Raymi the Minx

29 05 2007

(Originally published Feb 21, ’05)

minx: (mingks) n., a cheeky or mischievous girl
–The Oxford American Dictionary

And Raymi the Minx is all of that. While you’re at it, you can add irreverent, scatological, self-obsessed, insecure, arrogant, discumbobulated, opinionated, compassionate, intense, distant, exhibitionist, funny, hip and clueless, sometimes all at once. That will do for a start, but understand: it’s just a start. Raymi is one complicated individual, but then so aren’t we all, and isn’t that the point?

Raymi’s blog, which today is called either soon i will hit the ground and explode or when the peanuts wept (she changes the title several times a week and the title on the banner is often different from the title rendered by your browser), is a Mulligan’s Stew of stream-of-conscienceness patter that veers from the unexceptional to the trivial to the poetic, post-to-post. Raymi writes about everything and nothing in a semi-free-form ramble that sometimes sounds like Kerouac on crack and at other times like a whiny teenager afflicted with petty obsessions and neural diarrhea. That most of it is tongue-in-cheek, so to speak, saves the worst of it from maudlin excess and lifts the best of it into Walt Whitman/Charles Bukowski-Land, where it twinkles like a pearl necklace in a junkyard. Recent posts include this little gem about a bar she went to Sat night.

scott “the jesus” is awesome and talks really loud and says like a lot and he has fucked up hair and i asked him if he was going to be growing it down to his ass again and he said no he’ll keep it where it is and i said well i intend to grow my hair as long as the alphabet. i got blog-spotted by elizabeth and she came over and was all excited and i was flattered but also surprised. one guy in her posse said he was on morphine when i asked him to watch my jacket and our spot. scott was telling us a story about this guy’s apartment that has dog shit all over the carpet and how when he got there the dog immediately pissed on the carpet and a couple over his shoulder kept looking back at him talking about shit because they were trying to enjoy their meal and his shit story just kept going and going.

this one kid came over to try and have a pocket of quiet space for his cell phone call but then he left because scott was ten times louder than the rest of the bar.

scott also doesn’t have a microwave and one time his mum came home with a box that looked like a microwave could be inside of it and scott is all YAH MICROWAVE and his mum goes i got us a breadmaker and scott’s head which was just about to explode with joy, exploded with disapointment instead and then he went on to explain how the home made loaves are tiny and gross and what a waste a breadmaker is because store-bought bread is at least guaranteed to be good and then he went on a rant going what, you can’t afford store bread?

melissa also thought that scott was ward and kept asking if he was ward. haha.

Raymi posts a LOT of pictures, and she’s got an original eye for odd framing, strange perspectives, and unusual if not bizarre subjects. If this were a photo-blog, I’d recommend it just for that. There’s an insouciant imperturbability in her pictures, a sort of wicked on-the-fly-and-who-gives-a-shit immediacy that at first seems to prove how uninvolved she is, but later on gives the finger to her supposed ‘ironic detachment’. There is passion in these photos even if it is a passion for dispassionate observation – she wants to document her life and her vision, and the line between observing that life from the outside and living it from the inside is perilously thin. Raymi instinctively realizes, as few bloggers do (or memoirists, for that matter), that all life is tap-dancing on a high wire when you don’t have either the skill or the knowledge to do either.

mark is starving himself and it’s driving thom and i crazy. he’s been doing it since christmas and says he’ll finish around may. he’s totally emaciated and thirty pounds lighter and he wasn’t even fat to begin with. he’s exercising his inner-strength and zen-like whatever and when i talk to him about it and express my frustration he in-turn gets frustrated because he wanted us to be supportive of him. supportive? are you fucking kidding me? so i haven’t been hanging with him much because it’s hard to sit there looking at a skeleton who is stubborn and won’t get help and is starving himself for no fucking reason and also i feel like a house around him so fuck that noise.

Disconnected thoughts shambling by in slippers get just as much of Raymi’s respect as the ones solidly together and dressed for church.

you’d think the mailman would deliver mail faster on fridays and have it in your box by 9 am because he is all PAAAAAAAAAAARTY FRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIDAY and is on speed. the mailguy takes a taxi to my street and that’s when/where he begins. i’ve seen him. that’s funny. why doesn’t he just get the cabbie to deliver all his mail for him and he can chill at home and they can speak on walkie talkies and the mailguy will be like oh watch out for that house because the lady watches out the window and if you walk across her lawn she will call and complain and she gives scary mean looks and i hate her.

anyway i would love to bump into a mail carrier party in a bar one day and see them all wearing shorts and reading return to sender letters and changed address magazines.

And the slightest of casual domestic or personal events are just as much fodder for the blog as a friend starving himself.

This is Raymi, btw–MA

i haven’t washed my hair for a couple days well coming on today it would be three so my hair feels like the forest and looks as such and some parts are crunchy. i slept with a sleeping mask on last nite and i thought i was blind when i got up. my eyelashes with mascara all kinda fused together and so i was extra extra blind like i was in a psychological thriller where people wake up blind and their cats take over the household.

yes, much excitement in these parts today.

One of the glories of Raymi’s blog – and one of its groaning, gaping flaws at the same time – is her bravery. Nothing’s off the table, nothing’s forbidden or too tasteless or too intimate for blogging. She’s famous for posting nude pictures of herself, but that’s the least of it. Her real courage is in her determination not to pretty-up herself or her life. If she’s in a pissy mood, she writes pissy. If she’s feeling cruel, her writing gets mean. Whatever else is going on, whatever else may happen, however ugly it may make her look, Raymi is – or seems to be – ruthlessly honest about herself, and that makes her blog (whatever it’s called) the epitome of what personal journals are supposed to be: daily records of real life as it’s lived.


Summing up as blog like this is really hard, but maybe that’s what makes it worth reading. Raymi won’t let you put her in a nice neat box with a nice clean label you never ever have to change again. Her blog is as real as she is, as multi-faceted as she is, as inconsistent and contradictory as she is, and if any of the rest of us was to try to write a blog about all the things we really are, not just the cute ones or the generous ones or the impressive ones, all of it, we’d have to write a blog like Raymi’s.




7 responses

10 06 2007
Catching Up 2 - The Journals « LitBlogs

[…] paradoxically becomes eternal and unchanging. Everything I said about her in the original review (here) is still true only more so. Raymi is and always will be (we hope) a true original, as honest, as […]

25 04 2008

It’s funny you draw a connection to Kerouac, Raymi/Lauren is related to Kerouac!

28 04 2008

Really? Um, how?

8 08 2012

LOL Carrie, my #1 SWF stalker up there lol.

9 08 2012

i don’t think she’s wretched anymore can you erase that comment?

3 12 2013

As you wish. Gone.

5 12 2013

aw thanks

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