The MTA is Crazy
There's not much more you can say about that. In 1997, there was such a budget surplus at the MTA that they instituted free transfers and discount on fares with MetroCard. Now in 2002, there's a $1 billion deficit? How the hell does that happen? Didn't anyone at the MTA do the math before giving the surplus (and then some) away? Now they want to raise fare to $2. That's just madness. Most people can barely afford to take the train as it is. I use public transportation anywhere from 2 to 8 times a day. If I didn't have the unlimited MetroCard, I'd never take the bus. Right now I pay $63 a month, which saves me up to $150 a month. If they raise the fare to $2, I'd be paying $112 a month just to go to work and karate. I just can't afford that. They mentioned a plan that includes discounted fares for regular commuters, which I pray they use. If the state would just give us our fare share of transportation dollars, we wouldn't have such a problem. Every day, leaving New York looks more and more attractive. Then I think about what I could do here if I just put my mind to it, and I get confused about what I want from this life!
Thursday, November 21, 2002
Random Notes
Thank heavens for Michael Jackson. Every day he makes Prince seem less strange.
People who capitalize the word "atheist" should come to grips with the fact that they belong to a religion.
I was walking to the subway yesterday as they lit Bloomingdale's and unveiled the windows. There were Rockettes in attendance. Finally, a bonus to working in midtown.
Thank heavens for Michael Jackson. Every day he makes Prince seem less strange.
People who capitalize the word "atheist" should come to grips with the fact that they belong to a religion.
I was walking to the subway yesterday as they lit Bloomingdale's and unveiled the windows. There were Rockettes in attendance. Finally, a bonus to working in midtown.
Sounds
The human body is amazing. I'm thinking of voices right now. It's just wild that voices can be so different as to be immediately recognizable. I was listening to Lauren Bacall singing "Welcome to the Theatre," (and aside from the inevitable feeling of loss I get whenever I hear songs about the theatre -- you should see me listen to A Chorus Line, it's depressing), I was struck by the fact that even thought I never knew she had done that song, I could recognize her voice right away. How do we do that?
The human body is amazing. I'm thinking of voices right now. It's just wild that voices can be so different as to be immediately recognizable. I was listening to Lauren Bacall singing "Welcome to the Theatre," (and aside from the inevitable feeling of loss I get whenever I hear songs about the theatre -- you should see me listen to A Chorus Line, it's depressing), I was struck by the fact that even thought I never knew she had done that song, I could recognize her voice right away. How do we do that?
I Like It
I know, anyone can criticize the government these days and come off amusing, but I really like Mark Fiore's cartoons. The animation and voices give it that extra something other editorial cartoons lack. He must be a very cynical man, though. It seems nothing escapes his wicked treatment.
Hey, that headline makes me think of the song "Two Ladies" from Cabaret. I've noticed the trend of high schools doing this show, and I have to wonder at what point toddlers start wearing belly shirts and making "booty play date calls." I'm all for sex and sexuality, but if nothing is taboo, is anything interesting? They're selling thongs and leather pants to twelve-year olds, Crustina Aguilera is naked on MTV and on magazine covers, and oral sex is more popular than marijuana at middle schools. You know what happens after a period of freedom and hedonism, don't you? Well, let's take a look at the federal government today. Hmm, Republicans. Conservative folk. And it's about that time, about time for argyle sweater sets and high buttoned collars to make the scene again. I can only pray that this actually happens. I'd rather see a rash of new Young Republicans roaming the streets than more pre-teen hoochie mamas. I can't stand it. I waited until I was halfway through college before I got trashy, and that was only after dark. I guess I just don't understand because I'm old. That's pretty sad, you know? Oh well, I've been crotchety for years already, a little more will only enhance my character.
I know, anyone can criticize the government these days and come off amusing, but I really like Mark Fiore's cartoons. The animation and voices give it that extra something other editorial cartoons lack. He must be a very cynical man, though. It seems nothing escapes his wicked treatment.
Hey, that headline makes me think of the song "Two Ladies" from Cabaret. I've noticed the trend of high schools doing this show, and I have to wonder at what point toddlers start wearing belly shirts and making "booty play date calls." I'm all for sex and sexuality, but if nothing is taboo, is anything interesting? They're selling thongs and leather pants to twelve-year olds, Crustina Aguilera is naked on MTV and on magazine covers, and oral sex is more popular than marijuana at middle schools. You know what happens after a period of freedom and hedonism, don't you? Well, let's take a look at the federal government today. Hmm, Republicans. Conservative folk. And it's about that time, about time for argyle sweater sets and high buttoned collars to make the scene again. I can only pray that this actually happens. I'd rather see a rash of new Young Republicans roaming the streets than more pre-teen hoochie mamas. I can't stand it. I waited until I was halfway through college before I got trashy, and that was only after dark. I guess I just don't understand because I'm old. That's pretty sad, you know? Oh well, I've been crotchety for years already, a little more will only enhance my character.
Wednesday, November 20, 2002
What A Girl Wants
Huh, I thought today was the 21st.
Anyway, I'm making a list of things I want to buy.
A SunRise Clock
Portable record player from Red Envelope
Pants and a skirt that I can wear to work
A pair of black jeans
A pair of blue jeans
Four or five turtlenecks
Nice socks
Wolford tights
A file cabinet, small
Next year's vacation in Hawaii
The Floor Mate - ugh, $250
I'd also like to be able to get a haircut, see the dentist, the girlie doctor, and a dermatologist.
These are my luxury items, kids. If I could max out a credit card at any one store, it would probably be Wal-Mart. The really, really sad thing is that I have to decide what is most important. Do I give up going to Hawaii next year just so I can have work clothes? Would I rather finally be able to play my records, wake up without feeling like I've been ripped from the womb every morning, or dispense with the tedium of sweep/Swiffer/mop/hand-scrub/repeat on 500 square feet of linoleum? Can I let my old bills live forever unfiled in a box in the storage closet, or is it just getting ridiculous? How long can I put off going to the dentist before I get surprised with the need for a root canal?
When I first moved to New York, I made $8.50 an hour and worked 35 hours a week. My rent was $382.50. Even so, I make more now than the difference in my rent, so I should be able to cut back on the extras. I won't give up karate or my cell phone, but maybe I can give up my land line. I've already given up smoking and drinking during the week, as well as cabs and eating out. Granted, it hasn't been more than a week, but when I think of what I spent the week before last, I can see this helping me out in the long run. I just have to get ahead. I bought a pair of boots last month, but they were 25% off, and I wear them a lot. They're my new fall boots, to replace the ones I bought in 1995 that are just too uncomfortable anymore. The last time I bought clothes was in March, before my trip to Hawaii. Needless to say, those clothes aren't helping me much in this weather. I remember that I couldn't even afford them then.
When does all this end? I try very hard. It's not like I'm out shopping all the time. It seems like everyone has more disposable income than I do, even the guys buying lottery tickets at the candy store down the street. I don't want to utter the words, "I would, but I'm broke," when I'm in my thirties. So that gives me about 10 months to work this out. In nine months, I'll be debt free, so that should be a big help. In the meantime, I did really enjoy the leftover pot roast I brought to work for lunch today. I sure can cook a pot roast, you betcha. Silver lining and all that.
I'm also working out a self-reward system where if I leave the house on time, I get to buy a coffee at Dunkin' Donuts. If I'm late, I get to drink water from the cooler at the office. The coffee is expensive, but if it motivates me to get my butt out of bed, it's an acceptable loss. Gosh, I wonder if all these attempts at self-improvement are worth it, or if I have to remain what and how I am? Wouldn't that be terrible, to work so hard, only to find myself unable to stick to it? I have the worst sense of discipline in the world. If I hadn't already paid for my karate classes, I would skip it every time. I already missed 3 classes last week. Shiny things distract me. Sometimes I feel that I would be a much more productive person if I had no friends and lived with someone who made it unpleasant to be home. Oh wait, that's why I was such an overachiever in high school. Creepy.
Good grief. I just noticed that I put my shirt on backwards this morning. Somebody shoot me.
Huh, I thought today was the 21st.
Anyway, I'm making a list of things I want to buy.
A SunRise Clock
Portable record player from Red Envelope
Pants and a skirt that I can wear to work
A pair of black jeans
A pair of blue jeans
Four or five turtlenecks
Nice socks
Wolford tights
A file cabinet, small
Next year's vacation in Hawaii
The Floor Mate - ugh, $250
I'd also like to be able to get a haircut, see the dentist, the girlie doctor, and a dermatologist.
These are my luxury items, kids. If I could max out a credit card at any one store, it would probably be Wal-Mart. The really, really sad thing is that I have to decide what is most important. Do I give up going to Hawaii next year just so I can have work clothes? Would I rather finally be able to play my records, wake up without feeling like I've been ripped from the womb every morning, or dispense with the tedium of sweep/Swiffer/mop/hand-scrub/repeat on 500 square feet of linoleum? Can I let my old bills live forever unfiled in a box in the storage closet, or is it just getting ridiculous? How long can I put off going to the dentist before I get surprised with the need for a root canal?
When I first moved to New York, I made $8.50 an hour and worked 35 hours a week. My rent was $382.50. Even so, I make more now than the difference in my rent, so I should be able to cut back on the extras. I won't give up karate or my cell phone, but maybe I can give up my land line. I've already given up smoking and drinking during the week, as well as cabs and eating out. Granted, it hasn't been more than a week, but when I think of what I spent the week before last, I can see this helping me out in the long run. I just have to get ahead. I bought a pair of boots last month, but they were 25% off, and I wear them a lot. They're my new fall boots, to replace the ones I bought in 1995 that are just too uncomfortable anymore. The last time I bought clothes was in March, before my trip to Hawaii. Needless to say, those clothes aren't helping me much in this weather. I remember that I couldn't even afford them then.
When does all this end? I try very hard. It's not like I'm out shopping all the time. It seems like everyone has more disposable income than I do, even the guys buying lottery tickets at the candy store down the street. I don't want to utter the words, "I would, but I'm broke," when I'm in my thirties. So that gives me about 10 months to work this out. In nine months, I'll be debt free, so that should be a big help. In the meantime, I did really enjoy the leftover pot roast I brought to work for lunch today. I sure can cook a pot roast, you betcha. Silver lining and all that.
I'm also working out a self-reward system where if I leave the house on time, I get to buy a coffee at Dunkin' Donuts. If I'm late, I get to drink water from the cooler at the office. The coffee is expensive, but if it motivates me to get my butt out of bed, it's an acceptable loss. Gosh, I wonder if all these attempts at self-improvement are worth it, or if I have to remain what and how I am? Wouldn't that be terrible, to work so hard, only to find myself unable to stick to it? I have the worst sense of discipline in the world. If I hadn't already paid for my karate classes, I would skip it every time. I already missed 3 classes last week. Shiny things distract me. Sometimes I feel that I would be a much more productive person if I had no friends and lived with someone who made it unpleasant to be home. Oh wait, that's why I was such an overachiever in high school. Creepy.
Good grief. I just noticed that I put my shirt on backwards this morning. Somebody shoot me.
Tuesday, November 19, 2002
Yeah, I Rock
I just had a nice lunch with a woman who, as part of her job, rents out her company's space for events. Our jobs are a little different -- they use an exclusive caterer, and her company is internationally recognized -- but we discussed ways to market my space and realistic revenue goals. I knew a lot more than she expected me to, which made me feel all special. She validated for me my feelings about the market and the strength of my own plan. Plus, the food was yummy. I picked up a couple of pointers, but I think the experience was most helpful in showing me that I do, indeed, know what the hell I'm doing. It's always nice to be reminded.
I just had a nice lunch with a woman who, as part of her job, rents out her company's space for events. Our jobs are a little different -- they use an exclusive caterer, and her company is internationally recognized -- but we discussed ways to market my space and realistic revenue goals. I knew a lot more than she expected me to, which made me feel all special. She validated for me my feelings about the market and the strength of my own plan. Plus, the food was yummy. I picked up a couple of pointers, but I think the experience was most helpful in showing me that I do, indeed, know what the hell I'm doing. It's always nice to be reminded.
Close Encounter
I almost forgot, I had a real New York moment Saturday night. As I was leaving Marie's Crisis around 4 am, a girl who was also leaving asked me if I wanted to see something funny. "Sure!" I said, opening my umbrella. The rain was driving and very cold. As I followed her around the corner she asked, "Are you hungry?" then whipped off her coat and pulled down her shirt at the neckline so her breasts were exposed. She stalked up to the service window at Karavas screaming, "Pizzzzzaaaaaaa! Piiiiiiiiizzzzaaaaaaaa! Piiizzzzaaaaaaa? PIIIIIIIZZZZZZZAAAAAAAAAA!" The window was crowded with people who were in shock. The counter guys just laughed and went to get her a slice. "I do this every night," she said. "You know that show 'Real Sex' on HBO?" she asked, as she wrote something across her chest with pink lipstick. "I was on that." Then she smeared lipstick over her lips and kissed the window. I told the counter guys I would also like a slice, but I wouldn't be getting naked, so I was happy to pay. "No, you get a free one, too, you're with her." The Downtown 1/9 was closed at Christopher, so we walked to 14th Street and she told me about her checkered past at Marie's, the book she'd written, Heather Matarazzo stomping her feet and singing "The Man Who Got Away," and her aborted relationship with the guy who says "Stand clear of the closing doors," on the 2 train. I felt simultaneously boring as hell, and thankfully well adjusted. Thank you, New York, for coming through every once in a while.
I almost forgot, I had a real New York moment Saturday night. As I was leaving Marie's Crisis around 4 am, a girl who was also leaving asked me if I wanted to see something funny. "Sure!" I said, opening my umbrella. The rain was driving and very cold. As I followed her around the corner she asked, "Are you hungry?" then whipped off her coat and pulled down her shirt at the neckline so her breasts were exposed. She stalked up to the service window at Karavas screaming, "Pizzzzzaaaaaaa! Piiiiiiiiizzzzaaaaaaaa! Piiizzzzaaaaaaa? PIIIIIIIZZZZZZZAAAAAAAAAA!" The window was crowded with people who were in shock. The counter guys just laughed and went to get her a slice. "I do this every night," she said. "You know that show 'Real Sex' on HBO?" she asked, as she wrote something across her chest with pink lipstick. "I was on that." Then she smeared lipstick over her lips and kissed the window. I told the counter guys I would also like a slice, but I wouldn't be getting naked, so I was happy to pay. "No, you get a free one, too, you're with her." The Downtown 1/9 was closed at Christopher, so we walked to 14th Street and she told me about her checkered past at Marie's, the book she'd written, Heather Matarazzo stomping her feet and singing "The Man Who Got Away," and her aborted relationship with the guy who says "Stand clear of the closing doors," on the 2 train. I felt simultaneously boring as hell, and thankfully well adjusted. Thank you, New York, for coming through every once in a while.
This, That and The Other
James Coburn died. I really liked his acting. He deserved that Oscar for Affliction, but you should also catch him in The President's Analyst a completely nutso flick from the swingin' 60s. According to his filmography, 1987 and 1970 were the only years in which he didn't have a role in film or television. What a career! Coburn was 74.
Someone who was on the 18th Avenue platform of the N train wants us all to know that he or she is a "Super Spic." Now you know.
A California junior high school has apologized to parents for not giving them the details about all the speakers at their recent "Diversity Day." Along with a Holocaust survivor and a disabled person, they featured a woman who addressed anti-gay hate crimes. One parent said to the school board, "As Christians, we think it's very sad that this culture has come to a point where our dear little children have to think about these things." I think it's very sad too. I think it's terrible that people would beat a man to death for being gay. I hate that I have to think about it, but as a responsible member of society and oh, a human being, I have to. So maybe those "dear little children" (who are actually teenagers) should be taught a thing or two about human values like tolerance and love for one's neighbor before we set them loose on the world. I fear what would happen if they only had their parents' narrow views to draw from. *cough*Laramie*cough* No wonder Christians are always being stereotyped as ignorant, what with such clever spokespeople as these.
Next week is Thanksgiving, yay! I mean, I like turkey and all that jazz, but I also get a week off work, road tripping with my friend Larue to the great Midwest. I get to see my niece Josie for the first time (she's almost six months old!) and my dad for the first time in a couple of years. Also, turkey.
James Coburn died. I really liked his acting. He deserved that Oscar for Affliction, but you should also catch him in The President's Analyst a completely nutso flick from the swingin' 60s. According to his filmography, 1987 and 1970 were the only years in which he didn't have a role in film or television. What a career! Coburn was 74.
Someone who was on the 18th Avenue platform of the N train wants us all to know that he or she is a "Super Spic." Now you know.
A California junior high school has apologized to parents for not giving them the details about all the speakers at their recent "Diversity Day." Along with a Holocaust survivor and a disabled person, they featured a woman who addressed anti-gay hate crimes. One parent said to the school board, "As Christians, we think it's very sad that this culture has come to a point where our dear little children have to think about these things." I think it's very sad too. I think it's terrible that people would beat a man to death for being gay. I hate that I have to think about it, but as a responsible member of society and oh, a human being, I have to. So maybe those "dear little children" (who are actually teenagers) should be taught a thing or two about human values like tolerance and love for one's neighbor before we set them loose on the world. I fear what would happen if they only had their parents' narrow views to draw from. *cough*Laramie*cough* No wonder Christians are always being stereotyped as ignorant, what with such clever spokespeople as these.
Next week is Thanksgiving, yay! I mean, I like turkey and all that jazz, but I also get a week off work, road tripping with my friend Larue to the great Midwest. I get to see my niece Josie for the first time (she's almost six months old!) and my dad for the first time in a couple of years. Also, turkey.
Monday, November 18, 2002
The Blah Apple
Does anyone remember when The Limelight was the epitome of cool, frequented by the best sort of degenerates and fashionistas? Back when my lily-livered college classmates wouldn't come with me on my one trip to New York while it was still open? If you do, please tell me all about it, because I only got to attend Peter Gatien's second and much more milquetoast incarnation, albeit for moderately interesting events (Interim, Zenwarp, Convergence). The pain of it was sharing the space with the khaki-clad bridge-and-tunnel masses, whirling their glow sticks and hurling their stomach contents to the thump-thump-thump of some bastardized form of music commonly known as "house" or "electronica." Yeeeagh.
The first time I went to The Limelight, I walked right up to the front of the line, confidently dragging along the current SO, determined to bypass the line or never go in at all. Normally, I don't mind a small line that's formed for the purpose of more efficient money-grabbing, but I don't do the stand-in-line-and-be-chosen routine. This line was made of of mousy looking people in earth tones and the occasional belly shirt. I wasn't having any of it. I was wearing a 10-inch long quilted black vinyl mini-skirt, black patent-leather open-toed five-inch stilletos with a 1-1/2 inch platform and ankle straps, a sheer silver tank top and four strategically placed strips of electrical tape. As I approached the velvet rope, they unhooked it and stepped aside. That was a moment I had to savor, and one of the best ones I have from Limelight. It's gone now. They gutted it and sold off all the interior design, returning to H.R. Giger what was H.R. Giger's. The new club is opening this week, and it's to be called Estate. Well, we'll see, I suppose, but considering the state of New York nightlife, and the state of popular music in general, I strongly doubt I'll be making many trips there. Clubplanet.com pointed me to this invitation which confirms my previous strong feeling. Yah, Danny Tenaglia, Cheetah and the ridiculous ticket price of $40 pretty much seal the deal on that one. Oh well, Everything's favorite hostess, Abby Ehmann, will be bringing us another sweaty rock party on Friday. Check out www.editrixabby.com for more info.
Does anyone remember when The Limelight was the epitome of cool, frequented by the best sort of degenerates and fashionistas? Back when my lily-livered college classmates wouldn't come with me on my one trip to New York while it was still open? If you do, please tell me all about it, because I only got to attend Peter Gatien's second and much more milquetoast incarnation, albeit for moderately interesting events (Interim, Zenwarp, Convergence). The pain of it was sharing the space with the khaki-clad bridge-and-tunnel masses, whirling their glow sticks and hurling their stomach contents to the thump-thump-thump of some bastardized form of music commonly known as "house" or "electronica." Yeeeagh.
The first time I went to The Limelight, I walked right up to the front of the line, confidently dragging along the current SO, determined to bypass the line or never go in at all. Normally, I don't mind a small line that's formed for the purpose of more efficient money-grabbing, but I don't do the stand-in-line-and-be-chosen routine. This line was made of of mousy looking people in earth tones and the occasional belly shirt. I wasn't having any of it. I was wearing a 10-inch long quilted black vinyl mini-skirt, black patent-leather open-toed five-inch stilletos with a 1-1/2 inch platform and ankle straps, a sheer silver tank top and four strategically placed strips of electrical tape. As I approached the velvet rope, they unhooked it and stepped aside. That was a moment I had to savor, and one of the best ones I have from Limelight. It's gone now. They gutted it and sold off all the interior design, returning to H.R. Giger what was H.R. Giger's. The new club is opening this week, and it's to be called Estate. Well, we'll see, I suppose, but considering the state of New York nightlife, and the state of popular music in general, I strongly doubt I'll be making many trips there. Clubplanet.com pointed me to this invitation which confirms my previous strong feeling. Yah, Danny Tenaglia, Cheetah and the ridiculous ticket price of $40 pretty much seal the deal on that one. Oh well, Everything's favorite hostess, Abby Ehmann, will be bringing us another sweaty rock party on Friday. Check out www.editrixabby.com for more info.
How About a Little Cheese With That Whine?
My friend Scott reminds me that this Thursday is the third Thursday of November, which is the annual release date for Beaujolais Nouveau, and a very special and exciting day for wine afficionados. I'm a fan of Beaujolais in general, so I'm looking forward to buying my first bottle of the Nouveau before they fly off the shelves. I have no capacity to describe how wine tastes other than, "red" and "good," so I'll leave that to the experts. Enjoy!
My friend Scott reminds me that this Thursday is the third Thursday of November, which is the annual release date for Beaujolais Nouveau, and a very special and exciting day for wine afficionados. I'm a fan of Beaujolais in general, so I'm looking forward to buying my first bottle of the Nouveau before they fly off the shelves. I have no capacity to describe how wine tastes other than, "red" and "good," so I'll leave that to the experts. Enjoy!
Friday, November 15, 2002
Turn Off
I've just had it. There's not a single news story I feel like reading. I have no interest in watching the news on television. The fact that I had to listen to Donald Rumsfeld lie on the radio this morning before I got to hear some Petula Clark was irritating to the extreme. I have a feeling that if I don't pay attention to the news for a few weeks, everything will go on as it would have otherwise, and I can catch up in time for the next election.
Instead of checking out Salon this morning, I went straight to The Onion. My favorite, laugh out loud moments of this week?
"In last Tuesday's midterm elections, Republicans retook the U.S. Senate, giving them control of both houses of Congress. What do you think?
'Gosh, that election really sucked. Well, at least it'll probably be the last one we ever have.' -- Raymond Thatcher, Architect"
"Jackie Robinson Lynched for Stealing Second" -- From The Onion in History (1948)
And, transcribed in full:
"Senator Mix-A-Lot Sponsors Titties-On-Glass Legislation
WASHINGTON, DC—Seeking to stem a four-year decline in freaky Yolandas throwing they titties on U.S. glass, U.S. Sen. Mix-A-Lot (B-WA) introduced sweeping new putting-'em-on-glass legislation Tuesday. "Now listen up, Uncle Sam / I wanna see soul sistas pressin' that ham / Make me say damn / I wanna rear-end 'em / So I'm callin' a Senate referendum / Bounce by the ounce don't make no fun / I'll take 'em by the ton, son," Mix-A-Lot said. "Don't hand this bill down to no committees / 'Cause Mix don't wait on monster titties / Note to my colleague Tom Daschle / That if the babies be gettin' bashful / No melons droppin' on my windshield / So get them nudie laws repealed." Mix-A-Lot then gave props to the authors of H.R. 1610, from which several key clauses were sampled."
Oh, Sir Mix-a-Lot, you scamp!
I've just had it. There's not a single news story I feel like reading. I have no interest in watching the news on television. The fact that I had to listen to Donald Rumsfeld lie on the radio this morning before I got to hear some Petula Clark was irritating to the extreme. I have a feeling that if I don't pay attention to the news for a few weeks, everything will go on as it would have otherwise, and I can catch up in time for the next election.
Instead of checking out Salon this morning, I went straight to The Onion. My favorite, laugh out loud moments of this week?
"In last Tuesday's midterm elections, Republicans retook the U.S. Senate, giving them control of both houses of Congress. What do you think?
'Gosh, that election really sucked. Well, at least it'll probably be the last one we ever have.' -- Raymond Thatcher, Architect"
"Jackie Robinson Lynched for Stealing Second" -- From The Onion in History (1948)
And, transcribed in full:
"Senator Mix-A-Lot Sponsors Titties-On-Glass Legislation
WASHINGTON, DC—Seeking to stem a four-year decline in freaky Yolandas throwing they titties on U.S. glass, U.S. Sen. Mix-A-Lot (B-WA) introduced sweeping new putting-'em-on-glass legislation Tuesday. "Now listen up, Uncle Sam / I wanna see soul sistas pressin' that ham / Make me say damn / I wanna rear-end 'em / So I'm callin' a Senate referendum / Bounce by the ounce don't make no fun / I'll take 'em by the ton, son," Mix-A-Lot said. "Don't hand this bill down to no committees / 'Cause Mix don't wait on monster titties / Note to my colleague Tom Daschle / That if the babies be gettin' bashful / No melons droppin' on my windshield / So get them nudie laws repealed." Mix-A-Lot then gave props to the authors of H.R. 1610, from which several key clauses were sampled."
Oh, Sir Mix-a-Lot, you scamp!
Thursday, November 14, 2002
Suitable for Children and Fathers
Look kids, my dad, former squeezes and possible employers read my blog occasionally, so don't be expecting all the nasty little details of my personal life, m'kay? Sure, you heard rumours about Tuesday night, but you'll just have to find out all about it in the gutter, like any other self-respecting gossip hound.
That said, last night I performed at Gomorrah for the last installment of Fresh Meat, Ken Feet's party. Lord, that microphone is hot. My voice is loud enough as it is, but with that mic no one could have ignored my performance. Thus, I got to stare at the blank expressions of a bunch of latex-clad freaks and wannabes while trying to charm my way through "Otto Titsling" from Beaches. Let's not kid ourselves, I own that song. It's a hard one, and I turn that baby out. Heck, I even managed to whip my bra out from under my shirt with one hand at the last line of the song! Still, the vibe I got from the audience was "nonplussed." I did see a few folks who knew the number and seemed entertained, but I get much more of a response from a crowd that isn't grouchy from the five inch heels, corsets and facial piercings. As a friend of mine said afterward, "These people have no fucking sense of humour." Ah, well, I got to sing, had a free cocktail and made $10. Of course, I spent $24 on a cab and $32 on the CD, so I didn't exactly come out ahead. Another reason I do it is for exposure. I harbor the hope that someday I'll be singing in one of these freaky joints and someone with the actual ability to expoit my talent for money will see me. One can dream!
I, I, I, me, me, me. Sheesh, that's all I ever talk about. How are you? Did you have a nice dinner last night or was it another baby carrots and Hershey's kisses with a bottle of Coke night? Did you sleep well? How do you like your job? Uh huh. I see. That's fascinating. Anyway, enough about you, let's talk more about me.
I can't remember the last time I ate a vegetable. Oh yeah, it was the baby carrots night.
Look kids, my dad, former squeezes and possible employers read my blog occasionally, so don't be expecting all the nasty little details of my personal life, m'kay? Sure, you heard rumours about Tuesday night, but you'll just have to find out all about it in the gutter, like any other self-respecting gossip hound.
That said, last night I performed at Gomorrah for the last installment of Fresh Meat, Ken Feet's party. Lord, that microphone is hot. My voice is loud enough as it is, but with that mic no one could have ignored my performance. Thus, I got to stare at the blank expressions of a bunch of latex-clad freaks and wannabes while trying to charm my way through "Otto Titsling" from Beaches. Let's not kid ourselves, I own that song. It's a hard one, and I turn that baby out. Heck, I even managed to whip my bra out from under my shirt with one hand at the last line of the song! Still, the vibe I got from the audience was "nonplussed." I did see a few folks who knew the number and seemed entertained, but I get much more of a response from a crowd that isn't grouchy from the five inch heels, corsets and facial piercings. As a friend of mine said afterward, "These people have no fucking sense of humour." Ah, well, I got to sing, had a free cocktail and made $10. Of course, I spent $24 on a cab and $32 on the CD, so I didn't exactly come out ahead. Another reason I do it is for exposure. I harbor the hope that someday I'll be singing in one of these freaky joints and someone with the actual ability to expoit my talent for money will see me. One can dream!
I, I, I, me, me, me. Sheesh, that's all I ever talk about. How are you? Did you have a nice dinner last night or was it another baby carrots and Hershey's kisses with a bottle of Coke night? Did you sleep well? How do you like your job? Uh huh. I see. That's fascinating. Anyway, enough about you, let's talk more about me.
I can't remember the last time I ate a vegetable. Oh yeah, it was the baby carrots night.
Tuesday, November 12, 2002
Better Quality Blogging on the Way
Okay, I see from my counter that people are actually reading what I write, so I'm determined to write even better rambling tirades, er, thought-provoking web log posts. Just let me think of something. In the meantime, here's something amusing to look at: "Black People Love Us."
Okay, I see from my counter that people are actually reading what I write, so I'm determined to write even better rambling tirades, er, thought-provoking web log posts. Just let me think of something. In the meantime, here's something amusing to look at: "Black People Love Us."
Hey, No One Was Suggesting Method Acting...
Val Kilmer is such a dip sometimes.
"That doesn't interest me. I don't find it entertaining."
-- Val Kilmer on his refusal to watch any of the porn movies of the late John Holmes, whom he is playing in the porn star's biopic, "Wonderland," to "Entertainment Tonight." ("Nothing Personal," Amy Reiter)
Um, if you're playing the guy in the movie, don't you think it would help to see him on screen, practicing his profession? That would be like Jennifer Love-Hewitt refusing to watch any Audrey Hepburn movies because they didn't entertain her. (Hee.) And even Greg Kinnear watched some of the disturbing home sex-videos made by Bob Crane for his upcoming biopic. Oh, I get it! That's why The Doors sucked so badly. He refused to listen to any of Jim Morrison's music before playing the role!
Val Kilmer is such a dip sometimes.
"That doesn't interest me. I don't find it entertaining."
-- Val Kilmer on his refusal to watch any of the porn movies of the late John Holmes, whom he is playing in the porn star's biopic, "Wonderland," to "Entertainment Tonight." ("Nothing Personal," Amy Reiter)
Um, if you're playing the guy in the movie, don't you think it would help to see him on screen, practicing his profession? That would be like Jennifer Love-Hewitt refusing to watch any Audrey Hepburn movies because they didn't entertain her. (Hee.) And even Greg Kinnear watched some of the disturbing home sex-videos made by Bob Crane for his upcoming biopic. Oh, I get it! That's why The Doors sucked so badly. He refused to listen to any of Jim Morrison's music before playing the role!
Monday, November 11, 2002
Those Crazy Celebrities!
The gossip is pretty interesting today. First, I was almost certain that Pete Townshend proclaimed in the 90s that he was a woman trapped inside a man's body. Didn't you hear that? Now he says that was all misunderstood and he's totally straight. Gah, how disappointing. He inned himself.
Speaking of things that are big and queer, if Vin Diesel and Nicole Kidman do a new movie version of "Guys and Dolls," I'm going to shoot myself. Or Vin Diesel. One or the other. I think he wants to be Skye Masterson rather than Nathan Detroit, though. Didn't Brando do it? Oh wait, was that a joke on the part of the columnist? Ah, funny.
The gossip is pretty interesting today. First, I was almost certain that Pete Townshend proclaimed in the 90s that he was a woman trapped inside a man's body. Didn't you hear that? Now he says that was all misunderstood and he's totally straight. Gah, how disappointing. He inned himself.
Speaking of things that are big and queer, if Vin Diesel and Nicole Kidman do a new movie version of "Guys and Dolls," I'm going to shoot myself. Or Vin Diesel. One or the other. I think he wants to be Skye Masterson rather than Nathan Detroit, though. Didn't Brando do it? Oh wait, was that a joke on the part of the columnist? Ah, funny.
You Kids Get Outta My Yard!
I'm going to be a crusty old spinster living in an apartment with several cats. Actually, scratch the cats. Too much committment. Everyone says that when they can't seem to make their love lives work, but I'm pretty sure that's what life has in store for me. I found myself staring at the third rail this morning and wondering how much it would hurt. Nothing like a little suicidal ideation to start the day off right.
Now, don't get all worried. Alexia is prone to the melodrama. I'm convinced I have Seasonal Affective Disorder. As soon as we move those clocks back, somebody better hide the steak knives. Makes for the most scintillating conversation, don't you know.
No time for chit-chat, there are paper tablecoths to be bought!
I'm going to be a crusty old spinster living in an apartment with several cats. Actually, scratch the cats. Too much committment. Everyone says that when they can't seem to make their love lives work, but I'm pretty sure that's what life has in store for me. I found myself staring at the third rail this morning and wondering how much it would hurt. Nothing like a little suicidal ideation to start the day off right.
Now, don't get all worried. Alexia is prone to the melodrama. I'm convinced I have Seasonal Affective Disorder. As soon as we move those clocks back, somebody better hide the steak knives. Makes for the most scintillating conversation, don't you know.
No time for chit-chat, there are paper tablecoths to be bought!
Friday, November 08, 2002
Sweet Dreams?
I dreamed last night that I was in Chelsea at 8th Avenue and 15th Street, near my old office, and my ex-fiance called out to me. He just happened to see me on the street. He still lived in Tennessee, of course. I dreamed we went to my parents' new (dream)house and it had also been built by my stepfather, but the deck had a lot of brush on it, so I got a sticker in my knee. I keep dreaming about my mom, recently. Maybe it's the upcoming holiday season.
In my dream, I was very popular with all the boys around me. My ex-fiance worked at a factory and had to be there at 4:30 am. My brain sure doesn't work right when I'm sleeping, because he told me himself that he works second shift now (when he called to give his condolences about my mother and thankfully did not leave his number or ask me to keep in touch). I guess the fact that I dream my mother is alive and that I have long, flowing hair is also a glitch.
I dreamed last night that I was in Chelsea at 8th Avenue and 15th Street, near my old office, and my ex-fiance called out to me. He just happened to see me on the street. He still lived in Tennessee, of course. I dreamed we went to my parents' new (dream)house and it had also been built by my stepfather, but the deck had a lot of brush on it, so I got a sticker in my knee. I keep dreaming about my mom, recently. Maybe it's the upcoming holiday season.
In my dream, I was very popular with all the boys around me. My ex-fiance worked at a factory and had to be there at 4:30 am. My brain sure doesn't work right when I'm sleeping, because he told me himself that he works second shift now (when he called to give his condolences about my mother and thankfully did not leave his number or ask me to keep in touch). I guess the fact that I dream my mother is alive and that I have long, flowing hair is also a glitch.
Thursday, November 07, 2002
No, That's Fine, I Understand, It's Not Me, It's You
See, I know that at least 10 people have read my blog since I posted my entreaty for information. Or one person read it 10 times. Regardless, not one person has 'fessed up to being a reader. I swear, people, I'll just stop writing. Then what will you do? How will you get through your miserable little existences without the bright rays of sunshine that are my finely crafted screeds and clever one-liners? Hmm? Hmmmmmmm?
Seriously, blogging is keeping me from deluging my friends with e-mails ranting about this or that, pointing to my new favorite article in The Onion, or bemoaning my latest hangover. This way, I get the writing itch scratched and my friends no longer have to wear themselves out deciding whether or not to just drop me as a friend all together. Now they just wonder where I am, what I'm doing. I'm much more desirable when I'm not around.
*sigh*
I'm singing on November 13 at Gomorrah. I need to get some music as I have misplaced my copy of my favorite karaoke CD, Fun Movie and Show Tunes. Dude, it has everything from "Dance Ten Looks Three" and "Gee, Officer Krupke" to "Sweet Transvestite" and "Dentist." That's good karaoke, right there. The versions are very faithful to the originals, so it doesn't sound cheesy when I use it as recorded music for a little performance here and there.
I'm not feeling karate tonight. Maybe I'll be bad and stay home and watch Survivor. I'm feeling the onset of my monthly case of ennui. A sure sign that I must go to karate and get those endorphins pumping. I've said it before and I'll say it again:
*sigh*
See, I know that at least 10 people have read my blog since I posted my entreaty for information. Or one person read it 10 times. Regardless, not one person has 'fessed up to being a reader. I swear, people, I'll just stop writing. Then what will you do? How will you get through your miserable little existences without the bright rays of sunshine that are my finely crafted screeds and clever one-liners? Hmm? Hmmmmmmm?
Seriously, blogging is keeping me from deluging my friends with e-mails ranting about this or that, pointing to my new favorite article in The Onion, or bemoaning my latest hangover. This way, I get the writing itch scratched and my friends no longer have to wear themselves out deciding whether or not to just drop me as a friend all together. Now they just wonder where I am, what I'm doing. I'm much more desirable when I'm not around.
*sigh*
I'm singing on November 13 at Gomorrah. I need to get some music as I have misplaced my copy of my favorite karaoke CD, Fun Movie and Show Tunes. Dude, it has everything from "Dance Ten Looks Three" and "Gee, Officer Krupke" to "Sweet Transvestite" and "Dentist." That's good karaoke, right there. The versions are very faithful to the originals, so it doesn't sound cheesy when I use it as recorded music for a little performance here and there.
I'm not feeling karate tonight. Maybe I'll be bad and stay home and watch Survivor. I'm feeling the onset of my monthly case of ennui. A sure sign that I must go to karate and get those endorphins pumping. I've said it before and I'll say it again:
*sigh*
Wednesday, November 06, 2002
If You Didn't Vote, Don't Cry to Me Now
Man, the AP is calling some counties in Florida "election-challenged," like they're the municipal equivalent of Corky from "Life Goes On."
Hey, the Republicans are back in control in Congress. Woo-hoo. I really don't know what else to say. I did my part, I voted, now we just have to hope our elected officials care more about running our country well than about party politics and re-election.
Tom Golisano spent $54 million dollars running for Governor of New York when he could have given that money to charity and earned a little respect rather than a measly 16% of the vote. Or better still, he could have just given $4 to every New York resident. I could use $4.
Tennessee finally gets a lottery. It's about time. I guess one of the brighter yokels realized how much cash was traveling to Georgia, Kentucky and Mississippi. Did you know that Tennessee's sales tax is the same as New York City's and they even tax groceries? Plus, there's no state income tax. Fiscally, Tennessee is messed up, yo.
I find it interesting that Florida gets to vote on the public-smoking ban and Arizona gets to vote on cigarette tax hikes. All I got to vote on was the proposal to change the mayoral vacancy procedure. Boooring.
Nevada voted to keep gay marriage and pot illegal. Huh? Is that the same Nevada with all the whorehouses and casinos? Yeah? Oh-kay.
Republican Doug Forrester of New Jersey must be pretty depressed right now. His opponent is drowning in an ethics scandal, and then drops out. The state supreme court rules that it's okay for the Democrats to replace him past the deadline with a 78-year old retired senator. He still loses. He loses to a last minute replacement who is past life expectancy. That's gotta sting.
Isn't voting great?
Man, the AP is calling some counties in Florida "election-challenged," like they're the municipal equivalent of Corky from "Life Goes On."
Hey, the Republicans are back in control in Congress. Woo-hoo. I really don't know what else to say. I did my part, I voted, now we just have to hope our elected officials care more about running our country well than about party politics and re-election.
Tom Golisano spent $54 million dollars running for Governor of New York when he could have given that money to charity and earned a little respect rather than a measly 16% of the vote. Or better still, he could have just given $4 to every New York resident. I could use $4.
Tennessee finally gets a lottery. It's about time. I guess one of the brighter yokels realized how much cash was traveling to Georgia, Kentucky and Mississippi. Did you know that Tennessee's sales tax is the same as New York City's and they even tax groceries? Plus, there's no state income tax. Fiscally, Tennessee is messed up, yo.
I find it interesting that Florida gets to vote on the public-smoking ban and Arizona gets to vote on cigarette tax hikes. All I got to vote on was the proposal to change the mayoral vacancy procedure. Boooring.
Nevada voted to keep gay marriage and pot illegal. Huh? Is that the same Nevada with all the whorehouses and casinos? Yeah? Oh-kay.
Republican Doug Forrester of New Jersey must be pretty depressed right now. His opponent is drowning in an ethics scandal, and then drops out. The state supreme court rules that it's okay for the Democrats to replace him past the deadline with a 78-year old retired senator. He still loses. He loses to a last minute replacement who is past life expectancy. That's gotta sting.
Isn't voting great?
More Water, Please
Seriously, people, why hasn't anyone physically restrained me from going out to karaoke on a Tuesday yet? Or better yet, let me go, but come drag me out before 11. This is just insane. I did get to sing the two opening room songs, though. And "Suddenly Seymour," which was a coup.
Hmm, I don't like the way that word looks. I know it has a "p," but it reads strangely.
Anyway, I was thinking I need to hire someone to gather me out of the bar at a decent hour, because, surprisingly enough, alcohol impairs my judgement, an impairment that lasts well into the next morning when I rationalize to myself my constant smacking of the snooze button. The funny (or tragic) part of that is that my alarm clock is two rooms away, in my bathroom, so I actually get up and walk to my alarm clock to hit the snooze button every seven minutes for two hours. People! This is madness! "I don't have any appointments until one and if they really cared they'd say something about my punctuality" is not a good reason to loll about in bed. My imaginary maid, Shannen Doherty, isn't much help, either.
Seriously, people, why hasn't anyone physically restrained me from going out to karaoke on a Tuesday yet? Or better yet, let me go, but come drag me out before 11. This is just insane. I did get to sing the two opening room songs, though. And "Suddenly Seymour," which was a coup.
Hmm, I don't like the way that word looks. I know it has a "p," but it reads strangely.
Anyway, I was thinking I need to hire someone to gather me out of the bar at a decent hour, because, surprisingly enough, alcohol impairs my judgement, an impairment that lasts well into the next morning when I rationalize to myself my constant smacking of the snooze button. The funny (or tragic) part of that is that my alarm clock is two rooms away, in my bathroom, so I actually get up and walk to my alarm clock to hit the snooze button every seven minutes for two hours. People! This is madness! "I don't have any appointments until one and if they really cared they'd say something about my punctuality" is not a good reason to loll about in bed. My imaginary maid, Shannen Doherty, isn't much help, either.
Tuesday, November 05, 2002
Survey Says!
I know you're out there. My counter tells me someone is reading this blog. But who are you? Am I giving my audience what it wants? If you could take two seconds to tell me your first name, city, and how often you read this blog (other info is great, but not required), I'd really dig it. Thanks!
I know you're out there. My counter tells me someone is reading this blog. But who are you? Am I giving my audience what it wants? If you could take two seconds to tell me your first name, city, and how often you read this blog (other info is great, but not required), I'd really dig it. Thanks!
Friday, November 01, 2002
A Note on Profanity
I don't think I use terribly rough language in this blog (unless you count stilted and awkward as rough), but if I do, it's there for emphasis or to make a particular point. Really, if you found me at The Raven on a Saturday night, then you'd hear some rough language. I can't help it, 70s rock n roll turns me into a juvenile delinquent.
I don't think I use terribly rough language in this blog (unless you count stilted and awkward as rough), but if I do, it's there for emphasis or to make a particular point. Really, if you found me at The Raven on a Saturday night, then you'd hear some rough language. I can't help it, 70s rock n roll turns me into a juvenile delinquent.
Interlude
For posterity, I have to record that as I was crossing Lexington Avenue at 58th Street today, I saw a discarded pair of leopard-print panties with red lace trim lying on the asphalt. How did they get there? Did they actually belong to someone or did they fall off a truck full of underwear? Does the owner miss them? Were they traveling panties, like Tom Robbins' traveling Can o' Beans? Did they have a mission? My instinctive reaction when I saw them was to say, "Woo!" As in, "Hey asphalt, them's some fancy panties you got there!"
You know, I feel like I live my life in snippets, all a few months or years long. One phase or another, one committment abandoned, a new one taken up, endlessly quitting smoking and drinking and karaoke and blogging, only to take them right back up again. (This has nothing to do with the panties, by the way.) Groups of friends picked up and discarded --- hey, maybe it does have to do with the panties, after all --- and boys, well, let's just say sometimes I wish I was 17 again so I could start all over.
[Jeff Healy's "Angel Eyes": one of the most heartbreakingly romantic songs I've ever heard. I love having streaming 80s music on my computer.]
Not to mention all the half-heartedly pursued dreams... I've probably expended more energy talking about the great things I want to do than actually trying to do them. Maybe all the mini-eras of my life come from the way I changed schools as a child. Three years at each school for four schools, then college, then seven different apartments and twelve different jobs in three cities in eight years. Permanence isn't really something I'm good at.
For posterity, I have to record that as I was crossing Lexington Avenue at 58th Street today, I saw a discarded pair of leopard-print panties with red lace trim lying on the asphalt. How did they get there? Did they actually belong to someone or did they fall off a truck full of underwear? Does the owner miss them? Were they traveling panties, like Tom Robbins' traveling Can o' Beans? Did they have a mission? My instinctive reaction when I saw them was to say, "Woo!" As in, "Hey asphalt, them's some fancy panties you got there!"
You know, I feel like I live my life in snippets, all a few months or years long. One phase or another, one committment abandoned, a new one taken up, endlessly quitting smoking and drinking and karaoke and blogging, only to take them right back up again. (This has nothing to do with the panties, by the way.) Groups of friends picked up and discarded --- hey, maybe it does have to do with the panties, after all --- and boys, well, let's just say sometimes I wish I was 17 again so I could start all over.
[Jeff Healy's "Angel Eyes": one of the most heartbreakingly romantic songs I've ever heard. I love having streaming 80s music on my computer.]
Not to mention all the half-heartedly pursued dreams... I've probably expended more energy talking about the great things I want to do than actually trying to do them. Maybe all the mini-eras of my life come from the way I changed schools as a child. Three years at each school for four schools, then college, then seven different apartments and twelve different jobs in three cities in eight years. Permanence isn't really something I'm good at.
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