Sunday Top Ten: Automatic Fundamentals/Look At You, You're Growing Old So Young

I was thinking about a Sunday Top Ten and ten hours later I was knee-deep in the cyber-quicksand created by switching topics every five minutes, trying to escape via creating a New Topic that'd encompass All Failed Topics. A-ha!: 'TOP TEN THINGS I HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS ABOUT." I asked myself "is that the best you can do?" Then, myself said: "Yes, it is."

[Yes, it is: a conversation between me and memememememe.] [It was maybe two years ago or thereabouts when she drew me a diagram on scrap paper to explain to me the "me" and "not me" -- the stack-sullivan psychoanalytic theory of selective inattention. good me, bad me, not me. she was explaining to me how, exactly, I'd managed to rationalize talking my way out of accepting responsibility for being an asshole.]

So I'm just gonna ramble. Ramblerambleramble.

Gimme Gimme Gimme Gimme Morons

I saw Gimme Sugar. It's a new show about lesbians. The topic is: "Lesbians are pretty!" The sub-topic: "Much like straight people on scripted reality teeevee shoes, lesbians can also drink too much and talk about nothing." The girl who narrates sounds just like Jackie Warner. It's the "scripted reality voice-over voice."

I'd like to corral the writers of Gimme Sugar and the creators of Tila Tequila into a dark cave with The Iliad, The Bible, Mediated and "All Aboard!".

The thing is ... Gimme Sugar isn't even terrible/awesome. It's just terrible. After-Ellen thinks so too. I'm not sure why I care so much about the portrayal of women -- and queer women in particular -- in the media, but I do. I care deeply. AE says, and I agree, that basically if you're already into [other, hetero-based] shows that involve "seeing young people doing nothing and clubbing and coming up with bad business ideas" then you'll like this show.

Speaking of sugar, this weekend the woman brought us breakfast and announced the contents of the tray in great detail: "splenda, sweet & low, equal," etc. Everyone in Atlantic City says: "good luck!" 'cause they're counting on the gamble. We didn't know how to gamble [at games], we just thought the city itself seemed like a funny place to go. But we got lucky, and had good luck.

My first love [of all trump cards: "first"? of all first things: love] wore those jeans with "Lucky You" on the fly. In case we got there, and I forgot.

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Taking Back the Internet: Last Week's Topic of Cyber-Talk

I don't know. We're/it's young, we're cyber-tadpoles -- still lightyears away from universal broadband access or a "worldwide" network that can provide all people worldwide w/high-speed uncensored content. There's problems with overexposure and conspicuous anonymity, the tipping balance between emotional withdrawal and frightening investment. Our backs hurt, our eyes burn, our wrists hurt. But everything has pros and cons. [Howevs, it'd be a 100% tragedy for interwebs users to inadvertently lose deep reading skills.] We live in a world where too much ice cream makes you fat. Just think about that.

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"What the future might bring, Heaven only knew.
Change was incessant, and change perhaps would never cease.
High battlements of thought; habits that had seemed durable as stone went down like shadows at the touch of another mind and left a naked sky and fresh stars twinkling in it."
-Virginia Woolf, Orlando
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I think we're still figuring it out. It's like when the cavemen first discovered fire. And Caveman #1 was like; "wtf why is my toe burning off?" and Caveman #2 was like; "OOOO all warmed up for the winter season!" Now, a bajillion years later, we know how to use fire responsibly, more or less. See what I mean? We're still figuring out how to keep warm without burning ourselves.

I like Emily and Keith and Tracie. I don't like Perez or TMZ or their collective insistence on permeating relevant spaces frequented by those of us who don't care.

Also, I like that the internet has enabled strong global grassroots networks like Students for a Free Tibet, smart pop culture commentary like fourfour and helpful gadgets & resources like MapQuest and Bartleby. I like when I read articles worth recommending. And poems.

I think, w/r/t Gimme Sugar and The Internet, that we've got to do our best to keep our fictions scripted. Also, we'll keep our realities improvised, and work with wherever we naturally attract reflection/attention, rather than attention for attention's sake.

In the future, we may find that the internet was invented in response to the hefty portion of the population who are simply more comfortable/eloquent when communicating via written words rather than spoken ones.

I think you can divide people into two categories: people who're content to live within anything that'll fit within (even just barely) the status quo, and people who'd like to change it. The first category also includes people who've chosen instead to live in the past, or recreate it in fear.

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The Long and Winding Road

I've traveled a lot this year. I was asked: "Do you guys think it's possible you're running away from something, maybe?" and I answered, "Obviously." I'd like a short & happy life, like Francis Macomber's, or a Short & Wondrous one like Our Friend Oscar, running could be involved. But really it's that we prefer fun to not-fun. We try to have fun. Okay, okay, it's Tinkerbell. She's a diva.

Don't get confused, I'm still only somewhat employed and owe Visa a baby or two. The rest is semantics or logistics --

Speaking of numbers, I missed Four -- me, Caitlin, Alex, Haviland -- and now my friend is back on this side of the country. Briefly, but here. Shortly, happily, wondrously.

So many things can go wrong when you're traveling, like our unexpected pullover en route to the airport to fly to The House of the Mouse -- we barely made it to the flight.

But this weekend we went to Atlantic City and we weren't surprised when they said our hotel was overbooked, since ridic snafus are our collective travel-fukù and we were prepared to pop a cot and then take a morning swim w/asbestos at the Seaside Motel [later this experience could become a rich source of anecdotes, in-jokes and makes-life-worth-it-style laughter] --- but the desk-woman tells us how the problem's been solved: we're being moved to a better hotel ... for free.

Again, that assumption about gambling. Really, we're just amused by anything that's heavily thematic -- lit up by bells & whistles & glitter & graffics and big laminated promises in disguise as the Queen of Hearts/Spades.

Then Caitlin totally WON big-time at the slot machines -- waiting for me and Alex she just stuck a nickel in and gave it a go, like to kill time and -- Magic! Later that day, an escalade took an illegal left in front of us, like that shit that happens all the time in the city and you almost die and then somehow you get a ticket for someone else's mistake 'cause you've got expired plates ... and he got pulled over!

Also, we saw Melissa Etheridge. They surprised me with it and got away with it 'cause Caitlin pointed out that she never asked for anything, so asking me to put some pep in my step for an 8 PM fireworks show wasn't much to ask-- even though I insisted it was still totally light out and we can't miss the fireworks, they're in the sky.

Anyhow, the ploy worked and we were on time for The Eth. The lesbos sang our little hearts out for every window we've ever screamed at, bare and wide-open. We listened to the gauzy-voiced acoustic assurance that sometimes love means following someone around until you've lost all your fellow travelers. Pretense-free, open-air I feel my feelings. She carved out her heart in the 90's, left it on the doorstep of a recording studio and then ran -- a prank played in the game of falling apart -- and we got to see her hold that heart in front of her face and then sing through it. Amazing.

Happy independence day!

"When I first heard "Like the Way I Do" in 1988, I had no idea that Melissa Etheridge was gay, and I thought she gave voice to us obsessive, neurotic women who long to be this direct and obvious about the neediness we feel for the men in our lives ... perhaps the joyfulness that I feel seething, overbrimming from so much lesbian music, even when it is at its most heartbreaking, has to do with the simple fact that just to have the courage to find a voice to sing with in the context of societally censored desires means that anything you say, no matter how depressing the thought, will never come across as completely dispirited."
-Elizabeth Wurtzel, "The [Fe]male Gaze."
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dear good me & bad me & not me & also me & mememe, sincerely anonymous
or "the babies were only water balloons."

What if from now on I made my blog into a retroactive game of self-indulgence. I provide excerpts from my past diaries for the present date in different years. You match the lines to the years and if you're right, you win the next book club book.

July 7th Throughout the Years, Compiled on Monday July 7th, 2008:
[Options: 1986 (age 4) , 1991 (age 9) , 1996 (age 14), 1997 (age 15), 1999 (age 17), 2000 (age 18), 2002 (age 20), 2003 (age 21), 2006 (age 24), 2007 (age 25)]
[Names have been abbreviated when appropriate]

1/Michigan: "I feel like we'll never truly connect 'cause Chris's 100% un-interested in what art has to offer him as a human being. He likes things cut and dry. He wouldn't like my writing, because he never reads, he's detached completely from literature. His scope is narrow. I'm afraid he'll try to compare his career goal to be a vet to my writing. It's not just my Top Interest, it's How I Think."

2/Boston-->Michigan: "Today we drove for five hours and we finally came home. I saw Anna first, but we had nothing to say. My room had hebrew posters all over the walls and all my animal posters except for three were gone! My drawers were broken, and there was mold in the teapot, yuck! The people who lived in our house weren't very neat! The toddler scribbled in Lewis's books. We had homemade pizza for din-din."
3/New York: "When E has the nerve to go off at me, I say-- 'It doesn't matter, I'm leaving!' E says -- 'You're not leaving soon enough.' So now -- I am. Now. I'm in the airport, going. I feel like Marc's going-away party was mine, too, not 'cause the people cared/knew about me leaving, but 'cause it's the end of something. An era. But M said, 'You're the guest of honor's special guest.'"

4/Australia:" "It was hilarious to bring these grungy surfer boys into a nice restaurant. Clinton insisted we go back to the hotel so he could experience the sauna and they'd left their bags and surfboards there. They went swimming. We took pics, they listened to our music, we talked. Jeremy made fun of our accents a lot. They go to raves at night. Clinton is 17, he dropped out of school to work in a Toyota Factory. Jeremy's 15. We have their addresses, thank god."

5/Michigan: "We made our certificates and then we decorated the knight in armour. Then we rescued the baby from the dragon. And after that we played a kind of hide and seek and some people pretended they were he dragons and some pretended they were persons who catch the dragons. The babies were only water balloons. our mommies or our daddies came and we had cake and ice cream after we had cake and ice cream we went home the end."

6/New York: "I don't know what to do, if there's anything that I even can do. It's terror. I feel powerless."

7/Michigan: "no cherry bombs, no sparklers, black cats, etc this 4th. u know, explosions -- go america. Scot took my car to canada and left me a love note. life has been up and down. absolutely unbearable, sometimes absolutely pleasant. i present the "every other day theory": one day he's delightful, the next day he balances it out by being a dick."

8/At Sea: "It's difficult to open myself up to another strong connection w/a friend this year, I feel so exhausted by last year's. I don't know if she really communicates honestly with me about when or if I bother her. She seems both set in her ways and not argumentative. Is it because we click so well, or is it 'cause she doesn't ever want to talk about what's really going on?"

9/Michigan: "Yesterday went to a whack party, talked to AG 4eva. It was weird, like a punk rock show, I don't dig that scene. At the start it made me depressed to be there. It was fresh as hell that I got to drive home though. Well, not home. To L's. Today MR and I watched Altman's Nashville, saw Casablanca at the top of the park, Amanda came just to see me! Wowsers ... I had a freaked out dream about Interlochen."
10/Michigan: "Tonight, Mr. D told me he thought I looked about 10 pounds less than I did when he last saw me. He asked me if I was okay. The doctor told me I was too skinny and asked if I'd been losing weight. All these comments make me happy. I wish none of this had ever started. I wonder why my Mom is letting me go sometimes. I wonder if I'd let my 17 year old daughter move to the same city that Son of Sam is about."

---

11.
Today I wrote this, and went to bed, and thought, holy shit, I talk a lot of whack hands down totes crazy. Will I ever learn to speak the grammar?
Stay tuned!
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[all photos by julia fullerton-baten]
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So, guess: match the number with the correct year, win a prize! The Dear Diary Award, very special.

Sunday Top Ten, Part One: I Wish I Had a River I Could Skate Away On

It is a truth universally acknowledged that it's lame to open any piece of writing with a quote -- even a self-indulgent blog post (update for those not aware: as of May 20th, 2008, "blogs which employ first person narratives" are the default "lowest possible form of written communication/art," ranking only slightly above: emails from technologically incompetent grandmothers, the Yahoo! front page headlines, Goofus and Gallant, Nicholas Sparks novels, negative comments on youtube, text messages from pre-adolescents and the screenplay for Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo). But it's also a truth universally acknowledged that the truth is a silly animal and there's no hunting allowed (we saw the signs this weekend), so I will persist -- I will open by quoting someone far wiser than I'll ever be. Although ... actually, I did just talk so much nonsense that the opening's already taken care of (opening with nonsense is punk and not lame), therefore I'm not opening with a quote, except that I secretly actually did. Hey-oh!

The Great Jim Harrison (The Legends of the Fall, After Ikkyu & Other Poems) once wrote: "One day. Standing in the river with my flyrod, I'll have the courage to admit my life." My writing teacher transcribed this quote in my "book" (I have this special book of my favorite poems & stories and I'd give it to friends/mentors to make a page or 2-3) underneath a 70's b&w of himself (my teacher). Above the photo, my teacher wrote: "Marie - Don't forget -- you owe me a big check so I can do a lot of thinking." See; I was supposed to get famous (due to my fingers allegedly being on the pulse of my generation -- a grave miscalculation), make money, and then send him to Montana where he could fish and think all his life.

Missoula, Missoula, Missoula, I'm yours. Eugene, your name is so terrible that you must be terribly lovely and green. I went to Ashland (same state), there were mountains, they were beautiful.

That's what they do (mountains). They sit there, look good.

I was upstate for Memorial Day weekend -- Alex's family has a cabin up there. Last night I came home. The sirens started after dark. A few, then a hundred, and then helicopters, then the people on the street with something to yell about and loudly. Seven innocent people shot, a few blocks away: "The gunman is still at large, and residents have been advised to stay in their homes." I miss East Harlem sometimes. No cab-drivers or delivery people or friends dared to tread into Sparlem, but people danced to music there. Here, on the West, music just thumps out of cars like it's fighting with the pavement, there's no dancing.

My favorite is NY1's article today, which ends with "two other unrelated shootings also happened in the area last night." (Subtext: "but we don't care.") -- shooting a 13-year-old boy in the leg? How the fuck does that happen? Seriously. How the fuck does that happen?

I don't know. And so, I keep talking about myself. Which I don't know either, but I know it enough to try to talk something. Crazy. Burma. Shoot.

Missoula, Missoula, Missoula, Santa Monica, San Francisco, Eugene, Tacoma, La Jolla, Raleigh, Anchorage, Chapel Hill, Concord, Santa Ana, Savannah, Interlochen, Missoula, Pierre, Charlotte, Colorado Springs, Mesa, Missoula, Des Moines, Providence, Montreal, Sioux Falls, Southampton, Escondido, San Antonio, Tulsa, Thousand Oaks, Topeka, Lafayette, Baton Rouge, Little Rock, Clearwater, Athens, Missoula. Those all sound nice. Literally.

One day, standing in the river with my flyrod, I'll have the courage to admit my life.

SUNDAY TOP TEN: Things I Used to do All the Time but Hadn't Done in Long Time, Until Recent Time.

TO BE COMPLETED IN TWO SEGMENTS
PART ONE : 10-6
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10. Hiking in the Woods

Once upon a time, I didn't own a laptop case but I treasured my hiking backpack. The straps were adjusted for my then-narrow boyish hips. I needed help to cram a sleeping bag into its lower pocket.

Saturday I was standing in the river and remembered everything.

Specifically: rivers I'd crossed before, tents slept in, that wilderness survival class I'd taken at thirteen where I had to build my own shelter from tarp & sticks and sleep in it for three days (but! I was young and we got mooned by the boys. All we could see was leaf-shadows on pale pre-adolescent ass, but what a thrill! Mooning!), getting lost in the Smokies, trekking the Tetons, singing bad hip-hop with backaches and bandanas somewhere in Northern Michigan. Afterwards I'd forget how bad my back hurt and remember the Nalgene bottle and the smell of fire.

It's always bizarre to have dozens of strong memories of a certain activity -- a non age-specific activity -- and then realize the memories are all at least ten years old, like when you go to the doctor and they ask when your last physical was and you feel like it was probs last year but when pressed realize, omg, it's been way more than a year.

I missed the woods. Hark!

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9. Gone w/o Internet for over 48 hours

In the week preceding our recent jaunt to Malibu, I'd been wallowing in an imploding and increasingly boring state of depression/anxiety. Haviland said there was no internet at her temporary Malibu digs but 'cause Haviland's technologically impaired, I took this to mean, "I feel there's no internet in my house, but also I don't know how computers work and therefore I'm sure that You! Riese! will find the magic key to wireless." Howevs, I was wrong, Haviland was right as she always is. (First rule of fight club is "Haviland is right") Ixnay on the interent. This weekend upstate -- also, no internet ... and nowhere to drive to and get it, either. And ... it was actually totally ... fine. In Malibu everything was shiny with big lapping waves, upstate everything was green and familiar and safe. Wireless, shmireless. Once the panic passes, it's a whole new kind of calm.

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8. Talked to Strangers A LOT

In the past three weeks I've met Alex's family & friends, gone to two parties in one night, hugged Leisha Hailey and interviewed -- on camera -- a plethora of B-list homosexual celebrities. So, screw you, ex-boyfriend who said I had no social skills! (I mean, I don't. But whatever.) (Sidenote; nothing wrong with the B-list. I think I'm on the W-list or something, optimistically). I think waitressing was my old unreal social outlet, I miss it sometimes. Good workout.

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7. Hung up On Someone, Over and Over

This technique, employed popularly by dramatic adolescents, can also be enjoyed by full grown adults, if the situation merits. Have you ever had a hang-up relationship? You know what I mean? I had one, 4-5 years ago ... it made me insane and anxious, 'cause I never knew when he was about to hang up and depending on the circumstance, call back or wait for my call back, etc. If I hung up -- would HE call back? How many times would he have to call back before I'd pick up? Vice versa? OMG how did this become my fucking life, etc.?

Once you get used to it, hanging up becomes really not so different from just saying something. As an adult, I feel it's only necessary when someone insists on saying things you don't want to hear. Or! You can take "hanging up" and raise it "hurling phone against the wall," that's fun.

I made the poor decision of raising the topic of Emily Gould's article -- and subsequently, the "self-indulgence-of-bloggers" debate -- with B.

B.: "You're such a good writer, Marie, and you have so much substance, and so much to offer --"
Me: "Wait, slow down. I'm going to transcribe this for my blog, because I'm very self-indulgent and want to air all my personal conversations in public. Okay, got it -- I'm at "so much to offer," keep going--"
B.: "Okay ... really?" [laughs] "You have so much to offer, and yet you're wasting your time on things that are superficial -- I wonder whether or not it ever occurs to you that your endeavors are not as fruitful as they might be, or that they might be superficial, or not be worth your time as much as other endeavors."
Me: "Like what?"
B.: "Like not writing for a body that needs to be entertained. About lip gloss and manicures."
Me: "I LIKE LIP GLOSS AND MANICURES!"
B. : "You say you feel empty, you might want to look at your work and ask why you feel empty --"
(I hang up)

B.: "What if I was your -- your creative writing teacher, coming to tell you this, would you listen?"
Me: "Yes."
B.: "Because of academia's institutions and --"
Me: "Because I'd take this advice from anyone other than you."
B.: "So it's just 'cause it's me."
Me: "Yes."
B.: "So, then, don't listen to me."
Me: "I'm not, when I do, it stresses me out and I can't write anything. Don't read my blog if you don't like it."
B.: "I'm only saying this -- and continuing to call you back when you hang up on me -- because I believe in you, weirdo, and I want to read your blog. I love your writing."
Me: "You haven't liked anything I've written all year."
B. "I liked that auto-portrait piece."
Me: "UGH. Okay, you didn't like anything besides that."
B.: "Okay, tell me what was the content in your most recent post?"
Me: "Nothing. Nothing it was totally irrelevant, worst blog ever, you should just read Elif Bautman and Arts & Letters and The Guardian UK and skip my vapid blog."
B.: "Just tell me what in that post --"
(I hang up)

And so on. Eventually we reached a truce related to different feelings about art vs. entertainment and clearly life in general. Whatevs. "Blog" is such a weird word, it sounds like "bog." Which is a swamp. "There's just no pleasing you, there's just no talking to you." (Ani DiFranco) But I don't know the answer to the question, "why do I do it?" The answer I gave: "I don't know yet." I'm ok with that. It'll be my final answer.

Seriously, I wish everyone in this neighborhood could just truce for like 20 seconds so that a solid hour of my life that could pass without the sound of sirens. I'd prefer to hear cows or chickens.

If I started an Emily Gould fanclub on facebook, I wonder if anyone would join it. Actually, that idea is probably so May 26th, and it's totally the 27th already. The slogan would be "If you don't like what she's doing, don't read it, weirdo."

Emily has spoken:

Q: Like you, Joni Mitchell was extremely self-referential. Many people liked this at first, but they eventually grew tired of it. When she finally stopped writing about herself and turned her attention elsewhere, most people had already lost interest and moved on. Do you worry that the same thing will happen to you?

A: Have people grown tired of Joni Mitchell's self-referentiality? I haven't.
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(me neither)

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6. Rode Bicycles

As I mentioned in "Top Ten Sport," bike-riding is one of my favorite life activities and has always been. Remember when you didn't know how? I can't imagine that anymore. I sold my bike when I left Williamsburg though and then the guy I sold it to emailed me and said that he'd fallen off the bike and was paralyzed for life or something and it was my fault for selling a bad bike. Except that I'd ridden it the week before, so whatevs, and also he test rode it around our 'hood before paying for it and riding away. Really I don't know what to say about that whole incident, it makes me itchy. Riding bikes in NYC is like Frogger. Riding bikes upstate, or along Venice Beach, is like perfect. Except for the inner thigh sweat and going uphill.

So anyhow, one day, standing above a river on a bicycle, I'll have the courage to admit my life -- lip gloss and all. For now; sirens, gould, self-indulgent english muffin eating. Ehhh. Scream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Can VLOG Right Now, There's So Much Drama!

[A'ight, two of THE VLOGS are on here now and comments are back on, apparently linking out is v.confusing, which is fine, I understand, I don't know how my phone works.] I took this theater class at Sarah Lawrence where we learned to be Actors by expressing all our Feelings and crying in front of strangers. There were no actual plays involved, obvs, how tedious. It was like group therapy or a revival meeting but for college credit and w/o a gospel choir. Sooo, on the last day we did, surprise, an emotive exercise--we stood in the middle of our ring o' classmates, screamed an affirmation of "how we prevail," and then jumped up and down yelling our affirmation as a group. It was very beautiful, my heart grew three sizes that day. Mine was "I prevail because I learn something new every day." The girl I had a secret crush on said "I prevail because I know that I'm beautiful." I was like, yeah you are. It was also my last day at Sarah Lawrence, and I shouldn't've been jumping 'cause I was injured, but hell, you learn something new every day. Anyhow, I'd emailed Delp that same week (my best writing teacher ever), to update him about dropping out of college etc., and he wrote me this in return:

Marie, dear Marie ...

I thought you were dead ... take some time off ... heal the leg and heal the mind ... go someplace sunny where you can live on a quarter a day ... in the words of Joseph Heller: "what does a sane man do in an insane world?" ... I'm just about ready to hang it up myself ... we teach math and physics and chemistry to everyone and we've ended up with a country like we have? Jesus ... it's enough to make me sick ... so be true to your heart's passions ... become, of all things, a writer .... the world needs the truth now more than it ever has ...
(12. 13. 1999)

Remember yesterday when I wrote that blog? I do! Your comments are so beautiful it hurts to look at them. JK, it doesn't hurt, it's awesome, I can't talk about it without sounding Emo. No, it does hurt, but in a beautiful way. Thank you.

I really was going to delete it about an hour later, but that gets me to the point that brings the first paragraph back around: What did I learn yesterday? If you want to stop yourself from deleting an embarrassing blog, a good idea is to have friends over, kill 1.5 bottles of wine with Carly (this is a pattern, see, I'm predictable), make 10 hours of vlogs and not check your email. Haviland will check your blog before you do, and she'll tell you "Riese, you can't erase it," and you'll say "ok!" 'cause you'll be drunk and making a vlog.

Wanna see it? The trailer I edited (Autostraddle Vlog #1), is below, but if you wanna watch all three, you've gotta go here, to my homosexy teevee recap blog Autostraddle, to watch them. Seriously, it's really good/brill/hilarious and it's worth the extension of your index finger and the external out-click, besides, everyone should try to keep their fingers nimble.



Here's a Blooper Reel that Carly edited with her skills. What's it for? Hmmm ... go here! It's all about The L Word inside jokes, thus auto-straddle's exclusive on it.



[You can comment at AutoStraddle, too much crossblog action makes the baby go blind]

Sunday Top Ten: It's Hard Out Here for a Luddite Without a Cell Phone

[I wrote this in about 30 minutes in Philadelphia yesterday afternoon. Probs needs some work. But I gotta dash to the doc and etc., and I need to post this before I do that, just to make myself feel better. Thank you for your participation.]

Once upon a time, I had a phone. Then, circa witching-hour last eve on Market Street in Philadephia, PA: my T-Mobile SideTwatWaffle got stolen. That's fine. I don't like talking on the phone anyhow. TB offered me her Crackberry Pearl, but I want no such things. I prefer to write letters to my beloveds, like Griffin and Sabine, and send smoke signals. Also, I think it's funny that TB-the-sociopath's got a Blackberry and a MySpace profile, and I'm like, the Helen Keller of technology. I'm not making fun of Helen Keller or other deaf people, obvs, I love deaf people, like Jodi on The L Word, and I especially love blind & deaf people, e.g., the aforementioned Helen Keller. That thing she did with scratching words in palms? S-to the-E-X-Y. If you're blind/deaf and reading this, I love you most of all.

We're in Cosi on the U-Penn campus. Cosi blows, but they've got wireless. On our way down/up [What am I, Carmen Sandiego ? I don't know how we got here. I got into the car, and now we are here. Perhaps if I had a better sense of direction, my life wouldn't be such a fucking mess], we stopped in New Jersey to retrieve literature from TB's storage shed, most of which's been destroyed in a flood. She revealed to me the true source of her astounding intelligence and love of madness theory: she's read like, 5,000 books. I've read like, Goodnight Moon. Anyhow one of the books we picked up was Kathy Acker's prose poem "I am Erica Jong." It's really good. Y'all can buy it from us for a million dollars. Here it is:

JK, I've read more books than anyone I know besides TB. But she beats me by like, 4,500.

They're playing some sort of Satanic Swing music in Cosi:

"I should just get up right now and like--fling you around! You know those movies where they just get out of their chairs and dance around? This music's so gay, this's the gayest shit ever, seriously. I gotta put on my ominous death music right now, I gotta listen to my Depeche Mode."
[TB, just now]

---

Obvs I'm gonna replace my cell phone, probs tomorrow or one of the days after that, but what if I like, didn't? I think people were much more reliable before cell phones, yeah? Anyhow, I was thinking, I'm not the only person in the world without a cell phone, right?

SUNDAY TOP TEN: CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW? NO? THAT'S 'CAUSE I DON'T HAVE A PHONE, WEIRDOS!

LIKE THESE PEOPLE!!!

10. My Grandparents:
Just got an answering machine like, last year. Once my Grandma wrote me an email, it was really cute. They're home alot though. It just occurred to me that I've got a land-line at home. [Right, Roommate-Ryan? Hiii!] I need to figure out how to work that gadget, I bet it'll solve all my problems. I'll just stay at home all the time, which's what I want to do anyhow. I wish I had a ceiling fan to stare at though, that'd make everything more perfect.

9. My Ex-Boyfriends:
I had a thing for boys who couldn't pay their phone bills. Most've 'em had home/dorm lines, which wasn't much comfort: the land-line-only access method enabled things like getting drunk and passing out on the street and having affairs with 16-year-old synchronized swimmers. When my [not ex-boy]friend/neighbor Matty's phone got cut off, he called from pay phones, which meant I had to be on top of my shit: like answer the phone when it rang, even when it was an unidentified number. That was a weird time in my life, suddenly I had to talk to all these people who I woulds typically avoided forever, like DirectTV, just in case it was him asking when I'd be home so he could come over and eat my food. Remembering this time inspired me to ask TB if, instead of replacing my cell phone, she could just give me $500 in quarters. Then I'd need a wheelbarrow to tote it, or a "serious Sancho basket." When S and I broke up the first time, he cited problems with the intensity of our relationship and said: "I wanna be able to take my guitar down to the river to play and not have anyone know I'm taking my guitar down to the river." I was like, Umm...well, if we break up, no one'll pay your phone bill anymore, so you could drown in said river and no one'd know where to look, especially since "play guitar" is clearly code for "Tony Hawk," and "independence" is my campaign promise, so let's get down to the real issue here, yeah?

8. Dogs and Cats:
When a dog needs you, it's just like "Ruff ruff!" And a cat's like: "Meow!" And you're like: "What's up, dog/cat? Are you hungry? Would you like me to scratch behind your ears? Would you like some dog and/or cat food?"

7. People from History:
Another book we picked up was the letters of Virginia Woolf and Vita Sackville-West. They were lesbos, sorta, like me! [I'm a bisexual=half-lesbo. But I've got a whole girlfriend. This's important information for those of you who've never read this blog before EVER.] If they'd had cell phones, it woulda been all like "What're you wearing?" Which's much less mysterious and fun, and doesn't make for good reading. Also, the pioneers on the Oregon Trail didn't have cell phones. If they had, someone coulda called from Oregon and been like, "I know a shortcut."

6. Alexander Graham Bell:
He invented the telephone, so obvs he didn't have a cell phone, because the egg came before the mobile egg. After inventing the telephone, he got really famous and could make love to any woman or man he wanted to. Thanks to AGB, people learned how to be even more annoying than usual, and started moving far away from each other and then civilization slowly crumbled into this giant disconnect of randomness where true love's as rare as true love and we use the word "love" like it's a free lollipop at the dentist, especially 'cause it's easier to give out not face-to-face. Right before you hang up, just throw it out there. You'll usually get it back, unless you're talking to someone who really matters, but not that much yet.

---

[This's me trying to get TB to hold her hand to my ear like a phone. I asked her to find me a banana,
so I could photograph myself pretending that a banana was a phone. Unfortunately she did not do this,and rather than holding her hand to my ear, put my headphone back in so I could blast off
into Ave Maria-land again.]

Those who've gotten away from me:
read this, and call.
Those whom I've hurt:
I wanted everything,
or not enough,
it was all my fault.
-Stephen Dunn, Loves

---

5. Homeless People:
Thing is, if you're homeless, you really need a cell phone, because you can't have a land line if you don't have a land to line. You know? Hopefully a homeless person's got my phone right now, and is using it to find a place to crash, call his Mom, or to go into my gmail, get all my passwords, and steal all my money. JK! I don't got no money, fools. My Thief can hijack my friendster and say that The Princess Diaries's my favorite movie or something mean like that. I didn't shut off my phone though, because if they're trying to use it and it doesn't work, that'd be really disappointing, after going through all that effort to steal it. TB just reminded me: WEEKEND MINUTES! So it's free for them to call whomever, awesome.

4. Carrie Bradshaw:
I know she got one in the series finale ["Hi, Mr. Big! I mean, John?!"], but, for someone who so enjoyed talking about herself, she held out for quite some time. I found that to be inspirational, unlike the rest of her personality, which made me wanna punch my television and throw a small cuddly animal out a window onto a random totesbagged passerby.

3. David Sedaris:
He says people don't call him that often. If he was my friend, I'd call him 'cause I bet he'd make me laugh. That's why people call me, obvs. JK, no one calls me anymore, cause: 1. I never pick up, 2. I don't have a cell phone anymore! He makes me laugh really hard, but I also stopped reading his books after Me Talk Pretty One Day, so maybe I'm biased. His sister Amy's the real deal, too: fully embracing art/life integration and guerilla humor, because if no one reads books or watches quality television [oxymoron, natch], then you've gotta find the forum where people are paying attention, like Letterman, and do your piece, burst boldly into whatever format'll take you and shake it up a little. We're all so self conscious these days--who's watching? Is this gonna be on youtube? How'll this clip make me look?--and seem to forget that the world around us's gotten so absolutely fucking ridiculous that actually behaving feels sometimes like sleeping. At Amy's photo shoot for Paper magazine, she asked to be made up to look beaten/bruised. Like, F-you, tortured models. Here's some torture: eat me! have a cupcake, etc. She makes cupcakes, which're delicious.

SIDE NOTE: SERIOUSLY THEY ARE PLAYING LISA LOEB'S "STAY" IN COSI RIGHT NOW. I'm trying to listen to "Ave Maria" on repeat, as I usually do during trying times like this one, but "Stay" is even louder. OMG NOW THEY ARE PLAYING THAT RETARDED SWING MUSIC AGAIN. "WHAT IS WITH THIS MUSIC? WHERE ARE WE? LIKE, THE SWINGING TWENTIES OR SOMETHING? " (TB)

2. All of Us, not that long ago:
Seriously it was not that long ago. I could wax over all the things that've changed since we got cell phones, but I think I did that in an earlier post, and I've got this funny feeling I wouldn't be the first person to write on this. All I'm saying is: it must be possible, right? Possible?!

1. Me, Tomorrow:
OK, I'm gonna get a new cell phone on Friday. In the meantime, either you know where I live or you don't, and you can try calling my girlfriend, who can then type to me on gmail chat, or you can type to me on gmail chat too. Also you can send a messenger, especially singing messengers, those are the best kind. Or letters, duh.

Sunday Top Ten: The Unpaid Internship You've Waited All Your Life For

I've decided instead of [or "in addition to"] getting a job, I'm going to GIVE a job. Like reverse Christmas, if Christmas was a day for getting jobs. If you think about it, a job's a lot like a Christmas present. For example: today [Sunday], it's unlikely I'll receive either a job or a present. I'd post an a "Job-Giving" ad on craigslist, but I can't afford that, I have children's mouths to feed and/or gloss.

This job is an unpaid internship but there's hope for advancement into the highest ring of angels around heaven. That's also unpaid, but it's really fun: 'cause angels can fly, they get special missions and never spill marinara sauce on their outfits, like I do when I wear white.

As you can see on this blog, my life's a laugh-a-minute AND a dynamic, fast-paced, detail-oriented, team-playered work environment. I go out all the time, party all night long, drink like a fish, sleep 'til nine a.m. and read a lot. [That's a joke, p.s., for those of you just tuning in. Except I do read a lot and sleep 'til nine a.m.] E.G. right now I'm reading Ovid's The Art of Love, which--speaking of presents--was a present from TB. So far, the narrator's ripped out his married girlfriend's hair [cause she dyed it, as I plan to do within the next 72 hours], impregnated his girlfriend's maid and then delivered a harsh missive regarding his ire over the maid's self-administered abortion. In the introduction, Ovid's described as "romantic to the core."

Here are the top ten requirements of this job.

SUNDAY TOP TEN:
BECAUSE WHEN YOU FIND A JOB YOU LOVE, YOU NEVER WORK A DAY IN YOUR LIFE.

10. GOOD LISTENER

This's the most important part of the job. I've got some people who already do this, including my trusty/patient shrink, but I feel I'll be exhausting their resources soon enough and could use some administrative support, if you will. And, re: my shrink--she's on the Upper East Side and I'm in West Harlem, so I gotta subway downtown before going uptown, which's maddening. I've got a return-trip routine though: purchase latte, crank up sad crazy music [I have a "crazy" playlist on my ipod], muse over all the ways I could improve my life but probably won't, because instead I'm sitting on the Q train going downtown instead of uptown in order to confront Times Square EXACTLY at rush-hour [1 transfer]. I learned two days ago, however, that Grand Central at rush hour's way worse, it's the scariest thing I've seen since Willow.

9. CERTIFIED HAIR COLORIST, STYLIST AND NAIL TECHNICIAN.

This duty's only quarterly. One of those times'll inevitably be a massive hair color fuck-up, self administered by myself at an inane hour of night, likely while intoxicated. (SEE PHOTO, RIGHT, which depicts "STAGE ONE" of "When I dyed my hair black and then red, and then blonde/orange '03") (SEE ALSO post DETAILING last year's hair-dye fiasco ) Following my inevitable success/fortune, this duty'll be taken over by Rachel, via private plane.

8. 2-3 YEARS EXPERIENCE READING NEWSPAPERS/PLAYING PARTY GAMES.

It'd be nice if you could put together a daily skit regarding the day's headlines and perform it for me as I enjoy my morning Kashi. Actually, you could switch it up every day: straight delivery, interpretive dance, musical number or perhaps even Charades! I'd be like: "20 civilians dead! 200 ? Shot civilians praying? --oh! Soldiers! School children?! Innocent bystanders in Idaho? Tornado?!!! Okay--that's close though--okay--hurricane? Apocalyptic mass extinction? There's a new family movie coming soon to a theater near me?"

7. COPY-EDITING AND WORD-COUNT-REDUCING ABILITIES

TB already does this, but she's not an unpaid intern, she's my love-slave. Giddy-up! In any event, I'm looking to redistribute this particular labor in the near future and remove some of the load from TB's proverbial back, so please know MLA/Whatever grammar real good, especially: the difference between "that" and "which," "its" and "it's" and when to say "___ and I" or "me and ____." Ability to transform a 5,000-word essay into an 800-word essay is a bonus and will result in a salary double.

6. REGULATION-READY APPEARANCE, SUPER-HUMAN STRENGTH, SUPER-POWERS

You can't be any geek off the street, gotta be handy with the steel if you know what I mean, earn your keep! Regulators! Mount up!
-Warren G

Right now, there's 5-6 humans outside on the street yelling like wild hooligans. Now--my Mom kicked me out of my home for blowing bubbles in my milk many-a-time, but that's no excuse to be yelling silly things into the night air when I'm upstairs having important thoughts. I need someone to regulate on their asses. Also, I'd like someone with one or more of the following super-powers: Seeing Through Walls, Precognition, Cross-Dimensional Awareness, Zach Morris Time Freeze, Flying, Spider-Vision, Telekinesis, Ability to Teach Public School in a Low-Income District, Go-Go Gadget 'Brella.

Seriously though for those of you familiar with the Go-Go Gadget 'Brella and the recent onslaught of random-ass NYC rainstorms, you know how kickass that would be. The guy on the corner'd be like: Five dollah! And you'd be like, ziiiippppppiddiiii

5. SEWER AND OR/TAILOR

Most of my clothes are within the $5-$30 price range, which means they fall apart more-or-less instantly. I noticed Krista¹ often got her pants hemmed, though, which's when I realized that people my age get their clothes fixed instead of just stuffing them in the closet for whenever they learn how to fix stuff so it don't split open no more. I don't need hemming though, I need hole-fixing and lengthening, if possible. I've had this pair of Abercrombie jeans since '03 that recently earned a hole in the ass, and I don't know what to do about it. Sometimes I think maybe no-one'll notice if I just don't stand up, or something?

4. PERSONABLE, PROFESSIONAL PHONE-CALLER

For starters, call the dentist: I haven't been to the dentist since that blizzard during Winter Break '04, when Mom put Lewis² and I up in a motel right next to a dentist office. There was no Internet. So what did we do instead? Well, I'd tell you, but Mom would probably email me about it, and then call me, and since I haven't filled this position yet, who'd call her back? That's right: no-one. There was a little gym in the motel, which was nice. I'd run on the treadmill like a little bunny and watch movies on the teevee, but if I ran too fast, I couldn't hear the teevee, so I'd have to slow down. It was very frustrating. Sometimes I'd go to the lobby and argue with the guy about how internet works, and Lewis'd get very indignant about the misleading sign claiming "free internet-wireless" or what have you. We tried to get some money back. For Mom, obvs.

So anyhow: Dentist. I brush my teeth approx. 20 times a day, which's why I have toothbrushes all over this city. Actually, I did make a dentist appointment a few months ago, but apparently the free insurance I'm scamming off the government had already picked a dentist for me in East Harlem, where I lived ten gazillion years ago. So you'd have to hunt that down, then call.

My Mom. Natalie, Krista, Direct-TV probs, Aunt, Grandparents, Cousin-who-just-had-baby, Noah, and Visa, because I think they're scamming me on the APR.

3. MULE-ING EXPERIENCE

Mostly, you'll be required to tote groceries [I haven't found a grocery store in this 'hood, which means I've been living on pasta/Ragu and peanut-butter-crackers from CVS], alcohol, and my lap-top. See, not so bad. Not like actual mules, who have to carry ten pounds of bananas through the desert in Mexico or Egypt or whatever.

2. HOME REPAIR AND MAINTENANCE

First order of business is getting rid of the bars on my window and installing the oft-mentioned air conditioner.

Also, I've got this problem with my bed that I've had for a few years now: I keep an additional comforter between my mattress and the fitted sheet for extra comfort, but this also puts strain on the fitted sheet's ability to stay put, especially during "special" activities, e.g. sex. As soon as I note the fitted sheet coming undone, my anxiety level skyrockets and it's all I can think about: must fix sheet, must fix sheet. I've been known to interrupt activities to fix the sheet, and also to demand "off the bed!" immediately following said activities to re-position the sheet as quickly as possible. I've solved this problem by nailing my fitted sheet to the mattress, but now there's multiple holes in fitted-sheet-corners. There must be a better way. Please fix.

Also: cleaning. I like cleaning sometimes, but not all the time. I like things being clean though. I hate my room being dirty. This's one of many things I will be talking to you about, see Job Requirement #10: The Futile Process of Discussing Why Riese Doesn't Fix Things That Drive Her Crazy, e.g. my room being disorganized.

1. CREATIVE THINKER WITH GOOD IDEAS

Like, what should number one be on this Top Ten? That's your job interview question. At The Olive Garden³ they asked me what I would tell the guest if their food was taking forever, and I said I'd tell them that the kitchen staff was fucking up and I was annoyed with them, too, pass the buck, kiddos!, and they still hired me. So, no pressure.

---

¹: Krista. Sisters since we were made suitemates at Interlochen (boarding school) in 1997. Lived together in East Harlem. Currently painfully far away at Yale.
²: Lewis. My younger brother. Lives in New Orleans. OMG!!! Yes. He was also living there during Katrina, but he got out just fine.
³: When I was 18, no-one would hire me w/o waitressing experience, so I got a job at The OG in Times Square, 'cause they have training/brainwashing there, so it doesn't matter how inexperienced you are. I talk about it a lot, so I'm glad I worked there. It's great anecdotal material.

Not So Needy to Need a Text, Tray, Soy Milk, Deals, Hot Wax Parrifin

The plethora of clearly mass-directed Happy Valentine's Day text messages almost rivals the onslaught I received around New Years Eve. I fell for ALL of those, because I'm a tool. I actually texted back, like "wow! It's been so long since you've gotten in touch with me! Happy New Year to you too, buddy!" and then when I started to put two and five hundred together, I realized these people were probably getting my earnest notes of good cheer and thinking 'wow, what a tool, I sent that to like, people I slept with in the nineties and like, classmates from junior high ..." And sometimes I was that person from junior high. Or you know ... the other thing.

So look, you, obscure co-worker who I speak to maybe once a month and have had ten conversations with maybe ever: really? Really?! You really want ME, specifically, to have a happy Valentines Day? I'm sorry--"v-day"? Right, just like you wanted me to have this great New Years Eve AND a Merry Christmas (P.S. Jesus? Christ-mas? CHRIST-mas? Not my day, not my day!)...enough! Enough! I don't need your trite mass-sent wishes of good cheer. See, if you knew me, you would know that I'm a borderline-sociopath. You'd know that although I cry on the subway when I'm reading a sad book, and although I cry when I listen to Spring Awakening on my ipod or Kelly Clarkson, and that I cry when people say nice things to me, I am also all-in-all a relatively cynical person.

That's why I have a blog, to blast my cynicism. You know how many valentines I am giving out this year? One. That's right. Just one. To my Mom.

Just kidding, I didn't send my Mom anything. I am sending out one, but it's not for her.
I'm still expecting my Godiva from my Mom, maybe it's delayed on account of the weather.
I actually have a bad habit of sending things on the holiday itself, rather than in anticipation of the holiday.

So FYI, here's some things I don't need. And--if you're my actual friend who actually loves me and sent a mass text today, that's fine, I appreciate it, seriously. It's all the half-strangers that boggle me with their totally misdirected love.

Save yourself the trouble, kids:

That Black Tray at "THE CINDERELLA CLUB"
The "Cinderella Club" is not, as it's name might imply, an underage porn web-ring or a gathering place for exotic dancers. The one thing it has in common with those places is the Tackiness Level. The Cinderella Club is an almost unbearably hot-pink and well-lit outpost for the sale of crappy but trendy jewelery, like a less ambitious Clarie*s, and they are all over the city, and it has an employee-to-square-foot ratio of about 1:2. They should send some of that extra manpower to Duane Reade. During my last visit to the Club, I was offered a black tray not once--not twice--but three times. The third time I yelled "REALLY! I SWEAR! I DON'T NEED ONE!" Carrying one of those things--which I assume they employ mainly to deter shoplifters from slipping $5 rings into their pockets--feels very unnatural. It makes me feel like a bodybuilder drinking an Ameretto Sour with a cherry. I have big hands. I can handle carrying whatever I want in those hands. Should I change my mind, I'll ask you--or her, or her, or him, or him--for a goddamn "tray." What is this, Old Country Buffet?

"SPECIAL DEALS" Offered by Companies That Have Already Ass-Raped Me And Then Trapped Me in An Abusive Relationship Where They Always Say They're Going to Change if I Change One Thing or Another But Then They Never Change, They Always Find a New Way to Hurt Me?: I'm Talkin' To YOU Sprint PCS, Chase Bank and Fresh-Direct
It hurts enough that I have to pay $5.99 for 3 slices of cheese, don't tease me with that $60.00 for new customer coupon you know I can't use now. I'm an old customer. OLD! I already pay a $3.00 fee every time I consider using my debit card and $6.00 every time I offer to pay for dinner with my debit card but then retract and $9.00 if I dare to actually use it to buy something and $12 if I use it at an ATM on an even-numbered street--and it makes me feel worse to see you offering free checking and all kinds of goodies to new bankers. It hurts enough that I never talk on the phone, because I'm a phone-a-phobic, and yet I have an astronomical phone bill that I can't seem to decipher or change, and that my phone is crap and I really want a treo, but I can't have one, because even though you are selling it to new customers for $100.00, I would have to pay $800, and if I dared to cancel my contract, you would fuck me so hard with a cancellation fee that I wouldn't be able to walk for three days, let alone send a text message.

Recommendations from Amazon.com Based on My Browsing History
Look, y'all need to get everyone together and start knockin' heads because this system is deeply flawed. You ask us to buy gifts for people on your site, and then when we do, we're punished by three weeks of Grilling Cookbooks. You ask us to buy books for school--but thanks, really, 6 books about the holocaust is plenty for me, I def. do not need 6 more. Nor do I need any more explorations into the world of Statistics 350, and I definitely don't need any recommendations based on graphics I was retrieving to update the website at the lit agency or any recommendations based on YA novels I was looking up while writing my book to remember what I used to read. Elizabeth George, Nora Roberts, "Rainbow Boys"--not my thing really. Are there any people that only use Amazon to look for things they want to buy and for no other reasons? (e.g. graphics for blog entries? um, using "the haviland touch" as a graphic for a myspace comment? ?) That might sound like a dumb question to people who don't work in publishing.

Spa Pedicure? (said by nail-lady, very beseeching, kind, innocent, unsuspecting-like)
I am so not falling for this one again. Post-spa-pedicure, my then-boyfriend did, indeed, gamely stroke my legs and say "they do feel a lot softer," and when I said "you're just saying that to make me feel better," he was like "no, they really do," in this really genuine voice, which was sweet, but not as sweet as the 40 bucks I was told I needed to shell out for the innocuously suggested upgrade, which involved a lot of lotions caked onto my then-not-softer-than-usual legs and wrapped in saran wrap. Tight. As soon as I put on my cowboy boots again, my feet were effectively re-ruined.

Erotica From Strangers
Like every egotistical writer and blogger, there is nothing that warms my insecure little heart like fan (e)mail or fan myspace messages. But: 1. I don't write erotica anymore, I just did it for a little while back in 04-05, and that was super-fun, but you know, I'm certainly not in a position to be anyone's mentor or dispenser of advice, and 2. you can just like me, you don't have to like me and send me a story involving graphic descriptions of sexual activities in a sort of sportscaster style play-by-play "lovemaking" voice.
Unless you're hot and I want to have real sex with you, then you can send me whatever you want. Note: this is a very limited group, and it doesn't include 50 year old men who describe women as if it is still 1923, when it was okay to act like women didn't have brains. There's a market for that stuff, and that market is soooooo not me.
This happens more often than you might think.

MySpace Event Invitations, Especially When that Event is a Threesome
I really like this in spirit, but I find it a bit flawed in practice. (the threesome reference above is actually something I get in normal messages, not via events, I just thought that would sound clever sorta) I tried to do one a few weeks ago for "The L Word" and that was kinda fun, but I think totally ineffective. I actually didn't realize that people really looked at them until I noticed when my friends opened their myspace pages, it didn't say "new event invite!" whereas I sort of like, figured that was part of my template. Why don't I look at them? Because they are 95% parties with people like that guy on the left. I'd say "that guy and those girls," but something tells me those girls aren't big conversationalists. Also, is that really his stomach? Is he jealous that the other girls are showing their stomachs and he wants to flash a little midriff too? There are a lot of things about the world I just don't understand.


The Free Newspaper
The thing about that free newspaper is that there are plenty of free newspapers to be found as your day goes on. Usually, I will find an am new york or metro on every subway bench, often expanding their mess onto the floor of the subway. Furthermore, you may find some at the coffee-fixins area at Starbucks, perhaps in the ladies room, in a taxi cab, at a friends apartment or office, on an empty chair at hale n' hearty soups, or in the waiting area at the subway station as late as 10pm. You might find one in your very own apartment, brought home by some roommate or other vagabond. I feel that taking one from the newspaper person is just creating more mess that will annoy me as I try to make my way in the world. I'm not too proud for second-hand-newspapers. Save the trees!

Samples of Random Products at the Gym
Girl, look at my hair. What am I gonna do with a Sunsilk volumizer? I'm a Jew, I already have a volumizer in my genes that I have managed to kill with careful product selection. What am I gonna do with a bottle of Soy-Milk while I'm working out? How about instead of handing out free bottles of Soy Milk, which would be so gross to drink during a workout, you should concentrate on other liquids, like the soap dispensers or the showers.

Jesus
I think he's great but I'm trying to read and/or listen to my ipod, so shut up. Anyone who converts because of what you said on a 9am B-D-F-train is a total lunatic.

And, just to reiterate:

No Mass-Texts. EVER
I just don't know what the point of it is. Seriously, someone, make a case for this. I mean, how can you possibly feel special or entitled to a greeting that was mailed to everyone you've ever called, ever? If you want to make us all feel loved, then shoot us a mass email which is slightly less annoying , or a mass postal mailing, which is actually quite sweet. Or just you know--love me. REALLY love me. For who I am. As a person, and as a wilderness explorer.

HAPPY V DAY TO EVERYONE IN THE WHOLE WORLD WHO EVER LIVED

Sunday Top 10: Don't Date Me. Wink Wink.

Going outside in this weather requires at least 10 layers of clothing (or one winter jacket, for those of you who choose the "easy way out") and insanity begins it's hold on your brain around Block Five of your trek to the subway station (muttering to yourself, cursing imaginary gods, telling people you love Jesus but you drink a little, etc.). That means that if you want someone to come over and play with your hair and tell you how pretty you are, you will need a girlfriend/boyfriend (The only people who make extended treks through ice and snow to get to Other People are people who are hoping, at some point, that this "Other Person" will have his or her head between the Trekker's thighs. Furthermore, if you live in Sheepshead Bay or Ohio, the Trekker would also hope that the Other Person has Oral Skills)--and this is a tough time to get one, because most people are Gay, Straight AND Taken. Everyone is staying together at least until April, when girls start wearing shorts again.

Around Valentine's Day, people get extra-interested in each other's dating status. If I don't have a girlfriend/boyfriend, my single-hood is usually easy to explain:

1. I don't want a relationship right now
2. I've got this good thing going with my ex? He still tells me I'm pretty, we have sleepovers, and he helps me move, but he's agreed not to talk about his "feelings" or "where this is going"?
3. I've got this good thing going with someone else's boyfriend/girlfriend? But I promised not to talk about it.
4. I've made zero effort to obtain one. (Maybe a .5 effort, if myspace browsing counts) I mean, I don't even like, "go out." Like, ever.

This year, we are looking at Number 4. Haviland thought it would be "fun" if I did a Top Ten Reasons why you should be my girlfriend. But I thought that might be too obvious and I don't want to dissuade potential Valentines. It's sneakier to just get them in your ring and then pounce like a tiger. Then Karen suggested REVERSE PSYCHOLOGY.

So: I went to a private school for "gifted" students for grades 6-8. The Most Bad-Ass Thing the boys ever did was secretly play Magic the Gathering under the table and the Most Bad-Ass Thing the girls ever did was when we stole Ho-Hos from the vending machine. Our health teacher, who I'll call "Barb," wore 50’s-style cat-eye glasses, frumpy polyester skirts and scuffed velcro sneakers with athletic knee socks. Barb’s most noted fashion trademark, however, was the one inevitably un-buttoned button of her antique blouse, revealing her brasserie. Barb gave us condoms and bananas and showed us Mystery Science Theater 2000 versions of Sex Ed videos and raved about how much fun it was to have sex with her husband. That vision haunted us. We didn’t want to have sex anymore.

So I'm thinking if reverse psychology squelched any sexual activity happening in middle school (or else we were all just kinda ugly then, and had a lot of metal in our mouths), then it should probably also work on girlfriends.

Also, I have no time, and since I never write about my dating life or anything, and since I've got a list of "things that are wrong with me" pretty much at the forefront of my paleolithic skull, this should be easy to whip out. Fast. (Side note: I ramble when I go quickly. If you haven't noticed already)

SUNDAY TOP TEN: TOP TEN REASONS WHY YOU SHOULD TOTALLY NOT BE MY VALENTINE.

10. I Have a Thing With Penetration. Of Your Ear. With My Wet Finger.
I've had this problem (a compulsive desire to submit my companions to wet willies) for about 6-7 years now. After her 25th subjection to this childlike attack, Haviland suggested: "I think you have a thing with like, penetration." (true) But it's really hard for me to lie in bed next to someone (read: really, ANYONE) in a non-sexual situation (read; not actively HAVING sex, though if we've JUST had sex, it's totally fair game) and not try to stick my finger in their ear. I don't know why. When I dated [redacted], he woke me up with a high-quality sneak-attack wet willie on the first night he slept over and I was like "Holy shit, you've been sent here by G-d to reek vengeance on me for all my sins of the past." That turned out to be true in many ways.

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9. I Don't Do: Relationships, Sleepovers, Brunch, "Talking on the Phone," Feelings.

Unless um, I like you a lot. Then I'll do all of those things except brunch. Unless you're cooking it. Or I am.

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8. I've Got Some Tight Girl-Friends (Just Friends!) Who I Often Prioritize. And I Might Call Them While You Are in the Bathroom.

Let me quote my spice girls, who once said: "If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends." By "get," they mean "enjoy the company of." If you actually "got" with my friends, like in the biblical sense, I'd probably hack into your myspace account and post comments on the pages of your Top 8 encouraging them to try this great new diet drug that helped you lose a few pounds. Also, because this is the community on which "the chart" was based, I'd be surprised if you haven't already "got"ten with my friends. And I mean that biblically.

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7. I'm Bisexual

I'm bisexual. That's pretty much irrelevant. But according to the Big Bi Survey I am currently conducting, only 16.4% of bisexual women (I have almost 400 responses so far) DISAGREE with the statement "Lesbians don't want to date bisexual girls," and 63% agree with that statement. I mean, sure, I'm slutty, flighty, confused, deranged, homicidal, insane, likely to leave you for a man, likely to initiate a threesome, likely to be in transition to gay or straight, totally likely to really want to date a man and a woman both at the same time, because otherwise how on earth could my perverted appetites be satisfied, but like, so what? Rita Mae Brown used a handgun to blow out the rear window of Martina Mavratilova's BMW. So you homos have your own issues, k?

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6. Sometimes Dating Me is Sort of Like Becoming a Fictional Character

You will immediately become a part of The Automatic Win World. That means you will be photographed, quoted, described, and flattered, 2-3 times a week, right here on this blog. You will be expected to comment. On the up-side, if we stop seeing each other, I won't bitch about you or mention a breakup. I will continue to speak of you only when appropriate, e.g. a yearly quotes round-up, appropriate photograph, when describing your assault on my ears with your finger (see "[redacted]" in "10").

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5. I Like the Stairmaster More than I Like You.

There are not many things that can come between me and my date with The Gym. The best way to avoid this conflict is to book 24-48 hours ahead of time, because then we're good to go. But as soon as I've decided to go to the gym on a particular day, I'm going. A "Day-Of" surprise will not be accepted, unless it involves: 1. Famous People, 2. Copious Amounts of Free Things And/Or Money, 3. Fame, 4. Tickets to an Amazing Event.

This shouldn't be complicated, really. But most people want someone to talk them out of going to the gym (e.g. "Skip the gym, baby, let's go have brunch insteadddd...."), so my partners are often surprised by my resolute and firm insistence (and my firm BOD). The thing is, it's got nothing to do with my body. It just pumps up my endorphins and helps my fibromyalgia, which you probably haven't even heard of, so there.

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4. I Really Believe That Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder.

I actually go slightly insane when I get manicures because I can't read at the same time because I can't use my fingers, which means I am doing NOTHING at all besides just having my fingers painted (podcasts have fixed this problem). This is just to say that I like to pack each moment with as much activity as possible.

Because I'm a little obsessed about: 1. Time Management and 2. My Alone-Time. I like being Alone. I always have work to do.

This is kind of irritating to others, and I'm working on it.

Also, if I'm like, "in love," then this rule can be adjusted slightly. Somewhere between "slightly" and "completely."

Bonus: long-distance relationships are totally fine with me.

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3. I Can Be a Little Annoying about Restaurants, Though Most of My Friends Are Equally Insane, Though in Different Ways, So I Have No Conception of This Being Strange.

-I will not consume Aspertine, aka "Equal" or "Nutrasweet" in any context.
-I don't like spicy food. I consider excessive amounts of pepper to be a spice.
-I won't eat meat except for: heavily marinated grilled chicken and cheeseburgers.
-I will eat meat that is not grilled chicken or cheeseburgers if it is prepared by a chef at an expensive restaurant or by Ingrid Greenfield.
-I have been known also to eat hot dogs and fat-free bologna.
-I won't eat any kind of meat from Empire Corner or any other restaurant that costs below $10/entree and delivers faster than I could make toast.
-I won't eat anything that is heavy on onions or chives or garlic.
-I won't eat pasta or ice cream before sunset.
-I won't go inside a Chinese restaurant or a fast food restaurant or any place that has a scent I think might linger on my clothing after I leave.
-If you put sugar in my coffee or bring me Diet Coke instead of regular, I will kill you with a 6-liter bottle of Whoop-Ass.
-I won't drink beer. Or gin. Or anything lemon-lime flavored.
-I will not watch you eat wings or ribs.
-I can eat whatever I want and not get fat, which is annoying to some girls. On the up-side of this, if you pick up my eating habits, I will totally support you and your added weight, because I agree with Tyra Banks that she is not fat, and I agree with 89% of OK! Magazine readers that curvy girls are way sexier than skinny girls.

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2. I'm Always Late

On the up-side, I'm probably late because I'm making you a card. Or getting you a present. Or trying to pick the outfit that would most please you. Or because I have no concept of how time works, and I often cling to the knowledge that if every train arrives exactly when I need it to, it is POSSIBLE that I will be on time.

Also. I'm working on this. (actually the funny thing is, I am running late AS I WRITE THIS!)

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1. I Don't Want a Girlfriend.

Or do I?

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Feel free to apply for this position. Or say mean things to me from personal experience. Or nice things! Just click "add comment."