"There Was This Time, Last Year..."

What's the logic behind the fact that knowing this makes me this happy? -Is- there logic? Does there have to be? Why do I have the compulsive need to hunt down the logic behind -everything-? Because I'm intellectual, or at least half intellectual, the other half Lucy In The Sky and fighting to infiltrate the rest of me. I don't know. I just know that I'm happy, that weirdly enough I'm enjoying this--and breathing, whatever the reason(s) why.

I found a random chick's blog with a picture of none other than Bill Beckett on it, and I'm still not used to this, so without thinking, of course I had to leave a comment. Here's how it went:

Me: Can I ask you something? Why do you have a picture of William Beckett for your icon?
Random Chick: well, because i like TAI. and William is the new Oprah.
Me: Oh dear.

The future of this band is positively doomed. I'm sure there will come a time when I am perfectly used to saying his name and having random chicks such as the one mentioned above turning around and saying, "Hey, I love The Academy Is(insert obligatory ellipsis pseudo-sophisticated chicks insist upon including--always)! William's so hot!" But for now? Bizarre!

I like the way pot smells.

Hero Of The Day Award goes to Me!, for being the most awesomely successful procrastinator that ever lived! (I left all my English homework, my weekly Spanish vocab assignment, and almost twenty pages of Spanish grammar work to do during school today, and we had shortened periods, and I got it all done with 10 or so minutes to spare! I'm a procrastinating god!!!...dess!!!)

Quote Of The Day today is from Jeremy Ware: "'Moshing' at a Fall Out Boy concert is like walking through the halls at BV."

=D

October tomorrow!

Thursday Night Your Stockings Needed Mending

I now am the proud borrower of the Delaware County District Library's only copy of David Eggers A Heartbreaking Work Of Staggering Genius! Hurray. I have heard the name whispering around places for quite some time now, but never actually found out what it was or whether it was crappy YA whateverness, etc. But now I have found out it is a mostly-nonfiction autobiography of the guy's life, which may sound boring to you. It did to me, too. Here is what sold me, though: I flipped through several blank pages at the beginning of the book, and the first page with any type on it said this:

THIS WASUNCALLED FOR.

Fantastic, no?

Well during a trip to the library this afternoon I decided to pick it up, because the title had been running incessantly through my brain all day. "A heartbreaking work of staggering genius, a heartbreaking work of staggering genius," and so on and so forth. Brought to you by My Brain, streamlined alongside today's special: the first and my favorite raunchy line in Live With Me, "My best friend, he shoots water rats and feeds 'em to his geese. Don't you think there's a place for you in-between the sheets?" Which was also being run alongside images of lips and me crying in a park and the great song Whiskey Man.

What a day.

I also picked up Naked Lunch, which might sound exceedlying raunchy in itself, but was recommended to me (not personally) by Ray Manzarek himself, so I figured I could forego my inhibitions and give it a read, because if anyone knows a good, solid book to be reading, it's Raymond Daniel Manzarek, Jr.

I'm thinking of calling Bethany when she gets off work and seeing if she wants to go get ice cream and walk downtown or something. It's a good day to be outside, the weather is autumn-perfect. And besides, I still need to find someone to kiss.

P.S. Why am I the only one around here who updates anymore?

Note To Susen

This is your area of expertise. I don't know anyone else with more expertise in this area than you. I'm not trying to sound incredibly whiny, really, but....well, if you know so much about it then why don't you know how to fix it?

So this will be nothing but a scientific experiment. I will find the formula myself, and remember it, should I ever need to give someone else advice, because I will never let such a dreadful situation descend upon myself ever again. I'm sorry that I turn everything into cold, sterile scientific processes, but......okay well no, I'm not really sorry. I like things this way.


Sense is a good thing to make. Maybe let me whine at you sometime? Although I don't know if that would make things better or worse. Blech. Gross. I don't know how you can stand me, but thanks anyway, I guess.

P.S. You should update your blog.

Only Fools

I quite dislike normalcy. It is boring. When you see someone you know in passing, they look up at you, smile and nod. How normal is that? That's no fun. Everyone knows what that means! That's normal!

Where's the mind-bending, time-consuming confusion that begs for my speculation in that? Nowhere! ::sigh:: -iNdEcIsIvEnEsS- Emo type.

Alright, alright, slow down!
Don't stop honey, don't stop.
Oh no! Oh no, we won't!
You could fall so easily, don't you dare slow down for me.

Perhaps sometime we will converge mentally and philosophically over coffee, and analyze ourselves sick. Together.

""Sexually satisfied . . . . financially . . . dissatsified, . . . and philosophically trying." "Rubbish."

Still trying to process the whole Keith-Richards-driving-past-and-turning-to-look-at-us-while-sun-sets-in-background scene.....

Jaw Drop

I just saw Mick Jagger. Last night. Less than 24 hours ago. Saw. With me own eyes.

I have no idea what to say. So this just to let you know that I survived "the magnitude of his babeness," viewed with the naked eye, while I think of what to say.

::sigh:: I am happy.

Blue Valentine In My Car

Susen. I did something for you today. You should really appreciate this because I think it's the beginning of the end of my beautifully laid out plan.

4 Days

I am going to see Mick Jagger on Saturday.

GAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am going to die, from the sheer glory of it all. I'm running around the house, hyperventilating, worrying, I've got a zit on my cheek the size of Alaska, I have no idea what I'm going to wear. It's fantastic! I love it, all the fretting and nail-biting and being happy.

Never take happiness for granted. It's so elusive and uncontrollable. I am wringing every drop of bliss that I can from this, what else can I do? It will be gone soon.

I'm learning to appreciate things.

CrystalLite176: but even worse ... if WE SEE HIM ...... i'll just crumble.
Closer To Regret: I'll die. I know it.
CrystalLite176: like those girls in the beatles movies.
Closer To Regret: I know!
Closer To Regret: What a mess that would be. I hope I don't.
CrystalLite176: i will i just know it! i'll scream and crumble and just cry!! and cling to him, if i actually get close enough. i know. i won't let go!
CrystalLite176: it would be AWFUL
Closer To Regret: But....what else could you do? It's like.....if that happens, for the moment you're no longer in control of yourself.
CrystalLite176: i know. it's not your fault! it's HIS, darn it!!

Don't Kiss Them Just Because They're...

Seriously, people need to get over being Irish.

Girls For Sale

Me and Bethany are going to go take emo pictures of ourselves by the tracks and by some old buildings downtown, and then we are going to watch Ferris Bueller. Hurray! It's sizing up to be a decent Sunday afternoon in September after all.

Wish us luck in looking supremely depressed and lovesick in our photos!

So give me your heart in a paper box
And I'll smash it against the wall
This is love

" ...died in London in 1963."

"The bees are all women,
Maids and the long royal lady.
They have got rid of the men,

"The blunt, clumsy stumblers, the boors.
Winter is for women----
The woman, still at her knitting,
At the cradle of Spanish walnut,
Her body a bulb in the cold and too dumb to think."

Wintering, Ariel, Sylvia Plath

(my emphasis)

12:18 a.m.

I am on the computer closing up my dedicated sociological research on Islamic customs when I hear footsteps bumping softly down the stairs, a shuffle through the living room followed by whimpers in the kitchen.

Julie appears around the corner with frizzy, pillow-snuggled hair, clutching at her nightgown and looking very worried.

"Hey. What's wrong, babe?"

She mews pathetically. "Um. I'm looking for my mom." Pause, large, shifting eyes. "Do you know where she is?"

"Your mom?" I repeat back at her, amused. "I'm assuming she's up in her bed. Why, what do you need?"

"I want her."

I can tell she's not half-awake.

I get up and she turns around, back through the kitchen, the living room, feeling safe in the assurance that I am following right behind.

"Do you know where she is?"

"Well she's not down here, she must be in bed, honey."

"Oh. I went in there but she wasn't there. I looked, and I didn't see her."

As we walk up the stairs I take her hand; she lets me hold the limp sinews disinterestedly. "Well you just must not have seen her. Did you go all the way in the room? I know she's in there."

She wimpers out again, several more sounds, and veers unexpectedly back into her own bedroom. It's illuminated dull pink by the nightlight, a small fan buzzing quietly on the teal carpeting. The fan is losing its gallant fight against the damp humidity pressing itself into the corners of her room.

Julie crawls back into her new, big-girl, twin bed.

"Do you have Cheer Bear?" I coo to calm her down.

She nods, tucking the over-loved pink bear under one arm and straightening out her tangled, flowered sheets.

"Is the fan okay like that?" Babying her into placation.

"Mhm." She lays her head down on the pillow, oblivious to the room's heat and already falling back to Dreamland, a tiny, sleepy smile tugging up the corners of her lips. "Goodnight."

"'Night, babe." I turn to leave but stop at the doorway to look back at her. She is still smiling and opens her eyes to make sure I am still there. I smile back and then her eyelids drop closed. A faint laugh rushes out under my breath and I head downstairs to log off and shut the computer down.

At least she didn't wake up screaming this time. She's kinda cute when she's sleepy.

" . . . the ones who felt life too intensely to bear living it . . . To be a poet, to be an artist, meant more than writing or painting or singing; it meant having a vision and the courage to see that vision through, despite any opposition. What didn't kill you made you stronger, and if you had what it took, you were rare and wondrous, and if you didn't, it couldn't be faked."

Introduction to the revised edition of No One Here Gets Out Alive

by DANNY SUGERMAN

*makes a list*

Susen
Bethany
Chris
Robin

Seattle
Central Oregon
Southern California
Chicago
NEW YORK
St. Louis?
London

music critic
author
journalist ]ick[
starving artist

Okay, lists.

I think that's all for now.

So Pin My Wings Down

Guilt tripped by Chris, I took Blindside to school with me today to be a better fan and learn more of The Great Depression. Every time I listen to them, I am always shocked anew at how good they are.
____________________________

bumps on the ride home
alone, stretched out across seats
headphones pressed to ears
Aaron Marsh is in my head.
Lovely.
____________________________

Why did John have to die?

Mood: autofrustrated

Why. why why why why why. I swear.


__________________________________



I met this Brazilian girl on the bus today. Yay for Brazil! (Hey look, I'm spelling it right.) Her name is Maria, she spoke near-perfect American and had a moderately thick, cute accent. That was pretty cool.

Other than that, I sucked today.

Susen, Susen, Susen. I have been calling your dorm for days. Your roommates probably think I am stalking you. Why are you never home?

heehee

Look, I dressed up like William Beckett! I know, the shot sucks and the lighting's horrible, but the batteries in the digital were dying fast and I only had so many takes! This is the best one. =P I'm standing on something, which is why my legs look funny. I just wanted to get some footage so you all could see the goofy event!!! Anyway, I went Rag-O-Rama-ing with Bethany the night before last, and I picked up some clothes that I now realize make me look entirely too much like one lead singer of a sell-out band. If only you could see my hair and neck. That's what really gets it. Also, note the Chucks.

Yeah, I finally caved in and bought some old Chucks. Shhh. They shall be hidden away and used for yard work purposes only. Don't tell anyone I have them.

The cutest boy came in the store today. He's been in once before, but the first time he was......with his mom! How cute is that? This time he was by himself. Standard scene, with shaggy hair, one of those olive green Tobymac hats, you know, like beanies with the little brims, and a red and blue striped t-shirt that looked like something Ralphie from A Christmas Story would have worn during the summer. Decent jeans, and probably Chucks or skater shoes, I don't remember. Anyway, he was being very adorable, and recognizing my existence, so hopefully he shall come back again sometime and we shall be friends.

I've got an extra ticket to a private KISS show on Saturday!!! Anybody want it? It's free! I'm not kidding! Honda got them to play the festival this year. (My dad works at Honda, for those of you who don't know.) How bad is that?

I really don't like some of the colors on this lay-out, like the green titles and the gray at the top and down the sides. If anyone knows enought HTML to be able to tell me how to change that, PLEASE, I would be very happy if you would help me out.

This was such an emo-kid kind of post. Ack! Help me!

The Stones album comes out tomorrow!!! POW!!!!!

MSNBC.com - New Orleans Turns Attention To Its Dead

A woman’s body remained lying at the corner of Jackson Avenue and Magazine Street — a business area in the lower Garden District with antique shops on the edge of blighted housing. The body had been there since at least Wednesday.

As days passed, people covered her with blankets or plastic. By Sunday, a short wall of bricks had been built around her body, holding down a plastic tarpaulin. On it, someone had spray-painted a cross and the words, “Here lies Vera. God help us.”

End quote.