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1) Joseph and Anna leaving. v. v. b.

2) Getting sexually harassed by my new dance teacher. v. v. v. exceedingly b.

3) My therapist being out of town this week. b.

4) Not being able to find a new psychiatrist who will be able to prescribe the proper meds. v. v. b.

5) Missing my brother, the Gaby, and my darling Devon. sucktastic.

6) Forgetting how to be gay. fucking weird.

7) Going to a new dance studio. awkward.

8) The clusterfuck that is UNM's registration process. self-explanatory.

9) Not being able to go back to Wash U in the fall. ?

10) Life. ?


May. 6th, 2009 02:56 pm
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OMG, you guys! OMG! Anna and Joseph are amazingly amazing! I think I want to steal them. Ugh, they're ridiculously cute together, bantering all the time and horsing around with various utensils (Joseph decided he wanted to keep the straw so that he could have a baton or a gavel with which to command everyone's attention). They put me between them in one of those ridiculous little round booths at Flying Star so they could talk to me and talk over me and generally leave me giggling helplessly at their utter silliness.

You know, I'd forgotten how much I love theatre people. Theatre people are honest and open and love to talk shop. Theatre people know the value of a good tip. And, best of all, theatre people know how to kvetch. I mean, if you're going to point out all the myriad and manifold things that get on your wick, you can't just sit there and whine about it. No, you have to see the humor and the irony in it all and possibly act the whole thing out with exaggerated hand gestures and funny voices. That is real kvetching and that is what theatre people do.

For example, a few bites into our lunch, Joseph smiles this funny little smile and says, "So, now that I'm not your teacher anymore and can actually ask you these things... what do you think about the atmosphere at the studio?" From there we launched into a giant discussion of the many indignities he and Anna had to suffer at the hands of his employers, including everything from them accusing him of being snotty and vain to them butting in on his lessons to correct him. We talked about how much everyone at the studio looked down on international style ballroom and intelligent conversation. And we expressed our collective horror of the entire faculty (Joseph excluded) being chain smokers. We came to the conclusion that the three of us were--and in my case, still are--clearly the odd ducks out. Joseph was frequently given the silent treatment, Anna was harassed in Joseph's behalf, and I was teased constantly about being quiet and studious and able to understand (if not always implement) the technique described in the ISTD manual.

Joseph also told me that he set out especially to keep me entertained during group classes. The veiled insults and the references and the obvious bullshit were as much for my amusement as they were for his. His example was his claim that the arm slide in meringue was "an old favorite," a step he loved well, when he knew that I knew he had learned the entire curriculum for the class an hour before. He also said that he loathed and detested the practice parties and that I was the one thing that made them even remotely bearable because I followed well, could talk about intelligent things during boring slow dances, and didn't really give a flying fuck when he messed up. He also confessed his strategic exit strategy for all country western numbers to Anna, who found it just as funny as I did the first time I watched him stride off to the other room as though he actually had something important to do there. We all agreed it was very louche.

And, when we finally got that mess out of our systems, we then dove into a discussion of books, movies, miniseries, and history. Anna confessed that she was twisted and found Poe's "The Black Cat" funny, much to Joseph's horror. And Joseph described a ridiculous French movie called "Posession" that involved tentacle sex. He sounded bizarrely fascinated while Anna and I sat in horrified shock. They also sent me off with a long list of book and film recommendations. Once I finish the books Joseph gave me a month or so ago, I will get started on that lot.

Of course, being a dancer and a dancer's wife, they went on at length about the dance scene in L.A. and how they would absolutely love to have me out there with them, taking lessons from the real professionals and watching me get molded (like a jelly) into an elegant competitive dancer. We exchanged contact information and offered each other floors/couches/various other horizontal surfaces to sleep on should we ever decide to visit in each other's cities. We promised to keep in touch. Joseph asked me to call if I ever needed dance advice, or as Anna said, "to just shoot the shit." I told them they could do the same.

Essentially, lunch was utterly fantastic. We thoroughly enjoyed each other's company and conversation and were devastated when Joseph realized they still had five more hours of packing and moving to do and that they had to leave. They're going to fit in fine when they move to L.A. Anna is going to be a brilliant high school English teacher and Joseph is going to continue to be an amazing magician/dancer/writer/actor, doing all the things he loves. I will miss them like I'd miss an amputated limb and the studio will never be quite as inviting or glamorous without them there.

I wish them all the best, a safe flight, and the biggest hug ever to be given that side of the New Mexico/Arizona border.

I shall write them an e-mail tomorrow to make sure they're alright and that everything goes through.
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OMG! OMG! OMG! I'm having lunch with Joseph and Anna tomorrow at Flying Star! OMG!

You guys, I am so excited! This means we'll be able to actually talk about all the cool stuff we know and maybe exchange e-mail addresses and such so that we can continue to do so long distance. They are bloody awesome people and if I actually decide to go out to California, I'll have friends! Hell, I have friends now! Whee!

I also have private lessons with Randy, which is different but still fun. He's teaching me to let go of all my bad habits like having arms that are either steel bars or wet noodles and fighting the man on my turns because I don't trust him. Also, he's made the same observation that all my dance teachers at Ballet Theatre did back in the day: I am all arms and legs. Apparently he and Kim have concluded that, if I learn to control said arms and legs, I will be a glorious dancer who will eat up the floor. I'm looking forward to eventually reaching that stage and have decided that I'll do whatever it takes to get there. That means I'll have to start working out again so that I can strengthen my frame. Ah well, needs must. Hmm...Maybe I should start writing down my corrections so that I can remember them better. I'll need another notebook for that.

I think that in light of recent events I'm more determined than ever to become a good ballroom dancer. On Sunday Randy pulled me outside with him on his smoke break (ew) and told me that, if I work hard and train for a few more years, I'd make a good teacher and that he'd be willing to offer me a job at the studio. *grins* I think that would be a very fulfilling career choice, indeed. I've taught ballet before and liked it immensely. Unlike math--which I hated teaching with a passion--dance is hands on: I can physically coax people into understanding. Also the metaphors flow more smoothly. La! I love watching students work and grow as dancers. It's a slow process, but to see them develop that confidence and style is absolutely beautiful. And the best part of it is that the confidence comes with the technique. When you know in mind and body how to do something elegantly, you just do it without having to worry about being in the right place at the right time for the next step (transitions kill everyone). If you do it right, as Alex Osadnik would say, "Ah! You're already there!" Of course, I still need to reach that point myself, but I'm confident that with some hard work and a lot of practice, I'll get there one day and be able to help others do the same.

Ha! I had the brilliant idea today of doing a hustle showcase piece to Kool & the Gang's "Open Sesame." It's the perfect excuse to wear a ridiculous, diaphanous costume and experiment with style. This is the one reason why I should never be allowed to dance. I get too many ridiculous ideas. I'm just lucky that Joseph is as crazy as I am and decided to go ahead with the whole Jeeves & Wooster thing. I doubt many other people would be as sympathetic to my insanity.

Hmmm... what else has happened lately? Archie had the computer equivalent of an STD, but he's all taken care of now. I don't know where he got it from, but apparently when I visited some site he didn't have adequate protection. It took four virus scans and several updates of the software to get rid of it all, but he's made a full recovery and I am well pleased.

Speaking of illnesses, the medications I'm on continue to fuck me up. *sighs* Maybe tomorrow Dr. Bull will tell me that I don't have to take them anymore and I can try something new. That would be nice. The perpetual dry mouth and the aversion to comestibles makes dancing very difficult. I can't look beautiful if I'm too dehydrated and starved to move. *concerned face*

Lunch with Anna and Joseph tomorrow! SQUEE! ♥♥♥...just so you know.
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This is Joseph's last week at the studio and yesterday was our last private lesson. We still have two more days together, Thursday's latin classes and Friday's practice party, but I honestly don't know if I can cope.

In addition to that and the massive fuck-up that is my car insurance company, my therapist says I might have cyclothymia, a mild form of bipolar disorder. She says this could explain why I occasionally get fits of inspiration and energy that don't last long enough for me to follow anything through and why I'm so bloody fixated on dance right now. Of course, I have to go talk to my bull-headed psychologist about all that tomorrow. Ten bucks says he's not going to listen to me about either that or the fact that my current medications aren't doing jack shit. Fun in the sun for me. *headdesk*

*sighs* I had to talk myself down from the metaphorical ledge again last evening, so today I'm trying to focus on the happy things. For example, words cannot describe the loveliness of that last private lesson. Suffice it to say that there was a very "louche" quickstep to Jeeves and Wooster, liberal quoting of Posh Nosh, an undone bra strap, and some rather repressed acknowledgment of how much we're going to miss each other. Joseph and I make a wonderful team and, while I'm more than a little sorry to see that come to an end, I'm glad that it did so on such a high note.

Alright, I'm off to go get Chinese food. Some egg drop soup, garden tofu, and chicken fried rice will go a long way towards making me feel more human, no matter how much it would make Simon and Minty cry. *grins*
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And, no, that does not mean what you think it means.

Last night, some stupid cunt-faced teenagers threw a rock through my rear windshield. The bloody thing went through the back, ricocheted off the dashboard (which crumbled), and cracked the front windshield before landing neat as you please on my passenger seat. After surveying the damage and reciting every bit of profanity I knew, my first coherent thought was "Wow, right now I really wish I spoke Yiddish. The Jews have more words for 'idiot' than the Eskimos do for 'snow'." There were a few other cars on the street with similar--though not nearly as extensive-- damage and we filed a police report. The apathetic officer who came to investigate didn't do jack shit. He just wrote my registration information on the form, looked at the damage, repeated what I told him about the trajectory of the rock as if he figured it out on his own, and didn't even bag up the rock as evidence. This is my fucking car we're talking about here! Bubbles is family! I wanted to see some fingerprinting action! I wanted to see the geeks bust out their latex gloves!

Grrrrrrr. I'm seriously tempted to do some lab teching of my own. Either that or I'm bagging the rock up and sending it to my own personal Greg Sanders for testing. Think you can do that, Greg? After all the money we've put into my machine just since I've gotten back, I want these asshats turned inside out and fined within an inch of their unprepossessing lives.

Top all this off with a horrible nightmare about an episode of original Star Trek filmed ala Merchant-Ivory with their characteristic methods of dealing with homosexual subtext (DO NOT WANT!) but set in modern times on some planet remarkably similar to earth. Spock was, for some reason, wearing a bicycling outfit despite being on a boat and after that my brain tried to self-destruct in pain.

Also, I was nearly decapitated by the trebuchet today because the good members of the Company of Saint Barbara forgot to tell me that they fixed Scorpion's Kiss and gave her a hair trigger. When I did this last year, you had to really yank on the cord to get her to fire. Imagine my surprise when I just picked it up and the arm went swinging before I could yell "LOOSE!!!!" and get clear. It's a bloody good thing I have decent reflexes. Jesus Christ!

Today has, you will imagine, been utterly surreal. I think I'm going to go re-read some Holmes and laugh about the obvious and most welcome Holmes/Watson subtext. All I can say is that "The Red-headed League" is so much funnier, but equally as gay, when you let Jeremy Brett and David Burke have their wicked way with it. Between Mr. Wilson's recitation of the highlights of the first volume of the Encyclopedia Brittanica, Holmes' attack of the giggles, all the references to violin-land, and the cigarette-lighting at the end I could barely contain my glee!

Oh look, that was rather fannish, wasn't it? Thank God for that.
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Huzzah for productivity! I just turned that dress I got for free over the summer into a dance skirt. It looks pretty and swishy and I like it muchly. AND I only sewed the thing to my jeans once! This, as those of you who have watched me sew while listening to Fall Out Boy will attest, is a major accomplishment.

I still haven't found out any more details about the upcoming suck. I'm betting that something will slip tomorrow during showcase, but that none of it will make any sense until Monday/Tuesday, when I can finally mine the concerned parties for information

I'm not sure what to think about the Wellbutrin. It's odd. I have to take it three times a day and it wakes me up at 4:30 every morning. Not that the latter is a bad thing. I love being up before the sun. I do all of my best thinking at ass o'clock in the morning. How do you think I passed Humanities? ETA: Okay, so the twitchiness and fuzzy-headed-ness in the late afternoon are certainly things I can do without. Methinks the good doctor and I are going to be having words about this during my next appointment.

In literary news, I have a copy of Rafael Sabatini's Captain Blood, courtesy Joseph, and I am ridiculously excited about starting it. That will probably happen tonight. I'm still feeling a little under the weather, so I'm not going to dance practice. It's sad, I know, but the book will hopefully make up for it.

Okay, time to go run errands. I need to buy powder and Brianna's ticket for tomorrow.

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Oh, you guys. I just got some bad news tonight. Like, really bad news. It's soul-crushingly awful and I can't even talk about it because it's still on the up high and I don't know all the details yet.

I promise I'll tell you all about it when I find out what the freaking hell is going on. It might not even be as bad as I'm imagining it to be right now. Never the less, regardless of the intensity of the upcoming suckage, it's still going to suck like a Hoover and I could really use a hug right now.

*sighs* I've decided I have to be brave about it. I'm determined to enjoy the nebulous 'it' while it lasts, and not weep like a small child when it's over. I'm probably going to fail at the latter, but nothing was more embarrassing than crying all over Richard after our Senior Goodbyes so I'm pretty sure I've got this one covered.
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I just got another shot in the ass today. I am less than amused, but my tonsils might be smaller, so I'm not actually going to complain... Much. Often. Hard. Ow?

Anyway, the point of this post is to let you all know that I am not dead yet and may actually, soon, be getting better. Since the weekend I've had a really nasty drug-resistant case of strep throat that makes my tonsils look like molding cherries. Yes, I thought that was an attractive image, too. Hopefully the new super-antibiotics the doctors gave will work and I will be back to semi-normal. Fingers crossed, everyone! If I miss dance for the rest of the week, I'm hoping I'll be alive enough to make it to showcase.

In other news, my car is dead. It's not as dead as Brianna's, which has decided to commit seppuku rather than endure another day's service in disgrace, but it's pretty fucking dead. The bastard thing has been in the shop for about a week now and they still have no idea what's wrong with it. If my car was a human and fictional, I'd turn it over to House for inspection. The pettiness and vitriol would be well worth it. Regardless, Papa's going to go heckle the mechanic later today. I have a feeling it will be neither productive nor be fun.

Blergh. I want to be healthy again. I hate sitting around doing nothing. Even if that book I read on Monday was freaking amazing, OMG I LOVE GEORGETTE HEYER AND HER VERY VERY GAY SECONDARY CHARACTERS WITH THEIR SUPERFINE COATS AND ENGENDERED AFFECTIONS! *ahem* I highly recommend herbook Friday's Child, as Gil and Ferdy are perfect and clueless (though not as much as some) and married. Thank you. Good night.


Mar. 21st, 2009 12:36 pm
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1. I chopped all my hair off again and it looks fabulous. Also, this time it holds a passable faux hawk!



4. I am not going to the Colorado Star Ball. And it's not because I couldn't hack it there, it's because, as always, it's too bloody expensive. Patti explained to me last night that I'd be paying for both myself and Joseph to go. If I'm his only student in the ProAm competition (and I would be) I would be paying for his air fare, hotel, food, and tickets to the ball in addition to the same for myself and the entry fee for each of the 12 (at least) events I'd be in. In case you were wondering, all of this rounds out in the vicinity of $3,000. Fortunately, Joseph is a gentleman and told me that it wasn't worth it to go right now and that he wouldn't feel right having me pay for everything. SO, after due consideration, you shall NOT go to the ball! And I am very happy for it.

5. Cynthia, I miss you. Full stop.

6. The bull-headed Dr. Bull is putting me on Wellbutrin. It will probably make me a bit more manic and less inclined to eat than usual. Given that I can't concentrate worth shit right now and don't eat much as it is, this could be a problem. *shrugs* We'll know in a week.
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"You can practically smell the polyester" is a phrase I never thought I'd find endearing and still cannot believe I do. Such is the power of my dance teacher and his green, french-cuffed, striped shirt. Guh. I think, my friends, that I have a problem.

Ridiculous love for my dance teacher (and his wardrobe OMG) aside, I've decided that the hustle is probably the most ridiculously fun dance ever in the history of ever, up to and including anything hitherto done specifically to Europop. Joseph is the Dancing Queen and I was twirled positively dizzy on Friday night. There need to be hustle classes every single week. I would be on those lessons like shit on Velcro. You don't even know.

Brianna spent today reminding me why I loved Sailor Moon so much when I was a kid. Bonus lesbian sailor scouts helped, but also the show is just so cute and pure and cheesy that I can't help but hold some latent adolescent affection for it. Also, it's very comforting to know that someone who fails at life as frequently as Usagi can become a Princess and save the world. It's fiction, I know, but it gives me a little hope on my particularly undignified days.

It is also worth noting that a certain gentleman friend and I have been chatting via facebook with a surprising degree of regularity since my return to Albuquerque. I think we communicate more now than we did when I was in St. Louis. I find this odd and yet wholly unsurprising given our predilection for unconventionality. I like it. It's nice having a friend from the great white middle of nowhere to talk to in the evenings, especially one who I can verbally out-odd. *grins*


Mar. 11th, 2009 09:34 pm
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Also, Joseph, there are more important things than hair. Clearly we're all going to die.

Also, also, I'm going to buy the bloody ISTD manual from the ISTD website. It's actually cheaper than trying to buy it used. *snorts* Figures.
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Dear Joseph,

"Well, it was in a movie," is not a good excuse for having a song about dying cowboys on your iPod.

Love Regardless,

I should really friends-lock all my entries about my dance classes as the amount of fangirlish love I have for my teacher is highly tragic. Flattery is the key to my heart, and he takes shameless advantage of that. I'd be mad if he wasn't so bloody good at what he does and didn't have so much faith that I would eventually be that good, too.

As you can tell, country western night wasn't nearly as tragic as it could have been... with the exception of that song. Ugh. He decided that Elvis would be good for the rest of it, which I could tolerate. And, besides, we got to improvise when we danced together for CW Swing, which is always fun. I even had a decent partner this time! There was a nice lad there, about my age, who has been taking lessons with Patti for two months. John, I think his name was. Anyway, he was very sweet and a good lead and I hope to see him again at next week's lesson.

Off to hang out with Brianna and her little sister Katie now! Brianna's coffee addiction is worse than everyone's in Saint Louis. I didn't even think that was possible.

Love to all!


Mar. 1st, 2009 12:47 pm
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Hi! Hihihihihi, everyone! I am stoned out of my mind on Benadryl (not Buh-buh-buh-buh-Benzedrine) and practicing the tango. Joseph is a sneaky sod who seems to have that effect- like Antonio Banderas, only shorter- and apparently talks about me at length to the other instructors at the studio. I'm "the ballerina" and they pester me consistently about taking more classes. Oh, and I met his wife, Anna, on Friday! OMG she is ridiculously awesome! We bonded over our fear of falling over while dancing in heels and she thinks that I'd make a good strawberry blonde. She and Joseph are so cute and smug and married and ♥.

Brianna and I went to the Day of Dance at the Albuquerque Hotel yesterday. The local dancing with the stars competition was pretty neat, although nobody from my studio won. Brianna and I sadfaced and glared at the judges because Patti and Phil were clearly the best couple there. Kari Brandenburg wasn't the best dancer ever, but she and Dave(?), the guy who owns the studio, put on a pretty good show, too. Mad props, as the gay little judge would say, to everyone at the dance studio.

Today's lesson is on basic ballroom. I've been brushing up on my tango, waltz, and foxtrot. Patti was kind enough to teach the basics of tango and foxtrot to me on Friday (we made quite the cute girl couple with our short hair and glasses) and Joseph decided to fling me about the room when the Tango came up again. We did fan steps! They were swishy and cool!

On Friday, I also learned the country two step. *wince* Poor Joseph hates this one with a passion and we only practiced it so we could say that we'd done it and would never have to bring it up again. We both looked awful. None the less, Joseph paid me the compliment of being a "regular cow girl." I told him that was something I'm not sure I ever wanted to hear. He huffed a laugh and then tried to make me do something with turns. FAIL.

Alright, time to go make myself look pretty for class. I really hope Patti is teaching today as she is made of awesome and win. Ta!
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“Remember not only to say the right thing in the right place, but far more difficult still, to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment.” - Benjamin Franklin

Truly excellent advice.

I'm taking ballroom lessons now at the sketchtastic studio on San Mateo. My father is probably not that happy with me for deciding to walk there every day, past the arroyo with it's gangbangers, but I'm having an absolutely glorious time. My teacher is a delightful man named Joseph. He's a hip guy (meaning he likes to move his hips) and a theatre grad student and rather handsome. He's also probably gay, engaged, or both. Not that I'm complaining. There is a tragic dearth of gorgeous, intelligent people in Albuquerque, and the fact that I get to spend time gliding gracefully around the room with one of them is certainly nothing to sneeze at.

Speaking of sneezing, o hai allergies. i really didn't miss u. plz 2 b leaving me alone nao.

*sighs* Joseph really is remarkably lovely, if rather free with his compliments. I'm used to ballet teachers who frown and yell when you bollocks everything up. Having someone who smiles and flatters and makes comments about having gender issues when he starts doing my bit instead of his own is something I had previously dreampt of, but didn't know existed. Equally surprising is his faith in my ability. He's decided that I'd get a bit bored doing social dancing, and that he'd like to train me in the international competition technique. I'm a bit of a noodle compared to most of the girls I know who do that sort of thing, but they tell me that anything worth doing is worth doing well, and learning standardized moves that have been documented to the finest detail will certainly help me accomplish that.

To tell you the truth, I'm ridiculously excited. I've been wanting to do this forever. I miss dancing more than can be expressed in words and I want to learn/earn the kind of trust required when dancing with a partner. The headshrinkers would say that it's a way of re-developing some confidence in myself. Me, I just think it's fun. *smiles*

I have my group latin lesson tonight. I have a feeling he's going to really put me through my paces with the cha-cha. I found that one strangely hard to pick up as the step starts on the 2 and not the 1. *shrugs* I've been watching instructional videos on Expert Village and I bought some practice music with everyone's gift cards. With any luck I'll have drilled the rhythm into my head by the time 6pm rolls around today.

All I need now is a good pair of ballroom shoes and my mum to agree to pay for more lessons. It's expensive, but I get to attend unlimited group classes and practices in addition to my private lessons. Time to go practice making puppy eyes.

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"Franz Ferdinand is music of the night: to fling yourself around your room to as you psyche yourself for a night of hedonism, for the dance-floor, flirtation, for your desolate heart-stop, for losing it and loving losing it, for the chemical surge in your bloodstream. Its for that lonely hour, gently rocking yourself, waiting for dawn and it all to be even again."

-Alex Kapranos

Yes, I'm still in a Britrock phase. Yes, there are actual important things going on in my life. Yes, some of them are exceedingly stupid... like my last night in StL for instance. But no, I don't feel like talking about any of them right now. And no, I am not Ulysses.

I don't get my car back until Monday. My life is on hold until then.

Pierce Brosnan cannot and should not sing.

Lizzie still kicks ass at cards.

And I'm going to go watch Shada again because I'm going through Paul McGann withdrawal and, no matter how much the lady doth protest in his hilariously high voice, he is not "exceedingly stupid."
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Let it be written down that 2008 was characterized by the cynical realization that ultimately we have no one to blame but ourselves. When we burned our Shit Lists in Italy, that fact was made abundantly clear. Of course, that being said, 2009 will be spent fixing all the things that went wrong before and fixing them right. That's why I'm going home, I think. I want to make the system overhaul that I so desperately need a priority.

After lunch with my father, I'm thinking of my life in economic terms. I needed to let my emotional market "find its own bottom" literally, figuratively, and otherwise. Of course this means that I have to liquidate my various attachments and mark them all to market. Once I do that I can figure out exactly what everything is worth and make a rational cost-benefit analysis. What good does this particular thought pattern serve me? What emotional necessities do I sacrifice when I think like this? Think at the margin, darling. Etc.

Metaphors. Metaphors. Metaphors help me make sense of the world.

Still, for as miserable as things have been lately, I'm determined that the good in 2009 is going to outweigh the bad. Maybe I'm just getting it all out of the way early? Maybe things will be better hereafter? Lord, I hope so.

I think part of the problem is that I've started thinking I deserve everything I get. Gone are the days when I believed in the completely impersonal hostility of the universe. No more guilt. No more shame. Mike Brown was right, it is completely, totally, and utterly time for another viewing of Velvet Goldmine. And maybe a listen to the soundtrack while I pack? *nods* I think so.

ETA: Okay, let me just state that one of the many reasons I love the band YETI is that Mark Underwood (formerly known as Harmony Williams) is fucking crazy and has a tendency to write songs that sound like they belong in a bad musical/cabaret act. "Midnight Flight" is a jazzy ballad about a serial killer, complete with evil chuckles or heavy breathing depending upon which album you own, and "Insect Eating Man" is a song about exactly what it says on the tin. I LOVE THIS BAND AND THEIR MUSICAL THEATRE BACKGROUND AND THEIR CSN REFERENCES AND MARK UNDERWOOD'S STUPID FACE. Can I have the compilation album now?
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Do you ever feel, when looking at your life, that you add two and two and end up with something in the vicinity of sixty five?

I think that sort-of explains how I'm feeling right now. I feel like I can't make decisions and I can't work and I can't fucking think because I don't trust my judgment. I've forgotten how to count and I don't know how or when that happened.

I still haven't talked to two very important people about the whole 'going home' thing. *sighs* I don't fucking know what to say to them. Well, that's not entirely true. "I love you and I'm going to miss you and I wish I could take you with me," is generally how I want to end the conversation. Unfortunately, I have a lot of other things to say first, and I'm notoriously awful when it comes to dealing with those sorts of serious discussions.

I wish I could just send a mass Bcc e-mail as Lori described. Only, that really wouldn't solve anything, now would it? I want to give these people some serious hugs and a real explanation and my address so we can mail things back and forth (huzzah for being in the general vicinity of a post office again!). We also owe each other food and, seeing as I just about have my stomach back to normal, I'd like to settle those debts before I go.

Big Brother mine, how is/was Barcelona? Did you ogle any seductive Spaniards? I've heard good things about the local fauna, please tell me my sources haven't lied! Also, any good food? I can think about food again! I want to hear about it! *hugs* Talk to you soon.

*sighs* Papa flies in today. I think I'm having sympathetic flight insomnia. If I had a life, I'm pretty sure I'd hate it.

And now for some news on the entertainment front:

1. Ang Lee's "Lust, Caution." Ouch. Ouch to the nth degree. This film is gorgeous. The costumes and sets are stunning and the lighting is dim but appropriately evocative. The very explicit sex scenes are, by turns, violent, creative, and disturbing. It's the sort of film where you sit there trying to analyze the characters' motivations afterward. Would you have done what the characters did, were you in their situation? You rather hope not, and yet it all made some sort of fucked-up sense. Whatever. This film hurts like a piece of glass through the aorta. If you ever feel the need to be traumatized in a really artistic sort of way, this is a good one. It's also nice if you enjoy vintage oriental fashions and textiles, which I do.

2. Traveling Wilburys aka George Harrison, Jeff Lynne, Bob Dylan, Tom Petty, and Roy Orbison. I haven't heard their music since the last time mum and I air guitared our way through the Concert for George. Gabe Saporta's cousin is right, they are utterly ridiculous, and yet rather amazingly amazing. They are also the only way I can tolerate Bob Dylan and Roy Orbison singing, much less attempting to harmonize. I think that having to endure endless repetitions of the Roy Orbison special on PBS has ruined my enjoyment of his solo music for life. I can't even stand covers. Anyway, yes. I ♥ Traveling Wilburys. The end. Oh, and Jenny Lewis does a pretty good cover of the song "Handle With Care". So, if you're a Jenny Lewis fan *cough[ profile] honeynutchexmixcough*, go have a listen.

3. The Libertines. I'm a huge fan of Yeti, so, on a whim, I decided to check out John Hassall's old band. Heh. Little did I know that I would find a gaggle of pretty, chemically-altered boys and one of the most explosive friendships in recent music history. Think Brideshead with no gentility, half the guilt, twice the alcohol, quadruple the drugs, and a liberal splash of rock n' roll. Why had I never given them a listen before this? They're sort of punk and sort of indie and really just lots of fun. Great music to put on when you're getting ready for an evening out or feeling the need to just be a dork and bounce around your room.

4. My mum likes The White Stripes... I'm not sure what to make of this. I mean, I also like them to a certain extent, but... wow. Weird.

4. Ruckus is gone and I have to actually buy music like a normal person again. Rats. I'm really going to miss having an internet-based lending library for all things musical. I'm pretty sure my wallet's going to miss it, too.

5. If anybody knows where I can lay my hands on an mp3 of "I Played The Part," I will give them a veritable feast of strange and exotic sexual favors involving glow in the dark paint in exchange for the information.
marvinstwin: (Default)
I have food poisoning. Dear God, what next? The plague? I haven't eaten anything of substance in over 24 hours and the thought of trying sort of makes me queasy again.

I've spent the last two nights on the couch, just so that I can be closer to the porcelain goddess of my idolatry. I have to do laundry and pack. I feel like curling up and dying instead.

Why me?
marvinstwin: (Default)
Because it makes me happy!

He played it well... )


marvinstwin: (Default)

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