Finally… I have brought you – in one night, before there is even a “you” to whom I may address this – up to date. For now. Surely, I will continue to post on myspace and therefore have to do this whole transfer process again. But we’ll cross that bridge when we regain our strength.
Subject: I wanna get chocolate all over you.
Posted Date: Wednesday, January 02, 2008 – 10:16 AM
See that subject title? … Ezra just said that to me. Yeah. So get your mind out of the gutter.
Did I mention that I don’t see the point of new years? And that I marvel at people who honestly convince themselves that the meaningless division of time – which is purely for organizational purposes – will actually embue their lives with newness or greatness? Another chance for a new beginning? You’ve had that chance every day for this entire past year. If the hold-up is you – which of course it is – then it can be January 1st or July 1st and it won’t make a bit of difference. It’s like, you don’t believe in God but you believe in the power of the calendar? Come. On. You wanna be in control of your life unless you’re not making the grade and then it’s all about the power of the calendar. The new year will save you from mediocrity. Widely known secret: it shan’t. Unless of course it happens to coincide with an authentic metamorphosis in you. In which case… excelsior.
Joshie had surgery this morning. More on that later; I’m hella exhausted. Sorry. I thought I was up to blogging, mon frere.
Subject:You wanna know what’s up?!
Posted Date: Sunday, January 06, 2008 – 6:01 PM
Surgery. (Joshie’s, not mine.)
Storm. = trees crushing apartment directly across from ours, electricity out and no internet until this past evening. Someone did not get the “Josh can’t move and has a fever” memo. Thanks, Jesus.
Sooo…consider yourselves updated. I do, however, have time to read the blogs of others.
Subject: Law and Order Related Rant (Updated)
Posted Date: Monday, January 07, 2008 – 12:09 PM
So, the dilemma of one’s daughter being given a homemade lobotomy brings up my utter frustration at the certainty with which people (and, no, not just doctors) – let’s call them Scientists, as in people who practice the religion of utter dependance on and faith in Science – declare what the state of living becomes for people who suffer from such afflictions/accidents. WHOA, that was a long sentence, yo! *thunderous applause*bows*thunderous applause* SO. As a student of psychology who takes biological/neurological bases very seriously, I still understand balance. The balance of knowledge, for one. We are physical beings. Duh. I understand that. But I also understand that, as far as I know, we’ve yet to be able to take the “ingredients” of a human and create one by simply mixing those ingredients in a bowl. You shouldn’t have to be beaten to recognize the intangible aspect of humanness. Having laid that foundation, can we all accept that noone can say beyond a shadow of a doubt what the conscious experience of living in a coma or post-serious-accident state could possibly be like. Like people telling you what it’s like to go into a black hole. Without having gone there. Seriously? I’m not saying there’s not a somewhat established cause-and-effect (although there are more questions than answers in neurology) but there have clearly been enough cases like Terry Wallis (the man who awoke from a 19-yr coma) or, just as astonishingly, cases such as this that should confirm that if you trust doctors more than you trust God, your world is pretty bleak. *shrugs* It sounds like common sense, but obviously it’s not. So. Don’t pull my plug. I’d rather live as a vegetable than watch you give consent to kill me. Thanks.
Moral: You don’t actually know!
P.S. As I have become obsessed with blog-reading (of a certain, specific population), I thought I would share a couple that I think are hilarious. What’s the opposite of pride? And, while I love this whole blog, I’m speaking specifically about the paragraph regarding V’s friend.
Subject: Project Runway: Aborted
Posted Date: Wednesday, January 09, 2008 – 3:03 PM
This is in memoriam of Spartan. …
I…wasn’t joking when I said I could just as easily leave the show as take it. Sometimes something is so ludicrous that you can’t even properly articulate yourself. Not only was this his FIRST flub, but it wasn’t anything compared to the atrosity that was Jose’s bland non-dress. His craptacular, gauze-encased frock was just more pale white girl. She may as well have been naked. And when Michael Kors finally acknowledged that he’s always “no cigar” (I have omitted the “close but” because I don’t think he’s ever had a proper execution in his life and I’m willing to go on record as having doubted the plausibility of his ever having had a creative thought enter his cranium. Though if it did I’m sure he would have cried it out. His favorite pasttime. Lame.) … where was I. Oh. When Michael Kors acknowledged the consistency of his mediocrity and then they let go of one of the people who may well have gone to Bryant Park success?!?! Are you effing serious? His crying, his ridiculous and infuriating hats, his bitterness toward his social and creative betters. Jesu. I can’t stand that he’s breathing air I might someday have needed as back-up. I wish he’d just move to Blaine, Missouri and direct town plays in the high school gymnasium, occasionally molesting unsuspecting mechanic’s sons.
I knew the elimination was going to be skewed as soon as I saw Granny P’s dress was one of two that they liked and how they lambasted Rami’s design. Are you serious? I love her and I wanted her to be the one who was “in” but I was fully intending for her to be in the bottom two. The color was predictable, the design was aiight and the execution – the …bunching or looseness or what.ever – was sub par. I fully intended for everyone to come clean and apologize to all of the people (aside from Iceland) who were eliminated before Ricky. I mean, Jose.
I have been drained. This season has been blah for the most part anyway. Call me when Christian, Rami and Kit or Sarah Beth (you know. Jewish or Greek American Princess) go to Bryant Park. I might be interested.
Gawd, the judging has been disappointing. But then, so is the gene pool they brought to Parsons.
Subject: Warning: Real Life Thangs.
Posted Date: Monday, January 14, 2008 – 3:36 AM
For verily, I say unto thee. Hi. What up. It’s getting harder and harder to write in this blog, what with all my time being spent on Facebook. If Facebook had a blog, it’d be over.
Anyway, so we are busy busy busy doing our thang. Ew. I wanted to use that word to see how it felt: gross. I’ll never do it again. You know how you feel certain words or phrases or accents should be within your arsenal just by virtue of your race? I’m just saying: everyone else gets to force crap on you (ie lowered expectations and the like) so why don’t I get any part of the stereotype decision making process? I envy my Dad who can go from college graduate to old-timey country bumpkin so fluidly. I can’t be sure White people from Illinois don’t turn the same phrases but still. It’s not fair. I refuse to be left out.
What was I talking about? Yes, yes, the business of the season. Well, this month we (a) got Josh’s EAP notification letter, (b) are awaiting my Fulbright prelim letter and (c) are applying for the UC Center in Sacramento program for Joshums. (a) He was designated “alternate status”, which means as spaces open, he’ll be upgraded. The program gives priority to sophomores and juniors – the specific one he applied for – and he’ll be a senior, but we’re confident he will be victorious. So, yeay and thank you, Prof. Brundage for the awesome rec letter, which was a huge surprise because it was Josh’s first quarter and he didn’t actually ask the prof, he asked the TA who then talked to the prof who then took the reins and wrote the letter himself. And now the professor shall have no peace – since he needs another letter for UCCS. 😉 (b) Still waiting. (c) He’s off making copies and then we have errands to run around campus. Awesome to find out he’s eligible for a grant for this summer. Because logistics are fun. To me. And yeaaaay, Joshums just got back with copies from the Preschool Activity Book Ezzie got for Christmas!! Fun times to follow, mon frere.
Subject: I gave all my fat clothes to my fat friends.
Posted Date: Monday, January 14, 2008 – 10:40 AM
I just had to share what the douche from the Bowflex commercial just said. … Sure, you’ve lost weight. But now you look like the skinny “buff” guy. Like the Dr. 90210-tipped “guru” who has those cheap, poor quality commercials about … some triangle… working out …looking retarded like the guru. Anyway, you also wear those corny o’neill looking sunglasses that just make me wanna ralph. Or throw a baseball at your eye. Because I saw my neighbor do that to his spouse while they were playing in the street. Because she was wearing glasses and said he couldn’t hit someone wearing glasses. But moreso because they were crazy. Hmm.
What? Oh, the Backyardigans movie is coming on in 16 mins. So… Iiiiii’d better go.
BTW, we can potentially steal methane from Titan, the largest moon of Saturn. So. We’d better get on that. So we don’t have to develop/buy into renewable energy. Oh and so that we can damn ourselves by doing something we know nothing about whose ramifications we couldn’t possibly conceive. Njoy.
Subject: Holy Ghost.
Posted Date: Thursday, January 17, 2008 – 10:09 PM
I just deleted my entry for the second time. …it’s a deep burn. … I don’t even know if I can –
Shake it off.
Mkay. The Hubs is taking a class about minority authors in the sci-fi genre (because it’s in his major, he only reads sci-fi or fantasy anyhow and because I’d been asking him to read some Octavia Butler and tell me if anything aside from Kindred would strike my fancy = that’s how we choose classes here). The fun begins when They – I don’t know who, I don’t take the class! – presuppose that “Black people don’t like sci-fi”, which is why this class will be intriguing and enriching. When someone objects – based on, you know, assuming facts not in evidence – They politely redirect by pointing to the disparity in the number of prominent minority authors in the genre. (I’m sorry…..a part of me is still mourning the twice deletedness…) You have to give ’em credit: that is adorable. But for me, that whole 12% estimated demographic kinda implies that such specious reasoning could be a slippery slope. Next the comparatively low number of Black historians specializing in the Holocaust could be used as evidence of our cultural anti-semitism. (…Wait, we’ve already been accused of that…) …but it’s 6:18 in the morning, people. I’m sure that slope could actually get slipperier. And slidier. How long has it been since you were on a slip-and-slide? Man. I love those expensive pieces of plastic. What’d it cost to manufacture, like five cents? Was it even manufactured? Maybe somebody just went and stood next to the assembly line where they were making cat-suits and just snagged a strip, packaging it later in the privacy of their own factory. … But catsuits were never bright yellow… and slip-n-slides were never black. Well. I guess they mighta been in the inner city. But who didn’t realize their mom just tore up a garbage bag?!? Good ole Mama.
Oh. Before I get to the only sliver of intelligent conversation that’s taken place in that seminar thus far, let me point out a little thing called magic realism. Yeah, it’s a sub-genre defined by Latino and Black American authors. Think Morrison and Allende, for starters. Okay, it may be closer by definition to the genre of fantasy but only because genre definitions seem to be determined by a single demographic. …Which actually goes right into the intelligent consideration. (Oh, and getting back to the now completely incoherent criticism I started two blog attempts ago: please take me to an intellectual setting in which someone would have the audacity to authoritatively declare – especially when it seems to imply that the concept in question is “beyond” them – what White people “don’t like”. As a whole. Aside from minorities. Again, it’s 6:26am. I’m not being reverse-racist. My best friend’s White. *takes a moment to lol* Although I’m only capitalizing White because I capitalize Black and I figure somebody’d get their feelings hurt. Unless they’re the self-satisfied self-deprecating liberal type.) Yeah, so. We write magic realism. But don’t like sci-fi. And don’t you forget it. Except apparently noone took into account my childhood household, for one example. And if you’re wondering which alien race I’d most like to be it’s a tie: Betazoid. Or Q.
So to the one sliver of hope in the class: if sci-fi is a portrayal of the world made alien by some technology or unknown, perhaps the novelty, genius or intrigue of sci-fi is lost on a man who feels alien in his own home, who has no comfort zone to be tested or stretched. Again, I would never use that as evidence that no Black person loves it or can remove him or herself from their racial identity long enough to be entertained… but doesn’t that make a bit more sense than what They said? Really.
And honestly. That whole thing was much more cohesive the first time. But it’s all good. And this is a place of love (and delerium).
Subject: People Do This.
Posted Date: Saturday, January 19, 2008 – 8:46 AM
I think everyone probably has someone(s) who thinks they’re out of their minds. Granted, some people literally are lunchbox, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I think it crosses gender moreso than in platonic friendships. It’s like a person comes along and you decide, subconsciously?, to be something else. Not necessarily something completely alien to yourself but a tiny, conceptual or hypothetical part of yourself that taken alone is the absolute antithesis of being an accurate representation. Maybe this happens when you decide or feel compelled to jumpstart a level of intimacy that is, in this particular interaction, completely unattained. (If you think intimacy means sexual interaction…please leave my blog.) So for whatever reason, you skip ahead, let’s say. You’ll know you’ve done this if you say, “you always” and you’ve only known the person for three days. I’m way off topic now. Not off-topic, but on a sub-topic that isn’t my point. So, anyway, there you are being a sub-character of your real self and I think the problem is that you know – if not until hindsight – you’re being an abstract. And you assume they know you’re being an abstract or playing a role to see what it’s like. And that they are a safe stage for such an investigation. Because they don’t know you. Or because you don’t have an emotional investment in them based on … well, the fact that you’re not being real with them. But I guess the problem is. They don’t know you. So…ten years later – usually sooner – they, who didn’t inspire (or interest you) to be yourself, have told about a hundred people you’re crazy. Specific looney play-acting moments that you’ve all but forgotten.
What. I haven’t written any fiction since July.
Subject: Brand Whore Barbie
Posted Date: Wednesday, January 23, 2008 – 5:26 PM
I realize that I take brand loyalty too far. Let me preface that – well…too late – let me follow that up by explaining that I have only subtly been indoctrinated. Which is the most vicious betrayal of all. Because you don’t even notice until someone suggests you do something else and then that irrational wave of confusion at their audaciousness washes over you. As someone who got an A* (yes. that’s a star. suck it, Trebek.) in Consumer Psych… that’s all. Juuuust wanted to tell you that. I kid. As one who is a half-step above a layperson and as a generally analytical person, I can tell you that I find most advertising to be hilarious. The only thing that honestly works to their advantage is that we – especially Americans – associate familiarity with credibility. Everyone else just buys it because it’s American. (Side story: the CAN of “American Hot Dogs” in Adle/Lidl/Tesco with the American flag on it… was quite disturbing. Because I assume when you open the can it looks more like pork and beans… but I didn’t have the heart to tell them that Americans don’t can their hot dogs in brown formaldehyde.) So. And this is actually the most statistically consistent legacy of brand loyalty. Until (pretty) recently, the toothpaste company that had your parents pretty much owned you. I don’t remember if my parents bought Crest. I can only say that if it doesn’t say Crest. My teeth are filthy. That and if it has dye in it. Using *barf* Aquafresh with that lovely strip of red makes me feel like I have ketchup in my mouth (which is anti-clean) or that I have gingivitus. (That and anything that’s supposed to appeal to kids or has a bubble gum flavor. Twat?? We’re brushing our teeth, not going to the malt shoppe.) And that one I guess I just accepted. It made a sort of surface sense to me.
Point: I would love to watch Ugly Betty. I would love to have kept up with Boston Legal. There’s just one problem. They aren’t on NBC. And I. Can not. Watch. Another network. I’m dead serious. I watch NBC. I trust NBC. I heart NBC. And I cannot betray them. I understand that my household has nothing to do with ratings. I will not be swayed. I have seen a trailer or advert for a show online or something and thought, “Hey, that might be okay”…and then I see that it’s not on NBC… and I realize it probably is inferior in writing and casting and, failing that, I just can’t be trusted to remember its slot. Because it isn’t on NBC. There are a few (very few) exceptions to this rule and the first isn’t even an exception. Because USA is the same thing as NBC. As anyone who benefitted from the oversaturation of Law and Order: Criminal Intent this past few months knows. Oh. Or anyone who watches SVU four times a day/ad nauseum. (Secretly, I’m upset that CI is back on NBC, because I’d gotten so cozy over on USA and I think someone should have to publicly apologize for doubting them in the first place. This season’s exposition of Goren and to a lesser extent Eames, was riveting. Again: Suck it, Trebek.) I also watch A&E (Intervention) and Bravo (Project Runway……I can’t talk about this season.)
In short:….NBC. If that doesn’t convince you (and I can’t imagine that it doesn’t): 30 Rock quotes: “I thought you made love like an ugly girl. So present, so grateful!” (Alec Baldwin at his most pee-inducing hilarious) … “When I grow up, I wanna be a talkative doorman, with a drinking problem.” (Underprivileged little black boy under Baldwin’s tutelage)
Once more: this isn’t entirely exhaustive. There was a health entry and various surveys that I left out. Don’t cry too hard.