how to be

Stupid For Stupids

Let's all send her dreamcatchers. Come on. Her little face will light up! Her tail will wag! How can we not?

Update: also, what are the chances one of my friends was recently sent Melanie Griffith (or her site, as these are probably equally likely)?

live science, you tease

Europe's First Stegosaurus Discovered

They neglected to insert the word 'fossil' in the title. Changes interest level just a bit, no?

back v. right back

M'ya.

A few moments ago I got up and said, "I'm going to the bathroom. I'll be back."

Because I need to reassure everyone I will not use the wormhole this time.

good gut, good

A guy just came over to me who looked more like Brad Pitt than anyone (who isn't Brad Pitt) that I've ever seen, although I also am not disallowing the possibility of a pre-existent archetypal Brad Pitt.

But the voice. The voice.

Pre-pubescent Joe Pesci came over and asked if I'd like to have a coffee with him. 'Right up until you opened your mouth.' I passed. Then, "Well, you can't blame me for trying. It's like sperm..."
[cartoon screwed-up face, inside] The external response was the blank stare of Please Stop Talking and Leave (much different than the Please Stop Talking and Kiss Me...I hope). But he continued, "I mean..." and here's where he should've looked sheepish but instead all eyebrows indicated he felt himself terribly endearing, "...you throw enough out there and eventually one's going to take."

Gut, have I told you lately how much I love you? You may not always be right, but sometimes you are sooo on the money I could pull you out and lovingly caress you.

retreat. er, retreeeeat!

Mmmm, sweet Swedish design. Svenskt Tenn, you do something to me, deep inside. And not like a gall stone, but more like the part of the brain that regulates breathing. Right there. Right beneathe the limbic system. Oh ya. Feel that?

And while it's true I can get lost in Marimekko, there's something about the wallpaper at Cole & Son that makes me want to time travel. Or just have a big, Miss Havisham-worthy estate. And a little monkey. (Always a little monkey.)

pub.lic.

Doesn't public signage owe us the use of punctuation...if only so people who never pick up books are at least exposed to the magic that is the comma and the power of a period?

[Leaving that one wide open, ya.]

giving up

Sorry I haven't posted in two days, but there was 1) the Most Depressing Day of the Year Party, 2) sleeping a mere (but glorious) two hours, 3) the return of one of my favorite people yesterday [Sontag] and then 4) a very f-d up day idag.

The highlight of the day would quite precisely be when Bobby of Christie's (who is not so fond of Ricky Bobby references, regardless of fake French or trailertrashinato accents) said, "Kids. I don't know. The juice boxes really get to me. I mean, they reeeeally get to me. Juice boxes." [Shudder.] We feel you, RB. Shake n' bake.

This was a higher point than the start of my workday with the statement from my soon-to-be-ex-boss, "I can't afford to keep you, but if we were dating then I couldn't let you go." Have I mentioned the horph reflex? Mmm'ya. That.

winter wünderland

I've never been to Belgium, but I imagine it looks pretty much like this - between the ale houses anyway.

6° - of fahrenheit

It wasn't always like this.

And we were happy.

live from the livingroom

J: "I cut my sister's finger off once."
E: "OFF?"
J: "Ya, she was on the other side of the bathroom door, and I was a little kid, like eight I think..."
E: "And evil."

very wrong number

I hope if I ever have to call animal control, these people aren't involved.

medieval torture lends perspective

Sometimes - no, usually - when people are complaining about Today's World®, I just think about medieval torture devices and it's like, "Really? I feel like it is a step up to not have an industry demand for human disembowelment and its accoutrements."

Nothing seems that bad within this context. Example: a male friend winces at the almost-rape-y scene in Brokeback Mountain, though it's more the roughness than the anal aspect that brings on the cringe.

RA: "It's just so harsh and painful-looking, and it doesn't do much for making gayness less threatening to the masses."

DM: "Ya, but don't you think the point is that it's as jacked-up a relationship as any?"

RA: "But he was tearing into that, tearing him open." He stops, and is running the scene through his head again.

DM: "It's not like medieval torture or something, though that could make a nice statement." [Several moments pause while giggling fit ensues from mental image.] They wait.

JS laughs, "Oh my. Oh no. What's going on up there?" JS laughs more darkly. Two heads stare, and wait.

DM: And...breathe. "It's not like the dick gets in there, flips a switch, a grappling-hook opens and pulls everything out with it. See? It could be so much worse." Big smile.

alien fan mail

We've determined, Un-named 'Man', that as this symbol
:$
in your letter does not and cannot denote any expression a human face is capable of making, that you are - in fact - an alien.

[Vorg.] I just thought you should know. It is a tip-off.

stealth baby

Some people may feel their babies are their enemies, against whom they must protect all else they hold dear.

But I want to be able to respect my [theoretical] baby. To impliment survival of the fittest, I will make mine a ninja baby. (Look at that maternal instinct kicking in - I put a feeding hole in the wee ninja mask. Oh, Nature, you are a powerful mistress.)

Whatever cannot hold up to a baby, I'm pretty sure I don't want in my life.

Baby sayeth: "Respec'."

happy birthday, william

W: I can't wait until you're wearing Kleenex boxes, a la H. Hughes. It is only a matter of time.

I must point out though, you forgot a request for an oubliette. (I know, this is solely why you need me.)

motion to edit an[other] idiom

The concern isn't really over if anyone has an evil bone in the body. It's the organs that are more worrisome.

"He may not have a bad bone in his body, but - eh - I'm not so sure about that brain."

oogleGay +

Google in pig Latin

Oh, that the results were pigged as well. I was hoping for more. Le sigh.

Update: but wait. There's this. I Gizoogled myself and it said, "___ has starred in at least __ movie(s) and yo momma."

estro-djinn

In an effort to stave off pouting because at least five of my people are in some warmer and/or exotic place at the moment, this is my Forced Happy Thought.

Reasons I'm Glad I'm a Girl - with #1 being the most relevant:

1. social acceptance of the having of feelings


2. genuine emotional closeness and open love of friends


3. twirling in silk circle skirts


4. giggling


5. waltzing


6. dancing


7. swishing skirts when dancing


8. swishing skirts when bounding down stairs


9. bellydancing


10. hoop earrings (every female's birthright)


11. social standard of reliance upon dark chocolate


12. witchy feeling when throwing in handfuls of root-y foods to make stew in big simmering pot


13. having curves


14. having smooth skin and minimal body hair


15. being moved, in a good way, to tears...say, by beautiful violin/viola music


16. romance


17. green and peacock feathers


18. red and magenta


19. lushness


20. once in a great while, feeling just a bit like the sunrise


21. being able to say things like the above and only getting groans in response, rather than physically stomped


22. pretending to be a gazelle when hopping over rain puddles


23. bubble baths


24. pedicures


25. wearing certain shiny things, though attraction to shiny objects does make feel as if no better than a fish


26. lots of hugs and kisses


27. shameless snuggling


28. sitting in window sills, remembering sweet things, and sighing

That's enough. Time for tea. All better now.

cnn insults ducks

...with this headline:
Is Bush Already a Lame Duck?

Can't he just be a sitting one instead? Come on. Welcome to an an entire day devoted to Captain Obvious.

The State of the Union: BAD.

The End

commentator rewarded, innards displayed

Here you go, AQ, for spleendid ye. You can try to lessen your import within the Voltron analogy, but there's nothing saying Voltron anatomy matches anything else's.

(Excuse the quality. I had to use Inferior Image Editing.)

Still, I thought it was a nice touch to take the spleen image from a division of your alma mater.

crowley, come back to us

Remember the days, those happy days of writing together at Sweet Fancy Moses - you, AQ, Sacks, and I? We were the four corners of the world, the four (non-plasmic) elements, the points of a compass (all Shakespearean-era compass jokes aside). We were the various limbs of Voltron. If Voltron had had a 'third leg', I think we'd all agree that would have to be you.

Come back, Crowley. Let us reunite and the powers again flourish. We are all stronger TOGEZZAH. We are better. We are whole.

WE WILL BE GLORIOUS.

Or at least have stronger abs, from the laffing.

1,003 words

This photo at once explains my friend and why we are friends.

He is the only homo sapien I would consider (though likely reject) as a potential juice monkey - because in my Ultimate World a little and unusually clean monkey will make me fresh-squeezed juice every morning using an industrial juicer and then clean said industrial juicer without even once coming near juicing itself.

We all have our dreams. And nice crazyeyes, Z.

hopefully a new sub-culture

Ask and you shall receive.

These are also water-safe, for swimming, etc.

not ger-bling-bling

There are really whole
sub-societies out there.

On a note related (oh YES) to the below post, we'd considered not just letting a wild baby out only to have to watch after it closely. Solution? Possibly one of those plastic running balls like pet gerbils go in. AQ pointed out there'd be poo all over its inside, regardless of ineffectual trajectory normally.

AQ: "We'd put our gerbils in those things and there'd just be poo rolling around in no time."
DM: "Ya, or when they're scared, or having a bath."
AQ: "Pretty much any stimulus and those things are shitting left and right."
DM: "...which really brings another level of ick to the whole
gerbling thing, huh?"
[Pause.]
AQ: "That's horrible, man. Layers."
DM: "Sort of a microcosm of and within the greater grossness, even while contributing to it. I just can't believe this has never occurred to either of us before."

Because, you know, a person spends so much time considering the finer points of rodent insertion in wrong places.

maternal in-stinks

"Yes, someday a baby. Someday. Don't know where I'll keep it though."
"Babycage."
"Yes. 'You can let it out now. Don't worry...it doesn't have much of a trajectory.'"

eat darkness

Must eat the darkness.

SUNDAY MENU
Breakfast: dark chocolate breakfast
Lunch: dark chocolate-covered pretzels with chocolate coffee
Dinner: love, just plain love

for handalana

This one's for you, winner of the coveted award for Most Hygienic-looking Person Ever.

shiatsu on the inside

The past two days, the morning drinks have gone from an immediate nummy hazelnutty coffee to follow-up with chamomile tea - a.k.a. complete internal toying.

Stimulate! Sooth! No, stimulate! Not that. That! Over there. Yes, right there.

a pause

We sat watching yet another foreign flick, 'Tickets'. We're overall loving the directing confident enough to be quiet, but the real life commentary was as important.

Scene:
A gorgeous Italian woman in a slinky red dress walks down a train corridor, hips all chang-a-lang-Boom-shakalaka. From a few compartments, men emerge to watch her walking away.

Reality:
PR says, "I've never understood when men do that. It's such a sign of loss...and failure."
[pause for consideration] "You are exactly right."

the giving hat

I don't know how or where it happened, but please know - dear hat - that you were treasured by all of us Above The Neck.

Remember the time it was snowing and I had on a coat without a hood, because the weatherman was wrong and I, like a fool, had trusted him? Remember how happy I was to be with you? Your soft gray hues never clashed outlandishly with my warbrobe, but in fact often added a 'devil may care' panache. And your tassles! Oh, those tassles.

Please know, it was an accident and you will be missed.

I don't know how it happened.

old american me, for the 40-millionth time

"I'll need to see your passport."
[Puppy-like head tilt, quizzically.] "I just want a drink, dude."
"But I need to see proof of your age, that you're over 21, miss."
"Wouldn't my driver's license work for that?"
"Oh, you're from America?"

Because-a mi ak-chentay iss so bahd, zhou know.

winter, birth: cold blasts of reality

The good part of it being so cold outside that it hurts to breathe is that our bathroom heater turns Austrian bodybuilding heatbot so when we take our towels down, they've become fuzzy flowerpetals of warmth...and love, and all things good.

Home feels more like a spacious womb, but then there's that whole downside of having to leave, go out into the world, then the thought that it's likely been this exact cold slap that's been plaguing us since birth.

Upsides: human contact, all things sans amniotic fluid, reading, seeing...and that taps me out

frick

I got my Frick Library card today! Woo hoo!

Go ahead. Say it: I'm one bad-ass Muter Fricker.

Afterwards (and a few drinks), some dude was staring at my legs, bound in the French-y toile velvet tights one likes to call 'the whole of Art history on [my] legs,' so I looked at him deadpan and he smiles as if he's onto something.

I did not like this.

"If you're thinking they can kick the shit out of you, you're right."

Someday I'm sooo getting my arse beat.

hi ho silver!

I'm walking to the corner to hail Cabbie #3 for the day (long day), but before I get there, one pulls up, looks over and motions if I need a ride. Why yes, yellow cab gods, thankee.

"Have you ever hailed a cab before?"
[He stares at me in rearview mirror; I stare back, probably squinting in Whatness?] "Um, yeeeeees."
"Because you didn't have your hand up. You need to wave your hand to get a cab or I don't know you need one."

And yet, there I sat, in his cab.

"You were not born in this country, were you?"
"Yes. Right smack in it."
"From Japan, no?"
"No."
"What are you?" (Welcome to 74% of the conversations I have with strangers.)
"Actually, I'm Scandinavian."
"But you look more Japanese. That's very interesting. But I can see your eyes are green, and very large."
"Recessives are a bitch."

kr's new approach to dating

KR: "Maybe I should just do the growly bite-bite face at him? Like this." Growly bite-bite...of air.
"Maybe you should, across the kitchen."
"I'll look at him and..." you know, "and then be like, 'Yes, I have rabies.'"
"Totally rabid. Ya."
Shrug.
Shrug.

murder question

While we're on the topic (see: last night), why do they give lighter punishments for attempted murder?

The intent is the same; the perpetrator just screwed it up.

Total Asshole Thought I Should Just Keep To Myself #29834792807106:
Should the people who aren't even good at figuring how to do the most base things really be kept around to procreate?

bury me in these

You can't see them well enough, true, but these are the singularly greatest pair of shoes in the last 150 years, easy. They're fish skeletons! - somehow sexy yet hilarious all at once. Parfait! J'adore! I'd forgotten all about them, which I'm ashamed of, but could never really forget them. And while this photo doesn't do them justice, they're by Giuseppe Zanotti who totally spanks dullard Blahniks any day. These are even actually comfortable. I think he may be the god of women's feet, in a Greek mythological way. That good. Could you make fish on feet look hot? Ya. Unga flippin' bunga. Me love.

mother gains another

Beep. [where 'beep' is 'ring']
Beep. [where 'beep' is 'ring']
Ah ha. "Well, HELLO."
"What's the temperature?"
"Um, cold. That's why we've come home early tonight and locked ourselves in." Chat, chat, Golden Globes chat.
Terrence asks, "Did you see Meryl?"
"Wasn't she great?"
"Ya, I looked at Dad when she was done and said, 'She is SO D,' and Dad just nodded and said, 'I would not want to mess with that woman.'"

You've got another, Mother, in agreement with you - I suppose on both counts.

Mwa, mwa.

golden globes, minus the 'glob'

So, we're girls. We watched the Golden Globes and were happy.

Helen Miren was nominated in one year for playing BOTH Queens Elizabeth (performances aside, much bigger fan of Bess I). Cameramen cutting out from the tear in dress gains appreciation. Respect, good. Annette Benning, drink your champagne by the buckets and make sassy little faces at the camera, be smashing in your '20s-inspired fab dress, and continue to astonish your husband who clearly was in need of some astonishing. Reese, rub his (ex-Ryan's) undeserving face in it. America F.*, Ugly Betty's writing could use some seasoning but YOU are a doll. Make us cry, all of us, as much as you like. It was touching seeing so many women genuinely supporting and moved by you. You made us expect calls from our mothers (who, as it turned out, missed your speech). And all biases aside, Meryl Streep, you are so utterly awesome. I wish they could capture you more just being your witty, pointed self. Scratch that - just be our neighbor.

(* - to whoever the interviewy wench in green was who 'greeted' America as she exited the stage...by ignoring her, appropriately enough given the premise of Ugly Betty, then asked her, "What do you say to ALL those people who didn't think you should be on the show?" - we say a big, steaming, hairy 'way to be a kill joy, Queen Cunt.' Serious, who is this socially retarded?

Oh, that's right, you have your job for a reason.)(We're also sorry it had to take the wind out of your sails just a smidge by having your presenters be Jennifer 'Love' Hewitt and whatshisnuts.)

post script re: something that we know is out there, but always makes your tummy twinge just a bit - Men Who Get Laid By Way Of Wealth Alone:

• Jay-Z (Beyoncé, I don't care how much money he has, and not that you're his mental equal - most likely - but the visual is tragic.)
• and, as ever, that horrid little man, The DONALD (At least when he got Ivana, she was on the rebound from the tragic death of the love of her life and was used to Eastern European men, pre- Eastern Europe's reintroduction to general social progress.)

I'm just waiting for P. Diddy and Paris Hilton to get together. You know it's coming.

oh, failed execution. right.

His head came off. I'd say done's done.

Not like he was an attempted killer and they'd attempted to kill him but failed to do so. He'd get off on irony alone, right?

Broken neck - dead. Severed head falls off instead during the hanging - dead fo' sho'. What's the problem?

new title

Currently: Consequence's Technical Advisor

white truffle shampoo

...makes me feel like this.

Every time.

morning thus far

• to bed: 6am
• wake: 10am, curse internal alarm
• tell roomies of 1) irrational (yet somewhat conditioned) fear that casual long-term goodbye = death, totally unrelatedly, for person I bid casual long-term goodbye, then 2) resulting irrational guilt/anxiety
• realize must bid proper goodbye and 'put all right' with conscience; no cursing of conscience
• we ponder internal mechanisms, particularly when unconsciously we force behaviors that feel un-natural
• threaten to lock KR in JS's closet
• plan ski weekend
• make tea, more tea [moretea, mortea, morte - back to that again]
• blog

Update, 1:32pm:

[JS and I sit in the livingroom. She is fasting. I am unable to nap. The sky is gray; the room is bathed in a greenish light.]

DM: "Uh. I should shower."

JS: "Why?"

if i were a shape-shifter, i know whose life i'd try to slip into

I can't even begin to describe how completely bad-ass this littlesweetold woman is. And, no, I wouldn't really be able to take over her life because that would mean she wouldn't have it anymore and I want her to have it, and be out there being her 79 year old glorious self.

There's 13th-century Spanish madonnas peppering the place, along with an amazing thinly-cast bronze cat head that, frankly, makes me want to pull some sort of Dr. Frankenstein thing so it could be animated and roaming the earth forever.

Then there's the diningroom with walls covered in smoked Venetian mirror, with ancient frescoes mounted atop, jade and coral Chinese carvings, and basically the most lush and tempting color palette abounding. The room shown above is just a corner of some side room. Nothing 'special.' Blugh.

And I haven't even gotten into the actual person she is, her dear demeanor, and character. I LOVE COOL OLD LADIES.

ADORE.

Le sigh.

complete horph

This was one of the most instantly horrific moments of my life.

As my boss takes his hand out of his pocket to shake hands with a client, something falls out and as our client goes to pick it up, I reach to grab it instead.

And nearly gagged.

It was a beat-up, empty condom packet.

hippo-tortois-mus

Sometimes love knows no species-al bounds...

which is okay if you're not human.

No, it's not that kind of love. This itty bitty baby hippo was orphaned in a tsunami off the Kenyan coast and bonded in the aftermath with this century-old male tortoise who reportedly is "happy being a mother" to the little guy.

I just hope they follow the relationship and as it grows, he doesn't get all hippo (those things are nasty) on his ass and chomp his surrogate - for that would be sad. Meanwhile, this is so cute it's hard to look at.

The cherry on top? - the email signature from which this was sent read:

"Save the Earth; it's the only planet with chocolate."

You had me at hippo. You had me at hippo.

my boss is so f-ing lucky to have me

because he can say things to me, as he just did, like:

"You meet with Countess ___ tomorrow. Brush up on your Hungarian."

extent of muppet winsomeness tested

Tonight could be the night. At long last, AQ and I may put our plan into action of staving off potential vaginal seekers with a little something we like to call the Loverly Groverly.

Simply put, we respond in muppet Grover's voice to strange males.

"Can I buy you a drink?"
Grover says, "Mmmm. Dreeenk."

That sort of thing.

All that matters is that WE'RE entertained. È vero.

an appeal to my masochistic head

Head, please stop screwing with me. I specifically requested a good dream [see yesterday], and I have to say it hurt my feelings a little bit that you made no effort and have, instead, reacted contrarily.

Maybe it's funny to you, but making me dream of Happiest Times Which Came To Bad Ends, Said Ends Only Remembered Upon Waking is not nice. Have your fun at my expense, but remember who can slowly attack you via her intake apparatuses. Most relevant to last night, having me 'wake up' at various points in my life naked, with friends suddenly next to me and utterly confused as to what's going on, I could go without. It likewise isn't so cute to make me think I've lived out my whole life, am very old, and am being dumped back in time to figure out where I am in my own life, especially when you've completely created some of these points.

Head! Look at me. No, really, look at me. Come on. Let's not be like this. We're better than this.

where dad is "date"

Puke.

Wouldn't this be much more effective if the same were expected of sons? (Purity Ball for girls; Purity Balls for boys. Obvious enough.)

Happily, research indicates the cultish rituals are no match for teenage hormones, no matter how hot or abusive daddy is.

Sweet hormones. We bow to thee, for thine powers are mighty.

fox news freudian slip

Say what you (and I) will about Freud. The slips are still valid, at least sometimes.

Last night on Fox News (it was the only channel with a clear picture), the reporter said, and I paraphrase, "Bush has said he will spend 4,000 more troops...send 4,000 more troops to Iraq."

I hope they didn't flog him too severely for that one.

request to a specific unconscious mind

(Background: I'm a little sad that one of my friends is moving out to L.A., and it's not just because he could simultaneously escape a forest fire by being sucked downhill into the sea in a mudslide during an earthquake. We just also have fantabulous conversations, and even if sometimes he gives me a mildly concerned look, I don't have to edit myself - and this is entirely mutual. I like having special little worlds to share. It is a happy feeling. I like happy feelings.)

Actual exerpt from dream:
We are making giant ice sculpture babies, really chunky babies like eight-month olds, and having fun with how fluid and sloppy the layers of ice-fat are looking. There is pride in the ice-fat and a weirdly out of place soliloquoy a la Hamlet about appearance and actuality, expectation and touch, and the mutability of each. Wander around, contemplating; wander around listening to friend's voice contemplating and making me laugh. I walk off to get these special snow shoes my Lapp greatgrandparents have sent for me. Upon returning, a bunch of super-hero-esque men in jeans and tshirts who've gone without shaving for at least three days are lined up. The ice-babies are on mounts, and one after another, each man walks underneath a supported ice-baby, gets the ice-baby onto his back, and goes marching off with a happily dutiful expression - impossibly disproportionately large, fat ice-baby on back. Some of the babies start to wake up but we laugh and tell them to just go back to sleep. We're up to something, something we think is great, like a new step forward in evolution or something, and are excited.

And awake!

Now Head, pay attention...

What would've been a better dream:
Swinging from vines in a bug-less rain forest, then having my dreamfriendbird swoop me up into her ribs like usual and deliver me out to a soft stained-glass Viking ship, red sails and all. For a jester, there'd be a talking duck who would always let me pinch its cute duck cheeks, occassionally with a slight twinge of blushy embarrassment. Viking bunnies would stomp around trying to look all gruff, but then they'd turn around and giggle at themselves, and could jump up and down a series of levels to work all the sails. At night, the whole ship would turn into a giant egg and we could sink beneathe the water, sometimes luring sealife with our lights and laughing as they clunked into our one-way egg surface. There would also be lots of dark chocolate and berries, a koi stream, wing'd alabaster violins borrowed from The Graces, tribal drums, and fire ropes to make pretty shapes with in the sky or underwater. And a pair of really smooshy, warm slippers. That's a good start, I'd say.

another lauren and dahlia show

We will be girl detectives of a commercially unsuccessful nature, wherein our lackings are two-fold.

The characters will have neither suspenseful mysteries to solve, nor ever realize their own actions have answered the question at hand. For example, "Why is everyone in Southern California so stupid?" The characters go through a few scenes of trying to determine the culprit(s), but in the end just decide to go to the beach.

Like that.

menu bar of the soul

Per AQ's iTunes comment, the topic arose...

Therapeutic Evil Thought #492089790387, directed at someone who may anger me, most likely of the tech-geek persuasion:
If you had a menu bar, I wouldn't click Save or Help. I would go straight to Edit, then Find. Once located, View, then Insert: object. Perhaps a field would be inserted as well.

Edit: paste: tar. Edit: paste: feathers. Copy. Insert: break. Copy. Table? Yes. Insert table.

Edit: replace.

View: ruler.


(It's still raining outside. And cold.)

boiling water is magick

It's raining steadily and gray.

Watching the long, thin strands of spaghetti go from rigidly reticent to sea life interpretive dancers has been poetic.

It's amazing what water can do.

(Example: why I would never even consider taking acid and giving the brainthing free reign.)

hand-lotion unites 1/8 of a subway car's passengers

On my way home from work the other night, I realized my hands were dry. (Accurséd winter air.) But what luck! Julie had given me a new purse-sized hand-lotion, knowing my deep love of moisturizing. Rummage time.

Not the umbrella, the thingy I stick small things in, the ziplock still in there from flying homehome, the other ziplock with Mom-mix Mom put in my purse for my flight herehome, or the hat, or the Giant Beloved Sunglasses. Tube. Tube, squishy. Squishy tube!

Sweet relief. Yes.

When I looked up, people were looking in my direction - 'people' as in the whole end of the train. Okay. Their hungry little animals eyes zeroed in, and I looked back. Remember when you were a kid and you'd clearly walked in on a discussion you were not meant to hear, even in part? Like that feeling, at first, but then more a searching curiosity, heads scanning, noses aloft. Then the overly skinny 'do rag-wearing guy sitting two seats over on my right, at the end of the bench, says, "Excuse me, what is that scent?"

"My lotion?" [Blank stare taken as an affirmative.] "You really want to know?"
"Ya, it's amazing."
Girl between us, his overly fleshy and sweet-faced girlfriend (judging strictly by all the canoodling) adds, "It smells so good. What is it?"
Grab from purse. "Apparently," squint, "Mango Mandarin."
Guy: "Can I see it?"
Hand over.
Guy: "Can I use some?"
[Laughter peppered from our end of the train.]
"Sure. Have at it."
We watch him. He hands it back, with a thanks.
Me: "Feel better?"
Guy: "I do."
Woman across from us: "Wow, who makes it?"
"Don't know."
Girl next to me: "Where'd you get it?"
"From a friend."
Another woman, standing to the side: "Think it has a number on it we can call?"
I pull the lotion back out. It is a superstar, a god among purse objects, but I trust my other purse objects to not resort to puncturing violence or anything, even if they're feeling a bit neglected. Sorry, guys; you're all essential to my quality of life. Don't worry.
Me: "Oh, it's just B____."
Girl: "They make good stuff."
Guy: "I can get that!" He is genuinely pleased.
Woman to the side: "We should've just been a commercial."
Me: "For serious."
Woman across: "Your lotion just brought together an entire subway car."
[Shrug. Smile.]

And...scene.

Sometimes the subway has small moments so touchingly human. (This does not mean you, MTA.)

julie taymor's idea from age 12

I bet the set/scenic design in The Metropolitan Opera's Magic Flute seemed like a really amazing idea in 1976.

Julie Taymor, did you really consent to having your name used for this, and can't you stop them now? If you were in an altered state when you signed, that's not legally binding, you know. I know there's not much to do with a fantastical cornucopia of Freemason references married to the lamest romances, and I liked my magnifying bug box from the zoo, too, but it just doesn't really 'work' really big, on stage, with Tron-esque neon light tubes, no magnifying part(s), and costumes somewhere between Dr. Seuss, Japanese puppets, and Cirque de Soleil. However confusing/poor the writing, the visual "F- you, audience" didn't help.

And Met Opera knows it's turning out a slipshod piece, by its very nature, and essentially admits this. LZP found a quote in the program in an attempt to explain the poorly strung storyline, "The word 'magic' is in the title for a reason." (Paraphrased, but to that effect.) Thank you, Metropolitan Opera, for opening our eyes; we simply hadn't known this was an acceptable excuse.

"But it's a magical thesis!"

"It may seem like I didn't do what I swore I would, but that's all part of the illusion because, you see, it was a magical promise!"

M'ya.

Other than a strangely bass female voice in the audience belting out, "Yeah," in answer to the lead male's question if he were still alive and the six year old next to us lipsynching to the opera, gesticulating grandly, it was just so underwhelming (though I do still want one of those bears hanging from my bedroom ceiling). I'll cut Taymor slack because the film Frida is so visually lush, but there's tarnish on the mental medal she wears in my mind's eye.

Want to polish the medal. Wantsees eet to be SHINY. Blinding even.

now I see what you meant, god

Apocalypto:
I don't blame you, God, for being (beyond) annoyed with Mr. Gibson. Opening with the quote by W. Durant, "A great civilization is not conquered from without until it has destroyed itself within," immediately book-ends it exactly as one might suspect. First, the statement is an over-simplification of reality and fairly easily dis-proven historically. Secondly, when coupled with the ending scene of Spaniards with the crucifix, it puts the entire film right back into his Big Fat Obvious and Unrelenting Agenda.

Catholicism is never to blame! The Church is good, always has been, and when it seems like it hasn't been, that's the fault of those it overtook for already being weak.

Lord.

Anyway, the rest of it was great from a craft standpoint. Nice costumes. Um, some lovely shots. Potential for human stories. While fairly accurate according to what we now know about Mayan culture, it focused solely on the gore of it and not the 'why' or human condition of the gore. A more sane film-maker would've used this to illustrate religion exists to provide a sense of safety and control over the unknown, regardless of time, people, or place. Such a maker o' the films could easily have made the parallels, rather than seemingly miss them in comparison with today's religion and political climate. It's irresponsible and poor development to portray a culture so simplistically (whether focusing on positives or negatives). For example [slight spoiler warning]: during the solar eclipse, the Mayan high priest 'asks' that the sun return if the gods agree with his interpretation that the earth's thirst for blood has been sated...without even touching upon what phenomenal astronomers the Mayans were and that the priest most certainly knew the sun would be popping back out within moments...which would be a rather nice segue into rulers using religion to control the masses. Hello. Actual relevancy. And conveying this would've taken maybe 30-seconds more.

It was visually interesting, fairly skilled in developing a storyline with little actual material, but then this same lacking of development took away from making this nearly as relevant and human a story as it could have been.

Would someone else please do a pre-Columbian history movie, and actually delve into the empires? Come on! We have CGI and everything now. Oh, what am I saying...they'll all be cheesy - UNLESS [internal gong of happy idea] Edward Norton writes it. Would someone take this up with him? For me? Pretty please?

flattery

"If you were running a Communist country, everyone would want to be Communist." - Patryk [on my efficiency plotting in even the least significant things]

Sweet-talker.

not that easy, god

No, GOD, you aren't changing my mind.

Bring on the crazy plumed-men, account errors with my cell phone bill, lease re-signing issues with our invisible landlord, and the FBI wanting to ask still more questions about the stolen Picasso at work. I'm STILL going to go see Apocalypto. I know Mel Gibson is genetically inclined towards severely retarded tendencies, but, look, I've been wanting to see a movie realize pre-Columbian history since I was like seven or eight years old.

I can't help it.

Lay off.

recanting encouragement of feather-wearing by humans

A man got on the L this morning at 1st Ave with what at first seemed a self-styled buccaneer's hat, festooned with mismatched and occasionally worn and/or flaccid plumage (for these were plumes). Time to gauge crazosity.

Other details: a hat band made of craftstore plastic beads but not faceted because that would be unfashionable, a generally angry countenance, some sort of Marine 'Wing' jacket. Then the bird chirps started.

Oh yes. He'd spent plenty of time developing these. At first a few eyebrows twitched, but what's there to do beyond be annoyed at some freak's need to make bird noises. On the other side of the pole I was fortunate enough to be sharing with said freak, the bird noises stopped. His head darted out from side to side, to see if anyone had 'figured out' he was making the sounds (or so I assume).

He became disgusted. With us. Us all. All us paltry PEOPLE.

"God damn f&ckers. Never change. Always the same. Nothing never no different. I should just...[assorted violent fantasies, tuned out while I pondered his not double- but triple-negative]." Ah, Union Square, old friend. Take me into your belly. And make the birdman trip and lose his hat or at least not get on my next train.

We exited. As I neared the stairs, cawing echoed down the platform. People laughed.

2 days into 2007

Though our annual Most Depressing Day of The Year Party is still weeks away, AQ and I have gotten a headstart on general pessimism for the year. It's our way of consummating time.

And here are some of our special greeting cards we've proposed offering, in AQ/DM Sandwich Form:

Sorry to hear about the untimely death of your philandering husband.
May suspicion continue to be deflected from you. - AQ

Felicitous salutations on your engagement.
Always remember the joy you feel now. It's a comfort in the end. - DM

Sorry to hear about the loss of your beloved grandmother.
Unlike last time, they won't find her roaming the streets.
Just know these things happen, which was clearly her attitude when she wrote you out of the will. - DM

Congratulations on your recent arrival!
Sure, he's a little funny-looking, but look on the bright side: now he has to develop a personality. - AQ

et fin