11:49 am - I'm taking the dog to the park. Last night I took Skeela out for her final constitutional of the evening. We walked for about five minutes and 20 seconds and then we stopped because she wanted to sniff out some action-in-motion in the bushes. I was like "okay Skeela, whatever, just be kind to the squirrels" because I think that squirrels are cute and I thought that some cute squirrels were in the bushes and I thought that Skeela might try to give them a hard time. But then I noticed that she was not her usual squirrel-loathing-snarling self. She was an unusually-tepid self. This called for further bush-investigating on my part. So I looked down at the bushes. Then I discovered that the creatures that were causing the leaves to palpitate were not cute squirrels. They were cockroaches. Big ones. Small ones. Black ones. Brown ones. Stripey black-and-brown ones. And even medium ones. Lots of cockroaches. So I got like really frightened because I was wearing sandals and started speeding away from the bushes. But the cockroaches were everywhere on the sidewalk. Maybe it was a cockroach convention or the cockroach Oscars. I really don't know. But it occurred to me that if I accidentally stepped on one that all of the cockroaches would chase us. So me and Skeela got extra afraid and ran away from the sidewalk into the middle of the street. We know that the cockroaches are smart enough to not get hit by cars. And then we ran home and checked ourselves in the lobby mirror for prehistoric bugs before we rode the elevator home.
Which reminds me of this other dog-walking story...
I went to the park with my Uncles this weekend and this couple that was having sex in the bushes around 2:00 in the afternoon the lady stopped their fun to yell to us that "You sure got a cute dog!" (Referring to Grrl.) And then, more thoughtfully, made an out-loud mental note: "I otta get me a cute dog like that." We said thank-you and continued on our walk. They said nothing and continued on with their sex. Current Location:teetering over roachtonville, usa Current Mood: discontent
08:01 am - guide to being and doing Go see Amiina at the Silent Movie Theatre. Make sure you sit across from Fatty Arbuckle's hanging photograph as he has jurisdiction over the best seats in the house. You can wonder to yourself if you would be the sort of gal that he would like to suffocate with love. Wait a few minutes for Amiina to come on the stage. Their 1940s vintage dresses are reminiscent of a collective sensuality. Be amazed as they get bored with their violins and decide to rub their bows on their vibraphones. That's not a dirty innuendo. That's what they do.
Then, go to Mann's Theater. Walk over the cemented celebrity and go into the theater because they actually play movies. Many of the original art deco details are still there. You can again wonder about Fatty Arbuckle. Maybe he slipped away during big movie premiers to smoke a reefer or weed stick during a more glamorous age. Then buy two tickets for Aqua Teen Hunger Force Colon Movie Film for Theaters. Take note of how you and your middle-aged boyfriend are alone among a sea of teen-aged boys. Take note of how you and your middle-aged boyfriend laugh at all of the same on-screen moments as the sea of teen-aged boys. Later, have fun trying to tell your grandmother that you recommend a movie about a box of french fries, a milkshake, a ball a raw meat, and their Jersey-trash neighbor.
Then, go see a documentary, preferably Air Guitar Nation. Be sure to quote Bjorn Turoque's "to err is human, to air guitar is divine." Explain the air guitar ethos to your friends and family: if everybody air guitared, we would have world peace because all the people of the world would be so busy rocking out on their air, that they would not have time to pick up guns and start wars. In short, "make air not war."
Then, bake a welcome-home cake for your aunt and uncle as they return from their visit to their family in Morocco. Write "Welcome Home Infidels" in icing on the top and try not to be too jealous of their adventures.
Skip the Coachella Music Festival. Go to the Annual Southern California Music, Poetry, Gear, and Grub Festival for Cowboys instead.
Then, go see the Idiots at the Steve Allen Theatre to see a dramatization via physical comedy of the paranoid rivalry between the sons of the scientists who won the nobel prize for discovering DNA as they suffer of their own scientific mediocrity, and struggle to pay their rent.
Then, take your dog to Echo Park Lake so that she can chase the cacophony of common and unusual water fowl, song birds, lilly pads, turtles, tadpoles, and quincinera parties. Let her lick the palms of a little boy who will wipe the licks on his bigger brother. Wonder if the city planners of the 1880s intended for the juxtaposition of white geese against palm trees against skyscrapers.
Then, after learning that your aquaintances from Taiwan have been living in the United States for three years without ever having been to an American music concert dotted with drunken and pretentious youth, take them to the Echo to hear the Magic Bullets, Foreign Born, and the Walkmen. Pretend that you didn't notice that your aquaintance carries a pocket bible in lieu of proper identification. After the Walkmen display their mediocrity, leave for the 24-hour Yum Yum donuts in Hollywood to check out folks shining their rims after a long night of cruising.
Then, go home and practice your naughty 1920s slang to prepare for the music of Janet Klein and Her Parlor Boys. Here are a few examples for you to practice:
When a 1920s boy wants to have intercourse with you and you don't want to have intercourse with him, you must say "Sorry. Bank's closed." (As in there will be no deposits today).
When a 1920s boy wants to know if you are the sort of gal who is down for a one-night-stand, he might ask you "cash or check?" If you are, you say "cash." If you prefer to get to know a fellow first, you say "check." If you are a cash sort of girl, the 1920s boy will say that you are "swell," or "the berries," or "the cat's pajamas," or "hotsy-totsy."
In the 1920s, a "drugstore cowboy" was a guy who uses the services of sex workers who prefer to work on the street.
And in the 1920s, a "dead soldier" meant an empty bottle of beer.
Current Location:noitacoL Current Mood: busy Current Music: "Skakka" -- Amiina
11:10 am - Redemption in red/orange/yellow/green/blue/white. Lately I've just been too busy for this. No, not with school. Not with the flue. Not with theatre tickets. I've been too busy with a $1.39 sub-par 3 x 3 Rubiks Cube from the Family Liquor Store near the Fairfax Yum-Yum Donuts. I had one when I was 6, constructed of higher-quality black plastic and little red/orange/yellow/green/blue/white stickers. At the time, I had no idea that logic existed as a paradigm, nor that it was the modus-operandi of the Rubiks Cube. I did know that smarter and bigger kids could solve it. My uncle Mike could do it. And my brother and I would speak in reverence of his Rubikal skills. After months of twisting the cube sections, assuming that if I twisted them enough that they would eventually fall into place, I cheated...I peeled off all of the colored stickers and stuck them back on, corners drooping, in the correct configuration. Harboring pseudo-guilt for the last 20 years, I have never quite forgiven myself for cheating the Rubiks Cube. And in my quest for redemption, I am finding out that I still just don't have the needed smarts to get the job done. Alas and woe! The sexy geek-dom that I aspire to will never be mine.
Current Location:under some fog Current Music: "Before and Again" -- Akron/Family
1. Volver Because Almodovar started out making a great film and then obviously just got bored and said "eh...let the film finish itself." And because he let Penelope Cruz do a lip-synced flamenco song where she smiled way to much to actually produce any vocal music.
2. Letters from Iwo Jima Because it was nothing special. Because it was too long. Because it was just like every other mainstream American movie about war except it had Japanese sub-titles. Because Clint Eastwood is a boring director.
3. Lily Allen Because she uses petty, stereotypical insults to get her audience to laugh. Because that sort of thing insults my intelligence. Because she appears to be a racist. And a sexist. Because her music is cliche and blase. Because she totally ripped-off the Spice Girls, but without the interesting albeit laughable costume changes. Because we all got over the Spice Girls when we were pre-teens. Because she doesn't know that the word acoustic means but uses it anyway.
4. Salt Lake City Because the elevation makes it hard to breathe. Because there are parts of downtown Salt Lake that fall under the jurisdiction of the Church of Latter Day Saints where swearing, drinking alcohol, blaspheming, homosexuality, kissing in public, facial hair, and revealing clothing are illegal and punishable. Because the state and church should mind their own business and let folks decided for themselves if their family should be a polygamist one. Because there just isn't too much to do there in general. Because martinis are illegal in the State of Utah. Because the Utah State legislature says that to be a good citizen you must arm yourself with a gun and carry it at all times so that you can shoot it and defend the country just in case you should happen to see Osama bin Laden lurking around Salt Lake City or the Rocky Mountains or the LDS temple.
5. The Police Reunion Because their music just sucks. And because Sting isn't talented. And because being an ex-teacher doesn't make you a good musician. And because it is hard for everyone to admit all of this. And because people should save their money for David Bowie tickets instead.
6. Any song that utilizes little kid sounds or little kids singing. This one is random. It just annoys me.
Current Location:back in The Angels Current Mood: blah Current Music: "Running, Returning" -- Akron/Family
05:12 pm - "Hey Mister Driver Man" Today I woke up on time. UPS delivered a package at 9:38. The delivery person was gorgeous. I got to class early. I didn't forget anything. I gave a speech. It went well. I made my audience laugh. I checked my phone messages after class. T sent me an "I love you" text for no reason. I sent one back for no reason. I got home on the bus. Without help. Without panicking. And most importantly, without getting lost downtown. I day-dreamed about tonight's "American Idol" auditions. As I descended from the bus at my home-base bus-stop I played the Violent Femmes' "Waiting for the Bus" on my iPod. I sang along with the song while walking home to celebrate a truly successful commute. I stopped at Pinkberry because there was no line (for a change). When asked for my name at the register, I lied and said "Mandy. Wait. Not Mandy. I mean Debra. Yeah, Debra."
It is so lovely not to have anything to bitch about. Current Location:en mi casa Current Mood: pleased Current Music: "Waiting for the Bus" -- Violent Femmes
12:06 pm - So does this mean that there really is a god? Yesterday I was walking across campus in search of some iron-rich pumpkin seeds to soothe my vegetarian deficiencies when this Irritant clad in a yellow hoodie started yelling in my direction. Without thinking I looked in his direction and noticed that he had an elongated yellow diamond painted on his nose and forehead reminiscent of a circus-elephant. The Elephant-Irritant started charging at me. As I quickened my pace, I thought "what the fuck is wrong with me? I forgot Going-Out-In-Public Rule #1: Never-never-never go outside without iPod ear-phones in that blatantly announce 'Sorry dude, I am too otherwise engaged to hear you.' " He caught up with me and demanded to know why I was ignoring him. I said "because I hate yellow." He said "I from Alhambra. Where are you from?" I said "You're bothering me. What do you want?" He said "Gosh you're mean? Where are you from?" I said "New York" and started to walk faster. He said "Oh! That's why you're so angry. Listen. I think I can help you. Take this book. It's free. It is Krisha's gift to you. Have you ever heard of Krishna?" I said (nicely) "No thank-you. I don't want it" and started to walk ever faster. He jumped in front of me and yelled "Answer me! Have you ever heard of Krishna? Don't lie to me! I know you have!" He tried to put the book in my hand. It had a picture of a blue god with a blue flute sitting on a blue cloud on the front. People sitting on near-by benches started to stare. Looking up to the sky I said "Krishna! If you exist, make this guy stop hare-harassing me before I am forced to alert the campus police!" And then I put my ear-phones in my ear-holes and walked away and the elephant-irritant stopped following me. Then I felt really guilty for being such a mega-bitch to someone who is clearly not mentally well.
For no particular reason, Tammy and I always seem to discuss how we are kinda-sorta jealous of people who have religious faith and their ability to find at least a little bit of assured happy peacefulness in that. Terry calls this the "gift of faith." And he is right to do so. Bliss is a gift. There is no way to seek it out. The more you search the world for happiness, the more you'll notice how truly vile the world is. And then you end up wanting to be a social worker so that you can at least try to fix all of the iniquities that debase us all so you can you some of that fancy-newfangled happiness for yourself. Later in the day, I was sitting in my social work policy class and one of my classmates started talking about her work at the Skid Row Mission and the desperation of homelessness, prostitution, and drug addiction, and I was reminded of what a professor had said during my first day of Social Work 101 -- that we were all here because "Like it or not, social work is a calling. It's like the calling that nuns and priests get, but without the chastity and boring clothes. I suspect that most of you are here because you just can't not be here." So maybe Tammy and I have some faith after all. Or better yet, maybe we are on the way to becoming faith itself. Well. Well. I sure am full of myself today, aren't I? Current Location:not on campus Current Mood: guilty Current Music: "Suchness" -- Akron/Family