You can read it here. I did not know it was going to be such a stylized photo shoot when I arrived at the photographer's studio. The clothes are Chanel and they are expensive. Like the shirt is probably $200 something? Maybe more? Not mine. I do not own $200 shirts. And I could not touch the clothes. The stylist put the clothes on me and took the clothes off me. I was a child who could not dress herself. There were 3 different outfits during a 4 hour shoot. One of the other outfits was a shirt tucked into a skirt look. The stylist stuck her hands up my skirt, rummaged around, and pulled the shirt down through the waist of a tight leather skirt. No warning, no apology (If you are looking for a legal way to stick your hands up a stranger's skirt, you should become a stylist). The photographer was going for a Wednesday Addams inspired look, and he didn't want me to smile. "I'll think of dead puppies," I said. And whenever he wanted me to look more morose he would say, "I need 15% more dead puppies." Which made me laugh and ruin everything.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
When you're a little girl -- five years old, maybe six years old -- you watch the movie Annie and all you want to be when you grow up is an orphan. Dancing and singing, sliding down banisters, twirling on fire escapes. All that looked way more fun than Hard Knock, and damn could those orphans backflip. Where'd they learn to do that shit? The Orphan Gymnasium? But you grow up, get older, have some hard knocks of your own. You sigh with lungs filled to capacity, indulging the vocal cords as you let your air go. Carol Burnett as Miss Hannigan becomes your spirit animal on those less-than-perfect days, those I-need-a-drink-after-work days. One day "you're never fully dressed without a smile," the next you're singing "I'd have cracked years ago if it weren't for my sense of humor" as you rip the head off a baby doll. When I used to watch Annie on taped-off-the-television VHS, I didn't appreciate Carol Burnett's drunken, demented Miss Hannigan. She's brilliant here. Check out her crazy eyes at 2:27. Part villain, part clown, the woman is a hilarious train wreck singing a song about wanting to strangle children. And children, after all, are only precious when they are yours.
Posted by Marisa Wegrzyn at 1:36 AM
Friday, January 15, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
If my blog suddenly disappears, it does not mean I've had a nervous breakdown. That's what I assume about people who delete blogs and social networking profiles without warning. I'm trying to fix the comments. Still.
update: I figured it out. I hope to never talk about this again.
Posted by Marisa Wegrzyn at 2:43 PM
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
follow up questions:
Did the mouse die of natural causes?
Poisoned by my neighbors?
Why die next to a whirring motor and blade?
Did it jump into the fan while it was running and commit suicide?
Do mice commit suicide?
Did it commit suicide while I was sleeping?
No, I'm fine.
Posted by Marisa Wegrzyn at 5:07 PM
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Comments are gone. Haloscan cut its free commenting service, and I didn't re-up for $12. I'd rather buy a burrito and a six-pack of Icehouse beer. I'm trying to figure out how to get Blogger-brand comments back. I've made a pig's shitbox out of the HTML of the blogger template. Kind of like when an electrician looks at the wiring of an old building and says "It's a miracle this building hasn't burned down." The problem with knowing a little HTML is it's usually not enough knowledge to undo what you done did. And if you only read this blog in Google reader, never mind. Carry on. This is boring. I've just bored myself.
correction: I can get a burrito and a TWELVE-pack of Icehouse. Do you say twelve-pack of beer or do you say case of beer? Either way, you can't reply because there are no comments.
Posted by Marisa Wegrzyn at 2:55 PM
Saturday, January 09, 2010
The Damen Avenue bus is the bus that stops service 10 minutes before you need it. And it's snowing. It's only 10:15pm. How could a bus on a main street not be in service then, I mean, right? I'll wait. I can wait. The bus will come. See! -- there's the Southbound Damen bus. That means the north bound one must still be running, right? Wrong. That's the CTA tease: when one direction is cut a full hour before the other. Waiting for the Damen Ave bus is like being stuck and abandoned in an elevator for 41 hours. Give up and take a cab. So much for saving money.
Posted by Marisa Wegrzyn at 4:38 PM
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
Rush hour snarl this, parking restrictions that, bend at the knees when heaving that shovel-full of snow, blah blibbity bloo. My favorite part of snow in the city? Dogs wearing snow booties. Not only is the dog wearing shoes, but its owner spent 5 minutes putting those shoes on the dog.
Other advice: don't chase your child through a wintry hedgemaze with an ax (see photo), or succumb to a fit of paradoxical undressing. It's embarrassing.
"And wear a hat." --your mom
Posted by Marisa Wegrzyn at 7:56 PM
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Giving Jell-o to zoo animals is a good idea. Next step is to put raw meat in giant blocks of Jell-o for the lions.
Posted by Marisa Wegrzyn at 8:21 PM
Monday, January 04, 2010
I went to a friend's surprise birthday party at Medieval Times. I used two different Ladies Restroom stalls that evening. Neither had a hook to hang my coat and bag. But both stalls used to have hooks, as evidenced by drill holes in the door -- my deductive skills are tip-top because I just saw Robert Downey Jr deduct things while punching people in Sherlock Holmes. The drill holes in the stall were painted over. Medieval Times cared enough to repaint the stalls, but not to replace the hook so I wouldn't have to set my bag on the floor in possible pee spatter. Yes men, it's true: women can be just as disgusting. Look, I know it's the Middle Ages. The maintenance staff are busy crusading or barfing up a lung of Black Death, but all I ask for in life is a hook in the bathroom stall, a chicken leg to gnaw, and a paper crown on my head while I sip a $7.50 Newcastle and watch grown men with long greasy hair hit each other with swords.