10/28/99
I wish I was more in the Halloween spirit. I really do like dressing
up, but I just haven't been able to get my shit together lately. Last year
I was sick on Halloween. I've been sick the past couple weeks, but I should
be better off by this weekend so I have no excuse. I'd like to be an
office lady or a soccer mom, which shouldn't be too hard to pull off. I
get office lady inspiration on the subway daily. It's weird. I've been
leaving work at relatively the same time since sept. and ride the same
train I always have, but in the past couple weeks I've been getting on
the M and having oct. 98 flashbacks. There are these three beastly women
that I'd completely forgotten about til now. One is like the ringleader,
with this oddly brown face (she appears to belong to no minority group),
super flat, stringy brown hair, and brown-toned make-up. She yells rather
than speaks in New York accented, smoker voice about the neighbor kids and
I don't even know what and swears like a sailor. (I have have a toilet mouth and smoke like a
chimney, but um, it's different with me, see?) There's another one who also has flat,
stringy hair, but her's is wet and greasy and fake blonde with 2" roots. She has
a sweeter demeanor. The third is unremarkable and never says much. These
women are married, have children, live in Queens (these types always
get off at my stop), and are probaby somebody unimportant's secretary (or
are they administrative assistants now?). They may own homes. They appear
to be early 30's, but you know what? I bet you anything we're very
close in age. They're probably like 26 or something. More and more I find out that people who I'd figured to be a good 5+
years older than me are actually younger. I don't know if this is
because I have a warped perception of myself and I'm an old hag in denial
or if certain people are just aged beyond their years. There's different
versions of it. Like these women seem older because they've got 10 yr. old kids and
a big night is ordering a pizza and renting "Practical Magic" or "Runaway Bride"
or maybe they'd go to some multi-plex adjacent to a mall and see "The Story
of Us" and have a creamy cocktail or two at a "nice place" like T.G.I.F.'s.
Then there are those people who are really like 23 but seem older because
they have Nokia cell phones and work in the entertainment industry or do
something web related, and acutally have posessions--you know, things
like furniture. Imacs, trust funds and overpriced, charmingly ramshackle lofts
would not be a foreign concept to these
folks. There was some Edward Norton line in "Fight Club," "I'm a 30 year old
boy." Um, yeah, gen x malaise and immaturity. We've heard it all before,
but I like Ed Norton so it was o.k. coming out of his character's mouth.
I think I'm a 27 year old toddler. Goo goo, ga ga.
But anyway,
it's been the biggest deja vu seeing these women exactly a year later.
10/25/99
This feels all wrong. I'm typing this on a PC instead of a Mac. Even though my Macintosh is
old and slow and crashes and won't stay connected to the internet for more than a few
minutes at a time, I have a weird loyalty to it. I feel all dirty typing on this new (to
me) computer. I mean, it was given to me, I'm not going to complain about a freebie, but
it's making me feel all conflicted. I've gotten into one of those aggro moods again where
everyone around me seems really vile. That could be because most of the people I come into contact
with on a daily basis really are vile. I don't mean personality-wise, but physically.
I honest to God think there's something disfiguring in the air that's concentrated in
my neighborhood. I just refuse to believe that the general population is filled with such
a disproportionate amount of giant asses, missing limbs, mysterious growths, and burn
victims. I'm not even exaggerating. Of course it doesn't take much to freak me out. I've
recently discovered that short people give me the creeps. Not midgets, but like these grown
women who hover around 4'11. Yuck. And what I dislike even more are tiny feet. The two
often go hand in hand. I don't know what it is that's so disturbing about tiny feet. When I
spot a pair, I try as hard as possible to avert my eyes, but those teeny tootsies are like
magnets. I realize there are bigger issues in life to worry about, but still. Ooh, and speaking
of disfigurement, maybe you already know about, Eddie, that blind deformed looking guy who's
been on "Jeopardy" for the past four days. If you don't know about him, tune in tomorrow since
you're only allowed a maximum of five wins. I acutally think Eddie is o.k. He's obviously
sharp. But I can't help but think that he's getting some sort of edge by being handicapped.
It would really irk me to make it all the way to being on "Jeopardy" and then have to face
an opponent like Eddie.
10/20/99
I've really cooled my jets where celebrity obsessions are concerned. I don't know if it has to do with age, lack of interest, gaining a little common sense, or what. But over the past week, I've started to develop a fixation of sorts on Frank Whaley. This isn't out of the blue. I mentioned him back in like "The Scaredy-cat Stalker" #7 because he'd co-starred with Henry Thomas in a horrible made for TV movie, "Bombshell." He's been in a lot of crap, come to think of it, but that just makes him all the more appealling. As I've already stated, I recently saw "Joe the King" and this conjured up all sorts of things. I don't know, the movie has all the elements I can't resist: loneliness, bad childhoods, mental (and physical) cruelty...good stuff like that. But what really got me on this Frank Whaley kick was an interview I read this morning in this week's "Time Out NY" where Frank quoted Sherwood Anderson, "no one knows the chair of loneliness more than a child." I was like, "Oh my goodness." Ever since I read "Winesburg, Ohio" this summer I've been completely obsessed with Sherwood Anderson. It makes me wish I could write. After reading this interview I got all depresed because I don't have the motivation, know-how, or wherewithal to even begin putting pen to paper (hands to keys...whatever). I got all choked up and distressed, but I think that may have something to do with my stopping my Paxil recently. I always thought anti-depressants were for babies and they were giving me intense headaches (that got even worse whenever I'd start making out with someone. I know that sounds nuts and psychosomatic, but it's the truth and then a few weeks ago I saw this article in "Vogue" about headaches and in this sidebar, "When to Call the Doctor" the number one symptom to be alarmed over was a headache brought on by sexual activity. Hypochondriacs don't need to hear crap like that. Now I'm convinced I've got a brain tumor, blood clot, or cancer) so I stopped taking them, but now I'm starting to wonder how wise that was. So, I don't think I've read a better book in years, maybe ever. I got Richard (the english email friend) hooked on him too. I know it's corny, but we'll actually have phone and email conversations about his short stories. I've never had a friend that's been into literature (not that it's something I've ever been hardcore into either, but it's nice to have friends who read--especially boys--it's so rare) and it's prompted ribbing from people, James Robb in particular. He's just jealous because he doesn't know how to read. Anyway, then at the end of the interview it's mentioned how Mr. Whaley is currently working on a screen adaptation of "Winesburg, Ohio!" Is this not a man after my heart? I do know that he lives in Chelsea. I never frequent the West side of Manhattan, but I could start. Frank Whaley really should be my friend. I mean it.
10/18/99
I'm feeling a bit raggedy so I apologize in advance for the
disjointedness that may follow. It's 10 am, monday, I'm at work and this
is the third day I've been wearing the same clothes (at least I've
bathed, o.k.?). Fri. night I went and saw "Joe the King" (sentimental,
but not heavy-handed--and the kid [Noah Fleiss] is hot) and then was out eating dinner
and somehow the
idea of a weekend excursion was presented to me and Atlantic City
came up and I said sure since I've never been there and really I would've
pretty much agreed to anyplace just for the sake of getting out of n.y.
city, as I've never been out of the ny metro area in the 16 months I've
lived here and that's not right. Then Canada came up, but I wasn't too
serious about it since I thought it was fairly far away. But Montreal
became the destination of choice, regardless. I've only ever been to
British Columbia, and that was when I was middle school. I remember
being wowed by The Butchart Gardens, which was especially
odd even at the time because I've never been fond of nature and don't
particulary care much for flowers. But this place made an impression on
both me and my sister. It seemed like the ultimate romantic getaway, at
least in the minds of two 9 and 12 year olds. I do recall some fantasies of
how great it would be if we were soaking in the splendor
with John and Simon from Duran Duran. Right before I moved here, my sister and
I thought it would be cool if she visited me in Portland and then we
headed up to Victoria and The Butchart Gardens. She did end up coming
out for a visit, but the Canada thing never happened. Those gardens
became a real thorn in my side in '97. I kept ranting and raving
about how I wanted to visit them to the old man I was dating at the time (he really
was old, I'm not using empty, catchy phrases) and though I think the idea disgusted
him (he hated nature even more than I did/do) he told me to plan
something out. So I did and it was a big deal because I never take vacations
and I made a big stink about getting time off work and then on Sept 8, 1997 (Henry
Thomas's 26th birthday, yo) he decided we shouldn't see each other anymore, which
was whatever because I knew he was full of shit and we still ended up
going out til May '98 when I moved and I knew the reason he pulled that
was because he didn't want to go to the goddamn Butchart Gardens (it
was true, he admitted it later). So, I've got some issues about guys
and Canada. But this Montreal trip was a total breath of fresh air despite the fact that I
think I spent more time in the car than actually seeing the city. 8 hours
each way, approximately 950 miles round trip--that's a bit taxing.
We got there at 10 pm sat. and left sun. at 4 pm. and normally that's the kind of
thing that would make me complain my head off, but it was fine. It didn't matter
because I got to do all sorts of things like
drive a car that was actually (I'm using 'acutally' an awful lot) made in
this decade (a 1999 Ford Taurus big enough for a family of five--hot!) and pumped my
first tank of gas and paid my first toll (no self-serve and turnpikes in Oregon), ate veal,
pheasant, and
escargot (things I've never had--yum, baby cows), stayed
in a corporate apt./hotel complete with tacky art and furniture, kitchen, sauna, etc.
(I love that crap!), got to use my French (hey, I was an exchange
student in high school), scoured the city for canadian bacon and pineapple
pizza (and came up empty handed. What's the deal? I mean, it is Canada.
There was such a thing as pizza with 'viande fumee,' which appeared to be
what we'd call canadian bacon, but not a pineapple in sight, dammit), bought
a cheap carton of Export A cigarettes (my teenage brand of choice) at the
border, stopped at a Wal-Mart in someplace called Latham, NY to pick
up a disposable camera (only 5 freakin' dollars for a Kodak Advantix,
cigarettes were under $3, and they had 45 cent Coke machines!?) and became even more
enamoured by suburban living than I already was,
and saw that pavillion
thing that looks like a spaceship from the '67 expo. That's my weekend
in a nutshell. I don't know, impromptu road trips with former (current?)
crushes/stalkees/obsessions...I'm still not 100% adjusted to the whole
situation. Not that I'm complaining, it's just a little unsettling, that's all.
11/14/99
It's been a while, but I've become inspired to add a bit to my
"Goodies" section. I don't expect anyone to get
as excited about new
food products as I do, yet I still cannot stop. I've been thinking way
too much about Go Gurt, those new Philly cheesecake bars, and the
Pop Tarts that now come in sections. Obviously, not much happens on thursdays.
10/13/99
I really ought to take better advantage of freebies. It's a shame. I had passes Mon. night to "Joe the King." This looks like a hot troubled teen flick. And even better, it's directed by Frank Whaley, who's been in all sorts of mediocre fare including the made for the Sci-Fi channel epic, "Bombshell" with Ol' Henry Thomas. My personal favorite has to be "Career Opportunities" where he gets locked in a Target (thought they never actually show or use the name) with a hot chick and all sorts of antics ensue. Um, he was also pretty hot (I'm using the term 'hot' a lot--forgive me) in "Homage" where he's this deranged mathematician masturbator. But, oh well, I didn't go. The bigger shame was last night and getting on the list to some Duran Duran taping for a TV show and not being able to attend. You had to be there at 5:15 and I don't get off work til 5 and I know that if I were a true fan that I'd find a way, but I just couldn't be bothered. When I got home there was a message from Jessica saying they weren't acutally going on til like 9 so if I came down I might still be able to get in, but it just didn't seem like something I felt like doing. I got the scoop today, and damn, did I miss out. I guess it was a madhouse and she had to wait for hours and they were turning people away and she barely got in with a VIP pass so it's probably for the best that I didn't go since I'd have blown a gasket. But I guess Nick was hot (yes, hot) in a pair of silver pants, pink shirt, and cowboy hat. Of course he had on make up. Simon looked like he'd been working out, had weird sunken eyes, and resembled Al Bundy. Later, Jessica overheard the after party was at someplace called Black & White, but couldn't get in since she wasn't on the list. She went back later, there wasn't a doorperson and walked in and ordered a drink. I guess she managed to befriend some folks and was introduced to Simon and he was a scary spaz and grabbed her and told her she had a nice body and was a total Patrick Abbey (this gay guy we went to art school with who was all loud and obnoxious and self-promoting who would do innappropriate things and once grabbed my butt really hard which stunned everyone since I'm just not the kind of person who puts up with that kind of foolery, and I couldn't even say anything because that's just how he was). I'm so jealous because Nick is my favorite and Jessica didn't really talk to him because he seemed quiet and she didn't know what to say and he was engaged in conversation with a group of people but he did say that he liked her skirt and then later said he liked her hair. What about my skirt and hair! Ooh, I was home in pajamas watching "Party of Five." If I'd only known! Later they went to Sway and then ended up at some snotty, rich guy's insanely huge apt who had the audacity to say, "you should see the apartment I just bought in TriBeCa--it's four times as big." Bastard. So, I guess it was all gross and Simon was with some blonde model who stormed out in a huff and some girl took off her panties (this was seen by someone else in the bathroom) and kept sitting near him thinking she was going to get some washed-up rock star action or something, but everyone was all fucked-up on downers (Simon came up to Jessica and said, "Jessica, didn't you get any quaaludes?" She didn't) and Simon ended up passed out on a couch and the knicker-less girl looked annoyed. The final scoop was that the whole thing was dull and depressing. Nonetheless, I'm sorry to have missed it first hand. It's makes "Sugartown" all the more poignant and funny to me now. God, has-beens. Oh, but I was lucky enough to hang out with Dave Kendall on Sat. night (remember the English guy smoking in the shadows during MTV's "120 Minutes" who later hosted the damn show?). Yeah, it was a real treat. All I know is that he smokes Kents and liked my retard impersonations. These yahoos really make me appreciate run-of-the mill sissies all the more.
10/10/99
It's worm weather. When it rains and all the worms are dead or half-dead
all over the sidewalks. Creepy. I saw "American Beauty" last night. I've
actually been going out and seeing movies these days (Blair Witch=Blech, laughable
Run Lola Run=not bad/entertaining, Sugar Town=Funny just for starring
John Taylor as an aging rock star). If someone else
is willing to fork over the $9.50, then I'm game. They were charging
$2.85 for bottled water. I'm outraged like some sheltered middle-aged
woman visiting the Big Apple for the first time. I clearly don't get out much. Hmmm, so I liked "American Beauty"
but I thought the mentally ill neighbor boy was too handsome. I mean,
that's the sort of character I could really develop a thing for, but
he should've been a little uglier. In the real world, tortured and
good-looking just don't go hand in hand. He should've been covered
with pockmarks or had a bad haircut or ill-fitting clothes at least.
That's all I have to say on that.
10/9/99
I bought a ticket to England. I sort of wanted to go on a Friday, but somehow I picked Thursday instead. Thursday November 18, 1999. Richard (the English email friend—have I used his name before? Well, now I am) called and was excited about planning things out, meeting up etc. I remembered that I first emailed him in November. He remembered even better, as it seems that he’s printed out all our correspondence since day one. My first message was sent November 18, 1998. One year to the exact date. I thought this was spooky. No one other than the two of us seems to agree. Cynics, the lot of them. You can't help but think of things being meant to be and all that nonsense. November ’98 was chock-filled with milestones, of sorts. Nov. 1, I met Henry Thomas and got the little rapscallion out of my system once and for all, Nov. 13 I met James Robb (Friday the 13th) and I’ve been ga ga ever since, Nov. 18 I began my torrid transatlantic email chit chat affair (it’s never been dirty, I swear. Unless you consider talking about sad music, sweaters, and Salinger to be sordid). I can ony hope that November ’99 proves to be as exciting.
10/8/99
This morning when I opened up "The Daily News" (a real classy n.y. paper)
I was excited to discover that I was the Leo half of "The Couple of the Week." (I'm not sure if it's wise to link to timely things like this, as I'm sure they don't keep them on the site indefinitely, but what can you do.) I
didn't even know they had a couple of the week section. Usually that spot is
reserved for a celebrity zodiac profile. Top notch celebrities like
John Ritter and Moon Unit Zappa. I'm not even sure if I'm really part
of a couple. I mean, that C word has never come out of my mouth. But
if it's in "The Daily News" then it must be true.
10/7/99
I honestly don't know why I get worked up over things that don't matter. Last night I was speculating on whether or not I should go away for Thanksgiving and if so, whether or not I should visit Portland or England and it's a big deal since I only have 12 vacation days a year and that's completely distressing to me, in and of itself. So, I posed this dilemma to James Robb and he has like weeks and weeks off and hasn't taken a vacation like ever and said there's nowhere he wants to go and that he couldn't relax even if he did take a vacation because he'd be thinking about work and the whole thing made me sick to my stomach. I know people have different priorities and values, but that makes me sick. That's the mind-set of a middle aged man stuck in a marriage void of any spark with estranged children who laugh at him behind his back and a mortgage and bypass surgery in the not-so-distant future. I don't understand people. He was justifying 80 hour work weeks. I don't care how much money you make. I mean, what's the point of having a shitload of money if you don't have any time to enjoy it? This kind of talk really bums me out. Seriously. I felt so upset after this stupid exchange that I had to go to bed (well, it was already 1 am, but still). More and more I feel like a goddamn hippy and it's just not right. It's all so Dharma and Greg (jeez, I'm joking).
10/6/99
When you are having chunks of your cervix cut out and it hurts like heck and you're seeing stars because you're holding your breath and poking your nails into the palms of your hand so hard and Duran Duran's "Hungry Like The Wolf" starts playing in the background, do you think it's more appropriate to hysterically laugh or cry?
10/5/99
It's taken me forever to october up and running. It seems like I never have enough time to get anything done these days. I was excited because today I called in sick and I thought it would be a great chance to get all these things done (really important things like cleaning the bathroom, mopping the apt., making cookies and soup, going shopping, drawing this text to add to my tattoo, and catch up on emails, letters, etc.) and it's now 7:45 and all I've done is gone shopping in the neighborhood and wrote some stuff to put here that got erased when my computer froze and I had to shut it down. There's nothing more annoying than trying to re-write something you just wrote 30 minutes ago so I'm not even going to try.
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