Showing posts with label my writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label my writing. Show all posts

Thursday, July 02, 2009

Relief Next to Me or "Sorry I’m just revisiting this now."





I am not sure if all of these sentences have periods at the end of them or if the words are correct but maybe an intern could copyedit it for me jk no but srsly.

I just had a really incredible weekend. And I was excited for it. I'm still excited & charmed by the web of cyber-intern-love we've woven. The context was ideal because the point -- really, truly the point -- of autowin -- was to get to autostraddle. I couldn't -- can't -- keep on like I was on here forever.

I should tell you that the point of my life was to get to the writing, the point of the writing was never to get to my life.

But the point of the work -- the knowledge, the community, the material itself, and the conversations -- the point of the work was to get to the magazine. And here it is.

See back then it was exactly like being naked. Perhaps you also felt naked but really at best you were like a censored movie on teevee -- all blur and suggestion and hope -- you were just the idea of nakedness and I was open and cold like a pitted grapefruit.

When we were 15 my friend Andrew wrote a poem about heartbreak and it opened like this and employed alternative lifestyle formatting: You have dug me out / with grapefruit spoons / and I am left as only the shell of me, / like a rotten peanut / salty and compromised.

You knew things about me and then there we'd be at a party or a restaurant, like the worst places on earth to talk to anyone about anything real, like we were people from the middle ages transported into Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure. And on top of that, we were generally people all too aware of that particular obstacle but somehow braving it just the same.

And I felt like you wouldn't like me if you met me.
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See there's two memememees: let's say one of them is Riese and the other is autowin. Autowin is the writer part. It's weird to give that part the name "autowin" because autowin is a new/knew name and the writer-part of me is the oldest part of me. But whatever. I'm writing this so I make the rules.



Autowin is scared a lot and doesn't want anyone else around. She writes this blog but doesn't talk to people. She's somewhat incapable of interacting with normal society because she finds strip malls fundamentally ridiculous and organized professional sports somewhat baffling and nuclear families hopelessly boring and outdoor barbecues where straight people hold drinks close to their waists and talk about rooms or decorations they're planning to add on to their house to be sort of embarrassing and sad even though everyone at the barbecue is smiling and happy and full of confident, flowy energy.

She is openly convinced that everyone she knows may undergo a metamorphosis and become Old Navy overnight, and so she does not depend on them to ever join her revolution, which is a disorganized revolution anyhow and often drunk.

She has trouble with phone calls and friendship and employers. She likes to smoke just about anything and doesn't think anyone gets her and there's very little anyone could do to prove otherwise but if you can convince her that you do get her, she sometimes falls straight lickity-split in fucking love with you.

Her sexuality is not incredibly relevant, it's just another kind of nakedness or aggression, depending.

There's been a handful of people who knew the "autowin" personality as she exists in normal everyday life. None of them are people I see or speak to regularly right now. I don't know if that's good or bad, it just ... is.

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So I'm used to being separate from the writer person, it's what I've always done. Well ... I think when you're talking about your feelings and I'm talking to you about your feelings, or about my life, maybe there are flashes of autowin there. But generally she is not a person who talks to people, she is a person dependent on privacy or total understanding, which comes with time, because autowin is scared!

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And even though this weekend I knew I'd be hanging out with people who knew autowin's writing (including some people who primarily knew me through autowin), it was in this other context of Autostraddle -- and THE TEAM!, who you should defo like more than me because they are cooler -- which made me feel safe, and happy, and like everything had come together perfectly ... like I wouldn't be a total weirdo ... like either I'm totally a weirdo who scares people like I scared people when I was younger because I was intense and they had Barbies, or I'm a normal social person which secretly I am totally fine at too.

... not nervous at all, but excited. And in the weeks leading up to it I was wondering why I felt so excited whereas when I knew I'd be meeting people via autowin in the past, I would feel mostly awkward and scared, but ever since Autostraddle started I've loved meeting people. Like I want to talk to people about the future! Maybe because I have one and I am not constantly attempting to obliterate myself or die or tell a really funny joke or something.

Maybe because Autostraddle has a greater purpose, and because it is a business, and so there's something solid to hold on to as human beings. A starting point. We don't have to begin with the meaning of life.

And there was a purpose, and there was a team, and that's one of the reasons why this weekend managed to combine all the things I love about people who love autowin with all the things I love about people and FUN FUN FUN in general.

'Cause sometimes you don't have to talk face to face about how you GET IT to have fun, but you can have fun face-to-face because you GET IT.



So anyhow. It was so beautiful! I have never felt such overwhelming positivity about a group of people before in my life. Seriously it was almost transcendent and in a strange way totally incomparable to any feeling I've ever felt before.

So thank you intern army who came to NYC this weekend and risked getting gay grounded and slept on couches or on top of each other and who fliered madly and walked in the sunshine and said lovely things, thank you alexandra, ashley, daphne, elizabeth, emily, heidi, jessica, katrina, laura, lola, nicole and tirna and to the team for an awesome weekend.

I mean I spent like 50% of the weekend feeling totally sick in one physical way or another and still think it was one of the best weekends of my life, so that says a lot for the power of X's secret stash everyone!

I am proud of everyone, happy to work with these people and be associated with them; alex, brooke, carly, robin, nata, stef -- and also laneia, crystal and tess even though they couldn't be there physically.

I want Autostraddle to be really successful so we can afford to have another party that's longer where we can play Truth or Dare like I suggested ten THOUSAND BAJILLION TIMES as well as strip poker, but what no one knew is I wasn't talking about your clothes, I was talking about your feelings! JK, I'm not a lesbian, I'm a bisexual like T2 (that's my bro-name for Tila Tequila), so all I want in life is for everyone to make out on television with microphones on their butts. I was talking about your clothes! Where was I. Waiting for the parade. Yes!

this photo is called "interns" and it's by robin roemer, obvs

Once we had this idea to take the interns upstate to Alex's cabin and blindfold them and leave them in the woods and whomever came out alive got to transcribe an interview with charlene from "gimme sugar."

Right about that anyhow: I felt safe and not scared or heavy and open and cold like a pitted pit. Like it wasn't just about me and my secrets. It was about all these people together. It was about all the things we actually don't need to lie about when we're around the right people, which are also beautiful things. So I wasn't even nervous like I was to meet people I'd met before via autowin, but excited and already totally comfortable. Which is a good place to start from, especially if one will ever get to autowin.

What I mean is that doesn't mean that like everything is on the table, but everything is DANCING on the table. Make out and wait for the next joke etc. And I had these other people -- which is a technique I've entertained since the start (here, look at my BFF, she's pretty!!! read my words, but dream of her!), only now it has a very concrete form & structure & purpose.

We had a party! We marched in a parade! It was a ridiculously short period of time doing weird things!

I have some things I should say to you, some disappointing things: I don't always remember exactly. I want to have the time to remember, or the capacity to remember. I do get a lot of emails -- not THAT many -- but like, a good 3 or 4 a week, and they are always really full of feelings. I have a hard time responding because I have a hard time feeling important. I don't have a vocabulary for it. I don't want to let you down. I love the emails and I wonder if just saying "thank you" is enough. Like this paragraph already feels weird so

and it's hard to say "your emails make me feel better about my existence" ... and then I feel I cheat you if I don't address, you know, your existence ... or mention that like ... my existence was compromised by this blog in SO MANY WAYS that i didn't/can't talk about. It hasn't been easy. Mostly though i can't talk about it 'cause I can't diminish the positive things it brought! Such things!!! ... and where we are ... and I've tried to fucking structure this goddamn post and I can't. Oh well. Maybe TInkerbell will comment! !!!!! this isa blogtherearenorules look ican write whatever i want POTATO!

Also, it's hard to feel important when everyone around you thinks you should give it up and make some fucking money for once. Money matters, it matters all the time. I want it! 'Cause it's fun and you can give it to other people when they need it too. But I'd rather die than temp 9 hours a day 5 days a week for a paycheck that just barely covers my basic living expenses because if I have no time to write or create things than I might as well be dead. You know? I'm convinced by something greater than all of this that we'll find a way.

Anyhow, those are my feelings. The whole truth is like the story of a wave unfurled, ET-effin'-CETERA.

Tuesday, February 03, 2009

Tuesday Top 25 MeMeMeMeMe

I've got this blog where I've been talking pretty consistently about myself since April of 2006. There's very little I haven't said. So when everyone and their mother and a bag of chips tags me with this "25 Random Facts About Mememememe" meme on Facebook [which, at this point, has already gone from new to neat! to "played out" to publicly despised/spat at to RETRO ... and I dig retro] I think to myself, wtf has Mary Marie Reise Riese Lyn Bernard not already said?

This is IMPOSSIBLE. It took me 25 hours to come up with this stuff. Sorry I've been such a bad blogger, I've seriously been kinda out of my mind trying to do a million web-things at once, do the L Word stuff, and still attempt to pay rent every month somehow, sleep, and yell at my friends. The L Word Recap Episode 603 is HERE though!

I've written so many g-dforsaken words here! It's insane! I should just print it out, collate a coursepack ("Introduction to Generation IDK/WTF 101") and run away to the hinterlands to live off the fruit of the land & sea.

So, as I ponder these 25 unsaid things, Newsflash! Nominations for The Lezzies open today (Feb 2nd --> Feb 9th) and this year they've expanded into 8 categories and adopted a new voting system. Last year you may remember I came in second place for Best Lesbian Blog of 2007 and Dorothy Snarker beat my ass for first.

I promised you I wouldn't yell at you to vote for me for anything ever again, I'm just giving you this information and you can do with it whatever you like ... To nominate and vote please visit http://thelesbianlifestyle.com.

Best Lesbian Blogs in the Following Categories: Culture/Entertainment (autostraddle?), Humor, Parenting/Wedding, Feminism/Political, Personal (cough*me*), 50 and Over, Gender Bender, Sex/Erotica Blog, Overall Lesbian Blog of the Year.

Things I leave out are usually: 1. secrets, 2.mundane, boring details, 3. things I haven't figured out/thought yet, or 4.arbitrarily private. So. This leaves a lot of room for detail -- like picking random days and figuring out what I did that day.


25 Fun Little Random Things I Haven't Already Mentioned on this Blog

update 2:02 AM.
25. my roommate/BFF/"live-in partner" Natalie says: "Bernie [that's what she calls me] has the softest skin of anyone in the world. I've never felt anything like it on human flesh. I mean I think some fabrics might be that soft, but not on human flesh."

24. On my bed right now: Tinkerbell, Ryan (he's a stuffed dog), a gray scarf, TV remote control, my Blackberry, a Pilot very fine point clickie pen, Caitlin's book, BUST magazine, a water bottle, a paper towel, an envelope of stickers and construction paper, a pair of scissors, double-sided tape, a photocopy of a Stephen Dunn essay, my computer and a Pinkberry lid.

23. When a friend or significant other gets me coffee and puts sugar in it, I completely freak out and turn into a raving lunatic. The logic behind this is that if they don't know by now not to put sugar in my coffee then THEY! WILL! NEVER! KNOW ME! And it actually happens all the time, so you can easily deduce that I hate almost everyone.

update 10:39 A.M.
22.
Back in '02, I'd beg all my MacGrill coworkers to give me their Friday night shift (I didn't have the seniority yet to get scheduled Friday nights) week after week -- sometimes even calling everyone to ask if they'd like the night off -- saying that I desperately needed the money. I did, but not desperately. But I knew, desperately, that if I was on campus on Friday night, everyone would see what a loser I was with no-place to go & no friends. But! If I was WORKING then I wouldn't feel totally socially awkward & self-loathing.

21. It was April, I think, 2006, when two cops were at the door with badges. After a lot of back-and-forth, I told them I'd seen a lot of Law & Order and they couldn't search the place without a warrant and that is how I did not lose any part of my life that day.

20.
The John Mayer song "Comfortable" still makes me cry.

19. A year ago on February 1st I (according to my gmail archives): was writing my first "Stuff I've Been Reading," Tara spent the night, Krista was emailing me lots of stuff about Obama, Haviland sent me an email saying any time I wanted to talk she would talk and I didn't write her back, Stef emailed us the SXSW lineup, Crystal was returning to Sydney from vaycay, Caitlin & I were making plans for brunch w/Tara and computer-purchasing and Caitlin/Haviland/Alex and I were all reply-alling about watching the next episode of The L Word, which turned out, surprisingly enough, to suck.

update: 11:05 am

18.
All shoes give me blisters. Yup, all of 'em. Even after wearing the same Doc marten boots for three years, I must wrap my feet in moleskin first.

17.
I get really offended when I gift someone a Stephen Dunn book and they don't read it straight away/ever. It's poems, how hard is it to just read the poems?

16.
I wear eyeliner because when I'm not wearing eyeliner I look in the mirror and see my Dad.

15. I love America's Most Wanted (the teevee show).

update - 3:21 pm

14. If I could do only one thing for the rest of my life, it would be "play trivia games."

update- 4:38 pm

13. Inspired by the teevee show Friends (this is 1995 I'm talking about) my friend Kristyna and I started frequenting a short-lived coffee shop called "Not Another Cafe" (on South U in Ann Arbor), declaring it our "official hangout," and went there after school 3-4 days a week determined to train ourselves to like the taste of coffee. I started with mochas, then vanilla lattes, and by high school I was a full-fledged coffee addict. I started also taking Vivran (caffiene pills) in '98, overdosed and freaked out that December, and swore off caffeine for the next eight months.

Since going back to coffee in September of '99, I have not gone even one day without it.

update. 4:45 pm
12. My longest iChat of all time was about twelve consecutive hours with Carlytron in June '07, before we started really even writing Living it Out. Obvs Team Rebound was also Team Super-Cool and Super-Unemployed.

11. Never before and never since have I been as happy as I was during my senior year of high school. Those were the best days of my life. Except! On the Rosie Cruise. I'm generally that happy on the Rosie Cruise. Clearly I need to be ostracized from society to be happy.

10. Though I tend to think of myself as categorically too insecure to ever go for it, evidence would suggest that when it all comes down to it -- physically, I do make the first move. I think this is more reflective of impulsive curiosity & impatience than it is of bravery. It's that moment when I think "why not?" and "let's just see what happens."

5:11 pm

9. This is the first thing I ever published online and there's a grammatical error in the TITLE! ach! "Goin' to Work: Why Detroit Loves it's championship Pistons and still won't take Jimmy Kimmel's 'joke.'" I think that site is defunct now.

5:57 pm

8. Unless you're actually legitimately poor/broke [like literally & actually, not just in your head or "considering the big picture], I find stinginess to be a big turn-off, no matter how practical it may be. I realize this is a bad attitude but it's just how I feel ... furthermore I could never fall in love with a bad tipper, furthermore I always overtip, furthermore I am poor.

7. In vlogs, the reason I'm always looking at myself/the screen and avoid turning towards Haviland or whomevs even when they're talking to me is because I hate the way my face looks in profile. I prefer the way my face looks with sunglasses!

6.
My Mom promised me $800 upon high school graduation if I managed to make it through without ever drinking or doing drugs. So I didn't, even though all my friends started abandoning DARE principles in 8th grade ... then one night mid-sophomore year I was sleeping over at my friend Lorn's house I had a really bad allergic reaction to her cats, therefore came home the next morning a total mess & passed out on the couch, and my Mom was convinced I had a hangover, was lying about the cats, and I'd broken the pact. But I didn't! So the next week when Lorn was like, "Marie, it's just money, is money more important than having a good high school experience?" I was like, "you are right. Give me some gin rightnow." And so it goes.

update 9:15 pm

5. Natalie suggested I mention that I won't talk about anything involving p**p and freak out when other people want to talk about it. I can't put in the letters there 'cause I don't like to talk about that stuff. I think Lozo has mentioned this about me before though. Right?

4. When I make lists like the "best of" sidebar on autowin I also have a list in my head of my favorite posts I wrote sober [no on 8, dear dad, this girl called automatic weirdo ] my favorite posts I wrote entirely or mostly drunk [tuesday top nothing, if i gave you my number] , and my favorite posts I wrote entirely or mostly on drugs of some kind [we don't want to sleep tonight, live through this, i can't forget what you've forgotten, I Get So City Girl on You] and my favorite post that I wrote drunk and celebrate not for its goodness but for how seriously drunk I was when I wrote it - I Could NEVER Live Here.

3. I'm not telling you "4" to share a random fact about myself for the 25 facts about me meme. I am writing it to disappoint you.

2.
Multiple intimate sources have suggested that for someone who allegedly hates to talk on the phone, I'm pretty good at talking on the phone.

1.
Spiral-bound, Strathmore Drawing pads, size medium.

Monday, January 12, 2009

Sunday Top Ten: I Just Wanna be Good

The key to high self-esteem for Grown-Ups is to craft an adult life composed solely of things you're already good at. I don't feel smarter now than I did at age 13 'cause I AM smarter, I feel smarter now 'cause I'm not spending twenty hours a week staring dumbly at mathematical equations, Spanish verb conjugations and photosynthesis diagrams wondering why I've got chapstick for brains. The second runner up key to high self-esteem is alcohol or cocaine. The third runner up is actual self esteem. I don't know what's wrong with you people, what time did you wake up today?

Top Ten Things I Wanna Be Good At But I'm Totally Not
(some are from the list you made in the comments of what you're good at, those are indicated by an asterisk.)

10. **Grammar -
It's just kinda embarrassing. I've got several years of education on this topic. I wonder if my occasional mistakes make people violent like how I feel when I see apostrophes in plurals. I really get so upset about it, I'm just sick to imagine what it'd be like if you ever looked at ME that way. La la la. Preposition.

9. Dancing
- I secretly love to dance, I'm just bad at it and therefore often avoid it. How do you learn to dance? So far my best strategy's been to get really drunk,'cause then you know I just pick up the beat straight away, it's like magic suddenly I am ready to take baby out of the corner and do that big lift like Swayze-Crazy style.

8. **Sleeping - What a cop-out! I thought seeing "sleeping" as an answer and then I realized no, she is, she's a great sleeper. Her head hits the pillow and she's out, the alarm goes off and she's miserable but up, and I've always been fascinated by those who master this skill I've never -- literally never, not for one moment of childhood even -- possessed. I've generally dated excellent sleepers, sleepers who'll sleep through everything that keeps me up, when I wake up sick, or typing, or not sleeping, or reading or going to the bathroom, getting more water, hunting for chapstick, checking email, thinking thinking thinking thinking. They can snooze away. Haviland's a bad sleeper too, but she wears ear-plugs and wakes up at dawn w/o an alarm.

7. **Writing news stories quickly and efficiently - I am OBSESSED WITH FIGURING THIS OUT. Why? Why do I write so many words? Why are my blog posts so long? Why must I recap every minute if I'm gonna recap a show at all? Why must I be so thorough? What does it mean that I once used David Foster Wallace to justify this behavior and he killed himself this year? It's just I have so! many! thoughts! this is too long.


6. CSS/HTML -- You know that feeling you'd get while doing homework for a class you're bad at -- for me, this was all maths, sciences and languages (by that I mean, "Every class except English") -- a class you're required to take although your brain executes no apparent skill or aptitude for it?

That feeling don't end on graduation day, kids. We've got a kickass programmer now, but there's some things one must attempt to do oneself before one can even tell the designer what to design let alone tell the programmer what to put into code and godDAMN that shit is hard. After I finished my college requirements I thought from here on out, I'll only do shit I'm good at, but no. There's always new opportunities to feel that way, wheee!!


5. **Bullshitting - So I'm working, any job, being paid for something and I'm barely even initiated into the computer system before I begin breaking everything down 'til it barely even exists. I'm at a restaurant and my co-workers are earnestly absorbing information about the specials and I'm analyzing the macro-structure of going out to eat as a luxury commodity, how much food America throws out while in other countries starving children fight over bags of rice, how mealtimes are such an imperative part of family, social and worklife structures, how we've made something so animal totally civilized, and so what if you've got an eating disorder and therefore avoid going out to eat then what do you miss how do people look at you and what if we just talked to each other like real people, why do we agree to accept that the waitress will be nice to earn a tip while we all pretend that she's being nice 'cause she honestly cares, honestly thinks you'll be happier and healthier with Grilled Pork Chops or a soda refill. Well at least this job is better than retail 'cause I honestly do believe that people should eat food, but I don't believe they need a fried appetizer, and this is why it's better for me to just go into business for myself because there's a product I can talk about if it's a passion project and omg DO YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN! I mean don't even get me started on psychoanalyzing all my co-workers, we could be here all night/day/whatevs/shift.

They say "get a job you love and you'll never work a day in your life," I say, "Get a job you love and you'll probs avoid getting fired."

photo by cass bird

4. Letting Go For Reals - I never change, it's just circumstances that fit better. The only thing that ever helped me get over something was to replace it with something better or to run away or to change everything about my life completely so that whatever I'm holding onto wouldn't have a place in it. I did that at 14 and again at 23. Now I just write stuff so I'm not allowed to forget.

3. Remembering Numbers -- I'm severely, severely number retarded, and it makes me look really stupid a lot. I get numbers mixed up, even after months working at the same address I often misdirected deliveries. Despite frequenting the joint, I gave Haviland's address as "3E" in a recent reply-all and, back in '06 when I first started coming over, she'd have to stand outside her door at "2E" to intercept me on my way up.

It's not just numbers, it's symbols too, any kind of arbitrary pattern, I get mixed up. My first year at U-Mich I sent all my mail to the last four digits of my SSN 'cause my actual address was the same sequence with the first two numbers reversed.

I used to chalk this all up to flightiness and an inability to pay attention. But as I grow into the mature blossom of a person that I am, I realize that it's not. I'm gonna start writing shit on my hands again! That worked before. My hands are the softest post-it notes in the world.

2. **Speed-Reading! SPEEEEEDDDD READDDINNNNGGGG!

1. Winning I'm trying to remember if I've ever gotten first place in anything. Every competition I've ever been in, I've never lost -- I've always gotten 2nd place or some kind of semi-finalist position, but never first. From the Ann Arbor Public Library Short Story Contest for Children to the 50-yard-dash to the ARTS Competition to National Merit Scholars to the Hopwood Awards to the Lesbian Blog of the Year. It's good, always placing but never finishing. Gives me something to reach for and a persistent sense of being one step away from greatness, which enables a humility that's quite necessary when one ventures to talk about oneself so much. La-di-da but anyhow you have two more days to vote! Keep voting! Remember we can't let the republicans win, yes we can.

Oh wait! We won the Uh Huh Her SXSW contest. Does that count? I don't know if our competition was even soapbox derby level.

You know what I was thinking about what I really like in a person? I like people who remember things being better than they were, who conveniently forget the hardest parts. I like that and I like good sleepers, and I like chips and ice cream (not together) and lately I've been really into these sandwich cookies that are like Oreos but the filling is sort of pepperminty.

Oh Carly if you've made it this far: IDEAS. You're genuinely good at ideas. Me too.

Saturday, December 06, 2008

Milk. About What. Hot Bloggers. Diaryland. Fear. Hope. Love. Justice. Peace. Heartcore.

i. Annnouncements.
Firstly -- all my feelings about the DOJ in a new autostraddle: She's Done it Again, She's Managed It, Like the Cat, The L Word has Nine Times to Die. Secondly, I got my Hot Blogger Calendar in the mail and it's AWESOME, for reals, and I'm Miss October. If you don't buy one (a bargain at $12, and $2 goes to the autowin fund), you'll probs never know what day it is and then you'll be late for work. If you still have a job.

ii. I gave up my neck for Harvey Milk, and I liked it
We saw MILK last night, you should too. Look at me, I've already seen three movies this year, I've come a long way since 2007, The Year of No Movies (which you may recall was foiled by my evil mother and brother who forced me to see Juno with them, which I could've easily seen in January, but noooo whatevs Marie's Arbitrary Rules for Yourself, this is family time bladiblabla), this year I've already seen Sex and the City: The Movie, Rachel Getting Married and MILK! That's three whole movies!

Despite being on time with tickets in-hand, we were at the back of the line filing in (oh, the Urban gays!), and the only seats left together were front-row seats. I've seen A LOT of movies from the front row since moving here. SATC, Short Bus, The DaVinci Code (not my idea obvs blame Haviland). It's intense up there. Every pore in high-definition.

MILK was, as expected, triumphant and inspiring, depsite the sad ending. It's remarkable, really, the legacy of hatred and fear that plagues the history of humankind absolutely everywhere. I wonder if we're becoming better people, worldwide, or if it's just the same cycle over and over, with bigotry and evil popping up in different contexts in different countries but still, population-wise ... oh, I dunno. I wish this had come out in August, maybe it could've helped us avoid the Same-Sex Setback.

Also! Big man crushes happening right now:

Emile Hirsch as Cleve Jones

James Franco as Scott Smith
++
iii. What is this blog about, anyway?

I'm trying to write an "about me" page. All the other bloggers have 'em, and it's the first place I look when I hit a new spot, and I want to make my blog as new-user-friendly as I possibly can. Howevs, I'm a little stuck. Wtf is my blog about? I mean -- clearly it's about memememememe -- but what else? If you have any thoughts on this topic, please do let me know, I need an objective opinion.

iv. Working On

I'm working on the Top Ten Weirdos of 2008 and a new Stuff I've Been Reading. Just you know, FYI. I've read a lot of stuff!
v. Diaryland
In 2002, my friend Jake told me that Diaryland (the original online journaling site, which didn't offer the interactivity of later applications like livejournal, blogger and wordpress, and therefore remains kind of quaint and perfect) had erased all its inactive journals, e.g., mine. I checked -- indeed, they had. I'd printed out my first two months of diarylanding but the rest was lost.

Sometimes these things happen and I tell myself it's probs better that way, 'cause I need to learn to part with written words. Moving from idea to idea with the baggage of thousands upon thousands of already-written and well-archived words is daunting/haunting. Every blank page is crowded by the feeling I've said this before, already, and the possibility of proof just amps up that suspicion.

Then Krista will point out I've used the phrase "shoulderblades like angel wings" in ten different short stories and I'll realize, yes, my capacity for metaphor is ridiculously finite, I should probs get into Plastics or Nursing.

Anyhow! Last week I learned you can ask Diaryland to recover your diary! So I did, and they did, and it's really interesting to memememe, 'cause though I've got my whole life in journals, I didn't journal much this particular year. When I did, it was mostly about my body and the pain, 'cause that was the year I was first diagnosed with fibro. I don't remember much from this year. It's in my brain like a long dull dorm hallway. It was a strange year. Maybe because it was the most benign year I've ever had.

January 20th, 2001.

I am ruled by fear. In order to deal with these fears, I will list them here:

Fear of never having a boyfriend, fear of the telephone, fear of gaining weight, fear of losing friends across the country, fear of losing my journal, fear of my room catching on fire, fear of complete loneliness, fear of people finding out i'm a bad person, fear of anyone dying (especially if we're on bad terms), fear of being called ugly, fear of Ryan cutting me out of his life, fear of finding out i'm a terrible writer, fear of disability/physical impairment, fear of permanent depression, fear of never seeing my father again, fear of most social situations like parties, really strange crippling fear that when i ask for a "non fat cappuchino" they will accidentally put in whole milk instead of skim, fear of avoiding phone calls/applications/job searches enough that i never do what i want to do, fear of not having money to do anything, fear of being called out for everything i am afraid of.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

Open Letter to The Future: You've Got Your Whole Life to Lose, Let's Auto-win Some!

I have some ideas about the future. Welcome to a special edition of the Carousel of Progress.

So I get it, I read the news, we're apparently facing some kind of worldwide economic apocalypse. This all seems unreal to me, not 'cause I've been immune to its impact -- because trust me, my consistently near-empty pockets are particularly empty these days -- just 'cause the economy is a structure we set up, like ... as humans? Why'd we invent something so crummy, and why can't we take it back, like a broken toaster? "No thanks, we prefer the fire pit after all, works every time?" I'm down to hunt & gather.

I've been thinking about the future because:

a) I've been reading the answers to What's Your Dangerous Idea? ("The history of science is replete with discoveries that were considered socially, morally, or emotionally dangerous in their time ... What is your dangerous idea? An idea you think about (not necessarily one you originated) that is dangerous not because it is assumed to be false, but because it might be true?") the 2006 question posited by the Edge World Question Center to top scientists around the world.

b) Obama, the economy, the environment ... there's been a lot of talk lately about ... well ... what's gonna happen next.

c) I've been trying to think about the future in a real way lately now that I'm actively increasing rather than decreasing the probability that I'll be around for that much more of it. It's freaky, I don't even know if I love time travel anymore! I guess I only like backwards time travel. I just want to churn butter in my Little House on the Prairie, that's my true destiny in life.

I have some ideas about things I would like The Future to consider for our future.

Okay, dear the future here are some things I would like to see:

1. Factory: The Magazine: So OurChart's over, The L Word's almost over, so many magazines & newspapers are vanishing, and I feel many bloggers are losing steam or simply the time to do so much unpaid writing ... I feel now's the time for someone with a good voice -- hopeful but careful, snarky but tender, ridiculously mind-blowingly intelligent, quick, and clever, queer in sensibility, not gay but also not hetero-normative, not women-targeted but mostly women-staffed -- to emerge and start something really new and spectacular that actually takes prior internet-media lessons learned and applies all of them from the get-go. 'Cause here's what we've been left with: the surviving media is either sarcastic or old-school, the failing media ran the gamut but often was twitching for tradition, the mainstream sources remain as they've always been (dumb).

What about something that actually speaks our language? 'Cause we have one, and it's a little bit newer, but also kinda awesome, and valid. It's diverse and expresses itself in every format we can touch or see or find. We are infinite. I drove home listening to some of the songs we listened to those times when we were infinite.

2. I'd like for New York Sports Club to fix at least three of its machines at the 125th & Broadway location, e.g., the clanking ellipticals. The teevee audio & video is out of sync, the magazine rack's a mess, the seat of the ab machine always slides down, that girl in the yellow shorts needs to see an ED specialist and please for the love of G-d get someone at stall #3 in the ladies room STAT.

3. I'd like to finish writing this novel, or at least 50,000 words of it, by the end of the month of November.

4. It'd be neat to see a smooth transition from Obama's eighth year to Hillary's first, almost like something they'd just talked about the two of them, decided would be best, asked if that was okay with America, and calmly traded chairs.

5. The economic crisis should lead us to question our attachments to material goods and money. Capitalism isn't a religion, and advertising dictates desire dangerously.

We should begin thinking about embracing the DIY movement (thanks to a;ex for this article, @lifehacker: The "Greater Depression" can be a DIY Renissance). We should start making more stuff, and also stop judging one's employment potential by the amount charged to their credit card to buy the suit and the soft makeup for the interview. That's dumb. I really would be totally down with growing my own food, but I live in the city, although I'm getting a lemon tree soon so.

6. I think books can make it. I think people who write books might have to respond -- as writers always have over the centuries -- to an audience who's taste and attention span has changed. We can produce novels that appeal to new readers without sacrificing intelligence or word count.

I think people are capable of reading a shit-ton of words, now more than ever. Book people need to realize that since paper is the big difference between online writing and books/magazines/newspapers, we should think about how to really sell & market the paper.

Part of our problem? There's too many books to choose from, and due to the mental engagement & silence & time required to read a book, no-one can read every book they want to read in one lifetime and therefore we can't produce infinite books like we do with teevee channels. We're printing too many books. A lot of them suck.

Independent presses are being drowned out by big presses who don't even have the time to focus on quality over quantity, and the reading public is suffering. We have self-publishing for people who can't find a major publisher for their work, so it's not that a shafted writer is left up shit creek without a (albeit not too cool) paddle. If it's that good, your self-published work'll emerge from the muck.

I think literature will survive everything that people are saying against it, but that also means we can't forget about literacy. We need to seriously work on literacy if we want people to read our books!!

So -- we focus on quality, literacy, making the internet work for us and not against us, incorporating new media and targeting different audience styles to our advantage. The independent presses can play that game too, just by promoting the quality-based system on a smaller revenue model.

7. Pinkberry should bring back the coffee flavor, by popular demand (as you can see in the photo I will wait for ice cream). All grocery stores should carry Sausage & Cheese Breakfast LeanPockets, especially you, FreshDirect. It's not fair that I only know the calorie counts of corporate chain restaurants, you can't convince America that we can only rely on The Man to keep us healthy too and give us the numbers, make everyone do it. No no no. Also, I would like the world to be made of some combination of chocolate and peanut butter.

8. New books by: Lorrie Moore, Miranda July, Maggie Estep and Mary Gaitskill, New music from Uh Huh Her and no more re-runs of Intervention, just new episodes, thanks.

9. I think that Haviland Stillwell should be in "The Farm" which'll reveal itself to be secretly totally awesome. So far it looks kinda weird, like Bad Girls. But whatevs, last time we stole a British queer show concept (Queer as Folk) it turned out a lot better than our own.

10. I'd like a publisher or magazine to commission me to do a year-long project in which I approach, as a journalist, taking on the jobs of people who I think are bad at their jobs. Like I bitch about Duane Reade but if I worked there, would I be any better? Not like Nickel & Dimed, this'll be more about how we assess service and performance in others than about socioeconomic realities for women.

It would be a 12-month thing and each month I'd have to try to get a job and then work the job at:

1. Time Warner Customer Service
2. 125th & Lennox Starbucks
3. Duane Reade
4. The U.S Postal Service
5. New York Sports Club
6. the editor of an online magazine that will not be named
7. President of the United States George W. Bush
8. Head writer for The L Word
9. The Manicure Lady
10. the pantry chef at The Macaroni Grill I worked at for three years
11. a receptionist at the Ryan Center on 96th street
12. my 10th grade English teacher

And I'd open talking about my ire for said worker of said job and then find out like, well, wtf, could I do any better? You know? I wonder if it'd be harder to be Time Warner Customer Service than it would be to re-design OurChart (that's not the online magazine I refer to, but you know?).

11. Also I think Prop 8 should be overturned and gay marraige legalized nationwide.

Okay, thanks for listening to my ideas. Let's get going to the Invention Convention! Bring legos and fruit punch please, thanks!

+++
xoxo
autowin.

Monday, November 10, 2008

Actual Sunday Top Ten: Built A Wall of Books Between Us in Our Bed

OMG, this is the first Sunday Top Ten I've written in eons! Earlier I asked you for book/music suggestions to fuel me during National Novel Writing Month and let me say if there is anyone out there who still doubts that the internet is a place where all things are possible, who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time ... this is your answer. I've got a kickass playlist started now and will be checking out Aimee Bender stat -- if you've still got suggestions than please do go ahead and gimme gimme gimme more, even though I've now deleted the part where I told you what I wanted.

"Trying to write a novel" is a familiar feeling to me. Every word I write feels like a word I've written before. Why? Because, according to my hard drive (which doesn't contain early typewriter or PC-penned works, e.g., the YA series The Pink Parrots about a girls baseball team), I've started approximately 10 bajillion novels already. Let's comb through the ashes of my prolific output, shall we?

Why have I written so many novels? I don't know. Have I ever done anything with any of these novels? No I have not, except Jennie Novel, which I mass produced & binded properly for distribution at emerson middle school. My friends gave it five thumbs up and then my Dad gave me a stern talking-to regarding how printers age. It's not just about the ink, which is replacable, but about "wear & tear" on the printer. V.important to know.

Anyhow! I've signed up for NaNoWriMo 'cause I like to live on the edge of a mental breakdown at all times, putting in as little sleep as possible and spreading myself thinly across a variety of unpaid projects so that I can live up to my family's expectations by becoming a very promising & talented failure who once published an article in Marie Claire.

++
TOP TEN NOVELS I WROTE [OR STARTED] BEFORE WRITING THIS NOVEL

My earliest works are mostly adolescent attempts to write the life I wish I had and to do my best interpretation of an Aaron Spelling television melodrama in novel form. Inspired by Francine Pascal, I'm sure.

I was seemingly obsessed with things I'd never done: boys, girls, drugs, parties, shopping sprees, fancy best friends, drunken evenings of wild revelry, etc. But yet I never wrote a protagonist with a living, breathing father -- I manage to get all the way into "Tara and Becca" without mentioning ANY fathers whatsoever, as if they'd never existed. Oh, The Land of Mothers.

10. Jennie Novel (1993) - Let's Get Sick and Cry!

Word count: Unknown, as this file no longer exists (never fear, I've got a hard copy) and I'm not sure if the lyrics to Now and Forever count as words anyhow. FINISHED!

Inspired by Lurlene McDaniel and Major Depressive Disorder, the story of a girl who's friends are dying of cancer or something. She paints murals in trance-like states, spends a lot of time sitting on the front porch thinking, cries often, and seemingly listens exclusively to the League of Their Own soundtrack.

In addition to the fantastic play BUT THEY ARE MAD and the screenplay HIGH ON LIFE [which we read from in this video] we also found JENNIE NOVEL while packing up my apartment in August and read some sections out loud. I asked Stef if she could say a few words about it:

"I'd place it somewhere between Crime and Punishment and Are You There God? It's Me Margaret in terms of its influence on the trajectory of my adult life. I remember there was melodrama and cancer, and I remember wishing I had a copy of my own that i could keep at my bedside always."

(Stef, a.k.a Uh[Hu]ltragirl)

9. Fly By Night (1995->1997) - My Name is Cornholio, Give me Fire!
Words: 29,919 - FINISHED!

Began as a short story called "The Firemaker," clearly attempting to capitalize on the popularity of Steven King's "Firestarter," which was a big hit amongst the popular boys in class I had crushes on. Erin runs away from home with her little brother Tommie who complains she's spent all their food money "on matches." Erin meets a Jordan Catalano look-a-like named Fly down by the schoolyard and together they build a home, family, etc., and then send dear Tommie to live with a foster family. Erin recovers from her dangerous addiction and gets her G.E.D.

Opening: "Erin threw an isolated flickering flame into a pile of boxes. The fire was instantly spread. Box after box slowly turned to black then dissolved into a small white ash."

It's the large white ash you've gotta look out for kids, FYI.

8. 1995 (1995) - The Secret Life of the American Teenager!
Words: 28,642 - UNFINISHED!

Due to its explicit sexual content, I kept this diary-style novel hidden on the family computer in a folder called "School Stuff." I know, I'm very smart, I learned that and other stuff in school. It appears to be the story of a girl who goes from unpopular to popular, gets better clothing and a boyfriend & then another boyfriend -- much like the storyline promised to me by 'Teen Magazine if I used Love's Baby Soft.

Opening
: "After school tomorrow I go ride Black Knight, my horse. If it wasn't for him, I don't know what would keep me going. It's like I'm so depressed all the time. I have no friends, I don't get good grades, no one thinks I'm pretty except for my parents. I have only two friends, and they're both losers. At least I have some money."

Last paragraph
: "We went over to his house and smoked pot, and had sex. Then we ordered pizza, and his friend, Jack, came over, who was really funny. We just joked around a lot. Then Tyson drove me home, and I gave him head on the way back."

I know! !!! I guess after that there was really nothing else to say?

7. Fate and the Love Triangle - 1996 - Like a bad chick flick, in words!
Words: 22,634 - UNFINISHED!

Luckily this particular polemic lays out its plot & purpose straight away: "This is a story about the Lovelock sisters: Louisa, Winona, Gabrielle and Claire, and the four men who are fated to be with them -- the four men who are the only ones in the world who can make these four women happy. This is a story about love, fate, friendship and the importance of sisterhood."

Apparently attempting to dethrone Louisa May Alcott with a contemporary tale that tackles the Big Issues. I just want to add that Winona (named after Winona Ryder, my Number One Girl Crush) works at The Gap and when they go to Kroger's, Claire gets "popsicles, candy, soda pop, Kids TV dinners, frozen shrimp, frozen mozerella sticks, frozen pizza, frozen bagel bites, blueberry bagels, cream cheese, Handi-Snacks and Fruit Roll Ups." Much like my own shopping list at that time.

Adventures in naming
: Eye doctor Michael Martini, U-M student/paramour Leonardo Alexander, band Blind Eye Dog

6.Tara and Becca - 1996 - TACCA!
Words: 16,146. UNFINISHED!

I reeled this clutter from the depths about 1.5 years ago when I did a search on my hard drive for "Tara," trying to locate I guess something related to my then-girlfriend named Tara.

Like 95% of my adolescent writings, the narrator loses her virgnity, rebels against her Mom, admires her friends' mini-skirts, gets raped maybe, becomes popular, goes shopping, is torn between boyfriends, and has intense sexual yearnings towards her best friend and idol, Tara.

When I found this seminal work I showed it to T[ara]B and later we read it together out loud, LOL'ing at its inanity and well -- so many odd things. Beginning with -- how odd, the character's first name being Tara.

And how odd, the opening line: "Tara is so crazy. I mean, when I get around her...it’s like I can’t even control myself anymore."

5. Underground Nation - '96 - Let's Rave!
Words: 9,124. UNFINISHED!

"imagine this story as a fully dressed person who by the end is naked." Written in loosely punctuated bizarre half sentences and run-ons, reading this work is comporable to being trapped on a Shanghai-bound airplane with a speed freak 16-year old who won't stop talking about her boyfriends, super hot bff sadie and her bubble gum.

I must be imitating someone, unfortunately for myself I think this is when I read A Clockwork Orange.

nouns invented for crazy underground nation: pissant, crazyheart, mallboy, firesmoke
adjectives: sexyhot, nextofkin, funashell.

description of a rave
: "walking in there originally to the rave, just a lot of all strungout people like here and there. downstairs just red lights, drugs and music real good music and people just dancing in their underground minds...diffrent than the one in the daylight and in the lifetime that is to be seen."

Once you enter the world of writing-related academia, novel-writing falls to the wayside in favor of shorter forms. Or perhaps it was just that I got older, and had less leisure time, or that I liked my life well enough that I didn't feel the need to immerse myself in the alternate reality enabled by writing novels.

Instead I wrote a memoir, short stories, articles, essays, screenplays, teleplays. Unfortunately! 'Cause obvs we're all on the edges of our seats about Tyson and the BJ.

'Cause I might try to pass these novels off later when I can't find a new metaphor, I'll stay illusive (jk, I just don't know how to figure out what they're about, as they were all Corrections -style polemics intent on family history before plot development).

4. Untitled. Apple Works Doc Name: "Book.cwk." - September '03
Words: 3,740 - probs shorter than this blog post! - UNFINISHED!

Opening
: "In the picture at the zoo, I am four years old and I am wearing courdoroys and stylish Adidas sneakers. I have blonde pigtails and a genuine smile that says nothing but Look at Me, I am in Front of the Elephant. Look at the Elephant!"

sidenote I totally know what picture I'm talking about there, and it's adorbs.
++
3. Untitled. Apple Works document name: "A big Book." - January '04
Words: 5,184 - UNFINISHED! (not such a big book after all.)

Opening: "My first tragic experience with another man's legs occurred in line at Showcase Cinemas, where my father and I were giddy with excitement for the release of The Never-ending Story Part 2."
++
2. Untitled. Ambitious Doc Name: "Great American Novel." Nice, Riese! - April '04->June '05

Words: 17,925 - UNFINISHED!

Opening
: "When Leah was apprehended on the roof of Moore High, she was wearing an army-green bikini and cradling a water gun bigger than her thigh."
++
1. For A Girl - August '05 - January '06
Words: 32,539 UNFINISHED!

I might actually still write this one so I CAN'T GIVE IT AWAY! It was actually gonna be a seriously well planned YA series y'know like Gossip Girl! Abandoned it when the bisexuality book project started. Howevs the older I get, the further away kids these days become, they're probs all robots by now who don't know how to grow a tomato. I think I often write for adolescents 'cause I feel they'll be more tolerant of suckage. The title was inspired by the Madonna song. "What it feels like for a girl ... " etc.

Also I think I totally recycled/revamped the intro for relevant inclusion in the blog post "The Night Starts Here." This is the first sentence from that book, lame as it might be: "The thing is; we all feel we have gotten away with something. We are spies in a cheap detective movie, Elmer Fudd in body glitter and sunglasses the shapes of crop circles."

The Autobiography of Sancho Panza - right now!
Why am I writing this post? To remind myself of the 190,853 words (giving Jennie Novel 20K) that I've written for no-body and to make myself finish this one, because clearly the only promises I've kept since the 90's have been ones I've made here, to the blog readers of the Great Universe of the Blogosphere Webberhead.

I think I'm gonna finish Underground Nation, in the first scene A;ex and I are going to go to a fancy benefit (her firm did their design), get drunk for free and then actually willingly go to Nation just to dance to good music for three hours.

Then I'm gonna come home, be super drunk, tell A;ex if she wants to have a serious conversation we can talk about Gossip Girl, wake up on Sunday super hung over, and write this. It's like autobiographical, but with suspense, mystery, life, love, truth, death, heartbreak, dancing, and feelings, all wrapped into a sandwich comporable to The Catcher in the Rye meets Rubyfruit Jungle. Buy together and save 30% on Amazon today with The L Word Book, Annie on my Mind, Lying: A Memoir and Prozac Nation.

Sunday, June 22, 2008

I Wanted To Paint Nothing. I Was Looking For Something That Was the Essence of Nothing, and the Soup Can Was It.

[Attempting to construct a frivolous Sunday Top 10 with disproportionate self-consciousness, I figured I'd just write down my feelings -- mostly carry-overs from a few weeks ago -- and move on from there. Here they are. Yay! Sunday Top 10 is finished, will come tomorrow (it's finished, so that's a real promise)].

An Open Letter to All Interweb Haters and Self-Righteous Anti-Blogging Journalists:

[Not Good Autowin Readers, I love y'all. You're the best! This is directed at interweb haters, which sometimes includes people I know, but 95% of the time, doesn't.]

You Chorus of Cuntish Commenters [not my commenters, obvs], your twatiliciousness skyrockets. You under-sharers! You private, nasty people with little boxes of secrets in your stomachs! You're still riding the self-righteous tails of That Emily Gould Thing, a "kids these days" nose-snubbing/squabbling, or you're fired up by a number of additional fuels: NY Mag's recent "microfame" dissection, Keith Gessen's me/"the me you hate" breakdown, Julia Allison's continued Julia Allison-ness (although even she called it quits once).

The problem is: I let public & private negative discourse pervade my headspace. I get beautiful, supportive emails & comments from Autowin/straddle readers and yet a few negative voices overwhelm them. It's precisely the grateful notes that stop me from giving up -- it's not about ego-stroking, or wanting attention, it's about feeling that it matters though Old Media says it don't.

Why is sharing inherently bad -- and NOT sharing consequently "good"? There's plenty of bad oversharing out there, of course ... and I don't read it. Furthermore, I understand we must withhold most things, in fact, our hearts & guts tell us precisely what to hold back, just as it tells us it's time for lunch.

I like the internet! I LIKE IT! I'm sick of apologizing. I'm tired of reading over & over that the cultural pulse is beating inside an indulgent body and that this body is sitting & judging while we bloggers croon on like washed-up lounge singers. Watch me, watch me, I'm a lock-free Dear Diary, my Hooker Name is Elizabeth Wurtzel and my special trick involves opening my whole mouth and letting you touch my wisdom teeth. My Pandora's Box was opened against my wishes, but I haven't figured out how to close it and besides, everything happens for a reason.

In fact, this here blog has lead to many fabulous beautiful intangibles and I think it's better karma to keep going than to stop. I refuse to believe the internet isn't a little magic, look at this video from Kelka Pride. It's easy to scowl protectively at everyone, but it's more fun to play with them. Next year, p.s., we're all going to Kelka Pride.

(I read: "On the Internet, a person can enjoy all the downsides of fame without actually being famous. You can inflate your ego, betray your friends, alienate your family and earn the contempt of strangers without earning a penny in extra income" here and wonder -- am I about to make a ridiculous, flagrantly wrong point? But then I think -- I'm a young earnest writer, isn't it only natural that I'd write a blog, explore the medium? I wouldn't be the first "artist" to forge on so foolishly, w/o it being my "job"?)

[self portrait with sunglasses, andy warhol]
Watch me! Stick a tip or a word in the g-string of my informational striptease. I'm human. I've got a concrete heart & walls like pink floyd ... but humans, even loners like me, need some connection to the rest of the world, even if they hate the rest of the world. Even better, I like feeling that I've done what can to change it just by being me. And that live person-to-person thing -- that petrifies me, and I'm getting too old to keep drinking every time I'm forced to cross the gulf to strange strangers. But I'm safe here, and I like it here.

[Ten Portraits of Jews of the 20th Century Portfolio: Sarah Bernhardt
by Andy Warhol]

Example of Magic: Women's voices. Queer voices. Are everywhere. There's still a million differences between how they're received vs. the traditional voices but to simply exist is a big step in the right direction.

And here's what really I don't get -- and didn't get, re: the emily gould debacle, or any situation in which the writer isn't actively attempting to incite/provoke argument/debate, expressing hateful or bigoted ideas, or auto-playing an annoying song on launch ... if you don't like it ... don't read it. I don't like video games, but I'm not writing Nintendo to critique their latest version of Death Killer Raider Game #456 and, while I'm at it ... "p.s. Nintendo is fat & ugly!"

But -- commenhaters, you do read it! You eat it, devour it, lick the plate click-by-click and then smack your lips and vomit on the cook's face: "That was terrible."
The cook will ask: "Why'd you eat it?"

Life will give you whatever experience is most helpful for the evolution of your consciousness.
- Eckhart Tolle

Writers (and musicians) have been oversharing forevs, it's just more searchable now. We're not savages. But we're vulnerable, 'cause we've taken off our armor and are now sitting behind it, naked & waiting. And there you hatoraiders are with your daggers & shimmering shields. You see our weapons and our best defenses, but decide instead to plan attack based on your feelings about our underwear (and women's underthings: far better to criticize). I didn't ask you to undress, so you don't have to, but you don't have to watch my undressing, either.

[Andy Warhol -Burkley Reinhold]
What can bloggers say in return to anyone who isn't "out there" like we are? I don't even know, 'cause I don't sit around thinking about why I hate people and where I can yell about it. I have complete respect for cyber-"anonymity" (in fact! Not only do I respect it, but I think it's a good thing that the blogosphere seems to be getting less crowded -- those meant to endure, have, and those who haven't, haven't, for whatever reason. Also 'cause if I add one more blog to my Google Reader, I'll have a heart attack), what annoys me is self-righteousness about cyber-anonymity ... the chip on the shoulder of many cyber-anonymous/non-bloggers ("learn your lesson from Emily," they say); loyal only to native art.

In fact -- bloggers can get fired (or -- just to avoid risking a blogger will blog about work when there's plenty of applying talent w/o blogs -- never hired in the first place) simply for having a blog, w/o first amendment protection. Your online-self is so damaging that companies exist now simply to erase it (for a fee). Blog-to-book sales have disappointed. Blogger-to-paid-blogger tales are increasingly less frequent. Oversharing's the Eighth Sin.

Sometimes "I'm not an internet participant, just an observer," is the new "We don't have a television, it's in the closet." (P.S. My teeve's in the living room, though I don't turn it on. I'm so cool, aren't I? For not watching teevee at home? I'm so much better than you. Don't worry, I'm also just like you at your worst and ugliest. Wanna hear about it? Listen: I watch TV at the gym, or with friends I'll stare blankly at its cheap stories and flat people w/expressive eyes and let it fill me like so much styrafoam.) Don't get me wrong -- I don't want you cyber-anonymous, or anyone who doesn't want to, TO participate. But if you do observe, and consequently choose so participate, I'd hope your contribution would be productive rather than just bitching at the content creators.

"The price of being known has gotten really low. I mean not the price, the reward.
Or whatnot. Andy Warhol could more accurately have said in the future everyone will be famous for $15."
-Emily Gould, Emily Magazine
*

[Screen Test: Edie Sedgewick. By Andy Warhol.]
So here's the kicker: the thing about microfame is that it doesn't necessarily bring any profits whatsofuckingever. It can even be a liability. This can be tough, I imagine -- dealing with the cons of fame (being recognized, criticized, insulted, gossiped about, dumped or attacked by a friend/partner) without the pros that make the cons bearable (this is how I make a living and feed myself and my family, so the sacrifices are worth it). I say "I imagine" because I'm not famous enough to deal with those cons, not because I have dooce.com-ish economic "pros." I don't know if the financial rewards for blogging will change, or if that's even the point -- though in a capitalist society, it sure seems like it is.

Saying you're a "blogger" once meant you were part of a forward-thinking generation of new-media enthusiasts, dreaming of an age that marries art, community and self-expression and births an international and ideally merit-based medium. Now, it kinda means you're a sucker, unless "for Deadspin" or "for Jezebel" are the next two words rolling off your tongue. Hell, it's gotten so bad that even Gawker seems to be pretty nice these days. Everyone's been snarked at, it's boring now.

The only thing left to do is be earnest, I think.

[In the Bottom of My Garden, by Andy Warhol]
What I like about Andy Warhol is his playfulness -- this can be fun. It can be entertaining or poetic, but bloggers can't have a deep thought or pull off perfect similie every day. Personally, I've lately tried to save those moments for the Sysiphean task of my novel. (Not a memoir anymore. I just ... can't.) Also, personally: my commenters don't yell or hate and are usually encouraging, and I like the challenge of increasing the user-friendliness and overall derth of fulfillment and format I can do with a receptive audience ... and at its very best most thrilling moments, it's like being an editor of my own little magazine, which has always been my dream job. I like dreams and the beach!

I've got faith that this medium's ultimately good for humanity, and also -- this medium's one of the only things I believe in that I can elect to take part in w/o spending money or leaving my apartment. There's frivolity, but there's also stuff I'm passionate about: group therapy, internet performance art, literature, book club, making people feel a little less alone.

The journey is all. We'll see.
*
The magic of the internet, again!: I just went online to track down some referenced posts, and found this at Slut Machine/Jezebel, expressing similar resolve. When I went to Gessen's blog to grab a link for my earlier graf, I found he'd posted this, which says what I just said, but better & briefer, and includes this exchange, which reminded me of conversations I've had:
Hampton: Rich people don’t blog. Happy people don’t blog. Successful people don’t blog.
Gessen:
I’m not any of those things.
Hampton
: But you’re those things enough, man. You wrote your book out of pain, and that’s why your book doesn’t suck. I don’t care what these people say. Whereas this blog is just the result of pique and wounded vanity.

[ Details of Renaissance Paintings (Paolo Uccello, St. George the Dragon), by Andy Warhol]


So, all ye haters, just shut your mouth. If I've learned anything of substance from blogging, it's that human beings are, by and large, better than we expect -- or could be. I think we will make this matter. We enjoy the first bite so we'll take it, and when we're all certain it's not poisoned, I'll pass it on to your grandchildren. I could do doomsday too, dressed in black for you, skip to my deepest blue. But this is much more fun.

Because I'll never be happy, therefore I must try whenever possible to feel happy, otherwise I'll die like a SIM, plunging red, time for bed, the hitch is dead.
I can't prove you're wrong about this medium ("the medium is the message"), but you can't prove I'm wrong about it either.

I've been obsessed with Andy Warhol lately, following the recent Interview Magazine issue dedicated to remembering him, which Alex brought me one evening and which enthralled me. I bought The Warhol Diaries and we need to finish Factory Girl. We wanna re-create The Factory, yes! we are such posers! Even my desire is a clichè, and I don't care! into something we call "The Warehouse." Like many things, it may not happen. Also though; it may. There was dry lightning for thirty minutes before the rain, and then the heat returned, following thunder. And then we went to bed, and then we woke up.

Brigid Berlin: He'd sit behind me reading The Post. He'd say; "Well isn't this a great story. Why can't Pat make a script out of this?" I'd say, "What are you talking about?" I didn't have the Post in front of me. "Well, this is a great murder, why can't we do this?"
Vincent Fremont: Or, "they're so peculiar."
Brigid Berlin: "All these young kids, they're doing such great things, and we're doing nothing."
Vincent Fremont: "He liked youth and he liked the news. I think that Andy would have been with the kids at 80. He would have appreciated anybody creative who was young, and helped them go forward. ..
*
Vincent Fremont: It's hard to project what Andy would be like today because he was so unpredictable. People always ask me what Andy would have painted. I think, with all the scandal that's gone down over the years, Andy would have been fascinated. And all that world of technology -- we would have stayed with it. Andy was very curious and he always wanted to know what was going on, and that keeps you young. I'm still trying to emulate him in that sense. Can you imagine how many young artists would have been coming to visit him?
*


Tuesday, June 03, 2008

Auto-Fun of the Day :: 6-3-2008

quote: "The more withered the reality, the more gigantic and tyrannical the dream. From the dark hole of a bar on a street of sickness and whores comes a teeming cloud of music sparkling with warmth and glamour: Sweet dreams of rhythm and magic-- Look in and see dark dead blurs slumped on stools." (Veronica, Mary Gaitskill.)

links: 1) Okay, now The New York Times Magazine has officially gone from being controversial to just being weird. This Sunday's cover story: Tyra Banks. Good thing she doesn't have any tattoos or ex-boyfriends. (@the new york times magazine)
2) The Coffee Junkie's Guide to Caffeine Addiction (@nymag)
3) A surprisingly eloquent article about Angelina Jolie. With links to a retrospective of prior articles including one from 2005 which she states: "Men don't really like skinny, do they? Ever since I dated a woman, I know what it is to grab a curve on a woman's body. Skinny's not fine when the lights are low." (@vanity fair)
4) The Book Collection That Devoured My Life: "I'm not a snob about books, but I'm probably a show-off -- as who isn't? My showing-off is of a pretty low-key if not completely abstruse sort, though ... it's rather a closed circle; I impress myself." (@wsj)
5) My neighbors smoke crack on my stoop, but apparently the real problem worthy of immediate legal action is when your neighbor is a "bohemian" woman offering tantric massage. Goddess Bless America. Let the woman spread the tantra! Damn the Man! (@sexpros)
6) RKB talks to The Reality-Cast (RH Reality Check: Information and Analysis for Reproductive Health) about the links between feminism and erotica and her new book Dirty Girls! The podcast also covers an NY sex ed battle involving the crazy pro-abstinentence people, gay couples celebrating their new rights, etc. From the podcast, RKB is talking about "Fucking Around, " AKA MY story!!!:
"It's really beautiful, and what I love about it is that it almost makes me cry when you read it, but it's also really sexy. And anyone who can do all of those things; who can make you laugh and can make you cry and can really turn you on ... is a really good writer."
-RKB, talking about memememeemememe
7) Poem: "Dearborn Suite" by Phillip Levine: "Henry, master of Dearborn, / who loathes sharing the light / with the unenlightened among us." (@the new yorker)
8) "Chances are, if you came of age in the '90s and have an even glancing relationship to music, you made your fair share of mix tape for various friends and lovers. If those parties reciprocated, and if you are a pack rat, their lovingly curated compilations are probably still in storage somewhere in your home. Go dig one up ... let the aforementioned wistfulness wash over you."Mix Tape Nostalgia"(@utne reader)
9) "The tip of the tongue state" occurs once a week: "What's That Name?" (@the boston globe)
10) "It’s not just about bodies, or running time, of course but of dramatic scope, theatrical invention and sheer entertainment value. “August” is a big play in just about every way.": "The Big Cast, Bigger Canvas, of Broadway" (@the ny times)


most recenct autowin: "It's 4 AM and your girl is lovely, hubble (Obligatory SATC Post)"
[all photos by julia fullerton-batten. see more of her work : here.]

Sunday, May 11, 2008

Sunday Top Ten: Entries From a Smokin' Hot Pink Notebook

When I was a little girl in Dork Middle School, anybody who was anybody (which was almost everybody, 'cause there were only 16 girls in my graduating class) read Lurlene McDaniel novels ravenously -- stories which confirmed our suspicions that the world was a cruel, cruel place. Also, anybody who was anybody was allowed to go to the mall alone w/o parental supervision, except me, 'cause my mother was a fascist dictator who didn't want me to have fun or be happy. (JK Mom! Love you! Loved going to the mall with you too!) (Wouldn't it be fun if instead of Mother's Day being "Celebrate Mom" day, it was an April Fool's Day combo? The fam pools collective wisdom to play a big trick on Mom? Like in Home Alone, when Kevin sets booby traps for the thieves? Mom'll get up expecting breakfast in bed and then be like wtf are there micro-machines on the floor, um, hello blowtorch, KEVIN!") Anyhow. What was I talking? Oh yes. Literature.

Since leaving my Dork School peer group for greener pastures, I've not met another fan of McDaniel's cannon of Dying Children Lit -- until last weekend when I met my friend's sister who was also a big fan, which is AMAZING, and we bonded over it.

Also, I just started reading Rachel Shukert's Have You No Shame, in which the author's mother uncovers her daughter's collection of Holocaust Lit and replaces the books with Babysitters Club and Sweet Valley High, delaring that: "I'd rather have you shallow and sexually precocious than morbidly psychotic."

So I started thinking about all the morbidly psychotic books I read as a kid. I wasn't allowed to read Christopher Pike or R.L Stine like everyone else (see: mother's general desire for me to be ostracized from peers), but I feel like the shit I was allowed to read was probs way worse for my little baby mind than those authors' straightforward & blatant horror/violence.

Which brings us to an actual Sunday Top Ten. For the first time since um ... oh, I don't know.

SUNDAY TOP TEN: SEEMINGLY INNOCUOUS YOUNG ADULT BOOKS THAT PLEASED MY TWISTED LITTLE SOUL, AND WHY
or "Things that affected me more than going to the mall w/o a parent would've."
*

10. Cynthia Voigt's "Tillerman" Series: Homecoming, Dicey's Song, et al., also The Boxcar Children
Amped up my desire to be an orphan forced to live by my wits,
as well as my certainty that I'd be better off alone like the pop song "Better Off Alone,"
therefore increasing my implicitly unfair & ungrateful resentment towards my family for feeding, clothing and loving me,
inspiring me to write my own bad novels about runaways.
In Homecoming, 13-year old Dicey Tillerman and her three younger siblings experience the literal opposite of my life situation -- they're actually abandoned at the shopping mall by their mother, who subsequently lands herself in a psychiatric hospital. Meanwhile, I was being followed around the mall by my psychiatric mother (ten steps behind, providing both protection and distance), therefore preventing me from Having Adventures like Hunger, Misery, Orphanhood, Eccentric Aunts on Dilapidated Farms and Evil Catholics. Reading the plot summary of Homecoming, I realize it's possible I stole it for my epic novel Fly by Night, in which young pyromaniac Erin leaves her abusive home w/precocious brother Tommie, eventually meeting a guy named "Fly," who looks a lot like Jordan Catalano. 'Cause Erin can't stop burning things down & 'cause their number-one income source is carrying groceries to cars (in real life, I suspect this is not the growth sector Voigt's novels implied), they're forced into homelessness and then communal living with Fly and his super-fly buddies. There's a happy ending, I won't spoil it!

Also, how dykey does Dicey look on that book cover? Yow.

As I mentioned in the "Family Film Edition" of "What I Learned from the Teevee," I was a big fan of Orphan Lit and wanted to live in a Boxcar, eat hobo stew and scavenge for loaves of bread, etc. Unfortunately, I was never orphaned, though I enjoyed building forts and pretending to run away from home. Honestly, my coping mechanisms haven't really changed much since then.


9. The Face on the Milk Carton, by Caroline B. Cooney
Among other imaginary acts of heroism, I often hoped to find a classmate or friend on a milk carton and save the day, like in America's Most Wanted which I wasn't allowed to watch. Once a lax babysitter let us watch the show (she was fired, clearly) -- this guy killed his wife and hid her in an egg incubator behind his trailer, I still have nightmares about it. Also I believe this book fueled my fear of being kidnapped, and a ridiculous obsession with cults. Later, this became a TV movie staring the foxy Kellie Martin.


8. The Clockwork Orange, by Anthony Burgess

I know what you're thinking -- "The Clockwork Orange" is not a young adult novel. This is true. Howevs, my father felt I was very mature, and 'cause he wanted me to become a great filmmaker like Stanley Kubrick, he made me read this book (we had a serious book-before-the-movie policy) when I was 13. Though most grown-up lit was off limits (e.g., Stephen King, other crap), I was permitted both this and Lolita. This is the essence of hippie intellectual spirit. I was like "Dad, what's 'the ol' in-out-in-out'"? Which was a very special moment for everyone and eliminated any perceived need for a "birds and the bees" convo.


7. Face at the Edge of the World, by Eve Bunting
Romanticisation of Suicide, Additional Reasons to Fuck it All

I'm not sure if this is the right book, 'cause I probs read more than my fair share of suicide-related narratives. But I think this is the one where the protagonist spends the whole book trying to figure out why his successful and talented BFF suddenly offed himself, eventually (SPOILER ALERT!) determining that perhaps he simply wanted to "quit while he was ahead." So basically all bets are off, re: offing oneself, not good news for me as I believe I was diagnosed with clinical chronic depression at the age of 5. Logistically, it would've been impossible to do myself in since I was so well supervised, especially at the mall.

6. Eating Disorder Lit, including:
Second Star to the Right, Stick Figure, and Little Girls in Pretty Boxes
As I've noted previously, I was the scrawniest little kid you ever did see. Howevs: my Mom was a nutritionist who helped people diet, I wanted desperately to gain weight, I was a first worldian adolescent in the 80's/90's surrounded by body image obsessed girls. Therefore, I was totally fascinated by everyone else's fascination with thigh girth. As a chronically pre-pubescent teen, I looked to literature to psych me into understanding wtf the deal was ... later, I employed this background when counseling the reedonkulous number of severely anorexic and/or bulimic friends I acquired over the years. I think it's 'cause subconsciously, ED'ed peeps are drawn to me, thinking "what is her secret of svelte-hood?" and then eventually they learn that I hate myself too, it's just more annoying coming from me, 'cause I'm not actually fat, just completely insane, and have read too many books about eating disorders (late-adds include Appetites, The Body Project and Wasted) and also; the media, etc. Calvin Klien fashion magazines hoo-ha. Kazaam.

Teacher: How would you describe Anne Frank?
Angela [distracted]: Lucky.
Teacher: "Anne Frank perished in a concentration camp. Anne Frank is a tragic figure. How could Anne Frank be lucky?"
[Jordan Catalano walks in, late]
Angela: "I don't know... Because she was trapped in an attic for three years with this guy she really liked?"
(My So-Called Life)


5. Judy Blume Novels

As I've mentioned 500 times, I'm essentially a human sponge, willing to take orders and absorb desire from whomever's speaking the loudest. Through Judy Blume, I verified that I was, indeed, justified to angst over my bust which wasn't increasing though I thought it must, it must, and that the best way to bond with other girls was via boy-related discussions. I've since learned otherwise, but I still love Judy. The girls in Blume novels are relentlessly catty and tell me srsly if you can't imagine this on the back of a porn DVD: "Rachel is Stephanie's best friend. Since second grade they've shared secrets, good and bad. So when Alison moves into the neighborhood, Stephanie hopes all three of them can be best friends since Stephanie really likes Alison. But it looks as if it's going to be a case of two's company and three's a crowd." Anyone? "In bed"? I know I was reading Lolita at 12, but c'mon now ...

4. The Quiet Room, by Lori Schiller and Amanda Bennet
I'm 99.9% sure schizophrenia is one disorder I defo don't have, but I seriously used to hear voices sometimes as a kid (probs it was G-d, before She lost faith in me altogether), and reading this book really freaked me out -- clearly I had enough neurosis w/o worrying that one day the voices would stop arguing with each other about my self-worth and instead command me to kill someone. Luckily they went away ... now the only voice I hear is Tegan in my iPod. Who's going on MONDAY!?! TO TEGAN & SARA?!!!


3. Entries From a Hot Pink Notebook, by Todd D. Brown
Felt I related to the protagonist's psyche deeply,
began early fascination with gay male culture,
subsequently realizing literally as I write this that perhaps I identified with the narrator's feelings of alienation and outsiderdom for other reasons,
e.g., personal gayness.
So, it featured my fave plot device, the gay reveal and subsequent gay crush gay reveal (y'know, the "OMG, my BFF I'm in love with is kissing ME BACK!" thing) and it's actually a really good book, though I realize the title suggests otherwise. Sometimes it hurts: the titles given to brill books. It's much easier to recommend a book called "The Sound and the Fury" than "Entries from a Hot Pink Notebook." I read this approximately around the same time I was writing in my own diary: "my greatest fear is that I'll turn out to be a lesbian. Yuck." Also, gay men were sorta "in" in the mid-nineties amongst liberals -- Rickie Vasquez, etc.


2. Lurlene McDaniel books
According to Lurlene McDaniel's website, "everyone loves a good cry," which's why McD's written 40+ books about "kids who face life-threatening illnesses, who sometimes do not survive." Sample titles include: She Died Too Young, Sixteen and Dying, Please Don't Let Him Die, The Girl Death Left Behind, Letting Go Of Lisa, When Happily Ever After Ends, Goodbye Doesn't Mean Forever, etc. The best was when two kids with different illnesses fell in love (e.g., cystic fibrosis + leukemia = true love) or when everyone would get into a car accident right before they were supposed to go to college on scholarship (w/bright futures, obvs) except for one girl who'd be left behind to angst. In a rare appearance by an African-American character, McD brought us Baby Alicia is Dying, in which a teenage girl grows attached to the HIV-positive black baby abandoned by her crack is whack mother, probs in Planet Harlem.

Basically, Lurlene McDaniel peddles the most demented books of all time, and I somehow ate them up. We all did. I imitated them, too, with similar plots in novels I wrote (for fun?). I guess we all felt strange and sad all the time for no reason, our little Dork School, filled with kids who suspected that, given the chance, public school would eat us alive and stuff us into lockers, and also: that perhaps we weren't fooling anyone (least of all ourselves) by avoiding the resolute knowledge that our problems weren't really problems, actually. We read the newspaper. We had politically aware parents. We didn't know jackshit, hadn't lived through anything worth crying over. Faces on Spilled Milk Cartons.

I coped w/my sense of alienation as a kid by reading, constantly, both intelligent books not mentioned here and the lame stuff I'm talking about here ... or by trying to be like everyone else as best I could though I felt hopelessly different. I'd been sad all the time for no reason as long as I can remember ... while driving w/my Mom from one place I was running from to another place, I mentioned wanting to get back to some childhood place where I'd been happy and she said I'd actually never been. "Intense," was her word. I guess I knew that already, I just wanted her to disagree, or blow it off. 'Cause I mean, seriously. I don't mention Elizabeth Wurtzel all the time for no reason, I'm legitimately afraid of her & her entitled torture, her ... whining.

I had an association and fascination with terrible & morbid circumstances and latched onto the littlest things to excuse my moodiness -- these books tapped into the part of me that wanted a reason for it. I wanted to be told, again and again, that tragedy waited around the corner. I'm certain there must've been wood nearby worth knocking on, if I'd known enough to do so. Clearly; I knew nothing.
*
"I know sad stories aren't for every reader, but it's the kind of story that most of my readers like from me. When I write "happy" books, many readers complain. So I focus on what I do best---stories that might bring a tear, but that focus on real life (where happily ever after rarely occurs). And while the books may not have "happy" endings, I try to give readers a satisfying ending---life is full of trouble and matters out of our control. How we deal with troubles determines our own character."
(Words of Wisdom from Lurlene McDaniel, clearly a Sick Puppy)

1. Sweet Valley High
I actually was prohibited from reading these books an account of their apparent vapidity, etc., But I finally sneaked one home, probs using crafty techniques learned from another YA novel. Just my luck: I got the book where Elizabeth gets kidnapped. Not good. This verified, to me, that my Mom was Right about these books being Bad; which's why Mothers have special powers that cannot be questioned. Like how the first time I drank alcohol, I threw up all night, which's exactly what she'd told me would happen. Actually, that still happens. Yet I continue drinking. Hm.

Howevs, I'd like to once again point out that nothing scary ever happened to me at the mall, except for this:

On that note of "things I did 'cause everyone else was doing it," if anyone's got a bridge in Brooklyn they'd like to sell me ...