n-judah love song

Chillaxed

Talking about a new, mutual aquaintance:

She: "So and so is kind of..."
Me: "intense? Uptight?"
She: "yeah. Whatever the opposite of you is."

(testing iPhone app. Hawt!)

lullaby of clubland

"Razor wire and cinder blocks -- it was a look, and it is perhaps irreplaceable."

They're razing the remaining DC nightclubs on Half Street, and the story of how the "jocks finally won" surprised me at how touching it was. That strip of clubs were the first places I ever went out to go dance. A drag queen taught me how to put on eyeliner in the bathroom of Tracks, I walked into Wet to see Soul Slinger and walked out with a whole new understanding of the male persona, and the DJ booth at Capitol Ballroom was propped up on cinder blocks, but still banged out the best music I had ever heard.

To add insult to injury, 5 more NYC clubs, 3 of which were gay clubs, have been closed by the cops in where else but Chelsea, including Avalon (which once upon a time was the Limelight) and The View Bar.

Lady Bunny quips "the real shocker is that there was ever anyone actually present in The View."

SF has been loft-ifying SoMA for 10 years now.

To summarize completely mangle Andrew Sullivan's post on the topic - the excess and ridiclousness of the club scene are only part of what makes up gay culture and a slice of American culture. And yet, it'simportant, it was a pioneering way to declare that You Are Just Who You Are. I learned that sassy self-confidence from the dancefloor. Can't be all bad, can it?

It's kind've like how I felt when Times Square changed up. I'm not saying we need more strip clubs and crackheads. Change is welcome, necessary and good. On the other hand, do we really need to Disney-fy and sanitize everything that makes a city A CITY? Really?

pantalones!

a girls only post.

Mighty Goods points me to some ill shit, but nothing has been so fabulous as the underwear I've gotten from Fife. You sign up, give 'em your paypal address, and abracadabra, two pair of panties in the mail each month. I get them at work and it's like a secret. I showed them to Mena the other day in quick girlie sidebar in the hopes she would get them as well.

I don't know how to explain it except that I want to do my laundry more often so that I can wear these every ding dang day. I consider myself a bit of a shopaholic, but once I find a brand of underwear I'm their undying slave. See: the express string bikini phase of 1999-2004. I had a brief flirtation (ha) with H&M boy shorts for oh...a year or so.

Fife's made of Modal, which is a resilient textile from beech trees. Yeah whatevs, they are SO COZY and never ride up at the wrong time. They do have the Ecko-ish label on the back but I just don't care. For those who have read this far (hi girls!) they also prevent the label in the back of your jeans from rubbing on the wrong spot.

<3.

links for 2005-11-14

• "Esquire" Lays the Smackdown on Creationism
  thanks to Lane for pointing out this awesome rant.
  (tags: blog politics evolution)
• This is My Body, This is My Blood: Relative Stranger
  a sweet perspective on communication with TypePad.
  (tags: typepad blog)

c'etait un rendezvous

Updated links: I thought this was pretty nifty. If that link doesn't work, try here.

"On an August morning in 1978, French filmmaker Claude Lelouch mounted a gyro-stabilized camera to the bumper of a Ferrari 275 GTB and had a friend, a professional Formula 1 racer, drive him at breakneck speed through the heart of Paris. [...] Upon showing the film in public for the first time, Lelouch was arrested. He has never revealed the identity of the driver, and the film went underground until a DVD release a few years ago."

if you love dancing, you gonna wow!

Matty's interview with Charo in SFist is a hoot.

"It would not be accurate to say that we "caught up" with Charo, as so many celebrity interviewers do; a more apt description would be that we were tied to a post like a tetherball and verbally slapped senseless until we were completely tangled in rope at the top of a very high pole."

and nothing but the truth

Nothing has ever reminded me as much of elementary school as jury duty. There are signs everywhere: "no talking, no gum, no hats, no reading". They take attendance. You ask for permission to leave. I thought the baliff was going to issue me a bathroom pass. And the judge looked like she could use a very large martini.

So far, it's been pretty interesting, though - if for nothing else but the people watching. One lady (am I allowed to talk about jury duty now that I've not been selected?) asked if she was disqualified because she had been arrested before. She had simply forgotten about it, because it was 40 years ago, when she was cited with causing a public disturbance - as part of the San Francisco mime troupe. The judge was about to split her sides giggling. (Updated to add: apparently, the SF mime troupe actually has a long history of political subversion.)

I'm spending the weekend at the pool, see yall later...

your emergency response team

When there was a tsunami warning last night, due to a 7.0 earthquake off the coast, you better believe that Cindy and I both sprang into action as only a New Yorker and a DC denzien who both went through 9/11 can. A round of phone calls calls and text messages zipped off - and since we were both home yesterday, we also heard the noon siren, which sounds for all the world like Zee Germans are coming.  And if we were a little melodramatic because we had, once again, stuffed ourselves on cheese, wine and conversation, then don't blame us. We just worry about yall.

a tribute to napoleon

I know, I know, I'm a bit tired of hearing about Napoleon Dynamite too, but I still think the fact that the Idaho state legislature passed this bill is really funny.

"...
WHEREAS, Kip's relationship with LaFawnduh is a tribute to e-commerce  and Idaho's technology-driven industry; and
WHEREAS,  Kip  and LaFawnduh's wedding shows Idaho's commitment to healthy
marriages; and
WHEREAS, the prevalence of cooked steak as a primary food group pays tribute to Idaho's beef industry; and
WHEREAS, Napoleon's tetherball  dexterity  emphasizes  the  importance  of
physical education in Idaho public schools; and
WHEREAS,  Tina  the  llama,  the  chickens with large talons, the 4-H milk
cows, and the Honeymoon Stallion showcase Idaho's animal husbandry;"

and the list goes on and on.

thanks to the PhDJ for the link.

I have obviously lost my mind but...

I think this is one of the funnier things I've seen online.

updated to add that I got this link from BoingBoing, who made me read is by saying "it's funnier than it sounds."

who? what? where?

Someone got here by way of an article written about the N-Judah stating something to the effect that "it's a good to pick up hot yuppie chicks and Asian girls." I resemble that remark, sir/ma'am. Except I was always too busy or absentminded to notice any flirting on the N-Judah. Perhaps he should add a third category “and geeks from web companies studiously ignoring everything but their shiny iPods.”

Oh, Joel Achenbach from the Washington Post has a TypePad blog. DC represent!

a very expensive New Year's

It's been so good to be home. I've eaten well: North Carolina barbeque, the kind that's tart with vinegar. Shrimp and grits. Fried green tomatoes and okra. Bagels with dill and lox. I've drank inordinate amounts of new Red Bull cocktails, and watched a whole season of Aqua Teen Hunger Force. I've talked until the wee hours with people I haven't seen in a long time.

New Year's, I was in Richmond for New Year's at my friend Jill's. JillyJill was nice enough to invite a bunch of friends over to her place. Her house is immaculate, and her neighbors/roomates wonderful folks. I had been waiting for a chance to go back to one of my adopted hometowns and catch up with old friends. We took photos at midnight, and cheersed each other, and there were hugs and kisses all around. As the evening wore on, people we didn't know started showing up. A guy who looked like he'd walked right out of 1992, flannel and all, serenaded us with his unique version of "Everybody Knows". We ignored him and sang Journey even louder, our feet up by the fire, drink in hand.

I thought to go grab my bag from behind the speakers, to take more pictures. Except...it wasn't there.

Now yall know how a New Year's party goes. There was a bit too much champagne burbling busily in my head. Maybe I had just forgotten where I'd put my bag, you know, just put it in a corner and forgotten about it. My bag...with my wallet, cell phone, iPod, and digital camera in it. Maybe I'd forgotten it in the downstairs bathroom. Up and down the stairs I went, in tall party heels. No bag. I called my phone. Nothing. A sick feeling dawned on me that maybe, just maybe...my purse was actually gone, rather than misplaced.

Half an hour passed, and I finally raised the alarm that my bag had walked out of the small gathering all on its own. Everyone looked with me, and I started to cry, because I am A.) Like That and B.) Quite Tipsy and C.) Pissed The Hell Off at the prospect of having lost every single piece of electronics I own, plus a wallet.

My stuff was pronounced gone. Everyone apologized. Matty showed up from his jazz gig in Raleigh. Dave and Sarah hugged me tight, reminding me that maybe someone had just left with it by accident. And then...a very tall, mostly drunk Marine (lord knows what he was doing at the party, either) leaned over and told me: "You shoulda kept that stuff in your car, you STUPID FUCKING BIIIIIIIIIITCH."

I'm sorry, what? Did you just cuss at me, while I was crying, in front of all of my friends? You, my dear, are not what they call "smart".

We left the party, and Sarah told her husband, "Don't do anything dumb." Matty is the sort to selectively listen, though. According to Matt, the Marine continued to talk smack to anyone and everyone about how he gets paid to kill people, hes so tough, stupid bitches, get me more beer... Then he grabbed one of our tiny guy friends and threatened him. Matty had the Marine by the throat in a matter of moments, flat on the ground, with his hands around his throat. This would have been enough to end things, since the guy was ready to leave at that point - if only Dave hadn't come through with an XL suckerpunch for the Marine with a beer bottle to the head. This head bled all over Jill's carpet, doors, and fireplace. People threatened to kill each other.

Ah, it's good to be home.

After much beefin' and shouting, everyone went home at sunrise, when we heard the rest of this story. Matty and Sarah and the rest of us went over the next day steam clean the carpet and talk about the previous evening's drama. Everyone apologized, and we called everyone who had been there once more to see if the bag would show up. My DJ friends took down my address and promised to mail me some CD's to replace the music I'd lost. Everyone offered to share photos. They gave me a little cash to keep going, and helped me call everyone from the rental car company (had to get a new key cut) to Richmond police. There were lots more hugs and apologies and even an order: "You don't have to keep it together in front of us. We're your friends." That started the tears all over again.

There's no happy ending, in case you hadn't guessed by now. The bag is still missing. The cards and phone have been cancelled and a police report filed. About $1000 worth of hard work is gone in the blink of an eye, and no one knows who brought the Marine.

The point is, I lost an enormous amount of stuff, and I was mighty upset. But my friends were wonderful, they dried my tears and fed me, they suckerpunched someone in my honor, and I remember now, gratefully, that no one was really harmed. In the grand scheme of things, this is a small loss. Material things can be replaced. No one died. There is a natural disaster on the other side of the planet that has taken entire lives with it, and I have no right to cry about a few twee electronics. Relatively, this is no big deal, just an unfortunate way to start the new year.

But, ya know, if anyone wants to contribute to my "buy Ginevra a new iPod" fund, I won't argue. After all, I didn't even get to suckerpunch he person who took my bag.

hummer

I got waved down by a Hummer today coming off the highway.

"Why don't you vote for Bush?" he asked, pointing to my John Kerry sticker.

I wish I had thought of something cutting and witty to say. Instead:

"Because I'm pro-choice!"

"Well, other than that?"

"I need another reason?"

"You are the future, lady!" he said, then flashed me the peace sign. I flashed it back and he drove away.

I wish I'd had MSNBC's excellent comparison chart of the candidates. (Thanks, Julie!)

Last time I wrote a complaint letter, I got free airline tickets.

This time, my beef is with Dell, and this time, we are seriously gonna brawl, yall.

Admittedly, it is not Dell’s fault that I have a puppy who likes to chew things (duh, um, see sidebar). As in, the dog merrily chewed through the AC power to my laptop while it was still plugged in. Thankfully, she didn’t shock herself, but I could only use my laptop up to a certain point, and then it ran out of power. I called everyone to see about a replacement: Frye’s, Best Buy, Circuit City, you name it. Maile called Dell later that afternoon to get a replacement AC cable, and an extra one for good measure, as next day air delivery. We gave them the laptop model, and they said it was to be here by Friday. And thus...the downward spiral began.

First they sent it to a wrong address in Palo Alto.

CSR: “I spoke with customer service on Friday and they were having the package rerouted. I have also deleted that incorrect address from your account. I apologize for the inconvenience that this has caused. THANX!!!”

Well, that’s annoying, but as the man says, that’s baseball. Two more days pass, not including the weekend.

CSR: “I spoke with DHL/Airborne today and they are going to do a pick-up and redelivery of the package. It is being picked up today and redelivered tomorrow to your correct address below. THANX!!!”

We checked in with DHL, but he tracking number wouldn't work. At Dell, we checked in, and our CSR was out for the day, and here’s the best part...

CSR #2“…this is a correct tracking number, however, you are not able to look this up because this was re-routed. Item should be received by Friday.”

Monday afternoon and the package finally arrives. For those of you playing at home, next day air has now taken us 8 business days.

And the power cables? Are the wrong ones.

Must. Not. Start. Screaming.

Instead, I did as Anil suggested in the first place. I went on Ebay, put in the computer model and part specs, and bought one from some guy in Texas. And yes, when it arrives, I will write back: THANX!!!

haiku

my diet coke
is frozen slushy on the top
i am in heaven

that is all

add your own haiku! Todd has a great one about a turkey sammich.

boys who like girls who like girls who like boys...

What would you say about your first love if their new love wanted to know?

I’m being interviewed by my old boyfriend’s new girlfriend for a piece in her paper. I have nothing but fond memories now, but I know that’s because I’m looking back through the filter of years-we started dating when I was 17. For instance, I know we broke up for heart-wrenching reasons, but damn if I can remember the specifics. Mostly, I just remember flashes of memory: of sleeping on the floor with a bunch of other punk rockers in Cleveland, of sitting on the roof, reading books and soaking up sun in Florida, of long long drives through the mountains singing Gameface songs.

Does some pain-avoidance mechanism make us forget the little details, the annoyances, the fights? For myself, I like to remember the good things, for certain, and let go of the bad ones. I can’t move through life as a human otherwise.

I adore every man I’ve ever loved, a few of whom read this blog. (Hi, guys.) I remember sweet things about all of them. I try to apply the lessons I’ve learned to my current relationship. I think I appreciate Yen that much more now for having to think about the inner workings of this past relationship. Not that anyone is better or worse, those labels simplify when I am trying to think about complex matters.

Here are some of the questions:

How do you think he differs from most guys?
What's the sweetest thing he ever did for you?
Do you regret anything?
any warnings for me? (since you'd be the one he was with the longest..)
and of course sexually.... was he wild back then, or chicken shit?
tell me about your relationship. who played what role? how it played
out.

You know, I forget from time to time that no one is perfect, least of all me. That everyone drives me crazy. That underneath it all I know that everyone is just trying to find a safe harbor, to hold up all their insecurities and say “this is me”, without the other person shrieking and running off like the Munsch painting. (Or is it just a mousepad now?) It’s been an exercise in self-analysis: who is Ginevra when she relates to other people? Who was she in this situation?

Am I navel-gazing too much while responding to these questions?

However, putting all this out there in interview form, in someone else’s words, through the filter of her new relationship makes me a bit nervous to say the least. Did I get it right? Do I remember? Was it all really awful and I’m just pulling the proverbial covers over my head?

What would you say?

spot the redneck game yall,

spot the redneck game

excerpt:

12. More than one child hanging out the windows. (+5)
13. More than one naked child hanging out the windows. (+15)
14. More than one naked child hanging out the windows AND picking their noses. (+25)
15. More than one naked child hanging out the windows and picking EACH OTHER'S NOSES. (+2000)