i OWN supply chain management. and now that that's been established, don't let me answer the phone.

ah, my brain. is fuzzy. caffeine crash and writing about supply chain management and office that bears remarkable resemblance to inferno not conducive to thought any longer.

but hey.

at least i made it. and i did it. i had one day to assemble the total contents of a new site from scratch, and i did it. and it is the most boring website ever, but i did it. cementing again my reputation as the girl you go to in a crisis, because when you need it done well RIGHTNOW, i can almost always deliver.

hells yeah. i rock supply chain management. that's right.

now, now i can go home and keel over and sleep off the exhaustion (oh, lovely exhaustion) i've spent the last week accumulating.

sweet.

it wasn't just a performance, i daresay it was an event

last night...last night, last night last night. last night was supposed to be another show, a small fiasco witnessed by a group of loyalists, fun and fabulous, but nothing to write home about.

ah, bad shivery! ye of little faith!

last night was bloody stellar, for lack of a better term. the show, while packed with the sort of stumbles that are par for the course, was actually really good. if for no other reason than i was having an absolute ball up there. i was having so much fun i didn't actually care whether anyone else was (though i am very, very pleased that everyone seemed to be). we had some new faces in the crowd, some new songs in the repertoire. oh, and apparently, the guy who does the booking at the venue? talks about me. yes. apparently, the band who went on after me had heard of me. wow. my reputation precedes me!

it was a night of 14 songs, 2 blondes, 1 guitar, 4 guest stars and 2 very sleepy people falling into bed at the end of the day.

i loved every second of it.

returning

and lo. the elevator tongue bandit appears again. in the lobby.

motherfucker.

greenery

thank you, mr. dj

You are artistic, a bit whimsical, and less iconic
than the train on the other side of the Park.
Others may see you as an odd conglomeration of
new and old-fashioned ideas, but you realize
that's part of your charm.

Which New York City subway line are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

and it's FREE!

shall we take a moment to discuss the fact that this is going to be an excellent summer for FREE music? we're talking rufus wainwright. we're talking de la soul. ryan adams. we are talking so much goodness that i don't even know what to do with myself. add that to the free outdoor movies, and all i need to amuse myself in these coming months is a bottle of sunblock, a floppy hat and some industrial strength mosquito repellent.

sweet.

it's a girl! (heavens, oh my!)

sometimes, i do enjoy being a girl. i love the swish of the skirt, the shine of the talon, the potions we get for softening and perfuming our skin. the warpaint and the shiny baubles, the warlike heels and the saucy flats, the shine and the shimmer and the sparkle and the glow and the flounce. the coquette in me is enraptured by these things.

these are the things that little girls get. and when we grow up to be women, we learn how to appreciate their fullest potential. and their pleasure.

i get a certain thrill out of decking myself out in my full girly regalia. there's a pleasure in the ritual, a sort of grounding that i occasionally lose when tramping through the streets of new york, battle armor in place. i lose touch with this body as a feminine entity, with its softness and its curves, replacing it with the protection offered by the self-perception of a warrior, not a woman. because you have to in the real world, lest people target you as prey in your girliness.

and wearing that face gets a little old. not just because i don't like having my world avatar be reactionary, but because, quite frankly, i like the mantle of femininity.

but i digress.

i enjoy the ritual that brings me back to girl, from fixing my hair to painting my nails, to selecting the clothing and the scent i want to leave behind me tonight.

i enjoy it on my own behalf. i do it for myself.

though i will confess to a small twinge of pleasure when these preparations go observed by the object of desire. as in any other endeavor, while the action may frequently be done for its own sake, or the personal pleasure of simply doing it, there is always a bit of satisfaction in having a fan.

a job well done

it seems only proper that the heavens would cease to whimper when we finish unloading the final vanful at destination. now, my socks are damp, as are my jeans, my hands are dry, and i am feeling the satisfaction of a job well done, even though i was only (on average) 1/6th of the team. ah, well.

as much as i hate to pander to the stereotypical notion of my sex being the weaker, there is a certain joyous honor in dubbing the rest of the team (four men on one end, six on the other) the 'strapping young bucks' and letting them carry the heavy stuff down the slippery stairs of infinite treachery. i was quite content to carry the books and the bits and the bobs. no problem.

and now, i am damp, and i am cold, and i require a very long, hot shower.

rain, rain go away

it is a testament to my great love for the wanger that, despite the fact that it is pissing it down rather angrily outside, i am still planning to haul my sorry self thirty blocks north to help him move to his new apartment. dedication, i tell you, dedication.

speaking of the wanger, we saw a surprisingly good film the other week, one which truly made me comprehend the power of the marketing team. the movie was 'brotherhood of the wolf,' and when i'd rented it, i'd been expecting a strange (though fun) romp, something along the lines of a kung-fu movie with fussy french wigs. that, after all, was what the trailers, ads and posters had led me to believe. and they were partially right. it was actually a kung fu-monster-period-romance-political-cult film. absolutely stunning. as i kept telling wang, it was a movie that had everything. monsters, gore, and pretty dresses with crinolines. how it got so monumentally overlooked upon its theatrical release is just absolutely beyond me. actually, no, it's not. the movie was marketed towards a very specific subgroup. what subgroup that was, i can't actually venture to guess. but we were only presented with the merest, basest hint of what the film actually had to offer. and most of us lazy moviegoers did not respond to that particular bait. sadly. so, as i reach the end of this tirade, i realize that i have really no point here except to say this: go rent it. rent the dvd. the extended version. 2 1/2 hours of wholesome french goodness.

rock it.

and now, to prepare myself for the great plunge into the abyss of precipitation and manual labor.

yee!

such little good news brings such a sparkly smile.

porn star lips power, activate!

i have this real thing about shiny, shiny lipgloss. i love it. i love the feeling of my lips encased in a silicon by-product that is not entirely unlike a liquescent vinyl derivative. love it. it's summery, and yet pornographic. it makes me want to feather my hair and wear giant sunglasses. rollerskate while sucking on a lollipop.

i just bought some today that's this fabulously clear red. well, more fabulously clear than fabulously red, but hey. 4 bucks. nice and slick. and a nice color.

plus, it smells like cherries. and anything that smells like cherries is fine with me.

did i not say that this was going to be the summer of porn star lips? let the games begin.

read the sounds of the subway

these things tend to start with a single phrase. one line, which sets the tone of the entire piece and determines where the song is going to go. this time, it found me on the subway. at a moment when i didn't have a pen, naturally.

show in one week. three new songs. you know you want to.

get the dirt right here

he's the only man to ever cause me to raise my right eyebrow.

dude. DUDE. my fucking PROM DATE is the rampaging dinosaur in the new dunkin donuts coolatta commercial.

my god!, little shaughny's all growed up!

point taken.

PISCES: A German woman who recently died bequeathed her nephew $275,000. Trouble is, he's a homeless man who wanders around a lot. Executors of the woman's will have not yet been able to locate him. This resembles a situation in your own life, Pisces. Even now, a rich source of blessings is trying to track you down and attract your attention. So far you've been oblivious. Let's hope you wake up to the presence of the gift very soon.

okay. okay. that, clearly is universe-speak telling me to relax and enjoy. before it bitchslaps me for being a non-believer.

with dream girls like these, it's no wonder we both like men.

trusilvr: "You have selected hot librarian who will say "It's too quiet in here. Can you make me scream?" Then suggestively put three hole punch in her mouth and invite you to come see her chinese love basket, waterbed covered with baby oil and twin sister. She will show you tricks she learned in ancient Chinese wedding night rituals until you are blinded with pleasure."

agent delicious: "You have selected American woman with tongue that can tie cherry stem in knot wearing skimpy field hockey skirt who will come on to you in Museum of Natural History, reptile exhibit "like wet grass on a white sneaker." American woman will rip off everything but her jetpack, invite you to lick peach cobbler off her stomach, then work her magic until you suffer from delusions of being an ancient Roman emperor."

wait, it's only 4?

half awake and half a world away.

three things

first of all. for the record, i never offered to perform anal sex on wang. never. not once. though, as ful pointed out, i did observe that wang had never asked me nicely for it.

second. i'm learning slowly that i am truly my father's daughter. right down to being short-sighted and self-centered, occasionally oblivious to the people around me. someone deserves an apology for my behavior this weekend. which i hereby tender.

i dropped the ball. and i feel terrible about it.

third. as i mentioned before, i am in significant amounts of pain, courtesy of scary ex-boxer trainer man. i swear, that man had me twisted into positions that only one other person has been allowed to do of late. but at least he takes the time to warm me up first!

that is all. we now return to regularly scheduled afternoon programming.

im' getting nothing done at all.

back safely

due to an "incident" at penn station, all traffic in and out will be delayed indefinitely. this is why i got to take the PATH back to civilization. great fun. especially in high spike heels and muscles that don't want to work today. thank you, free personal training session.

field trip purgatory

i am about to embark upon a wild day trip to metuchen, new jersey.

if i'm not back in twelve hours, alert the coast guard.

floompy

i've been trying to write this entry for three hours. i officially surrender as of now. i'll try again tomorrow.

bells are ringing, children are screaming...

so, there's this thing i'm working on here at the orifice, wherein my greatest source of reference are, respectively, a site about weddings. and a site about babies. in order to properly research this project, i've needed to sign up for this email list that they both offer.

apparently, i'm getting married in 83 days and i'm 48 weeks pregnant.

if someone started idly trawling my history pages, they'd probably have a heart attack.

be assured: i am neither getting married nor having a baby. or even thinking about either. ever. at all.

that is all.

in retrospect

i've always been of the opinion that the universe demands balance at all times. this is why, in my experience, it's virtually impossible to keep all your plates in the air simultaneously. in order for one part of your life to get significantly better, something else has to fall spectacularly apart. the thing is, this time, i don't think that this sudden upsurge of goodness is necessarily finding its balance in my life. i think it's being transferred on to someone else.

and god, is it forming the guilt cloud atop my cranium. almost as much as the fact that i was, in fact, a terrible, terrible sister this weekend.

damn me and my distracted brain.

hair apparent

i have discovered and come face to face with the holy grail of hair care. they told me it was possible, but i, like an obstinate fool, didn't believe! but lo, today, on an expedition to arm myself for what i know is a coming complication, i discovered it.

large size tubes of the conditioner that comes with feria hair dye. also known as "the best conditioner ever"

i bought three tubes. my sad, weeping, straw-like hair will never be the same.

p.s. guess what just went live... wooooo!

this office of mine.

i think it's a fairly safe statement to make that everyone in this office, with the possible exception of bosslady (who is, after all, heir to the empire), has a palpable hatred for their job. and for this company. it's very strange. and makes for a difficult environment. because we're all tense, and testy, and the strangest things set us off. sally sue's been cruising around like a martyr, looking like she's about ready to kill everything in her path; triniwoman spends every second she's in this office screaming about someone's stupidity and how much she hates this place. the aussie is terrified for his job, because heads in his department have begun to roll. newgirl just knows better than to be happy with what we're getting here. the russian is getting no support from the rest of his department for anything he has to do. he's lost.

and then there's me.

and we don't need to clarify what i have to say about the whole situation, do we, mein liebchens? suffice it to say that the latest development involves the utter defacement of my goddamn newsletter, which, hate or not, is mine, and i am proud of it, and it is about to lose every shred of its aesthetic integrity.

so that's new.

this office is not healthy for children and other living things.

god, the next two hours are going to be long.

i might go so far as to say endless.

isn't that always the way, though, when there's something you're looking forward to?

drugstore sages

when you stop to think about it, the people who work at your local drugstore probably know more about you than you care to acknowledge. they know about everyone that comes rolling through on a regular basis. they know when youíve got someone to share your bed, when you are having your monthly battle with the moon (ladies), when youíve got a raging fungal infection. they know when you are suffering from whatever tropical disease it is you suffer from, when that's flaring up. whether you color your hair. or have digestive issues.

does anyone else find that intimidating? you would if you met the staff at the drugstore i tend to use.

yeep.

bored.

it's too bad that everything in the world is more interesting than what i have to do today...oh look! eraser shavings!

"me, me, me" "me too!"

if you live anywhere within the five boroughs, you're probably rejoicing this very morning about the fact that the goddamn MTA has had a dent put in its megalomaniacal pride courtesy of a supreme court justice overturning their astronomically ridiculous fare hike.

that's right. the subway only costs $1.50 yet again. that'll teach you to cook your books better, motherfuckers.

i never quite understood how exactly they justified a 33% hike, anyway. where was this money supposed to go? i somehow doubt it was earmarked for the actual nyc subway. if it had been, i wouldn't have minded the hike, because presumably, that would have meant that we would cease to have debacles such as we experienced last night.

(oh, by the way--go go go go see this immediately. because you know you really wish you could do this:
)

ah, last night.

last night was the unofficial official opening of the matrix reloaded. and we were there. camped out for three hours prior to door open, subjected to rabid screaming fans who had no qualms about telling the projectionist what a moron (s)he was (which i, frankly, was a part of. not only were the first few minutes of the movie shown with the wrong aspect ratio, thus ensuring that all the actors were reeeeeaalllly skinny and had no foreheads, but we got the first few minutes with the lights on, too), initializers of a quasi stampede that was more amusing than anything. and oh, it was lovely and amazing and wonderful. i did enjoy that film immensely. and will probably go see it again.

the irritation came afterwards, stumbling out at a quarter past one. staggering over to cortlandt street to catch our train. waiting a good chunk of time for the train to actually deign to arrive, whilst four northbound trains glide across the opposite track. ah, the logic of the mta. i got home around two. i am exhausted today. i have to wake up enough to make it through today (including scary scary personal training session) AND through hot date tonight.

stay tuned for further details, once my coffee kicks in.

wooot!

typical afternoon

j. lo is about to become jennifer affleck. i am supposed to be writing an article on pet passports. (i would rather rip out my eyeballs). it's another typical afternoon in the hood.

a call to arms (so to speak)

all right, kids. now is the moment to decide. apparently, that dance label that rejected our remix would like me to submit some of my other songs to see if there's anything they'd like to see remixed.

dah!

yeah, so, i need to pick something. something angsty, something with a good hook.

what to choose, what to choose...i need your help. if you've got a sec, please checkout these sites of mine and check out the tracks, and please, please cast your vote. this is mad crazy important and i think i'm a little too close to the work to be objective anymore.

help!

diwalli

i was asked the other day what Diwalli (or Deepavali was); i didn't remember at the time, all i could recall was that it was a festival of lights, of lamps and candles. today i remember it is the start of the hindu new year, a commemmoration of the return of Rama to Ayodhya after a 14-year exile. the lamps are lit to celebrate the triumph of good over evil, and to celebrate the glory of light.

and there you go.

tuesday. ugh.

good lord, am i just in no fit state to be dealt with. there is going to be a quite a bit of tongue biting.

and, lamentably, probably just my own.

antifolk

i just sat throuhg five and a half hours of the most godawful music in the nyc singer songwriter scene, courtesy of the antihoot (if you're familiar with a performer known as 'cockroach,' you know what i'm talking about)...only to be told that i'm not quite up to snuff for them to book me there.

great.

well.

only one more thing needs to happen this week to make it par for the course of my life. and some of you know what i'm talking about.

fuck not jumping to conclusions. what the hell am i doing?

conclusions?

i've been counseled not to pay attention to the conclusions to which i'm supposed to jump today. which actually makes sense to me now. given the conclusions i tend to jump to. particularly the ones i've run through today.

i didn't even jump to them. i took a step, took stock of the roads i know, and the conclusions were there.

but i'm ignoring them. I AM IGNORING THEM. i've decided to ignore them.

so won't it be ironic if it turns out that the conclusion i am assiduously not jumping to turns out to be the truth, as opposed to the conclusion that i am steadfastly manufacturing for myself. if the latter is the conclusion i'm supposed to be wary of.

the question is, does the mandate count on manufactured conclusions?

does that make any sense at all?

i can't wait until i start to be sure of this whole situation about which i speak, because i want to talk about it. i want to talk about it a lot. but more importantly, i want it to be what it resembles.

in other news (speaking of conclusions, or potential conclusions), miz ladything with the locked diary: whyfore have you forsaken us? alas!

james bond is such a smoothie

so, i've got this sick grin on my face right now, hardly par for the course on a saturday morning. the litany of things that are making me overtly content:

1. this one seems to be getting a bit of the happy from my music. and that brings me more happy than i can possibly convey. hey there tiger, you know i can hook you up with a large pile of tracks, should you feel inclined to sift through the music in its evolutionary stages. just saying.

2. a mystery guest will be appearing on stage tonight, quite possibly. hee!

3. the dvd of 'the truth about charlie' has 'charade' on the flipside. now, for those of you who have been living under rocks forever, charade is the audrey hepburn/cary grant film upon which 'charlie' was based. so good.

4. goldeneye is on tv. i love this movie. i love it so much.

and...and...yeah. a large pile of some really good news. i dig it.

though, still no word from NXNE. let's send them some vibes to make them speed their asses up so i can figure out just how i'm going to get there, eh?

won't you?

close my eyes and surprise me.

and while we're talking about ani

flashing back to senior year, hazy and dry in the month of may, three weeks from freedom, three weeks from what we knew would be the last time we'd see so many of these people who made up the pointilist picture of our lives to this point. restless. excited. worried. distracted.

piled into a 78 volvo sedan, auburn leather interior, to drive four blocks for coffee and another four to the house of the smallest, she behind the wheel. it's early enough that the fog has not burned off the streets yet but the daffodils are blooming and my eyes are on fire.

and then we arrive. and we trundle out. and we collapse on the sofa, the sofa in the center room of this cozy victorian home near the high school. and we put on living in clip. disc 2. and all conversation falls silent. and all we can do is listen. and contemplate. it is listening to this album that we all get the first impression of just what it is we're all going to be getting into, of what we're all about to do.

and it's scary. and it's wonderful. and i remember at those moments being so suffused with agitation and contentment, pulling like a restless pony so anxious to run towards my future, to find out what i'll become, content to stay where i am with these people i love in this place i've learned to call home.

i still remember that, nearly six years hence, i remember it so well. and i still use it as one of my benchmarks of happiness.

even though i haven't spoken to them in several years.

in the mix

okay. tentative tracklisting for the aforementioned ani mix: shy/cradle and all/32 flavors/if he tries anything/both hands/amazing grace (live)/in or out (live)/shameless (live)/imperfectly/rush hour/anticipate/gravel/two little girls/deep dish/overlap/out of range/angry anymore/untouchable face

damn me for having dilate on cassette instead of cd, and no money with which to purchase it!

should be getting word of NXNE today. everyone keep a finger or two crossed for me, eh?

memory loss

i try to call up the image and it refuses to take shape. the streak gets broken, and i can't remember how it felt. i can't remember the view from there.

and yet, i still recall scenes from adolescence that continue to bring a flush to my cheek, though whether out of embarrassment or something else entirely, that remains to be seen.

god in a bottle

me: hey, i haven't played this song at a show in forever!

him: you know, you're right! it's been a really long time. and you know what's funny about that song? it's pretty much one of the only ones in your repertoire that's not directly about your love life.

me: that's right! it's about my friend's lovelife.

both ha!

underground in mongolia

i dreamed last night that i was riding a horse into the world beneath, starting from an entrance somewhere in the wilds of mongolia. it was cold. it was dark. and it made me realize that i really need to stop reading about ulaanbataar. it's starting to mess with my head.

return of the horoscope

This week's horoscope: Western science and religion have differing views on how the universe was created, but they agree that it happened a long time ago. Tantra and other less publicized spiritual traditions, on the other hand, assert that the universe is recreated anew in every moment through the divinely erotic play of God and Goddess. They say that if we humans treat love-making as an experimental sacrament, we can attune ourselves to the union of the two primal deities and, in a sense, participate in the ongoing creation of the world. So are you up for some cosmos-generating sex this week, Pisces? The astrological omens say you are.

um, okay.

anarchy!

today's the last day of bosslady's absence from the office. therefore, we are all doing our best to do the right thing and take turns abusing the office's access to free long distance and photocopying our faces.

eyebrow

i have an obsession with my right eyebrow. there's something about the texture of the hair, i don't know what, that makes it so tactilely satisfying it borders on the alarming. it has become my nervous tick, my signal of deep thought, the action that replaces smoking while i am chained to my desk.

yes, i know it's odd. hush. better that, i say, than chewing my hair. or scratching my...well. i'm sure you can imagine...

lost and found

i'm still trying to figure out why i went into the city last night. i had no particular reason to. i didn't go with anyone. i'd had two engagements scheduled and canceled them both. the weather was foul, unbelievably foul. all things considered, i should have stayed home.

but, of course, i didn't.

i suppose i was seeking some sort of solitude, i'm not really sure. at least that would make some sort of sense to me: contrary to popular belief, there is no easier place to be by yourself than in the middle of a city during a rainstorm. i stood by the statue of george washington, smoking a cigarette. i was the only one standing on the flagstones; everyone else was huddled by the subway pavilion. i went to a sake bar for a lychee martini. i walked around a bit. and then i went home.

a strange choice of sojourn for the girl in love with her borough. and her friends.

i guess...i guess that sometimes you have to listen to what your subconscious tells you, and mine was, i suppose, telling me that the time had come to reconnect with myself in a new setting.

i've not been feeling like myself lately, or at least like the construct i understand myself to be. i wonder if this little adventure means i might be on the path to recovering, or am i on the road to something else entirely?

whichever it is, i hope i stop feeling like something you scrape off the bottom of your shoe.

.

i'm trying hard not to think about it, because nothing fucks up a good dream like hope.

comp

okay. working on an ani difranco compilation for a friend of mine; suggestions as to which songs i should include? (keeping in mind that i only have the albums up to little plastic castle)

still no word

i haven't heard from that goddamn festival yet. it's causing me to develop a massive psychosis. or neurosis, i forget which. all i know is that i find myself checking my email more obsessively than usual, holding my breath when the inbox tally jumps over zero...disappointment every time. the thing is, the festival's in four weeks. and i have to fund raise. how the hell am i going to get myself to canada if i only get two weeks to get myself together?

dah!

no, not *that* chairman of the board. unfortunately.

p.s. chairman of the board in the office today. wish me luck.

girl on girl action

well. this was a weekend of voracious entertainment, that's for damn sure.

did any of you actually catch alias last night? sweet chewbacca! it featured:

-the best girl-on-girl fight scene. ever. in the history of everything.

-hong kong

-michael vartan speaking french

-spymommy. jumping off a building.

-sydney in red leather in an s&m club dungeon

-the line "my loyalties are flexible." mmmm, sark.

-will tippin naked on the top. yummy.

it was...utterly out of control. and amazing. and i'm already chewing my nails for the season premiere, five months hence. thank god the dvd hits in september. not like i can wait till then, anyway, but we take what we can get, really.

just...you know. in keeping with the weekend's entertainment

You are Rogue!

You are sexy and strong willed, and able to take on
just about anyone. You long for a serious
relationship, but whenever you begin to get
close to someone things always seem to take
turns for the worse. But you have dealt with
this lack of closeness with an almost constant
flirtacious behavior.

Which X-Men character are you most like?
brought to you by Quizilla

just call me 'coach'

it's amazing to watch history repeat itself with a change in the cast of characters. it's almost entertaining, because having been through it yourself, you know how to play the game. you can teach the newcomer to avoid the pitfalls and suggest good survival strategies, because you've come to learn over time the mechanisms behind the madness.

the only regret is that not everything has changed, and some cycles seem doomed to repeat themselves.

and, naturally, i feel endlessly thankful that, for once, the cycle is not mine. which, of course, makes me feel a bit guilty.

oh, and

p.s. x-men 2 is phenomenal. kareoke is fun. both activities were engaged in today. whee.

dreaming

i keep having these dreams...

fanclub!

someone joined my fan club on mp3.com.

which is cool, except that i don't actually have a fan club on mp3.com. haven't activated it, and am unlikely to do so, given that they want me to pay them for the privilege.

so, dear, sweet, cherished signee, if you know you who are, or you know who it was, be a sport and get in touch directly? then i can put you/them on the actual, active, useful list!

wooha!

makes the people come together

i don't understand how it is that sally sue is so against the concept of music in the workplace. i'm not talking big group stereo setup; i'm thinking more along the lines of walkman, just to give you some context. she says that she finds it difficult to work when there's any noise whatsoever. it distracts her.

this is utterly mystifying to me.

at this moment, i have removed my headphones for the first time today, because i couldn't think of anything to listen to (surely a sign that i have a moral duty to go out and spend money i haven't got on new tunes, wouldn't you say?). and i am both shocked and horrified by the kind of quiet we have in here. it's a palpable quiet, it's a vortex and a vaccuum, and i feel it setting its hooks into me as i type. it's a strange kind of quiet. it's the quiet of a suffering industry and a suffering staff, laboring away inside when it can see through the window that the traders downstairs are pouring out the doors of the building, early summer hours that will never take root in this flourescently lit room.

really. this place is depressing enough without having to listen to the drone of the lights and the occasional siren from outside. give me some sparkly drums and some jangly guitars any day of the week. let one less of my senses be so painfully aware of where i am and what i'm doing.

must...replace...headphones...now...but what to listen to?

the playlist

the mix that soothes the savage beast (it's perfect for large swathes of mindless, frustrating work):

story of a boring town-less than jake

hate to say i told you so-the hives

i love nyc-andrew wk

attack of the ghost riders-raveonettes

damn shame-jay farrar

i hear noises-tegan and sara

the city-dismemberment plan

grace-ruby

push it-garbage

sing it back-moloko

always your way-my vitriol

romeo-basement jaxx

don't ask me-ok go

try it, it works.

today

today, i am wearing taffeta. today, i break every rule in the company handbook pertaining to dress code. today, i must finish dealing with the goddamn email newsletter subscription list. today, i cannot get into my work email. today, i am listening to tegan and sara. today, i have a show (8pm at bar b, 188 allen st). today, today is a beautiful day and i want to be out in it.

today is going to be a good day if it kills me.

runaway six year old

when you were about six, did you ever have those fantasies of just sort of absconding with the family car, overlooking the fact that you don't know how to drive...i saw a six year old today who had done just that. judging from the look on his face, he'd done it inadvertantly, and was not terribly pleased about the fact that he was suddenly careening down fifth avenue at a cruising speed of about eight miles an hour. no matter. eight miles an hour is scary when you'r not in control.

his rampage was finally ended by one of the neighborhood men of driving age, who took a flying leap from his own car, jumped into the driver's seat of the kid's truck and stopped it four inches from a parking meter.

it was beautiful, beautiful, i tell you!

and STOP calling me chesty larue, okay? it's not funny anymore.

i want to sneak downstairs for a cigarette. i don't want the guy working reception to notice me as i go. i don't want to engage in chitchat, i don't want to act like i'm interested in anything other than smoking. i am not in the mood today. not in the mood to cope with the fact that he touches me too much, takes any excuse to touch me. i am no longer comfortable with this kind of behavior from anyone associated with this building. after all, we all know what happened last time someone in the buildling decided that my personal space was a good place to be.

i'm having one of those days where i really wish i were invisible. for that reason, and for the fact that everywhere i go, people stare at my chest. no matter what i wear, no matter where i go (crewneck t-shirt and jeans; elevator. hardly provocative circumstances). check the face for identification, check the tits for some reason i can't fathom. no fewer than ten people today. i hate it. i hate it. i have been ashamed of many things in my life, particularly where my body is involved, but i have never before been ashamed of my breasts. not the way i am now. i am embarrassed by them. it's like i'm channeling the thirteen year-old girl i once was, the one who couldn't cope with these things on her body, who carried the book in front of her everywhere she went. i found myself doing that yesterday on the subway, holding my book over my chest, because every time i put it down, every pair of male eyes went straight to my chest.

it's been a long time since i've felt so filthy, so objectified, like i can see in their eyes the fantasies they're having of fucking me against a wall, calling me a whore and fondling the aforementioned body parts, and then leaving me for dead to go back to their wives. and their eight children.

that's what i see. that's what i feel. that's why i started yesterday by spitting at someone.

daily

words of the day: spigot. bramble. tachyon. pickwick. imbroglio. bouffant.

quote of the day: Blood red--the loud, raw, throbbing red that doesn't take any crap from anybody--is the favored color of fuck-me pumps, brothel doors, and Susan Powter. Surprising? Hardly. As if ordinary red--the jaunty rouge of saucy birthday balloons and butt boils--could possibly have enough chutzpah to be Susan Powter's most cherished hue.

(from the stranger. go read it. now.)

the new new america

i'm trying to concentrate. really i am. i'm trying hard to accomplish this farce that is loosely termed "my job." but my mind is just...it's satisfying its own wanderlust. i wonder if perhaps it's the weather; these hazy gray days always tend to make me more introspective. difficult to tell. but i'm thinking fuzzy thoughts, i'm thinking through jell-o, i'm thinking through cotton wool. i'm thinking about how things change, and how people change, and how it upsets me that there are those whose company i just don't enjoy so much any more. and there are those who don't enjoy *my* company so much any more. tit for tat. cosmic balance, i suppose. i'm thinking about last year and last summer, and why it is that everything just seems so much worse than it did this time last year. it's like we've lost our last scraps of hope. like we've resigned ourselves to this, to being poor and stressed out, to hating our jobs, to hating everything. and, for the first time, genuinely believing that it's never going to change. i suppose that's the fundamental difference between this time this year and this time last year. last year, it really seemed possible that things could turn around. that the economy could come back, that we could get new jobs, that we weren't stuck here, in this rut, for life. now, one sad, sick stock market, one war, 70,000 layoffs and a major medical epidemic later, i think that the fight has been largely knocked out of us.

and i'm sorry i can't help you. and i'm sorry if occasionally i want to talk about more than how much we hate our jobs. i'm sorry i can't help you. want me to say it again? i'm sorry. i can't even help myself. i can't even smoke a fucking cigarette in public, much less be of any use.

welcome to the new new america. land of the tired, the poor, the scared, the lonely and the smoke free. because, god knows, we can't be trusted to control ourselves.