let's pretend we're bunny rabbits

THE MAGNETIC FIELDS.

that's right ladies & worms.
& the show's tonight & i am as giddy as this kid.
seriously-my face is pretty much frozen in that exact position...FIVE HOURS TO GO.
giddyup.

fake plastic trees

my fake plastic love.
i cant help the feeling
i could blow through the ceiling
if i just turn and run
and it wears me out, it wears me out...

i couldn't possibly exhaust this song. ever.

isn't it funny how you can neglect some of your favorite songs because you have liked them forever, you take them for granted? & then one mid-60's day in the city you fall into them on accident or on a whim...music on shuffle, and it's like meeting an old friend? i love that. these moments seem to tie the old you that first listened to the music to the you now-the one that has heard the song in a hundred different situations-some memorable, others completely forgettable. it's like a moving picture, this listening to a song now that impacted you then.

random snippets gleamed from the-ever-with-me-notebook. i have no idea why i wrote these things, but they seem especially poignant tonight, as i am wallowing in that kind of mood...you know the one...a little chilly, slight breeze, headlights seen in the reflection of your window, remarkably relevant radiohead is your ambient noise (big piano chords & thom yorke's pained voice are the only songs allowed on this mood's soundtrack.)

i write phrases down in my minibook when something i hear strikes me-a song lyric, a stranger on a bus, something i said...so who knows & who wants to guess...i have absolutely no recollection of what should be attributed to whom. let your imagination get the better of you. get lost inside your own head. (step one-put the following songs in a playlist-no surprises, the tourist, karma police, fake plastic trees, romeo & juliet and put the list on repeat. until the sinking feeling goes away. it will. just takes time.)

*i fall so hard inside the idea of you.

*you're not a panda.

*i'll handle monty.

*yes ma'am, how many frequent flyer miles would it take to send someone on a nonstop flight to hell?

*prefers unhappy endings

*put fortunes in people's pockets

*a verbis ad verbera (from words to blows)

*free yourself of the expectation (that sounds str8 out of a tony robbins seminar...wow)

*it's got voodoo in it

*"i wanna be the girl" "you are the girl, that's why we're having this very confusing conversation."

*where i've been & where i am is the show

*resevoir passion

we're computerizing & we just don't need you anymore

information is like porn.

it wasn't when i was paying for it-college was forced learning & basically all data was processed & then promptly tossed in the nearest bin (& yes, i am english today). but now...today, this exact moment, i can't get enough.

i am an addict.

i need help. wikipedia must be removed from all internet browers. i can hardly get through a conversation with someone, let alone read a single article without running to find out more.

does this sound familiar?

you are chatting up a nice lad, discussing politics, origami, or possibly the worst show in existenence, rock of love (& its sequel) when something is called into question. "...what was that joke about hillary in the onion?...what was urban legend about paper cranes curing cancer?...does bret michaels actually have hair under those creepy bandanas?..."

& its like the conversation, Any Conversation, is temporarily paused until the answers are found. it's as if you can't form words, the whole driving force behind talking is freeze-framed. you feel an itch. you can't let it go. without the answers to your questions, you couldn't possibly continue discussing well, anything. let's imagine the bloke you are chewing the fat with is not hooked on the same info-drug you are. he dismisses the question almost as quickly as it falls out of his fat mouth. you reach for your phone/computer/data-crack-pipe-of-preference & he tells you its "no big deal"...that you can "look it up later."
you start to hate him. a consumning, vehement loathing rolls across your retinas like a full-bodied san francisco fog. you can hardly see him anymore. this cretin. this cow that stands between you & the answers. this imbesol. you want his face to melt right off to expose what is obviously his lack of any brain matter whatsoever.
you start to sweat. if you are me, you scribble down the questions to remind you as soon as you escape the clutches of this toady, unibrowed caveman.

information.
i can't get enough.

the speed at which you can get immediate, as-fast-as-your-connection-speed-allows answers to anything is making me hopelessly ADD. when i read an article, if there is any kind of link, i click on it faster than those big-hair ladies used to smack the whammies on press your luck. i then wander off to a link in that article & la la la...and within a pocketful of minutes am utterly disoriented & have no idea where the hunt for the elusive great white rabbit began.

i started writing this with the fervor of a buffalo hunter, full of piss & vinegar & mollyesque opinions, and then my attention deficit kicked in vis a vis The Debates. most uncomfortable bit of television, fellow americans (for my foreign readers, just be happy we are getting a new president & try to pleasantly ignore the current silliness.)

lost my train of thought...again. i feel like any locomotion of ideas i am focused on gets rattled & meanders into cloud town. is this thing on? hello? am i in harrison bergeron? hello?

(because i am caring, unequivocally giving blogger, i have obviously provided very handy click-on links to answers to all queries posed above, as well as links to any references of really anything discussed herein. my gift to you. you're welcome.)

you are so last summer

due to a recent onset of a wicked cold/flu-ish situation, i have this scratchy, sexy lounge singer voice. i want to keep it. i have clasped my greedy little hands around it's fraile existence, crushing it like lenny in of mice & men...screaming songs in the car so as to ensure at least a few more hours of precious sultry, husky bette-davis-with-a-ineffable-hat-&-matching-handbag voice.

i like the show gossip girl.

there.
i said it.

the cattiness, the money, the ridiculous stereotypes. teenagers that hang out at the plaza & order martinis AT THE BAR (ludicruous...these girls have "not-of-age" stamped on their freshly-facialed-faces & trainer bras.) the mothers are all over-the-top bourgie (short for bourgeois...not sure on that abbreviation) assholes, the dads of 2 varieties: superdad or too-rich-&-important-"mysonmustgetintodartmouth" types. classic. there is the "nerdy-yet-strangely-attractive-&-misunderstood-guy", his kid sister (golly gee, the fun times these two loveable characters have together), the leggy blonde, the bitchy brunette, the token asian...it's just the most a delightful group of kids...growing up in the big apple.

(ted, i don't want to hear any shit. you eat pork rinds.)

songs for the heartstrings - strung - out

here you go-just read the names of these bands &/or songs & feel better. i did.

*pretty girls make graves
*a good man is easy to kill
*popular mechanics for lovers
*i'm always the one who calls
*smile! no one cares how you feel
*i love you, but i've chosen darkness
*this photograph is proof (i know you know)
*sweet sweet heartkiller
*when they really get to know you, they will run

impervious to absolutes.

6 o'clock pm, saturday, the 23rd of february.

my fingers are mildly frost-bitten & my apartment windows are about to shatter into a thousand chards of glass. right in my face.

there is a tree dancing a saucy lambada (the forbidden dance) directly behind this open notebook computer. i can see the movement using my nifty & quite perceptive peripheral vision. the leaves appear to be holding hands & shimmying across the television-like screen of a single un-insulated windowpane.

tonight has full moon written all over it. the malevolent, rainbearer clouds drip ominously from the sky. the red aura that encircles every brakelight, the fuzzy tractor beams of headlights, looking out at the city from the rain-streaked windows inside my apartment...people dressed like mongolian herdsman or yetis (hoodies, random pieces of clothing thrown together to block out the driveling drizzle that is san-francisco-"rain", the rainboots & turned-inside-out-umbrellas that look like weapons of mass destruction...all thrown together haphazardly into a maddening milieu of what more posh people might call the "homeless aesthetic"-making this nomad fashion catastrophe sound even charming & philanthropic.)

this weather does not make me want to conquer the most miniscule of tasks-nothing can motivate. not even aaron copeland's "rodeo"-which at any other time can inspire me to do even the most mundane chore...when i listen to this song at any other time, i feel capable of lifting a bus in the air, whirling it around & tossing it effortlessly out of harm's way. i can always count on "fanfare for the common man" to pull my ass out of whatever self-deprecating state i have wandered into & Take Over the World.

but copeland is no match against this full moon weather situation.

so instead, i will sit inside, staring...half grimacing at the thought of ever having to leave & "pen" madly away on a story. any story. i just need that first line. that killer intro-clause to get me off & running on some tirade or another (it doesn't matter which).

i got it.

"it was a dark and stormy night..."

(thank you, charlie brown)

night-night buttercups.

eye gouge coupled with a kamikaze scream.

the motivations behind this photograph.

i have rolled it around in my immense & cavernous brain for days, reaching hither & yon (an under-used phrase, if you're asking). & due to the shear NUMBER of possibilities, i am suffering from a acute case of writer's block. i even called out the troops, enlisting those ingenious legions around me (you know, i Have always said i wanted to surround myself with extraordinary people)...hoping their brilliance would shed some light on what i know is a great short story lodged in some wrinkle of my intestine-like brain mass...the novella cornered & trapped, hungry, exhausted & alone...begging to see daylight...looking for that illusive canary-in-the-mineshaft to lead it into the sun.

alas.

my "w" key keeps sticking & not sho ing up. i can't ork under these conditions. hat a aste of hat e kno is himsical & ondrous talent.

(total lie. how desparate do you have to be to slander your own keyboard?) i will listen to musak for the rest of the day as what is clearly a fair & just punishment.

carry on.

in memoriam

i am & will remain in an eternal sense of loss. gills informed me tonight that according to regis & kelly (puke)-& confirmed on the boston globe website, polaroid is closing its plants in the US & internationally ...signifying the end of polaroid film.
wtf.
(can you hear the racking sobs wherever you are...?? can you hear the stifled wailing?)
that episode of seinfeld comes to mind...that one where elaine finds out they are discontinuing the sponge-and so she buys every case from every stop-&-rob in manhattan. her interaction with all males from that point forward is based on "is he sponge-worthy?"
i am compelled to run out & buy every single case of polaroid 600 film in the greater bay area. scratch that...in the entire state of california AND texas (mom, i would be soliciting your help here.)
but how can i possibly decide how many rolls of film i would need for the remainder OF MY LIFE??? the spontaneity that defines the whole "instant camera love" for me is lost. no more taking pictures of my feet, of the always-the-same-view-from-the-far-right-window-of-my-apartment - just-because-i-feel-like-it pictures. no more bums, creepy pigeons, or just to see the flash.
i am paralyzed with the impending void that will inevitably occur when i rip open that last box-no matter how many boxes i have.
& how long can you keep unused film? months? years? decades? because decades is what we are talking about here. i have nothing in my possession that i plan on still having in 40 years.

i am lost.

the way is barricaded, foggy, & the ground is covered in broken glass.

(ok, so i am a TEENSE emo over this. indulge me. i am heartbroken.)

suspension of disbelief (& other english oddities)

& yes, it is no secret i am fond of words. from the alphabet all the way to 996 page novels. i live for phrases, idioms & odd-compound words (vaingloriously & huckleberry amongst the best of the them...a topic to be revisited @ a later time-the possibilities are endless).

for today, let's spend a minute reviewing "sayings."
out & about in this work a day world, i have recently been bombarded with the weirdness of common expressions. the oddity & really just how fanfuckingtastic they are. the reader should note, i am going to start throwing these out, probably @ inappropriate times scrambling the meaning horribly.

(& away we go.)

*meet your waterloo - to arrive @ a final decisive contest/hurdle. "trying to overcome common perception that she is an android that has to plug in @ night to recharge, hillary clinton has met her waterloo."


*keep your powder dry - save your resources until you need them. "listen, the best advice i can give you is to keep your powder dry, otherwise you have no leverage." (in the acquisition & mergers-sense)


*don't look a gift horse in the mouth - a gift should be appreciated for the thought and spirit behind it, not according to its value (see saying origin...rad). "look, i am sure he meant well, jenny...even though it is just a knife...don't look a gift horse in the mouth...? also, don't hit me."


*paper tiger - a person who appears to have power but is in reality ineffectual. "in appearance it is very powerful but in reality it is nothing to be afraid of; it is a paper tiger. i believe the united states is nothing but a paper tiger." (had to use the actual saying origin, due to my bizarre fascination with communism & socialism...i mean this one came straight from mr. mao & the little red cookbook...)

ok, ladies & albatrosses (around my neck), there you have it. branch out, find your own idioms to latch onto & make your own. spice up the monotony of living (this includes you, mother dearest...it's either this or the morphine drip...)

the way to there.

es muss sein. es konnte ach anders sein.

(a toast-"to happy days dancing on a beach with balloons in funny looking swimsuits-for no particular reason.")

moving pictures, silent films

sitting here, legs propped up on the bed, computer in my lap-& finally, good lord Finally, the savage beast has been soothed. that uncaring, cruel & unusual bastard Pain. pain makes those that suffer from it into trembling, wretched invalids. it makes those that have to watch into trembling, helpless voids. why must there be pain? why can't we just heal & keep going or sigh our last & let it be done? why pain? does it provide some useful & poignant higher purpose?

i am suggesting we set up a UN committee immediately-proposing all pain be eradicated. those in favor, say "aye."

a quiet night, after what will go done as not being my favorite day. i am the trembling, helpless void-forced to sit idly by & watch my friend writhe in ridiculous, inhumane, ASSHOLE pain. & i hate it. i hate how i can't fix it. i hate that she is forced to go through it. i hate it. full stop.

i hope this will be the last post like this. for your sake. for her sake. for my sake.

goodnight & good luck

today we were sans barf, so that's a positive.in general, my 24-hours-since-my-last-post summary is "life is fucking weird." i would try to explain this better if i wasn't so thrilled that jenny & mr. isgitt are sleeping. so like the mother i am not, i will take this opportunity to steal a little shut eye myself-as you are supposed to if you have an infant..."if the baby sleeps, you sleep" theory on how to live through it.

night night friends, argentines & countrymen.
happy tsunami tuesday.

the throw-up demon (or "how i almost got pummeled by a 93-year old woman with 2 black eyes)

today was something else.

jenny got a wicked stomach flu, which meant most of the day was in & around a beige, plastic trash can-with a plastic bag liner. that & excruciatingly-difficult - to-watch-jenny-pain-tremors. @ & around the 83rd time she was going for broke & barfing up her insides-i was looking to provide some kind of reassurance or support. what do you say? "this really sucks?" "man, first your leg, and now barf-town?" nothing seemed really right, so i settled with the cliche "if i could take it from you, this relentless puking, i totally would." i followed up with a molly-esque disclaimer "but this is absolutely theoretical since it's an impossibility...how would that even work? a barf angel who flaps his chunky wings & grants vomit-trades? would he/she/it be a fairy? or more of an ogre type variety? good or evil?..."

i kept hypothesizing until she laughed. (but she puked again anyway, despite my courageous attempts to call in tinkersmell. sigh)

so before jenny faked napped to force me to leave the house & "get file folders" (she knows me too well...just the thought of organizing made me spark right up), & she knew i wouldn't leave until she was "asleep" (i bet she is capable of crocodile tears too...if she can fake sleep...tricksy, very tricksy...)-we talked about my new lens (if you can still follow this sentence...). i really want to be able to take candid pictures of strangers, but lack the confidence - i sometimes even hate lugging out my camera, for fear of not-fitting-in, or being a huge dweeb-o. but with my new stalker lens...well...maybe i could play the professional photog-role & maybe get away with being a peeping-tom-of-a-kind.

i finally got up the nerve, because i could NOT walk away without capturing this woman...2 black eyes & black lipstick. she saw me take the picture (even though i was super top-secret agent-like...i guess subtlety is not one of my strong suits.) she kept saying "blah blah blah spanish blah-LINDA-blah blah blah." well "linda" means "beautiful" in spanish-so i am not quite sure what message she was trying to get across. i played the dumb american card-which sometimes comes in handy when being charged by what is obviously a tough old bird.

back to vomit-town.

i wonder...

as jenny sits here & blow dries the gauze on her upper leg (so as to be able to remove all the bandages by wednesday) & as her leg is in this 15th century torture device to keep it suspended-i wonder...
what is going on in other people's apartments.

if this is what is happening on avenue hipolito yrigoyen, apartment 3-what is going on in the plethora of homes around us?would we be surprised by the normalcy (having lunch, taking a nap, smoking a cigarete), or by the freakishly bizarre david lynch-esque occurences like @ this apartment? is there anyone out there also peeling medical tape & bloody gauze off some appendage?

i wonder.

i'm here (or, cuidado. los autobuses son peligrosos.)

arrived today-after a harrowing nose-picking seat mate (not exaggerating, it was brutal, i will try to launch into that after a good night's sleep & as soon as the nausea goes away) & all the preparation it took to actually make it (yes, this was attempt #2)-i am on a new continent.

i feel like magellen. (now all i need to do is make a map...)

more later about my adventures inside jenny's head (& vice versa).
vaya con dios.