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( 3 sips of hemlock +Death To Socrates? ) [07 Sep 2011|03:20pm] Alright. I’m going to do a lot of navel gazing and personal reflecting here, and it’s entirely necessary, but if folks don’t want to bother with it, they’re free to pass this by, and it’s no biggie if you do. But I’m at a very fierce emotional point right now, and the most constructive way I know how to deal with it is to write it out. I’ll put it behind a cut so I won’t clutter your dashboards, because this is going to be a long one. ( Read more... )

( 4 sips of hemlock +Death To Socrates? ) Heart like an Empty House [04 Aug 2011|12:14pm] Oh my gosh, I had some TERRIBLE abandonment dreams last night. Usually when I have bad dreams, they tend to be either creepy nebulous stuff like screamers for the brain, or screamingly angry subconscious rage about my family trying to control/ruin my life, but this is one of the first times I’ve ever woken up ready to burst into tears. The first dream was more generalized hallmark sentiment. It involved some poor orphaned homeless kid whose only friends and source of love in his life were a stray dog and cat that were kind of like his pets. At one point they all got caught in a warehouse fire, and while the kid could have made it out of the fire, his dog and cat were trapped, so he willingly decided to die with them rather than be separated from the only things in the world that loved him. When the emergency services finally found him, he was curled around his poor cat’s body. They eventually buried him in a strangely lush gravesite with a statue of a dog and cat standing at either side of his gravestone. ;x; The second dream was far more personal, tho. It involved my family moving out of the house I grew up in. They had finally gotten fed up with the neighborhood, apparently, citing some bullshit about no longer feeling comfortable with the neighborhood (middle-upper class bullshit code for too many minorities in the area). I was really upset about this, because even though I’d moved into my own apartment, they were just sort of stripping my old house of everything that made it a home to me. They were taking all the familiar furniture and rugs and pictures, and just leaving me this barren empty soulless shell behind, so much so that it didn’t feel like it was my house any more. All the rooms felt too small with the stuff inside them gone, and it felt like the one place where I felt comfortable and safe was taken away from me. It was like that cold, unhappy feeling I get when I see how my parents worked my bedroom when I moved out, but amplified a hundredfold. I think both of these dreams are a good reflection of my subconscious fears of abandonment. I know that I like to foster the image that I’m strong and independent and that I’m generally okay with being alone most of the time, up to the point where I try to convince myself that I’ll be okay if I never get married/paired up with someone permanently. I want to be a good, strong, self-sufficient person who doesn’t put people off with vibes of desperation. But I guess deep down, I really am pretty fragile, and easily frightened by the merest suggestion that the people I love and respect will leave me, for whatever reasons. Through my childhood, most of the affection and approval I got came as a result of my performance in school, and I don’t think I was ever really complimented on just being an interesting, unique, or merely a generally good person. Thus I place a lot of stock in maintaining “good behavior”, because I’d been trained to think that love and acceptance was a function of what you did and how you performed, rather than being a result of someone just liking who you are. I’m struggling to overcome that, and I need to get my head around the idea that it’s possible for me to do or be into different things than the people who like me, and still be able to trust that they won’t run out on me. I need to give my friends more credit for being able to see the real me, it’ll probably help me to be better able to see it myself.

(Death To Socrates? ) Con and On and On and On [01 Aug 2011|03:40pm] Well, another Otakon has come and gone. I've been sort of musing and posting a few of Nyssa's pics on tumblr as I take the Acela home to Boston, but I'm also making a post here, for those of my friends who don't use tumblr that much. I'm also sure Jack got a ton of excellent pics, so everyone who likes cool pictures, be sure to check his eventual posts. Otakon has been mainly "FriendCon" for a few years now, and I barely go to any events anymore, whether I'm just not in the mood for waiting, not really interested, or driven to exhaustion by an increasingly younger and more numerous clientele. People have suggested maybe doing another con instead, like SDCC or Dragon*Con, and I think I'd be much more amenable to the latter. It gives me pause because both seem like just as huge cons by comparison, but I'm just starting to reach my weariness limit here. Not to say that I didn't have a good time, though. Cons are weird places where a lot of the little barriers that you put between yourself and the world are taken down for a while. You open yourself to possibilities that you wouldn't give a second thought to in everyday life, because you already know that everyone around you is similarly a bit weird. You may find yourself doing anything from becoming a star performer to pinching the ass of a perfect stranger. It's all in good fun. But long story short, I really did have a good time this year, and it was a privilege being a part of it with such super cool people.

(Death To Socrates? ) Local Horrors [24 Jun 2011|07:19pm] Well, for those of you who follow the news with any interest, you should be well aware that FBI Most Wanted List long-time Star James “Whitey” Bulger has been taken into police custody, and brought home to Boston. He was boss of Boston’s Irish Mafia during the 1980s until 1995, and Jack Nicholson’s character in the crime drama “The Departed” was based on him. My father, son of an Italian police officer, and a criminal investigations major in college, took particular interest in following the machinations of our local criminal organizations, so I heard this name floating about my childhood, even if I didn’t know what it meant at the time. I remember the AM talk radio shows having a “days on the lam” tally when the dude bolted back in ‘94, until it grew too long to be feasibly counted in days. Eventually, he slid into the rear of the public’s awareness. He emerged again abruptly when I was entering college in the year 2000. The salt marshes on the Neponset River less than a mile from my house were being excavated to prepare for a new public park, and the workers discovered a body in a shallow grave. The remains were eventually determined to be those of Debra Davis, former girlfriend of Whitey’s henchman, Stephen “The Rifleman” Flemmi, who was presumably whacked when she broke up with him and they needed to tie down the loose end. Those marshes were good spots to explore and nature-walk, and some of the neighborhood kids went down to where I-93 passed over the river to drink or smoke. The thought that I, my family and friends might have treaded over the body of a mob hit made me go a little crosseyed, but it sure made for a hell of a story to tell my new college buddies. My friend Joe, upon hearing my tale, proudly remarked with glee, “Wow, Allison! You live in the GHETTO!” No, Joe. Not quite. But your awe at my fifth-hand connections to organized crime will be forever remembered with great fondness.

( 1 sip of hemlock +Death To Socrates? ) I call it the Media Teat. [20 Jun 2011|01:06pm] As much as I hate to admit it, the adage that one is able to handle their parents much better after they leave the home to live on their own has come true for me. Now that I’ve got my own place, my visits to see them have become largely amusing excursions centered around food and offers of further food supplies, where I have now become in their eyes “a sparkling dinner conversationalist” with an interesting choice of cocktails. However, there are still moments from time to time that make me relish the fact that I’m now in my own place, away from them. Example being this revelation yesterday by my father. He believes that the Vancouver Hockey Riots were actually perpetrated by a “Secret Canadian Leftist-Anarchist Cell” (the same one that protested last year’s G8 summit), because “Canadians aren’t capable of rioting.” I’m trying to figure out where he picked up THIS nugget. I have the sneaking suspicion he got it from Fox News, but I have to do more research. He stays attached to that goddamned channel like a squirming newborn marsupial on its mother’s nipple. It gives me pause to think what ELSE that rat’s nest of political sputum is going to convince him to believe when he retires this September and has nothing to do but watch it ALL DAY LONG.

( 2 sips of hemlock +Death To Socrates? ) Creation Myths [19 Jun 2011|09:14pm] Long, long ago, the Elements came together and argued amongst themselves. They fought to determine who would be the foremost amongst them all, and they could not agree who was first and greatest. Water came forward and said, “I should be the first. I am the primordial amnion from which all life comes. Without me, there is no bird, nor beast, nor man, nor even the tiniest strings of swimming life that curl in the darkness. Truly I am greatest.” Earth stepped forward and countered, “This may be so, but under every sea lies my rock and soil. I am the core of worlds, the stony heart. Without my undying frame to cling to, all would drift in the darkness, uncollected. It is I who should be the first.” Fire then surged to rebut, “Yes, and what beats your stony heart but my heat? Deep below your rocks I burn, and yea, beyond your brittle bounds as well. In the very stars themselves am I, those fires in the darkness which spun your stones into being. I am truly the foremost.” The three argued tirelessly, none conceding their place, each one assured that they were the best and first. They debated so fiercely, that until each had paused just before the point of blows, none noticed that Air had slipped in amongst their quarrel unseen. Fire, Earth and Water glared at Air, for they knew what was coming. But Air merely bowed politely and said, “My ethereal hydrogen forms the fuel for the Fire of the stars, which burns and knits together the stones of Earth, which holds tight the wet embrace of Water, which incubates all the living. But know this, friends, it is rare that any creature living will ever give thought to me, save for my lack. My breath will go into them only after they are formed, depart from them before they are broken again, and all throughout, I will remain unseen. While I am the first, I am also the last. Thus, I propose that we do not choose any first amongst us, since there is no first in a circle.” Water, Earth and Fire all looked at Air, and saw the wisdom in the words, and put aside their quarreling. Thus they took their places in the circle, and the cycle of the Elements began. And off in the darkness, Entropy and Gravity glanced at one another, and laughed.

( 1 sip of hemlock +Death To Socrates? ) MOVE, BITCH, GET OUT THE WAY [06 Jun 2011|09:43am] You know that story Steve Merchant tells about being caught in the riptide at Ipanema and nearly drowned? Well, imagine that, but instead of water, the riptide is PEOPLE. Sweaty, drunk, loopy people all pushing and rocking and smothering and telling you “DON’T FALL DOWN!” because if you do, you won’t come back up again. That, my friends, was my first and LAST mosh pit. (Oh and also I DIDN’T end up taking my pants off, key difference.) Anyways, I did manage to survive, but I have a few choice critiques of the EDM concert experience. Mainly, I’d really prefer not to have four hours of openers and ONE hour of the headliner. Paper Diamonds is a decent dj and I have to give him mad props for busting out a dubstep remix of the goddamned Storm Eagle theme from MMX of all things, but I paid for SKRILLEX. Also holy shit, no more mosh pits really, my life flashed before my eyes for a minute. But when Skrillex did finally show up, he put on a fucking stellar performance, including the acappella rendition of “Part of Your World” from the Little Mermaid during setup. The man pulled out some serious jams from a diverse catalogue (“Move, Bitch” and “Let Me Clear My Throat” were highlights) and he has the audacity and ingenuity to do such madnesses as dubstepifying the Jackson Five. I would definitely see Skrillex again, but only as a guaranteed headliner of more than one hour, and sure as hell nowhere near the pit again. Without flaw, however, was the company of my fellow concert-goers, many thanks to Owen and everyone else for making my birthday super special! Post Script Morning Update: Apparently Owen and a couple of other EDM peeps hung around after the show and actually got to MEET SONNY. SO JEALOUS. But I have a trip to Jersey today!

( 1 sip of hemlock +Death To Socrates? ) [27 May 2011|07:19pm] The New Internet Lexicon Definition of Awkward: Finding a naked picture of some random artsy hipster on a "sex positive" blog site who looks UNCANNILY like your latest celebrity crush, and not knowing whether to enjoy it or feel massively guilty. (PS, yes, I saved it) (PPS, no you can't see it)

(Death To Socrates? ) Die Laughing [27 May 2011|02:29am] I’m sitting here as I’ve finished watching the regular run of Extras, and seeing as I’ve fully indulged my Steve Merchant sweet tooth for the moment, I think it’s time to ruminate. One of the supplementary scenes included with the run of Extras on youtube was a video called “The Art of Corpsing.” “Corpsing is apparently the British theater term for when someone breaks character and bursts out laughing (think about having to play a corpse onstage and how hard this is, hence the term.) I’ve seen plenty of blooper reels from films and such where actors are cracking up over and over again, but this is the first time in which I’ve heard the actors actually describe the phenomenon’s almost insidious infectious nature. These fits of laughter are essentially BEYOND the point of actual humor, in fact they often occur in points where there’s nothing funny going on at all. Ricky Gervais, with his notorious shrill hyena cackle, is apparently a horrible perpetrator, and lord knows when he gets going, no one else in the house is safe. It struck me, this revelation that these events are not really a response to humor, but rather, to the absurdity of acting. People are behaving in a way that is contrary to their nature, pre-scripted, in an environment where they are constantly aware of the fictionality of their situations. A man pretends to be dead, and his response is to laugh. It begs the question: since our response to the absurd is laughter, is laughter the means for the protection of our sanity? For so much of our existence is absurd. It also leads me to a rather personal question which has obviously been on my mind recently: why am I personally so awed by and attracted to those people who make comedy their career? And it’s the “clowns” in particular that I am drawn to, the ones who make themselves the butt of the jokes, the people who set themselves up for ridicule for the enjoyment of others. Some comedians ply their trade by pointing out the flaws and foibles of others, which can indeed be worth a chuckle. Some do so, however, without the consent or awareness of their targets, a fact which has always made me incredibly uncomfortable. My brother used to watch the Ali G show, and I just couldn’t bear to look, for the sake of the average joes drawn into the trainwreck. No, my true admiration goes to the ones who put themselves in the path of derision for our amusement. But why? We seek out positive and rewarding stimuli, and when a person is proven to provide them, we of course seek them out for continued fulfillment. Is the nature of being made to laugh, with its positive effects of endorphin release and psychological relief and readjustment, a sort of peculiar interpersonal relationship? Is it a quest to find those who embrace the absurdity of life and turn it into a healthy, positive experience? What is the allure of these strange, ridiculous few who make me laugh?

( 1 sip of hemlock +Death To Socrates? ) [23 May 2011|02:59am] If you're going to make a blog full of hand drawn potshots at convention culture and creepers, at least have the balls to do it under your known internet alias. People are going to realize who you are by your unmistakable artstyle, eventually, so you better just own up now.

( 2 sips of hemlock +Death To Socrates? ) SMERCH. [17 May 2011|12:17am] So kids, I have a little situational quandary for you. I'm currently planning a little adventure to NYC in December to go see Stephen Merchant live at the Town Hall theater. I've already got the tickets for the show proper, and I'm currently planning to double up on a fairly reasonable hotel with an internet buddy. The whole deal is so neatly situated in the bleeding heart of New York that it would be well worth it to stay two nights so we can spend at least part of the day wandering around seeing sights before the show. It's all very exciting. The only problem is that the show is on December 20th, smack dab in the middle of Hell Week for a retail monkey like me. This period is firmly blacked out in terms of requesting time off. Now, I've worked at this place steadily for at least 6-7 years, and they know my diligent habits, and tendencies to not call out unless there's something really serious afoot. But they are terribly anal about the Great Christmas Retail Season, so even though I've been a good little worker bee, I couldn't just roll up and ask for three days off in Hell Week right off the cuff. What I really need in this situation is an EXCUSE. I need a grand, arcane tale of some unalterable situation that spans the dates of December 19th through 21st that they couldn't say no to. Currently I'm considering a madcap story about my relatives from Italy coming over for Christmas and some sort of associated family reunion, or the like. Basically, I just need something far enough in advance to give my work enough time to prepare, so they aren't left hanging, but of enough portent to let them know that this is set in stone, and cannot be changed. Any ideas? Comments? Cries to stop this madness before it's too late?

( 2 sips of hemlock +Death To Socrates? ) [30 Apr 2011|12:03am] I think VALVe software really ought to be more careful in the future. They just inadvertently turned three quarters of the internet's fangirls into robophiles and denial fetishists in less than two weeks. If mass sexual subversion isn't a sign of supervillainy, I'm not sure what is.

( 2 sips of hemlock +Death To Socrates? ) Japan Can Never Do Anything SANE. [09 Jan 2011|04:24pm] My new favorite thing to come out of Japan, the antipiracy/antibootlegging ad, "NO MORE Eiga Dorobo." Some insane part of me wants to see these guys hook up with Daft Punk, if only to dance in front of the Pyramid, or do some nutty keystone cops routine in one of their music videos. Another insane part of me wants to cosplay as Camera Head.

( 7 sips of hemlock +Death To Socrates? ) Assistanza? [16 Dec 2007|08:00pm] Livejournal afficionados! I have a question for those of you who are on my friendslist. I have a very odd problem, where it appears that my friends-locked journals, if not ALL my journal entries, are failing to show up on people's friendspages! If there is any particular reason why this might be happening, I'd appreciate an explanation! To test if my journals are working at all, please reply, if you can see this journal via YOUR OWN FRIENDS PAGE, and not through my own journal's mainpage.

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