unsent
Thursday, October 10, 2002
02:15 a.m.
There are times I want to say 'hey,' but remember I said I wouldn't, so I don't.

Discuss | 4 comments

You do the choosin'
Wednesday, October 9, 2002
03:27 p.m.
This kid has found herself with an unexpected night off and nothing sounds more perfect than a good flick. Alone.

I rather enjoy seeing movies by myself for reasons I can't quite figure out. It is dark, there is no talking, and how better to end a film than with discussion? Yet my companions are eternally eating more than their fair share of the popcorn (I am serious about my fucking popcorn.), or pressing me for opinions on a film I have just now seen and there is always the debate over what to see.

I've been working like a maniac to counteract all these unexpected money woes and to secure myself an entire weekend off to rest with my sister away from a computer...and to see more movies, of course. So I haven't had the time to see anything of late and have found myself in the rare yet awesome instance where there is just too much filmage showing for me to choose. I want you to do it (use the poll at left).

Here are some notes regarding each film to further help you make your desicion.

24-Hour Party People - last opputunity for screening

I'm Going Home - last opputunity for screening, but I may be too bummed for this picture

Moonlight Mile - I am awfully apathetic about this one

Mostly Martha - last oppurtunity for screening

One-Hour Photo - I've been putting this off

Red Dragon - I *heart* Ed Norton

The Good Girl - great word-of-mouth, last chance to see it

The Notorious C.H.O. - God, do I need a laugh

Choose wisely, you have until 8:15 (central, of course).

Winner: Red Dragon, which I am off to see just now. By myself. I am not scared. Really, I'm not.

THANK YOU! | 4 comments

day brightener
Tuesday, October 8, 2002
04:40 p.m.

Discuss | 2 comments

the whining continues
Tuesday, October 8, 2002
01:32 p.m.
On top of every fucking thing else, my cable modem is down for the count and there is no technician available until tomorrow afternoon, she writes from the terminal at Kinko's at the outrageous rate of $.40/hour, where Brooks and Dunn blares at an entirely too-loud level for her fragile sanity.

[UPDATE: The modem is back up, for now. Perhaps things are on the upswing--maybe the universe has simply run out of shit to throw my way.]

Discuss | 5 comments

it was a really bad dream
Sunday, October 6, 2002
03:54 p.m.

Discuss | 1 comment

recurring
Sunday, October 6, 2002
03:01 p.m.
I was four, maybe five, living in a two-bedroom home with my parents and my little sister and perhaps a pet or two, maybe a turtle. I shared a large bed with my sister, whom I always made sleep furthest from the door, nearer the window. I fancied myself her protector from boogie men and scary shadows and sundry other frightful nighttime entities. I remember lying awake at nights drawing triangles in my mind from angles of the rooms and doors and closets. The lines made what looked to me like flags of varying size. If I wasn't drawing shapes in the room with my eyes I was listening.

That night I heard arguing--real live tears from both my mother and my father--bookended with long, dry spells of silence. I don't recall the words, the accusations, the sentiments, but I could make out the desperation in their throats. Voices rose, these were different people than my parents, I thought. She shhhhed him in an effort not to wake "the girls," but I hadn't yet gone to sleep.

My sister slept soundly, smooth round cheeks rising slightly with each breath, flushed face and a wisp of sweaty hair fell on her brow and I was so glad she didn't hear. That night I knew my parents would be getting divorced and within a matter of months he was gone and instead picked us up on weekends in that blue truck, plying us with burgers and matinee movies.

I lied in bed that night, crying and resigned, accepting what I knew to be my fate in the near future. I simply just knew.

Discuss | 3 comments

can bears be flattered?
Saturday, October 5, 2002
03:05 a.m.
Fellow netster dentarthurdent drew the following comparison between myself and Lain of Serial Experiments Lain.

This Serial Experiments Lain website slates an Oct. 9 release date for the DVDs of which I just may purchase, pocketbook willing. A "somewhat convoluted anime series... a classmate apparently commits suicide and a supernatural email causes Lain to question the nature of the world, society, god, self, technology, family the interaction thereof in 13 moody, introspective, surreal, psychedelic episodes" sounds fascinating.

Discuss | 6 comments

good things come to those who wait
Saturday, October 5, 2002
02:48 a.m.
Oh man, am I proud of this one.

Discuss | no comments

Friday, October 4, 2002
03:35 p.m.
Sigh.

Discuss | 1 comment

because no need is insignificant
Friday, October 4, 2002
02:40 p.m.
CBS ran an excellent story on Modest Needs which profiles the phenomenal growth of the site, as well as those who have benefited from the kindness of strangers. Be sure to watch the footage accompanying the story--it is a gooder.

Discuss | 2 comments

unaware
Wednesday, October 2, 2002
11:12 p.m.
I peeked beneath, unsure of why--instinct. I saw her before, a little thing in less than that. Her head was as high as her shorts when she came into the room, knowing but unaware. I watched his face, a habit hard to break. His lips moved, his head turned and she was none the wiser.

I couldn't hear the exact words but I made them out from where I stood, and once I understood I realized I couldn't breathe. Cold heat, constricted veins as I stood there, motionless--brain locked. I made my feet move toward him and he answered my pleading eyes with a yes.

Hot face, red with glassy eyes, how do these trvialities prick my most tender parts? A gulp to ease me sent me flying into another room, to contemplate how something so small, so natural can shatter the delicate barrier I've created. I am more fragile than I'll ever know and it is frightening. I am cracked in places.

A girl, a curve, a slope, a sheen. He means nothing, yet my lip trembles despite that fact. Glossy hair, smaller shoulders than my own stir up a bubbling, a craving I can't understand. And yet, I am not in love.

It doesn't matter anymore, it hasn't for some time. Yet with five tiny words I question everything, most of all myself. It's irrational, these feelings that make a strong woman weep like a lost child who truly believes she will never be found again. I need reassurance and a hand to hold.

Discuss | 1 comment

carnivorous
Tuesday, October 1, 2002
01:55 p.m.
When I am ravenous and running behind, I will eat a grilled chicken breast with my hands.

Ain't no shame in my game.

Discuss | 5 comments

as I type this
Sunday, September 29, 2002
03:06 a.m.
All you ever wanted to know about Kegel exercises and then some and more. [via Fussy]

Discuss | 6 comments

get in muh belly
Friday, September 27, 2002
03:14 p.m.
Fresh-made hummus on a toasted wheat bagel topped with thick-cut cucumbers and a couple of red peppers might be the world's most scrumptious lunch.

Ain't it? | 9 comments

in need of nails
Wednesday, September 25, 2002
02:29 a.m.
Want to guess why I fell madly in love with this poster, although I have never seen the movie Gilda?

Yep, right in here. | 9 comments

Mel Gibson: "Maybe I'm a genius."
Wednesday, September 25, 2002
02:10 a.m.
Mel Gibson to direct movie about final hours of Christ's life in Latin and Aramaic--without subtitles.

He says no studios have shown interest. I say no shit they haven't.

Mel is a buster. | 2 comments

why it sometimes sucks to be me, part II
Monday, September 23, 2002
04:04 p.m.
Some fuckwit just stole my purse from my locked car that held cash, credit cards, my social security card, my cell (only) phone, my drivers license and my brand new copy of Confederacy of Dunces. I hadn't even cracked the cover.

!@#$%^&*!

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck | 13 comments

why it sometimes sucks to be me
Sunday, September 22, 2002
01:06 p.m.
Last night I worked behind the bar. Tennessee/Florida football had the place a bit hectic, but in all honesty it was sort of slow for a Saturday night. Each Saturday a man comes into the restaurant alone, choosing a bar seat then immediately displays how completely and utterly he is an asshole. As a matter of fact, this guy is such a dick, I figure it cannot be intentional and I overlook it. It's an art I have mastered.

He is a nervous-kind of guy, a victim of obvious anger issues, who snaps and quips and degrades with a glance. He barks, he doesn't speak.

Kristy, the other bartender won't wait on him as her ability to hold her tonugue is strong, but not as well-rehearsed as my own, so I got the honors last evening.

I spend a lot of time on this customer so as to preemptively avoid his mouth. His water never dips down below half-glass and his prime rib is perfect and his beer is in a warm glass just as he demands.

His meal came to a finish and he hadn't had the oppurtunity to complain about a single thing. I removed his dirty dishes, placing them in the bus tub at my feet and flashed him a genuine smile--I hadn't had to listen to his berating me this time.

He returned my smile with a cap. A light beige University of Tennessee baseball cap marked with three small brown spots that he held in his shaking fist. Instictively, I asked if I was to blame. Servers will often take the blame for a guest's obvious oversight in order to secure that fragile tip. In this case the oversight was leaving a cap he obviously has great affection for on a beer-soaked bar.

I replied matter-of-factly that the spots would likely come out in the wash and he yelled back at me that he would be trying to get it out in the bathroom while I cashed him out. He never left, just stood there stomping and causing a scene and whining silently, simply stammering. I calmly asked him if he would like soda water to try and loosen the stain at which time he threw the cap at me and ordered, "Here, YOU clean it!"

I stood, mouth agape, at the man-child before me. Nearly in tears, face a red mess I'll bet he fought the urge to hit me. I swallowed, and began cleaning the cap.

Another guest who witnessed the scene was shocked to see me cleaning the cap at the man's demand, and frankly so was I. I counted my heart beats as I scrubbed the cap.

I returned the hat, commenting that the stains were now loosened and that one short trip in the wash would make it good as new.

He turned and left, looking for a manager. Stunned I cleaned his place, his crumbs, his torn, wet napkins and bit my lip as I noticed the zero in the tip box on his signed credit card receipt.

Discuss | 3 comments

as promised
Saturday, September 21, 2002
02:33 a.m.
A few photos from my friend Travis' birthday party.
Click through for a few more.

Discuss | 5 comments

and I said (publically) that I sort of like the Counting Crows
Thursday, September 19, 2002
06:32 p.m.
Call me vain, an elitist--whichever suits me best, but I feel vastly superior to those I hear blaring Creed out their car windows.

This makes me a small person, but it just can't be helped.

Discuss | 5 comments

One person's money shot is another person's yawner.
Wednesday, September 18, 2002
03:54 p.m.
Beginning Tuesdays in October, the first annual SinCine 2002 NYC Erotic Film Festival.

Discuss | 1 comment

So sayeth He
Wednesday, September 18, 2002
02:26 p.m.
"This is not the most productive way to find a post-graduate job."

-God

Discuss | no comments

for whatever reason, I was sort of disappointed
Wednesday, September 18, 2002
12:29 a.m.
These people are sure that Matteo and I are women.

Coming soon, photos from the party where dude stuck his hand in my shirt by mistake (scroll down to the entry of the eleventh).

Discuss | 3 comments

an employee memo
Sunday, September 15, 2002
10:43 p.m.

Discuss | 6 comments

whine, screw the cheese
Sunday, September 15, 2002
08:19 p.m.
I hate, hate, hate driving on the interstate at night in ferocious rain, least of all when big, scary 18-wheelers drive inches behind my car, forcing me into the next lane causing me to nearly sideswipe a Fiesta.

Discuss | 1 comment

I really shouldn't have.
Sunday, September 15, 2002
02:09 a.m.
A list of my favorite subject lines from my inbox, some written by me, some not:

anything but the pickle farm
Fact is, I never liked you in the first place.
glasses, bitch
hot doughnut snow
i will not be thwarted!
money, cash, hos
that spider ain't shit
this sentence no verb
i really don't like you anymore
you remind me of things long forgotten

Discuss | 2 comments

Awwww.
Sunday, September 15, 2002
01:45 a.m.
My girl Maggeh and this here boy recently became engaged. Their entries at their respective weblogs about the proposal are so sweet it makes my teeth hurt.

Did you know that October is the month during which Scottish Mental Health Week takes place? I'll bet you did not.

Have you ever proposed or been proposed to? I want details. | 3 comments

first signs
Saturday, September 14, 2002
03:44 p.m.

Discuss | 2 comments

Feels good when Sagan's got your back.
Saturday, September 14, 2002
11:01 a.m.
A fascinating essay by Carl Sagan about why he chooses to smoke marijuana.
[via metafilter]

Discuss | no comments

So ya know...
Friday, September 13, 2002
01:50 a.m.
I updated the long overlooked currently reading page and am, as always, welcoming recommendations. Thanks to jonmc for the Infinite Jest suggestion. So far I've read first three pages, used it to aid in changing the light bulb and held it for added weight during my calf-raises. I'm also fully confident I can wield it as a bludgeon in the case of an intruder.

Discuss | 3 comments

Hey Ladies (or drag queens)...
Thursday, September 12, 2002
05:06 p.m.
I am looking for a cosmetics review site, something sort of all encompassing. Perhaps something similar to epinions.com. Surely some site like this exists. It would rock of there was an imdb.com-sized database of beauty products, professionally reviewed, ranked by users by various catergories, complete with stats about popularity, price, cruelty-free?, etc.

I've been looking for anything resembling that sort of website of late, and have come up bone dry. So, if anyone knows of something that sounds like what I've described, please let me know.

Discuss | 3 comments

a mistake captured
Wednesday, September 11, 2002
03:46 p.m.
The wind had picked up with the volume of the chatter; lips loose, tongues lax. The aroma of whiskey and wine rode the breeze, then dissapated leaving the musk undertones of tobacco, maybe a pipe. Voices familiar reorganize--rise and recede--punctuated by laughter and pauses.

Cake is served and no one eats, returning to their cocktails and conversations. Cameras emerge and we stand next to whoever's nearest for a quick snapshot of the attendees. Tall ones crouch and women try to find a genuine smile, yet fail, baring nothing but glossy teeth and spit. Cigarettes are stashed behind backs and I breathe in sharply, straightening my shoulders--hold the breath and stand dead still.

A hand from behind and to my left slips beneath my shirt--bare skin on unsuspecting bare skin. I arrived at this party alone.

White light overtakes my field of vision and I freeze, grinning, startled and wonder too calmly who might belong to the hand now resting on my stomach, just above the waistline of my pants.

I didn't entertain the notion I was being accosted, the fluid movement was gentle and easy. I didn't reel around to strike the perv who found my waist to be the best resting spot for his paw. But briefly, the tender carress that signified ownership--or kindredship--was so light and natural that I thought it just might have been intended for me. The next instant I knew, the flash no longer bleaching my sight, that, of course, that touch was meant for someone else.

He, too, knew and promptly jerked back his hand, taking hers in his--never meeting my gaze, though mine was aimed squarely at my shoes. I caught her face in my peripheral vision as he wrapped a strong arm around her rounded shoulder and pressed his mouth to her cheek.

She wrinkled her nose as if to suggest she'd rather he hadn't and turned, oblivious, to retrieve a lipstick from her purse.

He shrunk away and I covered my expression and guilt with a goblet of burgundy wine.

Discuss | 2 comments

His name is not Victor.
Wednesday, September 11, 2002
03:40 p.m.
"His name is not Victor. It is Jean Baptiste Poquelin Moliere."

Maybe the funniest line from the Worst Paper Ever, by far the coolest item to be found on filepile.org in some time. Don't take that as a light statement, because it isn't. Every day I find at least one something there that stuns, amazes or shocks the shit out of me. I laugh out loud as often too. Droll one-line comments from users are responsible for most those chuckles. And the music they got there isn't crappy either.

So, for all of you who did not go through the intricate series of blow jobs required to acquire a coveted filepile account (also for those who could give a fuck), I present the recent winner of my new, entirely improvised contest, Best Pile in a While:

The Miser
by Victor Molliere

Discuss | 11 comments