This one's closed, and this one's closed, and this one's closed. [Le deuxieme jour]

To all those living vicariously through me [your words not mine, David and Ashley], this is where to get your details. If I skimp on the text updates, it's only because I am enjoying my time in NYC. Also, I'm in and out of Subways a lot. No cell service sous sol. Don't take it to heart if I don't answer your text.

Sorry to be a blog-tease, but I've been fighting with the network for a half an hour, and now it's time for me to get some breakfast.

I will close out the first day and give you deets on the second on this post later tonight. Scout's honor.

UPDATE:
DAY 1:

The only crappy thing about the day was the sole heckler we met during the day. On the night-bus tour [again, I know it's lame] some guy decided to flip our bus not one, but two birds, and shout, "Hey, welcome to New York!"

Aside from that everyone behaves like your average human being. Not rude. Not overly friendly. Just normal. Go figure.

DAY 2:

Marcus and I explored SoHo. [read: shopped. It is me and Marcus, after all.]

Passed by the NY Times offices and lunched at Dean & Deluca [chocolate tortini = orgasmic. And sadly, trumps anything I've ever baked.], which is right next to the Mecca of journalism. Decided to submit applications. I'm hoping to become their youngest food critic. Keep your fingers crossed.

Ben met us for a half second there, was going to spend a little quality time, and then had to jet to meet one of his other friends. Asshat. [I kid.]

Mosied down 5th Avenue. Decided to go to Sunday Mass at St. Patrick's Cathedral. [I hope you're happy, grandma and grandpa.]

Went to the Guggenheim, only to find out they're doing construction so only 2 levels are open at the moment. Very nicely a docent told us we should probably come back after Friday when they open fully. We'll be upstate all day Friday, so it's looking like the Googs will have to be squeezed in on Saturday.

After the Guggenheim was a no-go, MLP and I decided to head out to Queens to check out the PS1 exhibit. [Running joke of the day: "Hey Ben, we ended up in Queens, too! Only we meant to."] Found out they are closed on Tuesdays. It was Tuesday. Awesome. That is also getting squeezed in at a later time.

Subwayed/walked to the Times Square area for the musical that night. wore flats on the train, changed shoes in line for the play. In the Heights was fabulous. Some [Marcus] didn't care for it, but said nameless parties [MLP] don't like musicals very much.

The lyrics were well done, and a lot of it was rapped, which was an interesting twist. Fitting for the setting, though.

Walked/subwayed back to Chelsea to find some dinner for the other folks. Did not wear flats on the way back. [5" low-profile black pointed-toe stilettos on the pavements of Manhattan. Yes, I am a martyr for fashion.] Surprisingly not a painful experience. Except for my almost tripping on the steps of the subway and tumbling to my untimely death.

Post cut short again. Ben called. Heading to meet him in Harlem. All by my lonesome. Hope I don't die. Or get lost. The latter is a high possibility.

I'm down with NYC! Yeah, you know me. [Le premier jour]

Morning.

Get it out of your head. It's not as big as you think. Or crowded. Or shiny. Or dirty. Or scary. Or stylish. Or mean.

The gayborhood isn't even as gay as you would think [You probably have to go to The Castro for balls out pride, and that is clear across the country], though I have seen quite a few homosexual men with whom I would like to be friends.

The people here are, get this, it's going to blow your mind, normal. You just lost your shit, I'm sure. The average person on the street, tourist or not, is just as average as any Oklahoman [though there is a notable decrease in obesity among the natives.

One guy did stop the Pegster to ask where she was from. When sshe replied "Oklahoma" he said, "I didn't know people lived there." [Many not by choice, mister, I assure you.] He also told her he'd "never seen 'one of those' before."

Day 1:
Wake: 4 AM. Not pleased
Flight departure: 6ish
Mehphis: around 8 or so
NYC: near noon

Tiniest room known to man, but it is on Manhattan. [Chelsea. Street-view window. I want a Brownstone.] I'm pretty sure my suitcase takes up a third of the space in here, though that says more about the size of my suitcase and less about the smallness of the room.

Bus tours most of the day. Uptown and the night- route. Yes, it is lame. Yes, it is less lame than you'd think. [Especially when you have a sweet night-tour driver named Russell who'll slow and stop for photos whenever the hell you want, and gives free rides to working stiffs who need a lift to Brooklyn.] It's a good way to get your bearings in the city and see a little bit of everything. [If you're going to be here for only one week, seeing as you are a tourist, you might as well.]

Sammie-type eateries for both lunch and dinner [we were tired and unimaginative last night]. Delish. And no more expensive than Panera, really. [I ate for $21 yesterday. You and your "yumm-o" can suck it, Rachel Ray.]

Movies and television may have ruined NYC for most people. It's cleaner, the people are prettier, and the camera angles make everything look big as hell. It's not that big [coming from a tiny individual such as myself, that's saying quite a bit]. I mean, it's big, don't get me wrong, but so is Chicago, and LA, and Houston. Maybe living in one of those cities virtually my entire life leaves this place less overwhelming.

Still, I think I love this place. It remains to be seen. As I told MLP yesterday, I could totally love living here, but I could also totally love living in Austin. [Probably more. It's that whole Texas Pride thing [not the crazy conservative, gun-toting, redneck kind]. I know you don't understand. Trust me when I say, Texas Pride is built in. It's in our genetic code, I swear. Texans can recognize other Texans, and no other place truly feels like home.]

[Shower opened up. Apologies for the quick closing.]

Downtown today. Then SoHo for MLP and me. In The Heights tonight [yes, I AM the only one dressing the hell up]. Hopefully some local fare throughout the day.

More to follow, don't you worry, little babies.

All my friends are baristas.

Happy Finals Week!

Here's to hoping your caffeine binges don't lead to murder, child abuse, and an end a la the WWotW.

le Café - Oldelaf (english subtitles)
Uploaded by Boebis

Xenophobagel

I'd like to point out to the SNU student body that there is a staunch racist in our midst.

The toaster oven.

How is ecru bread considered a medium toast?

The TO refuses to toast in anything other than slightly varied shades of white. This is completely unacceptable in the current day and age. Can we not finally put racial discrimination behind us?

Stop your "whites-only" policy, MiniVeyor. Brown English muffins are full members of carbohydrate society, and do not deserve your marginalization.

Adventures in Anthropology: Oklahoman American Society

I take this brief [read: highly extended] break from my paper writing [women and sexuality in the films of Catherine Breillat, holla!] to share observations of my current environment.

Aside from the tower of intellect sitting across from me, the surroundings are amusingly dismal.

Where do you go when you need free WiFi late into the night?

Beverly's Pancake House [24 hours!]. Shitty food, and fast. Full lard content whenever your heart desires. Half slab of pork product at 3:45 AM? Yours! Large stack of pancakes covered in "maple" syrup at 4? Yes ma'am!

Ordered hot tea. It comes with honey sauce.

What the hell is honey sauce?

Oh Oklahoma, I am adoring you and your shameless obesity, which you soundtrack with Rod Stewart without any discernible irony.

Have you seen my childhood?

Sitting in BES, waiting for the exam to start, listening to the X-Men theme with Josh.

Oh. Em. Eff. Gee. I am having a childhood flashback right now.

Ripping out of my bed on Saturday morning, tearing through my house [which was a maze], sliding on my knees to a halt in front of the TV set, right in between my brothers, Sean and Brandon, rubbing away the sting of carpet burn through the opening montage. Sweet memories.

I miss being a kid.



By the way: Gambit = hottest comic book character EVER.
Then again, I'm a sucker for a bad-ass Southern boy.

In the same vein . . .

Researching for my B[e]S paper. Interesting passage about consumer sovereignty:

"Then again, if consumer sovereignty were anything like a reality, certainly the government would be diligent in protecting consumers' interests. Sadly such is not the case. Instead, the government places strict limits on consumer sovereignty, especially where any substantive consumer sovereignty might collide with corporate interests. Consider, for example, how shabbily the government treats consumers in regulating the food industry. In deference to corporate interests, government officials routinely refuse consumer demands to label genetically modified food or to inform consumers which processed food contains irradiated ingredients. . . . Because of their need to sell a product that people do not want, 'industry leaders [in the biotechnology industry] view consumers . . . as hostile forces threatening their economic viability.' The government allows industry to process meat in unsanitary conditions. It proposes to allow industry to use radiation to disinfect feces. Consumers, of course, would prefer having the meat packers prepare their produce more carefully rather than irradiating feces. After all, poop, even if irradiated, is not a particularly appealing ingredient. Withholding such knowledge helps to ensure the consumer's loyalty."

Makes me want to be a farmer. Or just not eat ever again.

Vegefemitarianist.

Shit like this:


and this:


and this:


makes me seriously consider giving up vegetarianism.

I became a vegetarian for a host of reasons, one of them being animal rights.

Let me be clear - I don't think it is wrong to eat animals. Showing me pictures of cute calves isn't going to deter me from eating beef. I know meat is delicious. I remember. When I smell grilled chicken, I get just as hungry as the next person. [And yes, Marcus, Heaven probably does smell just like Fat Mac's.]

Hell, my family is mainly comprised of hunters. Season to season, my mother is usually the kill leader in our household. [We're all very proud.] My family's living room - heads on the wall, skins on the hearth and coffee table. The garage deep freeze regularly holds more venison than my family could consume in six months. I fully support this. [Venison is a good choice, by the way. It's a very, very lean meat.]

I am a huge proponent of knowing where your food comes from, and the processes it underwent to get to you [the thing I hate most about the 'Ho - it's all mystery food]. The fewer times it changes hands, the better. That's why my mom and pop grow their own veggies and shop at the farmer's market, and it's why they hunt.

I found, through trying to determine the source of my food, that I don't like the manner in which most meat is processed in the United States. It's cruel. It's dirty. The animals are given a great deal of drugs to keep them alive within the system, and these drugs are consumed when you eat said meat - which ravages your immune system. It's all around gross.

So I don't eat meat.

I did "go veg," [and I didn't need PETA to do it], I don't wear fur, I am more than likely striking dairy from my diet in the near future. And I wish there was an organization available to support me.

PETA, you say? "PETA loves animals! They are here for you!"

I can't work with crazy. [Throwing paint on people in furs? You call it protest. I call it assault. Tomayto, tomahto?]

PETA hates women. [Suck it, Ingrid Newkirk. There's no way you're an "adamant feminist."]

Ok. That may be pushing it a bit, but they do have a reputation for going much, much further than simply objectifying women, which, let's face it, we are more than used to seeing in advertising - not that inundation justifies continued presence.

I shouldn't feel obligated to choose either feminist or vegetarian values. And I don't, on a normal day. But then I see things like this, and I'm torn for a millisecond. I know the facts. I understand the goal. It's a [clinically-deranged third] cousin to my goal - I'm about informing interested persons and letting them decide for themselves, not militant conversion. But my feminism has me screaming, "FUCK YOU PETA!"

"So," you say, "Don't support PETA."

I don't. I don't give their website to anyone with questions. I don't recommend their "vegetarian starter packs." I don't own "Nugget" memorabilia.

But that doesn't do anything to deter their misogynistic campaigns. I could make posters of animals subjected to the same objectifications that women are regularly, or depicted in rape and domestic abuse situations to protest their advertisements, but that's not going to solve anything either - mostly because I don't think people would take a big-breasted chicken in a bikini, superimposed over a Maxim cover seriously.

PETA, isn't there some way that we can marry your goal of informing the public of the ills of the meat, dairy, and fur industries, with advertising and programs that don't abuse women?

You're losing valuable support from vast numbers of vegetarians who can't stomach your campaigns. And I don't know if you've noticed, but the meat-eating public doesn't give a rat's ass about what you have to say, either.

Think about it, get back to me.

So what you're basically saying is that we're just smart-ass fucking bees

I've been doing my best to quit procrastinating. I've only been the queen of procrastination since the third grade. With 15 years under my belt, I'm sure it'll be easy to stop cold turkey. [I say this as I sit not working on my papers and presentation.]

International film has been terrible for this endeavor. Because of this class I can justify spending an afternoon watching movies. No bueno.

At least these films count for something. Productive procrastination, right? I mean, it's not like I'm spending the afternoon cruising Etsy [please?] or YouTube, or blogging.

At any rate, I just finished watching Cidade dos Homens. Not nearly as good as Cidade de Deus, but follow-ups rarely are.

Article for magazine writing, STS reading and response, a bit of research, and then it's back to the movies.

Tonight: Finishing The Vertical Ray of the Sun. It started out promising enough.

Oh! Also: some recommendations for my lovely film-loving friends:

*Tsotsi [South Africa 2005]



*Cidade de Deus [Brazil 2002]



[Sorry For the Portuguese, but it was either that or a shitty American trailer.]

*Last Life in the Universe [Thailand 2003]



*XXY [Argentina 2007]


Off to read about Latin American cinema and misogyny in advertising. Good times are soon to be had.

Ce petit moineau a besoin de vous, renard.

Je pense qu'il m'a ruiné. Je suis les marchandises endommagées. Et ceci affecte toujours tout dans ma vie.

"Il y aurait d'autres nuits. Et comment pouvez-vous dire je t'aime à quelqu'un que vous aimez?"

Je souhaite que c'ait été facile.

Quand est-ce devenu si dur?
Je t'aime.
Tu me manque.

All roads lead to the same blocked intersection . . .

I need more of this in my life:

Wake up, wake up, little sparrow.

Whew.

The closing of the semester always puts me into a state of panic. I know we're still seven weeks out, but I'm feeling the strain so much earlier this semester. The emotional roller-coaster that was [somewhat still is] the previous three weeks surely didn't help.

So. I'm trying to concentrate on the things that leave me calm/smiling/giggling/dancing-erratically-and-collapsing-on-the-floor-due-to-stubbed-toes.

I've decided - during my nightly allotted 30 minute break-time - to compile for you the things I love right this minute.

*Honeyed iced tea - Sweet and southern and oh so delightfully caffeinated!
*Mac's magnetic laptop charger cord and its inventor - I've tripped over my cord five times tonight, because I love iced tea so much. Thanks for saving my 15" high-gloss baby with your genius design!
*My own writing skills. Four hours worth of work churned out in two with no loss of quality leaves me thrilled.
*The coming concert call from MLP. By far my favorite tradition. [Circus, If You Seek Amy, Me Against the Music, and Do Something, please and thank you. Also, Touch of My Hand. If she does something interesting.]
*The scent of my pillows. Orchid + lavender = easy sleeping. [It's problematic when trying to study in bed - hence a need for caffeine, hence the tea, hence the bathroom, hence the love for the magneticord - but I'll be re-appreciating it here in a few hours.
*Darren King- You [+ tea] are keeping me awake right now. Also:


Photo by Frozen Reflections, courtesy MuteMath.com


Photo by Matt Elwood, courtesy MuteMath.com

Who does that? You do. The world thanks you.
*Jeremy Avery, for promising to make me veggie-friendly enchiladas. I live in a Mexican-food free wasteland. No bueno for a southwestern girl like me. I must have my arroz y frijoles.
*The beginning of NY Lit [minus the added course-work].
*Today being sunny, and the mysterious lift of my illness. Oddly, I was only sick during the recent cold-snap. I think I'm allergic to winter.

Back to school-related things.

Tonight's agenda:
*Short reading for STS, accompanied by a short response
*Film viewing for International Film - "Last Life in the Universe" [Japan, 2003] [Bless you, NetFlix Instant Play.]
*Sweet, sweet lavender perfumed sleep

SB was paved with good intentions.

My ass has a big chunk missing. Thanks, procrastination.

Glory! Amenah! Hallelu-yah!

I am so ready for this break. This past week has been an emotional ordeal.

Things that have made it shitty:
* WBE
* E-mail from the bio-dad
* Asshat friends and their unsolicited advice/total ignoring
* Perfect warmth followed by gale-force winds the temperature of Antarctica [fuck you too, Oklahoma]
* Snooty barista telling me I shouldn't order Earl Gray mistos. Mind your business. It's my $2.44. [If this happens one more time I will refuse to buy coffee from anyone except the following baristas: Eryn, Emily, D.A., Matt, Lisa.]
* Being thought less important than South Park
* Getting excited for a package only to find out that it wasn't my gorgeous birthday present as I had expected, but the present I had ordered for my asshat friends' birthday. [I call fail on FedEx.]
* Smelly girls making my room smell faintly of hot wings and garlic dipping sauce.

Things that are making it better:
* Asshat friend apologizing for being insensitive.
* Earl Gray misto. [Suck it, snooty nameless barista.]
* Tom Waits
* Shartel and Tacoma, aka Marcus
* Pillows smelling of orchid and lavender.
* Saltiest. Chips. Ever. [Thanks for the giggles, Chipotle.]
* iTunes Genius [Why had I not tried it out until now?! It's . . . . genius! Only, I really don't think The Ting Tings' "Fruit Machine" is anything like Tom Waits' "Dead and Lovely." Just sayin'.]
* Mom quoting "The Cowboy Way" to me. It's kinda our thing. Don't judge.
* Sister saying "shitty." Mission to corrupt is going smoothly.
* Eryn's reminding me of this guy:



Break, I'm glad you're almost here. Hello to sweet Texas heat, and the little sister, and mani/pedis, and haircut, and RockBand with the littlest brother, and pleasure reading, and the pop making me delicious vegetarian food, and baking to my heart's content, and crafting, and coming to the realization that I'm probably overworked and stressed and that no one is really being an asshat, that I'm possibly just overreacting, and calming down and returning to find that I like everyone again.

Until the 23rd hits: MIDDLE FINGERS FOR EVERYONE! WHOOOOOOOOSH!

[ :) That made me feel good.]

WBE

Thanks.

Aujourd'hui

It's today, bitches!!

Let's all try our hardest to make this the best day ever. [At least of the month.]

Hey. Fuck you. Kisses, Dani.

"Honey- I find it amusing that you pass fashion judgment on other people when you are kind of a scrub yourself. Isn't irony a scream?"

"mlp- I am a junior and have never heard of you let alone seen you, but from the look of your picture you should not be passing judgment either. If fashion is a taste issue you have bad taste. You look like a little jerk who thinks he is a bad ass but doesn't have the balls to actually be one. And I am not being a coward. That is my real profile. I just don't have a blog. That is all. Go ahead and call me a bitch. Doesn't hurt my feelings.

Ashley Nicole- I have seen you and your pretty little face on campus with your nose in the air. You dress like you're from a cliche teen movie. Very "nice and put together" Boring. And I'm sorry if my comment was "quite rude" Life isn't always nice honey. But I guess a little white girl from suburbia like you hasn't experienced a bad day in your life. Except when you didn't get elected Homecoming Queen maybe..."

"mlp- I find it quite comical that you are getting so defensive about me insulting your style when you are apparently a fan of this blog. And you sure got pissey when I gave a little dig to Miss Ashley Nicole. Wish you were fucking the RA Princess?"


Um. Wow. Really?

For the context of these comments, please go over to the Wasteland.

Who the fuck do you think you are, you ignorant hate-monger? Say what you will about me, I could not care less. And say what you will about Marcus, he's a bitch to the core and perfectly capable of putting you back into your place.

But no one, let me reiterate, NO ONE speaks like that about Ashley.

"Ashley Nicole- I have seen you and your pretty little face on campus with your nose in the air. You dress like you're from a cliche teen movie. Very "nice and put together" Boring. And I'm sorry if my comment was "quite rude" Life isn't always nice honey. But I guess a little white girl from suburbia like you hasn't experienced a bad day in your life. Except when you didn't get elected Homecoming Queen maybe..."

Let's break this comment on down, shall we?

"I have seen you and your pretty little face on campus with your nose in the air."
Pretty little face. FACT. Jealous? Nose in the air [would you rather she had a chip on her shoulder and a stick up her ass like you, miss?]. Not so. Spend five minutes with her sometime. It'll change your life. [On second thought, don't. I'm not sure you deserve to know someone as truly kind and genuine as Ashley.]

"Life isn't always nice honey"
You are right, life isn't always nice. That doesn't mean you are obligated to spread your hatred toward those who spend their every waking hour trying to make this world better/happier/friendlier/more compassionate. You wonder why life isn't always nice? It's because of twats like you.

"I guess a little white girl from suburbia like you hasn't experienced a bad day in your life. Except when you didn't get elected Homecoming Queen maybe..."
Suburban white girl. Wow. Please, let's judge people solely by the color of their skin and their socio-economic background. Because that has everything to do with a person's worth. As for her not winning Homecoming queen, it's not Ashley's fault that you're bitter about the fact that you won't even be nominated. It sounds to me like someone hates being a little fish in a small pond. Get a hobby. Do something constructive with your time instead of grumbling because there are others who are better liked than you. Perhaps if you weren't such a raging bitch, you might make a friend or two.

As for your last comment to Marcus: "Wish you were fucking the RA Princess?"
Wish you were the RA Princess he wanted to fuck?

[Insert orgasm here]

OMFG. Oh. Em. Eff. Gee.




PLUS: Homegirl was due THAT NIGHT.

That, ladies and gents, is the definition of swagger.

2AMDBC

I'm finding that I am getting too old for a great many things.

Phone calls at 2 AM? Too old for that.

I think I'm on the verge of a quarter-life crisis. I turn 23 soon, and while it's not the end of the world, it sure feels old as fuck to me.

Emaleigh is 16 this year. I held her immediately after she was born. I changed her diapers. I tricked her into eating lemons by calling them candy [I'm sure she loves that I'm telling these stories] and now she's going to be getting her driver's license.

I'm terrified that I've already failed at life, and really I haven't even started it.

I have two visions of myself as an old lady. One is a crazy old bat who yells at children and spies on her neighbors. This is quite feasible [I'm not always the peachiest of people]. I alphabetize my DVDs for crying out loud. I shelve my books like I work for Barnes & Noble. I HAVE A TRAY DEDICATED TO PERFUME because one thing I am OCD about is items that are and are not allowed to sit directly on a countertop.

The other is this darling hippie with long silver hair who bakes obsessively and makes sure her living room always smells of sandalwood and her bedroom of lavender.

I'm really hoping for the second. I'm also hoping that she's not homeless, perhaps moderately well-known in the art world.

As much as I'd like to know for certain where I'm headed, the fact that I'm feeling old and a failure is killing me.

Everyone my age is so obsessed with figuring out their lives immediately. All my pop talks about these days is my ten-year plan. I feel like an ass that refuses to plow. I just want to be young and free while I can.

I want to wake up tomorrow and drive to Chicago. Run around the city laughing at the top of my lungs. Befriend a drag-queen named Connie Lingus and giggle while people sing Journey in a tiny karaoke bar. Bump into a friendly stranger on the sidewalk outside of a little coffee shop and share a picnic the same afternoon.

Life has become far too predictable lately.

All I want is randomness.

I don't think I'm ready to grow up just yet. Problem is, life presses on at the same breakneck speed whether you want it to or not.