The other day on my way to Off the Record I momentarily entertained the idea of seeing if the Mad Love soundtrack was still in print or if I could find any Magnapop in the used section. I swear I did. Of course, there was nothing in the used, but as I was perusing the stacks of 99 cent blowout CDs that nobody ever wants, I found Rubbing Doesn't Help by Magnapop. WHAT! I have psychic abilities. I amaze myself.
My friend Matt travels all around the midwest and the east coast checking out historical sites and ghost hunting. He's like a traveling man of leisure who indulges in urban legends and ghost stories. I love his life. I wish I had the money to do that. I should work on that.
My favorite story of the week (so far)
Dog Tries to Save Other Dog Hit by Car
AP
posted: 5 HOURS 37 MINUTES AGO
comments: 235
filed under: Animal News
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SANTIAGO, Chile (Dec. 8) - Chileans have a new hero: an apparently homeless dog that pulled the body of another dog through traffic off a busy highway. A surveillance camera on a Santiago freeway captured images of a dog trotting past speeding cars to pull the lifeless body of the other canine, which had been run over by a vehicle, away from traffic and onto the median strip.
The scene was broadcast by Chilean television stations and then posted on Web sites such as YouTube. com, and hundreds of thousands of people had viewed versions of it by Monday.
Highway crews removed both the dead and live dogs from the median strip of the Vespucio Norte Highway shortly after the Dec. 4 incident. But the rescuer dog ran away.
Authorities say images of the rescue prompted some people to call and offer to adopt the dog, but neither highway workers nor a television crew could find they animal.
http://news. aol. com/article/dog-tries-to-save-other-dog-hit-by-car/271359
I've been reading this book by Medium George Anderson. He says that animals are the closest things to God here on earth.
When I was 12 years old, I discovered this record:
Subsequently, Courtney Love became my hero and I read an article she wrote entitled "Bad Like Me" for BUST magazine. Awkward, ugly, unpopular, and a misfit in the worst way, she screamed and fought and broke things until she was finally recognized as pretty. She was a dirty little kid without a chance in hell but she clawed her way out of this landfill and gave the damage nothing but a passing glance before taking the stage. She MADE herself. And whether people love her or hate her, they know who the fuck she is. She's someone who not only knew pain but invited it in for tea and cookies, and this was an attitude I adopted and one that helped me cope with my very first heartbreak and each one after. Her manifesto was taped to the inside of my notebooks from junior high forward, and copies were stuck in various books and ledgers with no real purpose-- it was never too far from me, but until the other day I had not read it thoroughly in at least 7 years. When I did, I smiled because I could not believe how much of it I'd taken to heart without even knowing it. Bad influence or good, these words wormed their way into my psyche and my guts and kept me warm this whole time. I hope you guys enjoy this article as much as I did, and my little commentary at the bottom. Hehe.
BAD LIKE ME...COURTNEY LOVE
I was born bad. My biological dad is a bad man, so mama simply thought, "Ooh, she's got that bad blood seed in her." At heart, home, hearth and boyfriend, I am a full-on good girl prude-but don't tell anyone.
When you're a bad girl, people are terrified of you. You don't get mugged or raped because you don't have any victim energy (I'm sure it has happened, just not as often). It's bad if you're a famous one, though, because the boys all wanna fuck you, but then you get all girl-gooey and they go, "Oooh," because they thought you were gonna spank them. Duh, asshole.[1]
When you're a
bad girl, everyone does what you want. You have room to grow. Bad girls
are kinder than good girls and they are better to other girls, mostly,
unless said other girls are boy-pleasin' users who want a little bad girl
spice rubbed off on 'em like so much perfume.[2] Bad girls are also more
spiritual and less prone to drug addiction, or, if they have it, when they
quit they quit.
Bad girls know genius before the other
dumb good girls do. They get the hot guys first 'cause they aren't looking
for that big stamp of popularity approval. In Amadeus, Soliari says Mozart
is ugly; the Soprano (a naughty bad girl) replies, "A woman of taste
only thinks of genius." Bad girls love boy flesh that has an
astronomical IQ.
Most bad girls are not as libidinous as good girls. Sex is intrigue, not looks; it's build-up and mind-warping.
Bad girls love like lions and kill those who fuck with their kin.[3] Good girls steal bad girls' boys. Bad girls fuck your boyfriends, yeah, but we feel shitty about it, sort of. You're there to take care of the dog, to have the BBQs. We're there to fly in to New York or L.A. or Paris and lock up in a four-star for three days while your boyfriend and us do things you'll never know about and he'd never dare do to you. We feel a little guilty.
Bad girls are "femmenistes;" we like our dark Nars lipstick and
LaPerla panties, but we hate sexism,[4] even if we do fuck your
husbands/boyfriends. We understand men, we love them, us hetero/bi bad
girls.
We are not psycho bad girls; those
are evil and in a class of their own. Maybe BUST will do an "evil
girl" issue and then we can out them all. They are usually considered
good girls by the community (e.g. Mary Lou Lord in her high quaky voice
and "widdle gurl" act. How could she be capable of severing the
head of a kitty and putting it on your front porch with a syringe in it's
cornea? No, not that widdle good gurl!)
Bad girls will get obsessed if you dump us nasty, but instead of resorting to evil good girl tactics we will do things like: make your band open for us someday; send all your mail to a Der Wienerschnitzel in Watts; get a guitar for revenge; do genius comics and be a genius such as my favorite NYC bad girl, Dame Darcy, goddess supreme. We met on the one day I'd uttered her name in a foreign country. She is a bad girl; she's friends with Lisa Suckdog who has that great zine Rollerderby. Lisa tries to be a bad girl, crawlin' around nekkid and stuff, but I think she wasn't born with it. Hey, I could be totally wrong.
Darby from Ben is Dead is a bad girl. She makes fun of me but bad girls do that to each other, unfortunately. Shouldn't we all be piling up on Juliana or something?
Cristina Martinez of Boss Hogg is a hot babe bad girl-some day she'll lose that Spencer guy and come into her own fabulousness. She's got a swinging bad girl Puerto Rican booty. Man, you don't wanna get on the wrong end of her rattail comb. See, bad girls get fucked up, like me or Cristina or Inger Lorre-she's a natural star and the baddest girl of us all. We just cannot cross the line from bad girl to evil girl, leave that for the...no point in naming names.
Alanis Morrisette just won a bunch of Grammys and she went to the Grammys. No bad girl would go to the Grammys.
Don't dump a bad girl 'cause one day you'll have to come back and grovel for something; watch it, man-hell hath no fury like a bad girl dumped ill.[5]
Bad girls can deal with a little infidelity; good girls will leave you on "principle."
Bad girls can be as classy as Jackie O., who was a bad girl, she just didn't think it was our business to know that.
My sister Ms. Barrymore is a way bad girl. We are going to wear acid-wash to the Academy Awards. Of course bad girls go to the Academy Award parties-only if you get nominated are you busy.
Good girls live in a state of sulking or gloating, 'cause they are getting their butts kissed or having to kiss butt. But my friend-who's a good boy outside, but a very bad boy inside-told me that there's a middle state wherein, like if you go to the Academy Awards you are going out of your way to get your butt kissed, that's lame.
We can be total media whores, but we can also be completely mysterious.
All bad girls in the NYC and LA areas have slept with other girls just because.
Bad girls love like no one else.[6]
Bad girls swallow-it is sooo rude to spit, but don't do it the first time. I don't know why I think that, I just think the good girl part of the bad girl says they know you give good head, so make the worms wait.[7]
If you're a single girl on the make, I suggest power. You have to work hard to acquire it, and no one will help you. You will gain many girl enemies. That's 'cause you eventually wind up playing the wife of a huge publisher-who is alive and happens to like you-in some big movie and all the lame-o's that work at his magazines you could have chopped but you won't 'cause BAD GIRLS DO NOT EVER ABUSE POWER once they have acquired it, except occasionally for sexual purposes only.
Bad girls do not fake orgasms, or they betray only themselves.[8]
Bad girls have bad boy boyfriends but mostly good boy boyfriends 'cause the sweet-faced angelboy is really horrid and Mr. Gnarly is a big wimp who wants to know what sweater to wear onstage tonight; blechhh!
Bad girls sometimes wimp out and call, though that's separating the wheat from the chaff; the men from the wimps. If you can't be friends with him forget it. If he doesn't know how to actually get you to shut the fuck up, it's not worth that much. Fuck the phone game; other games are way funner. I'm a loser at the phone game. If you want to be a femme fatale, go for it and never call back, tally up, etc. The good ones do not even get the phone game. It's hard to believe but true. Cat and mouse is for Elizabethans and Victorians.[9]
Bad girls will always give you the shirt off their backs.
Bad girls are vulgar, but we have the potential for total class.[10]
The rest is my business, not the NY Post's.
NOTES:
1. Low victim energy mentality: Most important rule of my LIFE. I never walk with pepper spray in my hand like I'm afraid, I never cross my arms over myself or drag my feet, and I look people in the eye and nod at them. Even though I'm a living doll and a sweetheart inside, people who don't know any better figure the next girl who walks by might be a little less trouble. I don't believe I'm invincible, but I do believe in this, and I've never been assaulted or targeted in a serious way...obnoxious guys trying to give me rides don't count, ha. Also, if I had a nickel for every time I made some dude want to rip my clothes off only to see his face fall when he found out I'm actually a sensitive little creep...baaahaha
2. Putting your boy first was always a real dick-move and punishable by harsh gossip or a "missed" invite to a hangout sesh. Girls should BOND over jerks who do us wrong, not scratch each others eyes out over them. Fighting over a boy is only for the lowest of the low, and I always opted to befriend the OTHER girl. I've made and kept a couple of really sweet friends this way.
3. No need for an explaination. I don't fight with my fists, but isn't there more than one way to skin a cat? Ask around, find out
4. I love being a GIRL. A real, panties-wearin', expensive make-up buyin', tantrum throwin' girl. In my heart I'm burning my bra. But in my real life I would like a Dolce and Gabbana Orchidea Maculata bra right now please.
5. While I've never resorted to typical antics like destroying personal property or sleeping with an exs best friend, someone besides me is usually going to get hurt. Very rarely has someone who harshed on me stayed away from me for good, and when they come back around I make sure the experience is as humiliating and gut-wrenching as possible. Uh, sorry. My ego can't help it.
6. I love like no one else. For reals.
7. Merely good manners in my opinion. And while holding out is totally funnier, not EVERYONE has to wait. Ha.
8. Faking it is a reeeal slippery slope, ladies. One you might not want to go down. It always gets worse, it rarely gets better, and the resentment will build up until you just dump this poor dude. If I can't get off, I should have the guts to address this, and he should care enough to help, and if he doesn't, peace out and all's well that ends well. I never pretend.
9. Only little boys play the phone game. If I want something, I call. If I'm mad, then I don't. And if too much time passes before HE calls, I am done forever. The end. And when I'm with someone who always lets me win, I know he'd never protect me at the apocalypse, so what's the point. I need someone with some fight in him.
10. Yes, I do kiss my mother with this mouth.
And also pride myself on knowing when and where to be a perfect lady.
CHOKE will be out on September 26th. This means a lot to me. I remember driving to the Yakima Mall in my '86 hatchback Chevy Citation to buy it in hardcover at Waldenbooks when it was first released, only to give it away to a cute boy the same day. I was 17. I'm nervous and I want this film to be as EPIC as possible. Could it turn out to be even better than Fight Club? Is it too much to hope? My heart hurts. Ha.
Oh, and I love my friend Tom:
[00:31] clockworklyme: 
[00:31] clockworklyme: I wish I had something to look forward to.
[00:34] clockworklyme: Besides death and all.
[00:35] valley lux: Shuttie.
I love to scare myself and give others a million things to contemplate. I love passing along or disproving urban legends, depending on my mood, and I like to give almost religious meaning to the everyday tasks we go about as members of modern society because I believe in the importance of RITUAL and observing SUPERSTITION. It's easy to fizzle away into this ordinary meaningless existence when not paying attention, and I believe that a healthy fear/respect of the unknown is the first step to prevent becoming at least totally jaded or having some real existential issues.
On urban legends: I am a SUCKER for these. I love love love the depth they give to the boring landscape of suburbia or the North American countryside. I love them as fables used to scare little kids into being good, I love them as preludes to hot make-out sessions all over the nation. Sometimes, though. Ugh. Sometimes I research one that I end up having something AGAINST. Here's one.
URBAN LEGEND: A rooster lived for 18 months with it's head chopped off.
TRUE.
Strange but true. A farmer from Fruita, Colo., thought he was just putting dinner on the table when he picked up an axe and beheaded one of his chickens. What happened next became the stuff of legend: The headless rooster bobbed and weaved back to the henhouse and lived for 18 more months.
The animal, later dubbed Mike and celebrated with a festival, Web sites and various magazine articles, survived because the blade missed his jugular vein and a clot prevented him from bleeding to death. The axe blow landed high enough that most of the chicken's brain stem and one ear remained intact. Mike was fed and watered by inserting an eyedropper directly into his gullet. Sadly, he later choked to death in a motel room.
Residents of Fruita remember Mike as "a big fat chicken who didn't know he didn't have a head."
I think I just threw up in my mouth a little for a couple reasons. Once, I fell in love with a cat at the Tacoma Humane Society with three legs. Somethin' just ain't right about a recently-made Tripod kitty hobbling around and falling on his little face, but I loved him anyway. He was born that way. It's hard to compare a missing LEG with a missing HEAD, however- Kitty was not purposely rendered a tripod. Uh, not to my knowledge. Rooster, though...oh, Rooster. You were nothing but an intended victim of homicide, or, poultricide, okay, you were an intended meal for some farmer's tummy. Someone came at your neck with an axe. Now you're headless. But instead of a meal, you are a pet. The same people who wanted to kill you and eat you are now parading you around like you're the Queen of England. Not because you're a cute animal with some personality, but because you're a decapitated rooster-freak. They made money from your humiliation, pain, and exploitation. And there is not a right angle in that.
Peace out, little rooster. You deserved someone who'd pet you feathers when you had a FACE. Or, at least, a merciful death.
A million things:
First, hi. Which is funny because the whole reason I made a new Vox is because the amount of hits on my MySpace blog was getting creepy. So hardly anyone knows I have this. And I kinda missed it here.
Also, my heart really hurts right now reading about Gustav and the people who have died. Sometimes I feel guilty because I'm actually alright. Why doesn't a tree fall on ME and kill ME? It isn't fair.
Then, there's a stray kitty I look after. She's mangy and there is something wrong with her, but I just love her and want her really bad :( I made a little shelter for her out of a covered litter box, I put a blanket inside and hope she'll go in there for shade or to keep warm but I don't know. Someone eats the food I leave out. I hope it's her. She runs away from me. Fireworks exploded outside awhile ago and the first thing I thought of was how I hoped poor kitty wasn't too afraid.
I was recently introduced to Haruki Murakami. I read a book review and was like, okay. I have to get this for someone right now. And since then I've been reading excerpts here and there from various works, and I'm fucking sprung on this. When I read this:
"Anyone who falls in love is searching for the missing pieces of themselves. So anyone who's in love gets sad when they think of their lover. It's like stepping back inside a room you have fond memories of, one you haven't seen in a long time. It's only a natural feeling."
I thought, I'm not losing my mind. I'm not losing it after all. Because I've felt that way since 250 B.C. and feeling sad when you should be crazy/ecstatic in love or on your way kind of takes your gravity away. But, somehow.
As I read on, I found several more quotes relating to death that had the effect of a prescription-available-only-in-mexico muscle relaxer on me because okay. Because. Ugh. Society tries to tell us that it's okay to die. Life insurance, burial plans, elaborate funerals doubling as family reunions. But because it's natural and inevitable, does that make it okay? Does it really? It's natural and inevitable that psychos who go on murder sprees will be born and inflict their horror on makind, but does that make it alright? All I'm saying is that I'm not okay with it. And I'm tired of people trying to make me believe that it's fine.
"I can't understand nothingness. I can't understand it and I can't imagine it."
"I know I should buy my own suit, but somehow I never get around to it. I feel as though if I buy funeral clothes I'm saying that it's OK if somebody dies."
"Losing my mother was a real shock to [my father]. I mean, it made him a little cuckoo. That's how much he loved her. Really."
"So that's how we live our lives. No matter how deep and fatal the loss, no matter how important the thing that's stolen from us - that's snatched right out of our hands - even if we are left completely changed people with only the outer layer of skin from before, we continue to play out our lives this way, in silence. We draw ever nearer to our allotted span of time, bidding it farewell as it trails off behind. Repeating, often adroitly, the endless deeds of the everyday. Leaving behind a feeling of immeasurable emptiness."
I want a brand of love that only the brave and the slightly off-kilter ever manage to grasp. I want to live forever. I never knew it'd be such a huge fucking deal. And if I can't have immortality, then I at least want that love. I will negotiate with death after that.
<3r
This has to be the weirdest and saddest crime-of-virtual-passion story I've come across.
Kimberly Jernigan -- a 33-year-old woman from North Carolina -- was apparently distraught after her online relationship with a 52-year-old man from Claymont, Del., came to an end.
The pair apparently met through the online community Second Life and began a virtual relationship. The two finally met in reality several months ago, and the alleged victim ended the relationship, sending Jernigan into a downward spiral.
In early August, Jernigan allegedly drove to the victim's Pennsylvania workplace and attempted to kidnap him at gunpoint, according to local news station CBS3.com. When she was unsuccessful, according to the report, she returned two weeks later to track down the victim's Delaware address, and posed as a postal worker to do so. After four days of searching, authorities said she found the man's residence in the Whitney Presidential Towers on the 7100 block of Society Drive in Claymont.
On August 21, police said, Jernigan broke into the unnamed victim's apartment with a Taser, a pair of handcuffs, a BB gun, her dog, and a roll of duct tape. He wasn't there, so she waited. When the virtual ex arrived home he saw what looked like a laser beam projecting on his chest. He immediately fled the apartment and contacted the Newcastle County Police.
Police said that when they arrived, they found Jernigan's dog, Gogi, bound with duct tape in the victim's bathtub. Jernigan's reason for gagging her pooch -- "he was making too much noise." The dog was said to be uninjured, but the ASPCA is looking into possible charges of animal cruelty.
Approximately an hour after the incident, authorities in Maryland spotted Jernigan's vehicle at a rest stop on I-95. She was taken into custody after a brief struggle. Jernigan is currently facing charges of attempted kidnapping, burglary, and aggravated menacing, CBS3 said.
What's the lesson here, kiddies? Keep your virtual relationships virtual and don't bring it into the real world or some innocent animal may be harmed in the process ...
I felt like re-posting some old things.
I just like this definition of guilt, and I really miss Samson.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
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