chris enjoying a handrolled cigarette

Friday September 7. 2001

weblog wannabe

I have a small ceramic teacup that Olive bought me back in May when we went to see a show of potters on the Upper West Side. I drink from it all the time, it's small and pleasant and fits into my hands perfectly. I miss Olive reading this journal. She got rid of her computer a few weeks ago, handing off the remains to John for him to play with. I miss having her read this journal. I talk about all sorts of things I think she would be interested in, I wait for an email but then realize with a jolt that it'll never come.

Olive, John and I went to see Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back two weekends ago. So much for Kevin Smith's film being the turf of adolescent boys, because a 20 year old girl, a 46 year old man and a 85 year old woman were laughing uproariously in the empty theatre. I can't wait until it comes out on dvd.

One of the biggest arguments against me ever keeping a weblog is that all the flotsam and jetsam running through and around my head would be committed to pixels and released to the general public instead of staying safely up in my cranium, where it belongs. That and nearly all the weblogs I've ever seen are enormous wastes of time and ego (Riley's weblog being the shining exception to that rule. Now there is a beautiful, spare, understated weblog if I ever saw one).

Like if I had a weblog, I would probably have pontificated extensively on the virtues of Oprah Winfrey. Her season premiere is on Monday at 4, and though I will be in class while it's on, I find myself strangely excited about it. Because although I'm sure it's politically incorrect and slightly cheesy to say so, I really admire the woman. For having the business ingenuity to build an empire that has a certain demographic of women eating out of her hand - watching her show, buying her book club books, reading her magazine and truly believing in her message of healing and acceptance and "Remembering Your Spirit".

I tuned into this show nearly every day this summer, not only because I love Oprah and Dr. Phil's straight talk about relationships but perhaps also to understand women my mother's age. When woman after woman on that show said, "I don't feel like I do anything for myself, my whole life is my husband and my children and my job", of course I can't relate, because those things aren't in play in my life yet. But by listening to these women, their stories and fears and regrets, maybe I can understand the disappointment in my mother's voice when she tells me about how she hasn't done any art of her own for years. Maybe I can understand and appreciate the choices she made when she decided to get married, have children and have a career.

After watching Behind the Music last week (and I suppose this is the aim of that show), I'm also obsessed with Pat Benatar. No, I didn't know she was an opera singer who blew off Julliard because she wanted to do rock and roll. And then she kicked ass for quite a few years, paving the way for grrl musicians of all kinds before she blew off the music industry to raise a family. Yeah. That's pretty impressive to me.

Then I would talk about:

The beautiful weather.

This girl in the ceramics department (who's gay and apparently has a huge fucking chip on her shoulder because of it) pisses me off in her attempts to mindfuck me and everyone else around her.

Hand rolled cigarettes taste better than packaged ones.

What a crucible it was to read Bitch : In Praise of Difficult Women. Note to Elizabeth Wurtzel : please get over yourself.

Going to see Tori Amos twice in one tour!

I don't need antidepressants. I think.

Buying a CD burner, finally.

Buying my own domain, finally!

Thinking about how (as my Dad says) I should really quit while I'm ahead.

One Year Ago:
"The stress in my life always manifests itself in really strange ways. And it's not even a constant thing, it changes every so often, you know, to keep me on my toes. "

Two Years Ago:
"It seems to me when people meet, and get to know each other, there's always some middle ground to be covered, a space to be filled. And then, once in a great while, you meet a person, and that space isn't there."