"One of the more confusing facets of American independent music is that, all too often, its purveyors refuse to operate outside the confines of California and New York. Like scattering insects, record labels and bands head for the nation's extremities when they get the itch to hit it big, leaving the red meat in the middle of the USA fattened with nothing but country acts and regional hip-hop groups. For an art form purportedly devoted to the rise of authentic sound, indie's hotbeds are certainly skewed."
-Cord Jefferson
("OK in OK happy with Other Lives."
Filter Magazine, Holiday '08.)
AMEN.
26 December 2008
the way you brush the hair off your forehead
I have a confession to make.
Not a real ousting of sorts since I assume most who read this know me.
I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.
I wanted to say that because I've been looking through the November 2008 Ensign, the General Conference issue, and it's full of documentary.
The black and white photos that they tuck in with dear messages remind me of everything I love. I'm sorry I'm not sure where to find a link for you to enjoy them also. I've included a few of mine though.
Have I ever told you why I'm studying documentary?
Because I'm rosy-eyed, or something of the sort.
Because I love every wrinkle in your face (botox is my nemesis). Because I love every moment spent with you, the trinkets I find on the ground, your stories, your doodles, your efficiencies and inefficiencies. I love your stutters, your word patterns, your differing ideas.
Now why?
Because you are divine.
And maybe by sharing and recording our divinity we'll all have a few more answers, we'll wear each other down like polished rocks, we'll sit on front porches and play banjos and do mad-libs, we'll see God a little bit more.
That's all I wanted to say today.
Love you all. Love you world.
Sincerely,
rosy-eyed Marge
23 December 2008
unveiled
LADIES AND GENTLEMENT!!!!!
you can subscribe to me on iTunes.
My videos anyway.
search "beeyork."
And don't watch "lunch" it's the worst thing I've ever made in my life.
all my love,
Marge.
12 December 2008
whispering after jokes and weeping willows and your odd timing
I hate when I don't take a sleeping pill and then three in the morning rolls around and I'm staring at the ceiling.
I've been trying to ignore dead horses all night. I try to tell the horses to go away, they're dead, I don't like beating dead horses. They insist they're only mostly dead, just in need of some CPR. I tell them it's uncouth and unthinkable to give a horse CPR.Nothing doing.
-We're only dead, they tell me, if you don't take any action.
-Well, you will always be dead, I say, because all courses of action pertaining to you dead horses sound like raving lunacy.
-In that case, you won't sleep tonight, they say as they waltz around the room. Changing into different spectral shapes, acting out Shakespeare, Milton, and my life.
After the first hour of this I read 'The Hiding Place' for two hours. I may love books, but I love my sleep better.
I tried sleeping for another hour after that. And I've tried silently shaking my fists at the dead horses while mouthing, "I don't believe in you, you are dead. Dead, dead, dead. There's more of gravy than of grave about you."
-Ha, ha! You're a funny one, they say. You're a funny clever little one and that's why we've come to stay.
-Oh no, don't do that! Send in the sheep, I beg of you. I'll count them one by one. I'll count every mutty hair on their backs. Only please, go away. I'll drink tea! I'll drink tea, I swear I will! Warm milk!
-If you didn't want to have this argument, says one dead horse, you should have taken that sleeping pill, but now it's too late.
-Can't we have this discussion in the daytime, like rational people? I ask.
-No. Says another dead horse, You should never go to bed angry.
I never did like horses.
I've been trying to ignore dead horses all night. I try to tell the horses to go away, they're dead, I don't like beating dead horses. They insist they're only mostly dead, just in need of some CPR. I tell them it's uncouth and unthinkable to give a horse CPR.Nothing doing.
-We're only dead, they tell me, if you don't take any action.
-Well, you will always be dead, I say, because all courses of action pertaining to you dead horses sound like raving lunacy.
-In that case, you won't sleep tonight, they say as they waltz around the room. Changing into different spectral shapes, acting out Shakespeare, Milton, and my life.
After the first hour of this I read 'The Hiding Place' for two hours. I may love books, but I love my sleep better.
I tried sleeping for another hour after that. And I've tried silently shaking my fists at the dead horses while mouthing, "I don't believe in you, you are dead. Dead, dead, dead. There's more of gravy than of grave about you."
-Ha, ha! You're a funny one, they say. You're a funny clever little one and that's why we've come to stay.
-Oh no, don't do that! Send in the sheep, I beg of you. I'll count them one by one. I'll count every mutty hair on their backs. Only please, go away. I'll drink tea! I'll drink tea, I swear I will! Warm milk!
-If you didn't want to have this argument, says one dead horse, you should have taken that sleeping pill, but now it's too late.
-Can't we have this discussion in the daytime, like rational people? I ask.
-No. Says another dead horse, You should never go to bed angry.
I never did like horses.
08 December 2008
endgame.
Tonight I walked past a sad sight, on Nina's Pizza window scrawled in ugly red letters was the word, "CLOSED."
I'll have to find a new place for karaoke, a new place to buy that dark, bitter San Pellegrino, a new place for cheap large pizza slices that I can get topped with artichoke.
I'll have to find a new place for karaoke, a new place to buy that dark, bitter San Pellegrino, a new place for cheap large pizza slices that I can get topped with artichoke.
05 December 2008
untitled number 357
Watched a film, yep, at a dollar theatre.
When the time was up, and we stood and shuffled towards the front to the exit door, I was still thinking over the title I saw on the credits, "First Assistant Accountant." First thought that had flashed my mind, "I don't remember seeing any accountants in this film." Ha. Ha. I am a film major, right? N'est-ce pas ? Then I paused underneath the screen as the white titles kept stretching up above me, names and claims. I might, just possibly, be on one of those lists one day. You may see a film and deep, dark, down on one of those lists will be a little name of mine and you will never know. Maybe partly in my heart I'll be saying, "the views expressed in this film are not necissarily the views of my own. The sense of humor in this film is probably most definitely not my own."
But I worked. And you watched. And it was all ok.
When the time was up, and we stood and shuffled towards the front to the exit door, I was still thinking over the title I saw on the credits, "First Assistant Accountant." First thought that had flashed my mind, "I don't remember seeing any accountants in this film." Ha. Ha. I am a film major, right? N'est-ce pas ? Then I paused underneath the screen as the white titles kept stretching up above me, names and claims. I might, just possibly, be on one of those lists one day. You may see a film and deep, dark, down on one of those lists will be a little name of mine and you will never know. Maybe partly in my heart I'll be saying, "the views expressed in this film are not necissarily the views of my own. The sense of humor in this film is probably most definitely not my own."
But I worked. And you watched. And it was all ok.
04 December 2008
j'apprendre lentement le français
These are the times that I wish I were more focused, for I wish to know all about squash. Squash, squash, squash shall be on my grocery list for Saturday. I am terribly excited to be reunited with the grocery store as it feels like I haven't been there in forever. However, it's been less than a week.
Did you know that, Dear Reader? I am in love with grocery stores. I don't care that I've been shopping small town, limited stock, not the best quality grocery stores my entire life. They are my favorite type of merchant. Ohhhh wait that's hard...thrift stores have more spontaneity (say that "spon tan a it ee" with that first "t" pronounced, because that's how I wrote it today).
Donc*.
I wish I were more focused to have a more squash knowledgeable audience. Do you cook squash, comrade? What's your favorite? I want to know it all.
Because on Saturday I am going to wrap up in scarf and hat, listen to a podcast (because I'm in a podcast obsessive class and family) (the better grammar inducing kind or maybe the latest from our President-elect or relisten to Hergé's documentator's interview) (Hergé because I decided the reason I'm studying French is for Tintin) and promonade en velo to the supermarché.
Found lots of good readings for informing on squashes, however, my frontal lobe is squashed under severe head cold and glasses strain. (also discovered a place that sells herbal chai and recipes for bagels, real boiled bagels!)
Tell me all your squash secrets please. You can even whisper them in my ears as I walk around these next couple of days. Or a good poem. Need a new poem. Maybe I'll pull out my little pocket Emily Dickinson again.
Love,
Marge
*translates: therefore. You know it well, "Je pense, donc je suis." Yet another favorite of my old 101 professors: ten times a day she'd say donc or alors. 101 is full of lots of sweet madness including practicing your french hesitations. Never say umm always say eh, errr, bon.
promonade en velo=ride my bike
Eh bien, je finis.
Did you know that, Dear Reader? I am in love with grocery stores. I don't care that I've been shopping small town, limited stock, not the best quality grocery stores my entire life. They are my favorite type of merchant. Ohhhh wait that's hard...thrift stores have more spontaneity (say that "spon tan a it ee" with that first "t" pronounced, because that's how I wrote it today).
Donc*.
I wish I were more focused to have a more squash knowledgeable audience. Do you cook squash, comrade? What's your favorite? I want to know it all.
Because on Saturday I am going to wrap up in scarf and hat, listen to a podcast (because I'm in a podcast obsessive class and family) (the better grammar inducing kind or maybe the latest from our President-elect or relisten to Hergé's documentator's interview) (Hergé because I decided the reason I'm studying French is for Tintin) and promonade en velo to the supermarché.
Found lots of good readings for informing on squashes, however, my frontal lobe is squashed under severe head cold and glasses strain. (also discovered a place that sells herbal chai and recipes for bagels, real boiled bagels!)
Tell me all your squash secrets please. You can even whisper them in my ears as I walk around these next couple of days. Or a good poem. Need a new poem. Maybe I'll pull out my little pocket Emily Dickinson again.
Love,
Marge
*translates: therefore. You know it well, "Je pense, donc je suis." Yet another favorite of my old 101 professors: ten times a day she'd say donc or alors. 101 is full of lots of sweet madness including practicing your french hesitations. Never say umm always say eh, errr, bon.
promonade en velo=ride my bike
Eh bien, je finis.
01 December 2008
an overly long letter to one who does not hear but only creeps. Yes, I am young but something*
Dear Spider,
In this, my postmortem address to you, I would like to go over a few things I could not explain before the consequences of my no-tolerance policy killed you.
You crossed the line tonight. You invaded my privacy in an act that mounted near sacrilege. You are not allowed near my bed, let alone on my bed. That boundary has been clearly drawn for all my 21.5 years. There has always been a rectangular area marked "bed" and the free space beyond that is marked "not bed." This should not be difficult for you to understand. I trust that since your species is still around you have evolved to develop some sort of intelligence.
We do not have the kind of relationship where you are welcome in my bed. We are neither married nor in love. Your little brown body does not seduce me and I do not find you to meet my qualifications for cuddly pet. I find you repugnant. So repugnant that I sent my roommate to deal with you. Yes, I called in a third party. I do not feel sorry for this drastic and impersonal action although I suppose I hope you rest in peace.
As ever,
Marge
Would you like to know that yours truly (Marge, in case you had any doubts) is carrying out her promise to classy-fy and paint towns red? I find myself brushing up my grammar (I worry about my comma usage and the placement of my prepositional phrases), watching to see if my blind date's flappy shirt cuffs will get in his food (I hate saying things like this that verge on criticism of a person's style, especially a boy who is taking me out, because of my theory of differing priorities and biting the hand that feeds you and other compassionate and mumbling reasons---THEREFORE it is not meant in a critical manner I just noted that my grandmother would have had similar feelings), contemplating the proper way to sit up straight and cross my legs (though I still die for a footrest tout le temps!*), and I am bestowing the status of "crush" as liberally as if it were noblesse oblige. ¡Viva!
That included too many words for a mini saga update.
*The last part of the title is in reference to a line from Macbeth that actually reads "...I am young; but something..." The semicolon giving an entirely different meaning (Vivian Bearing and I should have a party about that one).
The French means "all the time."
In this, my postmortem address to you, I would like to go over a few things I could not explain before the consequences of my no-tolerance policy killed you.
You crossed the line tonight. You invaded my privacy in an act that mounted near sacrilege. You are not allowed near my bed, let alone on my bed. That boundary has been clearly drawn for all my 21.5 years. There has always been a rectangular area marked "bed" and the free space beyond that is marked "not bed." This should not be difficult for you to understand. I trust that since your species is still around you have evolved to develop some sort of intelligence.
We do not have the kind of relationship where you are welcome in my bed. We are neither married nor in love. Your little brown body does not seduce me and I do not find you to meet my qualifications for cuddly pet. I find you repugnant. So repugnant that I sent my roommate to deal with you. Yes, I called in a third party. I do not feel sorry for this drastic and impersonal action although I suppose I hope you rest in peace.
As ever,
Marge
Would you like to know that yours truly (Marge, in case you had any doubts) is carrying out her promise to classy-fy and paint towns red? I find myself brushing up my grammar (I worry about my comma usage and the placement of my prepositional phrases), watching to see if my blind date's flappy shirt cuffs will get in his food (I hate saying things like this that verge on criticism of a person's style, especially a boy who is taking me out, because of my theory of differing priorities and biting the hand that feeds you and other compassionate and mumbling reasons---THEREFORE it is not meant in a critical manner I just noted that my grandmother would have had similar feelings), contemplating the proper way to sit up straight and cross my legs (though I still die for a footrest tout le temps!*), and I am bestowing the status of "crush" as liberally as if it were noblesse oblige. ¡Viva!
That included too many words for a mini saga update.
*The last part of the title is in reference to a line from Macbeth that actually reads "...I am young; but something..." The semicolon giving an entirely different meaning (Vivian Bearing and I should have a party about that one).
The French means "all the time."
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