"Insanity runs in my family. It practically gallops."*

   I’m on drugs again.

   You know what I mean…the sanity kind. Not the needle or powder kinds. In case you were wondering. Or are prone to conclusion jumping. My life hasn’t torpedoed quite that drastically (yet).

   I went cold turkey on the sanity pills for two full months before I realized that I’m just not a worthwhile human being without medication. In some ways that fact makes me feel sad and inferior. But these new Steve Austin pills make me better, stronger, faster…and maybe a little bit…what’s the word?...sane? Ouisa suggested that instead of looking at it as though I’m inherently flawed and require medication, I should think of it as if I’m really great and the meds bring that out in all its beautiful nuances. She’s really nice. She should be in PR.

   So but anyways, during the in-betweens time (between being un-medicated and then medicated again), I felt like my brain was the open, abandoned farmland for a scary carnival, replete with all the things that scare me: clowns, spiders, mirrors, axes, etc. Like my brain was the perfect setting for a horror film or Stephen King novel. I drew a picture of my brain for you:

A Rorschach image of the inside of my twisted brain.

   I can’t begin to explain how much this picture is nicer than the place inside my head,

   Am I scaring you?

   Sorry.

   And I don’t want to be weird, but I keep hearing Tom Petty’s “Free Falling” every time I turn on the radio. How is that possible? I do not exaggerate when I say that I’ve heard that song at least once a day on the radio (on different stations) since I’ve been in Omaha. It can’t be pure coincidence. But then again…if the universe is sending me a sign, it’s a bit on-the-nose, don’t you think? Okay, yeah, I get it, Universe, I’m free falling. Good grief. Try to add a little mystery to the symbolism, would you?

   So, yeah, anyhow, I’m trying to put my proverbial ducks in a row and write on the regular, but when you’re busy free falling and entertaining circus folk in your brain there isn’t a butt-load of time for that kind of shit.

   But I’m gonna shoot for a more regular schedule, now that the clowns are dead.

*Arsenic and Old Lace: Frank Capra, 1944.

"She has lost the power of conversation, but not, unfortunately, the power of speech."*

   Y’all ever feel weird and like things aren’t quite the way they ought to be? I’m not a person who fears change, but change does tend to wreak havoc on me. Lately I find myself feeling like I’m the central figure in some David Arkenstone album.

   In case you’re a normal person (or just someone with good taste), you've never heard of David Arkenstone. You should be able to find out everything about him here. My parents, who’ve instilled me with their excellent musical tastes over the years (The Beatles, Yes, Ravi Shankar, The Gershwins, The Allman Brothers, and Led Zeppelin as well as all things classical), had a dark period in the mid-nineties. It was the Arkenstone period, and I don’t want to talk too much about it. Because it’s embarrassing. But his “music” (if you can call it that) always made me feel as though it was about nomads wondering through the desert. But not, you know, like real nomads. These nomads (again, all in my head) were dressed like Olivia Newton-John in that “Physical” video. It was “Physical” meets Lawrence of Arabia. It was (is) terrible. Listen to Mr. Arkenstone sometime. You’ll get it.

   So I’ve been feeling all wandery-in-the-desert, and purposeless and also just epically removed. But maybe also a little bit like Olivia Newton-John in the "Physical" video (spandex, leg warmers, bad hair, headbands). When I get confused about my place in the world, I get tired and take a nap. But there’s really no time for that. I have to take math class (stats, finally!) and find a job (anywhere, anytime) and work on my summer bucket list.

   The bucket list isn’t long, as yet.

   Here it is:

1.  Do a pull-up.

2.  Run a mile.

3.  Run a mile in under 15 minutes (this was my time when I was on the track team in junior high and finished last at EVERY SINGLE MEET.)

4.  Get over fear of bugs, especially spiders, as there will be many of both in Texas.

   I’m currently running for 10 minutes IN A ROW and have accomplished only .63 miles. I’ve killed many spiders and one silverfish, but I’m not anywhere near over my fears. (Especially after hearing Ouisa's boyfriend, Matt, talk in a scholarly fashion about bedbugs, which I'm now convinced are crawling on me at all times.) I’m working on lat pull-downs to make my side muscles stronger.

   But I feel kind of like those people in that American Gothic** painting. I’m standing around with a bunch of tools (or just a broom?) and looking confused and angry in front of a big old barn house: the modern-day, Nebraska equivalent of wandering through the desert.

Nebraskan Gothic

*The quote is George Bernard Shaw. It should be my epitaph.

**Did you know that Grant Woods modeled the figures in American Gothic on his neighbor and his own sister? I also didn't know it was supposed to be a farmer and his spinster daughter. I always thought they were supposed to be a married couple. Wow, art.

"'Cause I've seen blue skies, through the tears in my eyes, and I realize...I'm going home."*

   Hi. It’s been a while. It’s okay if you’re over me. I’ve been sort of over myself, if you know what I mean.

   A lot has happened in the last three weeks. I won’t bore you with the details, but I will provide you with hi-lights, so we can ease back into our routine without too much hoop-la. I hate explanations. I never know what to leave out, and then I end up writing too much and everyone gets bored.

   Bored is bad.

   Okay:

1.  I live in Omaha now. It’s not permanent, but it feels strange. Being here on vacation is one thing. Living here (if only for a couple of months) feels overwhelmingly surreal. I don’t have a ton of stuff to occupy my time as yet, so I drive around and take pictures of things. Which is pretty much exactly what I did the last time I lived here…in the year 2000. Only back then I just drove around. And, to be fair, I can make anything feel overwhelming.

So strange to see in the summer, but so great all the same. Memorial Park, Omaha.

2.  Em and I drove from Los Angeles to Three Rivers, CA to see the Sequoias (more on that later). Then we drove from there to Omaha. In total it took 4 days. We are no longer sprightly, energetic people like we once were. We are slightly older and we get tired easily. Four days felt long, but three days would’ve killed us. Can’t imagine how much it would’ve hurt if we didn’t really like each other.

The drive from LA, via Sequoia National Park, Nevada, Arizona, Utah, Colorado and Western Nebraska.

3.  My life leading up to the road trip was a hazy blur of packing, drinking, eating whatever I could find, and sleeping and then doing all of those same things again. It may have been fun at times. I don’t choose to remember. 

My life pre-move: a vicious cycle.

4.  I realized the other week that I’m sexually attracted to men in drag.

5. Speaking of men in drag, did you hear Tim Curry had a stroke? E and I saw him in LA once. It remains the celebrity-siting hi-light of my existence. One of the sexiest men EVER. He's recovering properly, so don't worry.

6.  I don’t know if my succulents will survive the summer in Omaha. It’s already rained twice since they’ve been here, and the sun isn’t being too cooperative. They don’t like that. They look a lot like I do when I’m hungover. And my aloe plant has a broken arm from the road trip.

7.  I have been forced to kill three spiders in three days (Gabe would say I wasn't forced, and she herself would just pick them up with her GD hands and take them outside because she is INVINCIBLE). And I don’t want to kill them (yes I do! I do!), but not because I’m good and nature-y like Gabe, but because they horrify me, but the alternative is worse (they will mutate into Shiders and/or eat me in my sleep). It’s so spider-y in the summers in Nebraska. Just writing about it makes me feel things crawling on my skin.

8.  I feel very fat at present. And covered in webs.

   Alrighty, then, I think you’re up to speed, basically. I will write more and better things in the next few days, if my sanity holds out. I still need to find a groove but also...I was afraid to write, thinking that this would be hard for us. And then I had to figure out my parents' Interwebs code. But then I realized that one of us had to be the mature one. You’re welcome. 

*"I'm Going Home" by Richard O'Brien from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Performed by my beloved Tim Curry.

"This fresh air is getting into my lungs."*

   One of my favorite quotes of all time is from a calendar my mom gave me by Anne Taintor. The page featured a woman in a beautiful nightgown lying on a big, silky bed with her arm above her head and a huge smile on her face. The quote above was, “I love not camping.”

   Recently I was watching a movie where one character wanted to go to the beach and the other character wasn’t going to go because of ticks/sand/sunburn etc. And the one that was going to the beach said to the other, “Enjoy the great indoors.”

   Both of these quotes mean a lot to me, because over the years I’ve come to realize that I don’t really love communing with nature, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. People always talk about long walks on the beach and camping under the stars. They like to brag about SCUBA diving and skiing and running marathons. All of these things sound shitty to me.

   I don’t like sand in my shoes, clothes, hair or underpants. I burn approximately 8 seconds after stepping outdoors without a burqa. I don’t like sleeping on the ground and then waking up to spiders spooning me. (I thought sleeping on the ground was for people who couldn’t get a sober ride home from a party?) I don’t like sharks so I don’t try to go under the ocean’s surface to find them. I might enjoy skiing if I didn’t hate being cold and wasn’t afraid of falling. I only like running when I’m being chased, and even then I’m not a huge fan.

   The point I’m making is that I do enjoy nature and even love it a little bit, but I can appreciate it so much better from inside.

   See, when I’m inside, I can have things like heat, insulation, and air conditioning. I have electricity in my apartment, so I can do things like turn on lights and surf the Interwebs (the only web I like, incidentally, is the Interweb. Or the kind that is made by practicing to deceive—but I don’t like that kind too much, either. Not because honesty's best. Honesty's just way easier). I can do things like watch TV or read my book well after the sun has set. 

Air conditioning: I love not not having air conditioning.

   Another thing I like about the great indoors is the presence of plumbing. I really enjoy things like using a toilet for my business and being able to wipe with toilet paper and then flush and never see that business (or anyone else’s business) ever again. I like showering with water that comes from a tap (not a river or a stream) and is warm or even hot. And potable! Because I also enjoy drinking water that isn’t malarial or rife with fecal matter (I’m not a germaphobe, just a realist. I’ll eat moldy chicken or food off the floor, but I insist on clean-ish water. That’s just me). 

Toilets add rainbows to your business. Toilet paper helps!

   I would like to say that one of the best parts of being inside is the lack of insects, but as I’ve told you multiple times this year, my incredible apartment is home to all kinds of nature’s fascinating creatures. Bees, ants, and flies all call my apartment their home, but I’ve yet to see a spider. Of course now that I’ve said that, I’m probably fucked.

   Did I mention how amazing it is to have a refrigerator when you’re enjoying not being outside? It keeps your food fresh and you don’t have to keep dumping water out of it the way you do with those coolers. Also, it’s full of an array of edible goods. And when you run out of those, you can go to the store, which is located next to NO CAMPSITES EVER. 

Refrigerators are god's creations, too.

   I further appreciate the ability to change my clothes, should the inclination suit me. Sometime I feel too hot or too cold. I will then subtract or add clothing items as I see fit from the plethora of things that I have in my closet and drawers. If my socks get wet, I put on new socks. I’d like to see you try that when you’re hanging out at Joshua Tree.

   Not to seem super deep (because we all know I'm not), but I’ve done some soul searching on this issue and I think I have identified Nature’s most annoying quality. See, she’s all beautiful and magnificent and profoundly moving. All of these inconvenient truths force me into deep contemplation about my life and my choices and my gods and stuff like that. And I freak out a little when I have to think too hard. Being alone with my thoughts is kind of intimidating to me. It’s like a choose your own adventure book and I’m never sure if it’s going to work out or if it’s ever going to be concluded at all or if I’ll be eaten by a Minotaur before I even finish half of a thought. Thinking is scary and it makes me question my general state of being. Nature forces that on me, because it doesn’t distract me with its beauty the way a good book or movie or shopping trip does; it forces me to be present and to contemplate the moment.

   I really don’t like contemplating the moment.

   But there are exceptions.

   I like driving on the Pacific Coast Highway in the morning (before traffic) with the windows down and some great Led Zeppelin or Hall and Oates playing on the 8-track.

   I like reaching the top of a hill during a rough, heinous, sweaty, nauseating hike and then turning around to see how far I’ve come. Sometimes, on a clear day, you can see all the way to the goddamn ocean.

   I like the view from any given point of the rim of the Grand Canyon.

   I like watching the movie Jaws. Sharks are terrible, but Jaws is perfection.

   I like sitting around a campfire, especially in Tom and Jess’s** backyard. I even like the way I stink like fire smoke and their Boston terriers for days afterwards. (I'm sure if I showered more often with my precious plumbing this wouldn't be an issue.)

   I love sledding. The walk back up the hill sucks, but what are you gonna do? (Sledding = opposite of hiking?)

   I like most animals.

   I really like the moon. (From a distance! I don’t want to go there! NEVER!!!)

   I love elements of nature, no doubt. I was an outdoor kid growing up, with a box full of locust shells, constant skinned knees, and a bike that doubled as a horse. But nowadays I’m perfectly fine with my inside status.

   I just love not camping. It just feels right.

Right on! (Anne Taintor)

*From Jeeves and Wooster. One of the best comedy series (or any kind of series) ever made. Hugh Laurie plays a British person and his accent is REALLY BELIEVABLE! (J/K. It's not that believable.)

**Who just got engaged last night!!! I love them!!

"It's getting awfully hard to have a good time. Even smiling makes my face ache."*

    I am easily frightened by bogus stuff (like surfer lingo and the word "nipple" and spiders), but sometimes I think that many things are scary that aren’t supposed to be. When I get thinking on this too hard, I start envisioning a vast conspiracy of twisted, freaky adults (mostly corporate executives wearing capes, for some reason) with too much time on their hands sitting around in conference rooms and plotting the demise of the psychological health of children (or impressionable adults).

    So because I got a mysterious vampire bite ON MY ANKLE, I decided I should put it out there, and request feedback on remedies. So far, I’m still visible in the mirror and my skin doesn’t shimmer like a disco ball. But I’d also like to provide a short list of things that are terrifying and (unlike vampires) probably shouldn’t be.

Vampire fang marks on my ankle. I shaved for this photo, so don't give me a hard time.

1.     Ice cream trucks and their music. Actually I would like to break this one into three separate categories:

a.     The fact that ice cream trucks look a lot like big, white, child-molester vans.

b.     The fact that the “ice cream” in said ice cream trucks was most likely manufactured sometime in the mid-1960’s. That ice cream has no stamp of freshness on it, unless you note that sometimes it comes in the shape of Sponge Bob, so it must have been made at least as recently as 1999. Which still doesn’t make me feel better.

c.      The music played by ice cream trucks. Why does it sound like a jack-in-the-box is going to jump out and attack you?

2.     Jack-in-the boxes. (Jacks-in-the-boxes? Jacks-of-all-boxes?) Whoever invented this twisted “toy” is one sick puppy. So, you sit there and turn a handle while some creepy circus music plays (usually “Pop Goes the Weasel”) and at some point, unexpectedly, a scary fucking CLOWN jumps out at you? Fun. Really fun.

3.     Clowns. Come on. These aren’t fun or funny or even vaguely enjoyable. They’re gut-wrenchingly terrifying and perverted. And I’m pretty convinced they always have been, even before It was a book or a major motion picture. (A private thank you to Stephen King who was just saying what we were all thinking.)

Pennywise the Clown in a sewer drain in IT. Only redeeming factor: he was played by my beloved Tim Curry.

4.     My friend Colin suggested “hockey masks” as an addition to this list. I could not agree more (of course, part of that is due to Friday the 13th) but I’d take this one notch further: masks, in general, are terrifying. This dates back to even before Poe’s Masque of the Red Death and all the way to the time of those wacky Greek theatricals of 8 quadrillion B.C. But it remains utterly horrifying and real: masks are disgusting bastardizations of human faces. Think skeleton masks, Nixon’s face, or any of those ski masks people wear to rob banks or stab innocent campers.

5.     Characters in costume at Disneyland. Unless they’re dressed as princesses, they’re really not allowed to talk to you, but they feel totally comfortable rubbing your back or squeezing your neck or following you around with lollipops while you’re innocently trying to hit up the buffet breakfast. But all they can do when you confront them is shrug and try to hug you. I call shenanigans on that. It's just grab-assing while dressed like a squirrel. Shudder.

6.     Teddy Ruxpin: here was a teddy bear that talked to you and actually moved its mouth. I knew how it worked, because my sister had one and I was madly jealous and played with it all the time behind her back. It was just a cassette tape shoved in behind his vest (a creepy detail in and of itself). But that didn’t explain his random mouth movements that were unaccompanied by any vocalization. Or why he could still move when his batteries were dead...

One of Ouisa's many animatronic toys. She also had Go-Go My Walking Pup.

7.     Chuck-e-Cheeze. This place used to be called Showbiz Pizza (“Where a kid can be a kid!”) and my well-meaning Aunt Kris took me there when I was a young thing. All I remember was that as we ate our pizza in a booth, I grew increasingly fearful that an enormous bear or mouse or kangaroo was going to come sauntering up to our table. I was so convinced, that I could have sworn the floors were shaking and pounding with the footfalls of said animal, like they would in an earthquake. That may have been the only time in my entire life that I wasn’t completely immersed in devouring a pizza.

8.     Team mascots. Usually birds or tigers or bears. See number 5.

9.     Silly putty. A toy a lot like vomit. But unlike vomit, you can’t clean it up and you don’t feel better after you’ve done it.

10. Mall Santa Clauses. See numbers 5 and 8.

Perhaps the source of some of my neuroses: the back of the photo reads "Lacey and Billy Bear, 1983" in an adult's horrific penmanship or that of a very advanced 6-year-old. Notice how he's staring at me. And how I'm sleeping in a closet.

   So, I’ve had my vampire fang imprints for a good week now, and they aren’t getting better despite my liberal application of Neosporin and my near-constant scratching. Are vampire bites itchy? Because these itch like hell. To be honest, I wouldn’t care too much if I became a vampire. It would allow me a lot more time to figure out my life. And I enjoy the nighttime and darkness in general. I’m not a huge fan of blood, but I suppose that will change when and if it has to. And there’s always the chance for major stardom in the film industry, which is really loving our kind right now. And if everyone I love dies before me, I know I can just spray a little holy water on myself and end it all. 

*Rocky Horror Picture Show (Richard O'Brien, 1975). Words uttered by Tim Curry as Dr. Frank-n-Furter, a Scientist. A film that made truly heinous things wonderful and vice-verse. (This is sure to be the subject of its own post one day.)

"Sometimes I think I'd like to boldly go where no man has gone before. But I'll probably just stay in Aurora."*

       I had it in my head to write THE BEST MOVIE OF ALL TIME. I worked it out and talked about it a lot (a sure sign you’re not writing anything is to talk about it a lot). It would be an action-adventure/sci-fi/romantic comedy (all my favorite genres in one, if you will) and it would by turns leave people writhing in fear, mind-boggled by scientific innovations the like of which they’d never seen and chuckling about how women and men just don’t GET each other.

        It was going to be called Shiders in Space and it was going to blow America’s mind. And then it would go on to blow all the minds in Europe and Asia. And then South America. Africa? Probably not. They have bigger fish to fry (pun intended, as you will soon see). And, oh shit, Australia. I didn't even think of them. Oh well, it probably doesn't matter.

        My movie was about a combination of my three biggest fears in life: sharks, spiders and space. The three “S's”, if you will.  (But if I were to describe my biggest fears in order from most fearsome to least it would be: sharks, space and then spiders. But it doesn’t sound as good written out that way.)

        So here’s the story: it’s NASA’s last space mission, the summer of 2011. A bunch of sexy, quirky, funny and lovably neurotic astronauts head into the Final Frontier to see if they can’t rehabilitate a space station built in the 60’s. Problem is, the space station is haunted. BY SHIDERS!!!!!!!!

        I drew a picture so you could see what a Shider looks like:

Okay, I'm not an artist, but you get the gist.

        It’s essentially a shark with spider legs and the spider legs ALSO have spider legs, so it’s extra gross. Aside from the spider’s nasty, bulbous backside, the most heinous thing about a spider is its eight hairy legs. And the way it just falls down from the ceiling when you’re trying to kill it.

        But here are the main reasons a Shider would be the worst nemesis of anyone on the face of Planet Earth, or in the Galaxy, for that matter.

1.     Shiders can live in the ocean, on land or IN SPACE. There’s nowhere you can go to be rid of them. Think about how "evolution" (still don't buy it, so let's just say, alternatively, GOD) has provided us with the Kangaroo, the Tasmanian Devil and the Lemur: all species that evolved (were created by our Lord) when left on islands and unable to reproduce with other, normal animals. But then multiply it by a trillion, add gills AND lungs AND space helmets. There’s no stopping these beasts!

2.     A shider has the skills of the spider and the bite of the shark. Maybe it’s fair to say that not everyone is afraid of spiders. But a lot of us are, and it’s not just because they look disgusting and bite you when you’re sleeping. A lot of it has to do with the way they seem to be able to leap from tall places and virtually disappear from view the second they see you coming with, ironically, your rolled up issue of The National Geographic. (Just because you read The National Geographic does not mean you want nature and anthropological specimens invading your home! And, if we're being super honest, we should probably admit that we only subscribe to The National Geographic to seem literate, but really we like it because usually there are chicks with weird piercings and bare breasts featured.)

            But then add the fact that even if you jumped in the  pool or THE OCEAN, a shider  would still be able to find you and it has horrendous, monster teeth and a (nearly) blind stare. It can smell your fear, it can out swim you, and it will eat your legs off while thinking about what to buy its wife for Valentine’s Day.
And even if you make it out of the water and onto the beach or poolside, etc, it can still follow you because it has LEGS! Anywhere from 8 to 64 of them! (Actually, I think it's 64 plus 8, because each leg has eight legs, but then you have to count the original legs...)

3.     Shiders also live in space. I don’t know how much you’ve thought about it, but space is terrible. There’s no oxygen, no gravity, and no one can hear you scream (mostly because there’s no oxygen or gravity). There are black holes all around and there’s a good chance that if you go up there, you won’t be coming back. Or if you do make it back, it will be one of the most heroic things you or I or the United States or the WORLD will have ever seen. But there still will have been that moment (or those days, weeks, months, years) when you were drinking Tang and peeing into a bag and you wondered what it was all about. Some people want to boldly go where no man has gone before, but I’m definitely not one of those people. (It also occurs to me that you might come back from space and it will be like The Flight of the Navigator: your parents will be old and totally freaked out that you’re still 10, and completely unwilling to accept the fact that you fell into a time warp. But hell, you can't control that kind of shit!)

4.     Shiders are clearly adaptable, and what does that say about our (human beings, that is) future as the self-appointed manipulators of the universe? If something can incorporate gills, eight legs (or in this case, 64 legs--maybe 72 legs?), and the ability to survive in space, we’re clearly doomed as a species. I don’t really want to think about the implications. I’m still crying about Joey in The Flight of the Navigator. That dude missed everything.

       Okay, that’s all I’m going to say for now about Shiders in Space. I thought it would make a great screenplay, but then I saw Sharktopus, Two-Headed Shark, and even Mega-Shark Vs. Giant Octopus (though I didn't watch the sequel, Mega Shark Vs. Crocosaurus because, seriously? I have a life, here.) and I think the genre of weird shark-hybrid is a little played-out.

       I still think my villain is the scariest, because it plays on all MY worst fears, but I have too much pride to sell it as a screenplay. But if I did ever make the movie, here are some potential taglines:

“Houston, we’ve got a shider.”

OR:

“In space, no one can hear you scream.”

And my favorite:

“Just when you thought it was safe to return to the abandoned space station...”

 *Quote from Wayne's World (Penelope Spheeris, 1992). Oh, man, I've never changed my title quote after publishing, but Emily reminded me that Wayne's World generally has the best quotes about everything. (For example, this.)