after a dramatic gesture this morning, i'm again toeing the waters of my blog. (sorry for the momentary lapse - if i can fling myself headlong into the icy waters of the atlantic in may and october, then surely i can handle the lukewarm puddle that is the blogosphere...right.)

anyway, get this: i went to bed last night at 8:45. that's right. 8:45. a geriatric bedtime, you say? fine. call me sophia petrillo. but i was tired and i'm reading a book that's so.damn.good.

wenz's dad lent it to me - after much hesitation, i relented (okay, he pushed the book into my hands while i was sitting at their kitchen table). it's not that he doesn't make good recommendations (wenz's dad, bill, is essentially my second father at this point, and happens to be a very smart guy)...it's just that lately he's been trying to get me to read books about the historical beginnings of household items like screws and salt.

moving on.

i found myself holding chuck klosterman's killing yourself to live. klosterman's a rock writer for spin magazine, and can somehow make a marvelous turn on intimidating topics like death for the sake of art. he writes in a tangible fashion, installing mental footholds on obscure theories of his own invention. anyone who can clearly articulate his/her hypotheses about life's great mysteries is just neurotic enough to have put thought into them - any reader with entertainment ADD will appreciate this. another noteworthy detail - throughout klosterman makes musical references that bill is planning on downloading and compiling into a sort of soundtrack to the book. it's going to be amazing. i recommend STRONGLY.

since klosterman is pretty much a pop culture encyclopedia, he doesn't stop with physical descriptions of the women in his life - they've all been wrapped up neatly in two or three song references. for someone who's considering surgical ipod implantation, this is extraordinarily helpful. (thanks to someone on toxicuniverse.com for extracting this paragraph from the book - i live in a cube, so my clandestine novel reading isn't as clandestine as i'd thought. oops.)

klosterman writes:

"If Dianne is Dolly Parton's Jolene and Lenore is a fusion of the Big Bopper's libido with Nikki Sixx's scariest wet dream, Quincy is akin to the girl in Ben Folds Five's 'Kate,' multiplied by the woman described in Sloan's 'Underwhelmed,' divided by the person Evan Dando sings about in the Lemonheads' slacked up, Raymond Carver-esque ballad 'My Drug Buddy.' And I realize these are obscure fucking references, but some people demand obscurity."

that's love. if someone's artistic vision is to make you into a musical formula...man. swoon. add that to the list of girlish aspirations.

this is uninspiring. maybe i need a break.

here, there, everywhere...

i feel like i've been bouncing around non-stop since thursday (the emerge launch event - great success!), so while i get my bearings and actually work, check out the south by southwest blog compiled by boston globe music writers.

sidenote: congrats to the wfu equestrians on a rumored-to-be-great home show. missed you this year, ladies!

chickenette of the sea!

alannahbean: would you feel comfortable if jessica simpson was your acting lobbyist? http://www.cnn.com/2006/SHOWBIZ/03/15/simpson.bush.reut/index.html

Mac12234: ms. chicken of the sea? i think not.

Mac12234: although, she and bush would probably really connect. i feel as though they're on the same level.

mélange

first, and most importantly, happiest of birthdays to my first grade lockermate and brain buddy extraordinaire, one hal mackins. hal, a newly minted member of the old fart club, is happily living out his PR dreams on the west coast and currently serves as my career mentor from afar. a sourdough salute to you, old friend. tear it up.

secondly, i had a steamy and stomping post written in my head about one of my pet peeves - the one-way friend. (i can just hear my mother in my head, "they make street signs in honor of people like you...one way!!") the ironic thing about having a pet peeve is that you generally acquire them due to a very personal association, meaning you've often violated your own peeve - thus, a projection of disappointment with yourself/irritation. (i'm toeing the lines of psychology, one of the few majors i left untouched during my undergrad career - knowledgable folk, i beseech you - ignore me.)

so back to the peeve. first of all, guilty as charged - i don't pick up the phone as often as i should. but, i've sadly realized there are people in my life who will blatantly borrow hours of time as you help them work through a meltdown, and then, when you need them...disappear. there are two kinds of conversations you have with these leeches:

scenario 1: offender calls you...
::ring::
you: "hey, X! what's shaking?"
X: "hey! not much. how are you?"
you: "pretty good! how are yo-"
X: "i have a situation with Y, and it's a loooong story, but here's what happened, and i just need some advice..............................................................................................................." <--- representative of hours upon hours of breaking down a ten minute scenario and transposing various analyses based on the color sweater Y was wearing, whether or not Y snapped his/her gum at moment of impact, blah blah blah. why does this bother me? because i've only recently realized that i do this very thing and it must be extraordinarily dull for the listener.

scenario 2: you, obviously in need of advice, call offender...
::ring::
X: "hey there!"
you: "hi, X. how are ya?"
X: "good, how are you?"
you: "not so good. actually, i was wondering if...."
X: "oh, yeah, that sounds bad, but unfortunately, i've got to run. i'm supposed to have dinner with that guy/girl i told you about last week? yeah, exciting, s/he broke up with significant other, so i think this is actually a date, and..."
you: "right. have fun." (brain: "i hope your potential has the herp, you dinkhead, have fun.")

(editor's note: i love that i wasn't actually going to write about this.)

so listen. i'm freaking sick of this, you guys. if i ever pull the offender card with you, CALL ME OUT. and if you pull the offender card with me, expect me not to be sympathetic when you get herpes because you blew me off in my time of need. capisce? be nice to each other. be considerate. i will gladly give you hours of my time and ear space if you will, in turn, do the same for me when i legitimately need it. i will give and give and give...as long as you give back. if this is a foreign concept, i strongly suggest that you pick up a copy of the book how to win friends and influence people by dale carnegie. oldie but goodie. we all need reminders sometimes.

i've always had a misplaced gratitude to the state of massachusetts for making moderately illogical behavior legal and vice versa. on the books are the following laws:

-in salem, even married couples are forbidden from sleeping nude in rented rooms.
-it's illegal to wear a goatee without a license.
-dueling with water pistols is a punishable offense.
-in the city of boston, it's illegal for someone to take a bath unless ordered by a physician.

one notable traffic statute that causes mild alarm from visitors to the commonwealth allows us to drive in the breakdown lane during rush hour (something like 6 - 10am, 4 - 8pm). as this allows me to get up and down the highway at a much faster clip during my commute, i've never really complained, and often admire the little pregnancies in the breakdown lane installed for ACTUAL breakdowns during rush hour. like many massholes who'd rather drive 80 mph (bumper to bumper, i might add) at 7am than think about safety, i've never questioned this policy - until this morning. cruising along, singing badly drawn boy, the car behind me so close that the dude driving (and shaving) is practically in my backseat, i noted with irritation (and difficulty, due to glaring sun and dirty windshields) that the car in front of me hadn't reached the ideal cruising speed of 78. not only that, but by peering through my windshield, i noted that it had, in fact, come to a DEAD HALT in the middle of the breakdown lane - with miles upon miles of sturdy, european-made four doors and SUVs bearing down on it. god forbid - someone BROKE DOWN IN THE BREAK DOWN LANE. holy crap. without having the time to look or do much else, i slammed on the brake and yanked the wheel hard to the left, just fitting into a space between an 18-wheeler and a volkswagen. had i been anything larger than a saab hatch, let's just say this blog would've been discontinued. i guarantee that the car that had been using the breakdown lane for its god-given purpose didn't survive the morning commute. i, on the other hand, will never, ever drive in the breakdown lane at rush hour again. oh, massachusetts. reconsider this one. people will die.

impressions from a time when you weren't even a glimmer

thoughts on laying claim to pieces of history that were not yours to begin with (mostly by virtue of the fact that you didn't yet exist)...

much like wearing a piece of your grandmother's jewelry or using your dad's old golf clubs in the backyard, marcel van eeden's self-charged artistic mission involves drawing a daily picture based on an image captured prior to his birth in 1965. how is this any different, i wonder, from writing a historically-based novel or making a film like schindler's list? you weren't there, you didn't live through it, you only have someone else's renderings to draw from...i'm not sure why this is innovative. art constantly stems from artifact across all media.

(from the morning news)

PSA: why march 1st is important

in tribute: happiest of birthdays to two of my favorite people. 2-3 shout out to wenz, my voice of reason, the little mermaid. thanks for not divorcing me when i make you glue seashells to your bra. mazeltov! the big 2-4 hey to nate stoooart, science guy, frisbee thrower, and ladies' man extraordinaire. nate, thanks for not divorcing us when we make you wear a bra period. hip hip, loves! have a wonderful day!