Here we go, battle stations.
The Scarylibrarian war, continued.
Mature readers, please prepare yourself for some adolescent behavior.
So a week or so ago I found out this lady was using my handle. I was slightly flattered, but still very irritated. I actually wrote her a few emails expressing these feelings, much to many people's amusement. You know, the everyday, "Hi, I'm sure you are a nice person, but please get some creativity" kind of message. I even sent her a few cool handles she could use.
If you can recall, I figured out she was using my handle when I saw her name on a few message boards. Me being me, I had to make sure that she absolutely knew I was on to her. When I didn't get an email back from her, I left her a note on one of the boards. Just a little something to say, "Hey." Lo and behold, like aliens from the great beyond, she has made
contact.
Steady, are you ready?
I've been doing interviews all day. I'm finally getting a sense of relief over my anxiety of not wanting to do the arthritis story, as this first step is underway. Granted, all of the interviews have fallen under the "quick and dirty" category, so what I have so far isn't fodder for a Pulitzer prize, but it's getting done. My heart rate should return to normal some time after next Tuesday.
Received the greatest book from The Boyfriend yesterday called, "
The Renegade Writer." It's been three years since our first outing (he calls it a date) and the first book he ever gave me, "On Writing" by Stephen King. Despite the fact that trying to get him to clean the house is as easy as herding feral cats, I have to say that he certainly knows that books are the way to my heart. Anyway, it talks about all the rules you need to break to get into freelance writing. The prose is funny and intelligent and the content is controversial in terms of what all other books say about the profession. If you have any interest in writing check it out.
A weird juxtiposition: I've been extra sensitive about
my writing lately, despite the fact that I'm trying to develop thicker skin in anticipation of all the rejections from the query letters I've been sending out. I keep trying to remind myself that this is just the difficult part, and it won't last forever. Eventually I'll learn the tricks of the trade and it'll be fun and I'll get the rush again.
My best friend at work, The Black Assassin, has been trying to lose weight for an upcoming show of his. He's a dancer in an
Afro-Peruvian dance troupe, and the wardrobe he's required to wear has a high chance of ... malfunctioning. I have been the unwilling witness his hunger induced dementia. It's very funny, though, the mind games you can play on somebody who needs dramatically up their caloric intake. My new favorite thing is to play the "YOU MUST CHOOSE" game with him. I'll offer up two alternatives and he'll have to chose one. An easy example: Apple OR Orange? A more difficult example that becomes funny as hell when the person you are asking has barely eaten: Beautiful girl with a great personality and no butt OR "Aesthetically challenged" girl with a great personality and a fantastic butt? I highly suggest playing this game with somebody who is dieting and grumpy. Trust me, you'll be amused.
In the room women come and go, talking of Michaelangelo
So … wow. I used to love writing in the middle of the night but my newest favorite thing is to write in the morning when my brain has not quite emerged from REM sleep. I was having this bizarre dream right when the alarm went off and I told myself, “Don’t forget this dream!” Of course I can’t remember what the hell it was about. It’s weird to be writing with out really being awake. I feel like I’m stuck in T.S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Proofrock” or in an episode of Spongebob Squarepants.
LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Last night I tried to get some work done on my upcoming story but I can’t seem to get past this weird barrier of total and complete apathy. I really, really, really, don’t want to do this story. The allure of getting published has worn off, mostly because the magazine is small, completely uninterested in helping me grow as a writer, and I’m not getting paid enough for the work that I’m putting in. To quote my brother, who despite being stoned for most waking hours, can sometimes be quite eloquent: “Pay your dues and quit whining.” It’s the last story in the series and the plan is to just get it done quick and dirty. Really, though, it’s hard to make the topic of “arthritis” very sexy and interesting.
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
I am also kind of irked with the magazine in terms of licensing; they purchased all rights for the stories I’ve done for them and I’ve found that they already allowed the stories to be re-run. I hate knowing that my words now belong to somebody else. I guess I just have to get over it.
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
This Friday I’m going with the girls to see Jill Scott perform at the Paramount Theater, one of the coolest examples of art deco style in the Bay Area. The last time I was there when I scored free tickets to watch DJ Spooky after I interviewed him. The performance was kind of “out of my grasp” (aka, I was bored out of my gourd) so I spent more time looking at the architecture than listening to the music. Jill is supposed to be an amazing performer. I can’t wait!
I was thinking it's a sign that the freckles in our eyes are mirror images
These are my confessions ...
1. I hate the smell of new plastic toys.
2. I love Ocean Beach at night.
3. Stubborn should be my middle name.
4. I think Friendster is a bunch of crap. It's just a venue for people to advertise how much cooler their lives are than yours. It's like the "Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion" of websites.
5. The best part of my day so far happened a half hour ago. I just got back from sprinting three miles at the gym and had no time to put on any makeup or do my hair after my workout. One of my coworkers came by and said very sincerely, "You look stunning today."
6. I would rather run six miles than do a yoga class involving chanting and looking into my third eye.
7. It's fun to call fruits and vegetables by their scientific names. For example, at lunch today I had Brassica oleracea botrytis (broccoli), Daucus carota (carrots), and a Malus sylvestris (apple) with my tuna sandwich.
8. I (perhaps naively) still like to believe that people have good intentions.
9. I miss my brother.
10. I think of names and store them up for future use. Example one, my future dogs: Rufus Wainwright and Lil' Bit. Example two, my future cats: Mr. Buffy and Tyrone. Example three, my future rock band: Mormon Underwear or Precious La Rue.
11. At any given moment I should probably be doing something more productive.
12. The funniest things I've heard from men today: "I wanna be in a pile up with Tom Brady" and "I have no game. Abs, you have no game, either."
Last night before I fell asleep I started to think about a movie I recently watched, "Under The Tuscan Sun". In the movie significant parts of the story are moved along after the main character, Frances (played by Diane Lane) experiences 'signs.' Frances goes to Tuscany and sees for sale notice for a villa, Bramasole, when her tour bus stops in this random town. As the tour bus is driving away from the town it gets stopped by a flock of sheep crossing the road, and lo and behold, Frances looks out the window and sees the villa. Frances jumps off the bus, goes into the villa, and finds that another couple is there bidding on the house. The old lady selling the villa decides to sell it to Frances when a bird flying around the house takes a shit while it's flying around and the shit lands on Frances' head. To the old lady, that is a sign from God, that she should sell the house to Frances.
I must confess, I don't believe in signs. But as I was falling asleep last night, I wondered if it's because I haven't been looking for them. If I really paid attention, would they be there to serve as an indication that my life was moving towards a significant direction?
So this week I'm attempting week one of Operation: Sign Me Up. I'm going to attempt to pay close attention to incidents that could appear to be symbolically significant. FYI, I feel very qualified to look for symbolic significance. As a former tortured English major, I have the ability to find symbolic significance in virtually anything in the printed word, as it was a prerequisite to graduation.
No doubt you're playing real cool, homie
I'm about to sign you up, we can get right, before the night is up, we can get right, we can get riiiiiiight, riiiight ...
Have shamefully been rocking out to that new J. Lo song, “Get Right,” all morning. Who ever is producing her tracks must also be doing spin for the White House; they’re both taking crap and making it smell like roses.
I’ve finally recovered from my Friday night dancing excursion. If you plan on going dancing, please consume more than a Power Bar before drinking your gin and tonics, thanks.
It’s amazing what mental clarity comes with 12 hours of sleep.
One of my favorite things in the whole world is waking up on Sunday, having my coffee (weak, with 2% milk and two teaspoons sugar), reading the NY Times online, and listening to music. Last week it was northern soul singers: Irma Thomas, Brenda Holloway, and Kim Weston. This week it's R&B heavy. If you know your music history you'll already know that name "R&B" is short for "rhythm and blues" which is the policitally correct version of what used to be known as "race records."
Here’s this morning’s set list:
Get Right, Jennifer Lopez
Let’s Get Retarded, Black Eyed Peas
Hey Mama, Black Eyed Peas
Shut Up, Black Eyed Peas
All Falls Down, Kanye West
Other Fish, Pharcyde
Passing Me By, Pharcyde
We Need a Resolution, Aaliyah
More Than a Woman, Aaliyah
All I Do (is Think About You), Stevie Wonder
Days Like This (DJ Spinna remix), Marquess Wyatt
Shining Sar, Earth Wind and Fire
Closer, Brand New Heavies
I Like It, De Barge
Automatic, Pointer Sisters
I'm under the gun this week; I've got a story due on the 15th and right now I've got the "I'm going to pull this one out of my ass" sort of feeling. I am officially hitting a new procrastination low with this story. I've been concentrating more on trying to get work from bigger publications, so I haven't been doing enough work on it. The thought of being able to quit my job to write full time has me salivating. *drool*
My new favorite strange thing to do for no particular reason: drinking watered down fruit punch Kool Aid with umbrella bendy straws. Really, you've got to find amusement in anyway you can.
