(pity) party done.

o.k. so, my pity party is over. on to funnier topics: crank.

i'm talking to Andrea and she's so funny. she hates cops and used to really hate the show Cops. she used to hate it because it always showed crusty-ass negroes getting arrested and it, obviously, reflected badly on black people as a whole.

now, however, she loves it. why? all of the crazy, white people. we started to postulate as to what prompted the color change of the illegal and recorded landscape.

did black people rise up? not while BET is still on.
are there more functional crackheads? maybe
tv execs tired of the same nappy headed niggas running from the cops with their pants around their thighs? perhaps.

my theory: the crack era is coming to an end.

not that no one does crack anymore, but it's so...1991; so Pookie. now, the new thing is crank. as we all know, crack hit the inner cities hardest--uncoincidentally populated by black people. crank, however, is a particularly white drugs.

the main reason is that it's a rural drug. just the sheer amount of space needed to concoct this poisonous cocktail is not conducive to tenement housing. being that as it is, it's all about white people. even if they don't live on the farms, they live in the trailers that reside on the outskirts of town. either way, crank is the white man's crack.

the reason, as i see it, that crank is some ol' white people shit is that it's made from poisons. i mean, gasoline mixed with paint thinner type shit. say what you want about black people, niggas don't sniff glue or do whippets. you can, at least, trace black drugs to a plant or something forged from the earth. only white people think gasoline is a good ingredient to have in a drug that requires fire.

consequently, because crank is the new crack and crank is all over trailer parks, Cops is about to have a disproportionate number of mullets on it from now on.

crank. what a dumb idea.

Vampiyaz
cracker jacked out...i'll explain later.

i'm fundamentally and pathologically afraid that people mean more to me than i do to them.

how do you remedy that? ask? what if it's true? and "at least you know" is cold fucking comfort and complete bullshit.

nobody is sitting home alone on a Saturday night, wrapped up in throw, nursing a bottle of wine...with a pint of Ben & Jerry's waiting in the wings...watching The Notebook, thinking, "Boy, I sure am glad I know."

fuck that.

a most useful game

i'm all about the World Cup this year. the last time i watched it was when i was living in Ukraine and didn't have any friends or a firm grasp of the language; sports tend to be relatively self-explanatory. so, i'd spend some of my free time watching the game.

i got into it again this year because of Isaac. i was in New Haven missing Vegas and hanging out with Cuz. Saacie was there and he and i camped out in the living room and watched the games. so, i'm hooked.

i realized rather quickly upon returning home that soccer is a lot more fun to watch with company; you tend to feel less silly when you're not the only one arguing at the refs on the screen or yelling "GOAL!" so, i've taken this opportunity --since the games are, at least, 90min. long--to do some spring cleaning. except for when Angola (who is now out) and Argentina (who just beat Mexico 2-1) are playing, simply listening to the game is sufficient. i'm also recording the games and have DVR, so i can always back them if i want.

(props to Saacie for showing me what $10 extra dollars a month can get me)

anyway, so now i get to enjoy hours of the game and accomplish lots of much needed cleaning. it's a good thing i'm doing it now, because the first round is over and the games are going to get a lot tighter, which will draw my attention more. the other good news is that i don't have to keep punishing myself with no dinner until i get my work done. it worked, it's just a shame to have to be at that point with your house work.

after these next two weeks, my place is going to be spotless.

set up

i went to Monster.com's home page and found the dumbest poll question:

Have you watched the World Cup at work?

who the fuck answers "yes?" that's brilliant, you're on this site to advance your career and are going to own up to slacking. i doubt it. i think their next question should be:

Have you ever had a "nooner" on your bosses desk?

so close...

yet, so far away.

balls.

i doubt it

Rhapsody news letter sent me this:

"New releases Dad will love: Taylor Hicks, Busta Rhymes, Pet Shop Boys and more."

right.

how?

how is it that "colonel" sounds like "kernel" when there's no "r"?

papa

me: alright, let me look up the Isley Brothers'...(clicking the wrong thing) what in the fuck is that?
dad: no, i don't think they did that song.
me: really? huh. well, i know Parliament did "What in the Funk is that."
dad: did they really?
me: (laughs) no. i just thought it sounded funny.
dad: oh. (laughs) no, it's plausible.

the definition of sexy

i love the French philosopher Bernard-Henri Levy and here's why. he's adorable in an intellectually stimulated pixie sort of way. oh, and, of course, the accent.

i had checked out his book "American Vertigo," but had to stop for a couple of reasons. timing was a big issue. i really wanted to sit down and soak it in, but my life was really hectic. few things are worse than reading an interesting book in sections. it just loses something. mostly, i knew within the first two pages that i wanted to own it so i could rub it against my breasts at night, but also to make notations in the margins and shit. so, i'm waiting for it to be sent to me as i type.

this man is a punctuation god. it's incredible. they should really have a fresh pair of panties inserted in the book jacket.

most girls go for a guy's body or car or status. me? i'm all about language...and his back. it's not so much that i will definitely date you if you use it well, but you kiss that ass good-bye if you fuck it up beyond recognition. Bernard, however, has paragraphs that cover a solid half of a page that are one sentence. it's the most incredible thing. he'll have various asides and digressions and not only be able to bring it all home, but work it out as one sentence through skillful placements of brackets, parentheses, and the like. i want that kind of command over dashes, commas, hyphens, and ellipses. my shit's all over the place. i want to, like him, be able to constructively and coherently translate the meandering of my brain onto to paper like that.

maybe i'm weird...or a dork...but that shit is hot to me. i grant that i am the daughter of an English professor and an elementary school teacher, so language is extraordinarily important to me. i don't know. having that kind of control, considering the power of words, is a good look.

it's the sexiness of mental dexterity and linguistical craft.

{in bad French accent} Bernard, I have come to zee France to zee France kiss you.

godless

ann coulter...indeed.

well done, Keith.

faces of death

as i'm certain the world knows, Abu Musab al-Zarqawi is dead.

i came home yesterday, turned on CNN and saw the most disturbing thing: his dead body broadcasted on national tv; and it wasn't brief. they kept this picture of his dead face up during interviews and everything. i don't think there's anyway to express how much that made my stomach sick. even this morning, as i went to read the news online, his face is posted.

now, i grant that about 85% of the reason it bothered me so much is because of Shawn. my brain has worked very hard to suppress a great number of things from the spring of 2000 so i didn't go crazy. i didn't, actually, mean to see him lying there. i was standing close to the line of people, rocking in place, debating on how i wanted the last image of the man i was building my life with to be. as i was standing there anguishing over what to do, someone moved and opened up a direct view of him. what do you do after that? i doesn't matter what i was going to choose, the decision was made for me. out of that whole situation, i don't think any one single event has wounded me more than see him there; and there's nothing my brain has suppressed more than that image. for weeks i couldn't get it out of my head. every time i blinked, i saw his face in the momentary dark space. it was horrible. talk about your own personal hell. after awhile, it went away and now i can't remember it if i tried.

so, seeing the bloody face on tv last night brought up a lot of things that are, seriously, better left alone.

this is the other 15% of why it bothered me: Janet Jackson can't show her boob and Howard Stern can't be a raunchy asshole, but you can display a dead body for hours at a time? i would think, as a parent, the number one thing i'd want to shield my children from is death. the other situations you can damage control:

Janet: you explain human anatomy to them.

Howard: you tell them that that language or humor is not appropriate for kids.

dead body? i guess you explain the circle of life. if the FCC is worried about events on TV that may have a harmful effect on people --mostly children here-- then there's nothing that sears in your brain harder or deeper than the sight of a dead body.

it's just sick. it really is. it's morbid and publicly celebrating death. that, to me, is sick. i grant that there are some people who the world will not miss when they go. i grant that there are people who probably should actively be ushered on their way to great beyond. but, no matter how despicable, it's still a human life. you don't have to shed any tears, but you don't have to parade it around.

that was such a shocking thing to me and it got me thinking as to why they did it. obviously, CNN gets these photos and there's a meeting about what to do with them. there had to be a debate as to whether or not they should show it...and for the length of time they did. i think i figured out why they did it:

: this administration lies so frequently and effortlessly that we [the American public] are at the point to where we need evidence. there's no way that Bush or Snow can come up and just proclaim a victory and tell us that al-Zarqawi was dead. their credibility is so fucked that it's now necessary to actually see, no matter how gruesome, proof of their claims.

it goes beyond the boy who cried wolf. it's past Kaa lulling us into submission whispering, "trust in me, just in me." we've collectively turned into Rod Tidwell and are screaming at the president to show us the money.

current top 3

at this moment, the top three things i love:
:socks
:comforters
:soft serve.

snag

my perfect weekend of rest has hit a very irritating snag due to a faulty starter. it's 8:31am and this guy outside has been trying to start his car for a solid half hour. he's parked almost directly outside of my window. it got so annoying i got dressed, went out, and offered him a jump. he said it was a problem with the starter and it would turn over eventually and be fine for the rest of the day. eventually? so, i have to lay here, at 8am on a saturday morning --after 4 hours of sleep-- and listening to the anguishing strain of his engine trying to start. oh for fucks sake. it's worse than being woken up by someone's car alarm, actually.

holy shit! did it start? is he gone? fuck yea, i'm going back to bed. i hope his first stop is to a mechanics, because another morning and this and the starter will be the least of his car's problems. fuck around and have flaming ashes...oh, you're joking. he's still here!

inconceivable!

that man is about to get stabbed in his throat. i wish i had some sort of missile i could launch from my window. i mean, if you know your shit is raggedy, why would you do this shit at 8am on a saturday? you know your car's not gonna start and you're just going to wake up and piss off everyone around you. call a friend. work on it in the afternoon. i mean, wherever it is your thought you were going this morning certainly isn't happening. so, just fucking let it go.

wow. maybe i was mentally yelling it so loudly he telepathically heard me, because he's not in his car. now can i go back to sleep. please.

crash

this weekend is long overdue.

i haven't had a solid, stressless weekend to myself since i got back from Nepal. i'm not complaining, don't get me wrong. i've had a blast, i just haven't had time to really relax. even this weekend is not complete rest. i have a bachelorette party to go to tomorrow, but this time all i have to do is show up; no planning, no nothing. so, that makes it better. i've been going out of town a lot and helping with the planning and execution of my friend's wedding. so, even when i'm not running, i'm still mentally preoccupied.

i tend to have a hard time sleeping. between my bouts with insomnia and my tendency to resist sleep like a toddler, i'm often extraordinarily tired. my usual pattern is to go on averaging about 5 hours of sleep a night for a couple of weeks. the weekend of the second week is my "crash weekend." i usually don't leave my place, turn the answering machine off, maybe answer the phone, and will sleep a good portion of the day away. i was due for a crash about two weeks ago, but i had to go to Boston two weekends in a row. last night, however, er, rather this morning, i went to sleep around 2:30am and woke up at 1:30pm, with two brief bathroom breaks.

i was, officially, knocked the fuck out.

i didn't even have to resort to classical music to keep the sleep going. both times i got up for the bathroom, i climbed right back into bed, checked the time, balled up under my blanket and passed right out. it felt so good. i had breakfast at 2pm (vegetarian sausages, toast, and a bowl of fruit [kiwi, banana, and apple].)

look at me, it's 7pm and i'm yawning again. i've only been up for a 5.5 hours. i love these kinds of days.

the only thing that would make this better is a boyfriend. there really are few things better than lazy days with someone else. both of us vegging out on the couch-- my feet in his lap, him playing with my knees-- watching a bad sci-fi movie, insulated from the world.