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Mood: Restless
Drinking: Not at the moment


i want the men
to look at me.
women, too.
but i don’t want to know
when they’re looking.
just tell me when it’s over.

i sneak peeks
at myself
on the sly.
in mirrors,
in windows,
in spoons, even.
i want to see what they see.
myself from the outside.

do i seem tall?
or do they glance over once
and think nothing at all.

are they looking at eyes?
breast size?
or do i remind them of someone
they physically despise.

i wait sometimes
poised on a streetlight corner
hoping for a telepathic driveby.
all my receptors are open.
my eavesdroppers are standing by.
i’ve cranked the volume
to deafening decibels
but i still can’t hear
what they think of me.

at home again,
i let the mirror do her worst.
armed with calipers
and red wax pencil,
i calculate the errors
-10 for celluloid thighs
-5 for accusing eyes
+2 for well-designed brows
-6 for an ass that goes “pow!”

i put that high school algebra
to real life use (for once)
and figure in the x-factor.
(where x=the understanding
that objects in the mirror
may be more fucked-up than they appear.)

-9 for unclaimed emotional baggage
-6 for obscure childhood trauma

i take the numbers out for a run.
we work up a sweat
and settle the score.
(it turns out to be a round,
rather voluptuous number.)

but still i cannot get the angle right.
distracted by some trick of light, i
look away from the mirror. and
that’s when it happens.

when my best face is finally forward,
there is no reflection.

-Lo, who thinks vampires take self-portraits to doublecheck their hairdos.

How many assholes does one need, really?

Mood: I don’t like Mondays
Drinking: Morning caffeine injection

I have a low tolerance for a great many things.

It may be one of my most irritating and endearing character traits. I used to fight the urge, used to pretend that 99% of humanity didn’t make me want to tear my face off, used to try the kindler, gentler thing. I got over it.

It’s one of the things I enjoy the most about getting older. The wise ones will tell you that you’ll experience this whole “getting comfortable in your own skin” thing, which is sort of true. But there’s also this whole side effect wherein you just don’t give a shit anymore. You like what you like and you hate what you hate and you stop apologizing for it. (Confession: I hate onions, and I always have and always will and you can’t make me eat the slimy things!) It really is a wonderful thing.

Which is why I am not going to apologize for my sudden and irreversible disdain for the sweaty, arrogant technogeek I saw on TV last night. I was innocently folding laundry while Boy clattered away on his laptop with the TV tuned to some random HDTV channel. (Sidenote: HDTV is awesome, except when you’re watching a panel of mostly middle-aged, overweight, overdressed “experts” sweat in the limelight. Because the wonder of HD lets you see every single bead of sweat in all its overheated glory as it slowly sliiiiiiiiiiides down one bulbous, balding forehead after another. It’s so realistic, you can almost smell the condescension.) Anyway…

Most of the dudes on this panel were gray-haired and suited up, but then there was the t-shirt wearing, greasy-haired thirty-something braniac behind BitTorrent. (An admittedly clever bit of technology.) He was demonstrating his uber-coolness and obvious superiority to all his fellow panelmates by sighing loudly, smirking to himself, muttering, threading his ballpoint through his fingers and clicking it on the table, and generally acting like every smelly, arrogant know-it-all slumping in a desk in the front every high school chemistry class.

Since I was doing the housewifey thing with the laundry and not really paying attention, I don’t know what the panel or discussion was about–something web- and technology-related. Mister BitTorrent, Boy Wonder, was yammering on about how the market is saturated with wannabe musicians today, and then somehow segued into poetry. “There’s just too much out there,” he said (paraphrasing). “In fact, I think some people need to take it upon themselves to just stop writing poetry.”

moment of silence


Ok. I’ll give him the point that there is a lot of crap out there. A lot of people who think they can rhyme and therefore write. A lot of people who are very good at crafting steaming piles of shit that they pass off as art. Hell, there’s a lot of published work that is just embarrassing. (*cough*Jewel*cough*) And I will be the first to admit that I don’t like very much poetry. BUT. I’m not sure that I can agree that there is too much out there. I mean, if you’re going to start getting rid of an overpopulation of something, why pick on poetry?

How about road rage. There’s definitely too much of that. Homophobia. Violence. Abuse. Scams. Hunger. Litter. Poverty. Disease. War. Big hair. Greed. Pollution. Inequality. Racism. Genocide. Purple fingernail polish. Conspiracy. Fear. There’s too much of all of that.

But you won’t see me marching against poetry anytime soon.

-Lo, who would definitely march to ban Jennifer Lopez from producing any more albums. If only such a thing would work…


Mood: Guilty
Drinking: Snapple

As promised, I’ve searched the clouds for silver lining and have come up with a list of things that make me happy. Things that make me swoon. Things that make me get out of bed in the morning. Things that make it all suck a little bit less.

The Other List:

* Let’s start with peanut butter
* Neighborhoodies
* Non-cheesy mosaics, especially those involving broken mirrors
* Jon Stewart
* Espadrilles
* Striped knee-highs
* Sour candy
* Buffy DVDs
* The Tyler girls
* Paper toilet seat covers
* Citi billboards
* Showtime, with special nod to Dead Like Me
* TiVo!
* Boxers (the dog version, not the hamfisted sport)
* Strawberries
* Silver glitter on eyelids
* “Raccoon eyes” done right (hello, Shirley!)
* Pale girls with long black hair
* The new Garbage CD, Bleed Like Me (in headphones now)
* The impending new NIN
* Bar Sinister in Hollywood
* the DIY category on ebay
* iPods
* Changing your haircolor, just because you can
* New lipstick
* Drop earrings
* Digital cameras
* Stained glass windows
* Making your own South Park character
* Short little dresses from Lip Service
* Sunglasses with attitude
* Solitude
* A plane ticket home
* Franka Potente
* Bettie Page air fresheners
* Voodoo dolls
* New Tim Burton movies starring Johnny Depp
* Friends in bands
* Cinepoetry
* A really good thesaurus
* The annual Bay to Breakers festivities
* Golden Gate Park
* Buffalo Exchange
* The Serious store on Melrose
* Beach bonfires
* Saying “fuck”. Sometimes it just feels so right.
* A reserved parking space (but only when it’s reserved for me)
* Used book stores
* Neil Gaiman
* Narnia
* My Betty Blue
* Trips to Italy
* Weird buttons
* Violets
* When she says “my darkling bunny”
* Unexpected flowers
* Brand new poems
* Boy
* Sistervoice
* The sight of the Pacific
* Morrissey
* Cheeseburgers & fries eaten in the car at the height of a road trip
* Quitting time

-Lo, who could, once again, go on and on. But the balance has been sufficiently restored and so, the end.

The Jumping of the Shark

Mood: adamant
Drinking: one guess

Heads up to all the things on the following list: I am over you. Even if I was never into you in the first place, I am SO OVER you now.

You make me want to harm small children. You make me want to stick my head in a bucket of dirty mop water. You make me want to run through Mikasa with a brick bat. You make me want to rip the heads off small teddy bears and set them afire.

You have so jumped the shark! Consider this your final warning. The door is to your left.

The List
* Reality television and it so-called stars
* Starbucks
* Ashton Kutcher
* Gap commercials
* “Creative” ringtones
* Hate blogs
* Fat guys in hawaiian shirts
* Loud talkers
* Close talkers
* Jesus fish
* Bright yellow H2s
* Any color H2, actually
* Pit bull prejudice
* Muni riders who sit on my front step and wait for the train
* Litterbugs
* Public Nosepickers
* Nosehair
* Visible thongs
* Butt ruffles
* Paris Hilton
* People who ridicule war protesters
* Mudslides
* Hair extensions
* Manic Panic (it doesn’t last long enough!)
* That Sugar Ray buffoon
* Changing the name of your company (hello, ofoto!)
* Newsboy caps
* Hilary Duff
* Fellow fliers who ask what you’re reading when you obviously have zero interest in conversation
* Poetry slam voice
* Platform flip-flops
* French manicures
* The Bush administration
* The Da Vinci Code
* Sarah Jessica Parker
* Horrible hip hop lyrics
* Lindsay Lohan’s boobs
* Lindsay Lohan
* Blogs with consistently horrible spelling. (I’m not an grammar autocrat. Occasional spelling errors happen to everyone. But when you can’t spell anything right, ever, maybe you should just stop. Or consult a dictionary. Please!)
* Jewel’s “poetry”
* Writing f**k. Just spell it out. FUCK! What’s the difference?
* Brad and Angelina rumors
* And while I’m at it, Jennifer Aniston
* Burberry anything
* Tazmanian devil tattoos
* Gas prices
* Red State/Blue State
* Arnold’s delusions of future White House glory
* Body builders (speaking of Arnold)
* P.M. Bay Bridge traffic
* The cat vs. dog argument
* Ashley Simpson’s acid reflux
* Playboy playmates
* People who sing along at concerts so loudly that you can’t hear the people you actually paid to see sing
* In the same vein, people who make noise in movie theaters
* People who think Marilyn Monroe was fat
* Pamela Anderson’s hair
* Women who think Mick Jagger is still hot
* Michael Jackson.
* Court TV
* Anything approved by Oprah
* Hurricanes
* “Stale incense, old sweat and lies, lies, lies!”
* Frat boys in goth clubs. This. Is. Not. Your. Scene!
* Frat boys, anywhere
* Personalized license plates that state the model of your car. Original.
* Saying something is the new something (“pink is the new black”, etc.)
* Prince Charles and Camilla
* Britney and Kevin
* Cheetos
* Mosquitoes
* “Hella”
* Ugg boots
* Earthquakes
* Beauty pageants for little girls
* Beauty pageants for anybody
* People who ask if your tattoo/piercing/scarification hurt
* Christian “rock”
* Take-your-kid-to-work-and-let-them-run-the-halls-screaming Day
* Ludakris
* The Rivers women and their plastic surgeries
* Paparazzi
* Celebrity baby/breakup/wedding rumors
* Acceptable anorexia (speaking of celebrities)
* Everybody Loves Raymond (except me)
* Chick fiction with shoes on the cover
* Homophobia
* Faded hair color
* Irrational fanaticism disguised as “patriotism”
* Tsunamis
* Stale pretzels at the movie theater
* Wadrobe malfunctions
* American fucking Idol!
* Lists that go on for way too long

-Lo, who could go on and on but has to start thinking of a list of things that don’t annoy now, just to balance out the universe.

Cinépoem, Part Deux

Mood: Boooooring
Drinking: The usual poison

The second cinepoem is on its way!

We (we= M and M and I) shot the video footage a couple of weeks ago on another unseasonably rainy day. That’s two for two with the video shoot and the rain. If this continues, I may have to shoot all the cinepoems in the rain, a la John Cusack.

We spent the first several hours of the shoot all snug and dry in a semi-seedy hotel room in San Francisco’s Excelsior district. But then we had to head out into the weather, umbrellas and all. The weirdest part was that every time we reached a location and got out of the Jeep, the rain would disappear and leave us with bits of sun and shiny puddles. But then as soon as all three of us were back inside the vehicle, the clouds would scuttle back into position and unleash another torrent of rain, cats-and-dogs-style. It was eerie.

All that shooting resulted in a couple of hours of video for just one 7 minute poem, so now we’re in the process of sorting through all that footage and lining up the lip synch and putting our little story together.

This cinepoem was shot for Bored Now, which I posted on this site a few pages back, at the end of January. I posted the poem a day after I wrote it, so it has gone through a few revisions and has been neatly trimmed around the eges since then.

We’ve got several more editing sessions ahead of us before the final version ends up online, but it’s coming, it’s coming. And you’ll be the first to know. (Or maybe the second.)

-Lo, who used to be a total sucker for John Cusack. Say Anything, anybody?