PSA: Dystopic

This afternoon I'm giving a lecture (that is, "saying stuff I made up") on sci fi dystopias.

My qualifications are twofold: 1. I am a nerd who like sci fi and 2. the professor of the class is a friend who doesn't like sci fi.

Some might say the fact that someone so apparently underqualified is allowed to talk about something she hasn't officially studied is a sign of dystopia.

Not me, though.

I'm mainly going to talk about aliens and robots.

PSA: I pity the (April) fools.

Mr. T/tea party at my house on Friday at 7.

Anyone who reads this and can make it, you're TOTALLY invited.

PSA: Girl Meets Worldliness

Danielle Fishel, who played Topanga on BMW, was arrested in December 2007 on a DUI.

According to TMZ, she cried her way out of it -- even though she'd failed to appear for a previous DUI and had a warrant out for her arrest. She was put on probation.

In other Danielle trivia, she was born in 1981, making her a chicken, she went to the prom with NSYNC's Lance Bass -- in fact, according to IMDB, "She used to date Lance Bass from *N Sync, but the constant time apart led to their break up" (though I think we can assume there were other issues, too -- like her lack of a Y chromosome) -- she owns 130 pairs of shoes and has her own in-line skating video with Rider Strong.

As of August of last year, she was hosting "The Dish" on the style network.

No word on whether she's single or not, which I think means she is.

PSA: Sunday shutdown

Well, my three readers, despite my writing this on a Sunday, don't be fooled: I've decided to stop posting to CU on the day of rest.

It's mainly a question of Internet access. The library is open of a Sunday from January into April, but will be closed on Sundays thereafter -- and will be closed on Saturdays through the summer (bizarrely), and so I'll already be scheduling posts in advance.

It's also a question of laziness.

Sorry to the 1.5 of you this might disappoint -- but you can spend your lazy days in (or your post-church afternoons) reading back posts on Overheard Lines or see what Garfield Minus Garfield is up to.

Or, heck, pick one of the "classic" CU posts of 2008. Surely you don't have photographic recall of all 594 of them. That's about ten years of Sundays right there.

And I'll let you know if I ever get Internet, and a renewed sense of implacable motivation, at home.

Unsolicited advice, cameo by Marcus: Ninjas

“If you’re writing stories, you should probably put ninjas in them. Everybody likes ninjas.”

MFHTDWF #6

Principle: Only branch out into fashion, women’s shoes or perfume if you’re a female pop star – if you are a female pop star, only branch out in these ways rather than by becoming an “actress.”

Only female pop stars with “diva” status have the special kind of cultural capital it takes to pull off introducing a line of clothing, high heels or perfume. Everyone else who tries looks like a poseur or gets called out for sweatshops full of Southeast Asian children manufacturing their clothes.

On the other hand, the exact lack of respect that causes female pop stars to pull off introducing a line of dresses fit for a ghetto booty extends negatively into the arena of movie stardom. If you are a female pop star, you should not attempt to break over into film. Stick with what you know, invest wisely, and you can make it through your fifteen minutes of fame to early retirement with a respectable amount of both money and dignity.

You may subsequently spend your time supporting a pet charity, but only if you are willing to give up your ghetto-booty dresses for classy Chanel skirt-suits, give public speeches only at breakfasts or luncheons (no dinners or awards ceremonies), and only call in your music-world contacts to set up benefit concerts that don’t include you.

Examples of famous people who succeed at this principle: Christina Aguilera

Examples of famous people who succeed at some points and fail at other points of this principle: J-Lo, Hillary Duff, Mariah Carey

Examples of famous people who fail at this principle: Britney Spears, Spice Girls, Kathy Lee Gifford

Confessions XXXIII

Last night, I laughed the first five notes to "Deck the Halls." Unintentionally.

I used to snort when I laughed as a kid. I thought it was funny.

I think laughs that make no sound are unattractive.

DIY? Or DIWM and DIT?

It occurred to me yesterday that the thing about neo-bohemianism, besides that it's a simulacrum of actual bohemianism (which is a simulacrum of actually being poor), is that the ultra-specific niches many DIY artists -- think Brooklyn artisans making specialty chocolate from hand-roasted cocoa beans, and selling it at local stores (and over the Internet) -- carve out for themselves force them to be in community with others.

No one can live on artisan specialty chocolates. Not for long, anyway.

And no one can live exclusively on the other things that most DIY crowds create. These aren't self-supporting communes meant to bring together individuals with broad-based survival skills. They aren't practical. But their aesthetic -- local, handmade, unique, gourmet -- forces DIY experts/entrepreneurs to be in touch with the rest of their community in order to have access to staple foods and everyday necessities. (Toilet paper comes to mind as something I haven't seen marketed as "local, handmade, unique" -- the best DIYers can probably do there is "made from recycled materials.")

They choose to be in touch with each other because one of the purposes of a DIY, hipster community is to create a community bond. DIY enclaves must become "do it together" communities, since no single product, single-mindedly produced, can support even one individual.

And often there are groups of people -- families, couples, sets of friends -- who make their single product together, adding a "do it with me" element to the whole endeavor.

No mind that because the products they create are often unnecessary (crafts, jewelry) or unnecessarily difficult to produce (handmade) or unnecessarily fancy (gourmet), the economy DIYers are creating and supporting is as reliant on the general economy as any reviled suburb would be.

DIY aesthetic relies on a bit of forgetfulness, like the "Burning Man" economy of bartering -- once you're out there, "on your own," you're allowed to ignore the fact that that beer you're trading for curry out in the desert night was purchased, with US currency, at a package store before you came. It feels like trading; it feels like you're outside the rat race economic forces that compel you to go back to your "real job" when you pack up and head out.

It's kind of silly, actually, when you think about it, that we'd think of ourselves as above the rat racers.

But at least that forgetting allows us to remember a bit of what we should value in interactions with others, our food, our art, our music, our communities and ourselves. Even if at the end of the day, we're just playing at DIY.

Five minute stop vs. twelve mile walk or a twenty-minute ride with a total stranger

My girl: [groans as we pull into a gas station]

Me: Well, would you rather be stuck on the side of the road? And we'd have to hitchhike?

My girl: No thanks, I'll pass.

Me: Well, I'd better put gas in the car, then.

My girl: [laughs genuinely for a minute] You're hilarious.

Me: Thanks.

PSA: Winning Winnie, aka, "Wonder Years stars go on to be normal people, except Fred Savage"

Winnie Cooper (Danica McKellar) has gotten married. She is also an author and mathematician. She married a composer.

The guy who played Kevin's best friend Paul is now a lawyer.

Fred Savage was on that sitcom nobody seemed to watch, as an adult, became what Yahoo Buzz calls "a director of dubious talents," and his younger brother Ben had the same kind of on-screen relationship with his gal-pal, Topanga, on Boy Meets Girl, that Fred/Kevin had with Danica/Winnie.

Thus we may conclude that the obscene amounts of nostalgia drenching each voiced-over script of The Wonder Years* seems to only have affected its star.


*Don't get me wrong. I love the show.

New word: Fauxmantic

adj. 1. anything intended for seductive purposes that fails utterly at achieving the desired effect due to object-level error rather than badly judged individual preference (i.e., chocolate-covered killer bees ["fauxmantic"], versus accidentally gifting normal chocolate to a loved one who hates chocolate ["gift fail"]) or

2. any object, creative endeavor or action intended to simulate romance for the purpose of fooling the recipient into bed.

Quantifiable Living: Levels of cleanliness

How it works: Unlike previous quantifiable living scales, the "levels of cleanliness" scale is meant to quantify how clean or dirty something is, within a certain range (rather than by absolute value). Rather than units of measure, cleanliness can be described using the following rubric.

In a pinch, this scale is equally useful for describing how physically soiled an object is and how "dirty" it is in terms of psychologically maladaptive or sexual content.

Most objects fall between Levels 3 and 4, making Level 3.5 a neutral pH for the scale.


Level 0: You can perform surgery on it.

Level 1: You can eat off it.

Level 2: You can show it to your Grandma.

Level 3: You can touch it.

Level 4: You can touch it, but you should wash your hands afterward.

Level 5: You shouldn't touch it.

Level 6: Looking at it makes you physically ill.

Level 66: Looking at it gives you recurring nightmares.

Level 666: After looking at a picture of it, you yourself become Level 6. (Other people become physically ill when they look at you.)

Carte Blanche: Sue Bridehead in Jude the Obscure

"How would you describe Sue's pathology? Are there some unresolved references that would lead one to believe that she had experienced some sexual abuse as a child, or am I reading into this?"

It's been a few years since I read Jude the Obscure, but almost all of my lasting impressions from the book come from my personal relationship with Sue Bridehead, so this is a particularly interesting and apt question for me.

It's probably important here, though, before I move on to how I related to Sue and, to a lesser extent, Jude, to explain that I heart Thomas Hardy. I always have, from the first Far from the Madding Crowd required reading in high school. And in Connecticut, being the stalwart, neo-Puritanical New England (albeit southern N.E.) state that we are, we read one Hardy book a year through high school.

Hardy is a fatalist.

(That's how I came to tell the difference between which books were his and which were George Eliot's, actually, as they were from the same era and struck me as having similar writing styles and themes: if the main character died or was otherwise totally mortified by life at the end of the book, it was Thomas Hardy; if the main character learned something and grew as an individual through her trials, coming to accept her lot in life, it was George Eliot. Eliot, for instance, teaches Silas Marner that money isn't everything, and subsequently gives him back his money; Hardy teaches the Mayor of Casterbridge that one major alcohol-induced mistake made years ago can't be escaped no matter how hard you try.)

So the fact that I love fatalism about as much, and in much the same way, as George Eliot's sense of redemption and balance, probably has a lot to do with why I feel such simpatico with Sue Bridehead.

But first, Jude. Jude is a pretty normal guy, like most of Hardy's men, who's ruined by a woman -- first his wife, who fakes a pregnancy to marry him, then really gets pregnant, but eventually leaves him, and then Sue Bridehead, thanks to her deep ambivalence about the validity of their relationship -- and his own lusts. Hardy portrays the social requirement that Jude marry the apparently coarse and unambitious (intellectually, anyway) Arabella as the main negative of Jude's early life, and Jude's attachment to the unfortunately and increasingly unstable Sue Bridehead as a main negative of his later life.

Still, Jude has a certain flexibility, lent apparently by his self-taught intellectualism and his steady convictions. He moves on from his marriage to Arabella and his failure to study at "Christminster" and tries to make a happy life with Sue, who had also married and subsequently rejected her marriage as invalid, since she's in love with Jude and disgusted by her husband, Mr. Phillotson.

I think it's likely that Sue's fatal error came not in leaving Phillotson for Jude, but much earlier -- when she married him without real cause.

Everything after her compulsively "reasonable" marriage to her husband was reactionary, and Sue's tendency toward masochism is only partially resolved in her relationship with Jude -- it can't be totally resolved, as their love has already been marred by her promising herself to another.

In fact, I'd be willing to bet she married a man who repulsed her in order to create a scenario in which being with Jude was painful.

Sue plays at being liberal and enlightened, but deep down, she isn't. She lives with a male friend for two years or so before marrying Phillotson, which was scandelous, though they never had any kind of physical relationship.

Her return to Phillotson after the murder-suicide of her and Jude's children (the child from Jude's first marriage, a symbol of that previous union that probably haunted Sue throughout her relationship with Jude, kills their two kids and himself) is a reversion to her deepest beliefs; if before she had managed to stretch herself enough to believe that it was okay for her to live with and love Jude, now she was suddenly thrown back on her tendency toward harsh, unyielding justice over mercy.

To Sue, justice meant pain and difficulty. There must have been a fundamental part of her that believed she deserved everything she got, despite her initial rebellions against the social prescriptions of marriage (living with a man, then living with Jude unmarried, later) and sex (not having a physical relationship with her roommate, nor with her husband, where it was allowed, but only with Jude, when it was certainly adultery), and that fundamental belief was what ultimately led to her return to her soul-sucking, loveless marriage.

This does hint at childhood sexual abuse to me, this brand of masochism, and the deeply ingrained belief that she didn't deserve happiness. Her tendency to behave in socially inappropriate ways -- live with a man, not sleep with her husband, have children with another man -- may have been a compulsive reenactment, or confession, of the sexual crimes committed against her as a child. Acting out in these ways is common in victims of sexual abuse, as is the tendency to blame oneself, and Sue has both symptoms in spades.

But this is pre-Freudian literature, and Hardy doesn't say anything incriminating about Sue's father or a creepy uncle or cousin. Hardy's main points seem to be on a larger scale, blaming society, religion, and the repressive values that caused Jude to marry Arabella and Sue to marry Phillotson (supposedly) in the first place.

And here's where my relationship with Sue Bridehead comes in, in my personal interpretation of her pathology.

Sue and I have shared a lot: a tendency to eschew social norms for the slightly more intellectual or weird; a sensitivity to commiting acts against one's own soul (which she does when she marries Phillotson) that can cripple; a general lack of interest in sex brought on likely by trauma in childhood and adolescence, and subsequent repression of normal biological impulses; masochism inspired and encouraged by repressive, traumatic or abusive experiences and sometimes religious beliefs; a malignant perfectionism that causes mistakes to seem fatal rather than a matter of course.

I wasn't sexually abused as a child, that I know of.

But I've also come out of this perfectionist mentality, where Sue never really did. Most of the dealings with myself and malignant perfectionism have meant confronting deeply ingrained fears: that so-and-so was right when she called me that name, that I'll never measure up, that I'm unloveable. I've been able to face them because I have a stellar support system that allows me the safety and freedom to be honest about myself and my views of the world, which can be difficult, frightening and dangerous, considering my past.

Sue may have deeper fears than mine, and if she was sexually abused, she almost certainly does, making it more difficult for her to face them than it was for me -- and she shows no signs of being able to -- but if Hardy's right about society, she may not be ultimately to blame. Sue's social network is shredded by her choices, whatever their source or whatever her motivations, and she's left alone with Jude and the children toward the end; she can't possibly have the emotional capital necessary for dealing with deeper-level breaks in her psyche with no social support system. When three of the four people in her life -- the kids -- all die at once, Sue's thrown back on her old masochistic tendencies, and a flaw that might not have been fatal, or that might have healed naturally over time and with love, becomes her (and Jude's) downfall.

To me, Sue's story reads like a warning, but not necessarily the one Thomas Hardy intended, fatalist that he is. Ultimately I believe in George Eliot's universe, one that keeps going even after apparent tragedies, and I invest myself in fixing the cracks in my own foundation because I believe they can be fixed.

If Sue had turned her masochism and sensitivity inward with a purpose, been honest with herself and others, and worked on repairing what had been damaged, she may have survived the death of her children. If she'd done it before she married Phillotson, she'd have been even better off.

I think it's interesting in this context that Jude became a mason. He would almost certainly understand the need to repair a cracked foundation -- and to do it sooner rather than later.

If Sue had understood that, she might have been okay.

If the other Elvis P. had been on NPR, his black velvet image would likely be hanging in a different class of living room.

On Thursday, NPR ran a show featuring Elvis Perkin's (the son of Anthony Perkins, from Psycho) latest indie album release, Elvis Perkins in Dearland.

The album had everything a typical NPR listener could want: low exposure and an attending sense of "ingenuity" and "a genuine feel"; mysterious lyrics that went down easy with a folksy tune ("123 Goodbye"); a charming anecdote told by a somewhat shy, somewhat reclusive, non-overly-analytical artist, about how he'd meant "Doomsday" to be a dirge, but the almost accidental acquisition of a marching bass drum had changed all that, making the song 350% more charming, and a bit ironic.

So like every other person who happened to be listening to NPR that morning, I went to Amazon.com the next day and looked up the album. I liked "Doomsday's" sense of marching gleefully into the fray of the Apocalypse, and with my preoccupation with Apocamixes, how could I resist?

Apparently nobody else could, either. Elvis Perkins in Dearland was not only the top folk album download for the day, it was the 29th top download, period. And the CD was just past the top 30 sellers for the day, despite its being $4.50 more than the mp3 download. (But that's not surprising; classy listeners like to have the physical CD -- it has the cultural cache of owning vinyl, now.) The wait for CD shipping was 1-3 weeks.

That is the power, apparently, of NPR...at least over things that NPR listeners deem charming or endearing in some way, things where the only stakes are being deemed stylish or not rather than "significance" or "policy."

Mix: "To the nearest exit."

"Walk This Way" -- Aerosmith
"Walk This World" -- Heather Nova
"Aly, Walk With Me" -- The Raveonettes
"The Walk" -- Imogen Heap
"Walking" -- David Byrne
"Walking" -- the dodos
"Just Walk" -- The Sterling Stitches
"Walk on the Ocean" -- Toad the Wet Sprocket
"Walk On The Moon" -- Asobi Seksu
"Desert Walk" -- Deep Forest
"Walk Away" -- Lovespirals
"Walking On Broken Glass" -- Annie Lennox
"Fire Walk With Me (Theme from Twin Peaks)" -- Angelo Badalamenti

Mix: Run away! Run awaaaaay!

"Out of Egypt, into the Great Laugh of Mankind, and I shake the dirt from my sandals as I run" -- Sufjan Stevens
"Run My Mouth" -- Ra Ra Riot
"On The Run" -- Pink Floyd
"Run Wild" -- New Order
"Run to Her" -- Mr. Mister
"Run To Your Grave" -- The Mae Shi
"On The Run" -- Kottonmouth Kings
"Run The Numbers" -- Aesop Rock and El-P
"Run" -- Collective Soul
"Run-Around" -- Blues Traveler
"No More Running Away - Live" -- Air Traffic
"No More Runnin" -- Animal Collective
"I Could Run Away" -- 100 Portraits and Waterdeep (Enter the Worship Circle)

PSA: NY in Ur FACE!!

"Your application for admission to the Program in American Studies in the Graduate School of Arts and Science has been received and carefully reviewed. We regret to inform you that we are not able to extend an offer of admission to you at this time.

Please be aware that the applications for admission this year are particularly strong, and we have been unable to welcome all of our promising candidates for admission. We thank you for your interest in New York University and wish you the greatest success in your future endeavors."

VICTORY.

PSA: Coming: 24-hour mix

Prince Certainpersonio suggested, and I agreed, that we make a 24-hour mix set of CDs – that is, 24 hours of music that correspond to hours of the day, mainly in tone (i.e., noon is peppy, midnight is dance-party, early morning is contemplative).

Look forward to it.

PSA: Songs with lyrics that refer to cake (the food)

The National, “The Geese of Beverly Road”

Tilly and the Wall, “Too Excited”

PSA: Songs covered by Cake (the band)

"I Will Survive" -- Gloria Gaynor
"The Guitar Man" -- Bread
"War Pigs" -- Black Sabbath
"Never, Never Gonna Give You Up" -- Barry White
"Strangers in the Night" -- Frank Sinatra
"Mahna Mahna" -- Piero Umiliani

PSA: Green Cake

The band Cake's next album is reportedly to be produced in their Sacramento studio "using 100% solar energy," according to Wikipedia.

Also according to Wikipedia, "in June 2008, lead singer John McCrea told music publication REVUE that he is thinking seriously of quitting touring to become a farmer."

Forced divorce

Me: "That's a doctor's office."

My girl: "I'm scared."

Me: "Just walking by it?"

My girl: "Shots!"

Me: "Well, don't worry about shots. Even if a doctor came out here right now and invited us in, I'd say 'no, we don't have time'...That's a lawyer's office. Are you afraid of going to court?"

My girl: "No. A divorce!"

Me: "Are you afraid that walking past a lawyer's office will make you get a divorce?"

My girl: "No!" [laughs]

PSA: Monthly anniversary gifts

Well, dear readers, as you almost certainly know, some ancient Miss-Manners-type long ago prescribed gift types for each yearly anniversary a couple would celebrate: the first year should be celebrated with a gift of paper; the second, cotton; third, leather; fourth, flowers; fifth, wood, and so on, until the 25th anniversary (silver) and the 50th (gold), which are much more well-known.

You may ask yourself what use these lists are, particularly if you are a creative gift-giver or a woman. (These types of people, gift-givers and women, generally believe presents should reflect the desires and needs of the gift receiver rather than the successful rote memorization of a yearly gift-type prescription...though in some cases, just remembering the anniversary might be gift enough.)

But fie on you! Have you no sense of tradition?

Instead of nay-saying the gifting requirements of each year together, I suggest we take this idea and run with it. We need monthly anniversary gifting requirements, particularly for the first year.

It seems almost painfully obvious to me that these gifts should be candy.

So here are the requisite gifts for monthly anniversaries. No cheating and getting a kind of candy your loved one likes. This is tradition in the making, and should be adhered to exactly.

One month: Gummy bears

Two months: Twizzlers (red)

Three months: Smarties

Four months: Peppermint patties

Five months: Sprees

Six months: Caramels

Seven months: Gobstoppers

Eight months: Jelly beans (if seasonally unavailable, Red Vines)

Nine months: Swedish fish

Ten months: Butterscotch

Eleven months: Malted milk balls (Malteasers/Whoppers)

One year: Paper

Note: After one year, monthly anniversaries may continue to be celebrated, keeping in mind the principle of increasingly serious candy types -- i.e. Turtles or Godiva chocolate for years 2-3 -- and methods of gifting. For instance, a person dressed in some kind of costume (i.e. rabbit) delivering a singing telegram (i.e. "Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head") along with a box of heart-shaped chocolates (i.e. Russel-Stover-quality or above) may be appropriate between the sixteenth and seventeenth anniversaries, but not between the sixth and seventh.

PSA: Derecolumnized / Redecolumnized

My columns are once again not running. The final column, despite being corrected, in fact will not be run in the paper.

I'm annoyed by the process of being let go, picked up, and let go again, as any small woodland creature would be, but I'm trying to settle back into the "I'm free from this responsibility" mindset I so happily occupied before the confusion.

Please feel free to congratulate me on my increasingly simple lifestyle, and to encourage me in my lifelong pursuit of living on a bus.

MFHTDWF #4-5, and exceptions

MFHTDWF #4

Principle: Don’t go on “Celebrity Jeopardy.”

You’re not that smart.


MFHTDWF #5

Principle: Don’t go on Saturday Night Live.

It’s not a funny show anymore.


Exception to MFHTDWF #4-5

Principle: Go ahead and be on SNL for “Celebrity Jeopardy.” It’s funny, and you don’t have to be smart. You just have to be able to act insanely dumb, which may be how you got to be a famous person in the first place -- so right in your wheelhouse.

Recolumnized

Well, it turns out my column last week didn't run (yet) because the new editor at the paper wanted to include the town names for the comic shops I referenced in the column.

And they couldn't contact me to ask where the shops were because they didn't have my phone number...

And apparently they also couldn't look it up online, where all sorts of information is kept, including references to all three comic shops and their location. A Google search would have taken about a third of a second for each shop, making the search time about one second total.

Maybe the Internet was broken or something.

Manual For How To Deal With Fame: Preface

Ever since last year's “Oh, Bitchuary.”, I’ve been concerned with the welfare of our beloved celebrities, who seem to go crazy as soon as they’re affirmed as “famous.”

Heath Ledger dying of a sleeping pill overdose brought the issue into even more poignant focus over the summer. It’s clear his judgment was clouded severely by the pressures of celebdom, no less by the fact that he took too many pills as by the more obvious, glaring error of being in the presence of Mary Kate Olsen. (I mean, any of us could have accidentally downed too many sleeping pills, but how many of us would ever end up in the same room with MKO?)

Alan Moore pointed out what I think is the real issue, here, which is that people who are famous don’t have a manual for how to deal with fame.

I’ve decided to help them out, in sporadic installments. Here are my first three “how to” instructions on dealing with fame.

Eventually, I expect famous people to start sending me money for this service, since they have so much of it. But for now, the advice I provide is free.

MFHTDWF #1

Principle: Don’t care what people think. Really don’t care. Don’t just pretend not to care – actually don’t.

If you can do that, you’re exempt from the remainder of MFHTDWF, and congratulations. You’re a crazy, possibly sociopathic famous person bound to entertain us all with your soap-opera-like hijinks for years to come.

And since you don’t care who you offend or what the rest of us stand for, you won’t bore us by speaking reasonably on talk shows while subtly plugging your next “project,” or ask other people’s opinions when all we want to know is what you think, anyway. We’ll get sick of you occasionally, but that won’t bother you because you genuinely don’t care. And you’ll always resurface in the public eye, because we are all genuinely fascinated by people who are genuinely indifferent to us.

Besides, having the financial capability to follow through on all your harebrained schemes means you’ll likely keep us entertained with your failures, your bizarre successes, or both.

Examples of famous people who succeed at this principle: ??? [Edit: Charlie Sheen, circa 3/2011]

Examples of famous people who follow the principle, but who we still dislike: Carrot Top, Ex-Pres. G. W. Bush

Examples of famous people who fail at this principle: Almost all of them, including Sharon Stone and all stand-up comedians

MFHTDWF #2

Principle: Don’t contradict people when they say you were upset about something.

They’ll never believe you.

A mediocre way to deal with this situation is to elaborate with a sob story about how you’re in recovery from whatever thing upset you. This is acceptable but will mostly engender pity. Ideally, you should try to always fascinate and terrify your audience.

Elaborations involving how you got revenge on the person, people or group that upset you should either be lighthearted and full-of-yourself (i.e. “but then I made a hundred jillion dollars on that movie, so that’ll show ‘em!” [audience laughter and clapping]) or theatrical and full of occult references (i.e. “what most people don’t understand about voodoo is that it really works!” [audience silence, chair-shifting and sporadic claps]).

If you feel bad about possibly lying to your audience, just remind yourself that as a famous person, you’re always on display, and you owe it to your audience to play an interesting character.

Examples of famous people who succeed at this principle: Tom Cruise (who fascinates and terrifies us), Angelina Jolie (who never says she wasn’t upset about something)

Examples of famous people who follow the principle, but by virtue of our being afraid to suggest they’ve ever been upset: Christopher Walken, Mr. T.

Examples of famous people who fail at this principle: Jennifer Aniston

MFHTDWF #3

Principle: Don’t wear sweatpants. Ever. Also don’t wear track suits, unless you’re a black man.

The paparazzi will find you and photograph your most unflattering features in unflattering angles if you choose to wear unflattering attire. In fact, you should probably avoid wearing anything you could purchase at a K-mart.

Examples of famous people who succeed at this principle: Michael Jordan (immune, because he’s a black man), Halle Berry, Merryl Streep

Examples of famous people who follow the principle, but nobody cares: All B though D-list actresses

Examples of famous people who fail at this principle: Britney Spears, Oprah*

*Oprah can never be said to fail at anything related to famous people, as she is the Kali of the famous-people pantheon (if they were all Hindu). However, despite her immunity, it must be noted that she does occasionally wear sweatpants and tracksuits. She should be considered an exception rather than an example.

Happy Pi Day!

Happy legitimate Pi Day, everyone.

Enjoy the sweet derivatives of this holiday season.

Pies.

PSA: Decolumnized?

Well, faithful readers (all three of you), my weekly op/ed column may have been discontinued -- not, I think, due to the comments I'd only now gotten to responding to, but thanks to a change in editorship.

There are any number of reasons this may have happened, all of them political, and none of them interesting enough to recount here.

You can see my last column, if it is my last, on my column blog. This is like a bonus for you, CU readers, since it has not run in the actual newspaper.

I mainly feel bad for the three comic book shop owners who talked to me for the info on this column. I feel less bad for myself, as almost a year's worth of weekly column writing has left me with a respectable freelance portfolio, I think, if I chose to continue being a freelance writer, and has drained my previously deep well of things I wanted to tell everybody.

And now I'll have time to go back to my first love: the legitimate theater.

Or, er, Continue Unprotected.

Where I can tell you all what I think all the time, uncensored.

Rock on, my three friends. Rock on.

PSA: Return of the browncoats...er, parcels

Number of UPS trucks observed on I-84 East out of Waterbury, 9-9:20 a.m. today: 33

PSA: Bad things about my first name

Nobody can spell it right.

People who can spell it right don't pronounce it right.

PSA: Good things about my first name

It's pointy -- A, L, and I are all pointy letters, as opposed to rounded

If someone were to yell it, they could shout the entire name and end with a long "aaaaaaaa!" which is a sound that carries well.

It's almost a palindrome.

It provides the sole vowel in my family's first-name-initial acronyms: from youngest to oldest, "STAB"; from oldest to youngest, "BATS."

Library 2009 in numbers

Number of books overdue in 2009: 7

Amount of money owed, each, on 5 of those books: 1.20

Amount of money owed, each, on 2 of those books: .20

Total amount of money owed: 6.40

Number of books on CD charged to my account that mysteriously disappeared from my account after frantic days-long search for said book on CD: 1

Number of CDs in said book on CD: 5

Percent certainty on that 5 CD count: 45

Number of books charged to my account that mysteriously disappeared from my account after frantic days-long search for said book: 1

Number of nonfiction books for which my account was fined: 7

Number of movies taken out of the library since Jan. 20, 2009: 0

Number of books taken out of the library since Jan. 20, 2009: 0

Hours spent worrying about library account status since Jan. 20, 2009, minimum: 5

PSA: Mountain mama overrun by Mormons

According to Yahoo! News and the Associated Press, Utah is the happiest state in America.

West Virginia is the least happy.

At least now we know alphabetical placement by state is not an indicator of relative happiness.

Unsolicited Advice, X

If you don't like my columns, stop reading them.

PSA: Whew.

I fried my brain today by going back into the archives of my Internetted columns and searching out comments, then replying to them on my blog archive.

So for today, my unsolicited advice is all you get.

I was there, too, so that makes at least two.

Overheard, at Watchmen, Thursday midnight:

[Distinctly female voice cheers for beginning of movie.]

Guy in the crowd, shouting: "There's a girl here?!?"

PSA: Watching the Watchman's...er...

Anyone who still hasn't seen the movie should be advised that while the graphic novel Watchmen does an excellent job of obscuring the fact that Dr. Manhatten is entirely naked through most of the action of the book, the movie does not.

You just have to get used to it.

Providentially, while fighting in Vietnam and towering over the jungles as Vietcong cowered below, Dr. Manhatten still wore some form of Speedo-type underwear -- if he hadn't, I'm betting we would have seen a marked increase in Freud's "Little Hans" type disorders in comic-book crowd men.

"All I wanted was a little cream soda, oh well."

My girl: "What’s in there?"

Me: "My drink."

My girl: "What is it?"

Me: "Cream soda."

My girl: "I thought you didn’t like soda."

Me: "I try not to drink it very much because it’s very bad for you."

My girl: "That’s soda, by the way."

Me: "I know."

PSA: I'm just not that into you, Cosmo.

Before going with my girl to watch "He's Just Not That Into You," in a concession to a longer than usual day and wanting to spend it somewhere dark and quiet rather than well-lit and full of complaints, I saw an ad appearing before my email login for "You're Just Not That Into Him." So I clicked on it.

It was a Cosmo article on how you can tell when you're not interested in a guy you think you're interested in. Here are the five ways you can tell:

1. You don't think about him much when you're apart.
2. You don't especially want him to meet your friends and family.
3. It doesn't bother you when he goes out without you.
4. You're not excited to hook up with him.
5. You wonder if other guys you meet are available.

Now here's the trouble with this article, not in execution (because I don't have time for that), but in concept: The possible types of women reading this article are as follows.

A. Women who already know they're not "that into" a guy and just want to prove it.
B. Women who really, really want to be "that into" a guy, know they aren't, and are hoping to find evidence in Cosmo that they are.
C. Women who are "that into" a guy and want to feel the satisfaction of checking off a list proving it.
D. Women who don't really know how they feel and are willing to read Cosmo as they would an oracle.

Now I've known for years that Cosmo caters to insecure women, but it had never before occurred to me that the American sex tip master mag is actually written for neurotic women, ones who are (A) in need of constant reassurance, (B) willing themselves to settle for less, (C) control freaks (though possibly minor), or (D) desperate for direction.

Now that it has occurred to me, I wonder how I ever missed it. Women already comfortable with their love lives wouldn't need seventy new sex tricks that will drive him WILD!!! It's a magazine for people with problems.

It's porn for women. But while Playboy gives men an eyeful of what they (think they) want and the chance to do something about it, Cosmo encourages inaction, potential paralysis and codependence -- or else the idea that if you don't know the seventy new sex tricks, you might not drive him WILD!!! You might only drive him WILD!!

Or worse yet, just plain wild.

You have to know what you're doing, in other words, and Cosmo can help.

How is it that men get plain ol' pictures of airbrushed, beautiful women and are trusted to just know what to do with 'em, and women get a jillion-word "how-to" month after month?

Are women really that much more intellectual, or are we just socialized that way?

At any rate, I have no use for Cosmo, and in terms of allaying neuroses, this magazine isn't up to the task of advising me any more than a three-year-old is up to joining NASA -- but in case you're wondering, I clicked on the article because I'm (C).

I happen to like a nicely checked-off list.

PSA: Pi Day (Observed) Pie Party

Today at 8 p.m. will be the Pie party that I thought up totally independently of Pi Day, the nerdy, mathy holiday made up by people who like nerdy, mathy things.

Pi Day (Observed), one week before actual Pi Day, will also cater to those who like pie.

I encourage everyone, coming or not to the Pie Party, to celebrate actual Pi Day next Saturday in the manner to which you have become accustomed over years of family tradition.

New word: Mansoon

n. A single man who wreaks havoc on any other item or situation such that the item or situation appears to have been hit by a large, monsoonlike storm: as in a circumstance calling for social grace but involving a man that has none; any man's tendency to allow or encourage the build-up of fast food containers and wrappers in one's car; a man causing a total and inexplicable disarray of blankets and sheets despite experiencing only a night of uninterrupted sleep, involving no flailing or other sudden movements. Syn. "a bull in a china shop"

PSA: I watches the Watchmen.

At this time, I am watching Watchmen. The movie.

Confessions XXXII

When I got a message from "the We campaign" with the subject line "Pave the way for cleaner cars," it took me several seconds to remember "the We campaign" is about global warming, not whether Alicia has removed the junk from her car or vaccuumed it recently. Because I haven't.

I also keep a spotless house, mainly by making sure there aren't any spots uncovered on available surfaces.

P.C. has probably done as much cleaning of my house and car in the last month as I have, and he has done a better job. The only advantage I have, arguably (since it's all my stuff being cleaned up, putting me at an absolute deficit), is that I've done more (of my own) dishes. But that's only because he keeps cooking me dinner.

PSA: Bands with lead singers who can’t sing, like Bob Dylan and Tom Waits, in alphabetical order.

Good

Joy Division

This Is Exploding

Today, 3/3/09, in numbers

Number of independent comic book shops I visited today: 1

Number of independent comic book shops I planned to visit: 2

Number of days early the Matt & Kim “Grand” album arrived from Amazon: 1

Number of times I said “yesss” on seeing the Amazon package on my porch: 2

Number of times I said “yay!” on seeing the CD: 1

Number of attempts with scissors to get plastic wrap off CD: 3

Approximate number of times I listened to “Lessons Learned” between ordering “Grand” and receiving it: 30

Track time for “Lessons Learned”: 3:34

Approximate number of hours I listened to “Lessons Learned” between ordering “Grand” and receiving it: 2.25

Number of hours I spent at the newspaper: 4

Number of net words I added to my column while there: 105

Number of emails I wrote: 5

Number of interoffice messages I sent: 1

Approximate number of minutes it takes my 12-cup rice cooker to make rice: 20

Number of minutes it feels like it’s taking: 100,000

Number of inches of snow on my dead-end street: 1

Number of inches of snow on the well-traveled street off of which is my dead-end street: 0

Number of inches of snow, at its deepest, in the middle of the newspaper parking lot: 4

Number of inches of snow, at its most shallow, in the middle of the newspaper parking lot: 1

Average amount of snow, in inches, in the middle of the newspaper parking lot: 2.5

Number of times Betty slipped on the snow going in and out of the newspaper parking lot: 3

Number of episodes of Sports Night I watched before 6 p.m.: 1

Minimum number of episodes of Sports Night I plan to watch after 6 p.m.: 7

Number of meals eaten today provided by P.C.: 1

Number of meals eaten today involving dairy foods: 2

Number of different types of dairy accounted for: 3

Estimated percentage of my dishes currently dirty: 68

Number of “I Helped Save 69 Main Street” buttons I got today: 1

Number of reporters through whose hands the button passed before reaching me: 2

Amount of money and hours of volunteering I donated to the effort to save 69 Main Street, combined, in dollar-hours: 0

Number of seconds it took for me to affix the “I Helped Save 69 Main Street” button to my hoodie: 12

Mix: Oh, Trevor, I pine for you (yet again)...[V.3]

"Another Bleeding Heart" -- Alex Parker
"Hunters of the Night" -- Mr. Mister
"The Bleedin Clown" -- Manuel Chao
"Bleed" --Meshuggah
"Up All Night" -- El-P
"Statuette" -- Vampire Hands
"The Kids Don't Stand a Chance" -- Vampire Weekend
"Stakes Is High" -- De La Soul
"All Night Diner" -- Modest Mouse
"Slow Night, So Long" -- Kings of Leon

Mix: Oh Trevor, I (still) pine for you...[V.2]

"Good Ol' Fashion Nightmare" -- Matt & Kim
"Blood Bank" -- Bon Iver
"Blood" -- El-P
"Out Here All Night" -- Damones
"A Rush Of Blood To The Head" -- Coldplay
"I Bleed" -- Pixies
"And I've Seen A Bloody Shadow" -- Of Montreal
"Blood of Eden" -- Peter Gabriel
"We Suck Young Blood" -- Radiohead
"Only Shallow" -- My Bloody Valentine
"Blood Flower" -- Tilly and the Wall

PSA: White-out

Yesterday was all static, all the time, with the sky blurred by blizzard and our brains similarly addled by the white noise that comes with nor'easters in southern New England.

(Like many New Englanders, I made a useless trip to the grocery store and ended up buying milk.)

I didn't get to post to CU because (I assume) the library was also closed, leaving me Internet-access-less.

PSA: Ways to remember your dreams (the kind you have when you’re asleep)

Keep a journal or notebook next to your bed with a pen in the next blank page, uncapped -- it should be a ballpoint pen, as felt-tip pens dry out overnight, and the journal should be reachable at arm’s length from where you normally sleep on the bed.

When you wake up, lay perfectly still and let the bits of the dream you may remember drift around in your head for awhile. Don’t try to make sense of them. The goal is to re-experience them.

When you’ve rehearsed the bits of the dream you can remember enough to begin putting them into words, repeat them to yourself in your head, still without moving.

Keeping your descriptions in mind, pick up the journal and write them down.

PSA: Ways to remember your dreams (goals and aspirations)

Write them down and review them regularly.

For extra insurance, tell a critical friend or relative who will remind you of your original goals each time you fail to meet them.