This is a luscious mix of words and tricks.

fresh breath++++

2009-08-04T06:25:00.000-07:00

I like the new purple multi-care Listerine! It still doesn't taste good, but ahhhh, there is no better sense of mouth cleanliness and freshness!

dumb

2009-08-01T14:48:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, at the store, I opened a bottle of lotion to smell it. I gave it a tiny squeeze to make a puff of air come out, so I could see what the scent was, and instead a glob of lotion came out and shot up my nose. People saw. I bought the lotion.

That is all.

color me stupid

2009-07-31T11:13:00.000-07:00

How could I have forgotten about the small portable radio that hooks to my ipod? Why did I not move it into the bathroom to dance and sing while showering sooner?

junk

2009-07-31T08:56:00.000-07:00

So there's this commercial for a DIGITAL CLEAR BLUE EASY PREGNANCY TEST, and it makes me want to punch someone in the throat. They advertise that one in four women cannot read regular pregnancy test results, therefore you should want to buy their fancy pants digital one.

What?

How the hell can women not read one line or two, plus or minus, pink or not pink? This is either a total condescending sort of lie, or people are a lot stupider than I think. Either way, it's annoying.

Letter to the Lost

2009-07-29T09:32:00.000-07:00

G.J.

I smelled you the other day. I went into my garage where there has never, ever been any cigar smoke and I smelled you. It was odd, because in that moment, I could feel the texture of your pants. Isn't that a silly thing to remember? I guess I remember the two together because I'd sit on your knee while you sat out in the garage and smoked the cigars and the texture of your slacks was always the same... it was thick fabric, but smooth... kind of like dickies work pants meets nice slacks. Sturdy cotton, maybe, like work jumpsuits? I don't know. There's nothing more jarring than a smell, I think. Maybe I'm part bloodhound. I remember every smell about everyone, even indirect smells from a specific memory.

Your nature books are on my shelves. Save me a Pepsi float. And no, I still won't drink buttermilk.

90210 + insomnia = OH GOD

2009-07-19T06:05:00.000-07:00

Seriously. What the hell was wrong with me in the early 90's? I used to love this shit! I even had 90210 PENCILS! I used to fill in the little bubbles with number two lead from Beverly Hills 90210 sharpened pencils. Hurrrrr.

Okay, so I haven't been able to sleep all night. I flip to the Soap channel at 6 am and 90210 is starting. I'm intrigued by this blast from the past and figure it will put me to sleep on the couch. I have now watched two episodes, which I will recap with commentary. Everyone loves a good play-by-play.

EPISODE #1-- Brenda gets held up by gunpoint and robbed at the Peach Pit!

Okay, Shannon Doherty used to be cute. In fact, looking at her so young makes it hard to believe she's a huge bitch who got booted from the show! So cute little Brenda is at the Peach Pit after closing hours doing her homework with her zomg so cute boyfriend Dylan. Mind you, Dylan has more wrinkles in his forehead than my grandpa or Burt Reynolds before Botox, and the high hair is doing NOTHING but emphasizing this. How did casting him as a seventeen year old slide, exactly? He even looks old to me now that I'm an old ass. Dylan goes outside with Brandon to take out trash and they are out there a long while juggling cans or some stupid shit. Anyone that has worked at a restaurant knows that no one spends any more time by the back outside trash can than is absolutely necessary because it stinks. But whatever.

Brandon is stupid and leaves the restaurant unlocked with his sister left in there by herself. Guy with gun comes in, yells at her all crazy, threatens to shoot her dead, she cries, blah blah blah. I don't really know how she got in the cash register, but I guess push-button cash registers were all the rage in the 90's, just like in 1930. Guy tells her she's cute in creepy guy fashion, then leaves and takes her purse. So yeah, she's scared he's going to come rape her and kill her for the rest of the episode and she has emo fits for the whole 50 minutes that remain of the show.

NO I AM FINE I DONT WANT TO BE A BOTHER TO ANYONE LETS NOT TALK ABOUT IT OMMMMMMMGGGGGGG SCREAM HELP MEEEEEE I AM GOING CRAZZZYYYY AND NEED COUNSELING AND GET MY MIDTERMS RESCHEDULED AND I PICK HIM FROM A LINEUP AFTER SHRINK TIME AND I AM BETTER WOO!

Sigh. I watched all of it. Still didn't fall asleep.

EPISODE #2-- Color Me Badd gets panties in a wad and Donna catches her mom being a slut!

Okay, this one was hilarious. I used to like Color Me Badd, and the opening scene from this is a clip from one of the videos I used to watch. They're all in different colors of neon and trying to look sexy on a beach. One of them is UGLY AS FUCK, but I remember that from before, because I was a tasteful preteen (not really). So Donna is all ARGH I HAVE TO WIN TICKETS TO SEE THEM!!!!!! So her and the gang sneak into the hotel after not getting tickets, and only Kelly is able to get up to the penthouse where she happens to run into the band members and hang with them.

Donna sees her mother being a slut with some guy in a hotel room when they step out to get room service. That makes me happy because her mom was a bitch at the beginning of the episode. You know what I don't get, though? Donna was supposed to be the "good girl" of the gang, but she wears the skimpiest, shortest clothes. In this particular episode, she's wearing daisy duke lycra mini-skorts that scream 90's because of the black and red diamond pattern. Anyway, she cries and doesn't want to see Color Me Badd anymore, even though Kelly got them 4 front row tickets and backstage passes.

Meanwhile...

Brandon, Steve, and Dylan apparently think it's a good idea to call a hooker out of a personal ad in the paper and have her come over and strip for them. Right before she gets there, Andrea shows up and shoves herself into the house to hang out and do newspaper work like a huge bitch. They can't get rid of her, stripper shows up, and they spend the whole time talking about the stripper's son, husband, and college workload. By the time Andrea leaves, the guys don't even wanna see the stripper strip anymore because they see her as a REAL PERSON now. Good thing, too, because Brandon's parents walk in just as they're kicking the stripper out!

Some other dumb stuff happened, and in the end, Kelly brought Color Me Badd into the Peach Pit to sing to Donna to cheer her up.

So yeah, I'm pretty sure the early 90's were way worse than any part of the 80's.

<3

2009-02-15T13:43:00.000-08:00

I love this. It makes me want to write poetry.

Sega Channel

2009-01-15T22:52:00.000-08:00

Remember?

Best. Thing. Ever.

Teaching is Magic

2008-04-04T23:04:00.000-07:00

I love everything about second grade. Even the bad kids at the ghetto schools. <3

I AIN'T GET NO SLEEP CUZ OF Y'ALL!!!!

2008-04-04T22:58:00.000-07:00

I'm not big on TV. I do watch it, but usually while doing other things. Most of my chosen programming is Iron Chef or Discovery Channel shows with a healthy dose of Scrubs and Sex in the City reruns. I think the reality show bug has bitten me, and the poison is slowly seeping into my brain. Granted, I still don't watch as much reality crap as most people seem to, but it's totally over the line for me. I am not only totally gung-ho on American Idol this season, but I found a new show to watch that is vapid, attention-whore trash and it's pretty much the best thing ever.

BAD GIRLS' CLUB! Doesn't it sound like a winner? Bless you, Oxygen network. Tanisha brought me over to the dark side. Who is this 'Tanisha', you ask?

You're going to be singing it all night.

Whoremongers

2008-04-03T00:26:00.000-07:00

No one knows crazy like a southern person who witnesses fanatic brimstone and hellfire preaching. These churches and 'preachers' are the ones being interviewed on news broadcasts. Their beliefs tend to be radical to the point of cultist. These are the type of people picketing funerals and bombing abortion clinics. You don't know the true extent of their crazy until you've seen a good set of them up close. You can see hate in their smoldering eyes and burning cheeks. You can see it in the flying sprays of saliva that glint in the sun, hear it as they yell and damn the unholy masses. You see ugly. And -you- are the unholy. Divine love is tough, it seems.

Today on campus, a traveling 'Ministry' came and posted up in the center grounds. I saw and heard a lot of this hour on the hour between my classes. These people aren't just fanatics, they're mean. It was amusing for a while. The shouts went something like this:

WHOREMONGERS!

*girl walks by in moderate length shorts* HOOKER! SIN!

WHOREMONGERS!

MASTURBATORS BURN IN HELL!!

*cue man pushing toddlers in a baby carriage. He spies a Mormon fellow handing out fliers* GOD HATES YOU. I HATE YOU. I HATE ALL YOUR PEOPLE. YELLYELLSCREAMSPITHISS.

*cue girl in wheelchair* REAL CHRISTIANS DON'T HARBOR ILLNESS AND YOU ARE INFIRM BECAUSE YOU ARE A CHILD OF THE DEVIL!

WHOREMONGERS!

JESUS SAYS TO JUDGE AND HATE!

I HATE THE DAMNED!

YOU ALL ARE THE DAMNED!

WHOREMONGERS!

... and so on.

It got considerably less amusing when it became apparent that security was not removing them hours later. The 'preachers' work in shifts and someone always has a video camera running to capture any physical violence they happen to incite. That's what they want. It's how they make their money.

Preaching and freedom of speech is one thing, but these people are just downright mean. They aren't preaching about sin and salvation, they're spreading hate-speech. They're damning everyone that comes near them or walks by. I know that hate speech isn't constitutionally protected, but the rules on it are... difficult. It took years to finally get WBC for what they were worth in lawsuit.

With college campuses the new hotspot for hate crimes in the form of shootings, there is supposed to be a nationwide crackdown on campus safety and security. Sure, these people are just spreading words now, not cyanide Koolaid and pipe bombs, but with these sorts of people, I think anything is possible. I've never felt particularly unsafe on campus, but watching those people sit in what I believe to be a constitutional loophole kind of makes me feel like some of my security is compromised. Campuses should make rules about outside non-student groups or something.

On the upside, listening to them yell the word 'whoremonger' is still pretty funny.

Wax the Poetic and Remember

2008-03-31T13:25:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I think about your hands,
the netting of your veins underneath your skin,
blue webs intricate as a spider's prodigy,
pricked and prodded by science and medicine
that only bought you time.

Sometimes I think about your feet,
the humor of your demon's toenails,
skin bumped up by the prickle of eczema,
the baby lotion, your drugged up stupor,
and our last time.

Sometimes I think about your hands,
the nails with dents, valleys and ridges,
growing and growing with each pill,
your swell of pride with each manicure,
good nails are synonymous with death.

Sometimes I think about your feet,
how they are underground and beneath,
callouses don't form on bones and dust,
no need for a blue handicap plate and park,
idle feet are a consequence of death.

The ugly details and the fantasy details,
they are all poignant but yet only a fraction,
a piece of what I remember or feel or lose,
and in the background Yoko is wailing,
remember love.

2008

2008-01-03T15:08:00.000-08:00

So this is the new year, and I don't feel any different.

After a long vacation at home over the holidays, I realize I still hate being here alone. I don't really hate where I live. I actually like the area well enough and what I have going on in my school and home life, for the most part. I just want family and friends to share it with, like I'd have in Oklahoma. It's not fair. I keep waiting to adjust and while I am functional and getting along just fine, every time I go home, I realize everything else I'm missing out on. And it hurts. I can't make D understand. I've given up on that. I wonder if I made the right decision. I wonder if I'm with the right person after all. I shouldn't have to have one thing or the other.

I'd feel better if this was just temporary. I'd feel better if I actually thought D would try to branch out and work elsewhere, closer to my family and friends. But he'll stay here forever. Which means I have to stay here forever. Or do I?

I thought you should know...

2007-08-02T21:56:00.000-07:00

I've been singing this for three days straight.

Obsession-- Take One

2007-07-28T23:43:00.000-07:00

He loved to watch her sleep. She was quiet then, and blissfully unaware. All was his, in these rare moments of deep and undisturbed slumber. He didn't have to share her with the room or watch her share her jovial smiles. Those smiles were alive and everyone in the room was unworthy. He didn't have to watch her brush fingertips with each pass of a wine glass or expose the delicate flesh of her inner wrist while pouring out tea with a flourish. Only a few men knew exactly where she carried her real charms and knew them to be more dangerous than the most heaving, thrust forward bosom-- the rest didn't know why they were smitten. He pitied them and envied them at the same time.

The charms were subtle, biting like a serpent with the sweetest venom and he was always undecided as to if they were acquired and practiced or purely accidental. Was there truly an uncanny trick to tilting a head just so, leaving the illumination or shadows to do naught but flatter? Accident. But alas! The two fingertips that touched in idle consideration at her collarbone had a habit far too pretty to be anything but acquired. What about the laugh that was little more than an exhalation, making her chest give split second, but oh-so-noticeable rise and fall? Accident, surely. But the lovely gesture that bled grace from the fingertips, that slight of hand and wrist, it had to be practiced! He could go back and forth like this for hours, days, months... and he did. But ultimately, it didn't matter because the end result was the same-- a single person shouldn't be so beautiful.

She stirred in her sleep, the movement sending the soft linen of the bedsheets into a whispering rustle. The fabric was white and pristine and he knew them to be one of two sets that are laundered compulsively with fragrant soaps that cost too much money. He held his breath and waited for her to still, daring no exhale or movement until he was certain she was lost again to the oblivion of slumber. Waiting for nights like these was always agony. She only succumbed to honest, deep sleep every few days, when she had accumulated mental, emotional or physical exhaustion to wear her down. Though discouraging at first, he now knew the strange cadence of her rest habits like his own heartbeat. If he watched carefully, from a distance, he could even make roundabout predictions about when sacred times like these would happen, based on work habits and certain social interactions. He knew what wore her down. When she was motionless again, he blew out his captive air in a soft and gradual wind and thought about what he had come to do.

Poetry- Old

2007-07-28T23:16:00.000-07:00

Transferred from old blogsite--

Transformation- aka: A Slow Realization

When you put forward your best foot,
sweet miss, little miss,
do they see it's been stuck in the mud?

(And if they notice, do they really care?)

Can impersonal touch soothe the churning,
the bitter bile tea that brews,
in your sweet, pink and innocent stomach?

(But then, it's not so sweet, pink and innocent, is it?)

What will become of you,
pretty miss, perky miss,
when the cold gem facets and lusty fingertips fail to soothe?

(Bitter miss, jaded miss, is your time to come?)

Surrounded by everyone, but no one,
you're disappearing in the dank press of bodies,
despite the lift of your daintily carved pedestal.

(You're no one special but I still won't wish you away.)

- for Lil, and all her magnetism
C. Kroll 10-24-2006

Piano: The Lament

I find myself thinking of touching you,
feeling you smooth, cool and yielding under my fingertips.
You always responded with a seductive, resonating coo,
encouraging my wanton dreams and desires.

I discarded you, forgot you,
came to you only on occasion.
Always, you were there, receptive as ever,
still elegant despite the dust and the quaver in your rich tone.

Out of touch, out of tune, strangers now.

-C. Kroll
9-3-2006

Bliss

2007-06-28T12:36:00.000-07:00

After a fair amount of exposure to teaching school-aged children this week, I am glad I finally bit the bullet and admitted I was a teacher at heart. I won't have lots of money, like I'd have if I'd actually attended veterinary school, but I'll be happy.

There's something really satisfying about the greater good.

Elementary 101- Gym Class

2007-06-11T00:48:00.001-07:00

Something I've learned this past week is that girls are physically capable of developing at the same rate as boys, where all motor skills are concerned. However, because of social stigmas and numerous environment issues, they almost always fall 1-3 years behind boys in developing common locomotive skills to mastery.

Do you know -why- elementary schools have a PE system in the core curriculum? It's not for the reasons many people think. Certainly, we want to promote kids to be active and have good self-esteem. However, more importantly, kids do not peak on most of their basic locomotive and manipulative skills until 8-10 years old. If they are improperly (or never) taught, they never will peak them, and will hit a proven barrier that prevents them from progressing to more advanced motor skills associated with sports. It is very uncommon that an elementary has a good PE teacher(s) that caters (equally to both genders) to the development of these building block skills.

Kids do not automatically know how to skip. They have to be shown. There are many boys who will never know how to skip or gallop, however, because there is a 'sissified' idea attached to it. Fact of the matter is, a boy who can't skip as a child cannot in later years decide to run track. At least not without facing difficulties in some of the training exercises. All athletic skills and principles are built on motor skill blocks we are taught as children.

On top of that, even the decent PE courses tend to have a huge downfall- most expect to mold the children to the program, instead of molding the program to the children. In voluntary situations (such as sports teams), this is a fine thing to do. In core curriculum, it is not, and can dash self-esteem. I know more than a few of the people who are reading this couldn't climb the damned rope past the first knot in gym class. How did that feel, in front of all the other kids? It is not uncommon that a child's untrained motor skills are exploited and punished, instead of properly corrected.

While classroom teachers such as myself will give cognitive training and testing to develop a child, PE teachers are supposed to do the same for motor skills. A lag in either of those development branches can go hand in hand with each other. There is no excuse to be uninformed or negligent.

How many schools do you think do much more than play dodgeball in gym? You don't want to know. The figures from local schools we had in KINT class were embarassing. I know I'll be keeping mental observation tabs when I start intern teaching this fall.

Tuesday, I go to administer some motor skill tests to a group of children at the Early Childhood Center on campus. It will certainly be interesting. I believe this is one of the most enlightening courses I have ever taken.

Sopranos: The Finale

2007-06-11T00:36:00.000-07:00

If you don't want a spoiler, stop reading. Seriously. Stop effing reading right now. I don't plan on being very specific, but you know, just in case.

Now, that said... I um. I really don't have much to say about it. Other than I'm just plain disappointed. This is the only show that I have ever watched with any regularity (besides Sex and the City, but that was while most of them were on re-rerun so that doesn't count) so I'm a week bit bummed. I label tonight's show the most ass-dragging series finale of anything I have ever, ever seen. Last week's episode was a wicked awesome leadup, finale comes tonight and... well. A whole lot of nothing. There's about three possible reasons for this.

1. There is a movie in the works.
2. They don't want to piss off any one group of people by deciding on a certain demise or lack thereof, so they decide to piss off -everyone-.
3. They're assholes.

Of course, the 4th option is that it was a good ending, open to interpretation. Because truth be told, people don't want good things to end. The family in everyone wants -their- family (and I use this term loosely) to persevere. There are probably more than a few people who will be glad there was no closure, because then the Sopranos can live on in their hearts.

Fuck that. Bastards.

EDIT: I saw this on a forum and it makes a lot of sense. That doesn't mean I like it any better.

"Your Sopranos "life" is over.
YOU AS A VIEWER GOT WHACKED.

You were watching and all of a sudden everything went black and silent- just like Tony and Bobby said would happen when you get popped."

Oh Snap!

2007-06-08T00:28:00.001-07:00

Sopranos SERIES FINALE this Sunday. I'm so nervous. It's not looking good for Tony. :(

2007-06-07T21:24:00.001-07:00

Apparently, I just needed to go effing crazy for a few weeks. Because everything is going swimmingly now. I will make a list of the things that have suddenly (and I'm not being a dramatist, it's seriously a little weird) gone right.

1. School is amazingly interesting this Summer I session.
2. I work out for an hour every day after class in the new campus rec center. I eat only whole foods like fruit veggies and lean meats now, for the most part. Nothing much out of a box or can.
3. I also haven't touched a cigarette in um. Two months now.
4. Most of my aid is worked out up through spring of next year, which is awesome and much less to worry about.
5. I have a whole Spanish immersion kit coming so I can teach myself the language enough to understand non-english speaking parents when I get my own classroom. (And in Texas, there's more than a few of those kinds of parents, and I'd rather not spend limited aid money adding the subject to my course curriculum when I have enough of a root in it to teach myself.)
6. The haircut that I gave myself is amazingly adorable when tended to. It's like cute bobbed flapper hair that I can put little pins and clippies in.
7. I will probably get to visit home between Summer I and Summer II sessions, because there's a few days the first week of July between end and start dates.
8. My house is almost tidy. (not quite, but for comparison sake...)
9. D is sort of compliant when I ask him to do things with me out of the house. Not totally. But a little is fine with me.
10. Cooking on our new grill is rad. I feel like fucking Bobby Flay.
11. Someone in class today thought I was only like 21, at most. At this rate, I'll never need botox!

Having a sudden bout of health problems kinda of scared me into being proactive. Now that I'm done sulking, anyway. I'm still a little icky about having no friends or family here, and losing contact with the few acquaintances I made at my old job. But eh. I'll deal.

There's something I want to write about, in length, about educators and teachers and salaries. And home schooling. And reading. And all things educator savvy. My KINT professor, who is a freaking BLESSING on legs and straight from prestigious Rice University, gave a talk today that sort of... well, at the sake of sounding sappy, moved me to misty eyes.

I'll get to it when I get to it, I guess. I have to go read some Philosophy now.

PS: THESE ARMS ARE SNAKES!

Awe

2007-05-31T13:17:00.001-07:00

Some things still me and my heart flutters. This is one of them. I could watch it for days.

Spin Spin Sugar

2007-05-27T02:55:00.000-07:00

I cut my own hair today.

No, really. I cut inches upon inches of my hair clean off today.

I know what you're thinking.

You're wondering what kind of crazy girl decides they're fucking sick of their hair and actually cuts it off.

You don't need an answer.

You've already figured it out.

That's right.

A crazy girl.

I'm rational. I'm funny. I'm easy going. I'm probably the most outwardly well-adjusted person that a lot of people talk to. But I'm still fucking crazy. I'm just real quiet about it.

I'm cutting everyone off. I'm sinking into myself. But at the same time, I want everyone to want me. To need me. I am craving attention but at the same time shoving it all away.

D doesn't understand. It's infuriating. I don't bother. Someone can be your best friend and your partner but that doesn't mean you can really tell them everything.

Summer classes need to start. I need somewhere to go.

Something needs to happen soon or I'm going to explode. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I thought I was done with this.

Gaimanized

2007-05-13T22:52:00.000-07:00

There is a girl sitting at a computer right now, on the bayou-laden Gulf Coast of Texas. She is only in Texas by a technicality, however, because just a few eastern miles of lake water separates her from the state line and the boot-heel bayous of Lousiana. There is a strange mix of Southern and Cajun culture, in this area which she now dwells, but that sort of contemplation is best left for another blog entirely. Hold her to it.

Right now, this girl closely resembles a pickled lobster (this observation is made assuming the act of pickling a lobster was at all possible). Her delicate white skin was neglected, as so many fragile things tend to be, and burnt something awful in a few places. When she wears a bra, the straps on her dark, seared red flesh make her want to cry. As she dresses, she silently curses and remembers the day in fifth grade she had to wear her first bra to school. She wanted to cry then, too, because no one else had to wear one. Her raw forehead is starting to bump up by her hairline, as if it wants to blister and throw a fit of its own. This girl (who is in fact not at all a girl anymore, because she's just had a birthday on this day that puts her closer to thirty than she would like) smells like apple cider vinegar. The silly things that are supposed to draw the sting (completely metaphorical if you want it to be, no matter how literal it is intended in this very case) away don't always work. But we're a desperate lot.

You see, said girl has been at a beach house for a few days, way down on the pennisula across from Galveston Island. She proudly swam deeper in the ocean than she has ever dared to before, for fear of unseen sea-creatures (fish, when she's not being over-dramatic) brushing against her legs. She also has a ridiculous fear of sharks, and the idea that one might be lurking near her at all times while she's in the ocean never, ever leaves her mind. It is mentally decided, that if she gets bitten, she will punch it in the head and gills (but mostly, she will flail and scream). All of her limbs are accounted for as she sits in her air conditioned home, so it's safe to assume she met no shark this trip (but it is completely inevitable that it will happen to her if it is going to happen to someone on that beach anytime soon, because it's just the sort of luck she has).

Starting just after this introductory sentence, this is a paragraph of completely random and nonsensical statements that only make a lick of sense if you know the girl. Her negligent (and completely accidental, though prevention wasn't high upon the list) murder of hermit crabs will find karma coming like a chameleon. It's really hard to tell if the whispers that sometimes sound in her ears were really there at all. Sometimes, toes get very, very mad at flipflops. Idle hands spend time at the genitals (what show is that from?). The mosquitos seem to have not gotten the memo that reads: "STOP BITING ME ASSHOLES! But if you're going to bite me, bite me somewhere that isn't fucking miserable. -Love, Candace." This tidbit is rather unfortunate, because the memo was imaginarily written on a piece of stationary with nice pandas and a bamboo scheme that any insect with a sense of style would admire. The fleas certainly backed off when they got their copy. COPY= INSECT OFF YARD GRANULES-- PET SAFE!!!

She doesn't work anymore, because she's going to school full time (print aid forms). She never called and told them, though. Sometimes, when she isn't distracted, she feels bad about it. The tendonitis in her left foot has not yet healed, so she still walks with a limp (ice it more). She has been on her last pair of contacts for months (make an appointment). Her mommy and daddy are sleeping in her spare bedroom and she doesn't want them to leave without her on Tuesday. She wants to beg and plead and stow away in the truck bed but she'll never say that outloud. Sometimes, we make our bed and we lie in it. Love is a morbid thing.

Stardust is a lovely book. It might make you want to narrate your life, though.

Again?

2007-05-01T23:44:00.000-07:00

Stop fucking dying, people. Next person to die is on my shitlist.

... Sigh. Two coworkers in two weeks, amazing. Don't drink and drive. I beg and plead, just DO NOT DO IT.

Promises, promises...

2007-04-27T13:07:00.000-07:00

I have been getting yelled at by a handful of people about not posting regular blogs. In order to escape their wrath, I shall post and I shall post soon.

... But after finals and these books. Oscar Wilde is seducing me and tests and papers are abusing me.

2007-04-18T15:12:00.000-07:00

"I want something good to die for... to make it beautiful to live." - Queens of the Stone Age

Me too.

Bothered

2007-04-18T14:14:00.000-07:00

Someone I know died. I'm more bothered than upset. I haven't slept well and when I did sleep, my dreams were bad. We weren't close, I guess. But we've worked together for a year and a half... so yeah.

I don't know how I feel about death.

I'd write more but I think I'll wait.

Tindeck is back up now if some of you were unable to get into my links before.

Amazing

2007-04-09T04:00:00.000-07:00

There is something extremely zany about taking requests from drunk internet friends to sing and post on Tindeck. I am so amused I don't have it in me to be humiliated and so will share with glee my insomniac accomplishments for the evening.

Sealab 2021

Duck Tales!

Chip and Dale's Rescue Rangers!

Teenage mother fucking Ninja Turtles! (I so could not stop laughing in this one)

INTERNET SUPERSTAR FTW!

Movie Review- Running with Scissors

2007-04-08T20:45:00.000-07:00

The other night I was feeling restless so I settled down to watch another movie. I suppose I'm on a kick lately. The movie I chose was Running with Scissors.

Despite the crap reviews this movie has gotten, I really liked it. It was based on the memoirs of author Augusten Burroughs, which makes it double amazing. I've already ordered all of his books on my my favorite used book site.

I don't know where to begin. Honestly. I was skeptical at first but then it grew on me. Latched onto me. Reeled me in. It was sweet. It was sad. It was funny. It was oddly as real as it was surreal.

Augusten Burroughs is from a broken home with an unstable poet for a mother. She finds madness in her quest for fame and begins to see a Dr. Finch, a psychiatrist when her marriage has finally dissolved. As part of her treatment, her son is to live with the doctor's family in a filthy and zany Victorian home. What starts off as a temporary stay turns permanent. It's quite a ride.

If I tried to sit and name every single thing I liked about this movie, I'd be here far too long. So I'll post a few of my favorite quoted parts instead.

Dr. Finch: Well, the only loophole or way I could see me getting you out of school for any considerable length of time would be for you... to commit suicide.
Augusten Burroughs: You want me to kill myself?
Dr. Finch: Well, if you tried to kill yourself, I could explain to the schoolboard that you were psychologically unfit to attend, and that you needed intensive treatment. It would be a staged suicide attempt. Of course, your poor mother would have to find you and drive you to the hospital, where you would stay for three weeks or a month for observation.
Augusten Burroughs: I don't know. It doesn't...
Dr. Finch: Augusten. Where is your spirit of adventure?

Dr. Finch: Everyone! Come quickly! Wake up! Wake up! A miracle! A miracle! A miracle has occured!
Agnes Finch: What're you looking at?
Natalie: Dad's morning shit.
Dr. Finch: See? See how the duplicoil is breaking out of the surface of the water? Holy Father.
Agnes Finch: Doctor, let me draw you a nice bath.
Dr. Finch: Agnes, go get a shoehorn. A shoehorn, Agnes.
Hope: But what does it mean, Dad?
Dr. Finch: It means our financial situation is turning around. It means things are looking upward. Literally, the shit is pointing out of the pot! Towards Heaven, to God. My turd is a direct communication from the Holy Father.
[Augusten and Natalie try to hide their laughter]
Dr. Finch: No, no, no, no, children. No. Laugh. Laugh! God is... He is the funniest man in the universe. Agnes, I want you to carefully remove this, take it outside, and let it dry in the sun. We're starting a shrine, Agnes. A shrine. Hope, let's prepare.

Augusten Burroughs: [v.o] I want rules... and boundaries... because... what I've learned is that... without them... all life is... is a series of surprises.

What is crazy, anyway? Pick your shrinks carefully, kids.

The Gathering

2007-04-08T20:29:00.000-07:00

I have so much I want to write about. But I've been neglectful. I think I'll go buy some smokes, then come back and write a few things I've been wanting to flesh out.

In the meantime, I give you this because it's so very me.

Issues

2007-04-05T14:05:00.000-07:00

I think I have issues. I find the strangest things beautiful or mildly arousing.

For instance: While this is funny and in all seriousness would be AWFUL if it worked, the idea of a pigeon exploding with rice and glitter is morbidly fascinating. BANG! Ooo, pretty. Holding hands with someone while waiting for a pigeon to explode is true romanticism. Mwah.

The lyrics to the song Infected by Bad Religion have my loins in squirms. It's so abusive. But hot. Does that mean I secretly want to be abused? (I'm afflicted, you're addicted.)

Words thrill me. Spill me. Slosh me all around.

The magic of text.

I don't know. I'm going to class.

Movie Review- The Science of Sleep

2007-04-03T11:11:00.000-07:00

The Science of Sleep

I do not understand the rave reviews on Rotten Tomatoes at all. Typically, I am easily amused. I am not overly critical with movies, especially not artistic independent films. I usually enjoy them for what they are and find some meaning. But fuck's sake, this was a BAD movie. It dragged. I had to go get my pipe out of my drawer about twenty-five minutes into it because I figured it was going to be -that- kind of movie, in lieu of all the trippy dream sequences. But alas, even THAT didn't help. I ended up turning it off about 3/4ths of the way through and switching movies.

There are a number of reasons I watched this movie and expected to be entertained, or at the very least 'wowed' by cinamatography. It is a Michael Gondry film. I adore most of his music videos, especially the Bjork set. I adored Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, which is also his. Why was this movie all wrong? I wanted to like it, damnit. I'm quite disappointed.

Pros:
The lead actor looks a bit like Ewan McGregor, but he's cuter and you do find yourself wanting to give him a hug... at first.

The dream sequences are mildly amusing. I admit to laughing aloud when he humped Martine fully clothed on a fax machine.

The set designs of the dreams were extremely unique and childlike, which I appreciated.

Part of the dialogue is subtitled French, which always makes me happy. It allows me to realize how much of the language I have retained from my four years of classes in high school.

I enjoyed his BAD French and translations immensely. Those were probably my favorite parts of this entire movie. (besides getting to see penis zing)

I appreciate the foreign humors and nuances.

I enjoy the fact that Stephane's love interest is somewhat mousy.

Cons:
You stop wanting to hug the cute lead actor when he starts becoming borderline creepy. Especially when he starts breaking down into into fits of wailing emo-tears.

The plot is extremely weak and the ending is sweet but bleh.

It's extremely hard to tell dream sequences from reality sequences. This is probably intentional, as Stephane is supposed to have trouble differentiating between the two himself. However, it makes the story hard to follow.

While the set designs were charming, I expected more. Lots more.

The dreams, while mildly amusing were hardly insightful.

His inventions are pretty fucking stupid.

It was not at all thought provoking, as most artistic films tend to be.

The world through the eyes of a somewhat mentally unstable young man is not quite as stirring as it should be, if that is in fact the premise the movie is built upon. The tragedies weren't tragic enough. The joys weren't bright enough. The disturbances weren't disturbing enough. They were all just sort of mundane. Which defeats the entire purpose of portraying the world through his eyes.

Bottom Line-- It's ok to have a weak plot, or even no plot at all as long as everything else is stirring enough to compensate. Sadly, it just wasn't.

2007-04-02T19:41:00.000-07:00

I think, if I was in an elevator and someone said this... I would consider marrying them.

Furthermore, if I make this my sig, someone should marry me.

The Inspiration

2007-04-02T12:51:00.001-07:00

After extensive reading on a complete stranger's blog, I feel inspired. I should write more. Often. As close to daily as I can muster. I'm going to try this out on a venue that isn't Myspace.

I don't know what I found so compelling in the words of the above mentioned stranger. Like a good stalker, I spent hours reading back in archives. I shouldn't try to figure it out. It's borderline creepy to talk about someone, to analyze them without ever speaking to them. But I'll probably do it anyway. I should just remain subtly baffled and call it quits there. Dear Stranger-- I dub thee my inadvertent muse.

All of this time is time I should have been spending on this fucking exemplification essay draft that is due in two and a half hours. Such a stupid premise for a paper, I swear. Instead of picking from a list, we should have been allowed to devise our own topic and thesis to work from. I thought that I could take a deeper approach than the other students with a relatively shallow topic, involving the psychology of gifting. But it's just turning out to be a pain in my ass. I should take some comfort in the idea that anything I BS up in the next hour or so will be better than the draft of anyone else in the class. But I'm not satisfied. It doesn't please me to know that I'm better than people with no writing talent in a mandatory curriculum course.

I'm writing here instead of where I need to be writing. Thing is, I'm finding it extremely hard to buckle down and write in Microsoft Word without a cigarette. I really shouldn't have started pissing around with the nicotine again, even part time. My hyperactive imagination makes me think that all writers and artists need vices. I don't drink wine so I need to smoke to be creative. I could hit the pipe in my drawer a couple times and be done with the paper in half an hour. But I don't think I'm up to revision session tonight in class, half-stoned.

I'm going to shower. Then I'm going to buy cigarettes. Then I'm going to write this essay. I promise.

Procrastination is the scourge of humanity, isn't it?