Becca being me.

Post complete my MFA work, I've been forced into a tough corner - working endless hours and horrible jobs. Rough for me - fun for you!

I've reformatted my blog

www.lindykeaton.blogspot.com

it's now dedicated to all of my hilarious mishaps, which make for a good read. I'm also hoping to turn just enough of a profit so that I might keep my student loans at bay, and you know, have food to eat, and electricity. Yeah, it really is that bad.

Please help a struggling artist out, visit my site, click on the ads there, comment on the entries, and above all else, forward the site to your friends. God knows enough of us sit in front of a computer all day bored out of minds, and if nothing else, this blog o'mine will keep folks entertained for some of that time.

This lj will continue to exist, of course, but mainly as a personal whiny forum - yeah!

It's been a while.

That's because I've been caught up in the business of life and school and all the necessary evils those two things require which left very little room for self-indulgence. Well I've got my Masters now - so back to my top secret livejournal to whinge and moan about banal happenings.

When I'm so self-deprecating so early on it's a clear sign I'm feeling something keenly. (For all parties wanting a Guide To Becca, that should be rule number one - she is hardest on herself when she means it the most.)

There's a pattern in my life as far as men go that I can't shake:

I am very emotionally withholding, in my friendships and romantically. I trick most people by appearing to disclose critical pieces of my emotional past, thus lulling them into feeling as though we are intimates.

I should emphasize that this is not intentional. I do it because I want very much to be liked and to have people like me, so I try and parcel out the "good" bits.

Truth is, I keep a lot in, and as a result I tend to be attracted to - romantically, friend-wise, people who live and breathe emotionally openness. People for who trade in intimacy.

This is where I lose:

Typically after a time what happens is I grow to love these people, and feel comfortable and to trust them, to realize I need them in my life. In an effort to keep them, I try to actually open up and....then I realize they're just as emotionally withholding/have as many trust issues as I do - but they know how to hide it, they invert it, it's lurking in a corner I didn't see and I'm the asshole who thought my learning to trust meant all the problems were solved.

So where am I? There I am. There she is. There you are -

And there you are with open arms and cleft breast and the awful sensation of needing someone so deeply, just to exchange words with them (Because words are MY currency, words are what IIII trade in) and there they are activating the very same wall you activate daily.

Just desserts, I guess. (See aforementioned Guide To Becca, Paragraph One, Item One.)

I don't like missing a friend after only a day. It makes me feel weak and foolish. It makes me feel like, why did I attempt to have a grown-up friendship if it's going to make me feel sad and pathetic? Am I a Victorian Woman that my friendships take on such a passionate bent? Surely I have many other close friends who I don't get so riled up over, with whom I enjoyed none dramatic but meaningful relationships with and whom I thank  or it!

In a lot of ways romantic love is easier because you can blame it on your naughty bits. The heart isn't naughty in platonic love, it's a simple child, and after years of nurturing and learning it won't get slapped down, it wants what it wants and it's sad when it doesn't get it.

It wants to exchange words. And (reminded of how badly it's been treated) it's ashamed for wanting that. And it wants to blame you for making it confident enough to think it deserves that.

So this is it guys, after toiling away for other blogs, I've launched my own -

http://lindykeaton.blogspot.com

Please visit, please enjoy, please click on the ads so I make money (callous), and please forward this link to friends and enemies alike.

I'll of course still be posting here, but those posts will probably be more of the same "oh why doesn't a boy like?!" rants that are shameful are bigger better blogs like I'm hoping this one will be.

Everybody knows they ought to love Frank Sinatra, just like everybody knows you ought to love Ella Fitzgerald. You listen to them sing and, sure, you get it, to not get it just isn't possible - there's a level of professional perfection that just out and out beats all.

But really, it isn't Frank or Ella who make my toes curl up in that yummy way - it's Bobby Darin and Bessie Smith. When you look at really fine exquisite china, you check it for crazing, that sort of rash that indicates the piece isn't any good. Me I've always thought crazing rather striking. Bobby and Bessie have crazed voices, tiny cracks, personal quirks -  delicious rarities - you can hear life in them when they're singing - they love singing but they aren't going to have you believe it's not hard work.

Marianne Faithfull agrees, it's kind of impossible for me to say anything bad about this 2 disc set I've got here. I've had it on all day and it's just really well put together, it really soars and then punches you in all the right places. Marianne Faithfull's always had the kind of voice I'd kill for and it's wonderful to finally hear her singing strictly, well, dessert, you get me?

Having an album that I can put on and sit on my windowsill and just stare out at the skyline to is something akin to heaven. I'm not in Providence so I can't look at the ocean to regain perspective, but between her voice and the ferocious cityscape being reminded of just how small I am is a sure thing.

Ah, what a crazy time.

Tonight might actually prove mild which would be good. I was thinking about going out and pow-wowing post Random Acts with cool peeps, and maybe if I can rustle up the sexy and the gusto I still shall but my weary bones are saying - "stay on the sofa, stay there, and continue working working working,".

For there's so much cookin' you see.

We're in the thick of getting my own little addition to Random Acts bubbling, and while there's still fat to trim and bits that need to sing, I'm excited and my whole mindset has shifted into Production Mode. Reaching that point where I can only keep my fingers crossed that I've 'insured' the text and thus feel a bit less anxious. Busy busy busy as hell but happy with that.

TV Writing - my one true love - is a pain IN MY ASS right now. It's incredibly frustrating to be busting ass on a project I'm insanely passionate about and week after week keeping discovering it isn't passing muster - and I'm having a hard time understanding why, my fault no one else's. I'll get it there, it's just soooo frustrating.

Screenwriting - AHHHHH! See this is the part where I start to lose my mind which leads us to -----

FINAL DRAFT, Nicole likes my title of the full length, and I had a good critique but but but - too many thiiiiiiiiings.

Sigh.
I'm gonna stay in tonight. My conscience will not allow me to go out with all these balls in the air. Heh. Balls.

This is not my Bucket List - for that is lame. I am calling the list I've been mentally composing the "Before" list. I'm not going to list them all at once because then people would see how many of them involve me frenchin' on some dude (apparently I have a type, it is bald and douchy - much love!) but as I slowly realized them over the next 6 months, I want to document my progress.

Item The First:

Before, I Want To Compete In A Glitz Beauty Pageant.

* Did a LOT of googling on this one. Found a pageant. Made sure there was no bathing suit, and I signed the EFF up. It's in Albany (hilarious) and I'm going to go with any of my willing friends and we'll stay at like, a holiday Inn, and I'll get a spray tan, and my makeup airbrushed on, and my talent will be Spoken Word. I have also signed up for the "rodeo" portion. Where I where western garb, and do a dance.

People are going to want to know why, and I guess it's a bit to do with irony and curiosity and a love of the sub-culture and a great story too tell later, but also it's a bit of the (to pilfer shamelessly from Gypsy) "I'm a pretty girl, Mama! I'm a pretty girl!"

More details as they come.

My bro Jesse just called me. He lives in Montana. We're both having a tough time getting work done tonight. I, choose music and compiling long meticulous soundtracks to delay the inevitable - he found a lighter and tried burning, a pencil eraser, a coke can, his pants, and a goldfish cracker respectively.

Jesse is always in tune with me in a weird way. When I'm feeling desperate to talk to someone, he always calls, and we end up having these long spiraling conversations about nothing.

Highlights from tonight include:

Seth Rogen: Overrrated and over exposed. Like Jude Law before him.
Lakeview Terrace: Jesse says I should see it. He loves Samuel L. Jackson. I disagreed.
Canopic Jars: The vessels Egyptians used to preserve remains. I didn't know what they were called. Jesse insisted they were called Canopic jars. I insisted they weren't - he won.
Coco Butter: I suggested he use some, he suggested he was not a pregnant lady.
My Play: I want to burn it to the ground, Jesse said some lines were funny and that it sounded good.
His injuries: He's a climber and he's all messed up right now. He enjoys telling me of his exploits.
Foods We didn't Like but now we do: for him, coffee - he still doesn't like it but he likes "how it feels like I've got to no eyelids" I think whoever allowed him to have coffee is a fool. I discussed how sushi used to make me vom and now I crave it.

Really it's lovely to have someone call you because they know you're going to be up all night and rather than try to talk about substantial things, allow you to babble or be silent as you please and for them to do the same.