Archive for January, 2008

Anatomy of a dumbass

January 29, 2008 | Filed under: Sucks like a vacuum

“You’re so nice and you’re so smart. You’re such a good friend I have to break your heart. I’ll tell you that I love you then I’ll tear your world apart. Just pretend I didn’t tear your world apart” - Kimya Dawson

This morning I went to a breakfast meeting and proceeded to shake hands and smile at elected officials in between sneezing fits. I am not a quiet sneezer. This is not a mere ‘achoo’ easily covered with a lace hanky. It’s a full-blown sneeze that I can feel rattling in my chest and forces me to convulse and then do a little shake afterwards as my brain settles back into place. Since they occur so rarely, I notice the particulars. Times and dates and the way I feel so jarred immediately after. I then become ensconced in every drip from my nose or blocked ear canal. In between the sneezes, I’m yelling HUH and wiping tears from my eyes. This all goes against my standard proclamations that I NEVER get sick. Nope. Never. But when I do get sick, it’s the real deal and a minor cold turns into the fucking rotovirus and suddenly I can see what I ate last week for lunch in a puke bucket. TMI maybe? If you think I’m bad when healthy imagine me curled up in the fetal position on my bed announcing that I’m dying. No DYYYYYYYING. Thankfully, the bonus to working down the hall from your mother is that in times of illness, is that it’s a quick walk to complain and flail about and tell her to make you feel better because the death of her first born is imminent. To see the look on my face, she must realize that the grim reaper is knocking on my door, ready to take me away. Her first born isn’t dramatic either. Not in the least.

The quote above has nothing to do with my current illness but everything to do with the severe amount of stress and drama that I’ve been dealing with as of late. Needless to say, things aren’t going well and so while I’m suffering from SARS, I’m also suffering from feeling very deeply hurt right now. And for that, I really have no words.

On that note, you pretty people, with your stellar immune systems, have a wonderful rest of the week. I am going to be in my bed appreciating the joy that is clear mascara and puffs plus with lotion.

Deleted

January 28, 2008 | Filed under: Humdrum

“Nothing fixes a thing so intensely in the memory as the wish to forget it.” ~Michel de Montaigne

The first half of the weekend was spent employing the Hair of the Dog method. One that comes down to an exact science of sticking with vodka or champagne (blood orange Bellinis to be exact) but NEVER, EVER wine at a certain time; brunch usually does the trick. The second half was spent repeatedly hitting the delete ke; 3ach time with more force than the last. I still find it fascinating that with one flick of the wrist or a quick tap with the index finger, it’s as if entire histories can be sent to the trash and then erased. The act of deletion always feels so cleansing to me. Ridding myself of the junk mail and things that have piled up. I do the same with text messages and every so often I do a clean sweep. We live in this day in age where things are hardly written long hand anymore. Most communication is done via instant message or a string of gmail conversations. Even photos are stored on laptops in files on a hard drive. All of it can be done away with almost immediately accidentally or otherwise. There’s this part of me that feels refreshed when the messages are gone especially when I’m trying so hard not to think of something or someone. Then there’s that tiny bit of me that feels sad even though nothing is completely indelible. The memories are always there. There’s probably a way to go back and find it all but do I really want to? Never mind that I’m far too lazy to even try.

Anywhere but here

January 25, 2008 | Filed under: Great moments in narcissism, Oh The Stupidity You'll See

“One must be drenched in words, literally soaked in them, to have the right ones form themselves into the proper pattern at the right moment.” ~Hart Crane

Do you ever have one of those weeks where there are just too many words? It’s like I’m drowning in letters and every time I think I can come up for air, there’s the word ‘myopic’ kicking me in the face.

Do you ever hone one of those weeks where you know that you’re coming down with the flu or scurvy or PMS and you want to just keel over and curl up in the fetal position but you can’t because there is table side prepared guacamole and pomegranate margaritas in your future? And really, what is more important: Health or patron? Think about it.

As such, I’m going to be that shitty blogger who says, “I’m not here but you can find me in these 17 other places!” My favorite being the exchange between myself and HRH Greeblemonkey.

Oh! Totally forgot to mention the part where I ran into the wall. Twice. Head first. Many of you are saying “No shit, I thought that probably happened to you ages ago” but alas not, it was yesterday and then again today.

And apropos of nothing else what is the first thought that comes to mind when you hear the name “Amani”? Atonement Review at MamaPop! (Some times they let me kick it over there)

Have I mentioned that I’m black and female and neither has any bearing on my decision on who to vote for? At BlogHer. (Some times they pay me to kick it over there) (And by ’some times’ I mean monthly because how else do I afford the patron??)

And this gem right here. But read down to the end because the most important part isn’t about how I spend my money, it’s the fact that I can tie a cherry stem with my tongue. Seriously.

The 50MM Story

January 23, 2008 | Filed under: Fotografias, The object of my obsession

“I think a photography class should be a requirement in all educational programs because it makes you see the world rather than just look at it.” ~Author Unknown

Once upon a time, in a land far far away there was a girl named Heather (And boy did she have some kick ass eyebrows).

 

Heather had recently procured a lovely Sony Alpha DSLR camera for her 24th birthday. A camera that she would make sweet, sweet love to if it had all of it’s parts. With the purchase of the camera, Heather did what any aspiring (but completely shitty for she knew that she wasn’t Ansel Adams or a Shutter Sister.) photog would do; she took it on a trip to Paris to give it a good work out. With her trusty 18-70mm and handy 70-300mm, she took some semi-quality shots.

Upon reentry, Heather learned from her friend Angella something about aperture and f-stops and so her lust with 50mm lenses began. So one day, Heather decided to take a trip to the famed B&H photo warehouse of love. It was here that she decided to give up her first born child for a lovely new lens to play around with.

Later that day she put her new lens to the test by showing off her lunchtime drinking skills.

 

Then she drank some more as she was apt to do.

Each time she was impressed by the 50mm’s depth of field and she subsequently fell in love. Heather carried that 50mm with her everywhere to practice. And like any good love story, there were some minor setbacks and difficulties, mostly on her part. For the lens and camera were doing what they were told to do and still Heather felt like something was missing. She longed for another trip to Paris which would bring ample opportunity for vacation and photography practice at the Tuileries Gardens and perhaps a jaunt down the Champs Elysees. But since Hell had yet to freeze over and lotteries had yet to be won, she instead went to Oklahoma City.

When she returned from Oklahoma City she still felt unsettled. For Heather was a neurotic girl and longed for a quality capture. But because life had caught up with her, she was unable to give her camera and 50mm the attention that it deserved. And that my friends is what eventually leads to the demise of any relationship: lack of communication. Heather finally picked it up again during a trip to Washington, DC and at first she was feeling rather bad ass. For she had the perfect subject(s).

 

But remember Heather’s drinking and her lack of communication? Well Heather drank some wine and then had some more all the while ignoring her camera in exchange for the sweet nectar of Primitivo. She didn’t communicate with her camera. She didn’t change the settings. She might as well have been at a kegger with a disposable point and shoot. Which is why when Heather’s friend Amy said “Please, oh please, take a picture of my darling, beautiful boy” Heather made faces and laughed and took photos with a fuzzy head and a pissed off camera whose settings were not in order and produced this (shield your eyes).

 

When Heather finally uploaded the photos and noticed that Amy’s sweet, sweet boy was the same exact color as Bert, she got upset. She cried and threw herself on the floor and gave up on dreams.

But thankfully Heather (shockingly enough) had friends; Lori and Angella. And Lori and Angella both helped to bring Heather and her SLR - the one that she gave her second born for - back together. Deep down inside Heather’s friends new that despite their respective faults, that Heather and her SLR were meant to be. And with a little communication and editing that they were meant to be and with a little communication and editing Heather and her SLR - Buddy - could do anything. For love, really does conquer all.

 

The End.

The Idiot Box

January 22, 2008 | Filed under: Oh The Stupidity You'll See

“Television is an invention that permits you to be entertained in your living room by people you wouldn’t have in your home.”  ~David Frost

On one of my sojourns to California Abigail asked if I watch television. I held my tongue briefly and responded with a rather innocuous “Yes. Why?” While on the inside I felt the burning sense of the impending explosion of detailing my meticulous television viewing schedule. She responded that I never speak of it, so she figured that I did something else with my time, like say read books or actually leave the house.  On the contrary, I’m surprised it’s taken me this long to admit that I watch an embarrassing amount of television. As in (almost) every night, my roommate comes home from being out and social to find my misanthropic ass, planted on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, wine glass in left hand, mesmerized (and possibly drooling) by HDTV. I like to think of it as playing catch up from all of those years of having no cable or DVR and practically jumping up at the chance to babysit so I could have some quality time with MTV. I’ve spent the last six years sitting on hard bar stools and making pleasant conversation about party politics, I think that I am well within my right to stare at the bright, flashing lights of a television until my retina gives out. Don’t you agree?

When I moved in with The Roommate, she made some mention of On Demand. I said “cool” and she said “But really, it’s awesome” and I was like “Dude, I’ll get a life one day.” The score currently stands at Getting a Life: 0, Abuse of On Demand: 487. 

Much like any good codependent relationship, it started off with casual usage and has since grown to epic proportions with me sneaking in some quick time between errands or before work. And to think that there are people who think I’m drinking during those hours. Pshaw to the naysayers, I usually save the drinking for immediately after work. To some it might be sad and pathetic and perhaps this is why I am perpetually single. But for me it’s just discovering the joys of premium cable (Seriously, you’d think I’ve been living in a cave. Who are these Spencer and Heidi people that you speak of?) after a half-decade (makes it sound longer, no?) absence. 

The natural question would be So, HB, what are you watching these days? Well, friends, thanks to the advent of Netflix and Showtime, I am currently obsessed with The L Word. In fact everything can be compared to some character or situation on The L Word and suddenly the name ‘Dana Fairbanks‘ comes out of my mouth like seven times in one evening. Also please ignore the fact that at times they take ‘Seriously?! Seriously’ to a whole new level. But the analysis that I and others - but to implicate them in my little rant would be a bit rude - have put into the show is rather breathtaking. If you think that one cannot possibly spend an entire dinner party discussing why Jenny Schecter is such a dumbshit and should probably be punched in the face, then obviously you’ve never been to my house. 

Jenny Schecter. Jenny motherfucking Schecter. I’ve been trying to come up with the proper adjectives to describe her and each is far worse than the one before. If you think I’m vapid, annoying, pretentious, bitchy, whiny and I make you want to stick [insert sharp object] into your [insert sensitive orifice] then you really haven’t seen a thing yet. You would have to see it to believe it but every Sunday, while most people are getting ready for church and family time, I’m counting down the hours until I get to call Jenny Schecter the ‘c’ word with wild abandon. And what makes me dislike this particular (and completely FAKE) person even more is that there has been ample opportunity to kill her off (like at the end of last season when she was sent floating on a raft into the Pacific ocean) and yet she’s still there. Living and breathing and just when one thinks that there is no way in hell to dislike her even more, she manages to get dumber. It would be the equivalent of making Meredith Grey (who I despise a little less) a secondary character and having her go through that ‘Pick me, choose me, love me’ stage every week for five seasons with no hope of ever getting rid of her even if the show isn’t about her. 

I just had to take a few deep breaths there for surely this much anger is not warranted. But now one can see why I never speak of television and this will be the one and only time; because I get too involved and then I get angry and then I spend 52 minutes hoping some dimwit’s head falls off. This all probably means that Mia Kirshner is an excellent actress as she excels each week at forcing some semi-necessary brain matter out of my ears. She’s the girl I truly love to hate.