Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Monday, October 30, 2006

Perfunctory Halloween Lament

All the artist I know are going "all out" for Halloween. They have been planning for months. The trick is to be some what academically obscure (not a witch or a sexy bee), not too obscure, look good/cool, and be a little scary.

Good ideas thus far:
-a famous artist who dropped out of a window in 1995: look dead and carrying around a window frame
-Commandant Marcos, playing tennis: a ski mask, headset, red handkerchief, short shorts, and racket
-a coral reef: outrageous sweaters from the thrift store glued together
-a giant severed elvis head: a puppet head made of foam rubber that covers wearer from head to knee with movable eyes and lip curl, blood around the neck
-mormon bikers: dark suit, helmet, bent forward, Bible, partner (they always travel in pairs)
-a sexy darthvader: mask, cape, bustier, black tights (This is funny because it was in The Onion, one of their best pie charts in 2001)
-a vietnam vet: aviator glasses, bandana, a jacket
-a wet dream: clouds pinned to your shirt holding a squirt bottle of water
the last two were actually HORRIBLE ideas.

In Madison it was easy, I practically lived inside a thrift store, surrounded by crap.

At this point I'm tempted by things like being "the french new wave" or a Japanese Evil Fox Spirit or a dead biker or Maya Derin. All of these are LAME. I guess it was easier last year because I was in the hospital with a collapsed lung not worrying about parties, also lame.

Monday, October 23, 2006

ian mcshane

Ian McShane
Ian McShane. Ian McShaneIanMcShane IanMcShane IanMcShane IanMcShaneIanMcShaneIanMcShaneIanMcSha

Saturday, October 21, 2006

I'm so into it I dream about cleaning bottom brackets and replacing worn out cassettes as much as I do about sex.

Ian McShane
Ian McShane. Ian McShaneIanMcShane IanMcShane IanMcShane IanMcShaneIanMcShaneIanMcShaneIanMcSha

Thursday, October 19, 2006

I Heart Herc.

I've been living the hard life, and all the cigarette smoke makes me feel like my face is going to fall off. When I lie in bed my ears ring. What kind of High jinx have I gotten myself into?

Hipster performance art rock. I knew I was susceptible to this kind of contagion, why wasn't I more careful? Why didn't I stay away from all the thick plastic frame glasses, gimmick musical instruments and ironic butter colored polo shirts?

Meet Herc. Two men who act ridiculous with ill fitting ski masks while playing a tiny drumset and an accordion. Fine Fine. In the middle of the show they have to take a break and are lured away, only to be taken over by Metal Porpoise, evil band wearing black masks and twisty horns, a cheaper version of Gwar. Crowd goes wild with hate. All the hipsters start throwing cans at them and yelling FUCK YOU!!!!!! YOU SUCK..We Want Herc! Even the lilies of the scene, the women with gentle long hair and dresses that were popular during WWII, wave middle fingers in the air. Metal Porpoise keeps playing. "What is that you say? We should fuck ourselves in the face? Funny you should say that" he yells at the crowd. "Did you know our penises are so big we can fuck our faces without even leaning over? HArharhah" How charming.

Later in the night I offered 1/2 of Herc. a piece of halloween candy I was about to eat. He leans over with his glasses almost falling off his sweaty ski mask to say thank you. He accuses me of lying about something (which I was) and I'm pretty sure I smiled as I put on my winter coat backing towards the door.

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

My friend Mark just visited. We shared a house with 30 people a couple years ago. He's an artist and a good guy. When a bunch of crack heads (literally) who we had welcomed into our house turned cracky on us and stole all my stuff including computer, cds and tool box he told me material possessions didn't really matter and then gave me a tool box he had found and painted. The box turned out to be one of the most important things I own, it houses all my jewels, bike tools, hair clips and halloween supplies (green lipstick etc).

Mark is what I like to call a working artist; he works at a job and he makes art. He is one of the few people I know who has some sort of amazing art eye and ability to make things with their hands that you never thought were possible. While I lived with him he would make art out of trash, turning old exit signs into mounted pieces that turned his room into what I imagine a tiny mod-British-milkbar would look like in the 60's.

He has the keen style eye. Prove it you say. Eight months ago while we were walking along some dirty sidewalk he told me that shirts were going to get baggier. "People are tired of tiny midrifts and navel cut shirts, the next thing is for t-shirts to hit below your hip." I didn't really believe him at the time, but I challenge anyone to walk into a Gap or Rainbow right now and find a shirt that doesn't let its hem brush the middle of your bikini briefs.

Speaking of turning trash into treasure, he always seems to find clothes that look good on me. I can't pick out clothes for my own body, let alone someone else's without it turning into an insult. Some of the finest things I own Mark has found for me. How is he able to find clothes that fit me so well?

This visit he gave me a pair of jeans. They fit me the way a sheath fits a sword; they are the ugliest bright blue I have ever seen; the fly is about 10 inches long which means it rises above my belly button. But, god damn it! I look good in them. I trust him more than I trust myself.

I have the same kind of relationship with Isaac, my hair cutter. He seems to know me better than I know myself, so I just let him do whatever he wants with my hair and I end up looking better than if it had been left up to me. Who are these blessed men and from where do they get their strength? I don't think they're gay so it is really mysterious.

Thursday, October 12, 2006

Spank Rock @ the Empty

$14 last night I saw spank rock at the Empty Bottle. Friend and I drank Goldshlogger (sp?) before we arrived (cinnamon schnapps with gold flecks floating in it). How have I lived so long without gold?

2 shots in 1 minute made us much friendlier and ready to dance. There were 2 dudes, one black one white dancing with each other in dance off style seeing who could do a better snake or robot. They were pretty good, but mostly it was just women trying to act sexy near the djs.

The opening djs were hilarious and proof that
this was some sort of weird post modern thing because they were sampling Paul Simon, 50 ways to leave your lover. The yuppies loved it. The sorority girls were horrible ass shakers in the front and in the tradition of our demographic the men did not dance, they didn't even grab any ladies. Then there were lyrics like, "shake your ass till my dick turns racist". It was funny because I think that song confused the crowd, but they figured they shouldn't be confused so they tried to act like they weren't. Every once in a while a white hipster girl who thought she was having a good time and doing a good job of doing something to someone's imaginary dick would look around and wonder what it would mean to turn one racist.

Fall Fashion: a Comprehensive Guide

There are several ways to approach this comprehensive guide: head to toe; inner to outer layer; new age to retro. But I think I will go from utility to whimsy.

Utility #1: Pants
A. I remember in 1998 thinking about how stupid anyone in tapered jeans looked. Now I pity the fool in bell bottoms or raver-esque pants and am prepared to ask a professional seamstress to sew me into my jeans so tight you can see my leg hair. To see this 180 in my very strong opinion is rather troubling. How do I know if I am wrong or right? When I was young I was 110% sure that tapered pants were wrong. Now I feel that nothing else can be right. And thus I prove that there is no universal truth, take that Kant.

B. The sexy issue of the taper. Sure I’ve known punks and anarchist boys who have been sewing their jeans on for years, but now it is up to the rest of us. What does it mean for someone (a woman) who does not have stick legs to wear tapered pants. The reprocussions will be harsh, it will make our asses and thighs look even bigger because they will suddenly be compared to our ankles. I do not think this is what fashionists intended when they decided to retro our pant cut to the 80’s but it will undoubtedly be the result.

C. Why did I assume we’d all be wearing jeans? For some reason at this point nothing but jeans will do. Is it because of America? War? Cold weather? I don’t know. But what ever you do don’t wear khakis or corduroy, they are too soft and you will seem like a pussy.

D. The color is black and if you can’t stand having all black pants everything else should be such a dark shade of whatever it can only be mistaken as black

II. Shoes. I thought for a long time about what to do after my summer job ended and my 5 months living in sneakers from payless was over (seriously over, I threw them in the trash my last day).

A. Keds. Cheap, simple, alright looking if black in color, good for dancing, kind of a 'fuck-you' to all the converse and puma in the world. But honestly how could I wear them all winter unless I had plastic bags wrapped around my feet. These are good shoes for packing in your bag and putting on when you get to a house party in a blizzard. Blizzard you say? I thought this was Fall Fashion. In my mind fall is winter just missing the really big ugly coat (which we’ll discuss soon).
B. Boots. Considering it has already snowed today I have a feeling we’re in for a fucker of a winter and I feel like kicking ass these days so it is time for me to actually spend money and buy a pair of boots that will last me the rest of my life.
a. I of course appreciate the ankle cut boot very cute and mod, but what about snow and cold combined with tapered pants? I opt for a little higher on the calf
b. no laces
III. Shirts
A. Layers of thermal henleys over a hanes tank top which will be considered the winter bra for no special reason except it is cheap and will absorb sweat before it spreads to other layers, thus reducing the amount of laundry I have to do.
B. Sweaters should be tightly knit and real warm without being baggy. This kind of shit is hard to find. I have a French fisherman’s sweater my mom got in the 70’s that I’m never letting go of
C. Forsake the hoodie. This year I will not wear a zip up hoodie, at this point I look at it as a crutch I no longer want to use. Instead I will wear slim fitting sweat shirts. I bet I will regret this decision it is like saying I’m not going to drink whisky anymore
D. Formal Jackets. Blazer vs. Smock. For years I was a fan of the women’s blazer, so business like, powerful and finely tailored. But at this very informal point in my life I feel the blazer to be an inappropriate joke for me to wear. As our pants get tighter our shirts will get bigger. I’m way into smocks and Nehru collars, shirts you could wear as a chef, martial artists, or painter in the southwest desert.
IV. Jackets. In the winter your jacket is the only thing that matters, because we’re so poor and it is so cold no building unless there is dancing and sweating (in a tank top you were smart enough to wear as a bottom layer) will ever be warm enough. You’re never going to take off your coat, or hat for that matter. I have a windproof fleece jacket which is increadibley warm, lightweight, breathable, and fits me well. I should throw it away…because how can anyone respect me in a fleece? I should go to this huge thrift store on Grand that has about ½ a mile of leather coats. Sure it will be hard work digging through them but heck leather is warm, lasts a while, and because I ride a bicycle instead of a motorcycle how else will I affirm my connection to men with big balls, mustaches, and prove my animal like instinct in brawls and the bedroom.

***This concludes Part I: Utility. Take a break before we get to whimsy.

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Secret Life of HouseWife Sarah

While not technically a 'house wife' I think this entry is anything but misleading. Sure I don't have kids and I'm not technically anyone's wife, but the real definition of a house wife is someone who doesn't technically have to leave the house except to buy food supplies.

1. wake up
2. stay in bed and watch either Goddard or Season II of LOST
3. listen to roommate stomp through the house in her cowboy boots, getting ready for work. Should I get up? I know she can hear me watching tv in here...decide to stay in bed and avoid social contact.
4. yoga and push-ups in the dark, diagonally across the bedroom floor. Gotta keep young. If only I could yoga away the boulders I have for legs (a sideffect of biking).
5. check email again
6. make a list of things I could do so I don't feel like my life has no meaning, decide making coffee should be top of the list
7. make coffee
8. roll a cigarette with very little flair or skill
9. check email
10 talk to other roomate, say good-bye
11 pretend I'm french while deciding what to eat for breakfast
12 smoke half a cigarette/drink 3 cups of coffee/eat cheerios with a spoon and cows milk
13 write 6 emails
14 consider what to write in my blog
15 take a shower/get dressed pretending someone is going to see me...can't let myself fall apart like a cat lady...this is a constant worry, even though I don't have cats or even like them
16 check email
17 check email and blogs
18 walk to the library
19 find out yesterday was the last day to register to vote
20 force myself to read 20 pages of Studs Terkel---Hope Dies Last-- it is not very hopeful
21 walk home only making eye contact with one person who is walking their dog, I don't have my glasses on so the world is hard to exist in front of me (I also have trouble understanding what people say because I can't read their lips and I have to get really close to signs in order to read them...I mean really close).
22 sweep floor/clean various surfaces with save the planet household cleaners
23 get exercise by dancing to Chopin (my dance form is a mix of javanese, modern, hip-hop, puertorican, and what I imagine is ballet)
24 check email
25 imagine what I will eat for dinner, imagine cooking for other people
26 take out the trash, which was left on the porch and rifled through by a city animal...nothing like putting gross trash back in a bag so you can carry it to a dumpster
27 agree to pass out fliers for Chances, the HOT dance party this Monday. and yes, by hot I mean gay.
28 wriggle myself out of further conversation with friendly neighbor, declining a cup of tea, saying I have to do something upstairs
29 make myself a cup of tea upstairs
30 sit on the couch and look out the window
31 hope people will call and I will miss their call and get to listen to their messages
32 check my email
thirty-two is quite enough I will release my gentle reader.
But get excited the next entry will be about Fall Fashion!

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Aunt Jenna in a Cult

My family seems so incredibly normal.

While visiting my parents I tried to wile away the hours with conversation, which was hard because we're so normal there wasn't much to talk about. So my thoughts naturally arched out to extended family. Hummmm....not so normal. Actually everyone of my aunts and uncles has been married twice. That is kind of cool, not 'normal' (actually I guess my parents are the odd ones out still being married).

The think is NO ONE ever talks about these kind of things. Whole secret lives that everyone used to have shared with someone who seems to have disappeared and hopefully didn't leave any kids behind to remind us of them.

"So Mom, what was Aunt Jenna's first husband like?"

-"He was rich, and tall."

"How did they meet?"

-"They were in a cult together in the seventies"

"holy shit! Like Charles Manson?"

-"No, I think their leader was L. Ron Hubbard"

"woa, he is totally famous, I heard that scientology was even weirder back in the day"

--Dad interjects, "no, it was Eckenkar, that was the cult"

You would think my parents would have some gentler way of referring to my aunt Jenna's foray into new age spirituality...but no, they just shrugged and nodded, she was in a cult.

-"that is where she met her second husband too"

"they were all in the cult together?"


I wondered if my parents ever tried to free my aunt from the mind control, or what they would say to her in the seventies at my grandparents house when they would all meet for Christmas. What do you give someone in a cult for Christmas? Don't they already have everything they need or are allowed to own? Maybe my parents just considered her a lost cause, which seems pretty cruel on their part, so I decided not to ask them how they reacted to aunt Jenna's cult life.
So I tactfully asked,
"Where is her first husband now?"
-"he's dead"
"Oh my God, is that why they aren't married?"
-"no, he was murdered after they separated. He liked to gamble and he was a slum lord."

I was amazed you could do things like that and still be in a cult.

-"Some of his slum tenants tried to rob him. They kept beating him trying to get him to tell where he hid all his money. When Jenna heard how he died she said he was a stubborn man."
"they killed him?"
-"he refused to talk so I think they beat him to death" she said in a tone that implied he was pretty stupid or must have been on heavy drugs or whatever, it was mostly his fault for dying like that.
"did she go to the funeral?"
-"I think so."

Total Eclipse of the Heart/Bright Eyes

Watch this video. What does it mean to have a "eclipse of the heart"? Every video from the eighties has a dove and a mirror dance section with no shame in outrageous lighting.

The real point of this video is the rash of middle school teachers making love to their students. I bet those teachers saw this video. How hot are those boarding school boys?

I like to think that if I made a music video it would be like this.

Saturday, October 07, 2006

godarad's woman, of sudden interest

Recent Notes I Have Received

received in the middle of a live fight/debate with former tender heart.

I love your eyes,i
love your smile,i
cherish your ways,i
adore your
style, what can i
say you're one of a
kind and 24/7
you're on my mind!
sender: 8764203592

*who sent that? I didn't realize the hidden rhyme until later when I read it out loud to myself. It was pretty awesome to get, I imagined calling the number and saying "uh HI, I just got a 'funny' txt from this number?" After internet research it looked like the area code was from Tennessee?

turns out it was a boy I've known since I was seven. He is mildly retarded, but obviously very sweet. He drives a truck and taxi over mountains and is very good at climbing coconut trees.

Here is another of my Chicago contacts. This guy may suit you; he is interesting. I use his pad like a CIA safehouse. Tell him you know me and then offer to have him buy you a drink.


*another note

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

Getting into America

While away I got way into the U.S.A. How could this be you ask? "I mean a few entries ago you were talking about your love for Palestine, the 2 don't go together. I your dedicated and gentle reader needs proof."

Proof I'm way into America:

1. I bought jeans for $12 at wal-mart and love them (actually went to several wal-marts searching through piles of dark rinse 'faded glory' for another pair of 12 average, my size is 'average' = yesssssssss!)

2. I am way into Capt. Beefheart. I listened to him while I was driving up and down the coast saying Yeah America Yeah as I gripped the stearing wheel

3. I watch too much U-Tube from music videos and tv pilots to relationship soap operas and animated star trek dolls drinking coffee*.

4. I worked on my family's farm with a bunch of Mexican men from Oaxca. We were storing the corn harvest and coving in with huge plastic sheets after it had been packed down by a tractor. Then we threw cut up tires on top of the plastic to hold it down (who knew there was a use for old tires). God damn the rubber was heavy.

5. I only wear big hoop earings or pearl studs (because I'm middle class)

6. I admire pick-up trucks more and more

7. When eating out these days I only want hot dogs

8. I saw Jesus Camp a documentary about Evangelical Christians in the Midwest. There was lots of footage of suburban houses and highways and restaurants, and I was not surprised by how much Nebraska looks like chicago, looks like virginia beach, looks like western new york, looks like maryland, looks like dc, looks like wisconisn.

Sunday, October 01, 2006

Sweet New Year

Happy Yom Kippur. I'm fasting and contemplating the meaning of life, relationships, direction, fall fashion, civic duty, and hypoglycemia. I won't be touching money, computers or cell phones, thus making me out of touch till sun down.

Best holiday because you get to make up the rules.