Jackie O. or Lola Lola?

Today’s Meditations:

Burmese Billboards: Mark took these pictures of billboards when he was in Burma last. They make drunk driving look so cool…like a movie!


I just watched Peter Sellers in beige-face playing Hrundi Bakshi in "The Party". Is this xenophobic mocking or just a load of sight gags and fun? Why oh why is Peter Sellers always doing that to us? I just want to know when I'm going to get invited to a party like that!

So I received an interesting email last week from an anonymous fellow who wants to be my "handboy", which apparently means he'll do stuff around the house for me. Oh hell, I'll just reprint the letter:
"Miss Audra,
YOU look as if YOU were "To the Manor Born" with YOUR sophisticated, stylish appearance. I would like to become YOUR handboy assistant and can perform butler, driver, gofer duties for YOU. I will in effect "become YOUR property" as I place myself under YOUR leadership and guidance. Where do YOU live so that we might discuss my relocation?

I'm not sure what "to the Manor Born" means (isn't that a British TV show or something?)...I'm pretty sure I look like I was to The Shtettel Born, but I like his offer. Maybe if I could share him with the girlposse...like a time-share sort of a thing. Let me know what you think girls. I bet he does windows.

Last night I went out to dinner with Desmond to one of those pan-Asian places where you can get a samosa with your egg roll, etc. Desmond seemed to think that the waiter was giving me the chocolate eye or something and I said, "We're in the Castro! No guys pick up on me in my hood...besides, if he is actually straight -- and he's not -- why wouldn't he just assume I was your date?!"
Desmond gave me a look that indicated that his Gaydar is never broken and then said, "HELLO!" and pointed at his shirt, which bore a picture of Barbarella. In general, his Gaydar is so much more accurate than my Jewdar. I'm always bombing out with the Jewdar thing. A guessed incorrectly that a Friendster I know is 100% Goy Boy and I think I might have offended him, because he's actually only 50%. But anyway, this is not about the Jews. This is about the gays...ok, not really. But I will repeat the story I told Desmond in the pan-Asian restaurant about the pan-Asian restaurant. Several months ago I went on a date-type-thing with a really nice and handsome boy-person that I had up-to-then only spent three minutes with. We went to that very same pan-Asian restaurant in the Castro. I don't really do that very often (go on dates, not go to pan-Asian restaurants...I do that all the time), so I was pretty open to the whole experience and was wanting to get to know people and listen to their stories about growing up in the Ozarks or whatever. Well, this guy -- as sweet as he was -- seemed to only talk about how most people think that he's gay, and that he is not. Ok. Now that that's cleared up...oh wait, here comes that topic again...and again? I started to sense a theme building. Nearing 10pm, the topic arises again and he actually says, "...and I know I'm not gay because I've tried it and let me tell you, I don't really want a dick up my a$$ again."
That was pretty much it for the date. I guess the moral of the story is: don't say the words dick and a$$ in the same sentence on the first date. Suddenly I had to go and he never called anyway. Ah, the joys of being single.


Today's Meditations:

They sit like pimps: San-X's new characters seem to be kittens in a hot tub drinking Saki. Rad! But what's with the baked one off to the left side?

The Russians: Here are a bunch of computer animated toilets from your favorite online games.

Just plain disturbing: Make sure you move your mouse over the eye.

Watch her go: This three-year-old North Korean girl really knows her way around a xylophone. Thanks to Decorative Trim for sending this one to me...or whatever your name is today. Yeee.

I just hurt someone like I was hurt...it didn't really help at all. I wish baggage didn't accumulate as fast as it does. At this rate, I'll be buried in no time.

I should be asleeping right now, but instead I'm thinking about when things were less complicated...why didn't I know what a great time we were all having in high school? Preschool? The womb?

[Note: Names have not been changed to protect anyone at all.]

1. INT. Mr. Donahue's English class. Fresno, California. 1993.

Ethics are slippery. For instance, what do we think about euthanasia?

I was once youth in Asia.


2. EXT. The Stemler's backyard. Stockton, California. 1982.

Look what I have. It's a dime, the most valuable coin in the world.

So, this is a quarter I took off of my dad's nightstand. It's worth like ten dimes!

Ok, these flashbacks aren't really cheering me up. Maybe playing around with Photoshop will:
For those of you who know where I work.


So I heard some interesting news from Kristin Beck, the editor of a fine Seal Press collection of dating horror stories I was published in called The Moment of Truth : Women's Funniest Romantic Catastrophes...apparently the book was spotted on sale in New York's Museum of Sex bookshop! WOW~ I bet some creep is skimming my Vomit story right now! Kool.

I'm currently in Fresno where I have just gotten back from seeing my sister sing in the Fresno Philharmonic's production of Mozart's Requiem. It was excellent and she was amazing, even more so than usual (she got the talent and the looks, I got the bad posture and the panic attacks). As I listened to my sister's solos in the most dramatic piece of music on death that I have yet to hear, I couldn't help but consider what an appropriate year it is for her to be part of this production, for me to be watching her perform this piece, and for everyone I know to read my account of how uncanny this performance was. Everyone I know can admit that it has been a bad year for death (or a good year, depending on how you look at it, as I am sure the funerary biz is way up).
This year, the first movement of Mozart's requiem started for me at work in July when a co-worker in her mid-thirties had a heart attack and died right in front of all of us. We stood there (helpless and useless) with her body for two hours, waiting for a coroner to show and then we were shuttled into group meetings with grief councilors. None of us said what we were really thinking: I can't believe it is possible to die at work -- no one wants to be at work -- how alienating to die on the 26th floor. I walked home in a daze...no one I talked to really understood what I had seen, not even me. For months I had nightmares related to death and work: My supervisor entrusted me to deliver a dead baby in a cardboard coffin to its funeral, but the coffin was leaky and I was spiteful so I inadvertently lost it on the BART and then, as a result, lost my job...stuff like that. We never mention our co-worker's name in the office anymore. The nightmares eventually stopped.
Then Schnookie Book, my sister's best friend and one of the only dogs I've ever seen run sideways and suffer from a rare disease called hypothalmia, died of an entirely different disease.
Uncle Leo was the next. He survived a concentration camp, but not cancer. My aunt discouraged anyone from attending the funeral. I'm sure she had her reasons, but the body count was confusing me and I couldn't really understand at the time.
Then a friends mother. Then two family friends.
And now Rerun.
No one really knows what to say to each other...just like in the office. I have no real conclusion here except:
An interesting factoid about Mozart's requiem is that he never finished it. He died pretty much in the middle of writing it and a student of his guessed at the rest.
Given the infinite number of monkeys typing on an infinite number of blogs, is it likely that I could unknowingly reproduce someone else's blog entry word for word? Probably...and this might be that entry.


Today’s Meditations:

The Japanese: This whole ham sculpture thing just isn’t kosher.

Absinth and Silent Film: two of my favorite things came together in Bianca’s new online short. Bianca is a real fox, by the way.

Gothtoberfest: A countdown to Halloween! Thanks for this one, Paul!

Heil Shitler: Do the German anti-discrimination laws apply to pets?

Poor Roy: Ok, this is a few weeks old and kinda dumb.


If my family wasn’t so full of mental illness and physical deformities, I might have been a real snob.

Ok, so that’s not entirely true, but it’s some cool shit for this character that I’m working on to say. I’ve been writing the same short story for close to a year now and oddly enough, I haven’t yet lost faith in it. I used to crank ‘em out at an alarming rate back in grad school when the only inspiration I had was theory class…now, surrounded by real life tragedies, countless disappointments, alarmingly bad dates, a hilariously bizarre writing job, and endless strings of uncanny occurrences, I can’t seem to sit down and put brain to keyboard. So, if you’ve guessed by now that you’re a reading an exercise in “writer’s flow”, you’ve guessed correctly.

Oh, and also a place to share amazing things from the interweb...

Today's Meditations:

GI JOE: If you haven't seen these already...This is brilliant in the tradition of “What’s up Tiger Lilly” or even “Ferocious Female Freedom Fighters.” An art school kid has overdubbed those old GI Joe after-school morality shorts.

Premises, Premises: A Peer-Enforced Marketplace for New Ideas. Paul's really got a load of weird ones up there.

The Ralph Wiggum Sound Archive

Groovy funeral song from Psychomania, a film I highly recomend.