"The Italian Futurists believed" - Oh, screw this. I'm gonna go watch Indy.

Screw the Living Art Show. I am never doing that ever again. It hurts. And I'm not even getting a grade for it.

I had to say this same spiel for an hour straight:

"The Italian Futurists believed that, "War was the sole hygiene of the world.' This aggressive attitude and faith in technology can be observed in this piece by Boccioni, Unique Forms of Continuity in Space. An abstracted soldier forges ahead into the wind as the wind blows his form into a dynamic machine. Valuing speed, mechanical precision, and power, this Futuristic piece expresses an aesthetic for the modern world and the hope for a brighter tomorrow."

And yes, I just wrote that entirely from memory. I still have it lodged in there from yesterday afternoon.

But the good news is, things started looking up immediately after I walked out of the two hundred quad cafeteria. Mainly starting with me and Dakota getting pwned after a failed attempt at a piggy-back ride. I was rofl'ing so hard I couldn't stand up on my own.

Then, after picking up Autumn (who I still hate, you and your damned Wookie noises), Nikki, and Dakota, proceeded to meet 14 more of our friends at Cinemark 22 to see Indiana Jones and The Kingdom of The Crystal Skull, thereby shattering the record of X-Men 3 of 13 people. Comfortably seated between Sara and Dakota, a night of cheesy comebacks, physics-defying scenes, cliched car chases, predictable plot-twists, and incidental innuendoes followed on the heels of popcorn and funnel cake.

We filled the better part of three rows, so the entire theater was able to enjoy their movie experience Circle-style. For example, the incessant giggling at, "Someone came."

All in all though, it was an awesome night.

In other news, there's only nine days left until I leave for Italy/Greece; I have exactly four days left of my Junior year; I will be starting a Paladin on the Dark Iron server with Sara, Dakota, and possibly my sister in a little over two weeks; and I feel completely awesome.

But in general, everyone who was at the movies last night, you are truly awesome.

People Don't Tell One Another That They're Awesome Often Enough.

So I'm sort of making it my mission this summer to tell one person per day that I think they're awesome. 

Think about. How many people look at you every day, hell every week or even every month, and say, "You a

re awesome,"? And mean it.

People don't tell each other that they're awesome anymore. It's a word we throw around like it means nothing. It falls into the same category as 'Love' and 'I'm sorry'. We don't care about those words. They don't mean anything anymore; they're hollow, meaningless, and empty.

I realized today that I hang out with an entire group of exceptionally awesome people, and they probably aren't even aware of how awesome they are. I tested this hypothesis by asking Jew if anyone had told her she's awesome lately. When she said no, I told she was awesome, and that - apparently made her entire day. Are some people truly unaware of how awesome they are?

In that case, I'm making it my mission to let people know that they are awesome. People shouldn't have to live without the knowledge that they are awesome. 

And now I'm sort of wondering how many times I wrote the word 'awesome' in this post. Oh well, have

 a gander at this awesome picture. 

Yes, that is indeed the Bowie smile that Nikki and I dubbed "Yeah-I-fucked-your-mother-and-if-you-were-younger-I'd-fuck-you-too" smile. Because Bowie so did Liv Tyler's Mum. Heehee.

G'night everyone.

Weird Stuff Happens To Me At Barnes And Noble

No, seriously. I'm not joking. B&N is the location for the weirdest conversation with a complete stranger I've ever had, weirdest person I've ever met, weirdest book I've ever seen, weirdest employee I've ever met, longest staring contest with a complete stranger, and most awkward shuffle-past-someone-in-an-aisle moment I've ever had.

And half of those happened today while I was buying books to read while on my Italy/Greece trip. I'll tell you about one of those incidents.

First things first, I was hanging out in the Fantasy/Sci-Fi/Manga section 90% of the time so I was probably asking for it. Even though I am one of those people, the majority of my 'type' of people I guess you would say, still manage to scare the living daylights out of me.

Anyway, on to the weird stuff.

So, weirdest conversation with a complete stranger: It started like it has been doing a lot lately - this chick thought my shoes were cool. And I'll admit, they are pretty dang spiffy, so I grinned back and fired off the usual, "Yeah, they're awesome," hoping she wouldn't be able to think of anything to say after something like that (I know I never can). But, as fate would have it, she was one of those people who always has something to say. She noticed I was holding a Ray Bradbury book and immediately started nattering on about him. She gushed and ranted and raved and I just kinda stood there, shifting awkwardly and nodding at what I assumed were the right points. 

So far this was turning out to be the average conversation I have with strangers (i.e.: I stand there and nod while they do all the talking). I tried all the tricks to give her the hint that I really didn't want to talk without being rude (surprisingly enough, I'm very polite to people I don't know); I checked my phone for the time, kept throwing glances over my shoulder, ect. Apparently she didn't take hints very well. 

So about five minutes of this one-sided conversation later and she switched subjects like Bond doing a U-turn in an Aston Martin, and suddenly we were talking about my clothes again. She grabbed my right hand to "get a better look at my ring". She continued talking about me, and it took me a whole ten seconds to realize she was hitting on me. My brain instantly starts slamming through the file cabinets looking for the FLIGHT order of the Fight or Flight response. I'm honestly three seconds from pretending that my phone is ringing and answering only to find out my non-existent Great Uncle Jerry just flipped his golf cart doing donuts on the golf course and is being rushed to the hospital for emergency hip surgery when the chick's Mom/Sister/Friend/Partner in Crime (I honestly don't remember how old this person was. I was sort of panicking and I was being touched by a strange woman.) shows up and tells her they need to go.

She waved bye to me and laughed, and my brain collapsed in relief, panting like a flogged racehorse. I counted to 500 before I left the aisle and then hightailed it to the check-out. I even drove home fast. I was going like 85 down the freeway and about 60 down L. 

So, basically, I'm never going to B&N alone ever again. It's dangerous. I get touched by strange women who hit on me. And I don't like it.

Interesting Blurbs.

First things first, a blurb is a short summarizing sentence that reviewers give to a book. Said summary is usually located on the first few inner pages or on the cover of the book. And I've thought of a few interesting ones.

The Plague by Albert Camus: "For the quintessential Existential."

Shogun by James Clavell: "1,200 pages on why to not trust asians."

'Salem's Lot by Stephen King: "If you see a vampire, do not attempt to hold it off with a plastic cross."

Diamonds Are Forever by Ian Fleming: "Proof that if you're suave enough, you don't need to dodge bullets."

Common Sense by Thomas Paine: "Leave us the fuck alone, Mommy."

Hamlet by William Shakespeare: "You're safe as long as you're the best friend of the leading man."

But to count a few..

Anyway, other than dreaming up amusing little summaries of some of the stuff lying around on my shelves, I've been pondering exactly how much tomorrow is going to suck and be filled with win at the same time. I'm going to need a shit ton of coffee in order to stay awake.

Ugh. Going back to reading.

Toodles.

This Is Why I Hate People.

I don't get them. They do stupid, arbitrary, annoying, pointless, ignorant, irksome shit, and frankly - they scare me.

And the Internet only makes them WORSE.

Apparently the Internet gives everybody and their brother license to advertise their ability to contribute absolutely nothing of value. Earlier today I stumbled upon a thread in a forum 650 replies long arguing about the pros and cons of two different types of make-up remover. Do that many people honestly have NOTHING better to talk about? And this assumption of mine is only compounded by the fact that none of them can take the time to properly spell out, "Ur stoopid n u know nuffink bout mak-up", a direct quote by the way. Forgive me for not supplying a link to the website, but I don't want anyone to be harmed by concentrated stupidity.

And, as Smity pointed out earlier today, when given a seemingly impassible obstacle, they are content to jam themselves through a space half the size it normally would be when the problem could be solved in about half a second. Why is that? Why are we content to always opt for the non-thinking option?

People annoy me.

I'm going back to Iron Man where Robert Downey Jr. makes way more sense.

A Paladin By Any Name Would Not Smell Very Sweet. (Exorcising demons is a sweaty profession after all.)

BJ's is awesome. I am full of pasta and pizookie. It's a rather satisfying feeling.

Time for updates on my life I suppose:

I found my English journal (thank god). I was not looking forward to making up 25+ journals in less than a week. I changed my final art project. It's entitled: "Four Men I'm Obsessed With and Probably Shouldn't Be". It is made up of four portraits of some of the men I'm obsessed with; Bowie, Tennant, Robert Downey Jr., and Johnny Depp. And the youngest of all of those is 20 years older than me. It's gotta be some sort of mental condition or something, I swear.

Sister is visiting for the next two weeks-ish, and damn, is she preggers. Seven months already. And she's like 5'1" with this big belly. It's kinda funny. I'm just waiting for her to get top heavy and tip over.

I should start saving money for a WoW card, but I also really want to get a DS before I go to Italy/Greece so I'll have something to do on the plane...Hard decision. I'll probably go with the WoW because even if I get a new DS, I'll have no money for games and I'll have no way to purchase a WoW card once I get back. And I'll want to start playing WoW immediately. I really have missed my WoW, and the group me, Sara, and Dakota will be starting up sounds really epic. Prot Pally, Holy Priest, and Rogue. We are going to kick so much arse.

So, names for a Paladin:

Develocity

Hammertime

Lumindilis

Virtuoso

And I can't think of anything else worth putting down right now.

G'night.

I Am Anachronistic

I am completely convinced that I was born in the wrong decade. I fit in with the kind of crowd that was born back in the 60s or 70s.

The majority of the music I listen to, the movies that I watch, and the kind of people I would like to hang out with - excluding the people I already do that with - are from that era-ish. Hell, 95% of the men I'm obsessed with are at least 20 years older than me.

True, there are things that I would miss if I were suddenly dropped into the mid-70s via time slip, but they are things I could honestly live without. Probably the worst thing would be lack of Internet, but if I was born in the 60s I wouldn't know what that was in the first place.

Oh well, no use bitching about birthdate I guess.

But, on a similar thread, I've noticed people seriously reminiscing about the 90s lately. And I agree with them; 8 years is plenty of time. Like, I remember when CatDog was a new cartoon. I remember when there were only 151 Pokemon. I remember when the Backstreet Boys were the shit and Sketchers were high fashion. I remember when the Dreamcast came out. 

Ah, simpler times.

Anyway, enough looking over my shoulder. I'm gonna go watch Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy. 

Note: May 25th is Towel Day, and a hoopy frood always knows where their towel is.

10 Reasons Why I Should Clean My Room, and 1 Why I'm Not.

1. I just almost broke my neck while tripping over my shoes. 

2. Whatever got left in the blue bowl is starting to grow something rather suspicious looking.

3. My books are all out of order and my OCD is twitching.

4. I can't find my keys.

5. I'm almost positive my overflowing trash can will sprout limbs and attack me while I'm sleeping.

6. The amount of dust on my shelves is thicker than the shelf.

7. There's a miniature replica of Stonehenge on my desk erected out of empty soda cans.

8. The amount of clothes in my laundry basket is greater than the amount of clothes in my drawers.

9. I've lost all of my guitar picks. That is a MASSIVE problem.

10. I can't see my carpet.

And the one reason why I'm not:

World's Sexiest Fanboy

Who else? Robert Downey Jr., that's who.

Honestly, I can't blame the man. I'd probably do the same thing if I ever saw Stan Lee. 

Not much to report. Art project is epic as always, I've settled on the Riddler for my final project(gonna be doing it in charcoal), and I've commissioned a Tony Stark from Jew for a dollar and a hug. I'll scan it and upload it once she's done.

I scribbled down a verse today for a song - won't work for the song I'm supposed to be writing for Jew for her birthday - but it is something worth keeping to work on eventually:

Just read the news today.

Section C says it looks like rain.

Guess I was holding out for a sunny day.

Maybe a chance to get away.

A shame.

The chords I'm working with are variations of C, G, D, A...the usual chords I play around with.

Anyway,I'm off to Nikki's for dinner.

Why Kuhn Says We Can't Have Nice Things.

Kuhn says: You can't have nice things because of incommensurability of paradigms.

I say: Fuck you, sir. People can still learn from one another and about each others' theories even if they don't come from the same perspectives. Just like Existentialism and Christianity. We all end up in the same place: Becoming comfortable with the idea of dying. 

On another note, I have recently discovered that Robert Downey Jr.'s middle name is indeed John, thus putting an end to my 'David' streak. However, this does not mean I love him any less. His non-David hotness is just as welcome in my heart as any other love-worthy David.

I mean, how could you possibly say 'no' to that?!

Erm, anyway, returning from the brink of fangirling, I've discovered I have read everything in my house that there is to read. Which makes me very, very depressed, and exponentially more bored as well...I must go buy some more books. But also need to save for a new DS. Damn.

Anyway, I'm almost certain that there's something important I should be doing right now...

Pants!

New ones! I have them!

Now, onto something more interesting, and I suppose that would be the news that I am nearly done with quite possibly the most epic piece of art I have ever created. Once it is complete I'll put up a picture, but just as a preview, it involves David Bowie and wing-hands. I suppose in that same thread I've decided to do a highly detailed drawing of a superhero/super-villain, and I've narrowed the choices down to: Iron Man, Batman, The Flash, The Joker, The Green Goblin, Two-Face, or The Riddler.

Right now I'm leaning towards Two-Face or The Riddler. I guess I just have a thing for super-villains.

Went and saw Iron Man today for the second time. I am proud to report that I was not reduced to a puddle the entire movie - only melting into a semi-solid jelly-like state during shirtless or mostly shirtless scenes. I am still hoping to talk my Dad into seeing it with me so that I can go again.

Well, I'm out of things to talk about so I guess I'm off for today.

Ironman: A Fangirl's Review

I would like to be able to give you an honest, calm, and - frankly - objective review of the new Ironman movie, but truthfully, my inner fangirl just wouldn't let me go for two-and-a-half entire hours Friday night. She took the reins and, instead of paying attention to any other character or any plot at all, my focus was 100% centered on exactly one thing...er, person. Hell, let's face it: I couldn't take my eyes off of Robert Downey Jr., or drag my ears away from his voice for that matter.

Take a look up and tell me that isn't one sexy, drool-worthy piece of man. When my inner fangirl was confronted with a living, breathing Doryphoros, she promptly melted into a steaming puddle of smush, hence, the entire Ironman movie was hijacked by her hormone driven motives. Though, in retrospect, I'm finding it a little hard to complain. Robert Downey Jr. is damn fine.

Tomorrow I'm going to see Ironman for the second time, hopefully in order to actually understand and follow the plot instead of being reduced to a brainless heap of hormonal squish. I've got my gear previously used in preparation for David Bowie: Crash helmet, ice bucket, heating pad, defibrillator pads, and poncho all ready for tomorrow's 1:25 showing. 

I leave you with a snippet of a conversation following the viewing of Ironman on Friday night.

Woody: "Pull it OUT!"

Sara: "You'd never say that to Robert Downey Jr.!"

Blog time. Let's do this.

Oh, to blog. I suppose the definition of a blog is some sort of online diary, a place to compile one's innermost thoughts into an organized compendium of how one's mind works that few people ever get to see. 

That is to say, what the fuck is going on in our heads.

You want to know exactly what's going on in my head right now? Okay, I'll give you a version of my inner dialogue inasmuch as I can put it into writing:

Oh, my lips are *flashes image of Robert Downey Jr.* chapped. Where's my (Ilovehisvoice) chapstick? Oh. Found it. ToK sucked yesterday. God I'm *takeanap* tired. Too late for naps... *image of David Tennant* Oh, Doctor Who rocked tonight. Who's better? Downey or Tennant. Oh, hard one. Downey was HOT in that tux. Tennant was HOT in that tux. Fuck all of you. Bowie still wins. Shaddup, all of you. I need coffee and arguing about hot men isn't helping. 

See? Not all that interesting. Now, I guess I could talk about my day, but my days generally aren't that interesting either. And just to cover all bases you perverted wankers, my nights aren't interesting either. So, the question is then: What do I talk about in these things?

I suppose I could rant endlessly about politics, world issues, video games, and hot men, but I do that on a regular basis. If you want to hear that just come talk to me for ten minutes, and you'll probably hear about all four from me in that period of time.

Well, here's some food for thought: I just noticed that the tab above the box where I am typing is labeled 'Compose'. That is supposed to make us feel that this time we spend recording our lives for posterity - or for our own health, whichever makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside - time well spent. To compose something is to create something, as is with the connotation of the word, of worth. Something useful, not wasteful. The purveyors of this site wish us to feel that whatever we are doing is something meaningful.

Now, if you compare the two, I wonder which paragraph tells you more about who I am? The internal dialogue or the observation? I guess if you are reading this you are interested in me or at least in what I have to say.

I guess I'll end on that note tonight. I dunno if I'll ever do this again though.