horse shit

why are there so many movies about horses? there is that new one with dakota fanning and kurt russell (i'm really glad to see him back on the big screen), and then of course there was that movie with toby mcquire, and then there was the horse whisperer, and then there was the movie where horse jumps off the high dive into a pool of water. the other thing about horse movies is that they are always based on a true story. i've never really had a very good relationship with horses. i do respect them as beautiful animals though, but i don't understand why they are the subject of so many movies.

an old family friend died today. he was really old. my mom told me about it in an email. she said he just went to sleep. that sounds peaceful. i didn't talk to him much but he was always there at thanksgiving and christmas. he was bald and his skin hung down past his chin like a beard. a beard made of skin. he always gave us christmas presents, a board game or something, and for my parents a basket with meats and cheeses or some gourmet coffee. he left all his money to st. jude's.
i hope my grandpa isn't lonely now that his friend is gone.

eat me

the magazine i intern at had a meeting tonight to discuss the future of the magazine, really they don't want to be a magazine. there were marinated mushrooms and salmon and pork and salad that had candied nuts and now that i am home i wish i would have eaten more of it. they can't be a magazine anymore because there is no money in it. there is talk of becoming a bi-annaul book/gallery (brick & mortar)/website, and as far as i can tell the break down is like this: bi-annual book is for art freaks who will spend $40 on a hardbound book that has cool photos and a handful of good articles, the gallery is for the rich people who want to buy prints of these photos, and the website is for poor people who are interested in this stuff but can only afford their monthly subscription to broadband. why am i involved in this? i am not anyone of those people. a lot of the people who are involved with the magazine (no longer really a magazine though, i guess i could call it, the project) are of this hyper-intellectual, only interested in the margins of the culture type of people and that isn't me and sometimes i am amazed i have lasted this long there. i like being part of the masses. they want to make the magazine this global name, a brand, and the ways in which they talk about doing this makes me glad that there are some aspects of this world we live in that i will never know or understand. now i need to decide whether or not to stay with them, or find some other publication to intern for. or just forget it all together and go to culinary school and become a fat chef who is always cooking with creme and who dies of a heart attack at age 40. it sounds like the easiest route and the most fun.

$$$

last night daniel and i ate dinner at denny's. it was around six thirty on a friday and the only other people in there were old men, most with glasses, wearing billed hats to cover their comb-overs or unwashed hair, eating fish. i told daniel that this is what he had to look forward to. the guy does love denny's.

i am working next weekend at theater and i am upset at my inability to escape that place, the company, the world of the movie theater. i feel as if i've out grown it, but at the same time wish i could go back and do it all over again, like high school. but since i am going back and sort of doing it all over again i know it is depressing, just like going back to high school would be. good in theory, bad in practice. i've just reached this level of apathy towards working there that i can't even care that other people care, because i know its not really worth it. but it was at one point in my life, sort of like dance but less productive, something that consumed me. i lived at the theater. my boyfriend worked there, my friends, it was like a sitcom. but now there is bad blood and i've stayed way too long. the blood really isn't bad anymore, just old, and stale.
but a job is a job and i cringed as i asked my mom for more money last night. she said that she doesn't mind helping me out because she doesn't think i am wasting it. am i wasting it? probably. most of my money goes to food and drink and bus fare. i eat a lot and i drink a lot and i take the bus a lot.

i bough a new shower curtain today. it smells like new plastic. the smell reminds me of birthdays and first days of school. it has the world on it in bright blues, pinks, and yellows. the oceans and seas are trasnparent. i like it and i think i will help my geography but i took down the old one with heavy heart. the old one was bright and colorful and all over it was picture of things like a mermaid, a guitar, a boat, a flower, death, alcohol, and underneath there was the name in spanish. the only ones i can remember without looking at the old shower curtain is la siren, mermaid, and le morte, death (i think). so after seven months of having those spanish words up that is all i learned. maybe my geography won't get any better. the old one has mold on the bottom and has ripped from being pulled open and shut so many times. this new one will get to be the same as the old one, moldy and ripped, and the cycle will continue until i get something more permanent, like a shower door that slides.

jesus loves you, and your legs

i didn't even want to go out last night. by the time she picked me up i hadn't eaten or drank anything in a while so i had that nasty, starving breath. terry sheivo breath, death is just around the corner, in a few days anyway. when i was little and i had bad breath my dad used to ask me, "did something crawl in your mouth and die?" and i always invisioned this dead rat sitting at the back of my throat. in my mind the rat was always large, even though it never would have fit in my little throat space.
but went out anyway, got some food and water before hand though. at first we went to the hotel fig. with its eastern vibes, free chips and salsa, and seven dollar vodka gimlets. bullshit. i wanted to dip my feet in the jacuzzi because they felt like icicles, but the pool and jacuzzi were for registered guests only. i didn't need a room, just a warm spot to put my feet. we left anyway and went up sunset to the shortstop, where the bouncers are black and all of them are named justice. there the gimlets are four fifty. reasonable. while in back smoking my thirteenth cigarette of the night this foreign guy described smoking as feeling like the king of the world. which is true, and funny. because it makes you feel good, tough, invicible, yet it is killing you, slowly. the guy looked asian in the dark, but his accent made me think he was italian. that and his tight, mock turtleneck.
and so we danced. the dj wasn't playing the jams we wanted though. instead of the recognizable hits (there is really nothing like getting into the groove to get into the groove. this guys has to prove his love to her by how much he can get into it) and so there were a lot of smoke breaks, and a lot of step touching and sideway glances saying, what the fuck is wrong with the dj.
a guy who looked very much like jesus told my friend she had nice legs. which is true, but now even more true because jesus said it. and when they forced us to leave the bar when it was closing i was glad i'd come out, sorry it was time to leave, wishing jesus would have blessed my legs.

while walking on wilshire

today
while walking to
a place called
cafe mermaid
me, a bit hungover
in need of coffee
hurt by sunlight
concentrating on
the music flowing
into my ears
and not
the road in
front of me.
a bum,
wrinkeld face
from sun and cigarette
eyes angry at
who knows,
steps in my path
and yells in my face
DIE!
and i think he means it.