"I DON'T MIND IF YOU FORGET ME"

Random curiosities of random rank:

My Dad is home and says he just wants to sleep for two days and will call and tell all after that.

I have cable again.

I'm going first, this morning, to a good old synagogue yard sale (Hello to the grannies donating their designer vintage!), then to the Printers Row Book Fair to say hello to a few folks, then tonight, my vegetarian ass is going to brave Ribfest so that I can see Baby Teeth.



I have a loaner cell phone that is a dinosaur. If I don't respond to your texts or don't answer when you call, I probably have no idea. Or, I have no interest in talking to you. Either way, nothin' personal.

It throws me for a loop when someone completely misreads me.

Remember I decided not to cut my hair until my second novel is out into the world? Well, if I don't hurry, my moppy head will drive me bonkers.

Don't click this link at work! This was sent to me and I don't know what to think about it.

"AND IF YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS TO SPARE, THEN I'LL TELL YOU THE STORY OF MY LIFE"

I have a little to say about many things. A list:

My friend Hippie split with her hubby. She's taking it well. She is a human being, and it's a hard time for her, but she's also one of the most together and emotionally-healthy people I've ever met, so she is dealing. Oy. Poor thing. But, what was she going to do? Sometimes life deals you an outrageously shitty turn of events and you have to do the right thing, even when it kills you.

My tattoo area is healing nicely. A few folks have seen a photograph of a phase of the process. I'll put something up here (to impress everyone senseless) once it's in a little bit better shape. (For tattoo virgins, fyi, sometimes they look kind of gross for a few days after you get them. Tattoos. Not virgins.)

I finished Jennifer Paddock's Point Clear this morning, which I enjoyed. It was calm, it was familiar, and touching and sentimental and personal. It was like hanging out with an old, calm friend. This author (who I met, sat on a panel with and hung out with a bit in New Orleans a few weeks ago) is also incredibly kind, funny and smart, so that's all the more reason you might just want to buy her book and show her some love. Good book. Good person. There you have it.

I had a painfully fancy dinner thing last night, with seven courses of vegetarian greatness. I wore a suit, even. You'd be impressed! I shot a quick pic when I came in, because, uh, how often is yours truly in the good suit and diamond earrings? Not often. You might not have even believed me had I not thought to create photographic evidence. Anyway, there you have it. I clean up okay.

Midget pARTs is in town from Canada, spreading tons of Canadian cheer around Chicago. I, of course, have benefitted greatly from his arrival in the way of t-shirts and lapel pins. You should hook yourself up there, too. He has marvelous postcards, delightful buttons (I have, easily, two dozen of these), spectacular artwork, and completely wicked awesome t-shirts (I have the Joe Strummer and the Monk ones and have started blatant begging to see if a Morrissey design might one day exist). Again, good person. Good stuff. There you have it.

Tomorrow (Monday), I have a series of pics going up in a Kurt Vonnegut tribute of jackassery. Authors and Their Assholes. So it goes.

"SPLINTERED IN THE HEAD"

It's my lucky week. I just know it. My hotel is gorgeous, the toiletries smell like ginger (my favorite), my room has a great view, the French Quarter is begging me to go out and I can't help but feel a good sort of mojo in the air. Good times, my friends.

Time to go track down a decent vegetarian nosh up in here.

"IN BETWEEN DAYS"

I am in a tidy up and decompress mood today. I went to a really great social action brainstorming session last night that was both informative and just the shot in the arm I needed. It was nice to hear really grounded people talking about no social goal being too lofty and being willing to show people everything they know about organizing and mobilizing and brianstorming and cooperation and project management.

It was wonderful! So wonderful. I have been thinking a lot about that sort of thing lately, so I really soaked up the information and felt heartened to see so many people working so well and doing such good work.

It's snowy, I have Simpsons dvds in deck, a pot of veg matzah ball soup on the stove, a new issue of Kiplinger's magazine (nerd) to read, some magenty hair to touch-up, a sleepy cat that is forcing his way into my lap who, apparently, needs petting and a friend who talked me into making a business website for him (nerd). So, my afternoon is booked solid.

"MIXED UP 14"

Welcome to another edition of "If It Could Only Still Be Socially Acceptable To Make A Mix Tape, This Is What I Would Put On One This Week" Saturday... but, before I get into any of it, I have to tell you that I just ate a tofu scramble sitting about five feet away from Andrew Bird at Lulu's.

1.Tables & Chairs/Andrew Bird
2. Sick/Sneaker Pimps
3. Being From Jersey Means Never Having To Say You're Sorry/Cobra Starship
4. I Know It's True But I'm Sorry To Say/Violent Femmes
5. La Vie En Rose/Edith Piaf
6. Voices Carry/Til Tuesday
7. Fascination Street/The Cure
8. All You Zombies/The Hooters
9. Too Much Information/The Police
10. Mad World/Tears For Fears
11. Mirror In The Bathroom/The English Beat
12. Pulling Mussels From The Shell/Squeeze
13. Fake Palindromes/Andrew Bird
14. Work, Work, Work/The Rakes
15. Parade of Punk Rock T-Shirts/Maritime

Well, I'm off to social action committee biznass here in a bit, so I need to go make myself look responsible, said the woman with magenta stripes in her hair. Heh.

"DISPLAYING YOUR NAME"

Still sick, but on the upswing.

I got motivated and went to the supermarket a yesterday afternoon. I walked in and was met with a most unusual scene. The upperclassmen of a fraternity had descended upon the store for a scavenger hunt and were playing produce football, launging with the manager, shouting things to each other like, "Big fag Slovieski on aisle four!"

Good times. I rallied for a bit and went to dinner with Partridge and Waterflicker and strangely, was approached by a woman with a tiny notebook, asking us to write a few things about purple. I jotted her a little story about purple a guy, whom the narrator hated and was saddened by, though she kept his goldfish. Waterflicker wrote her a haiku and Partridge gave her a list of sorts. Anyway, I wasn't able to rally for long, as I haven't had much sleep in the past week or so, so I started to fade and went home and right to bed.

Anyhoot, if you will again pardon me for a vanterie sans scrupule, three reviews I wrote are up on Bookslut. Swing by. Give them a look. Click around.

Because I haven't been terribly productive in the last few days because I haven't been feeling too spiffy, I woke up with that vague panic this morning that I get when I feel behind. Back to work.

"FRANKLY, MR. SHANKLY, I'M A TOTAL NERD (FEATURING MIXED UP 11)"

I just got in. I started out tonight at the Field Museum to catch the Tutankhamun Exhibition before it traveled on in a few days, and I am very glad I did. The transition in artwork (going from less-realistic faces and abstraction in sculpture and drawing to more realistic and less-angular) during the era Akhenaten attempted his religious revolution was terribly interesting-- I have seen plenty of Egyptian exhibitions, but never covering pre- to post-revolution design at once. Also, I find the Book of The Dead, shabtis, maat and canopic sort of things extremely cool, so this was right up my alley.

I was surprised to see a couple of men there in NASCAR t-shirts, making loud comments on every piece as they walked through. My favorite comment, made in reference to a tiny 18th dynasty funerary mask for a fetus, found entombed with Tutankhamun, was: "Them look like Amazon shrunken heads!"

(And, with a sigh of relief, I report that the dates were listed as "BCE"... Don't get started. I just think it's the least-alienating method of timekeeping, that's all. And, you know me, I'm all about trying to alienate the least amount of people possible....)

Anyway, Senorita Nerdita that I am, I have a present for you. Right here. An interactive tour?!? See? Who loves you? Me, that's who. Click through and it's like we were all there together. (Seriously, click through. It's really cool.)

So, then on to vegetarian tapas, which was lovely, although this lovely establishment is in a rather Beautiful People neighborhood and I was confronted wih the notion that somehow fur coats are suddenly very chic for very young women. I mean, I think they look ridiculous and sad at any age, but I'm confused as to why I am suddenly seeing them on the early-twneties set...? When did fur get cool again? Sorry to be a rotten snatch here, but how do you afford a floor-length mink when you're twenty, anyhow? Do I even want to know? I thought fur was one of thse things like veal-- plenty of die-hard carnivores still draw the line on veal. Likewise, plenty of leather-wearers draw the line at fur. But, I am wondering that maybe that's all changing. Okay, what celebrity wore fur and got this going again? It's very 1981 cocaine chic with the furs and the big glasses and all. What's next? Permed hair, stripey leotards and grapefruit diets?

Oy.

Wait, wait, there is a bit more.

The other day, running errands with Sparkypoo, we saw, no kidding, a giant blue tricked-out Cadiallac cruising down the street, driven by a guy in a blue jacket with a white-with-black-polks-dots fuzzy collar. I screamed, "Did you see that? That was a fucking pimp! Holy shit! A pimp! Fast forward to this evening, post-tapas, post-fur coat business. Upon leaving the tapas place, I see it. The blue Cadillac! The pimp! He's right there! And, he was pulling a u-turn and heading in the opposite direction. So, I did was any reasonable person would do. I shouted, "Did you see that? That was that fucking pimp! Holy shit! That pimp!" and set out to follow him. Sadly, I lost his trail, but I can now say I have spent a Saturday night looking for a pimp. That's a first. I don't know what my big whopper plan was once I found him, but I just wanted to see him up close, maybe talk to him and see if he's a real pimp or just, um, dresses like one for the fun of it. You never know. You just never know.

And that, folks, brings me to my final order of business. It is, coming in just under the wire, time for another editon of "If It Could Only Still Be Socially Acceptable To Make A Mix Tape, This Is What I Would Put On One This Week" Saturday... I now believe that this month has been one of the busiest I've had in a long time, and what with the blog tour thing happening I short-changed you guys last week and didn't even make a playlist for you. Maybe I'll make this one extra-great to make up for it. I mean, I do after all, have plans to dedicate at least some of it to this mysterious pimp. Surely that counts for something.

1. You Ought To Be With Me/Al Green (for The Pimp)
2. Out of Range/Ani DiFranco
3. P.I.M.P./50 Cent (pronounced "fiddy cent", mmmkay?)
4. Early To Bed/Morphine
5. Hanukkah, oh, Hanukkah/Barenaked Ladies
6. Candle/Sonic Youth
7. Bulletproof/Morcheeba
8. Jubilee/Alison Krause (from the "Paper Clips" soundtrack. Have you seen it? Ohh, I sobbed.)
9. Knee High/French Kicks
10. Pasta/Endorfin
11. Scrabble-Ina/Marie Frank
12. Wandering Star/Portishead
13. Egypt/The Mercury Program
14. Sore Thumb/ Soltero
15. Trains to Brazil/Guillemots

"GLAMOUROUS GLUE"

Due to a terrible miscommunication and some good intentions, I ended up eating some smuggled chicken stock last night, served by an aborablde Hungarian grandma who later showed her boobs. Anyway. Some vegetarians are sensitive, some are not. I am. Few things are finer than waking up in the middle of the night to shit your head off except for maybe shitting your head off while yaking in the sink. Ohhh, stop lovin' me. I know I'm a pretty little princess. Hmm! Wanna make out? Hang on. Blarghjefkndfgknfkgnkng! There. That's better. Oy. I've felt like ass all day.

The night before, I awoke to a male couple having a take-it-to-the-street domestic squabble. Apparently, Carlos came in drunk, and Ted was none too pleased and announced to the neighborhood that Carlos was a "dirty cocksucking Puerto Rican bitch", twice. Twice! So, naturally, Carlos insisted Ted a "pimple-cocked gloryhole" before stamping away, removing his shoes and hurling then at poor Ted. Ted wailed and shouted for the attention of all neighbors, as we should really be made aware that Carlos carried a fake Prada. Not that I got out of bed and watched any of this. My neighborhood is fantastic.

Man, I am so itchy for a new tattoo. I got another piercing two evenings ago and just the smell of good ol' tattoo shop disinfectant spray made me jones.... I am trying to round up a tattoo artist who will consider inking a big section of my back, near where one of my existing tattoos are, during a reading on my book tour. Like s/he and I can sit there and I'll read while s/he inks. What? Why is that weird? I think it would be marvelous.

"PAINT A VULGAR PICTURE"

I felt like shit for Shabbes, so I stayed in and did nothing.

I went to Der Rosenkavalier last night at the opera, though, as I had gotten the tickets as a Chanukah gift. It was lovely in every sense of the word. My only real complaint, though, was that Der Rosenkavalier is looooooooong. If a person, such as myself, who really likes going to operas complains that an opera is too long, it's fucking long. Maybe it just felt long. Maybe I wore uncomfortable shoes. Whatever. I saw a beautiful woman in the restroom-- maybe she was polynesian?-- with caramel stripes in her hair, two bras-- a white one and a black and red one, a sleeveless sheer black shirt, knee-boots over fishnets and a freaky orange geometric miniskirt. I stood in line to pee and watched her put on chapstick and readjust her wrist cuffs. In the sea of sensible, understated evening wear, I felt like we should have joined forces.

Beforehand, I made a stop for a glass of pinot grigio and vegetarian tapas, which is good living, if you ask me. At the restaurant, I fell in love with this painting, which hung over my table. What do I have to do to have it? It was a melancholy child with wild black hair, standing inside of an old gothic iron fence with freaky greenish-blueish fog all around. In the background, there was a tree with a pink dress and a yellow dress hanging off of coat hangers hung on brances. It reminded me of the Penny Dreadful drawings a bit and I can't stop thinking about it.

Walking home after my lovely evening, I saw head-in-progress in a parked car. Oh little blonde head, bob like the wind! Stay gold pony girl, you'll get your meaningless diamond ring from your unappreciative fratboy! (splat.)

Am I the only one, right now, that could give a rat's ass about the upcoming David Mamet Festival? Everyone I know, more or less, is weak in the knees and making arrangements and blah, blah, blah. "Didja get the fuckin' thing? What thing? You know, the fucking thing, I-- C'mon, this thing's important." Bluh. Don't care. David Mamet is one of those people who isn't to blame for having the fans that he does. He's simply just famous enough that annoying faux-intelligent people attach themselves to his work like leeches and think they are underground, indie sub-genre slickdicks for knowing who he is. Some people do it with Mamet, some people own one Bach CD and call themselves classical music fans. Whatever. There's nothing wrong or unintelligent about enjoying Mamet, or Bach or any of the others, but just keep digging in the genre. Or other genres. It's the resting on false laurels that bugs me.

Today, I'm feeling a cleaning spree. I'm still in the weird nesting mode. I can't shake the feeling that I need to mix everything up, clean every object, reexamine very thought, every idea and reorganize everything, tossing out the mental/spiritual/physical clutter that I don't feel connected to anymore. But first, breakfast. A woman cannot conquer anything on an empty stomach.

Before I dash away, here's a fun little activity that I can't seem to stop doing. Recite Smith's lyrics while doing the voice of George W. Bush. This is especially hilarious if talking through the lyrics to Shoplifters...