I'm a lean, mean (posting) machine.

I'm not a big fan of sports. I'm fair-to-decent at them, but it's rare that I would ever devote an afternoon to tossing a ball around.

In elementary school, I excelled at most gym activities. I was able to run around the block the second fastest in the school. I was the first person in my grade to kick the ball over the fence during kickball. I won Jump Rope for Heart in third and fourth grade. I had golden hands for playing touch football during recess.

Sometime during junior high, I developed a distaste for gym class, probably because pretty much my entire class was fell off the puberty tree, and was smacked in the face by every branch on the way down. (I include myself only slightly in this category.) For the most part, adverting my eyes in the locker room wasn't to hide my sexuality, but rather to protect my eyes from the unruly flesh, back acne, and body hair.

And so I became a bastard in gym class. I skipped the mile. (Skipped as in "Loo, loo, skip to my loo," not skipping the class.) I only looked interested in soccer when the teacher was looking my direction. I learned the graceful art of 'accidentally' kicking the ball while retrieving it. I once spent an entire class period half-heartedly chasing a ball. It was brilliant.

Then came Renaissance, my arts charter high school. I took dance lessons, hardcore dance lessons in Modern and Jazz. I wasn't bad at them, but really. If you haven't been taking dance lessons since before you could walk, you're not going to be a good dancer. I also took a stage combat class, which was more goofing off than actual work.

I don't exercise any more. I don't lift weights, I don't run, I don't play sports, but stil I remain thin. My BMI is 19, which makes me pretty damn close to clinically underweight, and according to the height/weight charts online, I'm below the recommended color bar. I'm a vegetarian, so that might help explain my svelte physique, and I am a 'youngun' so my metabolism hasn't gone to pot yet. But I don't think that's the reason for my waif-like status.

Apparently, for most of my teen years I developed a healthy exercise regimen that explains my lean demeanor. I would think that finding a workout partner would help speed along my progress, but until that happens, I guess I'll keep on doing what I've been doing. It's worked well for me so far. Unfortunately, I didn't keep records last month, so I can't tell for sure how much weight I lost, but I will say that my jeans have been feeling a bit baggy lately.

As it turns out, we do need this hateration

Sorry for not posting yesterday. I spent the day flitting from graduation party to graduation party like some sort of socially transmitted disease. I didn't have a lot of fun at the parties, but rather stuck around afterwards and hung out. I do better in small groups, about six or less. Any more than that, and I tend to become subdued.

But! I did become schooled in the brilliant game known as hateball. (In honor of Harry Potter, all positive adjectives have become irrelevant and have been replaced with brilliant.)

Hateball is a game where everyone stands around in a bunch. The person with the ball lists something they hate, and then whips the ball to someone else, and they they list something they hate.

Objects of hateration included:

fat boys with lisps
Mrs. Voight's mullet
my favorite tv show was preempted for crappy Reagan-ness
I had to give a handjob to somebody for gas money
Shelley is really pretty but she's a bitch
your mother
people who own the tshirt that says 2QT2BSTR8
elevator music
fat girls wearing tank tops and low rise jeans
bigots who pronounce the R in (the n-word)
'Wicked' didn't win best Musical
we're out of salsa

You get the idea. Also, we went through the various yearbooks and honed our gaydar. Our sirens got quite the workout, let me tell you.

Also, I believe that this guy has developed a crush on me. I am amused.

Link Dump.

I've got nothing interesting for today, so I'll leave you all with the random links I found throughout the week. If I were in the mood, I'd elaborate upon and devote an entire post to each, with personal experiences, commentary, etc. but I'm not going to. Instead, it's just a 'wham bam here's some links, ma'am.'


Satan in the Groin!

Dance Dance Resurrection

Christian Hanky Code

Superpope!

Use your body as a billboard

Jesus is my poolboy

How to seem smarter


Happy linking! (PS. Links will open in new window)

The phone rings at 11:26 last night.

My parents: "There's been an accident, somebody's hurt"

My sister: "Somebody broke up. They're in tears and they want to talk to me"

Me: Well, I didn't have a clue why anyone would be calling.


Tina (via the phone): OHMYGODHARRYPOTTER C'MON BOB LET'S GO SEE IT!!!

Me: Ok.


Midnight showing of Harry Potter. Jaw-dropping. Visual orgasm, directed by the love child of Julie Taymor, Peter Jackson, Tim Burton, Erich von Stroheim and Ang Lee, if such a thing were possible. Best movie I've seen in a long time.

More later, as it is 3:15 right now, and I work 8 hours tomorrow.

I mean today. Fuck.

Give you some-some-some of this Cinnabun

I originally had this on my livejournal a few weeks ago, but with the name yabbadabbadude, there are only so many times I can be called ambitious and brainy without the urge to go out and donate a thesaurus to the website. I added commentary below, so that it looks like I at least spent a few minutes working on this post. Which I did. I think you guys are worth it, so I work it, and put my things down, flip them, and reverse them. It's all for you.

R	Respectable
A	Artsy
W	Wired
Y	Yum
O	Old
U	Unusual
T	Tasty
H	Healthy

Name / Username:

Name Acronym Generator
From Go-Quiz.com

Respectable-Almost too much so. I mean, I'm glad my friends think highly of me, but for a while there, I was trotted out in front of everyone's family, after they came out as an example that all gay kids aren't, you know, batshit insane.
Artsy-Prom King of an Arts school, who named his blog after Dostoevsky and has a mix tape of Shostakovich in his stereo as I type this? Sounds about right to me.
Wired-I've got a basic knowledge of HTML, and I occasionally scan gizmodo, but it's not like I'm a cyborg or anything.

Yum-Well, I guess that's debatable. I am a vegetarian who likes his citrus fruits and drinks the daily recommended amount of water, but I guess you guys will just have to find out for yourselves...
Old-Seeing as how I stopped being jailbait this millenium, I don't think I can qualify as being old. I like to think that I have an old soul; after all, I was the most mature person in my grade since elementary school, but since I'm not even old enough to drink, I don't think I count as old.
Unusual-Cue the Cyndi Lauper!
Tasty-Again, you're just going to have to find out for yourself. Though since it's mentioned twice, I think the meme guys are convinced.
Healthy-I don't drink, don't smoke, so what do I do? Well, I have a BMI of 19.1, which is on the cusp of being too low; not many guys over 6' weigh less than 150 lbs. But I don't have a six pack or anything to speak of, so whatever.

My Jakey-wakey

Apropos his question, I'd like to state that yes, Jake Gyllenhaal is the new "It" boy. For bloggers, at least. I mean, c'mon. Look at him.

Of course, I'd like to point out that I was one of the first on his bandwagon (and one of the first who wanted his caboose as well). I saw him in the West End debuting This Is Our Youth years ago, where I sat behind Natalie Portman and her beau at the time. He looked dumb and cute. The beau, not Jake. Jake looked hot. I of course loved Donnie Darko when it came out, and I even wrote a paper on the social commentary (via Morris Dees) in Bubble Boy. I used his pictures as a background in two blogs when I was in high school.

In other words: I had my eyes on him first, so back off, bitches. He's mine.

To those of you who've emailed me, or introduced themselved to me via AIM:

If I seem like a cunt online, I'm sorry. Sometimes I'll reread an email I wrote, with the original message as an attachment, and I'll think, "Wow. I'm such a jerk. No wonder I have no friends." I'm better in real life, I promise. Same thing with AIM. You can still feel free to contact me though; I could use the practice. Eventually, I will get the hang of it, just like I’ve gotten the hang of blogging, and will be able to, you know, have conversations with people online without sounding like a huge cunt.

Speaking of huge cunts, Ang Lee should be raped by a mob of Orcs while Celine Dion serenades him, with Bush reading from his Bible and neo-Nazi Barbies shoved into any orifices not being defiled.

"Ang said two men herding sheep was far more sexual than two men having sex on screen.” The divine Jake Gyllenhaal said that.

What is that, some kind of sick joke? I want my hot sweaty mansex, goddamnit!

This is, of course, a rhetorical question.

Don't you just hate it when your ex-boyfriend, whom you have been trying to get over for the past 6 months, leaves an away message stating that he just found out about National Masturbation Month and is now celebrating, and plans on ending the celebration with a big bang? Especially when you thought you were finally getting over him because that one episode of West Wing was on, the one that always made you cry because of him and you didn't cry this time but now you have these thoughts of him permeating your mind because he used to make the greatest faces when he was about to cum and you can’t get the pictures out of your head, and you don't want to act on your impulse to join him because damnit! you're over him now, or at least you tell yourself that over and over because it's not like he's going to call you to help him celebrate because you haven't spoken in five and a half months and he's three states away but if he did call you'd be on the next plane because he still holds that much sway over you--FUCK!

Erm... I mean, this, uh, happened to a friend of mine...a friend of a friend, really. Barely know the guy. I obviously am not talking about me here.

You all buy that, right?

Memorial Day plans. Tentative.

-Oogle over Allison Janney and Rob Lowe in the West Wing marathon.

-Laundry.

-Team up with Hulk Hogan, He-Man, and Mr. T to fight Voltron and George W. Bush

-Make rocking t-shirts with my sister. Ideas include: keep on rockin in the free world, you're no rock n roll fun, dance this mess around, and self-depricating bones and skin.

-All you can eat sushi buffet tonight.

-Watch this movie, which would be overdue today, but I'm given an extra day because of the holiday.

-Most important. Do my patriotic duty.

OBITER DICTUM:

that which is said by the way or in passing
(from Latin: ob=by, iter=road or way, dictum=pronouncement, saying)(Addtional datum: Dictum was the name of my first online blog, which was over at diaryland. ::falling star across the screen:: The More You Know...)

Sane, paululum linguae Latinae dico-- sic faciunt omnes. Vero, Latine loqui non est difficilissimum. Revera linguam Latinam vix cognovi, sed simulo.

My favorite Latin saying:

Fac me cocleario vomere!
Gag me with a spoon!

Latin class is over for the day, I'm afraid. Anyway, I switched commenting systems, because squawkbox had been acting up, and I wasn't all too pleased. The version that comes with blogger is teh shittxor, or whatever the l337 kids are calling it nowadays, so I'm at haloscan, along with everyone else on earth, practically.

None of you care, do you? I didn't think so. I don't mean to bore you with this stuff. I'm just letting you know that I'm starting over with comments, and, instead of having something plain like "(1) Comment(s)" I have it in Latin, because I'm scholarly or whatever. So don't be afraid of the odd scratchings next to the timestamp, and pretend that it's just a plain ol' comments link.

Now you know. This way, if someone is hovering over your shoulder while you're reading my blog, and they notice the Latin and ask what it says, you can answer them before you shove a tic tac in their mouth and tell them to get back to their own damn orifices.