String 5

stairway to another stairway

don't be a

bonehead question gets bonehead answer

I wrote this on a job application when asked: What makes you an individual?

Him: So what are you into?

Her: Oh you know, not much, just being an individual.

Him: What does that mean?

Her: Just, like, I'm not like anyone else.

Him: Why don't you want to be like anyone else?

Her: Cuz everyone else is sooo boring (& unqualified).

Him: I'm not boring.

Her: Well, not you, but everyone else.

Him: Oh.

Her: Like, I don't want people to fall asleep when they talk to me.

Him: I don't think they would, if they're talking, seems unlikely.

Her: That's why you have to be an individual.

Him: How do you achieve this?

Her: Well, like, by buying obscure records and by thinking the craziest thoughts like what would happen if an alligator and a goat were having dinner and decided to have casual unprotected sex, would they, like, birth a goatagator or what? Like, that shit's crazy!

Him: Yea. I guess. But what is the benefit of being an individual?

Her: It's '09 dude, being different is in. This ain't no commie regime.

Him: Doesn't that make your point moot? If it's in, doesn't it mean it's mass?

Her: What? Mass? Dude I haven't been to church in years.

Him: Hm. Me either.

I did not get the job.

o the questions that arise

(stare at the cross)

extremely extraordinary

You must be bored if you're here. I mean, you must be looking for awesome stuff if you're here.

I dedicate this post to the MFA (I'm big into dedications, they are just nice, don't you think?), where I took the picture above and learned about the art below, which is very cool:

http://www.turbulence.org/Works/apartment/#

Check check, check it out (don't be scared, it's interactive!!!!) & be sure to see the other apartments.

I would like to conclude with a formal invitation to embark on my journey to escape the various tethers of technophobia, ergophobia, cleptophobia (wait, no, I just got that one, I need to keep it) and metathesiophobia*. (The informal invitation, FYI, was the creation of this thing). The road is long, not very well lit, shoddily paved, and I have a poor, poor sense of direction. Onward...

*To validate the existence of your own fears visit:

http://phobialist.com/

regrets

as life gets harder and more complex with age, one can only hope that the successes out weight the regrets in the end.

i regret that blogger.com has such shitty formatting capabilities. i apologize for lazily posting messy stories & address this issue in plural because i probably won't do anything to rectify the problem in future postings--postings, i might add, which occur only because of god's generosity in granting me each and any subsequent breath. here's lookin' at you god. though you might want to considering bolstering your humanitarian schtik. just a thought.

porter exchange

what happens when you put a relationship in the microwave?

Two Days

Ramona slowly fastened the pearlescent buttons of her blouse. When she had secured the last one she looked up hopefully into the mirror. She frowned at her reflection. At once a triumvirate of pimples resting on her chin stole the confidence she had amassed while lathering and shaving and oiling and smoothing. She sighed and fluffed her hair without taking her eyes from the blemishes.

At seven o’clock, in an hour and a half, she was engaged to meet Charles for a beer at Otherside Café. Ramona had suggested Club Passim, a dark, pillow-laden teahouse, for this meeting but Charles had insisted and assured her that Otherside Café would provide some herbal concoction. She scoffed—a lovely hu kwa porter, I’m sure—and acquiesced. Ramona had no patience for weak and succumbing men, but was conversely intolerant of inappropriately steadfast ones. Thus far, Charles had demonstrated that he was inappropriately steadfast. But Ramona continued to see him, for she convinced herself that she had not lowered her standards, but rather, was propagating an open mind.

Charles and Ramona had met at a bar two months ago. It was Ramona’s friend Mina’s 26th birthday extravaganza. At the time Ramona was laying off the booze and had selfishly hoped that Mina’s birthday would not be another ready-made drunken get together. She knew better than to hope too much, and when she received her invitation via an online social networking site she gave a single nod. When the Saturday came she dressed accordingly in a tight cotton turtle neck dress that showed her curves and as well as her panty lines. At the bar she smiled politely at Mina’s coworkers and did her best to uphold her end of the small talk while she sipped an icy pint of water. While everyone did tequila shots in Mina’s honor Ramona did a reconnaissance of the dizzying bar. She sat up straight to offset her creeping insecurity.

Before the aforementioned Saturday was even on the week’s horizon, Ramona had imagined a variety of scenarios concerning how she would amuse herself at the bar without drinking. Each daydream invariably involved the immaculate seduction of a handsome intellectual, and of course a lavatory tryst—I guess, this does not constitute a variety. Well, Ramona was sure she could awaken the dormant man-eater within without rousing her up with cheap splashes of Montezuma. But as she sat at the bar that night she felt no trace of the species or even a faint whiff of the spices that would accomplish this feat. Two weights grew in the corners of her mouth and it became evermore difficult to smile as the night went on.
It was precisely when Ramona had given up all hopes of being an attractive woman—despite even her attractive woman costume—that Charles sidled up next to her. He ordered himself a Maker’s on the rocks and cockily turned to Ramona. She looked up at him; the top of his forehead faintly glistened and his thick black hair all toppled smartly to the left. He gestured towards the bartender with a flick of his forefinger. Despite all the fantasies involving sexual prowess Ramona had a toxic notion that even acknowledging men was a glaring sign of desperation. She replied hastily, “No.”
Then she regretted her tone. He was handsome. Enough. Charles recovered, “Ah, the lovely ones never imbibe.” Ramona did not roll her eyes at this, but her brain briefly rattled. Imbibe, really? You cannot offset the fact you are in this bar by employing unordinary words. Wait. That is what I came to do. Damn it. Don’t be a bitch. Ramona unruffled and Charles persevered. He led the conversation in spite of her predisposition. He even made her laugh. It is probably worth noting that had Charles known that in her fairytale Ramona looked to get laid in a bathroom, he would have used a different repertoire. But even God himself wouldn’t have picked up on that.
As it went, their decent conversation lasted through another Maker’s on the rocks before Charles had to get back to his entourage of accountants (he was an accountant). From his back pocket he got his wallet and pulled out a business card to present to Ramona. She lightly pushed his hand and the card back into his chest; with her other hand she reached across and into her purse. “Take mine,” she said, “I’ve already done my taxes.” She added a calculated flicker to her stare and Charles returned with an appropriately sleazy grin. He left the bar and Ramona turned back to her friend’s group of friends and unabashedly joined in the laughter with no knowledge of the joke.

Charles called her two days later. Two days meant: I was not enamored with you when we met, however I would like to make you feel special by not waiting the cool three days because I hope to sleep with you. Ramona was flattered. They made a date to have dinner at a comedy club and the evening turned out quite nice. To add to Charles’ pleasure by the time of their date Ramona was drinking again so when he leaned in for a kiss at the end of the night he wasn’t rejected. Four nights later they had sushi and sake. Two nights later they saw a 3-D movie at an IMAX theatre. One night later they had sex. It was ok.
Ramona was enjoying Charles’ company but she could not truthfully explain why. Because, truthfully, she did not enjoy his company. He was sort of funny, sort of handsome, and sort of successful; but don’t all those sort ofs mean Ramona sort of settled? She definitely enjoyed the fact that he was a man, insofar as his masculinity produced an outlet for her idealized femininity. When Charles was around she could be too weak to open a jar, et cetera. But other than that she could not think of anything particular to Charles that interested her.

Oh well, she thought as she gazed at her pimples. Never stopped him from laying me before. Ramona cringed and fluffed her hair and left the mirror to pace her bedroom. Her heels clicked steadily while she crossed back and forth. We went out for Mina’s birthday on a Saturday night. Charles called me, then, on—had to be because I was in class—Monday. “Bah!” She let out and threw her hands in the air, free in defeat, like the last tuft of air from a falling balloon.
Ramona left her room and searched out her cell phone. Twilight was beginning. One day is love, three days platonic potential. Two days, two days will never work. She closed the curtains and turned on the lamp.
“Hello, Charles? Yea, hi, Ramona. I’m not feeling very well…No, see, I’m not feeling well ever again...”

String 4

4 Canal Plaza

For Ma

I made this in hopes of creating a card for my mother. The idea being that at some point I would say: and YOU, YOU'RE my most favorite of alll!!!!!!!!!!!!........But then...I ran out of room.

So ma, thanks for making me so, ah, appretiative? Or, good at making lists... Love yoU!

Cathro Publishing, Inc.

Jeanne Hébuterne

"These drawings also present a conundrum for gender-based interpretation. Modigliani's favorite model portrays herself naked in voluptuous poses, inspired by the classic tradition of the female nude seen through male eyes. In doing so, she achieves a curious androgyny, seizing both roles: artist and model, male and female, subject and object. Clearly her intention was to startle, challenge, and provoke."

www.theliteraryreview.org/ secretlife/lappin.htm