» Friday, October 22, 2004

Three Incisive Questions by my Clever Co-working Cohort Elizabeth, Three Answers by me!

1. Would you choose to pursue the artist's life if you were guaranteed after death to be lauded in the pantheon of history's most influential artists, but at the price of being misunderstood and unknown in this life?

Well, that's simply an excellent question. Yes, and then no. If I had my druthers, I would choose to pursue the artist's life regardless of renown. I wish it were not so that my motivation is in constant, direct conflict with my priorities. The things my lazy bones place higher than my desire to make art are the following: the ability to eat on a regular basis, the need to live in my own apartment, the luxury of buying shoes, books, and new releases on DVD.

We can all agree on the first, I think -- you, my bones, and my heart. But the thing is, my parents were never insistent upon a normal career. They'd have been happy as clams if I'd gone to a conservatory, or tried to make it as a professional writer. If I told them I needed to live at home and paint 12 foot canvases with my knees and some pudding -- and they happened actually to believe me -- I really think they'd welcome me with open arms and a pot roast. So I'd have to forfeit the independence and the shoes. My lazy bones protest.

However, I'd prefer to take my chances with some small recognition I could live to enjoy than give up the possibility for sure fame in the afterlife. It would be a burdensome legacy for my children and theirs anyway.

2. Do you consider yourself a leader in any aspects of your life? Do you consider yourself a follower in any aspects of your life?

I seem to have a contagious vernacular. Many a time, I've written an odd phrase or used it in conversation, only to hear it again from a different mouth some weeks later. Sometimes I become annoyed and possessive. That's not nice of me. Clearly I would make a bad leader.

I had a friendship in college that meant a great deal to me, and went sour due to a perception of command. She was fairly quiet, and I, as you well know, am loud loud loud. At 18, people didn't know well enough not to pigeonhole us to our faces. Some morons called her my sidekick. It was full of crap and it hurt in my guts -- really, if anyone, she was the smartycakes. I don't remember feeling like a follower, but I knew for certain that I wasn't leading. It came off that way, maybe, but only because I couldn't shut my fat yap. Anyway, it wasn't good for us.

That didn't really answer your question. No, I don't think I'm much of either. If anyone's following anything I do, they should probably stop posthaste. It doesn't seem prudent.

3. Pretend I'm James Lipton: What turns you on? What turns you off?

What makes you think I'm just starting to pretend you're James Lipton now?

I get hyperventilly excited when I hear a new living band that sounds in any way like the Beatles. Heart-quickened moments of the past five years have included my first earsful of The Shins and Olivia Tremor Control.

I also get excited by made-up words. Like hyperventilly. And retardeur.

I am turned all the way off by the reunion of church and state and the rampant regression of the United States' tolerance and intellect.

» Monday, October 11, 2004

I was reminded of this story a few days ago. I wrote it in high school! Or maybe the summer after high school. I don't know, I'm old. Enjoy!

the princess and the flea: an allergory

Once upon a time, there was a very beautiful princess named Allergia. She had the fairest of skin, and hair the color of vibrant embers. But, alas, her beauty was hidden to all who knew her, for it had one tragic flaw: her lovely skin, the gentle white of goose down, was covered with sores which rose from her skin and steadfastly refused to heal.

Poor Allergia would stare in the mirror every day, striving to catch a glimpse of the fine nose and high cheekbones under the rough terrain of her blemished skin. And she would weep, knowing that everyone, soon even she, would forget that those lovely features ever existed at all.

And she was right. When Allergia would go for her daily walks (for even though her face was disgusting, Allergia saw no reason to let her body go to hell), children would taunt her, chanting,"Allergia, Allergia! Her face is the color of bad sangria!" While the princess reasoned corrently that the children sang this rhyme because their parents were blubbering drunks, the barbs cut deep. She would try to close her ears to their song as she walked on, hurrying past the wicked revelry of villagers who were once her friends.

O, it was a sad existence, indeed! Every night, Allergia would crawl up fifty mattresses to the top of her bed (contrary to popular opinion, there is no reason for this, aside from excellent back support. We, in this modern era, tend to attribute the multi-mattress theory only to royalty because not many farmers, cobblers, and tailors could afford fifty mattresses for each member of the family), stretch out, and weep 'til she could no more. Exhausted beyond measure, she would fall into a deep sleep (and the deeper the better, because light sleeping often allows for sleep-walking, which was the death of many wealthy people in that day).

Well, one night, Allergia found that she not sleep at all, even lighty enough to half-conciously roll over and fall fifty mattresses to her doom. Allergia was wide awake, and she pressed her face into her nine pillows, still trying to drown out the cruel voices of the village children (but taking care not to her smother herself; she was depressed, but incredibly rich, and quite aware that skin problems tend to clear up much faster than death), when she distinctly felt someone take a firm bite out of her ear. Being as how her ears were really the only parts of her head yet flawless, she was furious.

"Who did that?" she demanded.

A tiny something shrieked right next to her."Oh my!"it said, in an extrememly high voice. "You scared me to death. I thought you were asleep!"

Allergia looked all around but couldn't see anything. "I scared you! You're the one biting people on the ear. And where are you? Show yourself immediately," she said, with all the authority a girl in pajamas could muster.

"Down here," said the voice, and Allergia looked closer at the source of the sound, and saw a small flea cowering on her pillow. "And I certainly wouldn't say I'm biting people. Really, it's only you."

"For god's sake," replied Allergia, exasperated. "Is that supposed to be comforting?"

"I thought maybe you'd realize that I only do it because... well, because..."

Allergia slammed her hand down on the bed, and the flea jumped back in alarm. "Because what?"

The flea scuffed his tiny toe on the pillow, and Allergia might have sworn she saw him blush. "Because," he stammered," because I love you."

Allergia gasped."But my skin!" she cried."How could anyone love this face?"

"Perfect," said the flea, "Just like the rest of you. And if it makes you unhappy, I will never, ever bite you again. Just promise me that you'll let me look at your beautiful face while you sleep."

Allergia was charmed, and she promised the flea that she would let him share her bed, provided he would not be fresh, and he assured her that he was simply too small to be fresh enough to matter. And the flea kept his vow, and never bit the princess again.

Well, it was not three days later when Princess Allergia's skin began to clear. And it cleared so rapidly that by one week later, Allergia's skin was once again as soft and white as goose down. She was the most beautiful girl in all the kingdom, perhaps even in the whole world.

She was so grateful to the flea (who had loved her at her worst), and so dismayed by the rest of the kingdom (who had not), that she committed to the most co-dependent relationship in all the land and married the flea, simultaneously shunning everyone else she'd ever known. She and the flea lived in extremely close quarters for ever and ever, and the flea was very happy because his wife was amazingly beautiful. And the princess was well aware that her husband was a flea. And when the kingdom's only allergist returned from his year at sea, he felt very cheated, indeed.

The End

» Thursday, October 07, 2004

Bean the Besty Prototype ®: what i don't understand is how kerry gets flak from the press for being TOO SMART
Bean the Besty Prototype ®: oh SORRY THAT IS A PROBLEM THERE
Lupschada: he's a nerd. we beat up nerds
Lupschada: my president beat up your honor student

» Sunday, October 03, 2004

Dobbin-upon-Moo: