For whatever reason, I have been mildly obsessed with this ancient youtube video for a few days, "End of Ze World."
The LYM introduced me to it and in a tragic moment of not remembering, I played it for him having forgotten.
Someday, we will reminisce to our grandkids about how we used to gather around the computer to watch youtube videos together, much like people reminisce about gathering around the fire to swap stories, or gather around the television or the radio. The media and the means are different. But the desire to gather and share stories is the same.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
He died yesterday
My first year as a grad student I got a free ticket to see George Carlin at Assembly Hall.
He started off with bit where he said, "When you buy a pet, you are bringing home a little piece of death." Because there's no way that your pet will outlive you. You have brought a living thing into your life, into your home to hug and love and hold and play with, to care for and take to the doctor, a cute furry adorable little new member of your family who you know without a doubt is going to die first.
I have often thought about that bit since then. Pretty much whenever someone tells me that they just got a pet.
He went on to touch all manner of topics. Some of them offensive and sharp to the point that S who came to the show with me wanted to leave. But I couldn't. My ass was glued to the seat. And after some rough social satire and commentary he changed gears and spoke seriously and technically about farts. About how you had a choice between letting a fart out all at once and letting it pip out a puff at a time, about the sound of the walking fart.
He was funny, biting, insightful, and kind. His kindness radiated all the way from the stage to my craptastic nosebleed level seat.
I didn't know him, but I miss him. I am so sad that he died. I say it that way because, as is mentioned in the yahoo article, that's how he would have said it, only funny.
Note the day after:
My friend Mythworker has pointed out that being heartfelt is not quite in keeping with the essence of George Carlin. The links on his LJ post are very in keeping with George Carlin.
He's famous for "The Seven Words You Can't on TV."
And I like this.
Listening to a number of his routine on youtube, ... okay, maybe he wasn't always kind. Maybe he wasn't always funny. But listening to him and thinking about what he had to say will wake you up.
That, and chickens are good people.
He started off with bit where he said, "When you buy a pet, you are bringing home a little piece of death." Because there's no way that your pet will outlive you. You have brought a living thing into your life, into your home to hug and love and hold and play with, to care for and take to the doctor, a cute furry adorable little new member of your family who you know without a doubt is going to die first.
I have often thought about that bit since then. Pretty much whenever someone tells me that they just got a pet.
He went on to touch all manner of topics. Some of them offensive and sharp to the point that S who came to the show with me wanted to leave. But I couldn't. My ass was glued to the seat. And after some rough social satire and commentary he changed gears and spoke seriously and technically about farts. About how you had a choice between letting a fart out all at once and letting it pip out a puff at a time, about the sound of the walking fart.
He was funny, biting, insightful, and kind. His kindness radiated all the way from the stage to my craptastic nosebleed level seat.
I didn't know him, but I miss him. I am so sad that he died. I say it that way because, as is mentioned in the yahoo article, that's how he would have said it, only funny.
Note the day after:
My friend Mythworker has pointed out that being heartfelt is not quite in keeping with the essence of George Carlin. The links on his LJ post are very in keeping with George Carlin.
He's famous for "The Seven Words You Can't on TV."
And I like this.
Listening to a number of his routine on youtube, ... okay, maybe he wasn't always kind. Maybe he wasn't always funny. But listening to him and thinking about what he had to say will wake you up.
That, and chickens are good people.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
My own personal chaos
Today while looking for my giant crochet hook under the couch cushions, I found 36 cents and my TV remote which has been missing for months and months. But no crochet hook. Maybe I'll have it by Fall.
Sleepy, thirsty, hungry and itchy
Bugs have been biting me in my sleep. Last night they bit my feet and the itch was so bad, I woke up at 5am.
I hate when that happens.
I hate when that happens.
Pi to thirteen places
Yesterday, I told the LYM that my favorite Stooge was Moe. It's an appalling thing to admit. I have never been proud of this fact. Especially with my lingering suspicion that everyone else's favorite Stooge is Curly. But there it is.
I consider this to be a flaw in my character because, Moe was mean. Moe was a bully. Always pissed off, always hitting or slapping someone, taking joy from cracking someone on the head with a hammer or a mallet. But I always felt bad for Moe. Moe had ambition. Moe had a plan, something that he was trying to accomplish or some catastrophe that he was trying to prevent and there he was, surrounded by Stooges. How could he get anything accomplished under these conditions?
Though I, like everyone who's seen them, have a favorite Stooge, as a child I never liked the Three Stooges. (How can you not have a favorite Stooge?) All that violence and nonsense never appealed to me. I never laughed at their antics. I never thought that they were funny.
And then yesterday, during this conversation the LYM pulled up this movie on youtube.
And in watching it, I must share with you that I have crossed yet another barrier in my life. I actually laughed.
The lion hunter part just kills me. The timing is so sharp.
But you have to wonder, who on earth needs to have that many pies on hand for a dinner party?
I consider this to be a flaw in my character because, Moe was mean. Moe was a bully. Always pissed off, always hitting or slapping someone, taking joy from cracking someone on the head with a hammer or a mallet. But I always felt bad for Moe. Moe had ambition. Moe had a plan, something that he was trying to accomplish or some catastrophe that he was trying to prevent and there he was, surrounded by Stooges. How could he get anything accomplished under these conditions?
Though I, like everyone who's seen them, have a favorite Stooge, as a child I never liked the Three Stooges. (How can you not have a favorite Stooge?) All that violence and nonsense never appealed to me. I never laughed at their antics. I never thought that they were funny.
And then yesterday, during this conversation the LYM pulled up this movie on youtube.
And in watching it, I must share with you that I have crossed yet another barrier in my life. I actually laughed.
The lion hunter part just kills me. The timing is so sharp.
But you have to wonder, who on earth needs to have that many pies on hand for a dinner party?
Friday, June 20, 2008
Le Blame Game, Le Sigh
I don't like idiot proof systems. When dealing with an idiot proof system you feel like an idiot and are treated like an idiot. When things go wrong, as they often do, you can't adequately express the problem and no one helps you. Instead they treat you like an idiot. But that's the problem to begin with and it's not getting your problem solved, now, is it?
I want my money back.
I want my money back.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Tenderize the Night
The heart is a very tough muscle. It has to be. It works very hard for you. It has to keep you going regardless of your preference or intention.
Tenderizing is the process of breaking down collagens in meat (muscle) to make it more tender.
In cooking, there are three common ways in which muscle is tenderized: Mechanical - you can pound it, Temperature - you can cook it, and Chemical - you can add enzymes that will break it down.
In life, there are any number of ways in which to tenderize the heart. Babies, cute little fuzzy creatures, simple acts of kindness, Hallmark cards, certain particularly manipulative TV commercials, crushes and first kisses, unexpected displays of vulnerability, nostalgia, alcohol. Mind you, not all of them are universally or consistently effective.
Yesterday, I was grappling with a song and the Lionel Richie/Diana Ross duet, "Endless Love" came to mind. Nothing will wreck a songwriting session faster than a quick meditation on that tune. In my youth, I expended a lot of energy hating that song. Passionately, hating that song. And in my advanced years, I feel pang in my chest as they sing, well, pretty much every single word.
"'Cause nooooo one can denyyyyyy, this love I have insiiiiiide. And I'll giiiiiive it all to yooooouuuuuu, my love (my love, my love)." -Lionel Richie
And I have to wonder, what the hell happened? Is it the Lionel, finally breaking down the walls of my heart? Have the trials and tribs leading to these middle ages tenderized my heart to the point where I am receptive to every silly and heartfelt declaration of the Lionel? Is it the early flush and then slow burn of interest radiating from making the acquaintance of my new friend, the LYM? Has someone been slipping papaya or pineapple enzyme extracts into my meals?
It might be all of the above. If this is what it means to mellow with age, in the words of CK, "I don't like it."
Or maybe it's just acid reflux.
I take comfort in the fact that the swell of emotion brought on by "Endless Love," led to a meditation on tenderizing meat. I can only hope that this is a phase and that it will pass. That or I am going to blast Lionel Richie songs whenever I cook a steak.
Tenderizing is the process of breaking down collagens in meat (muscle) to make it more tender.
In cooking, there are three common ways in which muscle is tenderized: Mechanical - you can pound it, Temperature - you can cook it, and Chemical - you can add enzymes that will break it down.
In life, there are any number of ways in which to tenderize the heart. Babies, cute little fuzzy creatures, simple acts of kindness, Hallmark cards, certain particularly manipulative TV commercials, crushes and first kisses, unexpected displays of vulnerability, nostalgia, alcohol. Mind you, not all of them are universally or consistently effective.
Yesterday, I was grappling with a song and the Lionel Richie/Diana Ross duet, "Endless Love" came to mind. Nothing will wreck a songwriting session faster than a quick meditation on that tune. In my youth, I expended a lot of energy hating that song. Passionately, hating that song. And in my advanced years, I feel pang in my chest as they sing, well, pretty much every single word.
"'Cause nooooo one can denyyyyyy, this love I have insiiiiiide. And I'll giiiiiive it all to yooooouuuuuu, my love (my love, my love)." -Lionel Richie
And I have to wonder, what the hell happened? Is it the Lionel, finally breaking down the walls of my heart? Have the trials and tribs leading to these middle ages tenderized my heart to the point where I am receptive to every silly and heartfelt declaration of the Lionel? Is it the early flush and then slow burn of interest radiating from making the acquaintance of my new friend, the LYM? Has someone been slipping papaya or pineapple enzyme extracts into my meals?
It might be all of the above. If this is what it means to mellow with age, in the words of CK, "I don't like it."
Or maybe it's just acid reflux.
I take comfort in the fact that the swell of emotion brought on by "Endless Love," led to a meditation on tenderizing meat. I can only hope that this is a phase and that it will pass. That or I am going to blast Lionel Richie songs whenever I cook a steak.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Le Pew
For whatever reason the previous post reminded me of a quote from Pepe Le Pew:
"Ze moon! Ze June! Ze spoon! C'est l'amour!! C'est toujours!" - Pepe Le Pew
Which lead me to a forum with a thread devoted to Pepe Le Pew quotes.
Which in this day and age are pretty much an invitation to a great big sexual harrassment lawsuit or a restraining order. The key to such ardent wooing is the perception of the receiver and the ability of the wooer to correctly interpret his or her reception. What is romantic to a receptive party is harassment, stalking or at the very least an annoyance to the unreceptive.
Back in the day I felt so bad for the poor little kitty. But today in the moments in which I can stand back from the chase, I find these quotes to be pretty hilarious.
"Permit me to introduce myself. I am Pepe Le Pew, your lover."
"She want to play eet zee lover's chase. Eet ees the leetle girl in her. C'est l'amour."
*after getting clubbed by the cat* "The one in zee middle may remain. The rest of you.......... another day."
"Zee cabbage does not run away from zee corn-beef."
The oblivious confidence, the sunny love-drenched optimism, and the irrepressibleness of Pepe Le Pew are so charming on screen as an innocent, disinterested bystander.
But for the sake of my nearest and dearest, I think my advice would be to leave that crap to the cartoons and take all the hints that are given. Especially when she or he hits you over the head with a giant mallet.
"Ze moon! Ze June! Ze spoon! C'est l'amour!! C'est toujours!" - Pepe Le Pew
Which lead me to a forum with a thread devoted to Pepe Le Pew quotes.
Which in this day and age are pretty much an invitation to a great big sexual harrassment lawsuit or a restraining order. The key to such ardent wooing is the perception of the receiver and the ability of the wooer to correctly interpret his or her reception. What is romantic to a receptive party is harassment, stalking or at the very least an annoyance to the unreceptive.
Back in the day I felt so bad for the poor little kitty. But today in the moments in which I can stand back from the chase, I find these quotes to be pretty hilarious.
"Permit me to introduce myself. I am Pepe Le Pew, your lover."
"She want to play eet zee lover's chase. Eet ees the leetle girl in her. C'est l'amour."
*after getting clubbed by the cat* "The one in zee middle may remain. The rest of you.......... another day."
"Zee cabbage does not run away from zee corn-beef."
The oblivious confidence, the sunny love-drenched optimism, and the irrepressibleness of Pepe Le Pew are so charming on screen as an innocent, disinterested bystander.
But for the sake of my nearest and dearest, I think my advice would be to leave that crap to the cartoons and take all the hints that are given. Especially when she or he hits you over the head with a giant mallet.
I love Paris in June
At the intersection of Paris, New York, the month of June, and making the acquaintance of a lovely young man - I am reminded of one of my favorite movies, "Sabrina."
In particular of her time in Paris at cooking school.
"The souffle, it must be gay. Gay. Like two butterflies dancing the waltz in the summer breeze. Tra la la la la" - Ze Chef
or this meditation on ze egg.
At this particular intersection of time, being, place, and memory - I hope for sunny days with mild weather and picnics in the park with someone really nice.
In particular of her time in Paris at cooking school.
"The souffle, it must be gay. Gay. Like two butterflies dancing the waltz in the summer breeze. Tra la la la la" - Ze Chef
or this meditation on ze egg.
At this particular intersection of time, being, place, and memory - I hope for sunny days with mild weather and picnics in the park with someone really nice.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Thinking inside the bottle
After a meal one might enjoy a glass of Eau de Vie, Poire William (the water of life, a brandy made from bartlett pears).
That's not an optical illusion. That's a real pear in a glass bottle of pear brandy.
It's magic. A wonder to behold. How on earth did they squeeze that thing into a bottle through that tiny opening?
Rest assured that they didn't. As described at www.cookthink.com and www.bkwine.com, the Eau de Vie makers put glass bottles over pear branches with blossoms or tiny growing fruit and leave them there, waiting until the pear grows big enough to harvest.
Low tech but ingenious, imaginative.
I wonder what possessed Jean-Francois or Jean-Henri to try this. What dreams did he have that resulted in such a fanciful thing? How long did it take him to convince his pere and grandpere to let him keep the bottle on the branch and just see what would happen. Or did he just tie up a bottle in a far side of the orchard and come back with it containing a whole fruit to the delight and amazement of his friends and family?
That's not an optical illusion. That's a real pear in a glass bottle of pear brandy.
It's magic. A wonder to behold. How on earth did they squeeze that thing into a bottle through that tiny opening?
Rest assured that they didn't. As described at www.cookthink.com and www.bkwine.com, the Eau de Vie makers put glass bottles over pear branches with blossoms or tiny growing fruit and leave them there, waiting until the pear grows big enough to harvest.
Low tech but ingenious, imaginative.
I wonder what possessed Jean-Francois or Jean-Henri to try this. What dreams did he have that resulted in such a fanciful thing? How long did it take him to convince his pere and grandpere to let him keep the bottle on the branch and just see what would happen. Or did he just tie up a bottle in a far side of the orchard and come back with it containing a whole fruit to the delight and amazement of his friends and family?
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
I was off key, a little sharp
I decided after three months not to renew my subscription to one of the very popular paid online dating sites (VPPODS). This is my last week there and today I decided to clean house. I took down most of my pictures. Left a little message on my profile and closed communication in its various stages with some dudes.
It might appear to the outside observer and most of my friends that I was not taking the process seriously. And in a sense this is both true and not. I did sincerely try to think about the questions that were asked of me and answer them honestly. I had considered offering up some of my excruciating attempts at serious, sincere, self-expression but I will spare you the nitty details.
I spent hours and hours pressed up against the computer screen looking for something. Looking for a sign of life, of heart, of humor, of vitality, a spark, recognition of singularity. It's my excuse for not blogging. (as if one was needed)
To begin, I answered the question: what are you most passionate about?
"Learning new things, being exposed to new ideas, making connections. The point at which you gain a deep understanding of a person or an idea or a process. Situations and relationships that liberate and empower people and individuals. Live music."
Pretty vague, eh? As I thought about this, I realized that of late, passion and inspiration have been lacking from my day to day. I don't have an all-consuming passion in my life. It seemed somehow dishonest to leave my profile as it was. So I changed it to:
"I am most passionate about lunch. I get an irrepressible yearning for it every day."
Which is true. Everyday, I think about lunch all morning. I don't stop thinking about it until I have it. And the next day the process begins anew.
I explained myself this way:
"Most of the multiple choice boxes don't seem to express anything that I would say to describe myself or anyone else. My job is the thing that takes up most of my time but it is not who I consider myself to be. Who am I? I am a petal in the palm of the universe. Who are you?"
The profiles on VPPODS, my own included, made me think of that line from the Smiths (this reused from my myspace):
"You shut your mouth
How can you say
I've gone about things the wrong way
I am human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does"
- The Smiths
We all do. And there's nothing wrong with that. There is nothing wrong with the need to love and be loved. There is nothing wrong with feeling lonely and admitting to that fact. Somedays, New York feels like the loneliest of places. But it can happen anywhere, even in a big crowded room.
Today, I spoke with a fella who believes that sex is like glue. Having it binds to people together emotionally. He thought that you needed to be careful about sex because you might get stuck to the wrong kind of person and when the glue wore off you would be really stuck.
Not always, but yes, sex often does facilitate emotional attachment. There are chemicals in the brain that help facilitate this.
Upon later reflection, the glue analogy strikes a chord with me because for months and months I've felt like I am meeting people but they don't make an impression on me. They don't stick. I have become teflon or rubber and someone else in the room has figured out how to be glue. It goes both ways. I'm pretty sure that I am not inspiring all that much gluey-ness in others. When I meet someone I want to get sticky with they can't get away from me fast enough. (Okay maybe my concept of glue is a bit different from his, but you know what I mean, right? Right?)
Sometimes even sex is not enough to make a connection sticky. And in this city, there are so many forces at work to pull two people apart.
To find someone who sticks, would be amazing. To find someone who could be the cheese to my macaroni. Yeah.
So as part of cleaning house today I put up this:
I'm relieved to be off the site. But also sad. It was a hopeful thing to do. And it was fun to get all that email from the VPPODS and the dudes who hang out there.
But here I am again in the regular world. Itching for a reason the throw my heart out ahead of myself, not knowing if I can beat the throw and run fast enough to catch up to it. But maybe it's not about having a reason. Maybe it's about doing it and coming up with that reason as you try to beat the throw.
Maybe the first step is to seek passion and inspiration.
It might appear to the outside observer and most of my friends that I was not taking the process seriously. And in a sense this is both true and not. I did sincerely try to think about the questions that were asked of me and answer them honestly. I had considered offering up some of my excruciating attempts at serious, sincere, self-expression but I will spare you the nitty details.
I spent hours and hours pressed up against the computer screen looking for something. Looking for a sign of life, of heart, of humor, of vitality, a spark, recognition of singularity. It's my excuse for not blogging. (as if one was needed)
To begin, I answered the question: what are you most passionate about?
"Learning new things, being exposed to new ideas, making connections. The point at which you gain a deep understanding of a person or an idea or a process. Situations and relationships that liberate and empower people and individuals. Live music."
Pretty vague, eh? As I thought about this, I realized that of late, passion and inspiration have been lacking from my day to day. I don't have an all-consuming passion in my life. It seemed somehow dishonest to leave my profile as it was. So I changed it to:
"I am most passionate about lunch. I get an irrepressible yearning for it every day."
Which is true. Everyday, I think about lunch all morning. I don't stop thinking about it until I have it. And the next day the process begins anew.
I explained myself this way:
"Most of the multiple choice boxes don't seem to express anything that I would say to describe myself or anyone else. My job is the thing that takes up most of my time but it is not who I consider myself to be. Who am I? I am a petal in the palm of the universe. Who are you?"
The profiles on VPPODS, my own included, made me think of that line from the Smiths (this reused from my myspace):
"You shut your mouth
How can you say
I've gone about things the wrong way
I am human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does"
- The Smiths
We all do. And there's nothing wrong with that. There is nothing wrong with the need to love and be loved. There is nothing wrong with feeling lonely and admitting to that fact. Somedays, New York feels like the loneliest of places. But it can happen anywhere, even in a big crowded room.
Today, I spoke with a fella who believes that sex is like glue. Having it binds to people together emotionally. He thought that you needed to be careful about sex because you might get stuck to the wrong kind of person and when the glue wore off you would be really stuck.
Not always, but yes, sex often does facilitate emotional attachment. There are chemicals in the brain that help facilitate this.
Upon later reflection, the glue analogy strikes a chord with me because for months and months I've felt like I am meeting people but they don't make an impression on me. They don't stick. I have become teflon or rubber and someone else in the room has figured out how to be glue. It goes both ways. I'm pretty sure that I am not inspiring all that much gluey-ness in others. When I meet someone I want to get sticky with they can't get away from me fast enough. (Okay maybe my concept of glue is a bit different from his, but you know what I mean, right? Right?)
Sometimes even sex is not enough to make a connection sticky. And in this city, there are so many forces at work to pull two people apart.
To find someone who sticks, would be amazing. To find someone who could be the cheese to my macaroni. Yeah.
So as part of cleaning house today I put up this:
"The course of true love never did run smooth..."
This little black cloud in a dress is letting her subscription run out this week. For the usual reasons: match never responded to my request for communication, I'm taking a break from dating, I'm just not ready to take the next step, I think the distance between us is too great, I think the difference in our ages is too great, the dog ate my homework, I've fallen and I can't get up, I've got an early squash game, I am allergic to the phone, and the ever popular - Other.
Take care of yourself and good luck in your search.
I'm relieved to be off the site. But also sad. It was a hopeful thing to do. And it was fun to get all that email from the VPPODS and the dudes who hang out there.
But here I am again in the regular world. Itching for a reason the throw my heart out ahead of myself, not knowing if I can beat the throw and run fast enough to catch up to it. But maybe it's not about having a reason. Maybe it's about doing it and coming up with that reason as you try to beat the throw.
Maybe the first step is to seek passion and inspiration.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
sunday girl talk, out of context
A: "Please don't tell me that he has a small uncircumcised penis."
B: "Oh, I don't know. I never asked him."
B: "Oh, I don't know. I never asked him."
Friday, May 16, 2008
Love and looks are not enough
Today I ran across an article about animal shelters that are giving cats and humans personality tests to try to determine compatibility before adoption. When looking for a life companion, looks are not the only thing that matters.
What a great idea. I hope it works better in interspecies relations than it does on certain online dating sites.
If it does, I might start carrying a stopwatch and monitoring a man's noises and blink rate as indicators of sociability.
What a great idea. I hope it works better in interspecies relations than it does on certain online dating sites.
If it does, I might start carrying a stopwatch and monitoring a man's noises and blink rate as indicators of sociability.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Meme via MomVee
The instructions: Bold the ones you’ve read, underline the ones you read for school, italicize the ones you started but didn’t finish.
Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell
Anna Karenina
Crime and Punishment
Catch-22
One Hundred Years of Solitude
Wuthering Heights
The Silmarillion
Life of Pi : a novel
The Name of the Rose
Don Quixote
Moby Dick
Madame Bovary
The Odyssey
Pride and Prejudice
Jane Eyre
A Tale of Two Cities
The Brothers Karamazov
Guns, Germs, and Steel
War and Peace
Vanity Fair
The Time Traveler’s Wife
The Iliad
Emma
The Blind Assassin
The Kite Runner
Mrs. Dalloway
Great Expectations
American Gods
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
Atlas Shrugged
Reading Lolita in Tehran : a Memoir in Books
Memoirs of a Geisha
Middlesex
Quicksilver
Wicked : The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West
The Canterbury Tales
The Historian : a Novel
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Love in the Time of Cholera
Brave New World
The Fountainhead
Foucault’s Pendulum
Middlemarch
Frankenstein (Mary Shelley, right?)
The Count of Monte Cristo
Dracula
A Clockwork Orange
Anansi Boys
The Once and Future King
The Grapes of Wrath
The Poisonwood Bible
1984
Angels & Demons
Inferno
The Satanic Verses
Sense and Sensibility
The Picture of Dorian Gray
Mansfield Park
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
To the Lighthouse
Tess of the D’Urbervilles
Oliver Twist
Gulliver’s Travels
Les Misérables
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time
Dune
The Prince
The Sound and the Fury
Angela’s Ashes : a Memoir
The God of Small Things
A People’s History of the United States : 1492-Present
Cryptonomicon
Neverwhere
A Confederacy of Dunces
A Short History of Nearly Everything
Dubliners
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Beloved
Slaughterhouse-5
The Scarlet Letter
Eats, Shoots & Leaves
The Mists of Avalon
Oryx and Crake
Collapse : How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed
Cloud Atlas
The Confusion
Lolita
Persuasion
Northanger Abbey
The Catcher in the Rye
On the Road
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
Freakonomics : a Rogue Economist Explores the Hidden Side of Everything
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance : an inquiry into values
The Aeneid
Watership Down
Gravity’s Rainbow
The Hobbit
In Cold Blood : a True Account of a Multiple Murder and its Consequences
White Teeth
Treasure Island
David Copperfield
Lessons learned from doing this meme?
I have the attention span of an gnat. How is it that I so rarely finish the books that I pick up to read?
I apparently also have the memory of a goldfish. I have this feel that I have actually read a few of the italicized books ... I just can't remember.
And apparently I went to the kind of schools that never assigned books to be read. *blush*
Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell
Anna Karenina
Crime and Punishment
Catch-22
One Hundred Years of Solitude
Wuthering Heights
The Silmarillion
Life of Pi : a novel
The Name of the Rose
Don Quixote
Moby Dick
Madame Bovary
The Odyssey
Pride and Prejudice
Jane Eyre
A Tale of Two Cities
The Brothers Karamazov
Guns, Germs, and Steel
War and Peace
Vanity Fair
The Time Traveler’s Wife
The Iliad
Emma
The Blind Assassin
The Kite Runner
Mrs. Dalloway
Great Expectations
American Gods
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
Atlas Shrugged
Reading Lolita in Tehran : a Memoir in Books
Memoirs of a Geisha
Middlesex
Quicksilver
Wicked : The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West
The Canterbury Tales
The Historian : a Novel
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Love in the Time of Cholera
Brave New World
The Fountainhead
Foucault’s Pendulum
Middlemarch
Frankenstein (Mary Shelley, right?)
The Count of Monte Cristo
Dracula
A Clockwork Orange
Anansi Boys
The Once and Future King
The Grapes of Wrath
The Poisonwood Bible
1984
Angels & Demons
Inferno
The Satanic Verses
Sense and Sensibility
The Picture of Dorian Gray
Mansfield Park
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
To the Lighthouse
Tess of the D’Urbervilles
Oliver Twist
Gulliver’s Travels
Les Misérables
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time
Dune
The Prince
The Sound and the Fury
Angela’s Ashes : a Memoir
The God of Small Things
A People’s History of the United States : 1492-Present
Cryptonomicon
Neverwhere
A Confederacy of Dunces
A Short History of Nearly Everything
Dubliners
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Beloved
Slaughterhouse-5
The Scarlet Letter
Eats, Shoots & Leaves
The Mists of Avalon
Oryx and Crake
Collapse : How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed
Cloud Atlas
The Confusion
Lolita
Persuasion
Northanger Abbey
The Catcher in the Rye
On the Road
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
Freakonomics : a Rogue Economist Explores the Hidden Side of Everything
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance : an inquiry into values
The Aeneid
Watership Down
Gravity’s Rainbow
The Hobbit
In Cold Blood : a True Account of a Multiple Murder and its Consequences
White Teeth
Treasure Island
David Copperfield
Lessons learned from doing this meme?
I have the attention span of an gnat. How is it that I so rarely finish the books that I pick up to read?
I apparently also have the memory of a goldfish. I have this feel that I have actually read a few of the italicized books ... I just can't remember.
And apparently I went to the kind of schools that never assigned books to be read. *blush*
hypnotized by food
me: Oh man, I want fried chicken soooo bad
CK: yeah? HA!!!!
me: I'm getting the shakes over it. *url for Korean fried chicken shack.* The website is for shit but the food looks like chicken
CK: That's always a good thing to say about food: looks like chicken
CK: yeah? HA!!!!
me: I'm getting the shakes over it. *url for Korean fried chicken shack.* The website is for shit but the food looks like chicken
CK: That's always a good thing to say about food: looks like chicken
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
A Resume Builder
Today, folks at work remarked on the skill with which I uncork champagne bottles.
Remove foil and wire.
Point the bottle away from yourself and other living things.
Grab the cork so that the top of the cork is nestled in the palm of your hand.
Slowly twist it up and out.
It ain't no thang.
Remove foil and wire.
Point the bottle away from yourself and other living things.
Grab the cork so that the top of the cork is nestled in the palm of your hand.
Slowly twist it up and out.
It ain't no thang.
Monday, May 12, 2008
What the world needs now
is more synchronized cycling.
May is NYC bike month. Wherever you are, get thee some pedals to push and a helmet and ride ride ride!
May is NYC bike month. Wherever you are, get thee some pedals to push and a helmet and ride ride ride!
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Starts and Stops - Seis de Mayo Resolutions
Last night was my first Cinco de Mayo outing. For whatever reason this is the first year that I have gotten around to it. And it was instructional.
I woke up today with a throbbing head and a queasy belly and a list of resolutions:
Start carrying more cash.
Stop hugging random strangers who are smoking outside of bars.
Start learning to calculate tip and what people owe while inebriated.
Stop using my "outside and trapped in a well" voice, outside at night in the city.
Start refusing free tequila shots from drink reps.
Stop drinking without food.
Start improving my pitcher pouring skills.
Stop sharing my intimate details with people who know those associated with them (the details that is).
Stop tipping cab drivers more than the fare to Brooklyn.
It was stupid, glorious and more than a little painful. Bad for the body yet somehow good for the soul.
Oh, and it turns out that when I talk to cute dudes while hungover, I don't sweat or blush. Of course, I am in too much pain to flirt, but hey, it's a start.
I woke up today with a throbbing head and a queasy belly and a list of resolutions:
Start carrying more cash.
Stop hugging random strangers who are smoking outside of bars.
Start learning to calculate tip and what people owe while inebriated.
Stop using my "outside and trapped in a well" voice, outside at night in the city.
Start refusing free tequila shots from drink reps.
Stop drinking without food.
Start improving my pitcher pouring skills.
Stop sharing my intimate details with people who know those associated with them (the details that is).
Stop tipping cab drivers more than the fare to Brooklyn.
It was stupid, glorious and more than a little painful. Bad for the body yet somehow good for the soul.
Oh, and it turns out that when I talk to cute dudes while hungover, I don't sweat or blush. Of course, I am in too much pain to flirt, but hey, it's a start.
Friday, May 02, 2008
There's something about you, that makes me sweat
How does that first spark feel, when you meet someone? Is it a tickle? A tingle? What does it sound like? A bell? A gong? A full orchestra with piano? The sound of a building crashing down?
When I was in high school, it was nausea. My stomach would drop. The more nauseous I was, the more I suffered, the more I liked the guy. SM made me super nauseous.
A couple of years ago it was trembling. The feeling of a quiver. With SE it was a total quiver.
During my first Mystechs tour I would light up like a lantern and smile really really big.
When I first really spoke with BE I did much the same.
And now? I heat up. I blush and sweat. Profusely. My glasses fog up. Happened over beers with B, happened the other day while talking to C and this evening it happened when I smiled at a guy on the train.
Online profiles don't make me sweat. This should be ideal. I could get to know someone without the embarassment and the flopsweat. But so far this process is sparkless.
So I might have to start running this spring and summer. That way when I meet hot men at the park it won't matter that I am blushing and sweating while chatting them up. They will think it's the run.
When I was in high school, it was nausea. My stomach would drop. The more nauseous I was, the more I suffered, the more I liked the guy. SM made me super nauseous.
A couple of years ago it was trembling. The feeling of a quiver. With SE it was a total quiver.
During my first Mystechs tour I would light up like a lantern and smile really really big.
When I first really spoke with BE I did much the same.
And now? I heat up. I blush and sweat. Profusely. My glasses fog up. Happened over beers with B, happened the other day while talking to C and this evening it happened when I smiled at a guy on the train.
Online profiles don't make me sweat. This should be ideal. I could get to know someone without the embarassment and the flopsweat. But so far this process is sparkless.
So I might have to start running this spring and summer. That way when I meet hot men at the park it won't matter that I am blushing and sweating while chatting them up. They will think it's the run.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Inversions
After a very long flu-imposed hiatus, I have been doing a little bit of yoga. I took a three weekend class for beginners who are interested in preparing to take intermediate classes. I have long understood that I am not actually advanced enough to take the crazy yoga flow 2 classes that I am so fond of at Laughing Lotus. I fall a lot. A lot compared to the rest of the class.
After taking the weekend sessions I have a clearer sense of why that is. I had thought that I was not flexible enough and that my gut was getting in my way. These things do factor in. But additionally, as CK pointed out to me, I am not strong enough yet for a lot of this stuff. My core, my back, my legs, my arms.
Strength comes through more practice and maybe a more diverse program of practice with a variety of different teachers and on my own.
Yesterday, I was in a class in which we did handstands. We did a handstand prep in the middle of the floor. Downward dog, walk your feet in, lift one leg and then kick that leg up. And, I had this moment, where I felt it. I was there. Only one leg, but I was there. I think I even squealed a little. At which point I flopped back down. Close but no stand. It felt qualitatively different from all the times that I had huffed and hopped and kicked and kicked. I felt close. So close that a part of me was kicking myself and asking why I didn't just go with it. Why did I have to sabotage myself like that? While the rest of me was captivated by that feeling. It was like I had kicked up my leg and thrown myself into the great unknown. And the great unknown was there to catch me.
Then we did this exercise where we run up to the wall, using the momentum to throw ourselves into handstand. Which again, I could barely do. I threw myself and at one point found that I had the right half of my body pressed right up against the wall and the left side of me hanging out in the air. In trying to pull myself away from the wall, I crumpled into a little mass of me. It was no fluke, I did this twice the second time during an exercise in which we did handstand on blocks. Same thing, I crumpled.
Part of it was being in a panic at being upside down. Part of it was that I was so disoriented in that upside down state that my brain could not figure out which limbs to control to accomplish the handstand proper.
I need to practice more and get stronger so that one of these days when I throw myself into the great unknown, it will catch me, and I will allow it to hold me.
After taking the weekend sessions I have a clearer sense of why that is. I had thought that I was not flexible enough and that my gut was getting in my way. These things do factor in. But additionally, as CK pointed out to me, I am not strong enough yet for a lot of this stuff. My core, my back, my legs, my arms.
Strength comes through more practice and maybe a more diverse program of practice with a variety of different teachers and on my own.
Yesterday, I was in a class in which we did handstands. We did a handstand prep in the middle of the floor. Downward dog, walk your feet in, lift one leg and then kick that leg up. And, I had this moment, where I felt it. I was there. Only one leg, but I was there. I think I even squealed a little. At which point I flopped back down. Close but no stand. It felt qualitatively different from all the times that I had huffed and hopped and kicked and kicked. I felt close. So close that a part of me was kicking myself and asking why I didn't just go with it. Why did I have to sabotage myself like that? While the rest of me was captivated by that feeling. It was like I had kicked up my leg and thrown myself into the great unknown. And the great unknown was there to catch me.
Then we did this exercise where we run up to the wall, using the momentum to throw ourselves into handstand. Which again, I could barely do. I threw myself and at one point found that I had the right half of my body pressed right up against the wall and the left side of me hanging out in the air. In trying to pull myself away from the wall, I crumpled into a little mass of me. It was no fluke, I did this twice the second time during an exercise in which we did handstand on blocks. Same thing, I crumpled.
Part of it was being in a panic at being upside down. Part of it was that I was so disoriented in that upside down state that my brain could not figure out which limbs to control to accomplish the handstand proper.
I need to practice more and get stronger so that one of these days when I throw myself into the great unknown, it will catch me, and I will allow it to hold me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)