If her eyes are that vicious than her lips must be delicious!

Kate Bush!


- I wrote the lyrics of this song with a green Sharpie on the wall of a bathroom at a Brooklyn bar (it's a unisex bathroom), try to find it!

Warum nicht riefen Sie mich an? Ich wollte mit Ihnen sprechen!

Days have passed and now they are sanctifying my existence as the makings of a true Americanan.
Mexico is curled up next to me, eyes half-open, in a blissful state of melancholy.

Last week a gay man (I mean, straight man) that looked like Brian Botano - the figure skater, hit on me at work.

I agree with Snig Wigs - ABBA girl fashion is an inspiration.



Bookshelf love:
Two too many at wit's end. Death on the installment plan of grammatology. To have and to have not middlesex on leaves of grass. A child's garden of verse is fathers and sons on the red pony. Call me brick, washington square. How it is the sweetest dream. The golden notebook is like death in the afternoon for whom the bell tolls. Anna Kerenina is the paradiso dante. The little prince is writing about art for the wonderful story of henry sugar. A lover's discourse on language becomes gender diversity underneath gravity's rainbow. Virgin suicides play the piano drunk like a percussion instrument until the fingers begin to bleed a bit with Guignol's band. Tender buttons' love poems with an introduction by Anna Quindlen. Intimacy out of sheer rage begets the history of sexuality. Moments of being the odd women of Richard III's survival in Auschwitz.

What about all those stupid kids rolling around on their sneaker/rollerskate shoe things?

The TV just said, "...And we'll meet the kid whose Playstation blew up in his pants. Next on Fox News 5."

Keeping up with the tides of my labors...

Oh I wish I had better self control!

M and I put our minds together last night while listening to Tomahawk's "Ghost Dance" and decided that we are going to kidnap B and take him with us to a remote park somewhere near the ocean and do our own "project" involving tribal dances, a drum, a gong, peyote, lindsay lohan, feathers in our hairs, and ponchos of various Aztec-y designs. We are going soon. No one else may come. It will however be well documented for all you curious readers of this wonderful blog (which by the way, I wanted its url to be doppelbanger.blogspot.com but someone already took it and it is super lame and he doesn't even use it anymore. What a waste of a brilliant name that infuses both of my passions - doppelgangers and banging.)

I am influenced by Phoebe Cates' character in Fast Times for the feather in the hair thing. I am going to ride my bike to Queens very soon to Michael's to get the supplies necessary.



This weekend I played my flute at a show! I don't have any pictures to prove it, but I do have an after-image that proves I had my flute with me while I was out - drunk fluting on the F train underneath the East River.

Thanks Tom's iphone.

Stuff i did/mended whilst five degrees over normal bodily temperature...

Oh world! Thank you for welcoming me back to a normal state of health with open arms and beautiful january briskness!
While I was hallucinating and feeling feverish - living the American dream - a lot happened to me to make me realize that I was sick at the appropriate time!

1. I had burnt myself with my curling iron on the last day of my health. Right on the side of my neck - looks like a huge hickey (which I'm usually proud to show-off, but this one was just ugly.) BUT it has almost completely vanished now that I am better.
2. My face is completely cleared of any pimples that I had had before I was in bed for three days.
3. I managed to set up an interview, re-draft my resume, go to the interview and get hired for an internship at a well-known publishing house in Manhattan. I had at least 102 degree fever during the interview. Don't remember what I said or how I got home, but I know she hired me.
4. Some dude asked me to get drinks with him.
5. I was sick the entire time that Molly and Joey were gone in Chicago/Des Moines.
6. I bought this Bible for academic purposes: "The Women's Bible: Thou Art Loosed!"
7. I didn't smoke any cigarettes for five days!
8. I watched all nine episodes of "My So-Called Life" on Joox.

Pleasantly.

Regaurdless?

Last Thursday I was working, as usual, as a host at a restaurant in Murray Hill. One of my co-workers, a waitress from NJ, came up to my hosting podium (or my "cave" as the bar tender calls it. He tells me to go back to my "cave" when I prematurely ask for Jameson before my shift ends)holding her fancy sidekick, flippy, ultra-tech shit of a cell phone, frantically punching buttons at a speed I surmise to be quicker than her keyboarding skills. She just stands there until suddenly,the clicking noise stops. Then she looks at me and very genuinely asks in her heavy NJ accent that often blesses me with not being able to understand what she is saying, "How do you spell regardless?"
"Regardless?" I just wanted to make sure that she knew how stupid she actually was.
She nods, affirming her stupidity and making my night, so I continue, "r-e-g-a-r-d-l-e-s-s."
"Wait. r-e-g-u-r?"
"No. R-e-g-A-r..."
"R-e-g-a-u-r-d."
And then very slowly I tell her again, "r-e-g-a-r-d-l-e-s-s."
She nods and walks away.
(Now, when I apply for a position at publishing houses in a few months I will be able to honestly say that I have editorial experience.)

There was one time when I was driving from Des Moines to Chicago by myself in 2004 and I had stopped somewhere in Eastern Iowa to fill up on gas. Inside, I was waiting for my change from some clerk, when the other clerk walks up to the one who is helping me and asks her, "How do you spell pencil?"
"Oh, ummmm..."
I kept quiet. I just nudged my open palm a little in silent demand for my money and walked out of the store. I thought they could use something to grapple with to pass their shift away. I imagine that gas station got very few customers; so actually I was being quite generous, not to mention, obviously humble.

Last night I had a dream that the Spice Girls agreed to add me to their pop group as the sixth Spice Girl: "Kitschy Spice." God, sometimes my dreams kill me. So yeah, Kitschy Spice is super kitschy, you know, like has plastic Lisa Frank folders hanging all over her shit and wears ten foot pumps covered in British flag decals and has a gold tooth and all that kind of crap. I was disappointed when I woke up.

Oh and I am busying myself with reading the series of "graphic shorts" called "Optic Nerve" by Adrian Tomine. (the image of it is at the top) Medicine for my soul.
He has also been on the cover of the New Yorker...

A.M. Randomness Pt. I

When I awake in the morning, and lose remembrance of my beautiful dreams, it’s as if when I first sit up in bed, the thoughts of my slumber fall down through my body, and then disappear into the toilet with that first bathroom visit. To hold on to them, it seems I would have to be able to write them down while still lying in bed. (Jerry Seinfeld – I understand your frustration.)

Lately I have been sleeping in the clothes I wore during the day. The first time it was the entire outfit, socks and all, everything but my shoes. Last night it was just the top half of my outfit: a shirt, a hoodie and the scarf still around my neck from when I’d been in the wintry outside. Progress?
I think I do this to hold onto the memories of that day, because I know tomorrow will only put me further away from them.

Today is the first day in a long time that I didn’t wake up foggy from last night’s drinking. I’m afraid I don’t know what to do with myself in this specific state of mind.


Stay tuned for A.M. randomness pt. II