3.4.2014

Voodoo Chile: Primping for Mardi Gras at The Parish in Portland, Oregon.

Photos courtesy of my (own) first MacBook Air. Black feather mask tinged with blue, turquoise, and deep purple; my mother's old long-sleeved black blouse with gold embellishment, from which I removed sleeves and lower half, and free-wheeled a sewing machine to fit my waist (somewhat); bracelets, gold, pre-strung Christmas tree garland; Skirt/fringe, individually stitched gold, pre-strung Christmas tree garland (attached to black, blouse-turned-crop-top; High-waisted, black, leather hot-pants; black stockings; black, relaxed-fit sport coat.

Nighttime cityscape (view) from new apartment.

3.22.2014

Keeping It Moving: Lately, I have been sick.

Lately I cannot place commas correctly.

Lately I am afraid.

Lately I fear new and old activities, for they may come to dominate my life.

Lately, it is 5:24.

Lately I look up flight information.

I wonder if wanderlust is an actual condition. Apparently, my brain has been wired for quite a few such tendencies, so why not this one?

Why should I desire one thing, one lifestyle, and not another. Is this psychological? Biological?

To Google!

Well, it is certainly not Google-ogical, as that lead nowhere. And I have no time to go nowhere.

But am I positioning my thoughts too steadily on physical wanderlust? Am I positioning my thoughts too much, in general?

No, no. Not enough, actually. Delving beyond what I know to be "wanderlust."

Beware of anything that comes too readily to mind.

What of cognitive wanderlust?

What of that glazed-over travel which occurs in the mind, suddenly, and takes its sanguine, puckish place between what we are determined to give attention, and what tempts that attention away?

Fashion designer Isaac Mizrahi jokingly says, in his quite and (let's admit it) unusually amusing TED Talk, his extensive boredom has been involved in his success. Always trying to engage, and never feel the Boredom. Always awake. Always roaming with his hungry heart for something to muse.

Frank Sinatra confessed to chronic sleep troubles--insomnia--which he claimed to be caused by a similar proneness/proclivity. (An otherwise decisive little lass, I just cannot decide. I like them both, proneness and proclivity.) It has been some years since I read the quote, so, to paraphrase, "I cannot sleep, for I am always worried I will miss something."

Could this be one of those flaws, as Barbara Streisand, with her nose, I could bank on?

"Cognitive Wanderlust"

Or is this another proud gloss to dignify my wandering focus? If so, I am not entirely ingenuous in the endeavor, in the constant struggle to become aware.

It is as though my mind is shaking its hips. I feel this savage ineffectuality, and the passionate* anxieties it ignites. Then, if it does not seethe within you 'round the lock, if it does not burn you every-so-often--and in all the worst places--it is not passion you feel, but some infinitely shallow angst. And angst is simply intolerable. I cannot stand feeling so riled with sentimentality. Just ridiculous. It makes me. just. ridiculous.

*This word, passion, by the way, demands more sincerity than my baby-faced 21 years is willing to communicate.

Let this go on and on. And on and on and on, away to somewhere. Because this is facing nowhere. And although, at times, I eagerly bound off into nowhere, this is not one of those committed, fearless days. This is The Other: one of the seemingly-eternal, swear-to-God significant, illusively profound days of awkward, clunky caprice--like grouse in summertime, waiting, waiting, waiting in oblivion, to be gunned down for game.

When will death come (for this conceptual grouse)?

In Tavi Gevinson's Editor's Letter--like, a year ago--the prodigal pubescent admits: "This past fall, I started diagramming every lyric Stevie Nicks has ever written. I gave up, of course, but this is how far I got…."

This is very comforting to me.

The nice thing about wildly taking up random, self-indulgent, strangely satisfying, so totally and decidedly tedious tasks is that you can get them up from nothingness, throw them to the old, filled journals, and no one will call it 'giving up.' They might even commend your egg-headed failure. And orthodox failure is very in right now. I can smell a trend, you know, on only its faintest fumes.

Lately, it is 8:32.

Lately I cannot use commas correctly.

3.22.2014

Ooh, Barracuda: While brainstorming an essay, I came up with a new career option. If all else fails--when "all else" signifies a long, long list--I want to become a freelance Professional.

Companies will hire me as "The Professional." I will be like Lucy Liu, with Heart's "Barracuda" in the background. High-end enterprises in New York, Chicago, and Dubai will employ me to hold meetings with workers who need to be whipped.

Two Pieces of Absurdity

"I have two pieces of absurdity to share with you. First, there is an actual pig outside of the PSU library. It is wearing a T-shirt. Second...."

-the best friend, Lem (not her real name; her real name is Emily)

The second is too strange to share on the Internet.

Alec Baldwin

Allegedly, Alec Baldwin visited Mother's Bistro, in Portland, Oregon, Tuesday.

He ordered a Ruben and a frittata.

Branding Groucho Glasses

For the love of God, have you ever attempted figure sketching?

It is ridiculously difficult to locate helpful sitting poses (for non-artists and novices) online. Why, with so many-million websites, does this vast reservoir of unlimited picture-publishing lack even one wooden mannequin reference?

I cannot possibly be there only netizen scouring Google for figure sketches that are neither pornographic nor obese; nor of pornographically-situated obese people.

You see, I am working on a small, sassy icon--as Hugh Hefner has done with the Playboy Bunny logo--for the blog. I have an image in my mind of a sultry, suited figure, sitting cross-legged under Groucho glasses, smoking a cigar. This is, I believe, the truest characterization of my psyche.

Spotify: 2013

It is my philosophy in (appropriate, relevant) social situations to always reveal a guilty pleasure. (Not out of nowhere, obviously. That is just obnoxious. If conversation calls for it, though, or to make someone more comfortable, admitting a secret preference--which is not truly a secret, but rather called a "secret" to signify the speaker's shame--is a fine manner of moving things along.)

Since the start of the year, I have been cultivating a Spotify playlist, 2013, with tracks emphatic of various points throughout. The fundamental intent of such a steady selection was to (a, first of all) document the year through new media, writing being my chief method; and (b) review its progression.

This is mid-September, and I decided to check on the list.

While keying out the tracks--thrilled with a groovy anticipation--the conclusion climbed dubiously (hate that word) over me that my little rhythmic construction (the playlist) not only lacks the sort of calendrical lucidity for which I had hoped, it is so wild and shattered, as track 28, its songs barely tell the story of my year.

But I already typed the damn thing out.

So, I secretly adore that one Selena Gomnez song, and I am totally not ashamed of it, nor of the less sophisticated jams forthcoming. I am certainly not ashamed of how uninteresting this post may be. I would, however, feel particularly wretched adding one of those smiling text-message faces anyplace on a blog, so I shall simply say how grossly tempted I am to add a sideways smiley face to the end of this paragraph.


1. Do My Thing, Estelle
2.  Everything Is Everything, Lauryn Hill
3. Wildflowers, Tom Petty
4. I Wanna Be Sedated, The Ramones
5. Hate On Me, Jill Scott
6. Upside Down, Paloma Faith
7. Bright Lights Bigger City, Cee Lo Green
8. Black Sheep, Gin Wigmore
9. Cocaine, Eric Clapton
10. Thrift Shop, Macklemore & Ryan Lewis
11. Gold Lion, Yeah Yeah Yeahs
12. No Feelings, Sex Pistols
13. Hard To Handle, Otis Redding
14. She's A Rainbow, The Rolling Stones
15. (You Will) Set The World On Fire, David Bowie
16. W.O.M.A.N., Etta James
17. Get Up Offa That Thing, James Brown
18. And I Do Just What I Want, James Brown
19. F**kin' Problems, A$AP
20. You May Be Right, Billy Joel
21. Road To Nowhere, Talking Heads
22. If You Want Me To Stay, Sly & The Family Stone
23. Loving Cup, The Rolling Stones
24. Beast of Burden, The Rolling Stones
25. Tumbling Dice, The Rolling Stones
26. Scare Easy, Mudcrutch
27. Louie Louie, The Kingsmen
28. Shattered, The Rolling Stones
29. Un Monton de Estrellas, Gilberto Santa Rosa
30. Get Lucky, Daft Punk, Pharrell
31. Can't Hold Us, Macklemore & Ryan Lewis
32. Come & Get It, Selena Gomez
33. Gz And Hustlas, Snoop Dogg
34. I Love It, Melissa Adams
35. I Will Survive, Gloria Gaynor
36. I Take What I Want, Aretha Franklin
37. Chief Rocka, Lords of The Underground
38. Move On Up, Curtis Mayfield
39. Voodoo Child, Jimi Hendrix
40. Start Me Up, The Rolling Stones
41. Stay With Me, Faces
42. American Girl, Tom Petty And The Heartbreakers
43. American Woman, The Guess Who
44. Don't Bring Me Down, Electric Light Orchestra
45. It's All Over Now, The Rolling Stones
46. Sweet Thing, Van Morrison
47. Like a Rolling Stone, Bob Dylan
48. Blurred Lines, Robin Thicke
49. Keep It Moving, A Tribe Called Quest
50. Good Things, Aloe Blacc

Deleted at some point, for some reason I am sure was either indecisive or intoxicated:
 1. Nobody's Baby, Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings
2.  Baby, I Love You, Aretha Franklin
3. Cecilia, Simon & Garfunkel
4. Unchained (The Payback/ Untouchable), James Brown & 2Pac
5. Breakdown, Tom Petty And The Heartbreakers
6. Sweet Virginia, The Rolling Stones
7. Nothing Can Change This Love, Otis Redding
8. Won't Be Long, Aretha Franklin
9. Train In Vain, The Clash

:)