Blood and Guts: Helena Lazaro

So I know I just directed everyone here FROM poethelena.com, but there simply was not enough CONTROL for me.  Scary I know.

I hope that you’ll visit my NEW new and improved site, with all the bells and whistles and organization of wordpress and all the control that a controlly control freak like me needs.

Poethelena.com

Holla!

I’m super excited because today I picked up these cards for Chubby Bunny.  The cards are both for promotion and for packaging.  I attach the jewelry to them and slip into resealable cello bags, so it looks professional(ish) when I mail orders.  This feels like a bit more of a commitment to the site.  I usually just dick around with it for a month or two then get a real job and forget about it.  That will probably still happen but at least when I start up again all these things will be taken care of and out of the way.  At the moment I have dozens of items to make and photograph to add to the catalog.  The photographing/adding part is really tedious.  Sometimes I think that this whole “doing everything myself” routine is a little overly taxing.  But when you’re an obnoxious nitpicker, it’s just easier that way.

My new business card!

Back of the new card

I really liked the Bernie Mac show.  A lot.

Seven episodes into the first season, I realize that Melrose Place isn’t the show I remember.

I also realize that, as the wheel of fashion turns, there will come a time when crotch-snap bodysuits will roll back into style. Not the ugly 70’s leotards, because those are already back. American Apparel’s got ‘em, but I prefer the jazzy versions down at Leotard of the Month. No, no, this is the (even more) sinister and hideous evolution of the leotard–accompanied by high-waisted jeans and an oversized belt. Vest optional.

See what I mean within the first few seconds. Red and white stripes. Can’t miss it.

It’s only a matter of time until Sunset Junction is crawling with Fly Girls. Wish I’d kept my babydoll dresses.

Seven episodes into the first season, I realize that Melrose Place isn’t the show I remember.

I also realize that, as the wheel of fashion turns, there will come a time when crotch-snap bodysuits will roll back into style. Not the ugly 70’s leotards, because those are already back. American Apparel’s got ‘em, but I prefer the jazzy versions down at Leotard of the Month. No, no, this is the (even more) sinister and hideous evolution of the leotard–accompanied by high-waisted jeans and an oversized belt. Vest optional.

See what I mean within the first few seconds. Red and white stripes. Can’t miss it.

It’s only a matter of time until Sunset Junction is crawling with Fly Girls. Wish I’d kept my babydoll dresses.

So recently at work our studio store reopened and while I was browsing the DVDs I spotted some familiar, simultaneously heart-warming and abhorrent faces. Yes, you guessed it, Melrose Place. Season 1. Almost without thinking, I picked up this burning hunk of DVD and stashed it in my basket. And while for two days it’s merely been sitting by my television, it’s already begun to work its magic on me.

You might already know that, for nearly two years now, I have been without television. That is to say, I HAVE a television, but not the cable that allows me to watch…you know, channels.

I’d like to say that it’s because I’m so appalled by the state of television today that I can’t bear to have it piped into my home. But really, there’s no use in pretending that I’m above D-list dance-offs and Model catfights. I want to see Jerry Springer in a ruffled shirt as much as the next guy. Truthfully, I don’t have it mostly because I am a cheap bitch and the thought of paying $60 a month for something that only wastes my time simply doesn’t make sense. I already pay for the internet, and it wastes my time just fine.

The whole point in mentioning any of this is to cast light on what I’ve come to term as my “bubble”–I have nearly no knowledge of what is happening in the world of celebrity, politics, current events, or tawdry reality shitheaps. I rely on friends to digest all the junk and give me the condensed, de-toxified results of their efforts. So far, it’s worked pretty well. I avoid the depressing day to day barrage, and wind up with only the most savory morsels. Natural disaster? Celebrity divorce? Political scandal? They deliver to me unfailingly, and for that I thank them.

And the whole point in mentioning any of THIS is to explain why a)I have missed out on a great deal of advancements in “television technology” like Tivo and b)I watch DVDs of shows because that’s as close as I can get.

That’s why I bought myself this Melrose Place set and have been gleefully looking forward to a long night of drama, pool fights, and back-stabbing. And just that anticipation has given me a sense of excitement and nostalgia. Remembering how agonizing it would be to have to wait from one episode to the next to find out, What the hell was up with the wig? And what kind of fucking doctor is this anyway? And how much crazier can Sydney possibly get? And why the hell do I occasionally find myself relating to her?

These questions and more were answered weekly when I was in high school. In fact, they were more a part of my regular rituals than attending classes, eating family meals, or socializing. I mean, watching WAS socializing. My girlfriends and I would all tune in, anticipating the next great disaster or triumph. We’d watch from our homes, just a few miles apart–in Downey, Paramount, Lynwood, Whittier…and at the first hint of a commercial, we’d all race to our phones and excitedly dial each other to say, “Ohmygod I can’t believe it! I know, Billy is totally hot! And WHAT is she WEARING?” It was actually difficult at one time, I remember that I had two very close girlfriends–Edna and Linda–and that for a brief period it was hard to decide who to call on which break. This was my greatest concern in life.

But now, now we have call-waiting, and Tivo, and DVDs of seasons within months of their air. The suspense is gone. Something has died. And I know I sound melodramatic and crotchety when I say that, but let’s face it–I am, kinda.

I’m sure this is a subject that’s been discussed by many others better-informed than myself. People who give you numbers and facts, and theories about the evolution of technology and its effect on media. But I guess what I’d like to say, for my part, is that I grieve the loss of that time. I will always want to revisit–to recall the smell of my first perfume, the feeling of applying eyeliner on a bus, the thrill of each forbidden wine cooler. It will never be like that again…and I know it really has nothing to do with Tivo or Dancing with the Stars.

If you’ll excuse me now, I have a hot date with five crazy hoes, and a cup of spicy thai soup.

Man. I came across a picture of this guy on a friend’s myspace (yeah, I know, save it) and it triggered so many memories. I instantly remembered being fascinated by his musings, songs, and also his…um…well…his suit! Yeah. Suit.

For those of you who don’t recognize him, Slim Goodbody was a character on various TV programs (and eventually his own series) starting in the early 80’s, who extolled the virtues of healthy eating and exercise, and promoted self-esteem. He ended his segments (at least the ones I remember) by telling the audience, “Give yourself a hug. Say, ‘I love my body. I’m the best me in the world!’” He was so awesome, you just wanted to hang out with him. Or at least I did. I realize that many other people were terrified of Slim Goodbody, but to me he felt like a friend. He’s the first person I remember really telling me that I should like myself. Clearly his various lessons were lost on me, but I appreciate his efforts.

Anyway, I was surprised and happy to find that just a year ago, at 54, he was still going strong (though his site is now non-functional, which I find a bit concerning). He may not have the smooth afro anymore (or even the mullet, for that matter), but from the looks of everything I found, he is still educating with the same enthusiasm and sincerity that I remember. It’s easy to poke fun at a grown man in a skin-tight leotard painted with human organs…and yes, I admit it’s a little strange…but he’s been making impressions (traumatic or otherwise) on children for thirty years. And if you have kids, or have ever worked with them, you know what a challenge that can be. Slim’s been doing something right, and I have to applaud him. If he were here right now, I’d ask him to give himself a big hug, and I’d tell him he’s the best Slim in the world.

Went to see Superman last night (For free! At Warner Bros! Thanks Jeff!) and was totally transported. I mean, I haven’t enjoyed a movie that much in I-don’t-know-how-long. I squealed. I squirmed. I swooned! A lot.

Every time Superman scooped up a girl, every time Superman lifted planes and boats, every time Superman (as goofy Clark Kent) longingly gazed at Lois Lane…I swooned. If this was a drinking game, I’d be wasted.

As my friends can attest, I’m hardly likely to go for that “type.” If I had a choice, I’d probably pick Kent before Superman in a lineup any day. But somehow, in the theater, I’m all, *sigh* Superman’s so dreamy…Why can’t it be like that? Why can’t you (hypothetical guy) bounce bullets off your chest, or throw small islands into space, or know EXACTLY what I need, EXACTLY when I need it?! Super Man would use his super hearing to sense that my period was approaching in T-minus five, and he’d zip over to Rite-aid and back with a gossip magazine and a chipwich before I even knew he was gone. He’d appear just as I was exhausting my limit of patience searching for parking at the Grove, pick up the jackhole SUV parked in two spaces, and launch it into the stratosphere. He’d never ask me what he’d done wrong, he’d just apologize and take me night-flying.

But somehow I know even that wouldn’t be good enough. I’d be all, Night-flying again? Come on, guy, how about a little imagination? While we’re on the subject, your lovemaking has been super-boring lately…eleven orgasms used to seem like a lot, but…whatever. You know what? I don’t think I can do this anymore. The way you just let Lex Luthor walk all over you the other day…I know you were on an island made of kryptonite…yeah, yeah, and that you were also stabbed with a kryptonite shard…but you just looked so…so weak. I’ll never see you in the same light again. I’m sorry, but it’s too late. Everything’s changed.

Also, your hair is gay.

*sigh*

It should cheer my exes up a bit to know that I would make even the Man of Steel feel inadequate.

omg. if i was a guy, i’d be all over it.

the “optical inch” is what sold me. i know i’m totally buying into an evil marketing ploy…but damn!!! it’s so good i don’t feel bad.

especially the music video.

p.s. NOT work safe.

Man, downloading shows using that iTunes store (formerly known to me only as the Gay-ass iTunes Store for Gay-ass People Who Belong to the Scary [and Gay-ass] Mac Cult) may be the best and coolest thing I’ve ever learned how to do. Besides making egg sandwiches (which I do a lot of lately).

As I think most of my friends know, I have been TV-less for over a year now. This wasn’t done to take some hipster stand, or so I could say, “Yeah, man, I don’t watch that shit.” It was mainly because paying that much so I could sit inside and stare at the History or Discovery Channels (or Ooh! CourtTV or…AMC!!!) all day just didn’t make any sense (I already pay for the internet so I can stare at a screen all day. Hello?). The point wasn’t that I didn’t LIKE television, but that I liked it too much and would watch anything remotely edifying (or anything half-convincingly masquerading as edifying) until my eyes glazed over.

So, when I moved to the new place, I decided not to get cable. This was a problem for two reasons. 1)Adult Swim (which is still the sad, missing piece of my life-puzzle) and 2)Stupid Lost, which I got turned onto (yeah I’m using dated drug-slang to describe the process, because that’s exactly what it feels like, man) by a co-worker who brought like the first ten episodes to the office when the crew was out of the country shooting and we watched one a day for two weeks, bringing me up to date for the episode about to air and making me an official Lost junkie.

After the move, I was left to fend for myself, depending on the kindness of friends to help me sustain my habit. Then I had to quit the junk during their break, and when the second season premiered, the edge was gone for me. Thanks to Barry and Nicole (and their Tivo), that edge came back FULL FORCE after a short marathon. And, although I have now missed three episodes in a row due to being a shut in (I know, how backwards is that…I have to go OUT to stay IN and watch television), I don’t have to fret.

My addiction to Lost can now be fed without having to inconvenience friends by begging for copies of their recordings, or imposing on their Tivo.

Because of that formerly mentioned, formerly Gay-ass (now miraculous and life-changing) iTunes store. I have downloaded these episodes. It is the raddest thing ever, and I can’t wait until more shows are available!

Now, you might ask, Helena, did you really come here just to post about your lame Lost habit, and the Gay-ass iTunes store?

Yes, yes I did.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to prepare an egg sandwich, and sit down to watch my stories.