Below are the 17 most recent journal entries recorded in taterbird's LiveJournal:

Tuesday, July 22nd, 2008
6:02 pm	Damn, I Thought I'd Lost that Book So, temporarily bereft of anything to do this week, I've been going through my bookcase, pulling out books I haven't read in a while. It's like going to the bookstore, but cheaper! So, I've happily pulled out some books I swear I haven't seen since I moved to my dorm, and then I find it. A book that I both loved and hated. And there it is, in all of its tattered glory. Podkayne of Mars. Before I begin, I should say that my dad, being the loving and observant man that he is, noticed that his little girl loved to read. So he did what most parents do, and tried to get a common interest. There is, however, no way in Hell I was going to be joining him in reading Tom Clancy at the tender age of seven. So he did the next best thing. He turned over all of his old Robert A. Heinlein books to me. I didn't bother with them until I was about ten, but once I read Red Planet, I was hooked. On Red Planet, that is. The irony? I look like the last person on the planet who can get right down to the geek and talk Heinlein. And I can, my dears, I can. Even though Red Planet is probably the only thing he ever wrote that I could whole-heartedly say that I liked- that and  I liked Have Space-Suit, Will Travel well enough, I must say that Red Planet was my favorite. I was encouraged, I got my dad to show me how a slide-rule worked, so I had context, and so, with a great deal of enthusiasm, I tackled Podkayne of Mars.  I have never wanted to murder a fictional protagonist as much as I wanted to kill Poddy. I. hated. her. I wanted her to die, and I couldn't put that damn book down. I raged at it, I threw it once or twice, but I finished it. Now that I'm older, and I know what to call her, I understand why it was that she set my teeth on edge. Podkayne, Poddy Fries, is  a Mary-Sue. She is one of the Sue-iest of Sues ever to flounce across published fiction. Let's run down the checklist, shall we? 1.) Podkayne is a speshul Martian name, very rare and deep. Also a saint. Speshul name? Check. 2.) She's pretty. Oh, yes, she's pretty. And blonde, and blue-eyed. Petite, and has big boobs. Yes she does tell us all about it. Repeatedly. Over and over and over again. I GET IT PODDY, YOU'RE PRETTY. OKAY. Pretty!Sue? Check. 3.) Her I.Q. is 145. She's oh-so-smart, and does differential equations all the time. So did I, Poddy, so get over yourself. And she may be a genius, but she never once, in the entire novel, ACTS LIKE A GENIUS. NOT. ONCE.  So you're in A.P. classes. So what? So was I- sign me up for MENSA. Super!Smart!Sue? Check. 4.) She and her brother get to go with her Uncle Tom, who is an important politician, on a boondoggle space trip to Earth (oh, have I mentioned she's from MARS, and is genetically superior to every other colonist on colonized worlds EVAR because her ancestors were OMGSCREENED. Guaranteed pure Aryan. That's what it sounds like, Heinlein, and no amount of Maori background is gonna take that away.) because the baby-freezer people popped her little brother and sisters off of ice, and it OMGRUINEDHERLYFE!!!1! She successfully blackmails a corporation to fund her senior class trip (actually, so does her little brother, who is so many shades of awesome, and the reason I kept reading the book.). Finds a sugar-daddy in the first twenty pages? Check. 5.) She wants to be a spaceship captain. Okay, fine. But, OMGGIRLSCAN'TDOTHATSCANDALLLL!!! So she goes around, and instead of straightforwardly explaining what she's about, she seduces, yes, seduces (innocently! But still!) the ship's captain and officers into showing her how stuff is run, and getting the run of the ship. Because thinking girls scare men. Apparently men are threatenable in that regard You know what, men? Faint heart never won fair lady. You can't handle brains and ambition? I hope you're fond of your dog, because that's the only one who will be at your beck and call. Thank God, most men aren't like that. At least, not the ones I know. *grudgingly* Could have been different in the 60s, I suppose. Still, Plucky!Rebellious!Sue? CHECK. 6.) All the men, and I mean EVERY ONE, loves her.  The ship's captain, the ship's officers, they all think she's hot stuff, and are manipulated by the most embarrassing tricks I've ever seen tried in print. One of my good friends is an incurable, insatiable, and extremely bad flirt. At her most embarrassing, she's never been as cringe-worthy as this. She shares possession of the ship's men with an older, hotter socialite. And apparently, that's A-OK. All the men love the Sue? Checkity CHECK. 7.) The women all hate her because they are OMGSOJELUS!!!1! And they are punished, because Clark, Poddy's Stu-brother (who is still one of the most interesting characters, because he is amoral and remorseless until the end, when the Reality-Stick deals him a hell of a bitch-smack) defends her honor with a nasty genius-level trick (oh, yes, he's a genius, with an I.Q. of 165 and the matching lack of social skills,). The women are never heard from again. Criticize the Sue? Dire consequences. But not for her. Check. 8.) On Venus, the single richest man on the goddam planet decides she's cute, and implies that he wants to sleep with her, and probably marry her, in no particular order. At the prospect of a handsome, rich man, Poddy abandons her "I'm a total tomboy and I want to be the world's first woman spaceship pilot/explorer", and wonders if she couldn't settle down in the med-center with the babies, where she had OMGSOMUCHFUN being domesticated during a solar flare radiation storm, and marry this guy, who will be the intrepid explorer-captain, and she, the loyal nursemaid by his side. FAIL. CHECK. 9.) Brother (who is by FAR more capable than she is at taking care of himself, and every time Poddy attempts independent action, is shown up by her eleven-year-old brother) gets kidnapped. Poddy to the rescue! But ALAS, Poddy sucks at rescue missions, and doesn't use her vaunted intelligence to come up with, oh, a plan that works. Or any plan, really. So, unsurprisingly, she fails miserably, needing to be rescued.  By the aforementioned eleven-year-old brother. Damsel-in-Distress!Sue? Checkity check check check! 9.) Has a speshul animal friend! A fairy. I kid you not, a FAIRY. Actually, two. A mother, Titania, and the baby. She names it Ariel, because she is OMGSOWELLREAD. Good job, Sue, you read the Tempest and A Midsummer Night's Dream.  Along with everyone else on the planet. And they let her near them! So when she is finally coached into escaping, she can't bear to harm the little biting menaces, and so her brother has to do it for her.  The only thing she doesn't have is a unicorn. In space. Tenderhearted!AnimalRescuing!Sue? Check. 10.) She is MADE of sweetness and light. Clark claims that she doesn't understand evil, she's just that angelic. He then claims that he understands how the villain thinks. Guess what, Clark? So do I. In fact, I saw the villain coming at me a mile away and half-way through the book. ClassicSweetheart! TooGoodToLive!Sue? Check.  11.) Her brother, figuring out that death is imminent, goes all ninja on everyone, saving their lives and getting them out of a bad situation, by arming a nuclear bomb he got in the beginning of the story. DON'T QUESTION IT. Poddy, knowing that there is a nuclear bomb in the house they were held in, and is given a tracker (essentially a space-age MapQuest for idiots), and sent on her merry way (because the pair of them violate the First Cardinal Rule of Getting Away in Fiction: Never Split Up.), while her brother MacGuyvers his way around the Venus outback, using his watch, the sun, and the wind, he finds his way back to the city. Avoiding the fallout. DON'T QUESTION THE STORY. Poddy, on the other hand, goes back for her speshul little baby fairy, and gets lost. With a map. She then loses the map, and dies. Dies of terminal stupidity. But, her death is TRAGIC, and her brother thinks it's his FAULT, and BAAAAAWWW he's gonna take care of the baby fairy she shielded with her body because hers was a noble death, and a far, far better thing she did than she had ever done. Well, at least she did something. She died. But even her death was annoying. And it was somehow her successful mother's fault, because she didn't stay in the kitchen and make her men a sammich, and raise dem kids. Noble!Self-Sacrificing!Bildungsroman!Sue? CHECK DAMMIT, CHECK. I could keep going, but I just can't take it anymore. Any wonder why I hate her? But I loved the supporting cast- Mrs. Grew (the villainess), Clark, Uncle Tom, Girdie (the socialite)- they were great! Worth reading about. And now I'm looking at that book, and wondering if re-reading it will be worth the bouts of rage it's bound to inspire, or if this little exorcism has helped me at all. Dunno. Guess there's only one way to find out. But Heinlein, I'm about to commit the kind of blasphemy that your rabid Heinlein fans (of which I am not one. I hated Methuselah's Children. Couldn't finish it. Stranger in a Strange Land? No love. I quit while I was ahead.) would have me tarred and feathered for, and say that Heinlein couldn't write a female protagonist if his life depended on it. She is a parody and a cliche. I hate her. I really, really hate her. Mostly because she is stupid. She never, never, never uses the brain Heinlein claims she has, and she dies stupidly, pointlessly, and without any real reason except to make a point that makes me wish time-travel was possible. She's smug without reason, manipulative to no purpose, empty-headed, clueless, unobservant, naive in a way that couldn't be less endearing if he'd tried to make her loathsome, and gives up when faced with adversity, except when it would be smart to give up. ARGH! Have Clue-Bat, Will Travel. Maybe I should put this one in the back of the bookcase. Make your own damn sammich, Heinlein. Current Mood: bitchy Current Music: Verdi Requiem, Dies Irae (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, July 3rd, 2008
10:46 pm	I WIN AT LIFE! ( I WIN! ) Current Mood: jubilant Current Music: Motion City Soundtrack, Everything Is Alright (Comment on this)
Saturday, June 21st, 2008
10:45 pm	Because Whining About the Weather Is Original and Helpful I hate heat. I hate it with the burning passion of a thousand fiery suns. Which is exactly what it feels like out here. I haven't been able to run for two straight days. I have so much surplus energy, I'm a terror to total strangers. I'm bouncing off the walls, and experiencing mild claustrophobia. And I am pool-less, so I can't even go out and swim it off. I need to get out! I need to move! I need to run!  ( I need to have an emergency gym membership!) I think I may be an exercise addict. Oh, not that. Anything but that. I don't want to be one of those people who feels like a cow if anything short of a marathon has been run every morning. I think I'm just suffering from an extreme case of cabin fever, and a rare free weekend on my hands. This is restlessness. And BOY, IS IT. I would probably drive loyal friends completely bonkers, so it's just as well that I'm on my own this weekend. I'm reading my head off, but still. I. Need. To. Move. I need to move so very, very much. Maybe I need Ritalin? I want to go to the beach. I want to be anywhere but here. (Maybe the ideal solution is to run to the beach?) I don't know what to do with myself-  I need a good run, and a good book. In that order. Probably a lot of good other things too, but I can't be bothered to think about those.  On the plus side: found all appropriate birthday presents, very cool I might add- I never give anyone anything that I wouldn't like myself, unless that person is male- and all for a bargain. Unfortunately, my inner-mallrat wasn't enough to quench this restlessness. And fifteen minutes whining in an electronic journal isn't going to solve my problem. But! I haven't wasted paper. Surely that's good karma, or something. Yeah. Something. Current Mood: restless Current Music: The Vandals, Pirate's Life (Comment on this)
Monday, June 16th, 2008
9:50 pm	Mercy *Iz ded from LSAT* ARGH! That test is one of the suckiest sucky tests that ever, ever sucked! I've practiced, and I've worked, and that test seemed easy. So I'm paranoid. I don't think I missed any on the Logic Games section (which is usually my worst section) but the Arguments Sections from Hell made up for that. And the experimental was Reading Comp. God loves me, but surely He is punishing me by giving me Reading Comp with two, count them, TWO comparative sections. Now a regular LSAT reading comp selection is dense. Two in one section to be compared and contrasted is made of pure evil. And, to top it off, one of them was on onshore v. offshore drilling. My cup runneth over. Ick.  On the plus side: there was an In and Out game. I LOVE In and Out games (mmmmm... In n' Out...no. I must be virtuous.). I'm good at In and Out games. There hasn't been any on the LSAT for a few years now, and so the LSAT people, in their infinite wisdom, decided to throw one in this time for kicks. And I rejoice! So, in conclusion (bracket that, it's the conclusion. Watch the load-bearing language...) I have no idea if I kicked the LSAT's ass, or if I'm staring down the barrel of a second-tier school with minimal scholarships. Oh, please, please, please let me have stomped the LSAT and conquered... PLEASE. Current Mood: exhausted Current Music: Carmina Burana, O Fortuna (Comment on this)
Saturday, June 14th, 2008
9:33 am	OMG, Rock Band IS fun!  So I took myself off to a work party. I had to leave early, so I didn't get to go swimming. It was my childhood dream to have a pool, and I've got envy and a lot of bitterness toward people who do have them. And I get annoyed if I can't go swimming. So I was all set to be bored out of my tiny mind. But it was a good thing I showed up. I got promoted, won nothing, and got free food. Hurrah for free food! And then they brought it out. Rock Band. Now, I was a deprived child. My parents thought video games were bad for our developing little minds (but PC games were A-OK...? I love my parents, but I don't follow their logic.) so we never had so much as a Gameboy when I was a kid. I suck at console games. Hardcore. But this one has fake instruments! It was fun! So I decided that I wanted to play. But not the guitars, that looked too hard for the likes of me (who tried to play The Legend of Zelda at a friend's house once. Link died 27 times and never left the first level.). So, having had vocal training and a large repertoire of songs that someone with a voice like mine shouldn't sing (yeah, yeah, I know I don't have a rockstar's voice. But I can carry a tune!), AND the fact that all I had to do was sing, I said I'd sing one. So I did. "Welcome Home", from Coheed and Cambria (and pretty much the only good song on their third album, IMO). Being a girl, it was nicely in my range *snicker*. It OWNED. I was hooked. So I made them do "Won't Get Fooled Again" by the Who (which is HARD according to my guitar monkeys- oops! I mean instrumentalists.) And "Say It Ain't So"... the list goes on and on. I even tried the bass (which I sucked at, but not as badly as I thought I would) and the drums (which I also sucked at, but to a lesser extent). It's like interactive Karaoke, which just cracks me up every time I think about it. I helped one of my coworkers on the drums (we only had one set of paintbrushes... a.k.a. drumsticks, so I had to play my two like bongos) and we OWNED. Best. Drummer. Ever. All we needed was four arms! Easy! Yeah, I was late to my prior commitment. But I didn't want to go anyway. I got in trouble for it, but what are they gonna do? Send me to my room? Too old for it now, kids! Grown up now, kids! HAH!  And after that stunning display of emotional maturity, I sign off. Current Mood: bouncy Current Music: Welcome Home, Coheed and Cambria (Comment on this)
Tuesday, June 10th, 2008
7:02 am	Errr... Does It Still Work? Huh. This is still here. Will wonders never cease with the not ceasing? But the big question- soon to be answered- is: Does it still work? I suppose I'll find out, in you know, a few seconds.  2dnie Current Music: Typical, Mute Math (Comment on this)
Thursday, September 15th, 2005
10:03 pm	*Is crushed from dusty disuse* So, an entire house to myself, and what am I doing? Writing in a neglected electronic journal. Go me! I should throw a wild party. But I won't. Why, you ask? No friends? No wild streak? No desire to conform to the stereotypical young woman left alone in a house for the weekend? Actually, none of the above. The sole reason that yours truly is not currently causing grief, mayhem, wailing, and gnashing of teeth is a simple one. Why destroy my parents' house when I can destroy someone ELSE's parents' house? Why indeed. And I won't be stuck with the clean up. This is why I will one day succeed with my plans for total world domination. I've already grasped foreign policy- make a mess in someone else's backyard. It makes me smarter than anyone whose party I choose to attend.  And what brings a maddened student to be alone in a house without supervision? What? Why, we've packed up the freaky taterbro and sent him off to be freaky up north. Santa Cruz, to be specific.And I have already experienced the horrible, sucking, twisted, perverted evil that is Dorm Move in Day- aka You Mean THAT is MY Roomie?. I feel no need to revisit it. I've been there and done that. So I opted to stay home. Where it's nice and roomie free. Also it's free from Dad and the taterbro bitching at eachother, with Mom on the sidelines alternating wringing her hands and crying. It's stress filled and emotion charged. That's why I'm sitting here, drinking my water and being Zen. Yay me! Of course, losing the taterbro DOES have its drawbacks. I have the sinking suspicion that as long as I'm home (and I start school a week later than the taterbro) his chores will become MY chores. Come and finish me quickly, upper division course work. I'm counting the days until my madness resumes... Current Mood: contemplative Current Music: Dredge, Bug Eyes (Comment on this)
Sunday, June 19th, 2005
10:29 pm	Electronic Whatsit Helllooooo! Look, Mommy, an Electronic Journal...thingy! Sorry, I have been MUCH too busy to keep up with... myself. :-D So- to clear up my dramatic whining about the radioactive Grover dress- the wedding... was a wedding. I was not alone in my lukewarm response to my dress. My friend of the headlights thought the same thing I did about that dress, which goes to show that extended periods of exposure to me can be hazardous to the health. Or... maybe vice versa. It doesn't matter, we're all sick in the end! At any rate, the most that can be said for that wedding, was that the bride and groom looked each other in the eyes, in that dingy little church in Arizona, and meant every word they said. And that is absolutely the best thing that could have happened. At that moment, blue dresses were entirely worth it to see my dear friend so happy. How I felt a few hours later, at the reception, in 112 degree heat in heels is another matter. Also, Billy Idol is not in a wedding DJ's selection. Definitely NOT "White Wedding". Upon reflection, it wasn't a terribly good idea to want to play it anyway. :-D But we did have a blast. Me and my friends on a road trip to Arizona- we had fun at Friday's, at a Cracker Barrel, and at... WALMART. Yes, at my nemesis, in Arizona, my friends subjected me to not only a Walmart, but a SuperWalmart o' DOOM!!!! And even there, I had fun. Also, they subjected me to a cowboy hat. Covered in shells, and turquoise. They know I'm a pseudo punk rocker! (Some sick part of me likes that hat.) And it was so fun. So very much fun that at 40, if I suffer a midlife crisis, I will want to be back there, on the drive to Arizona. Or back at the wedding, dodging the bride's brother, who shadowed me with a case of puppy love, with my feet in black sandal heels that were completely killer on the grass. Or on the drive back, taking my friend back to San Diego. And then, oh, and then, there were the finals. They're so...so final. Completing, in a completing-the-knot-on-the-noose sort of way. Those I can forgo with the repeat. It occurs to me that even though I am now Officially An Adult, I still talk about school, and my grades, like I'm still a kid. I must be so boring to people with lives! :-D I've got to cultivate more diverse topics of conversation. Right now, I have grades, clothes, shoes, and gossip. I am deeply ashamed! I'm an intelligent girl! I really am! I'm completely NOT a valley girl ditz! I read! I do! :-D Maybe I can read up on current events. Then I can talk about the price of oil in Turkey, the elections in the former Soviet bloc state of Begladyoulivesomewhereelse-nia. I could learn more about other sports- i.e. ANY sport that isn't soccer. But then I'd have to pay attention to men playing a game. And honestly, since those are the boys I had to help with applied EVERYTHING in high school, I really couldn't care less. Despite my inherent shallowness, I'm an intellectual snob. I can cover my shallowness with pseudo-depth, which is all depth ever is anyway! But I can gratify my vanity while I do it! Somehow, I think people would rather hear about grades, clothes, shoes and gossip. Current Mood: bouncy Current Music: Rise Against, Swing Life Away (Comment on this)
Saturday, April 16th, 2005
10:07 pm	Grover So, long time, no whine. I have my bridesmaid dress now. It seems so inadequate to say it's blue. It is blue. It's certainly blue. In fact, there are possibly no words within the English language to describe the exact degree of blueness to my satisfaction. It is like no natural shade on earth. The line is decent. The length is good. I will contrive to look decent in it, and make my dear buddy look good by default. And I will do so in a dress nearly the exact color of Sesame Street's Cookie Monster. That's right, I'll be standing up there in a dress in Grover. Yay! It's far better than I was expecting, despite the radioactive shade. It's not poofy. It hasn't got tulle or crinoline anywhere to be found. It is a polyester known previously only to astronauts, and possibly could be compressed into a three inch cube and still come out without a wrinkle. Scarlett O' Hara would not be caught dead in this dress, and so I can stand it. The dresses that the bride used to look at were fit to be worn only to an antebellum barbeque. If you could find a grove of trees big enough to stand behind. This dress does not do that. I can easily hide behind a tree. If the dress didn't glow in the dark, I might consider doing just that. But there is much amusement to be had out of one radioactive dress. To begin, it has a long, billowing, polyester scarf to go wherever I decide it does. Today I am a pirate. Tomorrow, I'll be Our Lady of the Depleted Uranium. The next day, I'll be the Undersecretary of Snide Remarks. All of those personae require that I have one vivid blue scarf on my person. My day is incomplete unless I've managed to terrify a person. But it gets better. The bride, when describing it to me, mentioned that it had TWO sashes. I was confused. As far as I'm concerned, two sashes are two sashes too many. However, now I understand what she meant. One is the detached scarf. The other is the one that goes around the chest, and ends in tails down the back. The one that is thoughtfully right over the cleavage. Now, I have nothing there to be ashamed of. I have a decent amount of something up there. It's safe to say that I can't ever be disguised as a boy. However, my co-bridesmaid, she has a RACK. One of them is bigger that both of mine put together. And they're real. And there is a scarf right across them. A bright blue scarf. All she really needs is to find something sparkly to put in the center, or maybe some running lights, because every straight man at the wedding will be staring at her. I could come nude, and no one would notice next to those knockers. And as for the bride, well. She'll be in a big white dress, but she could be an Advancing Avalanche of Impending Doom, and no one would notice. At my wedding, I tell you, my co-bridesmaid, she'll be wearing a burqua. Not because I don't love her dearly, but on my day, I want everyone to be looking at ME, since they insist that I go through with the pageant anyway. If I'm going to the trouble of finding a white dress, and deserving it, they had damn well better see me. So, I can be consoled in the fact, that despite the Grover blue dress, no one will notice me in it. And usually that annoys me, but right now, I find it oddly comforting. And, like I said, it's not NEARLY as bad as I could have expected. So I'm not all that dissatisfied, despite my whining about the color. To be fair, I would have complained if the dress had been tailor made to my specifications, with a color I chose, because I like complaining. :-D Whine, whine, whine, whine whine, whine... Current Mood: thankful Current Music: the Killers, Smile Like You Mean It (Comment on this)
Thursday, March 17th, 2005
9:31 pm	So, let's see. I've chopped off my long curls in favor of a short, spiky, red-streaked hairstyle that had my buddies going (and I quote) "What the hell have you done to your head?" My response: "Uh, do you really need my help with that?" :-D . Actually, all my girly friends went for my new 'do. All my guy friends with one exception regret my curly coif. Well, if they're all so enamored of long hair, they can try having it themselves, and see how they like it! And today, I have had a LONG day. A very, very LONG day. I had my eyes examined again, and prescribed toric lenses so that my poor, pathetic, astigmatic eyes (NOT the same as stigmata, Kevin!) can see the way that normal people do. Actually, I don't think it's possible that I will ever see the world as normal people do. My perspective is hopelessly skewed. And that's the way I like it, thank you so very much! Anyhoo, so then I go to my mother's school, so that I can help her pack up her stuff for going off track. She's gone and broken her foot, which means that I did most of the leg work, while she wandered aimlessly. Actually, she gimped lamely. So finally, I had to plead that she get organized and let me leave. She did, and I trotted merrily home. Actually, I drove grumpily home, and took my bad temper out on the dog (WHY CAN'T YOU SHUT UP AND LAY DOWN? IT'S JUST A TRUCK!). I fear that I will be a verbally abusive parent. I need a stress ball, or something. But before I left Mom's school, my brother called. Apparently, he ran out of gas, and had to walk the rest of the way to school, and is begging us to bail him out. The task falls to me. So, long about six, we set out. I ask my brother if we should go to an auto parts store. He vetoes it, in favor of the horrific Mart of Walls- the dastardly Mart of Darkness, the insidous, sucking, corrupting evil of the ever wicked Walmart. We buy a gas can, although I remain convinced that we actually already HAVE a gas can in the garage somewhere- my brother has the ATM card, and it's not my money, so he can have a gas-can party. We then try to find a gas station that a.) isn't full, b.) does not have a drug bust in progress, and c.) is not in Algeria somewhere. We fail on all accounts. Fortunately, my passport is up to date. We eventually try a Circle K gas station, although my brother voiced the opinion that they're only a pseudo-gas station, who are we to argue with gas miraculously welling up out of the ground? We try his card. It takes forever, registers the PIN number scrambled, and eventually recommends that we go in to see the cashier. As my brother said, "F&#* the cashier." No dice. We try my card. After asking for my zip code, SSN, SID, birth hospital, lucky number, and sign, and finally my PIN, it suggests that I go inside and have a heart to heart with the cashier. We leave, sans gas. We FINALLY find a gas station, fill up the can that will rescue my brother's truck from the side of the road, only to find that the nozzle on the can is too big for the gas tank opening. Now, I also remain convinced that this could have been avoided if my brother and I weren't complete idiots. Be that as it may, my brother releases a string of profanity that would do a Marine proud. I don't bother to be offended, because they're my sentiments exactly. I suggest that we do one of the following a.) go to an auto parts  store and try to find a nozzle that fits, b.)call AAA, or c.) call Dad. We go to Jack in the Box [d.) none of the above]. At Jack in the Box, we chow down on the nutritious food that is responsible nation- wide for increased diabetes and heart problems, without guilt or care. I hear a pseudo punk poser do the WORST job at trying to play Good Son for his mother. What kind of idiot is he, I wonder. Does he think his mother doesn't notice his hair dyed in several shades of tortoise shell, or his uber tight pants which lead everyone to the conclusion that he's a skinny teenage boy with nothing much worth hiding? I also resolve to try to ignore what I can't help but hear, as it's a small joint, and my ears are good. At any rate, after he says "night-night" to "mommy", I hear some guy ask in all serious if some other guy is a dragon. I think that my ears, they need cleaning. I ask my brother if I heard what I thought I did. He tells me that I have. I ask him to check for pens and paper, or possibly head trauma. He sees a Dungeons and Dragons rule book, and I resolve never to set foot in this particular JitB again. Ever. In life. Thus fortified, we go to the auto parts store, rather than face the wrath of our father. No cans, no nothing, but a very helpful clerk who gives us the obvious solution: a funnel. In this brief moment of illumination, we ponder, where could we acquire such an item? The answer is self-evident. Home Depot. We find a .99 funnel, and put it on the card. We drive back to the truck, which is still lonely on the roadside. Using the funnel, and several gas drenchings later, we have given the truck enough juice to make it to a gas station. We are also walking fire hazards. We can go down in blazes and up in ashes- it's a good thing we're not smokers. I tail the taterbro to the gas station, because after all of this, I sure as hell don't want to go home to another pathetic call that the truck has stalled on the freeway somewhere. I'd make him walk home, if that were to case. He gets gas. After all the running around I've done, I get gas. About a hundred bucks later, we go home. Two hours after we started. The whole thing stopped being funny at about 6:30. I'm thinking the rest of the hour and some-odd minutes we spent will be really funny in about 20 years. Well, I think it's funny now. But I don't think it'll be safe to bring it up to the taterbro for about that long. Current Mood: crazy Current Music: Insane in the Brain, Cypress Hill (Comment on this)
Saturday, February 26th, 2005
10:06 pm	ChiaDoom And so, the saga continues... This is now the journal of an official bridesmaid. It's flattering, but I would be lying if all of the fears and whining I did in the last post aren't totally coming down on my head in irritating little flies of irony. I'm completely flattered. I'll even admit that it's cool to be a bridesmaid. But I'm not going to see the dress for months, and the mother apparently is doing EVERYTHING, including finding the sizes for a girl she's never met. Namely, me. This is not a comfort. I should have given her six sizes bigger than I actually wear so that I can have it sized to fit. Ah, well. No, I'm not martyred daily. At least, not in this particular fashion. And I've avoided pastel hell. Thank God for Marines. They're gonna be navy blue. I can carry navy FAR better than any other shade of blue. Therefore, I withdraw all of my earlier complaints, although I reserve the right to whine about spaghetti straps and tulle, should the need arise. I hear it's the God-given right of bridesmaids everywhere. Anyway, I went to the library today in a desperate search for inspiration on my Greece paper, and I'm still high and dry. I did nab the two Dio Cassius books I need for my Augustus paper, but I. Am. Totally. At a Loss for the Greece one. I got nothing here, people. It would probably help if I showed up for class more, but in my defense, no matter how early I leave, the freeway conspires to be a Total Nightmare. Ugh. I hate the freeway. Oh, well. The freeway isn't life. And I'll think of something to write about, sooner or later. I figure I'll write about the one I can do first, and meditate on Greece. I'll sit in the center of the living room floor in the lotus position, with incense and candles, and chant "Greece, Greece". Something will be bound to inspire me that way! Oh, by the way, it was Disaster Day on the Discovery Channel. After much fun, I decided that I liked  "ChiaDoom" better than "InstaDoom".  That is all. Current Mood: surprised Current Music: Linkin Park, Breaking the Habit (Comment on this)
Monday, February 21st, 2005
7:23 pm	Oh, Yeah, This Exists Can I hear a cheer for total drama? Whoooo! So, on Thursday night, I get a call from a friend of mine in Arizona, asking me to rally up anyone she can't call herself to go see her get married in Vegas. In two weeks. In the middle of term. That's prime paper season, folks. My response: "Gngh? *sputter* WHAT?!!!... I mean... that's great. Really. Great." (thinks... and the stats on this type of marriage are what? DOOMED TO FAILURE???) So it was all of this weekend, until Sunday night. When she called again. Someone, mercifully, had talked her out of it, before I could burn enough phone batteries to do the job. Praise God. Not that I don't think that she can be happy with this guy I've never met and she totally wasn't dating two weeks ago, I just maintain a healthy skepticism, and want my friend to be happy. And it's not that I think that May will somehow make a big difference, except that it will give everyone concerned time to get to know themselves, and one another, and make backing out possible if so desired, or making them look forward even more to the event. I hope that they get closer. But if worse comes to worse, it doesn't cost as much to call off a wedding as it does to get divorced. As it is, I think I may have spared myself a position as a bridesmaid. Now, don't get me wrong, I've always wanted to be in a wedding. Prefferably mine. But all kidding aside, I just think that seven bridesmaids is... excessive. That, and the friend concerned is bound to choose some God-awful shade of pale blue or lavender with yards of tulle, guaranteed to make me look a.) paler, b.) hair darker, but not in a good, highlighted way, and c.) shorter, AND wider. You may imagine that I'm not overly eager to spend massive amounts on a dress that does all of the above, AND stand in front of a bunch of guests in it, AND have photos taken in it for posterity. This is what comes of making friends with a blonde. If I had more brunette friends, at least I could carry the colors. Ah, well. My sole brunette friend is not likely to get married, so I am going to be forced to wear every shade of the wretched pastel palette. Unless I've managed to dodge this bullet. If she asks, I will do it, because she is my friend, but I imagine that the massive amounts of tongue biting I would have to do would probably cause massive internal hemhorrage. I need a shirt that says "I Am Martyred Daily" to properly mock my long-suffering attitude. I just realized how whiny this sounds. Rather than edit it so that I look better, I'll just mention that sometimes, I'm so irritating that I want to smack myself. :-D Current Mood: relieved Current Music: Mad Caddies (Comment on this)
Thursday, February 3rd, 2005
12:29 am	I Should Be Sleeping Right Now  So, here it is, twelve at night, and I have to get up at an ungodly hour tomorrow morning. Am I sleeping? Clearly not, unless I can type in my sleep. I'll be very surprised tomorrow if that's true. As it is, I am waiting for two things to dry- my nails, and my hair. Bother both of them. And there's no question of ditching class tomorrow- the prof's talking about my buddy, Cosimo di' Medici, and I have a paper to farm out on him due next Tuesday. Bother. Bother. Bother. Bother. I should be in a bad mood, but... I'M NOT! I'm in a perfectly lovely mood, and I'll tell you why- I've just gotten back my history 120 quiz, and I aced it. While guessing. 100% plus a virtual gold star- the prof wrote "Good Job" on it (*preens*). And so I'm simply insufferable. I had a good time in class, talking to my new friends, AND I didn't have to watch a corny 50s style sandal epic (which I usually love to watch, because I'm at home, and I don't have to behave, but is completely frustrating if class requires me to keep my mouth shut.) I mean, those things are comic gold- all the leading men are in toga dealies that are WAAAAY too short- any sudden movements or gusts of wind could result in... well, an embarrasment on their part, no doubt.  Usually the female lead has hair that doesn't even approach her natural hair color, and she is in her thirties. But it doesn't matter, because the male lead is usually about 800, and was on a first name basis with Moses. So, naturally, I adore those movies. If I brought home anyone nearly approaching the age disparity between the female and male lead in those movies, my usually peaceable father would probably give that man a five-second head start- but not out of kindness. Oh, no, it would be to get a good shot in on a broad target. So it becomes even funnier. There's nothing like a bunch of blonde Greeks. Apparently, back in the day, they were plentiful. Too bad my Greek buddy doesn't have blonde hair. She should totally jump on the wagon, man! It's sad that I should rejoice over missing one of those treasures. But it's so. If I can't be a smart-aleck when I'm watching them, I'd certainly rather not watch them at all. So, for the past two weeks, I have been fit to burst. My friends would never believe it. Me, who, while totally loving the Lord of the Rings Trilogy, can't sit through it without beginning to laugh at any given random point because it's just so... earnest. Unrelentingly, unfailingly earnest. And these movies I've been watching in history- they're just the same. My blessing and my curse is a very strange sense of humor. But I digress. Wait, there was no point to this post. How could I possibly digress from a pointless post? Well, it's clear that there is a way, and I have found it. I'm a pioneer in exposition. Or composition. Or irritation. Probably more of the latter. And so, good night, My nails aren't dry, but I've run out of things to amuse myself while I write. Current Mood: jubilant Current Music: Social Distortion, Story of My Life (Comment on this)
Thursday, January 27th, 2005
3:42 pm	Why I'll Fail My Midterm (Exposition)  Well, well, again with the online dealie. I'm amazing myself with sheer stick-to-itive-ness. (*Congratulates self*) My ultimate goal this year is to make the Dean's list every quarter. I've got one quarter down, two more to go. And I'm not gonna do it this time unless I...ugh... apply myself. That is SO unfair. These wackos at school insist that I take part in my own education, blast them. That's a blatant abuse of the power of the system and only proves Abigail Adams right- all men would be tyrants if they could. Qualification: All men ARE tyrants, particularly the Regents. They insist that I follow their little system of hoop-jumping: Oh, jump here, oh, complete this, or you'll Never Make It In The Real World! Damn the Real World! If Virginia Woolfe didn't have to live in it, then neither do I! I'll just pull a Willy Loman, and wander off to kindergarten, where I could make stick figures out of play dough. Yeah, that's the ticket! Or I can buck the system entirely, and Boycott The Test. Besides, it's a ridiculous thing that the school makes me take a test AND buy my own materials. Blue Books, indeed! If I don't take the test, I'll save a bunch of money- maybe even 50 cents! I can go rafting with a faithful buddy! I can become a delightful heroine of Americana. A folk icon of the wandering mother-wit. Or maybe I can go on some psychotic spree to eliminate the phonies of the world (that's like a crusade, or something.). Ah, no, that won't work. Even if they're a phony at something, they're still a genuine phony. Darn that Catch-22. Maybe I'll simply become a poetic shut in, and get money by poetry and bleach endorsements. I'll make agorophobia cool again! I can write gothic little poems about death! Maybe something like I'm nobody/ and you don't know it/ Because I don't leave my house/ In the daytime. Sheer genius. Or I can defy not only the university system, but P)un>ctu a %tion itself! Take that, self righteous scions of the English Department! I will defy every known rule of the English language, and make you teach it in class! All because I refused to take my midterm, or even review for it! Hah! Poetry seems to be far easier to churn out that excellent prose, maybe because people lap up bad poetry like it's ambrosia. Perhaps poetry is the key to total world domination! So not only will I have forced the English Department to teach my garbage as though it is brilliant, I'll eventually use poetry to become the unquestioned ruler of the WHOLE WORLD! MUA HA HA HA HAAAaaa! Why look, I've managed to review for my Lit midterm after all. :-D   Current Music: Jimmy Eat World, Futures (Comment on this)
Tuesday, January 18th, 2005
1:18 pm	Grrrrrrr I am NOT having a good day. Definitely NOT. I am battered, bruised, and blazingly angry. I dutifully rolled out of bed this morning far before I wanted to, so that I could dutifully go to class, so that I can dutifully become an Officially Educated Person. And anyone who knows me will know that in doing so much, I expect great things of Fate. Or at least to be met halfway. I should have taken the auspices and gone back to bed. First, I couldn't find the jeans I was going to wear, and then heard that it's supposed to be hot anyway. So I grabbed the first pair of lightweight pant-like articles I could get my hands on. Without looking. They turned out to be my favorite pair of drawstring capris, and usually, that's fine. But I'm about fifteen pounds lighter now than when I wore them last summer. They hang too low. The legs are too long, making me look shorter than ever, and I had to keep pulling the drawstring in, so that I looked like I was bundled into my father's pants (To be fair, it's not a problem to be too small for my old clothes. But they were my favorite, and it's hard to find clothes that fit to my exacting standards. But, sorry as I am to lose them, I'd be sorrier still to fit back into them. Now back to our regularly scheduled rant.). But I was tired, and I didn't notice before I left the house. Next, I banged the living daylights out of the top of my hand, leaving a desk-shaped bruise on the hand I use to write with. And I had at least two hours of continuous note-taking to get through. Getting into the car, I banged my head on the door. Now I have a bruise on my forehead, and probably killed some brain cells I can NOT afford to lose. At first, el freeway wasn't so bad, and I missed rush-hour traffic, until I reached the interchange Where I really lost it. It's a good thing that I don't possess psionic powers, because if I did, the freeway would be a smoking ruin.There would be the wailing, gnashing of teeth, and the crunching of metal wherever I go. The idiots were looking at some guy who was having car trouble. For THIS the freeway was fubar, where I had to sit for twenty minutes. I got up and left in enough time to be early to class. When I finally got to school, I was twenty minutes late to class. Just in time to discuss poetry. And allegories. And listen to some nitwit who couldn't identify Dante's Inferno from Catullus. Which is a problem. I'm not exactly up on my Roman and Italian poets of Classical and Middle Ages, but even I can tell, and if I can, than everyone else has already picked up the clue phone. Argh. The shoes I was wearing decided to give me blisters, even though they're old, and have been broken in already. I hit my head on my door one more time before I finally managed to get home, to discover that they've ripped up half of the street I use to get to my house. I'm beginning to wish for the technical know-how to build a doomsday device. Of course, that blasted James Bond would have to interfere. So here I sit, bruised, blistered, and fuming. And venting, which has helped far more than I thought it would. Maybe I won't build a doomsday device. Maybe just a little one. Current Mood: frustrated Current Music: Swinging Udders, I Follow (Comment on this)
Thursday, January 13th, 2005
9:42 pm	Wow, with an uncharacteristic show of consistency, I'm updating this for no audience in particular. Bonus. Finally saw the Phantom of the Opera- the movie version. I went with my mother who didn't even try to stop my abominable behavior (which was rather good behavior for me as movies go. Nobody can take me anywhere.) No doubt the people in the audience wanted to choke me. It isn't that I didn't like the movie. I did. But anything that takes itself that seriously is completely open to good natured ridicule. So, where to begin? I have nothing else of substance to write about, unless I want to go into an impromptu essay on the Black Death. Rather talk about the movie.  To begin, I was fairly happy with the voices. I've had some training, so I know that the princpals strained for a few notes, but I sure can't do any better (being an alto, anyway, I wouldn't have to. Andrew Lloyd Webber only writes for sopranos. Stupid Andrew Lloyd Webber.)so that's okay. I saw the musical on Broadway when I was thirteen, and even then, I thought Christine was an idiot. "Gee, daddy sent me an angel of music that is also the world's strictest chaperone, and apparently spies on the primadonna through his magic mirror-door thing. How completely not alarming!" It's not the girl in the movie's fault that Christine is STILL an idiot. But I began laughing when she wanders out in a snowy cemetery with a dress that has too much skirt and too little bodice, and doesn't find it at all too cold to be mournfully and dramatically swooping around singing about her Electra complex. Or her twenty BAZILLION costume changes. Or how the noble boyfriend gallantly chickened out (oh, Monty Python!) during the Masquerade. I did try to muffle my laughter. It's still a good movie. But I couldn't help but imagine an alternate ending for the movie. It took me about thirty seconds, and boy, it shows. Christine is presented with the oh-so-crazy Phantom who is about to portcullis her boyfriend to death. In a perfect world, Christine would have done something like this. Christine: So, my choice is between the limpwristed idiot who's managed to get himself chained to a gate, and a mind-numbingly insane narcissist with obsessive tendencies? Oh-kay. I choose... (dramatic pause in which she reflects on the weirdness of having a perfectly fitting white dress in the sewers. She wonders who does the Phantom's dress shopping.)NEITHER. Thanks for offering! I'll just be hawking my sparkly new ring for tickets to New York. Don't bother to write. Bye now, back never! Phantom and Raoul: ?! And so I thought, until one of my friends at school pointed out that if she sticks with Gate boy, she gets an inexhausible form of income. So I revised. Christine: Well, I would choose you, Phantom, because even slightly deformed, you're still cuter than Raoul (editor's note: He's no slouch, either.) but Raoul's given me the sparkly ring, and has promised me the matching tiara and earrings. I knew there was a reason I never admired Republican France! Added to which, a chateau in the country totally beats the SEWERS. So, unhand my boyfriend, and we'll be going! Raoul: You do realize that I'll insist on an ironclad pre-nup, right? Christine: Discussing this later, sweetie! Ah, well. Hopeless romantics would be outraged. But hey, despite the fact that the Phantom is all mysterious 'n cool and shiz, he's still a serial killer with a Silence of the Lambs basement thing going on. I was hoping Precious would make a cameo. And the music rules. Although I had to play the overture on the flute when I was twelve, and I cursed Webber for that one. It's not easy when you're a beginner. I did have to sit there and obsessively repeat willing suspension of disbelief, willing suspension of disbelief, or I'd have to wonder when the Phantom had time to go get a My Size Christine for the basement, or why it is she had to ride on a horse for fifty feet ( I KNOW it's in the book, I read it, but STILL) in the sewers. How'd they get the poor horsie down there anyway? What's more, I kept thinking that "Every Step You Take" ought to be in there somewhere. Maybe they could just insert it? It's singularly appropriate. Maybe while the Phantom is hanging out on the Opera roof (?!). But all is well. I found this parody/summary by some chick calling herself Cleolinda, and she has to be the funniest thing ever, and she went though and did practically everything to the movie that I was thinking while watching it. Damn, she's funny.(query: does this also mean I'm paying myself a compliment, too? Wow, I'm so cool. *glows*) She must also have nearly as much time on her hands as I do. And it's not easy having this kind of time, I might add. You have to studiously ignore everything else that you should be doing in favor of doing stuff like that. And I have to say, that no matter how many twenty page papers are due, her time is far better spent doing what she does. Anyway. Even I think it's time to call this quits. And so, good night. Current Mood: mischievous Current Music: Velvet Revolver, Fall to Pieces (Comment on this)
Wednesday, January 12th, 2005
9:58 pm	Inauguration I doubt anyone will read this. I'm not the sort of person who has anything particularly relevant, or important to say. But, hey, if I get total privacy with which to rant, rave, and otherwise vent my Type A anger, all while not wasting paper, I'll have to give myself a gold star. All this, and I'm saving the environment, too. Sequoia trees are thanking me. Naturally, I understand them, as I speak fluent tree. If I manage to keep this up consistently, that'll be another gold star for me. I'm flaky, you know. I can't show up on time anywhere, and I am bound to forget where I've put something, particularly if I've put that something in the nebulous region of "Away". That involves anywhere out of my immediate line of vision. The one thing I rarely lose is a book. Mostly because I look until I've found it. Yay me. Still, it's not so bad. I look forward to a long career as a muddled academic. Someday, I'll wear stockings that slide down around my ankles. If I end up teaching in a university, I'll make all my tests scantron with patterns. Or maybe I'll spell a word. Anyone smart enough to figure out the pattern will deserve an A. Maybe I'll Christmas Tree it. Yeah, that's the ticket. I can ditch the stockings, and be one of those easy, lazy professors! Yes! That would totally work, if only I wanted to teach. Current Mood: amused Current Music: Dashboard Confessional, Vindicated (Comment on this)