April 30, 2004
More Meds, Please
Oh, I have been gritting my teeth all week against the pain of a gland problem that has landed me screaming on a table in the ER many times over the years. For this round, I had to wait several days from the onset of PAIN to have a second try at the surgery that is supposed to correct the problem permanently. Luckily, while I waited I received a prescription of Codeine from Dr. Roommate. Isn't that where everyone gets their painkillers these days?
The surgery went just fine, for at the helm was a brisk German with a heavy accent and a Van Dyke. Helen was there, to talk trash with me and squeeze my paw while i felt small and tired in a blue gown. But finally the sweet sweet drugs came, and I couldn't stop laughing and reaching for the lights over the operating table and calling for the Mother Ship. Apparently, the nurses had never heard that one before.
Afterwards, I lay in white hot pain with Helen at my side until they brought me some Percocet. She said my eyes went Anime-wide as soon as it kicked in, and I was able to enjoy the sunny afternoon ride home and sushi on the porch with her and Stu and Mr. H.
On this perky fog, I can enjoy just about anything, like getting stuck in Red Sox traffic on the way home from the hospital or being here at work the next day. To say nothing of the two yards of bloody gauze I had to extract from the surgical incision this morning. It was like that magic trick where you pull scarves out of your pocket in an endless rainbow. Only more disgusting. I bet I could even eat a lima bean or be sympathetic to the ugly and downtrodden today, without feeling put out in the least.
I wish life came with painkillers for every day.
Diese Woche habe ich unter ein sehr schmerzhaftes Druese problem gelitten. Ich wurde gestern operiert und heute geht es mir schon viel besser, besonders wegen dieses tolles Schmerzmittel!
Ich fing letze woche mit einem neuen Bild an, und ich glaube meiner kurze Aufenthalt im Krankenhaus das beeinflussen wird. Das sieht Ihr selber wenn es fertig ist.
April 29, 2004
This afternoon, we're embarking on a regimen of ice chips and massages from swarthy latin boys. The tattoo sessions did not go as planned...
April 28, 2004
Just meeeee for you, and you for meeeee
Things are looking up. I finished the wedding thank you notes that so plagued me. Sample: "Can you believe we haven't even thrown these at each other yet? I am sure they would hold up admirably even if we did, owing to the high quality." I resisted the temptation to say "Thank you for contributing to our wedding slush fund. We used your generous check to pay some teamsters to deliver the garden chairs."
And the book deal, well, snap, that was easy! I should have tried getting one years ago! Lambchop and I are kicking off the writing process with a viewing of Mean Girls. Then we're getting matching tattoos. I got the idea for the design from the latest issue of Martha Stewart Living. You'll have to buy the book to find out what it is!
April 26, 2004
To do, oh, what to do
I made a "to do" list the other day, titled "Things hanging over my head." It started out innocently enough.
1. Roll over errant retirement accounts from two jobs ago, which involves contacting people in jail
2. Finish wedding thank you notes, now that "the gift too heavy to mail" has arrived
3. Purchase more attractive filing cabinet, file random pieces of paper
4. More fucking laundry
It devolved from there.
5. Figure out life's "special purpose"
6. Purchase first home in a state where a shitty ranch is still 450k
7. Get own TV show
8. Reproduce, or not
9. Vomitola book deal
10. Get job, any crappy job
11. Stop occasional weeping fits, they tax delicate undereye skin
12. Give up on all of the above and purchase Baskin Robbins franchise
13. Figure out what to make for dinner
These are in no particular order, but you get the idea. Most logically, we would get the book deal before the TV show. I'm just saying. You know where to find us.
April 23, 2004
Ladies and gentlemen, we are floating in space
A week ago, I was lolling about in a foreign land, as the natives pushed each other aside for the honor of turning down my bed. I might eat a prosciutto-wrapped fig if I felt so inclined, or dip a toe in my private plunge pool. The coffee came with a single perfect rose on the tray.
Today, I am sitting on my couch after a rousing session of "kill the bugs that come in when it rains." The highs, the lows. I am also nagged by some sort of illness. Once it turned out not to be SARS, I lost interest, but still it persists, like a dense pimple-ridden suitor. Someone has suggested that I have "allergies."
Allergies? Those are problems for OTHER PEOPLE! I thought I was breaking new ground in the inconvenience department when I became the first person in the entire world to suffer from jet lag, but this, this simply will not do. I have placed a call to my attorney, my plastic surgeon, and the liquor delivery service.
Speaking of other people, and their horrid little problems, some of you might remember that April 5 was to be "Have Sex With An Ugly Person Day." Well, Lambchop and I tried. We honestly did. But we couldn't find any of those poor unfortunates in our immediate circle. So we placed paper bags over the heads of our regular duty roster members, and gamely tried to look away from the still visible taut abs. It was a disaster. We felt robbed of a sense of giving. Here we thought we could be Ghandi for a day, only to take yet another turn on the usual golden lap. It breaks our heart still more to know that scores the world over will never know what it's like to bed an attractive person! I weep; Lambchop weeps.
April 21, 2004
Tick Tock Goes the Clock
I am mooning over this typewriter. It?s only 11:04 (I know, because I am playing ?Shout out the time!?) and I am soulless and sullen already.
I ran into a former professor on the train today and had to feel automatically sheepish for having a job. Because I want to be Somebody. I feel like I should go win a Guggenheim or something. There are even some of you out there reading this that surely find it amusing that I have a job at all, never mind one that does not involve me being spanked. In the art game being unemployed is called ambition.
I did finish a painting last night and it wants to kick your a$$.
In today?s afterschool special, I am finally meeting my Little Sister. I hope I can impress an eight year old- she might actually be bigger than me!
April 20, 2004
Continuing Chronicles of Bartleby
There is nothing better than sitting in a dark, climate-controlled office, shivering in a summer dress with a sun burn. I should search for a dusty air filter to stare at.
The last few days have been very jolly in the way that people can't help being when the weather changes- long bike rides along the Charles, new clothes, parties and dirty jokes. I get a bang out of strolling around my neighborhood with a bright pink cocktail in hand.
The newest of the new drinks on offer at my house is the Los Angeles Iced Tea, which still has five kinds of liquor but replaces sour mix with Rock Star. This concoction gives rise to some interesting dreams. I woke up convinced not only that Prince showed up to our party, but that I had run into some ex-type bastard to find that both of his legs had been amputated. He invited me for a drink and I stood him up. Ha! Stood him up, he had no legs! His Purple Badness was not in actual attendance, but I can hold out hope that ex-bastard is scooching around on a dolly somewhere. No doubt he is merely off taking his James Spader lessons.
But I am not bitter, see how the sun it does shine.
Its the little thing's
I am sure 10% of the reading audience just clapped hand to breast and shrieked. The other 90% plodded on, unruffled. Most likely the members of the majority are foreign, or perhaps just American. You hurt mama when you misuse punctuation. You really do.
The it's/its quandary, which really isn't much of one, is oft-tilled ground. Yawn. When you feel a burning need to write "it's," read your sentence aloud using "it is." Does it make sense? "The bird flapped it is wings." No, that is unacceptable. In that case, use "its." "It is time for tea." OK, go nuts with "it's," you have my blessing.
What truly baffles me is the folks who have started stuffing extra apostrophes into plural nouns, as if they need dressing up. Example: "I bought some new skirt's." "All the other mother's want to have lunch." In the latter case, it is possible that the writer meant "All the other motherfuckers." I might let that slide.
In any case, here's a handy cheat sheet for forming plurals. Click on "English Plurals" for pictures of cute animals. Please note that the plural of "dog" is "dogs." Not "dog's." "Two dog's did not go to the park." Do not try to tell me otherwise. I will kick you in the shin's.
In short: I blame....Dick Cheney, you, your parents, my parents, Big Tobacco, television, Big Food, and the fact that every single thing that appears on the intarweb is a first draft. Including thi's.
NEXT WEEK: Everyday is not like Sunday, but every day is.
April 18, 2004
Meta Fo Feta
Mr. H and I are back. We hope to sleep through the night again some day.
Big American face
Shibuya side street
Shimbashi Station, towards Ginza
View from our hotel room
After a while...
April 14, 2004
Good evening. As you have requested privacy, we were unable to gain entry to your room. Please call Housekeeping if you would like your room refreshed or your bed turned down. Thank you.
That's right, I vant to be alone.
The vomitorium is simply not the same while Clammy is traipsing about Tokyo, offending other cultures, eating fish that are still twitching, and leering at strange men while her husband rattles in the grip of SARS. Oh how we kid- he just has a cold, and Clammy is not so much of a leerer as a sneerer.
I am sure every last one of you have seen this by now. I have always wanted a chicken of my very own to order around! Some friends of mine created this, and its wild success has been such that we had a chicken themed party last week, including exploding peeps in the microwave and cockspur rum. I highly recommend the Cock ´n´ Coke. Make it a stiff one!
April 07, 2004
Here Come Cowboys
Me and my pal Violet went to see the Psychedelic Furs last night. And what else can I say but it was Captain Awesome. We were right up front, kissing distance from the legendary band, and they sounded great!
The assembled fans, on the other hand, were a hideous nightmare of wattles and male pattern baldness, and lousy haircuts. People just don't take a cue from their idols anymore. They are content to shuffle about, mouth-breathing and unkempt, watching Richard Butler slink around in slim trousers. You can't help it if you are old and decrepit. But you can help looking it. Surely there is something better than an old man sweater lurking in your closet. I consider it an affront to show up to a rock show looking like a substitute teacher, and a poor way of paying tribute to a band that you love.
Where, oh where have all the Beautiful People gone? These halls always used to be filled with such sullen and pretty faces. Tonight I am going to stay in with Jarvis Cocker and Kitty Dukakis.
April 06, 2004
I'm not going on vacation
I'm going on the lam!
See you next week, unless I deign to entertain you from Tokyo. In the meantime, watch out for falling 777s and downed power lines.
April 04, 2004
Guten Tag, Berlin
For your viewing pleasure here in the Vomitorium, this is one of my newer paintings. I have sold it to the Ladengalerie in Berlin for the next exhibition in 2005. So if you want to see it, get on a plane to Tegel. I promised the Kids in Germany that I would report to them once a week-ish in a language they can understand. Humorless and efficient? No, German!
Ich bit seit einer Woche wieder hier in Boston und wollte sagen das es richtig schön war, wieder bei Euch zu sein, auch wenn nur kurz. Es läuft prima bei dem neuen Job- das Büro is wahnsinnig cool, viel feiner und hübscher als das alte (Ich habe einen neuen windows xp mit einem flachem LCD Bildschirm- geil, wahr?). Ich habe auch schon angefangen einen Galerie hier zu suchen für die Ausstellung 2005 und werde berichten wenn was davon geworden ist. Mein Zimmer ensteht noch eine Explosion aus dem Gepäck. Ich habe zu viel zu tun gehabt, um mich darum kümmern zu können. Zwei Wörter: David Bowie.
Unter dieser Meldung kann man auf Comments klicken und nachrichten lassen. Also, ihr könnten meine viele Fehler beim schreiben merken oder mir einfach sagen wie toll ich bin!
April 01, 2004
Ad infinitum PANTS
This is the picture of Mr. Bowie, Emperor of the Pants, that hangs right next to my computer. He is my maestro. The concert was wonderful, apart from the fact that the bulk of the crowd justify the use of the word "bulk". Oh what an unfashionable lot! There was not an avant-garde brow on display, no Edie Sedgewicks or Candy Darlings. Even a Mandy Moore would have been nice. Well, no.
But the music is of course what transports us, what drives us screaming to our feet, arms flailing, and tears in our eyes when he plays Quicksand or Five Years. Hell, he could play the Alley Cat and with a wave of the hand, I am finished.
We are still sifting through Volumes of entries for the lucky person who gets to come along and see Lambchop have a seizure.
What day is it? Thursday again!
I got to thinking about how good Mr. B manages to look these days. I am sure he has a whole team to work on him, like a NASCAR pit crew. I was racking my brain as to how I could emulate all this good grooming, and it hit me: botox! I already work out, have a more than competent hairstylist, and I?d like to think I?m not a terrible slouch in the fashion department. But I am starting to wrinkle a bit, and that one stubborn wrinkle between my eyes really bugs me.
This idea got my home dermatology juices flowing, so I looked up how to make botox. You really can find anything on the internet. It turns out it?s mostly denatured alcohol, salt, and egg white. You can approximate the paralytic effect of the toxin with pyrethrin, which is a common pesticide ingredient! Thus began the bathroom chemistry. It looked pretty gross, but I dabbed some on with a cotton ball and waited a few minutes. It burned like a sonofabitch for a bit, but eventually the whole area went numb! Unfortunately there was no discernable visual change, so I figured you really do have to inject it, it?s not going to get through to the muscle otherwise.
I have a syringe that I scammed off my diabetic pal. I use it to refill my one nice fountain pen, and I figured "if that moron can inject herself every single day, surely I can master this." I spent the rest of the afternoon practicing on an orange, with an Allure Magazine spread on botox for reference. Not too hard really. I braced my elbow on the toothbrush holder in the bathroom for steadiness and gave the wrinkle a poke. And? it hurt. A lot. The end result is a giant weeping sore. Bugger. I don?t think I?ll be going out this weekend, unless Mr. H makes me go to a doctor. I am half-tempted to post a picture and get everyone?s best amateur medical evaluations. So far I?ve just been spritzing on tea tree oil, like every fifteen minutes.