| Fuck nature |
[Apr. 12th, 2008|05:09 pm] |
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Maybe 5 of you have my address. Which means I have 5 suspects as to why I suddenly have a subscription to Outside magazine (I already accused Ehawk, so she's off the list). I hate the outdoors; you can never change me! I've received three of these, and it's not funny anymore (it never was). Someone make it stop. |
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[Apr. 5th, 2008|08:03 am] |
I don't know why I'm up at this godawful time of day on a Saturday, but I am. I'm watching Jacob Two Two which is a sucky cartoon (oh good, Skunk Fu is on- funny woodland creatures engaging in martial arts and silliness). I loved the book as a kid. Especially since I had to constantly repeat myself cause I mumbled, and no one ever heard anything I said. Oh, how things have changed.
I haven't been very good with my editions of "San Francisco, why are you crazy?" I suppose it would make me write more. I did have to tell some old white lady off during the SF Asian American Film Festival cause she was going to get racial with me. I chose to nip it in the bud, rather than here whatever crazy shit she had to say. I just wonder why bring up shit about Black folk to the one Black folk, at an Asian American movie? One of the films that night involved Flower Drum Song, Rodgers and Hammerstein's all Asian musical. However, the movie version had a Black woman passing as Chinese. So old lady singles me out after the show, and gets two sentences in about it before I said, "hold up, is what you're about to say going to offend me? Cause I wasn't in the damn movie, and I don't have a fucking thing to do with it." Or some such. Then I rode off, leaving her all flustered.
I think I've seen a few people I know, here and there. Oh, I've been hitting the beelpity bloop shows (Justice and Diplo! I know!), where the few Blipsters that show up seem to be dudes with hi-top fades and gumbies. Just because you can do it doesn't mean you should. I could have a fro-hawk, but I don't. I just fluff out my hair and go about my way. This takes forever, though, I may have to go back to locks real soon.
Yesterday, I was thankful for the Bay Area phenomenon of wearing puffy coats in 50 degree weather. I was waiting at a light with some other people on bikes, when some dude decides he's going to cross the street right as the lights about to change. The following happens in the space of about 5 seconds:
He deliberately kicks the rear wheel of the guy on my right who is slightly ahead of me.
This brings him directly in the path I'm going to put my bike as the light changes.
I can no longer put my bike there, and I don't have enough space to go anywhere else.
I start to fall over to the left, but my left foot is still clipped in, so I'm about to fall in front of a car that also sees the green light.
I yell out "Shit!" because I figure I'm about to die, or at least get mangled.
Mid-yell, I grab the kicker's arm, which thanks to the puffy coat is just close enough for me to grasp and right myself.
Kicker looks at me a little incredulously, but does nothing.
I ride off.
Dude who got his wheel kicked didn't even know what happened, so I had to explain to him while we rode. He liked my bike. I'd have brought my flirt on, but I've already been conditioned to know that people just inanely talk, here. Like they're genuinely interested in talking and not macking. I don't understand. I can't be bothered to be engaged unless it's going to result in something, or I know you.
Autechre better be good tonight, or someone will pay! |
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| Not Italian, but it'll do |
[Mar. 6th, 2008|09:08 pm] |
The wheelset I ended up buying to replace the stank tubulars it came with cost me more than the bike. And needs to be re-spaced because in my haste to get the damn thing roadworthy, I forgot to measure my rear dropouts.
All steel, a mix of Dura Ace, Ultegra and some other stuff that doesn't sound nearly as cool, but is still good stuff. And I think it's lighter than my Puch, which is already pretty light.
I'll get better photos when it's light out. And I've figured out how to use drops (I haven't had a bike with them since I was 12, cut me some slack). |
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[Feb. 18th, 2008|11:41 pm] |
Today is a day for listening to Pinkerton.
I found a bike that is everything I don't want: aluminum, 27" wheels, and loved it. I cannot buy it, but I shall regret it's not meeting my standards. I treat my bikes like a well loved stuffed animal. I drag them everywhere, generally by one leg. I share my pb and j, and spill it on them, blah, metaphor. Aluminum cannot stand up to my abuse. Instead I walked out of the shop with a tiny light to hold me over until the new super-bright one I ordered arrives.
I stumbled out of a bar this evening, and happened upon a former Bostonian, who was friends with Rubbish. Weird. Then I ran off to see Keren Ann, and Dean + Britta at some jazz club. I'll let you guys look up their myspace for song samples, cause I'm lazy. They appeal to the sad, fluffy side of my nature. I will remedy this by seeing Goldie on Thursday. However, this is the only show I've ever been to where an audience member yelled "Your mom's a bitch!" at someone on stage. This was a statement, not a song request. |
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[Feb. 17th, 2008|12:52 pm] |
After a day of running around town, and my kitchen, with Pete, I went out to see Afrika Bambaataa (I may have had to look up some of that spelling). I knew if I didn't go I would kick myself for the rest of my life, and he did not disappoint. The breakers taking up much of the dancefloor disappointed, but I expected them, and for once their presence was appropriate. They didn't do anything good though.
However, the offering of chicken upon entry? What the fuck was that? I was getting my arm stamped, and the door girl offered me some KFC or Church's or something. And I was like "Huh?", because I wasn't sure I had heard her right. And then I remembered reading something about free fried chicken with entrance as a promotion. And then she repeated her offer of chicken, and I wanted to get all "Girl, don't our people have enough to deal with?", but the dancefloor was calling me. Plus I had already had some fried chicken a half hour before. We really do love that chicken.
Was watermelon out of season, or too messy? And how the hell are you going to get down on a piece of chicken in a club? And sans hot sauce? So many ways to be offended, there.
No matter how fucked up I may feel about life at any given moment, I got to dance on the stage while Afrika Bambaataa spun. And you didn't. |
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[Jan. 25th, 2008|09:36 am] |
My arm is itchy and I cannot stand it.
Last night I did goldsprints for the first time ever, and won 2 out of 3 races. Wooh! For you non-bike people (which is a good chunk of you), this involves two bikes set up on rollers, which are then attached to a computer to calculate speed. I was doing 500 meter sprints.
I am not a sprinter. I ride point to point, somewhat slowly because I never have any idea where I am, and have to stop and look at maps. Plus yellow lights here are faster than I'm used to, so if I sprint to try to beat them I'm almost guaranteed to end up in the middle of an intersection and under a car.
I discovered the key to winning is to choose your opponent well. Say, an incredibly drunk girl, who is half your size. Maybe I can just fly Leah (formerly known as Non-Crazy Roommate #2) out here whenever there's a goldsprint. I bet she's drunk right now.
This has solidified my decision to get me one of them vintage Italian racing bikes all the young people talk about. After I pay for a film class. Responsibility sucks. |
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| New Tattoo! |
[Jan. 19th, 2008|07:04 pm] |
And thus I ensured I could never wear short sleeves in a "professional" setting again.
That's my lower left arm. And a pile of clothes on my floor.
ETA: Apparently I have to explain that it's a typewriter. |
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[Jan. 14th, 2008|07:04 pm] |
I just bought a handmade cycling cap*. I bet a fixed gear and tight jeans are next!
It's time for the latest installment in "These Damn Westerners" or, "I'm sick of forgetting who I told what to, so let's tell as many of you as possible at once."
I spent the past week laid low by a cold. My immune system has had havoc wreaked upon it by all these micro-climates, and having to be around more people than I'm used to (ie. less bike riding, more public transportation). I've been sick more since moving than I was from Sept. 06 to Sept. 07.
Anyhoo, getting to the bike shuttle from work is a pain in the ass, as I work on a very busy street, on a hill, with cable car tracks, and the streets around are all one ways in directions opposite of the way I want to go. This means I can't cut through traffic as I'm inclined to do. On Friday, this equalled quickly shooting downhill against traffic. Oh, did I mention the double parked suv's cause I'm next to a hotel?
I get down the hill to a corner so I can start riding properly, and am waiting patiently for the light to turn when some white woman making a turn starts yelling at me "you've got to take this!" and trying to hand me some sort of flyer. I have no idea what the hell it was about, but it had a picture of MLK, and some shizz about "Keep the Dream Alive!" I assume it was about MLK Day not being a state holiday? I don't know, but I wasn't having it. So I'm saying, "No, I don't want it", and she's insisting I take it and holding up traffic. Eventually she goes, and the people waiting on the corner to cross (who are white, except for an Asian woman) are trying to find out what's going on. They could keep the dream alive just as well as I can. I try to keep it alive in my pants, but the boys are resistant.
Moving on, I still have to brave crazy traffic to get to the station, I get to a couple of streets before where I need to be, only to find traffic very backed up. What could it be? I wonder. A bunch of hippies staging a protest! Yay! In the middle of a major intersection! I end up in the middle of the intersection with the red light against, and the damn hippies have just moved so traffic is about to bear down on me. I have no choice but to nearly run those mothers down. I sprinted fast enough that some of them scattered and I was able to weave around the rest.
Other than a tiny taqueria in the corner of a dance club (mm, roast pork smell while you're getting your dance on), I have no other crazy to share. Other than being told by a bike shop employee that I wanted a hybrid when I said I'd like a road bike, but with porteur bars instead of drops. Rather than get all street on him, I left and bought a mango smoothie. It was good.
*now that I actually have to do something to my hair upon leaving the house (cause I have no problem letting my roommates see me all jacked up), I've taken to wearing hats periodically. Of course, the bills stick out too far and are too hard to not fuck me up in a bike crash, so I decided to invest in a real cycling cap. |
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| It's "hah-ribble", not "whore-ibble". |
[Nov. 30th, 2007|11:23 pm] |
Because Friday is the new Saturday, I spent the day up in Petaluma, thrifting with young Pete. I ended up buying more new stuff than used stuff, but whatevs. Petaluma is at the end of the earth, but I got to flex my highway driving skills, so whoo. I got a Scion from Zipcar, which are actually kind of fun to drive (settle down, Mike and KT, I'm not going to buy a car for a very long time).
I had forgotten how useless straight boys were when clothes shopping. I generally don't ask people's opinion of a clothing item, but when I do, I need a little more than a grunt. I'm a good shopping assistant, as I refuse to let anyone I hang out with wear anything broke down. It'll make us both look bad. I'm sure I'd think differently if I was attracted to the same sorts of people as my friends, though. Got to weed out competition where you can.
I had a taco with pork cracklin's in it (I can't remember the Spanish word for it). Although I'm generally not a fan of pork rinds, I felt compelled to order it after Pete said I shouldn't. Has he learned nothing of my ways? Of course I'm going to do what you tell me not to. And if you try to use reverse psychology, I'm still going to do what I want. It wasn't mind blowing or anything. Tasted like a taco with burnt bacon in it. Moments later, I tried sugar cane. It tasted like soggy celery veins.
And that concludes my last post for this month. I want to thank everyone for joining me on this delightful walk through November. I can't wait to go back to silently judging everyone, and revealing as little about myself as possible! I bought a new paper journal yesterday, to begin a new era of self-involvement. |
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[Nov. 29th, 2007|09:52 pm] |
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I got my watch battery replaced today at some shop down the street from my job. In addition to tailoring and making keys, they also offer mani-pedi, and waxing. I am horrified and confused. Horrifused. |
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| Xmas time, wooh! |
[Nov. 28th, 2007|03:33 pm] |
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| More hair talk |
[Nov. 27th, 2007|08:01 pm] |
Something in this office smells like Bergamot, and it's driving me batshit. Memories of being in a hot ass kitchen, having my ear burnt off by a straightening comb. Ugh. Whenever I smell it, I get a vision of a giant blue jar, insisting that my hair become something it's not. Scabbed over ears. The time my mother accidentally dropped the comb down the back of my sweatshirt. I have never moved faster in my life (no burns though).
I'm fascinated by how easy it is to comb my hair when it's wet, as this is a general no-no for Black hair, unless you want it to go back. Of course it is back, but whatever. Even with locs, I avoided water as much as possible, as it took forever for my hair to dry. I'd get caught in the rain in the early afternoon, and my hair would still be damp well into the night. I haven't washed my hair in a shower in 7 years. I've had to completely re-do my getting ready routine.
I also can't hear very well when riding my bike. Apparently, all that hair was a block for wind noise. but I also don't have to turn my head as much to look around me, because my hair's not in my peripheral vision anymore.
Right now I'm growing it out into a mini-fro, because I can't be bothered to go to the barbershop. The one I went to get it cut was super old skool. I'm sure the youngest person in there was 50. There were women in there, but everyone was talking about local sports, and the walls were covered in funeral programs. Which is creepy, I don't care what you say. I kept my grandmother's funeral program in the pocket of my trench coat for a long while, but not as a keepsake. I hardly ever wore the coat, and I didn't really know what to do with it. I certainly wouldn't put it on a wall.
I've finally bought a hat, having gotten rid of most of mine before I moved, so now I can roll straight out of bed, not comb my hair, and still look hip. Go me! I was walking down the street after a show the other night (ANti-MC, Daedalus, and Busdriver), and some hobo commented "You sure are pretty, but I know you don't like men." To which I thought, "I like men, I just don't like you", but rather than engage in the crazy, I figured it was best just to catch my train home. |
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[Nov. 26th, 2007|11:39 pm] |
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Nothing to say! |
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| Nobody wants to be from New Jersey |
[Nov. 25th, 2007|03:16 pm] |
If I may continue some thoughts based on yesterday's statement...
I will be incredibly happy when this month of daily posting is over. I am not a talker. There's going to be those of you who dispute this fact, but I want you to think about how long it took to actually get to know me from the first time we met. And whether or not I was sober, when being talkative.
I'm just not hardwired to speak when I have nothing to say, and because this isn't a real journal, I feel much more like I'm speaking, rather than writing down thoughts. I have more of a tendency to compose my thoughts before letting them fly (I think you can tell when I don't, though). I'm much more of an observer than a participant, and all this yammering for no apparent reason is a pain for me.
I'm already miffed that I have to use the computer more than I'm inclined to, since moving. I'm constantly looking at maps, looking for stuff to do, trying to find out when the supermarket closes. I feel like the internet owns my life. It has its upsides, like being able to communicate with others at our particular whims, but that doesn't mean its not a yoke. I feel like some of my independence has been taken from me, and I resent it.
I stayed out all day yesterday, which was probably the first day in a long while where I did not use a computer. Sure, just about everything around us runs on one, but that's different. Or I'm blaming the computer for my problems with the internet. It's a blessing and a curse. O, what man has wrought.
I saw "What Would Jesus Buy?" on Friday (one audience member commented he probably wouldn't have bought those tickets). I'm generally not a fan of documentaries, since they mess up my use of film as an escape hatch. I have some secret hippie ways, which explains why I'd be interested in Rev. Billy and the Church of Anti-Consumerism. But beyond that, I like how he uses a traditionally Black concept of church to stick it to the Man. I always saw church services as this hugely theatric moment, and the offering was the only interesting part of the service, because you never knew who would get caught up with the Holy Spirit and just start flipping about like a mackerel on dry land.
Right about here I was going to write about how I try use my basic selfishness and cheapness to think long and hard about buying stuff and just how much I need something, but I'd feel like I was patting myself on the back. And it is hard not to buy things on impulse, but I tend to think of shopping in terms of things I'd like much more. A box set or two could run me as much as a good wheel set. Everything seems crazy when you put it in bike terms. |
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| Posted using TxtLJ |
[Nov. 24th, 2007|08:57 pm] |
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I'm boycotting computers today. |
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[Nov. 23rd, 2007|12:07 pm] |
I don't understand why none of Tyra's bedazzled jars of vaseline have made it onto eBay. I hope nobody actually kept those. And yet, you never know when some ashiness might break out. You've got to keep a lock on that.
The audio's not synced right, but this video never gets old.
It's a slow day at work, so I think I might spend it trying to find wig commercials from Atlanta, and hair shows and stuff. Ooh, I'll catch up on Crunktastical. There's always something messed up going on there. |
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| Thanksgiving post |
[Nov. 22nd, 2007|02:23 am] |
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I just spent three hours making cookies (not from scratch) and potato salad (from scratch), and listening to selections from the Siskel and Negro podcast. Fuck domesticity, unless I'm being kept. |
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[Nov. 21st, 2007|04:55 pm] |
I got up early this morning to get a lawn bowling lesson. Whatever, bitches, you know how I love antiquated forms of expression (er, sports?). And expensive ones, too. A new set of balls can run to $500 (no, Ehawk, I will never buy those bootleg bocce balls).
Anyway, I go out to a little field with a bunch of senior citizens, and roll 2lb. balls that are designed to arc at a tiny little ball. It's incredibly relaxing, but also takes a bunch of strategy. Way more fun than yoga, and I don't have to avoid looking at someone's catbag while they're stretched in some ugly way. And I don't have to worry about getting so relaxed that I pass out on the mat at the end of class, and everyone just wanders off and leaves me.
So, most of the players are rather old (which is why it's a dying sport), which doesn't bother me at all, but they make a big deal out of young folk coming around to play. Which strikes me as really odd. Are there really that many people who are put off by hanging out with older people? Other than trying to cut back on my mumbling and swearing, I don't act any differently. But I'm also pretty comfortable with older people. I hung out with my grandmother because of genuine affection and enjoyment, not some overblown sense of duty.
The club members think I'm a natural, but my advantage is having been raised on candle pin bowling. I could never bowl those damn things straight, so in a game where the ball isn't able to roll straight anyway, I'm pretty good. I win a fair share of games, and if I get a steady job I'll probably join the club. However, I mostly want to sit around and eat watercress sandwiches while drinking mint juleps and mojitos. I don't care if that's not part of the game, it will be. I welcome the challenge of coming up with an all white outfit that doesn't look stupid. |
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[Nov. 20th, 2007|11:18 pm] |
I had another "Lord Jesus, please don't let me die in this outfit" moment last night. I've got to a)really step up my sartorial game, and b)learn to cut my meat into tiny pieces.
The house gays came home and were making a list of stuff to pack for the roommate's trip home for Thanksgiving, so I emerged from my room to harass them and steal a piece of steak from the other roommates. I started choking and my first thought was, "Lord, don't let me die in just a robe and some fuzzy slippers", and then I wondered if I could make it to my room in time to at least die in the corner with some dignity, rather than collapsing on the kitchen table. I decided I didn't want to make a fuss in case they didn't know the Heimlich, I just coughed it up.
Does anyone else remember some sort of PSA about choking from when they were a kid about not going in the bathroom when you're embarrassed about choking at the dinner table, because you'll just die in there? I feel like it was some big thing around when that kid saved his friend because he learned the Heimlich from watching Benson. Don't pretend you bitches don't remember. This was back before babies kept falling into wells. We had to get human interest stories where we could. |
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[Nov. 19th, 2007|10:59 pm] |
I know you've all noticed I'm not doing my usual scathing reviews of Skinny Bitches. I'm either working or on my way home from work when it's on. I don't care to watch it online (except the occasional highlight), and I keep forgetting it reruns on Sunday night.
I did finally catch last week's. I'm glad to see Ty-ty's still evil and letting girls get their hopes before cruelly snatching them away. And I'm steeling myself for whatever horrible racist atrocity she'll get up to in China, because you know she will.
But what was up with that Chinese lion peeping over Twiggy's and Miss Jay's shoulders? I totally thought I was having some sort of drug flashback or DT's. I think it was the tinkly music, but I was about to fall out of my chair and go hide under the desk (I initially saw that part at work). I'm guess I'm lucky that Chinese culture doesn't have a history of pink elephants (skool me if I'm wrong), because I would've just passed out right then and there. |
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