tell me about this place.

maybe if i close my eyes and wish really hard, i'll be back there, and i'll feel at home again, and i'll be among accepting faces again. i got some photos back today, some were of SF and others were of my Second Saturday Art Walk display in sac in october. there were pics of my work, and paul's, and a few other displays, and the place where people played music. i'd give anything to be there right now. i have a huge lump in my throat. how the hell do i deal with this?? you CAN'T just go from being an artist in northern california to being a little shut-in loser on the outskirts of philly. while i'd love to smear this city up and down for the way i'm feeling, i know it's just me, and everyone else is living it up just rooting for the eagles, drinking yuengling, and going to hooter's.

i feel like an archaeologist who's uncovered something really amazing, and then it snows 8 feet of snow all over the site, obscuring every bit of evidence. i know i'll have to be patient and wait for the thaw, but people, please. i need a boost here. i can't do anything without some faith.

somebody please tell me, where do the artists go? where do you go if you're not really into the scene, but you want to be part of things? where the hell do i run for cover?

tell me about this place!!
do people smile only when they're lit or getting paid?? do i have to like springsteen? do i have to have brand-name clothing? do people have existential crises? why is everyone so rude? why am i always landing socially flat on my face?

sensitive territory

maybe the previous post explains why i'm feeling so lonely. i didn't mean to sound like such a fascist.

wow...i need a hug.

this beat is gettin' in between the sheets

have you, or anyone you love, noticed the any of the following?
-the reinforcement of emotional suppression/repression (unless the
emotion is euphoria over a sporting event, movie or video game
release, etc?)
-much popular "humor" seems to be at the expense of someone else
-the whole "no pain, no gain" approach is taking hold of americans
-you are judged not by who you are, but what your societal function is?

remember the boy you had a crush on in math class? you know, the boy who sat in front of you with the preppy haircut and the foul mouth? he teased you all year long, and you loved every second of it, didn't you? every so often as your thoughts would drift off during a lesson, you would stare at his strange, evenly-shorn head and protruding ears, and when you were feeling froggy, perhaps you'd reach out and flick one of his ears with your pointer and thumb. one small "plink" for mankind. it gave you such joy.
he teased you mercilessly, busting on your ethniticy, calling the guy you were dating a fag, drawing strange things on your homework, startling you enough that you'd bump your head into the wall, and then chortling merrily. you never really understood until later that he found you interesting, an annomaly, a friend in girl's clothing. you knew you never were "girlfriend material," but there was something he wanted.

let's look at retail culture--don't YOU wish you were....a size 4? ...muscular? ...driving a jag? ....eating a nice steak? well, you can't, because you are not good enough. we'll still tease you though, because we're cute, and we're streamlined, and you can't get away from us because we're right in front of you.

we like the attention, don't we, girls? we like it when we're singled out and given mixed messages of the dominant ideology, don't we? we love the simultaneous push/pull excitement of persecution and pursuit. victimization is just a way to gain an audience, and to find some big, stupid guy to protect you from the other big stupid guys.

we love to lose control, to drink too much and make those men worry about us. we especially enjoy it when they fight over us and make us feel prizeworthy. our highest acclaim in this land is trophy-dom, along with a little prince or princess to push around in a stoller.

well, you know how i feel about Little Kings. i don't plan to sell out to one anytime soon. you're never their equal-- you never were, and you never will be. the laws are so. men need Things, and sooner or later, you're part of this collection. you are a device. no fucking more.

(great, now jamie is going to shave her head, let her armpit fuzz grow out and start going to rallies for something or another.)

no, don't you worry. i'm still wearing makeup just like you asked me to,and you'll never suspect me of this sort of rampage. i will shut my purdy little mouth and call you sir if i'm at work. would you believe that some guy asked my 19-yr-old female coworker if her boobs were real??? who the hell RAISED these beasts? who told them it was ok to degrade ANYBODY, especially us poor little helpless women??? christ.

what's the answer? i dunno. i guess i could train myself to date women, although that seems even more complicated. i've really had it with these apes though. these jerks that just lope along through your own house (like the exterminator today), avoiding all eye contact but staring your tits down. maybe i'm just fired up because of my recent break-up...but i suspect that something is going to be different here.

sex? well, i guess this is the age that most single women invest in their first vibrator. not only do my hands do the trick just fine...but i feel like i'd be giving in to Big Daddy Consumerism, once again. get yourself off with commodity, folks. shop 'till you drop, and moan.
i guess i'm tempted to become detached about it, never mind the double standard. but it's so BORING when you don't FEEL something for someone. i don't care how "hot" you are.

honestly, i struggle for friendships. orgasms come (ha!) and orgasms go. i think i need to find someone worthy of loving before i even think about taking off my pants in the first place.

ok, i'm cooling down now. thank heavens for blogs. i wouldn't be so calm, cool and collected in real life. i wouldn't be able to be a buddhist if i didn't get all this angsty, bitchy karma off my chest.

anyway, the verdict here is that i will fight for my beautiful, sensitive, feminine nature. i will reserve the right to feel whatever the fuck i want to feel, and say whatever it is that i want to say, and not suffer in silence because i am a little whore, and not go bake a nice pie, and not adapt to your opinions because you have a penis!

i have not yet begun to fight.

Debates, Debacles and De-Real McCoy

it's good to be back on blogger. i have many delicious plans for my new nestling blog here.
like most nestlings though, it is ugly, naked, and needs to be fed worms. i know i will do my best to cultivate only the best humus through my consistent raking of humanitarian shit furrows.

i must give credit to a mr. a. mcfoolish for indirectly landing me here, back to the place of my fillibustering origin. "yes, yes...we in the business are not kind, but you may just learn something."

i'm thinking of writing "Pinnochio" as the story of the feminine ideal versus the "real boy." i'm thinking Gepetto would be played by Harvey Firestein and girl-Pinnochio by Cameron Diaz. but instead of getting swallowed up inside of a whale, they are picked up by Paris Hilton's party boat, and everybody gets scurvy and dies.

well, that's not really what i'm thinking.

my life is about balancing wide-eyed, child-like, striving for true bodhisattva honesty.....with super-cynical pop-culture sardonic-out-the-ass wit as to combat the depression. the samsara of said girl-blogger. we're evolving every day. hope y'all enjoy my little (r)evolution.