Quote of the Day

 This is my favorite passage from a really great post-modern book, White Noise by Don DeLillo:

"Our pretense is a dedication. Someone must appear to believe. Our lives are no less serious than if we professed real faith, real belief. As belief shrinks from the world, people find it more necessary than ever that someone believe. Wild-eyed men in caves. Nuns in black. Monks who do not speak. We are left to believe. Fools, children. Those who have abandoned belief must still believe in us. They are sure that they are right not to believe but they know belief must not fade completely. Hell is when no one believes. There must always be believers. Fools, idiots, those who hear voices, those who speak in tongues. We are your lunatics. We surrender our lives to make your nonbelief possible. You are sure that you are right but you don't want everyone to think as you do. There is no truth without fools. We are your fools, your madwomen, rising at dawn to pray, lighting candles, asking statues for good health, long life."

Can't Femmes and Vegans Live in Harmony?

I don't want to get all political on you here, but I just found this video from the Onion that expresses my opinions on PETA quite well.  I've been a vegetarian for years and I believe in and support animal rights 100%, but PETA will never earn my respect. I agree with their message, but not their execution. Dehumanizing and sexualizing women to grab attention is never okay. That said, I really hate the reactions to PETA ads that I read on feminist blogs, which are usually along the lines of, "fuck PETA I'm going to enjoy a massive steak now." I'm so tired of meat eaters cloaking their guilt of killing animals and supporting a harmful, inhumane system by glorifying food. It's not cute.  

Also, why doesn't my spellcheck recognize the word "vegans?" Really?

I know, I sound like such a bleeding-heart hippy, don't I? I should go back to listening to The Fame Monster.  

Beyonce + Gaga

I was pretty psyched for Video Phone to come out because although I'm outwardly in love with Lady Gaga, Beyonce has always had a pretty big piece of my heart. What can I say? I grew up bumping Destiny's Child (CUZ YOU A BUGABOO, A BUGABOO [I'm effing sorry]!) and deep down I know I'd go gay for her if given the chance. 

I thought the combination Gaga and Sasha Fierce would blow my mind, but to echo the opinions of other people, Video Phone left me feeling a little underwhelmed. My main problems with it are the lack of Gaga, some really fug outfits on Beyonce, and Lady Gaga's plastered hookerface makeup, which has evidently become her "natural" look. Gross. 

I can forgive and forget, though. I really love the Tarantino feel, especially in the beginning. The choreography is pretty half-assed but some parts are cool...I like the camera-head men. I think what basically saves everything is Beyonce's look at 2:53. Uh...cholla Bettie Page? God yes, dude. I want a fucking wig. 

Beyoncé - New Music - More Music Videos

In other news, I've been watching a lot of Tarantino films in my literary analysis class and I need to see Inglourious Basterds again. I've developed a slightly creepy crush on Christoph Waltz. What can I say? I'm obsessed with older men, but not Nazis. Whatever. His under-bite is so endearing. 

Oh my god, guys, he is so adorable in real life, too.

 

 Lah, lah, love

Guys, can we please talk about Bad Romance??

Gah, I'm beyond obsessed. I like the video so much, I think I'm starting to like the song, too, which surprises me. 

I told someone I could list over 10 things that are genius about the video, so take note:

1. 

Razor blade glasses.

2. Lady Gaga lap dance at 2:41.  

3. Sign of the cross dance at 3:18. Brilliant.

 

4.   Head-to-toe McQueen-adillo plus claw-hand. 

5. Albino animalss (hairless sphinx, dead bat in the nakee scenes, and her bear robe, unless you want to say it's a polar bear). 

6. Tranny look at 4:06.

7. BOOTY at 4:18. 

8. I wish I had a screen cap of my second favorite outfit (first is the McQueen-adillo, obviously), the red one. Very Leeloo Dallas Multipass ala The Fifth Element. 

9.  Um, yes.

10. Overall, I just really dig the many themes of the video. The concept of Russian human trafficking, the multiple religious references, Where the Wild Things Are influence, this outfit's manifestation. There are probably a million more I overlooked. 

Video stills are from here.

And then you die.

What am I doing? What do I ever do?

I tired of writing papers...not the time and effort they require, but the monotony of writing one after another. They don't mean anything. Everyone knows this, but as humanities students we calm our consciouses by discussing why art matters, why thinking about art matters. But every time I do literary analysis the final product is rarely very satisfying because no one gives a shit. No one gets it, and I don't blame anyone for it. 

I only feel really good when someone reads and enjoys my poetry, but writing good poetry is so incredibly rare for me. Out of all my work, I'd say I have one really good poem. One. Who the fuck cares if I have on poem that's decent?

I'm not trying to make this into a self-pitying rant. I just wish I was remotely interested in science, or something useful. I should go to law school, probably. 

The funny thing is I just wrote a personal statement about why the humanities are important and why I plan to become a teacher. Yay, bullshit. 

Guys, I have the plague. No bueno. 

My least favorite part about being sick is having nothing to do. I've watched the entire third season of Mad Men today. I went to one class to turn in a paper and felt like death the entire time. I revised some poetry. I watched Down by Law. I finished my book in which a man dies of typhoid in North Africa and now I'm scared. 

I feel like my brains are melting from staring at my computer screen for so long. I have an application to get started on, I have lots of reading, I have five poems to write, I want to exercise, but I effing can't do any of these things because I'm delirious. Sucks, man. 

For some reason this has got to be THE BEST week to get sick, though. All my classes but one are cancelled for the rest of the week. How does that happen?

Oh, Internet

The internet really never fails to impress, does it? I mean, I used spend hours upon hours on StumbleUpon, yet I still had to force myself to stop. Now that it doesn't work on my computer anymore (I can't explain it) I still find the weirdest shit on the internet, and it's awesome. Just now I came across Regretsy and laughed for fifteen minutes straight. It's obviously a collection of all the crappy shit people try to sell on Etsy. I would totally dish out $99,000 for this gem:

Jesus, why did I not receive this for my birthday?

Also, in my search for this year's ~*sexy*~ Halloween costume, I've decided on this:

Sexy Nemo? Uh, I guess so. I mean, it makes absolutely no sense but it's hot, right?

Finally, I'll leave you with a cake that I'm very upset wasn't baked for me:

Birthday Sex All Around

Wahh, I'm 21 you guys. Can you believe it? I can't. 

My bird day was wonderful (because I know you were totally on the edge of your seats in curiosity).

Yeah, I'm a little tipsy. My fingers are quite working right (I originally typed 'dingers'). I would usually pass out right now, but Andy is working on a project and the only place we get internet is in the middle of the bed, so I'd figured I would try to finish The Sound and the Fury (not happening) or waste time doing some other shit, so here I am. It's not my birthday any more, so I guess I don't feel guilty for writing some sort of crap on the internet when I should be out "having fun." Whatever, guys. Fun is a fleeting attempt to fill the void, and yes I'm a zen Buddhist. No, I'm not. 

Goodnight. 

Thank You, Bust Magazine

While perusing the newest issue of Bust Magazine, I came across a blurb about Garfunkel and Oates, a female comedy duo from L.A. They were dubbed the female Flight of the Conchords, so I youtubed the shit out of them and let me tell you, I dig. Check it:

3 Miracles of October

October is my FAVORITE, and not only because it's my birthday month. In Tucson it starts getting perfect outside: bearable during the day and cool breezes at night. It's hot enough to swim until Halloween, when it officially becomes winter-coat weather. I love it, and yesterday the first day of the best month of the year certainly did not betray me. There were little miracles happening all around and I'll share just three with you.

First of all, Andy and I were reading last week's Tucson Weekly in search of somewhere new and exciting to eat in celebration of the end of Midterms. Whenever we feel like splurging (I hate that word) on a meal, we usually stick to Yoshimatsu or El Minuto, but since I had a copy of the Weekly lying around we though we'd try something different. We decided to go with Char's (5039 E. 5th St.), which was voted best Thai restaurant. I haven't been that far east in a while but it was worth it. It's adorably-decorated and family owned, with little Thai babies running around saying hi to you every five minutes. The table we sat at was plastered in pictures of Princess Diana, which was equally awesome and creepy. The food was amazing and well-priced (8-ish dollars for most meals). Whatever I got was fucking amazing and I ate the entire thing even though it was way too much food. I don't even know if I've ever had Thai food before, but I'm coming back to that place ASAP. 

The second miracle of the day was simple: I somehow found a bra that doesn't make my boobs look fucking HUMONG. 'Nuff said, dudes. That kind of thing never happens to me and I'm so fucking happy. 

Last miracle: PUMPKIN PIE SHEESHA. Oh man. Andy and I went to Moon later in the night to get some more Jasmine sheesha, which has been the only thing we'll smoke for a while now. We were talking to the lady there about other kinds to try and she let us smell Pumpkin Pie, which they had just gotten in. She said people either love it or hate it, and I decided to try it because it seriously smells so good you could eat it. It's pretty awesome. It tastes like pumpkin bread and makes the house smell like baked goods, which I can always appreciate. I can imagine it will be absolutely perfect when it gets a little colder outside, it's a great seasonal scent. LOVE IT.

Well, I hope October continues to be such a badass. I plan to enjoy my last days of underage drinking tonight and tomorrow night, hopefully sipping 40's like the good ol' days. Bittersweet, friends.

For Y(O)ur Viewing Pleasure

I mean, really. Just stop it.

Nietzsche, Pynchon, and McCarthy

I have so many things racing through my head right now and I can't even begin articulate most of them. But I will offer you these:

GOD IS DEAD. Read this short story. I've definitely got Nietzsche on the brain lately. I just wrote a paper based on "The Parable of the Madman" and William Blake's "The Tiger." My head hurts but I'm content with it. I love Neitzsche. 

"Shall I project a world?" If you don't know what this symbol means, read The Crying of Lot 49 and find out, please. This is the second time I've read it and Pynchon doesn't disappoint, and the book will take you a few days, at most, to finish. 

I just finished Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy. He's also the author of No Country for Old Men and The Road, which has been made into a movie and is coming out in October. I can't even begin to describe my thoughts regarding Blood Meridian and I have to write a paper about it due in less than a week. It's extremely violent and bleak, yet at the same time beautifully poetic and philosophical. It's a true piece of art if you can get past the grotesquely violent scenes. I could only compare it to Moby Dick, and that wouldn't even do the book justice (although there is a sentence that lasts for a page or two).  

Yes, this is post is entirely literary, and yes, I'm aware I'm a huge nerd. 

Some Thoughts

Poetry is consuming my life and I'm not sure how I feel about it. It seems as though I'm constantly reading, writing, and now listening to poetry. Last week I went to a reading with my dad and he awkwardly asked me, "so...now can we be poetry partners?" I don't know what that means, but yes dad, of course we can. Then we talked about how he is very Whitman-esque in every way while I'm more like Bukowski (minus the prostitutes), and how based on these generalizations we shouldn't be able to get along. But I love my dad more than anything, and maybe that's why I like Walt Whitman so much.

I'm sick right now and can hardly think, so I'll leave you with two poems that have been on my mind lately. We've been reading them in my Literary Analysis class and I have to chose one to write a paper on. 

"The Panther" by Rainer Maria Rilke

"A Hardworking Peasant from the Idyllic Countryside" by Linh Dinh

The Rilke translation is different from the one I've been using, but it's close enough. Also, Linh Dinh is reading his poetry at the printing press I intern at in November, if you're interested.

Adventures in Poetry Writing

As you may know, I'm currently taking a poetry composition class at school. You also may know that I think it's absolute bullshit. I'm aware I tend to be a cynical bitch by nature, but I'm not exaggerating when I say that this class is possibly the worst piece of shit I've ever experienced.  

So far, here's what I've learned:

1. Creative Writing is a bullshit major. I didn't want to believe this either, but my incompetent instructor is living proof. I wasn't aware you could graduate with a BFA in poetry and not recognize a Keats reference, but apparently I stand corrected.

2. Reading poetry isn't about analyzing form and content and close reading texts, it's about talking about your feelings, you dumb-ass. Nothing is more objective than going around the room and saying "this poem made me sad" with no explanation why, obviously. My Advanced Literary Analysis class is right before this one, and needless to say, I die a little inside every time we contradict all that I've learned as an English major in simple class period.  

3. Writing a poem that's good is a rare phenomenon and when it actually does happen, there is no explanation for it. Okay, I know you can't teach someone how to write poetry, but after reading so much of it over my lifetime, I feel there are at least a few guidelines, tips, etc. that can help the process. But, no. That's makes too much sense apparently, therefore I am condemned to a hell every Monday for 3.5 hours which consists of regurgitating awful as shit poetry because, uh, I don't fucking know how to write poetry. It seems to be a conundrum without a solution. 

Needless to say, writing poetry seems to be bane of my existence as of late. So far I've written a ridiculous poem about getting wasted on the Salt River, something sappy about my dad, a bad ekphrastic poem about a watercolor painting, and a little something about the house on 7th St. It doesn't seem like things will get any better, either.  

Yesterday in class we received our assignment for next week. After "writing a secret" onto a piece of paper anonymously, we each ended up with someone else's. Here's the secret I have to write a poem about:

"I'm afraid that I am only dating my boyfriend because I like having a boyfriend, but I fear that in a few weeks I will stop liking him because that's how I roll--I'm an independent and I'm really only in it for the chase. The problem is, he is my boss. And I just got this job. I'm too awkwarded out to sleep with him, but again, he's my boss."

Oh shit! I don't know how the fuck to go about making this situation *~poetic~* but I'm pretty entertained nonetheless. We'll see where this juicy little secret takes me. 

Evolution of Obsession

When I first heard "Just Dance," I had no idea who the hell Lady Gaga was. I mostly found the song obnoxious and myself bored, as I was with everything playing on the radio. My initial commonality with Lady Gaga, however, was an affinity for getting wasted and doing shameful things. I guess we were off to a good, perhaps shaky, start. 

Next I heard “Poker Face,” which somehow managed to become my second favorite guilty-pleasure track along with some Pitbull song (I know). Then I saw the video for the song and freaked the fuck out over what a babe that girl was in a teal space-age leotard. See also: air-humping on a lounge-chair. Also: poker-game orgy.  Also: “‘Cause I’m bluffin’ with my muffin.” Need I say more?

Then I saw this shot:

I mean, really?

At this time my fascination with Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta was in full-throttle. Despite the snapshots I saw of her in Turkish tabloids looking pasty and chubs, I wasn't phased.

When I came back to the states, the show-tune acoustic version of "Poker Face" was permanently stuck in my head and I must have watched her play it on the Ellen Show so many times it was negatively affecting my health. 

Then "Love Game" was playing, and after watching the video I was reminded yet again of what an insanely sexy psycho maniac Lady Gaga was. "Disco stick" is just the kind of metaphor I would think up. At this point I believe we must have been on the same dirty wave-length. Nearly soul-mate status. But then she had to turn it up a notch by covering her naked body in Star Trek-esque glitter formations and doing the dirty with male and female cops. At this time I think you could safely say I was deeply enamored with The Gaga.  

But tonight I saw her performance at the VMAs.  

How the hell was I to react?

I initially regarded the woman's performance with curiosity, which soon became fascination. Then, suddenly, ABSOLUTE FUCKING TERROR. 

Okay, yeah, I can handle theatrics, McQueen-esque bird masks, bootylicious black dudes, back-up dancers in wheelchairs...but wait...

BLOOD? No words, friends. I felt legitimately horrified by the image of the crazy bitch dangling hangman-esque like a bleeding corpse of insanity. Lady Gaga has managed to etch her creepy face into my brain with a cocaine-covered scalpel. I fear she will at any moment parade into my bedroom in an excrement-drenched high-cut leotard and force me to join her macabre circus cult.  

BUT WAIT, she already has. Yes, I'm officially OB-FUCKING-SESSED with the lady and there is no return for me, friends. I love her and I am willing to follow her to the edges of this planet. I want to become blood-sisters with her and wear leotards and Lennon-glasses and be utterly terrifying and obnoxious. 

Sometimes I wonder what Lady Gaga is doing at this exact moment, do you? Right now I imagine she's tweaking and having an intimate conversation with Jesus himself, and I wish I was too.