Monday, January 26, 2015
Format definitely matters, right? Remember when we all wrote blogs before Twitter and Instagram? I've been having this discussion a lot lately.
We're all too ADD (except Lauren and a select few) to commit to a longer form of expression. A friend wisely surmised that Instagram is visual poop and Twitter is verbal poop.
I once said to R, "Every blog has its shelf life." A phrase that he loves to mischievously throw back in my face from time-to-time. Some (RIP) quit while they were ahead. I guess that I'm in denial that this might be the end for W&M. May as well drag it out to the bitter end. Lisa (whom I just met IRL and has the most exquisite voice and laugh ever) is still with me.
I love the fact that I can look back on seven years worth of posts (would've been more, but I deleted my livejournal) and see what I was feeling and try to imagine what it was like to be that person. According to the numbers alone, 2009 must have been a rather self-important year coming in at a whopping 332 posts.
Anyway, I wonder about jumping ship to a more mobile friendly platform... maybe Tumblr. I already have one, its tagline is "an even larger collection of woolgathering & miscellany, only without all the soppy baggage." I'd have to rescind that last part, but I don't think anyone is keeping track.
I guess I feel a bit of a void that the blog and all you fascinating folks that came with it left. I love writing, I really do. I need a jumpstart. Sorry for that dramatic photo, I'm not quite ready to kill this one off yet.
Monday, October 27, 2014
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
It's becoming increasingly difficult for me to discern real vs. fake news. Real news headlines these days are so outlandish and sensational that any reasonable person would think their fake. Conversely, fake news items are so believable, goddammit!
Here are two recent examples that had me fooled!
New Study Finds Humans Shouldn’t Spend More Than 5 Consecutive Hours Together
I've taken to Facebook as an outlet for this tirade, but I doubt that my twice-removed cousins nor the girl I stabbed in the foot with a pair of scissors in second grade would really understand or give two fucks.
Other notable shit on this topic:
- Vice is Hip -- fake but totally believable Vice Headlines
- Why "Smart" People Fall for Fake News -- I added the quotes. Don't wanna be presumptuous by calling myself smart or anything...
Painting: Gerhard Richter
Thursday, August 21, 2014
Tuesday, August 05, 2014
- Given by: Downtown Dave from Pizzeria Bianco
- Circa 2010 - Present
- Given by: R/Honeybearcakes/Husband
- Circa 2004 - Present
- Little Nugget or Lil' Nug
- Given by: K10/Kristen
- Circa 2014 - Present
- Sue Nami
- Given by: Self/Roller Derby
- Circa 2002 - 2004
- Baby Feet
- Given by: Creeeeepy tour van driver in Hawaii
- Circa 2014 - 2014 (THANK GAWD)
- Dirty Chink
- Given by: Mean girls in middle school (FUCK YOU)
- Circa 1995 - 1997
Friday, July 25, 2014
We’ve been at it all summer, from the Canadian border
to the edge of Mexico, just barely keeping it American
but doing okay just the same, in hotels under overpasses
or rooms next to ice machines, friends’ fold-out couches,
in-laws’ guest quarters—wallpaper and bedspreads festooned
with nautical rigging, tiny life rings and coiled tow ropes—even one night in the car, the plush backseat not plush
enough, the door handle giving me an impromptu
sacro-cranial chiropractic adjustment, the underside
of the front seat strafing the perfect arches of his feet.
And one long glorious night in a cabin tucked in the woods
where our crooning and whooping started the coyotessinging. But the best was when we got home, our luggage
cuddled in the vestibule—really just a hallway
but because we were home it seemed like a vestibule—
and we threw off our vestments, which were really
just our clothes but they seemed like garments, like raiment,
like habits because we felt sorely religious, dropping themone by one on the stairs: white shirts, black bra, blue jeans,
red socks, then stood naked in our own bedroom, our bed
with its drab spread, our pillows that smelled like us:
a little shampoo-y, maybe a little like myrrh, the gooseberry
candle we light sometimes when we’re in the mood for mood,
our own music and books and cap off the toothpaste and caton the window seat. Our window looks over a parking lot—
a dental group—and at night we can hear the cars whisper
past the 24-hour Albertson’s where the homeless couple
buys their bag of wine before they walk across the street
to sit on the dentist’s bench under a tree and swap it
and guzzle it and argue loudly until we all fall asleep.
- A Poem by Dorianne Laux via Brainpickings
Monday, June 23, 2014
Tuesday, June 17, 2014
These remind me of a time when I was at my friend Gina's house around Christmas. We were unpacking ornaments from a dusty water stained cardboard box. She had two large Goodfeathers* ornaments. The pigeons were decked out in scarves and ice skates.
I was making them figure eight across the carpet, twirled them in a single axel or two. This went on for a few minutes and I spaced out a bit. When I snapped out of it, I looked down and saw that they were smashed in my hands and Gina was screaming at me.
"WHY DID YOU DO THAT!?" red in the face, her curls violently bobbing while her big brown eyes welled up.
"I didn't! I mean, um, I didn't mean to... it was an accident??" I stammered in my defense.
"WHAT DID YOU MEAN IT WAS AN ACCIDENT! I SAW YOU SMASH THEM TOGETHER!" she demanded unrelenting.
Hmmm, I guess I did smash them together. What did I think was going to happen? I flashed back to a minute ago when I bumped their beaks together as they grazed past each other. What really did happen? Where did I go? Did I do it on purpose? How rotten, if so!
Why did I do it? Was I jealous that her family got to have traditional Christmas'? Was I secretly angry that she got to have a potpourri of amazing, sentimental ornaments while my mom went to the craft store each year, chose a color theme, and militantly wrapped gold ribbon around the tree from a wobbly ladder whilst shooing me out of the room with her left foot?
I'm still not sure what happened or why, but I do recognize that feeling that bubbles up every now and again. That craving for destruction, utter annihilation. Figuratively and literally. It's a little scary how dark the corners can get. It's important to keep focused, stay present. Don't ever drift off...
*there's an Animaniacs wiki?!?
Thursday, June 12, 2014
- Finish listening to Carsick
- A Dirty Shame
- Cecil B. DeMented
- Serial Mom
- Desperate Living
- Female Trouble
- Pink Flamingos
- Multiple Maniacs
- Mondo Trasho
- Eat Your Makeup
Thursday, April 10, 2014
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
I realize that in Japan, a lot of these things aren't in the social consciousness, but I would really like to see the following emojis developed:
- Champagne glass/cork (Necessity)
- Chinese girl (ME!)
- Black guy/girl (So I can stop using the moon)
- Potato chips
- Running girl (I'm always running late)
- Yoga mat/yoga pose (Helpful for communicating with R)
- Pink donut
- Mexican flag
- Smiley face with regular glasses
Which ones would you like to see?
Friday, January 17, 2014
Friday, January 03, 2014
A few observations after watching seasons one and two:
- Is it Ron Perlman as Clay Morrow -- OR -- is it Will Ferrell as Ron Perlman as Clay Morrow?
- Maggie Siff's characters always gets to bang the hottest leading males (see: Don Draper)
- Taylor Sheridan looks like one he could be one of R's maternal uncles/cousins
- Lots of Restylane (Magz, Drea de Matteo, & Peg Bundy) and not a lot of Botox (Magz again)
- Violence level: satisfactory
- Gratuitous sex level: poor (let's hope that things steam up in the next few seasons).
I love you, so no spoilers, OK?