There is so much here, I don't know where to begin.
For Starters: "To Conserve Gas, President Calls for Less Driving"
------Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?
A) I don't even see how driving and gas are RELATED, Mr. President
B) I really hope he came up with this policy himself.
C) I hope when he said this, he had that proud face on that said "Its that simple, people. Thats all we have to do and this big bad nightmare will go away. Doubters use gas. Period."
A little further into the article he says, "if Americans are able to avoid going on a trip that's not essential, that would be helpful."
----Hmmmmmm. A trip thats not essential. I can't think of anybody who may have been doing that recently. Not anybody.
Followed by another GREAT idea:
"to continue relaxing environmental and transportation rules in an effort to get more gasoline flowing."
----Yeah I think we could use an oil spill. Not enough disasters to deal with quite yet.
I know this blog entry has basically been me taking the easiest, most sarcastic shots at the most obvious holes in this baleful, pathetic appeal. But does he really think we live in the kind of non-nuclear, WWII era where Tin-Can-Conservation is going to actually make a difference in our public welfare and economic stability?
I do wonder if those military planes in Iraq use any gas. I wonder.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Ode to Hook
This movie slays me. Tears. Tears down the sides of my face. From the moment the music starts and then they go to London and Toodles has lost his marbles. And then don't even get me started on Grandma Wendy standing on the stairs: "Hello, boy."
And did I mention the music? If tears SOUNDED like something it would be that theme that plays throughout the whole movie.
Oh Jeezus, here are just a few other highlights:
1. Tinkerbell admitting she's been in love with Peter all along.
2. "You ARE the Pan!" with that freaking adorable smile.
3. Why am I still attracted to Rufio?
4. "That was a great game"
5. "You need a mommy very very badly!"
6. That scene where Jack is smashing all the clocks and crying.
7. Maggie singing the lullaby and all the pirates crying.
8. When Peter finds his happy thawt and its being a daddy.
9. That scene where the mermaids french-kiss Peter.
Next week? Either "Father of the Bride" or "Muppets Christmas Carol"
And did I mention the music? If tears SOUNDED like something it would be that theme that plays throughout the whole movie.
Oh Jeezus, here are just a few other highlights:
1. Tinkerbell admitting she's been in love with Peter all along.
2. "You ARE the Pan!" with that freaking adorable smile.
3. Why am I still attracted to Rufio?
4. "That was a great game"
5. "You need a mommy very very badly!"
6. That scene where Jack is smashing all the clocks and crying.
7. Maggie singing the lullaby and all the pirates crying.
8. When Peter finds his happy thawt and its being a daddy.
9. That scene where the mermaids french-kiss Peter.
Next week? Either "Father of the Bride" or "Muppets Christmas Carol"
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Fulla
Fulla
I love when it seems like a whole social analysis could be based on the wishes and desires of a bunch of little girls. I'm being serious. It isn't that parents are weak. It isn't that little girls are spoiled. It is only that there is something in the nature of a certain age of girl, something that gets exploited and turned into consumerism. But before it is about having possessions, it is this sort of insistence and hunger. They shamelessly become the most powerful voice in the family. And the way they conglomerate and agree with each other! If I needed militants for a revolution, I would definitely start with 9 year-old-girls.
I don't know about you all, but a major part of having a Barbie and Ken was making them have sex. And I'm not just talking about mashing their bodies together. I'm talking about using that slightly cupped palm of hers on his little orange bump. I'm talking about different positions, ya'll. Slow and romantic.
So...if I had a Fulla, it would just up the anty. I would be all "how does Ken get Fulla to raise her ankle-length abaya?" Or, "If they were having tea together, discussing respectable values, and she leaned slightly over him, and her head scarf fell off a little bit, and he saw some of her jet-black hair, and he reached out to touch it, but stopped his hand when he caught her looking at his orange nub..." etc.
I love when it seems like a whole social analysis could be based on the wishes and desires of a bunch of little girls. I'm being serious. It isn't that parents are weak. It isn't that little girls are spoiled. It is only that there is something in the nature of a certain age of girl, something that gets exploited and turned into consumerism. But before it is about having possessions, it is this sort of insistence and hunger. They shamelessly become the most powerful voice in the family. And the way they conglomerate and agree with each other! If I needed militants for a revolution, I would definitely start with 9 year-old-girls.
I don't know about you all, but a major part of having a Barbie and Ken was making them have sex. And I'm not just talking about mashing their bodies together. I'm talking about using that slightly cupped palm of hers on his little orange bump. I'm talking about different positions, ya'll. Slow and romantic.
So...if I had a Fulla, it would just up the anty. I would be all "how does Ken get Fulla to raise her ankle-length abaya?" Or, "If they were having tea together, discussing respectable values, and she leaned slightly over him, and her head scarf fell off a little bit, and he saw some of her jet-black hair, and he reached out to touch it, but stopped his hand when he caught her looking at his orange nub..." etc.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Hey Lady
Yeah you. The one who was just in the stall next to me: DO NOT WHISPER IN THE BATHROOM. Perhaps you were on your cell phone. I know you were alone in there, but perhaps you were on your cell phone. Either way, I don't care, because THAT SHIT FREAKED ME OUT.
I don't like hearing whispering echoing in an empty bathroom. If you really need to have a private whisper conversation with somebody, can't you go somewhere else besides the horror-movie-inspired, neon-lit, placidly quiet bathroom?
I don't like hearing whispering echoing in an empty bathroom. If you really need to have a private whisper conversation with somebody, can't you go somewhere else besides the horror-movie-inspired, neon-lit, placidly quiet bathroom?
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Poem for the Bloody Hearts
The walls around my heart
like the most porous walls
ever.
The cuts are slowly deepening
until there will be no heart left
either.
The blood rains on the plains.
No more the river.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Just Cute
>NAIROBI (AFP) - A baby hippopotamus that survived the tsunami waves on the Kenyan coast has formed a strong bond with a giant male century-old tortoise, in an animal facility in the port city of Mombassa, officials said.
The hippopotamus, nicknamed Owen and weighing about 300 kilograms (650 pounds), was swept down Sabaki River into the Indian Ocean, then forced back to shore when tsunami waves struck the Kenyan coast on December 26, before wildlife rangers rescued him.
"It is incredible. A-less-than-a-year-old hippo has adopted a male tortoise, about a century old, and the tortoise seems to be very happy with being a 'mother'," ecologist Paula Kahumbu, who is in charge of Lafarge Park, told AFP. "After it was swept and lost its mother, the hippo was traumatized. It had to look for something to be a surrogate mother. Fortunately, it landed on the tortoise and established a strong bond. They swim, eat and sleep together," the ecologist added. "The hippo follows the tortoise exactly the way it follows its mother. If somebody approaches the tortoise, the hippo becomes aggressive, as if protecting its biological mother," Kahumbu added. "The hippo is a young baby, he was left at a very tender age and by nature, hippos are social animals that like to stay with their mothers for four years," he explained.
Friday, September 09, 2005
MJ
Here's something unrelated to the picture at my left. Why do I get home drunk and suddenly decide its "beauty parlor time"? Last night at 12:30 a.m. I did a pedicure, face mask, and put curlers in my hair. Whaaaaat?
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Comedy upon comedy upon comedy makes for sad sad sad
Profjokes. Thats what his email short name was. Its a small world, comedy, so there's an iddy biddy chance someone who reads this will know him.
He "taught" me "comedy writing" at NYU. He came to class on the first day and told us we had to look at the world through "comedy colored" glasses. I suddenly knew what he meant. Because comedy is not a color and everybody knows that.
Then he announced that he would be missing the next class because he was going in for surgery. What kind of surgery? Chin tuck and nose job, thats all.
When he came back from surgery, it happened to be on the very day that a photographer from the Daily News was coming to take a picture of him for an article they were writing on "Comedy after 9/11." (By the way, Comedy after 9/11 soon became everybody's favorite topic in New York, and guess what? It is the least funny topic of conversation EVAR.)
So since he knew he was going to be photographed he covered his surgery bruises in ORANGE make-up. He came up to me before class and, since our "assignment" had been to "look for" comedy (where oh WHERE would I find it?), he asked me, "So...did you see anything funny recently?"
I paused because, try as I might, not a single funny thing was happening to me. Not a thing. Certainly not the unblended orange face with purple undertones in front of me, asking me for funny things. I just stared at him and said "no."
This class soon became the most depressing class I ever took. More depressing than Criminology or The Search for Peace in the Nuclear Age or even Radical Street Performance. Because this class was supposed to be fun and funny and everybody in it, including the teacher, was supposed to be funny and interesting and creative, and just HILARIOUS. But they weren't. They were all just trying to crack these jokes. And trying to convince the teacher they were the funniest. And some of them had gotten special permission to take the class for over 3 semesters. The same exact class.
I would trudge through the snow to my "comedy class" in the most depressed mood. One time one of our classmates did stand-up at a club and the whole class went to watch. The funniest thing about it was the way he was dressed. I will let your imagination run wild.
For my "final project" which I got an "A" on (please don't ask why because I really don't know), I wrote ONE POEM, a limerick really, loosely following the "Night Before Christmas" poem, about a drunk person who thinks they are seeing Santa Claus' rosie cheeks and nose, but it is revealed that it is a hallucination of "Kurt Cobain's ghostly ass." So I really progressed as a writer there.
P.S. You know those days where no matter what you do, the air smells like bile? What IS that SMELL?
He "taught" me "comedy writing" at NYU. He came to class on the first day and told us we had to look at the world through "comedy colored" glasses. I suddenly knew what he meant. Because comedy is not a color and everybody knows that.
Then he announced that he would be missing the next class because he was going in for surgery. What kind of surgery? Chin tuck and nose job, thats all.
When he came back from surgery, it happened to be on the very day that a photographer from the Daily News was coming to take a picture of him for an article they were writing on "Comedy after 9/11." (By the way, Comedy after 9/11 soon became everybody's favorite topic in New York, and guess what? It is the least funny topic of conversation EVAR.)
So since he knew he was going to be photographed he covered his surgery bruises in ORANGE make-up. He came up to me before class and, since our "assignment" had been to "look for" comedy (where oh WHERE would I find it?), he asked me, "So...did you see anything funny recently?"
I paused because, try as I might, not a single funny thing was happening to me. Not a thing. Certainly not the unblended orange face with purple undertones in front of me, asking me for funny things. I just stared at him and said "no."
This class soon became the most depressing class I ever took. More depressing than Criminology or The Search for Peace in the Nuclear Age or even Radical Street Performance. Because this class was supposed to be fun and funny and everybody in it, including the teacher, was supposed to be funny and interesting and creative, and just HILARIOUS. But they weren't. They were all just trying to crack these jokes. And trying to convince the teacher they were the funniest. And some of them had gotten special permission to take the class for over 3 semesters. The same exact class.
I would trudge through the snow to my "comedy class" in the most depressed mood. One time one of our classmates did stand-up at a club and the whole class went to watch. The funniest thing about it was the way he was dressed. I will let your imagination run wild.
For my "final project" which I got an "A" on (please don't ask why because I really don't know), I wrote ONE POEM, a limerick really, loosely following the "Night Before Christmas" poem, about a drunk person who thinks they are seeing Santa Claus' rosie cheeks and nose, but it is revealed that it is a hallucination of "Kurt Cobain's ghostly ass." So I really progressed as a writer there.
P.S. You know those days where no matter what you do, the air smells like bile? What IS that SMELL?
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Gold; dust; pools
I discovered last night that I own The Notebook DVD. I made the huge mistake of popping it in even though I have my damn monthly visitor right now.
And then I tried to sew this damn gold dress which somehow SHRANK and now doesn't fit over my shoulders. So I sat there, STUCK in gold fabric. Because although it doesn't fit OVER my shoulders, it fits nice and SNUGLY around them. So I was jumping up and down and crying, and then eventually RIPPING SEAMS.
This after a night of cleaning the whole apartment only to find that the SPONGE ITSELF was the thing that reeked so badly of geriatric breath.
The last time my roommate and I cleaned the apartment we ended up throwing out the whole trash can because the bottom was a maggot nest. So we wrapped the whole thing in garbage bags and put it in the dumpster.
Well our landlady, who has a psychological problem with throwing things away (her house is like an antique funhouse) apparently had other plans for our maggot-can. When I returned from work, it stood, RESCUED, on our front steps. She had WASHED IT OUT.
I don't understand. Does she think we didn't actually MEAN to throw it away? Like we accidentally rigged up the bags AROUND it? Or is this a statement? Is this her way of saying "you do not have the right to throw things away without my permission"? Or is this her saying "This is Phewy. Phewy has a name because he is a person just like you or I. He has feelings and he doesn't deserve to be just THROWN AWAY like that."
In any case, I haven't touched Phewy since his rescue, but I've noticed that since he appeared on our doorstep, he has been placed further and further inside. First the porch, then the stairs up to our part of the house, and then the landing outside our door.
Also, this is the second time I've had a dream about a magic swimming pool that, with a touch of a button, turns into an erotic swimming pool, and everybody in it gets all hot for each other. Then you press the button and it goes back to a normal fun volleyball pool.
And then I tried to sew this damn gold dress which somehow SHRANK and now doesn't fit over my shoulders. So I sat there, STUCK in gold fabric. Because although it doesn't fit OVER my shoulders, it fits nice and SNUGLY around them. So I was jumping up and down and crying, and then eventually RIPPING SEAMS.
This after a night of cleaning the whole apartment only to find that the SPONGE ITSELF was the thing that reeked so badly of geriatric breath.
The last time my roommate and I cleaned the apartment we ended up throwing out the whole trash can because the bottom was a maggot nest. So we wrapped the whole thing in garbage bags and put it in the dumpster.
Well our landlady, who has a psychological problem with throwing things away (her house is like an antique funhouse) apparently had other plans for our maggot-can. When I returned from work, it stood, RESCUED, on our front steps. She had WASHED IT OUT.
I don't understand. Does she think we didn't actually MEAN to throw it away? Like we accidentally rigged up the bags AROUND it? Or is this a statement? Is this her way of saying "you do not have the right to throw things away without my permission"? Or is this her saying "This is Phewy. Phewy has a name because he is a person just like you or I. He has feelings and he doesn't deserve to be just THROWN AWAY like that."
In any case, I haven't touched Phewy since his rescue, but I've noticed that since he appeared on our doorstep, he has been placed further and further inside. First the porch, then the stairs up to our part of the house, and then the landing outside our door.
Also, this is the second time I've had a dream about a magic swimming pool that, with a touch of a button, turns into an erotic swimming pool, and everybody in it gets all hot for each other. Then you press the button and it goes back to a normal fun volleyball pool.
Friday, August 26, 2005
I hate Bob Zeltman, Jet Blue, and Launchcast
My coworker and I are regular listeners of free radio at Yahoo Launchcast. We recently spent a little bit of time and energy composing the following complaint e-mail and sent it to the folks at Yahoo....
We accept the terms of LaunchCast being free. However we feel that your marketing of LaunchCast Plus greatly reduces the quality of the free music we so enjoy. In particular, we take personal offense to the jarring and painfully annoying commercial for JetBlue. What happened to the one with the pirate singing and raving about LaunchCast Plus being "3 bucks-a-month, 3 bucks-a-month?" .....and the one that asks us if we like to bang on our drum all day and jump around? We really enjoyed the comforting sound of "Three Blind Mice" and we don't at all enjoy the sound of "Bob Zeltman."
We have also noticed that your "advertising" has now become even more forceful. You inform us that we are over our monthly limit and you are going to lower the quality of our listening if we don't start paying for LaunchCast Plus. Just as an experiment, a good friend of ours signed up for free LaunchCast and was IMMEDIATELY told that they had reached their monthly limit. This is only possible if the "monthly limit" is a lie you've created to try to force people into paying for Plus.
In conclusion, we do respect your efforts to make a profit from your musical services and we can also accept the fact that you have companies paying you to play those ads between songs but honestly, ask yourself this question, is it really necessary for Bob Zeltman to call that girl four straight times to let her know that he applied for an American Express Jet Blue card? Seriously, is it?
Evidence:
(Ring)
Girl: Hello?
Bob: Hi! Its Bob!
Girl: Bob?
Bob: Bob Zeltman, from JetBlue seat 114!
Girl: oh. (incredulously)
Bob: I just called to say I was approved for an American Express Jet Blue card! You helped me fill out an application!
Girl: Ok, Great!
Bob: See you next time I fly Jet Blue!
Girl: See you next time Sooz gathers all the people she wants to murder by razor!
We accept the terms of LaunchCast being free. However we feel that your marketing of LaunchCast Plus greatly reduces the quality of the free music we so enjoy. In particular, we take personal offense to the jarring and painfully annoying commercial for JetBlue. What happened to the one with the pirate singing and raving about LaunchCast Plus being "3 bucks-a-month, 3 bucks-a-month?" .....and the one that asks us if we like to bang on our drum all day and jump around? We really enjoyed the comforting sound of "Three Blind Mice" and we don't at all enjoy the sound of "Bob Zeltman."
We have also noticed that your "advertising" has now become even more forceful. You inform us that we are over our monthly limit and you are going to lower the quality of our listening if we don't start paying for LaunchCast Plus. Just as an experiment, a good friend of ours signed up for free LaunchCast and was IMMEDIATELY told that they had reached their monthly limit. This is only possible if the "monthly limit" is a lie you've created to try to force people into paying for Plus.
In conclusion, we do respect your efforts to make a profit from your musical services and we can also accept the fact that you have companies paying you to play those ads between songs but honestly, ask yourself this question, is it really necessary for Bob Zeltman to call that girl four straight times to let her know that he applied for an American Express Jet Blue card? Seriously, is it?
Evidence:
(Ring)
Girl: Hello?
Bob: Hi! Its Bob!
Girl: Bob?
Bob: Bob Zeltman, from JetBlue seat 114!
Girl: oh. (incredulously)
Bob: I just called to say I was approved for an American Express Jet Blue card! You helped me fill out an application!
Girl: Ok, Great!
Bob: See you next time I fly Jet Blue!
Girl: See you next time Sooz gathers all the people she wants to murder by razor!
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Pye Love Me
Pye love me
She can’t help it. She’s trying to be all “Cat” on me, but then I’m all Holly Golightly on her. And she’s all “fine, then I’ll just keep clawing at this rug over here” and I’m all “Do what you like. I’m going to bed.” And she’s all “Okay…but you know whats coming at 5 a.m.” and I’m all “yeah, about that- what is WRONG with you?” And she’s all “What? I just like running around like crazy and knocking things down and just generally expressing myself in loud ways at 5 a.m.” And I’m all “I’m gonna put you downstairs then” And she’s all “But look at me. I’m so cute and little. Don’t you think you should feed me more?” and I’m all “but look, you have food in your dish” and she’s all “not FRESH food. Besides I like clawing up this rug right here, I’m not hungry.
THEN, I’m all “I’ve got an idea. C’mere Pye! (holding nail clippers behind my back) and she’s all “What? Fun times in bed? Wheee!” and that’s when I’m all “Yeah, lets cuddle. What beautiful paws you have. Can I just hold one for a little while?” And she's all “sure whatever” and we did a really good job with the back legs. But the FRONT legs came along and she was all “rrrrrrrr (like it started in hell)rrrRRRRRrrawRRRooooo” and I was all “that’s ok baby, we’re gonna get through this together” and she was all “I don’t THINK so” and she started kicking and squirming but I held fast.
And that’s when I stooped to a whole new level and started singing “Ol’ Man River” because she likes when I sing to her. And I am not fucking with you, it WORKED! For a second. We got through almost all of them until….
She bit my nipple. Its not nice, you guys. Every chick likes a little nibble, but not a full on fang in the tit. That is just not nice. So I sort of threw her a little bit. And she was all “ooooo look at me! I land on all four feet! I have nine lives!” And I was all, “yeah yeah thank me later.” And she was all, “probably I WON’T and I will still wake up at 5 a.m. and act out Vietnam for you in the living room” and she left my bedroom. And then I was like “Pyyyyyyye. Pyyyyyyyye” and she didn’t come. I was sad but guess what, ya’ll?
This morning there was no rampage. See, I think she really did need her claws clipped, and she just didn’t know how to tell me. And then guess what she DID do this morning? I woke up and she was sleeping on my neck. Now that is just cute.
She can’t help it. She’s trying to be all “Cat” on me, but then I’m all Holly Golightly on her. And she’s all “fine, then I’ll just keep clawing at this rug over here” and I’m all “Do what you like. I’m going to bed.” And she’s all “Okay…but you know whats coming at 5 a.m.” and I’m all “yeah, about that- what is WRONG with you?” And she’s all “What? I just like running around like crazy and knocking things down and just generally expressing myself in loud ways at 5 a.m.” And I’m all “I’m gonna put you downstairs then” And she’s all “But look at me. I’m so cute and little. Don’t you think you should feed me more?” and I’m all “but look, you have food in your dish” and she’s all “not FRESH food. Besides I like clawing up this rug right here, I’m not hungry.
THEN, I’m all “I’ve got an idea. C’mere Pye! (holding nail clippers behind my back) and she’s all “What? Fun times in bed? Wheee!” and that’s when I’m all “Yeah, lets cuddle. What beautiful paws you have. Can I just hold one for a little while?” And she's all “sure whatever” and we did a really good job with the back legs. But the FRONT legs came along and she was all “rrrrrrrr (like it started in hell)rrrRRRRRrrawRRRooooo” and I was all “that’s ok baby, we’re gonna get through this together” and she was all “I don’t THINK so” and she started kicking and squirming but I held fast.
And that’s when I stooped to a whole new level and started singing “Ol’ Man River” because she likes when I sing to her. And I am not fucking with you, it WORKED! For a second. We got through almost all of them until….
She bit my nipple. Its not nice, you guys. Every chick likes a little nibble, but not a full on fang in the tit. That is just not nice. So I sort of threw her a little bit. And she was all “ooooo look at me! I land on all four feet! I have nine lives!” And I was all, “yeah yeah thank me later.” And she was all, “probably I WON’T and I will still wake up at 5 a.m. and act out Vietnam for you in the living room” and she left my bedroom. And then I was like “Pyyyyyyye. Pyyyyyyyye” and she didn’t come. I was sad but guess what, ya’ll?
This morning there was no rampage. See, I think she really did need her claws clipped, and she just didn’t know how to tell me. And then guess what she DID do this morning? I woke up and she was sleeping on my neck. Now that is just cute.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
My favorite moment on the Daily Show last night
Ed Helms was interviewing a Bass fish about bass fishing.
Bass: I don't care so much about the fisherman taunting me. I just don't like the hook.
Helms: Let's talk more about taunting.
Bass: No, lets talk more about the hook- in my FACE!
Now for another subject. I'm going to be making a dress soon. I've never made one, I don't know how to use a sewing machine, and it involves GOLDEN fabric. I can't wait. Hilarity (and possibly tears of frustration) are bound to ensue.
Bass: I don't care so much about the fisherman taunting me. I just don't like the hook.
Helms: Let's talk more about taunting.
Bass: No, lets talk more about the hook- in my FACE!
Now for another subject. I'm going to be making a dress soon. I've never made one, I don't know how to use a sewing machine, and it involves GOLDEN fabric. I can't wait. Hilarity (and possibly tears of frustration) are bound to ensue.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
A futuristic dream I had in May
I lived in the future, which was apparent because there were moving conveyor belts for sidewalks. I was walking and suddenly I stopped and grabbed this tiny old woman (I think she was Chinese?) and started running with her towards “the edge.” The people of this land had a very fast, very beautiful sunrise, and not everybody got to see it all the time. Only if you were close enough to the edge, did you get to see it. So there was always this mad rush. The edge was just the edge of land. But the sunrise happened at the end of the water, which we thought was the end of the world. Also, it was never really dark. There was all this artificial light and the sun would just rise and set really fast. It was always a grayish daylight. I had grabbed the old woman because she was so slow, I figured she never got to see the sunrise. I thought I was doing her this huge favor by running her over to it. But we were too late. I decided, really quickly, that I wasn’t giving up, and I wanted this old woman to see a sunrise before she died, so I ran down the cliff and stole a boat and started paddling furiously towards the horizon; tracking the sunrise down. All the people on shore were shouting and making this huge deal, because it was very illegal and unheard of and dangerous to leave the land. Then we weren’t in a boat anymore, but just swimming. I was trying to keep all my stuff afloat (two big plastic bags full of stuff) while I helped this old woman swim. The water was getting very stormy and it started raining. She was really scared and weak, and she couldn’t swim. Suddenly we “heard” that there was a tornado heading our way. I told her that was propaganda. She said no it wasn’t, so to make her feel better, I started swimming back towards the land. But we were really far out and I couldn’t see the land anymore. Then I saw the tornado, coming from the direction of the land. It was really thick and dangerous looking. We started swimming away from it. Then there was a new small island ahead of us. We pulled ourselves on shore and started looking for shelter from the storm, really desperately. This was all happening very fast. As soon as we were on the island, the old woman became younger and a different person, but I don’t know who. We were ducking the wind, running under rock ledges, and trying to find places that were low and covered. The other person ran ahead of me down a hill and I called out to him. (Now it was a him.) I saw that there were hundreds of these very sick, leper-like refugees at the bottom of the hill. They looked like zombies and were all huddled underneath this cement boardwalk (A little like the Brooklyn Promenade) that reached over the whole beach, all the way around the island. The idea was you couldn’t touch the refugees, and my friend touched them as soon as he got down the hill. He was dead immediately and disappeared from the dream. I huddled somewhere alone until the storm passed. Then the dream "cut" to months later. I had set up residence on this island. It was a leper island. I was the only person who didn’t have leprosy on the island. The reason nobody else came there is because the lepers were all on the beach; the first thing you saw. So everybody approached the beach and then thought “woop, leper beach!” and turned around. Somebody had banished them to the outer reaches of the island and they had never wandered back in. I had set up this sort of “medicine woman” station for myself. I wasn’t touching them still, but I coaxed them back onto the rest of the island, and we had a whole community. I was just treating the pain from the leprosy, but wasn’t able to actually cure it. Then I discovered that the leprosy was getting worse and it was starting to kill children. Suddenly this real medicine woman (dressed like a pioneer with flasks and such) arrived on the island, and found a miracle cure. The cure was she simply staunched the original “wound” by cutting it off and burning the cut-off ends.
Titles for my One Woman Show
I Ain't Hard but I Ain't Easy Either
Crying in the Workplace
To Wrong You, Thanks For Everything, Truly NewNow
World Peace and Boy Crushes
Drowning in my own sarcasm
Sarcasmic! The Musical
Get off my stage!
Hello World!
Moon River
Princess in a castle: The fairytale myth and its perpetuation in modern cosmopolitan lifestyles.
Zits: I have them
Beckett and Me
Sooz 2005!
The cat came back the very next day
And the streets were full of hotties
Crrrrrash and Burrrrn
Time: Essential (a dance piece)
H & M? Yes, Please!
Cheap, Shallow and Lovin' it!
Witness: A Quaker Testimonial
Little Bottles of Crazy Strewn About the House
These Dirty Razors, They Tell no Lies
I'm the actress/I'm the chicken: Kostya
This morning on the subway...
Crying in the Workplace
To Wrong You, Thanks For Everything, Truly NewNow
World Peace and Boy Crushes
Drowning in my own sarcasm
Sarcasmic! The Musical
Get off my stage!
Hello World!
Moon River
Princess in a castle: The fairytale myth and its perpetuation in modern cosmopolitan lifestyles.
Zits: I have them
Beckett and Me
Sooz 2005!
The cat came back the very next day
And the streets were full of hotties
Crrrrrash and Burrrrn
Time: Essential (a dance piece)
H & M? Yes, Please!
Cheap, Shallow and Lovin' it!
Witness: A Quaker Testimonial
Little Bottles of Crazy Strewn About the House
These Dirty Razors, They Tell no Lies
I'm the actress/I'm the chicken: Kostya
This morning on the subway...
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