gigi & the LNGs

what's for dinner?

so, while exiting bart at glen park today i rode the escalator behind a nice looking asian woman.  she wore a cheetah print fleece, her hair was cut in a flattering bob, and she appeared to be in her mid- to late forties.  in her hands she had several grocery bags, one of which contained a brown paper bag inside the plastic one she carried.  that's nice, i thought, she looks like a nice mom who's probably going home to make a lovely dinner for her family.  i envisioned a dinner table with people around it, enjoying a meal together.  i started to feel a bit homesick for my own family and for my mom's cooking.  that's when, as we approached the top of the escalator, whatever was in the aforementioned paper bag started moving.  or should i say, based on the noises and the jerking the bag made, that's when it started flailing.  it continued in this way for several more seconds, and then stopped by the time we disembarked at the turnstiles.  great, i thought, that lady's going to go home and chop the head off of whatever's for dinner tonight.  which then caused me to envision the nice lady brandishing a butcher knife, and wonder how she would get dinner to hold still so that she could get a nice clean cut.  or perhaps it was a lobster, which produced the image of the nice lady looming behind a vat of boiling water, tossing the creature in and chopping vegetables as it wailed.  by the time i got home i was quite shaken, and wondered who i could really trust.  how many nice ladies are out there, going home to decapitate or boil alive something for dinner?  how many?

london

it was this week five years ago that i arrived at the waterloo station in london, off the chunnel train from paris, exhausted from another train i'd ridden the night before and badly in need of a shower.  the morning and afternoon had been spent in a semi-nap at the foot of the eiffel tower after a terrifying attempt to ride the elevator to the top of that monstrous erection, followed by a confused frenzy to get to the train bound for london.  the day after my arrival in london i rode the tube to the holborn station, checked out my future living quarters at the london school of economics, and then wandered down to trafalgar square, where i purchased a map and a guidebook.  i was in london for a 6-week study abroad program through umich, and even though i spent most of that summer wallowing in self-pity over my oh-so terrible broken heart, i still met people that ultimately changed my life in one way or the other, and i still took away salient memories of london, the city, to have always.

now i think of the summer of 2000 as the last hurrah, the last hurrah before bush stole the election that fall, before the terrorist fuckers blew up the world trade center and the people inside, before bush's right wing zealot cronies hijacked our government and media and acted out their ugly fantasies on our civil liberties and rule of law and budget surplus.  it was the last hurrah before our military penetrated afghanistan and iraq, before our government alienated the rest of the world community, before cell phones could detonate bombs on commuter trains, before people were going around blowing themselves up in public spaces around the middle east, and before 50 people were senselessly murdered, 700 people burned and cut, along the very transit lines that i rode five years ago, lamenting the departure from my life of an emotionally bankrupt psychological invalid and wondering how much of my parents' money i could get away with spending at harrods.  clinton was president, the dollar held strong, and the u.s. military was not busy valiantly squashing insurgents while simultaneously winning hearts and minds anywhere.

i've sometimes offhandedly referred to that time as the last hurrah, but when i truthfully contemplate that period in the context of everything that was to come in the next five years, it takes on a sinister quality.  not the memories of london so much, nor the meeting of important friends, but the sense that my american peers and i, as well as the people of london that summer were blindly headed towards some blackened future, rather than the bright one that seemed so certain, some hole that was being dug for us beyond our knowledge or control.  because it's not as if the contributing factors to the aforementioned events weren't in the works long before and during the summer of 2000 - people like me were just oblivious to them.  i guess that in a way, i feel guilty.  guilty that i spent the summer of 2000 in a state of gluttony, spoiled and mostly oblivious, when maybe i could have been doing something that might have helped the world i inhabited. 

but also, i feel like people my age got a bum deal.  because as new adults, we've inherited the world as it currently is.  and i feel that in order to fend off the doom that seems inevitable these days, we need to wage so many battles that i have no idea where to begin - the oncoming assault on the supreme court, the vicious discrimination against gay americans, the patriot act, our appalling foreign policy, etc., etc.  people my age five years ago were headed into overpaid jobs in every field.  but then again, a lot of them lost those jobs not long after.  along with the stock options they'd earned and the financial security they'd thought they'd gained.  maybe it's better in some twisted way that now we've got a real fight on our hands.  because while my responsibilities as an adult seem a hell of a lot harder than they might have been, maybe they're nobler than those of  blindly raking in cash to funnel back out into our consumer culture.  maybe the apathy of the 90s, and stupidity of this decade's first half, can transform into some new resolve among people.  maybe?

but right now, i'm sad for the people of london, i'm sad for the people of england, and i'm sad for anyone who has suffered as a result of  these attacks.  my heart goes out to all of you...

yes, they are my real breasts...

so, i was picked to be the 2006 (4th annual) noir city film festival femme fatale.  so this image, with a few adjustments, will be all over san francisco come this january.  of course, nobody will recognize me.  but at least i can say that yes, those ARE my real breasts...

we are FUCKED

we are FUCKED .  and with rehnquist on his last leg we are ESPECIALLY fucked.  and if real winners like priscilla owen, janice rogers brown, and william pryor are representative of bush's true taste in judges, we are COMPLETELY fucked.  i'm so glad that the democrats essentially sold out their right to fillibuster.  will the debates over bush's supreme court nominations count as "extraordinary circumstances" over which senators are now allowed to fillibuster?  my general sense of dread and malaise about the immediate future of our country just went up exponentially...

ACCEPTANCE

so, this morning i notice a new voicemail on my phone.  i check it:  "hello genevieve, this is suzanne carlson from UC hastings admissions.  i'm calling regarding your email that you sent on june 9th.  i'd love to talk to you today, so please call me at ---.  thank you!"  the email i'd sent was a reply to their email seeking confirmation that i'd still like to be active on their waitlist for the fall.  i'd replied in the affirmative.  my breath quickens a bit, and i replay the message to get the number she'd left.  i call.  i'm put on hold by the office person.  ms. carlson answers.  she greets me.  she is pleased to tell me that a seat has opened up for this fall's incoming class, and she would like to offer me admission to UC hastings.  i say YES, i would absolutely like to accept.  she extends her congratulations, explains that the school received 6200 applications this year for only 400 places in the class, and that she is very happy to welcome me to UC hastings.  i make plans to come down to the school to put down my seat deposit.  she thanks me for calling her back today, i thank her for calling, and hang up.  "fuck yeaaaahhhhh!" i yell for the benefit of those in my living room.  i am going to law school in august.  FUCK YEAH!!!!!

priority waitlisted

so, as of now, i've been rejected by four of the ten law schools to which i have applied, and have been priority waitlisted by one of them, this one being boston college.  i have to say, however, that i kind of like this priority waitlist thing.  you see, there are two waitlists at boston college.  the regular one, and the priority one.  people on the priority waitlist get in before anyone from the regular waitlist gets in.  and they don't rank the students on the pwl, they consider each application individually as openings arise.  this is comforting.  the whole thing is sort of akin to the reassurance that 2nd class passengers on the titanic had.  sure, the 1st class passengers had first dibs on the lifeboats, but at least the 2nd classers weren't locked in steerage to die like the 3rd class passengers.  but i'm ashamed to say that i get another sort of reassurance from being on the priority waitlist.  yes, being on the priority waitlist makes me feel privileged.  and, well, it gives me a sick sense of superiority over the faceless people on the regular waitlist.  it's true that i have not actually been admitted into boston college.  but doesn't that put me in the perfect position to feel superior?  if i'd been admitted, then i wouldn't need to feel superior to anyone.  i'd just be happy that i'd been admitted.  really, i'm following social and emotional precedent by clinging to the feelings of superiority that being on the priority waitlist affords me.  the most pompous and superior-acting fuckers are always the ones who don't quite have what they really want.  they feel insecure and disappointed, so they cope by clinging to their sad & lame places in the hierchy.  and right now, that's me.  oh jesus, what have i become?  i'm gonna make a great fucking lawyer...

clocky!!

holy crap, my friend gauri  is the "someone" who designed clocky, profiled in this piece on marketplace!  she is one genius lady!  whoo hoo!

uno, dos, tres

quatorce.  {shudder}  so, just what IS wrong with bono, anyway?  because something is wrong, clearly.  something has gone askew.  poor bono.  maybe some chemical from one of his hair products has leaked into his brain.
---------------------------------------
i've got wanderlust lately, but am increasingly frustrated since my continued poverty prevents me from ever leaving this god-damned city.  i need to learn how to SAVE MONEY.  there are too many cursed temptations here in san francisco, temptations that lurk around every corner, commanding me to spend.  even seemingly innocuous things, like this city's myriad nail spas.  why in god's name would a person, who can barely afford to fill her gas tank, ever seriously consider getting a pedicure and eyebrow tint?  and then do so??   but i did!  i spent money getting my eyebrows dyed.  and then, as a result, got a horrible rash/chemical burn around my eyebrows that made a significant portion of my face red, and puffy.  i would have taken a picture to post here, but my digital camera is broken, and i can't afford to get it fixed right now.

apply

so, i'm in chicago right now, and i just submitted two law school applications online.  both schools are probably going to reject me, but what the hell?  i'm interviewing at northwestern tomorrow.  they try to interview everybody, so it sadly does not mean that i am anything special in their eyes.  i must say that the fear is creeping up on me.  not fear of the interview.  i'll do just fine one that, i interview perfectly well.  nope, it's the plain and simple fear of rejection.  that i tortured myself over these applications for no reason.  it's also fear of disappointment.  i've let myself fantasize about being in school next fall, moving to chicago or ann arbor, not paying as ridiculous amounts of money in rent, being close to friends and family, doing something special with my life.  and in all liklihood those fanasies will go down in flames when i recieve the thin envelopes from those schools.  hell, at this point i'd feel good if one of them waitlisted me.  northwestern doesn't even send you the thin envelope.  they email you a link to a webpage where you discover your rejection.  you know, at least when you get the envelope, you have the power over how fast you open the damn thing.  on the internet you have no control over how fast the page opens.  suddenly, boom, it's there.  their decision.  what They have decided.  now my fate for next fall is in the hands of a bunch of Them.  oh jesus...

the nomi song

i want to see this movie february 18th at the castro theater .  klaus nomi was a fabulous new wave performer who died of aids in 1983.  his appearance is described as being like that of a kabuki alien and he sang pop like opera in a straight-up soprano range.  holy crap.  must...see...movie...

in other news, i rode a bike for the first time in san francisco today.  i don't think i'll ever drive again...