Sadist with Newer Magazines

I just had the most painful visit with the dentist - and yet, I suspect, oddly ineffective. I don't think he actually CLEANED anything, but rather just scraped away the whole enamel layer and tortured the inner nerve so that I would THINK he was cleaning something. Honestly, I didn't even think I had nerves in some of those places (like areas beside the gumline, etc).

Well, at least he didn't tell me I had a cavity, like those three other lying sons of bitches I saw three years ago, before I gave up on dentists all together. And he also fed me the most hilarious line:

"We recommend that you get braces."
"HA! Not gonna happen, man."

Three Funny Things

1. A guy getting tazered.
2. A guy getting pepper sprayed.

and the infallible...

3. A guy getting kicked in the nuts.

Diary.

1. Got a job. Oh yeah!
2. Learned how to make kimchi, theoretically. Three kinds of kimchi, to be exact.
3. Listened to my dad listen to his new Kenny G live dvd - in surround sound on volume, like, 60 (ie, the people across the street could hear it). But since I dragged him to see Black Sabbath, among others, I guess it's fair that I suffer.
4. Listened to Kenny G talk about how he first met Michael Bolton, followed by a performance with MICHAEL BOLTON.

"Screw you guys, I'm going home. Talking poo is where I draw the line."

Punch and Pie

Okay, I just got the joke NOW. Back in 2001, I attended a meeting that promised "punch and pie" and the organizer thought it was so hilarious.

Back in 1999, this joke was featured in the South Park movie.

'Mr. Garrison, how come our moms arrested Terrence and Philip?'
'Well, your moms are just upset. They're probably all on their periods or something.'
'Mr. Garrison, Wendy and I think that was a sexist statement.'
'Well, I'm sorry, Wendy. But I just don't trust anything that bleeds for five days and doesn't die.'

Bridget Jones's Diary

Holy crap. You know you're bitter when you watch this movie and realize that you love it...and hell, even find it funny in spite of the horrible cliches, like, oh, the adorably clumsy, foot-in-mouth heroine that all modern women are supposed to see as reflections of themselves. Strong, but vulnerable, blah blah blah. OMG, what have I become?

Much, much better than the sequel, however, which I saw first because it was playing on a flight, and apparently I liked it enough to seek out the first one. The sequel took the adorable clumsiness to such a desperate level that Bridget Jones ceased to resemble a real person.

Things I Did Not Know

"...I was not happy with Team Canada, they shouldn't have lost to Switzerland."
???... "Wait. Are you talking about the Olympics?"
"Yes."
"O my god, when did they start?"
"About a week ago."

"...I don't think 'girly' drinks necessarily correspond to their alcohol content."
"What about, say, margaritas?"
"Not the way I make margaritas. I guess the frozen ones don't have a lot of alcohol."
"WHAT?? There's such a thing as a non-frozen margarita?"

Incidentally, I did venture to have one of those last night. It was called a Cadillac, and it was delightful. It's amazing what you learn every day.

Risks and Humiliations

So I got dumped officially last Saturday, and I was totally sad about it for exactly 24 hours...and then I watched Back to the Future 2 on Sunday, and I don't know, I was just over it, somehow. But in the time in between, I got a lot of words of comfort and encouragement from friends, including: "That guy sounds like such a dumbass," "You're better off in the long run without him, except for the humiliation," and "Don't give him the satisfaction of even giving it a second thought."

I noticed a running theme in all this advice, and my response to it was that I actually don't care about what he thinks - whether he feels triumphant or thinks I'm a loser - that none of that gives me either blush or regret, and that the only thing I really DO care about is whether or not I succeed. That's probably why I fail in those relationship endeavors in which I'm the more interested party, because in my eagerness to succeed I never bother to restrain myself, leaving no stone unturned, so that in the end I appear desperate, which everyone knows is a big turn-off.

But as for the shame: does the princess feel shame in NOT kissing the toad? Of course not. She might be sad about not getting her prince, but at the end of the day she's still a princess and he's still a toad.

(Translation: princess = the one with balls, toad = the one without balls)

In my conversation with the Bang, we were discussing the merits of being the type who "love like you've never been hurt before." She wondered if it were not better to sustain that enthusiasm rather than become bitter and cynical at 25. She thought perhaps it was, while I in my hurt state thought that sooner or later I needed to wise up and learn from my mistakes, and stop making such stupid choices. But now that I'm over the hurt phase, I'm reconsidering my position. I'm starting to agree with the Bang's conclusion; because while you can certainly discipline yourself to endure the pain - and it seems, judging from my experience this time, that I have finally learned to do just that - you can't really train yourself to be head-over-heels happy. That's something you get by surprise. So in those rare encounters when I have a chance to be really excited, and entertain even briefly the potential of falling in love again, wouldn't I be a fool to hold back and deny myself that most magical and enjoyable of surprises?

The crucial thing, of course, is that you DO train yourself to bite the bullet and pick yourself up after a disaster. It's an essential component to being a gambler.

Recently, I was reading an old post from this blog in which I was quoting Andrew WK. He writes:

'Attraction, love, romance, and intimacy are all risks, and each time we engage in an experience with another person, we put ourselves in a vulnerable place. I personally think this is great. I think exposing oneself to the passions of life is the only way to form - it's an opportunity to loose sense of who we are, only to snap back with a better understanding of what it means to be "myself."'

I had posted this quote because it was part of a larger manifesto that I found to be especially hilarious, but I don't think I quite appreciated at the time what Andrew WK was talking about with all the forming and snapping back business. But now, I think I know what he means, and I can see how one might believe in his paradox that 'the more vulnerable you can be, the less you'll need to protect yourself from being hurt.' After losing myself and picking up the pieces again, here are some of the things I learned:

1. I'm a stronger person for realizing that I'm able to take risks. It's one of my great strengths, and an important part of who I am.
2. What matters to me is that I tried my best. If I fail while trying my best, I have nothing to regret; and having no regrets goes a (surprisingly) long way to balming the bleeding gash of losing something that once made you happy.
3. I'm a happier and more interesting person when I'm not obsessing about one person. As a naturally obsessive personality, as long as I channel it in the right direction, I can derive hours of entertainment researching music, movies, news, comedy, obscenities, fashion, dance, aesthetic theory, German, and hell, even Greek and Latin literature. Obsessing about the one tends to obliterate the rest.
4. I can always count on myself for laughs, and somehow I've managed to convince the coolest people in the world to be my friends. How's that for an accomplishment? For sure, no small potatoes.

Pump It

It looks like the Black Eyed Peas have done a cover of Dick Dale's Misirlou. This confirms my long-held belief that surf rock makes EXCELLENT dance music - as anyone who's seen a beach party movie would know. Perhaps the popularity of the Black Eyed Peas will help convince more people that this is the case. And perhaps, even, I might one day go to a party and it will be like a beach party...

Ha! Not likely, I guess.

Ps, can I just say how awesome the Black Eyed Peas have become since they sold out? When I think about their early "Where's the Love?" days, I'm overwhelmed with relief. There's balance in the universe: for every Metallica, God gives us a Black Eyed Peas.

The worst thing

is sitting through a dinner party where there is someone who thinks we're interested in things we're not, such as: her cat, her mom and dad's job of tracking down old church organs, her boyfriend, her cousin's invention of a tapioca and soy flour mix to accomodate her gluten allergy, etc. The current of pain that shot through all our bodies whenever she started taking over the conversation was almost palpable.

The rest of the dinner was excellent, however. We had roast lamb. I even picked up a new joke.

Back in in the middle ages there was the big famine and everyone was dying. So a group of the townspeople went to the church and started praying for God to send them some bread. Miraculously, a loaf of bread fell from the sky. So every day after that, the townpeople continued to go to church and pray for bread. This went on for four days, and on the fifth day, the bread stopped falling. Distraut at the loss of their miracle, the townpeople investigated...until they found a leper with no arms and no legs stuck in the rafters.

Changing topics: weird dream. Last night I dreamt I had a dog who could curl himself up and transform into a basketball.

Back to the Future 2

That was a great movie. I can't believe I waited 15-20 years to see it.

Theme and Variation

I had my one recurring dream last night, but this time it was significantly different. I was at the Vatican or someplace very religious and solemn, and I had to take a dump badly (this is new; normally I just go, without noting the physical sensation of having to go in my dream). I visit the (coed) bathroom, and in there are two wise old guys reading scriptural stories, and otherwise all is quiet. I realize that I'm too embarrassed to drop a crap and disturb their quiet, so I leave. But the need to go is so strong that presently I return. I try to crawl under into the nearest stall (I do not know why I didn't just walk through the door), but I'm blocked by a pair a feet. I pull out and look around, and I notice that the entire bathroom is filled with crappers and the gentle sound of plopping craps. Some of the stall doors are open, and the crappers I make eye-contact with smile and wave. Meanwhile, the two guys reading continue to read.

This is a complete reversal of my normal dream, where I'm in a public place taking a crap in a stall-less toilet; but this much was the same: I was still wondering, "Why doesn't anyone but me feel embarrassed about this?"

I don't know what this dream means. I'm usually the ballsy one, the last person to feel self-conscious about anything. Perhaps I need to channel my inner shy person through dreams.

Did You Know?

Eyes that have popped out of their sockets can still see, as long as the nerves have not been severed.

Five Men I Love Love Love!

The subject of my semi-sexual crushes came up in conversation, so here there are. The order is a little fluid.

1. David Johansen
2. Joey Ramone
3. Izzy Stradlin
4. Lux Interior
5. Woody Allen

Hey, Slash isn't even on the list anymore.

Old Hat

for everyone except me, I'm sure. I just learned today that

RONALD Reagan's Chief of Staff was named DONALD Reagan.

HA HA HA HA HA!
"You just went up a notch. That puts you at Notch 1." - Huggy Bear

FYI, I also learned today that Johnny Ramone was a Nixon-Reagan man. Tear. But I also read that he was the one who insisted that the Ramones keep their Look (and Johnny did have the goofiest hair), so I guess that puts him up at Notch 1, too.

She's a Sensation

No matter what you do (you do)
I give my heart to you (to you)
And oh oh baby, I will give to you
No matter what they say
We can find a way
And oh oh baby, we can find a way

I didn't know it til I walked you home
That I feel the way I do
And I don't care what the neighbors say
I always will be true
I always will love you
Love you
a-wo oh wo wo

Beating a Dead Horse: Smallville

Lana: Chloe said that you were going to be on the farm all week.
Clark: Yeah. My dad has to see his cardiologist in Metropolis, so I have double-duty.
Lana: What? I thought he was getting better.
Clark: He was. But when your heart goes through something like that, the scars don't just go away.
Lana [pensive]: No... I guess they don't.

You know, I would die of shock if Lana said ANYTHING else one day.

Beyond Parody: Cheney

Michael Jackson is the proverbial freak who, as one of my readers likes to say, is "beyond parody," because every time we make fun of him, he goes and does something so weird that our jokes can't even keep up. Classic example: we give him grief for molesting boys, then he goes and dangles a baby off a balcony.

The Republican party is known for two things: being evil and being dumb. This caricature was nicely divided between the president and the vice president around their first election, though in the second term more people are beginning to think that maybe Bush represents the evil as much as he represents the dumb. Cheney, not to be outdone, also went out to prove that he can be as dumb as he is evil.

I mean, really: this hunting accident? No parody could have come up with something so perfect. I was about to leave the issue alone, but then it came out today that the victim of the shooting suffered a mild heart attack as a result of one of the pellets being lodged in his heart. What if Cheney had killed a man? Seriously, you can't make this stuff up.

I came across the most bizarre quote in the NY Times article I was reading. From the shooting victim's doctor: "There's tens of thousands of people that go around with shrapnel in their body every year," - ie, it's no big deal.

What? Yeah, there are tens of thousands of people walking around with shrapnel in their bodies. They're called veterans.

One more quote, from the Onion:
"Being a compassionate conservative, Cheney immediately apologized and offered to snap the poor man's neck."

German Proverbs

Alles hat ein Ende, nur die Worst hat zwei.
Everything has an end, only the sausage has two.

In der Not isst man die Wurst auch ohne Brot!
In an emergency one even eats sausage without bread!

Das ist mir Wurst.
It's all sausage to me.

"Feels Like Old Times"

I remember the first time I saw Annie Hall, I was none too impressed. I didn't think it was as funny as people made it out to be, and I found it thoroughly depressing. I seem to recall reading a review afterwards that said that the theme of Annie Hall was "love dies"; okay, I can see that, I thought, except that their love never seemed to thrive or go through any good times, but just died slowly and continuously, so that it was like an unnecessary heap of depressingness to dwell on how they couldn't make it work out.

It's amazing to see how much time changes you, even though you think you haven't done much since then, or that you were pretty intelligent even in your girlish days. I saw Annie Hall the first time before I had known a broken heart, and so I couldn't empathize with the desperation - even though I could process it on a cogitative level (and conclude that it was a depressing thing) - of watching your chance go by and fade away, and trying everything you can to save it, all while knowing that it won't make a difference. The "good times" of the relationship in Annie Hall were not the important part. It was enough that they were implied, like through all the horrible dates in between that made Alvy realize, via comparison, that he and Annie were happy together even though they fought most of their onscreen time. In fact, their happy moments onscreen are pretty much extraneous, because no one cares to see happy people in love. And anyways, I've come to think that that's how real-life relationships are: most of the time, they're a lot of work, and a huge pain in the ass compared to being alone, and a lot of fighting and compromise. The happy moments - when you're not playing mind games, when you're on the same page as your lover and enthusiastic and willing; when you love and feel loved - are few and far in between; but the memory of it is so compelling that it carries you through all the bad times, and convinces you when you're trying out other relationships that you can't do it, that nothing but the one was ever worth it.

That's why I thought Diane Keaton's performance of "Feels Like Old Times" (twice) was so appropriate and poignant. Very little of love exists outside our memories. We do it all for the sake of those old times.

Billboard, this week

1. Barry Manilow (career high)
2. Mary J. Blige
3. Andrea Bocelli (career high)
4. Jamie Foxx
5. Heather Headley
6. Il Divo
7. Eminem
8. Carrie Underwood
9. James Blunt
10. Train

Source: USA Today

As a child of MTV, I found myself socksless at these results (knocked my socks off...). Of the ten, only four get any circulation on MTV - the organization that masterminds the manipulation of children's tastes, and therefore the entire music industry...or so I thought. If this chart shows anything, it's how little teenagers actually contribute to the market, and that as consumers, they are pretty insignificant. Of the artists that are on MTV's rotation - Mary J. Blige, Jamie Foxx, Eminem, and James Blunt (and maybe Train; but I think they're more VH1, if anything) - only Eminem and James Blunt might be said to belong to the youth, though Eminem is so huge by now that no one group can claim his success. So that leaves us with James Blunt as the only artist out of the ten that MTV is endorsing in a purposeful way; the only one out of their current hundred or so who has come to any fruit.

And DEFINITELY NOT the most obvious choice.

What have I learned today? Perhaps VH1, as much as it sucks and seems entirely useless (except for the history stuff), perhaps it is on the right track. Pander to the adults, because they actually have money.

On the other hand, if you gather the lessons from the past, you find that the things that turn out to be historically significant were often not recognized as such at the time. I mean, there once was a time when the RAMONES were opening for Pearl Jam (in the mid-90s - this was even after we should have known better from 20/20 hindsight). It's inevitable that children dictate what will be historically significant because they're the ones who come out, twenty years later, and say, THAT was what influenced me, that was the good stuff. As for the music that doesn't find a torchbearer, its seed dies and we all laugh at what a joke it was.

But in the end, that doesn't solve my puzzlement: surely it is not MTV's aim to be historically respectable (because it will never be that anyways; cf their reality shows) over the making of a quick buck? Its raison d'etre jives so bizarrely with the way they conduct business.

I think this is all a long way of saying: hire me, MTV. Give me a job. That pays more than poverty-level wages.

Chocolate Banana Cream Pie

I noticed that I didn't post anything yesterday. The one thing that was really worthy of note was the most delectable banana cream pie I had with breakfast. Mmmgrrhhmm.

Moulin Rouge

What a dismal movie! Normally I can't stop watching a movie in the middle of it, just because I need closure and a part of me hopes that it will get better - I even watched all of the god-awful Moonlight and Valentino, starring Jon Bon Jovi - but Moulin Rouge was unbearable. I think it was the way they used modern pop songs for all their musical numbers that convinced me that, even if it turned out to be an okay movie, it would never be worth all the pain.

I remember when I first heard the theory, "All Nicole Kidman movies suck," one skeptic ventured, by way of counterargument, "What about Moulin Rouge?" The theorist answered, "Like I said, all Nicole Kidman movies suck." I fair-mindedly tried to withhold judgment til I saw Moulin Rouge, even though I was pretty convinced on the other evidence. Now I know for sure that the theory is bullet proof. Nicole Kidman was particuarly unwatchable. Her "acting" looked liked just a whole lot of histrionic screeching.

Tristia

Totally rocked my presentation! Nothing else to report. Enjoying the company of the fam.

Bad-Tasting Herbal Remedies

My totally super mom is in town this week and next week, and because I'm sick, she came armed with all the crazy old wives' medicines that will hopefully make me all better. My favorite is a spoonful of (medicinal) honey. Another, particularly awful treatment is this powder that smells like old Asian grandpas. You take a small spoonful of it and pour it down your throat, and your not allowed to wash it down with any water.

So far, no progress. At this point, I'm willing to put aside my skepticism of quack cures, if only I can get out of this. Being sick is such a drag.

Happy Birthday W. Axl Rose!

I can't believe I almost forgot. Axl turns 44 today. Even though he's middle-aged and crazy, there's at least one fan out there who still loves him as much as she did back when "Don't Cry" first inducted her to an awareness of the Kantian sublime. Much love to you, Axl; forever and ever, loyally.

Current Audio: The Stitches

Totally. For the last 48 hours, at least, I haven't been able to listen to anything else. The whole of 8x12 is about 18 minutes long, and I can't get enough! Exhilarating experience.

It's one of those things where, if that's where you itch, nothing else will scratch. Cut off from the entire speaking world, and helpless watching a promising new romance die out - I'm bored and frustrated. But the Stitches are satisfying.

That Woman's Got Me Drinking

She said she'd always love me
She said I was the one
Now see the way she treats me
Just like a piece of scum
That woman's got me drinking
Look at the shape I'm in
Give me one, two, three, four, five,
six, seven, eight, nine, ten bottles of gin

If I had the guts to do it
I'd take the long goodbye
Instead I'll love her long and hard
And love her 'til I die
That woman's got me drinking
Look at the shape I'm in
Give me one, two, three, four, five,
six, seven, eight, nine, ten bottles of gin

Hunting Pants

"What about these pants I got on? You think they're okay?"

"Imagine you're a deer. You're prancing around. You get thirsty. You spot a little brook. You put your little deer lips down to the cool, clear water - BAM. A fuckin' bullet rips off part of your head. Your brains are lying on the ground in little bloody pieces. Now I aks you: do you give a fuck what kind of pants the son-of-a-bitch who shot you was wearing?"

AIM

Okay, I finally caved and set up an account. This is what happens when you can't talk to real people. Unfortunately, none of my bitches seem to be online right now. Get online, PLEASE. I'm so bored!

ps - I'm sure you can guess my screenname. It's the same as my name here. Stay in tonight and chat with me.

Echo

Yesterday, my class was reading Book 3 of Ovid's Metamorphoses, including the story about Echo and Narcissus. We arrived at some profound points (no thanks to me, of course, in my silenced state) about how Ovid is engaging with the genre of tragedy in his Theban stories. And one of the characteristics of tragedy is that it's all about collateral damage. No one actually deserves any of the terrible things that happen to them, they just happen to be standing in the way of reckless, unjust gods through some bad luck. The Greek tragedy is not a morality play.

Considering all that, it's striking when Echo prays to the goddess Nemesis that Narcissus may never be loved by the one he desires. Nemesis? Nemesis rarely appears in tragedy, if at all, precisely because the tragic world is not an orderly one, in which crime A equals punishment B. Instead, justice figures as something primoridial and chaotic, vengeful at best, such as the Furies. By mentioning Nemesis, Ovid seems to be deliberately inviting a wrong, cartoonish interpretation of the tragey. Thus the Echo episode ends, and the Narcissus one continues.

Or so it seems. At the very end of the Narcissus story, Echo makes a last cameo. As Narcissus dies, grieving for his own death, Echo grieves, too - even though she was the one who prayed for this to happen. Again, collateral damage. Echo is the real tragic heroine because she committed no crime, but was standing in the way of a haphazard justice.

Anyways, I bring all this up because I AM Echo this week. Not being able to talk has robbed me of my entire personality. And there's nothing I can do but watch as the embers of a new relationship die out, in this tricky first stage; because once you take personal charm out of the equation, anything I do will be construed as either (a) neglectful, or (b) needy, depending on which tactic I choose to play. That's too bad. But perhaps once the embers start to die, there's nothing you can do about it anyways. I'm beginning to suspect more and more that that's the case.

At any rate, I'll feel much better once I can talk again. Being Ovidian is not all it's cracked up to be.

Problem Solved

I just skipped all my classes today, except the big seminar.

Hell

Cartman:
"Friends, I have to tell you that last night I received a phone call from beyond the grave-eh. It was our departed friend, Kennih! Calling from the depths of hell! And he described what hell is like in horrid detail-uh. He said that in hell, the smell is awful. He said that in hell, everyone speaks Spanish. He said there is water in hell, but if you drink it you pee blood out your ass for seven hours-uh! And perhaps worst of all, in hell, there are dozens and dozens of little trinket stores! But they all have the same little trinkets in them-eh!"

* * *

Kenny:
(Where am I?)

Attendant:
¿Qué?

Kenny:
(WHERE AM I?)

Attendant:
¿Qué?

I don't know how I'm going to make it tomorrow

Today I just had German in the morning; luckily, a light day. I thought I wasn't feeling too sick, aside from the throat thing, so I went to class. Then I thought I'd do tomorrow's homework at my office, and then go home, but instead I passed out for two hours (though, somehow avoiding the ubiquitous office-nap drool). Then I went home and slept for several more hours.

I can't imagine what tomorrow will be like. Thursday are my days when I spend 7 hours just in class - including one three-hour seminar. I don't feel like I'm on the upward curve yet on this parabola of sickness, so if today's little experiment was an indication of anything, tomorrow will be the most exhausting day ever.