Think Pink

Last night was supposed to be a not so late night.  But who can turn down sparkly firework thingies signaling the arrival of bottomless flutes of Veuve?  Not me!  It was a friend's birthday so I decided to see what the clubs are like in San Diego.  We went to Fluxx, and it was super duper uber fun.  Mainly because my friend is special and we got to dance on couches. (There was a tube in the middle of the dancefloor that had girls with sparkly bikins dancing in it.  I want a sparkly disco ball bikini.  And maybe a tube.)

I know you are rolling your eyes at me bragging about how cool I am.  And I was feeling relatively cool.  Until I didn't see a step.  And tripped and punched myself in the face with some guy's drink.  But at least I didn't fall like the lady who tripped right after I tripped.  And she went down hard.  And hit my shin!  And her face on something that must have been kind of hard.  But she was old and poorly dressed, so they gave her a bottle of water and shuffled her out of VIP.

I also learned a new move last night.  Not like that.  I pointed out a guy who had beautiful blonde curls and my friend said she knew who he was.  At one point he walked past us and she slowly ran her hand down the small of his back!  (It's okay, she has an adorable boyfriend who was standing next to us who knew she was doing it for me.  She has agreed to be my pimp, and she's doing a good job so far.) He turned around because he knew it was one of us who had touched him so intimately, but we just both turned and looked the other way.  So the next time you feel someone run their hand down your back in a crowded club, look for my pimp or me trying to act like we didn't just touch you.

Other fun stuff:  Ladyfingers writes just like Stephen King!  Hahahahahahahaha.  The only name that could have been better was that lady who wrote Twilight!  I made sure to let him know that King writes in a way that makes him very popular and accessible to many people - just like Dan Brown.  He is crushed that his style is so pedestrian and commercial.

Here are some fuschia-themed pics. [ Since it has been so dreary in CA (average July temp is supposed to be in the 80s, not the freaking 60s), I've been surrounding myself with fuschia.  Fuschia bedding, to be exact.]  I had to take pics of the magnum (which was too heavy to pour), and send it to My Gays and the amazing soul who introduced me to Veuve.  And drinking in general.  And doing it while wearing bikinis and high heels.  Oh yeah, and I also liked this blog because it had pretty things: notcot.com's Veuve stuff. 

And this is how I feel after having access to magnums of my favorite champagne:

That's my new dog!  Well, she belongs to my roomie (for now), but she loves me because I let her do this to the couch when my roommate is out of town.  She's bummed about the weather too, and is trying my fuschia thing.

And All the Little Come-ons...

They were all just run-ons
And when I think of your arms
I forget what street to turn on - I'm Afraid of Everything  by Braid

I spend a lot of time doing dishes out here in CA.  Mostly washing the French press.  Mostly because it is cold and overcast a lot.  Mostly because everyone here has to be cool and not use something easy like a Mr. Coffee.   You know, because French presses make SUCH a good cup of coffee.  Because it's made with the world's worst tasting water. Anyway, the windows are always open, and it just kind of makes me feel like singing all the time.  Which is unfortunate because I have an awful voice.  And I live on a street with lots of foot traffic.  So I'm scrubbing the godforsaken French press (which I swear makes weak coffee), and singing my favorite Braid song.  And then I'm thinking that a super hot guy should walk by and be like "Hey, I love that song!  And I'm creative and funny and passionate and neither bi-polar nor an addict and I have tons of indie cred and I can fix your truck and/or computer and cook and surf and fingerbang well.  Let's makeout and fall madly in love just like a Braid song but with less angst."

Except no one good walked by, and if they did, they would tell me that I'm not 20 years old and to grow the eff up and stop trying to star in a bad Gen X film.  But then I got a text saying that Bob Nanna from Braid was doing an in-store San Diego's coolest place to see and be scene M-Theory Music, (say hi to Rick when you're there - he's adorable, and much to my chagrin, strives to be the exact opposite of Jack Black's character in High Fidelity).  I decided to go, since I have yet to learn that the bands of my youth can never live up to my post-post punk/hardcore expectations (this means you, Dinosaur Jr.! I gave you two chances!!).  But not to worry, he put on a good show.  I just felt a little out of place because I don't have an iPhone and/or a fixie.  And there were a couple creepy guys who kept addressing Bob as BOB, but it was just awkward because you could tell they were trying in vain to force a rapport that would never happen, due to their obvious hero worship and the fact that they were saying his name way louder than necessary. 

BOB was gracious and took lots of requests, even though these weirdos kept asking for songs that he obviously didn't want to play.  And then it was silent and a meek girl in pigtails yelled out that she wanted to hear "I'm Afraid of Everything," which was quite a relief, because that's what I wanted to hear, but I'm not really the type to yell at requests in a room full of emo-back-when-emo-meant-something-but-I-still-hate-the-term emos.  BOB agreed to play it.  And then the fanboys continued calling out for the same songs that he already said he didn't want to play, so he played something else to appease them.  And then he played something else.  And then he mentioned that he'd play her request.  And then he played something else.  And then then he played something else.  And then it was over.  But that's okay, because he played a lot of old stuff that I liked, and had he played the song, it probably wouldn't have lived up to my expectations.  Here's an old performance of the song if you're curious.  He's a good songwriter, and I think the drummer kicks ass. 



And then when I was leaving, I scraped the wall with my car!  I have never hit anything parking.  Ever!  I feel like such a loser/bad driver.  Also, Rick introduced me to BOB and I couldn't help but try for some witty banter.  BOB obliged, but I'm thinking it was a bit much.  I'm thinking the whole witty banter thing might be a bit much.  A guy friend advised that in light of the Grannypantygate, I should tone it down a bit, and just be cute until the unsuspecting fellow has already fallen madly in love, and then I can start to be myself.  But that's kinda unethical I think.  False advertising, if you will.  Personally, I love shittalkers, as long as they are funny and not mean.  Witty banter is a huge turn-on, and I don't think I should tone it down.  But I'm hanging out at record stores by myself in my 30s, so what the hell do I know?  I'm open to suggestions!

Here's a funny scene from High Fidelity.  And for those of you who don't know, Barry asks if the guy's daughter is in a coma b/c during the 80s, that song brought someone out of one. 

Finite Jest

I saw this pop up on facebook today - it's a site that tells you which famous writer you write like.  I just plugged in some stuff from here and prayed for a cool name to pop up.  I got David Foster Wallace!  Hahaha, Ladyfingers will be furious, as he worships the footnoted ground on which DFW walks.  I highly doubt the legitimacy of facebook apps., but it made me laugh just the same.  At least is wasn't Dr.Seuss.  Or Thomas Friedmann.  Or either of the Brontes.  Damn it, how do I make an umlaut?  (On a new computer that is giving me fits.)

Ladyfingers and I had a contest last year about who could have the most meaningful final class with their students.  Since he had seniors, and students who actually try at school, he kind of had the upper hand.  But, I had a lot of misfits who had actually started to read by the end of the year.  (I was really hoping to see how my most difficult student was affected, as he had revealed that my class was like therapy, even though we had a very rocky start where he had some sort of boundary-testing outburst every five minutes.) 

Ladyfingers decided to read DFW's commencement speech (probably 20 mins long?), because he loves to hear the sound of his own voice.  I opted for a Bukowski poem (uh, it was a tame one, and remember, these kids don't read so it's not like they will be corrupted) for two reasons:

1. I never got around to teaching poetry because trying to talk about poetry makes me uncomfortable.  Yes, this is one of my many teaching failures.  But, I also got them ready to write for (community) college, which is a decent tradeoff.
2. I found a clip of Bono reading it, which got me out of reading it aloud to a bunch of eye rollers.

I printed up copies of "Roll the Dice,"  passed them out, and then waited for the video to upload.  My school has one dial up connection, so things like this can take awhile.  Laptop crashed.  Then the projector had to be rebooted.  Then we had an effing fire drill!!!  We finally got back to class with three minutes left and things started to come together, but at this point they were just staring at the clock, which I could kind of understand.  The last thing they cared about was my goodbye message.  But I had spent a lot time putting this together, and I wasn't going to give up now.



The bell rang with about 5 seconds left in Bono's reading, and I made them sit and listen to it!   (I would have soooo hated me if I had me as a teacher.)  I told them to take the poem with them and to re-read it every now and then.  The difficult kid threw his in the trash as he walked out without saying goodbye. 

Of course, Ladyfinger's DFW reading was a smashing success, even though he'd broken his cardinal rule of never using a writer/book that you actually care about, because when the students tell you they hate it, you can't help but take it personally.  This year he read the speech again and his students blatantly yawned in his face; he contemplated jumping out the window.  I didn't even bother with a final "lesson." 

First, some shoes...

These are my new favorites.  I love the metal Gucci logo.  I fell in love with them when they came out in the spring, but they were too tall (5-inch heel), and too expensive.  On my way out of town, I decided to stop at Gucci and see if they had any left.  The salesgirl, was all, "Oh, you mean the ones that are on sale at 60% off right now?"  Uhm, YES!  I tried not to get excited, figuring they would never have them in my size, but they had one pair left in Vegas.  So these were waiting for me when I showed up in CA!  I have no idea what my new roomie thinks, nor do I care.  Okay, she thinks I'm a ridiculous whore and I care a little bit.

And these were the ones I had to leave behind.  They are a little fashion-forward, but they are exquisite.  And since they are Alexander McQueen's last collection, they are collector's items.  Like surfboards, they are functional art?  The salesman got all choked up when he talked about Alexander's unfortunate passing, so my friend kept bringing it up to make him cry. 

They have little skull zippers and they were so cute and were made of the softest leather.  But, I got three pairs of new heels for half of what these cost.  I win!  And now I need to find somewhere to wear these new shoes.