i lost my phone. and yes, there was copious amounts of booze involved. i have to go back and scour the bars of last night and see what happened. it's kind of a drag. no, it is a drag that i have become so attached to a stupid little expensive device (no land line) and now i am stuck in a deafening silence. which is actually fine. it's a cloudy lonely sunday. it is perfect, really. cinematic, poetic, moody. bob dylan's 'cocaine' just played on the radio and it took me to another place. i think i am still drunk. jackanddiet.
i got lost last night. totally lost. lost my bag, keys, wallet, phone, camera. thank god (or a permutation) that C. lives near by and saved me by not only letting me sleep on her extra bed, but helping to track down my bag and just be generally convivial and understanding about my insane level of intoxication at 5 AM. oh, this is starting to sound like a confession. the good part is, is that i retrieved most of what was lost, except the fucking phone.
what does it mean? do i need to reform? is it a sign? god, my neurosis is really getting the better of me. all will be solved on its own.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Monday, October 29, 2007
it's cool
i checked the blog today for the first time in a long time. i had forgotten about it, isn't that weird? i had kind of forgot that i set up this little, quotidian system of yelling, complaining or reflecting into the void. i guess it is work. real work now, that made me forget.
the new work is very interesting because i know very little about it. the new work is hard because it requires a certain level of expertise of which i have very little. the work is boring sometimes because it requires a lot of waiting. but it is good and true for the moment. and i like that. i will continue and overcome my itch for something new (already) and try to master something that will serve me well. we will see. it's a crap-shoot with these things.
i have become less reflective, therefore, because i spend my energy thinking about how to make work more interesting and important and pertinent. i have strange dreams where i solve an unsolvable problem (usually through a missed detail or obvious, elegant loophole) and then i wake up and it all dissolves the second i do. i can't recall even the nature of the problem, let alone the solution. i feel like i had a glimpse into a magnificent secret, one that will set the world right and make everyone happy. but it eludes me every time. perhaps it is because it is a dream, that these things remain elusive, or i am too obtuse to grasp them.
in other news, i feel i have mastered the stick-shift. even V., who was terrified to get in the car with my after my fear-full accounts of stalling repeatedly and grinding and lurching to work while people honked at me and i broke into sweat, said that i did a good job. my father was less impressed when he came down to visit, and held on tight to the handle above the door, telling me that in his day, in nebraska, you were considered totally uncool if you made a blunder with the gears or revved the engine while shifting. then he promised me he would teach me how to shift without the clutch, which sounds both totally impossible and totally bad-ass.
the other thing that has been on my mind is missing new york. i keep asking myself why. i figured out that part of the reason is the lack of polish and professionalism (at least that is the way i see it) that i encounter down here. at work it is constant mistakes. small ones, like missed cc's on emails or simple spelling errors that set people back and look foolish. but it is everywhere. the strangest thing to me is a kind of professional cattiness... people are very very protective of their work, even relating to the recovery, about which there is an infinite amount to be done. i find this unproductive and painful in the context of new orleans, especially. i imagine this is true all over the place, i just have noticed it more here.
V. always told me "everyone only cares about themselves". i refused to believe that, because i was raised in a culture, tradition and religion that told me to think of others. however, i had to think long and hard about this. of course people do, and if you can use that approach, not to be angry and think that the world is a selfish place, but to understand each individual's motivation for self preservation, you can weave and negotiate through a lot of things. maybe that is just a good political tactic, i am not sure, and still kind of wary of the blanket statement approach, but there is something to it. it is not sophisticated, but there is something to be learned in the brutality of it all.
new york taught me, among other things, (how to get laid, hustle for a job, get free drinks, look for an apartment and survive on $5 a day) that there can be a high level of achievement and also a high level of personality at the same time. some of the people i met there had power and influence, style and class, money and fabulous apartments, and they were generous, open visionaries who believed in sharing all of that. they believed there was enough to go around, and you could feel it. i miss that, in this small suffering town sometimes. i believe in it, i want to go forward in this small new orleans, but i am amazed at the lack of collective vision, and the bizarre competition for ownership.
it is more like Accra than anywhere else i have been in the first world (if that makes sense). not necessarily in the sense that it looks like Accra (which it does with its banana trees, cottages and horrible roads) but that the scarcity of resources makes people crazy. and desperate and tired. and i think most want the same thing i do, but we can't have a vision and the magic that comes with that unless we actually believe that we aren't just in it for ourselves.
the new work is very interesting because i know very little about it. the new work is hard because it requires a certain level of expertise of which i have very little. the work is boring sometimes because it requires a lot of waiting. but it is good and true for the moment. and i like that. i will continue and overcome my itch for something new (already) and try to master something that will serve me well. we will see. it's a crap-shoot with these things.
i have become less reflective, therefore, because i spend my energy thinking about how to make work more interesting and important and pertinent. i have strange dreams where i solve an unsolvable problem (usually through a missed detail or obvious, elegant loophole) and then i wake up and it all dissolves the second i do. i can't recall even the nature of the problem, let alone the solution. i feel like i had a glimpse into a magnificent secret, one that will set the world right and make everyone happy. but it eludes me every time. perhaps it is because it is a dream, that these things remain elusive, or i am too obtuse to grasp them.
in other news, i feel i have mastered the stick-shift. even V., who was terrified to get in the car with my after my fear-full accounts of stalling repeatedly and grinding and lurching to work while people honked at me and i broke into sweat, said that i did a good job. my father was less impressed when he came down to visit, and held on tight to the handle above the door, telling me that in his day, in nebraska, you were considered totally uncool if you made a blunder with the gears or revved the engine while shifting. then he promised me he would teach me how to shift without the clutch, which sounds both totally impossible and totally bad-ass.
the other thing that has been on my mind is missing new york. i keep asking myself why. i figured out that part of the reason is the lack of polish and professionalism (at least that is the way i see it) that i encounter down here. at work it is constant mistakes. small ones, like missed cc's on emails or simple spelling errors that set people back and look foolish. but it is everywhere. the strangest thing to me is a kind of professional cattiness... people are very very protective of their work, even relating to the recovery, about which there is an infinite amount to be done. i find this unproductive and painful in the context of new orleans, especially. i imagine this is true all over the place, i just have noticed it more here.
V. always told me "everyone only cares about themselves". i refused to believe that, because i was raised in a culture, tradition and religion that told me to think of others. however, i had to think long and hard about this. of course people do, and if you can use that approach, not to be angry and think that the world is a selfish place, but to understand each individual's motivation for self preservation, you can weave and negotiate through a lot of things. maybe that is just a good political tactic, i am not sure, and still kind of wary of the blanket statement approach, but there is something to it. it is not sophisticated, but there is something to be learned in the brutality of it all.
new york taught me, among other things, (how to get laid, hustle for a job, get free drinks, look for an apartment and survive on $5 a day) that there can be a high level of achievement and also a high level of personality at the same time. some of the people i met there had power and influence, style and class, money and fabulous apartments, and they were generous, open visionaries who believed in sharing all of that. they believed there was enough to go around, and you could feel it. i miss that, in this small suffering town sometimes. i believe in it, i want to go forward in this small new orleans, but i am amazed at the lack of collective vision, and the bizarre competition for ownership.
it is more like Accra than anywhere else i have been in the first world (if that makes sense). not necessarily in the sense that it looks like Accra (which it does with its banana trees, cottages and horrible roads) but that the scarcity of resources makes people crazy. and desperate and tired. and i think most want the same thing i do, but we can't have a vision and the magic that comes with that unless we actually believe that we aren't just in it for ourselves.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
the deadly silence of preoccupation
i know it has been awhile, but only two weeks. the new job and the fellowship have really been sucking the life out of me. i can't dare a creative thought or the evils of practicality will come swooping in and crush them. i have no time to write. strike that. i don't dare to write because of my preoccupations, my feelings of change and therefore hourly mood-swings. paranoia about inadequacies, yadda yadda. oh change, how can you be the same and so different each time? i know change when i see it, but then it smacks of newness. no it is supposed to be the same change all the time. right?
basically. i don;t know if i am on the right path. with my job, with my love, with my life. then again, the path is the goal, as the buddhists say. what is all of this, this changing and loving and aspiring and frustration?
i bought a new car, a stick-shift. i couldn't drive it when i bought it.... so i had the man who sold it to me park it in front of my house. K. spent two hours with me in city park lurching and stalling until i could actually drive it home. i still don;t feel comfortable, but i can get from a to b. i wish i never heard that driving a stick was hard. i wish no one ever told me that new orleans was scary and dangerous. i wish i never had to hear negative or prohibative messages about things that just have to be done. it takes a lot of energy to forget what the world tells you and to just get on with things.
that is all for now. more to come. ugh. somebody told me to be careful what you put online, since 'someone' can 'google' you and 'ruin' your 'reputation'. please tell me how to make heads or tails of that, gentle readers. but hence the paranoid and circuitousness. i am too shy and afraid to say what i want, sad that i can't be bold and bizarre and paranoid enough to be afraid. there.
basically. i don;t know if i am on the right path. with my job, with my love, with my life. then again, the path is the goal, as the buddhists say. what is all of this, this changing and loving and aspiring and frustration?
i bought a new car, a stick-shift. i couldn't drive it when i bought it.... so i had the man who sold it to me park it in front of my house. K. spent two hours with me in city park lurching and stalling until i could actually drive it home. i still don;t feel comfortable, but i can get from a to b. i wish i never heard that driving a stick was hard. i wish no one ever told me that new orleans was scary and dangerous. i wish i never had to hear negative or prohibative messages about things that just have to be done. it takes a lot of energy to forget what the world tells you and to just get on with things.
that is all for now. more to come. ugh. somebody told me to be careful what you put online, since 'someone' can 'google' you and 'ruin' your 'reputation'. please tell me how to make heads or tails of that, gentle readers. but hence the paranoid and circuitousness. i am too shy and afraid to say what i want, sad that i can't be bold and bizarre and paranoid enough to be afraid. there.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
herbert muschamp ( i miss artistry)
Herbert Muschamp died today. Read the article in the NYT if you feel so inclined.
I had the opportunity to have dinner with him once. I wasn't alone, anyway he was gay and wouldn't have had interest in a one on one with me... it was a dinner meeting with the board of my organization and they invited him. he was fabulous. astute, cynical, articulate, sensual, interesting. knew good food, could make a joke. I loved it! I knew how lucky I was to meet him. he talked about the built environment in the way that I experienced it. it was personal and reminiscent. not clinical and power-driven. it was never about who had built what, but about who had to live in it.
After that dinner/board meeting Barbaralee Diamonstien-Speilvogel asked us to buy him a present. An out of print book about Palladio ( I think) from the Strand Bookstore in Manhattan. I called the general line and after dropping BLDS's name, I spoke directly with Fred Bass the owner of the Strand, and had the book put on hold for me to pick up and then messenger to BLDS's house so she could write a personal note and then on to HM. I took the subway across town, was ushered into the rare books section, and a huge tome, out of print, rare, in excellent condition was put in my hands. all i knew was that the book was worth a lot and that it was for a rather miraculous person who would not only appreciate the content, but the ephemeral nature of the object itself.
i am really sad that he was considered brilliant, emotional and abstract, and that that was the exception, rather than the rule. he was my kind of people: gentle, visionary, artistic and never wed to conventions or the pressures of capitalism, even though he worked within them. at least i aspired to that.
have a great re-birth, Mr. Herbert! Love you and miss you.
I had the opportunity to have dinner with him once. I wasn't alone, anyway he was gay and wouldn't have had interest in a one on one with me... it was a dinner meeting with the board of my organization and they invited him. he was fabulous. astute, cynical, articulate, sensual, interesting. knew good food, could make a joke. I loved it! I knew how lucky I was to meet him. he talked about the built environment in the way that I experienced it. it was personal and reminiscent. not clinical and power-driven. it was never about who had built what, but about who had to live in it.
After that dinner/board meeting Barbaralee Diamonstien-Speilvogel asked us to buy him a present. An out of print book about Palladio ( I think) from the Strand Bookstore in Manhattan. I called the general line and after dropping BLDS's name, I spoke directly with Fred Bass the owner of the Strand, and had the book put on hold for me to pick up and then messenger to BLDS's house so she could write a personal note and then on to HM. I took the subway across town, was ushered into the rare books section, and a huge tome, out of print, rare, in excellent condition was put in my hands. all i knew was that the book was worth a lot and that it was for a rather miraculous person who would not only appreciate the content, but the ephemeral nature of the object itself.
i am really sad that he was considered brilliant, emotional and abstract, and that that was the exception, rather than the rule. he was my kind of people: gentle, visionary, artistic and never wed to conventions or the pressures of capitalism, even though he worked within them. at least i aspired to that.
have a great re-birth, Mr. Herbert! Love you and miss you.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
quippy alternative acronyms for YURP*
BURP - Branded Urban Rebuilding Professional
MURP - Massively Underpaid Rebuilding Professional
SLURP - Single Literate Urban Rebuilding Professional
TWURP - Totally Wholesome Useless Rebuilding Professional
H-BOTS - Here Because of the Storm
*Young Urban Rebuilding Professional (TM).
Many thanks to BG, who suggested Branded, rather than Boring for the first one.
MURP - Massively Underpaid Rebuilding Professional
SLURP - Single Literate Urban Rebuilding Professional
TWURP - Totally Wholesome Useless Rebuilding Professional
H-BOTS - Here Because of the Storm
*Young Urban Rebuilding Professional (TM).
Many thanks to BG, who suggested Branded, rather than Boring for the first one.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
new
changing jobs. more work. more cash. more rigor. less bullshit. more sleep. less drinking. no smoking. new car. clean clothes. more meetings. more learning. less wallowing. more bitching. less boredom. more responsibility. more tolerance. less worry. more worry.
i will be utterly perfect soon. as soon as i turn 30. right? what is adulthood?
as my mother refuses to let me forget, my first words were "my do it". i have kind of done it. but we will see if I can sustain. anyway. it is new, and there is something to be said for that.
i will be utterly perfect soon. as soon as i turn 30. right? what is adulthood?
as my mother refuses to let me forget, my first words were "my do it". i have kind of done it. but we will see if I can sustain. anyway. it is new, and there is something to be said for that.
i like to contemplate the sea, but waves make me uneasy
when i was in college, i made a wood-block print of some waves. when you make a woodblock print, there is way to do it called a suicide print. the reason for this is that, for example, is that if you have 3 colors that you want to use, you have to carve out whatever you DON'T want to be dark blue. then after you do the first print of that, you take the wood block and carve out everything you WANT to say dark blue, because you will layer another color over it. if you fuck up, by carving out these small and intricate lines, the print is ruined. intense, great, direct and beautiful.
needless to say, I loved doing these prints. i loved carving out the wood, using small Japanese tools that I was very proud of. the waves print (hanging framed in my parent's house now) was really great. you can see the grain of the wood and the small carving mistakes. i printed it on some gorgeous rice paper.
i did the print after a month in a buddhist monastery in Nova Scotia, and named it after a famous song my Milarepa. the sea is the basic state of the mind, and the thoughts are the waves. the song is about meditation and relating to the basic nature of the mind and not getting caught up in the thought processes. they come and go. sometimes they are tumultuous, sometimes they are calm and soothing. they change all the time. but it still the sea, fundamentally.
i like to contemplate the sky, but clouds make me uneasy.
needless to say, I loved doing these prints. i loved carving out the wood, using small Japanese tools that I was very proud of. the waves print (hanging framed in my parent's house now) was really great. you can see the grain of the wood and the small carving mistakes. i printed it on some gorgeous rice paper.
i did the print after a month in a buddhist monastery in Nova Scotia, and named it after a famous song my Milarepa. the sea is the basic state of the mind, and the thoughts are the waves. the song is about meditation and relating to the basic nature of the mind and not getting caught up in the thought processes. they come and go. sometimes they are tumultuous, sometimes they are calm and soothing. they change all the time. but it still the sea, fundamentally.
i like to contemplate the sky, but clouds make me uneasy.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
brad!
so i went to the global green event in the lower 9th ward today and i saw brad pitt! here is the best picture i got. i know it is a little over-exposed, but i had to get my camera quick and didn't have time to change the settings. very cute and seemed extremely patient and nice.
Monday, August 13, 2007
atmosphere
it's hot. really really hot. with pounding sun. my fragile skin can't take it much. i stay inside. my air conditioners are weak and tired. i draw the blinds. i stop smoking and stare into the void not much knowing what to do or where to go. i watch Chung King Express and feel and imagine their sultry southeast asian heat, and it is sexier and more natural than this is. this is just crippling. there is no small person selling noodles, there are no watch-hawkers, or gleaming hair and luscious, interesting fruits, sudden downpours, cheap, ugly gold, stray dogs, the lure of the ocean, the real ocean, fake perfume, sex, polyester clothes, seafood, taxi drivers from other hemispheres, beer, language as a currency. there is none of that in this exotic town. there is just silence in the heat.
everyone is inside in the air-conditioning like i am. solitary and commiserating. i was inside all day. peering through the blinds and sneezing. eating snacks. i took the garbage down late, about 10 pm. it was so hot, so humid, i couldn't believe it when i went out at night, thinking it would have cooled off. it was like walking into a wall, or maybe walking through a wall into an alternate space, it was so tangible, so tactile. i came back to my pod of air, ahh! cool air. but i wanted to go back into it, like entering back into a bad dream, or a dark love affair. it was so bizarre and alive! it was its own entity! the heat and and the atmosphere has a life of its own. a secret life late at night where it can come into full bloom, it felt like an emergence, and i wanted more of it.more of its secrets and depths. cockroaches scuttled along and the other vermin and other small lives also conducted their particular micro-ecologies with no self-consciousness.
the heat feels bigger than me. more profound and ancient. nothing wise about it. just more of what it has always been. god, i love it. that dark, weird, infected space in the night that makes the swamp real, and makes our tiny lives just that much more. it was here before us and it will gladly swallow us again and again.
everyone is inside in the air-conditioning like i am. solitary and commiserating. i was inside all day. peering through the blinds and sneezing. eating snacks. i took the garbage down late, about 10 pm. it was so hot, so humid, i couldn't believe it when i went out at night, thinking it would have cooled off. it was like walking into a wall, or maybe walking through a wall into an alternate space, it was so tangible, so tactile. i came back to my pod of air, ahh! cool air. but i wanted to go back into it, like entering back into a bad dream, or a dark love affair. it was so bizarre and alive! it was its own entity! the heat and and the atmosphere has a life of its own. a secret life late at night where it can come into full bloom, it felt like an emergence, and i wanted more of it.more of its secrets and depths. cockroaches scuttled along and the other vermin and other small lives also conducted their particular micro-ecologies with no self-consciousness.
the heat feels bigger than me. more profound and ancient. nothing wise about it. just more of what it has always been. god, i love it. that dark, weird, infected space in the night that makes the swamp real, and makes our tiny lives just that much more. it was here before us and it will gladly swallow us again and again.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
...
i am not going to post for awhile because i am sick of myself, my voice and screaming into the blog-a-void. i will get back into all of this shortly with penetrating, insightful and caustic things to say, don't worry. see ya soon. xoxo
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
let's play "where's nagin?"
where is the mayor? where the fuck is he? where is he? blakely is getting more press than him. everyone talks about loss of leadership. but now I know what it means. certainly not the first one to play this game.
was at city hall this morning, which looks lie a bombed-out post-colonial cambodian functionarires' office. they can't get 150K to fix the goddamn sign? is this some kind of testimony to backwardness? what the fuck is this? a joke for the whole world to see? people, you do not inspire confidence when you behave this way. you do not inspire progress when the sign ON City Hall that SAYS CITY HALL is a broken down neon sign replete with cracked red plastic. sick of settling.
okay, I am swearing a lot now, but whatever. where is our mayor?
was at city hall this morning, which looks lie a bombed-out post-colonial cambodian functionarires' office. they can't get 150K to fix the goddamn sign? is this some kind of testimony to backwardness? what the fuck is this? a joke for the whole world to see? people, you do not inspire confidence when you behave this way. you do not inspire progress when the sign ON City Hall that SAYS CITY HALL is a broken down neon sign replete with cracked red plastic. sick of settling.
okay, I am swearing a lot now, but whatever. where is our mayor?
Thursday, July 26, 2007
i will never win the speling bee, bu tmay be some thingelse
god i am boring. did you all miss me? i know you did or didn't. i don't really care. what i do know is that you all have been wondering what i have been up to.
here is what i have been doing, breaking it down for you alpha-numericaly(huh?( for the ADD brains out there. and yes I am talking to you.
A. Arguing with V. (Zero dollars, free cell to cell minutes). We have terrible, revealing fights that are never boring and always kind of exhausting. Emotional cost: infinite.
B. Arguing with my bosses. (Negative 15, 000 dollars per year - since I am underpaid and have massive student loans.) Fight for what you want. I guess. Have you every argued with people stupider than you? It is so funny! in retrospect. like 30 years from now when i am dying.
C. Arguing/ranting/explaining to parents what I am doing and just. forcing someone who is related to me listen to me. Been doing it for years. (40 cents per minute if you call before 9pm, it can add up).
D. Talking to old friends and new friends about all if the above. Priceless! Not really. We live in the States. Don't you know that time is money? Why are you reading my blog? Let's go get drunk and capitalize on the disaster! Anna Vinokourova is marrying Robin Riddle!
E. ( just like the blankness). Let's take a break. Elephant! Eloquence! Egnorance!
F. Fuck off and get back to work and rebuild the city.
G. Gee I am still looking for my sense of humor.
here is what i have been doing, breaking it down for you alpha-numericaly(huh?( for the ADD brains out there. and yes I am talking to you.
A. Arguing with V. (Zero dollars, free cell to cell minutes). We have terrible, revealing fights that are never boring and always kind of exhausting. Emotional cost: infinite.
B. Arguing with my bosses. (Negative 15, 000 dollars per year - since I am underpaid and have massive student loans.) Fight for what you want. I guess. Have you every argued with people stupider than you? It is so funny! in retrospect. like 30 years from now when i am dying.
C. Arguing/ranting/explaining to parents what I am doing and just. forcing someone who is related to me listen to me. Been doing it for years. (40 cents per minute if you call before 9pm, it can add up).
D. Talking to old friends and new friends about all if the above. Priceless! Not really. We live in the States. Don't you know that time is money? Why are you reading my blog? Let's go get drunk and capitalize on the disaster! Anna Vinokourova is marrying Robin Riddle!
E. ( just like the blankness). Let's take a break. Elephant! Eloquence! Egnorance!
F. Fuck off and get back to work and rebuild the city.
G. Gee I am still looking for my sense of humor.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
bye bye benz
my car is dead. anyone want to buy a barely running cute white benz with a new alternator and shocks with some problems but a lot of personality? wait, that sounds like me. no, it is my car. she has to go. price upon request. wahhhhh!!!
Monday, July 16, 2007
i just finished...
hi people. i decided to do a new posting of books which i am reading or those that i have just finished.
I will call the posts: "I just finished ..."- or- "I am reading..." depending on the status.
I just finished Wally Lamb's She's Come Undone. It was okay. It was basically about a sexually traumatized fat girl who came to accept herself through a lot of effort, psychotherapy and self-acceptance. it was addictive because you kept expecting a train-wreck, and you got one (satisfying!). i would recommend it as fair to middlin. read better, but good if you are feeling unattractive or your life is too easy. also it was written by a man whose character in the book is a woman growing up. maybe it shouldn't matter, but it kind of bugged me. also, his name is Wally Lamb which just bugs me for no concrete reason.
I will call the posts: "I just finished ..."- or- "I am reading..." depending on the status.
I just finished Wally Lamb's She's Come Undone. It was okay. It was basically about a sexually traumatized fat girl who came to accept herself through a lot of effort, psychotherapy and self-acceptance. it was addictive because you kept expecting a train-wreck, and you got one (satisfying!). i would recommend it as fair to middlin. read better, but good if you are feeling unattractive or your life is too easy. also it was written by a man whose character in the book is a woman growing up. maybe it shouldn't matter, but it kind of bugged me. also, his name is Wally Lamb which just bugs me for no concrete reason.
Friday, July 13, 2007
car trouble as an indicator of things crumbling
car is broken down again. this time overheated then there was a gurgling noise from the AC, then there was steam and oozing liquid around the oil tank. it's stuck on St. Charles and i have to wait to get it towed or try to move it. FUCK THIS. i already poured about 600 bucks into the thing, and now it just has to sit there. you sorry little car. you cute little thing.
this goes back to the cinematic post. if someone was there to witness the poetry of my car breaking down AND, AND the fact that i fucked up a friend's care all in one week, it would be some kind of epic symbolism (HAHAHHA). but because no-one is there to give a shit, i just feel kind of lowly and desperate, and no-one really cares.
i felt like everything i touched (in terms of cars, well uhhhhh.....) was being destroyed. like the little phenomenal machines around me had to go and die or get injured. i still hate cars, they are very worrisome and expensive and gas guzzling and you have to give a shit about them. i specifically bought a car i did not give a shit about (other than it being my *first one* and there is a certain level of sentimental attachement there. barf.) then all i COULD do was worry about it.
i took the bus today back and forth to a meeting. then i walked home from work and walked to the store after that. i feel civil and self-righteous taking public transportation, and i like it. it is horrible here, but it was fun for a day. i am sure i will be missing my four wheels and a seat soon.
UPDATE ( I started that a few days ago): thanks to a lovely person i have taken said friend's car to see what needed to be done and what the cost would be (don't ask) and also gotten my car towed to the mechanic, whom i have not yet called to find out the damage. whee! but at least the wheels of repair are in motion (horrible pun intended).
this goes back to the cinematic post. if someone was there to witness the poetry of my car breaking down AND, AND the fact that i fucked up a friend's care all in one week, it would be some kind of epic symbolism (HAHAHHA). but because no-one is there to give a shit, i just feel kind of lowly and desperate, and no-one really cares.
i felt like everything i touched (in terms of cars, well uhhhhh.....) was being destroyed. like the little phenomenal machines around me had to go and die or get injured. i still hate cars, they are very worrisome and expensive and gas guzzling and you have to give a shit about them. i specifically bought a car i did not give a shit about (other than it being my *first one* and there is a certain level of sentimental attachement there. barf.) then all i COULD do was worry about it.
i took the bus today back and forth to a meeting. then i walked home from work and walked to the store after that. i feel civil and self-righteous taking public transportation, and i like it. it is horrible here, but it was fun for a day. i am sure i will be missing my four wheels and a seat soon.
UPDATE ( I started that a few days ago): thanks to a lovely person i have taken said friend's car to see what needed to be done and what the cost would be (don't ask) and also gotten my car towed to the mechanic, whom i have not yet called to find out the damage. whee! but at least the wheels of repair are in motion (horrible pun intended).
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
the State of Denial
i'm in denial. i don't think i am living this life, this life in New Orleans. I am so disconnected from my environment. the denial mechanism, the survival mechanism. i think it is the sense of impending doom that surrounds this city all the time. will it come back, and if it does, will it at once be destroyed? NO ONE KNOWS. but it is all anyone can talk about. there is a total irrationality to it all, a hopefulness and a sense that the end is near. that everything could be washed away again and again.
sometimes i wonder what i am doing here, that this is an exercise in futility. a comedy of errors. i had this theory that there are certain kinds of people that like situations like this because the work is endless. that they don't really want the problem to be solved because then they would have nothing to do. there is a sense of all that that plagues this place. there is a darkness.
before i left New York i had an epic night at Employees Only with K. there is this tall old black bartender there named Henry who is from New Orleans. when i told him i was coming down here to help with the recovery and that i am a planner, he said "they don't want planning". and my thought was "well they are going to get it, anyway". but he was right, there is a resistance here to planning. if people really wanted the government to fix things, it would happen. if the government, the city government and the residents really wanted to put things back in an orderly way, it would happen. there is a resistance to all logic. they want the twilight, as I mentioned before, they want the eclecticism of experience, which would be ruined by logic.
it is like the bermuda triangle here. things will just disappear and resurface as they will. there is an element of magic to it all, but it is something dark, something at odds with all the square puritanicalism of our great nation. maybe it is just because it is july and the malaiase of summer makes people want to hide themselves in the air-conditioning and never come out.
i found out yesterday that my ancestors on my mother's side came over here from england in the 1630s. they had immigrated from france in the 13th century, and we can trace the roots back that far. basically there was a woman named Elizabeth Hawkred who, after bearing 3 children to one man and then burying him, two of her children died and she married another man coming to the new British colony. She had two more children with him before he died, then married again and had a couple more. She lived to 71, and this was the 1670s or so. she was one tough bitch. the toddler she brought over with her, John, was the one that we are descended from.
it got me thinking about my own personal drive and survival skills and motivations. maybe it is in my genetic code to come down to these strange places, to sympathize with africa or other frontier situations. to escape the weight of structure and security, but perhaps pay the price for chaos and 'freedom'. on my father's side, they were all democratic ranchers and horse breeders. they got some land in nebraska or iowa and built sod huts and lived there on the land. they came over i think in the mid-1800s. they were survivors too. it is interesting to learn that i come from a long line of crazy people who eschewed comfort for a bigger world. then when they got there that world was raw and brutal but also vast with endless potential. i wonder if they ever got depressed and discouraged. i wonder how they saw their world, i wonder if they knew what to do. i like to think about these people, and wonder what drove them to a strange part of the world that probably didn't want them in the first place. i like to think about their bravery and their follies and their ambitions. what situation made them feel that they had to move and change things for themselves, maybe even to the point that was almost sucidal.
WOW. that was a cheery post.
by the way, has anyone seen my sense of humor? its still MIA.
sometimes i wonder what i am doing here, that this is an exercise in futility. a comedy of errors. i had this theory that there are certain kinds of people that like situations like this because the work is endless. that they don't really want the problem to be solved because then they would have nothing to do. there is a sense of all that that plagues this place. there is a darkness.
before i left New York i had an epic night at Employees Only with K. there is this tall old black bartender there named Henry who is from New Orleans. when i told him i was coming down here to help with the recovery and that i am a planner, he said "they don't want planning". and my thought was "well they are going to get it, anyway". but he was right, there is a resistance here to planning. if people really wanted the government to fix things, it would happen. if the government, the city government and the residents really wanted to put things back in an orderly way, it would happen. there is a resistance to all logic. they want the twilight, as I mentioned before, they want the eclecticism of experience, which would be ruined by logic.
it is like the bermuda triangle here. things will just disappear and resurface as they will. there is an element of magic to it all, but it is something dark, something at odds with all the square puritanicalism of our great nation. maybe it is just because it is july and the malaiase of summer makes people want to hide themselves in the air-conditioning and never come out.
i found out yesterday that my ancestors on my mother's side came over here from england in the 1630s. they had immigrated from france in the 13th century, and we can trace the roots back that far. basically there was a woman named Elizabeth Hawkred who, after bearing 3 children to one man and then burying him, two of her children died and she married another man coming to the new British colony. She had two more children with him before he died, then married again and had a couple more. She lived to 71, and this was the 1670s or so. she was one tough bitch. the toddler she brought over with her, John, was the one that we are descended from.
it got me thinking about my own personal drive and survival skills and motivations. maybe it is in my genetic code to come down to these strange places, to sympathize with africa or other frontier situations. to escape the weight of structure and security, but perhaps pay the price for chaos and 'freedom'. on my father's side, they were all democratic ranchers and horse breeders. they got some land in nebraska or iowa and built sod huts and lived there on the land. they came over i think in the mid-1800s. they were survivors too. it is interesting to learn that i come from a long line of crazy people who eschewed comfort for a bigger world. then when they got there that world was raw and brutal but also vast with endless potential. i wonder if they ever got depressed and discouraged. i wonder how they saw their world, i wonder if they knew what to do. i like to think about these people, and wonder what drove them to a strange part of the world that probably didn't want them in the first place. i like to think about their bravery and their follies and their ambitions. what situation made them feel that they had to move and change things for themselves, maybe even to the point that was almost sucidal.
WOW. that was a cheery post.
by the way, has anyone seen my sense of humor? its still MIA.
cinematic life
it's a coping mechanism to get through life, to romaticize the fuck-ups and awkwardness and other things. to see them as a large and gradiose story. too bad that no-one watches it. the past few days have been bizarre and a roller-coaster of emotion and drive and self-loathing and ambition and loss and just basic human neurosis. it should be a movie, i think to myself, one that no-one ever watches. is it really that interesting? what is the use of flailing in an artistic sense if no one is interested in, or learns from the flailing of others? i can't wait till i am older, like 60 if i make it that far. maybe then i will have the patience and reflection to recount the things that matter. whatev's. it's all about escapism. not that there's anything wrong with that. is there?
i'm tired of myself.
i'm tired of myself.
Friday, July 6, 2007
a little culture for all you philistines out there, that being most of you
a friend sent this to me, and i love it. then my darling brother gave me a book of Rumi's poems and if you ever want to read to most drunk and in love and piercing gorgeous poems that are timeless and hilarious, please look him up. god, i sound like a bloody fucking 1800flowers.com ad. or something. anyway. buckle up babies... this is a good one.
Thirst drove me down to the water
Where I drank the moon's reflection.
Now I am a lion staring up totally
Lost in love with the thing its self.
Dont ask questions about longing
Look in my face.
Soul drunk, body ruined, these two
Sit helpless in a wrecked wagon
Neither knows how to fix it.
And my heart, I'd say it was more
Like a donkey sunk in a mudhole,
Struggling and miring deeper.
But listen to me for a moment
Quit being sad. Hear blessings
Dropping thier blossoms
all around you.
- Rumi, 13th century
Thirst drove me down to the water
Where I drank the moon's reflection.
Now I am a lion staring up totally
Lost in love with the thing its self.
Dont ask questions about longing
Look in my face.
Soul drunk, body ruined, these two
Sit helpless in a wrecked wagon
Neither knows how to fix it.
And my heart, I'd say it was more
Like a donkey sunk in a mudhole,
Struggling and miring deeper.
But listen to me for a moment
Quit being sad. Hear blessings
Dropping thier blossoms
all around you.
- Rumi, 13th century
how apropo
my horoscope for this week.
PISCES (Feb. 19-March 20):Here are a few of the fine developments I expect you will have enjoyed by the end of July: growing pains that feel pretty damn good; the dissolution of wishy-washy wishes that have been keeping you distracted from your burning desires; a vivid vision of what you want to be when you grow up; living proof that you're not just an armchair adventurer; the friendliest lust ever; a new plaything; and insight into why fanaticism can be very useful in moderation.
PISCES (Feb. 19-March 20):Here are a few of the fine developments I expect you will have enjoyed by the end of July: growing pains that feel pretty damn good; the dissolution of wishy-washy wishes that have been keeping you distracted from your burning desires; a vivid vision of what you want to be when you grow up; living proof that you're not just an armchair adventurer; the friendliest lust ever; a new plaything; and insight into why fanaticism can be very useful in moderation.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Americana
I have talked about this before. about texas and my obsession with Americana. when i think of America as a foreign country i can handle it. when i think of myself as a visitor i can handle it. if you force me to identify, i will become depressed, withdrawn, sulky and bitchy. i hate my country for its self-consciousness. i hate it for its consumption. i hate it for its slovenliness. for its style-less largesse. for its sense of entitlement.
i visited the wretched and disgusting town of Houston over the weekend to see V. it was bad. my last night there we went to play pool at a place called the Seabrook Beach Club. horrible place. everything was painted as is if it were bamboo. fake plants. ugly bar furniture. bad lighting. bad music. too many t.v.s. the waitresses wore bikinis and chatted up ugly old men drinking miller lite and caressing their own paunches. a man and his son ordered crawfish that was served in an old plastic drink tray, dirty white. the boiled and salted little beings were ripped apart and sucked at and left with their heads and eyes and miniature claws. viscera and food. i felt like it was the set for a dating reality show. but uglier and without the quips and edits.
the waitress was a fucking bimbo. sorry. we asked her if she had Newcastle beer and she asked what that was. then we asked her what kind of beer she had and she said 'i don't know, i have only been here two weeks'. get your fucking head out of your bikini and figure it out. oh, america. land of the free, home of the fucking dim-witted. where did the message come from that it was good to be stupid? that it is an asset to be slow and spaced out? no wonder the VCTR saw a wealth here. wake-em up, a WAKE EM UP! WAKE EM UP! SCREAM IT! WAKE EM UP! fertile ground. so fertile. the flip side of enlightenment, it is here. the flip side of vision, it is here. the flip side of vigor, it is here. the flip side of elegance, it is here. the flip side of real, genuine unrelenting confidence it is here. my god, what a fertile land. it makes so much sense. what an opportunity.
why do i care about the waitress? why even form an opinion? because i have to pay attention to my world and talk to it, just like it talks to me.
i think V. might secretly admire this kind of obliviousness, thinking there is something profoundly pure and unadulterated about it all. where in reality, that is the complete opposite. there is something dark and really wretched about it all. it is not okay to perpetuate this kind of vague stupidity. why isn't it okay? because it just fucking ISN'T. what are the options otherwise?
i digressed.
drink up with me now and forget all about.............................................
i visited the wretched and disgusting town of Houston over the weekend to see V. it was bad. my last night there we went to play pool at a place called the Seabrook Beach Club. horrible place. everything was painted as is if it were bamboo. fake plants. ugly bar furniture. bad lighting. bad music. too many t.v.s. the waitresses wore bikinis and chatted up ugly old men drinking miller lite and caressing their own paunches. a man and his son ordered crawfish that was served in an old plastic drink tray, dirty white. the boiled and salted little beings were ripped apart and sucked at and left with their heads and eyes and miniature claws. viscera and food. i felt like it was the set for a dating reality show. but uglier and without the quips and edits.
the waitress was a fucking bimbo. sorry. we asked her if she had Newcastle beer and she asked what that was. then we asked her what kind of beer she had and she said 'i don't know, i have only been here two weeks'. get your fucking head out of your bikini and figure it out. oh, america. land of the free, home of the fucking dim-witted. where did the message come from that it was good to be stupid? that it is an asset to be slow and spaced out? no wonder the VCTR saw a wealth here. wake-em up, a WAKE EM UP! WAKE EM UP! SCREAM IT! WAKE EM UP! fertile ground. so fertile. the flip side of enlightenment, it is here. the flip side of vision, it is here. the flip side of vigor, it is here. the flip side of elegance, it is here. the flip side of real, genuine unrelenting confidence it is here. my god, what a fertile land. it makes so much sense. what an opportunity.
why do i care about the waitress? why even form an opinion? because i have to pay attention to my world and talk to it, just like it talks to me.
i think V. might secretly admire this kind of obliviousness, thinking there is something profoundly pure and unadulterated about it all. where in reality, that is the complete opposite. there is something dark and really wretched about it all. it is not okay to perpetuate this kind of vague stupidity. why isn't it okay? because it just fucking ISN'T. what are the options otherwise?
i digressed.
drink up with me now and forget all about.............................................
the wretched hangover of life and a snap
hangovers and hangups. when are we free? how does it happen and how to we actualize these things? basically i want to run, run away from things. but they have caught up with me and now i have to stare them in the face. i thought things would disappear. i thought that moving here would bury all that has happened. perhaps i don't have the strength, new orleans, to drag you out of whatever horrible thing has happened. if i can't even do that for myself, how can i do it for you? i have a hangover, and so do you. but it is time to wake up also. it is time to sober up. it is time to straighten the back and raise the head.
my necklace broke. It had a silhouette of Africa and a couple of Ghanaian symbols on it. I will not elaborate on the circumstances by which is broke, but all i will say is.. well nevermind. i hadn't taken off that necklace in a year and a half. i bought it on the last visit to Ghana before my parents moved. Africa. It represented promise to me, the power of energy and human capital. not AIDS and desperation. of course they are there as well, but when was the last time you heard a goddamn postive thing about Africa? you know what, there are a lot of amazing things there. so that is my i wore Africa, to remind me of the fundamental power of humanity to innovate and survive. that is what was compelling for me.
i like symbolism and believe in it. it was time for this approach and this source of reminder and inspiration to change. it is time for a change in approach to things. the world is telling me so. my little necklace needed to break to show me, in the phenomenal sense, that it is time.
seem abstract? it is. seem vague? that is because i have a secret that i cannot reveal, gentle reader, for it will lose its power.
snap!
my necklace broke. It had a silhouette of Africa and a couple of Ghanaian symbols on it. I will not elaborate on the circumstances by which is broke, but all i will say is.. well nevermind. i hadn't taken off that necklace in a year and a half. i bought it on the last visit to Ghana before my parents moved. Africa. It represented promise to me, the power of energy and human capital. not AIDS and desperation. of course they are there as well, but when was the last time you heard a goddamn postive thing about Africa? you know what, there are a lot of amazing things there. so that is my i wore Africa, to remind me of the fundamental power of humanity to innovate and survive. that is what was compelling for me.
i like symbolism and believe in it. it was time for this approach and this source of reminder and inspiration to change. it is time for a change in approach to things. the world is telling me so. my little necklace needed to break to show me, in the phenomenal sense, that it is time.
seem abstract? it is. seem vague? that is because i have a secret that i cannot reveal, gentle reader, for it will lose its power.
snap!
Thursday, June 21, 2007
alone a lot. or. wtf is going on?
in general i am finding myself alone a lot. this is due to a couple of things, one of them being that i don't really work with my colleagues. we kind of talk on the phone and email from time to time. it isn't really collaboration. i know i have 'a boss' and 'a colleague' out there somewhere, but i don't know what they do or where they are most of the time. i try to do my work, whatever it is, and get things done and give them little updates on progress. most of the time they are pretty much ignored. so without feedback or collaboration i find my perception of things getting a bit wonky and my motivation wanes and my thought processes stop being pithy, interesting or inventive. i get no feedback, negative or positive. sometimes i wish they would come scream at me for some screw-up that happens.
it is just me in my little office. then i go to meetings with strangers and have a hard time explaining what i do, what my job is, and what my identity is. i have always identified strongly with whatever my work was. when i was a waitress, i was a waitress. that was fine. i wasn't a waitress who was working on something else. now i am doing something that i think is probably okay, but i don't feel like i am really stretching myself, that this situation is stretching me or making any demands on my intelligence or competence. is this my fault? could i be doing more? sure. but how and what and how skillful do i have to be? how aggressive? how patient? it is hard to scratch out a little corner of vocational territory when everyone around you in incommunicado. it is hard. but nobody said it was going to be easy.
what is going on here? am a loser who is missing something, missing the point, or did i just not get the memo? maybe they don't want me to get the memo? do they want me to quit? i don't really know.
i don't hate working. in fact, i enjoy it. i aspire to have an interesing, challenging job where i feel a sense of team work and identity. i would like to believe in what i do. to feel personally gratified every day. to feel like i am flying high in a nightgown above the spires of St. Petersburg on a cool spring night with a full moon.. actually that isn't work, but it would be nice i want to feel like i am charging away in the most elegant and skillful sense. that all my energy and love is well-intentioned and i can use it somehow. i am frustrated i guess.
it is just me in my little office. then i go to meetings with strangers and have a hard time explaining what i do, what my job is, and what my identity is. i have always identified strongly with whatever my work was. when i was a waitress, i was a waitress. that was fine. i wasn't a waitress who was working on something else. now i am doing something that i think is probably okay, but i don't feel like i am really stretching myself, that this situation is stretching me or making any demands on my intelligence or competence. is this my fault? could i be doing more? sure. but how and what and how skillful do i have to be? how aggressive? how patient? it is hard to scratch out a little corner of vocational territory when everyone around you in incommunicado. it is hard. but nobody said it was going to be easy.
what is going on here? am a loser who is missing something, missing the point, or did i just not get the memo? maybe they don't want me to get the memo? do they want me to quit? i don't really know.
i don't hate working. in fact, i enjoy it. i aspire to have an interesing, challenging job where i feel a sense of team work and identity. i would like to believe in what i do. to feel personally gratified every day. to feel like i am flying high in a nightgown above the spires of St. Petersburg on a cool spring night with a full moon.. actually that isn't work, but it would be nice i want to feel like i am charging away in the most elegant and skillful sense. that all my energy and love is well-intentioned and i can use it somehow. i am frustrated i guess.
living for the city
New Orleans. that bloody dark and charming back-water. oh la la. here i be. your charisma is your achilles heel. you know that, but if you don't say it, it doesn't exist. magic and vibe and luck. think that will get you through? for awhile. but that is all you really need. muck. really, just muck. this setting-sun view is your absolute wealth. you don't want to be like any one else... not really interested in the status-quo or measuring up through demographics or the census or other formal indicators. you like to kill yourself softly. not WAKE-EM UP! let's not have any of that. we can just chll. what's the big deal? you don't want to be a force, you want to be forgotten, so you can live your secret life. you don't want daylight. you want twilight forever.
i decided to volunteer with a very brilliant person and force him to adpot me since i have to substantial or fulfilling work at my bread and butter job. he has given me more work that i know what to do with. he wants me to deliver things on a deadline, for free. and i love it. i had to search out something. i have to do something with my lazy idealistic bag of bones. so i found it. now that my soul is rich, shouldn't i be making more money? the little benz broke down, so repairs are running at nearly 5 bills. ugh... and i realize i can't live without a car now. paralyzed. hopeless. depressed!! where are my four fucking wheels and a seat? i have given up on walking. being outside makes my skin fry (i am very fair). i sweat, it takes a long time.
basically, life is annoying. at the same time, it is rather interesting. perhaps that is the point.. that is how it works. i am living hardly enough for the city. fragile little existences all around me. my fragile existence.. what is the point? let new orleans drown, then. let it drown in its own muck, so that it can bloom again elsewhere in another life. let me go somewhere safe and structured and unimaginative. let me be sterile. let me be careful. let's not fight anymore.
sounds awful.
i decided to volunteer with a very brilliant person and force him to adpot me since i have to substantial or fulfilling work at my bread and butter job. he has given me more work that i know what to do with. he wants me to deliver things on a deadline, for free. and i love it. i had to search out something. i have to do something with my lazy idealistic bag of bones. so i found it. now that my soul is rich, shouldn't i be making more money? the little benz broke down, so repairs are running at nearly 5 bills. ugh... and i realize i can't live without a car now. paralyzed. hopeless. depressed!! where are my four fucking wheels and a seat? i have given up on walking. being outside makes my skin fry (i am very fair). i sweat, it takes a long time.
basically, life is annoying. at the same time, it is rather interesting. perhaps that is the point.. that is how it works. i am living hardly enough for the city. fragile little existences all around me. my fragile existence.. what is the point? let new orleans drown, then. let it drown in its own muck, so that it can bloom again elsewhere in another life. let me go somewhere safe and structured and unimaginative. let me be sterile. let me be careful. let's not fight anymore.
sounds awful.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
coming back to america
ever since i left my high school, edward c. reed high school in sparks, nevada and moved to indonesia to finish 11th and 12th grades at jakarta international school, i have been avoiding america as best i can. i went to a small sequestered liberal-arts college in rural minnesota, a bastion of academia, liberalism, and suffocating, soft-sell tolerance with a monastic bent. i studied in paris and india during my time there, spending summers in nova scotia and winter holidays back in jakarta. from there i moved to new york city, my first apartment after college with a friend in harlem, a massive 2-bedroom for $1400 a month with an insane russian landlord who was a scientologist and liked to fiddle with his rottweiler's asshole when we went down to pay the rent.
i fell in love with a french guy 12 years my senior and did everything i could to move to france to be with him, mildly alienating my family and crawling back to new york a few months later with 2 suitcases, $40 and a place to stay. I stayed in NYC another 4 years. Then I came here. New Orleans. the loveable and hilarious and sincere and volatile third world of america.
we left sparks, nevada 13 years ago. i never missed our subdivision with the modular homes ( i now reel at the smell of the plastic and chemicals used for these houses, the sick, sad process and roads from which they came), the bored rebellion of small-town coffee shops and smoking secretly. the boredom, the admiration of greater horizons that seemed so un-attainable. the kind of low-brow humor, the tenuous social networks that evolve and thrive in these little towns. the angers, the relationships. the embarassment. so long! wanted to be somewhere bigger than that. where people thought bigger and weren't really afraid of it.
and then there was texas.
we got back from an extended weekend in texas with V. landed in houston (horrible place) and then a 2 day trip to austin. austin is nice enough. pretty. it has the fresh water springs and some hills. there are plants and set-backs for the houses... texan architecture and then they embrace some amazing modernism as well. dive bars and haute restaurants. nice. its like boulder meets cowboy. or something.
texas represents america to me.. it is big, it is bored, it is insecure and it is inward looking. americans have no sense of sex appeal, of the secret or of the alluded-to. they want to be bashed over the head with some big tits and then relax with a violent movie. the food portions in texas are huge. the cars are huge. the 80-foot elevated freeways are huge. nobody walks, nobody has a center of town. the pervasive feeling of it being your first night out as a 16 year old is everywhere in social spaces like bars and restaurants. even for adults who think it brave to talk to a stranger and braver to reveal themselves.
our first night in austin we went to 6th street, kind of the bars and restaurant tourist strip. it was full of overly-made up 21 year olds and fat tourists and a few goth/metal types. fine. the scary part was that i think we saw at least 6 separate bachelorette parties that night. like the kind with the matching outfits and blown-up-condoms tied to their faux-one-night-only veils. i thought the condoms were funny.. were they saying hello or good bye to the condoms? they only have a matter of a couple of years before they are ploy-blend shorts wearing heifers. (sorry) so make the most out of that ass before it is twice the size.
it is amrika (thanks Rushdie). the foreign land of consumption where the cultural message is eat fast and big, fuck, but not too much, or at all because if you believe in sex you are going to hell, mega-churches (yes, that is a word), cars, guns, hair bleach, hair spray, gasoline, food, malls, freeway exits, jeans and elastic. bad fats, trans-fats, beef and bread. air-conditioning. it's america. they believe in it, why don't i?
i fell in love with a french guy 12 years my senior and did everything i could to move to france to be with him, mildly alienating my family and crawling back to new york a few months later with 2 suitcases, $40 and a place to stay. I stayed in NYC another 4 years. Then I came here. New Orleans. the loveable and hilarious and sincere and volatile third world of america.
we left sparks, nevada 13 years ago. i never missed our subdivision with the modular homes ( i now reel at the smell of the plastic and chemicals used for these houses, the sick, sad process and roads from which they came), the bored rebellion of small-town coffee shops and smoking secretly. the boredom, the admiration of greater horizons that seemed so un-attainable. the kind of low-brow humor, the tenuous social networks that evolve and thrive in these little towns. the angers, the relationships. the embarassment. so long! wanted to be somewhere bigger than that. where people thought bigger and weren't really afraid of it.
and then there was texas.
we got back from an extended weekend in texas with V. landed in houston (horrible place) and then a 2 day trip to austin. austin is nice enough. pretty. it has the fresh water springs and some hills. there are plants and set-backs for the houses... texan architecture and then they embrace some amazing modernism as well. dive bars and haute restaurants. nice. its like boulder meets cowboy. or something.
texas represents america to me.. it is big, it is bored, it is insecure and it is inward looking. americans have no sense of sex appeal, of the secret or of the alluded-to. they want to be bashed over the head with some big tits and then relax with a violent movie. the food portions in texas are huge. the cars are huge. the 80-foot elevated freeways are huge. nobody walks, nobody has a center of town. the pervasive feeling of it being your first night out as a 16 year old is everywhere in social spaces like bars and restaurants. even for adults who think it brave to talk to a stranger and braver to reveal themselves.
our first night in austin we went to 6th street, kind of the bars and restaurant tourist strip. it was full of overly-made up 21 year olds and fat tourists and a few goth/metal types. fine. the scary part was that i think we saw at least 6 separate bachelorette parties that night. like the kind with the matching outfits and blown-up-condoms tied to their faux-one-night-only veils. i thought the condoms were funny.. were they saying hello or good bye to the condoms? they only have a matter of a couple of years before they are ploy-blend shorts wearing heifers. (sorry) so make the most out of that ass before it is twice the size.
it is amrika (thanks Rushdie). the foreign land of consumption where the cultural message is eat fast and big, fuck, but not too much, or at all because if you believe in sex you are going to hell, mega-churches (yes, that is a word), cars, guns, hair bleach, hair spray, gasoline, food, malls, freeway exits, jeans and elastic. bad fats, trans-fats, beef and bread. air-conditioning. it's america. they believe in it, why don't i?
potential titles for my yet-to-be-written memoires -or- self-published self-help books..which is which game!
Nobody Said It was Going to be Easy, and It Isn't
A Sense of Entitlement
The 'Fuck It' Syndrome and the Overly-Educated
Not Comprimising Myself: Rejecting Corporatism, the Status-Quo, the System and the Price I Paid
Take These Loans and Shove 'Em
International Relations: Dating Outside your Continent
A Gold-Miner's Daughter
Love in the Time of the Internet
Pseudo-Celbrity: Brief Meetings with semi-celebrities that will impress your parents and no-one else
Getting by in New York, and Bitching About It
Ghetto Gourmet
Bad Choices Make You Learn, Smart Choices Make you Boring
Love Don't Pay the Rent (and Neither does a Graduate Degree)
Expensive Taste: How to do it right and do it up on Other People's Money
If Something's Not right, It's Wrong
It's all what you make of it, so if you are lazy, you are going to make very little. But That is Okay.
Ambition is for Poseurs
What's the Point?
Red, Red Wine
Screaming into the Abyss: The Joys of Pointless, Unfinished, Unacknowledged Projects and Blogs
France Does Not Solve Your Problems
Wherever you go, There you are. aka Excuses, Excuses. (Spanish translation title: Manana, Manana)
Being Lonely No Matter What (And Loving It!)
Aspirations To Nunhood for the 21st Century Woman
What You Should be Doing is a Little off to the Right or Left Somewhere
The Trials and Tribulations of Someone Who Can't Tan
A Renter's Life
How Booze was Both Good and Bad for my Career
God Helps Those Who Help Themselves (to your Stuff!): A Liberal White Chick's Guide to Getting Robbed, and Other Advice for moving Through Low-Income Rental Communities as A White Woman in Urban Metropolises
I'm in a Pickle
A Sense of Entitlement
The 'Fuck It' Syndrome and the Overly-Educated
Not Comprimising Myself: Rejecting Corporatism, the Status-Quo, the System and the Price I Paid
Take These Loans and Shove 'Em
International Relations: Dating Outside your Continent
A Gold-Miner's Daughter
Love in the Time of the Internet
Pseudo-Celbrity: Brief Meetings with semi-celebrities that will impress your parents and no-one else
Getting by in New York, and Bitching About It
Ghetto Gourmet
Bad Choices Make You Learn, Smart Choices Make you Boring
Love Don't Pay the Rent (and Neither does a Graduate Degree)
Expensive Taste: How to do it right and do it up on Other People's Money
If Something's Not right, It's Wrong
It's all what you make of it, so if you are lazy, you are going to make very little. But That is Okay.
Ambition is for Poseurs
What's the Point?
Red, Red Wine
Screaming into the Abyss: The Joys of Pointless, Unfinished, Unacknowledged Projects and Blogs
France Does Not Solve Your Problems
Wherever you go, There you are. aka Excuses, Excuses. (Spanish translation title: Manana, Manana)
Being Lonely No Matter What (And Loving It!)
Aspirations To Nunhood for the 21st Century Woman
What You Should be Doing is a Little off to the Right or Left Somewhere
The Trials and Tribulations of Someone Who Can't Tan
A Renter's Life
How Booze was Both Good and Bad for my Career
God Helps Those Who Help Themselves (to your Stuff!): A Liberal White Chick's Guide to Getting Robbed, and Other Advice for moving Through Low-Income Rental Communities as A White Woman in Urban Metropolises
I'm in a Pickle
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