On a gothic romance novel kick - re-reading Jane Eyre and then onto Rebecca (another one I've already read). Still gotta unpack my books in my new place, I'm sad they are in boxes. Any other novels from the gothic genre people like, or am I the only literary nerd out of my friends? I know books are an ancient form of entertainment, a primitive version of digital video recordings, etc.
Oh yeah, and I'm in a new place. We got to move in a few days earlier than expected, but the lease officially will start tomorrow. I will have to take pictures of it when I get it unpacked and more decorated because now it doesn't have too much of a personality. I have to get the bed frame and headboard put together so my mattress is sitting on the floor right now - well, on top of the box spring doodad, but yeah.
Love the new place. It's very odd to drive out of the parking lot and then be in a city. I'm unused to living in an urban area, excluding my brief stint in Florence when I studied abroad. Florence is a mini big city, IMO, because you can pretty much walk across the whole city in about an hour and all the sights of the city are in walking distance. I could write a whole blog entry about Florence but that will have to wait.
Other new life developments are in swing, but I don't want to jinx them by jumping the gun and mentioning those now.
In any case, I'm starting to nod off after a relatively long day/week. Time to read a couple pages of Jane Eyre before turning in, although at the sleepy rate I'm going it may just be a couple paragraphs.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Sunday, June 19, 2011
My Spanish love affair (while in the USA)
OK so let me start with this: Spain has its own social networking site that is called Tuenti (http://www.tuenti.com), which I signed up for while I was living in Spain in 2008-2009. I haven't been on the site in probably more than a year, and I hardly used it while I was there, either. I only logged in because I got an email saying I had a message on the site, which I found intriguing, because who would send me a message on Tuenti instead of writing to my email address or on Facebook? Well, the answer is much like you'd expect: someone who I've never heard of in my life.
Here is the message from some dude named Michael Jose - click to enlarge:
Now it's been a while since I've taken a course in Spanish/English translation, so forgive me that this will not be a professional translation, but this is what Michael Jose wrote to me (with proper grammar and punctuation as much as possible, although it is pretty tricky with MJ's run-on sentences):
"Hello, I been have trying for like half an hour to think of a way to write you a message that wouldn't be really long, and you know what? It's impossible, thousands and thousands of messages with the same ending or the same wording, only to tell you how spectacular you are, but you know what, what I would particularly love to know if this "spectacularness" that you have with your body also is in your personality, because seriously that would be a magnificent surprise to know that a person as magnificent as you are, I'm not looking for anything more than your friendship and please respond to this message if you read it. Well, I could go my whole life writing to you, maybe now I should say goodbye and just wish that someday I will check my email and be surprised to find your response, bye, kisses, if you would like to add me on MSN it is (redacted). Sorry for the sermon."
OK now there is the possibility that this is just some big prank and he's like "oh, I'm going to message the guiri on Tuenti, jejejeje!" "Guiri," by the way, is the word Spaniards use for foreigners as a kind of derogatory word similar to Mexicans calling Americans "gringos." I doubt that, however, seeing how he replied to me again when I sent my response. Either way, this is what I said in response to MJ:
This is how I responded: "How do you know me? Good God, man...I don't remember you, but thanks for the compliments..." and he said "Well the truth is I sent you a message so I could get to know you."
Alas, MJ, it appears we are destined to be star-crossed lovers. You live in the land of delusion (err, Spain), and I live in Southern California. Thanks for playing!
Here is the message from some dude named Michael Jose - click to enlarge:
Now it's been a while since I've taken a course in Spanish/English translation, so forgive me that this will not be a professional translation, but this is what Michael Jose wrote to me (with proper grammar and punctuation as much as possible, although it is pretty tricky with MJ's run-on sentences):
"Hello, I been have trying for like half an hour to think of a way to write you a message that wouldn't be really long, and you know what? It's impossible, thousands and thousands of messages with the same ending or the same wording, only to tell you how spectacular you are, but you know what, what I would particularly love to know if this "spectacularness" that you have with your body also is in your personality, because seriously that would be a magnificent surprise to know that a person as magnificent as you are, I'm not looking for anything more than your friendship and please respond to this message if you read it. Well, I could go my whole life writing to you, maybe now I should say goodbye and just wish that someday I will check my email and be surprised to find your response, bye, kisses, if you would like to add me on MSN it is (redacted). Sorry for the sermon."
OK now there is the possibility that this is just some big prank and he's like "oh, I'm going to message the guiri on Tuenti, jejejeje!" "Guiri," by the way, is the word Spaniards use for foreigners as a kind of derogatory word similar to Mexicans calling Americans "gringos." I doubt that, however, seeing how he replied to me again when I sent my response. Either way, this is what I said in response to MJ:
This is how I responded: "How do you know me? Good God, man...I don't remember you, but thanks for the compliments..." and he said "Well the truth is I sent you a message so I could get to know you."
Alas, MJ, it appears we are destined to be star-crossed lovers. You live in the land of delusion (err, Spain), and I live in Southern California. Thanks for playing!
Friday, June 17, 2011
Ah, the technological age.
Sometimes I lament that I'm living in a technological age where everything is fast-paced and anyone can Google my name and find out where I live, work and any number of things about me - including that I write this blog. That I'm a Libra, listen to opera and jazz music, and I like walks on the beach (wait...um, sure).
Ain't no joke!
Then there are times when I'm just flat-out amazed that we have all this technology at our fingertips, and I wonder what my life would have been like if I had been living in what I imagine was a time when our private information was just that: private. Nobody knew from Adam about where you lived, at least not without finding a phone book in the vicinity of your home. These days, who even has a phone book? I can tell you right now that if a phone book were delivered to me, I'd toss it in the recycling bin and think "why do I need that crap, I have a phone/computer to look up where people live?"
This mindset, of course, spells doom for my chosen profession, in a way. The fact that I decided to become a journalist and write for newspapers perhaps was not a wise one, seeing how no one will buy a newspaper when they can read the news for free online and it's more convenient to just poke through what you want to read rather than having a cumbersome newspaper delivered to you when you might not even read half of it. In fact, even though I am a journalist, sometimes I wonder why my parents have multiple newspapers delivered to them. Why? Why not just read it online without paying the subscription? Of course it's ironic that I think that way, but I can't help thinking this way, given the fact that I'm a "Millennial," as my mother called me the other day when we went out to dinner and I had to check my cell phone several times - a pet peeve of hers.
This whole Death of the Newspaper thing really gets to me, of course, since it is how I chose to pursue my livelihood and it is disintegrating before us, much as any old technology is eventually replaced by a new one. Examples: the printing press replaced hand-written documents, automobiles replaced carriages, films replaced vaudeville, and oh yeah, "video killed the radio star." It ain't no joke.
The fact that I've been able to pursue writing as a career in any capacity is a blessing, really, considering how it is an extremely competitive field, much like any creative field is competitive. I remember when I was in high school I toyed with the idea of pursuing a music degree, but I told myself I lacked the talent, dedication and knowledge to make a go of it, and I didn't want to go ahead with anything knowing off the bat that it wouldn't be my passion and it would be half-assed. I love music and I sing in my car all the time without shame even though my P.O.S. car is totally un-sound proofed. But anyway, I digress.
The point I'm making is I'm conflicted about whether I am happy or not that we live in the age of incredibly advanced technology that shows no signs of becoming even more advanced, probably fulfilling the prophecy of George Orwell's 1984 which first brought up "big brother."
In any case, I've come to accept that we're living in a time where you can Google me and I can Google you. Hey, it comes in handy for my journalism gigs - it makes it much easier to do research when I can type "hyperbaric oxygen benefits" or "Resource Conversation District of the Santa Monica Mountains" into a search engine. I remember when I was in elementary school how excited I would be to look through encyclopedias or Encarta (it was basically the Wikipedia of the '90s, a CD Rom program version of an encyclopedia). These days, it's much easier for me to satiate my unending curiosity about even the most mundane things by typing it in a search engine instead of having to jump through hoops to find the information I want. And I am a highly inquisitive individual, obviously, that's another reason why I chose to become a reporter, because I'm naturally nosy, I guess.
Anyway, I think I'm going to go back to sleep. I've been kept awake with racing thoughts of various things from horses to job searches to apartment searches to even the Casey Anthony trial proceedings. That's my problem and what leads to my insomnia - my mind is always racing and it won't let up. Oh well! Blame it on the technology: it is what helps me derive unending information, and that's what I live for.
...Sidenote: I can't believe I ended that last sentence in a preposition and I'm okay with that. I must be really tired, or just lazy. Maybe both.
Ain't no joke!
Then there are times when I'm just flat-out amazed that we have all this technology at our fingertips, and I wonder what my life would have been like if I had been living in what I imagine was a time when our private information was just that: private. Nobody knew from Adam about where you lived, at least not without finding a phone book in the vicinity of your home. These days, who even has a phone book? I can tell you right now that if a phone book were delivered to me, I'd toss it in the recycling bin and think "why do I need that crap, I have a phone/computer to look up where people live?"
This mindset, of course, spells doom for my chosen profession, in a way. The fact that I decided to become a journalist and write for newspapers perhaps was not a wise one, seeing how no one will buy a newspaper when they can read the news for free online and it's more convenient to just poke through what you want to read rather than having a cumbersome newspaper delivered to you when you might not even read half of it. In fact, even though I am a journalist, sometimes I wonder why my parents have multiple newspapers delivered to them. Why? Why not just read it online without paying the subscription? Of course it's ironic that I think that way, but I can't help thinking this way, given the fact that I'm a "Millennial," as my mother called me the other day when we went out to dinner and I had to check my cell phone several times - a pet peeve of hers.
This whole Death of the Newspaper thing really gets to me, of course, since it is how I chose to pursue my livelihood and it is disintegrating before us, much as any old technology is eventually replaced by a new one. Examples: the printing press replaced hand-written documents, automobiles replaced carriages, films replaced vaudeville, and oh yeah, "video killed the radio star." It ain't no joke.
The fact that I've been able to pursue writing as a career in any capacity is a blessing, really, considering how it is an extremely competitive field, much like any creative field is competitive. I remember when I was in high school I toyed with the idea of pursuing a music degree, but I told myself I lacked the talent, dedication and knowledge to make a go of it, and I didn't want to go ahead with anything knowing off the bat that it wouldn't be my passion and it would be half-assed. I love music and I sing in my car all the time without shame even though my P.O.S. car is totally un-sound proofed. But anyway, I digress.
The point I'm making is I'm conflicted about whether I am happy or not that we live in the age of incredibly advanced technology that shows no signs of becoming even more advanced, probably fulfilling the prophecy of George Orwell's 1984 which first brought up "big brother."
In any case, I've come to accept that we're living in a time where you can Google me and I can Google you. Hey, it comes in handy for my journalism gigs - it makes it much easier to do research when I can type "hyperbaric oxygen benefits" or "Resource Conversation District of the Santa Monica Mountains" into a search engine. I remember when I was in elementary school how excited I would be to look through encyclopedias or Encarta (it was basically the Wikipedia of the '90s, a CD Rom program version of an encyclopedia). These days, it's much easier for me to satiate my unending curiosity about even the most mundane things by typing it in a search engine instead of having to jump through hoops to find the information I want. And I am a highly inquisitive individual, obviously, that's another reason why I chose to become a reporter, because I'm naturally nosy, I guess.
Anyway, I think I'm going to go back to sleep. I've been kept awake with racing thoughts of various things from horses to job searches to apartment searches to even the Casey Anthony trial proceedings. That's my problem and what leads to my insomnia - my mind is always racing and it won't let up. Oh well! Blame it on the technology: it is what helps me derive unending information, and that's what I live for.
...Sidenote: I can't believe I ended that last sentence in a preposition and I'm okay with that. I must be really tired, or just lazy. Maybe both.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
"I tell you that I wanna go, but I wanna stay"
Listen, hark! out in the dark
A mockingbird in the tall oak tree
Busts his throat on a high sweet note
Nobody knows he's there but me.
From "Solitary Singer" by Ahn Trio
Lately I've been indulging one of my greater obsessions, that is, reading about and watching movies dealing with British history. Why? Search me, other than I like the eye candy of the beautiful costumes and looking at the vast differences in culture between modern American society (well, from the places where I've lived, that is) in contrast with the Regency, Victorian or Edwardian periods. Then, of course, the Georgian one(s). There are others, of course (let's not forget my love of all things Henry VIII, more specifically, the wives).
Then I recently saw Winter's Bone, which is another sharp contrast from my obsession with the Brit history. So incredibly bleak, for the majority, anyway. I really found myself with a huge respect for the heroine, the 17-year-old Ree Dolly who is forced to quit high school to care for her catatonically depressed mother and her two younger siblings, while her meth-head dad is off god knows where. The story also reminded me of a Law & Order story, where instead of the NYPD it's a Missouri teenager in the role of detective in a hostile crowd of people who have no inclination to talk, relatives or not. Anyway, I was really glad that the little movie that could got recognition from award committees or else I never would have heard of it.
What else? Oh yeah, I've been writing a lot. Lots of stuff in Malibu, and then some stuff here and there. I've been looking for a gig here, a gig there, shooting my lance freely. Sometimes when I think of freelancing, it seems like a fancy way of saying "yeah, I'm unemployed." Sometimes I wonder if it's called freelancing because it actually means "for free." Truthfully, I'm way too flighty to be dedicated to one place. I'd go insane. Maybe that's why I decided to study a subject that would almost assure I'd be spending my life living in a cardboard box? OK, not really...maybe I'll be the next Stephen King or John Grisham.
...HA.
*Stretch*
Been riding the horse a lot lately, and it has been going well. I've been trying to keep it on the down low, despite wanting to go to the horse shows. Alas, lack of funds and not wanting the horse to be seen and thus more likely being sold keeps my whims in check. Usually. I'm more prone to following my whims than logic, at times, depending on my mood.
It's so fun bringing along the adolescent horses and their progress from week to week. Also, you learn so much more by training a young horse than hopping on a "made" animal. And anyway, I should add that this horse was already, I suppose, installed with the right elements that would ensure he'd be golden if trained properly. Excellent breeding, conformation and health just mean the humans have to be dedicated in order to make the right package. I've been working at it a lot, despite the frustration that pops up from time to time...not to mention the occasional concussion from being bucked off into next year. Seems, though, that unless I pull a Christopher Reeve or have a rotational fall (unlikely) that I'll get back on and tinker around. Not to mention I can be so insanely determined that if I think a challenge is almost too much, I plunge ahead relentlessly in order to get what I want. That's probably what drives me more than anything, my desire to get what I want. Mwahaha!
But yeah. Horse = good. I'll go buy lottery tickets on the off chance I'll be able to get him, myself. :-D
What else? Well, I'm not entirely sure why I'm awake, other than because of insomnia. Oh, that reminds me: I got my blood panel back, and I do not have a jacked up thyroid. I'm healthy as a (GONG) horse. *slaps knee* In fact, my blood panel shows I was within normal range for every category. Not that I wanted to have to deal with hypothyroidism the rest of my life, but it would explain my inability to sleep the night. I shall content myself with the fact that I'm normal as far as my bodily systems are concerned. In the head, well, I can't vouch for that.
I'm bored. I'm gonna go watch some more Pride & Prejudice then possibly sleep.
A mockingbird in the tall oak tree
Busts his throat on a high sweet note
Nobody knows he's there but me.
From "Solitary Singer" by Ahn Trio
Lately I've been indulging one of my greater obsessions, that is, reading about and watching movies dealing with British history. Why? Search me, other than I like the eye candy of the beautiful costumes and looking at the vast differences in culture between modern American society (well, from the places where I've lived, that is) in contrast with the Regency, Victorian or Edwardian periods. Then, of course, the Georgian one(s). There are others, of course (let's not forget my love of all things Henry VIII, more specifically, the wives).
Then I recently saw Winter's Bone, which is another sharp contrast from my obsession with the Brit history. So incredibly bleak, for the majority, anyway. I really found myself with a huge respect for the heroine, the 17-year-old Ree Dolly who is forced to quit high school to care for her catatonically depressed mother and her two younger siblings, while her meth-head dad is off god knows where. The story also reminded me of a Law & Order story, where instead of the NYPD it's a Missouri teenager in the role of detective in a hostile crowd of people who have no inclination to talk, relatives or not. Anyway, I was really glad that the little movie that could got recognition from award committees or else I never would have heard of it.
What else? Oh yeah, I've been writing a lot. Lots of stuff in Malibu, and then some stuff here and there. I've been looking for a gig here, a gig there, shooting my lance freely. Sometimes when I think of freelancing, it seems like a fancy way of saying "yeah, I'm unemployed." Sometimes I wonder if it's called freelancing because it actually means "for free." Truthfully, I'm way too flighty to be dedicated to one place. I'd go insane. Maybe that's why I decided to study a subject that would almost assure I'd be spending my life living in a cardboard box? OK, not really...maybe I'll be the next Stephen King or John Grisham.
...HA.
*Stretch*
Been riding the horse a lot lately, and it has been going well. I've been trying to keep it on the down low, despite wanting to go to the horse shows. Alas, lack of funds and not wanting the horse to be seen and thus more likely being sold keeps my whims in check. Usually. I'm more prone to following my whims than logic, at times, depending on my mood.
It's so fun bringing along the adolescent horses and their progress from week to week. Also, you learn so much more by training a young horse than hopping on a "made" animal. And anyway, I should add that this horse was already, I suppose, installed with the right elements that would ensure he'd be golden if trained properly. Excellent breeding, conformation and health just mean the humans have to be dedicated in order to make the right package. I've been working at it a lot, despite the frustration that pops up from time to time...not to mention the occasional concussion from being bucked off into next year. Seems, though, that unless I pull a Christopher Reeve or have a rotational fall (unlikely) that I'll get back on and tinker around. Not to mention I can be so insanely determined that if I think a challenge is almost too much, I plunge ahead relentlessly in order to get what I want. That's probably what drives me more than anything, my desire to get what I want. Mwahaha!
But yeah. Horse = good. I'll go buy lottery tickets on the off chance I'll be able to get him, myself. :-D
What else? Well, I'm not entirely sure why I'm awake, other than because of insomnia. Oh, that reminds me: I got my blood panel back, and I do not have a jacked up thyroid. I'm healthy as a (GONG) horse. *slaps knee* In fact, my blood panel shows I was within normal range for every category. Not that I wanted to have to deal with hypothyroidism the rest of my life, but it would explain my inability to sleep the night. I shall content myself with the fact that I'm normal as far as my bodily systems are concerned. In the head, well, I can't vouch for that.I'm bored. I'm gonna go watch some more Pride & Prejudice then possibly sleep.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
The End of an (Ambien) Era
The good doctor (who wears a monocle, at least in my mind) --
has cut me off from my supply of Ambien. Let us bow our heads.
Look, I was asked to model! I figured facing away from the camera in the fetal position would truly convey the angst and suffering of such an affliction.
...Actually, truth be told, I wasn't asked to be the model, I just have a chip on my shoulder that I wasn't given the job. *sulks*
Why is that, doth ye ask? Let me not use words, but this cartoon, to explain:
OK, enough with the freaking pictures. So yeah, no more of them pills. I was getting too whacked out while taking them, since they didn't help me sleep so much as go on some sort of a PG-rated acid trip. I'm often up late at night reading or watching a movie or in the midst of some other time wasting activity, and I'd start seeing things and being in some sort of a trance. Nothing like a talking walrus (shame), just like I was in a snow globe or something and I couldn't see clearly through the fog. It was kind of fun to take the trip into La La Land, but oh well.
Am I a hypochondriac? Oh well. It's fun to say you're afflicted with an odd...affliction. I watch a lot of Intervention, afterall.
Hum dee dum, what else? Oh yeah, speaking of weird illnesses, my cat has something called FORL - Feline Oral Resorptive Lesions. She had some disgusting receding gumline issues and it looked like her molars were disintegrating, somehow, which I was totally unaware of until the vet told me I should be brushing the cat's teeth. Uh, right. Anybody tried to give a cat pills? You're lucky if you can toss something down their gullet, let alone get them to sit patiently while foreign objects are polishing the chompers.
And it gets more dramatic! She had to go in for extractions, so she is now sans 2 of her molars. Poor cat. The good news is that she won't be in as much pain and she can eat around the yanked out teeth; the bad news is its a progressive disease with an undetermined prognosis. Shrug. She's 8 years old, so we'll see what happens.
The equine is doing well. Let's leave it there so I don't get in trouble because of my propensity for overshares for animals I don't own, but merely have the good fortune to ride/help train. =D
I'm fading, too, so it's not like I'm going to say anything that makes much sense.
The end...I'm off to dream of walruses!
has cut me off from my supply of Ambien. Let us bow our heads.
Look, I was asked to model! I figured facing away from the camera in the fetal position would truly convey the angst and suffering of such an affliction.
...Actually, truth be told, I wasn't asked to be the model, I just have a chip on my shoulder that I wasn't given the job. *sulks*
Why is that, doth ye ask? Let me not use words, but this cartoon, to explain:
OK, enough with the freaking pictures. So yeah, no more of them pills. I was getting too whacked out while taking them, since they didn't help me sleep so much as go on some sort of a PG-rated acid trip. I'm often up late at night reading or watching a movie or in the midst of some other time wasting activity, and I'd start seeing things and being in some sort of a trance. Nothing like a talking walrus (shame), just like I was in a snow globe or something and I couldn't see clearly through the fog. It was kind of fun to take the trip into La La Land, but oh well. Am I a hypochondriac? Oh well. It's fun to say you're afflicted with an odd...affliction. I watch a lot of Intervention, afterall.
Hum dee dum, what else? Oh yeah, speaking of weird illnesses, my cat has something called FORL - Feline Oral Resorptive Lesions. She had some disgusting receding gumline issues and it looked like her molars were disintegrating, somehow, which I was totally unaware of until the vet told me I should be brushing the cat's teeth. Uh, right. Anybody tried to give a cat pills? You're lucky if you can toss something down their gullet, let alone get them to sit patiently while foreign objects are polishing the chompers.
And it gets more dramatic! She had to go in for extractions, so she is now sans 2 of her molars. Poor cat. The good news is that she won't be in as much pain and she can eat around the yanked out teeth; the bad news is its a progressive disease with an undetermined prognosis. Shrug. She's 8 years old, so we'll see what happens.
The equine is doing well. Let's leave it there so I don't get in trouble because of my propensity for overshares for animals I don't own, but merely have the good fortune to ride/help train. =D
I'm fading, too, so it's not like I'm going to say anything that makes much sense.
The end...I'm off to dream of walruses!
Monday, January 31, 2011
Perhaps becoming an agoraphobe.
Yes, yes, one of those crazies who decides she'd rather live in solitude and never see the light of day.
Actually, The Doc thinks I may have a mild case of hypothyroidism. Huh? Yeah, that's an under-active thyroid. The thyroid controls how the body uses energy (Thanks for providing me with this info, Web MD) Symptoms include fatigue, depression, not being able to crap, and memory problems. I have always had major issues with my short-term memory and it would be just magical to know that there's something I can blame for why I can't remember where I put my keys, or why I'm constantly freaking out at a horse show about learning my courses. I make tiny hand made maps and carry them with me until right about when I go through the in gate.
So now I try to drug myself to sleep at night, but it doesn't really work a lot of the time, no doubt because of my increased tolerance to it. It just makes me slightly chilled out, I become more impulsive, and then my eyes play tricks on me sometimes where it looks like they're dancing or hovering above the screen. It's really not as freaky as it sounds, it's kinda cool. Not that I'm into hallucinating, or anything. It's just a by-product of my predicament.
Oh, and then there's the awesome memory loss of some of the things I've done by the time morning comes around and I'll have 20 emails to respond to from long lost friends who I decided I must chat with. Or old bosses to see how they're doing. Those kinds of weird things that are partially the fault of the Ambien, partially because I am me and prone to impulsivity. I see an opportunity, I want it, I take it. Better to take a risk than not.
Tomorrow I have to get my culo in order to write some more stuff for The Malibu Times. Nothing too terribly exciting - some feature about wine making in Santa Monica and some drain pipes being replaced in Malibu. Then there will be a film screening for Blue Valentine and Biutiful.
Those are two films I'd really like to see. I'm not sure if I'll go see it unles they snag a high profile visitor to chat with the crowd, I hope so! For me, I'd become a 14 year old girl to have a shot at talking to Ryan Gosling.
And It's been a while since I saw a Spanish language film, for real. I mean, I saw "Frida" but that hardly counts. I bet the real Frida Kahlo wouldn't be so pleased that her likeness would speak English. But if she had spoken Spanish and everyone would just be subtitled the whole movie, that wouldn't sell as well, and in the end it's all about the billz. Also, I'd be curious as to her opinion about Salma Hayek taking over her role, when Salma is super sexy and Frida had relentless pain flayed out her whole life. It was kind of blah in the way Frida and Diego interacted. They had the open marriage, but clearly jealousies arise constantly, until the marriage can't be healed when her husband sleeps with Frida's sister. OOh lawd.
I'd really enjoy being a film or stage critic. Everybody hates a critic, they say, wellll.....shrug. I remember thinking way back in high school that it would be such a great way to combine my love of theater and writing. Of course, high schoolers have these ideas of grandeur about what they can do, what they'll see, without all th ework it'll take to even be the lowest on the proverbial totem pole. You could argue I'm not qualified to do either, but I want to. Also, I'm determined when I want something. I'm pretty sure the fan club for reporter isn't that high, either. Odd that someone like me, or is hypersensitive to real or imagined hypersensitivity, would take on a role where you're expected to glean personal information you willingly gave me, then whittle it down further into how I think it sounds best.
So many more films I'd like to see. And of course lots of plays. Not that they're hard to find in LA, but the Broadway and off b'way stuff is much more happenin' in New York.
For now, this will be sufficient for my rambling, at times lacking cohesion/coherence, will end, for mow. For now I attempt to sleepand I hope the word "deeeeeaaaadddddlliiiiiiine" doesn't haunt my dreams. OK, maybe a bit.
Arrivaderci!
Actually, The Doc thinks I may have a mild case of hypothyroidism. Huh? Yeah, that's an under-active thyroid. The thyroid controls how the body uses energy (Thanks for providing me with this info, Web MD) Symptoms include fatigue, depression, not being able to crap, and memory problems. I have always had major issues with my short-term memory and it would be just magical to know that there's something I can blame for why I can't remember where I put my keys, or why I'm constantly freaking out at a horse show about learning my courses. I make tiny hand made maps and carry them with me until right about when I go through the in gate.
So now I try to drug myself to sleep at night, but it doesn't really work a lot of the time, no doubt because of my increased tolerance to it. It just makes me slightly chilled out, I become more impulsive, and then my eyes play tricks on me sometimes where it looks like they're dancing or hovering above the screen. It's really not as freaky as it sounds, it's kinda cool. Not that I'm into hallucinating, or anything. It's just a by-product of my predicament.
Oh, and then there's the awesome memory loss of some of the things I've done by the time morning comes around and I'll have 20 emails to respond to from long lost friends who I decided I must chat with. Or old bosses to see how they're doing. Those kinds of weird things that are partially the fault of the Ambien, partially because I am me and prone to impulsivity. I see an opportunity, I want it, I take it. Better to take a risk than not.
Tomorrow I have to get my culo in order to write some more stuff for The Malibu Times. Nothing too terribly exciting - some feature about wine making in Santa Monica and some drain pipes being replaced in Malibu. Then there will be a film screening for Blue Valentine and Biutiful.
Those are two films I'd really like to see. I'm not sure if I'll go see it unles they snag a high profile visitor to chat with the crowd, I hope so! For me, I'd become a 14 year old girl to have a shot at talking to Ryan Gosling.
And It's been a while since I saw a Spanish language film, for real. I mean, I saw "Frida" but that hardly counts. I bet the real Frida Kahlo wouldn't be so pleased that her likeness would speak English. But if she had spoken Spanish and everyone would just be subtitled the whole movie, that wouldn't sell as well, and in the end it's all about the billz. Also, I'd be curious as to her opinion about Salma Hayek taking over her role, when Salma is super sexy and Frida had relentless pain flayed out her whole life. It was kind of blah in the way Frida and Diego interacted. They had the open marriage, but clearly jealousies arise constantly, until the marriage can't be healed when her husband sleeps with Frida's sister. OOh lawd.
I'd really enjoy being a film or stage critic. Everybody hates a critic, they say, wellll.....shrug. I remember thinking way back in high school that it would be such a great way to combine my love of theater and writing. Of course, high schoolers have these ideas of grandeur about what they can do, what they'll see, without all th ework it'll take to even be the lowest on the proverbial totem pole. You could argue I'm not qualified to do either, but I want to. Also, I'm determined when I want something. I'm pretty sure the fan club for reporter isn't that high, either. Odd that someone like me, or is hypersensitive to real or imagined hypersensitivity, would take on a role where you're expected to glean personal information you willingly gave me, then whittle it down further into how I think it sounds best.
So many more films I'd like to see. And of course lots of plays. Not that they're hard to find in LA, but the Broadway and off b'way stuff is much more happenin' in New York.
For now, this will be sufficient for my rambling, at times lacking cohesion/coherence, will end, for mow. For now I attempt to sleepand I hope the word "deeeeeaaaadddddlliiiiiiine" doesn't haunt my dreams. OK, maybe a bit.
Arrivaderci!
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Woops, awake.
"Writers are such private, solitary people. they may become things other than that, but writing almost without exception gets done because of an inward-ness, a sense of privacy that you retain, even though you know that the piece you write may go public. The perspective the writer has on himself or herself seems crucially important to me, regardless of other people's perspectives." -- Ann Beattie in her essay "Melancholy and the Muse"
Sounds like me. Mostly solitary, cynical, content in smaller groups. Or if I'm in a group setting, I'll try to just be with a few people at a time. Shrug. This is how it goes. I'd question it if I cared.
Oh, another part of this essay I found funny was this another part. It's exactly how I feel whenever I sit down and look at my enormous, rambling mountain of notes and transcribed interviews, when I sit down in my non-work clothes in the dead of night to write an article:
"Past writing performance -- at least, in my experience -- counts for little. Neither the routine, nor the triumphs that sometimes results from adhering to that routine, can be depended upon. I have sometimes taken down books I've published from the shelves and been amazed that there was time when I apparently wrote on sentence after another, followed by even more sentences, to form a paragraph. Such an odd activity: needing to simultaneously remember and to forget something in order to bring into focus what did not happen, but might have."
Reading this essay, I almost felt like this woman had tapped into my brain. I found it particularly amusing, the part where she talks about her lack of a solid schedule and working in the dead of night in her underwear. Sounds exactly like me, and it's no wonder I'm an insomniac -- it lends itself nicely to what I like to do, though, doesn't it? I hardly ever write an article during the day. I feel creatively stifled...and man, doesn't that sound pretentious? Shrug.
Moving on.
I have this steel trap memory for the most random things ever said to me. I remember my 6th grade teacher told me next to start a thank you note with the words "thank you" (sorry, Mrs. Albee, I've broken that rule a few times out of laziness). My 10th grade English teacher told me not to start a sentence with "there is/are" because it is an immediate snooze fest for the reader. Again, sorry, Ms. Scobell, broke that rule, too. I remember when I moved to Long Island from Michigan, I wrote a note to her and I didn't include one form of the verb "to be," because of an assignment she had given us where we weren't allowed to use any form of it. Talk about a stretch -- that just meant I'd use "to have" in its various forms, more often.
Another thing that stuck with me -- my 9th grade teacher told me I'd never truly appreciate literature because I told her I was sick of talking about symbols in our assigned books. What possessed me to say that, I don't know, but I tend to speak without editing my thoughts, at times. That really incensed me. I also remember being infuriated when she docked me a point on a spelling quiz because my cursive letter "i" looked like an "e," even though she agreed she could see the dot above it.
Oh, that's another thing -- ever since probably 3rd grade, I've written in cursive unless there's some reason not to, like when a college professor told me my handwriting was hard to read (woops). I read an article about a year back, or so, about how cursive writing is going to be a thing of the past and I thought that someday I'll be that 80 year old who still writes in cursive, like some sort of relic of the past. Granted, my penmanship probably could leave something to be desired, but I don't care too much. As long as we have word processors, there's no need to worry about such things as penmanship (crap, there I am, giving in to the argument I just presented -- oh well).
I'm not sure what the point of this blog entry was meant to be, but oh well. Sometimes ya gotta do what etc.
Sounds like me. Mostly solitary, cynical, content in smaller groups. Or if I'm in a group setting, I'll try to just be with a few people at a time. Shrug. This is how it goes. I'd question it if I cared.
Oh, another part of this essay I found funny was this another part. It's exactly how I feel whenever I sit down and look at my enormous, rambling mountain of notes and transcribed interviews, when I sit down in my non-work clothes in the dead of night to write an article:
"Past writing performance -- at least, in my experience -- counts for little. Neither the routine, nor the triumphs that sometimes results from adhering to that routine, can be depended upon. I have sometimes taken down books I've published from the shelves and been amazed that there was time when I apparently wrote on sentence after another, followed by even more sentences, to form a paragraph. Such an odd activity: needing to simultaneously remember and to forget something in order to bring into focus what did not happen, but might have."
Reading this essay, I almost felt like this woman had tapped into my brain. I found it particularly amusing, the part where she talks about her lack of a solid schedule and working in the dead of night in her underwear. Sounds exactly like me, and it's no wonder I'm an insomniac -- it lends itself nicely to what I like to do, though, doesn't it? I hardly ever write an article during the day. I feel creatively stifled...and man, doesn't that sound pretentious? Shrug.
Moving on.
I have this steel trap memory for the most random things ever said to me. I remember my 6th grade teacher told me next to start a thank you note with the words "thank you" (sorry, Mrs. Albee, I've broken that rule a few times out of laziness). My 10th grade English teacher told me not to start a sentence with "there is/are" because it is an immediate snooze fest for the reader. Again, sorry, Ms. Scobell, broke that rule, too. I remember when I moved to Long Island from Michigan, I wrote a note to her and I didn't include one form of the verb "to be," because of an assignment she had given us where we weren't allowed to use any form of it. Talk about a stretch -- that just meant I'd use "to have" in its various forms, more often.
Another thing that stuck with me -- my 9th grade teacher told me I'd never truly appreciate literature because I told her I was sick of talking about symbols in our assigned books. What possessed me to say that, I don't know, but I tend to speak without editing my thoughts, at times. That really incensed me. I also remember being infuriated when she docked me a point on a spelling quiz because my cursive letter "i" looked like an "e," even though she agreed she could see the dot above it.
Oh, that's another thing -- ever since probably 3rd grade, I've written in cursive unless there's some reason not to, like when a college professor told me my handwriting was hard to read (woops). I read an article about a year back, or so, about how cursive writing is going to be a thing of the past and I thought that someday I'll be that 80 year old who still writes in cursive, like some sort of relic of the past. Granted, my penmanship probably could leave something to be desired, but I don't care too much. As long as we have word processors, there's no need to worry about such things as penmanship (crap, there I am, giving in to the argument I just presented -- oh well).
I'm not sure what the point of this blog entry was meant to be, but oh well. Sometimes ya gotta do what etc.
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