Thursday, December 30, 2004


Recently ran into Jenrikay at the local military base. We have been in school together forever. Same grade school. Same high school. Same college. But despite how well we get along and like each other and can apparently talk for hours and such, we never hang out. We just read about what's happening in one another's lives via the miracle of weblogs. So I invited her for a birthday drink one we both return to SB. I stole the following survey thing from her blog. Answers supplied are my own.

10 random things about me:

  1. I feel like my fashion sense is inferior and invalid whenever I sell clothing to Buffalo Exchange because I know that over half of it will be rejected.
  2. I believe that conjunctions are the most misunderstood parts of the English language.
  3. I want to name all my pets after great writers. For instance, I would like to own a cat named Geoffrey Chaucer and a bloodhound named Samuel Leghorn Clemmens, sometimes to be called Mark Twain.
  4. I am strangely fascinated by carnies.
  5. I not so secretly long to be bohemian.
  6. I strip for Cassie when I get home late from work.
  7. When I attend movies at the Isla Vista theatre, I try to go in costume as much as humanly possible. Examples: I wore my faire garb to LOTR to be Rosie Cotton. I dressed as a pirate for Pirates of the Carribean. I went as Alex to a showing of A Clockwork Orange. And so on.
  8. I think D.H. Lawrence is the sexiest writer EVER.
  9. I try to associate myself with talented people so that I may feed of their creative glory.
  10. I really, really vehemently loathe mushrooms and peppers.

9 places I’ve visited:

  1. Sidney, Adelaide & the Blue Mountains, Australia
  2. Edinburg & Glasgow, Scotland
  3. Tijuana, Mexico
  4. London, England
  5. various cities (small and large) in Italy
  6. New York, New York
  7. Anchorage, Alaska
  8. the unfortunate state of Missouri
  9. Maui and Ouahu, Hawaii

8 things I wanna do before I die:

  1. Write a novel. It doesn't have to be good.
  2. Do the costume design for a feature-length motion picture.
  3. Bear and rear gorgeous and intelligent children and love them ceaselessly.
  4. Swim with dolphins.
  5. Live a life of the mind.
  6. Win a literary prize of some kind.
  7. Take a road trip through California or the British Isles, visiting the places famous writers once lived.
  8. Ride in a hot air baloon over the Napa Valley.

7 ways for a guy to win my heart:

  1. Be interesting.
  2. Read me poetry.
  3. Like both the cinema and the theatre.
  4. Sing to me.
  5. Know when to be silly and when to be serious.
  6. Be a good cuddler.
  7. Respect me.

6 things I believe in:

  1. The beauty of dreams.
  2. That we all must follow knowledge like a sinking star, beyond the utmost bounds of human thought.
  3. The power of art to change individuals, if not the world.
  4. Soulmates.
  5. Reincarnation.
  6. Above all things, I believe in love.

5 things I’m afraid of:

  1. Never having a child.
  2. Becoming like my mother.
  3. Growing old.
  4. Failure.
  5. Settling for less.

4 of my favorite things in my bedroom:

  1. My Academy Award. (Given to me by my parents on closing night of my last high school play.)
  2. My collection of quills.
  3. The picture that Bryna took of Marcus and I at a picnic some years ago.
  4. My castanets from Spain.

3 things I do everyday:

  1. Spend more time than I should on the internet.
  2. Mention some random peice of trivia to someone regarding a movie or book.
  3. Shower.

2 things I’ve been thinking about constantly lately:

  1. That the monstrous earthquake and ensuing tsunamis that ravaged Southeast Asia might be Earth's way of letting us know how burdened she is by the severe overpopulation of this planet.
  2. My impending tattoo.

1 Person I want to see right now: Marcus.

Tuesday, December 28, 2004

Czechoslovakia beware.

My absinthe arrived, minus one bottle. Not that it was broken in shipping or damaged in any way, this second bottle. It was simply missing from the package. The contents of the package were very obviously incongruent with the intendend contents expressed on the packing slip. This is expensive booze. My wrath shall be felt across the Czech Republic.

Monday, December 13, 2004

Results in 2 to 4 weeks.

Now that I am at home, my adventures in hospital vists begin anew.

I really think MRIs are about the fucking scariest things anyone will ever have to experience. The tiny, enclosed space is not the scary part. What I find to be utterly terrifying about MRIs are the whirry, beepy, machiney noises that continue for inordinate amounts of time.

To top off the terror that is getting an MRI, the MRI unit at Kaiser Vallejo is mobile. That's correct. Mobile. As in, in a trailer outside of the hospital. My mother assures me that most MRI units are mobile and in trailers. I assure you she lies to me.

So I am enclosed in a tube, blindfolded, immobilized and surrounded by whirry machiney noises that continue for inordinate amounts of time and in a mysterious trailer. This is pretty much how I imagine a typical alien abduction scenario to be, minus the anal probe.

Thursday, December 09, 2004

The internet doesn't check ID.

I just spent an entire paycheck on alcohol.

I think I can officially say now that I live in Isla Vista.

Thursday, December 02, 2004

I only fake when I know I'm on tape.

Evil linguistics project is finally done. My approach to research proves very useless. This is what I get for skillfully avoiding research papers for my entire academic career. I will never make it in the honors program.

I have also learned to read things much more carefully from this experience. I had completely forgotten the section on stress and allophones of the language, so I naturally didn't get a recording of it with my speaker. So I faked it. I fucking faked it. And probably poorly, too. But I do not care. It's done. And I do not care.

Resolution for next quarter: take classes with no finals and term projects instead much more seriously.

Tuesday, November 30, 2004

Graced with the pleasure of my company.

List-form items from my Turkey Trot home.

  1. 5.5 hour drives up the California coast are kind of fun when you're alone singing at the top of your lungs. You have a lot of time to meditate on life, the landscape, John Steinbeck novels, and everything you are going to make time for during the precious few days you have at home.
  2. New car. Grandmother bought a new car without telling Parents, so upon my arrival at home, I am bestowed with her 2003 Toyota Matrix. Miss Kitty is retired. Lola is in service. I no longer worry about the possibility of my car breaking down on long, contemplative drives up and down the California coast.
  3. DMV. My Wednesday-morning research time was spent at the DMV transferring the title and registration of Lola from Grandma to me. 2 hours chillin' at the DMV with my mom. Bonding time.
  4. Two Thanksgivings. First half of day was spent with my family. Much wine was involved. They treat me like an adult now. Second half of day was spent with Marcus' family. Much wine was involved. Rousing game of charades.
  5. My term project in linguistics continually fucked me up the ass. Precious research time was lost to the DMV, so I spent Friday morning at the Berkeley Public Library. Or, I would have had it been open. I spent 3 hours Friday morning trying desperately to find a book on Armenian. I openly wept at Moe's on Telegraph when I found a grammar from 1990. Salvation!
  6. Little Shop of Horrors: Saturday matinee with parents and Marcus. Good over all, but I definitely didn't laugh as hard as when Roommates, Nikki Ferry and I saw a Santa Barbara Junior High production of Little Shop last year, because that shit was hilarious. The show is much funnier with a slightly homosexual 12-year-old as The Dentist and a kid inside the Audrey II with tentacle arms singing the role of the plant. Notable creepiness from this production came in the form of the roots of the Audrey II . . . as they were not animatronic like the final incarnation of the Audrey II, but people. Creepy as all fuck.
  7. Useless things acquired at home: movie and book journals, a set of 6 double shot glasses with booze labels on them, $30 worth of lip gloss, November's issue of The Believer, and a Little Shop tee
  8. Inventory of friends I saw while at home: Eric, Sean, Steffany, Anders, Jake, Greg Montoya, Bryna
  9. Stuff found in the backpacks my parents give the Roommates and I for Xmas: plastic wine goblets (2 silver, 2 gold), an abundance of chapstick, silver wire jewelry boxes, brownie mix, potato chips, 12 headphones (3 for each of us, in 3 different styles), a plush snowman, a chocolate star, toe socks in the following colors/styles: blue with monkeys, pink and purple striped with the words "beauty sleep" on them, blue and green striped with the words "twinkle toes" on them, crazy-ass neon stripes; cough drops

I am no back home in Santa Barbara. Finals approach. The linguistics term project continues to fuck me. I do not enjoy it.

Tuesday, November 16, 2004

Petrarch in New York

My English professor spent a good 20 minutes today discussing his findings in last week's issue of the New Yorker. In addition to an incredible poem he happened upon while reading at the laundrymat, he talked about the Petrarchan implications of this cover:
Posted by Hello
I was so touched I immediately went out after lecture and bought this issue. The art in and of itself I think is very striking, but what Prof. Helgerson said was even more so. The portrait captures the Petrarchan obsession with the momentary, the fleeting and the gaze of the beloved. Petrarch saw Laura once on April 6, 1327 and wrote countless sonnets to her from that very day, always obsessed with the first moment he met her. It's hard to tell in this portrait if these two New Yorkers will ever meet again, if they were perfect for one another (after all, they've both fatefully looked up from reading the same book at the exact moment that their trains passed each other), or if one of them would maybe spend the rest of his or her life in the city searching for the other, writing sonnets in their perpetual search just as Petrarch did for Laura. And even if they didn't find one another, would this moment be the moment that they would forever look back on, the one that they rhapsodize with their friends about over coffee, sighing into the steam, "What if?"

Tuesday, November 09, 2004

You will all be trapped in this dense Symbolist tome forever.

Generally bad idea:

Deciding to do library research for your term project with absolutely no call numbers. I effectively spent an hour wandering around the stacks of the 6th floor language library with no result. I did see a whole lot of cool stuff (like these 19th century French dictionaries with marbled paper covers, our impressive selection of Russian literature in its original language, phonologies of Ancient Egyptian, enough literary journals to keep me out of sunlight for the rest of my life . . .). Unfortinately, none of said cool stuff was even remotely what I needed.

My eye started twitching.

Monday, November 08, 2004

Photo Drop + Weekend Bits

Recorded evidence of Isla Vista Halloween 2004 can be found, in part, here:

In other news, I went to see Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle on Friday night. (Naturally, I was stoned.) Excellent film! Funny and Neil Patrick Harris filled. Ran into a friend from Carondelet while there. She was visiting for the weekend, and greatly intoxicated. She amused me greatly. (I heart you, Stephanie.)

Saturday saw Nikki ultilizing her stolen BBQ's to do some meat-roasting. Her girlfriend got the brilliant idea to douse the coals in lighter fluid while they were burning. We are so smart. Later that night, party at Vic's house. She had wine-in-a-box in her fridge. It was horrible, but I drank it anyway. Vic's little sister is hot, and I had made plans to hit on her until everyone shot the idea down when subject was broached at Nikki's BBQ. Nice times.

Parents also came to visit for the weekend and brought the dog. Roommates love the Parents and the Dog. All was well. Dog was good. Parents were chaming and kind. Much shopping was done. The Mom made some purchases, which is a highly unusual move on her part. I made some purchases, including new boots, two new hats, and a new tweed blazer. Parents bought us snack food. Parents also adopted Cassie as their "new daughter" and took us all out to Friday dinner at E-Bar and Sunday brunch at Sambo's. Good times were had by all, and my parents have been deemed officially cool by all of the Roommates.

Some good weekend quotes:
"My hair smelled so good he wanted to have sex with me right then." --Melissa, at Nikki's BBQ

Stevi: Hey Nikki, should I hit on Vic's sister?
(Awkward silence from the entire room.)
Heather: Uhh . . . I'm gonna go with no.
Nikki: If she says no, I say definitely.

"Hey, we're gonna play a little game. It's called Diary of Anne Frank. It's where you be really, realy quiet and if you make any noise, the Nazis will come and kill you." --Me, to my dog

Wednesday, November 03, 2004

Belize echoes my sentiments.

"I hate America. I hate this country. Nothing but ideas and stories and people dying. The white cracker who wrote the national anthem knew what he was doing. He set the word 'free' to a note so high, no one could reach it. That was deliberate. Nothing sounds less like freedom to me."
--Tony Kushner, Angels in America

Tuesday, November 02, 2004

Three nights in a yellow spandex track suit.

A list-form version of Halloween Weekend, Isla Vista 2004.

  • Number of complete Deadly Viper Assasination Squads on Del Playa: None, because no one in their right mind wants to be Vernita Green.
  • Number of mostly complete Deadly Viper Assasination Squads on Del Playa: One, and that award goes to my friends and I for having not only Beatrix Kiddo and Elle Driver, but also O-Ren Ishii.
  • Number of other girls dressed as The Bride: 2 or 3, depending on who you ask. I saw two, and I was much cooler than they were because I was not only wearing yellow spandex, but wearing it with an Uma Thurman-esque attitude. (The 3rd Bride that wasn't me I heard about on Monday, and apparently she rivaled my coolness.)
  • Number of other Elle Drivers: 4.
  • Number of Slutty Nurses who couldn't distinguish Elle Drivers such as Jen from their band of Naughtiness: infinite.
  • Number of other O-Ren Ishiis: None.

My Top 3 Most Creative Costumes:

  1. Scantron. The guy who made this costume actually enlarged a Scantron form (the small green one, with 50 questions on each side) and wore it. He ran around Del Playa interrogating all revelers as to which type of writing instuments they were: #2 pencils or ballpoint pens. He refused to associate with ballpoint pens.
  2. Storke Tower. The guy who wore this replica of the lovely phallic monument in the middle of our campus was so attentive to detail that he even included a blinking red fog-warning light at the top (which Storke Tower has to keep the airplanes from crashing into it . . . should they stray 2 miles off course and land on campus instead of at the airport). I was at a dance party with this guy on Sunday night, and was frankly quite amazed at the amound of mobility he had given himself in his boxy tower prison. He was able to see out of the medieval-style arrow slots that Storke Tower has at the very top of its bell-sounding structure.
  3. An iPod. The most amazing thing about the iPod was that it was actually playing music.

Honorable Mentions:

  • Tetris blocks that stopped every few blocks to assemble themselves in interesting formations before disappearing into the crowd on DP.
  • Ron Burgandy from Anchorman, because I only saw one of him and this guy looked exactly like Will Ferrell.
  • My friend Frankie as Mia Wallace from Pulp Fiction because, unlike all other Mia Wallaces I saw (3), Frankie not only had a nosebleed from her overdose, but also a huge syringe sticking out of her chest. Naturally, we took a picture together.
  • Jersey Dan as Leftovers, because he was wearing only Saran Wrap and little brown shorts.
  • Victoria's Secret Angels, because the skimpy underwear they were wearing was indeed from the Victoria's Secret Angels collection.
  • Red Sox. Yes, two guys were literally dressed as giant red socks.
  • Oakland A's pitcher Mark Mulder!!!! (I all kinds of hugged this guy and thanked him for recognizing an A-1 picther from an A-1 pitching staff . . . I considered asking why he didn't dress as former UCSB-undergrad A's pitcher Barry Zito, but didn't because I think the hug and Oaktown pride freaked him out enough.)

Costumes I Saw Way Too Many Of:

  • Napolean Dynamite. The only good Napolean was my friend Eric Sheslow, because he looks just like him and talked just like him. And everyone knew he was the best Napolean of them all.
  • Slutty Nurse/Cop/Firefighter/Construction Worker/Etc. Basically, any girl who dressed as an indecent version of someone in a service position.
  • Slutty versions of anything else normal and/or mythical.
  • Johnny "Wildman" Damon of the Boston Red Sox. I saw 3 or 4 of them, and that is far too many of Mr. Damon in his current state. I actually went up to one of them and told him he was much cuter when he played for the Oakland A's. The guy dressed as Johnny Damon evidently didn't know that Damon once played for Oakland and blinked at me a little bit before saying, "Boston's cute too . . ." in a very confused tone.
  • Alex and Droogs from A Clockwork Orange. I liked them all and complimented them, but lets just saw that none of them looked as cool as I did at work on Saturday when I dressed as Alex.
  • Edward Scissorhands, after Peg Boggs dresses him in normal people clothes. I was completely impressed with how everyone made their own scissorhands, but was more impressed with Derek's friend Mike's version of Edward in his original bondage suit, because the bondage suit with scissorhands takes a whole lot more effort than trousers-shirt-suspenders Edward. Every Edward was in character, though, so they get extra points for that--even if not for the costume.
  • Crazy 88's, but its okay, because I killed them all on Saturday and then there were only about 5 left for me to kill on Sunday night. One group of 88's I met on Saturday night actually had a video camera, and we filmed a version of that famous bloody brawl. It was fun. Scene with said group ends with me screaming, "Leave the limbs you've lost, because they belong to me now" and walking away with my friends.

Favorite Things Yelled at Me from the Balconies and Streets of Del Playa Drive:

  • "Beatrix Kiddo!"
  • "Uma!"
  • "Watch out, boys, here comes The Bride."
  • "Check it out, it's the girls from Kill Bill!"
  • "Kill Bill! I fucking love that movie!"

Least Favorite Things Yelled at Me from the Balconies and Streets of Del Playa Drive:

  • "Hey, baby, you wanna slice me up?"
  • "Is Bill dead?"

I think really that my favorite thing about Halloween here is the celebrity that comes with having a good costume, when, for a weekend, you actually become associated with the movie character you're dressing as. Sheslow was Napolean Dynamite, and everyone recognized this fact with phrases similar to what was yelled at me. Likewise, you get congratulated for having good taste by all the same people. It's this intense roll playing game that lasts for days, and it is incredibly fun.

You also never know who you'll run into on Halloween in IV. I ran into Dan Shad from DLS in the Pita Pit at 3 am on Sunday/Monday. Also ran into the freshmen girl I have a crush on and complimented her on her lame bumblebee outfit (because now I know she isn't as hardcore as she wants everyone to think). Also ran into Jenrikay, who I haven't seen this year at all. Ran into Captain Max and the boys from FT. Saw Grayson in passing. Spent most of my evenings relatively buzzed--at least enough to keep warm--and had an amazing time with my friends.

For your consideration: a group of about 12 drunk Isla Vistans in a living room on Halloween, all sining Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" at the tops of their little bitty lungs. So much fun. It was an amazing moment of spontaneous bonding--and that shit needs to happen all the time.

Tequila tastes like vomit. Vanilla vodka in fruit juice tastes like candy. And next year, I will be Barbarella, Queen of the Galaxy.

Sunday, October 24, 2004

I'll give you the shirt off my back.

At the costume shop, we are strongly encouraged to dress up for work. By dress up, I mean in pseudo-costume, usually a mix of your own stuff and stuff at the store.
Yesterday, I came in wearing my white Dickie's capri's with crazy black zipper pockets, my Converse All-Stars (appropriately ratty), a studded belt, and my essential black v-neck. I then became an 80's rocker with the addition of a pink and black wig from work and an amazing black and white leather driver's cap.
Today, I came in my aqua 50's waitress dress (that I acquired in Europe for 6 Euros), my ripped Rocky Horror fishnets, a little black cardigan, and my ever-so-ratty Converse. I added a tacky pink apron with little flowers, a white neckerchief, and these terribly guady gold cat-eye glasses with little gold flowers around the corner of each eye. 3 girls said they wanted to look like me for Halloween. And to the last one, I literally rented the dress off my back. My boss said that if I was willing to rent my dress, she would go half with me on the rental price. So for five minutes I wore one of the kimonos in shop (with the gold glasses and the neckerchief) while the customer tried on my dress. So my waitress dress (with the name "Chrystle" embroidered over the left breast) was rented out today for $24. I'm cleaning it, and bringing it with me to work on Thursday. This dress has already paid for itself twice over--and I've only worn the thing once!

Possible work-costume ideas for the Halloween weekend:
Thursday/Friday: Pink Ladies
Saturday: Alex from A Clockwork Orange (just so the white zipper Dickies can make another appearance)
Sunday: The Bride (providing the bastards at Miramax actually get my costume to me by Friday!)

Thursday, October 21, 2004

Throats should not be cultured.

Diesease is both a blessing and a curse.

I woke up this morning and the sore throat I've had since Tuesday had culminated in a particularly awful way. I couldn't swallow. I could barely talk. It was pretty bad. I haven't been in class today. I missed English this morning to go to Student Health and get various throat cultures done. The good news is I don't have Strep. The bad news is my throat still hurts rather unbearably.

More bad news: I can't go to work today, which means less money. Nomada cut my shift into half tomorrow, which also means less money.

More good news: No work today means I have more time to sit wrapped in blankets in front of my computer to write my English paper. I have also been given Vicoden for the pain. Thank fucking gods.

So, while daily living activites like drinking, eating and breathing are a task, I have marvelous painkillers!

All of this works out in the end. Somehow.

Tuesday, October 12, 2004

Straight to your thighs.

For those with no cafe etiquette, let it be known that they shall get What is Coming to Them.

Some girl today, who was behind me in the pay line at Nicoletti's, went up and nabbed my Double White Mocha, when, clearly, it was mine. Had she waited the two drinks later for her own fucking drink she would have gotten her precious Double White Non-Fat Mocha. Non-fucking-Fat. Non-motherfucking-Fat. Girl Who Stole My Drink obviously doesn't drink coffee enough to know that baristas will always call out the entire order so as to avoid drink stealing by ignorant bitches like herself.

Let us just say that as I sit here with her Double White Non-fucking-Fat Mocha, I have the satisfaction of knowing that coffee karma is already biting her in her fat ass. (While said ass was not overly fat, I can only assume that she thinks it is, otherwise why muck up such a marvelous drink with non-fat milk?) My coffee may be slightly shittier than the one I ordered, but at least her misdeeds are keeping my ass as virtually non-existent as it has always been, and her drink-stealing ass will only continue to expand until she leans some fucking etiquette.

This is Karma. And it is Good.

Sunday, October 10, 2004

Produce is money, and I don't have a job.

The fabled Department job is not happening. Susan has chosen--inevitably--some senior with a lot more time on his/her hands than myself. I was forced to look off campus, as my only on-campus option was stolen from me.

Luckily, after job hunting with Heather yesterday, I received a call only an hour ago from Victorian Vogue, the wicked-cool costume shop downtown. I have a job for at least three weeks! This is awesome because a) I have always fancied myself working in a costume shop and b) I seriously need some cash.

Other applications submitted: Borders, Hollywood Video
Other applications to be submitted: Barnes & Noble, Metropolitan Theatres
Applications unavailable to me: Ruby's Diner, which I will take as a sign that I am only meant to admire their candy-striped uniforms and never to wear one myself.

Saturday, October 09, 2004

Checking for color and clarity.

Last night, we all went to see a special advanced screening of Alexander Payne's newest film, Sideways, with Paul Giamatti and Thomas Hayden Church. The film was totally amazing, shot locally in the Santa Ynez Valley, was worked on by many UCSB grads (including Lacey Rae nee' Palowitz, whom I went to high school with, as a two-line waitress). Because the film takes place in Santa Barbara's wine country and features wine as a metaphor for life and grapes as a metaphor for people, we all decided to spend our evening in drinking very cheap wine.

We tossed in a couple of dollars a piece in the hopes of getting an abundance of Trader Joe's Two-Buck Chuck and sent Jen and her homies from LA to acquire it. They returned with 5 bottles of Albertson's finest cheap wines: a Gallo white Merlot, 2 bottles of some unidentifiable Zinfandel (not quite red, not quite white), a bottle of Gallo White Zinfandel, and a bottle of Sutter Home Pinot Noir. So, following Paul Giamatti's wine-tasting rules from Sideways, we started with the Merlot. ("If anyone orders a Merlot, I am leaving.") We checked it for bouquet, color and clarity (which was difficult in our 4-for-a-dollar IKEA tumblers) and drank up. We moved on to the unidentifiable Zinfandel, which was strangely carbonated and raspberry-flavored. Then the Gallo White Zin, which was decent and probably the most wine like beverage of the 3. Finally, we finished off our evening with the bottle of Pinot Noir, Paul Giamatti's personal favorite in Sideways, the ultimate metaphor for his character . . . and that shit was probably the most disappointing Pinot I've ever had in my life.

After 5 bottles of wine, plus some beer and vodka supplied by Nikki, we all were terribly amused with the various 80's mixes that Heather had cued up for the remainder of the evening. At one point, Heather and Melissa were performing an entire Queen album (with help from Richie and myself on "Bohemian Rhapsody"). I did "Tainted Love." Heather belted "Total Eclipse of the Heart." Our tendencies toward drunken singing are vindication against our upstairs neighbors, who, we think, are either harboring large animals in their room or are practicing to go on Trading Spaces, but only between the hours of 11 pm and 11 am.

All in all a lovely evening. I fear for the photographic evidence.

Thursday, October 07, 2004

I knew when I got my skateboard back that this relationship was probably over.

Grayson is very bad with answering and returning phone calls in a timely manner. Should I take this as a sign?

Monday, October 04, 2004

Alyssa Milano also loves A's pitcher "Curvalicious" Barry Zito! (And so should you.) Posted by Hello

Alyssa Milano loves the Oakland A's!  Posted by Hello

Sunday, October 03, 2004

Nice Houses in the Ghetto

I went to a USC party on Friday night at Kate's house. USC parties are so much more civilized than SB parties . . . they also have less alcohol . . . and no one knows how to set up the tap on a keg. Leave it to a UCSB girl to set up both kegs and fix the pumps at several points during the evening. Sigh. USC kids are too good for cheap beer. Kate tells me that they usually just get drunk off of really expensive booze. I want expensive booze! And property that's worth what I pay for it! And good land lords! And houses that aren't falling into the ocean!

But at the same time, I think I'll take my cheap beer and shitty property and just know that every party I go to will always be a totally good one where I don't have to worry about breaking shit or spilling booze on someone's very nice carpet. I heart Isla Vista. I heart it so much.

USC party also managed to convince me that I am far behing the times in getting onto Facebook. As usual, my circle is not on this marvel of internet communication because they are not those kind of ladies. I must expand.

Saturday, September 25, 2004

In Solvang, no less . . .

Jen and I drove up to Solvang this afternoon in search of Danishes and other Danish things. Amid our hours of shopping for tasty foods and amazingly good deals on a variety of odd, non-Danish items (hats, great shoes, Victorian blouses, jewelry, Swedish flags), we decided to stop in at the Red Viking for a late lunch.

As we stood in front of the window of the Red Viking, glancing at the menu to see if vegetarianism was acceptable in Danish town, we noticed that the front of the restaurant was filled with bikers. I catch on to this fact as we move toward the door, and, rather loudly pronounce, "Oooh! Bikers!" I expected them to turn and glare and get all Hell's Angels on my ass, but they did no such thing. It was as if they didn't even hear me. In fact, the whole dining room was silent. Then we saw that between bites of food, every single one of the bikers was signing in ASL.

It was by far the strangest thing I have ever seen . . . an entire room of deaf bikers . . . and in Solvang, of all places.

Friday, September 24, 2004

Cassie-Cat picked this item up at a porn shop in San Diego. You can pretend to draw on him using your cursor. We leave him out in the living room so that the Company can enjoy more than just my moshi pillows and grappa. Posted by Hello

Thursday, September 23, 2004

Speak to me in a language that I can't quite understand.

Middle English is the fucking sexiest thing I have ever heard in my life. It would be very easy to seduce me by simply reading some Chaucer aloud to me--a Bedtime story, for certain.

Same Effect could be achieved through the recitation of racy passages from any D.H. Lawrence novel, but I would much prefer the Chaucer.

Again! Paul Bettany! Paul Bettany has a knack for playing roles involved with sexy, sexy authors. Naked Gambling Chaucer in A Knight's Tale and a lecherous immaginary English major with a penchant for girls who have a penchant for D.H. Lawrence in A Beautiful Mind. I should have a glossy of him as Chaucer plastered in my English 101 notebook, so I can imagine him reciting Canterbury Tales to me instead of my sweet, grandfatherly professor. This is not a Bad Idea.

I go to immerse myself in difficult and beautiful words.

Tuesday, September 21, 2004

Nikki's Birthday

On only 4 hours of sleep, I managed to put in one correct contact lense and one of a very old perscription from my emergency pair. (I discovered this later that evening when I noticed one contact was much more colorful than its counterpart.) Having this as a start to my day, the confusion of only being able to see adequately from one eye was amplified when, on the way to a job hunting session, my neurologist called to inform me that he decided to report me to the DMV because of my Medical Condition. I was very, very sad.
I napped later in the afternoon in an attempt to recover my lost sanity, knowing I would need to stock up on energy for Nikki Ferry's Birthday Bash that evening. Being exceptionally tired, I gave in to a double shot of espresso at dinner. This was not enough, and, at the party, I left after two beers to hunt down some more sweet succulent caffeine. Once the espresso shots were in my hand, I walked back to the party with my nose in the cup, breathing in that dark and bitter liquid. I downed it, then downed another beer. Gray and friends later arrived to witness Nikki's lady friends all grinding down on one another and making out on the dance floor. I taught them English drinking songs and the gaiety continued. We did at some point all dance to the Spice Girls.
As the party diminshed, Gray, friends and I went in search of smokables and returned to my place to smoke grape hookah on the sweet-ass patio that everyone and their mother adores.
And I'm afraid that falling out of bed will agrivate my Medical Condition.
Maybe I just like flirting with disaster.

Monday, September 20, 2004

Weekend 1

It's my first weekend back here and things are already crazy like a drunken Isla Vista fox.

Friday: I spent Friday here alone because I moved in early. I have the top bunk and was afraid of aggravating the Medical Condition by falling off and seizing into oblivion.

Saturday: I spent the day working the Move-In and meeting all kinds of people who live in and around my place. I actually moved in a couple friends by pure coincidence.
Slowly, the roommates arrived and our massive new digs began to fill up with stuff. Our living room was overflowing with furniture: 2 chairs, 2 end tables, a coffee table, 2 couches, the Fu, 2 fridges, a TV tray. We decided later in the day to aleviate the room congestion by locating our loveseat on the sweet-ass patio that we adore. So far, it has not been stolen. We hope it stays there forever and ever.
The evening brought bonding time with the new roomie, Cassie-Cat, who is John Waters era Ricki Lake cute and compact, and then the introduction of our crazy friends to Cassie-Cat. I think it went over well. We all shared the first sips of sweet Mela Verde grappa, forayed into the stronger Pesca and Fragolina . . . and then Nikki busted open the Inferno I bought her and it burned like death, but we were oh-so-grateful.

Sunday: Roommates and I went out shopping for Food Containers and other various Life Accessorizores. We utlized Miss Kitty to her full capacity (which is not a whole lot of capacity, I realize). We also spent entirely too much money on beautiful collections of paper that we will abuse over the course of the quarter and stole tasty cookies from the bookstore.
The evening brought more bonding time watching Se7en, using the deadly sins as an icebreaker. Same icebreaker was repeated when Jen's boy toy Max brought many friends to drink with us. Evening went well, with full utilization of our newfound Living Space. Freshmen Ryan had too much and so did my roommate, so Gray and I stayed up until 6 making sure these two were not dying.
I am so tired.

Sunday, September 12, 2004

Summer Highlight Reel

1. Hairspray. So amazing. I will be Penny Pingleton, just you wait and see.

2. Teatro ZinZanni. Infreakingcredible! A circus, dinner theatre, bordello, cabaret, dance club and music hall all rolled in to one crazy-expensive show package. I got painted up and grew more and more enamored with the velvet-laden lounge as the evening went on. TZ was probably the most fun I've had with my family in a very long time.

3. Impromptu Big Bad Voodoo Daddy concert at the Marin County Fairgrounds on the eve of my European adventure. I am in love with Scotty Morris. One day, I will touch him.

4. Italy. The trip itself cannot be told in one lengthy sitting. The stories I have from there will emerge bit by bit, related in the American Pie "band camp" fashion. ("And this one time, in Europe . . .") Regardless, it was an awesome time. I hiked in the Alps for two weeks. I went drinking with kids from Holland, Algeria, Denmark, Finalnd, Norway, Britain, India, Turkey, and Wisconsin. I actually used my Italian. I perpetuated the stereotype that all Californians surf and have met at least one movie star. I subsisted on pasta and tiramisu for well over a month. I spent a good deal of time shopping in Milan. I wandered Venice alone for a day. I purchased fine writing instruments and coveted a leather-bound 1903 London edition of Shakespeare's Hamlet in a Venetian bookseller's window. I coveted numerous pairs of beautiful shoes in Milan. I went to Switzerland for their national festival. I followed Lord Byron's Italian trail as though I were John Trelani. I fed a marmot.

5. D.H. Lawrence. I ran out of books to read in Italy, so I borrowed a copy of Lawrence's The Woman Who Rode Away from my host family. D.H. is so incredibly sexy. I must have more D.H. Perhaps with more D.H. exposure, Paul Bettany will find me at an English department soiree and take me to one of his "cocktail" parties (a la my favorite quote from A Beautiful Mind).

6. I passed out in a hookah bar on the Haight. I suppose this is really more of a lowlight, but it was an interesting time and certainly important. Eric and this random EMT guy (who was conveniently sitting right next to us) carried me out. They said I had spasms and that my eyes were retreating into my head. Eric's friend Melissa called the paramedics. I spent 3 hours on a Friday night in the ER at Kaiser in San Francisco. I had blood tests, a CAT scan, an EKG that turned up nothing. A follow-up with my physicican lends my amazingly low blood pressure to be the culprit. Nevertheless, I will be spending a lot of first quarter visiting doctors in Ventura. I now have a Medical Condition. Point: me.

Tuesday, June 29, 2004

For Jay's Personal Satisfaction

Jay text messaged me in the middle of a headache yesterday to demand why there has been no blog of our brunch on Friday. I suppose I should concede to his demands for blogging, but, when checking out his blog, I find no mention of the lunch in question. Why, Jay, have you not written about our lunch? Riddle me that.

But since I'm here, Jay wins. Friday lunch bits:

1. Mel's Diner in Walnut Creek apparently holds much childhood significance for Jay. I just really love diners. I am so, so retro.
2. Eggs abound. I had an omelet. I haven't had one of those fuckers in a long, long time. Don't usually eat eggs. Find them odd and tasteless. But Jay convinced me to have breakfast with him. He's a smooth talker, that one.
3. Brunch discussion circled around how we're not the same people as we were in high school, why things are much better now that we've disassociated ourselves with most of those people, and a good long discussion about clothing. Jay likes to play devil's advocate while clothes shopping. He makes people buy expensive things. See what I mean about the smooth talker bit?
4. I learn of Jay's bizarre text-messaging etiquette. Basically, never call in response to a text message. Also, there are some rules pretaining to what you can and cannot text about. These I do not remember.
5. We wen't to Barnes and Noble and indulged our literary sweet teeth. There was much fondling and coveting of books. And several periodicals by Jay. He insists I subscribe to The Believer. I will do this. As soon as I resubscribe to Entertainment Weekly and Newsweek. Right now I'm living off of Maxim, which is terribly unliterary. (I love hot girls and beautiful pictures of hot girls. Stop sneering.) He purchased me a Moleskine. It's basically THE notebook. Such a hot notebook, in fact, that they've started selling them at Urban Outfitters. (No joke.) The Moleskine lauds itself as the notebook of famous intellectuals from Van Gogh to Hemmingway. They're nice, leather-bound pocket-size little notebooks for quick jotting. They also come in journal-size. This is what I have. The journal-size. It will serve me well in Italy. I already feel much more intellectual just simply owning it and putting my flight schedules in its inside pocket.

Happy, Jay?

Thursday, June 17, 2004

Sad News

Ed is gone.

He passed away Monday afternoon. He was on a morphine drip, and we believe the drug depressed his system to the point where, seeing as it was already depressed, his cancer-ridden lungs simply ceased breathing.

My grandmother pretends she's strong, but I know she misses him terribly. She says that she just wants to be alone and not be bothered by anybody anymore, but I doubt that's true, either. When her first husband died, she stayed alone for fourteen years, only coming out of her seclusion when my mother gave birth to me. She said those same words then, when Richard fell on his shot gun, but obviously Ed brought her out of it. She's spent the past 12 years of her life with Ed. Everyone knows her as Mrs. Broglio now. I doubt she can become a recluse now that everyone in Crockett knows her as the widow of the most prominent man in town. I know she'll be taken care of.

We've been spending the week turning things over to Ed's kids. Eddie released the wine cellar to my father, seeing as none of Ed's kids have ever helped us make Broglio Cellars wine. I venture that I've been in that cellar crushing grapes and bottling wine more than they ever have, even. I've grown up with it. So at least that part of Ed is still a part of my family.

This summer is proving to be an interesting period of adjustment in an increasing number of ways.

Thursday, June 10, 2004


Today's the day. Come one o'clock this afternoon, I'll be on my way back home. Goodbye tiny dorm bed. Goodbye roommates. Goodbye Carillo Dining Commons. Goodbye cleaning lady who always wants to clean the bathroom when I want to take a shower. Goodbye classes. Goodbye friends. Goodbye Starbucks addiction. Goodbye to Jove at Jamba Juice who lives up to her name in smoothie preparation. Goodbye empty mailbox. Goodbye smelly-ass lagoon. Goodbye room. Goodbye free, high speed internet.

Forgive further sporadic posting. I have three weeks ahead of selling my possessions on eBay and then 5 weeks in Italy. Upon my return, expect me to be much more cultured than you.

Love to everyone, and pineapple, too.

Monday, June 07, 2004


When I woke up this morning, my internal radio was playing Rufus Wainwright, and rightly so. "I woke up this morning at 11:11." Exactly 11:11. But, naturally, as I had an 8 am final this morning, 11:11 was the second time I woke up.

This is totally disgusting. The building didn't have hot water yesterday, so I literally haven't showered in two days. But if there's one thing I've learned in college, its that smelly people in lecture halls are usually not girls. We must have some inherent anti-odor bits to our skin that just make girls less smelly people. Either that or those body splashes from Bath and Body Works really are the strongest scents known to man. (Love them I do, but I will always cough when applying them.) Regardless of whether or not I actually am ruthlessly filthy, I sure fucking feel it. I have oily hair and oily skin. Never again am I doing this to myself. One day was bad enough, but two days is much too far. I need to take a fucking shower.

This is why I could never go backpacking. Anymore than one day without a shower severely lowers my will to live. Really, all I've done today is take a final and sleep. Yesterday, I just read and studied, and barely moved. All day. I am fast on my way to developing bedsores.

Thank gods I have a multitude of things to clean when I get home. And then a multitude of things to attempt to sell on eBay or at Crossroads or Buffalo Exchange. I need reasons to move.

Saturday, June 05, 2004

Final #1

One down, 3 to go.

I finished my Italian final not too many minutes ago and am currently feeling the mix of dread and relief that one feels during finals. One down, sure. We can all celebrate that. It's the three to go bit that isn't so exciting.

On my walk back from Buchanan hall, I started thinking about the birds that have been trying to nest outside my residence hall. They have chosen to perch two little nests on opposite corners of where the exposed stucco meets the roof. These birds build their nests out of mud. And not once, but twice, the cleaning staff here at the Mad House have taken a high pressure hose to these nests. Both times, the birds have returned to rebuild. Even a high pressure hose cannot completely remove all of the mud from the stucco. There is always some outline left of what was there before. So the birds just follow the same pattern. They trace the outline in mud and rebuild. Over and over again. It's amazing, really, the resilience of these birds. They are commencement speech material for certain.

Monday, May 31, 2004

Jen's Birthday Pictures

Title describes the below photos. Dani sent them to me. I think this was before David, Michael and I started singing showtunes . . . but I can't be sure. These photos are a precursor to the events described in my "piss"drunk entry. Enjoy.

What the hell? Posted by Hello

Jen and Dani being gangsta'. Posted by Hello

Nikki Ferry and I are being dramatic. Posted by Hello

David and Michael . . . being nuts. Posted by Hello

I have no idea what the hell is happening in this picture. Posted by Hello

Thursday, May 27, 2004


Tonight the roommates and I attended our friends' production of The Importance of Being Earnest. An altogether good show . . . except for a select few audience members.

The girl sitting behind us with the horse laugh was the least of our worries. She has only her genetic makeup to blame for that, which is admittedly most unfortunate.

A more important problem was the trio sitting in front of us. The trouble with them began even before the show, as the girl in front of me turned to ask Jen to stop kicking the back of her chair, when Jen was, in reality, tapping the floor behind the girl in front of her. This girl in front of me proceeded to suck on a lollie for the duration of the show and loudly unwrap something, after which she returned to the performance with rapt attention. Her friends, on the other hand, were evidently so bored with the show that they proceeded to play hangman on their programs, talk continually until about the last 15 minutes of the play, and attempt to balance their accessories on the chairbacks in front of them. I deemed this noteworthy.

I took out my notepad and jotted down the following: "If you were bored with the show, you should have left."

I handed it to them promptly as I left. Without a word. Just a folded slip of paper and a quick turn to leave.

I figure that if actors get notes from a director after a show when they've done something wrong, why shouldn't the audience also get them? These audience memebers obviously have no appreciation for live theatre, as they were not only disrespectful to the audience members around them, but to the actors as well. So they needed a note to help them remember to correct this behavior in the future.

I will become like Dorothy Parker with these notes. All shall fear my scathing pen and conveniently placed notepad.

Wednesday, May 26, 2004

Dada Kicks You in the Ass and You Like It.

That's the current title of my art history paper. It's a direct quote, actually. One screamed by my professor as she ran down the aisles of Campbell Hall banging a drum and wearing a paper chef's hat.

That information is in the footnote.

The Dada paper is the last paper of my last quarter of my first year at college. I'd say the quality of my work deteriorated, but that's not really so. Art is much more difficult to write about than writing. I expect a B. And I'd be very happy with that.

It's somewhat gratifying, actually. Knowing that now the only person I'm impressing with A's is myself. The world is much less stressful without the constant thought that you're not going to get into college.

The only problem with writing about Dada is that, after a long enough period of time, you stop making sense. I think I've reached that point.

Monday, May 24, 2004

8 Points on the Past Week

This update has been a long time coming.

It's been a busy week between 3 papers (one of which I still have yet to begin), Nikki Ferry Live, classes, Magic Mountain, Throughly Modern Millie, the Dungeon, La Vie en Rose, and shopping on Melrose.

1. 3 Papers: a one pager in classics, a 4 pager for my darkness class, and a 5 pager for art history. The one pager in classics I wrote quickly and without concern. I hate the instructor. I usually fall asleep in the class. And who, in all seriousness, assigns a 1 page essay to college students? With disdain, I am taking the class Pass/Not Pass. The darkness paper I wrote about Sondheim's score for Sweeney Todd and how the compositions in minors, rearrangement of traditional vocal roles and dissonant harmonies underscored the dark themes of the play. The art history paper I have decided will be on Hannah Hoch's Dada Ernst. I have to explain why this work is meaningful, what skills Hoch has sacrificed to make it, why she gains by it, the significance of the work, the effects it produces, and how it achieves said effects. Other than setting up this nice 6 paragraph structure, I have no idea where to begin.

2. Nikki Ferry Live: After clsses on Tuesday, we (the roommates and Richie and I) piled into Nikki's VW Beetle and drove to Los Angeles to see her do 3 minutes of stand-up at the laugh factory. We chilled on Melrose before the show and Heather got a hole put in her nose. Nikki was performing with about 13 other comics, half of whom were first timers like herself. She was definitely funnier than 2/3 of them and about 1/3 of the veterans. She is snugly in the middle and will definitely get better with practice. Later that night, we had after-show dinner at Denny's in Northridge. The waiter never brought our check. So we left. We drove back to Santa Barbara feeling morally corrupt, well, some of us anyway. Ultimately, we justify our actions by saying that a good wait staff would never allow a table to sit for 30 minutes after everyone had finished their meals without bringing a check. And we never got refills on our water.

3. Classes: Yes, I go to them.

4. Magic Mountain: Friday we all ditched class to go to Magic Mountain, thereby negating my previous statement. It was good times, save for the fact that I wasn't there long because Marcus and I had to leave for a show that evening and my friends spent 2 hours of my time with them waiting in line for 1 roller coaster while Marcus, Dani and I ate (because I am anemic) and went on 3 rides. We then spent the rest of out time at the park waiting in line with everyone for a coaster we didn't even get to go on. Suck.

5. Thoroughly Modern Mille: How in God's name did this beat Urinetown??? Inspid show. I can't fault the production value or the talent of the actors and dancers, but this show is really ridiculous. It doesn't mean anything at all. And it has a very bizarre subplot about white slavery, the only good part of which is that it provides medium sized roles to two Asian male actors . . . however they must perform the entire time in Mandarin. And sing in Mandarin. Which is rather degrading because it doesn't treat them as talented actors but rather charactures of their race. Suck.

6. The Dungeon: Oh, I love goth clubs! Two rooms of goth on goth dancing. (Which is at times a very bizarre version of modern dance and at other times in the style of european discotechques.) A sushi bar. A normal bar. 2 small stages where either patrons (or employees, I'm not certain) perform floggings, homoerotica, bondage and period bondage. I watched two very attractive, scantily clad women caress and lick one another for a long while and left when a couple were performing some 18th century French Revolutionary bondage. I put Marcus in a collar and leash and was complimented by a couple of nice looking goth girls for my impressive control. I will be going back with Eric someday. We shall have a field day.

7. La Vie en Rose: Marcus' new apartment. It's a really nice place. I am afraid of the gas oven. I'm not used to cooking with gas . . . and I find it mildly distubing that an apartment containing two Jews has a gas oven. As I said the place is really nice, far superior to anything you'll see in IV. It's clean, spacious and has a weird little balcony thing. I also find it comical that what I thought was grass in the courtyard from pictures online is actually weird 60's astroturf stuff. It's very funny looking.

8. Melrose: Fantastic vintage stores. Aardvark's is excellent. I will be returning and poking about. Bought a very Charlotte York style dress. It's cute and green. Rather summery. Don't know when I'll wear it, but I'm sure it will serve me well in Italy.

Sunday, May 16, 2004

Heh heh . . . Horn.

Yesterday, Jen, Kevin, Dani and I ventured out into the mountains of Santa Barbara in search of the Heart of the Forest Renaissance Faire being held at Live Oaks Camp. My, what a most beauteous day to be out among the oaks! It was just warm enough to not need sweaters, but not as hot as it usually gets at RenFaire (which is so hot that those of us in garb who do not continually have a full cup, mug, or tankard will probably pass out). Live Oaks is shady and beautiful, and only about half as dirty as other faires I've been to, which I would venture is largely due to the high concentration of fallen leaves lining the dirt pathways. Heart of the Forest is a significantly smaller faire than I'm used to, but it's something I'm going to have to get used to as there will be no more NorCal Pleasure Faire. Heart of the Forest comes to Novato sometime this summer. If Novato is anywhere as shady as Live Oaks, I'll be there for certain.

Becauase its a smaller faire in size of location, that means its a smaller faire in terms of present merchants. Lots of different merchants, though fewer of them, a smaller trader's market, smaller jousting area, no fencing tournaments, fewer games, and a smaller variety of foods. (No beansteaks. Oh well. I'll live, now that I know how damned good the pitas are at faire!) But even though this was a smaller, quieter faire, it was still just as much fun. And had just as many performance stages as any other.

The four of us took in a good number of performances that day (more than most times I go to faire, where my friends at home are bastards and don't want to watch any shows). We saw a 2-man Pyramus & Thisbe, which required a volunteer from the audience, so, naturally, Jen and I made Kevin do it. Because its fun to embarass people. Pyramus & Thisbe was followed by 12 min. Hamlet--which was hilarious, as it was also performed with only two people. We also took in Taming of the Shrew (reduced to about half an hour), and two dance performances--country and Celtic. Some of the Celtic dancers were really amazing. They've obviously been doing it for years and years, probably since they were wee mites, because their calves are so finely muscled and their backs held so straight.

We made a few purchases of finery--mostly from Fellowship Foundry. I said this year was the year I was finally going to get a tankard so I wouldn't have to carry around the giant 2 liter bottles of Aquafina they sell at faire. I purchased a hammer-topped cup with a kitten for the handle, leaning her head in to drink. I'm going to take it everywhere. I'll start bringing it into the dining commons and snubbing their shitty glasses. The girl at Fellowship even custom set the cat's eyes for me (red) and put different eyes in the mouse that sits opposite the cat, looking terrified (green). I will be the only one with a cup like this one. Jen bought one of Fellowship's fairy necklaces and purchased a Leaf of Lothlorien necklace for Heather. She also got a couple of glass leaf pendants from another vendor, who educated us about peircing in the Renaissance. Dani bought a little wire box on a necklace from him. She's planning on putting herbs in it so that it will be like a sachet. I also purchased a drinking horn.

And when we went to Natalie's pirate and wench party that night, the horn was the hit of the evening. Jen and Dani borrowed my corsets and bodices to dress for the occasion (in fact, everything Jen was wearing was mine: corset, skirt, belt, boots, necklace, jacket--all mine), but I just stayed in my faire garb. Burgandy bodice, black skirt, big white chemise with celtic knotwork down the sleeves, burgandy muffin cap and my belt full of fun accessories: my dragon pouch, 4 feather ticklers, the lambswool handcuffs, my lambskin whip, the dragon tankard strap, my brand new kitten cup, and, of course, the drinking horn. I took all my drinks from the horn (3 rum and cokes, 2 strawberry vodkas) and showed people how to drink from the horn. I had many a conversation about RenFaire and my garb. From now on, I bring the drinking horn to every party I go to. And next time I go to faire, I am getting one for Nikki Ferry. Because Nikki loves the horn.

Friday, May 14, 2004

Kind of a Drag

In the depths of sleep deprivation, I attended the Sociology 1 drag show put on by the drag queens of the 801 Cabaret in Key West, Florida. I had been excited about this show for weeks, and seeing the queens, Miss Sushi, Miss Kylie Jean Louise, and Miss Gugi Gomez parade out onstage in a variety of interesting vinyls, boas, furs, laces, and silks, I was instantly awake again. They were absolutely stellar. Each had a particular style of song she liked to perform and a particular style of dress to go along with it. Gugi capitalized on her Latin roots, wearing outrageous cominations of dominatrix couture with the styles popular on Latin American teenage girls. She wore bondage gear, gypsy skirts, and a denim jumpsuit complete with denim hat for her J. Lo number. She chose music that would allow her to come into the audience and give kisses, lap dances, an simulated blowjobs to as many people as possible. Kylie was like a Vegas showgirl. She showed off as much of her fantastic legs as humanly possible, generally exposing just a little bit of her ass in the process. She did lighter pop numbers that were generally uptempo . . . and she even stripped naked in one to remind everyone that drag culture is all about questioning assigned gender roles and sexual identity. My favorite of the three was Miss Sushi. She was tall and thin and by far the most graceful of the three queens. She wore a 50's rockabilly style short wig for most of the show, and eventually went onstage in just her natural hair, which was about the same length, but not nearly as perfectly curled. Sushi chose numbers that vacillated between fast and slow, mostly based on dancefloor and lounge favorites from the 40's and 50's. She wore a long sheer gown with asian fans hanging from it for one number, a glittering white gown with an ostrich feather coat for another, and a Japanese wedding kimono (cut short in front to expose her long legs) for her final number as a nod to her Japanese-American heritige. All of her numbers allowed her to move gracefully and dance exceptionally well. She even showed off her acrobatics in "Take Me or Leave Me," which she performed with Gugi. Sushi played Maureen's part in a cute, short vinyl skirt (nobody wears vinyl better than Miss Sushi) and a tied up oxford button down shirt. She did a couple of cartwheels and jumped into the arms of Gugi, who played Maureen's lover Joanne as a true "control freak:" a dominatrix. These ladies were fucking fabulous. And I want to go to drag shows all the time. I was so happy to see how into the performances the audience was--especially the group of (presumably straight) guys right in the front, who were the first to tuck dollars into Kylie's ass (and later to place one right between her dick and her balls), the first to ask Gugi for lap dances, and the first to want to touch Miss Sushi's graceful thighs. Sushi later said in an interview that straight men respond well to drag culture because it's all about femininity. They wish straight women would be as outrageous and glamorous as drag queens are--and as sexually overt. I think that if this were true, more straight men would like musicals. (Which would be awesome. Seriously.)

On another note related to gay culture, Jen and I visited Dani's room today. She lated told us that her roommate thought we were lovers, Jen and I. When I asked Dani to inquire about her roommate's evidence for this theory, she sited that we "could finish each other's sentences" and that we "were talking about cute girls and hot girls all the time." Wow. It was then that I realized that she must have obviously thought me the "bulldyke" in the relationship, you know, considering I was wearing pants and I have short hair. So I've decided that, while this girl has impeccable taste in literature (I inspected her bookshelves after she left because I had spotted Beloved from half the room away), she is obviously too superficial to comprehend anything she reads. If she honestly thought that just because Jen and I are willing to admit that Brody Dalle of the Distillers and Gwen Stefani of No Doubt are infinitely hotter than we are--and infinitely more attractive than anyone we've ever met in our lives--then we must logically be lesbians. And because we are good enough friends to have inside jokes and know what one other is thinking then we logically must be a couple. Because that makes complete sense.

Note the biting irony.

Tuesday, May 11, 2004

2 Stories:

1. Last night, Kevin calls as I am desperately trying to remember how to do logarithmic equations. He says he's coming by for a little bit. He shows up only 2 minutes later, and walks through the door announcing, "Happy Mother's Day, Mama Stevi!" For a minute, I am frozen in half fear. Can't really explain why. He hands me a gift--cleverly wrapped in several Albertson's plastic bags. "Are you impressed with my wrapping, Mama?" "Yes, Kevy. I am very impressed." Inside all the plastic is a cope of P.D. Eastman's children's classic Are You My Mother? It is so fucking sweet that I am on the verge of tears. This is the nicest bit of odd sentiment ever. He even wrote my name on the "this book belongs to" page as "my mama Stevi." I think now I will have to open that fried chicken and gumbo restaurant, just for Kevy . . .

2. I was sitting in the UCen this morning, slurping my Jamba and reading the Nexus, when I was approached by J.J. (See the bongo drum story from November 2003.) He tapped my leg with his cane and asked me if I was reading a newspaper. Knowing how talkative this guy can be, I just said yeah as disinterestedly as possible. He manuvered his way around the table that sits among the couch horseshoes to sit on the couch next to mine. Alarmed that he failed to notice the girl sleeping on that couch (even in his blindness, if he could tell I was reading a newspaper, I would venture he could hear the sleeping girl breathing), I alerted him to her presence, so he found his way to the other end of my couch. And he began talking to me. I feel like a terrible person to say that I wasn't really listening or even interested in listening, but I figured it couldn't do any harm to him if I did a half-assed job of it. He was telling me all about cutting and splicing in various radio ads, video games and telephone lines. It would have been a really interesting conversation if I had wanted to have it. Which makes me feel like a total asshole. He's a nice guy. He's lonely. He likes people, and I'm sure he desperately wishes he could see them, but most people won't give him the time of day. (Literally. I've seen him ask people and they will refuse to tell him for fear he'll come talk to them.) I'm less of an asshole than those people, but still an asshole.

Monday, May 10, 2004

Sex & the City

So, given my obsession with Sex and the City, I've always wondered which girl I'm more like. Knowing fully that I was a composite of the 4 of them, I found an all-knowing internet quiz at iVillage to do all the percentages for me. (Sex and the City quiz here.)

Me, in a nutshell:

You scored 30% Miranda
You chose many of the same answers that Earth Sign-like Miranda, the cynical but pragmatic lawyer, might have chosen. Just like Miranda's had a tough time deciding whether to give in to the affections of Steve the Bartender, you don't give your heart up to just anyone. Miranda shies away from a relationship with Steve because he's 'just' a bartender, not something more conventionally ambitious or stable. Those with powerful Earth Sign qualities -- characteristics associated with Taurus, Virgo and Capricorn -- are cautious in love and seek stability and status over nearly anything else. Earth Signs provide a steady, realistic attitude and they can bring order out of chaos. A little-known Earth Sign fact: Incredibly sensual, you seethe beneath that smart, expensive business suit of yours, yearning for intimacy but hesitant to give up your material needs, your career ambitions or your responsibilities for a passionate moment that might not turn out the way you'd hope.

You scored 30% Carrie
Your answers peg you as a Carrie-type, much influenced by the Air Sign qualities associated with Gemini, Libra and Aquarius. Like confident Carrie, a sex columnist, you're curious and perceptive, always seeking answers and never satisfied with the superficial. An Air Sign influence can lead to indecision and an avoidance of tough issues, like with Carrie and her on-again, off-again attachment to Mr. Big. Forward-thinking, incredibly intelligent and witty, you just exude quirky charm. You'd be utterly bored by someone who's just a pretty face or hot body -- though you don't mind looking and flirting! You're more turned on by an equally smart and funny mate, someone who challenges your mind and makes you laugh. You love to talk, so you need a good listener who's open to playful and eccentric ideas about love and lovemaking.

You scored 30% Charlotte
A romantic at heart, you chose the answers that demure Charlotte may have chosen. Strongly influenced by the intuitive, profound and sometimes naïve Water Signs -- Cancer, Scorpio and Pisces -- you're like a mother, a mystery and a poet all in one. Though on the surface you may seem innocent and all about seeking the good in people, beneath the surface, you hide secret yearnings for intimacy, for attachment and ideal love. You're seeking a knight in shining armor, a soul mate, someone who will complete you and tether you to the earth when you get carried away with your fantasies. You're super-sensitive, soaking up the moods of others; you emote freely, crying at commercials and sappy movies. You also provide a shoulder to cry on and open arms for hugs. Be careful that you're not so wide-eyed and trusting that you get taken in by some cunning wolf in sheep's clothing.

You scored 10% Samantha
You identify with Samantha's bold and liberated Fire Sign qualities, characteristics associated with the Signs of Aries, Leo and Sagittarius. You're strong, audacious and larger than life -- and you take what you want! Sometimes you can even be thoughtless and selfish, as you get so caught up in craving immediate gratification and excitement that you overlook someone's feelings. Your personal style likely reflects your desires: sleek, low-cut, revealing just a bit more than might be considered acceptable. Watch that you're not coming on too strong, though. You could scare potential suitors off with all your drama. If you seek so much attention, the more basic qualities of the Fire Signs could be burned right out of the picture. Show less skin or cleavage and more of your creativity, your vibrant leadership skills and courageous generosity!

Tony Awards!

Tony Award nominations came out today. I get the sinking feeling that Wicked and Boy from Oz will steal all of the musical categories away from Avenue Q. As amazing as Nikki Ferry tells me that Hugh Jackman is as Peter Allen in Boy from Oz, I would love to see super-cute, super-talented puppeteer John Tartaglia win out over him from his roles as Rod and Princeton in Avenue Q.

Granted, I haven't seen the green glitz of Stephen Schwartz's Wicked, nor have I seen the Hugh Jackman vehicle. I don't doubt the talent of Jackman. He hosted last year's Tony's and broke into "New York, New York" from On the Town, so I know he has an incredible voice. I do doubt Wicked. I like Schwartz--when he's writing Disney scores. I do not like Godspell. And I can only find one good song in Children of Eden. But I have to advocate Avenue Q simply because it is only of the boldest, most innovative shows I've seen in a long time.

The performers in Avenue Q are former Hensen puppeteers. They created the show around the concept that puppeteers should be recognized for the work that they do. Essentially, they're actors, too--not just people capable of doing some really amazing voice work. Sitting 4th row in the Golden Theatre on 41st Steet last August to witness the awesome skill of puppeteers like John Tartalia, fellow nominee Stephanie D'Abruzzo, Rick Lyon and Jennifer Bernhardt was amazing. Each puppeteer handled two puppets a peice--more if you're Bernhardt--and, because these actors are no longer hiding behind their puppets, but acting with them, it was amazing to see the way each performer morphed his or her body and facial expressions to suit the needs of the characters they had stuck on their hands. I'm also amazed when people can sing in voices other than their own. So even hearing John Tartaglia sing as the naive Princeton and then the "closeted homo-whatever" Rod (whose voice, I think, is produced in that little gap between the back of your nasal cavity and your throat) was equally impressive.

To dispell the fact that this is merely a puppet show, Avenue Q has three non-puppet characters, all of whom interact with the puppets a la Sesame Street. One of whom is Gary Coleman. Yes, that Gary Coleman--but played by a woman. But this is not a kids show. At all. It's sort of an adult spin on the educational Hensen creations we all grew up on. It deals with life after college, and begs the questions that are pertinent to our every day lives: what is our purpose? why doesn't college really perpare us for the real world? why is rent so damned high? why are people mean? why do we love? who defines political correctness? and so on. Each song on the show is a light hearted attempt to answer these questions. Princeton, fresh out of college, begins the shows action by singing,
"What do you do with a BA in English?
What is my life going to be?
Four years of college
and pleanty of knowledge
have earned me this useless degree.
I can pay the bills yet,
'cause I have no skills yet."
It also features such numbers as "Everyone's a Little Bit Racist," "Shaudenfreude," "It Sucks to Be Me," and "If You Were Gay." The show is witty, hilarious and ultimately one of the happiest things I've ever seen. It is aware of its genre and uses it well (from little animated signboards on the side that can morph the word "purpose" in "propose" and help the audience spell "shaudenfreude" to the nature of the set and puppets themselves). It's amazing. Really. And I haven't laughed so hard at the theatre since Urinetown.

Sunday, May 09, 2004

Ride On, Jesus, Ride

I've just returned from church with Heather and Jen and Dani. I don't think I'll be going again.

As amazing as it was to hear the stories that this priest told (beginning with an Irish joke, foraying into Fellini's La Strada, relating a tale about a CEO and Mother Theresa, mentioning "Love Makes the World Go 'Round" from Carnival, braiding it all together with Dante's Commedia Divina and finally ending with his own charitable works in Mexico), as soon as the emphasis on words was over, I completely lost interest. I was then further put off as I was forced into holding people's hands during the "Our Father." After which point, I resorted to inattentive sifting through my hymnal, and was curiously suprised when I happened upon a song called "Ride On, Jesus, Ride."

The title disturbs me, but the liner notes said it was a traditional African spiritual. I'm not sure how that justifies the title in my head, but it somehow seem less odd.

If one good thing has come of tonight's run in with organized religionl, it is the knowledge that I will most certainly not be getting married in a church.

Saturday, May 08, 2004

"Piss" Drunk.

Jen's Birthday: night filled with drunken revelry and songs late into the evening. People like to hear me sing when I'm drunk. I guess it sounds better or something. The really interesting story from last night, however, really happened this morning at about 5:25.

Jen and I wake up to light and the sound of urination. I peek one eye open and see some guy standing at the edge of Jen's bed. I do not process the sounds at all, but I assume he's just talking to Jen. My concern is why she invited someone over after our party, or if he had been here the whole time and I just never noticed. Then I realize he's peeing. He finishes, and walks to the middle of the room to put his pants on over his boxers. Jen evidently realizes who he is. She says, "Hank? What are you doing here?' He doesn't respond. "Hank, do you need us to take you downstairs?" He mumbles that he's fine and goes over to turn off the light by the door before he leaves. Thinking this is still too weird for words, I flip on my reading light. Just to make sure that he's gone and that I am not dreaming this. Hank walks over from the door, turns off my reading light, and leaves. I hear him trying doors down the hallway, looking for his room or the stairs or what have you. He obviously has no idea where he is.

So Jen and I sit in the room, desperately trying to process what the hell just happened. "Did he just piss on my chair?" Jen asks. "I think so." We inspect the damage. Chair, wet. Floor surrounding chair, large puddle. Splatter on the desk and certain nearby objects. Oh God. We take the chair outside. It is living in the hall forever. We decide to go downstairs to tell Merileigh, our RA. So we venture downward and wake her up at about 5:35. We tell her the story of what happened and she is almost more bewildered than we were. Jesus is awake, too, for some reason, so he volunteers to go and find Hank. We all search every bathroom and lounge looking for Hank, and we can't find him anywhere. Merileigh inspects the damage in our room. "Wow. How weird," she says. She tells us to put in a work request and she'll have Hank pay for the clean-up of the chair and floor. So I submit the work request, and everyone else goes back downstairs in search of Hank.

We find him at 6 am in his bed. Asleep. With no recollection of what happened. Merileigh explains his adventures this morning to him and we all go to sleep again.

At 11:30 this morning, Hank comes up to wake us again. He apologizes profusely, offers to pay for the damage, and is just as amazed at his actions as we were. Especially how he got to the 3rd floor in the first place. Forgiveness. No hard feelings.

In retrospect, Hank, this is a fucking awesome story. It's a little scary to wake up with someone you've barely spoken to in your room. It's weird when you wake up and they're peeing on your chair. But it's funny when they intentionally turn off all the lights before they leave.

Sunday, May 02, 2004

Impending Doom

So. Hot. Going. To. Die. Seriously.

Saturday, May 01, 2004

Chill Time

Today has been such a reconnecting with old friends day. Talked to Roni for a good long time this afternoon on AIM, had dinner with Jenrikay. It feels good. I'm so glad college erases the meanness of high school. It's been a chill day. I've been contemplating my Dicken's Faire garb and decided to pair a pagoda bodice with a parlor skirt, and make the bodice all beautiful and eastern and paisley print. Then we shall see about the skirt. So much excitement! Grandma and I have a project!

Knowing full well that her husband could be dead by the time summer rolls around, I asked Grandma if she would teach me how to sew on a machine this summer so I could make my Dicken's Faire dress. She said she'd be happy to teach me, and I'm sure she knows that it would take her mind off of Ed if he does indeed die before the summer rolls around. So it's our project. It'll be just like when I was young and played in her sewing room while she made me dresses. Sort of a tradition of needlework that skips generations: she the seamstress, my mother the surgeon, and me . . . what exactly to I string together?

Thursday, April 29, 2004

Makeover-Makeover . . .

We just did a Mary Kay party as a favor to a friend of a friend. I am now obsessed with green eyeshadow and the prospect of owning a lipstick called "raisinberry." So, naturally, I spent money on makeup. Le sigh. I'm going to need a much bigger train case for all of my beauty products. I'm considering this a humanitarian effort because my spending money on makeup means that, eventually, Miss Sheila will get a car. My vanity brings good to other people. All is well with the world.

Wednesday, April 28, 2004

Yadda Yadda Yadda

This is the elaborate construction of characters if our lives were like Seinfeld . . .

Jen= Jerry
Jen is Jerry because she is the most balanced out of the four of us, but is randomly overcritical. Also, the world revolves around her.
Heather= Elaine
Heather is Elaine because she has never had a successful relationship with a guy, and everyone she meets think that, for some reason, she hates them. She's a pusher who hates The English Patient.
Stevi= George Costanza
Stevi is George for soooo many reasons. She is inappropriately possessive of "her seat" in Campbell Hall (J8), and sometimes irrational about inconsequential things, like finding the proper comeback.
Nikki Ferry=Kramer
Nikki is Kramer because she stumbles occasionally, is the funniest of our foursome, and works at Bargain Network . . . which is almost like Kramerica.

Recurring Characters:
Richie is Newman because he and Kramer and the schemers of the group. Also, sometimes Richie wishes Nikki would just drop dead.
Raffi= Babu
Arguably the most "ethnic" of our group, we are in continual fear that the current government will deport him because he looks like a "terrorist." Also, like Babu, Raffi has aspirations in the business world. We really hope he doesn't get deported.
Chris= Putty
Chris completely matches the randomness of Putty. Is he is all that is man? All signs point to yes.
Kevin= Banya
Banya and Jerry have a love/hate relationship, just like Jen and Kevin. Banya, like Kev, is very indecisive about his set and continually annoys Jerry by asking him for advice.
Dani= Susan
Dani just looks like Susan. And Stevi is probably cheap enough to buy Dani the most toxic of stationary glues.

Guest Stars:
David= George's Mom
Ted= George's Dad
Dan= Soup Nazi
Derek= J. Peterman
Greg= Joe DaVola
Britney= Man Hands
Segway Girl= Bubble Boy
Naked Jessica= The Girl Who Doesn't Wear a Bra
Cara= The Girl Who Got Gonnerhea from a Tractor
Gina= The Sidler
Marisa= Alternate George (From when Elaine goes into that weird alternate universe.)
Frankie= Darren (Kramer's personal secretary at Kramerica, who Kramer tries to guide. Just as Nikki has taken Frankie under her wing at Bargain Network.)
Nick Lafferty= Barry Prophet (The guy that the foursome think is on coke because he's allergic to Kramer's sweater.)
Nikki's Mom= Babs Kramer (Because if Nikki is Kramer, than her mommy should be, um, her mommy.)
Scott Ferry= Bob Sacamano (The guy Kramer always talks about but viewer's never see. Just like Nikki's brother.)
Irish Guy from Heather's "Psych Class"= Captain Nemo (Because Elaine once gave him a fake number, just as Heather gave the Irish guy a fake major.)
Phil the Movie Guy= Celia (Who Jerry only dates to play with her toys.)
Crazy Jesus Guy= Christy (Who always wears the same dress, just as he always wears the same clothes.)

Tuesday, April 27, 2004

I Don't Do Camp.

A little bit of background to put this post in context: I was supposed to go to Italy last summer as part of the Lion's Club Intl. Youth Exchange Program. And then people in China got SARS. And people in Europe got scared because they do not have a large wet thing separating them from China. So, the majority of European YE programs were cancelled for the summer. Rather than just telling the Chinese kids, "No, I'm sorry, but you cannot attend this years Youth Exchange because you pose a serious health threat to all others in attendance" (because that's discrimination), they decided to cancel the whole kit and caboodle. Fair, sure, but as a result I had to slave away at Hollywood Video for 5 weeks longer than I should have.

So, background out of the way, I am going on the Youth Exchange program to Italy for certain this year. Now, what I've always been a little aprehensive about concerning this trip is the fact that I have to spend a week at camp. I've never been to camp in America, let alone a foriegn country. If I can't handle stupid camp kids here, how the hell am I supposed to deal with stupid camp kids in Europe. But today, all my fears were quelled. Quelled with an email from Lion Alfredo, owner of a small, lovely hotel in the Alps who runs the so-called "camp" program in Italy. I am staying for a full week in the comfort of the Apli & Golf Hotel in Bormio, which is evidently somewhere in the Alps, near Lago di Como. Go to the website link, look at the pictures and be jealous of the glories of the Italian Alps and my quaint little hotel.

The only downside to this lovely hotel/camp thing, is the prospect of hiking. Apparently, we will be hiking. A lot. Lots and lots of hiking. In the Alps. In the summer. This I am not looking forward to. I am looking forward to the promise of a "thermal centre" (which I understand to be a kind of sauna-like thing) and visits to breweries and wineries. I am also looking forward to impressing the natives with my superior knowledge of their language, thereby making the other Americans look silly.

Monday, April 26, 2004

Swirly Blood Sadness

I am very sad today because I couldn't donate blood. My iron count was 1% below where it needs to be to donate. So, I'm back across the threshold of anemia--when I wasn't in December--and oh so sad because that means I didn't get to see all the swirly blood leaving my body. And I love swirly blood.

But I don't love anemia. I am apparently always in this state of flux. I sit continually on the borderline of health and anemia, so it flucctuates far too often. I may never get to see the swirly blood unless I start having labwork done whenever I feel like a rush of swirly blood happiness.

The only plus side of anemia is that its a really great exuse to have people wait on you all the time. So everyone else should donate blood because I cannot. You must all know the joys of watching the swirly blood. Consider it a sacrifice towards my well-being. (Plus, blood banks really need the life juice of the young. Give them your life juice. For me.)

Wednesday, April 21, 2004

Shameless Self Promotion

So I've been nominated for Vice President, Secretary and Director of WETT. And I can only run for two positions. And I decided that I would actually be a really kickass secretary. My case is argued thusly:
1. I fucking love office supplies. A secretary would definitely need to love office supplies. And I sure do.
2. I maintain my blog adequately and have learned to change templates and all that, so I think I can probably power the WETT website off of Blogger for easy update access.
3. I have an eye for design: I venture that I can make a rockin' sweetass program and flyers because I like pretty things. Pretty things like the girl on my blog.
So, seriously, vote me for WETT secretary. Because I will kick so much ass.

Monday, April 19, 2004

Oooooooh . . . pretties . . .

After growing steadily jealous of everyone else I know having interesting, original-looking blogs, I have chosen to join the club. I am not a fan of the hard-to-read, super-skinny little font boxes, but I absolutely love the graphic on this far too much to give it up just yet. She's so pretty. Now that I have joined your ranks, you creative blog-skin lovers, I will probably change this kind of often. Kind of.

Sunday, April 18, 2004

Penny Lane

I am so glad that I was able to do the scene for Marcus. It was probably one of the best theatrical experiences of my life. It was the most professional work I've ever done for anything, and that's probably because there were so few of us there. Just me, Camden, Marcus, Dana and a camera.

Meeting my William Miller made me feel immediately comfortable as Penny Lane. Camden is the most genial person. He's very amicable and exceptionally well-spoken, and yet so utterly quirky. All that aside, he's a very good actor and takes his work seriously. Being cute and flirtatious is for rehearsal time and between takes. (I took off my jacket to reveal my backless, strapless shirt at one point during our line running sessions, at which he said, "Oh, good. Now I won't have to act.") There is none of that with him while in character. Being so likeable makes him, of course, very easy to work with. So I think our rapport played well onscreen, despite having no rehearsals and having never met before.

Marcus found the most amazing location for the scene to be shot. The script dictates that it's backstage at an outdoor concert somewhere in Boston. We filmed in the bowels of the LMU distribution center because the winding corridors and massive loading dock area really look like the loading areas of a stadium venue. We played a few lines off the ladder at the loading dock, which I think was the point where I really started getting into it. I just hope that my ladder work turns out as well on film as I felt it did.

In addition to filming, Marcus took me to see Hurlyburly at the MET theatre (overall good production, but I'll probably forget it in favor of the film), we had lunch with Kate and Nolan, and I spent too much money on makeup. (My excuse is that I needed two particular items for the film, and the rest was impulse buy.)

Requiem for a Dead Cat

Sadly, Patches Devourer of Souls fell into the shadows sometime on Friday night. It was pretty sad watching the cat in those last hours. He theoretically should have died six years ago (he's 19), but he was never allowed to run out of the house and die on his own as cats often do. So he spent his last few hours wallowing in pain, slowly dragging himself off his dingy kitty bed to die under the heater because Fernando wouldn't take him to the vet to have him put down. I walked by the cat several times thinking he had gone quietly under, only to see him lift his matted head and cry out a cry that seemed to say, "Please step on my neck and end my misery!" Finally, when I walked to the bathroom to get my pills, I noticed that the cat's limp, skeletal body had been replaced by a cat-angel candle holder with a lit votive in it and two Tibetan idols. Patches Devourer of Souls, who lived far longer than any cat should, probably having spent the last six years in the equivilant of cat purgatory, devours souls no longer. For his little kitty soul is free.

Tuesday, April 13, 2004

"What kind of beer?" --Penny Lane (Kate Hudson), Almost Famous

I'm all out of ideas for my current art history paper-writing endeavor. The good news is, however, that it's due Thursday morning at 9 and I am already on my 4th page out of the 4-5 page requirement. So I break from this to discuss Almost Famous.

Marcus's cinematography/editing project is to film a scene from a pre-existing film in his own way. So he chose Almost Famous, Penny and William's confrontation scene. ("You're too sweet for rock'n'roll." "Sweet? Where do you get off?") I'd made the decision to visit him this weekend, and he told me a few days ago that he was probably going to film the scene while I'm down there. Then he forayed into his explanatory mode, which to me always sounds slightly apologetic if the explanation involves me in any way at all. He told me that he isn't asking me to be Penny Lane because he already used me for a project and he doesn't want the class to think he isn't using actors. And he said all this as though he expected me to be upset that I wouldn't get to be Penny, as though it were a betrayal of the metaphor we always use about me being to him what this "Penny Lane" was to Cameron Crowe. And then yesterday, he called me and asked me to be Penny. The people he wanted couldn't do it. Time conflicts and whatnot.

But here's my reservation: no one in their right mind would ever cast me as Penny Lane. I do not have the right look. At all. I'm not appropriate for the era, and I don't know how to do this character in any way other than Kate Hudson's portrayal. I'm too dark for that kind of rock'n'roll. I'm so much more believable as Toni Colette's role in Velvet Goldmine. I need to be a character from a different movie about rock in the 70's. One that isn't so reliant on that hippie look. I don't think this is going to turn out very well for my part.

Saturday, April 03, 2004

"I know all about your valhalla of decadence." --Elaine (Frances McDormand), Almost Famous

This weekend is a spring visiting weekend for prospective UCSB students. There are parents and high school seniors everywhere. Fucking everywhere. It's scary. Last night, as my roommates and our friends set out a drinkin' prior to a really rockin' 80's themed party, we found one of these prospective freshmen among us. He was visiting a friend of our friend, who joined us in our revelry. I'm sure his impression of our college experience here is . . . stellar. Here's some of my advice to him after about 8 shots of Southern Comfort:

"Listen, Taryn, I don't want you to think that this is all we do, okay? We don't always live in this valhalla of drunken decadence. I mean, come on, look at me. I'm ridiculously drunk and I can still say the word 'valhalla.' That's amazing, right? I mean, I'm an English major, a drunken English major and I can still say 'valhalla.' So, I mean, that's pretty good right? I've said 'valhalla,' um, a few times now and I am, what, 8 shots deep? So, yeah. My vocabulary is pretty unaffected if I can still say 'valhalla' while drunk."

Sunday, March 28, 2004

Paper Should Cost So Much Less Than This

College textbook pricing defies logic.

Exhibit A: Dinosaurs: The Textbook
1. This book is used.
2. This book is 1/2 inch thick.
3. This book is paperback.

And yet it costs . . . $72 dollars.

I will be getting, oh, about $15 bucks for it at the end of the quarter when I sell it back. Or less.

Does this make sense at all?

Dorm Sweet Dorm

I have returned to the comfort of my dorm room after my week-long adventure with my parents. Good Jesus, am I ever glad to be back in my dorm room!

Like everyone, I do miss my parents. But I only miss them enough to want to see them for a few days. I don't miss them enough to spend every waking moment with them for a week, and therein lies the problem with my Spring Break. My mother irks me to no end. She's fine for a little while, and then slowly but suddenly, I start to twitch with irritation every time she opens her mouth. I do this not because she's painfully stupid. She's a nurse, an educated lady. I do this because she ruins perfectly good silences with innane commentary about whatever is outside the window. I don't understand why people feel the need to fill every singly silence with such irritating noise. We are not a family of talkers, Mom. We never have been. We don't relate to one another. This is not helping! Don't get me wrong, the woman isn't all this bad. I'm sure the reason I find her so annoying is simply because she's my mother. She had knee surgery a couple of years ago, and suddenly during this trip her good knee began to flare up (probably as a result of having to favor it for so long). So I took care of her and iced her down and everything for the first few days, like the good daughter that I've always presented myself to be around them. And then, as soon as we had left the San Diego part of our trip behind and began our much too lengthy drive to Arizona, I was no longer forgiving of her gimpiness. Rather, she was irritating AND malfunctioning.

My father and I spent a good 5 days wandering around San Diego while my mother was at her AORN conference and not unknowingly making me insane. San Diego was not as sunny as we had expected, so it felt very much like being in the Bay Area in springtime. Only, not as foggy. We went to the most amazing Wild Animal Park and the less amazing San Diego Zoo (which I cannot believe is so "world famous" in comparison to the Wild Animal Park, considering the sheer size and quality of the enclosures for the Zoo animals--so much smaller than expected). My father, sailor that he is, took me to every single Naval base in the San Diego area--and there are at least 4 of them. He drove me around the SD Naval Base, showed me places his ships were docked and where he had stayed and etc when he was stationed there. We drove to the North Island base on Coronado and all through the island. He bought me things. Because Daddy loves me best. (And the base is dirt cheap for all kinds of things. Where else in the world are you going to find Converse All Stars for 20 bucks a pair?) We drove around downtown SD looking for my father's old house, and finding a baptist church with the following sign on the marquee:

"Under same management for over 2000 years."

Our adventures also led us to SeaWorld one evening when the park was closed to everyone but AORN conference goers. Fun times were had by all as we rented my mother a wheelchair and I pushed her around the park at high speeds. It was essentially 4 hours of hopping from one show to another, with a free meal somewhere in between. But SeaWorld also contained the most awesome event of the entire vacation: I fed a dolphin. And got to pet him, too. This is me getting one step closer to being able to actually swim with one.

The drive from SD to Arizona was long and warm and a lot of me trying to read while my mother pointed out how dry everything is. ("Yes, Mom. It's a desert.") I got a sunburn from the UV rays penetrating the window. I was not happy. We got into Arizona very late that night, and got to stay in the swankiest cheap hotel ever. I highly recommend the Wellesley Inn & Suites. The best hotel you can get for $80 bucks a night (and thats for 3 people). I spent the subsequent two afternoons at baseball parks for A's Spring Training. My team lost both games. (Adam says I must have brought them bad luck.) I had to spend about 3 hours each afternoon in the hot sun. Barry Zito was not pitching (which is why we really lost). And I didn't get any autographs. Bah. If I'm going to spend 3 hours at a ballpark in the sun, not get autographs, and not get to see Zito pitch, then I may as well do it at my own ballpark! No more driving to Arizona for me! Besides, games are much more fun at our park in Oakland anyway. Ten times as exciting. (And garlic fries.)

I tried to convince my parents to drive all the way from Phoenix to Santa Barbara last night, but they gave up around Malibu Canyon and forced me to stay in a janky little inn where I had to sleep on the floor with no extra blankets or pillows because they didn't have any at the front desk. This is what I get for asking to stop and have food. Which is funny, because I thought my punishment for wanting to eat was having to eat in this creepy little middle of the desert cafe. It was the kind of place that, if my life were a movie, would have been run entirely by the dead. Or, if my life were a different movie, dead cowboys. So, needless to say I am glad to be back in SB with my roommates, because here I have a bed and sheets and blankets and pillows. And as far as I know, I have not yet been served food by a dead person.