Reppin'

If you're in LA and you have a couple of free hours between now and October 12th, go see this. Since I don't know anything at all about architecture, the plans that were on display went totally over my head. But getting to see models of John Lautner's works and images of the interiors of the homes he has designed was absolutely amazing. Lautner certainly seems to have had his critics, but to them I say this: dudes, it's not an embodiment of Hollywood excess if it's shaped like an OCTAGON, and it's not dystopic if the structure is covered in windows with GALLONS of sunlight flooding in.

My affection for architecture is barely budding, but apparently I will pull a gat on you if you mess with one of three architects I can actually name off the top of my head.

blah.

I hate dating.

More later when I have the strength.

UPDATE: Dating does NOT suck. All of the time. But it is totally confusing. All of the time.

Ladytron Will Always Trump Crappiness

Going to a show on a weeknight is probably not a good idea for me, unless I suddenly decide that being exhausted to the point of nausea the next morning at work is an AWESOME feeling. Also, since I tend to go to sleep much earlier than most people my age, I probably do not have enough emotional fortitude after 11 PM to deal with fans who scream things at the women on stage such as "That bitch is hot!" and "I want to have sex with you!" Oh, and then there was the girl in the boy scout top who kept gyrating and SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF HER LUNGS, much to the delight of her friends who would GIVE EACH OTHER HIGH FIVES every time she screamed particularly loud.

But I love Ladytron. And that is why I did not kill anyone on Thursday night at the Henry Fonda Theater. As you can see, I am a stickler for show etiquette, and initiating a blood bath while a band is performing would be in poor taste. Here are pictures from the last time I saw Ladytron at UCLA, which was lovely:

I Felt Like I was God. Or Kool Herc.

Today, I scratched for the first time ever (well, since I was a kid destroying my dad's Pink Floyd records.) I scratched whole notes, quarter notes, even sixteenth notes, and it was HEAVEN. Seriously, there is no cutesy witticism I can conjure to describe it. It was sheer bliss.

It wasn't so bad going back to work after my DJ lesson today. Doing research becomes a lot cooler when you're typing with one hand and pretending your desk is a turntable with the other.

Beats, Not Boys

My friends have been exceedingly kind and forgiving about any lapses in judgment since my not-so-recent-anymore advent into the world of being single. However, after the last alcohol-soaked debacle, I finally became the recipient of some well deserved words of reproach. Said words ranged from mild chidings to phone conversations across state lines that amounted to "HOLY MOTHER OF GOD, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHY ARE YOU ACTING LIKE A CRAZY PERSON?!"

(Hello, Naz. I love you and would be lost without your proverbial ass kicking. I am just sort of glad you are not in the same state as I am right now because I have no doubt you would have PHYSICALLY kicked my ass.)

Things I have learned about myself to date:

1. I have no idea how to maintain a crush on someone I ACTUALLY talk to. Which is disappointing, because I am a total expert at having a crush on someone I have NEVER talked to after years of practice in elementary school, junior high, high school, and, um, early college. (What? I was a late bloomer.)

2. I have no idea how to properly imbibe alcohol. Not just red wine, which Jen had theorized I am possibly allergic to. But ANY alcohol. At least, around a boy that I might like. This information has been amply provided to me by my exes, but up until now I have steadfastly refused to believe it. Me = Total Believer.

3. Advice from well-wishers to the effect that I perhaps need some time to myself, sans relationship nonsense, had no effect on me. Total humiliation, however, works wonders. Suddenly, I can no longer bring myself to crush on a boy. Not just the boy I made an ass out of myself over. But ANY boy. I have already bailed numerous times on a perfectly nice gentleman who asked me out, the last instance being about two hours before the time of our proposed date. I feel horrible about it, but I think I made the right decision. He would not have had a good time going out with a girl who just a few hours prior was suffering from an anxiety attack at the prospect of making small talk over green curry. An acutely embittered person probably does not make for the best date, and just in case a heart as black as tar is contagious, I think I did the morally correct thing by containing the outbreak.

The only thing I can think about these days is learning how to DJ properly, and finding the time to take it seriously while still being semi-competent at work. The idea that I could make a room full of people, or even just a couple of my good friends, want to dance is SUCH a happy thought. To that end, my current suitors are Serato, Torq, and Traktor Scratch. It's anyone's guess which one wins my heart, and makes me World Famous Mixmaster Extraordinaire/Queen of the Universe.

I only said I was going to stop having crushes on boys. I reserve the right to remain delusional.

Grown Up Angst

I FINALLY have a bed that is NOT a twin, with TWO pillows, and my stupid sheet set only came with ONE pillowcase. I was complaining about this to my friend Naz on the phone, and she suggested that I use an old baggy shirt until I got around to getting new pillowcases. I knew I was saving that free "10 Ways to Spot a Law Student" shirt I got my 1L year for a reason. When I start feeling like a hot shot in my new grown up bed, all I have to do is look down at my pillow and I'll immediately feel lame.

New job that starts next week, new car, new place. I'm thoroughly excited, yet overwhelmed. Having a billion things to do creates a very inconvenient paralysis. Also, I am being thrust into adulthood, a state of being that I have religiously avoided far far far beyond my 18th or 21st birthdays, all at once. It is TERRIFYING. Driving my new little hybrid on streets that make absolutely no sense and getting lost in neighborhoods where there is no room for two cars traveling in opposite directions to pass each other is bewildering. The amount of money, time, and energy it takes to furnish and set up a tiny room in a house is astonishing. And realizing that I am going to start a job next week that comes with a large amount of responsibility is sobering.

Being an adult is an involved process, in that involves a lot of me freaking out and wondering if I can hack it. Also, I've spent seven of the last nine years of my life in school preparing to be something other than what I was. Now, life is suddenly falling into place. My journey hasn't ended yet, but I'm at a significant stop on the way. It's time to stop trudging on the road to somewhere else and camp out for a while. I only hope I can set up the damn tent.

Crazy Girl is Moving to Silver Lake

What kind of person looks up and notices people staring at her while she is muttering to herself on the subway and then ACTS on the unfortunate impulse to say out loud "note to self: stop talking to yourself on the subway?"

The same person who manages to visit her future house in Silver Lake three times, and wreaks havoc on TWO of those occasions. The first time, I nervously dropped my phone on the hardwood floor and my future roommate was kind enough to tell me he did it all the time. Unfortunately, my friend who accompanied me to the house is not so kind and tells the story of me walking into the house, meeting this new roommate, and immediately THROWING my phone to the ground and smashing it into a million pieces with great relish. And YESTERDAY, after having picked up the keys, I was walking across the lawn and congratulating myself on not being an ass, when I suddenly TRIPPED on a piece of furniture that was lying on the grass and fell on my face. Damage done: one huge tear in my brand new, expensive black skinny jeans; one very bloody wound on my knee; and one SEVERELY BRUISED EGO. I actually had to ask Jen if I was cool enough to move in to the area, and she managed to stop laughing hard enough to tell me I am.

Note: Jen was extremely concerned about my knee and didn't start laughing until she was assured by my expression of embarrassment as opposed to pain. She is one of the most caring people I know, but earlier in the evening, I went in right behind her through the revolving door of her building and we both got STUCK. One can only be straight faced for so long when presented with an entire evening of ridiculousness.