I love SMARMY AT THE PARTY!

Check out this cool new blog, much better than my barely-used one

www.fish-scale.blogspot.com

ABOUT ME!

Yippee! Yay! I left the office early for Labor Day Weekend! So, what did I do? Well, go home and veg out on the computer of course! (robot-voice: Must have 8 hours, must have flourescence at all times)

I am sharting around trying to find a really good "about me" survey for my MySpace page.

I am 29 years old.



Eh, what can I say???? I was looking for a witty way to let people know all "about me!" I write for a living. Shouldn't I be able to tell people about myself, in a way I see fit? Hmmmm...

I like colors, but not on me. I am human, before anything else. I breathe. I think a lot. I don't like violence. I don't like to feel trapped, contained, or otherwise owned. I like peace and love and realness.




I like freshness, but I also take pleasure in funk. I hate beets! I remember drinking coca cola outta a baby bottle. I don't like the color yellow.



I love crude humor and other low rent shit. I like pop culture, low culture, and high culture. I like tea time. Yoga makes me feel GREAT! I don't think I'm racist...but I can be cruel. I am essentially very loving, especially towards family and friends.

I'm a Capricorn, in many different houses, so I am like super Capricorn deluxe!



I am Puerto Rican and proud. Puerto Ricans are the ONLY people with a culture, but no nation...chew on that one...and read Jorge Duany's "The Puerto Rican Nation on the Move" for more on that...



I like androgyny and my sexual history reflects that. I HATE the word bisexual....I see myself as more "lover of humans"...that sounds SO hippy dippy, so be it, it's the 40th Anniversary of Summer of Love bitches! (dork)









Okay, bye!

I (heart) Panera Bread!

When I was a graduate student in New Hampshire, Panera Bread was THE PLACE for ladies who lunch. My friends and I would hit up this spot at the strip mall right outside of Portsmouth. I think their food is really tasty! If you are lucky enough to have one nearby, check it out! It's not even 11am proper yet and I am already dreaming of lunch.

www.panerabread.com

I feel the earth move under my feet

Last night, a 4.2 magnitude earthquake hit Oakland. Big whoopdy-do! I woke up briefly: My Mookie and I sat up in bed and "waited" it out. "Waited" is a HUGE overstatement--the very mild shaking was felt for MAYBE 5 seconds. When it stopped, I went to the bathroom and crawled back into bed mumbling something like "little tremblor." Ah, earthquakes are SO FUN!



WHAT?! FUN?! Let me explain: When I moved to the Bay Area, I was all like east coast earthquake pussy. I would think about the possibility of an earthquake and it would totally freak me out. Then, I experienced my first tremblor. I was sitting on the couch knitting and all of a sudden it felt like a huge hiccup--that's the best way I can explain it. I looked at Mook like, "What the hell was that?" And he said, "Earthquake" and told me to stand in the doorway with him, but there were no more tremblors, no after-shocks, just the beating of our hearts together. Mookie told me to remain calm as I felt his heart jumping out of his chest. I was freaked out, yet intrigued. Wow, I thought, I just felt the earth MOVE! It was kinda cool with a dash of salt-and-vinegar fear. I tried to imagine that hiccup more pronounced and thought, "yeah that would suck."

My original east coast fear has dissipated, replaced with a more west coast earthquake blasé. If it don't feel too intense, why even bother getting out of bed? It's just a little shake, rattle, and roll that's all. This leads me to another interesting thing about earthquakes: the first one I felt was like a hiccup, all subsequent quakes have felt more like a shimmy shimmy shake shake side to side--the way I've always imagined quakes to feel like. So the earth moves up and down AND side to side....SHIMMY SHIMMY YA SHIMMY YA SHIMMY YAY!


R.I.P. ODB

Jailbait

Fafi (brunette) is a cool French graffiti artist. Uffie, besides being French jailbait, is an electro rapper, gross that sounds awful, but her shit is tight. I promise!

Abuse of Power

I work for a large social service nonprofit here in San Francisco as a grant writer. Recently, my boss left the organization (let's call the organization "Doin Good in da Hood") to pursue bigger dreams. While I am happy for him, I can't say I am surprised he left and went on to "bigger and better things." He is one of those people who truly seem to have it all: smarts, looks, charm, and a seemingly nondysfunctional upbringing and well adjusted family to boot (which is probably a large part of the reason WHY he has all of these other wonderful attributes) Let's call him "Sal"

ANYWAY, Sal's been gone for a good month and a half now...SO WTF????



What the fuck, what, you wonder? Well, I just received a phone call from him. Basically he was using his charm and, I felt, abusing his good standing at Doin Good in da Hood (everyone loved him) to get me to write a grant for some OTHER organization! Now, I know there is the positive spin on this: maybe he was seeing this as a favor to me, a way to enhance my grant skills by writing a grant for a completely different organization. But listen to this: he called the freaking Executive Director BEFORE calling me. Hmmmm, very interesting. I mean, I suppose he called him to get clearance on his asking me to do work.

I am sorry, but my bitchy ass felt like screaming into the phone, "Listen, you're NOT my boss ANYMORE! You DON'T work here anymore! You don't owe anyone anything." I mean, this woman who needed the help was a friend of his and he used to help her write grants on Doin Good in Hood's time! In all fairness, I think the Executive Director knows the woman at the organization. ANYWAY, I realize this is getting terribly boring, so I'll end it. I needed to vent and this is such a great forum for that! A la Messieur Jerry Springer here is my final thought on the matter:

Some of the most cunning leaders have used an intoxicating mix of charm and abuse of power to get what they want...

Jeff Buckley's Death

Frozen blue voice with mud around it,
arise from the brown depths of the Mississippi,
this voice was
left behind, and
it drowned.

The drowning was foreshadowed,
in the words of a teenager,
angry and writing in her journal.
She misinterpreted his lyrics correctly.
Yes, there was a water theme in those lines
those moody lines of a cute, dirty white boy with a guitar.

The teenager, she lives in a cold place too
and she thinks she feels dead inside.
So

She is in harmony with his voice, naturally haunting,
coming from the thickness of Southern climate, the tepid mud of his final rest.
With eyes closed, the connection is closer, innate. She can see it all now

The way his life ends and how his words entombed.
All the nuances in the instruments, the inflections in his voice, the pattern of breathing:
they all came together somehow

And that gothy girl no one paid attention to,
the one even the poet feels embarrassed to have let enter,
Yes, that girl:
She foretold Jeff Buckley’s death
in a dirty beat up journal, tear-stained and all.

Getting my Queer On

Yay! This weekend is Gay Pride Weekend! Yipee! Zoweee! Yay! I am very excited to express my gayness to the world. For the most part, I live the heterosexual life. I am in a committed hetero relationship, but don't let that fool you, no siree!

I'm coming out. I want to world to know, got to let it show...Much as I abhor labels, I am what you would call bisexual. Here is the bi pride flag



The symbolism of the flag is as follows: The pink color represents sexual attraction to the same sex only (gay and lesbian), the blue represents sexual attraction to the opposite sex only (straight) and the resultant overlap color purple represents sexual attraction to both sexes (bi). The key to understanding the symbolism in the Bi Pride Flag is to know that the purple pixels of color blend unnoticeably into both the pink and blue, just as in the 'real world' where most bi people blend unnoticeably into both the gay/lesbian and straight communities.

Yes and in the real world, I think oftentimes it goes a little something like this:
Hated by dykes, drooled over by lecherous hetero men, and ignored by gay men, it's a hard thing being bisexual. Too queer for the straight, too straight for the queer, it's a lose-lose situation. In a committed relationship? There is always the underlying, unspoken fear that the bi one in the relationship will run off seeking thrills of the opposite sex of the person with whom the bi is in a committed relationship with...it's all part of the sad image of bisexuals simply being confused and sex-crazed. O la la, le pauvre!



For the record, I am NOT a lecherous sex crazed manic and wouldn't dream of being unfaithful to the love of my life, my sweet sweet guy. I simply love people and have the capacity in my heart to fully love and be committed to either sex. I love the gray areas of life and am saddened by our black/white, straight/gay culture. The gray areas of life are what make life so pleasurable. Open your hearts to the beauties of the gay and you'll find a rainbow (holy shit, I can't believe I actually wrote something so corny, but hey I am a corny gal!).



Anyway, wherever you are and whoever you are, have a jolly ole gay weekend and remember, no matter WHAT your orientation, please support the cause. Only when LGBT issues are given more clout, exposure and support can we swim in the sea of the gray areas. Even if you are very comfortable in your black or white, support those who revel in the gay...I mean, Gray!

When stupid people procreate

My sister sent me this pic and at first, I was like, "Okay, two people on a bike," but then upon closer inspection....dear God!

Kenny G loves Don Cheadle

I think this photo is freaking great and so I want to share...enjoy!

Gross shit? Yes!

The weather is glorious today in San Francisco, as is my custom on such days, I head off to the grassy area a few blocks from my work. It's a nice patch of grass on the Embarcadero, facing the Bay (yawn...I'm getting there, I'm getting there...)

As I seek out a nice spot to sit, enjoy my lunch and get some knitting done, my eyes are assaulted: a man, curled in semi-fetal position, clad only in some shit-stained tighty-whitties. Doth my eyes deceive me? I look again, even though it hurts.



Nope. This fool IS sleeping on the grass wearing nothing but some offensive dodo stained drawers. Hmmmm, what to do? I mean, this IS San Francisco, I can't say I was surprised, but how to place myself in a sweet spot and yet out of the field of vision of his gray and brown man panties? Fortunately for me, there was a great spot a few feet ahead of Sleeping Beauty. Of course, knowing that there was something so very wrong behind me, I couldn't help a couple of glances behind. Ugh (shiver)

This kind of thing happens to me ALL THE TIME. When I was in Junior High School, I was walking to my friend's house and came across a man walking in sweat pants. He was looking straight ahead (he appeared to be in a catatonic state) and had a perfectly round hole cut out of his crotch area. He was wearing no underwear and had a hard-on. That's the first time I saw a real penis. Damn that was gross, why man? Why?!! Right around this time, give or take a couple years, I also came across a man jerking off right outside his window--in plain glorious view. I was young and scared, so I told my Dad.

He got his gun and went out looking for the guy, but alas he came and went.



I won't even go into the times I've seen men masterbating on the subway. You get the idea....

I am privvy to this wrongness: my eyes want to know everything in this world, even the disgusting. Like why am I always the one, in a group of people, to spot exposed ass crack? Note the person peeing or shitting in the bush over there? Or catch the person pick their nose and then smell it or worse, take a taste? I suppose this kind of thing happens to everyone, but I often find myself saying, "Ill, did you see that?" "No."

All this thinking has given me that unclean feeling. See ya later, gotta go douche!

Hateration

Enough of this wishy washy shit, I am going to list for once and for all the pros and cons of San Francisco versus Brooklyn. Born and raised in Brooklyn, NY with a smattering of New Hampshire and Paris living under my belt, a San Francisco resident for two years and going: OF COURSE this will be biased!



PROS
SF: beautiful landscapes abound, lots of opportunities to get outside and enjoy nature, great weather, relaxed vibe (I can't vouch for this outside of the Bay Area), medical marijuana (word), delicious fresh seafood and vegetables, okay so the streets are perhaps a wee cleaner than Brooklyn, but there are so many homeless people, so...hmmm, tough one

BKYLN: within driving and easy flying distance to a great number of cool places, seasons, stronger sense of early American history, Mama Mia a Brooklyn Pizza pie!, dude NYC is the shit, I am sorry it just is. (Hot dogs or complete Spaghetti Dinner at 4am anyone?) FAMILY!!!



CONS
SF: California is huge!, so pretty much when you live in Cali, you are in Cali, earthquakes, shitty drivers passive aggressive who may very well fuck you up should Road Rage come on (also SF is the first city I've lived in where I've thought "I may get hit by a car," locals call it the "California Stop" (okay), there's a beach but you can't swim in the water! (of course this is for SF only), oy vey where are the bagels? (and the Jews), expensive

BKLYN: shitty weather, crowded feeling, shitty aggressive drivers, East Coast cops suck! They will fuck with you just to fill a quota., expensive, dirty ass streets



This list is by no means complete. Next up: Durham NH versus Paris France--the duel to end all duels bitches!

Random ass photo I found in My Pictures folder. I have been informed by the guilty party that this is Alison Stokke, Pole Vault Champ, 18



She's bendy.

So fucking emo

If I could figure out how to get songs onto my blog, well this page would be playing New Order, The Radio Dept., The Magnetic Fields, or any vase variety of emo bands. I am currently OBSESSED with the Marie Antoinette Soundtrack. The movie is the best visual and evocative representation of youth and opulence and the music....uh, sweet Jesus the MUSIC!!! Here, see the list of tracks: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marie_Antoinette_(soundtrack)



You can find art everywhere. I love the numerous forms it takes. Life is art. All of these things are art:

Light
Fashion
Media
Literature
Music
Film
Color
Black and White
Shapes
People
Animals
Nature

Okay, okay the list goes on...I would like to have a hand in each and every one! I am doing my best to live a life of art, but not in a pompous way, no: In a visceral and karmic way. In both my creations and my interaction with living creatures and the elements, I strive for a life rich, drenched in the beauties of art.

I want to live a beautiful life. Life is beautiful. It creates, gives and takes: it remains constant (you think...) while you make your way, somehow, through the things that "trap" you, your mind, your wants, your traumas.



I am often caught in my trappings of childhood. I beat myself up because I feel I am an adult and should be able to "get on with it" as those with balanced, well-rounded lives (often the result of happy childhoods) are apt to say. I am not jealous of these people in any way, on the contrary, I like to have a nice mix of both crazy people and sane, well-rounded people around me. It keeps life interesting and gives you perspective....



I can't STOP thinking about this awesome exhibit I saw last night!!! Vivienne Westwood: 36 Years of Fashion! Uh, mon Dieu! C'etait absolumente magnifique!!! Putain! I want to be a fabulous fashion designer! I want to rip up, sew, ruche, drape, knit, crochet my way to heaven!!! I get so fucking inspired by art, I can hardly stand it! Thing is, as I referenced earlier, I

ART!!!!!!!!

Woo Hoo! Yay! Yippee! Art is great! Woo Hoo, I want to be fabulous! I want to make stuff!!! I don't want to buy my clothes--I want to make them. Fashion is fabulous. Regular clothes are boring! I want to expand my sense of shape and form. I want to make some crazy funky shit. I want to learn the trade...let's see if this lasts, let's see if I pursue this budding dream!!! Yeah, YOU CAN DO IT!

Here some cool Vivienne Westwood pics/clothes:

Here's her famous Bondage Suit, worn by Johnny Rotten of The Sex Pistols back in the '70s:



Here's the artiste herself with her young man slice--you go girl!



Here's a beautiful jacket and skirt from 1993:



Alexander McQueen (another great designer) stuff on the left, classic Vivienne Westwood on the right:

Fish Oil!

Ah sweet little golden pills o' bliss! Bring your fish funk down my trunk. I imagine the capsule bursting open inside and spreading good, gooey fish goodness all through my guts. This little pill packs a wallop, let me tell you!

Fish Oil is derived from the tissues of oily fish, such as salmon, albacore tuna, mackerel, herring, sardines, etc. It has many beneficial properties including reducing inflammation throughout the body, helps regulate cholestrol, it is good for the brain too! It helps alleviate depression (yipee! I feel like a kid sliding down a greasy Splish 'n Splash!) and promotes neuronal growth of the frontal cortes, the seat of personal behavior. Here is the Wikipedia entry, where I expanded my knowledge of this golden oval: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fish_oil

Let me tell you something too: Ever since I started taking them, about a month ago, my skin has seemed so smooth and radiant and my hair soft and shiny. Oil is good for you! Oh and for those worried about oil = fat. I have not noticed any weight gain, if anything I feel more Jane Fonda-ey, wanting to work out and energized to fight the power!

So, go, now...RUN don't walk to your nearest Fish Oil Provider and get yourself a little piece of sunshine!

Pedantry

Pedantry, noun, plural-ries
1. the character, qualities, practices, etc., of a pedant, esp. undue display of learning.
2. slavish attention to rules, details, etc.
3. an instance of being pedantic: i.e., the pedantries of modern criticism.



I HATE pedantry and pedants. Yes, I am thinking of someone particular...some pretentious pedant. I am angry and no one is reading this blog, so I do what I want. I say what I want. I asked this pedant to write me a letter of recommendation, NOT a letter of criticism--WTF? Even as this pedant tries to write a glowing recommendation, he can not help but insert his ultra critical, pedantic beady eyes!

So, here's a bit of advice: When seeking help, don't seek a pedant. Their "slavish attention to rules, details, etc." will only work in your disfavor because their absolute adherence to what they feel is 100% true may result in less than stellar help. They are more interested in sticking to what they believe is absolutely true, maybe to your detriment. Uck...I am just disgusted by these kinds of people. I will never seek help from him again, Petar the Pedant. Quel con!

Because the Wrong is Right

I like wrong things. When told to do one thing, I want to do the opposite. My rebellious nature is quelled by a gut-twisting desire to have things be, well, easy. It's hard doing wrong all the time. For one, I'd be broke because I know it's right to go to work, but I hate work.

Actually, let me rephrase: I hate 9 to 5 cubicle living. Human beings were not meant to sit in boxes for 8 hours, becoming pale and lifeless from lack of sunlight and a damaged natural biorhythm, scarfing food down at a desk in between often redundant meetings and yawn-inducing emails.

Yes. I am an angry bitch in the box, but I have armed myself with shovel and, slowly but surely am working my way out of this anathema.

ON OTHER WRONG NEWS:

John Waters rules!

He is the King of Wrong. My hero. He is a truly gifted media whore, adept at stretching his 15 minutes into a lifetime of ch-a-ching-ch-ching! My fave movie of his is Pecker, though I do enjoy his older stuff too, especially Desparate Living: what's not to like about the following plot (it's getting late and I've no time for too fancy blog manuvering) from IMBD: A rich housewife enlists her maid's help to murder her husband; they go on the lam and end up in Mortville, a homeless community built into a garbage dump. Characters include Muffy St. Jacques, Queen Carlotta, and Princess Coo Coo. Loves it! Not for the faint of heart or faint of stomach and high brow types, well, if you are even reading this than you probably aren't all that highbrow...Learn more about John here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Waters_(filmmaker)

Here's another one of my heroes:

Ah, Sinead Sinead...I've yet to meet a man with bigger balls than thee. She battles the hypocrisy of Catholicism and looks great doing it. I have such a crush on her. Her music is soulful and, well, yes she makes the "wrong" very right. Who knew one could rock a buzz cut? Sinead O'Connor, I raise my glass to you beeyotch!

I don't know if I've lured any bloggers into my sphere, but better things to come my pretties. Not sure I have much time for this, but I will try. In the meantime, listen to some music. My taste is eclectic so there should be something here for everyone. Happy Lewd Listening!

FUCK IT DIDN'T WORK AND MY ASS IN NUMB AND MY EYES HURT FROM TRYING TO WORK THIS OUT. MUST GET SLEEP. HERE'S A SONG:

oblah de oblah da life goes on...