old man.

sometimes we act a lot younger than we look, sometimes a lot older.

Fishing Stickman.

it's almost back.

i'm not really back yet because this is just the initial post. i'm pretending that i will continue to write posts when this might be the only one for months. however, with a little support, these posts might come back and, heck, i might post more than once a week!

i haven't posted because i've been busy drawing things like this . . . 

and also this . . . 

When indolence and motivation meet . . .

    . . . I stop writing medium style and start doing tons of other shit. Now, in attempt to do it all, I will once again try to breathe life into medium style. And review a homemade compilation CD.

   As in the past, I find myself with a CD titled 'Songs About Places' on hand delivered via e-mail (so technically speaking, it was a huge file) from my brother-in-law . It was delivered quite

 some time ago. However, he failed to review the CD I sent him (with custom cover and all). For this reason, I rejected his music. I did not play one song, unless it accidentally came up when my iTunes was on shuffle. We only have so much control in this life.

   In any case, he finally sent me a review via e-mail, which I was delighted to receive and in turn I've decided to finally give his 'CD' a listen and write my review here on medium style. 

   It all starts out with a band many people know and appreciate, The Flaming Lips. Good. I mean, they're good. Not my favorite, but I appreciate them.

   Song.

   Song.

   Then Tulsa Telephone Book and their amazing trumpets. Did Mark Ronson help them out

 with this one? Is or is Mr. Ronson not the king of the addition of the trumpets?

   Following this tune was Moxy Fruvous. 'Nough said. No go.

   Bracket. Excellent band name. Medium style song - which I'll let the reader contemplate - good thing or bad thing?

   Flying Around the Sun at Remarkable Speed was the stand out favorite (by Great Sand), I think due to the subtle snare drum, simple, repeating guitar riff and the vocals, that to me sound a bit like a modern day Greenpoint guy channeling Elvis. 

   Some bands just aren't on my boat. And for unexplainable reasons, NOFX is one of them. Maybe they're a boy band, like Oasis or Weezer. Ladies just can't stomach 'em. I do like the subject matter and appreciate a song based on, what I imagine to be, real life experience.

Song.

Song.

Can't go wrong with Broken Social Scene (7/4 (Shoreline)) on your stereo, iPod, laptop, or Guitar Hero.

(Fair to note that this is not my brother-in-law, nor do I even know this man.)

All in all, it was a good mix and I am value the time and energy that put it all together. Plus, if you put a decadent custard at the bottom of a sadly prepared trifle (see Friends' character Rachel on a Thanksgiving episode, I think), then I easily forget about the dry sponge cake or past due date cream. 

Bring on the box set.

Me on me. No photos necessary.

Imagine me, explaining my life, everyday, to everyone. To begin, I lived in the above trailer for a month. When I moved, I moved into an RV that was missing three wheels and my closest friend lived on a bus. 

Now, imagine me at your local Wegman's. With sawdust in my ears, steel in my nose, buttons missing from my clothes, my hair down to my ankles,  and mascara on my cheek. Definitely five espressos lined up for consumption, maybe five whiskeys. Maybe I no longer need the rocks with the whiskey.

Random Person: Oh man, it's been like, so long since I've seen you. Are you still in New York?

Me: Ya, ya, still there.

RP: What are you doing, like designing shit, like clothes or what?

M: No, not really. Just sort of doing random stuff.

RP: Like what?

M: Oh, like making stuff.

RP: Like what?

M: Paintings and things.

RP: Do you paint apartments and stuff?

M: No, not really.

RP: Then what do you paint?

M: Like apples or old RVs.

RP: Is that your job?

M: Sort of.

RP: ?

M: Well, ya, I paint, I'm working on my book, sketching, writing short stories, thinking about being another person that writes a screenplay, thinking about moving transatlantic style, thinking I think too much, thinking about discontinuing my consumption of bacon.

RP: Shit, sounds good to me.

M: Well, it's alright.

(At this point in the conversation it goes one of 3 ways and we both leave thinking how we can't possibly imagine living each other's life)

1. RP: Cool, well, I have to get home to my husband/kids/partner/dog/giant family including dog, cat, twins, triplets, and token older child/etc. Tell your parents I say hi.

2. RP: Sounds great. You were always a bit all over the place. I could never live like you, though I admire it. I'm in town on break from law school/med school/Phd program (in their head they are thinking they will make millions of dollars before I pay off a bad vacation.) I'm meeting so and so tonight. You should come (at which point we both know RP doesn't mean it).

3. RP: Shit. I gotta go get these mushrooms from this guy. Wanna meet later and do 'em?

Seriously. I turned down the mushroom offer.

Sometimes, I jog.

I'm upstate and it was gorgeous sunny day so I went for a jog this morning. I don't typically do this, but the fresh air was calling me. I did my thing and was walking for the last few minutes when another spotted me from across the street. Do I say hello? I have my iPod on, I won't hear her, she probably won't hear me. SHe has headphones on. SHould I wave? WIll she wave? Does she know me? Is it an old schoolmate's mother? I turned my head and noticed her wave out of the corner on my eye. I will forever be the bitch that didn't wave to her on Lake Road.

the way to live, man.

There was a time when I lived out of a Honda Civic hatchback - with two roommates. To be fair, we were on a bit of a roadtrip departing from our current homes in the northwest. The three of us decided it was time for a change of scenery on a Sunday and departed for the trip on Wednesday. We mailed some small things to destinations we knew in time we'd reach, aka our parents' places, and permitted ourselves each a small backpack, a very small backpack. It was liberating. It was total bliss. 

Skip ahead a few years and I found myself on another sort of 5 week adventure period. I won't exactly have a permanent address, but you know I'll be somewhere between Brooklyn and Jamaica. I'm getting rid of as many material possessions as possible and holding on to old photographs of people I've never met. It's completely brilliant. I mean, why do we have such odd connections to inanimate objects like chairs and plates? I've often felt that I should rid myself of all of my material possessions, but at last I have an excuse to do it! Needless to say, the flannel shirt you've seen me in everyday for the last few weeks will be my staple shirt for the next 5 weeks and when I come back from Jamaica I'll probably where a bikini top underneath it for no reason at all, except for I think it's a good look.

In other news - I just noticed that they've been roofing the building across from me all day. I never close my giant 3 x 6' windows. And I actually showered today. Sorry to everyone who thinks visually.

Reasons why I will not respond to your room/share on craigslist.

It's New York. We all compromise a bit just to be here. I lived in a hallway for a year. I've eaten lentils and rice for months at a time just so that I would have the funds to buy a plane ticket out of here. My friend has 6' ceilings in his studio. Luckily, he's not quite 6' tall. Seriously. Below are a few things I just can't go for.

skate ramp in the living room

My girlfriend and I . . . 

Share my Queen size bed!

Sex positive 

Couch available! $50 per night

submissive girl wanted 

eat meat? deal breaker

I should actually admit, I got a bit desperate. I responded to skate ramp and the vegans, but neither panned out. In the end, I did find a place to live. I just need to wait a month to move in.

Life is good . . .

(the return of tomato plant)

when you have a variety of Sharpie pens on hand. Today I have the chisel tip, standard fine point, extra fine point, and the latest in Sharpie technology - the Sharpie pen. Oh man, this and a beer with the sun shining. Forget it. Mission accomplished. Actually mission not accomplished - mission just began. Utilize all four tips in the 6x6 plan I have. 

I responded to this ad.

Live on a boat.

Everyday is a battle.

This post was going to be a list of reasons why I haven't posted since Wednesday, but instead I'll tell you about my new favorite indulgence - and the main reason - Super Coffee.

Everyday I wake up and everyday I make myself breakfast which involves, without fail, coffee. Specifically, I make a small pot of stovetop espresso and concoct a sort of soy latte minus the foam. At some point this past winter, I would have a coffee+liquor drink just right to start your Saturday night. The recipe varied, but effect was always the same. Since the winter, I invested in some supplies to make a super coffee at home and have even purchased supplies for friends so that they might have a little treat before heading out for the evening. 

Skip ahead more time. Every morning I wake up and see the Kahlua sitting next to the challah bread (fyi - I'm not Jewish, I just love the food). It's tempting. Just a little bit in the coffee. Maybe a little vodka. Perhaps a shot of Jameson or Bailey's. It seems innocent because coffee is a socially acceptable addiction. It also is easy to drink on the sidewalk or in the train because it goes into your travel mug without seeming super tacky. I wasn't going to give in despite all of the reasons to do it. I mean, I work from home, so what's the big deal? Who cares if I become a morning alcoholic? Who cares if I dance in my room to Whitney Houston at 11 am drunk on whiskey? These are the reasons I should not do it. I will want it everyday and I will not get anything done because I will dance to Whitney Houston at 11 am while drunk on whiskey and thoroughly caffeinated from the coffee. 

Alright. I've been strong. But yesterday was Sunday. 

Super Coffee, you win.

The Wardrobe Issue.

I'm in the process of trying something new. After years of collecting clothes, I'm trying to minimize my wardrobe to the barest of essentials. This is uncommon for the ladies, but super normal for guys. I have friends that literally own one pair of pants and when those pants die, they replace them. It wouldn't even strike me as odd if they threw the old pair away in the store and wore the new ones out which basically makes them look like a homeless guy because everything else they have on is torn to shreds, but they have brand new $1 or - or $100 + pants on. If they have more than the six items they are typically seen in (medium condition sneakers or boots, no wait, always sneakers if they are this kinda guy, ok, so, sneakers, old jeans, token t-shirt, thermal shirt, usually zip sweatshirt sometimes pull-over, and some sort of windbreaker/leather jacket/denim jacket/or other variety of random pull it all together jacket so their mother doesn't worry. Oh - but guys love socks. What's that about? I could go on a serious tangent here, but I'll resist. I'm supposed to leave my apt in 4 minutes. Now I could go on a tangent about the common tardiness of New Yorkers - but I won't.

Sidenote - Why do men of all ages get a haircut before they see their mother? And if they don't, why do the mothers force the haircut on them? Shaved heads do not apply. 

In any case - I think I still have somewhere around too many items, but I'm trying to wear the same things. I have to say it makes getting dressed easier. High waisted blue jeans - we encounter the first problem - high pants mean I need heels. As I don't wear high heels everyday I already need two pairs of shoes. Wait. 3, I need 3 pairs of shoes. Heels, boots, moccasins. Grey tank top - problem 2. I'm a girl and should smell nice and wearing the same undershirt everyday leads me to smell more like a teenage  boy than desirable mid-twenties lady. Zip sweatshirt - the only problem here is that I have two zip sweatshirts I love and the one I like less has sentimental value - that's right boys. Chicks hang on to clothes because they have sentimental value. I don't know, we're sick and we need options. Or we're victims of a consumer based culture. Whoa. Not often do we/I (I am medium style) pull those tricks out of the bag.

 I gotta go. Let's finish the discussion at our next meeting.

The Bachelorette: The Final Rose

Friday night I went to bed at 5 am. Saturday night my cab dropped me at my door at 8 am. Right now, my body is good to go even though I was awake at noon. So, after an hour of tossing and turning and attempting every position possible (insert 'That's what she said' comment) I decided to give the people what they want. The final post in what will go down in history as medium style's The Bachelorette blog post trilogy.

It all comes down to one night. Will he propose? Will she accept?

After too many dates to too many New American Brooklyn restaurants and a lack of hot tub scenes, I've narrowed it down to two. Volvo guy and Whiskey guy. Here's the lowdown.

Volvo guy - he owns a car, reason enough to keep him.

Whiskey guy - Whiskey guy and I fell in love when I learned of his super coffee recipe. As you might have expected, there's a little whiskey in it. He wears really well loved black jeans and eats meat. We both have daydreamed about going to Nova Scotia since we were 8 and learned it existed. He makes money by making stuff and contributing to various media outlets with his vast knowledge of beverages. He makes me really nervous in a really good way which results in a lot of bad small talk, mostly by me.

It's the night I've been waiting for. I stand on a Brooklyn rooftop, better, a Queens rooftop near the airport. Throughout the evening planes fly yards above our heads. Volvo guy climbs up the ladder that leads to the expansive Queens rooftop. He sees me in the obvious Greenpoint girl gear, vintage floral dress, boots, and crazy hair blowing in the wind.

Before he has an opportunity to get down on one knee, I ask him for his keys to the Volvo. He passes them off and I say, cool, see ya. Limo interview goes down. He's sad and I've just swindled his car from him.

Whiskey guy pops up from the ladder and walks towards me. I smile from ear to ear because that's what girls do and say, "I choo choo choose you!" 

At which point he says, "Amazing! Is this like Joe Millionaire? Can I trade you in for cash?"

To which I respond, "No. This isn't FOX, it's medium style and I didn't want you to propose anyways, I just wanted someone to make coffee in the morning."

"Oh, so you just want me for my vast knowledge of beverages?"

At the same exact moment, a plane flies nearly 20 feet above our heads. I don't hear a single word out of his mouth.

"What?!"

"OH, SO YOU JUST WANT ME FOR MY VAST KNOWLEDGE OF BEVERAGES?!"

"Maybe I do! So what?"

Before we decide to move in together after knowing one another for approximately 2 weeks. Stereo guy returns and drops this 4' high steel stereo speaker on Volvo guys toes on the street below. He thought I chose him. Lucky for whiskey guy.

"Whiskey guy, what's your name anyways?"

"Otto."

"I like an Otto. Word. Let's be friends"

"Ok. So we don't have to get married or anything?"

"As long as you don't need a green card or something."

"No, I'm cool."

I'm a hundredaire.

I have hundreds of dollars.

The Bachelorette: Episode in the middle.

I had way too much fun writing the Bachelorette post and, since having already admitted my guilty pleasure, will revel a bit more in the pleasure I have writing about it as if I were on the show by writing a second post! I'm solely writing this post for the pure fun of it and the two people whom commented on the initial post.

Word. Skip ahead a few episodes from season premiere. I'm down to 6 guys and me. So far I've elected to keep the following, heck, let's give them nicknames like I do in real life:

1. Whiskey guy

Whiskey guy is the guy that walked out of the car with whiskey in hand, and not just any whiskey, Bulleit Whiskey, my whiskey. 

2. Volvo guy

He drove up in the Volvo station wagon featuring a worn away KEXP sticker on the back bumper. I used to have a crush on the car and wonder about the guy that drove it. He is the guy. (Note, I recently learned this is a unique thing that to my knowledge, only I do. I see an incredible 80s automobile and daydream about the owner.)

3. Stereo guy

He made me the the 4' high stereo speaker sculpture the first episode. He made me dinner the second episode. He wrote me a love letter the third episode. He asked my Dad if he might have his blessing the fourth episode. Every episode I try to get rid of him, but he just won't go away. (One year later he will be married and I will stalk him.)

4. & 5. I call them the 2 am guys because they showed up notably late, 2 am late, the first night. However, I am the girl that sometimes shows up for the best of the party and then rides the wave down with everyone. Sometimes, it's cool. Other times you just want to pass out. See me above with 2 am guy numero uno.

6. Re-try guy

We dated 3 years ago. He showed up, asked me if I made cookies. I did. The rest is history.

So, these are the six. Of the 6, none have children. 5 of them have seen Reprise. 4 have filled their first passport and are on their second. 3 drink too much and 3 drink too little. 2 might be gay. 1 is a vegan, but I'm pretty sure I saw him eat a piece of bacon. He must have commitment issues.

I'll let you know the final two soon enough. If I can't think of anything to write about, it could be before the end of the week.

Music worth checking out.

Recently I heard a song by Riceboy Sleeps on the 'Dark was the Knight' CD that's had more than a little attention (at least by the blogs, e-mails, and people I know). It's quite mellow and has a bit of an ambient/Sigur Ros sort of feel. While writing my nightly notebook piece, Riceboy's song 'Happiness' came on. I was then inspired to create a small playlist for bedtime. I'm alone in my bed writing in a notebook with a pot of chamomile tea on my nightstand sort of bedtime.

1. 'Happiness' by Riceboy Sleeps

2. 'Dull to Pause' by Junior Boys

3. 'Music for Airports' by Brian Eno

4. 'Staralfur' by Sigur Ros

5. 'Another Green World' by Brian Eno

*note. i did not add any images to this post because dark knight, aka batman images, kept coming up and this disappointed me. plus, i can't spend all day searching for the perfect image of a cd cover or a man known as riceboy, though he creates beautiful music.

Imagine it. The Bachelorette.

I used to have one guilty pleasure TV show, Brothers & Sisters. It's on Sunday nights when you're just sitting around drinking tea anyways and it happens to remind me a bit of my own family (except we have one mom, one dad, zero mistresses, a me, two sons, and one more daughter). However, when they started airing commercials during Brothers & Sisters for The Bachelor featuring single dad, Jason, I couldn't resist. They couldn't have casted a better bachelor . . . which got me thinking about the next season of the Bachelorette . . . 

Imagine me - as the next Bachelorette.

 

This is probably how it would go down.

The very first night I would stand in front of an aged warehouse in Bushwick. I'd be wearing a vintage floral dress with Doc Martens. In my hand would be a semi-warm Genesee Cream Ale that I would drink as I watch the men pull up in automobiles of the likes of a Mercedes Diesel, the DeLorean, and, of course, the Volvo Station Wagon. All must be technically antique (25 years or older - not the men, the cars). The men would be mostly unemployed/bartenders/artists/etc.  As they get out of their cars Yacht's 'I love a Computer' would play on a cassette tape in the background, so that it is barely heard and a little rough. Varying in weight from 80 - 130 pounds, the men would be over 24, but under 40. Most would have facial hair and be wearing flannel shirts they stole from their father with dark and/or black jeans worn at the seams. 

I'd introduce myself, tell them something strange about my childhood, offer them a canned beer, and then tell them to head into the warehouse.

A few of them would ask for more than one beer to cram into the pockets of their jeans while others would already be sipping on whisky when they walk up to me. Approximately 3 men would turn me down before meeting me and just get back in the car. I would dismiss 4 guys after simply checking out their outfit. 2 would not stop at the warehouse entrance and attempt to steal the car they were given to drive up in. 1 would be driving drunk

and pull up on the sidewalk, vomit in a dead shrub, and then pass out in front of me. Another one would give me a 4 ft' high sculpture of a stereo speaker. 7 would show up at 2 am, though they were supposed to arrive at 9 pm because they know that 2 is when the party starts to really get going. One of these would offer to give me the eyeglass tattoo I've considered.  3 guys would be guys I already met and/or already dated that thought they might like me more since some time has passed. 1 of the 3 would ask me if I made any cookies for the occasion. 

And that's just the first episode.

I stole the Mona Lisa for fun and carefully placed it back in the Louvre without anyone noticing.

Last night I had a casual dinner around the corner from my apartment with an acquaintance/friend of mine and two friends of his. We're the sort of friends that need to be in the mood to hang out, but when we do, we really like each other, except when we don't.

My acquaintance/friend Dan orders a bottle of wine for the table and we start talking, rather, they start talking. 

"Kara just got her PhD in Anthropology at Brown," says Dan. 

"Well, not quite yet, I'm still working on my dissertation, but it's coming along well," responded Kara.

"Ah, my fiance is planning to study Anthropology or Middle Eastern Studies at Colombia," piped Vivienne.

Brown . . . Columbia . . . I still can't spell the school or the country.

"Oh, I have some great friends at Columbia still. In fact, Sylvia's teaching there, no?" Kara chirped back in.

And on and on the conversation went. While Kara and Dan reminisced about Columbia, Vivienne found the opportunity to ask me about my education. 

"Ah, I went to FIT," I replied and quickly changed the subject. I now felt, to put it bluntly, stupid.

"No, no, no, that's where you went wrong," my roommate shared with me upon arriving home and sharing my short story. "You should have just lied."

We started out with casual ideas. "Say you went to Yale or some West Coast school," my roommate suggested. 

But then the gears really started moving. 

I could say anything. I got my MBA at Stern's immediately following my Bachelor's from FIT. I went to medical school when I was a pre-teen. I was inspired my the heroin addiction that overcame me at the age of 9. The series 'Doogie Howser' was based on my life. I performed my first surgery at 15. I was Elizabeth Taylor's one and only wife. I found the cure for Polio. I lived in a polyamorist community in Washington State but smoked away my millions, the first of which I made with more than a few McDonald's franchises before I was 21. I fought the French for a small island known as Reunion a few years ago and won. 

Wish I had it in me to lie sometimes.

Listen to . . .

          

M. Ward on npr here.

Addicted.

Last night I watched the feel good girl movie, 'Me Without You,' a story of two best friends that come of age together - and apart - in the eighties. 

The soundtrack is worth raving about. However, one particular song struck my fancy. It was a song I haven't heard in some time, the sort of song that transforms you into the person that listens to their iPod on the subway platform, singing and dancing to their current selection. The song is 'Just Can't Get Enough' by Depeche Mode. Man. Find it. Get it. Play it. Dance to it. Play it over and over and over. Then take a break as to not kill the song. Eat a banana with honey and peanut butter, perhaps on toast. Listen to the song again. Dance around your kitchen while bread transforms into toast. Sit down while you eat to avoid choking. Dance more. More. More.

The World's Best Rest Stop

As you may know, I was on a bit of an adventure these past few days. I traveled from New York to Philadelphia to Virginia Beach to Rochester (rather, Ontario - a tiny little town) back to New York. Well, somewhere between Philadelphia and Virginia Beach, we found ourselves in Delaware. It was about 10 am. We pulled into a large, empty parking lot. 'Dover Downs', the sign read. I was simply along for the ride, and I like to think of myself as relatively compliant, so I thought, a stop at a casino can't hurt. Of course, I don't gamble, but I do like my super coffees. Nothing like a couple shots of whiskey in your coffee to get you going in the morning. What time is it? No sign of the driver? Pour us another. We start gabbing with the bartender. Life is good. We love the bartender. We love super coffee. We love a fine bloody mary. We locate a carmate. A mother. We love her. She loves a fine bloody mary. We are drunk. We are drunk and it's only 11 am and we're in Dover Delaware in shiny leggings and old flannel shirts. We were a sight to behold, though there was no one there to see, except Bernard, the bartender. We find our driver. The only sober person about to hop in family car. We all have to pee. We exit, after downing a final bloody mary. We get in the car. I speak up, "uh, I have to pee again." We make a trip into McDonald's. We eat french fries, some beef soup, and a quarter of a root beer. We leave. We all pass out. The driver talks about us under his breath as we all sleep - for the nest 4 hours. Happy as kittens.

Hi, Atus.

Word to Atus and the Hindi speaking people of the world. When I started typing today, for unknown reasons, all of the words were instantly translating themselves to Hindi. As I don't have a large Hindi speaking audience, I decided to put it into English.

As some of you might have noticed, I've been on hiatus - traveling the East Coast - without my computer. Just as I got this thing rolling, I skip out on you, but no worries, I'll write more about Atus and our adventures from Philadelphia to Dover Downs to Virginia Beach to upstate New York soon, as in Sunday.

Talking to myself.

At least once a week I am reminded that I often use my own sort of communication methods to talk. I always use words, but sometimes I don't use the correct words or I use too many, or, often, I don't use enough. I'll begin a conversation with the middle, then switch to another story, then tell the beginning of the original and then forget the ending and tell you something about the brussel sprouts I'm planning to eat for dinner. Today, I learned what it feels like to be on the other side of a conversation lead by me. It went something like this.

Person: (looking at Blackberry and seeming pleased)

Me: Ah, good news?

Person: . . . just finished his repertoire . . . it's not like a thesis . . . 

Me: (wondering what Person will say next, feeling a bit confused)

Person: (continues looking at Blackberry) . . . it's like writing but way more difficult or maybe it's not. Maybe the thesis is much more complex, the colors.

Me: (bewildered. Will I understand if more words come or simply remain puzzled?)

Person: It's like a cult.

Me: (lost. I think to myself I will clearly not understand what Person is thinking. Backstories will be involved. Brussel Sprouts will be eaten. Tea will run out. Time will run low. Confusion will sink in serious style. It could be hours or days until I understand what Person is thinking. Are they thinking anything or are they just throwing some words into air in order to process random thoughts?)

Person: (seems satisfied with said words)

Me: I used to hide in linen closets when I was a kid.

The TV doesn't work.

We've never had a fully functional TV set in my current apartment. 

We have a TV, a PlayStation, quite possibly a Nintendo of some sorts, rabbit ears, an HD adapter?!?, and a wild mess of cordage. It can be near impossible to A. watch actual television programming and B. equally as difficult to get one of the game stations to play a DVD. Sometimes, a laptop enters the mix with the cordage and magic happens, but I don't completely understand how it all works, so usually, I just don't even try. However, a short time back and caught in a moment of desperation, we became the proud owners of a DVD player purchased from a local drug store. It works, mostly. So, I've been watching movies. I'm riding the top 10 wave til' it gets old. Please, let me know when it gets old. And if you think it's already old, forget you. I like Letterman. Oh, and don't ask questions if you think it hasn't been released on DVD. I got people, man. Also, some are old, don't hassle me, I'm not a timely person. Or an organized person. Oh, and there's one reason to watch each beside the title.

10. Milk - a wonderful man named Harvey

9. Goodbye, Lenin - East German action with an uber attractive lead actor + humor + pickles

8. I'm Not There - Bob

7. Man on Wire - Man on Wire

6. Layer Cake - English accents = and + Guy Ritchie

5. Into the Wild - reminds me of a time of incredible bliss

4. Revolutionary Road - makes you want to push yourself

3. Heima - Iceland

2. Reprise - LeTigre's Deceptacon and the party scene

1. Control - Joy Division

Banana Peels, man.

One time, when I was small, but not too small not to drive, I was driving my white '82 Pontiac LeMans with a slightly opened front hood that never quite closed due to the accident it was in with its previous owner just prior to the Hassler Family Purchase. I was driving and I threw a banana peel out the window. I suddenly thought, 'Oh man, what if a car drives over that and slips?' The thing is, I really thought this and for a moment, I thought I was endangering some other drivers' lives. I also think quite visually, so in my head I pictured a car slipping (much the way our friend stickman is slipping above) and flipping over in the air due to my throwing of the banana peel. In this short moment, I also considered turning around and picking up the banana peel. 

The moment passed.

Shortly after, there was an accident where I had thrown my banana peel.

Just kidding.

What to say when you have nothing to say.

I'm failing miserably at writing a post today, so, instead, I will compile a list of random stuff I say when I really have nothing to say. By saying these things, I still involve myself in conversation even though it may be interrupting and actual, intellectual discussion. Heck, let's make it a top 10. A top 10 list of random stuff I say, when I really have nothing to say at all. It's worth noting that the top 10 isn't really in a particular order, but a top 10 sounds good, sounds better than a list, but I didn't want you to think that number 9 is less that number 2. Maybe number 7 will be the thing that puts the biggest smile on my face. In any case, it is important to know that number 1 is indeed the best.

10. 'thats what she said'

9. 'your face'

8. 'your mom's face'

7. (action: i put my hands around my eyes like this guy. seriously. and i don't know why.)

6. 'it's hard'

5. 'makes me want to vomit all over you'

4. 'i'm a polygamist'

3. 'word' - note: i say this when i have nothing to say but also when i want to confirm that i've heard something someone has said. sort of like saying 'affirmative', though i would never use affirmative in conversation, it's wierd. 

2. i make a fish face and without fail accidentally make kissing sounds while i try to make the fish face over and over. sorry, no image for this one.

1. 

Mixtape Review.

For my birthday I thought my brother-in-law was going to give me a bottle of whiskey. Instead he gave me a mixtape. I listened to it without checking out the bands or song titles to ensure a fair listen. Here's the review of the CD he titled 'This CD will make you want bong hits . . . or ear plugs. . .'

Playlist

1. Shiver / Giant Sand

2. Don't Leave Me Now / Amparanoia

3. Ninja / Grimace Federation

4. Departure / Yolk

5. Kelly's Heroes / Black Grape

6. Emiliano and Jovita / Cordero

7. Pavement Tune / The Frames

8. Janel / Schleigho

9. Winnipeg / Martin Tielli

10. Chancellor / Gordon Downie

11. Don't Cry That Way / Frank Black

12. Acrylic / Miracle Orchestra

13. Ukranian Technological Faith Dance / Monks of Doom

14. Tell Her Lies and Feed Her Candy / The Sadies

15. Triangles on the Wall / Rheostatics

16. One Everything / Chris Murray

17. White Belly (demo) / Tanya Donelly

18. Obsession (With the Sunshine) / As Human

   About a week ago I decided to sit down and listen to the CD that my brother-in-law, Steve, put together for me. I won't lie, his aged tie dye t-shirts made me a little nervous to give a listen, but I did my best to do so with an open mind and open ears.

   I can't and won't lie. While listening to track 1, Shiver, I was a bit bored and lost interest in the song quickly, though I did not skip through. Track 2 is when he got me. And not only with track 2, but track 3 and track 4. All three featured some foreign vocals which I recently learned I completely love. I like to travel, I like to eat new food, I must like to listen to foreign languages being spoken and/or sung, in this case. Track 5 sounded like track 4 except track 5 was bad. Unfortunately for me, track 6 was worse. Track 6, Emiliano and Jovita, was the worst song on the CD and the only one that truly tempted me to click 'next'.

   Man, I hate it. He got me with a 'the' band. You know, THE Strokes, THE Walkmen, you get the idea (p.s. THE Smiths and THE Beastie Boys don't count in this generalization). Track 7 was The Frames and I loved every second of it. I sang with it. I danced to it. I nearly spilled my coffee over it.

   Ah, then a transition to track 8. It was an odd choice to play next, but I shouldn't complain about the order of the list so much (though it should be considered when creating a playlist) There are, however, certain characteristics of songs that guarantee I'll enjoy it. One is foreign vocals, the other is a flute. My favorite song on the planet is Flute Loop by the Beastie Boys (though I also have a serious soft spot for Ceremony by New Order.) Track 8 was not this, it was Janel, but it featured some flute action and for this, I enjoyed it.

   Track 9 notes taken while listening:

       disconcerning children - feel of intro - bring me down a bit more - or hook me up with one of those bong hits. improves for 10 seconds @ 1:25 - good at 3:55 - starts failing again at 4:10 - really? the ending? really?

   The playlist continues and the songs actually improve - consistently - and then sort of drop. Things worth mentioning: Track 11 made me feel like I was sitting bitch in the family station wagon while traveling to a campsite somewhere in the Adirondacks (note: this is a good feeling reminding me of my childhood.) Track 15 held a steady, mediumstyle pace and for this, I appreciated it. Track 16 somehow captured me again. I don't know reggae so well, but this had a reggae vibe to me. Track 17, no comment. And track 18, I had high expectations that weren't quite met. But then again, I usually set high standards, sort of. So maybe the playing field wasn't fair for track 18.

   I do appreciate the time and energy put into making this compilation for me. I am currently developing a response playlist to be developed and delivered by, quite possibly, Wednesday. In such a case, there may be another playlist made by Steve and this may go on for some time. Or until we run out of bands worth sharing and I just start making mixes of Mariah Carey's Greatest Hits. Steve, it's on.

What if I live all alone.

Word. I've had this idea lately that maybe I should live alone. I love having roommates and people to talk to you when I come home, but they're just a distraction, or even an excuse. Maybe I would get crazy shit done if I lived all alone.

Then, I took this thought to the next level.

What if I didn't talk to anyone, more or less. I would listen, I would interact, but when the subject turns to me, I'd switch it right back on that motherfucker. Sorry if the profanity offends anyone.

So, no one knows what your deal is. You get to take all this action in. And, I'm sure a few of your have noticed, that often times, when you keep real quiet, people totally dish. Or, if you ask just the right question, people spill it, and sometimes they spill it so much that a waterfall magically appears over the countertop. And you can do what you want with it. I mean, I wouldn't blackmail people or anything, but you would get so crazy inspired I think. Maybe I should live hermit style, in a non-hermit sort of way.

I just returned from a walk in Williamsburg.

If you did the whole married with children thing backwards. . .

If you did it all backwards then you'd have a kid before you had sex. You'd have a house after you have the kid. You'd meet somewhere down the road after you had a kid and after you bought the house, and, quite possibly, after you had sex. Before you owned a house, you'd sleep together every night, and after, you'd have separate rooms. You'd be entirely casual before you met and quite formal after you knew each other for some time. The wedding would happen instead of a funeral, assuming you both die on the same day. You'd vacation in Europe after children happened and after you had a house because after all of that happened, you'd no longer be settling down. You'd be more eager than ever to lift your roots. You'd look like shit when you met and get more beautiful as you aged. The more I write, the better this sounds. You'd work late and cheat on each other before you even knew each other, but after you had kids, which makes it kinda bad, but then ok, 'cause you're kind of a single parent. You'd own a mini van when you're in your early twenties and an uber hip, yet pretty cheap, slightly used something in your late forties. Somethings aren't so good, but then again, you'd probably have crazy bedroom party time well into your seventies, maybe eighties, or even nineties. Old people are doing it.

We all care what people think of us.

Recalling my days of youth, it was ok to do wierd things in public. If you're three years old and you lift up your skirt, it's cute, it's funny. If it's your 25th Birthday and you're profusely lifting up the skirt of your dress, it's considered indecent. Somewhere in the middle, we learn what is socially accepted and what simply is not. This brings me to a topic that I've discussed with many people whom live in metropolitan areas. What is ok to read on the subway and what is not ok to read on the subway. This is what I have learned.

It is ok to read biographies about internationally recognized artists. It is not ok to study the images in the book when the images are of special lady parts and there is a small child seated next to you.

It is ok to read NY Times bestsellers on the subway with the exception of 'I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell' by Tucker Max. I won't lie. I own it. But I won't let people see me read it for the same reason I don't tell people I watch a certain reality show about a single dad looking for a wife/mother on Monday nights at 8 pm.

It is ok to read the newspaper on the subway. It is not ok to be writing down the numbers associated with certain adult classified ads found in the back section of the Village Voice.

Lastly, if you want to be cool like me and start reading the dictionary, that's totally cool, though it may confuse a lot of people. It would just be too bizarre to start lugging around a series of old school encyclopedias and reading them on public transit. Don't do it.

Would I? Could I? Am I a polygamist?

I recently started watching HBO's Big Love series. Maybe it was my sister's rave reviews, or maybe it was the abundance of signage promoting the series in my Brooklyn neighborhood, either way, I'm mildly addicted. 

It wasn't until recently that it occured to me that people may think I am inded a polygamist. I did in fact live in a community that accepted a 'poly' lifestyle. I have begun to regularly watch television programming about polygamy. I am often found with my 'roommates', Ben and Giovanna whom are openly dating. Sometimes, the three of us eat together. On occassion, I may be found lying in a bed with both of them. In the summer, it's totally normal to see the three of us riding our bikes on our way to a party, dinner, or other event. The other evening the three of us were leaving a dinner with many friends. Everyone walked out and I noticed Ben's jacket and scarf lying over a chair. Giovanna was already passed these items, so I picked them up, and tenderly offered the scarf to Ben. I held his jacket as he slipped his arms in. Then he looked at Giovanna and I with kind and loving eyes. Giovanna said, "Do you think they know?", rather, umm. . . she said something about how people might think we're polygamists, but we're not, but we could be and it would be cool, though the authorities aren't big on it. 

Gender Roles

When I write, often it's not in a journal that I keep on my old iBook. Most often, you'll find me writing and/or drawing stupid shit in a medium size MUJI notebook. They're like a dollar and they're the perfect size for a month's worth of random notes and sketches. Recently, I finished the last page in one. While scanning through to see what had been on my mind I found a few lovely drawings, one being the fine piece you see here.

Now, the thing is, usually these drawings come along after a bit of freewriting, they're extensions of what I have been writing about. After writing about the joys of peanut butter & jelly, the likes of which do not exist in Europe, I drew this small masterpiece. There are obvious gender roles here. The peanut butter is rather masculine. He looks smooth and a bit confused, kinda like the men I find myself attracted to. Then, there's jelly. She looks sweet and sassy in her heels and mascara covered lashes. She's even sparking a bit of a smile. It simply never occurred to me, peanut butter is the man, jelly is the lady. That's all.