fool for that

this is just to say

2006-02-14T21:44:00.000-08:00

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

...william carlos williams

This is my favorite love poem. It might even be my favorite poem full stop. It's disappointing when people don't have a favorite poem. Who are these people? I understand. Not everyone reads poetry and really, that's okay, but maybe that's just my west coast self talking. It actually isn't really okay. But if I remove all the non-poetry lovers from the pool of potential friends, that's probably more than, what do you think - like, 65-70 percent of all the people in the world? And then maybe 50 percent of the people I know? Maybe that's my inner pessimist talking. Wouldn't it be nice if that criteria only removed, say five percent of all the people in the world and almost everyone was up for inclusion?

William Carlos Williams is definitely not my favorite poet. That's ee cummings. Oh, I know it's vaguely predictable and sort of obvious. I've let it go. When I was 15, the boy I lost my virginity to stole a hardback copy of the ee cummings anthology for me for - maybe my birthday. I know for a fact he had no idea. He just knew I wanted the book.

I mean, this young question mark man? she being brand new? The best. That poem about the moon reaching into his window with its little hands? Unbearable. I gave Kimberly Lymberis a copy of 'she being brand new' to leave in John Egger's locker when we were juniors in high school. It was very Roxanne/Cyrano. It so worked. Not that she needed to do it.

along the brittle treacherous bright streets
of memory comes my heart, singing like
an idiot, whispering like a drunken man

a little sleepytime tea spiked with another heartache

2006-02-03T09:32:00.000-08:00

Lately I've been rebuilding my old music collection like a collage - a CD, a dowload, a record. I'm trying to remember all the songs that I loved, that I listened to 400 times in a row and then one more when I was 15, 16, 21. I can't remember the last time that happened.

When I listen to some of those songs now, I love them just as much, but I love them because they remind me of myself then. They remind me of my high school boyfriends and the ones I crushed on in college. They remind me of playing hookie in the King Edward hotel -- finding someone's scribbled note on the rotten floors and looking down on the empty pool, filled with rusty rainwater. Remind me of sneaking into the empty space above Lemuria and having dinner on the floor. Of a million missions to the POW camp, walking so far through the high grass and thinking that we must be lost until we found it. And then, once we got there, feeling ghosts and making fun of the cut-rate goth graffiti on the walls. All my favorite places during the day - the Farish Street cemetary; Shirley's; the flea market; downtown abandoned on a Saturday afternoon; Laurel Park, and at night - the fountains in Highland Village; the sprinklers at Colonial Countryclub; Kolb's Cleaners; behind the movie screen at Rocky Horror (what was the name of that theater?); Krystal's.

Jackson was (and maybe still is) a town with a lot of hidden, forgotten, and left-for-dead spaces. I never had a fake id, so we had to seek out places to get into trouble that didn't have bouncers. Now that I'm older and live in a great City, there are a million things to do that don't require any effort at all. Listening to those old songs reminds me of a time when entertainment wasn't nearly so passive and maybe more interesting.

a steersman must abide by the arbitrary law of the compass

2006-01-19T20:16:00.000-08:00

Dear Negroni -
Your are so bitter, and yet I stumble through a sober wilderness without you.
Your Campari is like a grimy, grumpy Walter Matthau, and yet,
paired with the saucy Gin of Jack Lemmon, who can resist your prickly charms?
love,
Little Miss Marker

Dear Bo Bice -
Two ribbons of shame on your dojo, sir. Screw you for encouraging any asshole who ever liked the Allman Brothers to audition for American Idol. I thought we put that isht to bed after Mask - wait, nevermind, that was Sam Elliot. You're like that one soggy, slimy piece of undercooked fried okra that casts a pall on the rest of the bowl.
there is no try, only do -
Roll Dog

Dear Allan Hollinghurst,
I am sure you are going somewhere with this. I am just sure of it, but I have to say, I feel ambushed by a novel that seems like gay soft porn thinly masquerading as satire. I am hanging in there, but only for another, say, hundred pages. Make it happen.
love,
Anulus Roundhole

p.s. I think you should know that when I click your very smug-but-sassy author picture on amazon, I get this - is that what you want? I mean, really.

Dear Wednesday Night Teevee -
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
You're my new favorite turd,
I'd never shit you.
love,
s-boogie brown

Dear TC Boyle,
It took me a long time to get over the fact that the cover of Drop City sucks. The book was great: Alaska! Acid! Heartbreak! Dead Dogs! Really. Great. But please reconsider your choice of graphic artist. I can't take that on the bus.
love,
Priscilla Pantywaist

i'd rather be a hammer than a nail

2006-01-12T08:48:00.000-08:00

He didn't turn really bad until 40? I thought life begins at 50?

sidenote: way too many hits on "life begins at 50" search.

if I told you I loved you, I lied

2006-01-06T16:57:00.000-08:00

When I was but a wee slo (well, maybe not that wee - like 13 - but I've been dying to write that.), I had four posters up in my room. Poster number one was in the back of my closet behind all my clothes.

It was of Ratt, circa Lay it Down. They were just so...nasty. And if you've seen Stephen Pearcy lately, you know that isht wasn't just for show, judging by how cruel the years have been to Waycool Junior. One of them was squirting mustard on the other ones? Poster number two wasn't really a poster; it was a clipping from some heavy metal magazine of GNR and it was scotch-taped to the inside of my underwear drawer. I know. Gross, right?

Posters numbers three and four were affixed to my cork board with a thumbtack. One was of Sean Ono, and the other was Marc Jacobs. Sean Ono was in black and white, which softened his features so that all you could really make out was a mess of dark hair and large, wide-set brown eyes. The one of Marc Jacobs was in color. I ripped it out of a magazine. He was slumped against a wall, no glasses - long curly brown hair and a white polo shirt.

Considering the posters more closely, I wasn't spending my 13-year old daydreams on GNR and Ratt. While I wanted to be the type of outlandishly naughty girl who snuck out to see Lillian Axe on a Wednesday night and dated the drummer, I was actually the plainly cautious one, crushing on some undercover nerds.

a big fat cop out

2006-01-04T22:11:00.000-08:00

Santino: I'll never apologize for anything that I design. Me: Really? Well, could you consider apologizing for that stringy glorified combover masquerading as a ponytail?
vat doss zee model sound like ven shee loses? she sounds like ten thousand puppies orphaned in zee vilderness.
Nicky Hilton - I'm sorry, your taste is "exquisite"? you're a dirty liar! you dress alternately like an 80-year old former showgirl living in Palm Beach and a 12-year old who shops exclusively at Forever 21. It is a total sin that you have that much money and choose to wear Miss Teen USA cast-offs, but I guess that, in the immortal words of Dolly Parton, "People don't realize how much it costs to look cheap."
Me: Okay, Santino. I'm sorry. I apologize for my earlier remarks. No no, for real. I see that you just took the ridiculous up to Level Radical with those patent leather shoes. I didn't even see that coming - not at all!
You have reignited my love for the fauxhawk, Nick. I don't know whether I love you or hate you for that.
Nicky Hilton has an adam's apple.

cliche battle

2006-01-03T20:55:00.000-08:00

Power Corrupts v. Power Attracts the Corruptible

Maybe it's not actually a very good point/counterpoint - more like a statement and then a clarification. I used to ponder it when I worked for the City of Oakland, where Jerry Brown was (and is) the mayor. Not because of JB, but because of this guy. I guess that Catholic+Buddhist=Situationist/Sexual Harrasser? Or maybe he's just French. Favorite quote derived from two minutes of web research: "The notion of situationism is obviously devised by antisituationists." Obviously.

p.s. speaking of D.C. - seriously, Clinton Portis, you have a job. Could you maybe stop auditioning for King of Awesome?

p.p.s. sidenote...is that a hair icon? magical!

left brain/right brain

2006-01-03T14:00:00.000-08:00

Here is what I love about this: the people on the right had a totally different photo in mind than the people on the left. In fact, if you cover up the ridiculous on the left, you can see that the people on the right thought, 'What a lovely day this is. I'm so happy to be out here in the snow. Look at my teeth.' While the people on the left thought, 'I've got the keys to f***ed up city! In fact, check my card! I'm the mayor!'

just a little (bored to) bit(s)

2006-01-02T11:47:00.000-08:00

Sack deez, Lassie!
It makes her wanna piece a paper, scribble down i hate ya
Salve for my troubled soul: almost all real waists are straight
r.i.p. best hobo ever and mr. agnes dipesto
Is Wolf Creek the new Fortress? (free association chain: kidnappers in masks+spunky australians=Fortress: spunky australians+bicycles= BMX Bandits : BMX/Dirtbikes+Helen Slater=Legend of Billie Jean: Helen Slater's best friend Helen Hunt+ smoking a joint and jumping out a window=Angel Dusted) Hmmmm...add a dash of Heavy Metal Parking Lot, and I smell a film festival!
Before 'lazy sunday,' a way funnier song about what's important

guilty pleasures 2005

2005-12-31T20:28:00.000-08:00

1. celebrity gossip (perez, trent, us, people, defamer, etc., etc., ad nauseum)
2. liberal guilt
3. kelly clarkson
4. mariah carey
5. howard stern
6. presidente and coke
7. wedding fever
8. gw's approval ratings
9. enforced vacations
10. clevage, ohio
11. the sports book
12. james frey/david sedaris
13. blogs and voyerism
14. playing hookie
15. being the boss of people
16. myspace/friendster
17. partagas no. 6
18. turning 29 twice
19. karaoke - 4ever (wanted dead or alive, rich girl, careless whisper, eye of the tiger: training montage!)
20. lottery scratchers

i've got a miniature secret camera

2005-12-30T09:35:00.000-08:00

I ride the bus or the train or some combination of the two almost everyday. Where I live, there are a multitude of public transit providers. Within a half hour, I could access no fewer than six, and I live in a constellation of cities that puts the public in public transit. Just yesterday, I sat on the train next to a gentelman with a gigantic single dread lock who was foaming a little at the mouth. I'm talking here about the kind of dread lock you get when you don't wash your hair. For years. Not the kind that you get when you're listening to a lot of Tenor Saw and Sizzla. There was also a group (school?) of mentally retarded adults. No comment. And this stubby, stubbly old man who kept sighing while very pointedly reading my paper over my shoulder.

When you take the bus everywhere, you learn patience. You accept the fact that your trip will take a while. It will usually involve walking and waiting. It will definitely involve interaction with strangers. Even though I am an avowed ham, I am actually quite shy and awkward when I am alone in a sea of unknowns. I don't think I'm unusual in this regard. In fact I know I'm not.

Where I grew up, people looked eachother in the eye, smiled, and said hello when you passed them in public (I won't say "on the sidewalk" because there was a severe dearth of sidewalks). It was a pretty average, southern town with a low population density. I went to college on the east coast, and when I passed someone and smiled at them, they looked at me and then quickly down at the ground. It hurt. I learned that if you looked at someone and acknowledged them, it was like you were trying to ingratiate yourself into their personal space. As a girl, you were also sending out a clear positive signal to anyone with a penis that you were open for business. I moved out to the west coast, and although people are more laid back (or lazier, whatever), they are no less protective of their privacy, even (especially) on a crowded bus. I resent the fact that I cannot be friendly. Forget about the smile and the greeting - eye contact alone can get you a special, usually pathetic bus companion.

I think that the more dense a place, the tighter the quarters, the more creative people have to get to protect themselves - the book, the phone, the paper, the ipod - with little fortresses. When you're driving, even though you are surrounded by people, you have a false sense of isolation. When you're on the bus, there is a kind of desperation to achieve this same isolation. When I put "fake sleeping" on my list of things I'm good at, I'm not lying. I do it all the time in the morning on the bus, particularly when I'm between books. The key is the slightly relaxed jaw.

This is just an observation. It's definitely not a plea to be friendly on the bus or on the sidewalk. While I might resent the fact that it's no longer safe to be nice, I'd rather privately make fun of your shoes. Is the south's famed hospitality just a product of wide open spaces? Probably not. This is just a hazard of urban living.

things i am good at

2005-12-27T11:31:00.000-08:00

1. holding a grudge
2. drinking to confusion
3. bossy mcholstein
4. making up funny but vaguely insulting nicknames
5. speaking publicly
6. staring blankly
7. making a mess
8. grammar
9. reading too fast
10. choosing gifts for people i barely know
11. unintentional physical comedy
12. growing fingernails
13. being judgemental. especially of strangers.
14. spending beyond my means
15. developing girlhood crushes and never. letting. go. (the inverse of number 1)
16. hiding my potbelly
17. shopping vicariously
18. falling in love too easily
19. sour glances/grapes
20. fake sleeping

she's pretty in her face

2005-12-21T15:40:00.000-08:00

We are lucky enough to live in an era of truly epic Steves - I'm thinking here of Steves Guttenberg, Jobs, Earl, Winwood, and Buscemi. But really, they all fade to sepia when compared to the Steve I'll call Uncle.

I have this very deep seated fascination with other people's yearbooks. It doesn't matter if I don't know anyone at the school. I can spend hours gazing at pictures of the Chess Club, the Senior Class (please, God, let them have quotes), and the captioned candids. The interweb, and ex-specially various blog-hosting spots, are like one very large, very public yearbook. Sometimes I can sit and stare for hours at the "recently updated blogs" scroll, plucking little marvels like Uncle Steve's blog.

At the bottom is one of the scariest pictures I've ever seen entitled "the outlaws." And I have to say I kind of agree with his True Life Lesson, posted November 3rd.

kind of like banana laffy taffy

2005-12-21T11:45:00.000-08:00

My friend J. Pants, esq. will watch anything. I mean anything. She's a complete whore when it comes to movies. And not like a high-priced Heidi Fleiss whore. I'm talking about a deep Richmond flats whore. She really loved Radio. She ain't scared of some White Chicks. Or Garfield: the Movie. If it's got a million red flags that say "this movie suxxx (Around the World in 80 Days remake, anyone?)" it's the first title she'll pull. I'll turn around, and there she'll be, clutching a copy of Boat Trip, saying something along the lines of, "This looks funny. I like cruises."

However, it came to my attention that there are plenty of movies whose genius eludes everyone but me. And in Pants' honor, here are my top 5:

1. Rhinestone (1984) When I was deep into some Dolly Parton, frolicking in the fields of 9 to 5 and Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, this little gem was on HBO about 10 times a day. I'm a little blurry, but it was Dolly, Rocky, and I think there was the requisite mechanical bull? Stallone is in chaps at one point. Did you know he turned down Romancing the Stone for this? It's awesome. Plus, Glen Campbell theme song, anyone?

2. Legend (1985) I also had the entire Time Life Books series detailing wizards, elves, and fairies. I was way into fantasy. Way into it. Ridley Scott, Tom Cruise, Mia Sarah (Ferris Bueller's GF), but most importantly, Tim Curry tarted up in some black Flo Jo nails and devil horns. I considered adding The Last Unicorn and Labrynth, but Ziggy Stardust as a wizard and Miss Best Supporting Actress Jennifer Connolley are no match for Maverick and Rooster Hannigan.

3. Just One of the Guys (1985) It's not that people hate this one, it's that it deserves its rightful place in the eighties teen movie pantheon as an equal partner with Weird Science and every John Hughes movie before Home Alone. It's been denied and discriminated against, just like Terry was by her journalism professor! The real gem here is Terry's little brother, Buddy. "If I'm not back in a week, forward my mail." Indeed, sir. Indeed.

4. The collected works of Jackie Earle Haley and Ike Eisenmann. Jackie Earle Haley is sort of fascinating/disgusting. That greasy little weasel is here because of Bad News Bears and Breaking Away. Ike Eisenmann was a dominant force on seventies made-for-tv movies, which made him a dominant force on movie day in elementary school. He's really here for The Amazing Cosmic Awareness of Duffy Moon, but I can't forget Escape from Witch Mountain. Long may you reign, you piebald, baby-faced kings!

5. Dragnet (1987) I only recently came to understand that lots of people hated this film and thought it was miserable. Really? I felt kind of like I did when I learned that the lyrics to "The Harder They Come" were not "the harder they come, the harder they fall, what I know," but in fact "one and all." Of course those are the lyrics. I'm such an ass.

I notice that many of these titles date from when I was ages 9-12. I had a hard time thinking of crappy movies from the recent past that I really liked or even saw. I don't think Sideways counts, even though everyone I know hated it. To quote my friend Mrs. Behan, "it's just a movie about a bunch of despicable people!" Despicable hilarious people. Maybe during a more innocent time, I was open to watching bad movies because I wasn't poisoned by those dirty lying movie critics. Or maybe time just wasn't as precious.

my doorbell

2005-12-21T11:15:00.000-08:00

1. Tears for Fears - Head Over Heels
2. The Outfield - Your Love
3. The White Stripes - The Nurse
4. The Spinto Band - Oh Mandy
5. Luscious Jackson - Ladyfingers
6. Amerie - One Thing
7. SWV - Right Here
8. Vanity 6 - Nasty Girl
9. Rilo Kiley - Portions for Foxes
10. Matthew Sweet - Girlfriend
11. The Pixies - Debaser
12. XTC - Dear God
13. Duran Duran - Save a Prayer
14. Billy Idol - Eyes without a Face
15. Mariah Carey - Heartbreaker
16. Def Leppard - Photograph
17. Dee Lite - Say Ahhh
18. Hot Hot Heat - Bandages
19. Rogue Wave - 10:1
20. Morrissey - Every Day is Like Sunday
21. The Killers - Believe Me Natalie
22. Nas - If I Ruled the World
23. Getto Boys - Mind's Playin Tricks on Me
24. NWA - Express Yourself
25. Beastie Boys - Boomin Granny
26. Freestyle Fellowship - Cornbread
27. Mobb Deep - Shook Ones
28. Lil Kim & Mary J. Blige - I Can Love You Better
29. Fugees - Ooh La La La
30. Biggie Smalls - 10 Crack Commandments

a ho in the sticks

2005-12-19T16:51:00.000-08:00

this summer, i spent one august weekend at my cousin's wedding in senatobia/tunica, ms (about 30 minutes away from memphis), where they flooded their cotton fields so that they could have casinos. it was, by far, the worst of the 21 (and counting) weddings i've been to in the last five years.

the best part of the weekend was when i picked up my rental car and found probably the best pork bar-b-que sandwich and fried peach pie i've ever had in ghetto-most east memphis. after that, pretty much a total shitshow.

the ceremony lasted 40 minutes and the preacher made repeated references to ecclesiastes, where the bible says that the wife must serve the husband, etc. my uncle tommy (whose face almost melted off because the church was hotter than two rats screwing in a wool sock) had to hold a motherfucker down. my uncle tommy, who lives in biloxi, wins fishing contests in his yacht (the 'yes dear II'), can hypnotize a chicken, and who eats so much shrimp he'll get iodine poisoning.

the ac at the reception hall (which was 45 minutes away from the church) was broken, and the wedding was dry. which meant that me and all the alcoholic hee haws on my dad's side of the family got drunk on malibu and cokes that we snuck in.

in hindsight, that trip seems fateful, it being about a month before uncle tommy's house and the 'yes dear II' got washed away with a vengeance. it seemed like an exercise in misery, but now it's bittersweet.

our man in energy

2005-12-19T16:30:00.000-08:00

dear slo,

sorry i didn't get to talk to you the other night. after managing all manner of family weirdness, i was busy disappearing into myself. dahlia mentioned that you thought i was upset with you; i'm certainly not. i wish you all and only the best, etc. of course now that i'm a married, elderly man, some of my past actions do produce an ether of awkwardness. but that has nothing to do with any negative feelings towards you whatsoever, but only with my own perennial inability to navigate complicated social situations.

love,
ensign

Dear Ensign-

What? Here is the series of events leading up to last week: I write you an e-mail telling you that I've bought your book, am very proud, etc. You write me back. I write you a (v. v. hilarious but possibly harsh?) e-mail about how I can't possibly write a book review for someone who eats potato salad from an ice cream scooper at family reunions. Then - nothing. I write you several follow-up e-mails. Nothing. You move into my town. Nothing.

I spend the entire time wondering if I've hurt you or insulted you or done something truly awful. Like maybe you are very sensitive about potato salad? Or mayonaise? These are the ridiculous things I am thinking. I feel terrible. Then I think it would be just like you to write me off in dramatic fashion "for our own good." I wonder why our long-standing friendship and mostly platonic affection for each other cannot withstand something so silly.

There is nothing complicated about friendship, and you have always been married and elderly. It's part of your charm.

xxoo,
slo

p.s. why are you doing ether? That isht is so '92.