knight of faith

Some Thoughts

2009-04-23T19:54:00.001-07:00

Perfect romance in my mind is a combination of the song "Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing" and the birthday party at the end of Meet Joe Black.

Now, here's a question. What do you do with presents for people once your relationship has disintegrated for one reason or another? For example, let's say you buy a book for your boyfriend but he breaks up with you before you can give it to him. Or, you buy a toy for a high school friend who had a child while you were away in a foreign country, but then she says or affirms wounding and terrible things about your worth as a human being.

The way I see it there are three things you can do with the items.

1. You give them to the person anyway. This will probably inspire some guilt in the gift receiver, since it proves your good intentions while they were harboring or acting on plans to hurt you. But on the downside, they get a gift, and also, the act might insinuate you forgive whatever they did--hey, which you may. But you've got to be ready for and comfortable with that possible assumption.

2. You give the item to somebody else. But that just doesn't seem right. That's a present tainted by a dead relationship. Nobody wants that.

3. You keep it. If it's the book, you just read it and let it affect you and make it your own. That's easy. As for the toy, you keep it on a sill next to your bed and look at it and wonder what the fuck you're supposed to do with a handmade wooden dog on a wooden plank with wheels attached to a string, so that when you pull him, he plays the drums.

The Perfect Running Mix

2009-01-27T19:09:00.001-08:00

I signed up for the Pittsburgh Marathon's half-marathon a few weeks ago, and while my month's free membership at Achieve a Nu Yu is working out quite nicely for now, there will come a time when each week I will go on long ass runs between 5 and 13 miles three or four days a week. Music is essential in getting me through, keeping me going, setting my pace. This means I need at least one new running playlist. Anytime I talk to somebody who runs, I inevitably ask them what they listen to while they're running. I had a glorious forty-song mix on my ipod last fall, and it just disappeared off my itunes and ipod completely when my computer crashed and I lost my library. It was really sad, because some of the songs are gone forever and I can't remember what order the other songs were in. So, I'm rebuilding, starting from scratch and trying to work back up to a forty-song mix. I'm going to peruse my iTunes now and record my attempts. Here goes it.

1. Magic-Ladyhawke. But this song tends to annoy me sometimes. Good at maintaining a good pace, but not good for building to one. Use sparingly.

2. I'll Believe in Anything-Wolf Parade. I love this song so much, I could listen to it ALL DAY. I practically do. It breaks my heart and makes me forget that I'm running.

3.The Purple Bottle-Animal Collective. This song is over six minutes long, but I don't mind at all. It's so nice and happy and makes me want to run at a nice steady pace and then give an energetic little hop on the "Ahhh" high-pitched sigh parts.

4. Sex on Fire-Kings of Leon. As much as I love Kings of Leon and the lead singer's (the king of the kings of the leons) voice, I find that they're songs get old to run to real fast. "King of the Rodeo" and "The Bucket" did it for me for a few months and then wore out their sonic welcome. At this point though, the song is new enough to me that it just makes me want to run really really fast when he sings, " Yeeeaaahooooowww, your SEXXXX is on FIRRRRRREE!"

5. The Sporting Life-The Decemberists. This is quite simply, a wonderful song. I often think about the timelessness of this song and imagine myself hosting grown-up get-togethers ten years from now with my little kids running around out on the lawn, who hear this time and again coming out over the speakers as they play Flashlight Tag. And they would really love it and then in the future buy a Decemberists album and identify their youth with it, much like I did with anything by the Eagles, Fleetwood Mac, or Neil Young. It's about "the sporting life" and it has a fun drum beat and I genuinely enjoy running to it.

6. Young Folks-Peter Bjorn and John. I thought this would be so fun to run to. It's not. Too much whistling at the beginning--doesn't jive.

7.Hot Chip-Ready for the Floor. Fun. So far...

8. A Praise Chorus-Jimmy Eat World. Jimmy Eat World writes some damn good running songs. When i used to borrow Jen's ipod to run, it was always to Jimmy Eat World. 'The Sweetness," "The Middle," "Pain"....good stuff, guys. But "A Praise Chorus' is probably the best. It's a call to action, damnit. Th-th-th-th-things are never gonna be quite what you want.

9. With You-Chris Brown. Stop hating. This is a nice song. I think I truly love it and truly love Chris Brown for singing it, and it reminds me that there are hearts all over the world tonight loving. Which is nice to think about when it takes every ounce of inner strength you have left to even pick up your legs anymore.

10. Don Cab-Fire Back About Your New Baby's Sex. Said it before and I'll say it again. It makes me want to high five people.

11. No Action, Lipstick Vogue, Pump it Up. I could run to This Year's Model in its entirety, but these three stand out as particularly invigorating. "No Action" is a perfect "pick up the pace" song, cause it's only a little over two minutes long.

12. This Ain't a Scene...-Fallout Boy. I don't particulary like Fallout Boy, because I've said it before and I'll say it again; the lead singer sings like he has a distinct kind of speech impediment that would somehow make it possible for him to drool right through the speakers. But I saw this video drunk in college and it somehow hypnotized me into liking this song.

13. Harvey Danger-Flagpole Sitta. Um, remember Flagpole Sitta from the movie, Disturbing Behavior??!! Of course you do! A little sing-songy, but super catchy. "But if you're bored than you're boring" used to be my motto.

14. Love Will Tear Us Apart-Joy Division. Of course.

15. Clark Gable-The Postal Service. Remember when anything that Ben Gibbard was associated with was SOLID GOLD? And now he's all engaged to Zooey Deschanel. I still deeply love this song, because I used to actually listen to it while "waiting for a train in the London Underground." "Sound of Settling" is also an excellent running song.

16. NARC-Interpol. Anybody that has the misfortune of living with me knows I am unnaturally obsessed with this song and play it ALL THE TIME, although I think "I'll Believe in Anything" is my new NARC. And Jen and I used to change the lyrics to "You should be on MySpace," which is REALLY funny. Why is this song so good? Itunes erased all my other Interpol songs. :(

17. Don't Stop the Music-Rihanna. What an EXCELLENT song to run to!!! And the music video was filmed at Roxy, one of my favorite Prague brunch places that also happens to have a dance floor in the basement!! Seriously, puts me in the zone--hard.

18. See You Again-Miley Cyrus. Yeah, I was in the closet for a while on this one. But I KNOW there are legions of you out there who are just refusing to admit to yourself that this is a catchy song. Good "pick-up-the-pace-"er.

19. Ray of Light-Madonna. Before she was a velociraptor, Madonna was doing some really groundbreaking stuff with time-lapse photography.

20. Shadowboxer-Fiona Apple. Surprising, right? But this song puts me in the zone and usually somehow inexplicably picks me up from a slump and gets me in a nice, relaxed stride.

21. The Big Guns-Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins. This song is bitter, pessimistic, and full of vim. It's also another short one and makes for a good little sprint song.

22.Black Wave/Bad Vibrations-The Arcade Fire. "No Cars Go" and "Keep the Car Running" are the obvious choices off of Neon Bible, but for some reason, this does it for me, especially when it goes into the Black Wave half of the slash.

23. Race In, Atlas-Battles. One after the other. At that point you will have run for twelve minutes, probably at an awesome pace, and felt badass for every second of it. AND you get to imagine robots coming to life like the brooms in Fantasia. Brainstorming robot choreography=stellar running impetus.

24. On a Neck, On a Spit-Grizzly Bear. Starts off slow and hazy like swinging on somebody's front porch swing and then gets all thrumpy and reverby and cool. Use this one sparingly, though.

25. You Make My Dreams Come True-Hall and Oates. Reminds you this is supposed to be fun.

26. A New Stain, Call it Clear, Drowned, Warning Track-Halloween, Alaska. Oh, Halloween, Alaska, I can't choose just one of your atmospheric electronica pop songs. I don't know if, objectively, these are even particularly great running songs. I just love Halloween, Alaska, and "Warning Track" is suuuuuuch a good steady build song.

27. High & Dry-Jamie Cullum. What!?? Jamie who? No Thom Yorke? I tricked you! Not the Radiohead version, but the cover from the Michael Buble-like, Angry-Beaver-looking nouveau jazz singer with the Billy Joel voice. This is an incredibly awesome cover, arguably less-sad than the original. Arguably. A nice cool down song.

28. If I Was Your Girl-Janet Jackson. Remember this video? This video made me want to start dancing, which I never did, but still...

29. Genesis-Justice. Yeah, it's from a car commercial. My music collection would be a lot more sparse were it not for car commercials. And it makes me feel like a MACHINE.

30. Gone-Kanye West. You may choose "Gold Digger" from Late Registration, but I choose Gone. I like to run to violins.

31. The Perfect Drug, Nine Inch Nails. One of my favorite running songs, ever, ever, ever. Do you remember this video? Trent Rezner rising out of some kind of water and running through a hedge maze. Ahead of its time? I think so. And it was from the soundtrack to Lost Highway--bonus points. AND it was inspired from Edward Gorey's The Gashlycrumb Tinies. Apparently some people find it hilarious that I run to Nine Inch Nails. They don't understand. DO YOU??

32.. Seventeen Years-Ratatat. Good. Beat.

33.. Gobbledigook-Sigur Ros. Oh, it's so cute. Just have fun with these naked Swedes.

34. Motorcycle Driveby-Third Eye Blind. "And there's this burning like there's always been. I've never been so alone and I've never been so alive!" FIST PUMP.

35. Ai No Corrida-Uniting Nations featuring Laura More. I used to watch this video in London all the time and it involved a cute blonde girl in a white sports bra and spandex doing push ups and hitting a punching bag. While it turned on everybody else in the room, it inspired me to grab my ipod and run around the Serptentine. Thank you for the inspiration, Laura More.

36. Movies-AAF. Sigh. Alien Ant Farm. These are the same guys who did the cover of "Smooth Criminal." But...I really like this song. I hope the members of this band are leading happy lives now.

37. I'm a Slave For You-Britney Spears. Hearing panting while you're running is actually kind of cool. Oh, somebody else is experiencing this irregular breathing pattern? Excellent. I'm a slave for you, treadmill.

38. Head Over Heels-Tears for Fears. "I wanted to be with you alone and talk about the weather." That sounds really nice, Tears for Fears.

29. Night Ripper and Feed the Animals. All of it.

40. Go With the Flow-Queens of the Stone Age. Brandon Ankney tells me I'm his favorite person to sing this song on Rock Band. "Songs for the Dead" is also pretty great.

Songs I want to add to the mix:

1. What Makes You Think You're the One-Fleetwood Mac. I never heard this Fleetwood Mac gem until a week ago. How?

2. Helicopter-Bloc Party. At J-Robb's suggestion.

I am dying for more song suggestions. If you are a runner, or you can imagine what would pump you up if you were a runner, and you're reading this, please leave me a song or two!!

Work Parties Make You Drunk

2009-01-10T19:13:00.000-08:00

Geez. It is 10:13 p.m. and I still have a headache. As I don't have it in me to write a lengthy post at this point, I will share with you the most and least contaminated fruits and vegetables. Because of the amount of pesticides used on the most contaminted, it is preferable to buy organic with these particular fruits and vegetables.

Most Contaminated Fruits and Vegetables:

Apples
Cherries
Imported Grapes
Nectarines
Rapberries
Bell Peppers
Pears
Potatoes
Spinach
Celery
Strawberries
Peaches

Least Contaminated Fruits and Vegetables

Asparagus
Broccoli
Kiwi
Papaya
Avocado
Pineapple
Onions
Cauliflower
Bananas
Sweet Corn
Mangoes
Sweet Peas

2008 in Review and Maybe the Revival of this Sorry Excuse for a Blog

2009-01-02T18:09:00.000-08:00

I've been looking for a chance to sit with myself for a few hours and think about the last year and how I want to shape my next one. So I'm cuddled under my pistachio-colored sheets with a cup of tea and I am prepared to do that.

Things That Happened in 2008:

I (almost) chased a burglar, and with Jen's help developed a burglar-proof home defense system using a large baseball-mitt-shaped chair and many empty Staropromen bottles.
I made a big decision (coming home).
I drank the best wine in my life from an ampitheatre-shaped town in southern France that was sparsely inhabited by townies who gave us the stink eye because we were clattering our luggage down the cobblestone streets and not speaking French in a place that obviously does not get a lot of non-French.
(The next day) I woke up smiling in a Monaco hotel room overlooking the Mediterranean Sea.

I got a job at an exciting and wonderful place with artistic and talented and nice people. I like it.

I almost became a vegan, but realized I like cheese too much to ever commit to giving it up.
I climbed into and out of the deepest gorge I've ever climbed into and out of--Divoka Sarka.

I voted in a pretty important election.

I caught Live Aid '85 at Wembley Stadium on VH1 Classic on Boxing Day and it was INCREDIBLE, reaffirming that Freddie Mercury is my soulmate and quite possibly the greatest vocalist/performer that EVER LIVED.

Finally, and most importantly, I saw the movie Christmas Evil, starring Fiona Apple's dad.

As for this year, I'm thinking it will be a quiet one compared to 2008--hopefully, a year where I stay in one place and regroup and plan and write and become a "healthier" person. And by healthy, I mean eliminating the things in my life that makes me feel bad so I have more energy for the things that make me feel good, like running and watching FearNet. And maybe I'll try to wake up, "to experience a crowded, hot, slow, consumer-hell type situation as not only meaningful, but sacred, on fire with the same force that made the stars: love, fellowship, the mystical oneness of all things deep down." And I guess I should start flossing.

Bon Iver is scoring the first week of my new year. (I just realized I accidentally posted this playlist on my boyfriend's house blog. Sorry!) The songs from this album, For Emma, Forever Ago were written in a cabin in Wisconsin by Justin Vernon (Bon Iver) over the course of three months. The fact that this man secluded himself in the woods like some modern-day Thoreau and made art from the always-winning combo of self-imposed isolation and deep sadness, plus the fact that his moniker came from a Northern Exposure episode makes me swoon. These songs feel like where I want to be now. If only I could go to a secluded Wisconsin cabin to have a good think about my life, not really expecting much to come from my sojourn, but then surprised by what does come from inside --the final surprising result of that experience...but, well, that was last year.

Mixtape from http://favtape.com/pghgirl/New

WATCH FREDDIE CHANT.

check these out

2008-07-08T16:58:00.000-07:00

A few days ago my sister sent me a link to "36 Hours in Pittsburgh," an article in this Sunday's New York Times travel section.

THEN I happened upon this great magazine about food in Western Pennsylvania, Table Magazine, and it had a feature on Volant, which is a quaint little village that's known for selling homemade crafts and is about five minutes from my house. I checked their website to see if the article was online, and while that one was not up yet, there was an article on New Castle!

They covered all the classics: May's Donuts, Augustine's Pizza (which I always hated, actually) and Coney Island (chili dog and chili fry deliciousness)! I'm glad that New Castle got some good press. The people who are doing good things here deserve recognition. I was truly surprised when I got back from Prague at how nice downtown New Castle has become. There's some nice little parks and fountains on some of the squares, and although I've yet to see anyone sit there, it does look really good and very inviting. I'm also impressed with the growing variety of nice restaurants and bars in town; The Mill Street Grille, Lanigans, and The Basin I'm sure could succeed in any city.

It's not often I praise my hometown; maybe the fact that I'm leaving for good in a week ( i got a real person, grown-up job.) has made me so proud. I know we're different beasts, New Castle, but you got me back on my feet, and I might never have gone the places I have and seen the things that I've seen were it not for that need-to-explore that you certainly helped to foment in my youth. I wish you only the best.

I've had a lot of quiet time here the last couple months and that always requires good music. I've been listening a lot to this young lady.

I'm particularly smitten with these songs.

"Bridges and Balloons"

"Sprout and the Bean"

P.S.

Jen, all I can say about your birthday gift is when I bought it the woman said

"I think this is Clay Walker."

one of my favorite songs is "everyday i write the book."

2008-07-02T20:28:00.001-07:00

The ending of For Whom the Bell Tolls made tears roll down my face.

Favorite quote of the day (the last 30 pages of FWTBT):

"There's no one thing that's true. It's all true. The way the planes are beautiful whether they are ours or theirs. The hell they are, he thought."

I feel sometimes like Hemingway instructs me how to live, but then again I'm a little drunk, which proves my point exactly.

Dear Alicia,
You have not written a blog post in quite a while and your first one back is meaningless drivel? What's up with this, girl? Get me back
~your inner-critic (as voiced by Dennis Quaid)

Dear Dennis Quaid,
First of all, thank you for providing the voice for my inner-critic. Your voice is soothing; it makes me think of puppies asleep in baseball mitts.
A) Nobody reads this anyway.
B) You're right It is meaningless drivel, but it means something to me. I guess anything can be trite without context. I'll leave you with this parody I made to "Angel is a Centerfold" as popularized by the J. Geils Band.

"my blood runs cold,
my memory has just been sold,
my angel is a semaphore,
(angel is a semaphore)."

ALMOST funny.

Instant Messenger, the Freddy Krueger of Technology

2008-06-09T19:22:00.000-07:00

This afternoon, after taking full advantage of my parents' pool, I took a nice shower. I was alone in the house and as I was stepping out, I heard rap music blasting somewhere in the house. Even if someone had come home while I was in the shower, nobody in my house would be likely to be listening to Lil' Wayne at full volume, so I froze. Would an intruder immediately put on a cd of his favorite music before going about his criminal business? Unlikely, but the murderer in Funny Games does put on classical music before chasing a little boy through an empty, dark, neighbor's house: neighbors he has already killed with a shotgun. Maybe this was my particular home intuder's M.O. Or maybe he just forgot to turn his cell phone off and the ringer was now giving him away. These things were running through my head as I stood poised inside the bathroom door trying to listen for anything other than a smackin' bassline.

But eventually, I just "aww fuck it" shrugged and darted into my room, which is right next to the bathroom. And I run smack dab into the source: my laptop. Instant messenger is playing some promo for AOL Radio. I hate when they do this. The same thing used to happen in college. There was some ad for that ventriloquist movie, Dead Silence, and it would come on really late when I was trying to sleep and I forgot to turn my speakers off, and it would scare the shit out of me.

So, it's been doing this all day, Carrie Underwood, Miley Cyrus*, Finger Eleven. Startling me with terrible music. You've done it again, AIM Machine. Thank you.

*"See You Again" is not terrible music. It's got me hooked. Who am I kidding?

Think of a Celebrity Named Bill. They're Probably Crazy, Especially Pullman

2008-06-01T15:54:00.000-07:00

I like being me. Save for the fact that I'm living in New Castle and in desperate indecision over where I'm going to apply to graduate school, let alone what kind of program, or "what I want to do with my life" I do like being me. And it's because of moments like yesterday's.

I drove up to Riverview Park on the North Side to go for a late-afternoon jog. As I got out of my car, a man on a bike with what appeared to be some kind of quasi-mullet passed me and said, "hey, you're looking good." I didn't really understand what he said until after he had passed, so I waved and nodded. So I guess I confirmed the fact that I looked good or communicated to him that he was also looking good. I'm not sure what I communicated, but things were certainly not "looking good." So I started jogging. I've never been to Riverview Park, so the run was a bit of a gamble. At one point I was pretty deep into the trail and I came to a three-way intersection. So I slowed down and swung out to look at the signs to see if one had directions back to the park entrance, when who should pull up behind me but Bike Man. He shouted something to me, but I had my ipod on, so I paused it and asked him what he wanted. He waved me over. "Do you like to talk and work out?"

"Uh, not usually."

(I especially don't enjoy being gawked at or hit on while working out; besides the obvious creepiness-factor, I don't care to draw any extra attention to my running style, which has been described as "like a T-Rex")

"Well, can I meet you at your car or at the playground after your workout?"

(YIIKES. Lifetime movie scene?)

"No, I have to go somewhere after this."

(Luckily he did not ask a follow-up question, because I had nowhere to go and my brain was tired and sure to produce an unrealistic and terrible lie, like to a Memorial Day Picnic or to the barber's.)

"Do you come here a lot?"

(Nice use of the classic pick-up line in an untraditional setting. Kudos, Bike Man.)

"Uh, sometimes on the weekends."

(This was actually a lie; I've never been to Riverview Park and I have no plans to go back in the immediate future.)

"When do you usually come here?"

(I haven't mentioned it before but Bike Man had long, long, questionably-mulleted hair in a ponytail and was wearing full biking attire.)

"Oh, on the weekends...sometimes"

(This may seem like I was playing into Bike Man's hands, but the reality is I don't go to Riverview Park on the weekends and if I would have admitted this, persistant Bike Man surely would have proposed we meet somewhere else.)

"Well, I'm usually here every day between five and six. I just wanted to tell you you're looking good and I'd like to talk to you some more."

"Thanks. Bye. Have a good workout."

And then he pedaled away and I ran up a HUGE hill. Riverview Park is actually really nice and I'd recommend it to any joggers or park-goers. It's also home to the Allegheny Observatory, and although I've been to the observatory before, it still suprised me by being there. I don't remember it being in a park. I just remember going for Astronomy class and not being able to see anything cool because there was poor visibility or something.

A few other things:

1. I love all of the Penguins. I want to bake them all protein-infused brownies and scratch their beards. Also, Gonchar kind of looks like my boyfriend, so by the transitive property, I like my boyfriend more now. He is benefiting from Gonchar's awesomeness.

2. Is anybody else heartbroken on hearing the allegations that Bill Murray abused his wife? I hope they're proven false, because I love Bill Murray more than I love the Penguins. I used to want to bake him magic green Slimer brownies and serve him tall cool glasses of Ecto Cooler and scratch his beard.

Ew

2008-05-07T20:24:00.000-07:00

Nothing really notable happened today, except I caught one of the youngest kids in the after-school program where I work licking a cell phone battery.

How I spent my Cinco de Mayo

2008-05-05T20:35:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning having been visited by several literary figures in my dreams last night. In one of them, I was Candace Bergen I and was interviewing Dorothy Parker in some kind of family restaurant, like Applebees or TGI Fridays. Later on, as the dream warped and I became an elderly Betty White-like character, Gore Vidal became my physician. My ex-boyfriend accused me for being elitist for dreaming about writers. This accusation holds no merit, however, because I cannot control my dreams and I mention the dreams here and now, because this seemingly inconsequential detail will prove itself important later in the day.

"Happy Cinco de Mayo!" my co-worker greeted me as I walked in the office today, and dammit, if it wasn't that always surprising little gem of a drinking holiday, the fifth of May, as we Anglos call it--or would call it, if it was our holiday. I am an exciteable person and so I was excited by the promise of Cinco de Mayo, even if I was terribly uneducated about the holiday and under the impression that it was the Mexican Indepdence Day. As it turns out, it was on this day in 1862 that the Mexican Army defeated Napoleon's French Army-a force which hadn't been defeated in 5o years! Go Mexicans!! Read more about the holiday at this delightful and informative website. http://www.vivacincodemayo.org/history.htm

But in past years, Cinco de Mayo meant getting drunk off of several margaritas at Mad Mex and that was probably an intangible, as I was in New Castle and working until 8:00 p.m. I decided to celebrate Cinco de Mayo by going to El Canelo, the local "authentic" Mexican place in town, for lunch. I ducked out around 2:00 after the staff meeting. I was dismayed to find that El Canelo was strictly eat-in. As I was alone and under time constraints, I headed to the Taco Bell/KFC hybrid a few blocks down. This was a terrible choice. Fiesta Potatoes turned out to be barely microwaved potato blocks smothered in sour cream and a knockoff Velveeta cheese-like slop. My spicy chicken burrito was unassembled and as I tried to open it for a sneak preview bite before I drove back to work, it spilled all over my lap and newly-cleaned car. Taco Bell is not very good sober, as it turns out. And maybe if I would have heeded the social expectations of the holdiay and drank copious amounts of tequila before trying to eat my pseudo-Mexican meal, my stomach would have fared better. But then I would have been fired. Sometimes I do miss the European work ethic (i.e. drinking at lunch).

Anyway, I then worked for a few hours: wrote some reports, lost a game of pool, won a game of air hockey, drove a huge 12-passenger van around, tried to stop a child from eating paper, applied band-aids, drank two cups of coffee, (failing in my resolution to-yet again-stop drinking coffee) and read the worst story ever to a child. I'm seriously considering going into children's literature because the stories these kids are forced to read are absolutely abomidable. I realize that the authors cannot use an extensive vocabulary, but readers of all ages appreciate a plot. "Bill led Meg. Meg hit a log. Meg said '"OW'" Leading somebody is as boring as it comes. Especially in this context, it just meant walking in front of somebody else and as this was the bulk of the action, it made for very boring illustrations. And why was Bill so terrible at leading, causing Meg to hit a log?

After work, I did arm exercises at the gym, because I have incredibly weak arms. I then came home and drank a Jose Cuervo pre-made margarita I found in the mini-fridge in the basement. It was very sweet and not very good, but I usually don't like those kind of drinks. I was convinced my Cinco de Mayo had been a failure and I decided to take a bath with my bubble bath birthday gift from the Sephora Insider Club and read the new Esquire. Chuck Klosterman had an interesting article about the ineffectiveness of self-selecting one's career. I guess Great Britain was short on their Olympic athletes in such sports as rowing, vollebyall, and several others, so they put out an advetisement for tall people and they ended up selecting a surprising number of people who responded to these ads for the Olympic teams in these sports. So Klosterman goes on to propose that this could/should become the protocol for all job selection.He argues that people are usually bad at selecting what they are good at and what will make them happy. It was slightly thought-provoking, but ultimately useless, because what kind of world would it be if we couldn't have the freedom to fail miserably? I always felt this way about the world; i believed that failures add value to successes, but my recent state of affairs have left me a little bit down in the mouth and a little bit uncertain of whether I'll ever find "what I'm meant to do." Are some people doomed to never find this and are they aware that they're not living the life they are "supposed to lead?" Is it still incredibly naive of me to hold on to this belief that our lives are following some path towards some concrete thing?

And just as I was ruminating on this and thumbing through the rest of Esquire I stumbled upon the "What I've Learned" feature of the magazine-one of my personal favorites. And who were they interviewing this month? You guessed it. Gore Vidal. Dorothy Parker also would have been a good guess, but she's dead. I won't go into the conclusions I made from this dream/real-life intersection. I'll just leave you with some of the most interesting quotes from the interview.

"You hear all this whining going on, "Where are our great writers?" The thing I might feel doleful about is: Where are the readers?"

"When she was running for the Senate, Hillary's psephologists discovered that the one group that really hated her was white, middle-aged men of property. She got the whole thing immediately-I heard she said, " I remind them of their first wife.'"

"We're the most captive nation of slaves that ever came along. The moral timidity of the average American is quite noticeable. Everybody's afraid to be thought of in any way different from everyone else."

we will go to the moon. or we will go to Moon. are your floodlights working?

2008-04-14T20:18:00.000-07:00

We always used to ridicule my friend Laura in high school for bringing her sandwiches to school in used Ziploc bags, but in hindsight, it just seems practical and good for the environment. Every time I use a new baggie, I inwardly wince that I didn't save and wash my previous baggie. But, I find it hard to break into the habit, even though it's the same idea as tupperware. It still seems gross to me, for some reason.

But one of Laura's baggies read "deer cubes" written faintly in smeary red marker. For those of you unfamiliar with uber-rural school district-vernacular, deer cubes are best described as the following: the flesh of a deer that has been hunted and killed for sport, probably in cube-form. Anyway, I think fondly of these deer cubes because it launched one of our high school phrases of obsession: "'deer cubes' is the new governor!" This was yelled in a celebratory tone and a Kennedy-family accent, and it was usually accompanied by a fist pump. Sometimes it was preluded by an entire induction speech, ripe with political satire and criticisms of opposing candidates (small game). This may not sound funny, but it really really was.

Merv Griffin as Anathema (Ok, why not, eh Jen?)

2008-04-03T13:42:00.000-07:00

I really haven't been keeping up with Bloggy, have I?

These are some things that have been going on:

1. I don't like songs that tell me to breathe.

2. I don't like documentaries about skateboarders.

3. I should not be trusted with house keys. Yesterday my boyfriend entrusted me with his house key while he went to work. I decided to go for a run around 1:00. He lives in Squirrel Hill, so my route was down Schenley Park Boulevard (that one that goes through the golf course) and through the trail in Schenley Park back to Squirrel Hill. Naturally I brought the key along with me. I reached the end of Schenley Park Boulevard (I actually don't know if this is the name of that street, but it sounds right) and realized I did not have the key anymore. So I turned off Ratatat on my ipod and began tracing my steps back. One time we thought I lost his key, because it fell through a hole into the lining of my purse and he was livid. This time was far worse. Additionally, I was going to have to sit on his stoop and wait for seven hours until he got home from work and the gym, because I had nothing on my person, besides my ipod-which was going to die in about an hour anyway. And I was supposed to meet some old friends later that night and my absolute failure to arrive would probably make them sad and confused.

So there I was on Schenley Park Boulevard, nearly hyperventilating, slowly walking my way back to his house, eyes glued to the sidewalk, ignoring passersby with dogs, which was probably better because I most likely had a googly quasi-teary Exorcist death-mask expression on my face anyway. And then, a beam of light came down from the sky and the key was at my feet, in front of a garage a block away from his house. I walked back the rest of the way holding the key in disbelief: I think I kissed it a few times.

So, I learned my lesson and I learned that miracles can happen.

4. I don't like shows that are cake-decorating contests. They are completely altering the way I think about cakes, with their choppy camera-work and flashing lights, and sweating, cursing chefs ordering their "cake crew" while slaving over stainless steel kitchens. Cakes are Love. It should not be this way. It should not be this way.

where was this written?

2008-03-26T19:40:00.000-07:00

Even the stale piss in the tunnel smells better with a runner’s high.
Emerging, I look up to the left and see a young couple on the top step of a dry marble fountain.
Later in the park, I see a discarded jacket-
And the two images are flashbulbs of the same narrative.
I wonder whether decisions are as irreversible as they seem.
But the writer in me knows everything is rushing to its inevitable conclusion,
And every moment is a point of convergence and departure: A hundred thousand climaxes.
Even this moment- stopping on the dam to catch my breath-
Must be inscribed somewhere eternally as a small failure.
This is not the time to go easy on myself.
I choose a point of focus and look to the apartment roofs.
Terra cotta, terra cotta, terra cotta. Til I’m home.

Woman of Leisure

2008-03-23T19:43:00.000-07:00

With no job and my permanent residence currently the ol' Barnes Estate, I've been spending a good deal of time either going to the local YMCA or cooking. I decided in February that I was going to try to be a vegan for a month. This sprouted from my desire to eat more natural, organic, and local foods, because I'm trying live a more eco-conscious lifestyle. (By the way, as part of my campaign to be a more eco-conscious shopper, I bought Tom's All Natural Deoderant, which made me smell really really terrible; it somehow made natural body odor at least twelve times more potent. it is awful, don't buy it).

I thought a good launch of my new lifestyle would be this month-long test of will. Unfortunately there were some really wonderful food-related events this month: make-up pork and sauerkraut dinner that was postponed from New Year's Day, (deemed Porkfest by a certain gentleman caller of mine) my birthday dinner, Easter, my other birthday dinner, an impromptu suggestion by the brains behind the Porkfest label for a Saturday sushi adventure. For the most part, I didn't cheat through this gauntlet of savory temptation: malted milk balls trying to trip me up, strip steaks swinging at my head like machetes, giant hams rolling at me like the big ball in Raiders of the Lost Ark. And I do still have a week left, so there's plenty more room to cheat, I suppose.

I did cheat on my birthday dinner, but I had accounted and planned for this cheat since the beginning of my endeavor. My family took me to Bona Terra, which is a lovely little restaurant in Sharpsburg with a daily-changing menu and the freshest local ingredients. I had swordfish and gentleman caller had duck. It was ducktastic (props, jim nelson)! I also cheated when gentleman caller wanted to go to Chaya, a sushi restaurant in Squirrel Hill. I hadn't had sushi in a year and I wasn't going to watch him eat delicious salmon and tuna rolls while I ate some weak-ass udon noodle mixed vegetable bowl. I also cheated one Saturday, when hungover, hungry and marooned at gentleman caller's home, (where there is little vegan fare) I ate dinosaur chicken nuggets in ranch dressing. This was more sinful and more delicious than either the swordfish or the sushi.

If you haven't had chicken nuggets in ranch dressing lately, treat yourself. It was also Hidden Valley Ranch and I started imagining that there are dinosaurs that still exist today, but they can only be found in the Hidden Valley, where they work on a co-op farm together to make ranch dressing and wear clothes and live creepy anthropomorphic lives , like the characters from that show "Dinosaurs." (Not the mama!) But I digress. I did NOT cheat at Easter thanks in large part to my vegetarian aunt, who has been ultra-supportive of my dalliance with veganism, and made a good part of the meal accessible to our needs. Plus I made the ever-famous Soba Noodles with Broccoli and Peanut Sauce. I made this several times in Prague with and for friends, and it is really stunningly good.

I got this great vegan cookbook and I've been obsessed with it for four months now. This weekend I made butternut squash and lentil stew and forced it upon gentleman caller's roommates. It was fun, except for the part where I cut my finger on a serrated knife peeling the squash, and blood squirted all over my cookbook. But I've been either making something out of this book or experimenting with my own concoctions every day and I realized how much I really really enjoy cooking. It's relaxing for me and I like having cookies or stews to bring friends. It's rekindling my closeted ambition to be a food critic.

Back to my second main source of activity as a woman of leisure: my daily adventures to the YMCA. I bring this up primarily to relate a story from last week. I'll call this "The Tale of the Misplaced Hip." I set off on a Wednesday morning to attend the AM Challenge class, which thus far had been a low-impact aerobic workout featuring the step and ball. But the normal instructor was sick, leaving the Zumba instructor to cover. According to Zumba.com, Zumba routines "... feature interval training sessions where fast and slow rhythms and resistance training are combined to tone and sculpt your body while burning fat. Add some Latin flavor and International zest into the mix and you've got ZUMBA!" Several women went running for the door when they heard that Zumba was on the bill, but I stayed. Call it determination or call it masochism. The motley crew that remained after the class-ditchers behaved eponymously was myself, a grandfather/twelve-year-old boy team, and two women in their sixties. As the class proceeded, and I began to wiggle my ass and shake my hips, (directly in front of grandson and grandpa) I noticed that the older women around me were doing far better and dancing really well, while I was tripping over my own feet and trying to minimize my butt/hip movement, so as not to offend the gentlemen behind me. I'm tall and kind of lanky and awkward and generally don't feel comfortable doing that move where you squat down and pump your fists and hump the air. It was all very embarassing. I then noticed my pants were on inside-out. I need to find a job soon.

Shame on You (But It's Ok)

2008-02-07T09:00:00.000-08:00

I have a confession to make. I am a jerk. As I related in my last blog, I was robbed about a week ago. Things have improved since then. Our landlords moved us to a different apartment and my work gave me an advance on my paycheck so I could buy food. Before things were settled though I behaved pretty badly. I went through the days in a state of self-pity. Several days I almost started crying when I was hanging out with people because I felt so shitty about myself.

I've always believed (or thought I believed) that life would work itself out: that "you can't always get you want, but if you try sometimes you get what you need" that "we should look at the crows; life is more than food or clothes," etc. It's not that I don't work hard. I do. I've just always believed that life provides. But here I was faced with a financial hiccup and I was acting like someone had sentenced me to a life's imprisonment with Kathy Griffin. I've been criticized for this because sometimes people view this attitude as carelessness or unpreparedness and maybe sometimes it does manifest itself this way, but I've stood by it, because I believe it is the only way to face a life that will surely contain much greater struggles and challenges than being robbed of a month's paycheck. But looking at myself last week, I'm a little bit ashamed. If I can't even keep this attitude in the face of such a small problem, what will happen later in life? Will I become like Britney Spears or something? I told myself today that whoever stole that money probably needed it more than I do.

If you haven't read the "The Fall," it's a very short (approx. 100 pages) monologue by a guy in Amsterdam * (hell) relating the story of his "fall" (Adam and Eve-style.) He used to be a man who lived life to help other people. He was a defense laywer and made the summit of his ambition a moral one: rather than monetary or career-oriented. Then after a series of events that challenge his opinions of himself, he slowy spirals into this realization that everyone is constantly judging everybody and now he tells people his story to get them to judge themselves. It is a great book. There are some really interesting bits about religion, especially towards the end. But the quote that resonated most with me was this: " we have lost track of the light, the mornings, the holy innocence of those who forgive themselves."

This quote touches on something Camus followed through with in detail in the novel, which is that most people walk through life punishing themselves for what they have or haven't done. Camus ended by alluding that humanity was just a giant tribunal, that we're constantly up for judgement by a voyeuristic society, but I think he was really insinuating that the greatest and harshest judge is within ourselves and this internal judge rationalizes misfortune as our condign punishment and to respond to this punishment with bitterness towards people because nobody else can offer relief or sanction.

The people who cause the most damage to other people are those that secretly or not so secretly have a desire to hurt themselves. This happens in big ways and small ways. Who hasn't started a fight with a friend or sig. other because they wanted to feel bad about themselves? Who hasn't pushed someone away because they wanted the selfish pleasure of misery? Kundera talks about it in a more limited scope and labels it "litost-" an untranslatable Czech word, using the examples of a child purposely hitting the wrong notes in front of a harsh piano teacher or a man hitting his female lover who is a better swimmer than him because he "feared for her safety." They are self-punishment masquerading as the punishment of others. It's a terrible feeling and its one that is easy to adopt as habit.

I guess what I'm trying to say with this is that my overreaction to the robbery was really just a way for me punish myself for things I should have forgotten about a long time ago. Didn't somebody once say that self-pity is the greatest of evils? Either way, I'm embarassed for my behavior and I promise to "trust the bears" in the future.

In other news, I've been walking around lately playing "Brass in Pocket" over and over again on my ipod. I keep accidentally making eyes at strangers.

*Amsterdam actually is hell. I'll skip the details, but my trip there two years ago ended in my assurance that a nice Korean man in a Hawaiin shirt sharing my hostel room had a black briefcase full of torture tools he planned to use on me in my sleep.

life is hard

2008-02-02T09:07:00.000-08:00

DECISION MADE!

Nothing makes you want to come on the first plane ride home more than GETTING YOUR APARTMENT BROKEN INTO...WHILE YOU ARE THERE.

Yeah, definitely coming home now.

So, Thursday night I went to my usual place where I keep money which is between two books on my bookshelf. None of it was there. There was about 95 euros and 6000 krowns, which is like 500 dollars. I hadn't gone to my "stash" since before we went on our six-day school ski trip which we returned from last Saturday. At first I thought I misplaced it and a thorough apartment-scouring took place. I was looking in the sleeves of shirts, in the fireplace, everywhere. The money was not there.

So, I get depressed. I just lost my wallet in October and even though there's no logical reason for the money to be missing other than theft, I still harbor the belief that it is probably my fault and I just did something really idiotic with it, like throw it away.

The next day, Jen went to meet Lori and Anna for happy hour and I stayed in bed depressed and broke. About ten minutes after she left, I heard a key turn in the door, the door slowly swing open, and the floor creaking as somebody stepped inside. Then, nothing. They didn't move. So, I got out of bed slowly and turned on the light (i live in the living room and off of the living room is the "foyer.") When I turned on the light, the door slammed and whoever it was started RELOCKING the door--which means they have a key to the apartment. I got to the door and tried to open it but it was locked from the outside, so I had to run back and get my keys off the kitchen table, and unlock the door. By the time i got outside, they were gone.

This leads me to believe that they came into the apartment while we were on the ski trip, because the only valuable thing in the apartment then was the money, because we had our computers and cameras with us. This also leads me to believe they are scoping the apartment, because they came right after Jen left and the apartment was dark and quiet. This ALSO leads me to belive that SOMEONE HAS A KEY TO OUR APARTMENT.

We called our managment company right after it happened and told them we were robbed, that someone has a key, and we would like our locks changed. They said they had to call the owner and call us back. When they called us back, they said the owner said we would have to pay to change the locks ourselves if we wanted them changed. We asked for the owner's number and when we called him, he purported to know nothing of the incident and when we tried to explain we were met with failure, because he's Italian and has poor English.

This is coming from the same real estate company that was informed our fridge was broken Jan 2 and finally acted on the problem THIS TUESDAY Jan 29 by telling us we had to go buy a fridge ourselves and they would refund us later.

I don't know what to do besides go in there Monday and tell them they either change the locks or we're moving out and demanding back February's rent. We haven't had a refridgerator for a month and won't for another month and now somebody has a key to our apartment and I have a total of $20 to live on until mid-February.

Sorry for the gripe-heavy blog, but honestly...

The good news is I'll be back in the states late February!

Messages from Ski Camp in Liberec

2008-01-21T11:47:00.000-08:00

And sometimes things just fall into your lap. You never asked for them. You never fought for them. They just happen to you. And maybe some people think that these are the important things- the ones we have no control over. But what they fail to understand is that with everything you get handed to you (or that seems to be handed to you) there is also an implicit decision. Because there comes a time when you must choose this thing. You must choose it even though it has been given to you. There comes a time when it stands before you and demands “you’ve had me. do you still want me?” And all you have to do is make the choice. Do I really want this? And from then on, it is fully yours.

And so it is that on the eve of exodus from this place, I am confronted with powerful incentive to stay. My plane is leaving February 25. I have given up my job. I have given up my flat. Everything is neatly in order. One suitcase is already packed. I don't buy a lot of groceries anymore. But four days ago I got an email from The Prague Post offering me a job in their copy editing department. I applied for a listings writer position in October and they emailed me back to let me know the position had been filled, but they would keep my resume on file. And I hadn’t given it much thought since.

I got the email Wednesday night and it had been a tumultuous day to begin with. I woke up at 6:00 a.m. to travel to Dresden to apply for a superfluous visa. There was no need for me to have a visa at this point. I would be leaving in a month. But my work needed me to go essentially to cover their asses. I had been working there since October and they had barely lifted a finger in filing the proper documentation for me to be legally employed. Thus, my belated, expensive bureaucratic shlep. In order to apply for a long-term Visa, you need mounds of paperwork: handfuls of tiny passport pictures, notarizations of birth certificates, tefl certificates, diplomas, Czech translations of these documents, forms signed by doctors, forms signed by your landlord, criminal record checks, forms in Czech I couldnt even guess the function of. Then you carry all of these things to the Czech embassy in Dresden or Vienna, pay 154 euros, and then you return in a week to pick up your short-term visa. After that, it takes four months for your long-term visa to clear. Read “The Castle” and you’ll get an idea of what it feels like.

So my co-worker-Matt- and I arrive at the Czech embassy at 9:00 a.m., discover our work “gave” (took out of our paycheck and converted to euros)the wrong amount of money-95 euros. So we went back to the train station with the intention of using a Bankomat (ATM) to get the rest of the money. Neither of Matt’s cards were working, so I had to use my debit card, which I’m astounded had the necessary cash on it. This drained my debit card, which means I am no longer capable of booking anything for a trip I’m planning with my boyfriend in mid-February. Frustration is mounting. But we return to the embassy, pay the correct amount, and go eat a doner kebab. As much as I'm boring myself even relaying this story, its is necessary to convey my mindset. So we return to the train station and run into some girls who work at the pre-school affiliated with our elementary school. I explain to the girls my situation (leaving in Feb. and having to pay for this useless visa) and one of them tells me I should have just applied for a short-term visa, which is only 60 euros. Unfortunately the embassy closes at 11:00 a.m. (they’re open three fucking hours) and it is currently 11:04 a.m. The embassy is a four minute-walk from the train station, so I get a gleam in my eye and decide to go for it. Matt goes with me and when I buzz the clearly closed embassy’s door, the woman informs me they are closed and to come back another time. Deflated, Matt and I head back to the train station. He wants to go for a beer, go for a walk, anything-but I feel like crying. He finally convinces me to go for a walk around the dilapidated back streets of outer Dresden. We consider whether squatters live in any of the buildings, a lifestyle I imagine myself becoming rather familiar with in the next month if I have to pay 154 euros for nothing-and I decide to try again at the embassy. They’re still there-I’m sure; they’re just sitting upstairs eating Lean Cuisines most likely-or schnitzel-or whatever German ladies eat for lunch. So I speed walk back, buzz the door, and explain to them I just need to change one thing on my form-that my train is leaving-please, please-two minutes. And they oblige!-albeit unhappily. I get my 95 euros back. We catch a train back at 12:45 p.m. and get into Prague around 3:30 p.m.

A few hours later I'm sitting at home on my cot bed miraculously getting the internet and I get the email from the Prague Post. After everything that happened that day, and little sleep, getting the news made me disproportionately upset. I tried to talk to Jen about it and she kind of dismissed it on account of my plans to leave and told me I should send them her resume and went to bed. So I went outside and walked around my neighborhood for about an hour listening to Joni Mitchell and calming myself down.

I went to an interview on Friday, which may have gone well. The “interview” portion was relaxed and I got along well with the editor who hailed from Cleveland. Then I took an editing test, where I proofread an unedited front page.

I left a little giddy- i kept thinking how cool it would be to work for this paper, despite the measly salary. I would be making what works out to be less than $800 a month. But this is what I want to do, work for a paper or magazine. If I got the job and I took the job, I would want to stay for a while-give myself the time to learn it well. Yet I’m sapped-of resources, of money, and of energy. There would be difficulty in finding a place to sublet at an affordable price and coming up with the money to put down a security deposit. It would probably cost a lot to delay my flight. My heart was set on leaving and other’s hearts were set to that timetable too.

I’ve always been enamored with the beauty of being alone- that feeling that surprises you on a Saturday late-morning early afternoon, when you decide on a whim to take a walk in the park or peek into a 1,000 year-old church and a calm comes upon you, a self-sufficiency and the ungraspable feeling that you possess the time and potential to go where you want. It surprised me on the train to Dresden in the 6:00 a.m dark in a private compartment and it surprised me because I wasn't even alone. My co-worker was asleep on the opposite three seats. But then I thought about it and I understood why: I like disappearing. It's why I'm here. It's why I go on walks unannounced, why I used to get drunk and disappear from parties finding myself on unlit Bloomfield alleys, why this rush usually only happens when I'm somewhere noone knows I am. I made these plans and despite who came with me or who I met here, this was always my time to be alone. But balancing the part of me that wants to get away is the part that wants to go back.

I’m young and as such, I am still in love with the beauty of being alone. Yet, I have someone who is willing to do anything reasonable to stay with me-someone who would never have left- and who never would. So the unbeautiful thing about being alone is hurting others, when they want to know where you are and maybe they want to go with you. And I want so much to understand the beauty of considering others. Of not making every decision for myself. Because that is what makes the world go round, right? At some point, we all have to awake to the knowledge that there is a different kind of happiness. A happiness in making others happy. And despite the romanticized gritty lifestyle that I envision, the "break" I may get by staying, the opportunity (by being in Prague) to easily conjure up that feeling I am still so in love with-despite all of these things there are things in Pittsburgh which make me the level of happy that is simply unattainable here.

And now-secluded in the mountains of Jizerske for a week with basic amenities, lots of time on my hands, and the rapid onset of a cold (I'm sitting here sipping on whiskey and tea that the proprieter of the Hotel Maxov made me as he told about being in the Czech Army in '68,) I should feel that lovely tinge of being that accompanies disappearing into the unknown, but instead all I want is to reassure someone he is wanted. I want to be true and honorable and that is sometimes at odds with the beauty of being alone.

Maybe none of this made sense. I may have a fever. But I have a choice to make. And I'll leave it at that for tonight.

mark mangino is the pride of new castle

2007-12-24T20:50:00.000-08:00

My car is my sanctuary. I always look forward to a long drive. I can dream about my career (ha!) or catch up with an old album (lately Carole King's "Tapestry.") Sometimes I zone out to the point where I suddenly realize I'm belting out a passionate rendition of "It's Too Late" with overemphatic hand gestures and steering wheel slaps, completely oblivious to the passengers of passing cars. I don't think I'm alone in my tendency to forget other people can see me in my car. Who hasn't witnessed the occassional nose pick? Or uh, been the picker themselves?

For that matter, who hasn't jerked themselves off thrusting their pelvis so high that your penis becomes visible to those in passing cars? Eh, nobody? Maybe not so normal?

This is what my sister and I witnessed this past Saturday. We're driving down 79, heading to Pittsburgh for our annual Christmas tea with my mom, sisters, and aunts. All is going well. We're catching up, talking about the last couple of months. I casually look behind me in the rearview mirror and see this jerky, rapid movement coming from the driver's side of a silver Chevy pickup truck pulling up along us.

"Em, look at this guy behind us," I say. "In the truck. Is he getting roadhead???"

"What, oh my gosh!" She wheels around to see what's going on.

So, at this point, we're in three lane traffic approaching the city. I'm in the fast lane and the truck's in the middle lane and traffic is heavy enough that both lanes are moving in a kind of ebb and flow motion. The truck appears to be coming up quickly on our right, so I tell Emily to check it out.

"I just saw a penis!!" Em screams. The car goes wild. We start freaking out. From this point on, we can't seem to get away from the silver Chevy. And crossing Veterans Bridge he pulls up behind us, with what we're sure is the intent to follow, attack, and sexually assault us.

We made it safely to the Victorian Tea House on the Southside and it proved to be a lovely tea, despite the party in front of us stealing all the tea hats. And really, what better topic to discuss over tea than exhibitionist truck drivers?

Merry Christmas everybody.

JOY SPASMS IN JAMA

2007-12-12T07:32:00.000-08:00

This'll be a quickie since I have to meet some people for a drink in about fifteen minutes. I'm meeting myself for a drink right now, sipping on a pivo and calling the credit card company on skype, (still unfinished business from lost wallet.) I am flying out of the Czech Republic tomorrow and going home to the United States for Christmas. I don't have money to buy a book, so I'm stuck on the plane with my Essential Kierkegaard. But the thing with Kierkegaard is I need to let each essay soak for a few days. If i try to cram his eight remaining discourses into a three-flight, 15-hour hell, I might come away (gasp) hating Kierkegaard! Maybe I'll try to chat up people next to me! No, I'm not that cruel. But really, with no light reading and a broken ipod, things are looking dim. I might have to drink myself home.

Despite what seems like a terribly mind-numbing day I have tomorrow, I'm actually excited...to travel. I like it. I like airplane food. I like watching episodes of King of Queens and Everybody Loves Raymond (and in the case of Air India, a visual force-feeding of Failure to Launch; they showed it 6 times!!!) I like sitting in airport bars and being hit on and bought drinks by 50 year old men. I like watching people, because you see the rainbow of emotion in an airport. I like the duty-free shop. I like being alone and forced to entertain myself, like when I was little and the power went out. And now that i think about it, that's why, despite some things have gone wrong the last couple of months, I liked the last couple of months. The broken elevator, washing machine, heat, water, lights, etc. have made me more resourceful and responsible. Which makes me pat myself on the back here in the middle of the bar. But I especially like travelling this time, because I have never been so excited to go home. I haven't felt this way since I was 12 and going to Disneyworld. Maybe I've never felt this way.

I think I am in love with Pittsburgh. And as much as I'd love to develop this thought, I really have to go. Na Shledanou. See you January 2, Praha.

something else about tourists

2007-11-28T12:22:00.000-08:00

This morning, I had a rohlik for breakfast, which is a little banana-shaped roll. Rohliky are very popular here. In fact, many consider them the most popular Czech food. So it's funny that as I walked down the street munching on my little roll, I felt like Ben Franklin. But then again, I always do when I buy tiny rolls or breads and eat them in the street. This is because, as anyone who's familiar with Ben Franklin and his autobiography remembers, when Ben gets to Motown Philly he only has money for bread and walks down the street giddily scarfing it down. If I'm remembering the passage correctly, I'm pretty sure he then gives some of the bread to a girl he wants to get with!

Thinking about frisky Ben Franklin somehow led me to thinking about time travel and how he might have a similar experience if he landed in 2007 Prague, because rohliky are so ubiquitous and cheap here.

I wrote a post a little while ago that mentioned people's annoyance with tourists and my thoughts about Ben Franklin made me realize that if and when time travel becomes possible, people will be SO annoyed with time-travel tourists. If locals get annoyed now when tourists have currency or navigational confusion, imagine the shitshow when cavemen are clubbing people riding skateboards in Manhattan or when X-men-like superhumans from the future start turning Prague waitresses into fireballs because they're unhappy with the service. Proponents of research into time-travel should probably have a good long think and assess their tolerance levels.

if you love pizza like i love pizza...

2007-11-25T14:43:00.000-08:00

Whenever dogs begin to bark wildly at you or strain on their leashes to get at you, or even jump on you, attempting to bite you through their muzzles, do you ever think, "oh shit, maybe i'm the devil?" Because I do. In movies, the dogs always freak out when somebody really evil walks down the street. So when dogs start barking at me, for a moment i always get scared i might be evil. Maybe they just bark at insanity.

We live next to this little park and every time I step out the door I'm bound to see at least six dogs within thirty seconds. So, they bark at me from time to time. Usually I just hold out my hand and say "hey puppy" in a reassuring tone and they wag their tails and go away, but today these two little demon mangy-looking things were jumping on me and barking and I'm sure they would have bitten me had they not been wearing muzzles. And their owner was some poor old man with a walker who was screaming at them and trying to cross the street as quickly as he could to rescue me and scold his dogs.

I always feel really guilty when the dogs bark at me though, and there's no other explanation to feel guilty besides thinking dogs only bark at evil. Which is why I'm always kind of spooked for a few minutes because I feel like I just lived the scene of a movie where an evil person gets barked at but they don't even know they're evil yet!! Like I'm going to go back up to my apartment and find a dead crow in my bed, and then next week I'll discover I can change electrical currents with my mind. Gives me the heebie jeebies I tell you. It gives me the straight up heeb jeebs.

crazy aunt julie

2007-11-24T14:39:00.000-08:00

Ok, this is where I start my narration: I'm standing at the metro stop waiting to transfer to the B line. There are couples everywhere, as is always the case in Prague. Or maybe I just notice them so much because they make themselves so impossible to miss. People grope here. They don't stand a foot away, arms folded, or even side by side holding hands. They stand wrapped around each other cooing in each other's ears and tonguing each other. What would be a sickening display of public affection in the United States is completely appropriate and normal here. I've become used to it. So, there I am, solo, as usual. There is a hole in my tights, right above the knee and below my black shorts and there is a giant hole in the tin foil barely covering my pot of homemade applesauce left-over from the expat Thanskgiving. I am a mess. I look like a vagrant.

I get on the train. I sit and stare at myself at the tinted glass. "Hello me. Don't pee yourself." This is what I think for the roughly 3 minutes it takes to ride three stops home. The metro stop is always like a wind tunnel and when I step off the train, the tin foil completely blows off the pot and skids along the edge of the platform. I half-heartedly chase/walk after it, but I don't want to get too close in case the train starts moving or the driver honks at me. That would be embarrassing. But it soon falls into the crack between the train and the platform. I snort and walk away.

Before I transferred trains I rode and walked home with Julie: a 26 year-old ex-Mormom from Gridley, California, and my favorite person I've met in Prague. We were swapping books. She gave me "On the Road" and I gave her "Ask the Dust." I've been refusing to read "On the Road" for years. It seems like something that, four years ago, I could have read and it would have changed my life, but I've convinced myself that I'm past the point now where it would affect me, which is a really presumptuous thing to assume considering I HAVEN'T READ THE BOOK. It's the same thing with anything by Ayn Rand. I've done my research. She ain't my cup of tea. This is probably close-minded. Whatever. I'll cave eventually. In the meantime, let me have something to refuse.

"It (On the Road) made me really miss America," Julie says. "Just living free and easy. I really want to drive across America but all my friends are married now or don't have the money."

"Yeah, I was going to do that with my friend Jim after graduation, but we didn't have the money. We got as far as Minnesota and then I had a flight booked home, or else as corny as it sounds, we would have kept driving."

There is some more chit chat, some kind of interim blah-blah speak, and then we both agree to something. Julie's eyes are red, because Julie has drunk ALOT of wine tonight, and as I said, I'm the hobo girl with faulty tights and aluminum foil, but we hit on something I've been thinking since I've been here, which is this: it is the same no matter where you live.

Julie says, "I think I was running away from something when I came here, but it's the same here. You think about the same things; you are the same person. You have an apartment, you have a front door, you have locks, you have a job, you have a grocery store; it's all the same."

This is the biggest realization I've had since i've been here and it makes us both ask ourselves the same question: "why are we here?"

"Why am I here?" This is the last question we hurriedly ask each other before I step off the train to transfer lines, but it doesn't matter because neither of us can answer it anyway.

Happy expat Thanksgiving.

trends in film: a serious analysis

2007-11-19T01:04:00.000-08:00

I decided that when I come home I'm throwing a party in homage to that rash of delightful monkey comedies released in the mid to late 90's. We'll watch "Buddy," "Ed," "Mighty Joe Young," and "Dunston Checks In." If you can think of any more monkey movies, please help me out. I'd really like to not miss any. Yes, I have considered "Outbreak," but ultimately decided against it, because unlike my other selections, a monkey is not a main character who is intended to steal the heart of the viewer by doing cute monkey things-(or very un-monkey things, like pitching a baseball in "Ed"!) In "Outbreak" the monkey is a creepy minor character and serves more as a catalyst for a terrible epidemic than a delightful main character. "Buddy" and "Mighty Joe Young" try to tackle the issue of the risks of anthropomorphizing wild animals, so we can discuss this after their screenings if everyone likes. We can also snack on fried bananas, monkey bread, Chunky Monkey ice cream, and dried fruit (monkeys LOVE that stuff, trust me.) You'll be delighted to find Paul Reubens is in two of these movies. Make of that what you will. See you then!

"this isn't treasure; these are kinder eggs"

2007-11-17T10:09:00.000-08:00

Dear high school boyfriend,
It was you who encouraged me to take up a hobby early on.
“I’m bored,” I would say
and you would tell me to take up knitting or learn to play an instrument
and I would get insulted.
“I read; that is a hobby.” I'd counter indignantly.
Knitting was always the most popular suggestion and it always offended me.
I thought it meant you craved the suggestion of domesticity in a girl, envisioned prospective partners and your eventual wife as docile seamstresses who would adroitly fix snags in trousers and have dinner on the table by five and coo in your ear and somehow rub your feet at the same time: little marvels of flexibility.
But looking back now, I am afraid that maybe you were alluding merely to any creative productivity. And this scares me, brings me back to my base fear that some are meant to produce and some to appreciate. And thinking deeper about it, I realize I only said I was bored so you would talk to me, so you would "tell me a story." And I’m back in the apron, waiting for the hero to recount the day’s conquests, or curled up on an armchair, lost in the prose of someone who can do something I will never be able to.

tony zvear

2007-11-16T13:17:00.000-08:00

SIIIIIICK!

i am sick. chills, aches, nagging cough, runny nose, the telltale red rashy upper chest and throat. i can't taste anything, but for some reason i'm force feeding myself cheap waxy chocolate. it's one of those times though that it feels kind of nice to be sick, an excuse to lay in my bed all day tomorrow and drink tea and read and write and cancel social engagements, maybe wander to the potraviny and buy better chocolate. geez i'm such a girl. i always talk about tea and chocolate. i bet you a hundred dollars i will be really into gardening in ten years. anyway, jen is going to vienna this weekend with her swedish beau which gives me all the more reason to not move from bed tomorrow. place all to myself!
long day at work. i had to cover for a girl who teaches morning classes, so i taught those and then did my normal afternoon stint. marketa picked up on the fact that i was sick and tried to give me a home remedy. marketa is pretty cool. she's probably about my mom's age, which i'm guessing from the fact she has a son my age. she wears her hair in two long blonde braids and wears big hippie sweaters and hunting jackets. i want to be like marketa when i grow up. i bet she gardens too! ok, i want to be like marketa, except for the gardening part, if she gardens. marketa doesn't speak english very well, but we always try to talk. so she was attempting to give me this home remedy for sore throats and was asking the kids what some word was in english, but none of the kids knew.
"it in kitchen. small. oriental.
"ginger?" i guessed.
"no, no. in czech, its word for pound into wall."
"nail?" i said. "nail, nail!" she was really excited about this. "add twenty nail to hot water. no pay at apotheke. works." she winks and gives the a-ok sign.
i didn't really have the heart to tell her that adding twenty nails to a cup of hot water would probably give you lockjaw.
i asked my favorite student if there was a word in czech that sounded like "nail" but he had no idea what i was talking about.

shit, i just i know i'm going to start gardening. i'm so rebelling against this. i'm already trying to go on "nature walks" and buying ecologically-friendly house cleaners. i've helped my aunt a gajillion summers managing her oversized garden. it's in my genes. it's coming. what's the opposite of gardening and can i get into that without violating any laws?

title of this blog is a reference to the only film i'd recommend seeing from the short film festival i went to tonight. it was about a guy with abnormally large ears who fell in love with a girl with abnormally large ears.

Necro is playing next week

2007-11-15T14:33:00.000-08:00

“One more encore and I’ll throw my shoes at the stage.”

We are dissenting the third encore. Blues and reds wash over the crowd of couples smoking cigars. The smoke swirls behind my head; its lazy trajectory winds its way over my face, creeps into my nostrils. I picture it slipping into my mouth, rubbing against my already red raw throat and I hate the third encore even more. People are packed tight against each other and a hairy hand reaches over me to massage the shoulder of a mousy girl wearing glasses standing in front of me. I’m in the way. I straighten, and my back cracks, and I become aware of how much I slouch. But this is jazz. I should expect this, right? I should expect cigarettes and amorous behavior. I’m watching a Swedish jazz trio. An anomaly. Do the Swedish need jazz? I always thought it was a frictional artform, borne from an emotional or societal discord. Do these things exist in Sweden? Regardless, the band is good. Like if Radiohead played jazz. I feel like I should be going places like outer space. Like I should be sinking into a black hole, billions of stars sliding and swirling past. Or into an abyss, like Ed Harris in the movie, “The Abyss.”Or in a haunted house, wandering through the basement with a lantern, light glancing off dusty, forgotten Victorian furniture with rusty hairclips in the drawers. I should be sitting with my head on my hands on a stool in a small room with yellowing wallpaper. This music sounds like being alone, in all its imaginary and real incarnations. And that is why I prefer to listen to jazz alone where my imagination doesn’t have to compete with pungent smoke or with the awkwardness of being the third wheel, (I thought his friends were coming too…no?) as your best friend leans back against her Swedish boyfriend wearing a Troy Aikman jersey. Maybe all Swedes are anomalies. I can't keep up an intellectual internal soliloquy for three sets. In the third encore, I start thinking entirely about the show Murphy Brown. See if you can guess why.

greed is good

2007-11-12T14:52:00.000-08:00

The climax of the day was probably me sitting in Bata shoe store, tenderly removing my black high heels which I continue to erroneously think it is appropriate to wear for twelve-hour rainy work days, hiking up my pants and hoping nobody notices my unshaved legs (sorry, it's winter and its not like anybody's touching them) and trying on brown winter boots that I am keenly aware will cost me 80% of the paycheck I just received from my T-Mobile classes.
(Apparently if you don't have a visa yet, they think you subsist on imaginary food, LIKE IN THE MOVIE "HOOK!")

Did I buy the boots? Did the desire for warm and stylish footwear prevail over economic concerns?

Yes, I bought the boots. Come next month when I'm eating peas for dinner, will I regret it?
No. I'll think back to Alicia of November 12 who sat in the Bata shoe store exhausted after being on her cold feet since 5:30 a.m., harried after a day of students spilling glue and caustically telling her she's a muppet, still sad after losing her wallet on November 11, disappointed that her last pair of boots ripped apart and one of the kids at school told her they would be great for her witch costume, and holding enough cash in her hands at that moment to buy a nice pair of boots.

Additionally, Jen and I decided to start teaching out students English based solely from the movie "Wall Street" so we can turn them into smarmy businessmen.

"Lunch is for wimps."

an upsetting development

2007-11-11T07:23:00.000-08:00

Well, it finally happened. For those who know me, you know this is long overdue. I have had this coming for many many years, which makes the way it happened even stranger. I thought it would be in some crowded bar or restaruant, at a shopping mall, or even on some form of public transportation. But not like this. I lost my wallet, most likely to a pickpocket.

Jen and I were at the Narodni Trida metro stop. She went to a stand to put minutes on her phone and I told her I was going to buy a coke. Coke transaction went well. Gave the woman 100 krowns and she gave me a Coke. Afterwards I put my wallet in my coat pocket and Jen and I headed to brunch. We ate brunch. It was delightful. I had an Irish coffee and chicken with blue cheese and broccoli. I was thinking about how I would come home and listen to Jethro Tull and drink tea and lesson plan. I also wanted to go to the Globe and possibly splurge on a book. I was full of food and vim for the remainder of the day. We call for the check. I reach for my wallet, no wallet. This baffled me, because I knew I had it when I paid for the Coke. So for the first ten minutes I didnt really panic, because it made no sense to me. I left Jen at the restaurant and walked back to the metro stop, scanning the streets, looking under cars, even looking in the garbage can where I threw away my Coke can. No wallet. Jen had to go to an ATM and get money for both of our brunches and while I sat there in the restaurant waiting for her, embarassed, I realized that it really was gone.

I left this wallet on the bar counter of many a watering hole in my day. I left it at the Garage Door probably ten times and either Jim would pick it up for me or the bartenders would just hold it until I came the next day and I wouldnt even have to ask, they would just wordlessly hand it to me. One time I thought I left it on the roof of my car while I was getting gas. Topaz and I were going to Crazy Mocha on Ellsworth and when I went to pay for a coffee, I realized it was gone. So we drove slowly down the streets, looking for where an unassuming brown leather wallet, purchased by a vendor at Camden Market in London two years ago, may have skittered to a stop. We looked under cars, next to trees. No wallet. Back at the gas station and on the verge of desperation, I looked under the seats and there it was, nestled between the middle compartment and the passenger seat. I've lost expensive purses, numerous school IDs, more rings than I can count, keys, and hats. I've broken or lost four cameras. I'm a forgetful person. So, losing my wallet like this is especially frustrating.

There is the possibilty I missed my coat pocket when I tried to put my wallet in. But I've never missed before. It's a big pocket. I prefer to think I was pickpocketed. Narodni Trida is a really busy area. Plus, if I think this, I won't have to start doing hand-eye coordination exercises to improve my hand to pocket delivery.

I'm sad about the money and I'm sad about the metro card, which is expensive, and I'm sad about the credit cards and money cards, because I essentially have three dollars to live on right now and no means to access any more cash, which is disturbing. I'm sad about all the cards and pictures in the wallet: pictures from home and business cards from Southside shops or 7-11 Big Gulp cards. But mostly I'm sad about the wallet itself, because it was one of my favorite things. Obviously I don't put a lot of stock in possessions, judging by how often I lose them, but I bought it in London and it was old-looking and leathery-smelling, and lovely and very "me." I hope whoever found or took it didnt just take the money. I hope it finds a good home.

white chocolate is better than no chocolate

2007-11-08T12:37:00.000-08:00

At some point in my walk to work in the morning, the streetlights turn off. Nobody should have to see this.

I read a poll today that said one out of every seven inhabitants of the Czech Republic admitted to living life with a deep sense of happiness. What really disturbs me is that before I fully absorbed this statistic, I thought this was great. I thought that was a really high percentage of really happy people.

I'm drinking a bottle of wine by myself tonight because I had to referee 10-year olds playing football for two hours at work today and I don't have a boyfriend here to hang out with like some.

white chocolate is gross

2007-11-07T11:24:00.000-08:00

I went to a poetry reading the other night. The woman was from Normal, Illinois and is now living in Prague, I guess. She has a collection being published in 2009. The reading was at this expat coffeehouse called the Globe and was in English, which is really exciting when you live in a city where a lot of things are not, so I dragged Jen and our friend Drew. Now, I don't make any claims to being a fantastic poet. I've dabbled. I do it for my own amusement, the majority of which happens when I read it like a day later and want to slap a mr. yuk sticker onto the page. I also have to respect anybody that gets in front of a room of people and reads something they've written. I've been asked to do it and I didn't have the guts.
So anyway, we were sitting on the second floor of the coffeehouse which overlooks a big chunk of the first floor, and lady poet was right underneath the balcony, so we couldn't really see her reading, which made it difficult for me to hear. So I'm not even going to try to critique her actual material, since I couldn't hear a lot of it. But as soon as she finished Jen and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes. She was using the poet voice. If you've ever been to a poetry reading, especially with female poets, you know what I'm talking about. Their voice takes on this saccharine quality and starts into this quasi-musical pattern and then they start speaking faster in the same tone and breathing strangely but it all sounds so ridiculous and fake. Why would you ever talk like this, let alone read something of importance to you?
Another thing that annoyed me was that she prefaced her reading with, "I don't know how you people live here. When I lived in London, I grew a real hatred for tourists and this place is full of them."
Ok, first of all lady. You're not speaking to a room full of "real Czechs." Look around you. Listen around you. Everybody is speaking English and we're all twenty-something expatriats, half of which will probably be gone in a year, and that's the next worst thing to tourists really, if not worse.
Additionally, I hate people who hate tourists. Especially people who are vising a town or have only lived there for several months. It's so snobby. People come to other places because they want to experience something different from their own lives and see what other parts of the world are like. They should be applauded for that. A lot of tourists can be jerks, but a lot of people genuinely want to learn about and are respectful to the culture or else they wouldn't be there. So, is lady poet suggesting that people never leave their homes or towns? Or is she suggesting that when they do, they act as innocuously as possible, taking no pictures, acting completely unexcited and bored to be somewhere new? Should they feign misery so they don't appear "touristy?" Do you speak Czech, lady poet?? Because when you go into a restaurant and order your food in English, you're being a "tourist." I admit I've been annoyed by tourists before. I was so pissed off when I was in the Sistine Chapel that I had to leave, because people were taking pictures (which they really stress NOT to do, because the flash is bad for the paintings) and talking loudly. When people display little to no respect, yes, that's annoying. But if you're in an international city like Prague, London, New York, etc, you have to accept that there will be people there who are A) so super excited to be there that it may become slightly annoying and B) have no idea what is going on. And if you live there, that's what you get for choosing to live in a major city. If you don't have pride in your city, don't want to see people enjoying it, and don't want to occassionally help somebody find their way, then move out. Don't be a crotchety bastardess. I know she doesn't live here, but still, its the same sentiment, and it fires me up.

Some kid at work today kept throwing chess pieces at my butt and it was kinda funny, but then it started to make me paranoid.

I think I have the spanish sleeping flu again. This ailment first appeared in the spring of 2006. I barely had energy to go to class and I missed two full days. And when I was home, all I would do was sleep. But it only lasted a week, so I don't think it was mono. But I've had that again lately, in case you wanted to know.

Also, I finally watched Lost in Translation last night. Sooo good. Walking around alone in a big city, insomnia, post-graduation uncertainties and doubts, crushing on Bill Murray--so many parallels to my own life.

Really though, If I could marry Bill Murray as Peter Venkman, I would glady live in a world where ghosts are an accepted daily annoyance.

New Neighbors

2007-11-04T14:52:00.000-08:00

I'm a big proponent of being neighborly. I don't think many people know their neighbors nowadays. Do you? Did you tentatively knock on a few doors in your new neighborhood bearing jello molds or homeade baked goods? Most likely not. I'd like to be the kind of person who would do this. I think this is a lost value. It's good to know that we can count on the people in closest proximity to us in case of emergency or in best-case scenario, company. I'd like to have that network and to have those close to me feel that way too. Granted this becomes more difficult when those around you don't speak your language. So, why am I so annoyed when I am faced with the duty of actually being a good neighbor. This is where Bert and Ernie come in.

Bert and Ernie are not muppets, but two twenty-something Asians, and our helpful next-door neigbors. I call them helpful, because for the first week I wasn't sure how to operate the stove. So one day after coming home sweaty and red-faced from a run, I saw them heading into their apartment next door. I took this oppurtunity to drag them into our apartment and mime befuddlement at the stove: lots of shrugging and imaginary knob turning. Turns out all that was required was turning the knob and lighting a match. Whaat, gas-powered appliances?? A few weeks later Jen turned on her bedroom light and somehow burned out a fuse in our apartment. I was again out for a run and came back to a candlelit apartment. While I was gone, Jen consulted B&E, and while they had no idea and we eventually had to rely on an Italian handyman paying a near-midnight visit, I'm sure B&E tried to help the best they could.

So, here's the problem. Lately B&E have been knocking on our door (always when Jen or I is using the blow-dryer) with laptop in hand. The first time they knocked it was pretty evident what they wanted; Bert was carrying a computer and the only salvageable word from the onslaught of Czech was "wifi." Ok, cool, come on over. We get the internet in a very limited area of our apartment, specifically the end of my bed, which is in the living room. We don't pay for it, so I cant complain. So, they come over and sit at the kitchen table and we have to motion them over to the portion of the apartment that does pick up the internet. We live in an attic apartment, so the walls slant in. (It's almost like I have a skylight above my bed, which is kind of cool, albeit bright.) So, they know when they come here, they have to crouch uncomfortably against the wall, because I'm sure sitting on my bed would be weird for them. One time when poor Ernie stood up, he hit his head on the ceiling/wall. I'm sure its also uncomfortable for them to have to look at my underwear and sports bras drying on a rack several feet from their faces. And if they follow the hair-dryer sound cue, usually one or both of us is in some unfinished stage of dressing.
I know it must be weird for them to come over here and its weird for us too. I frankly don't like it at all. I feel like I can't move around my own (very small) apartment. I'll usually take this time to do some form of innocuous busywork: dishes, putting trash in the trash bin, rearranging cans in the kitchen cupboard, anything that doesn't involve being in my room/living room. And I'm usually thinking the whole time about how much I want them to leave, so I can resume normal habits.
I understand how much it must suck to not have the internet at home. I'm dependent on the internet. If I was B or E, I would probably be doing the same thing.But at the same time, it's disconcerting to have people in your house, even if its only in tiny twenty-minute increments.
So, I run into B&E on the way into the apartment today. "Jak se mash?" Bert says. "Alicia, jak se mash?" Byri (imaginative spelling.) And then, get this. I mime typing on the computer and make a swooping welcoming gesture and say,"internet! come over whenever!" And B&E smile and I smile. And I'm walking down the street and wonder why those words came out of my mouth and how frequent their visits will be and how I can never really complain about it again cause I just asked for it.
Maybe being neighborly is an inborn instinct, despite society's growing tendency towards isolation. Maybe in this case, the very tool that is absorbing people into an alternate reality that in most cases discourages the notion of a physical community, can bring two cultures together. Maybe we'll befriend B&E and we'll leave each other little computer-shaped fruitcakes adorned with ribbons and bows on our doorsteps for Christmas.
Or maybe I'll just stop blow-drying my hair.

Best Monster Mash Cover: Mike Tyson

2007-10-30T12:39:00.001-07:00

Well, I decided to fire up the old blog again. Like my three entires really qualify as anything. I'm not aspiring to make any stylistic or thematic waves with this thing. I'm really not aiming for poeticism or even any cohesiveness. I really just want to get into the habit of writing every day, for strict life recording purposes. It's like the Hemingway story "The Snows of Mt. Kilimanjaro" which is about this guy in Africa waiting to die of a gangrenous infection on his leg and he's thinking of all the stories he never wrote that now its too late to write; instead he got in the right social circle, courted the right girls, and was respected for being a writer, but mostly for the fact that he "lived like a writer." And while I hardly think starting the daily habit of writing will produce a Finnegan's Wake, I like writing. I think as I write and it will be a good thing to make habit. It was a sad story though, "The Snows of Mt. Kilamanjaro" and it made me tune into this internal guilt that I'm sure a lot of people who write sometimes feel, that they're not working on it as much as they should, which should be all the time.

As the last blog indicates I wanted to come to the Czech Republic to do some writing.

Plan A: freelance stuff. I sent my resume to the Prague Post, who basically told me they would love to have me write something...if I had a good story topic. The Prague Post is Prague's major English newspaper, and frankly, I don't really think I have the chops to break a relevant story. I barely know how to get home from the city center.

So on to Plan B. The Czech Republic has more self-professed atheists than any European country. The statistics vary, but I think in the latest poll, 19% of people said they didn't belive in God, which is quite different than simply being agnostic. Compare this with the fact that the United States is still steeped in religion and ruled by Judeo-Christian laws and government. Compare this with the fact that the Czech Republic's socio-economic statistics are far better than the United States: healthcare, literary, crime rate, etc. Compare this with the fact that the country's churches are in a bad way. In fact, the animosity and friction between the state and church, which has been long ingrained in Czech society, and aggravated after the fall of the Soviet bloc, has threatened the church's extinction. The goverment has chosen to relocate many churches to remote fringe locations, which has obviously damaged attendance. Additionally, many of the churches are dilapidated. Their records are either lost or have not been amassed to surmise any sort of reliable statistics on church membership or the personal lives of the members. They cannot find clergy to occupy the churches that are still active, so they're importing them from Poland.

I think this is all really interesting, so its a shame I have no background in theology or sociology. But I contacted this professor at Charles University who's actually doing a Fulbright at Boston University right now and I'm hoping he'll give me some leads and I could write something, even if the scope is small.

Whatever. I don't want to talk about ambitions anymore. Tomorrow's Halloween and I'm going as Improbability to my work's Halloween party. So, I'll be dressed as a flying pig. I'm not going to try to explain this to my Czech students. I'll just say a pig snout and wings were cheapest (which is true) and oink at them and they'll laugh at me. One of my students told me today that my boots would go well with her witch costume because they had holes in them. A comment like this would normally be a super impetus for, say, buying new boots, so it made me especially sad I have no money. Three more weeks until payday. I have had to pay four months of rent (realtor's fees and security deposits) with the money I came over with. Which means daily americanos are not really in my budget anymore.

So, you know how most people get songs stuck in their head? Well, sometimes I get words or phrases or imaginary situations, and last night I kept imagining Mitt Romney asleep slumped against a wall and a people kept nudging him and calling his name in a midwestern accent. "Mitt...Mitt...you've gotta wake up Mitt."

I did it.

2007-05-26T16:01:00.001-07:00

I booked my flight to Prague today. Well really, I booked my flight to New York and then to London, and then to Prague. So,I've sealed my fate as teaching english, living in squalor, and trying to break into freelancing for a year or two. It feels....sad. But it also feels like the only right thing to do. So, congratulate me.

oh, also

2007-05-16T19:54:00.000-07:00

i think the natural color of my lips is almost too red. i don't like it.

the song "run like hell" by pink floyd makes me want to drink freshly squeezed orange juice in neon spandex.

you probably need to listen to the song "john wayne gacy, jr." by sufjan stevens.

Title yourself

2007-05-16T18:51:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I'm sitting here listening to Otis Redding's "The Very Best of Otis Redding" and I'm thinking about something that Nietzsche not so much quoted, as insinuated--and that is that the death of the body is far less frightening than the death of the soul--hold on, let me find the exact quote. Alright--this is from "Thus Spoke Zarathustra." Ok, he's telling a man who just fell to his imminent death, "Your soul will be dead even sooner than your body; fear nothing further." Ok, so then I went on to read an interview in The Believer with Will Sheff of Okkervil River and he was talking about growing up and this idea of moral grayness that accompanies that, and wait--ok, he's talking about a sort of adult pop, music that is aware of "people being compromised and people betraying themselves, and selling themselves out, selling themselves short...the weight of guilt and baggage." And I kind of came to this realization that this transformation is a whole lot scarier than dying. I always fancied myself an optimist to a fault, maybe a bit too naive even. But then as I read these things I realized that i may slowly, but undeniably, be slipping into pessimism.

"Try a Little Tenderness" Interlude
(Good purchase, myself)

I was sitting in the car on the way back from the southside today, stuck on the hot metal bridge and hating my life alot, just thinking about the people i've betrayed in one way or another and vice versa, and a whole bunch of other morbid garbage brought about by a day of kids shitting themselves and yelling like feral cats in a library setting. And at one point listening to a radio piece encouraging men to be good fathers, i shouted to a certain "three men and a baby" alum, "fuck you, tom selleck!" This was obviously completely uncalled for and immediately regretted. There is no excuse for cursing the mustachioed mustang in any situation. What I'm trying to say is I dont want to age into some bitter, jaded, crow-eyed degernation of myself who hates magnum p.i. I think that's the scariest thing, the fear that you might not be able to stay afloat. I'm getting a call now from someone who sees me as the latter self, the innocent, vaguely unfocused doof of maybe four years ago, and i think i will always be stuck as this person for him. And I'm ignoring the call right now, because I can't call up this old version of myself right now. I think I'll probably sound like a zombie.

I wish Gerkey was here and that I could see her more often. Who else woud memorize Jane Eyre quotes with me or skinny dip in, what was that, Allegeny Forest? Would it be unreasonable to forgo Prague and move to northern Pennsylvania to pal around with her for awhile?

"Sitting on the Dock of the Bay" Interlude

Alright I really should not be ignoring these calls. I promise they won't all be this dismal. I'll close with some words from a good friend.
"hobbies are good, blogs are better"