La Entropista

Then I can hang out with my fellow gigantor computer geek liebling and play Sim City and the tetris jewel game designed for those of us 10 and under and then take out 20 dollars in quarters which should be my laundry money and go to Urban Outfitters and play video games for real. And he says that he used to be a high scorer back in the 80’s but I’m the bomb at Galaga and who has her name up like three times on the Centipede at the 40 Watt? That would be me.

I was telling Dyer that when I’m in Germany I’m going to try to get to Paris but I might have to go alone and he said well then, you can sit in a cafe and drink coffee and pout. Go to the Louvre and look only at the dark paintings. Sit and smoke and pout and lament. If there is any place to indulge in a little romanticized aloneness, I think it would be Paris. But apparently Paris is more fun with friends.

For those heathens (or Catholics) who don’t know your Bible, learn it here.

Joshua 1:2 And they spent the night there.

Fuck, that is sooo sacreligous.

In other news, I drove all the way to Long Beach to catch the Hollywood Bowl Shuttle to the Dead Can Dance concert and missed it. But not really, cause the concert is tomorrow. Doi.

No ibuprofen today. I think I ate a hole in my stomach with it yesterday so today I switched to the little pink pill. It makes me walk around Ikea and buy coffee mugs and dish towels. Flirty hipster roommates loudly asking about feng shui: Its about color, no its about where you put the furniture, should we buy those green towels, what do you think, she looks like she knows about feng shui. You guys are funny, bye. But what should we do about the towels? Buy some. Heh, heh, did you hear what she said, buy some. Idiots.

If you were not totally grossed out by my repeated inappropriate retelling of the IUD story last night I will write about it tomorrow. Julia: So what have you been up to lately? Me: Rrr, blood and uterus and drugs and stuff. Julia: Uh. Anything else?

Avast maties. Final pirate joke.

it hurt. bloody details later…

I know you won’t believe this, but I’m totally telling you the truth: I went to the gym today. And guess what? I plan on going tomorrow, too. I know its hard to believe, as I haven’t officially worked out since Hippy Fitness in Santa Cruz, except for dance classes here which I count as frickin’ art and not exercise, and going to the ARC, which also doesn’t count as it’s the university and therefore free, or forcibly paid for and therefore not my decision, whichever way you want to see it.

my brustwarts are sore already, don’t even ask me about my Gesäß

Today I went to 24 Hour Fitness Utra Sport. Sport because it’s extra big with pools and saunas and spas and the pilates regulator or whatever that was, and Ultra because it is filled with giant athletic aryan nation men and women that look like they all flew over from Malmö to give me an inferiority complex. A few years ago this would have fazed me, but now that I am old and sin verguenza, I let my speck have a yoga mat of its own and did my little stretches with a smile on my face knowing full well that even though it doesn’t hurt now, tomorrow I will be sore, and the day after, my body will have kicked my ass.

Speaking of tomorrow, I am taking Maya to the airport so she can go to Paris. I am so jealous. If she doesn’t have a good time (which means eating, I mean, romance) I will smack her. Speaking of the day after, I’m getting my uterus fixed. No seriously, I am. I’m getting fixed.

multiply…

strange concoction of mid-nineties german hiphopiness and other things uncategorizable to me…strange and wonderful in a “so this is what you look like with your pants down” sort of way. Moments of brilliance…you have to love a man who samples ping pong balls and dial up modems and says “whore” just the way it should be said….Fuck.

I sat in my car today in the parking lot of  Trader Joe’s listening to a report on the redesign of New Orleans while my kefir went warm. The hosts interviewed a sociologist, an architect and a landscape architect, all talking about what planners will do when they begin to rebuild. Why they didn’t interview an actual urban planner, I have no clue (they did just this on Saturday morning, actually, but I was busy, and before that, even).

the Dutch: “never again”

Interesting tidbits: Very strange parcelization because the founding fathers wanted to make sure all had access to the Mississippi, so many are only 25 feet from property line to property line. This “fine grain” must be preserved, said Tulane’s dean or architecture, while not fallling into the treacley trap of America’s love of nostalgia, according to the UC Berkeley prof, ripping New Urbanism a new one with gusto. The sociologist is worried that there are no incentives for the population to return, and that there is a real danger that property will be snatched up by large corporations and subject to disneyfication. However, if the people do come back, this may be the best opportunity to right some of the wrongs that ghettoization and marginalization have perpetrated on the silent majority of the city.

Once the bodies are cleared, the rats are killed, and the storm surge barriers built, then people like you and me will have to dig in, and from tabula rasa, create something worthy of this place and its people. A formidable task.

Two years of being single and dating was exciting and sexy and fun; I didn’t think I wanted to do anything else for like, forever. This weekend though, I was reminded how sweet it is to be able to lie in bed on a late Sunday morning and tell stories and giggle and get hungry and gropey and a little bit loud with someone you really like. Not just lust after, not just someone that intrigues you, not someone that meets all the attributes on the wish list, but someone that excites you, engages you, brings you joy, brings you pleasure, protects you, teases you, loves you and likes you too. And knowing that you can love this person you like so much you want to frame him and tape him to the inside of your locker, well, that’s pure contentment, my friend.

You are my Corey Hart, dahlink

I don’t want to say it was luck that allowed us to happen. That may partially be the case, considering the circumstance of our meeting, but there was something more than that, there was choice, and I value that above all else. It wasn’t only happenstance or fate or luck that brings me to what I have now, it was that and then the decisions we made as free people to make this connection and sustain and nurture it. And seeing the fruits of our labor, I am pleased, and proud and content.

Our labor is fruity

Thank you for writing, thank you for calling, thank you for pursuing. Thank you for extending this cross-continent, cross-country, cross-county. The thing is there. You were right. I like you.

White people find, black people loot, and police borrow. Oh, I see.

And for those of you who missed what Kanye West said at the Concert for Hurricane Katrina Relief, read it here. Or watch it here.

One of the nice things about being sick is that one can become self-indulgent for about five seconds. Also acceptable:

-playing the “who got me sick” blame game

-staying in bed and being snotty and leaving tissues everywhere and not feeling guilty about it

-watching movies and pretending you can’t hear people talking to you

gratuitous boob shot

There are some things that are not so much fun, as you know. These include:

-not being able to take hot bath with eucalyptus ’cause your tub just isn’t like that

-no one to pet your head and make you tea and soup even though you can’t smell it anyway

-being cold enough to wear Berlin-in-the-winter socks and giant seaweed scarf in Southern California in the middle of summer, that’s just lame

Forthcoming: Prenzlauerberg scavenger hunt for the new transfers.