Got an email from Scott in New Orleans telling me this:

PS: I'm awaiting my artist rendition of a charcoal drawing of Stevie Nicks, myself and "Kippy," the Boston Terrier of my youth. Kippy got his head run over by a dump truck. He didn't survive it. Par tof me died that day, too. What a great way to immortalize the the significance of his troubled life and passing. Nobody and no single thing says " Shock, Awe, Horror, Love and Loss" like Stevie Nicks. I owe it to you.

which reminded me of this:

A friend of a friend had three Boston Terriers who, when out walking, would do everything in synch. It was like looking at the dog in triplicate. He called them "The Three Headed Monster."

went and saw Fahrenheit 9/11 on sunday. . .here is the review that I sent to my friend.

I'm still sorting out my impressions of the movie. My ID loves it and agrees with everything Michael moore says no matter how far he reaches or how smugly he presents it.

My super ego is trying to play devil's advocate and look for weak points. Mainly so it can keep my ID from getting its ass kicked in a political debate.

Second half of the movie really got me. MM kind of quiets down and lets other people do the talking and tell their stories and their stories are very very powerful. In the beginning he has the tendancy to undermine himself by being really smart-alec-y.

Overall, I thought it was fantastic that he made it and that it's being shown. I thought it was fantastic that I couldn't see it until Sunday because it's been selling out multiple screens at multiple theatres in manhattan. I loved it because there were people in the theatre who laughed, and yelled, and clapped, and cried at the same things I did. I'm glad that the right doesn't control everything we see and hear. It was great to hear him put together, in one cogent narrative, everything that I've thought about and discussed with my friends over the past four years.

And you know, it made me mad. Mad that I feel so impotent and powerless against these greedy right-wing motherfuckers. That they could take 8 years of progress and shit all over it. And that if Bush does not get elected (ohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohplease) whoever inherits this pile of dogshit that he's left behind. . .well, may god be with him/her. I don't know if John Kerry is the man to do it. But I can hope. And can hope because I have a little power. I can vote. And I can get my friends to vote. And I can get my family to vote. And I can raise my voice too. And that is my power.

I'm logging into my hotmail account and I glance at the pithy little headlines and the first makes me do a double take/head nod and then the next makes me do the same. And I can't figure out which headline is more shocking. and in that tiny little instant I realize how boring my existence is. and I wonder if that's what it's like for the majority of the people in this country.

Here are the headlines that startled me so much:

Headline One
Headline Two

I've almost used up all of my Clear Eye™ eye drops. They are the number one hangover remedy.

I haven't blogged in awhile because I haven't had too much to say. Actually when I do have a lot to say I'm nowhere near a blogging machine.

what the hell kind of certificate is this????

an advanced certificate in connosseurship?

In it, you learn to spell connosseur correctly.

Okay, I can see wanting to take the classes but really, would you write that down on your resume under education.

"What other qualifications can you bring to the table, Ms. Krixfort?"

"Uh, yes, well, I DO have an advanced degree in connosseurship."

"Yes, I see. How do you spell that. . ."

Happy Wednesday!

here's an excerpt from an online convo I had w/a friend which explains my un-fun week end
krixfort: so I slept on the couch all weekend and did nothing because all my energy was drained. and I will tell you why. . .

Friday night after the Met I went to the Collins and hung out and drank
that was all fine and good
I didn't have to be at work the next day or anything
I hailed a cab to take me to the trade center PATH and then the guy asked me if I wanted to go to Jersey
so I said "sure"
cabs don't often go there and you have to negotiate with them up front

friend of krixfort: i don't like where this is going

krixfort: so he says. . .and here's the red flag that my drunken-ness dulled
"why don't you sit up front so you can give me directions"
so I did, like an ass

friend of krixfort: oh, no

krixfort: so we chit chat chit chat blah blah blah
and he's way too friendly

friend of krixfort: yea?

krixfort: and we find out that we're both college students and he does the "can I call you sometime" etc. and I say "why don't you just give me your phone number and I'll call you if I have the time
which I never would
said it to get off the hook

friend of krixfort: and?

krixfort: and anyway, he pulls up to my house and says can I have a kiss

friend of krixfort: wha!!!

krixfort: and of the easiest way out is to give him a peck opn the cheek and scram (REALLY THE EASIEST WAY WOULD'VE BEEN TO TELL THE MF HE WAS OUT OF LINE) but my survival skills were not at peak performance

friend of krixfort: oh gosh, what'd this perv do?

krixfort: and so I give him the peck on the cheek and he yells "NO WITH THE TONGUE, THE TONGUE" and proceeds to completely fucking manhandle me and jam his filthy fucking tongue down my throat
gleck
and I was so pissed off all weekend for a number of reasons
I finally just hit him and bolted
but fuck.
I am still pissed that I put myself in that position

friend of krixfort: why is it that, deep down, we're hard wired to trust but, up front, we KNOW we can't trust nobady?

krixfort: It's so creepy

I am pissed that I'm hardwired to give in to that kind of behavior, that it's so acceptable to let people take advantage.
I've had many incidents where the path of least resistance and the easiest way out is to give in to that kind of shit
and it always ends up damaging me in some way.
Most of the time It's like my brain is one step behind
like inside it's saying "wow, is this really happening" and I don't fight back until my brain can catch up
Thankfully, the cab incident didn't get any worse.

--end of convo--

but here's the kicker. . .the first time I had sex. . .I woke up in the middle of it. I was blacked out, passed out, I don't know, I wasn't really conscious, just on auto-pilot. And that's happened more than once. So what do you call that? Some people would call it date-rape but when the lines are so fuzzy it seems hard to say. I had an incident with a roommate in SF that turned out worse. . .he felt that he had unlimited access to me and I woke up one night to find his head between my legs and just in time to fight him off as he tried to jamn it in. AT least this time I fought him off. I had slept with him before so where does that put me. AT A DISADVANTAGE. Very hard to argue rape when I had willingly inititated on multiple occasions.

And there was an incident in Denver where I trusted a co-worker and when he said, "You can crash at my house" I thought that was really all he meant, but it wasn't and the path of least resistance was to just let him do it. And then I ended up pregnant. Had an abortion.

Okay, I know the cab driver didn't even get that far. But the point is, I let myself into a potentially dangerous situation and my brain reacted in the same dumb way it always has. And then I end up in a depression that I don't even know where it came from. It took me three days to even figure out I was depressed and then I had to think about. . ."Well, that's funny, I kind of feel depressed, but I sure don't know why. . a-hyuck"

I'm pissed. I'm just fucking pissed.

I said I would tell about the vacation but the spirit hasn't moved me. There were some funny parts. . .like the fact that we took my grandma to tour the QVC studios. That was pretty funny. I would have never thought that I would be caught dead in a QVC anything.

Oh yeah, and my mom astutely observed that there were NO coins in the fountain at the Korean War Memorial in Atlantic City.

Oh yeah, and my grandma pooh poohed Times Square, saying "I've seen this before" and waved it away with her hand as we passed through on the overpriced double-decker bus tour.

I think when I get pictures back it will be easier to tell the stories.

I DID get to buy myself a foam finger at the detroit Tigers game. AND I DID get to see the racing peroghies in Pittsburg at the Pirates game. And I did drive everyone through Gettysburg but when faced with Valley Forge, my grandma moaned, "Oh god, not more dead people."

It's just weird. My mom made some comments when she was at my house after she had had a few beers. Beer is a rare occurrance for her. She quit drinking 12 years ago but it seemed to me that it is a very thin line that she walks. She told me she wished that I could be happy. That she didn't think I was happy. That I am a closed communicator and very guarded. Perhaps with her I am. Perhaps because she has the most power to hurt me, to annihilate my self-esteem and perhaps because she had done so through-out my childhood, perhaps that is why I am guarded with her.

What the fuck do you expect.

Of course I'm fucking happy. I'm maniacly fucking happy. Everything is fan-fuckin-tastic.

I gotta go.

This is just craziness: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/5114871/

Road Trip 2004:
stories and pix coming soon.

In the meantime, read this: http://www.fcdnet.org/chernobyl/chapter1.html