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.