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Thursday, April 1
Put your verse where your mouth is
Did you know that today is put a poem on your blog day? (Yeah, I didn't either, but Pea and Rogue Slayer did. They're smart like that.)
I'm a recovering English major, so I know a lot of poetry. And I love a lot of poems. I can't decide between "I Knew a Woman" by Theodore Roethke (so fucking good) or ee cummings "unlove's the heavenless hell." Cummings' poem is shorter, so he wins:
unlove's the heavenless hell and homeless home
of knowledgeable shadows (quick to seize
each nothing which all soulless wraiths proclaim
substance; all heartless spectres, happiness)
lovers alone wear sunlight. The whole truth
not hid by matter; not by mind revealed
(more than all dying life, all living death)
and never which has been or will be told
sings only – and all lovers are the song.
Here (only here) is freedom: always here
no then of winter equals now of spring;
but april's day transcends november's year
(eternity being so sans until
twice i have lived forever in a smile)
posted @ 1:12 PM |
Out of nothing at all
I'm in a weird funk lately -- not happy, not sad, just ... holding. Thusly, the blog suffers while my existential bullshit angst works itself out.
Luckily, it is sunny and warm in Beantown, and my peeps and I made the inaugural trip to fro-yo. Now, normally, I am not a fro-yo fan, but there is some mysterious thing they do at this shop in Wellesley. There's hardly any fat or sugar in it, yet it still tastes good. Kinda like cold, whipped air. Tasty.
And in other news, today is Pam's 30th birthday. She is massively old, so pity her today whilst you go about your business. Which reminds me ... I got some things to do.
posted @ 10:23 AM |
Inexplicable
If you can explain why the following are true, I will give you hard-core cash.*
1. My finger hurts. But just the bone part under the ring on my right hand. It still hurts when I take off the ring.
2. Whenever I don't hear back from a certain someone, my immediate assumption is death. Or, at least, near-death. Because just being busy isn't a possibility.
3. Win a Date With Tad Hamilton is winging its way to me via Netflix. And that makes me happy.
*and by "hard-core cash" I mean absolutely no money whatsoever.
posted @ 8:15 AM |
Indecision 2004, Pt. II
Love is a Battlefield or Hit Me With Your Best Shot?
We Belong or Invincible?
posted @ 11:50 AM |
Sporting goods
I signed up for a trial subscription to Sports Illustrated because I'm turning into a raging sports fiend. (I need some back-up -- you know, solid writing and stats to prove that the Yankees suck.) I haven't subscribed previously because the definitive lack of coverage of women's sports totally pisses me off, and back in the day, I had SI: Women to fill all my sporting-news needs. Now that I've taken on the Red Sox and the Patriots and have even begun to develop a little tiny seedling of an interest in Carmelo Anthony and the Nuggets and I can't get enough NCAA basketball coverage, well, I think I need a little help now. I'm only testing out SI, however. I'm also considering ESPN magazine because at least ESPN acknowledges the idea that women play sports. I haven't made any decisions yet. I make chuck both of them and make do with my Women's Basketball magazine.
Thinking about these magazines makes me a little sad. A few years ago, someone asked me what my dream job was. I promptly replied, "Writing for Sports Illustrated: Women." I don't have a dream job anymore, people. Suggestions welcome.
posted @ 3:56 PM |
13 going on ... 28
13 Going on 30 was so freaking cute. And I'm not just saying that because I am incapable of growing up. Though I am. Jennifer Garner really channeled her inner child for this one, and I don't know if it was all the kickin' '80s tunes or what, but I wasn't annoyed. Mark Ruffalo took a marked departure from his semi-dark, mostly depressing turns in In the Cut and You Can Count on Me, and pulled off the best-friend-turned-love-of-her-life rather well. (Despite his lack of angst, I'd still sleep with him.)
When the movie started, the first strains of "Head Over Heels" came on and I nudged my little sister and said, "Bangles?" "No." "Bananarama?" "No." "Go-Go's?" Yes! Sad that my little sister knows the '80s better than I do, but I was both pleased and frightened to discover that I still know all the words to "Ice Ice Baby." How do I know this? Well, I kinda ran out and bought the soundtrack immediately upon leaving the theater. I had to hear "Love is a Battlefield," people! I love Pat Benatar.
posted @ 3:05 PM |
Just take a look, it's in a book
Since I can't seem to write, I'll blog about what I read instead. I saw "The Canon" over at My So-Called Blog, and I love book lists. I'm obsessive-compulsive about them. (Yes, I still have the one my 7th-grade teacher gave us for the "college-bound reader." No, I haven't read all of them on the list, but I'm 3/4 of the way through, and I will read them all. Oh, yes, I will.) Here's my list of read/haven't read/started to read but couldn't be bothered to finish.
posted @ 1:28 PM |
A moment of silence
With everything that has been going on around here, I don't have much to say. I mourn the loss of a Wellesley sister and grieve with the rest of the Wellesley community.
I learned not to fear infinity,
The far field, the windy cliffs of forever,
The dying of time in the white light of tomorrow,
The wheel turning away from itself,
The sprawl of the wave,
The on-coming water.
--Theodore Roethke, "The Far Field"
posted @ 7:31 AM |
Portrait of the blogger as a little kid
After reading Michael's post today, all I could think of was this picture of myself. I'm 8 years old, it's summertime, and I'm at my grandma's house. That's all I remember about this picture (other than I freaking loved that dress, and it had the cutest little shawl that matched). But when I picture myself as a kid, this is what I picture -- look at that grin. Goddamn. I don't remember why I was happy, though I always loved being at my grandma's house and I'm sure my grandma took this picture. (And she used to keep it tacked to her bulletin board -- hence the imperfections in the scan. I like them, though.)
The photograph just says joy to me. And I want it back. I know we can't go home again, and my innocent sweetness is long gone, but I want to be happy for no reason. I don't want to think about what I should be doing, or where my life should be going. I want to smile like that more. Not all the time, just more.
posted @ 4:42 PM |
Just a little tip
You are allowed to check out my chest when I have something written on it. You are even allowed to point and laugh. However, no one reads that slowly, buddy. Move along.
posted @ 11:38 AM |
Expletive deleted
I spent Marathon Monday as god intended: in front of the television. Let those other wackos run in the 80+ heat. I've got a game to watch (We won! Have I mentioned the Yankees suck?), some runners to cheer on from the couch (Catherine the Great had a scary finish), and about five episodes of the new HBO series, Deadwood, to catch up on.
Deadwood is good times, people. It's filling in some gaps in my life. Like my need for people who actually swear more than I do. I haven't found anyone in the real world yet, but the folks of Deadwood can't let a minute pass without say "cocksucker." Don't know why it's the expletive of choice, but I'm going with it. I'm a fan of "fuck" myself, and luckily, they use that a lot, too. Timothy Olyphant as Seth Bullock immediately caught my eye when he took off his shirt, but really Keith Carradine as Bill Hickok is my favorite. Who doesn't love a tortured gunfighter? Plus, he's the brother of David Carradine, who stopped me in Kill Bill, Vol. 2 this weekend. I've apparently got a weird thing going for the Carradine brothers. It happens.
posted @ 8:09 AM |
A little more of the ultraviolence
Despite the fine weather today, I headed indoors to see Kill Bill, Vol. 2. (This after I snapped at my innocent mother. I'm in fine form, people. Stay away.) I needed a little killing to polish off my weekend, and Tarantino is never one to disappoint.
I was a little distressed by the sheer quantity of teenage boys who showed up, but it's a testament to how good the movie was that they all shut up from opening credits to the last shot. This volume houses the emotional heart of the movie, and I'm sure when all is said and done on DVD, we'll see this as one long movie instead of two. This portion takes less boyish glee in the ultraviolence than the first one, and on the whole, I enjoyed it more -- more storyline, better dialogue, and violence that I had to watch through my shirt instead of the violence that I laughed my way through in the first movie. (And I am not squeamish, but damn.) Michael Madsen was excellent as Budd (he quietly stole the movie, if you ask me), and David Carradine was an inspiration as Bill -- I couldn't help but love and hate him at the same time. The soundtrack, as usual with QT, was stellar -- and for some reason, I enjoyed it more than the first one, but I may just need to review both in one sitting. I can't wait until I can watch both films together.
Maybe I'll watch Reservoir Dogs again. I'm kinda in the mood.
posted @ 8:23 PM |
What a wonderful world
The weather is gorgeous, the Sox are playing the Yankees at Fenway, and Minnesota drafted Amber Jacobs in the third round. If they actually let her play, I'll be a Lynx fan for life.
Update: Not only did Jacobs get drafted, but BC's Brianne Stepherson got picked up by the Connecticut Sun as a free agent. Oh, yeah, and the Sox beat the Yankees. Life is good.
posted @ 11:35 AM |
Testy
I've been hooked up with a swank Gmail account, but I haven't used it much so far. I've got several accounts already, and have been using my Hotmail account as my web contact, but I think I'll switch to Gmail and see what happens. So send me a message, 'kay?
posted @ 8:16 AM |
Somehow, I think this is related to my dream about the draft
Last night, I decided to drink. I had a crappy week, I was cranky as fuck, and goddamn if I didn't deserve a few margaritas. So I had them. I made a pitcher and I drank it myself. Yeah. Might have wanted to share some of that, Jen, but no. So I watched the Apprentice, argued the 'who would you do' question of Catherine Zeta-Jones vs. Tom Hanks (CZJ is a cold fish, people, and I don't care how "beautiful" she is), and then retired for the evening. Sleep was quick and blissful. Until 4 a.m. At which point, I was awoken by my mind's decision to blog about the best (and worst) baseball movies ever. Baseball? Sure, I was contemplating the Sox a lot yesterday, but since when do I dream about baseball? And blogging baseball no less?
All that aside, my list of best baseball movies was topped by Bull Durham. That's all I can remember in terms of rank, but I also kept reminding myself (in my dream) to not forget The Natural, Field of Dreams, and Eight Men Out. And there was some debate about whether or not Major League made it onto the best or worst list. (C'mon, Wild Thing? You gotta love it.)
posted @ 6:48 AM |
That's all I'm sayin'
An audio post to clear up a few things (powered by audblog).
posted @ 3:36 PM |
Retail therapy
Yesterday, Boston had some seriously bad chi, man. I wasn't the only one in an extremely foul mood. I threw off the black cloud by spending serious money on CDs that I didn't need. I came home with Blender by the Murmurs, Educated Guess by Ani DiFranco, and Come Clean by Puddle of Mud. All of which made me extremely happy.
I went against my request for non-angry music and cranked up the Puddle of Mud on the drive home. "Control" is definitely my favorite tune, followed closely by "She Hates Me." Oh, such good times to be had driving too fast and screaming along. I couldn't get the Murmurs with the suggested "You Suck" song, but I'm enjoying what I've got. Perhaps someday, I will acquire more. (Who the hell am I kidding? I probably won't make it until May before I buy more CDs. I have a problem, people.)
posted @ 6:40 AM |
A little assistance, please
It's raining again. And I hate everything. In a time-honored tradition, I turned to my iTunes to help me out of my funk, but as I looked through my music library, I realized all my music was either mellow/depressing or angry. (Apparently, I only have the two moods. Currently, "(I Hate) Everything About You" is going through my headphones. You see?)
Plus, I have good reason to be disgruntled. College basketball season is over, and I have nothing to do with my life except twiddle my thumbs and have weird dreams about the WNBA draft. And Netflix sent me a message this morning saying that they no longer have Chariots of Fire so if I finally want to watch the Oscar-winning classic film, I'll have to fucking find it myself on AMC or some such shit. They pulled the same thing with Raging Bull, which is fine, really, because who wants to see Robert De Niro in one of his defining roles? Just because I had a little crush on him after Heat is no reason to think this will be a great movie. I'm sure it'll be a disappointment just like Scarface. (Though seeing the 'fro on Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio was well worth the price of admission. If I were going to a theater. Which I wouldn't have, since I was all of 7 when the movie came out. I digress.)
The point is, I need some happy music. I need something that won't make me want to kill myself or someone else. I need suggestions, people. Work with me.
posted @ 7:05 AM |
For all my exes
Third in an ongoing series of my favorite t-shirts ever.
posted @ 5:29 AM |
On the sly
I'm sneaking off for my daily fix of blogs, as I was awoken at an ungodly hour this morning by my little sister telling me that I was late for Easter festivities. (She apparently drew the short straw in the 'who gets to wake up Jen?' lottery.) I was up until 6 a.m. finishing Angels & Demons, so getting up at noon was not my idea of a good time. I tried to check my e-mail and the usual suspects before I departed for the trek northward to Nashua, but between Earthlink being a bitch and my iBook being grumpy about being awoken from its peaceful slumber, I got bupkus.
So here I am, furtively blogging from my sister's computer room, trying to wake up and get into the whole eat-candy-and-ham-and-mashed-potatoes-until-you-want-to-puke spirt of the holiday. Wish me luck.
posted @ 12:19 PM |
In a good way
"You're so weird, you're like a David Lynch movie."
As long as I'm the hot chick from Mulholland Drive.
posted @ 5:25 AM |
Aftershocks
Sonofabitch, my arms are sore today. Apparently, attempting to extract a cone from your wheel is quite the upper body workout. Perhaps I should keep this up until I get Linda Hamilton arms?
Just imagine the damage I could do to traffic cones around the city.
posted @ 7:43 AM |
Epiphany
Today, it has come to my attention that not enough people call me "sexy mama."
Also: I need to use "blow me" as a stinging retort more often.
posted @ 1:14 PM |
Moving violation
I'm driving home on 128 tonight, cruising, as usual, in the left lane. (I don't know why, but I just don't like to drive behind idiots in the other lanes. Also, I drive better in the left lane.) I buzz past one of the new "message in lights" boards on the highway and realize it now reads "Left Lane For Passing Only. $100 Fine." The hell you say. Since when? Where did we learn this? Because what is the point of having four fucking lanes if you're only supposed to drive in three of them? Or is the right lane for entering/exiting only? I want to see them enforce this rule around 5 p.m. -- when all four lanes are filled with cars at a total stop. I also want to know what the fine is for telling the first statie who pulls me over to blow me. Because I want to have the check ready by the time he gets to my window.
I'm still fuming over this ridiculousness when I attempt to make the turn onto my street -- I say attempt because it is blocked by three traffic cones. Now, they've been working on the same damn gas line problem for days now, and I know that the blockage is after my driveway, so I can turn down the street. I'm obviously not thinking clearly, because I decide to just drive over the cones. Thinking, hey, I'll flatten it, and that will be that. Um, not in my fucking lifetime. The cone gets stuck in my wheel. Stuck in my wheel. As in stuck. In my wheel. Firmly. Now I'm attempting to forcibly remove it (quietly, as the work trucks are approximately two feet from my house), but I am having no success. Apparently, you should not drive over traffic cones. Who knew? I run into the house to try to regroup and think this one out logically. Luckily, Jen and Pam are home, and Pam thinks this is the funniest damn thing she's ever heard, so she's more than willing to come outside and (stealthily) help me with the cone. I back up, she pulls. I drive forward, she pulls. I get out of the car and we both pull together. No dice. Now Jen is outside with the dogs, and she is laughing her ass off and insisting I take a picture of the cone sticking out of my wheel so I can post it to my blog. I pull some more and say, "This is not going on my blog." I get back in the car, back up some more, and Pam finally, triumphantly, pulls the cone out of my wheel. Then I duck walk the cone back down the street, trying to keep the crew from seeing me with the aforementioned only-slightly-damaged cone.
I swear to god, I may never drive again.
posted @ 9:00 PM |
Reinforcements
Today, I had to wear the twin set with the pearls. I had to. I was having lunch with my dad, and without the armor, I would have felt all of 12. As it was, I had lunch with my dad in the student center, and I was stretching to feel 14. There's just something about being in the presence of your parents that makes you feel ... a little less than professional. I did give him a brief tour of my lovely campus, however, and the sheer breadth of my knowledge of random facts about Wellesley amazes even me. I almost bought my niece a Wellesley t-shirt, but since she didn't even want to come to campus to see me, I refrained. ("I don't like colleges," she says. Typical 13-year-old. She'll be singing a different tune when she wants to play ye olde Wellesley Legacy Card.)
posted @ 12:23 PM |
This changes everything
Have you ever read a site and thought, "This is cool, I could be into this, I may add this to my personal blogosphere"? You're almost ready to hit BlogrollThis! when it happens. You find The Post. The Deal-Breaker. The one that makes you shake your head and marvel that even otherwise intelligent bloggers can be UConn fans.
posted @ 12:15 PM |
Everybody's doing it
Since I'm only capable of reading things at the moment, I'm trying Kinja on for size. There are certain sites that I will always link/click, but there are dozens of others that I only check periodically to see what's going on. My Kinja digest contains both my regulars and my irregulars -- all in all, a lot of blogging love. All the sites I just added are at the top, though, so I anticipate it being a few days before the digest is actually what I want it to be -- a quick look at who has updated, and what they are talking about. If nothing else, it's always fun to see where entries get truncated.
posted @ 11:10 AM |
Saturday night live
There is some sort of mysterious gas leak on my street ("Don't worry, you won't blow up" is supposed to be comforting somehow), and the industrious folks at Keyspan have been working on the problem for hours. I can't complain about the noise they're making, because, hey, they're saving my life, and yet ... they've been at it for hours. And it's 3 a.m. Luckily, the bizarre noises and randomly flashing yellow light did serve to dim the bleak tragedy that was 21 Grams. I watched Lovely & Amazing again on HBO to make up for it. Jake Gyllenhaal really has perfected the art of being the strange, young lover who, despite his intense hotness, makes you kinda tilt your head to the side and scrunch your brow. Not that my brow needed any help in that department, since I've been working for the last several hours. (I took the high-school approach to homework: Do it while watching TV. Sure, it takes longer, but it hurts less.) My eyes finally started doing the always pleasant fade in and out of focus thing, so I decided to call it a night. Yet there are still men diligently at work outside my window, and I cannot focus and I cannot sleep.
posted @ 11:30 PM |
Jenny from the block
I'm having a hard time returning to our regularly scheduled insipid blogging after creating a mini-stir with my whole "gay people shouldn't be discriminated against" idea. (I know. I'm wacky like that sometimes. Next thing you know, I'll be calling for equality between the sexes. Where will the madness end?)
I'm suffering from blogger's block, people. In an attempt to break it, I bought the new Sarah Harmer CD. Because, you know, spending money always helps. And if that doesn't do the trick, I'm having Stone import me some red pop.
Update: My dad is coming to town this weekend (Hi, Dad!), and he's bringing me some red pop directly from the heartland. Life is good, people. Life is good.
posted @ 8:51 AM |
Here comes the rain again
I hate how the weather affects my mood sometimes. In general, I like the rain. I like listening to it fall outside, I like the way the world gets gray and blurry, I like the way I have a perfect excuse to not leave my house. But I'm starting to feel a little like Mariana in the moated grange here, people. The world is dreary! I am aweary! I would that I were dead, etc.
In college, I made a mixed tape of all my favorite songs about rain -- the aforementioned Eurythmics, November Rain, Have You Ever Seen the Rain? -- but now I can't remember how I filled 90 minutes of tape with rain songs. I miss tapes. There was something soothing about that gentle hiss, there was something special about someone making you a tape that just isn't duplicated in someone burning you a CD.
posted @ 8:28 AM |