dinghy: unmoored.

they laugh, they say your treasures are fake, but don't throw it away

2009-04-01T15:40:00.003-04:00

Spring is finally here, and I'm delighted that the birds are back and there are tulips in my yard. Lately I've been pestering TM to take me for long drives in the country on Sundays; I've become like some kind of pet that needs to be walked. Last weekend we went north to Benton and poked around in some antique stores downtown. In one seemingly standard crap-peddling dustbucket we wandered up a couple flights of rickety stairs and found ourselves in the incredible, loft-like third floor. In addition to all the truly cool stuff strewn haphazardly about the gigantic main area, there were dark hallways along the front and sides leading to several small crumbly rooms looking out over the square and the side alleys. Some of the rooms had stood empty for so long that nature had begun to take them over, and we found evidence of life among the odd solitary wing chair. The building reminded me of a lot of the old converted factories in New York, and I immediately decided I wanted to move in.

We had a good laugh at this Ronald McDonald lookin' goofball. I just realized his parents dedicated this plaque after he died at the age of twenty. Boy, do I feel like a jerk.

Tater Day is next weekend. Don't think we're not going. TM nixed my Lil' Miss Tater aspirations, but we'll just see who wins the tater eating contest. No, probably not me.

Oh yeah, we had '80s night at work a few weeks ago. I was off, so I got to dress up, get boozy and cut a rug in my cheap plastic stilettos. I was proud to be the only one of the ladies who didn't go all day-glo cheeze; instead I did big-haired rocker skid and I think it worked out great.

=:=

In other news, we've booked our tickets for a trip to Florida and are both looking forward to a little relaxing and a bunch of new experiences. We already have plans to do a few arty-type things with friends in West Palm Beach, as well as some family stuff in Fort Pierce, but any suggestions for new or interesting non-booze-related activities are welcome.

i smoke a lot but can't get laid

2009-03-12T08:17:00.002-04:00

Got accepted to Murray State University, good for me eh? They accept ninety percent of the people who apply. But hey, not to discount it, I'm finally going back so this whole life thing is looking good.

Today I go shopping for '80s attire for the party at work tonight, should be fun. Before that, I get the spooky electrical problems in my car fixed, not so fun.

tired, schmired

2009-03-11T12:44:00.004-04:00

Throughout the year preceding this past Presidential election, I received a lot of politically-themed e-mails, most from or authored by Republicans or at least expressing some sort of anti-liberal, anti-Obama sentiment. That's been fine with me; I'm all for open discussion and as I've said here before, having a political debate with people who only agree with you turns out to be pretty boring. My problem is when somebody shows up to such a roundtable armed with nothing but rhetoric and sweeping generalizations.

Today I was forwarded in an e-mail a diatribe from one Robert A. Hall who blogs at: http://www.tartanmarine.blogspot.com/ . I won't reprint his entire text here, as it can be found on his own blog and also, inexplicably, at Infidel Bloggers Alliance, here: http://ibloga.blogspot.com/2009/03/im-tired-by-robert-hall.html . The e-mail was sent to me by someone I've had an ongoing political discussion (argument) with, and as I wrote my admittedly half-hearted response -- I say half-hearted because I'm just so tired of getting these e-mails that are nothing but a bunch of hooey -- I thought I'd post these thoughts here. Although I was tempted to, I didn't respond to every statement I disagreed with, simply because I actually have some things to do today and didn't see any benefit in taking the time. The e-mail and the essay by Mr. Hall were titled, "I'm Tired" and this was my response (you might want to take a quick look at the original piece at one of the above links, or this won't all make sense):

Well, I read it all the way to the end. While there are some good, logical points that I completely agree with, I think that most of what this Mr. Hall wrote are sweeping generalizations and/or opinions -- not necessarily based on fact. I can appreciate that it bothers him that while he has been working hard his entire life, he's been paying taxes to support a lot of other people who don't want to work so hard. I agree that the welfare system is flawed, but until the administrators can find better ways to differentiate between those who are sick or unable to work, and those who are just plain lazy (sometimes they look awfully similar on paper), we'll have to deal with the fact that some people are going to take advantage of the weaknesses in the process. And on that note, what about health care? Is this Hall fellow okay with the fact that most medical care -- even basic preventative care like checkups -- is out of reach for a great portion of the population? The fact that medical care is privatized and runs on a capitalist model is great for those who are profiting from it financially -- doctors and hospitals can charge as much as they like for procedures and supplies so long as they remain "competitive," but the prices are now up to a level that makes treatment a luxury for people like me. If I were diagnosed with cancer right now, I would DIE because I do not have hundreds of thousands of dollars to pay for treatment. I can't even pay for a one-night stay in a hospital, and beyond immediate emergency treatment, I won't get help even if I have a terminal disease. There are no provisions for lower-middle class working people who can't pay the doctors.

By the way, I don't believe that either the Republican or the Democratic Party are doing everything right; my beliefs fall somewhere in the middle. I don't know what the answers are to our social or financial problems, but as a journalist I plan to explore them in as fair and open-minded manner as possible. I will say that if this Robert A. Hall is going to trash the left wing while unequivocally supporting George W. Bush's administration, he might want to keep in mind that W. didn't seem to know where the answers lie, either. George W. Bush's administration made the most socialist-leaning moves this country has ever seen, by effectively nationalizing the banking system, and by introducing a bill that would provide prescription drugs to the elderly. If you ask me, we should start taking some cues from Canada, where they have one of the most stable banking systems in the world.

I'll tell you what I'm tired of: people talking about tolerance and fairness while, in the same breath, they're proclaiming that Muslims (not just some Muslims or a few Muslims, but Muslims in general) are violent and are "using our oil money to preach hate of America" here on our soil. Sure, some are committing atrocities, but most aren't. Some Christians commit violent acts in the name of God, too. His obvious distaste for Muslims certainly isn't helping to bridge the gap. What happened to treating people as individuals? What happened to believing in the goodness of your fellow man? I refuse to hold hatred for an entire country, race, or religious group because of the actions or beliefs of a small number of its members. I'm tired of people like this Robert A. Hall guy who complain about everything from "latte liberals" to the media to John Kerry right down to the religious freedom and opportunities for wealth this country has to offer, while claiming to be patriotic. Does he really love this country? It doesn't sound like it. Complaining is a waste of time and negativity doesn't help anything, so why doesn't he suggest some solutions?

What do you think?

waiting

2009-02-19T17:53:00.000-05:00

if there was a problem, yo i'll solve it

2009-02-08T14:44:00.008-05:00

Here's the report on Ice Age '09: Five days with no power or running water, baby wipes in lieu of baths, chopping firewood in the daylight, hazy herb-y games of Trivial Pursuit in front of the fireplace at night, nothing but NPR on the battery-powered radio and us grilling ham-and-cheese sammies over the fire.

Woke up to this view of the backyard. "Look how pretty it is from inside the house where it's not fifteen degrees! I love ice storms!"

None of these branches are ordinarily curved like this; most of them broke off over the next few days from the weight of the ice.

My new favorite word, accretion: "Growth of precipitation particles by collision of ice crystals with supercooled liquid droplets which freeze on impact." Meteorologists use it to describe the buildup of ice on objects, i.e. "we have a half inch of accretion on branches and power lines."

The accretion on my truck prevented me from opening the doors for two days.

Hash Brown, trying to keep warm. It was forty degrees inside our house with a fire going, fifteen to twenty degrees outside.

Hey, thanks Garmin, not exactly the 7-11 I was expecting, but the gas is as good as any, even though it comes out of a pump from 1962 that takes forty-five minutes to deliver ten gallons.

pull out ya phone, picture that

2009-01-11T12:34:00.016-05:00

The other day I was terrorizing TM with my cell phone camera, trying to get a photo of him doing something dorky while we were lying around on the couch, and when I showed him afterward he asked why the hell I have over a hundred photos stored on my phone. Well, that's because I'm lazy and a procrastinator and there's really been no reason to get rid of them. Until now. So here it is, cameraphone clearance.

Professionally hand-drawn "DOCTOR" sign on Fire Island. See the deer in the background?

My balcony in Ocean Beach.

Another from the Summer of 2006 on Fire Island. My buddy PK and I watched the sun come up more than a few times, not necessarily intentionally.

I don't know if you can tell from looking at this photo, but that's the coolest cat that ever lived.

This six-year-old kid walking down the street on five-foot stilts knocked me out. In Brooklyn.

Another one from when I lived in Park Slope. I really like this photo, except for the fact that the stupid wood-paneled minivan is the only thing in focus, feh.

The Mr. Youth mascot. Basically you're looking at the Uncle Buck of advertising.

That's my arm. I don't know what I was doing, something mysterious as usual, I'm sure.

Ween at Terminal 5 in New York, most irksome venue ever.

Cash Cab was filming outside the bar where I worked. A couple of our customers got on the show (hammered) and bombed miserably.

Ad for a new apartment building, posted in the bathroom at Bull McCabe's on St. Marks. Some joker wrote, "I already live in a room this small." Sigh. I miss New York. Remember the Manhattan Mini Storage subway ads? "You closet's so narrow it makes Cheney look liberal." "Your closet's so shallow it makes Paris look deep." "Your closet's scarier than Bush's agenda." Ha.

I guess that wraps up the New York segment of cameraphone closeout, more soon.

she said "if love is a poison cup, then drink it up"

2009-01-06T13:17:00.021-05:00

Okay, I'm a total sucker for those self-help articles featured on various websites -- you know the ones, if it has a headline like any of these, I'm all over it:

"When it's OK to not be OK"

"How close is too close? When to draw the line"

"How to make anal sex more pleasurable"

and the latest gem from iVillage.com:

"Is your brain broken?"

One of the articles I recently read featured a list of "interesting" facts (some more interesting than others) about love. I had some pretty strong responses to a few of them, so I thought I'd share my impressions. Here you go:

1. Men who kiss their wives in the morning live five years longer than those who don't.

This is a feel-good fact, I love it. I feel sorry for all the men who don't kiss their wives in the morning, and the wives too. Being in a boring, loveless relationship would be unbearable.

In related news, I'm hoping this little perk will help make up for all the cigarettes we smoke. Wait, does this count for those who are practically married, and does it work the same for the kissee as well as the kisser?

2. People are more likely to tilt their heads to the right when kissing instead of the left (65 percent of people go to the right!)

Well, whatever. Missionary is the most popular position for intercourse, too, did you know that? Me, I mix it up.

3. When it comes to doing the deed early in the relationship, 78 percent of women would decline an intimate rendezvous if they had not shaved their legs or underarms.

Pretty much anybody I've ever slept with knows I'm a 22 percenter. Why pass up a prime opportunity just because of a little hair? What do you think, the guy is under the impression you're hairless, like one of those dogs? Believe me, he isn't looking as the stubble on your shins anyway.

4. Feminist women are more likely than other females to be in a romantic relationship.

But with whom?

5. Two-thirds of people report that they fall in love with someone they've known for some time vs. someone that they just met.

Well, no shit. At least give 'em time to give you a reason to fall in love.

6. There's a reason why office romances occur: The single biggest predictor of love is proximity.

Not in my case, I had to move nine hundred miles to bumfuck to get the real thing (totally worth it, by the way).

7. Falling in love can induce a calming effect on the body and mind and raises levels of nerve growth factor for about a year, which helps to restore the nervous system and improves the lover's memory.

Certainly sounds nice, but I'm still waiting for this so-called memory improvement.

8. Love can also exert the same stress on your body as deep fear. You see the same physiological responses — pupil dilation, sweaty palms, and increased heart rate.

Now that's more like it.

9. Brain scans show that people who view photos of a beloved experience an activation of the caudate — the part of the brain involving cravings.

True story, I've tried it. But who could blame me?

10. The women of the Tiwi tribe in the South Pacific are married at birth.

...and thank God, because getting an appointment with the planner over there is just impossible! har har.

11. The "Love Detector" service from Korean cell phone operator KTF uses technology that is supposed to analyze voice patterns to see if a lover is speaking honestly and with affection. Users later receive an analysis of the conversation delivered through text message that breaks down the amount of affection, surprise, concentration and honesty of the other speaker.

Fucking shoot me now. This is the worst idea ever, second only to that shitty "party game" that my misguided friends broke out when we were all over at their house wasted a couple weeks ago. I don't remember what it was called, but it was one of those "getting to know you" question-answer games for couples that TM sagely referred to as, "Everything your partner does NOT want to hear, ever." What was your biggest problem in your last relationship and how has that carried over into your current relationship? WHAT? Yeah, great idea, let's get drunk and talk about your ex-girlfriend, that'll make you and me both feel fantastic. Maybe later you can ask me to lick it just like Karen did, and then I can mention how you make me feel insecure, just like when I was with Johnny. Afterwards we'll throw each others' belongings out into the yard. Great game, Hasbro, no other product has single-handedly ruined so many blossoming relationships.

12. Eleven percent of women have gone online and done research on a person they were dating or were about to meet, versus seven percent of men.

And the other eighty-nine percent are either total idiots or big, fat liars. Same for the supposed ninety-three percent of men who claimed they hadn't Googled somebody. Yeah fucking right. If you used the internet to get the date, I guarantee you looked for some info. on the person beyond their crappy Match.com profile -- you gonna tell me you didn't at least try and find them on Facebook or MySpace? I call bullshit on this one.

13. Couples' personalities converge over time to make partners more and more similar.

I don't know if I like this idea. I have seen how people develop their own "in-jokes" and start to laugh at the same things and enjoy similar activities, that's just natural. But I like to think that my personality -- the core of my being -- remains the same. If I'm with a guy for several years, I'll probably learn a lot, but I won't emerge from the relationship a completely different person.

14. The oldest known love song was written 4,000 years ago and comes from an area between the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers.

Okay, this and the next one I'm gonna have to just take at face value and leave it at that.

15. The tradition of the diamond engagement ring comes from Archduke Maximillian of Austria who, in the 15th century, gave a diamond ring to his fiancée, Mary of Burgundy.

. . .

16. Forty-three percent of women prefer their partners never sign "love" to a card unless they are ready for commitment.

I guess if you're the kind of person who over-analyzes the bejeez out of everything, or if you are so hollow and/or in need of affirmation that you are desperately searching for ANY sign that he's as into you as you are into him, then go ahead, employ rules like this. And know that you are never getting a card (or anything else) from that man again, after you have the "but you signed 'love, John'" discussion. What, you want him to sign it "sincerely" or "yours truly?"

"Oh look, he wrote 'yours truly,' he must mean that he's MINE." Yikes.

Realize that people rarely say exactly what they really mean, and that if we went around speaking solely in facts life would be dull and loveless and gray. And as a side note -- girls, stop trying so hard to snare a man, relax and enjoy yourself, it'll happen.

17. People who are newly in love produce decreased levels of the hormone serotonin — as low as levels seen in people with obsessive-compulsive disorder. Perhaps that's why it's so easy to feel obsessed when you're smitten.

I need more time to digest this. I'm not sure how I feel about either of these statements.

18. Philadelphia International Airport finished as the No. 1 best airport for making a love connection, according to an online survey.

If I had heard that three years ago, I'd have arranged to have a lot more layovers there, believe me.

19. According to mathematical theory, we should date a dozen people before choosing a long-term partner; that provides the best chance that you'll make a love match.

TM: "No problem."

me: "Done."

20. A man's beard grows fastest when he anticipates sex.

TM says that's silly, he's always anticipating sex. If you aren't actually in the act, then you at least know there's some right around the corner.

I guess this little factoid applies more to people who aren't currently in live-in relationships, eh?

21. Every Valentine's Day, Verona, the Italian city where Shakespeare's play Romeo and Juliet took place, receives around 1,000 letters addressed to Juliet.

I'm not willing to delve into the collective psyche of the lunatics who are writing these letters. At least write a letter to someone who actually exists. Stalk a celebrity, they love that shit.

21. When we get dumped, for a period of time we love the person who rejected us even more, says Dr. Helen Fisher of Rutgers University and author of Why We Love. The brain regions that lit up when we were in a happy union continue to be active.

See, this is why you have to be the dumper, not the dumpee.

22. People telling the story of how they fell in love overwhelmingly believe the process is out of their control.

If you want to get technical, it is -- but not in the way they are alluding to. You're only in charge of one side of things; if the other person weren't holding up their end, you wouldn't have anyone to be in love with.

In all seriousness, I do understand where going with the "out of their control" business and it's all very romantic, but I have to say I think my and TM's relationship was pretty well orchestrated on both sides. Doesn't make it any less thrilling, I promise.

23. Familiarity breeds comfort and closeness … and romance.

Something about your farts reverberating off the tile. . .

24. One in five long-term love relationships began with one or both partners being involved with others.

No comment.

25. One in eight couples married in the U.S. last year met online.

Hallelujah. Maybe someday I'll add this one to the list of useless facts on my "It's not so bad being weird, after all" banner.

=:=

"It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time, '08" coming soon. . .

nerd version

2008-12-11T16:47:00.004-05:00

1. The Lame Game is a new website from the Brandspankin' dynasty: "the first and only online game devoted to the art of spotting lame stuff in life, calling it out, and pitting it against another lame thing for ultimate judgment." In other words, it's this decade's version of the mullet hunt, except you probably don't have a mullet, and you definitely are guilty of at least one lame thing featured in the lame game.

2. Google Chrome is out of beta, and they've fixed the audio/video bugs. Also, it's faster than fuck.

3. A few years ago my hard drive bit it and I had to get a new one. The guy at the repair place installed a basic version of Windows XP with my new hard drive, but without all the superfluous software that comes installed on any pre-built PC. On the downside, I also lost the not-so-superfluous stuff like the Microsoft Office Suite, which means that I've been using WordPad for all of my word processing needs ever since. Well, that isn't working for me anymore. I need PowerPoint. I need Excel. And I really need Word. But I'm poor, and I can't afford to lay down four hundred bucks for a licensed version of Office (and even if I had $400. to spend on software, I wouldn't want to give it to Microsoft). That's where OpenOffice.org comes in. It's an open source software package designed to be completely compatible with MS Office -- but it's (duh) FREE. Hallelujah.

4. I almost hate to give away the secret, but Mental Floss rocks. Did you know that the martini began in 19th-century California as the Martinez: one shot of gin, two shots of dry vermouth, cherry juice and a lemon slice. Thanks, Mental Floss. You've helped transform my painful social awkwardness into scintillating party conversation!

5. I'm not being paid to plug any of these products, but I just realized that I probably should be. I guess that comes after I get a real job, eh?

predictable errors and no identity

2008-11-21T12:54:00.006-05:00

The software/browser wars are giving me the shits this week. The latest annoyance (compliments of that godforsaken bloody running dog Microsoft) is my inability to reply to e-mails or even compose new messages in Hotmail. Yes, Microsoft, I know you want to crush Google like a bug and you don't want me using their sweet new browser but you didn't have to fuck up my e-mail. All this does is make me want to finally switch to gmail, which I should have done years ago anyway and would have if switching email addresses wasn't such a pain in the ass. In any case, I'm not going to stop using Chrome (which combines my favorite features from Firefox and Opera and is faster than the speed of light times a bagrizzilion). . . so you've just lost a Hotmail customer. One day I'll get myself a mac and my life will be (nearly) blissfully Microsoft-free. Keep trying, Microsoft, you've had your day. Assholes. By the way, the only reason I still use your stupid platform is because I know how to fix it when the goddamn thing crashes, and there's a lot more p.c. software available for me to rip off.

If anybody is wondering why it takes me forfuckingever to reply to e-mails lately, this is why.

they were on to my circumstantial slide

2008-11-13T09:51:00.002-05:00

I don't know if this blog has gone where I want it to go. When I started it last year it was kind of a lark and I didn't have any idea what shape it would eventually take. I justified doing it because if nothing else, it would be an outlet for my writing where I could even receive some feedback if anybody was willing to slog through my flaccid drivel. I never meant for you to come here just for the pictures and I certainly didn't intend to become one of those "lifeblogger" people. For a while I had a few other creative projects tentatively hanging around, but lately I haven't been productive and it's starting to get to me. I've been sloth-like and cranky, restless and frustrated, and frankly, I feel like shit.

So. Here's the plan: more content. I'm not sure what that means, exactly, but I am going to figure it out. I think I'm going to take it easy with the concrete goals (I am fickle and don't like rules, even when I make them), but I hope to get at least one creative piece up here every week. The personal stuff will keep coming too, at least for a while, so don't get your panties in a pickle. Thanks for your patience while I pull myself together.

Oh, and one last thing.

on the range of the buffalo

2008-10-20T16:33:00.014-04:00

Last Sunday TM and I drove out to Land Between the Lakes for a romantic/snooty afternooon picnic, complete with:

-A sun-dappled patch of grass near a lake
-A rustic loaf of bread, some prosciutto, a hunk of asiago cheese, and a pocket knife with deer etched on the handle with which to hack at the cheese
-Half the contents of the Kroger olive bar (my new favorite grocery store feature, surpassing extended hours and self check-out)
-Three varieties of grapes and one spiky alien piece of fruit marketed as a "Kiwano," which claimed to have a "banana-cucumber like flavor" (this was not entirely true).
-One million gnats and flies
-A digital camera and a great deal of enthusiasm

That yellow thing in the middle is the "Kiwano." Kiwano is a copyrighted name, by the way, so don't you go trying to name your newest inedible genetically-engineered hybrid "food product" a Kiwano. Better name it a Cucunana or a Banumber or a Kimora or something.

The inside was a marvel of bright green gelatinous pods encapsulating cucumber-like seeds. These pods were impossible to separate from the seeds, impossible to chew, and very probably impossible to digest. I am pretty sure this disqualifies the Kiwano from being classified as food.

Better than cheese. Crazy but true.

=:=

After picnicking we headed back toward the Elk & Bison Prairie in hopes that we might spot a few of the beasts during their favored feeding hour, at dusk. Since there are no buffalo in either South Florida or New York City, I was nearly pissing myself with anticipation.

I decided to take an unmarked "scenic-looking" route back to the park's entrance. This sign appeared approximately four and a half miles into our trek down a rutted one-way path through the woods. We were not deterred.

We made it to the prairie, and good mother of god, did we hit the jackpot. It was incredible, they were everywhere, at times so close we could have reached out and touched their fur.

I don't know if you know this, but buffalo are awesome.

The elk were also majestic and all that, but we didn't get close enough to really appreciate their size or their beauty. You can hear this sexy guy below, though.

We filmed a rogue nature documentary on the Elk & Bison Prairie. Here it is:

I never go without my dinner. No one ever does, except vegetarians and people like that.

2008-10-17T11:03:00.009-04:00

Wrong again, Oscar Wilde!

Even though I hated the place, I used to go into the Houston's down the block from where I worked in New York, just for the strangely delicious veggie burgers and the side of pan-roasted cauliflower with capers and golden raisins. A couple of the girls I worked with were vegetarians and we got to talking about how great it would be if we could just make the Houston's veggie burger at home instead of paying fifteen bucks for it in their vapid faux-upscale corporate atmosphere. So one day I did some poking around online and found a "copycat" recipe for the veggie burgers. I've been holding onto it for about a year now, and I finally got around to making it the other day. TM and I both decided the burgers were a smashing success. I preferred mine the Houston's way, with just the cheese, some thinly sliced red onion, lettuce and sweet soy sauce; TM said he thought it would lend itself nicely to regular burger toppings like ketchup and mustard.

Here's the recipe:

SWEET SOY GLAZE:

1 tablespoon hickory barbecue sauce
1 tablespoon molasses
1 tablespoon honey
2 tablespoons soy sauce (I use reduced-sodium)
2 tablespoons hoisin sauce

*These quantities are all approximate. I didn't actually measure anything. In the "copycat" recipe I found, the person used only barbeque sauce and molasses, but then I found a note from a guy who used to make the veggie burgers at Houston's and he said it was honey, molasses, soy, and hoisin. I just winged it and kept tasting until I decided it was right.

BURGER PATTIES:

1 (15 ounce) can black beans, drained
2 cups cooked brown rice
1 Tablespoon oat bran (I used regular old Quaker Oats)
2 Tablespoon onions, finely chopped
1 Tablespoon finely chopped canned beets
1 teaspoon beet juice (this gives it that "rare meat" appearance)
1 teaspoon chili powder
1/4 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 Tablespoon pickled jalapeno pepper, chopped
1 egg white (I used 2)
flour or oat bran as needed to bind (1 - 3 teaspoons)
a couple tablespoons of the soy glaze

*This is the recipe exactly as I found it online. I followed it pretty closely except for a few things; all the people who had tried it said the patties didn't hold together at all, and some had suggestions for binding them a little better which I made attempts to incorporate. As I noted, instead of oat bran I used regular Quaker Oats -- between two and three tablespoons. I also used two egg whites instead of one, and I threw in a couple teaspoons of all-purpose flour because the mixture seemed pretty wet.

Because I like things spicy I added a little extra jalapeno and onion; I also sauteed the onions first. The directions say to mash the beans in a bowl and then mix in everything else by hand, but I threw it all in the Cuisinart and it worked out fine and was a lot easier. Don't forget to add a few tablespoons of the soy glaze to the burger mix.

I formed the patties and flipped them around on a plate with some of the soy glaze to coat them, then I microwaved them for a minute and a half on medium just to help the egg start cooking (I was really paranoid about these things falling apart for some reason). Then I grilled them in a nonstick pan for about three minutes on each side, topped them with some shredded monterey jack cheese, and grilled whole-wheat hamburger buns in a little butter. While that was going on I shredded romaine lettuce and sliced some Bermuda onion as thinly as possible. I threw the burgers on the grilled buns, topped mine with onion, lettuce and a drizzle of the leftover soy glaze, and voila!

I actually had a hard time putting this thing down so I could go get my camera. Just sayin.

Some further notes: I refrigerated the leftover "burger" mixture overnight, and it was a lot easier to work with the next day -- the patties held together and didn't need to be microwaved prior to grilling. I just grilled them a bit slower. You'll need to watch the heat because the soy glaze is full of sugar and will burn like crazy. Also, I got tired of burgers so last night I cooked the burger mix with some diced peppers and onions and threw it in a tortilla with salsa, cheese and sour cream like a burrito. Turns out this stuff works pretty well as an all-around meat substitute.

=:=

As for the side dish of cauliflower with parmesan, etc.:

Pan-roast some cauliflower florets in a skillet with olive oil and minced fresh garlic until the cauliflower is browned around the edges, then add a handful of golden raisins and capers (don't skimp on these -- the flavor combination is what makes this dish), season with salt and freshly ground black pepper, and top with shaved parmesan cheese. There you go.

if i had ever been here before on another time around the wheel, i would probably know just how to deal with all of you

2008-10-13T14:13:00.010-04:00

There are thousands of songs -- dating back from the time I was eight or nine (earlier if you count my Grammy singing "Mairzey Doats" when I was just a little kid) -- that bring to life very specific moments in time. . . not just a memory, but a smell, a touch, a feeling. It's more than deja vu, I'm actually there, you know? I can't escape it, not that I'd want to anyway. Music is such an integral part of my life and has been for so long, I can't imagine not being able to put on a song and immediately recall the feel of the moist Florida Winter air on my arms as I ride my bike across the bridge to the beach ("Caught in the Rain" - Preston School of Industry). . . or the sun on my shoulders as I ride home to our little house in our little neighborhood on a crystalline Spring day ("I'm Always in Love" - Wilco).

What's strange is when it catches me by surprise -- when I'm at work in a new place, in a new town, surrounded by new people, and suddenly I'm back in Fort Pierce thanks to the Talking Heads. I didn't put this on, I didn't ask for this, not now. And always, always, I'm compelled to tell the story to whomever is with me. Tell my current boyfriend why this song reminds me of the guy who broke my heart when I was eighteen? Sure. Tell my little sister about listening to this one while waiting for the dope man? I can't help it. ("Bed for the Scraping" - Fugazi, and "Passat Dream" - Pavement, respectively) It's like I'm suddenly on The Couch, barfing up big buckets full of lurid details -- the ones nobody wants to hear, the ones beyond juicy. I've mentioned this here before; sometimes I don't realize when I've said too much until it's much too late. I suppose that doesn't only apply to music-induced memories, though; it's more a general observation on the way I approach life.

Fortunately, most of the memories I carry with me are good ones, and I feel lucky that I can instantly lift my mood with the push of a button (though I have to admit I sometimes succumb to a sort of teary nostalgia). I hear "Imaginary War" by Jawbreaker and I'm back in Trav's truck with four perfect friends, on the way to western Maryland for a crash-bang-blur of a ski trip. Pretty much anything by Band of Horses inevitably reminds me of Jesse and my first whiskey-hazy Fall in New York, all sweaters and sidewalks. Give me Mark Lanegan and I'm back at the blue box ("Ya'll remember when the drummer from Anthrax broke his leg skateboarding?"). Put on Redman or Sunny Day Real Estate and I'm eating a Schlotzky's Deluxe Original in Gainesville with Whitey, but if it's the Magnetic Fields I'll be in Kendall with Luis, who was always, always taking pictures.

Then there are the new ones. When I acquire new music I often wonder what feelings and events the songs will eventually be attached to; new situations and new friends get their own songs -- often the new songs and new experiences will become old memories together. But sometimes things overlap in surprising ways. At first Kentucky felt like My Morning Jacket, and it's true - I'll never be able to separate my first weeks here from "The Tennessee Fire." But then Band of Horses started creeping in, and Neutral Milk Hotel, and I started getting scared that new memories would replace the old familiar ones, and I'd lose those precious slices of time-travel, so I began grieving for them, like they were old friends who had slipped away. But maybe they've just gone on to a better place.

"I just can't find the time to write my mind the way I want it to read."

time to take cover in a wishing well

2008-10-11T17:04:00.010-04:00

Last night TM and I went to a couple art openings at the school: our adorable roommate's, and his lovely girlfriend's. Both were beautiful and impressive and obviously the work of very talented young artists. We didn't get the bunny-shaped cookies we were looking forward to, but we did get paper masks, which turned out to be the source of a lot more fun than you'd think.

Later on we met a bunch of folks at the local Mexican restaurant/bar/den of iniquity and got good-n-boozy on tequila and enormous cups of Dos Equis while a funny/bizarre girl repeatedly slapped a bunch of bewildered dudes for no apparent reason (I think TM got whacked in the face twice).

Today I feel like crap; I didn't sleep much (or well) last night, and I'm not happy about the fact that I have to go to work in forty-five minutes. In fact my desperate desire for procrastination is the only reason this post exists. Anyway, even though it was forty-four degrees yesterday morning, these guys are suddenly blooming in our front yard, so I guess life isn't all bad.

know your enemy

2008-10-05T06:37:00.008-04:00

Having political discussions is great, but if you're only talking to people who agree with you, it doesn't make for a very interesting conversation. And regardless of whom I'm talking with, I like to be informed on both sides so that I can at least feel like I have a fairly solid basis for my opinions.

These last few months The Man and I have been following the election pretty closely, and in an effort to provide ourselves the most complete (read: unbiased) view, we've been gathering our information from a variety of sources, including the standards (NY Times, CNN, The Daily Show), several foreign papers/sites (BBC, CBC, that Irish paper that keeps coming up in Google searches), and even some pretty right-leaning papers like the Christian Science Monitor and the Murray Times-Ledger. Until now we've stayed away from Fox News, but we thought in order to really understand the other half we ought to give it a whirl just to see what those crazy folk are saying.

Some asshole on Fox News just said, in all seriousness, that Sarah Palin has more experience than Barack Obama and that he would have no problem with her running the country should McCain suffer another bout with melanoma and disappear from the scene.

I guess that's why I don't watch Fox News.

For a totally unbiased piece that pretty much sums it all up, check out this article: Report: 60 Million People You'd Never Talk To Voting For Other Guy

cerebrovascular accident, part III

2008-10-01T16:24:00.002-04:00

I don't know who wrote the song, but it is FUNKY.

i know where it came from: a bubble in a moment

2008-10-01T10:35:00.005-04:00

Last week The Man and I woke up to find that during the night someone had placed this bizarre selection of books on our porch:

The titles included Death Reach, The Witch of Blackbird Pond, a tourist's guide to "Scenic Oregon," John Saul's The Darkness, a Canadian book on basic karate techniques, and the beloved classic White Fang. Even though waking up to a few books on one's porch probably isn't frightening by most peoples' standards, it did kind of weird us out. Once we got over that, we put our considerable forensic investigatory skills to work and came up with several half-cocked theories. Before I tell you what they were, I invite you to use the comments section and share your own insight into this baffling phenomenon.

pay attention, gremlin face.

2008-10-01T10:34:00.008-04:00

As Part II in the new Stroke Series here at the Dinghy, here's some pretty solid advice on what to do if you're actually having a stroke:

I was rather aghast when this fella told me he was sure he'd had a stroke -- and claimed to have "enjoyed" it -- but according to the experts, over 10% of middle-aged adults examined were found to have brain injuries consistent with stroke, even though they had no recollection of the actual event. Hmm. I always thought having a stroke was a pretty big deal, I can't imagine not knowing it's happening to you. Too bad this business doesn't extend to things like childbirth and the passing of kidney stones. I guess that's where drugs come in.

oop, i think i'm havin' a stroke

2008-09-30T16:42:00.002-04:00

This made my afternoon:

turpentine and dandelion wine

2008-09-11T10:17:00.023-04:00

Sorry I've been away so long, guys. I have been busily exploring my new hometown, its surrounding areas, and most enthusiastically, its bars. Amazing how much boozin' these folks manage to do in a place where you can't even walk into a 7-11 and buy yourself a beer. But drinking isn't all I've been doing. There's more. . .

Last weekend The Man and I went down to the Peddler's Mall -- kind of an upbeat craphole of a flea market, housed in a strip mall and populated by the kind of people who would put up this sign, quoting the 8th Commandment, and then sell a t-shirt that reads, "ASS. The other vagina." (There was also a shirt that said, "Blonde: The other white meat," right next to one that said "SOCCER MOM" in a cutesy font surrounded by daisies and butterflies and puppies.) Go figure.

And speaking of weird fundamentalist zealots. . . I have to say I haven't been exposed to them a whole lot since my arrival here, as The Man's art department cohorts tend to be pretty liberal folks; so when I was confronted with this horror show right around the corner from our house, it was a shocking reminder of just exactly where I am. Middle America. And sometimes, it ain't pretty. My friend KMS pointed out how they like to use pictures of full-term fetuses to protest first trimester abortions. I have an even bigger problem with the fact that a six-year-old child is being used to hold up the fucking sign.

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In other, more divertive news, Brother J (a.k.a. The Outdoorsman) and I went out exploring in the woods one day last week; we caught a nice buzz and hiked to hell and back, he got poison oak and I got 5,000 lacerations from thorny plants because I am an idiot and wore shorts. As a side note, if you ever decide to go on a reckless drinking tear in the Kentucky backwoods with a fellow miscreant, Frank Black's "Dog in the Sand" is a damn good soundtrack.

We didn't have any firearms on us, but this sign made us wish we had.

The weirdest thing about this river was that it didn't have any alligators in it.

The butterflies in Kentucky are cuter. Prove me wrong.

The houses are cuter, too!

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I've been teaching my new housemates how to play dominoes, and in turn they've been teaching me how to fight zombies and drink Yuengling from a can. Hey, when you have to drive 25 minutes to buy overpriced beer in the next state, you can't afford to be all choosy.

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Some observations, some random declarative statements:

- I know a lot about a lot, but I don't know jack when it comes to the visual arts, which is why I'm so excited that I'm suddenly surrounded by people whose lives revolve around making, learning about and teaching art. Seeing the intersection of art and academics is neat. Of course, when it comes to dinner party discussion I haven't been able to contribute a whole lot, but I'm soaking up as much as my tiny pea brain can handle. Onward!

- Coming from another relatively small town, I'm used to heavy sledding when it comes to attempting to purchase, say, some household items or an article of clothing. There's just not much to choose from when it comes to shopping. BUT, in Florida it was always nearby; here, there's nothing for miles and corn-filled miles. This, in addition to the fact that I'm kind of poor these days, means that I am forced to do the majority of my shopping at Wal-Mart. I'm sure I don't need to explain why this gives me the heebs on several levels.

- I think it's fair to say I've pretty much cornered the market on happiness. I'm a lucky woman.

- "I love drinkin' beer and scrappin' metal. Wanna date me?"

would you still remember me?

2008-08-28T10:03:00.012-04:00

Can't write much at the moment; I'm too busy doing Kentucky-ish things. Here, enjoy this pictorial essay on my trip:

I left.

In High Falls, Georgia, I stopped for gas at this store, which contained many (like thirty, I kid you not) specimens of taxidermied wildlife, including bobcats and squirrels in a glass case hanging over the ice cream cooler. It inspired me to buy. . .

. . . this beer, for the road.

Finally made it to Jasper, Georgia, where I am pretty sure I ratcheted up the fun at my buddy's 30th birthday par-tay to a whole new level.

Didn't feel so good the next morning, but thanks to CW's Breakfast of the Century and this view (from the top of Whitey's driveway, how lucky is he?), was infused with enough hope and fortitude to make the remaining six-hour drive to western Kentucky.

Apparently it actually does exist.

The area outside Chattanooga, Tennessee, is breathtakingly beautiful.

Nashville. Batman building. See it?

The folks of central Tennessee sure do know how to make some whiskey, but the pizza is a whole different story.

Entering Kentucky.

Crossing Kentucky Lake into Land Between the Lakes.

The two main crops in Kentucky are corn. . .

. . . and soy.

Almost home. Blue KY sky, just outside Murray.

=:=

That was the journey, in a nutshell. Next time, photos of my new home.

we'll eat a lot of broccoli, and drink a lot of beer

2008-08-22T13:57:00.008-04:00

Well, it's my last day in Florida for a while, and it's also my thirty-first birthday. I guess it should be no surprise that today feels weird -- dense and chunky, and at the same time, it feels like it is going way too fast for me to grab onto.

I've never been a big birthday person -- I'm not a performer, I don't like to be the center of attention, and I generally think holidays of any sort are way more aggravation than they're worth. BUT. I think everybody needs to be shown that they're important in someone's life, and I think birthdays are when people sort of hope for that kind of reassurance the most. Secretly, way deep down, I tend to think of my birthday as the barometer by which I judge just how loved I am. And that's really stupid, considering that out of my five closest friends, only two of them even know when my birthday is, and vice versa. What's even more fucked up is that I'm terrible when it comes to remembering birthdays and buying cards and gifts and all that jazz. I can never understand why everybody isn't as excited as I am to receive books at every gift-giving holiday (what is wrong with you people?). The MOST fucked up thing about my birthday is that I always end up receiving a lot more love and attention than I ever expect, and then I feel like an idiot for those five minutes in the morning I spent feeling halfway sorry for myself. What am I, an egocentric third-grader? Why yes, yes I am.

How do you guys feel on your birthdays?

i get it from. . . yeah.

2008-08-20T08:53:00.007-04:00

Mom and I were just discussing what to have for breakfast (I'm cooking) and I whined that I really, REALLY wanted pancakes. Now, Mom is on the Atkins diet and can't have pancakes, which means that today I don't get any, either. Mom's response to my tantalizing description of the hot, fluffy, buttery pancakes I'd make if I were in my own kitchen? "Shut UP! You have to wait until you move to bumfuck!"

This immediately following a discussion on the pros and cons of various birth control methods and why nobody, ever, should have kids. Don't forget I am having this conversation with my Mother, who it seems only very reluctantly agreed to birth me after much pleading from my Father, who, by the way, is no longer around to suffer the misery of parenthood. Mom: "Oh, you guys are great now that you've grown up and GONE AWAY. It's the first thirty years that really suck."

Sometimes I feel so loved it makes my shriveled black heart recoil in horror.

my heart it draws the line

2008-08-18T16:20:00.011-04:00

In just a few days, I will be moving to Murray, Kentucky.

I know what you're thinking, and you're partially right (yes, I'm chasin' tail -- but it's more than that). I would never have decided to go to a small town in western Kentucky if I hadn't met The Man, but I definitely wouldn't be going if it weren't a good opportunity for me personally.

A few facts about Murray, Kentucky: The population is over 89% white (just to give you an idea, Fort Pierce = 49.5% white, 41% black, 15% hispanic). There is no shopping mall, but there are a couple of strip malls and a Wal-Mart. There's also a Huddle House, which is my new favorite restaurant thanks to the matronly waitress who calls me "honey" and the ragtag group of regulars (Hungry Bear, get in line). There are only four "bars," which are also restaurants -- they're required to earn a certain percentage of revenue from food sales -- and only stay open til midnight. It was a dry county until five or six years ago, so one still has to go to the next town to buy beer or liquor to take home (this could be good for me). The annual Kentucky Lumberjack Challenge is held in Murray, and of course I can't wait to compete. Murray is west of the mountains, but it's still slightly hilly; the weather is temperate with four distinct seasons. It was beautiful when I was there last week; 80 degrees and sunny during the day, 68-70 at night. The air feels good, it's soft and soothing and comfy. Nearby is a big national park called Land Between the Lakes, which really is situated between two huge lakes and is incredible - there are bison and elk and deer, and the lakes are breathtaking. One has to drive right through the middle of LBL to get to Murray from the east.

Murray State University is neither big nor small; enrollment is near 11,000. They're actually highly ranked in several areas (arts and athletics are big ones) and call themselves one of the "Public Ivy" institutions because of their high academic standards. I'll be living just a couple short blocks from the campus, which is great because the whole area is very bike- and pedestrian-friendly. My short-term plan is to take a job at one of the restaurants right away and then keep my eyes peeled for a position at the University; employees get to take six classes a year for free so that would be a big help if I could pull it off. I'm planning to obtain a bachelor's degree in journalism with a minor in anthropology or advertising. Right now I'm working on a few writing projects on my own, and am collaborating on a writing gig and a comedy skit/short with friends of mine. I finally feel a certain clarity and confidence about what I want to do with myself professionally and creatively, and that's such a huge relief.

Now that I've made the decision to go, I can't wait to get to Kentucky and get on with my life. I feel like this situation I'm walking into is positive and healthy and will be good for me in a lot of ways. Strangely, it doesn't feel impulsive, it just feels right. I'm thrilled and can't wait to begin. Let's get it on, hash brown.

Stay tuned.

no one answers their goddamn phones anymore.

2008-08-06T12:26:00.005-04:00

If you haven't been through this, then you've evidently been living in a stone hut out on the moors, or else you're married, which - from what I can see - is basically the same thing.

funny girl

2008-08-06T09:57:00.004-04:00

Amid all the backlash from that ridiculous McCain television spot (you know what I'm talking about), some wise publicist decided that it would be a good idea for Paris Hilton to make her own [mock] ad in response. "But then that wrinkly white-haired guy used me in his campaign ad, which I guess means I'm running for president."

In a weird ironic twist, Paris managed to make fun of herself, McCain and the entire campaign process, and guess who came out looking better than ever?

"I'll see you at the debates, bitches."

Here's the original article from Gawker.com, along with the hilarious video:

what t.v. used to be

2008-08-03T23:47:00.005-04:00

Oh, hello!

Thought I'd let you folks know I just planned a trip to New York (maybe Boston too, but we'll see about that later) -- for the last two weeks in August. I will be in NYC alone from Tuesday the 19th to either Thursday or Friday (which happens to be my birthday), then out to Fire Island with Mom for the weekend, and after that we'll be back in the City for a few days -- or a week, depending on whether we are too hung-over to drive up to Boston and visit with creaky old relatives.

I will be contacting you (you know who you are) individually, but anybody who wants to take proactive measures like calling to set up an appointed drinking/eating/etc. time is welcome to do so. All in all, I'll be around for a couple weeks, but Mom will be joining me after the first few days, so the key here is to catch me early, as that's when the real fun will be happening. If you thought I was a hoot before, wait till you see me try to cram six months' worth of fun (and falafel) into two days.

Update: dates may be changing. I'll keep you posted.

serendipity

2008-07-31T14:44:00.008-04:00

Somebody just found my blog by doing a google search for "fat kid on a dinghy pictures."

Yay for me.

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Relationships = Weirdness.

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Fort Pierce = Classy.

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I don't care how cool you are, everybody looks stupid on a scooter. Well, okay -- everybody except hot Japanese chicks.

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I have had a long-running theory that Meatwad from Aqua Teen Hunger Force bears a striking resemblance to Brian Wilson. Here, you be the judge:

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I will be visiting western Kentucky next weekend, for four days of ridicule, hijinks and shiny new beginnings.

In related news, a Greyhound bus passenger in Canada was stabbed and decapitated by a fellow passenger last night. That's right, a man turned to the innocently sleeping passenger next to him and just went ahead and sawed the guy's head off with a serrated knife. Let's hope my flight to Nashville next Saturday does not contain any passengers with similar urges.

skills to pay the bills

2008-07-24T15:15:00.006-04:00

I'm in the running to become a "Rafter," or correspondent, for a new "cutting-edge" cultural blog/website. They say I'll be poised for fame and cash. I don't know about that, but I'll take what I can get.

Just to give you an idea of the kind of cheeze I'm getting myself into, here is part of the introduction from the website:

Soon, a hot new media channel will be launched, and people everywhere are lining up for the chance to become our Rafter correspondents. So check it out, world. You’ll be amused, enlightened, irritated, maybe even shocked – but once we make our final selections, you’ll never be bored. This is an open audition, so be sure to vote and leave comments.

We’re looking for individuals on the cultural cutting edge to become our correspondents. Writers and photojournalists, specifically. We’re calling them Rafters. If you have a strong voice, excellent skills and a unique point of view, then you could be a Rafter. But if you’re middle-of-the-road, mainstream, milktoast, you’re not for us.

Another point. We’re not after fluff here. You need to know something. Whether it’s entertainment, finance, fitness, law, or the tantalizing details on that tiny new restaurant around the corner, you’re the expert. Show us. Intrigue us. Keep us coming back for more.

The best in the industry think this will be huge. Which means the correspondents we select will be poised for fame and cash. So dive in headfirst. If you’re a true Rafter, you can spot a good opportunity when you see one.

They will be choosing around 200 "Official Rafters" and of these, the most popular (i.e. the ones whose pages get the most views) will, in theory, recieve compensation. I could use a dollar or two, but realistically, I think this venture will be much better-suited for exposure than fortune. Either way, if you'd like to help me out, you can visit my page at the Rafter Jump On site and click the "thumbs up" button. I'll need lots and lots of votes in order to make it to "Official Rafter" status. Thanks, guys!

Here's the link:

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In related news, I got my new issue of WIRED today, which includes an article entitled "Get Internet Famous! (Even If You're Nobody)."

I will have this article memorized by the end of the day.

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In case the writing thing doesn't work out, I've applied for a job as a caregiver with these people. Save the Chimps has taken in almost 300 chimpanzees that were rescued from research laboratories, the entertainment and pet trade, or were part of the recently defunct U.S. Air Force "Chimpanaut" space program. Save the Chimps runs the world's largest chimpanzee refuge, right here in Fort Pierce, Florida. Who knew?

further evidence

2008-07-12T10:35:00.002-04:00

...or why I won't be having kids, part CMVXII.

the flowers and the trees all laugh as you walk by, and the neighbors' kids run and hide

2008-07-11T00:19:00.006-04:00

Don't go easy on the garlic.

Tonight I made dinner for Mom and her boyfriend: chicken marsala with mushrooms (of course), onions and sweet peppers; linguine with garlic and olive oil, broccoli, and some screamin' garlic bread. We polished off three bottles of wine and discussed, among other things, cacao and parsley farming in South- and Central America, water quality in central Florida, and exactly why our produce tastes so fucking bland these days.

Now I sit on the back porch with a last glass of wine, my cigarettes and my ever-present 'puter. I can smell the gardenias; they're even better than when I was a kid.

The racoons aren't out tonight; I think they're put off by the lack of ripe produce in the back yard these past few weeks. Sorry, fellas; we're all doing the best we can.

I say this a lot, but it doesn't change the fact that I am lucky to have some truly fantastic friends.

so "no" it's "yes"

2008-07-07T19:04:00.024-04:00

The timing could not have been better.

Over the course of the past couple of weeks, I've been participating in an ongoing discussion on a variety of bad pop-culture detritus -- everything from bad actors (Gary Coleman, Gary Shandling, Bobcat Goldthwait). . . bad movies (the recently viewed "Vacancy," another Luke Wilson flop, this time in the "horror-movie-shot-at-desolate-hotel-with-creepy-desk-clerk" genre). . . to bad music (fuck, you name it). . . bad "scenes" (often observed at "psychobilly" shows, the whole fat-chicks-with-bettie-page-hairdos-tattoos-glasses-clothing-decorated-with-skulls-and/or-cherries thing. WHEN the fuck will that die?). . . and then of course there's bloggers (hi, how are ya?) and the whole "blog scene" which I didn't even realize was so god-awful until I ran across a particularly unsettling news story, which I'll touch on in a minute.

First, though, I want to introduce you to my new favorite website, DON'T do it this way dot com. . . . and this delightful post: "DON'T take just any Craigslist modeling gig!" I'd include the YouTube video here, but you really have to see it in the context of the "DON'T" post, with their accompanying comments ("I wonder if they told them, 'this might sting a little.'") This website perfectly captures the "so no it's yes" philosophy, which reminded me of. . .

. . .a buddy of mine, copywriter and all-around good guy, who maintains a couple different websites of the "so no it's yes" variety: The Lame Train ("Daily raillery detailing life examples of noted lameness."); BrandSpankin ("Giving brands the spankin' they deserve!"); and The Daily Duh ("an idiot's eye view."). This fella's ad parodies are, dare I say, genius.

Now, about this disturbing news story I mentioned earlier. . . My suggestion for the next candidate on "DON'T do it this way" is Emily Gould, New York City blogger extraordinaire who openly admits to possessing a compulsion to blog about every detail of her personal life -- down to decribing the tattoos of her boyfriends and directly quoting intimate (and supposedly private) discussions she's had with them. That in itself would be no big deal were she not a former Gawker employee who, through some stroke of what-the-fuck, scored a cover story in the New York Times Magazine in which she detailed all the details of her addiction to blogging. That's right, I said cover story. Now, I know that everybody in the Manhattan media community, as well as everybody who saw the article when it was first published, AND everybody else who heard about it second-hand and then hunted down the article on the web, has already said this, but: How the fuck did this story happen in the first place, and more importantly, HOW DID SHE MANAGE TO MUCK IT UP SO UNBELIEVABLY BADLY? I mean, come on sister. I guess she was really trying to drive the point home when she wrote a piece three times longer than it should have been (for which she was paid thousands of dollars), about her irresistable need to share too much information in her writing. I'm not here to criticize her, however (hard to tell, I know). In fact, there were points in her story where I thought, "I know exactly what she means; I've felt the same way." I think that as a person, she's probably all right. And furthermore, it probably would have been impossible for her to write that story in a way that would be even a little flattering. And she IS a good writer. She just writes too much. My issue is, I just can't wrap my brain around ANY of this -- Emily's blogs, her life in general, the content of the Times article -- being newsworthy. The most interesting thing about it is that it's gotten as far as it has, in spite of the fact that it's not interesting at all. A passive-agressive lovers' spat conducted via blog? The whole debacle is an armchair psychologist's dream. Which is why I can't stop reading about it.

Next on my agenda: go to Rotten Tomatoes dot com, sort movies in ascending order according to ratings, and start from the top (or bottom, rather) -- from the totally unwatchable to absolutely horrible to the "dang, this sucks." I figure I've got plenty of material to keep me busy for years to come, since it seems to be a hell of a lot easier to find lousy movies than it is to get my hands on something decent to watch.

Say, if anybody wants to win automatic rights to wear the "I'm a douche" t-shirt, go ahead and point out that this entire post is "so no it's yes," or better yet, "so no it's no." That's ironic, right?

there's a stillness in the air, i pray for sound

2008-06-26T22:24:00.032-04:00

Let's talk about music. I haven't done this in a while, and it's overdue.

New York bands I won't stop crowing about anytime soon:

O'Death, my favorite Brooklyn garage punk/bluegrass band, has a new record on its way out called "Broken Hymns, Limbs and Skin." I haven't been able to listen to much of it, but what I've heard knocks my socks off, just like their first full-length, "Head Home." Someone told me he thought O'Death sounded like John Fogerty on acid. Not even close, but it's a nice image. Oh, and they do a fantastic cover of Pixies' "Nimrod's Son" live.

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Les Savy Fav ("Lay Sah-vee Fahv"). They've been playing for over ten years, and they're one of the best live acts I've ever seen (next to The Roots and the aforementioned O'Death). They released a new record last year called "Let's Stay Friends" which spurred write-ups in Rolling Stone, Spin, Magnet, Pitchfork and your Grandma's diary, yet still nobody seems to know who they are. I saw them play three times when I lived in New York, and I'll do it again every chance I get, because it's a perfect mix of angular guitar noise and dunce-hat comedy. When I really fell in love with them, though, was at the CitySol fest in NYC last summer, when LSF ended their set (and drained the solar-powered P.A.) with a two-fer of covers of Superchunk's "Precision Auto" and Archers of Loaf's "Wrong." My video is here -- enjoy the metal-y transition between songs, and my drunken pogo cinematography. In related news, Syd Butler, Les Savy Fav's bass player, runs French Kiss Records, the label that houses LSF along with (among many others) The Big Sleep, The Hold Steady, Fatal Flying Guilloteens, Sean Na Na, Detachment Kit and the Ex-Models. Also, LSF's singer, Tim Harrington, and his wife, Anna, run a small textile company called Deadly Squire, where they make things like tote bags and neckties and oven mitts out of sturdy fabrics with cool patterns of their own designs. Buy their stuff and support independent artists.

=:=

Aesop Rock. I know everybody already knows who he is, but he is really, really good at what he does. I challenge anyone to find fault with his lyrics. Here's one of my favorites:

=:=

Joy Zipper is a guy and a girl -- actually they're a married couple -- and it looks like they're in New York now. I can't put my finger on why, but for some reason I really like these guys. They're like a cross between My Bloody Valentine and Fountains of Wayne, but throw in a Baker Act/suicide watch. Catchy, sugary pop songs with super creepy, dark lyrics. They always seem to have strange song choices on their MySpace page, so here's "1" from their album, The Heartlight Set:

Baltimore, hooray!

Dan Deacon and OCDJ put out, respectively, the top two party records of 2007. Apparently OCDJ is done making electronic music for a while, but Dan Deacon ain't quitting anytime soon. Thank god. This is what happens when he plays for the Brooklyn hipster crowd in an empty swimming pool in the middle of Summer. The audio is horrible, but the song is "Lion with a Shark's Head," and the dancing is. . . well, just watch:

It's too late to turn back, here we go, Portland!

The Shaky Hands are a group of nice kids in Portland, Oregon who sound like they're into nature, The Beatles, grizzly bears and psychedelic drugs. Their self-titled album came out last year, and every time I listen to it, I start believing: a) all really is right with the world, or c)I really oughta try mushrooms again.

=:=

Old Time Relijun is the best thing to happen to my ears since June of 44 broke up, and that's not a sideways comparison -- it's just the truth. I love this band so much I want to dry-hump the speakers whenever they come on. It's raw, ugly, dirty, driving, primordial music. It howls at the gate separating religion and sexuality. I can't get enough. I've already plugged them here at the Dinghy, so I'll stop now and let the band speak for itself. The song is called "Cold Water" (Arrington's mom says it's her favorite). Just a hint -- if you decide to watch this video, you should be ready to commit to the whole eight minutes -- it becomes increasingly better as it progresses.

Old time relijun
by mainsdoeuvres

Friends and Neighbors:

Billy Harvey is a one-man-band in Austin, TX, who puts a lot of thought into everything he does, including his live shows, which feature him singing backup for himself thanks to a nifty pedal-controlled contraption that records and plays back loops of the show right then and there. He's imaginative and has a great voice and a really nifty website, too.

=:=

My friends Ford & Fitzroy are mastering their first full-length album right this minute. The singer goes a bit heavy on the angst at times, but their songwriting is intelligent and they do neat things with guitars.

=:=

Some other friends of mine, The Five Deadly Venoms are a Brooklyn-based bluegrass/Americana band who kill me every time I hear them play. Elio's voice -- and the music -- is just so, so beautiful.

=:=

The Ones to Blame are a group of four women in Gainesville, Florida, who write balls-out bluegrass/country songs about boozin', fuckin', and fightin'. And the songs are good. I mean it.

. . .and let's not forget:

The Modern Lovers was Jonathan Richman's band in the early '70s. Rock.

=:=

John Prine has been around forever, and is still a master. Here are one old video and a new-ish one.

=:=

And finally: What's up with Ladytron, and their new album "Velocifero?" Someone, please give me a reason to like this. I used to harbor a half-hearted sort of love for Ladytron, which would often expand into full-blown, unrestrained lust (just add booze and/or drugs). But their latest record is such a lame, watery letdown that I can't help but wonder if I'm missing something. I mean, is it really THAT bad? When the music is more boring than that NYC traffic channel, and the lyrics are so awful they actually make me laugh out loud, the answer is "yes." It's that bad. A friend of mine said he bets the members of Ladytron are made up of binary code. I think they're made of HVAC parts, inositol and empty promises.

=:=

I think that's all for now.

hey suburbia, we're in love with you

2008-06-23T16:19:00.002-04:00

Good guy. Sorry to see him go.

there's no place for a street fighting man

2008-06-21T00:30:00.001-04:00

How did I not hear about this? I thought I knew people.

=:=

Union Square Fight Club : The Toothless Marine

dear dad

2008-06-15T14:27:00.006-04:00

Sometimes I miss you so much I want to double in on myself, disappear, join you in the ether.

makes no sense at all, and furthermore, i don't know what you're talking about

2008-06-13T11:11:00.008-04:00

this is an actual letter i sent this morning:

dear m,

hope you got some rest
last night, after archie's beer.
i damn sure didn't.

i may be counting
on your energy to get
me through this evening.

that's right, another
early morning wake-up call
from my crazy sis.

=:=

it never ends. and neither, apparently, does my use of this blog as a soapbox from which to regale all you poor suckers with my various pedestrian bitches & gripes. i promise, i am working on reclaiming my usually electrifying personality. i just need to get some sleep. i ordinarily do not communicate in haiku. special circumstances (like diminished intellectual capacity) force extreme measures.

=:=

i've got a slap/tickle for the first person who can tell me the name of the band this post's title references, without googling it.

booze me up and get me high

2008-06-12T11:30:00.003-04:00

Yesterday began as a great day, but a few hours in, it suddenly became one of the worst I've had in a long time. It's a long story, and I won't get into the details now.... but don't worry, everybody's going to be okay.

A few pieces of news:

1. I have four tickets for the sold-out Polvo show next Saturday, June 21st, at the Bowery Ballroom in NYC. If anyone is interested, I'll sell them to you at my cost, which is around $19 each. They're e-tickets, so I'd have to forward them to you, and you'd print them out yourself. I will need to hear back on this within the next day or two, otherwise I'm going to try and put them on StubHub or something. Sorry for sounding like a craigslist scalper douche (hey, at least I'm not trying to make a profit).

2. Yep, that means I'm not going to make it to New York for the show (or anything else) next weekend. I know a few people have been expecting me to be there, and I'm really, really sorry. I just can't swing it. In addition to my regular financial woes, I now have a dead cat and a $350 vet bill to deal with. Again, I'm sorry to all my New York friends. I'll be up sometime this summer, for sure. I miss you guys, too.

x

a hard day's night

2008-06-10T00:55:00.007-04:00

one of my friends just sent me an e-mail with the subject line, "get your butt outside."

"get your butt outside." hilarious. right now i am outside, and will be here for the next six or seven hours, whether i like it or not. it's 12:46 a.m.. i type this from my mom's back porch, where, it appears, i will be sleeping tonight. i discovered 45 minutes ago that i was locked out, and have been banging on doors and windows ever since. my knuckles are swollen and bruised. mom has still not risen from her slumber to let me in. looks like it's not happening. i'd have called her, but my phone's inside (i can see it, mocking me from the coffee table). so i'm stuck. i'll be bunking on the rattan "sofa." there are at least two giant raccoons scampering around on the patio, a few feet away. there are seven thousand mosquitos, gnats, cicadas, crickets, dragonflies, palmetto bugs, lizards, spiders and ants sharing this porch. the only provisions i have are my rapidly dying laptop, an empty watering can, two melting ice cubes (leftover drink) a bag of alabama ditch weed, a bowl and a lighter. guess what i'll be doing till i fall asleep?

fuck me.

holiday in hanoi

2008-06-05T17:27:00.005-04:00

I'd been craving pho bo (vietnamese noodle soup with beef) for over a week, and I finally got around to collecting all the ingredients the other night, so I, um, "whipped some up" and after an hour and a half of futzing around in the kitchen, was rewarded with this delightfully aromatic bowl of faux-deliciousness:

Why "faux" pho, you say? Because it looked and smelled like the warm, comforting, savory goodness I'd been pining for, but it tasted like corrugated cardboard. I should have just eaten the chopsticks.

Next time, more basil. Or takeout.

take this pie and shove it

2008-06-05T16:56:00.007-04:00

I ate some bad apple pie yesterday evening, broke out in hives an hour later, and spent the remainder of the night shvitzing my tits off and flipping around in bed like a landed mackerel. Got less than two hours' sleep, was rousted before 8 a.m., spent six hours (count 'em) in my Mom's dusty, 600-degree, arachnid-corpse-filled attic with the cable guy sweating all over me, climbed up and down a 20' ladder a dozen times. . . and I still don't have a usable wireless connection. Apologies to everybody who has been waiting for photos, replies to letters, feedback on sound/video projects, etc.. It looks like it's gonna be another day or two. I'm so tired, I'm delirious.

=:=

Some lunatic has been calling my cell phone and hanging up when I answer, like three times a day, for the last three or four days. I don't know who it is, but the next time it happens, I got a loud-ass lifeguard whistle with their name on it. Bring it, Mystery Caller.

white & nerdy

2008-06-02T01:33:00.007-04:00

Ever heard pirate-themed gangsta rap? Me, either -- until last night. Now I want to run away from home and join this band. They're called Captain Dan & the Scurvy Crew, they dress like pirates and rap about wenches and ho's*, and completely knocked my socks off by rhyming "safari" with "calamari" in a groovy tune about sea monsters. Yes, it's gimmicky; yes, it's silly. It's also pretty funny (as a novelty), and made me want to shake my, um, booty. Oh, and speaking of shaking booties, the Scurvy Crew's show prompted an extended ecstasy-inspired dance, performed by the balding shorts-and-white-socks-wearing fellow next to me. Cheers, White Socks Guy, you made my awkward "white girl bobbing stiffly to rap" routine look almost cool.

Among the other Nerdapalooza (I didn't make that up; it was the actual name of the event) performers were a mildly annoying indie-pop group from Orlando called Mumpsy; a lame zombie-themed indie rock group, and a ninja-themed hip-hop group wielding swords who rhymed about things like motherboards and USB cables.

This weekend just keeps getting better and better.

*I don't know that the apostrophe belongs in "ho's" but "hos" looks pretty stupid.

you're pretty good looking, for a girl

2008-05-31T00:13:00.011-04:00

Tonight I went to see the Sex and the City movie with a good friend of mine (male) and fourteen other women who were the friends, relatives, and friends of relatives of my friend. I never -- nevernevernevernever, ever -- thought I'd do something like that, and the fact that I'm "blogging" about it makes me feel brave, like I'm admitting for the first time that I have an addiction, or a foot fetish, or a conjoined twin. It was strange, almost surreal, and the fact that I was all hopped up on Sudafed probably added to my disorientation... but it was nice. We met ahead of time at someone's house for hors d'oeuvres and cosmos, and everyone drank a little too much and laughed a lot. I met several interesting, kind people and enjoyed a (somewhat) relaxing evening (except for the moment I actually heard the words "girl power" used in conversation unironically, and subsequently had to spend a solitary half hour chain-smoking on the back porch in order to regain my grip on sanity). Anyway, I had a good time. There, I said it.

Then came the movie. There were over two hundred women in the theater, and five men (I counted). At least half of the women cried a minimum of three times during the film (didn't count, too busy feeling awkward over the fact that I didn't understand what the hell everyone was crying about). At one point partway through, I went to the bathroom and found in the stall an abandoned martini glass containing a few tablespoons of cosmo (wanted to drink it, didn't). I wanted to like the movie, but I didn't. I wish I had some witty or insightful observations to add here, but I don't.

I guess it's okay to be one of those women. "Those" women. Usually I feel like I belong to a different species. Men seem to like the "girly" girls, so maybe it's preferable, who knows? I've never felt quite like I belong among them, and probably never will. I prefer to be cynical, pretend like nothing scares me, dress like a ten-year-old boy, build my own furniture, and guzzle single malt scotch. Even though it doesn't really seem to be working out so well for me, I like me the way I am. And sometimes I say things like this because I like to feel like there's really a difference between me and "them." Because, y'know, I'd hate to be viewed as prissy while I'm talking about watching Sex and the City.

it's on television

2008-05-31T00:12:00.002-04:00

When I lived in New York, I didn't watch T.V. at all. I didn't even have one for the first year, until the bar downstairs from my apartment gave me one that they were going to throw out. I never even plugged it in; I ended up giving it away to a needy pal when I moved back here. Anyway, now I am becoming addicted to the Direct T.V. DVR thingie. I spend an inordinate amount of time looking through the guide for movies I may or may not want to see at some undetermined future date, and if I miss an episode of Top Chef I freak out like a dingo stole my baby. (Not really. My current "Playlist" contains: two documentaries on photography, the Sylvia Plath movie, Lynyrd Skynyrd on The Old Grey Whistle Test, and, okay, one episode of Top Chef.) But I think this is partly why I'm so excited about going back to school. In order to make up for not being in New York anymore, I've made it a point to do more reading and writing, but somehow I still feel like I'm losing I.Q. points at an alarming rate. I can't wait to have homework.

i kept your poem here with all my other gear, but in the end i missed what it meant.

2008-05-22T14:52:00.015-04:00

Yesterday I picked up a dear friend from the airport and drove him to Winter Haven to visit his dying father. Afterward we chain-smoked cigarettes with his lovely and courageous mother, and then we went out and got really drunk. To be fair, let me say that we did try and enjoy some more wholesome relaxing activities, but since every sign directing us to "Spook Hill" was pointing in a different direction, and you can only admire downtown Lake Wales for, like, five minutes before you start yawning and/or looking for hookers and crack, we finally had to throw in the towel and call on our old standby, booze. I know I'm not very good at finding the right things to say or do during times of emotional crisis, but one thing I can do right is listen. And drink. Sometimes there's not much you can do for somebody but just be a friend when times are tough. If I've been half as good a friend as my pals have been for me over the years, then I guess I'm doing all right.

Soooo. . . this afternoon I made the two-hour drive home through some of the, let's say, less populated parts of central Florida. I took lots of pictures of trees and cows and signs saying things like "I lovE God," "Jesus Saves," and "GOAT MILK FUDGE."

Here is a scary "citrus processing plant" where it's obvious that what they're really doing is cooking small children in vats of boiling oil and feeding them to their army of vicious nocturnal flying monkey-bats.

Here, figure this one out:

Cows. Cattle. Cows.

=:=

This week has been trying and strange; I was feeling hollow and ugly inside until yesterday, when I was lucky enough to spend time with some people who reminded me what life is really about. Thanks, Carls!

later on you stand alone, below an empty moon, with an empty heart and your empty hands

2008-05-20T10:53:00.011-04:00

They say you reap what you sow. I've just been flogged with my own stupidity, so I guess I have gotten what I deserve. Considering some of the situations I have found myself in, the level of my continuing optimism is, at times, staggering. But it always comes back to bite me in the ass.

End of story.

People -- okay, NEW YORKERS -- keep asking me about Florida, so here you go:

Florida is nuts. It's really beautiful here, especially in this particular area, but it's also weird and as my friend Jacquie would say, "trash-tastic!" The other day I saw lawn ornamentation consisting of a 6 ft. wooden boat with plants growing out of it and the words "cheaperhere" painted on the side. Pictures are forthcoming.

The big news these days is basically the entire state is on fire. There's a major drought, so brush fires are cropping up all over the place, that is when some deranged lunatic isn't deliberately setting them. The nearest fires are 40 or 50 miles from me, but there are so many of them that no matter where you go, you smell smoke. At the beach you can see big yellow clouds of it hanging over the horizon. Lovely.

And here's the really important stuff: Unless some terrible unforseen thing happens, I will be in NYC the weekend of June 20-21. I'm hoping to extend the weekend a little and spend four full days/nights in The City. Please hang out with me, I get lonely.

It's hard to hold the hand of anyone who is reaching for the sky just to surrender.

2008-05-17T11:39:00.014-04:00

Leonard Cohen makes me feel okay. Not "okay" as in, "yeah, I'm okay, could be better," but "okay" in the most thrilling sense: "You know, maybe I'm not just that flagitious, lurching half-human wastrel I feel like inside; maybe I'm actually pretty okay."

Considering we're talking about a guy who did a hell of a lot of writing about depression and social injustice, I guess that makes a sideways sort of sense.

Most people I know have heard Jeff Buckley's cover of "Hallelujah", or at least remember the creepy songs "Everybody Knows" or "I'm Your Man" from one of several recent movie soundtracks, but there's way more interesting stuff you should know about Leonard Cohen. He wrote and was actively publishing poetry for eleven years before he started recording music. This explains a lot, because he is most celebrated for being a brilliant lyricist. He has released seventeen albums (some of which are actually "essentials" and "best-ofs", so they don't really count), but the best, by far, is the first, The Songs of Leonard Cohen. It came out in 1967 and if you ask me, he could have never made another song after that, and he still would be respected as one of the best songwriters of the last fifty years. Here -- the lyrics to "One of Us Cannot Be Wrong":

I lit a thin green candle, to make you jealous of me.
But the room just filled up with mosquitos,
they heard that my body was free.
Then I took the dust of a long sleepless night
and I put it in your little shoe.
And then I confess that I tortured the dress
that you wore for the world to look through.

I showed my heart to the doctor: he said I just have to quit.
Then he wrote himself a prescription,
and your name was mentioned in it!
Then he locked himself in a library shelf
with the details of our honeymoon,
and I hear from the nurse that he's gotten much worse
and his practice is all in a ruin.

I heard of a saint who had loved you,
so I studied all night in his school.
He taught that the duty of lovers
is to tarnish the golden rule.
And just when I was sure that his teachings were pure
he drowned himself in the pool.
His body is gone but back here on the lawn
his spirit continues to drool.

An Eskimo showed me a movie
he'd recently taken of you:
the poor man could hardly stop shivering,
his lips and his fingers were blue.
I suppose that he froze when the wind took your clothes
and I guess he just never got warm.
But you stand there so nice, in your blizzard of ice,
oh please let me come into the storm.

=:=

Here's some more Leonard Cohen trivia: He lived for several years on the Greek island of Hydra, where he wrote a book of poetry and two novels, The Favourite Game and Beautiful Losers. While he was there, he became romantically involved with the wife of another writer (a guy named Axel something-or-other whom Cohen was supposedly friends with), which is where the song "So Long, Marianne" came from. After that he moved to New York and, duh, lived in The Chelsea Hotel (where he hooked up with Janis Joplin and subsequently wrote "Chelsea Hotel #2", which contains the line, "giving me head/on the unmade bed/while the limousines wait in the street"). Three of the songs from his 1992 album The Future were used in the soundtrack to the movie Natural Born Killers. Cohen is Jewish (go figure) but spent somewhere between three and five years at a Buddhist center and was eventually ordained a Zen Buddhist monk. Oh, and did I mention he's Canadian?

When I was loooking up the lyrics to some of his songs to use in this post, I found out that Leonard Cohen was inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame this past March, and is touring this summer, for the first time in -- I think -- thirteen years. Which I guess makes this an astoundingly timely plug. Also, there's apparently a Lionsgate/Sundance documentary on his life called "I'm Your Man", and his first three albums were re-mastered and re-released last year, so you should go listen to them. And don't say I never did you any favors.

old news

2008-05-15T13:06:00.005-04:00

I realize ripping on The Hoff wasn't invented yesterday, but nobody does it better than, well, The Hoff. This video is a masterpiece of self-ridicule. I've got to hand it to him, he pulls it off so brilliantly, it almost looks like he's not kidding.

When I was a kid, someone like The Hoff would have been referred to as a "Larry." As in, "what a fucking Larry." I'm about to bring "Larry" back. Other words and phrases I'm working on bringing back:

janky: "My janky Ford Festiva won't go over forty without leaving the transmission on the side of the road."

jam-up: "Damn, girl, those biscuits & gravy were jam-up! Give me another plate!"

did you ever have something

2008-05-07T00:48:00.006-04:00

you wanted to erase?

not a crime, per se
but an offense, nonetheless
there's no rest, in a
bag, in a box, in a drawer
ashtray, not a relic, remains
yet to be given away
by who, to whom
i didn't want it anyway
where did the maps go?

i ain't no dummy, i'm grown now

2008-04-28T17:20:00.002-04:00

...and while I'm reminiscing about New York, here's a picture of me rediscovering the theory of relativity, after a few drinks at Daddy's:

you can't always get. . . something even remotely acceptable

2008-04-28T16:39:00.006-04:00

Someone who knows told me that one of the things I'd miss most about New York would be the food. He was right. Anyone who knows me knows how much I love mah food; fortunately, I'm not afraid to cook it myself, especially when I can't just go out and get what I want.

So recently I was craving some falafel. In Fort Pierce, Florida, expecting to go out and find a hot, tangy, fresh falafel sandwich is akin to waiting up all night for Santa, or expecting to jump off the top of a skyscraper and not get dead. Ain't happening. Long story short, I found the can of chickpeas in the pantry, the proper spices, cilantro, olive oil, the pitas. . . I even had yogurt and cucumber so I could make raita. I didn't have a choice. Even after I read the warning in the recipe about how frying falafel inside would make your whole house smell like a Lebanese garbage can (in August), I still had to do it. This is the result (note glass of $6.99 Pinot Grigio in background):

It wasn't exactly Mamoun's, but hey, I was shooting from the hip. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but for my first attempt, it turned out pretty damn good, even if my house did stink like the armpits of a thousand camels for three days afterward.

Stay tuned for reports on my backyard landscaping project (Prospect Park, here I come) and the new P.A. system I'm installing in my car: "this is a beach-bound honda accord, next stop will be the 7-11, stanclearclosindoorspleez."

weather, or not?

2008-04-16T07:15:00.004-04:00

I can't wait for hurricane season.

"The National Weather Service is advising anyone in the path of this tchotchke cloud to stay indoors until the danger is over."

wish you were here.

2008-04-07T19:14:00.003-04:00

conflict resolution/resignation

2008-04-01T12:26:00.013-04:00

This blog would not exist if not for my relationship with a certain friend, a discussion we once had on blogging in general, and my skepticism of its ability to fulfill. Everyone who blogs gets their jollies from it in his or her own weird way, and I won't deny that I have enjoyed stroking my particular neuroses through the writing itself, as well as pandering to the voyeuristic desires of my imagined audience. But I'm not here today to get into a discussion on the psychology of blogging. I want to talk about how the internet has essentially turned my friendships into magazine subscriptions: we all get to read and enjoy each other's anecdotes and photos, without having to put any effort into actual personal exchange. It's made me a lazy friend, and I'm not proud of that.

How many of you check out the blogs and facebook/myspace pages of your friends more often than you actually see, speak to, or write to them? It's okay; we all do it. It's convenient, it's a fun diversion, and sometimes a few minutes during a workday break is all we can spare. That's what those sites are there for, anyway. I put some effort into maintaining my blog and myspace page because I know a few people here and there actually are looking at them. And I want them to be looked at. What I don't want is for glancing at a couple of websites every now and then to take the place of real interaction.

I have seen photos of the husbands, wives and children of people whom I haven't spoken to in years. I know who their closest friends are, and I can even see jokes they're shared and notes they've written to each other. I know where they've been on vacation this year, what they've done with the house they just bought, what bands they're listening to, what they watch on TV, what books they're reading, who they're sleeping with, and which presidential candidate they support. There's not really anything wrong with all of that, either. Or is there? I imagine running into an old friend and having this awkward conversation:

"Hey! I haven't seen you in ages! How's it going?"

"Well, I got married last year to..."

"Yeah, I saw that on your MySpace page. She seems like a great girl. Pretty, too."

"And we have two kids, they're two and four now..."

"Mattie and James, right? They're adorable. I saw the photos you posted."

"Right. So we bought a house and we're...."

"Yeah, I love what you guys are doing with it! The addition was a great decision, and the landscaping is perfect."

"Thanks. So, uh... I read in your blog that you just moved back from New York. Going back to school, eh? Journalism? Good choice, I always thought you should be a writer."

"Hey, that means a lot. Thanks. So, I'm really digging being back here and..."

"Yeah, seems like you've been enjoying yourself. Love those pictures from the beach. And I see you've gotten yourself a boyfriend."

"Right, right. So... Is there anything new going on in your life? Maybe something I haven't seen on MySpace?"

"Uh, no, actually it's all there."

"Great, so I'll just keep checking your profile."

"Yeah, same here. Wow, keeping up with friends these days sure is easy!"

"No kidding. Say, maybe we'll bump into each other again in a couple years and avoid eye contact so as not to have to have another vapid conversation about absolutely nothing."

"Great! See ya, or not!"

=:=

So getting back to the friend I mentioned earlier... Our current relationship is a perfect example of what the above dialogue -- though exaggerated -- represents. Through no fault of his or mine, we've become habituated to learning about each other's lives through our respective cursory web representations, and I think we've been fooling each other into thinking that that's enough. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I know there are wonderful, exciting, life-changing things happening in my friends' lives, and it's a shame that we don't always get to share the stories behind the photos and the status changes. I'd really love to hear how my friend feels about applying to grad school, or what he thinks of the new R.E.M. album, or how his love life is going. Another of my closest friends just became engaged, and I didn't get to hear the excitement in her voice because she told me the news via text message. And on that note, I'll bet my friends are vaguely aware that the profound thing that I share with my boyfriend simply can't be summed up by the words, "in a relationship," but they're probably too busy to ask. Just like me.

I do love that we live in a time in which technology is advancing faster than I can adjust to it; it's fascinating and exciting, and I thoroughly appreciate the entertainment and conveniences I have been afforded. I just don't want the use of these things as part of my lifestyle to take the place of living, y'know?

home is where the hamburger is

2008-03-13T23:01:00.003-04:00

Round here, we love to eat.

This is what I walked into my first night home:

Okay, we like to drink, too.

ANYway. . .

You might disagree, if you're judging from the looks of my waif-like sister, but lemme tell you: everyone here is fat. I mean everyone. And I'm afraid I'll end up that way, too. To combat this seeming inevitability, I went out last week and purchased a mountain bike. I rode it all that afternoon, exploring the woods and the riverbanks of my old neighborhood, loving the feel of the wind in my hair and the straining of my muscles as I pushed myself to my sweaty limits. Then. . . I parked my Trek 800 in the garage and bought myself a '92 Honda Accord. Much better for fatting -- I mean getting around in.

you say goodbye, and i say hello

2008-03-12T00:11:00.008-04:00

For all you folks out there who've been silently shaking your fists at your respective screens each time you check in here at the dinghy to find that I still haven't published a lurid tell-all on my southern shenanigans. . . well, it's almost time. Almost.

First, I need to address just how goddamn hard it was to say goodbye to these sweet jokers:

=:=

Yes, Florida has been good to me this time around. No, it isn't only a vapid wasteland of shopping malls and identical pastel-colored condos. It's strange and beautiful, and I'll tell y'all about it real soon.

this is for my people

2008-02-29T21:45:00.005-05:00

Okay kids, in case you're not sure what to do with your weekend, here's a motivational message. Have a good one.

i got nothin'

2008-02-23T18:01:00.005-05:00

There is really nothing to say about this.

where it's at

2008-02-17T19:15:00.004-05:00

This made me feel both very, very happy and very, very sad. It also made me feel small and self-absorbed. I should be making lonely people happy with balloons. I should have hugged my Grandparents more.

stoic freakout party

2008-02-16T16:28:00.017-05:00

I guess it's highly unlikely that anyone reading this doesn't already know that I am moving back to my hometown in Florida on Tuesday, but I figured I should mention it just in case. Maybe I've recently acquired some new fans. Maybe I live in Fantasyland.

Speaking of living in Fantasyland.... My usual method for coping with stress is to simply refuse to acknowledge whatever it is that's freaking me out until it magically goes away on its own. This works more often than you'd think. This time, though, it's essentially impossible, because I'm freaked out over something that I decided to do, and which I am actively participating in right now. I mean, if I decided to ignore the fact that I'm moving until it went away, then I wouldn't have moved at all. So instead, I've thrown myself into some sort of weird fugue-like state by sequestering myself in my apartment, sleeping at odd hours (and hardly at all), and taking long breaks from packing during which I: a) obsessively check my e-mail, myspace account, and a handful of selected blogs, looking for updates, and: b) spend inordinately long stretches of time in the lonely hours of the morning playing cutesy puzzle-type computer games which were obviously intended for those in the 10-12 year age range. Also, at one point yesterday morning I found myself captivated by this mesmerizing e-card (thanks a lot, Jesse); only when I finally tore my eyeballs from the screen to look at the clock did I realize that there was a problem: I'd been watching it over and over and over for a full thirty-five minutes. No shit. I don't know if it's the creepy hypnotic voice repeating "I LIIIKE YOU" over and over or the pulsing tropical dance rhythm, or what, but - look, I'm watching it again right now - I think this card was designed to lure the weak-minded (like myself) into its expectation-free jungle utopia, and keep us there indefinitely. "No more, no less." I dig it.

My conscience is nagging me to finish packing, already, so I can get down to the business of enjoying my last few days in New York, but I'm finding it difficult for reasons I can't quite articulate. Oh, well. The jig is up tomorrow anyway; N.Eck has some farewell fun lined up, and I know I'm bound to have a good time whether my emotionally crippled inner asshole likes it or not. Then Monday night I say "goodbye for now" to my dynamite old pals PK, Jenny, Chuck, and The Mac.

Okay, back to packing, cleaning, and the real world.

you can't take it with you

2008-02-11T19:38:00.002-05:00

I can't believe I am giving this up.

(thanks JF)

...to the place where i belong?

2008-02-06T16:50:00.002-05:00

Anyone who talks to me on a regular basis is well aware that I've been having an existential crisis as of late, mainly with regard to the fact that, at the ripe old age of thirty, I'm still treading water professionally. (How's that for a euphemism?) Fact is, I've got only a handful of college credits and a spotty resume full of short-term jobs ranging from "vacuum cleaner sales" (yeah, there are some stories there) to "business owner" to "architectural estimator" and finally, "bartender." It's been fun, but I can't live like this anymore. I'm stuck, and it's -- to say the least -- uncomfortable. What to do? The simplest answer is, I've got to go back to school. Now.

In the year and a half I've spent in New York, the only thing I've accomplished is becoming even more poor than I was when I moved there. Living in New York City is both exhilirating and exhausting; while there's no place I'd rather be, I've realized that I may have to ditch The City -- at least temporarily -- for someplace where the rents are low and the commutes short, if I intend to maintain full schedules in both school and work. So. . . I'm seriously considering moving back to Florida for at least the next couple of years.

This scares the living shit out of me. It feels even more frightening than my spur-of-the-moment move TO New York, when I got on a plane with two suitcases, a pocketful of cash, and no fucking idea what I was going to do when I arrived. What's so scary is that I know exactly what I'm getting myself into if I decide to return to my hometown, and frankly, I'm not sure how I'll handle it. Remember "Cheers"? Well, this is a whole TOWN where everybody knows your name. And just about everything else about you, your family, and anyone you've ever dated. Walking into a bar after a two-year absence and having the bartender pour my usual drink before I have to ask for it, while laughingly recounting the time I constructed the pyrotechnic "party hats" for my entourage. . . well, somehow the familiarity didn't give me a warm fuzzy feeling. More like a cold creepy one.

Am I just a chicken? Does it matter? I'm starting to feel that coming home is the wisest choice.

I'm -- ahem -- unmoored. Fuck.

Stay tuned.

where the sun shines damn near every day

2008-01-29T12:12:00.001-05:00

Well, folks, due to some crazy unforseen circumstances, I'll be in Florida until Monday, February 11. Once things calm down a bit on the home front, I'll be available for mingling, etc.. If you're in or near the Fort, then we probably haven't seen each other in a while, and you oughta give me a call.

bitchnmoan

2008-01-25T13:39:00.003-05:00

Listen, here. I recently found out that Aesop Rock, my favorite white Jewish hip-hop virtuoso, played a free show at Southpaw (which is a mere six blocks from my apartment) the other night. And NO ONE bothered to tell me about this. I thought you guys were my friends. The worst part about it is that I actually walked by there before the show, saw the line of people wrapped around the block, and thought, "what the hell is going on there? I'll have to find out when I get home," and then of course promptly forgot all about it. I SO would have been there. SO. Would have.

It's so cold in my apartment right now that my hands are going numb. I'm wearing outerwear inside. Also, I'm hungry. And I have to pee, but it's too goddamn cold to take my pants off. I just opened up the fridge to get some milk, and it's warmer in there than it is out here. WTF?

Woe is me, and all that.

cookies!

2008-01-22T14:03:00.002-05:00

I just realized that it's been about a month since I last posted here at the dinghy, which prompted me to reflect on just what I've been doing with all that time. . . .

Christmas was spent the same way last year's Christmas was spent: Hanging around my apartment, alone, dicking about on the internet and telling everyone I spoke to how I was "just about to go walk across the Brooklyn Bridge." I moved into this apartment five days before Christmas last year, and knowing that I was going to be spending it alone got me thinking that I should create a new tradition for myself, which would be to walk across the bridge on Christmas day. I imagined myself gazing out over the East River while reflecting on the past year's accomplishments and all the blessings in my life, and walking off the other end into Chinatown with warm yuletide feelings of thankfulness and self-satisfaction. In reality, my "Christmas Tradition" is apparently to just browse craigslist in my pajamas for hours in search of comedic gems (and dates) and talk a lot of game about walking over the bridge.

I did get to speak with every other living member of my family on Christmas (there are five of them; we're not a very formidable clan, except for my mother, who pretty much defines "formidable"), so that was better than nice.

AND later in the evening I had dinner with the ATL, who even came bearing gifts! "Listen here, if you don't get to be with your family on Christmas, you damn sure aren't gonna go without any presents to open." We had oysters and champagne and onion strings and wine and burgers with bacon and bearnaise sauce. It was fun and delicious, and the whole evening somehow managed to warm the cockles of my shriveled, black heart. In related news, I've been rockin that new Skeletonwitch CD pretty hard.

Then came the 30th, when a dozen of my closest friends (okay, two of my closest friends, as well as five people I hardly know and four complete strangers) gathered to wish N.Eck a happy birthday. We sat around a big, round table at Lil' Frankies, which has the worst name and the best Italian food of any restaurant in the East Village. Ray and I had scrumptious duck ravioli, and more importantly, I learned that the secret to appreciating the band Bright Eyes is to listen to them in your car while driving around Omaha, Nebraska in the snow. Also, receiving a bi-weekly paycheck from them seems to help.

New Year's Eve came and went with an anti-climactic sort of ppffffffftthhthht.... It was N.Eck's birthday, but we had already celebrated that, and nobody was really all that drunk, even though I worked really hard on getting us there, and when we thought we had found a new funny interesting stranger to welcome into our group she ended up getting lost in the crowd (or running like hell, is more like it). My night-long wild goose chase for the elusive and mysterious MB ended with a big, fat handful of nothing, as is par for the course. But we all had a great time nonetheless. Ray did an excellent job with the camera, as usual, making everyone look beautiful, even the ugly people -- see:

The first few weeks of January were spent mostly in Midtown Manhattan, entertaining the lovely ATL, drinking too much, and enjoying the life of the standard business-class hotel resident. You know those stories you read about people who live in hotels -- writers and artists and other "eccentrics?" Well, now I get it. I totally understand why someone would choose to live in a hotel. Only thing is, the Marriott Courtyard Midtown East ain't exactly The Chelsea. Also, Midtown sucks. I started to feel like my personality was being systematically hacked out of me every time an overly-made-up fur-clad middle-aged woman looked me in the eye while tottering past me on the street.

Turned out there was a hidden benefit to spending so much time in a black hole of vapidity: Returning to my neighborhood felt like some kind of triumphant homecoming: my creativity re-emerged with a vengeance, and after I spent adequate time with all the parts of my apartment that I had missed so ("oooh, kitchen, I love you so much, microwave me some Easy Mac, yeeeeaaaahhhhh..."), I sat down for a much-needed beer at The Gate and was able to complete my first fully-formed, coherent, publication-ready piece of writing in months. (This is not it.) Also, I like to bake biscuits in the middle of the night, and you can't do that at the Marriott.

Last night N.Eck and I ate at Mama's, our favorite spot for BYOB tall-boys and big, heaping plates of lukewarm delicious. He succeeded in getting my tiny pea-brain all addled with linguistic jargon, as well as securing my participation in some sort of glove-dropping social/linguistic experiment, which will probably be, like everything else N.Eck is involved in, fun as hell.

In other news, I'd like to know why my brushes with the Falcon are always so weird and awkward, when we clearly share the same sense of humor and many common interests, as well as being of perfectly complementary heights. Probably he just likes chicks who are prettier and skinnier than I. Also I am weird and awkward. And have zits.

Now it's time to clean my apartment and bake cookies. I'm so domestic! Pretty soon I will have to buy a crockpot and a housedress and relinquish my sensuality forever. But in the meantime I intend to perfect the hazelnut-butter chocolate chip cookie. Taste-testers are welcome to sign up via e-mail or text message, but be warned, the early bird gets the cookie.

because i can't come up with anything interesting to say on my own...

2007-12-25T02:48:00.001-05:00

I'm ripping off somebody else's blog. Again.

From "Overheard in New York:"

In My Family, Jack Daniels Is the Tradition

Middle-aged woman: Tradition brings us all together and makes us feel close.
Twentysomething woman: That's not the tradition; it's the Jack Daniels.

=:=

Merry Christmas, folks.

hipster quote of the week

2007-12-14T04:45:00.004-05:00

"The Arcade Fire is just Neutral Milk Hotel for people who like suspenders."

Bonus: "Awww, you still listen to music? That's adorable. I only listen to ambient frog whistles."

christmas in nyc. . . again.

2007-12-07T18:44:00.001-05:00

So here's the big news: It appears that I am NOT going home to Fla. for Christmas.

For my Florida friends: Sorry, I know a lot of you don't live there anymore, either, and this is the only time you'll be back in the Fort. Guess I'll see you on, I dunno, Memorial Day? Next Christmas? For those of you who do live in Fla. full-time. . . I'm planning a long, leisurely trip down in mid-January, so let's make plans to get together then, ok?

And for my New York friends: For the second year in a row, I'll be here in NYC, sans family or roommate. "Lonely guy, table for one," and all that. Anyone else in the same position? If so, let's do something fun. Dinner at my place? I'll cook. I know how. Ask anyone whose been lucky enough to find out. Dance party? Backgammon tournament? Boozy storytelling? You tell me. Get in touch. Let's not end up down at the soup kitchen, crying in our Night Train, like we did last year.

Or was that just me?

xo
Val

we had the best time at your party.

2007-12-02T01:19:00.003-05:00

Ween are a real live rock and roll band.

B: "Yeah, you know how some people are Dead-Heads? Well, I'm a Ween-Head."
G: "You mean a Ween-er?"
B: "A weiner? Uh, no."
G: "You're a Weener."

so this guy walks into a bar...

2007-11-16T22:24:00.001-05:00

Not really. But a guy I knew long, long ago was recently arrested for allegedly throwing a 4-lb. pumpkin at his girlfriend, in addition to, according to the newspaper, "several other gourds." This alone was enough to make me nearly wet my nickers, but in the grand tradition of milking the most possible humor out of someone else's unfortunate situation, here are my favorites of the comments spawned by this nonsensical incident:

"Total waste of a beer. Everyone knows pouring beer on people doesn't make them more attractive, it just makes them smell better. He should have drank the beer then put the pumpkin over her head. Just a little thought would have saved the day, not to mention the beer, pumpkin, and gourds."
To the girlfriend: "Be grateful for the experience and what it taught you: Move forward and duck for flying pumpkins."
"10 bucks says his jailhouse nickname will be Pumpkinhead."
"Hug a pumpkin, not a miscreant!"

=:=

In other news, I went for my semi-annual haircut today. After the stylist looked at the job I've been doing maintaining my own bangs and unconvincingly lied, "it really doesn't look bad at all," she went to town and gave me a new cut that she described as "mod." I don't know about that, but it does look disturbingly similar to the hair of the wayward 18-year-old waitress at my work, except her hair is blue. Too bad the salon didn't have any Botox laying around, I'd have been all set.

=:=

Quote of the week: "I never puked on myself until I met Jenny."

=:=

More uninteresting nonsense later.

outs.

2007-11-13T21:47:00.000-05:00

"You can't ever find a place that's nice and peaceful, because there isn't any. You may think there is, but once you get there, when you're not looking, somebody'll sneak up and write 'Fuck you' right under your nose."

well, i'm screwed. or not, actually.

2007-11-09T14:42:00.001-05:00

According to an article on Netscape.com's love channel, there are lots of things a woman can do to be sexy, but according to singer Rihanna: "You want to have good skin and be blond and all that good stuff."

Now I get it.

If anyone can shoot me Morissey's number, I'd like to give him a call. I may need some tips on adopting an asexual lifestyle.

that dog, he don't come around anymore

2007-11-05T01:16:00.001-05:00

"the town's so small, how could anybody not look you in the eye, or wave as you drive by..."

here's the difference

2007-11-05T01:08:00.002-05:00

Spotted in Bushwick, where folks keep it real:

In my neighborhood, they will invite your dog in for tea and a poetry reading.

over-under

2007-10-30T16:04:00.002-04:00

Ever had a two-dollar psychic reading? Me either. Funny how they're so boldly advertised even though they don't really seem to exist. That's okay; a two buck reading would probably consist of something like, "judging from your face, I'd say you're not terribly bad-looking."

=:=

In other news, the Halloween festivities weren't exactly what I expected, but the night somehow exceeded my wildest expectations nonetheless. Ask me to explain this and I'll kick you in the shins. No, really. I don't usually hang out with moustachioed headband-wearing Russian gangsters, but I was feeling generous and I figured, "hey, it's Halloween, for Chrissakes, nobody should have to be alone, not even moustachioed headband-wearing Russian gangsters with ample chest hair and enormous foreheads." Here, look how much fun we had:

=:=

Tonight: My friends Ford & Fitzroy play the Pianos 5th Anniversary Party. Put on your dancin' shoes. It's gonna be a real good time, folks.

what to do, what to do?

2007-10-26T11:30:00.002-04:00

So this Saturday night is when the majority of Halloween festivities will take place.

This bar is having a costume party. And cold cut platters.

Lucky 13, "Punk Slope"'s only metal/deathrock bar, is having their 3rd Annual Halloween Bash, promising "Metal! Punk! Drunk people! Insanity!" No, they're not kidding!

My downstairs neighbor is having a party, too. (Hey, baby! I'll be down later!)

The Drive-By Truckers are playing at the Music Hall of Williamsburg.

How to choose?

=:=

On Halloween, this band is playing at the Silent Barn/Raven's Den (which is actually somebody's house):

Old Time Relijun, you scare the bejeezus out of me with your songs about vampires and witches and black widow spiders. Hey, horn player, is there a dead bat stuck in there? Sounds like it. And Arrington de Dionyso, you already have a scary name. Why must you sing in such a scary warbling howl? And playing on Halloween, in a place called Raven's Den? This is just too much.

Old Time Relijun, let's get it on.

I'm ready.

=:=

Here's some advice on what to do if you're attacked by monkeys.

blahblahblog

2007-10-22T13:27:00.001-04:00

Things I learned while reading Craigslist and eating Ramen Noodles today:

**note: No need to inquire as to whether I might be feeling lethargic and depressed, concerned friends. I just said I was reading Craigslist and eating Ramen Noodles, didn't I?

"Cash and prizes" = funny term for male genitalia.
"Cat in the asshat" = roughly the same as "douchebag."
A group of mice might be properly referred to as a "herd" but is more likely a "pack."
Someone in Ann Arbor, Michigan was lucky enough to find a Rick James album randomly placed on the windshield of their car, while it was parked at the shopping center downtown. (Rarely have I been so envious of the good fortune of another.)
Bartering with/for alcohol and tobacoo products is against CL regulations.
Tattoos can be covered fairly easily with a thick layer of Max Factor stick makeup, which can, in turn, be removed with roll-on deodorant (?!) and baby wipes.
Apparently, some women aren't attracted to men. And vice versa. Who knew?
The Multnomah Post Office is a hotbed of social interaction, but you probably don't want to mess with the "regulars."

where mah fitty bucks?

2007-10-19T13:26:00.001-04:00

Friend-wise, I have been very lucky. Whether or not I deserve this is another story. It's been almost eleven years since I lived under the unfluence of SDRE and Slayer, double-brewed cuppamud, wake-and-bakes and G'ville mullet-hunts. Eight years since Bjork (Post), dead birds on hotel balconies in O-Town, and "sorry, Everlast cancelled, so we're giving back half your money and the Roots are gonna play for three hours." "WHAAT?" Five years since my first and last visit to the house of the coolest semi-crazy-cat-people in No. Ga..

By the way, I think I still owe you sixty bucks. You can collect in person, sucka.

i was looking at you, too.

2007-10-18T01:59:00.004-04:00

Billy Harvey played in NYC again, and this time I was there.

fitting in doesn't feel so good.

2007-10-17T09:43:00.002-04:00

I can't stop feeling that the expression on my face makes me look like I belong here. Having attended, I can tell you how frightening a thought that is.

just my style, part II

2007-10-16T12:30:00.002-04:00

From Yankee Pot Roast:

“My earlier work, which I’ve also yet to write, is much better.”

(MB says he will now be attaching this to all of his work e-mails. He's a copywriter.)

just my style

2007-10-14T07:33:00.001-04:00

I just spent an hour writing. About...writing. Somehow this seems worse than talking about writing, which is widely advertised as an activity that makes me want to puke. Now I'm actually writing about writing about writing, which probably makes this the most self-conscious paragraph ever put into print. Self-congratulations are in order.

So today I attend one of the most anthropologically fascinating events of my life, on two hours sleep.

okay, all right.

2007-10-10T15:19:00.000-04:00

Finally, what you've all -- "all" being "all three of you who will actually read this" -- been waiting for: Photos from the big Arcade Fire/LCD Soundsystem/Blonde Redhead/Les Savy Fav extravaganza this past Saturday on Randall's Island.

If you're looking for photos of the actual performances, look elsewhere, because I only got one, and this is it:

Here's Richard Reed Parry of the Arcade Fire.

=:=

If you ask me, the order should have been reversed, and they all should have been opening for Les Savy Fav.

=:=

Here's me, in one of my more "hard-core" moments, with my friend Ben.

=:=

Jenny and Ben, having been raised in Montana, are undercover mulletheads. After the show we went to an Irish pub, where these two un-ironically played Slayer and Ted Nugent songs on the jukebox.

I think this photo just about sums it all up.

the kinder, gentler LES

2007-10-10T15:12:00.000-04:00

Jenny and I went out one night last month with the goal of only patronizing places where the other patrons were NOT trying to be cooler than you, me or anyone. Surprisingly (or not), it was a smashing success. And look, we made some friends:

thrice.

2007-10-10T15:11:00.001-04:00

I just wanted to say "thrice."

twice.

2007-10-10T11:41:00.000-04:00

Would you pardon me briefly while I go back in time and post some things I never posted, because I didn't yet have a blog? Thanks.

I'm really doing this for my mother. Hi, Mom!

=:=

Here's a recent photo of me. Nate took this just as I had finished primping for a trip to the Brooklyn Public Library. He said my hair looked great. He was right.

=:=

I went to the Central Park Zoo last week, all by myself.

I saw the snakes:

And the penguins:

And a polar bear:

The animals were a tad sad, but this was great:

once.

2007-10-10T00:25:00.000-04:00

"Good enough isn't really good enough, is it?"

daily dose

2007-10-04T12:12:00.000-04:00

My two favorite things I have heard today:

"The sunlight comes in the windows differently here, reminds me of my childhood." (GM)

and:

"First kisses begin with booze." (MB, who ripped it off from someone else, but thanks anyway.)

=:=

Possibly the best thing I have heard during a card game, ever:

K/Brazilian: "You Americans play games because you are masochists."
A/American: "You might be a genius."

...boozy and shoeless.

2007-10-04T09:56:00.000-04:00

I recently remarked to a friend that blogging struck me as similar to having a one-sided conversation. Like talking to a cardboard box.

I've never understood blogging.

Time to find out for myself.