cygnoir.net

cygnoir.net

hot ghetto booty

chad just emailed me: the free screening this week is “o brother, where art thou?” and i’m psyched. we go to most of the free screenings on principle, but it’s a treat when i actually want to see the movie. and then right afterwards will be the next session of the lorin campaign. it will be a good saturday, yes it will.

i’m not sure whether to be annoyed at or curious about this msnbc article. maybe i’m curiously annoyed. annoyedly curious? if it’s a hoax, it will confirm my worst fear about the human race: we have chosen style over content.

speaking of style over content, i really think that “entertainment tonight” should know better than to wave a microphone in front of jennifer lopez’s gaping maw. no good can come of that. show us the “hot ghetto booty” (in the words of another livejournaler) and leave the talking to someone who actually grasps things such as, let’s say, wit or tact. although i’d settle for diction …

but see, i can turn the television off and be glad for my life. i have two, count them, two lunches this week with new friends. both girls! and yeah, i do know how to talk to women. i’m just not very comfortable with it, regardless of how it seems. there’s some weird insecurity still in play, leftover from hanging around my mom, who is simply one of the funniest people alive. everyone adores my mom, with the possible exception of my dad, of course. i think i still compare myself to my mom when talking with other women; i want to be that charming, that interesting, and when i start feeling like i am, i usually second-guess myself. (this whole train of thought contains the subtext: “god, i’m whining in my journal again. how pathetic. if only i had a hot ghetto booty to make up for my complete lack of self-respect.”)

i emailed someone several days ago, and said hello again. we were friends for years and then abruptly weren’t, and i missed her. feeling rather cheerfully morbid these days as i am, i decided “no time like the present” and a truckload of other lame clichés and just dropped a short note to her. i was happily surprised to receive a response, a warm one, and those lines of communication are opening gently, gradually, like … no. i can’t even bring myself to throw another trite phrase at you. (like a summer rose! there. i gave in. now check out my hot ghetto booty!)

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.

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