Caption: hate to love me, or you know, vica versa.
22.2.06
homo-gothic white-trash meets heroin-chic westchester J.A.P.
Genre: Photography, Self Portrait
Caption: hate to love me, or you know, vica versa.
Caption: hate to love me, or you know, vica versa.
21.2.06
The Things I Learn From Ted
Genre: Cultural Commentary, Humor
I learn many things from Ted. For instance, he once taught me that it's ok to snap your fingers and move your head back and forth when speaking to anyone inferior at the work place, especially when they're older and/or fatter than you. Furthermore, his lexicon is one that has required some amount of research, but has ultimately helped me understand the precocious world of 14 year old domination in which I live. Below are just a few examples:
T a k e a m i n u t e authentic neo-afro-queen diva expression used to communicate an alternate way of dealing with any problematic situation; usually complemented by dirty weave.
W h o K n e w ? An aside said to the audience while showing something crafty on TV, like making a wedding dress completely out of dryer lint, or polishing your silver with peanut butter.
H o w f u n ! A young-at-heart mother or valley girl slash Laguna Beach-type viewing pictures from prom, vacations or houseparties. Can also be used by a talk show host listening to their guest's anectdote about the shenanigans while on the of the set of their new movie.
L a t a z ! (Lay-Tahz) a farewell said with lollipop in mouth and wheelie backpack in tow. Hot pants are a plus. carrying a small dog, like a chihuahua, a must.
L o v e t h a t ! TV fashion guru eunuch-homofag commenting on the a-line skirt and sassy kitten-heeled mule that turned one woman's look from drab to fab!
W o r k i t o u t ! An encouraging statement that has its origins in Black America, but thoroughly adopted by eunuch-homofag minority. Its at home on the runway or in the dance studio, as well as any conversation where the word "fierce" is an appropriate adjective to describe one's actions.
A t o u c h o f w h i m s y: a must have for any home-decorating show, best used when speaking about a faux-finish or the decorative wallpaper border you cleverly used as a chairrail.
S o d e a l w i t h i t ! : Sam goody keychain that is attached to your LL bean or Jansport backpack that explains your thirteen-year-old percocious outlook on life.
B - T - d u b s : A variation on btw or by-the-way its an updated internet lingo classic, for those in college who still use ttyl irl and need to give it an air of sarcasm.
D u n z o ! used when refering to a major breakup, usually in the lives of Hollywood "it" couples.
I learn many things from Ted. For instance, he once taught me that it's ok to snap your fingers and move your head back and forth when speaking to anyone inferior at the work place, especially when they're older and/or fatter than you. Furthermore, his lexicon is one that has required some amount of research, but has ultimately helped me understand the precocious world of 14 year old domination in which I live. Below are just a few examples:
T a k e a m i n u t e authentic neo-afro-queen diva expression used to communicate an alternate way of dealing with any problematic situation; usually complemented by dirty weave.
W h o K n e w ? An aside said to the audience while showing something crafty on TV, like making a wedding dress completely out of dryer lint, or polishing your silver with peanut butter.
H o w f u n ! A young-at-heart mother or valley girl slash Laguna Beach-type viewing pictures from prom, vacations or houseparties. Can also be used by a talk show host listening to their guest's anectdote about the shenanigans while on the of the set of their new movie.
L a t a z ! (Lay-Tahz) a farewell said with lollipop in mouth and wheelie backpack in tow. Hot pants are a plus. carrying a small dog, like a chihuahua, a must.
L o v e t h a t ! TV fashion guru eunuch-homofag commenting on the a-line skirt and sassy kitten-heeled mule that turned one woman's look from drab to fab!
W o r k i t o u t ! An encouraging statement that has its origins in Black America, but thoroughly adopted by eunuch-homofag minority. Its at home on the runway or in the dance studio, as well as any conversation where the word "fierce" is an appropriate adjective to describe one's actions.
A t o u c h o f w h i m s y: a must have for any home-decorating show, best used when speaking about a faux-finish or the decorative wallpaper border you cleverly used as a chairrail.
S o d e a l w i t h i t ! : Sam goody keychain that is attached to your LL bean or Jansport backpack that explains your thirteen-year-old percocious outlook on life.
B - T - d u b s : A variation on btw or by-the-way its an updated internet lingo classic, for those in college who still use ttyl irl and need to give it an air of sarcasm.
D u n z o ! used when refering to a major breakup, usually in the lives of Hollywood "it" couples.
Dating Four People At Once
Genre: Lyric Essay, Memoir
Dating four people at once is a bad idea,' I thought this morning as my eyes dripped tears into a toilet full of stomach-acid.
this brings up two points:
point one: i'm a little sad. well, to be honest, probably more than a little, but i can't really tell because i have food poisoning and i've been feeling about 7inches away from death for almost 12 hours now and as i heave and holler into the toilet, i realize that there's not anyone rubbing my back. my roommate bought me ginger-ale and crackers, but she used my money to get it, and it sort of nullified the gesture. then i think 'well, at least some people called to say they hope i'm feeling better.'
and then i assess the list of callers:
my dad, my brother, my mom (none of those really count because they sort of have to call, and two out of the three only called because one of them made the other two)
my two best lesbian friends (but that only really counts as one because they're dating and it was only one message. and although they cutely tried to go back and forth, each speaking one word at a time, in the end it sounded something like a learning-disabled lesbian robot)
and lastly: oh wait. no one.
point two: i remember once talking to a friend about how they were dating four people and how great it was. and somehow, through the vomit, i think to myself: how? how could that be great? even when i'm not dating anyone, that's horrible. when i date one person, that's horrible. the disappointment, the putting oneself on the line, the waiting around, the making plans, the blah blah blah. and i'm not sure how, but these two things connect: food poisoning, dating. draw your own paralels.
15.2.06
today: was the entire month of febuary.
Genre: Lyric Essay, List
today:
found an orange lighter on the sidewalk.
gave three cigarettes to the homeless man who lives in my stairwell.
sat cross-legged in the art section of barnes and noble and looked at a dirt bike magazine.
told a woman her dog was cute, even though it wasn't really that cute.
ate the crumbs from the pink valentines cake annie and i ate the night before.
emailed my mom and wrote 'you're reading this because i'm bored and it's febuary' in the subject line.
got asked on a date by a stranger or got asked to go to dinner with someone i don't know, but the first sounds better.
lied to my dad about being busy and productive.
smelled all the socks in my room to see which ones have another day left in them.
decided to get my boots fixed.
decided against getting my boots fixed because it was 55 dollars.
decided i really like the boots and it'd be worth it.
called movie phone to see if they changed the voice since the seinfeld episode.
today:
found an orange lighter on the sidewalk.
gave three cigarettes to the homeless man who lives in my stairwell.
sat cross-legged in the art section of barnes and noble and looked at a dirt bike magazine.
told a woman her dog was cute, even though it wasn't really that cute.
ate the crumbs from the pink valentines cake annie and i ate the night before.
emailed my mom and wrote 'you're reading this because i'm bored and it's febuary' in the subject line.
got asked on a date by a stranger or got asked to go to dinner with someone i don't know, but the first sounds better.
lied to my dad about being busy and productive.
smelled all the socks in my room to see which ones have another day left in them.
decided to get my boots fixed.
decided against getting my boots fixed because it was 55 dollars.
decided i really like the boots and it'd be worth it.
called movie phone to see if they changed the voice since the seinfeld episode.
5.2.06
when i first knew i was a feminist. by bowen
Genre: Lyric Essay
"i like frogs, and i'm a girl... i just don't like bugs, but not because i'm a girl" said cindy with a shrug of the shoulders.
"cool, cindy. right on," i said. "you're the most advanced girl in the 5th grade, even mora tuglowski thinks so, and she's supposed to be in 6th grade."
cindy smiled and put her ponytail in her mouth. we sat on the swings and looked around at all the rocks being thrown.
"hey, cindy."
"hey greg" she replied as greg weintraub approached our swinging legs. greg's shoes were untied in a way that read as 'i'm a rebel, i don't care.'
"so cindy, mike keibler said that you had a crush on me."
"i didn't say that! i just said i liked the stuff you draw on your desk. i like pokemon."
"girls don't like pokemon! you totally are, like, in love with me."
"No, i'm not."
"shut up, are too!"
"greg, cindy just appreciated your artistic renderings, it doesn't mean she wants to go steady," i said, backing up my friend. i knew cindy and cindy wasn't interested in greg weintraub. cindy was interested in biology and painting, she wanted to change the world, not chase after the shoelaces of some stupid boy.
"whatever. wanna go steady" he said, kicking at the dirt.
"yeah." cindy said with a hop from her swing.
"cool. do you like bugs? i've got a collection." he said showing her a keychain - a preserved exoskeleton of a dung beetle.
"yeah, i love bugs. once i found a walking stick bug and i named him henderson."
the two walked off in the direction of the jungle gym holding hands.
"a voice once stentorian is now meek and muffled." i said to myself with a shake of the head. "what would Judith Fetterley say?"
i spent the rest of that year swinging by myself pondering the gender binary in institutionalized gym classes.
the end.
"i like frogs, and i'm a girl... i just don't like bugs, but not because i'm a girl" said cindy with a shrug of the shoulders.
"cool, cindy. right on," i said. "you're the most advanced girl in the 5th grade, even mora tuglowski thinks so, and she's supposed to be in 6th grade."
cindy smiled and put her ponytail in her mouth. we sat on the swings and looked around at all the rocks being thrown.
"hey, cindy."
"hey greg" she replied as greg weintraub approached our swinging legs. greg's shoes were untied in a way that read as 'i'm a rebel, i don't care.'
"so cindy, mike keibler said that you had a crush on me."
"i didn't say that! i just said i liked the stuff you draw on your desk. i like pokemon."
"girls don't like pokemon! you totally are, like, in love with me."
"No, i'm not."
"shut up, are too!"
"greg, cindy just appreciated your artistic renderings, it doesn't mean she wants to go steady," i said, backing up my friend. i knew cindy and cindy wasn't interested in greg weintraub. cindy was interested in biology and painting, she wanted to change the world, not chase after the shoelaces of some stupid boy.
"whatever. wanna go steady" he said, kicking at the dirt.
"yeah." cindy said with a hop from her swing.
"cool. do you like bugs? i've got a collection." he said showing her a keychain - a preserved exoskeleton of a dung beetle.
"yeah, i love bugs. once i found a walking stick bug and i named him henderson."
the two walked off in the direction of the jungle gym holding hands.
"a voice once stentorian is now meek and muffled." i said to myself with a shake of the head. "what would Judith Fetterley say?"
i spent the rest of that year swinging by myself pondering the gender binary in institutionalized gym classes.
the end.
2.2.06
fin tiltry, a detail
i remembered, this morning, as i rode the train angrily from montrose to 6th (and i say angrily, because no one wants to be pressed against a stranger and a pole at 9AM) a detail from a conversation with fin tiltry, the precocious child who lives in an attic in connecticut.
"my grandfather's really rich."
"i think mine was too," i say as i fold towels and put them in a pile on my bed.
"no, but mine's richer" he says matter-of-factly.
"well, i'm not one to argue about wealth, but i will say that you don't really know my grandfather, so you shouldn't assume much of anything."
"well, see. my grandfather invented screens, so unless your grandfather invented, like, toilet paper - i don't think he's as rich as mine."
i hate this. i hate how i'm constantly feeling belittled and befuddled by 9 year olds. i feel like they have secret powers - like the ability to make me want to go back in the closet, or the ability to question everything about myself, or the ability to make me ashamed because my grandfather did not invent toilet paper.
"screens?"
"yeah, he invented screens."
"i don't know fin, i think screens have been around for a while..."
"well, see, he's been around for a while. i can do the math. my mom is really old, see? and he's the youngest of her children, she's 55, and he's almost one hundred. but anyway, i don't need to prove it, i know it's true, because it's my family."
"well, i guess it is your family. and i won't ask you to prove it."
"good. well anyway. my grandfather, he owned a little fix-it shop, somewhere in like, the midwest or something. and he worked with wires a lot - like, the little ones. and one day, he thought about making fabric out of wires. like, weaving it and stuff. and so he did it. and bamm. now he's totally rich."
"that's cool."
that's cool? that's all i have to say? it is. because my grandfather didn't invent the screen, or toilet paper, and even though i'm twelve years older than this kid, he has an upper hand. he thinks quicker than i do, he's more confident than i am (probably because no one ever shot him down, his parents included).
i talk to jen about how stupid i feel around fin and how he makes me feel like i'm six. she brings up a good point:
"you possess an ability that he doesn't: you can punish him. so, anytime you're feeling a bit insecure (jen says 'bit' because she's canadian) just tell him to take his feet off the table, or not to chew with his mouth open."
jen is a genius.
"my grandfather's really rich."
"i think mine was too," i say as i fold towels and put them in a pile on my bed.
"no, but mine's richer" he says matter-of-factly.
"well, i'm not one to argue about wealth, but i will say that you don't really know my grandfather, so you shouldn't assume much of anything."
"well, see. my grandfather invented screens, so unless your grandfather invented, like, toilet paper - i don't think he's as rich as mine."
i hate this. i hate how i'm constantly feeling belittled and befuddled by 9 year olds. i feel like they have secret powers - like the ability to make me want to go back in the closet, or the ability to question everything about myself, or the ability to make me ashamed because my grandfather did not invent toilet paper.
"screens?"
"yeah, he invented screens."
"i don't know fin, i think screens have been around for a while..."
"well, see, he's been around for a while. i can do the math. my mom is really old, see? and he's the youngest of her children, she's 55, and he's almost one hundred. but anyway, i don't need to prove it, i know it's true, because it's my family."
"well, i guess it is your family. and i won't ask you to prove it."
"good. well anyway. my grandfather, he owned a little fix-it shop, somewhere in like, the midwest or something. and he worked with wires a lot - like, the little ones. and one day, he thought about making fabric out of wires. like, weaving it and stuff. and so he did it. and bamm. now he's totally rich."
"that's cool."
that's cool? that's all i have to say? it is. because my grandfather didn't invent the screen, or toilet paper, and even though i'm twelve years older than this kid, he has an upper hand. he thinks quicker than i do, he's more confident than i am (probably because no one ever shot him down, his parents included).
i talk to jen about how stupid i feel around fin and how he makes me feel like i'm six. she brings up a good point:
"you possess an ability that he doesn't: you can punish him. so, anytime you're feeling a bit insecure (jen says 'bit' because she's canadian) just tell him to take his feet off the table, or not to chew with his mouth open."
jen is a genius.
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