June 29, 2005

Poetry time again!

This is a first draft. I wrote it after seeing myself in the mirror and noticing that losing weight made my skin sorta crepe-y in places, like an old person's. Sorta made me feel old. So this is sort of about being surprised at the contrast between who you feel you really are and who you realise you've become. If you like introspective amateur blogger poetry, you might like this. If you don't, you're boned.


My skin has the looseness
of someone who's aging
more quickly than I am
I don't think this is me

I'm still in my bedroom
the afternoon stares in
takes snapshots of castles
built all out of cardboard

I still have my mouse doll
I still have my bear books
I think I'm a princess
I think no one lives here.

The thing in the mirror
it works and it pays bills
it swears at co-workers
and laughs when they swear back

a mouth made of paper
a digital crab claw
to measure the world up
and dress it in numbers.

I'm not sure who this is.
Logic says this is me.
I'm skeptical of it
cos I know where I am

I'm upstairs in my room
reading Astrid Lindgren
it's summer, there's no school
quite possibly, I have
all the time in the world.


I may do some other things to it; I'm not sure there's enough alliteration and other devices to keep the syllables from clanging together. On the other hand, it pretty much says what I wanted, so I may keep it that way. And yes, it has 29 lines on purpose. Being that I just turned 29. And that it's the 29th and all. [And yes, each line has 6 syllables; I just picked 6 cos it went with the first two lines. I didn't plan for it to match the month, but it IS a neat coincidence.]



Posted by Frida Peeple at 11:35 AM

June 26, 2005

A Leap Year of Entries

Cos, y'know, this is #366.

If you don't want to read about my personal bullshit, gripes, highly subjective record reviews et al, scroll down to the next entry. [I'd stick it behind a cut, but the cuts don't seem to be working...]

I--Go away. Go directly away. Do not pass water, do not collect 200 dullards.

This guy I used to know long long ago on Yahoo Messenger, who annoyed the shit out of me when I knew him, recently IM'd me again. I'd been on his list the whole time, and he'd just never caught me online, or he forgot why we stopped talking, or whatever. [If he does this with everybody, I really do not want to see what his list looks like. Fucking everybody who's ever had a Yahoo account must be on there.]

Well, after talking to him for about ten minutes, it became apparent why I removed him from my list. Like I said, he annoys the shit out of me, notwithstanding the additional annoyance of getting an IM from anybody who expects me to remember them when I've never seen them in person and haven't IM'd with them in months or years. So I asked him to take me off his list because I wasn't interested. He's not a bad person or anything. It's just that not every personality will mesh well with every other personality, and there will be cases where you totally don't get them, and they totally don't get you, and trying to communicate just ends up being frustrating and annoying.

Now, you would think that when two people totally don't get each other, there would be some kind of mutual agreement not to talk to each other anymore. That doesn't always seem to happen with me. Every so often I run across somebody like this dude, who, no matter how bad you disagree with them and no matter how much you fight with each other, the fucker STILL WANTS TO TALK TO YOU, as though your life was just too damn peaceful and needed some extra arguments to liven it up.

So I get a chain IM from this person, something along the lines of "If we were locked in a house together for the rest of our lives and couldn't get out, would you have sex with me? Send this to everybody on your list, you'll be [amused, amazed, something] at the responses you get!"

1. Chain letters are for clownfucking pud-warts. Chain letters involving absurd and highly unlikely hypothetical situations are even worse.

2. Do not ever ask me if I will have sex with you. If you do, I will carefully open a dictionary to the entry for "celibate," push your head into it, and slam it shut with my foot. The only exception I would make would be if somebody I had known for a long time, and with whom I was considering having a serious romantic relationship with, asked me. And then I'd only say yes after I explained to the person what this entailed, and he or she agreed to it. [No, you pervazoids, I'm not an S&M freak; I just have medical issues that make it uncomfortable and inconvenient.]

I let him know that I was not happy with this, and reminded him that I'd already asked him to leave me alone. I got a response saying I was a fucked-up person and that a pacifist like him wouldn't have responded like that, blah blah blah. I think the concept that Mr. Pacifist here is having trouble with is that peace only works if people are willing to respect each other's needs and wishes, and that includes leaving somebody the flying fuck alone if they've asked you to. Oh, and he also interpreted my request to leave him alone, and my assertion that chain letters sucked, as a statement that I thought everything was about me. Now, I could see it if it happened at work, and he was a co-worker, and I HAD to talk to him--asking him to never talk to me again would be unreasonable and counterproductive to work, and that would be selfish. But this is the Internet. There's no reason why he can't just take my name off his list and exclude me from his junior-high-school slambook bullshit; and I don't have the first idea under the sun why he would even leave me on his list when I've made it phenomenally clear that I don't fucking wanna talk to him!

So I put him on ignore. Problem solved, except my lingering annoyance.

If you've gotten this far and are wondering why I'm so angry about this, here's why. This bastard jumped up and down on a whole bunch of my buttons at once: the casual sexual proposition button, the chain letter button, the "I asked you politely to leave me alone and you didn't listen to me" button, the "if we don't get along, why the hell am I still on your list" button...I think I've identified what bothers me about him. The dude flunked Personal Boundaries 101. He also apparently thinks that if he likes something, everybody else has to like it too, and asking not to be included is inexcusably rude and selfish and merits a dressing-down.

You know what's inexcusably rude and selfish? When somebody has made it repeatedly clear that they don't fucking want to talk to you, and you WON'T LEAVE THEM ALONE. Taken to further extremes, it's called stalking. The degree to which this dude took it, it just falls into the category of clueless dickery. Doing in person what he did online probably would have eventually resulted in my either pulling a weapon or getting a restraining order. Some people just don't understand anything else. [Some of them don't understand that, either, and that's why natural selection through vigourous self-defense can be a wonderful thing.]

I've had to put a lot of people on ignore on Yahoo because some part of the phrase "leave me alone" eluded them. This was just the straw that broke the camel's back.

II--On Viruses.

That, and I think I have a summer cold. It wouldn't be so bad if my usual remedies for colds didn't involve things like hot herbal tea and other stuff that's more suited to wintertime than to 80° and muggy, with half-assed air conditioning.

III--And Now For Something Completely Pretentious.

So I was reading Ovid's Metamorphoses [no, really!] and the thing that kept popping into my head was this: Apparently in ancient Greece, the only way to keep from getting raped was to take an oath of chastity and carry weapons. If that didn't work, you could try asking the gods to save you, and you might get turned into a tree or a river or something. Ancient Greece sounds like it was a lovely place in a lot of ways, but I'm still grateful for the feminist movement and for maximum-security prisons.

The translation I read was by Mary M. Innes and was published by Penguin. If you can find this translation of Metamorphoses, and you have any interest in Greek and Roman myth, by all means, pick it up. [I haven't read any other translations; I'm sure there are several others out there that are quite worthwhile. This happened to be the one I had, and I was very happy with it.]

IV--All My 5 R Not Really Sure About This.

Couple of album reviews.

Friday I picked up Billy Corgan's TheFutureEmbrace and the Offspring's greatest hits record. I was planning to get the first one anyway, and the second one was the result, I think, of Lexapro-induced impulse-control impairment. Also, I hate going into Best Buy and just buying one CD. I don't mind doing it at music stores, but not Best Buy, because of all the different kinds of stuff they have there. I keep looking around and saying, "There's so much shit here, there has to be SOMETHING else I want!" and then giving up and going to the checkout with my one CD and feeling like kind of a tool. Also, it saved me having to get several Offspring CD's when I like them just about enough to listen to a greatest hits, but not quite enough to listen to every song they've ever made.

So the Offspring CD was predictably good and crunchy. I'd been planning to learn a couple songs; as badly overplayed as it is, I can't hear enough of "Come Out And Play" and want to do a cover of it in the unlikely event that I ever get a band. I listened to it again and found out that I'd heard the one guitar riff wrong on the radio, so it's a good thing I got the CD and could hear how it really sounded. There's a new track on there that isn't bad, but isn't really sparkly. The rest of it was, well, Offspring. If you like Offspring, you'd like this, unless you have all their stuff already, in which case you can burn your own greatest hits CD and throw on some other stuff you like that doesn't get any airplay.

Corgan...hm. As good as I'd hoped? No. As bad as I'd feared? No. I don't agree with Rolling Stone's assertion that the electronica on the record was overdone; it reminds me of some of the soundtrack work he's done and some of the tracks from Adore. What's on TFE, though, is a tad more reminiscent of older Depeche Mode. Since this is one of the areas in which Corgan shines, that's not a problem.

What I had trouble with is that you have well-composed music, good lyrics, and an experienced singer, but somehow the way it fits together is sort of...not quite there. Part of it could be in the way it's mixed, in that the vocals somehow sound too emphasized and too buried in the mix at the same time; part of it also could be my equipment, since I have older speakers and one of those aggravating "automatic" equalizers that has only 3 settings and doesn't let you control each frequency individually. Also, I was in another room for most of it. The point is, he's never been famous for his crystal-clear diction, and this was no exception; it was a tad like listening to a male version of Tori Amos's to venus and back. [I've noticed too, when I sing, I sometimes pronounce things differently. I wonder if it's a habit that singers get into, that just gets more pronounced over time with some of them.] If I'd had the lyric booklet in the room with me, I'd have followed along; but I was puttering in the studio, putting away collage stuff I'd bought, preparing things for assemblage, putzing around with possible still life subjects, so my hands and eyes were occupied. The other, admittedly subjective, impression that I got was that the timbre of his voice might've gone better with a different type of arrangement, or that covers of these songs, with the same arrangement, might do very well.

Now that I have the criticism out of the way, the praise. Maybe it's just the Plath fan in me, but I have a thing for lyrics that reach a little farther for metaphors, and he doesn't disappoint in that department. He's also the only person whom I've ever heard sing "I'm ready...ready for love" while giving you the impression that it's platonic love he's talking about. I can dig that, for obvious reasons. I was very surprised with what was done to "To Love Somebody." When I heard the first couple lines, I thought, "Oh shit! It's that horrible Bee Gees song that Michael Bolton made even worse!" Then I actually listened to it. The arrangement is completely different, of course, and he totally threw out the chord progression in the chorus and replaced it with a minor chord progression. This actually fits the song better and gives it more emotional impact. It's possible that the arrangements made a good impression on me because I don't spend a huge amount of time listening to New Wave and proto-industrial, so for all I know, they could be insufferably derivative to fans who cut their teeth on New Order and Depeche Mode. It didn't sound that way, though; and if you've listened to any of Corgan's other work, his use of electronic media is pretty hard to mistake for somebody else, even when you can hear other influences in it.

The art direction is stunning. If you hear part of this record, like it, and can't decide between a download/burn or the factory version, get the factory. [I'm assuming here that a download is available; I haven't checked.] There are a number of photos, and what they show is the body of a person who's hidden under long sleeves for as far back as this fan has ever seen pictures, and is baring himself in a way that seems less gratuitous or titillating than just...I don't know. Asking for acceptance? Making the statement that acceptance isn't necessary or desired? Saying, "Dammit, I have this big frickin' birthmark, and here it is, and here I am, for whatever it's worth"? I'm guessing it's some or all of that; whatever it is, it's powerful.

So. Mixed feelings, but I have a feeling it will grow on me, especially if I play it in the PC instead of the Aiwa, and take the time to read along as it plays and pay closer attention to how the lyrics and the music go together. [Also, I have a soft spot for former celebrity crushes... ;) ]

One other thing I have to mention in this section is the Guero factor. I wrote in an earlier post, prior to listening to that album, that I was afraid Beck was in danger of losing his edge based on the lyrics I'd read. I needn't have feared. Guero has turned out to be one of my ~Favourite Albums~, one of those that gets played the same way I wore out SP's Mellon Collie [actually, I pretty much wore out all my Pumpkins cassettes, and was glad to get CD's of them once I got a working CD player], The Wall, Garbage, Waits' Bone Machine, Talking Heads' Remain In Light, the Police's Synchronicity, Genesis' A Trick Of The Tail, Tori's Pele [I've pretty much worn out all my Tori CD's too], and Hole's Live Through This. It's just one of those records that for about the first 3-6 months after you've bought it, you really don't want to listen to anything else; and you start forcing yourself to listen to something else just so you don't get sick of your new favourite record.

Point being, since I took my sweet time getting to it, is that I think Guero sort of ruined everything else for 2005. I'll come back to some of this stuff, like Corgan and Arcade Fire, in a couple months when Beck isn't bouncing around in my head going "fax machine anthems/get your damn hands up" and stuff.

V--Holy Shit, This Was A Long Post.

And that concludes today's excessively long solo blathering session. To all fellow bloggers and readers out there, I have only a few more words for you:

Pinking shears; indemnify; apoplexy; and succulent.

Thank you and good night.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 01:51 PM

June 25, 2005

The Day My Butt Went Psycho

[This is actually the title of a children's book, but it has such a nice ring to it, and it's so apropos.]

I'm not going to go into a lot of detail here. I just wanna say that I'm pretty pissed that I wasted 20 miles' [round trip] worth of $2.26/gallon gasoline to drive to swim class, only to get there and discover that during the drive, I had unexpectedly developed...how do I say this politely? Um...gastrointestinal problems that made being in a crowded swimming pool seem like a very bad idea. I would have gone to the store and gotten something for it, but by the time it would have started working, it would've been time to get out of the pool anyway.

The speed limit between here and the pool I go to is 55, and I almost always stay between 55 and 60. I didn't go under 60 the whole way. I saw it as a choice between risking an accident and having one for sure. I was fully prepared, if pulled over, to tell the cop exactly why I was speeding, and hope that his mercy exceeded the deficit in his ticket quota. Didn't happen, though, and I was glad, because it saved me the problem of having to decide whether or not to deliberately crap myself to get out of a speeding ticket. [I might have actually done it, too, which would have said something about me that I'm probably better off not knowing.]

So that sorta shoots down my alternate plan of an early-morning walk, unless I want a very short, stiff-legged, sphincter-clenched walk. As my taste in walks leans more toward the leisurely, arm-swinging, sphincter-relaxed variety, I think I'll give it a miss. Instead, it looks more like a day for laundry, household chores, and repotting the Hawaiian ti plant I bought yesterday. I still don't know where the hell I'm going to put it. It needs a stand. Hmmm. I'm thinking I'll stick it next to Phil [the philodendron, which is erupting with leaves all over the place], since he's doing so well in that spot and they take about the same kind of light. That'll mean another plant stand. Time to hit the yard sales.

The other thing that cheesed me about it was that last Saturday, I had to get out of the pool early because [I think] I'd gotten a bunch of water in my ears and got very dizzy and nauseous. Also, I'd forgotten to take my Atenolol, and I didn't think it was a good idea to make my heart work that hard for that long without the drug when my body's used to having it. I was hoping to try out my silicone earplugs in the pool today, especially since next Saturday is July 4th weekend and the pool will be closed. So I won't get another chance for two weeks. But there was no way I was getting in the pool like that.

Dammit dammit dammit. >:-P

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 08:35 AM

June 23, 2005


Today is my last birthday. I am 29, and I'm staying there until I'm at least 50. [Then I might have another birthday and be 35 or something.]

Nah, just kidding; there's really no point in lying about your age unless you really look as young as you say you are. Otherwise you just look like somebody who's aged beyond their years, and that's just sorta vaguely pathetic.

I am going out to breakfast with the folks in a couple hours. I'd be there now, but neither of them are really awake at 7...

It's also a darn-near full moon, which means...well, it's not gonna mean shit unless I can get the living room clean enough to cast a circle. But I should do something, if only a nod to the gods and a happy witchy Litha dance or something.

So Billy Corgan, one of my favourite personalities, and yours as well, I'm sure, has a new album out; Rolling Stone didn't sound overjoyed about it, not that I agree with them all the time, but I haven't read any other reviews. But I think I'm gonna get it anyway, just because I like how he writes--when it's good, it's VERY good, and when it's not, it still beats the mortal piss out of most of what's on the radio. Also, I need something to keep my Phil Collins CD's and my Cranberries CD from getting into fights all the time. It's getting out of hand.

What mystifies me is that he's all excited about the whole solo thing, says in an RS piece that he really doesn't want to play Pumpkins songs anymore unless it's actually with the band--the overall tone was that that chapter was over and done with, time to move on. Then the day the album comes out, I read that he wants a reunion.

Um. So...which is it?

Anyway, if this is accurate, I hope James and D'Arcy are broke, because that looks like the only way it's going to happen. Some of the things that have been said about them may or may not be accurate--gods know, I don't know any of these people personally--but I fear he may learn the hard way exactly how fast your bridges can go up in flames after you hit "Save Entry." [Not that I know anything about this from experience or anything...]

And apparently he knows this, judging by this article, which makes it sound like the answer to "which is it" is sorta both and sorta neither. ~shrug~

So, like anybody cared what I just said, but it's my damn blog. The point is, there may or may not be a Pumpkins reunion, and either way, I'm seriously thinking of picking up his album with part of my birthday money. [The rest of it will go toward watercolour paper, since I'm almost out and Dick Blick still has a sale on. The 300-lb. stuff gets damn expensive.]

And, because I couldn't resist a gratuitous Beck reference...

Andele joto, your popsicle's melting!

The 25-foot-tall, 17 1/2-ton treat of frozen Snapple juice melted faster than expected Tuesday, flooding Union Square in downtown Manhattan with kiwi-strawberry-flavored fluid that sent pedestrians scurrying for higher ground.

[What I want to know is why the hell they bothered flavouring it--was somebody actually going to go up and lick it?]

Also, are they STILL fighting about this fucking thing? Good gravy.

So that about does that.

same bitch channel...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 08:38 AM

June 21, 2005

note to all QuickTime fuckers.

Until somebody can direct me to a download of a version of QuickTime that works with Windows 98SE, I don't want to see any more QuickTime clips on your site. Anybody's site. I CAN'T FUCKING VIEW IT, SO IT IS WORTHLESS TO ME. And when I go to the QuickTime site, all they're flapping their gums about is their goddamn QT7, which will apparently soon be available for Windows 2000 and XP, both of which I will refrain from using as long as possible because they both suck even bigger tittie than 98SE. In the meantime, it's available for the new Mac OS, because we all have thousands of dollars that we can just pull out of our anuses at will, to slap on the counter for a new fucking system and OS every twenty minutes [plus the software to go with it, since your current software won't work with the new OS and you have to replace everything].

I suppose this is my punishment for still using Windows. Or for being too poor to buy a new computer every 3 fucking months. [Being poor in America is a sin, you know! Naughty, naughty!] At least throw us inferior old-OS people a damn bone, and offer your grotty old clips in RealPlayer or something in addition to QT, so we can see the godsforsaken things.

I'd feel better about all of this if any...ANY...part of my digestive system would just work halfway normal. Apparently that's too much to ask anymore. [Actually, if my nervous system would work halfway normal, most of the rest of it would take care of itself...~shrug~]


Posted by Frida Peeple at 10:10 AM

Tuesday News.

I can't help it. Ananova just has the best wacky news...

~One bad thing about being the Dalai Lama: You can't swat skeeters. Um, I'd convert. Or get some sandalwood-scented DEET or something.

~One good thing about being the Dalai Lama: You can sneak chocolate chip cookies.

~You know, those paper cuts are murder.

~"Your royal iPod, Your Highness." So what's on her iPod? Queen? [It could be worse; can you imagine being a musician in the royal orchestra and being put on "repeat"?]

~You know, it's just like some guys--buy what you want as a present for somebody else.

~I'll let you come up with your own jokes for this one. I see at least two directions it can go in.

~Want a little flavour on your saviour? Jesus Christ now comes in sour cream & onion!

~Well, why in the hell not?

~Now this is just unconscionable. Have we NO respect for the Geneva Convention whatsoever?

~Um. At 2 strokes/second, I think there's a very thin line between "as long as a woman wants" and "internal blisters." Call it a hunch, but that may be one of the reasons this dude's having trouble finding a tester.

~Now, why he's having a hard time, I don't know, because apparently handing out panties to good samaritans is the big thing in Serbia.

~Man attacks cops with bananas. Why does this shit always seem to happen in Romania?

~And why does the rest of the shit always seem to happen in Serbia?

~Is that a mass of wriggling snakes trying to escape your pants, or are you just happy to see me?

~This just rules. I want the guitar. [I wonder if the duffel bag comes with a giant jock strap inside.]

~And I want this song.

~We HAVE to start doing this here. And it should be televised.

~This would be a good idea if only because it would solve the mystery of how Batman goes to the bathroom when he has that suit on. And in case you're wondering, yes, I would pay to see Christian Bale in a rubber bat suit doing the horizontal tango with, say, Salma Hayek. [But not in a crowded theater. Icky.]

~It's a damn good thing chickens can't read. Can you imagine being a chicken and walking around with a jacket advertising KFC? What the hell is that? Wouldn't that be like going around with an "Ed Gein's BBQ Shack" T-shirt on?

And finally...

~Six minutes of intense exercise does you as much good as six hours. Hm. What's the address of that Serbian dude with the machine again?


This is the site with the chicken clothing. They have a gallery page, of sorts. As deeply and irremediably stupid as chickens are, I feel sorry for them if this is their future.

This is Frida Peeple, with News That Makes You Wish You'd Finished Eating First™. Now where's my tofu cookbook?

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 08:39 AM

June 20, 2005

Sunday Brunch

I'm doing the Brunch here instead of over at LJ, because there's something I need to demonstrate with an uploaded image.

The Brunch's theme this week is organisation.

This is my computer desk.

Lovely, ain't it?

Note the small 3-drawered bin which, at the time of the photo, was the extent of my desk organisation. [I've since added a little shelf thingy. I also have a bigger pencil cup.] Also note the black candles which I never put away after making them, hanging over the cubbyhole door on the right-hand side; the copy of Guero with the front booklet out, lying on the keyboard tray; the Witches' Datebook propped open above the keyboard; the watercolour board [with the plastic cup and the gel pens on it] that I set up on boxes so I could chat and paint at the same time; the head of my guitar, which usually ends up somewhere in that area; all the crap piled on top of the scanner, to the right...and yes, those are the AD&D 2d Edition Players Handbook and Dungeon Master's Guide on the printer shelf.

With that image in mind, let's begin.

1) Are you an organized person?
What do you think?

2) What is one thing about your home that has to be just so or it drives you crazy when it comes to organization?
It used to be CD's, but now only to the extent that I like to have them alphabetized so I can find them. I used to have a thing about putting them away when I was done with them, but I don't anymore. I usually only put them away when there's company or when I get a new one and need to allow a space for it. That, and I like having my silverware in the right section of the drawer. Forks in the spoon section irk me for some reason. The only other thing I'm still anal about that comes immediately to mind has nothing to do with home organisation, and that's my habit of laying puzzle pieces out on slabs of cardboard so I can see what I'm doing. [My mom, who is a Virgo and who has to make lists and outlines and labeled bins for everything in the world, finds this insufferably anal; when she does a puzzle, it all goes in a big pile in the middle of the table. This makes me want to scream.]

3) Do you have one little nuance about your organization that most people consider to be a little over the top? What is it?
There are no nuances to my organisation. If I throw it on the floor, I can find it. If I put it away somewhere, it's gone for good. That's about it. I suppose some people would consider that to be over the top. I'm sure my landlord does. Of course, he owns the building, so the onus for the fact that there's not enough floor rests with him.

4) What is your favorite organizational tool? (bins, closet organizers, etcetera)
Whatever works. Often the floor.

5) Where is your favorite place to buy organizational needs?
Wherever it's cheap.


Went to see Batman Begins yesterday. If you like Batman, you'll like this. If you never did, you probably won't now either. If you used to like Batman, but the last two movies made you want to stick all your issues of Detective Comics in a pile and throw a Zippo on top, this should change your mind. It's not a happy movie, but then, the story of Batman is not a happy story. As the little tykes say, "All my 5 R own this!" It has Christian Bale and Liam Neeson, who is everywhere these days. I was eminently relieved that they didn't cast whats-his-nuts from the last two movies, and mildly sad that Keaton is too old for the role now.

I'm going to go take a shower.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 05:28 AM

June 15, 2005

Ooooh! You said the D-word!

Chinese Target Web's 'Prohibited Language'

SHANGHAI, China - Chinese bloggers, even on foreign-sponsored sites, had better choose their words carefully — the censors are watching.

Users of the MSN Spaces section of Microsoft Corp.'s new China-based Web portal get a scolding message each time they input words deemed taboo by the communist authorities — such as democracy, freedom and human rights.

Ooh, the D-word, the F-word, AND the H-word. This IS serious. Can't have that, nosiree.

"Prohibited language in text, please delete," the message says.

However, the restrictions appear to apply only to the subject line of such entries. Writing them into the text, with a more innocuous subject heading, seems to be no problem.

So you can title your entry "Cheese Mining in Kandahar" and then go on to decry the government and demand an end to oppression. Very effective.

Microsoft's Chinese staff could not be reached immediately for comment. [I'll bet.] However, a spokesman at the tech giant's headquarters in Seattle acknowledged that the company is cooperating with the Chinese government to censor its Chinese-language Web portal.

So not only does Gates outsource all their tech support overseas, he also cooperates in the [admittedly semi-effective] oppression of other humans. How lovely. I wonder how many of his famous charity donations he has to make to wipe that off his mind and sleep at night.

Ha ha ha. I jest. Years of monopolising the software industry and crapping out mediocre, poorly tested operating systems doubtless caused his ethics to shrivel up and die long ago. If he has trouble sleeping at night, it's more likely to be because his fully computerized house is heating his blanket to the wrong temperature or not scrubbing the air thoroughly enough or something.

And as for China...good gravy, what can be said about China that hasn't been said already? North Korea's scared shitless of them, and we probably should be too. Instead, we're sending our manufacturing business to them and giving them the capital they need for nuclear proliferation. Great minds at work there.

At this point, I'm not even gonna worry about Congress pushing my retirement age back to 69, because by then, I'll be either dead or a radiation mutant.

And a cheerful Wednesday to you too.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 07:57 AM

June 14, 2005

Delusional spam filters

To anybody who has sent anything to my pop3 [Frontiernet] address lately:

If I haven't responded, it could be that the spam filters are eating it. A friend tried to send me something yesterday that got instantly deleted via some filter or other [it was sent through Yahoo, so I doubt it was infected], so I'm starting to wonder if some other stuff got deleted that wasn't spam.

I changed my filters to send everything to the trash instead of deleting it, and I will be checking the trash; so if you're a friend and you suspect your stuff got accidentally deleted, drop me a line and we'll see which box it lands in. I apologise for any inconvenience this may have caused.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 08:33 AM

June 13, 2005

um, yeah. Justice was, uh, served, or something.

Jackson was acquitted. You know, like you didn't know already.

'Scuse me, I have an appointment for a threesome with Daniel Radcliffe and that cute underaged ceramist from the craft fair. All's fair in love and chicken.

[I really shouldn't read the news before my coffee.]


Posted by Frida Peeple at 07:51 PM

quote for the day

"Do not walk behind me, for I may not lead. Do not walk ahead of me, for I may not follow. Do not walk beside me, either; just #$%^ off and leave me alone."

--Anonymous [found at Jokes Galore]


Posted by Frida Peeple at 01:03 PM

June 12, 2005


Do you have any goddamn idea what kind of week I've had?

No, I suppose not. More on that later, perhaps. A few things I learned, though:

~Working 48 hours feels a lot like working 40, just sorta longer and with less of a weekend.

~If lightning hits a transformer at night, it makes lots of pretty colours in the air.

~Tornado sirens don't always work properly. If the siren goes on and off several times during a storm, and you're confused as to which sirens are the alarms and which are the all-clears [because they all sound the same], don't bother going back down to the basement. They obviously don't know what the hell they're doing anyway.

~If you're driving at night, make sure you pay close attention to ALL the signs, especially the ones that say "ONE WAY." Look for them. They're really damn hard to see at night.

~If you're cooperative, sometimes the cops will let you off with a warning and you won't get a ticket.

~Trying to watch for the lines on the road may cause you to blow completely through a stop sign. If there are no cops around and you don't get hit, this is probably okay.

~When the clerk making your hotel reservations says that your room "overlooks the pool," prepare for one holy hell of a lot of noise. DO NOT, under any circumstances, expect anything resembling a quiet weekend. If you must have one, sabotage the pool. [I wish I'd thought of that Friday evening.]

~Ask for another room instead of waiting until late Saturday night when you can't stand the noise anymore and then storming out like I did. However, if 2/3 of the rooms overlook the pool [as in the case of the Mankato Holiday Inn], you probably won't get one.

~It's very hard to drive at 11 pm on a Saturday night in the rain when you're in the midst of a noise-and-police-induced anxiety fit. Do not do this. It's not safe. If you have no choice but to do this, make sure you pray to every god whose name you can remember. [If you promise an offering in return for their protection, don't welsh. It's just not healthy.]

~If you buy pottery from somebody young and handsome at the annual craft fair, and make nice conversation, he will remember you the next year. He will still be a minor, however. [Hush. Just because you can't order off the kid's menu doesn't mean you can't read it.]

~Handmade soap is always nice, especially if you can find some scented like frankincense and myrrh. It just sort of makes you want to put on lots of jingly jewelry and lie around on cushions all day.

Hm, that was actually a lot. I may think of some other things later. All in all, a very educational, but nerve-wracking, week. Somehow I don't feel rested.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 01:00 PM

June 09, 2005

hard to say.

But it needs saying, in the same way that painful boils need draining.

I feel horrible about all the rude and mean shit I've said and the people I've said it to who didn't have it coming. [If you were nasty or repeatedly insufferable to me first, and I was forced to be rude to get rid of you, you had it coming.] This includes family members, friends, recent ex-friends, people I work with, random people online...you know who you are. That's one reason I quit chat: the anonymity and the clique-ish-ness [is that a word? It is now] makes it so easy to be mean to people just to get your power yayas out. I don't need further encouragement to be mean to people I don't know.

It probably doesn't count anyway, because I think you're supposed to say you're sorry in person; but I don't have the balls to say it to anybody's face, so there it is. I'm tired of being mean, and if I knew how to be otherwise, I would. I end up saying things that sound clever or sensible in my head, and just sound awful once they leave my mouth. I don't know how to stop because I can't identify half of it til I hear myself say it and think, "Jeez, that sounded mean."

I really wanted to turn out as somebody nice. It just didn't happen that way. I don't know how long it's gonna be like this.

I know what it is, largely: to function decently, I have to have an unrealistically low noise level. What I ask for, in terms of quiet, is a pittance compared to what would actually be comfortable to me. But it seems to be much more than anybody can realistically accommodate. So it's not selfish in terms of my needs, but it's very selfish in terms of what I can reasonably expect to get. So I'm furious at people for not understanding what I need and helping me out; and I'm 10 times as furious at myself for even daring to ask for it, or to want it. The same gulf between what I need and what the people around me think I'm entitled to has also surfaced in areas like sexuality and privacy. I can't NOT need what I need, but nobody else thinks it's a reasonable thing to ask; and I don't have any standards of my own, because it's useless to form your own standards. It's just fucking useless. Nobody else gives a shit about your standards anyway; they're just going to make you follow theirs. So I just stopped bothering to have any. Also, for a long time, what I thought was perfectly reasonable wasn't. So I gave up trying to judge what was appropriate, because when I tried to express myself, even bowdlerizing it to the point where I wasn't really saying what I wanted to at all, everybody thought it was gauche and inappropriate. The only standards that count are the standards of the system you're dealing with. If you try to impose your own, you'll simply be ostracized or expelled. So by the standards of my workplace, of the society that I live in, and of all the other systems where I operate, my needs are inappropriate, extreme, and diaper-shittingly selfish.

So when they come into conflict, I just find something blunt and beat myself up. It hurts less than cutting and doesn't leave a permanent mark.

There has to be a healthier way to atone for what I am, if I can't stop it. Killing myself would hurt people; I've listened to them talk, and they get really angry if you kill yourself. They hate you after you're dead, ostensibly for taking the coward's way out, but secretly for depriving them of your company and for making them feel guilty that they might have been able to stop you and didn't. Doing some charity work might make me feel like I'm putting a positive in the world to counter all the negatives that come out of my mouth; but I don't know of any charity work that doesn't deal extensively with people, and I don't think I could tolerate that without getting meaner. I was sorta hoping to just make tons of money and give it to charity, but that doesn't look like it's going to happen anytime soon. I'd disappear and make it look like a kidnapping, but who you are sorta follows you wherever you go. Also, my family would be looking for me, and they'd be upset that I was gone. But I would really just love to disappear. People would get over me and move on. They always move on.

Again, I'm sorry. I'll try to be better.

I will not respond to e-mails regarding this entry.


Posted by Frida Peeple at 11:36 AM

June 02, 2005

And lead us not into the Temptations, but deliver us from Lenny Kravitz.

A fervent amen.

But what I really want to know is...

Am I the only person who thinks Kravitz's lyrics are kinda stupid? I heard a live version of "Lady" on the radio this morning, and, uh...man. I'm sorry, but that stank. I didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or regurgitate into the box I was taping up. I settled for snickering occasionally at some of the worse lines and wishing, against all laws of rock & roll non-suckness, that it had been a cover of Styx's "Lady." That actually [I can feel my gorge rising as I type this] had better lyrics.

It didn't help that the same station also played 4 Non Blondes' "What's Up." Now, normally I don't have a problem when a female singer's voice is unfeminine, but this lady is just frightening. She sounds like she'd fit better in an opera about Valkyries or something. And I have that "HEEEEEEEEYayyyyayyyyayyyy" bit stuck in my head. You know, actually, upon a close read...the lyrics to that song aren't that bad. If it weren't for that woman's terrifying voice and the fact that the radios and MTV totally beat the poor thing into the ground, it would be a great song. As a matter of fact, I can think of several female vocalists who could make it sound good [sorry Courtney, not you, although I still love you]. I'm sure there are a couple guys out there who could turn out a tolerable cover as well, although there aren't many that spring to mind that could hit the high notes. However, until that happens, I'm going to have to listen to Beck's Guero repeatedly until I get the dreaded "HEEEEEEEEYayyyyayyyyayyyy" out of my skull. Then I'll be going around saying, "Hell yes!" and pretending I sound like a Vocorder. But at least I won't have that horrific Gorgon-like shrieking in my head.

And scat singing still sounds like somebody having a seizure, except when it sounds like an autistic person talking to himself, which is what I thought I heard on the jazz station last night. Tom Waits is about the only person I've heard who can scat without it sounding like he ran out of Depakene. Everybody else...just stop, please.



Posted by Frida Peeple at 09:07 AM

June 01, 2005

something something

I posted on artwanted again. You can go look if you want. Since the page apparently doesn't list them in chronological order, it's Mori Maze I. I'm not entirely happy with it but didn't want to ruin it further, given that I was using the shitty Bienfang paper [which I'm sure is nice and archival, and will not decay--but does NOT take the kind of punishment I expect a paper to take]. I think it looks too much like my old shit. I don't like this because it means that either I'm repeating myself, or I'm falling back into the place where I was, mentally, when I made the other work. I don't like it.

I shut off the comments function on artwanted. I'm sick of compliments. They all sound the same, and none of them really SAY anything. It's like the barking of a dog. And criticism of a painting that's already finished and under varnish, and not capable of being changed, is pretty fucking pointless, wouldn't you say?

I'm getting very tired of listening to birds. You'd think they didn't have the whole goddamn countryside in which to screech their vacant little heads off.

And I'm tired of breaking things. I'm tired of people being scared of me and sick of me. Nobody needs more people like that, no matter how well they can paint. I would like to either be a better person, or just die. I'm not doing a very good job of being a decent person. And I'm not doing a very good job of working up the courage to die, either. Nobody needs this in their life, this shit that I dish out. And that's all I have. Everything else I try to make, that's nice, just slips through my fingers or becomes meaningless. It gets consumed, eaten, trodden under everybody's boots, forgotten, and all the shit is still there.

And that's why praise is so shitty. It doesn't give something more meaning than it had. It doesn't turn the ability to get good grades in an arbitrary and artificially stupidized curriculum into something that will actually get you anywhere. I used to be a sucker for it, long after the endless parade of "Excellent! Great work! Fantastic!" got stale; and then I realised that what they were telling the C students really was true. Nobody gives a fuck about your grades. But if you got A's, they treated it like it was the greatest thing in the world. So all these compliments and awards were a big lie to try and get you to perform, like a dog in a circus, just to see how well you could do. And then you find out that every single wonderful thing anybody's said about you is useless. It's not wonderful anymore. What counts is whether you can get along, and whether your presence makes people's lives better or worse. If I'd known this, I'd have spent less time reading textbooks and making AD&D modules, and more time trying to make a habit of being decent to people.

Or maybe I wouldn't have. I don't know. I can't fucking stand people. They're so noisy, and they move around all the time. Drives me bugshit. Maybe staying away from them is the best thing I can do.

In any case, when somebody compliments me, either they're telling me something I already know, which insults my intelligence; or they're telling me something I don't think is true, which makes it sound like they're being hypocritical by saying something nice about me that's not true. Either way, it usually pisses me off, especially when it's the same unoriginal compliment everybody else makes.

Remember those exercises they had you do in school, where they passed out a sheet with everybody's name on it, and you had to write down something nice about everybody, and then they gave all the compliments to the people they were about? It feels sorta like that.

And that sorta showed me, in fifth grade, everything I needed to know about how people saw me. I got a lot of "smart" and "good artist." I didn't get anything else, really. Those are my two redeeming qualities. Raise your hand if you made a geek joke lately, or told a typically pensive person that they think too much. Now raise your other hand if you bought any art lately. That's about what I thought. The good qualities that people care about, like being kind and helpful and cheerful [though not nauseatingly so], I can't seem to manage.

It'd be nice if anybody told me what the fucking rules were going to be instead of letting me think they were going to be the same as in school, where all you had to do was show up and be smart. I don't know if it would've made any difference, but at least I'd have had a chance.

Yes, this is long. No, I don't care.

whatever whatever time, something something channel...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 10:53 AM


Okay, it's more like address-book cleaning. I'm paring down my address book and my Yahoo list, and eliminating people who are either a] never around or b] showing a decided lack of interest in maintaining contact. Why am I doing this? Well, when I delete somebody, I generally forget about them fairly quickly, unless I knew them for a long time. When I keep somebody on my rolls who's never around or who doesn't respond, then every time I log on or look at my addy book, I see all these names staring back at me of people who are either busy and have forgotten me, or who don't like me anymore and can't come out and say it. I don't want that. I want to be able to look in my address book and see people who I can turn to, and who, if they come to me for something, I remember enough about them to be useful to them. If you don't fit in that category anymore, you're gone. Sorry. I'm tired of being strung along by acquaintances. It's either friends or strangers now. Either be a friend or don't call yourself one.

Posted by Frida Peeple at 06:07 AM