And I always will be.

I don't know how many of you have seen this holiday ad:


But this is pretty much the way me and my roommate feel about it:

Waking up to not being okay with any of it.

Brr! The chill in Albuquerque's air has brought me to a level I thought I would never, ever go. I bought a flannel. No, trust me, I know. It's the worst kind, even. The kind you pay too much for at Urban Outfitters. But dudes, it's cold. And I'm Canadian. So, cut me some slack.


I am so over Jordan Catalano.

You know what else I'm so over? Quinceañeras. A family tried to run off without paying their balance at the El Rey tonight. Daniel and me pretty much had to chase them down in the parking lot. Worst part was the family seemed so nice prior to the incident. It was a pretty okay Quince. The band was really good, as far as Quince bands go, the crowd was super-family oriented and my old buddy Colin stopped by. But their complete 180 did the same thing to my night. Man, am I ever grumpy.

All this Ataris-speak has got me in a super-nostalgic music mood. How much music have you forgotten about? I've forgotten A LOT. It's been good to get reacquainted with old friends.


I hope holiday merriment was had by all. I spent the day alone, for the most part. Mom was supposed to come into town, or I was supposed to go out there, but neither happened. So, I sat at home with about $60 worth of cookie making supplies and super-baked while watching Jackass. Didn't leave my house or change out of my PJ's all day.



Party Boy + cookies = Happy Holidays.

I normally make attainable goals for New Years resolutions. Last years goals were to: learn french, swim in a ocean, buy a new computer, pay rent and find a steady job. So, 2 out of 5? Meh. My only solid commitment for 2009 is to stop texting while driving. I'll probably tack finishing a novel and some sort of exercise routine on there.

Oi to the World.

Norad's Santa Tracker has him currently in Redding, California.

Joyeux Noël!

Christmas blogging present: That last Ataris story made me want to recount my other amazing Ataris story, which happened when I saw them on the So Long, Astoria tour. Man, was it ever an odd bill. That was the first and only time I saw Planes Mistaken for Stars. Me and Maria hung out in the back of the Sunshine for most of it, but decided to charge the front when they played good ol San Dimas. We get right to the front when the band's throwing out guitar picks/set lists/unused bottles of water/etc. The girl standing in front of us, who is the poster child for Pretty in Punks everywhere (complete with meathead boyfriend) catches Chris "Kid" Knapp's sweaty drumming towel and starts swinging it around like an idiot. Now, it's important to know that I thought Kid Knapp wuz teh CUTEST. Maria knows this, looks around quickly, swipes the towel out of the girls' hands and books it for the back of the venue. I'm in shock, turn to run with her, but get caught by meathead boyfriend who shoves me to the ground. I get up and yell at him, because clearly, I did not steal his girlfriend's towel. But he's unapologetic (this is why I have no guilt over the incident). I blow it off and make my way to the back of the venue to be herded out like cattle through the exit. When I get to the bar, Maria appears out of nowhere, like a dang unibomber, with her hoodie hood pulled up over her face so no one could see her.

"Hey," she says.

"Do you still have it?" I ask.

"Yeah."

"Can I see it?"

"No way, not until we're outta here."

Maria rules. Still have that towel.

Whitney, don't you understand that what I say is true?

The Ataris played a very significant role in the development of my punk rockerness. And it had seriously been about 3 years since one of their songs turned up on my iPod. Until, my drive home on Sunday. I listened to Blue Skies and Broken Hearts, End is Forever AND Anywhere But Here. It completely blew my mind that now, almost nine years after those albums entered my CD changer (because back in high school, I totally rocked a CD changer in my room), I still knew all the words. Every, single, word. I guess they played an even more significant role than i had previously thought.

I remember meeting them at Warped Tour back in 2001. If I looked hard enough, I'd probably find a really good photo of me and Kris Rowe, their lead singer, that he took. That was the first time I ever met "rock stars" that made me go awkward. In fact, it would be one of the last times. Most of the time if I see someone in a band that I super-like, I tend to not talk to them, downright avoid them, instead of having that unbearably awkward two minute conversation about how much their band, like, chaaaaaaanged your life. Because, no matter how put it, it still seems prefabricated. At least in my brain. So, I just walk right on by. Except for the time I sort of met Matt Freeman and babbled incoherently for about 30 seconds. He smiled politely and walked away. Brain would explode if I ever met Tim Armstrong. ANYWAY tangent police, they were all pretty awesome dudes and it gave me hope that "rock stars" were just like meeee: 16, brokenhearted and grabbing at any piece of self identity I could find.

Trust me, I know, in the standard definition of "good music", they fall a little short. And while my 24-year-old self, complete with Radiohead discography and elitist indie-centric podcasts (that's a term...), wants to never wants to hear San Dimas High School Football Rules again, that broken and incomplete 16-year-old is completely winning out. There's such satisfaction in the little things that can teleport you to another place or time. And while I fully remember how disenchanted with the world I was when I was 16, I don't seem to remember those parts when I listen to the Ataris.

So, thanks guys.

So hey, remember that part up there when I said I was driving home on Sunday? Well, I did that! The one guy in Tucumcari who fixes radiators gave me a brand-spanking-new one. And I was OUT OF THERE. Barely even said g'bye to family, I just bolted for the door. It's not that I dislike spending time in Tucumcari, with step-siblings and such, it's that it wasn't my choice to be there. I was so ready for my own bed and some high-quality alone time.

You should see the hole in my radiator. It looks like someone shot it with a riffle. I'm still in disbelief. A freaking tumblweed?


On the last day of me Angie's trip to San Francisco, we both made a sort of pilgrimage. We went to Berkeley so I could visit 924 Gilman, the venue that launched Operation Ivy, Green Day, NOFX and pretty much any other punk rock outfit from the Bay Area. And then we went to the Castro, birthplace of the American Gay Rights Movement. I didn't know much about it then, but knowing what I know now, I'm so glad that I did that.


Milk is so good. It's too good, maybe. Everything about it is a labor of love, from the film stock selections to the set design to the music to the performances (oh my sweet Daniel Desario!). It's the sort of thing you watch and you know that every person involved, down to the guy who got the coffee, was completely enamored with what they were doing. It made me want to simultaneously punch and hug the world. It's also worth noting what Harvey Milk said, about giving people hope. You've got to give them hope. Sounds very, very, very familiar.

I cannot recommend that movie any higher. Please see it.

Got Christmas plans? If not, come on by. I probably won't make it to my mom's, thanks to mother nature. So, I'm planning on baking and some kind of movie/television marathon. Right now, it's a toss up between My So Called Life or Cameron Crowe. You pick.

Please Don't Walk Away.

Happy Holidays.

Talk about domestication, I decorated my house and baked enchiladas in the same night. This, is completely unheard of. It's amazing the lengths I'll go to procrastinate about editing my cover letter. Again. For the 19th time. (No really, 19 saved drafts on my computer.) Above photograph is a clear demonstration of job search frustration. Take notice of the frazzled hair and under-eye bags.

Last week, I babysat a film crew in the El Rey. Men Who Stare at Goats used the theater for catering and costuming. Catering was the buzzword in my agreement to babysit. I knew it would be an early morning, but I had no idea I'd have to be at the El Rey at FOUR IN THE FREAKING MORNING. And I certainly didn't have a clue that I wouldn't get out of there until SEVEN THIRTY IN THE FREAKING NIGHT. You film people are crazy. People, especially of a certain age, seem to have a hard time understanding why I have a film degree and yet so reluctant to work on a film set. FOUR IN THE FREAKING MORNING, that's why. For my efforts, I got to watch the entire first season of Arrested Development (Steve Holt!) with limited interruption and a to-go box full of probably the best salmon I've ever eaten in my life.

Side note: The costume people for that movie are meanies. The second they walked in the El Rey, they started talking shit about it. Trust me, I'm aware that she's seen better days, but come on now. I wish I could go to all their houses and insult them. I threw down some pretty vicious lady eye daggers and their insults seemed to go away. Or at least, out of my earshot.

I've been a bit of a solitary primate lately, since my boyfriend's lost in an abyss of finals and I seem to be operating on the complete opposite sleep schedule than anyone else I know. But, Sunday I caught up with Jennifer and walked the Rinconada Canyon Trail off of Unser. Pretty good day; I sort of forget how close all that stuff is. If anyone's got a day off this week (or wants to take one), let's go up to Chaco. My treat.


Because this place is pretty great.

It's cold in my house. But I'd much rather burrow under blankets than pay PNM any more money.

Tea lights and Disneyification.

WHEW. What a crazy few days I've had. Maria got on her flight back home today and by my expert calculations, she's probably hanging out over western Pennsylvania. Let's all wish her happy, safe flight.

Here's a list of places I've been in the past week or so.
1. Museum of the Moving Image: Thank you for making me a museum, Queens.


2. Statue of Liberty/Ellis Island: Crowded, freaking freezing, but I love Ellis Island. Wanna talk about haunted space?

3. The top of the Empire State Building: Maria got a phone number. P-I-M-P.
4. Macy's in Herald Square: What's up, handbags I can't afford?
5. Bodies: The Exhibition at the South Street Sea Port: Oh, how my nerd brain had a freakout.
5. New York Public Library: I love those lions.
6. 19. Ambassador Theater: To see Chicago for a mere $27. Student ID's are better than fake ID's in my book.

7. Times Square. A lot. And once, for a really long time.

SO, HOW WAS THAT? To begin with, you gotta get there before noon to even make it into the places you see on TV. And you really don't get to see the performances because they're on top of roofs. Me and Maria got there a little after 5:00. So we started out about nine blocks back. We gradually and slowly moved up to about 50th and Broadway, so we were about 4 blocks away. BUT, we got to actually see the Ball come down.


See that itty, bitty little purple light in the middle? That's the ball. I've been telling people we were all little spermies, trying to get to an egg. And the ball was the egg.


ONE HOUR TO GO.

Will I ever do it again? Hell no. Maybe get a hotel room somewhere in the Square and split the cost with 10 different people. It does have a really nice vibe. And the police were fantastic. There were SO many of them, but they really do have crowd control down to an art. The best quote of the night went to some random drunk man when we were leaving: "I'm facebookin all y'all!"

It's been terribly cold here and very somber looking. It's been somewhat reflective of my mood, given the madness surrounding a certain exboyfriend. But, I don't mind it too much. I was really sad to see Maria go today, but I managed to shift back into "alone" mood fantastically quickly. It's just so easy to do here, just to completely isolate yourself from the rest of the world. As I said, it's not a negative way to go. I fit in easy here, and I think it's thanks to my mom's DNA. It's easy for me to understand now why she's so much of a hermit. I won't be alone for much longer, boyfriend's here on Tuesday. I'm trying not to think about it, so I won't wait and wait and wait for it and so when it happens, it'll be that much more exciting.

On that note, if you're even thinking of coming to NYC, Southwest flies into MacAuther airport for cheap. It's a ways out there, but the Long Island Railroad makes it super accessible.

There's just SO much I want to do! I finally broke down and bought an NYC book, Not for Tourists. If you're doing any traveling in a city that they've got a book about anytime soon, I highly, highly advise you pick it up. So many maps, listings for everything, etc. WHO KNEW there's a peanut butter store in the village? Well, I do now and I'll be going there soon. Also on the list is to track down the best Pad Thai in the city and to see the Museum of Sex. OF COURSE New York has a museum for sex. Why wouldn't they?

Hey, remember how I said I was going to do luminarias for Christmas Eve? Well, I did. I'm sure we were the talk of the neighborhood.




Happy 2008, ya'll.