Back to Diaryland

the latest waddle:

good morning, wordpress - 10:36 a.m. , 2009-07-03

elaborate murder attempt - 2:56 p.m. , 2009-07-01

building a tractor in the basement - 10:42 a.m. , 2009-06-19

ask no questions tell just a few lies - 3:17 p.m. , 2009-06-09

my long lasting flavor really lasts long - 1:10 p.m. , 2009-06-04


2002-06-08 ... 11:40 a.m.

IT'S A BIRD IT'S A PLANE IT'S MIMI SMARTYPANTS MAKING NO SENSE AND GETTING SLAPHAPPY WITH THE LINKS

I go through strange media phases that are weirdly similar to falling in severe googly-eyed like. Nothing so long-lasting or true-blue as "fandom," like my thing for Sleater-Kinney (so so odd that a rock band can make me choke up and cry on a regular basis) or David Foster Wallace, but brief, intense, crushes on certain albums or websites or books. Currently the Crush Music consists of the following: The Balanescu Quartet, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, that song about the Swarthy Portuguese Longshoremen, Throwing Muses, Miss Kittin And The Hacker, Ornette Coleman, and Xiu Xiu. Crush Words right now are Rick Moody, The Gold Bug Variations, Descartes' Error, and excitementmachine.org.

You know how in 1980s movies featuring computers there was often a semi-close-up of the black DOS-style screen with a cursor and then green words slowly filling up the space? Left to right and then down down down? I wish there was an entire television program or movie of just that, in real time. A movie you could read, a movie that you would be forced to read at the movie's pace.

What is labeled as an MP3 of the Pixies' "Dig For Fire" on my computer is really a recording of T. S. Eliot reading "The Hollow Men." I can't remember how this happened but it startles me every time, when I have all the computer music on shuffle and am sitting here happily typing or browsing and then am suddenly plunged into a modernist despairing critique of Western civilization. And his bizarre aging-queen scratchy drone is a bit of an assault to the ears when you were expecting to hear Frank Black's scratchy wailing instead. (Here is a nice little page about T. S. Eliot references in Apocalypse Now.)

HOW I CURRENTLY USE MY TIME

Daily: Work, bathing and routine body maintenance, reading (to and from work, during lunch, during spare moments at work, in the evenings in the purple chair), eating, writing, domestic life (includes cooking with LT, household projects with LT, hatching absurd plans with LT, affectionate snuggling and/or sex with LT), thinking about stuff (constantly, it's the human condition, it’s inescapable).

Weekly or Semi-Weekly: Violin lesson and practice, drinking beer, arm-wrestling, playing Scrabble, cooking up really obnoxious art projects with my friends, seeing live music, going to restaurants, opening the mail and putting my life in order, developing a new obsession.

At Least Yearly: Traveling to another country, taking a class (Italian, bellydancing, whatever).

THE IDEAL USE OF MY TIME. (REQUIRES 38-HOUR DAYS)

All of the above plus: really sustained collaboration on really obnoxious art projects (remember my mantra: I don't have to make art No one is forcing me to make art Art is for losers) (that is a chant that I run through my head if I ever get stupid and squinky about taking risks, fear of failure, not being "good enough"), sitting near a body of water and noticing the kiss of the wind and the quality of light, going to the zoo, reading some fascinating book about psycholinguistics in a warm atmospheric dark-wood café with snow slowly whitening the streets and a full menu of tea and pie and cheap, legal, high-quality hashish. (Hey, as long as we're fantasizing…..)

A THOUGHT

I've always enjoyed this ridiculous lyric in When Doves Cry: "touch if you will my stomach." That shit cracks me up.

---mimi smartypants is a b-girl making with the freak freak.

back/forward

join my Notify List and get email when I update my site:
email:
Powered by NotifyList.com