i don't do crowds

could this dog be any cuter? the answer is no.

shameless dog cuteness ... it's nauseating...really...

apologies. you wouldn't be able to help yourself either, if these were your ridiculous emo dogs.

what's the hold up? where's the fire?

a weekend recap, for those suffering from the affliction of boredom:

the highlights:

*gills & i all suited up for a dinner date, our date (andrew, you mook) pulls a gypsy no-show, so we go to rose pistola...a little fancy for the two of us (as we are used to a more casual sitting-in-the-living-room-eating-plain-yogurt-with-almonds-in-our- pajamas kind of dining situation). we are all set for the standard fare (italian margherita pizza & a salad, wine for me, coke for the sister) when what, to our wondering eyes doth appear? as a special treat from the kitchen staff (that know gills from the other restaurant)? a steaming hot plate of mussels.
(vomit rising even in the retelling of this event)

it's an open kitchen. they can see everything i do. & there are 3-5 eager faces awaiting our approval. for the stranger to these pages & my dietary situation, nothing with a pulse for me. & gills/bg doesn't eat anything from the ocean.

we are So Alike in so many ways. but at this moment, where we differ becomes deafeningly evident.

i figure, for courtesy's sake, we have to eat at least 1/2 of this plate of flesh. so, even though I DON'T EAT MEAT, i crack open the carcasses & anchors aweigh. no looking back. i have downed about 5 of them, when i realize banana is still fiddling with the first one. she looks at me & in all seriousness says "i don't think i can do this". short of reaching across the table & gutting her like a fish, i say in my most even tone, through very clenched teeth, "I Don't Eat Meat, You Will Be Eating These F*ing %*#$@$ Starting Right The F* Now".

i think in total, she ate four, all swallowed whole with lots of water (it's sunday night @ 2 am, and as of right now, she still complains about them being lodged in her throat).

the pizza was crap & the salad had an exciting factor of "meh". but we got a story out of it, so, totally worth it.

*movie plans to see the darjeeling limited otra vez. bg & i are all guns go to meet sweet lime, at which time she calls to say she is running late (all is forgiven, sweet lime, don't fret). we decide to venture out right then anyway, in hot pursuit of coffee & breakfast (granted, its noon, but i have not been up to grocery shopping yet again, so there is not so much as an oat flake to eat @ 1429 kearny street, apartment no.3).

again, the dietary situation of one molly e. mundt & the aesthetics situation of one ana f. laub plays a major factor in what happens next.

if you know me, you know i have a food repertoire of about 10 things. one of them is the peaches & raspberry yogurt thing at starbucks. it's the only thing i like to eat there, other than the cookies (to clarify, i like the following cookies-the peanut butter & the snickerdoodle...Not, i repeat, Not the chocolate chip or the oatmeal, i hate the latter 2 cookies, gross).
if you know gills, a place has to rate higher on the aesthetics scale than "depressing". this adjective, "depressing", means it is unsuitable to be in said establishment, or even to walk past it.

we enter starbucks #1, on montgomery & clay. no yogurt breakfast for me. we move on. starbucks #2. "too depressing". starbucks #3. no food for me. starbucks #4. environment ok enough to get ana's food, but alas, no breakfast for me, and still depressing enough to not get the coffee & stay there. starbucks #4. closed. starbucks #5. disco.

yes, that's right, gentle reader, 5 f*ing starbucks until we actually got coffee & breakfast.

after consuming & walking out to meet sweet lime for the movie, bg thinks it would be really funny to hide. she is ridiculous. she finally comes out, and is walking behind me. i know this because all of sudden i hear loud running footsteps & then feel what seems like a gunshot in my right ass cheek. ana has decided as retribution for me spraying raid in her eyes in the lawn & garden department of wal-mart when we were NINE, she will select this time to punch me close fisted in the ass & with a running start.

i scream & nearly buckle, to the amusement of starbucks patrons & tourists alike. she flees the scene & hides around the corner.

i would keep recounting weekend highlights, but i have to re-inflate the ass doughnut i am sitting on before the swelling starts again.

thanks bg
(ps-the reader should note that this sister-of-mine does not yet have a bed yet, and sleeps an arm's length from me, if that...revenge is a #&$^#, banana. for sound effect purposes, the reader should insert a scary laugh track here, as i will be super-gluing large male tidy whities to her right calf later tonight)

(pss-happy birthday, art! enjoy manhattan!)

transit umbra, lux permanet

to my friend, that i almost lost. that i misjudged & misunderstood & wrongly made the villain.

for your ability to let the past go, to forget words spoken in anger....for seeing beyond the silence & the screaming...& knowing that buried inside i was frustrated & disappointed. that i felt like a marginalized victim, forced to sit on the sidelines & watch the demise of the world from the bleachers, arms tied behind my back, gagged & blindfolded. forced to wait in agony while the arena crumbled around me. that you understood & (present tense) understand me, is one of life's sparse miracles.

shadow passes, light remains.

behavior makes belief?

is it just a simple matter of matter over mind? is that all it takes? can you force your mind to ascribe to something by going through the motions like you already believed "x" thing? i mean, does "build it & they will come" really work when kevin costner & james earl jones are nowhere to be found?

let's give the audience an example of when this technique could prove useful (though the author has zero proof that this works, but hopes that it works, which in this case will have to be enough).

messy break-up? found your partner f*ing around? is the other person "just not that into you"? is your heart broken & shattered into unrecognizable pieces on a dirty sidewalk in detroit? do you find yourself unable to move past the pain? all you have to do is ACT as if you are over it-through your actions...meaning, you go about your day AS IF you are not desperately melancholy (in a style reminscent of vincent van gogh cutting off his ear, whilst listening to the smiths) & EVENTUALLY your brain will catch up with your body. now, i am in no way advocating sluting around-that's not exactly what i mean by acting as if...more like go about the day-to-day stuff as you did before you were sad (but without mr. or ms. x).

another example that could bring this one home (yes, this is the 2nd lofty attempt to use sports metaphors in writing...my hands tremble with nausea.) are you depressed (ok, disclaimer-if you are really depressed, like in a clinical way-go to a psychiatrist & get some medicine, i mean in a "it's been a week, and i hate myself & i'm bored with my life"...)-you go about the day PRETENDING by your actions that you are totally fine...and eventually you WILL BE fine. some call this the power of visualization. i don't. as i am not asking you to repeat some chant to yourself, using your rotted brain to imagine a better place for haggard body. no, no, no. (always group repetitive words in odd numbers, it's more aesthetically pleasing for the reader-a fun fact brought to you direct from "writing wranglers", local chapter 94133). no "envisioning" propaganda here. i'm saying actually go through the motions of not being where you are, and after some time has past, your mind/thoughts/blah blah blah will join the club.

hey, can't hurt.

solipsism & me

for those unfortunate to not be in the know regarding this philosophy: basic summary - "nothing exists outside my own mind"

they say infants are solipsists @ birth. all infants. as they cannot yet identify anything outside their own mind

solpsism syndrome? (of course)...when one feels that everything is a dream & not real

isn't the state where everything is imaginary where you want to be? sometimes reality is nothing to write home about, and hardly worth waking up for

i have nothing else to say, today, life's a play, pimping the night away, hiding from the fray..i'm still really bad at this (freestylin', not life, geesh. i am heavily medicated to prevent jumping from cliffs-no need to worry, gentle reader)

weekend summary

yowza.

a show, giving wedding cake to a homeless man in washington square park (who had no idea what we were offering, but said yes anyway...life lesson, maybe?), meeting on fabrics, coffee with the INDIAN LOVE OF MY LIFE (yes, sharayu-sp?-that's you), vanity fear/fair, mama's on washington square, a taxi service, and drum lessons.

& i think i was sick for most of it. oh, the power of the mind.

other big drama rolled like marbles down a hill (how's that for metaphysical lyricism?)

i learned the word "vitriolic" too, which is a good one to carry around in your pocket & use in the most tedious of situations.

i used it 3 times this weekend...

showy shows recap, week of 8.october

beirut
8-9.october
herbst theater






the tragically hip
10.october
the warfield






rogue wave
12.october
bimbo's 365

showy shows recap, week of 14.october

matt pond pa
16.october
gamh






say hi (to your mom)
17.october
bottom of the hill

who is john galt?

friends, romans, countrymen...lend me thine...eyes?

just finished reading the fountainhead. thumbs up to objectivism. although she only used her philosophy to write books & indoctrinate a few people, she still stands near the top of the "kick ass thinkers of the century" list (yes, i would be the type to have one of those). it's nice feeling like striving to be successful, at all costs, is not something to be ashamed of.

yes, i enjoy words. i enjoy reading them, memorizing them, painting them, eating them with frosted mini-wheats for breakfast...i love words. always have. if there is a blank scrap of paper in my life, it only exists because i haven't found it yet & scribbled on it.

but i couldn't write books as she writes books...i am too distracted, i guess-as i am so very much attached to the stream of consciousness style (meaning one random thought always leads to another) to stay that focused on one thing. describing a scene between two people, rand writes:
she reached over & took the cablegram off the mirror. she crumpled it, her fingers twisting slowly in a grinding motion against her palm. he stood listening to the crackle of the paper. she leaned forward, opened her hand over the wastebasket, and let the paper drop. her hand remained still for a moment, the fingers extended, slanting down, as they had opened.

now, if i, molly-as-writer, was describing this scene, i would have written the following:
she took the cablegram from the mirror & destroyed it in the palm of her hand. the sound was deafening, in that this-paper-stands-for-something-really-important metaphorical way. he stood listening. for added effect, and perhaps because she was so caught up in the moment she didn't realize the telenovela/OC weekly sitcom quality she was giving to the entire scene, she dropped the crumpled paper into the bin & let her hand freeze-frame over the wastebasket for much longer than was necessary. drama queen.

so there you go. mine was actually longer. but does anyone see what i am talking about? i could have written 3 pages about that little nothing scene-by rewording it in my own way-and by the end of the 3rd page, the reader would have been lost entirely inside the aimless wandering of my mind-the original scene thrown along the wayside as i recount some story of how the english call waste receptacles "bins" & how we americans call them trash cans.

who is john galt? that is the only question. until next time, keep it interesting.