Pieces of String

Little Women

2011-10-19T20:21:00.005-05:00

The true* story of women who are little.

*not true

John Adams: It all ends here

2011-07-20T17:53:00.002-05:00

here we go, team. after what seems like almost two years, we're liveblogging the final part of John Adams: The HBO Miniseries.

<a href="http://www.coveritlive.com/mobile.php/option=com_mobile/task=viewaltcast/altcast_code=4b9f29eb62" >John Adams: The Final Part</a>

Valedictions, forbidding and foreboding

2010-10-17T14:19:00.002-05:00

Yes, I'm sometimes angry, and, no, it's no good, but I'm 29-years old and today is Sunday, so I'm going to pack for L.A. then take a street car to a bus to a shuttle to an island in the Bay whereupon sometime after sunset my favorite band will play, perhaps in the rain, but a little rain be damned, today anyhow, by the throng, by the day, by me. Each and every thing could be, has been, and inevitably occasionally will be considerably worse. I always realize that I've been holding my breath only after I let it go when the drums come back in and everything feels suddenly wonderfully enormous.

movie review: He's Just Not That into You

2010-09-24T20:47:00.003-05:00

this picture is an unalerted spoiler!

During the climax of the movie, the thesis collapses in on itself like a shoddily constructed one-room schoolhouse.

surprise sinbad of the week

2010-09-17T13:49:00.002-05:00

miss you, whitley.

movie review: FAST & FURIOUS

2010-09-16T22:08:00.002-05:00

Paul Walker has not improved as an actor since Meet the Deedles.

have a nice trip!

2010-09-16T18:03:00.004-05:00

this is a poem dedicated to a very special lady.

Autumn

y fall 4 u girl?
ur eyez r like bronzed leaves;
ur skin b chillin.

confronting the possibility that i was high on idiot drugs throughout my whole childhood

2010-09-10T15:33:00.003-05:00

i started with the trailer for young guns, a move you'll never make me regret.

from there, i made the perhaps too-obvious transition to bon jovi videos.

then i blacked out with the sort of exquisite existential rage uniquely inspired by working in a structure that has remained bureaucratically unevolved since the middle ages and somehow ended up at the trailer for the 1992 film "from the imagination of stephen king," the lawnmower man.

you guys, 9 year old me - the tremendous ninny - was genuinely horrified by this movie. 9 year old me also got kicked in the face by a 6th grade boy once and used to time herself saying the ABCs backwards, so i guess it stands to reason that 1992 was not my coolest year.

27 probably will be though. which gives me one more week to get all these bon jovi videos and heartfelt expressions of love and friendship out of the way.

i love you and count you among my daily blessings. asshole.

2010-08-30T11:37:00.002-05:00

despite the terror and sadness at the news that something as fucking important and sexual as the oxford english dictionary may wholly surrender its material existence, depriving future generations of introverted 8 year olds the pleasure of penciling smug x's next to words they'll never learn to gracefully use, i am no less tickled rotten and pink (gross!) that - with almost 27 full human years under my stylish and casually tossed on belt - i've managed to befriend the types of girls that would care deeply about news such as this, and conflate it with the paean to rock and roll that will forever and always remind me of 6th grade nerd camp, where i first learned that if you cannot in the first five minutes spot the awkward kid, chances are high that the awkward kid at nerd camp may very well be YOU. this is not entirely your fault; you did break your nose two days before leaving and your parents did encourage you to look up words on your own and use them all in a sentence you kept going for the rest of your life. no one wants to make lanyards with the girl whose nose bleeds sporadically and has a troubling fixation with run-on sentences. don't worry. you later went on to graduate school at the university of chicago, where you were able to spot no fewer than 35 dysfunctionally awkward kids in the first 3 minutes of orientation and go on to meet some of the most unreasonably awesome and whipshittinsmart women you never thought you'd cry in front of, and then you did one night under a table in the library and you know what? they never judged.

the print dictionary may be dead or dying, but bfff's are here to stay.

in which tiny barely sentient beings make me feel lazy

2010-08-27T20:30:00.001-05:00

smug bastards.

(un?)related post script: we eat our ice creams before our meat sandwich dinners in this household.

blogs i would have blogged but didn't; or, abortions

2010-08-26T15:12:00.009-05:00

below (the below) are some titles to posts i apparently started in the last few months but never finished, most likely for one of the following reasons:

1. i got listless and lazy, and writing is HARD

2. drunk

3. anti-han. han would never finish writing a web log post and, despite feeling suddenly too vulnerable, hit "publish." we are on a strict be like han diet these days. (not coincidentally, we look and feel terrific.)

4. terrible

5. upon re-reading, we (i) realized half of everything we (i) say is unmitigated bullshit. in addition to our han diet, we are evangelical bullshit mitigators these days. business is booming.

6. any combination of the above. almost most certainly some combination of the above. try to match the reasons to the titles!

a. maybe you have a friend

b. if/then

c. poem: ode to an ode on a weekend i wrote one weekend when i was enjoying myself too hard

d. it's not you, it's me

e. L TO THE O TO THE L!!!!!!!!!!!!

f. new business ideas

g. nice things men have said to me recently, the horrible horrible sequel

h. ¡mind your own business, buckshot!

apropos of nothing/everything:

an open letter to my jimmy johns sandwich delivery man

2010-08-18T16:15:00.005-05:00

this is embarrassing; a year and countless sandwiches later and i have never once bothered to ask your name. it has now become one of those awkward non-tensions in which i feel that it would bring the non-tension to fruition were i, at this point - so late and so many sandwiches deep in the game - to ask your name, guy.

but this is not about what i should call you when i tell you, jimmy john's sandwich delivery man (you may be jimmy john himself, and that wouldn't stop me from sending this plea out into the ether, still hoping for the occasional free oatmeal raisin surprise in return), that today, you crossed a line.

it started out like any other sandwich delivery; you rapped gently on my open door and breezed in smiling, tall, suspiciously attractive and sane-seeming for a 30-year old sandwich delivery man. no! do not for a moment think i am condescending; you seem - from the two times i've called at the last minute to add sandwiches to my usual order (sometimes i have FRIENDS, okay! a fact i felt very foolish about pointing out when you confirmed the additional sandwich orders) - to be the manager of the franchise.

i'll bet your bicycle is extremely lightweight and sexy looking.

your ruddy complexion and very nice calves suggest you remain active, healthy, maybe going camping or to the beach with a frequency i'd be sure to envy. the point is, jimmy john, i know you do not spend all your time making sandwiches and waiting to deliver them to me.

in the last year, i suspect we have developed a fondness for and comfort with one another. i give you pens, on occasion. i have so many! you give me sandwiches, i tip you well. we occasionally banter about things that aren't even the weather! one time, we talked in hilarious vagaries and assorted euphemisms about my obvious hangover. jimmy john, we've had some times.

i like it when you deliver my sandwiches and i've not a single design on quitting sandwiches any time soon; if my suspicions are correct and you are indeed the frachise manager of your particular jimmy john's location, you probably aren't not going to be delivering my sandwiches any time soon. we need to clear the air before this tension destroys the delicate balance of our sandwich delivery man/sandwich delivery enthusiast relationship.

never, ever, ever again say to me anything remotely resembling what you said to me upon delivering my sandwich at 2pm today:

this is kind of a late lunch for you.

look, james johnathan. i appreciate that you appreciate the regularity of my consumption, but this? this confirms what i must have known for ages now in my brain of hearts to be true, which is that i'm so clearly sinking into a sandwich-lined pit of urban despair and consumer predictability. my sandwich today tasted of the sour sting of ideological defeat.

is this my american dream, jj? is my slice of the pie to include dijon and arrive promptly to my office by 11:30 two to three times a week? am i fulfilling the dreams of my forefathers with every click on "confirm order," every self-satisfied end-of-transaction sigh toward the promise of satiation? am i sure i know what happiness is, or means? is it simply a word like so many other words and is it a word i ought spend so much time considering? why do i get so peevish about language and what i perceive to be a gross disrespect paid it by countless internet emoticon artists? why don't i spend more time focusing on my own capitalization and less time hating acronyms? isn't my tan amazing this year? should i get a teaching certificate? do i eat enough vitamin d? should i have moved back to california all those years ago? do they even have jimmy john's in california? avocado season, like all things, must come to an end and sooner than i'd think - what then? what will my reliable party dip be then? jim, what happened to us? what happened?

all told, i suppose, if i'm to be mired here in neurotic, twenty-something limbo grappling my way toward self-actualization, i may as well continue to have sandwiches.

forget i said anything, jimmy john. i'll see you next monday. the usual time.

aren't the geraniums pretty?

2010-08-18T12:05:00.000-05:00

well, aren't they?

no is a mighty stupid word

2010-08-17T16:26:00.000-05:00

Funtivities would include, but are not limited to the following:

1. Golf - it'll still be in the seventies down there and for a fraction of Boston prices we can play some fun courses
2. Fishing - depending on the level of interest we could do a casual day out in the bay, or we can get real weird with it and go about 20 miles offshore in the ocean with my uncle and catch some big motherfuckers
3. Beach - a couple blocks from the crib
4. Bars - Kent and Mongo can speak to the validity of the beach bar scene, but it's good for a spectacular disaster...
5. Oyster Shooters - at chick's oyster bar, best of the best... also a legendary bloody mary bar for our exit

get real weird with it, k.

funny things i read in bathrooms this weekend

2010-08-16T11:34:00.001-05:00

ana is a bitch who f***ed your boyfriend! teach her a lesson - 847-###-###

not cool, ana. not cool.

don't give blow-j's at the bar. they will videotape you!

let's forget for a moment how fucked up and terrible it is that someone is clandestinely recording you giving your boyfriend (who ana totally skronked!) a blowj (you guys made up) and focus on how our altruistic scribe came to know about The Consequences.

the eastern mediterranean sweeps across time on the wings of empire.

vivid imagery is important.

coping mechanisms

2010-08-10T12:08:00.001-05:00

What we need to do is develop a mantra of some sort. You know, like they have in movies about traveling pants and sisterhoods of things and in and around movies about book clubs having any or perhaps everything to do with misinterpreting Austen novels and reading then pretending to be in books about traveling the world, eating its many frozen treats, then staring coyly and bemusedly at those frozen treats in the expectation that at any minute, you, in your travels through your mind in this book club in this movie at any point in reality, could be photographed while just sitting on a park bench and being adorable. They have mantras, don't they? Like Hos before Bros? I don't want no scrubs? If you like it then you should have put a ring on it? Pull and pray?

spirit animal..

agree to agree, and carry on

2010-08-09T10:33:00.003-05:00

the national. better than most things. matt berninger stepped on my foot last night whilst promising me, personally, me, that he would not fuck us over, being mr. november and all. it was a high point.

so meaningful. so bearded.

every female character on californiacation, except becca, is a poorly written and one dimensional caricature of a woman designed specifically to a) make david duchovny (i write it whispery because there is no better name to whisper than david duchovny. try it) look like a totally hilarious, rad dude whose aberrant sexual behavior is not only reasonable but wholly empathetic and b) emphasize that karen is the only halfway likable woman in all of west los angeles, so obviously they belong together forever. this is a program that, while wildly entertaining and amusing, illustrates relationships as inevitably futile attempts at momentary reprieve from the emptiness and despair of human existence, which is ultimately mere exercise in loneliness and depravity. but again, entertaining! good show! television!

kyle lamere is a little christmas. i have no time to argue about this.
sufjan.
it being august and summer still don't worry, it is maybe time for some light self-evaluation. what have you done with your season? how is your heart? are you riding your bike as much as you should? is your bag game where it ought to be? do you ever wonder if you are suffocating yourself under the pressure of the words "should" and "ought?" have you listened to like pioneers yet? doesn't a part of you - some tiny corner inside of you where your quiet and peaceful resides - long for autumn, for blankets and soups and warmth you want to touch with your hands and your mouth and your face and some such, just a part? are you reading a book? what is your favorite word at the moment? mine is "fresh," as in "mikey IS so fresh!" that or "insouciance," which is very nearly as fun to whisper as david duchovny. evaluate.

i think you're pretty wonderful. agree to agree with me on this, it's already august.

future heartbarf

2010-08-06T13:39:00.001-05:00

post script

2010-08-06T12:58:00.003-05:00

i know what you're thinking.

"but kristin, what is party game number ONE?!"

i'll tell you what party game number one is, but only kind of, because you're a very bright individual with a brain like a battleaxe and i'd be cheating the both of us if i ever made anything too explicit:

it's like 52 card pick up, only the cards are the pieces of the life you've been sucking at, and the party started without you months ago. get cracking.

happy lollapalooza weekend, animals!

PARTY GAME #2: Mad Libs Based on Things Alicia Says!

2010-08-06T12:31:00.000-05:00

explore the space of your brilliance! let your flag fly high!

1. Making the most of a(n) [ESOTERIC NOUN] mix-up; or, getting your [NOUN RELATED TO SOCIAL SIGNIFIER] [DOUBLE ENTENDRE'd VERB]ed after an emotional [NOUN; INEVITABILITY]

how droll! GOLD STAR!

2. The point to be taken here is that the [NOUNS THAT ARE NOT YOU, YOU SNOWFLAKE!] who are [ADJECTIVE DESCRIBING THOSE NOUNS THAT ARE NOT YOU, YOU'RE WONDERFUL!] should be that way alone while [SELF DESTRUCTING VERB]ing and not on the [DIGITAL PUBLIC SPACE], or whatever.

have i ever told you you look great in a good sense of humor? ooh la la with that clever on you.

3. Kristin is a(n) [ADJECTIVE] [NOUN] who [VERB]s [NOUN]s without [NOUN, PROBABLY "COMPUNCTION"] but I cannot help but love her because she understands me. [VERB] you, Kristin.

oh alicia. love you, too.

science doesn't need you to understand it.

2010-08-04T02:58:00.000-05:00

“Yeah, man, I just like to crank up the Brooks and Dunn and settle down with a Will Shortz Sunday puzzle”

– No One Ever In The History Of The World.

i feel myself getting older every day.

the internet is killing us all.

2010-07-28T09:51:00.002-05:00

A director’s cut, using the alternate ending, was uploaded just last week and isn’t faring nearly as well. Devastation69 called it “Sucktastic…go slink off and die,” while MrHappyPants remarked that, although it was a noble experiment, ultimately it was too Kafkaesque and he couldn’t relate.

the point here, is the point here:

At some recent point, bacon became a meme. Bacon. The cured pork product that has been a staple food for hundreds of years was suddenly a fashion accessory for Internet style-mongers. There were odes and T-shirts and cartoons. People taped bacon to their cats and took photos. It was so ubiquitous that I started to hate bacon.
No one should ever have to hate bacon.
What used to be an amusing byproduct of Internet use has mutated into something horrible: an insatiable parasite that impairs its host's judgment, rendering it totally useless. Instead of acting as an organic cultural touchstone, the modern meme -- from LOL, which hasn't been used to signify physical laughter since 1997, to Lolcats -- now sucks the joy out of our interconnectedness. It destroys uniqueness. Once an "enjoyable thing" becomes a "meme," we stop enjoying the thing for its own sake, but consume and regurgitate our enjoyment of it as a symbol of hipness, as if to say: "I am aware of this thing's popularity -- therefore I, too, exist!"
But the short life span of the average meme means it can't imprint itself on the human psyche in any real way. We want instant nostalgia, and what we get is manufactured zeitgeist. The faster memes spread, the more homogenized online conversation becomes, until a few phrases dominate the discourse.
(And if you've never had the unfortunate occasion to hear someone, forgetting that life is not a message board, yell "FAIL!" aloud, you are missing out on an exquisite kind of existential rage.)
Life on the Internet moves too fast. There's no time to let experience meet friction, or to absorb and truly reconstitute information. So slow down, breathe, and appreciate what's real in life.

the call to end memes will(/HAS(?)) become itself a meme. the center cannot hold; the internet will surely collapse on itself. if we're going to continue this friendship, we'll have to do it with faces. come over this weekend. we'll have a beer and a chat. it'll be just like real life.

just in case, best get this in now.

Robyn - Hang With Me official video from Robyn on Vimeo.

GIF of the day

2010-07-27T12:21:00.000-05:00

i don't even remember my life before mad men.

via

relevant musical offerings

2010-07-23T11:41:00.000-05:00

don't you dare watch these until you've accomplished something with your day.

always be closing

2010-07-23T11:36:00.000-05:00

always be the first to admit you haven't been partying your summer pants as hard as you ought to.

make a plan and stick to it. build a shoe rack. exercise your agency, your listless, flabby agency.

here's a photo of a puffin that won't stand for your excuses:

quit whining and make things!

for pete's - no, screw pete, for yours, for your own damn sake, take account of your time and spend it well. summer's not going to wait around forever. he never does.

about those

2010-07-22T13:18:00.000-05:00

inspired by lawanda (and a returning sense of peace)

2010-07-13T16:05:00.003-05:00

in the spirit of temperance and capital m Maturity, this is not in fact going to be a post subtitled "and that's how much fuck wicker park."

this will not be a post about the recent miss wicker park pageant and you will not find me besmirching anyone's ~~fuckstupid~~ good (self-assigned nick)name here. this is a slander-free zone.

furthermore, i will assume that the young father in the dockers shooting eye daggers at me while i was smoking outside of olivia's market was a decent guy, an Every Man in khaki pants, a concerned citizen. i will not comment on the fact that he walked out of olivia's market with a goddess and the grocer bag and i respect his right to eyeshank me for indulging my filthy habits in a public space. live local, guys.

it does not upset me in the least that wicker park has single handedly created and perpetuated the belief that good mexican food is wholly contingent on the availability of freshly butchered pork belly. this is primarily because i do in fact recognize the currency of pork belly tacos in an economy like summer, and also because i've decided to allow others to be right when they tell me exactly how mexican i am or am not. i don't want to fight, white friends. you're right. you're always right. my spanish is miserable and my cultural identity a gimmick greater even than whiskey and tacos. ~~go fuck yourself.~~ you are right.

this is not a post about that's how much fuck wicker park because 60647 is a series of numbers that signify nothing about a person's value as a human being or a friend, because assholes are everywhere, and because - let's stop with all this joking! - i'm not about to stop going to big star.

what this is is the inaugural post in our new series, "neighborhood pageantry and 'accidental' performance art: a living poem."

welcome.

on selfish phases

2010-07-12T14:21:00.000-05:00

here is where i'd put a video of a pug doing ballet in a tutu, but *some people* tell me i don't have to share everything.

i am growing up so hard right now.

it's gonna work out fine

2010-07-10T22:15:00.001-05:00

i can't stop thinking about the hot chip cover of joy division's "transmission."

is it weird? is it damnable? is it fun? these questions, these and others have been keeping me awake.

the humidity keeps me awake. the dog's incessant lapping, head shoved without shame into the cup of water beside my bed. he is stealing my water and keeping me awake. thinking about hot chip and ian curtis and how long it's been since i've danced really, really hard. the sun's determination to tear itself asunder. the excitement to see this broad tomorrow. the strange and intense urge to have my palm read. wondering what god do i have to believe in to get my hands on some central air conditioning - not a moral failure but an extravagance, a wonder, a marvel of mankind, much like antiseptics and the hanging gardens of babylon - keeps me awake. the absurdity of the things that keep me awake. this too. obviously.

but while awake tonight, i'm going to watch this video over and over and goddamnit tina if i don't believe you.

sister cities!

2010-07-08T14:24:00.000-05:00

an open letter

Dear Chicago Summer,

I plan to spend a little bit of time with you in the very near future and I am highly judgmental. Soooo, I was thinking... if you're still looking for a judge or two for this Prince/King-of-Pop Art Contest judges panel, I'd love to join up or in or both. And if you're not convinced, I can seduce you with the fun ways in which grammatical symbols change the meaning of Prince/King-of-Pop Art Contest. Or not, whatever.

See you soon, shithead. (I love you!)

Yours truly and always,
on a coast west of you,
in a state that's golden--
the foggy part,
where in summer, fall, winter, and spring,
it's always cardigan season,
at least in the mornings and evenings--
and forever,
San Francisco

things i find more useful than my fax machine

2010-07-08T09:39:00.001-05:00

an empty box
oliver, who doesn't even have basic data entry skills
automobile emergency brakes
brita faucet attachments
puka shells
h*****r runoff
autotune
the chicago cubs
gender binaries
my stolen copy of the wind up bird chronicle
pizza tango
bank of america customer service employees
reality as perceived by the new york times
the money shot
self-deprecation
television programs that explain the internet
monster.com
duck crossings
my 5th grade yearbook
a single potato
your lack of enthusiasm

is that all there is?

2010-07-06T13:10:00.000-05:00

we were a hispanic flautist, a darling goth, a secret millionaire, a former bible salesman, The Worst, and an alcoholic with several advanced degrees in esoteric physics, sharing a house. the last of these slept - or rather passed some time -in the room directly below mine.

for a month in 2006, i quite suddenly became intensely fascinated by and even a touch fixated on black matter and the shapes and shaping of the universe. i spent a lot of time thinking about gravity and staring out of windows. i wrote bad poetry and frequently used the term "negative space." i contemplated string theory as metaphor and talked to men about god.

it was a stupid month.

toward the end of it, i discovered via CocktailConversation with the brilliant soak that he'd been in the midst of an insidious bout of insomnia for weeks and spent many of his 3ams - 7ams with a bottle of heaven's hill and "a brief history of time" on tape, played on a half-broken boombox whose volume was stuck somewhere between "soft enough to avoid pissing off roommates" and "loud enough to be heard through my floorboards." i laughed wildly and felt immediately sane. explained to him i must have been hearing his book in my sleep. felt the reason and sufferability seep back into my bones. he pulled from his afternoon spliff and muttered, "i think i'm losing my mind."

i wonder what happened to that guy.

here is a photograph of the whole damn universe taken from a million miles into space, a measurement i don't know how to understand.

via esa and a shitload of euros.

transformers 3: coming to a downtown near you!

2010-07-06T11:28:00.005-05:00

well, near me anyway. Transformers 3 is filming at LaSalle and Washington in Chicago from Friday, July 9 to Monday, July 12. I have the day off on Friday, which I think means that my boss wants me to professionally develop my stunt skills.

ART CONTEST BULLETIN

2010-07-05T17:43:00.004-05:00

Dear colleagues,

As summer merrily ticks by (I saw a commercial for football season the other morning, and I'm not using football in the World Cup way), the Corporation finds itself with two invitingly blank bags boards. The Board has decided, therefore, to commission some Art.

The challenge. Design and implement two complementary pieces of Art, one regarding Michael Jackson and one contemplating Prince. The Art will be the bags boards; bags boards will be Art.

The prize. Bragging rights, right of first refusal (ROFR) for the inaugural bags game to be played on the boards once the Art is finished, a lifetime supply of key lime pie, and a bottle of Buffalo Trace.

The deadline. We will accept entries until July 26. Once a winner is selected, we require the Art to be finished no later than the September Birthday Party, though we would prefer a faster turnaround time on the Art such that we can play lots of bags games all summer.

The entries. We would like to see a proposal for your Art. You can communicate that proposal in any way you see fit: a short film, sketches, dioramas, or skits would all be appropriate. The proposal can be mailed to Corporate Headquarters, emailed to Chicago Summer (address below), or hand delivered to any Trustee of the Corporation (i.e., cc, the klook, oliver).

Please email all questions, including requests for information about the bags boards as they currently exist, to Chicago Summer at chicago.chicagosummer.summer@gmail.com.

FAQs

Is this a real contest?
Yes.

How can I become a judge for the contest?
There are still a few spots open on the Panel of Judges. Submit your application to be a Judge to Chicago Summer at chicago.chicagosummer.summer@gmail.com.

Can I be a judge and submit a proposal?
Of course not.

How much key lime pie is "a lifetime supply"?
You tell me!

Thanks for participating. We welcome questions and comments to Chicago Summer (see contact information above).

Best regards,

The Corporation.

these are all real goals.

2010-07-05T17:38:00.004-05:00

These real plans came from a special gentleman joining us virtually from the Garden State. He sent this ages ago, but I've been too busy with fireworks and beach volleyball to check my email on a regular basis.

Plans this summer? Email them to Chicago Summer at chicago.chicagosummer.summer@gmail.com!!!

add it to the playlist

2010-07-04T03:08:00.000-05:00

cee-lo, who has never done wrong by me, covers band of horses, makes this video, continues to be so great. warning: not getting the f out. there are t's.

meditations on love, or: i didn't accidentally kill our dog last night

2010-07-01T19:24:00.002-05:00

One day love

is mere

manipulation.

Someone needs something.

You sing them your song.

On another day love

is purely

a possession.

You want something.

Someone paints

your picture.

from On the Evening of a Wedding

Graham Foust

and on a third day, maybe, love is frantically chasing your infirm and unemployed mutt around the living room, occasionally trying in vain to shove your hand in his mouth to help him yak up the rib tip he just swallowed whole, the greedy idiot.

better halves

2010-06-30T13:10:00.000-05:00

What are you going to do, wait 3 years to do anything? By then someone else will have already done it and it will be an old, stale idea. You seem to have a pattern of coming up with really good concepts/ideas, but then making excuses for why you can’t or shouldn’t do them.

i take this as a sign from the internet that it is ready for me to consider developing MomTricks dot org into the multibillion dollar new media giant that i have long suspected it could become.

(nec)romancing

2010-06-29T23:44:00.000-05:00

if you light a circle of candles around your macbook and watch this video in the dark, alone, alone as you can stand to be, and possibly very drunk, you'll see your future past.

always already listing

2010-06-29T10:46:00.000-05:00

aspirational living.

2010-06-29T10:28:00.001-05:00

good news: tornado warnings are full of shit.

2010-06-23T19:36:00.000-05:00

i buried myself in a bottle of cheap red and cc walked in whistling.

we live to internet another day.

FLUFFY MC CLOUD from conorfinnegan on Vimeo.

the dictionary of obscure sorrows

2010-06-22T14:10:00.000-05:00

dry pocket
n. the phantom vibration of a hip whose corresponding pocket is phoneless, which is a psychosomatic alert that you are losing the ability to sightread the mood of one of your friends.

i'll throw the stupid thing away before i give up on you.

via

how to: make it all feel better

2010-06-21T16:23:00.001-05:00

the following internets are bits of pie made out of money.

admiral factly, you make the best cocktails and magic.

sady rides again

2010-06-21T12:56:00.000-05:00

tiger beatdown is one of the very best places on the whole internet, and if you don't agree, you're probably a little bit stupid, or into ayn rand. haha redundancy!

Ayn Rand writes the stupidest things you’ve ever heard, but she wraps it up in this package that says you have to be A GENIUS to agree with her, so you make your way through the seventy-seven page speech and you’re like, “I DO agree! Plus I done gone and read me some philosophy! I ARE a genius, Ayn!”

every word is worth reading. these broads are hilarious, brutally intelligent, and definitely not into rape.

saucy with a twist

2010-06-20T15:39:00.000-05:00

SUMMA JAM SUMMA JAM SUMMA JAM SUMMA JAM SUMMA JAM SUMMA JAM SUMMA JAM

barbaric

2010-06-18T12:54:00.003-05:00

for a time, to describe poetry after auschwitz. (mulligans allowed.)

to envision an impossible future. (depending on cultural geography, maybe.)

occasionally, when one is feeling sensational and stupid:

you tell me that's not the look of a man who knows he's about to die.

polyamory

2010-06-18T12:19:00.000-05:00

how much love i have to give.

theme for today

2010-06-17T10:35:00.001-05:00

i'd be nothing without you.

i'd put my money here

2010-06-17T00:12:00.000-05:00

toddland

bitch better step off

2010-06-16T23:16:00.000-05:00

bFffs, dammit

2010-06-16T22:43:00.004-05:00

lisa, the yard duty we could all agree was the "coolest" (in as much as our 10 year old brains understood cool as a characteristic and yard duties as preordained villains), used to put one hand on each of our shoulders and croon mccartney's and stevie's "ebony and ivory." i, of course, cared as little then as i do now about paul mccartney's post-beatles career, but even still, the gesture always left us giggling.

i understood the "ebony" part; my childhood best friend's name was ebony. i did, however, find it both amusing and perturbing that i was by default assigned "ivory," since even at 10 years old the bitchier girls on the yard would point out, with no mistake in tone, what they called my "permatan," knowing even then that the vaguely ethnic looking friend would always be an easy outlet for their budding and subtle cruelties.

but i appreciated that lisa, as distant and adult as she was, could easily discern that ebony and i were best friends. we played sports together, shared clothes and secrets and crushes on a tall, half-black all-beautiful boy named alonzo, slept over at one another's houses every weekend, cried together, fell ill together, quietly and naively rebelled together. even our mothers were close, often splitting pitchers of margaritas on the patio of the only half-decent mexican-ish restaurant to be found in a white-washed, conservative suburban fever dream 33 miles north of los angeles in 1993. if it was some nascent brand of implicit solidarity communicated by our yet unrealized otherness that brought us together, i didn't know and i probably wouldn't have given a shit.

ebony was my best friend, plain and simple; from my first AYSO team to my first period to my first kiss, she was there. seriously, she was hiding around the corner shrieking when brandon stuart stuck his tongue in my mouth while i convulsed uncontrollably with laughter behind miss allman's portable. i loved her.

i have not seen her in years, though we occasionally send brief, but loving messages across the internet. she is beautiful and successful and fiery as hell. she made me cry so many times. she knew me before i had breasts. her place in my heart and history remains paramount.

which is why i think this is bullshit.

via nyt, stupidest place on the internet.

not a secret in sight

2010-06-14T17:11:00.001-05:00

i'm not in the mood to pretend at secrets: i love the internet.

i find great entertainment and joy in combing through the annals of the asinine and oddly specific to find bits of surprising humor and macabre intrigue. (ed. note: that last article is earnestly bookmarked on my home computer in the "important information" file.)

online social networking seems, to me, mostly important, but only insofar as it provides a powerful platform through which one can develop and redevelop relationships with meatpeople via extremely droll quips and harmless shared information. the white noise created by hyper-intimate and self-indulgent facebook/twitter/fourfuckoff updates neither contributes to nor denigrates my online experience, but it does make me question why i spend so much damn time on the internet. this place can be as intensely depressing as it is wildly amusing.

ultimately, however, i am here (and here, and here) because what we have at our disposal is an incredible tool that amplifies and accelerates daily life and thought in a fashion that we can - yes, we can - dictate. were we having this conversation with our faces, i might emphasize the word "tool" (stop being a child). as with any other instrument, we are the agents acting upon it, manipulating it to best serve our ends, whatever they may be. creatives will create, scientists will science, men who find joy dressing up in intricate horse makeup and flexing about their backyards on videotape for later upload to youtube will flex.*

*don't.

the internet is, at its simplest, an instrument to facilitate more sophisticated communication, to catalyze relevant grass roots movements, and, crucially, to archive invaluable information for, like, the rest of time. it is a medium, not a message; olds who fear we will all one day ~~walk~~ hoverboard around sporting virtual reality goggles whilst neglecting the material world about us are hilariously fulfilling their prophesied role as lovable, curmudgeonly old coots with too much time and an increasing dread that the world is moving on without them.

i may be a fool or an optimist and probably both, but i like to think that the fundamental value of our digital universe lies in its utility towards preserving and advocating on behalf of a physical world that does suffer, deteriorate, and perish. the clemenceau case is categorized as a "lost film." gone. forever. born of a time in which any archive was as fallible and doomed as the human hand maintaining it. there are scores of silent era films that join clemenceau in utter obscurity, and beyond films, books, poems, epistles, paintings, blue prints, missions, lives. and there are scores, increasing in number, that appear through the shit-stained haze of a wholly destructive human history to be saved, after all.

i love the internet for enabling cultural salvation as much as i hate the internet for surely dooming us all (here is where i would have linked to any number of truly terrible, awful, no good very bad fuckstupid websites reporting on "celebrity newsgossip" or "your fashion sucks" or, i don't know, "the drudge report"). ultimately, though, i have faith that for every 4channer getting his rocks off fucking with hypersensitive, overly indoctrinated comment forum vigilantes, there is, somewhere, something worth saving given new breath for the benefit of future generations.

if the ingrateful little shits ever learn to appreciate anything, of course.

now, some relevant internet links to blogs, photographs, and other shit i think wonderful, and maybe you will, too:
dudelife (because boys will be dudes)
a softer world (take your whimsy with a side of oh snap! and a pretty picture or two)
i shoot rockstars (one kyle welcomed 300 friends into his home over a single year, and he took a photo of each and every one)
jacket magazine
roger ebert's twitter stream
and a relevant photograph:

now we look like an ipad

2010-06-10T20:21:00.003-05:00

props to the K for the new web blog design.

ongoing project

2010-06-10T20:10:00.003-05:00

i don't like it when people say normal things.

~ cc, 8:08pm on a thursday

gesturing

2010-06-09T11:44:00.003-05:00

please enjoy this entertaining compilation video while i continue to attempt being human.

bunny get around

2010-06-07T14:31:00.000-05:00

i don't want to get into the habit of telling you how to live your life, but if you do it once, you'll learn. twice and you'll see. thrice and you'll know.

good news: summer now web enabled and always already mobile

2010-06-01T10:08:00.001-05:00

should I invite her to chat?

2010-05-28T12:30:00.006-05:00

I've heard from one person so far about plans for the summer. And I tell you what, they are hot but a little creepy!

Plans this summer? Send them in to Chicago Summer at chicago.chicagosummer.summer@gmail.com!

it's the last Monday of every May.

2010-05-28T12:20:00.002-05:00

After this weekend, you can wear white. White shoes, white dress, white pants, white shorts (watch out!), white anything. I don't care; it's your wardrobe.

After this weekend, your bags game should have improved. Maybe not drastically, but somewhat.

After this weekend--maybe even during this weekend--be prepared to deal with lighter, fruitier, hoppier ales. This is not the season for heavy or dark. This is a season to mix your brews with vodka and lemonade for a wholly new and delicious brew.

After this weekend, your beach body is whatever your body is. And let's face it: you have a great body.

After this weekend, you might want to keep an eye on the nearest patio. You never know when it will come in handy.

After this weekend, live music can be your Monday, every Monday. No one will be sorry to see that you brought a picnic basket with delicate cheeses.

The first jewel in the Triple Crown that is the summer season. The first horse of the summer trifecta. The Father of the summer Trinity. Memorial Day.

bees don't like cheese, but I love cheese

2010-05-28T00:15:00.001-05:00

the cheese song.

YOU'RE WELCOME!

i'm going to new jersey

2010-05-26T13:09:00.000-05:00

"Some things in life justify themselves emotionally, without the necessity for analytic reasoning. On the whole, Princeton Reunions fall in that category. In my moralizing moments, I may regret that reunions are too greatly inspired by the prayer: 'Make me a sophomore again just for tonight,' which...with the aid of a sometimes excessive consumption of the spirituous, rather than the spiritual, often seems to be granted."

~Totally Awesome Now Dead Tiger

via this guy

my boyfriend's back

2010-05-24T11:11:00.007-05:00

tom skilling is that guy at the party who nurses a lukewarm corona light while watching you and your boyfriend drunkenly lick each others' faces.

anyone who wants to bore me with science and equinox related facts can see themselves to a part of the internet that gives a shit. it's summer in my mind, (would be) summer in my pants (if i was wearing them. which i'm not, and won't again, until december).

i feel like i'm already falling behind in my seasonal affair. the hints have been around all month and i'm only just realizing i'm knee deep in love. in may, we put the windows down and drove through south central los angeles, broken social scene curating. we jumped from perfectly good airplanes and saw our best friends and histories, surprised our mothers with our faces, feared concussions in san francisco, read about german amnesia (for which there must surely be a word - an intensely specific word) and guffawed awkwardly, appropriately, at the phrase "eat me raw, mister." there have been lawns, too, and games for them. boards unlocked in level 9. i'm not talking about how many tacos. chess.

it turns out i've been here all along.

and now to pick a song - a single song? - to commit to for the months ahead. we all know i'll commit to nothing but instead end up making you a mixtape because a mixtape says i care.

i care.

let's pick a place to start, though.

give me three good reasons to stop listening to this song ever. what? can't hear you. busy listening to local natives.

i'll dance with u, gurl.

what would follow here is a video that does not exist for a song that does called "english garden" and it's by a band called like pioneers that i'd like to invite into my home so i can make them shrimp cocktail and micheladas which sounds not at all strange but kind of perfect to me.

it all sounds kind of perfect to me.

UPDATE: 2:42 - 2:45 of the Robyn video wins. everything. dancepunch4eva.

why it doesn't matter who knits or why

2010-05-22T17:04:00.002-05:00

summatime!

Why Knitting is for Everyone

2010-05-22T13:14:00.002-05:00

Probably.

why i don't knit

2010-05-21T14:25:00.002-05:00

truth.

why I knit

2010-05-20T20:10:00.008-05:00

once, my sister went and got herself pregnant. after several years of wanting to have a baby with her husband that she loves, she was pretty happy. except that she got herself pregnant with a real pain-in-the-neck baby who landed her on bedrest and in one doctor's office after another.

anyhow, as a person who knits, I was delighted. baby blankets are basically the best to knit ever, and I found a pattern for a dragon. knitting a dragon was like a dream come true, except that this particular dream was coming true while I sat anxiously in a family waiting room with my parents and grandmother and brother and other sister. I knitted and watched them play rummy and hoped for good things from the exhausted heap of pregnancy lying in a hospital bed down the hall.

I finished the dragon and handed it over to the kid who was too sick for people like me to do things like hold him. and then I kind of forgot about the dragon.

then my old man told me about how the kid doesn't talk all that much yet, but he knows how to use words. "Like dragon," my father said. "He was upset and Shannon asked him what he wanted and he pointed to that damn dragon you knitted him and said, 'Dragon.' He hasn't said it since then."

and so that's why I knit. with knitting, I can pick some of the first words a child says. and I knit so that a kid can start out with one of these:

and can eventually handle one of these:

I also knit for forearm strength like many professional American football players.

horseshoes and hand grenades!

2010-05-17T21:51:00.012-05:00

it's almost here. summer in chicago.

you can beat dylan michael (name changed to protect the innocent) up during the fourth of july fireworks like this.

you can go here on fridays when work is done at 1pm.

you can look pensively out onto the twilight skyline.

you can sheepishly drink in public and naomi can threaten you vaguely.

you can go to concerts in Millennium Park:

they will look like this up close.

you can visit Cloudgate with out-of-town friends. They will call it The Bean and so will you.

Plans this summer? Email them to chicago.chicagosummer.summer@gmail.com!!!

it's not a blog; it's a column.

2010-05-15T14:58:00.004-05:00

two pieces on facial hair and organized sports in less than a week. this kid is going somewhere:

The Show.

celebrity gossip blog!

2010-05-14T00:58:00.001-05:00

rumor(!): oprah's favorite garrett popcorn flavor combination is the cheese and caramel popcorn flavor combination.

fact: i have better taste in books and popcorn than oprah.

some nice things men have said to me recently

2010-05-12T12:22:00.001-05:00

i was opening a jar of salsa and it made me think of you.

if our minds mated, do you think the fetus would abort itself?

did you eat yet?

your hair looks nice today. not like yesterday.

you're a bitch.

whatever happens, don't look at me for a clean band-aid.

"it is important to outshine a twat waffle"

2010-05-07T11:04:00.000-05:00

coming to a throw pillow near you.

words week

2010-04-29T21:33:00.001-05:00

"I doubt that. Who would drop a whole candy bar and not know it? That's like leaving a statue in a taxi. Someone put it there on purpose. Someone who pushes dope. I read once that they feed dope in chocolates to litle kids, and then the kids become dope addicts, then these people sell them dope at very high prices which they just can't help but buy because when you're addicted you have to have your dope. High prices and all. And Jamie, we don't have that kind of money."

consider the sentence

2010-04-28T15:48:00.000-05:00

A pausing, enraptured reader should be able to look deeply into the sentence and discern among the words all of the traits and characteristics they share. The impression to be given is that the words in the sentence have lived with each other for quite some time, decisive time, and have deepened and grown and matured in each other’s company—and that they cannot live without each other.

Here is what I believe seems to happen in such a sentence:

Once the words begin to settle into their circumstance in a sentence and decide to make the most of their predicament, they look around and take notice of their neighbors. They seek out affinities, they adapt to each other, they begin to make adjustments in their appearance to try to blend in with each other better and enhance any resemblance. Pretty soon in the writer’s eyes the words in the sentence are all vibrating and destabilizing themselves: no longer solid and immutable, they start to flutter this way and that in playful receptivity, taking into themselves parts of neighboring words, or shedding parts of themselves into the gutter of the page or screen; and in this process of intimate mutation and transformation, the words swap alphabetary vitals and viscera, tiny bits and dabs of their languagey inner and outer natures; the words intermingle and blend and smear and recompose themselves. They begin to take on a similar typographical physique. The phrasing now feels literally all of a piece. The lonely space of the sentence feels colonized. There’s a sumptuousness, a roundedness, a dimensionality to what has emerged. The sentence feels filled in from end to end; there are no vacant segments along its length, no pockets of unperforming or underperforming verbal matter. The words of the sentence have in fact formed a united community.

from "The Sentence is a Lonely Place"
via

bear (enthusiast) of the week

2010-04-28T15:27:00.003-05:00

meet bear. meatbear. haha! fuck.

bear is born from the stupidrighteous web log hyperbole and a half.

hyperbole and a half is a great name, and its keeper makes self portraits like this:

well now i do.

i'm currently seeking legal advice on how to force this person to be my friend.

our lil devil gets sleepy

2010-04-24T22:27:00.002-05:00

let's get electoral*

2010-04-24T10:49:00.003-05:00

Though I have some real strong and generally obnoxious opinions on charitable giving, I want these people in upstate new york to get $50,000:

http://www.refresheverything.com/cacwoodside

So please vote for CAC Woodside. My friend and yoga teacher Karen Faith can tell you all about how wonderful that place is. And Pepsi won't spam you.** And every day since I've voted, it's gone up the ranking ladder. So be like me: Make a difference.

*somehow, I feel that I may have already used this title for a blog post. how embarrassing to be so redundant.

**I know absolutely nothing about computers and will spam the shit out of you even if pepsi won't .

bear of the week

2010-04-23T12:27:00.002-05:00

bear of the week is wasted.

bonus: baseball, flannels, beard.

this commercial is my springtime god.

the happiest version of 'the gift of the magi' ever

2010-04-23T11:56:00.000-05:00

by currey d.

me: "i bought you a meat sandwich."

you: "i bought you a meat sandwich."

jimmy john's sandwiches changed my life.

2010-04-19T18:17:00.001-05:00

more specifically, my affinity for the #6 (dijon'd, and none of that "dijonnaise" crap either. this isn't the suburbs.) delivered straight to my mouth 1-3 times a week has finally paid off, you guys!

today's minor sandwich emergency potentially* became my life's major game changer.

now i'm not exactly proud to admit that i know all the jimmy john's sandwich delivery bros. but i do. i know them all and they know me, probably as "#6 with dijon and the constant state of dread in the office 'neath the stairs."

hence my shock - yes my SHOCK! - when after finally sorting out today's lil mishap and patiently awaiting my sandwich, i receive a phone call from a young man who cannot seem to find the office 'neath the stairs.

"the hell?!" think i, who is so accustomed to the tall one bursting through the door in a stuttering flurry, or the asian one with the hardcore winter riding gear in fuckoff neon yellow, or the other one who's always offering to bring me tacos instead (racist); they know where i am! they probably judge me! so who on earth is this feller stumbling 'round the building with a wayward sandwich that longs for my stomach-shaped home?!

he is:

19, maybe 20 years old.
full of the cocksure swagger of a 19, maybe 20 year old.
unabashedly sporting a single diamond stud in the right ear. a cannibis leaf shaped stud.
unaware of how rote the sandwich/receipt transaction has become after a year of few sandwichless weeks. i know where to sign, kid! now gimme my lunch and let me get back to collating!

i ought maybe to have known this morning, having woken up hours - literally, hours - late and still finding a fucking sweet parking spot right outside my office that it was to be a monday of magic. not "fuckin' magnets" magic, but the quieter kind, the kind that feels how you suspect a promise might and sets your loins on fire with the certainty that fortune may in fact touch you in your touch places and make it feel good.

ol' diamond bud, signed receipt crumpled in hand, takes one last look around, and i start to busy myself about the unwrapping of sandwiches. at the door, he unexpectedly and fortuitously turns around, positively brimming with aforementioned cocksureness and smarm, and says to me, he says:

"you should take your glasses off. let your hair down. you'd look cuter."

batter my heart, three-person'd kitchen, i've seen the goddamn light. so simple! so true! i could have it all: boats, friends, marriage proposals, freddie prinze jr. inexplicably hackey sacking his way into my heart, dogs that won't ever die ever, cable television, art shows, and real wisdom (but only after a brief flirtation with vapidity and self-indulgent hissy fits that mercifully, albeit melodramatically, culminate in my unattractive but true blue childhood pal reminding me where i come from) if i just take my glasses off. and let my hair down. and maybe vaseline myself into a pair of pleather tights.

this could be huge.

we're talking going from this:

i just want someone to love me for who i am on the inside. and my art.

to this:

i was just eating this salad, thinking of you.

queue up the frilly pop soundtrack, friends. fucking epic monday.

*pending makeover montage

here's the plan, beauregard

2010-04-19T12:34:00.002-05:00

when i become real life famous and very wealthy with macarthur genius grant dollars, you can bet your ass i'll fund your shits and giggles, too serious.

in the meantime, just take my excellent advice.

hither: manly slang from the 19th century

and then:

B: i need to memorize these colloquialisms from the 1800s

me: i think the trick is to first write them down in a sentence. and then hurl the sentences at the first lout who crosses you. and then blog about how you totally wordshanked that boner with your scathing anachronisms. and then you will a) memorize effectively and b) become INTERNET FAMOUS.

B: holy shit

could you become my mentor, or at least benefactor?

me: when i win my genius grant, benefactress for realz.

WHY THE FUCK WON'T JIMMY JOHNS DOT COM LOAD WITH MY SANDWICH WISHES.

finally: please send sandwiches, attn: my mouth. the internets are defying me.

tic tack talk

2010-04-18T11:00:00.012-05:00

guess what? I ripped this picture off of the Internet because I didn't want to walk to Naomi's
and get our authentic bottle to photograph and include in this post. Deal with it!

there's nothing like the national drink of el salvador mixed with pineapple juice and orange drank to get the old chatterboxes going. I'm not sure if it's the rooster on the front of the bottle, or the size of the alcohol content disclosure (30%), but it really helps young ladies fact hard facts:

spring is a good way to get ready for summer, which is the best;
kittens win at everything;
more school might be okay sometime;
there are more good people in the world than we know what to do with;
we know some fine* artists;
and, most importantly, hangovers are best done with scrabble boards.

I recommend that you get yourself a career coffee friend (you may borrow ours as necessary with appropriate qualifications**) and make her bring you some Tic Tack from her next coffee adventure.

*"fine" always indicates "fine" in the Kerlin style of diction; that is, "fine" as in "my wife is fine" rather than "fine" as in "oh, okay, yes, that."
**old naomerbear will keep the company of only the greatest among us. inquire within regarding appropriate credentials for applicants.

"I've tried to be trashy"

2010-04-17T18:06:00.003-05:00

me: http://www.ivygateblog.com/

Kristin: h8 u

we are keeping our liability limited, day traders

2010-04-16T14:26:00.000-05:00

CC: I think he wants a closer affiliation with the corp.

me: of course he does. everyone wants to buy into our stock.

CC: the IPO is tempting

but not really worth the scrutiny

or the pressure from shareholders

me: or all the formal letters and memos we'd have to prepare.

CC: exactly

me: carrie, i've about had it up to my tits with formal communications.

CC: fucking disclosure statements

haha

Best regards,

Carrie

you know what?

sometimes my regards are mediocre at best

bear of the week

2010-04-14T13:14:00.001-05:00

dude's all:

i fucking rule at softballlll!!!!

romance of the week

2010-04-13T13:10:00.000-05:00

wild. monkey. boning.

good questions.

2010-04-12T15:44:00.000-05:00

please direct all questions regarding just who the hell i think i am to getoverit.com.

spring gimmicks. thank god.

2010-04-12T15:06:00.004-05:00

spring 2.0: 2009 you are not.

many thanks for that.

this, it turns out, is a season for high spirits and mesmerizing moustaches, unintentional alliteration and new friends.

a long and luscious backyard season under way now with yesterday's sunday having happened as beautifully and jovially as it did. some showed up with brand new facial hairs - brilliant, manly facial hairs; the sort that on some would scream "ATTENTION: I NEED ATTENTION" and on others would eerily whisper "so where do you keep your moisturizer?" but on this one, oozed the justifiable smarm of an all-star second baseman and demanded your rapture and respect.

i'll never understand how some people just pull off gimmicks. i can't wear a tube sock without being accused of trying too hard.

others showed up with ipads they didn't bother to share with us despite our unabashed enthusiasm and wanton cravings for toys.

most just showed up with a case of beer and a great attitude.

barbecue attitude.

barbetude (thank you for that, simon. a good portmanteau is hard to find).

we inadvertently (and also, not really) invented a brand new and exciting party game: rock, papers, scissors, slam poetry. (thank you, aforementioned new friend for that.)

it's as intense and mind-blowing as it sounds and you should probably come over some sunday to learn how to play.

oliver continued to not be dead, but to bark along to a capella renditions of the ice cream truck song.

the point is this: it's only april and already i'm sitting around wistfully regretting not saving my v-card for chicago spring/summer 2010.

kyle (of recent moustache fame) and i consider the approaching season not so long ago and he says to me, he says, "what's your plan?"

i was, of course and unsurprisingly, unaware that i ought to have one. but i did get to thinking, not too much and certainly not too hard, about the last year and last spring and maybe lessons or revised approaches and what i come to after at least days maybe weeks of relaxed meditation is this:

i don't need a plan.

i will continue to yoga and bike and cook and love and dance and dance (and that includes softshoe) and write and traipse and with just a little bit of luck and some fine weather, i've faith it'll all (continue to) work out just fine.

so we'll call that chicago 2.0. a renewed faith in and affection for sundays and pals.

we will spend many sundays on 12th street beach and on various patios with tacos and pitchers.

we will celebrate our dreadfully accomplished friends.

we (read: you, not i, for i bronze like a champion) will sustain sunburns and argue unnecessarily about the intersection of whimsical and melodramatic pop, and how that may or mayn't relate to how surreal and awesome it is to see broken social scene and raekwon in one clusterfucked weekend.

we will listen to a lot of the song "english garden."

not even zuckerberg can stop this.

not this year, zuckerdude.

every ironically venerated tyrant stenciled on a tote bag got his start somewhere

2010-04-08T21:03:00.004-05:00

such prescience

2010-04-03T00:33:00.001-05:00

because awkward is the new graceful, and because if (like summer), I haven't seen you in a while, I probably miss you.

bear of the week

2010-04-02T13:16:00.000-05:00

this panda bear is not a pervert.

2010-04-02T13:07:00.001-05:00

enjoy your weekend, maniacs.

addendum

2010-03-31T23:36:00.000-05:00

i should probably find 12 or 13 thousand more uses for the tag "keep your hands off my msg sprinkles."

suggestions almost always welcome.

ramen: more ruiny than naomi

2010-03-31T23:33:00.001-05:00

this was once a happy home.

and then the ramen happened.

having enjoyed a solid wednesday - one of the better in recent records, really - cc and i end the day with a wrap-up session round the table, armed with fridge juice. murmurs concerning grocery stores. self-deprecating comments regarding ramen.

things escalate quickly round these parts. could be the sun making us cocky, the strength returning to legs and hearts. could be the beer. could be the bad attitudes.

here is how it ends:
cc is on the side of packaged top ramen.
i aim to make my own stock and find the right noodles.

don't you tell me how to do the math. we're all for empiricism and stomach ache-shaped spite on the fun block. i say i'll spend less money making my own damn ramen. cc says i'm an idiot.

i'll be laughing at her from the far end of my scorched earth and homemade ramen lined path to victory.

listen to your aunt fran, naomi

2010-03-30T20:11:00.000-05:00

and that goes for the rest of you, too.

summerer

2010-03-28T22:27:00.000-05:00

i said i wanted the sausage, and carrie got me the sausage. (brunch!)
she said she wanted the bike, and so they built the bike. (bikes!)
we thirsted and we drank. (beers!)
we remembered and we watched. (ben stiller!)

oh. spring. you've returned.

bonus: naombor got two kittens. they're like crack-cocaine, but with purrs.

sinister

2010-03-25T15:27:00.003-05:00

lessons are for pussies.

other ways in which this is some messed up jambalaya:

CULOO, CULAAY, no work today!
We're cabbages and kings!

i know right?! get a job leafy greens and puppet monarchs!

CULOO, CULAAY, come run away!
Where theres cabbages and kings!

who goes to bhutan for vacation? mushbrained mollusks with an overactive death drive. that's who. idiots.

CULOO, CULAY, we'll eat today!
Like cabbages and kings!

how do cabbages eat? like savages, probably. like bloodlusting murder cultivars, i bet.

i bet you taste as pretty as you smell.

disney's on some crazy shoot, tell you what.

two updates

2010-03-23T15:56:00.002-05:00

I. Oliver is not dead.

II. (not) specific. An internet web log dedicated to my dedication to underachievement. And also, poetry. SPRING BREAK.

III. **BONUS UPDATE** You didn't even sign up for this one, but you're getting it anyway: I spend three days away from the internet only to return to find that health care reform has mercifully passed and it didn't even take Justin Beiber 24 hours to reclaim his dominance in Twitter trending topics from one of the greatest reform efforts our generation is likely to see.

The purpose of this auxiliary update is threefold:
1. To point out that I had just the loveliest fucking weekend with the dearest sort of friends.

2. To express, uncontroversially and incontrovertibly and without condescending to gloating, my relief and delight about the legislation. And also a way to segue into sharing this amusing graphics interchange format image that is currently being awesome on the internet:

3. To acknowledge that I know what a Justin Beiber is, and that I am the sort of person who gets irrationally frustrated by Twitter trending topics. I am okay with your judgments.

barf city, usa!

2010-03-23T13:47:00.005-05:00

[Prefatory Note: I'd ask you to forgive how tardy, but who's keeping track round here anyway?]

We had such plans, New York and I, back there in earlier Marches.

There was to be a proper good visit with Ol' Mazzy Bear (the Lindsay kind!), weather of the gorgeous sort, as there'd been all the week prior; sandwiches - all the goddamn sandwiches; all sorts of art and not just the MS Paintings; laughing at umbrellas; brunch and hobos; etc, etc, etc.

Things started going dreadfully awry when, that Saturday afternoon 50 miles outside of the city, el capitano de continental flight #you'rescrewed comes o'er the talkbox to say (almost totally verbatim!*):

No, no - ain't no way we're landing just yet. Not with things and visibility being what they are. Sure maybe you've been checking the weather all week and seeing sun and lightness and 60s and shit, but today? Today is fuckawful and there's no way we can put a plane down in such apocalypse. So fuck your plans and also, fuck your nausea. We're doing this the hard way.
*not verbatim

With one hand on the barf bag and eyes to the heavens, I dryheaved my way an hour through some vicious circling until onward to the ground, safely, and without once resorting to public upchuck; remained, as ever, optimistic, hopeful that such turbulence out of the way, only good times lie ahead.

Crawled into taxi, relieved to be on solid ground: BQE to Meeker, and take me to the faces. Backseat television offered the latest weather update. Of course, think I, but follow up, even still, everything will be okay. I did take a photo of the forecast on my digicam so I could share it with you here (NB my own trip shaped Saturday through Monday):

no joke.

The rain seems sideways and I've never been so thirsty in my life, but Brooklyn's soon and you know the chorus: Everything Will Be Okay.

After some hours of hellos and updates and smiling, after a half block of cheese (spoiler alert: bad idea) and even after learning everything about South African Ninjas and their terrible dances (I'm only going to tell you once, NO), we decide on the Lower East Side and bao and some bar it doesn't matter really what it's called I call it Paradise Cove and we lose an hour and two rounds of hiccups and home for some laughs and I never could have in my very limited wisdom have imagined what would happen the next day.

We were not okay, Mazzy Bear and I. Whatever it was, it was not okay. I'd venture a guess to say we lost at least 10, 12 thousand pounds of dignity and bodily fluid between us. It was, at times, a lot like this:

And at other times, something more like this:

dear god of my choosing, are you there? fuck you.

Not a hangover at all but something far more insidious, stomach bugs, sent to Williamsburg specifically to destroy us. There laid I in a bed not mine in a walk-up in Brooklyn in a city I've done more than my fair share of mocking, convinced I would never again feel okay; an entire Sunday, godless, restless, shaking, my friend in the next room, failed by antidotes and Vita Coco. A picture of perfect self-pity; in retrospect, hilarious. Oh but at the time.

I didn't actually, but wouldn't it have been funny if I'd kept saying to myself, Sweet jesus. Do not let me die in Brooklyn. In reality, I was saying things more along the lines of, You're awake again. Do not think of anything. Anything you think of will make you hurl. Don't think. Don't think. Double filet o fish with cheeseOHFUCKOHFUCKRUNBITCHRUN.

FIN

Right, but the take-away here, the lesson maybe, is that there are axioms about best laid plans for reasons I'll happily believe make sense and that the best of people, the ones you fly across states and sometimes countries to see, are always - despite whatever bile and headaches and temporary shitstorms - worth the miles traveled, the inconveniences and tiny catastrophes endured, the discomfiting displays of humility and grotesquerie, always. Taking ill simultaneously was certainly a damper on what may have been a stupidly fun weekend, but I defy you to tell me a better way to solidify your mutual comfort and trust with a person than to empty your personshell of all fluid and pretense, to cast aside all aspirations toward radness and lovability and to be the funky mess of a human being you are when you are alone and unadorned and to feel, even still, that care and empathy and warmth and just some fucking friendship, you know? That's the good stuff. Lord take away my metabolism, my dignity, or my immune system, just let me keep these kids.

Hearts and shit. Immodium 4eva.

work work work . . . NOT!

2010-03-22T20:19:00.007-05:00

Pieces of String

Little Women

John Adams: It all ends here

Valedictions, forbidding and foreboding

movie review: He's Just Not That into You

surprise sinbad of the week

movie review: FAST & FURIOUS

have a nice trip!

confronting the possibility that i was high on idiot drugs throughout my whole childhood

in which tiny barely sentient beings make me feel lazy

blogs i would have blogged but didn't; or, abortions

an open letter to my jimmy johns sandwich delivery man

aren't the geraniums pretty?

no is a mighty stupid word

funny things i read in bathrooms this weekend

coping mechanisms

agree to agree, and carry on

future heartbarf

post script

PARTY GAME #2: Mad Libs Based on Things Alicia Says!

science doesn't need you to understand it.

the internet is killing us all.

GIF of the day

relevant musical offerings

always be closing

about those

inspired by lawanda (and a returning sense of peace)

on selfish phases

it's gonna work out fine

sister cities!

things i find more useful than my fax machine

is that all there is?

transformers 3: coming to a downtown near you!

***ART CONTEST BULLETIN***

these are all real goals.

add it to the playlist

meditations on love, or: i didn't accidentally kill our dog last night

better halves

(nec)romancing

always already listing

aspirational living.

good news: tornado warnings are full of shit.

the dictionary of obscure sorrows

dry pocket

how to: make it all feel better

sady rides again

saucy with a twist

barbaric

polyamory

theme for today

i'd put my money here

bitch better step off

bFffs, dammit

not a secret in sight

now we look like an ipad

ongoing project

gesturing

bunny get around

good news: summer now web enabled and always already mobile

should I invite her to chat?

it's the last Monday of every May.

bees don't like cheese, but I love cheese

i'm going to new jersey

my boyfriend's back

why it doesn't matter who knits or why

Why Knitting is for Everyone

why i don't knit

why I knit

horseshoes and hand grenades!

it's not a blog; it's a column.

celebrity gossip blog!

some nice things men have said to me recently

"it is important to outshine a twat waffle"

words week

consider the sentence

bear (enthusiast) of the week

our lil devil gets sleepy

let's get electoral*

bear of the week

the happiest version of 'the gift of the magi' ever

ART CONTEST BULLETIN