was i the only one put into a two-day depression because of wall*e? and no, its not because i ate thanksgiving dinner 2006 at the same table as the director, and then 4 months later his wife hated me and closed her yarn shop. no, i don't think its because of that.

what depressed me the most was........... the portrayal of the humans. i am so depressed about them.

the downer humans over-rid the robot love story.

the links on kottke are cool.

no more adsense

getting deleted by google adsense, was kind of like being slapped on the hand by GOD.

like, why do i feel like i need to run to the nearest figtree and cover myself?
why do nannies always look like this?



i had a dream last night that i made my first sale to a couple. they were in their 50's. babyboomers - just like teh article says. in my dream it was a success.

i think the dream was to prepare me. i don't have a fear of failing. i know how to do that. i have a fear of success. i really don't know how to do that.

i want to learn though. i want to see what its like after i cross a hurdle. learn a skill and use it. apply myself for the B, instead of settle for the C.

i find myself lately doing a lot of talking.

to myself.

i am i am i am i am i am. i can i can i can i can. its selfish. but its like samantha in sex in the city. well, kind of not.

its like i want to do what i want to do. and i want to do it without worry of expense. i want to take pictures with old cameras that cost thousands of dollars. i want to, a few times a year, travel to old places and take pictures with those old cameras. and then i want to have those pictures printed on expensive papers. and i wont worry or save. i'll just have it there to do what i will with it.

i'm talking about money. to finance what i want. like, what makes me happy.

oh. and i really love donny deutsch. he's always an inspiration. he's my oprah. well actually, tyra/ellen are my oprah, and donny is my dr. phil.

i also like bob on the biggest loser. altho last season i was kind of rooting for the mean chick trainer. bob got a little soft. but i like bob because he encourages hikes, and natural things.

i wanna new truck.

the real job.

this sums it up for me. cass bird


i wanna make it so when my phone rings, my computer also rings. so i don't have to carry my phone everywhere. i keep my phone in my bag when i get home. if someone calls me or sends me a text message, i get a note on my screen "incoming call" i press "answer" and then i speak to my caller through my computer.

not that much different from ichat video, but this way it would be linked to my phone number.

i'm sure that will come along someday soon.


i just had a dream that harrison ford was trying to date me. he had recently broken it off with calista flockhart, and said i was all he could think about.

we kept playing phone-tag, but never got to go out. i was ho-hum about the situation, but all my friends were going nuts about it. constantly asking me the status of the phone-tag.

we all lived in jackson hole.

finally, we hung out. it was intense. this like, meeting of the souls. like our voices were the same voice. heartrate in unison.

and then i woke up.


new york was wow. my visit. it was like a dream? kind of. it went by so fast. i loved that it rained.

i've missed thunderstorms. like missed them with my heart. a lot of things happened and didn't happen with my heart during my new york visit.

new york visit. brooklyn clouds. rye evenings. feet pains. photo snaps.

this picture above is me the morning after kats wedding. i woke around 7am. layed in sweat on a foreign bed. layed there until i willed myself to stand. it was so humid and sweaty on the west side, that i said to myself: "it will be cooler on a subway car". so i got up, wrote a note to mary, and left.

on my way out of the building - i caught a glimpse of the colors. so primary. so political. so city. so painful. so new. willed myself to take a picture. camera face. my eyes are cameras. my face is a camera.

it was so hot on the subway platform. standing there. hot. i didn't move. i stood. and water molecules formed small communities on my flesh. and then they went traveling through the fibers of my clothes.

and then blast! of cold air on the red line. blast of cold air. water evaporates. blast. 42nd street exit - hot. water back. water butt. water forehead. bored waiting for gray shuttle. bored. get money out of minor account. bored take out the most money this card will let me take out. deliriously - making bad choices. bored making bad choices. i now have a wallet full of cash. i buy a bright garish aquamarine colored i love new york tshirt. i look at the subway coffee mugs. i want one.

and then my subway shows up. i get on. and there is an angry man, asking for money. he says something in swahili to the man next to me. and then he yells to the man as we all exit "STOP BEING SO JUDGEMENTAL".

in a fog i get on my next train. in a fog mona picks me up from the station. in a fog i, battle-worn, go to sleep in cool air, big bed, for 7 hours.

newyork june 08

accents. fastfuastfooastfoohastphacst.
one two three four five six seven-maybe eight egg sandwiches.
kaiser roll. toasted
2eggs pepper swiss
2eggs pepper swiss bacon
2eggs bacon
2eggs bacon american
2eggs bacon american
2eggs bacon provolone

chicken tzhadziki off the grill
mistersoftee dipped in butterscotch
longfords ice cream
martins potato bread

bryant park movie. dr. no
coors light cans during movie "so california of me"
"you are such a hipster" when i thought that term had died.
bummer tim russert
white wine white wine champagne tequilla shots white wine.
20 dollar metrocard.
orange hair comments. none good. me not caring.
13 year old hipsters with private school friends.
friendship bracelets.
friendster marriage.
facebook friends.
wow taxi! wow with your screens. wow with your credibility.
trains. longplanes. clouds. rain. big drops. thunder. small drops.
prada bergdorf hm forever21 soho fragments purl patchwork new museum lit
esspresso on mulberry. pinkberry on sullivan.
public displays of affection. dark parks. rain flips.
125th street fordham new rochelle larchmont mamaroneck harrison rye portchester greenich coscob old greenwich riverside and stamford.
this train is making all local stops.


in the bible (which simply saying the word bible these days sounds so false...) so, in BIBLICAL days, the washing of feet, pretty much meant that it was "go time". you went to the temple, got your feet washed before god, etc.
since being back in new york, i had FORGOTTEN the pleasure of washing my feet before bedtime. in new york city, it becomes a summer ritual of sorts. during the summer, you wear skimpy, skin-revealing shoes, you wear no socks, you walk around, your feet get dirty. you go home, you wash your feet before bed. well, if you are a semi-anal like me.... nothing major, just a damp washcloth.
my feet have taken the hit this trip. parts of my toes have no skin. other parts have been swollen for 4 days. other parts simply gave up and went numb.

with my friend tonight, she commented on how she loves the walking. its her usual comment. and then we had the above conversation. i looked down, and noticed she was wearing flip flops. huh. "oh yeah" i said to myself, and then i remembered how new yorkers sometimes carry flip flops in their bags during the summer. you never know when its going to rain. they also help ease pain while breaking in new shoes.

nothing major, just a cultural note.


well. i’ve got one two three four hour to type. four hours to think about how fucking criminal things have gotten in terms of service.
oops - did i loose you?
don’t want to listen/read/write a rant.

loss of passion.

i sit in an aiport - SFO. my flight to new york has been delayed from 10pm to 2am. my initial reaction to this was rage. as any reaction would be. i had a feeling i should check my flight to see if it was delayed. but i didn’t.

i wonder if people would recognize me from high school, that i haven’t seen in 10 plus years.
i wonder if i should dye my hair bright yellow. not like garish, just a bright blonde.

airport culture. they stick us here to spend more money. so far,i’ve spent 8.14 on water and tea, 10.25 on nailpolish, and 2.78 on a bran/banan/blueberry muffin.

we are becoming computer. we are meshed with other things.

my spacebar isn’t working.
if iwas stuck in an airport in 1960, iwould be writing with pen and paper. now ican write and think without looking at the keys.

isit kittycorner to the bar. iwant to see airport culture ”go down”. i want to see how this place breaks-out after hours. or if it even does.

i live with a girl who is 24,and full of life - in this sense:
she sings really loudly. she laughs really loudy. she dances when she feels like it. she shows up to parties, lets herself hang out, and then she twirls her hair around and dances around. if you don’t like what she is doing, she’s says fuck you i can do what i want.

now we read this, and see this, and think “oh thats that”. but when you live with it - you start to get accustomed to that way of thinking.

i am going to take a break and paint my nails with a color named ‘canberra’t without you’

well that was fun. i’ve passed 15 minutes.

oh boy. itlooks like snagging this booth that i am in is turning out to be prime real estate. i feel like a person going to burning man in 1995. I feel like a kid living in williamsburg in 1999. i am a “booth dweller” to the overnight set at SFO. but there is no plug, so this will last as long as my battery, and then i go scavaging for a plug. electricity. mundacity.

the electric company where i live -PG&E puts out announcements telling us to turn things off. turn off standby. unplug things.

someday, we might have to do all things online. we might have to log-in to use a computer. programs like pages and photoshop, will all be monitored.

how much gas do you think was used in the campaigns.

ilike tight plaid shirts. ilike burritos. and ithink, ilike jobs.

ihave the hiccups. this is going to be a blast.

i’m wearing a big red belt. it gives me sass. its like 3 inches wide. with a 4 inch wide buckle. when iwear the belt around the house, my roommate sings a jingle that goes “i’m a girl, with a red belt on, oh yeah. hear me sing this song. i’m a girl, with a red belt on.”

you say you think you are a fuckup. i guess maybe i'm missing something.

are you talking about minor things? like maybe you think fucking up is letting your teeth get 12 cavaties?

do tell. i’m layed over for 4 hours. airlines are criminal. sticking me here for 4 hours - so i will spend 18 dollars on a glass of water. i at least hope those rich kids drinking at the bar get drunk and obnoxious. it will in the least, be something to write home about.

well? i moved areas in the airport, and sat down to eat a peice of cheescake for 4 dollars and 99 cents. there is a typical typical jewish son and mother having some brick oven pizza, a few tables over. the mother, wearing her many disheveled layers, and the dutiful skinny son wearing his little jewish hat. the mother scolds him,and stuffs a paper napkin down the front of his shirt like a bib. no. the mother scolds him and places a bib over his shirt, in the form of a paper napkin. the son looks up - not dis-similar to a look of innocence that rowdy gives me from time to time as he’s trying to be the best dog... and chews his pizza with wide-eyed duty.

i really want another peice of that lemon cake.

nude colors never really sit even on my nails. seriously. i’ll never figure it out.

the jewish mother and son outfit are leaving. she’s got on a skirt, flowing flowers, with leggings, with bulky socks, with athletic shoes. with a neck brace, and gray wirey hair.

a lot of these traveling men are wearing wedding rings.

i’m going to go find a place to sleep now.

well, 3 hours later, its go time. not really. its 2:15am, and i am still at SFO.

i managed to get a couple naps. i got to really stretch out, cover my eyes and sleep. i am so glad i didn’t sit over here with all the people. someone has an annoying laugh, and its just noisey in general.

i talked on the phone with roommatesarah for a half hour. she is fretting over a guy named lenny.

and now we are boarding.

exploding feet

i just had this dream - aka nightmare? where there was a suicide bomber throwing a bomb on a school. the school was empty. he threw the bomb, and it landed in the trash can. the trash can blew up, and started a fire.
my parents and i watched. then my mom and dad ran, as the bomber moved his attention toward us. he then challenged me. i was sitting in an orange eames chair. he threw a couple of smaller bombs at my feet. i kept sitting there, casually crosslegged.
and then as they started smoking, i got up and ran.
after a few minutes, the entire nation caught on to what was going on. people started walking around with garden tools.
as for my family - all i wanted to do was lay down with my mom. but her bed was empty. her front room - where her bed was - had been turned into a station not unlike the one featured in E.T.
i then started to get concerned as to the whereabouts of my parents.
and then i woke up.

with a very STRONG allergy to dust mites - aka: they give me asthma. er, GAVE me asthma - apparently it never goes away... i now have to wash my ENTIRED bedding in hot bleach water once a week. i tried going two weeks, but it is leaving me weezing and stuffed nose. so i guess its going to have to be every 2 weeks.
washing them hot w/ bleach means i (obviously) can now only buy WHITE. it also kills all the mites.
then i spray a little bleach on my mattress. there is actual dust mite spray, i just simply have to special order it.

note by note

passionate. musical. queens, new york. 57th street. american.

go see this, if not only for the small performances by helene grimaud and marcus roberts.


recount was a movie i sat through while babysitting. wow. zinger. really the entire movie leads you to the closing shot - of the storage hangar where all the ballots are kept. really, thats the moment of zen.

in other news, i had a dream i was watching a childbirth, and there were complications and only the leg of the baby was hanging out of the mother giving birth. the doctors knocked her out like cattle, left the room, and said they would be back. i was left there starting at 3 legs. it was rather disturbing.