pretending the echoes belong to someone

Epiphany.

2006-05-15T09:40:00.000-04:00

So I totally recognize that I was never the hippest kid, but writing the last made me realise that if I did want to be I'd have no idea where to go. I don't know what's "cool" anymore.

Am I old or just out of touch?

2006-05-15T09:24:00.000-04:00

So I've recently discovered that gym culture has reached the middle school. Subbing last week I had the opportunity to eavesdrop on a 12 year old boy professing his love for working out and "getting jacked" for approximately 45 minutes... coupled with the subsequent oohs and ahhs from pre-pubescent girls begging to touch his biceps.

Yesssss.

I wish that the present-day role models* that define "cool" weren't so effing lame. Or at least didn’t take themselves so seriously.

*That is, people on MTV.

courtesy of will, from a long time ago

2005-10-13T13:20:00.000-04:00

cat sandwich

so i know that this isn't really a post... but is it wrong that this picture makes me laugh? as in, a whole lot?

a page from someone else's book (get it? book!!)

2005-05-27T12:20:00.000-04:00

Happy Birthday Big Sister :)

leila, josh & jane

Just know that you will always be older than me.

(And I realise that tomorrow is actually your birthday, but I won't be here so I wanted to tell you today, since evidently you still believe in not having a phone. Ass.)

JPT-AT-BST: Toolishness Defined

2005-04-23T16:37:00.002-04:00

Tool is one of my favourite words. I use it a lot; truth be told, the term is quite ambiguous and often taken the wrong way, which is admittedly my own fault for using it in both a positive and pejorative sense. I've gotten many questions regarding it's actual definition that I can't really explain (because of both my lack of articulation skills and the fact that the word is, to me, dichotomous in meaning). So I've decided an attempt is in order, if only through use of explanatory pictures.

jackass & useless
The J-P (Just Plain) Tool:
Often characterised by artificially dishevelled hair and complete lack of purpose, these are most prominently found in the music business, and often among the always exploding singer-songwriter set. Office Space's moniker-challenged Michael Bolton refers to the singer-songwriter of the same name as a "no-talent ass clown" and I feel that that those four words brilliantly describe the JPT. Carson Daly--I mean, what is his purpose other than wearing nail polish? Ryan Cabrera, who I had the pleasure (cough) of seeing in concert in university, is another perfect example because he's really just not very talented. At all. (And I am in no way labelling all singer-songwriters with artificially dissheveled hair as JPTs--Ben Harper, for example, actually has talent.)

vin
The Awesome Tool:
As I watched seagulls* being their-usual-retarded-selves outside just moments ago, I started to consider the word while on the phone with a friend. While recounting my recent adventures in Montreal, I mentioned that I had recently had the pleasure of viewing the major motion picture XXX, starring one Vin Diesel. If you haven't had the opportunity to see this film, I reccommend that you do so if and only if you really, genuinely appreciate this class of tool, which Vin optimally characterises. He is all that the J-P is, but so over the top that it's simply, well, awesome. He has huge bulging muscles and a huge bulging ego. His attitude is, surprisingly, also both huge and bulging. The difference is that he--unlike the J-P--has the huge ego and attitude for a REASON. He has street smarts! He can jump over Colombian cocaine plantations on a dirtbike with no apparent inclined plane from which to take off! He says things like "The things I'm going to do for my country" right before he beds some scantily clad Russian prostitute that we see no where else in the movie!

The Broken-Shovel Tool:
This term was coined by a friend and myself because we couldn't come up with a suitable descriptor for this guy we both couldn't stand. I have no way to describe it besides posting his picture, which I probably shouldn't. The broken-shovel says it all... COMPLETELY USELESS. No redeeming qualities. None. Different from the JPT because sometimes JPTs at least provide some eye-candy. BSTs don't even offer that. (And shut up, you know you love the phrase "eye-candy" just as much as everyone else.)

*Who knew Augusta was so varied in it's fauna? I can only assume they got lost and decided to make this oh-so-enticing metropolis their new home. As opposed to the ocean. Where they don't have to eat cigarette butts to survive.

Alien:Snow Chink?

2005-04-11T13:27:00.000-04:00

Does it make me a bad person that I find it incredibly funny that thesaurus.com has "wetback" listed as a synonym for "stranger?"

Personally, I find "wetback" to be a most uncreative racial slur.

A quasi addendum.

2005-04-03T17:40:00.000-04:00

Okay, so I have a confession to make. That ultra-Christian girl in my class that never "gets" anything? I don't want to kick her in the junk, I just feel like I SHOULD want to. She's just so cute and naive that she plays the same part in my life as the show Seventh Heaven: a daily dose of good Christianity that I'll never have, being condemned to hell already. A play we read said the phrase "bumping uglies," and she blushed! I had thought blushing had died with the Victorians!

It's evidently alive and thriving in the Campus Crusade for Christ.

A List of Five

2005-04-03T14:56:00.000-04:00

5 Fantastically Bad (and sometimes actually quite good) Musical Moments:*

-"Girl I Want To Make You Sweat"
-Whitesnake's epic "Here I Go Again" video, featuring Tawny Kitaen (Actually quite good. Strike that: Actually quite RAD)
-Summer Girls, by LFO
"I like the color purple, macaroni and cheese, ruby red slippers and a bunch of trees." Pure poetic genius.
-That whole Janet Jackson's superbowl boob thing.
I recently was fortunate enough to witness firsthand the five second disrobing of Ms. Jackson by the venerable JT, on repeat, for approximately 20 minutes. The only thing I learned was that for someone who "accidentally" had her breast exposed on live national television, she didn't look particularily upset. Then again, he did threaten to "have [her] naked by the end of [the] song."
-And of course, no list would be complete without the immortal mortification of that crazily ambiguously gay duo known as Milli Vanilli

Runnerup: Fabolous. Just about anything, and totally worth mentioning. Especially the line "Looking at your onion girl makes me cry" in a recent hit single. Besides, his veneration of himself as "F-A-B-O-L-O-U-S" is fabulous in itself, because he is so obviously not and is apparently making a joke about it, which is indicative of a sense of humour.

And he's sort of hot.

*NOTE: This list is in no way comprehensive or cast in stone. If you perhaps wish to make it "6" Fantastically Bad Moments, just say the word.

4 Random People I Wish I Could Kick in the Junk:
-Carrot Top
-The woman on DirecTv that hocks DirecWay, the company's premium satellite internet service (okay, she's not famous, but she desperately wishes she was)*
-This hyper Christian girl in one of my classes that never "gets" vulgarity, sex, or anything remotely interesting
-John Steinbeck**

*I suspect that this rather mannish woman does in fact, have junk
**in the case of the already dead, "Wish I Could Reanimate and Kick in the Junk"

3 Musical Artists I Can't Tolerate:

-Skinny Puppy
-Shania Twain
-Stevie Nicks (Though Fleetwood Mack absent of is completely kosher)

Ooh, they all begin with 'S.' As in, um, suck.

2 Social Sub Catagories That Leave Something to Be Desired:

-Tie: Aspiring Hipsters & Super Angsty Emo Kids
-Tools of the Broken Shovel Variety

& ...

1 Guilty Pleasure:

The word "crunk"

(if anyone can give me a real, solid definition of this word, I would forever be indebted. As of now, I like the explanation of a friend as "crazy drunk" but hopefully it has a more interesting meaning)

Music to Make Love to Your Old Lady By OR: "Girl, you know I like it when you get on top/ love muscle feelin' tighter than a headlock"

2004-12-11T10:06:00.001-05:00

Recently there has been much contention regarding the etymology of the name of one of my favored rap groups:

1. g-unit
g-unit aka g u n i tizze
yo i dont wana here ne of you alpo bitch ass niggas talkin bout my nigga lloyd banks
Source: will, Aug 11, 2004

2. G-Unit
The ward of a hospital between the F-Unit and the H-Unit
Usually where Pimps go during a medical emergency
Soon after his run-in with the fuzz, Chester was admitted into the G-Unit under the care of Dr. Mc
Source: D. Horatio Núñez, Mar 29, 2004

3. g-unit
g-unit stands for gorrilla unit obviously. It's called gorilla unit because fifty cent looks like a monkey.
"yo fiddy, yo nose is so hizuge (like a monkey) dat im gonna call yallz gorrilla unit cuz ya look like friggin monkeys." "yo p.i.m.p (means poop in my pants) dat nigga jus called us monkeys, ya hurd." "das cool g, we jus make a fake gang ta make ourselves look like we real gangstas even though wes all wankstas like ja rizule
Source: biz markie (jus playyin, my names alex), Jun 16, 2004

--all courtesy of urbandictionary.com (props to alex for his honesty informing us that he is not, in fact, really biz markie)

The last one, although riddled with untruths regarding 50 Cent's likeness to a primate and various hater speech, is the most correct. (Don't be fooled by the unfamiliar language; it's called ebonics and is spoken among a select number. I've so far been unable to infiltrate the ranks and crack the code. If anyone has any ideas, let me know.)

G-Unit, or Guerrilla Unit, is a reference to "an irregular, usually indigenous military or paramilitary unit operating in small bands in occupied territory to harass and undermine the enemy, as by surprise raids... the term guerrilla is the diminutive of the Spanish word guerra, war. Perhaps this Spanishy-Latin influence is why the members of said unit seem to so highly approve of cocaine.

G-Unit consists of urban soldiers 50 Cent, Lloyd Banks, Young Buck and the currently incarcerated Tony Yayo of O.G. (Original Guerrilla) fame.* Their battles are mostly of the rap variety.

The G-Unit official website provides this information and more, including buddy-icons and an assortment of pictures of the remaining non-incarcerated trio wielding guns and wearing so many diamonds that one assumes their gangster power defies not only the law, but gravity as
well.

g-unit

(I think that the white stuff is either cocaine or crushed diamonds.)

*Though he was in jail at the time that 50 and crew rose to sucess, Yayo assures us he's "not a hater [he's] a congratulator." A real gangster, I suppose, is nothing but happy for his counterparts enjoying enough groupie love and p.i.m.p. status to warrants songs while he sits in prison and makes do with sporadic conjugal visits.

2004-12-01T16:35:00.000-05:00

Am I hopelessly emo because I secretly really like the Shins? I suspect I may seem so, but I will not deviate from my professed hatred with the social subdivision known as "emo kids." One of the latter actually declared his love for the Shins this weekend, and that is the reason for my contemplation. The fact of the matter is, I don't want to be like this kid.

The subject of emo-kids is always of interest to me... where did they come from? Why do they cry? That this group just materialised is, I feel, very unlikely. There have been countless groups of young people with a desperate desire to flaunt depth and individuality; perhaps this relatively new one is just proof that the sullen Joy Division following of the late seventies and early eighties was not wholly comprised of untouchables with a preference for large quantities of eyeliner.

Perhaps they spawned and passed on to their offspring their angst, their desire to shut the world out with headphones, and their slim physiques.*

The fact of the matter is, it's music snobs that I hate. For some reason, I've lumped them together with those that tend to cry at concerts. My bad.

*Because, after all, tight and layered vintage concert tees always hang better from an emaciated frame.

Belated, yes. And yes, I actually think this is kind of sad.

2004-11-15T13:09:00.000-05:00

RIP ODB

1968-2004

So I heard about this a little late at E&A, and to be honest I kind of thought it was a joke until I went home and found something about it in my inbox... Bryn and I talked about it and have decided that his best lyrics include those from his hit single , "Got Your Money" featuring soulstress of "Milkshake" repute, Kelis* found on album Nigga Please:

"I don't have no problem with you fucking me/

But I have a little problem wit you not fucking me."

YES.

May you deliver your awesomely offensive lyrics in your not good voice, sporting much bling and surrounded by bitches, in Rapper Heaven, for all of eternity.

*dude, "Dracula's Wedding," from The Love Below, is SOOO much better a representation of Kelis.

Some More Of The Many Things I Fail To Understand

2004-11-14T13:29:00.000-05:00

Continued from some things i fail to understand...

6. Why songs by bands like these:

onward ho! young soldiers

...are so goddamn good.

One Of A Few Reasons I'm Sad To Leave Portland Already

2004-11-14T10:48:00.000-05:00

Not only was it at the Big Easy, so it was small, but the show, in its entirety, was of an unusually high caliber. That is, not only did Eyedea & DJ Abilities completely school, but the openers were all pretty exceptional as well. Perhaps Ill Logic went off on one too many quasi-metaphysical tangents in which he seemed invoked by some rolly eyed hip-hop personage, and perhaps Mr. Tall kept standing in front of me (which I think was a silent dig in response to my "ignoring" him when he was hitting on me*) , but all-in-all, the quality of the show was absolutely fantastic. (I realise that since it's a hip-hop show I should probably say it was ill or something, but I really can't say words like that without feeling like a huge tool.)

Show stealer, in my humble opinion, was the MC of Glue, a two(?) man team from New Hampshire. He was white and goateed, and I admit, I made assumptions; when he started going I was definitely put in my place... I met him after the show (thanks to Kate-o's social skills) and got him to sign my canadian currency, which I figure is not good for much else. I tried to find a picture online that I could post, but unfortunately the New Hampshire hip-hop scene is so underground (or perhaps under snow (god I'm funny) that there weren't any. Here's a review: Glue.

This guy I met last night and I actually discussed the people at the show at great length. Most people were quite intoxicated (I judge this from the fact that due to the propensity of hip-hop artists to ask their audiences if they're drunk, people were holding up alcohol and swerving around yelling "YES!"). But the difference between the intoxicated people at Eyedea & Abilities and the drunk people at a lot of other shows I've been to, is that the drunks at the Big Easy were mellow drunks. They'd swerve up to you and then, instead of physically beating you in order to rob you of your prime spot in the front, they'd pat you on the back and say excuse me, then sidle through. One guy kept trying to get me to take shots with him, to which I at first responded in "normal" concert mode: NO-WAY-YOU-ARE-A-BAD-PERSON-AND-THAT-DRINK-IS-LACED-WITH-ALL-SORTS-OF-RAPIST-DRUGS! Then he was all "no, really, there's nothing in them I swear!" Not in a skeezy way at all. Obviously I still said no, but still, it was a kind gesture. He kept trying to get me to shake my groove thang in a more convincing manner, but I, unlike most of the white hip-hop kids there, embrace my whiteness to the point that I bob my head in a very sedate manner. Anyway, I'm sure I've rambled enough...

eyedea & abilities

*a very sarcastic thanks to Bryn, by the way, who told Mr. Tall that I didn't have a boyfriend and that he should talk to me (so that she could get away from him). Jerk.

A Couple Of The Many Things I Fail To Understand

2004-11-13T00:36:00.000-05:00

1. Why certain jokes are so damn funny-- Will made me laugh for literally ten minutes today at work, just by making some horrible comment that deems him worthy for that special part of hell for people that make fun of the mentally challenged. In all probability I will be joining him in for laughing so hard at said joke.
2. Why a club advertising "the hottest chem free dance party bash in Maine" would advertise said dance party using last year's J-Kwon classic "Tipsy."
3. Why friends suck when they get involved with the opposite sex, even when they have continually berated you for years that you, as a person in a relationship, "are lame" because of said relationship.
4. Why, of all the people you have to run into, you have to run into someone that was really mean to you for an entire summer and chooses to just forget the fact and pretend otherwise, making for an entirely awkward and unfulfilling night out.
5. Why things can't just immediately happen when you want them to, instead of having to wait around for them.

Warning: Portland, ME Does Not Sufficiently Cater To Needs of Angsty Artist Types In Search of Self Fulfillment

2004-11-10T13:42:00.000-05:00

The first sounds of Bryn's voice coming through the phone sounded warbly and unsound; sadly, it was not because of my communication device of the cellular persuasion (as is often the case) but because of actual physical pain she was feeling from news she recieved in the parking lot.

ATDubs, our Across The Way neighbor who we once shamelessly spied on and speculated about, is moving away.

None of our questions (see sexual predators have given "voyeur" a bad name) have been answered. No long-lasting friendships have been formed. We are being deserted and left with empty windows to stare into. We are being blatantly robbed of the potential to fill the Screamingly-Deep-and-Quiet-Artist Type quota in our Real World: Portland, Maine(tm) cast. Mr ATDubs, the owner of a mythologically monikered dog and the object of Bryn's obsession these past few months, is moving out to sea to commune with nature and seek inspiration on Peak's Island.

Well, the upside is that he took a picture of us that he says came out well. And besides, maybe the androgenous roommate will stay. Androgeny is always fascinating.

who gets married on halloween dressed in black? one guess.

2004-11-09T18:48:00.000-05:00

In her youth, Leila had a penchant for bright colors that has stayed true to this day.* On her wedding day, however, she chose to go alternaemokid and sport ghoulishly inspired black and red in honor of All Hallows. She looked very pretty and I'm very happy for her and Josh, who I suppose is now my brother-in-law (which is just as scary as The Exorcist, as far as I'm concerned).

Props go out to both Mum and Dad: the former made a killer spread (awesome lasagna AND spanakopita AND a plethora of amazing vittles), kept everyone happy, and told a really long story, muddled with vino-induced convolution, about a hawk; the latter provided spotless digs, a stellar soundtrack, and an amazing bonfire that basically told the rainy night to go to hell. Also to Matt for doing man things like hauling wood and drinking Labatt with Dad and hugging the newlyweds without consternation.

All I can say is

CONGRATULATIONS

(I'll even refrain from a smiley face)

a very wordsworth wedding
how fitting that the couple, best man shaun (AKA Jesus), and maid o' honor collomia met at a bookstore?

i feel this photo is the most genuine portrayal of events: josh is so happy he was able to land a catch like leila that upon closure he punched his fist in a very Newsies-ish "I'm the King of New York" fashion. shaun is confused: "how did he josh pull it off?" leila: naturally oblivious to this indicative exchange.

my sister the wife (she is so cute)

the camera is out of focus because it is unable to capture our labrynthine dimensions

fire + beer=lots of staring

i love that l & j's idea of a wedding celebration involved no bad cover bands, anything involving a church, or any sort of lame after-nuptial locale in which old men congregate and wear horns.

deeply entrenched in my emo-kid angst

[in reality i think shaun was telling me about his profound love for mcdonald's and how mediocre the sourdough his ex-wife made was in comparison]

*In an alternate universe in which Laura Ingalls Wilder goes to the big city of Des Moines, Iowa to visit Mary at blind school, discovers her true calling as a dope pusher and ultimately descends deep into addiction of psychedelics (because, after all, marijuana IS a gateway drug), she may have ended up putting together dresses similar in color to my sister's. Hard evidence of said inspiration.

2004-10-23T16:46:00.000-04:00

Moxie Festival 2004

I know it's belated, but I feel that this picture encapsulates so much about Maine it makes me teary-eyed with pride upon every viewing. (And it's mostly for Leila, who has met Eric and can appreciate his reaction to the awesomely racist, creepy moxie puppets. It's worth viewing full-size, it really is.)

addendum: a much needed close up

so much more frightening than chucky

It never forgives. It never forgets.

2004-10-23T14:35:00.000-04:00

And never will you. The person that convinces you to see it, and how absolutely terrible (and not in an awesomely bad way) it was, respectively.

Don't ask. Just don't.

Hey little girl, what's your name?

2004-10-23T13:55:00.000-04:00

I have to be the most tactless person I know.

Bryn and I go off about how horrid the name Patty is (we both have poor associations) pretty frequently. I don't know what the opposite of emasculate is, or rather, not the opposite but the female equivalent - efeminate? defeminate? Regardless, that is what the name Patty does. It automatically deepens the voice and roughens the demeanor. And maybe that whole androgenous figure goes into it as well, I don't know. I just can't picture a little girl named Patty doing anything besides bench-pressing three hundred pounds or chewing tobacco.

So why is it that the first potential friend I make, a guy that works at my gym and I talked to about skiing today, has to be named Pat?

2004-10-14T15:30:00.000-04:00

For the love of Christ: Will SOMEONE (anyone!) PLEASE GO TO DEATHCAB WITH ME???

2004-10-06T13:15:00.000-04:00

The aforementioned "Devil" -- read: the guy that attempted to interact with me by starting eye-poke worthy philosophical debate that I, as my greatly-lacking-social-skills self, blatantly rebuffed -- accosted me and asked for my number on my walk home from work yesterday.

I am SO hot.

Thirteen Tales From Urban Franco-nia

2004-10-04T14:02:00.000-04:00

1-The introduction of Red Bull (beverage of energy) to my diet made it possible for me to make the five and a half hour trip to Montreal in four and a half, and convinced me it was okay to be openly flirtatious with the NH officer that pulled me over in order to get out of a ticket. ["I really like your hat, do they give you those when you do something especially heroic?"

2-Four and a half hours in which to celebrate the entire catalogue of Black Eyed Peas, with intermingling G-Unit and Outkast.

3-Not knowing I've left Maine when I'm already in Vermont.

4-Not making any wrong turns the whole way to centre-ville... except for that whole going through Customs backwards (and to them, in all probability seemingly drunk) thing... and getting yelled at in French but then let go when they realised I was just a stupid American who doesn't know left and right in any language

5- "Of course I know Osama bin Laden attacked us - I know that!" i.e. Dubya showing the world what he really is-- a first class idiot.

6-Watching the Daily Show celebrate the aforementioned fact.

7- Because I love Asians.

8-Listening to a song sang from the point of view of a cat live and being surrounded by people that like it as much as I do

9-Developing a crush on the lead singer of the band that sings the cat song.

10-Sleeping all day Saturday and watching movies (Mean Girls and Walking Tall, both awesome in their own ways: Mean Girls because it reminds me of Charley, Walking Tall because it is so very terrible that it's awesome and involves the story of one soldier's growth (The Rock) from destructive Special Ops guy that beats the hell out of people if he doesn't like them to Destructive Special Ops guy that becomes sheriff and now has the authority to beat the hell out of people he doesn't like.)

11-Celebrating Saturday by going out for pizza and BYOB wine, having the tolerance of a 12 year old, and after two glasses of said BYOB wine, drunkenly discussing why America is going downhill with Canadians

12-topping off the night with Bar des pins and falling asleep on the couch while Matt and Corey watched bad Skinemax style softcore porn.

13-The right most guy is my new friend.

The Weakerthans

On the Urban Explorer (OR: Look Both Ways & Then Go, Idiot.)

2004-09-29T14:11:00.000-04:00

So I was walking to work today, listening to absolutely fantastically bad (but completely and in-all-ways necessary) cheesy hip-hop, sipping my earl grey and basically content with life, when I realised that the wind was cutting through my sweater and that the Texas heat had conditioned me to be a pussy.

So I stop for the second time (the first was when my batteries died and the aforesaid necessity of fantastically bad hip-hop was so great that I topped at a gas station to acquire more-- despite having a box of them at home-- because I just couldn't get through the day without the poetry of Ja Rule). I situate myself to pull my backpack around (no easy feat as my headphones cord is short, easy pull-outable, and kept in said backpack) so that I may rummage inside and eventually cover my pansy head with my hat and not die of hypothermia. And as I am doing so I am nearly thrown onto the sidewalk by a large and blunt object that comes from behind.

Does anyone remember middle-school? There's always at least one kid with a backpack or book bag of enormous proportions; more often than not the voluminous vessel is coupled with an individual that has the tendency to barrel down the hallway, oblivious to the fact that with each step he is sending human projectiles left and right and that pandemonium has ensued. With all of the other adjustments that come with middle school, one takes it in a stride and catches on quickly that stepping into a doorway is a fine idea when the dark-blue L.L. Bean Deluxe Book Pack (only 39$!) looms on the horizon.

I had no idea that these individuals existed beyond the halls of early secondary education. Steeped in embarrassment and awkwardness as those years are, one would think that eventually the habit would be broken and discarded; the ability to live without one's books, a parachute AND all one's Magic(tm) cards would be realised.

How wrong I was. Today, I was introduced to an URBAN EXPLORER.

She was amazing; I'm unable to articulate it any other way. Dressed for work business-casual, she is anything but casual, authoritatively stalking some unknown urban jungle predator. Her leather carryall (seemingly filled with rocks or possibly an assortment of ball bearings) hits me in the shoulder blades and causes me to drop everything and yelp in pain. She forges on. I adjust my hat and headphones, pick up my mug, and follow curiously, but not without apprehension and the good sense to allow her a good half-block head start.

As I walk behind her for several blocks, I come to the conclusion that she must have aimed for me. Not only is the sidewalk at least five or six feet wide on Spring, but I was also so far over on the side to find my hat that her arm would have been in the bushes had she been walking there. As I watch her purposely striding ahead, I start to become less afraid, and pace my mosey to a stride. By the next stop-light, I have caught up with her, and am fully intending to confront her. It is then that I realise that she is nothing but, as the French say, a poseur! She is the “Masshole” who buys Orvis beds and L.L. Bean moose dishes for her summer home in order to "rough it" or the ninth grader that carries around a skateboard even though he doesn't skate. For when she gets to the streetlight, does she cross despite it saying "DO NOT WALK?" No. She waits, on the sidewalk in front of a deserted street, for the sign to tell her it's acceptable to cross.

As visions of angsty emo kids that secretly like Christina Aguilera and environmentalists that drive Escalades spin through my head, I pass judgment in a split second. I pass her and cross the street unafraid of the non-existent automobiles, knowing that she's all talk. I even snicker a little, though over the Britney Spears that is filling my ears I am unaware of how loud.

Apparently loud enough for her to hear. She is angry. I turn to see her step into the street and steadily advance on me, breaking into a trot and then a jog, eventually passing me on the sidewalk again (I dodged the carry-all) and then slowing to a walk once she has passed me.

What just happened?

Did she actually just run in order to show me she’s not as lame as she looks?

"all i want is to meet some nice normal people... our age, not in school, and with nothing to prove"

2004-09-22T19:06:00.000-04:00

Good Luck Erin.

Saw Devil and his friend (who bears a remarkable resemblance to the highlander) again today. They had strayed from their half-hour rendition of Third-Eye-Blind's "Jumper" (which we had the opportunity to experience first-hand yesterday when they seemingly were unable to end the song for the entire duration of my lunch break) and moved on to something that sounded not unsimilar to a painfully drawn-out death experience. (Evidently this was possibly the Strokes, thanks to Nick Viti's amazing talent of deciphering unintelligible caterwauling).

sexual predators have given "voyeur" a bad name.

2004-09-22T17:54:00.000-04:00

Due to my obsessive-compulsive behaviour and my tendency to people watch (which may or may not also be related my long-running affiliation with the NCPL*), I've found this whole "living-in-an-apartment" thing to provide a perfect venue from which to observe others (some might say "spy on" but I think that that's a little harsh) . Instead of closing ourselves in with curtains and obstructive visual barriers, Bryn and I have decided to instead embrace mankind by peering out of our treatment-less windows and into those of our neighbours. Since we know nearly no one in our apartment building (save the dogs, to whom we readily introduce ourselves), in the evening we sit at our kitchen table and unashamedly make stuff up about the occupent(s?) of number 11.

For the past two nights we have been consumed by the following queries:

1. Does he have a roommate?

2. Is the fact that he writes long into the night (Bryn's window looks at his and she has informed me of this) indicate that he is deep, in school, or friendless?If the former, is he one of those obnoxious angsty emo assholes? (I DID hear Modest Mouse resonating from the apartment, but I definitely appreciate the MM and am definitely NOT an angsty indy/emo deep person.) If the latter, would he be friends with us so that we, in turn, would also not be friendless?

3. Is that other person who comes and goes male or female? (female, we have since discovered, though it is often hard to determine.)

4. Are they (unknown female [gf or roommate or both] and resident) doing it?

By the way, the acronym for Social Anxiety Disorder is SAD.

*National Confederacy of Pathetic Losers

Lucky Bastards Part Deux: Anna Nicole (except for the whole fat thing)

2004-09-21T17:25:00.000-04:00

WANTED: Someone for whom I can be a trophy wife.

Must be passably attractive (that is, not resemble Donald Trump, Rush Limbaugh, or Jerry Falwall though GDub's okay (YES, I know he's a chode and I hate him with every fiber of my being but he's just not on the same page of ugliness as the others)), intelligent, well-read, wealthy and willing to unconditionally support me and my voracious reading habit (I AM a Roy girl, afterall) financially. Under 30 or over 90 (bed-ridden or degeneratively (non-contagious) diseased best when 90+). Non-denominational liberals preferred. Must be able to appreciate racial slurs.

Oh, and I've recently been told I have "jungle-fever" (what?), so I guess non-caucasian is also a bonus.

[And yeah, I know Anna Nicole is an idiot, but still. Okay, there's the whole TrimSpa thing, which is a little intense. Erin kindly clued me into how TrimSpa works (combination of fruitjuice and pump-machine-laxitives). Be Envied. Gross. ]

"There's a time for playing it safe and a time for Risky Business."

2004-09-21T16:57:00.000-04:00

[Yesterday I realised that my public library has DVDs available to check out, and have since taken it upon myself to watch as many of them as possible (barring for the moment any seemingly dry documentaries). After last night, I felt that I must write a tribute acknowledging the first of my viewings as an amazing insight into the physical and emotional aspects of adolescence. For this reason, I have compiled the following list.]

Reasons Why Risky Business (1983 classic starring a young Tom Cruise and Rebecca De Mornay) Is Possibly One Of The Most Amazing Films Ever (despite what IMDB or Ebert or any of those other sissies say):

5. The Cast
Includes not only the aforementioned young Tom Cruise (versus, for example, greying Tom Cruise from Collateral) and Rebecca De Mornay (have no idea what else she is is, but she's awesome in this, especially when she wears the cool fedora), but also one of the oldy-but-goody stand-bys from the eighties: Curtis Armstrong. Despite being almost as old as my parents, Curtis Armstrong (then thirty) gives a believable portrayal of a horny high-school genius who just wants to get his friend laid. After seeing him in numerous films with John Cusack (Better Off Dead, One Crazy Summer) as a lovably strange sidekick, it was nice to see him in a more serious role (he goes to Harvard!). Other notable cast constituents: Balki Bartokomus and Teddy from Memento.

4. The Plot
Maybe The Girl Next Door is kind of the same thing, but Risky Business is the original! Rebecca De Mornay is so much classier than Elisha Cuthbert, and besides, The Girl Next Door doesn't invoke the same feeling of raw sensuality that Risky Business often does (which leads into point #1).

3. The fact that even though he only has a 3.1 GPA, is #57 in his class, and got approximately 1100 on his SAT's, Tom Cruise still gets into Princeton. (Granted, it was perhaps not by his own merits but those of the awesome call-girls.)

2. That scene where Tom Cruise dances-- he has killer moves. (I even forgive him for the tightie-whities thing, although they are the most disgusting thing ever.) Black Ray-Bans are also key.

1. The Scene on the L & the use of "In The Air Tonight" by Phil Collins
All I can say about this is that resulting from this scene was a need to read 16th century French philosophy for two hours before I could get to sleep, and inability to ever hear the aforementioned song again without being frustrated about my situation. This scene is reason enough that this movie is amazing and everyone should watch it.

Lastly, this quote from Phil Collins, who I now have a crush on:

"I can feel it coming in the air tonight, Oh Lord
I've been waiting for this moment, all my life, Oh Lord
Can you feel it coming in the air tonight, Oh Lord...
Oh Lord..."

Oh Phil. Oh, Phil.

i cannot WAIT until i get a digital camera

2004-09-17T19:41:00.000-04:00

Okay, strike that first highlight; it's now a tie for first between:

-a bald guy with bright red bozo the clown style side hair (yeah, as if you know what it's called) who had the fattest welsh corgi I've ever seen with his own matching dyed red patches.

and...

-the huge, arty, metal statue of a lobsterman shaking claws with a lobster in the square by the Nick. It's awesome.

2004-09-17T16:54:00.000-04:00

Highlight of my day:

As my best friend* and I sat in the little park outside and talked this afternoon I noticed a abnormally tall young man walking up the Exchange Street. My guess (most likely skewed as I'm only just under 5'7") is that he was over 6'6" and weighed roughly 160 lbs; the best part is that he was wearing a fantastically bright-red Met-RX t-shirt. Maybe it was his complimentary t-shirt with his first month's supply, I don't know. All I know is that I want to party with him.

*who is still unemployed and deserves a shout-out because she is nice enough to come down and meet me for my half hour lunch break at 1 in the afternoon to people watch (even when she's still drunk from the night before and can't open her eyes properly (as she was today).

2004-09-16T16:35:00.000-04:00

The new and improved list of most terrible things, ever:

5. The sound that metal plaster spatulas make on sheetrock

4. "This Car Climbed Mount Washington" bumper stickers

3. Harry Potter fan fix

2. The rape of anything (especially small children and animals, but not excluding rape by an inanimate object (re: "I just got raped by my physics exam") or figurative rape ("George Bush is raping the national wildlife preserves with his overzealous pillaging of resources."))

1. The Pontiac Aztec

Even if you don't hate these things as much as I do, you must admit that they are considerably less cool than things like sushi, banjos, and the one-armed drummer from Def Leppard.

Oliver Twist was a lucky bastard.

2004-09-16T13:47:00.000-04:00

Considering I have absolutely no prospects for a real job, one would think that I'd be regretting majoring in something as unmarketable as history. Part of me is, granted. I'd love to have something permanent with a good paycheck to which I looked forward going to. (Take Kenny, for example. He's got money to burn and is enjoying his work to boot.) At the same time, though, I can't help but think I'd poke my eyes out if I had majored in business or accounting and had to say things like "aquisitions management" or "asset accounting" or "merger" on a daily basis. For some reason, these words don't seem like interesting or desirable words to me. But then again, there are some words I've been reprimanded for even liking. Like "fag." Seriously, I wish that I lived in Britain, because if I did I would start smoking cigarettes just so that I could say the word "fag" everyday. I think that it's just the combination of letters. And unfortunately, the derogatory connotation of said word prevents me from experiencing the pleasure that woud undoubtedly result if I could shout "fag" all day long. I wish derogatory names and slurs weren't derogatory; some of them are quite creative.

Not fag though. It's not creative, it's just cool.

honesty the best policy?

2004-09-16T09:01:00.000-04:00

Not when you want Colt45s, idiot. The other afternoon the kids and I were walking down Congress on our way, if I recall correctly, to happy hour ourselves, when two guys our age asked us for change. Nick was rummaging around in his pockets when one of them added "we just need enough to get a forty." It was almost endearing.

ruminations regarding my sunny garden lunchspot (OR: Words Like "Ruminations" Are For Losers!)

2004-09-15T16:51:00.000-04:00

It would seem that my lunch spot of choice is evidently the favoured spot of many our age. This is the second day in a row that Bryn and I have been approached by randoms who converse with us; yesterday it was Ben, who seems like a nice person and I regret to say does not live in Portland, and today it was this guy who we speculated was on drugs before he came up to us and started one of those obnoxious "what-is-the-meaning-of-life-it's-all-a-coincidence,-really-i-don't-really-understand-the-message-of-jesus" conversations. It reminded me of university: over-analysation extreme with the threat of being thought stupid if you don't contribute. Except for the fact that I don't care anymore... I think Bryn was kind of into it, it was cute, and I of course had to ruin it by saying something bitchy like "this reminds me of one of those aggravating philosophical discussions from uni that I always hated." I'm not really a very nice person, it would seem, with people I don't immediately like. Ah well. He was a nice enough guy, but c'mon. He introduced himself as "Fate" in the beginning, and then called himself "The Devil." That's almost as bad as Bryn's friend who changed his name to "Photosynthesis." What happened to normal names like John and normal guys that don't try to wax all emo-philosophical? Then again, I suppose it could have been the acid.