Monday, January 30, 2006

the sound of an alarm clock makes me crazy.

i'm beginning to think i want a studio apartment. as much as i'm afraid i'd be lonely...i am more afraid that i will end up committing some sort of serious felony by living with others. boys drive girls crazy, and thus cause them to be annoying and shrill and distracting. i dislike being around girls who are currently in a state of insanity because of a certain member of the opposite sex. is it some sort of viral disease? more likely a severe hormonal imbalance. apologies to others for this affection in myself [i know it's happened occasionally and from time to time.] whatever it is, i am going out of my head.

insomnia is fun, except when you have to get up at 730 in the morning. at 730 in the morning, insomnia is like a bag of bricks swinging wildly at your face while your bed whispers in a most ingenious voice [very similar to viggo mortensen, and on occasion with a slight australian lilt ala heath ledger] "i am a hole of comfort and safety and warmth. hide beneath my blankets with your head upon my pillow and no one will know the difference" and just as you almost succumb to its wiley seduction, the bed vanishes, and in its place appears a textbook, which is dancing around, waving its flimsy little arms and chanting "no sleep for you, sucka!" i actually sometimes hear these things. is this bad? my textbooks are really mean-spirited. thus, my owly expression in the morning. but they cannot pull off the slang use of the word "sucker" (nor would they be able to pull off the word itself if they were to say it correctly, because they are textbooks, and not gansta rap stars) and so i laugh a little bit. but then i realize that i still have to stay awake, and start scowling again. ergh. i am SO not a morning person. civilization does not exist before 1045. thanks for offering, i'll be unconscious 'til then.

+ brown sweaters
+ reading poetry in the morning to wake myself up
+ understanding econ
+ naps (my saving grace)
+ brokeback mountain
having my best friend back in the country

- having to understand econ
- 850s
- lying eyes and uneasy social states
- apartment hunting
- back problems
- bad food

our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up
we're just a million tiny gods causin' rain storms
turnin' every good thing to rust

Thursday, January 19, 2006

perusing the habits of an opal-eyed hermit

i am in a tizzy. therefore, indulging. violently. ok, not quite violently...but pretty hardcore. [i can't believe i just wrote hardcore in a blog. blech. is it worse that i'm talking to myself about writing badly online? i should probably stop this.]

indulging in what? comfort things. music, food, people, books. movies, TV, habitual activities that make me feel lighter and less dramatic. comfort things.

.righteously-angry comfort music: ani difranco [gravel]
.revolutionary comfort music: bob dylan [times they are a changin']
.beach-bum comfort music: jack johnson [banana pancakes]
.love-song comfort music: jason mraz [after an afternoon]

.spunky-yet-heartwarming comfort movie: october sky
.accepting-my-mental-state comfort movie: girl, interrupted.
.discovering-the-non-phony comfort movie: igby goes down (see holden caulfield for a definition of "phony")
.all-things-80s comfort movie: the breakfast club

.old-school-cool comfort TV: M*A*S*H
.dramatic-healing comfort TV: ER (specifically older episodes with george clooney)
.manhattans-and-stilettos comfort TV: sex and the city
.cartoon comfort TV: the muppet babies or the new adventures of winnie the pooh

.obliviously-cheerful comfort habit: dancing on bascom
.broodingly-thoughtful comfort habit: writing in the dark
.insomniatic comfort habit: listening to the lake at night
.endorphin-charged comfort habit: running to picnic point

that is all.

"I wrote 2000 poems one year. I don't know what they are about, I never figured that out, but I believed in them. I used to chase my friends around with my poems trying to get them to read them and they didn't want to because then they'd have to tell me how horrible they were."

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

mismatching tennis shoes on sundays

i like lists more than complete thoughts at the moment. oops.

champagne, raised in slender glasses, bubbles rising infinitely. a toast, 10 days late.
to the boys in thug boots and bling, wearing oversized sweatshirts and cornrolls...thank you for singing gospel harmony while waiting for your food. you made my day. to every woman in a car at a traffic light, music blasting, wailing along to the heartbreak songs in that throaty voice which only comes out when you really want to cry. to bad coffee and donuts at 7 in the am. to indie film makers and movies about small children with big eyes and curious voices. to slinky black skirts, white silk, and skanky black heels...every girl needs skanky black heels. [well, not really. but they're really a lot of fun.] to old high school english teachers who remind you that a) terribly amazing things are in store, b) not everyone needs to be an engineer to make money, c) not everyone needs to make a lot of money to be happy, and d) costume jewelry is never out of place (on the right person). to recurring dreams about destined cats and endlessly disappearing hallways. to awkward sentences and supremely awkward questions. to kitchens in the twilight hours: assef's, kristen's, kate's. these are some of my favorite places. to falling in love with someone because of their mouth, and to falling out because of the words that come out of it. to being dirty! eating vegetables! liking trashy detective stories about new jersey! to sleeping until noon, eating ben and jerry's at 2 in the morning, and wearing no socks in january.

.i've been thinking. [cat power]
.have you ever. [creedance clearwater revival]
.i've got dreams to remember [otis redding]
.can't cross over. [miriam makeba]
.the only living boy in new york. [simon & garfunkel]
.house of the rising sun. [the animals]
.rainy day women #12 & 35. [bob dylan]
.beautiful soul. [jesse mccartney] <--- this is my guilty pleasure song. don't give me shit for loving it. i won't take it.

like a tiger in the dark you were hungry from the start
am i losin' control am i losin' my soul just tell me, am i losin' you?

Sunday, January 01, 2006

there's (no) sex in the champagne room

no ____ one ____ defies ____ artificial ____ light
I'll cut all your wires I never cared Cut all your wires What can be there? It's dead. And all the invisible arcs Are caught in my head And the invisible arcs Are caught in my head

happy fuckin' 2006!

grocery shopping in heels. wontons and apple gouda quesadillas and sex [and the city...clearly]. trivial pursuit rematch: guys vs. girls. pop culture queen. [accidentally] forgetting assef, and having to retrieve her at 1147. champagne flowing from the rooftops. party on pill hill (!) sneaking in like we're in the underground railroad. "they can't count!" huge walk in closets and nice rugs and dancing and hot convention happenings. attempting to sleep on futons and on floors and everywhere in between...unsuccessfully. being awake at 730 and wanting coffee (but not getting it until 12). mixes with rainer maria and simon and garfunkel and otis redding. losing things in the giant house of a thousand rooms and ten thousand doors. caribou with my girls. how are we going to top this?!

That's another reason I love New York. Just like that, it can go from bad to cute.