We are defined by the lines we choose to cross or be confined by.

- A.S. Byatt
Possession

tonight i am going over to terri's place to watch some clive owen films, eat chinese food, and drink coconut rum. the only thing better than knowing other obsessive people is when their obsessions are the same as yours. my obsession with clive owen began after one too many viewings of 'croupier' ("hang on tightly, let go lightly"; something terri says more than i do) and was curbed early on when i found out he was married with two kids (because, you know, otherwise, i might have had a shot, right?). besides, i prefer animated to stoic (i'm sure actors are *exactly* like the characters they portray in their films) and thirty-eight is a little too old for me (i think it's a little scary to rationalize celebrity crushes like this; don't you?). but even though i know it would never work between clive and i, he's still easy on the eyes. should be a fun night in, and i hope i can convince terri to show me the episode of remote control she was on in the 80's (she blew away her competition and won a car).

tomorrow will be a full day. going to see '8 crazy nights' (hey, i haven't lit a single Hannukah candle, i should acknowledge the holiday somehow) and 'adaptation' (sooo excited about this; one of the most intense trailers i've ever seen). after that, it's off to mercury lounge for future bible heroes, featuring the dj who spun at the boston club i spent most of my college years at (it will be tempting to go up to him and ask "remember me? four years ago? i was the girl who always requested specimen and visage... you know, the drunk girl in the poufy skirts...").

sunday will probably be all about sleeping in and vegging out.

i want the weekend to start now!!!

The first proper snow of the year. Happening right now. Beautiful.

Makes me think that there won't be snow in Africa this Christmas time. Makes me think of my favorite holiday song EVER, which also happens to be the most unintentionally funny Christmas song ever.

Bless Bob Geldolf's earnest little heart for being able to write such touching lyrics about starvation in faraway countries, while we are spoiled rotten with our holiday feasts.

And off the top of my head, I can't think of any other New Wave Christmas songs, so "Do They Know It's Christmas?" is special for many, MANY reasons.

I know most of you have heard it, but have you actually paid attention to the words?

Please, join me on a lyrical journey through this, the most somber, synthy, and (at times) downright hilarious song:

DO THEY KNOW IT'S CHRISTMAS?
[commentary in brackets]


It's Christmas time
There's no need to be afraid
At Christmas time
We let in light and we banish shade

[What a nice message of Christmas cheer I'm hearing. There IS no need to be afraid! Though, with such happy words, I AM a little puzzled why there are all these dark, disturbing new wave-ish bell sounds in the background.]

And in our world of plenty
We can spread a smile of joy
Throw your arms around the world
At Christmas time

[Okay, drums have kicked in and now the song is really going. Great! I am feeling the holiday spirit, and it is about to move me. Hoorah! Let's all throw our arms around the world! Pass the egg nog, candy canes, and leg warmers...]

But say a prayer
Pray for the other ones
At Christmas time it's hard
But when you're having fun

[This is a good point. We shouldn't be getting so caught up in the gifts and food and booze and tinsel, that we forget those less fortunate. It's a good moment to reflect on how truly blessed we are.]

There's a world outside your window
And it's a world of dread and fear

[Well, that's a little harshly put, though I suppose I can appreciate the dose of reality.]

Where the only water flowing
Is the bitter sting of tears

[Yikes, that's just downright bleak! Way to put a damper on my Christmas time fun! Is there really a place like this? Have I been living a sheltered, ignorant existence with all the non-bitter-stinging-tear-water that I can drink? It appears to be the case.]

And the Christmas bells that ring there
Are the clanging chimes of doom

[What do these clanging chimes of doom sound like, pray tell? Is there some guy high up in a tower that rings them? Are there bells there that don't signify doom? Do they ever have to train a new guy to ring the bells ("Hey, Stan, those are the chimes of elation you're clanging. The chimes of doom are over to your left.")?]

Well tonight thank God it's them instead of you

[So I should blow a sigh of relief for other peoples' misfortune? Whew, I'm so glad there are people poor and miserable and dying in far away lands and I am not one of them! THANK GOD!]

Feed the world
Let them know it's Christmas time
Feed the world
Do they know it's Christmas time at all?

[So wait, are we feeding them or are we letting them know it's Christmas time? Those are two very different things. One involves dry and canned goods and the other involves santa hats, polar bear Coke commercials, mistletoe, that fake snow stuff sprayed in store windows, reindeer sweaters, and perhaps a viewing of 'Home Alone 2'.]

And there won't be snow in Africa
This Christmas time

[Um, did Africa EVER have a white Christmas? Let's try to focus on the real tragedy here, not on the climate.]

The greatest gift they'll get this year is life

[Just because they don't have a Macy's, doesn't mean they can't whittle a nice giraffe or rhinoceros from a tree branch. Just because a gift isn't store-bought, doesn't mean it can't be great.]

Where nothing ever grows
No rain nor rivers flow
Do they know it's Christmas time at all?

[I think even people that live in the desert have calendars. So my answer is: PROBABLY.]

Feed the world
Let them know it's Christmas time
Feed the world
Let them know it's Christmas time again

[AGAIN? Did they ever KNOW it was Christmas time and then just forget when they started facing agricultural difficulties? Was there a traumatic incident we aren't being told about, like that one time a small village had to eat their Christmas tree, and thereafter they refused to acknowledge, celebrate, or even KNOW it was Christmas time? (I am SO going to hell for this.)]

(Here's to you) raise a glass for everyone

[Oh, how nice, we're back to the lively, festive spirit this song began with.]

(Here's to them) underneath that burning sun

[Or maybe not.]

Do they know it's Christmas time at all?

[I think we've already answered that question.]

Feed the world
Let them know it's Christmas time

[Again, let's sort out our priorities here. We either feed or Christmasify. We can't do ten things at once.]

.......

After studying the words to this song so closely I, for one, can never hear it the same way again. So let's enjoy our holidays in the land of plenty, but don't forget to raise a glass for them, underneath that burning sun.

(Repeat and Fade)

Watch the Whitney Houston interview on ABC and do a shot every time she mentions the good lord jesus christ.

This is going to be better than the Dawson's Creek drinking game...

Happy Birthday, D!

i tend to write more when i'm in a good mood (unless i am having so much fun that i am too busy to write). it used to be the other way around. i used to feel at my most creative when i was miserable, in fact, i used to worry that i would never write well without massive mood swings.

last night i read over some poetry i wrote in high school and college and realized that massive mood swings do not a good writer make. i laughed, i cringed, i felt sorry for my former writing teachers. i might have to post a couple on here one of these days, if i'm feeling sadistic/masochistic.

it's odd, writing used to be the first thing i'd do when depressed... well, maybe not depressed, how about ridiculously angsty over a boy... but how many synonyms for "sad" and "angry" and "obsessed" can you think of before your imagination seizes up? and this boy angst thing... i swear, i was like an adolescent, black-clad, bauhaus-listening version of bridget jones. how many weird, disturbed boys can a girl become fixated on? how many stupid poems about boys can a girl write? if your answer was in the single digits, guess again. no wonder i switched to prose.

anyway, i'm in a good mood today. i'm happy alone, i'm happy with people, i'm even happy in my little gray cubicle at this very moment. no poetry-writing urges in sight.

the fiction is good, the non-fiction is even better.

This weekend was the greatest CD-buying weekend of my life. Thanks to Generation in the village and Empire Records in Syosset, I have a thrilling amount of new music to listen to. (Another reason why I'm so excited is because all were gotten used, at amazing prices, like the Rufus Wainwright CD, which was $1.99. Absolute, music-finding heaven.)

Here's what I got...

SATURDAY
* Ladytron - Playgirl (CD single)
* Howard Jones - In the Running
* Sigur Ros - ( )
* Crowded House - Europe 1993 (Live album)
* Leftfield - Leftism
* Pet Shop Boys - Behaviour
* Rufus Wainwright (Self-titled)
* Just Say Yes (80's/Brit-Pop compilation)

SUNDAY
* Elbow - Asleep at the Wheel
* Cocteau Twins - BBC Sessions (double CD)
* Yaz - You and Me Both
* Adam Ant - Antics in the Forbidden Zone
* Pink Floyd - The Final Cut
* Tears for Fears - The Hurting
* Rolling Stones - Hot Rocks (double CD)

On another music-related note (didn't mean to make such a terrible pun, but it's staying), I saw Soft Cell last night and they put on a great show. Marc Almond is unbelievably fit for a 45-year-old (or person of any age, really) and was jumping around the stage with an enviable amount of energy (he also seemed fond of hitting himself with the mic; those wacky masochists...). I feel funny admitting it, but he was... oddly attractive (with his mouth closed; scary tiny-pallet-gold-teeth-what-a-mess-in-there thing happening when it's open), which was a surprise, because I never thought so from photos I've seen. But it's amazing what copious amounts of eyeliner and hair bleach and leather clothing can do. Still, it felt wrong to like him *that* way, in the same way it feels wrong to lust after Steve Buscemi or Pee Wee Herman (should I be seeing a therapist for this?).

I know this is going to come as a complete and utter shock, but the band actually performed... that very obscure Soft Cell song, maybe you've heard of it... Tainted Love! Who would've thunk it?

Seriously, it was a fun show, it was cool to hear some of their punky stuff, and highlights for me were "Say Hello Wave Goodbye" (though I always hear David Gray's version along-side it, which I think I prefer over the original), "Martin" (which I don't own, but I swear I've heard numerous times at goth/new wave clubs), and, of course "Sex Dwarf" (I know, I'm so mainstream, but there are so few good songs about BDSM). "Sex Dwarf" was a particular treat because he had the audience do the screams. Now, anyone who has read my journal for a while might know how stressed out I've been for a good part of the year and how much I've needed to properly scream. New York City has a lot to offer, but finding a place one can let loose with a big howl is/was quite a challenge. Thankfully, Marc Almond provided that long-sought-after catharsis, and I got in four good screams during the course of the song. Life is good.

1.

I've been thinking about the nature of distraction and how people self-anesthetize. I have used a lot of things in the past to numb myself down and distract me from situations/thoughts that were difficult to face up to. My list of anesthetics includes (but is not limited to) alcohol, film, online games (online Scrabble, how well you've served me), and (as much as I hate to admit it) certain people. What I'm wondering is where the line is between enjoying something and using that something as a means of escape. And even if we do face up to the things we try to avoid, isn't there always going to be a new unpleasant something we need to be distracted from? For example, I may have dealt with certain family and relationship problems, but that doesn't mean there aren't other issues that I still need to tackle and, therefore, spend a considerable amount of time trying not to think about (namely, what I'm going to be when I grow up... damn... now I'm thinking about it). The thing is, I hate the word 'distraction'. It makes anything done under that term sound unimportant, meaningless. But being able to enjoy the moment is not meaningless. I guess the point of all this is that sometimes I feel guilty when I have time to myself and I don't do something 'productive' (i.e., writing, looking for a new job, exercizing, doing laundry, learning a new language, trying to better myself as a person). Recently, I have been feeling less guilt at being able to enjoy simple pleasures. I'm just wondering how to keep that balance of enjoying things without losing sight of certain goals.

2.

Speaking of simple pleasures, I can't even say how good those new Beef Jerky shreds are. Teriyaki flavoured, packed with sodium, and so chewy my jaw hurts. It's too good to be 97% fat free! Not that any snack food will ever take the place of Corn Nuts in my heart (and stomach).

The last time I celebrated Halloween was three years ago, when I was living in Cambridge, Massachusetts. I went down to New Orleans for a few days with a guy I was dating. He was Adam Ant and I was Cruella DeVille (and our costumes were damn good, if I may lack all modesty for a moment). It should have been an amazing trip, but it was dreadful, even though the city was gorgeous. I had a kitten that had to be put to sleep days before and had a mid-term a couple of hours before our flight. And I was starting to think things weren't going to work out with this boyfriend. All of which made for tense circumstances to spend a few days in a hedonistic city, in costume, escaping sobriety. In retrospect, maybe the trip wasn't so dreadful; it was certainly memorable and definitely not boring (makes me think of Ghost World: Rebecca: "This party is so bad, it's almost good." Enid: "It's so bad, it's gone past being good to being bad again.").

I didn't celebrate the last two Halloweens because I was living in England, and there isn't much fuss about the holiday there. Even though I've been back in the States for over nine months now, autumn is bringing back a new set of reverse-culture-shock moments (in a good way). I love it, seeing all the cobwebbed store windows, the commercials for Pillsbury ghost cookies, the fake grave markers in the front yards of my block (for people like Barry D. Alive), the orange and black decorations everywhere.

Sunday I went to a pumpkin-carving party that S held. It was the first time I carved a pumpkin and I felt like a little kid. Later, the group of us went outside to the public garden next to her building, and sat around a picnic table, with the lit pumpkins in the center, sipping warm cider and talking. It was such a lovely evening.

Tonight, I'm going to see the Halloween parade for the first time ever, and then head over to a friend's party. I didn't have a chance to get a costume together this year, but I am certainly not lacking the festive spirit.

Happy Halloween everyone!

I am stupidly hung over today.

It took me about ten minutes to get my shoes on this morning.

I had the subway doors close on me and made one of those embarrassing Indiana-Jones-on-crack entrances into the train car.

In the bank, I thought a woman asked me "long date?" when she was asking what today's date was.

In the deli, I spent five full minutes at the salad bar, filling a small plastic container with fried rice and picking out the bits of carrot. I heard these two guys talking in Spanish behind me and I was convinced they were saying "wow, that is one hungover chiquita."

I bought some blue Gatorade and am drinking it verrrrry slowwwwwly.

Booze: 1, M: 0

(I'm pretty sure I wrote about this before, but oh well.)

Does anyone care that it's Friday the 13th? Before you start rolling your eyes and making sarcastic remarks, let's keep in mind that there are some superstitious people out there and that it doesn't make them bad people.

And anyway, one of the ways that families and society as a whole maintain a sense of consistency is through ritual. While superstitions themselves are defined as 'a belief or practice resulting from ignorance, fear of the unknown, trust in magic or chance, or a false conception of causation', the way they usually manifest themselves is through ritual.

Growing up, my family followed some pretty odd superstitions. There's the one about not whistling indoors, because it means you'll lose money. And I was told not to accept sharp objects from people (scissors, safety pins, nails, etc) without paying for them (even a few cents), because it meant I would take on the giver's troubles (same thing reversed, too; don't give your friends sharp objects or you will be giving them your problems). Then there is fake-spitting (saying "ptu ptu ptu") to not jinx something or someone (example: "Your son grew up to be such a healthy, handsome boy, ptu ptu ptu."). There's also the hand gesture (no, not that one) you show someone when you feel like they are giving you the 'evil eye' (I don't know what the English word is, but in Russian it's called a 'figa', which is a clenched fist with the thumb held between the forefinger and middle finger.).

My favourite familial superstition, however, makes absolutely no sense and is still followed by my parents fervently to this day. Whenever I sneeze and one of them is thinking of death or someone that has passed away, they tug on my (left, I think) ear. It's a miracle my ears aren't a foot long by now.

I don't think I'm highly superstitious (I walk under ladders, don't care if black cats cross my path, and am nonplussed that today is Friday the 13th). Nevertheless, a few of these irrational rituals have stuck with me. Having good luck is something I value, so I have my anti-jinxing repertoire (god-forbid-knock-on-wood-ptu-ptu-ptu). I know it's silly, weird, and useless. But that won't stop me from continuing to do it.

What about the rest of you? Any superstitions/rituals you follow that you care to share?

Last two, and then I'll stick to boring you with my ramblings instead of my face.

My dear friend R and her husband S are visiting from London and wanted to check out Remote Lounge. Interesting how the crowd dynamic has been so different each time I have been there (of course the last time, I was pissed out of my tree). Last night, the people there seemed low-key and there were lots of couples. Still good for a bit of voyeuristic fun, though.

Here is a photo of myself with the beautiful R.

"One can live for years sometimes without living at all, and then all life comes crowding into one single hour."

--Oscar Wilde

One more photo. Seriously, this place is so much fun. You should all go.

I am trying a new one today.

Cantaloupe (it's what I heard).

And no coffee.

So far, so good.

"I went to a lot of parties. I cried a lot."

--'Until the End of the World'
(My favourite line from the film; sorry, still obsessing.)

My patience has been tested in many ways this year, and is being tested in many more (Why is this sounding like the Family Ties theme song?). Sometimes, my patience runs out, and I do rash things, I lose my temper, I make decisions that are not easily (if possibly) reversed, I follow impulses (most recently, signing up for the GRE, buying the study guide, and then changing my mind about grad school and canceling the exam). I don't believe in regret, but I do believe in carelessness.

Right now, I am trying to be patient on a couple of job leads. I am desperate to start planning a vacation, but have no idea whether I will need to save my days off for interviews or whether I will need to save my money in case I decide to quit my job anyway. While I'm slowly coming out of the limbo that has been plaguing other aspects of my life, the job situation is frustrating as ever.

Sometimes I wish I could be one of those people that are content with a job which allows for maximum email writing/reading, internet browsing, and general pretending-to-be-busier-than-I-am-ness. And every time I have a look at what else is out there, I cling to my job with that much more gratitude. But at the same time, I feel parts of my brain beginning a slow atrophy, because it is not like I can do anything worthwhile in my quest to look busy (I suppose if I had the inclination, I could read more intellectual websites than some of the garbage I browse through) and the actual projects that I am given would put me into a coma of boredom if I didn't do anything else all day.

What's funny is that I have been working as a freelance consultant, helping people with their resumes and job searches, which makes me feel like the employment equivalent of the matchmaker who ends up an old maid.

I'm sure something will turn up soon. It's that kind of year: everything bad happened all at once, so the turnaround will be the same (and the turnaround has already begun, which is why I can sound so vaguely optimistic).

I just hate the feeling of wasting time, wasting talent, wasting my brain power on pointless admin tasks. Considering that I am not in a financial position to do otherwise, and considering that people have compromised themselves far worse for a little money, I shouldn't feel too bad. But I could do so much more. If I could afford to be a little impatient or careless.

When does patience cross over into inertia and futility? And why is it considered such a virtue, anyway, when there is so little time to experience and accomplish everything that we want to?

Tonight, I am going here with a few friends.

It's rare I get my ideas for bar outings from Discovery Channel specials, but there you have it.

(I like the fact that there is a button you can press on the terminals for more drinks. I'm rubbish at getting bartenders' attentions; it's as if I become invisible, even when I am holding out money.)