Wednesday, December 29, 2004

OK, so yes no shit for a while--X-mas and all, etc. SO in return for your patience I offer you the best blog entry I've read in forever, by Heather Havrilesky, who gets extra props in my personal life for playing matchmaker with success for a dear dear friend of mine. May he and all of us enjoy the magic and wonder to which Heather offers panegyric supreme with oracular power:





rabbit blog



Tuesday, December 07, 2004



LET THEM EAT BORINGCAKES



Subject: My lame ass problems



Dear Former Filler Honky,



I'm a 34 yr. old male, in Washington, DC. I have a friend (36 yr. old female) from San Francisco who is coming into town in the next couple of weeks.



The history of our friendship is textbook .com-boom stuff: Met online over five years ago, maintained correspondence via email and phone time (more about this in a second), finally met in person during Spring of 2003, and now she's coming to visit.



Now, our conversations couldn't really be classified as being overtly romantic, we're both a couple of dorks, but, over time, there's been an increased intimacy. We've talked about the usual growing old together, having kids, moving across the continent, blahblahblah boringcakes. This is all mutual: she was the one that brought up the notion of kids, mentions that I've become the standard of what she wants in a partner, all this stuff (granted, in that far-off way that long distance intimate conversations can go, but, you know, still) that catches me off guard when they are said. And, I'm sure I've surprised her many a time with some of the things I've said over the years.



I just want to make this clear: no one has been leading the other person on; we haven't been exclusionary by any means of the imagination; no commitment has been made by either party.



The thing is this (finally), whenever one of us comes over to visit (which is only twice now) it seems that she'll start a relationship with someone that'll last for a brief period before and after the visit. Last time, she started one about two months before I came over, it lasted about as long after. I didn't think anything of it, ultimately I just want her happiness.



This time, though, she started seeing someone two and a half weeks before the visit. Now, this could be "the real thing" for her, it's not over yet, but the signs aren't pointing to it. The way she describes this guy is much the same way she described her last steady relationship, which is how she has described most of her past relationships with guys who weren't actively screwing her over. "Nice, I'm not sure, fun while it lasts," basically describes it.



All this wouldn't be anything to get worked up about, if it weren't for the previous year's worth of conversations, and for the fact that the timing is sketchy. To me, it seems like she's picking up a security blanket before we see each other. Rather circumstantial evidence to back it up, but this is what my gut is telling me.



And I guess I don't know what I want, either. A huge part of me would like to see if we could make an LDR work, by keeping things similar. We'd both open to seeing whoever, but we would have each other. I know what the odds of survival are in the long term, but I'd be willing to give it a shot.



whatevuh whatevuh, I'm still planning on having fun,



TBO,



Wishing Washily





Dear WW,



I am moved, almost to tears, by the passion of your words. The way you describe your love for each other so vividly sends shivers down my spine. It's such a colorful, provocative story, from the sexy way you two "maintained correspondence" to the delicious moment that you noticed "increases in intimacy." Oh, and those head-swimming nights you both spent, having discussions of "the usual growing old together, having kids, moving across the continent, blahblahblah boringcakes" - Ungh! The raw intensity of it all, the shivery head-spinning insanity of it all!



And then, when you wrote that "A huge part of me would like to see if we could make an LDR work, by keeping things similar"? You're comin' in hot, Striker! You'd better cool your jets or your going to fly off into the stratosphere! I mean, do you really think you're ready to wait and see and stay "open to seeing whoever"? Are you sure it's really time to "keep things similar"? Most would say that's crazy talk, at this point.



But maybe you've been swept into the white-hot world of your lover girl, who's obviously dragged under by the fearsome tide of one stormy affair or another every few months, thanks to the powerful forces moving through her heart and her soul. "Nice, I'm not sure, fun while it lasts," she breathes, her eyes fixed on some melancholy middle-distance, her heaving bossoms, uh, heaving. Who could resist the pull of her passion? Who wouldn't want to be the man who makes her sigh and whisper, "Nice, I'm not sure." as she turns her pretty face, flushed from the cold, to the twinkling heavens?



Listen up, you grain-fed honky dickweeds - not just you, WW, but every fucking honky out there needs to hear this. We're not alive for very long. Have you noticed this, dickcheeses? We do not have all the fucking time in the world to draw up cost-benefit analyses on potential long-term pairings. If you're not swept the fuck away by your lady, move the fuck on. If you're not gritting your teeth and biting the palm of your hand like goddamn Squiggy every time she walks by, get over it. If you're not having the best sex of your life - and this is when you do that, dummies, in your mid-fucking-thirties, this is your big fucking shot at great sex, or at least this is where it starts - if you're not blown away, freaking out, breaking out, thrilled, shivery, talking a lot, sending stupid fucking emails to each other, rolling around, sighing, bragging, buying dumb little gifts - then how do you think you'll feel in a few years when you're fucking old and creaky and you have three little doo-doo factories in residence? You fucking dumbass honky-ass losers.



This is how you find the man/woman of your dreams, stupids: You refuse to waste time on the man/woman of your loneliness-fueled spreadsheets. And if you can't get worked up over anyone... well, Jesus, what is wrong with you? Can you get worked up over anything at all? Here in LA, lots of people wax romantic about movies, but when it comes to their real lives, they're fucking numb and alienated and don't see the raw thrill, the breathtaking drama of every little minute. Blahblahblah boringcakes, motherfuckers! The girl who made you your coffee this morning has beautiful green eyes, and she paints weird portraits of her customers and keeps chocolate and rope stashed in her nightstand and she reads books about gardening and she knows what she wants. You could spend the next two months in bed, honkwinders, getting tied up and eating chocolate and watching old movies in the middle of the night. You could be swooning and sighing and feeling like the world is opening up like a flower. So why are you watching "Survivor" with that guy who bores the shit out of you, and pisses you off, and doesn't give a flying fuck about how you feel, ever, and mostly just wants you to get to the point and stop crying? Why are you heating up canned soup and wondering about the long-term viability of negotiating a reasonably satisfying coexistence with someone 3,000 miles away?



You stupid bitches. You're wasting your fucking time. Whenever someone really digs you, you go numb. Whenever you really like someone, you decide to just ignore the fact that they don't like you nearly as much. Or maybe you married someone, and now you give that person your worst possible self day after day, and then wonder why they look so crumpled and lame to you now. Go ahead, put it off, get back to work. Love is only the greatest fucking thing in the entire universe, but hey, you've got a presentation to finish, and besides, you can't really change anything, and only flakes and dreamers care about this shit.



Life is short, dippies. Today is the day to make your move. Buy some flowers, and a lottery ticket, and start to believe in the possibility that your life could be big and bright and pretty. As Frances McDormand says in "Almost Famous," "Be bold, and mighty forces will come to your aid." Magic, honkies! Believe in magic for once in your narrow little lives. Give up on the mundane for a minute, and open up your hearts, and listen to all the dead people in your office and on the street outside, screaming the same thing: "Live, motherfuckers! Stop planning and fucking LIVE."

Tuesday, December 21, 2004

the real marilyn manson lyric is "we used to love ourselves/we used to love one another," but i could have sworn when i saw him in concert the other night at the wiltern, he changed the lyrics.



ok bye. must write.



ok bye.

rock

love

kate

Sunday, December 19, 2004

I love letters from Vultures! And now that the show website isn't exactly active, there's nowhere for me to share them with the other Vultures, especially the ones who worked on the show. So what the heck, here's a couple of the better ones I got last week.



Oh yeah, by the way, can you guess whose quote is at the top of the page? I'll tell you at the end. I saw this person in concert last night.



(Also I like this quote from Pink. "I love life and I love myself and I'm on a mission." You said it, sister!)



12/16/04

kate,



You've probably moved on from this tragedy and are concocting your

next plan for world domination, but I'm still moving through

Denial/Anger/Bargaining/Guilt and am not yet on the road to

Acceptance.



A big thumbs up on developing your voice, creating something very

fucking cool, and creating something that brings people you don't know

great joy. Thanks.



Fuck. I'm pissed off--thank you for creating something that when

withdrawn makes me pissed off.



Yours truly,

mark



Mark: Thank you! I want to tell you that this show was a collaborative effort by many people and we all put our hearts into it.

love,

Kate



12/18/04

Kate,

Ever since I first heard your show on OutKast i have been hooked. Laughing and rejoicing that you dare to put a show on like this. I am beyond sad, sad isn't a word that can describe how I feel about this. Sad is how you feel when a sports team loses some big game (so i'm told) or a girl/boy dumps you and you're left with tickets to a show that create a dilemma. This is an emotion like when you expect to sit on your porch watching the sunset for the rest of your life and someone steals the sun or puts a giant townhouse in front of it. Or you pass someone on the street and you exchange smiles and in that moment you imagine your life with that person and before you can act they are gone. I just don't know how better to say it. I know there will be a backlash and you will revive. Let me know how I can help!!! Thanks for making life better,

Billy



Billy,

I'm unspeechified!

Love,

Kate



OK, so the quote above is from Marilyn Manson.



Wednesday, December 15, 2004

Yeah man, so... what can I say? Digging the summer-autumn weather so bad. About to go to court to go to traffic school. I feel sad whenever I go to the metropolitan courthouse on Hill St. downtown, because it reminds me how poor our infrastructure is here, in one of the richest cities in the country. it reminds me exactly of the shabby buildings on the edges of Prague--like the panelaks and the interpol building that stood across the street from my panelak in kobylisy. that interpol building was so crappy.



(panelaks, you know, the commie housing.)



the street was called strelnicna, which means something about a "shooting range," which was extra creepy (have I told this story?) because in my panelak development, hidden in the middle, was a place where the Nazis had killed resistors. golly it was creepy. there was a moument there with a cross wrapped in barbed wire, as i recall.



doug can u refresh my memory?



i feel certain i've told this story.



well I just spent a half-hour looking at maps of kobylisy and must go to court. but one more thing.



i just saw a truly great film related to this. it is about terezin, the bizarre and freakish nazi camp north of prague, a supposed "bohemian" paradise of theater, art and music. The movie is called "prisoner of paradise," and it's about the jewish berliner film director/prisoner who was asked/forced to make a propaganda film about terezin. they were going to use it as propaganda for neutral countries and stuff, to prove how humane and idealistic they were.



i can't tell you how surreal it is. rod serling might have imagined this story in his darkest hour. but it's such a beautifully made film. i have it on video if anyone wants to see it.



love

kate

Sunday, December 12, 2004

I'm still in love with Sea of Angels even though she hasn't written much lately, which is her right, of course. She also went to Vegas for her birthday, just like me.



Did I tell you about my Vegas birthday? I don't remember.



Well, here's what I figured out on my Vegas birthday--which, by the way, was spent mostly at the tall place off the Strip where they hold Celebrity Poker, and the family that owns the place has a very funny name... (Mooli-woolian?) And, oh yeah, the Venetian.



Anyway, what I figured out was that, for me anyway (and I know things are different for Howard Stern), I don't go to Vegas to do anything. I don't go there to gamble, to sunbathe, to eat or even necessarily to get wasted. I certainly don't go there to get laid. I don't go there for shows, comedians, music or anything. I have never even stayed in one of the hotels on the Strip.



I go to Vegas because it makes me feel special just to be there. Anywhere there.



Now that I have realized this, all the pressure is off as far as activities. It doesn't matter what I do because it's all fun.



I feel that way about New York City, too. I feel so special when I'm there. Everything there is special. The funnest thing to do is to walk from Times Square to Greenwich Village. You watch the streets get smaller and more tangled as you go south. Cobblestones, too.



I used to want to live in New York. I had it all planned out. But I lived in Europe instead. So I got cobblestones up the butt and all the corner magazine stands you could stick up your nose. And now I'm not so sure I want to live in New York. It sounds great, but I think it may be like having a crush on a rock musician. As much as they may jazz you from a distance, it doesn't mean you're gonna click as people, in the real world. (Like in "Almost Famous," when they make the distinction between "real life" and road life.) L.A. is real life to me, and it feels like home, day in and day out, and I always hate to leave and love coming home.



But who knows? That could change.
So, I'm at a "Goth" party Friday night, which I almost didn't go to because I wasn't dressed Goth, plus I'm not interested in Goth stuff at all... But it turned out to be the most half-hearted Goth party ever held: No one was dressed Goth, including the hosts, and the music playing was '80s pop such as "White Lines," "White Wedding," "Another One Bites the Dust," and even some "Stayin' Alive" actions. The only thing Gothy was the fact that the bartender, who used to work at the Rustic back in the day, is a sort of S&M type lady. She was the token S&M waitress at the Rustic. I liked her. She was fun. Plus she wasn't skinny, which is now a requirement for employment at that place. Those owners. I tell you.



So anyway, this skinny drunk guy in ridiculous glitter glasses puts his arm around me inappropriately, and asks me what I do. I tell him I write and do a radio show, but I'm sad cuz it just died. Then I ask what he does. He says he produces a radio show but he's bummed cuz his show got cancelled that day. I'm all, dude.



His show was big and fancy on a huge network with a famous host, so he got a big severance package.



He told me some interesting things about the show, and the network, and life within the belly of the corporate radio beast. (He's actually the leader of an excellent glam band.)



So then, I talk to his bandmate, and it turns out that he's completely obsessed with baseball and, specifically, the Dodgers. I had just found out about Lima and Finley both leaving, and was feeling gloomy about the upcoming season. But after talking to this guy, I decided that there may be some small reason to be excited. For all their number-crunching, they did have the good sense to keep Green, and this new Kent guy could jazz things up, and who knows? Penny may be ready.



Naturally, whenever conversation hit upon LoDuca, it was like being stuck in a LaBrea Tar Pit. There's just nowhere to go with that conversation. What can you say?





















Then his friend

Wednesday, December 08, 2004

It's funny how the brain and heart are so complex that it's possible to be sad about certain parts of your life but still be happy. Or vice-versa.



Christmastime is always a lesson in that for me.



It took me a long time to figure out that being sad doesn't mean you're unhappy. A pang in the heart does not diminish joy; it makes it glint in the light. In a world hung up on illusions of absolutes, the challenge is to accept happiness in all its cracked complexity, and say, Yes.



I've been spending a lot of time nesting and listening to a Pottery Barn holiday compilation with Dean Martin and Lena Horne, framing pictures of me and my loved ones, making shelves and strings of lights and stuff, and it makes me feel genuinely happy. I guess that's because I have a lot of love in my life. That's what you really need. Losing my show has been difficult, but it's OK, because of the love.



I wanted to thank Tony for linking to me and talking last night about rock for two hours, so here's a poem for him. My songwritng teacher, Peter Case, used to provoke me a bit with all his talk about Dylan and Robert Johnson, saying the Beatles' pure stylishness ruined meaningful music. I said nonsense. And then, because he's rad, he spent a class talking about how the Beatles' style, and glam rock, are liberating sheerly through their style. And he gave us this poem, by Tony's favorite poet, Charles Bukowski.



style



style is the answer to everything--

a fresh way to approach a dull or a

dangerous thing.

to do a dull thing with style

is preferable to doing a dangerous thing

without it.



Joan of Arc had style

John the baptist

Christ

Socrates

Caesar

Garcia Lorca



style is the difference,

a way of doing,

a way of being done.



6 heron standing quietly in a pool of water

or you walking out of the bathroom naked

without seeing

me.