Even the crummiest relationships leave you with something other than a hole in heart and soul.
My brother told me about the radio station he listens to and I tried it today, but since it's a Long Island station and my car radio sucks, the corridor of optimum listening is narrow.
"Heroes" came on as I was leaving the corridor, but I kept the station even when my voice was pretty much accompanied by more static than Bowie.
A friend of mine turned me on to Bowie, Pink Floyd, and Alice Cooper years ago. At the time, the only Bowie I knew was from the videos of "Let's Dance" and "Modern Love," which aren't really Bowie at all. She showed me the White Duke and Ziggy.
I enjoyed a friendship with her husband first and then started a friendship with her. She was a neat person...
...Aside from a resentment against people who might be smarter than her and a bunch of pride in the fact that she read one book a year, which wouldn't've mattered if she didn't mention it constantly. She also had the habit of repeating things I said, which wouldn't've been annoying if she didn't put her voice up into a querulous whine when she did. I might not have a clear idea of how my voice actually sounds, but I know I don't sound like that.
Anyway, I did like being her friend. Until she and her husband started having marital problems that evolved into all out marital wars that finally ended in divorce. Then she turned into an asshole. He turned into an asshole. And I got the hell out.
She did, however, give me Bowie. For that, I'm grateful.
I think one of the reasons Major Ex couldn't remain my friend was that he didn't want to see anything I gave him, aside from the headaches and heartaches. If he acknowledged that any good came from our knowing each other, he'd have to acknowledge that I wasn't a bad person. He'd never be able to do it.
More's the pity.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Looking into the Deadlights
The Losers Club in IT contains some of my favorite child characters. Brave beyond measure, looking into the abyss of the real and unreal with unflinching gazes.
Shit. As a person who knows she'd be nothing but an agonized scream in an empty house ending in a long blood stain on the floor on the second page (with the first page showing just enough of her good points to make the reader sympathize), I love and envy them.
The book presents the interesting question of belief. Children can believe. Adults have a harder time. That's the reason I think my mother would probably last a hell of a lot longer in the Kingverse- maybe to the last page. She has a huge shining faith to her.
What would save me in the sewers?
I believe Saint Anthony can find anything that's lost as long as it's retrievable. I think an oversized iced coffee is a magical restorative, especially if someone else buys it for you as a surprise. I think some items of clothing- my favorite blue sweater, my Saints T-shirts, my ratty Marine Corps shirt- are lucky. I believe books can cure broken hearts, strengthen relationships, and even heal physical wounds (just the other day I burned my finger on the stove and held a Nora Roberts on the burn...the pain went away and the skin didn't blister). I have faith anything can be found on Google if I have the right search terms. That I could create the perfect assignment that brings students to a whole new level of literary and/or grammatical enlightenment. That the right string of songs on the radio can produce enough armor to get me through the heaviest and hectic of days.
Not much. But not too little either.
Shit. As a person who knows she'd be nothing but an agonized scream in an empty house ending in a long blood stain on the floor on the second page (with the first page showing just enough of her good points to make the reader sympathize), I love and envy them.
The book presents the interesting question of belief. Children can believe. Adults have a harder time. That's the reason I think my mother would probably last a hell of a lot longer in the Kingverse- maybe to the last page. She has a huge shining faith to her.
What would save me in the sewers?
I believe Saint Anthony can find anything that's lost as long as it's retrievable. I think an oversized iced coffee is a magical restorative, especially if someone else buys it for you as a surprise. I think some items of clothing- my favorite blue sweater, my Saints T-shirts, my ratty Marine Corps shirt- are lucky. I believe books can cure broken hearts, strengthen relationships, and even heal physical wounds (just the other day I burned my finger on the stove and held a Nora Roberts on the burn...the pain went away and the skin didn't blister). I have faith anything can be found on Google if I have the right search terms. That I could create the perfect assignment that brings students to a whole new level of literary and/or grammatical enlightenment. That the right string of songs on the radio can produce enough armor to get me through the heaviest and hectic of days.
Not much. But not too little either.
Reason 287 why I love Julie Garwood
I was reading IT and watching season one of SUPERNATURAL last week- the book as a distraction from schoolwork and the show as background noise while correcting.
Got home on Friday and took one look at the book, with the scary clown on the front cover and author's picture on the back (not exactly scary, but not very comforting either) and said, Do you really want to spend another night scaring the shit out of yourself?
I'm all brave in the light of day and think I can handle the subject matter, but when night comes, the creepies set in. I'm looking behind the closed shower curtain and trying to decide if I should face the wall or the other way when I sleep. Not to mention having to summon up those fluffy unicorn, rainbow thoughts before closing my eyes.
Try not to think about what form Pennywise would take, the better to rip my face off. Right now, the form might be a shambling, relentless zombie administration hungering for my braaaiiiinnnnssss.
The answer to the question was no, I didn't want to spend another night scared out of my wits. Even if the pleasure of being horrified by works of fiction is absolutely delightful sometimes.
The obvious choice was SIZZLE. I like Garwood's heroines and heroes. They might be impossibly gorgeous, but they're never dicks. I like anything remotely related to the Buchanans and I love reading about hunky FBI agents as a near second to reading about hunky police officers.
She also includes a slapsticky comic relief character who must've been hell of a lot of fun to write.
Main characters who unwittingly get themselves into trouble? UST that suddenly becomes kisses that lead into sex? A little twist at the end and then HEA?
I couldn't and didn't ask for anything more.
For the first time since I started reading IT, I could fall asleep without prepping myself for it.
Got home on Friday and took one look at the book, with the scary clown on the front cover and author's picture on the back (not exactly scary, but not very comforting either) and said, Do you really want to spend another night scaring the shit out of yourself?
I'm all brave in the light of day and think I can handle the subject matter, but when night comes, the creepies set in. I'm looking behind the closed shower curtain and trying to decide if I should face the wall or the other way when I sleep. Not to mention having to summon up those fluffy unicorn, rainbow thoughts before closing my eyes.
Try not to think about what form Pennywise would take, the better to rip my face off. Right now, the form might be a shambling, relentless zombie administration hungering for my braaaiiiinnnnssss.
The answer to the question was no, I didn't want to spend another night scared out of my wits. Even if the pleasure of being horrified by works of fiction is absolutely delightful sometimes.
The obvious choice was SIZZLE. I like Garwood's heroines and heroes. They might be impossibly gorgeous, but they're never dicks. I like anything remotely related to the Buchanans and I love reading about hunky FBI agents as a near second to reading about hunky police officers.
She also includes a slapsticky comic relief character who must've been hell of a lot of fun to write.
Main characters who unwittingly get themselves into trouble? UST that suddenly becomes kisses that lead into sex? A little twist at the end and then HEA?
I couldn't and didn't ask for anything more.
For the first time since I started reading IT, I could fall asleep without prepping myself for it.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Mother's only half of the appropriate word
My brother dropped my nephew off this morning, and the first words out of nephew's mouth? "My mom's picking me up today."
His eyes were shining and his face was beaming- all that good happy stuff. He looked like a kid on his birthday, which fell on Christmas, which happened to be a snow day, which was also a day when every good boy's wish came true. This broke my heart.
He was in that excited space where you don't want to do anything but count down the hours until the good times arrive. I've been in that space myself. The thrill of anticipation and exquisite pain of time passing slowly.
Didn't want to go out to lunch. Didn't want to go to Best Buy. No movies or car rides, just let him alone to play his games and color and wait for the call.
Trouble is, I knew how the story would end.
My brother comes to pick him up, and my nephew calls his mom to tell her she can meet them at their house.
But she's not there.
That's okay. There are three other numbers he can try. She'll be at one of those, right? Right?
My brother just left with my nephew in tears, trying to make alternate plans for a night that's already gone to hell.
Believe me, I want to take him to the toy aisle of every store and say "Have at it, Kid" until he finds the one thing he wanted that would make everything better.
I wanted to hug him, but sometimes that doesn't do anything but drive the shard in deeper.
I hate his mother. She's a crack-whore trashy lousy shit and snot covered excuse for a human being. I can't imagine taking unconditional love and spitting on it. I hate her for making him soar so high today, only to let him crash.
I'm wishing all sorts of bad things on her, which doesn't do a lick of good and it's not like the universe is so obliging.
His eyes were shining and his face was beaming- all that good happy stuff. He looked like a kid on his birthday, which fell on Christmas, which happened to be a snow day, which was also a day when every good boy's wish came true. This broke my heart.
He was in that excited space where you don't want to do anything but count down the hours until the good times arrive. I've been in that space myself. The thrill of anticipation and exquisite pain of time passing slowly.
Didn't want to go out to lunch. Didn't want to go to Best Buy. No movies or car rides, just let him alone to play his games and color and wait for the call.
Trouble is, I knew how the story would end.
My brother comes to pick him up, and my nephew calls his mom to tell her she can meet them at their house.
But she's not there.
That's okay. There are three other numbers he can try. She'll be at one of those, right? Right?
My brother just left with my nephew in tears, trying to make alternate plans for a night that's already gone to hell.
Believe me, I want to take him to the toy aisle of every store and say "Have at it, Kid" until he finds the one thing he wanted that would make everything better.
I wanted to hug him, but sometimes that doesn't do anything but drive the shard in deeper.
I hate his mother. She's a crack-whore trashy lousy shit and snot covered excuse for a human being. I can't imagine taking unconditional love and spitting on it. I hate her for making him soar so high today, only to let him crash.
I'm wishing all sorts of bad things on her, which doesn't do a lick of good and it's not like the universe is so obliging.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
We all float
My bag is overflowing with assignments mewling to be corrected, so the only action I can take is reread IT.
As I read the opening sequence, my mind split. The writer in me marvelled at the way King unfolds the scene- a rainy day crystalline in beautiful description with not-even-foreshadowing-'cause-it's-way-too-blatant ("George ran toward his death") and a perfect introduction of a main character. The reader in me knew what was coming, but very little of the horror when Georgie meets Pennywise was diminished. What an incredibly horrible way to die or have someone you love die. And what an awesome beginning to a book.
Before I first read IT, my boyfriend and I used to park on the side of the house after our dates. A huge open sewer pipe (the kind you could actually walk into) was at the top of the hill. The first time we parked after I finished the book, I couldn't stand having that gaping blackness behind me, so my boyfriend turned the car around. Facing the hole was even worse.
Finding another place to make out proved to be difficult and might've contributed to our break-up.
As I read the opening sequence, my mind split. The writer in me marvelled at the way King unfolds the scene- a rainy day crystalline in beautiful description with not-even-foreshadowing-'cause-it's-way-too-blatant ("George ran toward his death") and a perfect introduction of a main character. The reader in me knew what was coming, but very little of the horror when Georgie meets Pennywise was diminished. What an incredibly horrible way to die or have someone you love die. And what an awesome beginning to a book.
Before I first read IT, my boyfriend and I used to park on the side of the house after our dates. A huge open sewer pipe (the kind you could actually walk into) was at the top of the hill. The first time we parked after I finished the book, I couldn't stand having that gaping blackness behind me, so my boyfriend turned the car around. Facing the hole was even worse.
Finding another place to make out proved to be difficult and might've contributed to our break-up.
I can't find my righteous indignation
Damn, where is my anger?
I noticed the man-centered thrust (see wot I did thar?) of the Super Bowl ads, but the misogyny went right over my head.
I'm expecting someone to burst through the door and confiscate my womyn's lit ("You can take the Friedan, but please leave the Steinhem and Walker essays, I beg you!").
Even the much-disparaged pro-life PSA didn't seem quite so bad. In fact, I thought it was kind of cute (although having Tebow's mom tackled within minutes of seeing Betty White tackled probably has Unfortunate Implications). I wouldn't've known the spot was pro-life if I hadn't read about it before.
Subtlety is one of the most effective form of brainwashing.
As I read the numerous entries about the anti-woman ads, I kind of shrugged and remarked, "I was there to watch the game."
Hoff's Law materialized in corporeal form and pistol-whipped me.
I noticed the man-centered thrust (see wot I did thar?) of the Super Bowl ads, but the misogyny went right over my head.
I'm expecting someone to burst through the door and confiscate my womyn's lit ("You can take the Friedan, but please leave the Steinhem and Walker essays, I beg you!").
Even the much-disparaged pro-life PSA didn't seem quite so bad. In fact, I thought it was kind of cute (although having Tebow's mom tackled within minutes of seeing Betty White tackled probably has Unfortunate Implications). I wouldn't've known the spot was pro-life if I hadn't read about it before.
Subtlety is one of the most effective form of brainwashing.
As I read the numerous entries about the anti-woman ads, I kind of shrugged and remarked, "I was there to watch the game."
Hoff's Law materialized in corporeal form and pistol-whipped me.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Anything is Possible!
31-17. 31-17.
Dreams are made. Dreams come true.
The deserving get what they deserve. There's fairness in the universe.
I want to keep this in my pocket for the rest of the year. I want to remember this moment and put its glow into my life.
Sleep's a few minutes away. I have to get up at four to finish some correcting, but I'll be wearing my Who Dat shirt tomorrow at school, to hell with professional dress code.
Who dat say they gonna beat dem Saints? No one. Abso-fucking-lutely no one.
Dreams are made. Dreams come true.
The deserving get what they deserve. There's fairness in the universe.
I want to keep this in my pocket for the rest of the year. I want to remember this moment and put its glow into my life.
Sleep's a few minutes away. I have to get up at four to finish some correcting, but I'll be wearing my Who Dat shirt tomorrow at school, to hell with professional dress code.
Who dat say they gonna beat dem Saints? No one. Abso-fucking-lutely no one.
Wide open spaces
The Colts run their favorite play, but Porter snags it and runs 74 yards, accompanied by nothing but the screams of fans!
31-17.
Are there always this many commercials?
Football minutes are punishment. Those three minutes are a chasm.
I'm going to write poetry from now on, centered around Porter's run. Odes, epics, sonnets, maybe even a haiku or two.
31-17.
Are there always this many commercials?
Football minutes are punishment. Those three minutes are a chasm.
I'm going to write poetry from now on, centered around Porter's run. Odes, epics, sonnets, maybe even a haiku or two.
I'll buy an aquarium
Oh Shockey, thy name is sweet, sweet music to mine ear! I want to get a whole mess of fish, and none of those cheap gormies, either.
-tangent: how could I forget about the Budweiser Clydesdales? My dad use to take us to see them when they were touring.
Waiting on the challenge...
POINTS ARE GOOD- TWO POINT CONVERSION! DID YOU SEE THAT!?
24-17.
-tangent: how could I forget about the Budweiser Clydesdales? My dad use to take us to see them when they were touring.
Waiting on the challenge...
POINTS ARE GOOD- TWO POINT CONVERSION! DID YOU SEE THAT!?
24-17.
Super Bowl continued
If there was ever a man who deserved some primo BJs, it's Hartley.
I can't tell if Manning's nervous or not.
Because I'm an idiot: I actually thought, Gosh- there are a lot of mancentric advertisements, before I realized.
I have to give Dove some props for making a soap for him. Talk about selling bicycles to fish.
I can't tell if Manning's nervous or not.
Because I'm an idiot: I actually thought, Gosh- there are a lot of mancentric advertisements, before I realized.
I have to give Dove some props for making a soap for him. Talk about selling bicycles to fish.
Can't blow dat candle out
Shit.
17-13.
I want to go to bed and have this be over.
Remember THE KARATE KID? The evil sensei tells the 80s version of Draco to take Danny out?
I want to see him in the Saints huddle giving the same advice.
17-13.
I want to go to bed and have this be over.
Remember THE KARATE KID? The evil sensei tells the 80s version of Draco to take Danny out?
I want to see him in the Saints huddle giving the same advice.
Third Quarter glimmer
OH YEAH!
I'm gonna buy a fish and name him Thomas. Then I'll buy another one and call it Pierre. What a freaking sweet start to the third quarter!
I'm a little nervous about Manning still on the bench, but I don't think even he can combat an inside-out Who Dat t-shirt.
13-10.
I'm gonna buy a fish and name him Thomas. Then I'll buy another one and call it Pierre. What a freaking sweet start to the third quarter!
I'm a little nervous about Manning still on the bench, but I don't think even he can combat an inside-out Who Dat t-shirt.
13-10.
Speaking of halftime shows
Okay, talking about the infamous wardrobe malfunction.
A couple days later, in one of my graduate classes, the professor saw fit to comment on it (the moment was the talk of the town for a while there).
My esteemed professor- who one time canceled class because of her dog's hemorrhoids- observed that the whole thing had to have been planned because Miss Jackson wasn't wearing a bra and wearing a bra with a nipple piercing was impossible.
Er...What?
I can't think of the massive piercing that would prevent bra wearage.
A couple days later, in one of my graduate classes, the professor saw fit to comment on it (the moment was the talk of the town for a while there).
My esteemed professor- who one time canceled class because of her dog's hemorrhoids- observed that the whole thing had to have been planned because Miss Jackson wasn't wearing a bra and wearing a bra with a nipple piercing was impossible.
Er...What?
I can't think of the massive piercing that would prevent bra wearage.
Super Bowl cont.
Would you please get back to the fucking game?
How long is this medley going to last?
I'm trying to think who I'd rather see up there. Maybe some country singer.
Hell, I'd be happy with Lady GaGa.
I think medleys are the twitter of music. Both make me feel very ADD.
How long is this medley going to last?
I'm trying to think who I'd rather see up there. Maybe some country singer.
Hell, I'd be happy with Lady GaGa.
I think medleys are the twitter of music. Both make me feel very ADD.
A day late and dollar short
JD Salinger died last week.
-tangent: oh my F-ing God, thank the powers for field goals! Inch by inch, that's how the goddamned garden grows.
Back to the scheduled diversion:
CATCHER was one of the first books to make my head explode. I remember going into English class with heavy heart, wanting to talk about the book, and after a few summarizing questions, my teacher rushed us right into the next book. I don't hold it against him because he had the balls to teach a bunch of sophomores MOBY DICK...from start to finish- skipping only the chapter about the whale's dick. Which in retrospect is a pretty hilarious chapter with the whaler slipping on the whale's penis skin and the image used is a priest's cassock.
CATCHER also keeps me from being too cocky with the lit analysis. You see, I didn't get the ending. I didn't get the context. Someone, I'm thinking my teacher or one of my friends, filled me in on the fact that Holden's in an mental institution.
There's a common misperception that all English teachers loooooove Holden. Not so. I do think he whines, but that doesn't kill my sympathy for him. I get scared for him and terribly sad for his loneliness.
-tangent: OMFG- I hate the commentators. And I don't think I'll be eating Doritos any time soon.
The missing haiku. Is it in SEYMOUR: AN INTRODUCTION that has a character talking about his brother's haiku? The one about the little girl in the seat next to him on the plane who turns her doll's head when she turns to look at him? Sometimes I try to write that haiku. I've never succeeded.
-tangent: The Who sound like shit. Great, a freaking medley. What a joke. Man, and I love "Baba O'Reilly's." I think Pete's pulling a fake windmill. Too bad they're not lip-synching
The scornful contempt of Salinger around the internet was sickening. No one has to love the writer or his work, but the wagon of dismissing him that occurred when the news broke showed a lot of small minds.
-tangent: oh my F-ing God, thank the powers for field goals! Inch by inch, that's how the goddamned garden grows.
Back to the scheduled diversion:
CATCHER was one of the first books to make my head explode. I remember going into English class with heavy heart, wanting to talk about the book, and after a few summarizing questions, my teacher rushed us right into the next book. I don't hold it against him because he had the balls to teach a bunch of sophomores MOBY DICK...from start to finish- skipping only the chapter about the whale's dick. Which in retrospect is a pretty hilarious chapter with the whaler slipping on the whale's penis skin and the image used is a priest's cassock.
CATCHER also keeps me from being too cocky with the lit analysis. You see, I didn't get the ending. I didn't get the context. Someone, I'm thinking my teacher or one of my friends, filled me in on the fact that Holden's in an mental institution.
There's a common misperception that all English teachers loooooove Holden. Not so. I do think he whines, but that doesn't kill my sympathy for him. I get scared for him and terribly sad for his loneliness.
-tangent: OMFG- I hate the commentators. And I don't think I'll be eating Doritos any time soon.
The missing haiku. Is it in SEYMOUR: AN INTRODUCTION that has a character talking about his brother's haiku? The one about the little girl in the seat next to him on the plane who turns her doll's head when she turns to look at him? Sometimes I try to write that haiku. I've never succeeded.
-tangent: The Who sound like shit. Great, a freaking medley. What a joke. Man, and I love "Baba O'Reilly's." I think Pete's pulling a fake windmill. Too bad they're not lip-synching
The scornful contempt of Salinger around the internet was sickening. No one has to love the writer or his work, but the wagon of dismissing him that occurred when the news broke showed a lot of small minds.
What am I doing?
I'm watching the Super Bowl. These things I know fer sher:
-I hate those mfing Bud Lite commercials.
-the idiot commentators can suck it. I hate them. And I can't turn the sound off because I don't know enough about the game to know what's going on without someone telling me.
-third quarter with no TD and I'm turning my Who Dat t-shirt inside out.
-I think Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland is going to be a bigger screw-up than Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
-I don't give a shit that The Who are playing the half.
-I hate those mfing Bud Lite commercials.
-the idiot commentators can suck it. I hate them. And I can't turn the sound off because I don't know enough about the game to know what's going on without someone telling me.
-third quarter with no TD and I'm turning my Who Dat t-shirt inside out.
-I think Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland is going to be a bigger screw-up than Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
-I don't give a shit that The Who are playing the half.
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