Soundtrack of your life if your life were guided by iTunes "Shuffle"

Blog meme! Stolen from Dunford.

Opening Credits: "Distant Fingers," Patti Smith
Waking Up: "Why you Wanna Treat me So Bad," Prince
An Ordinary Day: "We're Not Gonna Take It," Twisted Sister
The First Date: "What can I Do?," Antony and the Johnsons
Falling in Love: "Javert at the Barricade," Les Miserables Soundtrack
The Rumble: "Already Said Goodbye," Booty Olympics
The Break-up: "La La Love You," Pixies
Getting Back Together: "Maybe This Time," Liza Minnelli
Life's Okay: "Decomposing Composers, Monty Python
The Mental Breakdown: "Love Me till the Sun Shines," The Kinks
Cruising: "Sister Christian," Night Ranger
The Flashback: "Solitary Man," Johnny Cash and Tom Petty
The (Frat) Party: "I Can't Make you Love Me," Bonnie Raitt
Everybody Dance Now: "I Never Had a Chance," Mendoza Line
Regretting: "Tomorrow is Today," Billy Joel
The Long Night Alone: "Uptown," Prince
A Death: "Prelude Act III, Tristan un Isolde," Wagner

My iTunes is a tad hostile this morning, what can I say? (Due to an input error, this is the corrected version and, if possible, even weirder than the first)


What to do, what to do....

I'm fucking hungry.

Breakfast Club is on the TV.

It's not clear whether it's going to rain or not.

I feel somewhat isolated from a community I sort of used to be a part of.

I need to write jokes but my heart isn't in it.

Things are changing. Things need to change more.


Superheroine's Demise, Google and the reluctant feminist.

When CBN's turn misogynistic: a commentary.

From shrub.com, a pretty interesting blog on stuff that I'm only kind of interested in. I generally loathe -ists of any sort, but there's some good, smart and honest writing here. Here too, which appears to be pro-feminist stuff written by a dude.

The world of gender politics and politics in general has always made me itch, but perhaps some stuff is worth looking at.

I don't know exactly what the point of all this is. It's miles away from my original posting idea, which is probably a good thing. Because I believe my original idea was something along the lines of sexuality and difficult relationships. I could be less vague, if I wanted to be. But that's neither here nor there.

One Google leads to another, as you know and I ended up informed, and in a slightly smarter place.


bits of food news

1. Lemon Propel Water is strangely delicious. Usually lemon 'flavored' things taste like cleansers of some sort, but Lemon Propel is ridiculously tasty!

2. BirdsEye makes chopped spinach you can steam in the package for the ridiculously lazy who can't Find a Bowl or a Knife to Chop With. I made a vaguely sushi-restaurant-appetizer, delicious (not for everyone, granted) salad for lunch with some leftovers:

Chilled frozen cooked spinach
1/2 package silken tofu (firm)
1-2 tsp sesame oil
1-2 tb soy sauce
Sesame seeds or gomasio (seaweed/sesame seed/salt combo - reduce the soy sauce a bit)

Mash up the tofu a bit with the back of a fork. Stir in the spinach and drizzle over remaining ingredients. Toss and enjoy!

3. I have a slight crush on the perky outdoorsy Kashi commercial lady. I love her sporty outfits and attitude! But she's not on the website although you can get free Kashi bars and stuff. Darn it!

I'd have posted more pictures and links, but I refuse to go down the product placement road any more than I already have. But if I'd found the Kashi chick, things may have been different!


Meh. Meh. Meh.

I really don't like the word 'meh.' But I'm somewhere between bone-weary and viciously anxious, so I guess it averages out to 'meh.'

Every time I try to type 'meh' I end up with 'men.' Hmmm indeed.

Oddly, I feel fairly well, which I attribute to my new fitness regimen of no crappy food. Fun!

I am so (see above) that the merest idea, whiff of human contact makes me pull the metaphorical pillow over my head.

Although, I have to say that I wouldn't mind some. Pillows. Human contact. Whatever. Meh.

You meh are all alike.

"You don't know how much you're going to miss me."
- Aurora (Shirley MacLaine), "Terms of Endearment"


My oh my, mate

I seem to be flirting, again.

I've filed off a few rough edges, I hope.

Perhaps the sweatpants will be swapped out for a good eyebrow-and-leg waxing.



Simple, really.

Maybe a hug.
New sweatpants.

Fuck it all.

a cliche? Perhaps. But a fucking classic.

Once upon a time you dressed so fine
You threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn't you?
People'd call, say, "Beware doll, you're bound to fall"
You thought they were all kiddin' you
You used to laugh about
Everybody that was hangin' out
Now you don't talk so loud
Now you don't seem so proud
About having to be scrounging for your next meal.

How does it feel
How does it feel
To be without a home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

You've gone to the finest school all right, Miss Lonely
But you know you only used to get juiced in it
And nobody has ever taught you how to live on the street
And now you find out you're gonna have to get used to it
You said you'd never compromise
With the mystery tramp, but now you realize
He's not selling any alibis
As you stare into the vacuum of his eyes
And ask him do you want to make a deal?

How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

You never turned around to see the frowns on the jugglers and the clowns
When they all come down and did tricks for you
You never understood that it ain't no good
You shouldn't let other people get your kicks for you
You used to ride on the chrome horse with your diplomat
Who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat
Ain't it hard when you discover that
He really wasn't where it's at
After he took from you everything he could steal.

How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

Princess on the steeple and all the pretty people
They're drinkin', thinkin' that they got it made
Exchanging all kinds of precious gifts and things
But you'd better lift your diamond ring, you'd better pawn it babe
You used to be so amused
At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used
Go to him now, he calls you, you can't refuse
When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose
You're invisible now, you got no secrets to conceal.

How does it feel
How does it feel
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?


Herbal Tea: A Rant

As I sit here with great hope and a fragrant cup of Celestial Seasonings "Honey Vanilla Chamomile," plucked from a pretty yellow box with charming bears and sweet quotes abound, I take my first warming sip and feel compelled to pen the following words:


Yep. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Herbal tea fucking blows. Here's a list. A fucking hateful list, broken down at times by flavor.

I'm not much of a tea-drinker to begin with (excepting in certain restaurants when culturally appropriate/interesting, or when ill). And when I try, to foray into the world of the fruity and herby and spicy and smelly and soothy and foul leafy crap-water-tinting foul (did I say that?) excuse for beverages...Ok, deep breath. I will explain, neatly below.

There are limited exceptions, and I will grudgingly admit them at the end. Not even grudgingly, because I can make a case that they're not smug smelly wet-dog chewed-gum herbal....Ok, let's get organized, here.

1. Herbal Tea Often Smells Better than it Tastes (The above-mentioned blend, Harvest Spice, and many promising sounding treats.)

Celestial Seasonings (hereinafter "CS") is the prime culprit here. You want to love these. They promise a wealth of warm, tasty flavors. You read the charmingly wordy box while waiting for the water to boil, dip the super-organic string-free bag (slightly irritating to the burned fingers and a little annoying to retrieve without dripping tea), retrieve (see above) and breathe in the herbs, sweet and reminiscent of Something Else. Generally, you are on a diet and would rather eat Something Else.

Go and eat Something Else. Even if it's a goddamn cranberry muffin.

Because the smell gets progressively more noxious and the taste is of hot water with a cranberry-muffin wrapper wadded up in the bottom.

2. Weird Fruit Flavors. Why?

I once bought some Apple Spice tea. I like Apples. I like Spice.

I do not like them dipped in water. Not even the smell was remotely pleasant.

The box stunk up my cabinet to the point where I had to roach-scrub it (if you've never experienced this, bug-bomb your apartment in the winter and watch the fallout) to remove the sickly fruity odor of Glade Air Freshener lit on fire.

Similarly, any citrus-type tea that I've experienced makes me want to wipe down wood furniture.

3. Mint Tea. Fuck you.

Perhaps if I travel to Morocco, I'll have a proper cup. Maybe it's better there, the way you eat improbable foods while traveling or drunk.

Every time I've had mint tea, it's tasted like diluted chewing gum. And I don't even like chewing gum.

4. By the way, Green Tea is not Herbal Tea.

I love how people are smug about ordering Herbal Tea because it's not coffee. "I'm healthy, I'm pure, I don't do caffeine, I'm a damn hippie." Well, screw you for going to Starbucks and paying $2.00 for a cup of hot water with a sock full of dead leaves in it. (Yeah, I know, I'm a hypocrite because coffee is a bunch of ground beans filtered through a sock. Whatever, I'm on a roll.)

You can, however be smug about green tea. It's good for you. It does, however, have caffeine, and it is NOT herbal tea.

5. "Medicinal" teas.

Often found at health food stores. They are expensive, nasty tasting, and often make you crap. 'Nuff said.


There are a couple of "herbal teas" that I will grudgingly admit to enjoying, from time to time.

When I worked up in the Bronx, I was given a blend (1 bag each in a single cup) of chamomile and something called 'tilo' in Spanish after a terribly stressful day. (Badia brand, found in the Key Food). It was astoundingly calming, and ridiculously inexpensive to boot.

I also enjoy ginger tea, but I maintain this isn't truly herb tea. Ginger is fucking magical. It soothes your stomach, gives you a healthy glow, clears your system, and helped me quit smoking.

I promise that I will be eternally smug and superstitious about ginger, just like you damn hippies and your herbal teas.

Obsession with dead TV shows...Is there any money in this?*

I just flipped to "NYPD Blue."

Boy, does it make me appreciate "Homicide" more. Because "Blue" seems hackneyed and trite by comparison. Seriously. And I used to really like that show, up through the Zach from Saved by the Bell years. I had caught re-runs from the David Caruso years, and those may have actually been a bit better, when it wasn't the Show how Intensely Crappy Sipowicz's Life Is Show.

Forgive my poor construction there. But, damn. Even Season 7 (the ostensibly 'shitty season') of Homicide is overall better then the ten minutes of the Jimmy Smits era NYPD Blue episode I just caught. I was quite surprised.

*If anyone out there can answer this question, I'll toss you a percentage of same. But I will not give you the pseudonym "Bayliss" in this journal. For the four or five of you who read this journal, you'll be happy to know that "McNulty" and "Munch" are now, under slight protest, taken.


Details, details

You know what the neatest thing about "The Outsiders" (the movie) is?

The teeth. Yeah. Coppola, that genius, doesn't miss a trick. I mean, what if the greasers had the shiny-white teeth that teen pre-Brat Packers Dillon, Swayze, Cruise, Estevez and the like actually had? No, they're definitely grubby, neglected, too much Soda, soda.

Check out the teeth. And stay gold.


Kinda sets a mood, doesn't it?

The first rule of Fight Club is - you do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is - you DO NOT talk about Fight Club. Third rule of Fight Club, someone yells Stop!, goes limp, taps out, the fight is over. Fourth rule, only two guys to a fight. Fifth rule, one fight at a time, fellas. Sixth rule, no shirt, no shoes. Seventh rule, fights will go on as long as they have to. And the eighth and final rule, if this is your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight.

- Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt), "Fight Club"


the good, the bad, and the ill-fitting....

I fucking hate women's clothes sometimes.

I got this smart skirt at a fairly reduced price on ebay:

Given clothes I've purchased from this company before (Torrid), and being in possession of a couple of 'kind of fits not really' dresses, I figured sizing up was appropriate. And body image being what it is, I didn't feel so off the mark in ordering the particular size that I did.

Turns out...not so much. At least with a skirt. Low/mid-market fattie clothes, and even some of the pricier stuff tends to be cut flatter on top and bigger in the arse and hips, shortish in the legs (depending on manufacture; I have much better luck with certain vendors, but even my buddy Ralph "Lauren" Lifschitz has been known to let me down, as I am now the proud owner of a polo-shirt/belly-shirt). Even with the neat corsety ribbons in the back, I'm swimming in the waist. And at this juncture, and hopefully far into the future, this is not good. And it comes a time where you have to wonder whether or not you want to invest any money in altering relatively cheap clothes.

Anyone who is handy with a sewing machine in the East Village for whom I can trade favors (resume? nasty letters? a few batches of biscotti?) please give me a shout.

Sigh. In the abstract, it's a cool costumey skirt, no? A couple of notes:
- I think the ribbons belong squarely in the back.
- Although it looks longish in the picture, it's a miniskirt on me.
- This would look snappy with the boots from a previous post and a white stretch shirt. And pearls. But this is not interview wear, folks. At least not for day jobs.

From Homicide: "Night of the Dead Living"

If you spent any time in Baltimore without air conditioning, you know how hot it gets, even at night. This was the story of one night, and wondering about a candle that was always lit in the squad room, mysteriously, and how a roomful of the city's best detectives couldn't figure out how, who or why it was there.

Script quote courtesy of Homicide: Scripts on the Street.

(Crossover note; PO Thormann is played by Lee Tergesen, later Beecher of "Oz.")

Inside the squadroom, Munch blows out the candle. Thormann, wearing a tuxedo, walks over to him.

Thormann: What do you do that for, every night?

Munch: What's with you?

Thormann: I gotta got to a wedding.

Munch: At this hour?

Thormann: It's a long story. The wedding's in Connecticut - Old Saybrook. Eva and I are driving up.

Munch: Uh-huh.

Thormann: I know you're the one who lights the candle.

Munch: Yeah.

Thormann: So, why?

Munch: It's for all the ones who've been killed.

Thormann: Uh huh.

Munch: What I don't know is, who lit it when I was gone?

Thormann: I did.

Munch: You?

Thormann: Yeah.

Munch: Why?

Thormann: I figured it was important to you.

Munch: It's gonna be our little secret, okay?

Thormann: Yeah, sure, okay.

The air conditioning kicks in.

Munch: Air conditioner's working.


Er, how about a hug-

You know, you can diet and exercise to look more shapely, clean up nice, therapize out of a funk, read up and edumacize yourself...but can anyone really make themselves more lovable?

I don't think so, really. Indeed.


On a semi-unrelated note, I've looked over the scripted characters I've done over the years. Starting in first grade, here's a sampling:

The Selfish Giant - title role. (first grade. Mostly because I could read)

Some play in fourth grade where I was a time traveler accused by historical/literary figures of being a liar. I wasn't a liar, but time travel is cool, and it turned out I really had a head injury. Cool.

Ludlow Fair (Lanford Wilson) - Agnes. Zhlubby single city gal, tough on the outside, with a screwy romantic center that isn't revealed till the final monologue. (College One-acts festival. Of course, I couldn't even commit to rolling my hair during the final monologue, and got the director to let me shave my legs instead, adding comic relief. Note that shaving your legs twice in two days is a bitch.)

An incredibly filthy sketch where I played a racist Ukranian dominatrix. I love this character, I do. She just wants to be famous, is that so wrong?

Glengarry Glen Ross (David Mamet) - This was a reading, to be fair. I played Williamson. In a cast of characters where most people hated each other, everyone hated Williamson. I did a fine job, indeed. I fucking love this play. Typecasting?