Kitty Power

Surrounded By Silence

Okay, we've got Bill to blame for this post. I'm not a music blogger goddammit, but he was questioning me. What the hell is up with the Prefuse backlash? Is everyone still bitter from that tongue lashing back in February? Poor chastised little downloaders...boo fucking hoo. Y'all probably haven't even given it an honest listen. Track by track:

1. I've Said All I Need to Say About Them (intro) -- I'll admit I rolled my eyes at the voice. That sounded like someone drunk at 3am "trying" to prove a point. Totally not necessary. But once he shut up and got to the music, he came out swinging. Is that a Freeway sample? The beat is ultra hard "you must bang your head now" for a good minute and then softens to a nice casual nodder. Oh, you think he's done with the asskick? Nope. But, he'll smooth it back to lull you haters. Banging. 5/5

2. Hideyaface featuring Ghostface and EL-P -- Ghostface and Laserface...nice. The first time I heard it, I could almost imagine undie hiphop lovers across the land creaming their pants. I like it, but I don't love it. The beat is probably the most interesting part to me besides trying to decipher if he's calling out people hating on My Space? I hope not because that's silly. Give rappers a thicker skin for their birthdays please. And I like all the BK shouts and screaming along "motherfucker, we hold the legends with every breath that we take." 4/5

3. Bad Memory (interlude one) -- Short little pick up the pace placeholder. 3/5

4. Ty Versus Detchibe featuring Tyondai Braxton -- That beat is ferocious. I like that it keeps you guessing what the deal is going to be for so long. The 1:15 switch has me jumping out of my chair everytime. That is a bounce that gets in your ass. In fact, I usually end up turning back when it all slows down to relive it again and again. For that piece of brilliance, 5/5

5. Expressing Views is Obviously Illegal -- This might be the most "old school" Prefuse song on the record. It would fit in perfectly on Vocal Studies or 92vs.02. Here's your security blanket, people. 4/5

6. Pastel Assassins featuring Claudia + Alejandra Deheza -- My first reaction on this song was: "Did I slip in Apropa't when I wasn't paying attention?" Beautiful lush and soothing song. And just like I got into Sam Prekop/The Sea and Cake because of "Last Light," now I'm all interested in On!Air!Library. 5/5

7. Pagina Dos featuring The Books -- I used to think this song was cute and now it just annoys me. It's more than a little corny but I like that random "damn son!" at the beginning. 2/5

8. Silencio Interlude -- It's like Tom Man Man is the guest drummer! The song sample makes this song and it's driving me nuts. What the hell is it?!?! 4/5

9. Now You're Leaving featuring Camu -- Straight banger. Why isn't this on the radio? People will eat this up. It screams summer jam. I'm going to have to do some guerilla style introducing of this. This is definitely the most "mainstream" song by far and what's wrong with that? Not a damned thing. I wish I had a car (and a license) so I can blast this driving down Flatbush or something. 5/5

10. Gratis (Pedro versus Prefuse) -- After the track before it, this song is kinda boring. I guess it's the bone thrown to the people who were screaming "sellout!" Solid traditional track. 4/5

11. We Go Our Own Way featuring Kazu (Blonde Redhead) -- Nice slinky boiler. I really thought I'd hate this song because I am not a fan of Blonde Redhead. If track 9 is the summer day jam, this is the nighttime "I'm going to Lit to see what I can drag out of there" anthem (and I mean that generally. I'm too dark for Lit...there isn't a damned thing happening for me in that piece). 5/5

12. Mantra Two featuring Tyondai Braxton -- Beatboxingesque with hardly any backing until the musical version of Sandman's hook at the end. I was also amused when I realized it's the sample (I guess you can say) from Ty vs. Deichibe. And hearing this always makes me want to go listen to that again. 4/5

13. Sabbatical With Options featuring Aesop Rock -- I fucking love Aesop. He always sounds like he just wandered into the studio after barhopping and made something up off the top of his head. The beat is all light and playful and is that the sound of a cash register/bell? Great. 5/5

14. It's Crowded featuring Claudia Deheza -- Another lush song. Totally the soundtrack for a lazy day watching the world go by. What I just realized is that her voice doesn't even kick in until around minute three. This song sounds like a definite throwback to Folk Songs For Trees and Honey. 5/5

15. Just the Thought featuring Masta Killa + GZA -- This song is an utter waste. The beat's kinda cool but there's no real redeeming features. Would've worked better as an instrumental. 1/5

16. La Correccion Exchange featuring D.J. Nobody -- Nice return to form after #15. It's a solid song and I like the beat interplays. 4/5

17. Hideyaface Reprise (Reminder Version) -- I find this song funny because I definitely wouldn't have though the backing beat was so classical. If he gives up the handclapping orchestra idea, he can go conduct the Philharmonic or something. 3/5

18. Morale Crusher featuring Beans -- This song could be so much longer. Beans just throwing out some silly rhymes on top of this ultraplayful beat. It's just a fun little song. 4/5

19. Minutes Away Without You -- This song is just too lumbering. It annoys me. It's like a One Word emo outtake. Not really feeling it at all. 1/5

20. Rain (Edit Interlude) -- Mini pick me up after the blahness of #19. Good and bouncy. 4/5

21. And I'm Gone featuring Prefuse (versus Piano Overlord versus Broadcast versus Cafe Tacuba) -- This song has a lot of ideas crammed into under three minutes. The sound layering/splicing makes it really atmospheric. Perfect closing track. 4/5

Out of a possible 105, it gets an 81. It's a solid album with a few missteps but there's more than enough right with it that I liked it on first listen. Unlike One Word which I was blah about for ages until Extinguished made it all okay. Most Prefuse albums are growers and I don't think this'll be any different, as long as you avoid #7 and #15. Stop hating on a man trying to grow and shit, people...or so he says.

On How It Goes

Jamirakid: everyone's all "la la la love!" this spring
Bill: i'm long overdue for some "la la la love"
Bill: and i mean *long* overdue
Bill: like, if love was a library book
Bill: i'd never step foot in the library again
Bill: they'd probably tackle me down and steal my wallet
Jamirakid: ha
Bill: or something like that

Bill brings the funny, so I'll give him a pass for ASSuming I was M.oh you know fan.

Meep

Dear Someone In Charge,

Just like 5 more hours in the day would be very nice, thanks. Sleep deprived and eyebaggerrific is not a good look for me. I'll regret this tomorrow.

Best, Candice

Then again, if I wasn't aimlessly awake and yet still not doing what I should be at 2:30am, would I have found out that a fave artist of the 2002ish era not only has a new album but mad albums for me to find and play until I get sick of them all sometime next year? Probably not for a good while. Hot damn! Shawn Lee's the bomb, y'all, and now I shall go forth and make my Zen tracks even more disjointed than they already are! Woo!

Nuggets

The "amazed, appalled, and inspired" edition.

On the "doing something about my slacking tip," notes from the Feminism & Hip Hop Conference over at Julianne's. From that post, I discovered the Hip Hop Feminist e-group and got a reason to put back on my critical thinking cap with an anthology seeking some submissions. At the same time, I see Lynne sending a shout out (and challenge) to the Blogher conference in July. Did I forget to send my own cyber shout to Black Feminism.org? Consider that rectified. And now I just need to get my shit together and actually go to a Blogging Sheroes meeting.

I've said many times before that my nabe blog is amazing -- a happy hour with prizes this Thursday (my idea!) should be a blast -- but such interesting community bonding is going on over there. Collectively the readers/posters managed to identify this guy running a scam on Brooklyn people for seemingly years. Check out the whole story here and here.

Apparently sending cops after bratty kids is the way things get done in FL. An especially fucked up incident (don't forget to watch those videos) [via ILE where the discussion was erm, interesting.]

Someone give this bitch a summer internship! We're running a bit low on the entitled asshole quota here in town and I think she'd do wonders for our supply.

First of all, what does an editorial intern coordinator have to do with the production schedule of a magazine? I read SPIN a lot, and have seen this man's name under a few minor album reviews. Nothing that would delay anyone's schedule. I had gotten a lame excuse for his procrastination, and he obviously didn't take my inquiry seriously.

Secondly, being "snippy" and being direct are two very different things. He said he would answer questions, and I took him up on the offer. When he didn't reply, I asked again. I wasn't mean or rude, just to-the-point. If he didn't have time to answer my first question, he wouldn't have time to read any unnecessary formalities. I had a question, and I wanted an answer. That's all.

Good luck on that career, honey. The way things work, she might be cracking an editorial whip before I will though.

Showtime

The Dizzee show was as fun and crazy as I hoped it would be. The place was fucking packed to the gills. The crowd was awfully uniform. It's like an NYU dorm was giving away free tickets or something. DJ Wonder threw down some jungle in the preshow and you could almost see the collective "duh...how do we dance to that?" Dizzee started out in the dark with "Sittin Here" and I smirk-smiled all "isn't he all Mr. Fancypants Performer?!" I couldn't note the setlist as I would've wanted because things were slightly dramatic in the crowd between the folks I was with (The Brit, his brother, the brother's girl, and their friend) and this pack of punks, so much so that the show was halted momentarily for a kid to get carted away by security. He rocked "Jus A Rascal," "Everywhere," "Learn," "Respect Me," "Knock Knock," "Graftin," "Jezebel," "Dream" into "Juicy," and the two encores were "Fix Up, Look Sharp" and "Stand Up Tall." (I keep thinking "Showtime," "Vexed," and "Do It" also but that might be from listening to them to death at home.) The Brit grumbled that the newer stuff was lame because it was too Americanized and I grumbled to myself that I would've given money to have heard "Wot U On" (or did I hear it? I really don't know. I was distracted). The kids surrounding us varied between crazy spazz dancing and standing like stone. Get out the front if you're just gonna stand doing nothing, fuckers. Every single white girl in the front left section was having hormone fits over the hype man. He was no my husband Tyrese or anything, just alright looking in an average black dude on my block sort of way. But they were totally frenzied and I was amused.

I noticed this guy standing a few people over looking at me during the show. And because I'm vain and jaded, my reaction was "so what?" (The quickest way to get on my nerves: tell me I'm good looking. Pretty people are a dime a dozen, son. I could care less that you think so.) He said "hi" right before the encore, but I was too busy jumping up and down (I still have hops from basketball! Go me!) and going nuts to do more than shoot him a "back off" look. He looked like Paul Westerberg (and yes that age also) after he stuck his finger in an electrical socket. I ran into him again downstairs by the exit and he did some sort of awkward conversation asking for my number. Me being me, I was thinking "oh you're a bit of a clown" yet on a whim, gave it anyways. No rhyme or reason. He called this afternoon and that was a funny conversation.

Post-show, the hodgepodge group of me and the crew plus some random British girls they met at the show ran through the rain over to a restaurant basement party a few blocks away. Let me give you the nutshell specificless happenings that had things looking dicey for a while: 1) I have the capacity to be very jealous -- I'm not especially proud of it but hey, I'm no saint. 2) I'll front until the end if left unchecked if I feel it is the best policy for the situation. 3) If I'm pissed off, I'm likely to come out with some sweet-sounding sharp-tongued shit while smiling and fronting all the while. So, I was feeling like a bit of an unhappy camper and feeding the pro-me and The Brit camp (which I find astounding. The whole thing had a cute junior high "circle yes or no if you like him" aspect. I had spies and I didn't even know it!) some disinformation. Still, it was all smoothed over before the night was done. Have you ever gotten a pointed look with so much heat that you thought if you returned it, you'd burst into flames? I did and yeah...good thing I can't really blush.

ETA: Whoo...got my Prefuse at Northsix tix in the mail!

If You Don't Know About Me, Pow!

I can't see me doing another post anytime soon but...

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Stand Up Tall

Still here. Sorta. But if I play "Apache," "Pow," or "Stand Up Tall" one more time, my cat might scratch me to death. Did I mention I'm going to the Dizzee Rascal show Saturday? I'm so fucking cool I can't even stand it.

Yesterday, I was keeping myself occupied by throwing myself into the mix in this thread. This was seriously just about the only panel (the music blogs one too) that had me checking airfare like "I could totally go to Seattle...oh wait, I don't even have $10 to spare. Nevermind." It was running pretty well for a while there, but petered out some time this morning. Such is the nature of ILM mostly and also where would the discussion actually end up going? "They give me funny looks at shows." Check. "I never have problems, you're just being sensitive." Check. "Damn, y'all are just some complaining black bitches women. I don't want to deal with that." Check. "I can like metal/rock/country and Mary J too. Get over it!" Check. "But really what does this mean in regards to white people?" Check.

It's an uneasy position feeling like I should be able to go into a show situation neutral/neutered as a music fan and yet usually end up being the most conspicuous person there. The one thing doesn't look the other screech moment. I hate having to end up feeling self-conscious. If as an a confident and secure person end up feeling like an annoyed bug under a microscope, I can't imagine how someone else might. But isn't that the role of the black feminist in life, the strange visible invisibility? What better to illustrate that but a thread filled with over a hundred posts where a call for extra commentary besides us (really the only time such a call would be made) is a "eh...we'll sit back and watch." I'm considering a revive but I don't know what to say really. Obviously it's a highly personal topic for me -- black, feminist, critical (not a "critic") -- and reminds me of why I liked Afropunk, the movie and now the message boards. In there for once the field is level because with so many different representations of black people no one has to be the HNIC figurehead and finally black can not be the capitalized primary descriptor. The stance is I want to put across is that participation and opinions are needed because otherwise becomes the black people sideshow which unfortunately it seemed like the panel turned into. I don't know how to counteract that though. It's bigger than me. I can admit that.

Anyhoo, the Man Man show last night was fucking excellent. They were amazing -- the songs were filled with this unstoppable energy and they just really rocked. (See...this is why I'm not a critic.) I was most happy because they played a spanking new (to me) multi-instrumental (well more than usual) version of my favorite song. I got new converts in Alex and The Director. Lina was all "this is so weird...but the drummer is a monster." I rocked my old chopped t-shirt and let's just say, it was a little snug. I looked like I was late for my shift at Hooters. They might be real and fabulous, but too much for me yesterday, that's for sure. The funny part for me was running into the bouncer who was trying to kick it to me at one of the shows way back when. He's actually alright...NYU student and seems pretty interesting, but he just strikes me as sorta bland. I'm just a picky bastard unless I'm just gaming for fun. There really is no rhyme or reason.

Suite For The Way Things Change

What a difference the sun and a furry companion make! Believe it or not, I've actually been going around with a smile on my face. And when I'm lounging about my house, I'd rather be making tuna casserole than fucking around on the net...haha, that's a lie. I'm always on the net but I've also been making tuna casserole. Help! I'm turning into a pod person! I'm all mellow and shit. And with one of my fave friends Alex back in town, the mood can only improve. Sorry, folks, you might have to get used to a cheery me. It was bound to happen eventually.

I've been busy mostly. It's review and raise time at the job and I'm trying to have all my shit in order. I'm taking on more responsibilities with the crew, so that'll keep me heavily occupied come summer. Trying to make some goals and stick to them. As always, there's personal changes and I'm trying to rediscover things that make me happy. I was getting sick of myself being so melancholy all the time and I'm actively doing something about it. Farmer and I had falling out #1,598,237 the other week and it might just stay that way because I'm just tired of caring most. The like molasses moving thing with The Brit is just funny and fun because it's so chaste. For the most part, I never meet anyone cool and normal and my age, so I just want this to develop as it does. I'm most amused that it doesn't even really bother me that at this rate probably won't even kiss him until some time in the fall. Of course, I'm not dead, so other prospects are indeed on the table.

In other news: I need to do a total revamp of the links. Some of that stuff is way out of date. My neighborhood blog is the bomb -- and not only because they listened to my suggestion. One of my dear HS friends just got engaged and Ant and I rolled up to the party to drinks some Belve and see how the other half lives. I finally saw a group I've been trying to see since I moved back to NYC. But I missed one of my fave DJ/producers at a party I haven't gotten my shit together to check yet. I was mere blocks away listening to The Brit's brother drop some dope d'n'b. Everyone wants to be my myspace friend...God, people, don't make me log on! I hate that thing! But I did log on long enough to make Man Man my friend and I might even wear my shirt to their first NYC show in a min on Wednesday.

And you know, I'd be even happier if I could find a bike for under $100.

You Never Know

I actually had a long funny post that I slaved over to put up, but my work computer ate it. I guess non-angry/bitter/(insert emotion here) posts don't make the cut. I'm actually in a pretty good mood -- I mean, it's finally spring...yay! I'm sitting S the cat while Ms. Mommy moves and such. We've been rolling around on the floor and having a good time. My everlasting love only temporarily wavered when she woke me up at 4am mewing to let her run around outside my room and ran across my body to get to the window.

Anybody want to hear about my new bath mats? Hmm...no? How about my latest pilgrimage to Western Beef? (Ice cream, tater tots, and Carolina red hots, y'all!) Oh, no to that too? Well, I'll you how my weakness got the better of me and made me lose a house wager...

Ant and I are a bit of an odd pair. He's a super sensitive nice guy with an inner frat boy dying to escape and I'm...me, temperamental with a heart of gold (or ice -- depending on the moment) with a Suzy Homemaker side steadily revealing herself. When we moved in, our love lives were pretty stagnant and the prospects weren't looking good. I suggested that we make a bet that the first person to have a turnaround and christen the house (so to speak) had to buy the loser a 6-pack of our favorite non-beer beer, Woodpecker. Because I've got strange luck, my turnaround was first, but being a crafty bastard -- and the sheer fact that I was living on an air mattress for over a month -- I got out of handing over the pack. I've been on a sabbatical (for a myriad of reasons) and was happily expecting to be a "loser." Ant's actually on an admirable course: a nice guy finding a nice girl and them being super nice together, but hell, it isn't getting me any Woodpecker!

My slip was inevitable really. The doom and gloom mood has passed. The weather's great. Prospects on the table is always a plus. I've been gearing up to kick a lot of fun things into go mode. I created an opportunity and went for it. Trying to be slick to the end, imagine my surprise to find Ant and our temp roomie J wide awake and shooting the shit at 1:30am on a Sunday. Ah well. I "lost" fair and square. I need more situations where the outcome is pretty sweet no matter what.

It's A Living

I've got the disease known as GOSPLAC dementia. It's what happens when you send broke kids from broke families to play with rich kids for most of their school lives and then set them out in the real world where they have to make ends meet.

I've been thinking a lot lately about being dramatic and walking away from my job because I don't feel challenged enough. Though I can (and do) go there wearing whatever t-shirt/sweater and jeans that didn't look too dirty in the morning rush, I can sit and listen to my Zen all day and be as anti-social I want to be, and the pay while not i-banker awesome is considerably better than any shitty publishing job I probably want. At least weekly I tell Jay-V and PrincessNella that I just want to walk out and never look back. And then I come to my senses and urge myself to stop smoking that shit and to just suck it up and deal because there's a lot of people out there who can't even consider something so ridiculous and bourgeois because if they don't work, they don't eat.

And then I kick myself because I'm one of those people too and I've always had the bad habit of forgetting that. What the hell is wrong with me? I've been working since I was 15 and have no savings. I rarely if ever pay more than $70 for sneakers and I haven't bought a new pair since last summer. All my clothes come from Old Navy or H&M. The reason I wear my hair natural is because I really can't afford the money pit of being someone who literally does not know how to do all those super girly things (you know like keeping it from looking like you've been electrocuted and stuff) to their hair. I've got over $40,000 in student loans. I'm still paying off the three credit cards I maxed out and "forgot" about in my early days of school. My share of the rent plus utilities and food is more than half of what I make a month. Rooting out parties I can go to free or damned near isn't just me being a social butterfly or whatever but because I can't afford to go out otherwise. If I quit my job with no net, I'll be ruined within the month. And who's going to bail me out? My parents? Yeah right. They've got money problems of their own. If I don't work, I can't survive.

In a financial sense, it was stupid to even strike out and get the place, but there's a serious part of me that would rather be poor with a place (mostly) of my own than how I was in Queens, relatively flush for a crappy money handler but having to be bound to someone else's location choice and rules. I worry about money a lot -- no nightmares of bankrupcy...yet -- but like Jay-V said to me earlier, it's better than feeling like a kid pretending to be an adult like I did at home. Obviously, I didn't need to go to LA or Miami because I just spent money that could go to bills, but sometimes it's just good for the soul to say "fuck it, it'll be tight for a min afterwards but I work hard, I deserve this!" Sometimes I just get so sick of having to be so on the grind that I have to splurge on a carrot to make life worth living, i.e. the Zen. And that may still be ultra bourgeois of me, but it is what it is.

It's tough being raised knowing that you can't fuck around with your money because there's always someone to pay and at the same time being around people who are so carefree about it. I simultaneously envy and don't understand people like Alex and Farmer (who just took a trip to Cuba on a whim!). They're both flitting around foreign countries all relaxed, hardly even working, ultra blase about coming in and out of the States and I can't even wrap my brain around being free enough here to go abroad. Sometimes I get really bitter and mutter under my breath that if I was a white man I could not give a fuck and do what I want too, but it's more than that. I just feel like my hands are tied and I know it's because the system is set up that way.

Ironically enough, one of the last classes I took at Wes was about this. It's sad and more than a little ironic that they don't teach it anymore.

Rolls and Waves

Now that the hissyfit/spazzing is behind me (savor that while you can, I think I plan to be making some snips here and there...self-censorship rules!), back to the blahs...

I've resigned myself to finally getting around to fully unpacking from the trip circa umm...June. Why unpack for real when it's so much more fun to do it leisurely, checking out everything I pull from the bag while dancing around to "Let's Get Blown" and "Fuck Me On The Dancefloor?" Meanwhile, anyone want a stupid tall collection of electronic music mags and a pair of Technics dogtags? I've already promised the CDs after I rip and load the songs I want. The current MusicMatch playlist is reminding me how much "Wait" still makes me want to pop a blood vessel. The "clean" version was inescapable in South Beach and I would grit my teeth thinking, "yeah right...you may insert all the bleeps and/or moans you want, but it's still the street rapist anthem of 2005!"

*ahem*

The rain threw a considerate shade over the weekend fun. Also a nice thing called utter poverty. The byproduct of paying rent upon arrival on an off week. Ah well. I got a million emails about this AMAZING PARTY deep in the heart of DUMBO and I was considering using the money that I should spend on sensible things like food in order to go when I got a phone call. It was a friend of The DJ who I guess I'm friends with now kinda by default like all the rest. This one and I had hung a few times down in Miami but I always assume everyone is flightly like me and forgets things like that once some time has passed. We chatted for a min and I said I'd definitely go. I got most of the way and said "fuck this, it's cold and my bubble vest just isn't cutting it!" so I went home. The next night, he called again to let me know about my fave friend of a friend band doing a show. I demurred because of the shit weather, but true to contrary form, I went.

What kind of fucking rock club doesn't even have a real bar? No, I don't want beer or wine. I'd like a whiskey and ginger, dammit! I drank red wine bitterly and ended up sharing a look with this chick. I vaguely thought she looked familiar, but then I thought it might just be the universal law of brown acknowledgement at work and went about my way. I sat down on a stool and looked up to see The DJ standing above me. Joy.

Now as typically when I run into him around town, it'd kinda slipped my mind that the possibility was there. But really, what should I expect going to a show of people I met through him? Ah well. In the week and a half since I saw him last, the longtime cooling ardor is hovering around subzero. He was a little peppy (drunk? high? all of the above?) while I was fighting back a "oh it's you" and a yawn. The tables do turn eventually. He was downright chirping and I was grunting monosyllabically and playing with texts as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. That girl came over and sat next to him and I finally placed her: she was this cock-blocking girl I'd almost had a Wild West standoff with at a spinning night of his that I believe it or not did not blog. Miracles do happen sometimes! I remember her having the patience of a saint and me knowing damned well that I really wasn't into him enough to pull a power play. With her there, I didn't feel so bad about ghosting him and eventually just walking away. I just didn't care enough.

And you thought I was kidding about the slash and burn? I've barely warmed up.

Nuggets

The "I really can talk about stuff other than myself, I swear" edition.

Here in Prospect Heights, the true definition of a worthless sellout: Shaya Boymelgreen.

"Democrats buy cars," he said. "Republicans buy trucks."

Last week's Voice music section: Reggaeton article with special music linkage: muy caliente! Club article on the WMC that gives you the impression that the entire week was nothing more than Williamsburg on the Biscayne: fucking dud.

More manana.

I Got No Time For Rearviews

It's that time of the year/quarter/month for the ultra serious, disclaimerrific type post. I'm sure it'll be of little interest to most.

I too often forget I'm not in a vacuum. I don't want to accept that it's not May '03 and no one that I haven't know forever/have never seen is reading this. I forget that everything I write has to be stripped of any resemblance/reference to people I actually interact with. (I can remember that in case of the job because it's as simple as I can't afford to be fired and I'm not trying to be assed out like that.) I let this place get a little ungauzy and then get all paranoid/annoyed checking out the traffic/activity log. Then comes the further stripping of meaning until I chafe and say "fuck it, it's mine! I'll write what I want!" More scrutiny and paranoia. Rinse and repeat.

I seriously don't get what strangers are interested in. The misadventures of an early 20something, foul-mouthed, narcissistic, self-important, self-deprecating, undermining, usually unhappy underachiever powered by booze, money, music, and NYC. (Actually, fuck that, I'd read that shit too!) I mean, it's me but it's not me at the same time. Words on a screen may be less than the sum of the parts -- or greater if a snapshot of the wrong time got thrown up there. I'm not completely mental because this is the wide open internet and all, but I do scratch my head looking at the super specific activity log results and wonder what the hell someone(s) are looking for. Is it sheer nosiness? Vanity searches perhaps? Here's the scoop: I fucked them all. Any further questions?

Writing like I do leaves me open to getting my feelings hurt a lot. I obviously take myself rather seriously (sometimes), so I was semi-traumatized by the outing because it's not like this is so high-profile that it gives me some sort of pleasure to be known as "that blog girl." I've killed a few budding things -- mostly inadvertantly, rarely passive-aggressively -- because they read something vaguely referencing them and it made them angry. I'm also not so far up my own ass that I can't tell when I'm being downright like a bull in the china shop but sometimes I just roll with it. Those situations in general make me sad, but I think somewhere deep down I knew this outlet/ego feeder would last longer for me than they did passing through. I think I've gotten a lot better at protecting identities but that's always up for interpretation.

As Bill and I were discussing the other day, bloggers are fucked up. We think we're all so important because strangers are constantly checking to see what new thing we have to say. I know a shrink would make a pretty penny just off my surface neuroses. Then again, everyone's fucked up. I think I dealt with more crazies pre-blog because at least now they know beforehand if they can deal with another drama queen in the relationship. The blame goes both ways usually, but I'm good for the "you read this, so you think you know me? Let me show you how you don't!" Luckily, this is totally a useful tool because I can crossreference dumbass mistakes I've made with a few keystrokes.

I'd say about 75% of the life passes through here but there's plenty of stuff that will never ever be referenced. It would probably explain a lot of the downright bipolar postings if I did, but that's neither here nor there. It is what is though and so am I, I suppose. But, this current incarnation of the blog is fucking weird and I think I'll be tinkering.

Mixed Bag

Since I got back from Miami, the drawl has been more pronounced.

"Drawl? WTF?" you say. "Aren't you like from Brooklyn, girl? Stop tripping!"

Yeah, I said drawl. When you're spending 2-3 months out the year traipsing in Carolina backwoods between 4 and 20, the byproduct is a bit of a drawl, aight? My speaking voice has always been a hodgepodge of random shit I've picked up along the way. I love to mimic. Right now, everyone's a "nutter" in Elisa's Londoner lilt or "mothafucka," all deep fried style. I may be vaguely Southern, but I'll never be genteel.

I'm jumping all about this week because I'm trying to reconcile the energy I had out of town with the in town responsiblities and happenings. I'm searching and destroying for spring -- getting rid of shit that just doesn't fit into my plans/mindframe, clearing some space, taking no prisoners. I'm a little prickly at the moment, but when am I not really? It's all about the transitions. Bear with me.

CPT

I haven't been able to sustain a real interest in anyone for 2.5 years. I've always been too guarded and disassociated to really feel someone. The downside of that is by being a challenge (on purpose or otherwise), you attract a certain sort of dud. That ego-inflated, self-important blowhard forever trying to impress that always likes you more than you do them yet can't wait to tear you down. Shady, The Continental, Pseudo, The Scenester, the list goes on and on...it's not a New York specific type but they've been running back and forth through my return to the city life and they've left me weary. I was telling PrincessNella earlier how I fell out of fake like over the course of a conversation. Shit happens. Usually since everyone involved is an archetype, in those instances I've adapted the role of the jaded bitch. I'm tired of it all. Really, life is too short to always play.

Despite that, I've been gobsmacked by The Brit. Being in Miami was just a different sort of me and I met him when I had my armor off and my mind open. He left and I let some time pass, but fuck the rules, so I called when I wanted to. And he was right there with me. Ant and PrincessNella marvelled at me doing my little happy jumps across the living room and the strange squees I let escape. I ran the gambit from excitement and anticipation to fear and back and set off to meet.

But, we just couldn't connect. I met up with Faiks and had some fun doing my little dance to some drum n' bass. Then I was off to Sapph for the first time in a good while and shot the shit with my boys. I wished Petur McFizzie, former partner in crime, Cali dwelling but not forgotten, a wonderfully happy birthday. And then I took a plunge and went to where The Brit said he'd be, spending money I'd tucked away to get me through the long week between rent due and getting paid for a party that just wasn't popping.

"You're crazy late, girl," said his brother who I ran into just as I became frustrated.
"You're too late. I'm on my way home," said the boy himself when I got him on the phone.
"You're sorta late," said the brother's girl who I've known for more than a minute.
"Am I really? It's not that late. I really did try but the night's been hectic," I replied exasperated. Shit.

Tomorrow is another day and I actually care enough to follow through. Another crash and burn? Perhaps. A girl can't take the failures too seriously. It's better to have tried and failed than to have never tried at all. Or something.