my mother- my mother is a complex woman as i have come to suspect most women are. she is both the strongest and most helpless woman i know. she has been the breadwinner, the ruler of the household, and the one to count on for as long as i can remember. she is also the most emotional and irrational person i have ever had to deal with. that is my mother. the rock of our family that cannot so much as pump her own gasoline. well, will not pump her own gasoline anyway.
my mother has perfected the art of manipulation. she perfected it long before i was born. she has always been able to get my dad to do anything she wants even though he may be grumbling the entire time. other people too, but especially men. i remember being a little girl and going to my mother whenever i wanted something. not that she would actually do it for me, but she would go to my dad and get him to do it. and he did every time. at some point she began to train us girls in the sacred art of feminine manipulation. "feminine wiles" as my boyfriend refers to it now.
she began to make us go to our dad first and try to get him to do whatever it was that we wanted. it never worked. eventually we would have to go back to her as always and get her to talk my dad into it. she, of course, never failed.
at some point i gave up in my ability to manipulate. i just could not, for all of my mother's efforts, get others to do what i wanted. and then, later on in my teen years, i began to get angry at my mom for not doing things for herself and at my dad for not standing up to her. i didn't respect or understand the necessity of this interaction in their relationship. also, i failed miserably in my many attempts to manipulate and i've always hated everything that i'm not good at. sports for instance.
my disdain made me believe that i had escaped the fate of so many women. all of those women that flutter their eyelashes just so, pitch their voices into a sweeter cadence, act helpless and weak. as a feminist that disgusted me anyway and i wanted nothing to do with it.
but a woman cannot really hope to escape her fate or her childhood training. my feminine wiles have somehow snuck their way into my interactions and manage to manifest themselves without my conscious awareness. just ask my boyfriend. but now, instead of denying my heritage i go with it. i have no choice really. i was born and raised for this it seems. i have even been told that somehow, i also have a southern accent whenever i am asking ever so sweetly for a favor. now, i don't normally have a southern accent but my mother does. i think, if i were to tell her, she would be so proud.
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
Friday, December 17, 2004
now you know why i called it "nonsense"
we got off of the phone and i thought about it some more.
a few months ago i had a conversation with a friend and we agreed that people never really change. at first i tried to argue against the idea but i knew i was wrong.
i thought about that some more, too.
and here i am now.
still thinking.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
family pee stories- part two
how i almost made my sister pee in her pants
picture, if you will, me at sixteen years of age. i was not only a late bloomer; i was also a slow bloomer. meaning that my "awkward phase" had already lasted for over a quarter of my life and was showing no signs of letting up in the near future. maybe it had something to do with my coinciding "braces phase" that lasted just as long, but i had, by the age of sixteen, cultivated an attitude that i, and only i, considered mysterious and interesting. the attitude i'm referring to involved talking very little and smiling even less in the hopes that my graceless braces would be overlooked in light of the intrigue i cultivated around me wherever i went. it also involved sitting down a lot to mask my gangly and ever-growing limbs and staring off into space so others could imagine the many fascinating thoughts running through my head at all times. needless to say, all of that staring off into space and not talking led to a rather slow social agenda and so at some point i no longer had to pretend to spend most of my time daydreaming.
not that i was an airhead or even antisocial. i was just, at any given moment, somewhere far away in jenna-land where everything was always exciting and suburban life was not part of my experience.
now that i have set the stage- picture, if you will, my sister dropping me off to pick up something at the drugstore after school one day. she stopped the car in the emergency fire lane while i ran inside to get whatever it is teenage girls get at the drugstore. the new sassy magazine perhaps? hot off the press. anyway i bought my magazine or lip-gloss or wax for my braces or whatever it was and wandered back out to the car that was supposed to be parked in the fire lane right outside of the entrance exactly where it was when i went in. i was, as usual, lost in my own thoughts about how much roswell sucks and how cool my life was going to be once i got away and everyone discovered how amazing and interesting i really was beneath my boring suburban facade.
i went up to the car that was parked in the exact same spot, opened the door and got in. that was when things got a little weird. i swear to you, time slowed down. as i shut the door of the car, disturbing details began to seep into my consciousness. for one thing, my sister was driving a two-door thunderbird (can i get a "hell yeah!"?) and to properly shut such heavy doors you have to really slam them. so i got in the car and slammed the door in one unthinking motion, still lost in my teenage angst. oddly, the door was much lighter than usual and it really made some noise when i shut it. quite unusual. looking at the door wait a minute, why is there an ugly green umbrella in the side pocket of the door? i don't own an ugly green umbrella. scanning the dashboard in front of me why is the dashboard maroon? i thought it was grey. looking farther to my left why is there a cross hanging from the rearview mirror? my sister isn't religious. looking at my sister why is my sister a middle-aged, matronly african american woman looking at me like i have completely lost my mind!? oh shit.
yes, that's right. wrong car. my eyes got approximately as wide as the woman's eyes i now confronted. my mouth dropped open in solidarity with her own extreme surprise and confusion. i mumbled some incoherent apology and got out fast. the whole incident may have lasted five seconds, but it felt more like well, at least thirty seconds. maybe forty.
here's what happened- while i was inside the store my sister had pulled the car ahead about twenty feet and this poor, unsuspecting woman had taken her previous spot and i had gotten in her car and shut the door. i have no idea what she must have thought. at least i wasn't very intimidating. all gawky, brace-faced 100 pounds of me. she could have totally taken me and we both knew it.
by the time i high-tailed it to the thunderbird i had decided never to tell another soul about this mortifying incident. unfortunately my dear sister had other plans. she had seen the whole thing and was laughing so hard when i got back to the correct car that she was crying and couldn't see to make the quick getaway that i had hoped for. we sat there for ages while she laughed and cried and threw in a few heartfelt snorts here and there but she did not lose control of her bladder. damn her. she was close. i think she even said "i'm gonna pee in my pants" a few times but to no avail. if she had things may have turned out very differently. this story would not be fondly recounted at my expense whenever she gets the opportunity because she would have to pay the price of retribution. as it is i have no retribution for this story. well, actually, i do, but most of the stories concerning her exploits are x-rated or at least r-rated and i certainly can't tell them in front of my parents and grandmother... or can i?
picture, if you will, me at sixteen years of age. i was not only a late bloomer; i was also a slow bloomer. meaning that my "awkward phase" had already lasted for over a quarter of my life and was showing no signs of letting up in the near future. maybe it had something to do with my coinciding "braces phase" that lasted just as long, but i had, by the age of sixteen, cultivated an attitude that i, and only i, considered mysterious and interesting. the attitude i'm referring to involved talking very little and smiling even less in the hopes that my graceless braces would be overlooked in light of the intrigue i cultivated around me wherever i went. it also involved sitting down a lot to mask my gangly and ever-growing limbs and staring off into space so others could imagine the many fascinating thoughts running through my head at all times. needless to say, all of that staring off into space and not talking led to a rather slow social agenda and so at some point i no longer had to pretend to spend most of my time daydreaming.
not that i was an airhead or even antisocial. i was just, at any given moment, somewhere far away in jenna-land where everything was always exciting and suburban life was not part of my experience.
now that i have set the stage- picture, if you will, my sister dropping me off to pick up something at the drugstore after school one day. she stopped the car in the emergency fire lane while i ran inside to get whatever it is teenage girls get at the drugstore. the new sassy magazine perhaps? hot off the press. anyway i bought my magazine or lip-gloss or wax for my braces or whatever it was and wandered back out to the car that was supposed to be parked in the fire lane right outside of the entrance exactly where it was when i went in. i was, as usual, lost in my own thoughts about how much roswell sucks and how cool my life was going to be once i got away and everyone discovered how amazing and interesting i really was beneath my boring suburban facade.
i went up to the car that was parked in the exact same spot, opened the door and got in. that was when things got a little weird. i swear to you, time slowed down. as i shut the door of the car, disturbing details began to seep into my consciousness. for one thing, my sister was driving a two-door thunderbird (can i get a "hell yeah!"?) and to properly shut such heavy doors you have to really slam them. so i got in the car and slammed the door in one unthinking motion, still lost in my teenage angst. oddly, the door was much lighter than usual and it really made some noise when i shut it. quite unusual. looking at the door wait a minute, why is there an ugly green umbrella in the side pocket of the door? i don't own an ugly green umbrella. scanning the dashboard in front of me why is the dashboard maroon? i thought it was grey. looking farther to my left why is there a cross hanging from the rearview mirror? my sister isn't religious. looking at my sister why is my sister a middle-aged, matronly african american woman looking at me like i have completely lost my mind!? oh shit.
yes, that's right. wrong car. my eyes got approximately as wide as the woman's eyes i now confronted. my mouth dropped open in solidarity with her own extreme surprise and confusion. i mumbled some incoherent apology and got out fast. the whole incident may have lasted five seconds, but it felt more like well, at least thirty seconds. maybe forty.
here's what happened- while i was inside the store my sister had pulled the car ahead about twenty feet and this poor, unsuspecting woman had taken her previous spot and i had gotten in her car and shut the door. i have no idea what she must have thought. at least i wasn't very intimidating. all gawky, brace-faced 100 pounds of me. she could have totally taken me and we both knew it.
by the time i high-tailed it to the thunderbird i had decided never to tell another soul about this mortifying incident. unfortunately my dear sister had other plans. she had seen the whole thing and was laughing so hard when i got back to the correct car that she was crying and couldn't see to make the quick getaway that i had hoped for. we sat there for ages while she laughed and cried and threw in a few heartfelt snorts here and there but she did not lose control of her bladder. damn her. she was close. i think she even said "i'm gonna pee in my pants" a few times but to no avail. if she had things may have turned out very differently. this story would not be fondly recounted at my expense whenever she gets the opportunity because she would have to pay the price of retribution. as it is i have no retribution for this story. well, actually, i do, but most of the stories concerning her exploits are x-rated or at least r-rated and i certainly can't tell them in front of my parents and grandmother... or can i?
Sunday, December 05, 2004
family pee stories- part one
how i made my grandmother pee in her pants:
when i was about five i went on a trip with my family to the mountains to see some "indian mounds" as they were (and maybe still are?) referred to. it is possibly at this point in my life that my fascination with all things native american began. that i can't remember, but i do remember this trip vividly for other reasons as you shall see.
at the age of five i was a very willful and spirited child. (actually, according to my parents i was very willful and spirited from the moment of my birth which i think is their way of implying that i was basically a holy terror from infancy on. hard to imagine, i know. my sister, on the other hand, was the golden child before she was infected by that demon known as "puberty". always right at my mom's heels. very demure and well behaved. my how things have changed.) so, while my parents and grandmother strolled slowly along absorbing the history of the place with my sister at their side, i was on a fast track to the end of that endless serpentine mound. i couldn't see it, but i knew it had to be there and i was going to get there first and win, you know? i took off running and could hear my grandmother yelling at me. my mom, too. they were convinced that i was going to fall and roll off the edge of the mound. i ignored them as usual. i had confidence both in my ability to stay upright while running at full speed and in their ability to be overprotective. so i kept running and, wouldn't you know it, fell and rolled right down the very steep side of that indian mound.
the next thing i remember is being at the very bottom and looking up and seeing my dad peering down at me from what seemed like a million feet away. he was telling me that i had to climb back up because the sides were too steep for him to come down and get me. i thought he looked appropriately worried about my predicament.
by this time i was no longer feeling so confident about my athletic abilities and thought there was no way in hell that i could climb back up. i think i really though "there is no way in hell" because i cursed like a sailor when i was a kid. even as i thought this it was apparent to me that i really had no choice but to attempt the climb, so i bucked up and grabbed onto the ivy growing up the side of the burial mound. at heart i was a survivor.
i made several failed attempts and kept ending up unceremoniously back at the bottom. on my bottom. each time i grabbed back onto that damn ivy and tried it again. i think i was pretty close to tears by this point, but just when all seemed hopeless and i though my family would abandon me to the wilderness, i made one last desperate grab for my dad's outstretched hand and felt myself hauled up and deposited back on the top.
the reaction i expected (my mother and grandmother in tears, swooping down to comfort me and make me feel better) was certainly not what greeted me upon my return to the beaten path. my mother was trying to look stern and worried at the same time but was failing miserably because she was too preoccupied with trying not to laugh. my dear, sweet grandmother, on the other hand, was not even attempting such pretenses. she was laughing so hard that she was on the ground, had tears streaming down her face, and, get this, had peed in her pants.
she tried to stop and to apologize and act like she was all worried and shit but i knew better. i had seen the truth and it was not pretty. it involved my family laughing at my expense and my grandmother wetting her pants. i mean, seriously. she was way older than me and even i never wet my pants. my pride was injured and my dignity was offended (yes, even at five i could be pretentious). i vowed to remember this day always and, as you can see, i did.
the threat of this story comes in handy at family gatherings when my grandmother likes to tell the same embarrassing stories about me over and over. and over. like the ones where she compares me to my mysterious great uncle richard that i never had the pleasure of meeting. he was known as the "peculiar one" and i am, according to her, "just like him". she knows that she can't take this type of storytelling too far however or i might just smile and say "remember that time you..." and she would have to start telling the other stories that i like better. the ones where i was a prodigy child and everything i did was golden.
when i was about five i went on a trip with my family to the mountains to see some "indian mounds" as they were (and maybe still are?) referred to. it is possibly at this point in my life that my fascination with all things native american began. that i can't remember, but i do remember this trip vividly for other reasons as you shall see.
at the age of five i was a very willful and spirited child. (actually, according to my parents i was very willful and spirited from the moment of my birth which i think is their way of implying that i was basically a holy terror from infancy on. hard to imagine, i know. my sister, on the other hand, was the golden child before she was infected by that demon known as "puberty". always right at my mom's heels. very demure and well behaved. my how things have changed.) so, while my parents and grandmother strolled slowly along absorbing the history of the place with my sister at their side, i was on a fast track to the end of that endless serpentine mound. i couldn't see it, but i knew it had to be there and i was going to get there first and win, you know? i took off running and could hear my grandmother yelling at me. my mom, too. they were convinced that i was going to fall and roll off the edge of the mound. i ignored them as usual. i had confidence both in my ability to stay upright while running at full speed and in their ability to be overprotective. so i kept running and, wouldn't you know it, fell and rolled right down the very steep side of that indian mound.
the next thing i remember is being at the very bottom and looking up and seeing my dad peering down at me from what seemed like a million feet away. he was telling me that i had to climb back up because the sides were too steep for him to come down and get me. i thought he looked appropriately worried about my predicament.
by this time i was no longer feeling so confident about my athletic abilities and thought there was no way in hell that i could climb back up. i think i really though "there is no way in hell" because i cursed like a sailor when i was a kid. even as i thought this it was apparent to me that i really had no choice but to attempt the climb, so i bucked up and grabbed onto the ivy growing up the side of the burial mound. at heart i was a survivor.
i made several failed attempts and kept ending up unceremoniously back at the bottom. on my bottom. each time i grabbed back onto that damn ivy and tried it again. i think i was pretty close to tears by this point, but just when all seemed hopeless and i though my family would abandon me to the wilderness, i made one last desperate grab for my dad's outstretched hand and felt myself hauled up and deposited back on the top.
the reaction i expected (my mother and grandmother in tears, swooping down to comfort me and make me feel better) was certainly not what greeted me upon my return to the beaten path. my mother was trying to look stern and worried at the same time but was failing miserably because she was too preoccupied with trying not to laugh. my dear, sweet grandmother, on the other hand, was not even attempting such pretenses. she was laughing so hard that she was on the ground, had tears streaming down her face, and, get this, had peed in her pants.
she tried to stop and to apologize and act like she was all worried and shit but i knew better. i had seen the truth and it was not pretty. it involved my family laughing at my expense and my grandmother wetting her pants. i mean, seriously. she was way older than me and even i never wet my pants. my pride was injured and my dignity was offended (yes, even at five i could be pretentious). i vowed to remember this day always and, as you can see, i did.
the threat of this story comes in handy at family gatherings when my grandmother likes to tell the same embarrassing stories about me over and over. and over. like the ones where she compares me to my mysterious great uncle richard that i never had the pleasure of meeting. he was known as the "peculiar one" and i am, according to her, "just like him". she knows that she can't take this type of storytelling too far however or i might just smile and say "remember that time you..." and she would have to start telling the other stories that i like better. the ones where i was a prodigy child and everything i did was golden.
don't let the familial stance fool you. these people laughed at me. and look at me- i'm so small and innocent.
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
freak out!
it's been a while, has it not? some of you may be wondering, "where the hell has jenna been? she's gotten me all used to her charming, witty, etc., etc. posts on her blog and now she's left me high and dry. what a bitch."
well maybe not, but i like to at least pretend that someone, somewhere might be thinking that. actually, i'm pretty sure that a few someones might be thinking that last part anyway. even if they don't read my blog.
so here's the deal. i'm freaking out. completely freaking out right now so you'll have to forgive the sporadic nature of my entries for the next few weeks. i'm trying to hold onto my sanity at the moment and that is taking up quite a bit more of my time than it usually does.
why?
(perhaps you've already begun to notice my fondness for lists which i never realized until i read my own blog. funny that. so here's another list for you.)
a list of the reasons jenna is currently freaking out and wishing she had some valium and that if she did that she would not be afraid to take it because she is weird like that:
1)
2)some of these stupid schools aren't satisfied with just the general version of the gre. nope. they want the biology subject test also. another standardized means of judgment i suppose. didn't seem too awful until i talked to my friends that studied for six months for the damn thing and still failed. six months!? who thinks that far ahead anyway? luckily i have those same fabulous two weeks to learn about biochemistry, microbiology, genetics, plant physiology, animal physiology, ecology, evolution, and some other biology related crap that i can't even remember the names for because i haven't studied yet!!
3)um, i think i might happen to have a final that same week but i can't say for sure when because i haven't been to class in recent memory. actually, i know i have a final but i have chosen to ignore it for now.
(i bet you're hoping this whine-fest is going to end soon aren't you? not such luck buddy. after all, i'm not forcing you to read further. stop now before you realize how pathetic i have allowed my life to become. now you're interest has been renewed hasn't it you sick fuck? ok then.)
4)i have to move out of my apartment sometime this month because my vampirous car has finally sucked my finances completely dry despite the fact that it still needs a new starter, a transmission flush, and a couple of new door handles. since i don't have anything holding me to athens at the moment i thought this might be a grand opportunity to go somewhere new and improved for a while. of course, i have no idea where to go and even if i did i have no money and a broken car to (not) take me there. hmm. life's looking good. do you know anyone who needs a place to live or wants to buy a fabulous '91 buick skylark or a money-pit '88 jetta?
ah, venting feels good. good for me. maybe bad for you? now you know more about my life than you had ever hoped or feared. at least now you can see why i am a basket case and not posting much online. busy, busy, busy. to make you feel better, i will tell you about the bright side of this situation. on the bright side, once this month is over things will seem way better than they actually are because i won't have quite so much to freak out about. i should know where i'm going to school, where i'll be living for the next six months and, after that, the next five years. once i sell one car, i should be able to fix the other piece of crap and hopefully buy some groceries and maybe some beer. all of my shit will be in storage so i will be free. free! for the next few months anyway. san fran? new mexico? who knows which way the wind will take me. don't miss me too much athens. i may be back come august.
(ok, it's time for me to sign off until next time. i've got a 40 of icehouse and 1000 pages of biology to get through before i declare this evening to be over.)
p.s. just so you don't feel too bad for me, i spent my thanksgiving break in new york. here are some photos from the trip for you to enjoy. don't worry, be happy.
p. diddly!
somewheres in nyc
aw(e), ain't it purty?
tiny elvis says: "look at that van boys. that van is huuge!"
spying on others at the moma. sans flash of course
kgb intrigue
self (satisfied) portrait
"stop taking my fucking picture"
heading out of the city on sunday...
Sunday, November 21, 2004
binge drinking: still cool in your late twenties?
the following are just a few poignant examples of why you will no longer find me a)drinking before 10 (that's pm), b) allowing myself more than four drinks when i go out (there seems to be a line that i cross after four where i forget what the word moderation means and why it applies to the consumption of alcoholic beverages) and c) shots are a definite no no (especially tequila. especially well tequila).
1. i get really talkative and annoying when i am drunk. it's very unseemly for a woman my age. i try to make up for it by alternating being really talkative and annoying with being belligerent and mean. that way people never know what to expect and i seem more interesting.
2. i'm pretty sure i got thrown out of the forty watt last night. not for being too drunk exactly, but my drunkenness was a direct cause of the incident. here's what happened: my friend and i were just scoping out the show so we left our id's at the front door planning to go in and come right back out to tell our friends if we should all go. somehow a beer got handed to me on the way in, i saw a few friends and forgot that i hadn't paid and wasn't supposed to be there. seriously. i got caught with a beer in my hand by the angry door guy and he dragged me out by the collar and threw me on the ground. then he spit on me and told me never to come back. ok, not really, but he did think i was trying to scam my way in for a free show which is just as bad. i mean that is so, you know, uncool. of course i was then too embarrassed to go back in even though, by that point, we wanted to see the show.
3. i am having trouble thinking and writing anything that makes sense. right this very moment. a good 16 hours after my last drink was drunk. that is sad. if this entry happens to be especially not funny and/or terrible just know it is merely a reflection of how i feel. i feel like a very bad hangover. is that possible?.
4. i woke up this morning and hit myself on the forehead (which did nothing to ease my headache and was a very dumb thing to do) because i could remember how annoying i was last night. there are two possible remedies for this embarrassed morning after scenario. i could either make sure that i drink so much next time that i don't remember anything or i can do the responsible thing and drink less. the odds that i will embarrass myself while sober are still good, but i will at least have a fighting chance to maintain my composure.
5. i like to whisper (yell) stories about people to my friends and stare right at the person i am talking about while doing so. they, of course, know instantly that i am talking about them and hate me. i, on the other hand, am secure in the knowledge that i am not being completely obvious and keep right on blabbing while they shoot me eat-shit-and-die-you-gossipy-bitch looks that i fail to notice.
6. did i mention that i get very annoying when i'm drunk? right.
7. and finally...drinking too much is sinful and god condemns sinners. ha, ha. just kidding.
now i'm sure you're wondering, is jenna really going to stick to her rules as listed in a, b, and c? what, are you asking me? how the hell should i know?
ok, i think i can safely answer that question now. the answer is a resounding NO!
1. i get really talkative and annoying when i am drunk. it's very unseemly for a woman my age. i try to make up for it by alternating being really talkative and annoying with being belligerent and mean. that way people never know what to expect and i seem more interesting.
2. i'm pretty sure i got thrown out of the forty watt last night. not for being too drunk exactly, but my drunkenness was a direct cause of the incident. here's what happened: my friend and i were just scoping out the show so we left our id's at the front door planning to go in and come right back out to tell our friends if we should all go. somehow a beer got handed to me on the way in, i saw a few friends and forgot that i hadn't paid and wasn't supposed to be there. seriously. i got caught with a beer in my hand by the angry door guy and he dragged me out by the collar and threw me on the ground. then he spit on me and told me never to come back. ok, not really, but he did think i was trying to scam my way in for a free show which is just as bad. i mean that is so, you know, uncool. of course i was then too embarrassed to go back in even though, by that point, we wanted to see the show.
3. i am having trouble thinking and writing anything that makes sense. right this very moment. a good 16 hours after my last drink was drunk. that is sad. if this entry happens to be especially not funny and/or terrible just know it is merely a reflection of how i feel. i feel like a very bad hangover. is that possible?.
4. i woke up this morning and hit myself on the forehead (which did nothing to ease my headache and was a very dumb thing to do) because i could remember how annoying i was last night. there are two possible remedies for this embarrassed morning after scenario. i could either make sure that i drink so much next time that i don't remember anything or i can do the responsible thing and drink less. the odds that i will embarrass myself while sober are still good, but i will at least have a fighting chance to maintain my composure.
5. i like to whisper (yell) stories about people to my friends and stare right at the person i am talking about while doing so. they, of course, know instantly that i am talking about them and hate me. i, on the other hand, am secure in the knowledge that i am not being completely obvious and keep right on blabbing while they shoot me eat-shit-and-die-you-gossipy-bitch looks that i fail to notice.
6. did i mention that i get very annoying when i'm drunk? right.
7. and finally...drinking too much is sinful and god condemns sinners. ha, ha. just kidding.
now i'm sure you're wondering, is jenna really going to stick to her rules as listed in a, b, and c? what, are you asking me? how the hell should i know?
ok, i think i can safely answer that question now. the answer is a resounding NO!
Thursday, November 18, 2004
back in my day
what is up with athens, ga? supposed home of more pretentious townie music junkies than any other college town in the nation, but i no longer have faith in that statistic. music fans my ass. i am feeling old and out of touch which, in turn, makes me feel bitter. and old.
just the other week john cale played here. you know, the john cale. guess what? the show didn't sell out. not even close as far as i could tell. now this week, the killers are playing and it sold out well before show time. like a week before. not that i don't like the killers. "somebody told me that you have a boyfriend..." and all that. fun stuff (although it gets stuck in my head and refuses to leave until i force it out with the other song that gets repeatedly stuck in my head. that would be "static on the radio" by jim white. the two are on rotation in my brain). my point is just that, while the killers are fun, they are certainly not on par with john cale as far as innovation and staying power go. i bet no one will even know who they are in a few years. the strokes who?
of course, what it really comes down to is this- most of the music fans in athens may just be "fans" because it's cool. they might not even, heaven forbid, really give a shit about the music at all. it's more about the scene. if you've ever been to a show here then you know what i'm talking about. there is so much socializing that you're lucky if you can even hear the music, much less appreciate it. a symptom or a cause? well, none of this is new to anyone living here and i'm certainly not trying to imply that there aren't any true music fans in athens. far from it. so i'll stop being pretentious(!) and get to my point.
my point is that i feel old. soon i'm going to start conversations with "back in my day".
in fact, i think i'll give it a go. here. right now. ok, back in my day i think things were unfortunately pretty much the same as they are now. back in my day we were obnoxious and loud and disrespectful to the musicians that we paid good money to see. back in my day we drank so much that we completely forgot every moment of the concert we had been waiting months, maybe even years, to go to. back in my day people were pretty much pretentious posers.
hell yeah, i guess i'm not that old after all! my day is still running strong. at least here in athens. aka "never-never land". here's to being an adolescent forever...
back in my day- drunk in 1995
very, very recently. some things stay the same.
p.s. speaking of jim white, my new test of friendship worthiness is this: what do you think of the song "if jesus drove a motorhome"? yes, i will judge you based on your answer. that is the point of a test after all.
just the other week john cale played here. you know, the john cale. guess what? the show didn't sell out. not even close as far as i could tell. now this week, the killers are playing and it sold out well before show time. like a week before. not that i don't like the killers. "somebody told me that you have a boyfriend..." and all that. fun stuff (although it gets stuck in my head and refuses to leave until i force it out with the other song that gets repeatedly stuck in my head. that would be "static on the radio" by jim white. the two are on rotation in my brain). my point is just that, while the killers are fun, they are certainly not on par with john cale as far as innovation and staying power go. i bet no one will even know who they are in a few years. the strokes who?
of course, what it really comes down to is this- most of the music fans in athens may just be "fans" because it's cool. they might not even, heaven forbid, really give a shit about the music at all. it's more about the scene. if you've ever been to a show here then you know what i'm talking about. there is so much socializing that you're lucky if you can even hear the music, much less appreciate it. a symptom or a cause? well, none of this is new to anyone living here and i'm certainly not trying to imply that there aren't any true music fans in athens. far from it. so i'll stop being pretentious(!) and get to my point.
my point is that i feel old. soon i'm going to start conversations with "back in my day".
in fact, i think i'll give it a go. here. right now. ok, back in my day i think things were unfortunately pretty much the same as they are now. back in my day we were obnoxious and loud and disrespectful to the musicians that we paid good money to see. back in my day we drank so much that we completely forgot every moment of the concert we had been waiting months, maybe even years, to go to. back in my day people were pretty much pretentious posers.
hell yeah, i guess i'm not that old after all! my day is still running strong. at least here in athens. aka "never-never land". here's to being an adolescent forever...
back in my day- drunk in 1995
very, very recently. some things stay the same.
p.s. speaking of jim white, my new test of friendship worthiness is this: what do you think of the song "if jesus drove a motorhome"? yes, i will judge you based on your answer. that is the point of a test after all.
Thursday, November 11, 2004
ring of fire
tonight i was walking through campus. everything was quiet and peaceful and a little bit sinister. just me and the trees and the empty brick buildings. i liked it. then through the trees i heard a man downtown singing "ring of fire" by johnny cash. i could hear his voice but not his guitar. an accidental acappella version created by the acoustics of the trees and the quiet night. the singing was oddly amplified and it overpowered everything else in the almost-silence of nighttime north campus. it was the only thing i heard as i walked. i kept walking and the song kept fading behind me until i could no longer hear the man singing it and i was left alone in my silence.
later on i went to fox's to relieve some stress with a few friends and a few beers. at some point a man sang his own rather grating rendition of "ring of fire". i was reminded of my experience from earlier in the evening and wondered if the song had some significance for me this night. i decided that it did not and i went home.
later on i went to fox's to relieve some stress with a few friends and a few beers. at some point a man sang his own rather grating rendition of "ring of fire". i was reminded of my experience from earlier in the evening and wondered if the song had some significance for me this night. i decided that it did not and i went home.
Friday, November 05, 2004
defeatist optimism
i can't. i can't even think about it right now. so it looks as though i'll write about it instead. about how bitterly disappointed i am to live in a country that is so egotistical, so globally isolated, so closed-minded, so stupid as to have reelected bush as president. this election, on top of everything else, has made me feel so utterly hopeless. like i want to give in and either move away to a saner, more logical country that doesn't believe in and incorporate every thought and skewed ideal spoon fed to them by the media like a bunch of mindless fools or maybe i'll just forget it all and stay in bed for a long, long time.
its strange to live your entire life feeling proud to be american. proud of your country and what it stands for. then to one day finally grow up. to think for yourself and see that what you'd always believed in is nothing more than a bunch of horseshit. horseshit that the majority of americans seem to prefer to wallow in rather than thinking beyond what they can hear and touch and see in their limited experience. so here we are, caught in our own self-made, self-righteous bubble of ignorance and i'm stuck outside. happy to be out but feeling lost just the same. feeling like i'm out of touch with the pulse of my country and not knowing how or when it happened. realizing that i've lived in my own self-created bubble of another sort. and now i want to just give up and leave this nation to progress (or maybe its regress) towards the bleak future it seems to want.
then again, even though i'm feeling alone and hopeless, it turns out that almost one half of this country is feeling exactly the same way. i've gotten e-mails form moveon.org, greenpeace, and even john kerry himself in the past couple of days. form letters sent out to thousands, maybe millions of people. nothing meant especially for me. even so, a specific part of the greenpeace letter really got to the heart of how i feel right now and knowing that it was just a mass e-mail didn't take away from its power to bring me back from that hopelessness. in fact, it was that characteristic alone that made me feel better. to feel like maybe i'm not as out of touch with reality as i thought. if that form letter seemed to speak out to the core of my disillusionment so precisely it meant that that disillusionment is something i share with the millions of others who received the same e-mail. glory be and hallelujah! check it out, i'm not alone in my misery after all. i've got half the country right there with me. what a beautiful thing. not that i want you all to feel as miserable as i do, but its just the place we're all starting from, not necessarily where we'll end up.
"When you listen to President Bush and feel disenfranchised, when you feel like your government doesn't represent you, when you feel like it is no longer your country, savor that feeling. Before Gandhi, King, Lewis, Parks, Muir and Thoreau went on to do great things, they all felt that way. They felt it, it made them angry, and then it motivated them. Now it's our turn. Feel pissed off. Then together we will turn it into something...We all need to spend some time being pissed off. Feeling shock. Mourning. Then we have to act. Our cause is just. We can not afford to be defeated, or to be defeatist."
John Passacantando,Executive Director, Greenpeace
for some added perspective on the division of this country:
http://www.boingboing.net/images/Purple-USA.jpg
its strange to live your entire life feeling proud to be american. proud of your country and what it stands for. then to one day finally grow up. to think for yourself and see that what you'd always believed in is nothing more than a bunch of horseshit. horseshit that the majority of americans seem to prefer to wallow in rather than thinking beyond what they can hear and touch and see in their limited experience. so here we are, caught in our own self-made, self-righteous bubble of ignorance and i'm stuck outside. happy to be out but feeling lost just the same. feeling like i'm out of touch with the pulse of my country and not knowing how or when it happened. realizing that i've lived in my own self-created bubble of another sort. and now i want to just give up and leave this nation to progress (or maybe its regress) towards the bleak future it seems to want.
then again, even though i'm feeling alone and hopeless, it turns out that almost one half of this country is feeling exactly the same way. i've gotten e-mails form moveon.org, greenpeace, and even john kerry himself in the past couple of days. form letters sent out to thousands, maybe millions of people. nothing meant especially for me. even so, a specific part of the greenpeace letter really got to the heart of how i feel right now and knowing that it was just a mass e-mail didn't take away from its power to bring me back from that hopelessness. in fact, it was that characteristic alone that made me feel better. to feel like maybe i'm not as out of touch with reality as i thought. if that form letter seemed to speak out to the core of my disillusionment so precisely it meant that that disillusionment is something i share with the millions of others who received the same e-mail. glory be and hallelujah! check it out, i'm not alone in my misery after all. i've got half the country right there with me. what a beautiful thing. not that i want you all to feel as miserable as i do, but its just the place we're all starting from, not necessarily where we'll end up.
"When you listen to President Bush and feel disenfranchised, when you feel like your government doesn't represent you, when you feel like it is no longer your country, savor that feeling. Before Gandhi, King, Lewis, Parks, Muir and Thoreau went on to do great things, they all felt that way. They felt it, it made them angry, and then it motivated them. Now it's our turn. Feel pissed off. Then together we will turn it into something...We all need to spend some time being pissed off. Feeling shock. Mourning. Then we have to act. Our cause is just. We can not afford to be defeated, or to be defeatist."
John Passacantando,Executive Director, Greenpeace
for some added perspective on the division of this country:
http://www.boingboing.net/images/Purple-USA.jpg
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
yes sir
so here i am, transferring my myspace blog to the world of real blogs. i'm new at this so wish me luck. all of my archives were originally on myspace but i will try to spruce them up a little for you my dear readers. myspace, if you are one of the uninitiated, is very silly, very addictive, and a fabulous way to waste time and gawk at wierd people from a safe cyber-distance. if you feel intrigued and inclined to join, just don't blame me- as you can see, i am moving on. or maybe just adding to my internet addictions.
Saturday, October 30, 2004
car repairs and reconciliation
me and my jetta. together again. (in the background is my soon-to-be former home)
what follows is a car story of horror and possible eviction. read on. try not to enjoy it too much.
"fixing" your 1988 volkswagon jetta at athens automotive: 225$
replacing the catalytic converter on said car: 280$
fixing what was originally wrong with the car and replacing the parts of the engine that got burned up by the original "repair job": 280$
having a piece of shit car that you love for some stupid reason and can now drive again (once you pay to get an updated tag for it): no, not priceless. that shit has cost me over 750 dollars already and i still have to climb in from the passenger's side (75$ to fix door handle but, alas, i am finally out of money).
getting evicted from your apartment because you spent all of your money fixing your car: free (unless your landlord decides to sue you)
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
about me, personally.
so, i've gotten some nutty requests to make my blog more personal. to let myself open up and expose the dirt in my soul. the passions in my heart. right. if you know me at all, you know that is not very likely to happen. my blog, just as i am, is subtle in its emotional expression. its about me, sure, but you have to read between the lines to reach me. if you can't do that then you're just shit out of luck as my mama used to say.
in any case, since i cannot as yet be satisfyingly forthcoming with my internet friends i looked my name up on googlism.com to see what insights the internet has into my psyche. here are the ones i picked from the long list it supplied. that should give you a start at least.
this is me
"jenna is" (take one):
"jenna is not quite sure how it's all done but jenna is ecstatic jenna is insisting it is her decision alone jenna is feeling sick jenna is crazy about rod but wonders exactly where jenna is jenna is to imagine a television that has lost its reception jenna is torn about her future jenna is a really nice girl and really smart jenna is a slave jenna is more than a woman jenna is a chameleon jenna is all business on the wrestling mat jenna is going to be going on hiatus jenna is a cheerful and sociable girl with a strong independent streak jenna is insane to the point of absurdity jenna is soon displaced jenna is now dead jenna is in love with art jenna is no dumbass jenna is able to see visitors jenna is also befrinded by the novel's smartest character jenna is a wonderful shoesalesperson jenna is still with her rescuer but is searching for a forever home
jenna is waiting
jenna is like that also in real life"
in any case, since i cannot as yet be satisfyingly forthcoming with my internet friends i looked my name up on googlism.com to see what insights the internet has into my psyche. here are the ones i picked from the long list it supplied. that should give you a start at least.
this is me
"jenna is" (take one):
"jenna is not quite sure how it's all done but jenna is ecstatic jenna is insisting it is her decision alone jenna is feeling sick jenna is crazy about rod but wonders exactly where jenna is jenna is to imagine a television that has lost its reception jenna is torn about her future jenna is a really nice girl and really smart jenna is a slave jenna is more than a woman jenna is a chameleon jenna is all business on the wrestling mat jenna is going to be going on hiatus jenna is a cheerful and sociable girl with a strong independent streak jenna is insane to the point of absurdity jenna is soon displaced jenna is now dead jenna is in love with art jenna is no dumbass jenna is able to see visitors jenna is also befrinded by the novel's smartest character jenna is a wonderful shoesalesperson jenna is still with her rescuer but is searching for a forever home
jenna is waiting
jenna is like that also in real life"
Friday, October 08, 2004
what's the big deal? lake michigan is always full of shit.
granted, it's a bit unusual for it to get dumped onto the heads of unsuspecting tourists but is that really so out of character for chicago? don't get me wrong, i love chicago but it is the city renowned for the cow with arsenist tendencies, for roads full of gangstas bootlegging when they weren't too busy shooting eachother full of bullets, for the infamously disgusting meat packing industry which served as inspiration for animal farm, and now for dumping shit on its visitors. why not?
seriously though, lake michigan, while it may be beautiful, is a teeming cesspool of human excrement and garbage.
have you ever seen children frolicking among broken bottles, used condoms, half-eaten hamburgers, and the occassional half-buried hypodermic needle? yes folks, that's right. it's just another day at north avenue beach. bring the entire family. and don't forget to tell your kids to shit in the water. it's so much easier than taking bathroom breaks after all.
ok, i may be exaggerating, but only slightly. very slightly.
i actually went swimming in the lake once. it was amazing. it was dusk, the sun was going down and my friends and i had ridden out to the waterfront on our bikes. at the time we were fueled by more than a little alcohol and youthful exuberance. hey let's jump in the water! fully clothed of course. sounds awesome doesn't it? and it was. swimming in the dark with the chicago skyline lit up behind us. it was pretty amazing. until the next day that is.
the next day i was again riding my bike along the shoreline and i noticed all of these little silver things floating in the water. i could see them from the corner of my eye for the entire ride from where i lived a few miles north of downtown until i reached the spot where i had gone swimming the night before. "what the hell were they?" you might be inclined to ask. well, you guessed it. hundreds and hundreds of dead fish. gross.
hi, i'm a dead fish
ok, these are the actual dead fish from that day. not as pretty as the first picture, huh? reality. who needs it. moving on...
unfortunately these fish did not appear to be recently deceased either. they were so dead that even the gulls were leaving them alone. if you are as familiar with the gulls of lake michigan as i am you will realize the significance of their refusal to partake of such an easy meal. shit, even the fish that like to peck out the eyeballs of their dead cousins weren't having any of it. not a single eyeball missing from any one of those hundreds of unfortunate little guys.
the normally voracious residents of lake michigan
now, i never found out what caused the mass extinction of the fish but it was not long after that the entire lake was closed down. i'm not really sure how you close down a lake as large as lake michigan, but the city of chicago did it. or tried to at least. the reason: an accidental overflow from the sewage treatment plant. i no longer remember the exact number of gallons that spewed forth into the lake, but it was an impressively large amount. large enough to close down the lake in the middle of the summer (also known as "lake season" in chicago).
the two incidents may or may not be related but i can tell you this with certainty- i was not one of the many recreation seekers who took to the water three days later when the lake "reopened" to the public. no sir. not me.
seriously though, lake michigan, while it may be beautiful, is a teeming cesspool of human excrement and garbage.
have you ever seen children frolicking among broken bottles, used condoms, half-eaten hamburgers, and the occassional half-buried hypodermic needle? yes folks, that's right. it's just another day at north avenue beach. bring the entire family. and don't forget to tell your kids to shit in the water. it's so much easier than taking bathroom breaks after all.
ok, i may be exaggerating, but only slightly. very slightly.
i actually went swimming in the lake once. it was amazing. it was dusk, the sun was going down and my friends and i had ridden out to the waterfront on our bikes. at the time we were fueled by more than a little alcohol and youthful exuberance. hey let's jump in the water! fully clothed of course. sounds awesome doesn't it? and it was. swimming in the dark with the chicago skyline lit up behind us. it was pretty amazing. until the next day that is.
the next day i was again riding my bike along the shoreline and i noticed all of these little silver things floating in the water. i could see them from the corner of my eye for the entire ride from where i lived a few miles north of downtown until i reached the spot where i had gone swimming the night before. "what the hell were they?" you might be inclined to ask. well, you guessed it. hundreds and hundreds of dead fish. gross.
hi, i'm a dead fish
ok, these are the actual dead fish from that day. not as pretty as the first picture, huh? reality. who needs it. moving on...
unfortunately these fish did not appear to be recently deceased either. they were so dead that even the gulls were leaving them alone. if you are as familiar with the gulls of lake michigan as i am you will realize the significance of their refusal to partake of such an easy meal. shit, even the fish that like to peck out the eyeballs of their dead cousins weren't having any of it. not a single eyeball missing from any one of those hundreds of unfortunate little guys.
the normally voracious residents of lake michigan
now, i never found out what caused the mass extinction of the fish but it was not long after that the entire lake was closed down. i'm not really sure how you close down a lake as large as lake michigan, but the city of chicago did it. or tried to at least. the reason: an accidental overflow from the sewage treatment plant. i no longer remember the exact number of gallons that spewed forth into the lake, but it was an impressively large amount. large enough to close down the lake in the middle of the summer (also known as "lake season" in chicago).
the two incidents may or may not be related but i can tell you this with certainty- i was not one of the many recreation seekers who took to the water three days later when the lake "reopened" to the public. no sir. not me.
Sunday, October 03, 2004
the dead guy in my front yard
fact: there is a legitimate headstone underneath the magnolia tree in my front yard. it appears to be granite and reads as follows-
William Henry Parker
Sgt U.S. Army
Korea
Sept. 21, 1928
July 14, 1995
strange coincidence: my next door neighbor who has lived in his house for only three years just happens to have the name Henry Parker. he claims to know nothing of the grave and appears to be undisturbed by the fact that there is a headstone bearing his name in my yard. i find this odd.
theories as to why there is a headstone in my front yard (put forth by myself and friends with varying degrees of seriousness):
theroy 1) there is an actual dead person who was formerly known as William Henry Parker and served in the u.s. armed forces during the korean war buried in my front yard. under the magnolia tree.
why theory 1 (although my favorite) is unlikely to be true: i seriously doubt that it was legal a mere nine years ago to bury someone in a residential area. too bad.
theory 2) it is not an actual gravesite, but is still the final resting site for Mr. Parker's remains. it is possible that he was cremated and had his ashes scattered underneath his favorite magnolia tree which just happens to be in my front yard. his survivors (i like to imagine a kindly old widow) then had the headstone placed there in fond rememberance.
why theory 2 is unlikely: my house is currently owned by the former owner of big city bread who does not bear the surname Parker. she is also a fairly young woman who most likely lived in the house in 1995 when the ash scattering would have occured. i don't think she would have appreciated this very much.
theory 3) some punk kids that used to live in my house stole the headstone from a graveyard and put it under the tree because they thought it was funny. alcohol and extreme immaturity were likely to be involved in this scenario.
why theory 3 is likely: the headstone is not the only thing underneath the magnolia tree. there is also a broken decorative column, a plaster finial of some sort, and a couple of unfinished, polished slabs of marble. punk kids can be destructive and disrespectful of property. even the property of the dead.
why theory 3 is unlikely: punk kids would be too lazy to steal and carry all of that heavy stone unless it was perhaps part of a fraternity hazing ritual. there is, in fact, a large fraternity house across the street from me but that would still not explain why they put everything under my tree so we will move on.
theory 4) a stonecutter used to live in my house or in its vicinity sometime around 1995. William Henry Parker's widow was dissatisfied by the quality of the headstone she ordered to commemorate the death of her husband and refused to buy it. the stonecutter didn't really know what to do with it so he put it under the magnolia tree with the rest of his gravestone-making refuse. the limbs of the magnolia tree hid everything pretty well.
why theory 4 is both likely and unlikely: it's weird.
a final theory about who Mr. William Henry Parker was and what he did after retiring from the u.s. army: Henry was known to his friends as "Prince Rondaval" (for unknown reasons) and he went on to build that unique complex known as the "Prince Rondaval Apartments" which is located a few hundred feet from my house and the aforementioned magnolia tree. he wished to be buried under his favorite tree, close to the ultimate expression of his artistic and utilitarian vision.
one final word: if Henry (i think i can be on a first name basis with the dead guy in my yard) is actually buried under that tree, i hope that he isn't as disturbed as i am by the male resident of the prince rondaval apartment complex that yells incessantly every friday night. that yell could wake the dead and i'm not sure that is something that either Henry or i would want.
R.I.P. William Henry Parker
under the magnolia there lies a suprise...
William Henry Parker
Sgt U.S. Army
Korea
Sept. 21, 1928
July 14, 1995
strange coincidence: my next door neighbor who has lived in his house for only three years just happens to have the name Henry Parker. he claims to know nothing of the grave and appears to be undisturbed by the fact that there is a headstone bearing his name in my yard. i find this odd.
theories as to why there is a headstone in my front yard (put forth by myself and friends with varying degrees of seriousness):
theroy 1) there is an actual dead person who was formerly known as William Henry Parker and served in the u.s. armed forces during the korean war buried in my front yard. under the magnolia tree.
why theory 1 (although my favorite) is unlikely to be true: i seriously doubt that it was legal a mere nine years ago to bury someone in a residential area. too bad.
theory 2) it is not an actual gravesite, but is still the final resting site for Mr. Parker's remains. it is possible that he was cremated and had his ashes scattered underneath his favorite magnolia tree which just happens to be in my front yard. his survivors (i like to imagine a kindly old widow) then had the headstone placed there in fond rememberance.
why theory 2 is unlikely: my house is currently owned by the former owner of big city bread who does not bear the surname Parker. she is also a fairly young woman who most likely lived in the house in 1995 when the ash scattering would have occured. i don't think she would have appreciated this very much.
theory 3) some punk kids that used to live in my house stole the headstone from a graveyard and put it under the tree because they thought it was funny. alcohol and extreme immaturity were likely to be involved in this scenario.
why theory 3 is likely: the headstone is not the only thing underneath the magnolia tree. there is also a broken decorative column, a plaster finial of some sort, and a couple of unfinished, polished slabs of marble. punk kids can be destructive and disrespectful of property. even the property of the dead.
why theory 3 is unlikely: punk kids would be too lazy to steal and carry all of that heavy stone unless it was perhaps part of a fraternity hazing ritual. there is, in fact, a large fraternity house across the street from me but that would still not explain why they put everything under my tree so we will move on.
theory 4) a stonecutter used to live in my house or in its vicinity sometime around 1995. William Henry Parker's widow was dissatisfied by the quality of the headstone she ordered to commemorate the death of her husband and refused to buy it. the stonecutter didn't really know what to do with it so he put it under the magnolia tree with the rest of his gravestone-making refuse. the limbs of the magnolia tree hid everything pretty well.
why theory 4 is both likely and unlikely: it's weird.
a final theory about who Mr. William Henry Parker was and what he did after retiring from the u.s. army: Henry was known to his friends as "Prince Rondaval" (for unknown reasons) and he went on to build that unique complex known as the "Prince Rondaval Apartments" which is located a few hundred feet from my house and the aforementioned magnolia tree. he wished to be buried under his favorite tree, close to the ultimate expression of his artistic and utilitarian vision.
one final word: if Henry (i think i can be on a first name basis with the dead guy in my yard) is actually buried under that tree, i hope that he isn't as disturbed as i am by the male resident of the prince rondaval apartment complex that yells incessantly every friday night. that yell could wake the dead and i'm not sure that is something that either Henry or i would want.
R.I.P. William Henry Parker
under the magnolia there lies a suprise...
Saturday, October 02, 2004
words of enlightenment from our esteemed president, george w.
yeah, i know. you've already seen these. but they're so damn funny. in a horribly non-funny way.
"I am not part of the problem. I am a Republican"
"A low voter turnout is an indication of fewer people going to the polls."
"For NASA, space is still a high priority."
"It isn't pollution that's harming the environment. It's the impurities in our air and water that are doing it."
the inspiring george w. ( our soon to be EX-president).
"I am not part of the problem. I am a Republican"
"A low voter turnout is an indication of fewer people going to the polls."
"For NASA, space is still a high priority."
"It isn't pollution that's harming the environment. It's the impurities in our air and water that are doing it."
the inspiring george w. ( our soon to be EX-president).
Friday, October 01, 2004
i'm a liar
all of these years i've been telling people that i'm six feet tall even though i know that i'm not. here's the thing, i forgot that i'm really only 5'11 and 1/2. really. i've been lying to people for so long that i forgot the truth. i was convinced that i'm really six feet tall until i was measured the other day at the doctor's office. and then i remembered.
so now you know, i'm a liar. however, i refuse to take full responsibility for my lapse in character. you see, before i was a liar, when i used to tell people exactly how tall i am, no one ever believed me. i guess i just look that half inch taller. or maybe i'm supposed to round off. you know, like all men do- "yes, i'm 6 feet tall" (meaning really that he is about 5'10" with shoes on. shoes that have very thick soles). shit, does that mean i have to start telling people i'm 6'2"?
then i get the "there's no way you're only (only!?) six feet tall. that's how tall i am and you're taller than me." yeah, that's how tall you are in that little liar's head of yours that's now convinced itself that it the top of it truly does reach that 72 inch mark on the wall. keep dreaming buddy.
but i understand, really i do. remembering the truth just isn't that easy when your head is filled with so many better "truths".
maybe i should start telling people i'm 5'10". that's always seemed like such a nice height. if i say it enough times maybe i really will be 5'10". if i can convince myself then maybe i can convince my jeans and they will miraculously become long enough and i could live happily ever after with my long, legitimately frayed-on-the-bottom jeans. oh, to be so lucky. plus it would be fun to fuck with those guys that like to think they're taller than they are. if i'm only 5'10" that would make them about 5'7". ha. you know boys, i hear artfully placed trucker hats can add a couple of inches. plus thay cover that receding hairline perfectly.
so now you know, i'm a liar. however, i refuse to take full responsibility for my lapse in character. you see, before i was a liar, when i used to tell people exactly how tall i am, no one ever believed me. i guess i just look that half inch taller. or maybe i'm supposed to round off. you know, like all men do- "yes, i'm 6 feet tall" (meaning really that he is about 5'10" with shoes on. shoes that have very thick soles). shit, does that mean i have to start telling people i'm 6'2"?
then i get the "there's no way you're only (only!?) six feet tall. that's how tall i am and you're taller than me." yeah, that's how tall you are in that little liar's head of yours that's now convinced itself that it the top of it truly does reach that 72 inch mark on the wall. keep dreaming buddy.
but i understand, really i do. remembering the truth just isn't that easy when your head is filled with so many better "truths".
maybe i should start telling people i'm 5'10". that's always seemed like such a nice height. if i say it enough times maybe i really will be 5'10". if i can convince myself then maybe i can convince my jeans and they will miraculously become long enough and i could live happily ever after with my long, legitimately frayed-on-the-bottom jeans. oh, to be so lucky. plus it would be fun to fuck with those guys that like to think they're taller than they are. if i'm only 5'10" that would make them about 5'7". ha. you know boys, i hear artfully placed trucker hats can add a couple of inches. plus thay cover that receding hairline perfectly.
Friday, August 20, 2004
thanks willie!
it's no secret that i'm not a fan of the current administration in the white house. in fact, i've gone so far as to admit that i am now ashamed of being an american to some sympathetic, yet slightly confused canadians. they wanted to know if my daily life had really changed that much since bush was "elected". i admitted that wasn't the case. it's more subtle than that- the pride i felt in being an american has been strongly challenged (or more truthfully, completely annihilated) in these past few years.
the pro-american bumper stickers and the like really get me going. being patriotic has become something unsavory and REPUBLICAN. yuck. although truthfully, i don't consider myself to be a true democrat, just not a george w. bush right wing, conservative, anti-choice, pre-emptive strike republican.
that's why i'd like to thank willie nelson for reminding me that there is nothing wrong with being patriotic. sounds a little silly doesn't it? but i'll give credit where it's due. patriotism doesn't equate with being a scared, mindless follower of government policy. willie nelson is a truly proud american, in the traditional manner of historic american patriotism- he loves his country but recognizes its issues and speaks out about them when he can. maybe i'm wrong, but i'd bet that he's no george w. fan either.
i saw willie in concert the other day and cringed when a giant american flag unfurled behind him to the cheers of the crowd. then i realized that i'm letting my frustration with one administration color my experience of being a young, politically-minded american. shit, i'm too young to be bitter. i don't need to give up on my country just yet. i can wait until the outcome of the election at least. (that's almost sarcasm.)
the pro-american bumper stickers and the like really get me going. being patriotic has become something unsavory and REPUBLICAN. yuck. although truthfully, i don't consider myself to be a true democrat, just not a george w. bush right wing, conservative, anti-choice, pre-emptive strike republican.
that's why i'd like to thank willie nelson for reminding me that there is nothing wrong with being patriotic. sounds a little silly doesn't it? but i'll give credit where it's due. patriotism doesn't equate with being a scared, mindless follower of government policy. willie nelson is a truly proud american, in the traditional manner of historic american patriotism- he loves his country but recognizes its issues and speaks out about them when he can. maybe i'm wrong, but i'd bet that he's no george w. fan either.
i saw willie in concert the other day and cringed when a giant american flag unfurled behind him to the cheers of the crowd. then i realized that i'm letting my frustration with one administration color my experience of being a young, politically-minded american. shit, i'm too young to be bitter. i don't need to give up on my country just yet. i can wait until the outcome of the election at least. (that's almost sarcasm.)
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