I've moved!

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

Fergus, Always.

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

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, 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:

Sooooo Twiharded!

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.

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

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

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.

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

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

mish mash

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

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,

Grow on my head?

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

Lookin' is free. Touchin'll cost ya.

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."

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.

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...

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.

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!

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.