Where does the good go

Archive for February, 2011

I need to learn to play the piano

Thursday, February 17th, 2011 by Dawn Summers

I’ve been sitting here so long, wasting time
Just staring at the phone
And I was wondering should I call you
Then I thought, maybe you’re not alone

Please give me one more night
Give me just one more night
Oh, one more night
‘Cause I can’t wait forever

News of the weird

Wednesday, February 16th, 2011 by Dawn Summers

“Why is Dawn so weird?” – Stephane Clare Sunday February 13, 2011

They fired half the people on the case today. Now I think I have survivor’s guilt.

Also, I don’t think I can drink coffee anymore. I keep thinking it’s gonna taste like lukewarm milk water. And let me tell you, if you’ve never had lukewarm milk water, it’s not a good taste.

Finally, my doorman wants me to stop asking him if I have any packages. “If you get anything, I’ll bring it up right away.” And then I heard him thinking “not bloody likely.”

Now I’m going to sleep. Yes, at 8 pm.

Happy Phil Collins Day!

Tuesday, February 15th, 2011 by Dawn Summers

Mary is a fountain of all the very best information… but this one might top them all! A whole day to celebrate the greatest British rocker of ALL TIME! (I also love the Spice Girls, but they really dropped off with the third album, so Phil wins this one.)

I defy you to listen to In the Air of Tonight in your car without doing the drum solo on your steering wheel. DEFY!!!

But today’s choice is ta-da:

Phil Collins – I Wish It Would Rain Down
Uploaded by jpdc11. – Explore more music videos.

Because the video is AWESOMELY hilarious and the lyrics? Oh, the great great lyrics:

You know I never meant to see you again
and I only passed by as a friend
All this time I stayed out of sight
I started wondering why

Now I, I wish it would rain down, down on me
Yes I wish it would rain, rain down on me now

Dawn versus the machine

Monday, February 14th, 2011 by Dawn Summers

First of all, I assure you that I totally know how to make coffee at home. I’ve been doing it since I was two…this exercise has just been *theater* to entertain my readers! I mean honestly, who doesn’t know how to make coffee? Plus, my grandparents were born in Colombia, so I super duper know how to make coffee! And how to kill you five different ways with a machete.

Okay, so now that we are all on the same Dawn-is-a-fully-functioning-coffee-maker-in-society, let’s follow her awesome learn how to make coffee at home adventure. I mean, learn again, cause she forgot a little bit from her ample toddler coffee making experience. Oh, and speaking of toddlers, all of my fake nephews failed “Having a spinster fake aunt 101” today and now the July final exam counts double! #Rude #mymommystilllovesme #andmystalkerbutthatslessawesome

Okay, coffee.

So, I found this machine yesterday:

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(Actually, I found a BUNCH of machines. Have I ever written about my mother’s Home Shopping Network problem? Google it. The first year I had my apartment, I would come home to find a daily box from HSN with some bullcrap doohickey that I’d just shove in a closet. AND THEN she’d come over and NOT see the George Foreman grill, assume she didn’t get me one and then buy another one and have it shipped. OY.)

(I also found this:

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These are the instructions:

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No way am I grappling with that, but since I’m working again, I’d like to have fresh coffee in my home — um…just like I did when I was a baby. *Clears throat*

Now, even though coffee making is practically in my blood, I decided to follow Astin’s directions. Kinda. I chose Folgers vanilla coffee cause Folgers has commercials and Illy just sounds like it’ll make you ill…like his revenge for the ebola for which he keeps blaming me. (Speaking of which, when is someone going to write a post about my magical HSBC Arena hockey powers? AND THEM MOVING THE FREAKING RINK JUST TO PISS ME OFF?)

Next Astin said to get filters. Well, evidently, America no longer makes filters. Or sells filters. Or will even entertain a conversation about filters.

“Excuse me, sir. Do you sell coffee filters?”
“SHHH. What’re ye trying to do, girl? Get me shut down? Now git!”

Perhaps, the problem was searching for filters in the Old West. Oh and did you guys know that while I cannot find any filters at all, white people get GOLD FILTERS??

Anyway, I finally find filters at the local “bodega.” (Quotes cause it’s clearly just a front for money laundering. They don’t sell anything that expires and they only have one of each item on the shelf.

Shay. Dee.

But seriously, what the hell? Six Duane Reades, a CVS and a Walgreens = no coffee filters? Does Obama know about this? Maybe we’re not in a recession at all, stores just aren’t selling stuff people want to buy, so all the money is going to the money laundering operation that doesn’t need it!

(Oh man, if I disappear, you guys tell the FBI about this post!)

Okay, so we have all the coffee making ingredients.

We wash the coffee making device.

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I consider the wisdom of drinking coffee at nine pm when I have to be in prison bright and early tomorrow morning: Low.

But moving on, we can’t have the test run in the morning when we need the coffee, right?

I went with double the dose Astin suggested cause I likes my coffee strong.

I open up my newly bought bag of spanish filters, stick it in the thingy, latch the other part on top of the glass pot and insert the plug into the out-let? *Glares in a northern direction*

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It started to fog and sizzle in a threatening way, so I ran.

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When I didn’t hear any exploding, I went back to see a nice little pool of correctly colored liquid collecting on the bottom of the pot.

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It took about six minutes and when it stopped dripping, I steamed up some milk, and poured myself a cup.

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Um… I didn’t exactly spit it out…but I didn’t exactly drink it either.

It was still really weak, but it was also cold. I think I need to let it set in the pot for like an hour to heat up.

But all in all, it was pretty easy to do and I thank Astin for the assistance.

Hopefully, tomorrow morning’s pot will be better. I’ll need it. Did I mention I work in prison?


Coming next week: What does the magic bullet do?!


Sunday, February 13th, 2011 by Dawn Summers

Pi pulled strings to get me a new job AND she’s driving me into the office tomorrow morning. Do I need to give myself a wedgie, punch myself in the face or steal my own lunch money?

In other news, I found a coffee maker in my closet and have decided that 35 is the age at which one learns to make ones own coffee…unfortunately, I can’t find the directions for it… is it as simple as it appears to be?

What’s the worst that could happen? And how quickly will I know that the worst has happened? Will it be obvious that I shouldn’t drink it or will it look fine but then poison me? Incidentally, I also found an Italian press (instructions for which are unhelpfully and curiously in Russian or Czech or some other language with a weird alphabet)…but I learned from Pearatty’s house that you use that second.

Feel free to answer and all of these questions… oh wait…I have to buy coffee first, right? Like in a bag? What do I need to get? Beans? or ground up? Hell does this all work?? Okay, maybe 36 is the age at which one learns to make coffee…

Conversation of the Day

Sunday, February 13th, 2011 by Dawn Summers

My mother: What’s on your head? It looks like a rat.


One minute in the mind of Dawn Summers

Sunday, February 13th, 2011 by Dawn Summers

If you somehow found out the name of the person destined to kill you, would you seek them out? Try to kill them first or befriend them?

Or would you avoid them by any means necessary?

I mean there’s nothing you can do to change it, but once you know, you must do something, yes?

So, actually, this was more like forty minutes…you’re welcome!

Song of the day

Saturday, February 12th, 2011 by Dawn Summers

There was no way to compromise
So now we’re living (living)
Separate lives

Ooh, it’s so typical, love leads to isolation
So you build that wall (build that wall)
Yes, you build that wall (build that wall)
And you make it stronger

Well you have no right to ask me how I feel
You have no right to speak to me so kind

Being sorry & colored at the same time

Wednesday, February 9th, 2011 by Dawn Summers

I just finished Tyler Perry’s For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow is Enuf – a movie based on a choreopoem by Ntozake Shange.

It’s a good movie with some amazing performances, but it also reminded me of some rather great poetry. I starred in a production of this when I was 13. It occurs to me now, that may have been an inappropriate choice for our merry band of teenagers, but our director was a larger than life dramatist who believed we could own whatever work if we believed in ourselves and the art. Yes, that’s how she talked.

All the time.

Ms. Wade can we go to McDonald’s after rehearsal?

Darlings, you can go to the moon and the stars and places not even yet mapped in the galaxy. You are all powerful.

Um…okay, but really, I guess what I was asking, more specifically, is will you give us the money to go to McDonald’s after rehearsal?

She and her husband Adam would write afro-centric one act plays for us and we’d rehearse in their one bedroom apartment in Harlem. I googled their names. But nothing came up.


I was a smart alecky, prudish Uber catholic girl at the time, (pretty much me now, but without the back pain), so Shange’s work made me very uncomfortable. The subject matter, the syntax, the sharing the stage with other girls (I AM A STAR, WOMAN!); I just didn’t get it.

I did it and owned it and ate my McDonald’s afterwards.

But I was happy when we moved back to comedies. And fancy Shakespearan monologues that made me feel clever and sophisticated.

I read For Colored Girls again in college and I liked it more then and got more of “it,” than I had six years earlier, but rereading some of these poems tonight, well, I was so blown away by the truth…the raw clarity of her words, that I had to reprise my poetry posting for a moment.

And on a Wednesday at that!

I struggled between picking this poem and a Lady in Green Poem “Somebody almost walked off wid alla my stuff” (These poems are somewhat easier understood heard.) But ultimately, I chose this one because it touches on the issues from that poem — losing too much of yourself to people who could not care less about your stuff — but also the unique struggles of women who don’t want to be bitches, but also don’t want to be trod upon. And of colored girls who cdnt stand bein sorry & colored at the same time/it’s so redundant in the modern world.


lady in Orange

ever since i realized there waz someone callt
a colored girl an evil woman a bitch or a nag
i been tryin not to be that & leave bitterness
in somebody else’s cup/ come to somebody to love me
without deep & nasty smellin scald from lye or bein
left screamin in a street fulla lunatics/ whisperin
slut bitch bitch niggah/ get outta here wit alla that/
i didnt have any of that for you/ i brought you what joy
i found & i found joy/ honest fingers round my face/ with
dead musicians on 78’s from cuba/ or live musicians of five
dollar lp’s from chicago/ where i have never been/ & i love
willie colon & arsenio rodriquez/ especially cuz i can make
the music loud enuf/ so there is no me but dance/ & when
i can dance like that/ there’s nothin cd hurt me/ but
i get tired & i haveta come offa the floor & then there’s
that womna who hurt you/ who you left/ three of four times/
& just went back/ after you put my heart in the bottom of
yr shoe/ you just walked back to where you hurt/ & i didnt
have nothin/ so i went to where somebody had somethin for me/
but he waznt you/ & i waz on the way back from her house
in the bottom of yr shoe/ so this is not a love poem/ cuz there
are only memorial albums available/ & even charlie mingus
wanted desperately to be a pimp/ & i wont be able to see eddie
palmieri for months/ so this is a requium for myself/ cuz i
have died in a real way/ not wid aqua coffins & du-wop cadillacs/
i used to joke abt when i was messin round/ but a real dead
lovin is here for you now/ cuz i dont know anymore/ how
to avoid my own face wet wit tears/ cuz i had convinced
myself colored girls had no right to sorrow/ & i lived
& loved that way & kept sorrow on the curb/ allegedly
for you/ but i know i did it for myself/
i cdnt stand it
i cdnt stand bein sorry & colored at the same time
it’s so redundant in the modern world

Sounds about right

Tuesday, February 8th, 2011 by Dawn Summers

“Truthfully, that kind of rapid growth is rarely benign. You are very lucky.”

Yes, that is SO me. Aggressively harmless.