One More Thing

THE WHITE STRIPES...TOMORROW!!!!!!

Shameless Self-Promotion

Attention Bloggers:

Blog Oklahoma is conducting the Okie Blog Awards and Look@OKC is nominated for Best Commercial Blog. I needn't remind you that yours truly has a Look@OKC blog. (Two-Headed Blog, in case you haven't checked it out yet.) You must be an Active Okie Blogger to be eligible to vote, so if you fit this description, please vote for us and get everyone you know to do so, also. It's imperative we beat Phil and Drew. Click here for more details and to cast your vote. OK...I'm through pimping myself out now.

Fifty Drinks

So, I go outside of my building at lunch to read a book. I don't have any cigarettes on me or I would be going outside of my building at lunch for a cigarette while I read my book. BTW, I'm reading James Frey's A Million Little Pieces which is already making me feel disgusted and paranoid with my own physiology. I find a place in the shade next to a tree and turn page after page. The end of the lunch break arrives and I head back to my cubicle. There's a few minutes before I have to return to the real world, so I decide to read on at my desk. A few more pages as I devour a couple of graham crackers. I feel a tickle on my head. I swipe at my hair and something falls to the desk behind my napkin of graham cracker crumbs. At first, I don't see anything and assume it is nothing. I continue reading. I continue eating. As I crumble up my napkin of graham cracker crumbs, I notice the small spider that is lurking underneath. The small spider that that crawled on to me while I was outside under a tree reading a book. The small spider that camped out in my thick hair as I ate graham crackers. The small spider that then scampered to the far edge of my desk. After a little cat and mouse, I finally killed the son of a bitch with a broken number two pencil. Now I feel paranoid and disgusted. I need a drink. Or fifty drinks.

Latest Embarrassing Moment

OK...so Friday night I got wasted. COMPLETELY SMASHED. Now, don’t get me wrong…I enjoy booze, but I’ve learned by now, for the most part, what my limits are and when to say when. I’m generally not out of control. But Friday night, for some reason, was different. Maybe it was because I was upset by a hateful comment we received on Two-Headed Blog, and by the possibility of a family rift as a result. Maybe I just forgot how those fishbowl-sized drinks at Hawaiian Don’s tend to sneak up on you. Deadwords and I went there after work to have a drink or two and to discuss the child-bearing-related drama on Two-Headed Blog. One shared fishbowl-sized, fruity drink turned into three. Then we, rather randomly, decided it would be a good idea to go to Bricktown Brewery and see the Reverend Horton Heat show. I don’t remember much else of the evening, except running into my ex-friend. (We'll call him Mr. J. Or Friend B.) He actually said “hi,” but that was it. First word I’ve heard from him in over a month. My drunkenness actually proved to be an asset in this situation, as I was too in-my-own-happy-world to feel awkward at all. I dragged Deadwords closer to the stage and danced like the world was ending. Don’t make me describe it to you. Then we left at some point and I don’t remember much else.

This morning I’m e-mailing a fellow Look@OKC blogger. He asks me if we were at the Horton Heat show Friday night. I said we were, and jokingly said that I was the girl in the Boise St. t-shirt and pigtails, dancing drunkenly up by the stage…so if he remembered making fun of anyone who fit that description, it was I. I said that Deadwords would have been the embarrassed-looking guy next to me. (I should mention that we’ve never met this other blogger in person before.)

A few minutes later, I get an e-mail asking if the t-shirt was orange and was I wearing Chuck Taylors? (Yes and yes.) I’m horrified. There were hundreds of people there…never in a million years did I think I’d be spotted. I admit that yes, that was me, and he said he had been standing right in front of us. He said the Chuck Taylors gave me away (we’d discussed the joys of Chuck Taylors a couple weeks ago, I’d mentioned that mine were army green) and that he picked out Deadwords from his photo on our blog.

So now I’m mortified. I’m mortified that I got that drunk and likely made a complete fool of myself. I never dance in public. I like to think I’m too cool and composed. At least I’m pretty much just a happy drunk…it’s not like I started any fights or got thrown out of anywhere. I didn’t do anything illegal or indecent. I just danced and maybe slurringly repeated myself in conversations. Maybe I’m being too hard on myself, but I just think I’m far too old for this kind of irresponsible college-kid behavior. I suppose this whole incident isn’t nearly as dramatic as it is in my head, but I hate that someone’s first impression of me would be that I’m just some drunk girl. I think I may impose a temporary alcohol ban on myself.

The Passing of the Jeebus

Well, I finally did it. I saw it. Last night, over beers and cigarettes I finally screened Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ. I was obviously never going to be a typical reader of this film. I was going to come to it more as a film critic than someone looking to find inspiration, guidance, or truth. But, I felt compelled to see it. See what the hype was all about. See if it was good filmmaking. It was not. To me, it just felt like a hyper-extended re-enactment scene you might see accompanying a History Channel program (but with plenty of torture and blood thrown in for good measure). It felt kind of hollow. I mean, if you flog anybody long enough, they're going to eventually become a sympathetic character. And, if they become sympathetic enough, then direction, cinematography, and originality cease to become all that important.

Rubber Johnny

Check out the trailer for the new short film by Chris Cunningham...you know, the guy who directed that creepy Aphex Twin video? Or, click here for more of the film. Disturbing, disturbing stuff. It even ended up on Snopes as an urban legend. Why can't I come up with stuff like this?

This Is So Great

Finally, we have Cliff Notes for R. Kelly's urban operetta, "Trapped In The Closet." Thank you, Something Awful, thank you.

Study up, kids...there will be a quiz tomorrow.

My Christian Gene Is Turned Off

I was having a religious conversation with a friend today…she’s a Christian, I’m an atheist. We usually have some pretty good discussions, despite our differences, but she CANNOT understand how I can’t believe in God, just like I cannot understand how she can. I suppose I should make the disclaimer that I’m more of a soft atheist. While on the one hand I feel it’s as arrogant to say there is no God as it is to say there is a God, I personally find it very difficult to believe there is. And so I started asking myself, why am I an atheist? Why do I have such a hard time with a concept others seem to believe so easily and so unquestioningly?

I propose there is a gene somewhere in our DNA that determines whether or not we have that vague, elusive quality we call “faith.” In my DNA, that gene has been turned off. I’ve been called lazy because of my lack of belief, but really…isn’t it the other way around? How is it lazy to question everything you’ve been raised to believe, as opposed to just doing what you do because that’s what you’re “supposed” to do or because it’s the way it’s always been done? I would give anything to have a bright, sunny, Christian existence. I would love to believe that “everything happens for a reason,” and that there is some beautiful, peaceful, eternal afterlife. It’s unbelievably depressing to think that when you die, that’s it. Nothing follows except slow decomposition. But that’s what I believe. Of course, I obviously don’t know for sure, but I have a really hard time believing I’ll float away into some light-filled tunnel. It just seem like a lot of hokey bullshit people tell themselves so they can cope with the idea of death. I guess my way of coping is to try and make the most of every moment I have, to appreciate everything to the fullest. I’m not really scared of dying as much as I am sad about not getting to live anymore. There’s kind of an irony in that…I’ll be dead, completely unaware that I’m dead. I won’t be sad or scared then. These emotions only influence me NOW, when I’m alive...so I guess it’s really pretty pointless to even concern myself with. I still do, though…obsessively. Humans are the only species who can foresee their own deaths…if there is a God, he’s got a twisted sense of humor. I like that.

Anyway…I’m not an atheist because I think it’s “cool.” I’m not an atheist to rebel against my parents. I’m not an atheist because my husband or anyone else “turned” me that way. I’m not an atheist because I’m too lazy to go to church and want to continue, consequence-free, with my sinful lifestyle (which I don’t believe I have). I’m not an atheist because Satan or some other entity has taken control of my soul. If I don’t believe in God, then I certainly don’t believe in Satan. These are all things I’ve heard at one time or another. No one seems to be able to understand why I would “choose” to not believe, most of all myself. That’s why I don’t think it’s a choice at all. I think either you believe or you don’t. You can’t force someone to believe, and you can’t force someone not to. I have never believed, not even when I was going to Mass every Sunday and bible study every Wednesday night. I suppose I may have believed when I was very young, the same way kids believe in Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. I’ve prayed and questioned and spent many, many years really, REALLY thinking about issues of religion and God, and came up short every time. I’ve never gotten an explanation that satisfied me. When discussing these matters with a believer, you eventually run up against this wall where the answer to your question is “Because that’s what the Bible says” or “You just have to have faith that this is the way it is.” That’s not good enough for me. I CAN’T accept things on faith. This is why I think there has to be something in our genetic makeup that predetermines your ability to have faith. I know I can’t be smarter than EVERYONE who is a believer. So what is it?

And why is there SO much stigma attached to atheists? I’ve met gay atheists who have said it was easier to come out gay than it was to come out atheist. Why, every time this subject comes up with my mother, does she cry and moan about where she went wrong with me, and I wasn’t raised this way, etc. It’s as if I said I enjoyed slaughtering small children and eating their flesh. I just don’t understand. I never tell her (or any other Christian I may encounter) how stupid they must be for believing in a zombie myth…I mean, if any reasonably intelligent person could step outside themselves for just a second and look at what it is they believe, how could it NOT seem completely absurd? But that’s beside the point. It’s even worse when you live in this part of the country, where people assume that everyone not just believes in God, but is an evangelical Christian like themselves. Where if you dare question or disagree with the majority on any topic, you’re told that if you don’t like it, you should go move to France. Or New York. Or Canada. Believe me, I’ve considered it.

Well, that’s my pointless rant for the day, that I don’t dare post on Two-Headed Blog because people may find out that I’m (gasp!) an atheist. If you don’t like it, you can move to Oklahoma.

The Black Cat's 100th Post

Meeeeeowww.

R.I.P.

Nate F
Peter J
Hunter K
Keter B
Ibrahim F
Kathy D

I don’t really know death. I certainly don’t know how to talk or write about it. And, I don’t know how to live with it. I don’t dwell on thoughts of my own death. Thankfully. But, of course one must think about it or life ceases to mean anything. So, even in sad times (much sadder for others), I have to reaffirm for myself that life is about making the best of it. I’ve not always been good at that. Or, sometimes, maybe I’ve just been a little too good at it. I don’t know. It’s a game that you either win or lose (a destiny you can experience but not necessarily determine) but which always ends.

Five Minutes Inside My Head, Or Stream-Of-Consciousness

I am here to make an excuse for my lack of posting, if anyone cares. Deadwords has been away all week and it has fallen on my shoulders to keep the Two-Headed Blog chugging along So if anyone wants to know what's been going on recently, go check it out over at newsok.com. Per Delta's website, Deadwords's flight has just taken off from Salt Lake City and he is now somewhere en route to OKC. This has been a strange week...while he was off galavanting at his fabulously interesting tax conference in Boise, I'm left here to spend the entire fucking week alone (well, with my dogs). This is the longest we've been apart in nine years, if you can believe that. I miss him so much. I'm practically counting the minutes until I can leave for the airport to get him. Since I'm channeling Margot Tenenbaum today, I made a big sign that reads, "Stand up straight...let me get a look at you." (If anyone else out there has seen The Royal Tenenbaums as much as I have, you'll recall the scene where Margot picks Richie up at the pier.) Some people are Star Wars addicts, I'm a Tenenbaum addict. Takes all kinds. Different strokes for different strokes. I'm very relieved that I didn't get murdered this week. I left the porch light on all night, every night. I just heard about a bomb threat on a Southwest airline. Between that and the plane crash in Toronto a few days ago, this has been a week where I am NOT watching the news. I did, however, just catch up on the last couple of Six Feet Under episodes. I can't believe Nate died. Just when I think I'm too cynical to cry at a T.V. show. I've been blogging like a real motherfucker this week. So much writing, most of it done just to pass the time...like now. About one more hour until I can leave for the airport. I'm going to go have a cigarette now. I hear thunder. If you know me, you'll appreciate the randomness that is me. If you don't know me, you probably think I'm schizophrenic. You would be incorrect...I'm actually a self-diagnosed bipolar with narcissistic personality disorder, histrionic personality disorder and a dash of anxiety disorder for good measure. Oh...and don't forget the addictive personality. Glad we got that out of the way. Peace out.

I Want A Flash Mob

Yes, I know I'm cross-posting for the second straight time...believe me when I say I feel like shit about it, but I wanted to bring this to the attention of the loyal Black Cat readership (all two of you). I just put this on the Two-Headed Blog this morning, and have already gotten some response. I have a few ideas for potential flash mobs, so anyone out there who might be interested, let me know. I predict a flash mob to occur in OKC sometime in the next few weeks.

A flash mob, according to Wikipedia, is “a group of people who assemble suddenly in a public place, do something unusual or notable, and then disperse.” Participants are notified and given instructions via e-mail, or are told to meet in a staging area (such as bar) where they are given their instructions. Starting in New York and spreading all over the world, flash mobs are considered everything from performance art to sociopolitical statements to merely bizarre, random events. Imagine being in the right place at the right time and witnessing (or even better, participating in) one of the following events:
Manhattan: 100 people storming the rug department at Macy’s and telling the sales associate that they all live together in a warehouse commune, were searching for a “Love Rug,” and made all their decisions as a group.
New Zealand: People show up all at once in front of a Burger King, moo for a full minute, and leave.
Rome: A large crowd materializes at a bookstore and demands copies of books that don’t exist.
Am I the only one who loves this idea? I think the sheer randomness of it is what appeals to me. It’s somehow beautiful…this mass of humanity that for one brief moment, is interconnected in some common task. And it’s just funny as hell. It can make a point, or mean nothing at all. As far as I know, OKC has not yet experienced the wonder of a flash mob. Come on, people…let’s plan one.