Early Blog (6WS)

Good book makes all-nighter equal conquest.

PS: (Yeah, that was how I spent my Friday night.)

PPS: Booknerd pride.

How Toy Story Scarred My Childhood

Toy Story 3 was awesome. Epic in the traditional, non-overused-on-the-Internet sense. It made my dad (and everyone else in the theater) cry, and it kept Evan's attention. Both difficult things, at least in terms of movies. I'm probably going to see it again, it is That. Good. As it should be, taking 11 years...

The first movie kind of scarred me, though. Not "scared", emotionally scarred. I cannot remember the period of time in my life I had not seen Toy Story. I cannot remember ever owning a humanoid toy. These are related. The eyesss, they watch. Every toy (minus stuffed animals) is alive and has feelings and actions and can, if mistreated, effectively KILL YOU IN YOUR SLEEP (or, y'know, so I thought. Past tense). I only extended this to dolls/plastic things, because they were the only type of toy in the movie (and if I was forced to either live in fear of or get rid of my massive collection of stuffed animals I would die).

3 fixes this logic. Thank you for that, movie. A film managed to make me feel almost guilty over the treatment of my inanimate possessions. Not exactly guilty, but curious. Knowing that these things have an opinion of me is nervous-making. I think I was a pretty okay (if strange... I didn't even really play with them--or other kids for that matter, probably explaining my aversion to social activities--I slept with a mountain of them... stuffed animals, I mean. And you probably knew that but now I'm just distracting myself in this parenthetical statement...) owner, but it's more just the "having an opinion of me" part.

Aforementioned hoard has dwindled, but I still have ones I've either won or been given as gifts. I don't know why I feel compelled to keep gifts, but I never win things. They (Shalom, Orange, Cupcake, Oliver, and Mei... I still know the exact dates/occasions I won them, too.) are my trophies, dammit. I know "never" is disproved by that list, but consider that I will never win an actual sporting trophy in my life. And that those five are the work of 8 or 9 years of carnivals.

At first I thought that 3 was the darkest/most depressing of the trilogy, but the other two are pretty on par with it. Holy. Crap. But that's what makes these movies compelling, there are things you only notice upon repeating viewing years apart. Other example: I honestly thought the movie Drop Dead Fred was a fever dream until a few months ago. I saw it at my cousin's house (I think), while I was sick and falling asleep sporadically. I was young and impressionable and only aware of the psychotic leprechaun. (Imagine what would happen if Willy Wonka took amphetamines with Mountain Dew, was allowed to swear, and was placed in functioning society. Bwahahaha.) But Google knows everything, so I was able to plug in seemingly random words and come up with an actual movie. Re-watching, fully conscious: Childish (still really funny, I'll admit. :P), yeah, but sad. Not, "Let's pity the obviously mentally ill woman" sad, but sad. My explanation makes no sense.

EDIT: It's being remade. >:P At least Russell Brand is English...

Why I Like Wikipedia

No matter how pointless/informal/random the subject is, it just sounds like Wikipedia. And it provides a blog topic with little research and even less thought, while remaining Wikipedially educational.

Examples: here, here, here, here, and just because I like odd numbers: here.

That is all.

Starts Out -ish And Gets Progressively... Moreso.

Ehhh, so it's late. It'll probably say I posted this on Sunday (err, really early Monday. I don't count days as starting from midnight, they start when I wake up. There has to be sleeping to distinguish them in my mind). I don't know. I'm always up at these ungodly hours (actually, why does "ungodly" in that phrase just mean "I should not be up at"? It's very godly. Seriously, I'm listening to Godspell--because I hate silence when I'm browsing websites and stuff without sound, so I tab YouTube and just listen. I'm good at multitasking. I choose this because it's awesome. *stops blogging for Alas For You.* Jesus snaps and beats up a (symbolic-)robot. And then all the quiet/depressing parts. Whoo. (If not awesome, distracting. I need distracting, my stomach feels weird. Like I don't know if it hurts because I'm hungry or because it legitimately hurts mildly. Or both, so either way it's a lose-lose. Rar. Will eating something make it better or worse? Whatever, I'm just going to eat because I like food.)

Paragraph breaks, I should add some.

I don't know what to add after the paragraph break. Damn On The Willows is sad. *food break*

*television break*

*sleep-esque break*

Okay, so, food = WORSE-MAKING. Suffice to say I spent most of the early-morning hours in my bathroom staring at the ceiling. I managed to not vomit, because my brain likes winning more than my stomach likes not feeling gross. I have not thrown up in over 4 years. I want to uphold that streak, and I also hate throwing up. It's hard not to notice everything when you're confined to a small room with nothing else to do except not puke and notice things. My mother has hung a huge framed poster for Big Top Pee Wee (usually italics are the right thing to do to movie titles, just because. But these italics have the added function of questioning my mother's sanity. Really?) hanging on the wall over the toilet. Staring at it is not fun because it's like he's watching you, dammit.

I haven't seen this movie, but in character he reminds me of a cheerful pedophile, and out of character he got arrested for wanking in public. . . so yeah. And, this came out in 1988. When my mom was 27. It's a movie for children, apparently. *Wikipedias* The plot summary makes no sense. Whatsoever. Most things, though, if they are trying to be explained, sound horrible/make no sense whatsoever. I shouldn't judge, I'm the one who was talking about what could best be described as "ZOMG Afro-Superman-Jesus! Awesomely 70s everything!". Campy movies usually turn out to be pretty entertaining, though.

Anyway, here's something that made me laugh, stolen from Allie's blog I linked to before. I've read almost all of her posts, I wish I knew about this blog when it wasn't famous because I would gladly sell cookies door-to-door for her. Or tattoo the URL onto a koala. I'd feel useful (and cool because I knew about an unknown blog). But it doesn't need that kind of promotion anymore. Whatever, here's the picture:

Nevermind, the picture is huge. Go here if you want (it's old, but I love the caption).

Awkward and Awesome Other Blog FUN!

Hello. [hell-oh-- if you don't know how to pronounce it I don't know what the hell I'm going to do with you.] (noun.) The most basic greeting in the English language, it could really be the beginning of any conversation or statement:

a.) Hello. I just shot your neighbor's daughter and raped her bloody corpse, do you have any stain removal products I could borrow?

b.) Hello. I'm a pirate. I also have free Oreos. Would you like some?

I'd pick the second one, but this is all beside the point. What *I* mean to say is, hello, thank you for wasting your time reading this blog. Let's continue.

You see, "let's continue" implies that no more time should be wasted because there is an IMPORTANT POINT to get to. There isn't. I've been rearranging the blog sidestuffs a bit, deleting the people who never update their blogs and once again marveling at how I follow tons of blogs chronicling the lives of small children.

ANYWAY. . .

Speaking of children, here's an awkward conversation I'd like to preserve for future generations--if there *are* any. *rubs hands conspiratorially*

*End of a long, long car ride, inhabited by me, my close-enough-to-be-weird-and-somewhat-offensive-to friend and her aunt*

A: *breaking long silence* "Sooo, what do you girls want to be when you grow up?"

T: *quick and assured* "Forensic pathologist."

R: *it was hot. I was not going to bullshit through whatever sounded good, rather, I was dryly honest and thought it best to always finish with humor. Aunt is not familiar with my sense of humor* "Erm, something English-y. You know. I want to just stay in school for as long as I can, so I don't have to get an actual job. And then, like, become a starving poet-activist who lives off cookie dough and ramen noodles. Or travel. Travel is cool. . . I could go to Uganda undercover as a missionary and hack up babies for their limbs."

A & T: *stunned back into silence. T at least half-laughing internally. Probably.*

I'm not going to lie, I reveled in that silence. I like confusing and/or disturbing people. In truth, only the last sentence of that was purely facetious. Cookie dough and poetry = funtimez. Real work and responsibility and having to cook food = NOTFUNTIMEZ. Of course, I must deliberately acknowledge at this point that I'm writing this at 15, things change, I could very well morph into a responsible adult with a college degree and a clear plan for my life/how I'm going to make money, et cetera et cetera. . . Another conversation that gives more evidence to the "living in a shopping cart" future for me, same people:

*part of a discussion of hypothetical names for hypothetical children*

A: "Oh, I love the name Phoebe. Or Bianca. Or Lola."

R: "The last two are strippery. Depends on the middle name though."

T: "I'm going to name my daughter either Skylar or Kaylee."

R: "Ugh. Don't do that to a child, please. They don't sound like names, all "Y"-y and "Ee"-y. Too trendy."

T: "And you like?"

R: "Long, melodic names that sound Victorian English-y, or that start with vowels: Elizabeth, Violet, Lillian, Catherine, Abigail, Amelia... stuff like that."

T: "I don't know what I'd do if I had a son, boys' names aren't as pretty."

R: "This is assuming you ever have kids..." *adultlike restraint shown by using this ending instead of "if a guy ever knocks you up" in front of staunchly religious aunt*

A: *empathetic and firm* (read: scary) "You will. You both will."

This was the point where I wanted to stomp my feet in defiance. Or at least politely inform her that I do not want kids. Seriously. I mean, maybe, but committing it to a "will" freaks me out. Especially having that commitment verbalized by someone who is not me. It's not 1950, go childless females! And Ramen! But I (again, showing responsible, smart restraint) picked this as the time to shut up.

Anyway, instead of FIPOGI or anything at the end, just go here. Hilarious blog with crazy awesome drawings. Better than mine by far.

Questions!

List! (Single! Word! Exclamations!)

--In "Eenie Meenie Miney Mo", is it "eenie *point* meenie *point*" or "ee *point* nie *point*"?

--Did Greg (y'know... the yellow Wiggle) die of lupus or something?

--Is there a job that entails only the naming of colors of paint, or does that fall to the person who created the color?

--What's the best way to move (and extract coins from) a 35 year old gigantic glass jug?

--Why is it so bleeding hot?

--Did I seriously just use the word bleeding to describe something other than a wound? Yes.

--Why do the British have better curses(/interjections/whatever)? I could have used "freaking" in the same context with the same meaning, why does "bleeding" sound better? I pick up these phrases when I watch British television, particularly late at night, actually, and a lot from my mother. Accents. For no reason. It's how we roll. Moreso in mock-shouty situations.

--Why, come summer, do I have as much motivation and energy as an impregnated gnu?

--Did I seriously just use "impregnated gnu" as a descriptor? Yes.

--Why, when there are 3 coins in my presence, must I arrange them into a Mickey Mouse shape? I hadn't even noticed this until I stared at my desk in impregnated gnu-state for 5 minutes.

--Do these questions even really matter to people other than me who may have been under the unfortunate assumption that the questions mentioned in the title would be somewhat intelligent and thus chose to waste time reading this?

--Will any of the non-rhetorical questions in this list be answered? (*Googles*... Nope, Greg's alive. Yaaay. There's one.)

--Should I stop now? Yes.

Hometown SHAME.

Seriously, guys?

The whole country, really?

What?

Elmhurst, Illinois (whoop whoop here. Yeah. This was too weird not to disclose my location for.) is the number one town in the ENTIRE UNITED STATES to search for porn on the Internet. I'm sad. Also creeped out. Also adding this to the list of reasons I really want to get the fuck out of here for college. Which is a shame, I've heard it's a good school but I want to leave more than I value my higher education I suppose. Damn that's creepy though.

So... yeah. That's this town's claim to fame. Great. A (up until now) nice, little, respectable predominately white upper-middle-class (read: BORING. AS. HELL. Nice enough but like, Upper Leadworth bad. Wait, does that town actually exist? It sounds enough like it does. And it's foreign. Will I stop with the Doctor Who references? Nope. Give me the Illinoisan equivalent of frozen TARDIS of death, kthnx.) Chicago suburb, which is now famous for it's pervs.

Thanks a lot.

(BUT, Utah has the highest porn subscription rate, if this diagram is reliable. Pick on Utah.)

FIPOGI:

This isn't so much funny as it is just palate cleanser. Enjoy.

Good Television Inspires Hypocrisy

A strange phenomenon I've witnessed (Rule Of Three counts as witnessing enough to note...) recently. The following (very much recurring) conversation, Tuesdays, 9:04 pm:

R: "Hel--"

M: *genuinely irritated* "I'm just calling to tell you it made me cry, and I'm never watching this fucking show again. I mean it. Goodbye." *hangs up*

This is regularly proved to be hypocritical, so the rationale offered is something like "I was only going to watch the beginning but then they did BARBRA, so I had to." (thus proving the theory that the only people who watch Glee **The finale is tonight ZOMG!!1!one!** **UPDATE: Phone call received. I cried a little too though, so in my mind it's justified.** are teenage girls, their mothers, and gay men. We've also managed to convert my grandma.) Similar conversation between my mother and me, (but she was basically narrating...) regarding some extreme medical procedures show:

D: "Awww, LOOK at that thing! It's gone almost all the way through his head! Auugh, how the hell are they going to remove that? Why am I watching this?"

R: "Because you're a depraved sadist who can't bring yourself to inflict pain on others, so instead you rely on equally sadistic television producers to broadcast it for your sick entertainment?"

D: *suspiciously laughing tone* "Ohhh my God that must hurt! GROSS! Look. LOOK!"

R: "Why? You just said it was gross."

D: "But it's science."

And to round out the rule of three, this is most of my own thought process during any given episode Doctor Who. It is within the realm of my physical ability to just stop watching this, but will I? Naw, of course not. I could/should spare myself quite a bit of confusion (Time and ensuing traversing of it is complicated. Crazy awesome British humanoid alien regularly saves universe, interchangeable companions, from various monsters. Everyone/thing else dies. With a screwdriver that looks like a laser pointer that can do things beyond the capabilities of either of those two objects.), fright (no, I am still not over this.), even tears on a few occasions (Father Octavian, damn.), but it's compelling and enjoyable. I can't credit science or musical obsession, it just IS.

FIPOGI: (scratch that, since it's almost 8 and I can't find anything on Google Images worth pilfering, NEW ACRONYM TIME! Video Of Current Ear Worm, henceforth known as VOCEW. Songs get stuck in my head, I feel it's my duty to *share* them. You're welcome. :))

VOCEW:

Seinfeldian Observations (Or, the blog earns its name)

NOTE: Shortly before starting this post I was called upon to Google the spelling and meaning of Taekwondo (one word, yes, and it's spelled right, automatic spellcheck). Thought you should know that it's the national sport of South Korea and has been an Olympic sport since 2000 under WTF regulations. Hah.

(Maybe the Internetz have corrupted me, but What The Fuck regulations sound a lot more interesting than World Taekwondo Federation regulations, wouldn't you agree?)

Anyway, I pose a question:

Is there any way to scientifically prove the benefits of stripy toothpaste? Does each stripe have a specific function, or is it just general toothpaste colored into bands? (Which would be a clever marketing ploy, but would probably result in lawsuits...) The twisted together stripes in the center of the cap also kind of turn a light purplish, which in theory if mass produced would have the same results, but be more visually appealing. In my opinion.

And just because that point needs more informational nonsense to go along with it:

HAPPY CHIMBORAZO DAY!

Chimborazo is a volcano in Ecuador, its claim to being-famous-enough-to-have-its-own-holiday is that it pokes farther out into space than any other mountain on EARTH. Yeah. The BOLD makes it look awesome. Wouldn't the mountain with this title be Mt. Everest, though? Unless because it's in Ecuador it's not weighed down by snow or the atmosphere is thinner because it's warmer. I don't know. I don't write the facts (or even throughly research them), people, I just steal them from the Internet. **Disclaimer: Of course, I just mean in the context of blogs, not important schoolwork related pursuits. This is not to say I don't value the importance and informationalness of this blog... ;)**

FIPOGI!

Why I'm Tired.

(Incredibly stupid and avoidable reasons ahead!)

So. I'm trying to blog at 11 in the morning, just because I'm awake and this counts as carpe-ing diem, no? Yes. Yes it does. One problem with that...

less than six hours of sleep. Fun. Recap:

In keeping with my unreasonable summer schedule of wakefulness and unconsciousness, I was awake and very frankly kind of bored at 1 in the morning. Instead of going to bed like a normal person, I decided to catch up on Doctor Who (and was getting all excited because I hadn't seen it in weeks... ah, the rare occasion my social life interferes with my nerdy pursuits-- viva el on demand, sí). Sure. Fine. Overall, creepy yet throughly enjoyable and awesome. Except that it was raining, hard. Thunder, lightning, et cetera. Sure, fine. . .

The major plot involved sentient angel statue things that can only move (/thus effectively kill people...) when they aren't being seen, have the power or energy or whatever to flash lights, and can also inhabit people's minds and come out of screens. Great. Important facts:

1. I am a very easily frightened person.

2. There is an ongoing thunderstorm.

3. The Weeping Angels are pretty much the fucking scariest things ever.

*cue light-flicker, 20 second power outage*

*. . .*

I died a little.