The Truth Files

Stephen Colbert/Daily Show Love. House, Hugh Laurie, Black Adder, BritCom obsessiveness. Eddie Izzard quoting ad naseum. Self loathing. Other people loathing. Anything else I can loathe-fit that in there too. Tales of alcohol and dogs. The occassional night at the bar causing trouble. Mis-treating brain cells...Who needs them? No sex. No drugs-usually. Much rock'n'roll. Just trying to survive in 615. Y'know. The usual.

Monday, November 28, 2005

A black eyed dog he called at my door...A black eyed dog he called for more

Tuesday before Thanksgiving I loaded up Rosie with a cooler full of snacks a few days change of clothes and a black eyed dog...He stayed in the truck through classes and we started to go home at 8pm. But I locked my keys in the truck at the gas station and spent an hour waiting trying to get inside...Baxter couldn't unlock the door no matter how much I tried to tell him how easy it would be. Finally, an old hillbilly went out there with the slim jim and slid it into the passenger side door and popped the lock open. It was 9pm Central Time. I took off down the road but I was tired...it had been a damn long tired day and I stopped at a Motel 6 in E-town. I'd wanted to make it home and not drive on Wed but it had been too much-a power outage and the trauma with the painting (there would of course be more trauma) and school all day and then locking my keys in the truck as if it weren't hard enough to travel with B. He's a sweetheart of a boy-but he does not like that truck...Not a bit.
We settled into the motel-I drank a beer and ate some peanuts for dinner-Baxter spent the whole night with his ears perked and everytime I fell asleep to the sounds of the all night X-Files channel (I think it's TNT-but I dunno-it's the soundtrack to my insomnia anyway---the episodes were when Scully was pregnant, before Mulder disappeared before we found out that the baby was Mulder's before the Lone Gunmen died...)it seemed like B would start barking during every episode and 4-maybe 5 hours of TV became a strange and incongruous episode that bled into a series of dreams and somewhere in them was a black dog with pointy ears and a deep angry bark unlike anything he normally sounded and I would roll over and mumble that it was alright boy-it's alright...
I got on the road the next morning with the sun in the sky and I thought I'd be home by 4 in the afternoon...I don't want to re-live what I went thru anymore than necessary....I hit Cincy at around 2 and got gas outside of town an hour later there was a lot of traffic I was moving slow maybe I wouldn't make it home before 5. Then the snow started, the snow started and traffic stopped. Outside of Wooster at 6:45 I'd gone 87 miles in 5 hours-I sobbed into my phone sure I'd not make it home sure I'd be on the road forever hysterical and crazy from sitting on I-71 with a frightened dog and my shoulders and knee aching like I'm not sure it's fair someone as young as I am should ache. I was horrified....I would be driving forever I would never get home me and Baxter were dead and we were in hell and hell was I-71 in the snow in a traffic jam with every MD and CD and song on the radio banging horrifying clatter and nightmare music inside my brain. I turned on the soundtrack to a Mighty Wind and figured that if I was in hell I would at least listen to funny hellish music.
I got home at a quarter to 9...a 7 hour drive done in 11 hours...I was shaking and I cried when I got home. Mommy and Daddy greeted me at the door and pulled me into a hug. We were going to get Spaghetti at Dano's but the weather was too bad and our fellows had opted out some time ago-so Daddy had made a pork tenderloin and big baked potato and Mummy had put together a salad. A Sunday dinner on a Wednesday night. I fell asleep in the guest room and slept soundly until Thanksgiving.
When I woke up to blizzard like conditions. But we had promised to be on the other side of the state at the relatives I like (oh, I like others-but these mostly-my Auntie and Uncle....they're completely mad...and thus big fun...) Dinner was fine-it was comfortable and familial...There were 2 weddings in the works but God willing there will only be one taking place. There's a lot of issues about that--the one couple that I like, they're so damn young...A is only 22 and getting married in 32 days. But, and I know a lot of the family doesn't know what to think of him-I think her Husband to Be is a good guy-a redneck for sure and probably a CCRWRSWAM-but we were sitting at a table talking and we talked about Walk the Line and stuff---I don't know he is a hard working guy and he seems really honest (tho he was angry about something that I don't think should've made him angry,bugged but not angry-he was articulate enough to explain what was bothering him) I'd like to think that this is a good idea...I love my cousin and I like her fiance (soon to be my cousin I guess...) they're kids tho-it's hard to say what they'll be in 5-10-20 years...cuz they're kids...
Then there's the other impending marriage...Oh Lord, I hope that one doesn't come off. Not just for the selfish reason that I really don't look good in mint green and I don't have $200 spare dollars to spend on a bridesmaid dress that washes my pale self out to a deathly shade of grey. I talked about the girl and her intended back in August---he is a horrid little creature (not that he's little...)but he is a small man and nothing to be glad to be around.I couldn't support that union. Poor girl-she's never had the chance to have an identity, she has problems-she's paranoid and slow to mature tho I am not sure that she is slow-I think there is something holding her back beyond mental capability. I've heard some stories that let me think she has a mental illness---they tell me depression runs in the family...that doesn't help me much...But this horrid beast she said she would marry-he's 30some years old and he sobbed when he was forced to sleep in an house away from his mother and when he became angry with A (there's two in the family with that initial-she is the elder of the 2) he and his mother changed the locks so she couldn't get back into the house they were supposed to share. He makes me sick-I know him-I dated him-when I was mentally ill and had no personality I dated him-he had a different name but he was there telling me how terrible my family was and how no one would ever love me but him because I was crazy and weak and ugly and I should be happy I had him because that was the best I would ever get. I dealt with that and I got away (not without a criminal record and scars that a decade later still won't heal---but I got away)...I don't want to see that poor little girl stuck in that life that the beast she's engaged to will allow her to have. Rumor has it she broke up with him last week-but men like that have power and they can make things that never should happen, happen...I really hope that's not the way it goes...She may be strange and out of control but she doesn't deserve that.
Friday was non descript. I don't remember anything about it. I suppose we spent the day in the house working on our projects whatever that may entail.
Saturday we went to breakfast at a local diner and ran into cousin GA and later her sis and mom came over and she brough a lot of snacks and we sat around the table and chatted. C and her boyfriend T are coming down from Cincy on my birthday to see a show that I will probably go to just for fun not because I know anything about the performer...It'll be a way to spend a birthday at the least...course it'll cost many dollars but hell, ya only turn 29 once after all....Before that tho Mummy took me to the store and I got new jeans and 3 new tops...It was necessary as all of my clothes are for people that are different sizes than I am taller shorter fatter thinner but none of my clothes fit and Mum made fun of me and then bought me new clothes. I tried on a lot of pants and I had to settle on a size larger than I think I am but the jeans looked good so I don't care much about the size because of how I looked in them...I'm unused to looking decent in any of my clothes...I'm used to looking like I'm wearing someone else's attire.
I should've gone home on Sunday but I was still sore and tired from the journey home to Ohio...so I stayed on the couch and watched TV and read some of my school work but didn't do much. I worry sometimes about Mummy's health-she gets sick and I'm not used to her getting sick ever but she seems to be down with somethign at least twice a month. She gets cranky and doesn't eat. Her food issues seem to be strongest when she is feeling bad I worry about her....but then I see her maybe 2 or 3 weeks of the year over the course of a lot of days I don't really know anything except what I see in maybe 21 out of 365 days...I just remember Grandma going days and days barely eating and barely conscious and I wonder if Mummy will be there one day-maybe it's some sort of post-traumatic issue but I sometimes think that Ma has issues with me not be painfully thin because she has this trouble with eating regular meals or even irregular meals and that's why she's small because she can have for dinner one mini portabella mushroom and a corner of bread---if she can survive on that and be thin then why can't I---Mik is the same way she is just as food troubled and smaller still...it's my problem I like food and that's why I'm troubling because I like food and I eat...I'm a failure in that way because I'm not able to have one mushroom for dinner...Bad me...
I saw G too...he was out in the driveway raking the gravel. I walked up to him to say hi-I thought sure he'd seen me-I wasn't sneaking or anything...I walked over and said "hey." He jumped and spun around and I was sure I'd given him a heart attack. He was given 6 months last March-I remember the scene so well it's burned in my memory...the whole white, sterile, quiet deathly scene is in my memory forever. How often do you get to be there when someone gets a death sentence? How do you phrase that in a way that doesn't sound cold? I am not cold about it. I'm not. So here it is 9 months later and he was out in his driveway, raking the gravel because there was a deep indent where E's car peeled in everytime she pulled into the driveway. It hurts him to talk so I talked as much as I could--carrying the conversation you know. He sounded good-for someone that couldn't move his tongue I was able to understand him although at times I had to surmise words he was doing well. We talked for maybe 5 minutes-he thanked me for stopping over and I said that of course-since I saw him out I would stop by-I'd always said hi when I saw him...Before I moved to Nashville, maybe a month or so, we sat in his living room that hasn't been re-decorated in almost 3 decades and probably never will now and drank Miller High Life watching NASCAR and listening to Trans-Siberian Orchestra. That's what I remember-there was pizza involved too. Just hanging out. He can't eat now-hasn't been able to in months or drink either I suppose. It's horrible and unfair. Lots of things are unfair.
There's that old believe that for awhile you go home for holidays or weekends and then eventually it's for weddings and funerals and then one day you realize that you can't imagine when there will be a wedding to compell you to go home...Such is life

Saturday, November 19, 2005

too much to think about

If anyone was reading this I'd apologize for the double post issue of late.
But if anyone is bothering to follow my rants I don't think this would be such an issue as to be worthy of apology.
I feel like I need to get out of the house. I should go out tonight. Probably. I'm feeling sort of trapped. I will go out. If I can remain conscious and semi-sane for about another 2 hours. It is likely that I will go insane before that.
Oh-it's a bad idea. I'll stay in.
Good little folklorists stay in on Saturday night.
But I am neither good nor particularly little and I'm not much of a folklorist really.
I've accomplished not a bloody lot today.
I'm hopeless. There's not going to be any papers to turn in during the second week of December. I'll be kicked out of the program for failure to complete the necessary tasks and in short order I'll be drinking what little money I am able to acquire through pawning of my belongings and sitting on Lower Broad with an open guitar case but no guitar. NO future and nothing in my life about which to be proud.
To put it succinctly-I am so fucked. Fucked by own doing-at that. And there's not much to do about it but hope it ends quickly and the memory of the humiliation fades in short order.
Why can't I write about what I'm supposed to? Why do I have NO dedication to task? What the hell is wrong with me?

Friday, November 18, 2005

I fell in to a burning ring of fire

This is me stating-with certainty and despair-that I have less than a month of the semester left and I'm going to go from groovy student with promise to failing out because I have one project that is in a state of disrepair because of a political issue---another project that exists only in theory--and the third project doesn't even exist in theory.
Quick, someone, give me a topic for my music class. Something I can crank out a meaningful topic about tomorrow preferably before 8:30 because I want to go to the Mercy for the shindig there.
And like a bunny-tell me what I"m supposed to do about the CC project.
Next but not least-what was I thinking getting into a project about my family?

It burns...burns...burns....

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

God is a concept by which we measure our pain

In which a typical rant and babble gets surprisingly serious....

Being as I have no life I was browsing the blogs of the underclass. Amusing at times and sorrow inducing at others since I distinctly remember this time last year I was so entrenched in desperation as to have little hope for any future that didn't involve a mental ward. All I had to do was work another month and a half and I'd have health insurance so I could "afford" the breakdown. How I managed to avoid that is one of the great mysteries of life as I have decided it is best understood. Should this need further explanation-consider it a branch of that popular GenX religion Me-ism.
(WARNING-I'm going to talk about religion be afraid.)
Of late I have really started to doubt the new age-y, the spirits are in the trees, hail the goddess mentality that I feel was the underlying tenet of what little belief I was raised with. That's sort of empty in the end and I've been drifting away from the familial fold toward being more mainstream in my belief structure---or I think I have-pardon me I have to go fill out the Belief-o-Matic to see what I believe...Well, I am sure we are all shocked and awed that I am 100% Mainline Liberal Protestant (ie Episcopalian, Anglican, Lutheran--you know all the real party religions.) Second at 87% is Liberal Quakers (another party faith I tell you what), and B'ahai Faith and Unitarians forming a committee to discuss how to raise my score so as I can join their well organized belief group. I'm just going to join the one that features the most coffee and pie. This, I believe means Episcopalian or Lutheran---were I to actually get ito organization. I don't think I'm there yet-I don't want church-I want something to hold onto. An angel from Montgomery line with mine. It is not necessary for someone to agree with me totally in order for me to be able to appreciate that person's company. It's nice, but it's not the most crucial element. The problem I am facing is the other person-this person has shown certain tendencies--things that are upsetting and that I find distasteful and directly in opposition not only with what I think is the way human beings should treat other humans but I feel this persons opinions are (tho inadvertent) actually value judgements against me.
It's no secret that I am poor. I'm so broke that I'm robbing Bartholomew to pay Matthius cuz all the more popular apostles are tapped out. I have gone to quite a lot of length to be able to survive the last year. Lengths that are not things I thought I would ever have to go through. Things that make me ashamed but also make me able to continue to live. Everything I am doing is necessary-I am not living above my means any more than I have no means so any manner of life is above that. If I didn't have the support I wouldn't have lights...much less the second hand washer and the not yet paid for dryer and my half of the cable and my station wagon would've broke down one day when I didn't have any money to fix it and if it weren't for my parents help I wouldn't have my truck. It is because of the help I get that I am able to be as successful as I am. I am an independent, hardworking woman despite all that.
The person by whom I am employed that I am having a problem with hates poor people. Blanket statement. He hates poor people-he can't stand to see them, to be around them or that they are allowed to frequent public areas that a moneyed individual, is able to frequent. The goal of the person, Iwould go so far as to say dream, is to make poor people invisible if not gone entirely. The talk that I hear about this topic upsets me deeply. It extends from the poor to the disabled, to anyone that is not as well to do (or flagrant in the weilding of credit cards).
Wow---I had to edit this post because for some reason that kind of freaks me out and makes no sense as I understand sense to make halfway through a sentence I linked to and quoted a blog that is in a language I have never seen and couldn't even begin to guess what it might've been.
So I'm going to stop on this topic. Because that was weird.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Ring ring goes the bell

The semester isn't over but it's going to take a lot to beat this particular exchange on my music exam in regards to an instrumental selection that I was to listen to and comment upon based on a few criteria like style, content, context of performance that fun stuff:

"content-if it's a song what is it about...?"
"The song is clearly about the struggle against the meaninglessness of existence. Obviously"
--------Comment---------"smartass"

I almost fell off my chair laughing. Made all the wose because I'd flipped thru the exam twice and not seen any comment at all because the difference in handwriting was not marked enough to be noticable (incomprehsible barely legible scrawl really doesn't have a lot of identifiers-I call it the Mike school of penmanship). Then I made a scene in class because it amused me so much-leaving me to just look completely mad. More completely mad than usual I suspect.
The toppermost of maturity on the part of all involved.

Before class a few of us were sitting in the other room. I was at the front computer, my legs over the arm of the chair. The other computer chair was occupied, a couple of random chairs had been located around the room. One person sat backwards on his chair while the chair in the corner was being used properly. At least one other person was in the room-standing. We were discussing the various merits and lacks thereof of coffee and coke esp in regards to treating hangovers.
"I tried to teach myself to like coffee. Because I wanted to be a beatnik, and it goes hand in hand. Plus it's good after a long night, you know."
I pointed out that Coke was a much better hangover cure and it tasted far yummier.
"That is so juvie."
"Juvie?"
"If you're mature enough to do that to yourself then you should be able to deal with coffee the next day."
"That's right-you should see it as pennance. Really bad tasting pennance."
"Hmmm," I said as I took a sip of my Coke.

Did a presentation today. It was-it was alright. It wasn't perfect, but God knows I tried. Yeh, it was about Todd. So I just blathered on about him his music the people the listen to his music and basically I played a bunch of his songs. I always get a huge kick out of sharing music and talking about songs-essentially the presentation was not that much different from an evening at my apartment-only with no beer or dog pestering my guests for attention. There was a bunch of stuff I would've like to have talked about---I didn't have a watch or other timekeeping device so I just talked until I had said most of what I wanted to say then I looked at e and said "Well, I don't have any way of conceptualizing time so-do you want me to stop or should I go on?"
"Is that how you're going to end yr papers at conferences?"
Yep, every one. I'm going to look for a familiar face and ask whomever that may be if my point has been successfully proven. Until I get an affirmative nod I will continue speaking-I will be a giant hit of epic proportions.

CultCon was cancelled tonight due to how a tornado or ten was whipping thru the area. I started home, following a rather strange and clumsy prayer that I make it home alive, then the sky opened up and the wind started and the truck was rocking. I couldn't see ahead of me, or to pull over. I was pretty sure I was going to wreck. Not die-but wreck. I also thought I might get blown away. I'd participated in a glib discussion about Dark Side of the Moon and the Wizard of Oz earlier...I was going to be blown to Kansas as punishment. At exit 6 I pulled off the highway-my crazy buddy J had called wondering if I was alright. He was thinking not about the horrible weather but about some of the East Nashville stuff that had been going on. We chatted through quite a bit of the storm-mostly about bluegrass music and eBay. Then I drove VERY CAREFULLY home. Only had to stop one more time after that-and the truck didn't stall until I was pulling into the driveway. Took me 2 hours to make an hour and fifteen minute drive. I was terrified-since I am an NPR junkie I had the radio on most of the time and seemed like everytime a new tornado warning was called I was driving into the area-I drove thru 3 areas with warnings and when I got home Nashville was under warning. Haven't seen any hail or funnels clouds. Being from the midwest I have both a great deal of respect and a simultaneous lack of concern for tornadoes. I've had more than one pass overhead, seen the damage and barely escaped harm. It is a rare summer that some nearby area didn't get hit with destructive winds-when I was in grade 8 (grade 9?) less than 3 miles away from my parents house a neighborhood was almost destroyed by horizontal winds. Mik and I sat in the basement drinking bottled cappucinos in the dark. I'd gone down to the IGA for snacks right before the storm hit-I was 14 (15?) so there was no driving for me. Mummy and Daddy were off someplace. No idea where. A girl I was friends with was driving by when I was close to home-maybe a half mile at the most. She took me back to the house in her car. Finals were the next day-but they were cancelled. Midwestern childhood-two feet of snow? Regular schooldays. Three weeks of ice storms? Regular school days. Tornado? Finals cancelled.
People are very afraid of winds-I can't imagine many other times when classes would be cancelled at a university-but they were cancelled tonight. Course, if a blizzard hit Bowling Green, KY...if 31W was covered with 18 inches of fresh powder....somehow, I suspect classes would be cancelled..
I'd rather not test this hypothesis when I'm up there tho.

Monday, November 14, 2005

We're not into music, We're into chaos

We're not into music, We're into chaos

There's a gear movie on punk on IFC right now. It is so fantastic to see these people that were in there and saying "I can't believe they're taking it seriously." That is so awesome-generations have taken this accidental aesthetic so seriously and yet it was all a lark. How cool is that. I also get a great bit of laughter from the unbleepedness of this show. Yes, I take pleasure in dirty language. What do you expect from me? Class? Hardly.
Punk rock is now and has always been a joke. The difference is that the first generation was laughing. Stop looking at me-yes that's a stack of Ramones records and yeh that's a Joey Ramone bobble head and yeh I have a bunch of Clash records and the necessary Sex Pistols records...what are you looking at? I've got my tongue firmly planted in cheek when I start talking about being punker than thou you bastards. I've never started a band-if I had ever thought I was punk I would've had a band where I would've been the strange-woman child lead singer with the dirty mouth, drugged out eyes and the short dresses and a disasterous haircut wailing incomprehensibly to atonal melodies about the dole and unnatural sex acts.
It's hilarious, really, the innovators of the genre are saying that it was frustrating a couple of months toward the beginning of 1978 (you know punk babies-about a decade before you were born) punk became style that was in no way represented by the performers supposedly leading this cultural trend. The whole hype of the genre had nothing to do with what was actually going on with the music. The Sex Pistols-a band that was a parody from the beginning, and that knew they were a parody and was loving the irony of what they were representing-is the band that has become the prototypical representation of "punk" werat doesn't come back can get on their knees and suck my balls. That's the kind of professor I'll be-either way some sort of oral stimulation is involved.

/this post dedicated to Joe Strummer
I don't wanna go fightin' in the tropical heat

Saturday, November 12, 2005

I walked through Bedford Stuy alone

There was what appears to have been a random fatal shooting less than a half mile from where I live. One a street corner where I have walked with Baxter on more than one occasion. Last night-when I was crashed on the sofa watching the Golden Girls, police helicopters were circling the neighborhood looking for the perp. I heard some noise, saw some flashing lights, wrote it off as another night in the hood and didn't give it a second thought. I'd walked, alone, across the Woodland Street bridge to my truck. I'd driven through the neighborhood, maybe seen a cop, but hadn't given it much of a thought. If I think about it too much I might well be frightened.

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

I was drinking shots in a bar in france when the notion it came over me

wherein I ponder but don't address at length this comment:
"your writing is good, but comes across as stilted. You don't need to rant and rave, but find your own voice."

wherein opinions thaw in a manner that is noticeable enough as to be discerning-so as recently as a week ago I felt like a hangnail but now, for some reason, you look at me as a viable and dare I say, interesting member of this little society. I'm not knocking it and I would rather be approved of and viewed as interesting than seen as a pest. But what changed? What did I say or do that changed how I am viewed from a strange and testy creature to someone intelligent, thoughtful and developed intellectually enough to be WORTHY of a voice? (something I view as a sign of a particular class level within the community of writers---I believe that I am good at two things, ingesting knowledge and writing---so I have certain concepts about what these abilities entail.)
Ah, feck. I'm not knocking it. I'm just wondering.

In other news. Took my music mid-term today. It was ever so exciting. I have no comment-it was what it was: listen describe identify. If Joe never took this class then I can only assume that there's something about spending time in this portion of Kentucky that leads to classes being structured in this manner. I felt like I was back in the other Bowling Green...only it was November and instead of a blizzard and a toque and mittens and being halfway thru month 2 of 9 months of no sun it was 80 degrees out and I had on a tank top and was barefoot. In this way I much prefer the Bowling Green of now.
***Fun random fact-both Bowling Green's main street is 31W-but it's called Wooster in Ohio***

Spending time in the playhouse is something I wish I'd had the malice of forethought to do last year. I say that, but I know I was much too miserable-hungry-and pre occupied with my position as a coffee whore to do anything but appear, turn in projects and get the hell out of town last year. It makes me sad to realize that because of how fucking hard I had to work I wasn't able to enjoy my higher higher education last year. But courtesy of my position (and by the by I looked up the definition and it's "a lawyer's assistant"-so I am, by definition, a paralegal) I have the ability to be a part of the program and take part in the community.
When T walked into the store and I talked to him-then he came back a couple of days later with S and they invited me for "rum drinks" I almost didn't go....I don't trust men. I am ever so fond of men but I don't trust them. So why-WHY?-did I go for "rum drinks" that night? Was it because I figured S made it safe? No one can say-I think that somethings just happen because they have to happen. T & S are an example of that. This job is the reason I don't have an assistantship-I'm not sure what the long term reason is and sometimes I wish I had a less close kint job (we are too close, it's good it's bad, it is what it is) but I am glad for what I have. This job, strange as it is-is why I have been able to take the time to hang out-go to Frankfort and ATL and be more than a seat warmer in the program. So it's good.

I don't have any grades in the rest of my classes. Other than the one that gets a lot of cyberink. I will probably fail out-because it is No-fuckin-vember (I'm campaigning to get the month's name changed) and I am clueless as to what will be the culmination of my classes. You know, other than pain and sorrow. That's a given. Every time I turn in a paper,present a project or discuss a concept that interests me I am sure that is the moment wherein everyone will learn that I am a fraud.

Lollipops taste good when dipped in wine. At the MSDW&L there's 3 for $12 wines. These are the only wines I buy-sometimes there's good shit and soemtimes all there is is shit. I picked up a couple of Twin Fin wines on suggestion of a local connesieur (I believe his name was Otis) and two days later went back for more. I asked if that was going to be regular and LO and BE-Fuckin-HOLD! This wine all the Eastside winos are diggin is going from $3.50 to $9.99 a bottle. Fuckers. So I am faced with the dillema: but a case and drink myself insensitive on this tasty wine at an affordable price for a month maybe or accept that my new favorite taste sensation will have to be a treat instead of a bottle a night tradition?
I babble. This is why I refrain from using my voice in scholarly articles.
Don't go to too much trouble minding me-I'm just another red headed paddy soliciting possible cemetary orgy participants

*my hair is only my the loosest of definitions red.
**I can't prove I"m a paddy-tho it seems likely.Daddy claimed he was raised by wolves
***in general nothing I say can be proved.
****it might be best to take me with a grain of salt
*****nothing, I just like asterix

Monday, November 07, 2005

Sleep tight in New York City-you've got a different angel watching over you

Semi-daily I check the websites of note to see if there's an affordable flight to NYC. This conversation sprung from that habit.
"I had to admit I wouldn't be going to NYC anytime soon."
"Why would you go to New York. You should go to LA."
And, what? Yr not there. At least if I went to New York I could see the city at Christmas time."
"And where would you stay?"
"I dunno, at a hostel. I've had good luck with hostels."
"That is a recipe for becoming a prostitute."
I laughed. "What!?"
"You heard me. You do some crap like that the next thing you know you're a prostitute."
"Hostels aren't that expensive."
"Within 2 days you'd be whoring yourself. That just isn't an option I've ever heard of in New York City."
"How do you know? I'm industrious."
"You'd be listing the price of blow jobs."
"That is so tacky."
"And you would rue the day!"
"I was on my way to a master's degree! I had a good job as a paralegal! Then I went to New York City for Christmas break! And I became a whore!"
"Exactly."

Some of these days the Mummy and Daddy are going to ask me what I want for my birthday-I want Rosie paid off or my dryer paid for--stupid fuckin debt--but I tihnk I might just ask for a ticket to NYC for the weekend post finals. Not a wise desire but it would be fun.

Sunday, November 06, 2005

I smell the onions, I look around for you

I forgot to mention in that last post that instead of working my schoolwork today I did some canning. Something that is not a family tradition by any stretch-we always just ate the food. I have a lifetime supply of chow chow relish now. And I made it myself. ALL BY MYSELF. Since I don't own a food processor I had to cut all 10 onions and 20-some tomatoes and 5 peppers by hand with my Dollar General purchased knife. This doesn't seem like much until you've done it. My hands are sore and bandaged due to this process. I only own two big pots-and this was a task that cried out for at least 3 pots although 4 would be preferable- so it took about an hour of boiling the jars before they were completely "done." Not that I know what that is, but I know they were supposed to not give when I press on the top of the lid-and they don't do that.
I've never grown anything in my life. ntil this summer when I realized I was so desperate for fresh tomatoes (you may remember summer before last a tomato cost as much as $3-so I didn't get to eat many) I couldn't bear the thought of another summer without fresh vegetables. I don't have a green thumb, I was lucky. I had a whole lot of left over green tomatoes and I didn't know what else to do with them but I'm too poor to be okay with wasting that much food so I decided there's no time like the present to learn how to can.
It was miserable and time consuming and messy. I'd do it again...because there is a great deal of pride in opening the closet and seeing a row of jars full of food that I grew myself (most of it anyway-tomato is the main ingredient-I had to buy the rest) and not only did I grow them I saved them to enjoy for months to come. In winter I will be able to taste summer. The worst part of winter is the cold and the darkness but a close third is the lack of fresh vegetables. Do you know the smell of a tomato plant, the sharp tangy green smell of a tomato plant? It is the most wonderful smell in the world. It is summer and life and it is love. If you don't love fresh corn and tomatoes you are not human as I understand humanity.
So-as much as I hated myself last entry I am proud of myself this entry. I am patient enough to go through the process of cleaning, sterilzing, packing and sealing jars. I cut by hand pounds of vegetables. I may have never plucked a chicken-but today I feel honest.

Celebreality is the shame of my life.
Fuck you VH1. Fuck you! Goto hell and die!
Another shame of my life is that there are several movies I'm looking forward to. I usually consider myself above movies-due to how they require me to leave the house and arrive at a place at a certain time. I am no slave to time schedules!
Talked to Mik today. She told me she'd be in that dear old state that's round on the end and high in the middle from Dec 20-Jan 4. I said that sounded like an awful long time to spend in the midwest in the guest room-she said "Well, Mom called and said she'd bought me a ticket and those were the days. She buys, I fly, you know." That's fair enough. They're not paying to get me home. Course, they still own 1/3 of Rosie so I guess I can't complain. I will own that truck eventually. My guess is around spring of 2007-- beginning of 2008 at the latest. Crap, she'll be 10 years old before I have that truck paid off. Poverty (+/or bad spending habits) pisses me off.
I have no point to this post. My papers are progressing horribly. Mummy is about as easily distracted as I am and hasn't taken any pictures or read her email recently. That's lovely. Meanwhile my music paper is depressing me because I can't write it. Ok-I COULD write it but since there is still alcohol in the world I haven't gotten around to writing it just yet. Unfortunate for me I lost every paper from the world of undergrad so there is no turning in an old paper and pretending I was inspired to write about some completely unrelated to the current topic situation. No. I have to actually pull these papers off. How miserable that is. And due to being clumsy I broke a bottle of wine last night so shortly after this I'll be out of booze to drown my pain. "Beer the cause and solution for most of life's problems." Thus spake Homer Simpson.
Anyone else seen that Life Alert commercial where the woman is laying on the floor grabbing at the air just beggin to yell "I've fallen and I can't get up!" only she doesn't? That is just wrong---like saying Abe Lincoln committed suicide.
It's the shocking conclusion to My Fair Brady right now. I was sure I hadn't watched this show-but now I see I've been paying something like attention. Adrienne is a child and he shouldn't marry her because little girls shouldn't be married. Chris on the other hand, is an intelligent and thoughtful man who understands that sometimes life is not what you expect it to be. People who haven't watched this show would not have this opinion. I am so ashamed of myself on so many levels.
Oh but it wouldn't be a season finale if he didn't propose to her. And I wouldn't be a loser if I didn't think that even tho she is WAY too DAMN young to have this many opinions it's still kind of charming. I hate myself. When I didn't have the cable television this was never a problem.
Speaking of the cable-my landlady-God love her-she has NEVER been able to figure out how to use her remote. Every time she wants to watch Little House on the Prairie (her favorite show) I have to go over and program the TV for her. She's a dear but she is not technological. Today she came to me saying she was having problems again and I was disturbed to find I couldn't fix it. Usually I can get the TV working in a couple of seconds. After 25 minutes on the phone with the help desk it was finally figured out that the problem wasn't with the people trying to operate the remote but with the remote itself. This was comforting. Hopefully this won't continue to be a problem. Since I really don't want to give up my cable. Course, giving up my cable would mean a lot less shame.
Ok, well, gotta watch some more awful TV.
Then I'm going to take a lot of pills that may drown out this feeling of being a lousy excuse for an intellectual.

Saturday, November 05, 2005

I'll be waitin' in Jackson, behind a Ja-pan fan

What the hell-they just cut "Jackson"---I KNOW they did the whole song at San Quentin cuz I have the CD.
While I'm watching this special I can't help but think that it would've made people suffer from head explosion to see these rotten people-these criminals-the scum of the earth-presented as articulate human and caring. But I still don't know how I feel about the movie coming up---we're talking about Johnny and June here. The first country album I ever heard was American Recordings. Up until the point I had NO IDEA what country music sounded like. Due to Daddy's hating of all things hillbilly. Wasn't allowed to hear it and I didn't know such a thing existed. Until I heard Johnny Cash. I am a little bit attached to the guy. When June Carter died I wondered how long Johnny would live. When Johnny died I knew he'd gone home to be with June. Isn't it weird someone with so little grasp of religion as it is understood by mainstream Christian America is able to accept that so willingly? It's comforting.
This documentary, on the other hand, is not comforting. I do not need descriptions of what it is like to be executed and I do not need to see a man that was condemned to death telling his story. Tho he is probably very very dead by now---he probably would've died even without the help of whatever the prefered method of gov't sanctioned murder was at that time. Just a thing with me. Call me a bleeding heart liberal...Why are so many things (meals, records, religious consultation, companionship) given to these people if the state has decided they are not worthy of life? Really digging that Peace in the Valley is the backdrop to this montage about the prisoners sentenced to death.
Johnny Cash was an American badass-singing about how much he hated San Quentin to a crowd of inmates, dude must've had balls the size of Impalas0more so than maybe even me. But as much as I am enjoying this show a LOT has been edited from the CD. The CD is a favorite-even if Marty Stuart resident expert on every fuckin' thing wrote the liner notes. At least I think he did. Could be wrong. I am often wrong-but ole Marty loves to go on you know so chances are it was him.
More observation---the guard on TV just stated that sometimes inmates had to be homosexual just to survive. That can't have been normal conversational topic for the time-it was 1968 after all.
The means by which the death penalty was carried out was the gas chamber. That is just an adendum-the way this show is going I half expect that this person will be shown as he dies. OH nevermind. The show is over.
Now there's a show abut the Outlaws on. I love the Outlaws-Willie and Waylon and the boys. Gotta love them-if you don't I think you might not be American. Why do you love the enemy, huh? You bastard I'm calling Dubya on you. But seriously-Big'n'Rich are Outlaws? Why, cuz they---I really don't know...how the feck do they qualify as even kinda sorta ouside of the law? (This being said with the knowledge that I probably wouldn't have a job if those jokers hadn't provided my employer with just enough business that he established a reputation...I could be wrong about that quoting me would be unhealthy)
It still freaks me out when I see on CMT or whatever scenes of Nashville and the scenes are places I've been in the last week. "See you come to (Nashville) and you fit in like a hand into a glove, but there's something dragging you across the (country) all the time...But then you finally go back and it's not like you thought it was..."*
I don't know where I'm going with this. Nowhere basically.
I was at the Mainstreet Discount Wines and Liquors today. One of the oulfellas that work there followed me through the joint telling me all about the wines one cuold get for $3.50/bottle. This is a dream beverage. Some of these wines are really good.
Heh, heh heh, Waylon said "Go get that little redhead sumbitch, what's he got me into?" That is a quote. Jessi Colter is still so beautiful these days-what was she 11 when she met Waylon? I wouldn't buy a solo album by her-but damn she brought out something in Waylon didn't she.
I could continue to ramble on about Willie and Waylon and Johnny and all those hard livin sonsofbitches but I think I will quit pretending I'm doing anyhing productive and just drink some cheap wine (it is VERY GOOD cheapwine tho God bless you Main St Discount Wines and liquors) and get teary listening to Good Hearted Woman (yeah, sometimes it's fun to pretend that's a real emotion in my world-tho I know better) and just settle down and enjoy this CMT show. (I got to say tho I deserve to be one of the people making these shows-dammit, I more than deserve it I have earned it-I have motherfuckin degrees- and know all the right people so what is holding me back?)
I'm going to not campaign for a job right now tho and just watch TV. Oh. How I love TV.









*this is Larry's quote I am just applying it to me as it is just a ture for me in Nashville as it is for Larry and New York City.

If Jesus was here I'd buy him a beer

One of these years I'm going to know someone that wants to record a live concert DVD. I'm putting in my recommendation now that that DVD is recorded at The Family Wash. There's lots of places that will allow for more people to attend or have better scenery but I think it's a great place for a recording.
I went down there this evening to see Tommy. I was really sure I wouldn't enjoy myself. Because no one I'd asked had been all for it. But I had barely parked my car before I ran into some friends via the triad that gave me a seat at their table and pints on their tab. I tried to pay, they wouldn't have it. They're good people-not just because they supply me with alcohol, but because of what they are, just in general.
The show brought out all the best of East Nashville. For example, I was there. And some people you may have actually heard of (tho if yr reading this, you've probably heard of me-or you have confusion issues) I was sitting at my usual table too close to the stage, behind me was Peter (best of Nashville, some kind of writing thing) across from him was Todd, who was sitting next to a guy who was sitting next to Chuk and Brenda of hillbilly music-talking head fame. I knew other people there too-because I know every-fuckin-body. Due to my level of coolness-or something.
Tommy really put on a grand show. He's a fantastic guy and he plays great music. Also he has a soft spot for that pit of ultimate darkness that is Bowling Green. It's hard to not like a guy like that.
When he was playing, at first I was in the glassed off smoking section, watching the events. Behind me people were laughing and joking and smoking and drinking in the parking lot I could see them in the glass. The events all reflecting as if a memory in the window. In front of me people were eating and drinking and comfortable in their seats. I watched C&B thinking they would give up their seat soon. But they didn't and they didn't and my group found their way to the next table.
The group I was hanging with stayed for 1 1/2 sets but I decided to stay for the rest of the show. Hugs and handshakes and take cares see you soon I was alone.
"M------!"
"C-----!"
"Whatcha up to?"
"Watching Tommy, drinking. You?"
"Watching Tommy. Drinking."
It's a good way to spend a Friday night. Very productive.
So I sat near them for the rest of the show. Good times. East Nashville code of whatever it is. I love my neighborhood. I love my town. I love that I can slide across a bench and go from drinking alone to drinking with chums that I will probably never see again. People that probably wouldn't knw me anytime after tonight. East Nashville-it's safe and insular. As long as you already purchased your insulation. Even I am a little concerned newcomers will fuck up what we have and I've only been here a little over a year. Yeah, but I predate the quarter million dollar condos.
AFter the show I was waiting to use the one toilet in the whole place (it seems to me that that is bad, as the place does some business---but it is polite business, everyone waits and waits as is necessary) So there I was.
"This may be damning with faint praise, but you are a legend in my 2pm music class."
"Really? Where do you go?"
"Western."
"That's great."
Then we talk about Western for a few minutes. Including names and such shit.
"Would you want to be part of my presentation for that class? I was going to do something about protests against the current administration but I'm willing to change it for a live performance."
"I can protest this administration...I miss Ronald Reagan...Masters of War..."
"That would be fantastic! If you would do that...but it's during work hours and I can't pay."
"I'd be happy to do it."
So-whatever-if it is possible-I'm having Tommy doing protest songs for my presentation. I should probably check to make sure this is ok. Or, I could just be a rebel and do it. Hell, who doesn't love a good rendition of Masters of War. Besides, he's sober now...one day----I might be sober, tho the good money is on early death---so he will be much more together with his presentation. Like he said "I know ----- and I would love to go there and do my best." Why shouldn't I be the one to make it happen.
I say-no good reason.
Mark yr calenders.
Except I don't exactly know when I'm doing my presentation...I should probably figure that shit out.

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

I feel stupid...and contagious

The last 20 minutes of my life were spent on the phone with S watching Trapped in the Closet---and discussing it at length---then when it was over we felt really dirty and needed to shower.
Who didn't see that the fat white wife (Bridget! Yeah, blame the Irish-everyone wants to be Irish-or blame the Irish-cept R Kelly, who wants to fuck the Irish--I'll stop being metaphorical now) had someone in the closet. Jeezy creezy plot twist courtesy of Mad Libs anyone? Course, I'll watch it 4 more times this week. It's that classic...like My Mother the Car-the New WKRP in Cincinnatti classic.

insert obligatory I am all the time posting during the Daily Show or the Colbert Report statement about how much these shows are awesome.

My generation part 2 verse 3 chapter 4 Jackson 5 Nikki Sixx

Tonight is the second part of R Kelly's masterpiece Trapped in the Closet! Oh God I really hope someone pulls out his Baretta! And maybe some bitch gets smacked up! That will be so damn cool! (this is commonly thought of as sarcasm, although I prefer to think of it as ironic culture co-opting.) If I have any popcorn I will pop it for the occassion. The first 6 episodes were some of the funniest television I have seen in life. And the lyrics! Oh my everlovin God the lyrics! There was Rufus callin up his lover Chuck(!) and R Kelly in the closet and Rufus is looking for him and he looks in the drawer---because he probably thought Kathy was cheating with one of the Keebler elves. Yes, I know the character's names---at least I think he slept with Kathy-I can't remember, maybe that was his wife's name. I know her brother (who supposedly answered the phone at the end of chapter 4) is named 'Twan---or some spelling like that. Only really she was having an affair with the policeman who pulled R Kelly over in the beginning of episode 5. I hope we figure out what Roxanne has to do with all this. Of course, my greatest hope of all is that we get rhymes like: "THen I start goin' crazy/ Like I'm tryin to give her a baby" This is some of the greatest lyrics this side of Bob Fuckin Dylan you ask me.
It'll be all I talk about for days, because it is quite possibly the single most awful thing I've seen in life and thus I must spread it around. "The food here is terrible! Yes! And such small portions!"
today at school the conversation of subcultures came up-and my big mouth had to open up and off I went with my "These kids today aren't punks! They wouldn't know punk if it slapped them across the face! Stupid kids! And the hippies! Those patchwork pants wearing mall tye dye sportin motherfuckers are as much hippies as my mum is a heavy metal drummer."
"But what she isn't saying is that her mom recorded with Queensryche."
It really was the best discussion of the term that didn't involve bourbon. Discussions involving discussions involving bourbon are good too---but this was a very good discussion nonetheless. I often wonder when it comes to counter-culture (not subculture, a term I was tossing around in the manner of Hebdidge) if it's possible to be counter-culture. What is not available for exploitation by mass culture? There is nothing my child could do that would shock me-while it was pointed out it would distres me if little Emmylou or Rory/Elvis (which name I pick being determined by the amount of drugs I've been given, obviously--should this poor hypothetical being ever come into being) decided to be a Republican prone to dressing like a CPA, it wouldn't surprise me. I have, after all, seen multiple episodes of Family Ties. I wouldn't be shocked if mini me had strange colored hair (hell, I have strange hair naturally, and if that's the color growing out of anyone's head I wouldn't be too surprised someone would try to hide it) or tattoos (I could do without them, but I know 55 year old CCRWRSWAFs with ink so I can hardly call them daring). Drug use doesn't bother me, smoke all the weed you want kid but don't think I'm going to let you do the construction in my house. (Denis Leary joke) There is very little I haven't done. I'm not proud of some it-but it's rock'n'roll baby that's how life is. My children wil be the child of a child of permissiveness and freewheeling goodtimes. Great googly moogly-there's probably video out there of me---nothing Paris Hilton worthy (nothing resembling anything like it-I'm crazy, but I'm not a whore) but I don't think anyone would be surprised to discover that I have at times been intoxicated in public and acted something quite like the fool in the presence of a video camera. Punk is dead.
I call myself a hippie. A lazy ass hippie at that. Anyone that has met me knows that's not a particularly good description of me. I am a lazy ass in my frenetic way. And I am a hippie in my belief system tho I refuse to wear the costume, since I think it's ridiculous and tacky. I don't like shoes tho. And I know a lot of folksongs---since every song is a folk song what with that lack of horses singing.
So here I am, calling myself a hippie when I know that no outsider would call me that and knowing that other self-described hippies would want me in their fold (cept maybe Todd-cuz me and Todd should hang out, due to how we're both pretty kewl....all roads lead to Todd)

And so-again I say-to anyone who found their way here because I posted a comment on Butch's blog. Never say my name-as I like pretending I'm anonymous even tho I'm allowing myself to be read (tho really why you would put yrself thru this I can't figure out) If I say something to offend you-tell me so I can retract, explain or remove it...Don't leave me languishing for 2 years wondering what I did to piss you off (see the entry about why I didn't keep a blog for 2 years---see the entry about how I figured out who I'd pissed off) And finally-I mean it-I will kick yr ass. I am an American badass known for being a loose cannon with nothing left to lose. Crossing me could be painful---less yr into pain and then that's some other thing entirely I am not sure I'm ready to think about at the moment.

Finally-who the feck is goatee dude on One Life to Live? At first he looked like Danny Bonaduce (star of the greatest show on TV Breaking Bonaduce---it is almost better than Trapped in the Closet methinks) but now I think I missed some pivotal plot point that would make this whole Jessica has DID storyline make sense...Let's pretend I'm talking about this for scholarly reasons...It's fun that way.

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Like a jumped up fool, now down I climb and I ain't gonna drag my feet no more

In which I rant for the fun of it.
In CC I was the unlucky soul to draw a comment card about two of these books I had to write a paper about. One of the books that I hated with vitriol usually reserved for Shakespeare. Now-I am usually a nice quiet likable little folkie in that class, not like, in conversation and once I'm in the cabin I act like that is some circle of safety---probably stupid on my part but I feel quite at home in that former residence of John Carpenter (*really*). I couldn't be expected to keep quiet about my hatred of this particuar book tho. It was super sucky it made me hate life and I have read more interesting bowls of unflavored egg noodles. So, the only possible action, when given the opportunity to say something about the book I went ahead and said something along the lines of:
If Eudora Welty and James Joyce were thrown into a blender with a bunch of architecture texts and then blended on puree it would've been more easily read than this. I felt stupid for missing out on why this was interesting and I felt angry for being made to read this but I in no way felt that this was important to my higher education. Given the choice I would sooner stab my eyes out with spoons than encoutner this book in any form again. God forgive me, but I dred the idea of ever ending up in Santa Fe for fear this book comes back to me in some form.
The professor responded:
You may recall that I specifically stated I didn't want opinion.
To which I replied:
And you will note I in no way referenced the fact that I would sooner have my tonsils removed without anasthesic than have another contact with this book.
Prof:
I wanted opinion.
Me:
But you didn't want that opinion, so I didn't give it. I might as well say that, I've already dug my grave so why not jump in.

That class reminds me of a political debate, only idealogically both parties are in concurrance but for some reason they are so unfond of each other it's painful.

Other rants---Walk the Line I want to think I will think it's awesome and a wonderful film but I am having trouble with the casting...Joquin Phoenix seems too small to be Johnny Cash and Reese Witherspoon doesn't have the amount of personality I attribute to June Carter.
The Daily Show almost made me choke on Jell-O more than once today. I heart Jon Stewart...and political satire makes everyday brighter...but isn't Lewis Black usually on Tuesdays?
I'm going to do something with political protest songs for some project. There aren't a lot of protest songs being written about the unfortunate situation I can think of:
Downtown Baghdad Blus
Conservative Christian Right Wing Republican....
The Revolution Starts Now
something off Rodney Crowell's new CD
Smarter Than Me
I Miss Ronald Reagan
something on Devils and Dust I think
uhhhh....I am pretty sure I had more than that on the ride home
no idea what I'll have to say about this but it should be interesting anyway---if only from an onanistic standpoint. most everything I do is as such.

"Then for the final we have to write a 10-15 page memoir."
"Wow, that would be a dream class I can talk about myself for days."
"We know."
"You know as I was saying that I was really hoping you weren't in earshot."

Into conversation it should be incorporated the phrase-"the hoi frickin poloi"
Oh that Stephen Colbert!

(is that 4 pages? maybe you could add illustrations...my hatred of that book in the beginning of the rant is pretty controversial as I was the only one to state that I would rather eat brussels sprouts than read that piece of crap everyone else was nice---I ain't never been nice...I'm a rebel that way.)