LaurieWrites

Tattoo Me

BlogHer's almost here and I'm feeling a little crazy like I get every July. The drumbeat under my feet, the wacko dreams (No, I am not working registration. No, I am not late for the only assignment I have this time. No, I am not traveling to California via ZipCar. No, I did not sleep through my final exam. Simmer down, brain!)

You will not find, from me, any advice posts of any kind. I can sum up my BlogHer guidelines for myself in basically a line or three:

There are as many BlogHers as there are people there, so now there will be approximately 3,000 BlogHers. Neat! Don't have anyone else's. Have yours. If you want to sit in a hallway and feel persecuted this year, knock yourself out, self, but that's not the best path to self-actualization, for real. 

Likewise, don't blame anyone else if your BlogHer sucks. Give credit, sure, if you feel like it. A little bit of credit is always nice, and God knows if I have fun there it's mostly because of some other people. You're in charge. You really are, I promise. 

Have fun. Please have fun. 

See? Done. And those are all just for me. 

I go every year because it's just my thing I do. I am psyched every time and I have fun every time, in different ways. I love my friends from the Internet, and I love San Diego, so this year is shaping up to be pretty great, fingers crossed. 

(Sure, I hope I end up on the chocolate and Champagne yacht, but those people haven't returned my email and even if they don't? I can get my own damn chocolate and Champagne and drink it in my room with people of my choosing and that'll be just fine.) 

But I really started this rambling nonsense to say that I'm getting the urge to do this again: 

(My roommate emerita Genie took this at the Tattoo Factory in Chicago, BlogHer 2009. I am multi-tasking. I'm a little bit impressed with me, only because this means I didn't fall asleep.) 

Genie won't be there this year, and I'm sure she'd internally freak out in San Diego just like she did in Chicago when I decided on a whim as I unfailingly decide most big things that I'm going to have permanent ink injected into my skin. It's just a thing I do. I haven't gotten anything for my 40th birthday yet like I planned, so I have two weeks to figure this out if I want to do it while I'm in California. I know damned well that Sarah won't have any part of this activity because this is one of the major interests we do not have in common (so much so that she may well have had to look away from that picture.) Maybe Mr. Lady and Redneck Mommy will accompany me? 

Or maybe they'll just take ice from a hotel room bucket and numb up my nose before they pierce it. Hard to say. 

This is a really long-winded way of saying I need my 40 tattoo. I wasn't sure if I was finished or not. I'm so not. And what this has to do with BlogHer and San Diego and my friends and ice buckets and rogue piercings, well, yeah, I don't really have an answer for that. But I promise it all kind of makes sense in my head. 

(And if you're that person from Twitter who told me a few months ago that I should work out my midlife crisis in some other way, please know that I've had approximately 87 of those already, and they generally result in me sitting on my couch eating seven popsicles, drinking medium-grade Spanish blend and listening to Lodi on repeat. The tattoos are the fun part.) 

If you'll be in SD I'll see you there. And I'm open to ideas for art. 

D Train

Riding the D Train to Coney Island, a man screamed the whole way to his friends, who said not one word the whole time. Here's a small segment, with apologies for any editorial errors as my memory is pretty good for stuff like this but not at all perfect.

"You need EDUCATION, motherfucker. You need to educate yourself! Do you hear me? If you're three quarters, one half, one quarter Native American, you get to go to school for free! To a black institution for free! YOU can go for free! Educate yourself. Learn about this shit! Have you seen Roots? HAVE YOU SEEN ROOTS? Do you know what that shit is about? There is no perfect gene, man. The Jews weren't the only people who suffered. Shit. Learn something. Educate yourself. That's what the Internet is for, brother!

You educate yourself, the sky's the limit. Shit. My sister has a degree and she makes $100,000 a year. The sky is the motherfucking LIMIT. My brother has a degree in architectural technology and he makes $40k a year. THE SKY IS THE LIMIT.

I am the son of Allah, the seventh (edit: something, I have no idea what it was), the new world ORDER, motherfucker."

And then he got off the train. The photo below is not of him.

D Train Drawing

Pumpkin Party

Dan: I have no reason to blog.
Me: Everyone has a reason to blog.
Lauren: I just don't know why anyone would care about what I have to say. Like maybe three people?
Me: That works for me.
Dan: Like what do you blog about? Starbucks?
Me: Why in the hell would I blog about Starbucks? Oh...wait, now the pumpkin spice latte, THAT I've blogged about.
Dan: See, blogging about Starbucks. I can't blog.

I'd actually been thinking that it was time to blog about Starbucks again, because I had the best such latte I've  ever had the other day. EVER. And while driving along and sucking it down like I do, I may have spontaneously said aloud "It's like a party in my mouth." Not that I'd ever tell him that.

I need to have a wedding now, with anyone.

The answer is yes, and oh my God, I DO.

I'll take the tulle princess dress. In black.

I hope you're doing better than I am.

I'm hanging on by a thread.

But can you steal their flair?

This post is standing between me and brunch, but I care enough to bring you, via Tracey, Disaffected!

If you've worked in a retail establishment anytime in the past ten years, in particular, you may want to check this out. The time I've done in a couple big-box bookstores (that start with "B", coincidentally...) has given me a certain level of compassion for the slack-jawed service I've grown accustomed to in recent years...because I've read the training manual, as it were, and it is not compelling. (Let's not even discuss the videos. I'd rather be stuck in front of the acid trip that is Boobah for 48 hours with Yanni in the background than watch one more single Borders training video. Fuckers.) I've also been subject to the bag checks upon leaving the store, and the soul-deadening "team meetings", wherein you are threatened with demerits if you don't ask people for their email addresses, and none of this, by the way, impacts your seven bucks an hour at all.

But all that's behind me now, thank God. Now I can drink my coffee anywhere in the store I damned well please, and also read for free in the cafe when I feel like it, and don't think I don't. They owe me a lifetime Oprah subscription, at least. But I still straighten books compulsively, while repressing my need to alphabetize, and correct crooked sales stickers. It's been a long road, that's for sure - but it's a much better view from this side of the counter, I have to admit.

(And just go to her links, people - they're always awesome, and just like what I'd try to share with you if I wasn't so damned lazy lately!)

Funny Stuff to Start Your Week Off Right

Working really puts a crimp in several of my favorite activities, including my flickr problem habit. Just knowing that the photobooth clusters exist is reason enough to dedicate more time I don't have to looking at pictures of people I don't know. I need money to finance these little hobbies, though, so that should help me focus. A little.

Matthew's at it again over at Defective Yeti, and like I said the other day (I at least waited a couple of days, really...) he's just a funny guy. His recent audiovisual report on the overfriendliness of bank machines was just the laugh I needed after the Emmy's tonight. No Jason Bateman? Are they kidding me? Kiefer Sutherland beating Martin Sheen? What?  The West Wing was one of the best shows ever, and although I know better than to expect anything (and really, why would I?) from a Hollywood awards show, still...Lisa Moraes from the Washington Post blogged the show, and caught some of the funnier and more compelling quotes from the sidelines (sounds like she's in California.) This is my favorite:

"Female reporter to Barry Manilow: "They say music is the soundtrack of your life. What song.. do you look back at to remind you of tonight?"

Manilow: "Don't Give Up" by Peter Gabriel. (Answer: "Don't Give Up" by Peter Gabriel).

Earlier, a female reporter to Jeremy Irons: "What is the best advice anyone ever gave you?"

Irons: "Soldier on."

Irons looks at female reporter who somehow looks even more vacant than usual.

Irons: "Do you understand what I mean?"

Reporter: "Not at all."

I try to stay away from Perez Hilton, because it makes me feel like I need a shower after I read it, but I have to admit that this comment about the newest Britney Spears photo made me smile:

"SE VE BONITAAA AUNQUE PARESE DE BABY DOLL SU VESTIDITO, PERO EN SI ESTA BONITA, YA LA VEO MAS SONRIENTE, ALTO TRAMA ESTA MUCHACHITA, ME GUSTA SU SOMBRERO"

He loves her cowboy hat, people! Leave her the hell alone!

And lastly, another theft from Tracey. They've taken down the Steven Seagall page that she links to in the middle (he's got a new cd out, don'tcha know) but the Armor of God pjs are just what every good little soldier should have to start out the school year, and bacon bars - well, there you have those.

In the Photobooth

I love the Mac store. It's the only place I can get my Photobooth action on. I went in today to reacquaint myself with iLife before the semester starts, and it was a bad idea. Although it was incredibly entertaining, it's going to cost me several thousand dollars to recement this whole relationship, and who has that? I need a fundraiser, stat.

Anyway, on to the pictures. The first one is going on the cover of my cd, no question :

And now, for my second favorite. OMG, I'm glowing! I'm glowing!

This one is funny, and it's subtitled, watching for the overzealous Mac Store boy to come and kick me out, 'cause it's almost closin' time. He was studiously shutting down laptops all around me, but hey, I had five whole minutes!

I love the glow effect. I need it in real life, seriously. Photobooth RULES. (they just need more effects! More! More!)

For a couple others in the series, see here.

Just for a moment. Just for an hour.

Song of the day - "Just to be Close to You", Lionel Richie. Why? WE-he-hell, hold on a minute, hot stuff. That is called a setup. Or foreshadowing. Or something...

Really, why?  Okay, so I'm currently in the Los Angeles airport (which is really sort of dumpy, much to my surprise) and I'm not ashamed to admit that I was all about seeing Brangelina or Jessica Simpson while I was here. Can't help it. Years of a weekly smack habit called People magazine (and now the Website too. God. I have no shot at being a productive citizen ANY MORE. It's OVER.) have bred a benign interest in the famous, the silly, the talented, and the talentless that I can only defend because I read a lot of "smart people stuff" too that makes me have to think and ponder and analyze something way beyond whether or not Tom Cruise has locked his daughter up in a cage. We all need breaks, and People is my thing (one of them, anyway. You really don't want to know how many there actually are, but I'm sure you can imagine.) 

I haven't given up hope on the Brangelina or Jessica sighting, for sure, but I will tell you one thing that almost surpasses that possibility: I saw Lionel Richie! I was looking around for some wireless and some food, in that order, because I'm a cracked out internet junkie with a deep and abiding problem. It's a good thing I'm busying my hands with this madness because I guess otherwise I'd really be at my highest weight ever at this point. (not yet, thank God. There's still hope, and as long as I can measure it in ounces I'm going to.)

Sorry, digression. So yeah, I'm in LAX, like People always calls it - i.e., "Mary Kate Olsen fuels up with a mango and "coke" (get it? Get their smooth insinuations and friendly yet deadly patter? Oh yeah, it's how Star Tracks rolls, totally) smoothie as she waifs her way through LAX after a red-eye from NYC." And I was walking along, and damned if there wasn't Li-o-NEL, right there. Of course I'm fresh off my Jazzfest high where he was the headliner, and have long since outed myself as a fan of both his AND the Commodores. I've even forgiven him partially for "Ballerina Girl" at this point (although never "Say You, Say Me," because that stupid fast bridge at the end is so lame and the lyrics so ridiculous that I can't bear to hear it, even if it means turning off Delilah.)

I unfortunately missed my chance at paparazzi-dom (like I'd need another method of being PART OF THE PROBLEM. Really.) because I haven't slept in a long time and I was kind of disoriented, so my reaction time was bad. I'd just gotten off a long flight where the Very Important Airplane Designer next to me used his laptop the whole time and kept knocking into me. He didn't do it hard, just enough to be annoying after the tenth time, and when it got up in the hundreds, blah. He had no "using the computer in the center seat" skills, and five hours of that plus no sleep just isn't good. I did make an initial grab for the camera bag, but I was too slow, and Lionel had already passed me. A photo of his back was within the realm of possibility, but that seemed a little pathetic even to me, and standing as I was in the middle of the concourse, I knew that in my current bedraggled state I would not just look like but would indeed BE Crazy Camera Lady. I'm not trying to get this camera yanked on my first day in California. I could be a plant for the Enquirer for all they know.

So congratulate me - or feel sorry for me that I care a little bit, pick your poison - that I saw an interesting-to-me famous person in my first hour on the west coast. I imagine I'll be geeking out quite a bit more than maybe even is usual, so I'm not apologizing in advance, even though I probably should.

Watch the couch, dude.

Free Katie

He lost me when he wrestled Oprah. Not that she couldn't clean up the floor with him. Wow. Maverick, what happened?