Threequarters

Disneyland Highlights

Cutest: Being told by a 6-year-old on the Autopia ride “OK, you take the pedal and I’ll steer!”

Most Fun: Riding on California Screamin’ for the 3rd time right before they closed the park and thinking “wow, this time didn’t make me want to puke nearly as much as the first two times did!”

Grossest: 4-D “A Bug’s Life” movie in the Disney California Adventure park. First, a stink bug sprays the audience and the auditorium fills with an inundating mist of stench. Then, at the end of the movie, the narrator says “please stay seated until the termites and grubs have had a chance to exit the theatre.” When he says this, parts of the seat raise up and it actually feels like you have hundreds of bugs crawling under your ass. Gross Gross Gross.

Coolest: Being there when the park opened at 6:30am, so no one else was there and all of the rides were empty. Within 30 minutes, I rode on Indiana Jones, Thunder Mountain, the Materhorn, and Start Tours. I would have gone on Space Mountain too, except for how it’s closed until 2005! Can you believe that bullshit? Apparently they are adding a bunch of stuff to it though.

And last, but not least in the least…Most Embarrassing:

Setting – The Aladdin stage show. This is part of the new California Adventure park. It’s a full (Broadway) scale show in a plush concert hall that seats between 3,000-4,000 people. We are sitting in the center of the Mezzanine section (so, essentially, we are at the epicenter of the concert hall).

20 minutes into the show: A cell phone rings. At first, I can’t place it. But then the owner answers it, and the guy is sitting in the row behind me, and to my left about 3 seats over. He doesn’t have a conversation. He just says, “hello…ok, bye.” People give him dirty looks, but nothing major. And the show goes on.

5 minutes later: The guy’s cell phone rings again. Halfway into the first ring, my father (who is in my row, about 4 seats to my right…. Making him separated from the guy with the cell phone by a good 7 seats) LEAPS UP, pushes past the people who are in the way, and yells at the top of his lungs “TURN THE CELL PHONE OFF, RIGHT NOW, DO YOU HEAR ME, TURN IT OFF OR I WILL COME OVER THERE AND TAKE IT FROM YOU!!!” Mind you, my father is a large black man with a voice that carries better than mine (and that’s sayin something).

Our entire section was scared shitless. And I stand firm in my belief that the only reason the ushers didn’t haul my father off is because they were scared of him too.

Jolie, you've been stuck in Orange County for over a week with your disfunctional family! What are you gonna do next???

I'M GOING TO DISNEYLAND!!!!!!!!

Yes, that's right kids. Tomorrow I am spending the entire day in the magical kindom with my brother and his flavor of the week, the father I'm barely on speaking terms with, and his ex-girlfriend from college!

What is that you're asking? Have I gone insane? Yes, I think I have!

Wish me luck.

AIDS, Statistics, and What the Fuck?

So, this post is mostly piggybacking off of a post on Jason Rs page from 6/26/03 (the date is important because he doesn’t title his posts). Essentially, Jason was pointing out that the most stigmatized group in the AIDS pandemic is shifting from gay men to women in their 20s—due to the fact that young women are contracting HIV at a faster rate. Really, he had a lot more to say and you should go read his original post, but that is the part I’m focusing on.

Here’s my question. Where the hell do people think these women are getting HIV from??? I mean, the numbers are undeniable. Women in their 20s (especially young women of color) are being infected with HIV at an alarming rate. But they certainly aren’t infecting each other! Transmission of HIV through lesbian sex can be done, but you have to work at it. The vast majority of women are being infected by straight men. So why are there so many more women who are infected? Two reasons. #1 – Due to the biological mechanics of (unprotected) heterosexual intercourse, more (virus filled) body fluid leaves the male and enters the female than leaves the female and enters the male. Thus, an infected man can have sex with several women and leave enough semen behind to infect each of them. But, an infected woman can have sex with several men, and the amount of her vaginal secretions that manages to enter those men’s systems is going to be significantly lower. So both men and women are having sex, but women are being infected far more frequently. #2 – I believe that the same “few” men are infecting multiple women. Because our society teaches men to be tough and unconcerned with their health, while praising them for their promiscuity, men who may not know they are infected are filling their societal gender roles by getting as much play as they can—and unwittingly infecting their female counterparts in the process.

I guess my point in all of this is that it blows my mind that our culture is so focused on the end, rather then the means. As a society we are so comfortable with the act of stigmatization that we have ceased to ask questions and seek out the source of the problem.

please don't crash! please don't crash!

So I saw the most disturbing thing yesterday. I was merging onto 24 from 580 when this motorcycle cut across two lanes so as not to miss the exit. This put them slightly in front of me two lanes over. No big deal, eh? Except for the fact that sitting behind the hefty man driving was this gorgeous woman in a small black bikini. I think she might have had boots on and a helmet, but nothing else. Also, she was only holding on with one hand, as the other hand was occupied with massaging the driver's shoulder. At first my brain was like "Oh my god, that woman is so fucking hot!" but of course, the more logical part of my brain jumped in and said "Oh my god, that woman's skin is going to be completely ripped off if they crash!" My brain spent the next few minutes battling it out, alternately screaming "hot!" and "flayed!" at a dizzying rate. These reactions overlapped each other to the point where I felt like a character straight out of the movie "Crash." Hmmm, James Spader. I want to watch "Secretary" again... mmm... Maggie Gyllenhaal... oh! Are you still here? That's all there is to the post really. loves, ms*d

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I'll see your lemons and I'll raise you a glass of lemonade...damn tastey

About a month ago, the power source on my Compaq laptop started being spastic. The battery wouldn't hold a charge. And sometimes it would act like it wasn't plugged in, even if it was. This was incredibly frustrating and stressful, but I am a slacker, so I put off taking care of it until I came down to So-Cal.

Let me tell you, friends and colleagues, being a slacker has never paid off so heavily. I told my dad about the situation, hoping he would volunteer to take my laptop over to CompUSA (considering my car is in the shop AND I have mono). But instead he asks if I still have the receipt, and luckily I do. At this point, my father plucks up the laptop, which was purchased 3 years ago, and returns it to Costco for a full refund! Then, he takes the $1300 and buys a brand new Toshiba laptop with all the bells and whistles, and still has $300 left over at the cash register.

List of Bells and Whistles that my old laptop didn't have:
*a dvd player
*the ability to burn cds
*a kickass screen that can be seen from all angles and is super duper clear
*cool shit that makes it run really fast

Obviously, I am no computer expert. But I do know that Costco's return policy kicks serious ass and I am hooked up!

Tiny Monkeys

Ok, it’s official. I’m going to start posting once a day, if not multiple times a day. Who knows how long it will last. Perhaps only as long as I’m trapped in Orange County. I guess time will tell.

Another thing that’s official is that I’m going to join Erica in the ranks of people with tiny tiny rooms next year. This afternoon, while on a three-way call with 2 of my housemates… we called another member of our cohort and had him pick names out of a hat to determine who got stuck in the small room. As luck would have it, my name got pulled last. So next year I’ll be living in a box that is 8’ X 9.5’. To give you an understanding of what this means, I’ll list a few examples of other things that are about the size of my bedroom next year.
*the handicap stalls in most public restrooms
*the walk-in closet I had in San Francisco
*the pens they keep bucking broncos in right before they release them at rodeos

Yeah, it’s gonna be stellar. I keep trying to remind myself of all the things I told Erica when she decided to take the tiny room in Berkeley. “You can put shelves up on the walls.” “It’ll seem bigger if you paint it a lighter color.” “Buy a few plants and they will liven things up.” Somehow, I seem less convincing when I’m giving myself these pieces of advice. My only consolation is that I will be paying super cheap rent, which is another thing I convinced Erica to focus on not so long ago.

Any other bright ideas???

A Letter to Liz Phair

Dear Liz,

Hello! How are you? How are you enjoying your new life as a sell-out media whore?

Let me start over.

Hello Liz Phair. I have been a fan of yours for many years. Though I happened upon your body of work well after you'd started in the industry, I have listened to and valued your albums with such intensity since discovering them, that I feel justified in calling myself a true fan.

I have never written a letter to an artist before. No, not even a fake letter like this that will never actually get to the artist. Let's not quibble. The point here is that while there are many actors, artists, musicians and the like that I admire, I have never felt the urge to address personally another human being with which I have had no personal contact.

Frankly, I had never thought of addressing you until quite recently. Your music up until now has been nothing short of inspired, but the image I had of you as an artist came crashing down around me not two weeks ago. I was driving with my friend Jolie, when a catchy little pop tune came on the radio. I noted that I'd never heard this particular hook, and sat back to enjoy what I anticipated to be another listenable, but generic song from the likes of Avril Lavigne, or perhaps Michelle Branch. But nay, my good friend informed me that this was the new Liz Phair single she'd heard and had indeed warned me was not quite up to par.

Not quite? Not at all!! Liz, how could you? The melody was repetitive and sickly sweet. The lyrics were banal, reminiscent of the inner-workings of a 14-year-old girl's brain. As I drove along listening to you, with your newly "improved" vocal range, apparently modeled after the Olsen twins on helium, I wondered what on earth could make you trade in lyrics like "fuck and run, fuck and run... even when I was 17, fuck and run, fuck and run... even when I was 12" for "Why can't I breathe, whenever I think about you..."

I know some people thought you'd already sold out on your last album, "whitechocolatespaceegg", but I was willing to stand by you even then. Though your lyrics and music were less angry, less blunt (no more "I want to fuck you like a dog, I'll take you home and make you like it") you were still questioning conventions:

"Do you wanna be a polyester bride?
Do you wanna hang your head and die?
Do you wanna find alligator cowboy boots they just put on sale?
Do you wanna flap your wings and fly away from here?"

and analyzing your life:

"All these babies are born
to the wrong kind of people.
And I wish I had known I was not good enough."

Now what? You're hyperventilating? It's not that I can't enjoy the good bubble-gum song now and again. But from you, Liz Phair? I feel like a life-long Christian who, flipping through the channels, sees a commercial for a new sitcom starring Tony Danza and Jesus Christ. I mean, there's nothing terribly wrong with sitcoms, but he's the fucking savior of our souls!

I know I don't really know you, Liz Phair, and I suppose you must do what you must do. But you've let me down. You've traded in your insight, honesty, and biting humour for a spot on the top-20 countdown and cover shoots on all the best teen magazines. I thank you for your previous artistic efforts, and wish you much luck with your new career, you fucking hypocritical bitch.

With much sincerity,
erica

Depressed in Dana Point

What is the worst possible way to spend the precious few weeks of summer you’ve been granted before going back to grad school!?! “Ooooh ooh, I know,” yelps the overly eager kid in the back as he strains to reach his arm as high into the air as possible because he KNOWS he’s right. “The worst way to spend your few precious weeks of vacation is stuck in Orange County, with a family that makes you miserable, sick with mono so you don’t even have enough energy to leave the hell hole you’re trapped in.”

“Yes Johnny, you’re right! You get a gold star!”

So that’s pretty much my scene. You would think Southern California would be the PERFECT place to spend your summer vacation. It’s warm and sunny and full of fabulous beaches to scamper about on. And it would be, if I didn’t already have a fever from the mono, making additional warmth from the sun unbearable.

I have managed do pump myself full of Dayquil long enough to go out a few times (at night of course). Last night I went to visit Scott G. Miller at his new place in Brentwood (so fancy). We went to dinner at this Pub type place in Santa Monica called Ye Old King's Head. It kicked ass. Then we went to see Spellbound, a documentary that follows 8 kids at the national spelling bee. It also kicked ass. I highly recommend it to those of you who are fans of American Movie, Best in Show, Waiting for Guffman, and other hilarious shit.

Close Call

I stole this quiz from Jason R's page. I'm posting my results in celebration of the fact that I haven't been totally jaded by my ex-girlfriend's recent visit. Yeah for narrowly avoiding bitterness!

Your Heart is Red


What Color is Your Heart?
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