My name is Chanel. I don't like Taco bell. But I do like Mexican food very much. I like food. I am a dancer (ballet, not stripper), which doesn't go well with liking food. Among the many things that interest me, music and activities such as surfing, snowboarding, acting, dance and pilates, are probably my favorites. My music interests are strange and pretty accross the board. I like the sounds of [some] feminist rock. I like the voice of Kathleen Hanna and it's contribution to the bands "Bikini Kill," and "Le Tigre." I am in no way, shape, or form a feminist or lesbian for that matter, nor do I personally support feminist ideology. I just like the music. With that said, other music interests include: The Pixies!, Weezer, The Yeah Yeah Yeah's, Kaito, Dressy Bessy, Blonde Redhead, Mirah, Tegan and Sarah, Belle and Sebastian, Radiohead, Mazzy Star, Tori Amos, Poe, Delerium, and Josh Groban. Whew. And that's barely skimming the surface. I guess dance and music go hand in hand in many ways. Music inspires movement and dance, thus it has always been very motivating and important to me. Aside from dance and my love of music, I'm trying to do the acting thing in LA. We'll see how that goes... I'm outie like a belly button. Bye.
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Wednesday, March 02, 2005
"Life doesn't imitate art, it imitates bad television"
...perhaps one of the best quotes by Woody Allen that I know of.
So, of course I had to do it. I just couldn't help myself, so here it goes: Chanel's Review of the 2005 Academy Awards:
I promise to keep it brief and highly fashion and "What the fuck is up with them" based. I am, after all, a fashion/celebrity gossip expert ya' know.
Category #1: Best Dressed.
KATE WINSLET
Category #2: Most Likely to portray "Bjork" in "Icelandic Freak: The Edge of Sanity"
RENEE ZELLWEGER (left; Bjork right; the resemblance is startling)
 
Category #3: Most beautiful but Most in need of a few lbs. (what happened to her?...and her boobs? hello...)
NATALIE PORTMAN...
(Please, Don't Feed the Actors...)
 
Category #4: Best Hair...
SCARLETT JOHANSSON
Category #5: Best All Around...
CHARLIZE THERON
Category #6: Best OSCAR the Grouch Impersonation:
MARTIN SCORCESE
Category #7: Cutest Couple
JAMIE FOXX AND DATE, DAUGHTER CORINNE
Category #8: Most Interestingly Dressed Male...
JOHNNY DEPP (and still sexy)
Category #9: Most Annoying Performer Ever!!!
BEYONCE KNOWLES. Now, don't get me wrong, homegirl has the voice of an angel-- it's absolutely beautiful...but seriously, did she have to perform 3 freakin' times???
First Performance...
And then again...
3rd time is not always a charm...(but Josh Groban is freakin' amazing).
Category #10: Best Acceptance Speech:
JAMIE FOX...
This truly was a victorious night for African Americans, picking up not 1 but 2 Oscars. Morgan Freeman's time was long overdue, and it was heartwarming to see him finally receive recognition for his many years of exceptional performances. However, it was Jamie Foxx who captivated the audience and t.v. viewers alike with a speech that was nothing short of genuine, sweet, and tear-invoking. Towards the end, Foxx recounted instances in which his grandmother scolded him as a child for being unruly. He credited his grandmother, who raised him, with being his first "acting" teacher, though it was in referrence to him not "acting" out. Upon finishing his speech Foxx said, in between developing tears: "Now I talk to my grandma in my dreams. I can't wait to go to bed. Grandma, we have a lot to talk about." At that very moment, I felt tears beginning to swell up in my own eyes. It was a very sweet thing to say.
Please visit the Oscars homepage for the actual results from the Ceremony. I'm not going to list them here. I believe I've written enough for one night.
Posted at 01:23 am by TheWriteFling
Monday, February 14, 2005
Will YOU be my Valentine?
Is it possible for one with brown eyes to have pretty eyes?
According to a conversation I had this weekend with a random acquintance (friend's roomate), it is a rare find. I was not aware of this...
Guy: "You have really pretty eyes."
Me: (caught off guard) "Um...thanks."
Guy: It's rare for a girl with brown eyes to have pretty eyes.
Me: Ummm...o.k.
Guy: O.k., I that was ackward. I'm gonna go now...
Me: O.k.
The topic of my eyes was completely random, and is completely irrelevant to my life and pursuit of happiness. It was just funny, random, and I thought I'd share.
FYI: I have a really hot Valentine
Happy V-Day! Posted at 11:57 am by TheWriteFling
Monday, January 31, 2005
TRACKS THAT ATTRACT...
 Tegan and Sara
I've been away from my blog for quite some time, and by now I'm sure I have no viewers. So, I'm pluggin myself on other sites to hopefully bring the ratings back up (+2 would be splendiferous). Hopefully there is someone out there who will find my 20 year-old "words of wisdom" enlightening. Perhaps someone out there will find at least a kernel of humor in my comedic attempts (besides me of course). Perhaps someone will comment?
But when all is said and done, I don't really care all that much. This blog was started as a way to vent my frustrations about life, as well as happy things, and pretty much whatever was on my mind at a particular moment -- an Online journal of sorts-- A way to give my 9-5 working friends something to read and hopefully, laugh at, to take their minds off monotonous job tasks at hand--Something for anyone bored enough to take the plunge into my world for 10 minutes. For a while, the blog was a hit. I even made friends in other countries-- some whom could barely speak English, but somehow managed to get through my crazy blurbs that even my American friends have a hard time understanding at times -- not because I'm some Pulitzer Prize winning writer, but because I go off on tangents quite a bit. I write as thoughts come to me...results can often be migraine inducing.
But I promise you, I'm not that bad. Actually, on occasions I can be quite pleasant and if all goes as planned, my writing can be too...Simple, sweet, but never sugarcoated...Blatant, pure, honest-- these are three major things I try to maintain. If you disagree with something I have to say, I'd love to hear your take on things. If you agree with me, well, thank you, but please explain why. Don't just agree for the sake of being nice. I can't stand that.
Now that I've gotten that off my chest...
Thought of the day: Conformity is retarded. So is Ashlee Simpson, though I would never tell my 13 year old sister this. You wanna hear some good music? Go to Amazon.com and put in a search for: Tegan and Sara. It is a band made up 2 twin sisters, ironically, both lesbians. This fact really has no relevence to their music. I just found it interesting that they both are. With that being said, have no fear. They are no Le Tigre or Riot grrrrl band, nor do they profess to be (although I, myself, am a fan of angry-chick rock). They do not shove feminist ideologies down your throat, nor do they even make feeble attempts to. They do, however, make questionable references here and there. References that might make one ponder: ARE THEY? References that left me intrigued when I bought their last album a little over a year ago ( If It Was You). So, I did some research and my suspicions were affirmed. But lets forget the sexual-preference factor now, shall we?
Tegan and Sara's latest album, So Jealous is a true testament to what this talented sister-duo is capable of. The title track, " So Jealous" is a modern adaptation of 80's pop-punk at its best. By far my favorite track on the album. But don't take my word for it, check it out for yourself. If you're the type of person that typically listens to "Whatever is on the radio," why not try something new? I guarantee that a majority of the best music artists in the world today, are virtually unknown. It takes time, effort, and a whole lot of listening to find them -- you won't hear them on your local pop station, played in between constant rotations of Ashlee Simpson and Good Charlotte (no offense to anyone who may like them).
It is not every day that a particular song or album comes out that is so refreshing, so new, so...GOOD (for lack of a better adjective)...that it leaves a lasting impression on you. So Jealous did this for me, and hopefully it will do the same for you. Just make sure to thank me when you buy this cd and instantly fall in love with it. And if you discover that Tegan and Sara is not your cup of tea...well, so be it. You're entitled to preferences...I guess.
My work here is done...
Posted at 06:43 pm by TheWriteFling
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
Do You Love Me Now That I Can Dance?
Well, as many of you may know, I can mash potato. I am also well known for doing the twist. But what I want to know is, do you like me like this? Tell me...tell me...tell me...(please)
O.k., so by now you've learned what a big dork I can be. But this dork also happens to be a world class ventriloquist; in 46 different languages at that, and of those languages, an additional 120 dialects. Bet ya' didn't know that!
In all seriousness though, most people know me as "the dancer"-- by major, by title, and by trade (though I have yet to receive any monetary benefits from it). I have been dancing since the age of 4. Some kids aren't even potty-trained yet at this age (though I feel really bad for them and question their developmental progress). I danced my way through figure skating rehearsals, and adolescence, stopping briefly for some fresh air and relaxation from time to time, then starting again when I was ready. But it wasn't until I reached high school that I fully understood my potential as a dancer, nor how much I truly loved it. It became a sort of surrogate boyfriend for me-- boys didn't like me in high school for various reasons, hence, dance became my teenage love-affair...that lasted! Now, in college, boys aren't really such a problem anymore...well, in other ways...but dance and I are still glued at the hip. I love it dearly, and aside from the times it causes me great physical pain and injuries, it loves me too.
As time progressed, dance changed it's form and purpose in my life-- it went from being a hobby, a childish fling if you will, to being a necissity. I thrive on it, I live for it, and though I have tried taking breaks in recent years to prove I can find a replacement, I am unable to. There is no replacement for dance. Nothing, not acting, nor boys, nor anything else in the world, can come close the kind of replationship the two of us have.
Dance has seen me through some of the roughest and lowest points in my life. It served as a therapeutic outlet for me in those days. It showed me that despite all the bad things our environment and/or life may present us with, whether real or just perceived, there is always something positive that can be learned and gained from it. In many cases, I have manipulated dance to be viewed and expressed as an art form, although I like to think of it more as a form of personal expression as opposed to artistic expression. My intent is not to entertain with my movement-- artistically, metaphorically, or in any other way-- My intent is to portray someting that's inside me-- what I'm thinking, what I'm feeling. Dance evolves when I do and blossoms and shines when I do. It is real and honest when and only when I am. It hurts when I hurt, laughs when I laugh, and embellishes on the two when I am caught somewhere in limbo. It is always there inside of me, screaming to be let free. I guess you could say that in many ways, dance is...me. Posted at 01:20 am by TheWriteFling
Friday, November 26, 2004
I'm Thankful For the Sky and the Animals, and...and...
Hmmmm...I haven't written in quite sometime and as a result, I fear I'm a little rusty at the skill of blog-writing, so you'll have to excuse me for any mishaps I make along the way. First and foremost, I'd like to appologize to my dwindeling fan base for not keeping you more informed and entertained in your daily quest for...I don't know what...whatever it is that you all are searching for in life. With that being said, please don't hold it against me. I am but one person in the world and my words, however humurous and insightful they sometimes may be, are very humble and insignificant in the grand scheme of things. So why do I even write then, and to approximately 6 people at that, 3 of whom actually ever leave comments on here?...Well, that is a very good question indeed, and one I fear I am unable to answer at this time. I suppose one possible reason is that I just love to write-- for the pure and simple sake of expressing myself and all the crazy little thoughts and ideas that pop into my head. Another possiblity is that I have no life. This too, is very likely. But let's not jump to any conclusions, especially ones that make me look slightly retarded and uncool.
This week has been nothing short of interesting, filled with contradictions and confusions and chaos and coolness, all wrapped up into one super-duper week-long package. The four "C's" this week include boys of course (when does my life not consist of boys in some way, shape or form), friends, and the other "f" word: FAMILY. For, Thanksgiving is a time of bonding, of solidarity, of lots and lots and lots of food, and lots and lots of interesting and sometimes unavoidable conversations, like those with my great-grandmother that seem to always revolve around a female body part of some sort. Mostly boobs and asses. You know, I really didn't care to discuss the size, nor shape, nor anything related to my mother's boobs, but because my grandma is old and already mad at the world for letting her get that way, I decided to let her have her fun with subject anyway. My friend Laura whom was present in the conversation, kindly excused herself from the table. I didn't blame her. In fact, I envied her ability to do so. But I stuck it out like a true champ, and when I finally dropped my great-granny off at her condo after the days festivities had come to an end, I felt a huge weight lifted off my shoulders. Conversations in which you will never have the last word or be right even if you are, and to agree with things to which you absolutely disagree, is a huge relief to finally be freed from. I love my great-grandmother beyond comprehension...but damn can homegirl drive you crazy.
The food was good, the company (for the most part) was good. My parents were there with my sisters as well as a new addition to the family: a Cocker Spaniel thinga majiggy mixed with some other thinga majiggy to make one cute, but very odd-looking Cocker Spaniel Mixajiggy. In short: they got a dog and the dog is a male and this male dog has a name and that name is Rusty and he is very cute and stands with his paws out to both sides like a ballerina. I love him. Moving on...
I'm sitting here at the moment, with a cold. I've been sick twice this month. I have a doctor's appointment today to check out my leg which I hurt earlier this month. Cross your fingers. Hopefully it's getting better. I don't really know. In other news-- I'm confused about boys and life and why I'm confused at all and why my head is about to explode from thinking so much about the confusion that the boys and life have caused, and I think I need to lay down now before this confusion leads to some serious mental damage. But before I lay down, I have made a short list of what I am thankful for and I have decided to share it with you. Feel lucky:
I AM THANKFUL FOR:
1). Hats to cover up bad hair days (like I have today)
2). Boys
3). The way boys can be wonderful and aggrevating at the same time but never cease to amaze you all the while
4). Indie Rock
5). Femminist Riot Grrrrl rock
6). Kathleen Hannah and her contributions to the abovementioned
7). My mom and dad for bringing me into the world, which really should have been number 1 on this list.
8). Just kidding, God should be number one on this list.
9). My stepmom's little cornbread muffins. Perhaps I am pregnant, I've been craving this nearly daily...wait, no, I shouldn't joke about that...
10). I was totally joking about the pregancy thing, which I suppose is the ninth thing I am thankful for (NOT being).
11). Where the hell is my step mom's cornbread? I just looked for it cause talking about it made me hungry...someone took it. grrrr...
12). Green apple Smirnoff Ice.
13). not having a penis-- hermaphotiditism is just weird.
14). Having a fully functional brain and the ability to sometimes use it
15). little doggies.
16). My friends whom will always be like family to me
17). Successfully kidnapping Laura on Thanksgiving and forcing large portions of Turkey and stuffing down her throat.
18). Guys who can kiss well...
19). Caffeine, to which I owe my health, happiness, sanity, teeth that will never be Crestfully White, bad breath that requires gum, and making it to my morning classes-- not on time, but always with zest (not because I'm happy to be in class, but because caffeine has been scientifically proven to raise one's metabolism and energy level :-)
20). Life, liberty, and the pursuit to say whatever the hell I want to say in my blog entries. Like: "Brittney Spears is an ugly, man-using whore. Don't ever buy her records again!"
Same goes for Paris Hilton...
The End...
Posted at 02:21 pm by TheWriteFling
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Marvin and The Trendy Hand Bag...
O.k., so I know it's been awhile, but as promised, here is the next installment to the "Marvin the Midget" miniseries for your reading pleasure. Enjoy!
Marvin looked to the left, then the right-- nervous, suspicious-- Was anyone looking at him? No. That's weird, thought Marvin. People are usually looking at me.
He shrugged it off, decided that there was no better time to take the purse than now, and that's just what he did. With his little legs, he ran as fast as they would permit him, until he was sure he had run far enough away from any potential witnesses.
He sauntered into work, smooth and calm in demeaner, but nervous as heck on the inside-- He was sure that everyone knew...Marvin was a theif. They could see it in his eyes, stiff and unblinking, in his walk, he never walked. He was usually running late; literally.
However, today he was especially late; embarrassingly late. It was now 8:30 and he usually started work around 8. Marvin continued to walk slowly in the direction of his office, hoping and praying that his boss would not magically appear from the dark corners of "devil-boss land" and Interrogate him on his wherabouts that morning, then spend an hour reeming him for it.
Finally reaching his destination, he entered his office, took a seat at his customized desk and chair, perfect for his height, and sunk into the soft, plush leather. He let out a long and deliberate sigh-- the little guy was tired. And rightfully so-- This morning had been nothing short of exausting, not to mention, pain-invoking.
Marvin pulled up his pant legs and observed the big, purple bruises forming on his knees. How had there been so many damn rocks and objects just lying around in the middle of busy Manhattan streets? And why was he seemingly the only person to trip over them?
But, remembering the purse, which was sitting nimbly in the middle of the floor, Marvin's self-pity quickly diminished, and a sinister glee replaced it. He walked over to the purse, growing more and more excited and curious with each step. He beemed over it for a minute or two before finally reaching over and picking up.
Back in his chair, Marvin studied the exterior for awhile. It was a very nice purse indeed-- Black and Gray canvas with a black leather handle and the initials D&G on a silver tab on the front.
"Dolce and Gabana?" Marvin asked aloud, "This woman must have LOTS of money inside."
Without further anticipation, his hands plunged inside the trendy bag, and out they came with a wallet; same design as the purse. How cute, he thought, it's just like me...mini. Marvin zipped open the wallet and immediately looked inside the cash compartment. His eyes widened with glee-- there in front of his face he held 10 crisp 100 dollar bills. There were a few 20's and 1's in the mix too, but he didn't concern himself with those diminutive sums. 1000 dollars! Man, this woman HAD to be rich. Who carried cash around like that? Most people used plastic for everything these days.
This thought led him to grow curious about the cards this annonymous woman possed. So, he looked inside the credit card pockets-- Visa, Mastercard, Bank Debit card-- they were all there and all very much screaming "LOADED!"
But as Marvin examined the rest of the contents of the wallet, something caught his eye. Something shiny sitting just behind the lady's I.D. card. He pulled the object out a little further, and nearly dropped everything right then and there-- A BADGE!
In nice bold letters on the front read the words: Laura H. Plackard, F.B.I. F.B.I! thought Marvin, I'm screwed if I keep this purse!
Just at that moment, Marvin's office door swung open abruptly, and there in the doorway loomed a tall, balding, and obviously upset middle-aged man...Mr. Briole'...Marvin's boss...
What happens next? Or rather...what do you want to happen next? Posted at 01:10 pm by TheWriteFling
Saturday, November 06, 2004
Questions to Ponder...
Have you ever found yourself asking logical questions about things that exist that seem somewhat illogical? Well, here are some questions to ponder while you're pondering the others as well. Or, just something to read if you're bored...
*Why do people who know the least know it the loudest?
*When vultures are on their deathbed, are they ever tempted to eat themselves?
*Why aren't there bullet-proof pants?
*If women ran the Pentagon, would missiles and submarines be shaped differently?
*Do Lipton employees take coffee breaks?
*Why is the time of day with the slowest traffic called "rush hour"?
*If you're cross-eyed and have dyslexia, can you read all right?
*If blind people wear dark glasses, why don't deaf people wear earmuffs?
*If a turtle doesn't have a shell, is it homeless or naked?
*Why do they report power outages on TV?
*When it rains, why don't sheep shrink?
Posted at 06:07 pm by TheWriteFling
Monday, November 01, 2004
It's Not the Size of Your Spaceman Gun, It's How You Use It...
So you want to mess with me??? Better think again...
Halloween...ahhh...it was fucking good. Now, simply calling it "good" would not be as effective in getting my point cross I don't think. Nor do I think that "good" is a very good adjective to use in many scenarios. The word "good" is used way too much: "How are you today?"-- "Good"..."How was the show?"..."Good"...etc...etc...blah blah blah. But, if you add the word "fucking" in front of it, it somehow changes the intention. It wasn't just "good" it was "fucking good." Fucking, being a bad word, is suddenly made into something of a positive connotation. Therefore, I propose the idea of using the words together when responding to a question in which the questioner is anticipating the response "good" before you even open your mouth (I mean, how many times when you ask someone "how are you?" etc., do you expect to hear the response, "oh, you know, not so good."): "How is your balogna sandwich?"-- "It's fucking good!"...
And now that I've broken down the significance and power of the phrase "fucking good," I will explain how it applies to my Halloween. The night went down something like this...
My friend P.J picked me up at, hmmm...say 9:30ish, with some of his friends. We went to West Hollywood, which on Halloween night is an armageddonesque/gay parade/alcohol frenzy of thousands of costumed bodies frolicking about the windy street of Santa Monica Blvd. You will never see more gay men dressed as women in your life. So, we walked around the jam-packed streets full of weirdos and so many original and unique costumes that you find yourself asking the age-old question: "Hey, why didn't I think of that?" I was dressed as Audrey Hepburn a la "Breakfast at Tiffany's." No surprises there. Not a big risk, not a big gain. This guy Mike, however, had one of the most original costumes ever that he got out of some "Martha Stewart Living" magazine. He was a space man-- Thermal shirt and long-johns with duck tape on the sleaves and sides of the pants, a guitar strap for a gun holster, a toy space-trooper type of gun which he wore stragegically placed hanging down over his ass (an appropriate location given our location-- West Hollywood-- gay-central of Los Angeles), and the best part of all...a Helmit made out of tons of styrofoam cups. Oh, and he used egg cartons for armor. It was the most hilarious costume ever and people were complimenting him left and right, asking for pictures, etc. We ended up at some bar at midnight, drank, and had a jolly-old time.
Now, for the comedic part of this story...oh, you knew there had to be one...So, me and this girl Beverly, the only girls in a group of testosterone-filled guys I might add, had to pee really bad, but all the bathrooms we came across had really long lines in which we'd have to wait like an hour; just to pee! So, we said "screw that," and thought 'well...maybe the alley isn't that bad,' and because we were tipsy and didn't really give a crap about public decency at that point, and because we just had to pee sooo freakin' bad, we walked down dark alleys, anxiously looking for a corner that wasn't already occupied by some drunk guy relieving himself. Finally, when we had given up hope, we went to a dark street which was not very hidden from public-view, in fact people kept passing by quite frequently, which made trying to be discreet a near-impossible task, but we finally just went. Luckily, I had this humongous petticoat that I had found in the front-room closet of my house, that I'm sure one of my deceased relatives wore while standing in bread lines in the freezing-cold streets of Philadelphia during the Great Depression. Well, it came in handy for them 75 years ago, and it came in handy for Bev and I last night-- It was our sheild so passerbyers couldn't see certain body parts while we crouched down behind someone's trash can and peed...a lot. Looking back now, I feel horrible for contaminating someone's property in such a shameless act. But at the time, it seemed our only option. Needless to say, it was hilarious, albeit disgusting (as I got pee all over my shoes..yeah, it sucked), and we laughed all the way back to where the boys were waiting for us...a bit annoyed that we had left them waiting so long.
Needless to say, a few perverted stares, random transvestites coming up to us and saying random-drunken things, flirting with firemen (real ones. ya know, the one's that risk their lives to save people, and have big muscles), and after walking about 2 1/2 miles in heals back to our cars, I made it home safe and sound and relatively sober at 2 a.m. What can I say, it was a "fucking good" Halloween!
But, waking up at 8 a.m. for a 9:30 class...not so fun. Not in the least. But luckily, I wasn't the only one who was in a groggy and dishevled state in Biology this morning. As I looked around the classroom, the blank, glassy stares and sunglassed faces suddenly put my mind at ease. I sipped a 7'11 coffee, and looked down the aisle, noticing another girl about my age also sipping a coffee. She looked back at me with a knowing glance, and there was a brief understanding between the two of us...we were not alone.
Well, I hope everyone had a "fucking good" Halloween, too. Please email me and tell me all your event-filled and amusing stories. Even if it was just a case of: "I passed out candy to kids, ate some fun-sized Snickers, then crashed," it still has to be an interesting story. Be creative. Make something up if you must. I don't care. But you must write me. That is an order.
Quote of the day: "JESUS SAVES!!!" -- "Saved" Posted at 02:55 pm by TheWriteFling
Monday, October 25, 2004
Oh, Cinderella They Aren't Sluts Like You...
Some more lyrics for your viewing pleasure...
These ones are super new. Let me know what you think. Y'all are super at providing feedback. I appreciate any and all that I can get. Really. Peace and love...
<<<Your Title Here>>>
Don't ask me how it started
I don't even know your name
I have tried hard to remember
But it always ends the same
You look like you could use a hug, a friend
It might be fun to be the one or just pretend
Can you find your hidden purpose
Find a cause for which to stand
I may not know your shoe size
but I sure can lend a hand
Chorus
It's the morning and I'm waiting for the sun, the afternoon
I may not know your favorite song, but I hope to know it soon
Forget what people tell you
They're full of shit and lies
I may be full of shit too
but I'm willing ot compromise
You look like you could use a hug, a friend
It might be fun to be the one or just pretend
I pulled out all the labels
All the dirt and all the shame
But there's no point pressing further
When I still don't know your name
Chorus
I hung up all my doubts
It's time to try on something new
Although it would be nice to have a title
For this song, and you
Coffee Cure Like You
Fall softly
Be still
Die slowly
If you will
But don't tempt me
With your eyes, your curse, your stare
I'm unprepared
Drink coffee
To be pure
Though it's an unoffical cure
To heal the tired, the weak, the young
If youth is wasted so be it, I'm done
Chorus
Today
Tomorrow
Next week
Next autumn
Who's counting the days, the months, the weeks
I'll still be waiting for your coffee cure, please
Come quickly
If you must
To be closer
To my touch
Your tempted by my sultry, eye-lined stare
Read the hidden fine-print if you dare
It's always there
Chorus
Audrey Eyes
Passing rolling hills
and late night thrills
Are you empty broken heart?
Though the jagged edge
And the greenest hedge
Would have you think it's modern art
With the beating drum
And 8-track hum
Can you hear my Audrey eyes?
With the world at stake
And your girlish ache for love, I want your surprise
Oh, says my Audrey eyes.
Am I making sense
With this false pretense
In the shadows gentle night?
Well the weeds are long
So is my angry song
We'll have to cut them both tonight
Please don't edit this
I don't regret the kiss
Hungry lover you're the fame
That I adore
15 minutes more will having you begging for the same--
My Audrey eyes
If your dolpin cries
With its broken ties
Feed it love until he's saved
Then rely on this
A painted lipstick kiss
To remind you love can also stain
I'm not a scientist
Or a drunk artist
But I'm slurring words, insane
Cuz my boyish ache-
and heart and yours beat as one and want the same
My Audrey eyes
Your dolphin cries
My beating drum
And happy ho-hum
Your girlish ache
When the world's at stake
With a needle and thread
Sew me into your head
Posted at 02:47 pm by TheWriteFling
Friday, October 15, 2004
The Adventures of Marvin the Midget...
I am starting a new weekly series which I will post at the end of each week (or as often as I remember or have time for). This story will be all about a special little guy named "Marvin" and various adventures he goes through in his quest to find the meaning of life. Or at the very least, where he stands in it. My privaledged readers will get to provide input for the stories and might even see their idea published. Also, I should mention that I do not wish to offend anyone of a midgit or dwarf decent, or anyone that finds jokes about short-people offensive. This is strictly a ficticious story meant to entertain and humor it's viewers. If you think you might be offended by the subject matter, then I strongly suggest you turn away now. Otherwise, stay tuned and enjoy the glorious spectacle, of tiny proportions, about to unveil itself before you eyes...
Chapter ONE:
It was late July... No, that's not right...It was late May, and a curious little man woke up to the sound of an annoying pop song by an anonymous pop star.
"Damn alarm clock. Shut up!" He yelled, and in a hasty attempt to save his ears from the abnoxious noise escaping his Mickey Mouse radio speakers, he threw his pillow at the object, knocking it over. The protective cover to the batteries came off spilling it's contents, 2 AA Duracel, on the floor.
"Damnit!" yelled the man, who happens to have a name and that name is, Marvin. "My favorite radio. Gosh!" (if you're starting to picture Napoleon Dynamite in your head, do..but don't).
Marvin jumped out of bed and ran to his little childish clock-radio, put the batteries back in, and turned the knobs to make sure it still worked. The annoying song came back on, so apparently it was fine. What a relief.
Marvin then performed the rest of his morning rituals: Peeing, brushing his teeth, taking a shower, and preparing his breakfast: Special K with Calcium enriched Soy milk-- for strong bones. And of course no morning would be complete without the daily measurement.
Marvin kept a Muppets Measuring poster from when he was a kid on his wall to check his height each day, and today was no different. He stood straight, back against the wall, neck stretched high and erect, and put his hand right above his head as a place-holder. He then turned around with eager eyes to see the results-- 42" (that's 3'6" in case you were wondering).
"The same as yesterday," said Marvin with a sad sigh. The numbers were the same everyday, and yet he held on to that glimmer of hope that one day, his bowl of Special K and soy milk would pay off and he would suddenly find himself no longer a midgit, but a tall and confident man. Today would not be his day, though.
With this knowledge, Marvin trudged out the front door and down the street towards the Subway. He tripped over a rock laying in the middle of the sidewalk.
"What the hell?!" he yelled, rubbing his sore knees before standing up, dusting himself off, eyes darting left and right in a cool manner, and stepping out again.
As he passed Central Park, he looked to his right and noticed something very odd-- an elderly woman doing a headstand on a bench. It was a very strange sight indeed, and Marvin walked a little closer to get a better view of her and even closer still until he was standing witin conversation distance. She had her eyes closed as if she were deep in thought, but they sprang open the second she felt Marvin's presence. This sudden loss of concentration caused her to become unsteady and she toppled over, slamming into the hard pavement.
"Ouch!" She screeched.
"I'm so sorry," said Marvin, as he rushed to help her up.
"Don't touch me! Stay away!" She shouted, shooting a warning glance.
"I'm so sorry," he repeated, "I don't even know what I did wrong exactly, but..."
"Oh, stop with the apologizing, Marvin." Said the old woman, dusting off her pants and pushing herself back up on the bench.
"How did you know my name?" Asked Marvin, perplexed.
The woman pulled herself up into a normal sitting position. "Oh, that's not all I know about you."
"Really?" he was really curious now.
"Well, you're Vertically challenged for one thing."
"Thanks, thanks a lot!" said Marvin with a huff.
"Secondly, you work for a pig-headed boss whose job description leaves much to be desired."
"That is true. But who doesn't? With all due respect, all this stuff you're saying-- not so impressive. What I want to know is how you know my name."
The woman sat and contemplated for a second, then replied: "You have a nametag on."
Marvin looked down at his polo shirt and noticed his work nametag pinned over his right pec. Feeling quite stupid, he apologized for being so brash with her. She accepted his apology, and then began to explain why she had been balancing on her head moments earlier-- she was practicing a new yoga move for a class she taught in SoHo, and offered him a discount to take clases with her. He said he'd think about it, but honestly had no intentions of going.
Marvin and the woman exchanged good-bye's, and he trudged along back in the direction of the subway. He would surely be late for work now, but he didn't care. If this acting stuff continued to go well for him, he wouldn't need his silly "day job" anymore. He could tell his pig-headed, lazy boss where to put it. The year before, Marvin had been a lead elf in the film "Bad Santa" starring Billy Bob Thorton, and was sure that film would catapult him into mainstream stardom. So far no such luck, but there was still hope. Hey, there was a high demand for midgits these days.
Just as Marvin was nearing the Subway he tripped over a purse lying in the middle of the sidewalk.
"Just my freakin' luck!" yelled Marvin to the world. As if it was listening.
"Look at the little man, mommy. He fell down." Said a kid passing by, with a look of concern and confusion in their eyes.
"It's called "midgit" kid!" Snapped Marvin. He was in a very bad mood at this point. That is, until it hit him what he had tripped over-- a purse!
His first thought was that maybe, just maybe, he could get a date from it. If he just looked inside the wallet, found the driver's licence, found where the woman lived and brought the purse back to her, she might be so overwhelmed with joy that she'd invite him in for something drink and maybe, just maybe, something a little extra. Women are always more friendly when in a vulnerable state.
But Marvin quickly snapped out of his dilusion and realized something even more grand than women and the slightest possibility of receiving love and affection from them...money. There HAD to be money in the purse. He made an honest and comfortable living, but where's the harm in taking a little more?...
NOW'S YOUR TURN...What should Marvin do? Should he take the money (if there is any)? Or should he do the honest and respectable thing and return the purse to the woman? You decide. Then I will...
Posted at 03:32 pm by TheWriteFling
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