someone started a thread today asking me to tick off a list of things i love. which is one of those questions that can be super annoying, just for the intrinsically odd pairing of it: Love is a tender, vital matter that seems to cry out for over-wraughtness and deliberation; whereas a list is something reflexive and rote. but i wrote down my answer. and what's interesting is how the answers you give speak to your mind's frame right then, in the moment, but also to the leisurely, considerate place you would like your mind to be. for instance, i started out my Things I Love list with
- harlequin romance
- motorcycle boots
- erect nipples
then looked at what i had just written and realized i could save space by replacing those 3 with
- my own terribly outmoded sense of narcissism disguised as a kitschy/hipster sort of thing
or, i could keep the originals and supplement them with
- modest mouse
- white belts
- modest mouse groupies wearing white belts.
in an effort to cast myself in a less stark, shadowless light -- ie, to not be overwhelmed by self-loathing before lunch -- i re-made my list according to sub-categories. a sampling:
i can't smell anymore; some smells whose memories i love most are
- the smell of the woods after the rain stops
- the way a girl smells right at the nape of her neck
- gasoline
some foods i would consider doing the soul-selling thing before giving up are
- artichoke dip
- brie
- triscuits
i like girls. there's one who i love, and it's all new, and terribly fresh, and not terribly sensible, and when i think about Things I Love and Girls, just the thinking is a weird tingly sort of thing---feels like i'm remembering a fantasy that had never fully formed. some things i love are
- the sensation of kissing lips that are unexpectedly soft. always leaves me dazed
- that moment--sometimes postcoitally blissful, but also sometimes when you're 20min late for coffee and feeling crunchy and stressed. and then you get there and hug, and you remember to breathe, and then your eyes meet; and as she holds your gaze it dawns on you that she's letting you see her soul
- when quick, there's-no-time-to-change-outfits sex turns into messy, juice-all-over-everything sex--there's something in that moment, a fuck-all abandonment of propriety that is truly connective and it's rare and senseless and i love it.
28 February 2005
24 February 2005
sick in the worst kind of way.
that's a line from an erykah badu song. "i want you," off the ep Worldwide Underground. ..it's just a bridge line, uttered with a quick softness that lingers as she stretches out the last syllable -- "sick in the worst kind of way-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay" -- until the groove of the bass overtakes it.
one line. has been stuck in my head for three days.
because, god. there is so much that gets put into play with her speaking those words: it speaks to that moment where one person suddenly takes over your entire scope; when, without any hint of premeditation, suddenly all of your shit is switched up. i'm not talking about being in love---i'm talking about being INTRIGUED. talking about that moment when she brushes her hip against yours as she glides out of the bar and you can't quite restrain yourself from shouting "You fascinate me!" after her. Fascinate? she just bumped into you. it was a SEXY bump, sure, but, fascinate? that's the best we can do? f me.
i've no idea how it works. but the slightest words and least intentional looks from her are prone, right now, to devastate my ability to catch any train of thought. to stick with anything. except perhaps for my dedication to the devastation of the motion of hips, as bootsie might say.
so, sick. the worst kind of way.
one line. has been stuck in my head for three days.
because, god. there is so much that gets put into play with her speaking those words: it speaks to that moment where one person suddenly takes over your entire scope; when, without any hint of premeditation, suddenly all of your shit is switched up. i'm not talking about being in love---i'm talking about being INTRIGUED. talking about that moment when she brushes her hip against yours as she glides out of the bar and you can't quite restrain yourself from shouting "You fascinate me!" after her. Fascinate? she just bumped into you. it was a SEXY bump, sure, but, fascinate? that's the best we can do? f me.
i've no idea how it works. but the slightest words and least intentional looks from her are prone, right now, to devastate my ability to catch any train of thought. to stick with anything. except perhaps for my dedication to the devastation of the motion of hips, as bootsie might say.
so, sick. the worst kind of way.
22 February 2005
imaginable.
I’ve listened and re-listened to the “Superpowers” episode of This American Life. Is one of my favorites. The first act is a guy who develops a cocktail party-type quiz asking: You are given a choice—you can choose between the power of invisibility and the power of flight. You are the only person who will have this power. What do you choose? It is an entirely glib and inconsequential line of questioning that has proven over the last few weeks to be the most thoroughly engaging and interesting questions I have ever asked anyone.
(I chose the power of flight on an instinct; waffled back and forth for a week, then ended up back at flight. The problem with invisibility is that there is no conceivable way that I could use it for good. None more way. Now, I don't think there's anybody who could really use invisibility for sustained good. That aside, I would not just use it for bad, but use it BADLY. What would I do? You have to be stealthy and silent when invisible, and i am big as shit and clumsy as poo. I would decided to go to Nordstrom and steal clothes. But really what I would want is shoes, and to get the shoes I’d have to go in the back room with its narrow halls and I would maybe bump shoulders with an employee or fall off the ladder or whatever and so even if I was lucky enough not to get caught in that process, I would give up, go up a few flights and steal some cardigans or something. And cardigans do not proper consolation make. ..I would also get some nice socks, though the sock-getting process would be fairly laborious, as you can only put on a few pairs of socks before your shoes won’t fit anymore. Then I’d have to go out to the car, take them off and go back inside. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Boo-oring. I'd rather fly up to the bar.)
The thing that truly fascinates about this superpower question, though, is how universally it appeals to everyone to whom i have posed it. People I haven't seen in forever, have just met, or have an intimate connection with--doesn't matter: They all have engaged in it eagerly and at length. What is the magic, then? A combination of 3 things. A Value Menu super-combo deluxe of imagination & history & speculation. In each of our kid-histories, there was a time when imagination and speculation ran right next to each other, stride for stride. Right?
I mean, if you can get someone telling stories about their past, you can very quickly come to know things about them that otherwise seem impossible to get at. And everybody at some point thought that they would maybe end up a superhero or crimefighter of some sort. As a kid, not only do speculation and imagination live close by, they're also right next door to what's actually happening; some bleed-over is bound to happen. ..Even as late as the 4th grade I was reasonably sure that I had preternatural hearing. Not "spidey-sense" exactly, although, yes, that is what what it was. I remember putting on the big headphones for the hearing test where you raise your right or left hand every time you hear a PING in either ear. I closed my eyes, relaxed my shoulders, and breathed: and I heard EVERY SINGLE sound. Even a few that the machine did not mean to make---that's right; I heard them too. I had no agenda. I was just using the tools that god gave me (and maybe me alone?). See, when I was 9, my ears were approximately the same size that they are now, 20 years later. ie, E-f'ing-Normous. Rather unwieldy. And it made so much sense to me that they were that big for a Reason: you know, the bigger the dish, the better the reception. Why else?
..So it's fun to watch people's minds & memories go back to that place when super powers were a way to deflect insecurity. Even now, talking about this as grownup-types, it's the same thing. It manifests a little differently, as the talk is of stealing shoes and riding the plane for free instead of thwarting robbers and conversing with dolphins, but the meat of it is just as clean. We have lived with our shortcomings [big ears; constant need for shoes] for long enough to accept that they were not born of a higher purpose. But that makes our insecurities no less pervasive, and thoughts of a superpower trump card no less delicious to the imagination.
(I chose the power of flight on an instinct; waffled back and forth for a week, then ended up back at flight. The problem with invisibility is that there is no conceivable way that I could use it for good. None more way. Now, I don't think there's anybody who could really use invisibility for sustained good. That aside, I would not just use it for bad, but use it BADLY. What would I do? You have to be stealthy and silent when invisible, and i am big as shit and clumsy as poo. I would decided to go to Nordstrom and steal clothes. But really what I would want is shoes, and to get the shoes I’d have to go in the back room with its narrow halls and I would maybe bump shoulders with an employee or fall off the ladder or whatever and so even if I was lucky enough not to get caught in that process, I would give up, go up a few flights and steal some cardigans or something. And cardigans do not proper consolation make. ..I would also get some nice socks, though the sock-getting process would be fairly laborious, as you can only put on a few pairs of socks before your shoes won’t fit anymore. Then I’d have to go out to the car, take them off and go back inside. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Boo-oring. I'd rather fly up to the bar.)
The thing that truly fascinates about this superpower question, though, is how universally it appeals to everyone to whom i have posed it. People I haven't seen in forever, have just met, or have an intimate connection with--doesn't matter: They all have engaged in it eagerly and at length. What is the magic, then? A combination of 3 things. A Value Menu super-combo deluxe of imagination & history & speculation. In each of our kid-histories, there was a time when imagination and speculation ran right next to each other, stride for stride. Right?
I mean, if you can get someone telling stories about their past, you can very quickly come to know things about them that otherwise seem impossible to get at. And everybody at some point thought that they would maybe end up a superhero or crimefighter of some sort. As a kid, not only do speculation and imagination live close by, they're also right next door to what's actually happening; some bleed-over is bound to happen. ..Even as late as the 4th grade I was reasonably sure that I had preternatural hearing. Not "spidey-sense" exactly, although, yes, that is what what it was. I remember putting on the big headphones for the hearing test where you raise your right or left hand every time you hear a PING in either ear. I closed my eyes, relaxed my shoulders, and breathed: and I heard EVERY SINGLE sound. Even a few that the machine did not mean to make---that's right; I heard them too. I had no agenda. I was just using the tools that god gave me (and maybe me alone?). See, when I was 9, my ears were approximately the same size that they are now, 20 years later. ie, E-f'ing-Normous. Rather unwieldy. And it made so much sense to me that they were that big for a Reason: you know, the bigger the dish, the better the reception. Why else?
..So it's fun to watch people's minds & memories go back to that place when super powers were a way to deflect insecurity. Even now, talking about this as grownup-types, it's the same thing. It manifests a little differently, as the talk is of stealing shoes and riding the plane for free instead of thwarting robbers and conversing with dolphins, but the meat of it is just as clean. We have lived with our shortcomings [big ears; constant need for shoes] for long enough to accept that they were not born of a higher purpose. But that makes our insecurities no less pervasive, and thoughts of a superpower trump card no less delicious to the imagination.
16 February 2005
11 February 2005
Teacher charged with having sex with student, 13
McMINNVILLE, Tennessee (AP) -- An elementary school teacher has been charged with having sex with one of her students, a 13-year-old boy, at his home and at school, authorities said Tuesday... Pamela Turner, 27, was charged Monday with 15 counts of sexual battery by an authority figure and 13 counts of statutory rape for acts between November and January.
the teacher is pretty hot. recently divorced. whatever. there's different ways to chop this up; 'cause it's a woman teacher and a boy student, 'tis a somewhat easier analytical balancing act. but as i was thinking about it suddenly all i could consider was:
13.
thirt-fucking-teen....wow. i just made myself flash back to the 7th grade.
what i was like [tall. smart-ish. silent].
what i found stimulating [climbing trees. laser tag. building stuff].
how i dressed [not as good as your average, properly be-shorted & uniformed, knock-kneed british schoolboy, surely].
when i first read the article i had the scandal in question all wrapped-up and rationalized in my head; had considered the differently nuanced aspects of the situation. but when i made myself think of hunts-at-13, what it comes down to is that i was fully, almost willfuly unaware. ..i had a huge crush on mrs parthemer (curly-haired, buxom english teacher), but, what if the shit had come down? what if my frazzled, soft-looking teacher-goddess had turned siren on me and wanted to recognize our love? i would have been unable to say or do ANYTHING of any reciprocal or significant value; probably would have watched her unfasten her bra, locked my eyes to her breasts, and said loudly, "BOYS HAVE A PENIS AND GIRLS HAVE A VAGINA." or something of a similar texture.
the teacher is pretty hot. recently divorced. whatever. there's different ways to chop this up; 'cause it's a woman teacher and a boy student, 'tis a somewhat easier analytical balancing act. but as i was thinking about it suddenly all i could consider was:
13.
thirt-fucking-teen....wow. i just made myself flash back to the 7th grade.
what i was like [tall. smart-ish. silent].
what i found stimulating [climbing trees. laser tag. building stuff].
how i dressed [not as good as your average, properly be-shorted & uniformed, knock-kneed british schoolboy, surely].
when i first read the article i had the scandal in question all wrapped-up and rationalized in my head; had considered the differently nuanced aspects of the situation. but when i made myself think of hunts-at-13, what it comes down to is that i was fully, almost willfuly unaware. ..i had a huge crush on mrs parthemer (curly-haired, buxom english teacher), but, what if the shit had come down? what if my frazzled, soft-looking teacher-goddess had turned siren on me and wanted to recognize our love? i would have been unable to say or do ANYTHING of any reciprocal or significant value; probably would have watched her unfasten her bra, locked my eyes to her breasts, and said loudly, "BOYS HAVE A PENIS AND GIRLS HAVE A VAGINA." or something of a similar texture.
09 February 2005
DNuA inspirations -
as horrifyingly rote and unsatisfying as my work and Project DNUA may have been thus far, it has yielded little bits of found goodness. for instance, this morning i was reviewing a "progress notes" form that contained two v. strong candidates for the title of my (forthcoming) solo album -
- Voluntary Anal Contraction
- Deep Anal Sensation
i like the alpha sense of control conveyed by VAC; on the other hand, DAS emotes a powerful sense of bodily (and perhaps cosmic?) experience. which one, do you think?
- Voluntary Anal Contraction
- Deep Anal Sensation
i like the alpha sense of control conveyed by VAC; on the other hand, DAS emotes a powerful sense of bodily (and perhaps cosmic?) experience. which one, do you think?
08 February 2005
comp re: hend
in its sparse few minutes of free time each day, my head has dedicated itself to the puzzle of constructing effective rhetoric. and has gotten really good at it. the trick is to simplify everything until you have what is called an "elegant" solution. how this manifests, then, is that my head takes the issue du jour (today's Fat Tuesday Special: Creamed Ambition n' Corn) and applies the basic rules of formal logic. after carrying/creaming the issue to it's logical extent, it uses the "Alchemist's Razor" method (it's old and latin) to pare away all unnecessary assumptions until only a thin wafer of alloyed, make-believe pretense remains. once you get the hang of it, it's really quite fun. a recent consideration revealed itself thusly: last night i was accused of being a "dumb boy." i may not have even countered this point, except that it was made by a girl who was dumber than me. there is a multitude of evidence supporting this fact--a disproportionate interest in "tofu" is just one example--but i knew i had to summon the powers of old Alchemist to get my point across. once i had, it indisputably framed the issue: if A (she is dumber than me), then B (it's because she is a girl--her brain is a third the size of ours). it's Science.
07 February 2005
DNuA.
-some notes made during orientation on my 1st day as a temp at Harborview Hospital.
* as a newly appointed data services technician here at PDS (Patient Data Services), it is my goal to be an attentive, active listener as my responsibilities are explained to me, followed by
* fully digesting this information in a manner which requires no performing of any actual duties just yet.
* by "yet," we mean "today." as of now we are 6.8 hrs into the process and no work has been looked at with regard to the project for which we were hired.
* it was just revealed that said project is entitled DNUA (Do Not Use Abbreviations).
* while delicious, the irony embedded in project DNUA is also rather trite. but even at this early stage--the one where no work has been done--it is clear that, as we progress, said irony is destined to become so thoroughly systemic as to cause us pain. the task of avoiding work for the entirety of Day 1 is a good one, as once work becomes unavoidable we are certain to slip into a shock-like state of BOOMI (Bored Out of Mind Indefinitely).
* ..in a PAT-sized tidbit, the supervisor has just informed us that a Forms Analyst will be coming on board ASAP, which will be super nice.
* nice, because my duties as a DNUA Analyst will be made significantly less complex....right now i can nearly imagine a situation in which my worklife could sometimes be challenging. i am expected to analyze the forms AND the abbreviations on the forms. which can very quickly get to be tiresome. whelming. and i am so totally over whelming. i a m DUN with it. i needs to get me a DNUA Forms Analyst STAT. with a quickness.
* as a newly appointed data services technician here at PDS (Patient Data Services), it is my goal to be an attentive, active listener as my responsibilities are explained to me, followed by
* fully digesting this information in a manner which requires no performing of any actual duties just yet.
* by "yet," we mean "today." as of now we are 6.8 hrs into the process and no work has been looked at with regard to the project for which we were hired.
* it was just revealed that said project is entitled DNUA (Do Not Use Abbreviations).
* while delicious, the irony embedded in project DNUA is also rather trite. but even at this early stage--the one where no work has been done--it is clear that, as we progress, said irony is destined to become so thoroughly systemic as to cause us pain. the task of avoiding work for the entirety of Day 1 is a good one, as once work becomes unavoidable we are certain to slip into a shock-like state of BOOMI (Bored Out of Mind Indefinitely).
* ..in a PAT-sized tidbit, the supervisor has just informed us that a Forms Analyst will be coming on board ASAP, which will be super nice.
* nice, because my duties as a DNUA Analyst will be made significantly less complex....right now i can nearly imagine a situation in which my worklife could sometimes be challenging. i am expected to analyze the forms AND the abbreviations on the forms. which can very quickly get to be tiresome. whelming. and i am so totally over whelming. i a m DUN with it. i needs to get me a DNUA Forms Analyst STAT. with a quickness.
01 February 2005
play. ground.
todd replied scornfully, "advice is for fat kids."
not understanding what he meant, i looked at the ground. when someone says something i don't get and is mean about it, this is what i usually do. I wiggled my shoes from side to side until they were buried in the playground ground. they already had sand in them anyway. todd was saying some more bad things, loudly, but i had stopped listening. i did see more pairs of feet coming to stand behind his feet; todd was not very clever, but when he said bad things--which happened at least twice a recess--he said them Loudly. and for some reason people want to be right next to you when you say things that are mean and say them loud.
but i already knew all of this. todd was mean to me often--often enough that i had stopped telling mrs. pendergrast about it when it happened. mrs. pendergrast was the recess supervisor. i didn't know how the recess supervisor was supposed to supervise, but i was sure that it was something different than what mrs. pendergrast did, which was stand stock-still in a covered area by the wallball court. she always looked to be smelling herself. i decided to tell todd that he wasn't making sense.
"you're not making sense, todd," i told him.
his face gaped and he laughed in a way that was not real. his friends all said "ooo-oh" at the same time. i wondered if they had practiced this. "i guess i'll just have to beat some-"
i already knew the rest of what he was going to say, so i kept talking to him. "because i am not fat. i am a kid, but i have something called a thyroid that the doctor said is hyper a lot. and somehow that means that i will always be skinny."
"shit, jason, thanks for the medical history. why don't you keep telling me about it while i re-arrange your--"
once again i had heard him say this before. i continued. "you, though. you're what they call 'pudgy.' --not fat, exactly, but it means you will be fat someday soon. from what i've heard. and when that happens--your fatness--maybe you will still be a kid. then you can come back and i'll tell you the advice i thought you’d want to know, then."
todd’s face got all scrunchy and red and he took a really deep breath and his chin disappeared. then the bell rang and i ran back to class. i stopped at the door to kick the sand out of my shoes.
not understanding what he meant, i looked at the ground. when someone says something i don't get and is mean about it, this is what i usually do. I wiggled my shoes from side to side until they were buried in the playground ground. they already had sand in them anyway. todd was saying some more bad things, loudly, but i had stopped listening. i did see more pairs of feet coming to stand behind his feet; todd was not very clever, but when he said bad things--which happened at least twice a recess--he said them Loudly. and for some reason people want to be right next to you when you say things that are mean and say them loud.
but i already knew all of this. todd was mean to me often--often enough that i had stopped telling mrs. pendergrast about it when it happened. mrs. pendergrast was the recess supervisor. i didn't know how the recess supervisor was supposed to supervise, but i was sure that it was something different than what mrs. pendergrast did, which was stand stock-still in a covered area by the wallball court. she always looked to be smelling herself. i decided to tell todd that he wasn't making sense.
"you're not making sense, todd," i told him.
his face gaped and he laughed in a way that was not real. his friends all said "ooo-oh" at the same time. i wondered if they had practiced this. "i guess i'll just have to beat some-"
i already knew the rest of what he was going to say, so i kept talking to him. "because i am not fat. i am a kid, but i have something called a thyroid that the doctor said is hyper a lot. and somehow that means that i will always be skinny."
"shit, jason, thanks for the medical history. why don't you keep telling me about it while i re-arrange your--"
once again i had heard him say this before. i continued. "you, though. you're what they call 'pudgy.' --not fat, exactly, but it means you will be fat someday soon. from what i've heard. and when that happens--your fatness--maybe you will still be a kid. then you can come back and i'll tell you the advice i thought you’d want to know, then."
todd’s face got all scrunchy and red and he took a really deep breath and his chin disappeared. then the bell rang and i ran back to class. i stopped at the door to kick the sand out of my shoes.
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