Monthly Archives: September 2008

Weekend in Review

A job offer came on Friday.  Wrapped up in German smiles and

Monopoly money, it promised Long Island City freedom

and casual Monday through Fridays,

but at $9/hr and no benefits I kindly refused. 

 

Sunday we saw that Richard Gere movie.

Richard’s face appeared and Ali whispered, “He’s like a wine.”

Saturday was nothing to speak of, except for Fast Food Nation

furthering a deep love for Greg Kinnear

and Blood Diamond furthering

a curiosity about the Rhodesian/Zimbabwean accent.

 

Friday we were irresponsible citizens, choosing to drink an excess of red and white wine during the presidential debate. “If they made blue wine,

we would be patriotic right now.”  

 “Money bailouts, Pakistan, pork-barrel spending?”  “Hard to swallow.”   

“Orgy of spending.” 

“Jim Lehrer is surprisingly handsome.”

I think its the eyes.

I think it's the eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

Note: Planning on being sober for Thursday’s VP debate.

Paul Newman

I wrote this poem last fall.  So, today seems like a good day to post it.

Paul Newman

I had the same makeup artist as Paul Newman.  She raved about his Fig Newman’s and his Oreos, but he is not allowed to call his Oreos “Oreos” as that is a licensed trademark of Nabisco.  She said, “Cool Hand Luke—only Paul Newman can make hardboiled eggs sexy,” and I said, “I’m not a fan of hardboiled eggs, but yeah, his eyes sure are something—something cool and refreshing like his peppermint cups, yet strong and impassioned like his low-fat, all natural pretzel rods—something to justify taking home a fugitive along with his wheat-free, dairy-free chocolate chip cookies for dessert.”     

Bollywood and the Beast

With unemployment comes new hobbies, like suddenly having the time to blog every day, or sitting in an internet cafe applying to be in a Bollywood film, or remembering how much you love photography.  All of my new hobbies have been really satisfying, but I’m really glad I broke out my camera again.  It’s kind of a beast and I lost my USB cord, so I stopped using it for a good year or two, but Kathleen has one of those printers that you can insert your memory stick into, so uploading is easy again!  Here are a few of my favorite photos of late:

Turkish Balloons

Turkish Balloons

 

I told her she's a model and she erupted.

I told her she's a model and she erupted.

 

Descending Heads.

Best Job Ever?

It’s getting to the point where a job checking heads for lice doesn’t sound that bad.  But really, bugs that are that small don’t bother me.  I’d get to meet lots of miserable, itchy children.  Wear blue gloves all day.  It might be awesome.   Imagine being at the bar and being asked, “So, what do you do?”  Tell me I would not have the sexiest answer ever.

If Kathleen wasn’t taking a nap five feet away I probably would have called.  And probably would’ve regretted it immediately after.  What am I doing with my life.

The Pigeon Thing

I drank coffee at 8 o’clock tonight.  Which was good because I applied for a few jobs that seem promising, but now I can’t sleep and I started reading my pigeon book and I’m about to go on a rampage about how much I love them.  Bear with me. 

I told someone I like the way they walk and their colorings, but really it’s so much more than that.  I haven’t even been able to bring myself to sit down and read the pigeon book because…you know when something strikes a chord with you so much that it makes you kind of anxious?  Maybe that’s it.  Or maybe I’m kind of crazy, which could totally be it, too.  But I don’t mind.

First off, I love anything that’s quirky.  And pigeons are so quirky.  They wobble around until they get startled and then they wobble in a new direction.  Sometimes they wobble in circles.  And no two pigeons are exactly alike.  Okay, most of them are gray, but they’ve got these cool metallic variations, too.  And some are brown, some are white, some are brownish-white.  Some are missing talons, which could mean they were born deformed, or it could mean they were in a pigeon brawl.

I think the main reason I developed such a deep appreciation for them, though, is just because so many people despise them or ignore them.  Plus I grew up in Springfield, Mass, where they used to have an entire television channel that consisted of one camera aimed at a nest of peregrine falcons.  Peregrine falcons are birds of prey, so obviously they look nothing like pigeons, but you know.  I was ingrained with the ability to watch things that aren’t all that exciting. 

Also, my mom keeps a bird feeder.  Mourning doves are a frequent visitor.  Mourning doves and pigeons are practically the same thing, except that pigeons are like their older, more hardcore cousins.  You know, the cousins that got into drugs and have seen some fucked up stuff in their day, but they just keep trekkin.  That’s the pigeon.  Five stints in rehab, but the pigeon is still optimistic and thinks the world could be a nice place.  It doesn’t let you miserable, impatient pedestrians get it down.  So stop being so miserable and impatient and appreciate the goddam pigeon, will ya?  They’re beautiful.  You gotta find the beauty no one else sees.

According to the pigeon book, Woody Allen called pigeons “rats with wings.”  This might not come as such a surprise, but I like rats, too. 

Anyway, this is the quote from the pigeon book that got me going.  The author quotes this ornithologist from Kansas, Richard Johnston, who says: “The special qualities of feral pigeons are rarely recognized as special, which is a result of the way humans perceive the natural world.  Dominant western worldviews have taught that nature exists for human use and that humans are its custodians or curators, fundamentally apart from the natural world.  This philosophic position has been unprofitable in many ways…”        

There is one thing I don’t really like about pigeons, though–the males have this mating dance that makes my stomach turn.  They puff up and run at the female and it’s pretty gross.  As much as I like pigeons I don’t want to see them mate.  I’m not that crazy.

Redneck Weekend ’08

The wise men of Oasis once said, “Don’t look back in anger.”  An even wiser man, George Michael once said, “I gotta think twice.”  Yesterday I was feeling pretty stressed out financially, professionally, romantically, metaphysically.  But today I woke up and I thought to myself, you know what?  It really doesn’t matter because I’m going line dancing tonight. 

It’s one of my best friend’s birthdays tomorrow, so she planned this whole weekend full of hick-tastic, redneck festivities.  Which is usually how weekends go with her, anyway.  We’ve been going to this line dancing club, Illusions, for a couple years now.  It’s in the middle of nowhere in Connecticut.  You walk in and it’s like entering a new dimension (probably).  Guys in NASCAR t-shirts and relaxed fit Levis, girls in other crazy stuff, and the weirdest thing is…everyone is an expert line dancer.  EVERYONE.  We’ve always ended up there on a Friday or Saturday night, but tonight, if you’ve been keeping track, is a Thursday.  Thursday nights at Illusions are instructional nights.  So we’re going to learn how to Boot Scoot Buggy and Devil Went Down to Georgia with the best of them.  Because every song has its own unique dance.  It’s so bizarre and beautiful.

My friend met her ex-boyfriend because of an Illusions trip.  I would not recommend this.  

Then Friday night is the last country concert of our country megaticket.  If you’ve never been to a country concert, you really are missing out.  Such good tailgating.  And everyone pretends to be a hick, so it’s fun to decide who really is and who is just pretending.  And people OD and stuff like at normal concerts.

Then Saturday we’re going to the Big E, or the Eastern States Exposition.  It’s just this huge, excessive fair.  You can get fried dough and you can get the latest in kitchen cleaning supplies (as seen on tv).  So that’s fun. 

You may be wondering where I’m getting the funds to do all this, and I’m wondering that myself.  Netflix did agree to give me back my $18.01 yesterday, though!  Which surprised me.  FYI, if you ever need to call Netflix, their customer service number is not on their website.  You have to go to this other website called Hacking Netflix to find it. 

You may also be wondering what you can do for fun this weekend.  This looks slightly more redneck than what I’m doing, but Nick’s GQ Birthday sounds pretty awesome, too.  If you’re a dude you’re gonna have to wax your eyebrows and make sure you have hair gel by the gallon for that one.  But have a blast.

Queens Says, “Take Your Dream House Elsewhere, Barbie.”

Starting to see a recurring theme in my posts: Craigslist. I’m becoming kind of a CL expert, especially when it comes to responding to jobs that I’m not qualified for at all. A week or two ago I responded to a post with the headline: “Talented Lyricist Needed For Off-Broadway Production.” They wanted a short bio explaining your theater and music experience along with two writing samples. So this is what I told them:

Interested Lyricist

Hello,

Hope to be considered for the lyricist gig. I’ve been involved in music and theater since I was young, including acting, singing, playwriting, and lyric writing. I’m also a poet and I contribute satirical rap lyrics to a music producer. I constantly change lyrics to popular songs so that they lend themselves to different situations.

Attached are two writing samples. If you’d like to see something else more in line with your project or listen to one of the rap songs let me know. Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,

Maribeth

Everything I said is true, but notice how I make myself sound way more important than I actually am. That’s the key to getting people to write back. For instance, the “music producer” that I contribute satirical rap lyrics to? That’s just my friend who makes beats on his computer. And the whole, involved in music and theater “since I was young”…you can’t tell them that you’re not about to cash in on Social Security. Pretty obvious stuff, I guess.

Here are some of my favorite Craigslist headlines I’ve seen lately:

Double Dutch Instructor

I never learned how to double dutch. Those jump ropes looked so dangerous.

**Help Barbie Find Her Dream House**

This one offended me. You should definitely NOT help Barbie find her dream house. That girl needs to learn how to take care of herself, i.e., brush her own hair, pick out her own little outfits, and stop relying on pre-pubescent children to do it for her.

$80 Cash! + $30 Toy! + Pizza! For Warehouse Work Tomorrow!The parts are interchangeable!

I responded to this one, but they never called. And I’m really qualified, too! I’ve worked in two factories and on a tobacco farm. Look how sweet the $30 toy is.

 Oh well.  I would’ve had to trek to Park Slope, which would’ve been a pain.  Brooklyn thinks it is soooo cool.