Everytime I see a bunch of Mexicans, I'm surprised by how short they all are.
Also, my thoughts on the Spanish have been changing. Since Spanish is the most vulgar outcome of vulgar Latin, I've never been predisposed to like Spain, since even though many hispanic colonial cultures are vastly more degenerate, Spain is nevertheless the source of that degeneracy, only with the added sin of pretense.
But, the colorful way the Spanish dress has been winning me over to their culture. I've always kind of noticed and liked the colorful clothes in Almodovar movies -- I'm a sucker for splashy color -- but the more Spanish I've met, the more I realize they really do dress like they're in Almodovar movies all the time, and the more I love them for that. At the conference I went to like a month ago, one very dignified prof from Spain wore a light gray suit with a melon shirt underneath and some colorful tie, and one of his students had her hair died this trashy red and wore a lot of off-the-shoulder polyester dress tops with big bright polka dots, as well as these hip thick-framed glasses. I really just want to go to Madrid now and sit out on a parkbench and watch all the Spanish walk by. I bet that shit is crazy.
Friday, September 7, 2007
A migratory bird count method.
I found out that to figure out which birds are migrating, local ornithologists go to the big plate glass windows of the local convention center each morning to see what birds hit them overnight.
Cell phone loudness...
Yesterday I was walking back from a local park through a tunnel that goes underneath a major roadway, and this woman ten-feet behind was not only talking abnormally loudly on her cell phone about nothing at all, but it was echoing all up and down the tunnel and giving me a headache. I was thinking of totally ripping this fart I was holding up just to see what she'd do, but I didn't.
More books...
Dropped off three hardcovers (including a Nora Roberts) on the way in today... I almost brought along a Dominick Dunne book, but I started looking at it and I just might read it myself.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Opened up the comic book store downtown this morning.
Yesterday I went downtown to pick up the new issue of Season 8 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but the card they gave me with the store hours was wrong, and the store closed at 6pm and not 7pm, so when I arrived there at 6:30pm, I saw all these employees inside counting up at the cash register and I beat on the window only to have them hold up a sign that said deliveries were delayed until Thursday because of the holiday weekend. It all worked out, though, because I was meeting a friend for $5 martinis last night and got pretty hammered and ended up crashing on the couch at him and his roommates' place, and though I slept shittily, I had to pass through downtown on the way home this morning, and I got the comic book store right at 10am when it opened, and was the first person there to get the new Buffy.
I found out from the comic guy, too, that they're doing a 10 or 12 issue Season 6 of Angel. I'm not sure if I'm going to buy that, though; I just might, if it's only going to be 10 or 12 issues.
I found out from the comic guy, too, that they're doing a 10 or 12 issue Season 6 of Angel. I'm not sure if I'm going to buy that, though; I just might, if it's only going to be 10 or 12 issues.
Yet more Maria Monk...
This about the close of the first full day of her becoming a nun (Arno press reprint pp. 52-53):
My own plate, knife, fork, &c., were prepared like the rest, and on the band around them I found my new name written:--“SAINT EUSTACE”…
As fast as we finished our meals, each rolled up her knife, fork, and spoon in her napkin, and bound them together with the band, and set with hands folded. The old nun then said a short prayer, rose, stepped a little aside, clapped her hands, and we marched towards the door, bowing as we passed before a little chapel or glass box, containing a wax image of the infant Jesus.
Nothing important occurred until late in the afternoon, when as I was sitting in the community room, Father Dufrèsne called me out, saying he wished to speak with me. I feared what was his intention; but I dared not disobey. In a private apartment he treated me in a brutal manner: and from two other priests, I afterward received similar usage that evening. Father Dufrèsne afterward appeared again; and I was compelled to remain in company with him until morning.
My own plate, knife, fork, &c., were prepared like the rest, and on the band around them I found my new name written:--“SAINT EUSTACE”…
As fast as we finished our meals, each rolled up her knife, fork, and spoon in her napkin, and bound them together with the band, and set with hands folded. The old nun then said a short prayer, rose, stepped a little aside, clapped her hands, and we marched towards the door, bowing as we passed before a little chapel or glass box, containing a wax image of the infant Jesus.
Nothing important occurred until late in the afternoon, when as I was sitting in the community room, Father Dufrèsne called me out, saying he wished to speak with me. I feared what was his intention; but I dared not disobey. In a private apartment he treated me in a brutal manner: and from two other priests, I afterward received similar usage that evening. Father Dufrèsne afterward appeared again; and I was compelled to remain in company with him until morning.
Odd happenings with the books.
When I went out yesterday past the books, the hardcovers were gone, but three paperbacks I had put out there last week were back on there. Did someone take them, read them, and put them back, or were the carts being rotated and the paperbacks sat in back in library services for a week or so?
Today when I came in to school around 2:30pm I put out two hardcovers.
Today when I came in to school around 2:30pm I put out two hardcovers.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Three inadvertently pleasing clips.
I once read that a huge cultural touchstone for inflation fetishists is this one scene from the Gene Wilder version of "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory".
That leaves me with two questions:
1) Do giantess fetishists like KT Tunstall?
2) Do sploshers like the Hollies?
That leaves me with two questions:
1) Do giantess fetishists like KT Tunstall?
2) Do sploshers like the Hollies?
Karaoke review: The new place.
So, last Friday night I went to the bar behind the gyros place for their monthly karaoke night. Right after I sat down Patrice ran over and hugged me and said she was so glad I came back, and Kathy behind the bar gave me a smile and one of those half close your upraised hand in a cute "hi!" gesture from behind the bar. The guy running the karaoke machine had a mustache and a cowboy hat on.
Right after I came in -- I came in like an hour late and my friends arrived shortly right after; the karaoke runs 8-12 and we thought getting there by 9 would give it plenty of time to heat up -- someone sang someone's cover of "In the Still of the Night", and the karaoke host said he'd buy a pitcher of beer for anyone who could name who did the original version. The place got quiet and I yelled out "The Platters!" and someone from the bar started clapping slowly and people generally nodded their heads as if they were gravely impressed, but the guy was like, "No, actually it's the Penguins." If I had had that shit down, I would have made my name their forever.
Overall, the book isn't bad. The ABBA is spotty, but they've got Clarence Carter's "Patches", Roy Orbison's cover of the "Hucklebuck", the Hollies' "Air that I Breathe", and Dion and the Belmont's "Donna the Primadonna", so it's not all bad.
The place was filled with Iowa people who were in town for a football game, and Patrice would occasionally go and dance with surprisingly unobnoxious frat guys when they sang, so I decided to try to capture the vibe going on with "Pancho and Lefty". People paid attention at first, but the song goes on and if you don't have the vocal quality of a Willie Nelson to make it interesting, it doesn't work, so by the time I finished, even though I was in tune, only one person clapped.
One of my friends got up to sing Peter, Paul, and Mary's version of "Puff the Magic Dragon", which I thought was a horrible choice, though I didn't say so, but it turned out it worked, especially when the song got too much for her in the middle and she dropped her voice and was like, "Damn, I need a puff right now." That got a cheer from Marlene at the end of the bar.
The next song I got up was the Carpenters' "Superstar", and when the host announced my name, he in his cowboy hat gave me a smile and a little wink as I walked up and he handed me the microphone -- what did that even mean!?!? -- and as soon as it cued up and the opening started to ring out, this one fat chick around my age who had her tits crammed into a tight black shirt and all these rings on turned to her friend next to her and I could see her mouthing, "I love this song." Overall, it worked.
After that, a middle-aged woman at the next table behind us turned to me and started talking to me about celebrities she knows, which I shall right about in a separate post, shortly.
My last song I had up was the Supremes' "Love Child". I have the lyrics of that song down -- the verses are almost rap-like, in their rhythm, offset rhymes, and intensity -- though the "I'll always love you" part is still too high for me to do comfortably. Still, though, when Marlene waved me over at the end of the song, she just flipped her head back and gave me a few claps when I came up and was like, "Excellent." She told me I should come back next time, and I said something about how much fun the Iowa people were too, and to that she was like, "Bus them in!"
Towards 12:30pm -- they held the karaoke over, that's how good the place was -- an Iowan came up to us and asked me and my friends if we knew where a good strip club was. All the ones we knew weren't in the area, but my friend sent him over to ask the Greek owner, who had been sitting in back, from which position he had been sending around devilled eggs and cheese on toothpicks and popcorn, and for the next five minutes me and my (hammered) friends just watched the Greek owner and the Iowan talk with their hands about how to get to the nearest strip club.
Right after I came in -- I came in like an hour late and my friends arrived shortly right after; the karaoke runs 8-12 and we thought getting there by 9 would give it plenty of time to heat up -- someone sang someone's cover of "In the Still of the Night", and the karaoke host said he'd buy a pitcher of beer for anyone who could name who did the original version. The place got quiet and I yelled out "The Platters!" and someone from the bar started clapping slowly and people generally nodded their heads as if they were gravely impressed, but the guy was like, "No, actually it's the Penguins." If I had had that shit down, I would have made my name their forever.
Overall, the book isn't bad. The ABBA is spotty, but they've got Clarence Carter's "Patches", Roy Orbison's cover of the "Hucklebuck", the Hollies' "Air that I Breathe", and Dion and the Belmont's "Donna the Primadonna", so it's not all bad.
The place was filled with Iowa people who were in town for a football game, and Patrice would occasionally go and dance with surprisingly unobnoxious frat guys when they sang, so I decided to try to capture the vibe going on with "Pancho and Lefty". People paid attention at first, but the song goes on and if you don't have the vocal quality of a Willie Nelson to make it interesting, it doesn't work, so by the time I finished, even though I was in tune, only one person clapped.
One of my friends got up to sing Peter, Paul, and Mary's version of "Puff the Magic Dragon", which I thought was a horrible choice, though I didn't say so, but it turned out it worked, especially when the song got too much for her in the middle and she dropped her voice and was like, "Damn, I need a puff right now." That got a cheer from Marlene at the end of the bar.
The next song I got up was the Carpenters' "Superstar", and when the host announced my name, he in his cowboy hat gave me a smile and a little wink as I walked up and he handed me the microphone -- what did that even mean!?!? -- and as soon as it cued up and the opening started to ring out, this one fat chick around my age who had her tits crammed into a tight black shirt and all these rings on turned to her friend next to her and I could see her mouthing, "I love this song." Overall, it worked.
After that, a middle-aged woman at the next table behind us turned to me and started talking to me about celebrities she knows, which I shall right about in a separate post, shortly.
My last song I had up was the Supremes' "Love Child". I have the lyrics of that song down -- the verses are almost rap-like, in their rhythm, offset rhymes, and intensity -- though the "I'll always love you" part is still too high for me to do comfortably. Still, though, when Marlene waved me over at the end of the song, she just flipped her head back and gave me a few claps when I came up and was like, "Excellent." She told me I should come back next time, and I said something about how much fun the Iowa people were too, and to that she was like, "Bus them in!"
Towards 12:30pm -- they held the karaoke over, that's how good the place was -- an Iowan came up to us and asked me and my friends if we knew where a good strip club was. All the ones we knew weren't in the area, but my friend sent him over to ask the Greek owner, who had been sitting in back, from which position he had been sending around devilled eggs and cheese on toothpicks and popcorn, and for the next five minutes me and my (hammered) friends just watched the Greek owner and the Iowan talk with their hands about how to get to the nearest strip club.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Realization from last summer.
At some point last summer, I suddenly realized that Debbie Harry is older than my mother.
My Sunday morning.
On Sunday morning I got up and went to read the NYTimes at a coffee shop couple blocks away from me that has all these lovely chairs outside in a courtyard with a fountain in the middle of it.
Anyhow, kitty-corner from my apartment there was this nicely-dressed mid-to-late-30s black woman with two dogs on a leash, and when I was passing by her this other nicely-dress mid-to-late-30s black woman who was just then getting there began to swoop down towards the dogs and started talking in that high voice that you use to talk to babies or dogs and being like, "Hey there Sushi and Sasha, I haven't see you two in while!"
When I got the coffee shop, I read outside for a while, and then at some point I looked up from my paper and noticed that the muzak distantly piping from the nearby supermarket was an instrumental arrangement of "The Tide is High".
Anyhow, kitty-corner from my apartment there was this nicely-dressed mid-to-late-30s black woman with two dogs on a leash, and when I was passing by her this other nicely-dress mid-to-late-30s black woman who was just then getting there began to swoop down towards the dogs and started talking in that high voice that you use to talk to babies or dogs and being like, "Hey there Sushi and Sasha, I haven't see you two in while!"
When I got the coffee shop, I read outside for a while, and then at some point I looked up from my paper and noticed that the muzak distantly piping from the nearby supermarket was an instrumental arrangement of "The Tide is High".
Have been clearing brush the past couple weekends.
The past couple weekends I've been clearing brush to free local parklands from invasive Asian plant species in the hopes of eventually restoring tall-grass prairie habitat that will provide the necessary seeds and grains to encourage native migratory bird species.
(Phew.)
So, two weekends ago we were lopping down mulberry trees and felling poplars in a thickly-wooded patch of trees, and this half-drunk black guy walks down the nearby path, stops, looks, and is like, "You take away somebody's love spot."
A little while later this one woman is walking by with someone and was asking me what everyone was doing, so I told her, and she was like, "Oh," and then I told her she should come out some weekend and help out if she wants. "Can teenagers help?", she was like, and when I said I wasn't sure and she should talk to the supervisor, she said her son needed to do some community service and she was looking for places for him.
This past weekend I was working in a different park with some people that included a white guy around my age named Michael Jackson. I was asking him if he had visited nearby Gary, Indiana, home of the Jackson Five, and he said he had always meant to, but he's never got around to it. He then added that he had talked to someone from there once and they said all the kids used to try to beat the shit out of the Jacksons before they got big since they were in a pansy-ass band in their garage. The supervisor was then like, "My boyfriend, who's black, is from Gary and said that all he remembers is the Jacksons having to jump fences and run home right after baseball practice got out," which I took to mean that as soon as the adults were gone the other kids used to try to kick the shit out of the Jacksons.
(Phew.)
So, two weekends ago we were lopping down mulberry trees and felling poplars in a thickly-wooded patch of trees, and this half-drunk black guy walks down the nearby path, stops, looks, and is like, "You take away somebody's love spot."
A little while later this one woman is walking by with someone and was asking me what everyone was doing, so I told her, and she was like, "Oh," and then I told her she should come out some weekend and help out if she wants. "Can teenagers help?", she was like, and when I said I wasn't sure and she should talk to the supervisor, she said her son needed to do some community service and she was looking for places for him.
This past weekend I was working in a different park with some people that included a white guy around my age named Michael Jackson. I was asking him if he had visited nearby Gary, Indiana, home of the Jackson Five, and he said he had always meant to, but he's never got around to it. He then added that he had talked to someone from there once and they said all the kids used to try to beat the shit out of the Jacksons before they got big since they were in a pansy-ass band in their garage. The supervisor was then like, "My boyfriend, who's black, is from Gary and said that all he remembers is the Jacksons having to jump fences and run home right after baseball practice got out," which I took to mean that as soon as the adults were gone the other kids used to try to kick the shit out of the Jacksons.
Will post more in a bit...
Just got into school now and dropped off four hardcovers on the free bookcart... Will post more in a bit;
I'm still recovering from the long weekend. Some people say there's no such thing as too much of a good thing, but this weekend I found out that that's not true, especially when it comes to appletinis.
I'm still recovering from the long weekend. Some people say there's no such thing as too much of a good thing, but this weekend I found out that that's not true, especially when it comes to appletinis.
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