all year, all year

I hate waiting. I'm waiting now. And I don't even know what I am waiting for, or if I should be waiting, but as someone who hates waiting anytime, waiting at 3:15AM is especially excruciating. Some people have to wait for a living, and that must really suck. In essence, I am waiting for a living right now, but I'm going to give up soon. I can't actually come up with a career in which one primarily waits, but I know some exist. Maybe I'm not thinking clearly because I am totally fucking exhausted.

Today was an awards show that I work on, and I heard a rumor that something completely insane was going to happen, and as I never get the inside scoop on these insane things, I had to think it could be true. And so I worked to beat my deadline in order to have time to change everything when the unexpected crazy thing happened, but nothing did. So I finished early and waited. And then waited some more and got tired of waiting and sent my work without the link I was waiting for. Then I waited for it to be published. And waited and waited. And there it was. And now I am still waiting because I don't know what is going on now. One would assume I was done and could leave, but when I ask these things, no one will give me a definitive answer. I'm not waiting anymore. It is ridiculously late.

A better thing is that I went to Arthur Ashe Kids Day at the US Open yesterday and saw Andre Agassi and Andy Roddick (or And eRoddick) and the Williams gals and the Bryan brothers and Mardy Fish. And we saw Jan Michael Gambil walk by us and whoa he was hot hot hot. But still not as hot as it was outside. Honestly, I'm pretty sure it was 126 degrees. I didn't have a thermometer on me, but I could tell.

And what else happened, hmm? Olympic watching, Degrassi behind-the-scenes going (via The N), Dunkin Donut eating and more.

I am giving up. No more waiting. Let 'em find me if they need me, right?

waited so patiently while I got it together

I just put an Ikea couch together in a half hour. I am awesome. Like really awesome. There was this one part of the process that clearly required four hands instead of two, but I am so resourceful, I managed it myself. In a pinch, use gravity to your advantage, I say. And that handy stepladder doesn't hurt either.

Now I can go out to dinner and reward myself for excellence by spending money I don't have (but so little anyway!) on excellent pho. Except I don't really eat pho pho as I'm not big on the beef aspect. Instead I get this shrimp version. It's so good. And summer rolls. Yum.

Ugh. Why did it get hot again.

I was away, on the Rock last night for fun times. My mom bought me a new skirt and shirt and then we went to dinner. And she sent me home with pork chops and tomatoes and butter and Splenda and Crystal Light iced tea mix. All things I am too cheap to buy myself. She's so good. When I go home it is always like I just moved out, that she sends me home with provisions. But I always need provisions, so it works out well.

Anyway, while I was away there was evidently a fire in the Section 8 building next door, and when El Fano told me the story, he called it the "non-profit house" instead. Oh my God. He is the best.

They say the bank is open until 6 now. I don't believe them, really, but I'm going to swing by there at 5:30ish to deposit my paycheck (whoo!) and see.

since that's been said, what's left to address?

Hey wait! Did I mention this?

Oh man, why don't they have swimming replays like how they make the gymnasts do exhibitions? Exhibit, son!

we always have a laugh

I feel like I've been depriving you of all the wonderful stories in the Fun House. Do you know about the Fun House? The Fun House is my house. It's always fun here, except when I am alone and moping. Which is like all day, except from 8:30 until I go to bed. And the weekends. Anyway, the Fun House was established in 1998, and since that day, it looks like we kept bringing things in and never taking anything out. This is not true, of course, but you might think it anyway. There are lots of fun things and, currently, lots of fun people here (well, one more than usual, plus a cat). The Fun House was made famous in a song by Belle & Sebastian (written before the Fun House even existed, hmm. It was as if they predicted it) called "String Bean Jean". Evidently, she was a guest. Or a past occupant? Who can say? The song went, "The girls have got a house that's like a caravan/ And it's like your holidays whenever you go round/ We always have a laugh and then we all get in the bath --" OK, lets stop there. Some things should stay secrets.

So yes, the Fun House. Last night in the Fun House, we watched the Olympics. We've been doing a lot of that. And while the man gymnasts were doing their breakdancey floor exercise (as I sang, "There's no stoppin' us -- no stoppin'! No one does it better!" of course -- they don't give the guys music), Dollie said that she'd like to do the man floor routine, not the dorky lady one where they do those stupid poses in between. The Fan admitted that he'd love to do rhythmic gymnastics (big shock there) and I said I'd like to do him. That's the gold I want to bring home. I wish I was kidding.

See how fun it is at the Fun House? Jealous.

I think I finally came up with the tattoo I want. It's a newfound mantra, but one that will stick, I think. I won't tell you until I get it, lest you should like to steal my idea and get it first, you bastard.

I had a job interview today, and because I went and wore shoes and stuff like a good girl, I get to have Indian for dinner. I'm so lucky. It wasn't half bad either. Evidently the thing I wrote down I was supposed to present aloud and not write at all, but that's OK. I think. 48 people were staring at me in the interview, and after that another person interviewed me. All of these people were entirely sane and good. It was pretty amazing, actually. And when talking about sites I visit, I couldn't think of anything but Fleshbot for like 45 seconds, so I said it, and they didn't even throw me out or anything. See, that's good people.

PS Dear Lulu, I have that buggery "F---- O-" song stuck in my head now. You will pay somehow. love*jane

PPS If anyone out there likes Modest Mouse, I'm sorry for insulting them, but please know that by liking them, you're doing the wrong thing with your life. Change.

just like blood brothers

True fact:

I just said, "If Modest Mouse wins the MTV2 Award at the VMAs, I will slit my wrists." And the Fan said, "I will too. We'll have a blood-a-thon."

Good God, we're awesome.

if you want me, then you've found me

Last night on "The Daily Show" there was this "Don't Mess With Texas" report (I had no idea it was about litter!) that had this one guy's rant, which started with "If somebody took the Statue of LIberty and threw dog poo on it, everyone would cry," and ended with, "It's like getting hit with the ugly stick, then he got back up." I think the stuff inbetween made even less sense. It was magic.

Also, the secret sharing has begun, so if you asked to be included and didn't get an email, or if you haven't been included and want to be, email me. If you were a former member, and you want back in, you have to re-register, sadly, as I don't have the old list anymore. Secret Fun club will be online from now until September 15, at which time it will be replaced with an all-new installment. Good deal.

easy to cry for love, far harder to try

I have this awesome thing now, where (until the repairman comes, I hope) the cable internet only works like late at night and for two hours! Just enough to read all the vibrator reviews on Drugstore.com with El Fano and laugh and laugh. Well, that was last night.

Tonight, I am sitting here typing and making CDs and stuff, and we're watching "Best Week Ever," a Michael Bennett find, and a show I love more than I should. So now VH1 is forcibly shoving Scissor Sisters down our throats (it's a gag-worthy image, surely) and The Fan says, "Ugh! I didn't know they were so ugly looking." And I couldn't stop laughing, because "Ugly Looking" like "Funny Joke" is one of my favorite unnecessary two-word phrases ever. Ugly looking. Ahahahahahaha!

PS Oh my God, the Natural Bra! It's always funny. Especially the black one.

My feeling of the day is that The Veils album is the new Suede by Suede. And you know what that means. My favorite part of Finn Andrews on "Subterranean" last night was when Jim Shearer couldn't believe he hadn't been a Suede fan and said, "What were you listening to in the early '90s, then?" And Finn said, "I don't know. I was like 7."

I wonder how old Jim Shearer is. He should be my boyfriend, maybe.

Also, no one said to me "Yes! Count me in on the Secret!" Is that because no one wants the secret? Or no one knew how to tell me? Because if no one wants the secret, I'm not going to do it. Because I don't need the secret, you see. I know it already.

you're the legal man

I am most like...


[Take the Freaks and Geeks character quiz]



This is just the great tragedy of my life, isn't it? I love Nick. I am Nick.

Anyway, my new boyfriend is from Queer Eye, the last one. With the cute cop. Leave it to this idiotic site to have the recap photos of him being all smiley be 3X4 pixels. Bitches.

So this is strange for me, because you know I do not like The Fuzz particularly, and he seems to have a very nice and lovely girlfriend (although, she did get annoying with the "Oh my God"s), but he was so smiley and cute and also the accent. Let me tell you, being stuck here among refugees from Warsaw, Wisconsin and Worcester, that lilting Queens melody is music to my ears.

Of course, he is 25. Because, as with everyone good, I could be their mom. Or older sister. Or they are too old (but not TOO OLD -- yes, Bob, I'm talking to you.) Or something. Did you ever notice that no decent man was born in 1975? Because I did. And not that one year in either direction should matter (and a little older doesn't) but some of us, like me and my wonderful hair stylist, start to get weird when a boy is a year younger. You'd think there would be more things in our lives to worry about, but no, that ranks. I also had a feeling that was outgrown, but it is worse for me with every passing year. I like to pretend my range is 1965-1980, but we all know I start getting itchy at anything beyond 1971-1976. And even then. Of course, there's always 1986. Whoo, baby. But famous people don't count anyway. So there.

Why am I getting email -- not even junk email -- with a subject heading like "Fine Tuning Your Foreplay." Ugh.

My new #1 favorite song is "The Tide That Left and Never Came Back" by The Veils. It makes me faint. Well of course I just missed them playing two NY shows in July. Obviously. Anyway, it is the best song ever. This week, at the very least.

I think you may need to hear it, and so I am going to learn tomorrow how to use .mac and my iDisk for good, not evil, and make the first Secret Fun Club in like 5 years. If you want in, please let me know. All of the former innies are on my old computer, and those bastards at Mac made the whole switch thing sound way more feasible than it actually was. Blah blah, etc. So tell me who you are and why I needn't worry my pretty little head about you selling me out to The Man. Unless it is the aformentioned Fuzz representative. Because I could get sold easily.

I have to get some sleep. This has gone far enough.

you say, "why?"

Baby Geniuses 2? Why? Why why why why why?

That storm was pretty sucky, way worse in other areas than it was here, evidently. Maybe the funnest part was how messed up the roads were. One excellent example is how it took my brother almost 3 hours to get from my house to his (this is a 30 minute trip).

I went to Ikea yesterday, and in true Ikea form, they had the frame and the seat covers for my new couch, but not the cushion forms. Oh, Ikea. But the helpful man gave me a direct phone line and an item # so I can call and get them held for me when they do come in. So that's good. His advice, "Well, I'm going to have to tell you to get what you can while it's here" was refreshing in its acknowledgement of how everything is like always sold out there. Also, he admitted that the computer said there were "-10" in stock. "How can there be negative 10 in stock?" How indeed.

Oh my God, Jeff Stryker is on Celebrity Justice! I have to watch this.

don't talk to me about a simple thing -- there is no such thing

I'm reading a book about this groupie (by the way, I could do with more books like this, even when the subject band is horrid and the writing is awkward -- as is the case here -- there's something magical about them). And in the book, the writer (a noted music critic, or so they say) calls "Dazed and Confused" an '80s film.

Come on. That is just stupid. If you don't know the movie enough to know when it came out, don't name check it. And if you must, at least do the 19 seconds of research it will take to date it. This got past a writer and at least one editor? This person gets a book published (and has made a living as a writer), and I can't get a job at all, like even as an overnight receptionist at a weekly entertainment listings magazine or a flunky at a loose-screw non-profit?

Clearly, I am crazy.

the one that made me feel invincible

Here's a scary question: What do you do when you lose what makes you you?

Too grand, that.

Here's a better one: What do you do when you lose your primary defense mechanism, that certain something that outshouted the naysaying voices urging your insecurities with their incessant "Eew, no one likes you," with a great big, "So? Who the fuck cares?"

A nice evening driven into the ground (way too far into the ground -- like "Journey to the Center of the Earth" too far) by three or four people who were (minorly, really) assholic/insensitive/drunk/stupid/whatever -- three or four people who shouldn't even register on my radar, mind you -- left me a terrified, hopeless, sobbing wreck. Well, that and the gin. But yes, my all-time worst ever cry, precipitated by what should go down in history as the least worthy reason which spun into a total fiasco. And of course, that wasn't the reason, I guess. But it kind of was. And if it wasn't, what was it? And why didn't the "Screw you bitches" backup kick in? Why, even when I sat there and stared them down and forced it out, was there no echo of it in my head? What the hell happened to me?

I don't know, man. But I don't like it. And last week, when I happened upon this song* from a year or two ago and thought, "Wow. Some lyrics," I didn't think I'd listen to it again tonight and think, "Oh. I ... oh," and feel like I'd just been punched in the throat.

The night I got my iPod, I brought it into my bed with me, and in the dark, under the blankets, I listened to songs, some very familiar, some less so. And I felt very young again, because I used to often go to bed with a walkman, probably right up until I got my own room in my own apartment six and a half years ago.

But this night I felt especially young, and excited and overwhelmed. And in my own little world. I, in my own pod. It was bizarre and unsettling, but familiar. So when I listen to songs like "Shine a Light" from the Constantines and "We Can Have It" from the Dears and "11:11" from Rufus Wainwright and the shattering Tommy Gnosis version of "Wicked Little Town" (as performed by Ben Lee and Ben Folds and Ben Dover, whatever) while ducking people I know on Manhattan Ave, I feel overwhelmed; I feel very apart from everything around me and very alone. And I don't know what to make of that. I don't know what any of it means, and I don't know if it means anything, even, but it makes me wonder what's really happening while I float along in my pod (which has been happening in a greater way for a very long time now). And it makes me wonder what to do to fix this, and what's next.

*Lost/ I've lost that secret hold/ The one that made me feel invincible/ Where did it all go wrong?/ I felt like I've had it all along/I'm just tired/ But I'm still fighting // But it's hard/ It gets harder every day/ Different personalities grate/Wear you down until you're not yourself/He has my face but he feels like someone else/I'm just tired //The old rhetoric, it's a burning wick/And I explode 'cause my heart's sick/I don't need to rock and roll/I just want to crawl back home to you. // Life/I'm chasing it, it's not chasing me ... (Dear Leader, "My Life as a Wrestler")

half of the time we're gone but we don't know where

Those fuckers (yes, fuckers) at Baseline/Hollywood/Filmtracker/Bitchass Inc. axed my login. It isn't like I was abusing it, crappos. I hadn't even tried it in months. Ugh.

So I checked in there to read all the credits for Paul Simon songwriter ones, because I had this experience during "Garden State" tonight, where they played "The Only Living Boy in New York," and I revisited my Pavlovian response to that song, which is to immediately start crying. It's been that way for as long as I can remember (and I don't know why), and so I don't listen to it much. But recently (a couple of months ago, I'd guess) I heard it. I have to think it was in a movie, And I don't remember where. But I know I started crying, just because.

So yeah, if you can tell me where I may have heard it (I just thought, "Ooh, maybe 'American Dreams' the TV show, but they aren't that far along into the decade yet. I think.)

"Garden State," that was very good stuff.

And then I went out and got drunk on an open bar at a place I like, but that plays ANYTHING by Madonna, including the freaking Evita song. Esther is no Patti LuPone, let me tell you. Even if you don't let me, I told you.

Yeah, I better go to bed now.

sometimes it's like I'm not

Why would anyone use Internet Explorer? Like at all, really, but on a Mac mostly. Argh, I had to open it because sucky eBay``` wasn't reading the Java from Safari on the Half.com``````-style listing page, and when I went to a couple of other sites, they looked of butt. So if you are looking at this on a Mac running IE, stop. It sucks.

If any of you were wondering, the someones we know (and if you were wondering, you must know someones) who were driving long time to (what is called the Midwest, but what is clearly just plain Upnorth), the someones have safely arrived. Hooray!

By the way, I have to stop reading Craigslist because its utter retardation is making my head hurt. So if you saw me in the street and got in love or want to give me a job or something, just write directly to me. I'm here.

20 of 2193

1. Happy - Rolling Stones
2. The Way We Get By - Spoon
3. Summer Song - James
4. In My Pocket - Mandy Moore
5. You and Me and the Moon - Magnetic Fields
6. Pink Moon - Nick Drake*
7. Contagious - Ron Isley, R. Kelly, Shante Moore
8. Spacemilk - The Sheila Divine
9. Long Hair - Teenage Fanclub
10. Bad of the Heart - George LaMond
11. Why - The Gravel Pit
12. Love Is the Drug - Roxy Music
13. Soun Tha Mi Primer Amor - Kinky
14. Together - Suede
15. Wicked Little Town (Tommy Gnosis) - from Hedwig & the Angry Inch
16. Turn - Travis
17. A Baby Just Like You - John Denver & the Muppets
18. Baby Blue - Longpigs
19. 35 in the Shade - AC Newman
20. Freak Like Me - Adina Howard

* Speaking of, have you heard that Nick Drake-y Oreo commerical. Oh man.

All too typical, really, despite the surprise appearance of Christmas music. I've been lazy about putting new things in, but the last 50 things I did put in never come up anyway.

Ignignokt, recognize.

oh, and...

I had this horrible dream that Courtney Love was haunting me at this party and somehow made me be her girlfriend (I guess her bitch, more like) and she was a man. It was horrible. Horrible.

I wanna go higher

I was going to right now mention how I can't get my work done because I have VH1 Classic's "The Alternative" on (go ahead and laugh, I do not care) and then they went and played the Stereo MCs' "Elevate My Mind," the #1 greatest song ever. Well, close. Anyway, I got obsessed with that song again recently, when the otherwise square Resorts casino in Atlantic City played it while I played video poker (PS, the Borgata plays really depressing music. This is not a good plan. They should hire me to pick the songs. I'm good at that).

But back on the "Elevate My Mind" topic: I love it, and I had a vivid picture of the video in my mind, but it was even more glorious to see it for real and remind myself how much I appreciate a wildly enthusiastic hook singer. Also, that the UK has given us exactly one listenable white rapper, and that'd be that skinny guy on this song (yes, The Streets, I'm looking at you).

So, yeah.

PS "Girls Just Wanna Have Fuck" -- that is really funny.