A sign from above

The Unnamed Company gods have smiled upon me. While I am working seven days in a row next week, and I am being trained to write sports, I have miraculously landed this Friday off. That means that I have Thursday, Friday, and Saturday off this week. Amazing.
But the question is, what do I do with a free weekend? Surely I can remember back when I didn't work weekends, but even then I was always in the studio. But there's no room to work in my apartment, plus I think after all the stress of the performance I earned the right to take a little time off. So after spending Thursday doing yoga/cleaning/whatever, I figure I have the license to just kick back and do something fun.
Here are some thoughts for the first day/night of my weekend off:

1. Walk from my apt in Bushwick over the Williamsburg Bridge, go to Chinatown, drink bubble tea. Then walk over the Manhattan bridge and go to Park Slope. Take pictures in photobooth at Atlantic Center. Return over Brooklyn Bridge. Scrape pile formerly known as SH8H off pavement and onto subway car. Return on L train and shower. Then off to Lizard Lounge for pizza and drinks. Goal: stumble home in one piece.

2. Take scenic walk under JMZ and then get on train at Marcy Ave. Switch at Canal street and take a journey to Brighton Beach. Buy copious amounts of nuts and dried fruit. Go to Coney island and finally ride the rollercoaster. Tell patrons in front of Nathan's what's really in those things. Take walk on beach and play "find the syringes." Eat nuts on subway ride back. Order Mexican feast at apt. Get dolled up and go out to my favorite bar in Manhattan, Rue B.

3. Dress up like a super hipster/skater loser and take my miniature child's skateboard to Union Square. Shoot an ironic video of me making an ass of myself skating around and falling. Take it really seriously and yell at those who laugh at me and tell them they're just jealous of my "mad sk8ting skills, yo!" Go home and use pictures to create a myspace alter-ego. Then go out and drink.

4. Go to the fucking beach. mmmmmmmmmm...

Cast your vote!

A friendly reminder to those who don't love me enough to read my blog-

Willow Barnett
Jen Bracket
Jeris Brunette
Collyn Gold
Lauren Haggis
Cristina Sigmond

read it!

It's "no pants" 'o clock, do you know where your Mom is?

Memorial day weekend wrap-up:

I know you all want to know, "Did the SH8H go to the Unnamed Company party??!" Well, no, I didn't. I was at work until 2:45am which considering my four hours of sleep the previous night, I was pretty much the walking dead. But fear not my faithful readers, the weekend was far from over!

First of all, I had two nights off in a row! Time off from work of course, could only lead to one thing: unnecessary drinking. The first night (Sunday) yielded the discovery that my air conditioner no longer smells like cat piss and therefore can be used! * Then on Monday LB (SH8H wifey) and I took a walk to Manhattan under the shade of the scenic JMZ. The walk was nice although hot as fucking hell... Since we had been in the AC all night, we wore jeans, which was our fatal mistake. It was so unbearable we had to duck into Babeland on the LES to cool off. In the meantime we browsed their selection and I generally irritated the saleswoman by asking such questions as "what exactly is Malaysian rubber?" Do you know?

After many errands, LB and I returned home and began a massive re-organizing/packing endeavor. I packed all my artthings, and threw out about 4 huge garbage bags of shit as well as lots of old drawings. I was so thrilled with the downsizing, and LB with being able to move shit into the closet, that we realized we had no choice but to go drinking. So we went out to Sweet Ups and got senselessly drunk off beer and jager/stoli. We also went to Grand Morelos for the second time that day. This morning I remembered why I switched from beer to liquor. Long live the yeasty beer stomach!

***
Top one-liners of the weekend:
"That is soooooooooooo isocentric..."
"Slapstick is the universal language."
***

and now, one final message...
This is a shout out to the individuals who say they read my blog, or that they "totally will soon." I know you don't read my blog. I know this because I repeat things that were in my blog in conversation. If you had read my blog, you might say "God Mika I KNOW, I already read it in your fucking blog." I sometimes even mention that you would already know what I was talking about if you read my blog...so this goes out to you. I will continue mentioning your names at the end of my blog until you read it. Comment and prove me wrong!

Willow Barnett
Jen Bracket
Jeris Brunette
Collyn Gold
Lauren Haggis
Katy Martineau
Cristina Sigmond


~mm signing off.






*The short story of the air conditioner is that 1.5 years ago a stray cat climbed above my air conditioner and became stuck. I became aware of this when my apartment became overwhelmed with the smell of cat urine. It lingered for some time, and even eight months later when I tried to use the AC, it still smelled. The estimated time it takes to get cat piss smell out of an air conditioner? 1.5 years.

And success was mine.

Because I've been so overwhelmed with fan mail about my performance last night, I've decided simply to blog about it- in the interest of saving time with all those replies.
The performance went near-perfect. I was really freaking out at first when my performance was being delayed and had a few moments of panic when I got the "one minute!" call and put on the remainder of my costume, but after a few deep breaths I began to settle into my "performance autopilot" and projected into my happy place. I had some interesting discussions with New Party Club-goers and the whole thing panned out pretty much how I had intended. It was followed by 4ish hours of celebrating my New York debut, and 3-4ish hours of sleep before going off to SIGN MY NEW LEASE! That's right folks, no worries about jinxing it; I am moving to S. 4th Street on July 1st. Plus my roommate doesn't move in for about three weeks afterwards, so I have some time to really settle in. I think I might buy a hibachi and start BBQing on the roof...

***

It's "Chinese Night" here at Unnamed Company,[edited for content, again] This will be my first real chance to seriously socialize with my co-workers, besides the occasional recent chat in the break room. I guess I'm thinking it's time to stop being such a snob about meeting people I work with (although I really do know an awful lot of people...). Why stop now? Why not just have 418945248 friends and be "too cool" to hang out with anyone more than once a month? Although honestly the top rotation of close friends is already at maximum capacity...maybe I should rethink this. Gawd, sometimes it's SOOOOOOOOO hard to be me.

On that note, I better get back to checking Laguna Beach re-runs. Actually no, first I have a story about that bitch Kristin Cavallari (if you've already heard this, bear with me): So I spent this past New Year's Eve in LA, and I went to this Club The Lobby. They were filming Laguna Beach and lo and behold, I found myself standing behind Kristin in the bathroom line. I had this overwhelming urge to tell her that she was the embodiment of everything I despise in America, women, television and humanity in general. I wanted to say that she made me want to vomit all over her $2000 tacky designer dress, and that she seriously needs to get herself to the gym before the end of filming. But alas, I realized that being the pale, small chested brunette girl dressed all in black, I would be edited into "that jealous girl that's clearly not from here." Regrettable, I had not thought of just punching her in the face. A knuckle sandwich is worth a thousand words...

There must be a devil between us...or whores in my head.

Warning: The title may be the most interesting part of this post. I am writing out of complete boredom; proceed with caution-

It was another lonely night at Unamed Company. [edited for content, must not compromise "confidentiality"...bummer right?] Is it possible that I've become merely an appendage to the machine of "the man"? Best not to think of these things...

Anyway, with SH8H wifey off in Kansas, I have the clothing/book landfill that was once my apartment all to myself! Whatever will I do? I guess ideally I would pack, but that's probably not realistic. No, as an official notch on my geek belt, I have made grand plans of cataloguing my CDs between social engagements. (Quick Survey: How geeky do you think it is to be excited about creating an excel spreadsheet to catalogue your music collection by artist, album, and year?)

Man, coming up a little dry this post....um...ok, ok here we go. So after careful consideration I've decided to go to Bonnaroo this year. Now Tara, I know what you're thinking... Yes, I know the line of cars will be a minimum of five miles long (You showed me the pictures), and yes there will be mud, it will be hot, and I will get 484548945489 bug bites. But I've been in sweat lodges, so I'm not too worried about the heat getting me down; lines don't bother me out much because I don't drive and I generally don't care. Ok, the bug thing will definitely freak me out, but then again I squatted in that creepy building at Elsewhere Artist Collaborative in Greensboro, NC, and there were all kinds of chiggers and shit, and fucking roaches, and somehow I made it through. Am I just kidding myself? Perhaps...but the truth is I like the whole road trip festival camping dirty crowded loud hot hippie-infested sort of thing. I used to live for this shit, and you know what I always say: you're never too young to feel the need to relive your youth. That's why I'll be starting the draft of my memoir upon graduation.

Congratulations for making it to the end of the post! As a token of my gratitude, here. Go on...click it.

And thanks to Brian for noticing my iRonic white earbuds plugged into my MP3 CD player. <3 mm

You heard it here first!

By popular demand (and rumor), I will be performing at the New Party Club as the White Buffalo Woman at 11:00PM. Not only will this be the debut of White Buffalo Woman but also my first New York performance.

Come witness history in the making; be able to say "I saw Mikella Millen's first performance in New York, waaaaay before she sold out and started selling t-shirts of her face at Brooklyn Industries."

See flyer and directions below-
Spread the news!

If you know what's good for you...

you'll come see my performance at the New Party Club.



DIRECTIONS...

TAKE THE L TRAIN INTO BROOKLYN
GET OFF AT DEKALB, WALK WEST ON WYCKOFF TO HART AND WYCKOFF

OR

TAKE THE M TO MYRTLE-WYCKOFF
WALK WEST ON WYCKOFF TO HART


Be there, or be completely lame.

"You know what really grinds my gears?"

Not this-

Some notable (or odd) sights of the weekend:

On First (or Second) Avenue, a man was passing out packs of gum along with postcards encouraging you to stop writing letters to your congressmen and protesting to take action on matter which concern you, but instead to use the power of prayer. Prayer is the answer.

A little girl's pink bicycle (complete with training wheels) was locked to some scaffolding. It was surrounded by other bigger bikes. Who would steal a little girl's bike?

Walking home in the afternoon I saw a street fair on Graham Avenue (the Avenue of Puerto Rico!). Performing onstage were five girls dressed in huge afros, velvet minidresses, and huge platform heels (like...practically stripper heels). Before I could take a picture, a terrifying drill sergeant of a dance instructor hurried them offstage to change in a makeshift tent (presumably for the encore?). I felt like I may have been trapped in a scene from the Bushwick version of Donnie Darko...except that there was no crashed aircraft, or time travel, and the music was pretty shitty (so in other words, not really like it at all).

In Union Sqaure, a squirrel walked across the path and rested its front paws up on the first rung of the fencing. It stared at my friend Lindsay and I for thirty seconds straight.

On the L train I was listening intently to some new tracks I had just burned to CD. I had just bought a pair of white Maxell earbuds at Walgreens; above them was a handwritten sign saying "no iPod, no problem!" I bought them partly for the ironic satisfaction in wearing white earbuds that were IN FACT attached to an MP3 CD player (sooooooooo old school), and also because I misplaced mine. Anyway, I decided to skip a song and took the player out of my purse; I looked up and noticed this hipster chick sitting across from me. I watched a look of complete confusion wash over this girl's face, followed by a look of disgust. Mission.Accomplished.

Also, an apartment update: My new roommate and I are in the process of getting the lease application together. All we need to do is fax it, and then meet with the landlord this week. Hellooooooooo Bedford Avenue...

I <3 LV (and SS)

Dear Diary,
As you well know, last night I went to see Laura Viers! At first I was kinda unsure about it, because I wasn't really in the mood to go to a show alone...I almost considered just staying home. But after smoking a bowl and getting ridiculous stoned I was ready for adventure, and what an adventure it was (or seemed then anyway).
I leave the house in one of those periodic downpours last night, which was pretty intense at the time. I arrive at the J train in rare form, finding myself infatuated with the rain falling on the tracks.
Soon after boarding the train I encounter a rare breed of hipster, that is, the Fashionista Hipster That Almost Isn't a Hipster at All*. Fascinating creatures they are... She sat across from me next to her friend who was clearly the business oriented, and probably smarter one. They were accompanied by a silent Abercrombie & Fitch model with a fauxhawk; he just sat with his arm around the hipster chick, looking completely vapid. The hipster girl spoke in that classic airhead speak that basically made every sentence into a question.

Their conversation was as follows:
Hipster: So like, I think that maybe, like, I might want to go into broadcasting or journalism?
Smarty: No, you definitely mean broadcasting. You don't want to be a journalist.
Hipster: No, but like, you know, just like, to try it? Like I think I would like it-
Smarty: No. You wouldn't like journalism, you're thinking of broadcasting.
Hipster: But like, I knew some people at [newspaper from out of town, perhaps hometown] and like, I think it would be cool?
Smarty: Listen, I used to work as an editor at [newspaper form out of town] and you definitely wouldn't want to be a journalist. Trust me.
Hipster: But, like, I don't know-
That was about all I could take, but let me be clear- this girl's grasp on the English language wouldn't even qualify her to write for, say, the Gilmore Girls. Not by a long shot, and that's saying a lot. Those who are responsible for the Gilmore Girls ought to have their balls cut off and thrown in the ocean. Where was I? Diary, you have to stop me when I get so sidetracked!

Anyway, I walk to Mercury Lounge where the man at the door reminds me that I've just turned 21 this year! (Wow, I almost forgot!) I wander in to watch the second act of the night, which is actually the guitar player from LV. I found myself completely mystified by his use of a strange gadget that was recording his voice, then setting it to play on a loop, and allowing him to slowly layer a song of him harmonizing live with himself (does that make sense?). I wasn't really sure if he was actually good or if I just thought he was, given my condition, but it was working for me.

But then, a magical thing happened- I was walking to the bathroom, when I brushed by SUFJAN STEVENS! Be still my beating heart! I made a double take, and then he turned back too...our eyes met...we shared a moment. ::swoon:: There was a part of me that thought maybe he recognized me from staring up at him dreamy-eyed in the front row at nearly every show he's played in NYC. I guess that's not realistic- but when has that ever gotten in the way of my larger than life ego?
After sending some frantic text messages from the BR, I returned to the crowd, and tried not to stare at him longingly.

LV came on and played pretty much all my favorite songs right at the beginning. I don't know whether this was substance related or just her, but I became totally overwhelmed with visuals...I guess of the lyrics, or perhaps where she was when she wrote them? I don't know how else to describe it. She had such a great connection with her guitar player too; they really seemed in synch, giving each other these knowing looks... Their stage presence was terrific overall, but I found the actual sound a little unsatisfying. There was something a little weird going on with her voice...I got the impression that she was experiencing some throat issues. The scene was alright generally, but there was this weird guy in front of me that was totally invading my space, and then another guy behind me that wouldn't back up...it was kinda weirding me out. I should have said something, but I didn't want to make a scene during her set.
All things considered I guess it was a pretty good show, and seeing SS just made my night.

Seeing this show has just got me so pumped to see the Liars... but I'll write more on that later.

Well, only an hour left to kill at work before watching my show and going home to my new SH8H wife (LB). I better go check my Myspace six or seven times-

Love,
MM





* the FHTAIHA is that rich girl that is essentially in a classic hipster ensemble, just classier (or at least more expensive). Her gold bangles are Chanel (as is her quilted leather purse), her boots are new and clean, her clothes are in good condition....good fabrics- you get the idea. This is the trickiest kind of hipster, because she's almost just "hip." It's a subtle distinction...

I hate it, it's unwatchable, and I hate it

Before I say anything else, let me just congratulate myself for having a friend on gawker.com's blues states this week. Some of you, faithful readers, probably know him (gasp! I've said too much).

I know, BPD, that you already have a work diary that is very funny and accurately describes our work environment, but alas, I must devote some time to my ridiculous job as well. Oh, have I lost you? God you're slow. Ok, from the top:

I work at [the following paragraph was edited for content. for confidentiality purposes, it is best not to speak at length about "unnamed company"] the worst part, is Coffee-mate non-dairy powdered creamer. Let me take this time to say FUCK COFFEE-MATE. Being the healthy, organic little hipster that I am, putting powdered creamer in my coffee (which is 100% necessary at this job) makes my skin crawl. God, do you have any idea what's IN that stuff? ::Shudder::

Last night I had the pleasure of watching THREE STRAIGHT HOURS of Survivor Panama: Exile Island (the two hour season finale plus the reunion, yes!) For those of you have never suffered through Survivor, the basic premise is that 16 people are picks to live on an island, have their lives taped, and see what happens when people stop bathing, and compete for "survival" by engaging in scavenger hunts and competitive games. This is what I find to be the most ridiculous part (well, if you can even compare). They compete in games periodically throughout their time on the island to win "immunity" from the tribal council, which consisted of the people who were voted off. I mean all the alliances and backstabbing is kind of entertaining I guess, but come on. Now if they didn't give them any aid, there was no time frame, and the last one alive on the island got a million dollars, THAT would be great (or you know, illegal, whatever). I'm just saying...

This show represents everything that is wrong with this country. Seriously. I hate this show. I hate its melodramatic music, and flashback montages, and that tool Danielle (who has the most atrocious Boston accent). I hate that freeloading yoga instructor Aras (who won), and especially the host. The only remotely rewarding part was when Shane ripped Aras and Danielle a new asshole in the tribal council. And what is up with all the men wearing board shorts...ew. SOOOOO over. God why am I even writing about this? Fuck Survivor too.

On a more pleasant note: A fellow SH8H will soon be joining me in my studio abode until I move next month. Pictures to come...

Well, at least I don't own an ipod...

For a long time I denied what I had become. I would rationalize that I liked Modest Mouse waaaaaay before they sold out and did that car commercial. I only wore chuck taylors because they were the cheapest sneakers at the army navy surplus. I did wear ironic t-shirts, but only if they had been given to me. A couple weeks ago I was sitting across from a certain gentleman complaining about how I looked like such hipster scum that morning, at which point he said quite matter-of-factly: "You're like a self-hating hipster." As soon as the words were uttered, I knew they were true...but what now? Well I figured if I'm going to slowly continue becoming the complete embodiment of a stereotype, I ought to just give in and go all out.

I decided to go ahead and plan my move to Mecca (aka Williamsburg), buy some more ironic t-shirts, name drop my friends in the music industry at every opportunity, and stop hiding my obvious feeling of superiority over everyone and everything (well except those few people and things that I like). Also I intend to write even more pretentious run-on sentences and make absurd declarations of judgment over all things pop-culture related. Most importantly, I have started a blog that serves no real purpose but to satirically discuss my life as if everyone else is deeply concerned with the irony of my current situation.

Unfortunately for you, I really can't reveal any more details of what's to come at this juncture. However until next time, I leave you with a little haiku (courtesy of Ms. Buechner):

O, you thrift store lads
I thrill at your skinny pants!
Artfully mussed hair

Coming soon...