blue girl

May The New Year Bring All We Could Ever Hope For

I just stumbled upon some really cool people.  They call themselves Dharma Bums.  They are retired and live in the Pacific Northwest.  God, I've got to get out to that part of the country one day.  The photos I've seen people post on their blogs who live in that neck of the woods are just unbelievably beautiful.

The Dharma Bums live life with eyes wide open with camera in hand. 

And write things like:

On a sunny day like today, I admit it, my teenager-high-school hooky-playing self takes over, and I coax him a way from his mission. "Let's go for a walk," I say, "I'll even drive to our favorite place." He's my hooky-playing soulmate, so we go.

Everyone should have a hooky-playing soulmate.  If you've got one, you're so lucky.  You've struck gold, my friend!  And if you don't have one, I hope you meet one in the new year.

Big thanks to Dharma Bums for the most excellent Time cover.  My heart is full at such a thought.

Boy, if life were only like this!

And it's very, very possible in the blogosphere. 

Below is one of my favorite scenes ever from Annie Hall, my favorite movie of all time.

This is not a shot from the scene below, but another scene in the movie where there's some great internal dialogue.  Like when Alvy's trying to sound all smart, trying to get to know Annie better and thinks to himself, "God, I sound like FM radio."

*Sigh.*  I love this movie.  Oh well. La-dee-da.  La-dee-da.

****

INTERIOR THEATER LOBBY

A lined-up crowd of ticket holders waiting to get into the theater, Alvy and Annie among them.  A bum of indistinct chatter can be heard through the ensuing scene.

MAN IN LINE (Loudly to his companion right behind Alvy and Annie)

We saw the Fellini film last Tuesday. It is not one of his best. It lacks a cohesive structure.  You know, you get the feeling that he's not absolutely sure what it is he wants to say. 'Course, I've always felt he was essentially a-a technical film maker. Granted, La Strada was a great film.  Great in its use of negative energy more than anything else.  But that simple cohesive core...

(Alvy, reacting to the man's loud monologue, starts to get annoyed, while Annie begins to read her newspaper.)

                   

ALVY (Overlapping the man's speech)

I'm-I'm-I'm gonna have a stroke.

                   

ANNIE (Reading)

Well, stop listening to him.

MAN IN LINE (Overlapping Alvy and Annie)

You know, it must need to have had its leading from one thought to another. You know what I'm talking about?

                   

ALVY (Sighing)

He's screaming his opinions in my ear.

                   

MAN IN LINE

Like all that Juliet of the Spirits or Satyricon, I found it incredibly ... indulgent.  You know, he really is.  He's one of the most indulgent film makers.  He really is-

                   

ALVY (Overlapping)

Key word here is "indulgent."

                   

MAN IN LINE (Overlapping)

-without getting ... well, let's put it this way ...

                   

ALVY (To Annie, who is still reading, overlapping the man in line who is still talking)

What are you depressed about?

                   

ANNIE

I missed my therapy.  I overslept.

                   

ALVY 

How can you possibly oversleep?

                   

ANNIE

The alarm clock.

                   

ALVY (Gasping)

You know what a hostile gesture that is to me?

                   

ANNIE

I know-because of our sexual problem, right?

                   

ALVY

Hey, you ... everybody in line at the New Yorker has to know our rate of intercourse?

                   

MAN IN LINE

- It's like Samuel Beckett, you know - I admire the technique but he doesn't ... he doesn't hit me on a gut level.

                   

ALVY (To Annie)

I'd like to hit this guy on a gut level.

(The man in line continues his speech all the while Alvy and Annie talk.)

                   

ANNIE

Stop it, Alvy!

                   

ALVY  (Wringing his hands)

Well, he's spitting on my neck!  You know, he's spitting on my neck when he talks.

                   

MAN IN LINE

And then, the most important thing of all is a comedian's vision.

                   

ANNIE

And you know something else?  You know, you're so egocentric that if I miss my therapy you can think of it in terms of how it affects you!

                   

MAN IN LINE  (Lighting a cigarette while he talks)

Gal gun-shy is what it is.

                   

ALVY  (Reacting again to the man in line)

Probably on their first date, right?

                   

MAN IN LINE  (Still going on)

It's a narrow view.

                   

ALVY

Probably met by answering an ad in the New York Review of Books.  "Thirtyish academic wishes to meet woman who's interested in Mozart, James Joyce and sodomy."

(He sighs; then to Annie)

Whatta you mean, our sexual problem?

ANNIE

Oh!

                   

ALVY

I-I-I mean, I'm comparatively normal for a guy raised in Brooklyn.

                   

ANNIE

Okay, I'm very sorry.  My sexual problem!  Okay, my sexual problem!  Huh?

(The man in front of them turns to look at them, then looks away.)

                   

ALVY

I never read that.  That was-that was Henry James, right?  Novel, uh, the sequel to Turn of the Screw?  My Sexual ...

                   

MAN IN LINE (Even louder now)

It's the influence of television.  Yeah, now Marshall McLuhan deals with it in terms of it being a-a high, uh, high intensity, you understand?  A hot medium ... as opposed to a ...

                   

ALVY  (More and more aggravated)

What I wouldn't give for a large sock o' horse manure.

                   

MAN IN LINE    

... as opposed to a print ...

(Alvy steps forward, waving his hands in frustration, and stands facing the camera.)

                   

ALVY

(Sighing and addressing the audience)

What do you do when you get stuck in a movie line with a guy like this behind you?  I mean, it's just maddening!

(The man in line moves toward Alvy.  Both address the audience now.)

                   

MAN IN LINE

Wait a minute, why can't I give my opinion?  It's a free country!

                   

ALVY

I mean, d- He can give you- Do you hafta give it so loud?  I mean, aren't you ashamed to pontificate like that?  And-and the funny part of it is, M-Marshall McLuhan, you don't know anything about Marshall McLuhan's...work!

                   

MAN IN LINE  (Overlapping)

Wait a minute!  Really?  Really?  I happen to teach a class at Columbia called "TV Media and Culture"!  So I think that my insights into Mr. McLuhan-well, have a great deal of validity.

                   

ALVY

Oh, do yuh?

MAN IN LINE

Yes.

                   

ALVY

Well, that's funny, because I happen to have Mr. McLuhan right here.  So ... so, here, just let me-I mean, all right.  Come over here ... a second.

(Alvy gestures to the camera which follows him and the man in line to the back of the crowded lobby.  He moves over to a large stand-up movie poster and pulls Marshall McLuban from behind the poster.)

                   

MAN IN LINE

Oh.

                   

ALVY  (To McLuhan)

Tell him.

                   

MCLUHAN   (To the man in line)

I hear-I heard what you were saying.  You-you know nothing of my work.  You mean my whole fallacy is wrong.  How you ever got to teach a course in anything is totally amazing.

ALVY  (To the camera)

Boy, if life were only like this!

*****

"I Know Why It's Addictive!"

My son said as he sat in my office just now.

"What's addictive?"

"Blogging!  I know why everyone likes blogs.  I just read it."

"Why?"

"You know how you say people like blogging because they want to write?  They like writing?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that's not why, Mom!  They say they want to write and they say they like writing, but actually they love their blogs because they love to see a new comment!"

"Nuh-uh!  Not everyone!"

"Yeah Mom!  You know how you tell me about listening to other people?  And how lots of people aren't really listening, because they're just sitting there waiting for the other person to finally stop talking already so that they can say something back?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that's like why people like blogs!  They can't wait for someone to finally listen to them.  But, the people aren't really listening.  They're just thinking about what they're going to say!"

"Maybe."

"No, mom!  It's true!  You blog and then sit there and wait and wait for a comment!  And then you see one and you think, 'Yay!  I got a comment!'  But, then you're right away thinking about answering the comment because you want them to hear you more!"

"No!  That's not true.  Well, maybe it's true for some people, but not all people."

"Mom!  It's true.  Like when you go to someone else's blog and you comment and then you want them to comment to your comment!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Uh-huh, Mom!  You know it's true!  Admit it!  You know I'm speakin' the truth."

"I'm not admitting anything cuz that's not entirely true!  Just look!  I've blogged almost everyday over the holidays without hardly a comment and I'm still blogging!  It hasn't stopped me from writing about my ideas!"

"You haven't gotten a lot of comments?"

"No!  So, see?  Your hypothesis is not 100% correct!"

"You don't get a lot of comments?"

"No.  Not like some bloggers."

"Loser!!!!!"

Oh shit! What's I say. This is gonna end bad, muchachos . . .

Celebrating Christmas last Wednesday evening with my husband's father and girlfriend, all the big kids and grandkids met at a local Mexican restaurant.  We drank margaritas and ate way too many nachos and burritos then headed over to my father-in-law's house for dessert.

Where we all sat around, stuffed to the papadas, unable to move.

And watched Scarface.

Hey, so I fuck Castro, what's it to you?  You a Communist or something?  How would you like it they tell you all the time what to think, what to do, you wanna be like a sheep, like everybody else. Baa baa?  Puta! You want a stoolie on every block?  You wanna work eight hours a day and you never own nothing?  I ate octopus three times a day, fucking octopus is coming out my ears, fuckin' Russian shoes are eating through my feet. Whaddaya want?  You want me to stay there?  Hey, I'm no little whore, I'm no stinking thief!  I’m Tony Montana and I'm a political prisoner here from Cuba and I want my fucking 'Human Rights' just like President Jimmy Carter says, okay?...

Can you even think of a better way to celebrate Christmas with the conservative side of the family?

You can?  Wadda you?  You a Communist or something?

Baa baa!  Puta!

Oh, Glorious Evening!

Having just slipped into something more comfortable* that Santa brought me from Victoria's Secret, I now plan to cuddle up under my brand new cranberry cashmere throw with David McCullough:

Born in Tidewater Virginia on February 11, 1732 (by the Old Style calendar), George Washington was the great grandson of John Washington, who had emigrated from Northampton, England, in 1657.  His father, Augustine Washington, was a tobacco planter also known for his "noble appearance and manly proportions."  His mother, Mary Ball, was widowed when Washington was eleven.  Because of the family's reduced circumstances, he had had little education -- only seven or eight years of schooling by private tutor, no training in Latin or Greek or law, as had so many prominent Virginia patriots -- and, as those close to him knew, he was self-conscious about this.
    By steady application he had learned to write in a clear, strong hand and to express himself on paper with force and clarity.  He learned to dance -- Virginians loved to dance and he was no exception.

Ooo, baby, baby.

*They're thermal pajamas.  Geez.  Get thy mind out of thy gutter.

Now.  Back to the war.

;D

The imagination circuit is taught to respond to the most minimal of cues.  A book is an arrangement of twenty-six phonetic symbols, ten numberals, and about eight punctuation marks, and people can cast their eyes over these and envision the eruption of Mount Vesuvius or the Battle of Waterloo.  But it's no longer necessary for teachers and parents to build these circuits.  Now there are professionlly produced shows with great actors, very convincing sets, sound, music.  Now there's the information highway.  We don't need the circuits any more than we need to know how to ride horses.  Those of us who had imagination circuits built can look in someone's face and see stories there; to everyone else, a face will just be a face.
    And there, I've just used a semi-colon, which at the outset I told you never to use.  It is to make a point that I did it.  The point is:  Rules only take us so far, even good rules.

                                    A Man Without A Country
                                    -- Kurt Vonnegut

Helllloooo??!!

Ring.  Ring.  Ring.

"Hi J!  I just got your message and..."

"I need to get another phone number for you.  Every time I call I get your answering machine.  I hate when I get that answering machine."

"Well, I don't have another phone number.  Just leave a message and we'll call you back as soon as we can."

"But I always get that answering machine.  When I call I want to speak with someone."

"If you get the voice mail, that means we're out or on the phone.  That's why I have voice mail, so I know who called when we're busy."

"I would rather get a busy signal."

"But we work from home.  I can't have clients getting a busy signal -- that's why I have it set up to go into voice mail.  Think of it this way -- if you get our voice mail, that means we're busy.  Just think of it as a busy signal."

"You should get another phone number."

"But I don't want to pay for another phone number when voice mail will do.  All you have to do is leave a message and we'll call you right back."

"Answering machines are a pet peeve of mine."

"Well, I'm sorry."

"Well, ok then."

My Life Is Brilliant*

Here is a lesson in creative writing.

First rule:  Do not use semicolons.  They are transvestite hermaphrodites representing asbsolutely nothing.  All they do is show you've been to college.

And I realize some of you may be having trouble deciding whether I am kidding or not.  So from now on I will tell you when I'm kidding.

For instance, join the National Guard or the Marines and teach democracy.  I'm kidding.

We are about to be attacked by Al Qaeda.  Wave flags if you have them.  That always seems to scare them away.  I'm kidding.

If you want to hurt your parents, and you don't have the nerve to be gay, the least you can do is go into the arts.  I'm not kidding.  The arts are not a way to make a living.  They are a very human way of making life more bearable.  Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven's sake.  Sing in the shower.  Dance to the radio.  Tell stories.  Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem.  Do it as well as you possibly can.  You will get an enormous reward.  You will have created something.

                                   A Man Without A Country
                                   -- Kurt Vonnegut

*Beautiful first lyric to a song I just heard for the first time while listening to my son's i-Pod staring at the Christmas tree and all the carnage spread 'round the room:  "You're beautiful" by James Blunt.

I Swear It's Not Too Late

To everyone out there who graces this blog with their presence, the best of holiday wishes to all of you! 

Here's to you.  And you.  And you and you and you.

And how could I forget you.  And you, too.

And of course, all of you!

Here's to the millions who stumble over here in the middle of the night looking for blue girl porn.

Here's to those searching for blue girl lesbian clothing!

Here's to *someone out there* who got here by searching for "If Bush Was A Girl."  I do believe that searcher might need a Christmas miracle.  And am a little dismayed that I am involved in such a situation.  Oh well.  It's Christmastime.  All is forgiven.

And here's to all you lurkers!  You know who you are.  And I'd love to know, too.  Jus' sayin'.

Can't close without saying Happy Holidays to you.  And, oh yeah -- you, too!  And I could never forget you.  Or you.  And, of course, you.  And all of you!

As I've told a few friends lately -- may we have a more peaceful 2006 and may the new year make more sense to us than the last few years have.

One more wish, then I'm done.

May you never mix your metaphors in the new year.  And may you forgive me when I do.

Peace and love to all.

Forget Decking The Halls. I Can Think Of Better Things To Deck.

I first heard of this, um, thing via Wolcott.  And then Mannion picked up on it.

Seems like she likes to grab her own body parts while giving the thumbs-up as she poses with her fave right wing bloggers.

Ick.  (And Hitchens is there.  Ick squared.)

Get this comment to this post:

I heard of James Wollcott for the first time yesterday when he was mentioned on LGF. He strikes me as petty and vain. I can see why he would consider bloggers a threat to his phoney baloney job.

He just heard of Wolcott yesterday?  Yesterday?  Must've been born yesterday.  Typical.

Nobody disses my Wolcott.  He was my first blog crush.  Who wouldn't fall for a guy who writes like this:  (Wolcott post after what I believe to be the third Presidential (ugh) debate last year.)

For much of last night's debate George Bush looked like a blister about to pop. Loud, mouthy, swaggering, interested only in hearing himself lay down the law, he behaved like a verbally abusive husband. Not a wifebeater but a browbeater with a bar-fighter's grin. It is astonishing and sobering that this dull roar with a one-track mind that runs on tank treads is fighting for reelection instead of facing impeachment; his lies and failures have fed thousands of graves, and filled thousands more hospital beds with bodies and psyches that will never be whole again. And still our mainstream pundits can not, will not see him for what he is. He cracks a corny joke, and they marvel at his Reaganesque humor. He hollers at Charlie Gibson, and he's hailed as a take-charge guy.

Sigh.  A dull roar with a one-track mind that runs on tank treads. 

Bestill my heart!

If he never writes anything great again, that will live in my heart forever.

And back to Mannion for just a minute.  I know that he doesn't care for its blog's message that much, but he does like her narcissistic ways.  (I think he likes the Superman outfit!  He claims to be a Superhero himself, afterall.)

This I promise:  If we can ever get all the lefty bloggers together, I will pose with all of you giving the thumbs-up sign (how original!) over and over again.

And I bet I can get Adorable Girlfriend to join in.

Talk about Divas!  They would indeed have met their match.