why you bounce so sad?
so I went to kickboxing class, stomping down the street in a hoodie stretched over my head a pouting million dollar baby whose Clint Eastwood just never shows up and won’t probably, may never, unless he decides it’s his fault that she’s been punched in the face too many times
The man on the street yells Metro PCS and shoves a card in my face and I glare at him as I brush past but he tries again Metro PCS like if he said it a second time the same inflection the same tone the same volume I would change my mind I must look like the person who accommodates second chances Or maybe he does this to everyone
Perhaps I made a choice to believe in something false and you made a choice to let me Perhaps you made a choice to tell me something false and I made a choice to let you
They changed the schedule at the gym I didn’t know It was Salsa class I didn’t know Tejano music came on and the Hispanic women started to move and I started to cry because I’m Irish My hips don’t do that
When I saw the reflection of the white girl crying because she couldn’t dance and she thought she was in kickboxing that’s what she thought the class was but she was wrong she was so dumb to cry over something so stupid so she just danced anyways and
I figured that I’d cut her some slack because she’s trying at least.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Leave a Comment
in my google searchbar
if you type in “how long” google suggests the following:
- how long does weed stay in your system
- how long does alcohol stay in your system
- how long does it take to get a passport
- how long does it take to get pregnant
- how long to boil corn on the cob
- how long to boil an egg
- how long does sperm live
- how long has this been goin’ on
- how long does implantation bleeding last
Filed under: Uncategorized | Leave a Comment
Wisdom
“Men aren’t idiots. They are skillfully dumb.” – Liz Zaita, October 23, 2009.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Leave a Comment
squeeze, squeeze…
THE TOPIC IS RUNNING MUSIC:It’s totally embarrassing, but the best pump -it- up workout song ever is “Dreamgirl” by Dave Matthews Band. And not because it’s particularly a good song. It really isn’t, though the guitar riff is kinda cute. I put it on the forefront of a new playlist today, followed by some free stuff on a CMJ 2009 sampler, taking it back a ways with some GYM CLASS HEROES, Metric, Sounds, and of course some MJ, a staple in the iPod running repertoire.
I like breezing out the door to “Dreamgirl” because I can vividly recall the video featuring Julia Roberts as said ingenue. Each member in the band took a turn playing her masked lover, and at the end it was just a dream!!! Get it!!! Dreamgirl!!! So. Clever. Ahhhhh…I like pretending I’m Julia Roberts and that someone would want to watch the sweat trickle down my spine as I slept in the park! (Only kinda gross!) I like the subtle nod to trendy “World/African” vibed out vocals! I like remembering watching the video while huffing away on a treadmill in Olson Forum, circa 2004, Kirsten to my left, reading Stats and Nutrition Notecards while running. I like remembering how it headlined the playlists in Marion. How I’d run past the river and the mill and think that if anyone in that town was remotely close enough to see ANY sweat, it was too close and I’d have to kick them. (See Prisoners of Marion County Blog – Saturday September 15, 2007)
THE TOPIC IS NOW SWEAT: I took a tonal body class last night at Gina’s gym. The instructor was this adorable Indian woman who kept yelling “Nnnooooo pain nooooo gain, lllaaahhhdieeess!” and “Sqqqqquuueeezzzeee, Sqqqquuueeezzzee”. I’m using a free trial, which monetarily free, but not free in the sense that our forefathers imagined it to be and described in the constiution because I’m not free to do anything but field CALLS. THE LUCILLE ROBERTS PEOPLE CALL ME AT LEAST TWICE A DAY (and sometimes even TEXT) asking me if I intend to join on October 22, the last day of my trial. I inform them that I’m still thinking, and then suggest that they actually call Gina to see if maybe they can convince her to put on the pressure. “Offer her a free waterbottle if she gets me to sign!” Gina is a sucker for free stuff.
THE TOPIC IS NOW GINA: She is gone this week, staying in the city with the rest of the Canon crew and I’m totally lonely and I miss her. I take trips to the Duane Reade just to get out of the house.
THE TOPIC IS NOW DUANE READE: I wish they sold box wine. And athletic socks. And cookie sheets.
THE TOPIC IS NOW COOKIE SHEETS: I tried to make cookies today. After a few inventive moves like the “burst of flour” hand grenade (times 3 cause it was fun) and the “wait, we don’t have vanilla, I think huckleberry honey will do” 1/2 tablespoon drizzle, it is clearly apparent that I am a great cook. AND A TERRIBLE BAKER. I set off the fire alarm to a nice treat of organic hockey pucks.
THE TOPIC IS NOW HARRY CONNICK JR. AND JANE MONHEIT: which has nothing to do with anything but their version of “I Won’t Dance” inspired the cookie making. It just felt right.
THINGS THAT FEEL RIGHT: Knowing your Dad is coming to school for Cinnamon Roll Day, even if that day only happens once every couple of months, you know you are the luckiest girl in the whole world because nobody else’s Dad comes to school lunch (except for Andrew Buschar’s father, who wore rainbow suspenders, so I guess mine was the only NORMAL Dad, or at least normal looking) and it was something he never let us down about. I’m not saying that I need a “DAD TO LUNCH” event every day of my life, but to see a SCHOOL MENU WOULD BE FREAKING NICE. Just so I could see how long it was until something good was coming.
UNTIL THEN: I will accept that things aren’t always gonna rock the way I order them to. I will use these happy memories to propagate happiness in the present. I will breathe deeply, absorbing the reverb drenched delay of Dave Matthews giving me a “yyyyyyyyyyyeeeeeaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh” every morning, waiting for someone to dig a hole all the way to china, unless of course he was already there, then he’d dig his way home.
Filed under: Uncategorized | 1 Comment
Scary things Part One
Top 5 scariest things in my neighborhood.
5. What is this tarp hiding? Garbage? Drugs? Bodies? I don’t know. Scary.
4. This is a BAKERY. See the tarts? See the scones? Freaky.
3. Recession toys! Here kid, play with this! (it is a large iron rod). Who is your MOTHER? Terrifying.
2. The bridal shower…of DEATH?
1. The scariest place of all… (Shudders)
Filed under: Uncategorized | Leave a Comment
harvest phlegm.
It’s Friday Night and I’m home sick.
It makes me think of a passage in a Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald short story (yeah, awwww, isn’t that cute, they wrote stuff together) where they refer to the “phlegmatic villages of Minnesota”. I thought of this essay earlier in the evening -I was stagehanding a dress rehearsal at the new school, trying not to infect anyone when a pianist remarked on my Minnesotan accent all covered in cough. “It’s so cute when she says Suuuurrreee, with her nose stuffed up.”
Aproximately 13 coughdrops later I climbed out of the Steinway station, staring up at the big harvest moon, still thinking about the Fitzgeralds. I don’t think they meant “phlegmatic” as in like, Minnesota is the equivalent of snot that comes from deep within, but like, a stolid, slow, temperate kinda thing. Or at least that’s what I got from the Merriam-Webster site when I looked it up, just now.
But I didn’t have that information then, so I was mad as I stared at that pretty orb, my head playing an old Jazz Age tune “Shine on, Shine on Harvest Moon, up in the Sky/ I ain’t had no lovin’ since January, February, June or July…” In fact, I was absolutely loathe of the Fitzgeralds as I imagined them in New York, 1925. Zelda – waifishly thin, regailed in full on flapper wear, bobbed hair – in love with Robert Redford. (Sorry. That’s just what happens when you see the movie before you read the book.) I saw them gallantly prance down the stairs of their Park Avenue brownstone, then strolling down 5th Avenue as the carriages passed by, the women leaning over their gentlemen callers to gaze at the famous lovers as they exchanged sentences like “My darling, the love I possess for you is beyond the wonder of the first glance I ever took of a magnolia in full bloom at the dusk of the day” and “Zelda, you are the truest first love of my life, with your white dress billowing to frame that blurred face of distinct perfection.”
I was no Magnolia in bloom tonight. I was sniffling and hacking up a lung, walking down Broadway (in QUEENS!) by myself (!), on a friday (uuuuuuhhhh date night!) and I thought -
GOD, the Fitzgeralds were jerks. Just because they had love and each other and fantastic careers in this stupid city they had the RIGHT to call my Minnesotans, my peeps, my family – “FULL OF PHLEGM”? Those slow town Mississippi River people would never let me suffer this nasty cold alone. They’d be over with soup! They’d be over with VHS tapes of last week’s “Red Green” show from IPTV. They’d be calling to detail how long their bout with this year’s fall cold went on…and how not to give up hope, it would only be 5-6 days, tops.
I bet ZELDA AND SCOTT NEVER HAD A COLD. Just didn’t happen to them. Too pretty to get colds. And even if they did, it would be so tragic that their gorgeous flushed cheeks would only make them MORE BEAUTIFUL which would then inspire another round of SAPPY letters to each other that their child could publish years after their deaths so SHE could continue living the Blessed New York City Existence (i.e.- good real estate paid for by your lucky independent wealth).
One of these falls I’m not gonna get sick. I’m gonna enjoy the Harvest Moon. I’m gonna strut around in that season’s boots, and they will be real leather. I will boost a totebag of all the fabulous music I’ve written as I powerwalk to the next rehearsal of this or that. I am confident in my abilities to achieve this. But if women lean over their gentlemen callers and roll down a taxi-cab window to hear what I’m saying to {boy of the moment} I hope all they hear is “Good God, Love, you are one phlegmatic Minnesotan.”
to which I’ll say, “Thanks, Robert Redford, you’re not bad yourself.”
Filed under: Uncategorized | 1 Comment
Exclusive: MySpace reveals tracklisting for New Moon soundtrack – Music Blog Blog’s MySpace Blog |
Exclusive: MySpace reveals tracklisting for New Moon soundtrack – Music Blog Blog’s MySpace Blog |
“And, better yet, how many hipsters in Brooklyn do you think will be have to be rushed to the hospital after seeing that Bon Iver and St. Vincent recorded a duet for it?”
Shared via AddThis
Filed under: Uncategorized | 1 Comment
That’s all.
This is all I want from life, this is it, I cannot possibly think of anything else:
I wanna laugh each day with friends that I’m allowed to care for obsessively. To be able to create music for said friends to appreciate. I want to be debt free. After that happens, I want to zip around town on a teal vespa while rocking high-heeled boots. One day, I want to make my own softball team of children that are fathered by a solidly awesome guy who all get the same kick out of making music for their funny friends. Hopefully too they will also enjoy eating popcorn while listening to their mom extol ad nauseum the virtuous perfection of the Bangles because they may not have a choice on dinner…or on dinner conversation.
I’m not asking for much, I don’t think.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Leave a Comment
Mad (as in CRAZY) Men
Yesterday I was waiting for a train with two man friends and one of them, being a grown man with a brain, scoffed when I said I understood men in this city and I had narrowed it down to three simple rules.
The other wanted to hear my conclusions.
I told him that I was being facetious and didn’t really understand men at all. Frankly, I still very much like and respect these two guys and would not want to offend either of them by attacking their RIDICULOUS gender but the truth is that I HAVE narrowed it down to three simple things, and after a 7 month period of heavy weeping, writing stupid songs, punching things, joining a band, quitting my job, getting mugged, seeing spending a day in Precinct 114, taking a huge vacation in Montana, writing MORE stupid songs, meeting Michael Fredo, loving LeBron, going to Boston and buying books in Jamaica Plains, running the 59th street bridge over 50 times (thank you), eating cereal in the Rainbow Room, convincing strangers to help me find Andy Samberg, writing a TV show pilot, taking pictures with a pair of sweatpants across lower Manhattan, finishing my double string quartet and finding myself facing a HIGH SCHOOL CHORUS once again I feel like I have the right to be pissed off again. There are three simple rules for surviving the dating scene in New York City.
1. THEY ARE NOT OPERATING ON HUMAN TIME. Ever given some guy your number and then THREE MONTHS later received a waylaid text message? I have. Ever heard “I’ll call you tomorrow” and get a call on Tuesday (of the next week)? I have. Some girls wanna have things go according to a normal calendar week. Some guys wanna play Halo for hours. Which doesn’t feel like hours to them. Just like dating you doesn’t feel like something that has to be done on time, like the ConEd bill. We can’t hate them for that, because it’s in no way sexy to be equated with an ultimatum of discontinuing gas and electric service, but we can understand it, and so can they.
2. YOU ARE ONE AMONG MILLIONS (though YOU know you’re funnier, smarter, sillier, prettier…) Men see you horizontally until the day they are ready to man up to Aaron Sorkin talking – where they may or may not see you as ultimate (depending on how much “Sports Night” and “West Wing” they’ve ever seen). For instance, you either fall into “Eh, she’ll do if I think maybe she’ll sleep with me and I guess she’s pretty cute” status OR “Yeah, she’s hot and I like her”. There could be EIGHTY SEVEN women in either category. Also note: your status is subject to change if you are too needy, nerdy, or really love the movie “Twilight”.
3. THERE IS NO WINNING THIS GAME. So be your delightfully crazy, needy self. Watch Twilight. Play your synth as loud as you can with a faulty Marshall MG10KK practice amp. Make peace with being alone. Eat a popsicle. Sing outloud while running and be kinder to yourself, so you can be kinder to a man who’ll decide to jump through hoops for you one day. But watch your back, there’s probably only one, and EIGHT MILLION who will appear to try.
ARRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH. (Out of frustration and in celebration of pirates).
Jo
Filed under: Uncategorized | Leave a Comment
home, where, what
A snapshot of Iowa, of mine:
My grandfather, explaining that when he dies, he wants Grandma to write his last remaining check for “One Million Dollars” and hang a sign around his neck saying “Like hell you can’t take it with you”.
My mother is now a certified Laughter Yoga Instructor. Believe it.
My father can kill mosquitos on the deck with an electrocuting tennis racquet.
My cousin is a team captain and the Friday night lights burn brighter on his jersey than the harvest moon illuminating the air of fall romance and marching bands and stale popcorn and hopes of big, awesome things – just ahead.
Speaking of Friday night high school events, I swear, Mom, I had no idea about what “rock you all night long” meant when I was doing those cheers, I swear. In fact, I’m a little mortified that I did that. Honest, I just thought it meant we were hoping to go into overtime.
My learning curve is still as wide as Texas.
My high school friends are married. Even the younger ones.
I fault my learning curve. And the fact that everyone else in the world knew there was something to the body roll beyond good cheerleading athleticism WAY BEFORE ME.
My sister has gorgeous skin.
Cable. Melanie Oudin. Lleyton. Top Chef. Lifetime, yes…Lifetime.
Driving Range. Slushies. Tennis. Sore arms. Popsicles. Bikes. Candy Corn. Lawnmowers?
The crickets, the crisp air, the Sunday morning runs (with Daddy riding along to talk to me), the trail, the houses on Jerome, the chocolate chips in the bottom drawer. Love in the every minute, in the Prius, in the mundane, in the breakfast nook in the things said and unsaid in the best possible expression of the word they love me and as much as I can’t stand being here, I certainly can’t stand leaving either.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Leave a Comment
Recent Entries
Categories
- Humor (9)
- Music (3)
- Politics (7)
- Reading (1)
- Silliness (10)
- Television (2)
- Thinking (5)
- travel (3)
- Uncategorized (59)
- Writing (1)
