It's Friday

♥ I want this face tattooed on my butt. ♥

I didn't beat the shit outta anyone because today was the International Day of Non-Violence in honor of Gandhi (it's also his birthday). I didn't want to say anything in case I didn't make it through the day . . .

Tomorrow is finally my day off. I just want to sleep and read Prison Nation, again. I can't and I won't, but hey a girl can dream.

There's a cure for every kind of blue, ya know?

He's the Man

Poem

Some days I feel that I exude a fine dust
like that attributed to Pylades in the famous
Chronica nera areopagitica when it was found

and it’s because an excavationist has
reached the inner chamber of my heart
and rustled the paper bearing your name

I don’t like that stranger sneezing over our love

-Frank O’Hara

Thanks Mom

My mother and I have our differences. But she introduced me to all things good growing up like . . .

Murder She Wrote--- Angela Lansbury for life.
Dusty Springfield
Ewoks --- My little brother and I still just walk by one another sometimes and say "Wicket." And we know. Good times. Fun fact, we saw the second Ewok movie before the first. You can imagine how much that fucked with us. Keep in mind I cried so hard when Bambi's mother was shot my mother had to turn the movie off. Same thing with the Land Before Time when Little Foot lost his folks. We saw the movie during nap time and I cried myself to sleep.
Agatha Christie--- Don't fuck with Miss Marple.
Connie Francis
Rosemary Clooney--- My favorite episode of ER is when she guest starred. I almost cried . . . okay, I did.

And so much more.

Including my love of Saturday afternoon movies. There's nothing I love more than getting to come home on a Saturday afternoon, kicking my shoes off, curling up on the couch and putting myself at the mercy of cable television. It's the best.

All work and no play

I haven't had a day off since last Tuesday--- and I stayed home to clean so . . .

Midnight showing of Zombieland with some sexy Dominican I know. Some lady at work naturally assumed I'd go see "Whip It" over "Zombieland" to which all I can reply is, "Woody Harrelson and Bill Murray trump Drew Barrymore and I-don't-even-give-a shit-what-her-name-is-chick-from-Juno." But she was tops in "Hard Candy." Seriously, everyone see her in that. Is she going to torture potential sex-offenders in Whip It? No, she's going to dye her hair, piss her mother off and join a roller derby team. Hmmmmm, I see that kind of stuff at the Marsh all the time. Nah, I'll wait till my friend Sara forces me to see it with her, sorta like Juno (thank goodness J.K. Simmons was in that movie, that's all I'm saying). They used to have a reality show on A&E centered around roller derby girls . . . now that was quality T.V.

Anywho today I met Dr. James Brown. But it turns out I already knew him. He's one of those dads that comes into the store terrified because he has no idea how to shop for his kids. I help him out all the time. He complimented my hair cut . . . while he gave me a breast exam. FML. I need to move . . . oh wait . . .

Update: Let me be clear . . . if I was snuggled up in Sara's bed with a 40, a Drew Barrymore eve it would be. But I'd rather see Zombies get pianos dropped on them on the big screen than a lot of hipsters and camel toe (again, I see enough at work).

Love This Woman

White horse

Even a webcomic gets it. xkcd. Life.

"I think I know some things we never out grow." - Kid, The Pretenders




Save your lame ass scenes and your dirty schemes . . . and remember there's always someone cooler than you.

Dream hard and play fair,
Tina

The President and I Have Something In Common

This song makes our top ten.

Oh, yeah . . . get over it Enya.



The lyrics . . . oh man . . . the lyrics.

I can do what you do, easy, BELIEVE ME/ Frontin' n*ggas give me hee-bee-gee-bees/ So while you're imitating Al Capone/ I'll be Nina Simone/ And defacating on your microphone

Saturday Night Lullaby

Go Mariah, go Journey.

When Social Experiments Are Conducted By Idiots

Last Thursday my monster hand and I hung out at a nearby bar with a decent dance floor. I met a cool cowgirl with red cowboy boots (she is officially my new favorite person of '09), had a few cold ones and got my line dance on. Oh, and I sung Journey's "Don't Stop Believing," when the band played it.

On my way back to Winnie the Mini I passed some guy and a girl. I'm a total eaves-dropper and their conversation seemed to involve picking up girls.
The guy said "For instance 'this thing'" and he nodded his head, "Does that even work?"
Then to me, "Excuse me if I did this [insert nod] to you what would you do?"
"Don't ever do that to me again," was all I said.
"See," he said defiantly, as if he proved something. And all I could think was . . .

He asked if HE did it what would I do. Now if Lil Wayne, Mos Def, Ne-Yo or anyone but some scrawny little boy who has ZERO swagger had done the same thing my response would have been different . . . maybe. I'm not a holla-back girl, but I'll assess the sincerity of the gesture.

Oh and if I meet another guy who insists on blaming his ex for shit (I don't care if he's Lil Wayne, Mos Def or Ne-Yo) I'm gonna throw my drink at him. Welcome to the rest of the world.

It Was Never About TLC

Some guy once made this joke that a kid couldn't get a date in high school if he didn't know who TLC was . . . funny. Those ladies were great, but it was never about TLC.

But I'm dead serious about this don't even bother with me if you haven't listened to The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill (or if you don't know how to properly pronounce Sade). Go watch some cartoons or something, but forget my name.

Dream hard and play fair,
Cindy Mayweather

You won't find me at some store/I have no time for manicures/With you it's never either or/Cuz nothing even matters . . .

Don't Stop Believin

I'm adopting the soloist.

Saturday Night Lullaby (today)

Getting High

Not gonna lie, had the best conversation about getting high with someone tonight. She said her ideal time would be to just get high and watch Murder She Wrote. Love, love, love her. To date my favorite memory of getting high was in some horrid studio apartment in Queens, eating Chips Ahoy Cookies and watching Oprah (with a dear, old friend).

Interesting note: before this whole "recession" the number one reason anyone from Lynn (at least) got a job at Marshalls, they don't do drug testing. Ha!

Because I got high . . .

Clarification

Good-byes should be easier when one of you doesn't know it's a good-bye. For once he was the literal one, not extending my question back through so much and I was glad. I closed my eyes and took all of it in, locked a bit away in my heart, put a little on my shoulders (to keep me grounded) and let the rest of it go.
Harness your blame.

Got Till It's Gone

The smell of death lingers . . .

RIP Jim Carroll

8 Fragments For Kurt Cobain

1/
Genius is not a generous thing
In return it charges more interest than any amount of royalties can cover
And it resents fame
With bitter vengeance

Pills and powdres only placate it awhile
Then it puts you in a place where the planet's poles reverse
Where the currents of electricity shift

Your Body becomes a magnet and pulls to it despair and rotten teeth,
Cheese whiz and guns

Whose triggers are shaped tenderly into a false lust
In timeless illusion

2/
The guitar claws kept tightening, I guess on your heart stem.
The loops of feedback and distortion, threaded right thru
Lucifer's wisdom teeth, and never stopped their reverbrating
In your mind

And from the stage
All the faces out front seemed so hungry
With an unbearably wholesome misunderstanding

From where they sat, you seemed so far up there
High and live and diving

And instead you were swamp crawling
Down, deeper
Until you tasted the Earth's own blood
And chatted with the Buzzing-eyed insects that heroin breeds

3/
You should have talked more with the monkey
He's always willing to negotiate
I'm still paying him off...
The greater the money and fame
The slower the Pendulum of fortune swings

Your will could have sped it up...
But you left that in a plane
Because it wouldn't pass customs and immigration

4/
Here's synchronicity for you:

Your music's tape was inside my walkman
When my best friend from summer camp
Called with the news about you

I listened them...
It was all there!
Your music kept cutting deeper and deeper valleys of sound
Less and less light
Until you hit solid rock

The drill bit broke
and the valley became
A thin crevice, impassible in time,
As time itself stopped.

And the walls became cages of brilliant notes
Pressing in...
Pressure
That's how diamonds are made
And that's WHERE it sometimes all collapses
Down in on you

5/
Then I translated your muttered lyrics
And the phrases were curious:
Like "incognito libido"
And "Chalk Skin Bending"

The words kept getting smaller and smaller
Until
Separated from their music
Each letter spilled out into a cartridge
Which fit only in the barrel of a gun

6/
And you shoved the barrel in as far as possible
Because that's where the pain came from
That's where the demons were digging

The world outside was blank
Its every cause was just a continuation
Of another unsolved effect

7/
But Kurt...
Didn't the thought that you would never write another song
Another feverish line or riff
Make you think twice?
That's what I don't understand
Because it's kept me alive, above any wounds

8/
If only you hadn't swallowed yourself into a coma in Roma...
You could have gone to Florence
And looked into the eyes of Bellinni or Rafael's Portraits

Perhaps inside them
You could have found a threshold back to beauty's arms
Where it all began...

No matter that you felt betrayed by her

That is always the cost
As Frank said,
Of a young artist's remorseless passion

Which starts out as a kiss
And follows like a curse

Check out the Village Voice.

And the Frank in the above poem is in reference to Frank O'Hara, oh my heart.

Speaking of Frank's heart, I had the immediacy of a bad movie . . . the big overproduced first-run kind this weekend. But don't take my word for it, here's what a real critic had to say about a film I'm so indifferent to it's not worth mentioning the title.

On a related note: Who's ever heard of one critic seeing or not seeing a movie based on the opinion of another critic? I'm not saying you should see a movie you don't want to see, I'm just asking since when do you need the opinion of another to back it up? We are such odd creatures . . .

The movie 9 was not without its flaws (the ending and the storyline being huge ones). But I think that any movie that touches upon the fear of too many technological advances being our downfall is NOT something to be overlooked. There was a certain earnest naivety to the film that I sort of enjoyed. I just wished Acker had woven it in deeper into the storyline and characters . . . it was just sort of there, looming over the film attached to a few anchoring words and phrases such as, "pieces of my soul." Don't take my word for it, see it for yourself and then tell me Acker didn't base 3 and 4 on my favorite Jersey born female twin savants Flo and Kay.


This Celtics Blog "POst" by Master PO made me smile. How is the view from that Lone Dr. Seuss Truffula Tree?

Simile time: Love is like a Brontosaurus. Sex is like a Velociraptor.

tunes from the left end, While You Wait for the Others, Grizzly Bear. Make it all worth while.
You Can Make Him Like You, The Hold Steady.
Pulk/Pull Revolving Doors, Radiohead.
Ocean Breathes Salty, Modest Mouse. You wasted life, why wouldn't you waste death?