Ahhhh, Harpers

I love Harpers. I ordered a subscription of it a couple of months ago for my Gentleman Friend's birthday gift - he hasn't received it yet - I will have to look into the holdup.

Anyway, Harpers. Here is a must read this month: "The Joyless Club". It excerpts ads from "Asexual Marriage Net", an online marriage brokerage in China. Here is one of my faves:

"I am not beautiful or seductive, but I am honest. Because of a a birth defect, I might be unable to have a normal sex life. If two people don't have sex, can there be love? Can an asexual couple have a happy life together? I believe yes. - Wishing for Love, female, 28.

Check out:

http://chinadigitaltimes.net/2006/07/chinas_asexual_marriage_matchmaking_site_thrives_reuter.php

and;

www.harpers.org

Just Read It

http://www.gazette.com/

Enjoy!

The Sock Matchers

The Sock Matchers

Once upon a time, there was a little beaver named
Sally. Her mama always told her "Sally, match those
socks before you go to school" but Sally never would.
She would pull from her drawer in the family beaver
dam, red and green mismatched socks, striped and polka
dotted socks, orange and banana yellow socks, and
slip one on her tiny paw and then the other -
perfectly unmatched.

One day, Sally was on her way to school with several
of her friends - all of whom wore matching socks every
day. Suddenly, out of a thicket, jumped a huge green
dripping slimy monster! All the tiny beavers shrieked
- IEEKKKKKKKKKEE!!!

After the beavers stopped screaming, the monster
spoke: "I eat little beavers with perfectly matched
socks!!"

And that, is exactly what he did. He gobbled up all
of them - save Sally who escaped wearing one pink sock
and one yellow stripped sock all the way to school.

Sally was sad about her friends being eaten - until
she realized it was cake and ice cream day in her
classroom and since all her friends were being slowly
digested in the stomach of a creepy monster, Sally got
all the treats.

The End.

The Tap

Harris, The Beaman Tap - September 2006

West Elm Disease

For those of you not in the know, West Elm is catalog house that sells simple, modern home furnishings. I am in the know because somewhere down the line, my personal information was grifted from cyberspace and I am permanently on their mailing list.

Dutch Elm disease is a disease that attacks various elm trees, originally in Europe, then to the US and parts around the globe. It attacks, killing the roots (not always all of them) as a result, branches all over the infected tree die, sometimes the whole tree kicks the bucket.

I have noticed, during some walks recently, that Division Street has succumbed to a virulent strain of West Elm Disease. Yes. Boutiques everywhere are cropping up with cookie cutter furnishings to outfit their new, and unbelievably start-up loan worthy, establishments. There is a nail spa, two shoe stores and most recently, a new paper store. Jesus Christ.

It took over 100 years for scientists at the University of something-or-other to come up with a Dutch Elm Disease resistant elm tree. Who shall save Division?!

Ending My Self-Imposed Embargo on Susan Sontag

I am not sure when it started, this refusing to read anything associated with Susan Sontag, but today, it has ended. After reading an article about her personal journals and writings in the NYT's this morning, I am going to give her a shot.

I haven't formed an opinion yet, about Susan Sontag, as I am only into hour 4 of my forgiveness of her. I don't think I ever told anyone that I didn't like her, that I had never read anything about her, that I had only the most cursory knowledge of her though I am sure when she was brought up in some heady conversation I found myself embroiled in, I nodded my head, that I had indeed known of her work and as a result, could roll my eyes and harumpf.

I think, when I search, I come up with a round-a-bout rationale for my dislike, my contempt prior to investigation, of her. Here it goes, it's a weird loop to follow. During my days as a grunty photo assistant in NYC, I had the absolute pleasure (and good fortune) to fall in with some really talented, fun-loving, semi-famous photographers right off the bat. One in particular, I loved to work for and hang out with and allow to cut my hair (another story). He had previously worked as 1st assistant to Annie Leibovitz. Oh Christ! Her! If there was anyone I couldn't stand it was Her! All that disgusting success, she really pissed me off. I, was much less evolved than I am now of course, and I admire the woman. Well, sort of. Anyway. Everyone who had worked with Annie had a horror story about her. As did my photographer buddy, though he also credited her with helping start his career. Okay, she was okay then, great. But not really. I continued to hate her in silence. Jealousy is an ugly thing. Of course, I was 25 years her junior, hadn't put any effort into developing my photography, yet I held her personally accountable for my inability to get a job with Vanity Fair.

So, back to Sontag. Of course, Susan Sontag was in a long term relationship with Annie Leibovitz. So, there's the weird loop, I didn't like her by association to a photographer I didn't know, thru her former first assistant who I lucked into working with. Makes sense right?

Interestingly, I spoke briefly with a very learned friend about my new willingness to check out SS. She confessed that she too had a similar feeling about the activist, essayist, novelist, bisexualist, etc. I asked her why, she said she didn't really know. Hm? She went on to say that it was startling to her that two intelligent, open-minded, free-wheeling gals as our selves held the same opinion about Susan Sontag though neither of us could say exactly why at that moment.

Like I said, I am only into about hour 4 lifting the SS Embargo so I will have to keep you posted. First thing I shall track down is her 1967 novel "Death Kit".

Update on Thursday, October 26, 2006 at 09:06AM by Jeen

Okay, I bit the bullet and bought "Death Kit" Susan Sontag's 2nd novel. I have to admit, it really stinks so far. Well, I will continue to slog thru the tangle of narrative and report back as to any redeeming value.

Babies!!

Praise Jesus! Suri Cruise is real!

I want to start a line of key chains. The key chains will feature a the likenesses of celebrity babies:

Jolie-Pitt: Little Shiloh key chain will come with detachable motorcycle helmet
Cruise: Little Suri will come with a copy of "Dyanetics" clutched in her plump baby hand
Klum/Seal: Tiny fetus with a natural
Stephani/Rossdale: Little Kingston will play "Hollerback Girl" and "Glycerine" when his tiny, soft head is squeezed.
Princess Kiko: Little prince says "Konichiwa"

There is something so unique, so special about celebrities breeding!

And remember, "Babies" rhymes with "Rabies"!

my prescription

Several weeks ago, I was getting ready for a trip to NY to see my boyfriend. He lives out on Long Island now, though he didn't always, we met in the city where we both lived, and worked years ago.

Due to the "scare" concerning liquids, toothpastes, Alberto VO5 gels, tubes of potions to lift and tighten, my syringes filled with Interferon beta-1a would require a prescription from my doctor to get thru security. This information was gleaned from the American Airlines website concerning travel updates, and important announcements that may effect one's vacation.

So I called my neurologist. Dear, dear, Dr. Shepard. I believe I had called him everyday for several weeks, updating him on my symptoms, my progress "the left side of my face feels like a cold iron is sitting on it", or, "I can't feel anything below my boobs", or, "these steroids are making me sleepy". He was kind, "uh-ing" and "i-seeing" in response to my concerns. This time, I needed more than just coddling, I needed a script. Of course, he called me back within a couple hours and said I could pick up the prescription at his office any time.

Whew!

Well, as I cannot let anything go, take American Airlines word for it, I dug into the TSA website and low and behold those AA people were liars! I didn't need a prescription at all. According to the TSA people in the know, the rule makers, I could carry on all the liquid prescription medication I could carry, push or pull. Fine. Sounded good. So, instead of heading downtown to the Doc's, I caught a standby flight a day early so I could spend some extra time out east.

Sparing the juicy details, the trip was great and a short week later, I was home. A friend was having a procedure done downtown at the same hospital where my neurologist is located. I got some time on my hands so i volunteered to sit with her, she had sat with me and drug me around to MRIs, ERs, and Dr.s throughout my ordeal, sitting with her, keeping her entertained, occupied for a couple of hours was the least I could do. Before I met her, I decided to stop by my neurologist's office and pick up that prescription and schedule a liver panel I had neglected to follow up on.

I didn't even open the envelope with the script in it, just picked it up made my appointment for the blood test and scooted over to another part of the hospital to see my friend. I forgot about it.

Just now, I opened a library book I must have had with me that day. "The O. Henry Prize Stories 2006". Out dropped the envelope from you know who. I opened the envelope and I almost threw up. I read what he had written "Andrea has Multiple Sclerosis and must travel with liquid medication contained in syringes".

Jesus I knew what the diagnosis was, I have for several weeks. I have been injecting myself (rotating between ass, stomach, leg and arm) for three weeks - but when I saw that he wrote "Multiple Sclerosis" beside my name my heart sank. I still don't believe it. I don't understand it. I am not the kind of person to be sick. Why does this hit me now. I guess so it had a chance to sink in over the last month. Who knows.

it's hard to look cool with a 2 pound dog

i mean of course if you are a boy.

mr. creamcheese (of the next door mr. and mrs. usa carved outta cream-cheese fame) plopped his little dog (ari - she mutt) down on the sidewalk out front of their house this morning. 9:26 am. a little late today. he must have been late on his hospital shift last night. he is wearing a newsboy cap, dark denim blue-jeans, and a polo shirt with an upturned collar. tre manhattan 3 summer's ago. tre manhattan nyu student 3 summers ago i should say.

he plopped down ari on the sidewalk. ari, 2 pounds runt of the litter, probably wont grow another pound and a half, with her little orange and pink stripped collar pulling her earthward. her daily allowance of excersize can be had by simply hefting that big assed collar around all day.

and there is that boy, that young doctor, ari's papa, wearing that newsboy hat looking like christian bale in newsies, standing on the sidewalk in front of his house, in front of his little red car with ohio plates and a big ole W sticker on his window. what is he up to i mean, really?

i know all of this about him - and about his wife, mrs. creamcheese, long thick curly black hair, a flattering case of scoliosis that forces her bottom to protrude and shift in the most exciting, delicious way, her little silver bullet of a sports car with her kentucky plate screaming her name "ali b". she has an ichthus bumper sticker, she is a jesus girl. i know without asking that she was a virgin until her wedding night and lived under her parent's roof until her wedding night, wore a channel dress suit on the plane ride for their honeymoon to niagra falls. you would know it too if you saw her.

rejection...

ah, yes, i got my first rejection today from the Atlantic Monthly (I figure why not aim high) it was kindly worded here it is:

Dear Ms. Kopsa

"The Tomato" is nicely managed and probably publishable. But it's a small story, and not right for us. Maybe the next one.

Yours,

C. Michael Curtis

signed in purple ink.

I am thrilled with this rejection letter - just don't let me analyze it because things like this start to happen:

nicely managed? what does that mean? wouldn't nicely written been more complimentary? managed? does that mean it is a nice exercise? fantastic. i am a great manager of writing.

and,

probably this is what the dictionary has to say about "probably" Most likely; presumably. well, if that's the case - why didn't he say "this thing will be published" or "the tomato will be published soon" and then there is the matter of "small" story. does that mean too short or small as in to small minded, small thinking, restrained? small? shit.

anyway...