In case you missed it, Evil Incarnate died earlier this week.
Even the British media is touting American jingoistic propaganda. I cringe to think how heinous the coverage must be in the Fatherland. For an antidote, learn the truth about Ronald Reagan.
Thursday, June 10, 2004
Wednesday, June 09, 2004
Boy
I stared at the boy for a long time. He finally noticed me and whispered to his friends. They looked at me too. They all smiled, and I couldn't tell if their smiles were self-satisfied sneers or genuinely curious grins.
They knew what I wanted. I didn't approach them. I was too scared.
For all my talk about how much easier it is over here, how much friendlier everyone is—it's still hard. It's still very, very hard.
The doc provided me with the analogy to a classroom. Some children thrive in experimental classrooms where everything is hands-on, whereas others thrive in stricter classrooms where memorization is key. Either way, they still have the same issues they need to work through.
And I still have a lot to learn—clearly.
They knew what I wanted. I didn't approach them. I was too scared.
For all my talk about how much easier it is over here, how much friendlier everyone is—it's still hard. It's still very, very hard.
The doc provided me with the analogy to a classroom. Some children thrive in experimental classrooms where everything is hands-on, whereas others thrive in stricter classrooms where memorization is key. Either way, they still have the same issues they need to work through.
And I still have a lot to learn—clearly.
Happy Endings
Ever since I decided I would move to Scotland, I've been looking forward to writing to all my friends back home to tell them how fucking fabulous it is. I'll be sending that email within the next few days to tell them how beautiful it is here, how wonderful, how cultured, how this was the best decision for me, and so on.
I could have written a rough draft before I even arrived, and every word would have been true.
But
I still don't have a place to live. It's forcing me to ask a lot of questions about myself that I don't want to ask. For example, most flats are either for "professionals" or "students." There are lifestyle considerations, to be sure, but also tax reasons. Professionals pay council tax; students don't. So while, I think my lifestyle is more like a student's (and God knows, I don't want to grow up), most students don't want me to live with them because then their flats would be taxed. And all the professionals like to talk about how they enjoy "quiet weeknights inside."
And I don't have a job. I look at the classifieds and they just make we want to cry. I don't want to work in a call center. Or manage things. Or have clients. Or any other of a long list of buzzwords that mean nothing.
All that said, I feel I belong here more than anywhere else on the planet. I love this city. And it's so easy to forget how toxic American culture is.
Annabel and I have been talking about how Americans like to view their history in movements. Civil rights, for example, was a struggle, one that creates heroes and ideologies. The same changes occured in Europe around the same time but without the fanfare. It's a foreign concept to the American state of mind, but maybe social change just happens, with or without our interference. George Bush's policies simply aren't sound. They aren't sustainable, so they too will wither away eventually too—and from that perspective, the election really doesn't matter does it?
Even if the worst case scenario came to pass and environmental destruction wiped out half the planet's population in fifty years—so what? Half the population would survive and continue doing things, building civilizations, and so on.
To an American mindset, that thought sounds like shameful apathy; to mine, it sounds like blissful reassurance.
I could have written a rough draft before I even arrived, and every word would have been true.
But
I still don't have a place to live. It's forcing me to ask a lot of questions about myself that I don't want to ask. For example, most flats are either for "professionals" or "students." There are lifestyle considerations, to be sure, but also tax reasons. Professionals pay council tax; students don't. So while, I think my lifestyle is more like a student's (and God knows, I don't want to grow up), most students don't want me to live with them because then their flats would be taxed. And all the professionals like to talk about how they enjoy "quiet weeknights inside."
And I don't have a job. I look at the classifieds and they just make we want to cry. I don't want to work in a call center. Or manage things. Or have clients. Or any other of a long list of buzzwords that mean nothing.
All that said, I feel I belong here more than anywhere else on the planet. I love this city. And it's so easy to forget how toxic American culture is.
Annabel and I have been talking about how Americans like to view their history in movements. Civil rights, for example, was a struggle, one that creates heroes and ideologies. The same changes occured in Europe around the same time but without the fanfare. It's a foreign concept to the American state of mind, but maybe social change just happens, with or without our interference. George Bush's policies simply aren't sound. They aren't sustainable, so they too will wither away eventually too—and from that perspective, the election really doesn't matter does it?
Even if the worst case scenario came to pass and environmental destruction wiped out half the planet's population in fifty years—so what? Half the population would survive and continue doing things, building civilizations, and so on.
To an American mindset, that thought sounds like shameful apathy; to mine, it sounds like blissful reassurance.
Go Here
This boy was cool enough to link to my site, so you should visit his too.
http://www.thatqueergeorgiaboy.com/
http://www.thatqueergeorgiaboy.com/
Saturday, June 05, 2004
Drunken Blogging
Thank you for reading (Vivian). This is my first drunk blog since arrival.
I adore this city. I adore this city. I adore this city.
I had forgotten what a thrill it was to miss night entirely. I enter a club just as the sun sets around eleven p.m. only to see it rise again when all is said and done at three. The sensation is indescribable.
Also, everything I thought I would miss turns out to be better over here. For example, I knew I would miss Trader Joe's if only for its Fresh-Pak Stir Fry Vegetables. Not only does Tesco have stir-fry veggies but it has a variety of at least six different kinds. Also, I thought would miss peanut butter, that staple of the American diet. Not only has Tesco started stocking peanut butter in the last two years since I've been here, but it's the best I've ever tasted (even the wheat bread is fantastic).
And the boys. I went to Evol at The Liquid Rooms tonight. (Curse you, Tim, for never telling me just how fucking hip it is!!) And where else in the world is Outkast mixed with Madonna mixed with The Strokes mixed with Morrisey mixed with Belle & Sebastian. Indie kids are hipper here than anywhere else in the world—if more confusing.
For example, I found the coolest boys in the world tonight. The had this whole shushing and pointing thing going on; that was their dance: they would hold a finger to their lips and point at whoever they chose. So I had enough to drink to join in. The music was too loud to talk, but they were willing to play. And the cute blond boy danced with the cute brown-haired boy, and then he ran his hands down his back to his butt. Then, later in the evening, the blond boy made out with a girl. I don't understand. Are indie kids so hip and nonchalant that they enjoy feeling up their friend even though their both straight? Or do gay boys just make out with girls here? Or are they bi (even though bi boys are actually a myth in America)?
Any insight would be greatly appreciated.
Most significantly, however, is simply the fact that I lost a flat. Not just a flat, really, but the flat. Basically, it was a beautiful, spacious room with leather furniture and bay windows. And dead center of the bay windows was the most stunning view of the castle I've ever seen. (Heaven says what?) Unfortunately—and I will talk about this flat and curse this man until the day I die—the landlord won't let to non-student so as to avoid the council tax. UGH. Nonetheless, I've seen some other flats, and they look promsing. I'll keep you posted.
Until then, know that Edinburgh can do no wrong.
Cheers.
I adore this city. I adore this city. I adore this city.
I had forgotten what a thrill it was to miss night entirely. I enter a club just as the sun sets around eleven p.m. only to see it rise again when all is said and done at three. The sensation is indescribable.
Also, everything I thought I would miss turns out to be better over here. For example, I knew I would miss Trader Joe's if only for its Fresh-Pak Stir Fry Vegetables. Not only does Tesco have stir-fry veggies but it has a variety of at least six different kinds. Also, I thought would miss peanut butter, that staple of the American diet. Not only has Tesco started stocking peanut butter in the last two years since I've been here, but it's the best I've ever tasted (even the wheat bread is fantastic).
And the boys. I went to Evol at The Liquid Rooms tonight. (Curse you, Tim, for never telling me just how fucking hip it is!!) And where else in the world is Outkast mixed with Madonna mixed with The Strokes mixed with Morrisey mixed with Belle & Sebastian. Indie kids are hipper here than anywhere else in the world—if more confusing.
For example, I found the coolest boys in the world tonight. The had this whole shushing and pointing thing going on; that was their dance: they would hold a finger to their lips and point at whoever they chose. So I had enough to drink to join in. The music was too loud to talk, but they were willing to play. And the cute blond boy danced with the cute brown-haired boy, and then he ran his hands down his back to his butt. Then, later in the evening, the blond boy made out with a girl. I don't understand. Are indie kids so hip and nonchalant that they enjoy feeling up their friend even though their both straight? Or do gay boys just make out with girls here? Or are they bi (even though bi boys are actually a myth in America)?
Any insight would be greatly appreciated.
Most significantly, however, is simply the fact that I lost a flat. Not just a flat, really, but the flat. Basically, it was a beautiful, spacious room with leather furniture and bay windows. And dead center of the bay windows was the most stunning view of the castle I've ever seen. (Heaven says what?) Unfortunately—and I will talk about this flat and curse this man until the day I die—the landlord won't let to non-student so as to avoid the council tax. UGH. Nonetheless, I've seen some other flats, and they look promsing. I'll keep you posted.
Until then, know that Edinburgh can do no wrong.
Cheers.
Wednesday, June 02, 2004
Here
I had forgotten how stunning this city is. Of course I remembered its landmarks—the Scott Monument, the Castle, Carlton Hill—but I had forgotten that the streets themselves are beautiful: the stone apartments, the cobblestone streets, the nestled churches.
I am at a loss for words to describe this city. I nearly cried when I saw the castle today. My heart soars here.
My view is slightly skewed in that I'm staying with Annabel in her gorgeous Victorian flat with twenty-foot-high moulded ceilings and hardwood floors (and rent so low it makes me choke). And its a five minute walk to the supermarket or to a pub (or ten or twenty) or a club or a cute, hip, gay cafe. Or a bookstore or a fresh fish shop or newsstand. And all these walks are beautiful.
And I'm going to live in this area, so in less than a week, my flat will be a five minute walk from all those places. I stand by what I said before leaving: Edinburgh is a lot like Heaven.
For my devoted fans who actually read this thing: I'm sorry I haven't sent you an email yet. I don't have anything to report yet, but I'll write soon.
I am at a loss for words to describe this city. I nearly cried when I saw the castle today. My heart soars here.
My view is slightly skewed in that I'm staying with Annabel in her gorgeous Victorian flat with twenty-foot-high moulded ceilings and hardwood floors (and rent so low it makes me choke). And its a five minute walk to the supermarket or to a pub (or ten or twenty) or a club or a cute, hip, gay cafe. Or a bookstore or a fresh fish shop or newsstand. And all these walks are beautiful.
And I'm going to live in this area, so in less than a week, my flat will be a five minute walk from all those places. I stand by what I said before leaving: Edinburgh is a lot like Heaven.
For my devoted fans who actually read this thing: I'm sorry I haven't sent you an email yet. I don't have anything to report yet, but I'll write soon.
Monday, May 17, 2004
Gratitude
We spent the day in Oakland, so my father could meet a like-minded satellite fanatic and "pick his brains." Within five minutes of meeting this man, he informed us that he was unemployed and his wife had left him last week.
Lesson Number One, Dad: Ninety percent of the boys you meet over the internet are losers.
Nonetheless, my father spent eight hours (count them!) at this man's house flipping through channels—not watching any but just seeing what he's got.
So my mother and I ran errands and made due. We bought printer cartridges and phone cards and shoes and books and cough drops.
It was irritating but fine. I think what got me, though, was what he said as climbed into my car:
"Thank you for your patience waiting for me today. I don't ask for much."
Gracious?—no, not really.
Lesson Number One, Dad: Ninety percent of the boys you meet over the internet are losers.
Nonetheless, my father spent eight hours (count them!) at this man's house flipping through channels—not watching any but just seeing what he's got.
So my mother and I ran errands and made due. We bought printer cartridges and phone cards and shoes and books and cough drops.
It was irritating but fine. I think what got me, though, was what he said as climbed into my car:
"Thank you for your patience waiting for me today. I don't ask for much."
Gracious?—no, not really.
Africa
I saw Oriana last night, and she reminded me that at the end of high school, we had both been convinced that the other would be the only person in the world with whom we could have a functional relationship for the rest of our lives.
We both chuckled at the thought and wondered why we had moved on since then.
The simple answer: we both now entertain romantic delusions of having a functional relationship with someone we love—but if the last four years are any indication, we are so, so deluded.
So once we've finally come to the realization that true love is flawed (something we seemed to know in high school but apparently have forgotten), we will raise children in Africa away from socialization of all kinds.
The only fairy tales allowed in our home will be the original Grimm ones.
We both chuckled at the thought and wondered why we had moved on since then.
The simple answer: we both now entertain romantic delusions of having a functional relationship with someone we love—but if the last four years are any indication, we are so, so deluded.
So once we've finally come to the realization that true love is flawed (something we seemed to know in high school but apparently have forgotten), we will raise children in Africa away from socialization of all kinds.
The only fairy tales allowed in our home will be the original Grimm ones.
Sunday, May 16, 2004
Boys
My cousin Travis and his boyfriend Kent are easy fodder for envy. They are both tall and stunning and stylish. They have been ripped straight from the pages of Abercrombie & Fitch ads, except they wear nicer clothes: Polo, Banana Republic, etc. They are exactly the type of boys who would typically ignore me in L.A., so there is something utterly surreal about having Travis hang on to my every word. Now, they are both high-powered corporate lawyers who will soon be living the good life in their midtown Manhattan loft.
So right now, I wonder whether I should be grateful that my father has British citizenship so I can leave behind this skewed American dream, or whether I should curse my mother for squandering her genes and marrying such an evolutionarily unsavory character.
I wonder if Travis can introduce me to his friends...
So right now, I wonder whether I should be grateful that my father has British citizenship so I can leave behind this skewed American dream, or whether I should curse my mother for squandering her genes and marrying such an evolutionarily unsavory character.
I wonder if Travis can introduce me to his friends...
Saturday, May 15, 2004
Demotion
I demoted my 10 to an 8 last night.
That might not sound too profound, because 8 is still pretty fucking high. And since all my crushes are pathological, does it really matter how much their intensity fluctuates? (Eight is still very pathological.)
It matters to me if only because it was accompanied by a realization: I've always said that I loved him because he laughed at all my corny jokes—and hard. But I realized, as thrilled as I am to have such a receptive audience, someone who made me laugh that hard would be even better.
Still, I'm glad to be creating a vast distance between us and surrounding myself with beautiful accents that will hopefully keep me adequately distracted.
That might not sound too profound, because 8 is still pretty fucking high. And since all my crushes are pathological, does it really matter how much their intensity fluctuates? (Eight is still very pathological.)
It matters to me if only because it was accompanied by a realization: I've always said that I loved him because he laughed at all my corny jokes—and hard. But I realized, as thrilled as I am to have such a receptive audience, someone who made me laugh that hard would be even better.
Still, I'm glad to be creating a vast distance between us and surrounding myself with beautiful accents that will hopefully keep me adequately distracted.
Tuesday, May 11, 2004
Self-Loving
The most fabulous thing about being gay is that I get to tell stories like the following:
So, the five of us ended up at this apartment, and the host was like, 'I'm going to take a shower, anyone want to join me?' So I asked, point-blank, all the other boys in the room, what their sexual orientation was. Spandex shorts and vocal inflections notwithstanding, they all claimed to be straight. I turned to the host, 'So the only person who would realistically consider taking you up on your offer would be me?' He just shrugged. So we took a shower together.
It's true and fabulous and expected. I'm gay, so I am just walking controversy. I live for the envy elicited in straight men's eyes when I tell one of my sordid stories. If only it happened more often.
So, the five of us ended up at this apartment, and the host was like, 'I'm going to take a shower, anyone want to join me?' So I asked, point-blank, all the other boys in the room, what their sexual orientation was. Spandex shorts and vocal inflections notwithstanding, they all claimed to be straight. I turned to the host, 'So the only person who would realistically consider taking you up on your offer would be me?' He just shrugged. So we took a shower together.
It's true and fabulous and expected. I'm gay, so I am just walking controversy. I live for the envy elicited in straight men's eyes when I tell one of my sordid stories. If only it happened more often.
Burning Bridges
Even though I'm not getting rid of my books per se and I'm loaning them to friends I trust on a long term basis, just seeing them all in that box is enough to make me cry.
The pictures are my only consolation.
The pictures are my only consolation.
Sunday, May 09, 2004
In less than a month
I will be living here
And here
And I will ride trains all day long, leaving from Waverly Station
And buy five pound CDs on this street with all the goth kids
And take boys on to the top of this hill to see the view and snog
And wander, since freedom to wander is written into their law
And wonder why anyone would ever want to live anywhere else
And here
And I will ride trains all day long, leaving from Waverly Station
And buy five pound CDs on this street with all the goth kids
And take boys on to the top of this hill to see the view and snog
And wander, since freedom to wander is written into their law
And wonder why anyone would ever want to live anywhere else
Girlfriends
I don't know how I ended up with a girlfriend—make that two girlfriends—but I don't like it. I don't know how you straight boys deal with it. The sex better be something amazing.
Saturday, May 08, 2004
Here's the good news:
You think that I don't know you read this. I write this message for you, precisely to horrify you. My intention is to burn bridges. See, here's the thing: if you ever were posessed to sleep with me, I would cancel my flight. I would postpone Scotland to stay here in L.A. to woo you over, because I think you're beautiful and amazing.
It is precisely for that reason that I deliberately come across as needy and frantic (and I probably am, but that's not the point). So long as you won't touch me with a ten-foot pole, I must go to Scotland. And deep, deep down, I know that is probably best.
(And lest you gloat in your superiority, know this: my short list includes no less than five boys. Nonetheless, you are five out of a million.)
It is precisely for that reason that I deliberately come across as needy and frantic (and I probably am, but that's not the point). So long as you won't touch me with a ten-foot pole, I must go to Scotland. And deep, deep down, I know that is probably best.
(And lest you gloat in your superiority, know this: my short list includes no less than five boys. Nonetheless, you are five out of a million.)
Hello
This is the gay hook-up service. This is your last call. You should not expect to receive any more drunk dials after this one; however, this is not a drunk dial. This is an automated message to let you know that there is a gay boy in your vicinity who is interested in hooking up with you at the present moment. If you are interested in hooking up with said person (irrespective of who they might be), please press one now. For all other options, please press two.
Friday, May 07, 2004
The 674th Thing To Keep Me Up At Night
My suspicions have been confirmed by other Americans who have spent time in the UK: the British don't date. Instead, they pull, they snog, they slide into each other and hook up.
Is this a positive atmosphere for someone already riddled with self-esteem complexes? I can't seal a deal here: can I expect to there? Or will it be easier there, since that's what people do?
My ability to connect with people (emotionally, intellectually, spiritually) has always been my most fragile. Should I then cast myself into a culture where—from an American standpoint—I should expect to be used?
Granted I haven't been even remotely successful dating in this country, but at least I know the rules, I know how things works, and I'm learning to read the signs. And I won't break some social taboo by asking someone on a date.
Or is this precisely the culture I should embrace, because only there will I learn the (tired, old, boring, easy) lesson that I will only connect once I learn to connect with myself?
Life's hardest lessons are always such clichés.
Is this a positive atmosphere for someone already riddled with self-esteem complexes? I can't seal a deal here: can I expect to there? Or will it be easier there, since that's what people do?
My ability to connect with people (emotionally, intellectually, spiritually) has always been my most fragile. Should I then cast myself into a culture where—from an American standpoint—I should expect to be used?
Granted I haven't been even remotely successful dating in this country, but at least I know the rules, I know how things works, and I'm learning to read the signs. And I won't break some social taboo by asking someone on a date.
Or is this precisely the culture I should embrace, because only there will I learn the (tired, old, boring, easy) lesson that I will only connect once I learn to connect with myself?
Life's hardest lessons are always such clichés.
Thursday, May 06, 2004
So here's my question:
If moving to Scotland is so exciting as all my other graduating friends tell me it is, why aren't they doing likewise?
We are all in essentially the same boat: poor economy, lousy job market, meaningless liberal arts degree, and time to kill—so why are they all settling in Los Angeles with heavy sighs of resignation?
This feels, so truly, to be the more exciting thing to do, so that must mean one thing: I'm missing something. Everyone else did the same cost-benefit analysis I did, so why is mine heavier on the other side? What am I missing?
Someone please tell me before I give out my three hundred-plus books, because once I realize what an awful mistake I've made, I'll miss them. I really will.
We are all in essentially the same boat: poor economy, lousy job market, meaningless liberal arts degree, and time to kill—so why are they all settling in Los Angeles with heavy sighs of resignation?
This feels, so truly, to be the more exciting thing to do, so that must mean one thing: I'm missing something. Everyone else did the same cost-benefit analysis I did, so why is mine heavier on the other side? What am I missing?
Someone please tell me before I give out my three hundred-plus books, because once I realize what an awful mistake I've made, I'll miss them. I really will.
Wednesday, May 05, 2004
Senior Autobiography Profile
Completed Major: Creative Writing
Hobbies, avocations, obsessions: writing, reading, alcohol, coffee, iced tea, three-ingredient cooking, postmodernism, restaurants, publishing, theater, Europe, Joseph Mazello (no, not really—okay, yes), a certain someone else who shall remain nameless, communication
Favorite Books: Giovanni's Room, Running With Scissors, Me Talk Pretty One Day, Naked, One Hundred Years of Solitude, White Noise, Them
Favorite Movies: Elephant, L.I.E., Northfork, The Cure, Capturing the Friedmans, Peter Pan, As Good As It Gets, Fargo, Parenthood
Favorite Singers/Groups: Belle & Sebastian, the Shins, The Hidden Cameras, Radiohead, Guster
Most Exciting Thing I've Ever Done: Approached the most beautiful boy in the world
My Hero: David Sedaris and Peter Pan
My Secret Desire: money. Deep down inside, I want to be orgiastically rich.
People don't this about me, but: I'm extremely sexually inexperienced and come from a conservative, religious background
Easiest thing to leave behind: smog and traffic
Hardest thing to leave behind: driving (I know, I hate traffic but love driving), L.A.'s restaurants, and my collection of three hundred books
Ten years from now I hope to have: a boyfriend and published my first novel (either as writer or editor)
Any message for your fellow classmates? Good luck, kids. And if you're one of a select few, stay in touch (otherwise, you're probably insane and no longer in school).
Hobbies, avocations, obsessions: writing, reading, alcohol, coffee, iced tea, three-ingredient cooking, postmodernism, restaurants, publishing, theater, Europe, Joseph Mazello (no, not really—okay, yes), a certain someone else who shall remain nameless, communication
Favorite Books: Giovanni's Room, Running With Scissors, Me Talk Pretty One Day, Naked, One Hundred Years of Solitude, White Noise, Them
Favorite Movies: Elephant, L.I.E., Northfork, The Cure, Capturing the Friedmans, Peter Pan, As Good As It Gets, Fargo, Parenthood
Favorite Singers/Groups: Belle & Sebastian, the Shins, The Hidden Cameras, Radiohead, Guster
Most Exciting Thing I've Ever Done: Approached the most beautiful boy in the world
My Hero: David Sedaris and Peter Pan
My Secret Desire: money. Deep down inside, I want to be orgiastically rich.
People don't this about me, but: I'm extremely sexually inexperienced and come from a conservative, religious background
Easiest thing to leave behind: smog and traffic
Hardest thing to leave behind: driving (I know, I hate traffic but love driving), L.A.'s restaurants, and my collection of three hundred books
Ten years from now I hope to have: a boyfriend and published my first novel (either as writer or editor)
Any message for your fellow classmates? Good luck, kids. And if you're one of a select few, stay in touch (otherwise, you're probably insane and no longer in school).
Ten years from now I hope to have:
Jen: an amazing art collection
Jenn: been in the Peace Corps, lived in a cave, and gotten my doctorate
Wes: diplomatic immunity
Sarah: a home on the coast, a cushy job that I love, happiness
Derek: the respect of those people whom I respect
Robin: a wonderful family (two kids and a great husband), a job I enjoy
Genevieve: independence
Michael: More than one line per question? Seriously, money and happiness: one will cause the other eventually, I'm sure. Oh, and a degree...
Brad: a car, a reputation
Danny: respect and responsibility and trust above all else
Lesley: been involved in motion pictures, either acting or directing
Cooney: a girlfriend
Jared: happiness
Rod: made a few highly successful major motion pictures
Dave: money, a Jeep Wrangler, and a couple of TV shows
Craig: a career as a respected writer and social commentator
Some things never change. You've only got six more years, kids!
Jenn: been in the Peace Corps, lived in a cave, and gotten my doctorate
Wes: diplomatic immunity
Sarah: a home on the coast, a cushy job that I love, happiness
Derek: the respect of those people whom I respect
Robin: a wonderful family (two kids and a great husband), a job I enjoy
Genevieve: independence
Michael: More than one line per question? Seriously, money and happiness: one will cause the other eventually, I'm sure. Oh, and a degree...
Brad: a car, a reputation
Danny: respect and responsibility and trust above all else
Lesley: been involved in motion pictures, either acting or directing
Cooney: a girlfriend
Jared: happiness
Rod: made a few highly successful major motion pictures
Dave: money, a Jeep Wrangler, and a couple of TV shows
Craig: a career as a respected writer and social commentator
Some things never change. You've only got six more years, kids!
Freshman Autobiography Profile
Intended Major: Print Journalism
Hobbies, avocations, obsessions: acting, writing, reading, sailing, diving, Joseph Mazello, improv
Favorite Books: Youth in Revolt, Giovanni's Room, Lord of the Flies
Favorite Movies: The Cure, American Beauty, Dogma, Life is Beautiful
Favorite Singers/Groups: Alanis, the cranberries
Most Exciting Thing I've Ever Done: Visited the Tokelau Islands
My Hero: David Sedaris, Oscar Wilde, Peter Pan
My Secret Desire: I have this strange and unrealized desire to yell profanities at persons on stage, but I have too much respect for performers to do so.
People don't this about me, but: I'm a pathological liar
Easiest thing to leave behind: the closet and small-town life
Hardest thing to leave behind: the weather (*sob*) and my friends and family, of course
Ten years from now I hope to have: finished this questionaire, and a job at Time magazine or on Broadway
Any message for your fellow classmates? Write me!
Hobbies, avocations, obsessions: acting, writing, reading, sailing, diving, Joseph Mazello, improv
Favorite Books: Youth in Revolt, Giovanni's Room, Lord of the Flies
Favorite Movies: The Cure, American Beauty, Dogma, Life is Beautiful
Favorite Singers/Groups: Alanis, the cranberries
Most Exciting Thing I've Ever Done: Visited the Tokelau Islands
My Hero: David Sedaris, Oscar Wilde, Peter Pan
My Secret Desire: I have this strange and unrealized desire to yell profanities at persons on stage, but I have too much respect for performers to do so.
People don't this about me, but: I'm a pathological liar
Easiest thing to leave behind: the closet and small-town life
Hardest thing to leave behind: the weather (*sob*) and my friends and family, of course
Ten years from now I hope to have: finished this questionaire, and a job at Time magazine or on Broadway
Any message for your fellow classmates? Write me!
Crush of the Day
Think rubbing vaginal blood all over a boy's face is arousing in an artsty French film?
This boy
plays classical music and violent video games. He gives his boyfriend hot, wet kisses in the shower and tells him to "have fun" on their shooting spree. Then, he cares enough about him to blow him away once they've picked off nearly everyone left in the school.
Violent and tragic—now, that's a love story. Why can't I have a boyfriend like that?
This boy
plays classical music and violent video games. He gives his boyfriend hot, wet kisses in the shower and tells him to "have fun" on their shooting spree. Then, he cares enough about him to blow him away once they've picked off nearly everyone left in the school.
Violent and tragic—now, that's a love story. Why can't I have a boyfriend like that?
Monday, May 03, 2004
Is it healthy
to listen to "Are You Feeling Sinister?" on repeat all day long.
Perhaps.
But what if I picture Andrew (the most beautiful boy in the world, whom I met in Edinburgh way back when) singing each of these songs to me personally? And what if this absurd fantasy is exactly what I expect to come true upon stepping off the plane in Edinburgh? Would this make me crazy?
Boys on my short list (you know who you are), consider yourselves put on notice.
Perhaps.
But what if I picture Andrew (the most beautiful boy in the world, whom I met in Edinburgh way back when) singing each of these songs to me personally? And what if this absurd fantasy is exactly what I expect to come true upon stepping off the plane in Edinburgh? Would this make me crazy?
Boys on my short list (you know who you are), consider yourselves put on notice.
Memo:
To all of you who went to Coachella this weekend, I have only this to say:
Yeah, Coachella was cool, but the Glasgow Botanic Gardens are FREE!
Belle and Sebastian rocks my world.
Yeah, Coachella was cool, but the Glasgow Botanic Gardens are FREE!
Belle and Sebastian rocks my world.
Party
So I wandered into some guy who's on the water polo club team at USC. At one of the Olympics recently, they had sought the perfect body for the opening ceremonies, and who did they choose? A water polo player.
The story flattered him, because, after all, he said, they do work both their upper and lower body.
I told him I hadn't played a sport a day in my life; I had done theater in high school. And he told me that was fuckin cool, that it took more balls to do theater than sports.
And I lapped it up. I told him about my part in Museum when I played a femme, gay guy. "It's great you could make light of your sexuality like that," he said.
Our conversation reached its peak and denouement, then he wandered away. Water polo players can't fucking do that! Tease me with your "upper and lower body," only to wander away once you've caught my attention??
You owe me, kiddo.
The story flattered him, because, after all, he said, they do work both their upper and lower body.
I told him I hadn't played a sport a day in my life; I had done theater in high school. And he told me that was fuckin cool, that it took more balls to do theater than sports.
And I lapped it up. I told him about my part in Museum when I played a femme, gay guy. "It's great you could make light of your sexuality like that," he said.
Our conversation reached its peak and denouement, then he wandered away. Water polo players can't fucking do that! Tease me with your "upper and lower body," only to wander away once you've caught my attention??
You owe me, kiddo.
Whenever someone asks
"So what are you going to do in Edinburgh?"
I answer, "Drink heavily and fuck Scottish boys."
That is perhaps the most ambitious and honest answer I can give.
I answer, "Drink heavily and fuck Scottish boys."
That is perhaps the most ambitious and honest answer I can give.
Fun Times
Know what's really fun? Coming home drunk and lonely to look at porn and feel sorry for myself. This practice is improved ten-fold when one whines about it publicly (i.e. blogging).
Tuesday, April 20, 2004
How to survive an internship:
1. Check email.
2. Surreptitiously sign on to AIM.
3. Surf the web.
4. Check email.
5. Play with office supplies.
6. Write letters on letterhead.
7. Make photocopies.
8. Check email.
9. Fax things.
10. Call people and ask them to fax you things.
11. Staple.
12. Surreptitiously chat with people on AIM.
13. Send your buddies letters on letterhead (using free postage).
14. Check email.
15. Blog.
2. Surreptitiously sign on to AIM.
3. Surf the web.
4. Check email.
5. Play with office supplies.
6. Write letters on letterhead.
7. Make photocopies.
8. Check email.
9. Fax things.
10. Call people and ask them to fax you things.
11. Staple.
12. Surreptitiously chat with people on AIM.
13. Send your buddies letters on letterhead (using free postage).
14. Check email.
15. Blog.
Saturday, April 17, 2004
In less than a month-and-a-half
I am leaving the country. In less than a month-and-a-half, I am leaving the country. In less than a month-and-a-half, I am leaving this country. In less than a month-and-a-half, I am leaving this country behind. In less than a month-and-a-half, I am leaving this country behind for good.
I don't go to parties
so much as I haunt them. I serve as this sadistic reminder of what happens when their values are taken too seriously, stories told and secrets kept. I ball into their corners and linger in the shadows, and you fear me, not because I am imposing, but because you project upon me exactly what you might become. And you might be right.
Wednesday, April 07, 2004
Monday, April 05, 2004
I'm money, baby
Dispatch to the Universe:
I am no longer the guy in the PG-13 movie everyone's really hoping will make it happen. From now on, I am the guy in the R-rated movie—no one is sure they like me yet. No one knows where I'm coming from.
I'm a bad man, a very bad, bad man.
I am no longer the guy in the PG-13 movie everyone's really hoping will make it happen. From now on, I am the guy in the R-rated movie—no one is sure they like me yet. No one knows where I'm coming from.
I'm a bad man, a very bad, bad man.
Saturday, April 03, 2004
Culled from Jessi's Away Message
I think that a friend who's a British citizen and knows that the one thing you want from life is to live in Britain, but won't marry you, isn't really your friend.
Thursday, April 01, 2004
Fifteen Weeks Later...
The Doc told me today, "I think you might be depressed."
No shit. What the fuck have we been talking about for the past fifteen weeks?
No shit. What the fuck have we been talking about for the past fifteen weeks?
Saturday, March 27, 2004
Feelings in the World
There is no feeling in the world quite like the attention paid to me by an attractive boy who makes sassy comments while I am intoxicated. It doesn't matter if it goes anywhere, but those fleeting moments when he plays to me as an audience are unbelievable.
Accordingly, there is no feeling in the world quite as sobering and dishearting as when that boy leaves the party early because he is tired or bored, and the attention paid sublimates into something nonexistent.
Accordingly, there is no feeling in the world quite as sobering and dishearting as when that boy leaves the party early because he is tired or bored, and the attention paid sublimates into something nonexistent.
Saturday, March 20, 2004
Déjà Vu Déjà Vu
So basically everything that happened three days ago (and five days ago): ditto.
Except it wasn't a meal, it was on the way to work, so it wasn't on a surface street: it was the ten. And instead of having friends, I faced it alone, so nothing needed to be said.
A rogue tow truck picked me up as I was calling my insurance company. The University Auto Center found the "real problem" this time. Keep your fingers crossed, kids, and feel free to firebomb Pep Boys on Washington.
I've only had my car back for a matter of hours, but every nuance in the road provokes sheer terror. Whenever I see the speed drop, I know its dying, I know its dying, even if its only because I've taken my foot off the gas.
I take deep breaths to try to relax, but it only reminds me how toxic the air is here.
I'm this close to cuddling into a fetal position and never leaving my room.
Except it wasn't a meal, it was on the way to work, so it wasn't on a surface street: it was the ten. And instead of having friends, I faced it alone, so nothing needed to be said.
A rogue tow truck picked me up as I was calling my insurance company. The University Auto Center found the "real problem" this time. Keep your fingers crossed, kids, and feel free to firebomb Pep Boys on Washington.
I've only had my car back for a matter of hours, but every nuance in the road provokes sheer terror. Whenever I see the speed drop, I know its dying, I know its dying, even if its only because I've taken my foot off the gas.
I take deep breaths to try to relax, but it only reminds me how toxic the air is here.
I'm this close to cuddling into a fetal position and never leaving my room.
Friday, March 19, 2004
All I Want is a terrible movie...
But I am embarrassed to admit I watched the whole thing—and only because doughy-eyed Elijah Wood slays me. Maybe that's the real reason I can't stand you-know-what, because Peter Jackson did his damndest to make the boy look ugly. (And it must have taken quite some work, let me tell you: those baby blues never stop glistening.)
Before the movie started, I commented that Elijah might just be the Jodie Foster of our generation. The rare child star who actually continues to have a career, whose early works are relegated to forgotten studio closets when he one day makes off-beat, indie flicks that are surprisingly delightful.
Ten minutes into it, this argument held no ground. The fact that Mandy Moore co-stars in this film should have scared me away from the get-go. But this is not simply a bad B-movie to laugh about over alcohol. It is dreadful. Wood and Moore must have been utterly stoned (or very keen to bed each other) when opting to take on this project.
Not too long ago, I made a list of various people I would like to date. (Scooby Doo was surprisingly high on the list, his personhood aside—c'mon, wouldn't it be cool to date Scooby Doo?) But after this, Elijah, I'm sorry, you've been demoted to a one night stand.
Before the movie started, I commented that Elijah might just be the Jodie Foster of our generation. The rare child star who actually continues to have a career, whose early works are relegated to forgotten studio closets when he one day makes off-beat, indie flicks that are surprisingly delightful.
Ten minutes into it, this argument held no ground. The fact that Mandy Moore co-stars in this film should have scared me away from the get-go. But this is not simply a bad B-movie to laugh about over alcohol. It is dreadful. Wood and Moore must have been utterly stoned (or very keen to bed each other) when opting to take on this project.
Not too long ago, I made a list of various people I would like to date. (Scooby Doo was surprisingly high on the list, his personhood aside—c'mon, wouldn't it be cool to date Scooby Doo?) But after this, Elijah, I'm sorry, you've been demoted to a one night stand.
Thursday, March 18, 2004
You may think I'm being ironic, but...
I can’t stand to fly
I’m not that naive
I’m just out to find
The better part of me
I’m more than a bird, I’m more than a plane
More than some pretty face beside a train
It’s not easy to be me
Wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to lie
About a home I’ll never see
It may sound absurd, but don’t be naive
Even Heroes have the right to bleed
I may be disturbed, but won’t you concede
Even Heroes have the right to dream
It’s not easy to be me
Men weren’t meant to ride
With clouds between their knees
I’m only a man in a silly red sheet
Digging for kryptonite on this one way street
Only a man in a funny red sheet
Looking for special things inside of me
It’s not easy to be me.
I’m not that naive
I’m just out to find
The better part of me
I’m more than a bird, I’m more than a plane
More than some pretty face beside a train
It’s not easy to be me
Wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to lie
About a home I’ll never see
It may sound absurd, but don’t be naive
Even Heroes have the right to bleed
I may be disturbed, but won’t you concede
Even Heroes have the right to dream
It’s not easy to be me
Men weren’t meant to ride
With clouds between their knees
I’m only a man in a silly red sheet
Digging for kryptonite on this one way street
Only a man in a funny red sheet
Looking for special things inside of me
It’s not easy to be me.
Wednesday, March 17, 2004
Déjà Vu
So basically everything that happened two nights ago: ditto.
Except it wasn't desert, it was dinner (and it was at Buddha's Belly, which was delish), and we actually made it (so that's some progress, I suppose). And instead of a random assortment of burn-outs, it was Ryan and his friend Jenny. It was on the way back to that place which shall remain unnamed. So it wasn't Vermont, it was Santa Monica.
And instead of someone asking me a question, I said, "Oh crap, not again." The tow truck came in a healthy twenty minutes.
Those Pep Stooges will pay.
Except it wasn't desert, it was dinner (and it was at Buddha's Belly, which was delish), and we actually made it (so that's some progress, I suppose). And instead of a random assortment of burn-outs, it was Ryan and his friend Jenny. It was on the way back to that place which shall remain unnamed. So it wasn't Vermont, it was Santa Monica.
And instead of someone asking me a question, I said, "Oh crap, not again." The tow truck came in a healthy twenty minutes.
Those Pep Stooges will pay.
Tuesday, March 16, 2004
Yeah, it is a bitch, kid
We lay on the bed there
Kissing just for practice
Could we please be objective?
Cause the other boys are queuing up behind us
If I remain passive and you just want to cuddle
Then we should be okay, and we won't get into trouble
Cause we're seeing other people
At least that's what we say we are doing
I don't think you can be dealing
With the situation very well
You take a lover for a dirty weekend, that's okay
But when it's over
You are looking at the working week in the eyes of a gigolo
You can't understand why all the other boys are going for the
New, tall, elegant rich kids
You can bet it is a bitch, kid
But if they don't see the quality then it is apparent that
You're going to have to change
Or you're going to have to go with girls
You might be better off
At least they know where to put it
Kissing just for practice
Could we please be objective?
Cause the other boys are queuing up behind us
If I remain passive and you just want to cuddle
Then we should be okay, and we won't get into trouble
Cause we're seeing other people
At least that's what we say we are doing
I don't think you can be dealing
With the situation very well
You take a lover for a dirty weekend, that's okay
But when it's over
You are looking at the working week in the eyes of a gigolo
You can't understand why all the other boys are going for the
New, tall, elegant rich kids
You can bet it is a bitch, kid
But if they don't see the quality then it is apparent that
You're going to have to change
Or you're going to have to go with girls
You might be better off
At least they know where to put it
Note to the Universe:
There is a reason I don't talk about art, why I avoid conversations like, "What makes an artist?" And it's not (only) because I am superficial. They always end up far too fraught, too angry, too tense. Because I do have strong opinions, but they are nihilistic in the most utopian way possible.
"Only the shallow know themselves." —Oscar Wilde
"Only the shallow know themselves." —Oscar Wilde
Truer Words
When will you realise that it never pays
To be smarter than teachers
Smarter than most boys?
Shut your mouth, start kicking the football
Bang on the teeth, you’re off for a week boy
To be smarter than teachers
Smarter than most boys?
Shut your mouth, start kicking the football
Bang on the teeth, you’re off for a week boy
Monday, March 15, 2004
something so zen
about calling the shop to ask about my car and being transferred to the service department where the phone rings into infinity.
CarF*ckers
I wanted desert, so I gathered together a random assortment of friends who were glum and tired, coming down after the ecstacy they took at a rave last night. We wanted not merely pie, but a House of Pies, so we drove up Vermont. I hit a pothole and saw my speedometer drop from forty to zero. I'm still moving, I thought, but slowing down.
"Why are you going so slowly?" Jessi asks.
I put on my blinker and pulled onto the next side street, and she just lay down and died. The tow truck came in a record-setting five minutes. The driver looked at it and told me that gas wasn't getting to the engine, so she needed to be taken to the shop. I smiled and nodded—he's the one driving that truck.
So she was dropped off in the deserted Pep Boys parking lot, just waiting to be vandalized. And the four of us shuffled away as nonchalant as when we'd entered the car. Somehow it just seemed so blasé, so we got some coffee and waddled home.
"Why are you going so slowly?" Jessi asks.
I put on my blinker and pulled onto the next side street, and she just lay down and died. The tow truck came in a record-setting five minutes. The driver looked at it and told me that gas wasn't getting to the engine, so she needed to be taken to the shop. I smiled and nodded—he's the one driving that truck.
So she was dropped off in the deserted Pep Boys parking lot, just waiting to be vandalized. And the four of us shuffled away as nonchalant as when we'd entered the car. Somehow it just seemed so blasé, so we got some coffee and waddled home.
Bad Credit
Thanks to the Patriot Act, I cannot receive a credit card at my school address. Stupid Terrorists.
Friday, March 12, 2004
epiphany
As I lay in bed two nights ago, I asked myself what I wanted to do when I grow up (in less than two months). Publishing? True, it has been my devout goal for the past eight months, but salaries are low, and do I really want a job with homework? Teaching? Kids—ugh. Writing? I'd rather be watching television. Lawyer, Social Worker, Professor? I shudder at the thought of going to another class, ever. I never thought I would identify with the sentiment expressed in Office Space—that if I had a billion dollars, I would want to do nothing—but I do, I really do. If you need any proof, simply ask my friend Jessi who saved the three-page conversation I had with her away message on Instant Messenger last night.
So I rephrased the question: What job would I hate the least upon graduation? Something utterly nonacademic, something hands-on. Something retail maybe? Then, it hit me: a chef! I would love to be a chef! Just working with food all day long, trying to come up with ways to reinvent the chicken. It would be awesome.
I've started looking into it, and there are a few drawbacks: another four years at school, plus years of apprenticeships. Not to mention the hours: 4 pm to 2 am, hmmm.
So what does this tell me? Just how dire a toll academia has taken on my psyche. My mental acuity has been shattered to the point that cooking sounds like my calling. (And maybe it is, maybe it is, but there's no way to know right now.)
So I rephrased the question: What job would I hate the least upon graduation? Something utterly nonacademic, something hands-on. Something retail maybe? Then, it hit me: a chef! I would love to be a chef! Just working with food all day long, trying to come up with ways to reinvent the chicken. It would be awesome.
I've started looking into it, and there are a few drawbacks: another four years at school, plus years of apprenticeships. Not to mention the hours: 4 pm to 2 am, hmmm.
So what does this tell me? Just how dire a toll academia has taken on my psyche. My mental acuity has been shattered to the point that cooking sounds like my calling. (And maybe it is, maybe it is, but there's no way to know right now.)
Wednesday, March 10, 2004
Tuesday, March 09, 2004
Comprehensive List of Boys I Have Kissed
1. Nelson. Of course. Being the only two gay boys at our conservative, little prep school, it was inevitable.
2. That documentary filmmaker harassing people in line for the bleachers at the Oscars. He kept going up to girls, asking if they would make out with him. They all said no, and so did I. But when my friends offered me money for ten seconds of work, it was the easiest twenty dollars I ever made.
3. Alex. The last experience taught me that selling myself was quite my talent, so it was the talent I performed at the annual Mr. GroundZero pageant. I auctioned myself, and Alex won with a $20 bid. I promised him ten percent of my winnings. I came in second, I won fifty bucks, he got five.
4. Some guy at some club in Edinburgh. I thought people were whispering about me, but then I convinced myself I was just being paranoid. Then he approached me, "I don't mean to be rude, but do you mind if I snog you?" I was drunk and thrilled, so we made out for a few minutes until he said, "thank you," and disappeared into the crowd.
5. Louis. I met him at Jesse's party, but with a lip ring and beret, he was way too hot to be in my league. But he kept bringing me drinks and forcing conversation, so the question, "Do you want to go out to my car?" just seemed the natural follow-up.
6. Paul. At the Halloween party, he was dressed as a mermaid, and Peter Pan managed to land this one within two minutes of arrival.
7. Ryan. Same night, same party. As the game of spin the bottle wound down, he whined that he wanted to make out with someone. Peter Pan said, "I'll make out with you, Ryan." "Wait," he said, "what's your na--? Never mind." He was a senior in high school. Scandalous.
8. Terie. Valentines Day. I get, "Hey, haven't I seen you somewhere before?" all the time. But this time, it actually was a line. It was a tequila Valentine's. It didn't take much.
Yes, still single digits. And note, none of them are boys I liked beforehand.
2. That documentary filmmaker harassing people in line for the bleachers at the Oscars. He kept going up to girls, asking if they would make out with him. They all said no, and so did I. But when my friends offered me money for ten seconds of work, it was the easiest twenty dollars I ever made.
3. Alex. The last experience taught me that selling myself was quite my talent, so it was the talent I performed at the annual Mr. GroundZero pageant. I auctioned myself, and Alex won with a $20 bid. I promised him ten percent of my winnings. I came in second, I won fifty bucks, he got five.
4. Some guy at some club in Edinburgh. I thought people were whispering about me, but then I convinced myself I was just being paranoid. Then he approached me, "I don't mean to be rude, but do you mind if I snog you?" I was drunk and thrilled, so we made out for a few minutes until he said, "thank you," and disappeared into the crowd.
5. Louis. I met him at Jesse's party, but with a lip ring and beret, he was way too hot to be in my league. But he kept bringing me drinks and forcing conversation, so the question, "Do you want to go out to my car?" just seemed the natural follow-up.
6. Paul. At the Halloween party, he was dressed as a mermaid, and Peter Pan managed to land this one within two minutes of arrival.
7. Ryan. Same night, same party. As the game of spin the bottle wound down, he whined that he wanted to make out with someone. Peter Pan said, "I'll make out with you, Ryan." "Wait," he said, "what's your na--? Never mind." He was a senior in high school. Scandalous.
8. Terie. Valentines Day. I get, "Hey, haven't I seen you somewhere before?" all the time. But this time, it actually was a line. It was a tequila Valentine's. It didn't take much.
Yes, still single digits. And note, none of them are boys I liked beforehand.
Monday, March 08, 2004
Wisdom [Edited]
What we learned here is love tastes bitter when it's gone
Funny how it comes to pass, that all the good slips away
And there’s no one around you can remember being good to you
Shame, shouldn’t try you, couldn’t step by you and open up more shame
What we lost here is something better left alone
Second steps have been forgotten, will you tell me how they go
Set yourself, situate, like a fool try again
There’s no one around you can remember being good for you
But there’s no one around who can tell us what we’re here for
Funny in a certain light, how we all look the same
And there’s no one in life who can remember ever stood for you
Poststructural Analysis: Say what you will about clichés and the demise of artistic integrity in popular music, but may lightning strike me dead if these words don't ring exceptionally true right now. I've never been wiser than I was when I was thirteen.
Extra credit goes to those who know the source.
Funny how it comes to pass, that all the good slips away
And there’s no one around you can remember being good to you
Shame, shouldn’t try you, couldn’t step by you and open up more shame
What we lost here is something better left alone
Second steps have been forgotten, will you tell me how they go
Set yourself, situate, like a fool try again
There’s no one around you can remember being good for you
But there’s no one around who can tell us what we’re here for
Funny in a certain light, how we all look the same
And there’s no one in life who can remember ever stood for you
Poststructural Analysis: Say what you will about clichés and the demise of artistic integrity in popular music, but may lightning strike me dead if these words don't ring exceptionally true right now. I've never been wiser than I was when I was thirteen.
Extra credit goes to those who know the source.
I Will Destroy You Something Beautiful
The Vagina Monologues ended around one o'clock in the morning last night, and as I walked outside of the theater, I saw an eight-year-old boy standing outside waiting for me. "Oh shit." I remembered he had approached me earlier in the evening to tell me that he was lost, and I had offered to help him find his parents. Instead, I had gone to see the play and forgotten about him completely, so he had waited for me outside for the duration of the two-and-a-half hour show. I asked him where he lived and he told me, "East L.A." We climbed into my car and I started taking surface streets east eventually only to hit a dead end. At that point, I had to turn around to find another street east, and it suddenly struck me how creepy it was—and compromising even—to drive a little boy I didn't know home at one-thirty in the morning.
Pop Jungian Interpretation: The boy must be my inner child, not the effusive, jubilant one, but the needy one who nurses drawn-out, draining and improbable crushes. And even though I am in control—I am driving, after all—I am playing to his whimsy. And it is creepy that despite knowing better, I still head east: a vague destination that can only lead to dead ends.
Pop Jungian Interpretation: The boy must be my inner child, not the effusive, jubilant one, but the needy one who nurses drawn-out, draining and improbable crushes. And even though I am in control—I am driving, after all—I am playing to his whimsy. And it is creepy that despite knowing better, I still head east: a vague destination that can only lead to dead ends.
Wednesday, March 03, 2004
Tuesday, January 13, 2004
Hot Little Hands
In my hot little hands, I currently hold a boarding pass for tonight's Hawaiian Air flight. If this experience has taught me anything, it's that I can't take anything at face value. Still, I can't surpress a slightly giddy feeling: things look promising.
By the Numbers
50: Number of people by which Friday's flight was overbooked.
115: Minimum number of people who held valid tickets on previously cancelled flights who were placed on stand-by for Friday's flight
165: Sum of previous two statistics; maximum number of people who held valid tickets but not boarding passes for Friday's flight
15: Maximum number of those people who were eventually given boarding passes
80: Minimum number of additional ticketed passengers necessary for Hawaiian Airlines corporate office to send a second plane
2: Minimum number of people arrested for assaulting Hawaiian Airlines representatives
2: Hours by which the closing of the gate was delayed by long lines to check-in
115: Minimum number of people who held valid tickets on previously cancelled flights who were placed on stand-by for Friday's flight
165: Sum of previous two statistics; maximum number of people who held valid tickets but not boarding passes for Friday's flight
15: Maximum number of those people who were eventually given boarding passes
80: Minimum number of additional ticketed passengers necessary for Hawaiian Airlines corporate office to send a second plane
2: Minimum number of people arrested for assaulting Hawaiian Airlines representatives
2: Hours by which the closing of the gate was delayed by long lines to check-in
Saturday, January 10, 2004
Worst Case Scenario Repeats Itself
Three planeloads of passengers attempted to check themselves in for the Pago Pago-Honolulu flight this evening. Among those were people like me who were booked on the Sunday or Monday flights, which were cancelled, but still have not been told how (if?) they will be accomodated. Check in started at six-thirty; people began lining up at three. The line stretched forever: those who showed up at six-thirty were finally met at the counter at eleven-thirty for a flight scheduled to leave at 11:20. People began boarding the flight at around ten-thirty, but it did not leave until two. Sound familiar to anyone? It would if you'd tried to check in for their Wednesday flight when the exact same thing occured.
So call Hawaiian Air and berate them senseless. (Their number is 1-800-367-5320; let them know exactly what you think of their reprehensible treatment of the people of American Samoa. Go!) Visit their offices and tease them endlessly. Stop by the airport, stand in their lines and bite their passengers. There are no innocents anymore.
So call Hawaiian Air and berate them senseless. (Their number is 1-800-367-5320; let them know exactly what you think of their reprehensible treatment of the people of American Samoa. Go!) Visit their offices and tease them endlessly. Stop by the airport, stand in their lines and bite their passengers. There are no innocents anymore.
Desperate Logic
The defining characteristic of postmodern capitalism, i.e. multinational consumerism if you will, is its ever-increasing interconnectedness and density of networks. As borders become permeable, corporations become multinational. Monopoly still refers to exclusively providing services within a given geographical boundary, even though horizontal and vertical integration can now occur on a global scale. Some experts have suggested we see this not as corporations become bigger and more powerful, but smaller and consolidating. The middle class disappears as the fat cats become fatter and fewer. Underlings multiply as there are now less positions in which to move up. This increase in bureaucracy parallels fascism in an eerily sobering way, and it makes it that much harder to kick the teeth in of the person who's screwing you over.
Hawaiian Airheads
Rumors circulating include: there would be an extra flight except that two planes are currently stuck in Portland; they're allowing people from all three overbooked flight to check-in for tonight's to show headquarters just how many passengers they're forced to turn away; they've had to postpone flights to Seattle and Portland so those routes get priority for planes; they are fifty seats overbooked on tonight's flight; there is no such thing as a "priority waiting list;" and the Portland planes are bogus.
Riot likely impending.
If you happen to know the home phone numbers of any of the upper management of Hawaiian Airlines, now is the time to make that call.
Riot likely impending.
If you happen to know the home phone numbers of any of the upper management of Hawaiian Airlines, now is the time to make that call.
Gasping for Hawaiian Air
I am told that I currently on the Priority Waiting List for tonight's flight, which is customer-service-speak for, "Fuck you, leave us alone."
Friday, January 09, 2004
Dispatch from the Homefront
There’s nothing quite like a natural disaster to make you feel just how petty and inconsequential your life really is:
“The Tutors’ Club. This is V---- speaking, how can I help you?”
“Hi, is Mark there?”
“I’m sorry, he’s in a meeting at the moment. Could I take a message?”
“Sure, could you let him know that due to tropical cyclone Heta, I won’t be returning to work this week, but I will let him know as soon I can schedule a flight out of here.”
“A tropical cyclone?” he asks, in his wannabe-movie-star, Southern Californian accent. “Su-u-ure thing!”
And that’s it. No one really misses you.
“The Tutors’ Club. This is V---- speaking, how can I help you?”
“Hi, is Mark there?”
“I’m sorry, he’s in a meeting at the moment. Could I take a message?”
“Sure, could you let him know that due to tropical cyclone Heta, I won’t be returning to work this week, but I will let him know as soon I can schedule a flight out of here.”
“A tropical cyclone?” he asks, in his wannabe-movie-star, Southern Californian accent. “Su-u-ure thing!”
And that’s it. No one really misses you.
Dispatch from the Homefront
I thought Samoa was dull over the the two weeks leading up to today. At least, then, we had electricity. I hadn't realized I had it so lucky.
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