.: K i d _ I n c r e d i b l e :.

Rejoice.

2005-07-18T02:13:33Z

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 notice

Baby, All My Friends are Murderers.

2005-06-11T14:30:21Z

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.

See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil

2005-06-09T02:44:51Z

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.

Procrastination Proclamation

2005-05-25T20:20:40Z

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.

My Soul's Just a Silhouette on the Ashes of a Cigarette

2005-05-18T01:51:13Z

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.

Life, The Universe, and Everything.

2005-05-14T17:05:54Z

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.

The Delighful Reaper

2005-05-03T02:52:57Z

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.

Anarchy in the Mall

2005-04-29T01:15:40Z

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

Bad Craziness.

2005-04-26T02:59:21Z

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

This Is The Funniest Entry I've Ever Written

2005-04-20T20:20:55Z

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.

Working Backwards.

2005-04-14T00:23:28Z

Not even five minutes ago, I went out for a smoke.

This is contradictory to everything I've come to accept since last December about the air we breathe. I've come to accept the fact that, although ultimately better, cigarettes are not a healthy alternative to oxygen. Of course, I did put these rules aside for the week I was in Cancun to smoke a whopping two to three packs a day, but I can only assume that the lack of pollution in Mexican air makes it dangerous to our formidable Canadian lungs; which have no doubt achieved a certain strength and stability from exhaust fumes and carcinagins. Besides, by not worrying about my health in another country, I was only making a good thing better.

But the point is, I seem to have gone against everything I've built up to, as I bought this pack on saturday to survive the time after the party, but have been up to three or four cigarettes a day solely because they exist and are in my possesion. I'll probably even be buying another pack this friday to last another party; and those will most likely last into next week and god only knows what will become of my habit after that.

Not even thirty minutes ago, I was being told horror stories about drug people.

There's a family on the next road that my family has been close to for as long as I can remember. Tonight, her son got in a fight with a more awkward kid down the road who has been poorly homeschooled his whole life. It wasn't even a fight. The other kid was calling him gay and pushing him, so he picked him up and told him to stop. The kind of fight that happens all the time with ten-year-olds, really. Only the mother insisted on having the cops involved. Nothing serious came of it in the end, but the mother from the family that we're friends with was understandably scared out of her fucking mind. She ran off story after story about the other mother, implying that most of them were somehow related to heavy drug use.

I've seen my friends succumb to some wierd drug shit. From petty crimes like stealing and selling for drug money to getting a full out vegetable state of mind for life. She even began to tell wierd stories about this kid down the road who used to be a good guy to get high with, but now these stories appear with the phrase "If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes" and "his parents had only been gone for two hours".

Not even six hours ago, I was talking about doing mushrooms with my friend this friday.

Not even six months ago, I swore to myself I'd never do them. It always seemed to me that there was a noticable difference between people who have done mushrooms and people who havn't. Of course, the allure of being a drug child has become much too great, and I'm basically catching up on all the shit that I missed out on while being the cheeky optomistic fucker I was in grade nine. Grade nine is supposed to be a drug year, but I missed out on that, and I feel sorry for the other fuckers who are still missing out because the drug thing is bound to hit them eventually.

Clearly it seems that I'm going downhill rather then up, and at the moment it feels great of course, but it's difficult to do these things knowing that at one point or another the consequences are gonna hit and I probably won't even know it. I try to keep these things as social and acceptable as possible, but there's always a few who cross the line and I've been told by another drug friend that I'm bound to end up one of them. I'm slowing down though. Doing more, but less often. Still, when I do go out, I seem to go all out. I can now handle weed and alchohol much better, even when mixed. Last week this caused a loss of memory. This week I've been planning how to time the drugs and alchohol so they'll survive in unison with each other.

These drug things have all been recent changes. There was one point in my life, last summer, where I could have been considered a pothead as I was doing it everyday, but these days I can't afford that, and I've pretty much rebuilt myself since. I may appear erratic, but that's more my nature. Calling my a pothead would be uninformed; and the proof is in the fact that I've been called and even considered a pothead by many long before I ever started smoking weed.

I just thought I'd get some of this out.

Something Always Takes the Place of Missing Pieces You Keep Taking

2005-04-09T23:46:36Z

Last night was fucked.

I've never forgotten something because I drank too much, but this time around, I couldn't remember a thing. Let's start with what I know...

Ok, so I started the night off at Emmas. They laughed at me when I busted the mini-keg out of my bag, and it took us a while to tap that 'ma. I made arrangements to sleep at Cams, which is a very good fucking thing seeing as how it was either that or my car. We waited for some fuckers and after a while I had a good portion of keg beer in me but still had the stamina left for a bit of joint too. We left the keg at Cams for the after-party and then I busted out the wine. Then we left for the actual party and it kind of turned into a blur after that.

I swear, I'm trying to find out what I did do by eliminating the stuff that I know I didn't.

I know I didn't get with any girls because I certainly would have fucking remembered that. Besides, I told myself before we left Emmas that I was in no condition to have that happen to me that night. I also would have remembered if I had dropped trou, broken something, or gotten into a fight. So that's all good; I didn't embarrass myself too much.

After that, I remember an event here and an event there, but I cannot put together a coherent timeline of when they happened or what led up to them. I remember a guy named Ben Luth, who turned out to be a really good fucking guy that I kept chilling with, but he ended up puking on the couch by the end of the night. I remember Tyler, Mellie, Nathan, and his girlfriend being there, but none of them for very long. I remember trying to hide from Cam because he wanted to leave really early, and then franticly trying to find him again after he left. I remember everyone from Cancun was there, which was fucking extrodinary. I remember seeing a lot of people I had not seen in too great a time.

I remember telling one of the Logan twins that "Between expensive wine and cheap bitches I always break even".

And I vaguely remember waking Cams mom up twice at around 2 am. The first time because I wanted to know if Cam was still up, the second time because I needed a place to sleep. She was cool about it though. Of course, it took me about an hour this morning to remember that gem, and I woke up thanking the good lord that I ended up where I was.

The next morning, we did a run to Timmies for breakfast and some gas stations for cigs and then we dropped by Andreas and helped clean up. It wasn't too bad, considering, and Andrea was to be in no trouble. Walking around her house that day felt strange. Almost as if I had had an out-of-body experience; I didn't know the house at all, but I had no trouble finding my way around.

Then I saw it. The Penis Meter.

Holy fuck that was a scary moment. The minute I pulled it out from under a microwave or something, my body recoiled in horror. I knew that I had seen the object the night before. The thing was like this ruler for your cock that had different comical judgements according to size. I remember Jaimi handing it too me, and I remember having it in my hands while people were laughing at me, but I have no idea what might have happened in the few short moments between and that's been fucking my head up ever since.

Moving on...

While cleaning, we somehow ended up with 288 empty bottles of whatever. And that was just what didn't get broken. A lot more did, and there were often times when you would just hear the crunch-crunch of glass beneath your feet for a pretty fair distance.

Anyway, that was short and sweet, but I'll probably have more about it on monday when I'm informed of all the chaotic shit I did.

Happy afternoon everybody.

Video Killed the Rdio Strr.

2005-04-08T02:00:09Z

If LiveJournal were sex, and in some ways it is, then I suppose you'd call this a quicky.

I'm missing Oscars as we speak. Actually, I don't know, it might be over by now, I don't care. I stayed home because nobody I cared about bothered going. That and the fact that it costs ten bucks that I don't have. I went in grade nine. It's definatly one of the better events that our school has, but still not worth ten bucks. That and I really don't have faith in the people organizing it. I've actually been afraid of the events this year because I've got to school with most of the people planning everything for four years now and I don't trust a goddamn one of them with my evenings.

As much as I thought our school could not get worse, I've been proven wrong every year since I arrived.

Actually, twice a year since we switched to the semestered system.

But on the plus side, there's a good chance I might be getting some kind of plauque or something for Comm Tech class at graduation. It's no scholarship or anything, but it'll do. It'll be something to rub in the universities faces when they all reject me, really. Despite the fact that I do know my film shit.

I just finished editing a car commercial part of our talk show video for that class right now actually. It's set to the tune of In Dust We Trust by Chemical Brothers and it's a pretty neat thing, if not a little half assed. The stuff we do in Comm Tech (especially video-wise) is so easy that rather then putting any effort into it, I use it as an opportunity to learn new tricks with the editing software. It's actually been turning out quite well; because as long as there's flashy effects and its somewhat coherent, I'll get the marks.

The teacher wanted me to shoot the Oscars video as well, which would have been not only wicked fun (I was supposed to even get a minion who would hold the other camera and do what I say), but would have made my mark go from a 99% to somewhere I can't count (which isn't that much further, but still). Damn Oscars people wanted to make me pay though- so fuck that. From what I'm hearing, this will be the first year without an Oscars video. Figures it would happen when I finally hit senior year.

But on the plus side, I'm taking the contest money from yesterday and buying a new, much larger hard-drive on saturday. After that, I'm gonna film my friends performing neat-o around on their wheelie-boards and make them a skate video, which is a particular favourite thing for me to do because you can make skaters look a lot better then they really are with some creative editing.

Thinking about it today, I realized that I plan on one day directing no less than one porn film. It's so easy and inexpensive to do, but when you look at guys like Hugh Hefner, Larry Flint, and that Girls Gone Wild guy... well they're fucking skinny dipping with supermodels in a pool full of cash! It's sad to think that this is where all my film talents are going, but don't worry, as I plan on doing much more then just filming porn in the long run; and I probably won't do one until I've acquired some amount of success in other endeavours.

But speaking of porn- remember that hot pizza girl from a past entry? My friends and I went in to get some slices today. Russ was buying one for him and Shawn, and I was getting one for myself. She couldn't seem to put together the fact that we needed three pieces of pizza. She kept asking how many we needed and somehow Russ' response, "Two for me, one for him", was too confusing for her. Just to recap...

-She's hot.
-She's dumb.
-She gives me pizza.

She's three for motherfucking three! I'm in love!

It was Laurie, who was standing behind us, who first corrected her. Laurie works at this pizza place so she knows her personally. She even told me about her the other day. Conversation went something like...

"I work with her."
"Lucky."
"Her name's Chantale."
"I don't care."
"Haha. Well, I'm sorry but she has a boyfriend."
"I really don't care."

Because, you see, I'm a 'horrible person'.

That shit just don't matter to us 'horrible people'. If I can get her, or someone like her, or even someone of the same gender without any major deformity in appearance, alone in a room (preferably while intoxicated), I would be all over it in a second, boyfriend/romance or no.

'Cause that's how we 'horrible people' do.

And with that I am off. Sweet fucking dreams.

Irony, Thy Name is Smokin' Contest

2005-04-07T02:36:41Z

It's been a good few days, despite the fact that I just woke up from a nap and I hate taking naps during the day because it's kind of a waste of life.

All the same a good few days.

I saw Sin City last night, and though it's not quite spectacular enough to win awards or anything fancy, it's still cool in whole new ways in which movies have not yet been cool. I can't say too much though, as it's a really easy movie to spoil. There's a lot of brilliant scenes that interconnect very well, and if I mentioned the details of any one certain scene then - boom. That scene is gone to you forever. It'll still be cool, but it'll lack that extra kick you get out of it the first time you watch it; so basically you just have to see the movie to understand, and you won't regret it. I havn't heard a single bad comment about the movie yet, even from one girl who happened to be the last person I'd expect to see a movie with such a title, let alone enjoy it.

Though I suppose the premise of the movie is explainable. It's three stories that take place in Sin City. Sin City is a sort of pseudo bronxy type neighbourhood, and all our heroes are the guys you'd expect to be bad guys, but they happen to have hearts of gold (and in some cases, all their other organs seem to be made of steel). All the bad guys, on the other hand, are people like cops, politicians, and priests. It's a fucked up and sweet premise.

If Osgoode was more like Sin City, I'd get out more.

Moving on, I won a hundred bucks to day. Well, not a hundred bucks, per se, but rather two documents which can be exchanged for fifty dollars worth of goods and services each within the boundries of the Rideau Shopping Center.

Or as some like to call them- Gift Certificates.

How I got the gift certificate is pretty damn funny, as it was acquired in an anti-smoking contest, and had the anti-smokers seen me in Cancun I'd have probably been disqualified. Of course, I havn't smoked since Cancun (at least not tobacco), which I suppose is a good thing.

What pisses me off is that I should have $125. I first entered the contest with two of my friends and we put together this piece of shit video of my friend duct taped to a chair that was held together mainly by my editing. We were to win by default as nobody else was going to do it. Then we found out that an entire other class was submitting videos and suddenly we had competition for the video, so I entered the animation category and won that by default instead (though I'm told I have a fair chance at winning provincials, as I put more creativity into that one).

What pisses me off is that our video actually did end up coming second (which says a lot about the other class if you ask me. Twenty-six entries and our half-assed, one class, piece of shit comes second?), and second place is $75. Between three people, that should mean $25 each, but the way they've got it figured out is that they're gonna leave me with my cash, then give Devon $50 and Kaitie $25 (since Kaitie really did shit all). It's occuring to me more and more by the minute that this is bullshit. If we're gonna devide the money by the amount of work we've done, I should fucking well get Kaities share, but it makes more sense to split the money three ways seeing as how I was the brainchild of that project anyway.

But we duct taped Devon to a chair, so I gotta give him some credit.

Anyway, I've decided to spend the money on a new hard drive, which will result in more, better video editing in the future, and I'm all for that. Infact, the 80 gig internal one for $119.99 at this site looks good...
http://www.compusmart.com/Default.aspx?Category=Peripherals%7cDrives%7cHard+Drives

I've been listening to this old punk band called X and I highly recomend them, even though their songs are incredibly hard to find. If I had the money, I'd buy an entire CD, and maybe a compilation, but these days, like I do for many other songs, I'm scouring the p2p programs for scraps of mp3s left over from their golden age fans.

On top of that, The 22-20's (a band you've probably been curious about if you've had any contact and/or dreams of contact with the European music festival scene), have finally put out an album, which gives me the chance to pirate some of their stuff. I've got three songs so far, and let me tell you they are awesome. Like most say, they're pretty much the British White Stripes, but in my opinion they've got a more rock inspired feel rather then the blues inspired feel of most of the White Stripes songs that don't make it onto the radio.

So because I'm too lazy to add more than 17 songs on my mp3 player, the playlist is as follows...
The 22-20's - Devil in Me
The 22-20's - Messed Up
The 22-20's - Such a Fool
The Yeah Yeah Yeah's - 10x10 (live)
The Yeah Yeah Yeah's - Cheated Hearts (live)
The Yeah Yeah Yeah's - Modern Things (live)
The Yeah Yeah Yeah's - Rockers to Swallow (live)
The Yeah Yeah Yeah's - Sealings (live)
The White Stripes - Take a Whiff on Me (live)
The White Stripes - Hardest Button to Button (live)
Beck - Clap Hands
Beck - Fax Machine Anthem
Beck - Girl (remix)
Beck - Still Missing
X - Los Angeles
X - White Girl
X - Nausea

That's more a current list of who rather than what I'm listening to- but I figured Sam would be looking for something to download and those all come recomended. Especially the live version of Hardest Button to Button, which I actually had to rip of the Stripes DVD- 'Under Blackpool Lights'. There are only little things changed but they all add up to create a much more impressive song then the one on the CD or video, and that was already one of their best songs in the first place.

The other day when I was stoned with Tim we tripped out to the 'Visual Mixes' on the Special Edition Guero DVD by Beck. They're pretty cool. You basically control what you see on screen, but you don't really know what you're gonna see next, so you frantically hit buttons to try and make some kind of strangely fresh graphics and occasionally you'll come up with something you like. We also found the easter egg that lets you watch the video for Black Tambourine, and that was our favourite part, because as you hit the subtitle button the video goes from black and white to the same video in ASCII form- and we're stoned fucking nerds so this is probably the coolest thing we've ever seen.

It felt fucking fantastic to be stoned again, even though the weed Timmy got was shit, and there was very little to go around. We ended up watching that video ten or fifteen minutes after we smoked, so we were just peaking, and we got a pretty full effect out of it anyway. I'm pretty sure his dad knew what we had been doing when he came home. It scared the fuck out of me.

Whatever. Now I desperately need to find a party to use up all my alchohol at.

In other news, I finished reading Porno today. Not to say that I'm done reading pornography, but rather that I've completed the novel entitled Porno by Irving Welsh. It's the sequal to Trainspotting, and though it's a damn good read it doesn't really compare. It picks up really nicely at the end though, and I love the way things turn out in the last act. There was a review on the back of the book that said the book "Captures and celebrates the hangover of youth", and there's really no better way to put it. The book is pretty much about growing old and maturing and it shows that really well through a nice little story about a greedy man and his the porn video he's trying to make.

It's also encouraged me to use words like 'Scam', 'Ching' and 'Cunt' more often.

I got that book at Christmas, and I'm only finishing it now, as I pretty much only read it on the bus on the way to school. I have a feeling the kids are gonna be stupified to see me with a new book in my hands tommorrow. This time, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, which I've already read but am re-reading for a book report. Nick's trying to get a hold of last months Rolling Stone for me, as it was dedicated to Hunter S. Thompson, and would look fucking great in my portfolio when I do my ISU interview for the book.

Anyway, it's getting late, and the forums beckon. PixFu is back up, thank god. Unfortunatly Blackeye is not quite back yet, but it's got a new home at www.derekyu.com. In case you're totally oblivious to what I'm talking about- Blackeye is a freeware games company (mostly), that now consists of only one member (Derek Yu, obviously). It's also got a fucking fantastic forum, that I frequent more then any other forum out there since the group isn't too small, but certainly not too big either (about 20-30 regular posters on a given month). And pretty much all of them are good guys.

Anyway, I've run out of things that I can remember to talk about.

Sweet dreams, motherfuckers.

Ring Poo!

2005-04-02T02:28:14Z

It just occured to me that I havn't talked about The Ring Two on here yet.

I saw that movie last monday and I've regretted it ever since.

I should have known it would have sucked. I was going of critic reviews which were, for the most part, negative or mostly negative, but the film was never fully praised by anyone. I know a lot of people hate critics but that's simply because they're misinformed about them. Critics actually know their movies, but you're bound to disagree with them from time to time. The solution is to get a LOT of critics reviews. Luckily, there's a website that does the work for you; Rotten Tomatoes.

Generally, I won't go see a movie unless it has a score of sixty or higher on that site, because anything less is guarenteed to suck. The only exception I've found to the rule, EVER, was "Ballistic: Ecks vs. Sever", which actually got something like 0% and is on IMDB's 100 worst movies of all time. Still, it's something of a guilty pleasure of mine, since I absolutly adore the fucking overblown action. You don't see bazookas used that casually in movies anymore, and I think that's a definate problem. The best part, however, is the scene where the two are (I shit you not) Kung-Fu fighting on a roof while dodging bullets being shot at them from the chaingun of a helicopter. Fuck, how much cooler could you possibly get?

But I'm getting off track.

So I went to see this movie despite the thirty-something rating it got on RT. I felt I had to see it for several reasons. First and foremost, I'm a huge fan of The Ring, Ringu, and even Ringu 2. I wasn't gonna bother with this chapter when I heard that they were getting a fucking comercial director to do it (they ruin so many movies) and change the story from Ringu 2 entirely (when Ringu 2 was already an entirely worthy sequal). Then they switched directors to Hideo Nakata, who directed the first two Ringu movies, and I was all excited again.

The problem here is that, to the best of my knowledge, Nakata is a Japanese director, and therefore, to the best of my knowledge, doesn't speak English. This is shown incredibly well in the film, as nobody as talented as him would ever sign up for this shit had he known about the cheesy dialogue the script really had. Not since Alien 3 has there been such a bad film that looked so good (but then, David Fincher seems to have become famous for making movies like that). Ironically enough, Ring 2 ends with the similar one-liner finish as in Aliens, but with a much shittier result.

And the deer scene! Oh fuck, lemmie tell you about the deer scene!

Ok, so basically this film butchers everything you thought you knew about The Ring. Remember the horses? Didn't it make sense how they lived on a horse farm and the horses were afraid of Samara, so they flipped out when the humans came by?

Right, well, for some reason it's deer now.

Aparently this is justified by a large pile of deer antlers that can be seen in the basement of Samaras old house in one scene; suggesting that Samara really did have some kind of contact with deer. To everyone with an IQ that is in the positives, it's easy to see that what's really going on here is that the screenwriter is pulling shit out of his ass. Anyway, prior to the scene, Aiden sees a deer. And the camera zooms in on the Eye, just like in the dreaded tape, so you can be abolutely fucking sure that this deer is EVIL. Later on, Aiden and Rachel are driving home, when a deer (possibly the same one, I don't know) walks out in front of their car. They go to drive around it, but the deer just keeps standing in their way, cutting them off.

This is where it gets really fucking good.

Eventually, the deer walks off, which is when Rachel finally decides to stop trying to drive on. Then the deer comes charging back. Now, despite the fact that it's antlers stretch out to about the arm-span of a ten year old kid, the deer is able to use his magical CGI powers to break through the tiny little passenger window. Then, even though he's thrashing those antlers around to fuck, he completely avoids even scratching our heroine.

Then his buddy comes and bashes in through Aidens window. Same thing happens.

Then Rachel finally takes off- only to get into a head on collision with another deer. Luckily, the front window merely shatters without falling apart, but when the deer topples over the car, the back window is the one to collapse. Then the deer rolls over onto the ground and actually manages to get back up. If that's not enough, about 30 more deer arrive and surround the back of the car.

This is the best part.

Now that the deer finally have those antler-dodging humans outnumbered thirty-to-two... They let them go. I guess deer are only interested in a fair fight.

I wish the retardation could have ended there, but the whole film is just one disappointing moment after another. The worst is when things start out scary, and then just end up sucking. One thing that pissed me off to no end is the fact that they dropped Daveigh Chase as Samara and took some older, jailbait looking bitch who couldn't act worth shit. Aparently she was Daveighs stunt double in the first one, and if you ask me she doesn't deserve to do anything more then live in Daveighs shadow for the rest of her fucking career.

But it's over now, and not since Alien Vs. Predator have I been so quick to ignore a movie solely because it would ruin an entire franchise for me (though in the case of AvP, they were killing two birds with one stone).

These days, it feels like I didn't even exist before Cancun. My memory now consists of little more then the bits that I remember between our departure and return from the country we fouled with our Canadian drinking, pimping, and littering skills. Each day I get flashbacks to the wonderful moments down there. I miss the tequila; I should have thought to bring a bottle back. I need a blender and a recipe for Miami Vice. Good lord, I miss the perfect ones that the guy in the restaurant would make. I still hear stories about stuff I either forgot or never knew about. I could write an entire memoir, but not here. One; because it's open for everyone to read, and many of the stories I could tell cannot be told without spoiling the pact achieved in Cancun. Two; because my entries are long enough. A Cancun memoir could span a series of large novels if you could record everybodies memories of it; but I assure you nobody's memory would make up less then one of the novels in that series.

It's actually gotten to the point where the flashbacks are similar to a happier version of those portrayed in the first few acid-inspired scenes of 'Apocalypse Now'.

I'm desperate to get back to the drug thing. Lately, none of my friends have been into that, and few ever even want to drink anymore. I've been 'procrastinatingly trying' to get a hold of Tim for a party hook up or something; but my telepathic messages don't seem to be working and by the time I actually attempted to make conversation with him over a telephone it was too late.

I can't quite explain why; anybody who's ever actually done drugs will know and anybody who hasn't simply won't comprehend it, but I really wanna do some wierd shit. Nothing as fucked as, say, acid or heroin, but more like dexies or something a wee bit more obsucre like that. I'd probably settle for mushrooms, but they've always kind of scared me and are really more of a summer drug. Naturally, alchohol is the choice right now since it comes free, but I really wish I had some weed since it's more of a 'pick-up drug' that you can do whenever.

Anyway, I leave you with the lyrics to the second greatest song ever written (next to MTV Makes Me Wanna Smoke Crack, if you were wondering). I don't normally like putting full lyrics in journals, but this one is definatly too good to miss.

---

Beck - Clap Hands

I clap my hands along and rattle on like a vagabond.
I'll rip my uniform and bend the floor to the early morning.
I'll shake my dollar bill and spend it all before the bombs'll kill me.
I'll save my best for last and after that don't even ask me.
Clap Hands.

I'll take my broken bell and make it ring like a hundred churches.
I'll scratch that kind of itch down in the ditch and switch my plates out.
I'll drive to San Francisco, death to disco, take my shirt off.
I'll swim to Mexico, don't tell the mermaids where I'm going.
Clap Hands.

Like many other great songs, third verse same as the first.

Masochistic Gothisist.

2005-03-31T21:56:58Z

I sizzle with scissors and get busy,
Leave you all dizzy,
Your brand new mushroom cut is of the hizzy

That sounds like a wierd song, until you go check out Songs To Wear Pants To; 'dot com', as it were.

My friends tell me that I apparently have a thing for goth chicks, which I really can't deny since a fair portion of previous infatuations (via lust rather then feelings) have been epitomies of, or of close resemblance to, members of the goth culture.

This is important, goddamnit.

You see, there's this new pizza place that opened up down the road from our school (as the road down there seems to be a sort of haven for pizza places). It actually replaced an old one, only this one's a lot classier as it has a bigger and more colorful sign. It still retains the same size restrictions as the old place, which means not getting there early enough in the winter could result in mild discomfort when you can't get a table, but I'm so happy this place showed up.

The place is Hawaian, apparently. I heard rumors about it being run by some natives or something, because it has a wierd name, but upon closer inspection of the colorful sign, it is possible to see an island in the sun, so it's safe to assume that the place has whatever kind of a Hawaian pizza theme to it. The point is, the pizza is the greatest goddamn pizza on the fucking planet. I've had enough pizzas to know, too.

But that's not even the best part.

The young girl who works there must be fresh out of high school or something by the looks of her. She does have a sort of minimalist-goth appearance; but the coolest thing about her is her hair. It's jet black on one side and bleached on the other- perfectly separated everytime I see it. It's fucking unbelieveable up close. It's like having two chicks in one. Each time she turns around it's like you're staring at a whole new person. I told my friends you'd have to fuck each side seperatly to get the full effect.

They all told me she wasn't that hot. I just can't see how they'd think that. It's not just about the hair, she has a cute face too; and she's certainly not deformed from the waist up. Sadly, the rest of her body has always been hidden from me behind the counter, but she doesn't walk around like there might be anything seriously injured down there.

Of course, to my friends, this obsession with the pizza girl is amusement to them. They find my facination with her hair puzzling. Maybe it's the hair, maybe it's love at first sight... fuck, maybe it's just because she brings me amazing fucking pizza. Most likely it's simply because she's there, and had it been her or any other girl who was not seriously deformed, I probably would have been talking about how much I wanted to have her.

Because that seems to just be how I do it these days.

Moving on.

There's this contest that the Expose team at our school is running, which is funny because Expose is an anti-smoking commitee and it's safe to assume that some portion of my winnings will be spent on cigarettes. The reason I sound so confident about 'my winnings' is because it is actually physically impossible for me to lose.

You see, the contest is set up so that five pieces of media from each school are entered to win a $250 gift certificate at the nearest shopping center. Of course, because nobody enters these things, ever, they've actually started giving hundred dollar prizes to each of the winning entries from the school. Now, the five entries have to be from five separate categories- Print, Radio, Video, Computer, and Tabloid. The original plan was to make a video with Devo and Kaitie K, which we did, and we were told we'd be the only ones entring for that medium so we'd get $33 each automatically. Aparently this was bullshit. There's an entire other class making videos; and we did ours in a day.

Luckily for me, nobody has yet to do anything for the animation category, and I'm under the safe assumption that nobody will. All I gotta do is this quick shit little thirty to sixty second piece and BAM! Hundred bucks in my pocket.

I didn't talk about it until now because it's gotta be done by tommorrow, and there ain't no cunt gonna steal my idea! Besides, I managed to get what I believe is the schools one and only pamphlet with the rules.

So fuck the lot 'a yas!

Devo and Kaitie are gonna be all disappointed to fuck though. I don't know how I'd tell them, because they'd definatly take it out on me that I wasted their time, since it was me who pimped the idea out to them until they would do it. My job will be to try and place the blame as best I can on our teacher, who seems nonchalant enough about the whole situation to not give a damn if I do succede, but also enough to make my success a lot more difficult.

Whatever. The original plan was to split the money 2 ways between Devon and I anyway; then Kaitie jumped in at the last second. This way, I get all the money. It's schemy, yes, and it's certainly attacks my friends, this is also true, but the fact remains that it clearly was not my fault- and I'm kind of living under that safety blanket right now. It's one comfortable ass safety blanket.

Anyway, I better get back on that shit if I want the hundred bucks.

Adieu.

Idle Hands

2005-03-31T02:34:21Z

This daily dissertation
Prevents obsessive masturbation;
A new procrastination situation
So my vision keeps its reputation.

Constant assignments leave me despondent
Senile instructors debase me to moronic
Conglomerated plight's gone cosmic
Idiotic, vitriolic; spot a weakness then hop on it

---

And such is my poem. It pretty much sums up the four page entry I would have otherwise written, which is a very good thing.

I doubt Tim reads this on a regular basis, but if he sees it now, I'd like to say that I have a keg of beer and a mickey of fireball, but I need a party to drink at. Seperate from that, I'm also in the mood for some kind of heavy drugs, since there's no fucking way I'm letting you get ahead of me in the experimental department. Dexies will do if you remember how to make them, but I kind of want to get a couple valiums since it seems like the kind of drug that would be more fun with people and weed. I need to feel a true valium experience before I swear it off forever. Also, a DVD player with 5.1 surround sound would be pretty fucking sweet (see below). Place to sleep. Oh, and single women that I'll never see again- like that Ivy chick (those last two things go for both the alchohol night and the drug night).

Because Tim hooks it up proper.

The new Beck album was released yesterday, so sure enough I've already got my hands on the Special Edition. The extra money (it was marked down to $31.99 when the regular version was something like $12.99) is totally worth the seven extra songs alone. Shit, I probably would have paid that much for the song "Clap Hands" on its own. On top of that, you get this sweet artbook with lyrics and a DVD. The DVD has a bunch of really fucked up trippy images to go along with the music, but it turns up all staticy on the TV in my room because it's too damn old. Still, I'd imagine the sound quality would be out of this fucking universe on a proper set-up. Then there's a bunch of shit I'm forgetting. And it's all packaged in the niftiest fucking case you'll ever see.

En joie de vie.

Seriously, I Feel the Pain of Being a Goth.

2005-03-24T23:53:11Z

- I'm so goth that when I was a toddler, I didn't cry over spilled milk, I MOURNED it.
- I'm so goth I have a fishnet umbrella
- I'm so goth my wrists slash themselves.
- I'm so goth, in preschool, the only crayon I used was black.
- I'm so goth my pupils are black.
- I'm so goth my black is blacker than your black. I call it"black black."
- I'm so goth, whenever I walk into a room, all the lights go out.
- I'm so goth I wear sunglasses when I open the refrigerator.
- I'm so goth I died and didn't notice.
- I'm so goth I don't paint my nails black--I bash them with a hammer.
- I'm so goth, whenever I knock on somebody's door they give me candy.
- I'm so goth I stole your Happy Meal.
- I'm so goth I offered to sell my soul to the devil and he wouldn't take it.
- I'm so goth, when I stop pouting, people ask, "What are YOU so happy about?
- I'm so goth I set off airport metal detectors from ten feet away with all my jewelry.
- I'm so goth I'm more goth than anyone else.
- I'm so goth my diapers were pvc.
- I'm so goth I was adopted by the Addams family.
- I'm so goth the dark is scared of ME.
- I'm so goth I have to wear sunglasses and sunscreen to look on the bright side.
- I'm so goth that in kindergarten I sang "woe, woe, woe your boat..."
- I'm so goth that when I hang around the house, I hang around the house!

How do you get a goth out of a tree?
Cut the rope!

Two goths are having sex. (Strange, I know, but true.) Suddenly, the
girl goth cums.
"Darling, darling!" says the boy goth, "what's wrong?"
"Nothing," says the girl goth, "nothing at all. Why?"
"You moved."

How many goths does it take to change a lightbulb?
None, but one has to light the candle.

How many goths does it take to change a lightbulb?
None, they'd rather sit in the dark and cry.

How many goths does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
One or more. I don't know how they fit
in there, though!

'Cause I Certainly Wasn't Doing Anything ILLEGAL!

2005-03-24T02:03:34Z

So my friend made these really special cookies.

I mean, REALLY special.

Special because they were baked with love. A one pound bag of love in fact. From that one pound bag of love, he made a batch of eighty cookies. Some of my other friends worked this out to be five-point-nine grams of love per cookie.

But they said you gotta eat two; because it's not as loving when you digest the love as it is when you inhale the love. They said one will make you feel just a little loved, and two would love you real dirty like. They said it also depends on your tolerence for love, and mine has never been that high (no matter how you look at it.)

No matter what they say, after two cookies, I expect to feel some fucking ROMANCE.

But I got nothing. I took them at 7:50. It's 8:42 now and I feel nothing. I had some muncies ready and I ate them. I had a couch ready and I slept in it. I had a TV on and the show ended. Now I'm sitting here writing because there's nothing better to do when you're this... 'lonely'.

Mind you, the price of the love was right.

That is to say; if you're gonna pay for a $1.25 hooker then you're gonna get a $1.25 hooker. The same goes for cookies. Of course, the experience all depends on what hole you put it in; which in a way suggests that I probably should have just smoked the cookie.

Anyway, the other day, after watching Party Monster, I read this article, which was pretty sweet

http://worldofwonder.net/archives/phone_call.wow

Basically, it's a series of 12 phone calls to Michael Alig and made and transcribed by James St. James. I'm sure a lot of you have no idea who either is. Basically, if you've ever been to a rave, you can basically thank these two guys for starting the culture that created for you. Mind you, it's dumbed down some from their days, but the basic principals are still there. Quick comparason-

First Basic Rule: Wear shiny colored make up and dress wierd. Well, back in the day these guys basically dressed in pieces of halloween costumes to form drag outfits. Today, you throw on some glitter and maybe a pair of fairy wings and you're all set, but that's optional.

Rule Two: Hold it in an obscure place. These days, raves and such are held in huge warehouses away from civilisation. Back then, they randomly and illegally held them in places like subways, restaurants, and hospitals.

Final Rule: Free love and drugs for everyone! Back then, part of the scene was that you had no sexuality and didn't care who you fucked. Also, Michael Alig fed e to his mom. And She Liked It and Kept Doing It.

Of course, the difference is that these guys only lasted a very short time and called themselves 'clubkids' rather then 'ravers' or whatever. Anyway, the website goes to a bunch of conversations between the two (now obviously 100% gay) original clubkids; one of whom (James St. James) wrote a confessional called Disco Bloodbath.

Just click the link and trust me. It's hard to explain.

Besides, I gotta move on to this next fucking story. It happened like five minutes ago.

So I'm in the backyard and all of a sudden I hear a cat screach. Then I remember "Oh fuck, I forgot to let my cat in and now it's fighting with some other cat in the backyard!". So I run outside and see not one, but two cats in my backyard, neither of which is my own. I knew mine must have been around because he never misses one, let alone two, cats on our property, and he would have been waiting to get in. Either way, he was the one I didn't see. So I'm out there looking for him trying to get the other cats to piss off.

That's when the cookies start kickin' in. Bastards!

Tim said I could write a book about this shit. I told him I'd call it...

Fear and Loathing in My Own Goddamn Back Yard: A Savage Journey into a Mans Patience.

Needless to say the little fucker is still out there and I'm gonna have to go fetch him. This was surprisingly short compared to my other entries, and still pretty goddamn long. Either way, I'm off. Later.

What I Can Remember, At Least...

2005-03-20T21:05:00Z

You'll have to excuse me,
I'm not at my best.
I've been gone for a week,
I've been drunk since I left.
And these so called vacations
Will soon be my death;
I'm so sick from the drink,
I need home for a rest!

Cancun is the mother-fucking SEX.

I have to begin by saying that if you're a younger cunt that has not reached their senior spring break yet, start saving up for this shit now, because it will be the best time you'll ever have.

Now I'd like to tell you some stories. Naturally, there are too many stories to tell, and certain stories that should be told, but as the saying goes; "What happens in Cancun, stays in Cancun" (along with my camera, mp3 player, sun glasses, and copy of Great Gatspy that were all stolen by the hotel maids).

One thing you gotta know about this trip is that no matter what time of night it was, there was never less then two people from your hotel awake somewhere in the country. I swear, despite arriving at about 4 am, we had already managed to aquire alchohol and shitty marijuana by the time we checked into our room and were partying that very night.

Then the clubs and open bars start.

Good lord. After my throat was destroyed by the alchohol and cigars and three dollar packs of cigarettes, I could not drink beer because of the carbination. I tried other beverages, but by the end of the week had eventually settled on a system of 3-5 tequila shots to start my day off right, followed by countless Miami Vice's (pina colata and strawberry daiquri mixed) to keep me going the rest of the day. Up here, they'd be chick drinks, but down there they're island drinks, so it's ok to get them.

And the girls. OOOHHH My.

My luck with them mostly ran out after the first couple of days, but they were a good couple of days. In fact, I came back with a story that most people only ever fantisize about, and it all seems quite unreal, but I assure you it's very very true.

You see, the clubs in Cancun are generally organized as such that several circular hallways on different levels that look over the dance floor which is up front and center. My friends and I are sitting by the wall of one of these hallways casually drinking and admiring the lights. All of a sudden, a man walks by with a hot asian chick who approaches me. I recognize the man as the one who got me into the club that night when I forgot my ticket. He asks me if I know the girl (who happens to be drunker then anyone I've ever seen and missing her friends). My mistake was telling him that I've never seen her before in my life, as right after that she just starts making out with me on the spot. This goes on for about two minutes, before that bastard drags her away while I'm screaming at him, but there's really not much I can do.

And the next night it only got easier.

We went to this club called G-Spot, which was called that because every few songs they pour water down onto the dancefloor and everybody gets wet. My first stop of the night, as soon as I walk in, is to the bar, despite being buzzed already. I stand next to this gorgeous blond girl and I can't even remember what I said at first, but I think it had something to do with the service. Then I asked her where she was from, knowing full well that that night everybody in the club was from different schools near Ottawa on grad trip. Then she asked me to dance, which surprised me because I was just making small talk and had no intention of ever seeing her again, but I was drunk enough to think that even though I couldn't dance, I could fake it long enough to keep this girl rubbing up against me. I'm not sure how well I did, but I was sure to leave my mark, sucking on her neck every time it came close to me to leave hickys. Then we went back up for more drinks and found a seat where we could spend some time alone, but walked around a bit because she had to find her friend. Once we did find her, we sat out on a balcony over looking the water and started fooling around. The best part is that, because there were big mexican security guards all around, I had to reach under and make it look like I was grabbing her ass when I was really trying to feel around her cunt.

After that, other then the odd spot here and there, my luck mostly ran out with the ladies. Although, on the last day, when I was walking with Cam and Chris around the market so drunk I was aparently turning green, these two girls came up to me and started hitting on me or something. I can't remember exactly what was said, but I intend to find out when I get back to school. When this happened, I got the worlds largest smile across my face. Luckily, my friends didn't tell me they were hookers until after they walked away, otherwise I probably would have propositioned them.

But it's not all about the girls, you know.

I went down with this hat on it that said 'Wanker' over a Union Jack. Because of this, all six or so British guys who were staying at the resort wanted to be my best friend and teach me the lingo. It was cool, seeing as how I love their slang. One of them asked how Canadians got so built, pointing out that he was a little 29 year old and I was an 18 year old "Brick Shithouse". Then there were three american rednecks from just across a river near us. Then Tyler the pimp and his friend, who both got caught and almost arrested for fucking some girls on the beach; and who snuck 3 separate girls into a club bathroom in one night. There was a kid who skated for the local skateshop, EQ, who spilt beer on me. Then there were Nick and Marcus.

Nick and Marcus were awesome guys that I definatly don't want to forget. They were from somewhere in the states and they seemed to think that me and I can't remember who else were the coolest Canadians they met at the place. They were just good guys to chill out with when I saw them at the bar and such. Nick was more of a fucking party animal while Marcus was more of a talkative safe kind of guy. I gues they stuck out because I hung out with them a lot, an Marcus seemed really interested in my future film career, and I told him about my sister taking the marketing course that he's taking.

Then there was a really gangster guy from California named Bir. And this guy changed my life.

Bir grew up an obviously gangster life with a lisence to smoke pot; a drug he is really very serious about. The amazing thing about him is that he's serious about every single little thing that he does and can talk about it for hours. Now, I used to be a very self-centered person, until Bir told me this little philosophy on life thing that he's got running. He said that, despite growing up in such a gangster environment (which he clearly was not bullshitting about), he always insisted on being friendly to everyone, because it foils.

Now, if you're like me, all this math shit probably goes in one ear and out the other. In case you can't remember, FOIL (first, outside, inside, last) is a way to expand groups of multiplication, or something similar to that. Either way, you consistantly end up with larger and larger equations.

Now, the way he explained it was that, say he was talking to a total fucking hottie who wanted his cock, and a random nerd guy came up to him and started talking to him, he wouldn't shrug the fucker off, he'd ask him what was up, because later on it foils. Now, this was the guy at the resort that everyone loved to death; so obviously something was working for him.

So I try it.

My friend Cam and I, despite being in the same room and being friends for ages, had not seen eye to eye all week (which is a story that will stay in Cancun). When we had semi-made up, I was still a little angry at him. This is when he decided to do a backflip into the pool, which ended up sending him to the hospital in need of some stitches. Somebody had to take him, and since I was there and mostly sober at the time, I thought of all that foil stuff. We spent four hours trying to get a hold of his dad after the insurance wouldn't pay. He was unconcious for a lot of it, but the whole ordeal brought us closer together, and when I got back, everybody else seemed to have a newfound love for me. The foil shit was really starting to kick in. Needless to say, I've got some whole new outlooks on life.

But you're probably more interested in the mexican hospital.

It actually wasn't as bad as anyone would have thought, but aparently the ambulance took us to the more expensive one. I had no idea where we were supposed to go for this. Despite the fact that we told them a million times that he was drinking, they shot him full of morphine and he kept trying to demand more, which was embarassing but aparently happened all the time. After that, I would have to ask three times for everything that I needed. I found one girl who spoke fairly fluent english and pretty much hung off her the whole time. The guy in the room next to us was an american whose friend had the exact same thing happen to him. They wanted to charge him $1500 American to leave the hospital, so it sucked when I found out the insurance wouldn't cover us because Cam had been drinking. I yelled at the insurance lady, saying that it was pointless to pay for it if they don't cover alchohol related incidents on a trip with 50 18 year olds going to Cancun. I brought back the card from the hospital. I'll post a picture of it, along with a picture of my favourite and only souvenir.

The souvenir was a Mexican puppet which I named Cam after my good friend, since the puppet had a beer in his hand and Cam had been drunk until his accident. I was playing with it on the last day, which was also the drunkest because in Cancun, every day is the drunkest you've ever been. Aparently, other people were just laughing at how much fun I was having with it. Then two girls at the bar wanted to kiss it, so I let them and after that I was trying to get everybody to kiss it, since I felt it would help me take home a little part of everybody at the resort. That was just a drunken feeling though.

Alright, that's pretty much the best of my tellable Cancun stories. It was easily the best time I've ever had in my life, but I can't stop constantly looking back and wishing it wasn't over. Thus, the sad mood icon.

Wasting Away Again in Margaritaville

2005-03-11T16:43:35Z

I'm sitting here chillin' with a fourty of Corona; partly to celebrate the trip to come and partly to survive the busride I'm going on in 3 hours.

I'm off to Cancun for an eight day orgy of booze and alchohol. Sweet dreams folks.

The Melody so Sweet You Wanna Die Violently

2005-03-10T01:40:45Z

Surprisingly enough, that's a Sloan lyric.

I'm begining to realize exactly why Tim has been my best friend for going on ten years now. Sure I never doubted it, but now more then ever there is undeniable proof why we've been pretty much inseperable for so long, and it's plain and simply because we don't really fit in anywhere else.

(Most of the following applies to youth.)

Perhaps it's because I've been thinking excessively about cliques lately, which is brought upon by serious amounts of literature and watching films that make me, even at the tender age of eighteen, feel old.

I don't need to summerize hippies, punks, mods, gangsters, for you, and for that matter I shouldn't need to address any fad occuring between our now-mostly-pernament geographic setlement after World War 2 and the end of the eighties. What does need to be addressed, however, since nobody seems to have done it properly yet, is the differences between the nineties and the new millenium. Now that we're approaching the middle of a decade, it's easy to look back at how we've completely missed the changes, but it's plain to see that we reached the pinicle of our evolution as a society in the mid nineties and it can only go downhill from there.

What astounds me is the alarming rate at which we are traveling down that hill.

Flashback to Kurt Cobain, grunge rock, etc. The cliche'd voice of a generation. Not entirely true though. If anything, Beck was the voice of that generation. It sounds biased because I have a deep passionate hard-on for Beck, but anyone whose heard Mellow Gold should agree that he was singing what every Kurt Cobain fan was thinking, and therefore represented the largest portion of 'Generation X' better then anyone else did.

Of course, this is not limited to grunge rock fans. This was an age when NOBODY gave a damn about ANYTHING. It was about as close to actual nihilism that we'd ever achieved, and that's all any kid wants. The ability to do or say anything without concequence.

You HAD your fucking utopia and you KILLED it.

It's easiest to blame Emo music, which is by many people admitedly a step in the wrong direction, yet it still continues to gain popularity. Of course, not everybody listent to emo, but it should be recognized that rap has also become increasingly pussy and caring as once-thugs get labels and start spinning rhymes about how the life they once lived is bullshit now that they're rich and off the streets (most current example would be Toy Soldiers by Eminem).

It goes against everything our parents strived (or didn't strive) to create for us.

There were the sixties, that cherished peace and love and happiness. Then in the seventies, people could get by on just love and happiness. After that, it was mostly happiness in the eighties as pornography became more illustrious. Finally, the nineties abolished everything and people were surviving on whatever basic instincts they had. Now we're jumping back to peace (which I can understand because of this war thing we have going on) and love (which makes no sense to me at all). Meanwhile, happiness is out of the fucking question.

It doesn't sound all that bad, until you consider that things are becoming more complicated. What ever happened to life being simple and fun?

This is where Tim comes in.

Through fairly equal conditioning in both our lives, Tim and I have continued to be mute representatives for the generation we know and love. I don't think there's a clique that we fall into, be it goth, wigger, gangster, punk, dirt, sportfuck, artfuck, et al. For this reason, we also avoid most of the banal bullshit that falls into such categories, and as such everything we say to each other has much more meaning to us and at the risk of sounding self-centered, much more meaning overall.

It's true though. Other cunts all looking for meaning in their lives, and are instead finding more stuff to label them further. Tim and I realize that we're fairly lucky to be here in the first place and instead of trying to better ourselves through experiences and learning, we pull scams and exploit others to get what we want now. It's a brilliant angry system. Here's an example of how it might work, via a cliche joke with no punchline...

Tim, some punk guy, and an anorexic whose weight is mostly in her tits walk into a bar. The punk guy goes up to the anorexic and buys her a drink. She refuses and explains her condition. The punk guy tries to be all sympathetic and they share experiences and tears, eventually ending in a hug, a phone number, and a goodbye. Tim, on the otherhand, goes up to the girl, offers to buy her a drink, listens to her bullshit, and then proceeds to tell her that with that much weight on her she's lucky anyone came to talk to her at all. He then takes her home and wraps her in cellophane so her skinny body doesn't split in two when he shoves his massive cock in.

Of course, it never works out EXACTLY like that, but you get the idea.

Then in our spare time we talk about brilliant shit that nobody else pays attention to as it's become dated and they'd rather get in line for early tickets to 'Maid in Manhatten 2'. For instance, today, the conversation went back and forth between Citizen Kane and Hunter S. Thompson.

I know I'm preaching some holier-than-thou shit, but I think I'm backing it up well enough this time.

Anywho, here's an amazing interview with Hunter S. Thompson from 1974 that I really have to get back to reading. Adieu.

http://www.playboy.com/features/features/hunterthompson/

PS: This could be the last entry before I leave for Cancun to drink until my organs are little more then bouys on a sea of alchohol. If so, I'll be back in about a week.

Seriously, Who Else Could Ever Talk About Their Naughty Bits To This Length?

2005-03-05T04:58:24Z

So the other day I thought it'd be fun to put a picture of my wang up as my MSN display picture.

And wouldn't you know it, it WAS.

After this week, I'm begining to wonder why you don't see constant studies on changes in behaviour patterns resulting from seeing the wang of a close friend. Or for that matter, exhibitionism habits of said friend, and the possibility of fetishist mental addictions. This is about as close to a breakthrough scientific study you'll probably ever see on the thing.

That said, allow me to give you some of my credentials before we begin.

My name is Dr. Cody and I'm not a real Doctor. But on the other hand, I'm probably more qualified than, say, Dr. Phil (the filthy crock), so for credibility purposes I will be using the title of Doctor for the remainder of this entry. I have considerable background in fetishology, with a major influence on feet. This has been my first experiment in exibitionism.

Alright, so, the idea came when I was talking to a guy in Australia that I had met on the Blackeye Software forums. He was talking about some TV show or something when all of a sudden I just decided to ask "You think it'd be a good idea to put a picture of my cock as my display pic?". Being almost as lowbrow as I am, he seemed quite enthusiastic about the idea (at the time).

So after that I dropped trou and busted out the 'ol webcam.

Of course, my penis is really nothing to be proud of. I mean, it's not deformed or dwarfish or anything, but still nothing to be proud of. When I looked down at the saggy wad of flesh that is my useless cock, I realized that perhaps it needed a preparation to get ready for the show. Unfortunatly, I had just gotten off a bit earlier and was having difficulty concentrating on it through my nervousness and lack of enthusiasm. However, a little porn and the problem pretty much solved itself. I had half a stock on which was pretty much all I needed for a semi-respectable photograph.

So I take a couple pictures, which is a much more difficult task then I think anyone would have ever imagined. I have a few tips now...

- Practice proper grooming: I'm gonna remember this one for next time. I had not trimmed in ages, and was trying to get the hair just out of frame.

- Build it up to a respectable size: Even if it already is pretty big, you can always add an inch or two with just your bare hands. That said...

- Relax, otherwise that last step will be a LOT more difficult.

- Move the camera close to your wang: A tip I learned from Trainspotting. Makes it look bigger.

- If your friends brag about their ability to hide your display pic, block and unblock them: If they have MSN 7.0, your display pic will still show up in that little box that says you've signed in.

- Play with camera settings to get the best photo the first time: It ruins the joke for the first people who see it if it's too dark for them, or too blurry, or otherwise. It's good to have a flashlight around to illuminate the part of your cock that might be shaded.

- Play with the camera angle: Some are actually better then others. I prefer a shot from the side.

- Take a couple pictures: You can delete the shitty ones afterwords. Some are bound to look better then others, as the slightest change can actually have quite an effect.

That said, my first picture looked like a shadow in the dark.

Of course, this was still kind of funny. I had changed my display name to something like "everybody look at my display picture", and sure enough a few people did and one or two of them got it. Not right away though; it took them a few minutes of looking at my manhood to realize that they were actually looking at my manhood.

With hilarious results.

My second iteration was still not too bright, but it was better silhouetted, so they still had to look at it for a second before they got it, but more people were getting it. Finally, the third one (taken the next day) was a broad daylight pic of my flacid unit. This one wasn't as funny, but got quicker results out of people.

The responses were mixed.

There were people who would talk about how fucking funny it was, and get all their friends to look, and then come 'round the next day and be angered by their disgust for me.

There were people who thought that exposing myself like that was immoral and wrong, and that I shouldn't give my body away so easily. On the other side of the spectrum, there were people who would compliment me on my bravery.

There were people who were awkwardly interested in it. This didn't happen too often.

There was one guy who threatened suicide, but he was all talk. Anybody moral enough to be that disgusted certainly wouldn't be moral enough to kill themselves, but I do have some pretty emo'd out friends.

There were those who loved the joke, until they found out that it actually was my very own specimin.

Like I'd be gross enough to look for pictures of cocks on the internet

Finally, there were those who saw as much humor in it as I did. That group, however, is quite small. So small infact, that I have yet to meet anyone from it.

The best part of all this is that the little crew I usually hang out with on a daily basis was separated the morning after I first put the picture up. Those that saw it were on one side of the hall, those that didn't see it were with me on the other.

My own experiences with this little comedic experiment were quite shocking. I figured I'd do it once for a laugh and then regret it the next day, but no. It becomes an addiction. Suddenly, I feel everybody has to see my wang. The average MSN conversation these days goes a little something like this...

"Hi"
*whips it out*

I'm actually quite worried about becoming a flasher one day in the near future; but I think I can contain myself for a while longer. Mostly because it took an obscene amount of preparation to make my cock look good and hearty for those pictures. Still, it almost feels as if I need more excitement, and I've even considered taking picture for www.newbienudes.com which I've concluded to be a BAD fucking idea, not only because I realize the possible reprocutions of posing nude on the internet but also because the site is already filled with too many pictures of guys just jerking off in their spare time.

So if anybody has a better idea, just drop me a line, otherwise this will have to do for now.

With hilarious results.

Oh Gawd. CREAM!!!

2005-02-26T18:32:27Z

I sell souls at the side of the road;
Would you like to take a number?

S'been a good day so fars, lads, and it can only get better.

Normally, "what I had for breakfast" journals are quite shat, and nobody wants to read them (and even though I'm using my own personal preference to speak for the entire population of the world, I still think it's a fairly safe assumption). Today however, I happened to have a really fucking interesting breakfast; that is to say it's interesting for the amount of time it takes to read about it, but if you've already had the 'Eggo French Toaster Stix' then the novelty has probably already worn off and you can just skip this next paragraph.

Anyway, Eggo French Toaster Stix are just like other Eggo products in the way that they deliver a sweet breakfast in minutes, and although it's never as good as a home made version of said breakfast, it's usually worth the time saved after adding a little syrop. This brand of Eggo product was a little peculiar, however, as they were separated in such a way that they could be torn into strips. Personally, I've never seen any reason to separate my Frech Toast into strips and wondered why I would want to start now. Then I glanced at the box, which informed me that they were perfect for dipping, but again, dipping is something else I've never had to do with my french toast, so I'm wondering what the hell to use for dipping sauce. Then I read the fine print...
Syrop not included
And I'm thinking "holy fuck, this is brilliant". I don't have to pour shit on my french toast anymore, I can just dip it in! Now, this really doesn't seem that much more convienent, but after eating them this way I'm not so much wondering what the fuck the point is but rather why nobody has ever thought of this before. It's the kind of new experience I'd highly recomend, in much the same way I'd suggest experimenting with drugs but on a much safer level with a different kind of high. The one you get from eating breakfast in a cool new way.

Now for a wierd syrop story; my grandpa (god bless his soul and such) used to put the stuff on everything. EVERYTHING. Pickles with syrop used to be his favourite snack. Before his heart problems started, he would literally drink glasses of the stuff. But then, I'd assume he was raised in something of a syrop family, as my great aunt harvests the stuff.

So moving on, I returned 'Saw' this morning, which I rented last night. It had a damn good ending, which was both scary and hilarious all at the same time, and on a much higher level then Evil Dead 2 even. Other then that the movie was fairly mediocre. Good idea poorly executed, but I was a little stoned at the time of viewing so a lot of it looked like it was made by the same cameras that film those day time TV Miami Vice rip offs, like VIP or The Enforcer or whatever.

After that it was right into the grocery store about ten minutes away to start an account at their brand spanking new video store; which had huge shelves stacked from bottom to top with everything from b-movies to acclaimed indie films to hollywood blockbusters.

Finding a new rental place is like finding Jesus. Finding THIS place was like being Jesus (but with a five pm return time)

God damn... I went for I Heart Huckabees. I left with so much more.

Four more to be exact. All of which I had never seen. There was The Blind Assassin, which was recomended to me by my friend Tim. Tim has a taste for movies similar to my own, which is becoming more and more of a rarity these days, but what Tim knows best is Kung-Fu films, so if he says a kung-fu movie is gonna be good, you better believe that it's gonna have some spectacular visuals to go along with the most bad ass fight scenes you'll ever see. After that was Get Shorty, which I want to see because I still havn't, and Be Cool is looking like the must-see popcorn movie of the shitty, post-Oscar movie season. Then the original Stepford Wives, since it's a classic I thought I'd never get my hands on (and so I can be all cool saying that I saw the original and it wasn't a waste of time like I hear the remake is). Finally, Darren Aronofski's original cult hit (as in, before Requiem for a Dream), Pi.

And this place is amazing. I think it came out to something like $12 for all those movies, which is considerably less then anywhere else nearby where I might have purchased them. On top of that, they have this system where the more movies you rent, the longer you keep them. This is a fucking miracle. I mean, it's like renting in bulk. I'm practically picking them up by the pound.

The wierd thing is, I left unsatisfied.

I kept thinking "Were these the right choices?". I could have picked up a million more movies. Five more minutes, I would have been bankrupt, but I would have been able to keep them for another year or so. I swear, this place is fucking brilliant. Every movie I've been searching for for ages seems to be there. I just applied for an account today and I'm currently in possision of what will provide hours upon hours of entertainment, and there's about two hundred thousand more hours available when I return. I realize it's kind of sad when renting movies becomes not only the best part of your day, but the highlight of your life...

But damn am I ever happy with it.

My House Cleaning Lady is a Filthy Crack Addicted SpunkBag (and other people I hate)

2005-02-25T03:06:49Z

It's always a pretty good day until I get home, you know?

Over the years I've seemed to find school a haven from the banality of the events that frequently take place in my house. I thought that perhaps it was a passing stage a while back, and for a while it did calm down a bit, but lately my boredom and anger has come back into full swing. I don't particularly enjoy this, as it's times like these that I just can't seem to do anything but sleep to pass the time calmly without disruption.

But like I said, school was particularly good today. Both the law and world issues classes went on what I'm told is a the Worlds Most Pointless Field Trip to the Carleton University library or some shit. This was a bonus because it means most classes were half empty and little work was done. Engrish was actually amusing today because we played games, namely those having to do with rearranging letters to find the names of TV shows and guessing CBC Radios top 10 songs of the 20th century. And lets not forget the rousing game of Shakespeare Balderdash ('rouse' being one of the words, but Willy meant it in as 'getting drunk'). Then came Comm Tech, but that's a relaxing class no matter what day it is. History was dumb, because we actually had to do a bit of work, but that ended in a few jokes on my part so I guess I got lucky. I ended up playing War with Chris The Swiss for the rest of the class and making jokes about Sweden (seeing as how I constantly mix up Sweden with Switzerland).

Meanwhile, the people in my history class played the role of a bunch of cunts today.

Well, actually just two of them. One that I previously hated and one that I didn't hate until today. It seems to be a fine line between hated and loved with me, and I have some crazy fun pushing people over that line (and for the most part hoping they get hurt when they trip over it). We'll start with the one that I hate.

She clearly knows that I hate her because I've verbally expressed it to her face before. Anyway, she leaves the class, and so Chris The Swiss and I happily take her desk as our warzone. She comes back and feels she's entitled to her seat (seeing as how she's a stupid cunt). Her friend informs me that she is sick and needs to sit down. I inform her that I hope the sickness fucking kills her. Unfortunatly, she wasn't sick at all. Their supposed ruse never fooled anyone, further backing up my proof that they are both, infact, stupid cunts. Now the stupid bitch is snapping her fingers for her seat and we're trying to play a fucking game of war and she won't go away. Maybe my hatred of her is biased on the fact that I hate these kind of rotten skanks who think they can get their way because they'll happilly fuck any john that treats them with the mildest amount of respect. They're sure as fuck not gonna get that to me; as I sure as fuck don't want inside their infestuous cunts.

The other bitch was added to the hate list today after attempting to downsize one of my favourite, and recently diseased, literary idols; Hunter S. Thompson. Normally it wouldn't piss me off if somebody didn't like his writing, or disagreed with him, but the way this cunt attempted to bring her point across was just inappropriate.

You see, I lent her all the HST artifacts I owned, which consisted of a copy of Fear and Loathing on DVD, a copy of the Fear and Loathing book, and a copy of Songs of the Doomed. She had seen parts of the film and like many braindead fuckers, claimed to have "been sober, but tripped out on the movie itself". Of course, it's impossible to trip out on movies and anybody who claims they can just doesn't have the brainpower to comprehend Gilliams fucking INCREDIBLE style of directing. She said she hated the end of the movie because 'nothing happened' and 'it was wierd'. I informed the stupid bitch that it wasn't a story, and I'm really not sure what she expected after the kind of drug binge the characters went on. I explained her the movie and pointed out some interesting references from 'Songs of the Doomed'; told her the story behind the book, etc. This cunt, this filthy rotten whore, has the audacity to start calling him stupid and a fuck up and trying to tell me that I only like him because I'm the kind of person who would "buy into his bullshit". This fucking slut is mildly e-tarded (retarded by means of ecstacy, for those not in the know), and has more drinking and smoking stories then a Viet-Nam vet, so naturally she thinks he's all about drugs; failing to notice the community, political, and time period references I attempted to point out to her over thorough speaches to her dumb ass. Her only defence was that he killed himself, and that's immediatly wrong. Well, I can agree with her there, but just because he killed himself doesn't mean he wasn't a great person. I don't think I could really explain him without going into a rant larger than life itself, but I think my email to my best friend Tim says enough...

---------------

Oh Tim, it seems like just yesterday we were kicking it in the gym, waiting in line to go to the next class, discussing the best way to use the select cheat to beat the next castle in Links Awakening.

Maybe we were just jaded to it then, or maybe the world really was a much calmer place. We've since been through terrorist attacks, natural disasters, bombings, wars, high school break ups.

Things that would once be called 'wierd times'.

Yes, Tim, we've been the best of friends for ten years time now, haven't we? How ironic that this had to come now. While we're both just begining to enjoy the first bits of our freshly aquired adulthood, in a time when the kind of kids we used to be are being forced to learn about the complex stucture of the world at an increasingly younger age, we've lost who, now more then ever, may be the best mentor and guide through the world our generation could have ever experienced.

On sunday morning, Hunter S. Thompson was found dead in his home; a victim of suicide.

I'm sorry.

---------------

Anyway, I think I'm gonna ask for my HST shit back tommorrow.

After that my day got really good again. I had already done really well in War and Balderdash, and now I was doing really well in Crazy Eight Countdown during spare. I find I'm getting better at not losing games, which is a very good thing, as there's nothing else to do during spare. The thing that pisses me off is that lately, with Kyle not coming to school due to his parents absense, I usually have to scrounge together whatever players I can get, and the only other fucks I have spare with seem to be dirty fucking weight room grease monkeys. Luckily, they usually suck at cards. Today I was lucky enough to have two friends with a caf class.

After school I stayed to help set up for the school dance that's going on at this very moment. Of course, I had much more fun at the time then I would have had if I had actually gone to the dance; being that I hate loud music, whatever music they were going to play, and a good portion of the people attending. For the most part though, I do like helping out for some reason, and I've been doing it longer then anyone else so whatever.

Instead of staying I came home to one bit of shitty news after another, all caused by my damnable housecleaner, who my family has appropriately dubbed 'Crack-Baby'.

We used to have a really fucking good housecleaner who didn't charge nearly as much, but she decided to quit because she'd rather just focus on her other job as a busdriver and have the days and summers off. We offered to increase her pay to what we give the current one but she refused. This current one fucks up something new everytime she's over. One time it really pissed me off because she broke a really fucking good mouse, which was subsequently replaced with a shottier one of the same style but different brand. Today however, she seemed to have topped that, as I came home to find my Playstation left on with a friends game inside. On top of that, the case for my copy of Fight Club that was mildly damaged the other day was found totalled this evening. I want that bitch fired so bad.

It's occuring to me that I need more adjectives similar to cunt, bitch, and whore.

After that my night returned to OK, as I got on here while writing and watching Punch Drunk Love. It's one of my favourite movies, and has been since I first saw it, since it's one of the few that not only touches your emotions in a way that's almost musical, but also does it with incredible characters and fantastic cinematics. It's a chick flick, through and through, but it's done right unlike many of the dime-a-dozen chick flicks you see spewed out with different characters in the same situation. To my surprise, many of said chicks that I know don't enjoy it, which to me signifies an obvious loss of the love of another fine art, in much the same way people have abandoned classical music and paintings for these mass produced two minute opuses and amateur digital design style clones, respectively. Example being that it used to be about how many different little spots of colors and how much detail you could put in to an image, and now it's how fluid you can make the pixels apear. The same is happening to movies. It's not what goes into it but what comes out; and when this happens what comes out is never as good as what would have happened if you just let your actions speak for themselves.

Anyway, the movie must have put me in a love mood, because the DVD I grabbed when it was done was Love Actually, which is quite obviously another chick flick. This one is more of the dime-a-dozen variety, but it's really more like 10 dime-a-dozen chick flicks all rolled into one, and executed nicely. The optimist would look at this as an original idea while the pessimest would look at this as 10 unoriginal ideas, and as hateful and rude as I am I still consider myself quite an optimist.

And that's that, matress man.