Thursday, April 17, 2014


I know I was among millions (meeeeellions bwa ha ha ha) who totally freaked out Sunday night when I witnessed King Joffrey's demise at the conclusion of the Worst Wedding Ever. Well, probably not. I can imagine every wedding to that hideous Frey was a festival of despair...yet, Joffrey's wedding was a perfect mirror of his horrid personality. Shaming his uncle, check. Shaming his dwarf uncle via a dwarf reenactment of recent battles, check. Shaming his uncle's wife's family via that reenactment, check check! Being a heinous bastard throughout? Checkity check check!!

Joffrey's death was a delight for most, though, like me, some were disappointed that it wasn't more slow, tortuous, and humiliating. But hey, beggars can't be choosers. And we are all beggars in George R. R. Martin's world. We truly are the lowly peons of his world.

What was most delightful (sick?) was the inevitable compilation of fan reactions to this turn of events. Seen HERE.

It can't quite compete with the Red Wedding reactions (seen HERE) but it was something the rest of us peons could relate to.

There was an article with Entertainment Weekly, where Martin says "...but Joffrey in the books is still a 13-year-old kid. And there’s kind of a moment there where he knows that he’s dying and he can’t get a breath and he’s kind of looking at Tyrion and at his mother and at the other people in the hall with just terror and appeal in his eyes—you know, 'Help me mommy, I’m dying.' And in that moment, I think even Tyrion sees a 13-year-old boy dying before him. So I didn’t want it to be entirely, 'Hey-ho, the witch is dead.' I wanted the impact of the death to still strike home on to perhaps more complex feelings on the part of the audience, not necessarily just cheering."

Sorry Martin, but NOPE. NOPE NOPE NOPE. Did I feel a little wrong cheering for anyone to die? Maybe. A little. But not as much as he thinks. Jack Gleeson's portrayal of Joffrey is the reason why. Not only is his VERY FACE ready made for punching (sorry, Jack), but his childish and sadistic portrayal is absolute and relatable. Take it from someone who was once a 13 year old girl...I may not have been Sansa, but I was psychologically, emotionally, and physically terrorized by one very adept sadist in my early teen years. Not only did I wish him dead by slow torture in my diary, I wrote short stories about it. Very, very detailed stories. So, yeah, NOPE. Sorry R.R. Maybe it went off like that in the books, but not for me! For me, it was glee. GLEE GLEE GLEE!!!!!!!!!!!!

The nice footnote to all of this: Community. Let us gather together in our shared despair (Red) and joy (Purple). I love watching the videos, not just because they reflect so much of what I expressed myself (brotherhood!) but because I got to see a myriad of lives, households, families, and friends. There are all levels of class, culture, and background represented. If we weren't connected via YouTube and all other social media, how would we ever know how much we celebrate together, mourn together...scream and yell at the television together. I can almost endure what happens next (UG, what could possibly be next?? Don't care what happens to Jon Snow...he can go next. Please don't hurt Sansa or Arya, PLEASE OMG...or even the damn Hound for pity's sake NOOOOOO). We have all been communally brain fucked by George R.R. Martin. God love the man. And maybe shove him around a little. Because REALLY RR? REALLY? WTF.

But don't stop. We love/hate it. What a ride.

Sunday, April 13, 2014

The First and Last Crush

So, I was dragged to my mom's best friend's house sometime around 87 (why does everything in this blog happen in the 80s??? UG, not ready to talk about the 90s, I guess. Def not the aughts) and I was sitting around BORED. BOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRED. She had a womany magazine, and I was flipping through. Bleh. What women want, what men want, diet tips, getting nice skin, getting laid, la la la la la. So I kept flipping, yawning, flipping. Until. I can't even remember why it was there, but there it was. The most beautiful man I'd ever seen. From that moment, I only thought of him in his 50s state. I knew who he was otherwise: Great Actor, Activist, Kind of an Asshole. Revered. But in that bored-not-bored  moment, he was Other. Something extraordinary and singular. A hot, sweaty, sneering hulk. It was lustylove at first sight.

Look at him.

Look at him again.

Isn't he fine as HAIL?

OMG, so sensitive.

I've never changed my mind after all of these years. He's still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. In life, he was a MESS. Just do a Wiki search and you will see how messed up his family--as extended as it was--turned out to be. Very sad. When I started reading about him, checking out books from the main Wichita library, it was all negative. His first wife spent the first chapter of her book insulting his penis size. No one, not even his "friends," have anything nice to say about him.

We would all hope to have something better to leave behind. What he has is his acting career on screen. It is terrible. Not that legacy, no--he's obviously an icon--but as a person he left little behind but bad, worse, and shame. Sad!

Yet. Let's not kid ourselves. What do we "love" these people for, exactly? Entertainment? Yes! Idealized sexfest partners? Yes! Husbands/wives? Sigh, but probably. Sadly they are just human. Full of faults and scars and addictions. Despite all of his shortcomings, Marlon Brando will forever be my physical idea of perfection. Like a scary box of chocolates, his real filling was something close to that horrid faux cherry bootscum. But one can only hope to run into his doppelganger on the subway someday, full of gentles and reading Thomas King, full of nothing but soft salted caramel surprise.

Wow, that got kinky fast, eh? That man was salty, salty caramel. Daaaayum.

Saturday, April 12, 2014

The Best

I've seen very few big concerts in my life. VERY few, especially compared to everyone I know. They can't even count the number of shows they've seen. I can. Easily.

1. Blue Oyster Cult. The headliner was The Moody Blues...but I didn't make it that far. I was about seven and my mother was going to the Kansas Coliseum with friends. She tried to leave me off with my grandparents and I pitched a titanic so epic that my grandparents were like, I'M OUT. So she had to drag me along. She was pissed for sure, but didn't know the extent of how pissed she was about to be until the first chord struck. The noise was thunderous death. I started crying hysterically. My mother spent the entire concert with me in the outer ring area of the stadium. Enraged, I am sure!

2. Rush! This concert was special for three reasons:

a. My 8th grade science teacher asked me to go with her. In 8th grade. I went with her and my friend Julie. Julie was a teeny tiny rock chick with feathered bangs, black eyeliner, and one very special jean jacket. I had only just met my half sister--she had just turned 18 and found my my mother and I maybe a month before--so it was a crazy coincidence that we saw her and her friend on the way to the very same concert and waved screamily to each other between cars.

The funny thing was that I wasn't really into Rush. I knew "Tom Sawyer," but that was pretty much the extent of my interest in the band. What I was very interested in was going to a concert with my adult ass science teacher. I wish I could remember her name. I idolized her. She used to put Far Side cartoons on our tests. How cool is that?

Oh, the third thing, I looked way too old for my age (13). An older guy in the crowd hit on me and offered me a hit from his communal joint (drugggs!) which I of course politely declined whilst giving him SEXEYES but still I had to say no because my freaking Science teacher was standing right there giving me OH NO you DON'T eyes. Still, he had cool, dyed rock-star hair and was the most awesome thing I'd ever seen so I flirted like a foole. Of course I remember that guy. We all have one of those, right?

3. The Best. Tina Turner was 46 years old when she visited Wichita during her Private Dancer tour. My friends and I were dropped off by a concerned mom, and we made our way to our seats way in the way way far back. Until my friend Alma was like NOPE, and dragged me to about the third row. We stood on chairs with two annoyed guys who clearly paid to be there, but were then lost in the magic of the spectacle. HOLY GOD. There are people who come and go in the world of fame. But Tina Turner? JESUS. She was something otherworldly. You've never seen a woman work so hard, sweat so much, sing so fully. I loved that album, but I never really knew what a powerhouse she was...not until I saw her in concert. There are people, before her and since, who wish they could inspire that much admiration. Those boys with the stolen seats? We were right up next to them, shrieking hysterically, and I remember their faces even to this day. Awe. Joy. Transcendence.

I honestly feel so bad for you. You'll never be in 1985 watching Tina Turner at the Kansas Coliseum.

4. Aerosmith in 89 or so. Meh. It would take chains and whips to get me into a coliseum type venue again, honestly. Now that I am in NYC, I've had plenty of chances to see my idols from yesteryear (Duran Duran, Stevie Nicks and even with Fleetwood Mac) and it's all been one big NO THANKS. Like my grandpa, I truly hate the crowds. Though I should probably rethink that. It's sad to think that my one and only transcendent musical experience began and ended in 1985. Right? Even if it was Ms. Tina Turner.

Tuesday, April 08, 2014


An oldie but a goodie. I am only uploading it to make it all "About Me" at right.

Chinese Chicken Cup!

Did you guys see that a Chinese chicken cup sold for $36 million at auction?? Who wouldn't spend that much on a chicken cup?

Speaking of chickens, now that I've learned that we're moving to an open space office in just a few months (and not a  year like we thought), I must take down my Flatiron office and send all the chickens home. No more Fabulous Chicken Display (complete with fall foliage), no more Sticky Wicket Chicken (weird chicken statue gifted to Alan by a copyeditor years ago that I stared at so hard every time I came to his office that he eventually broke down and said HERE TAKE IT), no more Chinatown cell phone chicken (from shi shi!), no more glitter ornament chicken...

...that one is my favorite. Maybe I will try to bring that one with me and hang it where only I can see it. Secret chicken. Secret glitter chicken.

It's no wonder I spent half of second grade recess circling the school yard, singing to myself, alone. Until the second weirdest girl in the class decided to talk to me and turned into my best friend for life. Birds of a feather!