Please Y'all

it doesn't work without everyone's participation!

A Botanist, though?

I am getting my brain around this. I want to do some word vomit on it, but I need to noodle first. In the meantime, I would like to challenge the claims-he-has-writers-block Baywatch to comment.

I'm truly interested -- as he is a dabbler in the astronomical, and I am a sci-fi geek.

I feel like he'll have some true, physics-based reasoning, while my mind spins at this:

Some physicists have theorised that black holes might act as spacewarp wormhole portals into alternate universes, or something. Summarising, it appears that the boffins at the LHC - should one of them clumsily spill his tea on the controls, for instance - could easily catapult the entire world through a rift in the very fabric of space-time, into another universe which could be entirely hostile to life as we know it. (Eg, essential processes such as fermentation of alcohol, TV, pizza delivery, gravity etc might simply not work; or there could be a parallel Earth ruled by an evil victorious Nazi empire with space battlecruisers and so forth.)

No pizza delivery? The HUMANITY!


Nazi alternate universe? didn't I read they're making a movie out of that book?

Just one of the ten thousand reasons I'm glad I'm no longer a fourteen-year-old girl

Brief chat tonight with my niece:

rebecca: Hey there! Haven't seen you online in awhile and was just thinking of you!
jessica: crappy and i am about to hit her in the face untill she BLEEDS
rebecca: excuse me?
jessica: can i talk to you another time...my supposed best hates me
rebecca: oh that's big drama -- certainly
jessica: thanks
rebecca: ten four
jessica: bye

***

Two quick observations:
1. omg I sound old and dorky
2. it's a little comforting that the Internet hasn't changed things THAT much. We'd just be doing this using three-way calling fifteen years ago. (Ah. NINETEEN YEARS AGO. Shit, I need a drink. Another reason it rocks to be old.)

Mission Accomplished

Um, why did I think that Walking Across The Golden Gate Bridge was on this list?

I had this whole sort of triumphant-tone-of-achievement planned for this post and I, um, don't see it on the list.

Anyhow, mom and I did spend a gorgeous Easter Sunday afternoon touristing it up by hoofing the span. Pictures by Mom.



This one is artsy. I kind of think I look like Michael Jackson, tho.

Maybe it's the "no nose" look. . .

Dream come true

I mentioned earlier that I'm tapering off my meds, resulting in various fun neurological side effects. While the vertigo, nausea, headrushes -- not so fun -- the vivid acid theater of the nighttime mind is kinda enjoyable.

No joke I actually dreamed that Spliffey did this, and she DID.

I feel so warm and fuzzy. And all powerful. And dorky.

Normal day.

My Dad's The One In The Red Shirt.

Weather Report

Oh, my.

I do not miss this.

I miss you people, but I do not miss the winter that lasts until May.

I don't miss the anger that hits right about. . . now. . . when you realize that GOD HATES AMERICA and will not let you enjoy the outdoors for two more months.

I do, however, adore the bright sunshine-y day outside my window, the wearing flip flops while picking up coffee on my way back from Saturday morning yoga, the orchids blooming on my doorstep.

Me me me me me meme

Wow, I'm kinda honored/feel like I cashed in some kinda Internet favors frivolously, but both TB and McDub actually did that meme thing that I did when Luc made me. I don't know if I feel used by the Internet or like a tight-knit community of self-important assholes.

Or, wait, both.

Yeah, and then some.

Only because it's 3:37AM and I can't sleep. . .

I'm gonna meme it. I know it's kinda dumb, but Luc made me do it.

And I don't think the q's are that lame.

And enough with the boring qualifiers. Let's get to the other boring stuff.

1. I can't believe I've never
- been to China
- walked across the Golden Gate Bridge (note to self, make mom do that this weekend)
- found what I'm looking for
- figured out what I'm looking for
- what?

2. Every time I think about . . . I still cringe
That time I boldly approached Ira Glass in the Art Institute of Chicago, reached out to shake his hand, introduced myself: "Hi, I'm Rebecca! And. . . " Completely went blank. No joke. Firmly shaking Ira's hand, him looking at me with a warily expectant expression, I had absolutely nothing to say. He dismissed me and walked away. Holy Shit, why did you make me think about that?

3. I wish I’d…when I had the chance.
Left poor Ira alone.

4. I’ve never felt so out of place as when I… Was at Jenny's twenty-fifth birthday party in the Marina, and Baron Davis showed up. Jenny, I love you, but wow that was surreal for an old lady like me.

5. …is/are my guiltiest pleasure. When I first moved to Chicago, in my early twenties, I had very few friends and a horrific job. Even though I had never in my life watched it, I became addicted to reruns of The Nanny. Somehow, I found it outrageously comforting. Possibly because it was on approximately forty times a day. And I was dirt poor and had nothing better to do but to watch my rabbit-eared tiny tv.

Years later, I was telling Johnny about this. He shared with me his early Chicago addiction -- Just Shoot Me.

Made me feel better about my irrational attachment to Fran Drecsher.

6. I hope…knows how grateful I am for…
My grandmother, for making me laugh at every family function. She often lets me do things like this just to amuse me:



7. In my darkest hours, I secretly blame…for my dysfunction.

You know who you are.

8. …changed my life forever. D'uh. DeeP.

Probs won't do it cuz they're too busy being cool/sleeping, but tagging:

TB/Mcwhirt/spliffey

Well, wow, that killed, like, 23 minutes.

Wonder if sleep will come, now?

The President Was Just Speaking To His "Destroy All Humans" Base

Things You Do As You Fall Asleep

You start out all warm, radiating heat and breath.

The weight of your arms and legs press into mine and we are silent in our cocoon.

Then the twitches start, the electric shocks as your body finally lets go of consciousness, tiny, almost imperceptible rapid pulses in your arms, your legs, your fingers glaze my back as they perform their St. Vitus dance.

I pull my arm tighter around you.

You moan.

We sleep.

There is a sweetness, there.

Dear Johnny, Luc , and Nora

Ya'll are straight up assholes.



And I love it.

The Badass Skinny Man

Hey, Spliffe! THANKS!

The magical combination of your riff on nineties nostalgia combined with your toss-off random comment about the latest Nick Cave album was like some sort of fabulous spell that compelled me to unearth that 1994 classic, Let Love In. I'm shivering with excitement at being reunited with this album.

Oh, Nick Cave. You're so baritone!

But, do you love me? Like I love you?

Dear Post Secret

You make me cry every week.

Making A List

A la Maggie Mason, the first of my 100 things to do before I die

1. Go on a yoga retreat in the Sierra Nevadas
2. See JD and The Blenders perform in St. Petersburgh.
3. Visit Annevan's childhood home in France
4. Stay up all night in Tokyo
5. Drink coffee in Amsterdam
6. Meet someone who will make me laugh every day until I die
7. Have a short story published
8. Spend the night in Walter De Maria's Lightning Field
9. Go to Alaska
10. See a whale
11. Knit a scarf
12. Ride another century
13. See Chave perform in Beach Blanket Babylon
14. Sky Dive
15. Get a tattoo with Che
16. See Dad win his NAB Lifetime Achievement Award
17. Walk on a black sand beach in Hawaii
18. Be in the delivery room for Che's first bambino
19. Have a giant dance party with everyone I love
20. Fix up an old house
21. Plant a garden
22. Make coconut cupcakes for my grandma again
23. Read Jane Eyre. No, I haven't read Jane Eyre.
24. Read Wuthering Heights. Ditto. Sorry, mom.
25. See Sleater Kinney play live again. (Get Sleater Kinney back together.)

Things I Am Doing Today

Cream in my coffee, milk in my cereal.

Finally removing all the dishes from the sink, like an excavation of the last three days -- stuck on dried grains of rice, waterlogged bits of vegetable, coffee grounds and eggshells.

Washing everything. The sheets, jeans, underwear, washing even the washcloths.

Waking up.

Hugging muscle to bone, skin to muscle, breathing in and out through my nose, holding here, breathing into the space, getting long through the spine.

Sitting still while someone else meticulously grooms my hands -- cut, file, remove cuticles, perfectly polish.

Letting it all wash over me, because there's nothing else to do.

Returning text messages, emails, finally attending to that stack of bills in the corner.

Red wine, good friends.

Planning my trip.

Planning Johnny's visit.

Figuring out how to get a Russian visa.

Appreciating it all.

What are you Yelle-ing about??

Annevan, my Frienchie friend, has introduced me to some addictive French girl pop/rapper named Yelle (please note, the site may just give you seizures, so maybe listen but don't look).

me: how can you sing along, as a non french speaker, to Yelle without sounding like a korean gameshow contestant doing beatles songs on karaoke?

Anne: truth is: you can't.
btw, she's singing about nasty stuff -- Avenue D or Peaches style

me: Well, she definitely has a Peaches sound.*
Can you give me a hint as to what she's saying?
something about magazines and marie claire

Anne: mmm, I just listened to 1 song -- something about doing it. I don't remember exactly
ha ha
I'm reading some lyrics on line
she has a song called "parle a ma main", which means "talk to my hand:

me: I bought the cd on itunes, I'll burn it for you post haste
it's a blast

Anne: and she refers to "mes biatches"
ha ha ha

me: HAHAHA
I love it when the frenchies get badass

Anne: "Les mecs ils sont tous nuls" = guys are all losers

me: it sounds so silly

Anne: "Girls Power!! hum hum
Alors vas t'acheter une vie t'es pas dans ma liste d'amis"
the 2nd line is: so go buy yourself a life, you're not on my list of friends
"Girls Power!! hum hum" -- HA HA HA
Sent at 10:57 AM on Wednesday

me: HAHA

me: I understand from her Facebook page that she rose to fame on myspace.com when she posted a song titled "Short Dick Cuizi", dissing Cuizinier, a member of the Parisian hip-hop group TTC.
Who is this "cuizinier?"

Anne: no idea. there's the loop - over there. and here's me -- out of that loop.

me: that's an excellent illustration. Thanks
At any rate, apparently he has a short dick, and she has been able to really capitalize on that.



*Amazing that if you Google the word "Peaches," the first result is not about fruit, but about the crazy semi-porno pop star

In Which I Cling To The Tressy Tendrils Of Youth

Today I got my hair cut and colored.

Ally, the positively delightful bleach-blond, tattooed pseudo stoner who designs my 'do, recommended a shock of cherry red highlights. Then she showed me a new tattoo, of two kewpie dolls, one brown, one white, on her wrist. "This is me and my boyfriend as babies. Sitting on a record player. He requested that he be browner than me, so!"

My first reaction -- am I too old for this? Was followed closely by -- if I'm not, I'd better do it while I still can.