Hoping for a wink from one of those
Poet conspirators, drunks to a man, I'm here again.
Why is it so dark? What are we doing?
Looking for the wink.
The gin gives us the difference: each other
Shut off from the quotidian: our feelings
Blurring as the afternoon continues.
The silent man at my right elbow
Winks at me with his glass -
Is this a signal? He and I
Have long been quiet in the boredom, strangers,
But we watched for a certain moment - maybe this one -
For a flash, an insight, an exceptional view -
Evasion. The oldsters showed it too, the habit
And habitual disappointment
As they all wrote poems, novels, stories, waited here.
(diane wood middlebrook, 1983)
*01.30.02 the white horse tavern
*01.29.02 pretend you've got no money
weatherpeople were very excited yesterday about the lowest high temperatures in twenty years. one must justify shuddering when it's forty degrees outside, i suppose, but i bet they have central heating, the pansies.
joe and i got to be The Last Line of Defense at the boxer thing last night, which meant that i whispered about sketchy rich people and he tattled on them to the secret service agents. most of the badgeless were genre authors who, er, didn't want to be swarmed. i don't really care about richard north patterson, though his wife's tapestry suit was fairly inflammatory.
as for clinton, he was very late and boxer didn't fancy a lag between his speech and hers, so a guy from battlebots took the stage and told jokes about bin laden's cellular plan. babs did a meandering bit about running again because of 9/11, then the authors and i rushed the one bathroom to primp for the headliner. i was already primped within an inch of my life, but i'd gone outside to smoke and was terrified that everyone could smell me.
then bill. i should point out that he was still the president last night: i was confused when he was introduced as such, but these donors were not in ha-ha denial, oh no. i wiggled through the guys with markers and athletic equipment, shook his hand and said it'sanhonorsir, and ran away. my hangnails didn't heal spontaneously or anything, but i was awed like a big old dork.
and my hair was on the ten o'clock news, whee!
weatherpeople were very excited yesterday about the lowest high temperatures in twenty years. one must justify shuddering when it's forty degrees outside, i suppose, but i bet they have central heating, the pansies.
joe and i got to be The Last Line of Defense at the boxer thing last night, which meant that i whispered about sketchy rich people and he tattled on them to the secret service agents. most of the badgeless were genre authors who, er, didn't want to be swarmed. i don't really care about richard north patterson, though his wife's tapestry suit was fairly inflammatory.
as for clinton, he was very late and boxer didn't fancy a lag between his speech and hers, so a guy from battlebots took the stage and told jokes about bin laden's cellular plan. babs did a meandering bit about running again because of 9/11, then the authors and i rushed the one bathroom to primp for the headliner. i was already primped within an inch of my life, but i'd gone outside to smoke and was terrified that everyone could smell me.
then bill. i should point out that he was still the president last night: i was confused when he was introduced as such, but these donors were not in ha-ha denial, oh no. i wiggled through the guys with markers and athletic equipment, shook his hand and said it'sanhonorsir, and ran away. my hangnails didn't heal spontaneously or anything, but i was awed like a big old dork.
and my hair was on the ten o'clock news, whee!
*01.27.02 sand to silicon
the naked dancing neighbors are at it again. web search for "discourage nude frolicking" yielded more weird florida news (mayor performs municipal exorcism, ACLU lawyers get involved on satan's behalf) and rawr.net (burning man camp girl makes monsters). the dancing wound down when they saw us laughing.
joe needed an ironing board. the hippie lady has an ironing board, i saw it! but i should not buy. i've started bathing whenever i get the urge to spend money; it hasn't been especially effective, but i am exceedingly clean. tomorrow i'll attack the mold archipelago on the ceiling above the tub.
slim chance of meeting bill clinton tomorrow - i'm tagging along with the boxer office to a fund raising dinner, and he'll be hobnobbing. drop me a line if i should send your, um, love.
the naked dancing neighbors are at it again. web search for "discourage nude frolicking" yielded more weird florida news (mayor performs municipal exorcism, ACLU lawyers get involved on satan's behalf) and rawr.net (burning man camp girl makes monsters). the dancing wound down when they saw us laughing.
joe needed an ironing board. the hippie lady has an ironing board, i saw it! but i should not buy. i've started bathing whenever i get the urge to spend money; it hasn't been especially effective, but i am exceedingly clean. tomorrow i'll attack the mold archipelago on the ceiling above the tub.
slim chance of meeting bill clinton tomorrow - i'm tagging along with the boxer office to a fund raising dinner, and he'll be hobnobbing. drop me a line if i should send your, um, love.
*01.25.02 in through the out door
the Plan gallops along. introduction of yoga has destabilized things a bit, though: i'm not hungry, but i've become (more of a) pack rat. the mechanic is right next to this one-woman bazaar thing in the mission, and fanfare rang down from the heavens when i dumped my ailing car and spied her orange wicker chairs. since then i've acquired an amber globe light, a brown glass vase, a linen LONDON tapestry, a brass/crystal candle holder, a hat box with a built-in shower cap / hair dryer, a short wave radio, and, um, baubles. i only spent $30, but - if my car dies again and i go back, there won't be room to move in here.
so bad, bad yoga. it's also led me to discover that the rug smells like italian food, and ew.
digiclutter:
boys are smelly, by kim gordon (sonic youth tour diary '87).
wine snobs are full of it.
bea arthur wrestling dinosaurs (my new desktop).
purple rain (1984) #
+ guitar/hose sprays club kids; minnesota!
- incomplete domestic violence arc; no "raspberry beret".
the Plan gallops along. introduction of yoga has destabilized things a bit, though: i'm not hungry, but i've become (more of a) pack rat. the mechanic is right next to this one-woman bazaar thing in the mission, and fanfare rang down from the heavens when i dumped my ailing car and spied her orange wicker chairs. since then i've acquired an amber globe light, a brown glass vase, a linen LONDON tapestry, a brass/crystal candle holder, a hat box with a built-in shower cap / hair dryer, a short wave radio, and, um, baubles. i only spent $30, but - if my car dies again and i go back, there won't be room to move in here.
so bad, bad yoga. it's also led me to discover that the rug smells like italian food, and ew.
digiclutter:
boys are smelly, by kim gordon (sonic youth tour diary '87).
wine snobs are full of it.
bea arthur wrestling dinosaurs (my new desktop).
purple rain (1984) #
+ guitar/hose sprays club kids; minnesota!
- incomplete domestic violence arc; no "raspberry beret".
*01.23.02 duty now for the future
Plan modification 1a: rental movies must be rented and returned sans car. the car goes wheee instead of vroom at the moment; it's suggesting, perhaps, that i should be climbing monster hills and coughing more.
1b: steer toward looking like kathleen hanna. i won't lie - the Plan is at least 75% vanity. health for health's sake is hogwash - i won't waste 50 years at the gym on 25 bonus years at the gym. who wants a long life if it's a clean life? mind-boggling pulchritude, on the other hand - for that i'll give up cheese.
that's better. i feel frivolous again.
salon went with "sympathy for the devil" for its masterpiece doo-dah this week, and i am all smiles. mick jagger deserves to be compared to baudelaire/byron/bakespeare every now and again, and it hurts me when folks kick him in the ribs for goddess in the doorway. sting doesn't take this much crap for his godawful solo career, and the police never held a candle to the rolling stones. if one must hate, one should hate jann wenner. he's always been an ass.
Plan modification 1a: rental movies must be rented and returned sans car. the car goes wheee instead of vroom at the moment; it's suggesting, perhaps, that i should be climbing monster hills and coughing more.
1b: steer toward looking like kathleen hanna. i won't lie - the Plan is at least 75% vanity. health for health's sake is hogwash - i won't waste 50 years at the gym on 25 bonus years at the gym. who wants a long life if it's a clean life? mind-boggling pulchritude, on the other hand - for that i'll give up cheese.
that's better. i feel frivolous again.
salon went with "sympathy for the devil" for its masterpiece doo-dah this week, and i am all smiles. mick jagger deserves to be compared to baudelaire/byron/bakespeare every now and again, and it hurts me when folks kick him in the ribs for goddess in the doorway. sting doesn't take this much crap for his godawful solo career, and the police never held a candle to the rolling stones. if one must hate, one should hate jann wenner. he's always been an ass.
DEVO's like a verb. Maybe it is bullshit, but it's good bullshit. It's like an atmosphere; it's not a solid. DEVO is anything that people really like. People like something that's somewhat mysterious and something that's left somewhat to your imagination. As soon as you have it figured out, it ceases to be interesting; it ceases to have magic or life or vitality. The music and the look and the rap - it's all one thing: it's just an ambience. The clues to it have to do with infantilism, things falling apart, things unwinding - a minimal, primitive statement; direct. DEVO is like surgeons, the clean-up squad of the '70s - getting rid of all the flabby, horrible, derivative rock and roll crap. The 'industrial look': the clean-up crew, the robots, the spuds following their genetic imperatives.
*01.21.02 topless dancers of corfu
was planning on transvestite wrestling at 26 mix last night - the guy who cuts joe's hair is quite the champ, apparently - but the evening became drinks with school chums in the richmond instead, so i stayed home. not ready to champion the Health Plan by refusing gin and tonics, yet.
hip kids make cleavage unfun, part two: february's spin cover reads "ROCKBOOBS.COM: CONCERT FLASHING HITS THE WEB". the article (p.30) touts concertflashers.com, while the cover URL is the 'new image' of cheekybastid.com, a spin staffer's band site. combatants seem equally sad here: if pressed, i'd support the flesh peddlers. i appreciate the fact that their images are grouped by show (women of ozzfest, i salute you).
at press time, the devil-ettes remain the sole tenders of the vaguely satanic synchronized dancing flame. their magic is difficult to challenge, and for that my heart is glad.
rosemary's baby (1968) ###
+ suspense, ruth gordon as maude the dark servant.
- no baby satan payoff.
grosse pointe blank (1997) #
+ the pixies' "monkey gone to heaven".
- john cusack: dough boy.
moulin rouge! (2001)
+ free rental = no obligation to watch entire movie.
- baz luhrmann is still out there.
was planning on transvestite wrestling at 26 mix last night - the guy who cuts joe's hair is quite the champ, apparently - but the evening became drinks with school chums in the richmond instead, so i stayed home. not ready to champion the Health Plan by refusing gin and tonics, yet.
hip kids make cleavage unfun, part two: february's spin cover reads "ROCKBOOBS.COM: CONCERT FLASHING HITS THE WEB". the article (p.30) touts concertflashers.com, while the cover URL is the 'new image' of cheekybastid.com, a spin staffer's band site. combatants seem equally sad here: if pressed, i'd support the flesh peddlers. i appreciate the fact that their images are grouped by show (women of ozzfest, i salute you).
at press time, the devil-ettes remain the sole tenders of the vaguely satanic synchronized dancing flame. their magic is difficult to challenge, and for that my heart is glad.
rosemary's baby (1968) ###
+ suspense, ruth gordon as maude the dark servant.
- no baby satan payoff.
grosse pointe blank (1997) #
+ the pixies' "monkey gone to heaven".
- john cusack: dough boy.
moulin rouge! (2001)
+ free rental = no obligation to watch entire movie.
- baz luhrmann is still out there.
*01.19.02 fine thank you
says autumn, there's no money in coat checking at indie shows: "jackets are part of outfits." ditto for the hardcore sets - Skinny Puppy stencils don't grow on trees, you know.
cruel bay area alternafolk, all competitive edginess - they've even tried to ruin the pure fun of bra balls. i'd despair, but i saw nicolino's (1300 lbs) roll past the SPCA the other day - nothing can ruin that sort of fun.
says autumn, there's no money in coat checking at indie shows: "jackets are part of outfits." ditto for the hardcore sets - Skinny Puppy stencils don't grow on trees, you know.
cruel bay area alternafolk, all competitive edginess - they've even tried to ruin the pure fun of bra balls. i'd despair, but i saw nicolino's (1300 lbs) roll past the SPCA the other day - nothing can ruin that sort of fun.
*01.18.02 play your ouijas
a pleasant habit has stepped up and claimed my thursday/friday Lump Time (i work eleven hour days, so i'm at the hospital mon-tues-wed-sat): smart movie / slack movie. smartie today - le charme discret de la bourgeoisie (1972). i'm surprised my evil film professor didn't screen it for us, as it's a friendlier introduction to surrealism than un chien andalou (1929); as a manners piece, it kills la regle du jeu (1939). see it, it's fun.
slacker - the anniversary party, rented because i get sucked into 'pet project' movies and, um, los angeles stuff. it's a bit maudlin, but i'm always pleased to see parker posey play someone other than The Parker Posey Character. also worth seeing.
slicing up eyeballs / i want you to know -
a pleasant habit has stepped up and claimed my thursday/friday Lump Time (i work eleven hour days, so i'm at the hospital mon-tues-wed-sat): smart movie / slack movie. smartie today - le charme discret de la bourgeoisie (1972). i'm surprised my evil film professor didn't screen it for us, as it's a friendlier introduction to surrealism than un chien andalou (1929); as a manners piece, it kills la regle du jeu (1939). see it, it's fun.
slacker - the anniversary party, rented because i get sucked into 'pet project' movies and, um, los angeles stuff. it's a bit maudlin, but i'm always pleased to see parker posey play someone other than The Parker Posey Character. also worth seeing.
slicing up eyeballs / i want you to know -
*01.17.02 i was special
i'd goggle at providence in the small furrow - that everyone in the oxford house read the same sci fi novels in 1986, that the name game is always successful, that everyone i know is converging in new york in february - but coincidence is sleight of hand, a show of cutting and shuffling to the point where origins seem unrecognizable. abracadabra - your card was nerd. i don't resent the system: i gnash my teeth when my posts were better said yesterday by someone else, but i rarely feel isolated.
so joe, jacob, paul and i have an east coast holiday sandwiched around the lincoln center magnetic fields shows. as you'll probably be in new york 28 feb - 5 mar, drop us a line. we'll plan something nifty.
as i have apparently started collecting videos, i shall no longer make excuses for failing to own shu shan (1983). has yojimbo the eyebrow sage-warrior or cloud fortress priestesses who attack with toilet paper? of course it doesn't. i have lacked this for far too long; i'm taking a stand, even though i owe my exposure to the evil man with 42 blue coats.
the asterisks, incidentally, confirm daily adherence to the Fear Of Death Total Health Plan. my granola-induced misanthropy peaked yesterday, i think; i'm all optimism.
i'd goggle at providence in the small furrow - that everyone in the oxford house read the same sci fi novels in 1986, that the name game is always successful, that everyone i know is converging in new york in february - but coincidence is sleight of hand, a show of cutting and shuffling to the point where origins seem unrecognizable. abracadabra - your card was nerd. i don't resent the system: i gnash my teeth when my posts were better said yesterday by someone else, but i rarely feel isolated.
so joe, jacob, paul and i have an east coast holiday sandwiched around the lincoln center magnetic fields shows. as you'll probably be in new york 28 feb - 5 mar, drop us a line. we'll plan something nifty.
as i have apparently started collecting videos, i shall no longer make excuses for failing to own shu shan (1983). has yojimbo the eyebrow sage-warrior or cloud fortress priestesses who attack with toilet paper? of course it doesn't. i have lacked this for far too long; i'm taking a stand, even though i owe my exposure to the evil man with 42 blue coats.
the asterisks, incidentally, confirm daily adherence to the Fear Of Death Total Health Plan. my granola-induced misanthropy peaked yesterday, i think; i'm all optimism.
*01.16.02 she kept her motor clean
i might have suffered a christmas carol in miniature the other night; i woke up with a lingering horror of death and the urge to become a Healthy Person. it will seem comical for a while, but project robolau has begun in earnest.
synaesthesia, because manic depressive artists are so five minutes ago.
i might have suffered a christmas carol in miniature the other night; i woke up with a lingering horror of death and the urge to become a Healthy Person. it will seem comical for a while, but project robolau has begun in earnest.
synaesthesia, because manic depressive artists are so five minutes ago.
Where was I? Oh yes: assaulted by San Francisco, looking for a film to hide in. I opened the paper, turned to the entertainment part, and when I read the double-page ads for new releases I felt a thrill in my soul, so many wonderful movies, the critics were amazed, according to the testimonials. Poets of the age! hack off your tongues. The impression dawned that we'd entered a dazzling era - this week, this single week, would glow in racial memory - and I shared it all, was in fact dazzled, you know how I respond to those ads and feel cheated later in the dark by all the fakery. But it doesn't matter. Nothing can help us anymore. There's no escaping the contradictions: but only here, at the movies - window looking out on the home from which I'm exiled - land where people look in one another's eyes feeling the words they say. That's what I wanted in life, still want, I want blue light on their breasts, wet sorrows, endnesses, endnesses, death after every satisfaction -lauren says brothers karamazov reading group; i say yes, ma'am.
01.13.02 yuko + hiro
my favorite favorite stanford classified ad popped up in the campus daily a few years ago and offered stranded students the opportunity to serve techies thanksgiving dinner for like $20 and some leftover turkey. my other favorite, courtesy of the latest alumni magazine: good genes, "an institution of higher pairing". mental image of stuffing kleenex down the front of one's resume: i like it.
if commentary is to be believed, radiohead's "palo alto" moonlighted as "ok computer". i tired of pop's mid-nineties fixation on paly a while back, but i suppose it's pleasant to feel that one slept and ate junk food in a notable place.
coupland dug up the paly piece for a prospective frosh talk in memorial auditorium, 5/96. he also introduced me, after a fashion, to my good friend tom, who asked him a convoluted question that he (d.c.) interrupted with his forehead and the microphone: "brain hurts, brain hurts". he's getting a JD in wisconsin and owed a lot of mail (tom).
the seventh sign that i'm getting old: i slept like a champ all day. sundays kick ass.
my favorite favorite stanford classified ad popped up in the campus daily a few years ago and offered stranded students the opportunity to serve techies thanksgiving dinner for like $20 and some leftover turkey. my other favorite, courtesy of the latest alumni magazine: good genes, "an institution of higher pairing". mental image of stuffing kleenex down the front of one's resume: i like it.
if commentary is to be believed, radiohead's "palo alto" moonlighted as "ok computer". i tired of pop's mid-nineties fixation on paly a while back, but i suppose it's pleasant to feel that one slept and ate junk food in a notable place.
It is a lovely city and it works: it has given the world far more than it has ever taken, and to find any fault would be gratuitous and petty. It is the embodiment of middle-class tranquility and freedom. It is Palo Alto, or a platonic vision of a city like this, that lurks in the back of many minds as the ideal that is worth fighting for when fighting is called for.speaking of radiohead, i have similar memories of oxford, though its souvenirs have been rather more substantial.
(douglas coupland, polaroids from the dead)
coupland dug up the paly piece for a prospective frosh talk in memorial auditorium, 5/96. he also introduced me, after a fashion, to my good friend tom, who asked him a convoluted question that he (d.c.) interrupted with his forehead and the microphone: "brain hurts, brain hurts". he's getting a JD in wisconsin and owed a lot of mail (tom).
the seventh sign that i'm getting old: i slept like a champ all day. sundays kick ass.
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