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Saturday, February 22, 2003
Mom and Tante Joan visited Mint Manor for the first time tonight! They brought food from Ikea and we had a tea party. They were very charmed by the house. TJ kept saying she felt like she was visiting me in my own house, and I kept saying that it is what it's like because I've lived here three days a week for the past two and a half years.
It was neat.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:32 PM | shower me with attention
It was neat.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:32 PM | shower me with attention
Having Kirsten here is like traveling with my own personal chef. She has just whipped up a delicious pulpo ensalata for dinner, followed by a beef-and-pepper stir-fry with Spanish seasoning. It smells delicioso.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 7:20 PM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 7:20 PM | shower me with attention
I have adorned the front and the backyard each with their own snow lantern, a tradition celebrated annually now at Mint Manor and started by our own Swedish Snow Bunny. They were my first solo lanterns and came out splendidly. I just hope Gina doesn't mind that I used the fancy scented candles she was keeping in the fridge.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:59 PM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:59 PM | shower me with attention
Amadeus: The Director's Cut.
The bad movie spell has been broken!
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:08 AM | shower me with attention
The bad movie spell has been broken!
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:08 AM | shower me with attention
Friday, February 21, 2003
Bad Movie Log, continued
An Affair to Remember: Shmaltzy, but Cary Grant and therefore enjoyable.
Thumbelina: I would call this the worst animated film ever made, except for the fact that I've seen Rock-a-Doodle.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:32 PM | shower me with attention
An Affair to Remember: Shmaltzy, but Cary Grant and therefore enjoyable.
Thumbelina: I would call this the worst animated film ever made, except for the fact that I've seen Rock-a-Doodle.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:32 PM | shower me with attention
But, on a less self-indulgent note, did anyone catch that I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here show? I saw about thirty seconds of someone reciting a poem to Robin Leach, and I swear, it was like watching "Beelzebub's Cooking and Crafts Hour". Satan teaching a roomful of children how to applique and make peanut-butter logs in the shape of swastikas. Actually, that would have made more sense than what I was looking at.
I mean, how is Melissa Rivers a celebrity?
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:36 AM | shower me with attention
I mean, how is Melissa Rivers a celebrity?
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:36 AM | shower me with attention
Do you know how everything in your life is sort of boiling around in a jolly, stinky mess held down by a thin, rubbery skin of denial and the resultant temporary composure that denial lends?
My skin's getting holes in it. Can anyone lend me a tire-patch kit?
I am going to ruminate, in the manner of dumb, cloven plains animals:
How do you come to terms with who you were supposed to have been? What do you do when you've gotten so good at Overcoming Difficulties that you forget you had any difficulties to overcome in the first place and begin to be unsatisfied with your signficantly lowered status as a developing member of society? What, most importantly, do you do to get rid of the impossible standards imposed by too much television and too many movies and too much contact with the rosy promises of a bright future they pretend that anyone can attain? (Or, worse, too much contact with Those More Privileged/Those More Capable than yourself?) How can you maintain your lowered standards of success when memory of failed potential constantly looms under the dampened towel of Chemical Mood Stabilizers, poking its pointy head through whenever the ratio of chemical-to-bloodstream gets too low?
How the fuck can the only school that I could get into, as a high school dropout with a fake diploma (and they didn't even need to see the diploma-- they don't even care if their students know how to read, much less graduate!), lower their standards so much that a degree from them has become virtually worthless? What, exactly, am I working for? Either I'm here to Learn Something or I'm here because I need a piece of paper that will enable me to attain financial security as an adult. If I tell myself I'm here to Learn Something, then I must deal with the fact that I'm forced to glean what knowledge I can from an instutition with radically lowered academic standards because they're the only ones who would deign to teach me. If I tell myself I'm here for the piece of paper, I must recognize that that piece of paper command no respect from prospective employers/graduate schools/Keepers Of My Future, because of aforementioned lowered standards.
I must remember the depths from which I've come. That's what important: that I rose from depths.
It's all bullshit, you know, and it stays neatly tucked under its tarp most of the time. But sometimes one edge of the flap comes untied. Usually on sad anniversaries. I'll just sleep on this one and it'll go away again.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:23 AM | shower me with attention
My skin's getting holes in it. Can anyone lend me a tire-patch kit?
I am going to ruminate, in the manner of dumb, cloven plains animals:
How do you come to terms with who you were supposed to have been? What do you do when you've gotten so good at Overcoming Difficulties that you forget you had any difficulties to overcome in the first place and begin to be unsatisfied with your signficantly lowered status as a developing member of society? What, most importantly, do you do to get rid of the impossible standards imposed by too much television and too many movies and too much contact with the rosy promises of a bright future they pretend that anyone can attain? (Or, worse, too much contact with Those More Privileged/Those More Capable than yourself?) How can you maintain your lowered standards of success when memory of failed potential constantly looms under the dampened towel of Chemical Mood Stabilizers, poking its pointy head through whenever the ratio of chemical-to-bloodstream gets too low?
How the fuck can the only school that I could get into, as a high school dropout with a fake diploma (and they didn't even need to see the diploma-- they don't even care if their students know how to read, much less graduate!), lower their standards so much that a degree from them has become virtually worthless? What, exactly, am I working for? Either I'm here to Learn Something or I'm here because I need a piece of paper that will enable me to attain financial security as an adult. If I tell myself I'm here to Learn Something, then I must deal with the fact that I'm forced to glean what knowledge I can from an instutition with radically lowered academic standards because they're the only ones who would deign to teach me. If I tell myself I'm here for the piece of paper, I must recognize that that piece of paper command no respect from prospective employers/graduate schools/Keepers Of My Future, because of aforementioned lowered standards.
I must remember the depths from which I've come. That's what important: that I rose from depths.
It's all bullshit, you know, and it stays neatly tucked under its tarp most of the time. But sometimes one edge of the flap comes untied. Usually on sad anniversaries. I'll just sleep on this one and it'll go away again.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:23 AM | shower me with attention
Thursday, February 20, 2003
I've taken a hostage back to Mint Manor with me for my second and last weekend of exile. I will feed her pretzels and force her to watch Buffy until you meet my demands.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:28 PM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:28 PM | shower me with attention
Recieved the following email:
http://www.geocities.com/neicie1_99/octavia_html/oc.htm
Dear Tavie
This is another OCTAVIA whose has a web page but EGADS it's David Cassidy Shrine as opposed to a David Foley Shrine.
Small world —-eh?
MOM
I am utterly horrified. I've finally found Bizarro Me, and she draws pictures of celebrities and posts them on her website. Please let's not have me become that.
And, Mom, this spurt of internet research had better stem from our conversation last night, not any blog-reading you might be doing. Keep out.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:14 PM | shower me with attention
http://www.geocities.com/neicie1_99/octavia_html/oc.htm
Dear Tavie
This is another OCTAVIA whose has a web page but EGADS it's David Cassidy Shrine as opposed to a David Foley Shrine.
Small world —-eh?
MOM
I am utterly horrified. I've finally found Bizarro Me, and she draws pictures of celebrities and posts them on her website. Please let's not have me become that.
And, Mom, this spurt of internet research had better stem from our conversation last night, not any blog-reading you might be doing. Keep out.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:14 PM | shower me with attention
The Vegan Fox stole. I need to make this.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:20 PM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:20 PM | shower me with attention
I was named after history's great mouse.
One of them, anyway. I came to this realization yesterday, coming home from ceramics class. Our instructor is having us design some sort of trophy to represent some ritual of signficance from our lives. She asked us what we might commemorate, and when no one had any ideas, she tried to help us brainstorm by asking if anyone had any tattoos. I was one of only two people who raised their hands. Then she asked me about my tattoo, and as I was explaining why its attainment was a significant event to me, I asked, "Do I look like someone who would get a tattoo?" She responded immediately and with a giant smile, "No, not at all." No hesitation whatsoever. Gee, I would've liked a fraction of hesitation.
But it's true. You have to picture me as I looked last night-- disheveled ponytail, no makeup, clay dust on my face, old pastel-lavender sweater pulled over work blouse, sensible shoes. Mousy. Fat, but mousy. A fat mouse. It's possible, you know. Think of Gus from Cinderella (named after the famous mouse's brother, after all!)
I had my mom present her case to me last night. "Why did you name me Octavia? Wasn't she famous for being ill-treated, misused, a female cuckold, a wimp who stood by a man who treated her like garbage?"
This was, after all, the lady who stood by Antony even as he was off shtupping that Macedonian hussy Cleopatra, even going so far as to adopt their children after they offed themselves. But mom explained it to me this way: Octavia was the paragon of Roman virtue. She stood for everything a Roman woman was supposed to be. She was beautiful, dedicated, a patron of the arts, a devoted mother and wife, protector of the household and family. She did her duty through arranged marriage, as was the way of those times, and remained faithful to that lousy husband of hers because it was the right thing to do. She was loved and renowned. She had devotees.
Well, that doesn't sound particularly mousy, I guess. But she wasn't a diva like Cleopatra. She was stick-straight. She was goody-goody.
"What's wrong with being good?" my mum countered.
Good point.
Still, I think my insistence on being known as Tavie is my effort to claim some of the divadom that Octavia lacked. I'll never be a fabulous Cleopatra. Neither am I a virtuous Octavia. So I'm something new. I'm a Tavie. And, okay, a Tavie is a mouse. But maybe a mouse with a tiny little feather boa in her closet?
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:23 PM | shower me with attention
One of them, anyway. I came to this realization yesterday, coming home from ceramics class. Our instructor is having us design some sort of trophy to represent some ritual of signficance from our lives. She asked us what we might commemorate, and when no one had any ideas, she tried to help us brainstorm by asking if anyone had any tattoos. I was one of only two people who raised their hands. Then she asked me about my tattoo, and as I was explaining why its attainment was a significant event to me, I asked, "Do I look like someone who would get a tattoo?" She responded immediately and with a giant smile, "No, not at all." No hesitation whatsoever. Gee, I would've liked a fraction of hesitation.
But it's true. You have to picture me as I looked last night-- disheveled ponytail, no makeup, clay dust on my face, old pastel-lavender sweater pulled over work blouse, sensible shoes. Mousy. Fat, but mousy. A fat mouse. It's possible, you know. Think of Gus from Cinderella (named after the famous mouse's brother, after all!)
I had my mom present her case to me last night. "Why did you name me Octavia? Wasn't she famous for being ill-treated, misused, a female cuckold, a wimp who stood by a man who treated her like garbage?"
This was, after all, the lady who stood by Antony even as he was off shtupping that Macedonian hussy Cleopatra, even going so far as to adopt their children after they offed themselves. But mom explained it to me this way: Octavia was the paragon of Roman virtue. She stood for everything a Roman woman was supposed to be. She was beautiful, dedicated, a patron of the arts, a devoted mother and wife, protector of the household and family. She did her duty through arranged marriage, as was the way of those times, and remained faithful to that lousy husband of hers because it was the right thing to do. She was loved and renowned. She had devotees.
Well, that doesn't sound particularly mousy, I guess. But she wasn't a diva like Cleopatra. She was stick-straight. She was goody-goody.
"What's wrong with being good?" my mum countered.
Good point.
Still, I think my insistence on being known as Tavie is my effort to claim some of the divadom that Octavia lacked. I'll never be a fabulous Cleopatra. Neither am I a virtuous Octavia. So I'm something new. I'm a Tavie. And, okay, a Tavie is a mouse. But maybe a mouse with a tiny little feather boa in her closet?
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:23 PM | shower me with attention
I can't wake up today. Coffee isn't working. I think coffee is broken.
Line from Fuddy Meers works today: Stability is a fragile figurine.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:49 AM | shower me with attention
Line from Fuddy Meers works today: Stability is a fragile figurine.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:49 AM | shower me with attention
I need to not remember dates, okeydokey?
Six month gone, my Rosie. Miss you every day, my love.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:50 AM | shower me with attention
Six month gone, my Rosie. Miss you every day, my love.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:50 AM | shower me with attention
I wanna go back to Amsterdam.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:47 AM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:47 AM | shower me with attention
Wednesday, February 19, 2003
"And my new grandma, Bea Arthur" is the line that has turned Rufus Wainright into my new gay boyfriend. Yes yes yes.
(I am working, by the way.)
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:02 AM | shower me with attention
(I am working, by the way.)
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:02 AM | shower me with attention
Please answer the following questions, if applicable, in comments or by email:
1. What kind of digital camera do you have? (Make/model)
2. How many MPs? (Keeping in mind that I barely know what that means.)
3. What did it cost? (Ballpark is fine.)
4. Are you happy with it? Why?
Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:42 AM | shower me with attention
1. What kind of digital camera do you have? (Make/model)
2. How many MPs? (Keeping in mind that I barely know what that means.)
3. What did it cost? (Ballpark is fine.)
4. Are you happy with it? Why?
Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:42 AM | shower me with attention
28,020 hits. That's like 3,000 since yesterday. By far the post popular page on my site, far outscoring the one you're reading now. (And god knows I open my own page to hit my blogroll blogs about a thousand times a day.)
Bitches is crazy.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:31 AM | shower me with attention
Bitches is crazy.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:31 AM | shower me with attention
There's a CD that I've been wanting to get for the past 15 months because I heard it on a radio station one day in December of 2001, in its entirety, and found it captivating.
Here's a testament to how long it takes me to listen to music: I got the CD for Christmas, and completely forgot about it until this morning. So now, fully 15 months after I first heard it, I'm finally listening to it again.
And it's really fuckin' good.
(Why don't specific blog-post links work for me, by the way?)
Also, last night I dreamed that my friend Andrew and I were watching M*A*S*H and I remarked to him, in the dream, "You know, I love Hawkeye, but if I knew them all in real life the one I'd fall in love with is Klinger." I woke up finding this perfectly reasonable, and related it to my mom on the minibus this morning. Then I spent the rest of the short ride trying to explain to her why someone would be in love with Klinger. (Specifically, I told her the Lebanese sausage/Maine magazine article incident.) She still didn't get it. That is so wrong.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:23 AM | shower me with attention
Here's a testament to how long it takes me to listen to music: I got the CD for Christmas, and completely forgot about it until this morning. So now, fully 15 months after I first heard it, I'm finally listening to it again.
And it's really fuckin' good.
(Why don't specific blog-post links work for me, by the way?)
Also, last night I dreamed that my friend Andrew and I were watching M*A*S*H and I remarked to him, in the dream, "You know, I love Hawkeye, but if I knew them all in real life the one I'd fall in love with is Klinger." I woke up finding this perfectly reasonable, and related it to my mom on the minibus this morning. Then I spent the rest of the short ride trying to explain to her why someone would be in love with Klinger. (Specifically, I told her the Lebanese sausage/Maine magazine article incident.) She still didn't get it. That is so wrong.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:23 AM | shower me with attention
Tuesday, February 18, 2003
This is the kind of thing that makes me sick to my stomach. Parents forced to choose between having their mentally ill children go untreated or losing custody of them. It's goddamn sick that insurance doesn't cover things like bipolar disorder. Sick children and their parents are punished.
This is why I hate reading the news.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:06 PM | shower me with attention
This is why I hate reading the news.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:06 PM | shower me with attention
Am I crazy, or is this guy hot?
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:03 PM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:03 PM | shower me with attention
Jiggety jog. But I'm going back on Thursday night. Then three more days of fun and solitude!
Going into work tomorrow. Don't usually work Wednesdays but I need to make up some time. It is very important that I blog this, why? Especially now that I have real, live people to talk to?
Could it be... am I addicted to the blog?
This could be bad.
Now, some statistics for the past five days:
Number of bad movies watched: 4.
Number of good movies abandoned for E! True Hollywood Story episodes: 6.
Archaeology homework read: 1.5 chapters out of 2.
Research Design homework read: 0.
Percentage of (first ever!) sweater knitted: Approximately 40%.
Pairs of pajamas worn: 3.
Loads of dishes washed: 8.
Number of hits for this page since it went up four days ago: 25, 122.
This is the current controversy: I signed the organ donation registry thing when I got my state I.D. a few weeks ago. My mother insists that she can contest this decision were I to die in an accident, nullifying my wish to have my organs be of use to someone else. I'm over 21. How can she possibly override my choice?
Why are you in Tavie's head? 7:56 PM | shower me with attention
Going into work tomorrow. Don't usually work Wednesdays but I need to make up some time. It is very important that I blog this, why? Especially now that I have real, live people to talk to?
Could it be... am I addicted to the blog?
This could be bad.
Now, some statistics for the past five days:
Number of bad movies watched: 4.
Number of good movies abandoned for E! True Hollywood Story episodes: 6.
Archaeology homework read: 1.5 chapters out of 2.
Research Design homework read: 0.
Percentage of (first ever!) sweater knitted: Approximately 40%.
Pairs of pajamas worn: 3.
Loads of dishes washed: 8.
Number of hits for this page since it went up four days ago: 25, 122.
This is the current controversy: I signed the organ donation registry thing when I got my state I.D. a few weeks ago. My mother insists that she can contest this decision were I to die in an accident, nullifying my wish to have my organs be of use to someone else. I'm over 21. How can she possibly override my choice?
Why are you in Tavie's head? 7:56 PM | shower me with attention
Not gonna happen this morning. I called in work and left an explanatory message.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 7:29 AM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 7:29 AM | shower me with attention
Monday, February 17, 2003
I wouldn't mind so much, my comment system being down, if it didn't completely fucking disable my fucking web browser with its stupid error messages when I try to load my page.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 8:25 PM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 8:25 PM | shower me with attention
The streets remain unploughed. I'm not going to bother calling a cab company until the streets are ploughed. I assume that will be tomorrow. So I will try my darn-diddly-darnedest to wake up at 7 tomorrow and see what's what. Somehow, I'm dubious about my ability to arrive at work by 9:30 tomorrow morning, if at all. But I'll try.
The disappointing thing is that by the time I get back to the city, I bet most of the snow will be slushy and grey. Or, at least, grey. I'll miss the whole city-in-the-snow thing, which is such a pretty sight, you know. And Roosevelt Island in the snow is glorious. I have a great memory of a winter about ten years ago, probably that "Storm of the Century" deal, and my mom and I put on triple layers and boots and went wading through the waist-deep snow at dusk, and passed by neighbours going by on skis and helping one another through the drifts. By the time I get home it'll probably be just a few hills of crusty, sooty ice.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 7:29 PM | shower me with attention
The disappointing thing is that by the time I get back to the city, I bet most of the snow will be slushy and grey. Or, at least, grey. I'll miss the whole city-in-the-snow thing, which is such a pretty sight, you know. And Roosevelt Island in the snow is glorious. I have a great memory of a winter about ten years ago, probably that "Storm of the Century" deal, and my mom and I put on triple layers and boots and went wading through the waist-deep snow at dusk, and passed by neighbours going by on skis and helping one another through the drifts. By the time I get home it'll probably be just a few hills of crusty, sooty ice.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 7:29 PM | shower me with attention
Wow. I guess I'm not getting out of here today.
Cars are literally buried in snow.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:42 AM | shower me with attention
Cars are literally buried in snow.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:42 AM | shower me with attention
This is why you touch the slipper in Disney World, people.
I've been doing this online community thing in some fashion or another for ten years next month. I was online almost daily the entire time I was a teenager and now for a third of my 20's.
God.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:09 AM | shower me with attention
I've been doing this online community thing in some fashion or another for ten years next month. I was online almost daily the entire time I was a teenager and now for a third of my 20's.
God.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:09 AM | shower me with attention
Sunday, February 16, 2003
At least you're still here for me, blog. Thank you for listening, blog.
Blog, I'm lonely. Make me some vegetable dip and tell me about your day.
...
Useless blog.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:53 PM | shower me with attention
Blog, I'm lonely. Make me some vegetable dip and tell me about your day.
...
Useless blog.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:53 PM | shower me with attention
It's official: I could never handle living alone.
I couldn't be more bored right now. Yes, I know The Simpsons 300th episode is on now, but I'm bored by it.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 8:30 PM | shower me with attention
I couldn't be more bored right now. Yes, I know The Simpsons 300th episode is on now, but I'm bored by it.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 8:30 PM | shower me with attention
Anyone wanna play online Scrabble with me?
Smell the pathos.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:13 PM | shower me with attention
Smell the pathos.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:13 PM | shower me with attention
Steph was about to leave and come visit me when I saw a severe snow advisory on tv. So I did the right thing and called her and told her. And, thus, I am still here alone. There isn't even any snow here. Yet.
But they're singing songs from The Wiz on VH1, so that's something.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:12 PM | shower me with attention
But they're singing songs from The Wiz on VH1, so that's something.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 6:12 PM | shower me with attention
I think the best thing about having the house to myself all this time is the ongoing one-woman workshop of an amalgamation of various musical (mainly Broadway) productions. Much has been accomplished. For example, although it is difficult to sing Little Red's solo from Into the Woods in a style that is sans tremolo, the effect is much more in tune with the character. Also, it is very difficult to sing the Baker and Wife's duet by yourself and make it sound like two different people.
Additionally, although underwater renditions of Part of That World are very much in keeping with the theme of The Little Mermaid, it sounds significantly less pleasant when one gets soap in one's mouth.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:19 PM | shower me with attention
Additionally, although underwater renditions of Part of That World are very much in keeping with the theme of The Little Mermaid, it sounds significantly less pleasant when one gets soap in one's mouth.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:19 PM | shower me with attention
Today is my friend Nina's birthday. She's god.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:56 PM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:56 PM | shower me with attention
Why don't I know anybody who knows how to drive?
Except Gina who's gone and Steph who isn't returning my calls?
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:47 PM | shower me with attention
Except Gina who's gone and Steph who isn't returning my calls?
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:47 PM | shower me with attention
Day three. Still unable to sit through any good movies. I watched about half of Chaplin last night. It was really good but I lost interest and started obsessively gulping tea and knitting.
Tried to watch Gigi. Discovered it is truly a boring musical.
The only things that sustain my interest are Sex and the City marathons and E! True Hollywood Stories.
Almost done with the back of my sweater.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:45 PM | shower me with attention
Tried to watch Gigi. Discovered it is truly a boring musical.
The only things that sustain my interest are Sex and the City marathons and E! True Hollywood Stories.
Almost done with the back of my sweater.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:45 PM | shower me with attention
