emily sweetcheeks' Journal
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emily sweetcheeks' LiveJournal:
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| Monday, February 3rd, 2003 | | 9:09 am |
| | Thursday, January 30th, 2003 | | 9:00 am |
Last night I was thinking about how I really hate the smell of condoms. Then I was like, "What if they smelled like hot dogs? That'd be really weird." | | Thursday, January 23rd, 2003 | | 2:19 pm |
Marry me, Butch
I've been reading Butch's Diary. I've read half of them but I am trying to savor them rather than consuming them all at once in an orgy of rock. I love Butch. I want to marry him and have a million of his babies, except his heart belongs to his drums. There's no way not to love Butch after this: During "World Of Shit," something incredible happens. As I sing harmony, I look over the audience and see an angel floating above the crowd. The angel has the body of a baby, with little feathery white wings. As the song nears it's conclusion, the angel flies closer to me, until it is right in front of my drum kit. Only then do I notice that the baby angel has Keith Moon's adult face. Baby Angel Keith smiles at me, and then winks. I am at once calmed, and have the most peaceful, easy feeling inside of me. So this is what The Eagles were talking about in that song. | | Tuesday, January 21st, 2003 | | 10:35 am |
My life is relatively high in drama right now. Last night I got an out of the blue phone call from the guy who dumped me a few months ago. He was calling because he thinks we should hang out because we had fun together. Uh, yeah, til you dumped me, dipshit! Danielle thinks he somehow cosmically knows I'm charming someone else's snake and wants to hit it again. I don't know if that's true, but it does seem kind of weird. There's other drama but I can't even go into that just yet. In other news, this morning I decided to listen to Eels' Oh What a Beautiful Morning live album, even though I've never even given it a full listen. See, I bought it at the same time as Souljacker at the height of my Stage 1 Eels Madness, and Souljacker received more attention. I mean, for a person like me with a high rock out tolerance, it's the obvious choice. But here's the thing: Oh What a Beautiful Morning is amazing. | | Monday, January 13th, 2003 | | 12:20 pm |
I had two good dates recently, one of which involved making out. That's always nice, but my resulting stubble burn makes it look like I took a massive digger on some gravel or something. Grosso. Unmarred by stubble burn is the joy I get from listening to Justified, which I caved in and bought on Thursday. My favorite part is the liner notes, with those swell pictures of Justin. They're like, "It's Justin, the last Michael Jackson wannabe in this crazy post-apocalyptic world!" That, and that the CD says "JT." Sweet. | | Wednesday, January 8th, 2003 | | 9:47 am |
This morning I was stuck in traffic and listening to the radio, and I had an epiphany. "Cry Me a River" is a really good song. See, when they first released it, I was pissed off, because I love "Like I Love You" so, so much, and I was really mad that some wussy-ass ballad was taking away its airtime. I have since had a complete change of heart. It's not wussy! It's magnificent! Man. I think I need that album. IMDb movie of the day is Dead Alive, whee. | | Thursday, January 2nd, 2003 | | 12:28 pm |
Jonathan Rosenbaum, what are you talking about? Didn't you pay attention when Whitney Houston taught us all that crack is wack? Please stop smoking it prior to screenings. | | Friday, December 27th, 2002 | | 9:14 pm |
Um.
This really weird thing just happened. It involves the Onion/Nerve/Bust etc. personals, and a response I received to my ad, which (at the time) hadn't been updated for four months and which I honestly had pretty much forgotten. So already, that's weird. And then, I get this response, right, and I respond to it, which was my first mistake, because I'm right in the middle of one of my at-least-year-long "dating is for chumps" phases, but give me a break, it's the holidays and my trip home has been insane and emotionally draining for reasons too elaborate and tedious to recount here. So anyhow, I get a response to my response to his response, and I am nearly certain it's from the roommate of the guy who dumped me awhile ago. This is really fucking with my head because I'm already a really paranoid person who is convinced like 90% of the time that people dislike me, and now I'm convinced that I'm the subject of an extremely juvenile prank. I mean, it's either that, or a colossal coincidence, which seems unlikely, because I always got the impression that this guy didn't think too highly of me, and I have it on the very best authority (Heather, duh) that he sucks. Obviously it goes no further than this. I have no desire whatsoever to find out whether the prank hypothesis or coincidence hypothesis is correct. Weird, though, right? | | Saturday, December 21st, 2002 | | 8:40 pm |
Quandary
So, I just watched the excellent Session 9 again, and this time I was watching the credits, and Carson friggin' Daly is credited as the "executive music producer." Carson Daly! I don't know why this is throwing me for a loop - I mean, I love Josie and the Pussycats and in that he assaults both my eyes and ears with his presence. OK, perhaps the problem is that Carson Daly keeps associating himself with things that are cool, and I'm like, Am I supposed to stop thinking Carson Daly is a massive toolbox? Because I'm unable to do that. And yet! | | Thursday, December 19th, 2002 | | 3:38 pm |
I just noticed that my entries tend to vacillate between declarations of despair and awesome pop culture stuff. Explains quite a bit. I read in some magazine that Lynne Ramsay is attached to direct The Lovely Bones, which would be amazing, I think. I just got Ratcatcher sent from NetFlix, along with What Time Is It There?, which should make my time at home fucking awesome. Also, seeing WTIIT? will make Ramsay's new film Morvern Callar the new film I desperately want to see in the theatre, but will probably have to wait to NetFlix, because of the nefarious practices of Hollywood and the Media. Ohhh Samantha Morton. In last week's Onion AV Club, the review of About Schmidt moved me to tears (like a horror film). Did you ever read Lynda Barry's "The Good Times Are Killing Me"? In it, Edna wonders about how, "hearing a certain song can make a whole entire time of your life suddenly just rise up and stick in your brain." The review did that for me. So short and yet somehow in the midst of discussing the film in the intelligent way I've come to rely on from the Onion, somehow Scott Tobias manages to completely evoke the way the midwest can be "both banal and oddly comforting," as well as what it means to have lived an essentially non-essential life. I already <3 Alexander Payne, but now I'm reallyreallyreally looking forward to this one. | | 3:15 pm |
OK, first of all, let me be clear that I enjoy the Harry Potter movies greatly. That said, can I just say that Rog's consistent four-star Harry Potter movie ratings and three-star LOTR movie ratings make me want to kick him in the balls? Jesus. | | Wednesday, December 18th, 2002 | | 9:07 am |
| | Monday, December 16th, 2002 | | 10:32 am |
| | Friday, December 13th, 2002 | | 1:52 pm |
Oh, no.
From this Phil site: Rumors are also flying my way that Phil and his forever-not-to-be-named (meaning that I do not know her name so leave me the hell alone) are expecting a baby. Fact or Fiction? | | Tuesday, December 10th, 2002 | | 3:16 pm |
Make like a tree and get out of here
It gets really cold at my desk, so I wore my puffy vest to work today, and I feel like Marty McFly! (Exclamation point due to inherent awesomeness of Marty McFly). My mom just sent me an email informing me that not only has she made an appointment for me to get my teeth cleaned, but she's going to make me meatloaf while I'm home. I heart my mom so much. Why don't all emails I receive bear such excellent news? Preserving my original teeth plus meatloafy goodness equals much rapture. | | Wednesday, December 4th, 2002 | | 4:02 pm |
See, sometimes I lose sight of the fact that just because I never tell anyone anything, doesn't mean that no one knows that something is happening. I never talk about my feelings to people. Didn't I used to? I can't even remember. Today I confessed to someone that I'm having a rough time of it lately, and their response was basically, "Yeah, I know. Are you OK?" It's very humbling. | | 8:56 am |
Oh, Aimee.
Before the Aimee Mann show started, I was people-watching. There was a lady sitting near me who was hugely pregnant. Then I saw another pregnant lady and I was like, "Damn, the pregnant ladies sure love Aimee Mann." Then Pregnant Lady #2 shifted position and I realized that actually, she was just wearing a really unflattering shirt. Oops. Pete Droge opened. I know nothing about him. He was OK, but he would not stop talking about Shawn Mullins. He was all, "This is Shawn's guitar." "I'm in this group with Shawn and Matthew Sweet." "Shawn's at Eddie's Attic tonight." Literally every third thing out of his mouth was Shawn Mullins-related. Like, god, just make out with him already! Jesus! There were three 40-ish moms sitting next to me, and in between acts, I was sitting with my legs crossed, and one of them kind of stroked my shoe on the inside arch part. She said, "These are excellent shoes," (I was wearing my really, really red New Balances). I was like, "Yeah, they're really red." "They're really great," she replied. Shortly thereafter a man walked in front of me and my heart started racing and my face got hot and suddenly all the sounds I heard were all screwy, like I was underwater or tripping or something, and I seriously thought I would pass out, because Philip Seymour Hoffman (wearing an ugly, ugly shirt) had just walked in front of me at the Aimee Mann show. Then reason took over, and I was like, "Why would Phil be in Atlanta? Especially with that guy?" So I was all craning my head, trying to get a better look, and once I did, I realized it wasn't him. He looked a lot like Phil. Although, I should have realized immediately that Phil would never wear that shirt. Obviously I've been really, really fixated on Philip Seymour Hoffman lately, enough so that I've been pondering writing him a letter. I always get frustrated and give up, though, because all my initial efforts sound like that letter that Marge Simpson wrote to Burly. Hee! Phil = Chad Sexington. Oh, and confidential to the asshat who screamed right in the middle of "Wise Up"? I will fucking find you. | | Monday, December 2nd, 2002 | | 2:07 pm |
I don't know why I often end up debating whether or not to post things here. It really doesn't matter. I mean, if I feel like it, I should, but I'm always all concerned that I'll sound stupid and faux-profound and shit and why would it matter? It's my fucking journal, and I'm really my only reader. Saturday I got kind of faced by myself in the afternoon, and then I met up with some people that evening, and a good friend of mine basically yelled at me for having, you know, my personality. And it upset me so much that my natural state is perceived as standoffish or rude when that's so laughably far from how I ever feel. It was just such a mess and it made me so, so angry, and sad. Then it got me started thinking about how I don't enjoy going out very much, mostly because it makes me feel very hopeless and I don't think anyone will like me. Which then got me started thinking about years ago when it seemed like I could will people to find me intriguing or be infatuated with me or even fall in love with me. And I just wonder what happened to that girl. And why was she so fucking unhappy? And who is this one who's concerned with what a bunch of random people think? And what is it about watching a few hours of My So-Called Life that turns me into a navel-gazing teen again? | | 11:11 am |
I have noticed that my eBay feedback all sounds like it was left by that guy who wanted to get Hank to join Nine Rivers Country Club on King of the Hill. "Peggy Hill! That Philip Seymour Hoffman magazine shipped superfast! Thank you!" | | Friday, November 22nd, 2002 | | 2:53 pm |
note to self: become debra winger
From an ew.com piece on celebrities' first celebrity crushes: PHILIP SEYMOUR HOFFMAN ("State and Main") "Debra Winger. I was 13 years old and...I cried for a week after 'Terms of Endearment.' I'm not even kidding." From an ew.com piece on celebrities' Oscar picks (several years old): Phillip Seymour Hoffman ("Magnolia"): "I think 'Magnolia' is one of the best films I've ever seen. And if anyone disagrees with me, I'll fight them to the death." |
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