I wasn't spawned from a computer, just raised by one.



Sunday, November 1, 2009

Halloween Photoblog


My Watermelon (hehe) and then Nikki's two pumpkins.

Megan's two pumpkins and then my little pumpkin


Close up of my pumpkin — made sans stencil... *cough* Megan and Nikki *cough*


The back of Nikki's little pumpkin. Its sort of cuter than the front.

A Sample of Our Fabulous Movie Doings — And My Favorite PJs —

Watched from Our Super Duper Living Room Mega-Bed While We Waited For Trick and Treaters

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Okay, Now You've Done It!

I finished my project for digital layout. All I have to do now is print and assemble it for next week.

I did all my errands.

I put gas in my car before it hit E.

I talked to my mother on the phone today.

I made a freakin' "To-Do List". And then I used it.

All I wanted was to sit back in my computer chair, siphon through Megavideo links until I found something entertaining to watch, and eat some Edy's Slow Churned Rich and Creamy French Silk Ice Cream.



But no. I opened it to find this!:




That whiteness isn't vanilla swirl, peeps. It's the bottom of the tub.

Who does that, by the way? There's two spoonfuls in there. At least if you had emptied it and put it in the trash I wouldn't of had that moment of discovery: snuggled up in my rolly chair, feet up, ready for sci fi adventures. Spoon at the ready.

I'll get you for this, Megan. Some things are sacred. You DO NOT come between me and chocolatey, slow churned goodness. Not now. Not ever.

I asked you. I asked you. Do you want me to pick you up anything from the store while I'm gone? You said no.

There will be retribution... Mark my words, I'll find other uses for that spoon:




... ... ...

That is all.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

What is Art, to Me?

(Short Essay for Post Modernism and Contemporary Art class)

Dictionary.com defines art as “the quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance.” But what is an aesthetic principle? Who decides what criteria forms the terms of being above “ordinary significance”, or feels qualified to judge work significantly based on the expression of the artist or artists in question? On the first night of class, the statement was made about “bad art” being something that we are willing to reject, but I have never felt particularly comfortable rejecting another’s efforts. There are things that I like, and there are things that I do not like, but I do not believe that makes the latter “bad art”. I think “good art” is art that has served its purpose, whatever that purpose is, if done justice, quality remains opinion and strictly relative. For example, to me, the definition of making good art and viewing good art are two very different creatures.

To create is to release. It can be both recreational and therapeutic. Why are pastimes like painting and poetry becoming such common tools for therapists and psychologists trying to reach their most troubled patients? To make art can be relieving, even euphoric, to be able to cleanse yourself of whatever emotion, good or bad, that you have had screaming inside of yourself. It can offer a form of closure and no one is qualified to judge that. Which is why I try not to, a piece of art is always hard for me to separate from its creator. However abstract, it is a piece of them. To reject it is to reject a part of another human being, and should not be taken lightly. Any art that meets the needs of its artist is good art in that respect. Everything comes from some place, and having never been to that place, I try not to judge it as good or bad, but rather, as appealing to me or not.

To see good art, or as I have tried to define, art that is appealing to me on a personal level, is to view something that stirs my emotions. Whether that means it has made me sad, happy, or even angry, it has forced me to take the moment to appreciate or at least acknowledge the feelings I experience and the meanings behind them. I believe art can be a very personal thing and is best experienced when viewed as so. I believe in Ms. [my Art History teacher]'s assessment, original or no, that if you feel drawn to a work and you don’t know why, it is because you either don’t know enough about the piece or you don’t know enough about yourself.

When I was eight years old, I had one of those old Jumpstart computer-learning games. I spent hours on it and always on the same level, never moving forward. It was not that I could not go forward; I just did not want to. The game level was home to a fictional museum that you had to explore looking for the painting that corresponded with the question given for the round. Instead of looking for it, I just looked at the artwork. The most famous works scattered in museums and galleries around the world, in one place. I have always loved the French Impressionists, particularly Claude Monet. I used to joke that it was because his world looked just like mine, sans glasses or contacts. Still, I kept returning to A Bar at the Folies- Bergere by Edouard Manet. I would study it repeatedly, looking deep into those girl’s eyes, like points in space, black holes, taking in all that was in their path, returning almost nothing. It was not until hearing a lecture on one interpretation of the painting that it hit me why I felt such a connection to it.

I was such a lonely kid. I spent much of my time alone, or in my mother’s hospital room. I never felt any real connection to the other kids my age, and they sensed that, too, and as some kids do, fed on it as a weakness. All those years, meeting those same large, sad eyes again and again, surrounded by all those other people, had I sensed myself in her? The slight burning in the back of my throat the last time I saw her says yes.

I think we find our own meaning, through words and pictures. Those meanings change, altering with our moods and perceptions as we garner more experience or fracture our images of the world, gaining room for more openness or sometimes less. Sometimes art allows us a meaning that is wholly are own, completely separate from that of its designer. In the same way that we give the opportunity for someone else to see something in our efforts that we did not or could not see ourselves. That does not make either opinion any more or less important, just different. Art is like that: never better or worse based on our views of it, just different. That is what makes it art, at least, to me.

Friday, October 9, 2009

Wake Up The Sleepers

I finally received my pre-order of Kill Hannah's new album Wake Up The Sleepers, In stores as of October 29th.

It's UHHmazing, but of course I didn't expect anything less.

*cough* Buy it. *cough*

The CD, the signed Pre-Invasion Letter to The Troops, and the individual song art covers.

Having learned that Eve is a Kill Hannah fan I have decided to make her jealous. Just kidding... mostly I just wanted an excuse to post these as well as take a moment to jog down memory lane.

My Curse of Kill Hannah CD signed in '06 & my Hope for the Hopeless Tour DVD signed '09.



These are the only two band photos I can find of the last time I saw them live. (Still kicking myself for not being able to catch them during the Hope for the Hopeless Tour last year.) Consequences of the move, I guess.

That second picture not only houses a very rare documentation of my natural hair color, but a funny story as well.

Notice the face? For the longest time I hated this picture. You see, this was my second Kill Hannah show in as many days and when I asked Mat for a photo, being the genuinely sweet person he seems to be, he of course agreed. What I didn't count on was him asking me if I'd be coming to their next show, too.

I've never been the girl who holds onto the idea that someone will remember me two seconds after I've left their presence. I've been in line with "that girl" for shows and I've never really understood the idea that the guys are supposed to remember me. They see hundreds of girls. I imagine at some point we all just blend together. I REALLY don't understand the girls who get bent out of shape over it. I was surprised he had remembered me when it had been only the night before so I can't see what kind of mentality makes you think that a guys a jerk because he doesn't remember signing your left boob three months ago...

Anyway, that's what my face is. Rachel snapped the picture just as my awkward teenage girl brain tried to formulate sentence structure enough to state something along the lines of "... umm... maybe".

I hated this photo, tongue stuck to the side of my teeth like an idiot, but now when I look at it I can't help but smile, just a little. It's a sweet memory. Kill Hannah is one of my all time favorite bands, they are heinously under-appreciated, the mere fact that these boys don't own the world by now while throw away static pop continues to hit platinum is quite frankly the devil. That being so, I'll probably cherish this photograph forever.

Silly, little girl that I am.


Now, if you excuse me, I have neighbors to wake.




Saturday, October 3, 2009

Requiem of the Tide

While I was staying at my parents a peculiar thing happened.

It was almost dusk, the brown leaves covered the ground and attached to the fibers of my button-up, knit boots as I made my way to the car. It had been a long day full of unanswerable questions, like why I only come home when I run out of clothes, or where all the money in my bank account has disappeared to...

Button-up knit boots?

*Cough*. Pepperoni pizza was needed.

I started the engine and swung into reverse; just then I heard a loud popping sound. I watched through my rearview mirror as an explosion of blue liquid shot into the sky. I turned around in my seat just in time to see the Tarantino-esque spray make its way back to the earth. I sat, thoughts racing:

Oh. my. God.

Did I just manslaughtered a Goblin?

A teensy, weensy aristocrat?

My insurance rates are going to hell.

And finally, my last thought as I surveyed the icy, blue carnage...

Talk about great product placement:



P.S. I'm also going to start publishing some imports from my old blog. They will be tagged "imported"and retain their original posting dates.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Bueller... Bueller...

I know I've been absent for a bit and while I just know that you've missed my running commentary on all thing innocuous, I really do miss passing a few minutes a day to read over everybody's blogs.

I was only supposed to be at my parents for the weekend, but due to some unforseen family crisis it has been made neccessary for me to stay longer. I should be returning to Tampa tomorrow and while I feel no need to hash out details to the interwebs it has been a very stressful and uselessly dramatic week and will probably continue to be so.

I have some postings in mind, mostly about things on my mind with no particular personal relevance, regardless I should be back and bloggy in not time.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Time to Play Catch Up


Let me see here. Oh yeah, that's right. I have a blog. Now I remember.


The last couple weeks have been super busy. I'm *finally* completely moved in to my new place. When reading that sentence don't make the mistake of reading that I'm unpacked, or clean, or have a working kitchen sink, just that I, and all my possessions, are here.


I then came down with the flu. Then my roommate came down with a staff infection in her nose. Between the two of us I've been to the emergency room six times in the last two weeks. Luckily that seems to be behind us. Thank Jesus.


I was better in time to make it to Orlando on the 17th to see Kill Hannah open for She Wants Revenge at the HOB. I had a lovely time, too bad my roomie couldn't go. Megan was still too sick so I tried unsuccessfully to scalp her ticket. I'm a good friend like that.

from left: my new friend, LaTisha, Mat from KH, and moi.

After the show I came extremely close to trying to sneak into an after show DJ set across town above the Social, where Kill Hannah's Greg was to be spinning, but the girl's that was going to help me, one being a fellow brown haired, freckled chick with an ID I could use, had to cancel on me. I was pretty bummed about it, but what can you do?


Turned out better in the end actually because when I got home around 2ish my roommate desperately needed a ride to the emergency room so if I had stayed for the "over 21" bit who knows what would have happened to her poor, massively swollen face.


There will be other shows, it's taken me 14 years to break in this friendship just the way I want it.

On a side note: I pretty much hate the House of Blues. It's my least favorite venue. They don't let camera's in, BUT you can take pictures with your phone. How stupid is that?

Kill Hannah's new album drops next week so I'm sure they'll be going out on their own again soon anyway. Hopefully they'll go back to the Social or some other dive-yer club that actually likes it's patrons.

That being said, I'm off to help Megan find a new nose ring. She started working at Busch Gardens last week, and today they made her take it out and now she has an eleven hour shift tomorrow that they expect her to do sans piercing. We have to find a clear holder ring before the mall closes or she's just screwed.

Later.


*Update* Concert Details:

Yes, the show was amazing. She Wants Revenge, quite possibly even better than on CD and with the way Justin was dancing you really couldn't help but join in. It was infectious.

Kill Hannah, which has had my heart for years, still has it. They played two of their older songs "Nerve Gas" and "Hummingbirds the Size of Bullets". Two songs that I never thought I'd have the pleasure of hearing live and together. Can't wait for the new CD pre order to hit my doorstep.

They also had this great opener I had never heard before called Paper Route. Who I have to agree with Mat from KH, should be "fucking adored". Any band that can pull of suspenders while operating a xylophone and an accordion has my props.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Excuse Me



It's a fact of life. Someone inevitably gets in our way. But what happens when they leave that little speckle of white space, leaving just enough room for us to circumvent them?

You can tell a lot about a person by how they respond to the words "excuse me". I've said it twice today. The first woman pulled the old side step with a quiet "I'm sorry", the second stated "oh, you're okay" while speeding by me, pulling her son behind her, growing arm sockets be damned.

Personally, I belong to the "I'm sorry" group. We are in fact a typically sorry bunch, but it's better than being a member of the always unpleasant "ers" (i.e. grunters, pushers, shovers, movers, etc.). I so desperately wanted to be a member of the "you're fine" group, but alas...

It's a fact of life. Someone inevitably gets in our way. They block our path, they put us on hold, and if you are anything like me you tend to wait it out until they've decided to move along on theirs before regaining yours.

"Excuse me?"

Sometimes you just have to realize that it's yourself you need to get around.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Things I Don't Understand


I am not an angry person. I am not a hateful person. Even at my lowest, self loathing has always been sufficient enough. So blind hatred has always been a hard concept for me. How can I possibly hate someone I don't know based on some abstract concept of irreconcilability that in the scheme of things is really insignificant? I can never understand why we can't just accept that we are individuals, that we come with varying ideals, moralities, philosophies, wrapped in varying colors, features, etc. We're so busy judging the rest of the world that we are unable to see just how precariously we perch ourselves on our higher ground.

How can someone believe they are better than someone else because they're a member of a particular race, a religion, from a certain country, neighborhood, "clique"? How can someone hurt an innocent person, a stranger, a lover, a child? Life is too short to let hate and fear be our dominant emotions, but look around. Our entire culture is saturated with it. I can't wrap my head around it and I start to feel like I'm the only one, like an outsider that is missing something vital in the translation. I think about the future and there's times when the prospect is terrifying to me. All I've ever wanted was to live a life full of love, laughter, happiness with family and friends who care about each other and accept each other, whether they always agree or not. They need not be numerous, just... there. Dreams can seem impossible, love obsolete in a world that's become blind to it. I know that there are good people in this world, people who do their best to be genuine, but they seem so hard to find sometimes, so few and far between.

I don't understand this world and the more thought I give it the more I don't ever want to start, no matter how cold it leaves me, even if it means that from time to time I have to feel this way, forever. Because the minute I find that I can understand it, then it might mean I'm starting to accept it and I never want to find myself doing that.

Friday, September 4, 2009

September


...I remember your thread-thin arms
I remember your hands
And how easily it seemed to me
They could rip me open

Baby I`m fallin` away
Baby I`m fallin` away

Wasted my September
With you stuck up in my head
Raced the days closed
In the hopes that the mornings would swell again...


Don't read anything into those lyrics. I just love them. I popped open my planner and saw September and just as quickly they popped into my head.

It's from a song called Loud by Matt Nathanson. That's my favorite section of the song. It's a duet, but I don't know the name of the woman who sings this part, but I love the image created in those first few lines, all that lovely fragility captured in a single moment. You can read something into that if you like, but mostly it just makes me want to curl up somewhere, stare into space, and take Yoga-like breathes of air for no reason at all.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Happy Birthday, Vaderkins


First off I would like to state that today is not *actually* V's birthday.

It is the anniversary of the day that I brought him home, since I am not sure of his actual birthdate. Besides, I've been working on a theory for years stating that no particular noun actually begins existence until after they have met me so... good enough.

September 1, 2008

Dear Vader,

A year ago today I brought you home. You peed all over my passenger seat. Not much has changed.

I named you Vader because of the design on the back of your neck. It looked just like Yin and Yang and it reminded me of a story that my History teacher Mr. Balk told us about Taoism in relation to Star Wars.

Naming you that was a mistake.

You destroy everything in your path: video games, $100 bills, necklaces, large stuffed animal kangaroos, the alleged goat, just to name a few of your conquests. You are the most whiney, needy, horribly disobedient, destructive animal I have ever met. You make the dog from Marley and Me seem like an angel and you are roughly one third his size.

All the while with those big, greenish brown eyes and that little head tilt and the best puppy cuddles in the world. Which is why I love you anyway, my little alien/chupacabra.

Oh that's right. I'm on to you.

The night I brought you home, you were a tiny , still floppy eared baby chihuahua/"other" mix puppy. Or so I thought. You now weigh roughly twenty pounds, your spine is roughly twice the length it should be, your nose keeps on growing, your legs look like a Corgie's, and your chest is twice as wide as your rear.

You also have bat ears...

November 6, 2008

Even more damaging is that call back to the mother ship with that horrible wookie-esque sound that you make when you're upset with me. No dog ON EARTH makes that sound, but you.

Which made me think. I started trying to decide what your Dad could have possibly been. For a long time I settled on unknown alien specimen who saw a Taco Bell ad from the late 90s and decided to come check out the ladies. Then a couple months back something happened that changed my mind.

You started losing all your hair. All. Of. It.

Do you realize how scary that was for me? I took you to the vet: no mange, no fleas, you were an inside dog, the vet had no clue what could cause that. Luckily a series of random antibiotics and steroids did the trick, but by that time you had lost almost all your hair right up to your neck (which has just now finished growing back).

My newest theory The truth had been revealed to me.

I was harboring... El Chubacabra.

Or his bastard offspring, really. That was the truth of the "other" in the chihuahua and "other". Really, how easy would it be for Mr. Chubacabra to gain access to a chihuahua? Even monstrously, hideous beasts of urban lore get lonely. It's perfect. The answer had been right in front of me, it just took a seriously receding hairline to show me the light.


Dad?

Luckily, I think you take more after your Mom so your more annoying and "yippy" than actually dangerous. You've always been sweet and adorable (even if everyone else tells you your misshapen and weird looking), which is why you're still alive after eating not one, but TWO of my DS cartridges. Besides, you're getting better all the time and I think the ol' apartment just wasn't for you. A backyard will serve your energy and my corresponding stress levels well.

Just don't push it, okay?

Happy Birthday, Vaders.



September 1, 2009

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Looking Through The Other Side of Up

I haven't been on much in the last few days, but to check up on things. Unpacking some old boxes I came across a couple would-be journal entries I made earlier this year.

I assume that most of you are bloggers; you are journal writers by heart. Isn't it interesting to be able to travel back, sometimes not even that far, to glimpse what your thoughts were at some, now indiscernible, moment lost to time except by your own account, through your own perception?

I think so.

Monday, August 24, 2009

Are You Pondering What I'm Pondering?

The other day I awoke to find my morning routine hijacked by one Sid Kane.

She offered to give me a free ride on her crazy train headed directly for "World Domination".

I did not laugh as she accused. Or snarf coffee for that matter. Mostly, because I hate coffee. If it's not in it's ice cream form I simply will not touch it. I am much more the tea drinker as the picture below clearly illustrates:

The horrors that years of hard internet abuse can inflict upon the complexion. And to think this is my senior photo.

I was intrigued. Mostly because of the perks, but nonetheless. If you seriously want my cooperation, Ms. Kane, we have some renegotiating to do. I am a highly sought after henchwoman, after all.

You offered me my own personal Caribbean island. Not bad, but as you could probably ascertain by my screen name I am of Irish descent. If you need a visual, here is a picture of me in Italy... after one day:

I would show you Day 2, but by that time I had disintegrated into a pile of molten ash.


So instead I would like the far more temperate [read: whitie friendly] Canary Islands:


All of them. Pre de-touristed, if you please. I will also need a copy of Rosetta Stone in Spanish, please and thank you.

As to your other promises, the cute men feeding me grapes can stay, I guess.

Also, I don't drink, but I will be needing those cute little umbrellas and some of those plastic swords if you can scare any up.

Always know your worth. ;)

That will be all. For now.

Saturday, August 22, 2009

My Mother...

She's coming to Tampa today to help me finish cleaning out the apartment since my lease is up on the 31st.

This was the closing to an actual conversation with my maternal figure:

Mom: I'll see you tomorrow. I love you.

Me: I love you, too, Mom.

Mom: Is Megan [my roommate] there?

Me: Nope.

Mom: So you're at the house by yourself?

Me: Yep. [Note the monosyllabism. I'm distracted by soup.]

Mom: You feel safe there by yourself?

Me: Sure.

Mom: That's good. (pause) Did you hear about that guy that was murdered?

Me: What?

Mom: Up by the campus. These two guys were stopped by another man who pulled a gun on them and when one of them ran he shot the other one and robbed him.

Me: No, I hadn't heard.

Mom: It was in the newspaper. It happened right by the campus. Not too far from where you are. I'm surprised you didn't hear.

Me: Is the man alright?

Mom: No. He's dead. He didn't shoot the guy who ran. Just the one who stood there. Sort of silly since the other guy had a good description of the robber.

Me: (deciding not to comment on my mother's definition of the word "silly") Oh. So they've caught him?

Mom: No. He's still out there. (another pause) This is why you should have your puppies there with you. To wake you up.

Me: Yeah. Thanks, Mom.

Mom: See you tomorrow. I love you.

Me: I love you, too. Bye.

Mom: Okay, I love you. Be safe.

Me: I will.

Mom: Get some sleep. I love you.

Me: I love you, too, Mom.

Friday, August 21, 2009

It Came from Outerspace...

It was a plan.

It was the ninth of its kind.

They should have kept thinking.



Tonight - by this time yesterday - I went to see Rifftrax Live: Plan 9 From Outerspace. It was UHH-mazing. It was a lot of fun to see it on the big screen, surrounded by the laughter of complete strangers. There was even a zombie sing-a-long before the feature film, truly awful stuff that. I love seeing movies like this in the theatre, where the laughter gets that really wonderful, infectious quality. You know? Somethings are just funnier in large groups.

Not that there isn't something to be said for watching a beloved film with a couple close friends. I like to gauge people's reactions to things, see if they find the same things as amusing as me. I love to watch a movie and then show it to someone, I spend more time watching them out of the corner of my eye then the movie at that point.

But I digress...



It was great to see the old Mystery Science Theatre 3000 gang. Even if I felt a little odd seeing Bill Corbett and Kevin Murphy instead of their respective robot counterparts, Crow T. Robot and Tom Servo. I worshipped this show when I was a kid.

Back when it was on Sci-Fi. Back when Sci-Fi had good programming. Back when it actually was "Sci-Fi".

Um...what was I saying?

Oh yes, great time at the movies. Forgive the rambles. I realize they mean nothing to the four people who read this.

And Wendiwinn. As far as I can tell she's a lactose intolerant rooster who's fond of cheese, wearing large fake mustaches, and quite ambiguously, liking "stuff".

Onward!

I have an audition tomorrow to become a member of the "Scare Squad" for Howl-O-Scream '09 at Busch Gardens in Tampa. Please wish me luck. I think it would be a lot of fun if I could get through the audition intact. I'm very nervous.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

10 Things That I Learned From District 9 That I Pretty Much Knew Already Or Would Have At Least Guessed At...


1. Smiles are cheaper than bullets.

2. Paper mache equals love.

3. Do not touch cylindrical objects that belong to aliens unless you want the shiz-esque substance to hit the fan your face.


4. Cat food is gross.

5. In-laws are evil.

6. So are big corporations. (Combine the two and yo' best run, Wikus!)

7. Babies, regardless of whether they are terrestrial or not, are always adorable.


8. If you want to eat other people's body parts bad things will happen to your brain. (Typically from developing a case of prion disease, but in this case from having explodie bits entering it at high speeds.)

9. It is darn near impossible to get good fast food service. (This is in no way intentionally related to #8.)

and...

10. That people are cruel and ignorant to those who do not fit the concepts they are willing to understand, and by extension the more "alien" they are forced to become the more "humanity" they gain.


(I know. I'm deep like that, dudes.)


Watch the movie. It was awesome for all the reasons I wasn't expecting as well as all the ways I was.

Hope you're not squeamish.

*Note: The first two pics are poorer quality because I screen captured them off a Youtube video.
I'm just hardcore like that.

Friday, August 14, 2009

"Bad" Habit

I haven't really been feeling up to snuff the last few days... whatever that means, and I'm not proud, but I've allowed myself to relapse into some less than helpful habits. I didn't plan to do it. I was just driving back from the apartment to the new house, still quite stressed out by how much stuff I still have to move, when the thought popped into my head: Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to pick up something to take the edge off. I convinced myself a short detour wouldn't hurt anything; I probably wouldn't actually get anything anyway.

Next thing I know I'm back in the car harboring a mixture of happiness and disappointment over my lack of willpower. As I wormed my way through the ridiculous after work traffic I could feel my fingers start to twitch, wanting to rip open the lovely green bag tucked neatly and discretely into my knapsack.
I realize that with all the things that have to be done by the end of this month now is really not the time to waste and God knows I didn't need to spend the money, but I'm only human.


Besides... the paperbacks were buy one get one half off and I had a special savers coupon.


Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Tiny Things

It's strange, really, how little it takes.

It's not always some grand gesture of the universe that sends you shrinking, trying to understand why you can all of a sudden feel the backs of your own eye sockets. In my experience the culprit is usually without question something minute, that any other day would have been shrugged off and left forgotten, but for some reason , on this particular day, the vulnerability is there to allow that one tiny thing to tunnel its way into your synapses, tugging at the wires until it has successfully made its self the only thing you can focus on.

Before long it releases its hold on your core just enough to give all the other little things a chance to lower themselves down upon your chest as well. All the little things that formed that opening, that vulnerability, in the first place. A thousand tiny, tiny things.

Monday, August 10, 2009

10 Things That Make Me Happy


The way pillows feel after a long day.

Graphite under my fingernails.

My nephews pulling at my arms.

Poorly made horror movies by people who knew they were making poorly made horror movies.

Poorly made horror movies by people who didn't know they were making poorly made horror movies.

Taking photographs.

The smell of rain on a muggy day.

My new, little hamster friend up there in the corner.

People who smile awkwardly when they're nervous.

and finally

....

While searching for an image to properly demonstrate the concept of  "sad" I realized that  pictures of crying babies make me unbelievably happy.




*the above image was found on stock.xchng, a great site to find free stock images if your conscience is getting tired of stealing copyrighted ones from Google Image Search.

You know who you are. :)  

This one is from user thiquinho.



Saturday, August 8, 2009

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

Nikki's birthday was last week and since neither Megan or myself could come see her then we all met up yesterday for pizza and movies. Only Megan had some things to take care of so she left the trip to Blockbuster up to Nikki and me. Bad move, friendo. After about an hour of debate we left with three titles:

The Good:

El Orfanato (The Orphanage) - I've been meaning to watch this one for a while and it turned out to be really good. I officially get why Bloody Disgusting called it a feel good horror movie. It was really enjoyable and had that old horror feel, where the need isn't felt to just unleash a fire hose of blood and gore on the audience. Nothing against that really, just sometimes it's nice to have a little, you know, plot? Also, the visuals are great. The kind of movie where you just want to stop and look around for a moment. Don't let the fact that it's completely in Spanish stop anyone from seeing it. That's why God invented subtitles and the acting is so well done you'll sort of forget about that anyway. I completely recommend it. This movie is a genuinely creepy ghost story that at times is down right beautiful.

The Bad:

Toybox - Don't do it, kids. When my friends insisted on watching it through to the end I had to leave for a few minutes and check my email. Otherwise, my head may very well have caved in. All these little seeds of plot, going in a thousand different directions, there has to be a point, there just has to be, this is all going to make sense any minute now it's all going to add up.... any minute.... any....

Nope. Never did. And let me say, I love bad horror movies, but there are two types of really bad horror movies. The kind where you can giggle yourself into a state of uncontrolled muscle spasm and the kind where you are just sort of left staring at a blank screen asking why Jesus would let something so stupid exist. This is the latter. Just don't. You probably never would have, but let me tell you now. Don't.


The Ugly:


The Gingerdead Man - Gary Busey. That's all I needed to know. I didn't even realize that instead of the gingerbread man it was in fact the gingerdead man until Nikki and I got back to Megan's house. Blatantly stealing from Child's Play this thing is a pile of crap, but they knew it. Unlike Toybox, this thing never intended to be something it was not. It was suppossed to be horrible. The killer is a 12 inch tall Gingerbread cookie with the voice stylings of Gary Busey. It succeeded, complete with stupid kid who accidently releases ancient curse, drunken "mama" stock character, people trying to fix the power outtage when the lights are obviously on whereas the flashlights are obviously off, and a whip cream body suit complete with cherry pasties. I suggest watching it with friends. It's worth the two bucks from Blockbuster if you enjoy that sort of thing.



I think I'm going to go wake them up now, their sleepyness is way less important than my loneliness and I'm bored.

Bye Bye.

Friday, August 7, 2009

Picture Blog: New House; Old Friends

Yesterday my friends Megan and Rachel came to Tampa to sort of "deflower" the new house. Rather than write a long winded account of the day, I figured I'd just post these instead:


The David Bowie belt that I gave Megan.

The charm set that I gave Rachel.


Bowling:
Not a bad start for my first real bowling experience. Who says video games are useless?



And then out to dinner at Moe's:

Yum. Yum.

After that, we went to rock some Q-ZAR laser tag, but alas, no photos of us in our super cute neon green vibrator packs and gear.



...but trust me: It was good. :)

Fin.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

10 Things That Make Me Sad


Commercials for the ASPCA.

When the person sitting next to me comes back from break smelling like cigarettes.

That Megan and Nikki no longer allow me to choose movies for us to watch because they believe my judgement to be deeply and horrifically compromised.

That people find it so weird that I don't drink.

When *certain* people are systematically rude without provocation.

That Reaper was cancelled while Degrassi is getting it's own ABC Family original movie.

That there's such a huge age gap between me and my siblings.

That chocolate is fattening.

That Sci Fi changed their name to SyFy.

That I'm still awake.


Next list... 10 Things That Make Me Happy.

Stay Tuned.

Or check back later.... whatever works best for you.

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