Clareified

Where does the good go

Archive for September, 2010

Brilliant!

Tuesday, September 7th, 2010 by Dawn Summers

I’m going to ask Sarah Palin if she ghost wrote President Bush’s autobiography!

New post up!

Tuesday, September 7th, 2010 by Dawn Summers

Over at Dr. Stephane’s Emporium…but you already know that don’t you because you check it every day, right?

Right?

Pulp Fiction Tuesday is BACK! (by guest blogger Ugarles)

Tuesday, September 7th, 2010 by Dawn Summers

There is a reason Clareified has Pulp Fiction Tuesdays: Pulp Fiction is an excellent movie. It has plenty of great scenes. It has some amazing acting performances. It has memorable, quotable lines. Sadly, it will never be considered a perfect movie. There are a few reasons for this too, but I’ve already spent too much time masturbating through this opening paragraph. Pulp Fiction will, primarily, never be a perfect movie because Quentin Tarantino didn’t have someone powerful enough tell him that he shouldn’t be acting in movies.

It was a lesson that should have been learned in Reservoir Dogs. The opening scene in the diner is made memorable by Steve Buscemi’s Randian rant about waitresses, tipping and charity. It is almost made completely forgettable – and it is understandable if you’ve never seen Buscemi or the rest of the movie because of this – because it opens with Tarantino slogging through a profane reinterpretation of Like A Virgin. It isn’t that his thesis is without merit – and it is without merit – it is that he says it about as smoothly as an ESL student reading off of cue cards while chewing gum. Tarantino saves the movie by promptly having Mr. Brown killed off before he can do further damage. But this is not Reservoir Dogs Tuesdays and we return to our regular programming.

Not only did Tarantino not learn the lesson that he should never, ever act in a movie, he gave himself a part in Pulp Fiction and he doesn’t quickly kill himself off. He treats us to even more mealy-mouthed dialog and this time, as a bonus, throws in a spectacularly racist scene and throws a lot of smoke and mirrors around in the hopes that we won’t notice. I speak of course, of The Bonnie Situation or, more to the point, “dead nigger storage.”

This is an appallingly bad scene. It starts out with Samuel L. Jackson seeming to act poorly – though I’d chalk that up to Jules failing to act like kissing Jimmy’s ass comes naturally to him. But Jules doesn’t talk for very long. He is cut off by Jimmy, ranting with ferret-faced fury about “the dead nigger in the garage.”

Now.

I know that Jules is not happy that his friend is dead. I know that Jules is not happy that he had to come to Jimmy for help. I also know that Jules would have shot Jimmy dead and let the cops deal with Bonnie and sort out the two dead bodies at Jimmy’s house before he’d allow Jimmy to throw around the n-word without repercussions. So why does this scene exist?

1) To show how down he is with black people. Not only is Jimmy Jules’ friend, Jimmy’s wife is black. He is so down, that he can use the n-word like he’s black himself.

2) So that he can say the word nigger a dozen times, right in Samuel L. Jackson’s face without getting the beat-down that he deserves. This is the kind of ironic hipster racism that makes it understandable that the very, very liberal alt-comic scene is also pretty fucking white.

I might be able to forgive the racism as insight into the characters, but, you know what? It isn’t even a particularly well-written scene.

In case you hadn’t heard

Friday, September 3rd, 2010 by Dawn Summers

I have a new blog. You should all visit me there and leave me comments.

Also, for inane comment Friday. Turns out Sarah Palin and I will both be in the same city and state. I need something to say to her should I run into her. I am a notorious choker in the face of celebrity, so its gotta be hilarious, but pithy. Mostly pithy.

Also, I don’t want to be jailed. Grange assures me I don’t want to be in a Midwestern jail.

HHAHAHA

Thursday, September 2nd, 2010 by Dawn Summers

Funny.

via Eliza Wheaton

Oh, Arizona

Thursday, September 2nd, 2010 by Dawn Summers

The state that just keeps giving.

I’ve been reading this blog nonstop for weeks

Thursday, September 2nd, 2010 by Dawn Summers

It started when Gerard linked to this post.

I’m not the only one who loses earrings!

Wednesday, September 1st, 2010 by Dawn Summers

Of course, I’ve also never had earrings which cost more than three figures. And I’m a girl.

The only ship that’s worth a damn

Wednesday, September 1st, 2010 by Dawn Summers

F-train made fun of me the other day when I sent him this lengthy text about how I was soooo hot. He mocked me because I then went on to explain that by “soooo hot,” I meant that I had turned the AC off before I left for work and, with all the windows being closed, my apartment was a sauna. I concluded with “so I mean temperature wise, I didn’t want you to think I was conceited. Not that I’m not conceited, but just in this instance, I meant temperature wise.”

He responded “so what I’ve learned about you, is that you’d rather be thought long-winded and boring than conceited. Mission accomplished.”

Assface. I cannot wait until my friendship with him ends in 2012.

But, yes, I confess, I want to be understood. I will use as many words, clauses, parenthetical statements, texts, tweets, blogs or facebook statuses as it takes so that my position is perfectly clear. I don’t think of myself as particularly complicated or mysterious. I do what I say I will, I am predictable almost to the letter and I cling to routine like a toddler to its favorite stuffed toy. And yet…

I haven’t given this post very much thought. I was supposed to have a guest poetry blogger today, but *ahem* I don’t, so I’m stepping up in a pinch. I say that because I’m sure there might be unpleasant fallout from this post. That often comes when I write these kind of pieces without exactly naming names, but certain parties make certain assumptions… and heck, those assumptions are usually right. And everytime I get that fallout, I scowl and decide, “fine, I’m not writing anything like that again,” but then something new happens and, well…out it all tumbles.

But usually, I try to wrestle with my language for a few days before I hit publish, with this, I have maybe an hour before Poetry Wednesday is properly Thursday. Ish.

So, here goes, advance apologies to anyone hurt or further angered, with the understanding I can’t control anyone else’s reaction to what I write. I can only be as fair as I can to my own sense of truthiness.

But F-train is an assface. I stand by that.

My friend Pi sent me this poem, with the subject line “This made me think of you”

A Poison Tree
by William Blake

I was angry with my friend;
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I waterd it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears:
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine.

And into my garden stole.
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see,
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

I jokingly wrote her back “Why would this remind you of me? Stupidface. Have an apple.”

But in reality, dude, this poem should be called an Ode to Dawn Summers. In the last ten years or so that I’ve had friendships that needed active participation to maintain cause I wasn’t just hanging out with the people I see in class or at camp everyday, I’ve learned certain things about myself.

I loathe confrontation. Yet, my capacity to harbor resentment knows no bounds. Delightful. I know.

However, with my friends, I’ve discovered handy ways to express my disappointment/disapproval/anger/hurt/annoyance that both avoids proper confrontation “screaming or tantrum throwing and like” but clears the air and allows me to let go of the unpleasantness. So, I’ll make jokes about how awesome it was not to be invited to their wedding or leave clever lines in posts about how I don’t care that you said you’d write the Poetry Wednesday guest post and then flaked without a word.

My friends are smart and decent, they take the hints. They apologize in fun ways and make it up to me with lots of comments and retweetage, and we move on.

But sometimes there comes a point where I’m making these jokes too often and far too many posts are loosely based on the fucked up things a certain person or persons have done. I start to delete them. My kidding around is replaced by silence. The resentment grows. Plans for revenge crystallize. I actively start to wish them ill. I feel bad, overcompensate with some nice deed, but then that niceness is taken for granted or not appreciated enough and we’re back to resentment.

This eventually goes one of two ways, they end up doing something marginally bad, but I explode in unmitigated rage as if they had smeared feces on my walls! They apologize; but it won’t matter, that’s not really what I was mad about in the first place and I don’t care enough to talk it through anymore. From their standpoint, I’m being unreasonable. They apologized, after all, why couldn’t I just accept it. Woe be to them if they express this to me verbally. How dare they tell me how to react to their apology for the bad thing they did?! HOW DARE THEY!

The other route? Cutting of all communication.

But, in the end, I think that’s the point of the poem. You either speak your mind, tell your wrath or know that you are well on the way to growing an enemy. For me, I also take this to mean that if friends have suddenly become silent with me, overreacting, in my mind, to small offenses, something else is wrong.

I grow weary.

Then wary.

I avoid their apple trees.

Well, who am I kidding, I avoid all apple trees, you know what I mean…I’d avoid their cupcakes. Unless they were vanilla/vanilla and delicious.

Damn you sweet tooth! Daammnnn yoouu!

Announcement

Wednesday, September 1st, 2010 by Dawn Summers

I had hoped to be able to announce all the big blog changes in one fell swoop. But I went with the cheaper of my web designer options and so, six weeks later, I still have a big nothing to show for it.

Cest la vie.

However, thanks to Mary, I can announce that …tada… my name is not Dawn Summers.

It’s…

Although, I wasn’t a very good hiatuser in terms of not posting here, I was a good hiatuser in terms of writing up stories from my youth and life and such and I’ll be posting those over there until…well, I run out.

My anonymity has been the most disquieting part of blogging here at Clareified. It felt a bit cheap and cowardly, even though my name is the worst kept secret on the internets since the whole Justin-and-Britney-actually-did-sleep-together one.

And the thing about Santa. (You know, gastric bypass…)

Anyway, hope you enjoy the new site. It’ll probably be more serious than this one, since I’m all signing my name to it and can’t very well insult French people all the time. Though not too much so. And I’ll still probably insult the French. What are they going to do about it? Fight me?