Because I just can't get to work this morning.

TGIF.

I heart the weekend.

Goals:

1. Laundry (Hopefully tonight – God help me, I’m on my last thong. Is that too much information? Anyhoo, I have nothing left to wear. Must clean clothing.)

2. Sleep (preferably for HOURS and HOURS)

3. Lunch with Shmoob (and beer . . . lovely beer)

4. Pay hours of attention to DVR. (We need to work on our relationship. I’ve been neglectful.)

5. Gym (Sweet Baby Jebus, I hope I don’t pass out at minute 2 on the treadmill. This could be dangerous, people. I believe this will be my first time back at the gym in a couple of months. My gut will be grateful, I’m sure.)

6. Rifle thru shit and see what I can get rid of.


I’m pretty sure I’m going to be spending more time on Goal #2 than any of the others . . . and I’m OK with that.

Cuteness.

Thank God this commercial is starting to air again.



I can't stop watching it.

So, THAT was some big news . . . what else . . .

Um, I'll get back to you.

Two things

1. Chicken dumpling soup is delish.

2. Thanks be to Jebus, tomorrow is payday.

whoop whoop

Bunnies, rainbows, stardust

I’m in desperate need of a time-out and a self-overhaul.

I started compiling a list today. Of things I want to do, need to do, better fucking do. I was adding things to it all day. Of course, this is probably going to go the way of most of the other “to do” lists I put together, but I’m going jot it down here anyhow . . . because I have it on my mind and this is my blog to do with as I wish. So suck it.

- No more diet coke before noon (this is a very good idea)

- Buy new pair of Responsibility Pants and focus on doing freelance work in a timely fashion, going after more freelance work, and doing better work for clients

- Wear new pair of RPs to get out of financial clusterfuck that I—and only I—have created for myself

- Apply same determination and drive used at work to health and self-preservation (read: use gym membership, stop eating like a cow, get a hell of a lot more sleep, drop-kick stress level, etc.)

- Start friggin’ drawing again already

- Engage in some extracurricular creative study (get to a bookstore once a week and sit with design mags for a hour—thank you, Timmy)

- Give clothes to Good Will, sell shoes on eBay, take books to second-hand library bookshop (a.k.a. sort through clothes, stuff . . . shed extra baggage)

- Pick up one of the many, many, many books lugged home and take less than 3 months to finish it

- Stop waiting 2-4 weeks before returning emails, phone calls, friend interaction (get head out of own ass)

- Read stack of magazines taking up valuable floor space

- Buy camera, learn how to use it, start taking photos of my important people

- Buy strings, pick up dusty guitar, figure out how to put strings on guitar, start teaching self (again) how to play guitar (like it worked out so well the first time?), impress everyone, get record deal, play at Brad and Angelina’s wedding

My. Wasn’t that exciting?

Wow, I really forgo a blog theme, don’t I?

And now, a treat:



Darling remember from when you come to me
that I’m the pretender,
I’m not what I’m supposed to be
but who could know, lf I’m a traitor?
times the revelator, revelator.

They caught the Katy, and left me a mule to ride.
The fortune lady came along she walked beside,
but every word seemed to date her.
Times the revelator, the revelator.

Up in the morning up and on the ride.
I drive in to Corning and all the spindles whine
and ever day is getting straighter.
Times the revelator the revelator

Leaving the valley and fucking out of sight
I’ll go back to Cali where I can sleep out every night
and watch the waves and move the fader.

Queen of fakes and Imitators
Times the revelator.


And now I'm going to sleep. Because it's late and I'm posting lists on my blog instead of working on bullet #4.

Good God, I hope I can get out of my head soon. If someone could let me know how to get out my own way, I'd appreciate it.


UPDATE: New title for bloggage entry, for one who felt dejected.

She used to be such a wee thing.

Lisbeth vs. The Computer



I'm pretty sure she's still the cutest thing ever. Ev. Er.

UPDATE: Yes, that's her calling the computer Nana. Because, her Nana in Virginia lives inside the monitor most of the time. Thank God they didn't have that technology when I was growing up . . . holy confusion, Batman.

Hiding My Heart / Brandi Carlile

So this is how the story went
I met someone by accident
That blew me away
That blew me away

It was in the darkest of my days
When you took my sorrow and you took my pain
And buried them away, you buried them away

And I wish I could lay down beside you
When the day is done
And wake up to your face under the morning sun
But like everything I've ever known
I'm sure you'll go one day
So I'll spend my whole life hiding my heart away
And I can't spend my whole life hiding my heart away

I dropped you off at the train station
And put a kiss on top of your head
I watched you wave
I watched you wave
Then I went on home to my skyscrapers
Neon lights and waiting papers
That I call home
I call it home

And I wish I could lay down beside you
When the day is done
And wake up to your face against the morning sun
But like everything I've ever known
I'm sure you'll go one day
So I'll spend my whole life hiding my heart away
And I can't spend my whole life hiding my heart away

I woke up feeling heavy hearted
I'm going back to where I started
The morning rain
The morning rain
And you know I wish that you were here
But that same old road that brought me here
Is calling me home
Is calling me home

And I wish I could lay down beside you
When the day is done
And wake up to your face against the morning sun
But like everything I've ever known
You'll disappear someday
So I'll spend my whole life hiding my heart away
And I can't spend my whole life hiding my heart away


**heartstring pull heartstring pull**

FYI

Fat free blueberry muffins could do with some fat in them.

Seriously.

in the a.m.

It's way past my bedtime. Yet, I haven't hit the sack yet (ha, sack). I got a little carried away downloading music . . . although, I did manage to find one of my favorite recordings (Ryan Adams and Gillian Welch, Helpless, 1999) and have listened to it on repeat for the last 15 minutes or so. And now you can listen to it, too! Here you go. (Please be sure to note the toolbox who drops his bottle. How much do you love THAT guy?) And, say, do you want the entire set from that night in Nashville? Well, here you go.

In other news, after I finished up freelance work (only 2 and a half weeks late with that) I started deleting crap off of my FTP site, as I've been warned that I'm all full up (of crap). I found the files from my old blog. The one that I took down in a state of "why in the hell do I have this up?"-dom. I'll warn you, I'm in that very same state of mind now, too. But I won't take this blog down (LUCKY. YOU.) b/c Cristina would seriously hurt me. I am, however, about to yank down that damn Effbook page. I can't explain it . . . it just freaks me out.

ANYhoo . . . found this when I was looking thru the old, forgotten blog archives. This site still makes me laugh: Poor Anthony.

Found a lot of other crap but it all made me puke . . . so there you go.

Goodnight, people.

an old favorite

Leased twenty acres
And one jimmy mule
From the Alabama Trust
Half of cotton, third of corn
Get a hand full of dust

We cannot have all things pleasin'
No matter how we try
Until we've all gone to Jesus
We can only wonder why

I had a daughter
Called her Annabelle
She's the apple of my eye
Tried to give her something like I never had
Didn't want to ever hear her cry

We cannot have all things pleasing
No matter how we try
Until we've all gone to Jesus
We can only wonder why
When I'm dead and buried

I'll take a hard life of tears
Every day I've ever known
Anna's in the churchyard
She's got no life at all
She only got these words on stone:

We cannot have all things pleasing
No matter how we try
Until we've all gone to Jesus
We can only wonder why

—Gillian Welch, Annabelle

Colors / Amos Lee

Yesterday I got lost in the circus
Felling like such a mess
Now I’m down I’m just hanging on the corner
I can’t help but reminisce
When you’re gone all the colors fade
When you’re gone no New Year’s Day parade
You’re gone
Colors seem to fade

Your mama called she said that you’re down stairs crying
Feeling like such a mess
Yeah I hear you you’re in the background bawling
What happened to your sweet summertime dress

I know we all, we all got our faults
We get locked in our vaults and we stay
But when you’re gone all the colors fade
When you’re gone no New Year’s Day parade
You’re gone
Colors seem to fade
Colors seem to fade
Yeah

***

Damn, that's one lovely song. I must see him in concert soon.

now we're talking . . .

ARSEBOOK

CRACKBOOK

lovely.

if you've never heard her music, you're missing out. when, oh when, is the next album out, imogen? your musical stylings fit my mood today.

six? six??

someone just used six happy exclamation points on me . . . in a seven word work email.

dear perky perkerson,

suck it.

mug

p.s. you got a tad of a smile . . . but don't go thinking that shit is cool.

song o' the day and a little question

so that's how you found me
rain falling around me
lookin down at a worm
with a long way to go
and the traffic was hissing by
and i was homesick
and i was high

i was surrounded by a language
in which i could say only hello
and thank you very much
and you spoke so i could understand
and i drew a treasure map on your hand

and you were no picnic
you were no prize
but you had just enough pathos
to keep me hypnotized
hypnotized

the map led to an island
in a sea of store-bought dreams
where soulless singers sang
over beats built by machines

and lovely girls were hovering
above my head like gulls
with their long slender necks
and their delicate skulls

and i was no picnic
i was no prize
but i had just enough sweetness
to keep you hypnotized
hypnotized

so that's how you found me
rain falling around me
lookin down at a worm
with a long way to go

—hypnotized, ani difranco

* * *

no caps today. no caps at all. caps are for the well-rested.

question: can one day pass me by without being sent a bill for some large amount of money that 1) i don't have 2) would be smaller had i remembered to pay the goddamn bill when it was due?

i'm an idiot.

i need this panicked feeling to dissipate at some point. i need to feel quiet.

Yummy yum yum

Just had a Cadbury Fruit & Nut. I refuse to feel bad about it, too. Until I can't button my pants tomorrow.

HEY, EFF YOU! IT'S BEEN A ROUGH WEEK!

Dammit.

Peachy.

I think I may have just nodded off at my desk for a full minute. Two 12-hour work days, no down-time, and getting into work at 8:00 a.m., does not a happy Muggy make. That was a wordy and horrible sentence . . . but you get my point. Need. A. Nap. And a refresher English course, apparently.

I can’t even begin to express the rage I’m starting to feel every time I hear “I can’t read that subtitle." Oh yeah?? Can’t you? That’s weird . . . you’d think you’d be able to read it STANDING 10 FUCKING FEET AWAY FROM THE COVER.
Welcome to my day.

Watch. Out.

SCORPIO (Oct. 23 - Nov. 21): You will soon be dealing with a challenge you have faced before: how to synchronize your two major archetypes, the lover and the warrior. As always, it will be a daunting task. You will be asked to cultivate the tender, considerate instincts of the lover within you while simultaneously feeding the fiery discipline of your inner warrior. I know you can do it, Scorpio—even if it seems impossible from where you're standing right now. —Village Voice, Rob Brezsny

Effbook

Last night I went to see The Wailin’ Jennys concert, downtown at Joe’s Pub (awesome space, by the way). They were fantastic – their music is just so pure and beautiful. The girls seemed completely at ease and natural.

Harumph . . . I want to play the fiddle and sing without ruining someone’s life.

Seriously though, next time they’re in town: all of you are coming with me. I want everyone to experience them live. Really, really, really good.

I ended the night by coming home and seeing the explosion in my email regarding Facebook. Good God, people. I finally relented and joined this virtual community about 4 hours previously. The whole thing is pretty overwhelming to me. I spent a good half hour quizzing Gabe about Fbook and why he was asking me to become a Vampire. I don’t want to be a Vampire.

I’ve already been “friended” by a girl from high school who I haven’t spoken to AT ALL since . . . well, high school. And I’m pretty sure we weren’t much more than acquaintances then. Very, very strange. I’m not sure how I feel about a lot of people from my past (many of whom I’d rather choose to forget) getting in touch with me . . . if only virtually. (This said, hurry up and sign up Cris.)

How is it that so much of the work I do deals with a computer and the Internet YET I feel so very far behind in the digital age (and in every other aspect of my life, it seems)? Am I that antiquated? Is it strange that I still love buying CDs and going through the liner notes? Is it strange that I really miss non-digital cameras and the excitement of opening up a pack of “I have no idea what’s on this roll” photos? Is it odd that I miss answering machines and people not able to get in touch with me during the day?

I think I need serious help.

But, we already knew that.

Amazing

I got all teary watching bits of his lecture, when he was featured on Good Morning America. I haven't had the chance to watch the complete lecture yet. I'm going to have a hanky nearby, that's for damn sure.

Kath: thanks for sending the links! :)

This guy puts it in perspective.

Randy Pausch's Web Site

I WANT HIM!!!!

Upsetting

Rudolph Not Returning to 'SNL'

Kristen Wiig better not go anywhere. I'm not sure who saw Knocked Up out there (which was quite good) but Kristen definitely made me laugh the hardest. She rocks. Big time rockage.

***

UPDATE, PER BOOGIE!!!

Thank friggin' God.

Elizabeth - The Golden Age

I can not WAIT to see this!! I love Cate Blanchett! I love Clive Owen! I love Elizabeth!! I love Cake! I need help!



Elizabeth - The Golden Age (trailer)

HOLY CRAP

Amazing. Just amazing. LOVE HER.

Little Irish Girl Prank Calls

Nike Football - Leave Nothing

Note to self: Buy Last of the Mohicans soundtrack on CD -- not sure where cassette went.

Yay, Redskins! Lovely job last night Mr. Campbell . . .

Campbell's talent, poise winning over teammates

Seriously, he did pretty damn well. I was quite impressed. Now, if I could only watch every Redskins game up here in NY. Of course . . . would have been nice to catch more of the first half YET I was at work until 9. And I'm back at work. I honestly feel like I never left.

AND meeting time . . . let's go out there and get some covers approved! Whoop whoop!

pretty funny

Ryan Seacrest = tool
Rainn Wilson = untool
Kanye West = tool . . . but wasn't quite the ass he normally is.

You little imp, you.

Will be emptying self at midnight.

SCORPIO (Oct. 23 - Nov. 21): The experiment I'm proposing is something you should try only if you're feeling adventurous. Don't do it if you're in a timid or self-pitying mood. Here it is: Empty yourself out completely, and do it gladly. With impish daring, lower your expectations all the way down to zero. Surrender every remnant of hope you might be tempted to cling to. With a jaunty nonchalance, pretend you have nothing to lose. And then open an enormous welcome in your heart for the messy, unpredictable sweetness of life exactly as it is. Say yes to the beauty of ambiguity and paradox. Free yourself to accept every person and every situation on its own terms. If you try what I've suggested, I bet you will be united with a potent blessing you didn't even know you needed. —Village Voice, Rob Brezsny

You've gone stolen my heart again, Rob.

Little Girl.

Sniffle.

I want to squeeze Fiddy's cheeks.

Keep watching until you see Al Michaels rendition of Fiddy's In Da Club. Amazing.



(HAHAHAHA . . . Fiddy.)

Be my volunteer.

Not. Embarrassing. Pretty Amusing.

***

Don't pay no mind to it
Oh let it blow
Break you up inside
If you don't let it go
Jeez what are you like honey
I don't know

Recommended by my bank
And everybody in the tank
First of all I'd like to thank

This might take while honey
Hey don't blink
Missing by a mile now we're
Here on the brink
Not a day goes by honey
I don't think

I could be your volunteer
We'll make the whole thing disappear
Saddle up we're outta here
You could be my olive branch
Lift me up above the stench
Walk me through the avalanche

Honey won't you be my flood
Nothing ever comes out good
Trouble in the neighbourhood
Conversations gone askew
And how do you make it feel like new
Kookaburra kangaroo
Will you won't you be my leach
Take it all and when I screech
Leave it there just outta reach
Take me to that burning bush
Give me something that I can't crush
Lead me out into the hush

So far behind
So far behind
So far behind
So far behind
So far behind

—Kangaroo, David Gray

Um, no.

How older siblings stunt growth

Oh yeah? Then explain how I'm a few inches taller than my older sister and my younger sister is a small giant.

My Mum sent my sisters and I this article. And now she thinks her womb is magic.

You say, be still my love.

I realized something this week . . . I’m not a glass half-full type of person. I’m never going to be a glass half-full type of person. The glass is always going to be almost empty. I’m always looking to fill that sucker up. Right? Right. Cram it in, as they say.

Perhaps that explains the palpitations.

We’re fine, me myself and I. We’re working, too hard. We’re now forcing the overtime issue. We’re exhausted. But we’re fine.

I’m not good with pep talks. I’m Grumpy Grumperson with pep talks. When things seem horrible, they’re horrible. I can’t be told things will get better . . . because better seems quite a ways away and better ain’t happening in this instant. I’m a stubborn ass who isn’t changing moods halfway into one. I apologize big time to those people who try to snap me out of it. Sorry, it just won’t work. (Look back, I said stubborn.)

But, don’t worry, I’ll get over it. I always do. I just need to be a pathetic, pity-party-throwing SOB for a moment . . . or many moments. Sometimes my parties last for days (in my pants).

I’ve had a few too many late walks home over the past few weeks. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking . . . and not a lot of doing. (Have also been doing some car-dodging. There was almost a lack of a Mugwatch around here at 9:03 p.m. on Monday night. And, yes, I totally had the right-of-way . . . for once.) I’ve not figured things out just yet. I’m tired of “figuring things out.” I’m ready to just have them figured out already.

I hate complaining (Riiiiiight, you say. Piss off, I say.) Yet, I seem to be doing an awful lot of it of late. And who needs that? Certainly no one I know. Here’s me, trying to keep my mouth shut for awhile. (Let’s see how long it lasts.)

In other news, I have about two pairs of work pants that fit. Baggy and breezy is my new look for the Fall, whether I like it or not. Hot? Yeah, you could say so. (Oh, snap.)

Thanks for listening. Reading. Rolling your eyes.

Where are my pants?

I really need to get back to work

The Beginning - Part 1



The Beginning - Part 2



The Beginning - Part 3

Truly outrageous

Just shared some fabulous childhood memories with Betsy, over IM . . . because we're terribly busy.

Um, who else remembers this amazing show?



Betsy and I certainly do. And look at the friggin’ Wikipedia on it!

In short: Amazing.

You must read the plot and the bios (more fun than Wiki). Holy depth, Jerrica. Such as (from Wiki):

Pizzazz/Phyllis Gabor (Lead Vocals and Guitarist) — . . . She has been shown to be attracted to both Rio (Jem/Jerrica's paramour) and Sean Harrison (Kimber's off-and-on boyfriend), and grows psychotically angry if rebuffed by either of them.

To quote Betsy: “again, we were NINE.”

It was only on for three years. Can that be right? Three Jemtacular years, if you ask me . . . as you did. I can remember renting the episodes from Blockbuster over and over and over again with the sisters. I'm pretty sure we had lyrics memorized.

I’m totally buying the DVDs . . . and pretending they’re for my niece . . . whenever she comes to visit.

My Bradley.

As this blog is becoming more about me posting tid-bit crap as opposed to anything substantial (as if that actually happened before) here are a couple more movies I can’t wait to see. (Read: Jodie Foster is a badass.)





(Brad: My womb would be many times fruitful.)

Yay, movies!! (Insert clapping here.)

Us, professionals?

Interesting . . . and disturbing.

O.K. (Sigh), I'll Join Facebook / BusinessWeek, Jon Fine

This makes me sound like a character in a John Hughes movie getting all angsty over the high school cafeteria seating chart, I suppose, but no one can deny that the world of work is the high school cafeteria all over again. (For the rest of our lives.) At any rate, I hereby make the time commitment to join yet another social network—my fourth—and to commingle whatever of my social spheres I find there. If I don't respond to your friend request, it's only because I (cough) misplaced it around here somewhere.

Would you let Viggo hold your hand, Shmooby?

I effing loved A History of Violence and I can't wait to see Cronenberg's new one. This looks awesome. (I love me some tats.)



And I also wouldn't mind having a good squeeze of Viggo's face.




Official Site: Eastern Promises (I must say, I like the typography. Simple. Classic. Nice site. Big geek.)

too busy to stop

I like my Jesus to party.

Dear eight pound, six ounce, newborn infant baby Jesus, I love this movie.

Gooooood morning.

sigh.

Thoughts on Creativity

I'd like my bed to eat him.

Worked late. Walked home. Ate dinner (read: wheat thins and hummus). Watched one of my stored Inside the Actor's Studio's, this one with Johnny Depp, from 2002. He's brilliant. I'm sharing a bit . . . the rest of the show is on YouTube -- it's worth a watch.



Goodnight.

Breaking News!!

I just ate the loveliest, yummiest plum.

Every day IS like Christmas.

Good gravy, I'm excited.

Shmooby,

You are, indeed, the best dressed lady I know. I'm quite excited to learn something.

Hells Yeah: mashupNYC

Love,
Shmooby

P.S. I'm still wishing I'd bought those $399 brown boots last season. Think they're still around? Think I could win the lottery at some point so I can afford them?

P.P.S. I'm wearing my Joe's today. My ass looks fantastic.

P.P.P.S. I'm hungry. It's only 9:40. I'm craving a belly bomb.

P.P.P.P.S. Will call you shortly.

Chinese, my ass.

The Martin Luther King Memorial Causes a Stir

A Chinese sculptor has been chosen to carve a monument three storeys high on the National Mall in Washington, where it will be placed between the Lincoln and Jefferson Memorials. But a loose-knit and growing group of critics is demanding that a black sculptor, or at least an American, should have been chosen. The protesters have been joined by human rights advocates who say King would have abhorred the Chinese government's record on religious and civil liberties.

Right. Right. Because MLK said "eff acceptance" and was all about hatred and prejudice.

I get the whole "he'd abhor the Chinese government's record blah blah blah" but . . . I'm pretty sure this sculptor was picked for a reason, no? Perhaps, skill? Isn't it a bit effed to go after this guy because of his nationality, skin color, religious beliefs?

I'm deeply confused. (That's obvious.)

UPDATE:

Betsy needs to start a blog. Yes, she does. (Yes, I'm a blog-pusher.) An example of her smarts:

I think people waste too much time getting upset up about too many things instead of picking their battles. While I'm happy and thankful to live in a country where we can voice our opinions without fear of reprisal, I still think we should learn when to fight and when to keep our traps shut.

Hot friggin' damn. Word, Bootsy. Word.

on repeat

It's really too bad that Kanye West is a fuckwit because he's quite a talented fellow.

Cris and I had this on repeat in Cali . . . and when I say repeat, I mean, um, REPEAT. (I'm tired.)

STRONGER

Friggin' LOVE this song. Love. Lüv.

Heaven When We're Home

I want to go back. I miss our convertible, Cris.



Don't know what time it is, I've been up for way too long
and I'm too tired to sleep
I call my mother on the phone, she wasn't home,
and now I'm wondering the street
I've been a fool, I've been cruel to myself
I've been hanging onto nothing
when nothing could be worse than hanging on
And something tells me there must be
something better than all this

I've fallen many times in love and every time
it's been with the wrong man
Still I'm out there living one day at a time
and doing the best I can
Cuz we've all made mistakes
that seem to lead us astray
But every time they helped to get us where we are today
And that's a good a place as any
and it's probably where we're best off anyway

It's a long and rugged road
and we don't now where it's headed
But we know it's going to get us where we're going
And when we find what we're looking for
we'll drop these bags and search no more
'Cuz it's going to feel like heaven when we're home
It's going to feel like heaven when we're home

There's no such thing as perfect,
and if there is we'll fnd it when we're good and dead
Trust me I've been looking
but tonight I think I'll go and take a bath instead
And then maybe I'll walk a while
and feel the earth beneath me
They say if you stop looking
it doesn't matter if you find it
And whose to say that even if I did
it's what I'm really looking for

It's a long and rugged road
and we don't now where it's headed
But we know it's going to get us where we're going
And when we find what we're looking for
we'll drop these bags and search no more
'Cuz it's going to feel like heaven when we're home
It's going to feel like heaven when we're home

—The Wailin' Jennys

What in the eff did I do in April?

SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): Physicist John Cramer has made progress in his research into the feasibility of time travel. But he can't take his work to its next phase without an infusion of $20,000. You might want to consider donating, Scorpio. If you did, and he managed to perfect time travel in his future experiments, you'd no doubt be high on the priority list to use the new technology. And that means you could go back and correct for the wrong turn you made in April, which I'd really like to see you do. If you don't have the inclination to contribute to Cramer's research, at least try this alternative: Go to each person affected by your deviation and make a thoughtful attempt at atonement and correction. —Village Voice, Rob Brezsny

Working on 4 hours of sleep. This is pretty much all you're getting today.

Clingy.

SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): "Dear Rob: In the past few weeks, life has been opening me up over and over again, as if I were a rose that couldn't stop blooming. Every perception hits me with a soothing bolt of clarity. Every conversation is gracefully sculpted, as if composed by a higher power. I'm listening and actually hearing what people really mean. I feel accountable for each word that comes out of my mouth. It's amazing. Do you have any tips for keeping this state going on forever? I'm afraid I'll slip back into a duller, more self-absorbed state. – Scorpio On Fire." Dear Scorpio: Don't cling. Don't be grasping or anxious. Instead, do what is potentially every Scorpio's specialty: Die and be reborn every day. Again and again, kill off the magic that's working so well and artfully resurrect it in a transformed version. —Rob Brezsny, Village Voice

Killing Mandy's Magic to commence at 11:59 p.m. tonight.

Yup.

And apparently, blogging, to me, means putting up tidbits of crap throughout the day. (Wow, that was a lot of commas . . . and I don't think they're used correctly either.)

I rock.

I'm extremely hyper.

And someone just caught me giving double guns to a friend while I was prancing around outside her cube.

Me = Professional

But, hey, have you heard? I smell enchanting . . . so fuck it.

Nice way to start the morning . . .

I was just told:

"Whatever you're wearing is enchanting!"

Note to self: wear this mix of lotion and perfume EVERY SINGLE DAY FOR REST OF LIFE.

I totally believe it.

If only they knew what I had under my hat.

Passenger 'hid monkey under hat'

I'm getting lipo.

'Liposuction' for excess sweating

I know, Gillian, I know.

Make me down a pallet on your floor
Make me down a pallet on your floor
Make me down a pallet soft and low
When I’m broken I got no where to go

Been hangin’ around with a good time friends of mine
Hangin’ around with a good time friends of mine
Oh, they treat me very nice and kind
When I’ve got a dollar and a dime

We’re in blues everywhere I see
We’re in blues everywhere I see
We’re in blues, honey, everywhere I see
No one ever had the blues like me

Way I’m sleepin’, my back and shoulders tired
Way I’m sleepin’, my back and shoulders tired
Come tomorrow, I’ll be satisfied
If I can catch that fast train and ride

So, make me down a pallet on your floor
Make me down a pallet on your floor
Make me down a pallet soft and low
Babe, I’m broken, I got no where to go

—Gillian Welch, Make Me Down a Pallet on Your Floor

WTF

I was just sent this by a coworker.



I repeat: WTF

ass-hat

I'm right, you're wrong.

Example of said insult used in a sentence:

Cristina, you ass-hat, you're wrong.

Woo Bloody Hoo

I think it might be time for me to leave this city, job, apartment . . . I'm pretty damn sick of being eff'd in the a.

Anyone else want to come to my pity party? It'll be taking place all week.

uh huh, uh huh, got it!

SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): [Editor's note: To prepare this horoscope, I stole some of the lyrics from Yoko Ono's song "Revelations" and added some words of my own.] Bless you for your anger, Scorpio. It's a sign of zeal. If you transform it into creative fire, it will transmute your relationship with any situation you're angry about. Bless you for your greed. It's a sign of great capacity. Honor the law of karma by giving as much as you want to get, and your greed will drive you to grow generous. Bless you for your jealousy. It's a sign of immature empathy. Ripen it into admiration, and what you admire will become an inspiring part of your life. -Rob Brezsny, Village Voice

Holy Effing Ow.

Skateboarder Eats It, Nation Cheers

To my Mam:

PINCH PUNCH FIRST DAY OF THE MONTH!
WHITE RABBIT WHITE RABBIT WHITE RABBIT!

I win. (You cheat.)

All writery and shit.

Funny little idea . . .

Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest
 - 2007 Results

An international literary parody contest, the competition honors the memory (if not the reputation) of Victorian novelist Edward George Earl Bulwer-Lytton (1803-1873). The goal of the contest is childishly simple: entrants are challenged to submit bad opening sentences to imaginary novels. Although best known for "The Last Days of Pompeii" (1834), which has been made into a movie three times, originating the expression "the pen is mightier than the sword," and phrases like "the great unwashed" and "the almighty dollar," Bulwer-Lytton opened his novel Paul Clifford (1830) with the immortal words that the "Peanuts" beagle Snoopy plagiarized for years, "It was a dark and stormy night."

A few of my favorites:

Dishonorable Mention – Vile Puns
He was often found lurking behind the bakery, begging for scraps and practicing his rap, which is why he was known locally, as the synonym bum.

Runner-Up - Detective
She'd been strangled with a rosary—not a run-of-the-mill rosary like you might get at a Catholic bookstore where Hail Marys are two for a quarter and indulgences are included on the back flap of the May issue of "Nuns and Roses" magazine, but a fancy heirloom rosary with pearls, rubies, and a solid gold cross, a rosary with attitude, the kind of rosary that said, "Get your Jehovah's Witness butt off my front porch."

Dishonorable Mention - Detective
What shocked Juliette as she entered the room was not that there was an escaped convict under her coverlet snuggling with her best teddy bear, but that there was a knife through his back, "And who," she wondered out loud, steadying herself against the faux-taffeta wallpaper, "would stab a teddy bear?"

Dishonorable Mention - Romance
He held her desperately in his arms and stroked her silken hair, and as he drew her full red lips to his, he ravenously smothered her with lots of smooches.

I can see your bum.

It is really amazing how much better your day can be when you're wearing pants that fit.

Think about it.

Interesting

Viewing American class divisions through Facebook and MySpace

UPDATE:

Responding to Responses to: "Viewing American class divisions through Facebook and MySpace"

Um, this chick is cool.

You fall for pretty strangers / And the promises they hold

Wow, the “Hamptons” suck it (see #7) . . . and 9 other things I learned over this past weekend:

1. Cadbury Buttons go beautifully with strawberries and champagne . . . and a breezeway . . . and a quiet night at my sister’s house . . . and good company . . . (Sarah: We’re totally doing that again next time I’m out there. I’ll bring the Prosecco . . . and, um, we’ll order the Buttons?)

2. You don’t so much need towels at the beach . . . you do, however, need sunblock (especially if you’re the color of snow). The crazy bright red color (and pain) that was all over my back, chest and shoulders has finally started to dissipate, somewhat. Let’s just say, these last fews days have made me wish I could let the girls free and go boob-holder-less – outside of my humble abode, that is. “Why not?” you say . . . “For fear of clocking small children in my path,” I say.

3. You tell a two-year-old not to do something, she’s going to do it . . . and do it with a smile.

4. My sisters are two of my best friends (sniffle sniffle wheeze sniffle).

5. I’m still pretty naïve when it comes to believing that most people are open-minded.

6. You stand up for yourself and for your friends and you feel quite a bit of peace.

7. The “Hamptons” is one big ball of insecurity, immaturity, and asshole.

8. I love breakfast food. A lot. A whole, whole lot.

9. There's nothing much better than being by yourself, at home, under a blanket, during a rainstorm, with a good movie/TV/book/magazine, and a big bowl of ice cream.

10. Absence makes the heart grow fonder . . . or some bullshit like that.

Oh, snap.

(Note: Not made by moi.)

Yup, Sarah, I'm going to end up in the South.

Mmmmmm mmmmmm
Ohhhh ooohhh yea
Sitting here thinking
Damn I'm getting a little older
Trying to find some piece of mind
Take the weight of the world off my shoulders
Mmmm got me driving down the highway
Trying to make it through each and every day
Fade to black n all poverty
Take a truck and move my people down south with me

Trade my ball and chain in for a ticket
On a one way trip into Georgia
Big smiles, apple pies, my people, and blue skies
Tomatoes grow where I can pick em'
On an open highway through Georgia
Green grass, tear stains, shadow dancing in the pouring rain

Sitting here looking in the mirror
Damn it's getting a little clearer
If I could paint a perfect picture
Would u dare take it wit ya, take it wit ya, take it wit ya
Picture us whistling while fishing
Picture us dancing while romancing
To a tune that belongs to me and u
My ball and chain we will all be free yea

Trade my ball and chain in for a ticket
On a one way trip into Georgia
Big smiles, apple pies, my people, and blue skies
Tomatoes grow where I can pick em'
On an open highway through Georgia
Green grass, tear stains, shadow dancing in the pouring rain

We can be dancing, steady romancing
Whistling, while we steady fishing
Yea, yeah, oooh, oooooooh
Oooooooh, yeah

FYI: I will be marrying Anthony Hamilton. Just as soon as he figures out who I am. (Would answering one perfume soaked letter kill him? I mean, seriously . . .)

I agree with Nan.

It's not fun watching someone get ripped a new one.

Believe me.

Nan vs. Oprah

Yay!! Whoop whoop! Hooray!

My Boys! All new episodes! Tonight at 10!

Yay!

Where are my pants?

Kath: you are my hero.

And here I thought I was a shoo-in.

Diddy Got More Responses For Personal Assistant On YouTube Than CNN Debate Questions

What What! Holla!

My bones are back! My bones are back!

Pull up your skirt, and you shall receive!

Wait . . .

You know, it didn't sound overtly sexual in my head.

Shocker.

No bones. None.

Pep Pep Pep

See? Not suicidal. Just without bones in back. Is this OK with you?

Eff.

Studying Stones

I am out here studying stones
Trying to learn to be less alive
Using all of my will
To keep very still
Still even on the inside
I've cut all of the pertinent wires
So my eyes can't make that connection
I am holding my breath
I am feigning my death
When I'm looking in your direction

'Course numb is an old hat
Old as my oldest memories
See that one's my mother
And that one's my father
And that one in the hat, that's me
It's a skill I'd hoped to abandon
When I got out on the open road
But any more pent up emotion
And I think I'm gonna explode

There's never been an endeavor so strange
As trying to slow the blood in my veins
To keep my face blank
As a stone that just sank
Until not a ripple remains
I am high above the tree line
Sitting cross legged on the ground
When all of the forbidden fruit has fallen and rotted
That's when I'm gonna come down

'Course numb is an old hat
Old as my oldest memories
See that one's my mother
And that one's my father
And that one in the hat, that's me
It's a skill I'd hoped to abandon
When I got out on the open road
But any more pent up emotion
And I think I'm gonna explode

—Ani DiFranco

Feeling spineless.

um . . . HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Be prepared to create Sober's profile this weekend, Sarah: Dogster

Betsy: I would love to see Nikita's profile on Catster.

Oh, and I'm seriously considering adopting Louie. He's a star now though, after being on Good Morning America, so I think I need to move pretty damn quickly!!

I should totally try to make as many important life decisions as possible today . . .

No effing kidding.

Are we surprised by this??? I mean . . . seriously?

MySpace finds 29,000 sex offenders

That reminds me . . .

*Posted on old blog . . . too good to not repost . . . not reposting other bit of blog in which I made retarded comments. Because you have the whole of THIS blog for that.*

Wait, what just happened?

Holy Headache, Batman.

Last night = Yankees game, a lot of beer. One hot dog. No prior lunch experience.

Now normally I wouldn't think of becoming drunk off of Miller Lite and Budweiser, but I was enjoying America's favorite pastime and all. I think I watched a total of 5 minutes of the game. And I'm pretty sure minute 2 consisted of me screaming "Take off your pants!!" when A-Rod was up . . . if you know what I mean.

All Class, All The Time.

The times, they were a fun. The group I went with were mainly cops. Remind me to never date/marry one of them. Fun to hang out with . . . not fun to trust, I would think.

Anyhoo . . . woke up with a lovely little headache. And now I think I'm going to go run off last night and gear up for another night out. Two nights out during a weekend, one tired Mugwatch makes.

BUT, in a way, I think I'm celebrating. Think I'm accepting a job offer on Monday. Think this one is going to jumpstart the career a little bit (or at least revitalize it).

Thinking too much. Must go zone out . . . and then eat leftover pizza. Mmmmmmm . . .

I’m not a fan of whiskey.

Seriously . . . not a fan. At all. A non-fan, if you will. Just tried to partake in an ice-filled glass of it. The third sip almost did me in. What’s a girl got to do to get back a tolerance around here?

Not that I’m trying to do that . . . I just needed a drink. I had “a day.” (Thank you, Kath, for listening to the crap of it. You call for help and I make you practice for psych class. We both win, really.)

I had a lovely little vacation in Edinburgh. It was mighty fine. Didn’t do much sightseeing though . . . none at all, actually. But I did a ton of laughing my ass off. And I enjoyed a couple glasses of wine, in a cemetery. So, that’s something.



I met some fantastic people in the land of the Scots. I’ve already had my first email correspondence with my “new best friends fae Scotland,” a lovely couple from Aberdeen that my Godmother met when they answered an ad she had put in the paper, to sell her dresser. Four and a half hours after showing up at my G'Mum’s place to check out the merchandise, they left with a round of hugs, kisses, and see you soons.

Good eggs . . . good, good eggs.

I believe I could live there. Perhaps I really should take my Godmother’s “Be my assistant, Titface!” under consideration.

So, here I am, back to real life. Sweet baby Jesus (dear six pound, eight ounce baby Jesus), I wish my real life didn’t include an imminent lay-off, employment lawyers, and the possibility of continuing to work for an evil empire. However, it does. But, my new goal is to avoid whining like a two-year-old (yes, way too late for that, I know) so I’m not going into it. (Did anyone else just hear that resounding sigh of relief?)

What will be, will be.

Yeah, I’ve never believed that. I actually think that one has a lot to do with “what will be.”

I’m totally not going into that either. Ew . . . talk about heady bullshit.

Right . . . so, all I’m saying is that I enjoyed my time away and I wish it had lasted longer. Oh, and I also wish Tim had been in my back pocket so he could have taken some decent pictures. Mine are shite.

I think I’m going to use jet lag as an excuse to go crawl into bed now. G’night.

Oh, and FYI . . .

In 8 hours and 45 minutes I'll be on a plane headed to Scotland.

This isn't the time to question how those heavy metal objects shuttle through the air.

Yup Yup Yup Yup Yup

Sentence Sensibility

This reminds me of the text message my friend received from a guy she'd just met:
"it is so hot out here I have sweat coming out of every orphus"

#1. HOT
#2. Dumbass

You can't hide from me.

SCORPIO (Oct. 23-Nov. 21): Before I suggest to you what your next assignment should be, read this passage from poet Adrienne Rich. "Whatever is unnamed, undepicted in images, whatever is omitted from biography, censored in collections of letters, whatever is misnamed as something else, made difficult-to-come-by, whatever is buried in the memory by the collapse of meaning under an inadequate or lying language-this will become not merely unspoken, but unspeakable." What I hope you will do in the coming week, Scorpio, is rescue from obscurity any important thing that is on the verge of becoming unspeakable. Be a retriever of that-which-is-about-to-disappear. Be a rememberer of that-which-is-close-to-being forgotten. —Rob Brezsny, Village Voice

Like, oh, say, my sanity?

Eff. You. And your little waist.

I had a salad for lunch. (OOH, good story! Tell us more!) Finished it up by gnawing a hunk of bread that had been thrown in the bag with the salad. I then threw part of it away saying, “Ugh, too much bread.” (Because I was full.)

The “new guy” was in my office scanning and actually said: “WHY would you get a salad if you’re just going to eat bread ANYhow??” (Attitude included.)

To which I promptly replied: “I’m not scared of carbs. People who stay away from them creep me out.”

Which is funny. Because dude was just talking about coming off of his no-carb diet.

I’m a rock star. Rock. Star.

P.S. Don’t you love how I help you to understand the story with parentheses. You’d be totally lost without them, I know.

Books books books books books books . . .

Right smack in the middle of reading The Boleyn Inheritance AS WELL AS The Memory Keeper's Daughter. Both quite lovely so far. I would love to just sit down and read a book from start to finish with minimal pauses. (Minimal pauses = a day or two.) Instead, the only time I seem to pick up a book anymore is on the bus on the way to work in the morning. Thus it takes me weeks or months to finish a damn book.

("Why not read at home?" you ask? Well, if I knew the answer to that, don't you think I'd finish the books a lot faster??? . . . Man, stupid questions . . .)

All of this is to say that last night I picked up yet another book off my shelves. The very stocked shelves of books that I haven't read. I have a "free book table" problem. (So shoot me. I work in Publishing. If they're not going to pay me a decent salary, I'm going to make up for it by grabbing as many books as humanly possible — or at least possible for my apartment to hold. . . . Jebus, you want to let me get through a post? Back off.) This other book would be Radical Careering. It's quite full of a number of fabulous snippets. I think it is just what my current mental state needs.

YOU CAN BE COMFORTABLE, OR OUTSTANDING, BUT NOT BOTH.

OWN YOUR CAREER. LIVE IN VERBS. DO WHAT YOU ARE. RECLAIM YOUR LIFE.

INDECISION GENERATES ANXIETY. (um, no fucking kidding)

IT'S NICE TO BE IMPORTANT, BUT MORE IMPORTANT TO BE NICE.

I really could go on but one must stop somewhere . . .

I'm going to start reading more. I'm going to start drawing again (yes, I've said this before . . . this time I hope I mean it). I'm going to start trying to learn the guitar again (hence the brand spanking new 9V battery I bought for my tuner . . . new strings probably would have been a good idea, as well . . . as mine make my guitar sound like a dying cow at the moment . . . or maybe that's just my playing . . . wait . . .)

Basically, I need to wake the hell up. There's so much I want to do. Why am I not doing any of it?? Seriously. Seriously . . .

***

Kath: Excellent discussion tonight. Excellent cheese fries. Excellent excellent excellent.

Laura: I LOVE that you're blogging again. It makes me incredibly happy.

***

Loving this song at the moment: Waiting For My Real Life To Begin / Colin Hay
Looking forward to: Scotland! Mummy! GodMummy!
Missing: Cris . . . I've been a negligent BBBBFFFFFF. I'm a twat.

Well, hello sunshine!

My sister tells me I'm too stressed out. She's right. I have too much rattling around in this pea-sized (ok, ok, rather large) head of mine. So . . . Project De-Stress the Mugwatch is now in action.

I will be:
- easing the eff up on myself

Yeah . . . that's the only bullet. Coming up with more will stress me out. And, well, that's just not part of the plan.

I'm not sure there's enough alcohol in Manhattan for this plan.

All I'm sayin' is . . .

Oh my god!

Theres a million mcs that claim they want some
But see, I create sounds that make your ears go numb
Peace to sayers ave., yeah you know how we go
My best friend steven at the home depot
Lowerton is in the house, I cant forget southside
Walk past mcs like that girl did the pharcyde
Im labeled as the cats meow, the mc with the know-how
Act like you know, not now, but right now
Beast of the east, on mcs I have a feast
Id eat that ass like quiche, crack a smile like shanice
Straight out jamaica scene, jamaica, queens
But you could find me out in georgia, or anywhere in between
Now if my partners dont look good, malik wont look good
If malik dont look good, the quest wont look good
If the quest dont look good, then queens wont look good
But since the sounds are universal, new york wont look good
Picture phife losin a battle, come on, get off it
Put down the microphone son, surrender forfeit
Did I hear somethin bout a crew? what they wanna do?
You better call mr. babyface, so he can bring out _the cool in you_
Or itll be a sad love song being sung by toni braxton
And Ill dissect you like a fraction
Oh, you wannabe top cat mcs, Ill pop you like a zit
You wanna be the champ, you more like chief some-shit
Big up myself everytime when it comes to this
Mcs be runnin scared as if theyre watchin the exorcist
I kick more game than a crackhead from hempstead
My styles are milk, man, youd think that I was breast fed
You know the steelo when the diggy dawg is on the scene
I dedicate this to all the mcs outta queens
That goes for onyx, ll, run-d.m.c.
Akinyele, nasty nas and the extra p
You need a chart, straight up and down man, there aint no other
Nuff respect to all my peeps that made the album cover
Yo, tip dont worry dunn you know I get the party jumpin
Get on the mic and break em off a lil lil sumthin
Yo, tip dont worry dunn you know I get the party jumpin
Get on the mic and break em off a lil lil sumthin (ooohh...)

Oh my god!

La, la, la, la..
Doop, doo, do, do..
La, la, la, la..
Shooby-doop, do, do..
La, la, la, la..
Shooby-doo, do, do..
You know Im on the other, for the top 40
Haha, you gotta do it like this..

We got the funk doody don shit, clearly its the bomb shit
So recognize me, kids memorize me
Everyday, I be scroungin, really, I be loungin
I play the down low, very very incognito
Aries is my sign, I know that I can rhyme
Sometimes I rhyme in riddles, plus I make the hunnies wiggle
Intellect is the major, some heads like to wager
The skills on the hill, overlookin dollar bills
Man, ya crazy, thinkin you can phase me
The ab doesnt study near nonsense money
Life seems to meet me, mcs seem too cheesy
With they doody ass renditions of defeatin competition
I rock to the roll man, yes, Im a soul man
Betcha bottom dolla, vinia will make ya holla
As ya stand at attention, did I forget to mention
Mcs will give me twenty, if I sense that they act funny
Lyrics are abundant, right there, I sound redundant
Just mentionin the fact, that the area is fat
I dwell in the unda, so hunny, its no wonder
That I get plenty of tail, well I even get white
Ima bet hittin head crack, there money, take that
Breakin niggaz off, cut their bank, then Im off
While my nikes match my lil hat, beat joint is mad fat
Got the cutter of the box if a kid thinks hes ox
For tier means creator, the poetry relator
Its hemp, like betsy ross, let me tell you whos the boss

La, la, la.. (oh my god!)
La, la, la.. (oh my god!)
La, la, la.. (oh my god!) smooth it yall
La, la, la.. (oh my god!)
La, la, la.. (oh my god!)
La, la, la.. (oh my god!)
La, la, la.. (oh my god!)
La, la, la.. (oh my god!)

Queens got a zoo
Brooklyn got a zoo
Bronx got a zoo
Long island got a zoo
Long island.. got the zone
Jersey got a zoo
Philly got a zoo
Milwaukee got a zoo
L.a. got a zoo
Oaktown got the zone

La, la, la..
See, I like to get down jack

—TRIBE

OK, now I REALLY want to go to the zoo.

Good Cop, Bad Cop.

She strikes again.

Fantastic. See it ASAP.

Little Children

New Music. Good Music.

Hot as hell in the great NYC today. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. I’m not a heat and humidity person. I’d rather snuggle in the cold. Heat: not made for snuggling.

I really don’t know what I’m talking about.

I decided to forgo the gym (AGAIN) today and walk home (per usual). However, I became somewhat frustrated as I was leaving the office as I realized that I’d forgotten my radio at home. That’s right, folks. My radio. Yes, not only do I still carry around my discman (nope, still no iPod) but I also carry around a radio. Muggins likes the variety. You just never know what you’re going to get.

So, as I’d forgotten the radio, I decided to make my way past Borders on the way. I’ve been revisiting the Indigo Girls’s Come On Now Social album for the last few days and I didn’t think it would keep for another 40-minute walk. So, I did what any other self-respecting woman (in the 90s) would do . . . I bought a CD for $17.99.

For crying out, bleeding loud.

Yes, Sarah, I know this isn’t in my new, swanky, budget. I think I need to add a budget allotment for my lack of willpower.

Believe me, I was highly annoyed . . . that is, until I popped my shiny new CD into my decrepit discman. I give you, ladies and gentleman, my new, favorite song . . . and one of my new, favorite groups. Hot damn, these chicks can harmonize . . .

Amazing purchase. I’m really, really, really happy with it. The album is called 40 Days. Go buy it (the actual CD, with the actual liner notes, designed by an actual designer) – you won’t be sorry. This is their older album. I’ll be buying their new one, Firecracker, shortly.

This is my kind of music.

OK, I’m done.

Almost.

Here’s a lovely looking tour date, from their website, for the NY folk. You can bet your sweet ass I’ll be there. (Because this fact makes you want to be there, too, yes?)

September 27, 2007 (Thursday)
New York, NY
Joe's Pub (425 Lafayette, New York, NY)
Time: 7pm
Tickets: $18
Website: Joe's Pub

(I friggin’ love discovering new music. New beautiful music.)

Too beautiful to keep in the comments section, Johnny.

Love all 14 minutes, 39 seconds of it.

I Dream A Highway

Oh I dream a highway back to you love
A winding ribbon with a band of gold
A silver vision come and rest my soul
I dream a highway back to you

John he's kicking out the footlights
The grand old opera's got a brand new band
Lord, let me die with a hammer in my hand
I dream a highway back to you.

I think I'll move down into Memphis
And thank the hatchet man who forked my tongue
I lie and wait until the wagons come
And dream a highway back to you.

The getaway kicking up cinders
An empty wagon full of rattling bones
Moon in the mirror on a three-hour jones,
I dream a highway back to you.

Oh I dream a highway back to you love
A winding ribbon with a band of gold
A silver vison come arrest my soul
I dream a highway back to you.

Which lover are you, Jack of Diamonds?
Now you be Emmylou and I'll be Gram
I send a letter, don't know who I am
I dream a highway back to you.

I'm an indisguisable shade of twilight
Any second now I'm gonna turn myself on
In the blue display of the cool cathode ray
I dream a highway back to you.

I wish you knew me, Jack of Diamonds
Fire-riding, wheeling when I lead em up
Drank whisky with my water, sugar in my tea
My sails in rags with the staggers and the jags
I dream a highway back to you.

Oh I dream a highway back to you love
A winding ribbon with a band of gold
A silver vision come molest my soul
I dream a highway back to you.

Now give me some of what you're having
I'll take you as a viper into my head
A knife into my bed, arsenic when I'm fed
I dream a highway back to you.

Hang overhead from all directions
Radiation from the porcelain light
Blind and blistered by the morning white
I dream a highway back to you.

Sunday morning at the diner
Hollywood trembles on the verge of tears
I watched the waitress for a thousand years
Saw a wheel within a wheel, heard a call within a call
I dreamed a highway back to you.

Oh I dream a highway back to you love
A winding ribbon with a band of gold
A silver vision come molest my soul
I dream a highway back to you.

Step into the light, poor Lazarus
Don't lie alone behind the window shade
Let me see the mark death made
I dream a highway back to you.
I dream a highway back to you.

What will sustain us through the winter?
Where did last years lessons go?
Walk me out into the rain and snow
I dream a highway back to you.

Oh I dream a highway back to you love
A winding ribbon with a band of gold
A silver vision come and bless my soul
I dream a highway back to you

I dream a highway back to you
Oh I dream a highway back to you love
A winding ribbon with a band of gold
A silver vision come and bless my sould
I dream a highway back to you.

—Gillian Welch

Dun Dun Duuuuunnnnnn

AND of course there's already a t-shirt.

Flight of the Conchords

I am so pissed off that I cancelled HBO.

OOH ooh!

MTV's Unplugged is back!

Cris: Bon Jovi is up first! (Tonight at 8)

I must say, I'm looking forward to seeing Mary J. Blige . . . and, it pains me to say, John Mayer (toolbox that he is).

Love Unplugged. Unplugged . . . The State . . . really some of the only MTV shows I can/could watch without wanting to vomit.

(Even though I did get pulled into The Hills last season . . . believe me, that fact hurts my heart.)

(Oh, and then there was The Real World for awhile. Before it became horrible and highly annoying.)

OK, so I've watched a good share of MTV. Especially when living with one youngest sister. I really couldn't get away from it.

"Hey, Katy, what do you want to watch . . . NO, come on!! Stop! Ka . . . wha . . . I don't want to watch this!! . . . wha . . . What are they . . . Who's that . . . What? . . . So, what happened last week that she's now not talking to her? Uh huh? And she slept with HIM? Christ . . . We should order a pizza."

Bolster

SCORPIO (Oct. 23–Nov. 21): Now that we're almost halfway through 2007, it's time to assess how well you're capitalizing on this year's unique opportunities. So let me ask you a few questions. Have you been working hard to increase your value? I don't just mean economically, although it's true that this is the best time in over a decade for you to make more money and launch long-term plans for financial growth. But I hope that you're also adding to your worth in every way you can imagine, like by getting the training and new skills that will make you irresistible to future employers, lovers, and collaborators; and by purifying your motivations and clarifying your ethics and bolstering your integrity. —Rob Breszny, Village Voice

Yup, yup, yup.

Good.

True dat.

Scene: Sarah, niece, and I driving home to VA. Mugwatch making sister listen to Amos Lee . . .

Freedom is seldom found
By beating someone to the ground
Telling them how everything is gonna be now, yeah

Sarah: I feel pretty free after I beat on someone.

(And now I can't listen to the song without laughing. Beating people up is funny. And freeing, apparently.)

She's nothing if not creative (effing crazy).

Nothing but The Truth: The Author Of a Hoax Insists Her Creation Is No Fraud

The whole saga is really pretty damn interesting, if not convoluted.

P.S. I heart blueberry scones. It's like eating cake for breakfast!

I always forget how much I love this song until I hear it again.

love I get so lost, sometimes
days pass and this emptiness fills my heart
when I want to run away
I drive off in my car
but whichever way I go
I come back to the place you are

all my instincts, they return
and the grand facade, so soon will burn
without a noise, without my pride
I reach out from the inside

in your eyes
the light the heat
in your eyes
I am complete
in your eyes
I see the doorway to a thousand churches
in your eyes
the resolution of all the fruitless searches
in your eyes
I see the light and the heat
in your eyes
oh, I want to be that complete
I want to touch the light
the heat I see in your eyes

love, I don't like to see so much pain
so much wasted and this moment keeps slipping away
I get so tired of working so hard for our survival
I look to the time with you to keep me awake and alive

and all my instincts, they return
and the grand facade, so soon will burn
without a noise, without my pride
I reach out from the inside

in your eyes
the light the heat
in your eyes
I am complete
in your eyes
I see the doorway to a thousand churches
in your eyes
the resolution of all the fruitless searches
in your eyes
I see the light and the heat
in your eyes
oh, I want to be that complete
I want to touch the light,
the heat I see in your eyes
in your eyes in your eyes
in your eyes in your eyes
in your eyes in your eyes

—If you don't know this song . . . you might be a little bit retarded.

Hey Cris, when's our next road trip? I'm pretty sure it's time to bring back our Trivial Pursuit A-game. My parents have no idea what's coming to them . . .

And, um, hey, it's rain New Yorkers . . . and clumsy, wispy rain at that. I'm pretty sure you don't need a patio table umbrella hot shot. Just saying . . .

No subject

Feeling big time ansy.

It ain't fun, folks. It ain't fun.

bored bored bored bored bored bored