(this is annie)

haiku-ku-kachoo, mrs robinson

Rainbo: wood galore
Schubas: withering hipsters
Hideout: cute, smells good

Fireside: bright, tiled
Empty Bottle: fashionville
Tumans: bad toilet


On Friday night, I dreamed that Jennifer Love Hewitt and I were at a large media "industry party." I found her in the powder room, which was buttery yellow. And then we started getting our kissyface on. I remember thinking, "Aha. How odd. JLH's boobs are real, after all!" Latent homosexual symbolism aside, why am I fantasizing about Jennifer Love Hewitt? I can't stand her. I think she's horsey-looking. I think she's dimwitted and lacking talent. Of all the starlets for my dream-self to smooch, why is it her?

Labels: ,

the britney spears movie

Last night, nine of us rowdy kids spent five dollars to see the joy that is Crossroads, a film starring one Britney Spears. As usual, the Top 5 review is right on the money. The highlight of our ongoing film commentary occurred when Drew, upon seeing a very orangey-tan Britney, announced, "Her skin! Look at her skin! My god, it's Rock Hudson!"

here's the (kim) deal

I took the blue line to Addison last night, inhaling the Spring-scented air while walking east toward Elston. After stopping at K-mart for a hastily gobbled slice of pizza (a classy meal if there ever was one) I strolled through the neighborhood for a few minutes. All of the little houses looked so comfortable and homey that for a moment, it was easy to forget the day's earlier stress.

At the thrift shop, all items were half-price. Oh, how great Unique is, what with its discount Mondays. For Owls McGee, I found a happy-looking scarf and stylish black maryjanes. For me: a thin cotton Levi's button-down (with gold thread!), a colorful silk scarf, and a somewhat tacky beige leather purse with a matching leather rose. Total price: a mere $6.66! Perhaps thrifting is the work of... the DEVulllll.

After the thrift store score, I walked kitty-corner to the Abbey Pub. I figured I'd buy Clinic tickets now instead of doing it over the phone and paying an extra two dollars. A couple of hip-scraggly guys were going in and out of the doorway like ants. They must have been with the Breeders, who were playing later that evening. So I bought my ticket from a sweet old Irish bartender, and on the way out, heard the beginning of "Saints." I looked up, and there on the barren stage was Kim Deal, plugged in and practicing for the show later. It was a free, private mini-concert that fulfilled one of my great adolescent dreams.

I continued walking northwest on Elston, pausing to take pictures and to get fries and a shake from Susie's. When I arrived at my brother's house, he was playing the Strokes. He is so cool.

pass the lollipops

Jaime took pictures from the party this weekend, and my god, I look like Telly Savalas in drag. It's true. If you put a wig and lipstick on ol' Telly, you would get an accurate rendition of yours truly.

To most people I probably look fine, and in general I agree. The problem is that throughout my life, I have wanted to be the best at whatever I'm doing. And more or less, I succeed. First chair violinist, starting left wing soccer player, editor of liberal campus rag, et cetera. I am very good at many things, but I'm not satisfied unless I am the best at something (or at the very least, in the top five percent).

As you might imagine, this near-impossible standard is directed toward myself most of all. For example, today I am feeling very schleppy, even though common sense dictates otherwise. I am wearing cropped wheat-colored cotton pants with a tiny brown ribbon stripe down each leg; a tomato-red Marc Jacobs cotton shirt; brown maryjanes with velcro strap. None of this looks bad; if someone else were wearing this ensemble, I would probably think, "Oh, that girl looks totally cute. Why can't I ever look that stylish?" But instead, here I am with comparisons to Kojak.

the year of the black horse

Keyless and aimless, I took the train to Wicker Park after work last night. I was hoping to eat at Earwax, but all the tables were full. So I went across the street to Square One. While I was nibbling my falafel, Leroy walked past the window. I waved at him and he gave a little nod as he continued. "He must think I am stalking him, even though I am not," I thought. Why is it that until a month ago, I'd never seen him around, and now we can't go 24 hours without running into each other?

Henry called with the good news that my keys were in his car. Yay! Picked them up last night and basked in the sleepiness of my own bed. I as so worn out from the previous night's adventures that last night, sleep came before ten. It was blissful to say the least.

somewhere over the rainbo

Laaaaaasst niiiiiight:

While waiting for the westbound bus at Halsted and Chicago, an eastbound cabbie honked and slowed down. I smiled, shook my head, and waved him onward. A few minutes later he pulled up to the curb and said, "Hop in, I'm finishing for the night and I'll give you a free ride." So I did. "I sometimes do this if it's cold, and you gave me a nice smile. I believe you should do kind things simply for the sake of kindness," he told me around Ogden. What a lovely surprise!

The cabbie dropped me off at Woodsy's apartment, and I joined the supercouple for a screening of Mariah Carey's Glitter. Woodsy made delicious English tea with milk and sugar, and his roommate Joey sat with us. Wow! What a wonderful movie. One of my fellow cinemaphiles succinctly described Ms. Carey's performance as follows: "You know, I look back at all the times I've seen her, and I can't believe it took this long to see that she is completely and totally insane."

Also great: the male lead (Dice, who conveniently wears a gold nameplate necklace in case you forgot his name) is Spin's DJ of the year. At one point, Dice decides to get a three-piece instrumental combo together. We see him plinky-dinking on a keyboard, and then he runs over to the drummer and says, "Try it like this!" before doing a wicked drum fill. We all giggled, thinking of someone we know.

After the movie, I walked to Tuman's to wish Miles a happy birthday. Yay Miles, yay Miles' nice friend! Max Fischer was there, too, and I invited him to join me on this week's Taking Care of Biz-a-ness adventure.

I was feeling very sleepy, so I left around midnight. The plan was to hit up the ATM at Division and Damen, and take a cab from there. But the tea-caffeination and air's brisk chill perked me up. "Oh, maybe I'll see if anybody's at the Rainbo," I thought. I sat at the curve of the wooden bar, ordered some cranberry juice, and began writing valentines ("Please go on a date this Thursday so that I can live vicariously through you," to my parents). Leroy walked in (wearing a very smart shirt/sweater combination) and we talked for a bit. I told him I liked his band's new album design, which is the truth! He didn't seem weirded out to see me, which allayed my earlier "Leroy thinks I am a dolt" anxiety. Yay!

Later, Henry sat down next to me. He's one of the kindest people I've met since moving here. There's a difference between being nice and being kind; people can fake niceness, but you can't fake kindness. We talked about Francoise Hardy, our plastic-eating cats, and the vividness of dreamlife. "You've got an old soul, Annie," he said. It was a compliment.

I stayed at the Rainbo until closing, and a group of people milled about the door. A homeless man approached us, and we gave him some money. He was very friendly, and he said I had a beautiful smile. I blushed. I caught a ride to North and Damen with Henry and Andy, who is a fellow library aficionado. Ran into Leroy again. "Hey stranger," I said. He smiled. Henry caught a taxi for me, and the driver was friendly. I was happy to watch the white clouds drift east lazily, with buildings piercing the navy sky. I tipped the cabbie well and scurried to the door. Oh, but upon searching for my keys, I came up empty-handed.

When you lose your keys, there are a few brief moments during which you tell yourself that if you rifle through your bag one more time, they'll show up. I emptied my bag three times before accepting the truth: it was past two am, I had no way to enter my apartment, and it was cold outside. I rang a friend four times, woke him, and hobbled over to his apartment. I slept very well and remain perky despite sleeping half my normal amount.

In an hour I begin calling various establishments in search of the keys. If luck is not on my side, perhaps the landlord will be.


rock-star dreams

I had a dream that I was peacefully protesting in the streets of London, and gendarmes stormed our group. I ran from them, but they had shrill whistles that wounded our ears. I was captured by Henry Rollins, but he wasn't a police officer. He threw me and a woman with black hair into a room. He yelled at me and beat me and threatened to rape me. I rolled myself into the fetal position. He beat and locked up the other woman, and when he finally fell asleep after eating chicken, I slipped a HELP note out the window. SOS. HELP. WE ARE BY THE YELLOW SHIRT. But then I realized that Rollins was asleep, and I could slip out the window to escape. The girl was chained to the wall, and I didn't want to leave her alone, but I had to get out. I slipped out of the window and was on the roof of my parents' house. I leaped from it onto the ground, took off running, and saw my mother on the deck. She was wearing blue, and she came to me and comforted me.

I separately dreamed that I was friends with Tim Kinsella. I asked him what I'd done wrong, and he gently cupped my chin before saying, "We'll never know." He was protective of me, and he was close enough to the mystery to understand that it really wasn't my fault. In real life I do not know him, but he's close enough to the situation that I would believe him—a stranger—before the well-meaning friends who tell me that I didn't misstep.


Saw your head off
Face of food
December's tragic try
Win Simon's mellow tree
Win star land wood outside
The women brushed my heart

Saw your head off
Face the fool
The sun braids waive a fear
When their songs misopen
The secret force of gaahhh
This last time raise my eyes

You taste it!
You taste it!
Wind chime! Wind chime! Wind chime!

Labels: ,

the odor of pinks

There were butterflies everywhere, gently waving their wings. I stood at the water's edge, shards of glass pressing into my feet. A boat had charged into the rocks, and it had overturned, and the occasional passersby merely remarked on the unusual sight—Oh, isn't that strange. Yes, I suppose so—and continued on their way, not indifferent for only a moment.

say hello

    it's anniet at gmail.


© 2009 avt

custom counter