Madonna said it best.

I never fully realized the connecting power of music until tonight.

I was listening to Hole with, of all people, my father. I'm just up for the weekend visiting, and popped in some tunage for dinnertime. He was immediately smitten with Courtney's "whiskey and 3 pack a day" voice, and lyrical talent. Inquistive gal that I am, I had to know why pops was so into "Doll Parts".

"I don't know. I like the words."

Touch down! I realized right then and there that almost anyone can relate to any song, as long as the lyrics are applicable to their own life. Not exactly rocket science, I know, but the magnitude of this tasty tidbit never really hit home until this evening. My dad is a man big on the likes Kris Kristofferson and Aaron Neville. Hole? It doesn't seem plausible, but it's the words, man, the words! Music appeals if you can relate to it! The world makes so much sense now.

Oh, I'm a tool. A correct tool, but nonetheless...a tool.

Queen Supreme of the summer daze.

I have to get this off my chest. No, it's not my bra.

I wait so patiently for the end of the summer. Seriously. I'm not alive until September arrives and I can mingle amongst my common people again. Summer is always just such a slow time for me. Especially this summer. I'll tell you why.

Last summer, I spent my days wandering around in teenage brainless land with my best friend and pissing away the summer nights on her patio. Simple times, warm evenings and plenty of stories were told and made. It was good and the livin' was easy. The summer before that was a lonely one; I spent it alone in my house, but it was okay. I'd fall asleep on the couch at 3 or 4; wake up at 2pm the next day. I'd watch re-runs of Project Runway and then tune in to IFC to snag a few indies before my eyelids got heavier than my ambition. I'd paint my nails and sew and sketch televisions in one of the various sketchbooks that are now stashed like balloons of heroin around my dwelling. I also spent that summer obsessing over Tim Curry in drag, 1920's erotica and the Black Dahlia murder case. I eventually went away that summer, as I did last summer, and wasted my last couple of weeks of 'freedom' fucking around in towns that nobody knows exists.

This summer, however, has no claim to fame. I work. I sleep. My friends live on the
same clock as I do, and plans are almost impossible to make. There will be no great deck parties reminiscient of a certain Kim Mitchell song. Nope. There will be no journeys to tiny villages on the outskirts of equally miniscule towns. There will be no fashion re-runs or independent film comas - I got rid of IFC last June. All I do is wait around for my shift to start at work, and plan everything around that goddamn vest: polyester, stop sign red with dull plastic buttons and a collar that refuses to stay down, no matter how many times you press it and repress it. It's like prison garb, only less exciting. Such simplicity and joy I've never known until now, when I'd like it back the most. Age complicates things, I've found. You just don't expect things to end, do you? And as much as I hated summertime then, the resentment flows more fluidly now and with as much force as a self-inflicted puncture wound to the jugular. Sigh. At least I had choices before.

Did anyone else notice that A&E changed the little logo that appears in the corner of the screen slightly? It looks like a different font.

Proof that I am bored.

rather be a crab than have 'em.

I'm having one of those days where I just feel intensely DC comic. Like, beyond super human. There ain't no kryptonite gon' get me down. No sir.

I've started writing the script I've had floating around my cranium for a bit. Same dealio as the last film. It's on the shorter side, and again is produced with assistance of my film-making compadre. I like this as a small hobby. It's much better than taking up, oh I don't know....cocaine addiction? Just sayin'. Anywho, this new "script" is fairly promising so far, but I really have to wonder if it'll be worth it in the end. I had the same doubts with the first film, too, though. Wait and see; that's what mama always said.

Lobster lady, ahoy - I got sunburnt today. I really should invest in SPF 90 sunscreen. Actually, I should just stay indoors. Whatever, my back is bumpin' right now, and I'm pretty sure my skin will be peeling off faster than clothes in a titty bar in no time at all. That's the thing that really steams my broccoli; most people, when they burn, eventually have it fade into a nice chocolatey tan. I, on the other hand, either A) remain burnt as fuck for the rest of the summer or B) have my skin peel off and go back to a lovely shade of bleached chalk with just a little "teint de rose". I've seen correction fluid with better colour than me. Oooo...correction fluid. Say that one out loud and try not to giggle. Better yet, next time your wandering around the office, ask a male co-worker if he has any correctional fluid he can spare. Christina said it best: dirrrty.

Oww, my epidermis.

Hey...

...I wish I could spill all my secrets here, but I can't.

People I know read this, which I don't mind, but some things they just can't know. Like, fuck, I have to see these people on a day-to-day basis.
Anonymity sets you free, I hear. That's what this started as, but I just couldn't help myself. I had to tell my friends; blogging was a disease I wanted to spread. It's internet mono. No big deal.

Anywho, I got a mad award tonight for my "splendid contributions" to the Fine Arts world. The good kind of plaque; numero 3 in my collection. It's weird... I don't feel any more special or lovely than I did pre-plaque. I did the first time around, but, much like masturbation, it's lost it's fun. Yeah, I went there. I need to get laid! Sheee-it, I'm about to bust a nut up in dis bitch! Oi!

You're cute,
FMcG

P.S. Film fest = up in the air. Who knows what's happening with that hot mess these days? Certainly not me. I wanted so very badly for it to be 100% go, but it's faultering. I worry. Boy, do I ever worry.

Shifty Eyes

Learning standard isn't, well, so standard.

They call me "Stall-zilla" these days. Hondas are my arch-enemies. You see, I need to learn to drive standard before the end of July. I'm road trippin' with the dames, and as one of 2 gals with a license, I'm going to be trading driving shifts. We're taking the more fuel efficient vehicle, which just so happens to be the kind with a clutch.

Driving lessons: I thought I'd only ever have to contend with that once in my lifetime. I guess I should have made sure "standard" was checked off before I put that one to bed. Oh well, everything is a learning experience, I s'pose.

Speaking of learning experiences...nevermind. I'll tell you when you're older.

Mazel tov!

I'm nesting.

No, actually. I'm getting a new place in August, and so I've kicked into "home making" mode. Still on the list of things to gather: new towels. Purple, fluffy and huge preferred. I've even been cruising Etsy trying to find some new art to throw up on my unpaintable walls. I have to make them snazzy somehow.

So, the bitchmobile got sick and had to go to the doctor. I was clearly distraught about this unfortunate turn of events until they handed me the keys to an illin' courtesy car. Shit was off the hizzy, fo' shizzy. Best part? It's a Buick, and it's actually dope. I usually reserve Buicks for the elderly and fur-wearing, and even though this car is slightly on the Grandpa side, it still has major cool points. Luxury sedans are my kind of ride. As much as I miss the bitchmobile, I'm going to have difficulty parting with "my new" wheels.

The bitchmobile was an easy fix, in case you were wondering. Turns out the wires going to the spark pluggies were more intensely fried than asian rice. Easy peasy, and fairly cheap, too...kind of like you. I joke! And yeah, the muffler is still attached à la coat hanger.

Whatever.

Scrollin'

The wonder of summer never ceases to amaze me.

I'm on permanent summer now, it feels. When I was a kid, I used to revel in the knowledge that eventually June would come. My world would finally be less about lesson plans and pencils; more about popsicles and the smell of fresh cut grass. School has come and gone now though, my high school years are over and the summer is just another time of the year. My grade school years went out not with a bang, but a whimper. Hardly the enthusiasm I expected for 13 long years.

I invested in a laptop today; probably a solid investment for the future. At the same time, I can't help but feel that this is going to make me all the more a slave to technology. Cute, right?

I'm really tired and lack the bubbly and clever wordsmithing that I usually (like to think that I) have. What's become of me? Could it be that I've had 7 hours of sleep in the last 4 days?

BINGO!

SWF

I'm so tired of being alone.

Lately I've been feeling quite bitter towards the happy couples I seem to see everywhere I go. I'd like to know: where's my b-friend?

Singledom never used to bother me. In fact, I remember a time when I was singing high praises for me and the crew and our marvelous ability to stay un-paired. The notion was that single = simple. Who needs all that complicated love crap? Well, that'd be me, strangely enough. A part of me is hoping that this is just a nasty PMS side-effect, however, I get the feeling like this ain't nothin' to do with monthly hormone fuck-tuations. I think maybe I've finally hit the point in my life where I instinctively want to be someone's wonderwall. They said it would happen - I didn't believe them. Turns out they were right.

Sonofabitch.

That said, I'm not on the mad hunt for my other half. The pickings are pretty slim around here, so I'm just going to have to wait until the XY horizons are expanded. As lovely as love would be, it can wait. It's waited this long, and I'm a firm believer that when you go looking for something, you seldom find it.

Except trouble. You can always find that.

Twice a day

Oh, Jeff Mangum.

If only your looks were more youthful, or perhaps, if only, you didn't look so sour all the time.

Like, you're okay, I guess. I'd marry you. I really, really would. I can get past your awful looks. We can figure it out together. We'll work something out.

Maybe you could just wear a paper bag all the time and sing to me through a mouth hole we cut out. That way I could still feed you and kiss you, too. You'll sing to me all day and all night. You'll be my own personal stereo.

The Jeff Mangum 24 hour radio show, live from somewhere in Canada.

Oh, Jeff. How I love thee. Why, oh why, are even you already taken?

Clear skies

It's been a decent weekend.

I pedestrian-ed it up last night downtown with my main homeskillet. We snagged some Starbucks (oh, shut up..I know) and headed towards where the noise was loudest. We ended up at a big event at city park and wandered for a while wondering what it was, watching people jog past us and pausing every so often to clear the sand out of our shoes. We eventually determined that it was a big cancer fundraiser, so we cleared out pretty hastily. It's not that I don't support cancer research, it's just that I think that the cancer foundation 'round here uses it's donations for nose candy. Seriously. Nothing is legit anymore.

So, we walked back up the strip, making another pit stop at Starbucks to use their facilities. Only the dudes' biffy was in operation, so we threw on our best guy personas and peed standing up. Well, we did everything minus that last part. Actually, I did everything minus that last part; I can't be 100% about my compadre. I'm just not talented enough to pull that shit off. I surmised that Starbucks is equal opportunity, either way. Ye-ye!

We meandered back to the car and sped off into the night only to be greeted by nothingness. We considered visiting 24/7 Denny's, but even that has lost it's fun. I'm needing a little change, lemme tell ya. I need new venues to satisfy my fiendish lust for constant stimulation. I need a city with a pulse.

Any suggestions?