Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
Here is a spooky cat. Only because he's looking down at you from above, like, Beware the mulberry bush. Many gargoyles and then one ceramic cat.
This door knocker can be found somewhere along Spruce--maybe between 15-16. You may not be able to tell from the smaller photograph, but the knocker is a lion. People in Philadelphia seem to love lions.
I am cranky today. Didn't get much sleep last night (maybe like three hours?), and I'm not complaining about the reason why and then there's all this sort of strange work stuff going on and I don't know if I'll like this screenwriting class, as the teacher not only referred to me as "the only adult in the class" about four times, he also gave me $20 and told me to buy him a large coffee from Starbucks before every class. Is that rude or what? But I didn't say no. It's also a pretty big learning curve for me b/c I've never taken a film or media or TV class--writing or otherwise and so the format is all new:
Interior office: mid-day. Woman quickly types at her computer.
Cut to: Strange man standing outside of her door.
Voice Over: That was the day a strange man stood outside of my door.
Is somewhere there or what?
The really good part though is that he gave us a disc with a bunch of screenplays burned onto it, including a few I mentioned in my last post as my favorites, and then a few others that I really like too, such as Princess Bride. Maybe it won't totally suck, but it's hard to be on campus from 8 a.m. to 9:30 p.m. and then not get home until almost ten thirty.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Last time I posted photos, my mom emailed me to ask if I had to seek out the Virgin Mary's that are usually included. The answer is no. Every other window or home in South Philadelphia is graced by the VM. This particular Virgin lights up at night.
Blurry photo of the night sky. I took this last Wed. while walking home from the subway after my first Kelly's Writer house meeting--a writing group at Penn that meets every other week. We went over three stories/essays. I might make friends.
Piper in repose. This was one day after he and Paul Skoles had their balls nipped off.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Below, please find a photograph of my stepdad who was mostly quiet the entire time I was there. He's not the best conversationalist and he mostly likes to just fish and play cribbage.
This is his son, John (not a great photo of him--he's making a funny face). I've known John since I was little, but we've always met at weird in between ages that didn't match (he's about ten years older than me). This time, we had a little more in common or at least it felt easier to talk to him.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Speaking of absurd (absurdly cute), how about this mournful dog?
This house is off of Morris and maybe 12th or 13th. I like that it's so ornate and strange; a little out place with the row houses surrounding it.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
"She was without any other desire but to please him and make this night a success, and without any other sensation beyond an awareness of the end of his penis, strangely cool, repeatedly jabbing and bumping into and around her urethra. Her panic and disgust, she thought, were under control, she loved Edward, and all her thoughts were on helping him have what he so dearly wanted and to make him love her all the more. It was in this spirit that she slid her right hand down between his groin and hers. He lifted a little to let her through. She was pleased with herself for remember that the red manual advised that it was perfectly acceptable for the bride to 'guide the man in.'
"She found his testicles first, and, not at all afraid now, she curled her fingers softly around this extraordinary bristling item she had seen in different forms on dogs and horses, but had never quite believed could fit comfortably on adult humans. Drawing her fingers across its underside, she arrived at the base of the penis, which she held with extreme care, for she had no idea how sensitive or robust it was. She trailed her fingers along its length, noting with interest its silky texture, right to the tip, which she lightly stroked, and then, amazed by her boldness, she moved back down a little, to take his penis firmly, about halfway along, and pulled it downward, a slight adjustment, until she felt it just touching her labia.
"How could she have known what a terrible mistake she was making? Had she pulled on the wrong thing? Had she gripped too tight? He gave out a wail, a complicated series of agonized, rising vowels, the sort of sound she heard once in a comedy film when a waiter, weaving this way and that, appeared to be about to drop a towering pile of soup plates.
"In horror, she let go, as Edward, rising up with a bewildered look, his muscular back arching in spasms, emptied himself over her in gouts, in vigorous but diminishing quantities, filling her navel, coating her belly, thighs, and even a portion of her chin and kneecap in tepid, viscous fluid. It was a calamity, and she knew immediately that it was all her fault, that she was inept, ignorant, and stupid. She should not have interfered, she should never have believed the manual. If his jugular had burst, it could not have seemed more terrible. How typical, her overconfident meddling in matters of awesome complexity; she should have known well enough that her attitude in rehearsals for the string quartet had no relevance here."
There's more. She is disgusted, tries to get it all of of her by using one of the honeymoon pillows, and then runs from the room down to Chesil Beach. He is horrified and then angry. They see each other once more on the beach, but that's it. The marriage is annulled, they go on their separate ways, and both never love anyone as much (remember, it's McEwan of Atonement fame, known perhaps by pop culture only because that book was made into a movie starring Kierra Knightly, the British version of Winona Ryder). I was inappropriately trying to explain this scene to a co-worker and he said, Now I have to Google images of old men. I said, Why? He meant that he had to distract himself from thinking too much about the scene. I guess it was perhaps not the best topic of conversation at 10 a.m. on a Tuesday morning. I always forget that people don't think like I do and I don't find that scene or the idea of that scene particularly sexy. I was trying to explain how difficult it is to write something like that and still keep it charming and interesting in a way.
Dreamt last night that at a certain point in the next hour or so, the apocalypse would descend. I knew it was going to happen and that I would be erased, but no one else would believe me. This may come from listening to "It's the End of the World as We Know It" on repeat on my i-pod. "And I feel fine..."
Monday, September 8, 2008
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Went with Lisa Marie to Rittenhouse today so she could complete her writing assignment for her screenwriting class. We watched an old lady lurch across the pavement and then collapse on the grass and pass out. She wore an old white t-shirt that was not only inside out, it was also on backwards--you could see the tag flapping just below her neck. She was also carrying a brown paper bag with what I guess must've been a liquor bottle inside of it. Every once in awhile, she would attempt to pull herself together and stand up, but she couldn't do it. She would get up on both knees and then try to stand and roll over on her back and sort of struggle for a second and then give up again. It reminded me of watching a bug or a turtle trying to right itself. We did nothing. I asked LM if I should call 911, but she said, What would they do? Arrest her? Is it better for her to be free range or locked up in a cell? Plus, I guess the cops probably wouldn't do anything. Doesn't she have a family? Someone? Who lets a 65 year old woman out of the house and get drunk at 3 p.m.? Well, clearly, she doesn't have a family.
Have been exchanging emails with someone I know from high school, thanks to Facebook. She moved to Florida from Texas with her family when I was in 11th grade and was in the drama club with me. She also became a cheerleader, possibly even the captain of the team. She wrote on my Facebook wall the other day; something about how she was looking forward to doing community theater when she retires and that reminded me of a bunch of the plays we did together in high school, including one where she played this vampy alter ego in a red dress and I played this wallflower type, studious, nerdy, just like I was in real life. But there was this great scene where my character got to be the sexy one, lost the glasses, wore a sexy dress, and shook her hair out--the whole ugly duckling to swan transformation. I had completely forgotten about that until she wrote. We also competed in drama competitions, including doing a two person scene from The Miracle Worker at a national (?) drama competition. No dialogue, except for at the end, where Anne Sullivan says, "Good." It's the scene where Anne Sullivan (the blind teacher, played by Margaret) tries to teach Helen Keller (deaf and blind, portrayed by me) how to say or spell water. It was a very physical scene. I think I even got to slap her or I was slapped, can't remember. I had to flail around on the floor and act like a maniac. I was very, very good at playing blind, particularly since I took out my contacts and so really was in danger of falling of the edge of the stage. We received a superior. It did not change my life. I also used to do musical theater scenes in competition, which, in case you're not familiar with the genre, requires you to dance and sing and act. We got a superior for a scene from Chicago, "Cellblock Tango," to be specific. I was Squish. I had a line that was something like, "And then, he ran into my knife. He ran into my knife 9 times." I think we also did a song and dance number from Company, "One," maybe. I learned how to do step-ball-change and something de poires. And yet last night, while walking in the rain after a dinner at Eulogy with a very nice man, I almost fell down (note: had only had two ginger ales with dinner). Life lesson: you can lead a nerd to grace, but you cannot make her graceful.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Below, please find a cat who lives in a local marketplace. I believe he has been featured before. I didn't have many photos this week b/c we were off Monday, I was at the retreat for two days, and I didn't go in today. Still, a cat is a cat is a cat.
I'm not really sure what this white statue even is. A very long-necked lion? A dragon?A seahorse? I like the red door and the white together.
Here is an actual plate of Pope John Paul the 17th as ordered on late night QVC. So, yes, in case you were ever curious, people to actually buy these things and display them with pride.
Your Virgin of the week. This is one of a few Scottie dogs that line the gateway of a very pretty house
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
1. Can't seem to find the time to write on the weekends, what with all my heavy socializing, reading of library books, cat chasing, looking at my new haircut from every angle in the mirror, and Solitaire playing.
2. Was away at a work retreat in Atlantic City for two days. I felt flattered to be included, but also kind of unequipped to add anything of substance, given my semi-newness at the University. That said, I'm also discovering that I know more about development and Institutional Advancement than I thought I did.
They published my newest piece in Maven, called "Two Boys for the Price of One." I'm slightly surprised that they published it as I wrote it, especially since I used the word "fuck" (though they did amend it to read "f**k" which could mean "fork" or "folk" or "funk" or "fink" or "fluk") I'm still in contact with one of the boys in said article, and one might wonder if I'm just a little bit worried that he will be offended to learn the actual details of the situation, but I'm not because (a). we've decided to just be friends (possibly friends with benefits); (b). I don't know if he even ever reads my blog; (c). the whole situation happened awhile ago; (d). I can always claim that it's simply fiction (e). he likely wouldn't care anyway, which is why we're just friends wb (maybe). In any case, I like the piece.
I can't tell you how happy I am that John McCaine Mutiny has chosen Sara Palintologist as his VP. I couldn't think of a less qualified, more hypocritical, and ridiculous partner for JMM, unless he were to have decided to enlist the support of Charles Bronson (he and Sara aren't all that different).