The District.
So. I took the Amtrak choo choo both ways, and a rousing gloryamenandhallalujah to that. The trip down on Friday only clocked about 3 hours and change. No time stuck in NY/NJ/PA/MD/DC traffic. None. Beauty.
When I got in, my BFF met me at the station. BFF is awesome, and has been my BFF forever, since our first day of college. I hadn't seen her in months, since, you know, she had the nerve to up and move to D.C, about five years ago and hasn't seen fit to move back. Today is her birthday. Lotta things to celebrate this weekend, you see. So we headed out for eats and catching up.
Our first stop was Bardia's New Orleans Cafe in Adams Morgan. Damn. Fine. Gumbo. Mmmmm, gumbo. I could have eaten there for every meal the whole weekend and been okay. After dinner, BFF and I strolled back to her place to bunk down for the night, and by bunk down, I mean play so much Katamari Damacy that my eyeballs tried to leap from my head before I finally quit to give them a rest. Have you played Katamari Damacy? Because if you haven't, you should. In it, you are a little tiny prince of the Cosmos and you have to run around rolling up little bits of the world on this thing called a katamari and do it fast and make big balls of stuff that will be turned into stars! I know how it sounds, but it is like the crack rock of gaming, man. Trust me.
Saturday, we actually got up early and went outside just long enough to procure provisions for brunch, brought them back, and played more Katamari for...five...hours. At least five was when I stopped counting. Then we went out to have nummies at Meskerem. Again. Damn. Fine. Eatin'. I don't usually like injera so much, but I even loved that, perhaps because the dishes themselves were so good. I had the, uh, yebeg kay wat, I think. BFF ordered the combo-sampley dinner, and it was all just...yum. We sat around patting our tummies and sipping hot drinks at the Starchuck's up the street afterward, and talked about misery and the things/people/situations that cause it. Because, you know, I'm that kind of friend, stirring up the grumbles on your birthday eve (sorry, BFF! Loves you!) To make matters worse, I got her a birthday slice of Starchucks green apple loaf and it tasted like it was flavored with Body Shop products. Narstastic. Uh, then we went home and played some more Katamari. Katamari cures all.
Sunday, we went out for derishus falafel sandwiches at Amsterdam Falafel Shop. A while back, I might have mentioned another friend's significant other extolling the virtues of the, er, Amsterdamish falafel (Amsterdam, Holland, whateves. They all talk that crazy language, whatsitcalled, oh yeah, Dutch.). Well, I dunno about the variety fried up in that distant tulip-covered, weed-tokin' land, but in its eponymous D.C. falafel shop? Quite nice. Especially since they let you tart yours up yourself with all kinds of fresh veg, sauce, hummus and baba at their falafel garnish bar. We both ate for under $20 at that one. And there's a bare-boobied lady on the wall for those who like their fried chickpea with a little...nip? Breasticle? Whatever, you are informed. Oh, also, E-love from Harlem, in AFS 10-19-05, as you proclaim in ballpoint, wherever you are right now: If you are going to tag up a public restroom, damn, at least make it interesting, okay? Thanks.
Ah, you may have guessed that at this point there would be more Katamari. You'd be right. Then we made an aborted attempt at a zoo visit, and had dinner at Sake Club with BFFs SigOt. Good spicy tuna up in that piece, yo. And toasty flame lamps outside that keep the outdoor seating area very, very warm. Brilliant.
Right around then I got all melancholy, as the weekend was drawing to a close and I was returing to the daily grind. Poor BFF, being the queen of kindness and generosity she is, did not say any of the following:
1. Bitch, it's my birthday. Cheer the fuck up!
2. Take your ass home!
3. Where are my magnetic spice tins? Huh? Huh? How can I coveniently store my spice in said space-saving tins if you forgot to bring them down? Huh?
Nope, none of that. I miss BFF. Dammit.
I hopped the train back from D.C. right after dinner and pulled into NYC before 11, reading the first book of the His Dark Materials trilogy all the while, am now enamored of Mr. Pullman. Thought I saw another fabulous NYC blogger but wasn't sure, and didn't want to roll all up on her out of nowhere, considering my track record, becase odds are good I would be totally wrong. Also, that is just weird. I've always wondered what I'd do if I saw another blogger on the street, randomly--apparently, absolutely nothing. Home before 11:30. Nice.
Happy Halloween.
*For the record: I didn't know Ms. Rosa was lying in state until--literally--the ticket agent in D.C. told me she was, right across the street. Great. Ten minutes before I am scheduled to board a train, I discover I've missed a chance to stand in line to maybe sorta see some hist'ry. My bad.
When you just don't know what to give the sick bastard in your life...
Give the muhfuggah anything wrapped in this or this.
Seriously. Who thinks this shit up? And shouldn't they be, you know, ashamed?
Oh no they DI-INT!
*scurries for credit card to order in bulk*
Of little consequence.
1. I got myself one of those "The Best Girls are Black" tees the other day, as they are at Urban Outfitters once again. They also have "Everybody loves a(n)..." Asian, Irish, Italian and Catholic girls shirts too. Funny how not everybody loves a black girl. But we are the best, I guess that will have to do.
2. Speaking of tees, in case you missed it over on Shasta's corner of the Internets, if you luv black people, I guess you should get one of these.
3. I watched Shaun of the Dead over the weekend, and while I did not find it nearly as packed with HIlarity as the rest of the world seems to think (though it was pretty funny), I do find myself walking around singing "'Cause white liiiiiiiiiiiiines/Blow aaawaaaaaaaaaay..." I am so easy.
Coffee, gym and therapist beckon. Toodles. Or some shit.
Paralyzed by indecision
Okay. I need to get to D.C. on Friday, returning Sunday. My new part-time budget means I can only take a train one way (since these crazy bitches charge anywhere from $100-$200 to travel between NYC and D.C. one way, pfft., so round trip on the choo-choo express could theoretically set me back, like, $300, and hells no, I'm not paying that for a train.). The other direction will be via the Ghetto Deathtrap Express, the China Town bus.
My question is, which trip should I take the train? Going to D.C., since at least that way I won't have to deal with Friday night rush hour traffic, or coming from, since, well, by the end of the weekend I might just not feel like sitting on the GDE for four (and by four, I mean six) hours?
If I were really feeling crazy, I could just cough up an extra $25 and take the train both ways, because, see, I have Transit Cheks, that pre-tax metro-card money through my job, which can be used on Amtrak regional service, and I have, like, five stored up, so I would really only have to pay a little extra to get the luxury of the train both ways. I'd just have to shell out cash out-of-pocket for my metrocards over the next few weeks. But, um, since we are talking cash out of pocket anyway, maybe it is worthwhile?
I have no idea why this is such a huge dilemma right now. For fuck's sake, it hardly matters...
Good thing I'm finally about to get my shrink on. Damn.
In my write meme
Courtesy of Mister William:
Instructions: Set iTunes to shuffle. Ask the following questions, and hit ‘next song’. The title of the song will be the answer to your question.
Question: What do you think of me, playlist?
Answer: "Love is Stronger Than Pride," Sade
Analysis: I hate this meme already, lol.
Question: Will I have a happy life?
Answer: "Daylight," Coldplay
Analysis: What? Is that a yes?
Question: What do my friends really think of me?
Answer: "10 Dollar," M.I.A.
Analysis: Um, so my friends think I'm a teenage hooker? WTF!
Question: Do people secretly lust after me?
Answer: "Bossa Nova, Ne?" is the first answer, but as that either means "only the Lusitanians" or "Get thee to Brah-theeeeew," I'm skipping it in favor of the following track, "Walk This Land" by E-Z Rollers.
Analysis: Meaning either I need to get my ass out more, or everybody does, which is highly unlikely...
Question: What should I do with my life?
Answer: "When I Grow Up," Garbage
Analysis: Did I mention I hate this meme?
Question: Why must life be so full of pain?
Answer: "I Had a Dream Last Night," Butthole Surfers (I think), Romeo + Juliet Soundtrack
Analysis: As this song involves Jesus getting illegal prescription meds from Mexico, I'll not analyze.
Question: How can I maximize my pleasure during sex?
Answer: "Quills," The Roots
Analysis: Motherfucking OUCH! Oh wait, you mean it's tied to writing? Because that I can get with...
Question: Will I ever have children?
Answer: "Get Back," Beatles
Analysis: So, I have to have them in Boston or Philly? With a trannie? What?
Question: Will I die happy?
Answer: "Turn Off The Light," Nellie Furtado
Analysis: Oh, shit.
Question: Can you give me some advice?
Answer: "Champagne Supernova," Oasis
Analysis: Drink more bubbly? Avoid becoming half of a megalomaniacal rock group? Do more--I mean--Do drugs? WHAT? WHAT, DAMN YOU?!?!
Question: What do you think happiness is?
Answer: "Mountain Town," South Park, Bigger, Longer, Uncut soundtrack.
Analysis: I am so being punished for putting my entire music collection on my iPod. Dammit. Or I should move to Colorado. Or, um, I should run a train with Matt and Trey. Whatever.
Question: What’s my favorite fetish?
Answer: "Do it for the Kids," Velvet Revolver
Analysis: Ohjesus. I am so being punished for SOMETHING. Next track is "Joking," Indigo Girls. YES! MUCH BETTER! Well, except for the actual lyrics...
I have learned my lesson. No more memes for me, thanks. Your turn!
There are worse sci-fi/fantasy characters to be than a sexy viking-descendent.
Putting your appointed path ahead of any inner conflicts, you make your own rules for the benefit of all.
"If by my life or death I can protect you, I will."
Um, I don't really see it, but okay.
I found my superpower!
Unfortunately, it is the ability to suck down a pound of cold sesame noodles in under ten minutes.
So sad.
And thank you for your small act of defiance.
I've got a To Do list a million miles long.
Hyperbole. But still, a lot of schnikey to be done.
I need to make travel arrangements, doctor/dentist/eye/shrink appointments (like Shasta said, that Flexible Spending Account dough has gots to be used or losed. I know, I just liked the idea of using "losed" mmkay?), spa/tattoo appointments for San Francisco next month (oh yeah, so, while M and Mr. C are out getting their spa on, I'll be getting one of these tatted either on my heel, inner elbow, or behind my ear. If there's time left over, maybe I'll get a pedi.), shop for birthday gifts, I've got company flying into town next week so I have to make sure I've got the place cleaned and comfy for them, I've been pre-NaNoWriMoing, albeit at a snail's pace, I need to switch banks, I want to get a new phone/service plan....
I'm tired just thinking about it.
Weekend The Pretty, or Death By Sexy 3.0
I was watching The Rundown just now and, as Rosario Dawson murdered a fake-ass Braziyorican accent and that Sean William Scott fellow looked, well, you know, special, like he's about to hump somebody's leg or summat, I thought to myself, I thought, "Self, why the hell are you watching this hemorrhoid on the ass of film?"
Just then! The camera cut back to Mr. Johnson.*
My troubles were no more.
That is all.
*Only for this man would I pay hard-earned money to watch a film like Doom. Oh wait, maybe Jason Statham, too. I'd watch a film like that with him in it. Because, in case you hadn't noticed, I have a thing for the big, muscley boys with little-to-no hair. Godhelpme.
The trouble with Zappos.
Sometimes they sell things discounted, true.
But sometimes they sell them at a mark-up. What the hell?
Case in point: The Boot. In the John Fluevog store and online, it is called the Vibratto and sells for $209.
Zappos seems to have changed its name and added $20 to the price.
Shady.
It would be great if someone could quickly explain to me...
why it was not okay to spend $229 on this bag, but absolutely okay for me to blow almost the exact same amount on these boots.
I'd really appreciate it. Because I can't seem to understand why, at the moment, and I'm still all in that new-purchase glow phase but I detect a bout of buyer's remorse coming on and I'll need to have a good excuse to give to the sane, rational, big-on-savings half of me.
Thanks.
Edit: Man, I think I'm going to have to take them back. I mean, they are lovely and crazy comfortable and look very, very cute, but they were also $200, and I have many other things that could use the cash.
But it would also be great if someone could explain why it is all the cutest punk boys work at Wholefoods. It's 20 blocks away from me, 15 farther than Fairway, but I really am going to have to make that place my new grocer of choice. Not to mention the $8.50 half gallon of Odwalla Superfood they carry. I was overjoyed when I saw that. Fairway stopped carrying it over a year ago and charged $10 when they did have it.
I love Baby. I do.
But it is so hard not to lust after the younger, thinner models.
I mean, I've had her less than a year, and I really do love her.
But to get 20 extra video-playing, full-color gigs in a smaller package for the exact same amount I paid for Baby, with the black option, too...it's hard to resist sometimes, you know.
I'll stay true. I will. At least until my birthday....
Bitch-in-Kitch, um, X?: Curried Pumpkin Soup
Four reasons not to get excited about this post:
1. Loaf will be a silent partner, won't you, Loaf?
*Gagged loaf looks daggers at Sid with his little bready eyes*
2. It's soup. Again. But as usual, it's delicious. *bready eyes roll*
3. It won't be funny. *hmphs from our little home-slice*
4. Did I mention it's soup again?
Reasons to get excited:
1. Did I mention it's goddamn delicious?
2. My people, meet the pumpkin: it's more than a pie filling, though the West Indians already know that well enough.
3. Meat is involved, praise be to Jah or whoever.
Why am I such a goddamn kitchen genius? How do I manage to produce such healthy yet sinful deliciousness with such consistency? Huh? Why? How?
Of course, I'm not a kitchen genius so much as a proficient dabbler, but I swear this is one magnificent result for some shit I made up my damn self on the spot.*
Ingredients:
2 c. chopped onion
1 c. chopped carrot
1.5 c. chopped white mushroom
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 c. chopped boniato (white sweet potato)
4 tbs. butter
8 cups chicken stock
1 29 oz. can pureed pumpkin (sorry, forgot to put this in the first post. Dammit.)
1/2 tbsp. curry powder
1 tsp. cumin
1/4 tsp. cinnamon
1 tsp. sugar
In large stock pot, sautee onions, garlic, carrots and mushrooms in butter over medium-low heat for 5 minutes. Add boniato and sautee additional 3 minutes. Add chicken stock, raise heat and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low and simmer 30 minutes. Add canned pumpkin, one cup at a time, stirring until dispersed. Add curry powder, cumin, cinnamon and sugar and stir, then simmer additional 10 minutes on very low heat.
Remove from heat and serve topped with slices of green apple and cold, roasted chicken.
Serves about 10. Without the chicken and apple, soup is approximately 132 calories per bowl, packed with vitamins and in-season, fall harvest vegetable goodnes, and tasty-delicious as all hell.
Enjoy!
*I know that there are other recipes for curried pumpkin soup out there; I just didn't follow any of them.
iTunes is gonna break me.
These bastids have come up with the brilliant idea to do recommendations based on what you've already purchased.
Goddammit.
Because they seem to be about 60% accurate in their predictions of what I'll like.
Sixty. Percent.
Shit.
I just bought, like, $20 worth of songs I didn't realize I needed until just now.
Oh hell. I must never hit up iTunes again. Because this is what I've bought from iTunes in the last few months or so:
Galang (Radio Edit) 3:53 M.I.A. Galang - Single Alternative 80 6 7/25/2005 1:31 PM
Gorillaz Demon Days Rock 1 6/16/2005 7:04 PM (album)
Oh l'Amour 3:07 Erasure Erasure: Pop! 20 Hits Pop 100
Buffalo Stance 5:42 Neneh Cherry Raw Like Sushi Rock 80
Here's Where the Story Ends 3:54 The Sundays Reading, Writing & Arithmetic Alternative 100 1 9/13/2005 3:44 PM
Regret (Fire Island Mix) 7:07 New Order Regret - EP Alternative 100
Cantaloop (Flip Fantasia) 4:39 US3 Hand On the Torch Hip-Hop/Rap 80
Hook 4:48 Blues Traveler Travelogue: Blues Traveler Classics Rock 80
Run-Around 4:40 Blues Traveler Travelogue: Blues Traveler Classics Rock 80
Maps 3:37 Yeah Yeah Yeahs Maps - EP Rock 80
That's How I Know 5:25 D'Nell 1st Magic Electronic
David Gray White Ladder (Extra Tracks) Rock (album)
J.D.V., M.I.A.: A Free Excerpt from Don't Get Too Comfortable (Unabridged Selection) 17:12 David Rakoff J.D.V., M.I.A.: A Free Excerpt from Don't Get Too Comfortable (Unabridged Selection) Audiobooks
High 4:03 James Blunt Back to Bedlam (Bonus Video Version) Rock
Eagles of Death Metal Peace Love Death Metal Rock 80 (album)
Tricky Maxinquaye Electronic (album)
Danzig Danzig Rock 1 10/18/2005 5:03 PM (album)
Rebirth of Slick (Cool Like Dat) 4:21 Digable Planets Reachin' - A New Refutation of Time and Space Hip-Hop/Rap
I Believe in a Thing Called Love 3:36 The Darkness Permission to Land (Bonus Track) Rock
Connected 5:14 Stereo MC's Connected Hip-Hop/Rap
Feed the Tree 3:29 Belly Star Rock
Express Yourself 4:25 N.W.A. Straight Outta Compton Hip-Hop/Rap
Steal My Sunshine 4:26 Len You Can't Stop the Bum Rush Rock
Fu-Gee-La 4:04 Fugees Fugees: Greatest Hits R&B/Soul
Back to Life 3:48 Soul II Soul Volume I - Keep on Movin' Electronic
Wishing Well 3:30 Terence Trent D'Arby Introducing the Hardline According to Terence Trent D'Arby R&B/Soul
Can I Kick It? 4:12 A Tribe Called Quest Peoples' Instinctive Travels & the Paths of Rhythm Hip-Hop/Rap
Are You Gonna Be My Girl 3:36 Jet Are You Gonna Be My Girl - Single Rock
Never Gonna Give You Up 3:32 Rick Astley Whenever You Need Somebody Pop
Brown Eyed Girl 3:05 Van Morrison Hear It Now! - The Sound of the '60s Rock
Oh Hollywood, redux
Dearest Hollywood and affiliated filmmaking capitals:
I realize that in our last communique I was less than kind in my assessment of your casting choices. But, you know, as a lady of color, I'm bitter like that.
But you know how you can make me a wee bit less pissed-the-fuck-off with you?
Cast this guy opposite a woman of color. Please.
In his last, um, well, all the movies I've seen him in, he has starred with this lady, and this lady, and this lady, and--are you following? Spotting the trend?
yes, we all know he is the sexy, the sexy enough to make all kinds of ladies swoon. But, you know, just once? Hows about we get a lady of color swooning?
No, scratch that, I think I need to be more specific. Can we please have a black woman as his ladybird? Because if I'm not specific, god knows you bitches will cast her or her or someone else equally un-negro. Bitches. (Hollywood et al., not the actresses in question, of course).
Get on it.
Or will I have to write and produce that script my goddamn self?
(And no, this does not count. Playing a black lady is not the same as playing alongside one. Though I cannot wait to see it.)
Monday notes.
Know what my Baby is desperately lacking?
1. Mother--Glenn Danzig (and how the hell I am only realizing that now is beyond me. Must. Rectify. Immediately.)
2. Six Underground--Sneaker Pimps (but only because fucking iTunes doesn't carry the album. Bastids.)
I know there are more, but those are the songs that sprang to mind while I was working out today.
Know what I hate spending money on? Socks. I don't know why, but I feel like they should be free. I hate that I have to pay any amount for them. I got 10 pairs today for $15, and I'm pissed that $15 is gone forever, even though I can now go a solid week without washing socks and individual toes are free of the threat of hole-provoked nudity for another, oh, six months.
Hm. I think that's it for now.
Oh no, wait, know what I am now officially desperate to see? Byron, the BBC biopic starring the deliciously delicious Jonny Lee Miller being, well, Byronic and devilish-bad. Wheeeeee! Doesn't come on until Saturday, though. Damn.
Also, here, the new Bond.
So yum.
And so that it cannot be said that I discriminate in my tastes for the tasty, here is someone who should have been considered for the role for his classy-sexiness:
Chewy. Come to think of it, he should maybe get a post of his own...
We need to take a stand, people.
So I'm perusing bags at
Bluefly.com, hoping with every fiber of my short but massifically (I know. I'll work it out later) dense little being that the green Ani bag I love will go on sale. Or that something equally wonderful will already be on sale.
I hit the clearance section first. Any sane woman would, of course.
Handbags, yum. I'm scrolling. Scrolling. Scrolling. And I see a cute Kate Spade messenger bag. Cute. Not fabulous, but cute. I stop. It's $150. I'm about to move on when I spot an evil little word: "nylon."
I double check. Because I find it hard as hell to believe a NYLON bag could be on sale for over $50, let alone a dabgum $150. Nope, there it is. It says "nylon."
Say what? Say the fuck what? Prada, Katie, y'all can kiss my black ass. You must be out of your goddamned minds if you think I'm stupid enough to pay a 5000% markup on a crappy nylon bag just because your name is on it. Matter of fact, lookahere: you could step to me with thorn scars on your head, a scabbed-over hole in your side, and the initials J. C. gangsta-tatted on your left asscheek, and I wouldn't pay money like that for anything you were selling. You know, unless those bags held a whole lot of bread, fish and wine. And then it would depend on the vintage. Seriously.
I don't spend over $50 on any wearable--bag, shoe or otherwise--that did not cost someone or something a life, do you hear me? If you are going to ask that kind of money, something somewhere had better goddamn-well be dead. Or at least naked and cold as hell.
How in the hell did they think they could charge that kind of money for $3 worth of materials and labor? Oh, that's right: Some fools are actually buying it.*
Ladies, my people: This shit has got to stop. Say no. Please. Because I don't care if your shopping tote has a little black triangle on the side. Or if your new headscarf is covered with interlocking C's. All that tells me is you've been foolish enough to pay ten times the price the rest of us paid to keep our ears covered and our hands free. Pat yourself on the back. Then, to borrow from the, uh,
Most Muhfukkin', go die. Or something. Eventually, if we all hold hands around the world and collectively tell these coked-up fashion types to go fuck themselves, they'll get the message and actually start to ask roughly, give or take a twenty, what things are worth.
*I know I'm going to lose some love here, but can I just say how much I hate the logo Coach bags? Because I love Coach bags--the real ones. The hand-worked, supple, buttery, beautifully-hued leather bags. But those cloth bitches with the C's all over 'em? Waste of goddamn money. And ugly as shit. Wait a paycheck and get the real thing. Be subtle with your siddity. Those of us who do carry them can spot one without the label. They're that good. And they do last forever. I got a leather messenger for my high school graduation--almost ten years ago now--and it is as beautiful, stylish and functional now as it was then, and I'm pretty sure it'll get better over the next ten years. Hell, my mama has a bunch, some of them old enough to drive in most states, and they still look good. It's a $400 investment. The cloth ones are just...meh. And out within a few seasons. Please. Stop buying the crap versions so Coach can get back to its glory. Kthx.
Did I just bitch and moan about brand-consciousness only to insult the brand-conscious by calling their choices low class? Yup, I think I did. How do I pull that shit off in my head? Anyhoo, happy weekend.
My eye is twitching un-goddamn-controllably.
Has been since I woke up this morning.
Usually that happens when I am under a great deal of stress or repressing emotion, such as rage.
I wonder which is the underlying issue today.
More unnecessary posts.
See? If I can spell "unnecessary" after, well, after what I've imbibed, ain't no reason nobody else cain't.
Uh....
Oh yeah.
Carlo Von Sexron?* Baby fucking Duck?
Bwahahahaha!
More cowbell!
*Only people clued-into, let alone amused by this post: Sid, Keidra, maybe Ding.
Do I care that nobody else is? Nope. S'my blog, bitches!
I don't really know where this post is going.
Something made me think of a college roommate's ex.
She was brilliant, fiery, tiny. Political. Incidentally, Chinese.
He was brilliant, very chill, high most of the time, brilliant, funny, high, did I mention brilliant? Incidentally, Jewish.
Together, they were good. A bit volatile. But good. Ish.
It ended. For whatever reason. Doesn't matter.
Anyway. She's out in Cali now, grad school, same thing I got my M.S. in, but at a much better uni. Great things'll come from that girl.
But she's not the one I just Googled. I Googled him. I dunno why. Whim, I guess.
Turns out he's doing a doctorate in his chosen field of brilliance. At her university. He's married, too. But not to her.
He's settled down with a good Jewish girl. Or I assume she's good. Doesn't matter, though. I just can't see him with anyone other than my roommie.
I don't know why this news so disturbs me. I suppose it's just that, well, he seemed, they seemed, to be the kind of forward-thinking folks who'd never settle down. Huh.
Shit, he did so many drugs, I didn't think he'd make it to grad school, let alone settle down and get a Ph.D. He should get an honorary degree in psychopharmacology, fergahdsakes.
I feel like he should be the anti-D.A.R.E. poster boy. See kids? You can do all the 'shrooms, weed, etc. you like. Drugs don't make you a loser. You're a loser--or not--to begin with! This guy did four solid years of hallucinogens, and he's a top-school Ph.D.! Ha!
Perhaps what scares me is that it has happened. After all I've seen of him, and trust me, it is a fucking lot, he's turned into an adult. What scares me more, though, is that I think I know a version of him 30 years on, and it isn't pretty.
Maybe I'm just worried about when the grown-up stick'll hit me, too.
Fuck.
Happy Friday, M!
Even after debauching your nanny, even after the tragic turn your fashion sense has taken, Jude, I love you, if only for this:
You know you love it. Roawr.
All I'm saying is...
If I weren't meant to eat delicious, juicy, bloody on the inside and beautifully charred on the outside steaks, then why am I so goddamned good at makin' 'em, huh? Really!
You see, this is why I will always be at least a little bit fat forever. *eyeroll*
*****
Hey, okay, so here, have fifty words:
"Gal, ya bes' keep an eye on dat one. Him too fine fi' be left alone!" Cackles.
On him. Implication: I can't keep him. I'm not enough.
Fool.
He believes it, too. Thinks that's why I cook, clean, come for him.
I seethe.
It's okay, though. The repairman comes today.
*****
Show of hands: How many of you ladies like beer? Okay, how many like it enough to know the difference between, say, an ale and a stout? Like stout?
I bought some today, and as I was pushing it around in my cart one of the guys in the market looked at it, looked at me, and said: "Wow. That's not for you, is it? You like that? Guinness?"
Eh? Are all the women in New York little nancy limp-wristed spritzer-sipping bitches?
Ooh, that came out sassy.
Forgetit.
Happy Friday!
I lurve Tuesday.
Some days just turn out right nice, you know. Today, I got a $200 check just for going to the gym, found the jacket of life for me to love at Filene's Basement for $50, downloaded the Eagles of Death Metal album Peace Love Death Metal and a Tricky album, and saw a funny movie about streetfighting hobbits.
The jacket--a green, fitted, velvet number--is this week's Death by Sexy. That thing fits me absolutely perfectly, and looks hot as shit on. In the way that it makes my middle look tiny and my top look hugemongous and what shows of my bottom perfectly rounded, not in the way that I look sweaty. Loves it. I've been hunting for a good velvet jacket for a few years now. Mission accomplished.
The check is going skraight into my savings account, and thank the Lord for it, amen and hallelujah.
Now, about EoDM. That is one fun-ass, good-time album. I've had it for, oh, 7 hours, and have listened to it maybe five times, and let me just say that Jesse Hughes is one sick, hilarious motherfucker. First of all, he looks all tough as shit (okay, not actually tough, but good and trashy as Ding notes) but he has this high little lady voice that sounds so...like he works in a video store. Second of all, he claims to have only learned guitar three months before making this album, which took about a week to record, and it shows.
And yet, it doesn't suck. It sounds like a lot of friends having a damn fine time in somebody's garage. Which brings me to number three, the lyrics. Don't listen to this album for the first time in public, because you will start to giggle and twitch like a madwoman when you hear lyrical gems like the following:
"You'll speak in tongues now,
baby let me demonstrate:
moo moo moo moo moo moo moo, ho..." (from "Speak in Tongues")
"I'm here right now,
I want to be your monkey,
I'm here right now,
I want to love your monkey!" (Bad Dream Mama)
"Who loves the devil
who'll sing his song
who will love the devil and his song?
I love the devil,
I'll sing his song,
I will love the devil and his song.
Who loves the devil,
who'll kiss his tongue?
Who will kiss the devil on his tongue?
I love the devil,
I'll kiss his tongue,
I will kiss the devil on his tongue." (Kiss the Devil)
"Struttin' sluts all through that whorehoppin' scene
Make me say:
Shit, goddamn!
I'm a man, I'm a man!" (Whorehoppin')
(except he's got this high, reedy little voice. Hilarious.)
But it's all crazy booty-shakin' rock. It makes me want to throw a party with Natty Light and yellow-cheez popcorn and Everclear Jello shots and Lucky Strikes on somebody's front lawn. Except, I'd probably be shot on sight by anybody who'd actually go to that party. Merde.
And Tricky is...Tricky. You almost can't go wrong.
At the end of the night, I went to see Green Street Hooligans. See, GSH is a film about an American boy who gets kicked out of Harvard over some shit his roommate did, visits London to see his long lost sister, gets involved with his brother-in-law's hooligan brother, and joins his footie hooligan gang.
Not the worst premise for a film ever. I mean, interesting enough for me to cough up a tenner to see it, right?
Except, the kid is played by Frodo. Elijah Wood. And despite his sicko turn in Sin City, I can't see hooligan-Frodo. Seriously. With his big blue saucer-eyes and abashed grin? Just...no.
See, I don't know if you're aware, but the Brits, the ones inclined toward hooliganism? Scary as fuck. As fuck. Like, if I had to choose between a Crip and a drunken, rowdy hooligan, I'm taking my chances with the Crip, because at least then it'll be over cap-in-ass-fast. And they're marked, too. You know which one is the Crip. Those wacky Brits? Not. So. Much. Scariest shit I've ever seen? 3 A.M., streets of London, waiting for a night bus, post-club crowd. Shouts approaching from down the street. A punk kid and a chubby, middle-aged suit trading insults over a girl. Fight starts. Suit kicks the holy-rolling motherfuck out of punk. Like, jumping on his head, screaming, fucked up fighting. I have never seen shit like that before or since, and don't wanna, thankyouverymuch.
Which is all to say, Frodo just does not seem the type to earn his stripes with that kind of crowd in a day. He's so leetle. And baby-faced. And Frodo.
Still, even that was rather an enjoyable part of the day. Except for the small gang of Europeans who sat behind me, talking their crazy Euro language, loudly, through the first ten minutes of the movie. I did wish they'd shut the hell up. Eventually, they did. Note to self: Avoid theaters near universities, wherein lie the world's most insufferable human beings, university students.
Er, that's kinda all. Wow, that was longer than I'd intended, though.
Can we talk about hookers for a second?
Because I followed a link through somebody's blog to that New York Escorts Confession gal's blog and I noticed she has a sidebar featuring local escort agencies' websites.
They can do this? Have web sites? For serious?
So I visited a few, had a look around. Seemed like a bunch of normal girls to me. The thing is, there was so little integration!
I mean, there were agencies that dealt in white girls, agencies that dealt in Asian girls, and agencies that dealt in black girls/hispanic girls. Come on, people! What if a patron wants to get it all in one place? What's that about? Is it about recruitment? Do the escorts not trust recruiters outside their own race? Are mens' tastes that specific, really? What?
Also, and I know this is terribly judgmental of me, but I think that if you favor the brown or black lipliner/nude lips look, you shouldn't be allowed to call yourself an escort. You should have to be considered a hooka-ho. Because "escort" connotes class, and that look does not. Just my opinion.
I am such a bitch.
God, I hate the cons.
Helping poor with rich tax cuts?
That's some straight bullshit.
Poverty will rise
As it has the last four years
Under GOP
Bush's bait and switch:
"We shall overcome" storm strife
Lining friends' pockets.
"Let's cut Medicaid!"
"Let's get rid of food stamps too!"
Then the blacks will die!
Oops, did we say blacks?
We meant, uh--Iraq! Iraq!
Diversions are best.
Ooh, look, Pakistan!
If we help those browns out there
We're so not racist!
Okay, your turn!
Full-Time Sid/Part-Time Sid Numero Dos: Eats and Dranks
Okay, let's look at how Sid has come down in the world of epicurean edification now that she has gone "part-time":
Full-Time Sid
1. Zabar's is her favorite place. Spends $20/wk. on cheeses she can't pronounce
2. Spends her precious free time searching Fairway upstairs for organic ingredients to put into her vodka infusions
3. Orders in or gets takeout at least 3 days per week, roughly $30 per day
4. Spends roughly $80-100/wk. on groceries and sundries for the rest of the days. Fish, fresh veggies, nothing is off-limits
5. Happily plunks down $15 for a cocktail or a single glass of MacAllan when she goes out
6. Hits up Starbucks every day, sometimes twice a day, for venti triple espresso shot tasty drinks
7. Keeps a small bar stocked with top shelf brands
8. Happy hour is a lovely, but optional, concept
9. Gladly pays $5 to have groceries delivered
Part-Time Sid
1. Gets all excited about finding microwave soft pretzels for $1.39, tops them with $0.99 cheezy dip
2. Eats frozen organic meals, but only because they're actually cheaper than the Lean Cuisines
3. Orders in or gets takeout once every week or so; only gets burgers, totalling no more than $15 at a time. Once a month, breaks down and calls Ruby Foo's just to hear the hostess's voice
4. Caps grocery spending at $60/wk. This means lots of frozen and dehydrated meals, plus cucumber salads and a pre-roasted chicken.
5. Invests in a $40 bottle of Glenlivet and prays the workdays won't hurt so much with more time off
6. Only goes to Starbucks when forced (for wi-fi to work) or when craving for a grande soy pumpkin spice latte becomes unbearable, so, twice a week
7. Wishes those damned infusions had turned out better, because those and the Glenlivet are all that're left.
8. Is already planning vacation eateries and boozeries by happy-hour buffet/drinks specials
9. Refuses to pay for grocery delivery; will walk home with a 12 pack of Scott toilet paper strapped to her back; will not even consider a cab
Oh dear lord, I am too tragically menstrual to even think straight wbout anything else tonight.
Happy Monday/Tuesday!
I can spell,
I choose to do it poorly. Rereading that last post, and I've noticed a few, shall we say, errors?
Like "photgraphy." What the shit is that?
Damnit.
I've been like this for days. Absolutely unable to type words out correctly.
Meh.
Other tidbits you didn't really need:
1. The inside of my nose has smelled funny lately. That ever happen to anyone else? Am I alone in noticing these things?
2. How do I manage to only agree to work crazy-long double shift craziness during my period? I swear to you, every month for the last six months, I have been asked to work at least three consecutive 12-20 hour days. And every goddamned one of those shifts have fallen during my tiredest, saddest, bloatiest, most miserable days of the month.
3. I am so looking forward to my next vacation. 6.5 weeks to go. And I'm already making reservations at restaurants and spas and what have you.
4. I need a good lie-down. And a few other things. Heh.
5. I really quite actively dislike not having enough money to throw away on shoes and sexy-to-death bags like that Ani deal below. I should go all Carrie Bradshaw and choose fashion over food. Kill two birds with one stone and all that.
6. I got David Gray's White Ladder on iTunes a few weeks ago. Not bad. I wish I had gotten something else instead, though.
7. Keidra, please remind me (and by that I mean, I have finally remembered and reminded myself, no worries) to send you a copy of Arular.
8. Anybody know some good spas in the San Francisco area? Because my crew has decided we'll all do separate spa treatments, and they've already chosen their spas, and I feel like a spa-search failure.
Larger than life.
Way back when I first moved to the city, I spent a lot of free time combing wig shops and panty stores with my sometime roommate and Internets Superstar Friend while she looked for suitably titillating things to wrap herself in for her adoring Internets fans. I even did some of her photgraphy. That was interesting, being a semi-porn snapper. I mean, you can't say I haven't lived. Okay, this is not about me, sorry.
Well, it seems ISF's star continues to rise and, like the plus-sized, bodacious beauty she is, she's busting out all over. She just finished working on a French indie film produced by the only Frenchman I adore, Mathieu Kassovitz and, she reported giddily, she took a wonderful turn on the runway for Galliano Saturday, and she looked gorgeous.*
Congrats, Internets Superstar Friend!
*Click the link, then click on the tiny photo on the upper right side of the lady in the black dress with the little man. That's ISF. Dude, Orlando Pita did her hair. Dude.
Does anybody say "big ups" anymore?
Does anybody say "big ups" anymore? If so, I think I they (the ups, of course) should go to the lovely and talented M and Mr. Carlos, because, as of this writing, they've each run almost 20 miles, and by the end of the day will have hit the big 26.2 in the Chicago Marathon. Big ups are the least I can give to people who shall soon have no feet.
Well done, y'all!
Yay!
Congrats!
Pain-killing booze on me! Or at least they would be if I were there, sorry.
I'm wasting my breath. Or in this case, my little tappety-taps.
So, Into The Blue was among the top five films for last weekend. Well, it was number five. Astonishing.
I know--I just know--that somewhere, Paul Walker and Jessica Alba are handing ten-spots to chimps and leading them into theaters with bananas tied to strings.
It's the only logical explanation.
Death by Sexy! 1.0
This week's sexy: Bag!*
I love this bag. I think it is sexy. Sexy enough to cause death. Alas, it is something like a bajillion (or $200) dollars, and I just don't have that kind of change to throw around. Zoey bag, by Ani, from Bluefly.com
*This started out as Fall Kit! But I couldn't find a coat. Then it was Fall Accessories! But I couldn't find boots or a scarf I liked. So now, it's just Bag!
Oh, now y'all in a hurry?
Okay, so remember waaaaaaaaaaaay back in the day when I was supposed to be writing a quick script for a video?
Waaaaaaaaaay back in, like, July, when I took the assignment, having been told it was needed in two weeks? That it would be really easy, quick money?
Waaaaaaaaaay back, when, after being told it would need to be ready in two weeks, nobody was telling me shit and the video wasn't even close to done enough for me to watch? Let alone script?
Waaaaaaaaaay back when I took the finally-posted draft of the thing, gave myself a deadline, and wrote the damned script, only to discover they weren't happy with it and decided to recut it? In August?
How about when they recut it again in early September? When I swore I wasn't doing shit else on it or worrying about that bitch, that I have have not yet been paid for, and would only be making a very low three figures on it anyway (if I were to ever be paid, which is a dubious prospect, it seems, considering how long it's taking these mofos to finish the video, damn), until those muhfuggas settled on a damn cut so I wouldn't be wasting my precious goddamn time and money, cabbing up to interview folks and connecting at Starbucks, on some shit that would only have to be redone a week later?
Okay, how about these muhfuggas finally put up a cut last Friday, the last goddamned day of September (when I was supposed to be done with alladis in August, did I mention that?) that might--I said might--be the last one, and now they're all, "How's the script? Can we have it tomorrow?"
*stomping, waving hands, falling down dead*
*eyeroll*
Sure, y'all can have it tomorrow. Y'all can have the same shit I did two months ago, with all the same parts shuffled around into the new spots. The only reason I haven't washed my hands of this already is that the organization that commissioned the video is one I respect, and it'd be nice to have some more writing credits under my belt.
Goddamnit.
I really need to become a hermit.
Poll Time!
Okay, should Sid get:
a) a shrink (help for her issues)
b) a dietitian (help for her ass-ues)
c) an orthodontist (smile perfection)
d) Lasik
e) other (fill in blank, thanks)
I've got about $1400 in medical flexible spending cash I need to use in the next few months or lose forever.
K, Thx.
Sid
Oh Eagles of Death Metal,
I know nothing about thee, and yet
I love thee.
If this weren't already the name of the EoDM album and a D.C.-area band, I'd totally steal it for something. Hey! It isn't a book yet...is it?
Mine!
No!
This will be the name of my next one-time-only-but-let's-pretend-I'll-do-it-every-week feature!
I don't know what the hell Imma do for a feature called "Death by Sexy," but, hey. Something'll come to me.
TMI.
So, my gynecologist is two blocks away from my apartment. I had a 1:30 appointment. I left home about 1:15, got there about 1:20.
It's now 1:48, and I am home, getting my blog on.
That is awesome.
I kept my ticket and saw the movie. As if there was any doubt.
Oh God, I loved it. It was so worth $30. And I will be going back to see it in general release next month.
Cillian Murphy was outstanding: truly spooky-beautiful as Kitten, but played with a sort of clean, innocent goodness in his crazy baby blues the whole time. I doubt he'll make a habit of roles like this, but it is almost as though he is the Side of Light (TM)'s answer to spooky-lovely, but definitely Side of Darkness (TM), Dorian Gray-sinister Jonathan Rhys Myers.
Ruth Negga was fantastic. And gorgeous. I just loved to look at her, and listen to her, and watch her onscreen, being absolutely present in their friendship at all times. And, godblessher, she grew up as a black woman in Ireland with the last name Negga. She must have balls of steel at this point.
Gavin Friday! Gavin Friday! I now luh' me some Gavin Friday!
The entire cast was quite good. I feel like each of Murphy's eyes should get an Oscar, one for best supporting actor, one for best supporting actress, because he can work those bitches.
Neil Jordan, who turned up and was kind enough to do a Q&A after the film, is wunnerful. I loved his not-terribly-technical-nor-mindnumbingly-esoteric answers to the audience questions. He certainly didn't seem like he had an overlarge ego.
But I think what I loved most about the film was the story itself. Kitten was so relentlessy optimistic, in her way, and always honest with those around her, again, in her way. Yes, she was a he in drag, but even in her gender performance, she never sought to deceive. And everything she ever did, she did out of bloodyminded goodness, from tossing IRA guns stashed in her house into the nearest body of water after a friend was blown up in the conflict (foolishly risking her life and that of boyfriend Billy, played by Gavin Friday), to going so far as to contrive to meet her long-lost mother, the woman who was practically her alter-ego's raison d'etre, but never uttering a word of their kinship once she saw the settled life her mother had built, a loyalty not every abandoned child would be big enough to display.
God, and it was so funny. And sad. And I so often just wanted to cry a little for the misfits in the world. I mean, I'm one of them, clearly, but this movie was just so spot on in showing the beauty as well as the tragedy of cultural liminality.
Sigh.
Too much. Okay, I'm done. But y'all better see this goddamned movie when it comes out.
Saturday Can Bite Me, or, Goddamn, I Need a Drink
First of all, I've lost $20. It fell out of my pocket somewhere. Losing $20 sucks sucks in general, but it's hextra salt and lemon the wound when just the day before, you've gotten into a cab that a distracted couple was getting out of, spotted the $40 they'd dropped on the floor of the cab, and gave it back. Goddamnit! Where's my good money karma?
Second of all, since my bank was taken over by a larger bank, there seems to have been a change in policy regarding what one is told one's balance is. My old bank, if I checked the balance, would tell me what was available after all holds and transactions. My new megabank gives you a balance that doesn't account for holds. This is a problem, because a) I'm not used to that shit and b) sometimes, shit I've bought on Tuesday, though posted, doesn't actually go through until, like, the following week. Oh, and c) those bitches don't tell you shit. Like, rather than, say, having your card declined for insufficient funds--thus alerting you (and by you, I mean me) to the fact that your spendy ass needs to go ahead and make that transfer from savings to checking--they'll put the transaction through, then charge you a penalty for being overdrawn. So, yeah, my bank posted a transaction, which looked complete to me, didn't withdraw the money until a week later, and then"allowed" me to overdraw $5. Five goddamned dollars. And then they billed me $30 for the privilege. Say the fuck what? So, it's like I've actually lost $50 this week. That's 2/3 of a pair of Pumas, goddamnit!
*banging head on brick reserved solely for that purpose*
