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I am very scared. We rented the Mothman Prophecies tonight, and I am going to have the worst nightmares ever.
08-31-2002 10:37 PM - comments (1)
I can't report on the second book I'm reading for my Post Colonial London/Ethnic Literature class, Caryl Phillips' The European Tribe, yet, as Michael has stolen it from me and is audaciously reading it while I sit but three feet away. He must not be able to resist the words of a black British revolutionary who is searching for his roots. I think he feels a kinship with him or something. He has relayed the following excerpt to me, which we both think is pretty funny:
"The golden rule is never to believe a word that a Moroccan street-boy utters. He will say anything to make you happy so that he might get a tip and a chance to practise his English - anything in reply to the most absurd requests.Q: What time does the Titanic leave?
A: One o'clock, my friend. It's best to go to an agency for a ticket. I can show you the way. What's your name? Mine is Farrukh.Or,
Q: Can you tell me where I can get Apollo 13 to the moon?
A: Ah, you are American. I have been to the moon, too, so I can show you the way, brother. You like Morocco? You want a B girl and champagne?Street talk can induce a nervous breakdown in seconds."
08-31-2002 4:26 PM - comments (0)
Michael just informed me that "no one likes weblog posts about dreams. It's commonly known."
I just did a little dance as if I were a circus performer. Is that better?
08-31-2002 10:24 AM - comments (0)
I had a dream last night that the Globe-News mistakenly sent me a paycheck for weeks I didn't work. It meant I didn't have to worry about money for the rest of the year (and could pay off my Discover bill without having a coronary). When I woke up, I realized it had been just a dream, and cursed at my good dream. I only want nightmares from now on; aren't you supposed to wake up feeling relieved, not depressed?
Also, Michael left the room last night to do something, and I thought he said, "Another rapper is dead" as he left. I fell right back asleep and had strange dreams about Jay-Z and Fabolous for the next couple of hours. I wonder what he really said.
08-31-2002 10:22 AM - comments (0)
polaroids are a better way to go
How is that I can wolf down most of an appetizer sampler from Applebee's (cheese sticks, quesadillas, nachos and ribs), come back to Michael's apartment and even consider popcorn tonight at the movies? All I know is, I need to start working out more regularly if I want to keep eating the way I do.
So yeah, we're going to see One Hour Photo, that creepy new Robin Williams movie. Robin Williams looks like an aged troll in it, adding enormously to its appeal. Tomorrow it's the St. Louis Zoo, Turtle Playground (an area full of turtle sculptures you can climb on. We went last semester one time, but it was so cold my jacket froze to my body and then to a turtle itself, resulting in quite an awkward situation) and Chuy's for dinner. I'm so excited!
I hate when people shush me. The only person I will allow to do that is my mother. Otherwise, it's just rude.
08-30-2002 6:27 PM - comments (0)
I really don't like when people claim (all the time) to be intelligent, creative and all-around wonderful and then follow up their claims with a wagonful of misspellings. I would link to the person who does this ad nauseum, but I don't feel like being that mean. If she were simply a poor speller, I wouldn't have brought it up. But she has quite the inflated view of her intellectual capacity. IRONIC!
I kept waking up last night with one of Mick Jagger's "new" songs in my head (the album came out last year, so it's newer than his other work, I suppose). I don't remember what it's called, but it's the first song on Goddess in the Doorway. Very sappy, very sweet. As a whole, that album is very '80s softcore. I still like it.
I'm convinced I've got the West Nile. A mosquito left quite a large bite on my left arm, which is now unusually sore. I feel congested, tired all of the time, my vision is blurry in my right eye and my lip ring is acting up. All signs point to my imminent death. Time to divide up my estate, I suppose. Christie, you can have that last half of the Bacardi O, and Melissa can feel free to peruse my CD collection. The Hives is up front, in case you're wondering. Michael, Elliott is all yours.
Did anyone watch the MTV Video Music Awards last night? I was thoroughly entertained.
Highlights: Jimmy Fallon's version of "Hot in Herre" (God, I have the biggest crushes on Jimmy Fallon and Nelly); the surprise Guns 'n Roses performance; Britney's weight gain (with no no else would that make me happy); the White Stripes winning an award; P. Diddy/Usher/Busta Rhymes/that white kid dancing/pogo sticks; Jimmy Fallon making fun of Lance Bass.
Really stupid parts: Eminem's immature, hateful behavior toward Moby; anything related to Avril Lavigne (who's nothing but an Olsen twin with a tie and army pants. Also, why does she mispronounce "clothes" in her sucky song? Being Canadian is no excuse. Argh. She's giving me a headache); Pink; Michelle Branch's dress; No Doubt (I really like their music. I just hate seeing them in person for some reason).
I am going to go on forever unless someone stops me!
listening to: "Oh Mi Amour" - Dressy Bessy
08-30-2002 9:02 AM - comments (0)
I noticed a guy wearing a KCOU shirt, overalls and a trucker hat sitting outside Tate Hall on Tuesday. Anyone who doesn't fit into the halter top/cut-offs- or Abercrombie t-shirt-wearing category almost always has my undivided attention. The boy was methodically piecing apart a Whatchamacalit chocolate bar and placing some pieces in the wrapper. He then rolled up the wrapper like a joint and proceeded to put the wrapped chocolate to his lips as if to smoke it. He actually might have started smoking it, but I took the opportunity to run very fast into the building and away from him.
I looked up from a book I was reading about 10 minutes later to see that he had sat down next to me in my Jane Austen class. God, I love how these things work out. He also has hairy toes (I mean, really really Sasquatch hairy) and said he was interested in women's studies. Fascinated was the word he used, I believe. He's a damn liar, that much I'll tell you.
08-29-2002 2:56 PM - comments (0)
i lie awake just staring at the walls
I really don't like when I compose a long post--listing the number of times certain things had occurred within the last three days, and most of them mildly interesting--and then somehow find a way to delete it. I'm too aggravated to retype it. It never happened!
*fit of rage*
I'll just say one thing: Andy, I finally got A Confederacy of Dunces. And some Sandra Cisneros, Douglas Coupland and Jack Kerouac books. I'm not sure why; I have about 20 books to read for the semester, and that will likely keep me occupied (happily). I just can't resist the English section of the general books department at the University Bookstore. I bet there will be some English 14/248/364 kids who won't get their books this semester because of me. Alas, I was there first. Also, I am sneaky.
08-28-2002 6:09 PM - comments (0)
Michael, Dave and Chris all had a professor at Washington University named Ron Cytron. He seems to be getting younger as the rest of us are getting older; he goes to ice hockey games with his students and now has a weblog. I am already feeling much better this morning, but reading one of his entries has made me feel ridiculously happy. He's so cute!
"Did I mention I am an academic? Did I indicate I would try to hide that? Well I will shortly, but meanwhile you (whoever "you" are) might find this amusing. One thing we academics take almost daily is judgement by our peers, colleagues, students, editors, funders, dept chairs, deans---it never ends and it is an eternal fount of joy and redemption.
One venue for judgement is the "course evaluation" form that is filled out by students at the end of each semester. Now we take these comments seriously. How seriously, you ask? Two years ago, my CS 101 students wrote "Nice Sweaters" appended with a happy face.
Because I am color-coordination-impaired (a condition that will gain official recognition someday) and because I loathe shopping (even more than my wife does), one student took pity on me when I related this comment to him and agreed to go shopping with me, and I bought some new clothes. If that's not taking course evaluation comments serously, then maybe they should do away with the evaluations."
See? Don't you wish you had professors like that? Also, it would seem that he is married, putting kinks into all of our plans.
08-28-2002 9:50 AM - comments (1)
i'm not that good, but i'm not that bad
Argh. What a terrible, rotten day it's been. Day, night, I don't even know anymore. My watch says 4:43 a.m., I think. I feel strangely physically alert but mentally dead. Three and a half hours in class, half of which spent in a Post-Colonial London with Emphasis on Black/Ethnic Culture or something. I signed up for African American Lit. At least we're reading some Fanon and watching "near-pornography," says the white professor.
Thirteen hours at the Student News office. Late stories. Missing cutlines for photos. Poor quality of photos. PhotoShop being a bitch. Quark being a bitch. Webmail being a bitch. Margins off by .25 inches, enough to fuck up the entire paper and keep Melissa and me there hours and hours after we planned on leaving. Dan mentioning--suggesting? implying?--there were four pages of ads in a row, and could I "rearrange them so there's more copy in between?" Um, no, Dan. It's three-fucking-o-clock. I haven't even begun to look at the sports section. Nothing is changing. Aaron calls; I can't talk. Michael calls; I can't talk.
The stories get butchered to make room for our 10x16 "live space" (oh, you only think it's 11x17. But you'd be wrong). There's not the luxury of getting to worry about accuracy and ethics. And Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I left my beautifulgarbage CD in the damn computer. I don't even get to be around Chase and his ascerbic wit and intoxicating charm while he copy edits. Only five more issues...
On the way home, I listened to Blur's eponymous. Loudly. It was "On Your Own" the entire time. I want you to listen to that song and I want you to associate it with me every time you hear it. Specifically, the part right after the first chorus. I want you to smile and think of me and think of my bad mood right now and how much it's helped when that song is played.
Well, we all go happy day-glo in the discos
The sound of magic music in our brains
Someone stumbles to the bathroom with the horrors
Says Lord, give me time, for I've jumped into space
I'm in outer space
So take me home, don't leave me alone
I'm not that good, but I'm not that bad
No psycho killer, hooligan guerilla
I dream to riot, oh you should try it
I'll eat parole get gold card soul
Your joy of life is on a roll
And we'll all be the same in the end
'Cause then you're on your own
Then you're on your own
08-28-2002 2:55 AM - comments (0)
Last night, talking in my sleep:
Rachel: You know what's funny? A few years ago I wanted to have a cat, and now I do!
Michael: What?
Rachel: Elliott.
Michael: What about Elliott?
Rachel: I have a cat, and he's in the cat program.
Michael: Oh? What's the cat program?
Rachel: It's just a place you go.
Michael: And it's called the cat program?
Rachel: No.
Michael: Who calls it that?
Rachel: *shrug*
Michael: Are you asleep?
Rachel: Yes.
08-26-2002 8:16 PM - comments (0)
I updated my about, contact and currently pages, and for your viewing pleasure...
08-25-2002 4:22 PM - comments (0)
year and a half/cranky all day/pore strips/little black dress/can't smile in photos with lip ring/sophia's, nicely-lit and beautiful/the perfect daiquiri with healthy dollop of whipped cream on top/"borrowing" your pesto chicken/holding hands under table/kisses on side of mouth/modeling/the non-combo priced combo popcorn and coke/finally get back row of theater/horrible, terrible, laughable movie/light rain outside/gentle cleaning of my lip/nearly hyperventilating/enjoying affections of full-grown kitten/mount vesuvius and the volcanic rock/mandarin plum/leg rubs/wonderful day/wonderful you/let's be agoraphobic
08-25-2002 9:47 AM - comments (0)
I've been having serious problems arranging my hair in the "disconnected" way Ray did at Yummy. Is it just me, or is:
*The shampoo and conditioner they use before your haircut vastly superior to the kind they sell you at beauty salons? My hair always feels a lot softer and prettier when it's been washed at Yummy.
*It impossible to ever have your hair look as it did when it was first cut and styled?
All of this leads me to believe hairdressers are some sort of advanced alien race whose strategy of world domination is to style hair wonderfully and then laugh as the humans, in desperate frustration, load up their hands with expensive (and sticky) Aveda, Rusk, Biolage, Redken, etc. pomades and gels and subsequently make our hair look like something that was run over by a school bus and then set on fire. I'm not sure how that's related to taking over the world, but it's a theory that definitely puts my mind at ease.
Yesterday morning, I was sitting at my computer (probably ogling other webgirls' perfectly disconnected hair) when Michael woke up, looked intently at me and declared, "Your hair looks good like that. It's bedhead." I had to think about that for a minute, as I didn't remember putting any Bedhead styling stuff in my hair in the middle of the night. No, I actually just had real bedhead, the stuff haircare companies want you to recreate with their overpriced products. And I had it, and it was good. So now my new strategy is just to wake up in the morning and go to class without checking the mirror first. Who would have thought?
08-25-2002 8:47 AM - comments (0)
We went to a party at Sally Buxbaum's house last night. The only things I knew about Sally were that:
a) In freshman year, I had a crush on this guy I knew from my political science class/College Democrats named Joe Alonzo. We went to Shakespeare's for a Dems meeting, and Sally flirted with Joe the entire time so I didn't like her.
b) She was in my social psychology class and always wore spooky white makeup and had very dark hair.
Sally is very nice (contrary to my opinion of her three years ago), but her party was very big, and I do not deal with very big parties. I keep going to them, hoping my fear will subside and I will learn to enjoy them like most other people can. I never do. After a while, we split for Steak n Shake for cheeseburgers and chocolate shakes and hoped Melissa was still having a good time at Sally's (she knew a lot of people there). I like cheeseburgers and shakes a lot more than I like most people. Something is very wrong with me.
08-24-2002 9:56 AM - comments (0)
Happy 21st, Jen! I hope skydiving was amazing, and my present better have gotten there in time for tonight's celebration. I wish I could be there. Love you lots!
08-23-2002 10:34 AM - comments (0)
I finally did it--I got my lip pierced. It took a good deal of Captain Morgan, good friends and nearly cutting the circulation off Michael's hand, but I did it. I still can't talk normally--I'm giving myself until tonight to sound human again--and I can't even think of eating anything too complicated, but I really like the way it looks. A lot. I'm updating the currently section of the site this weekend, so I'll be sure to include a picture of me post-piercing, and you can judge for yourself.
The trouble is, I keep fighting the urge to tell people I'm not trashy. I guess I've never allowed myself to do the "rebellious" body wounding a lot of other people do freely because I was worried I'd seem like a bad girl. I suppose I still have some latent prejudice against people with piercings and tattoos (I never said I was rational), but I think that's going to have to change if I've joined the club, so to speak.
08-23-2002 10:20 AM - comments (0)
Well, Michael is on his way to international computer science/robotics fame. He and his team--the ones who designed the Wedding Photographer robot--have a BBC article devoted entirely to their project. The one Michael and his partner, Zach, did 100% of the work on (believe me, I know. You know how many times I would call him at 2 a.m., only to find he was still in the lab, tinkering away?). It's too bad he wasn't interviewed so he could work me into the article somewhere. I am so completely overjoyed about this. His work is finally receiving the recognition it deserves, and to have it publicized in such a high-profile news source as the BBC is amazing.
*beams with pride*
08-22-2002 11:22 AM - comments (0)
English 308 African-American Literature TR 2-3:15
English 328 Jane Austen and her Contemporaries TR 12:30-1:45
Journalism 302 Cross-Cultural Journalism MWF 1-1:50
Journalism 320 Editorial Writing MW 3-4:15
God, I'm jealous of myself sometimes. How did I end up with a schedule like this? Karma likely will hit me next semester in the form of a 9:30 Magazine Editing class that meets for something like 10 hours a week for only three hours of credit.
08-22-2002 9:36 AM - comments (0)
Shoji's awe-inspiring site. Marvel at
But you don't have to take my word for it. Visit Shoji's awe-inspiring site. Marvel at his wife's liberal application of eyeshadow and foundation in her Glamour Shots. Wonder about how his daughter doesn't look the least bit Asian. Stare in confusion at the way Shoji proudly gropes his wife's breasts in every family shot. And then tell me you don't want to hop the next plane to Branson. If there's an airport in Branson. If you get bored during your trip, which seems unlikely, you could always swing by the Precious Moments Museum/RV park in Carthage, Missouri. You just can't get enough of mentally-challenged looking dolls with unnaturally droopy eyes and an unwavering faith in Jesus Christ.
08-21-2002 8:15 PM - comments (0)
I haven't died. I've just been:
*Doing laundry like it's going out of style
*Driving 14 hours back to Columbia
*Almost killing my cat on said trip (more later)
*Enjoying a luau/Harry Potter party Melissa and Kaity had for Christie and me
*Having my hair dyed violet-black, cutting it all indie-like
*Getting butterflies in my stomach about seeing Michael again
*Seeing Michael again and falling a million times more in love with him
*Spending hours upon hours with boy, cat and best friends
*Deciding Signs is the coolest movie ever
No more cop-out list entries for a while. Check back tonight when I have more substantive things to say.
08-21-2002 4:44 PM - comments (0)
I haven't read Melissa's site for a few days, and now that I have, I feel compelled to say something. Some asshole decided it would be a good idea to leave some poorly written comments in her guestbook with the intent of hurting her. I don't know who the person was, but let me be the second one to say "Fuck you, you pathetic coward." It might have been acceptable if he or she had a genuine concern about something and chose to compose a thoughtful, to-the-point letter to explain. I'm guessing his or her lack of courage is matched only by his or her supreme lack of intelligence.
It reminds me of something that happened to me last semester. I received a similar e-mail, but at least the writer left her name. Not that she needed to; I recognized her inability to compose a coherent sentence a mile away. She ranted, she raved. She did what she does best--revealed her insecurities and jealousy in a childish manner. To this day, I'm not sure how she ever got to be as hateful as she is. I know people have rotten childhoods, but really! At some point, the awful things people go through lose all value if they can't learn to be decent human beings (preferably, ones who have a solid grasp of the English language).
Like Melissa should do with her "fan," I decided it was useless being angry with this girl. Rather, I feel tremendously sorry for her. Anyone who has so much resentment built up in her (whether it's rational or not) is not someone I'd trade places with willingly. Melissa, like me, knows who her friends are. She knows that people can have difficulty in dealing with secure, confident people (as Cait pointed out in a comment on Melissa's site). She is able to keep those people out of her life, because her life is filled only with caring, intelligent and secure people. I'm guessing the same can't be said for the hateful people we knew.
08-18-2002 8:26 AM - comments (0)
An optimistic person would say being in Houston is like getting to go to a sauna. I say it's like getting to go to a sauna that's overflowing with West Nile virus. I'm convinced I have it. I was bitten about 47 times in Diedrich's last night (I didn't even have any lotion on, save for the one section of my left arm where I dutifully tried out every new flavor from Bath and Body Works last night) by angry, sickly mosquitos out for revenge. On me.
But I got to see my friends, and I didn't feel as awkward as I did on Friday night. For those of you who haven't read Jen's site to find out, my friend Tiffany's mother was in a horrible car accident last Friday and is in the intensive care unit of the hospital, undergoing surgery after surgery to ensure she'll be able to ever walk again. Tiff's spent much of the last week in Hermann, sleeping on hard chairs and forgetting to eat, so we really want to get her out for a break every now and then. Friday night was my first night back, and I felt I was talking too much, putting my foot in my mouth, etc. the whole night because I wasn't sure what to say around her. It was as if I were afraid of there ever being an uncomfortable silence. Jen's mom (I swear, she's a guru or something) offered me some good advice as to how to be both sensitive about it and, well, normal. I think I was being normal last night, and at some point, I think we also all forgot that anything was wrong. We were just being ourselves, talking about the things we always do, laughing and contracting West Nile virus. There were even a few (comfortable) silences.
08-18-2002 7:49 AM - comments (0)
I think I'm going to put a sign on the back of my car that reads, "Anywhere but Amarillo or bust."
listening to: "Judy is a Punk" - The Ramones
08-16-2002 6:35 AM - comments (0)
I found myself slipping into a southern accent last night. Not Georgia-southern, West Texas southern. But equally alien to me. Don't worry; I'm recovering.
Eight a.m. is an ungodly time to be up, even if Amarillo is at its best now, cool and crisp outside with a fierce, blinding sun if you look the wrong way. I'm most certainly looking north.
I am in love with everything and everybody today.
listening to: "Mrs. Bean" - Essex Green
08-16-2002 6:35 AM - comments (0)
A few (under-31) Globe-News employees took me to Tacos Garcia for dinner after I let it slip that I'm a sucka for good Mexican food. It was perfect, as most Mexican is, and all we did all dinner long was discuss music. I'm not sure you realize how long it's been since I've had an intelligent conversation about rock and roll. And no, Michael and me trying to harmonize on "Turning Japanese" but failing to remember any lyrics besides "I got your picture. I got your picture..." does not count. It almost made me wish I were staying. Almost.
Everyone tried to get me to have a margarita before I had to go back to work (correction: before Greg took me back to work in his brand-new sex on wheels. Er, shiny red 35th anniversary Camaro. Jen and Tiff would have been ecstatic). I debated it, but realized I wanted my last page to go without a drunken hitch. As it was, I came back to work 15 minutes after the page was due. Um, oops?
Some good news: Dorsey and I talked in his office for a long time about journalism, careers and money. He told me 1) there will be a job at the Globe-News waiting for me when I graduate in May 2) I shouldn't settle on a paper smaller than the Post-Dispatch when I graduate. Contradictory, yes, but I understood what he meant and it made me happy.
08-15-2002 7:36 PM - comments (0)
Cait is having a poll to figure out which body part to get pierced. (I voted for her nose, because she has a much cuter nose than me.) I'd do the same thing, but I've finally made up my mind. It was between a lip or tongue piercing. After debating the logistics and overall sexiness of each, I have decided on my lip. It's more obvious, and yes, I'm going for obvious. I'm 21 years old and have never rebelled against anything, except maybe good financial sense and productiveness. Having a boyfriend in the 8th grade who drew anarchy symbols and "Kurt Cobain: 1967-1994" on my history notebook does not count.
I've wanted to get something pierced for some time, but with these annoying "jobs" or "family members who would have heart attacks," I've been reluctant. Well, look out Fall Semester '02. I'm dying my hair, cutting it punk rock and piercing my lip. I might even start shopping at Hot Topic. Okay, maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's compromise on no more Abercrombie, okay?
Does anyone know how to apply lipstick when you have a lip piercing?
08-15-2002 6:38 PM - comments (0)
I think everyone's worried I'm going to break down and cry in the middle of the newsroom. It's my last day, and the last thing I want to do is cry. Run around naked, scream out joyful obscenities, burn some newspapers up--that's what I want to do. I'm going home to see my family, friends and cat. And then two days later I'm going back to school to see more friends and Michael. I'm going to laugh and see movies and get in pillow fights and have drunken '80s nights again. I'm going to sip a chocolate brownie mochaccino from Starbucks with my best friends. I'm going to watch in amazement at Elliott's new trick. And I'm going to spend lazy hours with Michael, watching TV and making pizza rolls and having picnics. What's there to cry about?
08-15-2002 2:00 PM - comments (0)
CMcCown613: is it just me, or does swimfan@ look like the best movie ever in the history of the motion picture?
red cherry bomb: erika christensen gives the year's hottest performance. along with...that other guy in the movie
CMcCown613: i heard the ending will make you never want to swim EVER again!!!
Oh, Chase. Watching terrible movies just isn't going to be the same without you.
listening to: "Everybody Get Your Roll On" - Big Tymers
08-15-2002 10:14 AM - comments (0)
Folie a deux (lit. "double madness") - The presence of the same or similar delusional ideas in two persons closely associated with one another
See also: "Being in love"
08-14-2002 6:28 PM - comments (0)
you know that one time you were in the beatles?
You know how there's that one part of "Tainted Love" that gets all quiet and slowly starts building back up, complete with blips and bleeps and robots-using-lasers kind of sounds? Then the snapping? Then he starts quietly singing, "Baby, baby, where did our love go?"
Yeah, that's awesome.
listening to: "Tainted Love" - Softcell
08-14-2002 11:48 AM - comments (0)
i prefer unadulterated road rage
Drivers in Amarillo don't give the finger. They don't even use their horns. What they do, en masse, is to shake their heads and wag their fingers disapprovingly. I've experienced this phenonenom at least a dozen times this summer, and I have to say, it is probably the single most annoying thing in the world. Somehow they have taken it upon themselves to be the Mothers and Fathers of the Amarillo roads, and I usually react to their narrowing eyes and angry gazes by, well, flipping them off. With a great big smile and tires squealing.
listening to: "Subbacultcha" - Pixies
08-14-2002 10:44 AM - comments (0)
you say gullible, i say cuban revolutionary
My boss just told me I could "feel free to work 12 hours a day" until my internship ends. Oh, there are so many things I could have responded with...but I didn't. Because I am a great friend of overtime. I just asked a veteran copy editor if overtime really meant time and a half. I'm leery of being offered anything so wonderful. Oh, wait. I'm working on a 100-page high school football package. Wonderful doesn't enter into the equation.
Important Rachel factoid: If you look up the definition of Che Guevara in the dictionary, you'll find a picture of me.
08-13-2002 5:23 PM - comments (0)
Today is the last day to send me your relationship woes. Please do!
08-13-2002 12:29 PM - comments (0)
mr. bojangles is really a girl
What is so wrong with me wanting a Pomerian to dress up in a tuxedo and top hat? And what is so wrong with wanting him to go everywhere with me in my purse with his little tongue sticking out?
08-13-2002 12:28 PM - comments (0)
Michael's mom is taking him to the Hill (the Italian area of St. Louis) today for lunch and to buy groceries. Besides it being a very nice thing for the two of them to do, she also always buys him lots of authentic Italian food, like toasted ravioli, hard salami and casari cheese. They have perfect timing; Michael will be making me yummy dinners in a week. I can't wait.
Also, is it weird that I'm thrilled he's part Sicilian? It's just...Italian men have the most beautiful skin.
08-13-2002 11:31 AM - comments (0)
I keep finding myself feeling out of breath because of stress. I'm worried about my friends, my last week of work (and I only have three days left), going back to Houston, going back to school, seeing Michael again, my gigantic credit card bill...I have been feeling heartsick. I think I need a massage and a bubble bath. And some movie theater popcorn.
I just heard a commercial for a local jewelers. Incidentally, this business was rated the best jewelers in Amarillo by the Globe-News readers' poll. The owner of the business starts by saying how grateful he is for the honor, "even if only three people voted for us." I didn't think the poll was exactly pulling in hundreds of votes, but really. And more importantly, why would he admit to it in a commercial? How pathetic is that? Also, how incredibly funny!
On the agenda today: fax end-of-internship to the Dow Jones Newspaper Fund, learn how to operate fax machine, get oil change and tires inflated (I'm paranoid about not having enough air in my tires), get Gallon of Water from Water Still (oh, how my friends will be so jealous of my huge water container!) and (argh) go to work. Yeah, that whole last paragraph was of interest only to me.
08-13-2002 9:41 AM - comments (0)
Melissa is finally back! Hooray! No more withdrawal! One-hundred percent more exclamation points!
08-11-2002 6:26 PM - comments (0)
Just when you started to think there was something more to me than eyeliner, soap operas and materialism...
I needed to go shopping. Some people spend hours hunched over a bar counter with a gin and tonic in one hand and a lit Kamel Red in the other. Some lie in bed and wait for divine inspiration. Some scribble furiously in their journals. I shop. I surround myself with starched fabrics and exorbitant price tags and aisles of pink plasticy kitsch. I think about reinventing myself in every store I'm in: I could become the girly bohemian in Buckle, the angry goth in Hot Topic or the boring conservative in Gap (I'm just mad they sold out of their little denim purses. Ignore me). I spend money I don't have, all for the feeling of having a bag in each hand.
Today it was a sexy red dress from Express and...gulp...a new comforter set. I have no need for new bedding, yet I spent almost an hour walking the aisles, unzipping the bags and touching the fabric. I ended up with a fabulous tropical island set, and envisioned my senior year in a resort-like bedroom. I imagined coral-colored candles, palm tree lamps and Hawaiian bobbing girls on my nightstand. It will be perfect. I will have the room everyone will want to drink mai tais in and relax. It will always smell like coconut and orchids. It will be an escape.
08-11-2002 3:59 PM - comments (0)
The other night, Michael said, "You fight like a wildcat." He said it after I had finally stopped ranting about how his boss better appreciate his hard work and talent. He said it because I might seem closed-off to people sometimes, but the people I do let into my life I protect with a ferocity I sometimes don't realize exists.
Sometime during the course of last year, I stopped believing my lies. I had assumed the role of "that girl who is talkative and outgoing and wears her heart on her sleeve." I believed that I was more open about myself than everyone else I knew, and that I had no walls built around me. What you saw was what you got, but there were times I knew the passionate, fiery girl who was living out loud was a cover for the empty, cold, emotionless girl inside.
I stopped believing those lies when I met Michael. Without saying a word, he made me want to shed that facade of a human being I clung to for dear life and start trusting the quiet voice inside me. I worried--I still do--that I wasn't able to feel things as deeply as other people. I worried that I was missing something vital to the completeness of a person; I was convinced I had no secrets to tell (besides the ones that proved I was an emotionless monster). I ignored the times when I sobbed, heaving chest filled with heartbreak for myself and those around me. I ignored the way I clenched up when someone I loved was being hurt or taken advantage of. I feared for my soul, and not in any religious sense, though even that might have served as some relief.
Little by little, I've let him in on the way I really am: the absurd sense of humor, the jealous rages, the ferocious protectiveness, the insane ideas about the world, the absolute adoration and devotion I feel for him and those close to me. I've come to understand that I don't need to hug someone a thousand times a day to show that I care. I don't need to divulge every secret I have at once to feel close to someone. I don't need to watch Oprah with a box of tissues to be sensitive. I feel all of those things on my own terms, but as long as I feel them, I don't mind.
When I think back on it, I realize that girl I was before was a crude caricature of myself. It took every insecurity and feeling I had and horribly exaggerated and misrepresented them. Akin to the kind of sentiment that drives people to close themselves off in order to avoid pain, I had created an equal but opposite defense. People would never have to chip away at me because they thought there was nothing to chip away at. They thought they knew how I felt the second I walked into a room, and that was why my plan was so perfect (and so utterly self-destructive). There was no chance for a weepy intervention. There was no chance for salvation.
I'm starting to feel guilty because I feel like I'm revealing too much and expecting the odd juxtaposition of total strangers and people I've known my whole life to wade through my burgeoning self-awareness. Talking about these things makes me feel drained and uncomfortable, and I imagine it has a similar effect on other people.
(I am a wildcat.)
08-11-2002 12:24 PM - comments (0)
I'm trying to think of something--anything--to keep my mind off of today, but I can't escape the fact that today was one of thousands of days just like it, all made up of simple truths about life that we never really accept: bad things happen to good people; bad people are never brought to justice; in fact, justice might not even exist. Yet we go on, hoping that these truths will be disproven with just enough time, sentiment and prayer.
But they persist, even if we are too good to acknowledge them. If we allowed the cynicism to creep into our lives, we would gain a more accurate sense of reality. Maybe we wouldn't be so disheartened and angry when everything falls apart, because we would know that everything does have to fall apart eventually. But that clearer vision comes at a price that I cannot afford to pay.
08-11-2002 1:25 AM - comments (0)
In the slipstream
of thoughtless thoughts
the light of all that's good,
the light of all that's true.
To the fringes gladly I walk unadorned
with gods and their creations
with filth and disease.
Porcelina, she waits for me there
with seashells hissing lullabies
and whispers fathomed deep inside
my own hidden thoughts and alibis,
my secret thoughts come alive.
Without a care in this whole world,
without a care in this life.
It's what you take that makes it right
And in my mind I'm everyone.
-The Smashing Pumpkins
08-10-2002 10:44 PM - comments (0)
The very perfect album for summer and early fall is Ash's Free All Angels. I know it's been out for a long time, and I also know I should have bought it when it was first released ("Goldfinger" is one of my very favorite songs). But I have it now, and it's perfect. It's the kind of record that you can listen to once and the songs are so catchy that you can sing along the next time you hear it. I love that.
In related news, I have changed my AIM screen name to red cherry bomb. Update accordingly, you!
listening to: "Walking Barefoot" - Ash
08-10-2002 1:07 PM - comments (0)
I was driving on the freeway, a light rain covering my windshield, Radiohead filling my car. Two shiny black motorcycles did figure eights in front of me, the helmetless bikers declaring their obtuse bravery while I sat silently naive in my air-conditioned compact car, quietly extolling the virtues of the right lane. I was mesmerized by the grace and effortlessness of their risk-taking, wishing for a small second I could abandon my upper middle-class roots and join their buccaneer mission, laughing in the face of danger and mocking small-minded America with every growl of the engine.
Without any notice, the bikers veered off onto an exit modestly marked "Julian Blvd." I stayed in my comfortable (but now suffocating) slow lane, watching them do the unthinkable. They left the highway--the freeway--for a small stupid street in a small stupid town, and I can't tell you how disappointed and empty it made me feel.
08-10-2002 12:18 AM - comments (0)
How about those Cardinals? (tee hee)
08-09-2002 7:22 PM - comments (0)
I know that admitting this is going to be certain suicide. But if Harry Potter fans can rise up and be proud of liking books meant for (geeky!) children, I can be proud of liking a book meant for overemotional, in-touch-with-their-feelings women. Yes, I have succumbed to the intrigue and estrogen fest that is The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. I bought it to pass the time during downtime at work (my current read, Metamorphosis, deserves more of my time and concentration), but I can honestly say it's a really, really good book. It's taken me nearly a month to get through half of it, not because I'm a slow reader (I usually devour books in a day or two), but because this book in particular needs to be digested in parts; it's a lot of complex, weepy family issues to be swallowed at once.
If you can ignore the blatant sentimentality Ya-Ya so happily drowns in, you'll find that the characters are well-developed and the language and imagery is rich with emotion and description. It makes me want to be a 15-year-old girl in the bayous of Louisiana with three of my best girlfriends. It makes me wish that my best friends and I had grown up together and slept over and shared every secret and thought. I wonder why we didn't.
08-09-2002 5:42 PM - comments (0)
There's a guy on the sports desk who epitomizes "blowhard." I can't really offer a definition of the term, but I remember my parents using it when I was a kid, and I remember the kind of people they used it to describe. Think someone who is very full of hot air and ludicrous tales of his superiority and such. At the beginning of my internship, a bunch of us would go to a local bar after our shift, and this guy would grace us with stories of his amazing life, specifically stories that took place in Florida. He went to the University of Florida, mind you, and I suppose his days spent there must have had a lasting impression on him, for whenever anyone brings up an event that occurred in any state other than Florida, he'll respond with, "I can top that. This one time in Florida..."
My boss leaned toward me at the bar the first night we all went out and whispered, "Hey. Next time he comes back from playing pool, work Florida into the conversation. He is totally obsessed with Florida." So the guy came back to the table, and I casually asked, "Did you play much pool when you lived in Florida?" He didn't bat an eye. "Some of the very best pool is played in Florida," he said. "That's where I learned. They play a lot differently there, a lot more professionally (to which I thought, "Professional pool? You have to be kidding me)." Eyeing my near-empty vodka sour, he added, "People can hold their alcohol a lot better there too." I almost spit out my drink, I was laughing so hard. Of course, he had no idea what I was laughing at, but everyone else at the table did.
Every now and them, I'll bait him, telling him stories about my barracuda encounter ("Oh yeah? I was swimming in the Keys in 12-foot water when I saw a 5-foot tiger shark dart by. He was darting by because right behind him was a school of dolphins. They're deadlier than sharks, you know. And I wasn't even scared."), talking about how cool Missouri is, etc. The funny thing is, he doesn't bother me. Not one bit. People like that normally make me want to scream and kick and bite, but this guy is a refreshing change from the standard personality-less, contrived person we all know. He doesn't giggle at everything anyone says, he doesn't say things just to please people, and he's 26 years old and unafraid to be himself. Just because "himself" is something most people are disgusted by doesn't mean anything. He adds diversion and interest to my day, and I am grateful for it.
08-09-2002 2:40 PM - comments (0)
I had trouble getting out of bed this morning. To coerce myself to get up, I started softly singing to myself: "Wake up, little Rachel, wake up." It's what my dad used to sing to me every morning to get me up for school, even when I was in high school. I'd groan and yell and cover my head with a blanket to shield my eyes from the blinding overhead light. The more I resisted getting up, the more inane lyrics he'd add.
So my father did this same annoying, ridiculous thing every single day for nearly six years. There's something to be said for someone who sacrifices his kids liking him in the morning just so they won't miss the bus.
listening to: "Love My Way" - Psychedelic Furs
08-09-2002 12:43 PM - comments (0)
there once was a boy from nantucket
Michael and I were making up limericks last night (okay, so we're not the most normal couple in the world) and having a very good time being silly. I think limerick-writing is a lost art form, and I'm talking about more than the "There once was a boy from Nantucket" and "I once knew a girl from China." I'm partial to haiku and erotic French free verse myself, but I started writing a few limericks today, and it is quite fun and really passes the time.
I e-mailed this one to Michael tonight, but I liked it too much to keep it a secret:
There once was a boy named Garbanzo
His favorite muppet was Gonzo
He lived in a box
And wore dirty sox
And he loved his monkey named Bonzo
I know "sox" is spelled wrong, but I'm being held captive on the sports desk, and my captors won't let me change it. Also, it's a fun spelling, and I have decided to spell it like that from now until eternity.
Okay, now your turn!
listening to: "Worst Comes to Worst" - Bats and Mice
08-08-2002 8:16 PM - comments (0)
There are moments when I know for sure that journalism is the right career for me: when my heart is pounding, waiting for that one crucial story to run; when I can feel my adrenaline pulse through my hands and heart when there are five minutes to press time; when the first newspapers come up from the press, filling the room with the damp, grainy smell of fresh newsprint. It is during these moments when I can shrug aside my doubts about my ability, interest and patience for this job. A few tiny moments, making up not 5% of the entire time I spend working, make this whole headache-inducing, stress-raising, carpal tunnel syndrome-causing, ridiculous, infuriating, God-forsaken job worth it.
But God, do those moments make me feel absolutely alive.
listening to: "Don't Know Why" - Norah Jones
08-08-2002 7:39 PM - comments (0)
Oh, they have got to be kidding. Oil of Olay has a new product line called...sigh...Ohm. It's "holistic beauty from head to soul." Dammit, people, showering should not be a religious experience! There should be no soul-cleansing done with a $2.99 bar of soap!
listening to: "Porpoise Song" - The Monkees
08-08-2002 12:11 PM - comments (0)
healthy would have been playing cards
I'd like to respond to something I read today on atarigirl. Though I generally agree with everything Cait has to say (at one gushing moment, I told her we must have been twins separated at birth), I find myself in disagreement today. I'm fairly sure she won't mind having someone present an opposing opinion, because she's not one of those "all my friends and fellow webloggers have to agree with me and bow to me and generally be my backbone" weblogs. And there are plenty out there.
David Westerfield is on trial for kidnapping, raping and murdering a 7-year-old girl named Danielle Van Dam. There is little doubt in my mind that he is guilty, though as Cait points out, there's a small document called the Bill of Rights we have to abide by to ensure a fair trial. The defense is playing up Samantha's parents' drug use and promiscuous behavior (no matter how you cut it, swapping wives is promiscuous. It may very well be a person's right to engage in such behavior, but it is also the public's right to have opinions about it). Though it may be distasteful and far from relevant to the case at hand, it makes sense that the defense would use it to get their guy off. What most jurors would find as "immoral behavior" (though perhaps some of us with more enlightened views wouldn't) is a defense team's dream to be able to psn't "hurting anyone (they weren't), breaking any laws (they weren't), or putting anyones life in danger (they weren't)." What they were doing was in fact hurting their daughter: from reports I was reading off the Associated Press wire last night, they would often engage in these behaviors (smoking pot, having sex with other people) in front of their daughter. No 7-year-old should have to see her parents having sex with people other than each other (and even that's questionable), and I don't think getting high in front of a kid and subjecting her to secondhand marijuana smoke when she's not physically developed is appropriate. Possession of marijuana is against the law, additionally. Lastly, even though it is Westerfield's fault (presumably) that Danielle is dead, the parents, by letting adult males in and out of their house, were not maintaining a very safe atmosphere for their child to grow up in.
If we are all responsible for our own behavior, we must allow for the fact that we have the ability to protect those around us to a certain extent. Parents more than anyone have a grave responsibility: to protect the lives of their children at any cost. By opening their house to people so often and in such an unusual manner, they made Danielle more vulnerable to such heinous crimes as kidnapping and murder. This clearly is far from the same thing as committing the acts themselves, but I believe they could have played a larger role in reducing the likelihood of the crimes.
When you decide to bring a child into the world, engaging in the kind of behavior the Van Dams did is simply unacceptable. People have to give up their selfishness when they are responsible for another human life. Having sex with multiple partners in the house where your child resides is selfish, irresponsible and frankly, damn immature. Like Cait, I don't think swapping wives is something I should be allowed to judge, provided doing so doesn't hurt anyone. It is hurting someone--practically spitting on her innocence--to be doing such a thing in front of or in close proximity to a child. I feel the same way about marijuana use. Though Cait deems those "healthy" behaviors (at least the former), I believe "healthy" for parents is to spend quality time with their kids, not explore other people's bodies. When you have a child, you need to put your needs and wants after those of your child. If you cannot find it in yourself to do that, do us all a favor and don't have kids. Then you can have all the sex and drug-induced fun you want. You won't hear an argument from me.
None of that changes my opinions that Westerfield, once proven guilty, should receive the death penalty, and that no parent should ever have to deal with the death, especially the murder, of a child. However, it is important to realize that there are many things that fall in between life and death and black and white. Maybe Danielle's death was unpreventable. None of us will ever know for sure. But the seven years she was able to live should not have been marred by her parents' blatant selfishness and irresponsible behavior.
08-08-2002 11:07 AM - comments (0)
Bad news for Aaron: the actor who played Timmy from Passions died yesterday. In a strange turn of events, he died the same day his character on the show did, and from the same ailment.
You're probably wondering why someone like Aaron, who is quickly moving the ranks in the record industry, would care. Well, Aaron had a long-time obsession with the little guy. He even got his autograph. And I realize as well as you do that what I just said failed to sufficiently answer the question at hand. (I've been trying to figure that guy out since we were dating five years ago, and I'm still at a loss. But he's one of the few ex-boyfriends I have that I don't hesitate in calling a good friend, and I am immensely proud of what he's achieved in a few short years.)
08-07-2002 11:06 PM - comments (0)
My two favorite bands of the moment are Haven and Pretty Girls Make Graves. If you're a Remy Zero fan (ahem), you will adore Haven. If you kick ass, you'll adore Pretty Girls Make Graves. That's not to say my favorite Remy Zero fan doesn't kick ass. She does so in that very delicate, blonde, petite way. Which is to say she could beat you at Super Mario Kart, sucka.
08-07-2002 10:47 PM - comments (0)
I'm getting many responses to my relationship woe query, and they're all very good and more importantly, they all make me want to pull my hair and gnash my teeth. Thanks to everyone who's responded.
However, I have one complaint: If you consider yourself to be my friend, you have no excuse not to e-mail me with a woe. If complete strangers can open themselves up to me, I expect the same from you :)
The polls are open until Tuesday, August 13. I am resigned to the fact that I will never understand how that random number generator ended up in my head.
08-07-2002 7:37 PM - comments (0)
The next person who says "FYI" is going to get beaten to a bloody pulp. BY ME.
08-07-2002 4:34 PM - comments (0)
Dear World,
Michael and I have decided we do not need you anymore. We are going to hire the smartest scientists you have and have them dig out a spaceship from the earth. Specifically, they will cut along the borders of America, making sure to include some of the earth's crust, which will be the bottom of the spaceship. The scientists will do this for us because we have led them to believe we are taking them with us. It is a hoax, though.
The scientists will also invent and design servant robots, who will be farmers and drivers and cooks and janitors. At first I worried that it would make the robots sad to have to pick up our trash, but Michael pointed out that the robots would be programmed to love picking up trash more than anything. So they will come up to us while we are eating a Mr. Goodbar and will have a sad look on their faces. Then we will throw the wrapper on the ground and watch the robots smile and laugh. Silly robots!
On the bottom of our ship will be the words, "So long, suckas!", and if that doesn't get the point across, we will also paint the words, "Suck it!" in every language known to man. Also, Michael thinks we should add a middle finger, but I think that would be a little mean. After all, once we're floating merrily in space in our America-shaped spaceship (which I also reminded Michael should have a plexiglass dome, to keep out unwanted meteors), we won't have to worry about them anymore.
I think we should be allowed to bring a few of our closest friends and family, but they will probably have to live in the Wyoming part of the ship, while we will be in Florida. We will visit occasionally and laugh about life and the spaceship, and then probably throw some trash on the ground for the robots.
Thank you for 21 or so interesting years.
Suck it,
Rachel and Michael
08-07-2002 10:32 AM - comments (0)
I found my work badge, which I had been missing for a week, and ten minutes later I mysteriously dropped the remote control into the recesses of my sofa and now can't find it. It's dead to me.
This is somehow very representative of my life.
listening to: "Silver Lining" - Beulah
08-06-2002 1:04 PM - comments (0)
-This summer, four (different!) guys have liked me. This is not an attempt at bragging on my part; boys only like me when I have a boyfriend. It's proven. Why, when I am single and miserable, do these same boys not like me?
-I might have an affinity for underwear, but I will never, ever like thongs. I believe every girl should own a pair, preferably in a hideous, loud zebra print (try Trashy or Frederick's of Hollywood for such scandalous underthings). But I like underwear that is comfortable, so it's good old cotton/rayon blend for me. Unfortunately, the fun underwear is rarely made in cotton, but rather uncomfortable polyester, silk, etc. Fear no more; Victoria's Secret now makes a very sexy cotton push-up bra in all sizes. It's amazingly comfortable, and it's only $29.50. It's even better than the Body by Victoria collection, which is my personal favorite.
-I wonder why people use cliches so often in conversation. Is it to put people at ease? Is it because we are all familiar with them, and they create a common point of reference? Is it because people are too lazy to converse without them? When the Globe-News managing editor was talking during a copy editors meeting, he used ten of them, ranging from, "We're behind the eight ball" to "We're not out of the woods yet." It was driving me crazy that a man who has made a career out of words couldn't avoid being trite.
-I've been dying to put someone under citizens' arrest.
-All I can say is, wow, I've been really silly.
listening to: "All Over the World" - Pixies
08-06-2002 12:17 PM - comments (0)
Michael and I are so lame. We decided to get Taco Bell and eat it together while on the phone. I guess it makes us feel closer. But it's only two weeks and then we can indulge in Grilled Stuft Burritos and chalupas together for real.
08-05-2002 10:01 PM - comments (0)
tell the indie rockers to slow down
One of my very big fears is being overwhelmed. It's why I prefer shopping on a quiet Tuesday afternoon than a busy Saturday. If there are too many things for me to look at, I get dizzy and I feel like I need to hurry up and buy something. I get that "I'm missing out on all there is to see and do here" feeling, which I can't stand.
It's also why, even though I couldn't live without music, I will never be one of the cool indie kids. There is just too much music out there for me to try, experience or consume. I subscribe to CMJ, because it's a lot less intimidating to learn about new music from a magazine than to go into an independent record store and browse through the racks. CMJ offers quick summaries of new music, and best of all, tells you what other bands sound like the one they're reviewing. But I was reading it today and once again felt that awful feeling of being overwhelmed. There are too many bands that sound like something I'd like; I will never get a chance to listen to them all. By the time I do, they'll probably have broken up and formed even cooler bands. I'll always be about a year behind the times.
And then I want to hit myself (and the CMJ editors), because good music shouldn't have an expiration date. If it's really as great as the critics say, it will still be good when I get around to checking it out. So, Tiara and Cousteau, see you next August.
listening to: "Speakers Push The Air" - Pretty Girls Make Graves
08-05-2002 8:50 PM - comments (0)
Well, the Globe-News has finally gone mad. They want me to design the sports cover today. As Mike, my favorite bar-going older guy with a thick drawl, was talking about the items on the budget I had to get in, I could only hear, "We're entrusting you with a very big responsibility. You know nothing about sports. Don't those two contradictory statements make you nervous?" followed by maniacal laughter.
Lucky for me, the main article on the cover is a feature on midnight football practice, more commonly known in West Texas as "midnight madness." Lots of high school boys running laps, sweating excessively and throwing up, all in the name of Texas football. I feel like the missing character from Varsity Blues when I read these stories. I say "lucky," because they expect me to come up with a nice features layout (read: lots of pictures, clever headlines and glorious white space).
Hey! Radiohead guy talked to me during our office "picnic" (by that I mean, our picnic in the office, where a fellow sports copy editor and I discovered we both only like the "fried" from fried chicken). He took a Pepsi from a 12-pack I had brought to make me feel better (no one would touch it. Coke snobs!). I clammed up and laughed too loudly. I am failing mi serably at my mission.
08-05-2002 5:12 PM - comments (0)
the right answers to your romantic queries
My jaw nearly dropped when I read Cait's now second-most recent post about jealousy, trust and relationships as a whole. Nearly everything she says echoes what I've been going through and worrying about recently. I think the world is sort of in crazy relationship-analyzing mode right now, but I for one am glad for the discussion. Alex and I have had an e-mail discussion along those lines; Chris wants to discover the missing link between boys and girls and Melissa is convinced she's living a few chapters out of Bridget Jones's Diary.
And I'm sure we're not the only ones who are confused. In another pathetic attempt to make my site more interactive, I'd like for every single one of you (I don't care if I don't know you) to send me a relationship woe. It could be about how girls only want bad boys, how boys say they'll call but don't, how difficult it is to hold onto a perfect girlfriend/boyfriend, how people with IQs above 100 are impossible to find, how Michael likes the Cardinals more than he likes me...um, I mean...some guys like sports too much? Whatever it is, I'm interested. I'll post them next week. If you'd like it to be anonymous, just tell me.
listening to: "Butterflies" - Michael Jackson
08-04-2002 8:05 PM - comments (1)
i saw the light (and it bothered my eyes)
I have determined that the one thing standing between me and total, unobscured hipness is my love for Todd Rundgren. Lord help me. I love his sexy bossanova stylings. I love his high-but-still-manly voice (in some cultures, they call it "tenor"). I want "Can We Still Be Friends?" played at my funeral. Maybe psychotherapy would help.
listening to: "I Saw the Light" - Todd Rundgren
08-04-2002 8:04 PM - comments (0)
"This dress exacerbates the genetic betrayal that is my legacy." - Janeane Garofalo's character, Heather, from Romy and Michele's High School Reunion
Quite possibly my favorite quote from a movie ever. I plan on using it whenever I try things on, annoying people who like the movie and confusing and then annoying people who don't recognize the reference.
listening to: "You Shook Me (All Night Long)" - ACDC
08-04-2002 7:34 PM - comments (0)
let the boy be a paperback writer!
It's hard for me to work with lots of noise, but strangely, I work much better when listening to music. I leave Tool's Aenima at home, don't worry; I opt for Radiohead, Mogwai and more recently the Beatles when I'm paginating.
But it does not help my concentration one bit when the song "Paperback Writer" comes on:
"Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book?
It took me years to write, will you take a look?
Based on a novel by a man named Lear
And I need a job, so I want to be a paperback writer,
Paperback writer
It's the dirty story of a dirty man
And his clinging wife doesn't understand.
His son is working for the Daily Mail,
It's a steady job but he wants to be a paperback writer,
Paperback writer
Paperback writer
It's a thousand pages, give or take a few,
I'll be writing more in a week or two.
I can make it longer if you like the style,
I can change it round and I want to be a paperback writer,
Paperback writer
If you really like it you can have the rights,
It could make a million for you overnight.
If you must return it, you can send it here
But I need a break and I want to be a paperback writer,
Paperback writer
Paperback writer
Paperback writer
Paperback writer
Paperback writer
Paperback writer."
You get the idea. I just want to whine, "Let the boy write a paperback. Can't you see he wants to be a paperback writer? For the love of God! Just let him bathe your grandmother! WHAT KIND OF MONSTER ARE YOU?" like Chris Farley from the Herlihy Boy SNL sketches. Also, it is fun to sing "Paperback WRI-TER! Paperback WRI-TER!" to myself.
I have just mastered the backward delete key! Where is my checklist when I need it?
08-03-2002 5:44 PM - comments (0)
It's finally time for me to respond to all of the insanity going on over at the Chris Hill Festival. First, I was going to say something about his Sex and the City complaints and then decided I would just get worked up over nothi...wait, I will respond to that. Sex and the City isn't about women being hypocritical. In an ideal world, both men and women would not have promiscuous sex and instead would develop meaningful relationships with each other. Clearly, men are more guilty of wanting sex before relationships. A collective "shut up" to all of you boys who are scrunching your faces up right now and about to whine. I know there are exceptions. There always are.
The way I see it, there are two solutions to this sexual inequity:
-Men learn to want sex less and learn to want relationships more
-Women learn to want sex more and not feel guilty about it
I wonder which is more plausible? Oh, right. The latter, explaining why a show such as Sex and the City is absolutely necessary for women to rightfully start seeing themselves in a sexual light. Sure, it's extreme. If you want to force any kind of social change, you really do need to utilize extremities as much as possible. Girls see this show, with its flashy, bold (and intelligent) characters, and begin to emulate their confidence, not their behavior. I highly doubt girls have learned to be more casual about their relationships, but I am almost certain they are learning that it's okay to like sex, which I don't need to tell anyone twice is a very good, healthy thing. End particular transmission.
I have some advice for you, Chris. Girls do like "bad boys." Why?
-Girls tend to have low self-esteem during adolescence/young adulthood. If a "bad boy" takes interest in one such girl, it makes her feel as if she's special because a jerk is doing something out of character just for her. Or the opposite is possible: she might want someone who treats her badly to justify her low self-esteem
-Bad boys flirt much better
-There's a part of every girl (albeit small in some) that likes the bad punk boy--black spiky hair, tattoos, good taste in music, an attitude
The good news is that we all get over those inclinations once we hit a certain level of maturity. So cut us some slack, okay?
One last thing: instead of those myriad requirements you set up for your future girlfriend, you need only ask for one: She must like the same kind of music that you do. End of story. That alone can determine if she is thoughtful, interesting, and your kind of person. (Someone who is also open to new kinds of music will work as well). That was the mistake, it sounds like, with your most recent girlfriend. Think about it--why do you like the kind of music you do? Because it touches you in some way. It's meaningful, it's connected to you and it makes you happy. That's how the relationship with your girlfriend should be, right?
08-03-2002 11:09 AM - comments (0)
at least 15 minutes of entertainment
Lots of girly coos to Michael (from me) for updating my currently and links pages. I'll try to update the currently page weekly from now on. Otherwise it's just lame irony.
I have selected what I believe to be the very finest weblogs and organized them alphabetically, so as not to hurt anyone's feelings. Really, they're the only things keeping me from putting a gun to my head during downtime at the paper.
08-02-2002 10:34 PM - comments (0)
My newest fascination is with bottled water, specifically of the sparkling variety. I found some in a really yummy black cherry flavor at Albertson's, the most outrageously overpriced grocery store in the world. But the water is very good and very cheap. I like leaving the top off for an hour and flattening it (flattening? You know what I mean? Trying to eliminate the carbonation?).
I remember being disgusted by sparkling water as a kid. My dad used to make seltzer, I think, in very cold green bottles. He would let me have the top from the bottle when he was done making it. I seem to remember really wanting that top for some reason. Maybe we were an elf family when I was a kid. It seems like an elf kind of thing to do.
08-02-2002 9:33 PM - comments (0)
Sometimes the importance of my job hits me very suddenly. I know it sounds remarkably nonglamorous to be a copy editor. But I am a gatekeeper of information (or some such term used frequently in my Principles of American Journalism class). I scour the wire, searching for articles that are important, informative and interesting and then design pages with a hierarchy of importance that I alone determine. Sure, I work for a fairly small paper. But that small paper has a circulation of over 200,000. That means there are a lot of people getting their information from me every day, and I could be completely misguiding them because my news judgment, though commendable for a mere 21-year-old, could be askew at any given moment.
Not only do copy editors have to be able to gauge the importance of a story for the day it breaks, but we have to possess a goodly amount of forward thinking. We have to, in essence, predict whether that piece of news will matter to the average American a week, a month, a year, even a decade later. It's very humbling to fully realize the gravity of my responsibility; I no longer make decisions for myself, but for the good of America; nay, freedom of speech and the very rights our forefathers fought and died for!
Then again, maybe I should just go back to laying out the baseball page and praying the West Coast games don't end before press time so I can go home and watch Howard Stern. I hear he's got midgets on tonight. Maybe I'll pick up a burrito on my way home. Mmmm. Burritos.
08-02-2002 3:49 PM - comments (0)
I know I'm going to have a good day when I smell nice. I realize it's not some sexy scent I give off naturally, although sometimes I think my pheromones are working overtime. It's just Rush, which is the closest thing in the world to being just like me (strange how I define myself in terms of perfume). I love how it eminates off my clothes at work, strong enough so people compliment me but subtle enough so boys don't pinch their noses closed.
There has to be a sexier word than "smell." Help!
08-02-2002 1:29 AM - comments (0)
the problem with good dietary habits
It would really figure that as soon as I had gotten the bad part of my Burger King double cheeseburger out of the way, I wasn't hungry enough for the good part.
See, I eat cheeseburgers in a very precise way: around the outside so all that's left is the good part of the hamburger and lots of cheese (and very little bun. Though I realize it's "necessary" to the existence of a cheeseburger, I could do without it).
The good news is that my stomach must have shrunk. How else can this phenonenom be explained? It has been a long time since fast food has resided in my stomach. MUST FINISH VALUE MEAL.
08-01-2002 5:47 PM - comments (0)
Liquid lipstick in Sugar Poppy is better than Jesus!
listening to: "Hate to Say I Told You So" - The Hives
08-01-2002 12:56 PM - comments (0)
People creeped out by the newest Pampers commercial can breathe a sigh of relief. Instead of the announcer describing a little boy who idolizes his big brother "right down to his underwear," she much more normally explains that the little boy just wants to have underwear like his big brother. That I can handle. People should not be idolizing anyone right down to their underwear, really.
listening to: "They Say Vision" - Res
08-01-2002 12:10 PM - comments (0)
I love talking to Michael until we are both falling asleep on the phone. I find it very comforting to know we can have a three-hour long conversation and hang up sleepy and content.
Only 19 more days!
listening to: "The Game of Who Needs Who the Worst" - Cursive