tavie.com

Surprisingly, I am really enjoying Tender Buttons (or, as I like to say it, Tender Buddons), and I'll tell you why: they read like my hypnagogic word-following. When I am between awake and asleep and the words start flowing in my brain in ways that wouldn't make sense were I awake, but I follow them with my mind to see where they go until I either wake up or fall asleep again? Gertrude Stein's poetry reads like that, and it feels really natural and wonderful. Yay, Gertrude.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:47 PM | shower me with attention

I want badly to sleep, but my itchy scalp and irrational self-loathing are making it difficult.

I really want to wash my hair right now, but I know the running water will wake the household, and they get too little sleep as is.

As for the irrational self-loathing, at least I recognize that it is irrational. That's half the battle. (Battle tastes like hard striped peppermint candies. If I had some peppermint oil right now I'd pour it on my head to make it stop itching.)

Tomorrow I have to drag myself into the city to take some sort of insulting required exam that they just decided was a requirement, so everyone who enrolled after such-and-such a date has to take it. I don't actually know what kind of exam it is but I'm insulted that I have to go take it, and have kept putting it off. I think it may be a writing exam. Fuck that shit. I fear tomorrow may be my final chance to take it. I don't know what the punishment is for not taking it-- having to stay even longer at my ghetto-ass school?

So, but really, I should be asleep right now.

This itchy scalp came out of nowhere, too. What the fuck kind of trickster gods think this is funny? Pan? Loki? Q? Is that you?

Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:27 AM | shower me with attention

Friday, March 15, 2002

I prepared a new batch of Shrinky Dink Geese today, but I can't bake 'em until we buy a Teflon cookie sheet.

Very exciting.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:54 PM | shower me with attention

I need to go outside more.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:53 PM | shower me with attention

What should I be when I grow up?

Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:44 PM | shower me with attention

Sister.

(Oh, who am I kidding. I'm not even in the same league. But I can still sympathize, can't I? Sure I can.)

Oh, well, I know one thing I am definitely not: a writer. I hate writing. Yep, I hate writing. I do, of course, love having written, but I hate writing. At least, I hate writing dry, dull, poorly concieved academic papers that can't be written in the first person. So I know I won't be a writer. So that's one less in the competition department for you writers out there. Aren't you relieved?

Ha ha.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:42 PM | shower me with attention

This is my favourite part:

There is no need for pleasing iambic rhythms in the mere expression of sociopolitical commentary.

I am definitely getting an F.

Tee hee!

Why are you in Tavie's head? 5:22 PM | shower me with attention

I am DONE.

I just reread my paper and it makes no sense, and is really boring and uses really big words that aren't really necessary to prove my point as I have no real point. (I really did sort of argue for "no reading"-- er, anti-deconstructionalist interpretation {g}--of the poem, which you can translate as a total cop-out. ;)

I don't care, I don't care. It's done, dagnabbit. The pure products of America go crazy.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 5:19 PM | shower me with attention

Gina says I'd better have my paper written by the time she gets home from work or else I'll see how mean a nanny she can be: she'll lock me up in her room, which has no amusements or distractions in it (because she's an insomniac and needs a distraction-free zone to sleep in) with just my books and paper and a pen and then I can't come out until it's finished.

Since I don't want that, I'd better get started. I have less than four hours. I really shouldn't have wasted most of the day sleeping.

Putting the coffee on.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:41 PM | shower me with attention

Is anybody there?
Does anybody care?
Does anybody see what I see?

Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:05 AM | shower me with attention

You are Sylvia Plath
No matter how much you struggle, you can't manage to shake off depression. You use symbolism to express yourself and have a knack for getting the most out of gas ovens.

Take the Which Poet are You? Quiz - brought to you out of boredom and pretention!

Also

You are T.S. Eliot
Your are introspective and have an affinity for creatures that purr. You also have a tendency to doubt yourself. You can see the beauty in the world - don't let it pass you by!

Take the Which Poet are You? Quiz - brought to you out of boredom and pretention!

Well how 'bout that.

I am half-watching 1776, contemplating my deep fear of paper-writing and how it will affect my ability to get out of college, and idly searching job listings that I have no intention of pursuing. (My agency called yesterday and left a message about a job they've found for me. I was supposed to call them back ASAP. Oops. I suppose I'll call them tomorrow.) Yes, I was idly searching Flipdog when I came across two listings for employer "Thekidsinthehall". Imagine my shock, please.

The listings turned out to be for Comedy Central internships (poop), of course, and not for The Kids in the Hall themselves, but the link for the "employer" takes one to Thekidsinthehall.com, site name evidently owned by Comedy Central. So at least one person over there is a fan.

I think the description of Eliot is more fitting than the description of Plath, for me, don't you?

Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:59 AM | shower me with attention

Thursday, March 14, 2002

My mom left a private entry in my Dave guestbook. All it says is that her favourite Monkee is Peter and she wishes she was Australian, not Canadian.

This means she has found my web page.

Mom? BUGGER OFF! This ain't for you. Go away. Go away, you are stifling my creative flow. Bugger off. Buzz off. Shoo. Shoo. Shoo. Or I will hold my breath until I turn gay.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:24 PM | shower me with attention

I don't wanna
write a paper
I ain't got.
nothing.

to say.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:15 PM | shower me with attention

This is time to embrace the Dark Lord and it is also time to play croquet. Are you in? Are you in?

I'll bring the absinthe.

(I won't drink it. I'll just bring it.)

Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:02 PM | shower me with attention

Oh, oh. The next time any of you see Kitana, be sure and compliment her on her sweet, sweet ass. I fear she doubts the bodaciousness of her boo-tay.

(Let us pretend, you and I, that she doesn't read this blog. Pretend you thought of it yourself.)

(Hm. Now I'm thinking of the time I emailed [someone's girlfriend] and requested that she and the boyfriend give Kit a hug when they saw her. "Dear [someone's girlfriend], Kitana doubts the bodaciousness of her booty. Would you please compliment her ass when you see her next? Thanks. Love, Tavie." Heh heh heh. Concave. Heh heh heh.)

Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:08 AM | shower me with attention

Someone dug into the Jell-o, but it wasn't me (as I predicted.)

I had a lovely long gigglefest with my kitling, much of which was spent wondering why we don't live somewhere together in a bungalow. She must go to grad school here in this city, she simply must. We must have our sitcom house together. Please, oh please, baby jebus, I've been so good.

I'll sing to you:

I can get a job
I can pay the phone bill
I can cut the lawn
cut my hair
cut out my cholesterol
I can work overtime
I can work in a mine
I can do it all for you
but I don't want to.

And now I'll sing to you some more:

I guess this is goodbye, old pal
You've been a perfect friend.
I hate to see us part, old pal.
Some day I'll buy you back.
I'll see you soon again,
I hope that when I do,
it won't be on a plate.

And now back to speaking:
It seems to me that the one dream I'm destined to actually live out is the dream of divahood. You don't have to be pretty; real divas aren't pretty, they're bold and sassy. Bette has a big nose and Aretha is a big girl. So I think I can do okay with the visuals. What I need help with is the attitude. The goal must be: erase self-doubt. Erase self-loathing. Keep self-criticism quiet and constructive. Flaunt now, question later.

Yes, well that's all well and good, darling, but what, exactly, do you plan to flaunt?

(Tavie arches an eyebrow.)

No, dear, you mustn't be catty to yourself. Try again.

...

...sigh. Go do your homework.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:58 AM | shower me with attention

Wednesday, March 13, 2002

I wish I had some Jell-o. Sugar-free Jell-o is fine. I crave texture, not carbohydrates. (She told herself. She told herself. She told herself.) Cold and wiggly Jell-o. I will make some now, and by the time it's set I won't want it any longer.

I rocked the hizouse in poetry class tonight. I talked back, asked insightful questions, make appropriate comments that weren't witty at all but came off as so due to my masterful use of intonational "I am witty, laugh at me" patterns.

I still have no clear thesis for the paper I have to write by Monday. I will not let that stop me. I will write a bullshit paper and it will suffice. I will read and reread criticism after criticism of "To Elsie". I will pooh-pooh analyses that argue for a feminist reading, a racialized reading, a classist reading, and I will argue for no reading. Yeah, there we go. I will say that overdeconstruction of this poem detracts from its power to work as a whole. Yes, I will say that too close a reading of "To Elsie", overanalysis of its structure, overanalysis of its symbols, overanalysis of its historical bases, take away from Williams' intention to create poetry as a completely new reality, separate from nature. I will go on for five pages about how one mustn't deconstruct this poem. I will get an F.

Thesis, thesis, thesis... baaaaah, I'm making Jell-o.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 8:06 PM | shower me with attention

Octavia Bronwyn Phillips. Young lady. You are sitting here in an old, too-small nightgown and a kimono after having slept until two in the afternoon. Why haven't you...

...deposited that check?
...started your poetry paper that is due Monday?
...updated your resum�?
...emailed Jess?
...mailed that scarf?
...bought tickets to San Francisco?
...started that tape you promised Kathy?
...gotten dressed today?

You are asking for Trouble with a capital T, missy. Get moving!

Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:20 PM | shower me with attention

Tuesday, March 12, 2002

Fixed the link below. Sorry.

(And, Gina... really sorry.)

Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:52 PM | shower me with attention

Can you figure out what's wrong with this picture? You have to study it really carefully. It really freaked me out when I got it.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:18 PM | shower me with attention

Your paper really needs to be called, Are You There, Yod? It's Me, Canada.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:06 PM | shower me with attention

If one more person complains, on their blog, about how much their blog sucks, I will become cross-eyed with anger.

People: I blog about knitting, boiled water, and what I've eaten. And my blog is riveting. Yes, that's right, riveting. You're riveted to it right now, aren't you? You think I'm descending into madness and you have front-row seats.

I have descended into madness and it made my face very red and puffy and sticky. Right now my face is smooth, cool and paste-coloured. So I know I am not mad.

And now, for the fun stuff: knitting, boiled water, and what I'm eating:

I've made two whole baby booties and they are mighty cute. I am mighty proud of me.

I have not scalded my belly today with anything, but I did take a bath that was very hot and scalded my feet.

Not eating anything at the moment, thank you very much.

Today I woke up and learned that Today was The Day That People Want to Talk About September 11th. But I slept most of the day and, thankfully, missed that fun-fest. However, later on, after it was dark, the sister and I went downstairs to see if we could see the light-monument. We could see it very nicely, and were appropriately chilly and solemn as we looked at it. From our angle a plane appeared to fly through it, which was eerie enough for one evening, thank you very much.

I also marveled at what a beautiful view it is in front of the river at night. We are lucky to live on the west (Manhattan) side of the island. We should really have our blinds open more often because it's a beautiful city that we live in.

The one thing I really miss about work is the fast computer. I find that I do not have the patience to sit at this lumbering dinosaur and read blogs. I will likely save most blogs to read on weekends from Gina's fast computer.

I am watching my DVD of Into the Woods now.

And take extra care with strangers
even flowers have their dangers
and though scary is exciting
"nice" is different than "good"...

This is every other blog that I read:
Wah wah, my blog sucks, wah wah, I am so boring.
This is my blog:
Wah wah, everyone says their blog sucks, wah wah, I am so boring.

Pooooop! Only a dolt would exchange a cow for beans! To bed without any supper for you!

Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:28 AM | shower me with attention

Monday, March 11, 2002

I made a bootie! I made a real bootie!

Now I'm making another.

The excitement never stops!

Why are you in Tavie's head? 8:15 PM | shower me with attention

I am wearing a dashiki that looks like vomit. It is the most garish piece of clothing I own. It really does look like someone ate a bunch of crayolas and then threw up.

I am definitely wearing it to class tonight.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:00 AM | shower me with attention

Sunday, March 10, 2002

The most interesting thing that happened to me all day was when I scalded my belly.

But it didn't stay scalded, it turned out fine.

I like my boring life. I am going to stop trying to justify it to myself and try to enjoy it.

You'd better believe me
I'm a great big deal
belieeeeeeve me
I'm Rooooooooosie
I'm a star by far off the golden coast
Take that bow, make that toast
to Rosie the most!

Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:58 PM | shower me with attention

Let me tell YOU something, motherfucker.

I'm not hostile.

It's just that my words are so boring to me.

So very boring.

Like cold spaghetti.

That kind of boring.

When I'm Julie Andrews I'm special.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:56 PM | shower me with attention

I feel queasy and nervous. It can't be explained by Gina's meatloaf, which was delicious and which I did not overstuff myself with. I think it is probably because of that tv special about 9/11 that we were trying to watch but we couldn't watch because it was making us upset. I think it has made me queasy and nervous.

Suck.

I'm trying to knit baby booties but I don't think they're gonna turn out. I already ripped out half of one because they needles were too small. Now I seem to have the right size needles but I still have no hope. Whatever it turns out to be will be a nice cat-toy, though. Riley's not picky.

Is my life dull? Yah. Yah, it's so.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:48 PM | shower me with attention

Let us construct a hypothetical situation. Let's say your mouth gets thirsty for some freshly brewed iced tea, and you've just bought a box of Celestial Seasonings. Let's say you boil a kettle of water, get out your Berry Zinger tea bags. This is our situation. And... go!

Okay. If you are going to make the iced tea in a glass pitcher, you will want to feel the pitcher first. It may be a chilly day; perhaps the glass is cool. If this is so, you want to warm it up first. You do not want to take your kettle of boiling water and simply dump it into the big glass pitcher willy-nilly. If you do this, the pitcher is going to explode. It will soak through your jeans and scald your belly; it will soak through your friend's kitchen drawers and stain her checks, passport and birth certificate. It will ruin your good, knit-y, Wargames-watchin' mood.

Spaz.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:15 PM | shower me with attention

Yeah, I will stop talking.

I really wish you wouldn't.

...

New to report? Nothing.
Had some Indian food, slept a lot, got nothing done, knitted, watched a lot of tv with Gina. We have a new elaborate fantasy based on an affectionate bit of teasing Gina's sister has with her six-year-old son: Spazzy Spazzerton's All-Spaz Band, featuring Gee-haw on washboard, me on fiddle, 6.y.o. nephew on drums, John Cameron Mitchell singing and spaz-dancing, Jon Stewart on spoons, and Andy Dick on blow-jug. G. says Trask should be in our band playing the mouth harp, but I maintain he is too cool for our All-Spaz Revue. (Although I'd like to see him in the overalls and bare feet; only JCM and Nephew get to wear the overalls; Me, G, Stewart and Dick are all wearing gingham tied-up tops and Daisy Dukes.)

Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:20 AM | shower me with attention