and then

You're kidding.

It's definitely time to write that Craigslist post.

imbalance

neckline?
haircut?
cuffs?
shoes?
sleep?

also, I think my current new favorite compliment ever is "You're so weird and hot." (I'd say it was the one about wearing dresses well, but doesn't that have to come from someone who's seen you in a dress?)

it's just a logical reasoning test

I think I turned toward Formalist criticism because I couldn't divorce my own understanding of things from the surrounding contextual clues, despite an overwhelming urge to do so. I miss doing things pointlessly, where pointlessness was almost its own purpose. I miss things seeming simple. But I don't think I really miss treating things as simple that clearly aren't.

I wish I didn't sit at the piano, late at night, wanting to play but not wanting to hear that one song I know even one more time. I wish singing didn't seem so ostentatious. I wish the Capital Music Store hadn't closed.

I give myself very, very good advice. But I wish I caught all the references. I wish being obvious didn't seem so obtuse.

I wish I could explain the value of statistics. Or the grammatical use of logical operators (without that one image of confused second graders and huge arrows I've had in my head for a year now).

And it seems all I've ever wanted was to be as close as possible, without being involved. But suddenly I'm ok with "possible" changing from time to time.

fine distinctions

So, I hate gossip. Always. But sometimes there are things you're allowed to know, that the most immediately involved person still doesn't want to tell you, right? Is there a signal for this (other than, you know, putting it on the internet or something)? Also, what is that strange distinction between "appreciating" and "liking" and why does being a filter on people's perceptions make assessements infinitely more comfortable?

two ways to reason

I keep having thoughts of rules and patterns and expectations and I wish you could hear my dreams. It's all there all at once and in my head. I'm worried if I spell it out it doesn't make such sense. But with the TV on it's kind of like you're snoring.

damn that kid

We were talking to this kid the other day, about video games, and why he liked them so much more than schoolwork. Because I think most people expect kids to say something like "homework's hard" or "I don't understand it" or something. (If you get past "boring", I guess.) But the thing this kid said was, "I like video games because there aren't consequences the way there are in school." Essentially, in a video game you can try things out, and learn what works in whatever way works best for you, and it doesn't matter what mistakes are made along the way, as long as you learn from them.

This, of course, is exactly what my dad pointed out this morning (thank you Ms. Fancy Stanford Psych Research Woman). It's why we tell kids /why/ we like their paintings (or, well, I wish this had been de rigeur in my childhood).

More importantly, though, I lay in bed this morning (after waking up far too soon after lying down) and realized that I do this—that my learning style is enough like this kid's, that I feel the need to eliminate variables to such a degree, that I find places where there don't seem to be consequences and run with them. (This worked once—in 8th grade PE class when I decided there was nothing to be lost from just swinging at the next damn thing with all my might, and damned if I didn't hit a solid line drive straight past the first baseman (without even once considering what might happen if I missed while swinging that hard). I'm pretty sure it hasn't since.)

Sadly, after that little epiphany, what this train of thought really lead me to was five and a half hours in front of a computer screen and now I miss my old college friend who come to think of it is supposed to be moving back out here some time soon...

boys/exes (always)

Today my exes came up several times. First, there was the one who prompted me to sit in a park and play the ukulele.

Then there was the one who came up twice—once when I remembered "For such a pussy he sure went out like a man", and once more (we'll get there quickly, I promise).

Then the one in the middle (who's appearing at a does-it-really-need-to-be-named semi-music venue this weekend). (sigh—several reasons.)

Then the one who isn't (who brings up one who is, and another who isn't): I've been thinking for a couple of days now, I guess, how one could possibly get lost jumping link to link on the internet and end up somewhere strange and unidentifiable, let alone interesting, or seeming to pertain to the rest of your life. And then I came across this comment (the second time—see, fast!):

I have a dog just like that. He's a ShitPoo (Shitzu and Poodle). Anyways, he looks just like that, only he's a eunuch.

Of course.

good plan

my newly constant friend just said to me, "I've decided I'm not going to date ... for fifteen months" and immediately I thought, "I said that, too! It totally didn't work! In fact, it worked less than dating!" Here's hopin' it works for other people (or, hell, maybe he'll spend that extra time with me).

tutoring analogy

How do you explain to a sixth grader that multiplication and division are "opposites" in the same way that addition and subtraction are? Because to me it's the same kind of categorization issue as discussions in e-mail vs. discussions in chatrooms vs. "discussions" in comments on facebook and blogs.

by way of an explanation

I seem to have started another one of those phases where conversations are suddenly satisfying and anxiety inducing, which means also that real people are there to field my random musings, and that whatever's left definitely doesn't belong on the internet (f you're me, at least). Don't worry—I'm sure this will change, soon and suddenly.

more self-indulgence

I've started tutoring. And the thing the kids tell me (or, tell a friend to tell me) is that I get too abstract too fast. And I keep thinking this is something that's easily remedied—that, once I get the point clearer in my head, I'll be able to get to it faster. But apparently, in the midst of all the lyrics I've memorized, there's still this phantom third verse that inserts itself into my consciousness, in any song it feels like, as just that: "The Third Verse" the "one that I forget all the time".

so, I guess, thank you to the sweet bartender who (unbidden) decided I needed another drink when everyone else thought I'd had too many. And thank you to everyone who stuck around to hear me rearrange things.

(and, yes, I do think people ... you know, walking and laughing and all that)

"hook up your calculators; I'll trade you a pimp for a ho; it was good times."

I've been driving my sister's car

I have this thing about music which is that I never notice soundtracks. I've never been able to decide whether that's good or bad, or even whether that means I'm good with music or bad. (I lean towards the former, ostensibly because my mom, who is definitely bad with music, is the person who most needs to turn down the radio when looking for house numbers, but also just because I wish.)

Anyway, I also don't notice ambient music, like, at malls and things. Except, obviously I do. And never more obviously than in the last few weeks, when I've been driving my sister's car (because mine needs to be jumped, and maybe needs a new battery, and I can't really be bothered to do anything about it), which doesn't have a working stereo. (Well, ok, it has a stereo, but the stereo has this "anti-theft" feature that is, essentially, a password that no one knows (she bought the car used). Does is seem like that would actually help prevent anything other than me listening to the damn car stereo? Anyway...)

So now I notice things all the time. Not right away of course, but, for example, the other day I was out shopping, and didn't notice that there was even music other than soccer-mom chatter at the (shockingly full) coffee shop until I realized, halfway home, that I'd been singing "Nothing Compares 2 U" for the past twelve and a half minutes (though, of course, only the chorus (or, at least, the part we learned in Comb Choir)). It got worse when, after seeing that damn bumper sticker, I had "The Hokey Pokey" stuck in my head for going on three hours.

But just now, it took me a full thirty five minutes to realize that I'd left iTunes on "repeat 1" and listened to a single song by the Mojave 3 six times in a row.

Oh, and, new dress:

working things out in dreams

I woke up this morning thinking

raw honey : regular (in-the-bear-type) honey
  as
scotch : bourbon

and since we already had the

bread + butter + blue cheese
  [is just like]
water + scotch

conversation...

boring conversations

About the only thing I've concluded from today is that there's no good way to carry a ukulele constantly. Maybe they should have them in baskets by the front doors of fancy shops and restaurants like umbrellas. (Suddenly I feel like this would be a nice visual—perhaps a fantasy photography shot that I don't quite have the equipment for.)

self portrait in an organizational device

(Normally I wouldn't post pictures of a wholly unoriginal project, but that's why this is on the daily nonsense blog and not the self-congratulatory, presentation-y blog, right?)



Plus, I consider this to be an aesthetic obnoxiousness kind of along the lines of a push-up bra—I mean, it's not actually supposed to fool anyone, is it? Also—totally functional: The other reason I've never used this thing is it had no case and looked as though it might scratch easily.

More importantly, I remember (a while back now) sorting (and tagging) every power cord/electronic cable/piece of metal connective tissue I could find. So, once neatly sorted (and tagged), where did they all go?

"there's a period where [...] your abilities don't match up with your exceptionally good taste"

when did I start...

1. swearing that going out at night means having bigger hair?


2. listening to (almost exclusively) chick singers?


3. feeling like a compliment from someone you don't like is the worst kind of insult (/especially/ if it's something that would be a compliment coming from the right person)?


4. trying to admit that who you're attracted to probably says something about you?


5. preferring innocent text messages from people in other states?


6. wondering what on earth that all means?


7. (even paying attention to these kinds of things—I mean, really?)

I miss my cowboy boots. I feel short these days.

but, actually (surprisingly) not a stupid question

Where does one buy shirts? Because (I swear I'm not such a slave to [finally beginning to understand the difference between style and] fashion, but (or maybe because,) we seem to be in another year of the excessively long, thin shirt-slash-dresses and I really can't abide by that, so why did I only now realize that I only own one shirt that I actually like to wear? It may be time to start wearing (exclusively) skirts and dresses. (can we really do this again? Once, I planned to sit around the house in a slip, playing the piano (,which, really, is what I do most nights), but knowing that someone was coming over, I suddenly thought it looked forced, so I changed. Maybe... can't we just have a few more surprises in the world so I don't have to /think/ so much?)

an open letter to guys at bars

Did you ever take a statistics class? You know how, after you collect the data (in the "analysis" phase), you have to take stock of everything that might be skewing it in one way or another? Like, if you're taking a poll to see how many kids /really/ like Sponge Bob Square Pants, maybe don't do it at the Disney convention at 11am when he's set to appear on stage with a full underwater backing band? All I'm sayin' is, when you're assessing how well a conversation is going, please check more than the "yes—I am enjoying myself" box. Refer also to the potentially influencing "When was the last time I talked to a girl?" / "How many glasses of white wine have I had tonight?" ...

on another note
(that's actually the same, if you've been paying attention):

Probably, just, no one should pay that much attention to John Roderick (sigh). So, in an effort to acheive a more balanced look at that (still, however, unretracted) rant from yesterday, I offer you:

my next project, inspired exactly by it's perfect melding of form- and functionalism:

James sent me something that was (beautifully) basically the reverse of this /ages/ ago, but, still...

(thank you, Merlin.)

"count on you to what? completely fail to understand and leave at the first opportunity?"

Ok, but, can we just talk about this again for a second? Because (I haven't even got to the end, but) I hear this all the time, and it always bothers me. Language can go both ways, sure (because you never know which word a person encounters first, and therefore which one becomes, in whatever way, the "primary" meaning. Or then, of course, if language is the playdough mold that thoughts and/or meaning get pressed through, obviously it depends on whether you're using or receiving it, or...), but intention? Surely intention is one-way. Pre-defined. You can't /afterwards/ say that you /intended/ to hit the deer just because you were on your way to grandma's house and it jumped in the road and now it's dead.

I say this now because I've been accused before of endlessly starting projects I never intend to finish. And this is always a bad thing to the people who bother to point it out. But to the /other/ people, it's a bad thing once I finish them, because (if I give them away, for example, or even hang them on my wall) /obviously/ I didn't do it for the joy of doing it. /Obviously/ there was an ulterior motive.

And mostly I say this because I was (rather joyfully, I might add) on a role with a few fun little folding projects, and now I don't want to finish them because that would somehow prove (to people who don't know better, obviously) that I meant something else by it. And I know they're wrong, but I still can't disprove it, so now I can't work.

But, as delightfully cynical (and seemingly "realistic") as this thinking is, I think extending it too far is just evidence of the primacy of psycho theory in /everything/ we do these days (yes—I'm talking Law&Order-style slippery slope), and isn't it about time we moved onto the next scientific revolution so we can actually move on to other things instead of just deciding that we know something more about what's already there (and, quite possibly, just fine the way it is, thank you very much)? (Though, being a knee-jerk Russian Formalist with an irrational fear of stasis, /obviously/ I don't mean that as conservatively as it sounds.)

And also, I think he's right but missed the point about intangible benefits. I think it's not so much that it's insulting to imply that the intangible benefits are worth the whole mess (or that they, somehow, /should/ be), but rather it's insulting to the intelligence of the musician to, by using, tangentially, this Romantic/Modernist/Avant-Guarde notion of the "art for art's sake" artist, imply that in entering into the arrangement, you hadn't already considered the intangible benefits. The problem is less that the notion of the "pure" artist is itself insulting, and more that this hypothetical club owner is effectively a car salesman trying to justify a higher price for a particular car because "this one has wheels and an engine!".

who has her hair cut and styled (and ruined again) by 2pm?

today I cannot write

Can't write. Can't sleep. Mostly, can't think about much of anything. Probably because my house looks like this:











But, actually, probably because I'm more inclined to photograph than to remedy it.

in that part of town

Spending all this time in Madison Park is making me fear that the end of my life will involve a soccer mom in a Pathfinder.

"I spent all mornin' grievin'"

(details later)

I just had, at a bar, simultaneously the most [is there a word that means both flamboyant and false?] academic and most vulgar conversation about visual art I have /ever/ had.

"And f-in' Goethe, and Malevich? I don't know what the f-ck she was even talking about. I mean, it was f-ing crazy, the sh-t she kept f-ing talking about."

how much color is too much?

Tyson wants to turn my house into a craft factory.

But I'm already walking a /very/ fine line between cute/creative and just overdone and dowdy. So now the question is,

cream

to blend in better with the walls, making the whole project really about the texture I'm going for(, and not so much about them actually being roses made out of satin ribbon),

or white

to give the whole effect a little more of a balancing, modern look (as I've done in the rest of the room)?



(but, imagine them spreading across the length of the wall (and probably around the corner), geometrically, not, you know, florally)

remind me, occasionally, that it's Monday

setlist for cross-country train station busking vacation (arranged for ukulele and electric bass, two voices):

• I Wish That I Could See You Soon (Herman Dune)


• Why Do Lovers Break Each Others' Hearts? (Bob B. Soxx and the Blue Jeans)


• I Was Wrong (Speaker Speaker)


• Your Biggest Fan (Voxtrot)


• Clam, Crab, Cockle, Cowrie (Joanna Newsom)

(the request line is now open)