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Listening to Debut yesterday on the car ride home, and Big Time Sensuality comes on. I'm thinking "Where do I know this from?" Then Bjork's voice fluctuates in That Way (ah-HE-yah!) and I think "Oh my god, this was on Dad's Gay Club Mixtapes from that dj boyfriend when I was little! I loved this song! This and Queen's 'We Are The Champions' were my first favorite songs!" So I rediscovered a long lost lurve, and also found out that I was an awesome youngling, what with my mad 'spect for Bjork. I laughed out loud upon realizing all this whilst stopped at a traffic light, and an old woman in Macon sneered at me. I resisted the urge to lick my lips at her.
There are many beautiful places in the world, but Missouri in summer is one of them. It’s so incredibly alive, verdant is the word for it.
I was rereading Phantom Tollbooth for the first time since I was little (the ending STILL nearly makes me cry) and I was struck by the really cool/eerie sense of the body it conveys. The Soundkeeper talks about using the bells to find herself, and her sense of personhood seems tied up with the house in some way as well as with the realm. The bit about the realm makes sense b/c she is, after all, and emanation/representation of Wisdom, but her detached sense of personhood somehow mingling with the house, if I read it correctly, is less explicable and more interesting. The ambiguity of body recurs throughout the book. I’m sure there’s stuff in that, not to even mention the book, that could use more careful scholastic examination on my or anyone’s part. I would love to write or read a paper on the book.
First of all, the musical Reefer Madness is amazing, and Alan Cumming takes my breath away. And doesn't give it back. And I die. But it's totally worth it. Now it hurts to bend, but at least I've made a friend.
Watching Reefer Madness and then Anastasia led to some bizarre dreams. I was having sex with this girl I'm really not fond of. In the dream I was REALLY enjoying it, but come to think of it, I was doing all the work. She kept whining about how we should call one of her male friends to come help us, but in the dream I was very 'fuck THAT shit,' which amused me to no end upon waking. This was all going on in my grandmother's house in St. Louis. She was out, and in my mind the word 'house' was printed in a non-threatening shade of periwinkle. Thanks, House of Leaves, you creepy sonofabitch. So since I was in St. L I magically jumped to this thing that sort of resembled the theater part of the science center there. There were movies, and in a perimeter ring around that giant TV screens, and cool snack bars. Kelley and I were going to watch a Kid's Next Door episode we'd missed, as Kelley's little sister Erin, who was there too, pointed out to us, and the episode had the section titles of Blakes 7, which I'd been watching (in reality) the night before, but Kelley had to go to work and I didn't want to watch it without her, so I was going to go to one of the chess rooms upstairs, because the building, movie stuffs aside, was really some kind of giant chess club, and I was totally confident that I was going to do well and make a rep for myself, which boggles me in my waking hours, that Dream Me thought she could p0wn anyone.
Kelley's little sister Erin has a hawt poster of a guy and girl making out, with the words Don't Talk With Your Mouth Full scrawled across the bottom. She used the work 'crunk' last night, and I couldn't stop laughing.
Met John Darkow, the subject of a Rock Op-Ed of mine that got me an internship/job offer at the Daily Tribune (Columbia kids will remember the Henry Lane bondage cartoon and ensuing 'omg cenzor!!1, strike from Trip records') last night at a charity function for Alzheimer’s. All I can say is, if I had known John Darkow was teh hawt, I would have written an even more raucous Op-Ed supporting him. Eh. That benefit dinner. 500 important community members. One black woman. She being the sum total of minorities in the room. Don Ginsburg didn't come out, so we were even sans The One Jew In Town. A politician, jocular and well-liked, admitted that, being a Boone county boy, he'd had to look up the word visceral when he'd read it in one of the subject of the benifit's editorials about him. If you ever hold public office, don't admit that to me. I would like to believe otherwise. Thank Christ for Colin, a cell-phone, and the lifesaving power of discussing how much I hate Harold Bloom.
There are many beautiful places in the world, but Missouri in summer is one of them. It’s so incredibly alive, verdant is the word for it.
I was rereading Phantom Tollbooth for the first time since I was little (the ending STILL nearly makes me cry) and I was struck by the really cool/eerie sense of the body it conveys. The Soundkeeper talks about using the bells to find herself, and her sense of personhood seems tied up with the house in some way as well as with the realm. The bit about the realm makes sense b/c she is, after all, and emanation/representation of Wisdom, but her detached sense of personhood somehow mingling with the house, if I read it correctly, is less explicable and more interesting. The ambiguity of body recurs throughout the book. I’m sure there’s stuff in that, not to even mention the book, that could use more careful scholastic examination on my or anyone’s part. I would love to write or read a paper on the book.
First of all, the musical Reefer Madness is amazing, and Alan Cumming takes my breath away. And doesn't give it back. And I die. But it's totally worth it. Now it hurts to bend, but at least I've made a friend.
Watching Reefer Madness and then Anastasia led to some bizarre dreams. I was having sex with this girl I'm really not fond of. In the dream I was REALLY enjoying it, but come to think of it, I was doing all the work. She kept whining about how we should call one of her male friends to come help us, but in the dream I was very 'fuck THAT shit,' which amused me to no end upon waking. This was all going on in my grandmother's house in St. Louis. She was out, and in my mind the word 'house' was printed in a non-threatening shade of periwinkle. Thanks, House of Leaves, you creepy sonofabitch. So since I was in St. L I magically jumped to this thing that sort of resembled the theater part of the science center there. There were movies, and in a perimeter ring around that giant TV screens, and cool snack bars. Kelley and I were going to watch a Kid's Next Door episode we'd missed, as Kelley's little sister Erin, who was there too, pointed out to us, and the episode had the section titles of Blakes 7, which I'd been watching (in reality) the night before, but Kelley had to go to work and I didn't want to watch it without her, so I was going to go to one of the chess rooms upstairs, because the building, movie stuffs aside, was really some kind of giant chess club, and I was totally confident that I was going to do well and make a rep for myself, which boggles me in my waking hours, that Dream Me thought she could p0wn anyone.
Kelley's little sister Erin has a hawt poster of a guy and girl making out, with the words Don't Talk With Your Mouth Full scrawled across the bottom. She used the work 'crunk' last night, and I couldn't stop laughing.
Met John Darkow, the subject of a Rock Op-Ed of mine that got me an internship/job offer at the Daily Tribune (Columbia kids will remember the Henry Lane bondage cartoon and ensuing 'omg cenzor!!1, strike from Trip records') last night at a charity function for Alzheimer’s. All I can say is, if I had known John Darkow was teh hawt, I would have written an even more raucous Op-Ed supporting him. Eh. That benefit dinner. 500 important community members. One black woman. She being the sum total of minorities in the room. Don Ginsburg didn't come out, so we were even sans The One Jew In Town. A politician, jocular and well-liked, admitted that, being a Boone county boy, he'd had to look up the word visceral when he'd read it in one of the subject of the benifit's editorials about him. If you ever hold public office, don't admit that to me. I would like to believe otherwise. Thank Christ for Colin, a cell-phone, and the lifesaving power of discussing how much I hate Harold Bloom.
