For *those that have just lost their keys *those that are well-versed *inebriated ones *wanderers *mermaids *those that belong elsewhere *whippersnappers *marvelous ones *those that are not included in this classification *those that flutter because the moment is fleeting *boundless ones *those colored with slippery fingerpaint *others *those that resemble someone I know from a distance

Friday, April 28, 2006

My favorite thing about all of this is the name. Or maybe it is just the phrase "animal testicles."

Um, did you know that there are products called Neuticles, which are testicular implants for pets? You read that correctly - testicular implants for pets. According to their website, "The texture and firmness of NeuticleNaturals were crafted based on the firmness of actual animal testicles" and "Neuticles replicate the testicle in actual size, shape and weight and feel." Not only that, but Rush Limbaugh, that's right Rush Limbaugh, has said "Neuticles are just plain neat!"

The world? Still strange, in case you lost track.


Sunday, April 23, 2006

Descartes can suck it.

This is one long entry, chock-full of fact-filled goodness. Cause I'm a geek when it comes to embodiment, emotion, and metaphors. It's geeky to have even thought of that sentence.

I am reading Emotional Intelligence, and somehow it is stirring up old thoughts about, well, thoughts - mostly ideas from Philosophy in the Flesh about how humans think.

From Emotional Intelligence we learn...
1. "The emotional mind is far quicker than the rational mind," working so rapidly and automatically that its appraisals never enter conscious awareness.
2. However, there are two paths to emotions, one quick and one slow. "Because it takes the rational mind a moment or two longer to register and respond than it does the emotional mind, the 'first impulse' in an emotional situation is the heart's, not the head's. There is also a second kind of emotional reaction, slower than the quick-response, which simmers and brews first in our thoughts before it leads to feeling. This second pathway to triggering emotions is more deliberate, and we are typically quite aware of the thoughts that lead to it.... In this slower sequence, more fully articulated thought precedes feeling.... By contrast, in the fast-response sequence feeling seems to precede or be simultaneous with thought."
3. The emotional mind is symbolic. "The logic of the emotional mind is associative; it takes elements that symbolize a reality, or trigger a memory of it, to be the same as that reality. That is why similes, metaphors, and images speak directly to the emotional mind.... one object symbolizes another; one feeling displaces another and stands for it; wholes are condensed into parts. There is no time, no laws of cause-and-effect.... What something reminds us of can be far more important than what it 'is....' While the rational mind makes logical connection between causes and effects, the emotional mind is indiscriminate, connecting things that merely have similar striking features."
4. The emotional mind is childlike. It is categorical, seeing things in "black and white, with no shades of gray.... Another sign of this childlike mode is personalized thinking, with events perceived with a bias centering on oneself.... The childlike mode is self-confirming, suppressing or ignoring memories or facts that would undermine its beliefs and seizing those that support it.... The emotional mind takes its beliefs to be absolutely true and so discounts any evidence to the contrary." This means "actions that spring from the emotional mind carry a particularly strong sense of certainty."
5. The emotional mind reacts to the present as though it were the past.
6. The emotional mind is state-specific. "In the mechanics of emotion, each feeling has its own distinct repertoire of thought, reactions, even memories."

All of the above came from Appendix B of Emotional Intelligence, which is so far the most interesting part of the book. Since, I don't have Philosophy in the Flesh here with me, this part will be a lot shorter and mostly taken from an interview with George Lakoff about the book.

His three main points are...
1. The mind is inherently embodied. "What our bodies are like and how they function in the world structures the very concepts we can use to think.... Conceptual structure and the mechanisms of reason arise ultimately from and are shaped by the sensory-motor system of the brain and body."
2. Thought is mostly unconscious (see above for partial discussion of this)
3. Abstract concepts are largely metaphorical, "based on metaphors that make use of our sensory-motor capacities to perform abstract inferences." Metaphor is "not a minor kind of trope used in poetry, but rather a fundamental mechanism of mind."

So, in conclusion...
Human beings are more like words than numbers
We are more like poetry than equations
We are more like dancers than computers
We are more like dreams than encyclopedias
We are more like gods than robots
We are more like unknowing than knowing
We are more like chaos than order
We are metaphors


Maybe I should switch to perineum.

Okay, I use the word fuck too much in my writing. Do you have a fucking problem with that?


And I'm proud to be an American...

"Only one major U.S. building project in Iraq is on schedule and within budget: the massive new American embassy compound." It will be the largest its kind in the world, larger than Vatican City.

Isn't there a less obvious way to mark our territory, like, oh I don't know, pissing around the entire country of Iraq? We could finally put our soldier's urine to good use. And keep out tomcats. Oh wait, isn't a tomcat some kind of fighter jet?



Saturday, April 22, 2006

All I want to do is eat seaweed salad and dream of mermaids.


Thursday, April 20, 2006

"You are so beautiful, you are so beautiful"

This rain is exactly what I need.

If only I had a lover and an infinite amount of songs that sound like "What Would the Community Think?"

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I don't care if you are trying to manipulate my emotions to sell me long as it's done well

I like the part with the frog.

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

Birthday goodness

Quote of the night: "I'm 29 and rolling around in my own saliva..."

Drunken poetry of the night: Your touch makes me think of snowy landscapes. bluebirds ruffling their wings.

Remaining questions: Who am I and what am I doing?

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Monday, April 17, 2006

I think there might be something really wrong with my mind.

In case you didn't already know this, Myspace is addicting. As addicting as...I don't know, crack, smoking, self-hatred, or the Yeah Yeah Yeahs - pick your addiction. I decided last week to stop fighting it, to stop being ashamed of my Myspace addiction. Yes, I am on Myspace for at least an hour a day. Yes, my Myspace addiction interferes with my work and my relationship with others. Yes, I stalk ex-lovers and ex-lovers' ex-lovers on a regular basis. Yes, I get together with my friends for the specific purpose of getting drunk and taking pictures of ourselves to put on Myspace. Yes, I am in love with men I don't even know who live on the other side of the country, whose profiles I visit every day whilst yearning to meet them. Yes, I wake up in the middle of the night with new ideas of what to put on my profile. Yes, I am an addict. Yes, it is sick. But, I will no longer fight it. Myspace wins.

Interestingly, since I have accepted my Myspace addiction, I have come up with a new use for Myspace. Fortune-telling. There are a couple of variations of this, but I will tell you about my favorite. I ask a question and then I look at each one of my pictures on myspace, and try to imagine how that person would answer the question. What I am really asking, since each picture is of me, is what that version of Wendy is like. (Yes, I do have some narcissistic tendencies). It all started when I was debating whether or not to get a tattoo. I looked at each of my pictures, pretending that I didn't know that person (i.e. me), and tried to guess if she (i.e. me) had that tattoo or not. In ten of the pictures, that person (i.e. me) did not have the tattoo; in two of them, she did. So, no new tattoo for me.

Now I am trying to use Myspace to figure out what to do with my life. I have been looking at each of my pictures and trying to guess what her (i.e. my) occupation is. This is what I have come up with so far:

1. Social worker
2. Boring office job with artistic hobbies
3. Aimless writer with disappearing tendencies
4. Graphic designer
5. ? with artistic hobbies
6. Nurse/medical assistant
7. Elementary school teacher
8. Mystic/writer
9. Something visual/design-y
10. Something sexual
11. Teacher
12. Something with people

Now, if only there were a way to add this up and divide by 12 to get the average. I guess it comes out to helping/teaching people with a side of creativity, some extra ennui, a sprinkle of mysticism, and a dash of sexuality. Is there a job out there comprised of these things? Does it pay well? I think I might be good at it. Can I take this list to a career counselor and find out what I should do with the rest of my life?

Is it really really really odd that I not only used Myspace in this manner, but then wrote a blog about it? Do I need professional help? Is the internet taking over my life, changing the way we relate to one another, and causing us to lose touch with reality? Do I think too much? Am I too self-involved? Am I too smart for my own good? What should I do with the rest of my life? Was I too isolated as a child to ever have normal relationships as an adult? Should I walk away from my life and join a Buddhist monastery, spending my days meditating and marking the changing of the seasons? What the hell am I doing? How come I can't ask the right question? Or does it have to do with being receptive to the answer?

Fuck it. I'm going to smoke.

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Saturday, April 15, 2006

Kisses to Christopher

I've always wanted someone to describe me using the phrase, "She's got a mind like a steel trap." But no ever has and I seriously doubt anyone ever will. Which made me wonder, what simile would best describe my mind? I guess there is something a little predatory about the steel trap analogy, and I don't think of my mind as being particularly predatory. I think my mind is somehow like my closet - full of unpacked boxes, lanterns, old writings, games, shoes, dirty laundry, and broken or outdated computer equipment. That sounds about right. And messy. Quite messy. And difficult to maneuver around in or find what you are looking for. Yes


I just called my best friend and asked him to describe my mind. His first answer was, "Like a hive of Africanized killer bees." He then said it depended on which Wendy was running the show. To truly understand my mind, we would need a "psycho-botanist" who could create a "taxonomy of the different manifestations of wendyness."

How can you not fucking love him?

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Thursday, April 13, 2006

Lamentation for lost cell phone

without you I am weightless, free
tied to nothing
unbound from satellites
unable to collect voices shot into the atmosphere

there shall be no drunk dials to old lovers
no last minute carnival invitations
no coffeshop photography of ashtrays and stray cats
and what the fuck am I going to do if I have a mood swing?

my tempo unfurling
restful wandering
composing text message after text message


Wednesday, April 12, 2006

What I would send you as a text message if I actually had a cell phone.

A dig-diggin' it, come on

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Monday, April 10, 2006

god bless texas

This morning as I approached the drag, there was a curious juxtaposition of religion and politics. There was the preacher standing on the half-wall, hollering something about Jesus, bible in hand, sounding like a carnival barker. "Getchore salvation here! Three tries for a dollar!" There was the fellow calling out "Vote for Kinky!" trying to collect signatures for the petition. There was even a little choir to provide accompaniment for the preacher, although they lacked his fire, approaching meekness. On my way across I got a "Kinky Friedman for Governor 2006" bumper sticker, and on my way back I was the proud recipient of a "God's Simple Plan of Salvation" pamphlet. I think it is the exact same pamphlet I got when I first started college at UT, ten years ago.

God Bless Texas!

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What the hell do you want from me, o fortune cookie fortune?

I hang on to fortunes from fortune cookies. They are one of the few things I collect - that and wheat pennies. But one of them - "Now is the time to finish up old tasks" - keeps following me around. I found it on the floor, and picked it up so it would not get lost. For some reason it kept moving about my apartment, appearing in strange places - on the kitchen counter, nightstand, tabletop. I tried to think of old tasks that needed finishing, but couldn't come up with anything. For some unknown reason, I put it in my purse. Then it started appearing in even more bizarre places - on the passenger seat of my car, in my cell phone, in files from work.

And then I threw out my back. And I am pretty sure the damn fortune was involved.

So, what the hell do you want from me, o fortune cookie fortune? What needs finishing up? Is it emotional, spiritual, mundane? Do you just want me to finish unpacking? Well, I would, but now I can't bend over. What do you want? Just let me know and I will get right on it.

Unless it's about an old relationship. In which case, I will just tolerate the back pain.


I'm writing about sex and I don't even feel weird about it. Okay, I feel weird about it.

While lying in bed this morning, I suddenly had a flashback to my sexually adventurous mid-twenties. I was seeing this guy with whom I had a very intense sexual connection. It seemed like the perfect situation to try all the things I wanted to try, to do what I was unsure about, to ask for what I really wanted. To experience something quivering and resonant. So one time, as we were, um, doing dirty work at the crossroads, I said, in a voice that I hoped communicated what I wanted, "Tell me about the night." I thought he would understand, since he wanted resonance too (I think). Instead he just got confused and unsure and stopped, and asked if I was talking about a threesome. At which point I had to say, "Never mind, I wanted poetry." And it is a bad time whenever you have to say "never mind" during sex. But I guess people aren't used to being asked for poetry during sex, so I can't hold it against him. A note to everyone, if someone asks you to tell them about the night during sex, they want poetry. They want it to fall from your tongue, ooze from your pores. They want to taste it.

Thinking back on this, I realized that what I really wanted in my mid-twenties was art in sex, poetry in sex, presence in sex, movement in sex. Not threesomes. Not making out with friends because you're adventurous and bored. Not ambiguous sexual relationships. More poetry, less threesomes.

That should have been the motto of my mid-twenties. I wish I could go back in time and tell myself that. "Hey Wendy, I'm you from the future! You are about to enter a very puzzling, rambling time in your life. Just remember this, 'More poetry, less threesomes.' Say it with my now, 'More poetry, less threesomes.' Got it? Remember that. It will serve you well."

But I probably wouldn't have listened to myself, anyway. Hell, I didn't listen to myself in the present in my mid-twenties, so why would I listen to myself from the future?

Thanks to Richard and Kitty for the "dirty work at the crossroads" euphemism.

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Bloggity bloggity blog

Well, I started a livejournal for various and sundry reasons, mostly involving Natalie, Angela, and soulhiatus. But the thrill is already gone, and keeping up two blogs seems silly. So you, my loyal readers, get a handful of entries x-posted from livejournal. Then again, I really only have four loyal readers, all of whom have probably already read these entries and no longer give a shiny damn about them. So really I am just doing this to have everything in one place.

"Maybe what I have to understand the relation with others is an exchange of vibrations which goes on in spite of whatever I may be wanting to produce in the form of love or hate."

John Pentland

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What is the spur of the moment, anyway?

I am still astonished at how difficult it is to get someone to go the carnival with me on the spur of the moment. Clearly I am hanging out with the wrong group of people.


Wednesday, April 05, 2006


UT biology professor Eric Pianka received death threats after giving a lecture about the dangers of human population growth. "Attacks made on Pianka are currently estimated in the thousands, varying from e-mailed death threats proposing the slaughter of Pianka's family to name-calling with titles such as "Dr. Doom." Mathematician and self-proclaimed neo-creationist William Dembski said he has reported Pianka to the Department of Homeland Security, according to "Uncommon Descent," an intelligent design blog site."

Oh sweet humanity. You need a cuddle and a good nap.