1984

First: “It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.”
Last: “He loved Big Brother.”

2. Anthony Kiedis

Anthony Kiedis, of The Red Hot Chili Peppers

Discography with The Red Hot Chili Peppers:

Red Hot Chili Peppers (1984)
Freaky Styley (1985)
The Uplift Mofo Party Plan (1987)
Mother’s Milk (1989)
Blood Sugar Sex Magik (1991)
What Hits!? (1992)
One Hot Minute (1995)
Californication (1999)
By the Way (2002)
Greatest Hits (2003)
Live in Hyde Park (2004)
Stadium Arcadium (2006)

“Sometimes life’s so much cooler when you just don’t know any better and all the painful lessons have not hammered your head open yet.”

1. Bettie Page

Bettie Mae Page (1923-1998)

Full name : Bettie Mae Page
Birth date : April 22, 1923
Born : Nashville, Tennessee
Height : 5 feet 5 1/2 inches
Weight :128
Marriages : Billy Neal (1943 – 1947), Armond Walterson (1958 – 1963) and Harry Lear (1967 – 1972)
Children : none
Hair color : black
Eye color : blue-gray
Measurements : 36-23-35
Education : Bachelor of Arts degree from Peabody College

“…I was never the girl next door”

Why you never date a friend.

Sometime after dating Max, in the summer of the twelfth grade, a good friend of mine (we’ll call him Scooter) invited me out on a date to go see a free metal show at Millenium Park.

I was ecstatic–Scooter too taught swimming lessons, he drove, and he had an older sister who bought us a mickey of white rum for the concert. We spent the day getting tipsy downtown, lost on the C-train, and laughing our asses off. When we parted ways at Dalhousie station, he grabbed me and gave me a kiss. Dizzy (I didn’t know whether to attibute it to the alcohol or to the kiss or to both), I stepped onto the 137 NW Loop and put in my iPod.

I soon got a text:
“So what does that make us?”
I replied:
“Whatever you want it to make us.” (ah, 17 year old Mel, you have so much to learn.)

We “dated” for a week (I think in that week, we saw one movie and had coffee twice), and then I got a text:
“Um..I don’t like you anymore. I suggest you move on, too.”

…needless to say, we haven’t spoken since.

52.

Cause it’s a bittersweet symphony this life,
Try to make ends meet , you’re a slave to the money then you die.
I’ll take you down the only road I’ve ever been down,
You know the one that takes you to the places where all the things meet, yeah.

No change, I can change, I can change, I can change,
but I’m here in my mould , I am here in my mould.
But I’m a million different people from one day to the next…
I can’t change my mould , no,no,no,no,no,no,no

Well I’ve never prayed,
But tonight I’m on my knees, yeah.
I need to hear some sounds that recognize the pain in me, yeah.
I let the melody shine, let it cleanse my mind , I feel free now.
But the airwaves are clean and there’s nobody singing to me now.

No change, I can change, I can change, I can change,
but I’m here in my mould , I am here in my mould.
And I’m a million different people from one day to the next
I can’t change my mould, no,no,no,no,no,no,no

Have you ever been down?
I can change, I can change…

Cause it’s a bittersweet symphony this life.
Trying to make ends meet, try to find somebody then you die.
You know I can change, I can change, I can change,
but I’m here in my mould, I am here in my mould.
And I’m a million different people from one day to the next.
I can’t change my mould, no,no,no,no,no,no,no

We’ve got ya sex and violence melody and silence
(Have you ever been down)
(I’ll take you down the only road I’ve ever been down)

“Bittersweet Symphony” – The Verve

We’ve got ya sex and violence, melody and silence (I’ll take you down the only road I’ve ever known).

I was musing about how funny the games we play with people really are. Everybody I know likes to believe they are above the “games” of day-to-day life; and yet, we are all entangled in more than we can count. Money’s a game–you have it, then you lose it. School is a game in the sense that if you “play by the rules” and lay your head (and soul?) down and study 24/7 you will eventually “win” your prize of a degree or a diploma or another assorted piece of paper asserting your intelligence to the rest of the world. The family game is a tricky one, as we each have different battles to conquer withing our nuclear units. Work’s a joke of a game–you put in your hours, 9 to 5 monday to friday 355 days a year, lay down your beliefs and your individuality and your freedom to “gain” a rung on the corporate ladder (um..kill me first?). We’re never free of games, even (and I find m0st interestingly) in relationships. Between friends, there is always the challenge of keeping secrets and protecting feelings; between siblings, the eternal search for peace in the battle for equality; between children and parents, the constant battle between inter and independance…between lovers, the search for honesty, harmony, and happiness. How do you stay afloat when you’re expected to be a million different people from one day to the next?

It’s become especially interesting to me how men each have their own variation of the same “game” (to use Neil Strauss’ terminology, as much as I may hate to do so), and how us ladies are subconsciously judging this “game” 24/7/365. Since I broke up with the Brit, I’ve had the most active social (and romantic) life I’ve ever experienced. My girlfriends (love you! <3) definitely pushed me out of my shell and I can’t thank them enough for that–I’ve never had more fun in my life. It has been almost a social experiment of mine, seeing how men treat me differntly now that I present myself the way I see myself now (that is, bubbly, fun, pretty, outgoing, positive, et cetera) versus the way I saw myself about six months ago (that was, chubby, boring, geeky, lame, et cetera). Most noticably, I haven’t had to go fetch a phone number in ages–rather, it’s become somewhat of a dance. There’s the obligatory eye lock from across the dance floor, the split second when your eyes first consciously meet and a tiny spark of electricity seems to fly across the room. Then, undeniably, you’ll bump into each other for some arbitrary reason or another (i.e. “can I bum a smoke?”, “bumping” into each other on the dance floor, “can I buy you a drink?”), which will lead to awkward conversation and some more eye flirting. If things go well at tis point, you inch closer and closer, until you pull one another away for a smoke or a drink or a dance. If things go well from there you make open ended plans and make sure one has the other’s number before you part ways. The next three days are spent in anxious anticipation of a text or a call from _____, and if he doesn’t abide by the three day rule, he is written off until you a) bump into him the next Thursday, b) get a text from an unknown number, or c) run into him at Mac’s 3 months later looking like hell, having to come up with an excuse on the fly as to why he knows you and you don’t know him…

us humans are so predictable. I don’t know whether I love or loathe it.

There are so many solid examples of these “games” we play. I find if fascinating from a behavioral standpoint (especially that women take primary roles in most of these games and yet we let males feign sexual dominance. Biological ego boost?) and have thoroughly enjoyed trying to take not of behavioral patterns I see in and around bar settings. We’re a hilarious race–somebody was laughing the day they made us.

On a tangent, I was asked to model for the first time in my  life yesterday. My buddy Logan is a photography student and we spent a solid few hours taking hundreds upon hundreds of pictures of me being…me. Complete with aviators and cool lenses. I’m waiting on him to finish editing them now, but as soon as they are done I will post a link. I don’t remember if I mentioned this in my last post or not, but bear with me–I’m running on fumes and I was really, really excited about it. I can’t wait for the weather to get warmer so we can go do the same thing but lost in the coulees..!

Anyways, I’m gonna cut this short for tonight.

love.

m

51.

I must go on standing
You can’t break that which isn’t yours
I must go on standing
I’m not my own, it’s not my choice

Be afraid of the lame, they’ll inherit your legs
Be afraid of the old, they’ll inherit your souls
Be afraid of the cold, they’ll inherit your blood
Après moi, le deluge, after me comes the flood

I must go on standing
You can’t break that which isn’t yours
I must go on standing
I’m not my own, it’s not my choice

Be afraid of the lame, they’ll inherit your legs
Be afraid of the old, they’ll inherit your souls
Be afraid of the cold, they’ll inherit your blood
Après moi le deluge, after me comes the flood

Fevrale dostat chernil i plakat
Pisat O Fevrale navsnryd
Poka grohochushaya slyakot
Vesnoyu charnoyu gorit

Be afraid of the lame, they’ll inherit your legs
Be afraid of the old, they’ll inherit your souls
Be afraid of the cold, they’ll inherit your blood
Après moi le deluge, after me comes the flood

I must go on standing
You can’t break that which isn’t yours
I must go on standing
I’m not my own, It’s not my choice

I must go on stan-stan-ding-ding
You can’t, can’t break that, that
Which isn’t, isn’t yours, yours
I’m not, not my own, own
It’s not, not my choice, choice

“Après moi” – Regina Spektor

(“February. get ink, shed tears.
Write of it, sob your heart out, sing.
While torrential slush that roars,
Burns in the blackness of the spring.”)

Mr. Self Destruct

So somewhere betweeen christmas and new year’s of my twelfth grade year, my girlfriend Lyss had a house party at which her older brother was to supply booze, Lyss was to supply boys, and us–her friends–were to supply bubbly 17 year old femininity. We ended up congregating together in her parent’s basement, and while the girls sat together playing mariokart and giggling profusely, boys started pouring in.

Max* was interested in me from moment one. He sat way too close, laughed too much at  my jokes, and choked down a shot of my JD (at this point, banana liquer was still the drink of choice for most of this crowd…not the case for me so much but that is another post altogether) without too much of my provocation. I wasn’t too interested off the bat–looks were never his forte–but he was interesting and fun to talk to, so I gave him my number and never thought I would see him again.

…turns out that we ended up going out on a double date a few weeks later with my girlfriend Meg and his best friend Derek. I was so confused that night–he had invited me on this date and spent the whole night talking to Meg and ignoring me. I was crushed..until I got the hint that this was simply his idea of game. He asked me to be his girlfriend a week later.

The first few weeks dating Max were golden–he was thrilled that he “landed” me (apparently awkward highschool drama geeks are “catches”) and I was thrilled that he knew as much as I did about star wars. eventually though, Max got super duper jealous. I’ve always had 2/3 guy:girl friends, and max tried to get me to drop my guys. Max would call me every half hour if I was out with my girlfriends. I couldn’t drink because he didn’t like it. He tried to make me quit smoking.

…eventually it was enough.

I broke up with him outside a starbucks, thinking he wouldn’t cause a scene. He bawled and screamed and made me look like an ass. I walked away feeling powerful…and with new numbers in my cell phone.

I hear he hasn’t had a date since I broke his heart.

I would never date him again, but he definitely taught me what I won’t stand for. Crying more than me is one of those criteria.

you live. you learn.

m

50.

Cigarettes and chocolate milk
These are just a couple of my cravings
Everything it seems I like’s a little bit stronger
A little bit thicker, a little bit harmful for me

If I should buy jellybeans
Have to eat them all in just one sitting
Everything it seems I like’s a little bit sweeter
A little bit fatter, a little bit harmful for me

And then there’s those other things
Which for several reasons we won’t mention
Everything about ‘em is a little bit stranger, a little bit harder
A little bit deadly

It isn’t very smart
Tends to make one part
So brokenhearted

Sitting here remembering me
Always been a shoe made for the city
Go ahead accuse me of just singing about places
With scrappy boys faces have general run of the town

Playing with prodigal sons
Take a lot of sentimental valiums
Can’t expect the world to be your Raggedy Andy
While running on empty you little old doll with a frown

You got to keep in the game
Retaining mystique while facing forward
I suggest a reading of Lessoon in Tightropes
Or urfing Your High Hopes or dios Kansas

It isn’t very smart
Tends to make one part
So brokenhearted

Still there’s not a show on my back
Holes or a friendly intervention
I’m just a little bit heiress, a little bit Irish
A little bit Tower of Pisa
Whenever I see ya
So please be kind if I’m a mess

Cigarettes and chocolate milk
Cigarettes and chocolate milk

“Cigarettes & Chocolate Milk” – Rufus Wainwright

Cigarettes & Chocolate Milk

here we are–sunday yet again. 4:15 am, yet again. Life is both moving at warp speed and completely stagnant–how does that happen so (seemingly) smoothly? Can’t I for once live in either excitement or stagnation? this constant flip-flopping is driving me insane. </end rant>.

on a tangent, a friend of mine that is in his 3rd year of photography here at the U of L took a bunch of goofy portraits of me today to try out a new lens–I am so stoked to see how they all turn out. He got 75% shots of me being a tool (dancing around to fergie, being a badass with aviators on, being a crazy person, rocking  out…) and probably 25% decent candid shots of me smiling, talking, being…it was cool to be wanted in the spotlight, as i am usually behind the lens, not in front of it. He’s talking about some gutsier experimental work in the summer and I am so so so down–do I really need an excuse to go down to the coulees in costume and have some seriously good pictures taken? Uhh…no. I swear, he’s gonna make it big one day and I’ll have hundreds of shots of his with my face in them. Check his work out at http://thebiestsc.com/.

so the girls and I are going to look at new places to live this week…I am thrilled. The thought of finally liberating myself from relying on anyone is such a thrilling conquest. Hopefully in a mat ter of days I’ll be moving away from Berkeley (…am I sad about this? yes. It’s been a great 2 years) and into the first official bachelorette pad. Yes, I know, life is gonna be leaner and tougher and rougher…but I am so excited. I’m gonna be going through all this for the first time with my 2 favorite allies. Could life be better? I think not. I even get to decorate an entirely new bedroom..and hello? Housewarming kegger…?

I think it’s time I start paying attention to the way I look in public again. No more going out to Macs for smoke runs in sweat pants. I got three phone numbers waiting for the bus today (so in the span of 25 minutes) and the only thing I did differently was put on a pair of jeans and straighten my hair. I know it sounds awful, but it’s nice to be told you’re pretty. I am pretty, thank you. I’m glad more people are starting to be fortright in admitting so (me included).

It’s actually been kind of funny noticing how people do legitimately treat me differently now that I’m comparably lighter than what I used to be. I hate to admit it, but the world is nicer to prettier people. Not that I’m a “pretty person,” but i’m prettier than I used to be, and (unfortunately?) that has made all the difference.

Anyways, I think it’s getting to be bed time here. There should be some interesting updates coming this week.

karma

m

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