I hate myself.

2003-04-25T01:50:00.000-04:00

I've moved to LiveJournal!

2003-01-07T13:08:00.000-05:00

Trip to NYC went off well. Contrary to expectations of friend's mother, three feet of snow did not fall on the five burroughs. LS, LG, A, and I stayed in M's 5th floor walk-up in the Cobble Hill section of Brooklyn. Nice place. I could definitely live there.

My tummy felt better by Friday night. No vomiting, so yay for that. We ordered out and I got chicken soup. It was a tub of chicken broth and vegetables with spaghetti noodles, and submerged in it was a giant chunk of chicken bigger than my fist. Friends got the garlickiest garlic bread in the history of Italian take-out. Disturbing.

Saturday we went to some bead shops in the west 30s so LS could pick up some findings (the metal bits that go at the end of the strand, for the non-bead initiated). The world of beads is far more vast and complex than I ever would have thought.

That night, as our Christmas present from M we went to Studio 54 to see Cabaret with Molly Ringwald as Sally Bowles and Neil Patrick Harris as the Emcee. And! Tom Bosley. Yes, that's right, Father Dowling himself. Very exciting. Molly was good, though nothing to write home about. Doogie, though, was fabulous. We also imbibed some excellent Cosmopolitans. All in all, quite awesome. Then we went to the East Village and had dinner in a very hip little place, Stingy Lulu's Luncheonette, where I had the Best. Burger. Ever. and we all had a very good time.

Sunday we slept ridiculously late and didn't get out of the apartment until four. Hey, there were five of us and one bathroom, and we got sucked into watching The Exorcist and that episode of ST:TNG where Data and Tasha Yar have the sex. We finally packed up our stuff and put it in the car, and as we were walking around Cobble Hill looking for someplace to eat it started to snow lightly. We found a nice place to eat that was far too upscale to be calling itself a diner, where LS measured the surface area and capacity of two different kinds of sugar packets and detemined that the traditional rectangular ones are wasteful and inefficient compared to the tubular kind. Ah, science.

Said goobye and thanks to M, big hugs, and set off just as the snow was coming down a little more seriously. Got lost on the BQE. Finally managed to find our way onto the turnpike. Was sort of slushy slow going, but no big deal. Sang along to Les Mis, Little Mermaid, and Singers and Songwriters of the 70s. Didn't get home in time for Alias, which sucks, but oh well. Was definitely worth it.

Had a fantastic time. Am very, very glad I didn't get all mopey and wuss out on going. I *heart* my friends. I *heart* NY.

2003-01-03T13:42:00.000-05:00

So, this sucks. Remember back in the fall when I was so happy about being a size 6 at the Gap? Well, after five or six months of depression and junk food, I no longer fit in the size sixes. Or, for that matter, the eights. Or, apparently, the tens. (Although this last may only be because a)they just came out of the dryer and b)I think I'm bloated.)

I'm supposed to go visiting in NYC this weekend with some friends. Here's what's going wrong so far:

1. The weather's doing what it does in the winter, and one friend is close to chickening out on the trip.

2. Abovementioned weight gain and bloating assures I have no stylish or comfortable clothing to pack. Let's not even talk about clean.

3. This morning I continued my recent habit of eating lots and lots of random crap until I felt ill, and drinking half a pot of coffee. Although it's possible that it's the coffee that made me ill. Probably a combination. Anyway, it seems to be a rule that on travel days I have to have some sort of intestinal ailment. Oh, God, coffee is evil to me.

Questions:

1. Will my friend's weather-wussy-worrywort mother convince her not to come with us, thereby causing all sorts of future resentments?

2. Can I get away with wearing sweatpants all weekend?

3. Am I going to throw up, or is my body just going to do that horrible thing where it produces excess saliva and threatens to throw up? Urrrrrgh.

2003-01-03T13:23:00.000-05:00

I now have a matched set of eyebrows. You're all very relieved, I know.

2003-01-03T07:28:00.000-05:00

Watched an interesting documentary on Frontline last night examining the theory that the works we attribute to Shakespeare were not actually written by the guy called Shakespeare, but rather by Christopher Marlowe (you know, Rupert Everett), who it turns out didn't die in a bar fight in 1593 after all. They say he actually faked his death to avoid the Star Chamber, and went to live in exile in Italy, writing plays and sonnets and sending them back to England through his patron, and using that guy from Stratford as a frontman.

Much Ado About Something.

It's kind of a wacky theory, but a hell of a story, true or not. The main strike against it in my mind is that it kind of makes too much sense. Real life, real history, isn't plotted that tightly. Everything doesn't tie together neatly like in a novel or a play. People do things that make no sense, for no reason. People have contradictions of character that can't be resolved. People lead implausible lives. Events happen at random. People get stabbed in the head and die in bar fights for no reason.

I enjoy conspiracy theories--they're intriguing and entertaining, and among their adherents are some of the very cleverest people--but I tend not to believe them, because they seem to work more like fiction than like life.

2003-01-03T07:04:00.000-05:00

XPN listeners, I am so disappointed in you. I could argue with several of the placements on the listener-voted Top 50 Albums of 2002 countdown, but I'm willing to admit a certain amount of leeway for subjective tastes. What I will not go so far as to accept is that Norah Jones had the best album of the year. I mean, it's nice and all, in a 'and my mom likes it, too!' kind of way, but better than Aimee Mann? Better than Patty Griffin? Better even than snobbish hipster staples like Beck and Wilco? Enough people selected Come Away With Me--music that's nice for having dinner parties, writing English papers, or falling asleep to--as their most very favoritest album of 2002 that it topped the list of 50 releases by 50 prestigious artists.

That's insane, man.

2003-01-03T06:48:00.000-05:00

How to Write Like a Wanker

2003-01-01T07:21:00.000-05:00

So it's six a.m., I've been up all night watching crap tv and making really poor food decisions, and I suddenly decided it's time to pluck my eyebrows. This takes me a really long time, and it hurts. By the time I got the right eyebrow decently shaped, I was so tired of plucking that every time I took the tweezers to the left eyebrow I wanted to cry. Because, you know, plucking hurts. Ow.

So I gave it up and came back to my room. I'll have to go back to it later. As of right now over my right eye is an adequately feminine yet hopefully natural looking brow. Over the left: big fuzzy caterpillar.

2002-12-14T03:01:00.000-05:00

Just looked in the mirror and realized my neck is still covered in dark splotches from coloring my hair yesterday (back to brown). Looks like I have a skin disease. Kind of amusing, actually.

2002-12-14T01:08:00.000-05:00

Ahh, a totally fucking awesome concert and back in time for Letterman. This was a good day. It went thusly:

As I predicted last night, I didn't manage to leave the room until after Guiding Light. Didn't have time to pretty myself up for the concert, but it was for the best, as it was raining out. Clean pants, relatively clean sweater, ass-kickin' boots, a little lipstick and out the door. Confirmed ticket at the will-call. Got change for the bus. Caught said bus. Exited on Craig St. in Oakland, hit the ATM (and it was even my bank, so no evil fee), and since I had almost three hours until the doors opened at Carnegie Music Hall, proceeded to shop. Bwa ha.

Picked up Christmas presents for the folks at Townsend Booksellers, a fantastic little used and rare bookshop. Very cozy. They even had a fire going in the fireplace, it was so cozy. I could have spent a thousand dollars there, but I restrained myself and didn't get anything for myself. Very noble. What I did get: an 1879 children's reader for Mom, who likes old children's and school books (she's an elementary ed. teacher) and a book on Practical Carpentry for Dad--can't find a year on it, but it's probably not older than the thirties. Also an old French road atlas of Paris, Champagne, and Ardennes. Then I went straight for Phantom in the Attic and bought a crapload of comic books for myself. Not even gonna give you the total there, it's embarrassing, and not noble at all. God bless the Discover card.

Went to pick up my ticket, still had an hour to kill, so I walked back to Craig and had a pot of green tea and a Singapore rice noodle plate at a pan-Asian noodle shop I can't remember the name of (and I just realized I forgot to take my receipt, whoops), but it was great. I don't mind dining alone, but it's funny the odd looks one gets. I could tell they wanted to hustle me out of there so they could use the table.

Carnegie Music Hall is a beautiful venue, straight out of the Gilded Age. I had a fairly good seat, in the last row of the first floor circle toward the right side. Good view of the stage, no complaints. By the time I got to the theater I had no cash left, so I had to forego both the bar and the merchandise. Unfortunate, because I really wanted a t-shirt. And after I saw Maia Sharp's opening set I really wanted her CDs.

Maia Sharp went on promptly at eightish, and played for about forty-five minutes. She played acoustic guitar, keyboard, and did a few amazing solos on what may have been an alto sax (I don't know beans about woodwinds), and was backed by a guy on guitar and vocals, and drums. It was a wonderful performance. I was familiar with about half her set just from listening to XPN. It was one of those "Oh, so that's who sings this song! I love this song!" moments. Her voice is warm and honey-smooth, and her musicianship is excellent, but the real draw is her songwriting. Wonderful little stories of loss and longing and just a hint of desperation. Yet upbeat, and occasionally funky. I really recommend checking her out, and I think this is going to end up like when I went to see Lucinda Williams last fall and discovered Ron Sexsmith. CDs will be purchased.

After Maia Sharp's set I quickly jaunted to the bathroom (I did mention that pot of green tea, right?). When I got there there were five people in line. When I went back to my seat there were about fifty. Go me, fast on my feet, oh yeah. I chatted a bit with the generic middle-aged guy sitting next to me, who couldn't get any of his friends to come with him either. It's amazing how I can put on a facade of sociability.

Then the house lights went down, and there was lighting and some pre-recorded music started playing that made me feel like I was about to see Burt Bacharach at the Hollywood Bowl. It was terrific. The music faded out, the lights went down, and Aimee came onstage. She played "It's Not Safe" in a white spot, just her and acoustic guitar. I broke into a grin. Could tell it was going to be a great show. I immediately began to wish I'd brought a pen to take down the setlist. If I go through my CDs right now I might be able to remember which songs were played, but the order has already gone out of my head. The band came out--drums, bass, guitar, and Korg--and the lights went up and they rocked the next number. It might have been "The Moth" or "Calling It Quits." I wish I could adequately describe the lighting in this show. It was really dynamic and theatrical and present. All kinds of gels and spots and magical shiny things I don't know the names for. It might have been too much if the music wasn't so together, but the music was so together, so absolutely on, that the lighting just enhanced the experience. The setlist was a nice cross-section of Aimee's solo albums: two from Whatever, five from I'm With Stupid, four from Bachelor No. 2, two from Magnolia (not including "Deathly", which I counted on BN2), and five from Lost in Space, including "Humpty Dumpty", my current depressive theme song. No "Momentum" (or "It's Not", "Superball", "Ghost World", "I Know There's A Word", or...) but I am in no way complaining. I can't really say there's an Aimee Mann song I don't like.

There was some funny banter, even though Aimee proclaimed herself lousy at it. Turns out the band had watched the movie "Rock Star" on the bus, and she berated it. Heh. And did you know "You Could Make A Killing" was written about Noel Gallagher? Also heh. There was great energy on stage; the audience was a teensy bit subdued at first but really warmed up by the end of the show. (Of course there are always those morons who think they're so witty they just have to yell out their bon mots. God, I hate those people.) We got two encores, five songs total, ending with..."Deathly"? I think? Dammit. I'll have to look up the setlist somewhere later. Anyway, by the end of the show the atmosphere was just so incredible and exhilarating, and I was so, so happy to be there. Best $27 I could have spent. Really, really great show. I wanna follow the band.

Really, you should see how I'm smiling right now.

::contented sigh::

2002-12-07T05:42:00.000-05:00

Last time we had a fire drill for some reason we got a talking-to from Public Safety and Residence Life about Proper Fire Drill Procedure and Decorum. (Although I don't really think anyone in either of those offices would use the word "decorum". Vocab is scary.) We were admonished not to stop to gather personal belongings before exiting the building, during either fire drill or actual fire. Robe and slippers were deemed acceptable if one was in a state of undress. What about wallets? I wondered. If I can find it in under a minute, and I usually know where my wallet is, I'm grabbing the damn thing. I believe they were speaking of general valuables and posessions, specifically mentioning cd players.

Here's the thing. In my room I have a 2-3' plastic penguin. His name is Frank, and he's currently wearing a fez (he's not a shriner, it just looks so smart on him). Not really an irreplaceable heirloom, but if I am around for the next fire drill, I am probablydefinitely going to carry the penguin out with me. This would be even better if it's one of those microwave popcorn false alarms when the fire trucks actually come to campus. "What? I couldn't leave Frank! The alarms frightened him so! Look, you can see it in his eyes! Oh my God, I've lost his fez!"

If I were on the second floor instead of the third, Frank would so be standing in the snow on the roof outside my window right now. But the poor fellow would need a scarf.

2002-12-06T22:51:00.000-05:00

This is why I hate the word "postfeminist". Oh goody, we can jiggle our boobs and blow shit up! The struggle is over, sisters!

2002-12-04T13:55:00.000-05:00

Watching All My Children. Still so, so sad that Leo is gone, and miss him terribly. *sniffle* But Trey is really growing on me. I lurve dysfunctional boys.

The new JR is highly disappointing, though. Just when I got to like the hot new SORASed version, they traded him in.

Hmm. It appears my attention has wandered away from my fic-in-progress. Need caffeine. And possibly Cheetos. Nature's perfect food.

2002-12-04T13:37:00.000-05:00

Fuckity fuck. The Patty tickets are available on TicketBastard. I refuse to pay their ridiculous fees. Convenience charge my ass. The tickets are already $25 as it is. But on the upside I've got the address and phone number of the venue now. That much closer to seeing Patty live for the first time in nearly four years.

And hey, Kasey Chambers at the Keswick in February. Is that enough time to get one of my friends to like Kasey Chambers? And ooh, Dar's there in April! ...Oh, help, I'm becoming a concert slut.

2002-12-04T13:06:00.000-05:00

Dude. I am so going to see Aimee Mann on December 13. I could have put an exclamation point after that last sentence, but I didn't want to detract from the profound gravity of the occasion. So I'll put the exclamation here: Whoooooooo!! I'm gonna see Aimee Mann! I'm gonna see Aimee Mann!

*happy sigh* This almost makes up for Patty Griffin having laryngitis and not performing when I was supposed to see her last summer. It does not, however, make up for Patty coming to Pittsburgh after I leave it. Boo to that. Ooh, but she'll be in South Jersey! South Jersey is close! But I could have gotten to the Byham in Pgh by myself, while I will need someone to drive me to West Collingswood, and none of my so-called 'friends' are Patty fans and won't shell out for tickets just to appease me. Plus there's the matter of figuring out how to buy the tickets, as the event doesn't seem to be listed on Pollstar or Patty's official site. Oh well, I'll figure it out, dammit. But in the meantime...

Woohoo! Aimee Mann!

2002-12-04T11:45:00.000-05:00

bad poetry

Someday I'll take a train across the country
I'll bury my cynicism under the porch back home
And take note of the sincere, the genuine, the true
America-by-Amtrak

Ruins and trash and crumbling things
Rotten backsides of Potemkin towns
Charm chipped off in rusty flakes of abandoned backyard swingsets
Bucolic tableau of grazing cows and rundown barn completed by
Cooling towers on the near horizon
Not hamfisted metaphor of a sophomore poet, but
Something Actually Seen.

Dingy, tattered blanket of the sky like a bandage
Over a weakly bleeding sun whose warmth never drips to the ground.
Scrub and jutting pipes and broken concrete
Scrapyards and plastic bags floating from tree branches
Sometimes a dog trots on three legs across a driveway
Or an empty muni softball field
The people are nowhere, or just somewhere else
Or they're trapped inside their better-days houses
Conserving what color they can because they know
A step outside and the drear muted worldfromthetrain
Would seep it away, still and silent as
The inevitable sag into decay.

Along the tracks, beside the brown rivers and hills,
America clings to its shambles.

Taking the train is depressing, y'all.

2002-11-25T00:36:00.000-05:00

Dear friends,

The Martin and Lewis movie made me cry.

Please kill me.

2002-11-22T01:59:00.000-05:00

I've always wondered about this.

The Straight Dope: Where do chain restaurants get their antiques?

2002-11-19T21:16:00.000-05:00

So, been a while, huh? Since last I posted, I've 'died', had a cosmic energy force take my form and turn evil and then good and then 'die', been cloned and my boyfriend married the clone (what a tool), been found in a pod on the ocean floor and revived, gotten married, had three adult children from alternate timelines, absorbed the memories of both the cosmic energy force and the clone, saved the world like a hundred times, and now my husband's drooling after some skanky ho. Oh, and Bobby is so gay.

...Wait a minute. No, wait, sorry. That's not me. That's Jean Grey.

Signs I am a dork No. 4183 - Actually stood in front of the vending machine and said -- out loud, with no audience -- "Oh, vending machine, why do you vex me so!"

Reasons I love my friends No. 6374 - They say things like, "Angel was thoroughly disturbing. Ew, ew, double ew. If Joss Whedon had cornrows I would so want to rip them out. Fucker."

2002-10-29T00:41:00.000-05:00

I am 50% CANADIAN!!!

(Take the Canadian-ness test)

Only fifty percent? Damn, I've got to work on that.

2002-10-22T16:57:00.000-04:00

I am a bad citizen.

I have never voted in any local, state, or national election. This is not because of any philosophical position that's a cover for laziness. This is actual laziness. Also, apathy. Can't forget that.

There's a gubernatorial election fast approaching here in Pennsylvania, and once again I won't be voting. I don't anticipate that who the governor of Pennsylvania is will really have any great effect on me. But if I were to vote, I'd have to vote for Ed Rendell. Yeah, because he's the Democrat, and while I'm not really a Democrat I'm certainly not a Republican. (Of course to be anything I'd have to vote, and I think we've already established my standing on that.) More importantly, his wife, Judge Midge Rendell, went to my high school. (She wasn't a judge then.)

Most importantly, though, is that the more time I spend in Western Pennsylvania the more I feel like a displaced Easterner. I am absolutely East Coast mid-Atlantic geographically identified. I don't go to Philadelphia that often when I'm home, and nine months a year I live in Pittsburgh, and yet more and more my general attitude is 'Bite me, western Pennsylvania.' There seems to be a feeling out here that the Philadelphia, and hence the rest of southeastern PA, isn't 'really' Pennsylvania. Those people have got no state pride, they don't know anything about the 'real' Pennsylvania, yadda yadda. Well you know what? We don't need to care. Gee, sorry we're a major metropolitan area in the middle of the east coast megalopolis. Western Pennsylvania is like Canada. It's taken an inferiority complex and turned it into a superior attitude. Oh, and western PA? You're the midwest. You're beyond the soda/pop linguistic line of demarcation; you can't make a good sub; you're the midwest. Deal with it.

Mike Fisher, the Republican candidate, has this folksy ad where he's sitting in a kitchen talking about how great Pittsburgh is, blah blah votecakes, and he picks up this big sloppy sandwich which has some special Pittsburgh name and says he'll 'take [it] over a Philly cheesesteak any day.' This makes me irrationally angry, both at myself and at the whole stupid thing. My first reaction is "Then you, sir, are a fool!" And then I think, Jesus! Is this what we're basing our democracy on? Sandwich-centrism?

The other creepy thing about that commercial is that Fisher never once blinks. That alone would be enough to make me vote for the other guy.

You know, if i cared. And isn't it fun to say that word "gubernatorial"?

2002-10-21T17:01:00.000-04:00

You know what makes me feel good? Spending money. I just love it that you can hand people strange little bits of paper, metal, and plastic, and they give you back stuff. God, I love stuff. There's stuff you can eat, and stuff you can read, and stuff you can wear, and stuff you can listen to. And you get it all by spending money.

Thank you, money.

2002-10-20T22:23:00.000-04:00

So I watched the cliche-a-minute NBC show 'American Dreams' tonight, and it just reminded me of something I've felt for a long time.

I hate the sixties.

2002-10-20T22:05:00.000-04:00

I've got an idea that I think could solve this whole nuclear armament problem: Nukes for everyone! If North Korea's got 'em, let's give 'em to South Korea and Japan. Everybody line up for nuclear weapons! No, no, China, you step out of line. No second helpings! It'll be a nuclear bounty, a garden of nukes. Nukes across the Andes. Nukes in the EU to keep the Basques in line. Hey, Samoa? Want some nukes? Here ya go! Think of the dent this could put in unemployment, too. Let's get people off welfare, and into the nuclear missile factories!

We just need to make sure that Canada doesn't put theirs anywhere near Quebec. I don't trust those people.

2002-10-18T16:41:00.000-04:00

I can respect differences in musical taste. You just have to look at my friends' cd collections to see that. But I've been thinking about what I'd want in a romantic partner lately. [Long aside: mostly this has been brought on by a brief experiment at living by 'the Matt Damon standard', i.e. not doing stuff that I'd be embarrassed if Matt Damon knew about, such as eating dry Kool-Aid out of the canister, or picking the scabs on my feet. Feel free to replace Matt Damon with the celebrity crush of your choice. This standard has failed, pretty much because in holding up Matt Damon (tm) as the ideal romantic partner, one realizes that in this situation one would probably have to see a lot of Ben Affleck, who is a total tool. Matt Damon may be a total tool, as well, but it doesn't come through in his acting as much.) I've decided that I can like a lot of different people who like a lot of different music. But I could never really love anyone (even Matt Damon) who didn't love Jump, Little Children.

2002-10-06T19:02:00.000-04:00

You know what? Screw education. I went to Gap today to buy new jeans, and discovered I've gone down to a size 6. I haven't been a size 6 since... ever. Go me.

Hey, let's celebrate with a big bag of candy.

2002-10-02T21:49:00.000-04:00

So that biology test? My ass has never been so kicked.

*sigh*

Cry and cry and cry...

2002-10-01T23:25:00.000-04:00

I have a biology exam tomorrow. I think instead of studying I'm just going to cry and cry and cry...

2002-10-01T21:11:00.000-04:00

Chloe met a hot intern from "Metropolis High"? Wha? Metropolis High? They only have one high school? Sometimes Smallville is retarded, yo.

Also: Michael Rosenbaum on acting with Tom Welling:

"We are always trying to make scenes more interesting than they are written."

Heh. Heh heh. *giggle* Tee hee!

2002-10-01T20:55:00.000-04:00

I just... I can't really read TWoP anymore. I feel like a complete naive prissyprincess, but, I'm sorry. Sometimes I, well, I like stuff. *shrug* It turns out I actually have a snark tolerance level, and TWoP exceeds it. I'm not cool at all, I know this. Because sometimes I like stuff. I watch stuff, and I don't pick it apart with tweezers of cynicism.

It makes me feel stupid, but it's true.

...But I'll probably still read Pamie's GG recaps. And even if I'll never, ever, ever in forever be as snarkycool as Wing Chun, at least we can agree that Jess is a tool.

2002-09-30T16:49:00.000-04:00

How ridiculous is it that when Jimmy Eat World gets pulled up by WinAMP I turn the volume down because I don't want anyone to know I'm listening to Jimmy Eat World because I'm so not that kind of person?

In contrast, I play the Uncle Tupelo really loud, wonder if it's bothering my neighbors, and hope the answer is "yes".

2002-09-30T16:44:00.000-04:00

Posting TV stuff here instead of IRF today because... well, just because.

BOOMTOWN and ALIAS thoughts. Nothing I'd consider a spoiler, but if you want to remain absolutely pure for when you watch your tapes, you might want to avoid. Okay? Okay.

Boomtown first.
Wow, I really liked. More than I was expecting. Will definitely keep watching. I think I may actually have cried at the end. Then again, I'm a giant wuss. Some observations:

I do not find Neal McDonough hot in this show. A surprise. However, I find his character curiously appealing, so 's all good.

Jason Gedrick is aging. This makes me so very sad.

How wacky is it that I'm ready to start up the Donnie Wahlberg Emmy Campaign? Donnie "Hangin' Tough, Step By Step, Funky Funky Christmas" Wahlberg. Oh oh oh-oh-oh, oh oh oh-oh, oh oh oh-oh-oh indeed, sir.

Alias
Okay, dammit. I give. The Last Will Holdout has folded. I felt sympathy for Will. I almost *struggles with the words* ...liked him. After that, I'd have to be inhuman not to. However, I look forward to being annoyed by him later in the season. Otherwise it just wouldn't be the same show.

The smiling? Ohhhh, the smiling. I am now more than ever absolutely convinced that smoochies must wait until at least next season. Because good gourd, do those two ever want the smoochies. So they must wait; they must wait until they absolutely cannot NOT have the smoochies. When the smoochies finally do occur, I want to have to go buy a new tv afterward because mine will be a sparking lump of molten plastic on my dresser.

I did not think I could possibly love Dixon any more. I was wrong.

Oh, and uh, BWUH? Something you kind of forgot to tell us at the end, there, guys? Hello?! *sigh* Bastards.

2002-09-29T13:28:00.000-04:00

I want to sing with a No Depression band. Seriously. This is my new thing. Anyone out there need a female vocalist? I'm an alto, I read music, and I'm in Pittsburgh but I'm willing to relocate. I can do twang, no twang, various degrees of twang, whatever you need. I don't play the guitar, but I could learn, and I play passable piano if I practice my ass off (and am allowed to use pedal). I even write a little, but I'm not pushy about it. Takers? Anyone? Anyone?

Seriously, people.

2002-09-29T07:06:00.000-04:00

Music

Did I mention I got the new Coldplay? I did. It's not as good as Parachutes, but still worth the price. I loves me my wuss rock, yes I do. Also picked up the new Aimee Mann, Lost in Space. It's great, cuz it's Aimee, but frankly there's not that much to differentiate it from any of her other albums, and nothing quite as hooky. Maybe I'm just not in a receptive mood for it right now.

What else? Oh yeah. Going to totally ruin my reputation here, but I got the new Dixie Chicks, and goddammit, I like it. They really do justice to the two Patty Griffin songs they cover ('Truth No. 2' and 'Top of the World'). Plus, I like listening to Natalie's vocals cuz I know they would send my voice teacher into seizures.

Obscure band recs: Goodness, a now-defunct (I think) outfit out of Seattle, featuring the outstanding-kickass Carrie Akre on vocals. Her stuff with The Rockfords and her solo projects rock my socks as well. (And for some reason her vocals make me want to write Alias fic. But I never do.)

Also: The New Pornographers featuring Neko Case. Mass Romantic is spinning right now. Thank you, Vancouver, for you have given unto the world a truly sublime pop-rock experience. Yummm.

2002-09-29T06:45:00.000-04:00

Would it be too awfully hideously tacky and passe for me to just now start listening to Jeff Buckley? Cuz I heard one song tonight, and I thought, 'Wow, this fits my depressed moodiness really well, and hey, he's dead, so bonus!'

It's just so fucking college-student-cliche to listen to dead musicians. Next thing you know I'll have some fucking Richard Avedon poster on my wall, or god forbid a Georgia O'Keefe print.

2002-09-29T06:36:00.000-04:00

So just for the random hell of it I decided to do a KaZaA search and compile a playlist of songs with "Superman" (or superboy or supergirl) in the title. So far it's a pretty fun and eclectic mix - some indie pop, some rap, some french techno, and yes, that goddamn Five for Fighting song, which I will include because I am a completist. But that brings me to a problem: I was dismayed to discover one of the songs is Jesus rock. I just can't take it, dudes. Jesus has his holy little hands in enough genres of music, why can't he just stay the fuck out of rock and roll?! So I'm waffling on whether to keep the song in or not. It'll probably go.

So I'm keeping the insufferable Eminem and the lameass Five for Fighting and tossing out the Son of God. Yeah, I'm going to Hell.

2002-09-26T22:15:00.000-04:00

Well, hallefuckinglujah. We have blog, ladies and gentlemen. I should have done this a week ago. But then I wouldn't have been able to complain about it. Hey, maybe eventually I'll get off my ass and add some links. Maybe.

Hey everybody, want a new definition of "shame"? Shame is scoring 100% on a twenty question Star Trek: Voyager trivia quiz. I'd shoot myself but my phaser's stuck on stun.

...No, I don't really have a phaser. That would go way beyond shame, dude.

2002-09-26T21:44:00.000-04:00

That's it. I've had it. I'm just going to change the fucking template.

2002-09-18T20:18:00.000-04:00

Or maybe not.

2002-09-18T20:16:00.000-04:00

So let's try this again, shall we? It's a new day. Maybe we can publish some entries today.

2002-09-17T12:54:00.000-04:00

Load my template, you motherfucker!

....

No?

Sigh. All right then.

2002-09-17T01:06:00.000-04:00

BLOGGER you bastard!

It won't let me publish, so you're not reading this right now, and by the time you do this will be irrelevant, but I'm keeping a record of it anyway.

2002-09-16T16:11:00.000-04:00

Today we had our fitness assessment in my Weight Training for Women class. Turns out I'm in really good shape.

For a sixty year old woman, I'm in really good shape.

2002-09-16T00:06:00.000-04:00

I have a spoon!

Meigan gave me a spoon! Thanks, Meigan!

Mmmm. Instant miso soup.

2002-09-15T23:57:00.000-04:00

I have soup! I have soup!

I completely forgot I have two envelopes of instant miso soup! YAY!!

Oh, crap. I have no spoons.

2002-09-15T22:11:00.000-04:00

Grr! I want to watch the Dead Zone season finale but there's somebody using the tv in the lounge and why don't they have cable in the dorm rooms and I haven't eaten today b/c I slept through dinner and there's no food in my room and GRRR!!!!

Really, I'm so hungry I'm starting to seriously think about the Rolaids sitting on my desk.

2002-09-15T01:28:00.000-04:00

Just wrote a very long, probably delusional, majorly defensive post over on IRF. Now even more depressed. Feel like crying for no discernible reason. And I've really, really wanted to write something for like the past four days and I've got nothing. Seriously, absolutely nothing is in my brain that's worthy of being written down. As you know if you're reading this. I had a brief flash of a fic idea, but it was less than a vignette, nothing more than an impression, really, and beyond a few sentences I had no idea what I'd do with it. So screw you, Milo Rambaldi. You're too enigmatic for me to fic about.

So I'm sitting here at my desk in my jammies/undies, and sweating, and listening to the depressingest of the Del Amitri songs. 'Lousy With Love', the album with all the B-sides. And not even my tiki lights and my fuzzy dice pillows from Archie McPhee are cheering me up. And Frank, my plastic lawn penguin, is just staring at me with his beady plastic eyes, and... SIGH. And my designated "my life sucks, let me whine at you about it" person isn't even online right now. Dammit.

I've got hundreds of pages to read for school, and yet here I sit, seriously considering going to Uproar and playing bingo. This is what I've been reduced to.

I miss my dog. I wanna go home. Wah.

2002-09-14T23:04:00.000-04:00

I'm so depressed right now and I don't even know why. Tonight I brought five cheesecake squares home from the dining hall and ate them all within an hour. I just watched two straight hours of CBS.

My life sucks.

2002-09-07T01:14:00.000-04:00

So. One month later...

I'm back at Chatham. My room looks suck, but is a pretty good size. My schedule isn't quite straightened out yet, but at least I've registered. Oh, and I locked myself out of my room the first night I was here. And the next night.

Tonight I went to Rea Coffeehouse (graffitti-covered 'underground' 'alternative' 'venue' in the basement of one of the dorms) because they had flyers up all over that they were showing Spider-Man at 8:00. At 8:30 they announced that the movie would show at 9 flippin' 45, and hey gang, let's hang out and play retro-girly board games and listen to music and stuff. My two friends and I (and many others) bailed and came back later. So much for your sneaky tactics, Rea Coffeehouse grrrls or gurls or wymyn or whoever the hell you are.

That place was already silently judging my hipster-punk-underground cred and finding it seriously lacking, and I really didn't feel like sitting around pretending to be alternative for an hour and fifteen minutes. I mentioned this to Eileen and she responded in a very droll Eileen-like fashion. Our basic feeling was "we don't belong here, we listen to public radio." We amused ourselves for a while coming up with subversive slogans we'd like to add to the walls. A sampling:

Up with the establishment!
Capitalism Rulez!
I [heart] the IMF
Without sweatshops, those people would be unemployed!
Freud was right.
Go Go Globalization!
Please, genetically modify my produce!
Not In My Backyard
I [heart] the NYPD
Ashcroft is dreeeeeamy.
Lesbians are icky.
Who cares about amnesty, anyway?
Support Animal Testing

and my favorite: I LOVE PATRIARCHY!

2002-08-08T12:45:00.000-04:00

I think I finally figured out my niggling problem with Ben Affleck as Daredevil. He doesn't seem to have that hard, dangerous edge; that tightly controlled rage just beneath the surface. Heck, maybe he'll prove me wrong, and he'll be able to play that, but he just doesn't strike me as a Man Without Fear. What he strikes me as, frankly, is kind of a pussy.

No offense.

2002-08-06T01:00:00.000-04:00

I found the solution to not being able to buy stuff at Borders: go there with Mom. Got Hiketeia and more, dude. Score! Other good places to go with Mom: the movies, a restaurant, and Target (Tar-ZHAY).

Caught the X-Files ep 'Hollywood A.D.' on FX tonight. I [heart] Writer!David Duchovny. *cue Bree Sharp song*

2002-07-20T19:59:00.000-04:00

I survived the weekend away. Had some fun, actually. But yeah, it was rednecky. And all weekend I ate nothing but crap crap crap and drank beer. Hooray!

Saw that Victor Garber got an Emmy nomination, thought that the world might not be totally unjust after all. Then saw that John C. McGinley got the big dis. Back to hating the world. Or at least ATAS.

Went to Borders last night. Spent at least 30 min. browsing the graphic novels/trade paperbacks. Didn't buy anything, 'cause I still have VISA bills hanging over my head. Left depressed and full of heartache, still craving Greg Rucka Batman/Wonder Woman "Hiketeia" hardcover. Boo hoo. Went back to Diemer's house and watched Royal Tenenbaums. Felt better, but still want book(s).

2002-07-05T00:31:00.000-04:00

So, the fourth of July. Like a friend of mine says, it's such a redneck holiday. We celebrate by cooking meat in the backyard and blowing shit up, maybe blasting the Lee Greenwood. Saw some small town fireworks with some friends tonight, and in the distance we could hear the fireworks show from a nearby country club. Same friend as above remarked, "This is what it sounds like in a war torn country. When I was in Zimbabwe you could hear the guns from over the mountains in Mozambique." Other friend got upset at her for ruining the mood. It was funny. We brought a deck of cards, and I learned to play Hearts and Crazy Eights. Hearts still makes no sense to me. Tomorrow we're going up to other friend's family's humble place (a trailer and a garage) in upstate New York, the deep south of the north. Yay. To tell the truth, I'm not crazy looking forward to it, but I wasn't able to come up with a plausible excuse to say no. Oh well, it's only three days, I'll live. Probably.

2002-07-04T01:17:00.000-04:00

On Charlie Rose tonight I saw a panel of book critics and literary types saying, among other things, really nice things about Stephen King. It made me happy. He's a master American storyteller, and it's good to see him getting props from the 'serious' press. I have read a lot of Stephen King, but only about half of his total output. I'm working on it, though. I finished Black House (co-written with Peter Straub) last month, and I had to take a week to recover before beginning my next book. Incredible. And so exciting in that it tied together the worlds of The Talisman, The Dark Tower, and the 'real world' stories of Maine, the Shop, etc. (the book 'The Stephen King Universe' calls it "the prime reality").

No one I know reads Stephen King, so I have no one to talk with about this stuff. Boo and hoo.

2002-06-20T13:42:00.000-04:00

Last night the same friends that dragged me to see Attack of the Clones made me watch the remake of Rollerball. I think they're trying to kill me. Bad movie. Bad, baaaad movie. No biscuit. But I must commend it on being able to steal those two hours of my life away with no plot, no acting, and not even all that much roller skating. It's enough to send James Caan back to his dealer.

2002-06-19T17:16:00.000-04:00

Watched recent Broadway revival of "The Women" on PBS last night. Hallie Eisenberg was in it. Good God, what a hideous little creature.

2002-06-17T06:06:00.000-04:00

Stream of consciousness blogging. Ready? Here we go.

Today is my parents' anniversary. Their thirtieth anniversary. I just remembered this minutes ago. So not only did I do nothing for Father's Day, I've done nothing for the anniversary. I'll probably do nothing for my mother's birthday in two days. God, I suck.

The more I think about it, the more I think I'm really probably not going back to college in the fall. Really, what would be the point? I've already failed classes in English, history, and philosophy. There really isn't much left for a liberal arts nerd to major in. I don't even have enough credits for junior standing. The registar's office never received or never credited my AP scores (three fives, thankyouverymuch) which should have given me 18 credits, and I never followed through with it, because I am a lazy bitch, which is the only reason I failed those classes in the first place. I should have majored in Communications - but it's too late for that, as I didn't take 101 until sophomore year - or Music, but it's way too late for that, as I haven't taken any theory due to schedule conflicts (and more laziness), and they aren't even offering Theory I and II this coming year. I'll regret not going back to Chatham for the following reasons: 1) there are people there I will miss; 2) I was really looking forward to singing in the quartet; 3) I will feel tremendously guilty for rendering the quartet a trio by my absence; 4) more guilt for shirking choir librarian duties that I totally blew off at the end of the year because I was a big fucking lazy mess; 5) Assorted guilts and regrets for wasting my life by not getting a college degree that would enable me to get a slightly-higher-paying soul stultifying job than I will be able to get otherwise. Also feeling really, really shitty for fucking up philosophy last semester, a class I really liked with a professor I really liked, by just not doing the work. I just don't do the work. I know full well the consequences of not doing the work, but I Just. Don't. Do it. I've given up trying to figure out why.

I don't want to do anything anymore but eat and eat and eat and sleep and sleep and sleep. I'm beginning to get irritated at spending time with my offline, honest-to-god, real life, very best friends. They call every day. We get together almost every night. I have nothing left to say to them. Nothing. I have nothing to say to anyone, really, as you might have gleaned from my blog-slience. I really don't believe I have anything worth saying to share. The only reason I'm typing this now is because there's nothing on tv. I am the shittiest conversationalist on earth right about now. Don't you think that we've long since eclipsed the number of people our planet can reasonably support, and that many of us are now completely superfluous? That's me. A truly superfluous person. I have nothing of value to say or contribute or share. The title of this blog isn't just some ironic self-deprecation. It's fucking true. I hate myself, I believe that I suck at everything, there is nothing I'm good at, or if there is there's no point in doing it because millions of people are already better at it, I have nothing unique to offer existence. But at the same time I'm completely fucking self-absorbed. Which makes a perverse sort of sense, I suppose. Maybe my firm belief in my own superfluousness is the reason I don't really care about my education or finding a career path or any of that. What does it matter? It's not like I matter, at all, in the scheme of things, even to myself. Jesus Christ, if I was reading this I'd fucking throw up. Fucking solipsistic bourgeois angst. Fuck that.

I am stupid. Or, no, I'm ignorant. I might be stupid, I can't really accurately judge that, but I know I'm ignorant. I have near panic attacks just thinking about all the shit I don't know, will never know. I look around at all the books I own and there are so many I haven't read that I can't decide what to read first so I just freeze and end up watching the Game Show Network. So I'm completely ignorant about science, literature, politics, and everything else that matters, but I can tell you the regulars on Match Game 78, dammit.

I've got to say, though, that I'm ignorant as compared to what I think I should know. At least I know how much I don't know. At least I spend weekends watching BookTV on C-Span 2 and having anxiety attacks about never being informed enough. At least I can spend a few hours reading discourse on pomo litcrit and cultural studies and the progressive left and know it's a world that I'll never, ever, really understand. Why do I feel that I should, though? Am I that much of a damn elitist? Or is it that I want knowledge just for its own sake? Is it appropriate to subscribe to this qualitative scale of information? Is it stupid that I feel guilty that I like to watch game shows and cartoons and read comic books and Stephen King even though I can find value in such things? Should I feel guilty for listening to music instead of NPR, or watching Powerpuff Girls instead of ITN? I find myself full of creeping elitism toward my friends, too. I sneer at their musical tastes, their reading material, their seeming uninformedness on current events. I mean, I know I'm ridiculously uninformed according to my own standard. But according to the standard of the Average American, maybe I'm on the middle to high end of the scale. Maybe I should stop worrying about this. Because at least I'm not my next door neighbor, who looked over the backyard fence at me one afternoon and said, "You sure do read a lot of books."

Hell, if I'm so superfluous, I have a goddamn good excuse for only caring about pop culture trivialities.

Speaking of, I find myself completely uninterested in fandom lately. If I had money and a nearby comic store I'd probably be buying a shitload of comics, but I have neither, so that avenue of interest is temporarily closed off to me. I have no interest in reading or writing fanfic; I really haven't even been watching that much tv. Hell, I missed the season premiere of Farscape and I didn't really care. I slept through most of the second ep of the season, and I'm not racing for the tape. My only vague SciFi related question is what the hell is Parker Lewis doing on Stargate?

I feel so fucking overwhelmed. There's so many books I should read, movies I should see, music I should listen to, etc. I feel like I'm failing to meet some obligation more than like I'm missing out on something that could give me pleasure or satisfaction. I have such a fucked up wordlview.

This is all complete shit but I'm going to post it anyway, because I am just that self-absorbed.

2002-06-14T00:53:00.000-04:00

Saw Episode II last night.

It's true, Watto did get a new hat.

2002-06-10T02:58:00.000-04:00

From 10 Questions: Mike Nelson

7. If you could change one thing about the industry, what would it be?

I would eliminate promotional drink cups. People generally need far less promotion directed at them, and far fewer drink cups in their lives.

Buy his books, people. Read them in public places and get funny looks from strangers when you can no longer stifle the giggling. Then go home and watch your MST3K tapes. Drink some Dr. Pepper. Remember why life is sometimes good.

2002-06-10T02:10:00.000-04:00

Everything 2 makes my head spin. In the good way.

2002-06-02T23:07:00.000-04:00

Want to see how the other .001% lives? Watch The Hamptons. Then, nuke the Hamptons.

2002-06-02T19:34:00.000-04:00

Set to shuffle in my cd player today were Aimee Mann's I'm With Stupid, Marah's Kids in Philly and the Jayhawks' Smile. Turned out to be a fitting mix for a laid back summery day. Lots of 'Hawks fans don't like Smile because it's "slick" or "overproduced." Feh, I say. There's nothing wrong with meticulous, skillful production on a record. It adds layers. Why does everything have to be stripped down to attain some mythical musical purity? God forbid something sound like "pop." God forbid an artist "sell out" and make a sonically rich record with a slightly-more-mainstream sound. You know what? I like pop music, and I'm not going to apologize for it. So there.

Anyway. See Aimee Mann perform in the Warner Bros. Live Concert Series. (Requires QuickTime 5.)

2002-05-24T17:45:00.000-04:00

Why do I watch Emergency Vets when it always makes me cry like a little babysissygirl?

2002-05-24T17:10:00.000-04:00

I love Archie McPhee. They give good retro. (Complete with homoerotic subtext!)

Cigar Shopping Bag

2002-05-24T16:25:00.000-04:00

::happy sigh:: Today A&E ran an episode of Magnum, P.I. that crossed over with Simon and Simon. Guest starring Morgan Fairchild. That is soooo rollerdisco.

2002-05-24T09:16:00.000-04:00

Why the hell did I wake up at seven o'clock this morning, and why the hell can't I get back to sleep? Dammit, this means I have no excuse not to actually do something with my day. I could go to the library, or join the Y, or unpack all my stuff.

Wait, that would involved moving my ass off this chair, wouldn't it?

2002-05-24T01:48:00.000-04:00

My sister has about 50 francs and 5000 lire in her desk drawer. Which makes me wonder: when they started using the Euro, what did they do with all the old money (hard currency)? Where did it go?

Is that a stupid question?

2002-05-24T01:37:00.000-04:00

I have done nothing with the last week of my life.

No, wait. I made a salad.

2002-05-24T01:34:00.000-04:00

Last night, I watched Ewan McGregor in the tundra on PBS. Tonight on the Travel Channel, Ewan McGregor in the jungle.

I love you, tv.

2002-05-20T17:47:00.000-04:00

The British are different. Half the user recommendation lists on Amazon.co.uk aren't recommendations at all, but rather things they hate. They love telling us what they think is piss-poor crud, and why. No matter what your taste, there's someone to vitriolically excoriate it in a dryly humorous fashion, usually with words like "ponce" and "tat." For example.

This is just one of the many reasons why I love the British.

2002-05-20T13:38:00.000-04:00

Yup, changed my template. Probably not the last time. I've got stuff to say, including a quasi-review of the new Del Amitri album, another book rec, and some ruminations on the X-Files finale (sorry, dude, I just have to). But that's all later, when I'm not so exhausted and/or aware of how stupid and inarticulate I am.

2002-05-20T13:15:00.000-04:00

2002-05-15T23:16:00.000-04:00

Can I possibly find an internet radio station that does not play Tori Amos? No? Maybe I'm a big freakin' philistine for hating her, but really, her voice makes me want to claw my brain out. And yet I like Victoria Williams. Go fig.

2002-05-15T22:59:00.000-04:00

A terrific review of Episode II in Revolution SF this week.

2002-05-15T17:30:00.000-04:00

So guess who just got an email from Dr. Aiken, and is just staring at her inbox in terror, unable to open it? *sigh*

2002-05-15T17:27:00.000-04:00

Some book recommendations. (Gasp! Yes, I do read.)

Screenwriting: The Art, Craft, and Business of Film and Television Writing by Richard Walter

An entertaining, concise, cut-the-bullshit introduction to screenwriting. Also a great resource for anyone doing any kind of fiction writing. Walter stresses the importance of story, streamlining, and avoiding crap like "how people really talk." The overall message is, artsy pretentions be damned; don't be afraid to be entertaining, popular, or - god forbid - commercial. Just tell a good story. A-fucking-men.

The Dame in the Kimono: Hollywood, Censorship and the Production Code from the 1920's to the 1960's by Leonard J. Leff and Jerold L. Simmons

This is now unfortunately out of print, although it looks like Amazon has some good used prices, and you might be able to find it in your local library like I did. It's a very readable, entertaining, balanced and informative account of - well, of just what the subtitle says it is. Easily accessible to both film buffs and casual newbies. The authors carefully examine the topic from all the angles; artisitc, political, and commercial. Definitely not a banner-waving 'Censorship is EEE-ville!' polemic. Never forgets that movie making is a business and not (usually) High Art. If you don't know anything about the Production Code, you should read this book. Becuase life wasn't really that much more classy and genteel back then; they just weren't allowed to say that in the movies.

2002-05-15T16:47:00.000-04:00

I want to apologize for the fact that this page looks like ass in Netscape. But you know what? I don't use Netscape. So I don't particularly care.

2002-05-15T16:36:00.000-04:00

(Now Playing: Crispy's Radio-O-Matic)

Did anyone really think I was going to write those papers for Dr. Aiken? I mean, really? Yeah, didn't think so. This means I have failed Human Values and Ethics. That's sort of hilarious, really.

I got back that Mass Comm. paper I turned in last week. Would have been an A, but for the extreme lateness, which rendered it a C. Oh well. Maybe I'll actually pass that class. So I should earn 9 credits for this semseter. So I --

(GYAH! Tori Amos! Must change station, must change station NOW! . . . . Phew. Crispy's web page let me click onto a Sinéad Lohan song. Although the constant buffering interuptions are driving me batshit. Now, back to our regularly scheduled banality.)

-- won't get junior standing. So my financial aid should get yanked. So we won't be able to afford sending me back here next year, if I even want to come back, which is highly, highly doubtful. I wasn't able to register during the Appointed Time because my tuition payment hadn't gone through, and now most of the classes I wanted are full, and I don't have a major anyway, so really, what's the fucking point? I suspect that there is no fucking point.

In the spirit of the title of this blog, I would now like to point out what a total fucking useless fat moron talentless loser who will never amount to anything I am. And before anyone rolls their eyes and tells me I'm not fat so stop bitching about it, my soul is fat, okay? It's like three hundred fucking pounds.

Boy, I sure do say "fucking" a lot, don't I?

(...aaaaand Tori Amos again. Crispy can bite me. On to radioparadise.)

2002-05-13T20:10:00.000-04:00

Amanda's Hair Update: so far the ratio of compliments to "Oh, you uh... cut your hair. It's, uh, shorter..." is pretty favorable. In other news, Snack Bar Tiff gave me quarters for my dimes and nickels, so now I can dry my clothes. Yay, I'll be able to wear pants again! Although I think I'm emotionally bonding with this long grey skirt.

Jesus, you guys, I should just go mock myself on Banal Blog and get it over with.

2002-05-13T01:49:00.000-04:00

So, forget that lamenting shit. Comment away!

2002-05-12T15:12:00.000-04:00

Sue in the cafeteria likes my haircut. So that's one in favor.

2002-05-12T15:09:00.000-04:00

Even though I know no one is reading this (okay, maybe two people) I lament not having a comment feature. Cuz what if I say something really fucking brilliant one day, and someone happens to read it and they go, "Oh! Oh!" and they have a comment, but - like me - they're too lazy to email it?

Well, then, tough titties, as my mom used to say. Oh, god, I hate that expression. My soul feels dirty. I apologize to you, the reader, and to my soul. Hang in there, soul. You've survived worse.

So my dad showed up at about eleven this morning and we got to packing. He was gone by two, and in the intervening hours we carried a lot of heavy crap a ridiculous damn distance. I've been up since yesterday morning at eight, and I have absolutely no physical sense of time right now. The dark and stormy whooshing and raining outside is not helping me get clear on this. (Ugh. Dark and stormy. Name of rum drink made with Black Seal. Unneccessary flashback.)

I came down to the computer lab to kill some time with pointless blogging, because I had no attention span for books nor tv, and because all my stuff is gone, including *sniff* my computer. I miss my computer, even if it does freeze up twice a day. I miss my bookmarks and my desktop wallpaper and my hard-on-the-eyes Windows color scheme.

So, so sleepy. Can't possibly stay up another seven hours through tonight's season finale of Alias. But must, must stay up, for I have the Big Love for Vaughn, and Weiss, and Jack, and Dixon, and Sark. And now I'm just rambling. Crap. I'll try to post something more pointful on IRF.

2002-05-12T10:31:00.000-04:00

My dad is on his way over to my apartment to help me pack up all my crap for the big hallelujah-the-semester's-over move home. Only he's driving it all back five hours down the PA turnpike by himself, and I'm sticking around until Thursday and then catching a plane home. This is in the hope that between now and Wednesday I'll write two philosophy papers. Well, it isn't actually so much a hope, really, as it is a Very Amusing Notion. I've got other stuff to do, like get the cable disconnected, and find a new home for the fish, and various and sundry whatnot, but who wants to bet I spend the next four days hunkered down in the computer lab playing The Three Monkeys at Orisinal and listening to Taco Wagon. (Taco Wagon plays a lot of TMBG. In my opinion, TMBG goes very well with monkeys.)

2002-05-12T10:22:00.000-04:00

Wow, you know what this new blog is really good for? Putting off composing posts for my other blog. IRF has been languishing for a while, but I hope to start blogging the living hell out of it once I get home for the summer.

State of the Odor of My Bedroom Update: bought a can of Lysol. Room still smells bad, but now the puke scent is more subtle, smothered as it is under a layer of in-what-Bizarro-world-is-this-'Crisp Linen' scented Lysol.

Still hate my hair. Even after having a teaspoon of leave-in conditioner slathered on it, it still wants to poof out and make me look like a damn extra from 'Ivanhoe.' And not the cool A&E version, the other one. Dear God. Just had realization. If I had more bangs, a little gel... it's Cardcaptor Sakura hair.

2002-05-11T18:09:00.000-04:00

Also, great big smooshy lurve to the nice people who got me back to my room last night. Really. If you never see me again it's not 'cause I don't appreciate it, it's just that I'm hiding from my own shame.

2002-05-11T17:39:00.000-04:00

And something in my room still smells like puke, and I can't figure out what, and it's driving me crazy. I think perhaps puke paranoia is the worst kind of paranoia.

2002-05-11T17:33:00.000-04:00

I love the island of Bermuda. I love the friendly people, the pink beaches, the fact that they don't let tourists drive; and until last night, I also loved Gosling's Black Seal. But let me tell you, there's a reason they call it "demon rum." There's also a reason not to chase it with tequila. Everything's very fuzzy after that, which is a wonderful defense mechanism the brain has against having to dwell on the details of vomiting all over yourself (and your friend's carpet), being shoved fully-clothed into the shower and half-carried half-dragged back to your apartment, all the while babbling something about "call Linda" to people who don't know who the fuck Linda is. I woke up at 8:30 and spent the next several hours cleaning up puke. Hey, lucky I wasn't lying on my back when that happened, huh? Not a way I want to die, thanks. At least not without a 'Behind the Music.'

Hi there, I'm humiliated, nice to meet you.

2002-05-11T16:58:00.000-04:00

Just watched a charming little movie that I'd never heard of before. I lingered on the channel 'cause I saw James Spader, and I thought, 'What James Spader movie is this?' I'd missed the opening credits, but I figured I'd identify it soon enough. I mean, what were the chances there even existed a James Spader movie I'd never heard of? But as I continued watching, mentally cross-referencing Mr. Spader with each new cast member that appeared ('Hey! There's Frances Sternhagen! She's cool.') I came up with nothing. I experienced a small amount of shame. And all these people kept popping up. There was Marcia Gay Harden. Buck Henry. Sam Shepard. Frank Whaley (looking quite adorable). It was extremely frustrating. Why had I no previous knowledge of this film? When Michael Caine and Maggie Smith showed up and I still had no clue what the movie was, I finally admitted defeat. But I was too lazy to look it up, so I just waited for the Fox affiliate to run a bumper. Is the suspense killing you yet?

Curtain Call

Looks like it was distributed straight to a premium cable channel, which explains why I'd never heard of it. Probably for the best, as it's fine for UHF on a Saturday afternoon, but it would have bombed in theaters. James Spader and his floppy hair were like a less curmudgeonly Topper, with Caine and Smith as the ghosts of a pair of old-timey stage actors, so, you know, basically playing themselves, only dead. Usual dead-people-teach-protagonist-how-to-live plot, requisite scenes of guy talking to ghosts, everyone thinks he's crazy, ha ha, we all learn and grow, happy happy the end.

Currently watching Ned Beatty and Adrian Dunbar in Hear My Song, and trying to figure out who the hell that guy playing Micky's friend is.

2002-05-11T15:32:00.000-04:00

Cut my own hair today. Regret it. Look like Prince fucking Valiant. Expect ridicule. Sigh.