But Call Me Betsy

Part of weird disconcerting thing about having a blog is that you're always wondering if someone who you don't want to read it will find it anyway and get pissed at you. For instance, is it safe to write about my screen-writing class (the one that meets tonight where I have previously been instructed to buy the teacher coffee before each meeting)? Or the writing group I went to last night; I have some thoughts about that too, but what if someone from my class...Okay, fuck it though, because what is the purpose of writing anything down if you're too worried about hurting someone's feeling? Overall, I like the writing in the class. I wouldn't say that anything I've read is publishable at this point, but none of it's unbelievably bad either and several writers could potentially do more with their work. Some might be in the group just to write just to write, not because they are striving to have be published. So, okay. But it's a tense little group and there...

I downloaded a bunch of his stand-up this weekend and now find myself walking down the street listening to it and bursting out laughing (and so looking like a crazy person). I don't care. He's un PC and calls women the c-word (well, just Paris Hilton and Nicole Richey. He has a bit about the Simple Life where he describes them as "two rich giggling cunts." In this case, it is the perfect, perfect description) and makes fun of gay people (while at the same time making the argument that homosexuality is not a choice, but genetics) and religion (not that I care about that) and jokes about lowing the age of sexual consent to 15 because "he's a grown man with skills," not like some acne-scarred 16 year old boy who's going to pop in 15 seconds, and I would marry him in a second. I like that he's angry and hates George Bush so so so so so much and also isn't too keen on rednecks or Republicans (has this bit about how after 9/11, he was so sick of a...

So what if I wrote a screenplay that another modern day Cyrano de Begerac / Roxanne where the central protagonist is a girl who writes letters for other people all day (not unlike someone we know) and she starts writing these letters to this handsome big important guy, but the letters are ostensibly from her (female) boss. He starts writing back and they carry on this epistolary relationship, with him thinking he's falling in love with the boss who doesn't actually read the letters and has no idea what's going on. Anyway, there's more to the concept, but it occurred to me as I was silently congratulating myself on my brilliance that the female version of this was one in The Truth About Cats and Dogs with Uma Thurman and Janine Garofalo. I think it was phone conversations instead of letters, but the conceit remains the same. Anyway, so what, I don't care about copying and I don't care about selling out. Actually, I do care about copying. The hardest thing about...

Not a great week for photographs; can't really say why, because I did have my eyes peeled on most of my walks. I guess there were 2 mornings this past week when I didn't talk my longer route, so had less to go on. Plus, maybe I've finally run out of interesting Philadelphia windows. Don't think so. Especially since they tend to change with the seasons. Below, please find a chaotically patched cat for your review. 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...

I'm taking my first Drexel class tonight: screenwriting. I probably should have waited to buy the software required until I see what the class is like before I spent $99 to download what's basically just a formatting program. Who knows, maybe I will have found my true calling and sell a screenplay for billions of dollars. I am certain my friends would agree I have a talent for glib, superficial writing that would translate well into a sit-com or a Geico commercial (though as an aside, I don't understand the amalgamation of the ads including car insurance and Aunt Jemima. Haven't we all agreed that AJ is a racist throwback mammy symbol? Maybe Geico's newest slogan is, Don't be a slave to your car insurance). I don't have any particularly brilliant screenplay ideas at the moment though. We watched Waitress when I was in CT; sort of an indie movie starring Keri Russell written by one of the other actors in the movie (who was subsequently murdered in her Brookly...

When Liz visited this weekend to do her door-to-door campaigning, she let me have an "Obama/Biden" pin. This morning, I put it on my bag--this after some internal debate about whether or not it was appropriate to have a political pin visible at work, even though it wouldn't be visible since my bag is typically under my desk, not displayed in a case at the entrance to my office. But then wearing it, I felt slightly vulnerable, especially when passing a clump of fat white South Philly men who may or may not be supporters. Liz said this weekend that she thought lots of them would be Democrats b/c of being union men, but I've also seen some McCain posters nestled up next to VM's in the Union League windows, so you never know. And there's that shitty t-shirt display across from Geno's that reads "You're in America. Speak English." That makes me want to go over to the dude's at Geno's and say, "When your grandfather/father first came t...

You might think that Philadelphia is just a cold, hard city without whimsy or cows, but look: 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. I know the reflection in this photo is bad, but I still like the idea of the window. Very Marie Antoinette. And who doesn't love to see a porcelain man in a powdered wig? Took this photo on one of my breaks from jury duty. Our case was held on the 6th floor of City Hall. A wonderful building though the bathrooms are difficult to find. New phallic-imagery wall painting on South and 6th Street hon...