I will never forget the first time I heard about this story. I could not imagine any person being so callous that she could strike a man with her car and leave him lodged in the windshield to die slowly and miserably over the course of a couple of days, never calling the police or anyone to come and help. This man could have survived. But she didn't let him.
It is so unbelievable that it makes me want to cry just thinking about the cruelty and sadness of it.
Today she was sentenced to 50 years in prison. That should give her a little while to think about what she did...
Can you imagine going in for surgery and having the doctors forget to anesthetize you before they cut you open? Well I'm sure some people can imagine it, since there are still those who probably recall a time when surgical anesthesia was practically unheard of and many a painful procedure were performed without it, but when having surgery today, it is relatively unthinkable. "The woman was temporarily paralyzed because she had been given a muscle relaxant, and her ordeal ended only after a replacement doctor who came into the operating room saw tears in her eyes" She is suing for approximately $76,000, which seems like an extremely small sum considering the pain that she must have endured, not to mention, a small price to pay on the part of the medical facility for what appears to be an egregious act of malpractice.
I feel so lethargic after my crazy little weekend.
Worked yesterday until about 3:30, then went downtown to meet Kathleen on Franklin St. She just finished working at the Hermes sale and had lots of funny stories about silly rich people spending huge wads of cash on incredibly expensive merchandise for no reason other than that they felt the need to buy because everything was on sale.
We stopped at a cute place and had happy hour drinks, trying to kill my atrocious hangover from Friday night. Then we went to see a couple bands play at Tribeca Rock Club. We saw a group called "October," which was good, kind of U2ish...and then this kickass band called "Pinfield". Kathleen and I loved them. Danced our asses off. It was so fun. But I was really disappointed that everyone else stood there like they had cement in their shoes watching the band, yet remaining completely motionless. We stood right in front and rocked out throughout the show. We couldn't NOT dance because they were so awesome. They have a female drummer who was phenomenal (she also recorded and produced their album) and the front man who played guitar and sang was not fucking around with that guitar. He was banging out these songs with contagious fury. And yet people are too timid to let their bodies move to the music, for fear of looking funny, or whatever reason each individual has. I just think it's fucking stupid to go to a rock show and not dance or at least move a little bit. After it was over we took a long stroll home. It was such a perfect night and a pefect walk. We window shopped all the way up Broadway and stared at the Prada window for an inordinate amount of time, as if it was a museum exhibit, which is exactly what it looks like. It's crazy. There are about fifty mannequins lined up in rows like synchronized swimmers and displaying the summer line of black bathing suits. Behind those mannequins, on this incredible architectural masterpiece which I cannot even begin to describe (with its rapid incline and plummeting slope of solid gold hue) are fifty more mannequins dressed up in the latest line of black dresses. It's really a total spectacle. But incredibly cool to look at.
We were so tired from walking (and rocking) that we fell asleep promptly when we got back to the apartment. Woke up and made blueberry pancakes and got situated on the fire escape to view the parade. People gradually came out to the parade route and by the time the first float reached us they were out in throngs. We had the best view and made lots of noise and clapped and danced and hooted and hollered and just generally had a terrific time watching the awesome display of gay pride take place in full force. It was sooo much fun.
Now I'm finally back home and tired from all the eventfulness of the weekend. Tomorrow it's back to work and hopefully the premiere after-party for Legally Blonde II, ("Red, White & Blonde")! Big Reese Witherspoon fan ova hea! Unfortunately, the premiere itself is out of the question, but Rob will probably be able to get me into the pahty! (It's worth it even if I have to pay to see the movie later...)
Make lemonade! But make sure that if you are a six year old girl and you want to set up a stand in your front yard where you charge fifty cents a glass, that you go and get a vending permit first. I also blogged about this at hormonal bitch.
I'm sure a lot of you have heard the hoopla about this six year old cutie who set up a lemonade stand in front of her house, only to be tattled on by the nosey fucko next door. Answer me this: Who on earth calls the police on a six year old? For selling lemonade? You have got to be out of your peanut-brained mind.
Obviously, the neighbor needs to find a fucking hobby other than going around with a big pin and popping the innocent bubbles of small children. When I was a kid I had a lemonade stand. And if the neighbor would have called the police on me I think my mom would have gone over and busted a cap in his ass. Then the police might have a reason to come...
I saw Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds on the Letterman show the other night and he fucking ROCKED it! I can't believe some of these artists who my parents listened to when I was a little kid and they still tear it up for a diverse audience like not a day has passed since 15 and 20 years ago. If you click here you can watch some of his videos for fun.
I just wanted to declare my undying love and devotion to Nick Cave publicly. "Murder Ballads" is a beautiful album (not to mention all the others) and I'll be headed out soon to procure his latest. I read a little blurb that "The Boatman's Call" was largely dedicated to PJ Harvey, so if ya didn't know, ya know now. I only mention it because she fucking ROCKS too! Been loving you for years PJ. We should really hang out sometime. Nick can come along. It'll be so great.
PS. This is my 100th blog entry! Congratulate me or something :o)
This is what I'm going to be doing this weekend!
Choses, JeniD! Ya'll are missing out on the best parade EVER!
I am going to be sitting in my pajamas on Sunday morning on Kat's fire escape on 5th Ave watching all the flamers strut their shit. I am so excited.
So, scientists have discovered that marijuana doesn't cause any brain damage and really doesn't have any long term side effects detrimental to a person's brain functions, "including reaction time, attention, language, reasoning ability, and perceptual and motor skills."
Is there anybody out there who can give me a good solid reason as to why the personal use of marijuana, for medical reasons or otherwise, should be considered a crime? Because it seems to this duck, that the reasons why it is illegal in the first place need to be addressed, and we need to move on out of the fucking stoneage (where people still believe in "reefer madness") once and for all.
Is marijuana the gateway to other illegal drugs? Maybe if it were not so demonized, it would hold less mystique with those who are out experimenting. And what is so bad about experimenting anyway? I experimented up a storm when I was a teenager. I did it safely (mostly) and always with the knowledge in mind that I could go to my parents to talk. That I didn't have to hide in a closet or in a scary neighborhood if I wanted to wile out a little bit. They didn't make me feel that if I was ever caught "experimenting" that I was going to be disowned. I turned into a perfectly productive member of society. (If not a bit of a trouble maker here and again.)
Point being that the key to controlling drug addiction in this country is not to criminalize something like marijuana, which is obviously minimally harmful, especially when compared to many other mind altering substances, including those that are legal. It's amazing how laws are often made without ever looking beneath the surface of the problem and many things are illegalized as a scapegoat from the bigger picture or just as a way to place blame.
I have always loved this song...
Listen as your day unfolds
Challenge what the future holds
Try and keep your head up to the sky
Lovers, they may cause you tears
Go ahead release your fears
Stand up and be counted
Don't be ashamed to cry
You gotta be
You gotta be bad, you gotta be bold
You gotta be wiser, you gotta be hard
You gotta be tough, you gotta be stronger
You gotta be cool, you gotta be calm
You gotta stay together
All I know, all I know, love will save the day
Herald what your mother said
Readin' the books your father read
Try to solve the puzzles in your own sweet time
Some may have more cash than you
Others take a different view
my oh my heh, hey
Don't ask no questions, it goes on without you
Leaving you behind if you can't stand the pace
The world keeps on spinning
You can't stop it, if you try to
This time it's danger staring you in the face
oh oh oh
Remember
You gotta be
You gotta be bad, you gotta be bold
You gotta be wiser, you gotta be hard
You gotta be tough, you gotta be stronger
You gotta be cool, you gotta be calm
You gotta stay together
Click here to check out Des'Ree
It is so hard to be cooped up on the 24th floor of an office building when it is positively glorious outside. I don't wanaaaa work. Either it's the weekend and it's raining, or it is a weekday and I'm stuck inside and being teased by the view of all of the highrises being kissed by sunshine and the endless expanse of blue sky. I step out at lunchtime to girls strutting around in their summer best and men loosening the nooses around their necks to let a little air into their stuffed shirts. The smell of food cooking and the sound of women's slingbacks clickety clacking on the pavement and horns honking and people conversing...
On a rainy day it is all grayness shrouding everything and the wet black pavement and peoples heads bowed beneath black umbrellas and it's still loud, but there is a feeling of silence which comes over everything. But a good thing about it is that you don't feel the desire to be outside. Being inside is just fine when it is rainy and cold. It is the summer time that makes me stir crazy, each and every idle moment consumed by my relentless daydreaming about where I'd rather be than sitting at a desk attending to the bidding of others and being forced to overhear two crotchety old lawyers talk about where they bought their gaudy suspenders and cheesy bowties.
Kat and I were chatting recently and somehow we got onto the subject of "free time." She said "I don't really know what I consider to be 'free time'. I don't just think of any old time off as 'free time'." She said something else...something like "'Free time' is time to myself to do things just for me." I said "To me, free time is anytime when nobody is telling me what to do." Then I sat there and thought, wow, that pretty much sums up my personality in a nutshell. I just want freedom. That's all I have ever wanted from the moment I came into this world.
At the risk of sounding ungreatful for what I have (and knowing full well that things could be worse by volumes), I'll venture to say that I don't mean freedom like the kind I have, the freedom to get my ass out of bed in the morning and put on something presentable to wear and get on the crowded train and watch my precious youth slipping away while sitting in an office earning my paycheck so that I can pay my rent and my bills and dreaming of the things that I really want to do with my life. It's not that I don't want to work. I just want to have more of a choice about what I do without worrying about how much money it's going to bring in. And I don't want to have an ulcer when I hate everything in my closet in the morning and the train is experiencing delays. Egad that all sounds so petty when I think of it in perspective.
Don't get me wrong. There is nothing miserable about my job or my life in general and it is not even that I am unsatisfied. I just dream of other things, that's all. I feel the time slipping away, day after day, week after week, year after year....slipping away. Another day, another 8 hours earned. Another daydream. I wish I was one of those people who was happy not to leave a five block radius their entire life...but I'm not. I get restless and cagey and start indulging my imagination in unattainable fantasy.
For some reason, as bizarre as this whole thing seems, I totally relate to the concept of handling and dealing with your dead loved ones as opposed to passing them over to a funeral home to be dealt with. Of course, this seems like something you wouldn't want to just do without knowing exactly what was needed.
All the same, I like the idea of families and friends of a deceased person doing the "dirty work" themselves. I think it makes it less cold. Though the image of handling a dead body is a little stomach turning, I think that if it were my mother or father or sibling, I would feel differently about it.
This first experience with a home funeral showed Lyons that carrying out intimate acts such as bathing and dressing her deceased friend actually made it easier to deal with the loss.
"It helped us with our mourning and grieving," Lyons said. "It made it more meaningful because we were the ones touching her body instead of turning her over to some strangers she didn't know."
For some reason, that just makes perfect sense to me. Alright, go ahead, tell me I'm crazy...
I've been laggin on updating today. Too many other things on the brain. I should be freshly inspired tomorrow. For now, it's all about Zzzzzzzs.
Hope everyone had a fun weekend! (Because it's back to the grind in the morning...) We are supposed to have SUNSHINE this week. Yay! (Oh wait, I'm going to be stuck inside at work the whole time)...:o( lame.
While perusing other blogs this morning I came across a person who felt that this article was a frightening indication that "the political apocalypse [is] upon us."
I have a much different opinion, however. Realizing that the issue of race is such a volatile issue for many people, I thought twice about posting an opinion to this article. But it is an important issue to me. I have seen discussions get very heated on this subject, so if you choose to express your opinion here, please do so with civility in mind.
Now, it is really good enough to read the article itself, because it provides two sides to this issue. But in the end, the message that I got was pretty clear. Though I am not totally comfortable with the term "Whiteness Studies," I see their benefit for what they are. A history lesson which focuses on a subject that most people are very, very uncomfortable with. Especially white people.
Being half hispanic, half german, I have never felt that I was discriminated against for my "race" because I have light hair and light complexion and dark eyes. People first think I am of european descent and rarely expect me to be half Mexican. But I have had people make a visible face when they learn my background. Especially here in New York, where Mexicans are looked upon as those dirty guys (the men) and housekeepers (the women) with too many kids. I've had men who were coming onto me a minute ago make a face and say "no, you're not Mexican" like it was a dirty word. Others try to insist that I am "Spanish" because it makes them feel better, as if the word "Spanish" is not nearly as offensive as "Mexican." You would think it was a racial slur like "Spic."
There are many people who would like to deny that there is still so much ingrained racial prejudice in society, but its evidence is everywhere we look. These people just don't want to look. Many white people feel victimized by the "trip" that is being laid on them about centuries of white superiority. They don't want to own it. They push it away from themselves, saying, "yuck. That's not me. I wasn't a slave owner. I didn't force the American Indians out of their homes and drive them to ruin. I don't discriminate against anyone. So don't lay that history shit on me."
I don't see the practice of examining the history of white people, and how they have asserted their superiority for ages, as "scapegoating." I view it as an important part of being educated about race, the way that it is looked at by all people and its continued repurcussions on society and "minorities" today. Which is why this kind of study is offered in colleges across the country. The opposition cries out that "'Whiteness studies,' is 'a derogatory name for Western civilization.' Its study is important only to those who think 'black studies and Chicano studies haven’t gone far enough in removing the baggage of Anglo-European traditions...'"
See, simply by this statement alone, the person who said it is asserting that "whiteness" and "western civilization" are synonymous by his own conclusion and also totally gives the middle finger to black and chicano studies, as if their value were only to demoralize whites. I find that attitude so contradictory to his side of the argument, which is that there is no good reason for these studies. Instead, by his comments, he provides evidence as to why these studies SHOULD be conducted, without even realizing it. Funny how that works. Of course, the fact that race is still such a huge issue does not mean you have to feel bad and hate yourself for being born "white." I don't think that is the aim in making these classes available to people. I think the aim is to be honest and not to ignore a thing which has been ignored already much too long.
Anyway, my final word on this is that anyone who chooses to deny the presence of racial injustice and inequities in this world and in this country, brushing it aside as a past which needs to be put to rest once and for all by ignoring it and failing to recognize the weight of its continued presence in society, is basically just burying their heads in the sand as far as I'm concerned.
I was on this silly site when I was struck by the revelation that some people just have no tolerance for children or the people that give birth to them.
Now, keep in mind, in the FAQ's on this site one of the Qs is:
Do you hate kids?
Answer: My personal opinion about children is irrelevant. I like many humans; I dislike many humans. I hate extremely few humans and hate no one catgeorically. This is typical of most other adult humans. What I "hate" is the irrational expectation that all adult humans must adore all children, regardless of the facts and behavior of the child in question. Nobody would ever dream that I must adore all adults -- in fact, I'd be thought of as pretty simple if I claimed I did -- but for some reason Americans assume that all adults must must must adore all children, particularly their own. I do not. Everyone gets weighed on their own merits and behavior. I dislike almost anyone or anything that acts irrationally. Unfortunately, that does cover many children. But it also applies to a lot of adults. This is not an uncommon trait among the childfree: they may not hate children, but they don't feel compelled to cut them (or their parents) any particular extra slack, either."
I certainly do not expect everyone to love kids or desire to reproduce. I think if you DON'T want to reproduce. That's good. Don't do it. The earth is populated enough. So I was enjoying all the rabid bitching and ranting of these ladies, when I came across this one:
Rant Number: 31256 When: yesterday
What kind: Garden-variety rant Where: in my e-mail
Just got e-mail news announcing "baby in store for 2004" from an old friend and his baby-rabies-infected wife. Not even married a year. BARF. Since prior to the marriage, I heard her say things "her biological clock is ticking." Was she some kind of BOMB about to EXPLODE? FUCK. THAT. SHIT. They make me sick. I don't mind children but that doesn't mean I want one, like them or will be all that interested in spending time with the children of my friends. I'd rather be drinking it up, dressing sexy, dancing every week, cursing when I want, having my own life, speaking my own mind whenever I want, and enjoying the peace, quiet and love that is my relationship with my husband. Why do I want to bring a screaming, squalling, shitting, mini-us into the equation? Just so I can train it and get its love? No thanks! Unlike most people, I have no desire to create a human just so I can fulfill my little fantasies about "having a family" -- like that was so great the first time around. If all women turn out to be, despite opportunities for growth and education, is mothers, then the human race has made no progress at all. The way people talk about children and families is proof that we really Narcissus, falling in love with ourselves and our own aggrandized sense of self-importance when, clearly, we are tiny little insignificant specks in this truly amazing universe."
I understand the answer to the FAQ. That is totally comprehensible. But the above post? "If all women turn out to be, despite opportunities for growth and education, is mothers, then the human race has made no progress at all."
Ahem, lady, a large part of the progress that the human race has made IS REPRODUCING our own kind in order that humans may continue to exist. I mean, okay, I can concede that the earth is overpopulated at this point and certain people should not even be allowed to breed. But if everyone followed her irate logic, the human race would just ultimately extinguish itself. Hmmm. I wonder if she thought of this.
I've known people who weren't so keen on kids and such, but a few of these people have downright contempt for them and their annoying parents. Which I can understand to an extent. But honestly, I think this particular woman might be suicidal and a little insane. Does she just wish she was never born at all and that her parents wouldn't have "trained" her and that's why she is walking around with this potato chip in her ass?
BUT I personally, love children and can't wait to have them someday when I'm a grown up. It's gonna be a few years yet. But when I have them, I'm going to love them with all my might. And no, not just to satisfy "[my] own aggrandized sense of self-importance when, clearly, [I am a] tiny little insignificant speck in this truly amazing universe." That is the most presumptuous thing I've come come across all week, I'm serious.
I've been on the web a lot today reading articles and I found some pretty good ones on Fark.
What about this girl whose father filmed her in her bedroom for five years without her knowing it? How far beyond twisted can people get? And it's not against the law. Just like it's not against the law if my landlord has cameras in my light fixtures to film me hanging around in my birthday suit. (Not that he would do that - but then I'm sure she didn't ever expect her father to do such a thing!) And think what her mom must be going through with the realization that her husband is a Class A Schmuck-O and now she has to divorce this cretin. But seriously, filming people without their clothes on in the privacy of their own homes without their knowledge should be a crime. I don't think you need to be a rocket scientist.
And, boooy, speaking of being nekkid, I happened upon this one about the hot and horny Japanese who are venturing into the great outdoors for some serious fukky sukky. Don't mind my french. And they don't forget their cameras to take pictures of the view either...
And further on the subject of sex, I couldn't possibly exclude this article about Miami's problems with drugdealing, gambling and prostitution occuring in cafeterias. What I can't seem to figure out about the whole thing is why in god's name they call them cafeterias. I mean to me, a cafeteria is something you would find in a school, hospital or other workplace. However, what I don't ever picture in any of those places is hookers, lowlifes and crack cocaine. Whatever. I guess cafeterias are just a little bit different in Miami.
I hope everyone has been refreshed and assured of the wholesomeness of society by this episode of Seedy News in brief.
Are ya icky are ya sticky? Are ya hot as anything? - King Missile
Why yes King Missile, I am.
I woke up this morning in thrashing agony. Ooooh the pain. I tried to get up. I tried to get ready for work but my body wasn't letting me. I was in a cold sweat from head to toe and the knotted pain in my abdomen was not going to allow me to make it out the door and down the block to the train station and all the way to work without looking like some kind of deranged lunatic dragging myself about town.
I couldn't even remember the main office number because my head was clouded by extreme physical misery. I tried three times before I finally got the number right and got put through to the "Absentee Line" to report that I wouldn't be in. I didn't even have the strength to dial my three bosses directly to tell them that I couldn't make it in. (At my job all you are required to do is call the absentee line, but I like to speak to my bosses myself so that they don't think that I'm playing hookey and so they know that I care enough to tell them personally that I won't be in). But I couldn't.
I threw myself back onto my bed and writhed around until the pain finally subsided enough that I fell asleep and had weird dreams about being on the Brooklyn Bridge and seeing these beautiful ships with gigantic masts. They looked like something out of a pirate movie, but more majestic and spectacular. The dream was surreal and beautiful. When I woke up the pain was gone.
I called my bosses and they were all so nice, comforting me and telling me to watch movies and eat chicken soup and relax. Everything is quiet in the office today they said so it's not a big deal.
I don't call in sick unless I'm sick. Not even if I'm really hungover. I just force my ass out of bed and get to work. It's my own damn fault if I drank too much. People who call in sick, regularly, annoy me. I work with a girl who has already used all her sick and personal days for the year. (We get 10, plus three weeks vacation). It gets on my nerves even though it's really none of my damn business. I want my bosses to say "Maria only calls in when she's really sick and she always lets us know when she's going to be late." I guess some people just really don't care. I read somewhere that because I am a virgo, I am very critical of other people's work performance and that I don't like to share projects because I am a perfectionist and I am afraid someone else is going to fuck it up. It is crazy how accurate that astrology stuff can be sometimes.
Anyway, today I HAD to call in, and it was the first time since I started working at this firm last November, so I'm not going to feel guilty. And now that I am not in so much pain anymore I can enjoy being cozy at home in the cruddy gray weather. All I need now is hot chocolate.
Well, it doesn't surprise me at all that Rio de Janeiro is the "friendliest city in the world."
My boyfriend is Brazilian and all of his family lives there. And I'm telling you, mi hombre es una persona fantástica. So it's no big surprise that his people have gained recognition as being some of the nicest in the world.
On the other hand "residents in Kuala Lumpur, New York, Singapore and Amsterdam are the least likely to help strangers in need, which made theirs the least friendly cities in a survey of 23 countries." Hmmm. Why am I SO not surprised?
Seriously, there are so many wonderful things about New York that you will not find anywhere else in the world. Someone asked me yesterday "what's your favorite thing to do that is specific to New York?" I said "Just sitting in the passenger's seat of a car and watching the scenery go by. Observing all of the things that make New York different from any place I've ever been. The people, the nooks and crannies, life imitating art and art imitating life. Oh, and shopping." So there is that. There is magic. But there is also just way too many aggravating day to day occurences, not to mention that it has ranked the most expensive city in the United States.
Sometimes people are so rude you just want to go fucking postal and start mowing them down. Oh god, did I say that? See that's what this city does to you. It makes you aggro. You stop caring who you shove out of the way or whose foot you step on. You stop having compassion and you just start to think about yourself. How YOU are going to get to work on time, how YOU are going to be most comfortable in a cramped space, how YOU are going to accomplish what YOU need to accomplish, regardless of who is in your way. It's such a highstrung world/mentality.
When I lived in Oregon I was tired of all the lollygagging around that people did, the snail's pace, the total lack of urgency in every day activities. But after living in New York a few years, I now comprehend the value of such an environment. I realize now that I am exactly one half citygirl and one half countrygirl. I could never be happy resigning myself completely to one or the other. Month after month in the fast pace, my body aches for tranquility. Month after month in tranquility, I become stircrazy.
Anyway, courtesies are rare enough in NY that when they are extended, you feel privileged and it can make a person's whole day. I try not to be one of those me, me, me people. Someone who can relax and not find myself aggravated by pointless little mishaps or just simply being rubbed the wrong way by a stranger in a crowded space. But there are definitely many days where I fail and find my blood boiling over.
Recently I was waiting for the train and when it came this man stepped right in front of me and when the doors opened he didn't wait for anyone to get off, he just barreled through (this is one of the majorly rude things that people do all the time). After waiting for the other people to come off the train and getting on myself I said "wow, that was really rude what you just did" He just gave me a blank glance and turned his back. I rolled up the Stuff magazine I had in my hand and wacked him on the shoulder with it and said "HEY! Don't you fucking pretend like you can't hear me." He looked at me with another blankoid glance and again, ignored me. That is just so typical. But you know, I usually tell people when I think they're being rude because I hate that whole NY attitude of standing by and watching shit happen and not doing or saying anything about it. People will stand by and watch the most unbelievable things (much worse than having someone shove you) and just be silent because they don't want to be the one who speaks out in the crowd. Well fuuuck that. Ain't nobody going to keep me from sayin what's on my mind.
Wasn't I talking about Brazil? Yeah, it's time to go there for a visit. Can you tell how bad I need a minibreak?
This is an excellent article that appeared in Reuters this morning. I have pasted a couple of excerpts, but the entire article is worth a read.
"We will rise up and fight the Americans. We have just moved from one dictatorship to another."
...
The U.S. military said some of the millions of dollars also seized in a raid had probably been set aside by members of Saddam's outlawed Baath party to pay supporters of the missing president to kill American troops.
Few Iraqis are likely to be impressed by that claim.
They say many Baathists have fled and some have been killed in apparent reprisal shootings, suggesting that anti-American sentiment, fueled by unpaid salaries, insecurity and failing services is to blame for the violence, not Saddam's henchmen.
"If the Americans really want to know what we are concerned about, it is not the Baathists. It is the lack of electricity and lack of basic services such as garbage collection," said Akram Hussein, an assistant in a compact disc shop.
...
"The Baath is gone and the Americans know it," said Sheikh Kassem Sudani, a Shi'ite cleric, standing over old Baath documents scattered outside a former party office.
"They remind me of the Baath. Every time there is an attack on their troops they say it was terrorists or the Baath. That's what the Baath did. They always blamed someone else."
This situation does not look like it's getting any better. Only uglier and sadder and more difficult for those who were supposedly meant to benefit...
Can you imagine if someone came in and did this to our country, for whatever reason? If we had no electricity or garbage collection or our paychecks just weren't ever arriving? I know that when Mayor Bloomberg tried to cut garbage collection and ferry service in NYC people were outraged. Is it right that these people, who we are allegedly "helping and liberating" are being forced to suffer in this way after all the suffering they've already done?
From my point of view, things are way out of control in Iraq and something needs to be done. We need to help those people back on their feet and then give them their fucking country back by getting the hell out.
And here's a look at our weather forecast for the next week...
Rainy, rainy and did I forget to mention rainy and mostly shitty conditions for days to come and for AS LONG AS I CAN REMEMBER. (That's not saying much because I have self inflicted short term memory loss...) But really. Anyday now our suicide rate is going to start climbing.
Dear Weather-Pie-In-The-Sky:
YOU CAN STOP THE FUCKING RAIN NOW. It's JUNE, In case YOU didn't get the MEMO. So just cut it out okay! Put a lid on it. Cease fire. Have mercy on my drenched little soul and just give me summertime, so that I can take my pale little body down to the beach and forget that this hellish winter ever existed.
Thank you,
The Crazy Lady in Brooklyn (does it matter which one?)
I had this really funky ass dream last night and I just had to write about it.
On my way home last night on the train I started reading this book "Five To Die" about Charles Manson. Apparently, the beginning of the book which graphically depicts the murders of those five people in the Tate mansion, effected my subconscious psyche more than I thought.
Last night I had this dream that I was still with my really scary ex-boyfriend but he looked more like Charles Manson than anything. He also had a really big knife and I couldn't get away from him. I had all this money in my purse and he kept stealing from me (this is probably because in real life I had been carrying around a large amount of cash that I hadn't found the time to deposit into the bank). When I would confront him about it in the dream he just kept lying to me. I was so afraid he was going to kill me and I kept trying to think of a way to escape. I had all these flashes in the dream of being murdered in the goriest fashion.
I finally escaped from him and then I was in my apartment and everytime I would go to the door to make sure it was locked it would be unlocked again. I saw him driving up to my apartment in a truck and I was frantically running around trying to lock the doors and the windows and for some reason in the dream I realized that he was not going to stop hunting me until he had sliced me into pieces with that big knife.
The thing about this particular ex-boyfriend is that he had a serious anger management problem and when I left him I had to run away in the middle of the night. He was not happy about it and he continued to make all kinds of threatening phone calls and send ugly emails for quite awhile after I was gone. He even once threatened to kill me and my new boyfriend at one point, but I really didn't believe him because he just liked to rant and rave until he got it out of his system. He had been to jail before and he was way too much of a wuss to ever go back, so he refrained from doing most things that would have landed him in the slammer ever again. But still, I think I was lucky to get out of there when I did because he had a tendency to become very violent and I had already endured as much as I could take.
Anyway, you know how it is when you dream, there are so many minute details that make everything so real, but they all become a blur once you try to grasp them and recount the whole thing. I have GOT to stop reading shit that gives me these crazy nightmares.
(I couldn't bear to title it "Losin My Religion" though I admit I was tempted)
Choses asked me in one of my threads about why I no longer practice Tibetan Buddhism. As I was writing my response I realized that it was such a long story, I might as well devote an entire post to it.
So here's the scoop on religion in my life:
My father was raised a strict Catholic (military school and the whole lot). My mother was raised Mormon (blech). They both felt very confused and unsatisfied with these religions, so when they were 18 and 19 they decided to travel the world in search of another faith. They found Tibetan Buddhism. Upon returning to the United States they found a teacher in Ashland, Oregon, named Gyaltrul Rinpoche. He escaped from Tibet during the Chinese invasion and came to the U.S. where he teaches buddhism. (He's very, very old now). My parents were a huge part of the beginning of Tibetan Buddhism in that area and helped build the most authentic buddhist monastery and statues in the United States. Buddhism was our life. We lived it and breathed it on a daily basis.
When I was four years old we moved to Los Angeles so that my dad could go to UCLA law school. When he finally got out and we had a real house it became one of the main centers for buddhist practice in Santa Monica. We had lamas and monks staying at our house frequently and held pujas and practice there on a regular basis. My mother devoted her life to buddhism. She completed her nundro, which is one of the most extensive levels of daily meditation. She sewed special curtains and cushions and built thrones and transcribed teachings and hosted events and poured her heart and soul into it. As children, we were given the option to participate. It was never forced upon us, but we did it gladly most of the time. We sat and practiced with the rest of the group, we said our seven line prayers before bed and participated in all the traditional rituals that went along with the faith.
My parents worked and worked for ten years in Los Angeles so that we could move back to Oregon, to the Colestin Valley, where the monastery and the statues are. They invested in a hundred acres of land and when the time finally came, we made the big move. But a lot had changed in ten years and there was a whole new group of people who didn't recognize or really respect the contributions my family had made. One particular man who had bought land near ours had a huge fortune and his money began to dictate many facets of what was supposed to be a humble religion. When my parents fought this change and others which trivialized and defeated the purpose of buddhism, and religion in general, they became outcasts and my mother was shunned, becoming a heretic.
She had a huge revelation about what buddhism meant to her and felt that she had wasted much time devoting herself to all kinds of outdated traditions and practices that didn't really apply to her life or that of her family, though many of the basic beliefs still did apply. She decided that she was going to step outside of the "rules" and beat her own path.
In the meantime, I became a teenager. I started smoking, hanging out with skateboarders and musicians, going to parties, experimenting with psychadelics and generally exploring the world around me. At that time religion was squeezed out of my life completely by all of my other "activities." I scarcely found time to go to high school much less sit down to say a hundred and eight mantras daily. By the age of 18 I was tired. I'd already been to bars, gotten tattooed, had lots of boyfriends, partied day in and day out and I wanted some type of structure in my life. I got married (which didn't last), got a good job, and thought about practicing buddhism again. I still couldn't find the time or the devotion within myself. My sister remained a devoted buddhist, serving in the monastery and traveling to Nepal to continue Tibetan language and religious studies until she went off to a university in California. (She's four years younger than me).
When my marriage "fell apart" I finally picked up that mala again and started to say those prayers. It felt so good. Like it was the only thing to hang onto when I started to get sad or feel lost. But the meaning was gone. I wasn't living it and breathing it anymore. It wasn't the integral part of my existence that it was when I was a child. It will always be a huge part of who I am, why I think the way I do, why I see the world with these eyes and it will always have a huge role in my belief system. But it was all learned and ingrained in me in a completely different context. It just didn't make sense to go through the motions on such a different level than what I had been brought up with. It felt half assed. I have spirituality. I have my view of the world and of mortality. I don't need to say the same prayer 108 times every day to make that a reality. I believe in reincarnation. I believe in karma. I believe in rebirth and hell realms and good and evil. And I love the beautiful stories that are often used in buddhism to illustrate these points. But I don't need to rely on every last antiquated tradition and symbolism to make all of that real to me and I definitely don't feel the need to surround myself with people who have all kinds of selfish notions and hoity toitiness about being buddhist or new agey purple crystal people who have these bizarre ideas about what it is to begin with.
So it is here, in my heart.
I just ordered a big pepperoni pizza all to myself and I cannot believe how good it tastes. Yes, I have the serious munchies. When I eat pizza that tastes this good it makes me sad that Joey Ramone is dead. I'm sure he would really appreciate a big melty slice of pepperoni pizza about now...
I was working on my "About Me" section because I came home from work all stressy and in a self indulgent sort of mood.
These were some of them:
83. My favorite birthday was when I turned 7 years old.
84. I felt like such a big girl when my mom gave me a little blue purse with a red flower embroidered on it.
85. On my 13th birthday I lied to my mother so that I could go to an L.A. Guns/Ratt concert at Irvine Meadows Amphitheatre.
86. I ran out of the house and left about fifteen of my friends with my parents because I didn't want to miss the concert. My mom sent me off with a piece of chocolate cake.
87. I dressed up in a trashy outfit and rocked out at the concert with my best friend. We had a limo to take us home and I was handed a card by a modeling/talent scout who turned out later to be a con man.
88. I felt so freakin cool.
89. I am greatful to my mother for not murdering me when I got home from that little escapade.
90. She really, really wanted to kill me and I was majorly, majorly grounded forever and ever.
91. In fact, I can think of a hundred more instances for which I should thank my mother for not killing me.
SOOO, the question is, what have you done to piss your parents off so bad that you didn't know what they might do to you once they got their hands on you? Come on now. I could keep going.
I hate Sunday nights. I try to prolong my weekend as much as possible by staying up late and getting tipsy, but all that gets me is tired on Monday.
I had such a nice weekend. Kat and Chas had a dinner party last night at their apartment. Chas made falafels *yum* and I brought a backpack full of liquor (Banana rum, Morgans, vodka, wine...) Rob drove all the way back from working in Pennsylvania to be there and I was so happy he did. I am in love with Kat & Chas's summer apartment. It is one block from Washington Square Park and it is beautiful with ultra high ceilings and custom molding and mirrors and artwork and book upon book and cd upon cd. Just the right amount of light in the daytime...I wish they never had to move out, but come September they will have to. :(
Today we walked around in the village. Kathleen and I slept in and then wandered over to Housing Works bookstore where Chas was running the Fence table for a fair they had today. After that we had lunch at a random bar that turned out to have a bitchin brunch special. I decided to have a bloody mary for the first time in ages and totally did not dig it. But the food was great. I'm going to dream about those french fries tonight. After lunch we walked back to the apartment and fell asleep for a two hour nap.
I never wanted to come home, I just wanted to hang out with Kat and Chas in that apartment and have drinks and listen to music and talk the night away. But alas, I can't let my cats starve and I do have a home of my own to attend to and a job to be at in the morning.
I need a vacation. I haven't had one since last August and it's getting to be high time to plan something fun. These weekends just pass me by way too quickly.
Today, June 13th, 2003, is the third anniversary of the death of Tyler Raven Abel.
He died at the age of 21 years old. I knew him from the day he was born.
Rest in peace, Tyler. I love you and miss you. I know you're out there watching and knowing that you'll never be forgotten.
There're no words to say
No words to convey
This feeling inside I have for you
Deep in my heart
Safe from the guards
Of intellect and reason
Leaving me at a loss
For words to express my feelings
Deep in my heart
Look at me losing control
Thinking I had a hold
But with feelings this strong
I'm no longer the master
Of my emotions
That was the song they played at your funeral. I'll never forget how I cried and felt like I'd never stop. How I stood up in front of all of your friends and family and told them how much you mean to me and how much I'll always miss you. Well I still do. I'll never forget your beautiful clear blue eyes and the freckles on your face...and your tall, lanky stride and how you used to throw your head back and laugh with your mouth wide open to the sky. I'll never forget how funny and cool you were and how deep and thoughtful you were. I will never, ever forget the sound of your voice. I can honestly hear it now. Your distinct speaking patterns and how you would tell a story or just grumble about it being early and tired from partying and I remember how we loved to reminisce.
I remember, not long before you died, how I was worried about you because I saw you by garo's and your face was messed up and you told me you'd taken a nasty fall. You really hurt yourself. I was so worried. I thought "I hope he's okay. I hope he's taking care of himself..." I didn't know so many of the things that were going on in your head. I didn't know that you dreamed of your own death foretold. That you saw it years before...until I looked at one of your journals. With all the pictures you had cut out and pasted in there and all the thoughts I never realized you were having. I never imagined that one day I would be reading your journal, griefstricken, to find a note in it that I had written to you years before. In it I told you how special you were and that you would always be a precious friend close to my heart. I was so glad then, that you knew how much I cared about you and that I told you, even though I hadn't even remembered writing that little note until just then, years past and tragedy struck. You kept it with you all those years.
I've written to you and about you a few times since then. I hope you have access to the internet wherever you are...in heaven...hahaaa! I know you're laughing at that one. Sweet dreams Tyler.
I received this incredibly long email from someone at my office. She has already been on my nerves a lot lately for various reasons, but this was the straw that broke the camel's back. I have inserted only the end of the email, as it was so long and boring and pointless that I couldn't bear to reiterate it on my own blog. But this, you have to see to believe:
If you never accept Jesus Christ,
HELL IS WAITING FOR YOU!
So please, ask Him into your heart.
Please show this to everyone you care about.
((which should be everybody))
IF SOMEONE HAD A GUN HELD IN FRONT OF YOUR FACE,
AND ASKED YOU IF YOU BELIEVED IN GOD,
WHAT WOULD YOU DO?
SAY NO AND FEEL ASHAMED THE REST OF YOUR LIFE?
OR SAY YES, I DO, AND DIE STANDING UP FOR GOD?
IF YOU'D SAY NO, THEN DELETE THIS E-MAIL.
IF YOU WOULD STAND UP FOR JESUS CHRIST, THEN
SEND THIS TO ALL YOUR FRIENDS AND THE
PERSON WHO SENT IT TO YOU
First of all, I'm not Christian and I find it outrageous that anyone at my work would assume that I am and send me something like this. In the case that they are assuming that I am NOT Christian, then it is even more outrageous. And if I was, are you really going to guilt trip me into forwarding this rubbish to everyone I know because I believe that my delivery from hell is contingent upon it? That's just an insult to my intelligence. I told her not to send me those types of emails in the future, because I found it offensive. And like I want to sit here thinking of someone pointing a gun at my head and demanding that I deny jesus to spare my own life...at work especially? But if you really want to know what I would say if I was in that situation, here it is: "God who? Jesus who?"
If this isn't the biggest bunch of bigots, in complete denial, I don't know what is.
It amazes me that I was banned from commenting on this website, yet others are permitted to say things like:
They only got 78 complaints cuz the sissy core audience that tunes into this kinda pansy ass show ain't gonna mind seeing two of their OWN smoochin' away on stage. Au contrairy fairy, if ya know what I mean (winky). You betcha bottom dolla walla they sittin' on them fancy french couches or settees or whatever they call 'em, and they givin' that fag couple the big thumbs up and toasting with pink champagne.
Guess that's why I don't watch them fruit-loopy Tony Awards
This particular person is so clearly a racist and a bigot (though he will deny it to the death) And somehow that is not considered offensive. Using derrogatory terms like "fag" or talking about young American black men as if they are all losers who are just a burden on society is acceptable, but I was banned for being appalled by their ugly commentary. I am still shaking my head and wondering "what fucking planet are these people from?" It's called Boycott Hollywood, not "Fag Bash Central" yet that is what it is half the time.
Most of all, I am so sad and so disgusted that there are people that still think this way. The worst part is that they think they're open minded:
Ok, this is how I feel about the whole thing...I'm glad my children weren't watching, so I don't have to explain that one!!
What you do in the privacy of your home is your own business, but don't do it in public and expect me to accept it. I have some tolerance towards the gay community, but I don't believe they deserve special treatment. I feel most gays have an political agenda for everything they do. They are thrusting themselves into the lime light and forcing us to "just deal with it", which is totally unfair. It's funny when a conservative does something like that, we are called intolerance if a liberal does it, he is commended for speaking his point of view. Funny how that works.
I say a simple handshake or a pat on the back would have been sufficient.
This is what you call "tolerance?" Holy shit, I don't want to know about the things you're INtolerant about.
And why do I continue to visit this website? Because I like to see what the other side is thinking. It makes me feel like I have some kind of advantage. At what, I don't know.... I have always been drawn to facing that which tears me up inside. I've always pursued knowledge of those things which are ugly in this world because I think there's nothing worse than ignoring those things and living in ignorance of reality, just as much as I have pursued knowledge of those things which are beautiful and think that without that also, life is not all that it can be. So, even though it makes me endlessly angry and I am gagged in that arena, my morbid curiosity always gets the best of me.
I just got this hilarious email from my dad and had to share it.
Hi Honez,
The swiss kezboards swap the z for the y, so I misspell a lot of words in this
countrz.
We're here in Basel, Swityerland, a cool town on the Rhine. Zou get free public
transport when zou rent a hotel here. Just get on a tram and go anzwhere.
The town is on the Rhine river, and has several bridges crossing it. The
oldtown is verz charming, and the streets in the evenings, and the riverbanks,
are thronged with people zoung and old out taking the air, smoking and drinking.
Kind of a little of a hick town in a sweet waz.
Mom and I went to the zoo todaz. wow fantastic, weäll post pictures on the
website eventuallz
tomorrow we go to Lausanne, famous place on Lake Geneva. got a lakefront
room(Ihope) and expect to enjoz the view
Mom's doing great, although the food's difficult for her. Too rich, i suppose.
At anz rate, we find nice stuff at the grocerz store. The beer's great, the
weather's reallz warm, and I rented a biczcle to tool around this town. I like
it.
Thinking of you alwazs makes me happz. :))
Love Love
Daddzo
XOXOXOXO
Today Kat, Chas and I took a walk down from Court Street to the boardwalk that runs along the Brooklyn Navy Terminal and provides a view of the Statue of Liberty and downtown Manhattan, the Brooklyn Bridge & the seaport... It was such a beautiful day for walking and we were so greatful that the rain stopped for a day. We bought some snacks and went to sit down by the water and talk and eat. Brooklyn Heights is such a nice area. Chas daydreamed the entire time about scoring an apartment there. It really is an ideal neighborhood. I love my neighborhood, but it just isn't as close to Manhattan as Brooklyn Heights.
When we were walking along we came by an apartment where the inhabitant had laid a huge pile of books along their walkway for anyone to take for free. I found three books and put them in my purse. Kathleen found one she liked too and stuck it in her purse. We continued to walk. Next we came upon an apartment where the inhabitant had laid some nice looking items of clothing out along their fence for anyone to take for free. Kathleen and I each found a thing we liked and added it to our "loot". We continued to walk. A couple hours later, when we were walking back from the boardwalk, we came upon an apartment where the inhabitant had put a big bag of clothes by the trashbin in front and another pile of clothes on top of the trashbin. This group of free items were not as appealing because they were with the trash, but I convinced Kathleen that we should rummage anyway while Chas stood back watching with disbelief and begging us that we had enough. I found about ten or fifteen fabulous items that this person had thrown out. I honestly felt like I'd just been shopping.
So we stopped at a bodega and got a bag for all of our stuff and brought it home and threw it all in the washer with a generous helping of laundry detergent and voila! New stuff. I'm glad I don't have any shame. Many people who don't have so much would swallow their pride to pick through someone else's throwaways, and on this particular day, that was me. Ain't too proud...and it was worth it.
There were these two older ladies walking along as we were rummaging and one of them stopped to rummage with us as some of the things she saw us holding in our hands piqued her interest. Her walking companion implored her not to touch the vile seconds that someone had left outside their apartment, but the lady could not be deterred. She began picking through the small mounds of shoes and clothing, which all looked well taken care of, if not a bit musty...Her companion began to shout saying "if you touch that stuff you are not coming back into my house! I won't have it in my house!" I was kind of giggling, and the lady who wanted to rummage giggled and we all found it funny except for the lady who was standing there shouting "not in my house you won't!!! Well, then if you won't stop, then I am leaving you!" She even went so far as to say "I'm not going to be your friend anymore!" The fellow rummager replied with "so? Go." And so the shouting lady did. She stalked away, fuming, as we stayed and dug for treasure.
All day, I have felt like I was walking on sunshine. And that was like icing on the cake. I felt like it was a wonderfully lucky day and I came home with so many fun prizes. Call me crazy. Call me baglady. It's all good. Because I'm happy (and a little bit humbled)!
My boyfriend has been trying to bring this blog to my attention and I finally visited. I am in love.
Every person in this country who believes that what we did in Iraq was a perfectly good thing needs to visit this site and see it from the perspective of someone who lives there.
It astounds me that anyone could get on his blog and say something to him like "It seems your writing is dedicated to proving two points, first, minimizing the American contribution to removing Saddam and then, proving what terrible things the US did to get rid of Saddam, so as to paint a picture that it wasn't worth it.”
Definitely check out Salam. He is exceptional.
The old man is snoring...
Okay, so the old man's not snoring. But it is raining, pouring, drenching the beautiful day that could have been. There were all of these little birdies hopping around on the ground outside my window and then the rain became too heavy for them to bear the beating and they all fled into the bushes and trees for shelter. I started singing that song "Little Birdy" by Ween. "Little birdy make me laugh dude...Little birdy make me cry, I don't know why...I don't know why..."
I saw the little birdy sing
he sang with glee and everything
he sang for spring and he sang for me
and everything was so happy
i don't know why
i want to fly
try to sigh
make me fly
get me high
then the little birdy starts to cry
so happy.
When I lived in California, I used to revel in days like this. Gray, melancholy days that fed my pubescent desire to wallow in contemplative angst. I remember being in high school one day and looking out the window at the dark clouds rolling in from the west and feeling all consumed with this fun, electrical feeling. The classroom felt so far away (not that I was paying any attention anyway) and all I could think about was that galloping-horses-in-the-sky feeling I had, thundering hooves about to emerge from the black clouds...
When the thunder came, and the lightning and then rain, it was like the sky busted and felt like the downpour would wash away all the smog and dirt that was being kicked up all over the city. And it felt like an opportunity to glower and broad about things that made me sad at the time. It was a good time to go home and flop onto my bed and stare out at the rain while Pink Floyd, The Wall blasted from my little tape player, to write in my diary and dream about the future and be glum about the present...
Well here I am. In the future. If you would have told me that day that this is where I would be in ten years, I would have prayed that you were right. So here I sit, still in the slip I wore to bed last night, stomach full from breakfast, the only sounds are of the rain outside and the dim chaos of sports television in the living room. And all I want is for the sun to come out. Because it's June and it's time to have picnics and put on fun spring clothes and tilt your head back to feel the sun and not worry about getting wet or being stuck inside with nothing to do...except...dare I say it? To clean the house. *Dreck*
Rain, rain, go away, come back another day...I want to go out...out to play.
I went to Boycott Hollywood today. I do that. My friends ask me "Maria, why do you visit that site when half the time it just makes you mad? Why don't you relax and enjoy yourself?" I say "because I am enjoying myself. This is HOW I enjoy myself, by going to a site which I mostly disagree with, and getting my underpants in a bunch." The thing is that I was banned from that site a while back (as some may remember) for such an incredibly petty reason as saying something like "what crawled up your ass and died?" Somehow that was soooo offensive that it warranted banning me forever. (Please, I would say that to my own mother...it's not that shocking) Meanwhile those who agree with the topics on the site can insult to their little hearts' content without fear of being banned. It's really a wild phenomenon. But I really don't wish to rehash my entire previous entry on the subject of my removal from the site, even though I still think it was very contradictory to the supposed purpose of the site in the first place (which is to criticize others -namely "celebrities"- for "stifling free speech," by virtue of exercising their own, while attempting to stifle free speech themselves by stating that liberals should just shut up and that they have no room to say anything because they are "just actors" and therefore have no brains or right to express their views). If that doesn't make any sense, go fucking figure...
Anyway, today I read this thread that was so inflamed with people spewing their dislike for homosexuals and their belief that homosexuals are an "abomination." (I just love that word) Of course if I was allowed I would have backed up the single homosexual man who was battling all of this judgment and masked homophobia, but alas, the muzzle remains. Thank god for Sandy, who was actually the person who was the recipient of my banworthy comment in the first place, that she made me proud with her comments in defense of homosexuality and shining a light on how self righteous Christians are about it, despite not always being the most "sinfree" people themselves. Hatred is such an ugly thing. Especially the kind that is based purely on the self righteousness of religion. It's not any better than Muslim extremists and their hatred of American life for its excesses. That is the hypocricy that these people fail to see, that their banishment of homosexuals is the same exact phenomenon. Ooooh don't try to tell them that.
It made me sad though, so many of the things that people said on there. I find it difficult to describe the level of frustration I feel as I read some of these comments only to realize that many of these people contradict themselves heavily, especially on this subject, and they're far too self righteous to admit it or perhaps too ignorant to see it themselves. Somehow, to one particular person, defending yourself or stressing your own point is the same as insulting. I notice that when people don't like what they hear they just say "you're insulting me"... as someone on the outside, looking in, it is painful to see the lack of insight in some people. How they can sit there and be angry at the person who is defending himself with thoughtful intelligence, while rooting on those who are grotesquely intolerant, and then accusing that person who is defending himself of being the person who is intolerant, ignorant or otherwise offensive. I find it so hard to witness and at the same time utterly mind boggling. I wish there were a way to remove the blinders from these particular individuals and implore them to view themselves and the statements that they are making objectively so that they can see their hypocricy at work. The singular homosexual said to one person "what if your son turned out to be gay? Wouldn't that be ironic?" The person came back with "why are you wishing that my son will be gay?" (?????) How does one translate into the other, that's what I don't understand. It is simply a lack of intelligence on the part of the other person.
You see, just by my writing this, the person(s) who I am referring to above, would assert that these here are "insults" that I have made, rather than observations. If I assert the person(s) ignorance or lack of profound insight, that also, would be viewed as an insult, rather than a valid conclusion come to by my observations.
How does an ignorant person know that they're ignorant if they're too ignorant to know it? They don't. They are trapped.
My mornings have become a succession of hellish train rides. Sat on the 4 train this morning in the tunnel just before Grand Central for TWENTY FIVE MINUTES. Not moving. Shoved in like a sardine. Teetering on the brink of tears and madness. God did not bless me with patience. It is one thing I am severely lacking. I know this is not good. I know I need to learn to take a deep breath and relax. BUT I DON'T KNOW HOW. When I am a half hour late for work because of the inefficiency of nyc transit and in the meantime I have no choice but to be pressed up against some creepy, smelly stranger.
And all a person can do is stand there and fume and boil inside about the fact that the MTA raised our fare to 2 bucks per train ride and that this is the type of service that the public gets for their hard earned dollars. It really ticks me off. Especially since the MTA has been seriously criticized for misrepresenting their financial records which just increases the sense that one is being royally ripped off. The worst part is that there is nothing we can do. A lot of people have no choice except to ride public transportation and in nyc, that number of people is huge. We are forced to depend on them and we are forced to pay their outrageous fares even when they're cooking their books. It is so wrong and so unfair. Even though the MTA has been ordered to roll the fare back to $1.50, there is a possibility that will never happen if the appeals court rules otherwise, and of course, even if it does get rolled back, all of us who have paid the outrageous increase in the meantime will definitely not get any of that money back. The whole thing is such a fiasco. It just makes me sick that publicly funded organizations can just rip people off and get away with it. Ah. One more thing to be furious about... it's what I love most about the world today.
I live right next door to this crazy guy.
The first time I met him I thought he was normal, but quickly began to question his sanity and/or mental stability. He is not slow at all, though one could think that at first impressions. It's just too weird to go in to...but I guess I'll try.
He walks up and down the street all the time. And I mean all the time. My ex roommate used to get p-noid that he was following her because everywhere she went in the neighborhood, it seemed like he was lurking. In the morning when I would go to the train station at the end of the block, he would be there. When I came out at night on my way home, he was there. My boyfriend would tease me that he had a crush on me. I don't think that has anything to do with it. He just happened to be there, like he happens to stand in his window everytime we come in or out of the house to watch our comings and goings. Every person who has ever come over to my house has said "so what's with the creepy neighbor?"
The conclusion I have come to is that he is in some way mentally challenged, I just can't figure out what the fuck it is. He is schizy. He is talkative once he feels comfortable with you and will just take up strolling down the street beside you to carry on a conversation about sports or school. (I still can't figure out if he is fibbing when he says that he just got his masters and works in a mortgage firm and is going to law school...) He shit a brick when he found out I work in a law firm and that my dad is a lawyer. His eyes got like saucers and he kept saying "wow that is so cool. I love law. You have to tell me more about your dad being a lawyer." Hahaa!!! He keeps robert for the longest talking about sports. Rob and I get a huge kick out of it and assume that he is utterly harmless and quirky. We have even become a tad bit endeared to him for all his kookiness.
One thing that bugs me though is that he fights with his mother l-o-u-d-l-y. All the time they are out there with the screaming and the yelling and the shaking of fists. I can't understand what they're shouting about because most of it is in Greek. But today. Woah. Today I got home from work and as I came through the gate he came storming out the front door and down the steps shouting "I want the fucking ni*ger!!! That's what I want. I want the fucking ni*ger!"
Ay-ay-aaay-yikes...
His mother was shouting after him. Of course, I understood none of it and ventured down the steps into my apartment - away from the dra-MA. goodbye.
Time to break it.
I just haven't had a lot of free time and since kat got here, hanging out with her has been all I really want to do. We watched Kids last night. I haven't seen that movie since around the time it came out. I related to it heavily at the time, which, from some of the reviews I've read, is not necessarily a good thing. One of the main characters, Casper, reminded me so much of someone who used to be really close to me. Another not-so-good thing I guess... I haven't seen it since that first time but I've had it sitting in my house for months. In the middle of watching it kat told me how glad she was that she was seeing it for the first time with me because it reminded her so much of some crazy times in our life and some people we knew back then.
Anyone who has seen it knows how disturbing that movie is. It stayed with me forever after the first time, made me aware of a few things I wasn't so cognizant of before, left me with a scared, sad feeling in the pit of my stomach...still can't say "I like that movie Kids" but I certainly don't wish that it was never made because the effect is so powerful.
People who say things like "[Kids is] utterly repugnant, child pornography masquerading as serious filmmaking" (Rob Vaux) seriously missed the point and are obviously not people who can identify with that premise. Which is understandable, I guess, that someone might perceive it that way, but it's just a flawed perspective I think. There is definitely a lot of ugliness in the movie, but the impact of the lesson is worth it.
Kathleen and Charles arrived yesterday and we've spent all day today being sloths after drinking like fishies last night.
Eating, watching Ghost World, sleeping, eating, watching trash tv, me contemplating what a bummer it is that I have to go to work tomorrow when all I want to do is hang out with Kat. But it seems nobody else is going to go and earn those Gs for me. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. And for me that means getting into midtown with the rest of the hustlers and bustlers and putting my most useful skills to work to earn those dollas so I can pay this god forsaken rent and keep eating imported cheese.
I spent an ungodly amount of money on food the other day. I bought enough food to feed a family of five, which is good, because with Kat and Chas here, I need plenty of food. I would hate for them to find themselves scavenging.
Speaking of food, I think it is high time that I go and fix a big spaghetti dinner.
Scratch that, Kat just came in and asked if I wanted to go and take a walk to watch the sunset. She always has the best ideas...watch sunset and THEN fix spaghetti...a perfect world.