Friday, September 29, 2006

Is the Rectum .... a GRAVE? Haaaaaaaa.

Well, well, well. The Sage has smoked all of That Which She Holds Most Dear that she brought with her from the Promised Land of California, so now she has none, so this is not really a chronicle, because she is not high in the least. And it grieves me. But I promised Jen Sparks that I would send one out anyway. So here we go.

Margery was running around our household with a dollar bill in her mouth. "Girl, this ain't no place of ill re-PUTE!" I said to her in my alter-ego voice. Also, after a few glasses of wine and champagne last weekend, I introduced my fellow 1st-year English students (there are only 8 of us) to my black alter-ego, and now I have them saying, "Bitch PLEASE!" with the accompanying sassy arm-and-head-movements.

Haaaa on my Intro to Graduate Study syllabus is a reading entitled, "Is the Rectum a Grave?"
"A GRAAAAVE?" I howled.

I just ate a bunch of grapes that had seeds in them, because the seeds were smallish and I was not expecting them to be there.

Haa, yesterday I was talking to the electricity lady on the phone, and she said, "What was the unit number?" and I said, "B, as in Barbecue."

One day, I thought, "What if my name had been Troshelle?" (I thought of that name myself, although I am sure it has been used by others), and it made me laugh for a long, long time.
I was reminded of that because I got an email from a broad named LaShawnDa (seriously, that is how it was spelled, and capitalized).

Haa, the printer is shaking as if it is giving birth to twins. If I ever got pregnant with twins, I think I would be somewhat pissed for the first few weeks, but then I would get over it.
And also, if you get knocked up by the Lord (as happened in the case of Mother Mary), does that technically count as rape since it happened without your consent, or are you not able to consent to magical impregnation by a higher power? I have been thinking about that.

Haa, once Tasty growled at my father many times in a row from his windowsill and I thought accusingly, "He doesn't like black people," but actually he growled at a lot of people from his windowsill, especially if they were men, so I don't think race had anything to do with it. And plus, he did live with Janine and me for many months, and we exposed him to other cultural and ethnic and racial persuasions, as well as Flavor of Love and The Janky Show, which also count.

And this pseudo-chronicle would have come sooner, but an evil spirit entered into my laptop Charles FitzGerald and made him unable to access the internet until I get some spyware software installed, which will not happen for another week, and it grieves me that he is ill. I had to spend like 3 hours on the phone with the Internet service people trying to figure out what was wrong with him, and by the end of the conversation I found myself saying things like, "Well, I don't know my computer very intimately," and the Indian guy on the other line (I am not making racist assumptions. He was really in India) kept saying, "That is strange," but was unable to fix poor Charles. After I had hung up the phone, I closed Charles and pushed him away from me and said, "You are dead to me."

And that is all. I literally am reading literature and writing notes on it 8 to 10 hours a day. It is crazy, but then again, there is nothing I would rather be doing, except for smoking pot, so it is a good path that I have chosen.

~UnHigh Sage

Monday, September 11, 2006

The Great Margery Kempe

Well. I have been on a long journey across a great plain, and now I am in Chicago, and I adopted a little cat from the Animal Shelter, and her name is Margery Kempe.

Margery Kempe was this medieval English travelling mystic broad (she lived 1374 to 14-something) who expressed her devotion to the Lord by going on these huge crying jags whenever she thought about the Passion of Christ, or whenever the minister referred to it in his sermon, and she would fall on the ground and twist back and forth and weep and roar, 'I die, I die," and people were like, "Gurl, you CRAZY!" and they banned her from certain towns but she kept travelling anyways, and she made scenes and wreaked havoc all over England and the Continent and even the Holy Land (her travel companions kind of hated her, becuse she was always making scenes when they went on tourist visits to, like, the Mount of Olives, because it brought the Passion to her mind).

So anyways, she got a scribe to write about her experiences in The Book of Margery Kempe, which is one of the defining works of 15th-century English literature, and it is a great work. I read it in the spring for a class, and I loved it so much that I wrote a lot of papers on it.

And so my cat is named Margery Kempe in honour of her. I thought about a lot of names, like Bathsheba, and Beatrice, others, but finally I called out, "Margery! Margery!" from my bed to see what would happen, and the cat came running and leapt up onto my bed next to me, and then she was properly named. So now we live in my apartment together, and we peer down upon the world from our window like queens.

After buying wine the other day, I took the empty paper wine bag and put it over my hand like a puppet and made it say, "Margery! Margery!" in a raspy old-person voice, but she looked at me in horror, and was not entertained.

Only 5 people have seen my most recent tattoo (all were broads), and 3 of them were named Jen. And I did not even plan that.

Haa, some telemarketer from the New York Times just called and addressed me as Mrs. Steele, and as soon as he paused I shrieked, "Mrs. STEEEEELE?" and it caught him off-guard.

Tonight Margery and I listened to Black Sabbath and made broccoli while also smoking, and it was a great endeavour.

That is all.

Friday, September 01, 2006

Jesus Christ Superstar

Sometimes the Internet is just unreliable. And sometimes it acts like it has its own agendas.

Haa, a few nights ago I watched Jesus Christ Superstar with my co-workers Kolina and Victoria, and I loved it, but I was angry that they skipped the part with Barabbas, and other important parts of the Passion narrative. But this version was from the late 70's, so Judas wore flared pants (and he was BLACK), and Jesus sometimes sang in a high falsetto, and he had a reasonably good haircut (usually Jesus has a bad bob haircut).

Also, Pontius Pilate was really high-strung and wore extravagant clothing, and finally he threw a hissy fit at Jesus and washed his hands in a basin.

"My eyes cannot abide violence," I said, so I did not look at the violent scourgings, or the nailings.

My family also owns The Passion of the Christ on DVD, but I refuse to watch it.
And Armando says that in Mexico, the word "colina" means "small mountain" (he drew me an illustration on the order pad), so whenever he sees Kolina, he laughs and says to me, "Small mountain."

Also Armando does a very good Michael Jackson imitation, and a Cher voice, and a Madonna voice, and a general disco voice.

Whenever I pulled all-nighters last spring (for some reason I did that a lot, because I had a lot of papers to write, and they were about things I did not feel like writing about, like Wordsworth, that asshole), Tasty would always stay up with me, even though he hated the written and the printed word, and thought that it soiled the purity of the page, so he always tried to wipe off words with his paw, and it did not work.

Also he liked to sit on piles of paper, like my notes or my copy of Holy Maidenhood, because it gave him a sense of power.

Other Things That Were Beloved By Tasty:
- watching toilets flush
- avocado, or guacamole
- gravy
- watching naked women emerge from the shower, and other things as well
- hookahs

"I do not like to drink anything too hot or too cold," Mahmoud said to me the other day. "Modesty in all things is best." He was being mystical, and wise.

And Armando told me that he has slept with sixteen women in his life, but none since he got married to his wife in his late twenties. "Whoa," I said.
"Yay, it is a great and glorious victory for the Feminists," I thought. "Well it's about goddamn TIME," I added in an old-broad thought-voice.

And I think the musical Cats is really creepy.

The thing about criminals is that they always seem to drive white vans.

Once Lauren and Janine and I watched the GLAAD awards on tv, and the star of a transgendered documentary proposed to his girlfriend, and our hearts grew many sizes like the Grinch

That is all.