Friday, December 25, 2009


week two of this cold/sinus infection. it's starting to make me a little crazed. i feel 5% better every day, which isn't a great improvement.

HAH! someone recently pointed out to me that i constantly use percentages to describe any manner of thing or status. i guess i just proved that.

there's the cat.

how i loved this. i left albuquerque late and had no time to be dicking around with yelp trying to find the perfect coffee shop. enter mcdonoz. how happy was i when i walked in to see that the place was packed with octogenarians, most of whom were wearing commemorative WWII baseball caps. they were arguing and sassing and shaking newspapers at each other as i waited in line.

the fashion serial killer and i went out for a quiet drink on sunday and somehow ended up getting completely hammered and staying out most of the night. monday was not a good day. but the swizzle was all lit up like christmas in vegas, as evidenced in the pic below of the random bar patron. i felt like i was going to have an epileptic fit...if i had epilepsy.

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Reservation dogs! Reservation dogs with their spooky eyes. Is everyone over there descended from Aleutians?

For one second, I schemed about whether I could just apply to NAU, quit my job, move to Flagstaff and live off of student loans. I concluded that no, I cannot survive there without a job. I don't even know what they offer. I just like downtown, and the trains, and the Riordan mansion and the old cemetary and the smell of the woods.

Speaking of dogs,

Monday, December 21, 2009

i entertain myself pretty good

i'm ready to hit the road again. i've been thinking of bisbee. i need to do more research into abandoned towns along the way. one of my dad's friends took us on an obscure tour of the old west one year when i was in middle school. i'd like to pick his brain now and find out what else he knows about. we drove for what felt like centuries to a spot somewhere east of tombstone, i guess, where the remnants of a tiny town still stood - somewhat. i wish i could remember where we were, but my memory is of nothing but scrub bushes and golden sandy dirt. there was a jail which was made up of two rooms - office and a cell. it was still intact, and it looked like it had become a hangout for creepy locals. someone had drug some large rocks inside and arranged them in a half circle, and there was a dog corpse in there, minus bones...just fluffy fur, and teeth. he better have died of natural causes!

other than that, you could see the foundations of two small homes. i'd like to hit that place with a metal detector.

we were also so lucky to get to see the place where johnny ringo died, and the same oak tree they found him sitting in. it's on private land and the owners had apparently had an assful of lookie-loos and drunken scout parties looking for ringo's grave, so they shut down the boundaries and started cracking down on trespassers. my dad's friend slow (slowie, as big don likes to call him - adorable, if you could see these scary looking dudes) started writing letters - remember a time when no one had the internet?! - to the guy who owned the place and started an acquaintanceship. slow calls himself a "student of the old west," which i love. anyway, he gained permission to access the area, and we drove out. it's a pretty serene place, a stand of oak trees next to a dry creek that probably isn't always dry. there's a lot of controversy regarding whether johnny killed himself or was murdered (yanno, by wyatt earp, not), and i side with murder.

i guess there's a marker there now. when we went, there was nothing but a pile of rocks that johnny was allegedly buried under. i don't know if the body's still there or what. seems like it would have been graverobbed at some point, no?

i particularly enjoy this, "his main claim to fame was shooting an unarmed man named Louis Hancock in an Arizona territory saloon in 1879 for ordering beer after Ringo told him to order whiskey." indeed!

what a world to live in. why are people such pantywaists now? just staying alive is no longer a challenge, and it doesn't take any grit to make your way in the world and have enough to eat. not that i want to live in a lawless sideshow where i can get my ass killed by ordering the wrong drank, but it can't be much worse than the current state of affairs, right? rush limbaugh, twitter, two girls one cup? or using a block of ice as a refrigerator, bathing once a fortnight and dying in childbirth. what's worse? honestly - on the fence about that one.

all this reminds me of tombstone, 1994. oh my god i love this movie. it is so, so cheesy, but val kilmer! and sam elliott. i feel like i've made this post before.

check out that piece of consumptive ass. anyway, the movie's out of control, but i'm into it. historically, highly inaccurate. but who's counting? ~neither~ of wyatt earp's wives were that cute, despite being prostitutes (in a day when being attractive and selling sex: not necessarily found in a pair), nor was big nose kate some kind of sexy espanish siren, john ringo did NOT know latin nor did he kill that many people, and wyatt did not kill him. what else. the gunfight obviously didn't go down that way either. i hate that shit. also weird, boot hill isn't where it was in that day. what the fuck is with transporting cemetaries from one place to another.

one weird event that was sort of truly captured in the film was the accidental shooting of the marshall fred white by curly bill broci0us. he accidentally killed his biff! too sad. i just read that that went down on the site that later became the birdcage theatre. 1. i thought the birdcage was already standing when all this bullshit went down? and 2. no wonder that place is so fucking creepy. and it IS. tombstone is trite as hell and sort of "dirty disney" now, and by that i mean fake & manufactured, yet also still just a shitty small town where you're hard pressed to find a place to eat that doesn't have picnic tables or a bunch of flies on the screen door. anyway, in spite of the lameness, the birdcage is interesting - dark, dusty, chilly and quiet. the creepiest spots to me were the old bedrooms where the gals would take their quarries for the night. it was like all that shit was still in the air, the walls, the floors. come to think of it, i've got some pics from the last time i was there in 05.

that's a weird wyatt earp mannequin. apparently the caretaker finds his hat on the floor below on a lot of mornings.

bullet holes in the stage

a chamber of ill (the illest!) repute. who wouldn't i murder to get those drapes.

curly bill sat in this chair! oh my gadd. they say he was sitting there getting a haircut when they came to apprehend him for shooting fred white.

i love these parts. i think this was around benson.

and the biggest rosebush in the world. tombstone has it all.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

I drove out to Albuquerque this week for a friend's birthday. I like solo road trips because I can indulge all of my annoying behaviors, like having to pee every 45 minutes and wanting to stop and look at EVERYTHING.

Twin Arrows! The light was awful, and I am lazy. Took shitty pics like this all day long. I was surprised to see the arrows have been restored recently. I thought the place had been abandoned longer than 11 years...looks longer. A metal sheet closing off one of the kitchen doors had been pried up and away...I wanted to go inside, but chose to be prudent for once due to being out there on my own. Too many movies have left me a little wary out by ramshackle rural places.

Holbrook isn't a nice place.

I loved the El Rancho in Gallup. Everyone stayed there, even Tom Mix! oh, damn.

Around Window Rock. This was definitely the most picturesque spot on the route. Really gorgeous area. I got waylaid at a trading post talking to a kid who was shipped up there by his parents from Tucson after he got into trouble selling drugs for MS 13. Now he sells $5 rugs and hangs out in Gallup. There are worse things.

Albuquerque, in the foothills of the Sandia Mountains.

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Monday, December 7, 2009


giant is one of my favorite movies, and not based on the integrity of the thing as a whole. the entire point of interest to me (and the rest of the planet) is james dean as jett rink. it's impossible to not instantly feel that slinky dog quiet raw pain of his, and yet it's not overacted at all. that makes one of you, rock hudson. in the end, it's hard for me to accept him as a middle aged jett, but the crusty, miserable self-abusive routine makes it convincing enough.

i don't usually realize that i've fallen for a movie until i find myself thinking about it later.

my favorite movie of allllllll time (gone with the wind is sort of the figurehead of this subject, but that's another story) is A FACE IN THE CROWD. a kazan film that fairly tanked when it came out, even though it was so forward for its time. a very sharp and unromantic look at america, advertising, television, fame, corruptive relationships, crowds. andy griffith is lonesome roads. i cannot believe what an incredible actor he was, SO GOOD, and oddly really magnetic and dynamic. he's such a dirty dog and so charming about it although lacking most traditional types of charm. tell you what, it feels kind of strange to be hot for andy of mayberry. patricia neal was great in this movie as well. i love the way he is constantly shouting in this movie.

i gave it 10 seconds, could not think of a good pun.

what the fuck! 113% higher chance of developing breast cancer because i wear a bra? did i imagine this statistic? i don't know, heard it in a podcast. time to take it off!

also, what the fuck/thanks charlie's angels:

some partly unsubstantiated, yet weighty-sounding (to me) data:

Women who wore their bras 24 hours per day had a 3 out of 4 chance of developing breast cancer (in their study, n=2056 for the cancer group and n=2674 for the standard group).

Women who wore bras more than 12 hour per day but not to bed had a 1 out of 7 risk.

Women who wore their bras less than 12 hours per day had a 1 out of 152 risk.

Women who wore bras rarely or never had a 1 out of 168 chance of getting breast cancer. The overall difference between 24 hour wearing and not at all was a 125-fold difference.

interesting. i think bra use may be too ~societally ingrained~ in me to get rid of, but we will see.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

i dreamt about my dad's old house last night.  i dream about this place every few months and have for years.  since i moved out for the last time about 7 years ago, although i started having scary dreams set in the house when he bought it in 1990.

the dreams ALWAYS involve supernatural aggressors, usually either angry ghosts or demons.  the dreams are always different but with the same gist, which is interesting to me, because it seems completely unimaginable that i should have the same kind of dream (i am the intruder in my house, because suddenly it's "their" house and i am just trying to get away) from age 8 to present!  that kind of disspells the notion that the dreams are manifestations of my subconscious or are processings of my current experiences, right?

the ghost is usually a female and a lot of times is based in the backyard.  incidentally, the prior (and only other) owner's wife shot herself in the garage back in the 70s i believe.  the garage was an unattached building in the back yard.  my dreams of an angry woman out there started before i knew about the suicide - my dad didn't let that story slip until we'd been living there about 6 or 7 years.   somehow i wasn't surprised when i found out, or even angry that i hadn't known.  i had been afraid of the house for years by then, but it had mellowed into a weird routine because eventually i got tired of being riled up by it.  too much energy.  i also really loved and still do love that house, so it just felt oddly like taking the good with the bad.  ants coming up through the drains the summers, the occassional winter drafts through the old doors, oh and a slight case of haunting.  allegedly!

anyway this dream was all tied up in the citrus trees in the backyard.  i kept trying to move back into the house, and everyone was telling me it was spoiled and no good.  and i kept trying to go out and pick grapefruits, but they were all rotten and malformed, and any time i found one that looked good, i'd turn it over to find rot, or i'd cut it and the inside would be all rancid water.  i don't think i'll find that in any dream dictionary

in other news, i'm going to albuquerque in two weeks. i'm going to freeze to death! growing up in arizona is a disability - no one ever gets used to the heat, but i also have no ability to withstand cold, and any time i experience humidity of any kind, i think i'm going to pass out and die instantly. plus the lingering moistness feels pretty disgusting.

every night during a stay in new orleans, my bed felt damp. maybe it was inhabited by the ghost of someone who died from the humidity. either way i have no idea how to handle that shit.

i need to figure out some good places to stop. i've never been to holbrook, so i'll have to look for the wigwam.

i filled up the bike's tires tonight. i was a little confused given that the tires said 65 PSI which seems uh, a little...high. was that 6.5? it was dark! my car takes 34! i think they've both got holes anyway, so i'll check them in the morning and see if they held up.

Monday, November 30, 2009


this is a really good excuse to go to the SAS store. every time i go, i want to buy lots and lots of RIBBON. i don't, because i don't know what the hell to do with it. this will be a good weekend project.

horse ribbon how-to. i'll make myself at least a few to honor my childhood champ rider days, like the time i was bucked off, or the time i was crushed into a fence, or the other time when horse+i almost crashed through a fence, etc., etc.

my ex-step-aunt had a gigantic quarter horse named "gnarly dude." they were rodeo people and gnarly was a star in team roping. one dusty afternoon (in casa grande) i was seated atop gnarly dude, minding my business, planning only to just sit and watch while they practiced roping. once the cow darted out of the chute, gnarly just did what felt natural and took off after him at a full gallop down the length of the arena, headed straight for the fence and raw desert behind it. somehow in my total confusion at suddenly moving 30 miles an hour, i leaned forward on his neck to grab the reins that i had thrown up in surprise, and only managed to get ahold of the right side, which i gave a vicious yank. he instantly turned right - into the cow chute, where he ambled along docilely until my step-aunt's weatherbeaten old 70 year old cowboy husband pulled me off before i peed the saddle. evidently randomly pulling right instead of left was what saved me from certain death or injury, because gnarly was afraid to run in the chute.

that's my story about almost getting myself killed at age 10 on a horse 17 hands high. maybe i'll make a ribbon and put GNARLY on one streamer and DUDE on the other. eh?

Sunday, November 29, 2009


i was super excited to finally go to pete's for some awful greasy food. unfortunately it was not all i had hoped for, but it is cheap and they do have decent hot dogs. and a drive-thru, for getting hotdogs fast. they're pretty rude there (i daresay even mean) at the 44th street location, though, and they serve some kind of shitty ketchup + water + sriracha mix instead of regular ketchup. i love ketchup, so this was kind of a problem. good fries, though.


dear uppity handmade universe:

i try to stick with you when i can; i sought you out tonight because when the temperature in arizona dips below 50 degrees, i freeze to death and need a scarf. so i searched high and low on etsy, and i just have to make it clear that while i understand that it takes a couple of viewings of juno or garden state to get such a scarf crocheted out, i'm still not paying fifty bucks for this shit, not now, not ever.

fuck you, i am going to target.

seriously, everything on etsy is really ugly, too. i was surprised. i need an ana voog scarf.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

just a baby! a baby on heroin.

i love these. elva fields.

Monday, November 16, 2009

still suffering from this weekend. i think my body is retaining any water i can possibly drink. and i still feel like i'm full of dirt. but, it was a lot of fun and i wish i had taken more pictures.

i've only uploaded some of them so far. i've slept so much in the past two days, i feel like a zombie.

and i'm spent.
anne sexton

why does everyone say she's better than sylvia plath? just talking shit? hard to say. i like her crazy and sometimes she's pretty great, but she is creepy, no? it's part of what makes her interesting, especially looking like that, but i have always found it hard to get into it. still i think she's fascinating and would liked to have met her.

She is stuck in the time machine, suddenly two years old sucking her thumb, as inward as a snail, learning to talk again. She's on a voyage. She is swimming further and further back, up like a salmon, struggling into her mother's pocketbook. Little doll child, come here to Papa. Sit on my knee. I have kisses for the back of your neck. A penny for your thoughts, Princess. I will hunt them like an emerald.

If if is to come, she said, sleep must take me unawares while I am laughing or dancing so that I do not know that brutal place where I lie down with cattle prods, the hole in my cheek open. Further, I must not dream for when I do I see the table set and a faltering crone at my place, her eyes burnt by cigarettes as she eats betrayal like a slice of meat.

I must not sleep for while I'm asleep I'm ninety and think I'm dying. Death rattles in my throat like a marble. I wear tubes like earrings. I lie as still as a bar of iron. You can stick a needle through my kneecap and I won't flinch. I'm all shot up with Novocain. This trance girl is yours to do with. You could lay her in a grave, an awful package, and shovel dirt on her face and she'd never call back: Hello there! But if you kissed her on the mouth her eyes would spring open and she'd call out: Daddy! Daddy! Presto! She's out of prison.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

made the fair this year. it was a week night towards the end of the run, so we had virtually no lines all night. i had one drink at hula beforehand that was so strong that i was officially drunk before i finished it.

we staggered past the animal exhibit, looking for a bathroom and vowing to see them on the way out. you can imagine my dismay, of course, when they had already closed the whole thing up by the time we left. no rabbits, cows, or fancy chickens! best part of the fair. ugh! we did see the pigeons.

not exactly carnivale, is it.

i love how trashy and ridiculous the fair is. i love the hokey cowboyishness (of the north sector only?), the all-indian rodeo, the huge barbecue pit set up by the entrance, the totally absurd things people buy there, the ancient photo booths, the scary foods, all of it. i love the coliseum, i even just like that city block because that's where the fair is held. i guess i just loved it that much as a kid, i can't let it go. back then, the prized items to bring home from the fair were glittery plastic "rockstar wigs" and those foam lizards that came on wire leashes. when you twitched the wire, it made the lizard dance and walk. what the hell happened to those!