Monthly Archives: February 2010

What I really think about Allen Ginsberg: an interlude.

The Terms in Which I Think of Reality

Reality is a question
of realizing how real
the world is already.

Time is Eternity,
ultimate and immovable;
everyone’s an angel.

It’s Heaven’s mystery
of changing perfection :
absolute Eternity

changes! Cars are always
going down the street,
lamps go off and on.

It’s a great flat plain;
we can see everything
on top of a table.

Clams open on the table,
lambs are eaten by worms
on the plain. The motion

of change is beautiful,
as well as form called
in and out of being.

Next : to distinguish process
in its particularity with
an eye to the initiation

of gratifying new changes
desired in the real world.
Here we’re overwhelmed

with such unpleasant detail
we dream again of Heaven.
For the world is a mountain

of shit : if it’s going to
be moved at all, it’s got
to be taken by handfuls.

Man lives like the unhappy
whore on River Street who
in her Eternity gets only

a couple of bucks and a lot
of snide remarks in return
for seeking physical love

the best way she knows how,
never really heard of a glad
job or joyous marriage or

a difference in the heart :
or thinks it isn’t for her,
which is her worst misery.

-Allen Ginsberg

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What I really think about the munchies.

It’s time to get back on track, and this blog has been a long time coming. And a long time in the making.

Countless hours of trying to fend off the munchies, countless methods of attempting to satisfy them once and for all, too many dollars to count spent on powdered, raspberry-filled doughnuts, cheesy/oniony/sour creamy potato chips, candy bars, lemon-lime sodas, hot dogs, and various other impulse purchases.

In my opinion, there are few pitfalls to the stoner lifestyle, and they are entirely conquerable–if you feel you are awkward around people, smoke more and get used to it, and get out of your head. If you think you’re being lazy, get up and do something.

There are only two serious downsides that I have yet to overcome, the first: total exhaustion.

What the hell is it about smoking that makes you feel like you’ve been awake for four days, alternately crying, and sprinting with 50 pound ankle weights on? I can barely stay awake when standing upright or engaged in stimulate conversation, don’t even get me started on the difficulties I encounter when someone puts a movie on the television or dims the lights.

But even worse than the sleepies are the munchies… No matter how hard I try to suppress them, or prepare for them, or satisfy them, I never really have, without ending up feeling hungry, or nauseated.

There is the never-ending search for the perfect munchy food, something sweet and something salty… Or something sweet and salty, like caramel covered Bugles. Once upon a late night I saw these at the convenience store down the road, and I thought I had discovered the answer to my problems. But, alas! they were a sticky mess, and the caramel made the Bugles soggy, and they are nowhere near guilt-free.

But perhaps this ode to the munchies, or rant about them, comes at just the right time. Tomorrow, Taylor and I are doing the 21-Day Vegan Kickoff. I think it might actually be a vegetarian thing, but I guess we’re just upping the stakes. And for the most part, we keep away from meat, so going vegetarian would be too easy, in my opinion. I’m hoping that trying out the vegan thing will not only help the good eating habits I’ve already developed, but also make me healthier and more aware of the stuff I’m putting in my mouth. I will have to study many more ingredient lists, and I don’t think that’s a bad thing at all.

We start tomorrow! Which means that I need to go grocery shopping real, real bad. We’ve got lots of support–we’ve told all of our friends and roommates, and several of my family members have offered up recipes and cookbooks. Whoooo!

Let’s hope this goes well, and since smoking is a totally vegan thing, let’s hope I find some easy, quick, amazing, veggie dish to whip up and satisfy my munchies! Otherwise I’m gonna be pretty hungry for a while.

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What I really think about getting away.

It’s all fun and games until your grandmother has a stroke and your childhood dog dies.

But! My five days away were still lovely, albeit somewhat stressful, though they did not afford much time or energy or motivation for blogging.

No worries, my three avid readers, I am back with vengeance, and a job!

Sorry you had to miss me so much, but it was well worth it to  have a fun and carefree handful of days away before heading in to work again for the first time in quite a while (that extremely brief, shameful, self-loathing blip at a discount store that shall not be named does not count!)

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What I really think about armpit hair.

Ahhh, the long-debated and never resolved, to shave or not to shave?

As the occupant of a rather liberal city, who occupies rather liberal circles, I can safely say I have encountered my fair share of armpit hair, in both men and women. And while I was never especially a fan of it on men, I (oddly) happen to think women who are liberated enough to grow out their pit hair and raise their arms high above their heads while wearing a tank top are sexy as hell.

And yet, I don’t care for it on men–I would almost go so far as to say that it sort of grosses me out. And this double standard makes me feel like a hypocrite, or some sort of sexist, backwards feminist, or some sort of represser of males. Of course, I would never expect them to shave their armpits constantly for my sake, nor do I find it enough of a turn off to actually have an influence on anything… So why do women feel so compelled to shave? Does anyone really care that much about some hair in an armpit or two?

Let me say (as not only a liberated woman, but a lazy one) it has been a long while since I have taken a razor to my underarms, and I am damn proud of that. My two little patches of hair resemble those of a pubescent boys’, but I think they are fun, and for as long as I keep them, I think they are a bold and confident statement of feminism! Har har. Up to this point, however, I have felt obligated to remove any sign of hair from my underarms, as though it were never there at all. In fact, at this time last year I had equally under-groomed underarms, and began to feel uncomfortable at work while reaching up for items on display higher up. As soon as I started to reach for them I would break into a cold sweat, worried that I would lose my sale or make customer run away, screaming at the sight of my overgrown underarms.

And for what reason? Why does hairlessness = beauty?

Well I’ve had enough! Popular culture and opinion can put that in it’s pipe and smoke it!

But you’re probably right, I’m just trying to justify my own laziness and cut down on my overall shower time. Now there’s an idea–conserve water, quit shaving!

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What I really think about chocolate peanut butter ice cream.

Dear Tillamook,

While I love your cheese (and squeaky cheese!) and other assorted dairy products, your chocolate peanut butter ice cream is hands-down the best I have ever eaten (which is really something, considering I am an avid choco-peanut butter fan).

The chocolate ice cream is so rich and creamy… The ribbons of peanut butter swirling throughout are so thick and salty, and so abundant, and without chunks of peanut–so smooth… The two compliment one another so perfectly, and it all dissolves in my mouth to make the best flavor combination known to man!

Keep up the good work, guys.

Yours, affectionately,

Blocktherapy

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Filed under Critiques., Recommendations.

What I really think about doppelgangers.

After avoiding the Facebook breast cancer post-your-bra-color extravaganza, I gave in to the evils of fads and doppelgangers week. Equipped with the ever-so-handy celebrity look-alike generator on MyHeritage.com, I picked out a straight-on, full-faced picture of me that seemed to be the best representation, and uploaded it. I excitedly waited for my matches with Taylor, wondering if I would get Reese Witherspoon (who people always say I look like) or one of the Olsen twins (who people used to say I looked like as a child).

Finally, after almost more time than I could stand (I mean come on, high speed internet, really?!) my matches finally popped up! As we scrolled through them, my matches were increasingly disappointing and, for the most part, male or Asian (including Daniel Radcliffe AKA Harry fucking Potter).

Obviously, after this I was seriously disenchanted. I decided I was nowhere near cute (or thin?) enough to post a picture of either of the Olsen twins or Reese Witherspoon, out of fear that people would scoff and think me conceited. So I posted no picture, and just an update to the effect of: Tried to find her doppelganger via MyHeritage.com, and her best matches were either Daniel Radcliffe (??) or Asian and/or male. So, no go, I’m just free to be me.

Needless to say, the post got a couple of responses, one from Taylor’s brother, who informed me that he thinks I look a little bit like America Ferrera, and the other from a friend who agreed. I googled her, of course, and browsed through a few images before deciding that she, too, was a little too pretty for me to presume her to be my doppelganger, and picked a picture of her in her show “Ugly Betty.” Though I am neither Hispanic nor have braces, some of the facial features and the glasses reminded me of myself.

But I wasn’t satisfied.

I googled “Reese Witherspoon” (not quite me), so I googled “fat Reese Witherspoon” (apparently there is no such thing), so (remembering her in Election) I googled “young Reese Witherspoon.” Tah-dah! I found a picture I was content with (similar to the one on the left), and cropped it a little, and called it a day.

But I still feel silly… And… I guess I would rather just be me… Ha.

Needless to say, we fiddled around on MyHeritage.com all day. My friend Casey who got Mother Teresa as her number one match (an aged Mother Teresa at that) when all she really looks like is our friend Jessa (or so we’ve heard), and Jessa’s match included Halle Berry and Madonna, neither of whom she looks like at all (we have since decided that their system is seriously flawed, aside from several matches here and there that were fairly close). Of course, this brought us to search for other celebrity look-alike generators, which led me to stumbling upon the greatest and the creepiest website of all time.

MakeMeBabies.com !! Holy shit.

Naturally, I matched my picture with pictures of all of my friends that were readily available (and some that were not), and picked out a frame and gender (or no gender) and name, and a picture of our child (“Little _____”) was generated and framed. I even matched myself up to see what my love child with Miley Cyrus would look like (trashy, and not cute).

See! Today, I did a damn good job using this period of joblessness.

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What I really think about swallowing your pride.

I panicked and… it happened.

I sucked it up, I e-mailed my old manager, I put my nose in all the right places, and I got my job back.

I’m officially un-unemployed.

As of week three (after Valentine’s Day) I’m headed in to be re-trained in the art of bra-fitting.

This means I have two weeks left to enjoy the nerve-wracking bliss of unemployment.

Look at me go! I’m determined to not shower and wear my pajamas constantly and incessantly smoke and play useless games on the internet and giggle and bloggggg my life away. Well, the next two weeks of my life, anyway.

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