do you believe in planets?

for the happies are needed for the crazies

The date of my qualifying exam has drawn near enough for inclusion in the weather forecast.  Mercy me! 

This is how I cope:

I too predict amorous storms and cyclones.

"honor his policies"--WHAT??

I will not apologize for calling a spade a spade.

This girl--bless her sheltered, spoiled, thin-lipped soul--is a MORON.

I will not apologize.

bragging.

So I've had some, uh, "interesting" activity on Flickr lately.  (If you follow those links, you'll get to watch me fight fire with fire.  And by fire I mean CRAZY.)

On the bright(ish) side, while alertly patrolling my Flickr stats, I noticed a link coming to my page from an online publication called the Situationist. It seems they're using one of my photos from Alcatraz for a piece on solitary confinement.  This pleases me.

[click to see a larger version, or just follow the link]

No photo credit, but clicking on the photo links to my account.  I'm pleased.

See?  Bragging.

isn't it ironic. dontcha think.

I currently seem to be winning some contest on Facebook called "The Sweetest Person."

::awkward pause::

It's okay.

::uproarious laughter::

Yeah, I know.

dear chicago,

How's it goin'?  Been so long since I've written.

So anyway, tomorrow?  The sky will be SHITTING CORPSES.

Love,
The Weather

...and still you're surprised-prised-prised when I eat yuh...

Indulging in two beautiful bodies of work that can nevertheless make me sad sometimes--that is, listening to Neko Case and (unrelatedly) reading Elizabeth Bishop--today makes me feel like twirling about in a frilly dress, bumping laughingly into laughing strangers--generally just dancing like a merry fool.

That's one good mood for you.  Oh, if only I had the time to do just that!  And the je ne sais quoi to get away with frilly dresses!  Too bad; I'll have to settle for feeling tingly and amazing and vibrant and alive.

The art of losing isn't too hard to master.  And sometimes it feels just best just when it looks exactly like disaster.

I seem to be made of stern stuff.  It's like a giant weight just lifted off my shoulders.  Could I be more cliche?  Do I care?

** (Download People_Got_A_Lotta_Nerve) Do download that track.  It's legal; Neko is donating $5 to Best Friends Animal Society for every blog that posts it.

it really happened!

Holy eff!  Parking meters in my neighborhood just increased their rates by FOUR HUNDRED MOTHER EFFING PERCENT.

do you believe in pants?!?!?

I think I'll finally move forward with the blog re-naming.  Any last minute pitches?  Remember, your entry/nominee must keep with the DYBIP in my url.  "Did You Bust it, Prissypants?"  is leading the pack right now.  I dig "Do Your Bitching in Private" for the irony.  I also like "Damn!  Yo' Bitch is Pregnant!" for sheer rudeness.  "Drag Your Business Into Public" is great, but awkwardly crammed into the acronym.

Feelin' Elastic was blogging about the narcissism inherent to blogging.  It's unavoidable. Even if you're not blogging about yourself, there you are, blogging, as yourself.  And while I think I've almost killed off the very last of my urges to purge on the internet through the clusterf@#$ that is Facebook (which in part accounts for the piss-poor activity here at DYBIP), I have no desire to pull down the blog.  None.  Despite how good ol' Mr. Blog is reduced to a herky-jerky procession of tricks and gags, specially designed to shut down interchange and real "reaching out," hammering my dwindling readership with relentless irony, hard-to-swallow-in-comparison earnestness, self-deprecation, shameless bragging, even more shameless exhibitionism in tandem with extreme caginess, etc. That and tennis.  And the occasional "DO WANT!" fashion blog. Despite all that.  Here my blog remains.  Staring out into them internets with unblinking eyes.

No one noticed that I didn't blog the Aussie Open.  I did follow it, though. And then came the tears.  OH, the tears. 

Anyway.

::crickets chirping::

Here's a picture:

Yeah, there's always that.

25 ways to feel superior to your facebook acquaintances

I was going to post this in response to that "25 random facts" clusterfuck circulating around Facebook like the clap in a whorehouse.  I decided to scrap the project for fear of insulting the friends who DID post their 25 so-called "random" facts.  Then J went on a pretty convincing "facebook is overshare-y" rant over on her blog, so I'm posting this here, for her.  I'm pretty sure she's the only person who reads this shizznizzle anymore any ol' hoo.

1.    I’m hung up on the notion that you can’t really “choose” 25 bits of trivia to volunteer about yourself and then conveniently dub them “random.”

2.     Then again, my first instinct was to say, “I have three kidneys!”

3.    Which I do—I do have three kidneys.

4.    But that’s the furthest thing from a random fact—in fact, it’s quite the opposite: my go-to story/factoid that I whip out whenever someone implies that I should build myself up as unique and interesting.

5.    And really, isn’t that what this questionnaire means? By “random facts” don’t we really mean “interesting quirks—things that mark you in a particular way, not so ‘out there’ that you come off like a total weirdo/loser, but not so mundane that you sound like the world’s most boring bore; things that people probably don’t know about you, but that don’t come across as overshare-y”?  That’s how I interpret it.

6.    And I’ve filled these out before…

7.    …so I know what I’m talking about.

8.    Although last I remember filling one out, it was 6 random facts, which is way easier to deal with than 25.

9.    And really, I never know what I’m talking about—that was a bluff.

10.    I’m working pretty hard to be “meta.”  I hope y’all appreciate that.

11.    You know what really does strike me as random?  The songs that get stuck in my head, rotating on a weekly-or-so-basis.

12.    This week it’s a newer old R.E.M song, with a video of a cellist getting her ass handed to her by life.

13.    The reality is that I just like the video because Michael Stipe is adorable.

14.    (It’s possible that the exhibitionist-me is screaming right now at the facebook-me to scrap the interior dialogue and just pummel you with 25 a-touch-too-personal elizafacts.)

15.    (But that exhibitionist-me has a blog for staging her exhibits, so for the moment she can just go ahead and can it.)

16.    Before that it was Rihanna, ye olde Umbrella song. 

17.    Whenever I think of Rihanna prancing around with that umbrella bein’ all, “Said I’ll always be your friend,” blah blah, “You can stand under my um-buh-rella, ella, ella, eh eh eh,” I go “awwwww!”

18.    Sometimes facebook makes me want to stab myself.

19.    Sometimes facebook makes me want to stab others.

20.    Before Rihanna it was Beyonce, with her entrancing “Single Ladies” song+video.

21.    It is possible that I am generally just a touch “stabby.” 

22.    Before Beyonce it was Sheena Easton’s “My Baby Takes the Morning Train.”

23.    I should be more generous.

24.      I’m making myself out to have the world’s worst taste in music.

25.      I ate dinner with a plastic spoon tonight.

old timez.

Yes, oh yes, yes, yes,  it's that time again.  Dah-ROOOOOLZ!

Don't forget to imagine me falling out of my chair at 2:45.  And then slapping myself around between 3:36 and 3:40, pretending it's Robert Downey, Jr. 

Wait--is that messed up?