30 September 2012

0 september: a revue

"we have officially reached the point in history where the blown-back bleached-blonde bouffant is a mommy haircut."

"i was only in it for the olive."

"while i am sure that mixing the medications i am on with lots of alcohol would have made me an entertaining side show, i want to leave the dignity of the event intact."

"in writing an email to a guy named clint, i just called him clit."

"i feel like she has dramatically misunderstood how reincarnation works."

"you remember her, right? crazy girl with frizzy blonde hair who always wore a flowered bodysuit with jean shorts in middle school and tried to throw me off a boat."

"you are like my husband and child, then."

"how has your body not exploded from all the caffeines?"

"how has something existed for so long without my becoming obsessed with it?"

"i love that your mental health day likelihood is directly related to the number of outstanding friday night lights episodes."

"my skirt is so short i just walk around with hands firmly planted on outer thighs. (mine. not someone else’s. that would be silly. and hard to walk.)"


"there's an awful lot of sniffling and booger paranoia…an amount ridiculous for any person over the age of 7."

"the cake mix pot and the perilous baggie of sleep herb."

"i’m really trying my best to cancel the pumpkin part, and skip straight to where we let the kids run around my house and the parents drink wine."

"you’re welcome, WORLD."

"we are couraging all over our lives right now!"

"they did swipey circle paper on my hands, and the machine said in big letters “EXPLOSIVES DETECTED”."

"yes. thank you for that. it almost caused me eyes to roll OUT OF MY HEAD."

28 September 2012

2 The Night of the Four Martinis

on a friday night some weeks ago, k.lo and i met up at matisse for martinis. we ended the night at four rounds.

so, in the hierarchy of Epic Chicago Wild Nights, this ranks just below The Night the Chartreuse Turned On Us (which, btw, equals all kinds of amazing i'm still- two years later- not entirely ready to put into words). 

but back to The Night of the Four Martinis.

The Night of the Four Martinis is important because somewhere in the middle of round two, our dirty bombays converted into truth serum and k.lo and i had a series of deep heart to hearts. 

The Night of the Four Martinis is also important because somewhere in between rounds 3 and 4- after we ordered the nachos but before they had arrived- it was decided that k.lo and i are road-tripping to oklahoma in october for her high school reunion. 

on the absolute most superficial level, this idea is epic. all the ingredients are there: drunken decision-making... a high school reunion... the folly of 22 hours of travel over a mere weekend... 

on a deeper level, this is maybe the greatest idea ever of all time (oct. ed. [sept= beating the bellagio buffet; aug= ice cream @ candlelight vigil; july= jmills's honeymoon; june= the eiffel tower at midnight; etc.; etc.])

when k.lo and i met for wednesday night martini's this week, she'd already begun plotting. while the waitress stuffed the blue cheese in our olives, k.lo, in matter-of-fact tones, laid out her grand plan: "first, we'll wake up and do some shooting, then maybe a round of archery, then my dad will barbecue for lunch, and we might be able to convince my brother to take us to play frisbee-golf."

and you know what'll happen if we're lucky?

"we could go to live dancing at the tumbleweed... stillwater's only over 18 club!"

when i tried to call her out on the notion of "live dancing," k.lo turned serious and, with a sly half-smile, she said this: "it's oklahoma, so you never know if the dancing is live or not."

0 yes, i'm aware of the irony

of posting this after the mac and cheese link, but it came up in naked lady bar last night and i was re-horrified. so i think you should maybe read THIS 2010 article in the new york times on the american cheese lobby. just saying...

2 friday

good morning.
i invite you (ie. lindear) to feast your eyes on the macaroni and cheeses of memphis...

26 September 2012

0 misc.

1) september's almost over, which is alarming. the month has blurred by at such speed that it feels like eons since, while in vegas, i sunburned off half my ass.

2) the other day, my boss had me accompany her to her car in the parking garage in what was, i assume, an HR-prompted check-in to make sure i'm emotionally well in light of my recent loss. as my boss told me i look "unrested" and "sad," the drama was heightened by the fact that (a) we were in a parking garage and (b) she'd had oral surgery mere hours before and her words were barely intelligible thanks to the wad of cotton in her mouth.

3) when i was in memphis for those twelve hours a few weeks ago, i wanted two things: my mother's homemade pizza and to curl up on a couch with my parents and watch the ABC family home for the holidays made-for-television mario lopez/melissa joan hart 2007 event christmas in handcuffs. it says much about our family that we own this on DVD. the fact that it was already in the DVD player maybe says even more.

4) in rearranging my apartment to create a dance floor for prom, the fainting couch got pushed up against the bed and i kind of love the result. it's like sleeping in a sleigh. in reality, it's probably nothing like sleeping in a sleigh, but still there's a comfort to it. to being boxed in. to having boundaries. to having reduced all options for exiting the bed down to one, and a rather unconventional one at that. i'm toying with the idea of keeping it like this. in part, because there's two more parties on the docket. in other part, because it feels as though there are too many options, too much waiting, too many exits in life in general right now and having only one way of getting out of bed is, at the very least, limiting. in third part because i really like sleeping in a sleigh.

5 by special request

1 dear matt damon,

i want your daughter's sweatsuit.

0 WOW.


23 September 2012


the night ended with a friend passed out on my floor and me (finally) sleeping with my gay boyfriend, so basically prom = rocked.

20 September 2012

0 t-minus 365

on 20 september 2010, in the wee hours of the night, in a cab on my way home from midway, i decided to become a biographer. i put a date three years distant down on a post-it (an aspirational act i'd lifted from an anedote about jim carrey that may or may not be apocryphal) and taped it into my wallet.

because i expected that becoming a biographer would do wonders for my love life.

(no lie.)

truth: it hasn't.


it didn't seem particularly distant at the time and it sure as hell doesn't seem distant now. but the point of picking that date was to live in such a way that i would be continually moving toward something, even if i did not know what it was beyond the fact that it involved jackie and a vague hope that, ultimately, i would not die alone.

it's 20.9.12. what writing about jackie boils down to right now is tone and structure. i spent much of the summer pinning down that those are the two things that need my attention without having a clear idea of what i am supposed to do with them, beyond the sense that to do anything with them will be really hard.

then, terrorized by the impending difficulty, i curled up into myself and focused on sex toboggans and 50 shades fanfic and generally squandered my talents for the last six months.

except i really didn't. because all of these things, seemingly so varied, always pull together. they are different aspects of a single thought.

i don't read fiction but, having recently read several biographies of people who write fiction, it's slowly dawning on me that the conventions of fiction may be of some use in what i want to do.

in the 80s, there was this little group of children's books called "choose your own adventure." the idea being that you as the reader were totally awesome and, therefore, empowered to choose your own adventure, ie. determine what the book you were reading would be about.

for some reason, i never had these books. thus, as is usually the case with the things we didn't have in childhood (big wheels! hamburger helper! the game of LIFE!), as an adult i've embued them with a mystique they maybe do not deserve.

for months, i've been mulling how i can capture the full extent of jackie's adventures, the narrative shiftiness that defined their telling, the pick-and-choose manner in which we- to this day- consume gossip, and the true historical real life story of jackie onassis the real woman as i can recover it, while simultaneously using her life-fictions to demonstrate the importance of myth in the writing of biography.

i don't know how to write that. but first and foremost, i don't know how to structure it. how to build the shape of a story on which i could put the words.

steven's in town for madonna. last night, coming fast on the heels of an intellectual inquiry regarding whether a male proclamation of "I AM A FEMINIST" carries a cultural meaning of "i will be gentle and attentive in bed," for the first time, i admitted it out loud.

that i have for some time thought that, really, what i'm writing could be a choose your own adventure. not only that it could be, but that it should.

0 kanye'd by the bell

19 September 2012

2 i will now tell you everything i know about the process of writing 1,000-word installments of super-lightweight-erotica

are you ready?

(1) first, you write 500 words of plot and subtle social commentary.

(2) second, you reread the 500 words of plot and subtle social commentary.

(3) third, you lard the 500 words of plot and subtle social commentary with 500 words of cliche and description.

et voilĂ ! 1,000 words that make you, as a writer, want to laugh and also kind of puke.

1 in honor of annual talk like a pirate day (and in further proof that eccentricity is hereditary): my father.

0 wednesday

18 September 2012

0 so

i love THIS.

one of many take-aways:

"To re-experience "Felicity" in its entirety is to wander through a kind of living museum of turn-of-the-millenium-Manhattan—look how people still used pay-phones! look at those carpenter jeans! look at Keenan Thompson and John Ritter and Tyra Banks! Watching the show occasionally gave me a feeling like Emily in Our Town: "Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?—every, every minute?" I found myself feeling an odd affection for the actors, the writers, even the original viewers—all collaborating on this snowman at the end of winter."

0 here we go again

the balls, in particular, are slaying me!
read it HERE.

0 end scene

for as much as the city so often feels like a small town, you very rarely run into anyone. dOugO's the person i've run into most often and by most often i mean twice in our six years of living here at the same time.

but last wednesday, kantor and i ran into each other. well, we didn't so much run into each other as he shouted my name during a fortuitously quiet section of the music i was blasting, so i heard him, looked up and we walked to meet in the middle in a parking lot off wells. but we did meet.

for all of twenty seconds. during which time he blurted out that he and his girfriend had broken up, i blurted out that my friend had died, we manically embraced and then- so quickly that i later wondered if i had imagined the whole thing- walked away in opposite directions.

17 September 2012

0 PS90210 is a rerun today, but it's a good one so check it!

[rerun] “guns aren’t toys, they’re weapons.”

 Everybody at west bev’s forgotten about scott “guns can be fun” scanlon. so as we hit the season 3 anniversary of his season 2 death, let’s indulge in a little reruning. SCOTT “GUNS ARE FUN” SCANLON FOREV!
admit it. you’re not ready for our friend emily valentine to go away just yet. so let’s go back to the before time. before she and brandon broke up. before she had a mental break. the days when all was sunshine and roses in beverly hills, except for the little matter of scott scanlon shooting himself. Continue reading 

4 yeah we did

15 September 2012