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Archive for October, 2008

socialism chic.

In inspiration, random older stuff on October 31, 2008 at 3:05 pm

If you believe the Republican misinformation machine, all of my fellow Obama supporters are socialists. Or at least, we’re down for the allegedly socialist “redistribution of wealth.”
This week the Victoria and Albert Museum (London) begins a new show “Beyond Espionage: Fashion under Socialism.” Using footage from newsreels and documentaries from Czechoslavakia and East Germany, these program analyzes the role of fashion as Eastern Blog propaganda tool.

From the article/interview on Dazed Digital :

“there was a difference between ‘official’ fashion and what was worn by the people on a daily basis. The ‘official’ fashion was heavily ideologised. The term ‘fashion’ itself was rejected as a wasteful phenomenon of Western capitalism. In the Eastern Bloc, the concept ‘clothing culture’ became important.”
“You could say fashion – or rather clothing culture, as Renate says – was used to really drum socialism home. Fashion, as well as other areas of design, architecture and of course fine art were all embraced as important media of the Cold War propaganda. The key message in the post-war era, throughout the 1950s and spilling into the 1960s, was to promote a culture that offered civilian, everyday, no-nonsense clothes for the working man or woman, rationalised and standardised, rejecting ‘Western’ notions of luxury, glamour and extravagance.”

I can’t help but think that this is the perfect time to reject the idea of luxury items like non-functional, hard-to-wear haute couture…

almost halloween…

In inspiration, my friends on October 30, 2008 at 9:20 pm

Janelle and I are doing that matching costumes couple thing. But not in the biblical sense, perverto.

Originally we were going to be creepy twins (maybe a stretch, but we do kind of look like sisters).

A really long visit to the Thrift Fair resulted in a new costume direction…and now I’m somehow dressing as the same character as last year…since I gave away the dress and I can’t find the oh-so-important red cape (hidden somewhere in moving boxes), I have to reinterpret/revisit the entire concept. Don’t worry…a replacement cape has been found.
Copious Flickr research has indicated that a red-and-white dress is not truly required.
P.S. We are celebrating Halloween south of the Mason-Dixon Line.

sports happened, too.

In here and now, random older stuff on October 30, 2008 at 2:34 pm

I’m sure I’ll be out starting fires and flipping cars on Election Night, so who am I to judge?

P.S. The cheering/shrieking/sobbing, gun-shooting, and fireworks-lighting stretched on until almost dawn, joined by sirens around 11 pm. The streets in my neighborhood were glittery with broken glass this morning.

Photos borrowed from Philebrity.

don’t be jealous…

In here and now, my friends on October 29, 2008 at 2:05 pm

…but this weekend I am going here:

that time i behaved very poorly.

In personal blah blah on October 28, 2008 at 9:30 pm
Most of the time, I’m a pretty good girl. I don’t steal or lie or hit on boys with girlfriends. I never litter and I feed stray animals.
But every once in a while, I do something so heinous, so terrible, that it sort of pays up my bad girl dues for the next year or two.
Probably one of the worst things I’ve done…the act requiring the highest level of duplicity and utter disregard for ethics…happened six years ago, when I cheated on my boyfriend. I mean, this was more than some “I got drunk at a party and I found myself making out with your friend when I said I was walking to the store to get cigarettes” situation. Well, that happened, too…but like, 10 years ago in Chicago. A different boyfriend, different geography, and a very different me.
This act of infidelity lasted a year. It began just days before I moved to Portland to be with my boyfriend (but more importantly, start a new new life). My mom pretended not see the bite marks on my neck (look, this guy was young and enthusiastic, so cut me some slack) when we went to drop off boxes of clothes and art supplies at UPS. In the-not-so-distant-future, when my boyfriend called to inform her that her daughter was sleeping with a 20 year-old boy, she responded, “Oh, I’ve known since day one. He’s a really nice boy!”
Portland was initially an epic disappointment.   I couldn’t find a job.  It rained constantly.  I had no friends.  My boyfriend was constantly stoned.  We never slept together, because he usually just passed out on the living room floor with his dog.
My long distance other-boyfriend was back on the east coast. There were long late night phone calls in the bathtub while my actual boyfriend worked in the dining room. A steady flurry of mixtapes, letters, and random thrift store loot passed back and forth between us. And yes, we emailed, too. I decided to go back east for two months, partially to spend quality time with my mom, but really, to spend every night with my young lad, riding bikes, listening to music, and making out. And hanging out in diners, sharing books, and drinking whiskey in the country. After 8 weeks of solid bliss and relaxation, it was really hard to return to my lonely, semi-unhappy life in Portland. The ticket was booked and there was no escaping my fate.
Back on the west coast, everything escalated to a boiling fervor. Obviously I was inexperienced at deceit, because I took no pains to disguise anything. My boyfriend saw the long phone calls on our shared phone bill. He pulled the letters out of the mailbox after walking his dog each night. He gave me stamps and envelopes. He watched me fastidiously cue  records for yet another mixtape. But he never asked me anything about it. I’m not sure when he began to suspect that something unsavory was happening…
…but somewhere along the line, he decided to catch me. He could have asked me outright. “Are you sleeping with ______?” I am terrible at lying, so I usually don’t bother trying. I would have answered “yes.” Maybe he didn’t know this, or maybe he just really wanted to torture himself…or perhaps he just wanted a challenge? I’m sure he relished the idea of tricking me. One night while I was asleep, he secretly installed a program on my computer that captured all of my passwords. And then he logged into my email. All he really found was a lot of inside jokes and stupid catch-up sessions with my Chicago friends. There was actually nothing
incriminating. Nonetheless, he printed out every bit of correspondence between me and my secret boyfriend. For good measure, he also added some emails to/from my first boyfriend Brad and my Chicago friend Alex (also a good friend of Brad). And then he faxed copies to my parents. Sweet.
My mom was annoyed. “I read half a page and then I realized that you and your friends talk about some stupid stuff.”
My father had no comment.
After utilizing his office’s fax machine, he came home to confront me. The actual conversation happened on the balcony. I knew what was coming. In fact, I had been awaiting this moment for months
“So…are you cheating on me with _____?”
“Yes.”
And then he let loose with paragraphs I can’t remember. He waved the emails in my face.
I was so relieved. Now we could break up. I could move into my own place. Freedom was imminent.
I apologized, but I know that I didn’t mean it. Sure, I was sorry for lying to him. And I was extra sorry about hurting him. But I didn’t regret anything else. 
I took Dylan out for a walk, so I could call my mom.  She answered the phone after many rings.  ”So…I guess you ‘re in some trouble?  I have you boyfriend on the other line. ”  She laughed.  
“Are you mad at me?”  I asked this nervously.
She laughed even harder.  ”Of course not.  The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
Oh, yes…I forget to mention this:  my mother was a terrible wife when I was a child.  Lots of adultery.   Since I was less a daughter, and more a friend, she frequently took me along to her fellows’ houses.  This usually didn’t bother me, because generally she got involved with guys who had cable.  
For some reason, my boyfriend and I did not break up.  We struggled for six more months…maybe slightly longer.  During this time, I had to give up any sense of privacy (he even searched my bag regularly).  And any scrap of dignity was sacrificed, too.  He especially enjoyed bringing up my cheating in front of his friends at parties and dinners.   “It’s amazing to me that a single mother, with a dead junkie boyfriend no less, thinks that it’s okay for her to go around sleeping with teenagers behind my back.”    And so on.  It reached a point where even his friends thought he was being sadistic.
 
Why did I tolerate this?  It certainly wasn’t a fear of being alone.  I know that’s the common reason people stay together.  I definitely felt guilty about hurting him, even if he was a pretty awful boyfriend.  Somehow I wanted to prove that I wasn’t so bad.  
Finally I just couldn’t take it any more.  I could say that the last straw was when he sent emails from my account to every male in my address book.  Or when he wouldn’t stop calling my mom to talk about what a slut I might be.  But really…it came down to this:  I realized that I would never ever be happy again if I stayed in that relationship.  And I knew my unhappiness would trickle down to Dylan.     This was not an option.
Dylan and I moved to SE Portland…and that marked the beginning of the Portland life I came to love (and still do).

yay!

In here and now on October 27, 2008 at 12:25 am

A small thing that totally made my day: when I pulled up to my parents’ house yesterday, there was a familiar pickup truck (there are a lot of those in my family) parked out front…with an Obama/Biden bumper sticker. At first I was like, “I guess Jerad (my little brother) has a different truck now?”

But when I went inside…I found out that it was my Grandpa’s truck! We ended up talking about politics for a long time. He’s been trying to convince all of his senior citizen friends to vote for Obama. This is how he summed it up: “I know a lot of people are afraid of change, but McCain and the Republicans just have policies that are really bad for us.” Not bad…although he still doesn’t think that women should drive cars.

Dylan also revealed that she is voting for Obama in the school mock election. Although she expressed concern that her vote “might not come true” since she said it aloud. I like the idea of equating one’s vote with a wish.

in the days of yore…

In my friends on October 26, 2008 at 11:55 pm

Back in the day, I lived in Portland, Oregon.
Sometimes I thought the city was too small, because I was constantly encountering individuals I would have preferred to avoid. Coincidentally, I also met a lot of people I love…
Yesterday I was moving stuff to my external hard drive, and I found some random photos from 2006 hanging out on my computer…

This is my friend Ryan, playing with his band Junkface, in the basement of my house in North Portland. I didn’t live there for a particularly lengthy time, but I did have enough time to see some good (and bad) bands play on Saturday nights in my basement, sprain my ankle in a freak trampoline accident, and ultimately have most of my belongings (and a bit of my sanity) destroyed in a really crazy, made-for-tv-movie situation.


This is my friend Rina, in our friend Ross’s yard, playing with a magical glowing orb. Some awesome things about this lady: 1. she is the best teacher ever, 2. she nursed the aforementioned ankle sprain with a bag of frozen strawberries and her boyfriend’s drugs, 3. she and I like to sing Liz Phair and Bikini Kill songs while we bike around together, 4. we once drove her small car about 70 blocks–including a trip across the Burnside Bridge–while holding the doors closed because we tried to stuff our bikes inside (they did not fit well). In fact, I’m pretty sure Rina was steering the car with her right hand while holding the door with her left hand.

I took this photo in NE Portland. The person next to me is mostly evil and definitely 100 percent angry, but I still really like this shot.


Zach and Rina at Dot’s. Zach is trying to demonstrate the theory “L7=square.” If I recall, Zach got really wasted, tried to drink a miniature box of wine that he smuggled into the bar, and then said something like, “I’m a rebel by nature.” Brian E. and I are still chuckling about that.


Reyna with some plastic spaghetti. Doesn’t everyone keep faux food on their mantle?

This is Liz at the Tube. In the last six months I was in Portland, my friends and I created a new tradition: “perfect close” at work (agh…don’t ask) and then copious drinking at the Tube (followed by lots of dancing). I always scheduled the same group of friends to work every Sunday nights…making an otherwise agonizing shift a lot more fun.

Reyna, Rina, and Rachel in my basement in North Philadelphia.

One of my favorite photos ever…Rachel, Em C, and apple-flavored gum.

throwdown.

In boys, personal blah blah on October 24, 2008 at 6:29 pm

One cold night last winter, I found myself at a show in a church in Greenpoint. Icy wind was blowing through the seams in the old walls. I was wearing a hat, scarf, and gloves as I sat in the pew pulling my coat tightly around me.

I had this burning feeling in the back of my neck…that telltale sensation of someone watching me. I pretended to rummage through my bag for gum while covertly looking behind me. The culprit was seated almost directly behind me; he wore a big fur hat. Despite my attempts at being cool, he knew I was looking at him.

He started directly into my eyes. His glance clearly said that my coat and scarf had vanished. Stockings, dress, and undergarments…long gone. Perhaps I was still wearing my gloves, hat, and boots…these were unimportant details. I turned away fast, stuffing two pieces of gum in my mouth.

I could feel his eyes for the rest of the show. Afterwards, I ran off to meet Marie in the other room. “This guy was undressing me with his eyes in there!” I described him: tall, big head, blue eyes, fur hat. She laughed. “Oh, that’s _____. He’s a total womanizer!”

This forced me to find him, pretend to be flirty with him, and then, start being really sarcastic and mean.

You see, this is the thing: I really hate guys who think they can have any girl they want. Or more precisely, I hate when they come across that way. Like, I’m all for confidence, but I am definitely turned off by arrogance. If you’re a real player, you will manipulate me into thinking you are a tiny bit insecure. But guys acting as if taking off my panties with their teeth is an inevitable action, a for sure, sure thing…blah. That just challenges me to NOT sleep with them, out of contrariness. Suddenly I’m putting on an extra pair of underwear and the most complicated layers of shirts…added obstacles just in case my resolve wanes.

But…the real dealbreaker, the coldest figurative shower…nervous, insecure fellows. Oh, all of my friends have experienced this individual on occasion. This is the guy who is practically shaking IF–and this is a big IF– he musters the courage to touch your leg. Forget about kissing or–GOD FORBID–sex. And if you’re the sort of lady who doesn’t mind taking the initiative on occasion–and of course you are–get ready for the weirdest, most awkward sexual encounter ever. There’s a chance he might say “I’m sorry” to you afterwards. Um. Thanks. If you’re like me, you’ll never want to sleep with this person again. In fact, it might make you apprehensive about sleeping with ANYONE ever again (but fret not…you’ve just got to get back on–another–horse and ride again). But maybe you are a true optimist; you really believe that this guy will gain some confidence after a few rolls on the hay. Well, he might stop peeing himself every time you kiss his neck, but I can virtually guarantee that he will never, ever initiate any sexual contact…even if you are with him for years.

Of course, this is unfortunate….because for me, it’s all about the throwdown. If some guy can’t just pick me up and carrying me off to his bedroom, I’m pretty bored. (Obviously I’m not referring to anything remotely resembling date rape). I like the idea of being seduced. I’ve had that boyfriend that never, ever started anything with me. At first, it was fun to always dictate the when, where, and how. But after a while, I started to feel bored. Weirdly insecure. Confused.

So I guess this proves only one thing: I only really want to sleep with like, 15% of the population: these are the individuals who are intuitive enough to realize that I am interested in them…because they are picking up on my own signals, not because they just assume that every lady wants a piece of them.
But then, when I subtract stupid boys, lazy boys, uncute boys, mean boys, weird smelling boys, crybabies, those who want to try to control me….suddenly that leaves less than 1 percent of the population.

In the end, I suppose it’s good that I’m really into plenty of solitude.

propaganda.

In inspiration on October 23, 2008 at 9:26 pm

There’s been some uproar about this poster on Salon regarding the sexual content of this poster (ie, is it just using women as sex objects in an attempt to promote the Democratic cause?). I tend to disagree, since the real point if this poster is pretty obvious: Sarah Palin is not a feminist. She doesn’t care about equal pay, abortion rights, and universal access to quality women’s health care.

This was inspired by the iconic anti-draft poster photographed by Larry Gates in the 60s, featuring Joan Baez and her sisters.

P.S. I refuse to sleep with any fellows that vote for McCain.

bossy.

In personal blah blah on October 23, 2008 at 8:45 pm

Today I have been thinking about bosses. Overall, I really like and respect my boss. Sometimes she just drives me crazy. It’s not anything about her. She is smart and nice and actually pretty funny…it’s just that I occasionally become a petulant teenager. And as a result, I have to dislike authority or something.

My assistant (Alex) and I are pretty good friends. We eat lunch together every day. Sometimes we go to yoga together (but she is polite enough to declare “in a minute, you’re going to see my boobs” when we are in the locker room changing). We talk about boy stuff and other silly gossip. She knows personal stuff about me that only my close friends would know, like… I don’t wear underwear for yoga (she is scandalized by this).

But still…I’m sure there are days when I am driving her crazy because I am always wearing headphones and why does she have to send me an instant message, why can’t she just talk to me like a normal fucking person? Or why I am passing her an endless stream of orders without any pause, she’s only one person after all? And why do I sometimes write the letter “z” when I mean number “7,” I mean didn’t I pass kindergarten? And so on…

But back in the day, in ye olde Portland, I was a manager in a store with lots of employees. Not only do I have a pretty grating personality, but I also wrote the schedule. So of course, I was incredibly unpopular. I was trying to think of the most intense example of hatred among the sales associates, and I remembered a message I received years ago on fucking MYSPACE from a recently fired employee. This required some digging, because I couldn’t even remember when it happened…for some reason the m-space saves your inbox messages until the end of time? I also noticed that I have a lot of messages with the subject of “i’m sorry” from that time period, from a wide variety of individuals.

The sender of this message was fired while I was on vacation, after I tried to save her job for months just because I thought she was nice (even though I have to admit, she was a TERRIBLE worker). I was almost relieved to discover she was gone when I returned, because my boss had recently confronted me about being too “soft” on this girl.

Date: Feb 5, 2006 3:42 AM
Subject: HEY GIRL!

I think you are a horrible person. I don’t know what your problem with me is. It’s too bad. I hope that you have a good time working a mediocre retail job for the rest of your life. You’re 28, you have an illegitimate child, and you still hang out with barely legal hipster cry babies that have nothing better to do than go to the tube every day. Hey cool. That’s pretty wild. Welp, see ya later.
xoxo
(name withheld to protect the foolish)

p.s. Sorry you’re jealous that I made out with ______ and you ONLY casually spooned him. :(

Oh man….some of my favorite things about this message:

1. The PS—I mean, yeah…I did casually spoon a sales associate after taking a whole bunch of codeine cough syrup (I had bronchitis…so it was a semi-legitimate abuse of prescription medication) and then nodding off at his house. However, he did inform me that “house rules=no pants,” so I obediently took off my jeans. This was at least a month before I slept with the display artist (not technically my employee) and several months before I started sleeping with someone that actually worked for me. I was probably at least semi-jealous because she had the gumption to make out with her co-workers before I did.

2. Just to reiterate…she sent me this message on FUCKING MYSPACE!!! Way to communicate through a serious outlet. Yep, now I knew that her feelings were hurt FOR REALS!

3. This girl–as far as I know–now lives at home with her parents.

Also–I would just like to say that none of my friends are crybabies and most of them are pushing 30. We still hang out at the Tube occasionally, but we start to feel elderly after a while. The 20-year old faux hipsters turn us off, but we’re all too budget conscious to stay away from a happy hour that runs until 10. And I still get free drinks there.

And yes…Dylan is illegitimate…but I prefer the totally posi, awesomely romantic term “love child.”

self justification.

In my friends, personal blah blah on October 22, 2008 at 9:32 pm

I have all kinds of phobias and fears: bees (duh), most insects (but not spiders) and escalators are just a few. None of the things I worry about on a normal basis are too freaky. I drive like a grandma because I am nervous about car accidents. I just can’t accept that I might be a decent driver. I double check the locks in windows in my house, because–let’s be honest–I live in a sketchy neighborhood. Nothing too unreasonable there. What if they economy gets bad and I lose my job? That’s not too unrealistic.

And then some of my concerns become really overwhelming and frightening for about five minutes, and then I forget about them. What if Dylan gets cancer (this is not too crazy, considering my own health history)? What if I get cancer again (my father had it twice)? What is something bad happens to my mom? What if my brother and his wife get a divorce someday? What if one of my cats gets some sort of life-threatening illness and I can’t afford the treatment and then they die? What if nuclear weapons fall in to the wrong hands? What if the rate of global warming accelerates? What if Roe v. Wade is overturned?

But my two greatest fears follow me around every where I go:

1. What if I hurt someone’s feelings, possibly scarring them forever and giving them a whole boatload of issues to follow them around for the rest of their lives?
Okay, that might sound ridiculous at first, but let’s think about it. Once in a heated argument with my mom–I think I was 20 at the time–she said that she wished I had never been born. Obviously she didn’t really mean that, but I have to say, every once in a while I will think of that moment…and it hurts more than words can describe.
And so, I swallow all of my bad thoughts. I have literally bitten my tongue so many times. I have avoided phone calls, emails, and social functions solely to prevent myself from accidentally letting it all out.
Oh sure, there are plenty of people who deserve an earful. Ryan’s parents (a complicated, unfortunate story for another time). Half of my relatives. Former friends. Former boyfriends. A specific hateful little Portland resident.

“You will never see Dylan if I have my way.”
“You are a small-minded racist and your hatred is killing you a little bit every day.”
“You have alienated every positive female in your life by being a pathetic thieving slut.”
“Everything about you is fake. Your writing, your alleged suffering, the life story you present to others.”
“I can guarantee you are going to spend your whole life alone and miserable. I am just waiting for you to kill yourself.”

I justify the stifling of my anger with the notion that I am being the “better” person and taking the “higher” road.
I want vengeance as much as the next person. I long for apologies and admissions of guilt. Oh, validation!

2. What if I am disappointed?
I hate Easter egg hunts, unless they are in my grandma’s back yard. But those epic Easter egg hunts thrown by the town council or the VFW…forget it. When I hear the word “disappointment” I think of a specific hunt in third grade. I stood in the center of the field for 10 minutes, realizing that I had not found a single egg. I was worried about how disappointed my grandma would be. And I was disappointed with myself for being too slow, too nervous, too something bad…to find any eggs.
Disappointment comes in many packages. Your boyfriend forgets your birthday. You don’t get a raise. No valentines in your construction paper mailbox. Standing along the wall with your other socially unacceptable friends during slow dances. Discovering that your romantic feelings are not reciprocated. Failing the written part of the driver’s license exam three times (true story).
I just can’t stand even the faintest hint of disappointment. I would rather not allow myself to have expectations. I think I am doing a favor for myself by never going out on a limb.
So suddenly my avoidance of all potentially disappointing situations is catching up with me. Or at least, it’s wearing on me. And my allegedly selfless strategy of never, ever expressing my negative feelings is really, really tiring me.

Janelle [4:41 PM]:
you just need to loosen up
Janelle [4:41 PM]:
sometimes
Amanda [4:41 PM]:
really?
Janelle [4:41 PM]:
stop thinking so hard about what might happen
Janelle [4:41 PM]:
i dunno
Amanda [4:41 PM]:
ha
Janelle [4:41 PM]:
sometimes
Janelle [4:41 PM]:
you thnk about the consequences too hard
Amanda [4:41 PM]:
cite some examples
Amanda [4:42 PM]:
obviously i don’t want to be so crazy all the time
Janelle [4:42 PM]:
well i have a bad memory. sorry
Amanda [4:42 PM]:
ha!
Janelle [4:42 PM]:
me neither
Amanda [4:42 PM]:
a lot of help you are
Janelle [4:42 PM]:
im not crazy
Amanda [4:42 PM]:
i can’t help it: i worry a lot about bad things happening.
Amanda [4:42 PM]:
but when confronted with an actual bad situation, i don’t just fall apart
Janelle [4:44 PM]:
i know
Janelle [4:44 PM]:
but sometimes its ok.
Janelle [4:44 PM]:
to be vulnerable.
Amanda [4:44 PM]:
i think the thing i fear most is disappointment
Janelle [4:44 PM]:
and nothing THAT bad will happen. . that you can’t keep living and move on. and learn from it.
Janelle [4:44 PM]:
NO REGRETs
Janelle [4:44 PM]:
I MEAN, you know, all respectively
Amanda [4:44 PM]:
i know, i know
Amanda [4:44 PM]:
i think i’m suffocating myself by holding in my feelings
Amanda [4:45 PM]:
i was thinking that might be what that dream about piling the rocks on my chest might be about
Janelle [4:46 PM]:
true

I can agree with what Janelle is saying. But the thing is this: in the distant past, I have been that super crazy person who just went around letting it all out all the time. And everyone thought I was crazy, unreliable, ridiculous…really, I felt like a caricature. I don’t want to be that person again. I’m glad that my friends think I am strong and at least somewhat wise. At the very least, I’m taking care of business.
But it would be good to stop worrying about what COULD happen and devote more time to what is ACTUALLY happening. I guess at least I’m not stressing about what is NOT happening. Oh wait…maybe I am…
And I have to admit this: I AM suffocating under the weight of my internalized feelings. I’m not sure what to do about this, short of taking an epic road trip wherein I confront each individual on my bad list. Janelle–do you want to come along? We could probably find good thrift shopping AND we could do lots of fun tourist stuff. I would probably lose my voice from all of the shouting I would be doing, so you wouldn’t have to worry about keeping up steady conversation on the road.

the fallen debutante.

In personal blah blah on October 21, 2008 at 1:23 am

Ryan and I were having sushi in Wicker Park when he admitted that one of our mutual friends frequently referred to me as “The Debutante.”

I giggled but I really wasn’t sure why it was funny. And maybe it wasn’t supposed to be funny? “Huh? Because I’m such a snappy dresser?”

“No. I mean, you do dress well. But it’s because he thinks you are some kind of heiress or something.” He paused. “You come from some kind of fancy background, don’t you?”

I laughed so hard, that rice flew out of my nose and landed in his little dish of soy sauce.
I covered my face with a napkin to prevent the escape of any more stray food. I counted to ten while I regained my composure.

“Um. No. Actually I grew up in the country and my family was/is really poor. We drank a lot of powdered milk. And my mom got married and divorced a lot. We moved frequently, sometimes more than one time in a year. “

He was puzzled. “Why didn’t I know this? Isn’t that the kind of thing I should know?”

I didn’t really have an answer for this. At this point we had been dating for a year. He liked to talk about himself. This worked out well for me because a. I was his biggest fan and b. I really didn’t want anyone to know anything about me. There were too many sad and scary skeletons in my closet. Let one out, and suddenly they’re all coming out holding hands in an endless parade of Amanda’s tragedies and disappointments.

And furthermore, I was intuitive enough to know that Ryan would (and did) use any of these facts against me in an argument. The surefire path to victory in a You vs. Me fight is implying that my judgment or behavior has been adversely affected by something that bad that happened to me in the past. I’m too much of a lawyer to accept a mere insult. Cold hard data is required to make me flinch.

My first boyfriend Brad knew everything about me. He had me when I was too young and inexperienced to realize the value of a secure mental filing cabinet. And we lived together during a particularly wretched part of my life, when I spent hours and hours at therapy and my bedside table was filled with prescription bottles of substances meant to soothe my crazy mind. To his credit, he never used this information against me. He fought honorably. But I swear I could see pity in his eyes. He wanted to save me. I was not interested in salvation.

But Ryan, the father of my future child? He knew little. I never wanted to sully the image he had of me. Sure, my own foolish behavior and epic mistakes proved to him that I was far from perfect. I knew that was enough. There was no need to really lay it out for him. The last thing I wanted was his sympathy.

And so I became my own PR department. I honed my skills with each passing day. I learned to keep my mouth shut, even in the most drunken/drug-addled moments. Only a few people I truly, truly trusted learned anything important about me.

A few years ago, my boyfriend (at the time) tried to buy cocaine for me on my birthday. I was horrified. He was wasted beyond reason, swaying as I tried to set him straight on the sidewalk outside the bar.

“I don’t do coke. You know that, right?”
No response.

“My boyfriend died of a drug overdose. Dylan’s father. You know this, right?”

Just a look of confusion.

“I used to have a scary problem with drugs. I OD’d and almost died. I know that you know this.”

Nothing.

“I have a child. People with children can’t do hard drugs!”

Finally, he said something. “I really did not know any of that information.” Said in the the loosest slur.

I grabbed his hand and began the long walk to our apartment. I was too upset for a cab ride.

With each step, I questioned his statement. Obviously he knew about Dylan. I mean, the three of us had hung out countless times. And I was sure he must have asked about her father. I will never obscure the truth if someone is clever enough to ask outright. And drugs.
We had definitely talked about that many times. There had been social situations during which I had declined offers, and I had explained it to him later. We had laughed as we rode our bikes home.

But even so, I was questioning my memory. Maybe I had just thought about these things while he was talking. Maybe I had never said any of aloud. Maybe he really didn’t know anything about me.

Back to the here and now–I’ve been saving lots of stories–some are my own, some belong to my friends, others are anecdotes overheard on buses and airplanes. I am terrible with names, but I will never forget a story. And writing my book, having this blog, churning out short stories….it’s all part of piecing all of these little vignettes and ideas together. Yes, there is a lot of me on display. Things I never told any one.
Thoughts I would never say aloud. Creepy dreams and bad ideas. Imaginary justice and apologies never spoken.

I’m really grateful to everyone who has been reading. Especially those who have been kind enough to write me, even to say something like, “Yo, your blog was really fucked up today! Maybe you should be seeking professional help.”

I promise there will be much more.

P.S. Back to the beginning of the story–A few weeks later I pleasantly cornered the mutual friend in a bar and asked him why he called me “The Debutante.” He admitted that he had always imagined that I was some sort of wholesome debutante who went off to college, had an enlightening drug experience, and suddenly became all counter cultural. I broke up with my law student boyfriend to follow boys in bands. I cut off my hair and ditched my cashmere sweaters. I switched to an art major and pierced my nose. Summers were spent traveling to out of the way countries, sleeping with rich kids from abroad.
This image was far too romantic for correction.

halloween is my favorite holiday.

In inspiration on October 20, 2008 at 7:59 pm

Costumes + candy + fall weather + parties = the best day ever.
I can even forgive the lame girls wearing “Sexy Rainbow Brite” and “Sexy Milkmaid” costumes. I mean, if it makes them feel fun and they don’t mind some frostbite downstairs, then more power to them.
Janelle and I are spending Halloween weekend in Virginia. We are sort of working on coordinating costumes, but we’ve been pretty slow at pulling it together.
If I had the time/money, I would have no less than five costumes.

This is one motivated couple…imagine chasing down all that green clothing! And the accessories/masks are obviously hand made. I’m not sure if they planned to coordinate with the orange chair, but it worked out well in the end. I hope these two got married and had no less than three kids.

So this is my backup costume idea…essentially, I will dress as this kid that is dressed as a skeleton. I’m pretty good at looking pissy, so this shouldn’t be too hard to pull off. I even want the flowered trick or treat bag (clearly mom’s beach bag).

I just really love olde time outer space gear.

Are these boys dressed as bats? Because bats are REALLY cute in real life, and I’m glad that someone else can appreciate this.

I still love the original Nintendo system and games.

I like the idea of a really ridiculous, virtually unwearable mask coupled with clothes from Banana Republic. Somehow that’s just extra funny and awesome…


I’m not saying that I like to see animals in costume…but well, just look at this picture. I’m sure you have never seen anything better. If you don’t have an army of collies at your house, perhaps you and your friends could do this? I’m really into the idea of team costumes…like “Fundamentalist Polygamy” and “Happy Meal.”


…or murderous monsters. This is probably only super cute and mega awesome if you and your friends are under 12.

suffocation.

In personal blah blah on October 19, 2008 at 7:28 pm

I swear I’m not drowning in anxiety right now. So keep that in mind while you read the next few paragraphs. Yes, I’m mildly stressed about moving, but I know that there is an end in sight. Work is work; all of the worries that come with that are pretty manageable. All of the personal emotional concerns like boys and friends and superfluous drama…these are nothing new and I’ve become quite skilled at keeping them in check.

I have had a bad migraine for three days. This happens periodically, and it is usually triggered by illness, excessive drinking, or lack of sleep. This particular attack was definitely brought on by my fucked up sleep schedule. There is too much to do! And I’ve been running a serious sleep deficit since I left for LA.

So this morning, when I crawled out of bed at my mom’s house, I thought I would feel better. As soon as I walked into the sunlight-filled living room, I realized I was wrong. The stabbing pain in the right side of my head (the usual spot) made my eyes water. So I went back to bed, for three more hours.

I dreamed that I was living in Mexico City. I had essentially the same job I have now. One day I came home from work in the middle of the afternoon, only to discover that I was living with my ex-boyfriend again. He was sitting on the couch playing video games. He was surrounded by beer bottles and pizza crusts.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” I asked. “I don’t even LIKE you.”

He looked puzzled and said something like, “I’m really getting my life together now. Look…I’m wearing looser pants.” He gestured to his sweatpants.

I stomped out. I had dinner with a friend and then spent the night at a hotel, drinking mint juleps (eww) in my room.

The next day, I climbed in the bathroom window in my apartment. My ex-boyfriend was lying on my bed smoking a cigarette. Sitting next to the bed, on the floor, was a weird-looking Japanese girl (somehow I specifically knew she was speaking Japanese).

He was staring at the ceiling, talking in one endless paragraph. “The thing about Amanda, is she will never ask me to leave, because she never wants to talk about her feelings. And really, I can get away with anything. All I have to do is tell her she is trying to control me. So don’t feel bad about being here.”

I grabbed Moe from the kitchen, and I tiptoed out the front door, closing the door with the utmost care.

I sat on the stoop, petting Moe. I knew that I would never trust my ex-boyfriend. And I really could not remember inviting him to live with me in Mexico City. Most likely, he was hoping to confuse me into letting him stay. I really could see no escape from the situation.

I walked to a home improvement store. I bought a huge wheelbarrow full of rocks. I walked to a small bridge over an irrigation canal.

I carried one rock at a time under the bridge. This took hours. The sun was setting when I finished.

I laid down. One at a time, I stacked the rocks on my chest. I could feel my breaths diminishing in size. I hoped that someone would remember to feed Moe.

When I woke up, I was gasping for breath!

get ready!

In my friends, personal blah blah on October 19, 2008 at 1:24 am

Last night Janelle and I had a West Philly night in honor of our impending move.

First, we drove by our new house. There was a some squealing and grabbing of knees in excitement.

Next, we went to the Satellite. We said things like, “Soon we’ll be hanging out here ALL THE TIME!”

We dropped fliers off at the Green Line (great coffee and down the block from our new home).

Other awesome stuff near our house: Abyssinia (best Ethiopian food), a movie theatre, numerous restaurants, a record store (Marvelous), and a fancy pants grocery store. So different from Port Richmond!

And trees! Trees everywhere! Cool old houses! Hippies! Yes!!!

Then we hung out in front of a frat house. An endless stream of toga-clad young adults walked by. This seemed to good to be true.

We dropped more fliers off at the Spinto Band show at the Church.

Then Janelle made vegan pizza at her apartment while I drank her last beer and did yoga poses on the wooden floor. We discussed moving strategy, paint colors, decorating ideas, and furniture placement.

Today I bought this for my new bedroom:


It is a 12 feet x 8 feet photo mural! It’s sort of like wallpaper, comprised of 8 panels.
Imagine my bed in front of this.

nightmare.

In here and now on October 16, 2008 at 3:00 pm

Amanda [10:43 AM]:
oh man

Amanda [10:43 AM]:
i am in a terrible mood today

Amanda [10:43 AM]:
i had the scariest dream last night!

Janelle [10:44 AM]:
o man

Janelle [10:44 AM]:
tell me

Amanda [10:44 AM]:
okay…

Amanda [10:44 AM]:
so the dream started with me living on a farm

Amanda [10:44 AM]:
it was very dallas

Amanda [10:44 AM]:
anyway, one day i was out in the woods near my house with someone who resembled miss ellie (of dallas)

Amanda [10:45 AM]:
and we realized that a lot of our cats were mysteriously dead

Amanda [10:45 AM]:
i guess we had a lot of farm cats

Amanda [10:45 AM]:
anyway, my grandfather said that it was probably poisoning

Amanda [10:45 AM]:
because someone was trying to get revenge

Amanda [10:45 AM]:
i was really scared, so i decided to take a walk into town

Amanda [10:45 AM]:
except the “town” was more like LA

Amanda [10:46 AM]:
a cop ran up to me and said, “you better hide.”

Amanda [10:46 AM]:
i didn’t understand why he meant that

Amanda [10:46 AM]:
but then i heard a lot of gunshots

Amanda [10:46 AM]:
a bus came screeching around the corner

Amanda [10:46 AM]:
i ran into the nearby stairwell of a parking garage

Amanda [10:46 AM]:
the bus driver came tearing in with a little boy in his arms

Amanda [10:47 AM]:
“watch him,” he commanded. and then he ran away.

Janelle [10:47 AM]:
O

Amanda [10:47 AM]:
i realized that the boy had been shot

Janelle [10:47 AM]:
!!!

Amanda [10:47 AM]:
he was sitting in an ever-expanding puddle of blood

Amanda [10:47 AM]:
i realized that he was already dead

Janelle [10:47 AM]:

:(

Amanda [10:47 AM]:
i looked out the window and saw that the block was filled with men with flesh-colored plastic machine guns

Amanda [10:47 AM]:
there were buses everywhere

Amanda [10:48 AM]:
somehow i knew that these men had robbed a huge bank

Amanda [10:48 AM]:
even though that was their original plan

Amanda [10:48 AM]:
now they realized that they just wanted to kill as many people as possible

Amanda [10:48 AM]:
they didn’t even care about the money any more

Amanda [10:48 AM]:
i had to hide.

Amanda [10:48 AM]:
i ran up the stairs opening one door after another

Amanda [10:48 AM]:
i just wanted to find a room with a locking door

Janelle [10:49 AM]:
Right

Amanda [10:49 AM]:
i went through a maze of interconnecting rooms

Amanda [10:49 AM]:
but none of the doors locked

Amanda [10:49 AM]:
finally i found a room.

Amanda [10:49 AM]:
the floor and walls were concrete and there were no windows

Amanda [10:49 AM]:
the door actually locked!

Amanda [10:49 AM]:
so i felt safe.

Janelle [10:49 AM]:
(picture of key)

Amanda [10:49 AM]:
but then…a voice from somewhere told me that i would never be safe

Janelle [10:49 AM]:
Whoa

Amanda [10:50 AM]:
and i was kidding myself if i thought that someone couldn’t get in that room.

Amanda [10:50 AM]:
so i opened the door and walked out

Amanda [10:50 AM]:
and i was at work!

Janelle [10:50 AM]:
oh god!

Amanda [10:50 AM]:
there was a huge meeting going on

Amanda [10:50 AM]:
so i just sat down, trying to be cool.

Amanda [10:50 AM]:
and then…

Amanda [10:50 AM]:
someone i don’t know

Amanda [10:50 AM]:
came in, made some unintelligible statement

Amanda [10:50 AM]:
and then

Amanda [10:50 AM]:
began shooting at everyone!

Janelle [10:50 AM]:
!!!!!!!!!!!

Amanda [10:51 AM]:
so now i was scrambling to hide in the bathroom

Amanda [10:51 AM]:
because i knew that was the only room here with a lock

Amanda [10:51 AM]:
i hid in the corner of the bathroom

Amanda [10:51 AM]:
i could hear chaos outside:

Amanda [10:51 AM]:
people screaming and crying and begging.

Amanda [10:51 AM]:
a trickle of blood started to seep in under the door.

Janelle [10:51 AM]:
Whoa

Amanda [10:51 AM]:
and then it turned into a huge puddle.

Amanda [10:51 AM]:
and then i made myself wake up!

Amanda [10:52 AM]:
because i was freaking out!!!!!!

My phone rings. It is Janelle…suggesting that I go to yoga tonight. “You’re really stressed out, I think!”

anniversary.

In personal blah blah on October 15, 2008 at 9:13 pm

I just realized: two years ago today I began my illustrious career as “accessories buyer.”

And two years + one day ago…I arrived here in ye olde Philadelphia, on a redeye flight from Portland. I had this weird plane + train flight, so I landed in Newark and then took Amtrak to Philly. I remember standing on the train platform in the freezing cold (or so it seemed to me) early morning, beholding the glory of North Jersey and thinking, “Hmmm…maybe this move to the east coast wasn’t the best plan. I wonder how much it would cost to catch the next flight back to the Pacific Northwest?”

And then the next day, when I walked to the subway to go to work, I once again tried to concoct an escape plan. Realizing that I had probably $100 in my checking account, I decided to at least try out my new job. For the first few weeks, I ate lunch alone every day. I would pass an entire 9-hour work day in silence. I was painfully aware of everyone’s disapproval of my makeup-less face and rat’s nest hair. Let’s not even talk about my inability to fit into a size 2. Geez. I watched experienced buyers CRY in meetings. I witnessed temper tantrums and tirades. I was nervous.

At night, I talked on the phone for hours with Baxter. I wrote letters and read books. I called my mom every day, desperate to hear the voice of someone who liked me.

And did I mention how broke I was? I waited a long time for relocation reimbursement checks.

But then it all started to get better. I made some friends. My boyfriend moved here. I learned my way around. I got a promotion at work.

And now, two years later…things just keep getting better. Janelle and I are moving into an awesome place in West Philly in a few weeks. I have made some great friends. I make more money and I really love my job. I am healthier and my hair is longer. My creative life is growing at an exponential rate. My head is in a better place: I feel so good about myself and the path ahead. Contain your laughter: I even know who I want to marry.

A lot can change in two years.

the comedown.

In personal blah blah on October 14, 2008 at 5:36 pm



I slept for the entire flight…thanks to drinks at the mexican-themed airport bar (my boss’s suggestion) and three Benadryl.
The epic construction outside my house (literally in front of my door) prevented any quality sleep for me this morning.

So…no yoga today. Very little interesting conversation. Even less patience.

I’m going to center city for a hair appointment. Then the grocery store.
Yes, it’s a glamorous life.

west coast, west coast.

In personal blah blah on October 13, 2008 at 12:39 am


Whoa! LA!
The flight here was endless…I couldn’t sleep. The movie was horrible. I ate a ridiculous amount of dried fruit (bad idea) and my stomach was killing me. I read an entire book. I listened to two tapes over and over again (with my new bff, the Sony Walkman). Then I switched to my Ipod. I was cranky. The girl two seats away was moving to LA to live with her boyfriend. Unfortunately it was all she could (very loudly) discuss with her neighbors for the entire flight.

But then…we were here! Our hotel (in Beverly Hills) is tiny and cute, with a Sixties-French-meets-SE Asia flair. Awesome french pressed coffee every morning. Lots of pillows and a down duvet and nice toiletries.

Yesterday: first, shopping in Beverly Hills. Mostly boring, because I couldn’t afford anything for myself and I didn’t want to blow my sample budget in one day. Next, I drove us to Los Feliz. Things were looking up. The boutiques were cuter/edgier and the prices dropped considerably. And then…the moment I was waiting for: Echo Park! Every Los Angeleno I know has told me that this is the neighborhood for me. Totally true! More amazing coffee…super cute vintage stores…and (last but definitely not least)…Show Pony…a store belonging to Kime Buzzelli, one of my favorite living artists (her blog is “The Moldy Doily”). I swallowed my nervousness and said something silly like, “Hey…I read your blog every day!” And then we talked for at least 2o minutes. I was still excited about this as I drove us back to Beverly Hills.

Items purchased for myself yesterday: a Kime Buzzelli t-shirt and a tube dress made of vintage horse-printed fabric. Not bad when one considers that I had to spend 8 hours shopping yesterday!

Last night: fancy dinner, numerous drinks (an odd assortment of champagne, absinthe, red wine, and limoncello), a hot bath…and then I fell asleep listening to Portishead (nostalgic for the 90s, I guess).

Today: I woke up before dawn to go to the Rose Bowl flea market. Seriously…this was the best flea market ever…at least, for a girl with great interest in ponchos, moccasins, mexican embroidery, and fringe. I could have bought a ton, but I was focusing on work. Nonetheless…I found a pair of vintage overalls (finally!). Also: some cute Native American-ish sweaters and a mindblowing rust-colored suede/alpaca (or something) coat. My total personal spending? $60!!!!

We spent the rest of the day in spendy boutiques…inspirational but mostly unfulfilling. By the late afternoon, we were the walking dead.

I’m back at the hotel…about to take a shower and don my glitzy top, because Corye is coming to my hotel. We’re having dinner somewhere vegan-friendly and then who knows? I’m hoping for moderate champagne consumption and maximum girl talk.

I have to wake up early yet again tomorrow, drive to Hollywood and then Santa Monica…and then catch the redeye back to Philadelphia. It sounds worse than it will really be, I promise.

More later (and hopefully some photos, too)…

P.S. The photo was taken in my hotel room (Maison 140). I’m obsessed with the mirrors by the bed. I’m convinced a good composition is in there somewhere.

me=creepy.

In personal blah blah on October 10, 2008 at 6:25 pm

I once had a boyfriend who smelled like nothing. Literally. Sometimes he smelled like cheapy booze, but only after a night of really raging drinking. He never smelled like vomit or garlic or anything! And he was really sweaty, like all blue-eyed, pink-faced individuals. It was unfathomable to me that someone who lived on a steady diet of alcohol, klonopin, nicotine, and pizza could have no fragrance. Not even the perfumiest soap would cling to him.

Coincidentally, I just couldn’t trust him. Ever. Sure, he was an inherently dishonest person, but it took me months to figure that out. But even in the beginning, when he seemed truly devoted to me, I just distrusted him without any actual reason. Further on, when I was consciously aware of actual dishonesty on his part, his lies were never malevolent in nature (until much later, and even then…it was more about his own insecurity and guilty conscience).

I could only attribute my early skepticism to his lack of smell. Because really, everything else about him was pretty appealing: smart, funny, generally a barrel of monkeys when it came to fun and excitement, and decidedly cute (despite his girl pants). And yet I always knew–despite my affection/admiration for him–that he was not the right person for me. I felt like I was in play wherein we were both cast in the parts of “Boyfriend” and “Girlfriend.” Strangers thrust on to the stage to act out the director’s concept of a relationship.

I had a (theoretically) casual friends-with-benefits situation with a tall fellow in Chicago. The smell of this boy’s hair made me lightheaded. Overall we shared few interests and our personalities clashed. Furthermore, I constantly swore that I was cutting it off, because he was a good friend of my ex-boyfriend. It just seemed unethical. But then I would walk by him at a party on my way to the back porch (always the smoke spot in Chicago apartments)…I would be hit with the slightest whiff of his smell…and suddenly I was negotiating complicated rendezvous plans (because everything between us was top secret). “Meet me on the corner of Ashland and Irving Park, and then we can ride to your apartment together.” or “Here is the key to my apartment. Let yourself in and hide your bike in the pantry. I’ll leave the party 15 minutes after you.”

Several years and thousands of miles between us, I saw him again. Giving him the obligatory “wow…here I am” hug, my nose picked up something I had forgotten. Oh, man. He smelled really good. Not at all like the cigarettes he smoked relentlessly. And so soon I was sitting on his sofa pretending to watch cartons while actually mentally mapping out a plan to spend the night in his bed.

So I guess it’s obvious them a weirdo smelling stuff person. I haven’t reached the level of buying dirty underpants on EBay. And really, I believe that a majority of physical attraction is based on super secret pheromones, even if we might like to attribute our lust for someone to good record collections, nice shoes, or pretty eyes. After all, we are all animals, even if we drive cars and post bulletins on MySpace.

Why am I writing about this today? Last night Marlyn was sitting on my bed while I packed my suitcase for LA. I was rummaging through a pile of clothes on my chair, looking for anything appropriate for my trip. I pulled out a t-shirt that was decidedly larger than any of my stuff. Further inspection revealed that it belonged to my recent out-of-town guest. I turned away from Marlyn, covertly smelling it. I’m pretty sure that sheer delight made my eyes roll back in my head briefly. I pulled myself together and tossed the shirt to the opposite corner of my bed.

Fifteen minutes later, mostly done packing, and just hanging out and chatting, the shirt was calling my name. Sure, I was talking to Marlyn about something serious, but all I really wanted to do was rub that shirt all over my face. Finally I just had to say, “I know this is going to seem weird, but I have to smell that shirt for a second.” She laughed.

This morning I was reviewing the inventory of my suitcase, adding a pair of moccasins and my Diana camera. I surveyed my room, looking for anything I might have missed (phone chargers and the like)…when I spotted the shirt in the corner. I tossed it in my luggage, zipping it up as fast as I could before I creeped myself out. Look, travelling can be stressful, especially when it is a business trip. Think of it as aromatherapy. Really creepy aromatherapy.

cowboy kate.

In inspiration on October 9, 2008 at 7:03 pm

When photographer Sam Haskins first published his book Cowboy Kate & Other Stories in 1964, it was groundbreaking…thanks to his skilled use of the black and white medium and the subtly erotic peekaboo nudity. I’m still blown away by the cinematic storytelling and the model’s innocent beauty.

Recently this book was re-issued with digitally restored plates and new, previously unreleased photos. While the original has been sold out for decades (selling for crazy prices on the rare book circuit), the reissue is totally affordable and available on Amazon…so I might add this to my Christmas wish list. I’m trying to imagine my mom wrapping this up for me…and suddenly I’m rethinking the idea because it might confuse her. Why is her 31 year-old daughter interested in naked girl photos? Hmmm….I might have to buy this for myself.

Some of my favorite shots below…

stripes.

In inspiration, personal blah blah on October 8, 2008 at 8:51 pm

I finally tracked down the new issue of Lula…at the Borders at the King of Prussia Mall. I don’t understand it, but that store stocks a wide variety of awesome magazines. And on an unrelated point, they also have a pretty keen selection of manga. When I went to the cash wrap to pay for my long sought Lula and the most recent volume of Nana (awesome teenage girl manga), the cashier asked me if I wanted a gift receipt for the “comic book.” Um. No. I’m really that geeky.

Anyway…in this new issue of Lula there are hundreds of amazing photos…one of them involves a girl wearing some truly great cozy striped knee socks. So, pretty much, I need a pair ASAP. Grey and black. High quality. Long, so I can cuff them (most knee socks are kinda short on me, as I have surprisingly long legs).

I am wondering if this could be the start of another stripe phase for me. My first stripe-y time occurred in high school, when I wore all varieties of 70s boys’ striped t-shirts, influenced by my undying devotion to Kurt Cobain. The Salvation Army in York, PA was an excellent resource for cast of stripes. By my second year of college, I was over it. My first or second year in Portland, I got back into stripes, in a more mod/nautical/Velvet Underground kind of way. I have a feeling these shirts might be hiding in my basement. My basement is a tour through my obsessions of the past few years. Oh, remember that time when I was really into dressing like a stewardess? Check. High top sneakers? Oh, yes. Prairie dresses? Okay, maybe I’m still kinda there, but most of them have moved to the back of my closet.

So, just in case stripes replace my current obsession with plaid and equestrian boots…some stripey photos…

These are not the aforementioned socks, but they are a nice spring/summer adaptation.

Yes…Kurt Cobain stripes!

Nope…not these socks either, but I definitely had no less than 20 pairs of these in high school and college.

New fresh stripes.
Okay…only the mask in this photo is striped (look closely)…but this picture is my favorite thanks to the mask/awesome hip hop in the background combo.

P.S. Janelle and I have the apartment in West Philly! Words cannot describe how excited we are about this!

i’m a believer.

In personal blah blah on October 7, 2008 at 1:02 am

In the midst of three other books, I am reading Big Sur.
There are two reasons I have not devoted all of my attention to this book: 1. I am flaky like that and 2. It’s a really intense book, detailing Jack Kerouac’s descent into alcoholic madness. Not for the faint of heart. I wasn’t sure what I was getting into when I first decided to read it. I saw it at Powell’s and I thought, “Well, I have been reading a lot of Kerouac lately, so why not?” From page 1, I could feel a sense of building dread. Maybe Kerouac is making it very obvious, or perhaps I’m just well versed in self-destruction.

A few days ago I read a chapter wherein Evelyn, wife of Cody (thinly veiled Neal Cassady), says that she knows her true destiny is to be with Jack. However, she knows that it is her karmic duty to accompany Cody through this life, somehow saving him. She believes that she and Jack will be together in the next life. According to Jack:

“I shudder sometimes to think of all that stellar mystery of how she IS going to get me in a future lifetime, wow–And I seriously do believe that will be my salvation, too. A long way to go.”

Cody is a pretty awful husband. Crazy, in and out of jail, disappearing for weeks and months, cheating on her all over the place. Being cosmically appointed to care for him must be no great joy. But I guess that is the beauty of faith…believing in something can make anything more bearable. Add a dash of karmic purpose, and suddenly even the worst trials and tribulations gain a nearly glamorous sense of power.

So that made me think? What do I believe in? I mean, it can’t just be ghosts or the Loch Ness Monster (though I must admit that I believe in the former and I am ambivalent regarding the latter)…it has to be something to assuage the greatest impatience and frustration. Something to transform even the most bitter to the sweetest…

I started making a list….

Astrology–okay, I more than 50 percent believe in this (hence my tendency to say annoying things like, “Oh, yeah…that’s because you are a Virgo” and “Oh, a Scorpio…watch out!”). It’s fun and eerily coincidental. Furthermore, it provides hours of conversation between me and Janelle. But…I’m not going to make any important life decisions based on it. However, I will avoid future romantic relationships with any Pisces. And I will always assume that Scorpios are perverts, unless I am presented with undeniable proof to the contrary.

Buddhism–I have a hard time getting behind all of the reincarnation blahblahblah, even though it appeals to me a lot more than the extreme offerings of heaven and hell. But…I do believe in living a life filled with compassion and treating all sentient beings with respect. So I probably 75 percent believe in this.

Karma–Even though I don’t think a higher power is assigning values (negative and positive) to all of my actions, I do believe that an individual receives what they give. Put a lot of shitty energy into the world through dishonesty and disrespect, and only bad stuff can surround you. If you treat the living things around you (even trees and strangers) with respect and compassion, only good things can happen. It’s all about making your own luck. I 99% believe in karma.

Destiny–Hmmm…I’m not so sure about this. Some people have a calling. Some people belong together. The world is filled with eerie coincidences and ironic outcomes, but I don’t think that any of that is part of a larger map/design. I’ve read to many existentialist novels to believe in destiny in the slightest.

Love–I 100% believe in this. Not just the romantic kind, but also the love I feel for my friends, family, animals, individuals I barely know. My love for books, music, the #1 planet…all of this affects every one of my actions. Sure it’s all in degrees, but love will make me be the best person I can be. And that in turn, makes me happier…even the most painful situation becomes bearable.

Other things/ideas I believe in:
talking to one’s plants will make them grow,
the feline understanding of English is amazingly high,
I am the worst Boggle shaker ever (imagine too many vowels and a dearth of consonants) ,
the magical power of dreams for helping one see the bigger picture,
time is the best avenger,
and singing in the car makes me a better driver.

P.S. Madonna’s “Burning Up” is one of the best songs ever. I played this record in an attempt to cheer up Marlyn tonight, and I think it worked!

go ask alice.

In personal blah blah on October 6, 2008 at 12:03 am


When I was in 4th grade, I broke my wrist in a rollerskating accident (I should note that this incident in no way decreased my boundless love for rollerskating).

The next day, my mom decided that I was old enough to start reading “adult” books.

I’m still trying to see the connection between these two events.

Anyway…my mom gave me two new books to set the grown up ball rolling: Flowers in the Atttic and Go Ask Alice. I’ll save my opinion on the first book for another time. All I can say is a novel about incest and rat poison is more than just a little mindblowing for a 9 year-old. I worried that I might some day find myself locked in the attic with my little brother, sentenced to years of having snot wiped on my shirt and my hair pulled.

Go Ask Alice changed my life. Or at least it made me really, really interested in drugs. I am assuming that my mother thought this book teach me a valuable lesson at a very tender age. But really, I just learned about the existence of psychedelics. I realized that it would definitely be unacceptable for me to take up LSD before puberty, so it was added to my mental list of “Things to Accomplish in High School.” This list also included goals like “lose my virginity” (check.), “learn to drive” (um. no check.), and “try whiskey” (check.).

So when I saw this book at the thrift store last week, I had to buy it. Last night I read it from cover-to-cover in an extra-long bath. Yes, I was pruney afterward. And I used all of the hot water in the house.

Described in the introduction as “based on the actual diary of a fifteen-year-old drug user,” Go Ask Alice–published in 1971–follows an insecure teenager’s descent into drug addiction and life on the streets. When I read this in 4th grade, I found a protagonist I could understand…especially when she declares her undying love for books. I remember thinking “bookworms=drug fiends.” It seemed entirely logical to me.

Early on last night, I decided that the book was even better than I remembered. Especially this part:

“I’m partly somebody else trying to fit in and say the right things and do the right thing and be in the right place and wear what everybody else is wearing. Sometimes I think we’re all trying to be shadows of each other, trying to buy the same records and everything even if we don’t like them. Kids are like robots, off an assembly line, and I don’t want to be a robot!”

But then suddenly the book began to turn into a preachy anti-drugs diatribe. The protagonist accidentally drinks Coca Cola laced with LSD at a party. This begins a rapid downward spiral. She becomes “addicted” to marijuana and pills and is soon selling acid to elementary school children. This decline is most obvious when she starts wearing “a cute pair of moccasins and a vest with fringe and a really great pair of pants.” Yep. Anything suede and fringe-y is always a sign of trouble.

I forced myself to finish the book, mostly just because all of the hippie references were hysterical. Lots of ironed hair, sandals, and bellbottoms. And oh, one white vinyl pants suit.

The moral of the story: as soon as one stops curling ones hair and starts smoking marijuana, a tragic demise is imminent.

Last night I became skeptical that this book was an actual person’s diary (much less the true story of a teenage girl’s drug problems). Investigation via Wikipedia revealed that it was most likely written by Beatrice Sparks, a psychologist and Mormon youth counselor. Despite denying that Go Ask Alice was a work of fiction, she spent most of the 70s churning out “true” books about teenage pregnancy, suicide as the result of involvement in the occult, and baby prostitution. All were billed as actual diaries with anonymous writers.

navigation.

In here and now on October 5, 2008 at 2:21 am


Last night I dreamed I was waiting for the El in Wicker Park, when a woman I did not recognize walked up to me. She nodded in greeting as she pulled a large roll of paper from her bag. She obviously had a flair for drama, as she unrolled it at an agonizingly slow rate. I was feeling (not surprisingly) irritated, as I was in a rush to get somewhere unknown.

It was a map, which I realized was detailing my path through life. Places and events I have already experienced were evident on the left side of the paper. But a majority of it was covered with symbols and letters that I could not understand. I squinted my eyes, trying to transform it all into something comprehensible. I felt convinced that they were rebus puzzles (a representation of a word or phrase by pictures, symbols, etc., that suggest that word or phrase or its syllables…an idea planted in my head by the bottle cap in Tomm’s pocket).

Just as I thought I was a millisecond away from figuring it all out…a breath away from knowing everything in my future…the train thundered into the station. A flood of passengers rushed out of the doors, separating me from the map-wielding woman.

As suddenly as it arrived, the train departed. I was alone on the platform, late for my day and completely clueless about where I was going.

Yesterday Janelle and I found the greatest apartment in West Philly…two floors, a huge basement, and a private yard with nearly infinite potential…cross your fingers…

i feel like i’m sleepwalking (i think).

In my friends, personal blah blah on October 2, 2008 at 7:49 pm


Sure, I’m sitting at my desk at work and I’m technically completing all sorts of projects, but I feel as if I’m occupying some other reality.

Maybe it’s lack of sleep or the deviation from my normal routine of “work. yoga. write. sleep. repeat.”

My brother was a frequent sleepwalker when we were kids. This provided us with endless amusing stories to fill dull moments during family dinners for years to come. Even now, the awkward period between having our plates cleared and the arrival of the check at Applebee’s usually involves a comedic retelling of one of his misadventures. I have always wondered how he felt as he strolled around our house attempting to open doors and pee in sinks while muttering a conversation with Santa Claus. Did it seem real to him? How did the reality of objects and gravity mesh with the scenery of his dreams?

I feel like I’ve been in a perpetual state of hanging out…even when I’m actually asleep, I dream that I am just kicking it with Tomm. My dreams are plotless…more like a slow-moving streams of listening to music and being silly and talking about all varieties of subject matter. This morning I asked, “Did I dream this or did Simon magically appear in the bedroom last night?” (This being a possible act of magic because the door was barricaded with suitcases and a pair of riding boots). I was assured that Simon had in fact suddenly appeared on the bed (perhaps to bite Tomm in the face), but he had been most likely napping in the closet when we shut the bedroom door. It would have been just as plausible to me that my cat had become an incredibly laidback shape shifter.

Maybe all of this dreaminess is the result of my stubborn refusal to think beyond the current day, lest I am reminded that soon it will be time for Tomm to return to the desert. I will not acknowledge clocks and calendars. I don’t want to worry about next week or last week. Also on the list of topics I will not allow myself to consider: stupid stuff I’ve done/said in the past and stupid stuff I could say/do in the future. And anyway, there is so much to enjoy at this exact moment, including (but not limited to) having coffee made for me in the morning, someone listening to me talk about Henry Miller or stories starring my friends or my inarticulate descriptions of bands, games of Boggle with 3 instead of 2, and frequent laughing episodes that almost hurt my lungs.

But…to speak about the future for a mere second: I’m so excited that it’s fall and my friends are super fun and I’m moving to West Philly next month. And I’m going to LA at the end of next week for work.

P.S. Burning up my Ipod right now: Koushik, Out My Window. Very dreamy.

"you’re number 37, have a look."

In my friends, personal blah blah on October 1, 2008 at 9:01 pm

Janelle, Tomm, and I drove to Brooklyn on Saturday. I’m not going to lie–I was feeling pretty wretched (thanks to a combination of Sparks, whiskey, and beer the night before). Also, apparently the cats are really, really excited to have a guest with dual citizenship, so Moe and Simon bugged us all night. No sleep! Still, it was really great to take a long drive with my good friends. And I was just pretty happy overall.

Hmmmm. I’m actually having difficulty remembering exactly what we did on Saturday. Walked around Williamsburg, ate awesome Thai food, went to see Marie’s band play at the Trash Bar, had drinks at a really cute bar in Greenpoint. I slept like a champion on Marie’s impressively hard bed.

While Janelle had band practice on Sunday, Tomm and I had brunch with Marie and Lem at the Greenpoint Coffeehouse (the best coffee ever). Then Tomm and I set off for Manhattan. It was exciting to be with someone who had never been to NYC before. It’s a place I (perhaps) foolishly take for granted, so it was fun to see it all through fresh eyes. We went to Fat Beats (world famous hip hop record store)! We snaked through the Village, walked down through Soho (where I bought paper at Muji), had bubble tea in Chinatown, and then hiked through the Lower East Side for vegan pastries. We spent a lot of time talking about the style/fashion of everyone we passed on the street. There were long discussions detailing the unmatchable coolness of Portland. We were both impressed by futuristic buildings and cool graffiti. Some photos were taken (coming soon). Overall, I can’t imagine a better companion for that day.

We met Janelle in Williamsburg, where she bought us the best vegan pizza. The rainy drive back to Philly turned into some weird group therapy session. It was better than it sounds. Astrology may have been used to explain/justify our various personality attributes.

What else? I’ve just been having a really amazing time hanging out with Tomm…thrift shopping (major vest scores), walking around Center City, making delicious sandwiches, sleeping the bare minimum amount, seeing 1.75 movies in Jersey last night, inventing new ways to prevent Moe from keeping us awake at night (an assortment of suitcases have been utilized). Going to work today seemed strange, but the fun isn’t over yet.

P. S. I’m really obsessed with the Velvet Underground this week.