Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Then she went to sleep.
In the past 10 days, Beachwood has been mentioned in 8 posts on this blog. She is taking over. We are becoming people who blog about cats. I will try to limit my blogging about my cat. But she’s just so damn cute…
Monday, October 29, 2007
Now that Beachwood and her delicate musical sensibilities have found a home, the cats and I are back to blasting Diamanda Galás and sending our upstairs neighbor into a frenzy of high-heel clicking. We can’t tell if the clicks are out of delight or horror (both?), nor do we care.
We’re also reading The Revisionist, which arrived in the mail already (yay, Calamari Press, you’re way better than the rubber band looking fish dish of the same name) and I’m eating vegetarian candy corn, which is just as delicious as regular candy corn, with 100% less horse hooves. If they only made those miniature pumpkins out of pure sugar, my life would be complete.
I have never wanted to be a mommy. I have only wanted to be an auntie. A cool auntie. I never really had a cool auntie. I have one weird estranged auntie who always came late for Thanksgiving dinner and then stayed for like half an hour and drove the four hours back home. That one had cool aunt potentail, because she dressed way younger than she was and always talked like she was stoned. Then I have another auntie who is semi-cool and semi-artsy and makes super-greasy, weird tacos and buys Mis and I matching pajamas for Christmas. But I only see her like once a year.
But now that I'm an auntie, I am going to be cool and buy Beachwood special treats and ridiculous toys to spoil her with, and go hang out just to play with her. I'll never have to discipline her at all, and I will be eternally beloved. I can let her take the car out for a spin when she isn't old enough and get her drunk every once in a while, too. Yay for Beachwood, just think how cute she'd look all dressed up in a little racing helmet drunk-driving a red sports car...
Oh, don't worry, Mis, I promise to never buy her outfits.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Awesome, yes? Yes.
Second, here are a couple of Missed Connections I wrote this week.
The parking garage one made me almost unbearably sad because nobody got the joke. (It's an Automated Voice, folks. Get it? Maybe it's just not funny.)
This one about someone's teensy hands also makes me sad because Abby really did say that my new perfume smells like a hamster cage. And Kevin really did say it smells like sneezes. And Jeff really did say it smells like baloney.
I am going to make each and every one of you smell me at tomorrow's meeting and assess.
Also, I would like to point out that this is the Halloween meeting, so everyone needs to dress like Dr. Manhattan.
Time for tape ball.
Beachwood and I read the new Tin House in the kitten room last night. We read Stacey Levine’s story, and Beachwood would’ve meowed, but she doesn’t know how to meow yet. We also liked a story by Miranda Mellis,who wrote a book called The Revisionist
that we now want to read.
There were several stories we did not feel like reading, either because they seemed annoying or were written by women who seemed annoying or did not contain enough cats. Suddenly, it was time to fly through the air and practice prowling.
Power, Beauty, And Warmth: Keeping The Sun Inside
Anyone who has endured a long, dark winter can attest to the power the sun has to both invigorate and relax body, mind, and soul. It can be daunting to begin the months of fall and winter, knowing that we may not see as much of the beautiful sun for quite some time. But it is important to remember that even during the darker days of fall and winter, the sun is still there shining, as beautiful as ever. Just because it is hidden behind clouds or setting early in our part of the world, does not mean that we cannot access its power, beauty, and warmth.
One way to do this is to find a warm spot in our house where we can sit or lie down in peace. Closing our eyes, we imagine that it is a very warm summer day and that the sun is shining on us, allowing it to warm our body. We may feel as if a small sun has taken up residence in the area of our solar plexus or our heart.
If you live in a part of the world that loses a lot of light in the winter, you might want to do this exercise each night before retiring. You could also do it at the beginning of each day, giving yourself a chance to plug into that great source of energy. Keeping the sun inside of you when you are missing it on the outside is a way to say hello to the sun and let it warm your soul.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
i actually also wrote a sincere missed connection called hot bartender at the underground wonder bar. my goal is to have 100 online boyfriends. nay, 1,000.
someone wrote a stunning response to my mr. magoo post. read it!
You are invited to our meeting.
So said Venom Literati, just before they tried to leave the internet through the fireplace.
We have questions only you can answer. If you like, you can bring many notecards filled with quotes from other people and answer our questions evasively--or even at random. That could be fun.
We just want to see your sunshine-y face.
Edit and add at will, ladies.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
beachwood the kitten got vaccinated today and will be returning to my apartment tomorrow to parade her new worm-free cuteness until someone adopts her. Prospective parents and fans can visit beachwood in my yoga room any time.
The blue light box, however, will obviously work. Plus it will make me as tan as this lady in the picture. (Although she does look like she's gritting her teeth, doesn't she? Maybe she hasn't used it for long enough yet.) I hope that just my face gets tan and not my neck or any of the rest of me, because that always looks awesome, like when my mom puts on her peachy makeup and then her face is a totally different color than her neck. Or like in Junior High when spring arrived and we'd all slather on the self-tanner that made our legs orange. Or it will burn my face off, like that sun lamp my Homecoming date my sophomore year of high school used, that made his face was all burny and peely-looking in the pictures. I was so pissed. I tried not to go, and then to not have our pictures taken. That relationship was weird; I sat on his lap like a little kid a lot but we never made out. Not once.
If it doesn't work, I'll bring it to winter meetings and we can still sit on the back deck and pass it around as a source of warmth and pretend we're in Mexico or someplace tropical. Or use it as a Speak and Spell because I think it is obviously a recycled Speak and Spell/Light Bright.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Sunday, October 21, 2007
also, look at what someone wrote in response to my "you had rain on you" missed connection. ah, internet love. tao lin must not be angry anymore.
in other news, our iowa city correspondent john gillette has these new posts:
i am sorry i stepped on your dog
i lost you at the silver spider
Friday, October 19, 2007
hi. my posts are so complainy lately.
i am sick and bitchy today. well, really on the cusp of sickness where you're just really tired and irritable. i keep smoking cigarettes anyway. i have become a daytime smoker again. i can no longer cling to the title "social smoker." it is a total lie.
last night i watched e true hollywood story about hugh hefner. i have always thought he was too dumb to have as much money and as good of a magazine as he has. i thought, "hey, i'll watch this and maybe i'll realize i was wrong." but no, i still think he's too dumb. he's so dumb he doesn't realize how dumb and pathetic he looks partying at the playboy mansion, sandwiched between two bleach blondes, grinding on one while spanking the other. he just looks like a grandpa on too many painkillers at a senior home mixer, where the two blondes are a by-product of his drug-imagination. (sarah can probably relate to this.) also, his two teenage sons are the spittin' image of him, except totally socially awkward. they will never have sex in their lives, except maybe with each other.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
i made this one less weird in hopes that people will start responding to me. nobody effing responds to me! the internet is turning out to be exactly like real life. that blows.
is it because megan said that we are smarter than tao lin? megan, i told you that tao lin controls the internet. do not anger the tao.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Some of my students have been Lost Boys of Sudan, and they wrote interesting essays about killing lions and marching for years. When I heard Dave Eggers was writing a novel about Sudan, I said, oh no. Aren’t there any navels left to gaze at in Brooklyn? Isn’t that some kind of literary blackface? And then I was waiting for someone to write a smart article about it, but no one smart did. And I can’t bring myself to read the novel and write one. Now this novel is out in paperback and the black face of Dave Eggers is everywhere. It’s creepy. Will someone please read it and write a smart article before Benjamin Kunkel becomes a Chinese person?
The one-laptop-per-child program wants to send laptops to kids in developing nations, or in other words, Megan and my future students. Starting mid-November, if you send a laptop to one of these kids, you’ll get one for yourself too . These laptops use open-source software, so you will not be subjecting the world's poor to Microsoft Vista colonialism or a shoddily constructed ibook that will explode three times like my ibook did. Already have a laptop? Send your get-one to David Markson. I hear he’s a total luddite and uses an obsolete system of novel writing (popularized by Nabokov) called: notecards.
guess what, i am working with text and image. i am a real artist now. finally. my missed connection yesterday was fire dancer on my morning commute, and it was partially inspired by these photographs by neil kubath, or as he likes to be known, "neil guy awesome."
here are some other missed connections to tickle your gullet:
helping you stretch in the office makes me so happy
i followed you into the girl's bathroom at borders this morning
it is your birthday today
my fire dancer missed connection made me kind of sad. i think the girl in it really is philophobic. that's why she says she's not. that is sad. or maybe she used to be philophobic but she got over it. that is good.
are we meeting on friday? i vote yes. even though i am only 1/3 of the way through the book. why do all you bitches read so fast.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
I fear I already posted something with this title. But whoa, David Markson's The Last Novel totally makes me feel *GREAT*. Because other writers throughout history were WAAAAY bigger chach bags than I will ever be. For example, my coffin will never arrive in Moscow, nor will it accidentally be labeled "oysters" like Chekhov's was. I will never have a mother that is as much of a chach-bag as Schopenhauer's. I will never be as big an asshole as Gaugin. I will never urinate on my own sculptures "to add patina."
I will probably, someday, be so drunk as to leave a dinner party via fireplace, like Tennyson, though. And I am definitely Novelist, "tossing his keys into a drawer--without having opened the drawer." And I agree with Stravinsky that my art is best understood by children and animals. And I hope someday I am seen as enough of a chach-bag that someone will publish all my chach-bag quotes about masturbation.
I also love to talk shit about other writers, but now I feel sort of good about it since David Markson proves that every writer ever has done this, because we are all sniveling bags of chach with no self-esteem. I need to come up with better insults, though. Like when Mark Twain says about Jane Austin "It seems a great pity that they allowed her to die a natural death." Yeowch!
I also now LOVE John Updike for his description of critics as "Pigs at the pastry cart." Just by saying this, he has completely redeemed himself and all of his books that I hate.
What really disappointed me is that there is no more Savoy, "for poor people, sick or lame, or travelers--which also saw fit to take in struggling authors." Now only places like the Art Institute take in struggling authors, and you have to pay them to do it. That is some bullshit if I ever heard it.
Let's open our own Savoy and we will be the charity cases and we can pee on anything whenever we want to.
Also, at our meeting, can we just read this book aloud? Because it demands to be read aloud.
i typed my missed connection in outlook yesterday and it capitalized "Steve" against my will. and i didn't notice until i had already published it. and it bothers me so much. damn you, microsoft. you win again.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Friday, October 12, 2007
my missed connection today is called sorry i didn't catch you as you plummeted towards the earth.
also, here is the saddest missed connection i have seen so far, and here is the strangest/dirtiest/funniest one. it is from iowa city.
what's that? you don't care about missed connections? well you better start, mister.
you better start.
Instead, I restart. Or I call the IT guys and they fix it temporarily. Or I copy and paste what I’m working on into a brand new file. And then everything works fine. But I am not satisfied. I apparently believe that Microsoft would not release a system with so many inherent problems and that this system should do most everything it does for a logical reason. Or, if not, then there should be some sort of logical fix for major problems. Why on earth would I have such blind faith? I don’t know. I shouldn’t. And this also makes me want to bang my head on the wall and then cry in the corner for the rest of the day. But I don’t.
Instead, I go home and try not to spend another minute thinking about my computer until I get to work the next day. My brain no longer works when I am at home. I can hardly talk. I can't read more than five pages and expect to comprehend anything I've read. I can’t even understand TV. Not even a show as stupid as Bionic Woman. That is sad.
I heard recently that something like 60% of people spend more time with their computers than with their significant others. That is also sad.
I hate technology today. Evil computers, scary dancing robots that we will all one day marry…it’s awful.
I’m tired. A computer is eating my brain.
The Broken, WS Merwin
The spiders started out to go with the wind on its pilgrimage. At that time they were honored among the invisibles--more sensitive than glass, lighter than water, purer than ice. Even the lightning spoke well of them, and it seemed as though they could go anywhere. But as they were traveling between cold and heat, cracks appeared in them, appeared in their limbs, and they stopped, it seemed they had to stop, had to leave the company of the wind for a while and stay in one place until they got better, moving carefully, hiding, trusting to nothing. It was not long before they gave up trying to become whole again, and instead undertook to mend the air. Neither life nor death, they said, would slip through it any more.
After that they were numbered among the dust--makers of ghosts.
The wind never missed them. There were still the clouds.
I wish WS Merwin were funnier sometimes. He is never funny. This is my terrible rewrite, entitled:
The literati started to go out with Wayne on his pilgrimage. At that time they were honored among the brilliant--prettier than Alan, smarter than Tao, trampier than Miranda. Even DeLillo spoke jealously of them, and it seemed as though they could go anywhere, even to the mall with Wayne where they would buy turtlenecks as awesome as his. But as they were traveling between office and mall, sadness appeared in them, appeared in their limbs, and they stopped, it seemed they had to stop, had to leave the company of Wayne for a while and stay in one place until they got happy and famous, moving clumsily, drinking, moving clumsily. It was not long before they gave up on trying to become famous and/or Wayne, and instead undertook to become Dr. Manhattan for Halloween. Neither life nor death, they said, would slip through them anymore. After that they crushed everyone to dust--makers of bloody piles of stupid people. Wayne so missed them. But there was no more Don DeLillo.
These robots are amazing dancers. Just think what they might be able to do in a few years…
The Kore Press Short Fiction Award is going to be judged by Lydia Davis this year. Davis’ novel The End of the Story is pretty much my favorite French novel that happens to have been written by an American in English.
The prize is open only to women and awards $1,000 and chapbook publication of the winning "story". The only thing that confuses me about this contest is that the “short story” must be between 4,000 and 12,000 words…which hardly seems short. Maybe it helps if the author is short. October 31 (deadline).
Thursday, October 11, 2007
look at my missed connections! the one i wrote today is called you: short balding man with pet bear at rossi's.
the one i wrote yesterday is called you are even hotter than mr. wizard. i wrote this post in response to i was on my way home from the science fair which was written by neil kubath, a friend i made on missed connections! he is funny. he also wrote you: female cookie monster us: children of cookies. it is good.
and the fake missed connections craze is catching on. my friend john gillette in iowa city wrote lost you when i stopped for grilled cheese. it features a rhinestone encrusted eye patch. now you're hooked.
when i first started writing missed connections i made them quasi-believable, and even though they were weird i still got some responses from people wanting to hook up. now i hardly get any, except for one yesterday. it is in response to my mr. wizard post. it is:
"Do you have a photo of you in the kitty kat sweatshirt? I'm 30 and live on the northside. I have a photo to send in return."
sarah and i were just talking about how weird it is to get sincere, straightforward responses to our posts, even though the things we write are clearly made to sound like they were written by crazy people. i believe we could write a case study and sell it to an academic journal firmly committed to phenomonology and laughs.
here is an archive of all my other missed connections to date in case you are a giant nerd and want to read them. i know you do.
i need someone tall to help me put the dishes away
and then someone wrote this in response
you're so funny
if you play the harmonica i would like to give you two dollars
sorry i threw up on you
While I’m pretty sure I won’t be allowed into this exhibit until I pay my library fines from five years ago, we should all go see the Jasper Johns: Gray exhibit at the Art Institute of Chicago starting in November. Here’s a little background on Johns and Rauschenberg.
Photo credit: Jasper Johns. Target, 1958. Collection Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Saul. Art © Jasper Johns/Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY. Photo: Jamie M. Stukenberg / Professional Graphics Inc., Rockford, Illinois.
Me: Artsy chick in a tight shirt reading Ayn Rand. I'm studying to be a snake charmer, and I love dressing up in traditional ethnic costumes for fun. Join me?
[This is my favorite reply]:
My gf and I are developing an adult site and we're networking with people that would be willing to help us with the project, whether doing scenes or video/photo work. I've found that art students tend to be a bit more open about these projects, and wanted to ask if you might be interested in helping us out.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Date: 2007-10-03, 4:11PM CDT
You: Brunette cutie looking bored and adorable on the blue line
Me: Shy shorty reading "What Not to Eat: Diet Lessons Learned from Ancient Incan Child Sacrifice Rituals." As soon as I saw your neutral facial expression I couldn't read another word.
All I've done all day is run a google image search for "hotties of the blue line" but your picture never comes up. I think you need to improve your search engine optimization strategy. If you love David Lee Roth, Wayne Koestenbaum and mummies send me a smoke signal tonight at 8pm.
I will be watching the sky,
• Location: division stop
• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
My favorite response:
Well I fit the description: I have brown(ish) eyes and I'm always bored and adorable on the train but likely this isn't me because I didn't happen to notice any girls reading Incan Atkins books.
But HI anyway! =D
is this for real? because sadly enough a brown eyed guy with a neutral face expression pretty much defines my demeanor on the train. and i ride the blue line through division regularly
Wow this fella really impressed you, huh?? about what time did you see this stunner?
short caring books
Date: 2007-10-04, 9:30AM CDT
You: Clean-cut business type with relentless hungry gaze, listening to iPod. Blue shirt, black pants, just a hint of manly stubble.
Me: Pretty, petite blonde who could not stop imagining burying my face in your chest. Could you tell?
One possible problem: Was that a wedding ring? It doesn't matter to me if it doesn't matter to you. I bet I'll do things she won't.
- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
These are the responses:
Hi. Good morning!
It may have been me. But there are so many hotties at Belmont, how's one to know? Just in case I am your missed connection, I thought you might enjoy a better glimpse at that chest of mine. I do fit your description, so perhaps I'm the one you're seeking. And I'm glad it doesn't matter to you, cause it doesn't matter to me either...
[Description of photo]: Hairy headless torso; jeans undone just enough to show nothing.
Was a wedding ring, she won't know
Could you tell me what time and day did this happen??
Thanks and I hope your having a good day, I am a little tired from last night..
Could be me, though probably not. Black pants, blue shirts and blue eyes are a dime a dozen on the El. But I am a clean cut business type who rides in from Belmont every morning. And I do have blue eyes. So who knows. When was this? Morning? Evening? What day? Anything else you can add?
What kind of hair, and color
long, short, balding?
Manly stubble. Funny, I always figured you guys thought it was cheesy.......
Time and direction details?? As the description is close.......and I do remember one particularly attractive individual.
Wow...I have never read these before, and my first time browsing through, and I think your post is about me. I was at the Belmont station all week for some work around there. My only question is...there were alot of pretty, petite blondes...which one was you? Well a little about me to see if Im the one your thinking of...6'0, Blue eyes, brown hair, athletic, 165 lbs, 26....and although it may have appeared to be a wedding ring...actually it was not.
I transfer at the belmont stop everyday and I dress for the office. I have blue eyes and short blond/light brown hair, and am about 5'10''. No ring though so maybe not me. I keep a short beard or stubble or whatever you want to call it.
Did you find your man?I was there on Tuesday around 7pm ... I had the black pants, blue shirt,blue eyes, iPod and the wedding ring, but if you are who I think you are,that won't matter.
They will post one (with responses) each day for the next week. So I have commanded. So it shall be done.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Poets, you can now send those things you’ve been working on with all of that white space to a special prize that rewards that sort of thing. $10,000 is the reward. Also included is international fame among poets and a book launch, probably attended by a bunch of other poets who may or may not correct your grammar as small talk. (One of my first parties in grad school involved a poet who shall remain nameless saying I could not use the expression “accidentally/ on purpose” because it wasn’t “proper English.” Poets can be chach-bags too. And make money, apparently. I learn new things every day.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Saturday, October 6, 2007
I love Butt magazine, and not just because of the catchy name and the fact that I am secretly a male homosexual. Every issue has interviews with hilarious gay writers and directors and some with random tramps and the occasional Icelandic dairy farmer. You can buy a bunch of Butts collected in an aesthetically pleasing pink book (published by Taschen, of course). There are a lot of photos of male genitalia, so be sure to cover those up with cat stickers of appropriate size if you plan on mailing photocopies to Beth Nugent. Buy the Taschen book of Butt at Quimby’s.
Ugh, Literati, I fear I have committed a major offense. Yesterday I bought David Markson's The Last Novel at Barnes and Noble, rather than ordering it from his awesome publisher.
My reason being that I freaked out and had to have a book to read immediately and then I was in Barnes and Noble and, well... See, the other book I am reading is called The American Prose Poem: Poetic Form and the Boundaries of Genre. It is sort of awesome, but I hope you can understand why I needed something else to read pronto.
Please know that I did not take the Barnes and Noble cashier's advice and get their stupid card that makes you buy everything there because you can save, like, 3 cents every time you use it.
Oh Literati, please forgive me. I will sincerely apologize to David Markson in our letter, and address myself as a "chach-bag writer," to use my new favorite term, coined by Meghan Austin.
(See pretentious picture of our favorite chach-bag writer above. I will also send David a picture of myself in this same pretentious pose, but in front of Burrito House or something.)
Friday, October 5, 2007
I think if you want to get anywhere in this world you gotta show a little cleavage and a lotta tooth. DEFINITELY not the other way around. Too much cleavage is folly and little teeth are just creepy. If you have little teeth--- I am certain that you are a failure. The bigger the teeth....just look at Heidi from the O.C. or Laguna.....NO! The Hills. Definitely The Hills. That chick has big-ass goofy f#*cking choppers and she has a successful TV show and a handsome, back-biting douche of a boyfriend! Jealous?
Look how good I look in green. I can wear a big, baggy, shapeless sweater and still look smoking hot because I chose the color of my big, baggy, shapeless sweater wisely. It brings out the deep, soulful green of my big and beautiful eyes. It's like that song....I am "PASSION'S LADY" but I am not dressed in love as Sugarloaf says. I am dressed in...you got it...a big, baggy, shapeless sweater. Smart.
I ate three pinto bean and lime rice tacos last night and I feel like a million bucks! I think I will eat pinto bean and lime rice tacos EVERY Thursday from now on. And Wednesday. Maybe Mondays too. But definitely not Sunday because that is reserved for Veggie Korma. MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM. I love Veggie Korma! I think I'll have some tonight even though it's Friday. I'll just switch things around and have cheese pizza on Monday.....wait that's gonna be for pinto bean and....uggghhhh!!!!! I give up on life!
I think I got them reversed today.
Dear Venom Literati,
Does anyone else have trouble taking a stand? Do you feel scared that someone else will steal your happiness if you do?
Also, do you ever feel like everyone else is always right when you're in an argument because You're Just Not Like That? (Apparently I should be taking notes on life, which can be used later.)
And plus also too, when you finally take a stand, shouldn't you feel, like, empowered, or some other bullshit word that means something like that? Because I don't. I just feel scared. But I'm a grown-up and what I say matters just as much as what other people say.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Book Television has some previews up of their reality show based on the 3-Day Novel contest, which obviously, is the coolest contest in the world I can’t believe the nicknames these people have apparently chosen for themselves (the Freak, The Streets, The Rookie, the Toronto, etc). I wanted to be the Toronto!
Judge Melissa Edwards is a superstar, and I’m not just saying that because she published Shannon and my book and is like two feet taller than me.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
1. they are calling these mummies "ancient incas" even though they are only 500 years old. 500 years old is not ancient. i am practically 500 years old.
2. these children are not really even mummies because they weren't mummified, right? they were just left to die and then preserved in ice which is why they look like they're still alive.
the first picture is the inca girl that guy found yesterday or today. the other two pictures are mummy mummies. there is a difference.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Monday, October 1, 2007
Update: The book is finished. It is about explosions and hallucinatory visions of Gumby and contains an experimental Gorgonzola called The Thirty-three Strokes of Midnight. Some of it will be on failbetter.com around November. That’s probably all you need to know.
I watched my first and last entire episode of "Rock of Love" last night. Bret Michaels is so gross. He is the reason why neither David Lee nor Bruce ever show up at any VL meetings. They are scared that he will be there, and that they will have to give him an insulin shot in his ass, or just watch him raunchily make out with us for 2 hours. The amount of kissing footage on that show is effin' revolting. I think 75% of the footage is kissing. And the other 25% is of Bret's blood sugar disasters.
I did love the moment where Bret asked both finalists to be his girlfriend. Even though it was clearly an oh-so-clever Bret-trick, both the girls were too stupid to figure out it was a trick, especially that Heather, who I sort of love. Mostly I love her because when Bret was having a blood sugar disaster in the dunebuggy, she didn't give a shit; she just kept saying: "No, I wanna drive it! I wanna drive it!" and then nearly killed them both. I also loved her outfit for the final showdown. That yellow dress plus the hair was freakin' awesome. I felt bad for Heather. I really feel like she and Bret are soul mates.
We should apply for Heather's friendship on myspace, which is where I found that pic, in which she is misrepresented and looks sort of good.