The Random Babblings of a Bewildered Young Girl

Kenya Dig It?

2006-02-05T20:23:00.000-05:00

In seventh grade my science teacher assigned the first of many term papers. The topic was to chose any vertebrate that we'd like and describe their pertinence to their native region, specific characteristics, etc.

As surprising as it might be to any one who knows all about me and my slacker tendencies today, back in my youth I was a studious and active class participant.

Thus, this term paper was of the utmost importance.
Which pissed me off because I had absolutely no idea which animal to chose.
I wanted to be "original", which meant no lions or zebras, but I didn't want to be the chick researching the sloth or anteater either.
And so, one way or another after much debate, I ended up in the ape family and from there narrowed it down to mountain gorillas.

Almost immediately I became infatuated with the mountain gorilla.
I read up on Dian Fossey, watched Congo probably a few too many times, and I even sent a letter to a textbook series publishing company asking if they would send me a copy of the edition centered around apes.

I also played clarinet in the school band and sat with the Asian girls at lunch: do not judge me.

But above all while constructing the paper all I wanted to do was go to Africa, the cradle of life. Specifically the areas afflicted with civil strife where the dwindling population of mountain gorillas lived.
Now keep in mind this was my stage of development post-Spice Girl appreciation but several years before my gothic whore phase, and so I might've been a little confused at my very best.

Yet regardless of the interesting looks I got that year when I replied "A primatologist" after adults would ask me what I wanted to be when I grow up, I held fast to my wish to travel into the African midst.

Then, puberty finished off, high school came around, and the only exotic greenlands I was interested in came from Josh, the local dealer.

I pretty much forgot about my fascination with Africa and the mountain gorillas until earlier this year when my uncle, a big man in the pediatric AIDS field, said he was going to live and work in Kenya for the better part of the year. He told me that my cousins and aunt were going to join him there and, aware of my earlier interest in the African landscape, invited me to come along.

Strangely, although my mother won't let me go more than a three hour radius from home to attend college, she consented to letting me go visit my uncle in Kenya with little to no alcoholic encouragement.

I was shocked, excited, and when I heard my flight would be landing in Amsterdam before transferring to Kenya, I was interested in the best smuggling techniques.

Though for the first few weeks of travel arrangements I was almost certain something would prevent my trip, now, only a month away from my prebooked flight I can hopefully safely say that I'm going to Africa.

Now all I have to do is get inoculated for about eleven different diseases in order to avoid death and other such uncomfortable ailments on my trip.

But a few shots in exchange for getting the chance to knock out one of my lifelong dreams after less than a decade of yearning, well that isn't bad at all.

Shameless Self Promotion

2005-11-20T16:25:00.000-05:00

Have you ever searched your name on Google?
You always look around a few times to make sure no one can see you type it. And you know it's perverse and conceited, but that's pretty much the appeal of it.

Well..yeah, me neither.

But hypothetically I did something similar to that today and searched "missmojorising.blogspot.com" in blogger's database.
Yes, I am dirty.

I didn't really expect to find anything of interest from this hypothetical search but I was in the midst of a history essay and had grown tired of playing with myspace.

Strangely, though, the first item pulled up by the search was a review of my site.

At first I was shocked that someone had actually expended time on not only scanning my blog but then formulating an opinion on it and posting his conclusions.
Then I was a bit sad that this poor mislead man had actually expended said time on it.
But then I was happy again that I hadn't been entirely right about no one reading my blog. After all I'm a seventeen year old female, I need incessant amounts of attention.

And so I'm shamelessly whoring out my review because well, I need incessant amounts of attention.
Plus it's still rather cool that someone I don't even know took a few minutes to acknowledge my babblings, no matter how random.

P.S. Shut up, I'm still on hiatus.

From the Desk Of:

2005-11-01T16:20:00.000-05:00

Okay, so I'm back momentarily. I still plan on upholding this blogger recession of mine, but I was just handed something that may not completely "boring 'n stuff". And if it is, oh well. Shove it.

So today I had a melt down of sorts. This is clearly not something entirely foreign to me. But as of late my judaic anxiety has been even further amplified by continuous collegiate stress and perhaps a little too much useless sex.

Anyway I wouldn't have even thought to mention the general fog of today until my mom came home and handed me a Manila folder that has "For: Beautiful One" scripted on the front in blue sharpie.
Obviously I was all "Wtf, mom?" as this kind of address was rather peculiar. And also really fucking weird.

She told me it was from a secretary at the school she works in. A secretary who, for no particular reason, has taken a liking to me. Today she asked "So how's your daughter doing?" and my mother, who had just gotten off the phone with me and was still recovering from talking me through my moderate conniption, answered "Well, she had a little melt down today. But she'll be fine."
It seems my mom must've gone into more detail about what was bothering me because inside the nicely addressed envelope was this:

I can't remember the last time someone said I was beautiful and I don't think I've ever really believed them. But despite my mundane female insecurity this letter, which sounds like it was written by the Buddha collaborating with Oprah, was probably one of the kindest gestures anyone has ever made toward me. Sincere and uplifting, this woman added just enough happiness to my day to make it not a complete waste of time.

It just goes to show you that random acts of kindness aren't complete bullshit and maybe, when you think you've got nothing, there's still something out there. Aside from that Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul mildly nauseating sensitivity, I can now say that my day no longer sucked copious amounts of ass and Marie Williams may be my new best friend.

And so castles made of sand melt into the sea, eventually.

2005-10-18T20:00:00.000-04:00

I started this blog in an attempt to further encourage my procrastination and slacker tendencies regarding school work and whatever other daily nonsense I wanted to avoid.

Though I've got to say I have enjoyed writing much of this nonsensical babbling for the past year, I'm starting to feel that maybe my time on blogger is done.

As some rather rude yet earnest peer of mine told me today "Yo, I read your blog. It's like really well written 'n stuff but it isn't very interesting."
After recovering from this rather blunt remark, I spewed out the automatic "...Um. Excuse me?"

But I got to thinking perhaps the kid was right.

I would like to think that some other bored people out there, trying to avoid their studies might have gotten some appreciation or at least moderate amusement out of this little site of mine.

Whatever the case, the truth is, I write for me.

Even if it is just the random babblings of a bewildered young girl, I've had fun with this project. And managed to put off copious conundrums of classwork while doing so.

As they say, "Everything must come to an end."
And as usual, they seem to be right.

So even though I'll probably be back in a matter of weeks, bitching about some current event or updating my list of sexy and deceased guitarists.

For now, I'm taking a hiatus.

It's been real <3

Me, the Little Domestic, part deux

2005-10-15T23:04:00.000-04:00

My new favorite person is Bailey McGrath.
She weights roughly 15 pounds, likes to test how many surrounding objects she can fit into her mouth at once, and has a smile that would make even Adolf go gaga.
Though getting in a bit late in the game, I've started babysitting for one of my mom's coworkers. The result, a brilliant 3 year old named Victoria and her sister, a kid with gray-blue eyes that devour every nuance they pass over with utter amazement and delight (Miss B.).

Obviously there were many nonsensical phrases screamed from my x chromosomes like "Awwww" and "Ahh, bubashana, so cute".
So yes, at times, I sounded like an old Yiddish woman (or Yenta for those who have a background). But most importantly I'm in love.
And pissed off that I didn't have a digital camera with me today which would've enabled me to post a tedious and exorbitant number of maternal-pride pictures on here of my new buddy.
Because trust me it would've been fucking adorable.

On a side note, last night I attended a masquerade ball organized by my friend's Baptist church.
In case the Yenta comment above didn't hint at it, that is definitely not my preferred, or familiar, religion. Nevertheless it sounded like it'd be an interesting outing and of course I never turn down an opportunity to dress up.

In short, rather than walking into a stuffy dining hall with proper ladies and gentlemen citing scripture, I was met with a gargantuan disco ball and a smoke machine.
Basically I ended up doing the Electric Slide with the pastor who then assisted me in leading the Macarena along with a horde of middle-aged Baptist men and women who rocked my socks out on the dance floor. Good times, good times.

T.V. is passe. And what does a book look like again?

2005-10-08T14:04:00.000-04:00

The new frontier of the internet has thoroughly integrated itself into the daily routine of pretty much anything on the planet that can carry out at least 3 out of the 10 life processes.

Whether you enjoy the electric plexus because it allows you to pirate music or simply appreciate it for the numerous occasions when you can imagine you're a 10 year old girl named Kara with blonde pigtails, the world wide web caters to all.

Though on my travels I've come across quite a number of worthy sites, it seems as of late I've been sticking to the same routine of websites.

Thus, I'm asking any and all of you for a link or two that you feel is noteworthy or at the very least amusing, verging on offensive. Pretty much anything obscure and/or interesting to spice up my internet itinerary a bit.

Or no one could comment on this post and I'll look like a douche. And a lonely douche at that. Either way, I've probably already mentioned most of my favorite links or they're located to the right of this post under Brain Candy, but here are some more of my findings that have tickled my fancy in the past:

Penny Arcade
Google Earth
Milk and Cookies
Threadless
Salad Fingers, etc.
Lodger
Happy Tree Friends
Fark
The Drunk Dwarves

"Nudie Pix" for Democracy? why not.

2005-10-05T03:38:00.000-04:00

Caution, adult material follows:

Today I sent an old friend a few pictures of myself in a slightly compromising ensemble, or lack thereof, in the name of democracy. (And MySpace).

I believe the dumb ho response of "tee hee" is appropriate at this juncture.

You see, he, being a hardcore bush supporter, offered me a deal I just couldn't refuse. In exchange for allowing me to refurbish his space page with anti-bush decorations, I finally gave into letting him have a small gander at a few blurry, grainy webcamera pictures.
Oh, sure some may think stooping to such a level of perverse correspondence is no way to achieve peace. And they're probably right.

But let's be frank. I've known this person for over 4 years, and much, much less familiar people have had a peek or two at the twins.

So, for what it's worth I may be making way toward a better America, one amateur picture at time. Or more likely, at the very least, contributing to the Hun's database.

On a side note, I really hope my family members aren't privy to this blog yet.
As a post such as this is most likely not fit for the online community, not to mention my Gramps.

An Homage to Suicidal Beautiful Dead Men and their Guitars

2005-10-01T00:31:00.000-04:00

Jeff Buckley
(1966-1997)
----

Nick Drake
(1948-1974)
----

Elliot Smith
(1969-2003)
----

Kurt Cobain
(1967-1994)
----

Jim Morrison
(1943-1971)
----

Ian Curtis
(1956-1980)
----

Michael Hutchence
(1960-1997)
----

What is it about the tormented artist with a heroin kick that gets my panties in a bunch?

I'm a lesbian with tendency toward pedophilia. Apparently.

2005-09-27T15:16:00.000-04:00

Or at least this is what I've concluded from a short 5 minute prompt in Creative Writing from earlier today.

The assignment was to carefully characterize a description from the board, in order to help build our skills for later short story writing.

After debating between the "cranky, spinster, old woman" and the "young, innocent girl", I decided to go with the latter.
Little did I know that I would soon be verbally raping her via pen on paper.

Allow me to share a small, amateur excerpt to better convey the origins of my post title:

"She was at the tender age in which she was quite aware of the attention her budding body claimed but didn't yet know what to do with the strangers gazes and glances that came her way. Her countenance beamed rosy cheeks and bee-stung lips with hair the color of the forest's autumn leaves, and two almonds, swirling all the greens of it's summer beds, flashing beneath a silken brow. Her smile was timid and seemed to make more of a frown at the corners than a grin, still her blushing face glimmered upon every flash of teeth. Her torso moved as though she had just left a meadow at dusk, and it was this air that filled her white linen dress with swaying hips evocative of a grandfather clock's pendulum. Her name was Ava and never before had three letters dripped with such sweetness of breath that perfumed my lungs with glee. After a while my pulsing organ of fire slowed to the pace of her pelvis so that I was synchronized to the beat of her virgin midriff..."

----

Virgin midriff?!
Wtf, Leah. Wtf.

I wonder if this means I'll have to resign my babysitting jobs.
Though this concoction of my imagination is the obvious product of too many Lifetime movies and a long-lasting appreciation for Alice in Wonderland, you know I wanted to get on that shit.

Ah, well at least I found out before I continued down the wrong path of heterosexual ~~exploitations~~ relations. Who know, perhaps I was a Catholic priest in a past life.

Rally

2005-09-25T03:07:00.000-04:00

"That's Bullshit,
Get off it.
This war is for profit.
End foreign occupation,
it's not the way to liberation."

This little rhyme was one of the many chants I barked throughout the streets of Washington today.

After waking up at 3:30 am, with only two hours of sleep under my belt, I eventually stumbled my way to the parking lot where a bus was to take me, for six hours, down to Washington, D.C.

Declining the coach bus (because it cost more money, and I'm an unemployed slacker), I headed onto a too-familiar yellow school bus. Because it was 4 am, it was cold, and I was tired.
This in addition to the horde of people loaded onto the bus proved I was ready to embark on a true hippie adventure. Oh, we didn't need any of those state-of-the-art individual television sets or oh-so-handy reading lamps that the yuppie coach riders were provided with, just give us one gee-tar and a bus load of people, and we were good to go.
However by the fifth hour on the springy bus seats that had been abused by classes of kindergartners, my ass and lower back were not so quick to agree.

With this I set off to meet up the hundreds of others for the March on Washington, part deux. After two pit stops, one depletion of my iPod battery, and a whole lotta hummus, six hours later, I arrived in Washington.

It was amazing. Am-a-zing.
Though I am truly not a hardcore liberal, the vibe and power that surged through the crowd was awesome.
Plus, there was a myriad of hot, collegiate, grungy, laid-back men to gawk at.
But since a picture's worth a hundred words and I've been awake for about 24 straight hours, allow me to present a powerpoint presentation of sorts to better convey the day's events:

I attempted to publish some pictures on photobucket, I'm not sure that idea went over so well, but here they are anyway. www.photobucket.com/albums/mindinparadox

The photos are not the most flattering but, hey, you try waking up in the wee hours of the morning and truckin' down to D.C. and back and then we'll see how pretty your hair looks. Mmkay.

Damn Hippies, I know.

2005-09-22T21:43:00.000-04:00

This weekend I'm finally putting my big mouth to use (and in ways other than those shown on Queer as Folk) and heading off to a Rally in DC. The 60's are back in, haven't you heard?

I went to DC for a conference something-or-other last year and I am quite excited to be going back. They've got some killer Chinese food there, plus I get to do some anti-war protesting while I'm at it.

As far as attire goes I'm thinking I should go with my "The Only Bush I Trust is My Own" t-shirt. The ensemble should help get me in the right mood and I've been looking for the right occasion to wear the shirt.

So aside from the wardrobe contemplation, I'm very excited that I will finally be able to get out there and voice what I've been satirically and seriously remarking about for these past years.

For anyone who is interested the March on Washington is Saturday the 24th. (I'm leaving from Warwick around 5 am, so we should be getting there at 11 ish. I expect the event to last until late in the evening but I'm heading back home at around 6)

If you're in the area or can make the trek, please come!

As usual my cellphone has contracted syphilis and is currently displaced but if I find it by Saturday the number is 845.590.4842
If you're interested and need further directions don't hesitate to call, I'd love to see you there.

Weird. So I found this post unpublished in blogger from spring break of last year. I figured better late than never, so here's a rather belated ramble

2005-09-17T20:32:00.000-04:00

...Granted there was probably a reason I never got around to publishing it.
Like if it had absolutely no purpose or greater moral value.
But let's face it, I don't think anything I've posted here has been of the utmost importance.
Well maybe aside from that picture of the guy decorated with a dragon tattoo on his penis.
Anyway, ramble circa 2004:

I'm what you might call the "anywhere but here" kinda girl. Traveling is my passion, guide, and on occasional savior. Granted, I haven't been out of the country since I was nine. But it's all about imagination.

Spring break is one of the most popular times for people to gather round and fly to exotic locations like Cancun, Aruba, or Kuwait. Oh sure, lounging and tanning all day, getting absolutely plastered at night sounds like a good time. But I bet those kids didn't get to go to not 1, but 6 museums in one of our nations most historic cities, Philadelphia.

Pft, I didn't think so. While they were out tempting melanoma and sipping umbrellaed beverages, I got to enjoy an 2 and a half hour seminar on the significance of the crack in the Liberty Bell. This is what they call "getting cultured".

After a 23 women long bathroom line and a 62 people long entrance line I got to see one of the most remarkable exhibits ever.

Señor Salvador Dali's 18 room, over 200 work exhibit in the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

Dali, though greatly recognized, is usually the stereotypical favorite artist of teenagers and new wave adults. Usually, people brought up on the classics are often confused with Dali's bizarre yet infatuating world of surrealism.

However after a two hour stretch of standing on your feet staring at a piece of paper with some paint hung on the wall, one might begin to feel differently and start to look at his works with new eyes.

Some may call the man, Dali, a megalomaniac, a fool, and quite eccentric, but standing 2 inches away from his Persistence of Memory, the only word I could think to use was genius. At first I was jaded as the piece had almost become a cliche. Afterall, I had seen in countless times on posters and websites, but after taking a step back I realized I was looking at the actual masterpiece, the same one he had stood before and painted and my appreciation for it was renewed.

Alright, now enough of this passionate artistic appreciation nonsense.

After such a long day spent standing on my feet and staring at some of the best work of the 20th century, and most likely all of history, I was a little woozy. As having to absorb so much visual stimulation in a limited amount of time always leaves me a little off-kilter. Though drinking anywhere from 5-9 shots of vodka also seems to have this affect.

So, in closing, all I can really say is Dali is the shit, Philadelphia is a fantastic place, and my feet hurt.

This quiz is cleverly entitled "Favorite Song..."

2005-09-10T16:23:00.000-04:00

Only a year on blogger and I've already succumbed to the filler lists. Ah, well.

Favorite Song...

to play air guitar to: Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen
to strip to: If Lovin' You is Wrong by Faithless
about war: For What it's Worth by Buffalo Springfield
to hippie out to: Woodstock by Joni Mitchell
that makes you wish you were alive for the sixties' concerts: Freedom by Richie Havens
to have stuck in your head: Such Great Heights by The Postal Service
to sing while drunk: God Loves a Drunk by Richard Thompson
that makes you wish you're from Manchester: Love will tear us apart by Joy Division
to make out to: May This Be Love by Jimi Hendrix
to feel angsty listening to: Star Power by Sonic Youth
to perk you up: Little Dawn by Ted Leo & the Pharmacists
to blast in your headphones: Holland, 1945 by Neutral Milk Hotel
to listen to on a road trip: Roadhouse Blues by The Doors
to listen to while smoking up: Box of Rain by The Greatful Dead
for feeling in the 80's: Take on Me by Aha
for feeling in the 90's: Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana
that you've overplayed: Ziggy Stardust by David Bowie
that's cliched but still meaningful: Imagine by John Lennon
to listen to while bowling: Pour Some Sugar on Me by Def Leopard
to relax to: Sugar Mountain by Neil Young
to keep on repeat: A.M 180 by Grandaddy
to wake up to: Spiderbait by Calypso
for girl power: Respect by Aretha Franklin
to listen to in a park: The Boxer by Simon & Garfunkel
for nostalgia: Ruby Soho by Rancid
that tributes other bands: You Were Right by Built to Spill
that's not in the genre of music you usually like: The Seed 2.0 by The Roots ft. Cody Chestnut
best song to Karaoke: I Would Walk 500 Miles by The Proclaimers
to fall alseep to: Talk Show Host by Radiohead
best song to fuck to: Big Dumb Sex by Soundgarden
best song to make love to: Ai Du by Ali Farka Toure
to fall in love to: God Only Knows by The Beach Boys
to listen to after a break up: You've Got to Hide Your Love Away by The Beatles
of the last year: Inertiatic Esp by The Mars Volta
of this month: Wave of Mutilation by Pixies
that's a cover song: All Along the Watchtower by Jimi Hendrix/House of the Rising Sun by Bob Dylan
to crank while driving at high velocities: Another One Bites the Dust by Queen
to listen to alone in silence: Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven
to smile to: Three Little Birds by Bob Marley
to get dressed to for a date: Sunshine of your Love by Cream
that's a one hit wonder: In the Year 2525 Zager and Evans
that tells a story: The Origin of Love by John Cameron Mitchell (Hedwig and the Angry Inch)
to slow dance to: Ballroom of Mars by T-Rex
yesterday: Can't Stand It by Wilco
today: Wake Up by The Arcade Fire
favorite song ever: I can't really answer this question

Now anyone who may have stumbled upon here should make up your own compilation. It's actually pretty interesting.

A Little Diddy of Se7en Things, Compliments of Rebekah

2005-09-08T18:14:00.000-04:00

Seven Things I Want To Do Before I Die:
1. Travel to many exotic places. (Most of which are currently afflicted with civil strife.)
2. Fall in love. (I'm a woman. It's the damn pheromones, I can't help this.)
3. Do something extraordinary. (This seems to be harder than I had originally thought)
4. Get a Shiba Inu and name it Wolfgang.
5. Maybe pop out a few kids. (I've got some time to waste and the world isn't quite enough overpopulated yet)
6. Get my Zen on. (This entails making peace with myself, the men in my life, the world, and possibly smoking a bit of the Buddha in the process.)
7. And perhaps the most important yet daunting task is to finally complete one of those damn Rubik's cubes.

Things I Can Do:
1. Collage. (It's my thing)
2. Repetitively doodle an eye on most paperwork that comes my way.
3. Cook, clean, do laundry and master many other domestic privileges.
4. Make too many hemp necklaces.
5. Batik.
6. Wear a lot of jewerly.
7. Snuggle. (Yes I blame it on the female thing. But this is one of the less tedious and much more fun things I've inherited through the x chromosome)

Things I Cannot Do:
1. Sing.
2. Control my tendency to blush when I'm in an uncomfortable situation, namely when doing an oral presentation in Spanish class.
3. Dance.
4. Comprehend what people mean when they say, "That George Bush, he sure is a good president."
5. Go for an extensive period of time without affection. (I like to hug. Be forewarned.)
6. Blow shit up with advanced psychokinesis. (Though that'd be cool)
7. Refrain from laughing at inappropriate times when inspired to do so by my particularly close and amusing friends.

Seven Things That Attract Me To The Opposite Sex:
1. Intelligence.
2. Wit.
3. Eyes.
4. Manner of speaking.
5. Caring, Creativity, Cunning Charisma, and a bunch of other traits beginning with 'c' (cunnilingus not excluded).
6. Big sense of humor.
7. Nice teeth. (I'm all about good dental hygiene)

Seven Things I Say Most Often:
1. That's cute. (This is a very versatile response and can be used sincerely or sarcastically)
For example: "Look at my new dress I bought for prom." --response, "That's cute." or
"I get off watching small children play on tire swings."--response, "That's cute."
2. Yep, I'm pretty drunk.
3. I love you.
4. Fuck. (alternatives are fuck me, fuck you, fuck it, fuck this shit, holy fuck, motherfuck)
5. Hey You. (If I say this to you while deviously grinning, chances are, I want to bang you. If not, why am I saying hello to you anyway? go away)
6. Actually, I'm quite drunk.
7. What are you up to? (AIM greetings are always good conversation starters)

Celebrity Crushes:
Sadly I certainly have more than seven of these. But I'm an American, it's my obligation to support the celeb-obsessed culture that our lovely media bombards us with in hopes of taking our minds off the fact that we are all lazy, obese, STD-ridden rednecks. Plus, come on, these people are some foxy ladies and gentlemen.

and so:

Johnny Depp, Joseph Fiennes, Kate Winslet, Scarlett Johansson, Ethan Hawke, Edward Furlong, Christina Richie, Jeremy Irons, Brendan Fehr, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Johnny Whitworth, Chan Marshall, Sufjan Stevens, Gale Harold, Katherine Moenning, Jeremy Sisto, Edward Norton, Jack Nicholson, Devendra Banhart, Jeff Buckley, Asia Argento, Tim Roth, John Cusack, Gael Garcia Bernal, Guillaume Canet, James Spader, etc.

Cult-Chic

2005-08-30T12:37:00.000-04:00

I've always hoped that I was anything but normal. Though eccentric and bizarre are generally not particularly pleasing adjectives of characterization, they have always been much more appealing than plain or ordinary.

Thus, it was only a matter of time before I discovered the great "underground", as it's called. Through music and film I was able to access a labyrinthine counterculture which I connected to much more readily than the Abercrombie-50 Cent society.

Throughout history there have always been the Jackie O's and the John Waters, neither of which I find myself having a likeness to, but both immensely fascinating folk. However it's always been the Waters and Lynchs that have attracted me over the Monroes and Jackie Os.

After viewing my first Tarantino and listening to my first Neutral Milk Hotel I became even more intrigued by the cult-status culture.

Not even 30 years ago, deviating from the norm was widely rejected. Surrealist films like Dali and Bunel's Un Chien Andalou followed by Midnight Movies like Pink Flamingos, Eraserhead, Night of the Living Dead, and The Rocky Horror Picture Show were passionately and religiously followed by a specific and minute audience and abhorred by the majority. It was in this clash between culture and counterculture that the power of the neo-underground began to shine through.

But things have changed. As usual. And in this case I'm not convinced it's for the better. I've found identifying with the underground is no longer a unique effort but a posh and commericialized phenomena. It seems I've even fallen into the hypocrisy of being intrigued by giant billboards and commercials that advertise independent productions; i.e. my allegiance to IFN, the indie music scene, etcetera.
Even the style of the "in" clothing today, coming from Urban Outfitters and the like, creating thrift-storeesque garb for only ten times the price, depicts the mainstream of the "individual".

A quote that I've always liked is "Always remember you are unique, just like everyone else". It seems that in our struggles to proclaim ourselves as individuals, we are merely edging toward the same goal, once again hurling ourselves back into the Pleasantville masses.

Even this semi-rant of mine, set off by watching a documentary on "Midnight Movies" which are avant-garde films from back in the day, certainly isn't anything that hasn't been said before.

Yet another quote I'd like to bastardize is by Goethe, he says, "All truly wise thoughts have been thought already thousands of times; but to make them truly ours, we must think them over again honestly, till they take root in out personal experience."
So I guess that's all I can hope for from fulfillment. Which, overall, probably isn't such a bad deal.

Anyway, there really isn't much of a point to this post. I just didn't want to let the bottle of red wine and well-done documentary go to waste.

This may be filed under: Inebriated and generally useless babblings/ My self-indulgent take on pop culture thus far/ I'd really like another glass of wine.

Is This An Intervention?

2005-08-29T13:16:00.000-04:00

A cult is on the rise in our midst. Luring in the bored and lonely, it prays on the weak (and anyone who can afford a digital camera). Though many claim there is no harm for they are merely "keeping in touch with old friends" allegiance and addiction have blinded them.
Where is this cult you ask? Under your very nose. For it is Satan himself lurking on your webpage under the guise (and rather spiffy though not entirely creative) MySpace.

Okay. No, MySpace isn't really Lucifer's womb. But after my third time logging on in a 10 hour stretch, I am forced to wonder what aphrodisiac force impedes my mind every time I see a computer, beckoning me to check for any friends requests or new picture comments.

Sure, I first succumbed to the MySpace phenomena when I realized that it was a wonderful gateway to keep in touch with ex-campers or other pals from past programs along with a great bunch of people from my old city days.
Having the option to drop a line whenever you like (or whenever you feel like your comments are starting to look a bit low and you want them to comment back) is one of the many pleasing features of the site.

But that still does not justify the addiction. Though I've been in recovery for the past months, the old familiar taste of logging-in still haunts me. Well, not really, but I'm making with the dramatics.

True some are still fervently against creating an account, taking the opportunity to taunt the camerawhores-with-self-confidence-issues and other assorted disgruntled youth whenever possible. But they will fall soon enough.

So I say to you, watch out, be ware.
Oh, and ADD Meeee! :)

And go round and round and round in the Circle Game

2005-08-25T01:37:00.000-04:00

(click to enlarge)

Down to one more year 'till I'm legal and on my way to becoming a full-fledged human being.
Well, shit.

On the bright side, I get to make hundreds of Monty Python junkies and Broadway buffs covet me as I go to see Spamalot for some pre-birthday festivities.

And remember kids, there's no better way to show your love than buying me pretty things.

Not Matt Dillon, but pretty close

2005-08-22T23:07:00.000-04:00

So tonight I was strolling around the upper east side, taking in the sights with a few friends from my old Manhattenite crew.

After 10 pm, you know you're passing in front of a bar when you suddenly enter a cloud think with cigarette smoke and post-collegiate frat members, as opposed to the usual skyline smog.

Passing Brother Jimmy's, a local meat shack & bar, I began to peruse the mob of inebriated Bush voters and their blonde, well-endowed escorts for the evening, when I noticed out of the corner of my eye a particularly dashing yet slutty dress. After I followed the dress from hem to neckline, past the hive of blonde, I instinctively moved on to the gentlemen accompanying this fine garment and it's host.

Low and behold, puffing on a cigarette, grabbing at the dress' waistline was not my old friend Matty D. but Christian Slater, a close second.

Starstruck, or at least momentarily intrigued, I continued to gaze at the former celebrity. And only did I stop this gaze when I realized that Mr. Slater was returning my glance, watching me checking out his package.

Hey, I was curious, what can I say.
But instead of averting my eyes as I usually do when I'm caught scanning a man's family jewels, I politely nodded and offered a gentle smile, which was returned with the classic smirk that only a former 90's actor like Christian Slater could have.

So that is my short and generally unnecessary synopsis of my encounter with yet another famous hunk o' man.
And though it lacked the spandex of Matt Dillon, I did get a devilish smile out of the deal.

It's not TV. It's HBO.

2005-08-21T23:26:00.000-04:00

For the past four years I've been a faithful viewer of the show Six Feet Under. Though keeping in mind it was just a televised program, the things addressed in the show were a frighteningly accurate portrayal of this thing we call life. Whether I was lusting after the deliciously disturbed Billy or identifying with the confused youth of Claire, the show has always found a way to interact with me.

Now don't get me wrong, I love the crude fat jokes and racial slurs found in Family Guy and South Park as much as the next chick, but it's been nice to have something a little heavier screened in front of me every so often.

Now, after seasons of dialogue spiced with dark humor and great actors, the show has been put on a permanent hiatus. Though a little sad, the closing is just another example of the reality that the show had set out to breathe to life. All things come to and end.

"The only thing I know is everything you love will die. The first time you meet that someone special, you can count on them one day being dead and in the ground."
However the thing most people seem to leave out is that this isn't necessarily a morbid concept. It's just the truth. Which is a whole nother set of problems all together.

But instead of writing an even more indepth account in which I sound like yet another angsty person who perhaps needs to get out more often in order to wean herself off the movie channels, I'm just going to leave this entry with something a little out of the ordinary for me. Content thoughts.

My birthday is coming up in just a few short days and I've been thinking about how I've missed out on so much already. By flooding myself with worry about squandering away my youth, my life, I seemed to have missed out on all the fun in squandering. So, whether due the series finale or my upcoming birthday, tonight I have something that I believe I pushed out of the way a long time ago. Hope.

An excerpt from the season finale of last years six feet under seems to explain this well:

Nathaniel: You're missing the point.
David: There is no point. That's the point. Isn't it?
Nathaniel: Don't give me this phony, existential bullshit. I expect better from you. The point is right in front of your face.
David: Well, I'm sorry but I don't see it.
Nathaniel: You're not even grateful are you?
David: Grateful? For the worst fucking experience of my life?
Nathaniel: You hold onto your pain like it means something. Like it's worth something. Well let me tell you something. It's not worth shit. Let it go. Infinite possibilities and all he can do is whine.
David: Well, what am I supposed to do?
Nathaniel: What do you think? You can do anything, you lucky bastard. You're alive. What's a little pain compared to that?
David: It can't be that simple.
Nathaniel: What if it is?

Alright, now enough of this emo bullshit.
Don't you think this must've hurt?

Picture Dump, part deux

2005-08-17T00:42:00.000-04:00

I still have way too much useless albeit amusing material on my computer.
Again, I've posted some of my favorites before sending them to the infinite abyss of the trash bin.

2005-08-17T00:41:00.000-04:00

oy vey.

2005-08-17T00:40:00.000-04:00

The Adventures of the Man with No Penis

2005-08-17T00:38:00.000-04:00

This is Fabrizio. He is Italian.

2005-08-17T00:37:00.000-04:00

Cinderella or the Wicked Queen?

2005-08-17T00:36:00.001-04:00

don't mess with The Jesus