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Out of boredom or avoidance or because I thought it would help me look for things quicker (and hey, maybe one or two of you out there would like to look for my pretentious twat quotes or whatnot) or just because I am happy to chew normal food again, I've started putting tags on entries. Only to realize what a time-consuming process it is, going through all these entries (back to...2004, was it? Christ in a Coma!) and slapping these little cocksuckers on everything.

At least the rain has subsided, and it's sunny right now.

ETA: The "squeezing the bear" tag is basically for anything that challenges my sanity. I think "squeezing the bear" has become my "serenity now." (Cf. Seinfeld.)
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PSA: My fellow Americans, remember to get out and VOTE today! As for the rest of you, please try not to ridicule us too much. Okay, go ahead and ridicule us; I know you want to.

Reading: Lately I've been reading Alain de Botton's The Art of Travel. Kind of ironic given that (1) I don't travel that much, and (2) do Botton's book about Proust has the distinct feature of being one of those books that I derived not a goddamn thing from except vague pleasure--a literary macaroon. Only time will tell if this book leaves a similar impression, but so far it's leaving a good taste in my mouth. It's like a caramel fudge brownie. Mmmm, brownies. What was I saying?

Anyway, one of the chapters in The Art of Travel is about Flaubert's famous trip to Egypt (contrasted with the author's more pedestrian trip to Amsterdam), and it's chock full of wonderfully melodramatic quotes from the great francophobe: "At the end of the day, shit. With that mighty word, you can console yourself for all human miseries, so I enjoy repeating it: shit, shit." Flaubert might have got on swimmingly with Al Swearengen. And: "My life, which in my dreams is so beautiful, so poetic, so vast, so filled with love, will turn out to be like everyone else's: monotonous, sensible, stupid." Sucks to be Flaubert, you know?
But he articulates a dilemma, a state of being, that is somewhat typical for writers: These ideas, images, thoughts that share the provenance of the mind always seems so much more alluring and attractive than real life, and despite our best efforts it's hard to import those wonderful things in our brains to either life or the written page.

Which leads me to...

NanNoBlowsMo: So far this seems to be a disaster. All I have is a draft that needed serious gutting, an underfed notebook of scribbled scenes and phrases and titles, and the insane idea of inserting a mini-operetta in the middle of it all. [Flaubert to his lover: "What stops me from taking myself seriously, even though I'm essentially a serious person, is that I find myself extremely ridiculous..."]

I'm not giving up, but I'm not feeling very encouraged either. Admittedly, it's my own fault and I haven't been managing time very well. I've been caught up in "the busy dance of things that pass away."--in a chapter on Wordsworth and the Lake District, de Botton also scares up some more good quotes from that poet. It made me go back and quickly reread Wordsworth's "Tintern Abbey":

And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought,
With many recognitions dim and faint,
And somewhat of a sad perplexity,
The picture of the mind revives again:
While here I stand, not only with the sense
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts
That in this moment there is life and food
For future years.


Maybe I just need to get my Wordsworth on.
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1. I have New Order's "Age of Consent" stuck in my head because of that damn Marie Antoinette movie. Sofia Coppola: Idiot Savant! I can't decide if this movie will be thought-provoking (Lost in Translation) or just plain dumb (Godfather III: "Dad?"). Probably the latter because I keep laughing through the previews. Run, Kirsten, Run!

2. For your consideration: The gayest man ever. Well, you really have to see him in action; with every pixie-ish move, every glide across some poor lumpen fool's shag rug, every rolling, regal hand gesture used to denote how he will "open the space up," his very presence is a tidal wave of gayness. Plus, can't you see him sitting around on his very special couch with his dachshunds while watching Dark Victory?

3. Happy October brrrthday to [livejournal.com profile] badtyler! Hugs and kisses and good vibes.

4. LJ likes to tell me things. Like one time LJ told me that 9/11 is a conspiracy by the Jews and that Dennis Hastert is a woman in drag. No, really, it usually tells me that "You can have a default icon, you fucking fool" (yes, LJ, I know that) or "You can create a poll, you cretinous bag of bile."

A poll!

Goodness, we can ferret out all sorts of particulars on our lj friends that way! As it is a very important time of year--no, dears, not Election Time, but fall, the time when we put away our shorts and summer wear, We (royal we) here at holyinnocentia are conducting our first ever poll because Our Consort hath declared that corduroy pants are the most horrible fashion faux pas this side of plaid and Our Levi Corduroy Jeans in a lovely shade of paper bag should be burned, even though We (royal we) are quite fond of them. So here's our poll, and let's see if I can do the damn thing right.

[Poll #846045]
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Here's the thing: Someone gives you a letter, and you list ten things that begin with that letter and why they are important to you, and then other people leave comments for you and you assign them letters and the circle of memes continues. Fun? Not fun? Well, [livejournal.com profile] bookgrrrl assigned me "R" largely because I whined like a little bitch not to get a hard letter but I'm still finding this hard anyway. So here goes.

1. Rome. I went there recently and while I didn't love it as much as Venice, the incredible weight of its history overwhelmed me, and there's so much to see and take in and it was all so lovely that I hope I get back there again someday.

2. Roxy Music. If I were a man, I'd like to be like Bryan Ferry: suave, ironic, impeccably dressed, and not afraid to wear eyeliner when Brian Eno tells me to.

3. Reading. Despite my undergraduate days, which nearly cured me of the habit of reading big dull books or even anything of remote importance, I still love to read and frequently I wish I had more time during each day to indulge.

4. Republicans. Do we really need to go into this? Do you really need to hear once again how I hate them all with the burning passion of a thousand million blinding suns and how I'd like to jam a hot poker up the ass of every single motherfucking idiot in the current administration? Or how for the past six years I have felt profoundly ashamed of being American BECAUSE OF THEM? (Well, okay, the Democrats' wussiness has not helped matters anyway.)

5. Reverberator. Title of a Henry James story and also I just like the word in all its manifestations: Reverberate, reverberations, reverb...("It's already five and she's reaching already!" "Or would you say...reverberating? [chuckle] I don't think she's got enough in the tank to make it for the rest of the game, Hank!")

6. Redrum. Teh Wife likes to do an imitation of that kid from The Shining: "Redrum!" Depending on my mood I either find it very cute and endearing or scary and disturbing.

7. Retro. Now that I am forty years old, I find this word sadly applicable to my entire state of being. Maybe I will come back in vogue amongst the young peoples, like Chucks have.

8. Rashomon. A great movie that has completely infected influenced my ideas about and ways of storytelling. In other words, I'm POV-happy.

9. Riesling. My favorite kind of white, although I've been on a Sancerre kick lately. But really, during the summer, there is nothing like a good German Riesling, liebling!

10. Retard. A terrible awful un-PC word from my childhood that, sadly, still haunts my vocabulary. Because I'm retarded like that.
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I am always surprised at the number of people on the subway ask me what time it is, even when my watch is not visible. I guess an old friend of mine was right when she said to me, so many years ago: "There are two types of people in the world--those who wear watches, and those who don't." I must look like a watch-wearer.

Secondly (not really a word, but I like its self-important lard-assness): I have been tagged to indulge in this meme: Ground Rules: The first player of this "game" starts with the topic "5 Guilty Pleasures" and people who get tagged need to write an LJ entry about their 5 Guilty Pleasures as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose the next 5 people to be tagged and list their names.

These are a few of my embarassing things... )

Thirrrrrdly: craigslist is useful, and craigslist is scary. For once on these things--in print versions, you used to see them all the time on the back of The Village Voice--I'd like to read one like this: "Cranky dyke on C train this morning...wearing gas station jacket...u smiled at me when I asked u what time. did u feel it liek i did?"

out of it

Dec. 31st, 2004 03:36 pm
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Geez louise, I've been remiss in looking over you, lovely flist! But I must say, from what little entries I've perused....mmmm-hmmm, lookin' good, babies.

I've had this wicked cold that's thrown me on my ass, so very little writing and thinking has been accomplished lately. Blah.

So this is just a quick note to wish everyone a Happy New Year! Perrier Jouet for everyone! May 2005 be good for us all.

holy-daze

Dec. 21st, 2004 07:17 pm
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The Good:

I'm off work for two weeks. The fun started yesterday...which was spent in wrapping presents and doing various sundry chores in preparation for the fact that I'll be away visiting family for the next coupla days. Which leads us to...

The Bad:

Not that I don't love my biological units. But I've spent the past two months being so stressed with work and preparing for the Joy That Is the Holiday Season that I realized...I DON'T LIKE CHRISTMAS ANYMORE. (And this is possibly just a long-winded variation upon Heather's riff that being a grown up sucks. Well, it's my lj and I'll cry if I want to.) I'm always the one put in the position of having to travel to visit other people, why the hell don't they come to see me? And traveling this time of year is hell on fucking earth. We have to leave the cat behind, and we have to leave our apartment unguarded. That makes me nervous. Not that I own a collection of Fabrege eggs or anything like that. (A friend is coming by at least every other day to check on le chat and to make sure no one has broken into our hovel and taken any of our mismatched china. Still. I'm neurotic.)

This bothers me because I like elements of winter. I like snow, I like hot chocolate, I like egg nog, I like fireplaces, and I look particularly fetching in turtleneck sweaters. I would like to enjoy the season. I suspect I would enjoy it more if everyone would leave me the hell alone and I didn't have to deal with shopping and with idiots. And with idiots who are shopping. And lo, we are at...

The Ugly:

Who else, what else could it be but...Time magazine's "man" of the year, George W. Bush. Fuck you, Time magazine. What the fuck were you thinking, you pathetic brainless fucks?

{Okay, so you knew it would be practically impossible for me to post an entry without some anti-bush rant.}

The Naughty and the Nice:

That would be all of you, my dear fabulous friends.

I hope you all have a very happy christmas/hanukah/solstice/kwaanza/festivus/whatevah!!!!
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So I've noticed at my pool there is a preponderance of Moby-Looking Motherfuckers. (Hereafter referred to as MLMs.) Meaning these puny little pale guys with shaved heads and patchy hair on their vulnerable, frail little concave chests. Now, we can't all look like Thorpie or Stephanie March or whatever, but the fact that there are so many at the pool is scarily intriguing to me. Are MLMs naturally drawn to swimming as a sport? Do they tend to congregate and/or live in my neighborhood? I haven't noticed a lot of them locally, at the coffee shop or the bookstore or the quasi-trendy stores or restaurants.

What I don't like about the MLMs is that they have attitude. They like to stand around after finishing a lap, hands on hips, as if it's the greatest fucking athletic achievement. They like to glare at people and sigh when they are too slow (like me)or unintentionally crowding the lane or whatever. Now, I don't know the real Moby, but I think, given his sweetly goofy ways, he would be a nicer dude in the pool. No posturing for Moby! As Christians should truly examine Jesus's life and words for moral guidance in their own lives, so should the MLMs look to Moby for proper pool etiquette. I mean, the man took a look that screams "child molester who lives in basement!" (I've always thought he should get a gig on SVU as a perp) and made it into something cool. That's truly an accomplishment.

discovery

Aug. 11th, 2004 03:29 pm
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It's quite impossible to read Henry James while listening to the Pixies.
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See July 30 for: Birkenstockosaurus!

Jesus, I have to get moving on these drabble requests...yikes.

Song Stuck in Head Dept.: The song they play in the trailer for the film Garden State. After assiduous searching, I've discovered it's by some group called Frou Frou! Oui oui!
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Sweeties, mama's gonna be gone for about a week. Going on vacay {as Ted Casablanca would call it} & spending quality time with the Girlfriend and all that. Try not to miss my vague mutterances and navel-gazing too much!
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Or, in other words, today's random observations:

1. Regardless of race, size, or social status, almost all people that I see publically picking their noses are men. This observation is based on approximately 20 years of riding public transportation in major Northeastern cities. Maybe they think if women can be gross enough to put on makeup while riding the bus or subway, it doesn't matter?

2. And speaking of men, I think there ought to be a law that if older men have manboobies, they should be wearing bras or some kinda support system so that when I swim at the pool in my health club I don't have to see them.

3. I love Katherine Whalen's voice (she sings/sung with the Squirrel Nut Zippers).

4. I love how creative spam headers are these days; they have a weird sort of poetry going on. This morning I had a message in my box entitled "eggplant maestro down 4821." Sometimes I get excited and wonder if I am getting sooper-sekrit messages from a spy agency. [Insert obligatory Alias or Get Smart joke here.] But no. It's just spam. Kind of like this entry....
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My sluggishness in posting another entry to this journal has been due to several factors, including the tragic realization that I have Lee Majors hair thanks to the silly bitch who cut my hair last month. At least it's not the goofy, older, look-at-my-half-assed perm Lee Majors hair. It's more like young Lee, like when he was in The Big Valley or whatever that show was with Barbara Stanwyck, or even when he was having a really good hair day on the Six-Million Dollar Man. There are days when I get ballsy and arrogant and think that I can lay claim to Steve McQueen hair, but I am really way too wussy for such an honor.

Anyway, I'm going to take a moment for pimpage: For those interested parties, I have a story up at [livejournal.com profile] svuficathon04. There should be a lot of great stories posted there too, so check it out.

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