I was Googling my name today and came across something interesting.
At the very bottom of each page, just below the suggestion to use Google Book Search, is a Sponsored Link with my name all over it. The URL is www.kcrw.com.
KCRW-FM is the big public radio station out here in Los Angeles. They play great music and host informative, intelligent shows.
This link leads to the KCRW archives, in particular an audio file of the show Which Way L.A., dated Thursday, May 14 1998. Among the topics that host Warren Olney handled that day: "A look back at the Governor's debate with average voters who watched it on television, and the people who get paid to tell you what you really saw."
I was one of those people who got paid to sit in a sound stage at PBS Studios in Hollywood and watch the open primary debate for the Governorship of California that year.
Six months before, I had participated in a phone survey (I was in a good mood that day) regarding politics, and my name was placed on a list of potential debate watchers. They called me back and promised to pay me $50 for my time and my opinion.
The 1998 election was considered semi-historical simply for the fact that it was preceded by the open primary, which meant that any registered voter could vote but only for candidates of one party... whatever that means.
The Republican candidate, Dan Lungren, ran unopposed-- for him, the primary election was a mere formality. All he had to do was show up. And let me just say this now: if you think The Governator is bad, thank your lucky stars that Lungren didn't win. California would be a much colder place now if he had stepped into the fray.
Racing neck-and-neck for the Democratic nomination were: Al Checchi, a Riordan-ish airline tycoon throwing his hat into the political ring; Jane Harman, a local Congresswoman; and Gray Davis, career politician and future recall recipient.
Myself and several other citizens of all walks of life were sequestered into the PBS studios, where we watched the entire debate and were subsequently asked by the producers of PBS' Life & Times program for our opinions. As I was walking out, a CBS news reporter queried me for a sound bite for the evening news. Then, I was asked by an associate producer of Which Way L.A. who happened to be in attendance if I would like to be a call-in guest for the following day's show.
The next day, I did my guest bit on my work phone. Warren Olney himself called me up at my job and prepped me for the show. I stayed on the line and listened in, waiting for my cue. I even did some work as I gave my two cents-- Olney introduced me on the air as a "tape duplicator for a radio network".
I never received any kind of copy or recording of the show, and only one person that I know of actually heard it while it was being broadcast, purely by accident-- he happened to have the radio on 89.9 when I came on. I hadn't thought of recording the show myself for posterity, and so it came and went rather quickly, settling into my consciousness as an entertaining anecdote for cocktail parties and formal affairs.
On my old blog, I actually devoted some considerable space to the whole process, but soon I became bored with the notion of novelizing something as seemingly unimportant as the California Governor's election of 1998. But in light of the eventual recall of Davis (who obviously beat Lungren in the election, and four years later went on to defeat Bill Simon as well) and the ensuing media circus that accompanied, there is some political hindsight in hearing this radio broadcast from seven years ago.
If you scroll down a bit after opening up the link I provided, you can read short descriptions of the guests. Here's mine:
Disliked Lungren intensely, but had thoughtful responses during the focus group discussion. Will likely back Harman or Davis.
I sounded distracted, nervous, and mildly informed. I didn't come off as a total idiot, but I also said "um" and "you know" an awful lot.
If you have Real Player, you can hear it by clicking on the RA button. If you don't have speakers, I suggest you get some, or better yet: plug your headphones into the speaker jack. You wanna hear how I sounded in 1998? Now you have your chance.
Olney introduces me eighteen minutes into the broadcast-- 18:18 to be exact.
I never thought I'd ever hear this brief foray into radio again until today. Hell, I didn't even hear it the first time around-- you can't turn the radio on during the show or else the tape delay will disorient you. I never recorded it, and I never requested a tape or a transcript.
God, I love the Internet.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Monday, November 28, 2005
the other 'L' word
Eve, with her hair ponied and her sweater tightly hugging the contours of her upper body, brought over to my apartment the entire second season of Showtime's The L Word on DVD.
I hadn't even seen the first season. I had no interest in seeing it, because I felt that it was going to be a gay version of Sex & The City, a show that (quite frankly) I've never been able to stand watching for more than a small eternity.
Eve has always flirted with lesbian chic, even back in the halcyon days of our schooling. My attitude towards her openly bisexual tendencies was one of sincere bemusement: I never really believed that she was into girls at all. I have never personally witnessed her do anything beyond flirtatious socializing. I am quite used to seeing girls kiss, whether it was out of drunken passion, bold daring, or sensual femininity.
This is not to say that Eve hasn't had encounters with girlfriends and lovers of the same sex. But it's not my business, otherwise I think I would've factored into the equation somewhere down the line.
It doesn't bother me, that's for sure. In fact, like most red-blooded males, the notion of lipstick lesbians and femme dykes getting it on... well, I don't think I need to elaborate any further than that.
Would I like to be a part of such an event? Yes, just as much as I would love to win the lottery or win a date with Angelina Jolie. But I don't torture myself over it, because I know that the odds of my ever being a part of some lesbian tryst with Eve and another girl are exactly the same as winning the Lotto or dating Angelina.
I think I should mention at this point that Eve and I haven't been having sex. Sure, we've been touchy-feely, and we've shared a bed or two in the past month or so... but she has shut me down in the sex department. I'm not sure why, but I suspect it has to do with the fact that I'm a horny bastard who is never satisfied, and she wants me to value her for more than just toe-rattling sex.
Yeah, I think that might be the reason...
*/*
So Eve brought over the DVD set of the show, and introduced me to one of the more entertaining and erotic cable TV shows in recent memory. I realize that it is merely a soap opera that bares more flesh than the norm, but the stellar acting from the ensemble cast makes up for the melodrama.
And then there's Shane, played by Katherine Moenning. Eve and I both agree that Shane is the most bad-ass character on the show-- on any show, really --and that she is a Goddess. I like Shane because she is a straight-up gangsta mackette when it comes to picking up fellow lezzies, while Eve probably sees her as a role model.
When Eve came by with the goods, I warned her: "This is going to get me extremely horny. I can't be held responsible for my actions once things start rolling..." And of course, there were multiple scenes of girl-on-girl action spliced in between the plot and dialogue. We got through roughly six episodes before Eve went home for the night.
I behaved myself. I was a perfect gentleman.
*/*
The reason why I bring this show up is not to drool over hot girls in panties touching each other delicately... I can always write about that.
No, the reason is that there was one episode featuring Sandra Bernhard as a college English professor. One of the show's leads was applying to Bernhard's character's writing class, and Bernhard kept on ragging on the poor girl's writing.
"You have no imagination. You aren't writing fiction. You don't write-- you journal. You haven't transformed it into fiction yet. Talk to me when you learn how to be a writer first..."
(Obviously, I'm paraphrasing here...)
And then I thought about this blog, and how I have become accustomed to journaling instead of writing the lush and dense prose that I used to employ in my first primal bloggings. I deleted half a million words because I thought it was too excessive. I have tried since then to radically alter my approach to writing in order to understand how to write in a blog.
Well, now that I've been blogging for some time, I think I know what it is that I want to do: I want to write, not journal.
*/*
I recently had an encounter with a girl I met on My Space. She is a writer, and she actually went out of her way to meet me at my work one day. She wanted to know if I was full of shit for claiming to work at a radio station.
I was surprised to see this petite curly-haired redhead named Lana standing in the lobby. She just barged in and told the receptionist that she had an appointment with me.
We discussed music and recording (Lana used to be a assistant sound mixer), and then we started talking about writing. Lana makes her living by writing, and I asked her how I could get a writing gig for myself.
"Well, what kind of writing do you want to do?" she asked me.
"Uh, I want to write fiction... characters... literature."
"Well, I'm a journalist. I don't write fiction. I can't help you there. But, if you know how to transcribe, I can get you some gigs, possibly."
"I can type 56 words per minute."
Lana looked at me as if I were some sort of writing anomaly. She was attractive and well-toned, but her face was hard and suspicious. As a New York transplant, she is probably inured to phonies telling her whatever they think she wants to hear.
"Fuckin' A. No shit?"
"No shit. How about you?"
"Oh, well, I type like an old lady. One finger on each hand. It takes me hours to transcribe my interviews sometimes."
"I type with one finger also. And I'm fucking fast."
"Well, if you're not bullshitting me, maybe you can help me meet this deadline I've got in December. Help me with this and I can definitely help you out later on down the line. I can't pay you shit, though."
"I understand. Just keep me posted. I've got a lot of free time."
Nothing is set in stone obviously, but if she is for real, then she will find out soon enough that I am for real as well. If I get some sort of job assisting her with her assignments, it could turn into something lucrative in the future. Or it could not.
No one knows for sure. That's the beauty of it all.
*/*
I walked Lana to the elevator, and she turned to me and said:
"Well, as long as you don't stalk me or hit on me, I think we won't have any problems."
You have to understand something here: In the spirit of pure Jungian synchronicity, I actually saw Lana about a week before she visited me at my work. I was walking to my car and saw her strutting towards the parking lot. I instantly recognized her from her online profile, but she was talking on a cel phone headset and didn't even see me as she passed me by.
I e-mailed her the following week, and told her that I worked in the Sherman Oaks Galleria building. She explained that she worked out in the 24-hour gym in the mall. I replied that, since we'd never met before, I didn't think it would be right for me to walk up to her and startle her by revealing who I was. She replied by saying that I was smart for doing that.
So when she walked into the elevator and said what she said about stalking her and hitting on her, I was ready with a response:
"Yeah, well, don't worry-- the last thing I need is more problems."
We shook hands, and the elevator doors closed.
*/*
And now I think about Sandra Bernhard's advice, and Lana's aggressive lessons, and Eve's alluring teasing, and I realize that I need to get back to that original seed, the root of my desire to novelize and turn everything that happens to me into a work of art.
I am not content to simply catalogue the events of my day. I want to alchemize it all and shape it into a monument to the eternal, the infinite...
I want to indulge in that other L word, the one known as 'Literature'... I think I'm done with journaling. I was never really good at it anyway-- all of my early attempts at keeping a diary were always foiled by two things: inconsistent chronicling, with boredom setting in after a month or two; and a tendency to embellish upon the truth via artistic license.
Tonight, I will go over to Laurie and Daniel's place, and talk about the novel I wrote, the one that needs to be edited, the one that has become a labor of love for me, the one that I used to have partially linked to this blog before Laurie suggested I take it down for protection's sake.
I think it's the only thing I can do at this point.
I hadn't even seen the first season. I had no interest in seeing it, because I felt that it was going to be a gay version of Sex & The City, a show that (quite frankly) I've never been able to stand watching for more than a small eternity.
Eve has always flirted with lesbian chic, even back in the halcyon days of our schooling. My attitude towards her openly bisexual tendencies was one of sincere bemusement: I never really believed that she was into girls at all. I have never personally witnessed her do anything beyond flirtatious socializing. I am quite used to seeing girls kiss, whether it was out of drunken passion, bold daring, or sensual femininity.
This is not to say that Eve hasn't had encounters with girlfriends and lovers of the same sex. But it's not my business, otherwise I think I would've factored into the equation somewhere down the line.
It doesn't bother me, that's for sure. In fact, like most red-blooded males, the notion of lipstick lesbians and femme dykes getting it on... well, I don't think I need to elaborate any further than that.
Would I like to be a part of such an event? Yes, just as much as I would love to win the lottery or win a date with Angelina Jolie. But I don't torture myself over it, because I know that the odds of my ever being a part of some lesbian tryst with Eve and another girl are exactly the same as winning the Lotto or dating Angelina.
I think I should mention at this point that Eve and I haven't been having sex. Sure, we've been touchy-feely, and we've shared a bed or two in the past month or so... but she has shut me down in the sex department. I'm not sure why, but I suspect it has to do with the fact that I'm a horny bastard who is never satisfied, and she wants me to value her for more than just toe-rattling sex.
Yeah, I think that might be the reason...
*/*
So Eve brought over the DVD set of the show, and introduced me to one of the more entertaining and erotic cable TV shows in recent memory. I realize that it is merely a soap opera that bares more flesh than the norm, but the stellar acting from the ensemble cast makes up for the melodrama.
And then there's Shane, played by Katherine Moenning. Eve and I both agree that Shane is the most bad-ass character on the show-- on any show, really --and that she is a Goddess. I like Shane because she is a straight-up gangsta mackette when it comes to picking up fellow lezzies, while Eve probably sees her as a role model.
When Eve came by with the goods, I warned her: "This is going to get me extremely horny. I can't be held responsible for my actions once things start rolling..." And of course, there were multiple scenes of girl-on-girl action spliced in between the plot and dialogue. We got through roughly six episodes before Eve went home for the night.
I behaved myself. I was a perfect gentleman.
*/*
The reason why I bring this show up is not to drool over hot girls in panties touching each other delicately... I can always write about that.
No, the reason is that there was one episode featuring Sandra Bernhard as a college English professor. One of the show's leads was applying to Bernhard's character's writing class, and Bernhard kept on ragging on the poor girl's writing.
"You have no imagination. You aren't writing fiction. You don't write-- you journal. You haven't transformed it into fiction yet. Talk to me when you learn how to be a writer first..."
(Obviously, I'm paraphrasing here...)
And then I thought about this blog, and how I have become accustomed to journaling instead of writing the lush and dense prose that I used to employ in my first primal bloggings. I deleted half a million words because I thought it was too excessive. I have tried since then to radically alter my approach to writing in order to understand how to write in a blog.
Well, now that I've been blogging for some time, I think I know what it is that I want to do: I want to write, not journal.
*/*
I recently had an encounter with a girl I met on My Space. She is a writer, and she actually went out of her way to meet me at my work one day. She wanted to know if I was full of shit for claiming to work at a radio station.
I was surprised to see this petite curly-haired redhead named Lana standing in the lobby. She just barged in and told the receptionist that she had an appointment with me.
We discussed music and recording (Lana used to be a assistant sound mixer), and then we started talking about writing. Lana makes her living by writing, and I asked her how I could get a writing gig for myself.
"Well, what kind of writing do you want to do?" she asked me.
"Uh, I want to write fiction... characters... literature."
"Well, I'm a journalist. I don't write fiction. I can't help you there. But, if you know how to transcribe, I can get you some gigs, possibly."
"I can type 56 words per minute."
Lana looked at me as if I were some sort of writing anomaly. She was attractive and well-toned, but her face was hard and suspicious. As a New York transplant, she is probably inured to phonies telling her whatever they think she wants to hear.
"Fuckin' A. No shit?"
"No shit. How about you?"
"Oh, well, I type like an old lady. One finger on each hand. It takes me hours to transcribe my interviews sometimes."
"I type with one finger also. And I'm fucking fast."
"Well, if you're not bullshitting me, maybe you can help me meet this deadline I've got in December. Help me with this and I can definitely help you out later on down the line. I can't pay you shit, though."
"I understand. Just keep me posted. I've got a lot of free time."
Nothing is set in stone obviously, but if she is for real, then she will find out soon enough that I am for real as well. If I get some sort of job assisting her with her assignments, it could turn into something lucrative in the future. Or it could not.
No one knows for sure. That's the beauty of it all.
*/*
I walked Lana to the elevator, and she turned to me and said:
"Well, as long as you don't stalk me or hit on me, I think we won't have any problems."
You have to understand something here: In the spirit of pure Jungian synchronicity, I actually saw Lana about a week before she visited me at my work. I was walking to my car and saw her strutting towards the parking lot. I instantly recognized her from her online profile, but she was talking on a cel phone headset and didn't even see me as she passed me by.
I e-mailed her the following week, and told her that I worked in the Sherman Oaks Galleria building. She explained that she worked out in the 24-hour gym in the mall. I replied that, since we'd never met before, I didn't think it would be right for me to walk up to her and startle her by revealing who I was. She replied by saying that I was smart for doing that.
So when she walked into the elevator and said what she said about stalking her and hitting on her, I was ready with a response:
"Yeah, well, don't worry-- the last thing I need is more problems."
We shook hands, and the elevator doors closed.
*/*
And now I think about Sandra Bernhard's advice, and Lana's aggressive lessons, and Eve's alluring teasing, and I realize that I need to get back to that original seed, the root of my desire to novelize and turn everything that happens to me into a work of art.
I am not content to simply catalogue the events of my day. I want to alchemize it all and shape it into a monument to the eternal, the infinite...
I want to indulge in that other L word, the one known as 'Literature'... I think I'm done with journaling. I was never really good at it anyway-- all of my early attempts at keeping a diary were always foiled by two things: inconsistent chronicling, with boredom setting in after a month or two; and a tendency to embellish upon the truth via artistic license.
Tonight, I will go over to Laurie and Daniel's place, and talk about the novel I wrote, the one that needs to be edited, the one that has become a labor of love for me, the one that I used to have partially linked to this blog before Laurie suggested I take it down for protection's sake.
I think it's the only thing I can do at this point.
Friday, November 25, 2005
"Show me... wax on, wax off!"
Yet another part of my childhood dies...
Pat Morita was not only Mr. Miyagi-- he was also Arnold from Happy Days, and he had the good sense to leave that show before it jumped the shark.
R.I.P. Pat...
*/*
I am in limbo, as a result of my living in the moment. I don't know whether things are good or bad. All I know is that they are what they are.
Thanksgiving was great-- I had an awesome day. Then I ruined it by depressing myself on the way home. And it doesn't help that I'm on my last day of filling in on the graveyard shift.
At least the first major holiday at the end of the year is out of the way. Now, on to Christmas and its attendant surreality.
Have a beautiful weekend, all of you...
Pat Morita was not only Mr. Miyagi-- he was also Arnold from Happy Days, and he had the good sense to leave that show before it jumped the shark.
R.I.P. Pat...
*/*
I am in limbo, as a result of my living in the moment. I don't know whether things are good or bad. All I know is that they are what they are.
Thanksgiving was great-- I had an awesome day. Then I ruined it by depressing myself on the way home. And it doesn't help that I'm on my last day of filling in on the graveyard shift.
At least the first major holiday at the end of the year is out of the way. Now, on to Christmas and its attendant surreality.
Have a beautiful weekend, all of you...
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
her epiphany
I had to take a bit of a break from blogging. Too many things happening at once, clouding my mind.
There were some funny stories, anecdotes. A year ago each and every one of them would've made it to this blog. The post would've been ten thousand words long and in dire need of some editing TLC.
And now, here we are, approaching 2006, and what am I doing? Telling one-liners with no punch lines...
*/*
I will tell you this one story, to give you an idea of the "magical realism" invading my life as of late.
Nicole is a girl I went to high school with, and we were always acquaintances. Not friends. I barely knew her through mutual friends but we never hung out or talked to each other on our own.
This past summer, she and I met up with each other via e-mails. We agreed to meet for drinks somewhere in Burbank. We talked and talked, and Nicole began to tell me things about her life-- deep, personal things that floored me. She didn't have to tell me any of it, she just volunteered it.
To even the balance, I shared with her many of my own demons. She was just as shocked to hear my stories as I was shocked to hear hers. We marveled at how much we had in common, how we could've definitely been better friends in high school if we had only bothered to stop and recognize the other.
We walked to her place. I spent the night.
The weeks following our rendezvous were strange. I visited her once again, and a repeat was in order. Then, she suddenly became very busy and I heard from her less and less. All the while I was wondering what was going to happen-- it had only been three months since I decided to start "living in the moment" and I was already confused. Where is this going? What does this mean for us? Is this something that I want, or is this just something I'm enjoying for now?
The last time we got together was for a concert. She informed me that she quit drinking and went on some medication for her mood swings. I felt an odd sympathy for her, but at the same time I knew that she was also sizing me up, to see if I was just trying to "tap that ass" again. I've been a guy all of my life-- I know when a girl is trying to guess my intentions.
I think I did a good job of straddling the fence in regards to Nicole: I knew that any weirdness she was directing towards me was not intended to hurt me. Judging from the things she told me that night at the bar, Nicole had some major guilt issues, most of them involving her relationship with her former husband. I tried not to take her evasiveness and instability as anything personal, but I'd had enough of feeling like I had to walk on eggshells... so I called her and left a drunk message on her voice mail wondering what I did that was so wrong.
This prompted an irritated reply from her, which confirmed what I felt about her dealing with her issues. I apologized for being so bitchy and told her that she could call me any time to discuss anything on her mind.
She told me that there was nothing I could do, and I agreed.
*/*
Last Tuesday, I had a case of what Dave Chappelle affectionately termed "mudbutt" on his short-lived TV show. I must have eaten something pretty rancid, because my bowels were surrendering to the forces of bacteria quite profusely.
As I reclined on my couch that night, recovering from a fever and near-dehydration from the plentiful amount of bathroom visits I'd made that day, the telephone rang.
I picked it up.
"Hello?"
"James."
"Nicole. How are you?"
"Good, real good. How are you?"
"Oh, man... I think I got food poisoning. You don't wanna know how bad."
We exchanged small talk formalities, and then she said:
"Something happened to me yesterday that I wanted to share with you."
"Oh... okay, shoot."
"Well, as you know, I am crazy. I know, you say I'm not crazy, but I feel crazy. I can admit it. Anyway, I just couldn't take another day of going in to work-- I felt positively suicidal. I couldn't deal. So I called in sick and I drove out to the Santa Monica Third Street Promenade. I wandered a round a bit, aimlessly, just trying to clear my head.
"At one point I sat down and read my book. Then I heard a familiar voice call my name. When I turned around, it was him."
"Him who?" I asked.
"My ex-husband. Of all the places in the world to run into him... Anyway, we started to talk, and he suggested we get some coffee and sit down and play Catch-Up. So we did. James, I cannot express enough-- I feel like such a different person now that I've talked with him."
"Wow. What did you two talk about?"
"Basically, I brought up the fact that I cheated on him, and... he said he forgave me for that a long time ago. And it was like, suddenly, a weight lifted from off of my shoulders. I needed to hear that from him, you know? I've been beating myself up for it for so long, and I was running away from it and at the same time I knew it had to do with my guilt..."
"And now you have closure."
"Oh yes, definite closure. I have confidence again. I can lift my head up and feel proud to be who I am. I never realized how much this whole thing affected me until I saw him again. And don't get me wrong-- we're not getting back together or anything like that... but I'm no longer ashamed of myself. I know it sounds weird-- I shouldn't have to base my feelings upon what he thinks. But I know I hurt him so badly, and I just wanted to make sure he was okay about it, and not knowing tore me up inside..."
"I know, I know. I've been there, believe me!"
"I know. And that's why I'm calling you, to share this with you. I didn't think you understood what I was going through... but you did. You understood more than I thought. I am sorry if I ever doubted your intentions. It's just been so crazy lately, and... well, I was a bit confused about everything."
"So was I. I'm not any different. But I also knew that whatever you were feeling had to do with the things you told me before we slept together. I just feel bad for letting it get to me, but then again that was my point-- if you think you're crazy, then I'm a fucking loon! The only difference between us is that you're getting treatment for your neuroses. And I have to admit that I was a little insulted, but that's because I thought you reckoned me for a player."
"I didn't think you were a player. But I did trip out on the whole thing. And I'm sorry if I've been acting crazy."
"Once again, stop with the crazy talk. You're not crazy-- you're just human, that's all."
*/*
We talked for a bit longer, and then she had to get off the phone. And as I hung up, I thought about how everything seemed to work out for the right reasons, even if there was a rough patch along the way for a second.
As I age, I guess that I'm getting a bit better at handling life's twists and turns. Not that I make wise decisions-- I still manage to stumble into things inadvertantly, unexpectedly, almost accidentally. But I'm learning how to navigate my way out of it much quicker.
And hearing about Nicole's epiphany-- and thinking about how unlikely it is to see an ex-spouse standing on a street corner after six years' time --I began to wonder about my role in this world. I began to think not in terms of why I am here but in terms of what I have been sent here to accomplish.
I was totally happy to hear that Nicole found some answers to her personal questions, because I had serious concern for her well-being. I did understand what she was feeling very well. Sometimes you don't want to hear the platitudes, the "everything-will-be-alrights" and all that hi-falutin' jazz.
Sometimes you just wish you were dead and that's the end of it. And nothing that anyone can say will make you feel better. So I didn't tell her any of that-- instead, I told her what was on my mind, because that's all that mattered.
I didn't want to call her bluff, for fear that she would call mine and hurt herself. But I didn't want to "save" her either. We all know how good I am at that.
I'm not insinuating that I had anything to do with her encounter with her ex-husband. But I do feel better knowing that maybe our short summer fling might have pushed her in an alternate direction, one that led her down the path to this epiphany. I'd rather feel like I helped her rather than feel like I only added to her misery.
I felt guilty after the second time we hooked up, because I felt like I was taking advantage of a vulnerable woman who was looking for something to get her through the night. Then, when I felt like I was the one who had been used, that's when I realized that my guilt had nothing to do with what she was going through. Fuck me and fuck my narcissistic brand of guilt-- Nicole was hurting, and all I could think about was my feelings?
Anyway, I don't know where this leaves us, but I think right now it's best to just be friends. She's going to need one, and so will I.
*/*
PS: My attack of "mudbutt" finally subsided around Friday of last week...
There were some funny stories, anecdotes. A year ago each and every one of them would've made it to this blog. The post would've been ten thousand words long and in dire need of some editing TLC.
And now, here we are, approaching 2006, and what am I doing? Telling one-liners with no punch lines...
*/*
I will tell you this one story, to give you an idea of the "magical realism" invading my life as of late.
Nicole is a girl I went to high school with, and we were always acquaintances. Not friends. I barely knew her through mutual friends but we never hung out or talked to each other on our own.
This past summer, she and I met up with each other via e-mails. We agreed to meet for drinks somewhere in Burbank. We talked and talked, and Nicole began to tell me things about her life-- deep, personal things that floored me. She didn't have to tell me any of it, she just volunteered it.
To even the balance, I shared with her many of my own demons. She was just as shocked to hear my stories as I was shocked to hear hers. We marveled at how much we had in common, how we could've definitely been better friends in high school if we had only bothered to stop and recognize the other.
We walked to her place. I spent the night.
The weeks following our rendezvous were strange. I visited her once again, and a repeat was in order. Then, she suddenly became very busy and I heard from her less and less. All the while I was wondering what was going to happen-- it had only been three months since I decided to start "living in the moment" and I was already confused. Where is this going? What does this mean for us? Is this something that I want, or is this just something I'm enjoying for now?
The last time we got together was for a concert. She informed me that she quit drinking and went on some medication for her mood swings. I felt an odd sympathy for her, but at the same time I knew that she was also sizing me up, to see if I was just trying to "tap that ass" again. I've been a guy all of my life-- I know when a girl is trying to guess my intentions.
I think I did a good job of straddling the fence in regards to Nicole: I knew that any weirdness she was directing towards me was not intended to hurt me. Judging from the things she told me that night at the bar, Nicole had some major guilt issues, most of them involving her relationship with her former husband. I tried not to take her evasiveness and instability as anything personal, but I'd had enough of feeling like I had to walk on eggshells... so I called her and left a drunk message on her voice mail wondering what I did that was so wrong.
This prompted an irritated reply from her, which confirmed what I felt about her dealing with her issues. I apologized for being so bitchy and told her that she could call me any time to discuss anything on her mind.
She told me that there was nothing I could do, and I agreed.
*/*
Last Tuesday, I had a case of what Dave Chappelle affectionately termed "mudbutt" on his short-lived TV show. I must have eaten something pretty rancid, because my bowels were surrendering to the forces of bacteria quite profusely.
As I reclined on my couch that night, recovering from a fever and near-dehydration from the plentiful amount of bathroom visits I'd made that day, the telephone rang.
I picked it up.
"Hello?"
"James."
"Nicole. How are you?"
"Good, real good. How are you?"
"Oh, man... I think I got food poisoning. You don't wanna know how bad."
We exchanged small talk formalities, and then she said:
"Something happened to me yesterday that I wanted to share with you."
"Oh... okay, shoot."
"Well, as you know, I am crazy. I know, you say I'm not crazy, but I feel crazy. I can admit it. Anyway, I just couldn't take another day of going in to work-- I felt positively suicidal. I couldn't deal. So I called in sick and I drove out to the Santa Monica Third Street Promenade. I wandered a round a bit, aimlessly, just trying to clear my head.
"At one point I sat down and read my book. Then I heard a familiar voice call my name. When I turned around, it was him."
"Him who?" I asked.
"My ex-husband. Of all the places in the world to run into him... Anyway, we started to talk, and he suggested we get some coffee and sit down and play Catch-Up. So we did. James, I cannot express enough-- I feel like such a different person now that I've talked with him."
"Wow. What did you two talk about?"
"Basically, I brought up the fact that I cheated on him, and... he said he forgave me for that a long time ago. And it was like, suddenly, a weight lifted from off of my shoulders. I needed to hear that from him, you know? I've been beating myself up for it for so long, and I was running away from it and at the same time I knew it had to do with my guilt..."
"And now you have closure."
"Oh yes, definite closure. I have confidence again. I can lift my head up and feel proud to be who I am. I never realized how much this whole thing affected me until I saw him again. And don't get me wrong-- we're not getting back together or anything like that... but I'm no longer ashamed of myself. I know it sounds weird-- I shouldn't have to base my feelings upon what he thinks. But I know I hurt him so badly, and I just wanted to make sure he was okay about it, and not knowing tore me up inside..."
"I know, I know. I've been there, believe me!"
"I know. And that's why I'm calling you, to share this with you. I didn't think you understood what I was going through... but you did. You understood more than I thought. I am sorry if I ever doubted your intentions. It's just been so crazy lately, and... well, I was a bit confused about everything."
"So was I. I'm not any different. But I also knew that whatever you were feeling had to do with the things you told me before we slept together. I just feel bad for letting it get to me, but then again that was my point-- if you think you're crazy, then I'm a fucking loon! The only difference between us is that you're getting treatment for your neuroses. And I have to admit that I was a little insulted, but that's because I thought you reckoned me for a player."
"I didn't think you were a player. But I did trip out on the whole thing. And I'm sorry if I've been acting crazy."
"Once again, stop with the crazy talk. You're not crazy-- you're just human, that's all."
*/*
We talked for a bit longer, and then she had to get off the phone. And as I hung up, I thought about how everything seemed to work out for the right reasons, even if there was a rough patch along the way for a second.
As I age, I guess that I'm getting a bit better at handling life's twists and turns. Not that I make wise decisions-- I still manage to stumble into things inadvertantly, unexpectedly, almost accidentally. But I'm learning how to navigate my way out of it much quicker.
And hearing about Nicole's epiphany-- and thinking about how unlikely it is to see an ex-spouse standing on a street corner after six years' time --I began to wonder about my role in this world. I began to think not in terms of why I am here but in terms of what I have been sent here to accomplish.
I was totally happy to hear that Nicole found some answers to her personal questions, because I had serious concern for her well-being. I did understand what she was feeling very well. Sometimes you don't want to hear the platitudes, the "everything-will-be-alrights" and all that hi-falutin' jazz.
Sometimes you just wish you were dead and that's the end of it. And nothing that anyone can say will make you feel better. So I didn't tell her any of that-- instead, I told her what was on my mind, because that's all that mattered.
I didn't want to call her bluff, for fear that she would call mine and hurt herself. But I didn't want to "save" her either. We all know how good I am at that.
I'm not insinuating that I had anything to do with her encounter with her ex-husband. But I do feel better knowing that maybe our short summer fling might have pushed her in an alternate direction, one that led her down the path to this epiphany. I'd rather feel like I helped her rather than feel like I only added to her misery.
I felt guilty after the second time we hooked up, because I felt like I was taking advantage of a vulnerable woman who was looking for something to get her through the night. Then, when I felt like I was the one who had been used, that's when I realized that my guilt had nothing to do with what she was going through. Fuck me and fuck my narcissistic brand of guilt-- Nicole was hurting, and all I could think about was my feelings?
Anyway, I don't know where this leaves us, but I think right now it's best to just be friends. She's going to need one, and so will I.
*/*
PS: My attack of "mudbutt" finally subsided around Friday of last week...
Thursday, November 17, 2005
one woman
One woman cries because she is happy
One woman smiles because she is sad
One woman's father is dying of cancer
(This might be the last time she sees her dad)
One woman's man left for South America
One woman's man found the girl next door
One woman's convinced her man is an angel
One woman's man thinks she's a whore
One woman's ex said "You are forgiven"
One woman's ex said "I'll never forgive"
One woman told me she wanted to die
Another one whispered she wanted to live
One woman wallows in wells of self-pity
Another woman never looks back on the past
One woman trapped in a cell of her making
Another woman wonders how long it will last
One woman kisses me just before leaving
One woman slaps me as she enters the room
One woman walked up to me and laughed while
another woman swept me up like a broom
All women suffer and all women sigh
All women wonder but some wonder why
All women exist to awe and inspire
All women add their fuel to my fire
All women quench my burning desire
All women elevate my mind higher
All these women I truly admire
and I will love them all 'til the day I expire
One woman smiles because she is sad
One woman's father is dying of cancer
(This might be the last time she sees her dad)
One woman's man left for South America
One woman's man found the girl next door
One woman's convinced her man is an angel
One woman's man thinks she's a whore
One woman's ex said "You are forgiven"
One woman's ex said "I'll never forgive"
One woman told me she wanted to die
Another one whispered she wanted to live
One woman wallows in wells of self-pity
Another woman never looks back on the past
One woman trapped in a cell of her making
Another woman wonders how long it will last
One woman kisses me just before leaving
One woman slaps me as she enters the room
One woman walked up to me and laughed while
another woman swept me up like a broom
All women suffer and all women sigh
All women wonder but some wonder why
All women exist to awe and inspire
All women add their fuel to my fire
All women quench my burning desire
All women elevate my mind higher
All these women I truly admire
and I will love them all 'til the day I expire
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
sick
I hate being sick.
This is the second time in a month's time that I've been sick. This time wasn't as bad as the last time-- a cold instead of the horrible flu I had the first week of October --but I haven't regained my equilibrium and now I feel sluggish, lethargic, devoid of energy.
I am lagging on so many things, and the weather change is making me angry because it is part of the reason I am getting sick.
I hate feeling this way. Everything in my life can be rosy but one virus in your system and it all feels like crap.
Sorry to whine, sorry to complain... I just really hate being sick.
Wish me well. I can't even write right now because I'm so mad at myself for letting myself get into this.
This is the second time in a month's time that I've been sick. This time wasn't as bad as the last time-- a cold instead of the horrible flu I had the first week of October --but I haven't regained my equilibrium and now I feel sluggish, lethargic, devoid of energy.
I am lagging on so many things, and the weather change is making me angry because it is part of the reason I am getting sick.
I hate feeling this way. Everything in my life can be rosy but one virus in your system and it all feels like crap.
Sorry to whine, sorry to complain... I just really hate being sick.
Wish me well. I can't even write right now because I'm so mad at myself for letting myself get into this.
Friday, November 11, 2005
"What Do You Think Of Me?"
Okay, like I said in the first post of this series, the question "What do you think of me?" is a tricky one when asked on a blog. I am answering an imaginary interrogator. My answers, however, are predicated upon what I think of said questioner.
Each of my answers will start with "I think you are..." but who is "you" in this case? Is it you, a specific reader? Or is it a general You, a collective You, perhaps related to the infamous They that I'm always hearing about?
I have decided that the "you" in this case is whomever crosses my mind as I answer the question. And since the question will be asked 25 times, I suppose that there is a possibility of 25 different "yous" being represented in my mind. Hell, maybe there'll be more than 25. Maybe there'll be less.
In any case, here I go with the last installment:
What do you think of me?
I think you are everything that I love
What do you think of me?
I think you are everything that I loathe
What do you think of me?
I think that I need to impress you all the time
What do you think of me?
I think that you are someone who might understand me if only I could express myself perfectly
What do you think of me?
I think that I love writing to you
What do you think of me?
I think that you egg me on
What do you think of me?
I think of you like an old friend who knows me well yet doesn't know me completely
What do you think of me?
I think you must like me in some way
What do you think of me?
I think you are a force of nature that cannot be stopped
What do you think of me?
I think you are a projection of what is inside of me
What do you think of me?
I think you are a reflection of my own fears and dreams
What do you think of me?
I think you want to know what becomes of me
What do you think of me?
I think you wish I wasn't so angry
What do you think of me?
I think you sometimes wonder if I'm telling the truth or not
What do you think of me?
I think you probably get a few good laughs out of my posts
What do you think of me?
I think you are incredibly patient with the likes of me
What do you think of me?
I think you are amused by my solipsism
What do you think of me?
I think you think I'm a fool
What do you think of me?
I think you find me irresistible
What do you think of me?
I think you are unknowable
What do you think of me?
I think I know you very well
What do you think of me?
I think you split my mind in two
What do you think of me?
I think you torment me pleasurably
What do you think of me?
I think you watch in morbid fascination as I flagellate myself
What do you think of me?
I think you are the something to help me get through this life
HAVE A NICE WEEKEND, FOLKS!!
Each of my answers will start with "I think you are..." but who is "you" in this case? Is it you, a specific reader? Or is it a general You, a collective You, perhaps related to the infamous They that I'm always hearing about?
I have decided that the "you" in this case is whomever crosses my mind as I answer the question. And since the question will be asked 25 times, I suppose that there is a possibility of 25 different "yous" being represented in my mind. Hell, maybe there'll be more than 25. Maybe there'll be less.
In any case, here I go with the last installment:
What do you think of me?
I think you are everything that I love
What do you think of me?
I think you are everything that I loathe
What do you think of me?
I think that I need to impress you all the time
What do you think of me?
I think that you are someone who might understand me if only I could express myself perfectly
What do you think of me?
I think that I love writing to you
What do you think of me?
I think that you egg me on
What do you think of me?
I think of you like an old friend who knows me well yet doesn't know me completely
What do you think of me?
I think you must like me in some way
What do you think of me?
I think you are a force of nature that cannot be stopped
What do you think of me?
I think you are a projection of what is inside of me
What do you think of me?
I think you are a reflection of my own fears and dreams
What do you think of me?
I think you want to know what becomes of me
What do you think of me?
I think you wish I wasn't so angry
What do you think of me?
I think you sometimes wonder if I'm telling the truth or not
What do you think of me?
I think you probably get a few good laughs out of my posts
What do you think of me?
I think you are incredibly patient with the likes of me
What do you think of me?
I think you are amused by my solipsism
What do you think of me?
I think you think I'm a fool
What do you think of me?
I think you find me irresistible
What do you think of me?
I think you are unknowable
What do you think of me?
I think I know you very well
What do you think of me?
I think you split my mind in two
What do you think of me?
I think you torment me pleasurably
What do you think of me?
I think you watch in morbid fascination as I flagellate myself
What do you think of me?
I think you are the something to help me get through this life
HAVE A NICE WEEKEND, FOLKS!!
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
"What Do You Pretend To Be?"
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to be in control
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend that nothing hurts me
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to be careless
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to be happy
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to be the smartest person in the world
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend that I am a scoundrel
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to be detached
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend that I don't matter to anyone
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to be a nice guy
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to be crazy
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to be cutting-edge
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to have no emotions
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend that I am not biased
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend that I am original
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend that I am the most hated person on Earth
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to be invisible
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to be unorganized
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend that I am a legend in my own time
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend that I am insignificant
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend that I didn't want it anyway
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to be full of shit
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to be wise beyond my years
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend that I am unpretentious
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend that certain things never occurred in my life
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to be fair
I pretend to be in control
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend that nothing hurts me
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to be careless
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to be happy
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to be the smartest person in the world
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend that I am a scoundrel
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to be detached
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend that I don't matter to anyone
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to be a nice guy
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to be crazy
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to be cutting-edge
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to have no emotions
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend that I am not biased
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend that I am original
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend that I am the most hated person on Earth
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to be invisible
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to be unorganized
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend that I am a legend in my own time
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend that I am insignificant
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend that I didn't want it anyway
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to be full of shit
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to be wise beyond my years
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend that I am unpretentious
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend that certain things never occurred in my life
What do you pretend to be?
I pretend to be fair
Monday, November 07, 2005
"Who Are You?"
My high school days were singular in that they doubled as the college years I would've experienced had I decided to go to a university. The Humanities program at our high school covered a lot of the same terrain as the first two years of college, according to all of my friends who went on to a four-year and beyond.
The CORE program at our high school taught Philosophy and Social Institutions instead of History and Government; we studied Literature and Art History instead of the standard English classes that most high schoolers have to endure.
The curriculum was definitely left-leaning, as were most of the teachers. We went on odd field trips, learned alternative theories on accepted history, and were generally taught to ask a lot of questions.
Sometimes we had these weird diversions from our curriculum, events and/or speakers that had nothing to do with what we were learning but at the same time the kinds of things to which our teachers felt we should be exposed. One of those diversions was a day devoted to various groups visiting our school and scheduling "seminars" that we had the option to attend. We were given passes from our normal classes and asked to participate in some way.
I can't remember my second choice, but my first choice was a lecture on communication put together by the National Coalition of Christians and Jews. They have since changed their name to the National Conference for Community and Justice, which I feel is a smooth move because just the mere mention of Christians and Jews conjures up negative connotations for those who resent organized religion.
I know for a fact that, when I showed up at the lecture and found out the NCCJ's full name, I was wary at first. Fortunately, the agenda of the NCCJ was not to preach or sermonize, but to provide tools for people of all races, creeds and beliefs to cultivate communication between those boundaries that sometimes keep us from understanding one anther.
One of the things they asked us to do was an exercise where, after teaming up with another person in the room (preferably not a friend), an exchange of questions would be conducted.
Even though the questioning goes both ways, the execution is deliberately one-sided. Basically, one person asks the other person the same question over and over for a reasonable amount of time; the person being asked must answer that same question differently in every instance. When the questioner is satisfied, they switch roles.
There were three questions for both parties to use as templates:
1. Who are you?
2. What do you pretend to be?
3. What do you think of me?
I teamed up with this kid named Aaron, who later became a pretty good friend of mine. I think we may have variated from the script a bit but for the most part it was an interesting foray into the realm of communicating. Forced to redefine my answers at every query, it made me aware of what we as humans tend to share and what we as humans also tend to hide.
For years afterward I would use that question-answer format when meeting people for the first time, mainly on girls with whom I was enamored. Eve and I did it at a speech tournament once, back when we first met.
And now, I feel like trying it out here. But it takes a long time to do, and plus there is no one asking me the questions or setting the limits of how many questions to ask. I will restrain myself to 25 prompts, and spread them out between the next three days.
Here goes:
Who Are You?
I'm J____ L______ (I'd give the full name but I'm trying to cut down on cyber-stalkers)
Who Are You?
I'm an artist
Who Are You?
I am an ordinary person with an ordinary job
Who Are You?
I am a man who tempers his passion with cold logic
Who Are You?
I am two people-- a little boy and an old man, both in the same body, sharing the same mind
Who Are You?
I am a closet Romantic, and I believe in the power of love
Who Are You?
I am a Skeptic, but not a Cynic
Who Are You?
I am a spiritual person who doesn't advertise his journey
Who Are You?
I am a dreamer
Who Are You?
I am a deliberate mystery
Who Are You?
I am a narcissist who is aware of his ego and its potential
Who Are You?
I am an insecure mess who projects stability and calm
Who Are You?
I am a person who is overly sensitive and easily hurt
Who Are You?
I am a man who is in touch with his masculine and feminine sides, in equal measure
Who Are You?
I am a music lover who eventually taught himself how to play an instrument so I wouldn't feel left out
Who Are You?
I am a person who sees his life as either an epic novel of ideas or the kind of B-movie where a healthy suspension of disbelief is strongly recommended
Who Are You?
I am a perfectionist but not to the extreme
Who Are You?
I am someone who delights in upending people's expectations
Who Are You?
I am a great judge of character-- it's one of the few things that I boast about without any fear
Who Are You?
I am a hard worker
Who Are You?
I am a restlessly curious person
Who Are You?
I am the King of All Cats
Who Are You?
I am a walking contradiction
Who Are You?
I am a 'pataphysicist
Who Are You?
I am a bookworm and a music geek
That's 25 right there. I realized halfway through that the third question ("What do you think of me?") will not have the same impact because there won't be a specific person asking me the question; thus, my answers will be more generic. But that's a bridge I'll cross when I get to it.
If I was doing this in the flesh with another person, this would be the moment where I start asking them the question, stopping only when I feel that they have been honest or forthcoming with me.
Eye contact is essential as well.
Try this out with someone you love or want to know better. Try it with someone you think you know inside-out. Let me know how it went.
Next Time: "What Do You Pretend To Be?"
The CORE program at our high school taught Philosophy and Social Institutions instead of History and Government; we studied Literature and Art History instead of the standard English classes that most high schoolers have to endure.
The curriculum was definitely left-leaning, as were most of the teachers. We went on odd field trips, learned alternative theories on accepted history, and were generally taught to ask a lot of questions.
Sometimes we had these weird diversions from our curriculum, events and/or speakers that had nothing to do with what we were learning but at the same time the kinds of things to which our teachers felt we should be exposed. One of those diversions was a day devoted to various groups visiting our school and scheduling "seminars" that we had the option to attend. We were given passes from our normal classes and asked to participate in some way.
I can't remember my second choice, but my first choice was a lecture on communication put together by the National Coalition of Christians and Jews. They have since changed their name to the National Conference for Community and Justice, which I feel is a smooth move because just the mere mention of Christians and Jews conjures up negative connotations for those who resent organized religion.
I know for a fact that, when I showed up at the lecture and found out the NCCJ's full name, I was wary at first. Fortunately, the agenda of the NCCJ was not to preach or sermonize, but to provide tools for people of all races, creeds and beliefs to cultivate communication between those boundaries that sometimes keep us from understanding one anther.
One of the things they asked us to do was an exercise where, after teaming up with another person in the room (preferably not a friend), an exchange of questions would be conducted.
Even though the questioning goes both ways, the execution is deliberately one-sided. Basically, one person asks the other person the same question over and over for a reasonable amount of time; the person being asked must answer that same question differently in every instance. When the questioner is satisfied, they switch roles.
There were three questions for both parties to use as templates:
1. Who are you?
2. What do you pretend to be?
3. What do you think of me?
I teamed up with this kid named Aaron, who later became a pretty good friend of mine. I think we may have variated from the script a bit but for the most part it was an interesting foray into the realm of communicating. Forced to redefine my answers at every query, it made me aware of what we as humans tend to share and what we as humans also tend to hide.
For years afterward I would use that question-answer format when meeting people for the first time, mainly on girls with whom I was enamored. Eve and I did it at a speech tournament once, back when we first met.
And now, I feel like trying it out here. But it takes a long time to do, and plus there is no one asking me the questions or setting the limits of how many questions to ask. I will restrain myself to 25 prompts, and spread them out between the next three days.
Here goes:
Who Are You?
I'm J____ L______ (I'd give the full name but I'm trying to cut down on cyber-stalkers)
Who Are You?
I'm an artist
Who Are You?
I am an ordinary person with an ordinary job
Who Are You?
I am a man who tempers his passion with cold logic
Who Are You?
I am two people-- a little boy and an old man, both in the same body, sharing the same mind
Who Are You?
I am a closet Romantic, and I believe in the power of love
Who Are You?
I am a Skeptic, but not a Cynic
Who Are You?
I am a spiritual person who doesn't advertise his journey
Who Are You?
I am a dreamer
Who Are You?
I am a deliberate mystery
Who Are You?
I am a narcissist who is aware of his ego and its potential
Who Are You?
I am an insecure mess who projects stability and calm
Who Are You?
I am a person who is overly sensitive and easily hurt
Who Are You?
I am a man who is in touch with his masculine and feminine sides, in equal measure
Who Are You?
I am a music lover who eventually taught himself how to play an instrument so I wouldn't feel left out
Who Are You?
I am a person who sees his life as either an epic novel of ideas or the kind of B-movie where a healthy suspension of disbelief is strongly recommended
Who Are You?
I am a perfectionist but not to the extreme
Who Are You?
I am someone who delights in upending people's expectations
Who Are You?
I am a great judge of character-- it's one of the few things that I boast about without any fear
Who Are You?
I am a hard worker
Who Are You?
I am a restlessly curious person
Who Are You?
I am the King of All Cats
Who Are You?
I am a walking contradiction
Who Are You?
I am a 'pataphysicist
Who Are You?
I am a bookworm and a music geek
That's 25 right there. I realized halfway through that the third question ("What do you think of me?") will not have the same impact because there won't be a specific person asking me the question; thus, my answers will be more generic. But that's a bridge I'll cross when I get to it.
If I was doing this in the flesh with another person, this would be the moment where I start asking them the question, stopping only when I feel that they have been honest or forthcoming with me.
Eye contact is essential as well.
Try this out with someone you love or want to know better. Try it with someone you think you know inside-out. Let me know how it went.
Next Time: "What Do You Pretend To Be?"
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
submitted for your approval...
Guess which recently deceased super-freaky '70's funk singer I was dressed up as... bitch!
I look like Gene Simmons from KISS... without the makeup!
I look like Gene Simmons from KISS... without the makeup!
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
during the show I was wearing two inch tall platform heels because my costume was Rick James however the boots were a size too small and I was losing circulation in my feet during last song 'thriller' I took them off and played in socks and then something happened I became frenzied and starting whipping my fright wig to and fro and I began to beat on the strings of the bass furiously with my open palm crashing to my knees on stage Mike the singer draped me with a cape a la James Brown and I zoned out and couldn't even hear the music only the vibration of the kick drum behind me and my cheesy vinyl pants felt nonexistant as I bansheed and bandied about on the floor oblivious to everyone and everything around me...
It was a great show.
*/*
Eve was dressed as a pirate wench, Laurie was Morticia Addams, and Daniel was Claude Rains' Invisible Man-- but when he took the ACE bandage off he looked more like John Steed from The Avengers.
After the show Eve bought me a shot of whiskey and commented on how I got so into character as Rick James, how I seemed 'normal' with the wig off.
We talked, pawed each other drunkenly, and then I gave her a delicate kiss on the mouth when I walked them all to the car at 1AM.
No tongue, just a peck. She smiled.
*/*
I went home and fell right to sleep. In the morning I woke up and still felt tipsy. I took a shower and thought about that kiss, how nice it felt, even if it was a closed-mouth kiss...
She tasted so good.
I drove to work, but not before paying off my utility bills.
It was a great show.
*/*
Eve was dressed as a pirate wench, Laurie was Morticia Addams, and Daniel was Claude Rains' Invisible Man-- but when he took the ACE bandage off he looked more like John Steed from The Avengers.
After the show Eve bought me a shot of whiskey and commented on how I got so into character as Rick James, how I seemed 'normal' with the wig off.
We talked, pawed each other drunkenly, and then I gave her a delicate kiss on the mouth when I walked them all to the car at 1AM.
No tongue, just a peck. She smiled.
*/*
I went home and fell right to sleep. In the morning I woke up and still felt tipsy. I took a shower and thought about that kiss, how nice it felt, even if it was a closed-mouth kiss...
She tasted so good.
I drove to work, but not before paying off my utility bills.
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