compensation

Scene the First

Someone sent me a message on friend*ster today. I haven't logged on there in months and completely forgot what I wrote. When I reread my profile it still seemed pretty accurate. Let me repost it for you here.

About Me:

I keep trying to write something about art but it's just not coming out at all. I think about art all the time. I started with dance but now I'm becoming more interested in performance art. Like yesterday I spent the entire day (meaning exactly 12.6 hours) staring at the nails in my bedroom wall until my eyes hurt so much I cried blood. My friends keep telling me that if I want to find a man that I should really change this section into something a little less creepy. I say that if a guy can't pick out sarcasm then we're already in trouble.

Who I Want to Meet:

Someone who also likes to give spontaneous ass slaps; there aren't enough of those in my life. Someone who has definite opinions, whatever they may be, and can handle that I have them too. Like if I told you I was going to make it my life's mission to destroy the oppressive, sexist power structure that is classical ballet, don't freak out. Just nod and say, "Oh, hmm, I may or may not agree with that...and here's why..."

See? Fits me, right? I was pretty impressed that he still sent me a message after reading that. And he encouraged my obsession with destroying ballet. He might also have just been emailing me because we share the same first name. Maybe he shares my secret desire to date someone with the same first name. Maybe he's also a complete narcissist. Not that I am.

I also liked rereading my profile because MNS left a comment that makes me laugh every time I see it, whether it's been a few months or just a few days. And here it is:

ipj is funny. He makes the weekends tolerable and makes me laugh so hard I
cry. Sometimes he just makes me cry. Sometimes after a day at work with ipj
I just go home and cry and cry and cry. That's part of his charm.

Scene the Second

I was doing some more critical thinking on the toilet the other day. I sometimes worry that I have these terribly annoying habits that drive my friends crazy but of which I'm completely unaware. But then I sometimes have that epiphanous moment where I realize just how annoying I could be but am not. For instance, there's a phrase that goes through my head each time I think or hear the word "eek." "Eek" popped in my head when I was doin' my business and I thought, "Thank god I never actually say this out loud. I would totally be that annoying guy at work." I'll never stop making that weird throat noise though. (For more info ask Ida, MNS, HL or YorN.)

Scene the Third

I was watching my clips last night (yes, porn clips and I'm going to stop and explain them for a moment because HL always makes fun of me for this but it'll help the story. I almost never watch full movies of porn online, only short 10-30 second clips. That's because the clips are free and I can't justify spending any of my dwindling money on aiding my sinful sinful daily/nightly/anytimely habit. HL sometimes lets me log on to one of his many accounts but really, I kind of prefer the short clips. The clips give me just enough to kick-start my fantasy/imagination. If I watch the full movie I get bored. The men always end up disappointing me in some manner; they're certainly no match for my lonely sex-starved mind. Back to the story.) and I was thinking, "Hey, that guy's pretty hot...and a little familiar looking. Hey, that guy on his knees looks familiar too. Hmm." The problem was I was watching amateur stuff with no close-ups and the lighting was pretty bad so the "actors" familiarity was only vague. At least they were familiar through their faces and not for other parts, give me some credit. I scrolled down to the bottom of the screen where there's more info on the featured clips and sure enough, I recognized the names of two of the five guys. I had slept with both of them (separately) in Seattle. Well, that certainly pulled on my heartstrings and made me miss the Northwest. Sigh.

Scene the Fourth

I've lost the blogging challenge. But, like laurenj, I have a good reason.

My life is boring.

Yes, going home and playing video games everyday does not make for good conversation, no matter how much my cousin might disagree. So I'm conceding to MNS. In my opinion (and through the rules we arbitrarily assigned) she's the winner. I may or may not (more likely) try to continue posting, we'll see. It's not like I don't have the time.

This week hasn't started off so well. I've already had 2 large slices of baclava, one piece of rugulah and an ice cream bar. Damn my friends for giving me sweets!

I'm going to make a hat for a friend of mine but since I want to use a knitting style I'm unfamiliar with I'm practicing on some other yarn I have laying around. I started today at work and it's pretty exciting. I had to start over about five times but none of those were actually related to the new style I was using; I just kept making dumb mistakes. The new style is called fair isle/strand knitting. I don't know which one it's actually called because different sources say different things. One website says that fair isle is a type of stranding but doesn't go on to say what's unique about it. Stranding involves knitting with two colors, one in each hand. I taught myself to knit with both hands specifically so I could try this style. As I could see my pattern begin to emerge in my knitting I actually got a little breathless; that's how excited I was that it was working. But then I would have to take it apart and start over. I'm sincerely anticipating work tomorrow so I can get back to my knitting.

I'm sorry, that's really all that's happening in my life right now.

trade-off

Here's how things kind of broke down:

Sunday
pilates
half a box of yogurt covered raisins
Monday
3 peanut butter Girl Scout Cookies, 4 thin mints
finished the box of raisins
Tuesday
pilates
Wednesday
pilates
Thursday
7 thin mint Girl Scout cookies
Friday
3 mini-cupcakes
Saturday
pilates
3 chocolate filled rugulah
Sunday
one pint o' ice cream

I thought I had done pretty well until I actually typed the week out. Now I'm less satisfied. But considering that I used to eat 3-4 pints of ice cream every week it's certainly an improvement. And I did exercise 4 times, that's pretty good. I mean, I didn't do any sort of cardiovascular work but I usually just sit on my ass so once again, an improvement.

The major inhibitor to the new me is that I've traded one vice for another. On all the days that I really wanted something sweet I instead treated myself to a 22oz Sapporo. So don't worry, I'm still getting my empty calories and I've cut out that pesky protein.

I'm just so angry right now. Or at least I was when I got home. Now it's turning more into apathy. I know of a few ways I could combat it but part of the problem is that it saps my energy to do so.

Why show?

I'm distracted by Top Chef. Ah! I can't think at all.

When I was young I fantasized about having super powers, as did everyone I knew, though I think I daydreamed a bit more often. I wanted to use my powers to find happiness, get fame, luxury, crush my enemies, the regular stuff. Now that I'm an adult I still have those fantasies. Only now I'd use my powers to stay free of disease, clean my room faster, have better hair, non-oil smelling clothes. My dreams have certainly become more sophisticated.

I have more elaborate fantasies involving super powers too but I'm not going to divulge those. I hope that someday I'll be able apply those fantasies in an artistic way but until then I'm just a guy sitting at home, living in my head playing video games.

The dance show was...was...was, I don't even know. MNS sent me a link to a website that's looking for reviewers and I was going to use this show as my sample writing but I don't even know what to write.

Why did he say that?! I can't believe he just said that. Oops, Top Chef distracted me again.

Back to the dance show. It was so boring and self-indulgent. The last 10 minutes or so were spent watching a fucking slide show of candid pictures. A lot (if not all) of the pictures were contemporary dancers and choreographers, some who were in the audience. It was like being forced to watch the college slides of a friend of a friend that you didn't know and certainly didn't care about. There was nothing in this show that made me actively interested. Melanie and I agreed that it did make both of us think but think about pretty much anything besides what we were watching. We should have just gone to dinner.
The title of this entry was taken from the program in reference to the subject matter of the show. It expresses my thoughts exactly.

And that's it for today.

blaaaa

I keep looking at this screen until I see double and then it gets fuzzy, trying to will some interesting topic into my head. It's just not happening. I've been experimenting with different knitting ideas in the attempt to create a hat pattern for a friend of mine. It's not going so well, let's just say it looked like shit. And I mean that literally. Really.

I'm supposed to go to a dance show tonight but I don't feel like it. Earlier I was afraid that it might be some sort of shoes-off type of thing and I of course wore holey socks today even though HL bought me new ones for Christmas and demanded that I throw my old ones away. Eh. I didn't. Then I feared that the dancers might break the fourth wall, which I'm also not in the mood for. The last thing I need is some dancer talking/yelling/staring at me. It's cold. I just want to go home.

I still haven't bought any ice cream or other dessert product. I did eat a bunch of those Girl Scout cookies but as stated earlier, those don't count. I've also exercised 4 times this week. Last night and this morning my muscles were sore and at first I was proud/disappointed with myself. Proud that I've been working hard enough to make myself sore but disappointed because I know I really haven't been doing that much so my body must be pretty out of shape for those meager exercises to make it tired. But then I realized the real reason, which completely erased any lingering pride I might have had. It's cold outside! Yes, when you are cold and shivering all the time your muscles tend to hurt, even after they've warmed up.

I may or may not still run to the mirror right after I finish exercising. I want to keep that image of toned muscles in my head as long as possible.

oh breeder (brother)

I just watched a communication training workshop held at the theater where I work. It was led by members of our education department in an effort to better equip our ushers with the tools needed to, god this sentence is just going on forever. I should really be filling out the observer response sheet they gave me but it requires at least some thought on my part so I'm avoiding it. I'm justifying it by telling myself that I only had one hour of work left when I got back to my desk and my, the phones are certainly busy and I really don't have time to finish that survey right now, I'll do it tomorrow. But in reality here I am on blogger. Did I ever actually think I could go back to school?

Disclaimer: men and women are not treated equally in our society. I am well aware of this, okay? Okay.

Last night my roommate Horsey came home and told me that she had placed an ad on craigslist for a date Saturday night. I mustered up my best skeptical expression while she told me about her responses. She did admit that obviously some were fake but she was positive about one man. I was less so. I'm pretty much convinced that every single person on the craigslist personal ads is a liar. But here's the kicker: in her ad she stated that he'd be buying her dinner. I've run into this mentality numerous times with women in my life. Among other things (that I don't feel like listing, let's just concentrate on this one), they still expect men to pay for dinner. That's completely unfair. If men and women should be treated equally then don't expect a man to pay for your meal, pay for it your own goddamn self. Yes, I know how nice it feels when you're out with someone and they offer to pay but to expect, nay demand it? That just pisses me off. Of course, I'm assuming that she believes in equality between men and women. I guess that might be giving her too much credit. It's just that I find it so hard to imagine that someone wouldn't want equality that I forget that those ideas actually do exist. In college I got in an argument with a friend of mine about this very subject. She thought men should pay for her dinner and hold doors for her and whatever other crap I can't remember. I said she couldn't have those things and still be treated like a peer. You can't expect a man to treat you like some fragile helpless queen and an intellectual equal. That's selfish and wrong. By the by, I'm well aware that I'm ignoring a lot of issues here; that was intentional. But if you really feel the need to point them out, go ahead.

at least my mom is proud of me

All you bloggers out there who haven't switched to the new Blogger Beta version should. And do you know why? Because it will be easier for me to leave comments on your blog. If you're still on the old version I have to go to a separate page to log in with my Google account then go back to your blog to leave a comment. And if I've already typed a comment it gets erased during the transfer. So switch! Switch! Switch for me!

And now for some pictures.

This hat is special for many reasons.

1. I made it.

2. A friend/coworker gave me the yarn, ergo I didn't spend any money.

3. I made it for said friend/coworker (that's her head).

4. I knit it all while at work.

5. I unraveled the whole thing right before I finished so I could slightly alter it.

6. The most exciting: I semi-taught myself 4 new knitting related techniques.

Since this yarn was free I decided to use it to learn how to knit with the yarn in my left hand (Continental style, baby). I was taught how to knit with the yarn in my right hand (English style) but I can only knit for about an hour that way. After that my arm gets tired. Plus it always seems like Continental knitters can go much faster. To begin I made myself knit a four inch wide swatch for an hour everyday. It was very frustrating; I felt like I was learning to knit all over again and realized why beginning knitters hate it so. Then I would switch back to English style to release some tension and work on my legwarmers. I figured that by the time I finished my legwarmers I'd be ready to try a project Continental style. I then taught myself how to make cables in my knitting. Cable knits form that twisty band you see best in the first picture. I used to hate cables; I thought they looked ugly. But they are so fun to do that now I love them. I also and still do hate seams. My seams always suck. My sister Ida once showed me how to knit a seam but I only vaguely remembered what she did so I tried to recreate it when putting together this hat. I don't know if I did it the way she did but it turned out pretty well. Then the pom-pom. I was pretty satisfied with my trial hat until I made that damn pom-pom. It just did not turn out that great. Then sewing it on was a bitch too. It looks okay until you touch it and realize that it's pretty floppy. But I'm still happy about the other things I've learned.

Hopefully something else will happen to me today so more than two people will find my posts interesting.

mr. hyde just needed a fudgsicle

So the day after I wrote that last post I walk into work and my boss has brought two boxes of Girls Scouts cookies. I'm one of only two people in this office today (not counting my boss, who has extra boxes at home and specifically brought these in so other people would eat them) and the other person is allergic to gluten and can't eat the cookies anyway. So all day I have to resist the temptation to shove these things in my mouth and it's getting hard. I mean, they're sitting right there! Maybe I should hide them. Maybe I can just restructure my resolution and say that I'll cut back my dessert eating of once a week to things that I buy. I mean, I can't control other people's actions and if they want to shower me with sugar I can't stop them. And wouldn't it be rude to refuse their gift?

Completely unrelated, I went to the dentist yesterday and my gums bled like hell. She said my mouth looked like a horror movie.

On Friday I told HL it was his duty to help me kick my dessert habit. At 3AM on Sunday morning we tipsily wandered the local corner store searching for goodies to buy. He, being a good friend, stood between me and the brownie mix and refused to budge, no matter how much I told him to ignore my earlier resolution. We jokingly argued for a while until I finally lunged, grabbed by him by the shoulders, threw him aside and claimed the coveted mix. I noticed the fear in HL's eyes was immediately shamed. What kind of monster had I become, to violently abuse my friend in order to feed my habit?! I put the brownie mix back on the shelf and we left empty-handed. And I swear I didn't go back later to buy it. I swear!

new year's ? resolution

I've decided to try to cut back my sugar/dessert eating habit to once a week. I say try because I can't quite commit myself to vowing to once a week. That's too much pressure. I need to have that out in case of an emergency but I'm going to try to narrow my definition of an emergency too. I'm also going to start doing my pilates exercises at least four times a week. I realized recently that I've been unconciously thinking that I have the same body that I did in college and that I can eat the same way I did in college but some hard staring in the mirror has convinced me otherwise. I ate a lot of ice cream in college and I mean a lot but I was also dancing every day and going to the gym a lot too. Now I sit on my ass all day at work and then sit on my ass some more when I get home and still eat lots of ice cream. Is it any wonder that my body has changed? Some day I hope to join and attend a gym again but that's tied into many other things that also need to change so I'm going to have to settle for exercises at home for now.

But I do so love ice cream.

I'm sorry, this just isn't the weekend of blogging. I'll do much better when I'm back at work and have endless hours to kill. In the meantime you should go see Cynthia Hopkins' show at St. Ann's Warehouse. It made me so happy, you know, because it was good. I wish she were my friend. Today I saw Notes on a Scandal, which I also recommend, though not as strongly. Of course, one costs twice as much as the other but it's worth it.

It's an emergency post. I'm going out and forgot to blog even though I thought about it all day. Then neither MNS nor Ida answered their phone so they couldn't blog for me. Luckily HL still had his computer on so here's the post.

But here's what it was going to be about:

I'm back on the hunt. MNS predicts sadness, she'll probably be right.

the fall of mine

In reference to yesterday, what I was going to blog about was my knitting. I finally bought some elastic thread on Wednesday and stayed up until 2AM sewing it into the top of my legwarmers and I tried them on and they stayed up and I was all excited to wear them the next day because it's finally gotten sort of cold in New York but as I padded down the stairs on Thursday morning I could feel them falling. As I walked to the subway my legs got progressively colder until they legwarmers were finally resting on my ankles. I took them off on the subway ride to work, much to HL's chagrin. During work I sewed a second, tighter band into one warmer then went to lunch, and it stayed up the whole time! Back at work I sewed the second one and thought I'd finally succeeded. I wore them both outside and my legs were very cozy, it was lovely. I tried to call my sister to tell her of my victory but she didn't answer so she has to read about it here; I'll not talk to her about it if she's going to shun me for less important things, like tech rehearsal. I then called GT but as the phone was ringing the first warmer starting slipping down! Tragedy! But I was able to wear the second one for the rest of the evening. I must be destined to only have one comfortable leg. I think I'm going to have to get an elastic band (not just thread) and sew it directly onto my knitting. But when will I do that?

the mer-people of new york

I often use music to help me out during times of loneliness. When I first moved to New York and lived in The House of Mormons I listened to Carla Bruni, like, all the time. I only had a portable CD player and since I didn't want to carry around a bunch of CDs I was pretty much always listening to her. And since that album was all sad and it was November in New York and raining all the time it was a pretty good match. I burned that album from my sister so it always made me think of her and, by extension the rest of my family, whom I had just left in Seattle (at a good orphanage though, so that wasn't bothering me). Then when I did my internship at a certain theater I started listening to a lot of Kristin Hersh (which reminded me of my other sister because I downloaded that off of her computer when she visited me) because a lot of her stuff reflected my (sad) mood too. Unfortunately, now if I hear any of the songs from those albums I'm taken back into my memories and get, well, sad again. I used those songs to take away sadness but they didn't just take it away, I put it into them. Now they carry it and throw it back at me whenever they're played. I think the only way I'll be able to listen to those songs again is to play them a lot when I'm excruciatingly happy so as to balance them out.

So, the play on Wednesday. It's title was The Big Voice: God or Merman? First of all, I kept thinking it was Man or Merman, like some nod to George Bernard Shaw so that was already throwing me off. But when I first read the title I thought this:



Or, more accurately, this:



But what they meant was this:



Do you see why I was confused? What's really pathetic is that I never made the connection despite the numerous references to Ethel Merman throughout the show. Of course, during the show all I thought about was how bored I was and how all the songs sounded the same (dull) and uh oh, can the performers see this snide look on my face, this is a pretty small theater? I think my version of the show would have been better. As it was we once again left at intermission. HL pointed out that my values must have really dropped since I used to say that I would leave a show only if I actually found it offensive. Now I just leave if I think it's a waste of time, which is a type of offense so I don't think I've changed too much.

This is my post. I don't have anything to say. I did have some things to say but my fire was taken away by certain circumstances. We'll see about tomorrow.

you wanted to know

In my quiet homage to Miss Beta Fippel I've already pooped three times today! Three! I don't understand it. I haven't changed my diet of shredded wheat, prune juice and V8. It doesn't make any sense.

This is the week of theater for me. Here's how it breaks down:

Sunday Netflix good
Monday Theater good. Recommended, awesome beginning, but not my favorite.
Tuesday Left at intermission. The option was presented to go home and watch The Golden Girls, the choice was clear.
Wednesday We'll see. I have my doubts.
Friday I'm super excited.

It feels great to be seeing so much even if two of them are movies. I don't have anything against movies, good heavens no, they get me through my life but I'd be more impressed if I were attending five live theater events in one week. Uh oh, I ran out of time. If my internet connection is working at home I'll let you know how tonight turned out.

who the?

Wow. An email just came into the office offering the artistic director free tickets to this play. All over the website it says Even Though It's A Play, It Doesn't Suck. Thank god! There are so many things wrong with this website and by extension, the play. Poor grammar is one thing. If you can't even construct a well-written sentence on your advertisements why should I trust your play writing skills?

Here's an example:

...an outrageous new comedy told in five outrageously funny Stop right there! This play is just too outrageous for me to handle.

Here's another, which also exhibits the play's great material:

Rebecca and Sarah seem to have found the men of their dreams. But what happens when they find out that they are the subject of some really raunchy and offensive sexual fantasies? Find out as they probe deep into the male mind...as if there is that far to go.

Raunchy and offensive? Those sound like great buzz words to me! Aren't you just itching to buy a ticket? The other problem is that our theater doesn't even have an artistic director, which is clear if you look at the staff listing, which is available for anyone to look at online. Also, this play is not at all appropriate for the theater where I work. Not at all. So I don't know why the "writer/director/producer" sent it to our office nor how he got our email address without ever noticing the kind of work we do.

What kind of idiocy did you encounter today?

something like a life

I just saw David Lynch's Inland Empire and it confirmed for me why I'd been avoiding good movies. They make me not want to return to my life. I really liked this movie but I really don't like my life. After it was over I had to ride the same subway home and go to the dimly lit grocery store then back to my apartment with my roommates whom I find either stupid or disrespectful or both. I feel that there's a serious lack of happiness in my life and it's all because I saw a good movie! See what they do? Stay away. (But if you are interested in Inland Empire I recommend seeing it in the theater. This film needs to be watched in the dark and you need to be committed to watching it.) Although it obviously had an effect on me, it still had flaws. It's not my favorite David Lynch movie but Laura Dern is awesome in it. She/it actually made me cry at one point. Of course, I immediately stopped crying at the very next scene because I thought it was stupid. So yes, some flaws.

While watching the film I began thinking about my experience of watching it. And about how I experience other forms of art. I regularly like to let half my brain have an experience while the other half analyzes that experience while it's happening. I began thinking about one of my favorite books The House of Leaves. This book gave me nightmares. More eerie than frightening but nightmares nonetheless. I loaned the book to a married friend of mine and it did not have the same impact on him. I mostly read it late at night, right before I went to bed. I doubt I would have had the same experience if my loving wife had been sitting next to me. I'm sure I wouldn't have sympathized with the loneliness and fright experienced by the main character. It's not that I already felt that way but that the book was able to make me think I did. Does that make sense? I think the point I'm trying to make is that not all art is for everyone, no matter how much I want it to be or how good I think it is. That's a lesson that I keep having to relearn, I don't know if it will ever truly sink in.

My internet connection is really running slow so my steam for blogging has dimished since I tried to log on. I finally bought some new shoes. Pretty practical, not as flashy as I wish I could get but I needed a pair I could wear all the time. I saw Pan's Labryinth today. I really liked it. There were a few problems but it was still a good movie. One of the problems was my own expectation going in. It was different from what I wanted and that took me a little while to get over. But I didn't how diffferent it was going to be until it had ended so I wasn't ever really able to let go of my own idea.

I think that's it for today. Pretty bland reading.

again

Upon request:







Clearly I was exceptionally bored last night. And exceptionally something else. And in case you're wondering, that silver tubular thing in the first picture is not this, it's...something else, which I actually seem to find more embarrassing. And if you weren't wondering, well now you are.

non

It's posty time. Each thought about my blog today led to thoughts about my life which led, and is leading, nowhere. Hence putting off posting. I think it's just one of those days.

I did get a spur of the moment hair cut today though. As I was describing what I wanted done I interjected the sentence, "But I don't really need much of a hair cut." He looked at me and said, "Yes. You do." Okay then.

Maybe I'll try Nights of Cabiria again tonight. So many times I'll start a movie that I think I don't really feel like watching but by the end I'm crying or laughing or having strong feelings of some sort and I really need that to happened again soon.

beauty is in the eye of the camera phone

I often worry about the need to stay immaculately beautiful. I know this is silly since I am not immaculately beautiful and really, worrying about it only makes me dreadfully self-conscious.

So.

A little smarmy and I could use a haircut but all in all okay, right?



But look at what happens when I let that worry go:



Yikes. Closet Monster. HL said it looks like I'm wearing a fat suit...on my head apparently. As much as I like letting this guy out, which one would you be inviting to dinner? I thought so.

lame-o

Oh my god! It's 11:41 and I still haven't posted! I'm not going out now. But I'm on HL's computer and don't feel like I can really flesh out this post so this is about all you're gonna get. Here's a tidbit:

I stared and stared at a man on the subway today for my whole ride, all the way from 181st to 42nd, willing him to look at me...and love me. He didn't look up once. In retrospect, he was fuckin' ugly anyway.

see? complainy

My roommate (we'll call her Horsey) uses her blackberry as an alarm. Fine. I use my cell phone as my alarm. But you know where I put mine when I go to sleep? Next to my frickin' bed. Where does she put hers? Wherever the hell she happens to drop it when she gets home: in the kitchen, in the bathroom, in the hallway, wherever. Now, Horsey teaches yoga and likes to get up super early to center herself or some such shit so she typically sets her alarm at some ungodly hour. This morning's alarm was for 4:30AM. And it rang and rang and rang. It's loud and piercing and annoying and loud. After about 7 minutes of hoping that she would turn it off I rolled out of bed, fumbled for some pants and flung my door open. There, in the hallway was Horsey's blackberry and there, sitting on the couch, wide awake, was my other roommate. I picked up her blackberry, looked at him incredulously and said, "I am so sick of this shit!" Come on! Is he deaf or something? How could he just sit there and let this fucking thing ring and ring? And it only pauses for about 5 seconds between cycles so its alarm is pretty constant. I turned Horsey's blackberry off completely, tossed it back on the table, went back to my room and only semi-slammed the door (I didn't want to induce too much drama).

Both of my roommates are deep sleepers. They basically stay awake as long as possible so when they finally do go to sleep they're pretty much knocked out with exhaustion. I don't know what kind of solution I could offer. Another time after Horsey's blackberry woke me up after ringing for several minutes I discovered that it was less than two feet from her head. And she continued to snore on. Jesus Christ.

I didn't buy the ice cream. I made HL buy it with money he owed me. So really, I didn't break my promise. I never said I wouldn't eat the ice cream.

I will not buy the ice cream

Or maybe I will.

This after I just told someone else that when she craves food that she doesn't actually need to eat to drink a bunch of water. It helps fill you up. And that's true. It just doesn't calm you down.

I had a discussion with a coworker today about how she should quit her job. Her other job. She described her job to me and told me her thoughts about it and asked for my advice. I went on and on about how she shouldn't have to do anything that makes her miserable and it's not worth staying in a job that you don't like and doesn't go anywhere. We basically had a half hour conversation where I was a complete hypocrite. I really do want that ice cream.

I keep thinking about posting on some online dating site. I just can't quite bring myself to do it. I feel like I should meet someone the old fashioned way, you know, in person somehow, doing some sort of activity, or through friends. Websites just seem, ugh. I don't have anything against them in theory, I know a bunch of people who use them, I just can't imagine it myself. I actually did post a little something once, mostly so I could read everyone else's profile. Most of the guys sounded way too great and practically flawless and seemed to have way too much confidence in themselves. I don't need that. And that obviously can't be true, therefore they must be liars. But give me some emotional flaws. His need to compliment mine. I need me some neurotic love.

my small efforts

Here's the story:

There's this building in Times Square that was once used as a police headquarters or hangout or something police related. Now it's being turned into a JC Pennys or something equally ridiculous. I walked by this building almost every day and only slightly payed attention to it. One day while walking by in an already annoyed state I actually looked at the many poster lining its walls. They were all the same and featured "druggies" partying and goin' crazy and synching belts on their arms and had some slogan like The War On Drugs Starts With You. I'm pretty sure it was actually much more idiotic than that. And it made me mad. So mad that I turned my head and spit a huge loogie right at the nearest poster. It satisfyingly slapped on my target and I continued on. Take that establishment!

family

Last night when I got home I was a little bummed so I called my sister, who unfortunately didn't answer. In my message I said, "I promised I wasn't going to come home tonight and just get high and play video games but guess what I'm doing right now?" Later, in a responding message she said, "That's okay, the other night I sat around eating cookies, reading The Devil Wears Prada." And really, aren't those about the same?

down that road

I finally did my laundry. I woke up at 7AM and headed downstairs (I can do my laundry in the basement of my apartment building). I put quarters in two machines and right after I hit the wash buttons I remembered that I was supposed to check if there was any hot water. Last night there was once again no hot water in my building. Before going to bed I decided that upon waking up, I would need to check the water before washing my clothes. Did I? No. Was the water once again frigid? Yes. Do my clothes seem cleaner? A little. Still smell a bit like oil though. I'll probably end up washing them again, which I don't really want to do. I'm afraid that one of these days the ass of the jeans will just wash away.

I've had two supposedly great movies at home for a while now: Nights of Cabiria and The Short Films of David Lynch. I've been avoiding them and instead have been focusing on Samurai 7, an anime series inspired by and roughly following Akira Kurosawa's The Seven Samurai. I'm afraid that the other movies will actually be good. I'm afraid they'll make me think; I'm not ready to do that. If I start thinking about good art I'll start thinking about my art and about how it's nonexistent and then I'll just get sad. God forbid I should actually do something about it. So that's why I'm staying away from good things. I was talking to a coworker today about dance and was telling him that I had been disappointed with things I had seen lately and wanted to make my own. He looked at me for a moment and said, "Don't. That's a bad idea. Do not try to make your own work. It's so hard out there." That was certainly encouraging.

While sitting on the toilet a few days ago I had a profound moment. And after flushing I got down to some thinkin'. Really I do some of my best thinking while on the ol' American Standard, don't you? "You know, I can see me spending my life with some other career and just appreciating art made by others. I don't have to make my own." While this idea was comforting it also made me a bit sad. On one hand I felt like I'd traversed a hurdle with which I'd been struggling. It's okay that I'm not always making art; I can take breaks. On the other hand that particular idea involved taking a permanent break from creating, something I thought I would never ever consider. So in the end it felt less like a revelation and more like a resignation.

Maybe I'm just joining the American mass.

But isn't this picture awesome? Click on it for more, I recommend opening the flash version.

says who?

MNS mentioned yesterday that she thought the trick to blogging everyday might be to write about the things that you don't tell people. That might work for her but I'm not sure what I should do since I tell pretty much whatever pops into my head to the nearest person who's willing to listen to me. This has gotten me into trouble on a number of occasions since what I often end up doing is bitching about something, or someone.

But I'm not going to start bitching about someone on my blog. That really got me in into trouble before.

But I will try to tell you some things you probably don't know (even though some of you might).

1. I brush my eyebrows with a toothbrush every morning to get them to look just so. I've been doing this for over 10 years, ever since I saw my sister do it. I'm annoyingly particular about some aspects of grooming but terribly lackadaisical about others.

2. I kind of liked the middle of the "We Are A Family" song when I watched Dreamgirls, even though it's horribly sappy. The beginning is very extra boring but I thought when it started to wrap up it was kinda sweet. I've never felt so gay.

3. I really want to make a fool of myself but I'm too afraid to do it, plus I might hurt someone.

It just took me like half an hour to come up with three measly things. Three! That's because everything else I came up with I realized that most everyone already knew. See? Open book.

My stomach is growling but I'm trying to ignore the 10+ cupcakes that are in my work's kitchen. It's becoming quite hard. They're not even good cupcakes but since they're there, I'll most likely eat them. And then feel disgusting.

randomized

Remember how I needed to wash my pants? Well, I decided that yesterday was finally going to be the day. I got home, made some pasta (even though I really wanted to each nachos but I thought I needed a change because I have literally had nachos for dinner every single day for the past 8 or 9 days, literally), noticed that the America's Next Top Model Mega-Marathon was on and promptly got high and plopped myself on the couch. "I'll do it in the morning," I thought. But here I am at work today, sitting in my black Carharts (farmer jeans, most definitely not included in my regular wear) that are too baggy.

I think I need to get out of New York for a while. Like for a week. I'm not sure how I'm going to accomplish this but I'm really starting to dislike this place, or to be more specific, the people of this place. Lately, whatever block I'm walking down I see at least two people that I want to kick. Hmm, I had to pause for a minute after that last line and think about why I wanted to kick everyone and I realized that this post is starting a thought process that I don't want to follow. Let's change the subject.

In the book I'm currently reading there's a character who's a guerrilla fighter in Greece during WWII. The chapters describing his thoughts and the activities of the group he belongs to are so far the most interesting and disturbing, which may be why I find them interesting. His group kill a lot of fellow Greeks and perform other horrendous acts of violence, all justifiable, in their minds. The idea that a person can so wholly believe that his actions are right that he can ignore the atrocities he has committed frightens me. I so want to believe that that type of person cannot exist. That within everyone, no matter how cruel they appear to be, there is always a part of the mind that says, no, something is wrong. I don't know if that's true though. Perhaps certain circumstances can erase that part of a person's conscience. I'm not even going to start making comparisons to certain persons of today, you can probably do that yourself.

the benefits of procrastination

Or ignorance is bliss.

I know that I had been putting off making a budget of my expenses versus income for a reason: it's depressing. For a while now I've been wishing that I belonged to a gym. I know I'm much happier when I routinely exercise and I'm more likely to exercise at a gym than at home. Yes, I was doing okay for a while with home pilates stuff but there are so many things to keep me from working out at home and not all of them are under my control (my roommate constantly commandeers the living room, eating and loudly watching bad television). Plus, home pilate's doesn't do much for my cardiovascular system and though it would seem like I could just jog outside, that really really hurts my knees (I'm not whining, I'm being realistic). The point is, I get better exercise when I'm at a gym. And I'm more likely to go to a gym if I actually belong to one. So I just jumped right in and figured out my expenses. And figured out I ain't joinin' no gym. I could potentially join one if I cut back on any and all frivolities in my life but since I don't have that many to begin with that means I could never go out with anyone at all ever ever ever. And a six pack isn't that important to me. I kind of would like to fill out a t-shirt at least once in my life though. So now I'm going to neurotically document and categorize (I already have the Excel spreadsheet ready, maybe I can make it into a graph somehow) every expense I make this month to see just how I spend money.

Hmm, I think this writing everyday thing might turn out to be a lot of complainy and not much funny. We'll see.

death makes me horny

I don't remember during which scene of Casino Royale that I came up with that line but it seemed pretty funny at the time. What a bore that movie was. During the opening sequence MNS leaned over to me and whispered, "Did that say her name was Betina Broccoli?" (or something like that) "I don't know," I answered, "I was looking at Daniel Craig." I think I would only have actually enjoyed this movie if he had done the whole thing nude. Or in tight underwear for the running scenes (of which there are a lot) because I don't need to see his dick bouncing around, that'll just make me wince in sympathized pain. Of course the torture scene didn't make me wince at all, mostly just laugh, because...it...is...ridiculous.

A few bloggers are starting a pot to see who can blog the longest. You have to ante up five dollars to be in and then write every day. If you miss a day you're out. The last person blogging wins all the money. There are a few rules about how much you have to write among other things but I think it'll be fun.

This is my entry for today.

I need a change of pace (or pants)

Whilst taking a break from my busy work demands (see: knitting) I decided to stretch my hamstrings. With my body bent in half I noticed an odd smell. What could it be? No, it's not that disgusting; the answer is simple.

My pants need to be washed.

I really need to get a handle on this. Basically I have two pairs of jeans that I wear almost every day. I own about five other pairs of pants but none of them go with my awful falling apart white jogging shoes I now also wear every day. I recognize that I don't have much fashion sense but really, I'll feel uncomfortable all day if I have to wear black dress slacks with white sneakers.

Yesterday I woke up early and noticed that my skin had been feeling particularly dry of late. Here's my thought process:
Okay, usually I use almond oil in the morning as my body moisturizer but I have to be careful how much I use or my skin won't absorb it all. But, those salt or sugar scrubs you can buy have a bunch of oil in them and I love how my skin feels after I use those in the shower, so maybe I'll drench my body in oil, give it some time to absorb, then take a shower to wash away anything that's left. Then my body will be totally moisturized! So I threw off my clothes, put out a towel, drenched myself in oil (really, drenched), wiped off my hands and sat down to play video games. About 30 minutes later I got up to take a shower. (By the by, I spent too much time playing video games and though I woke up exceptionally early, I nevertheless would need to take a lickity split shower to still make it to work on time.) I stepped in the shower, turned on the water...and waited...and waited...and waited. There was no hot water. Not even warm water. Not even above frigid water. I tried kind of jump splashing my way through the stream but my body wasn't having any of it. I didn't know what to do. I had to take a shower, I was covered in frickin' oil. (By this time I really needed to get my ass in gear to make it to work.) I went back in my room, cursing the whole time, grabbed some moist towelette things I keep on hand (for various reasons) and set to work cleaning off the excess oil. I felt sticky and disgusting all day. This might explain why I need to wash my pants.

more

Curse these long legs of mine! I feel like I'll never be done with my legwarmers, but be sure that this blog will host a picture of them when I am. But for now, I'm taking a break.

The hottest rapist ever post was inspired by Dario Argento's movie The Stendhal Syndrome. This movie particularly resonated with me for several reasons:

1. I think the concept of Stendhal syndrome is pretty cool
2. Attractive people
3. Blood
4. Sex
5. I may have been in an altered state, organic or otherwise.

First a disclaimer: Rape is not sexy. Okay? Duh. Rape is horrible and awful and I can't imagine what it does to a person psychologically. But the fantasy of being completely dominated and forced to do things against one's will? That's hot. Now...

In this film, a young policewoman slowly goes insane while tracking down an elusive (and extremely attractive) serial rapist/killer through Italy when she herself becomes a victim of the brutal man's obsession (thanks imdb). There's a particular scene where Alfredo (the killer) has Anna (the policewoman) tied down and is about to rape her but first he cuts the inside of her lips with a razor blade. Part of the idea is that he wants her to look the way she did when he first saw her: bleeding after she swooned looking at art and cracked her face against a table. Anyway, blood is profusely pouring out of her mouth and he begins kissing her, quite passionately. This scene is sadistically and eerily hot. Here's the thing, the exchange of body fluids (come, spit, tears) is, I think, the most intimate act you can have with someone and blood is no exception. Plus, Thomas Kretschmann (Alfredo) is freakin' hot hot sexy hot. I'm not saying that I want to go out and lick someone's cut hand (maybe) but I won't deny that I want to make art that might involve said act.

Or maybe I'm already beginning to (see following post).

afterward

The other night I was at the theater where I recently auditioned a piece. Outside I happened to strike up a conversation with one of the panel members who saw the auditions. We of course hit on the subject of my piece and he said the only note he made while he watched it was:

creepy serial killer vibe

And apparently, to him, that's a bad thing. I'm okay with that.

hottest. rapist. ever.

And without the blood:




















Maybe this will force me into creating an actual post to explain myself.

no more love

My luck will be dramatically falling after today. The fairies have stopped their sweet (and yet annoyingly embarrassing) kisses.

nugget

When I was in high school in my small, country, home-town of farmers, I applied for a scholarship to attend a debate camp or law seminar or something like that. I remember there was going to be a lot of discussions going on about, you know, issues or whatnot. I was really excited. The interview for the scholarship was conducted by three middle-aged, grey haired, local men. When asked for a particular issue I thought pertinent to our society I broke into a passionate speech detailing the importance of equal right for homosexuals. The men just stared at me, I don't know if they even ever politely nodded along. That's about all I remember.

Of course, I didn't get the scholarship.

Oh my

Something just happened to me that would have been mortifying if anyone had witnessed it. But no one will know what it was because it was also quite disgusting.

dull day

I decided to write on here about an hour ago and told myself not to read anyone else's blog but to post on my first, otherwise my resolve would be weakened. And sure enough, it was. I first looked at the comments on previous entries, then got sucked into reading those blogs from whence the comments came and now it's an hour late and I indeed don't feel like posting anymore. But here I am.

I'm sitting by myself today in the box office. I haven't been down here for a while, since the semi-promotion. A woman came today who wanted to buy some extra (4) tickets and asked if she could have the group rate because she would now have 23 tickets. I said that sadly, no, groups tickets had to be purchased at the same time to receive the discount. She looked a bit perturbed and said, "Can I just tell you that whoever handles your group sales is very unreliable. I have called and called and I've left three messages and no one has ever called me back!"

Ummm...guess who she was talking about?

I began asking her her name but she interrupted me by saying, "Mr. J!" Oooh, yep, that's my name. I told her that I was Mr. J and that I recently took over this job and that I had been making sure to stay on top of everything and answer all my messages I didn't know where hers might have gone. And even though we have bullet-proof glass in the box office it didn't stop the ones she was shooting at me from her eyes.

So I was feeling pretty guilty until she started speaking again: "I find the membership program at this theater very confusing." Okaaaaay, what information exactly was confusing? "Everywhere I looked: online, in the brochure. I wanted to buy three shows but I tried to get tickets for the circus but the dates were sold out and there are only two other shows that I'm interested in so I couldn't buy three shows. Other people who planned that far in advance were able to buy tickets." That's not so much an argument as a statement of fact. So her issue with membership wasn't that it was confusing but that the exact dates she wanted weren't available. That made me feel better about the whole group thing. I now have a suspicion that when she said she left three messages what she really meant was one and that that one message was actually just a statement to someone else that she was interested in group tickets.

I'm still trying to figure out how I can get a camera before my next crying session but also, thinking about that too much kind of makes me want to cry thereby defeating my quest before it even begins.

Does anyone else think it's strange that the spell check feature provided by Blogger.com doesn't recognize the word blog? And if you were to see this word:
supsicion
would you think:
capsizing
Because that's the choice I was given.
Please note that I am most certainly not complaining about spell check; I'm just pointing out an oddity. Spell check is awesome and I would probably never send another email out for fear of laughable mistokes.

it's encompassing

Why the fuck am I awake at 7:30 on a Saturday morning? I remember when I was in high school I could sleep in until 3 in the afternoon. Now, I'm not saying that I'd still like to sleep that long, that's excessive, but I also don't want to wake up this early. I don't have many plans today and I certainly don't need to get a jump on them. Being awake this early just gives me more time to stew on how I don't have any plans. At least let me sleep away some of that uncomfortable time.

I had a bit of a crying fit when I got home from work yesterday and in the middle of it my roommate knocked on my door and without waiting for a reply, opened it and poked her head in my room (at that time I was thankfully taking a pause from crying so that's good, but I was also in my underwear, kneeling in front of my mirror, staring at myself, so that's, um, bad?). What an awkward moment. She had just come to tell me that she bought me some more hummus because she had eaten mine. Then she apologized because she thought I had said "come in," which I don't know how she heard that since when she knocked I went totally still but then she asked if she had interrupted me. I looked at her pointedly and said, "Yes."

Most of the time I was having this fit, which included the need to strip down to my skivvies, in the back of my head I was wishing that I had a video camera that I could have set up in the corner and recorded the whole thing. I was repeatedly walking in front of my mirror because I knew my body was doing odd things that were only semi under my control. I would have liked to watch that from the outside. Which might go to show that even while I'm having horrible anxiety and self-esteem issues I'm still a complete narcissist. Is that weird? I know one person who'll think it is. The other day I was telling him about a film I was going to go see and he asked if it was called Chop Your Balls Off and Make A Soup, The Motion Picture. I think that's as accurate a way as any to describe the kind of art that attracts me. Funny too.

I'm still not back in bed.

Why won't that fucking link work?!

nutzso

I haven't been blogging much lately for a variety of reasons. And here they are:

1. I don't like my writing style. I want to tell a funny story but I don't seem to be very good at condensing material and still getting the point across. So either my stories are too short and the humor is lacking or too long and by the time you get to the end you don't care.

2. Since my audition is over I no longer have a concrete reason to create art. A friend of mine smoked some cigarettes before her audition to help calm down, I bought a pack afterward to help cheer me up.

3. Number 2 bummed me out.

4. I actually talk to most of the people who read this anyway, so by the time I'm ready to write everyone's already heard it.

Which brings me to the reason I'm writing this at all. It's a nod to NSP. I just read her entry on reading other blogs and thought, "Hey, she prolly checks my every once in a moon, so I'll give her an extra minute to ignore work." That's what I read blogs for. And also: I don't have a kid! I mean, yes, I totally freaked out today because I have student loan that's defaulted and was sent to a collection agency and yes, it's much more than it was when I first got it and yes, I haven't even talked to the agency yet about paying them back (my mom's advice was to offer them 20 bucks a month or nothing at all, "What're they gonna do? Send you to jail? Then they'll never get their money! Take all your possessions? You don't own anything!" Good point mom. [I accidentally just typed "you don't know anything," which I think might work as well}) but even though I have my own problems, I also don't have anyone else dependent on me and if NSP can live her life and take care of a kid then fuck, I should at least be able to get through the day, right? So thanks, NSP, for inadvertently giving me a reason to blog.

And on to other things:

In the attempt to get to work on time this morning I rushed down the subway stairs all the while chastising myself for forgetting about the meeting I was supposed to be attending in 10 minutes and while these thoughts were going through my head I slammed right into the subway entrance turnstile. I was practically running. Did you know those things don't turn until you pay? Apparently I didn't. I turned around slightly and noticed three women standing near the subway booth (I don't know why) smiling/laughing at me. While pulling out my metrocard I looked right at them, said "Yes, I am stupid," swiped it and walked in.

attack of the crazies

When you get that pang that makes your body curl up and all you want to do is smoke in the rain...why not try not eating for 10 hours and then drinking two beers. It's working for me so far.

But is it art?

I don't know, but I'm working on it.

They say no

Who do you talk to at 2AM? I don't know either. Who wants to be woken up pestered with my issues concerning self-worth, self-esteem, clothing and art? I can just imagine it:

ring ring ring
Friend (groggily): Umm, hello?
Me (sobbingly): Why is it that when a cute guy smiles at me I start crying? Sure I'm attractive now but I won't always be so why don't I do something? How come I can't seem to go outside when it's completely sunny and loads of people are out having fun? What's wrong with me? WHY DOESN'T ANYONE LOVE ME?!

I mean, what do you say to that at 2AM?

It really isn't helping that I'm auditioning a piece next Monday (not this Monday, the one after that) and I still haven't even started memorizing the text that I'm not even finished writing. Plus there's the whole meat cleaver idea and I haven't tried to cut anything with it. And then some choreography, I'm auditioning at a dance space after all. Doesn't that mean I have to move around a little? And what if they don't want it? What do I do then? I keep saying that then I'll have this whole completed piece but I'm really bad at research and I don't know where else I would take it.

I've been really bummed about New York in general lately. I was thinking about slowly getting rid of all (or most) of my possessions over the next while and just going somewhere else. I don't know where (remember, I'm bad at research; I'm also not spontaneous). Somewhere where I did something with my hands maybe. Then I thought about maybe just asking my brother if I could live with him for a while. I think he has a house now or something. I don't know what kind of art I want to do anymore and I don't know where to do it anyway. And it's not like I'm making any new friends and I'm certainly not going to be falling in love any time soon so why not be off somewhere else that doesn't make a difference either?

Uchh, god, this isn't really helping. Fuck writing about it. Why didn't I say something?

a deadly breakfast combo

'Nuff said.

no inner monologue

A condition worsened by my association with MNS (she's not a disease).

Here's how things went:

I'm sitting in the box office, finalizing a middle-aged woman's order
Woman: I love your tatoo. My daughter is trying to become a tatoo artist. She draws a lot.
IPJ: Really? I would love to be a tatoo artist. It's an interesting experience that would be fun to share with people but, unfortunately I can't draw at all. I'm also very interseted in piercings and body modification. Piercing (her tickets begin to print) would be my alternate choice to tatooing but most of the piercers I've talked to starting piercing things when they were kids, using sewing needles and things like that but I'm not quite that gung-ho on it.
Woman (slightly uncomfortable): Uh huh.
IPJ: I just think it's fun. Both things release endorphines in your body, which make it a pleasureable experience. Here are your tickets. Remember we don't offer refunds or exchanges.
Woman (still uncomfortable): Have a nice life!

When did I become the crazy person? Later on in the day I explained my artistic aesthetic to another patron, complete with recent examples, and how it differs from Rennie Harris' (who has an upcoming show at the theater). This was a long conversation and she wasn't even buying tickets. She just had some general questions. What's wrong with me?

Maybe I'm just lonely.

calming

This is the beginning of the aftermath of the bathroom fiasco:



And a slightly closer view:




Just to the right of the tub is a two foot open pipe sticking straight up out of the floor that lets air into the system and through which a large amount of sludgy brownish-black liquid came spurting out yesterday.

I was in my room reading (playing video games) when I heard an odd bubbling noise outside. It quickly stopped so I didn't think anything of it. A few moments later it started again and I decided that my roommate must be filling a jug of some sort in the bathroom sink, though I was pretty sure he had left an hour ago, I must just not have heard him come back. But this time the noise didn't stop. So I cautiously opened my bedroom door (my bedroom is next to the bathroom and my roommate has the annoying habit of sometimes leaving the bathroom door open when he does his business [if you know what I mean]) and immediately noticed the bathroom waste basket floating in a sea of black with much more on its way.

I was the only one home and had no idea what apartment the super was in so I tried calling my roommate but apparently the only number I have of his in my phone is the landline in our apartment and that didn't do me any good. By this time I was starting to freak out a bit because the sludge just kept coming so I jammed the stopper in the air pipe which did slow things down a little but also made the remaining sludge shoot out at a more pressurized velocity, thus hitting me. I was seriously starting to consider putting on some clothes (did I mention I was still in my underwear and it was around 2 o'clock?), leaving and just pretending that I wasn't home when this happened. Then came a furious knock on the door. I threw on some pants and a shirt and ran to the door and heard a man call "Super" from outside. Thank god.

The sludge finally stopped coming but to achieve that end the workers had to break through my other roommate's closet wall to put a snake into one of the water pipes. Luckily our bathroom is slightly sloped away from the door so none of the liquid went into the rest of the apartment and the rest on the floor of the bathroom was mopped up with our bathmat, which was already getting soggy so why not use it to finish the job.

So that black liquid? Water and rust and lots of it. Then other things happened, including being told the problem was fixed only to have the tub start to fill up on its own again not half an hour later. The upshot is I finally showered at 7PM and this morning our bathroom still smells like rust because a lot of water got behind the sink counter, which we can't move, so we'll probably just have to deal with it.

My roommate did most of the cleaning, which was a nice gesture (I totally volunteered to help) but I'll probably end up cleaning the bathroom again myself anyway because that's what his cleaning was: a gesture.

loss of face

I sometimes long to be a robot. Usually quite literally. But not today. Today I'd like to be a figurative robot. In a society with strict, clear social standards and customs. A society where an insult or slight is unambiguous and has definitive reparations required. Where your emotions and societal customs are so completely entwined you can't tell them apart. Where an accidental snub becomes a slap to your ancestor's face.

I feel like I'm aimlessly floating around in freedom. Uprooted. Can something be uprooted when it was never, well, rooted in the first place?

Lately I've been thinking about some of my past friendships that have ended. And they didn't end well. They usually weren't so much a "we don't have anything in common anymore" but a "you cause me pain" type of ending. At the time I placed most of the blame on the other person (though reserved a bit for myself). Now I'm questioning the past. It's time to fess up; I'm quick to end a relationship. I'm always prepared to call it quits. Snub me again and it's over. A friend once told me that no matter what I did he would always be there for me.
A standard response might be: "Thank you."
Mine? "What if I killed your mother?"

The point? (A little rambly, but I'm getting there.) If we existed in the society I described my indignation and subsequent termination of a friendship would be sanctioned by custom. But until that happens I'll just continue to be considered a jerk.



In other news my vocabulary is seriously lacking.

I'm mostly posting this so I can use it elsewhere. And because I think it's great.

karma?

Do you believe that if you could have done something for a person but you didn't and that person couldn't hold anything against you because they didn't even know that you could have done this thing for them in the first place that your own semi-selfishness will make the world a worse place? Do you believe other people are better than you? Or are they just as bad but won't admit it (not that I'm admitting it either)? Do you believe in karma?

I'm undecided.

driving me...

I still have six more hours of work to go and I'm starting to freak out because shouldn't I be doing something productive with my time and I've already read my daily stuff from the internet and how am I going to fill six hours?

On another note my roommate left our front door open last night when she came home around 10:30. Not just unlocked, but actually open about a foot. Luckily I was having trouble sleeping and went to the kitchen to get some water, whereupon I closed and locked the door. My roommate was fast asleep in her room. Isn't that great? She's so trusting. Damn my cynical, fearful attitude. Why can't I be like her and just invite people into our home while we're asleep?

She apparently has a problem with doors. I already had to have a talk with her about leaving the refrigerator door open.

symbols and metaphor, I don't get them

Right now I'm reading The Courage to Create by Rollo May. Though I think some of his examples encompass a narrow view of art, he does make some interesting points. On Marianna's suggestion I'm going to explore my thoughts in relationship to his writings. It's this whole critical thinking kick I'm trying to get into, though it may be a bit circuitous. Let's see what happens.

Each person experiences reality differently. Understanding another person's experiences is difficult and often dull (I'll come back to address the dullness aspect later). This is not a discussion of a person's political or moral beliefs but of how each person actually experiences reality. How does a person makes sense of and bring order to their world? If we could experience another's order would we perceive it as illogical, pessimistic, irrational, beautiful? How can we experience another person's reality? Art is the medium, the language through which a person may reveal their world. The artist is able to translate his experiences, his personal world, into an idea outside of himself. This idea reflects the artist's subconscious, unconscious and conscious view of the world. Through art the spectator is offered an encounter with the artist's world. May talks a lot about having an encounter with art. The more intense the encounter the better we are able to perceive the artist's world.

I am enormously intrigued by the idea of perception and thought. This is the basis of my own art. I love art that pulls me into an unfamiliar world, art that offers an alternate reality. I strongly believe (I came up with this idea in college and it still sticks with me, who knew?) that if an artist is completely committed to their performance and understands the reality of the world they've created then the audience, no matter how perplexed they may be, will be engaged. If the artist is honest in their world view and strives to accurately portray that view the spectator will be engaged. Or at least, I would be engaged. And that's the point of my art, to give my perceptions life in a way I find fascinating. Of course, the hope is that other people will also find the result interesting but that can't be the goal. It is when we dismiss our world view that art falls flat.

Okay, that's what I have for now.

You know those times when you feel like your depression is really just brought on with your own thinking and really it's pretty pathetic but you just don't know how to interact with people and it just doesn't seem worth it to even try even though that's totally selfish and then you just kind of sink a little deeper because you are being so selfish and why did you even go out in the first place when you could have just stayed at home and furthered the development of your fantasy world where things are okay and it doesn't matter that you're never good enough or, to be more accurate, the best, and aren't you really just depressed because you don't have anything else to hold onto, though when you think about it you really do kind of hate your life and you think about calling people but everyone you know has their own problems so you try to call the most "stable" person you can think of but they don't answer so you call the next most "stable" person but they don't answer either and then you realize that depression can just feed other depression so you don't know who to talk to and your talking to anyone else would just be so self-centered and why can't you just be happy for other people for once and forget about yourself and your own damn problems and you notice that you're starting to do things similar to things that someone you used to be friends with did and when he did them you found them really frustrating and you wanted to tell him to just fix his frickin' life already but now you're doing the same thing and then you go home and write some ridiculous passive thing in a public blog that's probably also annoying and stupid?

Yeah, I never feel like that either.

Sincerity

You are a person who deserves to live happily, as all people do.

Something is wrong with the grammar in that sentence. What I mean to say is that you, being a person, deserve to live happily because all people deserve to live happily. I'm not saying that all people actually do live happily but the sentence can certainly read that way. What'a a better but still succinct way to say that? More to come as I figure out what sincerity means.

Dying Brain Cells

in my apartment
"Damn, this underwear keeps riding my asscrack. I'll just pluck it out...oh wait, I'm wearing a thong."

at work
"I've only been here for 2 1/2 hours. Why am I so hungry already? Oh right, Emer'gen-C for breakfast."

on the crosstown bus, heading west
"I'm glad I bought this."
waiting for the train
"Is this what I meant to buy? I think I bought the wrong thing."
on the crosstown bus, heading east
"I totally bought the wrong thing. I even thought about how I might be buying the wrong thing but I was sure I wasn't."
at the store
"I bought the right thing after all."
waiting for the bus
"God it's hot."
on the crosstown bus, heading west
"Why am I so hungry? Oh right, Gatorade for breakfast."
waiting for the train
"I should've been home by now."
at home after opening the purchase thereby cancelling any sort of refund
"I didn't even need to buy this. I had one in my closet."

walking downtown
"What was I just thinking about?"

A More Interesting Life

I just had a hot, sticky, sweaty (it was frickin' 98 degrees out) midday dream where I was in a sort of virtual reality movie that was weird and kinda dark but so very lovely. I was walking through this sort of shop when the director came into the movie with me. I turned to her and said, "This is one of my favorite things. I love it every time I see it." And then I started crying because I was so glad something so wonderful existed. I then woke up and realized that that movie doesn't exist after all. I got a little sad not only because it doesn't exist but because I sure haven't seen much art lately that's so good it makes me cry, particularly not my own. Art is always so much better in my head.

Just like any other person, I was having a discussion about grammar the other day with a friend of mine. We were talking about grammar pet peeves. One of his was the phrase "whether or not" since you don't need the "or not" part because the word "whether" already implies one thing or another. I recognize that "whether or not" or "whether or no" is also an idiom but it seems like one that's a bit suspect in its grammar. I was in total agreement with him and kept nodding my head while secretly thinking, "I need to remember to stop saying that." That brings to mind a little game that I think of just about every time I see or hear the words "weather" or "whether." And here it is:

What's the phrase shown below?

wheather

And then that puzzle brings to mind this one, again with the same question:

What's the phrase shown below?

ualls
now

I'm pretty sure I couldn't figure these out when I first read them and just looked at the answers. Of course, it didn't help that the answers were on the opposite page. Out of the four people who might be reading this (Ida, Laugher, Caustic and maybe Liz) I bet one of them even knows where I first encountered those puzzles. And she's probably annoyed that I, and not she, has the book.

And now I should clean my room. A task I am doing my best to put off as I'm already literally dripping sweat and all I've been doing is sitting on the couch. But I just realized that I can listen to wait wait...don't tell me! while I clean and that makes things much more fun. Better than a spoonful of sugar. I already have two rotten teeth.

Euphatastic

Frontbottom*

A friend of mine told me that one. It's now one of my favorites. Try it out, it's pretty fun to say. And almost disgustingly explicit in the image it brings.

*bagina

Criminals Represent!

I keep seeing those annoying True ads on myspace (and those more annoying gay.com and manhunt ads) so I finally clicked on one. I mean, maybe I really will meet some guy I can spray with a garden hose while we're in our underwear out in some public garden where everyone can see us. Doesn't that sound dreamy? We'll be every so happy. It's worth a shot.

One week free! Okay.

Disclaimer:

If you're a convicted criminal and True finds out that you still registered they can just boot you out leaving you emotionally distraught and of course, alone. That certainly doesn't seem fair. I mean, it also says that you can't be married and representing yourself as single and I'll go with that. But come on, criminals need love too. I mean, maybe they were convicted of like, selling drugs or something and I actually want to meet them, cause you know, I need a hook up (in so many ways).

In the end, I didn't sign up. Besides, that username you have to choose sticks with you forever; that's a lot of pressure.

Miss Hannigan

Is your bladder ever so full and you have to go to the bathroom so bad that your teeth start to tingle? No? Are you sure? It's just me?

And if you figure out the sloppy link between the title of this post and the body I'll, I dunno, give you a piece of chocolate?

Or if you come up with a pretty good one that wasn't what I was thinking I'll give you a piece of better chocolate.

on second thought

I'm on my coworker's computer right now. I noticed a previous wait list Word document from March on the desktop and wondered if I had been the one who saved it. So I opened it up, looked at the names and thought, "Is that my handwriting?"

Oh dear

Bored at home the other day I excitedly thought, "I know what I'll do! I'll continue reading Atlas Shrugged because I'm really getting into it and it makes me mad about injustice and stuff even though I'm not really sure what sort of injustice I'm mad about but that's what's making it great plus Ayn Rand is smart and I need to be doing something that makes me feel in some way attached to intelligence." But then I thought, "Wait a second, I have the entire show tonight to read, I should really watch TV now. I mean, I can read any old time, books are portable, but I can only watch television at home." I see where my priorities are beginning to lie. So much for being smart.

Existential (I learned that in 9th grade)

On the train ride home the other night I was once again listening to Henryk Gorecki's Symphony No. 3 (thank you Marianna). His music is freakin' beautiful man. It makes me feel like I'm in a transdimensional train that I have to keep riding until I reach some sort of personal epiphany revealing the true depth of my soul and the other riders each carry a unique message to help me along the way ("I fucked that bitch" or "You're all sinners. You're all gonna die.") except for I finally realize that I'm really already dead and drifting through my own version of the afterlife and oh my god, I'm at 181st street already, I need to get off. I guess it was just the New York subway after all. But that's how that CD makes me feel.

In other great artist news Francois Ozon is now officially one of my favourite (spelled the European way, ooh la la) directors. It seems like every project he works on is fantastic. The things I've seen of his I've either loved or at least very much enjoyed. After watching one of his films yesterday I started wondering if Ozon was gay because the boys in his films are always hot but then I remembered that the women he uses are also hot so maybe he just really likes attractive people. He's pretty good looking himself. They're also all European. I'm just saying.

Failed with an F

A woman just came to my window and asked me where they should go for rehearsals. I was about to ask her what rehearsals she was referring to until I noticed Sting standing behind her. Yes, the artist Sting. There's a benefit tonight at the theater in which Sting and his "beautiful wife" (that's taken directly from an ad I've seen) are performing. Now, I'm not usually one to much care about someone else's fame but come on, Sting? That's pretty great. I calmly informed the woman where she could enter the theater and they promptly left. When they walked out the door I realized I was pretty giddy and that I had also missed an opportunity to do...something. That's probably why I missed it, I couldn't think of anything to do, I still can't. Who was that woman anyway? His beautiful wife? She was indeed pretty.

Books=Love

"You read books to escape from life." This was said to me one day in a semi-accusatory fashion. I was arguing the opinion that many gay men (but this applies to everyone, it's just that we were discussing gay men) constantly go to clubs to relieve their minds from thought, to flee reality. My friend had that quote as a retort. He declared that I used reading as a way to avoid social interaction. That's true. But as I was waiting for the train last night I realized that in a lot of ways books are much better than people. I'm not necessarily avoiding people, I'm just choosing the more interesting of the two options. I've read a lot of books I like and some I think highly enough of to actually own and plan on keeping for the rest of my life. There aren't many people I can say that about. It's not that I dislike people, I like my friends, I like my family, it's just that books often offer so much more than the random human exchange. A good book is a much better friend than some person I might talk to at a bar. A book absorbs you into its world, a world of insight, subtly and profound thought. A world of humor and fantasy. It's all in your hand and you can adapt it to youself. Some people I know will just never understand me, we get along fine but we lack that easy exchange that signifies a lasting friendship. If I'm not interested in a book it goes back on the shelf, no hesitations, people on the other hand don't like it when you just walk away from them. Maybe I'll change my mind when everyone starts wearing dust jackets. Trend setting.

Apology

To everyone: I've taken everything out of my past blogs that I viewed as being extra mean. Someone recently pointed out to me what a complete bastard I was in college and I have to say that he was right. I really was a bastard. So I've taken out everything I regret putting in (unless it had to do with my sisters, they deserve everything they get). I've still left some snotty snot comments but really all I'm mostly doing is complaining and saying that I don't like people plus those blogs also contain info about my college life that will be interesting in a few years to go back and read and say, "Woah."
Besides which this blog is mostly for me anyway so I can go back and view what kind of person I use to be and how I thought.

Comeuppance

As my boss says, "They'll have their own personal place in hell."

Fun Times

I was playing the concertina and missed hearing the phone ring! Twice! That makes me pretty darn happy.

D.A.B

I want to be a bun-head
and wear pointe shoes
I want to be a bun-head
gonna pay my dues
Plie, tendu, jete, battement
fouette, fouette, fouette, fouette

This is a good little song to sing to yourself when you get stuck walking behind some dumbass ballerinas. It helps keep you from yelling at them.

When Ida first sang me this song she order it: tendu, plie, jete, battement. I pointed out to her and plie should really be first because then the song would follow the order of a ballet class. She agreed but now she can't ever remember which one comes first. Happy Birthday.

Seemed like a good idea

Even if it seems like a good idea to eat part of a donut at 2:30 in the morning right before you go to bed DON'T. You'll wake up with nasty mouth, a disgusting disease that can plague even the best of us. Also, don't smoke cigarettes at 2 either. Even if you eat an entire apple afterward you'll still smell like smoke. AND if you've recently had bronchitis you'll also be coughing up crap the next morning. And don't read a book that doesn't seem to be going anywhere about some guy who's losing his mind while you're freezing under your blankets and the roof's about to cave in from the weather.

Bored

I don't much care for gay.com for a variety of reasons. A) #1 it's lame. B) #2 the chat function doesn't work on Gillian's computer. C) #3 I don't need lots of ads featuring beautiful men in skimply clothing staring at me all the time making me feel awful about my body. D) #4 It may have some pertinent information about current gay issues but they're so drenched in crappy gay gay gay crap that I don't have the patience to try to find them.

And no you stupid lady, I won't make an exception. I don't care if you've been subscriber for the past two years, you missed the deadline by a month. And don't give me that "well, really only 27 days" crap, that's close enough to a month. And why should I make an exception for you when you got your tickets months ago and are only calling with your question now? And if I give you the free ticket shouldn't I really give one to everyone else too? Why don't we just make everything free? Stupid lady.

Maybe not that funny

So I've started up my blog again despite having talked with Erin about how kind of embarrassing it is to post my personal thoughts where everyone can read them. I still think that's true but I did enjoy looking back at my previous entries because they made me think, "Hey, I'm a funny guy. And if no one else thinks so then at least I'll be able to read this in a year and make myself laugh." Unfortunately I'm no longer involved with stupid ballerinas and other such dumbasses where they offer a multitude of things to make fun of. That's not to say I'm no longer involved with stupid people, these people are just only stupid and will be hard to make fun of especially because they're continually stupid in the same way. But I'll do my best.

Do you think it's lame to not go out for a drink because your throat hurts and you might be getting sick and instead go home and eat a bunch of brownie batter while watching episodes of Futurama that you've already seen? I can't decide. That's either lame or great. I think when I do it it's lame but if someone else told me that that's how they spent their Friday night I would love them for it. Probably because it would validate my Friday night.

Speaking of which, on to the brownie batter. It's been callin' me.

Transparent

I had a dream the other night that humanity was suddenly divided into different castes and of course I was at the complete bottom. The lowest people were believed to be germ ridden and were the work force of the planet. We all lived in these huge apartment buildings and had to be inspected before we were allowed in. It was really depressing and upsetting but also interesting. We weren't allowed to own money either. Instead we had these cards that had "money" programmed into them, sort of, that we had to use to buy things. These cards only allowed us to buy things from vending machines, we couldn't ever buy anything nice. Some people were trying to start protests but there were only about twenty of them in the whole city, which was a mix between Paris and Seattle. Plus, those protestors were beaten all the time. So even though the work force was much bigger than the upper classes (about 10 to 1) we wouldn't do anything to try to get out of our situation. This pretty much sounds like any 1984 Anthem Metropolis movie but we were in color.
Then the dream suddenly changed and I had sex with this really really really cute guy.

"Look at me! I'm a stupid baby! I roll around and lead with my head and never get hurt because I'm super flexible and have plenty of fat."
Stupid babies and their perfect alignment. Hmph.

sigh and yawn
How many times do I have to write about my aesthetics? I mean, sure I like talking about them, usually, but when I have to write about them it often turns into a rant about how much I hate Utah and how I'm frustrated by my schooling. This doesn't go over so well when I'm writing for one of my teachers. For part of this assignment I have to write 5 artistic beliefs and 5 things I artistically do not believe in. I do not believe in god, artistically of course. Can I get away with that? So here are some of the things that I'd like to write but probably won't (well, maybe just a few).

I do not believe:
-ballet has any artistic value
-everyone has a valid opinion
-anyone should have a post-show discussion (especially idiots)

I do believe:
-having a small number of male dancers is a very bad thing. Not because I think more people should dance but because the ratio of good dancers to mediocre is like 1 to like, you know six or so. So for every one good female dancer there are six boring ones which isn't too bad since there are a lot of them. But when there's only one good male dancer there are six more out there who aren't so good. Now let's say that the number of really good male dancers in the USA is 1000 (that's probably a little small but my opinion of what's good is pretty limited). That's means there are 6000 dopes trying to get into dance companies or worse yet choreographing on their own. That's a whole lot of bad dance. So how often are you going to see a great male dancer?
-choreographers should have someone besides their best friend watch their piece before showing it to the public
-contact improv jams are stupid (c'mon, they're called "jams" ooh, we are so cool)
-dance should never be associated with "our lord Jesus Christ"
-people should shut the fuck up

Fuckin' "Artists"
oh angry angry

Something Stupid

You know those times when something trivial happens and it ruins your whole day? Well, I lost my keys yesterday and I feel like everything is falling apart. Suddenly I think my choreography sucks, everyone hates me, I don't want to go to school and I'm crying a lot. Just because I lost my keys. Come back lost keys, I need you in my life.

I know my sister already posted a link to this website but I think people need to go to it again. Plus some of you went to it when it only had the stupid holiday special episodes. So try going there now. My favorite is the featured episode, it has cute pink and yellow bunnies. I love them.

Angry Angry

I was playing Yu-Gi-Oh! this morning (yes, the exclamation point is actually part of the title) and had to fight this mage guy and he had monster with like 3700 attack points! Can you believe it?! My strongest monster only has 2800 attack points. I lost.

That's the best I could do. Some things will never go away, especially when I'm a stuborn fucking bastard.

I'm going to Costco to buy a cheesecake. They're yummy and I'm thin.