Monday, May 31, 2004


I slept until 4

This rock n roll lifestyle is getting to me. I have enough energy, just, to watch DVDs over at Shauna and Katy's house. The house is astoundingly, resoundingly empty. And, messy. I should be getting over there so we can begin our sitting down.

Called Alexia today and she has a new love interest. Enough of a love interest that she would call me up to talk to me about it. That's big. I too have a new(ish) love interest. Actually, not new, but old. But new in a new way. Part of me, internally, goes like this: "Now that you have me, will you still want me?" Then it occurs to me that I'm not exactly the type of girl who can be had, per se. Or at least I thought that I wasn't.

I'm really happy that I got to sing on the At Dusk album. I'm especially happy because it sounds really pretty, and it sounds like it belongs, not like they arbitrarily decided to put me in one of their songs. I'm even happier that they seem to like it being there. I'm getting moderately excited about finishing my new album. I don't want to rush it, like the first one. I want it to coalesce like a beautiful jello mold.

Wednesday, May 26, 2004


How many houses is too many houses?

I have thirty five minutes until I'm supposed to be at work. I can still feel the burrito in my tummy, topped off with a day-old blueberry donut. I've watched Oprah since my last entry, mainly because I knew that George Michael was going to be on today. I really really don't like Oprah's interview tactics, or persona, or how she lip synchs from the audience while the performers are on-stage. "Four houses is just too many," said Oprah Winfrey to George Michael. Wow! I always thought that once I had four houses I'd finally feel complete inside. It's so nice to finally hear that there's such a thing as too many houses. Good for you, Oprah, to speak out about his important and controversial issue. I sure hope she doesn't get sued by Fanny Mae or Champion Mortgage ("When your bank says 'No,' Champion says 'Yes!'") How super-rich can someone be to not even think twice about saying something like that on national television. But I digress. George sang a new song about his gay lover from Texas (what a strange set of things George and I have in common), and "Father Figure" and "Faith." Boy can he write a catchy tune! Boy does he have an excellent voice. Boy does he perspire a lot! (Again, the shared traits we have. . . I wonder if he's a Pisces with a Cancer Moon like me?)

I wonder if I have any real dreams at all. Last night I hung out with Jon Bon Jovi, but he was shorter and squatter and less Anglo-Saxon. The weather's been bad so business has been slow. Searing pain woke me up this morning at six thirty, and kept me awake for a while until I remembered that I had left over pain killers from the ankle injury. The searing pain is coming back. At least it's only one day a month that this happens.

Tuesday, May 25, 2004


Jolene, Part-Time Lover, and then finally . . .

I seriously and completely rocked "Enough is Enough (No More Tears)" at the Alibi tonight. It starts out all slow and pretty, all Barbara "Gentle Yentle" Streisand and Donna "Simmer Down Now "Summers, but then the pre-cursor to girl power (goil power?) Disco beat sets in, and Amy starts jumping. I was all, high kick here, high kick there, electric knee-slide, aerobic cardio karaoke boxing on that mother. I was pulling a Shauna by singing a duet by myself. Whenever I fear my karaoke performance is lacking, I think to myself, "What would Marian do?" It works every time.

I'm feeling, despite all the fun I've had today, a bit burnt out on people, which is a bad sign considering that I have five straight days of being paid to be friendly.

Monday, May 24, 2004


Part-Time Lover

I'm at Tiny's downloading "Part-Time Lover." It came into my head yesterday and I realized that I would always have a gaping hole in my sonic life if I didn't have that particular Stevie Wonder song at my fingertips. I also got licensing for "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" and "Ain't No Sunshine." I couldn't get it for "Sweet Child of Mine" or "White Wedding." I will persevere, though, and I will get licensing. I might just do a cover of "Part-Time Lover" if I ever get my microphones back from the At Dusk recording crew. I can't complain, though, because most of the stuff that they're borrowing belonged at one time to one of them (or to Chris). And I owe Greg over one hundred clams for buying my new high-tech headphones and dinner and a beer, so I can use that as ransom for my SM57. I had this incredible urge to draw last night as I was sitting in the basement office waiting for Will to finish his vocals, so I made a little comic of the whole day of recording. I read the copy of Krazy Kat & Ignatz Mouse that Douglas gave me almost every night before I go to sleep. I'm also re-reading Letters to a Young Poet. I really like wearing these big headphones because no one can tell what I'm doing.

I realize that my paragraphs don't make sense.

Sunday, May 23, 2004


An open letter to Arnold

Long time, no blog. It's been warm and stormy, and I have tons of pansies. Speaking of pansies, I have a new joke: "How many fags does it take to make At Dusk? Three." I also just thought of another variation: "How many fags does it take to make Strength? Three." This joke has potential. I've been over at Greg, Cary, and Ethan's house a lot, either drinking tangerine mimosas and munching on strawberries, or watching Chris move digital sliders around. I also got to make some percussion on one of their songs. That was really fun. I may get to sing on one of their songs, too, but I don't want to get too excited about it because there's a good chance that it won't happen. I also get to read the McSweeny's comic book collection thing that they have over there.

This week I'm working five days in a row up front. I've never done that before. That's five days of closing. The thought makes me feel queasy because there's a good chance I'll burn out and flip out. Market with Katy was fun fun fun. She gave me a lot of time to wander about and buy flowers and vegetables.

I've been noticing a number of good band names for the band I want to start. Here's one: Mostly New Plumbing.

I have this weird hang-up about being shown affection in public. I don't like it. I don't like it when other people do it, and I feel uncomfortable about it, even in front of friends. Why? I think maybe because it smacks of possessiveness to me. "I have news for you, you are mine now, you belong to me." I belong to no man, Mister Schwarzenegger, I belong to no man.

Friday, May 21, 2004


No, you're the best jerky that I've ever had

I didn't really have that much to drink last night, but I also didn't have that much to eat. So I slept in, but when I came downstairs, oh, five minutes ago, the sink was empty! The dishes had been cleaned! Yay! Yay! Chris!

I have to be at work in a couple of hours. Last night this Hedge House regular named Chuck gave me all of this meat for free. I got Elk jerky, Tuna Steaks, and Duck and Goose Pepperoni sticks. Hot Damn, it's the best jerky I've ever had.

Thursday, May 20, 2004



I made this blood orange blueberry lavender and peppermint sherry sauce on Sunday morning for Noah's crepes, and I'm eating the leftovers now with leftover Bread Pudding and I have to say that the sauce is most likely the best sauce I've ever made. The only sauce that I can think of that might be tastier was the gravy I made on Thanksgiving. The blood orange sauce was really easy to make. I took about 8 blood oranges, peeled them (making sure to get rid of most of the white stuff), and sliced them up. Then I simmered them in a pot over med-high heat, adding about a half inch of water and a quarter to a half cup of sherry. Then I took a cheese cloth (but you could use a tea ball or something like that) and made a little packet by folding it up and tying it to a wooden skewer. Inside the packet I put one tablespoon of dried lavender and one tablespoon of dried peppermint leaves (I think that fresh would've been even better). I put my little hobo packet into the blood orange "reduction" as I called it, and just let it simmer for a long time, maybe half an hour, stirring it occasionally and adding a bit more sherry and water to keep it looking wet. Then I added about 3/4 of a cup of frozen blueberries that I had found in the freezer. Then I tasted it. Then I had Noah taste it. "Do you think it needs sugar, Noah?" Then I added about a half cup of brown sugar and stirred it all up. You just need to taste the stuff and make it as sweet as you'd like. Since I knew that this was a breakfast sauce I didn't make it too sweet. In fact, the sugar was just to counter the bitterness of the blood oranges. Stir stir stir and wait to the sauce is between jam texture and soup texture--depending on what you're going to use it for. Then put it in a (preferably warm) serving bowl and share it with the world!

I wrote this great entry last night about a Giant Squid and politics but it's gone. I guess that's what you get when you get all political.

Monday, May 17, 2004


Commence this

Thankfully graduation ended before Greg and I could finish our game. It passed the time but I hate thinking about maybe losing. I have a stuffy nose and a headache but I'm supposed to go to this champagne thing at Lena's house with Elly. I went to it last year and it was fun, but I don't know if I have it in me. Maybe Elly will find another way to get there and I can nap. I've seen more of Meghan in the past 24 hours than I have since Thanksgiving. It's been really nice. I want to sleep. I'm starting to see a theme here. A sleeping theme.

Sunday, May 16, 2004


Why say what you're really thinking?

I can't seem to get enough sleep. I finally feel, after two days of extensive napping and one night's worth of solid sleep, normal. I'm not grumpy anymore! We'll just see how long this lasts.

Saturday, May 15, 2004


Chris mentioned percentages

I've been feeling as though I'm consistently more than fifty percent of anything I encounter. Rather, I'm either more than fifty percent (the crucial majority) or I'm absolutely zero. At the Farmer's Market I am absolutely zero. Not that I'm not doing work, but my presence--who I am as an individual, my inner me--makes no difference as to what I facilitate. In other words, the pastries sell themselves. I am making friends there, my favorite person being the Irish woman who sells organic starters next to me, Paula. I also think George, who sells Home Brew sodas and wine jelly, is hilarious, and the old man and his nephew on my other side are quite a pair. Everyone is helpful and helps me load and unload things. I give them little treats as compensation. I think about gardening, but refuse to do anything about it. We're moving soon, I rationalize. Why plant something that you won't be around to care for?

Adam's visit is going well. I haven't laughed so hard in a long time. He does a fantastic Schwarzenegger impression. "I'm a cop you idiot." If I weren't so exhausted from working, I'd probably be mostly content. Six thirty in the AM is too early for me to be responsible for anything.

Going out to dinner alone? I used to do that all the time when I lived alone. I never went anywhere super fancy, usually just the Paradox on Belmont. I find that sitting at the counter with a book does the trick.

The times when I'm more than fifty percent? Even then I don't think it's me deciding to dominate; no, it's just one of those things, you know? I'm sleepy. Shit. Why do I agree to do things when I'm sleepy? From now on, I agree to do nothing when I'm sleepy.

Thursday, May 13, 2004


Basque Lemonade

Red wine, white wine, lemons, sugar, water. I made it and it's good. Another night at work, this time dishwashing, and we were slammed again, same old new thing. I've had a bagel with lox, a doughnut, and a burrito today. It's strange to me what I eat when I eat because I need to, not because I'm doing something special. Food as sustenance is sort of a foreign concept to me. It's so Third World, and I'm so completely First World. Actually, my inner Anthropologist is screaming out: "No! Food as ritual is cross-cultural." I miss my inner Anthropologist. She's been hiding away lately. Speaking of Anthropology, my movie is showing tomorrow (today). I said that I was going to think of what to say, but now I still have nothing. Instead, I started the first dishwashing hip-hop hit. It has an R Kelly feel to it (without the alleged child-molestation). I played the hook for Matthew over the phone this afternoon. Now all I need to do is bring my recording stuff (and borrow Greg's mics and expertise about said mics) into work and record the beautiful percussive sounds that I make dishwashing. Some that I particularly adore: spray thing on metal mixing bowl, glasses clinking in the rack, forks shaking in a tub. Matt said that instead of "bling-bling" we should have "clink-clink."

Another thing: I need a name for this hip-hop effort. All I can think of is MC Dishrag. Does anyone out there have any ideas? I'll totally thank you in the liner notes.

Wednesday, May 12, 2004


Your smiling face

I heard the J.T. song on the radio this morning, thought of Marian. I've been poor to terrible about talking to people who aren't in view. I wish there were a reason for it, but it's just a phase that I go through every now and again, where I pull back into myself and sleep and do little maintenance type things. I've been watching other people's hair grow. I've been counting the hours until Adam arrives. Lindsay and I had a talk yesterday about Adam and Chris. "What if I got back together with Chris?" "I'd fly home and kill you. You've been down that road before; you know where it goes. You should get with Adam." "I'd like Adam to be the father of my children, that's for sure." Thing is, I don't want to "get with" anybody. I remain utterly suspicious of "in love." Thing is, you can't tell yourself to fall in love with any particular person. I find it easy to crush on someone, and a bit more difficult to love them, but to be "in love" with someone, that's like a hurricane--an act of god. Like George Michael said, I've got to have Faith-uh-faith-uh-faith-uh.


And then there was one

I don't know if I could be more tired. The till was way under tonight. That's never happened to me before. I counted and recounted the money, but no go. What did I do wrong? Argh! It was so busy tonight that I barely had time to think. I chatted with this one table, one of whom used to work at the Cup and Saucer. We talked about, of all things, tipping. "All you ever talk about is tipping." It's true, though. What else is there?

Lindsay is still awake. I should treasure these moments we have together before she goes. I'd rather she didn't go.

Behind the Thesis: Who is Ruby Starr? is showing on Thursday night at Reed. I hereby invite all of you to come. It's at the Biology Auditorium, B 19, at 8 pm. I'm nervous about it. I haven't watched it in full in almost a year. Will it still be funny? I don't like watching it because all I think about is how it could be better. But I do like watching it with other people, because sometimes they laugh, and I like to make people laugh.

Tuesday, May 11, 2004


So she named her daughter Alexis

My Tupperware arrived today. It's sitting on the green chair by the door, unopened, with fuschia letters that say "Welcome to . . . Tupperware Welcome to . . . Tupperware." The tadpoles jump out of the water every now and again. It's easy to forget that there's life in the casserole dish on the mantel. I slept and slept today, slept and slept, until Athena came crawling into bed, clawing me. She's not malicious but she must think I'm lazy. I wrote in my journal yesterday a few things. One: "My forgiveness organ is still intact, but it's not my largest organ. That's my skin." Two: "You never know how you're going to react." Momma Fuchs and I had a long talk about our philosophical outlooks on life. "I think that it's not what happens to you, but how you respond to what happens to you that matters. There's just no point in asking 'Why?' because there's no answer." We talked about death, about fathers dying, about mothering and being mothered.

I have a number of assignments for myself today. One of them is working on some beats for a hip-hop album. Although I'm starting to wonder if it might be better to write a number of songs in different genres about dishwashing. A Flamenco song about dishwashing could be kind of funny, and maybe Bluegrass and Country and R&B. I like the idea of stretching my chops a bit.

As I was driving through the neighborhood earlier the urge to own a home, to settle down, to decide some things arose in me. I hope it will pass. It might be a passing phase, like lesbianism. (That was a joke.)

Monday, May 10, 2004



Blogger has a new template thingy. I'm completely thrown off.

Drove to the airport tonight to pick up Lindsay and her mom; they weren't there. I left, assuming that I had the wrong night. When I got home there they were. But at least they had cookies! I made cookies today, and mopped the kitchen, and took out the trash, and did laundry, and called mom. I talked to Matt and to Chris, and had a drink with Emily. I feel a lot better about the world. I don't know how to explain it, but I do. It's a relief, feeling better. Feeling shitty makes feeling OK feel like feeling great.

Sunday, May 09, 2004


Only darkness everyday

I stayed in bed until two thirty, and I feel shell-shocked or just a bit weak and jittery. SNL was great last night. I'm starting to wonder what everyone loves so much about the Flaming Lips. I have a lot to think about and it's overwhelming. I miss the days of being whelmed and under-whelmed. Shauna and Katy and I had some fun last night, and ended up back in my living room reading. I've been working on a cover of "Ain't no Sunshine When She's Gone." The process has helped me figure out a few things about Reason and filters and such. When I work on cover songs, it's because it's a song that I can't shake, there's something about it that I feel I need to crack open and expose. Like when little kids take things apart so they can see how they work. Often you can't put it back together in the same way. I'm wearing flip-flops today.

Saturday, May 08, 2004


Saturday Market: Not for the Feeble

I saw Rick Bain perform last night at Berbati's. His songs were everything I love about Tom Petty and the Beatles. I even got to go into the green room downstairs, thanks to Joe. It was nice, but humid and hot and made me want to sleep. I updated Joe about the whole situation. I ran into Jeremy and Jesse from Trade Up. Every time I see Jeremy I feel this glow. He's one of those people who emits goodness. I like those people. Yay for those people!

The market this morning was busy busy busy. Once again, I love having busy work to do. But when I took my only break to smoke and pee, I felt so tired and worn out, like I might faint. So I went right back to work. Living to the point of exhaustion again, it's like I'm back in school. Late nights and early mornings. I don't have to work again until Tuesday. I haven't had this much time off from work in forever it seems.

"Only People We Like."

Friday, May 07, 2004


Bach was totally into S&M

Work was relieving. I kept myself super busy, scrubbing things up and down, left and right. My attitude about extra cleaning is this: I'll gladly do it, but please don't ask me to do it. I'd much rather let the sponge lead me to where I'm needed. Point is, I'm physically exhausted, and that really helps. I got a bunch of morose voice mail messages today. Good thing: Adam arrives in six days. Good thing: Chris is coming really soon.

Lindsay and I had a long talk over dinner about making art through certain parameters, setting limits as to method and subject. I am thinking, How can I do that with music? A hip-hop album about dishwashing is one idea. Songs that use neither the letter nor the chord E is another. "The more I am restricted, the more I am set free," as J.S. Bach used to say. (Or, that's what my music theory teacher said that JIAO Bach used to say.) I have to go to work again in eight and a half hours. That's its own type of restriction.

Thursday, May 06, 2004


Another story

Once upon a time, about a year ago, someone left someone to be with someone else. This kind of thing happens all the time. Let's just say that it was tumultuous and rough and tumble. Anyway, a Prince left his Princess (of long-term standing) to be with a court musician. The court musician had not a clue about the Prince's feelings for her, although they were the best of friends and in a band together. Well, this royally ticked off the Princess, and the Princess hated the court musician. The court musician felt like a horrible person, being the unintentional cause of such distress and suffering, because, also, she liked the Princess and wished her only the best. Things didn't quite work out between Prince and Court Musician (see below), although they remained the best of friends, but this kind of thing happens all the time.

Does anyone out there know the moral of this story? I don't. Maybe it's this: This kind of thing happens all the time.



There's only so much that I can do right now. I could go back and delete things, as if by making them disappear I could move on faster. But I'm an archivist by nature, an historian of my own events and emotions. I brood, I stew, I mope, I wait. Anger makes me feel like I'm going to vomit. Or maybe it's that hangover.

I want to tell a story. It's convoluted and intricate, but I'm not going to go into the whole thing now. Sometime last November X came over to my house. She told me that she had slept with Z, and that she was really sorry about it, that it was an accident, and so on. I was upset, but I think in the end it made me love her more, because I knew that she loved me and wanted to be honest with me.

Now I'm at a point where I don't want to know anything more. I don't want to know anything. And, besides, if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all, right?


Why don't Claire and Marian live here? Why? And Chris? And Adam? And Alexia and Melinda? Everybody's on my side. I wish I didn't have a side.

It's mainly that I feel I can't trust. Is it betrayal? That's a strong word for it. Too many apostrophes, too many things left out. The thing about contractions is that there's an implied omission. I feel like I've been ignoring the implied. Actually, I feel like a big fucking chump. This is what you get, sometimes, when you let untested people into your life. Sometimes they fool you, and sometimes you let them fool you, into thinking that they're your friends. And then, there are the people who slip in and you realize that they're truly the special ones, the ones that aren't as shiny and as sparkly, those are the people that you keep. Because, frankly, those shiny people are shiny for a reason. You let the exterior glow supplement the absence of what you love. And then you realize that maybe materialism has a lot less to do with material things than you first thought.

But on the upside, I had a good night, and I have another brunch with Douglas tomorrow. And maybe I'll drum for a band. And Camp Monday? Fuck that. I'm calling for a revision.

Wednesday, May 05, 2004


Glad to be back? Oh, Yeah!

Said that I'd take a shower and be right over . . . but I lied. Momma Fuchs is coming to town today, so the house needs to be--specifically my stuff--tidied up. I worked last night almost immediately after I got home, and I got so tired at one point, so very tired, but I didn't lie down on the table and nap or anything. I read an article in the New Yorker about analyzing someone's intelligence by how complex their sentence structures are, then using that to figure out who's going to win the election. The lady said Kerry was going to win "100 percent." I'm going to use Tupperware to raise money for NARAL and NOW and Kerry. That's my revolution. Well, that's one of my revolutions. It seems that the idea of Camp Monday is alive and well, and now all we need are flags and a manifesto. Scatter brained little monkey.

Monday, May 03, 2004


I AM the Tupperware LADY!

As Claire would say, total big dig. (What is that supposed to mean, Claire?) Ruth took me to her Tupperware rally. I collected literature as my sister and I made fun of the whole process. The head lady's name was Amy, too (quel coincidence), and she was a total vag. I mean, she reminded me of a trained monkey--a monkey trained by a motivational speaker, but still a monkey. A loud, self-absorbed, obnoxious monkey.

So, now I have another thing to be ashamed of--or not really. I don't know. Here it is . . . deep breath: I am a Tupperware lady now. Holy shit. Sis says it's not like joining a cult, and she should know, because she's a recovering born-again Christian. Amy, at the meeting, which was part product give-away, part motivational pitch, part indoctrination, kept saying that when she runs a Tupperware party, she goes in with an attitude: "When I'm in there, for those two and a half hours, I am the Tupperware lady. I am there to make money. I am friendly, I work the crowd, I am the Tupperware LADY!"

Ruth leaned over to me and said, "I'm just here for the cheap Tupperware." And, laden with sarcasm, "Isn't this just the most motivational, greatest thing you've ever been to?" "Oh, yeah. I don't think that I've ever felt quite like this before."

Ironic detachment aside, now I am a Tupperware lady. Shit.

Sunday, May 02, 2004


RIP Bert

Bert the bunny . . .

List of things I'm not so proud of at the moment:
*completing a personality profile on eHarmony dot com
*accidentally turning my sister's bathtub pink
*considering a low-carb diet
*not talking to Marian or Meghan in a long time
*being less than frank with Joe
*planning my escape from this horrible horrible place.

I always get so angry when I visit sister and husband. We have, between us, enough social skills for one complete asshole. This "vacation" has made me realize that 1) I never want to come here again unless I can be guaranteed a companion, either mom or someone else--anyone else to buffer me from this married in(s)anity; 2) Everywhere that isn't a city or a farm really truly bites. Ruth and Marc get really excited that they have a Target, a Best Buy, an Olive Garden (!), and a chain pseudo Caribbean restaurant. They don't have independent restaurants here, not like at home. We saw Mean Girls at the largest multiplex I've ever been in, and the theater teemed with slutty loud teenage girls. At least we got to see it with the target audience.

I know that vacation is supposed to make you realize what you love about home, but this vacation is terrifying because I know that this could be my life in ten years. I like shopping for underwear, but I just don't want shopping to be my main activity besides work. Exercise is good, health is good, but I don't want to be obsessed with every goddam thing I put in my mouth, and how long I'm going to need to be at the gym the next day. It's important to have a comfortable living environment, but I don't need to live in a gigantic space, with an enormous television and an obsession with stuff. Catalogue, department store, everybody has it stuff. (And I like some stuff, I like stuff, I do, but not in this way.)

As I write this I am aware of the underlying battles: bourgeois V. avant-garde; urban V. suburban; "X" V. "Y" and so on. And I hate that I could fall into this life. Well, probably not, because without an advanced degree and an obsessive work ethic, I don't think I'll ever make as much money as R&M. And, I want to have children, and that imposes a whole new set of priorities and values into one's life. R&M can barely manage having a small dog. Cosmo impinges too much already on their routines.

Some people are afraid that they'll turn into their mother. God I am such a bitch. Is it because I have been denied carbs here? Is it because I haven't been smoking? I'm going to break into their liquor cabinet and get wiggledy wasted.

Saturday, May 01, 2004


I never want to get married--not if it's like this

Certain types of relationships are very drug-like, whether it's sex addiction or immersing yourself in another person and imparting to them some kind of magical qualities, like only they can make you feel better.From the Aimee Mann website.

Mom left, Ruth and Marc fight every night, and I died my hair pink after I found out that Bert died.


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