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Friday, May 19th, 2006
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1:54 am - Sometimes you're like a geranium, open your leaves to sun, but mostly you're like a potato, you...
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just sit in the dark and you never have fun.
I know I said I'm retiring this, but I'm drunk and sleepy and I have something to say.
I have this nasty sensation that hypothetical relationships are better than real ones. Ach, life is a terrible and beautiful thing. Mostly terrible. I had a bad day. For some reason or another. For many reasons. I keep telling myself that tomorrow will be better. But it isn't, usually. And I'll keep going and going until I'm gone. Because I promised my mother.
I am tired of feeling smothered. I am tired of feeling sad. I am tired.
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| Friday, May 12th, 2006
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8:46 pm - It's such a stupid sentiment, but write it once again.
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I wore a sundress and sunscreen today. It was lovely.
It's really creepy when someone you haven't talked to in ages calls you and says he just saw you walking down Walnut with "some skinny guy in a brown t-shirt" like he expects you to tell him who the guy in the brown t-shirt was and why you haven't called him back.
The guy in the brown t-shirt was Marc, and I have no reason for not calling him back. But I won't tell him either (since I'm not calling him back).
I wish I could stop dreaming. I hate my dreams. Daydreams and nightmares, they're all just proof that nothing ever happens in my life.
It smells like something died in our apartment. Actually right now it smells like maple-walnut scones, since Marc is baking them. But I am pretty sure there is a dead mouse somewhere.
I am going to retire this livejournal. Not delete it, because I look back and it amuses me, but I just don't think I'll post anymore. No good can come of it. Anyway, I like my posts on GWOG better.
Directions, Directions.
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| Sunday, May 7th, 2006
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7:31 pm - This Girl I Truly Loved
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I'm bored. I'm procrastinating.
This is a mix I like:
1. Real Danger - the Red River
2. August Moon - Dylan in the Movies
3. Without You (NYC) - Bear Creek
4. Got the Blues (Can't Be Satisfied) - Mississippi John Hurt
5. White Waves - Shearwater
6. Wild Horses - the Rolling Stones
7. Nancy - Okkervil River
8. Move It On Over - Hank Williams
9. Let's Get Out of This Country - Camera Obscura
10. Our Weather - Pants Yell!
11. European Oils - Destroyer
It's a modified version of a Rena Birthday Mix.
In other music news: When I saw Will Sheff play awhile ago, he did a couple of songs I didn't recognize. It turns out I am not the O.R. music freak I should be (I know, I know, can we not talk about it?) and the one that struck me the most was a Shearwater song. Gah! How could I be so stupid???? It's called "My Good Deed" and it is the saddest song. Really, I challenge you to find a sadder song. I was in a pretty good mood and then I listened to it. Now I sort of want to through myself/things out the window. That being said, I still want you to go and listed to it. It's on Shearwater's "Winged Life" album. Now I have to write a note to my neighbors and tell them I threw out their bananas while they were away (they were rotting and making the whole hall smell like cantalopes).
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| Monday, April 24th, 2006
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3:56 pm - It's just peachy
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I'm sitting in Rose's dorm in Chicago, scanning the internet (reasonablecreature.blogspot.com is on another open page), drinking diet coke and thinking about which of Rose's many books I should spend some time with. She's out teaching small children how to write.
I've had a really nice trip so far. Some high points and low points: seeing Pants Yell!, drinking boxed wine with Maddy and Rose, a morning trip to the ER and the subsequent brief fling with steroid use, eating at the CO-OP, staying with Alice and Nina, the Oberlin Art museum, vintage clothing stores, hipster parties with booty rap, falling asleep to Freaks and Geeks in Chicago, seeing various GFS people all over, my lovely, lovely friends.
Tomorrow will hopefully be good. And then I go home for 36 hours and fly to Texas. Excitement, excitement.
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| Thursday, April 13th, 2006
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12:20 am - Lucky
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I saw “The Devil and Daniel Johnston” and went to Body Worlds. Neither was good for my psyche. They were both disturbing and thrilling. Although, I did have fun playing with all the Physics of Sports interactive exhibits with Hannah at the Franklin Institute.
I took Jackson for a walk last night. It was past seven, but still light out. The dog park wasn’t very crowded. There were a few couples sitting, intertwined, on the benches and a woman with a small child and her dog. She was striking, the woman, with dark, curling hair and pale skin. She looked like a Selkie, having taken human form. Her child, genderless, was old enough to talk and was running chasing after the dog, some type of spaniel, orange-gold and friendly. It was a very lovely scene.
I realized that one day, one day relatively soon, that dog will be gone. That beautiful woman will grow old, and die. Her child will grow up, it will not chase dogs anymore, it will not be able to be held in the crook of his mother’s bended arm, its mouth to her ear. It too will grow old, and die. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; This too shall pass; insert your own cliche here.
I also know, that I will grow older and fatter. And maybe, if I am very lucky, I will die, old enough, in my sleep. If I am very lucky, I will die in bed with someone next to me, someone who has spent years in our bed. And he will wake one morning, and outstretch his arms and find me cold and hard when I was once warm and soft. He will find that I had vanished at some point into the night. And this will be the last inflection in the pattern of my life; if I am very lucky I may leave something powerful but fleeting behind me; I may leave behind grief.
I will die, and you will die. Everything that we thought good and beautiful will disappear. Maybe other things that we would have thought good and beautiful will take their place. Maybe not. I just know that there will be a time that I will not be able to look into the dirty mirror-top of a table in a tiny backyward, and see the reflection of bare tree limbs in its surface. I will not be able to, because I will not be.
So, we should have happiness while we can.
Actually, I just tacked that onto the end so this wouldn’t be purely pessimism. I don’t believe that.
A little depressing, huh? Oh well. This is an old story. I know I may be the last in on it. Many people have thought these things too (“I grow old, I grow old, I will wear my trousers rolled”), most notably, or least notably, but most amusingly, Conor Oberst.
“Anything beautiful fades away.” Ha.
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| Tuesday, March 21st, 2006
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11:33 pm
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| Monday, March 13th, 2006
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11:04 pm - I enjoy copying off of Rose...
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I ENJOY IT. DAMMIT.
Anyway, I feel kind of down and anxious and I don't really want to talk about my non-existent life. So here are ten lyrics- some obvious, some not (please guess!):
1. Where did you get that line? Where did you get that look? Where did you get that penchant for destruction in the way you talk?
2. Blind man running through the light of the night with an answer in his hand/ come on down to the river of sight and you can really understand
3. Buy me a shiny new machine which runs on lies and gasoline/ and all those batteries we stole from smoke alarms/ disassembles my despair/ it never took me anywhere/ it never bought me a drink
4. I can settle down and being doing just fine/ til I hear an old freight rolling down the line
5. She's got red lipstick and a bright pairs of shoes/ knee-high socks, what to cover a bruise/ she's got an old death kit she's been meaning to use/ she's got blood in her eyes, in her eyes for you/ she's got blood in her eyes for you
6. You can't farm sorrow as dry as a bone/ it gets stuck in your boots on the long walk home/ oh we'll murder that bottle of blood-belly drop/ and passion will steel us until pause turns to stop... She sipped til she shimmered/ til her soul fit to shine/ and to whit whispered hither/ and collapsed into mine/ lilac and moss shrouded our faces/ drunken and slurred I undid her laces (this is by far the most obscure on the list- you have to be a pretty obsessive blogger)
7. Back to the city in high heels, gold rings upon her hands/ yup son, time to run, jump and land
8. And when I fell on the concrete- it was lovely/ because you could see what's been running so hot through me/ And when I fell on the concrete/ you went white as a sheet/ wish that nothing in this world could ever hurt me/ well, keep on wishing
9. I hear that you're building your little house deep in the desert/ you're living for nothing now, I hope you're keeping some kind of record
10. They're just paper cuts/ I'll just sellotape them up/ and bandage them with cotton wool and glue/ paper cuts/ I shouldn't beat myself up/ over little things the way I do
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| Saturday, March 4th, 2006
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12:39 am - Where did you get that painter in your pocket?
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I'm listening to Destroyer right now. It's giving me a nice musical high but it's nothing I can really describe.
Let's just be happy and free.
Hey Rose, I love you.
I wrote a song called "Martin Scorcese's Wet Dream." Here are the lyrics:
We move scene to scene
like a director's dream
we have our best sides shot
we'll be pretty until we rot.
What Martin Scorcese says
What Martin Scorcese says
What Martin Scorcese says goes.
It's very silly but I have the tune stuck in my head like a needle.
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| Monday, February 27th, 2006
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5:17 pm - being alone and being happy are not opposing states
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So I'm having a great time in L.A.
I went to a flea market in Santa Monica on Sunday, and then to the Museum of Jurassic Technology which is probably one of my favorite places ever. I get a little teary-eyed just thinking about it. Today I went to the La Brea tar pits, which was fascinating. Tomorrow I head down (or up?) to Claremont to see Rena! Which is incredibly exciting.
NB: NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT. I'M ON VACATION. I DON'T HAVE TONS OF TIME TO CALL. thank you.
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| Friday, February 24th, 2006
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12:20 am - and as some princess might, she still calls him a knight
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**continued from the last entry**
Sometimes, I don't feel human. I don't feel male or female, I don't feel like I can actually have relationships based on attraction and empathy and desire. I feel like some other creature. And the only relationships I can maintain are between myself and words, or myself and nature.
My body is not flesh and bone, it's not made with natural proportions in mind. It's amorphous, indistinct, and ultimately unlovable. When I was younger I remember telling Adrienne that I wished that I were a little floating pink sphere. It would be just like a light, nebulous and beautiful. My intellectual and to a certain extent, my emotional life would be there, but I would have no body. The fact that I once even wished that makes me sad.
**the end**
This is what a year off is all about right? Finding myself or something silly like that. And that doesn't always feel good today.
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| Thursday, February 23rd, 2006
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8:25 pm - Although my heart started to race, now it has slowed, I'll let it go
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Notes retyped from my notebook:
California is so beautiful it feels unreal. It doesn't even matter that the smoker is banished to the outdoors- it's almost a blessing to have an excuse to sit in the sun. Coming from the tempestuous Mid Atlantic- sticky in summer, frigid in winter with only a few months of always interrupted fair weather, the temperate climate seems to be from another planet. This does not seem like Joan Didion's California, harsh and alien, where the frightening fringe of America dwells- but some other land, half paradise, half frustratingly pure.
I don't think the trees at home ever get this green. It's a new color to me.
Palo Alto does not smell. The air is thin and clear. There are no food smells, and certainly no traces of cigarette smoke. At home, everything smells. Walking down South Street one will get the sweaty stench of fried onion, a heady redolence emanating from a florist's shop, then the cloying scent of a bakery. The alleys reek of rotten fruit and human feces. The downtown is filled with the aroma of hot dogs from vendors' carts and something vaguely more official- the warm, burnt smell which comes off a Xerox machine. Here- nothing. Not even the lemon tree which grows near Alex's dorm taints the air.
Sitting in CoHo- the Stanford coffeeshop. Abbreviations are rife at institutes of higher learning- the Reg (UChicago), the RU Screw (Rutgers). But everyone always thinks their own are infinitely unique. I feel pretty uncomfortable here. Anywhere I go and am surrounded by people who belong and have a purpose makes me feel awkward, unwelcome. Right now I feel bad for taking up a table where others BELONG. I don't belong anywhere. I never have.
I'm drinking herbal hibiscus tea- it's cranberry-colored and sickly sweet but the paper cup gives me license to stay here- even though I'm only writing idle thoughts in a Nancy Drew notebook.
I always feel cut in half by travel. Half of me is excited by being an unknown quantity. By being untethered and weightless and someone new. By being able to appreciate the scenery, the scene, completely uninhibited. But there's this longing for a base. Sometimes I feel as though I will only feel comfortable at home. But before I left, sitting in my bedroom at my parents, I felt terribly homesick. How can someone feel homesick in a house they've lived in for 18 years? I'm not sure.
I'm obsessed with the lack of smoking here. I think (for some unknown reason) that if I get to the root of that, I can get to the root of why I don't belong here. (Let me pause for a moment. I am having a wonderful time- seeing Alex is great, everyone is so nice and THE SUN! Oh, the sun. It's just that it's lovely but I don't BELONG here. Why don't I belong here? I like it here! Why can't I belong here?) I sat by the fountain for awhile, in the dark, alone, and thought about this. There's a certain attitude which marks anyone holding a cigarette between their fingers. A certain disregard for health, a certain coldness. Now I don't often think a lot about symbols in everyday life, or try to stretch the idea of life and death too far, but I think maybe attitudes towards death may be in conflict here. At home, it feels as though pain and suffering are not far away. And although I don't live close to death, I can imagine it's existence in Philadelphia with more certainty than in Palo Alto. You hear about violence and fear at home. You see it in the faces of people on the streets, if you look hard enough. But if you do not bring death to Palo Alto, it will not come. So why remind everyone of it on the sidewalk? This may be because I'm a visitor, but I'm pretty sure that in one of the most expensive towns in the country, death is alien.
***will write more later
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| Monday, February 6th, 2006
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7:32 pm
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Black Flats: 15.99 from Target.
Knee-High Trouser Socks Which Refuse To Actually Stay Knee-High: Free (either stolen from my mom or maddy, so at least free for me)
That One Leg Bent-Over Hop I Do When I Pull Up My Socks: Free with socks, apparently.
Green Paisley Skirt: Free. Gift from Leah.
Black Sweater Complete With Light-Colored Pet Hair: 17.00
Shapeless Black Overcoat: 80.00
Bright Blue Convertible Mittens: 5.00 - 10.00 from University of Chicago bookstore
Men's Tartan Scarf: Free. (Stolen from my father)
Bright Yellow Strand Book Store Tote Bag: Free. Gift from my father and brother.
Black Plastic Framed Glasses: Expensive.
Hair in a french twist that went from arty to windblown to disheveled in five minutes: The price of bobby pins.
The "way-up-there" crazy vibe I gave off while walking across the city today: Priceless.
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| Thursday, February 2nd, 2006
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10:16 am
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http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v20/moonrockmambo/jewlietattoo.jpg
- Ignore the cleavage. This is awesome.
www.stereogum.com
- Scroll down past Lisa Loeb's butt and read the entry on the indie rock cookbook. (Make sure you jump to the entry itself so you can read about Smoosh and Okkervil River!)
Nothing much to say except "FUCK! It's hot in the gift shop!"
[Edit: If I don't know you, please don't leave anonymous notes here. I'll just delete them.]
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| Thursday, January 26th, 2006
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10:07 am
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| Wednesday, January 25th, 2006
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11:46 am - Let us go then, you and I...
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Maybe if someone may have anemia, taking four large vials of her blood will not make her feel better. Maybe it will make her pass out in the waiting room of the lab. Maybe they should tell you to eat a lot before you go. Just maybe.
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
I need to make some decisions. I need to plan out my west coast trip a little further. I have to seriously think about if when I come back to Philadelphia I will be able to get a job. I need to decide how I can visit all the places I want to visit. I have to decide if I am going to take the "Paris, 1920: The Literature of American Expatriates" class I've been thinking about. I also have to decide if I want to go to the dig in Kilteasheen, Ireland. It's only two weeks. So it's not that big of a deal. But... I don't know.
I'm so sleepy.
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| Sunday, January 22nd, 2006
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11:06 am - I like long walks and sci-fi movies/You're six foot tall and East Coast bred
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'Ello, 'Ello all.
So, I think sleeping for 32 hours over two days has really made me feel better. Yay! This the most awake I've felt in ages (thank you warm bed, thank you sweet, milky coffee).
Anyway, I thought this entry would celebrate some of the most amusing things on the internet. Things which make me laugh out loud every time I read them. So without further adieu...
http://www.audiogalaxy.com/articles?&a=17
Okay, I know what you're thinking, "Miranda, more Will Sheff? Don't you think you've gone too far? WHEN WILL THIS END?" And my answer for you is simply, "Smell my beard."
http://www.toothpastefordinner.com/writing-143.php
Mike Mills has herpes.
http://www.stereogum.com/archives/002240.html#comments
Ryan Adams... I don't even know what to say about him... He's just the most ridiculous person ever. (Sorry Rose, he does write some good songs. Sometimes)
That's it.
Will someone buy me the new Alasdair Roberts CD? (Well, newer...) I just can't get myself to spend more money. I need to cut back. I did my last round of useless purchases (Antony and the Johnsons CD, Belle and Sebastian book, Natalie Dee Valentines) and then I'm buying nice tea from Steap (either Spicy Chai or Earl Grey with rosehips) and then I'm done. I will be living cheaply, starting at two o'clock today. Really. I swear.
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| Wednesday, January 18th, 2006
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12:45 pm - blue veins, brown eyes
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So yesterday, I was sleepy and walking back from picking up spinach and chocolate-covered espresso beans in the Italian market and the world seemed excruciatingly lovely. I adore the Italian market- it's not sanitary or particularly friendly, but you really know that you're food shopping. You can smell the fish and the ripening peaches, see the hipster women with their shopping lists ("coriander", "lemon", "salmon") in the dim, swinging lightbulbs of a market, and feel the misting rain waft onto the sidewalk, under the tarps haphazardly sheltering foodstalls.
I went home, and cleaned and slept and made dinner with Marc. Last night I woke up in the middle of the night. The wind and the rain were so loud. I felt scared. I almost woke Marc up, but didn't.
I don't know, I don't know, I don't know. I love the quiet and I love books and I love birds and I love rain (even when I walk two and a half miles) and I love trees and I love sleep and I love cooking and I love my apartment and I love many many things.
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| Friday, January 6th, 2006
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3:49 pm
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I bought this weird lighter at CVS. It's just a cylinder, so it doesn't really look like a lighter at all. Maddy calls it a crack lighter. I'm not sure what about it makes it a crack lighter, since I am unfamiliar with how one smokes crack, but I do love the lighter. So much so, actually, I went and bought a pink one for when this one runs out. I also wrote my lighter a (very silly) poem.
Ode to my Crack Lighter
A staunchly modern machine,
The slight twisting of my wrist
Produces an orange-tipped flame
In the cave of a cupped hand.
I grip your slick, plastic surface,
Your svelte shape which vanishes
In a dirty pocket does nothing
To detract from your neon purple hue.
Oh beautiful crack lighter, I love you.
In other news: Marc moved in last night. We spent a good amount of money on groceries, but there is definitely more food in my apartment than there has ever been before. A good example of how our eating habits are different: For dinner I had only food I could grab and eat immediately- a luna bar, an apple, a large amount of rice cakes, while Marc made a pannini with grilled eggplant and other assorted veggies (he brought a pannini grill). This morning he made coffee in a french press and it was delish. Also- I've been living without internet for six months, and he's there for a couple of hours and find a way to get online! This either speaks to his technological skills or my lack of them.
Happiness is being able to look forward to: a week without work, birdwatching with my dad, seeing some old friends, making french toast with our excess of eggs, going to chicago, listening to rose's radio show, visiting the west coast... and maybe feeling sun on my face.
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| Friday, December 23rd, 2005
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2:17 pm - Now you don't seem so proud
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Hello. This is going to be my last post of the year. Why you ask? Because it's more poetic that way. So unless something really important happens and I can ONLY communicate through livejournal, this is the last entry for 2005. So, here is the second annual edition of...
things-that-were-pretty-important-to-me-in-2005.
1. Okkervil River. Yeah, I probably don't need to go into why and how they have affected my life. If you're reading this you've probably heard long, rambling lectures on the presence of violence in Will Sheff's music, Tim Hardin and his life story, and the epic tale of Miranda being recognized by Scotty IN Philadelphia FROM Chicago. But those guys are awesome. Really.
2. Joan Didion. Reading Joan Didion has both inspired and discouraged me. Everything I read by her causes me to try to write. But I always look at the final product and think, "Nothing I ever do will be as good as Joan Didion. Nothing." She's a fabulous writer and I bet Rose is going to write something much more eloquent on how amazing Joan Didion is in her year-end list.
3. Graduating-from-high-school-moving-out-getting-a-paying-job-being-a-grown-up. (I'm really into hyphens today and I don't know why.) Is there anyway this wasn't going to vastly improve my life? High school is over and I only have to see people I want to from it, I live in my own apartment where I can do whatever I want- I sometimes eat an ice cream sandwich for dinner- and I work hard and get paid nicely. Oh man, I don't wanna go to college.
4. Whiskey and pot. We've shared some good times, you guys. Here's to many more in 2006!
5. The Band/Bob Dylan. So it turns out my mom was trying to raise me right all these years, and I was blissfully ignoring her. I was stupid. For what I think of the Band, please see previous entries. And there really doesn't need to be an explanation for Bob Dylan, does there?
6. Those longs walks punctuated by self-recognition. Things I realized about myself walking three miles to work: I need a real relationship, randomly hooking-up only leads me to cry on my sister's couch about my boobs; I never want to work in an office, never ever; I'll probably only really be happy when I'm creating something; my fingers turn blue pretty quickly in the cold.
7. "Anna Karenina" by Leo Tolstoy. One of the best books ever.
8. Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I think it was the beginning of '05 I went through my Buffy phase. Oh Buffy- you taught me to be strong and loyal and to love vampires (but only ones with souls, although ones with army-implanted chips are okay to have wild sex with), how can I ever repay you?
9. Um... blogs. I'm embarrassed to say but I really do love the blogs I read. Stereogum, saidthegramophone, largehearted boy, and you ain't no picasso being my favorites (excluding ones written by friends and family). They've really made sitting in front of the computer most of the day bearable.
10. Fellini. I think about Gelsomina from La Strada a lot. There is something so sweet and charming in her. And something that sends a shiver up your spine when you watch her deal with the outside world.
Okay, that's it.
Also of note: Something of mine will be appearing in McSweeney's Internet Tendency in the near future. Keep your eyes peeled.
And happy new year, you're my only vice.
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| Friday, December 16th, 2005
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12:58 pm
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So in case you didn't know, the Band is THE Band. I think they are what every other band should aspire to. If you don't believe me, watch the Last Waltz which is clearly one of the best music movies ever made. The combination of Martin Scorcese's amazing sense of the music and how best to display it on film, Boris Levin's sumptuous production design, and the Band's breathtaking live performances makes this exhilirating to watch. Visually it's beautiful- the backdrop at Winterland has been made to look as if it has been saturated with jewel-toned watercolors and the concert footage is crisp and clear and choreographed to perfectly match the music.
The film has three parts which are woven together to create an homage to the Band's body of work and their retirement. The centerpiece is their final concert at Winterland is San Francisco, but interviews and soundstage recordings buttress the already strong footage of the live show. The concert itself is full of old familiars- Joni Mitchell, Muddy Waters, Neil Young, Neil Diamond, Van Morrison ("He was an Irish dwarf, but he could sing" - my mom), and Bob Dylan, to name a few. But there is something truly electric about the Band's performance in particular. Even in the deluge of greats, one cannot help but be transfixed by the Band themselves. "Up On Cripple Creek" which began the concert, although not the film, was probably the highlight for me. Levon Helm is one of my favorite vocalists of all time and somehow seems both earnest and casually cool. The energy, even when it's seen through the camera lens and after nearly thirty years, is palpable. My heart raced when I watched this, as though I really was at a live performance.
Three songs (that I remember) were not adequately taped on 35 MM film during the concert and were recorded at a sound stage. They are beautifully filmed and my favorite musical moments of the entire thing. "The Weight" is played with the Staples, a gospel group which Robbie Robertson claims as a inspiration, "Evangeline" is sung with the beautiful Emmylou Harris, and then Robertson's last waltz suite. The final shot of the film is absolutely perfect- the Band subtly lighted on a soundstage as the camera slowly pans out to the notes of the haunting last waltz.
The final piece of the Last Waltz is the interviews which are interjected throughout. These are fantastic. The greatest moments are Robertson's retelling of the time they met Sonny Boy Williamson and Manuel, Danko and Robertson reminiscing on stealing groceries. But there is also a slightly darker theme throughout these interviews. At one point Robertson lists the musicians whom the road has taken, and says "It's a lifestyle which is impossible to sustain." This comment is particularly prescient as the Band lost Richard Manuel to on-tour suicide in 1986 and Rick Danko at 56 to heart failure.
Anyway, long story short: it's a great movie and I recommend it.
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