Author Archive | Alison Rosen

sober reminder that you have to be up and on TV in a few hours,” said my sister’s message late last night. In the state I was in, it struck me as so funny that I actually had to stop on the sidewalk to laugh. Since I normally don’t sleep all that well the night before these segments, as I have to be up no later than 4am and even if I go to bed really early I can’t fall asleep, I figured what would be the difference if instead of getting 7 bullshit hours of sleep I got, say, 1 and a half ? Well, it all made sense when I went to bed at 2:43am. I DESERVE to go out and do stuff on a Friday night like a normal person, I think was my foolhardy rationale. Actually, that’s not true. I was just going to go out until 11 and then 2:43 happened. For the first time today while doing the live segment I started feeling like I was floating away from myself, like “here you are on TV talking about stuff and it’s live and this is you talking and what would happen if you just suddenly stopped talking? or forgot what you were saying?” neither of these things happened but I hardly felt like I nailed it and instead I felt like I was on autopilot and I wonder if anyone is such a pro that they can do this (this being “do it in their sleep” which I essentially was). I came home and watched it though, and it really wasn’t THAT bad although I hate the purple shirt I was wearing. Fuck you purple shirt. Also, the anchor forgot to pronounce the middle syllable of my name, thus today I was Allen. I feel more like a Steve.

I’ve been trying for awhile to explain the weird fraternity feel of the neighborhood I live in, and especially how it seems on the streets at night. When my sister and I first moved in we referred to it as both “Testosterone After Dark” and, my addition: “Date Rape; the Neighborhood.” My friend Ben referred to my building as “neverland” because everyone was so fucking young and then Jon said the people reminded him of Californians, but as experienced in Arizona, which is a certain sub-class of Californians– the ones who party too much to get into USC, which is saying a lot, and also referring to quite a few people I went to high school with. (but most of the ones I went to high school with went to USC). But see, my building is filled with the East Coast version of that kind of person, and all I know is that when trapped in an elevator with them at night I can’t wait to get out and then recount to the nearest person whatever great/horrible thing I just overheard.

Anyway, this article says it better than I could, unless the link has already changed in which case it was in the Observer and it’s called Welcome to Murray Hell.

I will be guest judging a music competition. I’ve been advised to be “more like Paula than Simon.” Which would be cool if I watched American Idol. Could they put that in Facts of Life terms? I’m pretty much doing it for the gift basket of coffee and coffee parerfpahnaylaiazylvania (it’s a cross between junk, a flower, and the state of pennsylvania. duh!)

THIS BLOG WAS WRITTEN AT A PREVIOUS TIME. PLEASE DO NOT CALL IN.

wanting to forget what I already know. like a fucking cognitive cul-de-sac.

of a certain age, having consorted with a decent number of men, which is really just an excuse to use the word “consort” because it’s funny, I find that I now have a series of anecdotes rippling through my brain, conjured by god knows what, and whereas I used to know with whom each story was linked, I suddenly find the mental filing in disarray and all I know is that someone lifted a car off his friend and I can’t remember who. Other stories which have no home? I can’t remember. I made a list in my head on the plane but as previously mentioned, things in my head are getting jumbled. One day I’ll wonder who made a list in their head on the plane. But anyway, if you’re reading this and care to claim that story, do so, because it’s fucking driving me fucking nuts that I can’t remember anything other than a vague image of someone lifting a car off his friend and possibly having been the one to run over his friend too. Also scary? For all I know I heard this in high school and for all I know I heard it a few weeks ago.

I’m a woman of many blogs. (Many = 2). I tend to post more frequently on Myspace probably because I’ve been hypermarketed to in ways I don’t eve know and for some reason it’s easier to write total throwaway observations on that blog as opposed to this one, which I save for two-thirds throwaway observations. If I were fancy I would just include a Myspace link but I’m not. I’m decidedly unfancy. And so I’ll just repost some of the entries from over there so if anyone happens to be reading both they can be bombarded with sameness.

sometimes I wish I were more, and don’t think I am enough. The inner workings of my own mind, however, remain endlessly fascinating. Oh I did not just think that, I often think to myself, chuckling. And then I said what?! Oh I didn’t! But I did. What happened in my dream? I know!

The loud conversations of the people who gather on the balconies of the apartments near mine though, I find less interesting than things I’m not interested in, and actaully are beginning to piss me off. “Someone was having a party here last night!” I bitched to my sister. “Where was it?” she asked. “Seemingly in every apartment but ours.” In my fantasy I lean out the window and manage to catch the attention of some drunken buttplug. “Excuse me, hi, normally I wouldn’t complain about your little fest, as I too am someone who enjoys revelry and regularly vomits from overindulgance of alcohol– that’s how fucking FUN I am– but see I am doing this TV segment, I know, I never thought I’d be on TV either. What? Yeah! I know. Anyway it’s at the crack of dawn tomorrow and I really need to get like four hours of sleep so could you possibly move the partying inside? Thanks!” Then they’d retire to their convertible one bedroom and set the VCR so they could watch their neighbor on the news while reminding themselves to invite me to their next soiree. And would I go? Doubtful, but it was so nice of them to think of me. Instead I just lie there getting more and more agitated. Or do I lay there? Dirty!

on the news this morning the anchors started dancing to the drummers from the Family Drum Circle which is an event I was talking about and first I stood there uncomfortably/comfortably and smiled as one who doesn’t dance will do when surrounded by sudden dancing but then one of the anchors whispered ferociously DANCE! and so I did some retarded dance while trying to affect a look on my face of “I don’t really dance yet I”m dancing which is kind of making fun of dancing as opposed to sincerely dancing” which never works since if you’re on the dance floor busting out the Roger Rabbit and thinking you’re doing an Ironic Roger Rabbit, really you’re just a douchbag, not that I did the Roger Rabbit, and can I also say that my sister actually told me some months ago that I “have no dancer’s intuition” when she was trying to show me how to kick my leg up in some way that she was doing which looked fun, so essentially I can’t even fidget gracefully, but anyway the media person from the magazine said the dancing wasn’t on air however IT SO TOTALLY WAS

unrelated of course. anyone else have this stomach flu thing that’s apparently going around. it’s the type that makes it so you can’t sit still and you can’t stand and you can’t lie down unless you’re asleep because you feel all tingly/nauseated and your skin hurts. actually, I compared it to the world’s worst hangover except I haven’t been drinking and then it was suggested to me that perhaps it’s DTs. So anyway though, I was also on the news talking about summer concerts and CBS put it up on their web site. See it here

is waking up half a year later feeling like you’ve been on an episode of Shipmates where someone forgot to yell “cut!”