“My importance to the world is relatively small. On the other hand, my importance to myself is tremendous. I am all I have to work with, to play with, to suffer and to enjoy. It is not the eyes of others that I am wary of, but of my own. I do not intend to let myself down more than I can possibly help, and I find that the fewer illusions I have about myself or the world around me, the better company I am for myself.”
Tag Archives: miscellaneous
Friends, I am giving myself over to NaNoWriMo for the month of November. It may come to naught, but between that and writing comedy sketches, which, I hasten to add, are like academic-level hard, my frequency of posting will be intermittent at best for the next month or so. If I do it will very likely be whining about process or something like that. It promises to be quite dull.
I have not forgotten you, internet. I will be engaged in a war with some words, of which I am simultaneously the mistress and the bitch. A girl’s gotta be versatile in this day and age.
Things I want, right effing now.
1. A cigarette, recessed filter, Parliament for choice.
2. A perfectly pulled double espresso.
3. Tickets to Oaxaca for DoD things.
4. Not to have to go to campus and see people I’ve been avoiding all summer.
5. To have perhaps not eaten 2 loaves of bread in a single weekend (ow)
6. An oxygen facial (to offset smoking)
7. To somehow be paid for writing something. Anything, really.
8. For the property management to turn on the radiators.
9. To not be getting a cavity. More ow.
10. Indian pudding with Ciao Bella vanilla gelato. Or a gingersnap.
11. This dress. And the arms to go with it. (Angela Basset’s would be ideal).
12. To perhaps not think that every comment in every medium is a personal fucking attack.
National unemployment is still kicking my ass, as is the fact that, despite having almost no skill set (no, snark and an autistic-like ability to recite stretches of dialogue from 80s movies are apparently not in demand with the corporate set, who knew), I am vastly “overqualified” for all positions out there.
It’s to the point where I am considering lying outright and telling potential employers that I’ve been backpacking around Southeast Asia or living in an ashram just so I don’t have to go through the rigmarole of explaining that, no, you really can’t have a job when you’re enrolled in a full-time doctoral program, and yes, if something better comes along than this nine dollar an hour data entry soul-killing horrendousness, I will, in fact, quit. I mean, people are into that Eat, Pray, Love shit, aren’t they? Maybe they will think I am noble rather than someone who keeps aggressively pursuing higher education for no other reason than it seems to be a bastion of marginally sane secularism in our increasingly batshit country.
So that’s fun. Except for how it, you know, totally isn’t.
Also fun? Cover letters, the genre of quiet fucking desperation and self-aggrandizement.
Part-time marketing work also provides me with words that make me think academic jargon is pretty, by comparison:
- Build out
Good times can be had with this corporate buzzword generator.
A playlist to stave off suicidal thoughts brought on by pleading job apps and marketing twats
Hedwig and the Angry Itch — Midnight Radio
David Bowie – Rock and Roll Suicide
Boston — Peace of Mind
Eliot Smith — Wouldn’t Mama Be Proud?
Supertramp — Breakfast in America
Wilco — Shot in the Arm
The Verve — Bittersweet Symphony
Tribe Called Quest — Rap Promoter
Beastie Boys — Super Disco Breakin’
Frank Black — Headache (listen to this last one at least six times running.)
If you asked, I would say, fuck yes, public art is awesome. Whether it takes the form of bronze sculptures of local figures of moderate renown (Nizhny Novgorod and Andrei Dmitrievich Sakharov, I am looking very pointedly in your direction) or even the whole animal-as-totem of a cityscape (Lexington, Kentucky and variously painted horses being the main one I can conjure off the top of my head). I mean, yeah, rock on out with that.
It’s not always the best use of public funds, granted, since Chicago has potholes that can actually swallow your car and/or rip off a tire.
But this, people. This. Seeing a giant creepy bloodshot eye looming over State Street genuinely freaks my shit out. I glance up from the bus, unprepared, and want to SCREAM in terror.
But, if someone wants to install another sculpture, just across the street, of a giant finger with a contact lens poised on it, I would laugh and laugh and laugh.
God, I am hilarious. No, really.
Too bad you are not getting hilarity. Y’all bitches be getting pictures.
Thanks for getting it right for once, Facebook. I didn’t know you cared.
Have some pictures. Go on, have a bit.
Note: That wedding cake is made of cheese. Really. Really. Imagine having that outside in dripping sweaty Kentucky heat in fucking JULY.