My Defective Life

The Burning House

2011-05-18T00:31:00.008-04:00

So this site is really cool.

So I submitted my own.

Hopefully they'll post it. But on the off-chance they don't: enjoy!

"If your house was burning, what would you take with you? It's a conflict between what's practical, valuable and sentimental. What you would take reflects your interests, background and priorities. Think of it as an interview condensed into one question."

Name: Lindy Loo
Age: 34
Location: Cleveland, OH
Occupation: Massage therapist; blogger; lover; mad genius
Website: http://www.yeahthatveganshit.blogspot.com

List: (clockwise-ish from top)

Egon Schiele picture. The one thing in my apartment that would remind me of my apartment and how much I adore it.
Tiny notebook I keep of the little things I see and experience that bring me joy.
Franny & Zooey. One of my favorite books and a stand-in for three other things I would take with me which would be:
My cats--Franny, Zooey, and Esme.
My box of finished, unfinished, and half-finished writing. Under it:
My laptop computer.
My wallet.
My passport.
My box of incense and old love notes.
My camera.
A pair of pants and a shirt. (In case I happen to be sleeping in the nude when the fire breaks out.)
Condom. A person should always be prepared.
Photos. As many as I could possibly carry.

[Amusing sidenote: I took this pic outside my massage space and at some point lost the condom. Here's to hoping that a client doesn't happen to find it somewhere in my studio.]

When I grow up, I kind of want to be Isabelle Huppert...

2011-03-27T22:28:00.003-04:00

She is awesome in every way.

Heart

2011-03-25T19:47:00.001-04:00

"They say that I have no hits, and that I'm difficult to work with. And they say that like it's a bad thing." (Tom Waits)

Seriously: Why couldn't I have been born 30 years earlier?

Been Stuck in My Head Now for Days

2011-03-22T14:21:00.001-04:00

2011-03-16T11:05:00.001-04:00

Loveliness

2011-02-28T22:59:00.001-05:00

2011-02-25T14:59:00.001-05:00

‎"o world i cannot hold thee close enough" -edna st. vincent millay

Not Quite Right Love Songs for Valentine's Day

2011-02-15T19:26:00.002-05:00

1. You're Pretty Good Looking (For a Girl)--The White Stripes
2. I Put a Spell on You--Screamin Jay Hawkins
3. Razorblade--The Strokes
4. Prove My Love--Violent Femmes
5. Here Comes Your Man--Pixies
6. Two Guys (For Every Girl)--Peaches
7. I Want to Marry a Lighthouse Keeper--Erika Eigen
8. Need You Tonight--INXS
9. Pretend Love--The Avett Brothers
10. Diamond Mind--Rasputina
11. They Oughta Name a Drink After You--John Prine
12. Obstacle 1--Interpol
13. I Want Your Sex--George Michael
14. I'll Shoot the Moon--Tom Waits
15. We Get On--Kate Nash
16. Use Me--Bill Withers
17. The Sweater Song--Meryn Cadell
18. Creep--Radiohead
19. My Body's a Zombie For You--Dead Man's Bones
20. U Got the Look--Prince
21. Your Arms Around Me--Jens Lekman
22. Soft--Kings of Leon
23. Janine (live)--Mike Doughty

33 in Recap

2011-02-06T13:29:00.034-05:00

My birthday continues to inch ever closer. But hopefully lucky 33 will turn into an even luckier 34.

What I've done this year...

Started my own business.

Ended a job of over 8 years.

Was part of a group costume for halloween.

Had sexual relations out on my roof.

Stopped getting up at 5:30am and started getting up at 9:30am.

Played ridiculous amounts of pool.

Had VegNews magazine choose my vegan blog as one of their favorites.

Started a freelance job providing massage for HIV+ folks.

Rode on a motorcycle.

Went to court and won.

Got two new tattoos, one of which continues to be a secret to everyone who's not had reason to be looking between my thighs. This is not that one, obviously-->

Hung out with a fellow (ATL) vegan who happened to be in Cleveland.

Skinny dipped in Lake Erie.

Stopped blogging. For the most part.

Worked as a freelance editor/writer updating an Encyclopedia of Cities. Got to update Cleveland's entry.

Read all of the Walking Dead series to date.

Went to Chicago.

Went to NYC.

Bring on 34.

2010-11-03T13:20:00.002-04:00

I have developed a recent and overwhelming smittenness with Animal Collective.

They's good. Which most of you already know, but I'm almost always a step behind.

Goodness:

"Did You See the Words"--Animal Collective

"It's messy, yes, this mess is mine / Though mine is messy, yours is maybe nine..."

2010-09-28T23:51:00.001-04:00

2010-09-15T11:48:00.000-04:00

My Labor Day Weekend: A Redux

2010-09-06T16:07:00.004-04:00

Spent two days camping with BDC's family 'cause the boy was actually eager & excited for them to meet me and vice versa. (Quite possibly the first time that's ever been the case, actually and sadly.)

Played a crazy canoe game while canoeing.

Got a blister from my shoddy canoeing.

Finally played the infamous LCR.

Got to see the extremely vibrant Milky Way and a couple shooting stars in a crystal clear PA sky in the autumn cold with a boy's arms wrapped around me.

Ate camper pies. Sort of.

Had a lengthy philosophical discussion late at night under the stars until the campfire burnt down all the way and we gave in to our tiredness.

Drank beer in a canoe.

Drank beer around the campfire.

Drank beer in the middle of the day.

Drank a helluva lot of beer.

Played with a bunch of children.

Went 3 days without showering.

Built up nearly three days' worth of campfire stink.

Watched two guys spend an hour (successfully) making torches out of forest sticks, underpants, and lard.

Laughed the hardest I have in a good long time.

Figured out where BDC gets his ability to fall asleep anywhere (including on top of me).

Got hazed in the form of a Jungle Breakfast hunt.

Won money gambling in Tripoley.

Helped cook vegan beer waffles over a campfire.

Slept outside on the cabin porch with the world's highest air mattress and a boy who stole all the covers and smushed me into the wall but kept me warm with his own body heat and woke me up with redbearded grins and kisses.

Listened to a lot of chili-induced farts.

2010-08-30T00:44:00.001-04:00

Some night
When the hour for pleasure sounds
I would like to creep softly
Toward your precious body
To punish your joyous flesh
Bruise your innocent breast
To make in your surprised flank
A wide and deep wound
And, dizzying sweetness!
Through those new lips,
Brighter and lovelier,
To infuse my venom,
My sister!

(Baudelaire)

2010-08-30T00:44:00.000-04:00

New Summer of Fuck-It Recap

2010-08-09T10:43:00.004-04:00

Went to the beach. Again.

Got burnt. Again.

Saw Inception. Again.

Rode on a motorcycle.

Had a boy leave me flowers on my stoop.

Finally got to meet a kick-ass straight-edge Atlanta boy from the 'nets and then whupped his ass at pool.

Listened to this song about 9700 times:

"Home"

Gorged on vegan philly cheezsteaks, vegan ice cream, and vegan Happy Dog hotdogs, all on different days and with different people.

Got a rug burn on my elbow.

Swam under the Brandywine falls in my bra.

Saw dinosaurs in their (almost) natural habitat.

This Week, In Recap

2010-07-19T22:30:00.003-04:00

Opened for business.
Had an extremely huge beetle fly directly into my cleavage.
Went to the beach.
Got sunburnt at the beach.
Saw the new Romero flick.
Got hit on by an old, one-legged man who told me my success in relationships is going to be inversely correlated to the amount of cats I have.
Bartered a massage.
Had my first day of no no-shows.
Saw a vulture (swear to god) picking apart roadkill on a side street in Parma.
Actually called a boy back. On the phone. Despite my intense hatred of talking. On the phone.
Had a lady fart on me repeatedly.
Finally saw how (the second part of) screen-printing works.
Had someone ask me how much I'd charge to massage their butt for 30 mins.
Spent 3.5 hours at Melt with two out of three of my wives.
Met a bunch of new folks in the neighborhood.
Almost did the pool equivalent of pitching a no-hitter.
Got referred to as a regular by an employee at Home Depot.
Saw Kevin kick a bird. By accident. Supposedly.

Strange Days

2010-06-26T00:52:00.004-04:00

I miss talking to many of you regularly throughout the day over email.

I miss this thing called the 'net, and the posting of my synaptic misfirings and the decadence of wading through tons of blogs on a daily basis.

I miss the instant gratification of reading a friend's blog and the resulting illusion that I'm engaged down to the minute in their lives.

But the real world? The one that's all face-to-face and last minute ice cream outings and random sarcastic boys at bars and moaning clients and surprising conversations about Chuck Palahniuk and frequent panic attacks about new spaces. And talking. On this thing called the phone. Or even more revolutionary: One on one. On Tremont patios. In neighbors' doorways. Over fat sandwiches in the middle of the day. And NOT ONE GODDAMN THOUGHT TO CHECKING EMAIL. OR POSTING. OR REFRESH REFRESH REFRESH.

All this delicious real world? Well, it's really fucking nice.

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And yes: I am aware of the irony of posting this on the 'net. But it's been a long time, my friends.

2010-06-14T06:08:00.001-04:00

CORPORATE WHORE NO MORE!

2010-06-08T06:46:00.000-04:00

(from Can't Change Everything)

2010-06-03T14:16:00.004-04:00

Let's not speak of it, lest we jinx it all.

2010-06-03T07:22:00.001-04:00

(Reposted from Colossal Youth)

2010-05-24T15:48:00.000-04:00

This is the Buckley Family. The children's names were Susan and John. As a Halloween joke, all the kids in the neighborhood were going to get a dummy and pretend to chop its head off. The Buckley children thought it would be hilarious to actually murder their mother, so when the kids walked up the the door, they got an axe and slaughtered her. Once everyone figured out what they had really done, they called the police, but the kids were long gone by then. The only picture of them was this photo, taken by a trick or treater. The mothers body was later found half eaten.

{{Surely this is an urban legend but, presented as such, it still kind of made my heart leap into my throat with a crazy bit of horror. Thanks, Lena, for freaking my shit out just a little today!}}

Breakin'

2010-05-19T07:22:00.003-04:00

Holy hell, I totally forgot about these movies which were like my two ABSOLUTELY FAVORITE MOVIES when I was like 10. (I had the cassettes for both soundtracks.)

I really need to have an Electric Boogaloo party--could you imagine the outfits and music? Not to mention the BAD-ASS dance-offs. Shit.

I was seriously in love with the dude with the feather earring. HOT.

I also SERIOUSLY loved this song:

If only ALL the world's problems could be solved with a dance-off. *SIGH*

2010-05-13T15:12:00.000-04:00

The Sad List of Things That Frequently Jack-up My Shoulder & Neck and Make Me Need to Visit Chiroman

2010-05-11T11:14:00.002-04:00

Working on the computer.

Blow jobs.

Playing Whip with my cats.

Brushing my teeth.

Combing my hair.

Putting on eye makeup.

In the Last 15-Hours, Three People Have Stumbled Across This Blog By Running a Google Search About Old Ladies Crawling on Ceilings

2010-04-21T10:00:00.000-04:00

"film old woman crawling ceili"
"what is the movie where the old lady crawls on the ceiling"
"horror movies old lady crawling on ceiling"

Apparently there is a lot of concern and confusion over which movies have old ladies crawling on ceilings.

Just wanted to say that I'm glad I could be here to help.

Thom Yorke Haremized! BLAT!

2010-04-19T13:06:00.004-04:00

I'm pretty certain he's been on my harem list before, but for some reason I bump him every once in a while. And I think it might be the occasional mind-boggling hair situations he gets himself into.

Nonetheless, I'm adding him back on.

With the caveat that foreplay would have to involve me pinning him down and cutting his hair into something reasonable...

These being two instances of a dire need for foreplay:

2010-04-19T07:44:00.001-04:00

When you walk in the room everything disappears
When you walk in the room it's a terrible mess
When you walk in the room I start to melt
When you walk in the room I follow you round
Like a dog, I'm a dog, I'm a dog, I'm a lapdog
I'm your lapdog, yeah...

2010-04-15T09:10:00.001-04:00

New Addition to My Harem List

2010-04-13T06:49:00.003-04:00

The girl is hot. And sassy. And strong.

Need I say more?

(Also: I would like her hair. Please and thank you.)

It's hard to be in anything but a good mood when you wake up to this song on your clock radio...

2010-04-13T06:35:00.002-04:00

2010-04-07T07:58:00.001-04:00

(Snagged from Left Hand Cuts the Right who snagged it from elsewhere)

Fuck Yeah, Road Trip!

2010-03-31T10:45:00.003-04:00

Julian, I hate that you will be here while I am there, but as long as you leave the other boys for me to nibble on, we're cool.

LOVE This

2010-03-29T06:57:00.003-04:00

Don't let it go to your head, F-Deficiency.

Mmmmmmmm

2010-03-27T16:01:00.002-04:00

I like

All Better!

2010-03-24T12:15:00.000-04:00

Woot!

Stressed & Overwhelmed & Overwhelmed & Stressed

2010-03-22T19:16:00.002-04:00

I am. Stressed. Overwhelmed. Overwhelmed. Stressed.

Can't sit still. Can't make my brain shut up.

Just want my car fixed already for the fuck of loving god, and, moremoremoremuchmore importantly, my cats back to healthy.

Also wouldn't mind someone to lay my head in their lap and pet my hair while I yammer about the car and the cats and the stress and the overwhelmed.

But for now: if someone could please fix the first two, I'd be much obliged.

Bah.

Google Search Which Brought Someone to This Blog and Which Freaked Me Out for a Second Until I Verified It Wasn't Googled from Cleveland

2010-03-09T16:36:00.004-05:00

saw u naked last night through youre livingroom curtians do

2010-03-09T12:58:00.002-05:00

Sunshine

2010-03-09T09:33:00.000-05:00

Haiku for My One Inexplicably Long Nosehair

2010-03-08T12:37:00.001-05:00

You rattle inside
My nostril and I think you
A booger but no

You are my nosehair,
So thick and fierce, just like the
Finest woman but

Also like a boog,
And oh I want to love you,
but instead I pluck.

The 2am Cigarette Conversation in Which I Felt Like I Was in a Mad Men Episode (Except for the Anachronistic Tom Waits Reference);

2010-03-07T16:14:00.008-05:00

Or, A Cock Block and a Misogynistic Joke

[I sit down on the stairs and light a cigarette. Mad Man 1 comes out and lights his own cigarette.]

Mad Man 1: [insert mildly witty but benign comment about the weather/snow/late hour/etc.--I can't really remember what it was but it was along those lines]

Me: (laughs) Yeah.

Mad Man 1: I'm [Matt] btw.

Me: Lindy Loo.

[handshake. Mad Man 2 comes out and lights up a cigarette.]

Mad Man 2: (gesturing to Mad Man 1) This guy is the greatest. (beat) I'm [John] btw.

[another handshake]

Mad Man 1: No, man. YOU'RE the greatest. (gestures towards Mad Man 2) He saves lives.

Me: Oh?

Mad Man 2: Oh come on.

Mad Man 1: He does.

Me: What do you do?

Mad Man 1: He works in the ER.

Mad Man 2: But this guy... this guy's got it all. He's a writer. He's got a great apartment. (said with emphasis) A girlfriend. (beat) I only WISH I had all that: a great job, a great apartment, (beat) a girlfriend.

Mad Man 1: Man, but you save lives.

Mad Man 2: Indeed. (beat) I put my foot in my mouth the other day though and pissed off a bunch of surgeons. MAN did I piss them off.

Mad Man 1: What did you say?

Mad Man 2: Well there were a couple surgeons in the elevator, and an orderly wheeled a dead body on with them (covered with a white sheet and stuff you know), and I looked at them and said, "Looks like THAT surgery didn't go too well."

(we all laugh)

Mad Man 2: Oh man. They were SO pissed. Never joke with a surgeon.

Mad Man 1: OH OH!! Speaking of jokes, I have the best joke.

[enter Mad Man 3 who has a large floppy white-boy-'fro. He lights a cigarette]

Mad Man 3: Dude, you're the best storyteller. Seriously. You tell THE best stories.

Mad Man 1: Ok. So this joke takes place in a [gestures to me]--I beg your pardon--whorehouse during WWI. And you know what they used to do at whorehouses during WWI...

Mad Man 2: Pretty certain they still do it NOW at whorehouses too, man.

Mad Man 1: (glares at Mad Man 2 for a moment) Anyways: there's this french fighter pilot that comes into this whorehouse. He picks out his woman and everything, and they head up to a room.

Mad Man 3: Seriously, you have the best voice for storytelling and jokes.

Mad Man 1: (face lights up) Kind of like a Tom Waits kind of thing??

Mad Man 3: Well, I was thinking more NPR. But yeah.

Mad Man 1: Anyways. Back to the joke. So the french fighter pilot, he's got this woman up in a room, and he lays her down on the bed. And he starts kissing on her, and in the middle of kissing on her he suddenly stops and pulls out a bottle of red wine and drinks from it. So the prostitute is like "Pierre Pierre, what are you doing?" And the fighter pilot says, (puts on fake french accent) "My name is Pierre and I am a french fighter pilot. When I have the red meat, I like to have the red wine to go with it."

(we all chuckle)

Mad Man 1: Waitwaitwait. SO. So the prostitute giggles and says "Oh Pierre" and they start kissing again. And then ever so slowly he unbuttons her shirt and removes her bra. And he begins to caress and kiss her breasts.

Mad Man 3: You're giving me a boner, man. That voice. I swear.

Mad Man 1: And he's kissing on her breasts and then suddenly pulls out a bottle of WHITE wine and begins to drink some. Again the prostitute asks, "Oh Pierre... What are you doing?" And Pierre says, (in fake french accent) "My name is Pierre and I am a french fighter pilot. When I have the white meat, I like to drink the white wine." And the prostitute giggles and he begins to kiss on her again.

(pauses to take a drag)

Mad Man 1: So they're kissing, and Pierre slowly pulls up the prostitutes skirt and begins to unhook her garters, pull down her panties, and kiss his way around the inside of her thighs.

Mad Man 3: Total boner, man, I'm telling you.

Mad Man 1: And he's kissing on her thighs and then suddenly he stops, pulls a large flask out, and starts pouring the liquid all over her thighs and in between her thighs and the prostitute shouts "Pierre Pierre!! What are you doing?? Why are you pouring gasoline all over me, Pierre??" And Pierre says, (in fake french accent) "My name is Pierre and I am a french fighter pilot, (beat) and when I go down, I go down in flames."

THE END

New Additions to My Apartment Decor, Courtesy of Some Kick-Ass Friends*

2010-03-02T09:05:00.000-05:00

Dangerous Dames Calendar: I am SO framing these once the year's up...

1970s Dawn of the Dead movie poster: my living room will never be the same...

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* Though it's already commonly known, Mo & Kev: You guys rock.

Cat Fact I Learned Recently and Had Verified This Morning

2010-03-02T08:14:00.001-05:00

I read recently that when a cat walks, its back feet step precisely into the space that the front feet have just left. So when you see cat prints in the snow, you’ll see only two because the back foot steps exactly into the front footprint.

I had this verified while sound asleep this morning when Zooey stepped onto my temple with her front foot (waking me up) and then stepped in the exact same spot with her back foot as she walked over my face.

So Very Lovely*

2010-02-24T08:43:00.000-05:00

*Thanks, Jefie.

Sometimes a Rose is Just a Rose (and a Zombie's Just a Zombie): A Critique of the article "Hell is Older People"

2010-02-21T12:28:00.006-05:00

I am a feminist. I really enjoy reading feminist zines, watching feminist films, engaging in feminist discourse. But every once in a while I read something that just makes me want to be like, "Oh COME ON. Are you really gonna play the gender card on THAT?"

Such it is with the article "Hell is Older People: Aging as the Ultimate Cinematic Horror"*. Even the title annoys me. Really? The ULTIMATE cinematic horror? Ok. Let's arbitrarily pick the first 25 movies that I reviewed in my sidebar at Come Play With Us, Danny and see if that holds true. Out of the 25, only ONE of them even remotely deals with aging or someone aged (Burnt Offerings). A far cry from aging being the "ultimate cinematic horror" I'd say. So when Prochuck again asserts, "the genre's movies are often dominated by elderly characters--usually elderly women", I can't help but roll my eyes. Again, out of 25 films, ONE features an elderly person, and indeed it is an elderly woman. But again: one. Not exactly a "domination" of a genre and thus, possibly not even something worth remarking upon.

These statements alone left me wondering: Have you ever WATCHED a horror flick, Alana Prochuck? Or a horror flick BEYOND the 6 that you use as examples here? Because if you HAVE, then perhaps you'd realize what a fierce exaggeration both assertions are. But wanting to give her the benefit of the doubt, I trudged on through the article.

Prochuck's main thesis in this article is that the elderly (particularly elderly women) are negatively stereotyped in horror films in a sloppy attempt to reveal our culture's fears of "isolation, frustrated attempts to communicate, bodily decay, imminent death." And she argues this point by picking apart examples of the elderly in 6 specific horror films: Drag Me to Hell, Dead Alive, The Exorcist III, Homebodies, The Skeleton Key, and The Hunger.

The main problem with the article is that Prochuck takes often minute examples of the elderly in films and forces what are frequently ridiculously overblown readings (that I'd argue aren't even within the text of the film) on them and then criticizes them based on these readings which are highly debatable in the first place. Her readings are often a ridiculous stretch, oftentimes just a mere second or two of a film expounded upon and given much more attention than it receives in the movie itself, and sometimes flat-out misappropriated to make her point. For example, when discussing Dead Alive, she mentions the elderly mom's transformation into a zombie, stating, "as she writhes and moans in pain, her wound pulses orgasmically, and her arm twitches in what can only be described as a masturbatory motion." (Really? Orgasmically? And not just disgustingly?) But let's roll with that and give her the benefit of the doubt that this sexualized reading is accurate. She then goes on to say, "Both the humor and the horror of this scene are rooted in the assumption that elderly women are sexless: As if to emphasize how harmful orgasms are to the health of little old ladies, Vera wakes up from her post-bite sleep lurching, slurring her words, and making a mess of her lipstick..." Hmmm, yes. Surely the lurching, slurring of words, and messy lipstick are a commentary on healthy orgasms in the elderly AND NOT JUST THE HUMOROUS END RESULTS OF A WOMAN WHO JUST TURNED INTO AN EFFING ZOMBIE. In critiquing horror films, we can't overlook the basic machinations of the film in favor of our reading just to make a point, and we can't just tack on a modifier ("orgasmically") so that our readers will assume that the movie intended it to be read as such. Sometimes a zombie transformation is just a zombie transformation and not a commentary on orgasms in the elderly. Prochuck tends to overlook the function of certain scenes AS PLAIN OLD PLOT in order to foreground her feminist reading of the scenes, and to do so means overlooking the fact that sometimes a rose is just a rose (or in this case, a zombie is just a zombie) and not a sexless but orgasmic old woman.

Another of her extreme overreadings of a very minute moment in a film deals with Exorcist III, in which she mentions a scene where an elderly woman crawls across the ceiling, stating "This woman is both infantile (crawling) and animilastic (hovering like a fly), but certainly not a responsible adult." Ha ha ha. WHAT?? The woman is CRAWLING ACROSS A MOTHER-EFFING CEILING, and you're critiquing whether or not her character was stereotyped as "not being a responsible adult"??? I think this is part of the problem in critiquing horror films in such a way: such critiques fail to acknowledge that pretty much EVERYthing in the horror film is no longer functioning within the realm of the realistic. If you can have an old lady who can crawl across a ceiling, is it even possible to critique her character within the realm of normal standards (whether or not she's being represented as a "responsible adult")? I mean, yes, perhaps she's not being depicted as a responsible adult, but SHE'S ALSO BEING DEPICTED AS BEING ABLE TO CRAWL ACROSS A CEILING, so I'm pretty sure we've moved out of the realm of realism at this point. So what does this mean for a critique that hinges upon the "realism" of certain characters' depictions within a film? It seems an enfeebled house of cards once that fact is acknowledged.

Again and again Prochuck also points out, with a weird bit of surprise (which again makes me think: have you never WATCHED a horror film, Alana Prochuck), how horror films embrace and reinforce *gasp* stereotypes (in her case, particularly stereotypes about the elderly). Well, good god, lady. That's like being shocked and perturbed by the fact that westerns *gasp* typically have cowboys in them or gunslingers and often take place in the west. THE HORROR. Those are the tropes and machinations of mainstream pop horror films**. Is it a brag-worthy quality for a movie, this embracing of stereotypes? Well, of course not. But that's the construction of modern horror. Most of these films rely on a standard horror film equation (one that was mocked by Scream for example) and that equation is RIPE with stereotypes and tropes and unsurprising story-arcs. So yes: they are reliant on stereotypes. This really is no surprise to anyone even remotely fluent in the genre. So is the problem here that they stereotype? Or is the problem that they're stereotyping the elderly? Or is the problem that, when it comes down to it, she just doesn't like what makes a horror movie? It's never quite clear.

The other problem with Prochuck's argument is that she fails to contextualize the examples she gives within their place in the movie. Using Drag Me to Hell as an example, it is indeed true that the elderly female lead in it is DISGUSTING and her "elderliness" is horribly exaggerated to the point of being nauseous. But so is everything else in that movie. She is not being given special treatment. The movie itself is over-the-top to the point of being absurd, and that was the joy of the ride. It might be different if the one character was being singled out, but indeed, the movie itself is a lesson in ridiculousness and camp. EVERYTHING is exaggerated and silly and gross and overdone. Mrs. Ganush isn't being singled out. So should we be singling her out in our criticism of the movie? I mean, in a movie where flies spew forth from a woman's mouth, is the depiction of an old lady as "gross" really that surprising?

What bothers me even more about this article though is that while it's criticizing stereotypes in horror films, the article itself is embracing stereotypes to make its point. In criticizing Drag Me to Hell, for example, Prochuck makes the statement "But when Christine exerts her professional power by denying Mrs. Ganush the mortgage extension, she is punished spectacularly for her lack of feminine compassion." Wait a minute. Yes, she's punished for her lack of compassion. I concur. But the movie doesn't make a statement about it being a lack of FEMININE compassion. Prochuck herself has tacked this modifier on to make her point and connect this back to gender. But in doing so, it's SHE who's stereotyping compassion as feminine, not the FILM. How much weight can we give an argument that, while criticizing stereotypes, uses stereotypes to clinch its own point?

I do indeed think a critique could be made of the depiction of the elderly (particularly women) in horror films. But this article does not even come close to making a good argument due to its failure to a) acknowledge that once, for example, an old lady is able to crawl across the ceiling in a movie, perhaps we need to acknowledge that we're no longer working in the realm of realism any longer and critique with a working acknowledgment of that, b) avoid stereotyping while criticizing others' stereotypes, and c) have some working knowledge of the horror movie genre beyond only 6 films.

Horror movies ARE the primary exploiters of our fears. That is HOW THEY WORK. They exploit our fear of the dark. They exploit our fear of the unknown. They exploit our fear of death. That is why we watch them. They scare us with our own fears. So really, is it any surprise that they offer "the exploitation of elderly folks... as cinematic shorthand for everything our culture most fears: powerlessness on one end of the spectrum and unrestrained evildoing on the other"? You could take this statement and replace "elderly folks" with any other subject, and the statement would be just as valid. This is the nature of the horror film: to exploit the subject matter (which is a representation of our fears) in order to scare us. It's not just elderly folks they exploit as cinematic shorthand for these fears, it's EVERYthing and ANYthing. The woman running blindly through the woods in an attempt to escape her pursuer = fear of powerlessness just as much as the elderly person does.

So ultimately, I'm not even sure how to respond to this article, other than with a "Seriously?" and also a "Duh."

*Bitch Magazine, Issue No. 46, p. 66
**Let us be clear that both Prochuck and I are differentiating between the artsier, interesting horror films out there and the mainstream American (or "western") horror films that are pumped out to mainstream movie theaters across the country. We're talking the cookie cutter horror films. (Her only debatable exception would be the 1983 film The Hunger which was more of an art film.)

What I Thought About While Walking Back from the Cafeteria Today

2010-02-18T12:02:00.001-05:00

Accidentally slipping on the ice. Falling in front of an oncoming car. Oncoming car running over only my hand. All bones in my hand crushed. Hand replaced with a prosthetic hand. Initial depression over my massage therapist dreams being crushed is quickly replaced with an insatiable desire to overcome adversity. Master very fine-tuned, mind-blowingly impressive massage work with my new robotic hand. Become #1 Massage Therapist with Prosthetic Hand IN THE COUNTRY. The End

Dear Toronto, Ontario Reader...

2010-02-18T07:56:00.001-05:00

Do you ever sleep?

Sincerely,
Lindy Loo

Oh, Melanie...

2010-02-18T07:00:00.002-05:00

This song is so delicious to me today, for reasons unclear. But thank you.

2010-02-16T16:11:00.001-05:00

Harem-tastic

2010-02-09T16:13:00.002-05:00

Chris Pratt.

Justification: The "Hunting Trip" episode of Parks & Recreation. I have not laughed so hard at a tv episode in probably a year as I did during the scenes between Andy (Chris Pratt) and April the Intern.*

I want to eat him with a really big spoon in a huge-ass plastic bowl of soymilk.

-------
*Alas: the episode and/or clips from the episode are nowhere to be found on-line otherwise I'd post them here. Also: piggyback.

Pros & Cons to Wearing a Ponytail

2010-02-09T12:07:00.001-05:00

Pro:

I like the way it swishes against my neck when I walk.

Con:

I feel like I should be wearing socks with little pom-poms on them.

Pro:

I like the possibility of someone using it to pull me towards them and kiss me fiercely on the mouth.

Con:

Makes me feel like Stephen Seagal.

2010-02-09T08:06:00.001-05:00

Scabs, The Dark Baroness of SCAT, and Her Gastrointestinal Accordian

2010-02-04T17:33:00.008-05:00

So my cat Esme (formerly known as Scabs) is hands down THE gassiest cat I've ever met. About an hour ago, she did a flip and farted as she landed. She farts when I pick her up. She farts when she's sleeping. Any time she folds or bends her body, a fart usually accompanies it. And when she's not farting, her stomach is churning away loudly. The other night, I actually thought I was hearing birds. I even asked out loud, "Are those birds?? AT NIGHT?!?" (because I frequently ask my cats questions, with rarely a reply), and then I realized it was her stomach. (And I'm not being even remotely hyperbolic when I say that.) Birds. A noisy flock of birds.

So in my head, I've created an elaborate persona for Esme:

By day, she is mild-mannered Esme, fey and waify; she talks in a whisper and all the boys think her "pretty" and "gentle." She is willowy and wears thin cotton dresses that catch in the wind, and if the sun lights on her in just the right way, one might even say she's beautiful:

But by night she is Scabs, the Dark Baroness of SCATology, headliner in Cleveland's Underground Circus of Freaks, where she literally plays her digestive system like an accordion, wowing the city's seedy masses who pay her a nickel to see her wail on her gastrointestinal accordion.

She bends and contorts her sleek body, cocking her eyebrows crazily as notes squawk from her innards, forming bawdy tunes that leave the crowds howling for more.

All the men are in love with her. And yet all the men fear her. (And for that, they love her even more.)

Here she cackles with delight as the men swoon at her feet:

Scabs, The Dark
Baroness of SCAT, and Her
Gastrointestinal Accordian

Oh, Urban Dictionary! It's Like You're Writing My Biography!

2010-02-03T15:57:00.005-05:00

[Favorite excerpts from the Urbandictionary definition(s) for my first name]

Lauren Is a name of which it means perfection and totally awesome And can relate to terms of awesomeness and a total cow sometimes

greatest living person alive

a term for a female who can't make hot chocolates properly.

only girls who have Sexy wavy hair, cute freckles, a sweet butt and give the best hugs are named this.

2.)An expert in bed, gives good head.

Drives a Gay ass Rabbit

HAS SOME PIMP SUNGLASSES!!

massive tits but a total slag takes pictures of herself naked and likes beating up boys

normally very hairy, like a man, including under arm stubble that ceases to vanish even right after a thourough shave, a mind boggling moustache, jungle like crotch area, and when the legs graze any part of the body, you feel as though you have been violated by a wildabeast/caribou.

Usually a racist, heartless, cold, soulless girl who all the asians like but she neglects and hurts. The asians are all affectionate towards Lauren. She is bitch.

anything you can think of.

A cat-like girl, or a cat who has been turned into a human being.*

-------
*This explains SO MUCH.

Womens

2010-02-03T08:57:00.001-05:00

Even though I don't actually know them, I love these women. And respect 'em. And read/stare at/squish over their web-pages every day. So give them some love:

We Own These Streets

Colossal Youth

And also these blogs (tumblrs? Not sure what tumblrs are other than misspelled containers you shake your booze in)--check 'em:

http://fuckyeahbeardedladies.tumblr.com/

http://genderqueer.tumblr.com/

DREEEEE-EEE-EEEE-EEE-EEEAM, DREAM DREAM DREAM <--supposed to sound like that song but hard to replicate in print

2010-02-03T07:54:00.002-05:00

Esme (the cat formerly known as Scabs) wakes us all up EVERY morning at 4am. And it annoys the piss outta me. But I must say: the vague sleep I get between 4am and 5:30am each morning has been the catalyst for some wild-ass dreams. And I haven't dreamed like this in a long while (or remembered my dreams, for that matter), so part of me appreciates the disruption.

Case in point is this morning's series of dreams:

Dream 1: Franny is leaving massive orange shits around the house. When I say massive, we're talking the size of my forearm. I'm horrified that she's sick, and as I clean up after one of her messes, I look over, and she has changed into an orange cat. I reach out to pet her and as I do, she changes back into a black cat, kind of like those hypercolor shirts from the 90s.

Dream 2: Hot hot sex with a friend of mine that is younger than me. Significantly younger than me. Thus, said person shall remain nameless. Mostly because sex dreams about friends should ALWAYS remain that way. Nonetheless: Mmmmmm.

Dream 3: A large semi has apparently lost control of itself and slammed up my driveway and into my car, pushing it into the backyard. I don't see the actual accident take place. I just see the aftermath. I call 911. They don't answer. I find myself walking out to Mayfield Hts. from Tremont to get to Borders. I have no idea why. When I return, the semi is still there. I go to call 911 again, but one of the maintenance men is outside with the driver of the semi and he tells me he's already called. He also tells me the driver is drunk. The driver is lying on the ground in a fetal position, clearly injured, and breathing shallow. The maintenance man and I stare at him for a while. The maintenance man nonchalantly tells me we'll probably have to perform cpr on him soon. I nod. We continue to watch the driver suffer. Even more disturbingly, as I drift in and out of sleep this morning, I find myself hoping that the semi-situation is actually true 'cause then I won't have to go to work and train people from overseas. I am willing to accept a suffering and possibly dying driver if it means not having to go into work. MORAL TURPITUDE.

/END SCENE

Nina Simone, I Love You So

2010-02-02T09:29:00.001-05:00

True story: It was the soundtrack to The Big Lebowski that first introduced me to Ms. Simone. I owe the Coen Bros a thank you for that.

What If

2010-02-01T08:08:00.008-05:00

A few weeks back, a friend of mine gave me a bag of spare cat food. It was a fairly junky brand, with ground corn being the first ingredient and several different types of "meal" and generic, unspecified "meat" ingredients also appearing close to the top of the ingredient list (all of which cat owners are told to steer clear from when buying cat food). I say this not to rip on her cat food choices but because MY CATS GO ABSOLUTELY NUTS FOR IT. I normally get them a healthy organic cat food, free of corn, meal, and unspecified "meat" ingredients, with bits of dried fruit & vegetables, and they're ok with it. But if I mix the two together in their bowls, they will literally pick the unhealthy, crappy food out and eat only that. And they eat it VORACIOUSLY. They will actually scavenge each others' food bowls just to get the unhealthy, crappy food out of them.

Which got me thinking with a bit of horror last night, if human beings aren't the only ones who'll opt for unhealthy, fastfood-quality food (which I'd always assumed was the case), what implications does this have?? Granted, both brands of food my cats choose between are processed, unnatural foods. But if the natural inclination is to eat that which tastes better, even if it's crappy and artificial and unhealthy, EVEN WITH NON-HUMAN ANIMALS, what does this say?

Is it possible that the "survival of the fittest" evolutionary tendency/programming many of us invest our beliefs in may actually be getting usurped by a self-destructive evolutionary programming? Could animal species (humans included) actually be evolutionarily programmed to reach a point in our timelines in which we begin to eradicate the existence of ourselves from the planet so that SOME other evolutionary heavyweight can step up? Are all these things that we're fighting so hard against--the health and environmental destructiveness of our food choices--actually PART OF the natural and intended course of evolution??

What if Werner Herzog's statement in Encounters at the End of the World that "human life is part of an endless chain of catastrophes" is dead on?

I don't know if I believe this of course, but good god: what if it's true?

Kind of Uncanny

2010-01-28T14:59:00.009-05:00

RIP Salinger

[Seriously? I'm the only one that thinks so??]

2010-01-26T08:45:00.000-05:00

2010-01-25T06:52:00.001-05:00

Something.

You Can Play Doctor on Me ANYtime, Edelstein

2010-01-20T12:22:00.003-05:00

I can deny my feelings no longer. Lisa Edelstein MUST be added to my harem list. Every time I watch House, I think about what a divinely beautiful woman she is. I mean, check her out here in minimal makeup and modest clothing and it makes me pretty much wanna stare at her all day:

But then factor in that killer body of hers and... sweet jesus. Every time she leans over on House, I turn into a drooling leering man-woman. I've never been a girl for business attire, but to see all that wool and cotton pulling taut over her divine curves as she va-va-vooms from one hospital room to another or leans in to lecture House, well, it kind of makes me want to bend her over my couch and bounce dimes off her sweet sweet ass. Is that wrong? If so, lemme attempt to redeem myself slightly by saying I'm also smitten with the fact that she plays such a strong female lead on HOUSE and has one of THE most ridiculous laughs in real life.

*COUbutmostlyit'sthatassGH*

Cat Day 2010

2010-01-16T14:20:00.007-05:00

Jesus Christ cats.

I could say that 37 times and it still would not be enough.

It's been a long 24 hours.

First: cats sleeping in my hallway overnight so I can take them over my mom's in the morning. The (super adorable holy crap so cute EXCEPT that it's 3am in the morning) meowing and squeaking to get out. Then the sudden explosion of noise that made me and Fran & Zooey almost shit ourselves in the middle of our sleep when one of them knocked my window frame over and somehow it managed to frame them when falling without actually falling on anyone.

Up at 1am. 2:30am. 3am. Pretty much up from 3am til 5:30am. Up again at 6am. Then glorious sleep til 7. So something like a total of 3, despite the fact that that math probably added up to more BUT I'M TIRED PEOPLE SO FUCK MATH.

Then the madness of driving them in the world's most gargantuan cat carrier over to my mom's (the thing looks like it could fit Free Willy, I'm telling you).

The little grey kitten is so freaked out in the car that she's panting.

Then my mom's and the realization that the grey kitten has never had a reason to know what a window is and thus KEEPS JUMPING INTO THE GLASS 'CAUSE SHE THINKS IT'S FREEDOM FROM THE SERVITUDE OF THE INDOORS.

Flash forward and she's somehow managed to wedge herself under my mom's radiator for a couple hours. And then wedges herself an hour later into an even SMALLER space behind a different radiator.

Finally I leave feeling like I just dropped my kids off at college, one of them wedged firmly behind the (college?) radiator.

Good times.

Come home. Decide to pack up one of the cat shelters for storage. Pick it up not thinking HEY A CAT MIGHT BE IN there, and Outdoor Kitty leapsdropsfalls to the ground to limp away with what holy fuck looks like a broken leg or hip. Thankfully after the initial freakout he walks it off. I hope. Will have to check on him later.

My very sweet downstairs neighbor appears at her door in the squishiest giant slippers to ask the neighborhood cat lady (aka me) if I could give her a tutorial on how to cut her kitten's nails sometime later this weekend. I agree and she squeals when she finds out my mom adopted the kittens finally.

Still nothing to eat. Blood jittering with coffee and a couple nervous cigarettes and I stop for a quick grocery shopping spree before it's time to return home and let in Scabs (and no worries: I've settled on a less scatological and more Salingerian name for her in keeping with Franny & Zooey--Esme--though I still have yet to use it) for a dry-run with the cats. Who are currently glaring at her. And growling at her. And avoiding her. And glaring at her.

And my ex E says I have at least a week's worth of hissing and violent cat-fights to look forward to.

Hurray.

Still trying to line up a back-up adoptee just in case.

Want an adorably neurotic cat of your own? Holler.

2010-01-14T15:30:00.004-05:00

Can I just tell you how much I love this song. I've been trying so hard to resist liking this band, I have no idea why, other than the fact that I hate the name they picked for the band. I mean, Phoenix? Come on. It reminds me of college logos. And every up and coming new small business company. And high school and "Even amongst fierce flames the golden lotus can be planted" and Sylvia Plath and angst, all of which really is kind of misguided in the first place so I'm not sure WHY IT ANNOYS ME SO MUCH. (Plus, I still like Sylvia Plath, so meh.) But it does. And ever since hearing "Long-Distance Call" I've been like, Lindy Loo: RESIST. But fuck it. Their shit is really effing catchy. And I cannot control what these ears be liking.

And yes: what the fuck is Lisztomania ANYWAYS?!?!*

-------
*Ok. I of course totally looked this up because as soon as I said it, I was like: maybe it's some weird phenomenon like Tourette's or synesthesia in which case I would retract all I've said and embrace them for liking weird phenomenon just like me, but this is what it is:

Lisztomania is a 1975 progressive rock soundtrack album by Rick Wakeman to the movie of the same name.

Lisztomania is a 1975 film by Ken Russell, drawn from a biography of Franz Liszt.

Which really doesn't do anything for me.

But I forgive you, Phoenix. Just cuz I cannot get this song out of my head. Props.

Demonstrable Proof That I Am a Cat Lady

2010-01-12T20:03:00.002-05:00

But imovie was just sitting there. And my camera sucks enough that I'll never get breathtaking footage of ANYthing. And... well... the cats. There's always the cats.

So yeah. Let me introduce to you to my first attempt at imovie editing fun...

Hey! You!

2010-01-11T07:53:00.001-05:00

In case you haven't been paying attention, this little box to the right there-->, well, that's a feed to a daily list I'm building of things that make me feel squishy on my insides (as inspired by 1000 Awesome Things). Hopefully I'll be posting one a day for 365 days, so enjoy. (If you want to see the list itself which sometimes includes pictures and such, you can click on the text in that wee little box to take you there or just click HERE.)

I'd also like to give a shout-out to my brother's new blog, Sincerely Worded Letter. Check it out. It'll make you smile. Unless your heart is made of cockroaches.

2010-01-11T07:20:00.000-05:00

BlarghSoCute

2010-01-07T13:49:00.002-05:00

2010-01-05T16:20:00.007-05:00

((STARING AT THIS MAKES ME HAPPY!!))

Favs of the Past Decade*

2010-01-05T10:19:00.006-05:00

Radiohead--Kid A**

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

MGMT--Oracular Spectacular

Arcade Fire--Funeral

Ghost Dog***

Aimee Bender's Willful Creatures

The Dirty Projectors--Bitte Orca

Feist--The Reminder****

The Dark Knight

Joanna Newsom--The Milk-Eyed Mender

Memento

The Strokes--Is This It

Modest Mouse--The Moon & Antarctica

The Wire

Mark Z. Danielewski's House of Leaves

The Strokes--First Impressions of the Earth

The Royal Tenenbaums

Donnie Darko

Tim Wise's White Like Me: Reflections on Race from a Privileged Son

Kate Nash--Made of Bricks****

The Piano Teacher

Kings of Leon

There Will Be Blood

Six Feet Under

M.I.A.--Kala

Chuck Palahniuk's Rant: An Oral Biography of Buster Casey

Pan's Labyrinth

Mirah--You Think It's Like This But Really It's Like This

Amelie

Michael Pollan's In Defense of Food

The Moldy Peaches--The Moldy Peaches

The Postal Service--Give Up****

Lost in Translation

Thom Yorke--The Eraser

Matt Groening's Will & Abe's Guide to the Universe

Kill Bill

Marjane Satrapi's Persepolis

Regina Spektor--Soviet Kitsch

Arrested Development

Let the Right One In

Ryan Adams--Heartbreaker

Peter Singer's The Way We Eat: Why Our Food Choices Matter

Half Nelson

Silver Mt. Zion

Punchdrunk Love

Sufjan Stevens--Illinois

Isa Chandra Moskowitz's Veganomicon

Adaptation

Wilco--Yankee Hotel Foxtrot

No Country for Old Men

----------
*Re: music--I'm bad and tend not to listen to people's music as albums. Such is the curse of the internet. So if there isn't an album listed with a band above, it means that I'm just glad this band came to exist in the world of Lindy Loo in the past 10 years.

**I remember actually stopping what I was doing to sit down and listen to this album the whole way through with my boyfriend at the time. You could hear a pin drop.

***I only just realized this was actually made in the last decade.

****Suck it. These albums bring me joy in some form or another. They may not be amazingly original and I know it's a hipster-crime to say I like them, BUT I DO.

The Rest of My Xmas Vacation in Recap, Along with Some Realizations I've Had in the Past Two Weeks

2010-01-04T09:32:00.005-05:00

Lost pitifully at pool at Edison's.
Had some random dude try to sweet-talk me into singing karaoke with him.
Watched all of Season 1 of HOUSE while doing overtime.
Finally realized that if a person is unwilling to step up to the plate and fight for you, then they are not the one, no matter how much you miss them and used to be convinced you wanted to spend the rest of your life with them.
Wore a tie.
Bowled 7 strikes in one game and scored a 215.
Realized I constantly confuse existentialism and nihilism.
Watched Gremlins with friends and peeped on a guy in an expensive condominium with binoculars.
Got flirted with by a good samaritan from out of town who rescued an escaped dog and knocked on my door for help.
Hung out with 2 of my exes.
Baked 2 pizzas.
Spent 4 hours at Melt Bar & Grilled.
Extracted Scabs from my roof AT LEAST 25 times.
Fell in love with Werner Herzog's statement that "Human life is part of an endless chain of catastrophes."
Got sweaty in bed with one of my closest friends.
Saw a flick with and thricely got drunk with the One F Man.
Won the last pool game of the decade at Kevin's house.
Lost the first pool game of the decade at Kevin's house.
Watched Short Circuit with P and mused about what Steve Guttenberg is up to nowadays.
Fascinated myself with the statement: "Through our eyes, the universe is perceiving itself. Through our ears, the universe is listening to its harmonies. We are the witnesses through which the universe becomes conscious of its glory, of its magnificence." (Alan Watts)
Argued about the usefulness of philosophy at 2:30 in the morning.
Realized I can't date someone who doesn't find joy in being childish and silly sometimes.
Drank booze every single night (and am now looking forward to taking a NICE long break).
Ate chocolatey brussel sprouts.

My MMs in Recap

2009-12-31T18:50:00.008-05:00

(in no particular order)

Got my master's in English/creative writing.

Became a (very happy) cat lady.

Spent 3+ weeks driving cross country and camping.

Ended an 8 year relationship.

Shagged a 6'6" mountain climber.

Went vegan.

Swam in the Pacific (and it was bloody cold).

Taught freshman English at Ohio University.

Started Cleveland Veganz.

Got licensed for massage therapy.

Spent 8+ years at a job I hate.

Met a ton of amazing people.

Fell deeply in love.

Stopped talking to my father.

Got my picture taken with Marilyn Burns (the female lead in the original Texas Chain Saw Massacre).

Saw the Strokes play in Chicago before they got super popular.

Moved out of the suburbs to Tremont and stopped hating Cleveland.

Took an ex on an amazing wine tour of the Appalachian areas of Ohio.

Got a tattoo in Boulder, Colorado.

Got four other tattoos elsewhere.

Was onThat's Life with Robin Swoboda.

Was in a music video.

Found a lump.

Saw Tom Waits in concert.

Made a bunch of friends through the wonderful world of blogs.

Spent time topless in the Michigan woods 4 out of 10 summers.

Started a vegan food blog that now gets 350 to 500 visitors a day.

Got a piece (that I now hate) published in a journal of erotica.

Camped in the Rocky Mountains.

Ended another relationship.

Got old.

2009-12-31T18:12:00.002-05:00

Happy New Year, my babies!!

Things That Make My Heart Go Squish This Week

2009-12-28T13:35:00.003-05:00

Snow. Snow. Snow.
Laughing really hard with the friend sleeping on your floor about the time they awkwardly hit on you.
Trekking lazily down to the coffeeshop in clunky boots on a snowy morning instead of having to be at work.
Making mixes.
Coffee.
The intimacy and surprise of overhearing your name being remembered and bandied about in conversation by someone you only just met.
Nerdtastically blathering about movies with a fellow movie geek.
Eating lasagna in bed.
The kitten suddenly appearing on the roof of an old garage in the blustering snow at 3am 'cause she hears you shaking some food in a bowl.
Only having to walk two houses down at 3am to get home after a party at your friend's house.
All-day pajamas.
The cottony sound of boots in snow.
Thai food during a whiteout.
Touching the knot on your forehead that you got when you accidentally headbutted your kitchen table.
Baking lasagna in the middle of the day.
Pool. Pool. Pool.
Listening to people talk about you while you're in the bathroom at a party.
Two of your guy friends having transformed into super-huge cat nerds.
The skyline vanishing 'cause of the snow.
Finally being able to post something from home.
Bluster.

Santa Wants to Eat Your Babies!!!

2009-12-22T16:26:00.002-05:00

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, EVERYONE!

Also: XMAS VACCCAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTIOOOOOOOOOOOON!!!

Wish It Was Christmas Today...

2009-12-17T06:57:00.004-05:00

The fact that Julian Casablancas covered this SNL song (which I've always thought was super-cute) kind of makes me want to jump him even more.

SNL Christmas Song | Movies & TV | SPIKE.com

And all you haters can suck it. Cuz the boy's got death rays and Christmas spirit:

And you may have the latter, but call me when you get some death rays and we'll talk.

2009-12-14T14:17:00.000-05:00

2009-12-10T05:40:00.001-05:00

2009-12-03T13:23:00.001-05:00

2009-12-03T07:46:00.000-05:00

Cuteness:

(from www.etsy.com/shop/dazeychic)

AWWWW PRINCE...

2009-12-01T10:07:00.001-05:00

Blowing you air kisses...

And Now Something Slightly Less Heavy...

2009-11-30T14:29:00.001-05:00

It's like if Neil Young, Tegan and Sara, and some vague 1970s folk singer somehow managed to have a four-way baby together and the baby was a song:

(I make fun, but I like.)

All This

2009-11-30T07:58:00.003-05:00

So as most of you know, this weekend something killed the baby of Scabs, one of the strays I take care of. I only happened to find her by accident, reaching under my stoop to see how wet the "bedding" (shredded phone-book pages) that I'd put under there had gotten in the rain. Instead I felt the fur and heft of cat.

Before pulling her out, my brain screamed: she froze to death and it's all your fault because you gave her the illusion that the space beneath your stairs would keep her safe and warm. Then I thought: poisoning. My brain was scrambling to rationalize it. But when I pulled her out, I found her looking relatively serene but with still wet blood in her ear and on her tail and what seemed to be a puncture-wound in her side. She'd clearly been attacked. I touched her, I stared at her, closely examining her eyes and her body. It was jarring being that close to her since she'd never let me near before.

I felt terrible, thinking about how just a week before, I'd spent so much time debating about whether to release Scabs after her surgery, finally deciding to for the sake of her baby. I remembered letting her outside and her baby running away from under my stoop like she always did. And then I remember the baby very slowly and cautiously returning to scurry back under the stoop. She was SO excited to see her mom again that she risked me being there to be close. I went back inside and then I watched from upstairs as the baby raced and romped around in the dark, clearly joyous at having her mom returned to her. She was a very skittish baby, and she always stuck close to Scabs. I'd never seen her anywhere without her mom.

I remembered how much joy I'd gotten in watching her play her favorite game which was essentially attacking her mom's tail as though it were some crazy wild animal. She'd stalk, she'd leap through the air, she'd wrestle it.

She had gotten big, much bigger than I'd realized. She was heavy. Her eyes were both open but lightless.

I cried. I cried pulling her out from beneath my stoop. I cried as I tried to figure out what to do with her. I cried as I left her in my hallway for a moment as I went upstairs to grab a plastic bag. I cried as I put her in the backyard. I cried when she was gone.

I couldn't bring myself to put her in a garbage bag and leave her at the curb. It seemed so cold and uncaring. So instead, I went to the very back of my yard, moved away the leaves, spread a soft bed of drier leaves down, and laid her out. I then covered her with more leaves and left her there.

My brain just kept flipping through everything that was so upsetting about the situation: images of her from just a week before; memories of her playing with her mom; the thought that I'd been going in and out of my apartment that morning and all the while, she could've been dying under my stoop; the thought that she'd died alone; the thought that I was responsible, having created the shelter for them and given her the false sense of safety; the fact that she'd been scared; the fact that the things that had made her so leery and suspicious had actually proven to be just as scary as she'd thought; the worry about the safety of all the other strays; the question of whether Scabs actually knew (she'd been running around playing with the other strays that very morning on my neighbor's garage roof); what it meant if she DID know and was that playful despite it; what it meant if she didn't.

All of it was very upsetting.

The next day I decided, with a clearer head, that I should bury her. I went back behind the tree where I'd laid her out and began to rummage through the leaves to find her. Nothing. Nothing nothing nothing. I scanned the backyard. Nothing. I rummaged more. Nothing. I scanned once more and then I saw her: splayed out by our old compost heap, completely disemboweled, her mouth bared back in a wretched and horrible snarl. My heart leapt and I thought: she wasn't dead! You laid her out and she wasn't dead and a wild animal ripped her apart and she wasn't dead! I reassured myself that this couldn't possibly have been the case. Her eyes had been open, and she'd not been breathing. I would've noticed. I'd sat with her briefly, stared at her when I'd pulled her out, looked at her lifeless eyes, I would've noticed any breathing. The snarl was surely just a product of death and rigor mortis, the flesh tightening and pulling her mouth back into the snarl. I touched her mouth, pulled back her lip just a little to bare her tiny teeth as though to reassure myself of the process.

Her eyes were strangely white instead of the dull black from the day before.

I dug a shallow grave beneath the wet leaves. One of the kittens that was romping around in the backyard with me suddenly saw her and snuck up suspiciously until I shooed her away. Strangely calmer than the day before, I gently picked her up with a plastic bag, trying not to sink my fingers into the pink muscle of her empty insides. I laid her in the grave face down, thought to flip her over but realized I couldn't without sticking my hands into her gutted stomach. Instead I brushed the leaves and dirt from the back of her face and then covered her with dirt.

I gently pressed the dirt down with my feet and covered the new grave with wet leaves. When I turned to leave, both the kittens were watching and Scabs was sitting on the back porch, having seen everything.

I stuck a gnarled stick in the ground as a marker, dragged a couple flower pots over and left them on top to dissuade any animals from further digging her up.

I was calm. I lavished Scabs with love, feeling bad that she'd seen the whole thing and that she'd lost her only remaining baby.

I went through the rest of my day. I went through the rest of my next day. The thought of the baby was always lurking in the background.

Last night, in the midst of a movie about death and fear, as it poured rain outside, the thought lurched up inside me: You buried her face down. It was so heavy and oppressive, my horror at this fact, that I seriously contemplated getting up and going out in the rain and digging her up so that I could rebury her face up. I could barely control myself from doing so. I had to text more than one person to get sufficient reassurance that she would be ok the way she was.

All of which made me think about how horrible it all is.

This past month or two, I've been thinking a lot about death, even though I try not to. It rises up inside me like bile, the thought, and once I start to think it, I can't stop.

And here's the thing: I am not ok with it.

I feel a sense of paralysis wash over me every time it pops into my head.

I cannot make sense of it.

What is the point of all this if at some point I will no longer be here?

The world exists only as long as I exist.

I am not okay with that.

I am not okay with the fact that people, animals, can be dying just feet away while others move through their daily motions, unaware or unconcerned. I am not okay with the fact that we are all that fragile and fleeting.

I am not ok with the fact that at some point, I won't feel quite so upset about her anymore.

I am not reassured by the fact that I can leave a mark on the world if I so choose. I cannot convince myself that leaving a mark on the world will make a goddamn bit of difference.

As my mind starts to sink into all this, I start to lose any sense of why I shouldn't just plow through this life, tearing things up, doing whatever I want as long as it brings me pleasure, no matter who or what it hurts, killing, destroying, any of it. What does it matter?

My compassion of course begins to kick in when I start to think this way, but the pure bare-boned logic in me says: Fuck that. Break an animal's neck with your bare hands, cheat on your partner, beat them in anger, rip apart the flesh of an animal with your teeth, WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE BECAUSE WE WILL ALL DIE SOME DAY AND ALL OF IT WILL BE RENDERED NULL AND VOID. No matter what we suffer, endure, no matter what we rise to, no matter what we achieve, in the face of death it means nothing. It is all the same. We will not be there to know, to care, to see.

I cannot wrap my mind around this, don't think I ever will be able.

I hope some day I can, but I almost don't want to acquiesce to death in that way, to say: hey, I'm ok that you do what you do.

I am not ok with it.

I am not afraid of dying, I just don't want to one day no longer exist.

It's not that I think it unfair, it just doesn't make sense to me. All philosophizing aside. Stripped down to my gut reaction, IT IS TERRIBLE AND IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE.

I love this world, ultimately. Every fucking tiny little thing, even the bad things. They are all amazing and beautiful and I don't want the day to come when I am no longer able to experience these things or to have this thought.

Sitting here, thinking all this, I just want to pull everything that is dear to me close and clutch it, hard and warm, lock my door, and never let go.

2009-11-19T09:15:00.005-05:00

Weirdly, I feel like I've been struggling with these EXACT thoughts for months, so to read this and hear it tumble from another mouth made me love Albert Goldbarth even more.

Plus, it's one of the most exact and beautiful poems I've read in quite some time.

Which means you best like it too.

The Elements

      The cool, dusk-blue of the shadows of these Dutch plums
is mixed with a quarter-thimble of gray that matches
      glints in the skins of the pears, the berries, the liver-paste.
If the dull swell of a herring on a plate picks up
      red chevrons meaning a candle (out of sight) is lit,
the crystal of burgundy weighting another corner is given
      a small red heart of light at its center so
everything, in shape and weight, is balanced, and
      the keen lines angled like stylized rain around
the base of the creamer say the same green as the stems
      that have been set like accent-marks for the scansion of cherries.
In the back, in the middle, a hot loaf is broken
      for steam to rise in a perfect column of nearly
corinthian detail, at the edges of which it thins
      in equilibrium with the night, as a breath might
leave a body and settle, composed and ubiquitous.
      I wonder if this still-life exists in the universe

*

of a wormy handfull of rice. I wonder what the sense of time
      in which it was painted has to do with a year
in the dog cages. When a prisoner's released
      from one of those, he "walks" by sitting, moving his legs
ahead of him by hand, like huge quaint compasses.
      This group was abducted out of their homes and now will be kept
at an "interim camp." They face the camera with something
      in their eyes beyond despair. Before the film goes
to a New York-based reporter summing it up, we see
      a newly-uncaged woman catch a doll
a soldier tosses her, then start to comb its patchy hair, and only
      hours later will we come to understand this
is her infant daughter dead of cold water and lye.
      I wonder, in all of science-fiction, if there have been
two universes this discordant, or what it means
      that there can be a suffering so intense its balance only
exists somewhere in the next life. And

*

      I wonder if I should hate that painting, I wonder
if out of faith kept with the brutalized, I should revile
      the easy leisure with which another world applied its dedication
to a study of shadow lengthening under tangerines, I
      wonder if now we must love that painting more than ever,
its calm, its idea of order and abidingness, I wonder
      isn't this exactly the freedom for which we risk the cage
and dream of in the cage to keep us living, this
      aloof, light space in which the heft of a peach against
washed linen can grow important and exact,
      I wonder if I should burn a painting like that
and turn to the knife and the placard, I wonder if
      I should give my days to the completion of its housing
under temperature control, I wonder what we give
      our nights to, and how much our days define our nights, I
wonder until I sleep, and I sleep like a fresh bread
      cooling, reaching an agreement with the elements.

[Albert Goldbarth, from Arts & Sciences]

2009-11-17T14:51:00.001-05:00

After sex, a lady asks
how many butterflies one of our heartbeats
could power. I turn to her not even knowing
the width of the border between a man and a woman...

[Albert Goldbarth - "Tarpan and Aurochs"]

This Weekend in Recap

2009-11-17T09:41:00.002-05:00

I baked cake.
A boy bought me black salt.
We stared at rich people through binoculars.
I fixed a cat.
I destroyed at Scrabble.
I slacked on OT (overtime) to enjoy OT (outdoor time).
I cooked.
I was cooked for.
I made a cat shelter.
I borrowed a saw.
I got sun.
I garbage-picked a chair.
I rearranged my bedroom.
I started a book over.
I went to bed early.
I went to bed late.
I referred to boobs as "cans."

2009-11-17T07:50:00.004-05:00

My bro's tattoo--hopefully he doesn't mind me posting it,
but I dig the photo too much not to...

2009-11-16T09:45:00.000-05:00

I Would Just Like to Take a Moment to Reflect on How Effing Cute Al Pacino Was When He Was Little

2009-11-12T15:06:00.005-05:00

Not sure who I want to make out with more, Sonny Wortzik or Frank Serpico.

But both or either would work just fine.

Thank you, and good day.

2009-11-12T07:10:00.001-05:00

Random Picture of the Day

2009-11-11T06:35:00.001-05:00

(from Destructoid.com)

2009-11-09T07:53:00.001-05:00

2009-11-05T13:30:00.002-05:00

LOVE

(Snagged from Colossal Youth)

Oh Halloween, How I Love Thee So

2009-11-02T07:25:00.004-05:00

So I won Most Gruesome Halloween costume at our local bar-haunt (pun intended) this weekend (thanks to Snogash who entered me). I went as Carrie, and it was fun, until I started to peel. Here are some pics:

(Click on pic for more Halloween pics)

Dear Jef,

2009-10-28T16:16:00.002-04:00

It seriously pains me that this has made me laugh as much as it has.

"NARM" from Jef Taylor on Vimeo.

And yet I have. And it does.

Therefore, you are a douche.

Oh the Hairstyles I Would Rock If I Were a Boy

2009-10-28T14:13:00.003-04:00

2009-10-27T07:07:00.003-04:00

Front, from A Word Made Flesh
by Lesley Dill

My Award is Scrappier Than Yours!

2009-10-26T11:48:00.007-04:00

The foxy and delicious Tudor Rosy has bestowed the Honest Scrap Award upon me (not to be confused with the Honest Crap Award), and as such, I feel obligated to abide by the rules of the award. They are as follows:

Once awarded, thank the person that gave it to you, list 10 honest things about yourself on your blog, pass the award on to 7 other bloggers and don't forget to let those 7 bloggers know you've chosen them.

So: Thank you, Ms. Rosy, you divine thing, you.

And here you all go.

Read 'em. Love 'em. Get naked with 'em... if you're into that kind of shit.

Once when I was brushing my teeth, my toothbrush snapped in two and the episode somehow ended with me jamming the spike of the toothbrush handle into my ear. That event marked the start of this blog.

I currently feed 6 cats, only two of which live with me.

Although I'm not at all religious, I am stupidly superstitious. And ever since playing Ouija I've developed a slight fear of being around fedoras. (But I am also secretly pleased that I can now say I have cocklaphobia (which is a fear of hats, not cocks--so please: bring on the cocks).)

Once when I was little and my best friend's parents were driving us home from somewhere, I pretended I was sleeping because my best friend had fallen asleep, and I overheard her parents (who thought I was sleeping) say that I was a weird child. I don't think I'd realized I was weird up until I heard them say it, and I've pretty much had a bit of a complex about my weirdness ever since.

I kissed a boy this weekend near a putt-putt course that is--weirdly enough--on the grounds of an old haunted mental institution. And it was nice.

I secretly like getting cuts because then I get to put peroxide on them and watch them bubble and make sizzle noises.

About 40% of my wardrobe hasn't been washed in a couple years.

I don't have the internet at home.

I really really miss being in grad school.

I've enjoyed taking part in spontaneous bare-knuckle boxing matches with every boy I've dated.

In turn, I bestow the award on the following folks (don't feel obligated to follow-up unless you want; just feel the lurve! FEEL THE LURVE!):

http://32candles.blogspot.com/

http://gcrowe.blogspot.com/

http://parentheticalgirl.blogspot.com/

http://firingupthecanon.blogspot.com/

http://theburningriverblog.blogspot.com/

http://meatballday.com/

http://parttimeboddha.wordpress.com/