kdiddy.org

But I'm very depressed. I'm going to go upstairs and mope.

Cara wrote: 1) i get shockingly jealous when i see the number of comments on other people's journals. i defensively think “what's wrong with MY journal?”

I was going to mention something about this earlier but I thought it was just some creepy personality quirk of mine. Now I see that I'm not alone. For me it's not so much the lack of comments. But it's happened several times now that I've “met” someone through one of the communities that I'm in. They seem cool, so I ask politely if they would mind if I befriended them. I figure that it's rude not to ask, just subscribe myself to their journal and they don't even know me. The troubling part is when they just don't answer me. I think, “Oh no. I've frightened her. She thinks I'm stalking her. Perhaps I was too gushy in my request. She's going to report me to LJ. My journal's not cool enough to be associated with.” This happened twice quite recently. I really don't know what's wrong with me or why Live Journalists seem to be so creeped out by me.

I can't believe I forgot to mention this.
Two movies rented last night: Flatliners and They Live. I had never seen Flatliners. It's pretty good in that late 80s-early 90s kinda way. If I had seen it then I probably would have been more freaked out. Seeing it last night made me think about a lot of stuff but for the most part I was just amused by their Gothic medical school and Julia Roberts' hair. Also how pathetic Kevin Bacon has become the past 10 years.
They Live is a pretty good sci-fi/social commentary flick. It has its faults, namely Roddy Piper as an actor, his mullet as a supporting character, and the pointless 15-minute fight scene. But despite that it's actually very good. Note to self: try to find short story They Live is based on.

Argh, I had this huge long post earlier and I fucked up and lost it.
Anyway, let me see…
Kelly's was fun the other night. I met this gal Megan who, along with her boyfriend Jim, runs the Funk & Soul night at Kelly's as well as 720 Records. She was nice and goofy. She was telling me about this party that they're having and that I should bring all my girlfriends. Apparently the male-to-female ratio is all wacky. I touched my hair and admitted that I don't have that many girlfriends. Megan got all first-grade on me and said, “Let's be girlfriends.” I agreed.
The boyfriend, Ike and I were sitting at the bar. As I'm sure you've experienced, having a conversation with more than two people is extremely difficult when you're all abreast of one another. So I left them to talk about records, grabbed my cocktail and sat with Megan and her friend Ken at a booth. Shit was talked, cocktails were had, cigarettes were avoided by yours truly. The music was also very fine. Many attractive people were there.
On our way out we encountered an old homeless man with a broken hand. He told us that if we gave him some change he would recite about “the lady” (that would be me if you weren't sure) having to do with “romance and philosophy.” Our curiosity thoroughly piqued, the boyfriend gave him a couple bucks in change and we told him that my name was Kelly. He mumbled this poem that began, “Kelly, you are my belly. You make me shake like a bowl full of jelly.” It went on for awhile in a very Ethan Hawke/Julia Delpy/Before Sunrise manner and I don't think I've ever blushed so hard in my entire life. It was rather funny.
Since my son doesn't have any spring/summer pajamas in his size yet, I put this onesie on him last night that's about 6 sizes too big for him. It keeps slipping off of his shoulder so I've taken to calling him “Flashdance.”

What's up, Flashdance?
I slept funny the other night so now I have a horribly stiff neck. This keeps happening. This, combined with the Period From Hell…I'm becoming very frustrated with my body's quirks.
Yesterday I went to Pitt to get all of my graduation stuff. Very fun. Free stuff is always good, and there was plenty of it. Free CD wallet, free beach towel, free cookies, free pop, free candy…oh the glory.
Random things that are really starting to piss me off:
1) mesh-back caps. I swear to god, I'm going to start kicking people who wear these. The Hipster Handbook might endorse them but I'm just sick of them.
2) Speaking in the third person. This is something that's bothered me for a long time. I don't understand this behavior. Do people really think this makes them sound tough?
3) Celine Dion covering Stevie Wonder's “I Wish.” Word has it that she doesn't change the lyric, “nappy-headed boy.”
4) absolute minimum patriotism. Granted, the very gung-ho patriots that are on Fox News piss me off just as much. But I'm even more disgusted by people who buy a couple of American flags from Wal-Mart and eliminate “French” foods from their diet and say that they're doing it in support of our troops. That's so fucking stupid.

At the end of class last night I was waiting to tell the Esteemed Ms. Laskas thanks for the class and the advice and tally-ho. It's this brownnosing tradition of mine. She was talking to this guy in my class and while I was standing there this other guy starts talking to me…and talking…and talking…and talking. Then he turns to the Esteemed Ms. Laskas and starts talking…and talking…and talking. The kid didn't shut up for about 10 minutes. The whole time I'm standing there trying to just jump in and say, “Thanks! Bye! See ya!” while he namedrops all these fancypants journalists he met at the Poynter Institute convention last weekend…and that he works for the Trib (barf)…and he partied with, like, William Safire or some shit. So annoying. It's a longer story than this but I don't feel like typing anymore. I'm waiting on the boyfriend to take me to Kelly's.
Also, I'm not really feeling predatory I just wanted to see what that mood looked like.

*disclaimer: the subject has absolutely nothing to do with the entry, so don't get all pissed off that I don't even mention Mr. Cantone at the end of this.*
Last night I had my last class as an undergraduate. The experience didn't get very surreal until the end. As previously mentioned, we were doing five-minute/1,000 word readings of our work. There were 23 of us, working out to 115 minutes of reading…a perfect fit for our 150 minute class. Mine was about 4 and 1/2 minutes. I knew that I needed to keep it on schedule since I was third to speak. My voice, of course, warbled and spit kept flying out of my mouth. I stuttered and stumbled and generally made an ass out of myself. I read two rather dry sections of my piece and I don't think my fellow students thought it was as funny as I did. Guess I need to polish up on that humor. Oh well.
There were a chunk of people in the middle who read way too much, under the delusion that if they didn't read enough of it then it wouldn't make sense. A few people read their profiles which were just too long at 2,000 words. I think they thought that if they just read quickly they could fit it all in. They couldn't. So not only were they reading to fast to be understood they took too long as well. One kid read his profile of this guy who owns a recording studio in Sharon, PA. He spent a few years in the Peace Corps but this kid kept pronouncing it Peace Corpse. It was so annoying. I can distinctly remember a spelling lesson with Mrs. Dolan in fifth grade and going over the differences between core, corps, and corpse.
Anyway, a lot of the pieces were really well done. GWIDPL added a nice Bobby Sumgum/Me-love-you-long-time accent to her reading of the profile she did of a sushi chef. Yeah, that was a nice moment for race relations.
Another girl presented her immersion of a coffee shop as a choreographed musical. So, she sang at a few intervals throughout her reading. That was a little odd but it worked. I was impressed by how much her writing had improved since we workshopped her profile.
Toward the end of class, as my mind started to wander, I started taking in all of the scents and sounds of an evening class at the Cathedral of Learning. Sirens and busses roared past outside and students played the last frisbee match of the day on the lawn. Inside, under the buzz of fluorescent lights, 23 aspiring young writers laid their guts out on the podium for their colleagues to judge. I've had countless classes in that building, and quite a few in that particular classroom alone. I don't think it ever occurred to me that I might be pursuing a career as a writer. Now I really want it. Tomorrow I have to go back down to Pitt to get measured for my gown and stuff. That should be fun. Then in another week and a half I'll be graduated. Very weird.
Now, with school behind me, I find that I have a lot more energy. I feel ready to get out and do stuff. I might go to Kelly's (the bar) with the boyfriend tonight. I haven't been there yet so I'm looking forward to it. Stacey proposed a weekend trip down to Richmond at the end of May. Hopefully, I'll be able to go, provided that she doesn't have plans to de-program me of my Pittsburgh pride.
ehhhhhhh, what else. I can't think. I'm hungry today. Argh.

I have just a few things that I want to touch on and then the baby and I have some toys we have to throw on the floor.
I forgot to give a review of last week's Nonfiction 2 class. Overall, pretty good. The classes are getting shorter and tonight is the last one. We're all going to read a short selection of one of our pieces. I suck at public speaking.
Anyway, the Girl Who I Don't Particularly Like redeemed herself to me last week. Well, not totally; she's still a racist and kind of annoying but listen to this: I was having some mysterious knee pain and the people sitting around me knew this because I exclaimed, “I'm having some mysterious knee pain!” and rubbed the afflicted joint. GWIDPL jumped up, placed my leg on a chair and began to massage my knee. “A little something I picked up in Australia,” she explained. Um, okay. Aboriginal massage techniques? Who knows. It was very nice of her and it did make my knee feel a little better. Once we broke off into our small workshop groups, I stated that I needed help with mine. During the workshop and after listening to my tales of pseudo-erotic Christian music, GWIDPL mumbled, “I'm glad I'm a Jew.” Ha!
Saturday Night Live absolutely sucked this past week. Ray Romano was getting on my last nerve and I was highly offended when he told a joke during his opening monologue that I had heard him tell on Dr. Katz and on one other occasion (I can't remember when that was). Of course, it's unfortunate that I've watched Comedy Central so much that I actually have jokes stored of a comedian I don't even really like.
The only skit of SNL that I really remember amusing me was the Wake Up Wakefield, junior high TV show. Maya Rudolph and Rachel Dratch kill me. But even that skit has done better in the past. I think the funniest part about it is Rachel Dratch's necktie/Polo shirt combo and how frighteningly realistic she looks as a 12-year-old boy. Zwan was the musical and guest and…oh…fucking…whatever. I don't really care. I kind of want to kick Billy Corgan in the face for no particular reason. And pseudo-D'arcy needs to go somewhere and hide. During most of the episode I read that crappy Parents magazine and got a stiffie while looking at an ad for a Jell-O no-bake dessert. Come to me, my sweet.
Yesterday I spent an hour or so with the gal from the PAAI in an attempt to re-revise my profile of her for a better grade. All of my motivation has been sucked out of me, though. My re-revision was shoddy. Oh well.
I think I did about 20 loads of laundry yesterday.
Last night I decided to watch Swingers and when that was over I didn't feel like going to sleep or reading. I watched some COPS which has got to be the most boring show ever. Reason #6,98098980089 why cops make themselves look like jackasses: “The suspect is naked so obviously he's under the influence of PCP or crank.” What kind of logic is that? I mean, alright, in this case it turned out to be true. But since when does nudity = PCP?
Alright, must dash.
Later.

What the fuck is with the people in this city? Why do they hate it so much? Am I just a naive small-town redneck with no sense of the world? Is everyone else that much more sophisticated than me?
I thought self-loathing went out in the 90s.

I stink. I need to take a shower.
Yesterday was pretty eventful. My mom, the baby and I went to CMU's Carnival (or Tech Fair as everyone who's lived in Pittsburgh forever calls it). We walked through the booths that were open and I won this little gummy frog thing in the Ancient Egypt/Old Testament booth. I think it's the Old Testament…I'm not up on my Bible. The booths that we visited were all very impressive. The theme is Great Moments in History. One frat's booth was “The Invention of the Assembly Line.” What jackasses. Say what you want for industrialization, assembly line work definitely sucks…at least for the people on the assembly line.
End Proletarian rant.
Anyway. I took the baby on the merry-go-round, which he was none too thrilled about it. I guess he's just a little too young for that. He wouldn't hold onto the pole so I had to put my arm around him and hold the pole myself to keep from falling onto the ground. He just clutched the drawstring on my hoody and looked extremely concerned. When the ride was over I picked him up and put his arms around my neck and squeezed. Aww.
We played some skeeball, which is always fun but at $1 a pop was too expensive for us to actually play long enough to win anything. Some local band played and they kind of sucked. WRCT was there too with some pussy trance music. All in all, it was not a good time, musically.
After going home, eating some dinner and putting the baby to bed I went to Arsenal Lanes with the boys to celebrate Paco's birthday. I generally enjoy bowling but I'm really bad at it. No one seems to believe me when I say how bad I am until I actually start bowling. I think my all-time highest score is like a 65 or something equally pathetic. All of my friends are dorks, though. They're in leagues and shit and go bowling every week. Most of them break 100 usually by the 5th frame or something. (that could be an exaggeration…I'm not going to do the math to try to figure out if that's possible or not, but you get my point.)
Well, I still have some stuff to do this morning, namely change my son's diaper, shower and finish writing this review for Pulp.
Later.