Sword Play

The doped-up Spanish lawyer hit my car. The security guy saw it, though. But what really sucks that I'm going to have to visit him in his office with his torero swords and bullfighting posters and actually try to talk to him. He who spends his days in the parking lot smoking and hitting on all the pretty editorial assistants. He, who on top of his natural lisp now slurs his words. All three of us tried to sniff alcohol on him on Friday, when he barged into a meeting and anounced: "I hit your car." But it's probably pain killers.

"Je t'aime... moi non plus"

Just because I'm sick (and A. is sick and M. is sick), and I needed something pretty to look at.

You Can Compare Apples to Oranges

I sometimes like to point out to people, that I got fat while pregnant from eating fruit. And people give me that funny LOOK. But I have proof. A. and I decided to eat more fruit, you know, more vitamins and stuff. So this past week I ate like an apple a day, or an organic pear, or whatever. But because I ate these innocuous things on top of what I usually eat, meaning I didn't eat an orange instead of a cheese stick, but right after the cheese stick, I gained THREE feckin pounds. Unreal. Yeah, yeah, I know fruit contains tons of sugar, but really man. Was this really necessary?

On a lighter note...

I'm going to light some Nag Champa and channel Sai Baba. For reals.

A little drug called R.

Mirtazapine, Zispin, Remergil, Norset, Rexer, Remergon, Mirtabene, Avanza, Mirtazon, Axitas, Mirtaz, Promyrti, Noxibel, Mirzaten, Mizapin Sol. According to www.labelmesane.com, withdrawal symptoms can include: aggression, anxiety, balance issues , blurred vision , brain zaps, concentration impairment, constipation, crying spells, depersonalization, diarrhea, dizziness. electric shock sensations, fatigue, flatulence, flu-like symptoms, hallucinations, hostility, highly emotional, indigestion, irritability, impaired speech, insomnia, jumpy nerves, lack of coordination, lethargy, migraine headaches / increased headaches, nausea, nervousness, over-reacting to situations, paranoia, repetitive thoughts or songs, sensory & sleep disturbances, severe internal restlessness (akathasia), stomach cramps, tremors, tinnitus (ear ringing or buzzing), tingling sensations, troubling thoughts, visual hallucinations / illusions, vivid dreams, speech visual changes, worsened depression.

Piece of cake, right?

Priceless

Find it at http://www.cafepress.com/littleedieart.428622721#

Me Talk Pretty One Day

N. had a day of beauty on Saturday. Wah. I need a complete $30-billion refurbishment by Andre Balazs, or someone who specializes in turning formerly grand haute hotels into hip superstars. Pedicure, manicure, eyebrowns, haircut, highlights, allover waxing, facial, microdermabrasion, botox between my toes, spinal adjustment... Yet no butt bleaching. K. and I deciced over breakfast at Madame Matisse a while ago that we'll definitely stop there. We're old-school.

Beauty is not in the face; beauty is a light in the heart.
--- Kahlil Gibran

Faces in Places

I've been looking at faces a lot lately. Face shapes, to be precise. Launched by the egghead Edith Bouvier (see previous post). Wons said that her face would never look like an egg, and I agree. Jay Leno, that bastard, is a block with a huge drawer. Renee Zellweger is, well... complicated. N. brought over an old copy of "Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason" I had loaned her, which has Zellweger on the cover. I forgot that at one point she had actually looked human! An astonishing discovery. Otherwise, I'd say she looks like a crumpled handkerchief.

The Art of French-ish Bacon

I have had an ancient copy of "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" for at least ten years. I finally opened the book last night, thanks to my new obsession with Julia Child. When I realized that even a simple soup requires calves knuckles and other atrocities, I quickly shut the book again. Child cooked in a time when animals weren't mass produced and killed inhumanely. I got one good piece of advice, though. That horrible thing called bacon in America (salted, smoked, egad!) can be made more palatable and appropriate for European dishes by blanching it. Wow!

Egg Head

I wonder if anyone else noticed that Drew Barrymore as Edie Bouvier in "Grey Gardens" looks a lot like an egg. And the funny thing is, well to me, that I have a photo of yours truly looking like Drew Barrymore looking like Edie Bouvier looking like an egg. n'est-ce pas?

There is a season - turn, turn, turn ...

I'm starting to understand the need for escapism. Maybe it's due to developing maturity or becoming a parent or general brain mushiness setting in, but instead of the old ultraviolence à la Clockwork Orange or just any old documentary about Darfur or child soldiers in Africa or whatever, I really just would rather curl up in bed reading Julia Child's "My Life in France." And as the world does its thing, I think about making Boeuf Bourguignon. But I will not watch a romantic comedy. I guess it's just a mild case so far.

"ultraviolence" = referring to excessive and/or unjustified violence, according to en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Clockwork_Orange

Semaine Terrible

No, no, no, I will not make jokes about Haiti. I spent 20 minutes crying in my car after doing a shot of wheat grass this morning, listening to Amy Goodman interview survivors. And this, after I had carefully applied a smudged eye in preparation for the international male model who, for some inexplicable reason, wanted to interview for an editorial internship. And then I talked to my Dad who had discovered my blog. Truly, a terrible week.

Death, but why, Ms. Dickinson?

Blogging about trivial gripes like the way people park at Starbucks is positively blasphemous while people in Haiti are dying. And yet the world turns. I shop at Trader Joe's. I watch the season premiere of 24. I worry about Milan's fever and my stomach flu and losing a friend. And I covet a necklace I saw on Daily Candy. Nothing to do with the universal suffering, but I'm entering a gothic face: taxidermied ravens, bird bones, crystal balls and medieval illustrations of bugs. Maybe it's dissociation.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

Go ahead. Make yourself feel better. Take a look at: http://www.lisasoltis.com

Duped by the Dairy Industry

Someone forwarded me a thing called the Nutrition & Fitness Challenge, and in my despair to finally create that svelte self, I signed up. Turns out the feckin thing is sponsored by the friendly Dairy Council! No wonder its so-called blog extols the benefits of upping your calcium intake (via dairy, of course), so the whole thing is really a sham to get people to eat drink more crap-infested milk and hormone-riddled cheese. Nice.

The dupers: http://www.mealsmatter.org

Do You Live Under a Rock?

The editors (if you can call them that) of Yelp.com are jealous dweebs. Their latest newsletter starts with "Unless you've been hiding under a rock (or in Eagle Rock), you've probably heard the buzz that..." I don't live in Eagle Rock but pretty close to it, and while it has a certain mainstream blandness, it's still better than the fascist hell hole Silver Lake has become and the hipper-than-thou Echo Park, with its million dollars home, large homeless population and nouveau riche hipsters. The editors of Yelp.com probably live in Silver Lake, get their coffee at Intelligentsia and read Perez. Or worse, they live in Hollywood and watch "The Hills." As everyone knows, Mt. Washington is where the new and old artist elite and true intelligentsia are residing. There, or in Highland Park. Both are pretty close to Eagle Rock.

Men Are From Harvard

J. really thinks that women are not interested in seeing other women naked. I told him that women are even more interested than men in seeing women naked, being the critical judges of womanhood and everything they are. Then J. said, yes, but they aren't interested in watching women make out with other women on late-night TV, are they? As if that somehow proved his point. I cannot convince him otherwise. He also thinks that that chick on "Weeds" is naked only for guys watching. Puhleeze! And he thinks a woman would not be interested in the new Taschen book about Kubrick. Double puhleeze. And this, this from a Harvard graduate!

Just Say STOP

Stop that thing with the owls
Stop reading random blogs
Stop analyzing handwriting online and worrying over results such as "you are not following your heart; maybe you want to be an artist but are working as an accountant?"
Stop throwing away Vogues without reading them
Stop reading about events on Flavorpill you cannot attend
Stop worrying about a whole new generation of writers brain dead from growing up with the Internet
Stop hating the word Tweet
Stop hating people who write "So, I was thinking about nuts" and "I was thinking it was kind of cold?
Stop obsessing over other people's lives
Stop hating hipsters in American Apparel gold lamé leggings
Stop despising (i.e. being jealous) of Tao Lin

Ugh

Ugh is the word of 2009. And maybe even the word of the decade; the latter part of course, but, ugh, at least of the last 3 years. ugh. Not to be confused with uggs. For 2010, how about dude?

See www.urbandictionary.com:

ugh = used to describe disgust or boredom
as in: Ugh im so over all this bullshit or Ugh go away

Starbucks and The Devil's Tools

As soon as you order your tall latte at Starbucks and get in line to wait for your drink, you have to whip out your iPhone and make a call, or at least text furiously, or change your Facebook status. Because if you don't, valuable minutes of your life are lost doing NOTHING and we can't have that. We also cannot have you looking IDLE to OTHERS, which will lead them to assume you are a TOTAL LOSER.

Snuggie vs. Dreamie

The Snuggie has competition. From the Dreamie. But the Dreamie is just a sheet, while the Snuggie is a lifestyle! It had it's own fashion show in NY and has a cult following. Boohoo, Dreamie. You suck!

Spring/Summer 2009

This list is so passé:

Birkenstock
Beer
Hats
Being 40
Irony
Feeding toddlers seaweed
Coconut Juice
90s Blazers
Keeping Chickens

Except for the blazers. They're sticking around. See side bar.

Masochistic Mama

I love it when Milan bosses me around. No, mama. Sit down. Get up. Make Pfannkuchen. Move away. Nooooo!!!

I'm Toast

On a lighter note, Abe found a piece of cheese sweating on the couch this morning. When I couldn't sleep last night and considered bribing the demons of lunacy with an offering of Monterey Jack, a better part inside of me decided against it. And I put the slice of cheese on the couch.

On an even lighter note, I crashed parts of the most important pages on my work's website this morning. If I wasn't me, I'd be so toast.

Lunar Musings

Alas, my first entry of the new decade is not brilliant. I spent the day in a parallel universe, observing my life from a distance and holding on tight to the rope of my sanity. Must be the blue moon. Yesterday, as I traipsed through Descanso Gardens in agony, I reminded myself: this is good. This is my life. Here I am with my gorgeous child, surrounded by camellias wet with rain, columns of sunlit mist rising from the humid earth. Yet it felt false. Today, I felt an emptiness that started at my chin and expanded down toward my lungs and heart. A vacuum of detachment. I've been waiting so long for now to happen. And now that it's here, I have to remind myself that I am really alive, that this is really me and not some android going through the motions. Ah, the moon, Salome. It looks like a dead woman.