Don Juan's Reckless Daughter

1. UPDATES. I am copying & pasting from Tumblr, but here are the highlights for all y'all livejournalers.
   
   Din din din dinner tonight?
   Roasted eggplant slices.
   Topped with leftover italian-sausage marinara sauce from Pasta Night earlier this week.
   Plus lots of cheese!
   
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   Oh hi it's me!
   
   LAist: Ray Bradbury at The LA Film School Tonight
   We’ve actually managed to accomplish several household tasks the past few weekends that have the added benefit of being psychically cleansing:
   recycling*, taking shit to Goodwill, cleaning out the fridge, organizing a more efficient laundry system, etc etc
   and I’ve at least been doing yoga at an impressively regular interval, which provides some intellectual novelty as it firms my thighs (I know what a mudra is, as well as the exact spot in which energy flows in and out of my butt).
   I’ve discovered a funny thing about action, then: that using energy quickly creates more energy. Or maybe practicing a state of active busy-ness makes you more apt to maintain a state of active busy-ness.
   

   *We practice ninja recyling, an unusual but efficient method that works well for those who drink lots of beer. Our apartment building doesn’t have a recycling bin, so we drop ours under cover of night at the neighborhood recycling hut, where we hope the next day some bum will pick our shit up and make enough money to buy himself another six-pack.
   

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      thisrecording:
      

      They Fucking Forgot My Birthday
      by Molly Lambert
      

      "There is this optimistic myth often perpetuated by the media that women are less shallow than men. And it bothers me because honestly, we’re not. Just like boys, most girls would rather project ideals onto a beautiful blank template than deal with an actual average human being. And then when we find out the hot guy is, you know, not really that smart or interesting we still find ways to convince ourselves he must just be secretly rilly deep.
      "TV examples are Jordan Catalano from My So Called Life and Daniel Desario from Freaks and Geeks. You know they’re out of your reach, that they’re probably kind of stupid, but who cares? They’re just so cute! You could probably make Brian Krakow or Nick Andopolis your actual boyfriend but that’s so attainable and boring. Plus those guys are both needy and stalkerish."
      
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      Zach is so weird.
      via laist.com
      
      Detour Fest 2008 Invades Downtown L.A. - LA Weekly
      

      Yeahhhhhh Mae Shi Brad & Jon!!
      
      
      

So yeah, that's what I've been doing!!!

OKAY actual proof of my Joan Holloway moment today.

You guys,

you think it's all sunshine and roses and happy suburban life over here for me, but really it's tough as nails and demoralizing to the soul. I'm starting to circulate in the outskirts of the BLOGOSPHERE, the real one, the one that's replacing the newspapers and not being run by Rupert Murdoch, and I'm terrified as fuck because I'm still not a good enough writer. Not yet, but I'm not.

My editor tells me to "write like Carrie," and not like Pitchfork or the alt-weekly-hipster-Cobra-terror-sunglasses-fuckery-bullshit blogs & mags, but it's hard. I've had a few opportunities come my way re: OTHER WORK (that's not LAist or the Day Gig) but I have managed to massively fuck those things up and possibly destroy some networking contacts through my own laziness.

And it's not laziness, mind you, it's fear -- fear that what I say is not FUCKERYBULLSHIT enough, I'm not a Gawker, I'm not a Lit Mag Editor, I'm not a Grad Student anymore.

Woah! Did I just say writing is hard? Did I just say the journalism/literary world is TOUGH SHIT? Did I just say that??

Right.

So I am grappling. I am trying to deal with it by doing something honestly creative and challenging, which is working on a piece for This Recording, the best culture/literary/pop blog on the internet, and a piece of Internet Tomfoolery that truly reflects the kind of Stuff I Like To Read and Think About.

SO that's good. And hell, I went to a good concert the other night, and I'm working on other productive, self-helpy things like Saving Money for a Vacation and Being Fit and whatever. And sigh_gone is coming to visit! And we're going to track whitnail down and scoop him up and love each other as much as we possibly can! And I get to spend time with my parents tomorrow! And I'm going to a great party (for which I will COOK COOK COOK) on Saturday! And I have a nice dude to spend time with right now, which is what I think I'll do now.

Phew, blogging three places at once is tough. For instant updates, you should really be checking
yumwatch.tumblr.com

But I'll try to summarize.

TODAY IS MY BIRTHDAY.

To commemorate, I have boughten LOTS OF Werner Herzog DVDs, including the Kinski box set which has up until now shamefully been absent from my library.

BIRFDAY PRESENT!!! I gave myself the gift of Werner in this, my 28th year of triumphant existence.

“When I think of birthdays I think of only DEATH AND DESTRUCTION, fornication and copulation. I do not see celebration, I do not see cake. I see a sugary overload of commercialism and Hallmark tomfoolery.” *

*Yeah I made that up.

See this guy?


He's pretty much amazing, and took me to dinner at La Cachette and stuffed me full of foie gras and gave me the best birthday present ever known to me, with which I have been taking pictures.

At school:


Cody (and my Serenity poster, natch)



Joseph, he of the neverending great conversations about "Lost" and "The Wire." We have good taste in television.

The equipment room is getting relocated to the parking lot across from the Building Two admin offices. Weird! but convenient, I guess? Look we are all in disarray:


All of our lighting is like that around school.  You should see me in my office; I am bathed in a warm 30's-era Norma Desmond glow.

Anyway, then I went to the cemetery.



and hung out with Johnny Ramone.



People put stuff in his hands, like guitar picks and dollar bills and roaches.






HAHAHAHAHAHA.

I WOULD LIKE TO POINT OUT THAT:

my boyfriend has been gone for just over 24 hours and already I am blogging way too much, listening to Liz Phair, and having ANIMATED conversations with the people in my head about the virtues of raw milk.


Anyway, I'm over your drama about this song, it's still pretty fuckin incredible even when you are an old married lady like me. Also, ha ha, Dave Matthews likes chick music! Dave Matthews and John Cusack totally look alike! Hahahaha!

Anyway I am now about to embark upon a "Jon & Kate Plus Eight" marathon, CLEARLY I SHOULD NOT BE LEFT ALONE.

not a good day.

missing my honey.

depression all around, really.

gonna take a drive, come back home, crawl into bed, try not to die of the Valley heat, maybe cry a while.

Stan Winston died; I went to his star on the Walk of Fame to get some pix.

I was appropriately dressed.

Went to the Beastly Ball last night for LAist press duties -- what a chore, walking around the zoo on a beautiful summer evening, enjoying all manner of catered delicacies and free-flowing wine.



I want a snake REALLY BADLY now.



More to come over at LAist soon.

And I love you all.

Just in case you were interested in being a stalker!!

I was thinking real hard this morning about this poem; about youth and the things that fall out all about us. 
I can't help but revisit Larkin again and again, especially how the first line begins in the body, but then rises 
up to the eternal, the heavenly, so quickly and so well. 

Not bad for a librarian. 



Groping back to bed after a piss
I part thick curtains, and am startled by
The rapid clouds, the moon's cleanliness.

Four o'clock: wedge-shadowed gardens lie
Under a cavernous, a wind-picked sky.
There's something laughable about this,

The way the moon dashes through clouds that blow
Loosely as cannon-smoke to stand apart
(Stone-coloured light sharpening the roofs below)

High and preposterous and separate -
Lozenge of love! Medallion of art!
O wolves of memory! Immensements! No,

One shivers slightly, looking up there.
The hardness and the brightness and the plain
Far-reaching singleness of that wide stare

Is a reminder of the strength and pain
Of being young; that it can't come again,
But is for others undiminished somewhere.