Short
There are some lovely photos of the Robert Hillary King book signing that I stumbled into the other night up on Babylon Falling’s site. If you want to play a fun game, you can play Where’s Amanda with them. Even more interesting, though, is reading about his story.
I also now have a strange desire to get L-O-V-E tattooed on my knuckles.
Vampire Crush Alert
The vampire crush thing makes a lot of sense when compared to my pale, emaciated, British musician crush thing.
It’s not easy being green
Inspired by the hippy dippy green festival, my poor health, angry skin, and the transformation of my office into a green business, I am slowly but surely attempting to “green” my apartment and my life. Starting with the non-luxury stiffness of recycled toilet paper, a “preserve” razor for shaving my legs (not very hippy dippy), and an attempt at wearing a “natural” makeup line from whole foods.
After work, I went to the doctor, bought some insanely expensive yet beautiful tights from Wolford (I wear them like everyday, I deserve the best!) on Maiden Lane from a frenchie saleswoman, had a yet unveiled cocktail at Otis called “The Maiden”, then stumbled into a lovely place called Babylon Falling, featuring a former Black Panther author signing books, drank some complimentary wine, and purchased (I can’t help my fricking self, I have a disease) Marquis de Sade’s Philosophy in the Boudoir. I am all about used books lately, but when I saw this book, I fell in love. It is a Penguin Classics deluxe edition with the best cover artwork . . . I am so easy. I imagine I will die in some sort of fire involving a million books surrounding me and I am totally satisfied with that as my way to go. My ashes will be indecipherable from the ashes of great works of genius. Mwuhahaha.
I am totally insane, but very kind, I promise you. I just fall in love a lot with things and creatures. Does anyone know of a remedy? Sometimes being so smitten hurts (only when I can’t have what I want, of course).
In my mind, I’m probably the biggest sex maniac you ever saw.
In my usual runt-like fashion, I have gone and used up all of my energy on constantly coughing in a really gross way, so I apologize for the lack of tickling! I feel and look like a hot mess. Under-eye circles without any will to cover them up. Wildly messy long hair. Red bother of a nose. And skinny jeans that are all crumpled and not nearly tight enough to look good. And I’ll pretty much ingest any disgusting thing that promises a bit of remedy (and that doesn’t include a piece of chicken, you sickos).
Jeannie DuBois/Coney messed with a bigger dog today (as usual), he pinned her, and did some bloody damage to her ear. So we are bundled up on the couch. Streaming television shows and feeling extremely sorry for ourselves/perhaps each other. I cough and grimace. Sprawled out and motionless, she looks really grumpy, with one ear stuck up with bandages.
It is at times like these when I find it necessary to provide a link to something more entertaining than ye olde tickle fight. And that thing at the moment (amongst a world of things) is missbehave magazine. I like the print version a lot and surprise, I like their blog too! I am much too lazy to dig through their archives at the moment, but if you get sucked in, you might find a link to some sort of device that analyzes your blog and attempts to guess the gender of the blogger (booger). They guessed my femaleness, thank goodness, but only by 55%, and stated that the content is fairly gender neutral. Not an exact science, I’m sure. But I am pretty sure tickle fight is sickly female.
I am a sickly female.
Fitting in
I still need to see the Afghanistan exhibits at the library AND the asian art museum, the Warhol jewish exhibit, and NOW I am planning to attend the green festival this weekend.
And, hmm, how am I going to fit in the YSL exhibit at the De Young? At least that one is running for a long time. The problem is that time races faster than I can run.
Also, there is a Harnas USA Fundraiser at the Dovre Club from 6-9pm on November 19th. Be there or be square!
Why oh why can’t I be a lady who lunches? A volunteer with a packed schedule of cultural city events and benefits.
Oh, and I think I am fighting off The Disease again. The Disease is my name for the weird sinus infection that travels around our office in circles and never seems to leave. Maybe we should stage an exorcism. I certainly look like I need one.
Shut up and let me go
Currently . . .
Listening to: MGMT radio station on last.fm
Surfing: weardrobe.com
Reading: newest David Sedaris book and Catcher in the Rye
Watching: True Blood. Trying to get through the first installment of Grindhouse (I’ve already seen Death Proof, which was truly outrageous in a good way)
Obsessing over: Memories of last night’s unbelievable reflexology and acupressure treatment (70 minutes for $30). I don’t even want to give the link to the establishment because I fear people will catch on.
Productivity level: Average to High. Lunch with friends at the Presidio Social Club, laundry (believe it or not), dishes, worked on my magazine recycling/collage project, cleaned, organized, blah blah blah, boring . . .yawn, what day is it?
Feeling for: my dog who is still wearing a cone around her head
Staring at: the full bottle of wine on the table
Needing: more room. Specifically, a much larger closet and more spots for my books.
Smiling to myself because: obama!, prop 2!, having fun in my life, my dress collection, volunteering makes me feel nice, a cute little kiddo just moved into my building and always says “HI PUPPY!” and “BYE PUPPY!” over and over again when she sees us.
Thinking about: “green” xmas gifts
Tip for the ladies: Ardell “Wispies” – drugstore lashes that complete me. They only occasionally appear on the shelves at Walgreens. And if I spot them, I buy them all.
Tip for the boys: Wear clothes that fit well. You’ll be 100x hotter. To girls like me, at least. Not sure if you want that.
Secret: I’ve been wearing a mini, seventies call-girl style robe from American Apparel for the past few hours, for no real reason. Weird.
Tease the Season
Dare I say, after a recent, pervasive sense of feeling extremely anchored (crushed, at times) by cruelty, misfortune, tragedy, helplessness, recklessness, and at the mercy of the underbelly of life as it took away my appetite, motivation, spark, esteem, and desire . . . that I am actually feeling more resilient, tough, and quite optimistic at the moment? I feel like, in my slimy stupor, I was finally forced to pop open one restless eye, clear the goop, and take a blurry look at the situation. And in response to the horrors I witnessed, I frantically slithered all over the floor to gather the broken pieces of my soul and muster up the strength to mush them back together, and form myself into something that could rise up from the muck that almost drowned me.
Nearly every day, throughout a large period of my life, I stood and moved around on my toes. With grace even. My bleeding and blistering and deforming toes. Covered with a thin layer of lamb’s wool to protect them from the hard wood touching the hard floor beneath. Pain meant nothing to me. The movement, the music, the challenge, and accomplishment meant everything. I am back on my toes again.
In other news, my dog has a heart murmur and a pretty icky infection all over her stomach. And a cone on her head! Adorable!!! She loves to go to the vet and she loves to be examined and given special care. I even suspect that she loves wearing that cone on her head because she feels special. She is special. And she is my heart.
Business time
If you’d like to sign a petition to attempt to end that pesky, wasteful junk mail cluttering your mailbox, go here.
Parting thoughts
From my now finished Rilke (Catcher in the Rye is my new bag book):
Not until long afterward was it to become clear to him how much he had then intended never to love, in order not to put anyone in the terrible position of being loved. It occurred to him years later and, like other projects, this too had been impossible. For he had loved and loved again in his solitude; each time with waste of his whole nature and with unspeakable fear for the liberty of the other. Slowly he learned to penetrate the beloved object with the rays of his feeling, instead of consuming it in them. And he was spoiled by the fascination of recognizing through the ever more transparent form of his beloved, the expanses it opened to his desire infinitely to possess.
How he could weep for nights then with yearning to be himself penetrated by such rays. But a woman loved, who yields, is still far from being a woman who loves.
Because I need cheering up and maybe you do too?
This is one of the funniest girls ev-er. I found her on yelp. It seems as though she is branching out. And I love her.
