Archive for January, 2008

Blue-eyed mutants

We are family.

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While I was all laid up in bed this past week, feelin’ all sorry for myself and stuff, I had a lot of time to think and I came to a few conclusions. 1.) It gets easier and easier as the years go by to rid myself of circumstances — and, dare I say, individuals — whom I perceive as detrimental to my mission, i.e. avoiding pain, misery and humiliation in life. 2.) I’m not sure if this growing ease is something I should be too proud of.

All I know is that when you’re feeling like you may never get out of bed again certain things take on an air of importance and other things that really demanded attention become rather silly.

I’m sure all this nonsensical soul searching is a direct result of the fact that I have always had a blessed but freakish constitution that allowed me to avoid most of the illnesses people succumb to for most of my life. Alas, age catches up with you and eventually you become a mere mortal and have to face your increasing vulnerability to the world. No easy task for this kid.

Oddly, all this epiphany time led me to think about a concert I went to in college — probably because of the direct correlations I’ve been making between present people in my life and the past people who actually attended this concert with me — which in turn led me to dig out some old CDs to put into the trusty new MP3 player, which has become my pet project of late.

This band had just released the album that “made” them but no one had heard of them when my roommate’s boyfriend convinced us to go see them play with these guys, who put out one of the greatest CDs of all time. Some friends from high school came up to visit and one of them, my friend Matt, was such a gentleman that he refused to let me jump around in the mosh pit with him. That really meant something to me then. I should be embarrassed by that but I’m not…

This song came on a later album but is one of my favorites and almost makes me cry every time I hear it because, as good as it is to recognize what prevents you from being happy, it’s also incredibly bittersweet remembering how it felt to let it all go.

Here’s this one, too, just because it’s awesome.

Man, I can’t wait till I’m back to not caring again…

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On the mend

This past week, I really came to understand how the Spanish flu epidemic of 1918 could kill 600,000 people [ed note: apparently it was more in the 20 million range. Dude…]. I’ve coughed so much that I actually pulled a muscle in my back…

But I’ll live, despite some feverish dreams Sunday night to the contrary.

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My ability to opine will be severely limited in the coming months. Awww, I know…need a tissue? I’m just really busy, k? don’t be mad…

I want so badly to talk about the nefariousness of the medical profession/big pharma in promoting the false sense of security accompanying prescription medication that has been made so very public of late with some tragic news that I won’t repeat here out of respect. But I’ll decline because I don’t think people are ready to hear it yet. Suffice it to say that med/pharma is a business and selling drugs is how they generate revenue and stay in business. So, maybe we’re not getting all the warning information as a society that we should. And that just pisses me off, man. It really does.

But, I won’t talk about that. Instead, for levity, I’ll show you this photo of my ladies last weekend. They are so good at the dance. It’s inspiring.

And also a picture of the kickass denim dress Sweet P made last week on Project Runway. I totally want it.

and speaking of dance, disco’s back ya’ll. And I love it…….

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Damn, damn, damn.
Agent Bedhead says it well. You did have so much ahead of you I’ve no doubt but I’ll always love what you gave us while you were here.

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I literally danced for hours this weekend and muscles I didn’t even know I had are letting me know I have them. I mean yesterday I had to roll — no joke — out of bed because my hips just weren’t going to respond to the synapses in my brain that were firing off instructions for them to bend. My hips just gave my brain the finger and I tried not to be too angry with them because I did kinda tax them to the extreme this weekend. But, I tell ya, I really like knowing that I can still bust out some grand jetes and torso rolls with the best of them. Also, I had the opportunity to visit an old favorite that I haven’t been to since High School, Huey’s in Atlanta. I used to go there after church on Sundays when I first learned to drive and it was nice getting up early Sunday and popping on down Peachtree (it was only about 5 minutes from my friend’s house) for some chicory coffee and french toast. *sigh*

On the way back East, I stopped and got some gatorade and some boiled peanuts — yes, this is why I love Atlanta. You can stop at a gas station in the middle of downtown and get boiled peanuts for two dollars. Awesome.

A friend who recently moved to Charleston sent me this book:

I haven’t read it yet but it looks interesting. You can read more about it here. Okay E, I’ve blogged about it. Happy now? (I’m kidding! Thanks for the book and the letter.)

More music going into the MP3 playerl. This is actually from college and oh so good…

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I gotta give a shout out to the guy that made the 911 call to police in the Meredith Emerson case. You can read about here and be sure to listen to the call because at one point the guy offers to go take the bastard down because he’s worried the police won’t be there in time. And you can tell by his voice he means it. This all went down about five minutes from my childhood home in Atlanta and, I gotta say, I’ve never been prouder to be a Georgia girl and an Atlanta native.

Also, I’m in the process of learning a beautiful dance combination to this song for our show in the Spring and I’ve just fallen in love, both with the piece and the music. Maybe it’s because it’s a lyrical piece and you’re pretty much required to listen to and feel the music in order to effectively dance it; or maybe it’s because sometimes your life circumstantially allows specific things to resonate with you in ways maybe they wouldn’t at other times. Either way, I’m feeling it. I hope you can to…

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Damn I love LOLcats…

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So, a few things. James Taranto of the Wall Street Journal Opinion Page summed up exactly how I feel about Hillary Clinton and her recent win in New Hampshire after becoming emotional to voters at a cafe there:

"Again, it is difficult to imagine a male candidate benefiting the way Mrs. Clinton appears to have done after tearing up over how difficult it is to run for office. If it works, it works; but it's an interesting irony that Mrs. Clinton is being put forth as a feminist icon while taking advantage of a double standard that rests on a presumption of feminine weakness."
(taken from the WSJ editorial page email newsletter I get)

That's because it's all scripted and the "feminist" ideology is just a front for her supreme self-serving ambition. Everything's negotiable when you'll do anything to get to the top. I'm not sure why Ms. Clinton bothers me so except that as a woman who struggles to stay both feminine and gentle while still commanding respect for my intellect and abilities, she offends that part of me that knows that her vacillation between ballbreaker and concerned earth mother is all just an act depending on the audience. She doesn't seem to be either one unless it suits her purposes. Therefore, it's not really a struggle for her as much as it is an affectation. And that's some cold business, man. And I would prefer not to have a sociopath in the White House thank you very much.

Also, glad to see Fred Thompson actually open his mouth and say something in South Carolina. I have a feeling I agree with him but I've never actually heard him talk about his platform. Maybe his strategy was to remain the mysterious trojan horse who's just waiting to be let in the gate...

Beyond that, my sister-in-law told me an awesome story about a 97-year-old man who is currently courting her grandmother. Apparently he enticed her to have dinner with him by saying she could share his Red Lobster Senior Citizen Discount Card. Those're some mad skills. It would've worked on me.

Also, here's some more High School music I just digitized and some Regina Spektor because she's just cool.

Goodbye Yellow Brick Road by Elton John

On The Radio by Regina Spektor

Have a Johnny Depp weekend (read: stay true to your bizarre self)!

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Chalk Nazis

So my neighborhood has a million dogs. Most of the dog owners are responsible — they carry nasty, bulging little plastic bags and do what society dictates they must. I avoid all that ridiculousness by dragging Stella to the vacant lot at the end of the street or making her “conduct business” in her own backyard. And yet still, every couple of weeks, I am assaulted by the pastel sidewalk-chalk fascist ramblings of the neighbors a few doors down. Now, I appreciate that they have kids that play in their yard and little feet tracking stinky stuff through the house is unacceptable. I also believe that being pissed off given these circumstances is justifiable. But the bi-monthly preemptive strike in huge letters that greets me as I walk my dog — things like “Responsible dog owners pick up the mess — are you a responsible dog owner? We know you are!” and “Don’t dirty my child’s playground.” — are just intended to make everyone — this is the main sidewalk through the neighborhood and the foot/paw traffic is heavy — feel really bad about themselves as people/pets. Especially since, as I said, most of the people in my neighborhood are uber-respectful when it comes to this issue (rather comically I think. Grown men stooping to pick up dog poop just makes me laugh…). What’s more, the messages have become increasingly vitriolic of late, indicating to me some projection on the part of “writer” forcing everyone in the neighborhood to feel the pain of their marital troubles or kid problems or clogged toilet or whatever the hell else they’re complaining about via chalk terrorism. The last one, a few weeks ago, said this: “The grass between the sidewalk and the street is our yard, too.”

Then, last night, someone struck back. I got out of class a little early and had dinner with a friend. By the time I got home to walk the girl, it was nearly dark and, as I approached the Hitler home I saw a new message, angrily written in all caps with a large arrow pointing to a circle. It said, “Thanks a lot. We appreciate it.” and the arrow pointed to the biggest pile of dog crap I have ever seen, right smack dab in the middle of the sidewalk I presume because the sidewalk, unless zoning laws have changed, is not their yard.

That shit was funny. Literally.

On a slightly less funny note, I finally got an MP3 player — a Zune, which all my Apple snob coworkers make fun of me for but whatever. I support Microsoft because they make a good product and Bill Gates does stuff like this. In any event, I have been digitizing many of my old CDs and have come across a few gems from High School. Like this one, which gives you the opportunity to deride me but I still say it’s a great song even if it is easy, cheesy 80s hair rock.

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