|
swing life away says:
so, whats new with you?
$ Judas Cow - The radio's playing a sad song; Bye Bye Baby. says:
fuck all
$ Judas Cow - The radio's playing a sad song; Bye Bye Baby. says:
oh no wait... I got into university.
$ Judas Cow - The radio's playing a sad song; Bye Bye Baby. says:
People seem to think it's wierd when that slips my memory, but I'm not even sure I'm going.
swing life away says:
it's not really weird that it slips your mind. you really seem to show no interest at all in going.
$ Judas Cow - The radio's playing a sad song; Bye Bye Baby. says:
You're the first to noticeFeelin'::  indifferent Tune of the Moment:: Social Distortion - Bye Bye Baby |
|
What, nobody comments anymore?
I've decided people don't care what I have to say; especially when the average entry is something like four pages.
I'm killing off this journal.
A Final Adieu.Feelin':: G'bye! Tune of the Moment:: White Stripes - My Doorbell |
| » See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil |
|---|
I was sitting there in a comfortable chair
And that was all that I needed
Then my friend offered me a drink for us to share
And that was all that I needed
Well, then I felt at ease
But then I'm not too hard to please
I guess you couldn't call me greedy
Then I was shocked to look up
And see Rita Hayworth there in a place so seedy
She walked into the bar with her long, red, curly hair
And that was all that I needed
And I said to my friend, "good god, we're lucky men just to even see her"
---
Rita Hayworth- what an obscure reference. Ms. Hayworth is this beautiful actress from the thirties... actually, beautiful doesn't even begin to describe her. She's one of those women so gorgeous that it's no wonder she became famous and she'll definatly be rememberd for, if nothing else, her looks. She'd be high up on a list of most beautiful women of all time; along with Audrey Hepburn, Grace Kelly, and Marilyn Monroe. Personally, I think Rita deserves to beat out Marilyn and Audrey deserves to beat them both with Grace in tow, but Marilyn has the popularity card in her hand, so if ever a more offical list were made, Marilyn would probably kill it. Of course, the only modern actresses I'd put on such a prestige list would be Thora Birch or Scarlett Johanson (who, ironically enough, were in Ghost World together), and maybe Daryl Hannah, who definatly deserves some recognition considering how good she looks for twenty when she's, infact, closer to three times that age.
But without further ado, Rita Hayworth...
http://www.geocities.com/ritahayworth2/
(let's all thank Hugh Hefner for bringing us out of the sexual slump depicted in these photos. You don't realize what a good idea porn actually is until you look back on it.)
Many of these pictures are becoming pieces of the puzzle that is my screensaver. I've decided that it's classier to have beautiful pictures like these rather then the slutty beautiful pictures I currently have (which, of course, deal more with modern actresses).
And how did this come up? Well, frankly, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to realize that "Take Take Take" is the best song on the new White Stripes song, which I bought on the day it came out- which was yesterday. It grows on you like a disease. I've listened to it like, six times already. It's too short, I find, and too country-influenced for my tastes (by which I mean it's pretty much ALL country; I don't know who the Stripes think they're kidding); but the fact remains that the stripes are my third favourite band (behind, of course, Beck and The Yeah Yeah Yeahs), and after this album it's no exeption. It's far from their best work (which would be their first album, aptly titled "The White Stripes"), but it's still fucking great. As usual, they get more old fashioned with each album, and this one has songs that combine classic, thirties esque tunes with a little rock, a lot of country, and god help me even a little hip-hop. It's hard to picture until you hear the songs "My Ghost" or "The Nurse", which follow this pattern heavily, but every other song is at least influenced by a little bit of each of those genres. It's not the best initiation album if you think you're gonna start listening to the Stripes, but it's perfect for those who already do.
Now, if you're finished looking, and done with listening, why not combine them both as you go see Lords of Dogtown- the finest skateboarding film ever made. If you've ever seen the documentary "Dogtown and Z-Boys" which this film is based on, then you must be stoked (as it were) to see it already. Or perhaps you've already seen it because of how cool the documentary was. Or perhaps you've seen the movie and now want to see the documentary. Or perhaps, you've not seen either, and figure it's about time you hopped on to the old-school bandwagon. Either way, you WILL NOT be disappointed by either film. The more recent and more Hollywood of the two is a dramatic reinactment of the documentary, while the documentary focuses more on skating. All the same, it shows skate footage the way skate footage should be shown (of course, most skate videos don't have the same budget). It's directed by the girl who directed Thirteen, which is a good thing despite that everything else about that movie was really mediocre. It's written by Stacy Peralta, who is the main character so it's like a first person thing. And I saved the best for last- it's produced by David Fincher of Fight Club fame (who, for a while, was also gonna direct, which would have made the movie perfect).
Now, the thing that pisses me off is that I was supposed to see that shit again tonight. Infact, I went out of my way to pick somebody up to drive to somebody elses house to be taken from there to see it. If you think it sounds complicated, boy you should have been there. Of course, when it's your idea, and you who arranged it, you don't usually forget two other kids. But there we were, dealing with her brother as we tried to get her cell number, only to find out that she had left and couldn't tell us, and that it was completely my fault for showing up as planned. Some people are really fucking stupid; but this really isn't too hard to notice. Five minutes of conversation usually suggests this, and I realize now that such plans should have never been made after it took more then five minutes to discuss them. Though, it does take a lot of intelligence to, say, wait twenty minutes or look a number up in a phone book, so maybe I shouldn't criticize.
Speaking of waiting, which I'm sure none of you have been doing for me, I probably should have mentioned the reason for my recent absence closer to the begining of this entry. You see, summatives are, in absolute fact, the worst kind of leg-humping bitch. Now, all last week, I had one summative left, possibly and most probably the last of my high school career, so I went all out. The result was no less then one full week of work, from the minute I got home from work or school to around 8:00 that night, stopping only to see Dogtown or go to this one shitty party. Finally, I came up with this flash animation that compressed the life of Louis Riel to six minutes. The presentation was so goddamn spectacular that I actually had to APOLOGIZE to some for raising the bar before their presentations. Then there were other teachers who wanted to see it, and other kids who wished they had actually showed up for that class... it was my first film that opened to a critical success and I promise it won't be the last. One of the proudest moments of my life, frankly; and definatly the best presentation of the class.
Of course, this leads to cash, somehow.
I seem to be an expert out of making massive cash off of amateur shit. There was, for instance, the whole anti-smoking fiasco, which landed me a hundred bucks and a little public humiliation (among nerds who I could beat up, mind you). Now I seem to have established this flash business based on supply and demand. You see, nobody in my comm tech class aside from myself has any idea how to use Flash; yet, it's a part of the summative. So for five dollars, they can aquire my services in making them a Flash that they may or may not use for their project. I merely provide a custom entertainment service, what they do with it is their own shit. Still, I've made a good wad doing it, and I think I've gotta up my price significantly; because I probably could be making much more then I am.
Anyway, I'm gonna go back to admiring old movie stars. Adieu.
Jun. 8th, 2005 @ 09:29 pm
|
| » Procrastination Proclamation |
|---|
I'm listening to the Von Bondies right now, which is a bit of a different change from the constant Beck stream I usually have going. Afterwords, I'll probably throw on some Dust Brothers which is a whole new style from the Von Bondies. Then from the Dusties to Jefferson Airplane, then from Jefferson Airplane to Death From Above, 1979. Because that's how I listen to music these days. Randomly.
Really though, I probably shouldn't be listening to music at all. I have two summative essays to work on, fifteen hundred words each- one for history, one for Engrish. They were due today and last monday, respectively.
The Engrish essay has not even been started, but I aced every part up to it. It's on Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, with subtopics containing information on gonzo journalism, the American Dream, and the importance of Las Vegas as a setting. The only reason I havn't handed it in yet is because my teacher would never know if I didn't hand it in or if she just lost it. She's not the brightest corn in the not-entirely-proverbial pile of shit that is Osgoode Township High School.
Now, the history essay I already have something like 800 words for, and it's constantly minimized on my desktop to taunt and destroy me and my procrastinating habits. Like I said, it was due today, but through some godlike miracle school was cancelled today as our janitors went on strike. They immediately came to some kind of 'temporary agreement', which is just a bullshit way of saying "We're definatly not gonna give them what they want, but we'll be damned if you kids think you're getting any days off". So I'm back to school tommorrow and nobody gets what they want (except for the stay at home moms and dads who want their brats out of the house).
But at least we got today off, which actually ended up being shitty since I couldn't get a bottle of wine off my mom last night (she usually gives them up freely), and I went to bed early anyways. Today was no better, but I gotta go back a bit for this one...
You see, my dad was never the brightest guy. Around grade 6 I discovered that and around grade 8 I began to exploit it (a process which I believe has made me quite skilled at being a cocky asshole). He doesn't understand simple things, like why a good education and doing what you want is more important then yardwork and making the most money. We don't talk much anymore, and when we do it's usually for him to tell me to do work or, subsequently, what I'm doing wrong while I'm doing work. And he repeats himself a lot, which, on an unrelated note, is a habit of alchoholics (though I'm really not one to talk. I probably drink just as often if not more then he does, the only thing he has on me is age). Given this information, you can imagine what kind of hell mowing the lawn with 2 broken mowers must be like.
So I made him supper.
Because that's what you do, right? You keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
I assume this is gonna somehow gonna give me leverage in an upcoming arguement, which is why I went ahead with it in the first place. He seemed to realize this, as he was very suspicious about the whole thing, and now that he realizes that he's not poisoned, he's probably coming up with a counter-attack in his mind.
It's like a "Get Out Of Jail Free" card with an expiry date.
Next thing...
So the day after that anti-smoking contest I mentioned in my last entry, I was smoking with Brandi again. I feel bad because I always bum smokes off her, but I try to pay them back when I can. Besides, I like smoking with her because the conversation is never the usual bizarre smoke banter, but rather it's interesting because... well, I suppose it's just because she really knows people. And not like, what people are like in general, but rather she knows people themselves.
But really I just needed that fucking nicotine rush I love so much.
And then on friday my parents left for the weekend and I picked up a nice fat sack of reefer. Actually, it was just a quarter, and lately sacks of reefer just havn't seemed as fat as they used too. On the plus side, I've kind of fallen into that stage of stonerism where weed is more of an enhancement then a drug. It's difficult to explain if you've never felt it, but the usual rush that you get from being high is a lot shorter, and the feeling you get afterwords when you're not as stupid but you're a lot more relaxed lasts a lot longer.
So the plan was to lock myself in my room alone and smoke weed and watch horror movies. Things didn't work out exactly as planned, but it was pretty sick none the less.
Tim came over on friday and he actually made me wait for him before I lit up. I actually watched out the window for him and came running out with a fat L when he arrived. His eyes lit up at the size of it; and I was kind of impressed too, but I stayed cool about it. After smoking that, we decided to watch Napoleon Dynomite since we didn't really have much else to do (I wanted to watch Jaws, but Tim was too scared. Honestly). We fell asleep right away and I woke up at around 10 to send him home. So his journey was mostly wasted except for the pot. I smoked another joint, went online for a bit, smoked another one, then went to bed. Saturday was joint after joint after joint, with the odd interlude where I watched short films on that wierd ass fucking indie channel, Movieola. All they play is short films, devoid of any plot, that keep you wondering who the fuck made it, what the fuck they were thinking, and where the fuck they might be now. Sunday, I rolled the biggest goddamn joint of my life, and smoked it all to myself. It was just a 3-paper, but those are pretty big anyway, and I stuff like, half of the remaining weed in it. Then again, joints, shortfilms, and naps for the rest of the day.
I make weed sound a lot less fun then it is. I assure you, I was having the time of my life.
And that's all I have to say before the Dust Brothers change to Jefferson Airplane.
May. 25th, 2005 @ 03:44 pm
|
| » My Soul's Just a Silhouette on the Ashes of a Cigarette |
|---|
Two white horses in a line
Two white horses in a line
Two white horses in a line
Carrying me to my burying ground
Some need diamonds, some need love
Some need cards, some need luck
Some need dollar bills lining their clothes
All I need is
All I need is
Two white horses in a line
Two white horses in a line
Two white horses in a line
Taking me for my farewell ride
Some may say this might be your last farewell ride
Some may say this might be your last farewell ride
I don't see the face of kindness
And I don't hear the mission bells
I don't smell the morning roses
All I see is
All I see is
Two white horses in a line
Two white horses in a line
Two white horses in a line
Carrying me to my burying ground
Some may say this might be your last farewell ride
Some may say this might be your last farewell ride
----
Music to my motherfucking ears.
So you remember that anti-smoking contest that I entered? The finals were today. I wasn't expecting to win, since my animation really wasn't that good, but I wasn't expected to lose as badly as I did.
But I'll start from the begining. I knew I was getting a day off school, which was supposed to be all good. Now, you remember that leadership thing that gave me something like four pages of angry ranting about fourty minutes of useless activity? Well aparently the entire Expose team (the anti-smoking group who were also attending the finals) went to that weekend, and I had to put up with their songs for the entire goddamn busride. And these arn't normal songs, either. More like songs for toddlers with down syndrome who, for the rest of their lives, will be amused by -ANYTHING- that comes out of your mouth regardless of how many times it repeats or how little sense it makes or how out of tune and annoying it is.
It made me even MORE glad I got my money back from that shit. Now that I think about it, I should have just robbed ALL the money so nobody would have to put up with Leadershit ever again.
Now I don't believe in acting your own age, but I think you have to give all that shit up and start abusing the power you wish you had when you really were young.
THAT's immaturity.
So we get there, and I sign in and such, and then take my seat. And this asian girl sits next to me. And I adore asians. This one wasn't particularly good looking, but I've never had high standards anyway. And she was the kind of enthusiastic little thing that often show up at nerdy events like this one, and those kind of people never turn down conversation.
Then I remember that I forgot to put on deodorant this morning.
I think about her thinking about me and wondering why I keep glancing over and why I smell like piss and vinegar.
And I keep my mouth shut.
And my arms by my side.
Then the thing started and, for the most part it was pretty decent. A little slow and a lot of the acts wern't the absolute best they could have been, but like I described, the crowd was full of the kind of spirited little fucks who take anything and make it ten times more entertaining then it really is.
So at least they knew their audience.
And they handed out the awards and most of the stuff that was there was really fun to see/watch/hear. Then came my category- grade 9-12 animation.
First up was this thing that looked like it was ripped right out of a sunday morning cartoon. The second was this thing that looked like it was ripped right out of an artists sketchbook. Then there was my thing that was so poor people actually laughed at it. Actually laughed at it. Not with it but at it. It got the loudest applause, but from what I could hear it was mostly coming from my dad and my school. Thank god there was a worse one after mine.
It was obviously made in PowerPoint, if that says anything.
And it should, if you can tell the difference between a mouse and a keyboard.
There was no laughture for that one. More like pity silence.
You know, being an aspiring film director, you think that seeing your work for the first time on the big screen would be a huge thing. It was actually more of a fleeting fourty-five seconds where I tried to feel as great as I would have liked, but really I was just kind of bored. I was trying to take in every detail, in case the moment never came up again, but the memory wasn't all that memorable, even now.
Actually, the only reason I will remember this is probably because of my dads encouragement and handshake afterwords. I've never seen him so proud of me, and he usually gets pissed off when I spend time doing things like these rather then, say, pulling weeds out of his garden or training to become a fridge repairman (where all the money is).
Now if that last paragraph wasn't the greatest bastardization of an otherwise tearful moment you've ever seen, then you must be one sadistic fuck; and I applaud you.
So we do the lunch thing and head home and I decide it might be fun to show off my shizznit on Newgrounds but something fucked up while I was adding a preloader and it looked like a collage of shit. You can read the (rather nasty) obituaries here: http://www.newgrounds.com/portal/rip.php?id=237945
My personal favourite is this one:
"good luck with the money, but over here in holland, we also can hear people laughing at your animation..." -Illuminate
The wierd thing is, in my school, I seemed to be the only person (including... nay, especially the teacher) who saw the movie for the piece of shit that it was. Shit, everyone else seemed estatic about it, and I can only hope they were being nice. Otherwise, I have ever reason to believe that I've evolved far beyond the mental boundries my school provides (which makes sense); which is good in a way, but on the other hand, I still havn't reached the level of every other school, so I'm still at the bottom of the barrell.
But on the plus side, even if my school is a pretty remedial place to learn, everybody still realizes (and often verbally expresses) just how ugly the new 'anti-smoking' wall is.
May. 17th, 2005 @ 09:07 pm
|
| » Life, The Universe, and Everything. |
|---|
42.
There must be an end to the universe. A point where the evolution slows down and the molucules grow so independant of each other that they just kind of break off. You can't really tell at what point evolutionary ability will be at a high or a low in any area, just like stupid people have stupid kids until the gene pool dies off, so will part of the galaxy. Not all around though. More like a starburst. And maybe some parts are still going, and the universe is a snowflake pattern between nothingness. Maybe it's still expanding, maybe it's already stoped. Point is, it doesn't all stop at once, it has highs and lows in certain spots.
And the universe never 'ends' at these parts, rather, the galaxies fade.
And the changes in the universe are fairly constant. You will never see a fjord shape in the stars.
And parts will die and respawn at will.
An nothingness isn't that hard to imagine, if you go from the smallest possible unit of scale to the shape of the universe; and just think about the empty space between the smallest unit of scale (which couldn't be infinate if you think about it).
Think about how far back it would be to the beginings of that one simple little fucking thing that started it all; something you couldn't classify at 100 years of the evolution. So there's a hole in the middle of the universe, because most of that shit would have died off. Maybe a spot of universe in the hole, but the full things started a little later.
And there's always gotta be a point it expands too.
And it's really small in the really big big sceme of things.
Phil, are you drawing this?
And if they invented better monitor technology before they invented better memory technology on computers, demonstrations would be given with the sharpest 8 bit graphics the world has ever seen. Think about what that would have looked like.
Just think about that. Seriously.
May. 14th, 2005 @ 01:06 pm
|
| » The Delighful Reaper |
|---|
My cat just brought home a dead baby bunny.
I heard the screams of pain coming from my back yard. I was sitting in my room at the time, which means that the sound would have had to go up one story, through a closed window, into my parents room, down the hall, and then into my room before it finally reached my ears.
If you've ever wondered what a rabbit sounds like, just kind of imaging somebody screaming "ow" over and over, but with the muscles in their throats tightened so it comes out in a high pitched wail; the kind that a balloon would make if you stretched the opening while letting the air squeeze through it.
Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.
I didn't fully know what was going on, but I knew something was dying, and I figured my cat was behind it. So I walked to the window to get a better look. Unfortunatly, it was too dark outside and too bright inside for me to see anything. I waited for the last shriek, which didn't come very long after, but they had been going on for quite a while prior so it certainly wansn't a quick death and it definatly wasn't painless. The last cry was louder then the others, and the only sound that signified the bunnies death was the sudden silence.
I'm no rabbit expert, but I'd say this one was no more then two weeks old.
When I got to the back door, he was waiting there to bring it in. It was so small, I could have sworn it was a rat at first. The only reason you could tell it was a bunny was because of the legs. Not the ears, as his entire head was in my cats mouth, and even when he dropped it it was too mangled to make out any form of animal known to man.
You don't know how proud I am of my cat.
My cat's always had this really angry, hunting spirit. A lot of cats will attack you if you do something they don't like. My cat takes it a little further. He also attacks you if you don't give him what you want. On top of that, if you are giving him what he wants, and he tires of it, his way of letting you know he's done is by attacking you (rather then just walking away).
For this reason we had to get him declawed when he was just a kitten.
Yes, he tore that thing apart with his teeth.
Had there been enough of the head left, I might have stuffed the bunny and mounted it on my wall.
That was my excitement for the day. These kinds of things excite me.
I like to go on websites for depressed teens. I love their forums and chatrooms and diaries. The more frequently you visit, the more fun it becomes, because not only do you start to know the people, but also when they are faking. You see the dates they set for their deaths, the times when they just can't take it anymore, you see all the people trying unsuccessfully to help them, you picture the knife on their skin, you imagine blood pouring out in thick waves.
And they're back the next day. They always come back the next day.
The people on these websites, they're never real victims, just crying for attention. What people don't want to address is the fact that it's a damn good plea. During the day, you're tuning out the voices of the living and you don't notice that you've chewed half way through your pen cap in your days, you're just caught imagining this person. What happened to her. Was she saved at the last second and brought to the hospital? Did somebody finally notice? And if she wasn't, what will they make of what happened? Who will show up at her funeral?
They're finally getting the attention they want and they'll never even know it. I make up their life stories by questioning and working backwords. It's never complete though. You can get bits and pieces of recent events that led up to their current situation just by reading what they have to say, and usually you can imagine what they look like by the way others percieve them. From there, you just connect one activity to another, until you reach the begining.
It's life or death, right before your eyes. It's just like day long movie climax.
And just like a movie climax, the hero always wins in the end.
And then they go about their day to day lives, and everything returns to normal. When they come back, everybody is afraid to acknowledge the fact that this person should be dead.
I want to buy a book of suicide notes.
I want to read an obituary for a suicide victim where specific people are blamed.
Is your love life not up to par? Do your friends not return the generous favours you do for them every day? Are your parents not giving you the respect you deserve? Have you succumbed to the horrors of durgs and alchohol on more then one occasion and feel like a failure because of it? Have you run out of money and grown bored with your day to day life?
Maybe it's time to take the hints God is sending your way.
Ladies and gentleman, be sure to get your whole face in front of the barrel. Tie the bag around your head just before the pills put you to sleep. Remember to chase with alchohol. Make sure the rope is attached securily. Don't throw up the poison. Leave the phone off the hook. Don't forget to lock the door and make sure no one is home. Use a towel so you don't get blood everywhere. It'll stop hurting after a while.
Oh, but before you do any of that, remember to call me first.
May. 2nd, 2005 @ 09:55 pm
|
| » Anarchy in the Mall |
|---|
Punk music, and any offshoot therein (emo, screamo, whatnot) has it all wrong, guy.
(Required listening for this entry: the CD "I Hate You: A Brief History of Punk"; possibly the best compilation ever put together on anything that plays music. It travels from The Clash to Iggy and the Stooges covering all bases in between.)
It's like Sick Boy's theory; at one time you've got it, then you lose it, and it's gone forever. Anybody who says punk is not dead is fucking kidding themselves; being totally nostalgic for a generation they didn't grow up in. Back when punk was punk it was all about simplicity. For instance, remember the brilliant lyrics by the Ramones that was played over like, four repeating nots... how did it go again? Oh yeah!
Gabba-Gabba, Hey! Gabba, Hey! Gabba, Hey!
And it was awesome. Those lines always kind of epitomized punk rock for me. These days, however, punk music has actually diminished by trying to become more complex. The songs have expanded into random stories of lost loves and uneducated politics. They're often screamed at high decibal levels to hide the fact that, in a much greater number of verses then that of original punk songs, they contain no poetic devices whatsoever. On top of that, they made the music more complecated, to the point where the drums and bass and guitar and whatever else a band might have are ok on their own, but together form little more then a jumble of noise.
The new punk rock (and emo and screamo and whatever offshoot you fucks are too trendy to actually call 'punk' anymore) is just mass produced garbage made to entertain those who are too goddamn lazy and/or stupid too look any deeper then the very surface of the song to find meaning. But as long as you find meaning, you qualify to be a deep, troubled soul, right?
Exhibit A: Taking Back Sunday - Cute Without the E.
When everything you'll get is
everything that you've wanted, princess
Well which would you prefer
My finger on the trigger, or
Me face down, down across your floor
Well just so long as this thing's loaded
He really doesn't give her much of a choice there, does he? And don't you just love the way they rhyme 'or' with 'floor'? You look at this and wouldn't even think it was a song unless you heard the music behind it. Now, onto something better...
Exhibit B: Sean Lennon - Paper Plane
My head is aching
’cause I’ve been faking
The whole day through
And it isn’t easy to do
Sometimes I feel like a paper plane
Caught out in the rain
As electricity lights up the city
Isn’t it pretty?
Now this makes you feel something. It makes a better poem as a whole because you kind of float back and forth between each line to get the whole verse, and it's not handed to you on a silver platter. And there's some internal rhyming, allusions, and other poetic devices in there too, which gives it a lovely, lyrical, lilting quality.
That said, there is still the occasional punk song whose lyrics I can stand, of course, but they mostly come in the form of anything played by the Distillers. I especially like 'Idoless', but that's mainly because I'm a linguophile. Other then that, I mostly despise what has become of punk.
In a way, it feels like the closest thing to actual, classic, non-sucking punk right now would be The White Stripes (on account of their simple lyrics and incredibly easy to play songs that are fun to listen to. Eg: 'Astro'). The problem is, they're classified under the 'Revival Rock' category (a personal favourite) that so many other would-be-punk bands are also classified under (as in The Strokes, The Hives, The Von Bondies, and various other 'The' bands).
And that's my theory. Beautifully fucking illustrated.
I went to the mall tonight. The idea was to buy a wallet (seeing as how I lost mine), a watch (seeing as how I broke mine), and some cheap shoes for work (seeing as how I walk). I came back with everything but the wallet.
I went into Roots tonight because my mom suggested that they might carry wallets. I hate clothing stores. Since I've been old enough to find my way around shopping centers without my moms help, I've completely avoided them. As a matter of fact, this was only the third time I've ever been in a clothing store that I can remember. The first was in grade eight, because for some reason I wanted a pair of Gap pants. That was money well wasted. The second was before Cancun so I could get a hat, and I came out with a rather spiffy hat that said 'Wanker'. I adore that hat. Finally, I went in to Roots tonight, for no more then two minutes, to find a wallet that didn't exist.
I only buy t-shirts from the stand in the mall that sells funny or strange ones. All my other clothes I get once a year, at Christmas.
What's shocking to me is that in an entire mall, the only wallets I found were really shitty looking plain ones that were twice the cost of a cool looking one I could buy at a fair or truck stop. From what I've been told, these clothing stores are actually the place to go if you want to find a wallet, which doesn't make sense to me at all. I guess it wouldn't make sense to have an entire store dedicated to wallets, as it's not the kind of thing one often needs to replace, but it's certainly not an article of clothing. I suppose it could be considered an accessory, but that would just give it more reason to be in, say, a jewelery store, would it not? Anyway, it seemed stupid to me. I ended up not getting a watch and probably will have to wait until the next fair or truck stop.
The watch that I got though was fucking incredible. It's the kind that hooks onto a belt loop, which is the kind that I like. On top of that, it's got a built-in bottle opener. Shit, if it had a wine opener attached too somehow, it would be the greatest tool I've ever known.
And that's that, Matress Man.
PS: No replies to my last post. Did anyone even look at my picture? It's still here...
http://mywebpage.netscape.com/NeoStarr2K2/japanred.jpg
Apr. 28th, 2005 @ 08:16 pm
|
| » Bad Craziness. |
|---|
What's the difference between Terri Schiavo and a cellphone?
When a cellphone dies, you can just plug it back in to recharge it.
My dad has never been a very bright guy. I told him that joke and he was disgusted. His exact words were...
"That's stupid. That woman had a husband, you know."
That made the joke so much better.
I was sick of the Schiavo shit from the first time I heard of it. If she had made any attempt to eat when they pulled the tube out of her, I might have felt differently, but when you lose that much brain power that you can't even perform the most basic survival task there is, then I refuse to believe you're actually alive in the first place. Sure you exist, but you exist about as much as a tree exists, and I figure that's where they got the whole 'vegetable' term (which will die out in a couple of years and be replaced by something more politically correct, so use it while you can).
We need to change some definitions. You should have to be living life in the metaphorical sense dealing with experiences often use by rehabilitated crackheads to qualify as being alive. Otherwise, you just exist, and as even paperweights can exist. I'm sure Terri made a nice hospital decoration for fifteen years, but it was a little too expensive when coming otu of the tax payers pockets.
But that ship has sailed.
I lost my fucking wallet on friday, which I'm still pissed off about. On top of losing the $25 I had to fight with Nicole to get, I have to replace my bank, health, and subway cards. My liscence was also in there, which serves double as my ID. For this reason, I was trapped in vernon all weekend, which led me to top off two bottles of wine, 5 beers, and a tiny joint; all by my lonesome.
Sadly, this is what has become a slow weekend for me in terms of alchohol.
That's all gonna stop though. I start work this weekend, unfortunatly, and that means waking up at 5:30 and earlier every weekend. It's a dull as fuck day-in-day-out kind of thing from here until the summer, when I start to get every second weekend off. On the plus side, I can relate more to the guys at work then I can with the guys at school. But I'll have to start paying to get intoxicated from now on. Whereas my parents are usually ok with me 'borrowing' some of their alchohol, they don't like me smoking weed. The dialemma is that I can't get up for work hung-over, so I need something with a lowered effect. A real catch-22 situation; but I think I talked about this last entry.
Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy opens this week, and I'll certainly be first in line. I adored those books way back in the day, and I'm sure I still would if I reread them. Shit, I still remember some of the funnier parts- like when "the big yellow somethings floated in the air in much the same way that bricks don't". And the trailer they showed in theatres before Sin City was so damn funny the entire audience was laughing. I currently have that downloaded onto my computer.
Damn... Hello Tommorrow is such a good song. It was released a week ago and I found it around... wednesday or thursday I guess. It's so bad ass and easy enough to find, so I suggest you do that. If you need a taste of it, it's the song off the new Adidas commercial. That commercial is directed by Spike Jones (Adaptation, Being John Malkovich, various music videos) and the song is by his brother (Squeak E. Clean) and his girlfriend (Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, of course). They're all very famous and talented people. Must have set Adidas back a fortune, unless the three of them had actually been looking for a project to do together, which doesn't seem too unreasonable.
Have you guys heard about Christine Chubbock (better known as Chris Hubbock)? I've been obsessed with her story lately. She was this news reporter in the seventies whose last words were...
"And now, in keeping with Channel 40's policy of always bringing you the latest in blood and guts, in living color, you're about to see another first -- an attempted suicide."
A study done after revealed that she even schedualed time into the broadcast for her suicide so that the other shows wouldn't run late. There's a wikipedia article on her that links to a seven page newspaper report about it from a few days after it happened, if anyone is interested.
I just finished talking to Mel about how these fucking things are getting shorter with the more alchohol I inbibe. It's a damn shame, really. I really gotta go to bed though, not that there's much more to say. I didn't even say much in this one in the first place. But on the plus side, I will be using my first cut after the next paragraph.
So I've been doing all this photoshopping lately, which isn't uncommon as photomanipulating is kind of a hobby of mine. I half-ass it a lot though. The miracle is that lately the pictures have come out looking good. Shit, even I enjoy many of them, so I've been doing more. It's a friendly circle. I'm gonna cut here and if you like, you can click on the link below and see my wonderful picture. If not, fuck you and goodbye.
(EDIT: It seems LJ simply wants to whore around today. None of the HTML shit works, so just copy/paste the address below. Sorry about this, I'll try and fix it later. This has been causing me more trouble then it's worth.)
http://mywebpage.netscape.com/NeoStarr2K2/japanred.jpg
Apr. 25th, 2005 @ 10:09 pm
|
| » This Is The Funniest Entry I've Ever Written |
|---|
Happy four-twenty, everyone.
Today our school had this assembly put on by this pro-inter-gender-relationship song and dance group called Insight Theartre. I saw no insight, but rather, a group of kids who had wasted their summer learning the simplest of sex facts and spitting them back out in the form of a play, which was entertaining in the way that Plan 9 From Outer Space is entertaining, meaning that it's so bad you can't resist its charms. My ultimate favourite part went more or less exactly like this...
"I look in the mirror every day and see a beautiful girl. Then I walk outside and see an ugly one. Then I look in the mirror again and see a girl who can dance, swim, and play volleyball! Then I walk outside and see a girl who can't run or jump. I'm tired of seeing that girl!" (walks over to the kids performing the actions on the mirror side)
This gave me some great insight into the kind of simple solutions there are to schitozophrenia.
There was also insight on drug abuse, bullying, and depression. But for the most part the play was more focused on things like sexual intercourse, contraception, and sexually transmitted infections; STI's if you will.
Back in my day, we called it 'fucking'.
Anyway, the whole scenario did bring one question to my mind. Despite how much they talked about the importance of condoms and they're available for free everywhere... well, I simply do not see the logic in free condoms.
Point in question:
You take a girl out on a date to a fancy restaurant. Are you allowed to pay with a coupon that gives you a free dinner? Fuck no, cheap-ass! Girls don't go for that. So you pay the bill and take her back to your place. Are you allowed to fuck her with a free condom? Well sure; but then why'd you have to pay for dinner? Are you given the right to debase them to a cheap slut because you managed to cover the bill? Then where's the problem in forking over a buck or two for a single fucking condom? If anything, I say you're being an even cheaper bastard to the girl if you're getting them for free.
Anyway, that's my condom arguement. Now speaking of sex...
Right, so Sean and I were sitting in this back room in Comm Tech class today. As bad as that first sentance sounds, there's no way you're prepared for whats about to cum, so if you're even a little bit uneasy you might as well stop reading now. Anyways, we're sitting there and then Josh comes in to say hi. Josh is in a wheelchair with a number of health problems which, over the years, have caused something of a social handicap as well; but mostly to the point where he's often clueless enough to be funny, and an overall good shit. So he walks into where we're working and you know he's got a story to tell because he keeps mentioning how shit is 'fucked up' and how he feels really 'out of it' today. Then he just comes right out with it...
"So I became a man yesterday."
This was a heavy thing to lay on the two of us, stuck alone in a room with him. We wanted to laugh, and I assure you a more friendly chuckle was the most we could hold back too, but this is pretty goddamn funny. Up until now, I've realized that there are certain things that Josh will never really be able to do. Up until now, I always could have sworn that that would be one of them. Boy was I wrong. I knew he had a girlfriend, who is this tiny little thing with an eating disorder, but I had no idea such obscenities would go on in our own handicapable bathrooms with a condom from a pack which was bought using ten dollars acquired from the users parents (using a 'lack of pocket change' excuse) a few days prior. Oh, but we were filled in on all these little details, and it was hilarious.
What's really been getting to me, however, is the fact that his "girls fucked" tally for the month of April has risen above mine, but I suppose I had the edge last month because of Cancun.
Speaking of which, I've heard quite the rumor about me in Cancun. Aparently, I was with a different girl every night. I've heard this from a few different people, and am under the impression that even some of the people who went on the trip with me believe it, but the fact is, it's not entirely true. I had girls the first few days, but my luck seemed to run out after that. I almost picked up some mexican hookers, but that hardly counts.
Either way, it's certainly not the kind of rumor I'm going to confirm or deny. I certainly never considered myself a pimp of any sort, but being told by many that I am indeed is certainly good on the 'ol ego.
And it's four-twenty today, and I'm sure you wanna hear about drugs.
Well, at ten minutes before bed the night before, last fridays party got cancelled, so my vital organs remain untainted by the hazards of mushrooms. Instead, I flooded my liver with good wine, which has been a common occurance for me lately as I'm quickly picking up a taste for fine wine.
As for today, I would have loved to smoke a joint, and I realize now that I should have, but it seemed kind of sketch throught the whole morning. Four-twenty is just any other week day, really, and even though it's the day that you're supposed to smoke weed, it would be just as risky as if I had smoked weed on any other weekday. But when I found out my only afternoon class was cancelled and realized I could have gotten away with it at lunch, I was pissed.
But on the other hand, I'm back to work soon. Maybe even this weekend. Because it's a golf course job that demands early hours and no hang overs, I'll probably be smoking a lot more. And that's fine with me.
Though these days, I'd still rather be into the wine.
Apr. 20th, 2005 @ 03:45 pm
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
kidincredible's journal