Thursday, October 27, 2011

I'm Not an Addict

Maybe that's a lie.

Again with the sweets. I've be bitten by the Chinese bakery bug and it won't let go. Like a tick! Bleeding me of my willpower and dedication to healthy eating, this convenient, cheap, and delicious habit has gotten pretty hard to shake. Well, at least for this week. Maybe when I return to New York after a minor excursion I can get this monkey off my back. In the meantime, I found this great illustration:

Thursday, October 6, 2011

R.I.P.

I thought I hated him, but...but...
"Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure — these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart."
- Steve Jobs, 1955-2011

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Something Personal

I'm here to talk about something "nice people" don't like talking about: your rights and responsibilities regarding the proper maintenance and storage of cheese.

Just kidding.

(But thank you, Captain Monterey Jack.)

Really, now: I do want to talk about something I've been in denial about; a couple of things actually. These are things that "girls" generally "like." "Girly things." Things that I have acted like I didn't care about, but I've recently decided to embrace. What are these feminine delights, you ask? Well: dessert and shoes.

How shallow! How crassly superficial! What inconsequential gornisht to post on your blog!

Hey man, kiss my grits. I like this stuff.

Let me start by saying that I know that men need shoes and dessert, too; whatever. And I know plenty of young, urban men who get very excited over footwear. But what I'm referring to is that stereotypical shoe fetish that women are known for having, and that terrifying tendency to destroy everything in one's path for chocolate cake every twenty-eight days or so.

I still don't think I'm one of those women. But let me begin with desserts: I've always had a tooth for salt; I love olives, anchovies, salt, you name it. I used to crave salt and eat salt...in secret, of course. Then, a few months ago, I had a chocolate lava cake and it changed my life. I was like, "Screw this 'I'm not a dessert person' rubbish. This is part of my meal!" And so it is. I now seek out chocolate cake in an attempt to recreate that mouth-blowing (get your head out of the gutter) experience, and even when I fail, it's usually well worth it. I also love flan and creme brulee. I also once had this white chocolate mousse with raspberry sauce- this was like, thirteen years ago- it was amazing. That was doubly surprising as I also claim to hate white chocolate, but apparently I don't. I just hate those white-chocolate Passover lollipops and Easter bunnies (keep your cheap white chocolate out of my springtime treats, thank you!) (If you are interested in Passover candy, read my post from about one year ago.)

So, yeah- I like dessert.

And now for the shoes. Even after admitting that I have a ton of shoes, therefore I must like them more than I realized or have admitted in the past, I must assert that I have an atypical female relationship with them. Many women, it seems, prefer shoe shopping to clothes shopping because, dare I say, they don't always love their bodies and would rather adorn their feet (sorry if that was offensive!). Beyond that, many women do have cute feet. I do not. I love my body, though, and clothes shopping is never a problem for me. Shoe shopping is. I have bunions and I guess they're genetic and I will not get surgery so they will haunt my life and my shoe-buying habits for as long as I live. And they will only get worse. The only hope is that my propensity towards orthopedic footwear (which is already relatively prominent for a woman of my age) will continue to flourish.

Now that I've gotten this out in the open, I really don't want to get too deep into it. So let me synopsize: I have weird feet, I like cute shoes, sometimes I buy the same shoes more than once because of poor decision making and bad feet, sometimes I take the same shoes to the cobbler and have them fixed more than twice. Lately, I spend so much time thinking about shoes that I close my eyes and see shoes. That could have something to do with my looking at the same image of a pair of shoes online, repeatedly, over an extended period of time. I don't know.

What do you think? I don't think it's that uncommon, really. I think my biggest problem is that I tell my boyfriend about it, and that makes me feel crazy, and I have to remind myself that he is male and I am female and sometimes I will do crazy things and he will act like he doesn't want to enable me when, in fact, he is just so sick of hearing about something he never took interest in to begin with, and now I'm on my third pair of shoes in three days and he's like, "Wait- what?" And we both know something is wrong with me.

So this is the reason why misogyny exists. And this is why the nineteen-fifties were the way they were. And this is why Disney princesses are suddenly all hanging out together on pink backpacks like they were ever part of the same narrative. And if you're wondering why my writing is so scattered, it's simply because my mind has room for only two things, and there's hardly any room left for dessert.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Be My Little Baby


Baby bok choy! How I love thee.

Thursday, March 31, 2011

Happy Barfday!

Happy birthday, baby blog! (And happy birthday to me, too.) It's the first anniversary of the birth of this blog! I've had so much to say that I haven't written, and I've written so much when I had nothing to say. Some of the topics I've wanted to approach but haven't found the time to have been:
-the in-transition transexual we found in the woods when I was in college, and how there's a picture of me on the internet from that day that I discovered only recently
-playing Scruples and realizing that the human race may actually have seen ethical improvements since 1987
-a review of "Sleep No More," an interactive adaptation of Macbeth that can only be described as a waking nightmare, custom-built on my deepest fears
-and many more!

But, alas, I have decided to really not post from work anymore since, frankly, I've been working a lot harder. And there's that paper I signed saying I wouldn't.
I haven't been posting from home because I try to limit my computer face-time.

Sooooooooo....happy birthday, you freakin' blog.


AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHRISTOPHER WALKEN!

Friday, February 18, 2011

Frankensong's Monster

Imagine...there are no good songs left to write. All we have are the gifts from the past. All we have, is this.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Bad Girl Manifesto

I talk a big talk about technology. I’m resistant to the way things are changing so rapidly, calling myself a pseudo-neo-luddite. But this internet, man; it’s got some nice stuff going on. For instance, I’m at work, and I’m not supposed to be blogging (as you, dear reader, are surely far too aware), but a friend tipped me off to Google docs and, damn, is it innocuous! It looks so professional! I look like I’m working! And who’s to say I’m not? Cultivating my creative voice as a writer could only enhance my capability to expand the literary capacity of others, right? RIGHT? So I can write the document in here, and then post it at my leisure. Way to incriminate myself!
Actually, that’s been my M.O. for pretty much as far back as I can remember. Not satisfied with merely breaking rules, I feel the urge to make it known. Maybe (definitely) I like the attention, but I think it’s more about flaunting my skills as a criminal mastermind. And, of course, honesty. We all know that following rules is a drag, but to simply behave as if I have done the right thing would be disingenuous. So, I consistently challenge authority, only to then start flapping my jaw about what a clever badass I am, or how my principles should transcend some arbitrary regulation.

Now, this isn’t a regular thing. I don’t come to work in a school and launder money out of our grant to buy cigarettes that I smoke in the little girls’ room. But I do have a small track record that I will not write about but am kind of proud of. I could argue that it’s astrological- we Ariens love rebelling- but any time I pull that card, all of my friends and family exchange glances acknowledging my loose grip on reality. Maybe I like to break the rules because it gives me a chance to tell a good story, but I’m no good at stories, so I usually just end up mentioning something I did in passing, and then murmuring strange details about the experience. And nonchalant mentions of breaches of edict certainly impresses the fellas, if you know what I mean.

But astrology and boasting aside, I think my main motivator for these unmentionable crimes has been fun. Doing what you’re not supposed to is exciting, as long as nobody gets hurt, of course. Well, that could be exciting, too, but it’s not really my cup of illegal tea. I don’t want to do any damage, honestly; I just want to do what I feel like doing when I feel like doing it. I don’t mean without thinking (although I have made some thoughtless moves in the past); I just believe that sometimes rules cannot decree precisely what should take place in each moment of every person’s life.

Rules exist for a reason. I enforce them in on a regular basis. I am,
and have been for the past few years, something of an authority figure. So I always find amusement in reprimanding children for breaking rules, because I can truly empathize with their plight. I don’t get off on enforcement and trip on power; I believe that respect has to be earned and I strive to give the respect that I expect to receive, be it from students or colleagues. But power plays can be delicate, which is why it is vital to have a system of explicit tenets to which we can refer. Why did I feel the urge to challenge these precepts and compose this post? Probably in a vain attempt to absolve myself as I guiltily look over my shoulder in case my boss should arrive. Which she just did.

Rebel comrades, I’m signing out.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Monday, January 31, 2011

Monday, January 17, 2011

Dirty Water

So, pat me on the back: I'm posting, once again, from home.

Ahh, home. Where you can lay in bed on a lovely Martin Luther King Day, and hear raindrops, even when it's not raining. Hear water in the...walls? Wait a second. Hear dripping in your kitchen. Shit.

This happened today, AGAIN. My building sucks. I went upstairs to politely inform my neighbors that we are all actually not supposed to have washers and dryers in our apartments, and it was apparently the first time in her thirty years of living here that she had heard of this. Maybe someone should also inform her that people also don't enjoy the sounds of banging and screaming...

A few minutes later, a woman came to my apartment door, asking me if I had something running in my kitchen. So, you see where this is going. My kitchen is no longer flooded. As for the people downstairs from me, well, that can't be said.

Life handed me some lemons today, and they smelled like moldy laundry water and carried a bedbug with them. But, don't worry, I'm really upset about something much more significant: the rumor that the zodiac has changed. DON'T BELIEVE THE HYPE. You can keep your sign, my dearies, or, if you prefer, you can leave astrology at the door.

Today is not about astrology, but I guess it could be about my apartment, a little bit. I mean, blacks and whites are certainly living together. As for not judging each other and living in peace, I think some of us still have a little way to go.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

Little Swans in Disgusting Boxes

Back by "popular" demand: I will be posting about something other than never posting! Like a big girl, I am sitting at home, typing on my computer, not breaking any rules. I'm comfortable; I've got yams baking in the oven (literally- please don't get any ideas), and I'm enjoying my beloved public radio broadcasts. Too bad I don't have too much to say.
I would like to reel about something that really smashes my grains, but I'm generally feeling okay. Except about the state of the world; that scares me a little. I mean, if you were to ask me if the world has gone crazy, I would say yes. But I've only been around for about twenty-seven years. What do I know about this crazy world, anyway?
Let's talk about film. Recently, my boyfriend and I went to see a certain film about ballerinas starring an array of stunning Jewesses, and we enjoyed it, the same way you would enjoy watching, say, snuff porn. Or bunnies being butchered, if it were attached to a compelling, melodramatic plot. So, I guess like Roger and Me? Okay, I'm not doing to film justice, but here's what I'm getting at: the movie freaked us out. It was visually grotesque. After seeing it, we woke up in the middle of the night screaming at the top of our lungs. So that's the review I've been giving everyone of the movie. Why? Because it's hilarious, and I feel that I'm giving people the fair warning that I didn't exactly receive prior to my viewing experience.
But here's the rub: most of my friends who saw it were not so fazed by the movie. I'm wondering: are we wimps, or is everyone else so hardened by our oversexed/hyper-violent media that they found it to be pretty tame? Has the world gone crazy? Yes.
Okay, five-paragraph essay, we're rounding the final curve. What did we learn? Want to go see Black Swan? Do it. Try to keep your eyes open the whole time. Um, if you tell me I look like Mila Kunis I'll give you a hundred dollars*. Thank you for reading my blog. It's good to know somebody cares. And in case you didn't know, I'm pretty sure that Arnold Schwarzenegger is no longer governor of California- I thought there would have been some sort of grand farewell...I mean, people cared about him, right? So, what I'm trying to say is, thanks for caring.

*Not really, but please do anyway.