the time. Just ours.

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7.8.07

6. 24 Hours Later: Still Not Playing "Irreplaceable."

This time, we sent Esera to the D.J. He almost won the Super Bowl, wrote a book, can sing like whoa, and is super hot (and super gay). Haviland was like "AW, this's your song right now!" to Esera and I 'cause we're both all post-breakup-ish. Clearly they told him they would play "Irreplaceable." However, by the time we left to go play shuffleboard, no "Irreplaceable" had been played. In the photo strip to your left, you can view myself, Haviland (gay), Heather (gay), Layla (gay), Esera (gay) and Craig (gay), dancing with other gays.

This is what the cool kids wear. Motion sickness bracelets and black nail polish.

This is what the cool kids do. I like this photo. Haviland took it. She's so multi talented.


I stole Craig's hat. I wish I still had it, I'd wear it right now.

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7. Anyone Wanna Play "War"?

I don't get gambling. If I'm gonna give my money away, I'd like something in return, like vodka or a pony or to feed a starving child or something, you know? Howevs, most people enjoy playing games with money and then losing their money.

The casino screamed at us via lights and unbearable noise. Let's go gambling, do you know how? No.

Howevs: the casino had a lot of cheese cubes and crackers, which was good because I keep forgetting mealtimes.

Blackjack Dealer: You don't play blackjack?
Me: The only card game I know is "Go Fish."

Me: "Lainy, this machine is like a bad relationship: you put more and more in, waiting for that coin on the precipice to drop, 'cause it's so close, but you're convinced--one more coin--it'll drop, it's so close, put in more and more .. that coin wants to fall and explode with "winning" ... you're totally convinced that the coin is like, one minute away from dropping ... just a little more ..."
Lainy: "Yeah we'll never win this."
Me: "Seriously though look how close they are to falling!"
Lainy: [re the people next to us] "Look, their coins are a second from falling too, and they've not fallen." [to the people next to us] "Have you ever seen anyone win this game?"

...

"Not yet," they say, intently hurling more quarters into the slot.

We totes cashed out with $3.25 after breaking even on the slots and profiting slightly on the blackjack game that the dealer kinda helped Lainy win.

The girl who took our picture didn't like the one up there, so she made us do it again.

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7-9-07

8. How Did I Get Here?

We don't have a statue like that in our room.

In the man-in-the-mirror 13th floor O'Donnell vista: about 15 of us (including obvs me, Haviland, Heather, and Layla), a first look of a new film about Rosie. She showed it to us for our feedback. I was literally riveted. I laughed, I cried, I didn't want it to slow down or speed up or ever end. I think it'll have a big impact when it's released this September. Also having a big impact: vodka-tonics mixed by myself for Heather and I. A tad strong. I want to talk about the movie, and how awesome it was to participate in a conversation about said movie with Sharon Gless (Debbie Navatni holla!) and Meg Tilly, but I don't think I'm allowed to. (OMG!!!) (They are amazing women and actresses and I respect/admire their work/opinions, etc.) Anyhow you can see us looking like total weirdos in Rosie's latest video blog (which she made with Ross the Intern, of Ross-Blog ) for about ten seconds. You can hear us whoop-whoop. Ross talks about the film a bit on his blog. He's the sweetest thing ever.

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9. Are you Happy? Then It Could Possibly be Happy Hour.

Heather: [to Haviland] "Wanna know what we did wrong? We took you at your word when you said the bar was that way. We ended up with like, three minutes before happy hour—"
Me: "Dashing across the pool deck, like we are getting our two drinks for the price of one—yeah we are!--"
Heather: "It was like the Amazing Race down there,"
Me: "We were weaving in and out of deck chairs, leaping over newborn babies ...

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OK, that's all for now. More later. The events on this blog and relative words alloted to each event are not reflective of the actual importance of the events themselves. For example: Item 8. Susan Powter. Everything that's happened since Happy Hour yesterday, which ended at like, 6 or something. But I've gotta save some things for later.

The Carousel of Progress: Melted Cheese/Dead Poets Edition

To pour smelling-salts into the open wound of my recent social-networking-drop-out , MediaWeek's just reported that 70 percent of robots young humans belong to things like myspace and anyone who doesn't will fail at life. Luckily, I've been comfortable since 1981 just chillin' in the outcasted 30 percent [fighting against the grain, etc.] so whatevs, obviously they found their survey-takers on social networking sites, I dunno, I didn't read the article, that woulda been like reading Fitness magazine during a Fibro attack, which I've never done. I'd read People Who Can't Leave Their Room/Bed Magazine, otherwise known as Poets & Writers.

[guess y'all gotta join OurChart now!!!]

Seemingly Unrelated Tangent: There's this period of time in May between when the heat sets in and when your air-conditioner gets set in.

That's happening right now. What did people do before air conditioning? [Continuation of the last blog's opening query: what did Emily Dickinson do without air conditioning?] I was an American-history obsessed child, pining to travel The Oregon Trail, churn butter, befriend the Cherokee, be the Cherokee, etc. Or I'd wish I was Pocahontas [she's my great-great-great-etc-grandmother. See photo, LEFT, in which I wear hand-made Native American "headband" In Earnest, circa '94] or Jo March: climbing trees, playing boy's games, cutting off my hair, and ultimately opening a school for poor boys, a.k.a. "ragamuffins," so that all people can be equal and learn-ed. But now I realize that wouldn't've been much fun without air conditioning. '

So today I introduce a new segment: THE CAROUSEL OF PROGRESS. In which I look back on the century and tell you what's good and what makes me wanna live in a Wigwam.

[One day, I'll progress into a blogger who writes smooth, well-founded transitions and concise, well-founded introductions.]

[P.S.: My track record for "sticking to the 'segment idea'" for all previously conceptualized segments: 0%. This one's good though, I think.]

Four categories: VIRTUAL, LARGE BOX-SHAPED OBJECTS, PORTABLE ITEMS, FOOD-STUFFS. Might repeat these categories for future segments. Might not. You never know what I'm gonna do. After all, lately TB & I's internet presence has felt much like a complicated act of cyber-performance-art.

VIRTUAL:

W/O: myspace, obvs!
Just call me! So I can ignore you! Want a hot photo of me? There aren't any. What if I turned "Sorry" into an abbreviation, like "Totes" and "Obvs"? It'd sound like "SARS," which, as a disease, is something to be sorry about, I mean, SORS about. I crack myself up. Seriously, I'm laughing right now. SORS, dudes! I've considered crafting a new profile; but I actually don't wanna be on myspace, I just want my old comments back, and creating a new profile won't fix that. Honestly, this does feel right-er to me. Like I'm being true to MY space, you know? I only joined it in the first place in May '05 so Tara¹ could show me photos of this girl she was about to go out with. I was like What's myspace? Looks retarded. This color scheme blows. Why's my computer freaking out? What's with this annoying music and the glittery icons? Do people still listen to Newfound Glory?

[JK, Myspace rocks.]

W/: Bartleby.com
This's like, all the parts of the library that you can't bear hiking into anyhow because it smells like dead poets and the books are so heavy you start pining for that initialed Jansport you sacrificed in 1997. It's the best reference site of all time. I can't make any jokes about it, because I'm dead serious, y'all. It'll change your life. It changed mine. E.g. I'm much smarter now then before. And I can hyperlink my heart out.

Vintage Chat Convo, Also Printed in a Previous Blog Entry [not a good one, thus no hyperlink]:

TB: my favorite reference point online is columbia's bartleby thing.
me: hm, wheres that at.
TB: http://bartleby.com
me: "right after that preposition you used to end that sentence, marie."
holy shit. this place is fucking awesome.
TB: it has everything.
me: wheeee!!! the word of the day is "fustian." that's a good word.
TB: interesting. you'd think it was a typo for faustian. or at least i would.
me: i thought it was?

LARGE BOX SHAPED OBJECT:

W/O: Forced TeeVee
Last night, I tried to work the TeeVee for the first time since moving in, 'cause I wanted to see which of these young women would become America's Next Top Model. [Unfortunately, it wasn't Hoolihay. Boo.] No dice: I had to actually press buttons on the TV-box itself, as the remote was boggling. Then I promptly sat in front of my ibook, only glancing up briefly to note how little I care about this Cycle, or really any of 'em since the departure of Kim.

Also: I've seen roommate-Zoey do fancy things with the remote, like making live TV rewind and fast-forward? I don't know how this DVD-R thing works and probs never will.

But ANYHOW SERIOUSLY: I despise teevees in random public spaces. I think we should be forced to choose a program and commit if we want TV. Not like: Hey what's up, I'm waiting for the doctor, reading my Highlights for Children, oh HEY TV what's up genocide? Like, gimme my laundry before I have to watch one more moment of Keith Ablow, please. Thanks. When someone says "Lets just see what's on TV," and just clicks it on, I want to gouge my eyes out with mechanical pencils and run away to Walden Pond. That's why I don't know how to click it on.

[Side note: Yes, I have an L Word blog. Totes Paradox.]

W/: Air conditioner, obviously.
As a kid, we went without. Mom insisted it was a waste, so we'd sleep in the basement when the weather turned unbearable, which was fun, like a camping adventure but with Legos and a damp-basement smell. In '95, we moved to a place with central air but Mom insisted on keeping the house steamy-hot til we almost died of heat-stroke. I always envied the rich kids who kept their rooms ice-cold even while out of the house. It was just waiting for them, like "Sure, whatevs, whenever you're ready, I'm here for you, cold as ice, baby!" But this habit emitted toxins into the air, etc., thus global warming, etc.

PORTABLE ITEM:

W/O: Cell Phones
I might just be saying this 'cause I've dropped my month-old Sidekick on the floor so many times already that now the screen's slowly cracking, suggesting impending breakage. That being said, I love that I can get email on it. I also love it's size. I wish it was bigger. I hate talking on tiny phones, it makes me feel like Shaquille O'Neal eating a White Castle burger. Or Alice when she's 10 feet tall.

W/: Ipod
Not because it can store ten gazillion songs (hypothetically, if it wasn't jam-packed with six-hour audiobooks and ten podcasts), but because it's teeny-tiny. I never liked discmans. Skippity skippity cumbersome monster-things. I stuck with my Walkman/mix tapes 'til I got an ipod. I like my music portable and my phone cumbersome. I prefer Ira Glass and Patti Smith to Voicemail.

FOOD ITEM:

W/O: Restaurant Menus Featuring Cheese n' Onions n' Whatever Smothered Nonsense
It's just lazy, really. Why be a real chef when you can just de-frost a hunk of filet and coat it in melted cheese, onions, peppers, bacon bits, chives, sour cream, and whatever else Applebees can think of to send its patrons into immediate cardiac arrest? I mean, a frat boy or a drunk person could do that. In fact, they are doing it right now, and as my ex-the-frat-boy always said: "When in doubt, add melted cheese!" Except there was no doubting about it. He was CERTAIN he wanted melted cheese on EVERYTHING, especially the hot dogs he exploited with chili-beans and Kraft Singles in our microwave. They were like: "Help us, Marie!" but I was like "Sorry, I'm busy making my veggie dogs in a pot like a civilized person."

[JK, I microwave veggie dogs when there's no one around to be smug to. Heather²'s sister Annie microwaves everything, even Twizzlers. She got inspired by Haviland, who also microwaves everything. I refrigerate everything, like cookies and nuts.]

I love melted cheese as much as the next person--in fact, MORE [along with peanut butter, it's 50% of my daily diet]--but that brainstorming new-menu-item session coulda been spent creating a fun spring salad for Haviland and I to enjoy. Also, all that Monterey Jack doesn't disguise the taste of injustice, Benniganbeehollihays! I know there's body parts in your meat, I read about it in Fast Food Nation. P.S. for NYC-Dwellers: there's a "meatpacking industry" as well as a "meatpacking district" [which's a cool place to party for people who like to leave their apartments], and this industry's mainly centered in the Southwest, relies on cheap "disposable" immigrant labor, and is evil.

W/: HANDS DOWN TOTES Easy Mac
Summer '99, fresh outta high school, I visited my best friend Ryan in NYC, where he'd snagged a $400/month apartment on 79th and Broadway and was interning at MTC. This sublet had a catch: it was smaller than our dorms at boarding school by about 70%. Ryan told me he lived on Kraft Dinner, but I didn't believe him: he had no stove! I observed his "preparation" of "Kraft Macaroni and Cheese" in the microwave, and though it did involve the contents of the KMC box, the resulting dish was not anything like actual KMC. As in: the noodles were still hard. Luckily, someone's wheels of invention were already turning and EasyMac debuted just in time for me to go to college.

Side note, re: Ryan's apartment, air conditioning:
'Cause he had no AC, Ryan had a sadistic pre-bedtime ritual which I was submitted to during my visit. He'd shuffle me into the shared bathroom, turn the water to ice-cold, thrust me under, and stand/leap like a jumping-bean on the other side of the shower chanting mind over matter mind over matter until I turned blue. Then, teeth a-chatterin', he'd usher me into bed and explain: You have to fall asleep within the next ten minutes. Otherwise you'll get hot again and need another cold shower. Hurry, hurry.

Which's probably what Emily Dickinson did, too. She mentioned, then forgot; then lightly as a reed, bent toward the water...

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These girls should be familiar, but just in case:
¹ Tara: Tara's a regular character on this blog and Auto-Straddle, and the core of the circle of craigslist. Lives in my hood with Lainy and goes to Columbia and helped me move. Not to be confused with TB, who's first name is also Tara, but it's pronounced Tah-rah.
² Heather: Haviland's girlfriend, duh, and faithful Auto-Straddle humorist. Stage Manager of Altar Boyz and whatever else needs to be managed/taken care of. When she gets off the train she says This is Me! even when no one else is around.

Sunday Top Ten: It's Not What You're Like, It's What You Like

In the old days--like whenever "Little House on the Prairie" and "Great Expectations" happened, or um, "I Know Where the Red Fern Grows"--people knew people. If I lived in the Great Plains in the 1590s or whenever, I would know all about my friends' families, religious backgrounds, vocations, relationship statuses and economic situations. Also I'd know if they were a king, queen, serf, pauper, butler, knight, etc. Now--like whenever "The Audacity of Hope" and "Shampoo Planet" happened--I'll know if someone prefers Diet Coke over Diet Pepsi before I know if they have any siblings.

During Kim's weekend in NYC, she experienced many exciting things. The most exciting thing, I'm sure, was being assaulted for topics, and, subsequently, items, for the Sunday Top Ten. I feel like it might be like that to hang out with Ira Glass. He's probably like "stories on this theme! stories on this theme!" So obvs I asked her for ideas about every 10 minutes, which means, Coley, I know where you buy your underwear. (I wish there was a better word for "underwear." Because "panties" sounds gross, like Rex Manning asking "What color are your panties?" But "underwear" sounds clinical, and "underpants" sounds like "billy, put on your underpants, stop scaring the little girls!")

Also, it's Tuesday, not Sunday. That's kinda funny, I think. Like, surprise!

SUNDAY TOP 10: IF YOU DON'T KNOW THESE TEN THINGS ABOUT YOUR FRIEND, YOU SHOULD ASK YOURSELF, "ARE WE REALLY FRIENDS? OR IS HE JUST A DUDE I FOLLOW AROUND AND TAKE PHOTOS OF?""


10. Underneath Her Clothes....Boy-Shorts, Thongs, Briefs, V-String, Bandeau?
I know which style of underthings my friends select for everyday, formal and/or gym-wear. This is because my friends and I are all beautiful, and we like to make love together in big hills of whipped cream. Sometimes I know special details, like that [redacted] prefers Conway and that [redacted] prefers boy-shorts that say silly things on them from the Victoria's Secret Pink Line, and we both heart J-Lo's line and totally stocked up in the Pennsylvania Wal-Mart on our way through town several eons ago. To the left, to the left, you can see that Lo and I are wearing matching underpants. You might also notice that her ass is somewhat perfect. But that's not really the point.

9. Mac or PC:
This is pretty easy. I don't have any friends with PCs. If you are reading this, and you think you are my friend, and you have a PC, well, then you are not really my friend. If you'd like to defend yourself, please read this: it's your side, and I found it to be dashing and witty, so much so that I posted an excerpt below. TB sent it my way. She has a PC. Which is why we aren't friends. Also? I was really surprised to discover Melaina had a PC, I totally pegged her as a Mac person. But I respect her decision.

"PCs have charm; Macs ooze pretension. When I sit down to use a Mac, the first thing I think is, "I hate Macs", and then I think, "Why has this rubbish aspirational ornament only got one mouse button?" Losing that second mouse button feels like losing a limb. If the ads were really honest, Webb would be standing there with one arm, struggling to open a packet of peanuts while Mitchell effortlessly tore his apart with both hands. But then, if the ads were really honest, Webb would be dressed in unbelievably po-faced avant-garde clothing with a gigantic glowing apple on his back. And instead of conducting a proper conversation, he would be repeatedly congratulating himself for looking so cool, and banging on about how he was going to use his new laptop to write a novel, without ever getting round to doing it, like a mediocre idiot."
-the PC guy in Britan

Still, I just don't get it. I mean, Macs are just cooler. Actually, Cameron coincidentally e-mailed me this afternoon to tell me about the first big event in her and Jay's road from engagement to marriage: the purchase of a beautiful i-mac for their cozy apartment.

8. Bag-Stock
I know I can depend on Natalie to always have 8 to 36 ounces of water in her gigantic sack of insanity (sometimes she whips a laptop out of that thing, or like, an entire outfit or a pair of shoes, she's like a magician). She's also been known to cart around a jug of water so large that I wonder if she intends to empty it into a shallow pool and do some laps. Krista usually has some sort of ecologically responsible lip gloss handy, Hav always has gum (as does Heather. They also both have TMJ) . People can depend on me for a selection of reading materials, eyeliner, a pen, and a sweaty sports bra. And a Push-Pop, if they so desire.

7. Subway Past-times
I am very serious about my battle gear. She said it like this, and I agree, I too don my :

"don't fuck with me" gear (iPod, book, journal)--tokens of hermit tendencies, alarming others to the fact I don't care to be bothered."

I got my boots on. My music: opera if I'm reading something complicated, shuffle if I'm reading something light where the words won't distract me. I've got a movie in my mind, and for y'all--yes, you too, man with the speech about the missing limbs and the starving children, etc, yes, I will give you money on the street, I will donate to places that help you, but don't fuck with me on the subway, dude, it's illegal for a reason, that reason is that it's annoying as hell---it's a silent film. The orchestra is my ipod. Krista listens to audio-books, but usually in the morning she devours "The New York Times"; she folds it into thirds, and then halves, and then reads the Opinion page first. She takes these little paddles of newsprint home with her and leaves them everywhere, and I love her. Lo reads or listens to music, but never both at the same time--the music, she says, is enough. I find that's often the case with musicians or dancers--the rest of us don't pay as much attention as we ought to.

6. Soda of Choice
The best part of waking up for Haviland is the crack and fizz of her first Diet Dr.Pepper. Krista drinks Diet Coke--although she scrunches up her face in utter repulsion when I suggest purchasing low-fat versions of things like butter ("fake butter," she calls it) or cheese ("fake cheese"=krista's definition) or when I turn down a scone. I've mentioned in various essays about body image (every young feminist writer will ink her pen for one of these suckers at some point) that I know which of my friends drink Diet Coke vs. regular Coke. I of course enjoy the latter, because I don't want to die of aspertime cancer. I am already really pushing it (it=cancer) with my lungs and skin.

5. What Medications They Take
There's a few ways to figure this out. The dead-giveaway is reading labels smacked on the plethora of orange bottles stored in the outer pockets of their messenger bag. During "when I was a kid" convos, if your friend mentions depression, eating disorders, drug addictions, abusive relationships, closeted homosexuality, voices in their head, jail time, or alcoholic parents--it's likely they're taking a pill for that now. If they aren't, they're likely to mention that pretty early on, too. The quickest way: go to the bathroom, and open the medicine cabinet. For friends who live in glorified Manhattan closets without medicine cabinets, check out the dresser: on top, or in the first drawer. Also, sometimes people are complaining about side effects like being fat and not horny, so that's a good way. You know, just go backwards. But honestly, most people would like to talk about their Lexapro. Because they're just so happy to have it!!!!

4. Online Habits
Some people are on AIM all the time, but never really ON it (like they can't actually talk, their computer just "signs them on"). Some people check myspace every 10 minutes. Some check myspace every day. I have friends who know more about MY friends than I do: they are tracking the movements of my Top 12 (relationship status, suggestive-comment count, new drunk-party photos) while I am, you know, writing this goddamn thing. I am not any of those people. I am the person who goes on AIM to proccess specific drama with Haviland and then gets irritated if anyone else attempts to contact me. Which is why I have like 10 email addresses and 5 AIM names.

3. Common Anxiety
If I've just "accidentally" spent $150.00 of non-existent money (aka "Visa money" aka "magic money") at Victoria's Secret Semi-Annual Sale when I was supposed to be doing final edits on an essay for a journal to further my hypothetical "career," I'm gonna text Krista. If I just discovered someone else is publishing a book that reminds me of the one I'm writing and I'm camped outside her door, hurling softballs coated in Neruda at her windows, I'm gonna text Haviland and if I just put a grapefruit on my credit card, that's one for Natalie.

2. Cell Phone Company
I had AT+T from the beginning of cell-phone time, until a weekend in New York City resulted in a $350 phone bill. Now I have Sprint. I got it because my boyf at the time had Sprint, now I honestly like my Sprint-using friends much better than the rest of my friends. There's a special place in my heart for y'all: Mary, Katy, Kim, Lewis, Scot (the boyf-at-the-time Sprint user), Rachael, whoever. I never pay my phone bill because they charge me for dumb shit. They keep calling me and making idle threats. I'll know right away if you have Sprint--the first option when you text me will be to call you, which I will always do accidentally but end before you notice, I think. Also people who have T-Mobile are always really smug about it, like they got invited to some secret club where Catherine Zeta Jones personally services all the customers with a lap dance while they are fed God-Nectar through gold tunnels of love by their Top 5. Cingular has bad reception in NYC, and verizon people are always on the phone with Verizon.

1. Hair-Care and Eye-Care
I think I'm the only person on earth who doesn't wear contacts and doesn't consider washing my hair to be a serious and special activity. I once believed the "tell him you have to wash your hair" joke (re: when a man you don't like asks you out) was 100% joke, but it turns out that for many women, washing their hair is, in fact, a legitimate hobby. As in "I can't go out until I wash my hair" or "Let me call you after I wash my hair" or "Before you take those naked photos of me, please let me wash my hair." I wash my hair every day, otherwise it gets greasy. Which might be because I put grease in it to counteract it's Jewish habits (frizz, fro, etc) (Biosilk, it's a miracle). But anyhow. I actually have contact solution at my house because it's um, useful. Because after we take off our thongs and roll around in giant tubs of cherry Jello and brush one another's hair, sometimes the ladies want to spend the night.

I Love the Subway, Unless I Forgot To Put on Deodorant

I cried on the subway about 15 times last week. (Yes, that's twice a day, which makes me like, an America's Next Top Model contestant.) I cried on the subway just about every time I got on the subway, and sometimes continued crying while exiting the subway, still clutching my tear-and-peanut-butter stained copy of "The Lovely Bones" (Alice Sebold), which opened with the murder of a 14-year-old girl (15 pages) and continued to describe the family's life in the aftermath of said murder, narrated by the protagonist, who was looking down from heaven (313 pages of grief, grief, death, grief, grief, breakdown and the occasional respite for "happiness in the face of grief, death, sadness and breakdown"). Now I've moved on to "Name all The Animals" (Ali Smith) which opens with the death of the author's 18-year-old brother (10 pages) and is currently dealing with that grief and aftermath thing. Both of these books are beautiful and amazing so I am willing to accept suicidal thoughts in order to witness their beauty, and Heather has promised me that I will do less crying (rather than more crying) as "Name all the Animals" continues.

I prefer the subway over the cars we used in The Rest of the World specifically because I like to read while I shuffle from one Devastatingly Important Event to Another, but sometimes I'd like to duck into my car and change my shoes, or fix my eyeliner, or eat a sandwich, or, you know, cry.

Not like I would read while I drove (usually). But like: this is a barely-sensical-blog, not "This American Life," in which the opening scene blends seamlessly into the topic of the day, so really, the point is that if you want to cry for whatever reason, you'll probably need to wait 'til you get home, and by then you may no longer want to cry, because maybe you've decided to focus on your "life" instead of the life of "characters" in a "novel." Also there are no teenagers in my life, let alone dead teenagers. Because on the train and in the city, there are always people watching you. The Hills have Eyes.

We don't have a lot of easy privacy in NYC except in the bathroom, and even then, sometimes not. Like if you don't go to an office every day or if you work at Ally McBeal. Or sometimes even at home, like in crack dens, like the one I heard about on "This American Life," where everyone just went on the floor or in buckets. Gross, right? That's why you shouldn't do crack. Ta-dah!

Applying Deodorant: Does it matter if the thirteen thousand strangers at the intersection see me go for an under-jacket stealth deodorant swipe? Krista and I had dinner on Monday at the West Side Diner and this old woman with lipstick smeared all over her face sat down and yelled "Where's my waiter?" about thirty times, and there are homeless people singing along to LL Cool J on beatboxes in the median all the time, so really, what's a deodorant swipe? I don't know. Somehow I can't do this unless I am buffered by a friend who can certify, by their presence, that I am indeed a sane person, albeit one who forgot to put on deodorant and is now stuck with a corner-deli sample-sized stick of something awful like Ban.

Singing: I just feel like the quality of my life could improve by about 15% if I had just 10 minutes a day to scream along to "Because of You" (Kelly Clarkson), "My Junk" (Spring Awakening), "Irreplaceable" (Beyonce), "Fidelity" (Regina Spektor) and occasionally a little "Build me up Buttercup" (Temptations) or "To Be With You" (Mr. Big) action. Also my favorite part of going home for the holidays is being able to belt "All I Want For Christmas Is You" (Mariah Carey) while re-circling the parking lot at Twelve Oaks Mall and trying to stay Zen when customers with asses wider than my car are taking all eight days of Hannukah to back out of their parking space.

Re-application of makeup: Because I like to pretend like I don't wear any (except lip gloss and eyeliner) and because I scorn the girls with compacts on the train, I'd really like to do this in private. The Bloomingdales bathroom is not private and the Barnes and Noble bathrooms have crabs and gooey babies in them. Oddly enough, the best place in the city to apply makeup, as I learned from Stephanie, is in Sephora. You don't even have to use your own, and all rules of public etiquette and sanitation are giddily thrown out the window in favor of untethered access to Stila Smoky Eye Palette and DuWop Lip Venom.

Writing in my journal: Maybe if I stopped reading other peoples journals over their shoulders and trying to imagine what their lives might be like, I'd spend less time worrying that they were reading mine. Again--total stranger, why should i care? I have no idea. I just know that I do. Also, obviously I realize the irony in this statement, considering what i am doing right now.

Drinking: Drinking in public spaces is not only unseemly, it's illegal. Where is one to pre-party if one must go straight from non-drinking-event to drinking-event without stopping at home or at a friends home (two things which are far easier in The Rest of the World) and without taking a quick shot in one's car or in the backseat of a friend's car before heading inside? And am I the only one still convinced she can save massive amounts of money by insisting on pre-gaming every drinking-event she attends?

Drinking and driving is bad, obvs, and I'm not advocating such behavior. (Though I admit that, in September of 01, I often took a few generous gulps of Mad Dog 20-20 at the last three intersections before reaching my place of employment, The Macaroni Grill, because I was dating a boy there who made me nervous. (Kids: don't try this at home. Or in your car. Or on the train.) However the stuff didn't kick in til I was already safely in uniform and carrying several heavy plates of lasagna. Also I really waitressed better while intoxicated, because it helped dull the pain of having to collect and submit 14,000 'Create Your Own Pasta' forms and have discussions about the zany-ness level of my tie.)

Everyone who knows me is aware of the juice-and-vodka trick (drinking 25% of a bottle of juice, filling the remainder with vodka and then drinking it on the subway and the street with abandon), but even that is problematic when you have no-place to create the mixture to begin with, because like, are you really gonna bring a pre-mixed bottle with you to work at 9am? Who's thinking about drinking that early in the morning? Not me. Actually, this section is making me wistful for Riese circa 2006, who drank a lot more than 2007 Riese. Actually, I take that back. Perhaps crouching in a dark doorway to pour vodka into a juice bottle was not the high-point of my life. Though I'd argue that Natalie, Annie and I pouring vodka into juice cups at "Naked Boys Singing!" (Heather has a side gig stage managing these folks, which is why we were there, it made us squeal and made me feel homosexual) was the high point of my life, for sure. Aside from when Natalie and i consumed a 6-pack of Amstel Light in a cab between her place and Williamsburg two summers ago. Like me, she's always on the verge of bankruptcy/nervous breakdown, so she understands how much better this is than actually drinking at the event itself.

The other trick I know of is the Sofia Coppola champagne. It comes in cans that makes it look like red bull. You can drink them openly on the street and no one will know a thing.

Eating: My Mom always told me to do onto others as you would like them to do onto you. I would like for others to not eat anything on the subway unless it is completely scent-free. E.g. a Zone bar, a bag of nuts or dried fruit, a piece of bread, candy. But do I want to smell your sandwich? Do I want to smell your BARBECUE CHICKEN WINGS? No. No, I don't. And carrying a McDonald's bag onto the train is like carrying a Pandora's Box of every fast food smell to ever exist in the city onto the train and leaving it there, including the smell of stale coffee and gooey babies. I love the guys who totally sit all hunched over taking up as much space as possible to extend the gigantic girth of their Subway sandwich wrapper across their outstreatched egs and eat with little shredded lettuce bits falling everywhere. Really Papi?

Changing Clothes: I used to do a lot of quick changes in my car, especially between work/gym/school/home/out. Cameron's office became a good place to do quick-changes, especially when she got that full-length mirror. But now that I no longer work there regularly, I must dress to impress for a three p.m. interview, even if I'm following it up with an evening of lying on Haviland's couch. Luckily she'll let me borrow sweatpants. I can't carry this shit around with me, I'm not He-Man.

Checking to See if Your You-Know-What Has Started: This might seem gross, and that's because it is. But considering the amount of scrotum-coverage as of late, I feel this is actually quite vanilla.

The Morning After: Oh NOTHING beats the joy of the morning-after subway ride. There is no decency of retreating to private cars, or even sharing a car in which case one person is driving and therefore has divided focus. Nope! There you are, in a public place with someone you don't interact much with in public, but, as of 24 hours ago, you have a very intimate and private knowledge of. You realize you don't know if they drink coffee. You can be seeing someone for a while before your first morning after, because I don't do sleepovers, for example (using me as an example). Also I don't like talking on the subway really, I prefer to read. One time I asked Lewis (my brother, pervs!) if he would care if I read while we traveled on the subway and he was like "Um...Yeah!" And I was like "oh...hm."

Really though, this applies to all morning after subway rides, not just "morning after" subway rides: As your stop nears (after you've inevitably asked "What's your stop again?" thirty times if it happens to be someone you don't know that well), even if you are having a fight that will lead to divorce or a breakup or a discussion verging on the brink of a marriage proposal--when their stop comes, convo OVER. You have no control over this. You are at the whim of the subway engineer, your fate in his fast or slow hands. Because people will stay an extra 10 minutes at your house to finish a discussion or a fight or a confession but people will not, under any condition, suffer the unbearable consequences of taking the subway even 1 moment away from exactly where it JUST WAS if that place happens to be YOUR STOP, and GOD FORBID you should encounter the worst nightmare ever, which is if you actually RIDE ALL THE WAY TO THEIR STOP. When the discussion is over that means you must exit the subway at THE WRONG STOP, and, in some cases, you must actually exit the station, cross the street, and attempt to get back onto the subway going back towards your stop.

I mean, you may as well stand outside their apartment naked with a boom box blasting Sting. I mean, you basically ARE STING.

Also it's important that when you get off the subway during the middle of an awkward conversation that you announce to the car "THIS IS ME!" which, for some reason that we are unaware of, means "this is my stop." heather is demonstrating in the photograph.

The L Word: Season Four, Epsiode One

Hey Automatic Losers, "The Sunday Top Ten," which this week is composed by Natalie Raaber with some minor assistance from Marie Lyn Bernard, will appear tomorrow at some point. Because we all know that "Sunday Top Ten" means "Monday Top Ten." Just like if I say 'I'll meet you at 6:30' you know that means 'I'll meet you at 7:15.'

Anyhow, for all interested parties.....

The L Word Season Four, Episode One: Legend in the Making:
Some Moments, Some Screencaps, Some Brief Foreplay, Some Lesbians, Some Strais, Some Quotes, Some Jenny Moments and Some Kittisms

Tonight we went to the Premiere Party for the Info-mercial for "OurChart.com" (which I mentioned I was intensely excited about already), starring actresses Leisha Hailey, Mia Kirshner and Rachel Shelly. We were confused that the infomercial seemed to suggest it was more of a forum to organize the notches on one's belt than for lesbians to honestly network with one another. I'm going to be optimistic that it's really about the latter, because we shot some great pics of ourselves tonight that would be really good on our OurChart page. I can't wait. Really, I can't, I've been checking it about every ten seconds.

ARSON! ARSON!

Sorry. I just had to mention that. I think it's a good thing to say. And bang some furniture while you're at it.

Also, they screened these little clips from "The L Word," which is supposed to be about The Way That We Live. I know that because they didn't change the opening song.

Our goal at the party was to get photographed for GoNYC Magazine or for Curve, and within 30 seconds of our entourage's arrival (Me, Haviland, Sherri, Maggie, Natalie, Jessie, Annie, Lainy), dressed in red, as we pre-planned, we were totally photographed. The girl who photographed us had really nice breasts.

I'll have photographs of this event within the next 2-3 days, depending on how fast Heather (post-party photographer) and Sherri (premiere-party photographer) get their acts together. I admit this event did make me very emotional and happy, just to see all of these gay women and allies in the same room with characters they could look to and cheer for and feel for and lust after, that there is a forum for these stories, even if they are stories as poorly told as 90210 told the stories of teenagers in high school. It's still great, to be in that room, and to feel that energy. Precious Moments, y'all.

There were a lot of cute girls there though most of them were my friends or they had girlfriends or both. Anyhow going to lesbian events always makes me feel super gay (side note: seeing "Naked Boys Singing" also made me feel super gay), so we'll start out this show at a Kinsey 6.

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"This is how much I love you guys. I'm like, rolling my eyes already."
-Heather, who so gamely came over for the post-party viewing of the 10pm episode although the show, as it stands, is not necessarily her favorite.

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Lesbian Squabble #1: Can You Hear Me Now?
In the Ring:Tina V. Jenny, Alice, Helena, Max and Kit.
Content/Result: The Gals want Bette to know that no one can take her baby away from her, so they have all gathered round to leave her a voice mail telling her to come home. This will for sure work without a doubt. Tina wants the Gals to know that "if she's not in L.A by the time I get back, I will call the police and she will NEVER see Angelica again." We all know Tina will win, but the real winner is Alice, because when Tina busts in and rips out her waterfall (not the kind of waterfalls with dead mirages in them, the other kind) of haterade, Alice is like "Bette, now she's definitely not gonna come home" since Tina left that little Moment of Hate on the Intervention Voice Mail.

"Look at their cool luggage!"
-Sherri

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Shane Wins the Wet T-Shirt Contest
This is when Shane comes out of the sea because she used to be a Mermaid, but then Ursula gave her feet because floating around you don't get too far, legs are required for jumping, dancing, and walking around on on those, what's that word again? FEEET

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Lesbian Squabble #2: Last Night a DJ Saved my Life
In the Ring: Max and Jenny
Content/Result: Max totally loses. Jenny says she doesn't forgive Shane for leaving Carmen, especially cause Alice spent all that time planning the wedding and Helena spent a "small fortune" on it (and Jenny managed to get laid by a cute French girl, but whatevs), but Max said he would forgive Shane and Jenny should too. Why? Why is not a good question to ask when it comes to Max. Because Max is stupid.

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Keep Reading and Comment On "Legend in the Making" on the Automatic Straddle Blog....

The Revolutionary Language: Clichè is the New Original

What We Talk About When We Talk About Talking¹

Ira-Glass Style:
Act One: Totally Unrelated To The Rest
Act Two: Things I Shouldn't Say
Act Three: Things We Do Say, Because We Should, The Fairly Specific Cultural Reference Edition

Also Included: Photographs from New Years Eve Weekend 2006-07 at Chez O'Donnell in Vermont, in Which We Did Not Ski, but We Played with Ski Gear, Etc.


Act I

Heather, who was so kindly lookin' out for the blog, spotted this useful list of "The Worst Lubes for Anal" (I assume this appeared on a bathroom wall of some sort, or perhaps in the locker rooms at Equinox?) and picture-mailed it on over to me. Having no experience in such matters (Anonymous Commenter: this is sort of your field of expertise, right? Go for it: What are the best lubes for anal?), I'd just like to say: Simmer on This.

This is what gets me, BTW: That "FUCK" in the upper left hand corner. Like, was someone reading this and thought "Dammit, I knew dish soap was a crappy idea! FUCK!" and then felt inclined to scrawl this sentiment on the adjacent wall-space? Building a mystery, y'all.

Unrelated Photograph #1 from Vermont New Years Eve '06-7
(L to R) Me, Heather, Haviland

Act II

Gawker is literally stealing words out of my mouth. They sort of do this thing where they declare something "over" about 10 seconds before everyone else does, and it's very hard to keep abreast of these things, like I am that donkey and they are the carrot and the carrot is "cool," and this year once again I almost made the resolution to eat more healthy (e.g., carrots) but then realized that was dumb and probably would just make me feel bad about myself when I went back to Eggo Waffles. And let's be honest here; obviously I feel bad enough as it is about my hypocritical behavior in the field of "General Health and Well Being." (on one side I have my exercise habits, on the other side I have the rest of my life).

Anyhow, first there was the whole douche-bag thing, which really hit hard because I had just recently incorporated that term into my lexicon (Which I guess is their point).

A quick moment of Stephen Dunn:
"I love the good home
cliches can find in an authentic voice."

Then in December they did this "blog cliche" thing, which included the following cliches that I use a lot:

BEST. [ultimate thing or experience]. EVER.
Huh...I thought that had already passed the saturation point, floated over the backlash, and was now sitting nicely in the post-backlash pool of okay-for-irony terms. Or maybe that's just in my universe, which is full of donkeys.

Unrelated Vermont New Years Eve Photograph #2.
(L to R) Me, Haviland, Me, Haviland

LOL, OMG, BTW, etc.: Sigh. Every OMG or LOL to ever be uttered (or, rather, typed) was in irony. So, you know, whatever. I never used it in earnest, therefore I can use it ironically forever. (Who am I talking to? Gawker? Myself? Why am I defending myself to myself?)

Seriously? Seriously?!!
Okay, um, seriously? What if I wrote an article for Food.Com or something about "food cliches"? "If I have to eat one more hamburger between two slices of bread, that'll be it for me and 'eating' altogether." "Enough of this 'sticking forks into pieces of pasta and using the fork to insert the pasta into your mouth, guys, if you are going to chain me to a chair and force me to eat, let's find a new way to do it." You can't deem "seriously?" uncool. That's like deeming "really?" uncool. Which it might be. Whatevs.

[x] is the new [y]
Again, I think those of us who have never used it in earnest can continue to use it for all of time. I think "x is the new y" is the new "x is the new y." Ugh, my head hurts.

The other cliches, e.g., "I just threw up a little bit in my mouth," "[any word] gasm" and "[x], oy"--I am not guilty of such things. Whoever is guilty of those things is less cool than I am.

Act III: How We Talk Now, Specific Cultural References

Did I mention that my brain hurts? This is what I think: the only truly acceptable lingo is that which is so old (aka My So-Called Life, When Harry Met Sally) or so niche (aka The L Word) that it is either years past the saturation point or marginalized enough that it is not in danger of being Already Over.


Angela Chase
Origin: My So-Called Life.
Meaning: Used to describe someone who is analyzing everything until it barely even exists.
Usage: "I don't mean to be Angela Chase, but do you feel like if he really liked me, he'd probably call me by now, and I know that it's only been like 10 hours, but I just think there were some things he said last night, like especially about his ex-girlfriend, and i know it's possible he could be at work or his phone could be dead or whatever but I also feel that ... etc, etc ..."

Standing in Line at Duane Reade
Origin: Duane Reade is the closest thing I know to hell on earth and has notoriously long lines. Although, you know what? Rite-Aid is worse. It just doesn't sound as good.
Meaning: Something unfathomably but insidiously unbearable. E.g waiting in line while two employees are hanging out doing nothing by the Tums and the cashier is doing her nails.
Usage: "I'd rather stand in line at Duane Reade than see The DaVinci Code."

Unrelated Vermont New Years Eve Photograph #3:
Heather, Me.

Rex Manning Day
Origin: In Empire Records, the kids are all riled up because Rex Manning is coming to make a store appearance, and so they all have to be on their best behavior, make the store look nice, and basically act like assholes/kiss-asses.
Meaning: Making a place/environment artificial for the benefit of someone you don't actually even really like, but for some reason have to impress.
Usage: "The Regional Manager is coming in today so we all have to be in perfect uniform and be sure to actually present the wine list at every table, basically it's Rex Manning Day."

Going-Down-on-Dana-Fairbanks
Origin: In Season One of The L Word, the girls head to the Dinah Shore weekend as friends of the Now-Departed Dana Fairbanks, Lesbian Tennis Star. However, Dana is snatched up at the door by her gushing fan and "guest liaison" Tanya, who later succeeds in getting Ms. Fairbanks into bed. While they are getting it on, Tanya exclaims: "I can't believe I'm about to go down on Dana Fairbanks!"
Meaning: Sleeping with you is like realizing a long-standing dream. (see also: "starfuckers")
Usage: "OMG, she's so obsessed with you if you hooked up it would totally be a like she was going down on Dana Fairbanks."

Unrelated Vermont New Years Eve Photograph #4:
(L to R) Tara, Heather, Me

"I Must Pass"
Origin: The Form Rejection Letter from the Lit Agency, which goes something like this: "Though I enjoyed the premise of your story, unfortunately the action did not keep me glued to the page. I must pass." or "I found your subject matter timely and interesting, but unfortunately I didn't feel the stakes were high enough for your characters. I must pass."
Meaning: I'm gonna be really nice about totally rejecting you.
Usage: "Though I found your attempts at conversation and cunnilingus inspiring, I didn't feel your personality really maintained my interest past the first 5 minutes of our night together. I must pass."

Far Rockaway
Origin: Far Rockaway is the last stop on the A train.
Meaning: Those parts of the MTA map that look particularly lonely, e.g those accesible only by one subway line which doesn't run on weekends.
Usage: "You're moving to Kew Gardens? Where the hell is that, Far Rockaway?"
"I could've taken the bus to Far Rockaway in the amount of time it took my cab to go five blocks during rush hour."

Unrelated Vermont New Years Eve Photograph #5:
(L to R) Sherri, Haviland, Me.

Zach Morris
Origin: Zach Morris, protagonist of popular television program 'Saved by the Bell'
Meaning/Usage: We're all familiar with the "Zach Morris phone," that's basically 'already over' and refers to a large cell phone.
Other usages include "The Zach Morris Time Freeze" (which is what you want to do when you wish you could just like, stop your conversation, make the entire room freeze, and talk to the camera until you get your feelings sorted out) and "Zach Morris Hair," which is essentially a really bad haircut, like the one Zach Morris has on the left.

Sally Albright
Origin: The Sally of "When Harry Met Sally"
Meaning: Used to describe women who "think they are low maintenance but are really high maintenance" and/or women who order everything on the side and sub ingredients, modifying their dish until it bears no resemblance to it's original appearance on the menu.
Example: "You totally just pulled a Sally Albright on that grilled chicken salad."

"You're So Beautiful, it Hurts to Look At You."
Origin: I believe Rickie was the first to say it, and he said it on My So-Called Life.
Meaning: This is pretty much the best compliment. Best. Compliment. Ever.

The Suicide of Kurt Cobain
Origin: Kurt Cobain, a Legend for his Music and his Flannels and his Suicide.
Meaning/Usage: Used by Generation X/Yers to mock our politically comfortable childhoods.
E.G. "Yeah, I was real awkward in junior high, like fat and I wore a lot of black and spent all night on the phone crying about Kurt Cobain."
"I haven't felt this depressed since Kurt Cobain killed himself."

More photographs to be inappropriately inserted at a later juncture.

¹ The title of a short story by Raymond Carver, and subsequently the title of one of his most famous story collections.