tavie.com

Neil Innes is still as cute as pie, and I actually like the Picard-head he is now sporting. Anyhow, he still has that biteable lower lip. Yohmmy.

But I have to say, I was completely entranced with the deliciousness that is Yo La Tengo. I finally got me a good, long look of that sweet drink o' water that is Georgia Hubley, and she sho' is fine. James McNew was wearing a triple-eyed Simpsons fish shirt, which alone makes him my new secret boyfriend. And Ira Kaplan, I am weak in the knees just thinking about him, and I'm sitting down. When he did his insane solo electric guitar riffing during "Mister Apollo" I actually felt my eyes bugging out of my head with love. He and I will be married one day. Sure he's married to Georgia, but that's no problem, see, because she and I will be married too.

(Yeah, I'm a little hormonal just now.)

Wow, I really wish I'd actually listened to the Yo La Tengo CDs erin lent me.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:09 PM | shower me with attention

She's real pretty and a real good actress and everything, but I don't understand the blonde pieces. Someone will have to sit me down and explain them to me slowly.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:01 PM | shower me with attention

Kit made me nostalgiac for early 90's winters in Toronto, and I wasn't even there. She says,

This is so pathetic. I'm already nostalgic for things that happened only ten years ago.

Hey, hey, hey. I'm nostalgiac for things that happened one year ago. Even six months ago. Yes, nostalgiac. It's not pathetic.

It's... not...

Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:03 PM | shower me with attention

It is sarah c's birthday today! I will celebrate the glory that is she by going to see Neil Innes and Yo La Tengo tonight.

Today's all about grooviness, baby.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:33 AM | shower me with attention

Friday, October 05, 2001

Haven't done this in awhile. (Thanks, Jess.)
And now, a poem generated from my blog:

Corrections have to join our contempt. ,
I
might be quite a Paris
balcony with my
blog as a favour, or
Oz or , something... stinky.Bad
sleep I left
psychology class because Matt mouth, over and
I was a
real
one.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:27 PM | shower me with attention

Why the fuckety-fuck is this site in my blog referrals list? That's even creepier than the nuclear power site.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 7:26 PM | shower me with attention

Okay, seriously, how do you not love a musical that includes the lines,

Slide some oil to me, hit my shoulderblades
All y'all that don't have to lubricate sure have got it made

I ask you?

Lubricate your minds, people.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:51 PM | shower me with attention

By the gold light of your halo I wanna nail ya
Give ya lovin' and devotion, I won't ever fail ya
Wanna run my mouth over your wounds and your thorny crown
and the holes in your hands and feet help me to nail ya down

Fuck I love this song. Sacrelicious.

Wanna run my hands through your hair and over your pale skin
All my friends said, "Jesus Christ, man, you sure wanna nail him"

Just want to know, exactly where in the movie was this song?

Fuck it, who cares. Stephen Trask rules.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:13 PM | shower me with attention

In the soundtrack version, the first brightest star Hedwig sings in "Midnight Radio" breaks my heart every time I hear it.

Just sayin'.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:03 PM | shower me with attention

I really think Lynn Thigpen may be god.

Like, if god's a character actor, then she's definitely played by Lynn Thigpen.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:13 PM | shower me with attention

I think if I lost about a hundred pounds, cut and dyed my hair, I could make a living as a Julie Andrews impersonator.

It's not going to happen, of course.

It's not the weight loss part that'll stop me, but the cutting and dyeing my hair. And I just don't do well with wigs.

It's too bad, really.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:56 PM | shower me with attention

{bitch}
So, as of yet I've only been paid for the first two days I've worked here. There was some holdup in payroll due to the WTC attack and everything got backed up, and I knew it would take some time for everything to get fixed, but I've been here for a few weeks now and my bank account is empty, empty, empty, and my credit cards are maxed out and unpaid, and frankly it's starting to tick me off. What if I was supporting a family, like my fellow temp here? What if my parents weren't feeding and housing me? It seems to me that not paying someone for a few weeks would really be a big problem in that instance. I emailed my temp contact and asked her what's up, and she said she's checking into it for me.

What's that SNL sketch? "We gon' get you yo money. They shouldn't HAVE yo money."

I am definitely not typing boring numbers into a boring, slow computer system eight hours a day because I find it amusing, nor do I think this financial giant for whom I am employed need volunteers to do their data entry.

{/bitch}

Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:04 PM | shower me with attention

LOL, okay, I am such a weenie! So, I just sort of forgot to establish myself as "Tavie" at work, so I'm "Octavia" to everyone here. No biggie. It happens sometimes. So this guy JUST NOW came up to me and Jason and said, "Hi, I'm your new neighbour. I'm Mark," and he held out his hand to shake it, and damned if I didn't reply, "Hi, I'm-- I'm... Tavie."

"Hi, Tavie."

Well, two things:
1. What kind of FREAK hesitates when introducing themselves? I sound like a really bad spy who can't remember her alias. "I'm... uh... Mr X. Yeah, that's right. Mr X."

2. Now I'm Tavie to one person in the office, and to no one else.

This is just cuh-razy, man.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:46 AM | shower me with attention

He's back! My coffee guy's back and I'm feelin' cute!

You know what I realized? I've been corresponding by email, lately, with the person who taught me how to blow my nose. Isn't that something? I've been writing back and forth with Asti, whom I've mentioned before here. I have a lot of adopted big-sisters but she's the closest thing I have to a real one. She's the big sister of my friend Andrew, the 17-year-old goth child with whom I've been acquainted since his birth (and of my friend Adam, who is Kirsten's and my age, and we all spent the first 10 years or so of our lives growing up practically as brothers and sisters in that 2-family house in Brooklyn.) Anyhow, Asti's living a wildly enviable life in London, making tons of money and living in a gorgeous flat with a gorgeous British hunk of a husband. She's 10 years older than Kirsten and Adam and I. When we were little we used to think she was Madonna. No, I'm serious. We'd confuse the two. (And, hey, come to think of it, they're both living in London now... hmmm....)

And I remembered that when I was little, maybe three or four, she was babysitting the three of us. (This must have been just before Andrew was born.) And we were on the couch downstairs in their apartment. I think there was a candle burning. And I had a cold. My nose was stuffed. And I kept (okay, this is gross, no one read on please) sucking it back in. And finally she grabbed a tissue, sat down in front of me, held it up to my nose, and sat down and said, "Now blow out through your nose." And I did and oh, the wonder of it! It emptied right on out! What magic! Why had no one taught me this before? What was wrong with my parents, not teaching me how to empty out my nasal passages?

So, anyway, Asti rules.

Wow, what a disgusting entry. Back to work.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:28 AM | shower me with attention

Thursday, October 04, 2001

I watched "Inside Schwartz" tonight. It was not good. I did not like it. However, I loved Miriam Shor and I will watch it whenever I remember to just because she is such a hottie.

I think, however, that the premise is completely retarded. It needs to be a show about a bearded European punk soprano with a diva wife and a penchant for dressing in blonde wigs. It needs to be called "The Yitzhak Show".

God, I have such a crush on her. Homina. I can't believe I watched that crappy show.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:06 PM | shower me with attention

Oh, I know. erin got rid of her blog.

That fucking blows. :(

Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:50 PM | shower me with attention

Today I was a very bad girl and did not go to work. Instead I slept and slept. And am I at school right now? I am not.

I can't remember what else I wanted to say, so I guess it wasn't much.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:48 PM | shower me with attention

Before I go to bed, something has to be said:

My favourite thing about my turtle is his neck, and especially when he lets me stroke it with the tip of my finger. It's a very endearing neck. I think you would agree if you could see it. He's an ornery little reptile, but when he stretches his neck out you can't help but see what turtles are all about, and that is cuteness.

Good night.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:19 AM | shower me with attention

Wednesday, October 03, 2001

The thing about the whole JCM thing that makes me just thrum with happiness-- well, the MAIN thing, I think there are many very obvious reasons to be happy-- is that it isn't that it's a regular fan-idol meeting. It's not that Matt won a contest. It's not that JCM is meeting him as a favour, or as a kind act from a celebrity to his fan, because JCM wants to give a kid a thrill. It's not because Matt showed up on his doorstep and JCM feels sorry for him. It's not because Matt is the president of his fan club or writes him a million fan letters a day.

It's because Matt produced a brilliant piece of writing, and it was on the strength of this creation, of this product of Matt's intellect, on the manifestation of Matt's genius, that this godlike idol-figure felt compelled to contact him. It's a beautiful thing, almost beyond expression. It's an inversion of the normal processes of fan-relations; who is a fan of whom here? Who appreciates whose work?

I think about fandom a lot. There's lots of angst, lots of thumbings through Henry Jenkins' Textual Poachers. There's lots of self-deprecation and justification, of intellectualizing of fannish activities and theorizing about fan creativity and formation of communities. There's lots of mooning and sighing. Fandom is so much larger a part of my life than I ever would have wished that I can't help but continually analyze it and its place in the culture and subcultures in which I find myself, and wonder about its place in my own self-identification process. Therefore it has a large emotional significance for me, and so when something like this happens, it makes my heart so light.

So light.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:46 PM | shower me with attention

So I forgot to tell: after getting my test grade (acceptable), I left psychology because there wasn't no concentrating going on, and I was feeling blue, you know. That sort of common, greasy sadness that keeps following me around unbidden. And I went into the ladies' room and I was washing my hands and I noticed a girl next to me bent over the sink, and I saw that she had a little, tiny, teeny-weeny, itty-bitty little bitty black-and-white kitten cradled in one hand, lapping at water out of her other hand. Well, I almost died! Imagine the fawning that occurred. Such a cute little kitten. She put it on her shoulder and it clamoured around. She'd been carrying it around all day. And it just made me feel so much better, the cuteness of the kitten. I think there should be kitten checkpoints stationed around various locations where I might apt to be in the school or in the city, and every once in awhile I should get to just stop and gaze at a really tiny, adorable kitten.

In other news, my little love is at JCM's house right now. Oh my sweet lord, it's better than kittens, even.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:25 PM | shower me with attention

The more I think about it the less I want to be in school. I'm really blowing this semester. I'm pretty sure I have a paper due tomorrow and I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna write it. I'm pretty sure if I show up to psychology class at all tonight instead of just going home when I leave the computer lab, it will just to see if I have my test grade yet, and then I will leave immediately. And I find myself not caring a single bit.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:35 PM | shower me with attention

Kitana needs me! Where's my superhero cape?

What do you mean she doesn't need me? She can't sleep, I can't sleep... we could be watching Three's Company episodes together!

Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:32 PM | shower me with attention

I had to leave math class because I was busy drawing a doodle of Matt and couldn't remember what his mouth looked liked. So here I am in the computer lab and I read about the phone call. It's every so much more interesting than any sort of multiplication principle.

Now, if anyone knows where I can find a picture of Matt's mouth, please alert me.

I'm all aflutter.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:20 PM | shower me with attention

I am such a good updater now.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:11 PM | shower me with attention

Corrections have been made re: Amy's proper blog address. Note updated link and designation of possesive at left.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:07 PM | shower me with attention

Gabe has one more day to talk and then he's gone from the links list.

That's right, I'm imposing much stricter guidelines. You hear me, Amy?

(I am so pathetic when I try to be authoritarian. I was obviously born to be submissive.)

Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:39 PM | shower me with attention

I wish I was John Cameron Mitchell. I wish I was Matt. I wish I was both of them at once. My new fantasy: me and John Cameron Mitchell, tangled in a comfortable heap on Goose's comfortable couch. Goose is in the kitchen under a swinging He-Man figurine, getting a tray of coffee yogurt for us to enjoy. Matt stands before us with a battered, beloved copy of The Aeneid (in Latin) in his hand. He is reading it aloud to JCM and me. Goose brings in the yogurt and sets it aside, eager to join our sweet heap of goodness. She crawls aboard, and we are all arms and legs (occasionally intermingled with bulges of grotesque Jello-like Tavie flesh), but we are all extraordinarily comfortable and entranced by the rhythmic beauty of Matt's recitation.

Goose says my fantasies are too tame. So I'm going to try to imagine that we're all naked in the fantasy, but it just gets too... floppy... and dissolves into grotesque humour. Sigh.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:56 AM | shower me with attention

It's Wednesday. It's work. What else is there?

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

Tuesday, October 02, 2001

HOLY. FUCKING. GOD.

I can't even begin to tell you how starstruck I am feeling. Too many fantasies-- overloading-- oh my god-- my little love and-- and-- and--

::feathers everywhere::

Why are you in Tavie's head? 7:19 PM | shower me with attention

Well, my coffee guy may be gone, but my hot nuts guy is back! Today, despite my protests, he gave my two bags instead of the one I paid for, which begs the question: why are guys in this city only nice to me when I'm giving them money? ;)

I love my hot nuts guy. I love saying "my hot nuts guy".

Dorks! Dorks! Dorks!

Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:15 PM | shower me with attention

For this, Steve gets a cookie.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:20 PM | shower me with attention

My new favourite feeling in life is to be distracted by the monotony of my job by listening to the most beautiful sound of the most beautiful song in the world, "(The Other End of the) Telescope", sung on my ill-gotten CD by Aimee and Michael, be lost in the magic of the song and suddenly be jarred into a laugh by the sound of Buddy Judge's uncanny Elvis Costello impression.

I have given up on this not-laughing-out-loud stuff.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:16 AM | shower me with attention

Okay, I can't read blogs from work anymore if I'm going to keep running into links like this in a quiet office, people. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to laugh quietly and eat a banana at the same time? You bastards?

Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:45 AM | shower me with attention

Crap. I forgot that John Cameron Mitchell was on... Rosie or something... yesterday. Not that I would have been able to tape it anyway. I will go look at the picture of Jessica's desktop to console me.

May I add, black coffee and bananas taste so good together?

Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:42 AM | shower me with attention

Is it Christmas? I think it is, for from under the blogmas tree arises a super-duper patented GOOSE QUIZ!

Happy Holidays, everyone!!!

Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:32 AM | shower me with attention

1. Now who's making who blush?

2. Wow, Matt's Amy has a blog! I like to think that some of us had a part in sucking her into this world. ;) Welcome, lady!

3. I don't think my coffee guy is ever coming back. I've taken to paying a quarter extra at the place in the lobby, and I think those bastards just charged me 55 cents for a banana, for chrissake. Good morning, world! (By the by, I got fully 12 hours of sleep last night. Yeah, baby. Things are looking up?)

Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:28 AM | shower me with attention

Monday, October 01, 2001

A wonderful weekend with Atlanta Steve, who is a truly great guy. (Saw Hedwig again with him and Gina and Erica; if I see it one more time it will tie with Beauty and the Beast for film I saw most times at the movies.) Met Matt and his friend Amy, who was very darling and charming as all get out. I liked her very much. I don't know where these young kids are getting their self-confidence from, but boy, I do admire them.

I think it's probably getting tiresome, all this complaining about how little sleep I'm getting, so from now on I think I'll only make a note when I do get a decent amount of sleep. I've gone all Gina with the sleep-deprivation (and Gina is now Gina squared re: insomnia, sadly.)

Still reading World of Wonders by that exquisite dead Canadian and favourite author of my mother, Robertson Davies. Now I feel the need to quote a bit from the book; it's the bit that started me off on my self-loathing, introspective bullshit jag last night wherein I couldn't fall asleep until 5 am for pondering what a fool I am:

I hadn't twigged that in a theatrical company-- or any artistic organization, for that matter-- the hierarchy is decided by talent, and that art is the most rigorously aristocratic thing in our democratic world....

...'Stop telling us what an ass you were,' said Kinghovn. 'Even I recognize that as an English trick to pull the teeth of our contempt. 'Oh, I say, what a jolly good chap: says he's an ass, don't yer know; he couldn't possibly say that if he was really an ass...'

and, a few pages before:

They saw The Master fully ten times when they were young, and loved it so that they wrote out the whole play from memory-- I don't suppose it was very accurate, but they did-- and sent it to Sir John with an adoring letter. Sort of tribute from playgoers whose life he had illumined, you know. I could hardly believe it when I was young, but I know better now: fans get up to the queerest things in order to associate themselves with their idols.

And, may I add in the slightly outdated vernacular of roughly my generation: mad props to Steve for putting up with my "I am such an ass"ery on Sunday night. A truly wonderful guy, he is. Word.

Also: he and I went to see Aggie's new (first) apartment on Avenue A. I love it, I love it. I wish I could be the roommate that she needs to get, but circumstances prevent it. I shall, however, be quite a regular. It's such a lovely little bohemian cave, cramped and funky and strung with Christmas lights and stuffed with mismatched furniture. It makes me feel so romantic about la vie boheme, as it were. I'm so proud of her I could just swing her about. (She doesn't take kindly to being swung about, however, so I shall do it mentally.)

Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:33 PM | shower me with attention

Everyone choose your Fantasyland.

Sometimes I go to Hogwarts or Narnia or The World of Two Moons or Oz or Never-Neverland, but my Fantasyland of choice will always be the mystical 70's New York about which I so often rhapsodize. I was born just too late for it, but it doesn't matter because it never really existed. It's the 70's New York of "The Wiz" (my music for the day, the "Tornado" theme being particularly good in this blustery, evil cold), of "Free to Be, You and Me", of "Godspell", of "Sesame Street". It's colourful and groovy in a cheesy way that makes you feel good to be alive and happenin', my man. There are bright patchwork bellbottoms on bright patchwork people, and they sing and swing their hippie-hair or fluff their afros and wink and the happy children trippin' down the street. Drugs don't hurt anyone, baby. No one is hungry. Everyone sings and some people strum guitars. And the people sing,

don't you carry nothin' that might be a load,

and the people sing,

every boy in this land growns to be his own man,

and the people sing,

and I know I'm gonna make it this time, this time I'm gonna make it,

and the people sing,

you've got to stay bright to be the light of the world, so let your light soul shine before men,

and the people sing,

can you tell me how to get, how to get to

sha na na na naaaaaaaa...

Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:40 AM | shower me with attention

Fuck those losers, Cheryl.

Not literally.

What jag-offs. I mean, seriously, you would be hard-pressed to find a more pathetic bunch of emotionally stunted, immature, self-involved losers in the world. I laugh at the misfortune their stupidity will bring upon them, because I am evil and feel no pity for them right now.

Would you like to be in my imaginary band, "Tits of Clay"? You can be Clay, or you can be a Tit. I myself am going to be a Tit.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:31 AM | shower me with attention

I am so fucking tired of me. Seriously, I need a divorce.

Can I please turn off the fucking thinking for one fucking minute? Please? I really need an open sky to scream at from an empty field. Why the fuck don't I live out in the fucking country?

God, I'm an annoying fucking person. I annoy me so fucking much.

I mean, what kind of fucking person is so fucking uncreative as to put the word "fucking" between every fucking word in every fucking sentence when the fucking sentences aren't even fucking about fucking?

Go away, Tavie.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:58 AM | shower me with attention