I'm the center of attention in the walls inside my head. I currently have a dog in my lap. Is there anything better in this world?

In honor of the restful break I've enjoyed, I'm in the mood for lists...

Things I love, in no particular order (I am omitting the obvious like friends, family, world peace, etc.)

• Act two of "Pirates of Penzance"


• My dog, except when he growls at me


• Self-proclaimed male feminists


• Winter sports (e.g. skiing)


• PBS


• MoMA's fifth floor


• Slave to the Grind


• Dan Savage


• Diesel Sweeties


• Books!


• New CDs


• Singing in my car...but only when I'm alone


• VH1, especially VH1 Europe


• My hometown public library's DVD collection

Things I Hate, in no particular order (omitting the obvious like war, fascism, sexism, Republicans, etc)

• Maroon 5


• Anything involving Bush (this includes Texas)


• Men who lack self-confidence and take it out on me. At the same time, players.


• "The Speech." Seriously, the next time I hear it, I'm just gonna peace on you.


• Dust bunnies


• Breast implants


• All ads for medication (Yesterday I saw one for breast implants, and I felt violated)


• That painful first day


• Waxing profound. Just be stupid. There's no shame!


• Love handles, especially on me


• Single-blade razors. What's the point?


• Grammar mistakes, especially those involving punctuation and "entitled" versus "titled."

Gonna speed it down and slow it up. Shamelessly stolen away message:

A teacher asked her class, "What do you want out of life?"

A little girl in the back row raised her hand and said, "All I want out of life is four little animals."

The teacher asked, "Really and what four little animals would that be, sugar?"

The little girl said, "A mink on my back, a jaguar in the garage, a tiger in the bed and a jackass to pay for all of it."

The teacher fainted...

Fabulous! I think that if this whole self-sufficient career thing doesn't work out, I am going to aim for marrying rich. I think it's a perfectly valid Plan B, even if I am a WOSTie.

I hope you dance. My two favorite people just combined to make three! A new little boy in our wacky, extended family...I could just cry for joy.

Too much tripping and my soul's worn thin. From Eleven Minutes by Paulo Coelho:

"Why is it that men only think about sex, instead of doing what you did with me and finding out how I feel?"

"Who said we only think about sex? On the contrary, we spend years of our life trying to convince ourselves that sex is actually important to us. We learn about love from prostitutes and virgins; we tell our stories to whoever will listen; when we are older, we parade about with much younger lovers, just to prove to others that we really are what women expect us to be.

"But do you know something? That's simply not true. We understand nothing. We think that sex and ejaculation are the same thing and, as you just said, they're not. We don't learn because we haven't the courage to say to the woman: show me your body. We don't learn because the woman doesn't have the courage to say: this is what I like. We are stuck with out primitive instincts, and that's that. Absurd though it may seem, do you know what is more important than sex for a man?"

I thought it might be money or power, but I said nothing.

"Sport. Because a man can understand another man's body. We can see that sport is a dialogue between two bodies that understand each other."

"You're mad."

"Maybe. But it makes sense. Have you stopped to think about the feelings of the men you've been to bed with?"

"Yes, I have. They were all insecure. They were all afraid."

"Worse than afraid, they were vulnerable. They didn't know what they were doing, they only knew what society, friends and women themselves had told them was important. Sex, sex, sex, that's the basis of life, scream the advertisements, other people, films, books. No one knows what they're talking about. Since instinct is stronger than all of us, all they know is that it has to be done. And that's that." (257-258)

I want you to take me out. Update on my life in the wake of finals and in the long lull of wintersession. Yes, it is just so... yeah...

JBL: Good. Crushes on you are in fact the correct way to go.

Another head aches, another heart breakes. Do guys really think like this? And what if you were that girl to someone, but he still can't take it? It seems to me that this guy forgot one thing: You have to be man enough to handle it when said dream girl comes along.

from a guy, on dating

Date: Tue Dec 07 15:02:11 2004

Why does he disappear?

Most likely, he's not a complete asshole. He saw something about you he liked, and wanted to date you. Like others have said, sex can only sustain a relationship so long - for me it's about 1 night, if that (generally I'm not interested in hooking up with girls who I don't see as potential girlfriends). There's got to be something going on mentally - emotionally.

You guys have to be able to have a good conversation - and what you think is a good conversation may not be the same for him.

You've got to be the girl that he goes and raves to his dad about. The girl that, when hanging out with you, he goes to the bathroom and text messages his friend "I'm in love" about. The girl he brags to his GIRLfriends about. The girl whose picture he looks at every day, secretly looking around his office to make sure nobody's standing behind him.

You've got to be the girl that he can't WAIT to take home to meet his parents. The girl that he fantasizes about doing things with - going away, going out to eat, going to the library. The girl that makes him see a hot girl, and think "man, I'm so glad I'm not going to feel bad about not being with HER" (because yes, every time we see a gorgeous woman we feel bad that we're not with them).

You've got to be the girl who he brings to his office party, introduces you to his coworkers, then pretends he's annoyed when they tell him the next day how nice and how beautiful you are, and how cute the two of you are together (though he's secretly loving every minute of it).

You've got to be the girl whose name he searches for on his computer and in his email account, hoping he'll find something that he wrote to his friend about you (or better yet, an old email from you). The girl whose old emails and notes he reads again and again. And again and again.

You've got to be the girl he dreams of spending money on. The girl who makes him feel like material things are irrelevant. The girl who he makes a mixtape for - and when you make one for him he cherishes it forever - and tries to find hidden meanings in the songs, their titles, their order.

You've got to be the girl that makes him hide in the bathroom at work, quietly sobbing, when he thinks things are going bad. The girl that makes him stay at work much later than he should, because instead of meeting his deadline, he's writing craigslist posts about you.

I'm sorry, when I started this, I truly intended it to be a guy's views on dating. Instead it turned into me rambling on about the girl that I don't have, but dream about.

But I'm sure that every girl is that girl to someone.

You're still a superhot female. Misogyny is the epitome of uncool, unattractive, and crappy. This is everything I hated about high school and then some. Assholes.

E: it's exactly what i hated about high school.
I: High School = suck
E: yes, but I was outspoken and strong and smart and self-confident; erego, I was an outcast and treated in exactly this mysogynistic manner
I: Booo
E: BUT I will win because I am awesome and they suck. Inherently so. So, uh, ha!
I: you already are winning
E: I am?
I: They are all jizzmops
E: Jizzmops! Wow. That's just...wow. That's like a step below jizz, below the jizz left on the nudie booth, below the guy who has to mop up the jizz. The mop itself!
I: exactly
E: you're tough
I: nah, I just learned the word 'jizzmop' somewhere
E: but still. I quack with fear
I: I honk with authority.
E: I'm still impressed

This shit is bananas. This is beautiful in design but bizarre in production. Marvel and recoil.

I can see it in her eyes. Teeheeee...

Woman: Having sex with him was the same as eating a slice of plain Wonder bread while looking in the window of a Crate and Barrel.

--York & 70th

Her dizzy head is conscience ladden. The internet is truly priceless, especially during finals:

TV Catch Phrases That Weren't.
BY RICHARD LONG

- - - -

Hawaii Five-O
"Book him, Danno!"
Original: "Beat him, Danno. Beat him good."

Hill Street Blues
"Be careful out there."
Original: "Watch out for black kids."

I Love Lucy
"Lucy, you have some explaining to do."
Original: "You moron! You'll have me deported."

Good Times
"Dy-no-mite!"
Original: "Dy-na-mite!"

Spiderman (animated)
"My Spidey senses are tingling."
Original: "I'm getting an erection."

Outside, inside out. Reason #509776 that L(V) is a goddess who, for some inecplicable reason, shares my karma. In this case, it's regarding the sorry state of our computers:

L(V): between the two of us were like a ricky martin music video
L(V): beer
L(V): and hot wax

And

E:------ and i ---- 5 times in less than 24 hours
L(V): That seems to go against the laws of physics
L(V): and chafing

Also, this is just funny:
T: Well, not everyone can be as gloriously straightforward as you
E: HAHAHAHA. Oh man. I think I've gotten worse
T: You attacking men on the street now?

And
T: Because of this story, I am now hesitant to be a rock star
E: Um, I don't think you were in danger in general
T: I was about to be discovered
E: Of being a jerk? I already knew that
T: ooooooooooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I got served
E: Snap!

If you were wondering if I was procrastinating by talking to people online and then transcribing the conversations here, well, you'd be right.

Can you fill me in? This isn't funny, and yet it really really is:

What happened to all the romance? I wondered as I walked up the hill, through the campus of the Stevens Institute of Technology — which, it should be noted, Sinatra attended for one-and-a-half semesters — to have a few minutes with my favorite view of Manhattan. It is a beautiful spot, with plenty of nervous nerdy young scientists to keep you entertained, especially if you're thinking about sex. Is that one with the nice hands getting laid? He doesn't like me watching him, or maybe he does, but has yet to learn how to make eye contact. The high geek factor is a turn-on for a perv like myself. Is it their innocence? The fear in their eyes? Am I just a maniac? Having occasionally dabbled in geekdom, I have learned that they're inclined to masturbate more than your average college student, and sometimes even in the library. Is it wrong that I find that sexy?

Okay, I'm not saying that I agree with this. It's just...I don't spend much time thinking about MIT masterba-trons, but I definitely know about the fear in their eyes. If you ever need to feel hottt, just walk down the Endless Corridor in a low-cut shirt. I swear you'll feel like Marilyn Monroe in five seconds flat.

I'd pay a ransom note to stop it from steaming. In honor of finals:

E: I used the word cacodylic in my essay. 15 million points! I'm using it in reference to a Dadaist painting. "The cacodylic eye." It's in my poem
I: ooooh
E: See, 15 million points for the word, then 15 bajillion points for an obscure Dadaist reference. If I can pull off lacuna as well...ooooooh man. It'll be the paper to end all papers
I: And umpty-illion points for putting it in a poem at the end of a paper for WoST about going to a strip club
E: I WIN! They should give me a parade
I: If you were at Chuck E. Cheese's, the machine would spit out so many tickets you could buy, like, a cruise boat or something.
E: wow

And, because I am cheeky, "So let it be written. So let it be done."

Take your troubles away. Here's my random, nit-picky complaint of the day: I HATE when there's a really REALLY hot guy in the dining hall and he's with some woof girl. Seriously, where's the justice?

Yes, dear readers. Finals have arrived! La la la la!

I have the touch. Some girl on the squash team asked me if I was on a sports team because I look "athletic." No one's ever called me athletic in my life. I am awesome! Or fleece and mesh shorts fool everyone... either way.

When all I possess is a melody. I've been reminiscing, I guess you could call it, mostly because of my Friday WOST class in which we read some incredibly important essays by A. Rich and D. Haraway. It made me remember my intro class and how much this essay changed my life. I suddenly remembered why I wanted to study this in the first place--to find some sense in my crazy, topsy-turvy life and to understand the why and the how of me.

Things that are awesome (today):

1. Badly Drawn Boy live performing "How" and "Once Around the Block"


2. Finding Roses under your seat after lecture


3. Ladybugs landing on your coat after a bad day


4. The Alchemist


5. SVU


6. Fucking incredible friends

Things that suck (lately):

1. Daylight Savings Time


2. Uncertainty


3. Immaturity

Closer I am to fine. This is one of my favorite essays ever. I've read it a million times, and someone just posted it on an on-campus online forum, so I knew I must share it with the masses...all two of you.

Anyway, be enlightened. Laugh. Menstruate!

If Men Could Menstruate
by Gloria Steinam
from Ms. VII October 1978

A white minority of the world has spent centuries conning us into thinking that a white skin makes people superior - even though the only thing it really does is make them more vulnerable to ultraviolet rays and to wrinkles. Male human beings have built whole cultures around the idea that penis-envy is *natural* to women - though having such an unprotected organ might be said to make men vulnerable, and the power to give birth makes womb-envy at least as logical.

In short, the characteristics of the powerful, whatever they may be, are thought to be better than the characteristics of the powerless - and logic has nothing to do with it.

What would happen, for instance, if suddenly, magically, men could menstruate and women could not?

The answer is clear - menstruation would become an enviable, boastworthy, masculine event.

Men would brag about how long and how much.

Boys would mark the onset of menses, that longed-for proof of manhood with religious ritual and stag parties.

Congress would fund a National Institute of Dysmenorrhea to help stamp out monthly discomforts.

Sanitary supplies would be federally funded and free. (Of course, some men would still pay for the prestige of commercial brands such as John Wayne Tampons, Muhammad Ali’s Rop-a-dope Pads, Joe Namath Jock Shields - "For Those Light Bachelor Days", and Robert "Baretta" Blake Maxi-Pads.)

Military men, right-wing politicians, and religious fundamentalists would cite menstruation ("men-struation") as proof that only men could serve in the army ("you have to give blood to take blood"), occupy political office ("can women be aggressive without the steadfast cycle governed by the planet Mars?"), be priests and ministers ("how could a woman give her blood for our sins?"), or rabbis ("without the monthly loss of impurities, women remain unclean").

Male radicals, left-wing politicians, and mystics, however, would insist that women are equal, just different; and that any woman could enter their ranks if only she were willing to self-inflict a major wound each month ("you must give blood for the revolution"), recognize the preeminence of menstrual issues, or subordinate her selfness to all men in the Cycle of Enlightenment.

Street guys would brag ("I’m a three-pad man") or answer praise from a buddy ("Man, you lookin’ good!") by giving five’s and saying, "Yeah, man, I’m on the rag!"

TV shows would treat the subject at length. ("Happy Days": Ritchie and Potsie try to convince Fonzie that he is still "The Fonz," though he has missed two periods in a row.) So would newspapers. (SHARK SCARE THREATENS MENSTRUATING MEN. JUDGE CITES MONTHLY STRESS IN PARDONING RAPIST.) And movies. (Newman and Redford in "Blood Brothers"!)

Men would convince women that intercourse was more pleasurable at "that time of the month." Lesbians would be said to fear blood and therefore life itself - though probably only because they needed a good menstruating man.

Of course, male intellectuals would offer the most moral and logical arguments. How could a woman master any discipline that demanded a sense of time, space, mathematics, and measurement, for instance, without that in-built gift for measuring the cycles of the moon and planets - and thus for measuring anything at all? In the rarefield fields of philosophy and religion, could women compensate for missing the rhythm of the universe? Or for their lack of symbolic death-and-resurrection every month?

Liberal males in every fields would try to be kind: the fact that "these people" have no gift of measuring life or connecting with the universe, the liberals would explain, should be punishment enough.

And how would women be trained to react? One can imagine traditional women agreeing to all these arguments with a staunch and smiling masochism. ("The ERA would force housewives to wound themselves every month": Phyllis Shlafley. "Your husband’s blood is as sacred as that of Jesus - and so sexy too!": Marabel Morgan.) Reformers and Queen Bess would try to imitate men, and pretend to have a monthly cycle. All feminists would explain endlessly that men, too, needed to be liberated from the false idea of Martian aggressiveness, just as women needed to escape to bonds of menses-envy. Radical feminists would add that the oppression of the nonmenstrual was the pattern for all oppressions. ("Vampires were our first freedom fighters!") Cultural feminists would develop a bloodless imagery in art and literature. Socialist feminists would insist that only under capitalism would men be able to monopolize menstrual blood ...

In fact, if men could menstruate, the power justifications could probably go on forever.

If we let them.

I ain't no fortunate one. I realize I'm starting to sound redundant, but I think our current administration is redundant. Redundtantly retarded.



Yep.

Girl I'm gonna make you sweat. I saw an ad on the T today for this teen-geared website that's basically meant to traumatize teens into abstaining from sex. I realize I'm not a parent, but it seems to me that a healthier, more-productive use of our time and energy would be to teach our children that their sexuality is beautiful, that their bodies are sensistive, and that a healthy relationship is one where both partners (regardless of their sex) are mutually supportive and understanding. Instead of scaring teens into abstinance and demonizing boys for fucking and leaving girls, we should talk to teens about how to safely and beneficially engage in a sexual relationship. I'm not saying we should encourage teens to have sex, but I think we need to accept that kids are going to do it, and as adults it is our job to guide them. Not scare them. Jeez.

Welcome back my friends to the show that never ends. Today's Peter Pan bus was named "Swarthy Ruffian." Sadly, it was not wearing an eye patch nor did it great me with a hearty "Yar."

However, this was the interaction I had with the bus driver after sprinting to the bus for fear it was leaving:
Me: "Hi, how are you?"
Him: "Lousy."
Me: "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."
Him: "Yeah. Married."

...Um, what?