The Silly Ones

Nerd Love, Day 19: 10 reasons nerds LOVE the Apple Store at the Grove

apple store at the grove 1. Conveniently located to Los Angeles' fashionable East side. 2. Get to watch Vegas-style timed musical fountain whilst walking to/from personal transpo device. 3. Better porn than Hustler store. 4. Retro-calming, Holly Golightly-esque, "Nothing bad could ever happen to you in a place like this" design vibe. 5. No rats. 6. Close proximity to wide variety of foods legal on the Specific Carbohydrate Diet. 7. New! Urban equivalent of Wal-Mart greeter at front door! 8. New! Validated parking with ANY purchase! 9. New! Apple staff can ring up (credit card) purchases via handy/scary device around neck. 10. New! Apple staff can print out receipt on spot or email it to your .mac account.

Which leaves only one question: what is keeping you PC boneheads from drinking the Kool-Aid and getting down with the program?

Silly PC users...

xxx c

Image by Chet Yeary II via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

Nerd Love, Day 15: Nerd Math

math 10:15 am: Nerd gets e-newsletter from Vonage announcing deal for 20% off phone service for prepayment.

10:17 am: Nerd has phone service through 2/7/08 and $59 dollars in pocket.

10:20 am: Nerd mentally spends entire wad on six additional URLs for future blogs...

xxx c

Image by Fatty Tuna via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

Nerd Love, Day 11: When nerds travel

luggage pickup Nerds want...

  1. ...free WiFi in all airports.
  2. ...more outlets to plug in...
  3. ...that actually work.
  4. ...people on cell phones to use their inside voice...
  5. ...or hang up.
  6. ...maps in the "L" cars.
  7. ...people watching movies on their laptops to use headphones.
  8. ...to be there when rude lady hogging outlet finds out five minutes after her three-hour flight takes off that outlet she was hogging was not getting any juice.

xxx c

Image by caribb via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license

Nerd Love, Day 3: Nerd Accessories

pencil case Quick,

What's nerdier than an olive-green hard shell pencil case from 1973 with...

  • a granny decal
  • two day-glo yellow stickers with your name in "mod" type
  • an "Easy Rider"-esque knockoff sticker in the center

...surrounded by:

  • fake pearls from Forever 21
  • a coaster that actually says "Love Like You'll Never Get Hurt"
  • an Entertainment 07 coupon book you bought from a fellow nerdmaster
  • a picture of you and The BF at an elective Nerdmasters function in which you were inducted as VP of Membership
  • one of no less than 15 affinity program cards
  • which is made out under your company's name
  • which you decided, in your infinite nerdy wisdom, should be "BeanEyes Communications"

?????????

Answer:

opened pencil case

An olive-green hard shell pencil case from 1973 that is still operational.

xxx c

100 Things I Learned in 2006, Part I

In what has become sort of a tradition here at communicatrix, we bring you the year in reverse...or perverse...or something like that. Because after all, what is the point of having a whole, entire year if you can't heave it up at the end and enjoy it again from the beginning?

  1. I could live happily elsewhere.
  2. I probably won't anytime soon.
  3. Deadwood is the best cocksucking sonofabitch show ever.
  4. Coaching works.
  5. Lawns are overrated.
  6. The bargain matinée at the Century City 15 rules.
  7. If you want people to become really alarmed on your behalf, tell them you're planning to shave your head.
  8. I love the acorn squash at Houston's with a fervor that borders on the unnatural.
  9. Good coffee mugs are as hard to find as good handbags and unicorns.
  10. I enjoy looking anyway.
  11. All of those people who said I would outgrow my lust for high heeled footwear were right.
  12. Damn them.
  13. Rolos will be the television of 2007.
  14. If forced to come up with an earthly description of heaven, I'd pick flashlights, a slow shutter and good company on a starlit deck.
  15. A well-cooked pot roast runs a close second.
  16. Especially when it is cooked for you, with love, on a chilly Sunday evening.
  17. Toastmasters is the shit.
  18. UPS is apparently an acronym for Unflaggingly Poor Shipping.
  19. There may be something to this whole networking thing.
  20. Ditto conferences.
  21. I have a little problem recognizing the obvious.
  22. When playing games with children under 12, you have to let them win occasionally.
  23. Even if you don't want to.
  24. Which I never do.
  25. Noise is to me as dust was to Julianne Moore in that Todd Haynes movie.
  26. It is worth it to pay the extra freight for heavy card stock.
  27. Those cherry Larabars are really, really good.
  28. Eventually, if you eat enough of them, they taste like soylent green.
  29. I absolutely, positively love getting up in front of a bunch of people and talking.
  30. Acting, not so much.
  31. Just because you paid a crapload of money for a couch is no reason to keep it around.
  32. Alison Bechdel is a genius.
  33. My jealous streak, while lying dormant for years at a time, is capable of erupting at a moment's notice.
  34. Fortunately, it now scares the bejeezus out of me.
  35. My parking luck will never catch up to my used leather jacket luck.
  36. I like the idea of being a gardener better than the actual gardening.
  37. My significant others will always be somewhat horrified by the rest of the club.
  38. Being disorganized is my spiritual governor the way Crohn's is my physical one.
  39. Starbucks sucks.
  40. Its suckage increases in direct proportion to the distance between it and other coffee alternatives.
  41. This makes it suckier beyond suckiest suckiness.
  42. Forget the hounds, release the fleas.
  43. With the right partner, sex actually gets better after the 18-month mark.
  44. This gives me hitherto unimaginable hope for the future.
  45. If things continue in the current direction, I may drive less than 6,000 miles next year.
  46. The Wall Street Journal is a surprisingly engaging read.
  47. You can still recycle VHS tapes.
  48. I don't look quite as butch with short hair as I thought I would.
  49. The BF looks even better with long hair than I thought he would.
  50. Fucker.

xxx c

Can't wait for more communicatrix listy goodness? Come late to the party? Never fear! Memory lane be here:

2005

2004

5 things you didn't know about me(me)

five I think this is the first time I've been tagged for one of those meme thingys. (Thanks, Jessica. No, really, thanks a lot: I had completely lost the will to blog, and you've jogged me out of it, which in addition to being really cool, also rhymes.)

I have participated in memes, back before I understood blogging protocol forbade participation sans tagging, but they don't count then, do they?

Even if this is not the first time I've been tagged, I'm sure this is the first one I found out about, and that only thanks to Google alerts, I'm afraid I've been as terrible at keeping up with the rest of you as I've been with keeping the blog.

At any rate, this ain't no easy meme for a tell-it-all blabbermouth like me. The whole point of communicatrix, The Blog, and I know, some of you are shaking your heads slowly in disbelief that there actually is a point, is to lay my truth out there in the wee, vain hope that it might help someone else find his. Or, for those of you who stare your damn truth in the face 24/7/365 (366 on leap year), that I might make you laugh and forget it for a few moments.

My point is, what haven't I told you people? Seriously. Sure, there are a (very) few items which must needs remain unspoken for modesty's sake, other people's modesty, not my own. (As if!) But stay that way they must. And I'm sure there are thousands of items which are eminently share-worthy, only I can't think of them now that I'm put on the spot. So if these five seem lame, well, blame it on the excessive drinking and drug-taking of my early years. Or my current years. The old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be.

1. I have not balanced my checkbook in over 15 years. 2. My favorite food is stone crab with butter. 3. I am terrified to spend the night at The BF's when he is not here. 4. I have parachuted out of an airplane. Twice. 5. I fold my underwear.

God. I am even more simultaneously boring and weird than I thought I was.

xxx c

P.S. Since you're supposed to tag someone, I'm tagging Erik, partly because he is my favorite new blogger of 2006 so far*, partly because he shares my love of lists, and partly just because!

*The BF may start a blog before January and his children descend upon us, so I reserve my final vote for Favorite Blog until December 31 at 11:59pm. After that, Erik, it's all you...

UPDATE: Apparently, I was tagged by Tim Donnelly, over to the Aquent blog, a day after posting this here thing here. Which means (a) I am much beloved even if (b) I am not much read. (Giant aside: can I have your job when you tire of it, please?) Photo by marjo0o via Flickr, used under a Creative Commons license.

Why I love craigslist (and The BF)

ugly rug So about three years ago I bought this couch: Big. Red. Room-dominating. Expensive as hell. (What can I say? I was going through a phase about shedding my infernal cheapness. And fuckery. So you see.)

Anyway, it was/is a magnificent couch in its way, but it had no business being in my smallish, mid-century apartment. And as my lifestyle changed, acting replaced by design and its attendant computer sprawl, random fuckery replaced by The BF, it actually became sort of a nuisance as well as an anachronism.

After an unsuccessful attempt to dump the behemoth on my sister's boyfriend (not literally, he's nice!), I turned to the master of fuckery, er, craigslist, The BF.

In the two years I've known him, The BF has successfully converted a staggering array of used, half-used and unused items to cold, hard cash via eBay and craigslist. Within ten days, he had moved The Behemoth to his place (no mean feat, given the crazy number of stairs involved), put it on wheels (don't ask), and sold it for cash money (from the buyer) and a Taylor's steak dinner (from me).

Part of The BF's high success rate with selling is patience. Selling used goods, like undertaking large-scale home improvement projects or raising children, requires a tolerance for tedium I lack in spades. Not only is The BF not afraid of tearing down an interior wall or making babies or selling used crap, he does it all with panache. Such photos! Such an exquisite sense for pricing! And mainly, such a gift with item descriptions.

Here, for example, is his most recent listing:

Ugly Rug Cheap! 5x8 Pottery Barn Rug All wool - $20

That's right, you can have this incredibly ugly rug for only twenty bucks! It's all wool, I don't even want to think about how much we paid for it originally, but it can be yours for only $20 if you call before I take it down to Goodwill or Out of the Closet.

It's 5x8, check out the picture of the label, it really is a pottery barn carpet and was decent at one time. It does have some stains which may or may not come out - I don't want to find out. Personally, I've never liked this rug but my wife thought it was OK for the back room, but that's another story. Now we have another rug and you can have this one for your project room, or garage, or whatever.

From my own experience, I know what a treasure trove of fascinating characters craigslist can be. (I found mine via the fuckery pages, but whatever.) And you don't have to go to Rants & Raves or Best Of to find them: they'll come to you, if you say the magic words. Which The BF knows by heart, it would seem. Hence, the following exchange, reprinted exactly as it transpired (email addresses and CL legalese redacted):

From: xxxxxxx@aol.com To: sale-243280408@craigslist.org Sent: Sun, 3 Dec 2006 7:03 PM Subject: Ugly Rug Cheap! 5x8 Pottery Barn Rug All wool - $20

you are funny

***

On Dec 3, 2006, at 7:09 PM, THE_BF@xxxxxx.com wrote:

too bad I can't make a living at it.

***

-----Original Message----- From: xxxxxxx@aol.com To: THE_BF@xxxxxx.com Sent: Sun, 3 Dec 2006 7:17 PM Subject: Re: Ugly Rug Cheap! 5x8 Pottery Barn Rug All wool - $20

have you tried organizing it in that way and going for it?

***

On Dec 3, 2006, at 10:00 PM, THE_BF@xxxxxx.com wrote:

are you my subconscious? why are you e-mailing me instead of appearing as the virgin mary like you usually do?

***

-----Original Message----- From: xxxxxxx@aol.com To: THE_BF@xxxxxx.com Sent: Sun, 3 Dec:51 PM Subject: Re: Ugly Rug Cheap! 5x8 Pottery Barn Rug All wool - $20

I am a virtual virgin reaching to you at Christmas I am the ghost of christmas 40 years from now when you didn't go for your dreams BECAUSE YOU THOUGHT IT WAS TOO LATE OR SOME OTHER FRIGGING EXCUSE BECAUSE YOU ARE SCARED

ME TOO---

***

On Dec 4, 2006, at 12:44 AM, THE_BF@xxxxxx.com wrote:

so I guess this means you don't want my rug?

***

-----Original Message----- From: xxxxxxx@aol.com To: THE_BF@xxxxxx.com Sent: Mon, 4 Dec 2006 8:24 AM Subject: Re: Ugly Rug Cheap! 5x8 Pottery Barn Rug All wool - $20

never did was taken in by the truthful/meaness of the word 'ugly' had to read it

***

On Dec 4, 2006, at 9:43 AM, THE_BF@xxxxxx.com wrote:

Thanks for writing! I'm not being sarcastic. At least I don't think I'm being sarcastic. It's hard to tell.

You are right, of course - it's very common to not do something out of fear, and easy to make excuses. At the end of the day, however, the only regrets I have are those of omission, not commission. I've never said "gee, i wish I hadn't done that" but I've often said "gee, I wish I had done this when I had the chance".

You're sure you don't want the rug?

***

-----Original Message----- From: xxxxxxx@aol.com To: THE_BF@xxxxxx.com Sent: Mon, 4 Dec 2006 9:52 AM Subject: Re: Ugly Rug Cheap! 5x8 Pottery Barn Rug All wool - $20

give the rug to a poor person- some woman out of a shelter with kids who's living with blankets on the floor- someone who can't even afford to buy something at goodwill at the end of the day i do say "I wish I hadn't done that" so lucky for you I have made some supremely bad choices that i now pay for dearly- the humor I see in your paragraph was the kind that the writers on Everybody Loves Raymond' used over and over again- after all- the whole show was a one trick pony- the stupid no nothing husband and the brilliant wife- alot of humor is that- your one observation about the rug and the room and the wife were enough for a two part sitcom you know that it's the work either you do it or you don't either you want it or you don't nobody who makes it is weak

When I think of leaving L.A. these days, it's only for a place that has a reasonably active craigslist. I mean, where else can you sell your shit, have a philosophical discussion and be insulted all in the same email exchange?

xxx c

P.S. The rug is still for sale.

Scanning my #$@! photos, Day 21: Intrepid exploratrix

trike! Do I make it look easy? It is. And it isn't.

I went through hundreds of photos today, looking for the perfect photo to wrap up this salute. And I found some gems, boy howdy. (The fashions! The hairdos!)

But what is most notable in the aggregate (which is the point of this 21-day thing) is the strange and wondrous collection of emotions that going through the photos brings up. And what is most important, I see, at the end of these three weeks, is having gone through them, day by day, photo by photo, scan by scan.

Or, in plainer words, it's all about the journey. Once you know that, picking the right photo is easy...

xxx c

Scanning my #$@! photos, Days 19 & 20: If you don't remember the '70s, your grandparents weren't there with a camera

As penance for missing another day (what is it about Fridays, anyway?), a fashion bonanza for lovers and haters of that shining hour for fashion, the 1970s.

Our first stop? The fireplace dyptych. Whether saluting my love for "plaid"...
Jumper

...or my 1/124th Aztec heritage...
Vest

...I did it with verve, pluck, and a certain, Chicago-ey je ne sais wtf?

And speaking of Chicago, let me note right upfront that no matter how chic I was, my Midwestern practicality forbade foolish extravagance. Even without the aid of modern 'styling', I knew almost instinctively, how, with the mere replacement of vest and beaded choker with a saucy yarn 'belt', to transform my look from 'wintry elegance' (above) to 'springtime sass':

yarn belt

Of course, stitch wizardry is every fashionista-on-a-budget's bestest secret weapon. Some girls have Armenian seamstresses; I had "Mom", who not proved invaluable come Halloween, but was instrumental in creating holiday magic at a price:

Nancy girl

Of course, as I grew up, so did my taste. I started approaching fashion with a more playful eye, and began pushing the envelope when it came to traditional holiday garb:

stretchy

Summer! Winter! What were these to me but seasonal 'suggestions'?! I would wear "summer" in "winter", and "powder blue corduroys" and "Quiana print shirts" whenever the hell I felt like it!!!

Quiana shirt

About this time (age 15-16), I also discovered the subtle allure of fine, French perfume (see Jean Naté spray bottle, above), as well as the sultry allure of a not-smile: what an upside to buck teeth and braces!

Armed with these secret fashion weapons, I was all but unstoppable. It was not until I discovered the culotte, however...

Culottes

...that my undisputed reign as Queen of Cowtown Style truly began...

xxx
c

Scanning my #$@! photos, Day 18: A face like a map of Old Russia

i love bos ton It's been interesting noting what I think and feel as I go through these old, medium and less-old photos.

Sometimes I'm wonder what I would tell the Colleen of That Particular Past were I given the opportunity. Sometimes I struggle to recall how I felt when the photo was taken, and whether or not I actually felt that way or am imposing freshly-minted thoughts and feelings on a 'memory' that exists only as a photograph. When the photos are of people and places that pre-date me, I wonder how I would enjoy time-traveling to that spot, whether the people in the photo would like me and I them, whether time travel itself will be possible at some point.

When I pulled this photo out, I debated over whether or not to scan and post it. There's nothing notable about it really. It's not funny or striking, and there's no great story behind it. It was taken by a friend on a trip to Geneva, IL, a distant suburb of Chicago, some utterly forgettable street-art-city fair our excuse for the excursion.

But just as I was about to toss the snap back onto the growing pile in the center of my living room floor, the title of this post flitted (flit? floated?) through my brain. I don't remember who described my face that way, but I do remember having been vaguely baffled and mildly offended by it. I am the issue of a classically beautiful gentile woman and a classically handsome Jewish man (proof right here, if you can overlook Stupid Period Crewcut) and I ended up looking mostly like the man, which, let's face it, was not the card to pull in 1961 Chicago if you were planning on being Miss Illinois one day. Which I was, of course, along with Famous Writer, Famous Artist, Famous Actress and Famous Celebrity.

I know it could be worse, which makes me feel worse about feeling bad about it at all. Between my younger sister (who looks like our mother) and me, my parents had a daughter who was born with spina bifida, club feet and Downs. She lived only three months, and given that they started in 1964 or '65, that was probably a good thing. I'm grateful to look as good as I do and since I got diagnosed with the Crohn's, I'm even more grateful that I'm as healthy as I am.

Still, it's always rankled a bit, this looking almost pretty. This sometimespretty: pretty when the light is right or the camera angle great or my mood superb or some mix of the above. It's ridiculous, because not only have I not suffered from being sometimespretty, it's largely responsible for a healthy and longish career in acting, as well. In fact, it may have been my first commercial agent who made the remark.

So the reason I paused when I saw this is because I saw it there, finally, that map of Russia. And not only do like it, I'm almost proud of it, although of course what I'm really proud of is that I feel good about my face looking just the way it does.

This is not, in case you're wondering, a fishing expedition, although it shames me a bit to admit that certain other of these posts have been just that: Here I am, adorable at seven! Here I am, adorable at five! For the love of all that's holy, please confirm that at the very least, I was adorable at seven and five! I curse this culture and what it does to girls without the persistent and aggressive intervention of responsible grownups (and sometimes, despite it). My mother banned Barbieâ„¢ from the house and was given to pronouncements along the lines of anything given you by Nature can be snatched back in a heartbeat by a speeding truck and a swath of asphalt. (At five she said this! and seven!) But let's face it, when Mom has the face of a porcelain goddess, it's hard to take her too seriously.

Speaking of which, that's probably enough seriousness for one day. I think I'll go see if I can dig out that meeting of Grampa's wife and his mistress, or maybe another one of those pictures of me digging for gold south of the equator...

xxx c

Scanning my #$@! photos, Day 17: The other Miss Ciccone

You know that whole vogueing thing Madonna lifted from the gays back in the 90's? Fuck Madonna.

I didn't need videos or bustiers to strike a pose; I worked my shit in polyester turtlenecks and matching red barrettes from Walgreens.

Poker Butt

And those big, elaborate shows she's so famous for? Ha! Cast your eyes on this, peoples. I didn't have to go hire expensive backup dancers: I got my sister to dance and play lead!

Tamborine dance

Nor did I need an elaborate production as backdrop to strike my poses. I just hit the stairs, grabbed the nearest walking stick and worked it. In my Sunday-Go-To-Meetin' clothes, no less. Take that, Material Girl!

cane dance

And just in case you think all that early vogueing was a fluke, that she didn't blatantly steal my act and run with it, I would like to point out that I was doing yoga in 1970, back when only skinny Hindu dudes and that Lilias chick did it: headstand

Enough. No need to rub it in. Clearly, I have proved beyond a shadow of a doubt who staked out this territory first.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go adopt an African infant...

xxx c

Scanning my #$@! photos, Day 15: The only (known) pictures of me topless extant

Before my big head overtook my big features, I was a pretty photogenic kid. As proof, I offer up to you the following piece of electrifying photojournalism, from the Chicago Tribune, August 30, 1964: Fashion Model Goes to Work

I have no real memories prior to age 3; most of things I call 'memories' are just admixtures of other people's stories, my own wishful thinking and crumbling photos like these. There are still some people around who could confirm how this afternoon of 'fashion' went down: my Aunt Mary, who is helping me on with my, um, bathing trunks. And I think that's Aunt Patti looking on, in the background.

Getting dressed

What strikes me the most about old, old photos like these is not whatever weird, random event was happening or how funny we look but how happy I seem.

Cocadots

My maternal grandmother, the one who bore these two particular aunts, along with seven other children, once said I'd always had a 'sunny disposition'. (I was around 36 when she said it, so I'm pretty sure it actually happened.)

Getting dressed

The happiness itself I mainly remember through pictures. Because the years between 10 and 40 were not so happy, mostly. Of course here, even 10 was a long way off, so of course I'm happy. Ignorance being bliss and all that.

all done

Ignorance and patent-leather Mary Janes and someone to help you put them on...

xxx c

Scanning my #$@! photos, Days 12 & 13: My Freshman Five

As penance for skipping a day of exercise, I'm doing a little extra today. smoke 'em

That's right: five, count 'em, five, slices of the communicatrix as underclassman.

wheat thins

For the most part, I have given up the follies of my girlhood: Long fingernails (bad on short nailbeds). Track suits and green plastic sunglasses (bad on everyone). Wheat products. Smoking (both tobacco and feminine hygiene products). Bad hair accessories. (Although come to think of it, the rest of my outfit here is surprisingly, um, timeless.)

board game

But in addition to evoking feelings of shame, embarrassment or plain old befuddlement, these trips down Memory Lane also bring out a surprising tenderness in me, surprising, because the tenderness is for myself, an infrequent recipient of that particular feeling from that particular quarter.

On the one hand, how can I help it? I see that face, cheekbones still swaddled in baby fat, and want to grab it in both knobby hands to kiss it. So sweet! So pure! So impossibly earnest!

I mean, look at me: I'm wearing a cowboy hat, for cryin' out loud!

cowboy hat

But don't take my word for it; let me go back in time and speak for myself.

This, from the earliest journal of mine that still exists, started in November of 1979, also known as the first official chasm of my grownup despair:

journal

Six things.

If that doesn't melt your cold, cold heart, you might not have one to begin with...

xxx c

Scanning my #$@! photos, Day 7: It's a man, baby!

BirdsEye shoot Me, on a BirdsEye shoot in an Oregon field somewheres, back when I was cutting my own hair, smoking 2-3 packs of Marlboro reds/day, embracing the digital calculator watch as fashion accessory for the up-&-coming copywriter and posing like Patton without the slightest trace of irony.

Well, okay, I was working the Patton thing a little.

xxx c

Scanning my #$@! photos, Day 5: Portrait of the blogger as a young mercenary

old town art fair When I was growing up in Chicago in the 1960s, the Old Town Art Fair was a big, fat, hairy deal. I didn't understand what "unjuried" meant. I didn't understand what the term "entry fee" meant. All I knew was that my friend, Chicago Jan, lived in a building just off the main drag, that my grandparents (who lived in a building across the street) thought I was a genius and that I was an artist, dammit, why wouldn't a bunch of complete strangers want to buy my drawings!? And potholders!? For just 50¢!?! They were a far sight better than some stupid lemonade.

Stupid lemonade...

xxx c

Scanning my #$@! photos, Day 4: Call me 'Patches'!

me with pillow on head There are so many wrongs this picture reminds me of.

Me, leaving the price tag on my new toque.

My grandparents, seizing the free pass for unfettered hillbilly decorating that the 1970s provided to recover their spectacular, Mid-Century sofa in movie theater carpeting.

My mother, letting me out of the house wearing Garanimals, The Holly Hobbie Edition. Hell, I hated Holly Hobbie.

But really, what disturbs me most is the placement of my hands. What am I doing with my hands!?! At my grandparents' house!!!

On Christmas!!!

xxx c

UPDATE: Oh, yeah, and Bonwit Teller closing. And for what? To make room for another Victoria's Secret?