honestly. you know? just...honestly.

i've come to a conclusion....i don't like computers. sure, they're nice when they're new and working correctly, and i'm very grateful that my ancient iBook (her name is iRene) consents to keep playing dvds for me. and gee, isn't email handy? (truth be told, i prefer letters. i like to hold something in my hand, something actually written by putting pen to paper. it's no fun to put an email printout under your pillow for sweet dreams.) but the internet is...well, isn't it all just a bit much? i actually don't want to be in constant communication with every single person i know. that's why i moved away from home. i'm not even all that keen on the telephone. i had a myspace page, but then i remembered that i'm in my late twenties. i have a facebook page, but i only got it so i could talk with a friend in ireland. what are all of those 'applications' for? none of them have any place in real life. i don't want my zombie chump to bite my friends. i don't want a virtual bottle of chocolate syrup. i don't want to play scrabble with you, or see what you wrote on my wall, or compare our knowledge of 'shawshank redemption', which i thought was a lousy film anyway. i mean, if you were sitting with someone, face to face, you would never -- okay, you could play scrabble. i concede that point. but would you draw pictures for each other? would you pinch or poke each other? would you endlessly challenge each other's accumulated movie lore?

of course not.

so why are we doing it?

what makes people think, that because they spot your picture, read your profile, and send you a friend invitation, you have ANY inclination to accept? it would be like some randomer coming up to you on the street in the middle of the day and saying, 'i like you let's be friends tell me your secrets lol.' to be honest, that may be the thing i hate most about the internet. the spawning of 'lol.' i make it a point to try and avoid contact with anyone who knowingly uses that and is over the age of fourteen.


maybe i'm not taking it all seriously enough. there are people who, when i log in because i've been invited to yet another pointless non-existent group, change their 'status' like most people change underwear. so-and-so likes blue today. so-and-so keeps watching 'the hills.' so-and-so is so incredibly devoted to chronicling every moment that it boggles my mind. maybe i, too, would be happier if i did this. maybe i should accept that group invitation. there are currently 32,248 for 'chocolate=love!' but they can't compete with the 155,720 over at 'kids who hid in department store clothing racks while their mom was shopping.'

i'm sorry, but...give me a fucking break. do they all get excited when they meet other group members in person? do they have weekly chapter meetings?

maybe i'll start my own group.

i'll call it 'omygod how rad is it to have brown eyes?!'

lol.

i say no moon in the sky...

i suppose that a lot of people you ask, they would say that marlon brando's defining role was in 'the godfather'. although a slightly more learned film-goer might be more apt to say 'a streetcar named desire' or 'on the waterfront'. but let's be honest. the man spoke like he was trying to juggle hot mushrooms on his tongue as he gave his lines. and that is why my vote for best marlon brando film, of all time, mind you, is the one in which, i feel, he spoke the most distinctly.

'guys and dolls'.

lord help me, i love that movie. sure sure, frank sinatra was funny, but brando was the coolest singing gambler of the EVER. those suits. those hats. the way he arched his eyebrow and sang out of one nostril. he was dangerous--yes, in a musical. if you're not aware that there can be true danger in a musical, you obviously have never seen 'thoroughly modern millie'--not that new broadway crap, but the original--with julie andrews, mary tyler moore, james fox, and carol channing. along with the singing and dancing, there's a healthy dose of white slavery and opium dens.

but anyway.

i was completely in love with skye masterson--i had no idea who marlon brando was at the time. that may be why, when i was woefully miscast as a nightclub dancer in our high school production, i sulkily mooned about over the sophomore who played skye. (let's not discuss the fact that i was to sulkily moon about over him for the next eight to ten years.)

alright, so 'luck be a lady' is kind of a stupid song. and dance. the whole scene should have been chucked. but 'i'll know'? please. as he ambled around the salvation army chapel throwing out Bible quotations. raised as a churchgoing girl, this obviously struck a chord. you can be dangerous AND Biblical.

the thing i never did figure out though....how did they get to havana and back before morning--"the only time you can hear footsteps on broadway..."?

...and dreams are dreams

i like my dreams. i have good dreams. my dreams are often better than my waking life. they are, however, almost ridiculously nonsensical, detailed, and involved, to the point where words could not adequately explain.

i don't generally have recurring dreams, apart from one in high school about mr. miyagi and myself shopping for peach taffeta party dresses, and then stealing an empty baby carriage. but i had one last month that i wish i would have again. i wish it would happen in real life.

at the beginning, i broke my winnie-the-pooh cup, one of the disney ones with the extra layer of plastic, and the water and glitter and plastic flowers in between. i couldn't clean it all up, because the plastic flowers seemed to disappear when they hit the ground. the middle of the dream is too complicated and random, so i will omit.

but the end, ah, the end. my fingertips felt funny. sore and stiff. i looked closely and saw tiny tiny black dots on them, just very faintly. then i squeezed my finger, like the lady at the doctor's office does when you're little, to squeeze out a drop of blood after they've pricked you. and the dots swelled and turned into tiny black balls that popped out the end of my fingers. and when they fell onto the ground, they turned into the plastic yellow flowers from my cup.

now why can't something that wonderful really happen?

when boredom becomes painful

what exactly should be your next step?

when you have fully understood the meaning of the phrase "dead-end job", because that is your occupation. when you sit in front of your computer, trying to think of something to look at on the internet. when your eyes are bleary from endless games of tetris, and you have lost all capacity to laugh wickedly at the antics of the paris hiltons and britney spears of the world. you know you should be doing something to get yourself out of this situation, but you can't think for the life of you what there could be that you haven't already tried. when you're glad of the pain in your muscles from your first chinese kickboxing class because at least it's something to think about besides your utter lack of ANYTHING TO DO.

the why and the wherefore

' "oh, (blank)! i (blank) you so (blank). it's been years since someone has (blanked) me to such (blanks) of (blank)!"

"my own (blanky) (blank). i saw your (blank) in the (blank) and my (blank) got so (blank) i had to come right over her and (blank) you (blankly)."

he (blanked) her (blank), and she (blanked) with (blank). and then she (unblanked) his (blank) with her teeth.'



there is a woman who writes books, i'm inclined to say that they are of the drugstore variety. several have the same peculiar pattern of words "verb (present tense) + me + adverb (ending in -ly)." as in "whip me sporadically." or, "grate me frenetically." or even "shake me long-windedly." not that these are the actual names of her books. "something me thisly" sums it up, though. they're romance novels. romance novels about werewolves, cyborgs, aliens, and the like. apparently, they're just like humans when it comes to their...romantic wooing techniques. except there is always one human involved, making them inter-species romances. and you only really see the humans on the cover, with some shadowy figure lurking around the edges standing in for The Other. cause it's hard to think of romance when you're faced with a real, live werewolf, i suppose.

myself?

i prefer the ones about pirates.