You are currently browsing the category archive for the 'Uncategorized' category.
I spent 30 hours of my week (and god only knows how many of yours!) writing this silly page.
//But on the plus side, I figured out how to write script flirtatiously.
“…–but you, disturbed by faint clapping sounds of praise and laughter, and I, resenting compromise and right and wrong on human lips, trust only in solitude and the violence of death and thus are divided.”
-Rhoda The Waves
I think my brother might be the only person my mother talks to recreationally. Besides that, I think, she just talks to church people and a new set of coworkers at a new defunct nursing home every few months. So I guess she doesn’t have anyone double-checking the vocabulary she picks up and sometimes just repeats things my brother says. Which is alright… except my brother is an 18 year old person full of slang.
I couldn’t help but laugh to myself when my mother reported informationally, “Your brother is doing fine. He’s had a couple of really sick lacrosse games. He said if his playing continues to be so sick, he’ll probably make the team.”
Dear Leonard Nimoy,
L’shanah tovah! I’m so sorry it’s taken me this long to get back to you. I miss you. I do. Really. But every time I get a chance to write or call, I realize I also owe all our mutual friends calls, too, and I know how you know everyone and I just don’t know who to start with. And now somehow it’s already New Years and honestly I’m writing you to ask small favor. But first: whats up how are you I’m well I do miss you what are you up to these days let’s have lunch soon. I found this great picture of the whole gang around the time you made Catlow. Remember that time we rode around in kiddie-size trains with Yul Brenner and I tried to get into the back seat of your sedan from the front because I thought it was a two-door vehicle? I’ll make you a copy. 
Anyway– I have this friend (I can’t remember if you met her at my last shindig) but she’s moved away and I feel like I should do something special for her. I thought of you because I just keep remembering that line from your poem “I believe in hopes, dreams, and decency.” Was that in Warmed by Love? Then that other one “Rocket ships are exciting/ but so are roses.” That one really haunts me. And I think either my friend or I might also believe in hopes, dreams, decency, roses, or rocket ships but we’re not very good at expressing our feelings to each other.
She’s a teacher and really busy and probably won’t even pick up if you call.. but I was just wondering, could you call her and tell her happy new year for me? Possibly you could send her one of your arresting photographs of nude women draped in tefillin or an exculpatory copy of one of your autobiographies
(either I am Spock or maybe I am not Spock, I just can’t tell which would be best because they’re both so different.) I’m sure she’s read them both but it would be a nice gesture. Just use your judgment on this one.
All my love and take care!
-Femmephane
p.s. If you reach her at home and you hear some commotion in the background that might be her roommate. FYI it’s his birthday today so many you could just say “hey” if you’re going to be calling them anyway. He’ll be reading my blag a lot today so I think it’s only polite.
Oh, just one more quick thing while I have you– thought you’d be the one to ask. Tinsel: neutral winter holiday trimming of the future? Or, achingly reminiscent of Christ-child?
Weight, in ounces, of all the information that passed through the Internet last year: 0.00004
NC Does Debutante
Man-Eating Jackrabbits and Killer Cacti
Gen X
And this, at last, posted to a site that requires you to register before you read the user comments. Have we learned nothing from reading the youtube bickering? I know that in the last five years I’ve become shockingly quick at typing my name, address, birthday, phone number, billing information, and 18 “Very Difficult” character password but maybe I should be a little more conscientious with how I use it.
Estimated amount of oil, in barrels, used to make the bottled-water containers sold in the U.S. last year: 16,000,000
Ratio of the amount of water used to make the containers to the amount of bottled water consumed: 2:1
(”Harper’s Index,” Harper’s Magazine. August 2007)
for 
Dear Erik Estrada,
Erik, you might not remember, but I grew up with pretty limited television. So you can imagine how it might have confused the tween I was to see your face every time I looked up at the tube. From the TBS reruns of your cheesy 1970s movies (with all the smut edited out) to the renowned series CHiPs, you were like a rascally cousin no one really wanted around but had to watch in the depressing daytime television purgatory. When I watched tv with my sister and brother after school, there you were– guest starring your ass off all over Nickelodeon and the Disney Channel. When I woke up in the middle of the night with puberty nightmares, it was you who tried to sell me infomercial real estate. By the time my public school teachers showed us Dos mujeres, un camino, in a foolish attempt to improve our Spanish with telenovelas, I started to wonder if you were the only actor in the wide whole world. In fact, when I saw you on VH1’s “Where Are They Now?” I thought they were being facetious!
We’ve been through so much together. If I were a little more dedicated to my cause I would put together a opening-credits-style photo-montage of our relationship set to Air Supply’s “Making Love out of Nothing at All” or Journey’s “Any Way You Want it.” In the meantime, this will have to do. If you get a chance, drop me a line with your home mailing address so that I can send you whole bunch of pictures of myself as a child and young adult. Then we can be on even footing.
Sincerely,
Femmephane
Dear Keanu Reeves,
This is my second letter to you. I’m beginning to think that you might have dropped my first one into the sea while you were on location or possibly used it as a bookmark and left it in a public library copy of The Psychopathology of Everyday Life. I’ve lost some paychecks that way and so I can totally empathize. Fortunately for you I also put it on the internet.
Anyway, you don’t have to explain. I accept your apology. I just wanted to point out that you have yet to heed my friendlyadvice-style mandate. IMDB revealed that you are currently making a new film called The Night Watchman about some LAPD cop torn asunder by complex mores and an intricate innerlife. All in all this makes 10 films that rely on the audience believing that the insides of your brain are complicated enough to constitute a feature length plot. I realize you do a lot of movies so I’ve enumerated the offenders in the post script. But just tell me this, what– in god’s name– is wrong with a few nice action movies and a doughy romantic comedy here and there? You can be very believable as a sleeping athlete or even as the best friend’s almost silent boyfriend.
Sincerely,
Femmephane
The Night Watchman, A Scanner Darkly, The Lakehouse, The Matrix trilogy, The Gift, The Watcher, The Devil’s Advocate, Little Buddha,
