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  i hate myspace: hoisted by my own PHPtard

so stephen has a movie club. which means a projector, and a basement in brooklyn, a bunch of kids my age and good movies: hitchcock, not hitch.

color me excited, where do i sign?

well, said stephen, on myspace.

but i hate myspace!! all those stupid "friends" you'll never meet, all those over-the-top pictures of girls in eye-makeup with names like *k*r*I*s*t*l*e!! i feel bad enough for having a blog and owning an ipod . . . i CERTAINLY can't join myspace.

but i sign up. stupid, stupid, stupid. i claim to be a pacific islander with an income of over $350,000 dollars a year. i claim to be a swinger.

peter calls. he's upset. he wants to know why his girlfriend is a swinger.

oh, it's not a big deal, i say breezily, so what if i meet a boy or two? you want me to have friends, don't you? what's a swinger, anyway?

peter gets out the dictionary and informs me that a swinger is one who has promiscuous sex. and that he just made a myspace account for himself -- and met a girl who is into PHP, like him.

WHAT?? i screech. why don't you just marry HER then?! since she's so into . . . computers and stuff?

oh, it's not a big deal, he says breezily, so what if i meet a girl or two? you want me to have friends, don't you? what's myspace anyway?

(i heart my boyfriend.)  ¶ 6:37 PM

  uncle jay flits by

i guess i should have known, when mr. jay mason showed up on the doorstep of apt. 2b armed with valentine candy, tickets to movin' out, and four cartons of cigarettes, that it was going to be a great weekend.

but i was not prepared.

three days, six bars, a broadway show and a swing club later, i woke up and realized i had lost my eyeglasses without noticing.

how does this happen?? the masons, that's how this happens.

(thank you, kitty!!)  ¶ 6:29 PM

  not in this city

for a week now i've been struggling with queenie's request. new york city is a cage full of teeth, so when someone says, please write me something about love in the city, i am at a loss.

but i dutifully look around for inspiration. today, i looked at the guy on the subway yelling obscenities as his reflection in the window. i love him. i do. and his guardian angel does, too. but it's not very valentine-y.

then i saw the dopest of hip-hop couples on the F train. they were fitted perfectly together. she cradled his head in her long arms, her rhinestoned nails running over his cornrows rythmically. his lips were huge and soft, his eyes like caligraphy strokes. diamonds glittered in his ears and gold hoops swung from hers. they smelled like cocoa butter. though they sat on orange plastic bucket seats and amdist leaves of yesterday's NYPost, they were utterly regal.

they reminded me of something dr. ferrier told me once: you can look at any modern mess unflinchingly . . . if you have love.


(of course, i could have written about face, and the best place i've ever been, where we broke a champagne glass and slept next to nico's ghost . . . but the rest is for a novel, not a blog.)  ¶ 4:12 PM

  ash wednesday

one in every 800 people or so today in the city was seen with a tell-tale smudge on their forhead.

i followed the signs and arrows advertising ASHES all the way up the steps of st. patricks. people filed in, were smudged and reminded about coming from and returning to dust, and filed out.

some of them went back to the office, others went back home, some went out to eat, some lit cigarettes, but no one seemed to feel the need to wash their ashes off. i liked that. just one day out of the year can you tell at a glance who in the city has been to church.

new yorkers are tired of winter. they are still wearing their coats, but they're definitely eyeing pastel tee-shirts in the shop windows on sixth avenue.

little white flowers are poking their heads through the snow in strawberry fields, and the gates are almost ready to be released. today someone had thrown two dozen white roses on john lennon's imagine memorial.

as a light rain started to fall, i passed a young couple on a park bench. they ignored the rain; they meant that much to each other. "it's been so long since i went dancing. i mean, i just want to go dancing," said the girl. "oh, me too!!" i blurted as i passed. i had just been thinking the same thing myself. the young couple was surpised and laughed out loud. "you made our day!" called the boy, as i walked toward the train.

sometimes, new york city really is just a walk in the park.   ¶ 2:31 PM

  boys can play, too


Which Rock Chick Are You?

p.s. i once had a boyfriend who said "bjork makes me bjarf." maybe the results of the above test show why that relationship did not work out.  ¶ 1:33 PM

  yay

look what i found.  ¶ 5:21 PM

  be my valentine

it was the night before valentine grams were due. i saw john marie walk past the smokers patio and into the pool room. i wrote this in my journal:

feb 13th 03
i want to tell john marie that my love for him is like the new york stock exchange, or the ocean, but of course i wont.

then i went into the pool room and said, hey john marie, my love for you is like . . . .(?)

hmm, said john marie, as he played pool with himself. my love for you is like . . . .(?)

the next day, he had left me this valentine:

Dear Marian Kuemmerlein: My love for you is like an exhalation of fermented bananas -- you see, they are attractive to some, yet even more so to others my little pet!! -- JMSF P.S. See if you can find the misplaced modifier my sweet maggot!  ¶ 5:09 PM

  if i only had the money

i would order one of these that said "SANTA PAULA" on the front and "it ain't OJAI" on the back. and i would wear it with so much pride.  ¶ 1:53 PM

  max says

latin seems like fun
until you have to do it
then death seems like fun

  ¶ 9:37 PM