If by, you mean

Thursday, August 29, 2002


life is so beautiful some days

when you find the perfect quotes:

"Drink you under the table? I believe I'll drink myself under the hostess!" .. unknown

"If you mean whiskey, the devil's brew, the poison scourge, the bloody monster that defiles innocence, dethrones reason, destroys the home, creates misery and poverty, yea, literally takes the bread from the mouths of little children; if you mean that evil drink that topples Christian men and women from the pinnacles of righteous and gracious living into the bottomless pits of degradation, shame, despair, helplessness, and hopelessness, then, my friend, I am opposed to it with every fiber of my being.

"However, if by whiskey you mean the oil of conversation, the philosophic wine, the elixir of life, the ale that is consumed when good fellows get together, that puts a song in their hearts and the warm glow of contentment in their eyes; if you mean Christmas cheer, the stimulating sip that puts a little spring in the step of an elderly gentleman on a frosty morning; if you mean that drink that enables man to magnify his joy, and to forget life's great tragedies and heartbreaks and sorrow; if you mean that drink the sale of which pours into Texas treasuries untold millions of dollars each year, that provides tender care for our little crippled children, our blind, our deaf, our dumb, our pitifully aged and infirm, to build the finest highways, hospitals, universities, and community colleges in this nation, then my friend, I am absolutely, unequivocally in favor of it. This is my position, and as always, I refuse to be compromised on matters of principle." ... anon



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Today:

"Anon" has a name and immortality.

"In political discourse, if-by-whiskey is a relativist fallacy where the response to a question is contingent on the questioner's opinions and use of words with strong positive or negative connotations (e.g., terrorist as negative and freedom fighter as positive). An if-by-whiskey argument implemented through doublespeak appears to affirm both sides of an issue, and agrees with whichever side the listener supports, in effect, taking a position without taking a position." (wiki)

"Anon" is actually Noah S. "Soggy" Sweat, Jr., a young lawmaker from the U.S. state of Mississippi.

Columnist William Safire popularized the term in his column in The New York Times:

IF BY WHISKY

THE GREAT POLITICAL straddle exemplified by the if-by-whisky speech was attributed here to Gov. Fuller Warren of Florida in the 1950's [incorrect attribution]. An earlier and richer formulation was submitted by Norman L. Simpson of Syracuse, who found an undated and unattributed clipping in his family archives; he dates it to the 1920's, during discussions of the repeal of the Volstead Act prohibiting the sale of liquor:

"[insert the above quote by 'anon']"

The if-by-whisky technique is still in active use. Asked by Jonathan Alter of Newsweek if he was not too sensitive to criticism, Gov. Mario M. Cuomo of New York replied:

"If by thin-skinned you mean very, very quick to respond -- that's what I've done for a lifetime. I'd been a lawyer for more than 20 years. You can't let the comment from the witness pass.

"If [ by thin-skinned ] you're talking about being personally sensitive to criticism, that's a lot of [ expletive ] ."


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The other two Safire columns on that page are awesomeness. Jungle becomes Rain-forest.

As KEXP counts down, I count up

from Tumblr post:

I should be asleep now. Considering I'm sick as a dog - supposedly, but the drugs are working. Except for that hour where the first antibiotic made me dizzy and my vision turned all blurry and seeing two for one and like I was drunk before I'd even touched the wine. Got the French doctor lady to change that 'script for shizzle.

So, instead of going out with hot Jimmy down the block who is a first year in my program and who SMS'd me about where the party was tonight, I stayed home and caught up on my VP debate and McCain on The View.

The next-door neighbor knocked and I was tired and I thought he'd want to flirt because we've fucked a couple of times and he took me to my first bath house in Paris and then took me there again where we did a little exchangiste action and I got a sexy older man's cock up my ass. So, I really wasn't in the mood to talk to him though because the last time we were in a sexual position I was tired and spent and he was, like, begging me to finish him off in the cabin at the end of the hall of said bath house. And, last night I let The Filmmaker come over and fuck me on the overly noisy futon-couch thing in my apartment. But I let the neighbor in and he didn't make sly remarks on how long or short it took Filmmaker to get me off (like he did after the Pool Boy fucked me - and yes, it was short and small and bad). He actually came over to gloat about his daughter - who has the misfortune of sleeping directly opposite the wall of the futon-fuck-couch - and to show me a clip of her in Disney France's high school equivalent of some show on Nickelodeon. It made me want to corrupt her more. Granted, when I see her, she's dressed all hottie French high schooler, in the TV show, she's all baggy pants and high fives. A total contrast to deflate any boner.

Yes, I should go to bed. Considering I'm Tumblring about Nickelodeon.

I don't really want to talk about Mike. To me he is a figment in a sense. If I tried to describe him, I'd get it all wrong. Except for the blonde hair and glasses. A son of a hard-ass military dad. A punk rocker. We were all too snobby to pay attention to each other. I think he was brilliant for a kid. He was shy. Liberty loved him. And I vaguely remember seeing him the night before he offed himself. If it was premeditated, it was keenly covered up. We drank whiskey in the van on the way to his funeral. I was dating one of the punk friends. We were somber, not sober. He was straight-edge. He was in the casket. It was surreal.

And none of this matters. It's not who he was at the time, because that was not his beauty. He was in a good band. He had followers in the city. But who he was then is not who he was. Is. He is who he is within me. With me. Daily. Weekly. Monthly. In autumn. In October. He is my inspiration. He is standing over my left shoulder. He is enjoying things now. He is kicking my ass. He is a reminder. He is alive.

This is Mike.

I sent a drunk dial email to about 10 members of my family telling them briefly that I miss them and love them. I do. I feel a bit homesick. I felt more homesick while being sick, on the metro, heading from school to the doctor's appointment. A mom got on with her stroller and baby infant son. He was sick. She was rapid to pull out the medicine she'd just scored and to feed it to him. Hold his hand, look at him, smile, pull his hoody off, try to energize him. She was so concerned and focused and in love and wanting to do anything for him. I have never known this feeling for another person. It was fascinating to see. I was proud of her and knew he was in good hands. And then I missed my mum. I wished she was there to just smoothly rub my forehead.

And then, I am a sick fuck and immediately thought about wanting to fuck on the fever. It's an incredible feeling to fuck while delusional. I did a bit of that last night with the Filmmaker. After seeing that juice, soup, garlic, Dayquil were not improving my situation, I threw it to the wind and went out for whiskey with him. And then back to my apartment and more whiskey and cigarettes and making out and fucking and then a long, detailed, gruffly whispered story about Lola, a 12-year-old girl getting fucked the first time by her brother Vladimir on a playground, who ditches and is replaced by his friend Dimitri - all the while, I was speeding up the vibrator on my clit.

In the morning he fisted me. And I got a fill of protein. Nothing chases cum like a pain au chocolat, I tell you.

Yes, these are the drunk thoughts which should be put to sleep before I divulge too much.

"Cathy, I'm lost, I said, though I knew she was sleeping. I'm empty and aching and I don't know why. Counting the cars on the New Jersey turnpike. They've all come to look for America." - Simon & Garfunkel, on KEXP.

What does this say about me?

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It's still Happy New Year

I really need to get the video up. I went to town on the short video clip from up on the roof at midnight. It seemed like the Eiffel was a lot closer than it is in the tiny window now. Anyway. Completely uneventful and I was on my own - exactly how I wanted it. And, only you, dear reader will get the full scoop.

But this all has to be super quick because I said 'no' to a phone call from James a few days ago when I was in a run on the papers and I told him I had not even 10 minutes for a conversation. I forget that I can be biting, rude, and an awful person when I'm PMSd and under time pressure. This is not a good personality to shop around for an international job. I need to be more friendly and forget myself. I've always said this and it'll never change. Ok. ... sorry, James.

Then again, this is the first break I've given myself since, essentially, this past Saturday night, Jan 5th. Since then I've been reading, writing, going to class. Literally getting home at 8:30p/9p to make a quick dinner while I read more and then wrote until midnight. Then, up at 6am or 7am for another full day of the same. Add to that PMS fat bitchy girl who wants to crush heads and has no patience. Yup, I'm a nice package.

Anyway. This is my break and I'm going to enjoy it.

Yes, literally. Monday-Thursday up at 6/7am and working non-stop until midnight. Ok, maybe for occassional breaks to goof off on Facebook, but jesus - I'd go insane if I didn't look elswewhere once in a while.

So, I bought 2 bottles of Champagne. Yes, I should have explored a bit but I went for an old standard of Cliquot and a new friend of something else that is currently over there in the cupboard waiting for recycling. (Which they don't really do in this country which worries me to no end.) I had a good meal and started drinking at 8pm. Basically I wrote a bit of work until I couldn't any longer and then switched to surfing the 'net for jobs, information, new things. It's a big wide huge world out there behind this flat screen. I read so many new fun things. Then, I climbed up on the roof at about 11:30pm. The unknown first bottle was almost cashed except for a bit I mixed into a plastic bottle to climb up to the roof. Totally horrible if any French person caught me: champagne in a bottle AND mixed! But see, I thought the climb to the roof was going to be like climbing one of those challenges in Fear Factor where not only is is sloped and possibly slippery, but also way way above ground with chances of falling to my death equal to 100%. I put a few things into a backpack, got bundled up and headed off on the adventure... the adventure that took 2 seconds with no difficulty or fear at all. Chalk it up to the fact that it's extremely easy to get up there and I had drunk a bottle of champagne.

It was indeed very nice up there. The wind was blowing, I think. The view was pitch black except for the sporadic fireworks all over the circumference of my existence. I don't remember much else except being very giddy and surprised into happiness when the Eiffel all of a sudden lit up in sparkling lights and I knew it was midnight. Frankly, I don't even remember if I said anything or thought anything profound or made any wishes. There goes the superstition I guess.

I climbed back down, which again didn't seem scary or hard at all. Kind of bored, I decided to go check out the world downstairs on the street. All I remember is walking up to the top of my street where the Moulin Rouge is and seeing more people in the street than I've ever seen before. They weren't all congregated together in a crowd, but moving, walking, grouping, separating, streaming. I think all traffic had been stopped or ended or blocked or something because there wasn't any, and people were walking all over the street. I had to lean up against the giant neighborhood map to stay upright as all of a sudden the champagne just really hit me and put me into a huge dream stream, not drowning but slowly bobbing or drifting in a dirty, busy aquarium. Some guy talked to me and I said I don't speak French so he switched to English. He might have been cute. I lied and said my friends were 'over there' and I think I basically walked away from him once I realized I couldn't quite see straight and needed to go home.

Yeah. I had to. I had to because I was dizzy and spinning and knew if I tried to lay down it would have been the death of me. So, up and out came the lovely spaghetti and bubbly champagne. I think I took a sleeping pill and went to sleep.

Hm.

Kind of pathetic. Kind of sweet. Kind of lame. Kind of weird. Kind of very appropriate.

I woke up happy and alert and started working on my papers again.

Wednesday and Thursday I went to school. Much easier to write there than at my apartment where I think about cleaning, surfing, singing, and playing with myself.

Friday I just couldn't get up out of bed earlier than 10am so I lazed all day and got some hardcore writing done and then met the young French-Canadian, JC, down at The Canadian Pub over on the Seine because the USA was playing Canada in junior hockey or something. Of course, what do you think I am a moron? Of course, I agonized whether to go or not. After all, I'm old and I know I don't like sports unless they're live and in front of me - and even then, I don't like them unless I get a press pass to the floor where sweat flies all over me and there's a great likelihood that a huge tight end might land on top of me. But really, I didn't party at New Years. And he used to play on this team. And I had nothing else to do. And I could tell, because I was once 23 and wrote my emails in a passive-agressive wishful way like no really I don't have to go but the address is such and such. And the conversation was forced and we really have nothing in common or even anything interesting to share. It's all a falsehood between civilized and fucking. But we did leave the Pub and go to a cool club where all the nouveau punks go, and met up with some of my colleagues who ended being one of my colleagues since the others ditched out to go home and fuck -- leaving 2 out-of-town friends from California and Alaska with us. And, we did go to the pool hall and play some nice rounds. But the drinks weren't stiff and I didn't get drunk and I wanted him to touch me because I was a bit buzzed and he just seemed very far and very uninterested.

And the sex wasn't all that either. The last time we fucked the futon creaked and screeched and the small bed slide across the wood floor. And I think, when he wanted to do it, he said, "Let's dance." Not like David Bowie. More like "Swingers" on Ice. This time it was awkward and I had to roll over and do it. And - god I'm horrible - there wasn't much to do. He's a tall boy for such disproportions. Sigh. But he did let me cum first and he did pant, "It feels so good... so good..." which makes me grateful for kegel exercises and my resiliance in youth.

I couldn't sleep any longer and I wanted to go get lunch together, but he was confused and didn't understand and left almost immediately on a very grey, very rainy day. I hope he didn't go home feeling dirty and lonely and achy because I know those mornings, too, and that's not what I wanted.

I had some really good Greek pita sandwich on a bench in the drizzle on the island on Blvd de Clichy. Tourists still travel in winter. It's amazing.

My landlord and I went shopping for sheets, pillows, a new white comforter ("White, like a virgin," he joked. Oh, I never told you. After Nuit Demonia he came over for something.. to see or do something. And the rubber clothes were out drying from being cleaned and moisturized or whatever I did to them - Wilfried? So, the landlord saw and now knows that I'm a sub. He even joked about me giving up the bedspread to my guests because I was the sub and had to sleep like a doggie. He's very cool and funny and honest and nice. ... no, I don't want to fuck him. Really. ... no, really.) It was fun. He bikes everywhere so we started walking down Rue Blanche alongside his bike and then he suggested I get on back. So, I sat side-saddle on the rack on the back of his tire. I think the last time I shared a ride or got 'pumped' (isn't that what they call it where you sit on the seat and the other person pumps the pedals without sitting the whole way?), was definitely more than 8 years ago. I swear I thought I was going to die - for no reason other than it's fun to think that, like on a rollercoaster - and I had a smile the whole way down the hill. It was so much fun and I wanted to do more, go faster, go again!

And then. This week from hell.

I don't mean to be a bitch but I really wish everyone would leave me alone and would stop acting so damn relaxed about all the papers they have to write because this is their second Masters program. And, man, was it a blow to my ego when I heard this 2nd year student had written her paper on a very similar topic. She sent it to me and while I was happy to receive it and glanced at it, it's totally not a good idea at all to read it very closely. It'll just worry me and make me want to plagerize.

So, that's that. And some guy from Denmark wants to come visit me at the end of the month. We were chatting on OKcupid.com for a while and seemed to strike a similar kinky chord. But there's no way I can entertain more than I am this month with friends coming to visit over my holiday and 2 papers due at the beginning of February, an exam at the end of January, and books and articles I should read before our trip to India. Yeah, it's pretty cool to have a field trip thrown into my education. It's fucking expensive. But that's one of my resolutions - not to think about the cost of my education. I had a panic 2 days ago when I heard from another colleague from the US who is applying for the dual-degree program at Columbia next year. We're offered the opportunity to apply to Columbia, London School of Econ, Herttie in Berlin, or Lee Kwan Yew in Singapore for our second year. I've professed the whole time since accepting this program that I'd stay for 2 years and become fluent in French. But the money! The money drives me crazy. This is my first experience with major debt (the most I ever owed was $1000 and James helped me get rid of that rather quickly). These two years will be the equivalent to me buying a decent house in Madison. Except the house is in my brain. God help me if I get brain cancer. ... I never wanted to own a real house anyway. I'm too transient. So this makes sense, but going back to the US makes some sense, too.

Ugh. I just have to suck it up and know that God has a plan for me.

Hahahahahhaa... fooled you!

Ok, now I'm just typing gibberish to avoid papers.

Happy fucking New Year!

Bonne année!!

latest photos and girl love

I posted the humiliating photos from Lola's flash at the Soiree Blanche. It wasn't like it was some professional party, but it probably wasn't completely appropriate for me to flash my tits. You can see this in my friend's look of horror captured at the same time. Then again, I wasn't caught naked with someone not my husband like some others were. These photos have given me pause to wonder if I should just keep the 32-year-old tits inside my bra. Maybe I'm too old, they're too old.

I also posted copies of a polaroid I found pre-move to Paris. I'm twelve years old and posing in an -ahem- provocative way. It's 1 of a series of me and my girl friend. By the fireplace I can tell we lived in Texas at that time. It wouldn't be appropriate for me to post the polaroids of her. I guess we were just playing dress-up for the day but this one came out rather, well, telling.

I'm also about to post some from the other night in Berlin. A few of us students went up there for a conference and stayed for vacation days. We joined our colleague to go to a goth party. He'd attended the Berlin Masters program and then transferred to our Paris Masters and I guess he'd extended the invite to his other colleagues and they never joined him to a goth party. Perhaps we're a bit more adventuresome. I have to admit I hesitated, wondering mostly if I'd / we'd 'fit in' at the scene. I remember becoming extremely fed up with the punk scene in Minneapolis - they were supposed to be punks who accepted and embraced any people of alternative life choices/styles but instead it felt more like a constant judgement of who was more punk. Bleh. The goth party was quite the opposite though - at least, I didn't feel judged in any way. Although I did feel drunk and wild. At one point I chatted briefly with 2 women in the bathroom since English is the universal language of choice - a German woman, a Polish (I think?), and me the American. (In Paris, all would have been forced to use French - a slight difference between the French and German cultures.) So, somehow this lovely German woman asked my colleague/the host about me and somehow she and I ended up making out the rest of the night, which felt like 70 hours but was probably just 3 or so.

It's funny, I had a variety of reactions to this whole hook-up. I was pretty drunk since I chose to drink whiskey on the rocks (always a bad idea, I know I know). But I was also in vacation-wild mode where anything can go. At points I felt like I had to be the masculine half of our duo, and the top half as we both identify as bottoms (this I learned from my colleague who basically translated the whole night for us). At points, when she'd go off to the bathroom or something, I'd half freak out to my other colleagues there that I really wasn't sure what I was doing, etc. The last time I had a girl make-out was probably about 5 years ago during the waiting tables at the Orpheum / pdh relationship / Jen Bunny wildness. Or, maybe it was at the spin-the-bottle portion of bd's party in '03/'04. I didn't really make on chicks while James and I dated.. did I, honey? Pipe in if I'm wrong here.

A part of me thinks I look less feminine since I cut my hair. It's not that I'm afraid of being bisexual or afraid of making on chicks (though you all know I'm totally not into going down - a bit more whiskey that night and I very well might have just for old time's sake), but I am absolutely terrified of losing guy possibilities if they peg me as solely a lesbian. And I certainly don't want my colleagues boxing me into that category and since they don't know me well, I felt I had to clarify a bit in my drunken state. So part of me freaked out. And part of me loved her lips and her hips and her skin-tight dress and biting her bottom lip and pinching her nipples and god, she smelled exactly like my old ex-girlfriend the stripper. [I can't link to this story right now, sorry, but briefly: 1999, last year of college I dated a stripper and her husband, we went to Vegas on a trip, played around with bdsm, he started to want to see me more than I felt was a good idea, she wanted to do more girlie things than I thought were a good idea so we broke it off.]

The cute German and I made out a bit, I got a bit wild on her, she was a bit shocked, we danced, I bought her a drink, I danced with my colleagues, and it was like 4am and we had to leave. She wanted my contact info and I kept pointing to my Berlin colleague that he had it and saying I'd love to go home with her but I had to go. There was just no way I would have been able to go home together, waking up next to her would have blown my mind more than I could handle at that time. I went to get my coat from the coat check and found she had followed me there for one last dramatic kiss. Oh, right, by the way, she was 23 so maybe that explains quite a bit about this whole story. Me, feeling like the old, experienced, dyke chick and her as the young, eager, experimental bi girl. Yeah. I had to go back to the hostel with my colleagues.

Right. So, those photos will be up in a little bit. I thank my Berlin colleague tremendously for even taking photos because, you know, I had beer goggles on and really wasn't sure the next day if she was hot or not. The photos prove it. Quite the night for sure. Quite the night.

A day in the life...

He said: I was out climbing all day yesterday (9am to 6pm)! What a great day. I got to climb several routes that I've wanted to climb but never had ....It was a beautiful day to boot (the climbs we were on were in the shade, so it wasn't even hot). Great day all-in-all.

I said: so glad to hear. i took a pregnancy test [b/c I'm just like that... men have nothing to worry about every month - not fair.. i should really buy stock in some of these 1-test companies... oh, and i'm not preg], played with myself, laid in the sun in the park, sold my Econ book to a homie from the south side with a grill for teeth, bought booze and dinner for my friends who just moved to town, got a tad bit on the drunk side, walked to Mickeys for a shot of Jameson's and 1 game of pool, walked home, saw the sunrise from an overlook by my apt, and just woke up.


I neglected to tell him about the foot-long cock I sucked and being naked on the floor just as the voices reminded me that fucking without a condom right now would be such bad news and putting on my clothes in a panic while he stepped away after I said, "not without a rubber." And hurrying out the door after writing my cell number on a roll of paper towels. And the part about walking down Willy St when a car slowed next to me and the driver motioned to give me a lift - after I shook my head no, he whipped around to head in the other direction. And soaking my Mary Janes with blood from a heel blister I just didn't care about or feel. And the sobbing and the beauty of the morning and the 8 missed calls from the cock guy and how incredibly hungover I feel.

I also feel really, really good. It's been a while since I went crazy.

sun rise

so what? i sucked a black cock.
a huge black cock.

it doesnt beat the fuckin beautiful 5am sunsrise i saw over the lake today

i dont give more than i should to me, walking home at 3am, getting solicited from inside a car with a hand motion...get in , give u a ride.

i did cry. i'm not that dirty

but i was cheap tonight.

walked all the way to mickeys and back, solicited and all. bloody heels seeping.

i'm not that kind of whore.

tho maybe i shoulda tried it



but when i got to the pier
5am sunrise
monster fish flipping
birds chirping
innocence
i was new again
i sobbed
finally
freely
no one listening
no one caring
the birds helping
radiohead if i wanted to listen
but the silence
the laps of water
the me
the not me
the barely pink sky
barely showing me or them or us
i'm not a whore yet
i'm just over whelmed
patches of ripples
such peace on the water
me alone
not a single person in sight
i sobbed so loudly and then
muffled
ducks birds
kept chirping
reassuring
i'm clean
i'm good
it's not so hard
it's hard
it's all simple
clear sky
ruffled pink sunrise
so quiet
so silent
me
and me
and the birds
relief
alone
no one to touch me
no one to touch
i sobbed
finally
finally
such peace at sunrise