Guest Blogger: David Anderson

Lipstick

there were two hours until the concert began. marilyn manson sat astride his dressing-room stool, staring blankly at his reflection in the mirror. he'd already finished his white foundation, and was beginning to outline the black circles of eyeliner around his eyes.

he remembered how at sixteen, when he'd first borrowed his sister's eyeliner, his mother had cried. she hadn't yelled, hadn't told him to take it off, had only looked at him dejectedly before burying her face into her hands, sobbing. forget her, marilyn thought. this is who i am. i don't have to conform to her hypocritical idea of what i should be.

but as he finished the last black ring and lifted the lipstick to his face, he thought, this is the hardest part. he thought of how his mother used to tell her friends proudly how little marilyn was the best science student in the whole sixth-grade class, how he was going to grow up to be a doctor just like his father. that was before his father had left his mother.

the days were a blur now, of orgies and shattered hotel rooms and screaming fans and drugs.

he finished the lipstick and smacked his lips together, as a single tear rolled down his cheek, tracing a crooked path through the white powder on his face.

Lisa: Segue

I think this is the best conversational transition I have ever heard (courtesy Gabrielle):

"Speaking of unnattractive bulges..."

Lisa: Percussion...Strings...Winds....Words

Sarah: I've had the song "Poor Unfortunate Souls" from The Little Mermaid stuck in my head all morning.
Lisa: Hee. Now I'm going to have it in MY head. Thanks a lot.
Sarah: “This one longing to be thinner, this one wants to get the girl, and do I help them??”
Sarah: “Yes indeed!”
Lisa: hee
Lisa: “If you want to cross the bridge, my friend, you have to pay the toll!”
Sarah: hee
Lisa: “(Flotsam, Jetsam, now i've got her, boys! THE BOSS IS ON A ROOOOOLLLLL!)”
Lisa: “those
Lisa: POOR
Lisa: UN
Lisa: FOR
Lisa: TUNATE
Lisa: SOOOOUUUUULLLLS!”
Sarah: No one can shimmy like Ursula.
Lisa: truh

Lisa: You mean I might have to get a real job?

I have this fantasy. No, it's not about D-Bo, you sickos! Anyway, here it is (not that you asked):

A wealthy older woman in my neighborhood has spent the last ten years aquiring an extensive collection of high quality children’s picture books. I don’t know if the books were taking up too much room in her home or if the woman developed a social conscience, but she now wants to share the picture books with the community. She doesn’t want to donate them to the public library, because she wants the collection to stay together with her name on it. Also, the nearest city library is a ten-minute drive and she would like the children in her neighborhood to be within walking distance.

Since this woman knows that I am working on a degree in library science, she wants me to investigate what it would take to start a privately owned “public” library. Of course, I would be the librarian...

After that it just gets too personal.

Lisa: Vocabulary Lesson

Lately I have heard several people use the words genre and oeuvre almost interchangeably. We must put a stop to this outrage!

Here's what Merriam-Webster's online dictionary has to say:

genre: a category of artistic, musical, or literary composition characterized by a particular style, form, or content

oeuvre: a substantial body of work constituting the lifework of a writer, an artist, or a composer

Ringwald movie watchers and sci-fi readers take note!

Sarah: Random Musings

Not to beat a dead fashion horse (har, har, har...) [Truly, I think "dead CLOTHES horse" would have been funnier. --Lisa], but another tragedy was witnessed today. An girl in orchestra who will remain nameless went crazy with the music accessories. Aside from the silver necklace with a viola charm, she had an enormous viola pin that was fastened to her shirt collar. It was just extreme music geekiness. Girls like that make everyone else think we're freaks. We're not! I'm extremely well-adjusted, and can seem quite normal in some circles. Just ask me!

Speaking of me (that's what it's all about, really), I'm having some issues. Maybe this is too personal for a blog that is open to the public, but here's the deal. I'm a young girl. Not tragic looking. So tell me, why have I not had a date for months? I think if I go much longer, I'll forget how to flirt. Then I will die a spinster, dried up inside, unable to love. [And eaten by Alsatians? Ok, sorry, I'll stop interrupting now. --Lisa] This is not good.

Not to change the subject or anything, but my brother has a music problem. A few years ago, he was an incredible musical snob. He also can play anything he wants on the piano, and often mimics pop music exactly. Dave has a large Ben Folds and Ben Folds Five repertoire. Recently, though, he's allowed any music to resound in his ears and exit his fingertips. The other day he was caught in the act of playing some Vanessa Carlton. DAVID!!! Think, then act! I appreciate his openness to music, but still miss him being superior to others along with me and Lisa. It's the little things, really.

Sarah: Holla!

...As in the relaxed pronunciation of "holler." My friend and I have decided to work this word into our working vocabulary. I am struck by the meaninglessness of this word in the raps of supastars like Ja Rule and Jay-Z. Speaking of Ja Rule, I find it difficult to understand why that man is now rich and famous. Perhaps I am perpetuating his recognizability, but I am going to venture a criticism. As far as I can see, Ja Rule can't sing. At all. Nor is he a particularly innovative rapper. Some people in the entertainment business can get by on good looks, but I do not find Ja Rule to fit into this category. He's one third of the size of most rappers (with the exception of Eminem) and has a small head with an even smaller mustache. This doesn't look like meticulously groomed facial hair, but more like he couldn't grow any more. Okay, I think I've reached a meanness level that I usually avoid. I shall retract most of my statements, but maintain that Ja Rule should just let Ashanti do the singing on their duets. Perhaps he can insert a "holla!" between verses.

Lisa: Concert Black

My mom and I have been talking about starting a small business. It's getting pretty serious--more so than my usual genius ideas--because we're talking about getting a small business loan and I've registered a domain name and everything.

Here's the concept. Almost all orchestras and symphonies require their female musicians to wear formal, all-black ensembles, usually skirts, that are long-sleeved and ankle-length. If you have shopped for this type of outfit before (as I have on countless occasions), you would know that it does not exist. If it's formal enough and long enough, the sleeves are guaranteed to be too short, etc. "But I'm sure there's an online clothing retailer that caters to musicians," you might say. You would be wrong. The only similar-concept site that I have found after countless hours of searching has only ugly clothes with short sleeves.

We've decided to sell separates, a la David's Bridal bridesmaid outfits. Separates are the easiest way to fit varying body types and allow for customized looks that give an overall uniform effect. There are a few caveats for formalwear that is used as an everyday uniform, though:

Lisa: Demon Spawn

Is it wrong to feel vaguely jealous when you find out that your ex-boyfriend's wife is pregnant? Even if you are happily married yourself and have rationally decided not to reproduce until doing so won't reduce you to eating mayonnaise sandwiches? I am thinking yes--it is wrong. But does it happen? I think I can safely respond in the affirmative.

Update: This bizarre cloning experiment gone wrong has come to an end. The devastated parents are now sobbing over their misshapen and tiny female offspring. And no, writing it this way didn't really make me feel better.

Sarah: 3:58 p.m.

I was sitting in the computer lab, minding my own business and reading Mimi Smartypants, when a largish man that looked like he was in his late 20s or early 30s walked past me. I didn't really notice him until he flung the jacket he was holding in my direction as if in salutation. I looked up, thinking one of my friends was saying hello on his way out. No. I've never seen this guy before. Also, he never looked at me. Why the walk-by flinging? Senseless violence surrounds us everywhere.

Sarah: Fishing for Compliments

Setting: Bus stop
Characters: Girls 1, 2, 3, and 4, all of whom probably spend a lot longer on their appearance than I do.
Girl 1 (to Girl 2): You look really cute today!
Girl 2: Oh, thanks!
Girl 3: Yeah, you do.
Girl 4: Oh... No one ever says that to me.
[Awkward silence]
Girl 1: Well, maybe you should do something about that.

Lisa: Shelve the Issue

I am not very good at spacial thinking or story problems, and I have a deceptively simple question that I have not been able to find the answer to:

How many bookcases do I need?

I can count the number of books I have, but how many books fit in each bookcase? I know that books are different sizes, but even an estimate would be helpful. I can't just start buying bookcases, one at a time, until all the books are shelved. How would I know how big of a room I need to hold the bookcases that are holding my books? And what if you have a whole basement full of books, and you don't want to count them all? Say that you know you have 10 bookcases full--how many books is that?

I have found online calculators of the square footage of storage space in a bookcase, but I don't know the square footage of my books! Libraries and bookstores must have some kind of formula for this type of calculation. Why don't they publish this valuable information online?

Lisa: Calling all Dons

Help Sars find Don. Why? Because I would never dare to do what she is doing. Because sometimes after you meet someone, you wonder if he was the person you were meant to be with, and that now, because you feared rejection, you will always wonder. Because she is intelligent, funny, and not a stalker (as far as I know).

Sarah: Fighting the Man

A friend from high school that I chat on instant messenger with informed me last night that she is engaged to a Cuban guy so that he can get U.S. citizenship. Apparently, for this to work, you don't actually have to marry the guy, just be engaged and sign something. I'm very hazy about all of this. Anyway, a mutual friend is paying her $2000 and flew her and her mother down to Cuba for a trip just to be engaged to this guy! I appreciate her desire to help people that are stuck in bad living conditions. I also cautioned her, though, when I thought of that movie, Green Card, and how they had to pretend to be married because it was illegal. Is it worth this effort by my friend to save one person from life in Cuba?

Lisa: the glasses make the man?

A strangely hot photo of a bloody and bespectacled David Boreanaz (found here):

Click on the thumbnail for the whole picture. It was taken during the filming of The Crow: Wicked Prayer, a movie that I (somewhat inexplicably) hope makes it to the theaters. Just thought I'd share.

You know, maybe my brother was right about his glasses/hotness theory. I'll have to think about that.