The cutie sans acronym is a member of some organization on-campus that decides which guest speakers, lecturers, bands, politicians, and other guzzlers of my tuition money come to campus and drone on and on about things that bore me. Normally I couldn't care less about this sort of thing, but tonight should prove an exception, mostly because I got a free ticket.
The cutie-sans-acronym has been jumping up and down all week (not on me, but rather for joy), at tonight's guest lecturer. This particular author is the cutie's favorite, and since he's on the committee, he wheeled and dealed his way into being the guy who picks up the author in the limo and takes him out to dinner on the school's charge account before the lecture. It's hard to write using only pronouns.
The author's gay, and so I've been making fun of their 'date' all week. The author is one that you'd expect to be all kinky and nasty in bed, and I've been prepping him for all the depraved sexual acts that surely gets the author off. Well, prepping him with words, not with whips and gags. The cutie-sans-acronym is going to put in a good word for me, so maybe afterwards I'll get a call from a recent NYTimes best-selling author, who was made famous after one of his books was turned into a major motion picture a few years ago.
(No, I won't mention the author's name because I don't believe in outing people (except in my dreams), but Entertainment Weekly outed him, so a simple google search should prove fruitful.)
Heh heh. Fruitful. I'm so funny.
January 31, 2005
January 28, 2005
January 27, 2005
Who knew?
So I found out last night that peeling kiwis is for chumps. You can eat the skin and you won't even notice.
Normally, I wouldn't mention something that mundane, but that cute guy showed me over dinner last night, and he went into excruciating detail about how it felt in his mouth.
Yum.
Normally, I wouldn't mention something that mundane, but that cute guy showed me over dinner last night, and he went into excruciating detail about how it felt in his mouth.
Yum.
January 26, 2005
Generic explanation of classes.
Right. Class. I've got that.
I really enjoy my Poetry class. We spent the entire first class period talking about which fonts makes readers want to vomit. I think I'm going to enjoy this teacher. A person left in tears on the first day when she found out it was poetry only, and not fiction-oriented. I laughed really hard.
My Western Culture class is probably the most interesting. It's about how philosophy and religion has helped and hindered scientific thought throughout the ages. The professor doesn't like giving long lectures, so we get out at least twenty minutes early every day. The TA is, like, 60 years old though, and totally incompetent.
My Comedic Drama class is okay. The professor expects four to five plays read a week, which is overkill, if you ask me. Plus he grades solely on intuition, so we're supposed to turn in two papers and a few response papers and then he'll get a feel for our knowledge of the subject. While most professors probably grade like this, I don't think I enjoy the fact that he's so up-front with it, especially because he's giving us no guidelines for the papers, except that there needs to be two of them.
My professor for Classical Mythology is easily excited, and speaks in redundant questions: What do we know about their background? What does this tell us about their history? Their backstory? Their parent's story? What does this say about the lives they used to lead? It gets old. The TA is hot, though. He looks kind of like that one guy from QAF.
My professor for Gay and Lesbian Studies isn't too bad, though the real story is that I'm the only boy in the class. Fucking lesbians always ruin things.
Oh, and in case you're wondering. 8932 pages to read this semester. Plus any packets that will be handed out. And yes, I counted.
I really enjoy my Poetry class. We spent the entire first class period talking about which fonts makes readers want to vomit. I think I'm going to enjoy this teacher. A person left in tears on the first day when she found out it was poetry only, and not fiction-oriented. I laughed really hard.
My Western Culture class is probably the most interesting. It's about how philosophy and religion has helped and hindered scientific thought throughout the ages. The professor doesn't like giving long lectures, so we get out at least twenty minutes early every day. The TA is, like, 60 years old though, and totally incompetent.
My Comedic Drama class is okay. The professor expects four to five plays read a week, which is overkill, if you ask me. Plus he grades solely on intuition, so we're supposed to turn in two papers and a few response papers and then he'll get a feel for our knowledge of the subject. While most professors probably grade like this, I don't think I enjoy the fact that he's so up-front with it, especially because he's giving us no guidelines for the papers, except that there needs to be two of them.
My professor for Classical Mythology is easily excited, and speaks in redundant questions: What do we know about their background? What does this tell us about their history? Their backstory? Their parent's story? What does this say about the lives they used to lead? It gets old. The TA is hot, though. He looks kind of like that one guy from QAF.
My professor for Gay and Lesbian Studies isn't too bad, though the real story is that I'm the only boy in the class. Fucking lesbians always ruin things.
Oh, and in case you're wondering. 8932 pages to read this semester. Plus any packets that will be handed out. And yes, I counted.
January 25, 2005
Chevy... Chevy Nova!
Like pretty much everyone else, I had a crappy car in high school. (Oh, what I wouldn't give to have my own car now.) However, I had the dubious pleasure of owning a car that was older than I was, and not in an 'antique' sort of way. This thing couldn't come to a complete stop without having a seizure, so I'd have to put it into neutral whenever I got close to a stop sign. I'm also a packrat, and would often have props (like giant stuffed penguins, green leopard print smoking jackets, puppets of Satan, shoulder pads from a football uniform, neon green wigs, and splatter-painted wedding dresses) from various school projects and plays. I also had a sort of fetish for mix tapes (still do!), and had at one point over 125 mix tapes. It was fucking sweet.
My car's name was Sir Alfred.
One day, my friend Alison and I wrote a song dedicated to my car. Searching through an old notebook for something, I found it yesterday. I wish I could remember the tune; I've never done an audiopost, but I'm pretty sure that serenading (or aubading, since most of you read this in the morning) would be a good starting point.
My car's name was Sir Alfred.
One day, my friend Alison and I wrote a song dedicated to my car. Searching through an old notebook for something, I found it yesterday. I wish I could remember the tune; I've never done an audiopost, but I'm pretty sure that serenading (or aubading, since most of you read this in the morning) would be a good starting point.
I know a guy
A really fun dude
He's got a car
It's sweet like a foo-
This friend is Bobby
Or even Bobby S
But his car is super fun,
It makes children run.
Cause he drives a Chevy Nova.
Chevy Nova!
Chevy Nova!
It's from '83
It'll break down right in front of you or me
Bob's Chevy Nova.
When he's drivin his car
All across town
When he comes to a stop
He's gotta put it in neutral or it'll break down
It's rustin' apart from bumper to bumper
From 1983
It can barely reach 80
His craptastic Chevy Nova.
Chevy Nova!
Chevy Nova!
It's from '83
It'll break down right in front of you or me
Bob's Chevy Nova.
I was just thinking
Why is he keeping
His wreck of a car!
Buy a new car!
One that's not broken!
One that is not, a Chevy Nova
Chevy Nova!
Chevy Nova!
It's from '83
It'll break down right in front of you or me
Bob's Chevy Nova
Bob's Chevy Nova
Good ol'e Bobby's Chevy Nova.
January 24, 2005
Saturday Night
Saturday night, I did something that I hadn't done in a long time: I went on a date. With a boy, no less.
Meet Russ.
Russ is smart. You can tell he's smart because he wears glasses and a bowtie. Russ was smart enough to bring both flowers and chocolate on our date. What a gentleman! He was also smart enough to dress in only his boxers, realizing that I'm so hard up, I'd be all up in his business before I closed the door behind him. Plus, it accentuates his six pack.
He's photo-shy, so I didn't get to take more pictures of him. His hair isn't quite as frizzy as it looks in the picture, and I took the picture while he was chewing, so his facial expression is a bit off. He's much better looking in real life, I swear.
(I'd also like to point out that even though I'm not a size queen, Russ still has it going on. That bulge in his boxers ain't just for show. While he might not seem like much on first glance, he's a grower. He grew to over five times his original size when we were doing the wet and nasty.)
Unfortunately, I awoke Sunday morning to find that he was gone.
I hope he calls.
------------
EDIT: This post was much funnier in my head.
Meet Russ.
Russ is smart. You can tell he's smart because he wears glasses and a bowtie. Russ was smart enough to bring both flowers and chocolate on our date. What a gentleman! He was also smart enough to dress in only his boxers, realizing that I'm so hard up, I'd be all up in his business before I closed the door behind him. Plus, it accentuates his six pack.
He's photo-shy, so I didn't get to take more pictures of him. His hair isn't quite as frizzy as it looks in the picture, and I took the picture while he was chewing, so his facial expression is a bit off. He's much better looking in real life, I swear.
(I'd also like to point out that even though I'm not a size queen, Russ still has it going on. That bulge in his boxers ain't just for show. While he might not seem like much on first glance, he's a grower. He grew to over five times his original size when we were doing the wet and nasty.)
Unfortunately, I awoke Sunday morning to find that he was gone.
I hope he calls.
------------
EDIT: This post was much funnier in my head.
January 21, 2005
They're everywhere!
The discussion section for my gay and lesbian studies class is full of ugly lesbians. I'm the only guy in the class. Even the TA muff-dives. I'm afraid I'm going to catch it. If I have to wake up for a 9 o'clock class, there had better be some hot gay boys to make out with during the videos, goddamnit.
Like this one. Why isn't he in my class, and why won't he make out with me during videos? Why, God, why?
Like this one. Why isn't he in my class, and why won't he make out with me during videos? Why, God, why?
January 20, 2005
She also mispronounced it.
There is this girl on the second floor who has earned my wrath. She's an acquaintance, but I'm friends with her suitemates. Usually she's a mild annoyance, but this week she's gone too far.
Not only did the girl in question buy a copy of the book by she-who-must-not-be-named, but she bought a collection of books by that woman. She then had the audacity to show them to me.
"How are you?"
"I'm excited. I ordered some books during break, and they're here."
"Yeah? Did you get textbooks, or what?"
"I got a collection of books by Ayn Rand, who's great..."
And with that, I slammed the door in her face. It was tricky, because I was in her room at the time, but I did it anyway. In hindsight, I probably should have let her finish her sentence, in case she went on to say "...great for bonfires and inducing vomiting." That's probably the only acceptable end to that sentence.
I refuse to talk to her now. When she last tried to make small talk with me, after the incident, I told her to go to hell and take her Ayn Rand books with her.
I feel totally justified in doing it, but everyone else in the building thinks I'm a jerk because they don't get it. Hopefully at least someone who reads this blog agrees with me.
Not only did the girl in question buy a copy of the book by she-who-must-not-be-named, but she bought a collection of books by that woman. She then had the audacity to show them to me.
"How are you?"
"I'm excited. I ordered some books during break, and they're here."
"Yeah? Did you get textbooks, or what?"
"I got a collection of books by Ayn Rand, who's great..."
And with that, I slammed the door in her face. It was tricky, because I was in her room at the time, but I did it anyway. In hindsight, I probably should have let her finish her sentence, in case she went on to say "...great for bonfires and inducing vomiting." That's probably the only acceptable end to that sentence.
I refuse to talk to her now. When she last tried to make small talk with me, after the incident, I told her to go to hell and take her Ayn Rand books with her.
I feel totally justified in doing it, but everyone else in the building thinks I'm a jerk because they don't get it. Hopefully at least someone who reads this blog agrees with me.
January 19, 2005
Would you like a doctor to take a picture to look at me from inside as well?
Probably the most common question asked of me is whether or not I have a face pic. While I do have a few, I don't like giving them out. I enjoy the anonymity, the secret identity that blogs give. I've mentioned this before, and for those of you who are too lazy to go through the archives (which includes me, because I'm not posting a link to the post), essentially I compare blogs to books. Sometimes when they're made into movies, the actors chosen match the characters I have in my head. Sometimes they don't. Even though Renée Zellweger got good reviews, she will never be my Bridget Jones. You could be a very attractive guy, but you might not be the person I associate with your online persona. And I'm sure it's the same with other people. (Plus, genetics has me breaking out more often than the average college guy (curse you, Dad!).)
I hope a sketch of myself sates (rather than wets) appetites. Before you go fawning over my mad artistic skills, I have to admit that I had to trace around the nose because I can't draw noses, and my ears are covered with hair because I can't draw ears. Also, my top lip is not larger than my bottom lip, even though it looks like it. I took a picture of the sketch with my digital camera, because I don't have a scanner, so the quality isn't great. But still, here I am, in some sort of graphite glory.
January 18, 2005
So much for that resolution
I returned from break to find that I'm getting a new suitemate, and my current suitemate is moving to the tenth floor. It's nothing to do with our relationship; hell, he slept on our floor last night because his new roommate is a creep. I'm not really sure why, but we now have a new enigmatic 21 year old gay bearcub with a nice smile as a suitemate. Unfortunately, we stored a lot of stuff in the spare room, and weren't told that people were playing musical dorms until they arrived back from break. I suppose I have less reason to complain than the people who returned from break and told they were switching rooms, but you really cared about them you'd read their blogs.
Monday morning, at the ungodly hour of 9 AM, our cleaning woman knocked on my door, wondering whose stuff was in the other room. I slept naked that night, so I had to grab on a pair of boxers and clean up my roommate's dirty clothing and old textbooks from the room. It took over an hour of moving his stuff before the cleaning woman could go in there and vacuum.
I complained to everyone as they returned. When I wake up naked, it's not the cleaning lady's face I want to see. I grumbled and told everyone that my roommate owes me, big-time. Everyone seemed to agree, and said they would get on his case.
My roommate has been home for less than 24 hours and eight people have already told him that he owes me a blowjob. And he has to swallow.
I'm a stinker.
Monday morning, at the ungodly hour of 9 AM, our cleaning woman knocked on my door, wondering whose stuff was in the other room. I slept naked that night, so I had to grab on a pair of boxers and clean up my roommate's dirty clothing and old textbooks from the room. It took over an hour of moving his stuff before the cleaning woman could go in there and vacuum.
I complained to everyone as they returned. When I wake up naked, it's not the cleaning lady's face I want to see. I grumbled and told everyone that my roommate owes me, big-time. Everyone seemed to agree, and said they would get on his case.
My roommate has been home for less than 24 hours and eight people have already told him that he owes me a blowjob. And he has to swallow.
I'm a stinker.
January 17, 2005
Facelifted.
Hopefully all those crybabies on Firefox can now see this site perfectly. After three hours of trying to start a template fresh, I gave up and bastardized one of the pre-made blogger templates. Everyone in the sidebar should have made it into the dropdown bloglist; if you don't see your name there or if the link's off, just let me know. I already know that I accidentally lost a few people when making the shift over, but hopefully I caught all the omissions and everything's all hunkydory.
In other news, there are two new mastheads. For details, I will have you put your keyboards in their full, upright positions and click on the art link below the Peyton portrait in the sidebar. I'll try and update that post when I add new mastheads.
I think, save for changing link colors maybe, I'm done with fiddling with HTML for a while. If anything crashes or starts on fire, let me know, but otherwise I'm not looking at any HTML if I can avoid it. Regular postings will resume on Tuesday, hopefully.
In other news, there are two new mastheads. For details, I will have you put your keyboards in their full, upright positions and click on the art link below the Peyton portrait in the sidebar. I'll try and update that post when I add new mastheads.
I think, save for changing link colors maybe, I'm done with fiddling with HTML for a while. If anything crashes or starts on fire, let me know, but otherwise I'm not looking at any HTML if I can avoid it. Regular postings will resume on Tuesday, hopefully.
January 13, 2005
I'm pretty sure this now counts as a fetish.
I leave in T minus 5 hours to return to the dorms. I seem to acquired a hell of a lot more stuff than I had anticipated.
Specifically, underwear.
During the course of the last three weeks, I have bought 15 pairs of underwear. Boxers, briefs, boxer-briefs, trunks, low-rise bikinis, full-cut briefs, sport cut, you name it, it'll soon be covering my ass, if it hasn't already. Add the 15 to the pairs I brought home with me, and I'm pretty sure I didn't need to wash any underwear while I was home. Hell, I had trouble closing my underwear drawer at school after doing laundry before I left. I have no idea how I'm going to cram them all in there.
Last year A year and a half ago, the ex's affectionate nickname for me was "Boxer Bob," due to the consistency in my underwear choices. Oh, if only he could see me now, in my full, thonged glory.
Erm.
I would say that maybe that was a poor choice of words, but to be honest, I don't know if it was.
Specifically, underwear.
During the course of the last three weeks, I have bought 15 pairs of underwear. Boxers, briefs, boxer-briefs, trunks, low-rise bikinis, full-cut briefs, sport cut, you name it, it'll soon be covering my ass, if it hasn't already. Add the 15 to the pairs I brought home with me, and I'm pretty sure I didn't need to wash any underwear while I was home. Hell, I had trouble closing my underwear drawer at school after doing laundry before I left. I have no idea how I'm going to cram them all in there.
Erm.
I would say that maybe that was a poor choice of words, but to be honest, I don't know if it was.
January 12, 2005
JAKE GYLLENHAAL IS GAY! HE WILL BE MINE!!!1!!1!one!!
From the IMDB message boards:
PS. Sic, in case you couldn't tell.
Jake: Hey there!
Interviewer: Hey Jake, first of I have to say how great it is to see an young actor like you succed in hollywood like that.
Jake: Yeah its been great...hollywood hard though, but I love making movies so I cant complain too much!
Interviewer: Talking of hollywood...theres been rumours going round for months now...heck I'm just going to come out and say it! there saying you're gay Jake but as I'm a nice guy I am going to give you a chance to set the record straight.
Jake: [starts to fidget now and the Interviewer looks shocked] I got to get this out...I been holding it in for years...I am gay, I actually got a boyfreind, his name is Rambo and his a a male stripper who I met in Las Vegas.
Interviewer: I thought you had a girlfreind
Jake: cover up. I am actually getting married to Rambo, its going to be gay tastic!
Interviewer: Sorry but this is a shock...why didnt you tell anyone sooner?
Jake: you know what people are like, I thought people would start shouting at me in the streets, stuff like gay Jake, or Jake you're gay! that would hurt BIG time.
Interviewer: Well Jake it was nice meeting you...
Jake: you too and I must say you got very nice hands...
Interviewer: Anyway! bye Jake and got luck with your future with your boyfreind
PS. Sic, in case you couldn't tell.
January 11, 2005
Call me Dottie, and you die!
I leave to go back to school in a matter of mere days, and have tried to visit my favorite teacher from high school a few times only to find that she's never in the building. I have engaged in the current email dialogue with this teacher, which some of you may or may not find amusing.
In case you haven't guessed, nothing ever got done because we spent the entire class period trading quips and barbs. I'm hoping to get my hands on a handheld recorder to record this event for posterity. It should be a riot.
From: Bob
To: My English Teacher Senior Year
Subject: Visiting hours
Salutations, Red-Haired Demon of the West!
This is Bob, the prettiest pupil you ever did see. After conversing with Liz Fox this evening, I decided that it might be fun to stop by and see you sometime. (Insert Mae West innuendo.) However, I've decided not to step foot in that building again without written confirmation that you'll be around. I stopped by occasionally last year, and you always seemed to have left because you are a bad teacher and a doodoo head, and there are only so many polite conversations I can have with people I didn't like then and continue to dislike now. I'm leaving on the 13th, so hopefully you'll decide to earn your paycheck one of these days and stay at school for a brief little chat.
Otherwise, if there's a poetry class that you'd like me to rip to shreds, I could always show up during school hours, except for Tuesday, because I think I'm busy that afternoon. Though for the opportunity to lay down some mad poetry skills on a roup of undeserving freshman, I might be able to fit you into my schedule.
Attractively,
Bob
From: My English Teacher from Senior Year
To: Bob
Subject: RE: Visiting Hours
Greetings, Twittering Hamster of the South---
Well, well, well (mighty deep subject for a dooodooohead, doncha think?)! As usual, my schedule changes every day, so you may end up looking for me on the days when I'm not teaching 6 1/2 or 7 hours, and actually have prep time, which means that I am hiding from all so I can get some of my papers corrected and not have to spend another three hours correcting papers at home every night (certain Russian writers would be very proud of the intricate, and correct, construction of this sentence)!
So, my frivolously frittering friend, if you'd deign to stop in to see me, and next Tuesday doesn't work, you have the following choices: Mon-Thursday 5:30-7:30 a.m. (yes, Brighteyes-and this is not a Conner Oberst reference-haul your college carcass out of bed before the sun rises, like 90% of the rest of the working stiffs, and get on over here); Wednesday and Thursday, 9:40-10:10. It's exam week and I have a million exams AND "stoopid" research papers/fact cards to grade before the end of the semester. OR, you could actually visit my abode (you've been there before). I should be home around 5:00 on Saturday, if that works for you. Let me know before 11:00 today, as I have a meeting this afternoon. Or you could call me at XXX-XXXX and leave a message.
I look forward to hearing from the prettiest pupil I ever did see. Or you. Wait a minute, is that elderberries I smell?
My Favorite English Teacher
From: Bob
To: The English Teacher
Subject: RE: visiting hours
My dear elderberry-munching foo-
There's a 5:30 in the morning? Surely you realize that Chinese tradition dictates that the year of the Rooster starts NEXT month, and, while I may be cock-y, I don't think that's what they had in mind.
Of course I'll deign to stop by. I work Saturday until 9, so unless you'd like to stop by and pick up a giant bottle of tequila to help you get through the night, I would have to stop by too late for an old working-stiff fogey like yourself. Besides, I've had more than a few friendly reminders from police officers that teachers don't always enjoy it when I visit their homes under the cover of darkness.
I babysit on Wednesday morning, so it looks as though Thursday morning you should prepare yourself for the awesome experience of my visit, for I'm Mr. Brightside. Shall I meet you in your room, or do you want to meet out by the bike rack for a quick smoke between classes? C'mon--all the cool kids are doing it.
Eternally the Dorothy Parker to your Alexander Wollcott,
Bob
From : The Same English Teacher
To : Bob
Subject : RE: visiting hours
Old Fogey? OLD FOGEY? You are a worthless piece of dreck, young man. Too bad you never had any decent teachers to set you on the straight and narrow!
I shall look forward to meeting you in my room. I have an exam that begins at 7:40, so *poof*! appear at a time that you are able to convince your carcass would be appropriate. And I don't care what the cool /Kool kids are doing, Bobby S. I go where there is no trail and leave a path for others to follow (sorry, Ralph Waldo)! Looking forward to seeing you, Dorothy!!!
The English Teacher
In case you haven't guessed, nothing ever got done because we spent the entire class period trading quips and barbs. I'm hoping to get my hands on a handheld recorder to record this event for posterity. It should be a riot.
January 10, 2005
Yet Another Saturday Night Recap.
I've complained before about my lack of gay friends, and how I missed them.
Then I remembered that I never had any gay friends in high school; they were all either too flamboyant for my tastes, or were closeted and afraid to be seen with me.
I went to a performing arts school. I grew up doing musical theatre, taking art classes, singing in choirs, going to poetry slams, and other artsy fartsy stuff. That's what I miss. I miss hanging out with pseudo-artists. My problem is collegiate hoi polloi.
For example, most Saturday nights in the dorm involve some sort of drinking game, and continue with the hijinx that naturaly ensue with drinking large quantites of cheap beer in a short amount of time. I mean, we're college students who go to a school known for its partying.
This Saturday night, I hung out with my friend Anna, who goes to a small liberal arts school in my hometown that is known for its musical prodigies.
Saturday nights with my friend Anna and her friends involve drinking a bottle of port, rocking out to Shostakovich, getting subs at 2 in the morning and critiquing the architecture on the way, and discussing the religious undertones of Leiber's philosophy. (I don't know how to spell his name so I can't link to it, but basically he said that there exist billions of theoretical parellel universes, and God chose the best of all possible worlds).
It was such a beautiful thing. I don't know if it's because alcohol wasn't the dominant drive behind the night's proceedings, or if it's because everyone is a BFA in music and they're just inherently different people, or if it's that they're all sort of hippies, or if I just caught them on a good night, but I had more fun on Saturday night than I ever had at school.
If it weren't for the proximity, I don't think I'd be friends with anyone at school. Sure, I like them at all, but I don't really fit in there like I do with my friend Anna and her friends. I'm sure that getting out there and broadening my horizons is fine and dandy, but sometimes it's nice to get back to my roots.
Speaking of roots, I dyed my hair the other week. It was a bright shade of orange for a while there, but it's settled into something more natural now.
Then I remembered that I never had any gay friends in high school; they were all either too flamboyant for my tastes, or were closeted and afraid to be seen with me.
I went to a performing arts school. I grew up doing musical theatre, taking art classes, singing in choirs, going to poetry slams, and other artsy fartsy stuff. That's what I miss. I miss hanging out with pseudo-artists. My problem is collegiate hoi polloi.
For example, most Saturday nights in the dorm involve some sort of drinking game, and continue with the hijinx that naturaly ensue with drinking large quantites of cheap beer in a short amount of time. I mean, we're college students who go to a school known for its partying.
This Saturday night, I hung out with my friend Anna, who goes to a small liberal arts school in my hometown that is known for its musical prodigies.
Saturday nights with my friend Anna and her friends involve drinking a bottle of port, rocking out to Shostakovich, getting subs at 2 in the morning and critiquing the architecture on the way, and discussing the religious undertones of Leiber's philosophy. (I don't know how to spell his name so I can't link to it, but basically he said that there exist billions of theoretical parellel universes, and God chose the best of all possible worlds).
It was such a beautiful thing. I don't know if it's because alcohol wasn't the dominant drive behind the night's proceedings, or if it's because everyone is a BFA in music and they're just inherently different people, or if it's that they're all sort of hippies, or if I just caught them on a good night, but I had more fun on Saturday night than I ever had at school.
If it weren't for the proximity, I don't think I'd be friends with anyone at school. Sure, I like them at all, but I don't really fit in there like I do with my friend Anna and her friends. I'm sure that getting out there and broadening my horizons is fine and dandy, but sometimes it's nice to get back to my roots.
Speaking of roots, I dyed my hair the other week. It was a bright shade of orange for a while there, but it's settled into something more natural now.
January 7, 2005
A little something about the Bloggies
Excuse me for sounding like something out of a Hallmark special, but you guys mean a lot to me. I'm serious.
The first few months of this blog are terrrible, I know. I wasn't the happiest person on earth at the time. But at some point, I decided that 'depression be damned,' and proceeded to at least try and write something interesting every day. I spent most of the time alone in my dorm watching bad television so it wasn't always easy, but eventually I got the hang of it. And you know what? It really helped. It realy helped when people started linking back to me, and when people starting linking to me first. At times, blogs would be the only contact I had with anyone.
There are people on the sidebar whom I've made no contact with except for adding their names to the sidebar. I respond to emails, and chat online occasionally, but that's about it. I don't remember the last time I left a comment, but since less than one percent of my readers leave comments, I suppose that's not that surprising.
I write for an audience. That's why this journal is public. Regardless of what you may say, you're writing for an audience when you write, too. If you didn't want people to read your blog or journal, you wouldn't put it on the internet, and you wouldn't post links or write emails announcing your blog. Opening a word document and writing costs the same amount of money as writing a blog post, and takes less time setting up.
Not every post, but I have posts that are more than a few pages long (see here and here for examples). I spend time writing these posts, and I don't even write them everyday. There are people on the sidebar who spend more time on their posts than I do, and that's not including pictures, formatting, drawing networking, coding, photoshopping, audioposting, or whatever it is your favorite bloggers do other than blog. It's nice to give credit to people who really care about their blogs, who try to entertain and enlight the best they can.
I easily spend an hour a day reading blogs. Probably more, but it's kind of sad to think about it. I keep track of everyone on the sidebar, and everyone I've been meaning to add to the sidebar, too. Even if you spend ten minutes a day, that's still fifty hours a year that you spend reading blogs. Taking five minutes to nominate your three or four favorite blogs for an award isn't going to be the end of the world.
I hate it when people troll for compliments, hits and awards. You're no longer in 7th grade, and you shouldn't have to worry about having the cool kids invite you over to have lunch at their table. I'd just like to point out that I am, in no way, implying that you should nominate me. Hell, I didn't even nominate myself. In fact, don't nominate me. I doubt I'm the best blogger you read. Nominate those who are important to you.
You don't have to do anything hokey like write a sappy post like this, but try and do something nice for the bloggers you read. Even just being short-listed for an award would probably make someone's day. You have until Monday at five to nominate people. Try to make a blogger's day. I'm going to try.
The first few months of this blog are terrrible, I know. I wasn't the happiest person on earth at the time. But at some point, I decided that 'depression be damned,' and proceeded to at least try and write something interesting every day. I spent most of the time alone in my dorm watching bad television so it wasn't always easy, but eventually I got the hang of it. And you know what? It really helped. It realy helped when people started linking back to me, and when people starting linking to me first. At times, blogs would be the only contact I had with anyone.
There are people on the sidebar whom I've made no contact with except for adding their names to the sidebar. I respond to emails, and chat online occasionally, but that's about it. I don't remember the last time I left a comment, but since less than one percent of my readers leave comments, I suppose that's not that surprising.
I write for an audience. That's why this journal is public. Regardless of what you may say, you're writing for an audience when you write, too. If you didn't want people to read your blog or journal, you wouldn't put it on the internet, and you wouldn't post links or write emails announcing your blog. Opening a word document and writing costs the same amount of money as writing a blog post, and takes less time setting up.
Not every post, but I have posts that are more than a few pages long (see here and here for examples). I spend time writing these posts, and I don't even write them everyday. There are people on the sidebar who spend more time on their posts than I do, and that's not including pictures, formatting, drawing networking, coding, photoshopping, audioposting, or whatever it is your favorite bloggers do other than blog. It's nice to give credit to people who really care about their blogs, who try to entertain and enlight the best they can.
I easily spend an hour a day reading blogs. Probably more, but it's kind of sad to think about it. I keep track of everyone on the sidebar, and everyone I've been meaning to add to the sidebar, too. Even if you spend ten minutes a day, that's still fifty hours a year that you spend reading blogs. Taking five minutes to nominate your three or four favorite blogs for an award isn't going to be the end of the world.
I hate it when people troll for compliments, hits and awards. You're no longer in 7th grade, and you shouldn't have to worry about having the cool kids invite you over to have lunch at their table. I'd just like to point out that I am, in no way, implying that you should nominate me. Hell, I didn't even nominate myself. In fact, don't nominate me. I doubt I'm the best blogger you read. Nominate those who are important to you.
You don't have to do anything hokey like write a sappy post like this, but try and do something nice for the bloggers you read. Even just being short-listed for an award would probably make someone's day. You have until Monday at five to nominate people. Try to make a blogger's day. I'm going to try.
January 6, 2005
Don't pull the thang out, unless you plan to bang
One of my favorite songs is "Bombs Over Baghdad" by Outkast. It's been my song for at least five years now, ever since I got bored in a computer lab during my freshman year of high school and decided to learn all of the lyrics. Now, I can rap this song faster than even Outkast themself. It's mad fly, yo.
For those of you who have lived under a rock recently, or prefer to get your musical stylings from "Sweating To the Oldies," here's an MP3.
Imagine my horror, will you, after trolling around amIright.com, a website dedicated to misheard lyrics, and discovering that I've been chanting along with the wrong gospel chorus all the while. It's "Power music, electric revival," not "Bible music, electric revival." I feel so stupid, but not as stupid as I could feel. At least I didn't sing some of these gems while keeping my skillz fresh.
God loves music so lets read the bible
Gotta go pee, it's an electric revival
I don't need no Atlantic revival
I hope you learnt a lesson from the bible
Pop loves music, big airships and milo.
And, my personal favorite:
5, 4, 3, taking lessons in Tae*Bo.
For those of you who have lived under a rock recently, or prefer to get your musical stylings from "Sweating To the Oldies," here's an MP3.
Imagine my horror, will you, after trolling around amIright.com, a website dedicated to misheard lyrics, and discovering that I've been chanting along with the wrong gospel chorus all the while. It's "Power music, electric revival," not "Bible music, electric revival." I feel so stupid, but not as stupid as I could feel. At least I didn't sing some of these gems while keeping my skillz fresh.
God loves music so lets read the bible
Gotta go pee, it's an electric revival
I don't need no Atlantic revival
I hope you learnt a lesson from the bible
Pop loves music, big airships and milo.
And, my personal favorite:
5, 4, 3, taking lessons in Tae*Bo.
January 5, 2005
From the archives
This is taken from a blog I had back in high school.
It's no wonder I never had to come out of the closet.
Fabulousness.
The Discovery Channel is interviewing Kat and me (and MJ) on Monday for being geniuses at the Performing Arts School, and Kat and I decided that we must look fablulous for the interview. Like, so fabulous that a gaggle of teenagers would create websites devoted to them. Complete and utter fabulousness. So Mel and I went to the mall to find the fabulousness, and lo and behold, we bump into Kat and MJ, also in search of fabulousness for Kat (I doubt MJ is capable of fabulousness). I ended up buying two red/dark reddish shirts on clearance, and some red bowling-type shoes. Don't tell anyone, but they're women's shoes. You totally can't tell, and they match the shirts so well, and Payless has the antithesis of fabulous shoes for guys.
Topping off our fabulous fabulous excursion, Mel and I went to the oxygen bar, for it was having a fabulous two-for-one deal. And it was quite enjoyable, except for that it dried out our noses quite quickly, and dried out noses are not fabulous, to say the least.
In case you haven't noticed, it was the quirk de jour today to say the word fabulous as many times as possible. When our napkins fell off of the table at Erberts and Gerberts, it was because the napkins weren't fabulous enough to be at our table. When we heard Coldplay 3 times over the speakers, it was fabulous. My ostentatiously loud sunglasses were fabulous. We were the epitome of fabulous and it was fabulously excellent.
Speaking of Erberts and Gerberts, they played the Mighty Mighty Bosstones. I didn't approve. Who invited 1996 to come out and play?
Anyways, fabulousness abound.
It's no wonder I never had to come out of the closet.
January 3, 2005
Not to make a joke out of it or anything, really.
For those of you who haven't heard, the Westboro Bapstist Church (of Fred Phelps and godhatesfags.com fame) has released a press release explaining the tsunami.
God was merely trying to punish the homosexuals who were vacationing in the area.
Now, I've hada lot of my fair share sex once or twice, years and years ago. I've read stories and seen pictures, and I can understand that buttsex isn't everyone's cup of tea. Not just the buttsex, but other (popular?) fetishes, like scat and fisting, are sick and weird, at least to me and I'm sure to countless of others as well. But there are a fair amount of guys and gals who are into that sort of thing, and as long as I'm not involved, they can go right on ahead with their kinky fetishes.
Which, of course, got me thinking.
If God caused the tsunami for punishment for all the gay people on earth, just how kinky must the dinosaurs have been to justify wiping out their entire species?
God was merely trying to punish the homosexuals who were vacationing in the area.
Now, I've had
Which, of course, got me thinking.
If God caused the tsunami for punishment for all the gay people on earth, just how kinky must the dinosaurs have been to justify wiping out their entire species?
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