kitchen_kink: (laughing)
Me (seeing the tall and lovely double-bass player who usually plays with us entering): I just love that gorgeous double-bass player.

Really Cool Retired Minister Lady: Oo, yes he is, isn't he!? It's also great that he has that enormous instrument.

Me: *practically sits on her own tongue to avoid speaking*
kitchen_kink: (Default)
(Walking in the Mission, we notice a business that looks interesting and familiar)

Me: "Amnesia...":

He: What is that?

Me: I don't...(realizing what I'm about to say, bursts into laughter)...remember!
kitchen_kink: (mercenary)
Me (regarding the sweater he's tried on): It looks like Mr. Rogers and Buck Rogers had a child.

He (smiling winningly): Yeah. The question is whether that's a problem or not.

Fashionable salesgirl (passing by): Oh, I like that one. And look - the tags are still on it. Nobody's ever worn that.

Me: And it's easy to see why.
kitchen_kink: (foreboding)
I was in my local liquor store today, buying a couple of bottles of wine for the house. The owner is behind the counter but is busy on the phone ordering cigarettes, getting a cynical kick out of the candylike flavors. He gestures to another woman, who comes behind the counter, having just been outside. Taking off her coat, she releases a shiver into the warmth of the store.

"It's so cold out," I say.

"It's not cold yet, from what they're sayin'."

I offer a look of appropriate dread, as she takes my credit card. While it's processing, she takes a look at her watch and sighs.

"Long day, huh?"

"Five o'clock," she mutters.

"Well," I say, "at least it always comes."

"Unfortunately," she says, and I look at her with some surprise. "We wish our lives away," she says. "It goes so fast when you're having a good time."

I feel a certain sadness grip me as I put my credit card away. I look her in the eye as I take my bag. "Do more of what you love," I say. She laughs, not cynically. "And have a good one."
kitchen_kink: (Default)
This post has caused quite a stir; in fact, I discovered today that someone on my friends list linked to a comment thread within it in a negative fashion. This annoys me, but it also makes me want to continue the discussion.

I believe that the comment thread in question actually opens up a lot of good dialogue about these issues, and gets me closer to what I was trying to say in the first place. What I am especially interested in pointing out from this thread, though, is my last comment in it, which I think sums up a lot about how and why I write here, and why I often post protected rather than letting this be a completely public forum:

A lot of the initial post, so you know, was written in the heat of the moment - on purpose; I wanted to get my feelings out on the page - and wasn't really meant to be a coherent political statement. If anything, it was exposing some of the feelings I'm ashamed of at times: the mirror work of my own intolerance. I assembled a pastiche of my experiences [the night of July 4th] in order to build up to a larger emotional point about how I feel about the way the overculture operates to try and keep us compliant and stupid. In the process I know I come off sounding judgmental and intolerant, but at times it's important to me to get those things out, acknowledge and (partly thanks to [[livejournal.com profile] hahathor]) examine those feelings.

It's part of my work to figure out how to walk the line as a freak in this world without becoming self-righteous and intolerant, without removing myself completely from the rest of the world. Part of my reaction was my own fear that I'm getting farther and farther from being able to enjoy time with people not in my social circle; that I'm getting so outside the mainstream that I feel like a space alien most of the time.

I've been doing a lot of work lately on being more permeable. Unfortunately, I've always been overly sensitive, and so I tend to swing between shielding too much and letting too much in. My goal is ultimately to have boundaries like a cell membrane: permeable to exactly the right things; decisively closed to those things that would harm me.


Other points from that thread I feel are relevant here... )


My apologies, in the meantime, to those who were so triggered by my use of the word "mundane," even though in the original post, I used it only to refer to mainstream friends of mine whom I like a lot. The subsequent ranting was more about mob mentality and government control (which I think go hand in hand), weird concepts of patriotism, and the lack of self-awareness and anger that I see around me.

I continue to be open to discussion.
kitchen_kink: (Default)
When I picked [livejournal.com profile] imlad up at work:

K: How was your day?

D: Ah, kind of a pain in the ass. Little pains in the ass. Like little...pricks.

K: Little pricks in the ass.

D: Yeah, that doesn't sound quite right. Like you're being gang-banged by Smurfs.


**

From the commentary by Joss Whedon on the pilot of Firefly:

"I'm a control fr - well, I'm not so much a control freak as a control enthusiast."
kitchen_kink: (male)
1. I just made one of the many cute Diesel chicks laugh by referring to an Odwalla bar as a "food object."

2. I am consuming said food object (oo, tasty food object!) because suddenly, at 2:30, I've hit a wall, and further, I'm starving. I ate cereal and goat yogurt (goatgurt!) and fruit for breakfast; plenty of protein and salad for lunch. But at 2:30, I could eat, with apologies to [livejournal.com profile] ladytabitha, every one of you.

3. I got ogled at the gym today. And you know what? I didn't mind so much.

4. At the ATM, I winced in frustration as I saw the sign on the screen telling me that said ATM was "temporarily unavailable." However, it assuaged my risen hackles slightly by further informing me that it would, in fact, be "available shortly." Shortly is a rather vague and notoriously low estimate of time passage at the best of times, and I had five minutes to be where I was going. But it was around the corner, and for some reason I believed that "shortly" really meant "any minute" in this case. Sure enough, I heard a clunking, and the characteristic whirring the machine makes when it's about to spit out money. I figured it was about to be done being broken. Then, the ATM spoke to me.

"Just a minute!" the surprisingly human female voice said.

I paused, taken aback by this new development. "You can see me?" I asked the machine.

"I see your shadow," the machine responded.

With this mystical pronouncement, the clunking and whirring recommenced, followed shortly thereafter (as promised) with the screen going black, then the red screen welcoming me to my local bank.

A bit perturbed, and with a renewed sense of eerie surveillance (who is the gazer in this creepy culture?), I withdrew my money.

Now I have a sneaking suspicion that ATMs aren't automatic at all; they are in fact cardboard facades behind which people stand holding a VCR remote (with a button that produces a loud beeping noise on command) in one hand, and a fistful of money in the other.
kitchen_kink: (Default)
I'm interested in finding a group in which to practice Spanish conversation and brush up on grammar and vocab. Anyone either 1) know of such a thing that's cheap or free, 2) know where to look for such things, or 3) want to start one and has vastly superior Spanish skills to mine?
kitchen_kink: (skeptical)
(Scene: The nursing department at the Marino Center. DIETRICH waits in a chair, reading The Naked Truth: The Untold Story of Sex in Canada. She is here to complete her physical - get her eyes and ears checked. A NURSE, who has already passed by and apologized several times for making her wait, enters)

NURSE: I'm sorry. Would you follow me please?

DIETRICH: Sure.

(The NURSE leads DIETRICH to an examination room, carrying a tray of items)

NURSE: Now, if you could just sit right there...

(CLOSEUP on items in tray: alcohol swabs, a few papers, and a syringe. DIETRICH balks, notices folder beneath tray, which has a strange name on it)

DIETRICH: What's all this?

NURSE: It's...aren't you here for...aren't you Susan?

DIETRICH: Nooo...

NURSE: Oh, jeez. I'm sorry.

(DIETRICH visibly relaxes and stops sweating)

NURSE: What's your name again?
kitchen_kink: (Default)
The muting, crushing snow that fell so insistently yesterday upset me somewhat; I am ready for spring to be here, and the warm day before the storm tricked me into longing.

But beneath the blizzard I could feel its tenuousness; it was still too warm for this, it would melt, and this would be the last of it.

I went out with my love last night to the scene of the crime to celebrate a year together. Seeing him sit across from me at that restaurant brought back everything I fell in love with him for. I stared into his eyes and vistas opened before me.

This morning I awoke refreshed despite the wine and the later evenings activities. Sun was streaming in, and I made the 8:10 bus for once. At Kendall, I waited 15 minutes for the bus that I ordinarily miss. But the waiting was sweet: the sun positively beamed, not just with light, but heat; the snow piled atop the greenhouse-style glass enclosure at the station slowly slid down and plopped, bit by bit, onto the brick below. A cute boy at the stop and I watched it, curiously, and each other, surreptitiously.

Springishness does strange things. I asked someone if she was waiting for the CT2, and rather than the curt grunts of January I received an affirmative, a wry smile, and a brief conversation. I stood again and watched the shadows the snow on the glass made on the walls and floor beneath, and suggested we place bets on which clump would fall next. Behind the clock tower in the square, white smoke arose and plumed in all directions, dancing apart in the sky, impossible just-washed blue.

And I thought of my novel, the one I haven't worked on since '99, the one I promised I'd write but had abandoned for a new, memoirish project, which is getting nowhere.

I got to work and opened the novel on my desktop. I read a chapter: it's good. It's quite good. A few missteps in language, some overly literary self-indulgence, but it's intriguing, linguistically rhythmic, haunting, strange.

And I think I'm ready to work on it again.

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dietrich

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