HELP!

So writing random reactions to life is just not working out for me. How narcissistic is this?

I was thinking about how to make these posts a bit different besides stupid rants and quasi-youtube worship.

Here is what I am going to propose, I think every month should have a theme (cause I am thematic don't ya know) and everything will rotate out that.

Does that sounds plain stupid?

I could be anything...
Fall
Pumpkins
Stilettos
Santa Claus
Whipped Cream
Thongs

Who knows, the sky is the limit. So for those that are still reading this (who is still reading this anyway?) please leave a comment and in two days, the games will begin.

Yee Haw!


Now get down with your big bad self.

Apologies...

Every three months I have a serious existential crisis which has seemed to bleed into blogging.

I am not sure really what the function of my random thoughts are and really who cares...

Oh my god, when did I become so emo.

Okay, let us start again.

Every day, I have lots to do. So I will try to keep up better than I have.

Word.


PS And all East Coasters keep talking about how fall is coming. The markets are filled with the most brilliant apples, there are pumpkins, it's getting cooler. So get ready for future photos of the changing leaves.
I hear I am in prime location for that.

A Daily Dose of Brilliance

"Recruit a Team of Teenagers..."

There are certain things that happen when you reminisce on times of old.
-Nostalgia
-Laughs
-WTFs

So the roomie and I were talking about Power Rangers randomly during a writing break of mine. We had a fierce debate about which color Billy was, Red or Blue. I said Red cause I remember Red was the hot one-alas I was wrong.

We of course then had to watch old Power Ranger clips online and when we saw the credits we couldn't believe it.

How did we not catch this as kids? It's like watching He-Man and realizing "Holy man, that guy was gay."

Spot the badness if you can.

I'd Tap That

Dissecting the Horoscope

I am a Capricorn. You should know that, but with an Aquarius rising so I have a soul.

And I read the horoscope everyday, if you don't you should too. (bridgettwalther.com)

Reading a horoscope is like trying to fit a generalized shoe on your foot. What does it mean, where is that in my life, how will work out and feel and when?

So here is the horoscope for this weekend, let us dissect.

"Weekend Update: You decide to take a new approach to a puzzle affecting your lifestyle, career and overall wellness. Friday morning gets the process started."

This morning I was running late to work and am trying to figure out how to best utilize an hour so I don't have to wake up earlier in the morning. I decided that I should eat toast in the car instead of something that requires me sitting at a table.

"You're excited and slightly unsure about the whole thing, but feel compelled to at least try something different."

Well, ya, toast is like carb heaven. And with butter? I wonder how much more I am going to have to work out to undo all of that...

"Mid morning may seem a bit confusing. Don't leave valuables or money unguarded. Keep irreplaceable things very close to you. You might be slightly absentminded during this phase."

I have seventy five cents, an ipod, and this computer. Which is on my lap. Or is it on my lap? Where's my phone....

"Later during the afternoon and evening, you feel like you're on track, coming home and doing something significant. And you are. You fall asleep knowing that you're onto something potentially life changing."

I have to imitate a bird today in seminar. I am doing an owl, and then I have to stay late at school. Maybe my bird call will be so impressive that people are like, "Wow, you should do voice over."

"Saturday morning and afternoon establish new ideas, routines and rules. All good so far. You're willing to try to break away from your usual routine. You've reached a point of frustration with the usual, so-called normal stuff because it's demanding more but offering less."

And instead of doing my homework and writing that scary ass new play I might want to perfect my owl call and go into the woods by myself and find some inspiration and have a conversation with some random feathery male.

"Saturday night is cautionary. Don't take risks or do something that feels odd, wrong or threatening. Saturday is bad for debates or arguments, thanks to planetary volatility."

But it would be so me to find a new talent like "World Acclaimed Owl Caller" and then say..."No, why am I doing that? I am sure there are so many other people out there who sound like owls and really, where is the money in that. And why do we need owl callers anyway? We need more doctors but health care sucks. Damn. What the hell am I doing. Will someone tell me what I am doing!!! Goddamn health care. My knee keeps cracking but who can fix that. Shit. What if I need surgery. How can you pay for that with owl calling. I am about to get volatile. Whooo. Stop it Angela!"

"Sunday morning might begin with a sinus problem or headache."

Because you know, the frolic through the woods on my owl adventure made me sick. Of course, stupid birds.

"It gets better as the day progresses. You start to feel like you're finally in the groove and part of something. You begin to feel that you belong."

Maybe I overreacted. Maybe it doesn't matter. Mammal, bird, this is life man. We are all in it together.
I should buy a bird.

Random Bull

The news depresses me, and while I don't understand much of economics, reading about how everything is going downhill makes me really uneasy. Not that I have stocks, lord I don't have enough for gas now. But what the hell am I doing incurring so much debt during a time like this? Is it good, is it bad? I need to date an economist.

But then you read a story about how a bull was running around Queens yesterday but died before it could get tranquilized.

Yes, a bull. Please note that Queens has no zoo. No, it was just a random bull running through a borough. And as I read the story I thought, "Who just has a full sized bull laying around the house in QUEENS which isn't like massive property land."

The report ended with one sentence, "An NYPD spokesman says it's not known where the bull had been kept."

Well, I guess there are worse things than a quickly collapsing money market. Now if only we had some bull running through that market. (Dear non-economist friends, pull deep in to that high school brain for that definition.)

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080919/ap_on_fe_st/odd_nyc_bull;_ylt=AkbysdFNas9uizp6uahOOeGs0NUE

Love This

I found this as I was researching my new piece. I love it. That doesn't make me psycho.

Deep Thoughts by a Grad Student

Grad School is turning out to be like making an omelette with your brain. You know this, you have a little that, we will throw something in there and then whip it up and fry you and see what we get. (It isn't that graphic or invasive but it is a metaphor, feel free to go with it.)


So what is cooking now?


If you make a play without it being social commentary, is it being lazy? Are you failing your craft? Or is it commentary regardless? Thus I am actually really not lazy?

I haven't filled up my gas tank in two weeks and not even close to E. Nothing deep there, just read it and weep.

If my back hurts this much now and I am only carrying a couple spirals and books each day, how old am I in body years?

Oral sex on stage. Is it bad, lowbrow, fine, or go for it just don't invite your mother?

Is there any way to do improv in a way that doesn't make you want to rip your hair out and curl into the fetal position?

How long can I go without Thai, Chinese, or Vietnamese food before I go insane?

Why am I here? Why am I doing this? Should I have kept my childhood dream and become a doctor?

Will my writing ever be legible again? What the hell does anything say?

If I continue to eat almonds for lunch, is there some kind of consequence I could face in the next couple of weeks?

Is this first overdraft notice during my years of grad a right of passage? Can I say that with a straight face?

Is it ok to wake up in a cold sweat because I worry about my financial aid package? Cause I do and I am very worried.

Holy Sh*t

I have been officially in New York three weeks now. And it has really seemed just like a strange time warp vacation. I don't know what time I am warping to but it is a bit unreal.

Then yesterday after school, with a cohort of wonderful MFA comrades, I go to the Lincoln Center to the Performing Arts Library.

And walking through the streets it finally hit me. That I am in New York. My life flashed before my eyes and I thought, "How in the hell did I get here?"

That is basically the mantra of the last three years of my life. (Wow, deep, I know.)

But I am in New York. And I kinda like it.

Thank God We Know This Now

Cause you know, this really speaks about a person's character.

The things they report on.


http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/thedishrag/2008/09/sarah-palins-pi.html


(Oh and OBAMA!!!, in case you want to know.)

Pathetic

I was putting on my face today, with my trusty Bare Minerals* in hand.

*Bare Minerals (a brief lesson)
-It is foundation
-It is probably less than an ounce
-$25 just for color, not counting the Mineral Veil (if you don't know that that is, don't worry about it.)
-It is powder
-It is freakin' amazing

So, I was putting on my face today with my trusty Bare Minerals in hand. Suddenly, I hit my hand and the container with the lid off fell onto the ground.

Little puffs of foundation and a little sprinkling of powder hits the ground and I say, "Oh no. My precious."

Yes, I said it like that.

Jesus.

Everyone is Getting Married...

So with the whole explosion of engagements, weddings, and births that seem to make up the social landscape of my life, I sometimes wonder if I am where I should be.

Lord, I sound like a hormonal baby making machine-that is not what I mean. But as friends go to birthing classes and carry around babies and buy houses and show off new rings, I am able to show none of that but much of the following:


-An extensive tea collection and old Krups espresso machine
-A credit card bill I hope to pay off before my interest rate raises in November
-A kinda profile on Match which has not been completed nor is it posted because I like my men sans Internet
-Another overdraft notice from WaMu
-A new home with 3 roommates as I get yet another degree in a profession that pays (note the sarcasm)
-Debt, lots of debt for that before mentioned other degree
-An irrational fear that my room in the attic is haunted
-Plotting various methods of attack if this fear materializes and a ghost boogies his way past my bed at night


There's probably more but the heat and humidity are quickly taking away any life force that is left in me...

Shame.

A Little Afternoon Delight

***sigh***

"The War Within".....F*@&

So bless Netflix, it is a present that gets delivered to your door once a week. When I first signed up, I went queue crazy, selecting so many movies that I am set for 2 years.

Therefore, I have no idea what movie is coming next and a lot of films I selected cause they just seemed interesting.

My Friday treat was the "The War Within." I wanted to chill out after the first week of school so I go into my bed with my laptop, make some tea and prepare to relax.

A little bit of backstory. I live 30 minutes from Manhattan via train. And that train lands in Grand Central station, where then I go my merry way on to whatever subway line there is. The inside of the station is gorgeous. Marble, sea foam green roof, and the sounds of a thousand echos as feet furiously cross the ivory floors.

I have been to Grand Central three times just this week.

So "The War Within." First off, this is gutsy film making. If I had the idea for this screenplay I would never go through with it. My inner critic and censor would be so loud and forbidding that it would never come to be.

The story of this film is about a Pakistani man who is tortured and imprisoned in Pakistan then sneaks his way into America to do Allah's will. It is about one's relationships to family, country, the heart, and faith.

Needless to say at the end of the movie he straps a bomb to his chest, stands in the main concourse of Grand Central station, right by the kiosk where I buy my train ticket, and blows himself and the station up.

My God. I mean. My God. Now when I go to Grand Central, I am hyper aware of anyone holding a briefcase which is practically everybody.

But the moral of the story is: Stay on top of your Queue kids. Don't let it go crazy.

Here Comes the Story of the Hurricane...

Living without a television or cable is probably the most Bay Area thing I have ever done. (Besides drinking soy.) So when current events go on overdrive, it is hard to keep up with the online periodicals. It's more fact, less sensation, and no live action.

It makes me feel as if I am looking at the world from a very withdrawn window whereas the live picture makes it so much more real.

But then you come across lines and stories within AP, NY Times, or Reuters articles that just lodge in your brain and make it suddenly real.

Here is an amazing section of one report on Hurricane Ike.




From the Associated Press:


It could be days before officials know how many people have been killed and injured because of the storm.

Millions of people have been left without power, and officials need to get to more than 140,000 people who decided to brave the storm instead of fleeing it.

Mark Miner, a spokesman with the state government, said Saturday that "you can't force people to leave their homes.

"They made a decision to ride out the storm. Our prayers are with them," he told The Associated Press.

Some residents, like 75-year-old Sedonia Owen and her son Lindy McKissick decided to stay close to home so they could stop any potential looting after other residents left.

"My neighbours told me, 'You've got my permission. Anybody who goes into my house, you can shoot them,"' Owen, who was on her front porch holding a shotgun, told The Associated Press.

The Important Text that Woke Me

Stephanie (2:10am): Emilio Estevez or Charlie Sheen?

Angela (2:10am): As they are now?

Stephanie (2:12am): no, 1987

Angela (2:13am): Emilio cause it was pre-Mighty Ducks

Jordan 4ever

So a friend of mine is going to a very special concert soon. Or in the next couple of months.

Well, regardless, now she will be of drinking age so when they start singing, "Please Don't Go Girl" she will be able to handle it and when "Step by Step" begins to play, she will know that during step one she can have lots of fun but during step five the time will arrive.

Hu!!!!

A Manly Moment

So been here-2 full weeks. I think?

And in a land of skinny hipsters with skinny jeans that are just a crime against humanity, I would like to say I need to have me a MAN moment.

You Can Take the Girl Out of Calfornia...

But you can't take the earthquakes out of the girl.

I don't mean in a metaphorical Tori Amos sort of way. I have a funny habit of plotting out earthquake escape plans in every building I go to. What door would be safe, what windows are future shard traps, etc.

A stupid waste of time obviously since NY doesn't have earthquakes and thank God because the buildings out here would sway themselves into rock dust. Can't happen, I know.

But I am hardwired to be rumble ready. Maybe it was those articles in the Chronicle saying that there is a 99% chance that California will have a MAJOR earthquake in the next couple of years.

Clearly I lack the specifics but I mean, go 1%. You can do it!

No, he can't. There will be a shakin' and a rollin' going on and regardless of the coast, part of me is still very much in California.

It's funny to be in a place now where the majority of people don't know what the '94 and '89 are. (Those are the Northridge and Loma Prieta quakes.)

Anyway, so now when I think "QUAKE!" I replace that word with "SNOW!"

Trying to switch gears. So instead of, "That building would crumble, those stairs won't be safe, the best place for closed toe shoes would be..." I think, "If ice were on this street, if snow was on this hill, if I have to walk this far from the parking lot in slush, if I have to park my car and it is buried here, if my feet are this cold now in December they will be...."

I know, a fine topic to be writing on a Friday night. When instead I should be going out and getting lucky or something like that but I am the most morbid person some of you know.

A really sad truth. Cause clearly some of you need to get out more.

Random but Delicious

Chances are, your mother had a thing for Tom Jones.

I am doing image research for a new play and now that includes YouTube clips (cause in case you didn't notice, I am obsessed.) And I found this during my search.

Gotta say, I wouldn't mind me some Tom Jones. And I have no shame admitting that.

Hot damn.

For All You Super Mario Fans

It's late, I had too much coffee this afternoon, therefore I find this amazing.

RED DRESS!

A critical look at the Jonas Brothers.

Because really, it is good to be critical of our current cultural super stars and there is nothing like listening to the Jonas Brothers and thanking all the gods in all the heavens that I am no longer thirteen years old.

And I do not choose to listen the them, I haven't bought an album, I don't watch television, but they are on the radio. On the top 40 to be exact.

And in my teenie bopper years, I can't recall being crazy about any particular group. I remember dancing like a maniac to LaBouche but that is about it. (And that was kick ass liquid latex goodness so you can't hate.)

But the Jonas Brothers, when they come on the radio, I can't change it because I listen to their whinny pubescent voices and can't understand who would listen to this shit and find it enjoyable. There is no quality, it is like nails on glass. I mean, if young people think this is art then we are all headed to a very bad place. But then again what quality are thirteen years old looking for but good hair and cool clothes, the typical Disney hero.

But I never change the station when "Burnin' Up" plays on the radio because of the gem that explains why this group is so life threatening.

So go to 1:05 and stop once you see Joe massage his pretend mustache. (A gross misuse of this gesture by the way.)




You want to kill yourself right? The idea of a sexy red dress seems like a death sentence. You are thinking, "Man, if chickens could sing they would sound like that."

Now go jump over some lasers and pop your trench coat collar. Cause I just blogged about JB.

The end is near.

Rights for Smokers

I guarantee that if you walk out of any Sarah Lawrence building and turn your head 180 degrees, you will find a smoker puffing on a cigarette.

Now coming from the land of California where smokers are pretty much shoved to the side so much so that Newsom opted to get rid of the sales of cigarettes in the city of San Francisco, I have to say this is a bit of a culture shock.

Even more so when I received an email from the college saying that while they recognize the rights of smokers, they ask that they smoke a farther away from buildings because there have been complaints.

I can hear a certain percentage of you groan, actually I can name who you are.

But remember, smokers are people too.

Something California doesn't agree with. No opinions here, just ironic observation.

Dear Anyone-Who-Does-Not-Live-on-the-East-Coast,

I know it is hard for us, the whole time difference thing. I used to be the same as all you glorious PST peeps. But that was so three hours ago.

Know that in my heart, I am still PST but now that I am EST, I live by new rules guided by a clock I cannot control. So when you text me at 9pm, it is really midnight. And the older I get, the earlier I wake up. And the earlier I wake up, the earlier I fall asleep.

You should know that my phone never goes off. Never. I am a fatalist, so if there is an earthquake, an accident, someone ran out of gas, or the bastard finally lived up to his name, I want to make sure my phone is within reach. But most of the time, trauma is not what wakes me.

You should know that when you call at midnight, my "Ziggy Stardust" ring tone will blare. And when you text at midnight, PST, and "Don't Stop Believing" starts to sing from my phone, you have interrupted my REM sleep at 3am.

And if god forbid you are in Hawaii, like a newlywed bride I know, and you want to call me after dinner-say around 9:30pm, it will be 3:30am my time.

And like the sadist I am, I will pick up the phone no matter what to hear your tales about surfing or read your texts asking, "Have you started classes yet?"

In the wee hours of the morning, I am not in class. I am half alive, unable to correctly spell via text, and the only joy in talking to me is the chance to hear my Barry White morning voice.

And if you don't mind me returning your call or text when I wake up, 6:30am EST, then continue to make contact.

I will let you do the math on that one.

Much Love,
-Angela

WTF of the day

10:40pm, Bronx.


"24 Hour Wash and Lube"


A sign that glittered and glowed near the MetroNorth train track.


Who in the hell needs an 24 hour option for an oil change? Sketch central I say. And if someone comes rolling up to that joint anytime past 10pm, checking the trunk should be mandatory. Cause who cares about the next 3,000 miles anytime after 5pm?

Someone on the run or someone who has a body in the trunk, that's what I say.

Too Much=Death

Sometimes life just rocks. Like being in NYC at 9pm, walking past the Empire State Building with the coolest old intern ever-Ms. Lillian.

It is nice to be able to go to Manhattan on a whim after school, a luxury I am sure will be more and more rare as classes and work load explode.

But, as a newly poor grad student (yes, even more money disabled than I was as a working theater artist) I feel that if you are going to go out, you have to make the dollar count.

So if you go to a sandwich place with a cool person, let us say her name is also Lillian, and you order a tuna melt that weighs about 3 pounds just in tuna, you better eat the whole thing. Because the bill is precious and should not be wasted, no matter how big the meal is.

But let me tell you something-eating a 3 pound tuna melt is not money efficient. It is not a good time. Hours of riveting conversations about hims, NY, SF, and the East Coast liberal arts experience will not help. Walking for an hour afterwards around the village and mid-town will de-stress a bit but not enough to make you go back to your original dress size.

That is the moral of the story. No matter how broke you are, too full is hell. Especially when you have to be on a train for forty minutes.

But I had an ipod and played some good jams to keep my stomach from completely rebelling.

Can't get enough of this one....

Sweet dreams kiddies.

There is a God.

While living in the Bay Area, I had certain staples in my diet that I could not live without. Pho, Starbucks, eggrolls, burritos, and anything from Trader Joes. (This of course does not include the self made goodness of cutlets and sauce.)

I tried to emotionally prepare myself for the transition to NY, predicting that my body would rebel and my soul would be a little less bright. And I was right to do so. The food in my neighborhood is Brazilian and southern. The nearest Vietnamese place is in Flushings, Manhattan, or New Jersey. And the Mexican food place around the corner is pathetic.

So I resigned myself to these hard truths and assumed that Trader Joes was not a possibility, until this morning. When I went online. And right there at the Trader Joes website it said there was one, in Scarsdale. Thirteen miles from my house.

So I did better than run, I drove to my little oasis. And right when I walked in and saw the staff in their Hawaiian print shirts I knew-I was home. I rampaged the aisles to get my plastic boxed fruit, nuts, way too much dried fruit, and orange chicken. (If you have never had the orange chicken from TJ's, it is in the freezer aisle. It is the most ah-mazing thing ever. Go now.)

Of course I was upset to see they did not sell Dixie Peach Juice out here but I made up or it by buying lots of pasta, ricotta, and calamari rings.

I have enough food for weeks now and I feel like I can eat again. Because after shopping for years and TJs, going into a regular market seems blasphemous and I start to get wary of anything that is not organic and start staging grand wars in my head where my healthy cells are being battled by evil fruit and vegetables and chicken or beef that is not actually chicken or beef but really some strange version of chicken or beef that has larger parts but no eyes or beaks or feet. And I see the chemically enhances super non-food winning and my healthy cells dying a slow death and perishing quietly in the night with a soft little cry of "whhhhhyyyyy?"

So yes, I was traumatized by Professor Green's lit class freshman year of college. Never again will I look at GMOs and think, "So what?"

But Trader Joes. Fuck yes.

You really don't know what you got till it's gone, so if you live in Cali, go out now and buy yourself some dark chocolate truffles and $4 flowers from your local TJs. Because life is too short.

Cackle Approved

Enjoy.

What to do when it's raining, 90% humid, and you know no one.

1. Finish unpacking those pain in the ass items you happily neglected.
2. Watch way too much Youtube. Including an unhealthy amount of Rick Astley.
3. Google Rick Astley to learn how old he is and if he is married.

4. Catch up with Mom on the phone and discuss thrilling things like snow tires and student loans.
5. Superpoke too many people on facebook.
6. Explore the basement with the roommate. Upon discovering a creepy cellar (too afraid to go in there) and bathroom (which looks like the last time it was used, Eisenhower was in office) we run out immediately and try not to think about it.
7. Drink a pot of tea and crave cookies so much you walk around the house muttering "Cookies. Cookies."
8. Watch "My So-Called Life" online.
9. Yes, you read that right. It is online.
10. http://abc.go.com/player/?channel=69769
11. You are welcome.
12. Become depressed that your new office corkboard is naked.

13. Try to hit the high E during an impromptu rendition of "Loving You"
14. Decide to move the trash cans while it is pouring rain and the neighbors watch cause you want to feel "youthful."
15. Miss SF while listening to Aretha's album "Live at the Fillmore"
16. While eating ice cream seriously reconsider the decision to be a twenty-something with pigtails.

Dear Saint Mary's College...

No one at Sarah Lawrence wears short shorts.

I know-it's hard to believe. It will be ok, that doesn't make them bad people. Skirts to the knees and hipster-tastic apparel is only for the most granola of SMC's population. But I have to say-that is all anyone wears around here.

I don't know what to say-I miss seeing asses pop out as I walk down hallways. I miss seeing "PINK" or "JUICY" or "SMC" proudly displayed in block letters across two cheeks. I don't understand why there is no skin and unconformable "I saw your ____" moments.

Oh SMC, what is a college without your short shorts. I will have to accept and get accustomed to an entirely new college girl uniform: Roman sandals, hobo dresses, and huge 70's inspired bug glasses. Yes, bigger than even the ones you wear.

Farewell.

That Muggy Feeling

The only thing you can do when it is 90-something and humid is seriously contemplate how to attach a medium sized fan to your shirt so wherever you go you look like a divalicious pop star, which is a small price to pay for a little bit of heavenly breeze.



I would kill to see some fog right now. I would shave my head for beach air. I would do bad things to bad people just to have AC in my room. I would rather live in the San Fernando Valley again and drive a car with leather and no AC than be surrounded by humidity.

Humidity kills. It does. It kills energy, patience, and comfort. Sure, you might lose water weight just by walking up three stairs and your skin might glow but goddamn if I am not covered in wet blankets all day long and have the stamina of a senior citizen.

Granted, it is not as bad as other parts of the country but you can be sure as hell I will never move to those places. New York is enough. And while the Bay Area lacked AC, it was unpleasant but doable.

Lacking AC out here is just-cruel and unusual. If I leave water in my room and drink it at 9pm, the glass is hot, the water is ready for a tea bag. My bed feels like it has just left a dryer. The hardwood floor is warm. Don't even think of boiling water in the kitchen or ever looking at the stove. You could dehydrate instantly.

For the love of God. I miss ya CA.

ABBA!

It's a horrible guilty pleasure. Really, listening to ABBA, rocking out in my car is almost as pathetic as my days screaming to Cabaret in my dad's purple Camero.

(Yes it was low riding, yes I wore a school skirt, and yes that bomb was the bomb dot com.)

But after going to a wedding this weekend, I have decided ABBA is great but not meant to be danced because you look like you are doing community/dinner theater. There is no way to feel it because you want to be it and no one can be it without looking like a dork.

At least that is what I look like-no judgement towards ABBA dancers everywhere. Unless you too can admit to dorkiness. If so, then welcome, I am two stepping for you too.

Now, this one is my ABBA anthem.

Rock on.