31 March 2008

0 march: a revue

in no particular order & uttered by various citizens of the Oline in the City world

"where did you get all your torsos?"

"it's kind of like 'where shakespeare was born'ish architecture."

"we really get the short end of the stick.
"i know, it's not like men have to buy skirts and purses and stuff."
"well, they could..."
"yeah, and then we wouldn't call them men. we would call them transvestites."

"i think that's why our relationship lasted so long. i made such good koolaide."

"it's nice to know that even if we do have to leave, we won't be leaving decades of kari and james in roanoke behind!"

"i'm not interested in escapades."

"i'm so manly, if i got AIDS i would just walk it off."

"scary how time liquifies when you have no concrete job."

"i try not to smell like food."

"she's a totally unprofessional bitch and she gets away with it and everybody pussyfoots around because she's got mental problems and debt. it's just not fair that you have to put up with this because you're sane with good credit."

"that would be the suck."

"they are a nation of cobblers."

"oh no! a banana blight!"

30 March 2008

0 rebel with a cause


i don't think the word rebel would ever pop into anyone's head when they think about me. sarcastic, brightly dressed, irreverent, and giggly, yes. but not rebel. because i'm not really rebellious. i had a slight problem talking too much in mrs. woody's calculus class and continue to have a bit of a lead foot, but otherwise i follow the rules.

except when it comes to recipes. i cannot follow a recipe.

i leave out oil and eggs. i throw in extra milk. i substitute confectioners sugar for salt. i make chicken and rice without the chicken. i use catalina dressing instead of western because it's fat free and they're both red then toss in hot sauce to make up the difference. i halve and third them- as though i actually have a working grasp of fractions of cups and fluid ounces.

i don't know where this comes from. this culinary anarchy. maybe from my mum, who was substituting apple sauce for oil decades before that became socially acceptable. or maybe from my gran, who prefaces every meal with, "well, i almost got all the ingredients in."

my father is the complete opposite. his water comes to a rolling boil before he tosses in noodles that are cooked the full 15 minutes (mine are barely submersed before their extraction). he can't make anything without all the ingredients (i seldom let half of them in). he sees recipes as the end all. i see them as a jumping off point.

for whatever reason, i've done this since i was a kid baking cakes with nothing but mixes and milk and it seems to have only worsened since i became an "adult" living alone with access to an oven. expect a fully-ingrediented dessert and who knows what you'll wind up with but throw me on a desert island with a betty crocker box and a cow, and i'll make you some magic.

28 March 2008

8 i saw this a few days ago & it has haunted me

i am the kid who screamed at santa. the little girl in yellow striped tights who fled wailing from minnie mouse at the hickory ridge mall disney show. the pigtailed five-year-old whose mother had to bribe chuck e. cheese to stay away from her birthday party. so maybe it isn't surprising that even if it were my patriotic duty, even if the american people had loyally cast their votes and elected me to be their president and consequently the leader of the free world, there's no way in hell i would be hugging that thing.

24 March 2008

10 i want him.

the rabbit. not the old dude.

2 love hurts



i gave up carbonated stuff for lent.

because that seemed like the most undoable thing.

it was done.

now i would kill for coffee.

23 March 2008

4 so why all the excitement?


it had nothing to do with the person behind the camera.
nothing at all. nope. not a bit. nuh uh.

21 March 2008

3 we were on a break


yesterday was the first day of spring. today? a Winter Storm Event.

in protest, i trudged through the blowing snow in a red 3/4 sleeve spring coat and cloth yellow and green plaid flats. because come hell or yankees or the pitching of a public fit, i'm going to finish this day in seventy-degree weather.

19 March 2008

3 the blame game


monday night, eF and i randomly got to talking about anthony minghella. it was a digression long enough for me to make some pretentious, ignorant remark about how the films of minghella's that i have seen (ie. cold mountain) are so similar to the films of ang lee that i have seen (ie. sense & sensibility). there was a silence, and eF said, really?! i quickly ammended my statement, confining the similarity to cinematography. nonetheless, i feel somehow at fault here.

18 March 2008

3 jack out!

today it has officially been nine years since S told me. the first time.

nine years since he passed me a note- written on yellow foolscap in the infamous purple pen- in mrs. woods' 4th period silver day ap economics class.

nine years since we huddled at the corner table under an overactive air vent at the barnes & noble cafe on galleria boulevard in franklin, tennessee and he told me and i laughed.

nine years since i sat in the centennial high school multi-purpose room scribbling a draft (because i did drafts even then) of the sappiest note ever on the back of my copy of the hallelujah chorus as bobby lutrell warmed-up on the piano and glared at me because i wasn't turning his pages. later that evening, he wouldn't turn mine.

nine years since i stood in the middle of the bathroom at the shake 'n steak off highway 96 in a full-length black satin formal gown and above-the-elbow black satin gloves and told kj that S had "become one of the characters on dawson's creek," as kj looked back at me- her eyes wide as saucers- and asked, "is he jack???"

nine years. god, we're old.

13 March 2008

10 lessons learned in pennsylvania


1. exits are not numbered consecutively.
2. the target shower curtain aisle never fails.
3. foos has braces.
4. pt cruisers come without cruise control.
5. and yet... i kinda want one.

07 March 2008

0 engaging? cascading? hard to put down?

DISCLAIMER: this is half-assed.

um... no.

i had high hopes for kurt andersen's heyday. over-inflated, fool-heartedly high hopes, largely based upon a catchy cover. in this i greatly erred. it was supposed to be a "joyful, wild gallop through a joyful, wild time." "a thrilling voyage." "a dickensian calliope." "fiction at its finest." and yet, heyday was neither joyful nor wild. it was ponderous. it was wearisome. it was there will be blood minus the milkshake. in essence, it was beyond boring as dirt.

in the weeks since i finished it- as i went on a restorative gallop of my own through classic fiction- i've wrestled with what exactly was wrong with heyday. why didn't it work? what was wrong with me that i thought it didn't work when every critic from baltimore to banff alleged that it did? i think i've finally nailed it. and i think it has a lot to do with there will be blood.

perhaps this is naive, but i think a novel and/or a movie has to build up to something. it has to be going somewhere, no matter where and no matter how seemingly inconsequential. and it can't just show you where it's going- it has to take you along. this doesn't mean there must be some great societal point (though if it's trying to make one, it sure as hell better), but there does have to be an engaging element beyond a lone oil rig explosion or sending an arrow through the antagonist's eye on the final page. and, for me, that's what that film and this book came down to. those were the moments where i sat up and thought, at last! maybe we're going somewhere! alas, we didn't.

for a book trying to capture the frenetic energy of 1848 new york and a film trying to the depict the internal unrest of an admitedly deplorable character, both were oddly stagnant. as though andersen and anderson simply forgot to instill their work with the movement and agitation that should have been at the very heart of what they were trying to do. there was tension, yes. tension restrained to the extreme. and exhaustion. but no energy.

if there will be blood had ended at the scene in the church where daniel is baptized, i would have been a believer. i would have walked out of there blabbing on and on to eF about what an unbelieveably incredible film that was. but it didn't end there. it went on and on and on. and yet, it went nowhere. the same with heyday. collectively, the pair of them were the very definition of running to stand still. and i guess what we learn here is that does not work for me. i have to go places. i have no patience for standing still.

05 March 2008

1 last nite


we gogoled.
and while i'm reconsidering running away with eugene
(the man looked a little rough)
and tho i dare not speak for the dread pirate dougO,
i think we can safely say
that for the 4th time in 23 months,
gogol bordello rocked our world.

04 March 2008

0 decisions, decisions

last night, i made perhaps the wisest decision ever.

a Wise Decision about gingerbread.

the market was the antithesis of holiday cheer this past season. accordingly, they did not carry gingerbread mix through the whole of the throes of winter (and after a deeply scarring bout with a martha stewart recipe, i am emotionally incapable of making my own). only this past weekend did it appear- wedged uncomfortably between the krusteez fat free brownies and the betty crocker corn bread. a lone box. it was mine!

unfortunately, it almost wasn't mine for long as, in my general euphoria, i pulled the gingerbread out of the oven a wee bit too gingerly (pardon the pun).

there are times when time stands still and you can see the whole array of possibilities that could unfold. as i stood there holding a flaming pan of splendidly undercooked gingery goo in my one hand about to drop the entire thing, there was this split second choose your own adventure moment. oline, do you...

A. drop this loaf of gingerbread (the last box and, therefore, the only gingerbread of 2008). drop it and not only be deprived of its gingery goodness but also be forced to clean up the tremendous mess it would make in dashing to the floor.

or...

B. risk burning the fuck out of two fingers to steady a 450 degree pan for the 2.7631 seconds it would take to maneuver it to the counter.

not much of a choice really.

i hate cleaning floors. and that was damn good bread.

03 March 2008

4 springing

we spend these months and months of winter bundled up to the gills, wearing way more than it would ever really seem normal to wear, and yet this is our norm.

then, out of nowhere, we have to take it all off.

yesterday was our first day of a spring that's going to be a long time coming. 53 degrees. no hat. no scarf. no gloves. no coat.

i've never walked down a street feeling more naked.

01 March 2008

8 the singular advantage of whimsical dress



today i did laundry.

dressed like this.

the expressions on the faces of the gaggle of construction workers i passed eleven times in the process?

PRICELESS.