I went to Schaumburg, IL today, which *is* as exciting as the name implies, as i went to Woodfield Mall, which according to a Didion essay from the mid-70s, is one of the biggest malls in THE U-S-A. I went there as if I was being towed by a giant magnet. I wanted to see the spectacular hordes of teenagers and be engrossed by the spumescent flow of fiscal-rebound XMASCOMMERCE in powerful, triumphant motion. I wanted to lay down on the carpeted sky-promenades connecting the levels of upper-court to the mid-court junction (areas C to F, overlooking the non area of A, below, with it's faux ferns, in multiteired brick risers, where the "get yr picture with Santa" line snakes past the blinding white-carpeted Jewelry store, which is of such a casual/budget form, that it could be easily described as the sort of place you go to buy a necklace for your 11th grade girlfriend...) -- as i have this strange desire thats a hold over from childhood of wanting to sleep, or be private (ie. read, hang out alone) in malls, school gynasiums, places where you can accomodate teeming masses.
I barely had a reason to go to the mall, aside from my internal insistence that my sister is so normal, this is the only place where things she would like could be purchased. That was totally a lie, though I did manage to spend about $100 there, $14 of which was for her, $2 on julianne, and $3 on my boyfriend. I really felt like it was all research -- on what people smell like, what sort of job 17 year old girls get, the various stages of father-daughter extrangement, the variety of mournful expressions of men who wait outside stores for their daughters, or wives, what sort of mother buys bright red lipstick for her 8 year old daughter at Sephora, what young russian girls are buying this season at hot topic, how Good Charlotte have made The Misfits an iconic fashion band after the fact and you can buy ALMOST ANYTHING with the Misfits logo on it at Hot Topic, as well as new and "classic" punk vinyl. The puma store had a live DJ who played back to back biggie and girls paired with their quietly exasperated mothers held up the velour track suit they wanted for xmas.
(I have always wanted to rock a track suit, but you know, you put a little medal around my neck and I look like a member of the Polish gymnastic team seeking exile, which is a great look, but not what I am going for these days.)
I am truly FASCINATED by what I saw today, watching how desire and spending and gift giving cuts it's swath through people. I wish I could inspect every bag and ask people what they are buying for whom. I love the mall...! It's like being in the sweaty locker-room of capitalism.
It has been forty-eleven days since I updated the blog. Surely your tears dried up days ago, when you gave up on that I might ever come back. You had given over that I was surely adrift out in the south seas, contemplating the big issues, reading back issues of Redbook I stole from the dentists office and floating in a raft I made from coconuts and bamboo, like some retired Gilligan shit.
I was, almost.
I was actually hiding in the marshy golf coursed hinterlands of Central Florida, far from salt water, and conviently located near tons of retired people who are padding about in slip on shoes, quietly, and watching FOX NEWS and the Weather Channel for hours at a go, keeping themselves up to the minute with the Doppler StormWatch, occiasionally getting out to play cards and see doctors and a little bouncing in the pool, to keep the nu hip limber. Thats where I was, with my tiny grandma, who told me a lot of stories that ended in death-bed vigils, sometime in the mid-century.
& seeing her life at 85 made me terribly woolen-itch uncomfortable. Implicated by the inevitability of un-rejoicable AGEDNESS, Of being 85 and most everyone you know has died and left you alone for real.
My grandma's favorite presidents are: Reagan, Bush v.1, and Nixon. She voted for Nixon, her and my grandpa donated big on Nixon, and after the election, he as going to come stay overnight at their ranch/farm, but it did not happen. The Secret Service did send them all the overhead/sightlines security photos they took pre-emptively, which my grandma still has and shows off with intense pride. He was a great president, a good man, she says.
Today is thansgiving, a holiday I do not celebrate, because a. I am grateful every day b. it's about eating meat, Native Americans being torn asunder, more white dudes pilaging, raping, poxing and the like, which for me, does not a holiday make, despite how much I enjoy eating root vegetables. I DENY YOU, THANKSGIVING. I anti-celebrated thanksgiving by laying in my bed for 15 hours straight, speaking french and reading the anti-capitalist fashion zine that the Quails put out. All this, while you (!) sucked yams down yr gullet with glee!
Also, to note: The Ryan Adams new album, which is a devisive pull from scruffy funnabe blue-collur drawlin, of Georgia-whined pussy pleas and other shining moments as well as some indulgent and not terribly tolerable career move albs of yore -- I like this one. "llor n kcor" -- the "punk" album which alternately sounds like some also-ran lost lover teenage Stiff records / Ian Dury- periferal band, some LA new wave c. 86 with big hollowbody gtrs shimmer shimmering all over the Strip - the wiredness, but not the men's blouses - like Dream Syndicate, or Wall of Voodoo. Chimey, U2-fringe guitars that spell out 1985 WAS A VERY GOOD YEAR perfectly. Sometimes it sounds like the bad songs off Don't tell a Soul, which despite being the most sell-out of the Replacements albums, is better than most records and at least good enough to hold on to yr cassette copy anyhow.
I have to go to Florida and visit my Nana for a few days, and skateboard in the 80 degree heat and not read any email. I imagine, you web-reader will be bored to the point of suicidal, and/or the ever popular state of "emotional torpor". I suggest, you got to http://www.lesbianshopper.com/cards and send yr self the most PG-erotic ecards you can find til you feel better. The music selection to go with the cards is so intense it might stunt yr growth, especially the soft Yamaha-key harpsicord/concert hall reverb version of "Fast Car".
After MegaFuxx practice ended (editing a mash-up for the Sparklemotion Laptronica Cage Match, which we will win, BTW), Jr came into the basement, and announced several things, the most pertinent was "I downloaded the Paris Hilton thing", which naturally we demanded to see as I had tried to download it onto his laptop at the last practice, as horrified and curious as any other gawker, to no avail. We watched it twice, sound up, trying to see if she ever says anything. I think thats what I was most curious about. She's mute or unintelligible, aside from answering her phone. The nightvision DV cam-effect reminded me most of seeing deer become transfixed in the headlights of my dads 82 Dodge Van, giant pupils glaring, unemotive, unblinking. I thought maybe she was too fucked up to talk, or she's just shy, or her mind is elsewhere. Everyone is stupid at 22, and so I don;t give too much creedance to the idea that she's *really* dumb. I also thought about how strange or lucky it is, that at 22, with a body like that, at the peak of you celebutanute fame, your casper-translucent hued naked body, in three minutes of film where you do nothing but bob through the frame at varying speeds, wide-eyed, classic, pert, quiet -- is how you will be etched in to the collective concious of the world.
The roster for an upstart booking agency booking "indie rock and softer genres". Current artists include the WAY TOO LENGTHY AND INTENSELY MONICKERED:
Between The Buried And Me, A Life Once Lost , Scars Of Tomorrow, Premonitions Of War, Curl Up And Die, Embrace Today, The Judas Cradle, Nodes Of Ranvier, A Perfect Murder, Fear Before The March Of Flames, Salt The Earth, On Broken Wings, If Hope Dies , & More.
Ok, lets take 19 seconds and examine themes: Save for three, all connotations of death. Salt the Earth sounds like a diet regimen and a grammatical error. Nodes of Ranvier makes me think Swiss elf with a biblical disease. Embrace Today, my guess is a straight edge 88 posi-core band, with touches of Fugazi.
Torture, death, failure - what are they communicating - that they are destoyed? destroyers? Brave young men facing their mortality? This is so curious-making and confounding to me!
Anyone who tries to fight you on the internet, is, by all qualifications, a pussy. Beefing via the internet in 2003 is some puh-thet-ick shit. If you really want to beef and show who is the real macho bitch, forget the flame war, the effete email queiries. I mean, pick up the phone, or show up outside thier work with a cueball in a tube sock or hire a pack of teenage girls to follow them and laugh at them tauntingly for a few days. The internet is invisible, and thusly, it doesn't count. Mandate for 2004: being effete and lame is a new dimension of wackness.
Also, another rule to live by is never trust anyone with personalized liscense plates. My freind David J Wolter, who is tall and a trusted advisor on any matter at all, told me this back in the 90's. (Also, upon office discussion this also extends for people with expensive rings or jewelry with ones own initials on them, but doesn't cover cufflinks , and also doesn't apply tobathtowels, sweaters or sheets (as those are usually gifts)).
I just went through and started deleting entires at random.
I run into people and they say "i read yr blog, blah blah digression" and I feel my insides start to turn and tumble like some bad Gyro meat on a spit. I feel deeply strange about posting anything on the internet.
So I am going to start taking things off of here. So it'll be more like a secret if you saw it. It'll be like you and me are a club. It'll be like you read my diary and tore your favorite pages out. It's like it's Xmas and I rapped your present in pages from BARELY LEGAL and sent you a creepy fax saying "look under the towels in the hall closet" and inside is some candy.
It's like you licked yr hand and then touched it to my hand just to make sure I have your germs as well.
That is what it is like!
Convientently, this is one of the two Misfits songs I know all the words to.
I had a dream last night that was so gross and vivid it is making me gag still at 11:39 am. In said dream, I discovered deep golf ball style pocks on my head. They had eyes on them. Goopy, slow, animal-monster eyes. Under my hair. I wanted to clean them out cos they looked infected. Thats so super gross, isn;t it?. I am gagging right now.
Also, in other news: After Saturday nights appearance at the Hallowave party (Smith's tribute was great - much more racially diverse than the original, The Clash tributers were terrific, spanned the whole career, give them a C+ on their look though - they looked like a fash spread in the Fader, sans budget) -- I have been verging on resigning from my rollerskating performance team, Sparkle Motion 6 (nee 7). Rollerskating in hot pants, is not by nature a feminist action. There is nothing inherantly radical about getting people to check out the asses of 6 small, hot girls. You cannot get the weightiness of our gilded brains through a glance at hot-ass-on-wheels. And as an anti-capitalist, I reject the idea of doing something for money that I would already be doing for free. Lastly, and also, I spend much of my time trying to not have my work, my art, my witty repoir SEXUALIZED at every turn, why would I work against that.
I told them that my dream of Sparkle Motion is that on the day after thanksgiving, we don long black burquas that say "feminism is fun" or something and skate holding hands through shopping throngs of Miracle Mile.
My thoughts were met with solid supportive responce, from the other Sparkles, who are not only rad but radical as well, and so we are working on a series of culture jamming actions and ideas, the first being Megafuxx / Sparkle Motion performance in the Laptronica Cage Match later this month. Or entire performance is based around the Wal-Mart slave labor bust, to the booming 808s of MegaFuxx'z "MegaFunk". It'll be like some Merce Cunningham shit on Chomsky and Miami Bass.