The Astounding Adventures of the Pop Quiz Kid

I've moved!

2010-06-10T14:22:00.000-07:00

I will now be blogging at Madeleine Davies Aims to Please. Hope to see you there!

Fergus, Always.

2010-01-23T14:36:00.000-08:00

Over New Years, I made a very informal resolution to write at least one blog entry a week for the next year. This resolution was seemingly realistic at the time however certain circumstances have kept me from my goal. This past Monday, my family and I had the unfortunate task of putting our dog Fergus to sleep. For those of you who didn't know him, it is near impossible to express his uniqueness. To us, he was always less of a dog and more of a person and we are grieving his loss accordingly. The last weeks of his life and his passing have been an exhausting process that unfortunately leaves little energy to devote to writing.

My world has a Fergus-sized hole in it. Not being able to smell his fur or hear the jingle of his collar when I come in the door has been embarrassingly heartbreaking. Still, I feel most confident that I will soon be ready to fulfill my blog-once-a-week promise with entries full of the joie de vivre that my handsome boy so loving embodied.

And here's a previous post about Fergus.

2010 Winter Movie Preview for Geniuses

2010-01-03T13:20:00.001-08:00

The post-holiday season can be a drag for almost everybody. It's cold, no one is buying you things, and there are no longer radio stations entirely devoted to playing the same four Christmas songs over and over again. I don't know about you, but, for me, going another nine months without hearing Mariah Carey's All I Want for Christmas is You is about equal to what I imagine being a dog in those ASPCA commercials feels like. "Throw on Adia and euthanize me now," you're saying! But wait! There are reasons to persevere! Sure, your life may not be worth living any longer, but isn't that why ~~Louis Lumiere~~ God invented the movies? So that you can forget what a piece of junk you are and watch things explode and people kiss each other's faces (all movies fall in at least one of the two genres, duh)?

"Now, Maddie, you big dummy" you must be saying, "the holiday movie season is over! And it'll be dozens of weeks before the summer blockbusters are released. Way to be an IDIOT!" Well, you're wrong. Some of the best movies come out in January, February, and March. It's SCIENCE.

That said, welcome to The Pop Quiz Kid Winter Movie Preview! Let's get to it!

Season of the Witch

First of all, can you think of ANYTHING that doesn't make this movie look like the greatest film of all time? It has knights (totally in right now), horses (!!!!), witches (cause women are terrible ALWAYS), choppy battle scenes, and a heavy metal score. Oh, and a little actor named Nicholas FUCKING Cage. Thirteen year old boys (you and me, CLEARLY) must be so excited right now (which we are)!

Robin Hood

Knights! SO IN. Horses YES. KNIGHTS FALLING OFF HORSES TO HEAVY METAL MUSIC. OH MY GOD. If we had driver's licenses we would totally skip social studies to go and see this! Maybe my dad can drive us there and your dad can drive us home!

Clash of the Titans

dfgkjhdfgkjhj! Thank god I'm a THIRTEEN YEAR OLD BOY and have so much experience hiding my erections otherwise watching this preview would be really embarrassing! The good news is that the theater will most likely be filled with other thirteen year old boys because no SELF-RESPECTING adult would see this preview and think "wow, this is the movie for me." Instead, they'll probably be off doing old people things that don't include heavy metal guitars, like going to their peers' funerals or watching Hoarders marathons. The theater will be ours and we can let our boners fly freely!

Is your winter beginning to look less blue? I'll bet it is (unless you're a lame old man who probably doesn't even know how to work an Xbox and smells like musty loneliness)! You're welcome!

Willennium

2009-12-31T12:28:00.000-08:00

2009, RIGHT? Holy jeez, what did you do with your year? That's nice. I'm sure that you would love to go on, but I'm not going to let you cause this is my blog and I wear the adult diaper around here. Besides, I did TONS this year and there isn't enough time for us BOTH to tell our stories. The one thing I probably didn't do is write enough, so this will all be edge-of-your-seat new information for you. For example, did you know that I spent three months in New York, bought a really pretty cardigan, and had SEVERAL lunch dates with AJ McLean from the legendary Hollywood music group the Backstreet Boys?

I bet you didn't.

Needless to say, this was a pretty crazy year full of ups and downs for all of us. Barack Obama became president which was pretty cool, I guess? I'm not sure if it's still cool, but I hope it is. Lady Gaga didn't wear pants sometimes and had crazy wigs and music videos. We also became blood sisters, but she doesn't know it yet, since we haven't OFFICIALLY met. Actually, I'm pretty sure that that is all that happened in 2009 so maybe it wasn't as crazy as we thought. Sorry.

Don't worry. MY year had way more ups and downs than our collective year, so this blog can still be kinda interesting. Maybe. For example, this year, I said a sad goodbye to a very special family friend (not a joke) and watched my dog slowly decline into being an old man (also not a joke). Those were the downs. There were also the times that I couldn't find jeans that fit me, which, we can all agree, was kind of a bummer. But the ups! There were way more ups! Like how much I loooooooooved living in Brooklyn and working in New York City. And how much I loved the place that I was working at, but can't talk about unless I want to be sued for one kajillion dollars! Or how I ran into celebrities like Snoop Dogg or that guy who might have been on Mad About You one time? I don't know, I was negative 30-years old when that show was on. There was also that thing where I figured out what I wanted to do with my life and stopped feeling like an angsty baby all the time and made a bunch of super cool friends. Like I said, ups and downs. But a heck of a lot more ups.

A lot of people do "Best of 2009" lists, which I guess I can try, too. If I didn't, you'd probably leave and go find another blog that did. I don't want that. I want you to stay with me. Forever.

Best Movie of 2009

Did I see any movies in 2009? I must have, but I don't really remember them. OH! An Education was pretty good. It did inspire me to cut some wack bangs, so down points for that. But it also had beautiful dresses and Carrie Mulligan was talented and pretty in it. New Moon was ~~totally terrible~~ soooooo good and ZOMG LAUTNER ABS EDWARD BRAIN FACE! I didn't see it, but I heard that Precious was a good uplifting comedy, I think. Or maybe that was The Hangover. Anyways, Mo'Nique is in it and she's the best. I'll probably save that movie until after my dog dies and I need something to make me feel better.

Best TV Show of 2009

Parks and Recreation, duh. Why is that show so good this season? Better question. How could a show with Amy Poehler, that drunk guy from Deadwood, and Aziz Ansari ever have not been good?

Best Song of 2009

Or how about Song that I sang too much in 2009? Because that would probably be Bad Romance by Lady Gaga or Empire State of Mind by whatstheirfaces.

Best Book of 2009

Fun fact: I don't know how to read or write.

Best Most Cutest Blogger in 2009

This Guy:

HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYBODY! YOU'RE THE BEST.

Me leaving New York is gonna go a little something like this:

2009-12-12T20:55:00.000-08:00

Sooooo Twiharded!

2009-12-02T11:28:00.000-08:00

First things first, I am a nablopomo failure. To be perfectly honest, I'm okay/bordering on defensive about that. I'VE JUST BEEN BUSY, OKAY? WHAT DO YOU KNOW? YOU NEVER UNDERSTOOD ME! But now that's out of the way and we can move on to waaay more exciting topics. Like the recent release of New Moon. Am I right, guys? Forget Edward and Jacob, let's talk about Bella's dad. TEAM CHARLIE 4 LIFE. He's, like, chief of police, always has the funniest one liners, and his go-to parenting move is threatening his daughter with sending her to Florida. Talk about a man! And, I don't know about you, but this sudden urge came over me to get mauled or at least slightly manhandled by someone who loves me as I left the movie theater. What am I talking about- of course you know what I'm talking about cause you, like me, obviously forked out ten bucks to see this movie opening weekend!

And good news! I have finally found a forum for totally reasonable and not-at-all disturbed Twihards like me to get together and share how much Stephanie Meyer's AMAZING works of non-fiction in The Twilight Saga has effected us and bled (haha) into our own lives. Presenting...

My Life is Twilight or MLIT cuz writing it all out cuts into my Taylor Lautner collage-making time.

Here are some of my personal favorites:

Three weeks ago I climbed a tree in the hopes of being like Edward. I fell out of the tree and fractured my arm, which is now in a cast. I plan to try again tomorrow. MLIT!

when the song possibility (where the seasons pass and bella is despressed) came on I did the same thing bella did. I sat at my window staring out with a blank expression on my face except I was crying because I felt like a whole was ripped through my chest. I felt like edward left me. MLIT

I just had beautiful twin boys. I named one Edward and the other Jacob. MLIT.

After reading these, I'm like, I can think of better ways that my life is so Twilight! Like how, for example, I often brush my hair out of my face. Or how all of my favorite books come off of my 9th grade English syllabus. Just to make it official like, here are the top 10 ways that my life is the MOST Twilight:

10. My relationship with my father is based entirely on a fragile foundation of lies about my much older boyfriend.

9. I am a lady with no personality or agency.

8. I am not allowed to go surfing with the Native Americans. But it's because my parents are racists. And I don't know how to surf.

7. My school had a prom.

6. Remember that time that I was Joan Jett and me and Emile Hirsch played that song on stage in a trailer park, but he wouldn't date me cause I was too young, so he went to Alaska and died instead? And how before that I was in this weird love triangle with my mom and the guy from The OC, but then we went to the Triwizard Tournament and everything worked out?

5. I was about to get raped when my lab partner showed up to stop it. He blamed me then mocked me for wearing a seat belt. So romantic!

4. I used to kill people, but I feel really bad about it even though I still want to, you know, kill people.

3. I've started going shirtless, wearing only denim cut-offs. NO, I WON'T EXPLAIN. YOU WOULDN'T UNDERSTAND.

2. My boyfriend won’t sleep with me because ~~he’s probably into guys~~ he might get carried away and kill me.

1. My boyfriend isn't real.

You see how fucking Twilight my life is? That's right. Pretty fucking Twilight.

MLIT found via Videogum

yum yum yum.

2009-11-10T20:32:00.000-08:00

I am exhausted from a day of running all over the city and witnessing a bombardment of shitty behavior (shame on you, New Yorkers!). Taking this into consideration, I've decided that I would best be expressed by the following video, rather than the usual blogging format.

No (rock of) Love for Megan

2009-11-09T20:38:00.001-08:00

Recently, I went out to a bar here in Williamsburg to have a drink with some friends. Somehow, halfway into our first beers, we managed to get on the topic of the suddenly cancelled Megan Wants a Millionaire. And by “we managed,” I mean that I managed because, yes, I love talking about shows like that. And yes, when I do talk about them, it is totally classy because shows that have women with nicknames like Delicious, Buck Wild, and Rodeo deserve a little respect. It’s why I discuss them only in the finest drinking institutions while drinking the finest liquors (that are in no way Miller High Lifes). Sometimes, I might even spark up a Cuban or two (sandwiches, that is). But I digress because this story, like so many, begins with Megan.

Trying and failing multiple times to get my friends interested in MWAM, I finally, and I hesitate to use this phrase, pulled out the big guns.

“The show was cancelled midseason because one of the contestants committed MURDER!” I shouted.

This inappropriate outburst did, in fact, get them interested. Not only that, but the bartender, who had pretty much ignored us so far, also turned and was all, "WAIT. WHAT?" Would I say that she sounded a bit too excited by murder? Yes. Probably even more than I did when I initially shouted about it in a quiet bar. Still, I was finally getting the attention that I feel that I constantly deserve and what was I gonna do, turn it down? Wouldn't that let down all of the Flava/Rock of Love contestants that I hold so close to my heart (or my booze-soaked liver, at the very least)? So I kept the ball rolling, obviously.

"Yeah," I said to her. "The guy from Megan Wants A Millionaire is totally a murderer! Do you watch it?!"

"I don't watch TV," she said, immediately turning her back to me to, I assume, work on her dead eyes and mouth breathing in the mirror behind the bar.

The point of the story, even if we took the long and scenic route to get to it, is this: I live in one of the few places on the planet where being super enthused by homicide is totally acceptable, just as long as you don't own or watch television.

Let's face it: I'm pretty fucking incredible

2009-11-05T13:52:00.000-08:00

There seems to be a movement within my lady internet circle to put aside the self-deprecating comments that we broads have grown far too comfortable making. It began with the Maiden Metallurgist calling on her readers to list three things that they love about themselves without qualifying or dismissing them. Next, Rachel and the Pop Culture Librarian followed up with similar posts and the former has asked me to do the same. I think that this is a great idea, albeit one that makes me a little uneasy as I am the queen of self-deprecation. This is a habit that I needed to break for, if nothing else, constantly criticizing yourself might convince others to believe the criticism.

So, here we go, ladies. I'm in. Today, this very moment, I am going to make a resolution to knock off the self hate and start with the self love. It ain't New Years, my friends, but tomorrow is a new day. Care to join me? Write your own post or leave me three things that you love about yourself in the comment section. Here are mine:

1. I am hilarious.

2. I have a scar above my left knee. I love it's shape and, even though it's small, I think that it makes me unique.

3. I am very brave.

Having trouble getting comfortable with this whole idea? Listening to Empire State of Mind eight kajillion times really seemed to help me, but it's effectiveness might vary by geographic location. How about listening to the band Chicago or the songs Sweet Home Alabama,
Back Home in Indiana, If You're Going to San Francisco Be Sure to Wear Some Flowers in Your Hair, Take Me Back to Tulsa, or the Tenessee Waltz?

Rule Britannia.

2009-11-03T20:33:00.000-08:00

After much pressure, the distinguished British landmark Big Ben has decided to start twittering. Alcohol monitoring bracelet, sexually explicit memoir, and werewolf bar mitzvah cover to follow.

Speaking of Steven

2009-11-02T21:10:00.000-08:00

We collaborated tonight and the results were hilarious. He also titles me a humorist which is both flattering and crazytown.

mish mash

2009-11-02T20:10:00.000-08:00

I'm being hassled to blog by my friend Steven, which is fair enough because I always say that I'm gonna blog and so rarely make the actual commitment. Anyways, here I am. Happy? Do you want another piece of me? I swear, all I do (besides overwhelming hoard) is give.

(Here, we ignore the need for a transitional sentence)

The past week has been a little bit out of the norm. My mother and stepfather came to New York for a lovely visit filled with cupcakes, dinners that weren't cereal, and little to no tension-filled moments. Not to brag, but I really lucked out when it comes to parents because mine are all pretty amazing. It was great having one set of my folks here to witness that I'm not living in a cardboard box or selling hand jobs in McCarren Park (because they're FREE!) and am, in fact, doing quite well.

I'm gonna change directions now, because, I don't know about you, but I'm getting a little tired of the recaps. Too much time is spent recalling what I've done and too little time is spent focusing on what could actually be a good piece of writing. The problem is that I am such a lazy blogger, yet I feel it necessary to fill you in on every detail that you may have missed in my waaaaay exciting life ("last week, I thought about going to the farmer's market, but I didn't leave the house on time"). How am I to solve this dilemma? Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you...

... Nablopomo Lite!

Why "Lite"? Because I'm being slightly realistic. And because I already missed day one. So, friends, tune in every day...ish for the month of November for a post by yours truly.

Pop Quiz Sleepy Baby

2009-10-23T10:47:00.000-07:00

I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately. It’s not the kind of sleep trouble where I wake up every half-hour, but rather the kind where I am up till crazy late hours doing absolutely nothing that’s worth being up that late for, night cheese style. For some reason, come two o’clock in the morning, I cannot NOT watch an episode of Veronica Mars or check my facebook one last time cause, really, who knows what could be posted up there at that hour? A grammatically correct status update? A friend request from a vague high school acquaintance? The whereabouts of the Lindbergh baby? You see how tired I am? The freaking Lindbergh baby. THAT’S the most topical thing that my slow brain can think to make a joke out of. Yeesh.

So, yes. The point of this post is that I’m really tired. And it’s bumming me out because, call me crazy, but I like being a functioning adult rather that an over-sized baby who cries and thinks that it might be easier to wet herself rather than make the exhausting 30-foot trip to the bathroom. That last sentence, I think, signals my time to sign off.

Dear Hair,

2009-10-20T20:21:00.001-07:00

Grow on my head?

photo by Juco. found via For Me, For You.

Lookin' is free. Touchin'll cost ya.

2009-10-18T09:37:00.000-07:00

Alright, ya'll. Fingers to keys. Let's do this. Since we’ve last talked, a lot has gone down. For one thing, I’ve moved to Brooklyn. For another, I lied. The Brooklyn thing was really all I’ve got, but what a thing it is! I can’t believe how many little pockets exist here, each with a new style of architecture and culture to explore and ultimately gentrify (ha ha?). Really, there is something so satisfying about taking the train into Manhattan in the morning, contributing the to crazyville that is midtown, and then, come quitting time, leaving it all behind for the quiet tree-lined streets of Brooklyn where a burrito is but a stone’s throw away and free (and good) comedy shows occur on a weekly basis. Fetch the smelling salts and get those slapping hands ready cause this previously sour and foul blogger is obviously under some trance that makes her want to give transformative make-overs to the less popular and pass out affirmations to the homeless (you see? I’m feeding their souls). Seriously, this whole positivity thing could severely damage the whole unlikable witchy vibe that I’ve spent half of my life cultivating. AND I’m living in Williamsburg, which, as a post-hipster epicenter, should breed nothing but a holier-than-thou attitude with a constant cloud of cynicism hovering over it. But no. I even like Williamsburg cause it just makes life so damn easy.

Another thing that I really like about being here? I think that I might have friends. Creating a social circle for myself was a little more difficult than I expected. I sort of thought that I would be met at the airport by an ethnically diverse group of young people who all wear cardigans and split their time between the UCB theater and writing sketches at some coffee shop/bar where none of the furniture matches. And what? They think that I would be the perfect addition to their comedy group that is currently teetering on the brink of success? And I would be the one to push them over the edge? Why, of course I’ll accept. And while I’m at it, I’ll take the perfect leather jacket and a cure for world hunger (more affirmations, maybe?). Alas, I once again had to learn the lesson that seems to be popping up all over my life these days. Most things worth having take work to get (yeah, you're welcome for that taste of mind-blowing philosophy. I'm full of life-changing shit like that). And by work, I mean loudly complaining at work about how you don't know anyone in this city and how depressing your weekend is going to be until someone, ANYONE, takes pity on you. See, the first time you spend time together, it's out of pity, but then you hit them with the awesome personality that lurks beneath your shameless bids for attention and WHAM they're hooked. Then you use the first friend to get another and another and... Suddenly, you're training it down to Park Slope for a Bad Movie Night or heading to the Lower East Side to go to a literal pickle festival. Through my methods, I've actually met people who do perform improv, write amazing sketches, and perform stand-up. True, my complaining has yet to convince them to collaborate with me, but I'm sure I'll wear them down eventually. If that doesn't work, I can always exhaustingly and unnecessarily throw out punch lines until my real funny shines through ('what is this? New Jersey?!").

Apropos to nothing, isn't it about time that Jane Lynch got some public affection? Has she ever been less than great in anything that she's been in? Sue Motherfucking Sylvester, am I right? How many rhetorical statements can I put in a row? Does Glee's success mean no more Constance Carmel? You can actually answer that last one, if you'd like...

"Better to be lucky than to be good."

2009-09-19T20:30:00.000-07:00

I have so much to write about New York, but it'll all have to wait because, tonight, THIS happened:

Yeah, I met Bunk FUCKING Moreland (a.k.a. Wendell Pierce) from The Wire. To borrow one of his own phrases, FUCK FUCKIN' FUCK! Sorry. Can you tell that I am out of my mind about this? The whole thing is probably not a big deal to those of you who haven't watched The Wire. If that's the case, I have to ask WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH YOU? Do you not spend every waking moment in front of the television like I do? Do you hate great writing and acting??? Do me a favor. Turn off your computer, pull on your sweatpants, run to your nearest video store, and rent all five seasons right this moment. When you're done watching them (don't sleep till you're all finished, now), come back to this blog entry. I promise, even through your sleep deprived state, you, like me, will be excitedly dropping the f-bomb left and right, going "THE FUCKING PQK MET FUCKING BUNK MORELAND." Or perhaps it'll be done more enviously, like "THAT FUCKING PQK? SHE HARDLY EVER UPDATES! WHAT DID SHE DO TO DESERVE THIS?" After all of your ranting and cursing, you should probably check into a hospital because watching 60+ hours of television without food or rest cannot be good for you. Once you recover, though, I'm sure you'll thank me.

And how did this meeting come about? This evening I was treated to a play called Broke-ology. My benefactor (which makes it sound like I have a sugar daddy... which I do) told me that it was going to be a musical-- turns out, it wasn't. As much as my falafel-clogged heart loves a little song and dance, it did not go unsatisfied and it's strings did not go un-pulled. The play was amazing-- probably one of the best that I've seen so far-- and Wendell Pierce was the lead. After the show, it took me and my companions a little while longer to get up to the lobby (they're a bit older, you see) and who should be standing there when we finally arrived? Wendell and the rest of the cast (who were also freaking amazing, by the way)! Did I pounce like a crazy person? Maybe. Why do I look that way in the photo? Because I balled my eyes out at the end of the play. Seriously, there's a chance that people were embarrassed to be seen with me, I cried so hard. So, yeah. I don't look stellar, but that's not the point. The point is BUNK FUCKING MORELAND.

If I can make it there.

2009-09-07T20:17:00.000-07:00

Hoo, boy! Has the last month been a whirlwind or what? I, for one, have been moving out of the house that I lived in for two years, transferring everything to my mother’s, wrapping up my job, packing up my suitcases, saying goodbye to friends, and moving my ass to New York City. I write you right now from my temporary digs in the heart of Harlem. A friend of a friend has been nice enough to put me up for a few weeks (mind you, I persuaded her with fists full of cash) until my lease starts in Brooklyn.

Leaving Madison has been a definite mixed bag. To put it lightly, I needed to get out. At least for a little while. Overall, I’m incredibly grateful to the city whose influence has given me so much. Still, Madison tends to breed a sort of complacency. So many of the people who live there have these brilliant minds, but no desire or motivation to do anything with them. Ultimately, that’s a choice, although the comfort of the city makes that choice exceedingly easy to make. For my purposes, my hometown has been seeming more and more limited.

Another reason to leave? Ol’ Rachel (much like Ol’ Yeller), one of my best friends for life, is heading out west to find fame in the publishing world. Doing Madison without her would be like Andy Bellefleur solving crime without Jason Stackhouse. Sure, Andy’s awesome on his own, but he’s somehow made even more incredible when Jason is around and vice versa. The fact that Rachel and I are moving to opposite sides of the country somehow seems easier than her leaving me to rot in Madison. We have to learn to content ourselves by leaving phone messages consisting solely of the Ferris Bueller Bee Bow Bow song and knowing that we’re both off doing the things that we set off to. That being said, WAH! Who am I supposed to watch True Blood with? Who will take me down a peg when I get too lofty? Who will text me when random celebrities die? Who will stick their gum on me like a big fat jerk? WHO, I ASK! WHO? I’m hoping that if I throw a big enough tantrum, she’ll say, “Screw California! I’m gonna move to New York to start the official Golden Prince of Scandinavia foundation with the PQK!”

Other people that I’m freaking out about leaving? Well, there’s my other BFF, Dustin. We probably go out for lunch twelve times a week and generally speak in voices that are not our own (Hepburn, for example). He’ll never laugh at my jokes when they aren’t funny (though he’ll sometimes laugh at how unfunny they are) and he’ll always come to weddings with me so that I don’t have to sit at the weird distant relative table with the rest of the freaks. It’s a little easier saying goodbye to him—it’s likely that he’ll come and visit me and I’ll see him for sure when I’m back in Madison this winter to finish my undergrad. And then there’s my mom. I’m already missing our afternoon trips to the coffee shop and have been calling her daily. There’s the rest of my family, too. We’re a pretty tight knit bunch, so not having them around has felt like a drastic change even if it’s only been four days.

Enough on what I’ve left behind. How about where I’ve arrived? As I mentioned, I’m currently staying in Harlem, which has been a pretty extreme culture shock. For the first time in my life, I’m the racial minority. What, you ask? Madison is not the center of cultural diversity? Feign shock, everyone, cause Madison is probably one of the whitest places on the planet. It’s pretty facinating seeing things from the other side—the ratio of white to Black here is probably 1:100. Needless to say, with my red hair and pale skin, I stick out like sore thumb. Often, I feel rather self-conscious—mainly because I don’t want to seem like a representative of the first wave of self-entitled young white people to move to the neighborhood and slowly raise the rent cost (although that’s probably exactly what I am). Ultimately, (much at the cost of my self-inflation) I’m forced to realize that no one really gives a shit about me as my neighbors (SURPRISE) have lives of their own that keep them occupied most of the time.

Let’s talk about the New York-y things that I’ve done so far, shall we? I’m gonna do a list of highlights because I’m tired and who doesn’t love lists? A-holes, that’s who.

-My favorite New York experience so far was probably my morning trip to the Fort Green flea market in Brooklyn. Being in Fort Green was love at first sight. Tree-lined streets? Check. Cool restaurants and cafes? Yes’m. Vintage clothing stands EVERY Saturday? Diversity? Brownstones? Yes! Yes! Yes!

-Central Park is about 10 minutes away by train. I’ve been going almost every day just to walk around and people watch.

-Met up with a friend who bought me a phenomenal bagel. That’s not a euphemism, but if I were you, I’d probably read it as one. Don’t be embarrassed.

-Had my work ID picture taken. It turned out foxy, obviously.

-Mayor Bloomberg welcomed me to New York, albeit unknowingly from about 20 feet away.

-Went the Western Indian Day parade today. Holy crowds! Did you know that the NYPD has it’s own Caribbean steel drum band? They do and they’re awesome. Another awesome thing: the New York Corrections department gets its own float in the parade.

-Fried plantains and homemade ginger beer at the parade. Thank you, Caribbean New Yorkers!

I know there’s more, but I’m really effin’ sleepy and I start work tomorrow.

Too tired think of a snappy send-off.

Va-Jays are so easy to write about...

2009-08-05T20:08:00.000-07:00

One of the few things that I've been doing over this embarrassingly lethargic summer is taking a once-a-week improv class that happens to occur in the basement of the local Planned Parenthood. No, it has nothing to do with improvising sketches about birth control or women's sexual health (although both of those things are pretty cool); that's just where the class takes place. It actually works out quite well to go straight from a pelvic exam into a game of "What Are You Doing?" because they're both such fun and I don't ever have to quit laughing.

Anyways, the culmination of this class is that we "get" to perform at the end, signifying a graduation of sorts from Level One. This performance occurs this Saturday and I'm actually feeling sick with nerves even though it's supposed to be no pressure as we are performing for friends and family. I've even begun having nightmares. Last night, for example, I dreamt that my very-much-not-pregnant-in-real-life mother had a baby and that her labor caused me to miss the warm-up for the show. When I finally made it to the performance venue, everyone was mad at me for being late even though my excuse was impenetrable. The dream ended with me sobbing/screaming "fuck off!" in front of the entire audience before running off stage.

Truth is that this whole "performing for friends and family" business if what's probably making me the most nervous. When you perform badly in front of people you don't know, you can trust that they'll forget how awful you were within a couple days. But with people you do know? How can I be sure that when Rachel and I text each other about Vampire Eric and this week's True Blood, she's not actually thinking about how embarrassed she felt for me when I for some reason decide in a moment of panic that a Hitler impression is all that our performance needs? When my mom and I go out for coffee, will she actually be thinking, "well, at least her hair looked nice under the lights"?

In the end, I had to consider this: Having people you love see you crash and burn sucks. It really does, but does it suck any worse than having no one there to congratulate you when everything goes swimmingly?

I think another thing that's making me freak-the-fuck-out is that it has been a long time since I have been on stage. Sure, I have taken theatre classes and have performed scenes and monologues in an academic setting, but that's a whole different animal. The last time I acted in front of the public was in The Man Who Came to Dinner during my junior year of high school (I was totally the lead, by the way). After that, I sorta gave up acting because, at the jaded age of seventeen, I felt that it wasn't a realistic thing to pursue. Luckily, at twenty two, I'm trying to hop back on the horse that I reluctantly climbed off of five years ago (if that metaphor doesn't prove my gift for theatrics, I don't know what does).

Laying it all out on the internet makes it seem like I'm being all mature and reasonable about understanding and dealing with my performance anxieties (I never claimed that the anxieties themselves were reasonable, just to be clear), but, in the interest of full disclosure, I should tell you how I've actually been dealing with them in the real world:

Step 1: Invite friend/family member.
Step 2: Disinvite friend/family member.
Step 3: Re-invite.
Step 4: Tell them not to expect anything.
Step 5: Repeat steps 1-4.
Step 6: Blame your low expectations on fellow class members to deflect own insecurity.
Step 7: Cry while grotesquely eating freezer-burned yogurt bars.

Well, I hope that you'll send good thoughts my way on Saturday. Worse comes to worse, maybe I can get a free pap smear out of it.

2009-08-04T15:57:00.000-07:00

The blogs that I read are proof enough that I'm not the only one who can hardly wait for the new Mad Men season to start. Now that it's almost here, it's hard to understand how I went so long without checking in with the Sterling-Cooper offices. Are Pete and Don are dealing with their baby mama drama?! Will Joan actually marry Dr. Rapey Raperton? Will the feminist movement propel Peggy into becoming partner? Plus, I need some gosh darn fashion motivation because I can't spend the rest of my life in cut-offs, can I?!

Luckily, for those of us about to combust, the AMC website is offering a way into the Sterling-Cooper universe with MadMenYourself!

See? I can now hobnob with Dick Whitman just like a certain other booty-ful redhead! The more martinis the better!

I reckon that I should probably give a nod to the artist, Dyna Moe. She first came to my attention during Mad Men's last season with her Joan Holloway paper dolls and ability to capture the 1960's advertising world within her art. In case you've never seen them, here are some of my faves:

August 16th, you're so close, yet so far away!

ACCIO BLOG INSPIRATION!

2009-07-18T21:24:00.000-07:00

Blogs, man. I know that I've never been super reliable when it comes to posting, but lately, I've been the worst. Not only have I not been writing, but I'm way behind on reading as well. Today, I logged into my reader and it said that I had 200-something blogs unread! Holy bejesus! I can tell- you're freaking out, too. For the most part, I've actually been staying away from the internet and have been concentrating on rereading the last two Harry Potters. Say what you will, but those books are great. I can read them over and over, yet still be surprised by something new. Sadly, revisiting Hogwarts has totally renewed my envy of those who get invited to wizarding school. Fiction-scmiction, I say. Yes, I really am 22 years-old... do you think that they have wizarding grad school? I keep pointing at things and shouting "ACCIO CEREAL!" or "REPARO!" Nope. I still have to walk over to the honey nut cheerios and my dresser is still broken. My sanity, however, is obviously still intact. Speaking of HP, have any of you seen the new movie? I actually really enjoyed it.

Back to the Muggle universe (NERD). Today, Rachel and I had ourselves a little day trip to Mazomanie, home of the Wisconsin River's nude beach. We didn't make it to the waters (nor was it our intent, though Rachel did get partially naked at one point in our trip), but we did make it to Hattie's Closet, an amazing vintage clothing store. I got lucky and found a perfectly fitted dress from the forties that makes me feel like Barbara Stanwyck and a green satin hat that has a ginormous bow attached. The hat might make Aretha proud. I'm not sure that I have the confidence to pull it off as I've never been much of a hat person, but it was too darn pretty to turn down.

On the way back, we discovered this old cemetery with at least one grave dating back to the 1700's. Wisconsin's got loads of old places like that- it's one of the reasons that I love my state. The day was overcast and chilly, making the graveyard look even more beautiful and enticing. It was here that our friend may have momentarily removed a select few pieces of clothing... out of respect.

While our day concluded back in Madison with dinner at a Japanese restaurant and watching an improv show, there's something else that I want to spend my last paragraph discussing. On the drive out, we saw a sign advertising a brat fry. Brat fry? What the heck is a brat fry? I have lived in Wisco for my entire life and I have never eaten a brat fried. Boiled in beer, absolutely. With casing. Without. Yes. Yes. Beef/Pork/Turkey/Veggie. Uh-huh, I follow, but, I'm sad to confess, I am lost at fried. I guess this means that Wisconsin is kicking me out and it really is time for New York.

Playing Catch Up

2009-07-10T13:40:00.000-07:00

Things brewing in the PQK universe:

-After having the same cellphone since 2005, I finally traded in. Not only that, but I bought the Lexus of cellphones- the iPhone. Have you ever wanted to marry a piece of technology? Usually, I'm not the type to get all lusty over gadgets. Sure, I've maybe gotten breathy over a patterned mini-dress or Vampire Eric, but things that contain chips or motherboards or GPSs or what have you? Not usually my thing. But the iPhone? It's the coolest. It's so cool that I want to take a picture of myself holding it, only that would require a second iPhone, which really doesn't seem all that crazy right now. It'll be great for New York, where I'm likely to get lost all of the freaking time, because it contains map functions and restaurant apps and whatnot.

-Speaking of New York, my internship was momentarily jeopardized by the incompetence of an advisor. Luckily, I know people within the system, so I didn't have to lose my shit. Actually, that's a complete lie as my shit was lost multiple times. One of my biggest faults is my ability to throw myself into a complete panic, which, surprisingly, is not very solution oriented.

-Finding a place to live in the city is not very fun, especially when you have no way to check a place out in person. A little advice to people trying to rent a room on Craig's List:
1. Clean (or at least make your bed) before you take photos.
2. Spell check.
The last thing I want is a dirty roommate with bad grammar (weird, I know).

-Over the 4th of July, I went camping with a group of friends up near Crivitz, WI. While there, I ate some awesome fried walleye, drank my first old fashioned, drove around in an RTV, had a stomachache, and found two ticks on me. Since being back, I've showered, repeatedly checked my scalp for more ticks, and researched the symptoms of Lyme Disease. Fortunately, feeling perfectly healthy is not a symptom.

-Did you know that Rachel and I met Librarian Girl and Nordic Boy? Yeah, they're like the Joanne Woodward/Paul Newman of the internet (and, it turns out, of the real world), only I doubt what Paul and Joanne could contribute to conversations about sustainable living and throw-up (not discussed all at once).

-I have to go to work. Boo.

-Please watch this music video: Smell Yo Dick. Sorry, it won't let me embed.

Lance who?

2009-06-23T16:20:00.000-07:00

See this group of intense and professional looking bikers? Well, the one in the red (the one that's still on his pedals, not the one under all of the wheels) is the Pop Quiz Brother. In only a couple of years, he has gone from bike hobbyist to full-on racer. He's currently in the throes of an incredibly intense racing schedule and I couldn't be more proud.

Someone sponsor the man already!

Awful Man

2009-06-22T20:37:00.000-07:00

I am terrified that I was the inspiration for this article.

Sweat

2009-06-22T19:45:00.000-07:00

So, the Summer of '09 officially kicked off yesterday and I sit as living proof of that. I write, sweating my balls off, from my couch. Or I would be if I had balls... but even then, I wouldn't have balls because they would have been sweat off. Oy! This heat is making me talk crazy. Seriously, Wisconsin! Must we resort to such extremes? Cold and dry. Hot and humid. How about warm with a soft breeze? Too much to ask? Blah. I bitch, but Madison summers are known for being crazy awesome. All of the students are gone, so the townies get to reclaim their city for a few months, which means late night patio drinks, seeing free music at the Union, biking, and eating amazing local produce.

Speaking of fun summer activities, today I went with some friends to Lake Ripley in Cambridge, WI. Did you know that Madison's lakes are supposedly unswimmable? They are, which is why we have to drive a half-hour to go swimming. Not that I'm complaining. Lathering up with sunscreen, cracking a High Life, and blasting some Santogold- I don't think that I could ask for much more. It was so relaxing that I even fell asleep for a bit, face-down into my towel.

Tomorrow is going to be in the nineties and I'm searching desperately for some air-conditioned space to sit in for a few hours. I think the closest that I'll get is sitting in my mom's shadowy downstairs, drinking smoothies, and watching hours of Generation Kill (which, by the way, is turning me into an even angrier person). In the evening, I'll be celebrating my roommate's birthday with a soiree at our house that will include pizzas baked in ovens (ick) and whole bunch of white wine (yay).

This was the worst blog post ever. Sorry, but I'm feeling a complete blog-related lethargy (blogthargy?) and I fear that, if I don't push through it now, it might be September before I post again.

Better stuff to come, I swear.

My muffin top is all that

2009-05-31T11:51:00.000-07:00

Internet, I have once again failed you. But I have excuses! Travel! Interviews! Exams! Funerals (boo)! Internet outages! House guests! Dance parties! See, I wasn't just watching Real Housewives marathons- I was actually leading a busy life. When I did have a bit of leisure time, I was sleeping. Perhaps it says something about leading a pretty privileged life, but I'm not used to actually feeling sleepy when I go to bed. Tired, sure, but it usually takes me at least an hour to actually fall asleep Lately, however, I've been out soon as my head hits the pillow.

I mean it sincerely when I tell you that I've missed blogging. So many weird things have happened that have made me think 'ah, man. I can't wait to blog about this,' but then I get home and my roommate's mom from Canada is sleeping on the couch or I realize that I've been living in squalor for the past few months and I can't put off cleaning anymore or another one of the billion things that I have to do pops up and I forget all about it. Either that or I pull a Dr. Spaceman and try to remember to blog about it later by repeating it three times out loud. Even now, I should be doing some stupid stats homework (summer classes make my heart hurt), but instead, I'm writing you. See, that is what I call loyalty.

What I'm really about to do right now is take said stats homework and go to the pool where I will proceed to blind everyone with my glorious white flab. Even worse, I couldn't find my flattering swimsuit so the other patrons will get a delicious dose of muffin top. Jealous?

I PROMISE I WILL POST TOMORROW.

2009-05-28T22:11:00.000-07:00

I PROMISE I WILL POST TOMORROW. I PROMISE I WILL POST TOMORROW. I PROMISE I WILL POST TOMORROW. I PROMISE I WILL POST TOMORROW. I PROMISE I WILL POST TOMORROW. I PROMISE I WILL POST TOMORROW. I PROMISE I WILL POST TOMORROW. I PROMISE I WILL POST TOMORROW. I PROMISE I WILL POST TOMORROW. I PROMISE I WILL POST TOMORROW. I PROMISE I WILL POST TOMORROW. I PROMISE I WILL POST TOMORROW.

Saying it enough times will undoubtedly make it happen... right?

New York Post Lacking in Transitions

2009-05-10T21:00:00.000-07:00

Hi friends! It’s been awhile and BOY have I missed you! I’m sad to say that some serious things have kept me away from the internet. A week ago Thursday, a good friend passed away after a long battle with ALS. I’ve tried to write a couple of posts regarding this remarkable woman, but they never came out right. This small mention will have to do until I can write something more profound and elegiac (which might be never). Needless to say, the loss has thrown my preparation for finals into pandemonium and I’ve been scrambling to catch up even with hand full of extensions.

Onto happier news, I am currently watching Seinfeld in my tiny New York hotel room and trying to calm my nerves for my big interview tomorrow. I cannot express how much I want this, but I’ll try… I WANT IT I WANT IT I WANT IT I WAAAAAANT IT! Again, I’m not so sure what I can reveal about the job itself, but I’ll tell you that it would be for a very popular comedy show with an amazing writing staff. Okay, I’m working myself into a tizzy.

New York is awesome, but I gotta tell you that I’m a little mixed about seeing such beautiful people mixing about with us normal folk. Honestly, a girl can’t swing a mediocre arm without hitting a pack of super models. Just kidding. My arm is certainly not mediocre. Despite being surrounded by the prettiest humans on the planet, I feel so comfortable here—all of my city-related anxiety slipped away within my second lap around Union Square. I’m sure life gets harder when you actually live here and can’t afford to drop thirty bucks per meal. If I get the internship, I guess I’ll find out seeing how it’s unpaid and all. If I’m lucky, they’ll give me a subway pass and a “good luck.”

As you probably know, I’m not above getting into pop culture and the world of celebrity. Celebrity sightings so far? First, I saw the not so famous Maria Thayer from Strangers with Candy and, more recently, an episode of 30 Rock (double squee!). Then, as my friend and I ate Indian food at a sidewalk café in the East Village, Julia Stiles walked by holding a potted orchid. This wouldn’t have been so weird if she wasn’t just going into a restaurant with some dude.

“Are orchids the new thing that celebrities carry?” my friend asked. We both agreed that it should be.

Back to Julia. She was very pretty and was wearing an enviable blazer. She also seemed to know the people of the neighborhood. I don’t know why this surprised me, but it did and it was pleasant to see (or at least try to see out of my periphery—I’m not that rude, people). It wasn’t the best celebrity sighting ever, but the seventh grade Pop Quiz Kid would have died of joy. I used to live on a diet of Ten Things I Hate About You and idolized Stiles’ Kat Stratford. So, high-five to twelve-year-old me.

Okay, bed time. Wish me luck tomorrow.

Shuster, you might just have to make some room

2009-04-16T20:06:00.000-07:00

I’m debating setting up a twitter account. I know that twitter is old news and every blogger and their mothers have covered it, but I’m a little behind, nay, reluctant on the times. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t judge the twitterers out there, I just know that I will go bananas over it and waste hour after hour writing things like, “I just ate my third bowl of Raisin Bran” or “What would happen if I was given a chance to swap bodies with a turtle?” Maybe it could be kind of funny. I’m probably better in short form. In fact, I suggest that you only read one to two sentences of my blog per day. It’ll make more sense over time.

I don’t know what’s holding me back. I rock those Facebook status updates like a motha fucka, so it’s not like I’m all worried about being self-indulgent (this blog is evidence enough of that). I’m not afraid of sharing the mundane details of my life, either. In fact, I’m always terribly surprised when someone isn’t entertained by my stories about seeing a bee on my run or trying a new shampoo.

Chances are that I’ll be signed up for one by the weekend. I remember when a friend first had to “talk” me into a Myspace account (ah, when the world was as simple as Myspace). The conversation pretty much went like this:

PQK: I don’t want a Myspace account. They’re so trendy.
Friend: I don’t know, you should get one just t—
PQK: OKAY!

I guess I just need to wrap my head around how much time will be devoted to tweeting (right?). To be fair, I did finally finish watching The Wire so I got a little bit more time on my hands. It’s not like I’m some sort of nerd who’ll now use those hours productively. Jeeze.

Tell me readers, do you twitter? Would you read my twitter? Are you proud of me for not saying twatter once this entire post? Cause believe me, I wanted to.

P.S. Something awesome happened to me yesterday. It’s likely that I’ll be flying out to NYC to interview for my dream internship. I’ll keep it vague until I know whether or not it’s okay to be specific. We wouldn’t want this little po’dunk blog to ruin the chance of lifetime, would we?

I Love You, Unappealing Nerd

2009-04-06T20:53:00.000-07:00

Last night, I went to see Adventureland. Going to movie theaters automatically puts me on edge because I have absolutely no patience for youths or anyone else who feels like their conversation is worth more than the 10 bucks I paid to see the movie. It’s even more stressful because I always feel obligated to say something or at least throw some blatantly dirty looks. But last night’s anxiety didn’t even have to wait until the movie started to peak. It happened during the previews. More specifically, it happened during this preview:

So, no. It wasn’t the talking that did me in. Actually, for the most part, the teenage boys that made up the rest of the audience controlled themselves relatively well even though they might have been disappointed (the movie is certainly not what it’s advertised to be). What did me in was the concept for this super piece of shit movie that’s been made, I don’t know, a thousand times. Okay, here’s the formula:

Ingredients:
(1) Geek
(1) Popular Hot Girl (PHG). She can be a prom queen or a head cheerleader. If you’re lucky enough, she’ll be both. Big boobs and short skirts a must.
(1-2) Overly involved comical parent(s)
(1+) Adversary. This can be a school bully, former love interest of hot girl, friend of hot girl, or jock.

Plot:
Throughout high school, geek lusts after PHG from afar. Even though he’s never spoken to her, he feels like he knows the real her because, you know, she’s so hot and geeks can magically see hot girls’, especially the popular ones, inner sadness and depth. At the end of their senior year, geek realizes that he must tell her how he feels because he’s going away to college and he wants to spend his summer boning. But wait! PHG has asshole boyfriend/ex/friend who might stand in geek’s way. Oh well. He’s going to tell her how he feels anyway and in a large public setting because who cares about PHG’s feelings or embarrassment? PHG responds positively! Geek and PHG spends a wild night together in which the Adversary somehow intervenes. Geek overcomes Adversary and learns to be a man. PHG realizes what it’s like to be treated right. The promise of sex is made, if not fulfilled.

Realistic, right? Cause all any girl wants is an unattractive and insecure boy who wants to use your vagin—erm, personality to become the man that he probably will never be. Have you learned your lesson, boys? Set your sights on the most popular bitchy girl in school who you ultimately know nothing about and then… what? Oh, that’s right. Be turned down. And then turn into one of those guys (I know several) who seem to think that women’s sole purpose is to be two-faced (even though she probably never gave you any sign that she liked you in the first place). Meanwhile, ignore your nerdy lab partner who is probably right on your social level and who you’ve actually had a conversation with. Yeah, ignore her because it’s totally reasonable for a PHG to accept your love for Magic: The Gathering (she’s a stuck-up and shallow bitch if she doesn’t), but you should never be expected to do the same for anyone else.

Does this go both ways? Are not-hot geeky girls cinematically paired with the popular guy? No, because for this to happen, the geeky girl has to be secretly hot. They’ll try to sneak this up on you. Maybe they’ll even have her, yeesh, working for a living. But don’t worry. When the Auntie Anne’s Pretzel uniform comes off, no one would have any clue that she comes from a working class background and probably likes books. If anything, the popular guy only helps free the Queen Bee that’s always been hiding within. It’s just a reminder, ladies, that the world is your oyster as long as you focus your energies on men who are less good looking than you (date someone equally as attractive at your own risk). I don’t know about you, but my standards feel refreshingly low. How freeing.

On a side note, Adventureland was really wonderful, although I do agree with Blythe: Kristen Stewart lacks range. How surprising. Still, I get so excited seeing Bill from Freaks and Geeks all grown up and getting work. As I mentioned before this movie is not what it's been marketed as (a slapstick comedy). Rather it's a really tender coming of age story with an awesome (non-ironic) 80's soundtrack. Also, it's really nice to see a movie about people my age who are in similar situations (so what if their situation occurs the year I was born). Even though we (21-23 year-olds) are such a large and important demographic, few stories are written about us. Yes, poor us.

Oh, and fun trivia! Jesse Eisenberg, who played the lead in Adventureland, is this girl's brother. Now, when I see him I can only think of old Pepsi commercials.

The PQK says the darndenst things...

2009-04-03T14:15:00.000-07:00

Happy Friday, my pets! I'm coming off of a nutty week and finally have time for an entry. It's going to be mind bloggling! Sorry for the wordplay- like I said, this week's been hectic and my brain feels like a fried egg. Wait, I'm not sorry. I live for lame wordplay. But this is not what I want to talk with you about.

Often times, the voice inside my head doesn't sound like the voice that ends up coming out of my mouth (somehow this sounds so vulgar). I don't mean this in an "I hate the way my voice sounds on tape" kind of way, although I totally get that. I still can't listen to the recording of me singing "Leaving on a Jet Plane" at the 7th grade talent show even though it's been however many years since then. What I mean is that sometimes I'll move to say something and it will come out completely crazy. And these are just normal sentences like "are we out of milk?," not naturally crazy sentences like "what do you think a burger made of Candace Cameron would taste like?" (readers?)

The other day, I was in a coffee shop studying when some dude approached and asked if he could take my table's vacant chair. Nobody was joining me and I didn't need a foot rest, so I just said, "Yeah, sure" and then went back to reading Faulkner or what have you.

WRONG. That's what I thought to have happen, but what actually happened was this:

Gentleman: May I take this chair?
PQK: (snapping her head up, eyes full of crazy) YES, PLEEEEEEEEEEASE!
Gentleman: (pauses; looks at floor; looks at chair; looks at PQK; takes chair; walks away)

Other examples of this happening in my life:

In a public restroom:

Girl: Excuse me, do you have a tampon?
PQK: SURE!
(what could be more creepy than someone who's REALLY excited to give you a tampon?)

Or sometime the slip is more action based:

Running into a classmate:

PQK: God, I run into you everywhere! (proceeds to walk into door)
(note: this happened to me today)

Does this happen to you, readers? For me, it's actually a blessing that most of these entries are typed. If anything is demonstrated by the above scenarios, who knows. I may have actually sung "does this happen to you" out loud, complete with high kicks, and still be none the wiser.

In other news, I really don't want to go to work tonight.

"Out of Order" indeed

2009-03-29T16:48:00.000-07:00

It's a good thing they posted that sign. Otherwise, who knows how long I would have stood there trying to make the right-hand dryer work.

And yes, I was taking photos in a public bathroom. No, I don't see anything wrong with that.

Today's Word of The Day: WRATH!

2009-03-25T17:48:00.000-07:00

My grandfather (who hails from Great Britain) has survived at least three car accidents in his seventies. I think that my English accent here might be what finally does him in.

I don't want to be your weekend lover...

2009-03-22T22:00:00.000-07:00

Generally, I try to avoid dating or any type of sexually charged mingling of the sexes. Lingering glances and touches make me feel claustrophobic; I can’t function in a conversation that lacks boner jokes; and, to me, “sexy” means putting on a clean bra and possibly deodorant. Despite my better efforts, I occasionally find myself in situations where people somehow manage to test my unreasonable and unmoving boundaries and see past my unwelcoming attitude (usually through vast consumption of alcohol). So was last night when I went to see a friend’s band play at a local club. Just so you don’t assume that I constantly wallow in a pool of self-pity and deprecation, I’ll admit that I was feeling pretty good. My hair was doing nice things for me, my skin was all aglow, and for once I managed to look not like a complete A-hole (A=ass) in skinny jeans. Not unrelated, I drank a gimlet after work AND am trying this new thing where I don’t send out unwelcoming vibes. Anyway, sitting at a table with my friend, a bunch of dudes suddenly saddled up like we invited them or something. Naturally, I started trying to play wingman for my girl, saying stuff like “She’s real smart at college” and “I hear she gives a sweet beege,” but more and more this one guy kept turning to me and asking me what I studied, where I’m from, etc. More than that, he kept touching my arm. WHO DOES THAT? Not I, that’s for sure. Ignoring my natural instinct to run home and watch old episodes of Perfect Strangers on the computer, I decided to be brave and try and do what comes naturally to others.

Things were going… okay. The guy had an ironic mustache, which never bodes well, but he also went to Berkley, which means that he’s probably pretty smart. So, for a while, I hung in there and I can’t stress enough how unusual that is for me. But then he said this:

“Yeah, I’m sort of a connoisseur of cities.”

What. The. Fuck. Before you think that I’m being too hard on the guy, let me tell you how unbelievably pretentious this sounded: SO UNBELIEVABLY PRETENTIOUS. That’s when I got up and left the table for a “closer look at the band.” Later in the night, a couple of friends approached me to plead his case.

“PQK,” one said. “You were just the other day saying that you don’t get touched enough.” (note: I was joking when I said that)

“He’s a really nice guy,” the other said.

“I’m not really the ‘in town for the weekend’ type of girl,” I said, diplomatically.

A little bit later, I felt someone’s hand on my messenger bag. Turning around, I saw The Guy. Naturally, I said the first thing that came to mind:

“Are you trying to mug me?”

Apparently, he wasn’t (though I’m still suspicious). Turns out, he was just checking out the buttons on my bag.

“Oh,” I said. “That one’s from Lula Café in Chicago. Have you ever been there?”

“No,” he replied. “Which is weird because I’m sort of a connoisseur of cafes.”

I am not kidding. He dropped the C-bomb TWICE. And yes, this post merits lots of caps locks. But the fun doesn’t stop there. No, he followed it up with something equally uncomfortable and self-conscious:

“PQK, how do you feel about candidness?”

Candidly, I think questions like that are reserved for bullshit, whimsical hipster rom-coms, but I think I actually answered with something along the lines of “if you don’t have anything nice to say…”

“Well, candidly,” he continued. “I think [insert comment about my looks that I'm to embarrassed to type here].” (at least the guy has good tastes. har har)

“Candidly,” I said, almost puking with nervousness. “That girl is dancing crazy.” And then I pointed to some crazy dancing girl. And side shuffled away, muttering “thanks.”

I’m asking you, Internets, is this sort of thing normal? Is this how men and women usually strive to interact with each other? Maybe I just grew up with too many male friends, which means that I openly scoff at lame comments like a sister rather than say “connoisseur of cities and cafes, eh? That is sexually appealing to me somehow” like a flirt. All I know is that, for once, it was so satisfying to go home to my own bed and sleep alone, clutching my laptop. Call it sad, but it cannot be anymore depressing than bragging to random girls in bars (as nice as their hair may look). Besides, how can I fit into that world? What can I say back? I guess I’m a connoisseur of Buffy episodes. I’m a connoisseur of bagels. I kick ass at Trivial Pursuit: Pop Culture Edition. Jaded as I may come off, I’m convinced that one day I’ll meet someone who will be impressed by these things, but I highly doubt that he is the type of person who continually takes pictures of himself (this guy did) and has facial hair that is intentionally stupid.

I know this post is about a mile long, but I'd like to give the gents out there some advice that I'm completely unqualified to give:

-Beards can be good if kept neat. Mustaches are just awful no matter how great your fixed-gear is.
-Be sincere. If you love to ride that fixed-gear, by all means, ride that fixed gear. Just don't do it if you don't actually give a shit about bikes. The same can be said for conversations. Rehearsed sentences like "how do you feel about candidness" come off as just that: rehearsed. It's not quirky. It's awkward. Just talk.
-If you want my attention, be funny, be smart, be humble. That's really all there is to it (is that so hard?). Oh, and be wicked good looking.

And now a note to my friends:

It's become clear that you have no idea what my type is. I know that I'm into fashion, but, in the end, it comes down to the fact that I would date a guy in cargo shorts over a guy wearing raw denim as long as Mr. Cargo Shorts would repeatedly watch Wet Hot American Summer with me and make me laugh. Also, I kind of like socially integrated nerds (meaning a nerd that can handle drinking a beer at a bar with a small group of people, not nerds who solely date through online gaming). I've crushed on many a T.A. even though there are more stylish people in class. It's way cooler to know about Shakespeare than it is to complain about how Animal Collective have sold out with their newest album. I guess what I'm saying is that I appreciate the effort. You're just trying to help cure the social awkwardness and loneliness that I wear way too obviously. But please, stop pushing me towards boring people who are later randomly described to me as an "arrogant asshole" and a "pretentious prick."

Oh, and P.S., the night wasn't a total waste. I definitely danced the "Tootsie Roll" along side one of Kanye West's stylists. Ah, brushes with fame...ish.

Breakdown

2009-03-22T19:23:00.001-07:00

snowdrops

buds

delicious smoothies

my dog refusing to sit still so that I can take his picture...

...but insisting on being in others.

new shoes

short sleeves

and nothing productive.

go go gadget flow

2009-03-17T17:48:00.000-07:00

Thank the Lord for it is finally SPRING BREAK! And we all know how much He (and the chancellor) has to do with that. And how have I been using my free time? No, not sitting around while I stupidly laugh at YouTube videos and eat bagels. No, not crying either. Instead, I spent the weekend hanging out in Chicago with two of my dear friends. We all threw in for a hotel room off of Michigan Ave. and just took our sweet time riding the L, eating food, and shopping.

Highs:
-Sitting in the sun, drinking viogner, and eating a crab cake sandwich at bin
-Bruschetta and duck breast at my favorite Chicago restaurant lula
-A gin, cucumber, mint, and rose water cocktail
-Browsing Crossroad Trading Co.
-Finding these:

-Not being surrounded by the same old boring white people (not that I'm anything but)

Lows:
-Sleeping at The Red Roof Inn
-Dirty carpets at The Red Roof Inn
-Bugs in the bathroom at The Red Roof Inn
-Boring breakfast at The Bongo Room
-Telling my friends that they could go ahead while I was browsing Crossroad Trading Co., them going ahead, me feeling my natural inclination toward jealousy, then me throwing internal tantrum as I walked to find them.
-Trying on awesome glasses. Awesome glasses costing $375.00. Not buying glasses.

Overall, great weekend.

Looking Forward to... Sunshine Cleaning

2009-03-11T21:49:00.000-07:00

So, I've decided that I'm excited for this new movie Sunshine Cleaning. For those who don't know, it's a movie about two sisters who start a crime scene clean-up business. Crime scene clean-up is a job that's fascinated me since a middle school friend (I was in middle school, too, so nothing creepy here) was reading a book on the world's weirdest jobs. One of the people they talked to was a man who loved cleaning up crime scenes so much that his marriage broke-up over it and he didn't even care (lots of creepy there). Believe me, this is a job that I'd never want to pursue (I can barely look at roadkill), but it seems, just like with Six Feet Under, a great backdrop for family drama and humor to ensue.

Here's the preview:

Other reasons I'm excited to see this movie:

1. I love Any Adams for inexplicable reasons. I saw her in Central Park once while I was visiting New York. She was there filming Enchanted and I obnoxiously bring up the encounter whenever I see anything related to the movie. I also think that she has perfect skin and hair. This isn't exactly a deep basis to love some one, but, then again, I'm a remarkably shallow person.

2. Begrudgingly, I have gotten over the fact that John Krasinski is dating Emily Blunt instead of dating me. I've even gotten to the point where, after seeing Emily Blunt in interviews, I think that she is funny, smart, and charming. I kinda want to go out for drinks with her and Mandy Moore (my other celebrity best friend). I'm pretty sure that the three of us could have a pretty good time and they'd probably be up for ordering wings or something.

3. They use a Decemberists song (The Crane Wife 3) in the preview. As much as people call The Decemberists too precious or nerdy, I continue to love them more than almost any other band. Their concert was probably one of the most fun that I've ever attended. If you aren't familiar, check them out here and be prepared to think, "wow, they ARE nerdy."

See ya at the flickers!

There's a pedophile in the school

2009-03-10T21:16:00.000-07:00

Alright, one midterm paper down and another to go by Friday. Totally doable. Maybe I'll even try to finish it tomorrow so when Thursday night rolls around and I'm all "OH MY GOD, I HAVE A PAPER DUE TOMORROW!" I can tell myself to take a deep breath and relax cause that shit is done, son!

In other news, I've faced two vigorous academic critiques in the last two days and I am burned out on criticism. Last night, my short story was workshopped for the first time this semester. The instructor for this class is kind of a big deal in the literary world (not to give it away, but she's been published in The New Yorker, is frequently mentioned in the New York Times, has published several successful books, and will casually mention hanging out with John Updike (RIP) like it ain't no thang). Needless to say, I was pretty nervous, especially because I didn't think that my short story was all that great. Thankfully, she loved it. The rest of my class? Not so much. I really like receiving constructive criticism, but struggle when it's coming from a group of college-aged boys who possess the emotional intelligence of the lamp that's currently lighting my keyboard. These are people who can't understand that marriages and families can fall or drift apart without someone cheating or a bomb exploding. Bleh, maybe I'm not open to constructive criticism as much as I thought. When reviewing my classmates' work, I try to be very honest and put social niceties aside. My inner narcissist tells me that this is why a lot of them said the things that they did about my story. You know, to get back at me. In truth, they were probably doing me the same favor that I try and do them. Even the positive response from the professor is getting me all agitated. This class is now mine to lose and my next story needs to be even better...

Moving on. Today in theater class, we worked my scene in front of everyone. My character carries the majority of the lines for the part that we were working, so I got to experience my drama teacher in her full-on crazinesss, with hardly anyone else to distract her. Have any of you taken drama classes? If you have, you'll have found that the instructors for these classes are some of the most intense and wacked-out people in the world. Take Mr. G for example. This is what I deal with twice a week:

(she actually has made us participate in improve exercises similar to Mr. G's evacuation procedures).

This afternoon, she kept saying, "What is your motivation here?" "Um," I'd say. "Power?" "Simplify!" she'd yell. So, I'd say "being right?" "No, more complex!" And that's when my head exploded and I had to leave the class to go to the hospital and have it slowly and painfully put back together. Even now, in recovery, I can hear her shouting "Consistency is the death of acting!" right in my purple and bleeding ear. She's right, but jeez, it's not worth a girl's head exploding and all.

Needless to say, I'm having an intense need for coddling and self-assurance, so I guess I'll go spoon my pillow and stroke my own hair. Admit it. You want my life.

We don't read too good

2009-03-09T20:38:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Washington Post writer Ron Charles posted an article on the the sorry states of college students' bookshelves.

In 1969, when Alice Echols went to college, everybody she knew was reading "Soul on Ice," Eldridge Cleaver's new collection of essays. For Echols, who now teaches a course on the '60s at the University of Southern California, that psychedelic time was filled with "The Autobiography of Malcolm X," "The Golden Notebook," the poetry of Sylvia Plath and the erotic diaries of Anaïs Nin.

Forty years later, on today's college campuses, you're more likely to hear a werewolf howl than Allen Ginsberg, and Nin's transgressive sexuality has been replaced by the fervent chastity of Bella Swan, the teenage heroine of Stephenie Meyer's modern gothic "Twilight" series. It's as though somebody stole Abbie Hoffman's book -- and a whole generation of radical lit along with it.

I'm not out to prove Charles wrong. In fact, when I see former classmates' facebook statuses that read "So and so is... in love with Edward Cullen," it makes me puke a little bit. And then there's the whole mess of cleaning off my keyboard and changing shirts which is just a pain. You know, it even makes me a little nauseous just knowing that I know who Edward Cullen is (an abstinent vampire? Come on!).

I guess what I want to know is why people like me and my friends are never polled for these articles. I'm their demographic, aren't I? I'm a 22 year old college student and I own three bookshelves worth of books and they range from graphic novels to Milton to Bronte to "The Autobiography of Malcolm X" to, yes, Harry Potter. And most of the people I spend time with have bigger and more eclectic bookshelves than I do.

Charles makes a point that our generation is lacking a voice like that of Kerouac (honestly, the Beats can keep him). Maybe, but what about popular and smart writers like David Sedaris or Jonathan Safran Foer? What about Jhumpa Lahiri? Chuck Klosterman? Chuck Palahniuk? Certainly all of these authors say something about the current generation, but what they're saying is different from what Ginsberg and Kerouac had to say. The authors of the 60's were rebelling against the rigidity and social expectations of the time. Now we're put in a position to rebel against our parents' generation, a generation that expects and, to some extent, respects rebellion.

He also writes:

According to the Chronicle of Higher Education, the best-selling titles on college campuses are mostly about hunky vampires or Barack Obama. Recently, Meyer and the president held six of the 10 top spots. In January, the most subversive book on the college bestseller list was "Our Dumb World," a collection of gags from the Onion. The top title that month was "The Tales of Beedle the Bard" by J.K. Rowling.

First, if you don't think The Onion offers commentary on who we are as a generation you're drinking stupid sauce. Secondly, who is to say that reading Barack Obama now is any less valuable than reading Malcolm X then? Are they not comparable in literary worth? Sure, Malcolm X's life is more intense and filled with sordid details, but either represents important movements in history. And you know what? The Harry Potter series was great and encouraged millions of kids to turn off their TVs and read. Twilight? Beyond being a vampire enthusiast (note: not fetishist), I obviously have problems with it, but more for it's deeply rooted sexism than for its popularity.

We should also note how many more forms of media are effecting us now. We have blogs, viral videos, and the ability to download movies straight on to our personal computers. We have TV shows like The Wire, Mad Men, 30 Rock, etc. We have podcasts. I'm not going to get on a high horse and say that all of this technology is bad. If anything, we should accept that new forms of media are influencing us and look for movements and voices within these forms.

Lastly, and I'm not sure if things were any different then, academics have crushed my ability to read for pleasure, at least while the semester is going. In the last two months, I've probably read 15 authors and none of these were simply because I wanted to. After hours of reading for curriculum, who can blame me for wanting to curl up in front of The Office rather than with a copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance or read blogs over The Sun Also Rises?

I just realized that I have no idea what this entry is about. Sorry for the ranty-ness, internet.

Why Miss March, you're beautiful.

2009-03-06T14:01:00.000-08:00

Dear March,

I've just gotta say that I really like what you're doing these days. To be honest, I've always thought that you were just a lackey of February. I mean for so long you've dressed alike (meaning in buckets of dirty ice and snow) and acted alike (bitchy), so how can you can you blame me. But now? You're really coming into yourself and, dare I say it? I find you quite attractive. Who would have thought that under all that slush was shapely sidewalks and sweet smelling mud. Yesterday, I even went for a run with you outside and we didn't lack for conversation or good humor. I didn't have to curse you as I pulled on my stupid boots and dirty coat. Oh no, all I had to wear was a hoody and, as you remember, it was too much clothing.

I hope this isn't just a faze. According to the weather website, you're looking like this nice new you is here to stay. Sure, there's one day next week where you dip down to 32-degrees, but, hey, I have days that I'm feeling a little cold, too. In fact, I have many days like that so I won't be throwing any stones your way, my friend. Still, let's be straight-forward, shall we? I hate game playing. You've been a tease in the past. First it's all "Hey PQK, I love you. Here's some spring" and then the next day it's suddenly "I'm gonna throw some snow and cold in your face, so suck it." Of course, I'll respond "no, you suck it" and then we'll get into some weird wrestling match of the most unsexy variety.

I'm sorry. You're right. Let's not dwell on what could be and focus on what is. Yes, it's a 55-degree day out and I will probably bike to work for the first time since November. This is the nicest present that you could give a girl.

XOXO,

PQK

The gramps are alright...

2009-03-04T16:52:00.001-08:00

I have an exam on Friday and two papers due next week. I need to fill out a lease application and write a cover letter and resume for a couple of internships I’m planning on applying for. Naturally, I’m spending my time blogging the following incoherent post.

First, I don’t hate Jimmy Fallon like everybody else seems to. I found his interview with Tina Fey last night to be incredibly endearing. Just want to get that off my chest.

Second and more importantly, I’ve come into a new discovery. It turns out that my pops decided to share my blog URL with my grandparents. I learned this through a series of birthday cards in which relatives mentioned this very website. Needless to say… yikes. It’s not that I write anything offensive about my grandparents here, it’s that I write many offensive things about everything else. Even my grammar is occasionally offensive, sometimes intentionally. What can I say? You can’t tame the beast. I was also embarrassed because I may every-so-often have a blog breakdown. A blogdown, if you will. Or is that what you call a party where everyone blogs and dances? Not that I believe in emotional dishonesty, but I’m not quite sure how I feel about my grandparents knowing about my pre-birthday freak-out. My dad was shocked when I confronted him about this, saying, “what? Strangers can know about these things, but you don’t want your family to know?” Well, yes. You see, there’s a nice boundary between me and all of you and I don’t really care if you judge me because, chances are, I’ll never hear about it. Speaking of boundaries, there are things that grandparents might not want to know or need to know about a girl. For example, I just coughed and my ovary hurt. I probably have cancer. This is something my sweet grandma needn’t hear about.

When I first heard about the leak (yes, I’m that important), I was pretty angry with my father. What does this mean for the Pop Quiz Kid? Do I censor myself a bit more? Start a new blog and give up the five readers that I’ve built up over the past year? Or do I say to hell with it? After sleeping on it for a week, I decided on the last option. Maybe I need to give my grandparents more credit and accept that they can handle the occasional anal sex joke.

What it comes down to is that I’m looking to form a career out of comedy and writing and how do you do that without ruffling a few feathers along the way? If my GPs don’t like what they read, I’ll take this moment to assure them that no matter how many times I talk about wanting to put my mouth on someone else’s mouth or accidentally write “their” instead of “there” (I know, totally embarrassing), I’ll still be the accommodating and grateful 4.0 student that comes to visit over the holidays. Read on, Dottie and Julian. I welcome you!

Early Birds

2009-02-25T17:13:00.000-08:00

Today, I went out for dinner with Rachel. At 4:30 P.M. This suited both of us fine.

Before going to the restaurant, she and I sat in the sun (41-degrees today, suckas) talking about the new apartment I'm hoping to rent.

"It's smallish, but the architecture is nice," I told her. "The only problem is that I hear that the building isn't very soundproof."
"That sucks," she replied.
"But I also hear that the crowd is pretty low key, so it's quiet by 10:30."
"No," she said. "It'll suck for you."
"Why? I don't listen to music or own a T.V. I never have people over either."
"I guess that only leaves the sound of you weeping."

Plurals

2009-02-25T16:52:00.000-08:00

A group of apes is called a shrewdness.
A group of bucks is called a clash.
A group of cobras is called a quiver
A group of cows is called a kine. A group of twelve cows is called a flink.
A group of crocodiles is called a float.
A group of curs (or mutts) is called a cowardice.
A group of goldfinches is called a charm.
A group of grayhounds is called a leash.
A group of hawks is called a kettle.
A group of jellyfish is called a smack.
A group of moles is called a labour.
A group of owls is called a parliament.
A group of peacocks is called an ostentation.
A group of pheasants is called a bouquet.
A group of rattlesnakes is called a rhumba.
A group of ravens is called an unkindness.
A group of rhino is called a crash.
A group of rooks is called a building or a clamour.
A group of starlings is called a murmuration.
A group of swans is called a lamentation.
A group of turtledoves is called a pitying.
A group of woodpeckers is called a descent.

For the Pop Quiz Mother

2009-02-20T19:27:00.000-08:00

Having mentioned my momma's birthday, I thought I'd share the card that I made her. It is, if I do say so myself, awesome. Hey, the card fits the lady.

It's true. I really do admire her. And she really is that chic.

Bucked up on nasal spray and optimism

2009-02-20T19:00:00.000-08:00

Just to let everyone know, I'm out of my funk. The day after I wrote that last entry, I got kind of sick, which explains (to an extent) my emotional hysteria. Yes, bring on the birthday and I'll be happy anyway that it comes (runny nose and all), just as long as I spend it with my family and closest friends (one of whom has taken off work to have dinner with me)!

Let's move on from less sentimental topics, shall we? Here are things that I should have been blogging about instead of feeling like a lame-dash-oh:

-How much I hate Terrance Howard
-A dream that I had in which I was helping Mary Louise Parker find a sperm donor. I referred her to my friend who happened to be OMAR from The Wire
-How much I love The Wire
-The awesome new art that I just got framed (more later).
-How my mother celebrated a birthday of her own.
-Needing to come clean about watching a full episode of Sober House with Dr. Drew.
-Having a coffee with the head writer of The Colbert Report (more later?).
-Anything else. Anything else at all.

PQK, it's your birthday. Happy Birthday, PQK.

2009-02-16T19:40:00.001-08:00

Do you remember that episode of The Simpson's where everyone forgets Lisa's birthday? The one where she sings "Happy Birthday to Me" while sitting in the dark, eating a lone cupcake? And then Bart cowrites a song with Michael Jackson and everything is all better?

Like I mentioned in my last post, my own birthday is coming up pretty quickly. Do to my recent lethargic attitude towards everything, I've been feeling pretty blah about it. I want something low-key and low pressure. I have no desire to have a party or go to a nice restaurant like I usually do. Instead, I'd rather go eat some samosas at my favorite Himalayan restaurant with my nearest and dearest before hitting up a bar and then returning home, relatively sober, by one.

Even with what I consider to be pretty frickin' low expectations, I'm already beginning to feel the dreaded clouds of disappointment gathering above my head. So far, it seems like everyone who I'd want to be with has to work. Some have even picked up shifts, knowing that it's my birthday. I also wrote in my facebook status that I would like people to come out. So far I have one response and it's from my friend S who would probably agree to go out and celebrate anytime you had a particularly satisfying jog. If the jog didn't go so well, he'd probably want to go out anyway. The calm, reasonable, and mature PQK tells me that these slights have absolutely nothing to do with me or how these people value my friendship. The louder less mature PQK is saying "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" So, right now I'm feeling pretty bummed. About a birthday that I didn't think I cared about in the first place.

Believe me, I know how immature I sound. But also believe me that I have a history of having parties that nobody showed up to, of people forgetting to pick me up on New Years, or, less painful maybe, sitting in a restaurant for a half hour before anybody else showed up. I would love to be a person who didn't care at all about my birthday, but every time it comes around, no matter how everything else in my life is going, I revert back into a sixteen year old girl, all dressed up for a celebration that only my parents will show up for. I hate how that sixteen year old version of myself manages to take over so easily, like the last six years of my life never even happened.

I just told my roommate that I don't want to do anything at all. I'm not sure if that's entirely truthful because, right now, all I can think about is sitting in a dark kitchen as I sing "Happy Birthday" to myself. I'm pretty sure that no one has time to team up with Michael Jackson and write a song for me. Besides, I don't really want to meet Michael Jackson anyways.

Urgh. I promise that this blog will get less maudlin any day now.

An Open Letter (To Myself)

2009-02-15T16:38:00.000-08:00

Dear Self,

Stop wallowing at your pity party. Winter happens to everybody and it's not an excuse to throw away your entire education. That's right. Now pick up your textbook and read a little Emerson. Yes, I know that you don't want to and that you'd rather be sitting in your sad worn-out underwear, stuffing your face with fig newtons. No, just because they have figs in them does not mean that they are healthy. On that note, go to the freaking gym. You're a student and it's free. They have these awesome machines that allow you to run in place while you watch TV or there's this other machine that allows you to walk up stairs that lead to nowhere. Throw a couple This American Life podcasts on your ipod, make a Prince playlist, and hustle. Not only will you look better, but you'll feel better, too. Trust me, I know you.

Now, once you do that, start putting other things into place. This blog? Severely neglected. Put your fingers to the keyboard. It's okay if you don't get any comments. It's just good to have it out there. While you're in front of the computer, set a little non-internet related writing time aside. You've had some short story ideas floating around since Christmas. Don't those ideas deserve to become tangible? And how about typing up a cover letter and applying for those internships that you were so excited for? I know that it's scary to apply and risk being rejected, but, if you don't, you'll never get anywhere. Remember that movie about that guy who sat around and never did anything exciting? You don't because they never made that movie. As a friend, I want your life to be bio-pic material. Think of who could play you! Dakota Fanning, perhaps? Deroda from Gossip Girl? The list goes on.

As soon as all of that mental clutter is cleared up, move on to the physical clutter. Actually, why wait. Get on it now. Girl, your room is disgusting. I thought that you had standards, but, being the you have to wade through wrinkled sweaters, thrice worn t-shirts, and the occasional crumpled-up shopping bag just to get to your closet, I was obviously wrong. You're not a lost cause, but you will be if you don't do some laundry. You'll appreciate this when you realize how much nicer people are to you when you don't have wine and cheeto stains down your front.

Did you know that next Saturday you'll be twenty-two years old? Can you figure out why that feels so much older than twenty-one? I'm not sure why, but I'll take a stab at it. I think that it's because you've made a lot of progress in this past year. Yeah, give yourself a pat on the back for confronting some things that certainly weren't easy and coming out the better for it. The process isn't over, which can be discouraging, but I'm sure that you can keep going. Don't pull the covers over your head, only to peer out when there happens to be something with Jon Hamm on T.V. Hop out of bed, slap on your reading glasses, some running shoes, and better yourself.

Lastly, give yourself a goddamn break. That's right, I'm a flip-flopper, but sometimes you gotta flip and other times you gotta flop. And no, this not an excuse to skip Emerson.

Love,
Me

Grrr.

2009-01-30T22:00:00.000-08:00

My people, I'm in a bad way. For one thing, I keep sensing Spring right around the corner and you know what? It most definitely is not right around the corner. Not by a long shot. That's right. We've got February, March, and probably most of April. I don't understand why my mind would play such a cruel trick on me. I'm like one of those dogs that starts to think that a stuffed animal is its puppy. Either way it ends in heartbreak. Not only am I ready to move on from winter, I'm sick of complaining about it and I LOVE to complain! I'll leave the winter rant at that.

There are other things holding me down, y'all. Work? Busting my balls. On the list of things that I complain about the most, weather is #1 and work is #2. Right now, there isn't a lot of benjamins being tossed my way with this whole economy fiasco. That's bad enough, but the bosses are choosing this time to be all "we're not providing uniforms anymore" and "you need to get your shirts dry-cleaned" or "blah blah teamwork through hard times." And I'm all "teamwork goes both ways" and "no, I won't pay to have my shirt cleaned because I'm not making any money." Plus, I kind of feel like I've somehow stumbled onto my manager's bad side and don't really know when this happened. All I know is that lately she's been scolding me like I'm in elementary school. I think that I'll shift back into her favor because, well, we're friends. Like 'have hung out outside of work' friends, but until that time when I'm welcomed back into the fold, I'll just have to give her no reason to be annoyed at me. When she picks me out of the crowd to quiz me on what grape varietal a Vouvray is, I can say "chenin blanc" and then we'll high five or maybe have a toast.

And then there's school life. It's not all bad. My classes are pretty interesting and I only have one day a week when I have to be on campus before noon (that day is Friday so some of my crankiness might be explained). Still, it kind of feels like my mind is still on vacation or maybe it's already graduated. It's the same with living in Madison. I'm here and will likely continue to be until I graduate (which is at least a year away), but my mind feels about a thousand steps ahead. Perusing Chicago apartment and job listings are a weekly event for me... or maybe it's just weekly torture.

In short, all I want to do is quit my job in exchange for one at The Daily Show, move to a big city (because then all of my problems will be solved, right?), and live in a world where it's only winter for a month out of the year. Or at least have a marathon of The Wire this weekend and not think about school or work or the cold. Until one of these options becomes true, I'll just look at this photo:

small spaces #1

2009-01-26T14:06:00.000-08:00

Come August, I will likely be making the move from a quaint three bedroom house to a studio apartment. These are sad tidings as I love where I live. The house is cute from the outside, cozily furnished from the inside, I've painted my room the perfect color, and one of my roommates often makes lasagna or other savory goodies that he is generally willing to share. Our living room is full of records and band equipment (none of which belong to me) that frequently provide a relaxing soundtrack to my Sunday mornings (as long as they stay away from reggae). As someone who has a hard time getting out, another perk of my living arrangement is having friends who live right across the hall. Alas, these friends are ready to move on to different things and I'm both too lazy and socially sensitive to try and find new roommates.

Luckily, I'm finding ways to stay positive about the whole thing. There are some great perks to living alone. For one, I get to go to bed without worrying whether or not I'll be woken up by my roommates when they come home at bar time (respectful as they are). And what if I don't want a Sunday morning soundtrack? No problem... unless I have awful neighbors.

One of the main things that I'm looking forward to is the prospect of decorating my own place and making the best out of a very small space. There will be no need to compromise if one roommate does not like this painting here or there. It will go where I like it. And if I stop liking it there? I will move it.

I've been spending a lot of time at interior design blogs like Apartment Therapy, looking for inspiration and have certainly found plenty. It's amazing what people do with small spaces.

Though I'm quite certain that I won't be moving to a tiny cabin, I do love the idea of it, right down to the dog on the porch.

STEVE HOLT!

2009-01-24T09:27:00.000-08:00

image taken from weheartit.

This is what I imagine Steve Holt's childhood to have been like had he grown up with a father.

Grass and suitcases

2009-01-21T17:07:00.000-08:00

Just to be clear, I'm not getting married. I don't mean that in an "I'm never getting married" type of way. I'm all for marriage. In fact, I think that any adult should have the right to experience wedded bliss. Or not. You know, do whatever is right for you. Boy, do I love rights. Back on topic, I'm currently not getting married, but that doesn't stop me from reading blogs from people who are. Recently, reading Cup of Jo, I found the most charming save-the-dates.

The couple, supposed middle school sweethearts (gag me with my own loneliness), lied in the grass to have this picture taken. Despite my bitterness, I love the way that it turned out.

Thank God...

2009-01-20T15:32:00.000-08:00

...I won't have to look at this stupid mother fucking piece of shit's face anymore.

A few notes on the inaguaration:

-I'm pretty sure that Cheney didn't actually hurt his back. They needed to use the wheelchair because the monster that lived in his body has vacated, leaving behind an humanish-looking shell that is completely inanimate when cut off from it's mother.

-Does any one think that the whole Rick Warren thing was worth it just to hear him try to make Sasha and Malia unneccessarily "ethnic" sounding?

-Did you hear people booing?

-Did ABC really have to keep noting that no one seemed to be wearing hats?
A. Who gives a shit?
B. Didn't Aretha Franklin's hat make up for the lack of others? Seriously, the thing should have gotten separate billing.

Good luck, Mr. President. I'm ready to paint the White House black.

"Your people will judge you by what you build, not what you destroy."

You Can Vote However You Like

2009-01-17T23:26:00.000-08:00

In her car, my mom likes to listen to the hip-hop station. The other day, we were driving and the song "Whatever You Like" came on, making her squeal with glee (an admitted overstatement on my part).
"This is T.I., I believe," she said.
What's funny is that I had no idea who it was because I never listen to the radio and, yes, had never heard the song before.

Today, combing the blogosphere, I came upon this little video that I'd like to dedicate to her.

1. My ovaries just exploded over the abundance of adorableness.
2. I know that the election is over.
3. They've been invited to perform at the inauguration!

Hey Girl

2009-01-17T22:46:00.000-08:00

So, there's this new website called Fuck Yeah! Ryan Gosling and the concept is kinda like lolcats, but, wait for it, instead it's about Ryan Gosling and what it would be like if he was your boyfriend and started every sentence with "Hey Girl." And (PLUS!) he speaks in grammatically correct(ish) complete sentences. Some of them are stupid and expected, like "Hey Girl, let's cuddle," but others are totally awesome.

Like this one.

Here are a few things that I would like to hear Ryan Gosling say:

"Hey Girl. The amount of time you spend on the internet makes you really attractive."

"Hey Girl. It's not unhealthy to find me most sexy when I play a skinny crack-addicted history teacher in "Half Nelson." P.S. I was awesome in that movie."

"Hey Girl. You can totally eat my left-overs."

"Hey Girl. No, I really would like to hear more about Chuck and Blair on last night's Gossip Girl."

Ring-A-Ding-Ding, 2009!

2009-01-13T13:17:00.000-08:00

As most bloggers know, there comes a point where you just don’t want to write anymore and think about throwing this whole blog thing to the wind. That’s how I’ve been feeling the past few weeks and am still feeling, but I decided to push through and type out an entry anyhow. It’s an exercise in creativity… or maybe narcissism… I’m not quite sure. Actually, I’ve been feeling quite creative lately. Not in the sense that I’m actually doing anything creative, but my mind seems to be brimming with ideas about short stories, screenplays, interior design, more web videos, etc. Only when it comes to fashion and blogging am I feeling blank. I sit down to write and end up watching an hour of ThunderAnt videos instead.

There are a lot of things to catch up on. We saw the end of 2008 and the beginning of 2009. I passed the New Year visiting my grandparents in Vancouver. On the plane ride out, I got sicker than I’ve ever been. I broke out into a cold sweat, got dizzy, turned white as a ghost, vomited multiple times, and felt like I had eaten a bowl of knives for breakfast. I suspect that this was caused by taking a percocet that didn’t belong to me just because the term “muscle relaxant” sounded nice for air travel (I get terrible travel anxiety). Let me be a lesson to you. Taking prescription drugs that don’t belong to you is never a good idea.

I stopped vomiting by the time we arrived in British Colombia, but the stress didn’t end there. Did you know that being around family is stressful? Did you know that being in Whistler whilst (alliteration! What-what!) having no interest in winter sports can be boring? I even tried tubing—turns out that sliding down a hill in cold snow is not that much fun. Did you know that it’s embarrassing to have a small emotional breakdown in a ski rental shop, no matter how nice your dad is being about it? Well, I know all of these things. Luckily, I also know that Vancouver has great shopping and restaurants, it’s great to celebrate my grandfather’s 77th birthday with him, and looking through old family photo albums is a fantastic way to spend an evening. In addition to that, I’ve discovered that I’m totally effing crazy for missing cold-ass Wisconsin so much and even more crazy for being so happy to be back and ready to start school.

Since I slacked in writing a “Happy New Year” post (Happy New Year, by the way), I wanted to use now to write out some of my resolutions. I don’t hate resolutions like some of my nearest and dearest. I think that we should strive for progression and that we need to allow change to enter our lives so that we can evolve. That being said, here are mine:

-Try not to talk bad about myself so much. I have a habit of self-deprecating when I get nervous and I’m really trying to stop.

-Stop bickering with my roommate so much. One of my roommates and I argue constantly about everything (except the house). Some company pointed this out to me and I realized how unattractive it is. Sure, a good debate here and there is fine, fun even, but to do it constantly just obnoxious.

-Be less passive in expressing what I want. It’s time to get aggressive in going after what I want in life. It’s not going to come to me.

-Be less crude… sometimes. I have a tendency to endearingly call people names like “cocksucker” or “twat face.” These names have a time and a place, but I can see how friends might become exhausted when I never call them by their actually names, insisting on using expletives instead. Sorry, guys.

-Lastly, be Tina Fey. I think that if I were to idolize anyone, it would be her. I love that she created her own career and has kept her (I hate this word) quirk. I think that she gives hope to those of us who are funny, clever, and have maybe blogged one too many times about certain science fiction T.V. shows. Congratulations on Globes, Miss Fey!

PQK out.

A Very Merry Pop Quiz Kid Christmas

2008-12-24T22:33:00.000-08:00

I made you a "thank you" video. It speaks for itself.

Happy Holidays!

The Neighbors Might Think

2008-12-22T14:29:00.000-08:00

My favorite holiday song has got to be "Baby, It's Cold Outside." I feel a little mixed about this. The song is basically a man pressuring his date to stay at his apartment against her better judgement because it's too cold to go home. He uses mystery drinks and guilt ("what's the sense of hurting my pride?") as his tactics of persuasion. As a self-professed feminist, the feeling of anticipation that this song gives me comes with a guilt of its own. I think that what I love about it IS its retro political incorrectness. If this song came out now, I'd be horrified, but imagining it in the 40's with a couple who wear fedoras and cloches and go dancing is somehow... charming. It's like watching the movie Sixteen Candles. Jake Ryan pretty much offers up his girlfriend's poon to the geek, saying that she's too drunk to know the difference between the two of them. We can only enjoy this because it's in retrospect (although that movie does make me a little squirmy). Maybe the lady-half of "Baby, It's Cold Outside" is using a couple persuasion tactics of her own, like a feigned naivete. I mean she is a smoker and drinker, so I think seducer is the natural next step. In that sense, our little snow vixen is quite empowering (yeah, I'm grasping at straws).

I've been on a holiday roll lately. I watched Elf the other day, last night was my family's holiday dinner, and tonight I'm going to my work's holiday party. I work with some awesome people, so I'm very excited and am gonna throw on a fancy dress. Wisconsin is not ignoring the winter spirit either. It's already snowed about 35 inches and, remarkably, I'm not about to stick my head in an oven. We'll see how long that lasts. Cue weather complaints in 3, 2, 1...

Pop Quiz Kid Goes Comic

2008-12-18T14:16:00.000-08:00

Wondering what I've been up to this week? No? Well, I'm gonna tell you anyway. This semester, I took a literature class on comic books. The class itself was a little more boring than it sounds, but it had an awesome reading list and it's pretty cool that it's offered at all. For the final paper, we were allowed to make our arguments in comic book form. I put a lot of work into mine (way more than if I had just written it normally), so I thought that I'd post it here! The argument itself might not make sense if you're unfamiliar with the technical aspects of comic books, so you might just want to look at the art. I now have a dowager's hump for sitting over these panels for so long!
1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

In case you're interested, the books that we read in class were Deogratias, Pride of Baghdad, DMZ: On the Ground, Barefoot Gen, Palestine, Ethel & Ernest, and Maus.

I would recommend all but Barefoot Gen, but that's just because I'm not a manga fan.

Tell me what you think!

Acting with James Franco

2008-12-15T13:30:00.000-08:00

James Franco is slowly winning me over. No, not through his supposedly great performance as Harvey Milk's lover in Milk, but through his acting video tutorials on FunnyOrDie.

Acting With James Franco Episode 1: "Sense Memory" by James Franco

Acting with James Franco Episode 2: "Green Screen" by James Franco

Acting with James Franco Episode 3: Scene Work by James Franco

Real post to follow.

Magic frame, pipe wrench guy

2008-12-04T21:36:00.000-08:00

Did the title of my last post make sense? I've stared at it for too long and can no longer tell.

Anyhoo, I'm coming out of my finals cave (it's littered with empty emergence-C packages and pieces of my brain from a self-performed lobotomy) to clue you into something amazing that you've all probably heard about months before me. Well, guess what? You're gonna hear about it again.

Ever watch the A-ha video for "Take on Me?" Ever wish they just sang exactly what was happening on screen? Wish granted.

Closing a chapter: NoBloPoMo

2008-11-30T21:14:00.000-08:00

So here we are at the end of November. I didn't think that I could do it when it was first suggested that I should participate in NoBloPoMo in the late days of October. I guess that I can smash this achievement in the face of my past self. Take that, Past Self! How dare you doubt me?! And you know what else? It wasn't that hard. Sure, I spent the last week blogging from a Las Vegas Whole Foods (they're stingy with the wifi on the strip), but I didn't struggle for lack of content. Sure, some posts were stronger than others (Buffy post vs, that post that I copied directly from Jezebel- not to say that I didn't give credit where credit was do), but, in the end, we've laughed together, cried together, and have grown together. This blog was once a seed. Now it's a seed that maybe has something growing out of it. Or maybe it's just a dud seed. Anyways, I'll sort of miss blogging everyday (not enough to keep it up) and look forward to next November.

It's probably for the best that I don't have to blog everyday over the next month for school is about to suffocate me in a sea of Paradise Lost papers, short story revisions, monologues, and comic lit. analysis.

See you on the other side.

Inappropriate Transitional Topics

2008-11-29T17:11:00.000-08:00

Remember what I said about taking kitsch back to my place for sexual intercourse? Strike that. I guess a three day kitsch binge will do that to a girl. It's like drinking too many Mike's hard lemonades in high school- you puke it up and then never want to touch it again... or at least not until the next party in Jenna Drucker's basement. The thing with Vegas is that you never have a single moment of repose. When your on the sidewalk there are actual speakers that blare advertisements at you and billboards that flash bright lights into the drivers' eyes. The strip is a trap. They want you to get lost and never leave. EVER. I'm actually blogging from a roulette table at the Circus Circus casino right now. That's not true (thank god), I'm one of the lucky few to make it out.

In other news of gross consumerism, a lot of you have probably heard about the Walmart employee who was trampled to death by Black Friday shoppers. All I have to say is that I hope all those people get charged with manslaughter. I hope that they'll be real proud as they contemplate that blue ray copy of Catch and Release that they got for 40% off while they sit in prison. Happy holidays, scumbags (not directed at you, reader... unless you were at a New York City Walmart at 5 a.m. yesterday).

Grrr.

Home Sweet Home

2008-11-28T20:39:00.000-08:00

It's a beautiful and significant thing to experience the world. One should always take the opportunity to experience new sights and meet new people and eat strange dishes. But perhaps most significant of all is the feeling that you get upon arriving home. In just three short days, I missed the old sights, the familiar faces, and my favorite comfort food.

It's good to be back.

Thanksgiving... part deux

2008-11-27T14:36:00.000-08:00

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody! Thanks so much for reading my blog. You make me feel a little less worthless (contrary to what my family may tell me).

It's raining here in Vegas for only the second time this year and no one knows how to function. Let's just say that we feel very smug as Wisconsinites.

Las Vegas #1

2008-11-26T15:45:00.000-08:00

LAS VEGAAAAAS! We've made it safe and sound after a smooth flight on Midwest Airlines (they give you warm chocolate chip cookies, but are severely lacking in in-flight pornos). Driving into the Strip in our rental car, I almost had a seizure. Because of the lights, sure, but also because I was so excited to see a hotel shaped like a castle and a mall shaped like the Roman Forum. Can I stress how much I love kitsch? Oh, I do. If I could, I would marry kitsch in an all-night chapel and take it back to a motel for sexual intercourse. The best thing about Las Vegas is that, no matter how much money they sink into it, it still feels like a John Waters movie.

A more detailed description will come upon my return.

Winner Winner Chicken Dinner

2008-11-25T09:00:00.000-08:00

I'm flying off to Las Vegas today. Look forward to seeing me on an episode of HBO's Cathouse. Will I be the client or the hooker? You'll have to tune in to find out!

He's a ranger, suh.

2008-11-23T21:27:00.000-08:00

Last night, I went with a friend to see the Hometown Sweethearts (an awesome cover band) at a local club. This friend is pretty new to my life (I only met her this year) and I’m already sure that she’s one of the coolest people that I know. As we walked there in the cold, she told me about this party that she has every November called Friendsgiving and guess what? I’m invited to it! So, as she’s tells me about the food that she’s gonna make (tons and tons of pork, thank god), a thought stuck me:

At this point in my life, I have more friends than I’ve ever had before.

This is extra amazing when I think back to when I graduated high school and how lonely I felt with all of my acquaintances shipping off to out-of-state schools. Spring break was always exciting because it meant that I’d be going out at night rather than just watching T.V. Even though I looked forward to hanging out with these high school kids, I never really felt connected to them. All they ever did was a) smoke pot, b) watch T.V., c) drink bad beer out of cans, or, as was usually the case, d) all of the above. These are things that I never liked to do in high school, let alone as a young adult who considered herself wise beyond her years.

We can even go back before that. In my early high school days, I remember going to sleepovers and feeling so isolated that I would leave early. When friends were having parties, I would usually stay home and watch What Not to Wear with my mom. I always got along better with my parents’ friends than I did my own. Freshman year, I wrote a friend a note that said, “Are we best friends? We hang out a lot, so I think that we are.” I did call this girl my best friend for years, but, in the end, it boiled down to convenience on both our parts. When my cousin was killed in a car accident the summer following my junior year, she didn’t find out about it until I had flown back from the funeral in Portland. I didn’t tell her and she didn’t wonder where I went for a week.

After high school, I picked up a few friends at work or at the ol’ tech school. I was surprised to find that these people didn’t simply put up with what a weirdo I am, but actually seemed to enjoy it. I changed jobs from retail to restaurant and picked up even more friends. The restaurant industry is good for that. People are generally booze fueled (and not on that canned crap) and thus more likely to laugh at my incredibly vulgar and childish jokes.

This year, I’ve been particularly driven to make friends, which is great because, for the first time that I can remember, there are a lot of people that I really want to be friends with. The thing is that I get terrified when approaching friendly acquaintances about maybe taking things to the next level (I mean a deeper friendship, not handjobs or anything). This is the girl who has no problem standing in front of a crowd of people and humiliating herself for the sake of entertainment. That’s totally fine, but calling someone to see if they want to meet up for a platonic drink? Nuh-uh, son. But this year, I’ve been trying harder and it’s paid off. I get along super well with my roommates and I’ve become better friends with coworkers, better friends with people who I’ve been extremely intimidated by in the past, and better friends with people that I’ve known for years. I’d even describe some of these friendships as… dare I say it? Kismet.

On a complete non sequitur, I’m going to Las Vegas on Tuesday! While you know that I’m a gamblin’ woman (this is a complete lie as I actually grip my money with an iron fist), this is not a gamblin’ vacation. My step dad’s parents actually live out there (surprisingly, they’ve made their residence at the tip of the Eiffel Tower at the Paris hotel) and we’re going to spend Thanksgiving with them. This is the first vacation that we’ve taken as a whole family in a long time, so it should be a blast! It feels like I have a million things to do before then. Here’s a brief list:

-Buy 3 oz. bottles for shampoo, lotion, etc.
-Get hair cut.
-Get hair dyed.
-Learn to walk in new high heels
-Choose adorable outfits for brief time that I’ll be there.
-Go to bank.
-Withdraw all money for cards and hookers.

Okay, bed now.

P.S., I definitely have some childhood friends who will always be near and dear to me. If your reading this, I hope you know that I still have nothing but love for you.

You're Welcome.

2008-11-20T21:51:00.001-08:00

NARAL and Cornrows

2008-11-19T16:21:00.000-08:00

First things first, there's a virus sweeping campus. It's called the Norwalk virus and symptoms include projectile vomiting (I know. Awesome). For some reason, I can't get over calling it the NARAL virus. I told my mom this today and she responded, "you know that NARAL is an actual organization, right?" Yes, mom. That's why it's funny.
Anyway, as a hypochondriac, I feel like I'm getting NARAL virus every time my body tweaks a little bit. Yesterday, I had a stomachache and I was certain that I had caught it, completely disregarding the glazed kosher donut that I ate that afternoon as a possible culprit. So there's some news, right? I might be dying from imaginary symptoms of a virus that I probably don't have. Or I might have indigestion.

Second, here's a bit of a conversation that I overheard on campus today:

Girl: (whispering) Sometimes I'm jealous of black girls. I mean, it would be so nice to put your hair in braids and, like, never have to deal with it.

I wanted to ask this girl if she has ever been friends with a black woman. I have (and I don't mean that in an "I'm not racist- I have three black friends" kind of way) and, let me tell you, those ladies work hard on their hair. Also? Getting your hair braided hurts and not just while your getting it done. That shit hurts for a week. I've had my hair braided before, too (add that to my dossier of middle school fashion disasters), so I can tell you first hand (and not in that whole "I understand the black experience" kind of way).

I should go before I accidentally projectile vomit and abortion all over the keyboard. Mmmmm.

Probably on the rag

2008-11-18T14:16:00.000-08:00

Lately, it seems like a handful of my favorite bloggers have pulled on their feminist pants for a post or two. For example, Blythe over at Five by Five wrote a great post about a double standard for women in the comedy industry and she was totally singing my song. I won't rehash what she wrote because I don't think that I could put it any better than she did.

Next, the ladies over at Jezebel knocked out a pretty awesome article called "You Can't Figure Out 'Women,' You Can Just Try To Figure Out One At a Time" about recent trends toward sexism in dating. I'll even do a little copy and paste for you:

In this month's City Journal Kay Hymowitz writes about the backlash she received from an earlier column about how "too many single young males (SYMs) were lingering in a hormonal limbo between adolescence and adulthood, shunning marriage and children." Predictably, those dudes didn't want to hear about it. Did you know its all the fault of us women today, having "options" and changing our minds? Of course it is. It always is.

Hymowitz actually quotes me from once upon a time, when I said:

"I've gone through phases in my life where I bounce between serial monogramy, Very Serious Relationships and extremely casual sex. I've slept next to guys on the first date, had sex on the first date, allowed no more than a cheek kiss, dispensed with the date-concept all together after kissing the guy on the way to his car, fucked a couple of close friends and, more rarely, slept with a guy I didn't care if I ever saw again."

She responds, rhetorically:

"Okay, wonders the ordinary guy with only middling psychic powers [who walked into a bar and met me], which is it tonight?
In fact, young men face a bewildering multiplicity of female expectations and desire. Some women are comfortable asking, “What’s your name again?” when they look across the pillow in the morning."

Well, my response is: does it matter tonight? Should a guy treat me differently based on the multiplicity of expectations I might or might not have... or is he treating me based on the expectations that he has about me and about (maybe) what he wants? Maybe — and I know this might be terribly shocking to men — if you respectfully walk up to me and try talking to me without staring at my tits and trying to get me into bed, you'll find out without having to try that hard what kind of woman I am, and what I am looking for. And maybe what I'm looking for in a guy is based on the guy. Whoa, weird concept, I know, but maybe wanting to get into a relationship, or not, or to have sex with, or not, has to do with the person and not the penis — and maybe I'm looking for someone, regardless, that wants to be with me and not just another vagina-owner.

This thing is, all these guys that Hymowitz quotes are really, really angry (and shallow) at some girl or group of girls who hurt them.

Here’s Jeff from Middleburg, Florida: “I am not going to hitch my wagon to a woman . . . who is more into her abs, thighs, triceps, and plastic surgery. A woman who seems to have forgotten that she did graduate high school and that it’s time to act accordingly.” Jeff, meet another of my respondents, Alex: “Maybe we turn to video games not because we are trying to run away from the responsibilities of a ‘grown-up life’ but because they are a better companion than some disease-ridden bar tramp who is only after money and a free ride.” Care for one more? This is from Dean in California: “Men are finally waking up to the ever-present fact that traditional marriage, or a committed relationship, with its accompanying socially imposed requirements of being wallets with legs for women, is an empty and meaningless drudgery.”
So, you went out with a shallow girl who only wanted a husband to pay her bills? Great. I went out with, this year alone: a guy who tried dating me to get me to vote for Obama; one who asked me out so that we could "get to know one another better" and took me to a loud dance club; a guy that called me up on the day of our second date to tell me that he knew I was going to fall for him and thus he didn't want to go after all; a guy who asked me to pay for everything when he asked me out; a guy who got annoyed at me for picking up the check when I asked him out; and on and on and on. You know what I have learned from that? That men are all different. Sort of like — gasp! — women.

Oh, and let's not get started on the whole bullshit "nice guys don't get the girl" that all these guys re-hash. Well, yeah, sure, if The Girl is the head cheerleader (and she always is) — but were they ever asking out the girl who was President of Students Against Drunk Driving and the German club (i.e., dorky, awkward me)? Some of them were, sure, but I'll be damned if most of them aren't happily married to truly pleasant women who they adore. My photo albums from high school to this day are a virtual pantheon of sweet, dorky guys who asked me out or who I asked out, most of whom were actually as nice as they look and none of whom were bad boys.

I dated two legitimately bad dudes in my life — the first one, in high school, I dumped rather ungraciously on our second date for grabbing my ass, and the second one more recently who I dumped, equally ungraciously, after about a month of jealous fits. One of the supposedly nice ones tells Hymowitz:

According to a “Recovering Nice Guy” writing on Craigslist, the female preference for jerks and “assholes,” as they’re also widely known, lies behind women’s age-old lament, “What happened to all the nice guys?” His answer: “You did. You ignored the nice guy. You used him for emotional intimacy without reciprocating, in kind, with physical intimacy.”
Oh, so, the only reason you were ever nice to a girl, the only reason you ever got close to a girl, was to fuck her? Don't worry, dude, you were never a nice guy. You probably didn't get fucked more because when you were holding a girl crying she caught you feeling up her boob. By comparison, at least a bad boy doesn't lie about his intentions or caring about your feelings.

So, look, the problem is that there are no rules, and there is no one end game any more. Great. I'm glad there's not. I don't mind paying for dinner, or going to see a hockey movie on Valentine's Day, or calling first or opening my own fucking doors — and I don't mind being paid for, or getting roses or being called or having a door opened for me — and I am damn glad that I don't have to hang up my dating spurs at 31 and call myself a spinster and start knitting booties for my younger sister's eventual children. And, yes, it's more difficult because in the absence of rules and regulations, in the dearth of universal social expectations and proscribed life paths, no one knows what anyone else is really looking for in a two minute interaction. But this is solved by actually not expecting things from people you don't know, and by treating women as individuals worth more than the sexual pleasure they might or might not eventually afford you. And it doesn't help to bitch about how all women are shallow, money-hungry harpies who you're just going to game the way they've gamed you. Maybe you've been gamed because as a shallow, money- and pussy-obsessed prick who isn't interested in getting to know a person, you missed out on more than just being played.

Courtesy of Jezebel

Speaking of feminism (?), I can't stop watching this video:

I'm really not a big Beyonce fan. Really, But I just gotta say that the girl has an ass that won't quit.

So when do we destroy the world already?

2008-11-17T15:15:00.001-08:00

Today, like every Monday, I had a discussion for my British Lit. class. In this particular discussion, we were talking about one of Satan's soliloquies in Paradise Lost and whether or not he is being honest with himself as he debates between good and evil. I brought up that this is a convention of villains that we still see today in fiction and was asked to give an example. The first examples that I thought of were from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog. Deciding that those examples were too nerdy, even for nerdy English majors, I went with Dexter.

"Right," the T.A. said. "Or, to sound even dorkier, you might think about Angel from Buffy."

He then went on to explain why he thought that and actually brought up show specifics like the gem of Amara. Everybody in the class was laughing at him, but my jaw was on the floor in awe. Quietly, another student in the class brought up that Satan is really more like Spike from BTVS. This led to a fifteen minute explanation of where the three of us were coming from, in which we discussed the most awesome plot points and the meanings behind them. It was probably the best discussion that I've had in college yet.

Now, this T.A. and I got off to a rocky start and I've always gotten the strangest vibe off of him. I think that I may be willing to put all that aside and ask him to marry me. Even if we never have anything else in common, at least we'll always have seasons of Buffy to discuss and pass the time.

Wow. I've completely out-nerded myself.

P.S. I loaned the complete BTVS series to a friend LAST DECEMBER and still haven't gotten it back. What's the deal?
P.P.S. I can no longer drink coffee. I had a small cup around noon and could barely write this post because my hands have been shaking so bad. This is a bummer because I really like coffee.

Love Unites

2008-11-15T12:40:00.000-08:00

Shepard Fairey (ignoring obvious joke, which is very big of me), designer of the iconic Obama "Hope" poster, has designed a new poster in support of love and equality for everyone. It's available for free download here.

The facts were these

2008-11-14T12:32:00.000-08:00

I was just reading on Gawker that ABC may have secretly canceled the PQK favorite Pushing Daisies. Worse still, they’re doing this without letting the show wrap itself up! This means we’ll never know if Ned and Chuck will finally get to kiss, not just by proxy, and we won’t be able to see anymore of Chuck’s adorable outfits! Woe is me! Another T.V. favorite is getting the axe (just as I was finally getting over Arrested Development, too).

The folks over at Gawker are obviously big fans of the show (as most people with good taste are) and proposed a list of shows that should be canceled in lieu of PD:

Entourage
HBO could cross out the lines on the budget for fancy guest stars and location shootings that dimly buoy this sad, tired old alpha dog of a series. The current season, about resident movie star Vincent Chase being not quite on top but not quite on bottom, has been boring and slow, with only hints of humor (Werner Herzog joke!) peppered in between lame Johnny-is-dumb, Turtle-likes-poontang jokes. Pushing Daisies has the arty design and defiant oddness to flourish on the premium cable net. Over there, 6.6 million viewers (which the show is averaging this season) is a lot!

Private Practice
Well, this is probably on its way out too. But for the time being, it remains. It's a really irksome, forcibly "sexy" show about rakish beachside California doctors and the various genitals they fall onto or have fall onto them. Ick. We understand giving creator Shonda Rhimes, who spun this show off of her ludicrously popular Grey's Anatomy, a pat on the back and a sweet new series deal, but this... this is just a punny lady joke nightmare. ABC should stop forking over what I imagine are pretty hefty salaries for Kate Ward Walsh, Tim Daly, and Taye Diggs and spend it on advertising Daisies a bit more. Send supporting star Audra McDonald back to Broadway where she belongs. Yes, Kristin Chenoweth belongs on Broadway too, but whatever.

The Office
Yeah, we said it. This once-great series is languishing under the "stretch it out!" studio mandates that the creator of its British inspiration, Ricky Gervais, so deftly avoided by insisting on only making two short, neat little seasons that were wrapped up with a heart-swelling Christmas special. We used to really like this show, but now it's weighed down too heavily by big Plot Points—Dwight and Angela, Jim and Pam, Michael and Sadness. One of the greatest ensembles on television is no longer allowed to play like they used to. NBC could use a little creative jolt, so why don't they lovingly put this show to bed and bring Daisies into their fold. Ever-tarnishing wunderkind that he is, top Peacock exec Ben Silverman has typically been really good about supporting critically-beloved but low-rated shows. Daisies could be one of those low-rated shows!"

(for complete article, click here)

Okay, Entourage. I couldn't agree more. That show is BOOOORIIIING. The first couple of seasons were alright in that male-"Sex in the City" sort of way (all glitz and no substance), but now it's just repetitive. The way most series stay interesting is through this little thing called character development. Vinny and company have acted the exact same way since the show's conception. There comes a point when watching thirty-year-old men act like they're in their early-twenties just becomes exhausting.

I've never watched Private Practice. I've only seen previews of it while watching PUSHING DAISIES.

The Off—wha? Alright, I can't believe that I'm saying this here, but... I sort of get where they're going. The show has definitely lost it's kick and... oh, god... I sort of blame Jim and Pam. Jim pining? Hilarious. Jim content? Where have the pranks gone?! Believe me, if they can recapture what they had at the beginning, I will take everything that I just said back. I wouldn't go as far as to say that the show merits cancellation, but how about a little scare to get their blood moving?

Maybe it's best for the axe to fall quickly on Pushing Daisies. I get the feeling that this is a show that will always be hovering on the edge and I don't know if I could take the stress. Still, I just don't get how someone couldn't fall in love with the Burton-esque sets, snappy writing, vintage cocktail dresses, and, of course, the handsome 6'3" pie maker who wakes the dead with the touch of his finger. Am I the only one who loves whimsy?

Champion of the Sun

2008-11-13T10:31:00.000-08:00

DeNiro on: Frozen Treats

2008-11-11T09:34:00.000-08:00

This is a conversation overheard by me on the bus between two men and a woman. They're all middle aged prototypical Wisconsinites (the Wisconsin accent is important to remember here).

And scene.

Man 1: I love frozen yogurt.

Woman: What about gelato?

Man 2: Ooh! I love gelato.

Woman: There are so many flavors!

Man 1: So many!

Woman: Or as Robert DeNiro would say, "There's so many flavahs!"

And scene.

Did I miss the scene in Taxi Driver where Bobby D soliloquizes about the vast varieties of Italy's ice cream? Or maybe that scene was in Raging Bull. Either way, the woman's New York accent was Oscar worthy.

+

=

P.S. I think that this could be the beginning of a new column called "DeNiro on..." It could just be him musing on the simple things like "DeNiro on: Sandwiches" or "DeNiro on: The Best Julia Roberts Movies."

Hammond, IN. That's what she said.

2008-11-09T17:16:00.000-08:00

Stay classy at Hammond, IN's Dynasty Banquets at the Ramada Inn

I’m back from the Rust Belt a little older and wiser.

Truth be told, regions like that sort of freak me out. I mean I’ve been to big cities, I live in a small city, and have visited a handful of small towns and farms (all have been relatively quaint), but I have very few experiences with formerly industrialized towns like the ones that fill northwestern Indiana. It is crazy how depressed-looking they are. Maybe it was just the cold and gray weather, but it seemed like the town was made up of White Castles, potholes, and beauty supply stores with weird names like “Milky Beauty.” Madison’s economy isn’t really based on industry, so it was surprising to see the effects of deindustrialization close up. Let me tell you, it was effed.

Let’s move on. The wedding was a good ol’ fashioned blasty blast, made even better by a 1 a.m. trip to one of the aforementioned White Castles. The ceremony itself was catholic which generally equates to B-O-R-I-N-G (sorry, Catholics. Keep on keepin’ on). Luckily the bride and groom at this wedding are totally awesome and added some of their own pizzazz to keep it interesting. Mainly, any time the priest would mention something being hard, the groom would tug his earlobe, signifying “that’s what she said.” By the time the priest was talking about being filled by God and allowing Jesus to be the third party in the relationship, we were practically dying from laughter in the pews. Yep, we are definitely all going to hell.

The reception was a good time as well, despite the cream of chicken soup (I’m pretty sure that paste was a key ingredient) and wine that tasted like a cherry jolly rancher (they closed the open bar just for dinner—who does that to someone?). Post-dinner, the dance floor was booming. A hint to any boy who wants my attention (there’s gotta be at least one out there)—I will automatically like you twice as much if you bring your shit to the dance floor. The boys at this wedding? They were working it.

The night ended with a party in a room at a Super 8 motel. Cops and security were called multiple times. I was gone by the time they showed up, which is great because I’m sure that I would have had a stress-induced heart attack from all of that noise and activity.

Overall, it was great to be around so many of my favorite people and I think that the whole thing was amplified by the foreign setting. The drive home was spent in equally good company (this time I hitched a ride with my favorite couple Tom and Emily) and probably provided the best “that’s what she said” moment of all:

PQK: I hate the way nuts make my breath smell.

whole car (in unison): That’s what she said.

I think that I’ll end there.

Rock the region

2008-11-08T09:00:00.000-08:00

Today, I'm heading down to a friend's wedding in Indiana. My usual wedding date has better things to do than make me feel wanted, so I will be going stag, which means a) I'm hitching a ride with a friend of a friend's parents, b) I will likely be placed at the table with all of the inbred and unseemly relatives that they are too embarrassed to put front and center, and c) I will drink too much champagne and start crying about how beautiful the flower arrangements are, how beautiful the bride is, and how pure their love is. And then I will yak on the dance floor. And then break out my moves.

God, I love weddings. No, really. I do.

Too tired to think of snappy title

2008-11-07T21:27:00.000-08:00

I gotta say that the past two days have been exhausting. I'm not used to feeling all of this hope, optimism, and good will toward mankind.

When can I go back to hating everybody? Oh well, I'm sure that it will happen soon enough.

Where do we go from here?

2008-11-05T14:40:00.000-08:00

Obama Win Causes Obsessive Supporters To Realize How Empty Their Lives Are

YES WE CAN!

2008-11-04T23:26:00.000-08:00

I am so happy to be alive and so proud to be an American right now (and this is the first time that I've ever said the latter without irony).

This little boy grew up to be president:

Pinch me. I'm pretty sure that I'm dreaming.

P.S. Please check out Casey's blog for her report on how the election was received in Paris. It's positively beautiful.

Free from the Bradley effect

2008-11-04T08:30:00.000-08:00

I just voted in my first presidential election for the first non-white democratic candidate in the first school that I ever attended. If that's not enough to make a girl misty-eyed, I don't know what is.

A little obvious, I know.

On a less world-changing note, I've decided to do NaBloPoMo! Check here or at Lake City Lake for daily blogs from me in the month of November.

Final Countdown

2008-11-03T16:08:00.000-08:00

Just a reminder from your local Pop Quiz Kid to please please PLEASE get out and vote tomorrow. This is the first presidential race that I'm allowed to vote in and, let me say, it's an absolute honor.

Fashion show! Fashion show! Fashion show at launch!

2008-11-01T13:15:00.000-07:00

Ladies and Gentlemen,

I'm very proud to introduce a new venture. Rachel and I have teamed up to start a fashion blog. I give you...

...Lake City Lake!

Please stop by and check it out! In a nutshell, the blog will include "what I wore" posts, inspiration posts, "what I wish I wore" posts, and basically anything else pertaining to style. What makes this fashion blog different from all of the rest? Us. Booyah.

The best possible information

2008-10-28T20:19:00.000-07:00

I just checked wikipedia for some quick facts on the Great Depression. Here's what it had to say in it's opening paragraph:

The Great depression in the United States began on "Black Tuesday" with the Wall Street crash of October, 1929 and herpes rapidly spread worldwide. Asians everywhere were dying.

What? Now, I don't find Asians dying funny or the worldwide spread of herpes funny (the latter is a blatant lie), but I just gotta say that wikipedia is full of comic gold. Gold, I say!

Justice has a name and the name that it has, besides justice, is Captain Hammer

2008-10-13T21:23:00.000-07:00

How can I be so slow on the uptake?

About a month ago, my friend Brian told me that he had just watched Joss Whedon's new internet series on iTunes and that I had to check it out. Brian and I have killed many hours at work geeking out on our love for Joss (I could talk about Buffy for hours), but for some reason I totally ignored him when he told me that I should really watch Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog.

It's a couple months later and I've finally remembered to watch it. And you know what? AMAZING! Why? You want reasons? Fine, here we go. Neil Patrick Harris. Neil Patrick Harris singing and video blogging. Done.

Best of all, you can watch it for free at Hulu!

Black Forest (Tra La La)

2008-10-05T14:40:00.000-07:00

Listen up, non-Madisonian readers (that means you, Seattle)!

My friends and favorite local band Pale Young Gentlemen are kicking off a nationwide tour to promote their new album Black Forest (Tra La La). They've received a lot of really great press, both locally and nationally, and are on their way up up up.

You need something more descriptive than me just saying that they're great? Well, there's a reason that I haven't attempted to be a music critic, but I'll do my best despite any of my skills to apply adjectives now flying out the window.

Their genre has been dubbed chamber pop by someone who is a lot better at this than me. To break that down a bit more, it’s a mix of orchestral elements (like the cello), driving pop beats, and literary-inspired lyrics (think Beruit + Brahms + The Decemberists + Andrew Bird). Mixing all of these elements together makes their sophisticated work seem equally at home at a pre-war cabaret, your local hipster dance party, or your tweedy lit professors house where he sips sherry and debates Ford Maddox Ford.

If you are totally lost (how can I blame you), you can check out their myspace page and have a listen for yourself.

And another thing! Tour dates are listed on their website, but they have also started a tour blog!

Hopefully my poor music reviewing skills haven’t turned you off. I would hate to be the ruin of their whole tour (yes, I have that much influence over you).

Go see cool people play cool music and be cool.

PQK OUT.

P.S. Guess who finally figured out how to add a blog roll! Holla at your girl!

Your week in Barack

2008-10-05T14:24:00.000-07:00

I don't know how my mom keeps finding these amazing photos. Does she Google Image search "Barack Obama looks effortlessly kind, capable, and sincere while spending time with beautiful and happy young children?" Is there a blog she knows about where they just post picture after picture like this?

Speaking of adorable kids, she also passed on this photo of school children in India celebrating Gandhi's birthday this Thursday.

I've gone over my suggested intake of adorable. Now, I'm gonna puke puppies.

Solid As Barack

2008-09-21T17:24:00.000-07:00

My mom is going to feel totally victorious when she sees this here, but I just had to.

Every Woman is a Marilyn or a Jackie

2008-09-18T10:57:00.000-07:00

It’s back to school, so, first and foremost, that means a month long absence of blogging, but, secondly, it means the return of fall fashion. Bloggers galore have been hailing the return of tights and layering. I, being the Sconnie girl that I am, have the sense to realize that long underwear season follows tights season, so I guess the anticipation of fall is a little bit lost on me (didn’t winter only end here, like, a month ago?).

Despite my distaste for the return of long-johns, pants, puffy and shapeless coats, frostbite, windburn, etc., etc., I can’t stop my heart from skipping when I’m able to pull out my Mad Men-inspired cardigans and pencil skirts. Seriously, Bryant Park can suck it—all I need is Joan Holloway telling me what to wear and I’m set. Big sixties hair? Yes, please. Bright lips? Sure. Fake eyelashes? I’m there…Well, I would like to be there anyway.

I have one fashion mantra this season: embrace the pretty. After a couple years of trying to pull off super-skinny pants, trapeze tops, and irony, I realized that I’m doing my body and myself a disservice. It’s like a romantic comedy. I’m Kate Hudson (only I’m cool) and I’ve been in and out of crappy relationships that are humiliating and full of hijinx (much like pant shopping at H&M) and I finally have a choice to pick between two relationships, the trendy pleated khakis that have sprinkled across transatlantic fashion blogs across the globe or the flattering A-lined skirt dress that’s been hanging in my closet for the past five years (always available and faithful). It looks like I’m about to make the wrong choice as I try to see if tapered khakis look good on anyone who isn’t 5’11’’ and doesn’t weigh 72 lbs, but, down to the wire, I choose the timeless vintage silhouette and we escape together on a city bus. Wait. Now I’m doing The Graduate. Maybe I should steer clear of movie analogies.

I’ve been thinking about injecting a little more fashion into this ol’ blog for a while now. Ideally, I’d like to post photos of outfits I’ve come up with. There are just so many great fashion bloggers out there and it’s a little intimidating. And I don’t know how to use the self-timer on my camera. And I’m too lazy. What do you all think? I mean the theme of this blog is pretty set in stone. Can I afford to veer off of it? Can I… Oh, I’m thinking of someone else’s blog.

Shanaynay says, "Oh, no. You didn't."

2008-08-25T12:13:00.001-07:00

A couple of nights ago, I had a dream in which I was involved in a car chase with Martin Lawrence. I'm not sure who was chasing us, but I am sure that the dream was filled with a lot of "straight-laced white cop teams with loose-cannon black cop and comedy ensues" movie clichés. Having thought about it for a few days and momentarily gotten over how much I hate Martin Lawrence (Big Momma's House 2 aside), I've decided that this can go down as one of the best buddy-cop dreams in history.

On a related note, this is the first time that I've ever published a photo of myself on this blog! And yes, that is my real body and is in no way Monique.

Come on, baby. Gonna teach it to you!

2008-08-21T11:36:00.000-07:00

On the phone:

Dustin: So, what have you been up to since I saw you last?

Me: I've been trying to teach myself how to do the mash potato.

Dustin: Really?! I've been trying to teach myself how to jitterbug!

Me: Are you serious?!

Dustin: No! Wait. Are you serious?

Me: ...

I got skillz

2008-08-13T21:10:00.000-07:00

This afternoon, checking out at the grocery store, I ended up in the good-looking cashier’s lane. The day hadn’t been going my way so I decided that I didn’t have much to lose by attempting to be charming and memorable. It turns out that I did have something left to lose and that little something was my dignity.

First, I couldn’t read the codes that I had written down for the massive amount of nuts that I had bought. Second, I tried to fix the situation by making a joke that was met with patient albeit lukewarm politeness (I resisted making the joke about nuts, so I guess that this interaction could be considered a success). Finally, I decided to pick up the remaining scraps of my pride and book it out of there… without paying.

I am the master of seduction and I now have enough trail mix to last me through the coming winter.

P.S. Thank you all for the kind comments on my last post. As I demonstrate above, I often use humor to cover up when things get rough. It’s a little scary to drop that joking veneer and be serious, but it really helps to have such nice support and reinforcement.

Word Vomit

2008-08-03T21:11:00.000-07:00

I’ve been trying to write an “I’m back!” blog for over a week now and it really isn’t going well. Truth is, Italy was kind of a bust and recounting it to you folks is almost as exhausting as living it. Eventually, I hope to slap up some pictures of my trip, but this brief paragraph will have to suffice until then.

Speaking of exhausting, almost everything has been exhausting lately. The humidity is dragging me down, physically and emotionally, and all I can bear to do, it seems, is watch Pushing Daisies reruns, internet shop, and emotionally collapse in on myself like a dying star (a tip of the hat to Jan Levinson). I’ve been almost entirely off caffeine for two weeks now and am attempting to exercise regularly to prevent the stream of anxiety attacks being thrown my way. The sudden speeding up of my heartbeat, accompanied by tears and pillow biting, has subsided, but the constant tug of dissatisfaction has remained, well, constant. The upcoming semester is completely uninspiring, my job is equally lack-luster, and I’m finding myself questioning all of the relationships that I have (or don’t have). Remember that entry that I wrote awhile back? Well, instead of feeling like my world is on the brink of change, I find myself constantly losing hope.

I can’t blame anyone else. Maybe if I were motivated or, and I hesitate to use this word, self-assured, I could propel myself into something better. But I’m not these things. I’m not a problem solver; I’m a problem dweller. Do I try to be a better blogger? No, but I do sit up at night wondering why crap bloggers (all readers excluded) seem to get a kajillion hits a week and receive various accolades while the bulk of my readers consist of people who share a part of my genetic make-up. I get jealous of actresses in movies and on television for having a job that I would love to have, but do I have the balls to audition for anything? No. And why? Because by not blogging more, not auditioning for plays, not learning to play guitar, not singing in public, and not approaching people who I want to be friends with, it all stays under my control. I can tell myself that it’s my choice that I don’t do theater anymore and it’s not because I’m a bad actress and someone won’t cast me or I can say that my lack of readership is do to my choice to not involve myself in blogging communities, not because what I have to say is uninteresting or poorly put together. Is blaming my lack of motivation just another excuse to put off doing anything?

I can self diagnose all I want, but what do I do with the diagnosis?

French Keyboard

2008-07-06T10:14:00.000-07:00

This one will be short and sweet because I'm using a funky European computer and the Q is where the A should be and it's taken me five minutes to type this sentance. Sorry for any oddly spelled words in advance. Oh, and no more apostrophes because its too hard to find the button. Did you know that I have to press shift to get a period? Oh, there goes another five minutes.

Today was my last day in Paris and I really wasnt digging the museum/monument circuit that the fam had planned. I ended up talking myself into it and Im glad that I did because it was a beautiful day to walk around and the museum we went to, L'Orangerie, had a great collection of impressionist and modernist paintings. Impossibly enough, I may have even gotten a bit of color, which will spare me a bit of redicule in Italy. The ninety two pounds that Ive gained is a completely different story.

Tomorrow, Im off to Italy to see the family that I lived with in high school. The town is nothing glamorous. It was founded by Mussolini in the 1930s and fascist architecture and conservitism reign supreme. Also from the 30s is their current level of technology, so I will be detached from the internet like a screaming infant from a mothers womb. Luckily, my Italian family and my trashy novel will be more than enough to keep me entertained over the next week.

Now Im off to my last french supper. Add that to a week of my host moms cooking and Ill have to buy an extra seat on the plane.

Pathetic Olympics

2008-07-05T13:02:00.000-07:00

So, I'm back in Paris after a week of exploring the Loire Valley! Wine tasting, chevre, and hanging out with my family was good and all, but, being the cultured lady that I am, my first thought upon arriving back in the city was "INTERNET!" and my second though was "INTERNET TV!"

I'm starting to get a little travel weary. There comes a point where all these chateaus begin to run together, the rich food actually starts to make you fat and feel sick, and the comforts of home begin seeming pretty sweet. Anybody feeling bad for me yet? I didn't think so.

Being with my entire family has had its peaks and plateaus. My whole "trying-not-to-look-like-a-tourist" cover was pretty much blown when the larger part of them showed up in rain slickers, tevas, and sun hats, not to mention the youngins inability to grasp that people don't speak English here or that, by stopping and petting every dog we see, we'll never get anywhere. It's strange watching my grandparents get older and seeing how some of their quirks have developed into full blown unattractive qualities. Like how my grandpa has a habit of saying really inappropriate and mean things. For example, after my nine year old cousin made a bad throw during a family boulle game (I had long ago been disqualified) which she deemed "pathetic," my grandpa said, "Yes, but all of your throws have been pathetic, so you don't get another pathetic throw." He then continued, saying, "If there was a pathetic olympics, you might win." For real. To a nine-year-old.

Being around all of these people makes me right tired, sheee-ooot! Moments alone are rare and are usually spent napping, reading (First "Incident at 20-Mile" by Travanian and now "The Stand" by Steven King. C'mon, it's vacation, yall!), or writing in my journal which has turned into a total burn book. I've spent most of the long car rides wondering what it's like to be engaged, creating a storybook character (Maxine the Cupcake Queen), thinking about what I would wear if I could afford it (touring Miu Miu and Chloe here in Paris has taken its toll), and watching the impossibly beautiful countryside slip by.

COX

2008-06-27T06:56:00.000-07:00

My day with Casey took me to Paris' premier Jewish/Gay neighborhood. There's nothing like seeing a pair of orthodox jews followed by a couple of men wrapped in leather and wearing ball gags (okay, there was no ball gag).
Anyway, one of the neighborhood's most brightly colored buildings is a bar/café called Cox.

"C'mon! Even in a second language, that title lacks ingenuity!" I complained.

The lack of ingenuity, THAT is what I found most offensive about Cox.

Parlez-vous American?

2008-06-27T06:28:00.000-07:00

Yesterday with Casey, we started talking about how living abroad can somehow turn apologist liberals like ourselves into rabid patriots. This change occurs gradually as attacks on your nationality grow increasingly repetitive, hypocritical, and banal (pronounced buh-nahl. Thanks, Mom!).

You hear things like:

"In America, you are so racist. Now, go barter with that Algerian negro."

"You have problems with black people and we have problems with Eastern Europeans. Now, I don't hate Romanians, it's just that stealing is in their blood."

"In America, you like your pasta soft and you use ketchup as tomato sauce."

"Why do you call foreign people 'aliens'? What are we, from outer space?" ("Seriously?" I responded to this certain Quebecois)

Eventually, this gets so frustrating that you start responding in the same way.

Responses may include:

"Well, at least we don't generally risk hepatitis by using a public restroom."

"In America, I generally don't have to crouch on my knees to take a shower."

"In America, we're friendly."

This back-and-forth grows so tiresome that you end up arguing for things that you don't even believe in:

"Fuck yeah, WMDs!"

Or, as Casey shouted, "George Bush is awesome!"

I assured her that I never fell quite that far.

Bonjour, Paris!

2008-06-25T23:58:00.000-07:00

Well, I've arrived in the city of light, but only after about 24 hours of travel, a sore throat, a bout of constipation, 6 advils, and a xanax. What did I do for my first day here? I slept. And ate some pizza. And had a nightmare about Dexter.

Today, however, will be very different. In a couple of minutes, I'm catching the metro to meet with my friend Casey who has been au pairing in Paris for the past year. The last time I went on a trip with Casey was to see Lilith Fair when we were in fourth grade. Everybody thought that our moms were lesbians. Needless to say, this time should be very different (i.e., more booze, less Paula Cole).

Ou est le bibliotheque?

2008-06-23T20:03:00.002-07:00

Alright, gang! Bright and early tomorrow morning, I’m off on a three-week jaunt across France and Italy. I imagine that it will be a mix of What A Girl Wants, Breathless, and Top Gun. I guess that means that I plan to take up with a French criminal, look like Jean Seberg, fall down in front of high society types, and finally make Colin Firth realize that he is my real father. I threw Top Gun in there because I think that I would like to be called Goose or Ice Cubez or something.

Anyway, I’ll try to blog my happenings as much as possible. Until then:

My Old Bush

2008-06-23T20:03:00.001-07:00

Yesterday, I went with my friends Dustin and Veronica to visit Dustin’s parents’ land in Dodgeville. Everything was beautiful—the air, the country, their hospitality, etc. Perhaps most beautiful of all, however, was the amount of innuendo.

First, my friend Veronica keeps talking about how much she loves to toss salad, but not with tools. Oh, no. She likes to get in there and really get her hands dirty.

Second, Dustin’s grandma, talking about her garden, waxes on about how her old bush is really thick this year. While imagining this, please keep in mind that she wasn’t saying THE old bush, but kept saying “MY old bush.” And she keeps repeating it over and over again.

Finally, over dessert, there is a big conversation about pie, providing lots of material for my internal eleven-year-old boy. The cherry on top of the immature cake was when Dustin’s dad, shaking his head, says, “If there’s one thing I hate, it’s a runny pie.”

Pop Quiz Kid Endorsed

2008-06-23T19:46:00.000-07:00

This Saturday, I went to see Tarsem's The Fall. It was cinematically beautiful and features the delightful Lee Pace. I cried like a little girl (not the feat it used to be) and held my pee for the entire second half of the movie for fear of missing anything. It's definitely a big screener, so catch it while you can!