smiles form the channel of a future tear

April 30, 2011 § 1 Comment

Pensive morning, this. Too much stuff going on and too many people trying to tell me what to do about said stuff, and me with not enough trust to go round and too much of said trust invested unwisely.

This song reminds me of being 18 and wondering what my life would be, what I would make it. At the time I found its downtrodden sadsack narrative so romantic. Doomed relationships, fucked up lives, now THAT’S what my future will be like!

Here I am, and it is actually like that, and it’s way less romantic. But for any of you whose impression of me is one of opportunity wasted, think again – I was aiming pretty low to begin with.



and we’re different how?

April 21, 2011 § 2 Comments

To clear up any issue of bias, I’ll admit right now that my mood is terrible this morning. There is no winning today, such that even scientists are on my shit list. And I love science. The method, the operational definitions that remove the cloudiness of the “real world”, statistical significance, the hesitance to make definitive statements in favor of observations and “directions for further study”. Fucking love it.

But, guys, really? We’re surprised that chimps trade meat for sex, in a longer term way than “Hey, Peg, chow down on this while I hump you for a minute”? Study it all, yes, great. But it’s not amazingly newsworthy that our close animal relatives figured out a way to barter something necessary for something “necessary”. It’s pretty primal that we trade money for sex, and not much less primal that we trade dinner dates and flowers and caring phone calls for regular sex. Sure, we call that dating and try to turn it into something particularly human and romantic. But have you seen that video of the chimp and the frog? I was shown it by someone who’s using me for regular sex, and I totally related to that frog. Only difference is I get the chance to say yes, and he’ll probably buy me ice cream or fix my kitchen sink at some point.

This particularly pessimistic post brought to you by my cramping, crying uterus (which apparently enjoys alliteration)…


Dedicated to Middlemarch.

April 19, 2011 § 1 Comment

The second-best article to come from NPR today–I’ll be dreaming of you tonight, mozzarella stick grilled cheese sandwich.

The Sad, Beautiful Fact That We’re All Going to Miss Almost Everything

“It’s sad, but it’s also … great, really. Imagine if you’d seen everything good, or if you knew about everything good. Imagine if you really got to all the recordings and books and movies you’re “supposed to see.” Imagine you got through everybody’s list, until everything you hadn’t read didn’t really need reading. That would imply that all the cultural value the world has managed to produce since a glob of primordial ooze first picked up a violin is so tiny and insignificant that a single human being can gobble all of it in one lifetime. That would make us failures, I think.”

As a person who thinks, sometimes obsessively, about all the things I haven’t read or seen or done I find this an especially nice thought. Way to go, human race. I’d say more but I bought some mini chocolate ice cream cones from Trader Joe’s and shortly, I will be occupied with shoving them into my face.


here comes the sun?

April 19, 2011 § Leave a comment

April showers bring...

Everyone’s been emotional lately. Ups and downs, not to mention the constant feedback loops, and it wears on us, even as we try to remain insistently optimistic. But signs of spring…they’re here, really they are!

1. game night – the awesomest of all awesome gamesmiths came and played prototypes with us. And he wasn’t scared away! He might even come back again! When is the last time someone with a penis encountered the lot of us and had that reaction?

2. Passover/Egret Secret Sisters – yes, indeed. A mere days away. There’s a metric ton of stuffing in my freezer, everyone’s getting a present, and yet another opportunity to watch new people sprawled across my carpet (ignore the other possible meanings of such a phrase, as any highly unlikely yet potential get-down carpet-sprawling will not be a watchable sport). It’s like a rite of passage at this point.

3. interpersonal awkward party – let’s be making this happen, letterpressed invites and all. No need for just us to feel awkward all the time, we must spread it around to our former nearest and dearest.

4. the baconalia at Denny’s – bacon sundae? Can we get to Danvers? Or Chicopee Falls? Like, now? There’s a fried cheese stick melt that needs to be in my belly, followed by a breakfast sandwich that might kill me instantly.


baggage – a matching set

April 15, 2011 § Leave a comment

come back so i can say yes this time do it again now that i know what to call what you did

this time i’ll be ready i like it rough now and i’m done with romance i never met another man who loved me so much at first sight he had to hurt me to do it

It troubles me from time to time, thinking on just how much I respond to this poem. It makes sense to me, it turns me on, it reflects the way I’ve looked at the world and love and sex since I was old enough to even ponder such large things.

The fragment “come back so i can say yes this time” pushed its way into my head towards the end of my date last night/this morning, but not in a rape way – though he has more than one scary knife, none were pointed at me.  This is more in terms of our inability to be anyone other than we are. There was a moment, and I could have/should have/really fucking wanted to do something, grab him, I don’t know, I wanted to act on something primal and not so analytical and not so me. And then I watched that moment pass, in my head and then across his face, and I hated myself. Where is the magic button you can push that will fast-forward you just a page or two in the narrative, so that you don’t lose your nerve and screw it up on this very page in this very minute? I am expert at recognizing the moment pass, the inexorable spread of it, the sick pull of it in my abdomen, and mostly the confused dawning of it in someone else’s eyes as he (usually he) sees me for who I actually am. I want to change, but how? Come back so I can say yes this time.


April 12, 2011 § 3 Comments

Remember those “Choose Your Own Adventure” books? The ones where there was a bit of plot and then you, the main character, chose your path throughout the story in a series of multiple-choice questions until you either “won” or were eaten by a dragon in a lava pit or something? I always cheated when I read those. Always. I’d flip ahead and see that picking B. meant I’d be filleted by a thousand tiny swords from behind the booby trapped picture and instead, I’d pick C. Anyways, what I am getting at is that I think this was some kind of foreshadowing of my total inability to make a decision as an adult-type person.

I don’t make decisions as much as I sign legally binding contracts so that I am eventually forced into a certain path. See J. circa one year ago, when I was actually a soon-to-be-recent graduate. I thought I’d move to Toronto (long story) and then that didn’t really work out (longer story) so I was pretty torn between moving home (person I loved) and staying here (possibly achieving some semblance of actual person-hood). Naturally, I subletted pretty much the first apartment I looked at and signed a lease. Then I left the realtors’ office and cried and cried until I got a nosebleed and then I cried some more. The rest, they say, is history. Things really, really sucked for a while and I cried to the point of nosebleed many times over but then I also met all you lovely people and things really, really stopped sucking and turned out more than okay. So, when the time came to make another decision and choose a graduate school, I was all “eeney, meeny, miney, renewing the lease on this apartment and installing curtains.” Because it’s great; I have friends I love, and my home state is all snuggled up there on the west coast of Massachusetts, and I don’t have to disassemble my dresser and make it any more broken than it currently is. So why, why, why I ask you, must I constantly worry that there is a choice C. or D. that is secretly the right path and that I’m just building to the part where I’m eaten by the abominable snowman? Am I selfish to wish I, like so many others, had fewer and/or no choices and is this why I then necessitate this possibility by making other, indirect choices? (i.e. not really choosing a grad school, but renewing the lease on the apartment in the city which only one grad school is based) Is this why people join the Peace Corps?

Anyways, I picked this picture of these pandas because I think mostly, I get hung up on this idea that there is supposed to be more. Fuckin’ Maslow and your heirarchy of needs pyramid and your stupid self-actualization, I blame you. Isn’t just being a person and discovering that the pants you put on have a giant hole in the ass long after you left the house hard enough without the overwhelming sense that the life you’re living isn’t existentially good enough and maybe you could be the type of person who never discovers mysterious holes in anything (except for possibly at the beach when they are filled with treasure) if only you could try a little harder and if you only knew exactly what you were trying for?

Think, and then keep thinking, and then overthink to the point of total exhaustion so you fall over, which is a little like jumping but not quite.


what’s that old saw…

April 11, 2011 § 1 Comment

about taking the girl out of Florida but being unable to take Florida out of the girl? Witness my idiosyncratic choice of beverage (I think it was when you guys were at IKEA, but one day Kayla asked me about it and said “Are you trying to make a statement about culture and intelligence and stereotypes?” and I was all “Umm, yesssss?”), abysmal fashion sense (there’s a reason I limit myself to shades of gray), and pronunciation of the word “pink”.

So I started this post intending to introduce a song that I like (not love, just like. We’re, like, buds, you know? We’re not attached or anything, we can compare crushes on Starbucks baristas and shit like that), this Guster song that telegraphs what’s about to happen all in the first 30 seconds. Which, if you think about it, and don’t bother because I’ve done it for you, not many songs do. Starts light, brings in the guitars and drums, and it’s all letting you know that the song’s going to build to this by the end so be ready. And then I realized in order to do this I’d have to admit to liking Guster, and who does that? Not me. At least, not without also copping to some other guilty pleasures, and for this slide into cheese I will blame my Floridian upbringing.

Said all there is to say about this, except that I love singing along to Guster songs because it’s like doing “Row Your Boat” without needing anyone else in the room. Pick one guy’s voice, sing along with him, the other dude will do his thing and harmonize with you and it’s a good time.

Totally awful, and I dig the whole album…such shame. But also fun to sing along with at the top of your lungs (I did it this morning, in fact, while watching the families and homeless of Brookline stroll past the bear farm windows). AND he references actual good songs at the end and name-checks Davey Von Bohlen of Cap’n Jazz and the Promise Ring, with whom we’ve already established I am in everlasting love.

I don’t know. I can’t defend this one at all. Garth Brooks? Really? But at least if you watch the video there are some interesting images here that speak to some psychological trauma going on with this particular youtuber. After a while the telephone starts staring at you. Creepy.

Sigh. River Phoenix. As a country singer-songwriter. Awesomely bad movie – can we have a maturetivity soon around this? I’ve got some amazingly trashy recipes to go with it.



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