tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143757182012-02-16T02:50:05.303-06:00Writings I've done over the years -- much of it from college. If you're thinking about plagiarizing, be forewarned: Professors only have to Google a single sentence to see that you're cheating. Do so at your own risk. Much safer to simply quote me (citations at end of each essay). Hope this blog helps!Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.comBlogger421100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-44046253194822412002011-01-18T16:11:00.006-06:002011-11-08T14:34:05.904-06:00

The Old Me was sexy, brilliant, and cruel. She had moments of bursting creativity and racing thoughts of endless fascination. She was provocative in conversations and passionate in her beliefs. She went through jobs like Kleenex, drank lots of coffee, smoked a lot of cigarettes. She maxed out her credit cards. She survived on 5 hours of sleep a night. She voraciously read fashion magazines,

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-38367617545443173752007-03-27T17:51:00.000-05:002007-04-02T22:56:53.017-05:00

I hope this is proof enough that I wrote those papers myself. But I undertand your concern and appreciate the thoroughness. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to contact me. This blog is just a place I like to put my writings in for all of posterity. I should have just referred you to this site to save time!Anyway, should you have any questions, please do not hesitate to contact me.

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1144457727493673342006-04-07T19:40:00.002-05:002010-08-14T08:56:21.349-05:00

Pictured: Danae by Titian at the Museo del Prado in Spain. This is only one of several versions of the same subject. Sorry, but for some reason the version at the Art Institute in Chicago would not upload.NOTE: If you're going to use any of this for a term paper or whatnot, please be sure to credit me. The bibliography/source information is at the bottom of this entry, along with internal quote

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1144276978032878522006-04-05T17:38:00.003-05:002010-08-14T08:56:52.254-05:00

NOTE: If you're going to use any of this for a term paper or whatnot (I'm referring to you "Birth of the Novel" English Lit students who come by at the end of every quarter -- like right about now), please be sure to credit me. The bibliography/source information is at the bottom of this entry, along with internal quote information. ALSO: COMMENTS would be nice. Thanks.Laurence Sterne’s A

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1143167355036654482006-03-23T20:25:00.000-06:002006-03-23T20:29:15.056-06:00

This letter was originally written to accompany a tape made for a friend…Dear Carol:You will notice that the tape is titled "Graham Parker v. Elvis Costello". This is due mainly to the fact that most of the stuff on the tape is either Graham Parker or Elvis Costello (10 songs each). Just call me the Clever Vixen. I'm assuming here that you and Mike don't have any Graham Parker stuff and if you do

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1143078550862454852006-03-22T19:47:00.001-06:002009-01-13T10:02:53.355-06:00

Pictured: Botticelli's Abyss of HellEventually something breaks youIt’s usually the usualA deathAlcoholismAn accident or illnessBut sometimes the tipping point isA wordA phraseOr even a lookSometimes it’s the realization that what you thoughtisn’tExpectations are not metA luminous empty to which there are no defenses

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1142990950570310032006-03-21T19:25:00.000-06:002006-03-21T19:49:25.646-06:00

1. The Hours. Smug, self-important, ultimately empty. Women deserve better than this. Virginia Woolf deserves better than this.2. The English Patient. A romance in the desert with the charisma-free Ralph (pronounced: Rafe) Fiennes as leading man. Right.3. Shawshank Redemption. A spiritual/mystical version of OZ. Just what we need. 4. Moulin Rouge. Great soundtrack but tries too hard to be edgy

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1142957731587474502006-03-21T10:13:00.000-06:002006-03-21T10:15:31.596-06:00

Okay, I've started another blog and it's totally different from this one. Care to check it out? It's about the therapy experience and "how people feel about it." Got a shrink story to share? Go to: http://shrinktalk.blogspot.com

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1142871621801014192006-03-20T10:16:00.002-06:002010-08-14T08:57:17.103-05:00

NOTE: If you're going to use any of this for a term paper or whatnot (I'm referring to you "Birth of the Novel" English Lit students who come by at the end of every quarter -- like right about now), please be sure to credit me. The bibliography/source information is at the bottom of this entry, along with internal quote information. ALSO: COMMENTS would be nice. Thanks.Aphra Behn’s Oroonoko is

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1142784965377107392006-03-19T10:14:00.000-06:002006-03-19T15:50:13.376-06:00

Mickey Percy had the kind of face you would expect to see under the definition of "Pugnacious" in the Webster's Collegiate Dictionary. He looked like a 1940's boxer: fleshy face, puggish, soon-to-be broken nose, and eyes like a pig, too closely set and empty. He was five years old.I was deathly afraid of him in kindergarten. Not that he even gave me any trouble. But he gave the other kids a lot

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1142664555068710922006-03-18T00:47:00.001-06:002009-01-13T10:03:09.408-06:00

Etherealwith the delicate balance of her spinea sculptureof flashing youthand deep deceipt

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1142599885739839142006-03-17T06:48:00.000-06:002006-03-17T06:51:25.753-06:00

Let’s face it, city life isn’t always as dog-friendly as many of us would like. But rather than hold your breath and dream of Paris (that pooch paradise across the Atlantic), you and Rover would be better served picking up a copy of Metrodog: A Guide to Raising Your Dog in the City by canine connoisseurs Brian Kilcommons and Sarah Wilson (Warner Books, Inc.). This nifty guide fearlessly starts

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1142489298304884132006-03-16T00:02:00.001-06:002009-01-13T10:03:22.805-06:00

Photo from www.mediamilitaryphotos.netIt was a Neutral Verbal Exchange (NVE) between Mutually Informed Parties (MIPs)Regarding Allegedly Inoperative Statements (AISs)Not unlike Misspoken Accuracies:The question asked by the young lady shall not be repeated here.His reply?a dead fish eyea portrait of sleepy vigilanceit said no

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1142247891493027282006-03-13T05:02:00.001-06:002009-01-13T10:03:34.297-06:00

Used to be everyone waited for the next BeatlesWe wanted something real togetherA sad happiness / A happy sadnessa lot of work this waiting was for theinevitible/impossible/televised/untelevised/implicit/explicit/ abortion/link in the chain ... and who decides this anyway? We wondered.We don't ask these questions anymoreWe're beyond that now:Music is all around, an endless recycle that only

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1141876835457974352006-03-08T21:57:00.000-06:002006-03-08T22:00:35.470-06:00

Am I the only person who is totally annoyed that “Crash” won as many Oscars as it did (not to mention, Best Picture)? Here are my 5 reasons:1. A totally derivative film: “Grand Canyon” meets “Magnolia” with a dash of “Short Cuts” for good measure. Just obvious. L.A. angsty isolation with a predictable “everybody hurts” uplift. So how did it win for Best Original Screenplay? 2. These

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1140816606774946352006-02-24T15:01:00.001-06:002009-01-13T10:03:54.784-06:00

Plastercast sculpture by Gene Wear titled "Amy."The following poem was modelled after Robert Browning's "My Last Duchess" -- a modern take, where the Duke is replaced by a powerful Hollywood mogul...MY LAST INGENUEBel-AirThat’s my last ingénue hanging up thereA bust as good as the real thing. I bareThe piece to shock and awe: Jeffrey KoonsToiled it just for me on ten afternoonsHe’s a friend of

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1132421974238071742005-11-19T11:35:00.003-06:002010-08-14T08:57:51.811-05:00

NOTE: If you're going to use any of this for a term paper or whatnot (I'm referring to you "Birth of the Novel" English Lit students who come by at the end of every quarter -- like early March), please be sure to credit me. The bibliography/source information is at the bottom of this entry, along with internal quote information. ALSO: COMMENTS would be nice. Thanks.Today’s readership is as likely

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1131900644670804602005-11-13T10:47:00.001-06:002009-01-13T10:04:07.493-06:00

Photo taken from website: www.tri-pi.org, "dedicated to creating provocative live theatre that breaks down perceived barriers of race, gender, and disability for Los Angeles theatre artists and audiences"Once, there were two daughters. The first was quick and happy, a natural beauty, and a facile liar. The second was the opposite. It goes without saying that there was tension in the house,

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1126233401897946422005-09-08T21:30:00.000-05:002005-09-08T21:39:22.076-05:00

I broke one of my rules. If I saw the pharmacist make a phonecall, I would leave. For some reason, this time I didn’t. I was getting careless. It was about 3:00 in the morning. I picked up the opiate script – I bought some shaving cream for my dad too – and left.If this were Chicago nothing would have happened, they wouldn’t have cared. But this was ______________, a little bumblefuck town where

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1125221522963573912005-08-28T04:24:00.000-05:002005-08-28T04:32:02.973-05:00

Dear Jack,Yes, I am alive. I'm sure you've heard a lot about me from Rip and Steve and the other guys. Probably some pretty awful story about how I did too much drugs, broke down . . . and how they finally found me wandering around Jefferson Park one day with nothing on but a cardigan sweater and a pair of boxer shorts. Well, rest assured, it's all lies and well-intended assumptions -- except for

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1125067902834114952005-08-26T09:49:00.001-05:002009-01-13T10:04:18.670-06:00

“I have a client – a wonderful client – who’s all of eight years old and ready to take on the world,” the therapist tells her. “She goes to a special school for the gifted and is just …” The therapist’s voice trails off and her eyes go up to the ceiling as if seeing angels. Her chest swells pigeonlike.“I asked her if she ever wished her parents would get back together. You know what she said?”

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1122985179103030802005-08-02T07:16:00.000-05:002005-08-02T07:19:39.110-05:00

By the end of the year almost everyone had their day. Even Anthony Mahoney who, with his prematurely hormonal buddies cheering him on, was able to turn his punishment into a sort of mini-Olympics, doing double the usual requirement for boys, at one point even one-handed. And then there was Sara Covey, Little Miss Gifted. By the time her turn was up, the whole class was itching for it. Finally,

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1122900183419372752005-08-01T07:41:00.000-05:002005-08-01T07:43:53.256-05:00

When we went back to our homeroom the whole class enthusiastically recapped the previous hour's events to our teacher, Miss Turner, who seemed to think I had what was coming to me. She shook her finger at me while basically going into the same lecture Miss Cunningham had just finished.Not that I thought she'd think differently; she and Miss Cunningham were smoking buddies in the teacher's lounge.

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1122808555572304582005-07-31T06:12:00.000-05:002005-07-31T06:15:55.586-05:00

Personally speaking, I was a really average student. I never raised my hand when I knew the answer, yet always got called on when I didn't. I was in the lowest "color" in SRA Reading class. I received "DOES NOT APPLY HERSELF" constantly on every report card. My mom never monitored on Hot Dog Day, nor was she ever involved in any of the parent/teacher activities. Finally, I did not have a father

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1122768737547401372005-07-30T19:11:00.000-05:002005-07-30T19:12:17.553-05:00

Once, when we were in Miss Cunningham's social studies class, Stevie Fisher raised his hand too eagerly as usual and then, to everyone's mild surprise, got the wrong answer. Anthony Mahoney made some smart ass remark like, "Hey, you should make him do push-ups!" The logic was that since the topic was already covered the day before, there was no excuse not to have known the answer. His cronies

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1122676755408318632005-07-29T17:37:00.000-05:002005-07-29T17:39:15.416-05:00

You knew better than to piss off Miss Cunningham. She had her ways. She never laid a hand on any of us, but then again, no one ever bothered to find out if she could. Her presence was enough. A wrong answer, a furtive glance at your giggling neighbor, anything, was enough to make her scream. It wasn't the funny kind of hysterical, helpless scream some teachers had, the kind that encouraged the

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1122550719300204062005-07-28T06:32:00.000-05:002005-07-28T06:49:49.860-05:00

I remember one day I saw something happen which sums up everything that I hated about being in grade school. It was during recess and I was leaning against one of the jungle gyms, spacing out as usual. A bunch of kids were playing tag and running around Miss Cunningham, whose turn it was for recess duty. It was like they were running around and hiding behind a huge oak tree. Sara Covey and Troy

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1122505736257095802005-07-27T18:06:00.000-05:002005-07-27T19:20:28.426-05:00

There were many public parks. Fairly big ones. Some with swingsets, some without. I learned later that this was a strategy designed to block the government from taking certain unclaimed lands which otherwise could have been targeted for future housing project sites.Thus, my mother and I trekked everywhere within that fifteen mile radius. She waited in her heated car while I did a crayon etching

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1122359389113572872005-07-26T01:25:00.000-05:002005-07-26T01:31:50.756-05:00

Jimmy Lee and his disciples made us feel invincible. As if we could actually do those things ourselves, that anything was possible once you put your mind to it. And we all possessed an easy smugness in knowing that given the test, we'd never have to do push-ups in front of the whole class.It was back to regular class again, which meant homeroom with the same teacher for almost the whole day, and

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1122289640585620482005-07-25T06:04:00.000-05:002005-07-25T06:10:05.190-05:00

Jimmy Lee paced from one end of the stage to the other, holding a microphone in his hand and facing us sideways. He said, "If student no practice, he no go home until he finish 50 push-ups. That my rule!" Then, to prove his point, he snapped his fingers and pointed at one of his students who jumped up, went over to the mat and started doing push-ups. The student, who must've been about 14, did

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1122218370407227412005-07-24T10:16:00.000-05:002005-07-24T10:22:46.773-05:00

I should say here that this all took place in 1976 which was a pretty lame year in a lame decade. Even we kids felt kind of dissatisfied with all the hoopla about the Bicentennial. Vietnam and Watergate were barely out of the front pages, there was a fuel crisis, inflation. It was like you knew America wasn't doing so hot at that point in time, so why all the fireworks? And then you had to wear

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1122144477810617462005-07-23T13:44:00.000-05:002005-07-24T10:23:08.910-05:00

Miss Cunningham, my fourth grade social science teacher, was a metabolic phenomenon. Cellulite tissue covered her entire body and grew like yeast, layer upon layer, in what seemed an impossible feat of nature. Each calf leg had the circumference, if not texture, of a tightly rolled up sleeping bag. Her upper arms swelled and heaved like individual wracks of lamb. It was rumored she suffered from

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1121773220916237102005-07-19T06:37:00.000-05:002005-07-19T06:40:20.920-05:00

On the cusp of fall-ing in love with you – hold on –It’s happening … yesPhoto: Palace Theatre by Weegee (Arthur Fellig)

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1121525927537157512005-07-16T09:47:00.001-05:002009-01-13T10:04:29.871-06:00

Somewhere in the Valley a young man on the cusp ofmiddle age is trying to look busy and keep his anxiety at bay abouthis boss the John Birch Society member who collects firearms and promises to murder all homosexuals on sight with his eyes and this or may not be prohibited by the employee manual of which he keeps a copy in his bottom left drawer underneaththe antibacterial phonewipes he uses on

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1121433701967045942005-07-15T08:18:00.000-05:002005-07-15T08:39:46.666-05:00

Her subconscious has been waiting and waiting for her to be worthy, and now it's just impatient. Finally, her body decides to do what her mind won't: it revolts, becomes revolting.This is the tale of Carol, the unsuspecting recipient of the world's toxins in Todd Hayne's Safe, a film ostensibly about environmental illness.Living in the California hills with her husband and his son from a previous

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1121338280908653292005-07-14T05:42:00.001-05:002009-01-13T10:04:39.371-06:00

Ratzo Rizzo coatKeeper of lizards and snakesUlcersOur eyes lockedthe inadequacies of the Witness Protection Program / the itch and scratch of heroin / the cut and paste of schizophrenia / the tedium of undercover narcotics / the steady gnawing of a low T-cell countFinally a body shifted, folded the paperthis passing between us was the chance I neededto turn my head away

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1121309015671233782005-07-13T21:39:00.001-05:002009-01-13T10:04:50.287-06:00

If only I would take the leap of faithI could learn from you, self-anointed oneanother disciple for your unnamed missionwe would make each other feel so goodI just need to let go of my fears and wantsignore your singular ambitionThis last sinister part is truly unknown to youI can hardly wait for the trainI want to be there when it happensfront row and centerwith my popcorn and Snowcapsa jumbo

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1121231534191666472005-07-13T00:09:00.001-05:002009-01-13T10:05:00.722-06:00

Today I bought a dozen oranges (fresh? One can never tell)A stick of cinnamon that looked just like a stick of cinnamon (in July, no less)A dozen gold-leafed glasses from Istanbul (or so the label said)A length of fabric displaying dancing peasants and a lamb (vive la frivolite!)And a vintage beaded purse to go with nothing I ownThe first I bought for a wholesome feelingThe second for invented

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1121171781357324932005-07-12T07:34:00.000-05:002005-07-12T07:48:48.293-05:00

For years, the delightful drawings of Maurice Vellekoop have graced the pages of The New Yorker and Wallpaper. Now, thanks to the fine folks at Drawn & Quarterly Press, there’s no longer the need to frantically peruse the magazine rack to get that monthly Vellekoop fix. Vellevision: A Cocktail of Comics and Pictures is a thoroughly refreshing compendium showcasing the works of this supremely

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1121087527388364122005-07-11T08:09:00.001-05:002009-01-13T10:05:12.905-06:00

We help ourselves to cerealthe sticky formica chipped and heavyedges everywhereMother?Not my motherThis one smokes Truths and laughs needlessly while clutchingthe telephone to spit her mooda leg up on the counter, its varicose veins proud and argumentativefull of ugly secretsthen: an arm in the air and in her hairKid . . .she calls us eachKid, c'mere, get your mama a beer.

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1121087320673520222005-07-11T08:05:00.001-05:002009-01-13T10:05:23.041-06:00

He didn’t’ like his secretary. She had no maternal instincts and was probably a lesbian. She, like him, was a descendent of Russian Jews and grew up in Rogers Park. This commonality failed to connect them in a positive way.After several months of being gruff and outright hostile, he gave up. She was impervious to his contempt. This infuriated him even more, but on a good day he told himself she

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14375718.post-1121049076720790802005-07-10T21:29:00.001-05:002009-01-13T10:05:33.372-06:00

TasteOtherwise useless Arizonian tumbleweeds lay ona hardwood floor that would otherwise havean end table or chair seating no onebut if it did: that person would appreciate the relations betweensuperficial and pretentiousStanley Kubrick and Sam Peckinpahsublime and picturesqueSaxony and toilewhile sipping and savoring a Syrahand feeling fortunate to have this secret knowledgeseemingly from

Yogchickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03922617113174437846noreply@blogger.com0