little miss smart girl with all her glasses and all her books...

just did something pretty stupid. After my morning of nothingness (hey, let's be fair: I watched a DVD I rented from the library), I rushed out of the house with computer in tow to do some research at the Huntington Library. I'm in the far left lane of the 2 singing along to Travis's rendition of "Killer Queen" when a loud FUCK hits me. I forgot to bring my reader card/badge and they aren't going to let me in the damn library. So I go all the way to the right and get off the freeway at Colorado and cruise through Eagle Rock. Anna's not kidding about that timewarp. I don't think anything was built before or after the 1960s.

Point is rather than turn around, go home, and then return, I've decided to just stay here and do my exciting data entry instead.

shameless self-indulgence

While I'm being completely self-indulgent this morning (yeah, ask me what I've accomplished in the nearly four hours I've been up), do you know what one week from tomorrow is?

You do realize, like every year,* when it actually arrives it will be so unbelievably anticlimactic. I just don't want to spend the free time I have that day in my fucking room staring at the computer screen.


*Actually, last year was pretty different, but you're not cool enough to hear that story.

myspace at upright citizens brigade theatre

Had I ever been to an actual comedy show before last night? I'm not sure. I'm not really a fan of standup. I have a hard time with someone standing in front of me, monologing about something I am supposed to be pressured into laughing at. But this wasn't standup, it was improv. Improv based on MySpace, noless. And it was funny. The basic premise is to pick people from the audience, look at their page together, and interview them about it and their interests. Then the troupe does a series of improvs based on the information provided.

The first guy was really lame. The second, well, just some young punk (and I don't mean "punk" like the culture). But guess who was third and last? No, don't look at me! It was Anna. I would have thought they would have a field day with the blog title including Paul McCartney's white pubic hair, but they sort of passed by it until I called out for them to click it. They didn't think it was too funny, except for the end about Anna wanting to poke out my "eyes," and they thanked "me" (well, the person who came up with it, which they didn't conclude was me in the audience) for that image. If only they had kept reading the comments, which now include a brief but pretty thorough explanation of the "hand theory."

But, yeah, it was hilarious. And packed. They had people sitting (sans chair) on the stage. Well worth the $5. Now I want to check out some of their other shows, especially the free ones.

(mis)adventures in architecture

Yesterday I decided that I had to get out of the house, brighten my mood, just do things to keep me occupied rather than sit at home doing nothing but procrastinate to the backdrop of random reading and movie watching.

What could I possibly do in L.A. that would make me happy? Look at (modern) architecture, of course!

So I elected to visit the Schindler House in West Hollywood since they only give tours on the weekends. I got there at 11:20, only to find a note that they wouldn't open until noon (announcements like these should go on the website and phone line, people!). No big deal, I decided to walk around. I took a few photos, but they weren't so hot (mainly do to damn cars ruining my artistic attempts). But I'll share a couple with you.



Dingbats are a very L.A. archetype. I'm sure they were pioneered here, but I don't know if they've spread their joy other places. Modeled on motels as permanent housing types, they are distinctive with covered (yet visible) parking below the units and outdoor circulation (i.e. no covered interior corridors). I just thought it was interesting to see this triplicate of bland dingbats (some are bland, some are hideous, and some are quite attractive) on a street of haphazard residential buildings.

Near the dingbats, resting on the corner of Croft and Willoughby, is this huge Parisian-inspired building. I took a photo of the whole thing but it's not as interesting to look at. What caught my attention was this amazing corner/entrance detail. The rest of the building is actually quite gaudy. The scale is huge, the tiles on the mansard roof a bit ridiculous. There's quite a bit of French-inspired architecture in L.A., but most of it is unappealing caricature. In D.C. you see buildings that could be found on the streets of Paris. No one would ever made that mistake here. This building has these enormous concrete balconies that make it obvious this is L.A.

I returned to the Schindler House at noon and waited with other people. I took some photos of the exterior, including this one.



No one showed up to open the place until 12:20. Then after waiting for them to settle I find out there are no guided tours today. I'm sorry, I'm not paying to see the interior of a building I've seen through photographs without any of the backstory. I can do that in a book in less time. Naturally I complained about how you're supposed to put these kinds of notices on your website and phone line, which is why they exist.

So what the hell was I going to do? I had already planned a trip to Canter's for some sweets on my way home, but then what? What would a day be like if Stephanie didn't get frustrated?

I got home and decided to call the Gamble House to see how the tours worked. Apparently they're given every 20 minutes, which I think they fail to note on the website. So I went and it was worth it. Most of the tours I saw on the grounds were large, but I lucked out in a small group of three (including myself). I ended up talking to the docent for quite awhile afterwards since she is applying to graduate programs in the architectural history vein. Then I went in the gift shop and bought myself an early birthday present since it was half price. The House Book is a massive coffee table book, which I don't tend to buy for myself. But it's got a huge selection of highbrow houses with a blurb on each. Then in the back there's a glossary and some other information. I thought it might prove to be a nice reference book, though I think it might knock over my bookshelf, so I'll have to figure out where to put it.

I concluded my visit with a couple of photos of the Gamble House. Yes, I know how to get the whole building in the frame, but that's not always the most interesting thing to look at.

milkshake, milkshake

I'm not a foodie, but I've got my preferences just like with anything else. And, of course, in my family, food has a lot of neurotic baggage. But just within the last couple of days I've made some pretty definitive opinions on a couple of things.

First of all, don't ever think that making a root beer float out of Hansen's diet root beer and vanilla soy ice cream is going to taste good. Oh my god it's gross. At least the nutty soy stuff cancels out the diet taste, but you're still left with muck. Good, genuine root beer floats can be found at Fred 62 and probably everywhere else that serves real root beer and ice cream.

We all know I'm obsessed with dairy desserts, especially soft-serve ice cream and frozen yogurt. But my new thing is milkshakes. Say it with me: "Milkshake." It's one sexxy word thanks to Louis XIV. "Milkshake, Milkshake."

Right now I'm sipping my Carl's Jr. strawberry shake. I should say strawberry milk. See, they get you with that handscooped ice cream business, but of course they fail to mention that a strawberry or chocolate shake is vanilla ice cream with generic, overly sweet syrup. Yuck, they get the award for worst. The best milkshake happens to be found at the Brite Spot, my favorite diner. Last night I ordered a chocolate one. It was incredible. And it came with more whipped cream than I've ever seen. I had to scoop 90% of it into a bowl and it still ended up in my hair (not the first time).

Honorable mentions for milkshakes must be handed to In-N-Out and Foster's Freeze. In-N-Out is the best value at $1.69. It's not handscooped--in fact it comes out of a soft-serve machine--but it actually tastes like a milkshake unlike the Carl Jr.'s concoction (they claim it's real ice cream and I believe them since they have god on their side, right, Anna?). If you're looking for a tasty, but not very sweet one, head to Foster's Freeze for a banana milkshake. It's their soft serve mixed with milk and a ripe banana.

walking to rock

I recently arrived home from a night of rock at El Cid followed by hijinks at the Brite Spot.

I was so excited. For days I've been telling people that I was going to walk to a concert. You don't understand how important this was to me. I've spent my life without anywhere of interest to walk to. Now I live really close to most of the concerts I go to, but walking still isn't the most practical option--except for tonight at El Cid, which I recently learned was built by D.W. Griffith and he even filmed part of Birth of a Nation there! eek, I know. Cool place, though.

I found out about this concert in a roundabout way, looked up the bands on MySpace, and decided I was going. And oh my god, the second I heard The Plus Ones, I was excited. They actually list Superdrag first under their influences and it's quite evident from a brief listen. They were totally channeling Superdrag throughout the set (in the way that you could tell they like them, but it's their own sound). Then I nearly peed my pants when they played a spot-on cover of "True Believer" from Superdrag's In the Valley of Dying Stars. That was rock! I bought their CD, good stuff. They're San Francisco based so hopefully I'll be able to catch another show or two either here or there.

Satisfaction followed. I enjoyed their sound, but as Anna rightly pointed out, there's something a bit off about them. Like they were thrown together. And the weird thing was how their set abruptly ended. No thanks, no nothing. They just left the stage in a haphazard way.

imagine me & my romantic comedy fetish

The last two days have been about tactics to evade the maid. I just don't like to be here when she goes about her business. But she has failed to show either day, which irritates me. I could have been productive. Would I have been? Well, I guess we'll never know.

Anyway, one of my "unproductive" tasks to be out of the house included watching Imagine Me & You at Laemmle Sunset 5 on the Sunset Strip. I had other plans, but a series of things didn't follow them through so here I am writing.

I am a total sucker for romantic comedies. Who the fuck knows why. Probably because I crave that disgusting display of affection in my own life. Some ridiculous girlie, primal desire I can't shake. But I'm also a skeptic and just a bit cynical (you think?) and don't believe romantic comedy romance actually exists. That love at first sight business? Eh. Lust at first sight, yes. Hell, I have that multiple times a day.

And this is a really bad time for movies, have you noticed? Nothing of interest is coming out for another two weeks, so I thought, I'm going to this one. I liked the trailor, which I saw for the first time in front of Match Point also featuring Matthew Goode. I nearly went to the advance (though not free) screening at the Egyptian Theatre as part of their OutFest on Wednesday (too much hassle). But I prefer near-empty theaters. This one had maybe twenty people--most of them lesbian couples. There were some men in there, each solo, which I found interesting. The middle-aged ones may have been gay, but there was a twenty-something that didn't give me that vibe. No I'm not saying I judge people by what movies they go to see (hello, straight girl with big dick on the brain went to see a lesbian romantic comedy), but let's face it, it's fun to speculate.

Back to the film. I liked it, but I would have been perfectly fine to see it on DVD. It has more than the Notting Hill neighborhood in common with Notting Hill, I thought: goofy customers, the climax leading to the ending, and a general vibe of it (sort of selling American comedies by the English to the Americans). For the first time that I can remember, the male lead is more sympathetic than the female one. Generally it's about equal, but for me, this had a decidedly bias toward the guy, the one being jilted, which made me cry (yeah, I get really vulnerable in romantic comedies). And that's ok. Rachel and Luce can have each other. I'll take Heck (I know, weird, but it's short for Hector). Matthew Goode is sexxxy. Like a more mature, English Topher Grace (though don't we all agree Topher looked his best in Ocean's Twelve?).

Now I know why I like romantic comedies so much. Lust at first sight.

something i failed to mention earlier...

I am utterly bummed that Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story will not be arriving in L.A. this weekend. It's only opening in NYC. Why do we have to wait two weeks to get it out here? Come on, this is movieland. I can't even see it for my birthday if I want to, I have to wait until the weekend. What bullocks.

manderlay, schmanderlay

Last night when Allie and I were talking on the phone she was complaining about how Landmark Theatres haven't had any screenings since Matt Cowal left. Then I reminded her that Landmark has never had a screening since I moved to L.A.!

I should bitch about that more often, because I got an email inviting me to get on the list for one this morning. I was so excited, I noted just the title (which clearly didn't register, because I've read about the movie) and Danny Glover from the banner and promptly responded. I mean, really, I watch just about anything and I knew it wasn't sci-fi or horror, so why not?

So I gleefully told Allie this afternoon. She promptly responded, "You won't like it." So I went back to the email to figure out why. It's a fucking Lars von Trier movie. Oh how I hate him, let me count the ways. His movies are painful. I can't handle the insane, irrational behavior of his heroines (e.g. Bjork in Dancer in the Dark and Emily Watson in Breaking the Waves--not even Jean-Marc Barr's presence can salvage these films). I refused to see Dogville when I had the opportunity. And now this is the damn sequel to it.

Oh man. Will I go? Well, it's on the Westside, it's Lars von Trier, but it's free and the topic is at least interesting... I don't know. Will I get on the list? Who wants to torture themselves by going with me? This is double-torture, because you will have to endure the film AND any possible bitching about it from me. Of course that should be a standard warning, but some things I'm more likely to hate than others.

it's all about rapid fire

So the toilet is now free and clear. It's all about rapid-fire motions with the plunging, but of course the water has to be low enough so you can do this without getting it all over you. I'm wearing my favorite shirt, there's no way I was going to destroy it this way.

I called my dad for some advice after two unsuccessful attempts. He suggested doing it rapid fire. I had some more trouble, so I asked my roommate to help, thinking it was all about strength. He agreed but dillydallied. Impatient as ever, I attempted the rapid-fire tactic. My dad, the most unhandy person on earth, is the hero of the day--3,000 miles away. Go, Dad!

adventures in plumbing

What an adventure I've had this morning and it's only 9:00 a.m. No one in L.A. is even up by now, except me and the boys at Home Depot.

So last night my toilet clogs for the first time in my use of it. Nothing gross, it's just not sucking all the water and toilet paper down. But what can I do? I hope it will go away on its own, but subsequent pees proved unsuccessful. So this morning I'm becoming frantic. I don't think there's a plunger in my unit, and then there's the whole thing about how I've never successfully plunged a toilet before in my life (lack of arm strength or something). My landlord, above, I didn't hear stir and then once I did he left before I could catch him (actually, landlord is out of town, this is his partner). So I decide that I'm going to Vons. It's the only thing that would sell a plunger at 8:15. I get there, no plunger. There's an independent hardware store near me, but I'm convinced they wouldn't be open so I continue west on Sunset to Home Depot.

The parking lot was practically full at 8:30, all the hustle and bustle of contractors. I was lucky to get some people to tell me where to find the plunger. The Home Depot-working brother of Viggo Mortensen* was especially helpful.

I get home, first attempt doesn't work. Do I even know how to use a plunger? Plus, I'm now convinced the toilet hole is abnormally small. So I wait while the water goes down, and I'll try again. Stay tuned.


* Meaning that it wasn't Viggo or his brother probably, but there was some resemblance--yet he looked like he works at Home Depot, even without the orange apron.

** Isn't that image fantastic? It's from an ad I saw on LATimes.com during this whole ordeal.

*** I'm sorry, I thought this blog would be funnier.

if you think i'm raunchy...

apparently I'm nothing compared to those of the boosterism era of California. Men were photographed enthusiastically next to unbelievably tall cacti.

As if that isn't proof enough everyone thinks he has the largest dick in the room, er, desert...

because we should read things that don't relate to the penis

I'm linking you to this article in part because I'm a Francophile, in part because I'm a cultural critic, in part because it's pretty short and sweet, and in part because I needed something non-sexual to write about.

Bernard-Henri Lévy has followed in the footsteps (in spirit since there was a lot more ground to cover this time) of Alexis de Tocqueville, who wrote Democracy in America in 1835. Lévy's forthcoming book American Vertigo exposes a variety of American experiences through a set of French lenses. No, he's not anti-American, so quit your bitching. Sounds like a fascinating read actually.

I liked what he had to say about Los Angeles. As Sebastian Rotella, Los Angeles Times writer explains:

"As much as the disciple of Tocqueville admires America, however, the affection falters in Los Angeles. He does not get Los Angeles. He calls the city 'illegible and unintelligible.'

'The definition of a monster according to Aristotle is too much substance and not enough form,' Lévy said. 'That's exactly the case of Los Angeles. It may be a European point of view. I say it with all the prudence of someone perhaps with a traditional idea of a city... I don't say I hated it, but I was lost. 'Lost in Translation.' Perhaps it's the city of the future. But without me.'"

look what i found

Walking the short distance between the concrete steps and my front door, I noticed a new, sealed condom on the ground. I picked it up in disbelief. From what I can tell, it's just a regular Durex.

It must have been dropped by my roommate unless I've been sleep walking again.

stumped?

Can't for the life of you figure out what might be the male version of the muffin top? Well, I figure it's not right to torture you, so I'm going to tell you.

It's the uncovered part of the penis shaft when a regular condom is rolled down (i.e. the condom is too short). I didn't come up with this--Tim did. And he would know.

what do you think the male version of the muffin top is?

I know the answer.



Wondering what a muffin top is? Anna read this somewhere and told me. It's the effect of showing off a midriff that isn't flat--what spills over the pant waist is the muffin top. Get it?

those damn cosmos

Sometimes odd cosmic things happen. Lately I've been thinking about how I need to do a better job of grooming my eyebrows. I have to say that they are quite sexy if properly plucked. But I'm lazy, and I hate the pain of plucking hairs out one by one. And of course moving to a new city where you don't know how to find the good bargains on "beauty" makes the task more daunting. So last night I asked Anna for some tips. Then I googled and Citysearched a bit this morning on the topic. I may just have to go around on foot and investigate. I just can't fathom paying $20 for something that will take all of two minutes. It's not a pressing matter or anything.

But getting back to the cosmic bullshit... I just got a friend request from this weirdo, who offers these kinds of services. Maybe it had something to do with that creepy moon last night?

The blogs I could do on the weirdos that contact me through MySpace, my dating life, and all the things I censor...wow.

because there aren't enough posts about albert brooks

The one week The Onion forgets to send me their update reminder is the one week that I really want to read something in the AV Club.

Okay, okay, enough about why I didn't catch this earlier. Read this fabulous interview with Albert Brooks about a wide range of things, including some of his thoughts on creating Judgment City in Defending Your Life--a film I think is simply brilliant.

i love albert brooks so much that I traveled to santa monica for him

I had perhaps the best Westside experience this evening. Dinner, movie, and dessert. It was quite the romantic date for both Anna and I, even sitting in this bizarre booth (seated side-by-side) at a crepe place on the 3rd Street Promenade.

I managed to score two passes to an advance screening of Looking for Comedy in the Muslim World. Very advance, you know, less than twenty-four hours before it will start elsewhere. Oh well, free and advance is free and advance.

I loved it. I laughed constantly. I was amazed at how much the crowd laughed. While it's full of Brooks's usual cerebral humor, there are plenty of easy jokes. It's perhaps his most accessible film, but the overall topic and satire certainly doesn't have the broadest appeal. It's full of references to Brooks's previous films and roles, the most obscure one being Modern Romance which is actually never named, perhaps a nod to his fanbase. It's really well done, much funnier than the trailor would indicate.* It was so good, I think I'm going to go pay to see it again in a week or so, hoping the theater won't be full so I can actually hear everything. Usually movies are deafeningly loud, but not this one. Some of the subtle jokes were drowned out by laughter.

Bottom line: go see the damn movie. Albert, don't wait so long to make another one!


* I've never seen a movie whose trailor actually didn't cut out huge context to give details and laughs. That was a surprise. And clearly most of the audience hadn't seen the trailor (or at least the ten times I did) so they laughed the hardest at the jokes that appear in it, which had lost their luster for me.

for those curious souls...

Allie has broken her silence over her extended stay in L.A.

the shirt has bitten the dust

Remember that blue shirt I was so excited that I saved from the wine stains last week? Well, it's officially dead now.

I wore it yesterday and within a couple of hours I noticed a hole smack in the middle of the shirt, aligned with my bust. Yes, it appears that the miraculous T-shirt couldn't handle the girth of my bosom.

Unbelievable. When I told Anna this, she had a great phrase for it, but of course I've forgotten.

I don't know what to do with the shirt now. I can't bring myself to throw it in the garbage without any fanfare. I suggested cleaning the damn cobwebs the maid can't manage to see. Anna suggested something else, but well, for the sake of decency, that's not being printed.

have you had your 99¢ experience yet?

Even when I visited L.A. in June before moving here in August, I found it kind of amusing to see everywhere these large 99¢ Only stores. Of course I was already familiar with the concept; there are $1 stores all over the place in the D.C. area. But in L.A. I have only seen this chain, and the price is a strict one penny shy of what I was used to. For the first time, I entered one today on a mission for tissue paper since I live a mere three blocks away.

Oh my god I couldn't believe the stuff they had. This location, which is far from the largest I've seen, is jammed with all kinds of stuff--well beyond the scope of $1 stores back east. Sure some of it is off-brand stuff you've never heard of, but I couldn't believe the quantity and variety of brand names in all kinds of household materials that you pay at least three times the price for elsewhere. Need school supplies? Blank VHS tapes? Candy? Have you ever wondered where you might find Shasta outside a hospital? They even sell food, including some "fresh" (honestly, it looked decent) produce.

Hell, you can even get a pregnancy test. I saw it at the checkout. Really slick marketing. That's definitely the kind of impulse buy so many women make. Though I didn't see any of my current favorite accessories, condoms--magnum (XL) or not.

Brave the horrendous music (bad covers of good '80s songs) and see what you might find. What a treasure trove.

novel ideas

For the last two days I have been doing something I haven't done in years. Yes, really, years. I read a novel. See, I read a lot. How much do you read? Double it, quadruple it, maybe we're approaching how much I read. I read copious amounts of information (some deep, some pure crap) online and then I go and read tons and tons of theoretical, practical, boring, exciting, enlightening, and useless articles and books for school. Years of dense, profound reading material forced out any patience I had left for flowerly fiction. Don't write two pages of description for what we only needed two sentences for, please.

Perhaps it's only Tom Perrotta that can get me to read fiction these days. When I popped into Border's on Friday I couldn't help but notice his latest book, Little Children staring at me with a $4.99 pricetag on the bargain shelf. I've read all of his other works, I couldn't resist this one with a weekend of "freedom" before me. I could have easily read the whole thing in one sitting, but let's face it, I have the attention span of a two-year-old so I had to spread it over the two days. I just finished it, and god, it was good. Nothing profound or groundbreaking. Maybe it was just good to get wrapped up in a story through words rather than film. Actually, this is going to be a film, which doesn't surprise me (though the casting does).

But what the hell intrigued me so much about a bunch of early-thirties suburbanites with young children? Maybe it was how it painted that suburban dream so negatively. Not in coarse words, but in the realities of these people's lives. No one was happy with his or her situation--not the ones who planned it to a tee, fell there by accident, or didn't know what the hell they wanted to do with their lives.

In honor of this great feeling the book left me (though I'll say the disgustingly sappy romantic that lurks under this seemly blase exterior shed a tear for the ending that had to be), I think I'm going to watch Election after Grey's Anatomy.

Did I just out myself as a soap opera watcher (never Desperate Housewives, though!)?

do you ever wonder what if?

Do you ever wonder what would be different if you made that light? What if you made that metro train? What if you picked up on call waiting?

Apparently I missed out on a celebrity sighting this morning because I chose not to pick up on the call waiting that would have informed me of very late breakfast plans.

Oh well. I happen to find sexy, well endowed men more of a turn on than Aimee Mann anyway.

raining dog boots

The funny thing about living in a climate where it rains infrequently versus one where it rains all the time is the need for rain boots. I never even thought to buy a pair living on the east coast, but here, a couple hours of rain means puddles up to your ankles. I couldn't find any in stores, so I ordered them online from Gap.com (GapKids really, yes, I can wear their kids shoes and actually find them to be some of the most comfortable I own). I selected the blue boots with black and white dogs on them, hoping no one would really notice (the pink boots with dots were just too loud). So yesterday afternoon I was excited to wear them for the first time. It was raining all morning, but by the time I stepped out to head to Sea Level Records for a free instore performance by The King of France, it had stopped raining and the pavement was already drying. But I didn't change. My (gay) landlord was on his way out too and thought they were so cute. "Oh no," I thought. At least I wasn't going to Sea Level to try to pick up men like I usually am.

After the show, I hopped over to Anna's. Later, we headed out to dinner and then a dive bar in Sierra Madre for a night of Adam Marsland & The Chaos Band performing three sets of covers. It may have been a dive bar (it smelled like one and drinks were about half the price we pay in our vicinity), but there was no way I was wearing those damn boots!

shirts, stains, fannies, packs

A couple of random things about my day so far.

On a happy note, just before I went to bed in the four o'clock hour this morning it occurred to me that soaking my Shouted wine-stained shirt in Woolite might be a good idea. When I woke up five hours later, the stains were gone. I can't believe it! This was a thin, light-blue shirt.

I'm sorry, I'm totally geeking out over something domestic. I get a kick out of claiming I have no domestic skills, but clearly, I've got something if that worked and my dad and sister call me for household advice. But maybe it's just that these American Eagle Outfitters shirts that I have (the only items I've ever bought from that place) are not just the most comfortable, colorful, and flattering things I own, but some sort of miracle T-shirts.

I went to the lovely (rolls eyes) Glendale Galleria this afternoon to return some of my Gap.com purchases. I walked the length of the mall back to Brand Blvd. to go to Borders. On my way out, I had to go through Mervyn's and those damn Dickies bags caught my attention again. As I was fiddling to see if one would do the job, a nice middle-aged lady came up to me to ask if I knew where she could find a fannypack. Actually, she didn't know the word, but ask about a small thing that would go around her waist, and I responded, "A fannypack?" Those of you who think I'm a bitch would have been so proud of me as I resisted the enormous temptation to burst out laughing. I kindly told her no, but perhaps a small bag like what I was looking at that could be slung across the body would do the job. She didn't pick one up, but the last thing we need is another fannypack wearer floating around.

louis xiv secrets

You can tell by the time stamp on this that I'm up late. And I had a long day.

I won a pair of free tickets last week to the invite-only Louis XIV concert at the Knitting Factory. After winning I decided I should listen to them and see if I lucked out or not. You can actually listen to their whole album online here, and wow, I fell in love. So I bought the record. I went to the show solo, because people had all sorts excuses for why they couldn't go (busy working, traveling to/from Fresno, or going to Santa Monica of all places!). Well, it was a boring two hours leading to the grand performance that lasted well under an hour and no encore!

The crowd was kind of gross. A mixture of near-rednecks, club girls, and other types of people I don't usually see at concerts and bars I frequent. The more indie looking types were the ones really done up in a trendy sort of way. So yeah, people watching wasn't all that fun. And the band they picked to play in the front room while we all waited for the grand event was quite bad. I was beginning to wonder if it was worth it. So then I pack myself into the main stage area. Actually, it wasn't that tight when I got there, but it filled in. To the point that some middle-aged bleached blonde who took her fashion cues from Working Girl spilled her red wine on one of my favorite shirts. I Shouted the thing like crazy, but I don't think it's going to come out.

But I have to say that despite the short set and only half the band wearing suits (well, three-piece suits sans the blazers), Louis XIV put on an excellent show. It also illustrated the trading of vocals that didn't necessarily occur to me by just listening to the record. They closed the set with my favorite "Pledge of Allegiance."

I'm claiming "Pledge of Allegiance" as my anthem. The tune is catchy as hell and I rather like the storytelling, imagining myself in either role.

"The best little secrets are kept / You're my best little secret yet."

is there something wrong with me?

I can't believe I'm going to admit this, but I was thinking about it on my drive home from school this afternoon. I'm so used to driving back during the peak of rush hour that it was odd to actually think about random things besides how much I want to escape gridlock and that those lala people should get the lead out of their asses and on their feet.

Anyway, I think I like L.A. I can hear Allie gasping. She probably won't speak to me for a week.

What made me come to this conclusion? Well, I think there's something about playing hostess that gives you pride in your space. Touring Allie around for so long was a real boost to that. Plus, I spent two nights this week with a prospective USC Ph.D. student (I sure hope he chooses us!) giving advice on things like bars, routes to take ("Beverly is very fast."), and god knows what else.

We went to Akbar last night. The final word on that one: it's gay. I was the only straight person in there. So I guess my gay-bar cherry was finally popped.

four weeks from today...

is my birthday. February 8. Write that down.

I already know a couple of my cool presents will include this ice cream maker (in red, of course) and a subscription to Metropolis magazine. I'm surprisingly bad at demanding (suggesting) gifts. It was actually Anna who gave me the idea of an ice cream maker since I'm obsessed with frozen soft-serve dairy. Allie suggested the magazine. I'm still at a loss as to what else could round out the familial obligations. Any suggestions?

I've figured out one other thing I want on my birthday. If your name starts with a T, should ask me directly about that one.

Why do I think this birthday should include a healthy amount of tequila shots (with lime, no salt)? And it's a good thing I didn't bother lugging any tequila from Mexico. It's roughly the same price at Trader Joe's (yeah, the good stuff).

something serious for a change

Who would have ever thought a class offered by the history department would be the most progressive in my semester undertakings? I'm quite proud to be a historian trained outside of and in some ways in resistance to a history department; the short answer is that I'm a poststructuralist who questions notions like objectivity and single or absolute truths while history departments promote these notions (to varying degrees depending on the instructor, but as a field, they uphold concepts I challenge).

It's funny how certain things hit you in delayed and unexpected ways. I wanted to leave American Studies in order to be around people who study the built environment, but gradually it's revealed more and more to me how ignorant other fields (scholars, students, instructors) are of critical race, class, gender, sexuality, and other identity studies. Was it worth it? I've probably improved my employment opportunities, but I may have to suffer mental anguish for the next few years.

So it was somewhat of a surprise and a great relief to see the breadth and depth of my fellow students in my Los Angeles urban history seminar that meets at the Huntington Library. I'm really excited about the course, and it actually doesn't look to be nearly as demanding as I anticipated.

In celebration and with reference to an earlier experience this week in a course where one of the professors just didn't get the interconnections of race and class (especially as they are culturally specific), I want to provide you with two articles published in the most recent edition of The Next American City that discuss two sides of the same coin in the continuing struggle and oppression of race and class in urban America. They aren't as jaron-filled as my second paragraph (or even this one), so I wouldn't worry about getting lost. These are phenomenon you're more than likely aware of.

"Corporate Retailers and the American Ghetto: How Starbucks May Help Save South Central" by Josh Sides

"The Dilemma of the Black Middle Class" by Sheryll Cashin (focuses on Prince George's County in relation to the rest of suburban Washington, D.C.)

albert brooks again

I think you get the point that I love Albert Brooks. But read the article I've linked you to above anyway. It gets off to a bad start, describing him as "Brillo-haired" (yeah, ok, Jewfroish probably isn't acceptable, but come on). But I'll tell you what really pissed me off: "sweaty schnook substitute anchorman" in Broadcast News. Oh man, don't get me started. How can you not sympathize with his character in that movie? I still hate William Hurt today for his role in it.

Anyway, I was quite ticked to hear (read, rather) that D.C. had a screening of the movie before L.A. again (the article reports it premieres here on Thursday, but alas I was not invited and I have other plans anyway). Dubai I could handle, there's no connection for me there. But D.C.? Come on, people, rip my heart out why don't you. And to make matters worse, a childhood friend, working for a Congresswoman, attended the screening. How do I know this? The other day when I was insanely bored and none of my preferred chatting buddies were online, I looked through people's away messages. Jeff's said something along the lines of watching a movie with John Kerry today (he was also an intern for him during the election). Then when I read this article that mentioned Kerry's presence, I IMed him to confirm.

Man.

But I have seen the trailor about fifty times now, nearly in front of every movie Allie and I saw together.

shattering the glass (penis) ceiling

So all this magnum talk gives me interesting research ideas. Last night, insanely bored and dreading the impending beginning of school today, I was doing some of that research. Magnum XLs are supposedly the widest condoms on the market, 30% bigger than regular condoms (standard magnums are 15% bigger). I happened upon Condomania.com, which boasts a line of 55 custom-fit condoms. What size are you? Download the measuring kit here, and let me know.

Actually, to fully understand the rest of this post, you might want to download it for reference. Plus, it is a rather hilarious thing to look at.

So this morning Tim and I are chatting, and I told him about what I found. He doesn't have a printer that works, but I do, so I print it out. We try to guestimate what he might be. I guess I should admit that I am working with only details he gave me, not firsthand experience in the lab or anything. But I first guessed D66; Tim definitely thinks the thickness is off (he's visual, I'm not). Then I cut the measuring tools out and realized I am way off. I didn't have a ruler, but using a sheet of paper as a guide, we think he could be a whopping G22, which is the largest size!

Tim's actual size is yet to be determined. I've got a fresh measuring kit waiting for him.

I've taped the measuring tools together to make a paper sculpture, which will hang on--you guessed it--the mobile.

isn't stephanie too old to play with dolls?

Since I couldn't hang my mobile, I decided still to be productive in the mobile department. I spent hours last night and some more this morning cutting out these paper dolls, their clothes, and taping them on so that they can hang in the mobile. This was far more involved than I imagined. I just don't have the fine motor movement skills to make that an enjoyable task. Remind me of this the next time I want to get crafty.


But they look cool, don't they? I didn't want the two to wear sporty clothes, but unfortunately they were each designed to only wear the clothes Vice magazine thought they should wear. You can also see that the designer(s) didn't pay as much attention to the details as I would have liked. Some of them don't even fit in their clothes.

mobile PDA squared

I was all excited and couldn't wait to post photos of my mobile. I love mobiles. I don't know why, I just do. I bought one that allows you to hang photos or whatever you want (and change them at your will) from the National Building Museum gift shop before I moved out here. I'm finally ready to hang it since I bought the hook and string and the must-have step stool. And I even had Tim install the hook. But then I just went to see about hanging it, and I'm too short! Now I have to wait for a taller visitor.

I also did something today that I can't believe I did. I hate PDA. It drives me insane (I'll admit some of it is jealousy). So I can't believe that I kissed on the sidewalk in front of my place in broad day light and didn't mind. I see why PDA-ers do it so carefree, because it feels good. And I guess I felt like enough people didn't see it earlier that I needed to blog about PDA--it's PDA squared! Isn't that disgusting?

i ♥ john waters, don't you?

Today Allie and I made another trip to Orange County to visit our friend Merle. She happens to be a docent at the Orange County Museum of Art, which I must say, is one fabulous art museum. Who knew that such a frightening conservative land could cradle such art or even welcome traveling exhibits by John Waters of all people?! One piece is titled "12 Assholes and a Dirty Foot." Yes, it's exactly what the title suggests. I've been to the museum a few times and I always enjoy it (the sexy "security" guys don't hurt either...they're local artists). I have to admit I feel a bit deprived away from the National Building Museum, the Hirshhorn, and the National Gallery of Art. I just haven't been impressed with L.A., though the Hammer was worth the visit.

At any rate, John Waters is one brilliant man. His work is shallow, yet profound. It really is just what you see, and the power is in his concepts and the stories surrounding them. One of the best pieces in the exhibit was a series of "Hit Your Mark" that illustrates the only thing viewers never see in movies: the marks that actors stand on. What is so marvelous about the exhibit is the accompanying iPod* tour that features Waters's commentary on several of the works. You can download it via the website linked above, so even if you can't see the work, you can think about it. He's just a fabulous storyteller, which I've seen in many ways.


*I have a comment on how iPods work. That round scroll thing is annoy-ing. My Creative player has a real scroll that functions more appropriately, thank you.

cowboys may be his weakness, but larry david is mine

Check out this fabulously hilarious op-ed by one of my comic heroes: Larry David. I think some of my friends will especially appreciate this, chief among them K2.

I did see Brokeback Mountain and quite enjoyed it. But then again I love gay men. I also love to see uber-macho archetypes challenged. You know, that's just the iconoclastic postmodernist in me.

Enjoy.