obfuscated girl

i just made this joke up

From an email back-and-forth conversation I had with my friend in Chicago about how goddamn (GOD.DAMN.) great the respective A___ F___ shows we saw were: and I quote:
"yeah. the sound quality is kind of frustrating on a couple of the
live tracks but overall listening to them makes me want to follow them
around the country as if they were the Pharcade Phire."
GET IT?

what the fuck is a gherkin, anyway?

in light of the fact that I forgot to mention that I watched Bridget Jones's Diary with my family (mother during highly embarrassing scene towards end which briefly involved the Naked and the careful metaphorical deployment of certain rodents as visual imagery: "Now, which one is the rabbit???" Oy.) and the re-realization that Colin Firth is teh sexxy, I present this picture:

Or, you could say that it's included because I am developing a social conscience or some shit, and that it's part of a Make Trade Fair campaign, and the rest of the images are over here. Or you could just call me a pandering jag. Either way.

this must be the place

Am back.
The Arcade Fire show was the most amazing thing I have ever seen. Seriously. You guys? I'm serious. I will report about more of it when I learn to speak the English. I went so far as to record a tiny snippet of it on my cell phone and listen to it at verious points over the four day break and grin to myself like a grinning monkey with Ebola shortly before it drops dead. I fear that it will ruin going to shows for the rest of ever.
In other news, my sister may now be reading this website, as events kind of unfolded themselves and she deduced that I still one, as I am very bad at lying, especially if said lying is taking place in my parents' kitchen where she has access to various and sharp knives. It was once the proverbial cat was out of the metaphorical bag, further revealed that this place is much awesomer than her friend's site hosted by Diaryland. She asked me "do you care if I read it?" and I said "no," but I am slightly regretting that now as I would feel strange disclosing the other thing that happened this weekend, that I met a traveling Armenian circus and am now planning to wax my pubic region and then tattoo it with a replica of Beethoven's bust and go on tour with them as their sex slave took up knitting.
Hi, Emily!
In news of the furthermore, here's today's mp3:

Tomoyasu Hotei--Battle Without Honor Or Humanity,
which fully meets the walking-down-hallways-in-slow-motion-four-or-five-people-abreast requirement that my 2005 is going to have to have at LEAST biweekly in order to be a success, I decided. (If you're keeping track it's also #2 on the MP3s I Put Up All By Myself list.) Other than that it has no reason to be here. I don't even know what movie it's from but am 76% sure that it was used in one. Help, kids? I suppose if I wanted to be a better music writer I would practice by constructing a theme for this post around the song or provide a better explanation as to why I am obsessed with slow motion walking, but if there's anything you should have learned about me by now,
it's that I totally suck.

no link for you.

I'm going to to see the [afore] [oft] mentioned Arcade Fire tonight (squee), and then I promise I will shut up about them for a while because Arcade Fire love is so two weeks ago, and then my sister and I are driving back to Madison at about two in the morning to spend four days with my mother who-is-recovering-from-pneumonia-but-hasn't-said-whether-she-is-contagious-or-not and my father-slash-libertarian-slash-Rush-acolyte-slash-xenoandeverythingelsephobe. (Longest. Sentence. Ever.)
Not that I'm trying to distance myself from them or anything.
I have a bruise on top of a bruise on my knee now. I just tripped over my feet for the fifty millionth time and ended up sprawled on the carpet in front of the coffee machine in front of a very nice lady who I snapped at when she tried to help me up. And then I had to apologize profusely and explain that I get really oversensitive about people trying to help me and shit, and she must think I'm crazy, and then I went in the bathroom and sobbed for about five minutes because I felt so bad, and also? It HURTS. And I am emotionally seven years old.
So it's been a full morning so far.
The only other thing that I have to say is that once again, because of the imminent trip home I am probably not going to be updating, as I feel weird about writing about my life and the Arcade Fire and crocodiles and spiders on drugs in front of my parents. So ObfuscatedGirl is going on a mini-hiatus.
Give thanks for whatever you're thankful for,
and someone please tell Matthew that he is crazy for not liking Burberry cologne and that if he wore it it would be teh hottness,
&c.
&c.
&c.

GODDAMN STUPID MOTHERFUCKING BITCH SLACK MOTHERFUCKERS.

They've pushed back the release date of Serenity again.
In other news, y'all heard about this, right? Yup. Wisconsin. We're the best. In a conversation with my dad had last night, he said that the shooter in question wasn't using an assault rifle and that was misreported and whether or not that is actually true, the important part of this is that my dad said that it's the fault of the anti-gun liberal media for saying it. He also said that the guy probably couldn't speak English, and also that wherever he was from was Communist and he probably didn't understand the concept of private land.
Yes, he actually said all of that.
THIS MAN GAVE ME HALF OF MY GENETIC MAKEUP. HOW?

Go look at this website. It takes the concept of an online music magazine one step further, in that whilst you read the article it has a playlist playing from the band that you're reading about. Plus this particular issue has the Arcade Fire covering "This Must Be The Place."
I'm going to go cry now.

don't struggle like that [mary jane] or i will only love you more

A bunch of scientists studied the effects of spiders on drugs by feeding them flies that had been fed with various drugs, in case you were wondering how exactly you smoke up a spider. (insert whining about funding for science, arts, liberal hippie causes here [/voice of my dad]) To what end, I have no idea, but it makes for some amusing just-say-no visuals.

(spider on lsd)

(spider on mescalin)

(spider on marijuana)

(spider on caffeine)
The moral? Caffeine is VERY VERY BAD FOR SPIDERS.

he's a disgrace to our beastly ways

Jenny Lewis makes a cameo in Elvis Costello's video for "Monkey To Man." Okay, if by "cameo" you actually mean "walking confusedly through a frame for .45 seconds." Sadly she is not one of the ladies in her underpants.
If that's not enough Jenny for you, try this completely random video of Rilo Kiley watching and reacting to the [first] Paris Hilton tape .
And this deserves to be spread all over the damn internet. (and then the wooooooooorld.) Please read it. Babies, you know I don't ask much from you.

"show me?" blair asked through tears of love

(or, My First MP3 Post, Yaaaaaaay)
new top ten. new link. busy busy.
Strangely enough, I am at my own house today, eating a sandwich made with fat-free cheese and contemplating, among other things, The Future. Instead of talking about that, though, I'm a talk about yesterday. Yesterday while walking to work (!!!) (I lost my bus pass and was SO INCENSED at the thought of spending an extra $3-whatever on top of the $13 I had already dropped that I decided to walk) I saw a statue in Juneau Park that someone decorated with a strapless gold bra and matching purse. Then on the bus ride home I saw a matronly looking older woman reading what appeared to be a college paper/short story--only IT WAS HARDCORE GAY PORN. The title of this post is a line from the story which at the time made me laugh so long and so silently that I could barely breathe. She was reading it with her little older-lady reading glasses. It was awesome. Other recreated, approximate sample lines:
"Baby, I've been all over the world. I've seen the beauty of nature in the rainforest, I've seen sunrises in Paris, but none of them were half as beautiful as you are right now."
See, the thing is that in a very real, possibly naive sense, these incidents gave me hope. As unrelated as the incidents were, they gave me so much hope-if gay porn can be written in college (though maybe not for much longer) and if people can still put bras on statues without getting thrown in jail or their genitalia cut off, somebody irreverent is still out there.
In other news, the Matthew and I finished the Firefly last night, and I am very sad about that indeed. Also about the fact that we are going to be practically RIPPED APART ("like Joe and I were RIPPED APART") as there is the Thanksgiving and the boy's imminent participation in Things Of Righteous Geekery the weekend after that, and I shall be ALL ALONE AND UNLOVED AND SHIT.
Sob.
Okay, without very good transitionary phrasing or further adoo (yes, I meant to misspell that, I'm Wacky And Irreverent) I present to you My First MP3 That I Put Up All By Myself Without Copying The Shortcut From Another Site Yay.
The Futureheads-Hounds Of Love
I am the most awesomest ever.
P.S. You artsy activist types (I may or may not be looking at you) should look at
this picture (too big to fit here, too dumb to resize properly)
and then go over here for more. Don't question me, just do it.

best thing ever, part 8759234157442

Mr. Ted Leo--'Ex-Factor' (live)
I feel like I should apologize for my terseness lately. Wait a second, scratch that. I don't owe you bitches shit.

exactly.

put me anywhere on god's green earth/i'll triple my worth

so through the faithful reading of Tequila Mockingbird, I discovered this link, to something called Fray Day 2004. While possessing one of the silliest names ever, it is "a celebration of telling personal stories through the web." (loose paraphrase, that.) They're holding one in Milwaukee for the first time this year, at the Art Bar on Dec. 1, and the link gives you all the information that I'm too lazy tired to go back and look up. If you are Nerdy Like Me, however, you will be/are somewhat intrigued. Is Fray-Daying the new open mic poetry? Who wants to go with me?

last night i spent $8 on a glass of wine.

It's true. It's called "being so fascinated with the pretty writing on the wine list and pleased that you can pick out a type of wine that you know you like that you forget to actually check the prices." I do not recommend it as a practice.
So far, last night into today, I have learned that my mother has pneumonia again but this time refuses to go into the hospital, Crime & Judy are breaking up (see message board), and this whole Condoleeza Rice thing is bullshit, along with the other bullshit that this administration is quickly embracing.
I didn't get enough sleep to be equipped to handle any of this.
The one bright spot has been watching this repeatedly. I am increasingly craving hot chocolate, a trashy novel, and a nap.
EDIT, hours later:
also:

untrue, but best thing ever.
[/furious-yet-resolute blushing]

come armageddon, come armageddon come

pls note minor changes to links page incl 1 broken now fixed. thx.
Can anyone tell me whether Desperate Housewives is any good? I am home before 11:00 on a Sunday for the first time in weeks and I'm all excited about the prospect of watching it and the fucking American Music Awards is on. And I actually watched Sheryl Crow win something before I turned it off. My crap radar is dulling.
Here is (an audio) link to the saddest thing I've heard all week--Ben Gibbard being all broken up and shit over the election, the day after it, while trying to play a song.
I need motivation. I need it badly. I need time to stop and yet I want to fast forward through so much crap that I'm going to have to deal with in the near future. I need winter not to be colder than 50 degrees at any point, but I need to see snow. I need a job that doesn't suck the life out of me and lead me to spend so much time on the internet that my friends make fun of me dropping "OMG you need to see this website" 54 times into the middle of every conversation we have. I need my mom to cook dinner for me. I need to know I am good at something, and not just because someone insists that I'm good at something when I get all brain-fetal and insist that I am not good at anything. I need to lose twenty pounds. I need to believe in myself. I need more weekends like the weekend I just had. I need to see a crocodile up close before I die. I need to get eight hours of sleep tonight. I need to be in Chicago. RIGHT NOW. I need to find a logical way to end this train of thought. I need a personal trainer. I need some ice cream. I need to not be alone right now.

update, of sorts.

Jesus fucking Christ.

i'm going to brood silently. over here.

I just sneezed thirteen times.
so there are three weeks left on this job, tentative end date Dec. 4. This means that for now I should put the Chicago thing on the back burner and hold my breath until my next assignment. I don't know what makes me so paranoid that I'm not going to find anything else for another seven months again, whether it's experience, [synonym for paranoia here], or the knowledge that I don't really have any external income or savings, though I will be able to manage December and January's rent out of the coming paychecks. It's just, you know, things like paying my electric bill and eating would be nice, too.
Things I would like to see happen this weekend:
1. World peace
heh. ahem. Things that actually could happen this weekend:
1. Sleeping in without an alarm going off
2. more Firefly, possibly (sends pleading vibes to boyfriend)
3. taking care of this urge for red wine that I've had all week
4. A Jenga rematch, now that I am more cognisant of the laws of gravity
5. TWO WEEKS UNTIL THE ARCADE FIRE! AND THANKSGIVING! AND MASHED POTATOES!
And on an entirely different, more somber note, read this.
And this:
President Bush has announced his intention to appoint Dr. W. David Hager to head up the Food and Drug Administration's (FDA) Reproductive Health Drugs Advisory Committee. This committee has not met for more than two years, during which time its charter lapsed. As a result, the Bush Administration is tasked with filling all eleven positions with new members. This position does not require Congressional approval. The FDA's Reproductive Health Drugs Advisory Committee makes crucial decisions on matters relating to drugs used in the practice of obstetrics, gynecology and related specialties, including hormone therapy, contraception, treatment for infertility, and medical alternatives to surgical procedures for sterilization and pregnancy termination.

Dr. Hager is the author of "As Jesus Cared for Women: Restoring Women Then and Now." The book blends biblical accounts of Christ healing women
with case studies from Hager's practice. His views of health care are far
outside the mainstream for reproductive technology and modern gynecological practice. Dr. Hager is a practicing OB/GYN who describes himself as
"pro-life" and refuses to prescribe contraceptives to unmarried women.
In the book Dr. Hager wrote with his wife, entitled "Stress and the
Woman's Body," he suggests that women who suffer from premenstrual
syndrome should seek help from reading the bible and praying. As an editor
and contributing author of "The Reproduction Revolution: A Christian
Appraisal of Sexuality Reproductive Technologies and the Family," Dr. Hager appears to have endorsed the medically inaccurate assertion that the common birth control pill is an abortifacient (causes abortion)....
You know that thing I said about women's rights, y'all?
I'm scared.
Now more than ever.

i can hope, see?/even if i don't believe

it's amazing how much songs sum up sometimes.
The Thermals--"God and Country."
Via Sour Bob.

why you'd want to live here

Note: A version of this letter appeared on the message boards over here, and I am reprinting it here basically because I have no idea what the scope of my audience (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA)is here, despite my webcounter thingy, so this is both an entry and a plea for help in the event that someone who knows anything about this can help me.
Dear Chicago:
I realized this weekend that I love your city. I fucking adore it. I was there Sunday looking at potential neighborhoods for the boy to relocate to, and we both spent basically the whole day swooning (maybe it was just me). I am especially completely and hopelessly in love with Lincoln Park, as is the boy.
And so, and this is only partly to do with being (equally)(more) in love with someone who's moving there, I've gotten over my qualms about that I have decided to seriously begin an investigation/campaign to relocate to Chicago. My current lease on my apartment ends in May 2005, and I'd rather let that expire than try and sublease, to that's my time frame.
The problem is I have no idea where to start.
What are the pros and cons of living there? Are there any good temp/headhunter agencies that you're aware of? I have a BA in English and a completely openended notion of what I wanna do with the rest of my life, although my two fantasies (that do not involve licking from yo' head to yo' toes) are working in publishing or in--heh--music promotion. I have actual experience in the latter and education in the former. Are there relocation guides I could consult? Is there anyone who reads this who is SO IMPRESSED with my writing that they will HIRE ME (in about seven months)? How the fuck do I do this?
(Note to any Chicago residents that actually respond to this: I promise that none of the information that you give me will lead to me one day showing up on your stoop and declaring myself your New Best Friend and completely ingratiating myself into your lives. Unless you want me to, if this move ever happened and this isn't just me pipe-dreaming on a boring and frustrating Tuesday. Be it known, also, that I am awesome.)
Please feel free to email me if you don't want to post as a comment here.
xoxoxoxo.

and the ghosts that haunt your building have been learning how to breathe

In lieu of actual content today, I will inform you that the links and about pages have been changed/added to/subtracted from. I am sort of looking forward to this week being quiet--or as quiet as a week can be for a nation that has just shot itself in the foot.
I will say that I really, really wish I hadn't hated Travis Morrison as much as I did. If there is one thing that the early part of this weekend taught me it was that you really, really can't go home again.
Another lesson learned last week: I, like the entire rest of the world, was gleefully waiting for the season premiere of The O.C., but having seen it I am mildly fearful of things that are possibly to come.
And the last thing: I am pleased to report that thanks to this and many past weekends and the National Geographic Channel I have finally decided what I want to be when I grow up:

A crocodile wrangler.
Why? Because they're the most awesomest things ever.

"i love my country so much, man/like an exasperating friend"--mike doughty, "move on"

A passing thought had today was half formulated, and therefore shall be half-expressed here, as a little old lady that works in this office came around with her three-times-weekly Giant Fucking Bag (tm Eriq) Of Peanut M & M's: If there are peanut M & M's in the world, and people still willing to share them with each other, with absolute or relative strangers, absolutely everything about this country can't be going to hell. Can it?
Therefore, in the spirit of that sentiment and of the anti-meh, I offer several links.
Still want to get out of the country, you pansywaist? Go here.
Obama 2008.
Freedom of choice. Like it? Go here.
Think maybe the way this country is shaping up sounds a bit too familiar and maybe you've read it in a book before or something? You might be right.
Sick of the assumption that if/because you voted for Kerry/are not a conservative means you obviously must hate your country, your god-given privileges and ESPECIALLY those damned troops? Me too. Go here to help them out with anonymous donations. (You have eight days if you want to get someting to them in time for Christmas!)
Afraid that trees and oil supplies are going to be things that your future children/clones/stem cell pets in test tubes are going to ask you to tell bedtime stories about? Here and here.
Fond of "the gays?" Have "the gays" for friends? Are you, perhaps, "a gay?" Concerned that perhaps by the time this is all over they're or you're going to be drinking out of separate drinking fountains and/or in internment camps/Area 51 being brainwashed and reprogrammed? Help these guys.
Or hey, how about just civil liberties in general? You fond of those? They're great, aren't they?
Or you could just, you know, say you're sorry.
Whatever you do, please do something. It was so close and we can't afford to have history treat us any more badly than it already will. You know, if there is one.

still not consoled

but reading this made me laugh a little:
"This little monkey could be the fuckin' damn dirty ape responsible for the fall of the human race. In this world gone mad, we won't spank the monkey- the monkey will spank us. And after the fall of man, these monkey fucks'll start wearing our clothes and rebuilding the world in their image. OH and only those as super smart as me will be left alive to bitterly cry DAMN YOUS. Goddamn yous all to hell!" Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back
It's from a compilation of possible quotes for Kerry's concession speech, which I read the transcript of and which (surprise) made me cry (insert ineffective liberal weenie joke here). You can find the rest of the quotes over here
I'm still in fightin' mode, but it's going to be a very long four years.

george w bush made me cry

I didn't realize how completely invested I was in this election until this happened. I have been tearing up intermittently all morning thinking and reading about this shit. I don't understand these people who said that "values" and "safety" were their primary concerns at the exit polls--I don't understand how I could have grown up in the same country as people whose core definition of "values" is so completely different from mine. I don't understand how the country feels so safe under the direction of a man whose own FATHER wrote in his book, "never invade Iraq; there's not a good exit strategy." I don't know why one out of ten--ONE OUT OF TEN--people in the 18 to 24 demographic (a demographic that I am too close in age to comfortably dissociate myself from) voted in an election when everything that could have possibly been done to get them out was done, when they KNEW (I think they knew, I don't know which is worse) how absolutely fucking crucial this election is. I don't understand why people would stand in the rain in Florida for hours to vote for Bush. I don't understand how people who didn't vote can't see how selfish they are. I don't understand how this country is so easily swayed and appeased by fear tactics and repetition and God and demonizing homosexuals and the good-ole-boy-yeehaw persona. I don't understand how even after it was made abundantly clear many many many times exactly how and where we were failed as a country in the past four years, it was no big deal and we'd best not change horses midstream or however the fuck that fucking metaphor goes. I don't understand how any woman anywhere would feel comfortable with that asswipe in the White House.
I really don't understand how I'm supposed to find any hope in any of this. I have this new desire to fight, fight something, break something, fight anything, get involved, so even while and after this administration destroys so much of what this country meant to begin with I can help to preserve something, build something meaningful.
Someone please just tell me how.

dear america

YOU ARE A FUCKING BUNCH OF IDIOTS, ALL HALF OF YOU.
thank you.

i am beginning to think

that Kerry could actually pull this off.
It's pretty clear what the rest of the world is hoping for:

took out a loan and thought you could last on friends

We're gonna do this livejournal style today:
State of mind: exhausted, nerve-wracked.
Music: Wilco, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot.
OMGZ you guys!!!!!11...
This weekend was one of the most tumultous in recent memory, and not for political reasons (though I did get a little misty-eyed upon viewing the Mosh video again). In the interest of being more circumspect about my life because I am fucking sick of myself (again) and sick of being Weepy Confessional Girl, I am going to objectively enumerate things that happened in the past 72 hours in an entirely imitable and possibly cliched list formation type style (she uses big words when she's tired):
Particles of glitter used on punk-rock fairy wings, cheeks and collarbone that ended up somewhere on Matthew's person: 76 billion
Number of times I was asked "What kind of butterfly are you?": 1
Ratio of drinks consumed to naked or nearly naked or cleverly-concealed naked people seen: 1:3
Approximate resulting blood alcohol level, estimated: 0.9
Number of times I think I might have accidentally flirted with a guy who was wearing little more than a thong: 1
Number of people who were allowed to take my picture: 2
Number of Sex Pistols quotes deployed to explain/aid/abet my costume that went entirely over Matthew's head: 1
Attempts that were made to "learn my place" that involved the successful baking of brownies [ed. note: from a mix doesn't exactly count, loser] and the equally successful-yet-unintentional breaking of Matthew's vaccum cleaner: 1
Number of inside jokes this fulfilled: 4
Black eyes I was given as a result: just kidding
Number of times I kind of wished I had decided to cut out and spend Friday in Madison to see the Trail of Dead show: 5
Number of minutes spent holding my stomach in and Standing Up Straight Goddamnit, approximately: 180
Number of minutes spent worrying about what people were thinking about my stomach: 3,000
Number of minutes spent thinking I am a complete asshole as a result of the previous heading two headings: ongoing, incomplete
Number of times the phrase "I'm no good for you" was uttered: 1
Number of pictures of my Halloween costume that are not going to end up on the internet: All of the ones taken of me, ha ha. [/nelson]
Time gone to bed Saturday night: 3:00 a.m.
Number of episodes of Firefly that were watched whilst in recovery yesterday: 3
Hours of sleep had last night: 4
Number of times an entire cup of coffee was spilled on my keyboard this morning: 1
Money spent/wasted on aforementioned cup, dammit: $2
Number of conversations currently being had by my coworkers about Jon Bon Jovi being "some sort of punk rocker": 1
Next up (conspicuously not mentioning the election, because I'm too tired to worry about that on top of everything else right now) is T.Mo on Friday, and Ghost In The Shell: Innocence at some point next weekend. I am becoming geekier-by-osmosis by the minute, and Matt still couldn't pick Sunny Day Real Estate out of a lineup. Something is amiss here.