I think this will be my last post for this particular blog. The world is a vampire, after all, set to drain. At least I think that's what Billy Corgan was singing. Hard to tell sometimes, when people sing, or even when they talk. Marlon Brando was a great mumbler, for example, but if you don't have one of of this nifty captioning options on your tele it can be HELL to determine what the man is actually saying! Except when he bellowed "Stella", of course.
I am channeling gynormous (not a real word that I know of) amounts of rage in my quest to move out of this limited, confined, damned annoying life I am currently living. I feel like I am about to do something rash, like bury my landlady and my entire family underneath three tons of concrete, then make little sculptures out of them. Yes, I am kidding! Everything needs a qualifer these days. Anyway, I fled the house this morning and sat by the window at the local Bruegger's, soothing myself with cream cheese and their tasty coffee while observing interesting human beings. Far better than sitting around listening to the incredibly loud Hausfrau talk until she's blue in the face. You could hear the woman in Cleveland.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!
Sorry, that just had to be said.
In exciting news, I tried to check out a DVD only to discover it was cracked. It had the word "Night" in the title and was about a poet from Cuba. Too bad, 'cause it seemed really interesting. Life is full of these little disappointments, is it not?
Here I am again! Time lapse, isn't that exciting?? Dr. Who knows of what I speak. I am actively trying to find a new place to live and a real, live, wonderful job. This must happen soon, or else I think I am going to go insane. The only wonderful news is that my landlady is leaving for THREE WHOLE DAYS, PEOPLE, and even though everyone and their dog is sick of me and my pathetic problems I am doing what I can.
And how are all of we? Goood, good, good. I am reading a WAY interesting book about an Englishman who ended up becoming a woman who lived in Charleston, SC during the days when people just didn't do that, plus she married a black man (she was white.) Really great stuff, very well written, called Peninsula of Lies. I am always interested in these sexual identity story things -- they're fascinating, what can I say.
Well, I must run. May your weekend be as spiffy as you are.
Monday, May 08, 2006
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Emily Rose, Japanese Food, and Swear Words I Like
Not much to say other than the usual irreverent bullshit! How I love that word, bullshit! Better than carrots and onions and peas, even.
It's hot here in New England, and the sun was so fiery warm even just yesterday that I fear the ozone layer is a thing of the past, much like Jennifer Gray's nose. I dunno, what can I tell you? Ted Cassadine has my real job. Anyway, my brother is about to come over so we can have a lunch at a swell little Japanese place in town. He orders the sushi, I order the fried stuff, and everyone is happy. Raw fish and myself don't really agree, period.
Tonight I usually attend a meeting about an hour away, but think I will use the time to collapse and try to rest in Cruella De Ville's house. Try being the operative word. In a generous gesture, I brought the vaccum cleaner downstairs for her earlier today. I am usually generous, actually. She said "hi" to me so I figured I owed her one! Ha, as if. Yet there is that propulsive, cooperative energy that longs to exist between people. Unless you are on a TV talk show with your relatives, of course.
Anyway, I got absolutely no (*$#(*#$ sleep at all last night because I made the mistake of watching The Exorcism of Emily Rose. Oh, my God -- literally. I had seen it before in the company of a priest (yes! my life is eccentric!) and decided to rent it again. Well, forget about it. I kept the light on ALL NIGHT. All fricking night. This morning I felt like someone had run me over with a mac truck. I wanted to spend the day indoors, doing nothing, but it's impossible for me to rest well there when she's around, so off I went. Now I am here, waiting for the brother, and feeling the usual panicky internal gyrations. You know, the way priests are really frustrated aerobics instructors (Sit...kneel!...stand...sit...Mass is such a vigorous work-out!) Yes, that made no sense, but blogs don't have to! The joy of blogging!
Anywho. I am reading a great haunted house story, Burnt Offerings by Tom Marasco. How I love a good ghost story. I finished reading Julia by Peter Straub (a bit disappointing, but generally pretty darned good), and once in DC I read The Shining during a power outage. I'm crazy, what can I tell ya. So, there it goes.
Not much else to say...keep busy, keep busy. That's my new motto so the worries don't threaten to overwhelm me. Perhaps you can concur.
Avoid watching movies about exorcisms alone, and may your sleep be sweet as a baby's.
It's hot here in New England, and the sun was so fiery warm even just yesterday that I fear the ozone layer is a thing of the past, much like Jennifer Gray's nose. I dunno, what can I tell you? Ted Cassadine has my real job. Anyway, my brother is about to come over so we can have a lunch at a swell little Japanese place in town. He orders the sushi, I order the fried stuff, and everyone is happy. Raw fish and myself don't really agree, period.
Tonight I usually attend a meeting about an hour away, but think I will use the time to collapse and try to rest in Cruella De Ville's house. Try being the operative word. In a generous gesture, I brought the vaccum cleaner downstairs for her earlier today. I am usually generous, actually. She said "hi" to me so I figured I owed her one! Ha, as if. Yet there is that propulsive, cooperative energy that longs to exist between people. Unless you are on a TV talk show with your relatives, of course.
Anyway, I got absolutely no (*$#(*#$ sleep at all last night because I made the mistake of watching The Exorcism of Emily Rose. Oh, my God -- literally. I had seen it before in the company of a priest (yes! my life is eccentric!) and decided to rent it again. Well, forget about it. I kept the light on ALL NIGHT. All fricking night. This morning I felt like someone had run me over with a mac truck. I wanted to spend the day indoors, doing nothing, but it's impossible for me to rest well there when she's around, so off I went. Now I am here, waiting for the brother, and feeling the usual panicky internal gyrations. You know, the way priests are really frustrated aerobics instructors (Sit...kneel!...stand...sit...Mass is such a vigorous work-out!) Yes, that made no sense, but blogs don't have to! The joy of blogging!
Anywho. I am reading a great haunted house story, Burnt Offerings by Tom Marasco. How I love a good ghost story. I finished reading Julia by Peter Straub (a bit disappointing, but generally pretty darned good), and once in DC I read The Shining during a power outage. I'm crazy, what can I tell ya. So, there it goes.
Not much else to say...keep busy, keep busy. That's my new motto so the worries don't threaten to overwhelm me. Perhaps you can concur.
Avoid watching movies about exorcisms alone, and may your sleep be sweet as a baby's.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Johnny Depp Ate My Burger
A rain day in New England, forsooth! No beasts, just a burger at Friendly's that was a little too medium-rare. I forgot about the eccoli, ick!
Friendly's are an institution around here. I don't know if other people struggle with this but I happen to look REALLY YOUNG for a thirty-something. Like, sometimes people think I'm a teenager. The waitress apparently thought so too, because I was eating alone and she treated me like a suspect seventeen-year old who was going to stiff her. In-between spraying ketchup on the table. It was really $(#(*#$ annoying, people. I gave her a good tip anyway even though she didn't deserve it in one of those strange altruistic gestures I am prone to (ending a sentence in a preposition! want...to...do...it! gasp, can't).
So what is one to do? Die your hair gray or what? Part of the problem is that I lived in a city for many years where you can be a woman dining alone and no one thinks much of it. Here, in provincial-land, it's a different set of attitudes. Yep, I'm a city snob now, what can I tell ya. But it's true, people! It's true!
Sigh, whatever. These are not real problems, but I'm a spoiled American I guess. I have a friend, lovely gal with a good heart who went to India awhile back. She told me upon returning she would never be depressed again. She said it was mind-blowing. And I could definitely see that. Maybe we should all book a flight, except India has never lured me. Japan, Australia, yeah, India, no, even though I'm sure it would be amazing unto itself. At the very least, you'd get some good curry! Yah yah, bad joke, India is a amazing mystical philosophical colorful place blah blah bleeh bleeh.
Speaking of age, for some godforsaken reason I picked up a copy of Jane magazine recently, which is ENTIRELY geared towards twenty-somethings. And I was actually thinking how PRIVILEGED everyone in the pages was, and probably never even knew it. 'Cause I think about this stuff, being a guilt-stricken Catholic and all. It's weird when you had the Stephen King Childhood yet were raised middle-class, 'cause that is a privilege. It wasn't until I lived in the city that it really came home to me in a variety of ways, and I've been taking notes ever since. But guilt doesn't really help. Not sure what does, but not guilt.
Jane is a little too hip for this geek, although it was pretty amusing in parts. It basically seems to concern itself with What You Wear, Where You Drink Coffee, Cool Cities, Celebrities, and then these Pseudo-Deep Commentaries ranging from essays by the new president of Chile (the deepest one I could find) to a story from a woman who MET JOHNNY DEPP! OHMYGOD! Too funny. What is the deal with him, anyway? Yeah, he's gorgeous and can act, but he's never pushed my Lust Button. Tom Wilkinson, yes, Johnny Depp, no. Which makes me insane to some, but Tom Wilkinson has got to be one of the finest actors ever plus he's 6'3 with nice broad shoulders. Sigh. But Johnny Depp, man -- I guess he's channeling some heavy karmic shit. It's all I can figure. I liked him best in A Nightmare on Elm Street, predictably -- too fun to see him play a horny teenager. I never watched 21 Jump Street, incidentally. Otherwise I would say he rocked in What's Eating Gilbert Grape, one of my favorite movies, ever ever ever. I love that movie better than mad bananas.
Speaking of phallic things, what happens if you are ejected from a plane and land on top of the Washington Monument? Would it be instant castration for a male? Would you bounce a little? Just wondering.
Not much else to say other than burgers, waitresses, and my continuing saga to move on, ever on.
I wish you beauty, I wish you joy.
Friendly's are an institution around here. I don't know if other people struggle with this but I happen to look REALLY YOUNG for a thirty-something. Like, sometimes people think I'm a teenager. The waitress apparently thought so too, because I was eating alone and she treated me like a suspect seventeen-year old who was going to stiff her. In-between spraying ketchup on the table. It was really $(#(*#$ annoying, people. I gave her a good tip anyway even though she didn't deserve it in one of those strange altruistic gestures I am prone to (ending a sentence in a preposition! want...to...do...it! gasp, can't).
So what is one to do? Die your hair gray or what? Part of the problem is that I lived in a city for many years where you can be a woman dining alone and no one thinks much of it. Here, in provincial-land, it's a different set of attitudes. Yep, I'm a city snob now, what can I tell ya. But it's true, people! It's true!
Sigh, whatever. These are not real problems, but I'm a spoiled American I guess. I have a friend, lovely gal with a good heart who went to India awhile back. She told me upon returning she would never be depressed again. She said it was mind-blowing. And I could definitely see that. Maybe we should all book a flight, except India has never lured me. Japan, Australia, yeah, India, no, even though I'm sure it would be amazing unto itself. At the very least, you'd get some good curry! Yah yah, bad joke, India is a amazing mystical philosophical colorful place blah blah bleeh bleeh.
Speaking of age, for some godforsaken reason I picked up a copy of Jane magazine recently, which is ENTIRELY geared towards twenty-somethings. And I was actually thinking how PRIVILEGED everyone in the pages was, and probably never even knew it. 'Cause I think about this stuff, being a guilt-stricken Catholic and all. It's weird when you had the Stephen King Childhood yet were raised middle-class, 'cause that is a privilege. It wasn't until I lived in the city that it really came home to me in a variety of ways, and I've been taking notes ever since. But guilt doesn't really help. Not sure what does, but not guilt.
Jane is a little too hip for this geek, although it was pretty amusing in parts. It basically seems to concern itself with What You Wear, Where You Drink Coffee, Cool Cities, Celebrities, and then these Pseudo-Deep Commentaries ranging from essays by the new president of Chile (the deepest one I could find) to a story from a woman who MET JOHNNY DEPP! OHMYGOD! Too funny. What is the deal with him, anyway? Yeah, he's gorgeous and can act, but he's never pushed my Lust Button. Tom Wilkinson, yes, Johnny Depp, no. Which makes me insane to some, but Tom Wilkinson has got to be one of the finest actors ever plus he's 6'3 with nice broad shoulders. Sigh. But Johnny Depp, man -- I guess he's channeling some heavy karmic shit. It's all I can figure. I liked him best in A Nightmare on Elm Street, predictably -- too fun to see him play a horny teenager. I never watched 21 Jump Street, incidentally. Otherwise I would say he rocked in What's Eating Gilbert Grape, one of my favorite movies, ever ever ever. I love that movie better than mad bananas.
Speaking of phallic things, what happens if you are ejected from a plane and land on top of the Washington Monument? Would it be instant castration for a male? Would you bounce a little? Just wondering.
Not much else to say other than burgers, waitresses, and my continuing saga to move on, ever on.
I wish you beauty, I wish you joy.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Ozzy Osbourne Fans Himself
Ah yes, life still sucks out the ass. And so it goes, and so it goes.
On the plus side, our president is still the best little frat boy you ever did see elected to said office. I imagine him guzzling cans of Budweiser in-between cabinet meetings, then settling down to a long afternoon of reading Spin magazine. It's just a weird enough image to fit -- no doubt Mr. Bush has many alternative hip bands spinning away inside his Ipod!
Ah, whatever. I am so very fond of that little word, "ah."
Hmm....
Not much to say today in-between rampaging bouts of depression. Yet it cheers me up to write to you, my gentle, happy reader, Judith what's her face aside. Miss Manners, you know the one I mean. I imagine her sleeping on velvet sheets and fanning herself with a piece of lace soaked in perfume. Yet secretly, she has this enormous crush on Ozzy Osbourne. It's just weird enough to fit.
Happy day.
On the plus side, our president is still the best little frat boy you ever did see elected to said office. I imagine him guzzling cans of Budweiser in-between cabinet meetings, then settling down to a long afternoon of reading Spin magazine. It's just a weird enough image to fit -- no doubt Mr. Bush has many alternative hip bands spinning away inside his Ipod!
Ah, whatever. I am so very fond of that little word, "ah."
Hmm....
Not much to say today in-between rampaging bouts of depression. Yet it cheers me up to write to you, my gentle, happy reader, Judith what's her face aside. Miss Manners, you know the one I mean. I imagine her sleeping on velvet sheets and fanning herself with a piece of lace soaked in perfume. Yet secretly, she has this enormous crush on Ozzy Osbourne. It's just weird enough to fit.
Happy day.
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