urchic.

at the moment, i am rocking a look that can best be described as 'urchin couture;' the situation is becoming dire--somewhere along the line i lost the inclination to replace items of clothing that are falling apart, and it has finally hit the point where enough of my clothing is in poor repair in one way or another that it basically looks like i fell off the back of the salvation army van. (well, not entirely--i like to think that i manage to camouflage the disintegrating state of my wardrobe fairly well). as dom's old roommate once said, you pay for every 'fuck it;'

here is what i'm probably going to be paying for (in the literal sense) soon, if i'm to have any hope of looking respectable ever again:

1. a haircut: i am in desperate need of a haircut--in the last 24 hours, my current shag 'do has hopped the turnstile out of 'pleasantly messy' and hopped the train to 'overgrown and potentially ornery.' i had been entertaining the notion of growing it out again, but really. hell with it. i lack the patience to recultivate the mane at this particular point in time.
2. pants: i am also in desperate need of some new pants, as at the moment i only own one pair that fits. being a girl, this secretly delights me; however, having one's clothes constantly falling off is not really de rigeur anywhere but the bedroom, and now that i no longer work out of my apartment it is leaving me constantly out of context. not owning clothes that fit, especially in winter: bad on many levels.
3. coat repairs: i own two winter coats; on one, the lining and pockets are so shredded that the garment's ability to maintain heat is compromised. the other is missing a vital button or two (it only buttons about halfway), paving the road for some marvelous updrafts on the walk to the subway. i feel like in the interests of health and safety, one of the other of them needs to be repaired in the extremely near future. freezing to death while wearing your winter vestments? questionable.
4. boot repairs: my favorite boots have holes in both soles, and the heels are ground down to the point where i walk as if i am constantly at sea. damp, sloping feet, while sexy if you're a penguin, are decidedly not de rigeur for the mammalian set. i should probably look into getting those resoled.
5. socks: every pair of socks that i own have holes in them; i have taken to wearing dom's socks because mine no longer actually encase the feet (hi, baby!). wearing men's socks: while it makes me feel closer to my transcontinental sweetheart, it does rather make me feel a little less feminine. again, should probably look into sorting that out.

basically, i am a shaggy girl with baggy pants, holes in her socks, coat and shoes. my mother would be horrified.

photo finish.

so, i have a new pet project.

checking in

okay. so, i know the cardinal rule: thou shalt not blog about work. so i'll leave it at this:

i think it's possible that this place will make me happy. it's out in the middle of fucking nowhere, in a windowless warehouse, but the people are nice, the office vibe seems to be 'don't hesitate to give the boss your honest opinion' (you would seriously not believe the discussions i've heard between Boss A and some of my colleagues--they Do Not Hold Back, and still get along famously. and, thus far, they seem pretty content to leave me alone and let me do my thing (conveniently, i was hired at a time when they've opted to overhaul their entire look and feel, and nobody but me appears to have particularly strong opinions about it). i like being left alone, and i like having the power to make something not suck.

i am happy with the work i've done so far, which is a nice feeling.

i'm sure that the time will come when i want to claw out my eyeballs over this job, as always happens, but for now i'm going to try and ride the wave of not elation, but cheerful complacency.

how's THAT for reaching for the stars? woo.

the song is never the same.

there are so many reasons this song is so close to my heart; on a purely aesthetic level, i think it's safe to say that it's one of the strangest, most beautiful, most complicated things i've ever written; it's certainly the most vocally acrobatic. it's the song i wrote in response to one of the most devastating experiences i can remember having...which is strange, because looking back it's hard to believe that such a situation would have turned me inside out in the way it did--nothing about it makes for a balanced equation when measured against what i went through. tsk. live and learn, i suppose.

i wonder if i'll ever write anything of its measure again; possibly not, but that's okay--to have written one thing i love so much is worth anything i had to get through to get there, and worth never being able to do it again. to have written one thing like it is all i really need.

we haven't played it out in a while, because it's nearly 7 minutes long and, to be perfectly frank, it's a bit of a downer. and i don't think we'll be playing it out at our next show (march 16 at the knitting factory), for the aforementioned reason, and because it misses the slide guitar almost as much as i miss the slide guitar player.

despite the fact that i know that refraining from playing it live is a good thing--frequently, it's akin to dropping a brick wall into the middle of the set, which is sometimes hard to recover from (plus, as i've mentioned before, it's extremely difficult to sing)--i miss playing it. because i love it. because in many ways, it's my seven closest minutes to perfection. because if i never write anything else again in my life (which is a semi-constant worry for me), i will always have this one song which turned a truly awful, stupid time into something i could look on without vitriol or anguish. because it helped me through that time. because it's something beautiful. because it chose me. because it's one of the best things i've ever done. because if i can make something like that, maybe i'm not all that bad.

on the other hand, it's something i'll never really be able to surpass, or even live up to. but let's not go down that road, shall we?

i muse too much when it's late and i'm tired.

i can't warm myself up with the wool you pulled over my eyes
or understand why you stayed long past making up your mind
your outline started cooling as you slept there by my side
so i've brought out the whiskey, it's what will keep me warm tonight.

i was going to say that it's funny how a song about someone that broke my heart makes me miss dom all the more; but really, it's not funny at all.

actually, it makes perfect sense.

REAL ULTIMATE POWER.

in a moment of deep geekitude, let me just say:

i don't think i'm coding without using stylesheets ever again. whoa, mama.

that is all.

sooo....

it seems that once again i rejoin the ranks of the fully employed. i have one week to wrap up my freelance contracts before taking on the position of senior graphic designer at XXJKLVNSJKJHA:KCNMNN.

steady paycheck, here i come!

rock!

tag, you're it.

when it was first brought to my attention that i was, having been tagged by jen, to reveal to the world five weird things about myself, my brain did the sensible thing and jammed into neutral; i mean, who really wants to spend that much time focusing on the things about them that are strange? i certainly didn't. but i did it anyway--ponder THAT level of devotion, internet! i spent a good long time trying to figure out weird habits and/or characteristics to share with you, only to find it harder than i'd anticipated. at this point in my life, it's pretty safe to say that my inability to pinpoint weird characteristics about myself does not point to any sort of state of normality; what it really means is that i am sufficiently strange that i don't find myself strange. like every other human being who manages to make it through a single day.

and having realized that, my dear, fellow mutants, here are five things about myself that may or may not interest you at all.

1. 99% of my socks are men's argyle socks; i'm not sure why i have such a preference for this kind of footwear, but there you have it.

2. i am entirely too fond of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. though that's less weird than just plain embarrassing.

3. i have a great stupid human trick--i can play my hands like an ocarina. my favorite tune to warble in this manner is the 1812 overture.

4. generally speaking, i consider myself to be a pacifist; however, i do have a temper on me. it is frequently set off by the following things: people who honk. people who wear sunglasses on the subway. pigeons. people who use more than one question mark per question when writing (i.e., "is it almost done????").

5. when eating, i tend to leave the item i like the best for last. my rationale is that i want the last taste in my mouth to be the thing i enjoy the most.

so there you are. five little factoids for you. and i tag...um...actually, i think i'll halt this process right here, because i have no idea who to tag. suggestions, however, are welcome.

it's a pretty good question.

as i was walking to the subway this evening, i was stopped by a young man on st. mark's place. he fit the bill of who you'd usually expect to be hanging out in that vaccum of gentrified quasi-ur-hipness--badly dyed mowhawk, multiple piercings, heavily pinned leather jacket. he wanted me to give him a dollar, and as i was on my way home and don't have a steady gig myself at the moment, i said "sorry," and walked on.

he chased me down the sidewalk after that, shouting in my general direction "can i ask you a question?!" perhaps foolishly, i stopped. "what does that mean, sorry? what do you mean, you're sorry? i don't want to be out here doing this, i'm sorry too. what do you mean, you're sorry?"

now. anyone who knows me well knows that this is the kind of question that i hate being asked. i have enough middle class guilt as it is; i have enough guilt FULL STOP as it is. i hate being taken to task for not wanting to give my money away, particularly by people whom i suspect of having simply run out of the stipend mom and dad gave them before sending them off to NYU. besides feeling generally ashamed of both parties, i start to feel vaguely threatened.

but, it was st. mark's place, the disneyland of downtown, so i figured i was unlikely to get myself killed by talking back. "i don't know what everyone else means when they tell you they're sorry. i'm sorry that i don't have a dollar to give you right now. i'm sorry that i don't have a lucrative job of my own at the moment that would provide me with enough money to give away. i'm sorry that you have to go through all this to get your money. i'm sorry that i'm not in a position to give you any." the unspoken part: "i'm sorry that you feel you're making some sort of point by harassing me. i'm sorry that you think i'm that firmly a member of the establishment. mostly i'm sorry that of all the people you could have picked to bother tonight, you chose me."

for a minute, i thought he was going to hit me. he was genuinely angry that i hadn't given him a dollar; equally angry, i'd imagine, that i'd given him an honest answer. i guess i look like i'm a spoilt rich kid, or something; i suppose he wanted someone he could rail against, someone he could catch out in a bourgeois lie. a semi-employed, socially conscious, paranoid hypochondriac girl whose default state is guilt is not really a good target if that's your goal. not that i was particularly interested in what he wanted; by that point the shame had set in, and i just wanted to go home.

at the end of the exchange, he seemed to accept my explanation; he offered me a high five and wished me luck. i wished him the same, though what i really wished was that he hadn't asked such a good question. what do most people mean by 'sorry,' anyway? we bandy it about so casually in daily affairs; i worry that means we live in danger of losing our ability to gauge when people are genuinely sorry. i worry that someday 'sorry' will not be enough, ever again, for anything. i worry that 'sorry' doesn't mean what it once did. i worry that nobody believes me when i say it.

i hope it never comes to that; i hope i always remember how valuable a real 'sorry' is, if for no other reason than that a true apology should never be taken lightly; a real one is certainly never given lightly. everything in the world, everything that's important to you, can hang on a real one.

it's such a simple word, so easy and yet so hard to say. i hope i will always know when a real 'sorry' drifts my way. i hope i will always mean every 'sorry' i deliver. i hope the time will come when i won't have to say 'sorry' again.

i hope a lot of things.

the sun! it burns! it burns!

i've developed a rather distressing tendency of late not to leave my house. ever. granted, it's winter. it's not like i'm going to be hanging out on the patio at the gate in the attendant sub-zero temperatures (though today was surprisingly balmy), but i rather fear it's getting excessive. yesterday, i did not set foot into the outside world. not a single fingertip. that's the third time i've done that in a week.

i worry that, now that i work from home, this is going to become a pattern--great for my carefully cultivated deathly pallor (i am now officially the WHITEST person ever, almost alarmingly so), probably not such a hot idea for my general sanity. being more or less solar powered and all.

but this is a new year, a new year of a kinder, gentler, less stressed shiv; so, i'm trying to focus on the bright side: i'm always home to sign for deliveries. lunch is less expensive. i get to listen to the radio as loudly as i like (AND i have full dominion over it). i can work in my pajamas. i save like crazy on commuting (or lack thereof). i don't have to get up at 5am if i want to run. i can dash to the post office when the lines are manageable. i'm home at a time of day that dom and i are both actually awake when we speak on the phone. reduced chance of skin cancer. better color retention in my hair.

so, you know. nailing that silver lining et al. silver, to match my highly reflective, quasi-albino skin.

after midnight

i've been having trouble sleeping.

BEST. SONG. EVER.

so, i think i'm the only person in the world who doesn't quite grasp the majesty of amerie's "1thing." i think it's the fact that she says "gobble gobble gobble" at the beginning of the blasted thing.

however. i have now heard elbow's cover of it, and it's UNBELIEVABLY PHENOMENAL.

once again, if you know where i can get a copy of it, please contact me. because OH. MY. GOD.

it blew my little mind. for reals.

simple pleasures.

it wasn't SUPPOSED to be a late night. but then, i guess schoolnights rarely are. late schoolnights just kind of happen. it was par for the course yesterday, however, as a case of abject professional frustration and some smooth talking from roos and jason had inspired me to skive off for the afternoon, when i probably ought to have been lurking forlornly around here, tackling my work. but, i did not, and instead spent the afternoon talking architecture and the olsen twins at the hudson river park before heading over to cooper union to take in the chip kidd exhibit with jason.

after the lovely wanderings, there was rehearsal, where we determined we're not quite as rusty as we'd thought, and managed to (in my opinion) break the back of another wee beastie that had been giving us heaps of trouble for months--which was intensely satisfying. post-rehearsal was the show of another friend, who gave an excellent performance, happily before i had one too many cocktails and decided it was a great idea to stay out until 3am.

and on that note, i end the litany of "what shivvy did today;" i think my brain should be coming back online soon.

confession.

i don't think i'm even capable of counting the ways in which winter depresses me. somewhere between the cold and the darkness, i lose my way. i'm not sure if i am helped or hindered by the fact that i haven't been doing much by way of leaving my house lately; the magic of freelancing. this reduced contact with humanity is probably not doing me good; while quelling my nearly omnipresent bloodlust for idiocy a bit, all sequesterment and no company makes shiv a batshit insane dull girl. lamentably, i lack sufficient impetus to get the fuck out of dodge daily. it's bad news.

i spent a wonderful morning sojourn yesterday with jen and her MK, a social gathering that was desperately needed, even in the aftermath of the new year's celebration. she encourages me to write daily, just to keep my hand in it; i agree with her, i should. my problem is that the topics i have to write about have already been covered to greater effect than what treatment i can give them. plus, the sad fact of the matter is that the topics on which i am rapidly becoming an authority (and which are, coincidentally, eating the bulk of my processing power) are ludicrously fucking dull. which is a shame, because they are defining my life right now. but i know all too well (and without malice--don't get me wrong. i'd be bored, too) that you are not particularly interested in my stupid visa application, or my hamfisted attempts to strike out on a new career. so i appreciate your indulgence while i try to sort myself out over here. you've been more than kind, if you're still reading after my disgraceful hiatuses. i just...it's been hard to write. it's hard for me at this point to commit to a public forum the fact that i'm as scared as i am. hard for me to admit that i'm frightened by the very real possibility that i've fucked up the most important paperwork of my life. frightened by the possibility that i do not have what it takes to build a new career. frightened that i'll never write another song, frightened that i'll become a social leper.

you know the drill.

and that's why it's hard. it's hard for me to be irreverent or clever right now in the way that so many of my nearest and dearest are so effortlessly, because i am having trouble seeing the lighter side of sears. i'm a total fucking wet washrag because all i can focus on right now is figuring out how the hell i'm going to claw my way to success (because i AM, even if it KILLS ME), and the fact that my bed is not just empty but cold; and that my dreams are bad as a result. i know i've been dull all year; one of many reasons i've been glad to see the back of 2005.

that is honest, that is the truth, and it's all i have for you right now. i want my sense of humor back, but the bulk of it is sitting out in the english countryside, counting down the days until the embassy calls us for an audience. until then, i'm going to endeavor to live up to the encouragement i've been given, and write more in this forum. ideally, to write about things other than work and visas, but to write about those if i come up short. because it's hard to get started again, and while i wouldn't presume to shortlist myself as a particularly gifted writer (or someone whose interest or talent lies in this realm), i enjoy it. and i do feel that on a certain level, it's extremely good for me.

but i promise: i will make an effort to get out and into a little more mischief. i owe you a little entertainment.

calling all musicheads.

okay. so. guilty admission time.

1. i love christina aguilera's voice.
2. i really like her song "beautiful."

not so guilty admission time.

1. i love elvis costello.
2. i desperately, desperately want a copy of the cover of christina aguilera's "beautiful" that he recorded for an episode of "house, md."

help. if you have a lead, or (better yet, a copy), contact me. please please.

happy fucking new year.

there is something i find deeply offensive about the weeks surrounding january 1, and that something is called the assumption that everyone's new year's resolution is centered around losing weight. not getting fitter/healthier, losing weight. i know that the world perception is that all americans are fat, lazy gits, and perhaps that's true; nonetheless, it irritates me beyond all reasonable belief that it's impossible to turn on your television in the month of january without being bombarded with programming whose sole mission is to let you know--yes, you, the one on the couch--that you are TOO FAT.

this bothers me.

it bothers me because i understand how sensitive a subject it is, how difficult it is to maintain a healthy image of self when you are not blessed with a "perfect" body. it's hard, and the road is littered with eating disorders, self hatred, self denial and misery. and WHY? why do we do this to ourselves? why is it so hard to accept that being non-twig-like doesn't automatically equate to being repulsive?

i would love to see what would happen to the world if for once, just one year, advertisements hawking diet plans and exercise machines were outlawed; if we could just have one year without being told that there is something inherently inferior about us because we aren't fitter, happier, more productive. without the insinuation that we are broken, without the insinuation that we are not beautiful. what could we achieve if we weren't constantly bombarded with that kind of message? could we be happier? could we be kinder? could we learn to love each other, love ourselves more?

would we all hate ourselves so much if we weren't told to?

i hate this time of year because i have worked long and hard to love myself as i am. i have survived two eating disorders and the abuse of weight-loss drugs. i have survived self-loathing so strong that i nearly offed myself, that for years i couldn't possibly believe that anyone would ever appreciate my company, much less love me. it took years for me to work through all that, years to come to a point where i could like, and ultimately love, myself again. not by losing weight, or getting better hair, or getting smarter or more beautiful; just learning to appreciate myself, and accept that my inability to squeeze into a size six does not mean i'm not beautiful. to love myself because i am kind, because i have a great rack and curvy hips, because i have managed to surround myself with wonderful people. it was hard, probably the hardest thing i've ever done, but i made it, and my life has been so much better for it. and it makes me angry that there are people out there who hate themselves still, that this time of year is designed to perpetuate the self-loathing. because nobody should hate who they are, especially over something so stupid as their weight.

and that's why i hate this time of year. because the industry that is dedicated to making people loathe themselves makes itself offensively present; it uses the clean slate of a new year to give people yet another excuse for self hatred. and there's already enough hate in this world without hating yourself.

so this is my new year's resolution: i resolve to love myself, to appreciate my beauty and intelligence without reservation; to never let someone else make me feel bad about myself; to fall in love with the world and let it love me back. i hope you will join me in this resolution.

because you are beautiful, and don't you forget it.