So, reading Zed's latest post had me reflecting this evening, because I'm seriously conflicted and torn about this issue. Not whether [my] people should speak to each other on the street/acknowledge each other's existences/do the head nod that says "I see ya" whatever --because I'm down for that, no question. Regardless of my status as the reigning Ice Queen, I am usually ready to conversateconfabulateconfrusticate with the Soul Glo Patrol. Exception: I shut down any and every attempt at a pick-up. Not because I'm that bougie girl; not because I'm a frigid bitch; not because I think I'm better than you. I shut them down because I can't stand pick up lines on g.p. If you want to talk to me, talk to me. Let's have a conversation.*
So, anyway, I was prepared to side with the anonymous woman who comes in for a lot of abuse in Zed's comment section (I know I'm using this dude's first name like I know him, but it's the internet. Fuck it. I'm going for informality and brevity. Except by making this digression, I've wasted more space and more of your time) because I couldn't get past the first part of the story, where he decides that he was going to talk to her anyway, fuck her non-speaking ass (you have to read back a little bit on the dude's site for a little context here: the guy is locked into living in an undesirable area for awhile, and part of what makes it undesirable is the lack of black community) and I know that I've been that chick who's been reading on the bus/staring off into space/listening to music as I eat my lunch in a downtown park who responds monosyllabically to people trying to talk to me. The exchange usually goes one of two ways: either the person trying to insert themselves into my line-of-sight makes some kind of humorous comment about my unfriendliness and I will unfreeze long enough to confirm it, say something nice, and then move on; or they come out with some bullshit line like, "Come on, let's be friends. I just want to be friends. We can all use friends, girl." Well, yeah, we can, but your shady ass isn't standing there talking to my chest because you want someone you can watch football with, you lying fool. But that isn't
what Zed was after when he was trying to engage this random-soon-to-be-revealed-as-a-pigeon chick in conversation. As corny as it sounds, he just needed a short human-to-human connection. Which makes me wonder if I should be less quick with brush-offs in the future.
Of course, I won't be, because -- and I can't stress this to you enough, people -- I am mean. At any given moment, I am probably looking off into space plotting how to buy more twelve-sided die and Blade Runner memorabilia before I completely retire to a cave with a lifetime supply of Grey Goose and Korean revenge flicks. If you start talking to me, I guarantee you that you will wish you hadn't. You think it's bad that I don't talk to you? It would be infinitely worse if I did. You don't want to hear anything I have to say. Trust.
But anyway, the point is that, ultimately, Zed's "I'm Not on the Debate Team" girl was ridiculous. Turns out she was running him all the time, but just wanted to be sure that he had paper/prestige/power. Ah, there she goes, making it even worse for us non-public-speaking Crabby Patties.
*You know this shit is theoretical, because -- well, I said it at the beginning. I don't like people, and I don't talk to strangers and yes, that means I won't make new friends but the cotdamn bus is full, anyway. I'll die a lonely, misanthropic old lady, and I'll choke on bile while the rest of you chuckleheads get together and live full, loving lives. I get it, ok? I've said my piece and I've made my peace.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Monday, August 07, 2006
I'm updating today for no other reason than that I am stuck (well, stuck isn't really the word, as I could leave, technically. But I'm just too lazy right now. I am about 1 block away from where I need to be for an appointment with my new landlord at 730 pm, and I don't feel like going anywhere, even though I'm bored, bored, bored) here in my office and the early-evening heat is making me fucking delirious and I.Can't.Move.
I'm chilling in the first of my two new offices (two positions this term = two separate offices) and feeling vaguely hopeful about the next few months. I've managed to secure employment, housing, and a steady caffeine source, so things for the academic year 2006-2007 should be golden. Still no luck on the transportation front, however. I'm looking into getting one of these:a Yaris. Any of y'all reading this have any experience with these bad boys? For 11K, I'm not expecting foot massages and big crack rocks, but I don't want to be rolling around in a jackass roller skate, either.
Things on the writing front are progressing nicely, as I've got two pahdnahs keeping me motivated. In this corner: Stone Cold, who is working on a killer screenplay of his own, despite his crippling mental deficiencies! In this corner, T-bone, who is about to make me famous with her proximity to greatness! Both of them can play the Crockett to my Tubbs any day.
Oh yeah, I saw Miami Vice. It was all right. Really. But in that patented Michael Mann half-light, I kept mistaking Colin Farrell for Tim McGraw. In fact, at several points in that movie I felt as if I was watching Tim McGraw and Eddie Murphy in [I Feel Like I've Been Watching This Movie For] 48 Hours.
I also saw Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. Ok, when Will Ferrell (hmmmm -- looks like it was an "all Farrell/Ferrell" movie weekend for me) starts praying to the "little baby Jesus, because he likes that Jesus better"? I fell out. So good.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Why did it take this long for the rest of America to realize that Mel Gibson is loco caliente? Right around The Passion of the Christ I started to suspect that all was not right beyond the Thunderdome, and now his sugar-titted crazy is on display for the world to see. Delicious. Seriously, y'all: look at that picture. That's some Tom DeLay mugging right there.
Why am I suddenly in love [again] with Busta Rhymes? It must be that "I Love My Chick" video, because you know that Gabrielle Union is my nemesis! Kidding! I love that chick, too, Busta!
I'm feeling all warm for Mr. Rhymes right now. The explanation has everything to do with those tats, I believe. Dudes with tattoos are my kryptonite.
Why was I so concerned about whether Tony Bourdain got out of Beirut safely? I don't know this cat, and I don't even watch his show that regularly! I just feel so protective of fellow smokers. Even though I don't smoke anymore, people like Bourdain who are unabashed nic-fiends are my heroes. I couldn't care less about his culinary skills.