At the behest of my sole reader, I am going to try to bulk up this blog with some actual writing.
Speaking of writing, I have been on FIRE the past two evenings. And by "on fire" I mean like 5-6 pages worth of half-decent story-ish stuff. Which is a lot for me because I'm the slowest writer this side of town.
David Sedaris is coming to UB October 1st. Tickets are like $36. More than my tightfisted self is willing to pay for almost anything these days. So I tried coming up with reasons why I should go:
1. I could take Theresa as a birthday gift. But then I realized if it was really a birthday gift, I'd have to buy her ticket, which would double that 36 bucks.
2. Ok. I could go with Paul for our anniversary (which we've decided pretty much coincides with Theresa's birthday). But then I realized he's never read a single Sedaris book, except for Holidays on Ice, which I bought him as a Christmas gift before I knew Paul well enough to know he has very different taste than me (at least as far as humorist books go). So that would be a pretty crummy anniversary present, for him anyway.
3. Well, dammit, I could still go. Then I did a little youtube action and found Sedaris reading on Letterman (a video that this blasted internet is not letting me post at the moment). Anyway, if you've never heard Sedaris speak - check. it. out. He has (I'm sorry) the faggiest voice on the planet. After listening to him for all of 4.2 seconds I decided I like him in book form better than in person. Still contemplating the splurge to see him, though. He is one of my favorites, after all.
What else?
Becky had her baby, so congrats to her. I apologize if it sounds off center for me to open my first blog in over a month about books and Sedaris readings and gay voices when my sister just had a baby. A baby being born should be a much bigger bit of news than a dry fruitcake reading at UB, right? Yeah, well. Babies are about all I deal with on a daily basis. So I have to talk about books and things that I actually like to keep my head on straight, if you follow my meaning.
Anyway, his name is Patrick Ryan, he's a little peanut, and he's a healthy little peanut.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
...just kidding - this isn't a real blog post.
Reasons I haven't been keeping up with this blog:
1. It's sunny out! That's a first.
2. Babies.
3. Lately, I've been focusing any meager scraps of writing oomph I have left into different areas. Only time will tell how that goes.
A real entry should be forthcoming. Hopefully a more compelling one. I just don't have it in me. There's a lot of family chaos and I feel like the shit's gonna hit the fan bigtime pretty soon.
I'm exhausted.
Stay tuned...
1. It's sunny out! That's a first.
2. Babies.
3. Lately, I've been focusing any meager scraps of writing oomph I have left into different areas. Only time will tell how that goes.
A real entry should be forthcoming. Hopefully a more compelling one. I just don't have it in me. There's a lot of family chaos and I feel like the shit's gonna hit the fan bigtime pretty soon.
I'm exhausted.
Stay tuned...
Thursday, May 28, 2009
the continuing saga of a life with babies
My sister, on Cheerios: "I sprinkle that shit like birdseed. On the carpet, the couch cushions, the damn toilet seat. It's like come and get it, feeding time!"
But seriously, Cheerios have overrun our home. Help!
(*note: I just googled "cheerios" and this baby picture popped up. No idea who she is. I'm well aware of the creep-o factor here. But it just worked for the blog, so stick it.)
But seriously, Cheerios have overrun our home. Help!
(*note: I just googled "cheerios" and this baby picture popped up. No idea who she is. I'm well aware of the creep-o factor here. But it just worked for the blog, so stick it.)
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
It's gonna be a bright, bright sunshiny day
Neko fucking Case is going to be at Thursday at the Square on July 23rd!!!! Be very, very excited!!!
and the rest of the line-up:
May 28: Gomez with Steel Train and Alberta Cross
June 4: An Evening With the Disco Biscuits
June 11: Robert Randolph & the Family Band with the Dana Fuchs Band
June 18: Better Than Ezra with Tyrone Wells
June 25: Los Loboswith Hill Country Revue
July 2: Zappa Plays Zappa
July 9: Los Lonely Boys
July 16: George Clinton & Parliament/Funkadelic
July 23: Neko Case
July 30: The Avett Brothers with Cornmeal
and the rest of the line-up:
May 28: Gomez with Steel Train and Alberta Cross
June 4: An Evening With the Disco Biscuits
June 11: Robert Randolph & the Family Band with the Dana Fuchs Band
June 18: Better Than Ezra with Tyrone Wells
June 25: Los Loboswith Hill Country Revue
July 2: Zappa Plays Zappa
July 9: Los Lonely Boys
July 16: George Clinton & Parliament/Funkadelic
July 23: Neko Case
July 30: The Avett Brothers with Cornmeal
Friday, May 15, 2009
penny for your thoughts
“Liz, tell me something.”
“What do you want me to tell you?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Tell me anything. Tell me something mind-blowing if you can.”
A few nights ago, I received the preceding request from a fellow co-worker. It’s a simple enough question. I could have said anything. I’ve never seen Karate Kid. I’m staunchly against texting. I think moral relativity is killing our nation.
“Um. Well. Gee. I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me something instead?”Ah, the ever evasive route of the wimpy copout. But she wasn’t letting me off the hook that easily, so she countered: “Ok, I’ll make it easier. Just tell me something you believe in.”
“Like religious beliefs?”
“Doesn’t have to be. Whatever. Just something you believe in.”
“Well,” I faltered. “I believe in God, I guess. Um.”Then it was silent for a while as I fumbled for something – anything – that would not lead this person to believe I was completely dead upstairs. It’s hard, of course, to be quick on your toes when you’re put on the spot like that. Still, coming up with one statement, be it a slice of petty trivia or some life-altering philosophy, should not be that overwhelming of a challenge. Right?
I could not think of one damn thing. So I said so. At first, this didn’t bother me. Did this girl actually expect me to pull some useless information out of my ass just because she was bored? And why couldn’t she think of something? I mean, it’s not like she was totally serious about the question anyways. I was under no obligation to perform.
But then, as I had nothing else to do really, I continued to grope around in my mind. The more I did this, the more unsettled I became. Why couldn’t I think of one interesting thing to say? Was it because I’m so uninteresting myself? Has my brain atrophied to the point where it no longer processes fascinating information the way it used to? When you’re in school (for the most part) your mind exists in a continual whirlwind of new concepts, new opinions. Your ideas are forever being modified, your beliefs are challenged, sharpened, or tossed by the wayside. Have I lost that?
Don’t I even think anymore?
That, my friends, is a frightening question. One that, once raised, calls into question the entire future of your intellect and creativity.
My co-worker’s request unfulfilled, I busied myself in work, letting my anxiety bury itself in the tedium of my duties.
Then I helped some customers who were, for lack of a better phrase, dumber than the crap that comes out of my ugly Shih Tzu’s ass. And I felt a little better about myself.
And then I came home and had a beer and finished Amy Tan’s The Joy Luck Club (an exquisite, gorgeous novel), and I felt a lot better about myself. And I asked myself all sorts of questions about motherhood and relationships and memory and storytelling and cultural identity.
And guess what? My brain still worked.
And guess what else? Just because I couldn’t come up with something to say tonight, well, that doesn’t mean I don’t have a store of things to tell the world.
All in due time. All in my own way.
And that is more than ok.
“What do you want me to tell you?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Tell me anything. Tell me something mind-blowing if you can.”
A few nights ago, I received the preceding request from a fellow co-worker. It’s a simple enough question. I could have said anything. I’ve never seen Karate Kid. I’m staunchly against texting. I think moral relativity is killing our nation.
“Um. Well. Gee. I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me something instead?”Ah, the ever evasive route of the wimpy copout. But she wasn’t letting me off the hook that easily, so she countered: “Ok, I’ll make it easier. Just tell me something you believe in.”
“Like religious beliefs?”
“Doesn’t have to be. Whatever. Just something you believe in.”
“Well,” I faltered. “I believe in God, I guess. Um.”Then it was silent for a while as I fumbled for something – anything – that would not lead this person to believe I was completely dead upstairs. It’s hard, of course, to be quick on your toes when you’re put on the spot like that. Still, coming up with one statement, be it a slice of petty trivia or some life-altering philosophy, should not be that overwhelming of a challenge. Right?
I could not think of one damn thing. So I said so. At first, this didn’t bother me. Did this girl actually expect me to pull some useless information out of my ass just because she was bored? And why couldn’t she think of something? I mean, it’s not like she was totally serious about the question anyways. I was under no obligation to perform.
But then, as I had nothing else to do really, I continued to grope around in my mind. The more I did this, the more unsettled I became. Why couldn’t I think of one interesting thing to say? Was it because I’m so uninteresting myself? Has my brain atrophied to the point where it no longer processes fascinating information the way it used to? When you’re in school (for the most part) your mind exists in a continual whirlwind of new concepts, new opinions. Your ideas are forever being modified, your beliefs are challenged, sharpened, or tossed by the wayside. Have I lost that?
Don’t I even think anymore?
That, my friends, is a frightening question. One that, once raised, calls into question the entire future of your intellect and creativity.
My co-worker’s request unfulfilled, I busied myself in work, letting my anxiety bury itself in the tedium of my duties.
Then I helped some customers who were, for lack of a better phrase, dumber than the crap that comes out of my ugly Shih Tzu’s ass. And I felt a little better about myself.
And then I came home and had a beer and finished Amy Tan’s The Joy Luck Club (an exquisite, gorgeous novel), and I felt a lot better about myself. And I asked myself all sorts of questions about motherhood and relationships and memory and storytelling and cultural identity.
And guess what? My brain still worked.
And guess what else? Just because I couldn’t come up with something to say tonight, well, that doesn’t mean I don’t have a store of things to tell the world.
All in due time. All in my own way.
And that is more than ok.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
really?!
It's way past my bedtime, but this just defines my life at the moment:
I worked all night, I'm beyond exhausted, and when I go to brush my teeth there's a fucking GREEN SPIDER on the bristles of my goddamn toothbrush!!!!! Why me?!
What really gets my goat, though, is that of the trillion places in the bathroom he could have chosen to park his green ass, he had to pick the fucking brush bristles....not even the handle.
Now I'm too infuriated and tired to look for a spare brush, which probably does not exist. Bah.
I worked all night, I'm beyond exhausted, and when I go to brush my teeth there's a fucking GREEN SPIDER on the bristles of my goddamn toothbrush!!!!! Why me?!
What really gets my goat, though, is that of the trillion places in the bathroom he could have chosen to park his green ass, he had to pick the fucking brush bristles....not even the handle.
Now I'm too infuriated and tired to look for a spare brush, which probably does not exist. Bah.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
That was a whole corndog!
2 days ago, my mate and I went to see Adventureland. When it was over he leaned across the armrest and said, “That’s not at all what I thought it was going to be.”
Without the benefit (or detriment, depending on your angle) of any flashy previews for this film, we weren’t sure what we were getting ourselves into. Paul was going on my word that it would be good, and I was going on Jeff Simon’s glowing review in the Buffalo News, a typically unreliable source as far as I’m concerned. But still, I had faith. And for once, praise God, I was not short changed in any way.
Adventureland is a really special movie. Instead of the bland teen-comedy my mate was clearly expecting, we were treated with a little piece of charming nostalgia.
The year is 1987, and James Brennan (Jesse Eisenberg) has just graduated from college. Financial difficulty forces James to put his plans to tour Europe on hold and get a summer job. The only place hiring, of course, is Adventureland, a crappy amusement park where James will learn more about life than his hefty Renaissance lit anthologies could ever teach him.
The reasons this movie works are many, but one biggie is the fact that it never resorts to irritating teen melodrama. It doesn’t pull any tasteless gags. It gives us young people in a way that they’re rarely portrayed on the big-screen: as real people. Not just poptarts looking to lose their virginity on prom night. But scared, vulnerable, vibrant kids who are figuring out life and like to smoke pot on occasion.
There is a sentimentality here that, thankfully, never gets too sticky-sweet. It’s the best sort of coming-of-age story. One that’s affectionate, delightful, and subtly funny. I left the theatre in very high spirits. And that is always a nice thing.
Without the benefit (or detriment, depending on your angle) of any flashy previews for this film, we weren’t sure what we were getting ourselves into. Paul was going on my word that it would be good, and I was going on Jeff Simon’s glowing review in the Buffalo News, a typically unreliable source as far as I’m concerned. But still, I had faith. And for once, praise God, I was not short changed in any way.
Adventureland is a really special movie. Instead of the bland teen-comedy my mate was clearly expecting, we were treated with a little piece of charming nostalgia.
The year is 1987, and James Brennan (Jesse Eisenberg) has just graduated from college. Financial difficulty forces James to put his plans to tour Europe on hold and get a summer job. The only place hiring, of course, is Adventureland, a crappy amusement park where James will learn more about life than his hefty Renaissance lit anthologies could ever teach him.
The reasons this movie works are many, but one biggie is the fact that it never resorts to irritating teen melodrama. It doesn’t pull any tasteless gags. It gives us young people in a way that they’re rarely portrayed on the big-screen: as real people. Not just poptarts looking to lose their virginity on prom night. But scared, vulnerable, vibrant kids who are figuring out life and like to smoke pot on occasion.
There is a sentimentality here that, thankfully, never gets too sticky-sweet. It’s the best sort of coming-of-age story. One that’s affectionate, delightful, and subtly funny. I left the theatre in very high spirits. And that is always a nice thing.
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