Rose Colored Retrospectacle
Thursday, December 25, 2008
One of the first designs I created for the Salt City Derby Girls:
Thursday, May 11, 2006
My first apartment...
My first apartment, Natchitoches, Louisiana; now abandoned -- a story, with 14 photographs.
In the spring of 1993, I graduated from college and, deciding to attend graduate school on the same campus in Natchitoches, Louisiana, moved out of the dorms and into a small apartment with my then-boyfriend. The place I found was a grimy 1-bedroom about a 5-minute drive or bike ride from campus, for which we paid the princely sum of $150 per month. Even in 1993, that was cheap, and the apartment was worth every penny. Among its charms were the roaches that infested every nook and cranny, holes in the walls so big one could put a pencil through them, a front-row seat for the crack deals out the back window, 1 million year old grimy carpet, and a crazy landlady and vaguely unaware landlord.
The summer before I rented it, I'd happened upon a young, stoned boy playing guitar on the stairs; he was, with 10 or so of his friends, renting the entire upstairs. He gave me thie nickle tour, and I remember being struck by the punk-rock flop-house air of the place: mattresses on the floors of every room, no furniture, and doors everywhere, opening into every other room, it seemed.
A few months before we moved in, my boyfriend and I were riding our bikes around one night, and happened upon a house fire directly behind the place which would become out home. A cop standing outside, monitoring the situation, yelled at us to get away -- not because of the fire, but because we were in a "bad" neighborhood. Another time, a friend and I sat in the empty lot across the street, and an officer stopped to warn us that it was unsafe -- though he ignored the two young black women who were walking across the same lot. The apartment stood at the edge of the touristy historic district (like a New Orleans for the elderly) and the much rougher and poorer African American neighborhood that made up the bulk of the town. We were a block too far into it for white kids, it seems, and I got stopped and offered rides "home" by cops more than once as I was walking to my front door!
The apartment was most of half of the upstairs of a sprawling former wooden-sided warehouse, probably used when the Cane River still connected to the Red River and thus into the Mississippi. The building had become a used furniture store more than half a century before.
By the time I moved in, the upstairs had been split inexpertly into two apartments, with a thin storage hallway made of drywall and filled with broken air conditioners and ancient dishwashers and boxes of books, running between the two. I rented the one on the right -- it had a bigger kitchen but no closet in the bedroom.
The layout was roughly as follows: the entire downstairs was an open room, filled with junky old furniture -- probably the main origin of the roaches, since they love nothing more than to live in sofas, feasting on glue and pasteboard.
On the right side of the building, a rickety stairwell rose from the porch to a back door, which was bolted from the inside.
On the left side of the building, far back, were two blue wooden doors that probably predated the Great War. These doors were tricky; part of the year, they were difficult to open; later, something deep underground would shift, and they'd be impossible to lock or, at times, even to close.
From these doors, one could walk straight through into the furniture store, or take a sharp left onto a wide set of wooden stairs that turned 3 times and went under two internal windows. At the top of these stairs were two doors, one on each side.
My apartment opened into the kitchen. That room opened the the left into a tiny nook which housed a refrigerator and a small table and a window that overlooked the stairwell. It also opened to the right into a living room, which opened onto a small hallway. From there, one could enter the small bathroom or the bedroom.
Because of some unknown history, each of these rooms had at least one door onto the middle hallway. That summer, we lived alone above the furniture store, and we'd often open all our windows, and break into the other apartment (which wasn't locked anyway) and open the windows there, leaving all the doors open as well to create a cross draft. Any time we left the apartment in this state, when we returned, it would be sealed up again. Landlord and downstairs tenants all insisted they had nothing to do with it. A later neighbor would insist the ghost did many things in the apartment, but other than the windows and doors, I never saw any spooky activity.
There were two additional rooms, one behind each apartment, which were not rented out normally. these opened onto a glassed in porch. At one point, a neighbor did rent one, but we were forbidden to go on the porch because it was dangerous. Of course, I went out there a few times, but as I didn't have regular access, it was rare.
The floor of my kitchen had a foot square hole in it, which I discovered when I pulled up the carpet and tile. The stuff was rotting, and painting the floor with gray flooring paint made the place look infinitely better. The hole in the floor was covered with a grate from an old freezer or oven. I asked the men who ran the furniture store, and they told me an interesting story:
Back during prohibition (but it could have been any time into the 1950s, I'd guess), the downstairs was a furniture store and the upstairs was a gambling parlor and brothel run by the same men. The men would lock up the downstairs at night, and drink bootlegged liquor while they ran games and whored out the girls. As they made money, they shoved it through the hole in the floor, into the locked building below. In the morning, when they were sober again, the money would be collected in a pile, safe from burglars and ready to be counted.
I have no way of knowing if this is true.
I lived in the apartment for 3 years, leaving in the summer of 1996 for Utah. I carried my castoffs down the rickety stairs and left them on the porch; they'd be gone, scavenged by the poor neighbors, before I got the next box or item down to the porch.
Last month, I visited Natchitoches, and found the building abandoned. It breaks my heart a little. Roaches and all, I loved that apartment.
The front doors were hanging open, and I stuck my head in to see, though I didn't venture in. $150 / month for 38 months a decade ago did not entitle me to walk around, I decided.
I'd never noticed the wallpaper in the warehouse; I call it the Federalist Paper:
It took me several minutes to notice that someone had had a little fun with a brick; the front window stood shattered inward. College kids, probably, or bored teenagers -- the town has plenty of each.
A blackberry bush has taken over the front porch near the stairs.
Nature is reclaiming the storage area out back, where the men used to keep their tools. They helped my fix my car a few times.
In the spring of 1993, I graduated from college and, deciding to attend graduate school on the same campus in Natchitoches, Louisiana, moved out of the dorms and into a small apartment with my then-boyfriend. The place I found was a grimy 1-bedroom about a 5-minute drive or bike ride from campus, for which we paid the princely sum of $150 per month. Even in 1993, that was cheap, and the apartment was worth every penny. Among its charms were the roaches that infested every nook and cranny, holes in the walls so big one could put a pencil through them, a front-row seat for the crack deals out the back window, 1 million year old grimy carpet, and a crazy landlady and vaguely unaware landlord.
The summer before I rented it, I'd happened upon a young, stoned boy playing guitar on the stairs; he was, with 10 or so of his friends, renting the entire upstairs. He gave me thie nickle tour, and I remember being struck by the punk-rock flop-house air of the place: mattresses on the floors of every room, no furniture, and doors everywhere, opening into every other room, it seemed.
A few months before we moved in, my boyfriend and I were riding our bikes around one night, and happened upon a house fire directly behind the place which would become out home. A cop standing outside, monitoring the situation, yelled at us to get away -- not because of the fire, but because we were in a "bad" neighborhood. Another time, a friend and I sat in the empty lot across the street, and an officer stopped to warn us that it was unsafe -- though he ignored the two young black women who were walking across the same lot. The apartment stood at the edge of the touristy historic district (like a New Orleans for the elderly) and the much rougher and poorer African American neighborhood that made up the bulk of the town. We were a block too far into it for white kids, it seems, and I got stopped and offered rides "home" by cops more than once as I was walking to my front door!
The apartment was most of half of the upstairs of a sprawling former wooden-sided warehouse, probably used when the Cane River still connected to the Red River and thus into the Mississippi. The building had become a used furniture store more than half a century before.
By the time I moved in, the upstairs had been split inexpertly into two apartments, with a thin storage hallway made of drywall and filled with broken air conditioners and ancient dishwashers and boxes of books, running between the two. I rented the one on the right -- it had a bigger kitchen but no closet in the bedroom.
The layout was roughly as follows: the entire downstairs was an open room, filled with junky old furniture -- probably the main origin of the roaches, since they love nothing more than to live in sofas, feasting on glue and pasteboard.
On the right side of the building, a rickety stairwell rose from the porch to a back door, which was bolted from the inside.
On the left side of the building, far back, were two blue wooden doors that probably predated the Great War. These doors were tricky; part of the year, they were difficult to open; later, something deep underground would shift, and they'd be impossible to lock or, at times, even to close.
From these doors, one could walk straight through into the furniture store, or take a sharp left onto a wide set of wooden stairs that turned 3 times and went under two internal windows. At the top of these stairs were two doors, one on each side.
My apartment opened into the kitchen. That room opened the the left into a tiny nook which housed a refrigerator and a small table and a window that overlooked the stairwell. It also opened to the right into a living room, which opened onto a small hallway. From there, one could enter the small bathroom or the bedroom.
Because of some unknown history, each of these rooms had at least one door onto the middle hallway. That summer, we lived alone above the furniture store, and we'd often open all our windows, and break into the other apartment (which wasn't locked anyway) and open the windows there, leaving all the doors open as well to create a cross draft. Any time we left the apartment in this state, when we returned, it would be sealed up again. Landlord and downstairs tenants all insisted they had nothing to do with it. A later neighbor would insist the ghost did many things in the apartment, but other than the windows and doors, I never saw any spooky activity.
There were two additional rooms, one behind each apartment, which were not rented out normally. these opened onto a glassed in porch. At one point, a neighbor did rent one, but we were forbidden to go on the porch because it was dangerous. Of course, I went out there a few times, but as I didn't have regular access, it was rare.
The floor of my kitchen had a foot square hole in it, which I discovered when I pulled up the carpet and tile. The stuff was rotting, and painting the floor with gray flooring paint made the place look infinitely better. The hole in the floor was covered with a grate from an old freezer or oven. I asked the men who ran the furniture store, and they told me an interesting story:
Back during prohibition (but it could have been any time into the 1950s, I'd guess), the downstairs was a furniture store and the upstairs was a gambling parlor and brothel run by the same men. The men would lock up the downstairs at night, and drink bootlegged liquor while they ran games and whored out the girls. As they made money, they shoved it through the hole in the floor, into the locked building below. In the morning, when they were sober again, the money would be collected in a pile, safe from burglars and ready to be counted.
I have no way of knowing if this is true.
I lived in the apartment for 3 years, leaving in the summer of 1996 for Utah. I carried my castoffs down the rickety stairs and left them on the porch; they'd be gone, scavenged by the poor neighbors, before I got the next box or item down to the porch.
Last month, I visited Natchitoches, and found the building abandoned. It breaks my heart a little. Roaches and all, I loved that apartment.
The front doors were hanging open, and I stuck my head in to see, though I didn't venture in. $150 / month for 38 months a decade ago did not entitle me to walk around, I decided.
I'd never noticed the wallpaper in the warehouse; I call it the Federalist Paper:
It took me several minutes to notice that someone had had a little fun with a brick; the front window stood shattered inward. College kids, probably, or bored teenagers -- the town has plenty of each.
A blackberry bush has taken over the front porch near the stairs.
Nature is reclaiming the storage area out back, where the men used to keep their tools. They helped my fix my car a few times.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
August 6, 2005 - 60 years later
It's 94 degrees at noon in Salt Lake City, not the hottest day of the summer, but sparkling. I note the temperature as I'm driving, in search of origami paper. Sage Market, my favorite Japanese market with the sweet, funny, talkative proprietor, only carries a few designs in large sizes. A clerk suggests the Oriental Market, where I find, surprisingly, a young woman shopping in a full kimono, and a larger selection of paper, but still not what I'm looking for. I finally find smaller sheets in the craft section of a grocery store.
Back home, I make sure I can still do the folds right. I can, and with a shoebox, a stack of squares, and the directions to our destination, we head out.
120 miles west of Salt Lake City lies a desolate stretch of land layered thick with crystalline sodium, the Salt Flats. They are the remnant of an ancient sea that once covered most of Utah and the nearby areas. But today, our destination is more humble. Just east of the Utah / Nevada border lies the town of Wendover where, in 1945, hatched a secret that changed the course of a war and claimed thousands of lives.
Today, 60 years after an atomic bomb called "Little Boy" was dropped on the city of Hiroshima, killing some 140,000 people, we're visiting the Wendover Army Air Base, armed with a camera and as many paper cranes as I can fold on the hour and a half trip out.
In 1944, as part of the Manhattan Project, a nuclear team was activated and began work on a top secret mission. 1767 officers, enlisted men, and the First Technical Detachment -- the scientists -- began "Project W-47," lead by Col. Paul W. Tibbets Jr. Their job was to design bombs that could be dropped accurately.
In order to design these bombs, they had to choose a place where they could test them. That place was Wendover, an isolated border town of about 100 people, far from the beaten path, but with rail service to major west coast cities and Salt Lake City. It was isolated, hidden, and had plenty of wide open spaces where they could test non-explosive versions of the bombs until they got them right.
On August 6, 1945, Tibbets himself dropped "Little Boy" from the Enola Gay. It detonated on Hiroshima at 8:15am. Three days later, another bomb, "Fat Man" was dropped on Nagasaki from the "Bock's Car" airplane. When surrender didn't come directly after Nagasaki, a second Fat Man was ordered by Col. Tibbets. The surrender came on August 14th, shortly after the plane carrying this third bomb took off; the plane was intercepted somewhere off the coast of California and returned to the airbase, where the bomb was disassembled. The war was over, and both Allies and Axis countries began the long hard job of putting themselves back together.
Today in Japan, 55,000 people gathered to remember and to uphold peace; 1000 doves were released, and speeches were given. Here in America, our president is on vacation -- running the latest war is hard work, so he's gone to Texas. Hardly a word about today's anniversary is heard outside the narrow band of National Public Radio broadcasts; for a bunch of supposed liberals, they seem to be the only ones remembering today - the victory or the loss.
When we arrive at the remains of the base, there are a few cars in the parking lot, but there seems to be some kind of gathering near the airfield. Our momentary thoughts that there is some kind of commemoration of this day are dashed, as the afternoon quiet is suddenly shattered by a revving engine: they are racing cars, doing time trials of some sort. Red race car after little red race car zooms across the horizon. Disappointed, we head into the museum.
We're not the only visitors; a bearded gray-haired man asks some questions, but we noticed that his teenage grandson stayed in the RV outside, seemingly disinterested, playing a hand-held video game.
The museum has a few cases of WWII items -- uniforms, model planes, patches, photographs. A few small bombs have been turned into ashtrays outside, and donation collectors inside. It seems distasteful to put money or butts in such a thing, but the gallows humor runs high here.
One room, the Hall of Heroes, includes models of the air base in 1945, and photos of plane art -- comic-book-style pinups with pithy captions. In one, a worm pops out of an orange gourd, addressing a busty woman with the off-color comment, "Some punkins!" Pumpkins, I've learned, are not just over-large breasts but were the name given to test bombs. Another plane's nose bears a stork carrying a full-grown woman, a real "bombshell," with the words, "Strange Cargo." Another shows a blond on a Rising Sun over burned out pagodas: "Necessary Evil."
Photographs of Paul Tibbets, pilot and secret keeper, standing in front of the famous plane, line the wall next to images of a Fat Man bomb being loaded into a plane. A display of tail gunner equipment sits on an old-fashioned wooden desk, but next to it is a '60s era metal desk piled with paperwork and a phone -- this is obviously someone's office.
Feeling out of place, we walk into the last room, and are greeted by an awesome, frightening sight: a full-size green replica of a Little Boy bomb, signed by crew members. I locate Paul Tibbet's signature. We place cranes on the bomb and leave before someone sees us. The birds will be thrown away as soon as they are noticed, but the gentleman who takes our money for the map and driving tour booklet seems so loath to vacate his chair, I doubt he'll see them until closing time, if then.
Back outside, we visit the signs posted around the base -- the hospital, the barracks, the control tower, the mess hall, the fire station, the pool house, the chapel. Most of the buildings are falling apart, boarded up or gutted, but the woman's washroom, oddly, has a modern Dish Network satellite attached to its roof. The hospital, we learn, was used until 1980, and while some barracks are graffitied with rock slogans and littered with teenage detritus, others seem to be still in use in some capacity.
An "Operation Freedom Iraq" vet (according to his bumper sticker) drives slowly ahead of us. We see few other visitors.
Finally, having seen everything else, we arrive at the hangar. The only metal-clad building on the base, it is huge and rusted. A ancient-looking fat-bodied plane squats just to the west, and the racing cars to the east are taking a break as tires are changed and men laugh loudly. I wonder if they have any idea about today; the "Proud to be an American" vibe hangs heavy in the air with the smoke from a barbecue, but I somehow doubt they'd be interested in a history lesson from the likes of us.
We walk along the north face of the hangar, and place my paper cranes in every crevice and window ledge we can reach. Soon cranes of every color dot the landscape: red cranes trapped in fencing, green cranes in holes in the wall, purple cranes on ledges, a rainbow of cranes everywhere. I throw three cranes into the building through a broken window. My friend scales a side building and places the last crane high on a ledge, and we head out. We've spread our message of peace as well as we can. We just hope someone will choose to hear it.
Text and photographs copyright Madelyn Boudreaux, 2005. Links to this are welcome!
Back home, I make sure I can still do the folds right. I can, and with a shoebox, a stack of squares, and the directions to our destination, we head out.
120 miles west of Salt Lake City lies a desolate stretch of land layered thick with crystalline sodium, the Salt Flats. They are the remnant of an ancient sea that once covered most of Utah and the nearby areas. But today, our destination is more humble. Just east of the Utah / Nevada border lies the town of Wendover where, in 1945, hatched a secret that changed the course of a war and claimed thousands of lives.
Today, 60 years after an atomic bomb called "Little Boy" was dropped on the city of Hiroshima, killing some 140,000 people, we're visiting the Wendover Army Air Base, armed with a camera and as many paper cranes as I can fold on the hour and a half trip out.
In 1944, as part of the Manhattan Project, a nuclear team was activated and began work on a top secret mission. 1767 officers, enlisted men, and the First Technical Detachment -- the scientists -- began "Project W-47," lead by Col. Paul W. Tibbets Jr. Their job was to design bombs that could be dropped accurately.
In order to design these bombs, they had to choose a place where they could test them. That place was Wendover, an isolated border town of about 100 people, far from the beaten path, but with rail service to major west coast cities and Salt Lake City. It was isolated, hidden, and had plenty of wide open spaces where they could test non-explosive versions of the bombs until they got them right.
On August 6, 1945, Tibbets himself dropped "Little Boy" from the Enola Gay. It detonated on Hiroshima at 8:15am. Three days later, another bomb, "Fat Man" was dropped on Nagasaki from the "Bock's Car" airplane. When surrender didn't come directly after Nagasaki, a second Fat Man was ordered by Col. Tibbets. The surrender came on August 14th, shortly after the plane carrying this third bomb took off; the plane was intercepted somewhere off the coast of California and returned to the airbase, where the bomb was disassembled. The war was over, and both Allies and Axis countries began the long hard job of putting themselves back together.
Today in Japan, 55,000 people gathered to remember and to uphold peace; 1000 doves were released, and speeches were given. Here in America, our president is on vacation -- running the latest war is hard work, so he's gone to Texas. Hardly a word about today's anniversary is heard outside the narrow band of National Public Radio broadcasts; for a bunch of supposed liberals, they seem to be the only ones remembering today - the victory or the loss.
When we arrive at the remains of the base, there are a few cars in the parking lot, but there seems to be some kind of gathering near the airfield. Our momentary thoughts that there is some kind of commemoration of this day are dashed, as the afternoon quiet is suddenly shattered by a revving engine: they are racing cars, doing time trials of some sort. Red race car after little red race car zooms across the horizon. Disappointed, we head into the museum.
We're not the only visitors; a bearded gray-haired man asks some questions, but we noticed that his teenage grandson stayed in the RV outside, seemingly disinterested, playing a hand-held video game.
The museum has a few cases of WWII items -- uniforms, model planes, patches, photographs. A few small bombs have been turned into ashtrays outside, and donation collectors inside. It seems distasteful to put money or butts in such a thing, but the gallows humor runs high here.
One room, the Hall of Heroes, includes models of the air base in 1945, and photos of plane art -- comic-book-style pinups with pithy captions. In one, a worm pops out of an orange gourd, addressing a busty woman with the off-color comment, "Some punkins!" Pumpkins, I've learned, are not just over-large breasts but were the name given to test bombs. Another plane's nose bears a stork carrying a full-grown woman, a real "bombshell," with the words, "Strange Cargo." Another shows a blond on a Rising Sun over burned out pagodas: "Necessary Evil."
Photographs of Paul Tibbets, pilot and secret keeper, standing in front of the famous plane, line the wall next to images of a Fat Man bomb being loaded into a plane. A display of tail gunner equipment sits on an old-fashioned wooden desk, but next to it is a '60s era metal desk piled with paperwork and a phone -- this is obviously someone's office.
Feeling out of place, we walk into the last room, and are greeted by an awesome, frightening sight: a full-size green replica of a Little Boy bomb, signed by crew members. I locate Paul Tibbet's signature. We place cranes on the bomb and leave before someone sees us. The birds will be thrown away as soon as they are noticed, but the gentleman who takes our money for the map and driving tour booklet seems so loath to vacate his chair, I doubt he'll see them until closing time, if then.
Back outside, we visit the signs posted around the base -- the hospital, the barracks, the control tower, the mess hall, the fire station, the pool house, the chapel. Most of the buildings are falling apart, boarded up or gutted, but the woman's washroom, oddly, has a modern Dish Network satellite attached to its roof. The hospital, we learn, was used until 1980, and while some barracks are graffitied with rock slogans and littered with teenage detritus, others seem to be still in use in some capacity.
An "Operation Freedom Iraq" vet (according to his bumper sticker) drives slowly ahead of us. We see few other visitors.
Finally, having seen everything else, we arrive at the hangar. The only metal-clad building on the base, it is huge and rusted. A ancient-looking fat-bodied plane squats just to the west, and the racing cars to the east are taking a break as tires are changed and men laugh loudly. I wonder if they have any idea about today; the "Proud to be an American" vibe hangs heavy in the air with the smoke from a barbecue, but I somehow doubt they'd be interested in a history lesson from the likes of us.
We walk along the north face of the hangar, and place my paper cranes in every crevice and window ledge we can reach. Soon cranes of every color dot the landscape: red cranes trapped in fencing, green cranes in holes in the wall, purple cranes on ledges, a rainbow of cranes everywhere. I throw three cranes into the building through a broken window. My friend scales a side building and places the last crane high on a ledge, and we head out. We've spread our message of peace as well as we can. We just hope someone will choose to hear it.
Text and photographs copyright Madelyn Boudreaux, 2005. Links to this are welcome!
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
Golden Currant (photo)
Golden Currant
Jordan River Parkway between 5th South and 7th South
June 24, 2005
Madelyn Boudreaux
Mountain Lover (photo)
Mountain Lover
trail edge in Little Cottonwood Canyon near Albion Basin
July 03, 2005
Madelyn Boudreaux
Friday, May 06, 2005
Vanity Kills #1 (photo)
April 2005
Jeffrey Carlisle
I'm not sure what to think of this photo. It's very flattering, but the kimono and mace (or whatever those spiky-ball-thingies are supposed to be) don't really go together. Also, he made me a brunette! Ack! He's always changing my eyes to blue, which is weird enough, but normally he leaves my hair alone!
Thursday, May 05, 2005
Union made - the snake defiled (photo)
Pigface, The Velvet Room, Salt Lake City
Charles Levi (My Life with The Thrill Kill Kult), Martin Atkins (PiL, NIN, Ministry, Killing Joke), and Curse Mackey (Grim Faeries, Evil Mothers)
May 1, 2005
Madelyn Boudreaux
I'm very stupidly skipping an opportunity to go to their After Party in Chicago the day after the tour ends, which will be the last party since they aren't planning to tour again as Pigface. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Additional photos are here.
Dried Teasel (photo)
Dried teasel, bank of the Jordan River, Salt Lake City.
May 03, 2005.
Madelyn Boudreaux.
Changing Formats here...
My plan for this blog was to use it for more formal presentation than my LiveJournal which is used for more personal babble.
Posts here will fall into a handful of categories:
Photos by me: I'm working on a series of nature photos, primarily weeds and flowers, along the banks of the Jordan River, and I'll post my favorites here.
Photos of me: I model for a local dark / fetish photographer, and he really sends my vanity into the stratosphere.
Writing: Occasionally, my personal babble takes on a point, and I will try to re-work those posts into something for public consumption here. IF I have time.
Playlists: I DJ at a dance club, and I will post my playlists here.
If you want to know what my latest Frequently Whimpered Whine is, go to my LiveJournal. It's all in there, but I don't know why anyone would want to read that drivel.
Posts here will fall into a handful of categories:
Photos by me: I'm working on a series of nature photos, primarily weeds and flowers, along the banks of the Jordan River, and I'll post my favorites here.
Photos of me: I model for a local dark / fetish photographer, and he really sends my vanity into the stratosphere.
Writing: Occasionally, my personal babble takes on a point, and I will try to re-work those posts into something for public consumption here. IF I have time.
Playlists: I DJ at a dance club, and I will post my playlists here.
If you want to know what my latest Frequently Whimpered Whine is, go to my LiveJournal. It's all in there, but I don't know why anyone would want to read that drivel.
Friday, December 17, 2004
40 Questions for 2004
1. What did you do in 2004 that you'd never done before?
Went to Chicago. Went to Victoria, BC,Canada. Sold a piece of artwork to someone I don't know. Drove to the Sevier Desert and dug up a lot of sand. Joined a gym. Got a ticket on TRAX. Had someone else prepare my taxes. Saw a sea lion in the wild. Saw beluga whales (and cried my eyes out watching them). Had my cholesterol tested (it was GOOD!). Biked all the way home from Sandy, including one trip on the Jordan River Parkway. Visited / camped out in Montana. Fostered a dog. Saw a band I've loved for almost 20 years: Skinny Puppy.
2. Did you keep your new year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
It wasn't a New Year's resolution per se, but I did eat a much healthier diet this year, and lost weight. I doubt I'll make any resolutions this year, either.
3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
No.
4. Did anyone close to you die?
Tootles. I don't know if we were close, but we did sleep together every night for a few months. She was a good dog.
5. What countries did you visit?
Canada.
6. What would you like to have in 2005 that you lacked in 2004?
More love and calm in my home life. A raise. More DJing gigs.
7. What date(s) from 2004 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
November 2, of course.
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
I registered people to vote. I sang in front of Paul without feeling like I was going to vomit. I worked out regularly for 3 months, and I improved my eating habits.
9. What was your biggest failure?
I didn't start my ministry while I was 33. I didn't conquer my depression.
10. Did you suffer any illness or injury?
Nothing serious. I had post-Convergence crud in the spring, and a headcold recently. I don't think I vomited all year, which is more than I can say for 2003!
11. What was the best thing you bought?
Nothing really stands out. I guess the dress that Donna made for me is the thing I have enjoyed most. A new scanner. It wasn't much of a buying year for me, I guess (that's a good thing!). I'd say "gym membership" but honestly, that sorta sucked.
12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
I believe John Kerry set the standard for running a presidential campaign. He was honest, smart, and level headed, and he didn't give into pressures to do things he didn't believe in, or to pretend to be anything he was not.
Also, all my friends who registered and voted for the first time this year.
13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
The "51%" -- whom frankly I think was a lot closer to 45%. Also, Diebold, Ken Blackwell, and all those who stole our election from us. Dubya, Cheney, and their ilk. Some other more personal ones I don't want to go into here.
14. Where did most of your money go?
Mortgage! Food and other bills. Travel. Art supplies.
15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
The election. Ever feel like you've been cheated?
16. What song will always remind you of 2004?
We Want Your Soul - Freeland. Emerge - Fischerspooner.
17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
a) happier or sadder? The same, but pretty sad.
b) thinner or fatter? Thinner. Not by much, but it's something!
c) richer or poorer? Pretty much the same, but I own a few more square inches of my house. On the other hand, my car is worth less.
18. What do you wish you'd done more of?
I wish I'd biked and exercised more, and lost more weight. I really wish I'd had more fun; that I'd been able to cut loose more and dragged myself out to more things.
19. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Moped. Cried. Worried.
20. How will you be spending Christmas?
I suspect Paul and I will go to Paul's parents place for Xmas eve and open gifts, and spend the night. Xmas day, I'll cook all day, and we'll light a fire, and I'll spend some time with Ant.
21. Why is there no question 21?
Now there is! It was with the rum. Or the pineapples.
22. Did you fall in love in 2004?
No. But I didn't fall out of love, either, so we're even.
23. How many one-night stands?
Not a single one! D'oh!
24. What was your favorite TV program?
Dead Like Me, I guess, since it was literally the only TV I watched, and it was downloaded. Thank goodness for the internet, or I'd be terminally uncool in matters of idiot-box life.
25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
No. If anything, I worked out a lot of stuff over the last year with some people. In one case, I still sort of hate them, but things are a little clearer between us. I never hate anyone without it being highly complicated, and this is no exception. I'm annoyed with some people these days that I wasn't annoyed with before, but that's not hate.
26. What was the best book you read?
The Pillars of the Earth.
27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Adam Freeland. It wasn't that great of a year, musically.
28. What did you want and get?
Another ferret. Sand. More grape vines. To lose weight. The money the IRS owed me. A Poisoner Skirt from Arsenic Fashions. More friends. To see New Model Army and Skinny Puppy.
29. What did you want and not get?
A patio. To lose a substantial amount of weight. An elicit snog at Convergence. To DJ more. Regular housework from my house-mates. To travel more. A Dimage A2 camera.
30. What was your favorite film of this year?
Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow was the most beautiful, although I was ultimately disappointed. Fahrenheit 9/11 was most amazing (in a meta way -- what was amazing was how well it did, and yet how badly it failed where it counted). Supersize Me was really good. The Village was a colossal disappointment. Nothing else is really standing out.
31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I turned 34. I rode my bike and took TRAX. After work, I went to the gym and worked out for an hour. When I left the gym, I sat in a patch of clover, and found a deformed 4-leaf clover. I had a crying fit in the clover patch behind the gym. Then I rode home and felt sorry for myself. Sadly, this wasn't even the worst birthday I've ever suffered (16 was pretty horrible, as was 17. I'm not sure which was the worst, now. They were all bad in different ways.)
32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Oh, jeez... the first thing that comes to mind is too horrible and evil and schadenfreunde-ish, so I'll just say making my weight goal would have been nice.
33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2004?
Stay in bed? No, I guess Steampunk and stripes.
34. What kept you sane?
What a big assumption, Mr. Meme! Who says I am sane?
Ok: revenge fantasies.
35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
What does "fancy" mean, really? I continue to find Johnny Depp (mmmm... eyeless blind Johnny-Cash wannabe Johnny...) and Jonathan Rhys Meyers to be sexy hotties worthy of shagging fantasies, not that I'd ever fantasize about such things. More importantly, John Kerry and John Edwards were big inspirations to me, although I don't think I'd say I "fancy" them, per se.
36. What political issue stirred you the most?
Ha ha ha ha ha! That's a funny one. Anyone who knows me knows I'm political far beyond the point where it's just tiresome and annoying.
37. Who did you miss?
As always, I miss my family -- living and dead. I miss all my faraway friends.
38. Who was the best new person you met?
That's hard. I met too many new people to pick just one.
39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2004:
I pretty much learned a carpe diem lesson this year.
40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:
No one thing really sums up my year. It was a rather depressing and introspective year, and I spent a lot of it thinking about the past. So, maybe this:
Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence
A time of confidences
Long ago, it must be I have a photograph
Preserve your memories
They're all that's left you
Went to Chicago. Went to Victoria, BC,Canada. Sold a piece of artwork to someone I don't know. Drove to the Sevier Desert and dug up a lot of sand. Joined a gym. Got a ticket on TRAX. Had someone else prepare my taxes. Saw a sea lion in the wild. Saw beluga whales (and cried my eyes out watching them). Had my cholesterol tested (it was GOOD!). Biked all the way home from Sandy, including one trip on the Jordan River Parkway. Visited / camped out in Montana. Fostered a dog. Saw a band I've loved for almost 20 years: Skinny Puppy.
2. Did you keep your new year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
It wasn't a New Year's resolution per se, but I did eat a much healthier diet this year, and lost weight. I doubt I'll make any resolutions this year, either.
3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
No.
4. Did anyone close to you die?
Tootles. I don't know if we were close, but we did sleep together every night for a few months. She was a good dog.
5. What countries did you visit?
Canada.
6. What would you like to have in 2005 that you lacked in 2004?
More love and calm in my home life. A raise. More DJing gigs.
7. What date(s) from 2004 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
November 2, of course.
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
I registered people to vote. I sang in front of Paul without feeling like I was going to vomit. I worked out regularly for 3 months, and I improved my eating habits.
9. What was your biggest failure?
I didn't start my ministry while I was 33. I didn't conquer my depression.
10. Did you suffer any illness or injury?
Nothing serious. I had post-Convergence crud in the spring, and a headcold recently. I don't think I vomited all year, which is more than I can say for 2003!
11. What was the best thing you bought?
Nothing really stands out. I guess the dress that Donna made for me is the thing I have enjoyed most. A new scanner. It wasn't much of a buying year for me, I guess (that's a good thing!). I'd say "gym membership" but honestly, that sorta sucked.
12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
I believe John Kerry set the standard for running a presidential campaign. He was honest, smart, and level headed, and he didn't give into pressures to do things he didn't believe in, or to pretend to be anything he was not.
Also, all my friends who registered and voted for the first time this year.
13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
The "51%" -- whom frankly I think was a lot closer to 45%. Also, Diebold, Ken Blackwell, and all those who stole our election from us. Dubya, Cheney, and their ilk. Some other more personal ones I don't want to go into here.
14. Where did most of your money go?
Mortgage! Food and other bills. Travel. Art supplies.
15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
The election. Ever feel like you've been cheated?
16. What song will always remind you of 2004?
We Want Your Soul - Freeland. Emerge - Fischerspooner.
17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
a) happier or sadder? The same, but pretty sad.
b) thinner or fatter? Thinner. Not by much, but it's something!
c) richer or poorer? Pretty much the same, but I own a few more square inches of my house. On the other hand, my car is worth less.
18. What do you wish you'd done more of?
I wish I'd biked and exercised more, and lost more weight. I really wish I'd had more fun; that I'd been able to cut loose more and dragged myself out to more things.
19. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Moped. Cried. Worried.
20. How will you be spending Christmas?
I suspect Paul and I will go to Paul's parents place for Xmas eve and open gifts, and spend the night. Xmas day, I'll cook all day, and we'll light a fire, and I'll spend some time with Ant.
21. Why is there no question 21?
Now there is! It was with the rum. Or the pineapples.
22. Did you fall in love in 2004?
No. But I didn't fall out of love, either, so we're even.
23. How many one-night stands?
Not a single one! D'oh!
24. What was your favorite TV program?
Dead Like Me, I guess, since it was literally the only TV I watched, and it was downloaded. Thank goodness for the internet, or I'd be terminally uncool in matters of idiot-box life.
25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
No. If anything, I worked out a lot of stuff over the last year with some people. In one case, I still sort of hate them, but things are a little clearer between us. I never hate anyone without it being highly complicated, and this is no exception. I'm annoyed with some people these days that I wasn't annoyed with before, but that's not hate.
26. What was the best book you read?
The Pillars of the Earth.
27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Adam Freeland. It wasn't that great of a year, musically.
28. What did you want and get?
Another ferret. Sand. More grape vines. To lose weight. The money the IRS owed me. A Poisoner Skirt from Arsenic Fashions. More friends. To see New Model Army and Skinny Puppy.
29. What did you want and not get?
A patio. To lose a substantial amount of weight. An elicit snog at Convergence. To DJ more. Regular housework from my house-mates. To travel more. A Dimage A2 camera.
30. What was your favorite film of this year?
Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow was the most beautiful, although I was ultimately disappointed. Fahrenheit 9/11 was most amazing (in a meta way -- what was amazing was how well it did, and yet how badly it failed where it counted). Supersize Me was really good. The Village was a colossal disappointment. Nothing else is really standing out.
31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I turned 34. I rode my bike and took TRAX. After work, I went to the gym and worked out for an hour. When I left the gym, I sat in a patch of clover, and found a deformed 4-leaf clover. I had a crying fit in the clover patch behind the gym. Then I rode home and felt sorry for myself. Sadly, this wasn't even the worst birthday I've ever suffered (16 was pretty horrible, as was 17. I'm not sure which was the worst, now. They were all bad in different ways.)
32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Oh, jeez... the first thing that comes to mind is too horrible and evil and schadenfreunde-ish, so I'll just say making my weight goal would have been nice.
33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2004?
Stay in bed? No, I guess Steampunk and stripes.
34. What kept you sane?
What a big assumption, Mr. Meme! Who says I am sane?
Ok: revenge fantasies.
35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
What does "fancy" mean, really? I continue to find Johnny Depp (mmmm... eyeless blind Johnny-Cash wannabe Johnny...) and Jonathan Rhys Meyers to be sexy hotties worthy of shagging fantasies, not that I'd ever fantasize about such things. More importantly, John Kerry and John Edwards were big inspirations to me, although I don't think I'd say I "fancy" them, per se.
36. What political issue stirred you the most?
Ha ha ha ha ha! That's a funny one. Anyone who knows me knows I'm political far beyond the point where it's just tiresome and annoying.
37. Who did you miss?
As always, I miss my family -- living and dead. I miss all my faraway friends.
38. Who was the best new person you met?
That's hard. I met too many new people to pick just one.
39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2004:
I pretty much learned a carpe diem lesson this year.
40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:
No one thing really sums up my year. It was a rather depressing and introspective year, and I spent a lot of it thinking about the past. So, maybe this:
Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence
A time of confidences
Long ago, it must be I have a photograph
Preserve your memories
They're all that's left you
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