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I am so weak. I totally admit it. After spending all day with my head firmly planted in front of Microsoft Outlook and apartment rental listings on Craigslist, I finally gave in and watched the Britney Spears “performance” (I am not sure there was performing involved) of her, I mean someone else’s, “Gimme More” at the VMAs last night.

I’d really love to say everything you might think I’d say: it was pathetic, kind of gross, and just representative of how sad the state of the music business is…even how sad Britney is. C’mon, she looked drugged, disoriented, and disinterested. It made me think that a more daring comeback would have been for her to just really embrace her heritage and do some kind of commercial for Wal-Mart. Except she’s just so darn addicted to that Hollywood lifestyle, so Bentonville, Ark., doesn’t want her…

It was like the final nail in my youth coffin, these fucking VMAs. But I don’t think it’s that I am getting too old to appreciate pop (hey, I own that Rihanna CD and like it very much, thanks). It’s just that who cares about half the shit the VMAs and MTV are trying so hard to celebrate. Do I give a shit that Kanye West and 50 Cent have some kind of “beef”? Um, no. Could I care less that Kid Rock (who?) got in a fight with Tommy Lee (at least he’s a bona fide rock star)? Um, not so much.

I casually perused these tidbits of news, and then thought about how some of my favorite musicians–people who actually know how to play instruments–are going broke and may not even be able to tour or make a living anymore while we get Britney teetering around on her stilettos shoved down our throats. That’s not new. People used to talk about how Madonna and Wham were destroying music. OK, so maybe Wham kind of did (oh, wait, that was Andrew Ridgeley’s solo album). But it just seems that where TV, radio, and retail could at some point operate independent of major corporations there was always an element of surprise.

The music “business” would like to say that illegal downloading is taking away profits and destroying artists, but if people really wanted to create art, they’d do it anyway, without Sony/Interscope/EMI behind it. When you think that only a few men control these companies, these radio stations, these supposed music television channels (Why do the VMAs even exist anymore? Does MTV actually play videos?), it’s all too clear that the mass produced music forced on us is often just junk food for the ears. They let some real talent slip through now and then, but when Clive Davis kicks the bucket, who’s going to be able to promote real artists in these parameters laid out by shows like the VMAs. I can’t wait to see.

Meanwhile, I’ve been listening to stuff that almost no one will ever listen to, and marveling that it’s even been laid down and recorded. It’s not all good, of course. But it feels more honest than anything I saw from Vegas last night.

It’s also hard to care much about the fluff right now, with the anniversary of my father’s death having passed, knowing Barbie’s grandmother passed away yesterday, thinking of my own mortality as I struggle with quitting smoking–what a stupid fucking addiction!–and feeling glad to be rid of it again.

It’s not the right time for me to care about Britney, Paris, Lindsay, even Nicole, Tom, Posh, and Becks. Ultimately, I like seeing them dress poorly and then feel grossed out by thinking of how much so many of these people waste in the name of feeling loved and still never finding it. Gimme more, indeed.

I don’t listen to the Scorpions all that often, and yet today, this album is hitting the spot, I have to admit. OK, there, I said it. And yes, I actually own “Blackout.” I’m not just pretending.

I grew up in a neighborhood that was split along many lines–but most notably music. You had two choices for music, most often: rock or rap. Most of the older kids in my neighborhood were total metal heads. Name your late ’70s or early ’80s band of choice, and I am sure I heard their albums–several times each.

But among the noise of Iron Maiden, Motley Crue, Dio, even Molly Hatchet, I had a soft spot in my little gay heart for the Scorpions. Don’t ask me why. I am not sure I’ll ever understand why myself. It’s not exactly heavy metal…. it’s more melodic, anthemic rock. But I was drawn to it, inexplicably, yes, but all the same.

In particular, I loved “Blackout.” I was only 9 years old when this album came out, but everyone around me was 13-17 and so it was their perfect summer soundtrack. How can you not remember “No One Like You”? It was a radio and MTV staple, and I ate it up.

What simultaneously scares me and makes me laugh is that I still know most of the words to this album–and I still love it. Granted, I am listening to it in the privacy of my room at the moment, but it still gives me a rush. It reminds me of being young, days and nights free in the hot summer to hang out in neighbors’ houses, watch people drink, get high, take off in their first cars, feeling like adults, blaring their music as loud as it will go.

What’s even funnier is that a few of the songs on “Blackout” are actually political. The 7-minute “China White,” for example, always sounded like a riff on Led Zeppelin to me, but re-reading the lyrics, it says, among other things: “How long will it take/To make the world a flaming star?/How long will it take/Till they stop their senseless wars?”

Ummmm….

Who knew I was responding to a screaming German man named Klaus who was singing about “filling our hearts with love again”? I didn’t at the time.

It’s always amazing what a sensory experience music can be. I marvel at remembering songs like “No One Like You” that are nearly 30 years old–that were such integral parts to a very specific moment in my life.

I suspect the Scorpions started my love of a master guitar player. Granted, I respond more to kick-ass women playing it these days, but listening now, I can’t help but marvel at how good the playing on “Blackout” actually is.

Plus, I was feeling kind of aggro today and needed a soundtrack. Now I know what to play when I feel like this.

Now, excuse me while I go back to paying bills and singing along to “Dynamite.”

I made the mistake of turning on the TV last night.

Unless it’s 6 or 7:30 p.m. and I know The Simpsons has already begun, I rarely do this. If I had The Weather Channel, all bets would be off, because I could watch Doppler radar images for 36 hours straight and make everyone crazy.

But the unfortunate eyeball-searing spectacle was Miss Teen USA, which I knew Lesley had attended because her step-niece was crowned last summer in Palm Springs and there she was taking her “final walk” and then Mario Lopez was squawking about something stupid, and then the 5 finalists were whittled down and voila…Ms. Colorado was crowned! She was innocuous, and so was everything else. And then I saw the set, which looked like a Lichtenstein painting–which just seemed like some gross postmodern irony. If you had no idea who he was and were, oh, 15, and then saw a painting, you’d think he had cribbed it from Miss Teen USA. I clearly have little optimism about the intellectual prowess of Generation Z or whatever we’re calling them now.

Turning off that fresh horror, I wandered aimlessly about my apt., fidgety because I am not smoking, and it was day 4 and I felt like I could strangle someone and then I’d feel great, and then I’d want to punch the wall. It’s testament to how horrible this addiction is, I suppose. And I remembered how awful it was to quit in 1999. But also how much better I felt. And best of all, how much money I saved.

I thought about trying to write, but I feel so ADD right now. I can usually sit down and pound out a diatribe, essay, story about any number of subjects. I think it may be the fear of finishing something that keeps me scattered. I had this odd epiphany in the midst of taking the GRE for the second time last weekend. It was the analytical writing section and I hadn’t prepared for it at all, really, but the two types of essay I was being forced to write just seemed so simple to me. The words could only be ordered in one way. I wondered about the “bigger” pieces of writing that I have been trying to gain forward momentum on and thought just in that moment that I may never finish, because if I did, I’d have to come up with another idea. And it just seemed so exhausting. (By the way, I got the SAME lackluster scores both times I took the GRE and gave up; I can’t take it again, and, at 34, feel like I just don’t care that much about this stupid test. I’ll find a way to do what I want somehow. I doubt algebra and analogies will determine my fate.)

Granted, a lot of that has to do with spending every minute of free time in the last several weeks either traveling for work or studying for the GRE. This is the first weekend in 2 or 3 months where this isn’t hanging over me and I feel adrift–like I have too many options.

I had been tackling this essay about my father’s death and it was stinging me and I had to let it go for a minute. I’d not had that sensation from writing something in a long time. I think I’d been able to steel myself against the pain of his death for a long time, and 21 years later, something else has to be worked out. I don’t know how Joan Didion did it exactly, writing about her husband’s death so acutely. In interviewing people in my family again, it opens up sores that some of them have never let heal. And, by turn, it brings back to me the feeling of having just turned 13 and spending an entire summer in the hospital wondering what was happening to my dad and to my own childhood.

Needless to say, I am approaching this essay with more trepidation right now, circling it, in a sense, before I feel ready to dive back in.

I’ve been wanting life to slow down a little bit, and so far it’s bending to my will. I think the last big hurdle is this apartment hunt. You know it’s bad when you have dreams about exacting some kind of revenge on your neighbor and wake up feeling RELAXED. Geesh.

My chores today? To drop off stuff at a thrift store, go to Amoeba, and drive around parts of the city to apartment hunt. Oh, and to buy file boxes so I can start packing books in my house–a way to force myself to really go out there and find an apartment How exciting is that? To most, not very, I imagine, but it feels like bliss right now. And the best part is that it’s August 25 and only 78 degrees. Damn, I just realized that in 3 days I will have been here 9 years. Maybe that means by next August I have to move.

….well, then, someone/something will hear you.

So I am putting it out there: I need a new apartment! 🙂

Oct. 1 or Nov. 1 move-in is ideal. If you know me: I need 4 things:

1) Built before 1950 preferably (i.e., hardwood floors, tiled bathroom)

2) Quiet

3) Parking

4) Upstairs –unless we’re talking some detached/weirdly layed out patio unit or treehouse or something.

I reiterate that the housing market in LA SUCKS. Not that y’all didn’t know that but I just had to say it again.

End communication.

I’ve been swept up into “life stuff,” and the moment it stops, I go to the beach and throw myself in the ocean and watch the dolphins. Really. Two weekends ago, I was in the water and there were dolphins jumping and playing about 50 feet away. That’s one of those “Oh, yeah, this is why I live here” moments.

Taking the GRE again on Saturday. I can’t seem to learn more math. I keep getting the SAME score on every practice test. I think my brain is in revolt. Even though I “get” how it all works, I can’t properly execute it. Honestly, deep down inside I just don’t care enough about proportions, slopes, percentages, and factoring. Just one of my shortcomings, I guess.

Apartment hunting is a horrible thing in LA these days, too. How does anyone afford living alone, anyway? I make OK money and still the prices are outrageous, and make no sense: a 1-bedroom in Eagle Rock for $1210 on Craigslist; a 1-bedroom for $1180 in Santa Monica right below it. Huh? Not that I want to live in either neighborhood, but you catch my drift.

Back to the grind. I will hopefully get some pics of New Mexico and details on that trip soon!

As in, I officially have nothing wrong with me, thanks to a very unpleasant medical procedure.

As in, I officially suck at taking tests, as evidenced last weekend. And I’ve officially signed up for the GRE again because I like being tortured apparently.

As in, I officially transition into a new “job” as of September 1st, though at my same company.

As in, I officially am tired of my current living situation and have begun to look for possible new apartments.

As in, I officially am 34 and feel pretty good about it.

As in, I officially have a boyfriend, and I feel pretty damn good about that too.

As in, my sister has officially moved to Portland, and I feel a small hole in my heart about it, even though I know I am 34, have a job, friends, a life, and she’s only a 2-hour plane ride away.

As in, I officially have a set a date for when I will quit smoking (Aug. 20).

As in, I officially have tickets to Hawaii with Ryan for Sept. 16-24 and I am so friggin’ excited about it that I could scream.

As in, I officially have a glass ashtray full of sea glass collected from all my trips to the beach so far this summer.

As in, I officially leave for New Mexico in 36 hours to go to The Lightning Field–a gigantic land art piece about 3.5 hours SW of Albuquerque.

As in, I have officially been a lazy blogger and have nothing better to do than think up smart-ass ways of writing entries.

No, the title cannot be more creative, thanks. My creativity is sapped at the moment.
I am having a fucker of a time re-learning the stupidest arithmetic–namely decimals, percentages, and fractions. Funny, I can easily recall how to calculate the area of a cylinder, triangle, or circle, and I know how to factor and unfactor quadratic equations, and I can maybe even remember how to calculate the slope of a line on an x and y axis, but give me a percentage conversion problem and I feel like a fucking idiot.

Wow, that’s a lot of “fuck” in one paragraph.

What an insane transitional time, with medical tests (clean bill of health!), my sister moving to Portland next week (bummed–big time), and this giant test looming over me. My brain feels so scrambled. BUT– I booked my tickets to Hawaii! I am so excited I could scream. I cannot believe I am finally going after 30 years of staring at maps and wondering how my own eyes would see these islands. 8 days on Oahu and Maui in September. Escaping the worst month in LA is a bonus, too.

Now, back to the flashcards and re-learning absolute values, factorials, and converting mixed numbers.

I can’t even explain how this happened, but “thanks” to Lesley for unearthing in my consciousness the fact that there is a whole Web site message board dedicated to fans of “Short Circuit”–specifically to #5, aka Johnny.

If you want to sear your eyeballs feel free at:
http://www.johnny-five.com/

But after reading the most recent post on the message board, I feel a whole lot better about myself. It’s kind of mean, and yet it’s true. Someone had the time, energy, and thought power to put behind this. And to answer this guy’s (I am assuming of course this is a guy) question: Yeah, things changed. Why? BECAUSE IT’S 2007, for one. Secondly, #5 IS NOT ALIVE. And lastly, Steve Guttenberg and Ally Sheedy are no longer stars.

This has been your Hollywood update, now enjoy the musings of a movie-robot lover:

“Do you remember last year when there would be people regularly posting on here?
It seems that in the past 12 months, the whole forum has died.

Apart from the few new members who make no more than 10 posts, there’s not much happening.

Even with the rumors of a Short Circuit remake being made, no one seems to really care.

If i’m being quite honest, I have gone off of short circuit a bit. I used to check back here every day, but thats changed to about once every two weeks.

All the members that were around last year seem like they hae left.

I know that theres only so much you can say about something that pretty much ended in the 80s (apart from the fans) but it doesn’t seem like it did last year.

we were all excited about the website update and the 20th anniversary of Short Circuit.

Seriously guys, what has happened?

Am I wrong or has things changed.”

It’s been a blur of non-activity around here lately. I guess I’ve been too busy celebrating our country’s independence from those Commie English bastards. Oh, wait, no, the real issue is that Mercury is in retrograde, so it feels like everything happens in slo-mo, as if dripping with molasses–and you’re constantly misunderstood when you try to speak.

OK, OK, not really. I won’t ascribe all my issues to a tiny planet that orbits too close to the sun. But good lord there were some moments where it seemed easier to blame everything on that astrological event–especially the day at Trader Joe’s when I saw a woman bite it big time on the linoleum floor. Really–face first down on the tile as if some force felled her like a two-by-four clattering to the ground. Then she got up, unharmed, and proceeded to drop her keys three more times. THEN, when I finally got to the parking lot to leave, a woman missing an eye drove past me. Yes, drove past me. All she had was what looked like an extra long eyelid where her eye used to prop it up.

It’s just been a peculiar start to the month. The last couple of days were delightful–finally getting to spend some real time with Ryan alone for the first time in a month, enjoying the 4th between the beach, a pool, and a barbecue at my sister’s house. She’s leaving in less than a month to move to Portland, which I am in total denial about. More on that another time. It was a marked contrast to spending half of Sunday with heat exhaustion, 4 hours at Kaiser’s Urgent Care center getting poked, prodded, and having blood drawn to learn that there was nothing much to learn.I had indeed been in the sun too long and it coincided with some other lovely ailments. I’ll spare you that story too. Let’s just say that I have to have a certain procedure (love that word; don’t you?) done that none other than Katie Couric had televised. I LOVE hitting my mid-30s! Wooo!

Oh, yeah, then there’s that: The birthday.

I honestly don’t care that I am turning 34. In fact, I get to play on the beach for that too, and I couldn’t be happier. But damn, when your body revolts on you it’s hard not to have a moment where you think “Really? Is this what it’s gonna be like?”
Plus, when you have a bunch of people in your family die throughout the years and you used to be a hypochondriac–well, it’s the perfect storm sometimes. But you know what? In general, this is the best I’ve felt in a while. I’m done traveling for a little while, too. Which means I get time to study, turn 34, have some quality boy time, and make a run for the beach.

Dear Silverglo:

How it can be that we have so many treasured memories from our short time together in Aspen? It seems like I shouldn’t feel this way; in fact, I am not sure if I ever have. But those 4 1/2 days at your condominium complex really touched me in a special way. How could I sit back here in smoggy Los Angeles and not think of your alluring pillows:

And when I came home dehydrated and semi-drunk, you were there with your comforting objets d’art:

In an unfamiliar room where I lay my head every night, you offered comforting decorative touches, including what I think might be the most beautiful man purses I’ve ever seen:

I was impressed, too, with how our breakfast area immediately felt so warm and inviting:

Even Beth couldn’t help but be charmed by your joie de vivre and irrepressible whimsy (that is what it was, right?):

Without you I would not have felt quite so at home. Even now, I can’t believe it actually happened. It’s all like a dream. I just can’t wait for the next time we meet.

Love,

Mikel