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Too Hot For The Facebooks

If Groupon and Charlie Sheen were to jointly take over the world, would we be better off or worse? Discuss.

Follow-up question: Has this already happened?

Follow-up to the follow-up: Does anyone know where I put the frigging duct tape?

PS. Hi, Livejournal.

PPS. I made this while you were away.

PPPS. And this.

PPPPS. Also, I moved to Missouri and got a girlfriend and my rabbit got an eyeball-ectomy and I'm about five months from finishing a masters and I ate a buffalo wing the other day.
heigh ho the holly

Still In Paris Creating A Bunch of Words For You To Read: Update The Third

I have always read on Chowhound about how the gelaterias in France and Italy make all other gelato seem like so much flavorless slop. I have always interpreted these proclamations of foodsnobbery with equal parts slavering envy and [jack off motion; eye-roll]. But now, having sampled gelato a la Continent, I find to my unending dismay that it is all true.

Caffe et biscotto gelato from Amorino. So delicious that it actually made me kind of angry.

I mean, Grom in NYC is really good. Capogiro in Philly is better. Amorino on the rue du Vielle Temps in the 4th arr. is, regrettably, on another planet entirely. So good it was stupid. So good I wanted it to shut up. So good that I was hoping someone would slap the cup out of my hand so I could prove how good it was by eating it off the street.

Dudes, seriously. It was good. I can't believe I don't get it to eat it every day for the rest of my life.

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pets greta emo

Porn, Bathrooms, and Budding Neuroses: Paris, Update Deux

Ways in which New York is superior to Paris: People don't make fun of me to my face about the way I talk.
Ways in which Paris is superior to New York: All others.

That, as you might imagine, is a tough thing for a dyed-in-the-wool New York-phile such as myself to admit, but it's true. Paris just got every single thing right, dudes.

In particular, I am a fan of drinking wine at heated sidewalk cafes at midnight. Of course, that's something I knew I would like before coming. Ditto the bread and cheese. Here's what I didn't expect: better yogurt. French yogurt makes the American-made stuff taste chemical and cloying. France has ruined Yoplait for me forever. Really, France? You have to scoop us on everything? Bastards. I suppose now we are even for your help with the Revolution. (Thanks for that.)

Things that are basically the same: the crowdedness, the energy, the pretentiousness.

Oh, and the hallway in our building is a circular staircase with doors on all sides, sort of at random, sort of like a hobbit hole. Old, worn wooden stairs. It was particularly like a hobbit hole for the first day and a half, before we discovered that there was a light switch. I cannot properly convey how dark and weird it was without light, other than to say "completely dark" and "very weird."


Basically, what you are looking at is an omelet. It's not called an omelet, it's called something else, but it is an omelet. MADE FROM UNICORNS. I ate all of it. Everything in this picture went inside me and I do not have any regrets. (Yes, the bread basket too. I am not about to let a little wicker slow me down.)

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pets greta emo

So Far Unsaid: Of Brooklyn and Missouri and the Finishing of the Last Nice Guy

A year ago, my partner of five years walked out. He did so in part because I had asked him to marry me. He couldn't commit, and also couldn't commit to telling me he couldn't commit.

I wrote about the what a year ago. But I never wrote about the why.

I don't pretend that this emotional suicide bomb — my need to wrestle publicly with ghosts — matters much, or to very many. Far more distressing things happen in the world; I know that. People have been hurt far more; I know that too. On the other hand, people have been hurt, all people. For me, typing in wrought, concentric sentences and being Queen Overshare is what helps. I hate to be a cliche and emoblog, but I hate more the idea of never giving this a public voice. Thanks for reading it.


It starts with the leaving.

Just after midnight in Brooklyn, when the street was as dark as it ever gets but not quiet, it's never quite quiet, he said he wanted to talk. It was the first time in five years he'd ever wanted to.

One look and I understood he didn't want to.

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pets greta emo

AIDS and Science

Hey there Livejournal Land!

I wanted to come in and say a few things... all will become clear why presently.

1. Grad school is amazing. Coming here is far and away one of the best decisions I ever made -- perhaps the very best. I am totally stimulated and fulfilled. Of course there's a lot I miss about New York, but there are also a few things I'm really glad to be away from. I also just recently had one of the best birthdays within recent memory, and it happened far away from my family, friends, and even most of the new friends I've made since coming to the midwest. It's all about the brand new experiences, right? This was quite a leap, as I've said, running off into the unknown in a 10-foot truck by myself. I wanted to do it that way, and so far, it's worked out better than I could have hoped.

This is the little quad between the J-school buildings. I was leaning against a tree with my shoes off, reading, when I took this picture. I take none of this for granted.

2. Grad school is, apparently, a lot of work. No one explained this to me before I came; consequently, I have no time for side projects like creating a new blog, finishing sewing that skirt I've been working on forever, or eating food. Hence, no "hey here's my new blog" post. Yet.

This was taken during my very first Mizzou home game. Go Tigers! As you can see, I was more interested in staring fixedly at the bleachers like a jackass than watching the game. The sign on the bleachers says "DO NOT STAND ON THE BLEACHERS." (Everyone was standing on the bleachers. Renegades!)

3. Grad school being so busy, my AIDSWalk fundraising has taken a bit of a backseat. I've managed to head up a fundraising campaign, but haven't actually been able to do any fundraising myself. Supersnack's big annual event is this weekend -- tomorrow, actually -- and I appear to be $500 off my goal. If I reach the goal, I'm going to wear an evening gown to the walk (in place of my usual t-shirt/pants/sneakers) and YOU KNOW THERE WILL BE PICTURES. Can you help? (Would you rather help Greta? She still gets pineapple for every donation.) So really, I'm here to throw myself on your mercy. Do you hate or love AIDS? Do you hate or love watching me do dumb things like dress in formal wear at 8 in the morning? Do you hate or love making bunnies happy? Vote with your wallet.

4. We're walking in DC because the new infection rate there is higher than some parts of Africa -- estimates show 3% of the population is infected. That's three times more that the 1% needed for a disease to be considered an epidemic. Help is needed, in the form of mighty cash dollars.

In exchange for your kindness in considering donating, below is something I wrote after attending a biotechnology seminar. (IT WAS FUN!) (NO SERIOUSLY!) (OKAY ACTUALLY A LOT OF IT WAS BORING BUT HAVING GONE TO IT GIVES ME A CHANCE TO WIN A TRIP TO ROME SO WHATEVER!)

And if you want to see what else I've been up to since I arrived, here's a link to my bylines -- most of the stories are just straight up news, because everyone has to do a stint as a news reporter. I did write an article about, though.

Did you know that some parts of the midwest look like this? Well, they do.

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pets greta emo

Midwest Or Breasts! I Mean Bust!

I know, I know, it's like I just roll in here and act like I didn't completely disappear for the last few months.

It's been hard for me to keep up with the world of Livejournal. It's been a great community for so long, but so much of my attention has been focused on my upcoming move and on trying to get over my breakup. I think actually leaving the physical place we lived will be a great help, and so will leaving the internet place where the two of us spent so much time. So, I'm going to hop ship and start a new blog, and I'll let you know as soon as I have it up and running.

I'm deep in the throes of preparing to move to the midwest. I'm leaving tomorrow (or possibly the day after), and it's weird the way time moves faster and faster. I'm crazy excited to get out to Missouri and get to work, and at the same time I feel like I'm in limbo, all anticipation and reaching off into this void where I won't know anyone or have any idea what I'm doing. There have been all these little milestones here in NY that I've been in eager anticipation over: an Indigo Girls hootenanny in July (that was a dream come true), visiting friends in Virginia and DC, the last few Kites performances, getting Greta back, going camping, my going away party... and now I've ticked off all of those fun things, one by one, and they seem to fall by faster and faster, and what I've got left is the boxes, filling the boxes with my stuff, labeling and taping and getting ready to drive it halfway across the country. Even though I'm actually leaving tomorrow, I still do not entirely believe that I am. It doesn't feel real yet. It probably won't feel real until a few weeks after I've been in Missouri.

For my final Livejournal entry, I thought I'd blatherifically list out 62 things I've learned since moving to New York six and a half years ago. I've droned on and on at wild and merciless length very often in the past, so why not keep up with tradition, is my feeling. I'm hoping that my time in graduate school will teach me, among other things, the art of brevity. But if nothing else, at least I will get to tailgate at a Big 12 football game, and that's something.

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I've never felt comfortable calling myself a New Yorker. Other people have referred to me that way in the past, and I always feel the same mix of pride and unworthiness. It's such a loaded term; such a loaded place. It feels like an honorific you have to earn, not one you can just claim. You don't get to call yourself a New Yorker just by showing up here, or by memorizing the MTA map, or even by loving the city with all your heart. But I suppose you get to call yourself that whenever you realize that you are not in the city so much as it is in you, and you know there's nowhere else in the world for you. It's funny, only as I am leaving am I really going to be comfortable saying to myself, I am a New Yorker. I guess it's to reassure everyone, myself included, that somewhere else might rent some space in my heart for awhile, but I belong here. I was born in Virginia, and I love my southern heritage with great heart, and wouldn't trade it for love or money. But I Am A New Yorker.

(I probably still won't actually say that, like, out loud to people. It's pretty douchey.)
pets greta emo

There Will Be Time To Wig

I am bugging the fuck out, Livejournal Land.

It seems as if I only post anymore when I am bugging the fuck out, and I think it seems that way because it is true, but OH HEY I AM BUGGING THE FUCK OUT.

Have you ever heard of this certain type of disease or pathology wherein a person tries very hard to take care of something and ends up maiming or killing it? I think the guy from Of Mice And Men had it and I know I read a noir book based on this very thing not too long ago. I'm starting to wonder if I have this. I know that I really love animals - I've spent a lifetime picking up stray dogs and coddling any pet that stumbles across my path, and I haven't eaten any animals for six years for the sole reason that they are nice and deserve to be happy, but my own pets...

I'm gonna start over.

Greta is in trouble. The trouble is bad, but it's not as bad as it could be. She has glaucoma. Glaucoma is pressure on the eyeball. It's not life-threatening, not immediately anyway, but it's also not curable. She is now blind in that eye and no amount of wishing it were otherwise on my part can reverse that, apparently. If it goes untreated, it can cause pain and the eye could even explode. She has always been in perfect health. The glaucoma was brought on by trauma of being bitten on the eye by the other rabbit a few months ago.

This was, you see, completely avoidable. Negligence, and I have blinded and maimed my otherwise perfect little bunny. Do you know they may have to remove the eye if medicine doesn't work? Now this issue is not immediately life-threatening (as I believed it was initially, based on the vet I saw first thing in the morning yesterday who apparently purchased her DVM on sale at Sam's Club, and who was basically like YEP SHE'S PROBABLY GOING TO DIE) but it is still a sentence. She still has to deal with something awful. And she is just not the same bunny she used to be. I know her well, and she's not happy. She's bummed out. Is she ever going to go back to happy? With the binkying and the tearing at breakneck speed all over the apartment? The thought of her just being depressed with her one eye forever is breaking my heart. Yeah, yeah, it's just a bunny and yeah, yeah, I didn't do it on purpose. But it happened under my watch and would not have happened otherwise. I still hurt her. I still took something away from her.

And it's not like this is the only bad thing that's happened. My track record sucks. Ned got panleukopenia at 8 weeks old and nearly died because I was too stupid to think "hey maybe boarding an 8-week old unvaccinated kitten and exposing him to feral cats isn't a stellar idea." And then there was Fitz. Oh god I can't even read those old entries. You were all so sweet back then, all "You did the best you could, you gave him a great home," and those were nice thoughts, and the truth is... my home killed him. He'd still be alive pigeon-trilling it up happily in some NYC apartment, climbing high bookshelves and running around like a madman, if he hadn't won the evil lottery and come to live here. It is more than I can stand.

Artie's doing okay. So far.

Greta's so pretty. I had such a pretty, perfect little girl, and I have hurt her.

I'm also out of money now, thanks to vet costs being so exorbitant as to be ridiculous. We all know this is true, you pay like $100 just for walking in the room, and yet somehow I manage to be surprised anew by it every time. I don't know. I'm basically so catastrophically fucked that it's almost awesome. I'm totally going to become one of those people who has to choose between eating and buying her rabbit's glaucoma medicine.

(I make jokes because I do not know what else to do.)

(I'm going to go buy that medicine now.)

pets greta emo


Originally uploaded by teamsupersnack
"Can we have a moment of appreciation for the quiet majesty of several @ symbols in a row?" - from a choogle with the effervescent Mr. Samuel Dingman.

So hey, Livejournal, how's everyone been for the past, um, uh, month? Everything going well? Hair growing? Shoes wearing? American Idol trucking along? I'm pleased to brag that for the first time in years, I have no idea what's going on on that show and I do not care. Unfortunately for me, I've replaced the void of pointless television with even more deleterious time-sucks, such as Tabitha's Salon Takeover, reruns of Sex and The City, and even Treasures With Sue, which, if you're bored or drunk and you love to sit around with your roommate yelling things like "filth" and "hillbillies" and "HUMAN DISASTER" at the television, I recommend you check it out. If you like to watch television that is in some way edifying or reflective of the human spirit or any of that nonsense, don't come to my place. I don't think our TV even gets those channels.

Supersnack had its kickoff event this past Saturday, and I fully intended to post about it in advance of the event, that I might invite my gorgeous blog readers to come out for it, but I spaced on doing so in favor of actually planning the event itself. You guys should have intuited and shown up. It went well, thanks for asking. People drank, songs were played, and money was even raised, which is more than I hoped for. There were even minor scandals involving acts on my roof which, if I were to elucidate, would violate this blog's RIAA rating (R for Rice Pudding), so I will refrain from describing in detail. Let's just leave it at this: I was scandalized.

And so, here are a few photos from the event. I always like to dress up for my events - my feeling on that is, "I have all these dresses" - so I had on an awesome never-worn vintage dress that I stole from my mom years ago. I removed all the buttons from the back and left it hanging open, and it was pretty goddamn fly if I do say so myself (and you know I do). I wish I'd told you all to come out for it. The good news is, there will be more Supersnack events this summer, and perhaps I won't flake on mentioning it here.

I have one more item for you: at a recent Kites gig, we got called out - ONSTAGE - by one of the other musicians for how much our Myspace sucks. My feeling is, Myspace sucks, therefore everyone's Myspace sucks, but it was thoroughly emasculating nonetheless. So I've gone on and added some live mp3s from another show, which you are free to check out at your leisure, if you so desire. The quality isn't great on most of them, but maybe you'll dig hearing them and friend us, so as to prevent our continued suckage and mortification. Anyway, here's the link for tunes:

The Kites
pets greta emo


I have decided (via Facebook Status Update, so you know it is true) that if I ever have the option to relive any portion of my life, I pick this past week. Here are highlights:

- Capogiro
- Yummy cocktails with Kara, Marty, Derek, and Jill
- Indigo Girls in Philly
- Meeting Amy and Emily and getting them to write on me
- Kites practice
- Getting ink'd
- Showing off my tattoo and telling the story (and thank ya'll for all the love! it meant so much.)
- Grammar bee with Zach J, Nicole, and Posse Bunting
- Winning! ($50 bar tab. more importantly: the priceless and everlasting regard of my peers. holla.)
- Erin, Keri, Lindsay, Nina, and the restaurant that asks the giddy chicks in the back corner what music they want to hear and, when told Indigo Girls, blares "Land of Canaan." Rewarded with unseemly shrieking.
- Indigo Girls in Albany
- Indigo Girls in NYC, at Highline, pressed against the stage, dead center, between the mics
- Being at venue early enough to see Emily and Amy (and Julie!) arrive, and also hearing soundcheck
- Meeting new superfans; gushing
- Rhett Miller at Poisson Rouge with Ashok and Steph. And spicy cocktails
- Afterparty at Angels and Kings. With, apparently, a bunch of 30 Rock people (none of whom I knew) but we gave up before Rhett arrived
- Artichoke (the pizza place. you go. you go now.)
- Kites show. with everybody. Jo, Brian, Nat, Alexis, Lindsay, Lindsay, Lindsay, Nicole, John, Alex, Don, Gerrit, Sam, Ashok, Steph.... everybody. Almost. YOU were not there, and that made me sad. Unless you were, in which case it made me happy. This was a fun fun fun show for us.
- Brunch at Perch
- Indigo Girls in Hartford. FRONT ROW
- Meeting yet more superfans; more gushing. I'm not sure what took me so long to meet the other superfans, but it was silly. It is very edifying to be able to talk to other people who are insane in the same way as you. Er, me.
- Julie. Period.

Along with my usual repertoire of bunnies and walking around and consuming artichokes and playing guitar and reading, adding in amazing weather and road trips and friends and cocktails and learning about the origins of "Do Not Want," subtracting sleep but that is all right. Like the man says, I'll sleep when I'm dead. Happy Angela.