Art. Letters. Philosophy. Kitties.

Nowhere gal.

2011-07-31T21:58:00.000-04:00

I can no longer access my personal website (ascarborough.topcities.com). My login won't work, and my repeated messages to the "contact us" page go unheeded. There's no number I can call, no recourse--as it's a free site. So, now my life is trapped in some sort of weird virtual bubble that floated off on May 12th, 2011.

Perhaps that means the May 12th version of Alexandra died and my parallel self is currently typing this. Even if so--and I suppose that would be sort of cool, in a Source Code-y kind of way--it's still frustrating. My parallel self is still aware of the old self, and I desperately want to sync us up. Hell, just to have a conversation, if nothing else.

This is so frustrating. I can't delete the account, I can't update it. It just sits there, hanging in the ether; trapped like a bug, writhing upside down in a pool of water.

Damn it.

From The D. to shining Sea.

2011-05-31T00:24:00.002-04:00

One thing I can say about my life is that it's never static. As a good Buddhist, I should merely smile and say, "yes, of course!" As a middling Buddhist, though, I say, "Holy crap! Is my life ever gonna be settled?!" Answer: never, even if I'm physically still. That's just the way it works.

This kind of sums up my experience, and I guess after nearly 40 years I have accepted it (for the most part).

As you may know, the plan post-grad was to move to Detroit. That is no longer true. For reasons that don't necessarily need to be elucidated here, several people (including myself) would benefit by my moving back to Seattle, instead. So...now I'm doing that.

Admittedly, this is not without some sadness. As much as I adore and have missed Seattle, I did have my energies directed toward the Detroit experience, odd as that may sound to some of you. I had actually fallen in love with the city. All the things I said about it in my previous post are true. But, when worthwhile opportunities that seem beneficial for numerous parties present themselves, you have to grab 'em while you can.

Therefore, all the stuff I asked for when I talked about moving to The D?--those hold true for Seattle, too. If any of my Sea-town compatriots know of any work opportunities, feel free to send me the details. I have a lot more experience and education than I did the last time I lived there, but I'm open to all kinds of stuff, despite having hopes I'll land something in academia and/or the arts--which are my two great loves.

I haven't seen some of you for 13 years now, and I look so forward to picking our threads back up. I also look forward to the smell of Elliott Bay, the abundant opportunities for cuisine and culture, and all of that GREEN. So green. I can smell the Douglas firs as I type this.

See you soon, Emerald City.

Moving to the D.

2011-04-14T22:51:00.000-04:00

If you had told me two years ago when I moved to Toledo I would be relocating--by choice--to Detroit, I would have laughed in your face. My intention was to come here simply for grad school; it was to be a life transition and nothing more.

Granted, I have no plans to stay in Toledo. There are some nice things about it, but there simply isn't enough left in this once-grand town to keep me engaged. I had hoped to move back to the west coast (had my eye on going back to Seattle, or maybe the Bay area) after grad school, but quite honestly, I don't have the funds for that. As well, I am truly tired of making the "once-every-few-years" giant move across the U.S., as I've been doing for nearly a decade, now. And finally, I've gotten somewhat accustomed to being on this side of the nation, despite how much I pine for L.A. and Seattle every day. I miss the ocean and the damn near luxury of west coast living, but seasons also appeal to me. I didn't realize how much I had missed that.

This part of America is definitely midwestern, but it is also punctuated by the culture of southern folks who migrated in the early-mid 20th century for blue-collar work, so it feels a bit familiar. The longer I've been here, it seems closer to my own experience than anywhere else I've lived. And although having been exposed to black culture once I moved west, the impression I get here among African-Americans here is that their culture is even more authentic, honest, raw. I like that. It reminds me of my own formative experience, what some refer to as "white trash" or "hill people." Those terms have very negative connotations, and to some degree we Appalachians have earned it. But even though everything about our culture is not always pleasant, one thing is for sure--we are very, very real and to the bone. And I see that among all of the people here--not just blacks. Sometimes the vibe in this part of the world gets a bit too passionate--just like now, when I hear people fighting in my apartment building parking lot, but that's part of the trade-off of being among people who are raw. With great poverty surrounding us and the certainty of bad times ahead, people can get pretty edgy; crazy--and they have no qualms about showing it. That quality of authenticity is something I have always understood, so I tend to value it in others. Sometimes it makes things more difficult because such an approach to life can be overwhelming, intimidating, threatening or simply irritating, but hey--at least you know always know where you are with folks.

Over the last couple of years, I drove into Ann Arbor a few times and really liked it; it seems like the "Boulder of Michigan" to me. I thought it was lovely, but it just didn't seem like somewhere I'd want to consider settling for awhile. But in January I drove up to Detroit and the minute I hit town it was like I'd been there before. It has the dirty/industrial feel of Pittsburgh or Cincinnati, the strip mall/gritty, graffiti-tagged sadness of North Hollywood, and the downtown feel of Cleveland meets Glasgow, Scotland. And of course, the numerous examples of abandonment are visceral. One of the first things I saw when I drove into the city was the old, beaten/shot-up beauty of a once-magnificent train station. Instantly, I was in love.

Everyone who knows me well knows I'm a melancholic. I find beauty in ruin. Hope in devastation. Thus, I couldn't help it; once I was inside Detroit's environs, I instantly wanted to help her. I know people have been attempting to do this since the 60s, and not a lot has changed. I'm not likely to make any tangible difference. But I would like to try.

For the first time in my life I want to get involved in community revitalization efforts instead of continuing to wallow in my own self-pity and existential hand-wringing. There are a lot of people interested in trying to make Detroit a city of note again, and I would like to contribute however I can. And, unlike Toledo (which is the D's little sister, in so many ways), there are many more arts outlets for me to explore--theatre, visual art, dance--and damn, have I missed nourishing that part of myself. Now there are multiple opportunities, not just one or two.

I've got a long-time pal who lives in New York City, and he's convinced I should move there (NYC). He has me pretty convinced he's right. I used to tell myself I'd be too old, but what's too old? Too old to what? I can be 45 and unsuccessful in NYC, or I can be 45 and unsuccessful in Iowa. At least I could enjoy a more vibrant world on the east coast. However, I can't quite move there yet. I don't have the money, and I believe a transition is important for me. I need to get away from school for awhile (I'm pretty burned out, to be honest), do some re-structuring and (hopefully) a little money-saving. What I'm most hoping for is even more growth and discoveries along the way, and I think moving an hour north will kick-start those into motion...

If any of my readers have Detroit connections--contacts, jobs, arts opportunities, arts jobs opportunities--let me know. I have mad skills in many areas, from executive admin to teaching to pet sitting to editing, and now I'll have a decent education to back it up. Any help/advice you care to share will be welcomed and appreciated.

For once in my life, I've finally decided to stop fretting over misplaced or even lost dreams and am willing to cast the net wide to see what I pull up. And I have to say, I'm damned excited about it.

Fallen idol.

2011-03-08T23:32:00.021-05:00

I followed the recovery of Mike Starr on Celebrity Rehab, a show I initially thought exploitative, but came to appreciate for its purpose. Sure, much associated with reality TV is exploitative, but I do believe Dr. Drew and company honestly want to heal people. If they're accomplishing such things, why not show it to a mass audience? It might actually push someone into action; to realize his/her own problems with substance abuse. The folks at the Pasadena Recovery Center understand addiction. Many of them are past addicts themselves and they want to guide people into positive change. They hope to facilitate the patients' journey into some sort of normalcy.

On both shows--Celebrity Rehab and Sober House--Mike showed himself to be a complex yet caring man who sincerely wanted to heal. He went through some very rough times (ever see anyone throw up mountains of barf on-screen, folks?) but he always stayed for the next step. He wanted to live, to feel worthy again. Unfortunately, the death of Layne Staley haunted him; it was something he mentioned time and time again during the series. He felt so much guilt for leaving Staley that night--after an argument--never to see him again. When Mike saw Staley's mother for the first time after Layne's death, I really thought that could provide the crux--a turning point for pushing through to sobriety. I was wrong.

Starr showed up on the penultimate episode of Celebrity Rehab 4--along with success stories Mackenzie Phillips and Tom Sizemore--to give support and encouragement to the new group. I was so proud to see him with bright eyes and hope; somehow, he felt like a brother.

For whatever reason, Mike chose to return to drugs. While not ingesting something as harsh as his previous addiction, heroin--I can imagine him reasoning "it's just to help me sleep," or "this is nowhere near the level of smack"--those mind-altering/numbing substances helping him deal with his ongoing existential pain still killed him. I'm not judging him at all; I understand crippling guilt. I just wish he could have held in there--by trying to keep up with his Sober House peers, if nothing else. But the ghosts that had haunted him since 2002 (hell, years before that) wouldn't let go of his psyche.

Truly...rest in peace, Michael Starr. I have no doubt your struggle inspired thousands of people. And although you may have succumbed to the raging and demanding demons of guilt/addiction, you illuminated my own experience. Thank you.

I think the afterlife probably doesn't exist, but if it does, I genuinely hope Mike and Layne are reacquainting themselves and laughing over the inconsequence of this mortal coil.

Unfinished business.

2011-01-24T07:52:00.000-05:00

Everything we build up, achieve, hope for will eventually degrade, stop, slip away from us. Once we admit and accept this sobering fact, we might be liberated. We might even begin to enjoy our journey rather than worrying about where it may lead.

Then again, maybe not.

Six Pack Jesus

2011-01-23T00:01:00.000-05:00

Apparently, Christ had access to Nautilus machines.

Naughty, naughty Caravaggio.

Awesome vid.

2010-12-04T03:40:00.002-05:00

I know Em says this album sucks, but I love this song and video. Dark and brilliant and a commentary on his struggle.

3 A.M.

Needs no intro.

2010-11-17T20:13:00.001-05:00

How to Relax Like a Cat, from WikiHow

Now we know...

2010-11-03T20:06:00.008-04:00

...why Heather ended up marrying Tommy Lee instead of David Coverdale.

It's all about how you sell it, baby--and Tawny Kitaen she was not. Yikes!

Admittedly, all of it is cheese, but I have to say--despite fast-forwarding in time to learn of Tawny's slip into drug abuse vs. Heather's amazing longevity--at least at the beginning, TK had the upper hand.

More writing

2010-10-09T19:02:00.000-04:00

I've been writing a column for the Independent Collegian, the University of Toledo's student paper, for several weeks now. You can access my other columns here, but there is one in particular I'd like to post. It concerns a young UT student who was killed in July. I received a letter of thanks for it this week; it meant so much that something I wrote might have given his family and friends some comfort.

On Roads Not Taken

I think...

2010-08-20T22:36:00.003-04:00

...this is quite possibly one of the most beautiful videos I've ever watched. It probably helps that I'm from repressed Appalachia/the South. But it's lovely to me.

Revelations

2010-07-29T22:11:00.003-04:00

After discussing justice, freedom and human rights this week in my Introduction to Philosophy class, we capped it off by watching an episode of 48 Hours Mystery on the West Memphis Three. I was so pleased to experience thoughtful excellent class response and comments, especially given that today was particularly challenging, as I lectured on just war theory and terrorism...a student in my class was involved in the whole Guantanamo Bay affair, so I felt an impulse to tread lightly. Nevertheless, I got all sides out there, and he didn't respond negatively. It probably helps that he and I have already spoken privately and candidly about his experiences.

Dialogue, different perspectives, seeing things from the other side--that's what this whole philosophy thing is about for me. I'm so glad I chose it!

An underappreciated talent.

2010-07-11T01:33:00.000-04:00

Not to mention, one of the hottest men on the planet! :)

Blair Underwood

Jeez. Back in the old days...

2010-07-07T01:07:00.000-04:00

...they really knew how to take care of a gal's unpredictable emotions. All she had to do was visit her local doctor for some "water therapy" or "massage."

Nowadays, I have to call an escort for such premium services.

Sears and Roebuck, you have become SO square.

Better go, I feel my uterus floating around. It will soon be up to my neck, and I've got Marco's number on speed dial...

Female Hysteria

Anamnesis

2010-06-21T00:18:00.004-04:00

Descrip

Def

Delve

Nothing more needs be said...

2010-06-10T16:04:00.001-04:00

...as the title on MadonnaNation says it all: "Madonna strokes her pussy for Dolce and Gabbana."

That's my girl! :)

How'd I Get 10 Followers?

2010-05-31T14:04:00.003-04:00

Cool, and I don't even know 90% of you, but I love you all!

I'm active again on Flickr, after a bit of a hiatus. View here.

A Wee Bit o' Writing

2010-05-27T22:03:00.007-04:00

In addition to the large paper required for my Aesthetics class this past semester, we were required to turn in several less formal, "experiential" mini-papers--assessments of art we experienced, to be considered through the lens of the material we read for class. Although I would guess many of you haven't read Suzanne Langer's Feeling and Form or John Dewey's Art as Experience, I thought you might enjoy reading my thoughts on a couple of art forms I had the pleasure of witnessing. I'm leaving out the endnote references, because I'm not sure how to format them--just know they were there in the actual works. In regard to the Ferguson paper, it is the first time I've ever used the word "balls" in an academic paper. So liberating!

-----
Craig Ferguson

These days, Scottish-born comedian and actor Craig Ferguson is a household name in America. This is due to his five-nights-a-week program, The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson, which follows The Late Show with David Letterman on CBS. Prior to his success as a variety/talk show host, he was best known for his portrayal as Nigel Wick on the long-running The Drew Carey Show; before that, as a mid-90s staple on the international comedy circuit, having had a career boost after the success of his BBC television show The Ferguson Theory.

Building upon his great success as a performer, Ferguson has tried his hand at writing and directing several films (The Big Tease, I’ll Be There), but more recently he has delved into literature. His debut novel Between the Bridge and the River is a funny and surprisingly poignant read. More recently, he released an autobiography (American on Purpose: The Improbable Adventures of an Unlikely Patriot) which details growing up and coming of age in Glasgow, his wild adventures as an artist, and his battles with addiction. Ferguson remains rooted in his Scottish heritage, but recently became an American citizen and details that process in his book, as well. Currently, he is touring the U.S. with his comedy act, and I recently attended his show at Playhouse Square in Cleveland.

One thing I have always enjoyed about Ferguson is his unusual approach to his art, whether as performer or writer. I find myself drawn to artists who choose subversive subject matter and who make unique or bold choices, in whatever medium they may specialize. For instance, one of Ferguson’s signature bits on The Late Late Show is to start his opening monologue before the title credits or show song, and he often does it with hand puppets, off-camera or in extreme close-up. His zaniness is a fresh approach to the tired and typical Leno/Letterman introductory style. Thus, I was not disappointed when Ferguson’s show began just as unusually with one of the recurring characters from his show—a tiny man, clad in leather shorts, chest harness and hat—skipping across the stage, playing a flute. Another show regular emerged playing the saxophone, and soon, Ferguson himself bounded out, dancing and lip-syncing along with an opening song. From that point on, the show featured an assault of witty observations, filthy commentary and improvised moments of response to a certain woman who kept shouting out non-sequiturs from the audience. Beyond my personal enjoyment of his show, something of particular interest to me—given what we have been studying in class—was how Ferguson always managed to tie every bit, scripted or not, back into his own experience of life. For example, when his set first began, the aforementioned woman yelled, “I love you!” Ferguson replied, “Yes, well, you say that now, then you take all my money.” It elicited a huge response from the audience, as most of us are familiar with his multiple attempts at marriage. Perhaps such an incorporation is not exactly what Dewey had in mind when he discussed “restoring continuity,” but it seems relevant to me.

Relationships, sex and marriage were big topics of the night (though admittedly, that is true of most stand-up comedy). When describing his taste in women, Ferguson said, “I prefer ladies with a little meat on them…you know why? Because I’m a heterosexual.” He later mused on why he has a particular preference for women with larger behinds: “In Scotland, we had no Playboy to look at, only the models in Sears catalog. You remember the kind…in the really big underwear and girdles, standing beside a tractor, holding a sheep or something? All of us boys would gather round, saying, ‘Wow, look at the eyebrow on that one!’”

Later, he described his frustration with young comics who drive him crazy by performing their act “holding onto to their balls, while they say, ‘Have you ever noticed how some things are like other things?’ No, I haven’t! I’m 47, I’ve been married three times, my balls nearly touch my ankles when I get up…I don’t notice how some things are like other things!” He followed that up with, “It’s true; my balls are leaving me, slowly. Sometimes I think I’m being followed by two little hamsters.” Ferguson simulated walking like an old man, looking behind him for the offending critters. He then glanced at the audience and quipped, “but I’m ahead of them, so I’m winning.”

Ferguson went on to discuss topics as varied as celebrity scandals, addiction, Scots’ discomfort discussing anything regarding sex, the odd way Yankees talk, and the Pope’s choice of head and footwear (which, according to the comic, had “PO” and “PE” inscribed on either shoe). But as with the earlier example, he always related each topic back to his own experience as a host, comedian, husband, father or Scotsman. It was fun to watch the masterful way he wove his narrative together.

Given Langer’s thoughts on wit and comedy in Feeling and Form, it would be interesting to hear her perspective on a performance such as Ferguson’s. Aside from my guessing she would be shocked by the ribald subject matter (unless of course, she was exposed to Lenny Bruce or Richard Pryor a good deal before her death—which I doubt), I think she could find places where her theories might be reflected in Ferguson’s show. For instance, in the bit where Ferguson is lamenting the aging/sagging of his testicles can be found a celebration, as well—Ferguson’s particular brand of “antagonist of the world.” As a man, in finding one of the bits of himself that makes him a man now “leaving,” he finds humor and triumph in the experience, instead of fatalism (albeit, all the while understanding it is a false triumph). In relating such ideas—silly as they may be—to a large audience, he creates a sense of community, not only by making himself the target of vulnerability and ridicule, but also by communicating a concept that all humans have to deal with—getting older.

Certainly, the physicality that was expressed by Ferguson all throughout the set (there was unrelenting movement; it was a very kinetic performance), could be tied into Langer’s concepts of dance as communicative mechanism. He did literally dance at the end, to Britney Spears’ “Oops, I Did It Again.” Granted, it was supposed to be funny, but the performance was carefully choreographed and was added at the end to show Ferguson’s commitment to entertaining his audience. Langer would likely find no merit in his motivations if they were only concerned with entertainment, but given the subject matter and style of his show, the song and dance number at the end served as a punctuator for Ferguson’s approach to all of his art—as “Cheeky Monkey”; a bringer of burlesque; a filthy word followed up by an astute and intelligent observation. Even if Langer found his act complete tripe, I would venture to say she would have a wonderful time taking it all apart. I certainly did.

-----
Imagining Medea—Creative Performance/Creative Survival workshop

Actress/activist Rhodessa Jones is a force of nature. Her performance style, attitude, exuberance and agility belie the 61 years that have come and gone since she has been walking the earth. Two and a half hours after meeting her, I felt I could tell her my deepest secrets and would not be judged for them. As well, I was convinced she could help anyone exorcise his or her personal demons.

Jones and longtime artistic partner Idris Ackamoor run a theatre called Cultural Odyssey in San Francisco, California. They have collaborated on numerous projects, all of which emphasize the importance of diversity and culture in art. The enterprise that brought them to the University of Toledo is called “The Medea Project: Theater for Incarcerated Women.” Jones and Ackamoor offered a cross-disciplinary, three-day event of workshop, lecture and performance, to promote the success of this amazing and transformative endeavor. Being a former professional actress and someone who has always been interested in the philosophical ramifications of punishment and imprisonment, I felt it necessary to see what these artists had to offer.

The audience filed into Studio A in the Center for Performing Arts building as Jones and Ackamoor were doing physical warm-ups. The stage was bare, save for two heavily used (and possibly, in the case of one, kicked in) full-length mirrors on either side. Jones and Ackamoor split up, and each moved to the catwalks above our heads. Jones began an impressionistic song with movement that echoed the spirituals of the American south combined with the lamenting wails of a woman in anguish; a mother being arrested. Ackamoor accompanied her by making unusual sounds through his saxophone and banging on the rails of the catwalks, bringing to mind the image of tin cups being clanged against jail house bars. The two eventually came back together in the center of the playing area, where Ackamoor took over, presenting a combination of sing-a-long, sax accompaniment and tap dancing. The audience was reticent about joining him in the sing-a-long—as the rhythm was complex—but being the unabashed improviser that I am, I barreled ahead, perhaps convincing everyone else to join in. The energy again shifted; now we were back to focusing on Jones as she rapped/spoke over Ackamoor’s distinct skills on sax and percussion. With intensity and physicality, she shared a multi-layered narrative of a mother who was dealing with an abusive husband and father; a man who held her at gunpoint in front of her children. Before I knew it, I was completely engaged in the story and the storytelling; the telltale sign being I had moved to the front of my chair and was leaning forward in anticipation.

After the performance piece, Jones and Ackamoor sat down for a question and answer session, informing us of their work with the incarcerated. Their stories of bringing art into the prison system were fascinating. They described the hurdles they had to overcome (such as getting official permissions and breaking down personal barriers with prisoners) in order to bring forth their message of empowerment. Jones mentioned how sharing her own difficult experience of having a child at sixteen often helps break down walls with female prisoners, allowing her to move forward with them by encouraging them to tell their own stories through performance. Ackamoor related their recent trip to South Africa, where the females incarcerated at Sun City are allowed to keep their children with them until they are adoptable, reflecting the many differences between countries’ attitudes toward the imprisoned.

Following the Q&A, we in the audience joined Jones and Ackamoor in exercises and games they use with prisoners to foster collective engagement and community. I have not had so much fun engaging in the spirit of play since I worked with a professional improvisation troupe in Seattle, where incidentally, some of my best artistic work has materialized. There is something significant about the process of being thrown into a situation with strangers; it lends itself either to sheer panic or creative release.

Jones and Ackamoor’s demonstration of their work in the arts with the marginalized and forgotten was inspiring. The people they work with often come to prison having emerged from a long cycle of abuse and lawlessness; many times it becomes clear through their own work that what they were always looking for was to simply be heard. In this way, the artists’ project echoes perfectly some of John Dewey’s musings on art. While he does not address this form of expression directly (I doubt anything of the sort was in place during the era he was writing on aesthetics), he does discuss how the early Greeks viewed art as a form of “mimesis” (imitation, mimicry). Art became culturally significant for the Greeks because they reenacted stories from their culture as a way of imparting lessons; recreating experience to inform. What Jones and Ackamoor displayed in their short performance was exactly that: an all-too-familiar narrative of those who are trapped in a cycle of pain and criminality. By being given the opportunity to express themselves artistically, prisoners can engage in the “necessary part of humanity” that has been stripped from them. Whether the prisoners’ stories end up as an expression of lament, regret, injustice, or fear (or some combination of all), engaging in such a release of their experience through art gives them a sense of self-worth and purpose. Ultimately, the prisoners are doing art for themselves, but they do have the opportunity to perform in an organized show for the public in downtown San Francisco. Apparently, these performances always have sell-out crowds, as audiences are interested in understanding the human condition as experienced by those behind bars.

Dewey was paraphrased in our class as saying, “Living has to have some kind of artistic component. It’s a particular human need.” Through their Medea Project, Jones and Ackamoor give that very component back to the incarcerated, ultimately fostering understanding and appreciation among our human culture. Such a valuable project helps break down the barriers of misconception between those who are physically imprisoned, and those who are not.

Coming soon to a blog near you!!!

2010-04-21T22:52:00.005-04:00

This thing's gettin' an overhaul.

First, I must say (as I've said recently), I've gotten profoundly lazy with updates. The slide in number of posts from 2007 to now is significant. Hell, before I hopped over to Blogger and was simply posting to my Topcities page, I kept up better than this! Yes, I've been in school and have been incredibly busy these last couple of years, but I find time to post all sorts of silliness to Facebook--so why not parse out a little of that goof-off activity to share my musings on my old (10+ years) friend "Commentary"?

Mostly because the presentation, the angle, the purpose...was starting to feel stale.

So, I'm going to reframe it. Soon. With a new layout. Content. Title!

Just you wait. School's out in a few weeks, and then you'll see...

Awkward Family Photos...

2010-01-21T15:12:00.013-05:00

Bedtime Stories
...the bizarre and sometimes disturbing, but always hilarious images on this site continually make me laugh until tears stream down my face. Pure brilliance.

No more Sasha's Slot...

2009-12-14T21:09:00.003-05:00

...at least, in Toledo. Too many logistical/communication problems with management at the station, so I stepped out of that madness. I've got too much on my plate right now to sweat it. I'll pick the habit back up in the next town I move to. And in the interim, I'll continue to put some of my fave music video selections up for you...like this one! (Interesting social commentary--but not for faint of heart/uptight.)

Sasha's Slot: tonight!

2009-11-28T15:10:00.003-05:00

UPDATE: *Sigh* No Sasha's Slot tonight: arrived on campus only to find the Student Union locked up for the holiday. Join me next week, same time, same station!

And every Saturday night, 6-8 EST / 3-5 PST.

Listen on 88.3 FM Toledo or online at WXUT.com.

Listen to Sasha's Slot today!

2009-11-07T16:15:00.001-05:00

6-8 EST / 3-5 PST

WXUT 88.3 Toledo or WXUT.com

I never post anymore.

2009-10-28T22:31:00.010-04:00

I'm sorry, Commentary from The Realm of Alexandra. Grad school and the egoistic stroke of immediate response on Facebook has lured me away, but I promise new and better things, soon. After all, I have been engaging with you for nearly 15 years now, or 10, if you only count maintenance of my very own website, which now seems a relic in the face of the straight-to-the-vein experience of social networking (an interface in which everyone and their Grandma now seems to be engaging). Part of me wants to simply let you go, like some old boat drifting quietly away, but I know I cannot, because your virtual skiff carries the futile hope of change, of transformation (either of myself or others; I've never been able to work that out). I know this is an illusion, but Maya is lookin' good these days. So, until then, a Halloween wish--two versions (of course!): one featuring only various versions of myself, and another with me, my cats, and Sigmund Freud!

Until another meaningful engagement, I give you the best of my HUBRIS.

Sasha with an X

Try JibJab Sendables® eCards today!

It's official: Sasha's Slot has a new time!

2009-08-29T14:18:00.007-04:00

Listen to the 'Slot tonight and every Saturday night from 6-8 pm EDT / 3-6 PDT at 88.3 Toledo or:
WXUT-FM
See you there!

Sasha's Slot is regular again!

2009-08-15T11:47:00.005-04:00

UPDATE: No radio show today; I've hit a logistical wrinkle that's beyond my control. I will repost any changes to my time slot!

Listen to Sasha's Slot today and every Saturday from 4-6 pm EST on 88.3 WXUT Toledo, or online here.

Online, you get the added bonus of staring at the back of my head in the DJ booth!

See you there!

Sasha's Irregular Slot

2009-07-30T11:52:00.002-04:00

Today! And last show ever on WRFL.

6-8 pm EST / 3-5 PST. Listen here.

Sasha's Irregular Slot...today!

2009-05-13T14:54:00.002-04:00

4-6 pm EST / 1-3 PST. Listen here.

Grad school breakdown!

2009-04-30T16:57:00.001-04:00

This is way overdue--I'm finally posting the results:

I applied to 9 programs, all terminal Master's (I want a transition before moving to doctoral studies, rather than going through a straight-to-PhD program, for various reasons I won't bore you with here). All had strong programs overall, seemed to be more Continental in their bent (or at least Continental friendly--I enjoy Analytical stuff, but given my background, I lean less "Phi of Mind" and more "Phi of Art") and each had strengths or potential for expansion in my area(s) of philosophical interest, Aesthetics and Ethics.

The schools were:

Miami University (in Ohio)
University of Toledo
Kent State
Ohio University
West Chester University (near Philly)
Oklahoma State
Colorado State
Washington State
California State-L.A.

Most of you guys already know this, but for the uninitiated: don't pay for grad school. Typically, one receives a tuition waver, plus a teaching assistantship to cover living expenses (well, at least ostensibly--it's not like you've won the lotto, or anything). I was hoping for decent financial offers from both Washington & Cal State, because I miss living in both places (in Cal State's case, I'm right back in L.A.; in Pullman, at least I'm a few hours' drive from Seattle).

Anyhoo, I was accepted at all 9 schools, which is awesome. However, not everyone ponied up the $$$. As we all know, times are tough, and budget cuts affected nearly everyone. I did receive a couple of measly offers--one from Ohio U., and the suggestion I "might" be eligible for money in the spring at West Chester, but a substantive one came in from Oklahoma, so they took over as my front runner. Then, I received a personal phone call from the head of the department at Toledo, and everything changed. First off, he told me I was their top candidate (which is an ego stroke I haven't gotten in some time, so I had to revel a little). Also, he was so enthusiastic, collegial (philosophy types aren't always the most accessible folks) and sold the strengths of the program so hard to me, I had to sit up and take notice. A decent financial offer was extended, _and_ to put icing on the cake, the guy who will be my graduate advisor emailed to let me know that he was co-founder of a theatre company in Toledo, and that if I "wanted to do any more acting, we could make sure it fits around your seminars."

Once an actor, always an actor...let's just say that helped tip the balance, even though I was already sold. Sure, it's not L.A., but performing is performing, and keeping my artistic side exercised is always something I want to do, despite the career goals that have replaced professional acting.

So, after my study abroad in Scotland this summer, I'm Ohio bound. I never pictured myself living in Toledo for two years, but the strange and sometimes wonderful twists and turns my life has taken tell me to never dismiss anything out of hand, and to remember "beauty's where you find it."

I knew I'd find a way to work in Madonna. Viva Toledo!

The Slot is Back!

2009-03-20T13:00:00.004-04:00

First show since November...

Sasha's Irregular Slot

Friday, March 20, 4-6pm EST / 1-3 PST

Listen here!

Thich Nhat Hanh Facebook Updates

2009-02-13T07:48:00.001-05:00

Monday: "Thich is washing his bowls."

Tuesday: "Thich is sitting."

Wednesday: "Thich is sooooo sleepy!"

Thursday: "Thich finds contemplation in 'Three's Company'."

Friday: "Thich is working for the weekend, but is still in the present moment."

Saturday: "Thich is solitary."

Sunday: "Thich maintains that all is suffering."

Be seeing you.

2009-01-14T17:48:00.006-05:00

A genuine hero of mine has died.

'Prisoner' actor Patrick McGoohan dies in LA

The Prisoner

Patrick McGoohan

Your brilliant and prescient ideas still ring true. Safe journey.

Sasha’s Irregular Slot: Tomorrow!

2008-12-28T12:35:00.002-05:00

I'll be riding the airwaves again, sharing many a fine tune.

Monday, December 29, 12-2 pm EST / 9-11 am PST

Listen here

And be free!

Pontifications.

2008-12-19T21:03:00.002-05:00

L.A. is indeed a harsh, but beautiful mistress. I can never let her go.

The older you get, the more difficult and bizarre relationships (or attempts at them) become. Do not doubt me on this one. People get more complicated and idiosyncratic the older they get.

Fatty's in Pasadena is probably one of the best restaurants at which I have ever eaten. It is exquisite.

Never underestimate the power of revealing conversation. Also, never underestimate that it could be simply that, and nothing more. And try not to be disappointed.

Beer tastes even better after the end of a long, hard semester. Actually, beer tastes good after a lot of long, hard things.

And finally, never underestimate the simple pleasures of accomplishment, whatever form that takes for you.

At 4pm EST / 1 PST today

2008-11-28T14:19:00.000-05:00

hear another installment of Sasha's Irregular Slot! Featuring:

Depeche Mode, The Bird and the Bee, Ennio Morricone, Joy Division...

...and all the great sounds of the holiday season!

Listen here

L.A.

2008-11-21T23:13:00.009-05:00

One of the things I miss about living in a big metropolitan city like Los Angeles is the random weird shit you would observe during the course of a day. Certainly, that happened when I was living in Seattle too, but the occurrences were usually more infrequent and significant enough that they garnered extensive attention...the incident in 1995 where a homeless guy stood on the corner of Pike (or Pine--they ran parallel and even after four years of living there, I never got them straight) downtown, holding up a sword for hours in a stand-off with police, comes to mind (my co-workers and I watched him off and on for hours from our safe high-rise office vantage point)...but in L.A., every day there was some bizarre piece of behavior or visual anomaly you could observe and note for sharing with your partner (or roommate, or cat) when you got home.

Anyway, one that came to mind today--that I still find particularly funny--was when I was walking into a Target in Culver City and this guy, who looked like he'd been up for about a week (and was probably doing a healthy amount of meth while depriving himself of sleep) was dragging along one of those rolling luggage bags behind him on the sidewalk that circled the strip mall. That in itself isn't really very weird, but he had a boom box resting inside of the luggage, and the zipper was pulled down so that he could blast the sounds of ABC's "Poison Arrow." It was an odd choice of music; even though it was a big hit in 1982-83, it was nearly 25 years old by the time everyone could hear it coming out of his suitcase.

At any rate, I've always been one who appreciates oddballs. Especially oddballs who are so demonstrative; who shake up the status quo of any situation, but do it without harming anyone. This guy fit the bill. Perhaps I was moved as well because the song reminded me of my childhood, and while a revisitation of music that wasn't that great in the big picture, it was nonetheless instrumental in the early formulation of my musical tastes (I still love New Wave). I'm sure my response was a culmination of all of the above, but whatever was creating the positive vibe, I felt the need to comment. "That's the coolest fucking thing ever," I said to him. He shot me an amused glance, as if to say, "Of course it is. And now, I'll be moving on."

He continued his trajectory around the corner of a Subway restaurant; to where he was headed, I don't know. But as I watched him drag away his moving piece of art/memory, I couldn't stop smiling.

Back again.

2008-11-13T21:33:00.003-05:00

I've taken a hiatus from radio-ing since August, as this semester has been a bitch on wheels. However, I decided to indulge myself this weekend and picked up a shift.

Friday, November 14th, 2-4pm EST / 11a-1p PST. Listen here:

WRFL-FM

Meet you there!

Good things / bad things.

2008-10-28T20:34:00.012-04:00

Haven't posted in a long time...my blogs are becoming less frequent due to my heavy work load at school, but mostly because I haven't really been in the mood to engage in this specific format for some time.

I've been doing a lot of inner work, and most of it is too private to elaborate on here. I'm a pretty free person; I often discuss things online that some might consider best left in my head. Most of the time I would disagree, but in this case, I'll save it for me; it feels too intimate. Long story short, it has been productive inner work, and that's all that matters.

---

I don't know...I miss the days of nearly a decade ago, when I designed my own website, and although it wasn't technically extravagant, it was a forum I didn't share with hundreds of millions of other people. There was something exciting about maintaining my own blog (which I called "Commentary," because the term "blog" hadn't even been coined yet). Nowadays, everybody and their grandmother has some sort of web presence (thank you MySpace and Facebook), and well, it just doesn't seem that special, anymore. Don't get me wrong, I'm not suddenly going to ditch all technology, shut down this blog and my personal website and never be heard from again...it's just all the goddamn chatter of people who shouldn't be chattering that's driving me crazy.

Look, it's like this. Plenty of people probably feel my posts are frivolous, self-indulgent, etc., and they're right. But sometimes, I'd like to think that an idea, irritation or experience I share in this public forum might incite, inspire or entertain someone else. My blog is rooted in ego, yes, but the connections I've made with a few wonderful people through my website, blog or hell, even MySpace has been invaluable and not motivated by anything self-serving.

What I don't want to do is post undeserved, vitriolic comments regarding people who have done nothing to me, spread hate, or say hurtful things I might regret later. I just wish everyone who posted something on the Internet felt the same way. Sharing one's innermost thoughts, even if dark, can be useful, for both the writer and reader. What's not productive is mean-spirited, sexist/racist/intolerant/cruel bullshit I see dominating public forums today.

People might also argue that some of what I've posted has been mean-spirited or judgmental. Judgmental--absolutely. But if I do say things that seem mean-spirited, you must understand they are tongue-in-cheek and are said to drive a larger point or message home. And sure, they serve as venting measures, too...but they're not slanderous, which is wrong and hateful.

As an example of what I mean:

When the reptilians come to take over in 2012 and start reviewing what knee-jerk, stupid, insipid, jealous crap we post online, I don't blame them for stealing our souls and making us into stew (thanks Whitley Strieber, for that mental image). We have this wonderful forum that offers us the opportunity to create positive, progressive change, and instead, we corrupt it with stupid, jealousy-inspired tirades, homemade midget porn and cruel and slanderous insults to people like Hillary Clinton--who was attacked mercilessly with inane and false accusations, and Madonna--who is going through an obviously painful and sad divorce. I know that many out there are posting wonderful art; are producing valuable information that is now accessible through a few keystrokes...and for that, I'm grateful. But for the rest of you jerks? Get off the 'Net and find a new hobby. I wish it were one that actually contributes to society, but I'm sure that's a completely unrealistic hope, given society's precedent for stupidity and cruelty.

I know the idiots are here to stay. Here's hoping I can keep my chin up long enough to maintain my voice, as insignificant as it may be--to effect a change in minds, even if on such a minuscule scale as this.

---

THINGS I'M REALLY F-ING SICK OF (and there are so many more than this, but here are a few):

Reality anything. It's not real, people. It never was. It has single-handedly destroyed nearly all integrity in television, and has reached out its diseased hands to affect film, documentary, and our worldview in general.

Small-minded fucks, of every stripe. Everywhere I go, there they are. Put 'em in the reptilian stew, I say.

Idiots on my campus who insist on wearing shorts and flip-flops in 30 degree weather. It's their prerogative, I guess, but it just makes them look stupid, not tough--which is their goal, I think. Oh yeah, add to that all the spitting from young men. I'm constantly navigating my rolling bag around disgusting pools of sputum on campus. Really, didn't they gave up spitting for "cleansing" purposes back in the 1700s? Get with the times. Besides, it makes you look like a redneck.

People who meander into my path (or often, into me) because they're staring zombie-like into their cell phone screens reading a text, or are madly typing one out with their thumbs. See Dr. Mike Austin's blog (and my rambling response) to this. You should read his blog anyway; I may be biased because he's one of my Philosophy instructors and mentor for my senior thesis, but I think he's an insightful person.

The folks who still seem to think that listening to bone-shattering bass in their vehicles is cool. I sometimes think my entire reproductive system is going to fall out onto the ground when these vehicles pass on the street, the vibration is so profound. I do not marvel at the majesty of the experience; I marvel at how the vehicle's occupants escape serious brain damage. Wait, maybe they don't, and that's the point. More for the reptilian stew!

THINGS THAT I NEVER TIRE OF (there's more here too, by the way):

The pleasure my cats bring me--comfort, companionship, humor (yes, kitties do very funny things) and I even love it when they're occasionally pissy. It's usually warranted, as I have have my face in one of theirs, going, "Kitty Bug! Kitty Bug!" or some similar exclamation. There is nothing like an animal to remind you not to sweat the small stuff, and that sometimes, the pleasure of a purr or outstretched paw is all one needs to feel better.

Trips out of town. I just came back from an Honors Conference in San Antonio, and man, it felt damn good to get a change of scenery. It was just enough time to savor, and left me refreshed and ready to return to my obligations.

Old episodes of The Prisoner. It's a brilliant 1960s BBC TV series starring Patrick McGoohan, my favorite show of all time (just barely edging out Twin Peaks), and one I re-watch at least every couple of years. The themes continue to be relevant, and it is unlike anything you've ever seen on TV. Thank you to my bro for introducing me to it so long ago. Check it out.

Goofy, simple pleasures, like turning on my lava lamp after a long day for aesthetic and contemplative comfort; the little painted wooden armadillo I bought in San Antonio, whose head bobs when you touch it; the beautiful crimson and gold leaf I picked up on campus at the beginning of fall and put in my car, just because it made me feel good. That sort of stuff. It keeps me fresh, keeps me young.

For someone who has laid off blogging for a while, I've certainly had a lot to say tonight. Well, hey, at least I feel better now...and I only slammed those who deserve it, right? ;)

Back to school blues.

2008-09-09T21:35:00.008-04:00

Just when I think, "Oh, it's not so bad. You only have two semesters of undergrad left and things have gotten off to a pretty good start. No assholes yet..."

Then, there's Math 105. Math 105, the class I'm PISSED OFF I have to take in the first place, not only because I have math phobia (even fractions make me nervous), not only because I scored something like an 11 on the math section of the ACT and am flying blind, but mostly because it's a 100-level course, and 100-level courses mean...YOU GUESSED IT: Assholes.

My instructor is this tiny little Chinese woman who is really sweet and clearly knows her stuff. However, her accent is so thick it is very hard to understand her. There are two jerk-offs in the back of the class who have talked during lecture before, but today, were out of control. They chattered all through Dr. X's instruction, and one of them was even poking fun of her (she didn't seem to realize this or perhaps she just didn't care) while she was explaining one of the problems on the board. Now, I'll admit, she does say/do funny things from time to time (writing "deceasing" on the board instead of "decreasing" did give me a giggle), but audibly making fun of someone's language barrier is NOT cool. Anyway, these two douche bags wouldn't be quiet, so I spoke up:

"I apologize, Dr. X," I said, turning to them. "Could you guys please be quiet? I can't hear her talk."

The reply from one of them was this:

"Shut up."

I was fucking flabbergasted.

"That's really offensive," I replied. "Could you just respect the instructor, since she's the one teaching this stuff?"

"Why don't you just shut up?" he said again, never fully turning his face toward me, but glowering from the side.

Dr. X turned around and just sort of stared at them.

"I can't believe this, Dr. X," I said to her. "These guys are behaving like they're in junior high," I commented.

"Well, maybe I am," Asshole 1 replied. GREAT response. Very creative. By this point, he had all my attention. Asshole 2 was probably just grinning like an idiot.

"Apparently, you should be," I said, and turned around. I was shaking all through the rest of class.

Dr. X tried to smooth things over, saying something about not talking while she's talking, but if I was her, I would have kicked their asses out of class--not only for for disrespecting me (the instructor), but for being TOTALLY out of line with a fellow student, as well.

Dr. X loves for students to read the problems she provides on her handouts, and although I had planned to say nothing else during the remainder of class time, she stood there and waited so long for someone to offer to read one of the examples, I finally started reading it. Of course, these guys started talking AGAIN while I was speaking, and one of them even went to the trouble to knock his book off his desk, which made a loud clap on the floor. Wow, I haven't encountered this much direct hostility at school since those horrible Lord of the Flies years better known as high school.

I am an ASSHOLE MAGNET. I don't know why this is, but I can go anywhere where two or more are gathered, and almost always, the bully of the group (read: insecure jerk, male or female) will target me. I have no idea why.

Someone at work--to whom I was relaying this story--said, "Well, you're just an outspoken woman, and he couldn't handle that." Perhaps so, but this goes beyond some sort of sexist thing. This is a human decency thing. I called someone out on their rude behavior and instead of being embarrassed and ceasing the behavior, the response was to say "shut up"? This sort of stuff shouldn't happen in college. But then again, neither should audible conversations during movies, obscenities yelled from a car at someone walking down the sidewalk, or a million other rude, inexcusable behaviors I encounter daily--which confirms my belief that decorum is dead, common decency is in the shit can and we're all headed to Hades in a hand cart.

So, let's all gather 'round, punch each other in the face while singing Kumbaya and then "Shut up," 'cause I guess everything else is just a waste of time.

Judas

2008-09-07T00:16:00.004-04:00

Is simplicity best
Or simply the easiest?
The narrowest path
Is always the holiest
So walk on barefoot for me
Suffer some misery
If you want my love
If you want my love

Man will survive
The harshest conditions
And stay alive
Through difficult decisions
So make up your mind for me
Walk the line for me
If you want my love
If you want my love

Idle talk
And hollow promises
Cheating Judases
Doubting Thomases
Don't just stand there and shout it
Do something about it

You can fulfill
Your wildest ambitions
And I'm sure you will
Lose your inhibitions
So open yourself for me
Risk your health for me
If you want my love
If you want my love
If you want my love
If you want my love

~Depeche Mode, Songs of Faith and Devotion

Are you ever "Irregular"?

2008-08-19T18:58:00.001-04:00

You should be!

Sasha's Irregular Slot

Wednesday, August 20, 10p-Midnight EST / 7-9 pm PST

Listen here

From The Daily Om...

2008-08-14T12:55:00.001-04:00

August 14, 2008
Not Alone In The Dark
Looking At What We Don't Want To See

It is one of life's great paradoxes that the things we don't want to look at in ourselves are the very things we need to look at in order to know ourselves better and to become more fully who we are. The feelings that make us want to run away are buried treasure full of energy and inspiration if we are willing to look. These feelings come in many forms, from strange images or snippets of information to recurring dreams and feelings that rise up seemingly without a reason. Whatever shape they come in, and no matter how scary they seem, these messengers bring the information we need in order to grow.

When we are tired of pushing something down, or trying to run away from it, a good first step is to write down what we think we are avoiding. Often this turns out to be only the surface of the issue or a symbol of something else. Expressing ourselves fully on paper is a safe way to begin exploring the murky territory of the unconscious. The coolness of the intellect can give us the distance we need to read what we have written and feel less afraid of it. It helps if we remember that no matter how dark or negative our thoughts or feelings may be, these are energies shared by all humanity. We are not alone in the dark, and all the gurus and teachers we admire had to go through their own unprocessed emotional territory in order to come out the other side brighter and wiser. This can give us the courage we need to open the treasure chest of what we have been avoiding.

Within the parts of ourselves that we don't want to look at, there are emotions that need to be felt. Unfelt emotions are stuck energy, and when we leave emotions unprocessed, we deprive ourselves of access to that energy. When we feel strong enough, we can begin the process of feeling those emotions, on our own or with guidance from a spiritual counselor. It is through this work that the buried treasure of energy and inspiration will pour forth from our hearts, giving us the courage to look at all the parts of ourselves with insight and compassion.

August 13 means...

2008-08-13T17:52:00.010-04:00

...it's Bill Shatner Day! (Unofficial)

Another of the Irregular.

2008-08-07T09:10:00.001-04:00

Sasha's Irregular Slot

Friday, August 8, 2-4 pm EST / 11-1 am PST

Let's make it happen.

Listen here

Ghouls.

2008-08-04T14:55:00.005-04:00

I just learned of actor Morgan Freeman's car crash in Mississippi, which has left him in serious condition. That is sad enough, but further reading revealed that some lookie-loo tried to take a picture of him with his or her camera phone while Freeman was being loaded into an emergency vehicle.

Apparently, the actor was lucid, and joked, "No freebies, no freebies."

God bless him, his patience and sense of humor. I'm not sure I would have responded in the same fashion.

It's bad enough someone would want an image of Freeman while he's in pain and physically debilitated, but I'm CERTAIN this camera phone asshole's hope was to sell the image to some tabloid.

Fucking ghouls. Where does it end?

So pleased.

2008-07-25T03:11:00.005-04:00

The X-Files: I Want to Believe had the right balance of everything that made the show what it was in its most brilliant moments. All of the elements that fans of the show enjoy are in place--drama, action, suspense, creep-out factor, humor--but the movie had a quietness to it that at first seemed foreign. As the narrative unfolded, however, it made so much sense for the film to be presented in that way. It need not be an event picture; by the end, I think you'll agree the contemplative approach was perfect. It creates a very intimate experience.

The visual backdrop (all of the beautiful snow) gave the film a dreamy, almost nostalgic quality--perfect for those of us lost in our memories of the show. It was like being inside one's very own X-Files snow globe. We there-from-the-beginning fans are growing older--right along with the principal actors--and it drives home how much, and how little things have changed.

The film is set in real time, and explanations emerge to explain the current state of things, but never in a way that seems forced or expository. Certain changes--ones that might have been shocking had they been introduced in such a casual way during the course of the series--seem perfectly natural.

Everyone's work is solid; there are some fantastic moments that I won't fully give away, but one involves an assist. :) Also, there is a riotous bit that involves W. That's all I'll spoil. Oh...except for a recommendation: stay for the end credits; you'll get an amusing and sweet send-off.

Grade: A. I needed this movie in my life. Thank you, Chris Carter, Gillian, David, and everyone else involved.

Official The X-Files: I Want to Believe Film Website

You have 4 new crushes!

2008-07-03T23:52:00.001-04:00

I'm so sick of advertising. I'm sick of being bombarded by bullshit 24/7 on TV, radio, in magazines, the internet...promises of things that some morally bereft executive somewhere decided my demographic will respond to. I've been irritated by this shit for years, but I think I've hit my breaking point.

You can think Paris Hilton or Tila Tequila is amusing, but their asses are nothing but advertising manipulation. Those girls are insecure little bags of flesh who became commodities glommed on by a legion of equally self-hating, cocaine-hungry motherfuckers who couldn't give a shit whether they are contributing to the downfall of humankind.

I'm not easily quantifiable. I don't fit into your demographic. I like mainstream shit. I like obscure shit. I don't think about what makes me cool or not. I don't give a shit if anyone judges me by anything other than who I am, which is a flawed but painfully earnest human being who is just making it up as she goes along.

I'm sick of falseness all the way around. I call bullshit on artifice. Anyone wanna join me in my private hell?

No? Well, fuck you. I refuse to cave to the machine.

Time for some tunes.

2008-06-28T22:58:00.002-04:00

Sasha's Slot
Saturday night / Sunday morning
June 28th / 29th
1a-3a EST (10p-12a PST / 11p-1a CST)

Listen here

It will cure what ails you!

Slotty slotty slot slot.

2008-06-21T21:28:00.002-04:00

Sasha's Slot

Saturday night / Sunday morning
June 21st / 22nd
1a-3a EST (10p-12a PST / 11p-1a CST)

Listen here

Funses!

Performing tonight!!

2008-06-17T12:39:00.001-04:00

As some of you know, I used to work in comedy, and have been looking for a way to get my feet wet again. Tonight, I'll be doing stand-up as part of Comedy on Broadway's 6th Open Mic Contest. Come watch me do my stuff and vote for me! (You get two votes, so you can vote for the person you really like, plus me. ;) )

It will be a great time. Come listen to me bitch about Lexington and maybe do a little dancing...

Comedy Off Broadway Open Mic Contest

See you there!

Didja miss my Slot last week?

2008-06-07T18:10:00.001-04:00

Well, it's back and raring to go:

Saturday night / Sunday morning
June 7th / 8th
1a-3a EST (10p-12a PST / 11p-1a CST)
and all through the summer!

Listen here

Final shots from the KITH tour.

2008-06-04T22:45:00.004-04:00

Kevin McDonald has really good energy. He's a sweet guy:

Superstar Dave Foley...it feels otherworldly to be in his presence:

And I know it's fuzzy as hell, but since I've got another picture of myself with Bruce McCulloch, I'll post it for my own viewing pleasure:

I met Scott briefly, but didn't get a photo, and didn't get to meet Mark at all...*sniff*. Next tour, next tour. *Sigh* :)

More KITH magic...

2008-06-01T22:24:00.007-04:00

So, I went to see Kids in the Hall again--this time in Cleveland--and somehow by the grace of Whomever, I got a 2nd row seat, without even trying. It was so wonderful to watch the show so close I could practically count the leg hairs underneath the boys' pantyhose.

And I got to meet Bruce again--and most of the other members this time. Bruce remembered me, told me they didn't often have "pretty goth girls following their tour," to which I laughed and said, "I'm a goth girl?" He replied, "Well, maybe just a little," with a smile. We then posed for this photo, where I proceeded to grin the grin of a dorkily excited, googily 14-year-old girl. It was marvelous.

Pics with Kevin and Dave to come soon. But this one had to have its own entry.

Back to reality now, Alexandra. :)

Still basking in my warm, fuzzy post-KITH glow...

2008-05-22T20:01:00.006-04:00

I've been an avid fan of Kids in the Hall since 1992, after their show began airing on Comedy Central (I never had the dough to subscribe to HBO). Their eclectic, off-beat, intelligent humor has influenced me greatly over the years (in all facets of my life, but especially in my acting, writing and directing) and after the first time I saw them, I knew they were plugged into the screwy way I saw things. It was such a pleasure when I got to see them live in Los Angeles, back in 2000. So, when I heard they were touring again, I happily plunked down my $50 and drove to Nashville to see them, last night. Despite the shitty sound system of the venue, the show didn't disappoint, and the energy of all the guys together is nothing short of phenomenal. They are truly a force of nature.

Now, I love all those boys--they're all crazy talented--and probably have had a crush on each of them at one time or another, but Bruce McCulloch has always been my favorite. Out of all the Kids, I have found his work to be the most risky, unusual and off-center. That resonates with me--as mentioned, his work has provided a rubric for much of my own performance and writing. In short, Bruce fucking rocks. When I heard the crowd chatter that the Kids were going to do a brief meet-and-greet before hopping on their bus, I decided I'd hang out, just to see if I could get a quick close-up glimpse or maybe a hand-squeeze from the object of my adoration/affection. Wow, did I get one better! Not only did I get to meet Bruce, fawn all over him, tell him how I had ripped him off in my own work (to which he replied "Please! Rip me off!" with a laugh), but he placed a 100% unsolicited kiss on my cheek when giving me the hug I did ask for. *sigh* I think I floated out of the building.

Meeting famous folks you dig is admittedly, always a little exciting, but when you meet an idol--especially one who's so open, gracious and charming--well, it just makes for one awesome, awesome evening. See you in Cleveland, boys!

Some Bruce brilliance:

Daves I Know:

My Pen!

Of lost IDs and found memories.

2008-05-17T21:57:00.001-04:00

My L.A. trip was the metaphor for all that L.A. has ever been for me: exciting, frustrating, strange and beautiful. I lost my driver's license and credit card within hours of arriving and was forced to reconfigure my trip, since I now could no longer rent a vehicle to bring all my stuff from storage back home. I didn't get to see half the people I planned to see, but the ones I did made up for it. I came home busted out, sore, sick and tired, but I'd do it all over again. Some things I learned:

1.) Never, NEVER trust that a shitty little special occasion purse you buy from Claire's will stay shut. Always know that the only thing that will fall out of it is the thing you need most, i.e. your ID and credit card.

2.) Never, NEVER walk two drunken anger-fueled miles in platform heels, no matter how tough you think you are and no matter how many cool nighttime photos of the L.A. aqueduct you can get. You will arrive at your host's home with bleeding feet and a bruised psyche, and will feel really stupid in the morning.

3.) When paying $422 dollars for a flight home because that's your only option, take respite in the fact that you might get upgraded to first class, like I did on the first leg of my return flight. I must say, that made it almost worth it. Those hot towels and cushy seats rock the fucking house. Plus the very attractive ad exec sitting beside me shared my enthusiasm for Hillary Clinton.

4.) Always eat at El Pollo Loco, at least once a visit. It sucks, but it's 800 times better than Taco Bell. I've missed it. Kentucky's Mexican fast food selection blows.

5.) Always pack a washcloth. My girlfriend doesn't use them (she's a loofah woman), and I didn't feel clean all week. My hands just aren't nubby enough for cleaning satisfaction.

6.) Take more pictures of your friends. The only ones I got of J. Paul and Darci were blurry at best because I hate using flash in low-light; it washes people out. And I was too sheepish to ask my mentor/former instructor Chris if I could take one of him. And damn, I regret it.

7.) There's always Thanksgiving. I'm already researching a return trip.

Thank you L.A., for being the beautiful bitch you always are to me. I'll keep crawling back, because so much of my love is wrapped up in you.

xoxo-Alexandra

Two chances to feel it this week...

2008-05-01T16:15:00.001-04:00

A little reminder of my regular Slot:

Starting May 3rd / 4th
Saturday nights / Sunday mornings
1a-3a EST (10p-12a PST / 11p-1a CST)
all through the summer!

and another return of the Irregular:

Tue. May 6th
6-8p EST (3-6p PST / 4-6p CST)

Listen here

Feel it! Feel it! Feel the vibration!

Another good one from I Can Has Cheezburger.

2008-04-21T23:34:00.002-04:00

No longer Irregular!

2008-04-20T18:21:00.001-04:00

(Well, at least for the summer...)

Ease into Sasha's Slot:

Saturday nights/Sunday mornings, starting May 3rd/4th
1a-3a EST (10p-12a PST/11p-1a CST)

Listen here
Lots of new college radio releases mingled with a healthy dose of 80s/90s darkwave and a few musical curve balls, just to keep you on the edge of your seat! See you there...

Another chance to feel it + somebody wants me as a mistress!!!

2008-03-28T19:50:00.007-04:00

Sasha’s Irregular Slot!

Saturday night/Sunday morning, March 29/30

1a-3a EST/10p-12a PST

Listen here or at 88.1 on the dial.

You know you’re craving a B-12 shot in the ass...listen to the Slot and I won’t let you down!

----

I did a Google search on myself tonight and some random fan dude voted me as someone he would want as a mistress, back in 2002. Wow, I really could have used that post-divorce--wish I had have known! Scroll down to Dark Minister:

Additionally, a Chinese entertainment page put me in a lineup of naked people. Whoo-hoo! I’ve gone international--I feel so special! *cough*

Wilfred Owen and the Horrors of War...a brief reflection.

2008-03-20T20:53:00.007-04:00

Tonight, I had to read the poem below for my lit crit class, and it nearly broke my heart. This is one of several I've encountered by Wilfred Owen, a soldier who died at age 25 one week before WWI ended. His work offered wise-beyond-his-years, stunningly frank insight into all he saw and experienced.

Every young man or woman who is considering enlisting in the military should not only educate themselves on the shell game that is our current "conflict" (now five years and counting, as we were clearly reminded yesterday) but should read Owen's poetry if they need further convincing.

Disabled
He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,
And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,
Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the park
Voices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,
Voices of play and pleasure after day,
Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.

About this time Town used to swing so gay
When glow-lamps budded in the light blue trees,
And girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim-
In the old times, before he threw away his knees.
Now he will never feel again how slim
Girls' waists are, or how warm their subtle hands.
All of them touch him like some queer disease.

There was an artist silly for his face,
For it was younger than his youth, last year.
Now, he is old; his back will never brace;
He's lost his colour very far from here,
Poured it down shell-holes till the veins ran dry,
And half his lifetime lapsed in the hot race
And leap of purple spurted from his thigh.

One time he liked a blood-smear down his leg,
After the matches, carried shoulder-high.
It was after football, when he'd drunk a peg,
He thought he'd better join. - He wonders why.
Someone had said he'd look a god in kilts,
That's why; and maybe, too, to please his Meg,
Aye, that was it, to please the giddy jilts
He asked to join. He didn't have to beg;
Smiling they wrote his lie: aged nineteen years.

Germans he scarcely thought of; all their guilt,
And Austria's, did not move him. And no fears
Of Fear came yet. He drought of jewelled hills
For daggers in plaid socks; of smart salutes;
And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears;
Esprit de corps; and hints for young recruits.
And soon, he was drafted out with drums and cheers.

Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer Goal.
Only a solemn man who brought him fruits
Thanked him; and then enquired about his soul.

Now, he will spend a few sick years in institutes,
And do what things the rules consider wise,
And take whatever pity they may dole.
Tonight he noticed how the women's eyes
Passed from him to the strong men that were whole.
How cold and late it is! Why don't they come
And put him into bed? Why don't they come?

My slot love you long time!

2008-03-15T14:17:00.003-04:00

Sasha’s Irregular Slot!

Saturday night/Sunday morning, March 15/16

1-3a EST (10p-12a PST)
(I actually got the time differential correct this go ’round)

Listen here or at 88.1 FM.

Since my L.A. trip's in the shit can...

2008-03-08T11:36:00.003-05:00

...might as well do something that makes me happy:

Sasha's Irregular Slot!

Sunday, March 9

2-4p EST/12-2p PST

Listen here or at 88.1 on the dial.

Wear your best tuxedo!

Can't wait can't wait.

2008-03-01T22:29:00.001-05:00

So, I've gone back and started re-watching The X-Files from the beginning to get me all ramped up for the film release in July. Tonight, I watched a run of excellent episodes from the 2nd season that I probably haven't seen in a good 10 years. It's so satisfying to revisit something that gave me so much pleasure in the past, and then finding it to be just as entertaining and engaging as before. My favorite of the night was "Humbug," the first deliberately "funny" episode written by the amazing Darin Morgan (he also penned a number of fantastic eps for the 2nd season of Millennium--I see he's now working as a consulting producer on The Bionic Woman, but he needs to re-emerge as a writer) and it had me cracking up. If you were a fan, you'll recall the "freak" episode with Jim Rose and Michael J. Anderson...and some of the funniest bits from the entire run of the series...particularly when Mulder falls on the bed of nails and quips "It's more comfortable than a futon."

Anyway, don't wanna turn into a fan girl, but this is just getting me even more excited about the next film. It's been five years since the end of the series and ten since a film, so I'm practically drooling. Rumor has it that the movie's going to be a stand-alone, but that seems a little strange, given the fact that Mulder and Scully were essentially on the run from the FBI and many others at the end of the series. We'll see. Either way, I'll be front and center come July 25th, and I'm likely to be sitting there with my Mulder and Scully action figures in hand. :)

Coming again soon...

2008-02-28T00:31:00.003-05:00

Sasha's Irregular Slot!

Friday night/Saturday morning, February 29th/March 1st

12a-3a EST/9p-12a PST

Tune in here.

Lots of cool music and creative commentary by none other than little 'ole me.

See you there!

Alright. Up to this point...

2008-02-22T20:01:00.009-05:00

...I have not been one to proselytize. I've had Hillary Clinton in my top friends on MySpace for some time, so those that are linked up with me there know my position. And, understand--I do like Obama. I will say, either way the campaign goes, it's not so bad; Barack's a great orator, has many excellent positions and that charming star appeal--BUT, it's just not enough for me.

(By the way, if you're voting for McCain, you're dead to me. Sorry; I'm sure there are good things about him personally, but I do NOT want him leading our nation. His anti-female stance on nearly everything combined with his shitty environmental record--he's skipped out on every environmental vote this session--makes him the Devil Incarnate in my book. I probably wouldn't vote Republican anyway, after all--I'm a Green.)

Anyway, back to the topic at hand--despite how much I want "change" too, I don't want to join this pie-in-the-sky frenzy I see overtaking many in Obama's camp. They've worked themselves into a "Yes We Can!" furor, bordering on fanatical. Those who know me know I'm VERY liberal; bordering on radical, sometimes--but I also know that things cannot shift on a dime in Washington, as much as we might like them to. And I am not suggesting by that statement that Hillary will participate in "back-room deals" or any of that crap. But Clinton has plenty of experience with how Washington works (much longer than Obama), and her radical changes (because there are some, believe it or not) are much more likely to be considered and enforced than in an Obama administration (anyone remember how Jimmy Carter was railroaded? I fear this for Obama--in a big way). Clinton has bigger cojones than nearly any cluck in Washington and is a force to be reckoned with--which is why the early consensus was that she would be the Democratic nominee before primaries even began.

I want change to be initiated from someone who has a proven track record of experience; strength, intelligence, resolve, a reasonable, critical mind, an ability to learn from her husband's mistakes and not make them herself--and don't forget those Texas-sized cojones. The lady's got all of the above. In spades. Get over the fact that she's not as warm as Obama. Get over the orange shirts and the fact that she has a cackly laugh. I like orange and have a cackly laugh and all of you choose to still read my blogs. Do you want a fucking celebrity for President or someone who can lead us into being the United States we were once proud of? Listen to what she's saying.

Now that the Democratic race has gotten tight, I just want to share with you one of the many reasons why I think Hillary Rodham Clinton should be the next President of the United States of America:

February 21 Debate Clip

Thanks for listening. There may be more. :)

Now that all the smoke has cleared...

2008-02-22T19:37:00.007-05:00

...and most everyone's had their say...I figure this article/eulogy is appropriate:

Heath Ledger (1979-2008)
I read this in a hard copy of Rolling Stone, and I think the edited version presented there has more impact. However, the online version is still affecting, and just like when I saw Brokeback Mountain, I was absolutely wrecked by the final line.

Listen to Sasha's Irregular Slot...

2008-02-15T22:14:00.003-05:00

...my slot has something to say.

CORRECTION ON TIME SLOT!!!

Saturday, February 16th 4-6 pm, EST.

Online here.

On the dial: 88.1 FM.

Funny encounters.

2008-02-11T21:28:00.005-05:00

Between classes and work today, I stopped into Jimmy John's, a local sandwich shop, to grab some food. I first made a quick run to the restroom, and was irritated to find that there was nothing to wipe my hands on after washing them.

When I returned to the counter, I told the nearest guy, "There are no hand towels in the restroom." He said, "Oh, okay, I'll get right on it." While I was ordering, he lumbered back over my way and said, "What did you mean by hand towels?"

I recognize that perhaps most people say "paper towels," but somewhere along the line, I guess I picked up the other term. Thinking he could have figured it out by inference, I decided to indulge him anyway and returned, "Um, you know, the paper things you dry your hands on when you're done washing your hands..."

He replied, "Well, she (pointing to a disinterested-looking employee) said it was full."

"Hmm," I returned.

"Did you maybe reach into the thing beside the toilet?" he asked.

"Uh, no, that's where the toilet paper is."

"No," he said, lowering his voice. "I mean the little can beside the toilet..."

"Dude, I am 36 years old," I retorted. "I think I know the difference between where the hand towels go versus where girls put their used menstrual pads."

He said, "Well, come on back with me, I want to get this straight."

I laughed and replied, "No, it's cool. My hands are dry now."

4am Amusing Pussy-Cats.

2008-02-09T03:46:00.000-05:00

Sasha's Irregular Slot Rages Again!

2008-02-07T19:36:00.000-05:00

So, if you missed my first radio show in 14 *cough* years last week, y'all got a second chance to check it. I dusted off the cobwebs and now I'm ready to shine.

12a-3a EST Friday night/Saturday morning, Feb. 8/9 (that's 9p-12a for any math-deficient--like myself--west coast friends).

Out-of-towners/computer listeners: here.

Locals/old school: 88.1 FM.

Make it so.

Listen to Sasha's Irregular Slot!

2008-02-02T12:33:00.000-05:00

As some of you know, I used to be a radio DJ many moons ago, and I'm working my way back in as an alternate for WRFL-FM, the student-run station for the University of Kentucky. I'm doing my first solo show (Jesus, since '94) today, 2.2.08, from 4-6 EST. Out-of-towners can listen here, and you local folks should already know it's 88.1 on the dial.

Tune in to the show! And be gentle, it's my first go-'round in some time and the technologies have changed...I'm sure I'll bugger up a few things, but damn, we'll have fun.

Why Gahan Gets It.

2008-01-28T21:29:00.001-05:00

I don't know that anyone in entertainment has so fully immersed him or herself in the deepest pits of debauchery and blackness and has emerged as amazingly reflective and implicitly conflicted about it as Dave Gahan. He is strong; he wants to walk the steady path, but his work--lyrically and visually--points to what I believe is a deep longing to get back to those horrible but illuminating moments, and a marveling that even he can't believe sometimes that he lived through it it all. Goddamn, his work only gets more interesting.

I'm not an ex-heroin addict who actually died a number of times--like Gahan did--but so much of what I see in his life resonates.

Great interviews:
Sentimentalist Mag

The Observer
Great videos:

Grind grind grind grind grind...

2008-01-07T04:23:00.001-05:00

If there's one thing I'm good at, it's thinking.

There is never a point in the day where I can just shut it down. No matter what I'm doing--dishes, shower, working out, hell, even when I'm watching television and trying to tune out the noise in my head--I cannot turn off the motors. I'm always sizing up whatever info is incoming against my own experience and wrestle with judgments/assumptions/decisions about how that applies to who I should be/become; what I should discard/absorb.

I've always been this way. I can remember as a child having a very active mental life--not just with imaginary friends and the like, because there was that--but I spent a lot of time lying on my bed, in the yard, sitting in a tree, just thinking. About who I was going to be when I grew up, what the heck was going on in more vibrant parts of the world, and why couldn't I be part of it? How was it all gonna play out? The teenage years were obsessed with thinking about how great things were going to be once I blew this popsicle stand, dammit, and when/where was my fabulous life going to begin?

Many years later, I'm just as thought-obsessed as I was back then, albeit with different and possibly more adult subject matter.

But I find the weirdest shit crops up the more I try to think less. This happens mostly when I'm trying to go to sleep and I can't (which is often--like um, now). I obsess about stuff I haven't thought of in years--old unresolved friendship/relationship issues crawl into my head, and I find myself wanting to just jump out of bed, call the offending (or offended) party and say "What the fuck happened?" Or I sit and stew about how little people care for others and how I--one person--can't effect the sort of changes I wish I could. I get frustrated by things I can't go back and fix, and things I wish I could effect if only I had some help. I worry constantly about the state of the planet and humanity; how many animals in the world are suffering. I stupidly obsess over the fact that now I can't send in that awesome spec script that was living in my head to "The Dead Zone," because the fucking show just got canceled. How I choked the two (yes, two, dammit!) opportunities I had to talk to Dave Grohl because I was so goddamned star-struck. I'm then barraged by how little stuff like that matters in the big picture, and my mind shifts to feeling pretty damned guilty.

Many years ago, an old boyfriend and I lay in bed, after a long conversation. Our backs were to each other, and I was still mulling over the disconcerting details of whatever we had been discussing. In the dark, he said: "I can hear your brain working. Relax." It was amusing at the time, but think how it must have sounded in my head if even he could "hear" my inner rumblings. It's a hard load to bear, sometimes.

I certainly picked the right (new) career to aspire to. Philosophic musing comes as naturally to me as being an actor did (and both do require a lot of thought, despite what those new non-Method acting teachers love to tell you). But where too much thinking as an actor can get you into a heap of trouble--instinct is key, I'll admit that--it'll never hurt me in my new vocation. The problem is, will I think so much that I drive myself crazy? It seemed to apply to Nietzsche (well, and the syphillis helped. Thank god I don't have to worry about that).

Check in with me in a few years. I'll have either found my true niche, or I will have cast all aside to join a Buddhist monastery or will pull a disappearing act to India, or something. That's about all I see left for me in terms of handling all these thoughts. But meanwhile, I gotta find a way to temper them enough to fall asleep at a reasonable hour. I'm starting back to school on Thursday--and 4 am blogs, even if assisting in exorcising my thoughts, are not going to assist in dragging my ass out of bed at 7 to get ready for class.

I wouldn't trade the stress that comes from all this for any sort of vacuity. Don't get me wrong. But sometimes, it would be nice to turn down the noise a bit. Alcohol helps sometimes, but that can lead to fatalism if I get enough booze in me, and that's never a good place to operate from. No pharmaceuticals either, thanks--I've taken anti-depressants before, and as I was outlining to someone the other day--I'd rather have the highs and lows than become apathetic, which was the inevitable outcome of that whole venture. Dancing, sex and improv are really the only things where I can be engaged, but not really get too overwhelmed with thinking. They're all very pure pursuits. And as much as I enjoy every one of them, it isn't possible to do any of them 24/7 (as interesting as that goal might be--in every case--you'll wanna take a break eventually).

So, I guess I'll continue to let the machinery whirr and hope that with my continued aspirations, interactions and growth I might eventually come to a place where I don't obsess so much on at least the things I can't change or control.

I have a feeling that will be a lifelong struggle, however. At least there's the sound of my clanking brain to keep me company when I'm all alone with my thoughts.

On da radio...Monday night 1/7!

2008-01-06T22:07:00.000-05:00

I'm working my way back into DJing for WRFL-FM, the student-run radio station for the University of Kentucky, which served as a major creative outlet for me, many years ago. Tomorrow I'll be (re)training and riding shotgun with my long-time pal Percy Trout from 8:30-10 pm EST.

Out-of-towners can listen online at: WRFL, and for those in town--well, you should know it, but if you don't--it's 88.1 on the dial.

Percy's hilarious, and we always have a good time. Tune in!

Stealth-times and sad-times.

2008-01-03T17:34:00.000-05:00

~~~~

R.I.P. anniversary for Edgar Cayce...a Kentucky boy with amazing gifts...who grew into a man with a heart bigger than the whole, wide world.

It’s cold, I’m bored...here are some completely irrelevant pop culture thoughts.

2007-12-27T15:44:00.000-05:00

So, in my continued obsession with Eric Bana, I watched Lucky You last night. Not a perfect film by any means, but enjoyable, nonetheless. It actually made poker sort of interesting to me. It could have used some Bana nudity, but oh well.

There were moments when Drew Barrymore was fantastic, but others where she slipped back into the comfy, quirky little girl place she revisits all too often as an actor. More directors like George Clooney need to work with her--he (and Penny Marshall, to an extent) are the only directors to apparently make her feel comfortable enough to get to the fabulous actress that just lives below the surface...I'm referring to Confessions of a Dangerous Mind and Riding in Cars with Boys, respectively. I know it's in there, and I look forward to her breakthrough performance, on the horizon. I've always thought she had it in her.

Anyway, so much for that. Time for a catty tangent:

Two Female Celebrities Whose Popularity Escapes Me:

Fergie--Okay, why are so many women holding her up as some sort of model of beauty? Has anyone not noticed that she looks like a freaking drag queen? I mean, I love drag queens, but um, when they're men approximating (and exaggerating) female standards of beauty. Not when it's a young woman filling her face so full of Botox is looks like it could burst and cultivating eyebrows that remind me of that episode of The Sopranos where A.J. crashed out at a party and his buddies shaved his off and drew on scary arches worthy of Divine. And how old is she, like 29? Jesus, I hate to see what she's going to look like at 40 (not that the world cares about anyone older than 30, anyway...grumble grumble).

I've only heard maybe 1-2 of her songs, and there's not much going on there. Here's my interpretation of her music:

"I'm so fucking hot and I'm so fucking hot and I'm so fucking hot you know you want to hit it."

Okay. Well, a.) Um, no, you're not; and b.) Um, no, I don't.

I'm sure millions of people disagree, but that's my assessment of Ms. Thang.

Sarah Silverman--She's grating, self-congratulatory, has an incredibly unpleasant, whiny, little-girl petulant attitude in interviews, and just because she says fuck and offends every race/religion/whathaveyou on the planet, she's held as some sort of comedy genius? Oh, and I forgot...she's not funny.

Having worked in comedy for a good number of years, I know what people find funny is relative. I respect that. But everyone goes on and on about how brilliant she is--and other than just being crass or sophomoric, I'm don't see that she has a lot else to offer. Oh, but I forgot...she's hot and Jewish. Uh, well, half of Hollywood is Jewish, but that don't mean they're all hot. I appreciate a good looking woman, will admit that she is if she is--but what's her appeal? Somebody explain to me why guys go so kooky for her.

I love to see women treading new ground in comedy--there aren't enough of us out there that have broken through--it's a goddamn boys' club, probably always will be. But I don't know if I want her to be the poster child for us funny girls. She's too in love with herself for me to feel comfortable with that.

And now, back to your regularly scheduled program. I've got to go shave off my eyebrows, inject my face with botulism and practice my poop jokes, all while jiggling in front of the mirror and thinking I'm the man (oops, I mean woman).

Am I a bad person?

2007-12-21T18:37:00.001-05:00

So, given that I've had a major crush on Michael Palin since the 80s (yeah, I know he's the same age as my dad--sue me), I often watch his travel specials. They're always fun, informative and occasionally emotionally moving. Last night, I was viewing his latest, Himalaya, and he actually acquired a one-on-one sit down with His Holiness, the Dalai Lama. I was very excited, as I've always had a bit of curiosity about Buddhism (I'll be studying it next semester in Asian Philosophy), and I was expecting great things, great things.

Um, the Dalai Lama spend most of the time giggling and being incoherent.

I couldn't tell if it was nervousness, tiredness (he had just received 700 other people prior to meeting Michael), his trouble with English, or just the way he is. It made me a little uncomfortable. I guess, given my Christian upbringing (which I have abandoned for the most part, aside from the unconditional love and general ethics stuff) I expected a figurehead of a major world religion to exude a bit more of a sanguine, authoritative presence. The DL was just, well, kind of goofy.

I know from what little I've read in Buddhist literature this behavior is often true of monks and so-called authority figures in the tradition. They are childlike and embrace all of life's absurdities, which I do find refreshing. But...the DL? I don't know. Am I endowing him with too much? He is just a man, after all--but ain't Siddharta sittin' in there somewhere? Bein' stoic and wise? *Sigh.*

What do I do now?

2007-12-17T17:53:00.000-05:00

Well, the stress of the semester is over. I got my grades--they were pleasingly good. Did a celebratory drunk on Friday; after a bit of a false start, ended up having a fabulous Sunday. Woke up this morning with no obligations for the next 3 weeks, other than catching up on the transcription job I do from home. So, I've got nothing but time. What's a girl to do?

Guess I'll start by watching this early, awesome Tom Jones video. Love the intro with the candle--it's random and hilarious:

That's good. Now on to more idleness! :)

I'M DOOOOOONE!

2007-12-14T16:23:00.000-05:00

Handed in the last of my assignments at 10 am today. Ran some errands, then bought myself a bottle of cheap champagne.

It is 4:35 pm, and I am drunk.

Normally, I'm not a self-congratulatory kind of person, but I've accomplished quite a lot in the last four months. More than I ever thought I could.

Yay for me!

To Walk the Night.

2007-12-08T15:58:00.000-05:00

This semester, one of our readings in my World Lit class was Virgil's The Aeneid. The character of Dido really got under my skin, so for a final assignment, I chose to continue her narrative a bit:

Dido in her eternal walk of night
Finds no respite in that, her hollow death
Given on the pyre of her marriage bed.

In that moment, an act so just and pure
The sword, a treasured gift of Dardan love
Deeply plunged, to fly on wings of Isis
But leaving no emotion behind her
Her wound bleeds bright in the Underworld.

Sychaeus again by her side, steadfast
Should give some succor to her ravaged soul
Instead, the memory of Aeneas' tears
Blends into one with her eternal flow.

Not that anyone will even want to post this elsewhere, but if you do, please at least link back to me. Thanks.

My head is folding in on itself.

2007-12-04T20:28:00.000-05:00

Soon, I will suck myself up and just become a vacuum.

I argue for a philosophical position that as far as I can tell, no one else ever has (or at least has never proven). I have only a rudimentary understanding of metaphysics, so I turn in circles and circles until my paper is totally restructured, and then I start again. And again.

It is due tomorrow.

I had a glass of wine to relax, but it only muddies my thoughts. I feel I am trying to decipher some sort of a Zen koan--only instead of sitting in Zazen meditating, I feel my ass grow wider and more numb on my folding chair as I type type type away my circular musings and half-baked concepts.

Dear god, why didn't I choose to pursue a literature degree?

moar funny pictures

Pictures of You.

2007-11-24T20:59:00.000-05:00

There was nothing in the world
That I ever wanted more
Than to feel you deep in my heart
There was nothing in the world
That I ever wanted more
Than to never feel the breaking apart
All my pictures of you

The End of The Sopranos.

2007-11-18T12:15:00.001-05:00

(Spoiler alert--please read only if you don't mind knowing general details of the show; specifically, on the final episode. I don't feel what I say will damage your ultimate enjoyment of the show, but, if you're like me, you'll want to absorb it on your own, first.)

I don't have HBO, so I was unable to watch the final season of The Sopranos in real time--but I finished it last night. I knew there was some question about whether Tony died, but other than that, I managed to successfully stay away from any larger details of the end of the show (with great effort, I might add--I was constantly stopping up my ears or shutting off the radio in the days after the finale).

I came to the show a reluctant viewer. I've never been a big fan of the gangster genre, and hyper-violence has never had an appeal for me, either--with the exception of works like A Clockwork Orange and Natural Born Killers, where said violence was intended to drive a larger point home. After the first season of TS, however, I was so wrapped up in the psychology of the characters and the richness of performances, that I was hooked.

It's true there have been waffly episodes over the entire run, ones that meander a bit--but to me, they have ultimately fit into the larger narrative. People complained about the 5th season, but it was one of my favorites. The storyline that revolved around Tony's decision to kill his cousin revealed his previously unseen capacity for the most intimate kind of evil. There was always something in every episode to drive forward the arc of the series--and the inevitable conclusion of destruction.

Starting with the first part of season 6, we begin to see tangible breakdown of the system--and no more than in Tony, himself. After being shot by Uncle Junior and traveling most of the season through his haunted netherworld of dreams (always containing huge metaphors--I loved the use of this device in the series), Tony returns to his position of power a weakened man. He knows it, and everyone around him knows it. In the second part of season 6, we see him attempting damage control (but always placing it outside himself--Christopher's murder, anyone?). The unattended asbestos that piles up everywhere and ends up getting dumped in plain sight is another beautiful metaphor for the shit that's really not getting dealt with; is becoming insurmountable in Tony's world.

A.J.'s suicide attempt put me in near hysterics. You can say what you want about the actor or character, but he masterfully played his emotional wrestling with living as a sociopath's child. Wouldn't aimlessness and despair be the logical outcome? Tony's rescue of him (and subsequent anger) was clearly a rescue (and subsequent anger) of/at himself. That was one of the most horrible/beautiful moments I've seen in television.

The final scene--left me, like many others, momentarily puzzled. Did the DVD have a blip at the climactic moment? No, surely not. Then, the quiet 10 seconds of black clued me in. I sat, gaped-mouthed, going..."Wait...did the suspicious guy...no, wait. It's Chase's visual metaphor for..." I did this for at least a good 20 minutes. I had my suspicions, but I decided to weigh in with the online geeks and get their two-cents' worth. They reminded me that in the beginning of the season (and also as a brief memory in the penultimate episode, which no one seemed to comment on), Bobby made a comment to Tony about getting whacked. It was “You probably don’t ever hear it when it happens, right?”

So, my opinion is, whether Tony really died in that moment is irrelevant. The blackness/silence shows what is the inevitable outcome for Tony--he is always (as is clearly shown in the scene) going to be looking over his shoulder, is always going to be one step away from getting killed. He has burned too many bridges, hurt too many people and ingrained himself too deeply into this enterprise not to ultimately wind up someday on the other end of a gun.

Since Chase's writing and direction is so heavily laden with metaphors, I also think the silence/10 seconds of black (which he reputedly wanted to be 30 seconds long, but it was rejected by the network), served as a way to communicate all the unfinished business of the show. Unfinished business in relationships, in reconciling one's past hurts, in feeling guilt over making devastating, immoral choices. This is not a show that could be neatly tied up at the end, with Tony either "going straight" and attempting to make up for ills or getting whacked as some sort of retribution for all his past horrors; no--the whole point of the show was to make someone so reprehensible, so morally bereft, human to us. It's a terrifying idea, something difficult to reconcile when you really pin it down--but nonetheless, you feel something for this guy, for his friends. You understand and allow some of their behaviors. Chase forces you to look at that; not to have some sort of easy fix or finish. And that is to me, is the most important message of the show.

What a fantastic piece of work, from all involved. It will certainly linger with me.

This morning...

2007-11-13T15:09:00.000-05:00

...my Dad left me a voice mail in the style of Karl Childers, to congratulate me on getting into the Honors Program at EKU.

Made my day.

Forcing the End.

2007-11-11T11:01:00.000-05:00

Periodically on MySpace, I get a friend invite from some loser wanting to "hook up." I resist the desire to refer you to this guy's profile (it further fleshes out what a completely illiterate troglodyte he is), but I'll at least show you his introductory email:

really liked ure pics besides the obvious fact that u so purdy i can tell that u soo coo u got that wow factor now floor me by givin me a lil shout can i get witchya?? ya know bungee jumpin is like getting a blow job from ya gandma it might feel good but 4 godsakes dont look down ,lol

Charming.

By the way, he lists his influences as "mom dad jesus."

Humanity continues to slip even further into oblivion, at an exponential rate. We race toward the apocalypse in a flaming cart of hooligans, half-wits and herd-mentality drones.

Happy Sunday!

Edgar Cayce

2007-11-08T15:54:00.002-05:00

So, in a desperate move to absorb the information I didn't feel I was retaining for my tests last night, I decided to employ the method that legendary medical intuitive/clairvoyant Edgar Cayce used--he'd just put a book under his pillow at night, and was apparently able to quote it verbatim, the next day.

Didn't work, E.C. C'mon, don't steer me wrong, now.

-----

No blog...but visual musings.

2007-11-03T15:57:00.001-04:00

Achilles may have eventually taken Hector down, but I still feel Hector was the more just and honorable man.

And in this version--much, much hotter.

Random thoughts...non sequiturs...ramblings...

2007-10-13T23:22:00.001-04:00

So, is it just me--or does the older author Michael Cunningham gets--the more he looks like Michael Palin?

No matter; they're both really amazing and inspirational. Just an observation.

~~

I've been visiting McDonald's lately...not because I have any great love for it, but because I want to take a stab at their big Monopoly game. Pathetic, I know--but what are you gonna do when you're as poor as me, yet with so many goals that require big bucks? Anyway, I order my customary iced tea today, and the girl who rings up my order--who has already struggled for what seems an endless amount of time to find the key for hot fudge during the previous customer's order--makes me think, "mine will be easy for her." But no. She manages to give me a large iced coffee instead--and after having to wipe off the drenched cup (apparently, she can't fill a styrofoam receptacle, either) I literally gag on the first sip. I hate coffee. I can't tell you how much I find the taste disgusting. The two worst things on anyone's breath, in my opinion, is coffee and cigarettes, and I avoid both. It took a literal hour to get the funky aftertaste to go away. Why didn't I notice it was coffee, you ask? Well, I was thinking of sex or something (as was she, apparently--not paying attention to where she was headed with the cup), and you have to admit coffee and tea share the same color, when they're coming from the mass dumping spigots of a place like McDonald's. Perhaps I should stay away and just put my dollar into the lottery, if I'm gonna jettison my earnings into the big vortex of chance. I make better tea, anyway.

~~

All of my new tattoo work is itching so bad, I feel like I have scabies. I always forget between tattoos how annoying the healing process is. Not only did I get the new ouroboros image on my arm, but I had Donald touch up my old sacral tattoo from '91, plus add a little shading to my ankle piece. Jesus, I'm scratching at myself like some homeless person. It has become such an absentminded act that my Metaphysics instructor mistook my grimace while digging away at my arm during class as frustration over a particularly complicated explanation of the bundle theory. Eeyah, I'll be glad when these things heal and I can relax.

~~

Valerian Root=bad for Alexandra. I've gotten into a habit of staying up really late to study (or just to toss and turn with insomnia), and then coming home after school (on the days I'm not working) to sleep for a couple of hours. This has, of course, created a vicious cycle, and I'm exhausted during the day. The other night, I remembered I had purchased some Valerian Root that was on sale last year in anticipation of the insomnia I have when I'm under stress. I took it at about 2 in the morning, and woke up in a cold sweat at 5 am, after just having a series of dreams that were beyond disturbing. It was if I was in some sort of Lovecraftian otherworld, where the walls were made of flesh that exuded macabre organ music that somehow had a scent, and all the inhabitants were chittering, psychologically threatening entities. During those terrified moments in the dark, I recalled I had read somewhere that Valerian sometimes causes bad dreams in some people.

Yeah, no shit. Guess I'll pass on the next dose.

~~

I know it's no longer cool to like Bruce Springsteen, but I find merit in his work. Plus, his politics are awesome. I just ripped The Rising and am currently listening to it. His writing is very simple, but it's very good:

"Lonesome Day"

Baby, once I thought I knew
Everything I needed to know about you
Your sweet whisper, your tender touch
But I didn't really know that much
Joke's on me, well it's gonna be okay
If I can just get through this lonesome day
Lonesome day

Hell's brewin' dark sun's on the rise
This storm'll blow through by and by
House is on fire, viper's in the grass
A little revenge and this too shall pass
This too shall pass, yeah I'm gonna pray
Right now all I got's this lonesome day
Lonesome day

It's alright it's alright it's alright
Yeah
It's alright it's alright it's alright
Yeah
It's alright it's alright it's alright
Yeah
It's alright it's alright

Better ask questions before you shoot
Deceit and betrayals bitter fruit
It's hard to swallow, come time to pay
That taste on your tongue don't easily slip away

Let kingdom come I'm gonna find my way
Yeah through this lonesome day
Lonesome day
Lonesome day
Lonesome day

It's alright it's alright it's alright
Yeah
It's alright it's alright it's alright
Yeah
It's alright it's alright it's alright
Yeah
It's alright it's alright it's alright
Yeah
It's alright it's alright it's alright
Yeah
It's alright it's alright

Lonesome day
Lonesome day
Lonesome day

~~

I find Leonard Nimoy's voice incredibly soothing. Perhaps it's all of the early childhood viewings of Star Trek and In Search Of... that have wormed their way into my brain to create some sort of subconscious response, but the timbre of his voice is so incredibly peaceful to me. I've been watching a bunch of episodes of A&E Mysteries that he narrated, and I just feel so good, afterward. I want him to record all of my reading assignments.

My brand-spanking-new tattoo.

2007-10-08T19:37:00.000-04:00

Artwork by the incomparable Donald Purvis.

This is one I've wanted for a long, long time. I say, "this will be my last," but I've been saying that since my third one, back in 1992. Two more tattoos/fifteen years later; we'll see...

Wanna know more about the image? Go here.

Philosophy can't help me through this.

2007-09-28T18:36:00.001-04:00

It's weird to have immersed yourself in a discipline that questions and attempts to clarify the makeup of and reasons for existence, but find yourself on a Friday night, half drunk and half sick, feeling like you're back at square one.

This week, a dear, old friend of mine lost his older brother to suicide. Today, I went to the funeral home to show my support, and it was as if I felt every ounce of sorrow being expressed in every fiber of my being. I recognize I can't even begin to imagine the sort of sadness that the family feels, because, despite the pain, there is still an element of remove for me. But what I'm trying to explain is that watching them cry over the body, hold each other in their sorrow and desperation, was almost more than I could bear. I felt like I was a voyeur on what should have been a private moment, only for them. As we always do in these situations, we relate it to ourselves; put ourselves in their place and wonder how we would act/react if it were a member of our own immediate family who took his or her life. Jesus, it was so horrible. It makes you feel so helpless, so embarrassed, because there's absolutely nothing you can say that doesn't seem trite or meaningless.

Immediately after going to the funeral home, I had to teach a class at the Lexington Arts and Science Center. It was supposed to be fun and happy; it was, quite simply, a class on cats--for the K-3rd grade set--but it seemed every personal story that came up involved some sort of cat death, to the point that one kid even commented on it (quite amusingly, I might add). I guess it helped a little, but keeping 13 hyper children under control is never fun after the emotional tumult of what came before. Needless to say (but I'll say it anyway), I sit here with a slamming headache, despite taking acetaminophen, despite having a couple of beers--just sort of feeling sorry for myself. And feeling guilty for feeling sorry for myself.

Don't know what I'm going to do with the rest of the night. Probably drink some more. I have a DVD of the film Troy; I'll probably watch that. Nice, uplifting stuff from Homer, no?--but maybe that's just what I need. I need to wallow a bit in the confusing, beautiful horror that makes up our lives. Anger, fear, love, happiness, hate, sorrow, death, destruction. I need to remind myself that in the pursuit of understanding and explaining, we still don't get any further in preventing it from affecting us.

The lessons never stop coming full circle, then they begin again.

Sweet (and fun!) release.

2007-09-25T19:02:00.002-04:00

For various reasons, the past couple of days have blown serious chunks. So, I figure it's time to make myself feel better:

Now, back to my studies.

Brain on overload...must slow it down.

2007-09-21T20:11:00.000-04:00

Some gems from school...

Sign on EKU ladies' bathroom wall: "Please turn water off completety!!!"

Um, yeah! Good to see you go want us to go one step beyond mere conservation--turning off the water not only completely, but "completety!"

Overheard loud (is there any other kind?) cell conversation from bottle-blonde-orange-tan-early-twenty-something:

...So, I guess we're back together...I mean, he missed two of our anniversaries...first with training, and then with Iraq...

Not that I'm a proponent of the war at all, but, you'd think she might cut the guy a little slack? It's not like he passed on their "anniversary" to go strip clubbing with his buddies, or something.

Overhead convo between two students, hanging out and smoking between classes:

"So, when I got out of jail, and I was only in for a week..."

Um, (shudder)...hey, wait...aren't you in my Ethics class?

Today, during said Ethics class, I glance over at what I'd call a "Buffy"; I'm sure today's generation has a different name for them...sorority types, again with the blonde hair/fake tan...and see that she's kicked off her flip-flops, pulled her bare feet into the seat, has lifted her blouse and is idly playing with her belly-button ring. I feel like I'm watching someone publicly masturbate. Later, she begins furiously copying notes (that apparently, she's already taken--it's the same bubbly handwriting) and I actually see her make a heart over one of her "i"s. It was all I could do to keep from exploding with laughter; a truly mind-blowing moment. Later, she stared at me with derision when I did audibly laugh (snorted, even--couldn't help it) at the instructor's attempt to delineate between what was meant by the blanket statement "abortion is wrong." He said, "Does that mean pushing a pregnant person down the stairs, or having a procedure done?" Who knows what Buffy was thinking about me--she went back to bearing down on her notetaking with the iron grip of a cheerleader known amongst the football team for her intense and quickly executed hand jobs.

Also in the twice mentioned Ethics class is a really bright, cute young guy who sits beside me. I was kind of surprised to find out early on he was ROTC, because he doesn't seem militaristic or posture-y at all. He occasionally adds what I would consider moderate to liberal comments to class discussion. We chat occasionally, and today he was more talkative than usual.

I want to preface this with the admission that I have been known to attract (and be attracted to) the odd younger man or two (GPG knows this), but I don't necessarily seek it out. During our conversation today, I said, "So, what, are you 20, 21?"--the age of my last serious boyfriend--and he smiled and said, "No, 18."

Jesus Christ.

Yep, here's one old lady, signing out.

Reflections, three weeks in.

2007-09-10T17:00:00.000-04:00

I've been an official "returning adult" student for several weeks now, and as is my nature, I've made a lot of observations.

My primary assertion is that it's very fulfilling, in many ways. I got a taste of this when I picked up a few classes in early 2006, in Los Angeles--to get my feet wet again--to decide where my academic focus should lie. I was teetering between philosophy and anthropology; philosophy won (and not just because my instructor was cute). I found philosophy really plugged me in to where my mind and my search was taking me. I'd grown tired of the platitudes bandied about by the L.A. pseudo-enlightened; stuff that boiled down to trash. You know what? Maybe things aren't happening for a cosmic reason. I've followed my inner guides a million times, only to later find myself in the wake of yet another catastophe. It was seeming to me that such easy epithets were the fodder of people either blessed with dumb luck or from those not wanting to take responsibility for anything around them. And that's not to say I don't still feel or am no longer an irrational. I can still be trippy-dippy, find synchonicity in things...but while it's true I have an artist's heart, I have an analytical mind, always desiring to reach the truth of any query, endeavor or situation (all too often to the detriment of my aformentioned artist's heart).

I'm taking five philosophy classes this semester, yes, five. All of which compete for my mind space, but more often than not, link together in interesting ways. Some branches, such as metaphysics, tangle me in infinite loops of deconstruction, only to periodically become clear again. Today I see myself as a nominalist, tomorrow a realist. And that's just scratching the surface. I find great beauty in Plato's Allegory of the Cave (one of the first things I fell in love with in Intro), and my artist's heart also loves the realm of perfect Forms. It's a way of realizing my old religious leanings without having to subscribe to the whole Southern Baptist "God" concept. Bertrand Russell's ambition to revise metaphysics through Neutral Monism--while arguably unsuccessful--is nonetheless inspiring.

So much falling around me, like snow; I pick it up and hold it in my hand, it absorbs and becomes a part of me.

It is as if the hard drive of my mind is being defragmented and is preparing for reboot.

----

There are some negatives, however. First of all, despite the stellar instruction I'm receiving at both institutions, I'm doing it in an town that limits me. Not just an "oh, there's nothing interesting to do on a Saturday night" sort of limitation--I can find worthwhile art and entertainment in Lexington if I look hard enough--but more of a "wow, all of this is so overwhelming I'd love to have a conversation with someone who will appreciate it" kind of feeling (not discounting my folks and my bro; they're great with these sorts of exchanges, but you know...I mean "in-the-moment" peers). Even more, I feel stifled by the feeling of being landlocked. Sometimes I just want to take my thoughts to the edge of the water and let them tumble along with the surf. Get that "oceanic feeling" Freud talked about, a term someone recently introduced me to when I was describing how I felt a sense of connectedness to everything when I was alone with my thoughts in nature. A marriage of analytic mind and emotional heart; that's all I've ever craved, anyway.

My pet negative is the ridiculous amount of clucks that clog up my classes, mostly at EKU. EKU has surprised me in a lot of ways; as mentioned above, the great instruction, small class sizes, friendlier bureaucracy, etc. But with an eastern Kentucky undergrad university that has always had the rep of being a "party school," it's inevitable that you're going to have a fair share of people who are attending only to get away from home. The worst offenders are in my English Lit class (I chose it as an elective, as I've considered Literature in the past also as a major). My god, these people are the biggest bunch of lackluster doofuses. The instructor, while a sweet lady, is lacking a bit in her oratory skills, but NONE of these idiots will offer anything to the discussion, unless their mouths are forcibly opened by her, anyway. Myself and another girl (ironically, also from Rockcastle County) are the only ones who contribute on a regular basis. One guy today (who is always late, sits there taking no notes and never cracks a book; looks like a reject from Blind Melon) actually said, "I don't know," when asked some simple question about our reading from The Iliad. If you don't fucking know, then fucking stay at home and sleep off your hangover. Stop taking up my valuable oxygen. Also today, the instructor had everyone read a line aloud from the text, and while I don't think this is the most productive way of communicating the material, I was appalled to hear the halting, mispronounced tripe that came out of people's mouths. It's true I can be a snob when it comes to reading and writing, because I'm quite good at both. But Jesus H. Christ! You people are in college--the word "poised" is not to be pronounced "poison!" I'm gonna have a heart attack here, so I'd better stop. No wait. One more: we had to write a simile about ourselves, and while mine wasn't showstopping, it was something like: "She was thorough and efficient, going about her business like an insect pollinating the flowers," it was at least, serviceable. I glance over at one of my "teammates'" (yes, we're broken down into teams, blecch) similes, and his was:

"I am as fun as a ball."

Enough said.

----

In sum:

School=good for Alexandra

Stupid people=bad for Alexandra

*Sigh* Some things just never change.

Beautiful and complicated.

2007-09-01T19:04:00.001-04:00

Did I disappoint you
Or leave a bad taste in your mouth?
You act like you never had love
And you want me to go without

The Year in Review.

2007-08-30T19:07:00.000-04:00

So.

It's been a year since I left Los Angeles. Last August 29th, I tearfully gave away the last of the things I couldn't fit into my storage space or my rented vehicle (my low-rent vulturous neighbors were more than delighted to pick through it all), and myself and my three feline children hit the road. We drove straight through the desert, the mountains, the trees--never stopping except for pee breaks and food-on-the-run--until we stumbled, exhausted, into an equally low-rent hotel each night. When we arrived four days later on the doorstep of my parents' home (a respite I truly appreciate and often return to during my darkest life transitions), I think the four of us passed out and slept for a whole day.

I departed from Los Angeles a disenchanted, unhappy person. As I've outlined in detail in my previous blogs, I hadn't reached the place I wanted to be as an artist; I was broke and living in a shitty neighborhood where I didn't feel safe; my relationship of several years had reached its climax--and despite our attempts to make it work, it quite simply, didn't anymore. It was time to hit that big reset button, yet again.

Kentucky is by no means my favorite place to live, despite growing up here. It is very dear to me, a wonderful place to come back and visit; I find it beautiful and bucolic in many ways, but I've never been able to shake that it just doesn't feel like home to me. However, my folks are here, it's fairly affordable, and it seemed the most logical place to take a respite and plan for the future. Initially, I had plans to work on a cruise ship in Hawaii, but after reading horror narrative after horror narrative, combined with the cruise line's apathy in returning my calls, I elected not to dedicate five months of my life to indentured servitude. Instead, I chose to hang my hat here for a bit, to give myself time to really take a look at what was the most progressive, yet most satisfying "next step."

In the year that I've been here, I've worked several "permanent" jobs which proved to be nothing of the sort, and many, many temp assignments. Truly, I never wanted to find any employment that would keep me here too long; my intention has always been to go someplace else. No matter how comfortable Lexington and its environs are, my gypsy heart has longed for a new, or return to a "new again" place where I feel there is more opportunity (and saltwater--I hate being landlocked). And, despite my return to Kentucky serving as an escape from a relationship tornado, I managed to find yet another opportunity to get my heart broken. What can I say? When I care, I care deeply and with hope that it will be returned. There's another life lesson in there for me somewhere, I suppose; I'm still working that one out.

This year has been tough--hell, things have been tough for me since 2005--but I feel I'm finally turning a corner. I'm back in school; two schools, actually: University of Kentucky and Eastern Kentucky University, as a philosophy major. Heady, lofty stuff, but I've always set the bar high, which is why I've probably experienced my share of disappointment. I'm having an amazing time thus far, and only see it getting better. I'm a junior (currently taking 18 hours--again, those lofty goals), and I anticipate being done in a year and a half. So, I'm thinking early 2009, I'm on my way to grad school, back on the west side of the nation--or maybe even Europe. We'll see what opportunities present themselves to me.

Oh yeah, and I'm applying for a grant to develop a one-woman show, incorporating much about my full-circle journey home. It'll be swell, I promise. So, wish me luck, friends. Changer oui!

An excerpt.

2007-08-18T21:51:00.000-04:00

From Iris Murdoch's Under the Net:

And as I looked down now on the crowds in Oxford Street and stroked Mars's head I felt neither happy nor sad, only rather unreal, like a man shut in a glass. Events stream past us like these crowds and the face of each is seen only for a minute. What is urgent is not urgent for ever, but only ephemerally. All work and all love, the search for wealth and fame, the search for truth, like itself, are made up of moments which pass and become nothing. Yet through this shaft of nothings we drive onward with that miraculous vitality that creates our precarious habitations in the past and the future. So we live; a spirit that broods and hovers over the continual death of time, the lost meaning, the unrecaptured moment, the unremembered face, until the final chop that ends all our moments and plunges that spirit back into the void from which it came.

Yoga and me.

2007-08-10T09:53:00.000-04:00

I've been doing a lot of yoga lately, and it's yielding interesting results. Certainly, I am doing it for health reasons--for strength, flexibility, and that oh-so-craved lean yoga body. But mostly, I've been doing it for piece of mind.

I've flirted with yoga for years, starting in 2000, when I picked up a combo AM/Stress/PM DVD from the Whole Foods where I was working, in Austin, Texas. My marriage was sputtering out, and I was looking for anything to give me a distraction, and hopefully, physical/emotional benefit. I struggled with the poses (I have a lot of stiffness due to fibromyalgia), but was able to get through each program with general success. The first time I attempted the stress yoga sequence, I broke down at the end and cried. It's true that certain poses open emotional floodgates in your body, just as when a massage therapist who understands the mind-body connection targets emotional centers that are holding old emotional pain. Perhaps it is because of that very phenomenon that my practice has been spotty; I seem to look for reasons not to do yoga, not only because it is a challenge for me physically, but it also forces me to listen to the deepest parts of myself. I seem to be okay with self-analysis when it involves my intellect, but it gets overwhelmingly intense when I start listening to my body.

Nevertheless, since returning to Kentucky and reevaluating a lot of what is/isn't working in my life, I find myself finally turning to yoga without apprehension. I'll doubt I'll ever be a 6 am-in-the-morning practitioner, but I do find winding down the evening with the pm program settles the machinery of my ever-whirring mind. Even though it's low-impact, a couple of the poses are so challenging for me, I still wobble, and am relieved that no one is there to see me struggle and modify and look incredibly ungraceful.

One of the immediate benefits for me is that fall asleep much faster, and dream like a motherfucker. I haven't dreamt a lot in the last few months; I think that's because of some of the stressors in my life--my subconscious thinks it's just easier to go "dark"--and even though I feel a little wrung out in the mornings after the jumble of metaphors that have plumbed my head, I find I deal much better with the reality of the day, when I have done yoga.

I particularly seem to be having a lot of sex dreams, and finally with people I'd actually want to fuck, instead of previous dream suitors, like old bosses, Woody Allen and Tony Soprano. I had a particularly delicious dream last night about David Duchovny, probably because I had just watched his film House of D. Even with the pleasant imagery, there was still a feeling of deceit, or disappointment associated with the outcome, which is often the overarching emotion that occurs in dreams where I'm sleeping with stars. I know this points to the larger narrative of my life in many ways (leaving L.A. behind, not reaching the "heights" I wanted to in the industry, etc.), and I feel yoga is pressing my mind to work a lot of this stuff out.

I think it's good for me to put this in print, because it forces me to stick with a goal (I'm still off aspartame, for instance!), and I know I can get lazy if I don't have the possibility of someone checking in to say "How's the yoga going?" So, while I don't expect to have Madonna's fabulous flexibility anytime soon (or any of her awesome achievements, for that matter), I do plan to continue doing yoga regularly for my health, and my sanity.

Namaste.

One of the many reasons I love David Lynch.

2007-08-08T21:24:00.000-04:00

Triggered by GPG.

2007-08-01T22:47:00.000-04:00

So, I was reading my friend's most recent entry on Exoterica, and it reminded me of a similar blog I posted some years back. I couldn't figure out how to link from here (i.e., too lazy to parse it out from the page), so I've pasted it below (incidentally, my blogs stretching all the way back to 1999 can be found starting here.)

Granted, my 2002 commentary was mostly in response to the bloody fallout of a failed marriage, but I think both GPG and I were/are aligned in wanting to toe the line in the sand--to declare what the hell we will and won't put up with--and there ain't a thing wrong with that.

I read back over it and wince a little, as the five years that have passed since posting it have included letting myself fall prey (yet again, dammit) to some of the types I so carefully outlined as anathema. Oh well. I did manage to have a couple of good relationships, though--one of 'em even lasting more than two years. Go, me.

I find my rant more humorous than anything now, but I will say not much has changed in what I will or won't put up with (at least, in theory). And, I guess I am looking for more of a relationship these days than just putting myself out there as a good-time Sally. But marriage? That one still makes me a bit nervous, but the concept no longer incites the lust for violence outlined below. I do add cowards to the list of baddies, however--thank you, GPG, for reminding me!

As a final note, I will say I've had a mad crush on Anthony Michael Hall for years, so if any of you have the hook up, lemme know. I'll give him a day (or even two) in court, even if he ultimately proved to be one of the evil ones below. It would be worth it, you know, for my autobiography.

February 14, 2002

Well, St. Valentine's Day is here, and my gift is a divorce. Kind of ironic, given the supposed romance of the holiday. I've certainly had several months to get over my permanent separation, but I guess the coincidence of the actual decree going through right before February 14 has released a new flood of bitterness in me.

I've always been a cynic when it comes to long-term relationships; hence, my extensive list of exes. Perhaps something overtook me in 1998 - some bizarre, hopeful, wifey-robot that thought "true love" did exist - that it could assuage all fears and conflicts in a relationship. Whatever created that surreal abnormality in me died a horrible death in September 2001.

I do believe in love; I've fallen in and out of it a number of times. But I'll be honest, after a burn as severe as this - I find it hard to believe I'll ever marry again. Sure, I'll be involved with others (maybe even seriously), but the next guy who gets down on his knee will probably get a boot in his face.

Harsh? Hell, yes. But the one time I felt secure enough to dip my toe into the stream of wedded bliss - a big ass piranha in a veil bit it right off.

I'm not saying "Beware all men - stay away from me." In fact, quite the opposite. You want someone to hang out with who won't pressure you to become The Mate? Then give me a call. Otherwise, keep 'yer rings and 'yer flowers and 'yer vows of everlasting love for the girl after me.

An addendum: I've thought a lot about all of my past relationships lately; musing on the hows and whys of each one's failure. Certainly, I pulled out of most of them early, because I felt pressured to get serious too quickly; but truthfully, sometimes I was simply bored. A few broke up with me, which always hurt my ego more than my heart. There are two men in particular I really regret unceremoniously dumping; I didn't give either one of them a chance. Why? Because they were, quite simply, great - and of course, I couldn't have that, now could I? (Incidentally, they both married the next girl they hooked up with after me. Weird, huh?)

I'm not sure where all of this is going, except to say that we so often choose against what is probably best for us. I often make excuses to myself for the "red flags" I see in someone, because I'm so ga-ga over them at that time. So, I've decided to make a declaration - one that asserts the kind of men I should not hook up with, although I have in the past, and will nonetheless be drawn to in the future, for whatever reason.

If you know me, and you see me consorting with a schlub who demonstrates any of the behavior/characteristics below - grab my shoulders, shake me, and tell me to review this entry - PRONTO!

Alexandra says NO MORE!

~~Emotional cripples
~~Sexual cripples
~~Men with Mommy issues
~~Competitive bastards
~~Jealous bastards (whether over ex-boyfriends, friends, achievements or career)
~~Know-it-alls
~~Men who want me primarily as a trophy, thus, I always have to look like a trophy
~~Secretly sexist bastards
~~Men in denial about their own idiosyncratic behavior
~~Men who are unwilling to say they are sorry
~~Crazy artist-types who turn into stalkers
~~Married (or heavily involved) men
~~Men who refuse to communicate their feelings
~~Possessive men
~~Men who promise me too much, too fast
~~Men with slovenly hygiene and tacky eating habits

Guess that means I won't be dating anytime soon, since I just about ruled out the entire male population. Oh well. Happy Valentine's Day!

Well, the day has not started off well.

2007-07-30T08:15:00.000-04:00

I just learned that one of the world's last truly innovative filmmakers and artists has died:

Ingmar Bergman

His work has informed my own art (and so many other artists), for years. What a major, major loss in the world of film, writing and stage drama.

Today will definitely be a sad one for me.