Some people try to pick up girls and they get called assholes. This never happened to Gertrude Stein.

It takes a lot of time to be a genius, you have to sit around so much doing nothing, really doing nothing.

Gertrude Stein

God I'm so bored from sitting around and doing nothing all the time. Really doing nothing.

From a bookjacket:

"I do not know what Miss Stein is talking about. I do not even understand the title. That, Miss Stein tells me, is because I am dumb."

English Awards were the other night. I lost. More specifically, I lost to a poem called "Captured in a Friendship." Guess what it was about. Second place went to a different poem; I stopped listening when the poet read the phrase "Tears burst forth from out of her soul." He was kind of cute, but I tuned out after that line. Third went to a poem about how her grandfather died. The grandfather liked to eat pie; sometimes he couldn't remember things, but he liked to eat pie.

At least I've got a few things in the literary magazine, and they've made me an editor next year. According to an email I received this afternoon, I'm already a senior editor. Trust you me, I'll be laying down some new ground rules.

First rule: No crappy poetry.
Second rule: No crappy poetry.


Poetry sucks unless it makes me money.

100% Geek-ified

Blogger has been completely redone! I'm playing around with some of the new options, like xml feeds and posting via email and all types of hot hot stuff.

I think I'm in love.

This post is mostly just to play around and tinker with some of the new features, but as not to completely bore you, here's a photo of a new artwork that I'm thinking of tweaking for a new masthead, since the Otto Dix one is ugly depending on the size of the browser. I don't want to discriminate against those with browser deficiencies. The only downside to this photo is that it's from a "You too can be a professional artist!!" type website, and I can't find proper credit.



Let me know what you think. There should be a new set of comments set up (thank you Blogger!). I know you're there, I can read my stats. Leave a comment and let's see how the new features work!


Edit: The new comments feature sucks so I'm keeping with the old version. You can still leave a comment, though, if you want.

Modernism is Dead!

The only thing the Nazis did right was to kill Modernism. Why can't the school dance department let it rest in peace?

(Yes, I know it's hard to pinpoint exactly when Modernism ended and post-Modernism began, but I blame the Nazis. Well, I don't blame them because I find Modernism boring, but they did it. I'm not saying that Nazism was a good idea, nor do I agree with their views on 'Degenerate Art', but the end of Modernism was a good thing in the long run for the arts.)

Fortunately, they followed a 45 minute piece on survival in a post 9/11 society (or as I called it, "mitigated Modernist shit in pseudo-cathartic attempt at relevance") with a Beach Boys medley with the entire dance company in their tighty-whities.



Now that's my kind of dancing. Mmmm...

Normally I don't like sitting in the front row, but the show was almost sold out and I didn't have much choice. But when the cast started taking off their clothing, I flip-flopped like Kerry's voting record (oh I'm so topical!). Let me just say that the dance belts under their skivvies are sure going to give me some sweet dreams tonight!

Another meme. I promise actual content for tomorrow. C/Ped from my LJ.

On your current playlist, hit shuffle and pick the first twenty songs on the list (no matter how cheesy or embarrassing), and write down your favorite line of the song. Try to avoid putting the song title in the line. Then, have your friends comment and see if they know the songs. No cheating!

NB--This is from my entire collection of music on my computer, as my current playlist was a mix of one artist (the Magnetic Fields) and that's too easy. I edited out songs in foreign languages (no Mr. Credo for you!), live songs with humorous openings (sorry Courtney), covers (sorry Ciccone Youth) remixes/mashups (no "Smells Like Booty") and the instrumentals (though it would be interesting to see how many of you are up on your Ravel).


1. I hate that damn machismo!
2. Gertrude Stein: she was never called an asshole.
3. Hit me with the bloody techno!
4. Fucking him was like Waiting for Godot; he never came and I was happy when it ended.
5. Art is not cheese--it should not be shredded!
6. You can look but don't touch my dear, I might be butch but I am queer!
7. Let's talk about spaceships or anything except me and you, okay?
8. We talk about our future: we say that marriage is for us (even when our country says it's not)
9. The condom on your dick's the tie that binds
10. I want a raise, I want to go home, I want sex, I want a cookie.
11. Long came a spider who sat down beside her and said "Hey Bitch! Gimme some head!"
12. God, I hate Belgium designers.
13. I'm a dog, I'm a slag, I'm a disco queen.
14. When I punk through the club I'm a debutante
15. My daddy called me devil: I call me "Ambisextruous"
16. In some ways I think like someone like Redd Kross would be easy to manage
17. Your mouth is big and dirty but I'd kiss you if I could.
18. Mommy's in the closet finding God, I'm on my knees finding you
19. Why'd you come in here lookin like that when you could stop traffic in a gunney sack?
20. Don't be miserable like Morrissey just let me do you underneath the Christmas Tree


NB: #2 is technically a cover but there's enough of a difference so that I'm counting it as a separate song, 4 is a spoken word thing by someone on my buddy list, 8 is also by someone on my buddy list, and 13 could either be 'slug' or slag' (there's an odd British accent). Good Luck!

Gakked from chrisafer, who got it from Vanity Fair.

I hate memes, but I fill them out anyways because I'm lazy.

What is your idea of perfect happiness?
   Cuddling with a loved one.

Which historical figure do you most identify with?
   Rimbaud

Which living person do you most admire?
   Kathleen Hanna

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
   Insecurity.

What is your greatest extravagance?
   Picking up the check at restaurants with friends.

What is your favorite journey?
   To the bathroom for a post-coital, shared shower.

On what occasion do you lie?
    When I think the truth isn't interesting or provacative enough

Which living person do you most despise?
   Fred Phelps

What or who is the greatest love of your life?
   Peter

When and where were you happiest?
   This fall, when the ex would come and visit for a weekend.

Which talent would you most like to have?
   Schmoozing.

What is your current state of mind?
   Lonely

What do you consider your greatest achievement?
   Being allowed to teach at Renaissance.

If you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?
   An overly-nice kindergarten teacher

What is your most treasured possession?
   My computer. It's got all my history in its files.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
   University of Stevens Point.

What is your favorite occupation?
   Writer.

What is the quality you most like in a man?
   High brow wit

What is the quality you most like in a woman?
   Sarcasm

Who are your favorite writers?
   David Leavitt, Oscar Wilde, Carole Nelson Douglas, and Tennesse Williams

What is your motto?
   A witty saying proves nothing. (Voltaire)

Ode to Potatoes

At dinner tonight, they served tater tots. It was amazing. I almost made an entire meal out of them.

I honestly believe that potatoes are God's gift to vegetarians.

Scratch that. Potatoes are God's gift to all humans.

Think about it. Potatoes are the world's most perfect food.

Mashed, fried, tator tots, scalloped, baked, twice baked, French fries, wedged, bread, American fries, croquettes, hash browns, pancakes, au gratin, casserole, the list keeps going.

I don't know why the Irish complained. They were lucky bastards.

"Waah waah waah. We have to eat potatoes two or three times a day because we can't afford anything else. Britain is ruining our economy waah."

And we call France the pussies. (Note the sarcasm.)

...

If they made potato flavored lubricant, you can bet your sweet ass that'd I'll be all over that.

Or rather, it'd be all over my sweet ass.

Using the internet to justify hatred is fun!

I had always thought that people who vote Republican were stupid, but now there's proof.

a one night stand with the night

a one night stand with the night
it's him or me, baby
his cacophonous life
merging with my body
he'll give it up
he'll get it good then get gone
back against the wall
another notch on my belt

one night stand with the night
pistol in his starter
with his libertine life
I'm going make him harder
if he's got the goods
then I'm going to get him good
witching hour getting lewd
with all of the young dudes

if I get with you I'll get you off
if I get with you I'll get you off
if I get with you I'll get you good.

swapping spit with the night
like a first grade spelling bee
red crayon, paper is white
I'm the easiest thing you'll ever see
a one night stand
is wasting too much time
I've got to find my man
a man in my prime

if I get with you I'll get you off
if I get with you I'll get you off
if I get with you I'll get you good

bathing in the red light
dripping wet from sweating sin
checking out the guys
squirting novels on my skin
no I don't 'hold hands'
I don't want to meet mom and dad
I'm just a big fan
of wicked tongues tasting everything

if I get with you I'll get you off
if I get with you I'll get you good
good good good

This is what happens when I listen to the yeah yeah yeahs during class. God bless inner ear headphones. Obviously it's a rough draft. It started off as a gay rewrite of this poem by Frost, because we were discussing it in class, but then it got dirty because I got to daydreaming. There really should be a class on turning homework into porn. Maybe then I'd pay attention in class.

(Also. I started working on a masthead as per his recommendation. A rough draft is up now. I don't think I like it--depending on the size of the browser window, it can leave awkward spacing. If anyone knows the HTML for the picture to automatically resize itself, or some other HTML trick to make things pretty, drop me a line. Merci.)

The Letter

Put the pen to the paper, press the envelope with my scent
Can't you see in my handwriting the curve of my g?

Who is left that writes these days?
You and me, we'll be different
Take the cap off your pen
Wet the envelope--lick and lick it

It turns me on to imagine
Your blue eyes on my words
Your beautiful pen-- take the cap off
Give me a sign and I'd come running

The Letter, PJ Harvey
(video)

Sometimes I open letters from my friends and I weep for the English language. Well, not really, but when the entire email is three or four sentences long, without any capitalization or proper punctuation, it gets on my nerves. I can tolerate it from a few people: my Russian, with whom I stayed when I was working on the Chemical Weapons plant in Shchuch’ye, for example. (I worked on the gallery and artwork in the foyer and didn't actually work with any hazardous waste.) He didn't speak any English at the time, or rather he only knew a few key sentences, like most people know Spanish. He's taking classes in school, and writes to me sometimes to practice his English, which is better than my Russian.

The sad thing is that his letters are usually more grammatically correct than most of the emails sent to me by my American friends. I assume that he spends more time on his letters, and sometimes a few sentences sound as if they were copied out of an English phrasebook, but he's trying. It's always in stark contrast to other letters that I receive from friends, fragments of phrases without time or thought put into them. Misplaced modifiers, dangling participles, prepositions ending the sentence, those I can accept, but some letters that in my Inbox make me want to rethink my friendships. I wish there were some technology that would limit the amount of exclamation points allowed in a single email; 21 exclamation points for 9 sentences (which includes the greeting and signature) is just wasteful--doesn't he know that there are children starving for punctuation in Rwanda?

I read a lot, and it makes me so sad to read correspondence from earlier generations. The letters between John and Abigail Adams are gorgeous, full of romance and intellect, friendship and affection. Going through some old emails from my ex, I don't get the same feeling; at best I get "I miss you" and then a few lines on his day, and occasionally a short story of something amusing that one of friends said. None of them are anything like Napoleon's letter to Josephine, Zelda's letter to F. Scott, or Robert Browning's letter to Elizabeth. I know that these were written by some of the greatest minds of their generation, by people who made their living off of their words, so I shouldn't expect much, but comparing these letters to 1KB, paragraph-long emails makes me realize the deteriorization of the English language. I know I'm an English/Creative Writing major who was dating a chemistry major and my expectations are high, but some sort of effort on his part would have been nice.

To be fair, I know that I'm no master of English--in older blogs I didn't capitalize, and I rarely capitalize in IM conversations, I use too many qualifiers in speech (quite, very, really, et all), my sentences can be somewhat Faulknerian. But when I write letters, there are usually paragraphs involved, with thought given to the flow, rhythm, and aesthetics.

Sometimes I think I'm a sapiosexual, attracted to intelligence, or that I suffer from Ruben's Syndrome, emotionally aroused by great works of art. Like the t-shirt says, "Good writing is sexy."


Turn me on.

Five Links and/or Thoughts as of 3:07pm:

1. I'm always pleased when I find news articles that extoll the virtues of my guilty pleasures. Today (or maybe yesterday), Slate.com came out with a review of a cartoon that, when my roommmate catches me watching it, I feel guilty: The Fairly OddParents. Now if they'd only come out with an article about Recess I won't have to quick change the station when my roommate drops by.

2. I just found out that I'm scheduled to read at the English Awards ceremony during the finale of Friends and I don't know if I feel comfortable admitting that I like the show enough to cancel or buy a blank tape.

3.Today is the first of May, and you know what that means: First of May, First of May, Outdoor Fucking Starts Today!

4. I have a new desktop; it's a self-portrait of Otto Dix, a German Expressionist whom the Nazis abhorred.

5. I have found the worst poem in the world, at least in my opinion. I feel really bad for discouraging art, but since the title is "Im So Gothic, Im So Pale, Tragedy, Pitty Me, Pitty Me" I hope to god that it's a parody or mockery and not at face value.