*Clicking Smelly Grey Slippers*

So lately I've been in a kind of a funk. Nah. Not so much a funk. Moreso the kind of feeling that comes with trying to scale a really damn big wall that, each time you near the top, shoots up about 10 feet higher. The kind of feeling that those ambulance guys must get in the movies when they're wailing down the street and then suddenly catch that oh-my-god last-second glimpse of two guys carrying a sheet of plate glass across the street with them and, before they can even think to slam on the brakes, *SMASH* and the world erupts into tiny droplets of glass. The kind where I feel like Dorothy, finally having nabbed those damn ruby-slippers. And with a soft smile on my face I click the heels together once, twice, three times and wake up in Kansas. And then all of the sudden I realize, what the hell? It's all black & white here and about five minutes ago I was draped in technicolor. What was I thinking? The wizard isn't a wizard anymore but some sad carnie from down the road. The lion is just some grey-washed hog-herder. Even the wicked witch, the one I feared and who made me quiver in my little tiny dress, is nothing more than that sad old cat-lady who lives at the end of everyone's street. Everything that sparkled and shined in the sweet light of the yellow bricks is now harsh and flat and grey like the onset of age.

It's like I finally hit that wall that says, "By God, you're an adult now." And I hit it hard. And the weird thing is, I thought I'd run into it about 15 times already, but this time I REALLY slammed into it head-on.

It just really sucks, because I feel like I've run into this *HUGE* turning point in my life, but it's not something that anyone else is really aware of (or if they ARE aware of it, I don't think they realize to what extent it's affecting me). I think people are noticing changes in attitude with me--I'm much more cranky, much more moody, much more brutally honest, much more quiet and anti-social, etc. etc. And it sucks because I can't really control it. And the circumstances are not something I can really share with others folks (or would WANT to share with other folks at that). But it's like suddenly having a cloud drop from the sky to hover two feet over your head... ALWAYS... Never not there. And everyone else SEES it but kinda is just too afraid to say something about it. And like Dorothy, you've kinda made that rite of passage, but you suddenly realize that GODDAMMIT you wanna go back to that sparkle and shine. And being back to the black & white world is gonna do you in. And that's the thing--it's not just ONE cataclysmic event that drags this black & white taint around with it. That grey has seeped into EVERYTHING. You don't look at your friends quite the same anymore, your circumstances... They all have that weird gray-wash to them. It's like suddenly EVERYthing looks different, like you're reading a book with a completely different set of mental tools. Like someone pulled the wool over your eyes a long time ago, and it's only NOW starting to come off.

And it's not fun.

It's weird and pivotal and deserves some sorta designation--BC, AC, something like that--to remind me of that demarcation of how things were and how things will be forever more.

Wow, I sound weird and cryptic and melodramatic.

I feel like I should be made outta stone and shooting beams of light outta my eyes, like the sphinx-oracles in The Neverending Story or something. Heh heh.

Anyways, it's been a weird and difficult month and a half. Even weirder and more difficult than a year or so ago when I broke up with my boyfriend of about 7-8 years.

And with some folks it makes the feverish connection we share burn even brighter, all kerosene lanterns and lightning bugs, lighthouse beacons beckoning you back to shore.

With others I've sorta just been feeling lost at sea, as if I've drifted far off course and know in my heart that I might never find my way back, may be left adrift at sea until my sun-parched form drops beneath the waves.

Some are there to take on the trials and tribulations with me, and some are standing on the shore, waving to me, teary-eyed and loving and tossing me some final goodbyes.

The shit in my life has made me realize one thing though: it has made me realize who my real friends are. And it's made me realize that I have to start really gung-hoing that belated New Year's Resolution I made ever so long ago. I need to stop giving and giving and giving to those who only take. I need to free some of that up for those who are DESERVING.

And if this reeks with the stench of some sorta attitude of moral superiority, I apologize. Because that's not what it is at all. Those people who are waving at me from shore ARE teary-eyed and loving. And I love them in return, wholeheartedly.

It's just that recent events have made me realize that I give in an unhealthy sorta way sometimes, and I need to curb that habit. Which doesn't mean I WON'T continue to be giving, but I think it would do me good to be a wee bit more reticent (see, Adam--you taught me something!) and careful in doing so. To not always be putting myself out there and leaving myself so easily exposed. To not always being there for other folks who, when I need it in return, have mysteriously up and vanished in a cloud of smoke. To not devote so much energy to other people who take it for granted or don't even notice it in the first place--a mistake that's been my downfall oh so many times. Abiding by this resolution will be infinitely more healthy for ME and for those OTHER folks in my life.

Writing this down again, giving it anchor, will hopefully allow me to forge ahead even more resolutely. And will maybe help me understand things a bit more clearly myself--what I need to do and what has been done.

I am writing not for you this time, my dear readers, but for myself and only myself.

-------

Patrick smells!

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They Suck

Last night I watched what very well may be *THE* worst movie I've EVER seen (it even put Van Helsing to shame):



Yes, perhaps I should've known when I realized that there were at least three crappy television actors in it... And Tone Loc.

But I gave it the benefit of the doubt. Because, at least with horror movies, sometimes the ones you least expect to be good surprise you. Ginger Snaps, for example, has one of the lamest-looking dvd covers, but it's a FANTASTICALLY creepy and smart horror movie. And other really lame-looking horror movies have at least been so bad that they were actually really funny and in the end were totally worth watching (Jack Frost, for example).

They Crawl, however, did NOT manage to redeem itself.

The plotline is as follows:

A brother returns home from the military and finds out from his family that something weird's going on with his brother--he's isolated himself and gotten strange. As he heads over there to talk to him, he finds out that his brother's apartment has exploded, he's dead, and the police are blaming it on him being a meth dealer. The brother of course realizes that "Bean" (the alleged meth dealer who is actually a GENIUS) was messed up in something more... something involving... a prototype for cockroaches and government conspiracy. Craziness ensues.

Now granted, I knew that the movie had SOMETHING to do with cockroaches. They're on the cover. And a lot of times, animal/bug-themed horror movies suck the worst of them all. But then again, sometimes they surprise you (The Birds, for example). But in this movie, the cockroaches were IDIOTIC. I could've done a much better job animating them, and I know NOTHING about computer-animation. And they tried to instill within you (as all horror movies do) that startling realization that the fear is universal--that if 90% of the living planet (which consists of bugs) were to fall under the control of human beings, God only knows what would become of the planet!

And yet, sweet Jesus, I don't think I've ever sat through a whole horror movie without ever being frightened. The universality of cockroachish fears didn't do it. There were no random jump-in-your-seat moments. There wasn't even any over-the-top blood and gore, and if you're not gonna give us either of the first two, at least indulge us with some blood and gore! In fact, there were barely any moments that HAD the actual cockroaches in them. The movie begins with a bus-driver being attacked by a single roach which sends him crashing through traffic and buildings and fountains and whatnot. And then we don't see a cockroach again for a very long time. In fact, 80% of the movie is cockroach free and submits to the plotline of a very very weak and meally-muscled X-Files episode.

It unravels into some lame-ass plot about government bug-conspiracy. And it suffers an even WORSE case of completely-sporadic bug attacks that would put Van Helsing to shame as well. In the climax of the movie (if you could call it that), our two "heroes" battle it out in a warehouse, trying to defeat the bad guy while keeping from being eaten by cockroaches. However, the cockroaches apparently only have a taste for non-heroic flesh because the heroes never really even have to dodge them. At one point, the male hero bats away THRONGS of them as he realizes that the female heroine may have been consumed by them, dodging them all the while. But then the camera pulls back to reveal that the heroine is safely dangling from some sorta pulley. And they are reunited. Despite the fact that moments ago there were throngs of cockroaches teeming right next to them which, for no apparent reason, have suddenly vanished so they could reuinite successfully.

The climactic scene (please stop reading if you ever plan on seeing this) is when all the cockroaches come together to form one giant cockroach, 30+ feet tall. What point this served, other than to show their COMPLETE lack of talent when it comes to computer-graphics, I have no idea. El grande cucaracha is exploded in a ball of flames from a gas-tanker which just happens to be sitting nearby with the key in the ignition. The whole warehouse goes up in flames, and yet our two heroes are unharmed.

Go figure!

I could bitch about a million more lame-ass things in the movie--the HORRIBLE TERRIBLE acting, for example, or the fact that an attempt at having a bad-ass female cop heroine is SO fucking lame that she made me want to remove my uterus and never have anything to do with it again. But I won't.

The point is don't see this movie. It's beyond bad. Rent The Birds or something instead if you're looking for a nature-fights-back horror movie. Or make your OWN cockroach movie. It couldn't possibly be any worse.

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Dream Weaver (Part I)

Dreams fascinate me, mostly just because I have some of the most WEIRD-ASS dreams ever. And I like the fusion between reality and imagination (and the upheaval of it) that occurs when you dream.

Anyways, I recently inquired about the bizarre dreams people have had about me. Here's a few so far...

Eleven:

Dream #1

i had a dream with you in it last night. you were in this weird sporting event in which you and your burly, male opponent were playing a battle game in which each of you stood in front of your own machine (a machine that looked like a bulldozer, but instead of just a shovel on the front, it had a series of rotating blades). the object of this game was for one of you to push the other into the rotating blades and get cut up. you were fighting a huge...enormous guy and he, no doubt, won, because when i came to see you after the match your arm was all cut up and bleeding and you were crying. but you were mad that you lost, too, because you said the guy didn't play fair.

Dream #2




My Mom:

when you were very little...just starting to walk...I had a dream that you were walking across a tightrope stretched over Niagara Falls, the Canadian side...
I was mortified that I couldn't get to you but you seemed oblivious to the danger.....


An Individual Who Would Like to Remain Nameless
(*COUREGISPHILBINGH*):

Dream #1

I don't remember much about this one anymore. This was awhile back. In it, you had started to become involved with this guy. He was about my height, but stockier. Though I don't necessarily think it was muscle, more like pudge. He seemed nice and though I, generally, liked him, something struck me as being "off" about his personality. You asked me if I'd like to hang out, or go somewhere, with the two of you. As you said this, for some reason, I was standing behind you and I leaned forward and whispered to you that something bothered me about this guy and I didn't want to hang out with him.

You left and didn't say anything. Later on, I saw the guy in a park. It was around twilight and he had a boombox blasting music. I can't remember what song it was, but I remember thinking that it was a cover song. He was singing along to himself. I commented that it was a "great fucking song" and started singing as well. You passed by then, looking a little depressed - and maybe a little disgusted- but didn't say anything. The end.


Dream #2



Even more vague. In it, we were watching an Olympic swimming match, standing poolside. There were a bunch of other people standing around, but there was no one was in the stands. You were wearing a pink sweater. I remember because, not only was it out-of-character, but I accidentally bumped my arm against you and I remember thinking how soft it was. No one was saying anything, just watching the swimmers.

Later on, we were in an corner office, high in a skyscraper. The room we were in was empty, dark and a bit dingy. Moonlight was shining in from the huge (floor to ceiling) windows on one of the walls. In the center of the room, you had, laid out on a blanket in front of you, three huge balls which looks like red Christmas Ornaments. You put one in your mouth and told me, matter-of-factly, that it tasted like cinnamon. I thought this was odd, as how could Christmas Ornaments taste "like cinnamon." The end.


Dream #3

Very short. In this dream, I was going into a building with rotating doors. You were going through the rotating door, so I opted for the normal one, next to it. But, every time I opened it and started to step inside, you would come swinging through the door and end up a an inch or less from my face. So, I would back up and go through the door again. Once again, you were swinging through and ended up right in front of my face. This happened 3 or 4 more times. I don't remember the end.


If you've got any weird dreams about me that you'd like to pass along for me to post, drop me an email. Those of you who know me know my email address...

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The Potato-Head Series

Scrounging through a folder of old emails, I stumbled across a handful that I'd saved and totally forgotten about: my Potato-Head Series.



About a year or so ago, my friend Dave gave me his Mr. Potato-Head to entertain myself with at work. One excruciating day of boredom, I decided to set up Mr. Potato-Head at his keyboard so he'd find him "typing" when he got into work in the morning. I then opened an account under the name "Mister Potato-Head" and sent him a threatening letter.

This amused me to no end.

So then I decided to start emailing other friends from my Mr. Potato-Head account, under the guise of actually BEING Mr. Potato-Head. Most people had no clue it was me. And most people just ignored me outta frustration. But I DID get a few fun responses.

Enjoy...

Conversation #1:

Mr. P-H:

g'morning, mr. h_____ [dave].

just wanted to say thanks for letting me borrow your computer last evening. hope you had a good one.

mr. p-h


Recipient:

Dear Mr. Head:

You're more than welcome to borrow my computer whenever you need to.
Don't forget to play with the other inhabitants of the cube while you're here--Yo-Yo, Buddy Blood Drop, and ENFLEX ("Beanbag") Frog. The pumpkin, whom we affectionately refer to as "The Pumpkin," is probably going to be leaving soon to serve as autumnal holiday decor, so take advantage of your opporunity.
Hope you had a nice time, too.

--dfh

P.S. Having written all this, it occurs to me that you're in the cube all the time, so why am I encouraging you to play with the rest of 'em while you're here? But I can't think of another humorous tack, so this one will have to suffice.


***************************

Conversation #2:

Mr. P-H:

don't think i don't know what you've been up to with mrs. potato-head. you best keep your hands to yourself, or i'll be on you like a fly on shit...

sincerely,
mr. p-h


Recipient:

who are you and why do you torture me?


Mr. P-H:

I'm Mr. Potato-Head. What exactly is confusing you about this?


Recipient:

the fact that you are a fool has nothing to do with who you are.....
fool.


***************************

Conversation #3:

Mr. P-H:

Hello there, J____.

Just wanted to drop you an email and say howdy since we haven't chatted in a while. Heard you ran into the Mrs. a few days ago. In case you haven't heard, we separated about a month ago--she came home one night without one of her ears, and I knew something was up. Turns out she was sleeping around with G.I. Joe and some of his commandos. Slut. Anyways, I hope things are better on your end. Send me an email when you have some time to spare and let me know what's new in your life.

Take care of yourself.
Mr. P-H


Recipient:

Mr. P.H....

Ahh, my old friend. I have been meaning to get back in touch with you, but have been too preoccupied with my messy life to do so.... I am thankful that you took up my slack.

I have been ok. Currently, I am eating pretzels and drinking a peach papaya flavored "Fruit Works" beverage that I purchased at a rest area near Youngstown. 5% JUICE!

I am sorry to hear about the separation with the Mrs., however it provides me with a good opportunity to tell you something that I've been meaning to -- I slept with your wife several times back in the early 80s, we did all sorts of crazy shit: blumpkins, anal, amyl nitrates, an angry dragon or two, etc... I'm sorry, I hope you'll forgive me.

That's all for now -- hang in there, buddy!

~J___



Mr. P-H:

Ah, it surely is good to hear your voice again, old friend. It's been much too long. When was the last time? Hmm... Ah, yes. I remember: you, me, that bottle of Jaigermeister, the two ladies from down the street, and Jimmy. It's amazing that the swingset is still in one piece. Good times. Good times.

I am sorry to hear that your life is so messy these days. Mine was as well for awhile, but I am now dating that cute little tart that you used to have a thing for. You know, the one you used to work with at one of your many past jobs. She's a thrill and a half in the sack, let me tell you. Too bad you didn't nab her first.

And since we're airing our dirty laundry, friend, I must also confess that I engaged in a little bit of "the nasty" with your girlfriend C_____ less than a week ago. Just me, C_______, my lovely underage lady-friend Skipper, a buttplug or two, and ten-gallons of fun. I begged C______ to give you an invite as well (as you know, they say "three's always better than four") but she declined. Next time, old friend, next time.

Well, I must run. No hard feelings...

Take care of yourself.
Mr. P-H


And apparently the One F-Man IS as lame as me... So continues the Mr. P-H Saga...


Recipient:

Hellooo! Again! Helloooo!

Aren't we funny! Aren't we so very funny? I think we are!

Do you remember when your ex(?)-wife came home with a handful of bloody gauze and a chirping noise coming from her genitals? That was my doing. She begged me for it. I win.

In other news -- I'm stoned, horny, and drunk right now. Happy Labor Day!

Hey, Mr. PH... you still gots them hemmorhoids? They was HOT, with a capital T! Tssss....

Hope this finds you well, and free of strife...
~J___


Mr. P-H:

Stoned, horny, and drunk and I wasn't even invited? For shame, Mr. T____, for shame. Sounds like you could use some good ol' potato-lovin' right about now... Shall we plan another tumble in the (potato)sack like we used to in the good ol' days? And shall I bring my cute little office tart along for a threesome?

Whatsay we meet next Friday? My hemmorhoids have each been throbbing for your touch for quite some time now... 9:30? Your place?


Recipient:

I ate some french fries tonight, I'm so sorry. I thought of you while I ate them, but it didn't sour the deliciousness as you said it would. I dipped them in ketchup and before I ate them I said things like "This is Mr. Potato Head's ass!" and "This is Mr. Potato Head's stomach!"... no use. If anything it made the french fries all the more delicious.

Here's something that I never got around to asking you: do you have any relatives (besides your TASTY wife), and if so what do you call them? Surely they couldn't all be "Mr. Potato Head" -- how did you score such a seemingly desirable "main" name. Do you think it'd be strange if I were called "Mr. Human Being" or "Mr. Man" or "Mr. Hair on Head"? I think you would... I think you'd fucking freak out if I were called any of those things.

As to seeing you next Friday at 9:30 at my place, I think that I will probably be working until about 11 or 12, after which I will be available. I will bring salt.

What do you eat?
~J_____


Mr. P-H:

How many times must we have this conversation, friend? Yes, the Potatoheads have a monopoly on the market of great first-names. The ex-wife's "Mrs". but she's thinking of changing her name back to "Miss". (Bitch.) Then there's my father--Captain Potatohead. My mother--Mom Potatohead. My uncle--Sir Fucks-A-Lot Potatohead. My brother--Ten-inch Potatohead. My sister--Sweet Pussy Potatohead. And, well... you get the picture.

And though I am a bit distraught that you've gone back to eating potato again, I must also admit that, now that I've gotten rid of the ol' ball and chain (who had me on a strict humanarian diet), I've fallen off the wagon and taken to eating an occasional sweet potato or two (if you know what I mean)...

But with regard to next Friday, anything hot, thick, and juicy will do just fine. And seeing as you've got that whole 5 inches of hot, thick, juiciness, what more will we need? And I'll be sure to bring along my detachable blue cap, my detachable asshole, and my detachable 10-inch shlong (ah, how you used to love them)...

See you next Friday.

Mr P-H


Mr. P-H:

Just wanted to wish you an early Happy Thanksgiving, and remind you to spare all my brothers and sisters on Thursday, this holiest of days...

Kindly,

Mr. P-H

PS. See you next Friday when we will mash our potatoes...


Recipient:

I thought it was THIS Friday (it was next Friday last week). Please inform.

All my love,
~J___


Mr. P-H:

My bad, love. It IS in fact this Friday that we will meet for our little rendezvous. I'll see you at 12:00? Be sure to wear that cute little red lacy thing that you always used to traipse around the house in (the one with the fishnet-tights). See you then...

Your Hot Potato,

Mr. P-H


Recipient:

I would like to meet, if only to find out who's behind this. When?

I turn 29 on Wednesday, but you already knew that, didn't you? I'm not happy about getting older, but I'm growing to accept it in a really drunk sort of way.

Dinner time.

~J____


Mr. P-H:

Hey, lush.

Not to burst your bubble, but you're getting all excited about my identity, and it's not really gonna be that exciting of a revelation. You're just gonna end up kicking yourself in the ass. I mean, I'm a spud and nothing more. You've seen me a billion times with my detachable glasses, nose, eyes, mouth, black dress hat, rubbery appendages, etc. So what exactly are you expecting?

Anyways, time and place to meet will be forthcoming. Maybe I'll leave you hanging and wait until AFTER the holidays to disappoint you.

And hot damn!! You're almost thirty! Bring forth the hard liquor.

Snowed in,

Mr. P-H


Recipient:

Ok, Lauren.


Mr. P-H:

Hee hee hee. Keep guessing, my friend. I know it's just eating away at you. I can picture the vein pulsing in your forehead right now. If you guess right, I'll tell you. Then again, maybe not.

Kindly,

Mr. P-H

PS. Is this Lauren a sweet piece of ass? If so, do you think she might be up for a little action with me and my office tart? If there's even the remotest of possibilities, pass along her information please.


Mr. P-H:

My bad, love. It IS in fact this Friday that we will meet for our little rendezvous. I'll see you at 12:00? Be sure to wear that cute little red lacy thing that you always used to traipse around the house in (the one with the fishnet-tights). See you then...

Your Hot Potato,

Mr. P-H


Recipient:

PH...

Should I really be at home on Friday at midnight? I'd hate to leave work early to meet you only to be let down and then pissed off.

(I thought I knew who this was, but it has recently come to my attention that I was wrong... now I am confused.)

Hope you're well...
~J___


Mr. P-H:

Well, shit, sweet-potato. I didn't realize you were serious about the whole "Friday rendezvous"-thang (seeing as the offer came from a "Mr. Potatohead" and all), so I'm sorry if you were all dressed up in your cute lil' red lingerie, lights turned low, swirling a tiny bit of red wine around in your glass only to be disappointed by my absence. Maybe we can meet for a drink one evening instead or something...

Anyways, my cute little office tart and I had a swinging Thanksgiving and I hope you did the same. Did you get to spend time with that crazy sister of yours? (Tell her Mr. Potatohead sends his love--actually tell her "The Big One" sends his love; she'll know what I mean.)

Hope to hear from you soon,

Mr. P-H

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SCREAM!

Apparently, this past Sunday thieves stole one of Edvard Munch's "The Scream" paintings (as well as his "Madonna" painting) from the Munch Museum in Norway.



Yesterday, in respect, NPR had one of their ever-witty little All Things Considered radio-blurbs discussing the ever-elusive topic of WHY the subject of "The Scream" is in fact screaming.

Some speculate that the screamer is screaming at something out of view of the rest of us, that his horror lies in what is not painted. Others' claim that he is not in fact screaming himself, but is gasping reflexively in terror at another person's scream. Some say that he is nothing more than a symbol of despair. Still others wonder if he is in fact intended to be our reflection, symbolizing our OWN horror and despair reflected back at us like a mirror.

In a lot of ways, "The Scream" is a touchstone--how we choose to interpret it may give us more light into OURSELVES and our outlook on the world then it does into the painter and his intentions.

That being said, I believe that the subject of "The Scream" is NOT screaming in terror at any of these things, but at the third dimension, at what lies beyond the four walls of his little painting, at what it means to be on the other side, animate, beyond a painter's construct, three-dimensional, looking in upon him.

There is much to wail about.

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Pale September

Fall's my favorite season. When I start to feel it creeping close, I get all itchy for it to hurry up and show its face already. It makes me wanna sit outside and smoke while inhaling the deep earthy scent of leaves. It makes me think of cold cement and dead gray skies. It makes me think of Halloween's sad droop and pumpkins' mad grins. It makes me want to cuddle close with someone under soft fleece covers. It makes me want to press my forehead against a cold window pane while I look at the deepening dusk. It makes me want to scrape my shoes along the pavement as I head off to class. It makes me want to drink warm apple cider (even though I don't really care for it) and pull my hoody tight around me as I walk home in the dark. It makes me wanna sleep with my window cracked and then huddle beneath a mound of blankets and evade my alarm clock as the darkness rolls away to leave a slight chill draped across the morning.

It makes me want to fall in love. And then fall in love again. And then fall in love some more.

Songs That Remind Me of Autumn

Definites

Pink Bullets--The Shins

Done Wrong--Ani Difranco

November--Tom Waits

"November's cold chain
Made of wet boots and rain
And shiny black ravens
On chimney smoke lanes"

Pale September--Fiona Apple

Hey Kind Friend--Indigo Girls

Kissing Song--Dawn Landes (Click to listen)

How to Disappear Completely--Radiohead

Dear Chicago--Ryan Adams

You Said Something--PJ Harvey

This Mess We're In--PJ Harvey

Here Comes the Flood--Peter Gabriel

"Cool of a temperate breeze from dark skies to wet grass
we fell in a field it seems now a thousand summers passed
when our kite lines first crossed
we tied them into knots
and to finally fly apart
we had to cut them off."

Shine On You Crazy Diamond--Pink Floyd

Runner's-Up

I Am Trying to Break Your Heart--Wilco

Lonely 1--Robert Sean Leonard

3-Speed--Eels

Cold Cold Water--Mirah

Sorry Signs on Cash Machines--Mason Jennings

"the wind is ruthless
the trees shake angry fingers at the sky
the people hunch their shoulders
hold their collars over their ears and run by"

Lost Cause--Beck

Lover, You Should've Come Over--Jeff Buckley

Spies--Coldplay

Please Forgive Me--David Gray

Waiting on an Angel--Ben Harper

"Pale september, I wore the time like a dress that year
The autumn days swung soft around me, like cotton on my skin
But as the embers of the summer lost their breath and disappeared
My heart went cold and only hollow rhythms resounded from within"

Five-String Serenade--Mazzy Star

Lullaby in 3/4--Erin McKeown

Sweet Thing--Van Morrison

the American Beauty soundtrack

So what're some of YOUR favorite autumn songs?

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Michfest (Days 7 & 8)

[At this point, I've run out of journaling steam and am just trying to hang on for dear life to the very tail ends of the festival, knowing damn well that I'm gonna have to head back home and back to reality in a few days.]

Day 7

It's the end of Day 7. I'm tired (and feeling a bit grouchy towards folks), my foot hurts, and I'm actually looking forward to going home (and the added perk of finally getting to see my fella after a whole week). I enjoyed my time here, but I think this is definitely something I'm not gonna do EVERY year.

[It serves its purpose and I ultimately end up enjoying myself. This year was no different. But this year was also a mish-mosh of mixed feelings. I swayed back and forth from feeling really centered and getting good feelings from the festival and being gung-ho in wanting to make it an annual thing to feeling as though something about it was off. This may just be because the last year was so perfect and I can't help but compare it to that, but last year I can't remember even the TINIEST bit of negativity coming from the women there (or from myself). And this year there seemed to be a tad bit more disrespect and disconnect (not in terms of anything major, but moreso in terms of people talking during shows, plunking down their big-ass chairs in front of you without making sure you can see, etc.).

But this could also be my own feelings being projected onto the festival... This year (despite being absolutely content with my love-life) I have a lot of really bad chaos and energies in my life at the moment--from my job, from some of the people I love, from issues that have arisen in my life over the past month. And the festival (try as it did) could not assuage them, and perhaps they spilled over into the festival itself. Perhaps I was not seeing quite so clearly as I could.

Strangely enough, one of the most centering moments of the festival was when I was feeling a bit of despair, a wee bit of disgruntlement, towards folks tonight--right then, I hit the last few pages of Franny & Zooey which I'd been working my way through all week (mostly during the monsoon rains). I was tremendously touched by the characters and by Zooey's advice:

"I was furious. The studio audience were all morons, the announcer was a moron, the sponsors were morons, and I just damn well wasn't going to shine my shoes for them, I told Seymour. I said they couldn't see them anyway, where we sat. He said to shine them anyway. He said to shine them for the Fat Lady. I didn't know what he was talking about, but he had a very Seymour look on his face, and I did it. He never did tell me who the Fat Lady was, but I shined my shoes for the Fat Lady every time I ever went on the air again...

...I'll tell you a terrible secret--are you listening to me? There isn't anyone out there who isn't Seymour's Fat Lady. That includes your Professor Tupper, buddy. And all his goddam cousins by the dozens. There isn't anyone anywhere that isn't Seymour's Fat Lady. Don't you know that? Don't you know that goddam secret yet? And don't you know--listen to me, now--don't you know who that Fat Lady really is? ...Ah, buddy. Ah, buddy. It's Christ Himself. Christ Himself, buddy."

For joy, apparently, it was all Franny could do to hold the phone, even with both hands.

This is one of the most tender endings to a book that I've ever read. And it seemed to speak to me right when I needed it the most, reminding me that this love for others', this respect for others, is NOT just a woman-thing and can and should be freed from Michfest to spill over into the real world.

I have to remember and embrace this, dammit. And then maybe other people will too.]

Performances I saw today:

The Drumsong Orchestra (headed by Ubaka Hill) which rocked;

Wise Fool New Mexico & Lava (two of the only all-women circus acts in the country);

The Closing Candlight Ceremonies.

Film I watched tonight:

Rise Above: The Tribe 8 Documentary

Day 8

Mama... mama, I'm coming home!

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Michfest (Days 5 & 6)

Day 5

I had THE freakiest experience in my camping history happen to me last night. I got jostled awake by what sounded like the plastic bags in my tent being rattled about. Since I've been having weird shit show up in my tent all week [salamander, spiders, etc.], it freaked me out, so after listening to the sound of footsteps which appeared to be coming from INSIDE my tent, I scrambled a bit hysterically for my eyeglasses and light, skittering back as far as I could from my bags. There was nothing IN my tent [thankfully] but I could hear footsteps (of an animal sort--as LEAST as big as a coon) circling my tent and apparently trying to find its way in. Finally after about five minutes I could sorta hear it wandering off. I of course had to pee terribly from being freaked out, but I also of course had no desire to be crouching in the dark with some freaky ass-biting animal with my lovely little cootch hanging out. Sweet relief FINALLY at the port-a-pots this morning.




* * * *

Let me prepare this with the following:

1) I DO think Michfest is a very useful, necessary, and pleasurable place, [so what I'm about to say is not intended to undercut any of this or imply that the festival is silly and/or idiotic, so please don't misunderstand].

2) Those of you who know me and (fortunately? unfortunately?) have had the opportunity to argue with me on occasion KNOW that I usually find myself defending radical feminism--arguing that while I may not AGREE with its tenets/views, I DO in fact still think it serves a great usefulness/purpose in today's society. I still believe this.

That being said, it frightens me to my very core to see women who are apparently unable to differentiate between a feminism that helps and a feminism that harms, between fighting against oppression so that women may have equal rights vs. portraying white males in generalities and stereotypes [that we would condemn if directed at us] and condemning white males across the board when what they SHOULD be condemning is the INSTITUTION OF PATRIARCHY.

This is what the first act of Hothead Paisan: (Homicidal Lesbian Terrorist), the play by Animal Prufrock that was put on tonight (based on the comic book character by Dianne DiMassa), was all about. And I could feel myself stiffen and clam up even after the first ten minutes. [(Not to mention that the musical just kinda stunk REGARDLESS of its politics--it had decent songs but it had no driving force or any semblance of a plotline for those unfamiliar with the comic.)]

In it, men are embraced as/depicted as stereotypes and only stereotypes--rapists, anti-lesbians, etc. And the only route the protagonist sees herself able to take against them is one of violence.

[These feelings of violence may accurately depict the outlet that many (but not all) women's frustrations take. But the portrayals of males do not allow for any sorta complexity in understanding them. And THAT is the route of its failure really. It is easy to hate something that is flat and uncomplicated--it is easy to hate the individual when essentially you are forcing them to symbolize a larger and more destructive institution.

As women, we would take offense to being stereotyped as gossipy and emotional and whatnot. These characteristics may be true for some women, but they are not accurate ACROSS THE BOARD. And that's the point. The same can be said for white males. Yes, there are white male rapists and yes there are white male lesbian-haters. But this does not accurately depict ALL males. And if the intent is to symbolize "patriarchy" THROUGH the male characters, it is a misguided one. Attack the institution, not ALL the individuals.]

[I think part of the problem is that the musical was first presented at an all women's music festival. There was no room for the "opposing" voice to be heard, no one to stand up for it and/or feel marginilized by it. And perhaps had there been workshops, perhaps if Animal or her crazy sidekick Susan Powter had offered up an opportunity to actually DISCUSS the play instead of just lounging about sucking up people's praise, I wouldn't have objected quite so much. But there wasn't. Not that the feelings in the play AREN'T legit in many ways. But I just feel that the voice/opinions expressed were wholeheartedly latched onto by everyone watching SIMPLY BECAUSE there was no hint of an opposing viewpoint present to challenge the views.]

Again, I must repeat: I understand the frustration among plenty of woman that this leaning towards violence reveals. And I understand and agree with the fact that it MAY in fact take violence (in thought, in word, and maybe even in deed sometimes) to bring about change if the only other option is quiet complacency. This is the reason I am intrigued by and in awe of bands like Tribe 8. Violence in thought and in word is not always a bad thing.

But if WE do not want to be stereotyped as WOMEN, if the lesbian community here doesn't want to be stereotyped as "dykes" and whatnot, if we want to be recognized for our individual (and maybe even our collective) beauty as women, then we must extend the same courtesy to males. To demonize males, lumping all of them into the category of white privileged male [which IS partially true--yes, they DO have a privilege that they need to be made aware of--but to DEMONIZE them because this is what they are while neglecting to note that many of them seek to actively help out the plight of women and lesbians] only commits the same crime it condemns. And what is the point of that?



Phew. Now that I've vented... the other things I did today:

I took an early morning Qigong class--I really enjoyed this last year when I took it as well, but since it was only 45 minutes long this time, it only gave me enough to whet my whistle.

I'd like to give a shout-out to Trillium Organics and their clementine-clove line--I ain't ever smelled nuthin' better, especially after emerging from the port-a-pots.

The sky was BRILLIANTLY clear tonight and I had the pleasure of watching it basked in the glow of fireworks and then bare as a baby's ass [later on]. The clearest I've EVER seen the milky way, no doubt. I only wish the skies were this clear and gorgeous back home.

I took a palmistry workshop--strangely enough the instructor [whose name I unfortunately have been unable to track down] is from Cleveland Hts. and we hit it off real well (as there were only five of us there). I've always loved palmistry and been intrigued by it ever since I was little. This woman had worked in Mexico for a lengthy time reading cards for a living but so many people expressed interest in palm readings that she decided to teach herself it. (Sidenote: It's loud tonight) I really enjoyed her energy and learning at least a TINY bit more about the whole palmistry thang.

I like sesame-seed rice cakes with natural peanut butter and honey on them a HELL of a lot.

Workshops I took today:

Qigong (9:30 - 10:15);

Palmistry (2:30 - 3:30).

Performances I watched today:

God-Dess and Tina G (which was actually a really good hip-hop show though I can't seem to find their web page);

Jamie Anderson;

Karen Williams (comedian);

Rocio Mendoza (who is a DAMN hottie);

Hothead Paisan (The First Act) by Animal Prufrock (formerly of Bitch & Animal.





Day 6

There may be nothing better than dark woods, a crystal clear night sky, and a head full of good thoughts.

Workshops I went to today:

Michigan Festival Herstory and Lore.

Performances I saw today:

The kick-ass Bitch (formerly of Bitch & Animal);

The Dolly Ranchers;

JUCA;

Kate Clinton (comedian);

Laura Love.

Things I bartered at the Barter Market today and what I got in return:

Bartered a lamp --> got a large candle and one of those wooden statues of the man rolled up in a ball (hard to explain and I'm not sure what they're called exactly--you'd probably know 'em if you saw 'em).

Bartered a recipe-box full of recipes for organic/natural beauty products (such as facial scrubs, lip balms, etc.) --> got two homemade lip balms (cocoa butter flavors) and a lip gloss (orange-flavored) and two homemade edible oils *twirling moustache mischievously* (strawberry-chocolate and mango).

Bartered a roll of plaster-casting strips --> got a kick-ass pair of *drum roll* nipple clamps. S&M dungeon, here I come!

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Michfest 2004 (Days 1 & 2)

I've finally returned. (No applause necessary.) While I recuperate over the next week and return to my normal work-induced funk, I will be posting the journaling I did while I was at Michfest so you can read all about it. Hope you enjoy.



Day 1

Day one is over with and I'm not nearly as pumped and energized as I was last year. Maybe this is because the festival came last year at a point when my life was in an upheaval and it offered me a way of centering myself and resecuring my sense of independence. This year I am in a relationship that I couldn't be happier about. I am in love. Things are good between us. And so I don't feel an itch to run off on my own quite so much... In fact, more than anything I wish he was a big ol' dyke so I coulda dragged him with me--not seeing him for a whole week doesn't seem worth it, especially since he seems to be doing a better job centering me/calming me than being here probably will. But damn if it doesn't make me miss and appreciate him.

This is good.

I HAVE come here this year with things that I really wanna escape from, but the problem is (unlike last year) I have full knowledge that they are problems that just aren't gonna up and disappear with a *poof* while I'm here. They are just being put on hiatus for the week, and so I don't feel like I'm gonna come out quite so centered. Here's to hopin' though...

* * * *

We woke up late today--supposed to leave at 4:15 but left at 6:30. I think this actually worked out very much to our benefit as we were all much more energized and hopeful on the drive out.

--Dammit, I already have 'squito bites!--

It rained like a slit-open udder on the way here--it had me worried. But then, just as we got our car in line, grace. It cleared up and the sun poked its head out.

We were in line for over three hours, but it never seems so long. We gawked at folks, played cards, bullshit. It was good.

I am not eager to work a workshift here. Perhaps this is just because it's my first week off of work since last year at this time, and I DON'T WANNA SPEND IT WORKING!!!! I may just end up doing security for the acoustic stage overnight which, if anything like last year, will just entail me sleeping uncomfortably and fitfully on a stage-area.

I am not too pleased at the selection of workshops this year either. There seemed to be tons of better ones last year. Perhaps it is just because this year lacks the spark of novelty, but the ones I wanted to do last year I've done. And the ones I didn't have a chance to do aren't being offered this year. And I am finding myself inexplicably perturbed and disgruntled at the topics of some that are wasting perfectly good space--6th Annual Hurt by the Christian Church/Organized Religion workshop, for example. I am also feeling--dare I say it?--a wee bit marginilized this year because the workshops seem to be so lesbian-centered. This is not a fault of the festival, just something that doesn't serve much use to me--workshops on strap-ons will only do me so much good, for example, because it's only discussed in female-female scenarios. But fuck it (pun totally not intended but appreciated)--I may bite the bullet and take Back-Door Basics (an anal sex workshop--tee hee) despite the fact that it may also be a bit far-removed from my hetero lifestyle...

Ah, E. Where are ya when I need ya? ; )

I hope tomorrow will have me feeling a bit more excited. I did remember why I missed the food so much again tonight. This may make up for my other misgivings.

Addendum:
It's 11:20. I just went to pee outside the tent. The stars are brilliant and weaving in and out of the swaying tree branches so it looks just like each one's shooting.

This makes it worth it.


Day 2

When you're camping in the woods and it rains, you can hear the water topple down through each level of leaves before it finally hits your tent. I suppose I'd be much more appreciative of this fact though IF IT HADN'T BEEN RAINING SINCE 7 AM THIS MORNING AND MY TENT WEREN'T LEAKING EVERYWHERE AND I HADN'T HAD TO SKIP MY THREE-HOUR KUNDALINI YOGA CLASS BECAUSE OF THE WEATHER. This is definitely not zen, let me tell you. And this in turn wouldn't be so bad if I had my SO here because then we could just shag ourselves into forgetting and not giving a shit that we're laying in a messy wet nasty heap of tent with everything piled up into the middle to keep it dry.

It better stop raining soon and get sunny, dammit!

* * * *

Almost 8:30 PM and it's still raining. My tent is a big damp heap. Each time I come in I have to clean up another dozen streams and puddles with toilet paper. It is also cold which is making us ALL crabby. It really better warm up and stop raining because I don't think we'll make it through five more days of this. At least I won't.

I want to yoga tomorrow, for God's sake! And I want sun on my tits before I leave or else an ass-kicking is in store.

* * * *

11:45. Still raining. I just "brushed" my teeth with a moist towelette that was given to me by E over a year ago. Weird how these things come in handy at the strangest of times.

If I wake up in a puddle, I'm gonna hurt someone.


Workshops I took today:

Oops. I lied. I didn't take any workshops today...


Performances I saw today:

C. C. Carter

Deb Filler in "Filler Up!"

Films I Saw Tonight at the Film Fest:

Michigan Fever!

The Nearly Unadventurous Life of Zoe Cadwaulder

April's Shower

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Leave Me Comments While I am Gone...

Otherwise I will hurt you.

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My Last Day--Woohoo!

Today is my last day before vacation. Then I will be gone until August 17th. I know you will miss me madly and want to pull out your hair and throw up all over yourself. So get your questions/comments/critiques/criticisms/cootches in before I leave, otherwise you're screwed for about a week and a half.

So long, suckers!

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Ouroborus

So as you've probably noticed, I'm working my way through my third Paul Coelho book, Eleven Minutes. I've also read Veronika Decides to Die and The Alchemist within the last six months or so, upon the recommendations of friends. And I've enjoyed all of them.



If I had to pick my least favorite book of the three, however, I would without question pick Veronika. Yesterday I was mulling over why this was and I came to this realization: his books (or at least the presentation of the messages within them) feel very much like parables. I was quite fond of this fact with The Alchemist as the plot/characters/context seemed to complement its parable-like quality. I wasn't so fond of it in Veronika because the events of the book are not quite so mystical (they deal with suicide and mental institution rather than a sort of mystical journey into the abroad) and so seemed a bit out of sync with this parable-like quality.

What startled me last night while I was reading is that the main character, Maria, suddenly reminded me of a character from one of Ayn Rand's novels.

How in God's name could I possibly even entertain the thought of similarities between the two author's writing? For various reasons...

#1 -- The main character/protagonist of each writer's novels is an idealization/embodiment of the author's philosophical outlook--they are the embodiments of the perfect and philosophically-sound human being. Strangely enough, this seems to be rather uncommon in novels and maybe that's why it's so startling and appealing. Coelho's and Rand's characters are heroes in a world where the typical heroes of our novels/movies seem to be anti-heroes (Holden Caulfield, Lester from American Beauty, etc.) serving to remind us that the state we're already in is ok rather than giving us something--some ideal--to strive towards. They represent the real as opposed to Coelho's and Rand's representation of the ideal. Coelho's and Rand's characters move with certainty and clarity. They "know" or at least move towards knowing with few complications. They are philosophical abstractions given human form.

This is obvious in any Rand novel--her main characters are these philosophically muscular and independent beings who stand up against the world and defy being absorbed by the collective. These characters are pretty much impossibilities--they are the idealized embodiment of one author's intellectual pursuit. They are what the author believes to be the way a human being would function if he/she only recognized the truth of this philosophy and adopted it.

Coelho's characters are very similar (but obviously represent a much different philosophical viewpoint than Rand). Maria puts into practice Coelho's abstract and idealized philosophical views about sex. She is an impossibility given possibility through writing.

#2 -- Both authors' main characters are usually absurdly cerebral and reason-oriented, regardless of the focus/topic of the book. Again, this is obviously the case with Rand--her heroes use abstraction and reasoning to achieve her own kind of "enlightenment." Reason = truth. Strangely, this is also the case in Eleven Minutes (so far) despite the fact that its topic is the most unreasoning topic of all--love and sex. We have a main character who is delving into her own understanding of love and her life as a prostitute and how sex fits into this vision of love. And yet even as she acknowledges her own jealousy (and its foundation in a lack of reason), she is able to break it down in logic, as a sort of equation, "developing methods" and therefore reach a reasoned clarity: "if you want to achieve your objectives, you have to be prepared for a daily dose of pain or discomfort." In a book focused on love and where love fits in with sex, it is startling to see such a cerebral analysis, such a head-y discussion of the heart.

#3 -- Both authors' books are essentially how-to, self-help manifestos on how to "achieve enlightenment according to [insert author's name]". There is something both unsettling and yet very attractive about this.

I've always been a long-time fan of Rand much to some people's dismay (*COUjefGH*)--I've read all of her novels and many of her philosophical works. (You can actually see a bit of The Romantic Manifesto rubbing off on me earlier in this blog.) Her characters have a strange attractiveness to them, one perhaps best shared by our monolithic cinematic heroes--people who fight against the wrong and stand like stone in the name of honor. They are attractive. They suck you in. They are unachieveable ideals, attempted embodiments of an abstraction that fail to calculate in natural human fallibility--a philosophy that swallows its own tail simply because it cannot be put into practice.

And yet, what is so attractive to me about Rand is her constant life-long attempt to consistently embody her own philosophy... It is a flawed philosophy in so many ways (its view of women, its view of capitalism, etc.) and yet she put every ounce of energy into practicing it. It's hard not to respect this in an individual seeing as we're such a wishy-washy crew usually when it comes to our morals and ethics.

I am drawn towards Coelho's books for similar reasons; they are simple and speak simply and have beautiful and affirming things to say. His characters are strong and represent what he deems to be an achievable ideal. He clearly has a much more benign and easily acceptable (and accessible) message. He etches out individuals who embody a much more simple philosophical viewpoint than Rand's, but they share a weird affinity to them in that they represent something to strive towards but something that perhaps doesn't recognize the complexity of human nature and in that respect, can only function as an unattainable ideal.

And yet, despite being compelled towards these characters, admiring them, their function as ideals is slightly undercut by a slight sense of dishonesty that lurks within them. They seem a bit hollow, a bit dishonest, because they mark themselves as characters and as characters only--as ideals that could only exist within the confines of a book. In the "real world," things are much more complicated.

And yet, all that being said, I really value these sorts of books. They give us something to strive for, especially in a world of literature whose message oftentimes just serves as a reassurance that it's ok to have problems, to sop around in the norm, that sympathizes with our struggle but does not offer us a way of dealing with it and something to strive for. For this reason and this reason alone, I think it is a good thing to pick up a Coelho book or, dare I say it, even a Rand book and give it a whirl.

It may surprise you.

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Sluts & Mopeds

He quoted the Marquis de Sade, of whom I know nothing, apart from the word "sadism." It's true that we only know each other when we come up against our own limits, but it's wrong too, because it isn't necessary to know everything about ourselves; human beings weren't made solely to go in search of wisdom, but also to plough the land, wait for rain, plant the wheat, harvest the grain, make the bread.

I am two women: one wants to have all the joy, passion and adventure that life can give me. The other wants to be a slave to routine, to family life, to the things that can be planned and achieved. I'm a housewife and a prostitute, both of us living in the same body and doing battle with each other.

The meeting of these two women is a game with serious risks. A divine dance. When we meet, we are two divine energies, two universes colliding. If the meeting is not carried out with due reverence, one universe destroys the other.

--Paul Coelho, from Eleven Minutes

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PAH.

I am feeling sleepy/tired/groggy/exanimate/
soporific/statuvolic/balmy/otiose, so I don't have much to say today.

Therefore, I'm gonna pull a Harvey and declare it "Ask Me a Question and I Will Answer It Day."

Do it!



PS. Four more days 'til I'm on vacation!
*Getting all wet in my nether-regions.*

__________________________________

Answers to Today's Questions
(In No Particular Order)

It is useful in angrily ending a conversation.

The former, no doubt.

Tie her up, beat her with whips and chains until she realizes that she is in love with me and the pain turns to lust which turns to sweet sweet passion and she begins to shout out my name.

Jam him in my ear and then fart.

No.

According to ASKJEEVES.COM:

Quick Definitions

verb: have a great affection or liking for
noun: a strong positive emotion of regard and affection
verb: get pleasure from

I think you can suck it.

That is kind of an awful question:

I suppose I'd rather be with neither. I wouldn't want to keep wasting my love and energy on someone who treats me like crap when it could be put to better use. But then again, I don't wanna be with a person solely because they make me feel good about myself... So I suppose the answer would be.... 333.444.

As long as it's not a baboon.

If you think of any other questions, feel free to ask me throughout the week and I will try to remember to post responses.

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