ah, work is so slow. i'm basking in it. i've take advantage of my free time by updating my client's sites, creating a dedication, figuring out how i'm going to pull off my halloween costume, contemplating how annoying my glimpse of the oprah show was today, reading the Artist's way, organizing my applications, paying my student loan, listening to the ambulance diesel engine outside the office window, drinking generic fizzy, flavored stuff...waiting..
yep. I'm a Type-A personality i think. also, i believe my tooth filling is falling out. i felt weird bits of a stony consistency in my mouth during kill bill-felt like i was munching on sand ..and now my grapeseeds are kinda getting caught in this newly available casm in my mouth and it's weird.
and i'm sad about the fires in san diego county. it feels like i just missed it by a few days. i feel horrible for all those displaced folks. i find it surreal how the media is of course focusing on celebrity reactions to the fires and all they can muster up is something like "yea, it's horrible."
i guess i need to rent charlie's angels 2. though i thought it was a deplorably boring and over-the-top movie, though i loved the dylan-as-bowie-like glam chick. her make-up was fierce, so i'd like to get some ideas in my head before i start globbing it on my face.
oh yea, back to the oprah thing. she had some dumb show today about the "angels" line at victoria secret. i've got no qualms at all with lingerie or anything like that, except it's like..here's this full-figured black woman appropriating the "skinny white ideal" and i find it rather lame, particularly since she's certainly not in any dire need for endorsements and she's presented a body-positive attitude in the past. maybe it's O's pressure, but fuck that..there's no excuse. it's like.here let endorse and laud under-fed models one day, than the next do an intimate segment on eating disorders in teenage girls..not cool.
in that same vein, i'm def. disappointed in Dr. Phil for originally appearing genuine about helping people, then jumping on the billion-dollar-diet-industry band wagon. EVIL.
i had this incredible dream about myself and it contained so much material about my life that i can't get into detail here, but one of the very last scenes was me looking at my Rosie-the-riveter type arm..defined and gleaming in the mirror! I've been reveiwing it all week..IT RAWKED. My therapist had a lot to say about it too..incl. that i am celebrating my strength, and not so much concerned with proving anything to anyone else. I do love her.
I got a wicked nice suggestion from this 1st year resident chica at my women's group the other day. She said "do the self-dates..they're yummy" referring to the Artist's way. She had just done a like 50 hour shift too, but then livened up to hi-fi me. It was awesome. Then Elaine, my buddy from way back hugged me and complimented my orangey-bangs. It felt good having gotten weird looks from mostly everyone I come in contact with around here. Then she emailed me to tell me how much i've grown and that she loves me..it was awesome.
Still no calls here...so excited.
So tomorrow, I'll be psyched to sleep some, go buy some costume stuff and hopefully see a movie or something..
I should preserve my arm here, in case i DO get a call.
oh well..
i've decided that maybe i should find me a respectable vampire or something..
cuz the stark class differences in cambridge really annoy me. Monday night i went to the Phoneix for reggae night. The rain made it slow at first, but the first DJ was fierce. Then two other guys came on deck, but I was mostly outside for that waiting on Mary. While I was waiting, I was talking to this 19 year old girl from Roxbury who couldn't get into the club (she stayed outside the whole night. She said, "I hate Cambridge." I was like "do you like Somerville?" to which she replied "No, I like Dorchester, Roxbury..Ashmont..those types of places." Mary heard that segment of the conversation. The girl and I were facing the street and Mary was facing us and the club. Just as said girl was proclaiming her distaste for Cambridge, one of those high-mounted tricyclists rode by. When we finally got back in the club, there were two of the whitest-looking Rude Boys I had ever seen on stage. I mean, it's one thing to appreciate a culture, but to feign a fake accent/patois to do so is rather...um...ODD? I mean, the two looked like they were from Brookline or something and even more annoying was that they kept interrupting these small, snippets of great reggae songs to give a loud "shout-out" and then abruptly change the song. They started to sound like a boot-leg MP3 that one mistakenly downloads instead of the original track and then realizes some amateaur dj has ruined it with esoteric shout-outs. Yea.
I think I'll check out Man Rey this weekend, maybe a party or two. I'm just kinda spent on the whole mentally-ill strangers interrupting my conversations thing (that happened at least 5 times at Someday cafe last night-no joke.) Actually , I think there's like 5 group homes in the area or something which might explain some of that, but I think it's more that Romney sucks and keep cutting Mental health services and now wants to cut Special Needs. So interesting that the platform he ran on was the reclaiming "the disruptive child" in the classroom. I want to do a documentary of all the jaded, overworked teachers in the State and see how they feel about that.
But i digress...and possibly proselytize...
Wednesday, October 29, 2003
Sunday, October 26, 2003
thanks for makin me deeeeeeee snn---yyyyd---errrr"-- Christina Agueilera
saw this horrible McDonald's commercial tonight that features this poor black kid "rapping" about how he has no loot, complete with a dirty look from his presumed girlfriend, when magically he peals a gamepiece off a mcdonald's drinkcup and wins a shopping spree from Best Buy at which point a huge Big Screen TV appears and he's now cuddling with his aforementioned girlfriend who is no longer disappointed by his poverty. This culture so disturbing sometimes, I feel like punching a hot-air balloon then watching it delfate over a Wal-Mart sign.
saw this horrible McDonald's commercial tonight that features this poor black kid "rapping" about how he has no loot, complete with a dirty look from his presumed girlfriend, when magically he peals a gamepiece off a mcdonald's drinkcup and wins a shopping spree from Best Buy at which point a huge Big Screen TV appears and he's now cuddling with his aforementioned girlfriend who is no longer disappointed by his poverty. This culture so disturbing sometimes, I feel like punching a hot-air balloon then watching it delfate over a Wal-Mart sign.
Friday, October 24, 2003
what an amazing night. me and heath got out and did so much. firstly, she came over from work and we just hung out for a bit here. she changed and i quickly remembered the article i had left in my car about the open studios at Essex Art Center. I gotta say, THIS PLACE was so amazing tonight. Before we even made it to the open studios, we spent a bunch of time in the gallery where the "Juried Art" was featured. Basically some pretentious judging going on, but nonetheless, I got to talk to some of the teachers. They offer great classes there now..Storytelling through Theater..etc. I need to spend more time there, particularly in the dark room. The place has great energy.
Heath nabbed this amazing, honey-drizzled thing that was provided by Cafe Azteca while I people-watched and read the essay on a cool mountain installation. The artist had set up these mountainous sculptures that had mirrors underneath that reflected the bottom surface of the moutains and created this cool-ass pool reflection effect (sorta have to be there).
We finally moved onto our original purpose for being there: the Open Studios. We walk a few paces away to the next mill-building and the first thing i notice is this young Latino boy greeting us "Are you here for the art" he asked firmly in his Johnny Blaze attire. We responded 'yes' and from above I could hear a mix of punk and hip hop. As soon as we got up to the fifth floor, I was like a little kid in a candy shop. There was indie rock band seated around a bunch of paintings and sculpture playing this mellow, ambient music..AND..they were all our age!?!?! I MEAN...lately, all i've been bitching about is the difficulty I'm having finding an artist community in my age group, and here, I'm surrouned by weird, eccentric ppl doing whatever it is that they do and it FELT FUCKING GREAT.
I saw some artwork out of the corner of my eye..blue..and surreal and was like this definitely has to be mi gente. Norma Esperanza Lopez's work was kick-ass and I'm trying to find her card. Another awesome thing was that most of the artists were right there to talk to you and were obviously selling their stuff, but the high-light of my evening, without a doubt was Urban Explosion. We had honestly thought we had seen everything we were gonna see and heath even had made a joke about the "break circle" kinda forming in the back. AT first we thought it was just a bunch o' kids hanging out near this pitch black installation wall. Til the music started. It was some kinda re-mix. Classic rock riff sampled into a break beat. I heard similar stuff at the club tonight..AC/DC Back n Black with Snoop Dogg..pretty funny. They're using the classics now!
Anyway, these kids, ages 12-15, had the livest dance performance I'd ever seen. Their timing was impeccable and the moves were very MJ. This one boy up front was really working it. I had to yell. I couldn't hold back. I felt so proud! And, they went on for a good 7-8 minutes. They were so happy..you could tell, ALL SMILES. I screamed again. After they finished, I told one of the lil' dancers they should be on Apollo Kids and she said "oh, we sent our tape in already.
She said they called themselves "Urban Explosion" and they practiced at the Art Center. You could tell they practice a lot and they were definitely explosive. I'll be bringing some other folks to see them.
WE met up with Lar for the Haunted Mansion. The line was not nearly as bad as it was the year before because we arrived so early. I was definitely psyched and didn't even mind standing outside for nearly two hours. We got thru the haunted forest, accompanied by a group of three little girls who asked if they could "be with us". Upon entering the forest, that "be with you" turned into "can I hold your hand" which was really sweet...until some Jason character with a knife came running across the bridge, screaming. Then the lil girl screaming started, which, If you've never heard it, resembles something like an ultra-sonic eardrum piercer. Then, there was pushing. Why are little girls such easy screamers? All these costumed-35 y.o. dudes were ONLY going up to little girls, which started to feel like this creepy, predator thing. I guess they wouldn't run up to adult men, but STILL..it was weird watching these guys getting off on breathing heavy in some little girl's face...
we got through the damn forest, and got in line for the mansion, when the power went out. in fact, that was one of the 6 or 7 times the power would go out within the next hour or so that we WAITED ..and WAITED some more. Devon assured me this was an unprecedented occurrence at Haunted Mansion, as if gave birth to the damn thing, but apparently the vertigo, 3D spinny-tunnel (RAWK!) thing motor broke. And also, I believe Devon was then delegated the job of spinning the tunnel, which is why I didn't see him.
During our wait outside the house, we amused ourselves in several ways. I was busily evading the 20 questions our newly-acquired adolescent trio were slinging my way, we recited DIO and Iron Maiden lyrics, sang "Dracula," tried to rile the crowed up my chanting "REFUND" and "WE WANNA BE SCARED...WE WANNA BE SCARED"..also, I started in with "What do we want---HAUNTED MANSION...yea, you get the hint. It was funny and obnoxious at the time. It seemed like an eon we were waiting and watching made-up, pseudo experts shuffle in and out of the house. Then, we heard the MUSIC and got in.
This house is the scariest and coolest I've even been too. You can't even visualize where you are after a while (they give you 3D glasses). There are literally times in there where you are in pitch black, unknowns and have to grope your way through or appoint a more fearless leader in which case, a ghoul will shortly pop up and scream in your face..FUN FUN FUN!
The highlight was this cool, Eddy-like Alien thing that was ENORMOUS and I don't even think my 3-D glasses betrayed me. It was OUT there..i dunno who makes these costumes, but they're skilled. I'd love to hang out in one of those rad costumes and freak ppl out all night, course I prob. do that just fine in civilian clothes.
I brought Harry and Leather to Grand China afterward (we had worked up a fierce appetite) and immediately saw Dharma and the back of Sisouk's head. I sensed something was up the way he was absorbing all of Sisouk's attention. I gave 'em a big, bear hug. He was down and out. I figured it involved some financial difficulty, but then I overheard some more retribution thingy when I went to check with Dharma about the tofu status. Trust me, in this area, finding a place that will prepare tofu is like winning the goddammn lotto--IT AIN'T EASY. We ate. Larry accidentally burped in my ear. We belly-lauged. The trinity is back! Thank god..at long last.
Me and Heather were far from done there even though it was past midnight. Lori had text me earlier. Said she'd be at RCB. We got there and I immediately saw three ppl that I either know from high school or didn't want to see, like Peter, my hot-n-cold Bartender friend who now seems to have some expensive habits and tries to sleep with everyone, including myself.
I got up to the dance floor and saw Lori grinding with some boy, which is ironic, because she's only into women. The dance-floor seemed more like a Lion's Ogle-Den, pointing to my comfort-level at "Alternative Clubs"...there's not like ten-million dudes standing around waiting for you to dance like Britney Spears. Heath and I retired to the softy-couch and which point, I experienced one of the TOP MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENTS OF MY LIFE:
We noticed these underage looking boys to the corner. They kept exchanging smiles at which point I said to heath "these boys are young enough to be our children...it was at that moment that i could see one of them in my periphery, pointing and giggling at this small, ball of something on the floor. I couldn't figure out what it was at first. It looked like maybe a scrunchy or a napkin, but I was certain something so mundane would not have elicited such laughter and fascination.
And there it was...MY personal NIGHTMARE, come true, my hair extension (aka. my fake, diva pony-tail) and somehow worked it's way out of my head on one of my earlier trips to the bathroom and it was sitting there, naked, in the light, for everyone's examination. I pretended not to notice thinking my interest would incriminate me by default. It was then, I turned to Heather and confided my intimate secret to which she blurted out laughing ..HYSTERICALLY.
I swung back to the boys who had moved onto something else..prob. enamored by some mid-rif or the fact that they were illegally drinking in a club. I said, .."ok, heather, i'm gonna grab my hair..will you put in your bag?" She easily agreed. Like a frog honing in on it's prey, I leaned forward and swooped my fake hair into safety and then gracefully pretended to not know what it was until Heather hid it's awkwardness in her bag. "I paid a lot of money for that, I said" to which we both bust out laughing. What a goof I am sometimes. The best part is that, she still have my fake hair in her purse. Maybe it will expunge itself onto the counter tomorrow when she goes to pay for her coffee. One can only hope.
Heath nabbed this amazing, honey-drizzled thing that was provided by Cafe Azteca while I people-watched and read the essay on a cool mountain installation. The artist had set up these mountainous sculptures that had mirrors underneath that reflected the bottom surface of the moutains and created this cool-ass pool reflection effect (sorta have to be there).
We finally moved onto our original purpose for being there: the Open Studios. We walk a few paces away to the next mill-building and the first thing i notice is this young Latino boy greeting us "Are you here for the art" he asked firmly in his Johnny Blaze attire. We responded 'yes' and from above I could hear a mix of punk and hip hop. As soon as we got up to the fifth floor, I was like a little kid in a candy shop. There was indie rock band seated around a bunch of paintings and sculpture playing this mellow, ambient music..AND..they were all our age!?!?! I MEAN...lately, all i've been bitching about is the difficulty I'm having finding an artist community in my age group, and here, I'm surrouned by weird, eccentric ppl doing whatever it is that they do and it FELT FUCKING GREAT.
I saw some artwork out of the corner of my eye..blue..and surreal and was like this definitely has to be mi gente. Norma Esperanza Lopez's work was kick-ass and I'm trying to find her card. Another awesome thing was that most of the artists were right there to talk to you and were obviously selling their stuff, but the high-light of my evening, without a doubt was Urban Explosion. We had honestly thought we had seen everything we were gonna see and heath even had made a joke about the "break circle" kinda forming in the back. AT first we thought it was just a bunch o' kids hanging out near this pitch black installation wall. Til the music started. It was some kinda re-mix. Classic rock riff sampled into a break beat. I heard similar stuff at the club tonight..AC/DC Back n Black with Snoop Dogg..pretty funny. They're using the classics now!
Anyway, these kids, ages 12-15, had the livest dance performance I'd ever seen. Their timing was impeccable and the moves were very MJ. This one boy up front was really working it. I had to yell. I couldn't hold back. I felt so proud! And, they went on for a good 7-8 minutes. They were so happy..you could tell, ALL SMILES. I screamed again. After they finished, I told one of the lil' dancers they should be on Apollo Kids and she said "oh, we sent our tape in already.
She said they called themselves "Urban Explosion" and they practiced at the Art Center. You could tell they practice a lot and they were definitely explosive. I'll be bringing some other folks to see them.
WE met up with Lar for the Haunted Mansion. The line was not nearly as bad as it was the year before because we arrived so early. I was definitely psyched and didn't even mind standing outside for nearly two hours. We got thru the haunted forest, accompanied by a group of three little girls who asked if they could "be with us". Upon entering the forest, that "be with you" turned into "can I hold your hand" which was really sweet...until some Jason character with a knife came running across the bridge, screaming. Then the lil girl screaming started, which, If you've never heard it, resembles something like an ultra-sonic eardrum piercer. Then, there was pushing. Why are little girls such easy screamers? All these costumed-35 y.o. dudes were ONLY going up to little girls, which started to feel like this creepy, predator thing. I guess they wouldn't run up to adult men, but STILL..it was weird watching these guys getting off on breathing heavy in some little girl's face...
we got through the damn forest, and got in line for the mansion, when the power went out. in fact, that was one of the 6 or 7 times the power would go out within the next hour or so that we WAITED ..and WAITED some more. Devon assured me this was an unprecedented occurrence at Haunted Mansion, as if gave birth to the damn thing, but apparently the vertigo, 3D spinny-tunnel (RAWK!) thing motor broke. And also, I believe Devon was then delegated the job of spinning the tunnel, which is why I didn't see him.
During our wait outside the house, we amused ourselves in several ways. I was busily evading the 20 questions our newly-acquired adolescent trio were slinging my way, we recited DIO and Iron Maiden lyrics, sang "Dracula," tried to rile the crowed up my chanting "REFUND" and "WE WANNA BE SCARED...WE WANNA BE SCARED"..also, I started in with "What do we want---HAUNTED MANSION...yea, you get the hint. It was funny and obnoxious at the time. It seemed like an eon we were waiting and watching made-up, pseudo experts shuffle in and out of the house. Then, we heard the MUSIC and got in.
This house is the scariest and coolest I've even been too. You can't even visualize where you are after a while (they give you 3D glasses). There are literally times in there where you are in pitch black, unknowns and have to grope your way through or appoint a more fearless leader in which case, a ghoul will shortly pop up and scream in your face..FUN FUN FUN!
The highlight was this cool, Eddy-like Alien thing that was ENORMOUS and I don't even think my 3-D glasses betrayed me. It was OUT there..i dunno who makes these costumes, but they're skilled. I'd love to hang out in one of those rad costumes and freak ppl out all night, course I prob. do that just fine in civilian clothes.
I brought Harry and Leather to Grand China afterward (we had worked up a fierce appetite) and immediately saw Dharma and the back of Sisouk's head. I sensed something was up the way he was absorbing all of Sisouk's attention. I gave 'em a big, bear hug. He was down and out. I figured it involved some financial difficulty, but then I overheard some more retribution thingy when I went to check with Dharma about the tofu status. Trust me, in this area, finding a place that will prepare tofu is like winning the goddammn lotto--IT AIN'T EASY. We ate. Larry accidentally burped in my ear. We belly-lauged. The trinity is back! Thank god..at long last.
Me and Heather were far from done there even though it was past midnight. Lori had text me earlier. Said she'd be at RCB. We got there and I immediately saw three ppl that I either know from high school or didn't want to see, like Peter, my hot-n-cold Bartender friend who now seems to have some expensive habits and tries to sleep with everyone, including myself.
I got up to the dance floor and saw Lori grinding with some boy, which is ironic, because she's only into women. The dance-floor seemed more like a Lion's Ogle-Den, pointing to my comfort-level at "Alternative Clubs"...there's not like ten-million dudes standing around waiting for you to dance like Britney Spears. Heath and I retired to the softy-couch and which point, I experienced one of the TOP MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENTS OF MY LIFE:
We noticed these underage looking boys to the corner. They kept exchanging smiles at which point I said to heath "these boys are young enough to be our children...it was at that moment that i could see one of them in my periphery, pointing and giggling at this small, ball of something on the floor. I couldn't figure out what it was at first. It looked like maybe a scrunchy or a napkin, but I was certain something so mundane would not have elicited such laughter and fascination.
And there it was...MY personal NIGHTMARE, come true, my hair extension (aka. my fake, diva pony-tail) and somehow worked it's way out of my head on one of my earlier trips to the bathroom and it was sitting there, naked, in the light, for everyone's examination. I pretended not to notice thinking my interest would incriminate me by default. It was then, I turned to Heather and confided my intimate secret to which she blurted out laughing ..HYSTERICALLY.
I swung back to the boys who had moved onto something else..prob. enamored by some mid-rif or the fact that they were illegally drinking in a club. I said, .."ok, heather, i'm gonna grab my hair..will you put in your bag?" She easily agreed. Like a frog honing in on it's prey, I leaned forward and swooped my fake hair into safety and then gracefully pretended to not know what it was until Heather hid it's awkwardness in her bag. "I paid a lot of money for that, I said" to which we both bust out laughing. What a goof I am sometimes. The best part is that, she still have my fake hair in her purse. Maybe it will expunge itself onto the counter tomorrow when she goes to pay for her coffee. One can only hope.
Thursday, October 23, 2003
saw kill bill tonight. i was one of four in the theater which was very cool. i'm still speechless though. it far surpassed any action film i have ever seen, including the matrix reloaded and possibly even crouching tiger (in terms of stunts). it also is unlike any film i've ever seen in terms of it's violence. there is one scene in particular i'm thinking of where uma's character is slamming the scary hospital orderly's head in the door, REPEATEDLY. I honestly had to look away and felt my muscles tensing up in my chair. it was like this mix of japanese samurai, spaghetti western, indie film. the kitchen scene featured one of my favorite angles ever! it was from the ceiling and i don't know how they did it but it rocked. i give uma mad props for her perfomance. it's some of the best acting i've ever seen her do with the exception of baron munchausen--ok, not really, but she was great. her and her size 11 footsies. were are certainly sisters in kind. i loved the scene in the truck where's she's coaxing her toes our of atrophy. her toes were so realistic and sexy and non-hollywood like. overall, i thought the film was well-made, even though the gore got almost overbearing and the asian school-girl fetish was hardly understated.
i wish i could post more, but i was up til 4.30 am typing narrative reports for some unfortunate folks.
also, i got into a strange predicament today with the new icy-hot ointment i bought for my neck. it involved having to pee and forgetting to wash my hands first. there are just some areas of the body that should never be "icy-hot"...EVER....
i wish i could post more, but i was up til 4.30 am typing narrative reports for some unfortunate folks.
also, i got into a strange predicament today with the new icy-hot ointment i bought for my neck. it involved having to pee and forgetting to wash my hands first. there are just some areas of the body that should never be "icy-hot"...EVER....
Wednesday, October 22, 2003
thing is as soon as i walked into my job today, i had like 5 intakes. meanwhile, my cohorts were down the convent-hall (yes we are a social services agency that operates out of a slightly-restored convent that has a funky odor to it) eating cheese and fruit. then, i had a supervision with pam, who...is a great lady. she gave me three copies of vegetarian times that she said she didn't need anymore and i joked with her that everyone here overlooks those .bc they're busy reading "Bride" ..heh..
i still need to finish my narrative reports, but i;m now trying to nurture my poor neck..ouchy..it hurtz. i'm also finally watching Heist. I have that here and The Man who wasn't there. Heist is great. I'm glad i didn't listen to Adam's critique. I adore Gene Hackman. He has some wicked aura thing going on and he practically raised himself.
I'm also looking into some host re-selling plans. It may very well be worth it for the amount of domains I have.
i still need to finish my narrative reports, but i;m now trying to nurture my poor neck..ouchy..it hurtz. i'm also finally watching Heist. I have that here and The Man who wasn't there. Heist is great. I'm glad i didn't listen to Adam's critique. I adore Gene Hackman. He has some wicked aura thing going on and he practically raised himself.
I'm also looking into some host re-selling plans. It may very well be worth it for the amount of domains I have.
Tuesday, October 21, 2003
havent gotten my lab results back yet, but i forgetfully had some canteloupe tonight and get instantly nauseas. my kat minou loves canteloupe..like, obsessively. he follows me around the apartment as soon as he sees the orangey, circular thing. he then nuzzles his way past me and starts licking the rinds. love my minou.
i'm finding myself in a position to buy a laptop. it's both exciting and weird, coz i've always saved money by building my own desktop. the laptop route is way more practical, however, for writing and coding and stuff.
i keep hearing horrible things about xp, so i might be leaning more towards the mac but like most other stuff, i'm gonna do my homework.
tennis invited me to the chomsky reception in december. i'm excited, but i hope he's not as dry as zinn was. i mean, he had amazing stuff to talk about, but was so monotone that i started to tune out after about 2 hours. i suppose it comes along with being so brilliant.
tried to see kill bill earlier, but massachusetts is sorta lost on the whole late-night movie thing. mary and i are supposed to see it together, but she's been busy writing for ch. 7. i get all the gossip about randy price and crew now. it's pretty comical. she had a head's up on the statehouse's bill to ban smoking in all bars statewide. i got into a debae with devon about that earlier. he seems to think banning smoking is like infringing on a person's most basic civil liberties and the the economic reprecussions will be great. i told him he underestimates ppl's love for company and libations and they'll just go outside now. that's what they do in somerville and it hasn't seemed to cause a revolt yet. for my part, it was kinda cool to go to a show without having someone blowing smoke in my face. i dunno, call me fascist. we did concur on one thing. they could institute a "smoking lounge" in clubs and stuff. it might have been a good compromise, but they seemed to overlook that.
instead of kill bill, i finally bought my bowie tickets. they were obscenely expensive, but i don't care. i missed the opportunity to see him on the heathen tour and thought that might be the last time he would tour. it will be at the fleetcenter, so i doubt it will sell out but you never know. it will be a first visit to fleetcenter for me. i passed by it for almost 2 years on my way to work. all i've seen of it is that annoying budweiser billboard. it will be nice to have the bowie energy there.
i'm frustrated today, though it's evening out now. i was running around crazed to get things done. i'm still waiting on my client to call me back.
i'm finding myself in a position to buy a laptop. it's both exciting and weird, coz i've always saved money by building my own desktop. the laptop route is way more practical, however, for writing and coding and stuff.
i keep hearing horrible things about xp, so i might be leaning more towards the mac but like most other stuff, i'm gonna do my homework.
tennis invited me to the chomsky reception in december. i'm excited, but i hope he's not as dry as zinn was. i mean, he had amazing stuff to talk about, but was so monotone that i started to tune out after about 2 hours. i suppose it comes along with being so brilliant.
tried to see kill bill earlier, but massachusetts is sorta lost on the whole late-night movie thing. mary and i are supposed to see it together, but she's been busy writing for ch. 7. i get all the gossip about randy price and crew now. it's pretty comical. she had a head's up on the statehouse's bill to ban smoking in all bars statewide. i got into a debae with devon about that earlier. he seems to think banning smoking is like infringing on a person's most basic civil liberties and the the economic reprecussions will be great. i told him he underestimates ppl's love for company and libations and they'll just go outside now. that's what they do in somerville and it hasn't seemed to cause a revolt yet. for my part, it was kinda cool to go to a show without having someone blowing smoke in my face. i dunno, call me fascist. we did concur on one thing. they could institute a "smoking lounge" in clubs and stuff. it might have been a good compromise, but they seemed to overlook that.
instead of kill bill, i finally bought my bowie tickets. they were obscenely expensive, but i don't care. i missed the opportunity to see him on the heathen tour and thought that might be the last time he would tour. it will be at the fleetcenter, so i doubt it will sell out but you never know. it will be a first visit to fleetcenter for me. i passed by it for almost 2 years on my way to work. all i've seen of it is that annoying budweiser billboard. it will be nice to have the bowie energy there.
i'm frustrated today, though it's evening out now. i was running around crazed to get things done. i'm still waiting on my client to call me back.
Monday, October 20, 2003
just got this weird email from Sen. John Kerry
October 20, 2003
Dear Miss xxxx:
Letter begins here.
Sincerely,
John F. Kerry
United States Senator
I have a fever of 100. Nothing significant, in fact I didn't even know until this cool, Lady-MD from MGH told me so. She is from London, though she hasn't lived there in 15 years. I surprised myself at being able to identify her London accent. While i was describing my weird, stomach symptoms to her, I asked her where my spleen was. She swiftly pulled up her shirt, bearing her tiny lil mid-rif to show me where all my respective parts were. That was the coolest lessson I've ever gotten from a Doctor. She also said my tattoo was amazing and even admitted that stress affects her the same way it does me. I love MGH. I always will. It's such a stark contrast from up north. No comparison.
I got into a little debacle that involved me not being able to supply a stool sample<
I notice everything. I sincerely wish I didn't sometimes. Like the young, moutain-bike-looking couple who came into the clinic looking for a prescription without an exam. I think it involved something of an intimate nature, because I overheard the Nurse informing the young woman that she her bf would need to be examined first upstairs. As they were leaving, the woman was upbraidingly yelled to her bf "this is the most, fucking humiliting thing ever. I just want to get this over with!"
They say artists notice detail. They also say most artists are a tad nutz. I can see that connection now. I didn't 5 years ago. And 10 years ago, my art was too important to even pause to notice anything else, but I digress.
This Elderly man sits down at the table next to me at the hospital cafe. I was busily dumping my leftover Tofu stir-fry into my leftover tomato soup. The tofu stir-fry was coined "Thai", but tasted less like Thai and moreso just had a weird, fishy, cat-food like aftertaste.
We'll call him George. This first thing i noticed about George was his NY yankees hat and his bouncey step. He jostled over holding his tray and we immediately made eye contact. George was about 81 years old with purpose. He had conviction. He knew exactly what he was having for dinner: a dressing-slathered salad with chicken and bottled water, and my conversation, unbenounced to him.
George asked me "how are you today, dear?" I quickly responded, "I'm doing fine thanks, and yourself". "Oh, I'm great. Just getting back from East Boston. I'm a foster grandparent" declared George. "Wow, that's great," I said, even though I wasn't sure precisely what that meant...briefly thought it was some kinda Big Brother-type deal. "Day care costs $200 a day ya know, he piped back quickly. His veracity reminded me of my dad's paternal father, only in a good way. My dad's paternal father was convicted about crappy things like pornography or putting down my South American Abuela.
For about 20 minutes, I drank my hazelnut coffee (which tasted more like that morning's refiltered) while George contemplatingly told me about the 4 and 5 year olds that he helped take care of every day. We talked about the world series and Bush and how different things are for kids nowadays "I never once locked my bike down when i was a kid" he offered. I know, I said, "me neither, we used to go running around the neighborhood til it was dark." I saw myself transcendently saying that sentence and realized i sounded like I, too came up in the 30's and 40's. Who knows? Maybe I did.
It wasn't long before I was questioning why George would go out of his way to eat hospital food, when he didn't work there and wasn't visiting anyone. Last I had checked the lettuce was a neutral shade of brown and all the other ingredients looked like displays from a rest-stop salad bar. "Salad's pretty good here" George firmly interjected after about 30 seconds. Kuo (i noticed his name tag) a small, Asian caf attendant was shuffling around us restocking the napkins passionately. "Yes, i said, "not bad at all. My tomato soup was good." My desire to share something positive with George, a word, a thought a gesture, anything, overrode my desire to be authentic and honest. Sometimes I confuse authenticity with cynicism, but It just felt better to embellish the truth to this man who was so simple and extraordinary, then to remain true to the negative reality of the shitty salad bar.
It was then that George told me how he had never married. How he'd come to East Boston 15 years ago and his one living relative, a sister, had recently died. George couldn't bare to eat alone at home, so he got his breakfast and lunch at his volunteer daycare job, and dinner at the hospital. He reminded me of how I love to be alone. I wondered where my longing for human contact had often went. I remembered this past Sunday, craving it ferociously and not being able to get it. Then I thought, i suppose it's better for George to eat in room full of strangers, than to be alone. Or maybe it matters more what you do during the times in between, than the fact that it's just you. A wave of panic came over me as I studied George's weary Pennsylvania-bred face. "I don't want to be alone microwaving Croissant pockets when I'm 82."
I kept stalling. I had already finished my sour coffee. I had neglected to add the fake sweetener. It might have helped, but no bother. I was waiting for George. He only had a little bit of lettuce left. It was during one of our last 30 second pauses, that George broke into the silence but quietly mumbling, as if he was repenting "When I first came here, I lived in a shelter." I didn't respond. I just let his quiet comment linger in the air. It warranted no response. To respond would have been like telling a friend to hide a scar they've just brandished all their courage to show you.
I asked him if he needed anything else before I left. He looked at my strangely, as if I had sort of overstepped my bounds. I didn't care much. He had made my day.
"Oh no, dear." "I'm all set, here". He said with a smile. "You take care okay?" I offered the same advice back to George and as I turned the corner and was almost out of sight he yelled. "Don't get mugged!" with a chuckle. I laughed back "I'll try not to. You take care, George."
Dear Miss xxxx:
Letter begins here.
Sincerely,
John F. Kerry
United States Senator
I have a fever of 100. Nothing significant, in fact I didn't even know until this cool, Lady-MD from MGH told me so. She is from London, though she hasn't lived there in 15 years. I surprised myself at being able to identify her London accent. While i was describing my weird, stomach symptoms to her, I asked her where my spleen was. She swiftly pulled up her shirt, bearing her tiny lil mid-rif to show me where all my respective parts were. That was the coolest lessson I've ever gotten from a Doctor. She also said my tattoo was amazing and even admitted that stress affects her the same way it does me. I love MGH. I always will. It's such a stark contrast from up north. No comparison.
I got into a little debacle that involved me not being able to supply a stool sample<
I notice everything. I sincerely wish I didn't sometimes. Like the young, moutain-bike-looking couple who came into the clinic looking for a prescription without an exam. I think it involved something of an intimate nature, because I overheard the Nurse informing the young woman that she her bf would need to be examined first upstairs. As they were leaving, the woman was upbraidingly yelled to her bf "this is the most, fucking humiliting thing ever. I just want to get this over with!"
They say artists notice detail. They also say most artists are a tad nutz. I can see that connection now. I didn't 5 years ago. And 10 years ago, my art was too important to even pause to notice anything else, but I digress.
This Elderly man sits down at the table next to me at the hospital cafe. I was busily dumping my leftover Tofu stir-fry into my leftover tomato soup. The tofu stir-fry was coined "Thai", but tasted less like Thai and moreso just had a weird, fishy, cat-food like aftertaste.
We'll call him George. This first thing i noticed about George was his NY yankees hat and his bouncey step. He jostled over holding his tray and we immediately made eye contact. George was about 81 years old with purpose. He had conviction. He knew exactly what he was having for dinner: a dressing-slathered salad with chicken and bottled water, and my conversation, unbenounced to him.
George asked me "how are you today, dear?" I quickly responded, "I'm doing fine thanks, and yourself". "Oh, I'm great. Just getting back from East Boston. I'm a foster grandparent" declared George. "Wow, that's great," I said, even though I wasn't sure precisely what that meant...briefly thought it was some kinda Big Brother-type deal. "Day care costs $200 a day ya know, he piped back quickly. His veracity reminded me of my dad's paternal father, only in a good way. My dad's paternal father was convicted about crappy things like pornography or putting down my South American Abuela.
For about 20 minutes, I drank my hazelnut coffee (which tasted more like that morning's refiltered) while George contemplatingly told me about the 4 and 5 year olds that he helped take care of every day. We talked about the world series and Bush and how different things are for kids nowadays "I never once locked my bike down when i was a kid" he offered. I know, I said, "me neither, we used to go running around the neighborhood til it was dark." I saw myself transcendently saying that sentence and realized i sounded like I, too came up in the 30's and 40's. Who knows? Maybe I did.
It wasn't long before I was questioning why George would go out of his way to eat hospital food, when he didn't work there and wasn't visiting anyone. Last I had checked the lettuce was a neutral shade of brown and all the other ingredients looked like displays from a rest-stop salad bar. "Salad's pretty good here" George firmly interjected after about 30 seconds. Kuo (i noticed his name tag) a small, Asian caf attendant was shuffling around us restocking the napkins passionately. "Yes, i said, "not bad at all. My tomato soup was good." My desire to share something positive with George, a word, a thought a gesture, anything, overrode my desire to be authentic and honest. Sometimes I confuse authenticity with cynicism, but It just felt better to embellish the truth to this man who was so simple and extraordinary, then to remain true to the negative reality of the shitty salad bar.
It was then that George told me how he had never married. How he'd come to East Boston 15 years ago and his one living relative, a sister, had recently died. George couldn't bare to eat alone at home, so he got his breakfast and lunch at his volunteer daycare job, and dinner at the hospital. He reminded me of how I love to be alone. I wondered where my longing for human contact had often went. I remembered this past Sunday, craving it ferociously and not being able to get it. Then I thought, i suppose it's better for George to eat in room full of strangers, than to be alone. Or maybe it matters more what you do during the times in between, than the fact that it's just you. A wave of panic came over me as I studied George's weary Pennsylvania-bred face. "I don't want to be alone microwaving Croissant pockets when I'm 82."
I kept stalling. I had already finished my sour coffee. I had neglected to add the fake sweetener. It might have helped, but no bother. I was waiting for George. He only had a little bit of lettuce left. It was during one of our last 30 second pauses, that George broke into the silence but quietly mumbling, as if he was repenting "When I first came here, I lived in a shelter." I didn't respond. I just let his quiet comment linger in the air. It warranted no response. To respond would have been like telling a friend to hide a scar they've just brandished all their courage to show you.
I asked him if he needed anything else before I left. He looked at my strangely, as if I had sort of overstepped my bounds. I didn't care much. He had made my day.
"Oh no, dear." "I'm all set, here". He said with a smile. "You take care okay?" I offered the same advice back to George and as I turned the corner and was almost out of sight he yelled. "Don't get mugged!" with a chuckle. I laughed back "I'll try not to. You take care, George."
Saturday, October 18, 2003
mystic river, the opiate of the poor disguised as intervention..other weird shit
so i just watched this newscast about how masshealth is cutting prescription coverage for certain "unnecessary" psychofarm drugs like neurontin for bi-polar disorder. i dont even know if i can call the media "biased" anymore bc proclivity would imply that they have some knowledge of least one side of an issue and they don't. they interview and dramatize the life experiences of poor, unfortunate people and avoid the underlying issues all-together. they are like the idiot at the table who misses the political conversation and instead comments on how nice someone's outfit is.
anyway, i hate to even joke about siding with romneys legislation bc they suck, but i need to research this more. i wonder how the mass rx commission is justifying this cut. did they finally find out how commonly misdiagnosed bi-polar disorder is or are they just conducting business as usualy by targeting majority of pharmaceutical receiptiants: the poor and the elderly, or both?
it's amazing how Bi-polar disorder didnt even exist a few years ago, but now there is a myriad of really expensive drugs to treat it, such as neurontin which was originally developed for people who experience seizures. i'm definitely not siding with my crappy, uber-conservative state that rewards a construction project that's 8 billion dollars over-budget, and punishes the poor and cuts education, but when more and more symptom-producing meds are making the pharmaceutical industry the richest in the world--drugs like lipitor that have been proven to cause liver disease and other related disorders, drugs that treat the symptoms not the causes of behaviorally preventable diseases like poor diet and high blood pressure and high cholesterol, i take issue. then there's the mythical ssri. ssri's that, in epidemiological studies, have been proven to cause breast and cervival cancer, but Eli-lily's financial influence on main-stream medicine have slanted research and publications on these issues. also, many doctors get penalized by insurance companies if they don't prescribe certain drugs. translation=lots of pharmaceutical companies are getting rich off of fucking people up and their financial influence is re-inventing the medical world. When Eli-Lily was losing their patent on prozac a few years ago, the decided to re-market the drug as "Serefem." You may remember that they made up a new disorder called "PMDD" or pre-menstrual dismorphic disorder. Ironic isn't it? The lucrative treatment came before the actual disorder. Oh, you may have remembered the lame-ass commercial featuring this stressed-out mother having a melt down in the grocery store because she couldn't get her cart out of the carrel..then this cloud-blue "serefem" billows down from the heavens and she's suddenly back to her original baseline of no stress, as would be the case for any overworked, single mother, hypothetically speaking. Like I say, the treatment treats the symptom not the cause and furthermore causes more symptoms, like sexual dysfunction But, uncannily, Pfizer has developed a remarkable new drug for female sexual dysfunction called "female Viagra" so one could take that to counter-act the new side-effects from the previous drug and so on and so forth, the vicious cycle continues. And they're making a mint off of people's vicious cycle, which is more just shear desperation and lack of knowledge.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Mystic River was a great portrayal of this area, I thought. The character development was amazing and creepy. I Love Marsha Gay-Harding. Mostly because of Casa de los babys and Pollack, but she was great in this too. The acting was great. The lack of resolution at the end of the movie bothered me tho. It seemed like there was new suspicion introduced and thrown in there was this ending moment that portrayed how sick ppl kinda protect each other when they fuck up.
All in all, it was fantastic. Most notable was Tim Robbins, I thought. He's versatile..i know that sounds so trite..but he really is an underrated actor.
Go see it, but don't expect a nice, tightly-wrapped Hollywood ending. You won't get one. I think maybe Eastwood was hoping for that while remaining true to the book.
I have cortisone injection tomorrow. Soon my cat Bella will too. We'll have this great barrier-free species experience, not like we already don't. She's can be itchy. My neck will be sore.
anyway, i hate to even joke about siding with romneys legislation bc they suck, but i need to research this more. i wonder how the mass rx commission is justifying this cut. did they finally find out how commonly misdiagnosed bi-polar disorder is or are they just conducting business as usualy by targeting majority of pharmaceutical receiptiants: the poor and the elderly, or both?
it's amazing how Bi-polar disorder didnt even exist a few years ago, but now there is a myriad of really expensive drugs to treat it, such as neurontin which was originally developed for people who experience seizures. i'm definitely not siding with my crappy, uber-conservative state that rewards a construction project that's 8 billion dollars over-budget, and punishes the poor and cuts education, but when more and more symptom-producing meds are making the pharmaceutical industry the richest in the world--drugs like lipitor that have been proven to cause liver disease and other related disorders, drugs that treat the symptoms not the causes of behaviorally preventable diseases like poor diet and high blood pressure and high cholesterol, i take issue. then there's the mythical ssri. ssri's that, in epidemiological studies, have been proven to cause breast and cervival cancer, but Eli-lily's financial influence on main-stream medicine have slanted research and publications on these issues. also, many doctors get penalized by insurance companies if they don't prescribe certain drugs. translation=lots of pharmaceutical companies are getting rich off of fucking people up and their financial influence is re-inventing the medical world. When Eli-Lily was losing their patent on prozac a few years ago, the decided to re-market the drug as "Serefem." You may remember that they made up a new disorder called "PMDD" or pre-menstrual dismorphic disorder. Ironic isn't it? The lucrative treatment came before the actual disorder. Oh, you may have remembered the lame-ass commercial featuring this stressed-out mother having a melt down in the grocery store because she couldn't get her cart out of the carrel..then this cloud-blue "serefem" billows down from the heavens and she's suddenly back to her original baseline of no stress, as would be the case for any overworked, single mother, hypothetically speaking. Like I say, the treatment treats the symptom not the cause and furthermore causes more symptoms, like sexual dysfunction But, uncannily, Pfizer has developed a remarkable new drug for female sexual dysfunction called "female Viagra" so one could take that to counter-act the new side-effects from the previous drug and so on and so forth, the vicious cycle continues. And they're making a mint off of people's vicious cycle, which is more just shear desperation and lack of knowledge.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Mystic River was a great portrayal of this area, I thought. The character development was amazing and creepy. I Love Marsha Gay-Harding. Mostly because of Casa de los babys and Pollack, but she was great in this too. The acting was great. The lack of resolution at the end of the movie bothered me tho. It seemed like there was new suspicion introduced and thrown in there was this ending moment that portrayed how sick ppl kinda protect each other when they fuck up.
All in all, it was fantastic. Most notable was Tim Robbins, I thought. He's versatile..i know that sounds so trite..but he really is an underrated actor.
Go see it, but don't expect a nice, tightly-wrapped Hollywood ending. You won't get one. I think maybe Eastwood was hoping for that while remaining true to the book.
I have cortisone injection tomorrow. Soon my cat Bella will too. We'll have this great barrier-free species experience, not like we already don't. She's can be itchy. My neck will be sore.
so like, i still am having this freaky muscular spasmy thing going on. the spasm is like a metaphor for my life right now, aptly. as i sit here typing, my cat has just puked. My other, non-puking cat and the puking cat are now converging over the ripe puke and looking at me as if i should do something. i did try to leap into action beforehand but i was a day late with my flimsy napkin. now, the puker is attempting to re-consume the stuff and i'm feeling sick and maybe you reading this are feeling sick as well or maybe there isn't even a 'you' which is cool too so i'll shut up now.
i also, just now can hear someone having sex somewhere in this building, but there shouldn't be anyone doing so and i'm sorta confused and don't know what to do. now, it sounds like someone sobbing. i go to investigate. it's coming from outside. i have no clue what it is. sounds like a human-owl. or an owl who's choking. no fucking clue. just a perfect cap-stone to my weird-ass evening.
starting with...a sincerely annoying and frustrating trip to k-mart. i did get about 5 nice wind chimes with animals on them. i gave the fish one to tharah when i went to pick her up for the movie.we went to the new coen bros. i love their stuff, particularly big lebowski. i never saw raising arizona and i get lectured on it every time i bring it up from larry..that, and st. elmo's fire. i also never saw the big deal about ferris beauler's day off and don't understand why the kind of car he stole from the principal or whatever is a question on who wants to be a millionaire..along with all their other ignoramus questions but that's neither here nor there.
where was i?
oh yes, the film had some flaws throughout the first half, i thought. in typical coen brother style, they did this perry mason spoofy melo-court drama thingy that was sorta funky. they have this knack for being able to part from reality quite often and it still works. well, most of the time.
i thought catherine zeta jones was stunning. in fact, i wondered how she could act and look so aesthetically pleasing, at once. like, for the kiss scene, the continuity of her perfect lipstick was not even interrupted. that was kinda irritating. course, then i got to thinking about expectations..etc..etc..expectations..old husband..commentary film on marriage and divorce..and for that part, it was great. some of the romantic scenes were kinda hokey and it seemed the writers were def. poking fun at both the sanctity of marriage and lawyers..and even the illusion of real integrity on a human level.
oh yea, so movie's out. it's like 11.40. i'm like what do i do with myself now. i suggest a local salsa club. we cant find parking and the parking we do find is like shady as hell. so i sorta drive around aimlessly with T for a while looking for cues. she decides she'd rather go home chill. i drop her off and bag the whole latin idea and head for the gay club. wouldn't you?
i'm driving into the parking lot and the cop is flashing his light right into my car as i drive by. of course, i ignore him, but i realize what he's doing. somehow, that was his numb brain attempt at alerting me to the fact the club is closed. it's 12.20 and i, for one, know it's not closed. i see ppl at the bar thru the window. i just wanna get in for a few to catch up with cj (who's not even there, unbeknown).
long story short, the ass wouldn't let me in. apparently, it's illegal in mass to let patrons into a bar after last call has been announced, so technically, all bars in the half-ass state close at like 12am ..happy clubbing!
so i leave what was my plan b. i remember my plan c just then! robbie said he'd be around a horrible place in nh called grand china. this place stores some bad memories for me, so i figure i'll call. as the number is dialing, i'm hoping he might just wanna have coffee with me or something. i'm way too wired to go home. then i realize, am i sending a weird message if i call a straight guy at 12.29 am, even if i've attempted to make it more than clear that i'm not attracted to him? shit. i then infuse my own awkwardness in to the convo and simultaneously try to sense his, which i do. was it Freud that said analysis is our neuroses?
I pull over. I'm bored. I need human contact. I need a coffee partner. Someone. Anyone. Preferably not mentally ill will suffice. I call like 7 ppl. I call brayd. My buddhist boy in PA who's always around. No dice. No one is available. I'm supposed to go home and be with whatever i'm supposed to be with. I'm pissed. I go home.
I grab CJ's number from my retired cell phone. Call him. He's just left another club. He tells me hes really drunk, but he'll call me if he does "anything other than go home." I'm cold. I get in my PJ's. Chat a bit. Boca Burger-nuke. Lori calls. She just got off work at the club and wants coffee. I'm in my PJ's..i debate..say no, say yes, say no again..say YES, again. We go to Nana's. Lori tells me things that annoy her about her ex-lover using lots of expletives. We're the only two in the diner and I know the owner and the waitress can hear her. I wonder if they are offended. I wonder if they even care or if they think we are trouble-makers. I wonder why i even care what they think, but we head out.
And so we do. During the car-ride home, we exchange a clove cigarette and our mutual frustrations about hooking up and the diff. between hooking up with men and women *she's bi, i'm straight*..and if hooking up implies accountability and why ppl she hooks up with keep calling and why most ppl tend to call too much or not at all. why is there this universal extremes thing in all human behavior, i think. Here's our exit. I wonder why i ponder so much in this town. Does anyone else ponder weird shit like me?
I'm back home again. Round two. It's late. I'm cold. I need to focus when I write, not talk to ppl. Cat is puking. I hear a noise. Sounds like sex or crying or an owl choking.
i also, just now can hear someone having sex somewhere in this building, but there shouldn't be anyone doing so and i'm sorta confused and don't know what to do. now, it sounds like someone sobbing. i go to investigate. it's coming from outside. i have no clue what it is. sounds like a human-owl. or an owl who's choking. no fucking clue. just a perfect cap-stone to my weird-ass evening.
starting with...a sincerely annoying and frustrating trip to k-mart. i did get about 5 nice wind chimes with animals on them. i gave the fish one to tharah when i went to pick her up for the movie.we went to the new coen bros. i love their stuff, particularly big lebowski. i never saw raising arizona and i get lectured on it every time i bring it up from larry..that, and st. elmo's fire. i also never saw the big deal about ferris beauler's day off and don't understand why the kind of car he stole from the principal or whatever is a question on who wants to be a millionaire..along with all their other ignoramus questions but that's neither here nor there.
where was i?
oh yes, the film had some flaws throughout the first half, i thought. in typical coen brother style, they did this perry mason spoofy melo-court drama thingy that was sorta funky. they have this knack for being able to part from reality quite often and it still works. well, most of the time.
i thought catherine zeta jones was stunning. in fact, i wondered how she could act and look so aesthetically pleasing, at once. like, for the kiss scene, the continuity of her perfect lipstick was not even interrupted. that was kinda irritating. course, then i got to thinking about expectations..etc..etc..expectations..old husband..commentary film on marriage and divorce..and for that part, it was great. some of the romantic scenes were kinda hokey and it seemed the writers were def. poking fun at both the sanctity of marriage and lawyers..and even the illusion of real integrity on a human level.
oh yea, so movie's out. it's like 11.40. i'm like what do i do with myself now. i suggest a local salsa club. we cant find parking and the parking we do find is like shady as hell. so i sorta drive around aimlessly with T for a while looking for cues. she decides she'd rather go home chill. i drop her off and bag the whole latin idea and head for the gay club. wouldn't you?
i'm driving into the parking lot and the cop is flashing his light right into my car as i drive by. of course, i ignore him, but i realize what he's doing. somehow, that was his numb brain attempt at alerting me to the fact the club is closed. it's 12.20 and i, for one, know it's not closed. i see ppl at the bar thru the window. i just wanna get in for a few to catch up with cj (who's not even there, unbeknown).
long story short, the ass wouldn't let me in. apparently, it's illegal in mass to let patrons into a bar after last call has been announced, so technically, all bars in the half-ass state close at like 12am ..happy clubbing!
so i leave what was my plan b. i remember my plan c just then! robbie said he'd be around a horrible place in nh called grand china. this place stores some bad memories for me, so i figure i'll call. as the number is dialing, i'm hoping he might just wanna have coffee with me or something. i'm way too wired to go home. then i realize, am i sending a weird message if i call a straight guy at 12.29 am, even if i've attempted to make it more than clear that i'm not attracted to him? shit. i then infuse my own awkwardness in to the convo and simultaneously try to sense his, which i do. was it Freud that said analysis is our neuroses?
I pull over. I'm bored. I need human contact. I need a coffee partner. Someone. Anyone. Preferably not mentally ill will suffice. I call like 7 ppl. I call brayd. My buddhist boy in PA who's always around. No dice. No one is available. I'm supposed to go home and be with whatever i'm supposed to be with. I'm pissed. I go home.
I grab CJ's number from my retired cell phone. Call him. He's just left another club. He tells me hes really drunk, but he'll call me if he does "anything other than go home." I'm cold. I get in my PJ's. Chat a bit. Boca Burger-nuke. Lori calls. She just got off work at the club and wants coffee. I'm in my PJ's..i debate..say no, say yes, say no again..say YES, again. We go to Nana's. Lori tells me things that annoy her about her ex-lover using lots of expletives. We're the only two in the diner and I know the owner and the waitress can hear her. I wonder if they are offended. I wonder if they even care or if they think we are trouble-makers. I wonder why i even care what they think, but we head out.
And so we do. During the car-ride home, we exchange a clove cigarette and our mutual frustrations about hooking up and the diff. between hooking up with men and women *she's bi, i'm straight*..and if hooking up implies accountability and why ppl she hooks up with keep calling and why most ppl tend to call too much or not at all. why is there this universal extremes thing in all human behavior, i think. Here's our exit. I wonder why i ponder so much in this town. Does anyone else ponder weird shit like me?
I'm back home again. Round two. It's late. I'm cold. I need to focus when I write, not talk to ppl. Cat is puking. I hear a noise. Sounds like sex or crying or an owl choking.
Friday, October 17, 2003
tired and happy...
i may, in fact, have a kidney stone or something of the like, although i would not know because i received some of the poorest medical treatment of my life today. Wow, i am so negative sometimes, but honestly, this shit was like right outta a bad stephen king novel, complete with the male nurse making sexual comments right in front of me about female nurses walking by and this half-baked MD who thought i was challenging her because i had half a brain..i left. i'm going to a hospital downtown. none o' this backwoods sub-par, leaking roof-catholic hospital crap. all set.
in spite of the pulsating muscle spasms in my tummy, i was able to do what i need to today. found a new host for my client, got my hair cut, talked to my spiritual advisor (don't ask, it's a great help tho), went to larry's and played Taboo until my already throbbing spleen almost bust open. what an awesome, cheap way to fuck off with your friends all night! i think i might tape it next week.
then..i'm on the way to my car and notice this cutie lil sparrow in the middle of the sidewalk. it had just rained and he was just sittin there, motionless. i had a flashback to my squirrelly friend from last summer that i found on the hot, sidewalk. he had fallen out of a tree and had a bloody nose. i nursed the poor chap in my demin coat while i made several calls to the human society and the south boston animal shelter. squirrelly, being just a little babe, was safely relocated to the Northeast Wildlife Animal Rescue league. Heather and Larry, or as I've been known to utter in a thaelic, semi-conscious state "Harry and Leather" never let me live down my animal rescue. So, as I'm standing there in the dim shadow of the Medford streetlights staring at this little bird, I'm thinking "Shit, i wonder if the south boston shelter is open and if they would take a bird?" Should i drive him home and try and nurse 'em back to health, there? should i leave 'em and feel guilty all night? what's wrong with me? just go home! no sooner had all these conflicting thoughts passed thru my mind, was a scooping up my tiny-beaked friend with a limp into my tofu-samosa box that was empty and slated for recycling. i recycle everything. it's kind of hilarious. even those little sweet sauce thingies you get from take-out places. moving on.
anyway, i got the sparrow in the box and he swiftly went ballistic for a minute and tried to fly away, but to no avail. i used another box to coax him in and wondered if he had felt somewhat comforted in the little samosa refuge house i provided him. then i realized, he prob. thought i was preparing to eat him and just wanted to get out. i gathered up my other crap, slowly walked to my car and placed the bird in the box on top of it. he jostled around a bit as if to say "get me the hell outta here" and i realized if i was gonna make the 25 min. drive home, this poor dude would need some airholes. i meagerly tried to cut some holes in with a key, the only sharp object i had---certainly my brain was not one of them at this hour. just then, little sparrow seized his moment and used the roof of my car as a sorta of launch pad. he flew off rather crazily into the night sky and into what looked like a tree tho i'm not sure. hope he's well and got somewhere safe to heal up.
wow, long story about a bird. sorry. i just am a sucker for helpless, furry things on sidewalks.
THE END
in spite of the pulsating muscle spasms in my tummy, i was able to do what i need to today. found a new host for my client, got my hair cut, talked to my spiritual advisor (don't ask, it's a great help tho), went to larry's and played Taboo until my already throbbing spleen almost bust open. what an awesome, cheap way to fuck off with your friends all night! i think i might tape it next week.
then..i'm on the way to my car and notice this cutie lil sparrow in the middle of the sidewalk. it had just rained and he was just sittin there, motionless. i had a flashback to my squirrelly friend from last summer that i found on the hot, sidewalk. he had fallen out of a tree and had a bloody nose. i nursed the poor chap in my demin coat while i made several calls to the human society and the south boston animal shelter. squirrelly, being just a little babe, was safely relocated to the Northeast Wildlife Animal Rescue league. Heather and Larry, or as I've been known to utter in a thaelic, semi-conscious state "Harry and Leather" never let me live down my animal rescue. So, as I'm standing there in the dim shadow of the Medford streetlights staring at this little bird, I'm thinking "Shit, i wonder if the south boston shelter is open and if they would take a bird?" Should i drive him home and try and nurse 'em back to health, there? should i leave 'em and feel guilty all night? what's wrong with me? just go home! no sooner had all these conflicting thoughts passed thru my mind, was a scooping up my tiny-beaked friend with a limp into my tofu-samosa box that was empty and slated for recycling. i recycle everything. it's kind of hilarious. even those little sweet sauce thingies you get from take-out places. moving on.
anyway, i got the sparrow in the box and he swiftly went ballistic for a minute and tried to fly away, but to no avail. i used another box to coax him in and wondered if he had felt somewhat comforted in the little samosa refuge house i provided him. then i realized, he prob. thought i was preparing to eat him and just wanted to get out. i gathered up my other crap, slowly walked to my car and placed the bird in the box on top of it. he jostled around a bit as if to say "get me the hell outta here" and i realized if i was gonna make the 25 min. drive home, this poor dude would need some airholes. i meagerly tried to cut some holes in with a key, the only sharp object i had---certainly my brain was not one of them at this hour. just then, little sparrow seized his moment and used the roof of my car as a sorta of launch pad. he flew off rather crazily into the night sky and into what looked like a tree tho i'm not sure. hope he's well and got somewhere safe to heal up.
wow, long story about a bird. sorry. i just am a sucker for helpless, furry things on sidewalks.
THE END
Thursday, October 16, 2003
Religious sports fans....
I am so grateful that the two bars I went to tonight, mostly to see friends, but also to sorta watch the Red Sox game, were too crowded and annoying to stay at. I, myself, am not much of a sports fan, but it seemed like a somewhat festive opportunity to be with my friends. It was so interesting. A newscaster called it a "luxury" to be able to watch the game from a bar. I disagree.
As soon as I walked in, you could feel the tension in the air. Rows of heads facing upward towards various television screens. No room to walk. Waitresses and bus boys wearing Red Sox jerseys. When I finally found my friends and sat down, I noticed the divergent Yankee section on one side of the table, and the Red Sox on the other. I found out later that the table's yankee fans had formulated a synergistic triangle that covered both sides. People were unusually inhospitable (even for Bostonians) and their intentness on watching this game was obviously taking precedence over acknowledging much else.
The talk of a mythical "yankee triangle" would have been hokey enough for me, except that the three yanks fans were avoiding a lot of movement and trips to the bathroom to preserve the trinity. My die-hard yankee friend felt like she was ruining the energy by being in the same bar she was in last night when the yankees lost. Energy? huh?
I got to thinking. Why to people instantly become spiritual and conversely superstitious around baseball games? All of a sudden you see people with clenched prayer hands. Talk of bizarre superstitious methods like not washing jerseys or sitting in a specific seat are totally justified...albeit, hilarious.
I also don't understand what a "double-play" is. I admit it. I'm not much concerned with commentators personalities or major league politics or anything like that. I really don't care. I also have no animosity towards the yankees and i dont feel the need to jeer them or call them "bitches" or any other nonsense.
With that knowledge, I went into this outing with no expectations other than to be a my conscientious-observer self. Nothing, however, could have prepared me for how stressed out everyone was. I have two best friends. One of my friends is a huge Yankee fan. The other,a loud, boisterous RedSox fan. Well, he's just loud and boisterous and we love it. AT concerts, he's the one everyone wants to talk to because he just goes nuts. Literally. He's got way too much energy. My other friend, a Poughkepsie-based Yankees fan who now lives in Boston proclaimed that she hated the Red ox and would route for the Florida team if the Redsox won. Someone joked that she oughtta dig out her "aqua" attire from the closet. Having suffered taunting the night before for her Yankees allegiance, I think she was feelin' prematurely frustrated. This also being the end of the week, everyone's exhausted and tired and ready for a break.
My Loud, boisterous friend decided he had to leave within moments of her comments about hating the red sox. Personally, i think he was offended. She texted him right away to tell him she even though she hated the red sox, she still loved him. Within a half-hour, we left. i was too intense and stressful for my friend. i was just observing like i always do. i never got too deep into this stuff. it was never a instilled in me, maybe because i was the only girl. i'm glad for it now. i said goodbye to my yanks friend and was on my way to go home or so i thought.
i went to the second bar in an attempt to find an ex-coworker
at an old hang-out. i wasn't going to, but i figured that was my old, anti-social self rearing it's head. it seemed foolish not to at least check as i was in the neighborhood. i said hi to jay the bouncer who was outside with the rest of the buzzed smokers (smoking is banned in boston and nearby cities now). i complimented him on his hair, although it's now an unnatural shade of blonde. a bunch of months ago, he talked me into dying his hair. i thought it was a weird ploy to get over the house. i never called him like a said i would. i felt momentarily disingenuous, not for the unfulfilled offer, but for the compliment. i had to say something though and couldn't think of anything else to buffer the bit of discomfort i feel walkin into an irish pub by myself. that shortly ended after i walked in and saw about 200 ppl just standing wherever there was an inch of space. there were a lot more women then men it seemed, but a lotta riled up folks, nonetheless. but to my delayed pleasure, no one chain-smoking in my face! i should say that i barely noticed the lack of smoke in either bar until i stopped to notice it. i have to say, i do like it. sorry. i couldn't find my co-worker. it just wasn't in the cards. no amount of glove-twisting could have changed that. I went home early. I'm glad i did.
It was a night of seemingly hard feelings over what i perceive to be a a fairly innocuous "game." i dunno, it seems like there's this tacit connection between blind patriotism and blind fanism. why is that? and why do people become really religious all of a sudden over country and baseball?
To watch the footage on the local news now just proves how attached folks get to winning, whether it be a quasi-war or a baseball game. anyone associated with the "other side" is an enemy. that's why fans fight i figure. because the average american thinks in such stark, black and white terms, there can be no in between. you either are or you are not. i remember the same faces yelling "bitch" at the screen tonight, extolling the blue-collar virtues of George W. Bush. We want to see the hero in everyone---the winner in everyone. We want it so bad, we will attack anyone who gets in our way. Is it because we feel like "losers"? And if I ask God to make me win and i still lose, is God a loser too?
I watched footage of traumatized 10 year olds on Landsdowne street who said "this is the worst day of my life." Leave it to pre-pubescence to be melodramatic, but where does that come from? Someone at my table tonight actually said "If the red sox win, I'm going to have the same gut-wrenching feeling i had when Bush won the election." What? I dunno. Really? I just don't get it.
Anyway, that's what happened to me tonight. I'm off to do some stuff tomorrow that will hopefully involve some calmness. In the future, I will likely avoid such heated competitions. It's not the game itself I don't like, it's the reactions that I can't get into.
As soon as I walked in, you could feel the tension in the air. Rows of heads facing upward towards various television screens. No room to walk. Waitresses and bus boys wearing Red Sox jerseys. When I finally found my friends and sat down, I noticed the divergent Yankee section on one side of the table, and the Red Sox on the other. I found out later that the table's yankee fans had formulated a synergistic triangle that covered both sides. People were unusually inhospitable (even for Bostonians) and their intentness on watching this game was obviously taking precedence over acknowledging much else.
The talk of a mythical "yankee triangle" would have been hokey enough for me, except that the three yanks fans were avoiding a lot of movement and trips to the bathroom to preserve the trinity. My die-hard yankee friend felt like she was ruining the energy by being in the same bar she was in last night when the yankees lost. Energy? huh?
I got to thinking. Why to people instantly become spiritual and conversely superstitious around baseball games? All of a sudden you see people with clenched prayer hands. Talk of bizarre superstitious methods like not washing jerseys or sitting in a specific seat are totally justified...albeit, hilarious.
I also don't understand what a "double-play" is. I admit it. I'm not much concerned with commentators personalities or major league politics or anything like that. I really don't care. I also have no animosity towards the yankees and i dont feel the need to jeer them or call them "bitches" or any other nonsense.
With that knowledge, I went into this outing with no expectations other than to be a my conscientious-observer self. Nothing, however, could have prepared me for how stressed out everyone was. I have two best friends. One of my friends is a huge Yankee fan. The other,a loud, boisterous RedSox fan. Well, he's just loud and boisterous and we love it. AT concerts, he's the one everyone wants to talk to because he just goes nuts. Literally. He's got way too much energy. My other friend, a Poughkepsie-based Yankees fan who now lives in Boston proclaimed that she hated the Red ox and would route for the Florida team if the Redsox won. Someone joked that she oughtta dig out her "aqua" attire from the closet. Having suffered taunting the night before for her Yankees allegiance, I think she was feelin' prematurely frustrated. This also being the end of the week, everyone's exhausted and tired and ready for a break.
My Loud, boisterous friend decided he had to leave within moments of her comments about hating the red sox. Personally, i think he was offended. She texted him right away to tell him she even though she hated the red sox, she still loved him. Within a half-hour, we left. i was too intense and stressful for my friend. i was just observing like i always do. i never got too deep into this stuff. it was never a instilled in me, maybe because i was the only girl. i'm glad for it now. i said goodbye to my yanks friend and was on my way to go home or so i thought.
i went to the second bar in an attempt to find an ex-coworker
at an old hang-out. i wasn't going to, but i figured that was my old, anti-social self rearing it's head. it seemed foolish not to at least check as i was in the neighborhood. i said hi to jay the bouncer who was outside with the rest of the buzzed smokers (smoking is banned in boston and nearby cities now). i complimented him on his hair, although it's now an unnatural shade of blonde. a bunch of months ago, he talked me into dying his hair. i thought it was a weird ploy to get over the house. i never called him like a said i would. i felt momentarily disingenuous, not for the unfulfilled offer, but for the compliment. i had to say something though and couldn't think of anything else to buffer the bit of discomfort i feel walkin into an irish pub by myself. that shortly ended after i walked in and saw about 200 ppl just standing wherever there was an inch of space. there were a lot more women then men it seemed, but a lotta riled up folks, nonetheless. but to my delayed pleasure, no one chain-smoking in my face! i should say that i barely noticed the lack of smoke in either bar until i stopped to notice it. i have to say, i do like it. sorry. i couldn't find my co-worker. it just wasn't in the cards. no amount of glove-twisting could have changed that. I went home early. I'm glad i did.
It was a night of seemingly hard feelings over what i perceive to be a a fairly innocuous "game." i dunno, it seems like there's this tacit connection between blind patriotism and blind fanism. why is that? and why do people become really religious all of a sudden over country and baseball?
To watch the footage on the local news now just proves how attached folks get to winning, whether it be a quasi-war or a baseball game. anyone associated with the "other side" is an enemy. that's why fans fight i figure. because the average american thinks in such stark, black and white terms, there can be no in between. you either are or you are not. i remember the same faces yelling "bitch" at the screen tonight, extolling the blue-collar virtues of George W. Bush. We want to see the hero in everyone---the winner in everyone. We want it so bad, we will attack anyone who gets in our way. Is it because we feel like "losers"? And if I ask God to make me win and i still lose, is God a loser too?
I watched footage of traumatized 10 year olds on Landsdowne street who said "this is the worst day of my life." Leave it to pre-pubescence to be melodramatic, but where does that come from? Someone at my table tonight actually said "If the red sox win, I'm going to have the same gut-wrenching feeling i had when Bush won the election." What? I dunno. Really? I just don't get it.
Anyway, that's what happened to me tonight. I'm off to do some stuff tomorrow that will hopefully involve some calmness. In the future, I will likely avoid such heated competitions. It's not the game itself I don't like, it's the reactions that I can't get into.
Wednesday, October 15, 2003
This being that ripe time of year that...
the dead is unearthed, I thought it fitting to
let y'all know that there is a cool horror-fest going on in Salem MA for those of us who are hopelessly obsessed with b-grade horror flicks:
The Toxic Avenger
Zombie
The Gates of Hell
August Underground's Mordum
Friday October 24th
Museam Place Cinemas
in the mall at museum place
1 Church st.
Salem Mass
all night pass $20
$7.50 per individual show
6PM -Midnight
any questions email
rob@godofvampires.com
Anyone interested in a slick, full-feature film about Chinese Vampire Slayers (eat your heart out Sarah Michelle!), please check out www.godofvampires.com. Robbie forges on with filming. I'm trying to convince my friend Mary to play a vampire, but fear the proposition might have scared her away forever.
In other news, Bush has stated that, the media.....(drum roll.....) IS NOT OBJECTIVE!?!?!? *gasp*
let y'all know that there is a cool horror-fest going on in Salem MA for those of us who are hopelessly obsessed with b-grade horror flicks:
The Toxic Avenger
Zombie
The Gates of Hell
August Underground's Mordum
Friday October 24th
Museam Place Cinemas
in the mall at museum place
1 Church st.
Salem Mass
all night pass $20
$7.50 per individual show
6PM -Midnight
any questions email
rob@godofvampires.com
Anyone interested in a slick, full-feature film about Chinese Vampire Slayers (eat your heart out Sarah Michelle!), please check out www.godofvampires.com. Robbie forges on with filming. I'm trying to convince my friend Mary to play a vampire, but fear the proposition might have scared her away forever.
In other news, Bush has stated that, the media.....(drum roll.....) IS NOT OBJECTIVE!?!?!? *gasp*
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