[The following has been jotted down in an attempt to be silly when really I want to be quite something else altogether.]
Last night I saw this wee man and I said: Oh, look, there goes Mr. Frodo again.
The tower of Cirith Ungol is one thing, but the Tablets of Torched Tofu are quite another. He joined us for dinner, and then was on his way.
Saturday, February 12, 2005
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Research Is My Boyfriend
This week's theme is espresso machine research. This here is the Francis!Francis! X3, and so far it is my favorite.
I cannot afford one today but am being future-oriented instead; I am planning, being responsible and yet not.
I watched Return to Paradise today courtesy of TiVo. Vince Vaughn, pre-puffy. Joaquin Phoenix, not looking good. A movie with integrity simply because it doesnt end well. This is what I also liked about 50 First Dates, that it had the cajones to not end perfectly (eg, she doesnt regain her memory-skills).
Also saw Bad Education today, which was hard for me as it contained episodes tinged with sexual tension as well as Gael Garcia Bernal. on the way to said movie with Libby's pal Joseph, got an americano at Zona Rosa and met the barista who is friendly and remembered me by my ring for some reason and her name is Eowyn.
It was a glossy movie, that is what I can say. It went on too long and became a whodunit when it didnt have to, in my opinion. Music was great however.
Waiting for me on the porch was a wee figurine for my dashboard of Frodo wearing the crow's beak mask and orc armor when he is going through mordor. I also ordered a ringwraith for the same purpose but it is very gigantic and ugly and must be returned.
But enough about me and my opinions!
I cannot afford one today but am being future-oriented instead; I am planning, being responsible and yet not.
I watched Return to Paradise today courtesy of TiVo. Vince Vaughn, pre-puffy. Joaquin Phoenix, not looking good. A movie with integrity simply because it doesnt end well. This is what I also liked about 50 First Dates, that it had the cajones to not end perfectly (eg, she doesnt regain her memory-skills).
Also saw Bad Education today, which was hard for me as it contained episodes tinged with sexual tension as well as Gael Garcia Bernal. on the way to said movie with Libby's pal Joseph, got an americano at Zona Rosa and met the barista who is friendly and remembered me by my ring for some reason and her name is Eowyn.
It was a glossy movie, that is what I can say. It went on too long and became a whodunit when it didnt have to, in my opinion. Music was great however.
Waiting for me on the porch was a wee figurine for my dashboard of Frodo wearing the crow's beak mask and orc armor when he is going through mordor. I also ordered a ringwraith for the same purpose but it is very gigantic and ugly and must be returned.
But enough about me and my opinions!
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Thing of the Day
My thing of the day for today, February 2, 2005 shall be:
The video for U2's *All Because of You*.
You ask why.
I tell you.
I tell you: it is because of all the schoolchildren, businesspeople, newspapermen and those without homes,real people. Just hoardes of people completely giddy in public together, in the middle of the day running sideways alongside a flatbed truck.
Completely losing it.
Oh to completely lose it once again, all over, in repeating circles....
The video for U2's *All Because of You*.
You ask why.
I tell you.
I tell you: it is because of all the schoolchildren, businesspeople, newspapermen and those without homes,real people. Just hoardes of people completely giddy in public together, in the middle of the day running sideways alongside a flatbed truck.
Completely losing it.
Oh to completely lose it once again, all over, in repeating circles....
Friday, January 28, 2005
Arachnids and Weathervanes
A circus. A travelling salesman. Something Wicked This Way Comes.
I don't think John McCain's aryan wife had a hand in the creation of that scary film, but she could have.
I just saw her on the TV. On The Larry King Show.
No one but Larry King could better embody the definition of the word "sycophant". If you didnt know who he was, that muppet body wouldnt point to sycophantic tendencies, but there you have it.
I don't think John McCain's aryan wife had a hand in the creation of that scary film, but she could have.
I just saw her on the TV. On The Larry King Show.
No one but Larry King could better embody the definition of the word "sycophant". If you didnt know who he was, that muppet body wouldnt point to sycophantic tendencies, but there you have it.
Monday, January 24, 2005
O My Meaty Palms
When your body feels as if you've been beaten with a lumpy piece of wood after spending two days painting and scraping an old room in an old grey jail in Venice into the shape of something resembling a bosom for the verbal development and tutoring of youth (the meat of your palms bruised somehow, upper right chest wall spasming) it means you need to maintain a regular exercise regimen, and it means you should have done it several years previously.
But it is all done with great sincerity and effort, Lo! for 826LA, even when it pertains to waiting with great patience in a Cost Plus (that microcosm of English-style customer service, wicker and foreign chocolates) for your car to be loaded with tables and for the employees to inform you that they cannot supply you with anything to tie your trunk down in spite of the fact (and you point this out) that Cost Plus itself was born from the notion that millions could be made from the sale of twine, jute, ribbon and raffia.
I want to tell you a great little story taken from Sunday afternoon, but I'm not going to because I dont know how to do it appropriately. I can give you an analogy instead and you can just use those deductive reasoning skills you honed long ago:
Doretta: On Sunday, through a series of circumstances, you commence to eating vegetarian papaya dogs with Philip Seymour Hoffman. Karen, for you, you go shopping for Aerobeds at Target with D. F. Wallace....
Ok. Ok fine. No.. Wait.. I retract!
Today while hiding in my patient's room from absolutely nothing at all, my patient and I watched Elmo's World together. On Elmo's World, children were having their training wheels removed and they were riding bikes unaided for the first time. The boy and I exchanged brief stories of when we learned to do the same thing. Me, I went hurdling into the holly bushes. My patient fell into a ditch in his backyard.
But it is all done with great sincerity and effort, Lo! for 826LA, even when it pertains to waiting with great patience in a Cost Plus (that microcosm of English-style customer service, wicker and foreign chocolates) for your car to be loaded with tables and for the employees to inform you that they cannot supply you with anything to tie your trunk down in spite of the fact (and you point this out) that Cost Plus itself was born from the notion that millions could be made from the sale of twine, jute, ribbon and raffia.
I want to tell you a great little story taken from Sunday afternoon, but I'm not going to because I dont know how to do it appropriately. I can give you an analogy instead and you can just use those deductive reasoning skills you honed long ago:
Doretta: On Sunday, through a series of circumstances, you commence to eating vegetarian papaya dogs with Philip Seymour Hoffman. Karen, for you, you go shopping for Aerobeds at Target with D. F. Wallace....
Ok. Ok fine. No.. Wait.. I retract!
Today while hiding in my patient's room from absolutely nothing at all, my patient and I watched Elmo's World together. On Elmo's World, children were having their training wheels removed and they were riding bikes unaided for the first time. The boy and I exchanged brief stories of when we learned to do the same thing. Me, I went hurdling into the holly bushes. My patient fell into a ditch in his backyard.
Thursday, January 13, 2005
My brain broke up with me.
Tomorrow? I write the GRE.
See, on Wednesday the math was enjoyable and I was able to really focus. But yesterday, while practicing on the computer,
my brain said: Enough, this isn't working for me, I need some space. And thereafter, my mortal coil walked out of the house and left me there, a shell of a person, staring at a PC (which in itself can raise my blood pressure: see Job's new genius) and doing all the problems in the most difficult manner possible. Today I will buy earplugs and drink decaf. Someone told me they saw my brain having souvlaki at Burger Continental with a CalTech grad student in khaki shorts and Tevas, and I think to myself, Jealousy has got to be one of the major flaws in human design.
Then I just gave up for the evening and watched Sexy Beast with Libby and then the Secret Lives of Dentist by myself. Campbell Scott looks a tad like H-to-the-itler with that moustache. I've seen Sexy Beast before, me gusta mucho, but the movie made me think back to last spring when I was in the land of overbaked, plump English people on holiday in Spain with no taste in food or music or beach clothing, and it made me shake my head at the world. Dentists, also, I liked it a lot, especially the bits with Denis Leary, and it made me teary but that's no surprise as the other day as I discovered 50 First Dates did the same.
I can no longer be trusted with simple things.
And I don't know if you watch Lost, but last night the theory I expounded during the very first episode was confirmed: two of the very worst actors and the most useless characters (Shannon and Boone) have had sex with each other in the past. They are stepbrother and sister you see, the token rich white kids, champions of flawless skin and piercing blue eyes.
See, on Wednesday the math was enjoyable and I was able to really focus. But yesterday, while practicing on the computer,
my brain said: Enough, this isn't working for me, I need some space. And thereafter, my mortal coil walked out of the house and left me there, a shell of a person, staring at a PC (which in itself can raise my blood pressure: see Job's new genius) and doing all the problems in the most difficult manner possible. Today I will buy earplugs and drink decaf. Someone told me they saw my brain having souvlaki at Burger Continental with a CalTech grad student in khaki shorts and Tevas, and I think to myself, Jealousy has got to be one of the major flaws in human design.
Then I just gave up for the evening and watched Sexy Beast with Libby and then the Secret Lives of Dentist by myself. Campbell Scott looks a tad like H-to-the-itler with that moustache. I've seen Sexy Beast before, me gusta mucho, but the movie made me think back to last spring when I was in the land of overbaked, plump English people on holiday in Spain with no taste in food or music or beach clothing, and it made me shake my head at the world. Dentists, also, I liked it a lot, especially the bits with Denis Leary, and it made me teary but that's no surprise as the other day as I discovered 50 First Dates did the same.
I can no longer be trusted with simple things.
And I don't know if you watch Lost, but last night the theory I expounded during the very first episode was confirmed: two of the very worst actors and the most useless characters (Shannon and Boone) have had sex with each other in the past. They are stepbrother and sister you see, the token rich white kids, champions of flawless skin and piercing blue eyes.
Thursday, January 06, 2005
The End of All Things: Dark Coast
This picture, though dark, should be squinted at.
I just witnessed three disconcerting observations in a row:
Blockbuster using Roy Orbison in TV ads.
The video game with the title "Call of Duty: Finest Hour".
Ethan Hawke and Cowboy Curtis in the trailer for their new movie which happens to be the kind whose entire color palette consists of black, midnight blue, grey and orange. I can see the VHS cover art now.
Here's a good thing: I recorded Dogfight (Lili "Never never ever ever! Don't you even think about it!" Taylor, River Phoenix) on TiVo. This was my favorite movie of the year 1991. I found a frightening webpage "documenting River Phoenix's role" in the film by following a link on IMDB.
Today I graduated from my residency program, which means I am now by myself, with my own patients.
First thing I saw when I came into the auditorium was a large sized Casio keyboard, then two bunches of brightly colored balloons taped to the wall. The nurse next to me said it looked like the set-up for her kindergarten graduation. I had fear in me. I called Robyn and told her not to come, please, it's too tacky. But it wasn't so bad. The president and CEO of the hospital spoke, and when he started, he got all choked up, which was uncomfortable but also touching, because he is one of those men stuffed into a suit about a size too small who usually talks in lingo that is shiny and corporate. He was saying that we could all do what he does every day, but he couldnt do what we do.
Then there was Creed. Oh, defunct Creed. [NB: I know my cynicism is tiresome]. Arms Wide Open, that song, over a montage of nurses and kids and families. Then we had a musical performance. Thank lord this was not someone singing that Whitney Houston song about how children are our future, but a group of wee people, 4 year olds from the childhood development center next door. They sang it's a small world. Well, more like they shouted it's a small world.
The managers of our unit gave me and the two other nurse residents: 1) a hydrangea and 2) ....it had to come sooner or later..
Chicken Soup for the Nurses' Soul.
It's hard to make fun of it because it is all so well intentioned but there are certain cultural attributes frequently found in this population of professionals that doesnt coincide with my particular personal style.
I suppose I would like to recommend a few things:
1) If you can, listen to the song "Silver Dagger", as done by Joan Baez. I never got into her like I got into Bob Dylan, but this song is sad and beautiful. I have been told I should stop listening to music of such description, but to that I scream a resounding No. This is the kind of music that makes me feel human. I don't need to go to Goa for that.
2) If you can, look at my mom's blog . I think she's brilliant but she isn't so sure. You can tell her what you think in your own words.
3) Dustin Hoffman's capoeira, etc in Meet the Fockers. Yes.
4) The streetcar in Lisbon as well as the north and eastern coasts of Sicily.
5)The trailer for Malick's The New World.
I just witnessed three disconcerting observations in a row:
Blockbuster using Roy Orbison in TV ads.
The video game with the title "Call of Duty: Finest Hour".
Ethan Hawke and Cowboy Curtis in the trailer for their new movie which happens to be the kind whose entire color palette consists of black, midnight blue, grey and orange. I can see the VHS cover art now.
Here's a good thing: I recorded Dogfight (Lili "Never never ever ever! Don't you even think about it!" Taylor, River Phoenix) on TiVo. This was my favorite movie of the year 1991. I found a frightening webpage "documenting River Phoenix's role" in the film by following a link on IMDB.
Today I graduated from my residency program, which means I am now by myself, with my own patients.
First thing I saw when I came into the auditorium was a large sized Casio keyboard, then two bunches of brightly colored balloons taped to the wall. The nurse next to me said it looked like the set-up for her kindergarten graduation. I had fear in me. I called Robyn and told her not to come, please, it's too tacky. But it wasn't so bad. The president and CEO of the hospital spoke, and when he started, he got all choked up, which was uncomfortable but also touching, because he is one of those men stuffed into a suit about a size too small who usually talks in lingo that is shiny and corporate. He was saying that we could all do what he does every day, but he couldnt do what we do.
Then there was Creed. Oh, defunct Creed. [NB: I know my cynicism is tiresome]. Arms Wide Open, that song, over a montage of nurses and kids and families. Then we had a musical performance. Thank lord this was not someone singing that Whitney Houston song about how children are our future, but a group of wee people, 4 year olds from the childhood development center next door. They sang it's a small world. Well, more like they shouted it's a small world.
The managers of our unit gave me and the two other nurse residents: 1) a hydrangea and 2) ....it had to come sooner or later..
Chicken Soup for the Nurses' Soul.
It's hard to make fun of it because it is all so well intentioned but there are certain cultural attributes frequently found in this population of professionals that doesnt coincide with my particular personal style.
I suppose I would like to recommend a few things:
1) If you can, listen to the song "Silver Dagger", as done by Joan Baez. I never got into her like I got into Bob Dylan, but this song is sad and beautiful. I have been told I should stop listening to music of such description, but to that I scream a resounding No. This is the kind of music that makes me feel human. I don't need to go to Goa for that.
2) If you can, look at my mom's blog . I think she's brilliant but she isn't so sure. You can tell her what you think in your own words.
3) Dustin Hoffman's capoeira, etc in Meet the Fockers. Yes.
4) The streetcar in Lisbon as well as the north and eastern coasts of Sicily.
5)The trailer for Malick's The New World.
Saturday, January 01, 2005
Status Rose Paradus; Annus Nevus
I live and breathe.
Via Friendster (which, I know, is SO 2002) I have been able to confirm that one
tall young man from West Vancouver also lives and breathes in Thailand.
According to his pal, he has internet access, is in Koh Samui, and has yet to decide to respond to my "Are you alive" email, I guess.
This is somewhat typical of his aloof nature, so I should not be surprised.
For New Year's, I celebrated 1991. I did this by being slouched under a sleeping bag while sipping Pelligrino, eating those damn Trader Joe's pita chips while watching The Commitments. I think one of my favorite lines is when Jimmy Rabitte Sr says "That's fuckin blasphemy. Elvis wasn't a Cajun" with great rage during an audition by someone with an accordion. That, or when Joey The Lips says "I get snotty with no man".
When that was over I closed the night out with some Twilight Zone marathon and the last of the docs on the Return of the King Extended Edition. In which Philippa Boyens says that if you look closely, at Mozart of Rembrandt (or what have you), the Elves are still with us. That poor brilliant woman gets larger and larger with each extended edition (if you haven't treated yourself yet to the easter eggs on this DVD, do so now).
While in Vancouver over Christmas for a sleepover, we saw Life Aquatic. No me gusta Life Aquatic. The very end tip of the movie made me teary, but all else was flat, and Owen Wilson was bad, and his subplot was pointless. If it had just been about Steve mourning his dead friend, it would have been so much more bittersweet, which we all know is the money shot of these films. My sister made me awesome underwear that say "I Own It" on the behind. If any of you have iSight, lemme know because one now perches on my iBook. There was rain and I went to the gym with my parents and ate dumplings and cold shredded tofu salad at Shao Lin Noodle House and kicked it over two nights with some Frodo and Aragorn.
Now I will drive down to the OC for a sleepover with Nana. She will reinflate me where I have been deflated, I think.
A parade of roses is ambling down the road nearby.
Via Friendster (which, I know, is SO 2002) I have been able to confirm that one
tall young man from West Vancouver also lives and breathes in Thailand.
According to his pal, he has internet access, is in Koh Samui, and has yet to decide to respond to my "Are you alive" email, I guess.
This is somewhat typical of his aloof nature, so I should not be surprised.
For New Year's, I celebrated 1991. I did this by being slouched under a sleeping bag while sipping Pelligrino, eating those damn Trader Joe's pita chips while watching The Commitments. I think one of my favorite lines is when Jimmy Rabitte Sr says "That's fuckin blasphemy. Elvis wasn't a Cajun" with great rage during an audition by someone with an accordion. That, or when Joey The Lips says "I get snotty with no man".
When that was over I closed the night out with some Twilight Zone marathon and the last of the docs on the Return of the King Extended Edition. In which Philippa Boyens says that if you look closely, at Mozart of Rembrandt (or what have you), the Elves are still with us. That poor brilliant woman gets larger and larger with each extended edition (if you haven't treated yourself yet to the easter eggs on this DVD, do so now).
While in Vancouver over Christmas for a sleepover, we saw Life Aquatic. No me gusta Life Aquatic. The very end tip of the movie made me teary, but all else was flat, and Owen Wilson was bad, and his subplot was pointless. If it had just been about Steve mourning his dead friend, it would have been so much more bittersweet, which we all know is the money shot of these films. My sister made me awesome underwear that say "I Own It" on the behind. If any of you have iSight, lemme know because one now perches on my iBook. There was rain and I went to the gym with my parents and ate dumplings and cold shredded tofu salad at Shao Lin Noodle House and kicked it over two nights with some Frodo and Aragorn.
Now I will drive down to the OC for a sleepover with Nana. She will reinflate me where I have been deflated, I think.
A parade of roses is ambling down the road nearby.
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
The Shroud
Today in didactics, we had a lecture by a man from the Spiritual Care department of the hospital. The minister man talked about how we should all make a conscious effort to exert nondenominational spiritual support (if we provide any at all) unless the family indicates a specific religion and you feel comfortable participating along those lines. Then he said he was at a family conference once, sitting around a table with the residents, attendings, fellows, RNs, social workers and family members to discuss the impending death of their child and the mom stood up in the middle of it and started speaking in tongues. Minister-man says that he's one of those kinds of Christians that does this kind of thing, so he put aside the nondenominational hat and stood up and starting speaking in tongues along with her. It was a good story. How do you just start speaking in tongues? Isn't there a lead-up to that?
Then we had a lecture on post-mortem care.
Then we went to the morgue, for a tour.
Then the CEO of the hospital talked to us about all the great things done at CHLA, and they were all things related to medicine, noble medicine, rich medicine, respected medicine. I became kind of angry on the inside.
Then at lunch I had a conversation with Daniel, who thinks I should be an MD or an OD and I tried not to think too hard about it.
Then I checked my email: nothing.
Then during break I almost finished O'Connor's Star of the Sea and when Yo La Tengo's Autumn Sweater was chosen at random from iPod it made me nearly teary.
Then I went and bought Return of the King Extended Edition. I really wanted that Minas Tirith stash-box. It would make an incredible stash-box. But it was 30 bucks more than the DVD alone, so I recanted. The insert on the back of the DVD says "50 minutes of new and extended scenes added by Director Peter Jackson". In case there was any confusion, you know - in case you thought the 50 minutes of new and extended scenes were added by Emperor Hirohito or Paul Reubens.
Then, here I am now.
Then we had a lecture on post-mortem care.
Then we went to the morgue, for a tour.
Then the CEO of the hospital talked to us about all the great things done at CHLA, and they were all things related to medicine, noble medicine, rich medicine, respected medicine. I became kind of angry on the inside.
Then at lunch I had a conversation with Daniel, who thinks I should be an MD or an OD and I tried not to think too hard about it.
Then I checked my email: nothing.
Then during break I almost finished O'Connor's Star of the Sea and when Yo La Tengo's Autumn Sweater was chosen at random from iPod it made me nearly teary.
Then I went and bought Return of the King Extended Edition. I really wanted that Minas Tirith stash-box. It would make an incredible stash-box. But it was 30 bucks more than the DVD alone, so I recanted. The insert on the back of the DVD says "50 minutes of new and extended scenes added by Director Peter Jackson". In case there was any confusion, you know - in case you thought the 50 minutes of new and extended scenes were added by Emperor Hirohito or Paul Reubens.
Then, here I am now.
Friday, December 10, 2004
Getting the Geek Blood to Boil
1. Did I mention that I spotted Daniel Lanois at the Arcade Fire show? Pulling his skull cap on immediately after crossing the threshold as he left the show, whereupon he mounted one of the meatiest chrome motorcycles I have ever seen, and went away into the rainy night. It was a Yeah, Bono's Slept In My Guestroom kind of motorcycle. Look for a future review on my mom's blog as mom and sister are going to the Vancouver show, courtesy of Lebo RN. (BTW, both Troubadour shows are already sold out for the 15th and 16th in LA.) I hold one of the precious.
2. I have three tickets to Imperial Teen for this Saturday. One is for me, the others are up for grabs. You can haves them for free, it will be my little Jesus gift to you. I know most of you will be stuffing yourself with Bill Murray paraphernalia instead, but if not, hey, I thought I'd ask.
3. First trailer for Burton's Willy Wonka, aqui. The Wonka bars are the same as in the first movie.
4. It is that time of year, O December! The season when miniature Minas Tirith stash-holders are being shipped nationwide, wrapped tightly beside the blue faux-leather, faux-book DVD packaging we - our kind - have grown to become so hungry for. It will be the last great beckoning of the Frodoiste for quite some time, I think. There is a long teaser trailer for the Return of the King Extended Edition for those with instant gratification problems
5. Very cool piece on 826 LA in the LA Times this week. It is a concise and exciting explanation of what we will be doing when we are up and running.
Your favorite Lone Star,
Sarah
2. I have three tickets to Imperial Teen for this Saturday. One is for me, the others are up for grabs. You can haves them for free, it will be my little Jesus gift to you. I know most of you will be stuffing yourself with Bill Murray paraphernalia instead, but if not, hey, I thought I'd ask.
3. First trailer for Burton's Willy Wonka, aqui. The Wonka bars are the same as in the first movie.
4. It is that time of year, O December! The season when miniature Minas Tirith stash-holders are being shipped nationwide, wrapped tightly beside the blue faux-leather, faux-book DVD packaging we - our kind - have grown to become so hungry for. It will be the last great beckoning of the Frodoiste for quite some time, I think. There is a long teaser trailer for the Return of the King Extended Edition for those with instant gratification problems
5. Very cool piece on 826 LA in the LA Times this week. It is a concise and exciting explanation of what we will be doing when we are up and running.
Your favorite Lone Star,
Sarah
Thursday, December 09, 2004
More Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark
Remember those scary story books we used to order from Scholastic? With the scary black and white wet-on-wet watercolors? I think the creators of those books hold the chemical formula for Scary.
I want to tell you about something scary.
Last night, I watched Revelations, the second documentary (the first called Paradise Lost: The murders at Robin Hood Hills) about the case of the "West Memphis 3". These are three teenagers accused of committing "a satanic, ritualistic murder" of three little boys in the forest between trailer parks. Essentially, it appears these three have been tossed in jail for life because they listened to Metallica, wore black t-shirts and because the smart one of the three (Damien Echols, currently on death row) was bold enough to describe himself as a Wiccan before a Arkansian jury. Poor Metallica, they mean so well.
However, regarding the scary aspect, I am not referring to the oral health or hygiene of the inhabitants of West Memphis. No, I suggest you rent Paradise Lost or Revelations, and then tell me what you think of Mr. Mark Byers, stepfather of one of the three boys murdered in the case. He is a six foot 2, toothless method-actor, a man on a variety of antipsychotic medications, a lover of knives, an individual who performs a mock burial for the accused involving lighter fluid, an axe, some overalls and a lot of yelling the words "Burn in Hell!" with gritted teeth, who falls dramatically to his knees at the grave of his wife, who seems to speak only in rehearsed monologue every time he is on-camera, who loves to wax biblical at the sight of stormclouds, whose intelligence is kind of unnerving in contrast to those who surround him, who gave the filmmakers a hunting knife as a gift during the filming of the first documentary that had dried human blood on it, a man who, affter evidence of bite marks were found on a victim following the first trial, claims all of his teeth were extracted following the murders due to taking tegretol - this is the portrait of the scariest bogeyman I've ever seen, and who is believed by many to be the murderer himself.
Enjoy the show!
I want to tell you about something scary.
Last night, I watched Revelations, the second documentary (the first called Paradise Lost: The murders at Robin Hood Hills) about the case of the "West Memphis 3". These are three teenagers accused of committing "a satanic, ritualistic murder" of three little boys in the forest between trailer parks. Essentially, it appears these three have been tossed in jail for life because they listened to Metallica, wore black t-shirts and because the smart one of the three (Damien Echols, currently on death row) was bold enough to describe himself as a Wiccan before a Arkansian jury. Poor Metallica, they mean so well.
However, regarding the scary aspect, I am not referring to the oral health or hygiene of the inhabitants of West Memphis. No, I suggest you rent Paradise Lost or Revelations, and then tell me what you think of Mr. Mark Byers, stepfather of one of the three boys murdered in the case. He is a six foot 2, toothless method-actor, a man on a variety of antipsychotic medications, a lover of knives, an individual who performs a mock burial for the accused involving lighter fluid, an axe, some overalls and a lot of yelling the words "Burn in Hell!" with gritted teeth, who falls dramatically to his knees at the grave of his wife, who seems to speak only in rehearsed monologue every time he is on-camera, who loves to wax biblical at the sight of stormclouds, whose intelligence is kind of unnerving in contrast to those who surround him, who gave the filmmakers a hunting knife as a gift during the filming of the first documentary that had dried human blood on it, a man who, affter evidence of bite marks were found on a victim following the first trial, claims all of his teeth were extracted following the murders due to taking tegretol - this is the portrait of the scariest bogeyman I've ever seen, and who is believed by many to be the murderer himself.
Enjoy the show!
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
Cardiac Fire
If I had a stick,
I'd bang it on a drum and
I'd hook myself up to an amplifier
and electric-spark myself across the stage.
If I were to trip or twitch in the process,
I could make it look like part of the show.
I have witnessed the twitch, and the clapping.
I was tripped, but I fell into the Arcade Fire, and I was held by the heat for a moment in time.
By the end of tonight, my right eye was stung by a bead of sweat,
brought forth down my forehead by several Newtons of
blue light, accordion-sucked air, and
uncorked heartbeats.
A band that covers Naive Melody (this must be the place);
A band that offers us Beast of Burden and Cinnamon Girl as background while
the cymbals are set up;
A band that drums on any surface regardless of its density
can only reflect white joy off of its wall of sound.
I'd bang it on a drum and
I'd hook myself up to an amplifier
and electric-spark myself across the stage.
If I were to trip or twitch in the process,
I could make it look like part of the show.
I have witnessed the twitch, and the clapping.
I was tripped, but I fell into the Arcade Fire, and I was held by the heat for a moment in time.
By the end of tonight, my right eye was stung by a bead of sweat,
brought forth down my forehead by several Newtons of
blue light, accordion-sucked air, and
uncorked heartbeats.
A band that covers Naive Melody (this must be the place);
A band that offers us Beast of Burden and Cinnamon Girl as background while
the cymbals are set up;
A band that drums on any surface regardless of its density
can only reflect white joy off of its wall of sound.
Monday, December 06, 2004
Archive No. 3: Last in a Tryptich.
Adam Clayton, silent bass player. Bonovox, self-professed 3-inch man, Chicago 1981. Randomized, controlled clinical trials completed in the field of follicular cultural studies have demonstrated that Ireland has not conclusively contributed to the canon of forward-thinking hairstyles in a manner that can be described as statistically significant (alpha < 0.5). It has been hypothesized in other works that these results may be applicable to the whole of Hibernia and Britain, save for England proper (responsible for the Chelsea Girl, Mo- and Faux-hawks, Mohicans, Moptops, Blur Bangs, and Toni and Guy products among others).
Sunday, December 05, 2004
Archive No.2: The Irish Have A Hard Time of It
Archive No.2: I avert mine eyes, for the gaze of the hair is more powerful than the gaze of the bearer.
Originally uploaded by Sarah Lebo.
Saturday, December 04, 2004
Friday, December 03, 2004
The Society for Follicular Safety and the Prevention of Historical Repetition Presents: A cautionary tale in triptych
Archive No. 1: A young Paul Hewson and tea, circa 1980. This follicular arrangement is tolerable, partially flattering and even mod. There is quite a bit of it. Note its lustre - resilient, pervasive. Some believe the shinyness of one's hair can be directly equated with the shinyness of one's soul.
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
Stale, expensive Spanish gummies
These looked good but did not taste good.
They were in the Boqueria in Barcelona, near the Egg Man and the other Candy Ladies.
I am not in a mood for writing today, so you can just have candy and pretend it is me.
They were in the Boqueria in Barcelona, near the Egg Man and the other Candy Ladies.
I am not in a mood for writing today, so you can just have candy and pretend it is me.
Sunday, November 28, 2004
Tostada times two
Thanksgiving:
Nana, sayeth to us o'er the low din of scootching chairs to tables, "I am thankful for being here; and I'm thankful for oranges and aspirin, which represent the sun and the moon". I do not fib.
I spake to the table that grateful I am for all the people I know, for they are enrich-ed and worthy, peace-loving, attractive and self-aware. (I am thankful also for the earnestness that drapeth the new U2 album, though I exempt thanks for the choruses on tracks 2 and 6. This I did not say at the table, but I say it to you now.)
My cousin-in-law gave thanks to the philosopher's stone responsible for Splenda. We looked at pictures afterwards, and played picture bingo and drove home in the tortuga verde listening to Eminem's Mosh and other special items.
Zankou chicken. Friday. Upon facing my roasted chicken tarna thingy, nearly fell face first into it being overcome with exhaustion related to The Week.
Upon returning from el hospital on Saturday, entered house full of architecture students and my dad, who was deeply involved in a conversation about tequila and religion in the dim corner of the kitchen with a young man in a seersucker suit, all in celebration of Libby's 27th year. Slept upstairs in Libby's parents bedroom to avoid noise of revelry so I could wake up at 5:00 AM and drive to work without incident, but before I could tuck myself into bed, I fell off of it. Really fell off of it. It's probably two and a half feet off the slippery wooden floor. My iBook got bruised too. The sad thing was nobody heard me fall but me. I kind of lay there, in an awkward arrangement, before attempting to open computer to make sure it was alive.
I discovered today that my day really is better if I have coffee in the morning. I want to resist the idea of this. However, perhaps it is something to accept.
There was one patient who would swipe at me (unintentionally) until I leaned across her bed to give her a hug,and I was not to be let go of, and the hugs were of great intensity and at an awkward angle. She will only settle down if someone puts their chest to hers. And lo, then there was another patient who gave me the "L on the forehead" maneouvre. Then he addressed me as "Woman" (like, "Hey, woman, listen here...") and interrupted me in the middle of an admission with this announcement of my loserhood, then corrected me on the information I was giving to his new roomate about pulling the code cord.
Now I am full of tostadas eaten at Mexico City on Hillhurst. They give you two kinds of salsas there and the windows are large.
Goodnight. I imagine you all in bed with me. I mean this figuratively, as in, "I wish you could all feel cozy inside when it is cold and windy outside in LA and there are palm fronds lying like casualties on all the roads of the city".
I also learned that the word "cucuy" in Spanish (pronounced "koo-koo-ee") means bogeyman/person. I learned this from a former patient who came back for a visit today, because he kept pointing at another child and repeating "cucuy" (and laughing about it) because he dreamt about this patient as a scary cucuy.
To all my cucuys and dreamers I give thanks.
Nana, sayeth to us o'er the low din of scootching chairs to tables, "I am thankful for being here; and I'm thankful for oranges and aspirin, which represent the sun and the moon". I do not fib.
I spake to the table that grateful I am for all the people I know, for they are enrich-ed and worthy, peace-loving, attractive and self-aware. (I am thankful also for the earnestness that drapeth the new U2 album, though I exempt thanks for the choruses on tracks 2 and 6. This I did not say at the table, but I say it to you now.)
My cousin-in-law gave thanks to the philosopher's stone responsible for Splenda. We looked at pictures afterwards, and played picture bingo and drove home in the tortuga verde listening to Eminem's Mosh and other special items.
Zankou chicken. Friday. Upon facing my roasted chicken tarna thingy, nearly fell face first into it being overcome with exhaustion related to The Week.
Upon returning from el hospital on Saturday, entered house full of architecture students and my dad, who was deeply involved in a conversation about tequila and religion in the dim corner of the kitchen with a young man in a seersucker suit, all in celebration of Libby's 27th year. Slept upstairs in Libby's parents bedroom to avoid noise of revelry so I could wake up at 5:00 AM and drive to work without incident, but before I could tuck myself into bed, I fell off of it. Really fell off of it. It's probably two and a half feet off the slippery wooden floor. My iBook got bruised too. The sad thing was nobody heard me fall but me. I kind of lay there, in an awkward arrangement, before attempting to open computer to make sure it was alive.
I discovered today that my day really is better if I have coffee in the morning. I want to resist the idea of this. However, perhaps it is something to accept.
There was one patient who would swipe at me (unintentionally) until I leaned across her bed to give her a hug,and I was not to be let go of, and the hugs were of great intensity and at an awkward angle. She will only settle down if someone puts their chest to hers. And lo, then there was another patient who gave me the "L on the forehead" maneouvre. Then he addressed me as "Woman" (like, "Hey, woman, listen here...") and interrupted me in the middle of an admission with this announcement of my loserhood, then corrected me on the information I was giving to his new roomate about pulling the code cord.
Now I am full of tostadas eaten at Mexico City on Hillhurst. They give you two kinds of salsas there and the windows are large.
Goodnight. I imagine you all in bed with me. I mean this figuratively, as in, "I wish you could all feel cozy inside when it is cold and windy outside in LA and there are palm fronds lying like casualties on all the roads of the city".
I also learned that the word "cucuy" in Spanish (pronounced "koo-koo-ee") means bogeyman/person. I learned this from a former patient who came back for a visit today, because he kept pointing at another child and repeating "cucuy" (and laughing about it) because he dreamt about this patient as a scary cucuy.
To all my cucuys and dreamers I give thanks.
Saturday, November 20, 2004
Volunteer Army battles Forces of Darkness
This morning was all about a drive to Venice. I dont think I've actually ever been to Venice. The part of Venice I roamed into was delightful and green and wild and full of bungalows of many colors.
This morning was all about being seated on the floor of one of these said majestic bungalows with 30 other souls plus Dave Eggers, Vendela Vida, Nineve Calegari and assorted other representatives of the 826 Valencia project. An 826 Los Angeles is about to be initiated here, come January, hence my placement on the floor beside Mr. Writer of Items Admired Greatly by Sarah. The 30 people there (there will be hundreds, hopefully,to come) and I are to be writing tutors. The majority of attendees are production and/or executive assistants, public relations/events planning, and people comfortable with referring to themselves as "director", "former executive producer", and "writer". I mean, fair play to them...I just dont have the play-doh, if you will, to go there, to call myself that, so I think I resent them in a friendly way.
There are a few teachers, some journalists, web designers, a film editor, and me. We were asked to announce our skills, and I put scrimshaw artist but then had to announce that this was a forged skill, and was hard pressed to think of my skills/talents. I mean, there are things I'm good at, but I couldnt think of how to categorize them, so I just said "diplomatic communicator, good on follow-through, letter writer, guacamole" which felt empty but honest. I wasnt say, a former speech writer for Clinton, like one woman in the room. Nor -sigh- have I ever had anything published, lo! not even one of my many letters. Nevertheless, I can give, and likely get got and that is all that matters.
I left feeling insanely excited. But then I ate the protein bar I had in my bag for lunch/breakfast and felt sick on the 405 cause I had nothing to wash it down with..but I was listening to a song with a chorus that went "I hate this part of Texas, Odio este parte de Tejas", so it was ok.
I then drove around Pasadena taking pictures for a potential Location Book that no one will probably ever use/see. To the Gamble House I went, and the home of Mr. Lebowski (Wrigley Mansion/Rose Parade building), to the casting pond in the arroyo, to Shady Lane (located on the grounds of my old kindergarten), past the Ritz Carlton where I wasnt allowed to photograph the gardens, to Lacy Park in San Marino, to the Holly St/Colorado bridge (from which once hung a gigantic puppet of Emily Dickenson and which has been popular setting for Fear Factor stunts), and by the wierd government buildings I never before knew were governmentally-occupied but which always reflect gold from their windows at sunset.
I was unable to peek through the gates of the spooky Frank Lloyd Wright house off of Prospect because I was blocked at all angles from approaching the east side of the Rose Bowl due to Rev. Billy Graham's Crusade (they make no apologies for their literal use of active descriptors!) ongoing in the stadium at this time. Lots of Gap-adorned, Cheesecake Factory-eatin born agins roamed up and down Orange Grove after the Crusade was over, Old Town-bound.
I came home and stared blanky (I believe the Buddhists call reaching this state of non-thought, non-self awareness "transcendence" or "boddhisatva" or something, ahem) at my laptop, basically crumpled over in my chair, at which point I removed my body to my bed, where I took to napping and had literal dreams involving tutoring workshops.
I was awoken by the silence of the house.
I then failed to follow through on previously initiated attempts at being social.
I initiated my physiology case assignment on the Immune System, which goes: "In order for me to pose a compelling argument that would encourage you to get a flu shot, Mr. Jones, I'll talk first about the basic anatomy of viruses, and then give you a simplified sketch of how our immune system reacts to infections in general."
I wait here still.
This morning was all about being seated on the floor of one of these said majestic bungalows with 30 other souls plus Dave Eggers, Vendela Vida, Nineve Calegari and assorted other representatives of the 826 Valencia project. An 826 Los Angeles is about to be initiated here, come January, hence my placement on the floor beside Mr. Writer of Items Admired Greatly by Sarah. The 30 people there (there will be hundreds, hopefully,to come) and I are to be writing tutors. The majority of attendees are production and/or executive assistants, public relations/events planning, and people comfortable with referring to themselves as "director", "former executive producer", and "writer". I mean, fair play to them...I just dont have the play-doh, if you will, to go there, to call myself that, so I think I resent them in a friendly way.
There are a few teachers, some journalists, web designers, a film editor, and me. We were asked to announce our skills, and I put scrimshaw artist but then had to announce that this was a forged skill, and was hard pressed to think of my skills/talents. I mean, there are things I'm good at, but I couldnt think of how to categorize them, so I just said "diplomatic communicator, good on follow-through, letter writer, guacamole" which felt empty but honest. I wasnt say, a former speech writer for Clinton, like one woman in the room. Nor -sigh- have I ever had anything published, lo! not even one of my many letters. Nevertheless, I can give, and likely get got and that is all that matters.
I left feeling insanely excited. But then I ate the protein bar I had in my bag for lunch/breakfast and felt sick on the 405 cause I had nothing to wash it down with..but I was listening to a song with a chorus that went "I hate this part of Texas, Odio este parte de Tejas", so it was ok.
I then drove around Pasadena taking pictures for a potential Location Book that no one will probably ever use/see. To the Gamble House I went, and the home of Mr. Lebowski (Wrigley Mansion/Rose Parade building), to the casting pond in the arroyo, to Shady Lane (located on the grounds of my old kindergarten), past the Ritz Carlton where I wasnt allowed to photograph the gardens, to Lacy Park in San Marino, to the Holly St/Colorado bridge (from which once hung a gigantic puppet of Emily Dickenson and which has been popular setting for Fear Factor stunts), and by the wierd government buildings I never before knew were governmentally-occupied but which always reflect gold from their windows at sunset.
I was unable to peek through the gates of the spooky Frank Lloyd Wright house off of Prospect because I was blocked at all angles from approaching the east side of the Rose Bowl due to Rev. Billy Graham's Crusade (they make no apologies for their literal use of active descriptors!) ongoing in the stadium at this time. Lots of Gap-adorned, Cheesecake Factory-eatin born agins roamed up and down Orange Grove after the Crusade was over, Old Town-bound.
I came home and stared blanky (I believe the Buddhists call reaching this state of non-thought, non-self awareness "transcendence" or "boddhisatva" or something, ahem) at my laptop, basically crumpled over in my chair, at which point I removed my body to my bed, where I took to napping and had literal dreams involving tutoring workshops.
I was awoken by the silence of the house.
I then failed to follow through on previously initiated attempts at being social.
I initiated my physiology case assignment on the Immune System, which goes: "In order for me to pose a compelling argument that would encourage you to get a flu shot, Mr. Jones, I'll talk first about the basic anatomy of viruses, and then give you a simplified sketch of how our immune system reacts to infections in general."
I wait here still.
Friday, November 19, 2004
It is a gift...
This was a poster I saw in a pharmacy near Queen's University in Belfast on one of my many fruitless, aimless, time-killing walks there.
Who was the advertising genius....who was the trailblazer responsible for storyboarding this campaign? I want to give him/her an award for Outstandingly Awkward PSA of the Year, Northern Ireland 2004.
See, this ad is not something people there would think was funny. We do. But they dont.
I mean, there was a radio ad I heard in the Republic in 2001 while I was in Galway, an ad for nappies/diapers: "The only nappy for pee and soft poo". A national media that abides by an unwritten law o earnestness.
Today I became very bummed while at work in the lunch room. This clique of older nurses was talking about molcahetes and tamales and it wasnt that I felt left out because my mom cannot make posole from scratch....it's just, I don't know, my mortal coil began to shudder - a little bit.
It's not that this group ignores me completely - no, see, they use me for reference, like a thesaurus. And then they just talk over me. It's fascinating, truly. Generally I can ignore it.
Sigh.
"It's not the band I hate - it's the fans."
Who was the advertising genius....who was the trailblazer responsible for storyboarding this campaign? I want to give him/her an award for Outstandingly Awkward PSA of the Year, Northern Ireland 2004.
See, this ad is not something people there would think was funny. We do. But they dont.
I mean, there was a radio ad I heard in the Republic in 2001 while I was in Galway, an ad for nappies/diapers: "The only nappy for pee and soft poo". A national media that abides by an unwritten law o earnestness.
Today I became very bummed while at work in the lunch room. This clique of older nurses was talking about molcahetes and tamales and it wasnt that I felt left out because my mom cannot make posole from scratch....it's just, I don't know, my mortal coil began to shudder - a little bit.
It's not that this group ignores me completely - no, see, they use me for reference, like a thesaurus. And then they just talk over me. It's fascinating, truly. Generally I can ignore it.
Sigh.
"It's not the band I hate - it's the fans."
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