one person's yuck is another's crack

For some reason the New York Times is covering the insane yogurt war happening in Los Angeles. Yes, Pinkberry (itself rumored to be an imitator) has many mimicking competitors. Last night I noticed that Orange Cream Frozen Yogurt is coming to Echo Park on Alvarado at Sunset. Please, I hope you put some sugar or some orange in that frozen yogurt. None of that sour stuff.

In the meantime, the Columbo frozen yogurt kiosk on campus remains my crack. It's unbelievably good (and non-fat). Diary Queen, always in my heart, is just not convenient for me out here.

i'm not gonna touch that

Patterns of people's behavior just baffle me. I try to let others' behavior guide my own. As aggressive as I may seem, I'm constantly trying not to alienate people so I temper my expectations and actions to what I think may be acceptable to others. So when there's a sudden reversal of things, I just don't get what's going on or what my place is. I know I'm not the only one to deal with this, but it's just frustrating. And it makes you want to give up, just curl up, be a fucking hermit and be done with it. But I can't deny, despite my anti-social, introspective tendencies, I'm a social person. People are fascinating to me, and I'm constantly learning things because of people I know and people I meet. But this other side of the coin...

To illustrate just one of the recent frustrations, let me tell you what happened the other night. I went to a concert with a friend. Between sets I noticed an acquaintance standing by himself at the bar, so I decided to be polite and just say hi. In the interest of somewhat full disclosure, I'll say we have a bit of an awkward past, but whenever we've run into each other in the past, there's never been a problem. We couldn't have talked more than two minutes and in that span he made sure to tell me he has a girlfriend he lives with, and in order to stop talking to me he said he really had to go to the bathroom. He clearly thought I was hitting on him, which was not at all the case. I'm pretty sure I didn't say anything at all that would be interpreted that way. And as if I would hit on someone who looked like he hadn't bathed or groomed in days! But after the whole brush off, which in itself wasn't a problem (I was done talking to him anyway), I was left with this feeling of yuck. This is why I don't have the courage to actually approach men I find attractive in public and try my hand at hitting on them. I fear that I then become this joke that I have for this guy. I could give a shit about what he thinks of me, but in the end, it just underscores my uncomfortability with people's behavior and sudden deviations from patterns.

Of course, I'm postmodern and I should expect this kind of thing, but I'm also human.

something stinks

I learned something today about how obsessed with grass people are. Yesterday, in front of the building where my school is housed, I noticed a nasty smell that could best be described as elephant shit. I figured it was mulch (yes, mulch smells like shit to me). When I returned home last night, I opened my car door in the building garage (with openings to the street above) and smelled the same thing. This afternoon I learned that cow shit, which is politely described as fertilizer, was spread around yesterday. Why? To make the grass green. It's the rainy season, but it's hardly rained (well, except for today) so all the grass is ugly. Too bad. I prefer ugly grass to the smell of cow shit.

I've always thought grass was such a stupid thing to bother with, especially with the way people fuss over it. But this is just over the top. When you live in a climate where it rains all the time it never occurs to you that in other places people are so desperate for green grass that they spread shit on their lawns.

very quickly because i have a zillion papers to grade and two books to read...

I hate the redesign of the IMDB. They fool you because the main page is the same, but try looking up a movie. Ugh. They made it look like they were pressed for space.

the infamous truman capote

Today I watched Infamous, which is Douglas McGrath's take on Truman Capote's writing of In Cold Blood, the same subject of Capote. It's been a good year since I saw Capote, but I have to say that I find Infamous more compelling. Its tale is certainly a bit more controversial. For god's sake, James Bond kisses Truman Capote! In Capote it appears that he's just a total asshole toward Perry Smith, using him for his own gain. Infamous makes Capote more sympathetic, suggesting that he and Smith had an emotional bond and sexual tension (it outright tells you Smith was gay, which I don't remember from Capote). I can see why this was the Capote film that got swept under, but I enjoyed it more, not least of because I'm partial to McGrath's work.

the pinkberry fantasy is over

I know it probably seems like I start every blog about dessert with the following sentence, but it's true: I'm obsessed with frozen dairy products (the milk lobby should be so proud, really). So I finally went to try Pinkberry, since I noticed upon my return from Europe that one had opened on Vermont just north of Hollywood. Pinkberry's gimmick is plain or green tea frozen yogurt with fresh fruit toppings. I should have known it wasn't going to be good when my attempts to parallel park were comical. Film comical. I'm a good parallel parker, I swear!

Anyway, the "original" flavor is sour. Like bad milk sour. I may eat so much yogurt you'd think I was French, but I like it the American way with so much damn sugar in it that you have no idea that this is really some form of curdled milk. The green tea wasn't bad, but after tasting the original I couldn't stand to eat it. And for the price I'd rather go to Lucky Devils and get a hot fudge malt.

sisterly blogs

Allie (or as she now has embraced her real name Alexandra) is so finicky. We all know she's a picky eater. She also starts and stops blogs like it's nothing. Since she's been blogging multiple times a day in her new one, I figured it's time to announce it. This blog and that blog may be dead, but this one is going strong. You may want to check it since we might have a dialog going. Already, she posted this in response to my fear of snakes. What a nice sister I have. And yes, it creeped me out big time.

pop! goes my heart

I just returned from my valentine's date with Hugh. I tell you, he never disappoints.* He's the best date. Consistently funny, charming, sexy as hell, looks good (nearly) naked, and quite the dancer. He's so great, I'm not at all jealous about our polyamorous relationship. I know he cares about my amusement. ("You amuse me and I think I amuse you.") Sometimes we roleplay--he's the cad and calls me a "dirty bitch," and of course I love it. He threatens to break up with me every so often, but I know he doesn't have the heart.


* Well, except for maybe American Dreamz since I couldn't even watch that one.

sexy math

So last night I met the hottest mathematician. He was a guest speaker in this teaching seminar I have to take. He looked like he couldn't have been more than thirty, but he's already hopped around to a few universities as a professor and won several teaching awards. He wasn't there to lecture on math--though, if my math teachers looked like that I would probably be a mathematician too. Not that my history teachers were particularly attractive, but you know, a little encouragement never hurt anyone.

So he's young, he's obviously brilliant, he's personable, and he can dress. Maybe he's gay. I don't know, the gaydar could go either way. It doesn't matter. You can't make advances toward faculty members, even if they're in unrelated fields.

This leads to a confession I feel compelled to make in light of this. I find mathematicians and scientists secretly sexy as hell. Maybe it's because as a kid I wanted to be one, and I could have easily gone down that path if I hadn't found people and stories so much more compelling. (Who knows what the real reason is for my diversion into the humanities, but it wasn't for lack of ability.) But there's also this association I have with geeky science men, intense brilliance, and a general quirkiness I find attractive. These are complete stereotypes, but well, we all have our types (in stereo or not). Then it's also a bit of an opposites factor. I'm an absolute humanist, postmodern to the core, and fundamentally question the scientific method (mostly on the basis of its presumed objectivity when in fact there is no such thing). So if I could snag a scientist it's like a bit of a coup. Hell, conservatives and god forbid libertarians are drawn to me like a moth to a flame (probably because they think they can convert me...go do missionary work elsewhere, thank you!). I don't want to destroy the scientist. But I have this fantasy that he's progressive as hell, knows what he's doing isn't objective, and just gets it. Hopefully he's got some social skills too. Plus, while it's attractive to partner with someone with similar ideals, goals, etc., do you really want a companion that would be a competitor in your field or profession? Think of the cool books and articles you could author together, but also think of the nasty competitor it could breed. Though you could fight and have make up sex...

do you remember the opening scene of cry baby?

It's good to face your fears for more than the simple reason that you will have to account for them when you reach Judgment City. You might learn how absolutely ridiculously silly some of these fears are.* For years, hell, decades probably, I've been avoiding immunizations or shots of any kind because I feared the immense pain. Let me explain: I have extremely sensitive upper arms. Not in the sexual way, but in the way that if you poke me, even in a kidding way, I'm going to scream OUCH! So why on earth would I want a sharp instrument to go through such a sensitive area?

Well, I decided that I should get that HPV vaccine. Female cancers in particular really scare the shit out of me, and anything I can do to prevent such a thing is going to be followed through with. And if I was going to subject myself to one shot, why not get Hepatitis B. Oh, and then there's that tetanus shot I apparently hadn't had since 1983. Three shots! In one day! Oh my!

And guess what, it was nothing. Just a prick, some of the fluid stung, but not at all what I feared. And thank god, because I have to get two more doses each of HPV and Hep.


* But I don't think I'll ever get over my fear of snakes. I still can't look at a photo of a snake without freaking out just a bit. Seriously, I don't know what the deal is, but snakes scare me!

do spelling mistakes alter taste?

No, they don't. Hansen's may still be the best birthday cake, even if they don't know there's a "t" in "Stephanie."

adventures in photographs

Yesterday I had a little adventure downtown. First on a walking tour of Little Tokyo, which is a place I've been to a few times before. But it's nice to get a formal tour. We started in the Japanese American Cultural Center Plaza, which looks like a 1970s urban renewal project--and guess what, it was! Okay, fine, one of the buildings has a Japanese flair, but it's still brutal concrete. You can see my photos here (it looks better than if I embed them in the blog).

On my way home, I visited my cousin Miriam at her new swanky (faux) loft downtown near the Staples Center. I took some photos of the courtyard, which includes a cool view of the downtown skyline.

Did you know that new apartment housing no longer uses traditional metal keys? They're now swipe cards like hotels! I bet this has probably been going on for awhile, but I just didn't know since I hadn't visited places. Andrew's campus housing has this too. It's kinda weird, isn't it? What happens when the power goes out?

stephanie turns 24

Am I officially in my mid-twenties now? I think so.

A very lowkey birthday celebration, which is what I wanted. Anna and Andrew took me out to the movies and to dinner. I think we all had a good time!

I definitely recommend Factory Girl. Both Sienna Miller and Guy Pearce turned in excellent performances. What is this real sex business? I totally glossed over it. Looked like every other sex scene really.

Then Anna and I went to this new bar in the 'hood called Hyperion Lounge (I think you can guess what street it's on). It's unmarked except for a lit-up barbershop thingy (what are those things called?). They have a screen projecting odd movies, which is a nice distraction in a bar. I had a spicy ginger ale, but I'm so tired you would think I had something real to drink. Yeah, this blog is sort of falling flat right now because of it.

Oh well, another year, another something, right? Of course I'm young enough to still be thrilled about getting older (and I don't have any wrinkles or gray hairs to show for it yet).

i'm now a walking billboard for ipod

So I got my orange iPod shuffle on Friday. And now I've taken to wearing it clipped to my collar if I have it on me. This means it's very noticeable when I'm wearing the chest-flattering shirts I own in spades; I can think of two reasons why: a) people are already staring at my big boobs and find it that way or b) it's orange and I wear a lot of clothes that compliment orange. Anyway, since they notice it, they tend to ask about it. Basically, I'm telling everyone it's like a broach, but functional. It is really frickin' cool, by the way. I've got 293 songs on that thing, and apparently, that's 17 hours of unrepeated music.

something i never imagined i'd hear diane lane say...

"Does she blow smoke rings through her cunt?!"

Oh my god I howled when I heard that in Hollywoodland. Very good movie, by the way.

Though I have to say that the title bugs the hell out of me (and it has since I first heard it in connection with the plot). What we know as the Hollywood sign (which I can see from my apartment) originally read "Hollywoodland." It was a giant advertisement for a new housing development in the Hollywood Hills called, you guessed it, Hollywoodland. This damn name doesn't really have to do with the entertainment industry. But, of course, only freaks like me that are obsessed with history (housing history, no less) pay attention to this. It only further underscores how this town was really made by real estate. Land, baby, it's the gold of the twentieth century and beyond.

my upcoming cinema-going plans...

In last week's Arclight mailing, they advertised the 21+ screenings of Music & Lyrics that will commence on Valentine's Day. And if you go opening day, you get a free soundtrack. I thought, "Hey, that's really not a bad deal." But then I'd have to go at 9:15 since I can't make 7:05 on a Wednesday night. And Wednesday is a really long day for me. Well, this morning I broke down and bought the ticket when I saw how full the theater is already (even in the back!). Oh god, it's going to be all couples while single me thinks about the imaginary relationship I have with Hugh Grant.

I refuse to let this embarrass me.

Meanwhile, on Thursday, I'm going to Arclight to see Factory Girl for my birthday. Only three theaters in the country are playing it now (the other two are probably in NYC). Who wants to go with me? I still don't know where the hell I'm going to eat for dinner. There really isn't some place that I'm just dying to have. Well, except Moby Dick, but that's a little far. Suggestions?

P.S. Technical difficulties ensued and published this silly thing twice, so I deleted one but you still get the time stamp from it.

another brilliant quip

So last night I was ranting about various frustrations I have, but in the process, I got a great quote out of it:

"I'm the most rational person I know, and I don't even believe in rationality."

To which Christopher said, "Maybe that's why."

To clarify for you rationalists: Rational people are so concerned with rationality that they tend to be completely irrational. Postmodern me throws rationality out the window, but still find a way to balance myself in an insane world. Unfortunately, that makes me a freak.

That's ok, I like freaks. Bring 'em on.

the postal defense

For the last couple of weeks I've been battling Netflix over, what I am convinced, is their deliberate tactics to slow the mailing of my movies so I can't get my "unlimited" rentals. Of course their M.O. is to blame the postal service.

Uh, I don't think that defense is going to work anymore. On Thursday evening Allie mailed my birthday card from Lancaster, England (that's the boonies, it ain't London, that's for sure). It arrived in my mail on Saturday. Yeah, that's faster than it takes first class mail to cross the country.

So I think DVDs should make it from Santa Ana within one day all the time, don't you?

it might not be a superdrag...

Lately I've been thinking about how my love for Superdrag truly rivals my love for Teenage Fanclub. I generally tell people my favorite band is Teenage Fanclub, and oddly, that name actually has more recognition than Superdrag (until you maybe mention "Sucked Out"). The thing is that Superdrag doesn't have one bad track. There's not anything that I compulsively skip. Teenage Fanclub, on the other hand, has some tracks that just don't quite do it for me. They aren't horrible, I don't skip them, but particularly in their older catalog (you know, the grunge era), just ain't so poppy so I just don't listen to it very much. Grand Prix and later is solid gold, however.

Anyway, so I'm always lamenting the demise of Superdrag, but the truth is, the brilliance behind Superdrag, John Davis, is still a very productive musician producing Superdrag stuff with a twist. That twist just happens to be God. And Allie told me we should give him a shot.

I think I'm willing. I mean, I do eat at In-N-Out Burger and like it, right?

what was joe trading today?

This morning I saw Liv Tyler, her husband Royston Langdon (sporting some really hot stubble,* I might add), and their son Milo (he has platinum blond hair...how did that happen?!) at Trader Joe's in Silver Lake.

It's very funny how that happens. Sure, I've seen celebrities, but when they pop up in places you go all the time but never see them, it's kind of weird. I thought they lived in New York. Plus, I was there much later than I usually go (in the 11 o'clock hour). And I actually talked to them, but it was because I was trying to get past them in the pasta (and everything else) aisle. They had two carts and were deciding on something on the shelf. Only when Liv asked if I was trying to get by in her very soft voice did everything click. I excused myself, of course, and didn't bother them. Even though I was thinking, "Damn! People I actually think are cool!" I really dug Spacehog. I even saw them open for REM in 1999 and waited years for the music they were playing to release on their final CD. I'm going to play The Hogyssey in honor of the occasion.


* For the record, stubble is always hot, but I like to emphasize that.

some food for thought lately

"Fact" is a four-letter word.

How radical can I get until I am unemployable?


See, I have profound moments like those above, and then I spent a minute putting ointment on these bizarre bites/sites of irritation on my neck and chest, and then I realize that I've now applied antibiotic--rather than anti-itch cream--twice today! No wonder I've been fighting a major urge to scratch. Though, of course, they itch more now knowing that I never had anything to stop the itching before. The placebo effect, no doubt.