Sexy Sax Man

Uh-mazing:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GaoLU6zKaws

The Clermont Lounge

One of my top five favorite places in probably the world is The Clermont Lounge. It is lauded as an "Atlanta landmark" and also as "where strippers go to die," but I think of it more as where PBR, strippers, hipsters, and frighteningly awkward rednecks go to thrive. It dwells below the charming Clermont Motor Hotel, which I believe has finally recently been shut down. The Motor Hotel has long been affectionately known as a terrible crack den most likely filled with fleas and scabies, and just as "Nature gave a second groan" in Paradise Lost when Adam and Eve eat the sinful fruit and copulate, Atlanta will surely mourn the loss of such a fine establishment.

My most recent visit to the quaint and charming Clermont Lounge was about a week ago to induct a good friend to the experience who had never before witnessed such a brand of revelry. We got there at about 9:30, much too early, and found ourselves in a nearly empty bar with only strippers, one weird man who seemed to know everyone, and a small group of blind people. The blind people were exceedingly kind and considerate, but, I mean, why were blind people at a strip club?? So bizarre.

As we sipped our PBRs and watched the lovely ladies gyrating, a group of fratty guys who all looked alike and all were wearing baby blue polo shirts entered. Their presence immediately encouraged my compatriot and me to slide down the bar closer to the blind crew. The fratty guys also immediately ordered kamikaze shots (?!) and proceeded to loudly heckle the strippers. Finally, after two or three dances, one of the strippers began yelling back at them, "Do you guys fucking talk to your mother with those mouths? It's bad enough being up here naked without you fucking making fun of me!" We all clapped for this brave lady, and the bouncer yelled out to the guys, "You can either learn some respect or get the fuck out of my bar." The guys were instantly ashamed and apologized. I wish they had left. But of course, wishing is about as effective as religion, so...

Later in the evening, after we had noticed the entrance of my friend's podiatrist (!), one of the brosephs tried to hit on us. After awkwardly asking us if we had any tattoos, I asked him what made The Situation so awesome. He immediately launched into a long-winded speech about the awesomeness of Jersey Shore before asking me which character I liked the best. I told him (eliminating as much sass from my voice as humanly possible) that I had never seen it. He pretty much figured out at that point that we did not care for his company. Later, one of his friends came up and bragged to us about how much coke he did. We left soon after.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this post, but I guess I just wanted to express to my 0 readers how awesome the Clermont is and that you should go. There is never a dull moment to be had there. Additionally, when we told my friend's father we were going to the Clermont, he mentioned a certain stripper he had seen there in college who could crush beer cans between her tittays. I have included an instructional photograph of said stripper, Blondie, who is still there to this day. Basically, I guess my point is that the Clermont Lounge is a timeless, classic Atlanta tradition that would be a fun place to take your grandparents.

I like this

This is neat: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EeGDRSWB46w

X-File: Sick in the Summer

This is bullshit. I have been sick now for five days. FIVE DAYS. Unacceptable. It is summer and I have a cold. AND the Fourth of July is very soon and that's always supposed to be something you don't want to miss. But worse than being sick for five days is the fact that our cable doesn't work. I can't watch True Blood and I can't watch the World Cup. What did I do to deserve this torment??

Luckily, The X-Files streams on Netflix.

I started watching episodes of The X-Files early in June, but I have really covered some ground this week. I just commenced watching season 5 about 20 minutes ago. Right now, Agent Mulder has faked his own death and is infiltrating the secret underground lairs of the Pentagon to try and find a cure for Scully's rapidly more mortal cancer that she was given when she was abducted by aliens...or the government...or aliens...or the government...in Season 2. It's all very heart-pounding and high-stakes drama. AND it is super nerdy and mysterious so I really enjoy it. (Did I mention that I have also watched the entirety of Buffy the Vampire Slayer Seasons 1-7 this year as well?)

Anyway, I like to watch my science fiction whilst simultaneously learning trivia about it via imdb.com or wikipedia. While watching Buffy, I found out a lot about the personal lives of the actors and creator as well as what happens to the characters in spin-off shows like Angel (which I am never going to watch) and spin-off comic books. I also found some excellent footage of the Buffy reunion forum at what looked like a ComiCon festy on youtube. I think the day I found that I may have made up some lame excuse not to go out with my friends on a Friday night and instead stayed home and watched that.

But I digress. Because what I wanted to tell you is that there has been one good thing that has come out of my illness, and that is this little jewel that I rediscovered when looking up fun facts about The X-Files yesterday: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=getG19TQ0go&feature=related. Does anyone remember this song?? And by the way, that is the official music video... AND you need to watch to the end for a fun and silly surprise.

In conclusion, The X-Files has made me recall why it was that in seventh or eight grade when I was allowed to pick one show a week on TV to watch on a school night that I was the nerd who picked this show: David Duchovny used to be very sexy. Foxxxxxxxy Fox Mulder.

Remember when Mrs. Fleming forced me to eat ice cream in eight grade?

Today I ate the Lean Cuisine macaroni and cheese. It was not good. This is devastating because I LOVE mac & cheese. LOVE IT. The Bob Evan's kind is my kryptonite. And I haven't had it in two months. That is serious. I recently discovered while slipping into my probably too-old-to-display-in-public high school bikini from J. Crew, that I had a spare tire situation going on that I was unfamiliar with. WELL. I got over that pretty fast and decided that my diet of exclusively macaroni and cheese and Willy's was probably not a good plan. It was also clear that exercise was impending. Anyone who knows me knows that I fear and detest physical movement of any kind and I absolutely do not run unless I am being chased. So this is a life changing situation we are talking about.

I have joined the YMCA. It is not just for young Christian men and Village People. It is full of eliptical machines, treadmills, weight machines, classes, and unbelievable freak weirdos for me to watch work out. I cannot even describe most of them. There are the ones who make odd exhaling sounds while lifting that sound like the pistons on a dump truck. I can hear their persistent wheezing through the blaring headphones I have plugged into ABC family on my eliptical. Then there are the ones that are so exhausted on the stair master that they are leaning all the way over on it and practically consummating their relationship with the machine. And then there are my favorite people: the ones who are giving themselves an out-loud pep-talk while rowing on the rowing machine. It's great fun all around.

If you're looking for me at the Y, I'm the girl on the eliptical with it set to intensity level 1 and softly crying. Thanks womanhood, for taking back that metabolism. Awesome.

Latest ULYSSES Response

This is my latest weekly response to Ulysses by James Joyce. In a relatively non-dramatic way, it kind of says what I'm feeling. Citations are not in yet and it is mainly devoid of quotations because my text is upstairs, but whatever.

I know that these responses are supposed to be critical and literary in nature, but as I conclude the penultimate episode of "Ulysses", I am mainly filled with a sense of mourning. Mourning for the end to come of a great novel, for these two characters who have found little resolution, and for myself, whom I can see reflected in every page of this book that has made such an impression on me in the past few months.

My mother, who I have recently been living with again because of a lack in monetary funds, asked me yesterday why I was taking this class. She noted that I only read her snippets of the book preceded by the words, “listen to this crazy thing,” or, “oh my god, James Joyce is a crazy man.” I told her that I not only am reading something that is incredibly dense and difficult, and the exercise of sorting through the vocabulary and style has made me better at examining and interpreting tough literature, but that I also have been able to see myself in a different light as I come to see myself in the two main characters.

Leopold Bloom, a rather mature man, who feels like an outsider and yet tries to put a bright and educated face on the hardships and incidents of his day, is someone who has come to terms with his own person and has given up trying to change his fate. He of course had many moments where he feels “so lonely,” but he is confident in his work and his personality (best reflected in his personal hygiene), and therefore makes better and more assured choices. Stephen, a man closer to my own age, is restless, unhappy, and too aware of his own intelligence. He is dissatisfied with his current circumstances because he feels like he could do much better for himself and is not reaching his full potential. And yet he does nothing to change his circumstances. His personal depression is too deeply set. He has a vague idea of where he wants to go with his life (to be a writer and artist), but he is unwilling to exert the energy required to make change happen.

The Bloom in me is continuously frustrated with people who refuse to be the change they wish to see in themselves. I cannot stand it when people simply complain and complain without end and yet do not take the initiative to make things better for themselves. But the Stephen in me is still very young, very inexperienced, and very reluctant to go out on that limb and actually TRY. I am afraid to settle into a great master’s program and find a scholarship and figure out a way to pay to stay in Atlanta for another two or so years in order to start a path to a career that probably will not actually begin for another half a decade or so. Do I really want to stay in my hometown and do the same thing? Does Stephen really want to stay in Dublin and be a professor and write for the local newspaper and sit around in bars with the local nobodys who refuse to admit that they are such? And is this frustration and sadness really necessary to being a great artist or professor? Does it really have to be this emotionally difficult?

I hear people in the class say that they don’t like or are frustrated with Stephen. Are they really so far ahead of me or are they unable to see the part of themselves that does not have all the answers? Both Bloom and Stephen voice their loneliness and sadness throughout the book. And by the end of Episode Seventeen, we know as readers that there will be no resolution for these characters within the novel, and perhaps, no resolution for any of us in life itself. But does that mean life isn’t worth the effort? I am not ready to give up and get on a conveyor belt, never to make a tough choice again. I am propelled by this book, not to acquiesce to my inevitable and sad humanity, but instead to overcome this rut, for lack of a better word, and live a life devoid of giving up to people like Blazes Boylan and a family that doesn’t understand me, and not become a Dubliner.

I Hate the Phone

When I was in college in Pittsburgh that time, I made this pact with myself that I was not going sit around waiting by the phone for people to call me and invite me along in their shenanigans. It always just turned out to be a major disappointment. Instead, for the last four years or so, I have always (or mostly) made the phone calls and organized my own social life instead of relying on other people. As a rule, I never rely on other people because they always always always let you down. There are zero exceptions. Or at least, I don't know anyone on a personal level who has not let me down before. I am not mad about these things, this is just life. I am a huge let-down myself, after all.

But after having a mostly disappointing winter season so far, I think I am going to stop making these phone calls. I started doing this in order not to be let down by the sting of exclusion from other people, but now, when I compare the volume of outgoing calls on my cellular device to the volume of incoming calls that are not my mother, it is even more sad than not being included four years ago. So I think I'm going to try a different tactic. You, yes all of you who I call every week to see if you want to get together and I don't think I've had the pleasure of seeing your names light up on my phone as an incoming call in maybe two months, I have gotten the message loud and clear. I will not bother you with my outgoing friendship anymore. I do apologize for the extreme annoyance I have clearly added to your lives. I know, you've been busy. I know, you are tired. Work out all these huge obstacles, and then, if you want to hang out, tag you're it. Your turn. Call me.

God, sometimes I hate people. I'm getting excited for when I enter my hermitage.