loves

sex sex sex

oh my god i'm so tired of hearing about sex. I suppose living in our society (and working on Axe) I should be immune to sexual overload, but I have to say this latest sex scandal, the naughty governor and his naughty argentinian mistress, has pushed my stomach for scandal and drama over the edge.

i should be gloating. i should be sitting on my liberal high horse and say, "serves you right buddy, all your holier than thou jeremiading against Clinton, against homos, against anything you didn't deem right and true in your obviously superior Christian outlook to these things."

but instead I'm just tired of it all. I'm tired of the republican side making sex the such a public, legislation-crazy topic in the first place. I'm tired of the government sticking their nose into consenting adult bedrooms and saying this is right and this is wrong and that's it.

and then, since all these dudes who are rallying about sex are abundantly human and abundantly flawed, we need to waste all this time and energy going blow by blow through their sexual downfalls that should be, with the exception of Foley, a personal matter that is sorted out between the partners and not cnn and msnbc.

if there's anything that i learned through going through my divorce is you just don't know. it's quite easy to look in from the outside and tut tut over things but in the end, as long as there's no pedophelia involved, it's none of anyone's business but the people involved until they choose who they want to pull in. I wish these guys would think about that before they go and make sex big issues of their political careers. and then, when they inevitably fuck up, we could just turn the other way instead of watching the next big circus ramp up and take over the airways.

i write this as the aromas of a feast waft in the air; an indian flavor conductor named parag working wordlessly at the helm

i've figured out my next tattoo.
it's a good one.
part mutti, part me.
i'm pretty excited.

mild und leise

my throat is a renegade dragon that needs to be pushed into an icy cave

goddammit i'm sick again.
not sick like i was a few weeks ago,
but a raw, firey throat
whenever i get sick it starts with the throat
i hate you throat
you really fuck me off
the end.

whenever i want to smile i watch this

last night, tonight

i'm not going to get too much into it
but last night was quite difficult
and yet necessary

something that i am told about myself quite a bit is that i'm strong. strong strong strong. sometimes it's said with admiration, other times with scorn and often with befuddlement. but it's a recurring theme.

funny thing is, i don't feel strong all that much. i don't like to fight for real (i like a good debate though, but that's not fighting), i often absorb and deflect anything or anyone that stresses me - push it down into me and try to maintain a calm... i think when you grow up taking care of a parent a lot of the time you learn to take care of someone else, and often taking care of someone else means pushing your own feelings down (not always a bad thing btw, it just is)

so, a long-winded intro to say that I don't always do a great job of standing up for myself. but last night i did. and it was scary as it always is, and i probably didn't go about it exactly the right way, but i felt pretty good.

if i were a jem doll i'd sparkle my earrings all the time

i'm trying to amass a collection of jem dolls for my apartment.
(my apartment, btw is a decor-mess: a lot of pieces I love, ideas... no cohesion. argh. i need a gay man with a paintbrush and some measuring tape. preferably named claude or shontay)
anyway, i got into a fierce ebay bidding war the other night with some collector. thank god wollen was with me to temper my drunken enthusiasm or i would have spent a month's rent on 14 dolls. instead, i will be stalking them down, doll by doll, for the next eight months.
at least my priorities are in order.

tonight my father and i watched the sun set while he regaled me of tales of his cat.
the cat is called moritz and apparently, he is a master rat catcher. vati was kind enough to tell me the dining process of a voracious rat killer like moritz, crunch by bloody crunch. i almost threw up.

back to new york tomorrow to my tiny apartment that overlooks trees too sparse in number to undertake the valiant conversion task that the exhaust of my brooklyn streets requires.
why oh why? every day it gets harder to answer i say.

oh my god i love this

confessions of a pseudo digital junkie (because compared to others, I'm not even that bad)

I haven’t been in the zone for a couple of years now.

Whereas this statement could theoretically speak to my love life or career or possibly my fashion-sense, in this case I’m talking about good old-fashioned running.

Yup, I’m a runner. I’m one of those get up at the crack of dawn come rain come shine come sleet types that loves nothing more than a bit of self-torture pre-work. I’ve been doing this running thing for about 17 years and in these past three years clicking into the zone has been rather difficult. Which, for a runner who used to be able to click in and out at a moments notice, is rather depressing.

Understandably this tepid self-confessional would seemingly belong on some neurotic, Type-A urban uptight female site or a runners’ forum but I have a sneaking suspicion it may belong here.

Because, in addition to running I am obsessed with articles about the effect of technology on the way our brains function. Like this one that just hit New York Magazine (the New York Times is similarly obsessed with this topic as well). The author writes:

Adopting the Internet as the hub of our work, play, and commerce has been the intellectual equivalent of adopting corn syrup as the center of our national diet, and we’ve all become mentally obese.

I don’t know about anyone else out there, but I do remember the days that I could sit with some ridiculous 18th century English tome and read vast sections of it in one sitting. And I do remember practicing instruments and doing intricate projects for a good hour at a time without pause or distraction. Writing long papers, researching in a library, focused yet zoned-out 10-milers that passed in a flash… there was a time that these things were done with contentment and rigor.

I don’t do any of those things anymore. I don’t know if I could.

I have the mental equivalent of Restless Leg Syndrome. My brain jostles from one thought to the next and I can hardly sit at my desk without compulsively jiggling through the digital distractions that pour out of my computer. And at the end of all this virtual hop-skipping, it’s rare that I feel genuinely satiated or calm or fulfilled. A cyber-jaunt, no matter how well-intentioned, more often than not leaves me feeling, well, a bit empty.

Quite frankly, if I were back in kindergarten, I would fail. I would fail quiet time, I would fail listening time, I would fail art class time. I’d be too busy Twittering instead.

As for marketing in this already flooded place, I’m resenting it. It’s just more shit that I’m supposed to take in. Where’s the internet equivalent of a good book and glass of red wine? Will the online world ever provide that comfort and value? Or are our lives destined to be defined by digital garbage for the rest of our days?

I’m beginning to suspect that I have to walk away to keep a quality head (or get some black-market Adderall). So does that mean, at the ripe old age of thirty, that I’m a hopeless dinosaur (albeit a Facebooking, Tweeting, blogging, news junkie one) that is just too old to cope? Is that really what this digital revolution is all about?

After seven pages of the New York Magazine article of why this constant info stream isn’t beneficial, the author of the article does leave us with a puny half-page of hope: our brains will adapt (thank you neuroplasticity) and we may one day embrace “flitting” and the creatures that can do that (hello Gen Y) will be the super-creatures of the future.

But it doesn’t help me, and I suspect some of you, now. And what I really fear, with the charge from clients to continually shift our thinking to a more and more digital place, that I’m just adding to the garbage and aggravating people like me.

Help me LABS, I’m a digital sinner. I’m breaking my brain and those of my consumers. I want to be able to think, to experience, to feel and oh yeah, click in to that sweet sweet zone again, if only just one more time.