Saturday, February 21, 2004

First Things First:



My newest obsession is Diet Hansen's Peach Soda with "Splenda," some artificial sweetener that is surely carcinogenic but sooo much better than nutrasweet. Actually, all the Diet Hansen's sodas are Splendid. When I open one up and pour it over some ice, I feel like I can start over and do all the things my heart's been dreaming of. I don't know how this works but I'm sure some psych PhD has written a dissertation on it. And it has nothing to do with advertising because I've never seen an ad for this drink.



Anyway, speaking of dreams where your teeth fall out... I had such a dream last night, but this one was the new model for 2004, a real improvement on the classic.



I dreamed that my left back molar was coming off. This tooth has caused me lots of trouble in the past---I actually had a dream once that I was in India talking to some healer and he told me there was something bad in that tooth making me sick. I went to the dentist (in real life) and it turned out that tooth was all jacked up and I had to have a root canal. But anyway, in this dream, that tooth was falling out. I kind of pushed it out with my tongue and felt the normal anxiety you feel in these dreams... and then I saw that underneath that tooth was a healthy new wisdom tooth coming in to take its place. The old tooth was being replaced by a stronger wiser tooth. I never thought a tooth dream could have a happy ending.



It's drizzly and chilly today. I was going to go to the movies but staying inside seems like a better idea.



I hope you have a good day, wherever you are.



bye.

kate



Tuesday, February 17, 2004

Hey Tuesday:



the usual thing is to have dreams where you're frustrated, everything goes wrong and your teeth fall out, and you're running through quicksand and you open your mouth but can't scream. but the past two nights i've had weirdly satisfying rock dreams. first there was the dream sunday night. (miss whitesnake's already heard this one.) i dreamed i was going to be attending a one-week rock star immersion course, where I would pay a lot of money to take a one-week course in how to become a rock star.



I showed up the night before classes for the orientation. My parents came, too. I didn't feel like going around to all the different classrooms and hearing the teachers talk about the classes and sitting quietly with my parents and crap, so i skipped out and just hung around outside smoking and watching the suckers walking from room to room. I was dressed good enough to be a rock star, I thought, and I was being a rebel and everything.



afterward there was a reception, and i was mortified to learn that the scholars addressing the parents were: David Bowie, Paul McCartney, and I can't remember who else--probably Mick. I was so bummed. I had missed my chance for face time with Bowie. This sucked because I couldn't very well go up to him afterward and say Hi, I missed your lecture cuz I was smoking.



Instead, in the post-orientation melee I found myself somehow on the arm of Snoop. He was two feet taller than me and had on a roomy pimp-coat with a gun in the pocket, and he had a lot of bodyguards and stuff. I figured since this was a rock star night I would probably end up with someone, but I had been hoping, like I said, for Bowie. But then I saw Snoop and me in the mirror, and I figured, hey, that's a pretty good second choice. Then Snoop and I ended up lying on a couch and doing inappropriate things underneath his pimp coat, in public. Let's say I got extra credit that night in groupie studies. Then I woke up because I got shy in front of all those people.



Then last night I had a very nice dream about Kurt Cobain. I won't go into the details but he had a really nice warm sad vibe and I wished I could take Courtney's place. It was obvious in the dream that even though they were going to be divorcing and he would be with other girls, he was still in love with her and really just wanted to be her husband.



Sometimes I have the most fucked up dreams. I think the first one was partly inspired by the Simpson's where Homer goes to rock-star summer camp. Also, I had just visited the web site for the School of American Ballet, and noticed how all the faculty are former world-famous ballet dancers. they have their own school, you see, to make sure that the ballet world continues to produce greatness. maybe there was also a bit of "school of rock" in there. i've also been thinking a lot about the Rock 'N Roll Hall of Fame and the museum-ification of rock. the NY Times had an article Sunday whose subhed promised to answer the question, "what are music museums doing to the music?" Sadly, the article never ever got around to addressing this issue at fucking all. All it did was sort of obliquely imply that rock museums take the fun out of rock--instead of coming out and screaming about it. I feel that rock should be documented, because it is an important part of America and humanity, but that the documentation and analysis should be entirely different and new and completely strange--something intuitive and fun and alive and wholly in tune with the energy of the music itself. Not a museum, for erotic jesus' sake!



xo

me

Thursday, February 12, 2004

Hi babies:



So... Friday night I'm happy, because a band called The Deathray Davies are playing at Spaceland. I think they're just swell. It helps that they're named after one of my special special fave raves, and that they're also just ridiculously cute. Such pretty boys. My friend Axel's band The Mere Mortals are also playing. I haven't seen them yet but Axel is a marvelous axeman and I am looking forward to a fun night of rock in Silverlake. I may bust out some new and unusual headwear for the occasion. I have yet to find my dream gold-sparkled football helmet but this will have to do.



hope to see you there!



love n stuff,

kate

I just did the Glam Rock Quiz, and found out I am Marc Bolan.



I know I've had a no-pictures policy on le blogue, but it seems right that the first person to break my dumb rule should be Marc Bolan. I would break all the rules for him. Even the one about not driving while putting on cherry lip gloss.



marc bolan
You're Marc Bolan, the man behind T. Rex.



Happy Valentine's day. i know it's not really valentine's day yet but i just found these adorable candy hearts and had to share them with you. They make some kind of haiku.



I have to get back to work.



bang shang a lang.









Wednesday, February 11, 2004

So.... here I am working on my Top Secret Weather Machine, and thinking back to another time, another dimension, what was it? Three days ago? Oh, yes. The Grammies. I thought they were boring. The problem was that there were too many commercials, but that the commercials were actually much funnier and cleverer than the show itself. I laughed out loud maybe three or four times watching the commercials.



The Beyonce ones were boring too. Can you believe how many commercials she has?



I felt the show was invaded by the dead and the almost dead, between warren zevon, luther vandross, the beatles, sting... my god.



random thoughts:



what the hell is the riaa doing giving the beatles an award, and what are they doing accepting it gratefully? what does it even mean? i mean, seriously. the riaa wouldn't even exist as we know it without the beatles. the entire music industry wouldn't even really exist.



nuff said.



there's nothing i could say about that pseudo-beatles performance that would be as damaging to those guys' reputations as the performance itself. they looked ashamed, and they were right. i like the idea of a black ringo, but pharrel should stay behind the sound board.



i'm sick of the topic.



andre 3000 was right when he said, "stank you. stank you. you're smellcome."



i've got ants in my pants, man, i tell you what.



got to run.



keep it real, baby.



xo

me

Monday, February 09, 2004

what's up mr. lovinstuff.



I can't write too long. I did watch ye olde grammies last night and have some commentary but at the moment I've got other crap to accomplish. needless to say i was most impressed with the white stripes' performance, which was true to who they are and how they rock, and didn't fit the show, and provided some sexy spiritual dissonance and absolved them of the crime of performing at the grammies.



for some reason today i found myself in a conversation with charles barkley. this was a surprise. we talked about how to work out your quads when you have bad knees. i have bad knees and i don't know how to work out my quads. i did not know this, but later i found out his career ended because of a torn quad ligament in his knee. how gnarly is that?



anyway, he said, low weight, high reps. he said this would look good too. "ain't nobody want a big bulky muscly woman."



he also said, "i used to be an athlete, now i'm just an old man."



it's sad how older athletes can't play anymore and bask in the glory of their game, but aging rock stars can play until they die of a heart attack in a Vegas hotel room. you know?



we were at my gym. but this is how weird i am about guys: somehow i have no problem talking to a bazillionaire nba legend, but the scrawny little lovebug who was working out four feet from me who i have a crush on?---no way could i even say hello to him. i tell you. you boys think women's minds are a mystery? just try being a woman for a minute. weirdly, then i accidentally ran into another boy i have a crush on, at the pet store, and for some reason, because he's dating a friend of mine, I was totally able to be funny and normal. when i talk to cute boys, i should just pretend they're dating my friends, or they're basketball people who are way too tall for me.



i have to run but one last reminder: L.A. best rock band and (I feel in my gut) rock's Next Big Thing, Tsar, play tomorrow night at the derby. witness the phoenix that is rock rise again from the ashes of its past!



love,

kate



Wednesday, February 04, 2004

here's to you, the king of beers:



you know, i still do tender this premium blog for your enjoyment (as a tribute to your good taste, and everything).



it's like 4 degrees or some shit and i'm experiementing with meta-zen. that is, instead of just saying, "be here now" and be happy where you are and "love the one you're with," I'm going, "i so totally don't want to be here," and "i so totally want to go to l.a." and "oh my god ryan adams is trying so hard to sound like morrissey on this song---holy fuck" it's called 'so alive"---and now he's trying to sound EXACTLY like bono. wow, this is crayyyzeee.



i didn't know he had such a new wave side.



but doesn't everybody these days?



it's just that the weather here reminds me of living here in my earlier days and being in a relationship that wasn't right, and all the time i spent not doing things that made me feel awesome. i spent a long lost lonely time not feeling awesome, and not doing awesome things, and not feeling excited to be alive. i think being young is hard, a lot harder than it looks.



now ryan adams sound like mickey dolenz fronting the strokes ("luminol")



you know, i do miss mickey dolenz.



i spent a long time just doing weird stuff that my family taught me to do, like writing theater reviews.



now he's trying to be paul westerberg in the worst way.



that's his deal most times, yeah?



this song is catchy as fuck. i can't help it; i like it. it's called "burning photographs" or something. it's the worst fake paul westerberg you can't even believe.



I mean, there's nothing wrong with being a theater critic per se. it's just that being a theater critic is a lot like being an undertaker, a proctologist, a schoolteacher or a priest: It's a calling, yo. It's black and white. And there's no reason to pretend to hear a calling that isn't calling.



i forgot, he also has a song that sounds like t. rex. It's just impossible to rip off t. rex without sounding like a complete wanker. just ask jet -- "lazy gun" the song is called. apparently, the '70s band also called jet included members of the former john's children, marc bolan's first band. strange, huh?



just about the only people who can get away copying t rex are the cars.



and, like, outkast.



so anyway, yeah, bad mood and whatnot. big fucking deal.



love to love you baby



Sunday, February 01, 2004

come blog with me



i'm in minneapolis, but if you were thinking of going to my house to play funny tricks or do my laundry for me or dye my dog pink, you should know that you will have to deal with my landlord and his power tools. he is building some shit outside my house while i'm gone.



i am ok with it if you dye my dog a pleasing bubblegum color.



it's "warm" here at 20 degrees. it was -30 last week. i was not jazzed about coming here.fuck it. i wanted to stay in beautiful and glamorous hollywood, california. but here i am, and i am going to kick ass this week on my top secret project, which i will tell you about in one month.



this project is the reason i'm here.



i have to go to bed now because i have so much ass to kick tomorrow.



i spent all day in bed today and i think it's something people don't do enough.



matt and emmanuelle make me so happy. i love you guys!



i would link to their blogs but my dad's puter is so crappy it'll probably crash if i try to open two windows at once.



love

kate