"our conversations are like minefields"

This American Life episodes today:
("she has a dog; she's the kind of person who has a dog"
( / "what am I doing in here?"))

packing list for L.A.:
Miss Manners
all relevant personal correspondance
tape recorder
iTalk
iPod
camera
(microphone?)
new blue dress
fancy gold flip-flops
change of underwear
(bus ticket)

after

I bought a tripod

poor, poor thing

"Well, I think you're making a mistake,
all that beer and no whiskey"

"'In this world, Elwood, you must be oh so smart,
or oh so pleasant.' Well, for years I was smart;
I recommend pleasant."

fine. (/for Phillip)

what else you got?

it's so simple

I'm keeping myself from doing things I'd like to do by staying in bed.

(though, to be fair, I did just wake up from an impossibly realistic zombie nightmare)

so ... what?

no thoughts, just action

I've been talking a lot lately (you'll notice I didn't say 'thinking') about cultural appropriation and the power of vocabulary choices and whatnot and (I'm tempted to once again defend my choices but) it occurs to me that some linguistic peculiarities that I've developed may have moved from misleading other people to misleading me, even.

(I feel like I've written about this before, but I also feel like I've said things that no one else seems to have heard, so, maybe, the joy of repetition really needs to be tapped.)

Case The First (because this one's so contentious): When I say, in recalling a particular situation, "...and then you started yelling at me", I am not mistaken in remembering an occasion on which you simply stated something sternly as having been significantly more heated. I don't actually think you raised your voice in anger, or that my eardrums were adversely affected; I only mean that, as you should probably know, when it happened, I felt the way I imagine people feel when they're getting yelled at. (I guess it's kind of like yelling in e-mail—does anyone ever actually raise their voice and scream at the computer screen when they're writing with the capslock on? But you know what it means.)

Part Two: There's this new funny thing I do, which is that I admit, gleefully, that "well, you know, I do have a thing for ugly guys, so...". Not that I haven't gotten swooney over "hot" guys before—as I explained to my most recent boyfriend, he was certainly the most conventionally attractive guy I'd ever been involved with—I just seem to be drawn to bigger guys with more interesting features than, you know, pecs, or whatever I should be looking for. And I used to talk about them (running with the yelling example) based on how they make me feel.
     Recently I changed sides.
     Look at it this way: Would you rather go on and on about how gorgeous a guy is, and how much he makes you want to keel over every time he opens his mouth, and then have people see pictures of him and say, "Um, Katie ... do you, um ... [?]", or would you rather be upfront about the "I know, and I know what you know, and we all know that ...".
     I don't mean /ever/ to admit that my ability to swoon over these guys is compromised by other people's opinions (and, to be honest, using the word 'ugly' actually makes the statment false, this being one of maybe two examples I can think of where the P.C. term—'unconventionally attractive'—honestly does work better; and also I have a new theory about how my eyesight is bad and therefore I've never been a very visually oriented person), but it seems like letting everyone know that we're on the same page, though we diverge in opinion, within the confines of the original sentence can be a nice way of doing things.

On the other hand ...

What if it's affecting other things? What if it's not so much "distilled vocabulary" as the perpetuation of gross misunderstandings? (What if it's not like black people reclaiming 'nigga' and more like frat boys saying 'gay'?) and What if I reread a bunch of e-mail last night and it doesn't seem like he hates me at all?

(more importantly, I suppose: how does the referent feel?)

Or what if I keep calling the kitten "snuggles" (which actually kinda worked, by the way), or introducing people to "my new boyfriend" and the whole thing just becomes completely aestheticized and, somehow, meaningless.

I don't mean to be "cute". I don't mean for everything to be performance-oriented. I think about that girl who only ate single-colored foods for days and wonder what it would be like, not, just, how cool it sounds. (And, yes, I really would love to reclaim 'awesome'.)

But I'm starting to worry that my inability to talk about anything other than my own experience—coupled with a dear friend's nifty explanation of experience as (am I getting this right?) essentially the only thing we know for sure and can't ever prove—(and also my complete lack of faith) is no longer an expression of extreme self-doubt, but is actually starting to describe (type IV) a solipsistic viewpoint.

or, maybe it's (though this sounds wrong) just the glasses

I think I'll move to Lund.

a long day

I forget how much I care for practical gifts.

This morning my (gin-addled) thoughts went something like,

damn, I wish I had some ______
wait, I /do/!
and ... wow, that was really perfect

and I remembered the whole explanation (and almost cried thinking of my response), and I think I fell in love all over again.

Or, you know, it was the gin.

"(I'd take you where) nobody knows you / and nobody gives a damn"

actually, I think I'm going to do a piece on the relative merits of anonymous communication.

If anyone has stories, or can recommend a good etiquette book, please e-mail or call.

Until then, I think I'll go to L.A., mostly alone, and commune with the concrete.

(p.s., did I mention this is sorta working again?)

where am I going and why am I in this handbasket?

I've been having sorta sideways conversations recently. And though no one else (save my dear friend last night) could be so clever as to put it this way,

It's like, suddenly I know it will hurt, and I still really want it. I've never actually felt that way about an addictive substance before.

except, I feel like maybe I'm starting to get over that.

"what are you in man?"

I am turning off all blog comments and removing every other way in which I interact purely electronically. I'm sorry for ever starting a fight over text messages, or encouraging one over e-mail. I'm sorry for not stepping up. (And for being incredibly conceited, if that's how it seems.) Please call me if you have something to say (or, just want to talk).

I'm going to work four days a week so I can see a shrink

THE CROCODILE PRESENTS

"DANCING ON THE VALENTINE"
A Duran Duran Tribute

Valentine's Day: Wednesday, February 14th 2007
The Crocodile: 2200 2nd Ave.
8pm doors / 21+ / $10 adv. and dos
Tickets available for purchase at TicketWeb (www.ticketweb.com), The Crocodile, and all Sonic Boom Records locations.

featuring performances from SEAN NELSON, SPEAKER SPEAKER, SIRENS SISTER, ARGO, SAY HI TO YOUR MOM, CENTRAL SERVICES, PETER PARKER, BRE LOUGHLIN, THE LONELY FOREST, PARTMAN PARTHORSE, THE CAPILLARIES, VALU-PAK, and CHAPSTICK, as well as selections picked by DJ KRIS K and DJ POINDEXTER.

DANCING ON THE VALENTINE is a local celebration of the music of Duran Duran, forerunners of the New Romantic/New Wave era of 80's pop. It is also a big, fun Valentine's Day party (featuring a photographer, and a raffle for fun prizes) for everyone to enjoy, whether one brings their sweetheart or meets them at the show. Many of Seattle's finest musicians will be gathering together to cover the music of Duran Duran. With the recent resurgence in popularity of the classic 80's style, along with Duran Duran's reputation as lovers (not fighters), it only makes sense that the show happens on Valentine's Day.

I may also move to L.A.

would you laugh?

how funny (/scary) is it to think of people actually (thinking they're) communicating through personal blogs?

conflict of

If

courtesy, compassion and general good behavior are designed to avoid hurting people

and

(as my shrink kept telling me) other peoples' egos are not my responsibilty

what have I misunderstood?

it occurred to me when the bouncer peered into my bag last night

I'm all set



camera
calendar
pinstripes
mis-matched silver bracelets
deodorant that smells like sugared lemons
fourteen crochet hooks (and a small chunk of red yarn)
plus a box of hair pins

p.s.
wallet
mobile phone
sterling money clip (no cash)

WARNING: this makes very little sense

First, I think the reason I don't like lids (or travel mugs) is not so much about the lids (or mugs) themselves, and more about not needing to add an entire extra category of things to my life, especially to accomplish something so silly as transporting coffee.

Second, I keep talking about mysteries vs. detective fiction and wanting to use the term 'narrative advantage' which, now, I kinda think I made up, but basically means the same thing as 'dramatic irony', except more, actually, it means "that thing that one audience member has over another (and, the way I want to use it, over the protagonist)" in the situation described by Fowler:

Irony is a form of utterance that postulates a double audience, consisting of one party that hearing shall hear & shall not understand, & another party that, when more is meant than meets the ear, is aware both of that more & of the outsiders’ incomprehension.

and I really feel like the fact that one concept is further embedded in the process makes a huge difference to me.

I'm also starting to wonder whether Ethan Hawke didn't ruin irony the way (yes, it's Chuck Closterman who claims that) John Cusak ruined romance.

But if someone could explain to me what effect the self-consciousness of the person doing the uttering has on the third-party evaluation of a potentially ironic situation, I'd be much obliged.

I wonder if you can be full of pride, and still completely lacking in self-esteem.

I also wonder if I'll ever stop looking at my life as a series of pratfalls, by which I mean both, I wonder if I'll ever stop messing up so egregiously, and also, if it'll ever /not/ feel like a spectacle.

Finally, a few quotes:

"I'm no one you can trust / all little-boy lonely and curious lust" (a mix tape)

"Judging by your smile / you're holding something back" (the album)

"it ain't wrong, it's just different / and his pride won't let him do things to make you think he's right" (my memory)

"who need's pride?" (the cd in my car)

"and because he suspected that they'd all stopped listening, he spoke through his actions. Random, incomprehensible, outrageous actions" (This American Life)

---

and if you can figure out where all of this pieces together, I'll tell you my latest metaphor: I always feel like dealing with the people you're really willing to spend time on is like determining the nature of a mathamatical formula—you watch what goes in, see what comes out, and then use everything in your power to figure out what happened in between.

but, briefly

Not to discredit in the least how extraodinarily romantic I find sitting side by side and reading (newspapers, novels, etc.), but

"just like he wanted me to sit and watch cartoons with him on Saturday morning, not sit next to him and read the New York Times while he watched cartoons."

Yes, exactly. Thank you.

turnover

My computer departs today. If you haven't heard the Infamous Font Story, stop me on the street during this week's hiatus.

Or just try to remember: When someone introduces a lecture by saying, "Now, they're going to tell you not to run home and try this after the lecture, but, really, don't. I did it last year and my computer never turned on again." maybe consider the possibility that they might be telling you something important.

you, anonymous

might you consider actually starting a dialogue?

(kate.chapman@gmail.com, which you can see on my profile)

I promise to respond. I like questions and disagreements, just not petty internet sqabbles.

and a barrel of whiskey

"he taught that the duty of lovers ..."

When I was little, and they told us "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you", I said, "That's dumb. Because then if I want vanilla ice cream, and he wants strawberry, he'll give me strawberry and I'll get vanilla and nobody will be happy."

My shrink said maybe I'm being too specific. Maybe the point is, everybody gets some ice cream.

But I'm starting to think that spending all your time trying to figure out exactly what someone else wants is just wishing they'd do the same for you. And also, maybe, there are differences between friends and lovers.

me (circa Super Bowl XL): What's with the flag? What could this possibly be the twelfth anniversary of?

The brief history of a term:

Did you know that not only do the Seahawks apparently have fans (and lots of them, and loud ones), but the franchise has actually been sued by Texas A&M over the use of a term apparently inspired by a Disney movie?

I have to say, though, there's something pretty bad ass (or, at least, theoretically satisfying) about a professional sport in which the flailing of the crowd actually does have an effect on the game, even if it is an artificially enhanced, branding/marketing version of a spontaneous tradition.

(and, actually, that Aggies story almost made me cry...)

once again

(For context, you may recall a few old paragraphs...)

Boo (after Don Giovanni has revealed his scheme to seduce Donna Elvira's maid by dressing up as his own servant, because, basically, "girls go for that"): See? This is why men are so stupid. They think this shit works.

me: Yeah. Um ... it does.

[giggle, giggle] [pause] [rearranging of set pieces]

Don Giovanni: Let's try a song.

[arr. Mandolin Player]

Boo: [pause] [pause] Hey. [pause] That worked on me...

for serious

I've lost my editor

so, if anyone's out there, can you tell me what you think a "sort of deja vu epiphany" is supposed to be?

"You know how birds don't leave the nest until they know how to fly?"

What happened to the amazement we used to get at being overwhelmed by something, instead of this overwhelming sense of failure?

in fact, he is

Overheard on the street

(homeless man?): I wish I knew what a fucking silver spoon
     even looked like.

snow day

and damnded if I didn't say I'd go in to work.
But I'm going in for /three hours/, ok?

And then I'm going to sit at home and learn "Maybe"
on the ukulele.

(Also, poll: Crazy—Willie Nelson or Patsy Cline?)

I'm going to wear a dress tomorrow

I've been having these crazy dreams. But not all night long—it's only first thing in the morning, after the overly ambitious sure-I'll-get-up-at-seven-and-go-for-a-run alarm and before the I-can't-possibly-need-more-than-five-minutes-to-dress one.

And they mostly involve hugs. All of them reconciliatory, but also way more powerful than that sounds. There was one on the thirteenth floor of a Manhattan apartment building that three minutes later was bombed, and there was one in my 6AM book club meeting on Broadway (right before my legs turned to cement and I ran into a silver sedan full of kids I went to high school with), but they were actually that one in the coffee shop and again, later, upstairs in my room.

And I wake up calmer than I've been in weeks. And then I cry a little when I can't go back to sleep.

Such is real life, I guess.

I think I don't need more friends so much as, apparently, fewer enemies.

test

link, ego, etc.

the thing is

I think pretending that two reasonably intelligent, otherwise well-meaning people are fundamentally incompatible because they can't immediately communicate stems from an unreasonable assumption that's basically the same problem caused by excessive political correctness. Pretending that we have more in common than we do makes it harder to understand what effect our differences have, and actually gets in the way of our stronger similarities.

Think about two big, strong magnets, with everything essential pulling towards each other, and just too much buildup of old paint layers between them.

except, I'm totally serious.

advice; attention

So, the other day I said something about balance, and needing to get the passion (read: panic) more involved in the rationality instead of just doing away with it. For now, though, anyone got any meditation advice? A good acupuncturist? Maybe a transcendant theory or two? All that booze mixed with Law & Order just isn't cutting it anymore.

(Do you think you can develop an immunity to the calming effects of Jerry Orbach?)

in the Cuisinart of my life

I think I like seeing the same person every day (and am frequently chided for obsessiveness) for the same reason that I love watching band practice, and prefer things like gazpacho to purees and chowders: There's nothing quite like seeing the unfiltered pieces before they're given a more seamless (and frequently unrecognizable) form.

and then there was football

(also, is it possible that this guy is the worst sports reporter, ever?)

do you

remember in kindergarten when the art teacher asked you to ask your mom to start saving toilet paper rolls, even though you couldn't possibly imagine what on earth thirteen hundred of them could be useful for?

If you have empty jars around—especially if you find yourself stuck in a pickled snap peas rut and have, month to month, a collection of /matching/ empty jars—you should now send them to me. Drop me an e-mail and I'll send you my mailing address. In return, I will either send you a check to cover the postage, or one of the final products (to be announced, eventually, if everything works out...).

new Christmas list

can we forget all the times someone bought me a motorcycle and I had to give it back?

"fall in love with beautiful strangers"

I watched a movie last night, and I can't tell whether it's more telling that the whole build-up reminded me so much of the conversation I'd been having throughout the day, with probably six different people, or that I completely forget the punchline.

Also, I love NPR, for giving us people like this, but how could they then let someone say, and I quote,

"The world is your oyster—literally."

?

Finally, my new favorite coffee-shop sign:

"All Unattended Children Will Be Given
a Shot of Espresso and a New Puppy."

"because basically, he's right"

things to work on:

debilitating insecurity masquerading as bravado.
poor impulse control.
obsessive need for attention denied through devotional
     charade.
inability to comprehend conflicting impulses (coupled with
     1-3, above) disguised (and denied) as "empathy".

you look best

(some photos someone /else/ took...)

since this keeps coming up

"Narcissism is a psychological disorder resulting from a person’s belief that he or she is flawed in a way that makes the person fundamentally unacceptable to others. This belief is held below the person’s conscious awareness; such a person would typically deny thinking such a thing if questioned. In order to protect themselves against the intolerably painful rejection and isolation they imagine would follow if others recognized their supposedly defective nature, such people make strong attempts to control others’ view of them and behavior towards them.

The common use of the term “narcissism” refers to some of the ways people defend themselves against this narcissistic dynamic: a concern with one’s own physical and social image, a preoccupation with one’s own thoughts and feelings, and a sense of grandiosity. There are, however, many other behaviors that can stem from narcissistic concerns, such as immersion in one’s own affairs to the exclusion of others, an inability to empathize with others’ experience, interpersonal rigidity, an insistence that one’s opinions and values are “right,” and a tendency to be easily offended and take things personally."

and it seems to me that you could either find people who have the same traits that you love in yourself, and let a relationship unfold as a kind of projected self-love, or you could find people who have the same, seemingly socially unacceptable traits that you believe yourself to have, and love them obsessively in an effort to prove that you, yourself, are worthy of at least one person's love.