Good hot damn.

I don't know if I've brought this up yet, but I watch Doctor Who. Do you? You should. Well, I'm not sure if you should anymore, because I don't know what will happen in the episodes yet to be. But you should definitely see the last two series*.

Last night, they aired the second series* finale in the United States. (I know!) I was fucking devastated  . It was so awesome. I may or may not have seen a better hour of television, but if I have I can't remember right now.

I traveled back in time to read the reviews of some English friends and I have to agree:
[Begin Spoiler for Doctor Who: "Doomsday" — Highlight to view]

The final scene was entirely unnecessary and I wish they hadn't done it. Although, to be honest, I only half noticed it. Half my brain took it in and said, "Oh. This is disappointing." The other half of my brain was still sobbing and fucking devastated  . Seriously, it was awesome!

[End Spoiler]

* because it's English.

Oh, alright.

No one was waiting for me to do this, I'm sure, but I've finally seen enough other people do it to want to do it myself. But with DIFFERENCE! This is that thing where I reproduce the first sentence of the first post of each month this year that I made. (Clausey!) I will write it a la storied paragraph. I do not know what that means.

Please note that I am currently irrational with glee, and not apt to find answers such as, "I was unaware." to be acceptable. If you are reading this right now, you should go here. My head is, sometimes literally, abuzz with thoughts these days. I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but I am cold. I would like to announce that I have emerged, technologically speaking, from the dark murky atmosphere of the early 2000s, and have landed myself firmly in the middle 2000s. There's a place for everything, and everything should be in its place. Okay, since none of you know this, I will start at the beginning. You know something is amiss when you can feel relieved that it's only 87°. Oh come on ! Television starts this week! What else is going on? So at 9:39AM yesterday I was turning 23 and ... buying some iced tea from the CVS.


It's like a story that never quite gets there!

I believe it's spelled "SQUEEEEE"?

I'm not usually one to do this sort of thing. But it's the last time I'll ever be able to.

The title of the Seventh Harry Potter book is

[Begin Spoiler for WAIT FOR IT — Highlight to view]

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

[End Spoiler]

Also - a step behind.

I discovered recently that liking the Decemberists hasn't been cutting edge for a while. Hating  them is cutting edge. I am so sad. But I'm hip to being square - they still fill my heart with rainbows.

Also, what the hell Blogger? The new Blogger is out of beta! Just when I was starting to appreciate being in the exclusive club! Why must fate toy so with me?

11:30 tonight -- BE THERE.

By "there" I mean "your couch" or "your bed" or "your chair" or whatever. Although most of you don't watch television on television, so this instruction is probably moot.

Stephen Colbert vs. The Decemberists.

Most entertaining thing ever? I think so.

It's hard to argue with that.

Joy to the world,
The Jupe is come.

Joy To The World
from the Christmas Song Generator.

Get your own song :

Also, I'm sorry, Pat.

I have the Beta.

I don't know what happened! They just said I could have it! So I said okay! I don't even know why it's so special! I'm completely unworthy of this honor!

But is it art?

I often say that I have always wanted to be an actress. To be honest with you, this is not an entirely accurate representation. The first thing I ever wanted to be, and ever told people that I wanted to be, was an "artist." Always forward thinking I, I left it vague. While performance was always swirling around at the top, I also had ambitions to be a singer, a painter, a ballerina, a sculptor, a musician, a photographer, a writer, or what have you. If it fell under the "art" then I wanted to do it. This is still, for the most part, true.

Now, my li'l ol' heart's desire is to be an actress. This is clear. However, it's become apparent to me that performing arts differ from other types of arts in a key, maddening, way: you don't actually get to do much art. Acting doesn't often get recognized as being an art these days, and that makes me sad. Writing or music, I think, has an advantage in that you do your thing first, and then your challenge is to get someone to recognize it. With acting, you need to jump through all manner of hoops before you even get to do your thing. Expressively yourself creatively is like a prize that you have to fight and claw for. Depressing.

Not that the goal is any less attractive for this realization. But. As I've been sitting around lately, all melancholy and at-loose-ends, I've realized that I might pursue other artistic avenues. You know, add some pretentious slashes to my career goals. Also, over the past year I've ... gotten fat. I'm working on it! I'm eating much better and I plan on actually doing something physical with my body sometime soon. But no one is going to hire me when I'm fat. This must be what it is, since I rock in precisely all other capacities. I need something to do in the meantime, though.

But what! I don't know. I'm good at many things. [/HUMILITY ALERT] But I don't really have a driving passion for any of them. I make figurines out of clay, like the kind I could sell at art fairs for primo buckos, but we got rid of our wooden kitchen table when we moved, and I haven't done anything since because that was my work station. In a similar vein, I rock at embroidery. At an art fair like mentioned above, I saw these embroidery works by this Asian lady that she was selling for hundreds of dollars. I believe it. Unfortunately, I know how hard she had to work for that price tag. "I could do that," I pompously thought, but the truth is I don't have the time. I don't have the time! Plus, art fairs? Eh .

I could take up painting, I guess? When I was in 7th grade and taking natural sciences, we had an assignment to draw pictures of the various types of clouds. Instead of doing that I busted out with an OIL PAINTING of clouds, Bob Ross-stylee. (I did random and crazy shit like this all the time, do not be alarmed.)

I could always write, as many people have told me. Not that you can tell from reading anything I say on the internet, I actually have a fair amount of skill at writing. Unfortunately, I have no skill whatsoever at storytelling. (I apologize if this sounds familiar to some readers, as I have totally discussed this with people before.) The first time anyone told me I was good at writing, I was 10 and in 6th grade. We were commissioned to write short stories for Halloween and I kicked it out of the park and my teacher actually discussed my mad skill with my parents. What they didn't know, however, is that I really had to work to come up with actual events for my story. In the end I wound up opting for a generic kids-investigate-haunted-house type thing. I have at least 3 ideas for major works that have lived in my head for a while. But no storylines. Just a gaggle of well developed characters with complex relationships and lives and thoughts who do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. (Talk about "write what you know," right? Shit.) I guess this is why I like acting. The story's already written for you, you just have to fill in the details. (Ooh! Ooh! That reminds me. You remember my friend Jen? Jen was a kick-ass artist in the field of drawing. She used to draw pictures, and I would color them in with colored pencils, totally re-inventing Chiaroscuro all by myself. No, seriously, they looked awesome. But I only ever liked the shading. I never could have done anything if she didn't draw the picture for me first. I have no idea why I'm saying this here, but it does fit with the theme.)

I've even taken a class (no, wait, two) in storytelling, and I'm still not any good at it. I've read "Story" by Robert McKee, and I'm still not any good at it! I don't know. I shouldn't really make it seem like I'm bad at it, because the truth is, I don't actually try. I feel something akin to social anxiety when I need to make actual plot decisions. I took a class in screenwriting, and as a final I wrote a short-film. My professor told me that mine was very good, but he didn't understand why the main character made the decision that lead to the action of the story. Not a big deal, but it still took me two years to realize and admit to myself that he was right.

I'm starting to not have a point. Upshot: I don't know if writing is the path for me. I'd be willing to give it a shot, because I may be wrong. I could also write stories based on my dreams. [/another post entirely]

Finally, I could be a musician of some sort. Problem with that is, of course, I don't really play any instruments. At least until I teach myself bass. I could sing, but people hate singers who do nothing else (people = I). Also, music requires a.) writing songs, which combines my issues with writing fiction AND my issues with writing poetry, b.) the ability to read music (probably) which I never learned, and c.) meeting and dealing with other people, if you want to be in a band. I hate people. Other than this, I'd probably love it.

Speaking of which (sort of), here's an anecdote designed solely to present my life as more interesting and glamorous than it actually is:

My father's friend owns an honest-to-goodness literal castle that used to house his law firm. Also, in the 70s it housed a cult until the leader was extradited to India after he tried to poison people with salmonella. They've been trying to sell the joint for about four years now.

The company that I work for sells insurance. Today we were speaking with a woman who put in an offer for the place that she feels was well-received (I called my father for the skinny). Currently, this woman runs a bed-and-breakfast that doubles as her headquarters for her personal management service for death metal rock bands.

AWESOME. Of course, there is every possibility that she will not wind up getting the house because, due to the historical significance of the property, she has to go through a hearing wherein she is reviewed by two towns and the county and they will probably freak the fuck out about her business. My father said he'd take me if they hold it. And also, my company will probably not wind up insuring her in any event, because they're really a tiny family-run operation and this is kind of out of their depth. But! Wouldn't that be neat? If I started my hypothetical band, perhaps she'd hypothetically represent me! She is looking to expand to other genres.

Oh boy oh boy, GOOD OMENS.

So at 9:39AM yesterday I was turning 23 and ... buying some iced tea from the CVS. And then afterwards my day pretty much sucked. The details aren't terribly important. I've had better. But on the other hand, I've also had worse. And then I had wine. Hooray!

And now it's a new day, a new year, and people, it's going to be NONSTOP OPTIMISM around here for at least the next few days.

Thank you everyone who sent me fine birthday wishes. You kids are alright.

T minus frame of reference.

In one week's time, it will be my birthday. This will be a big one for me. No, not 21. No, not 25. I will be twenty-three years old. As far as milestones go, it's hard to explain why this is one. It's not conventional: it's not a multiple of five and there's no legal or social barricade for me to cross. It's not personal: it's not the age that anyone died or the anniversary of any particular event. Although I guess that's not true. River Phoenix died when he was 23, didn't he? And this will be ten years since my grandfather died and I broke my knee while afloat on the Nile. But this isn't about any of those things.

It's a significant year because at some point, I decided it should be. Back in the day, I was a withdrawn and maudlin teenager with a dead sister and a vivid imagination. And I read a lot of Anne Rice. I love Anne Rice, as I've probably mentioned. It's okay if you don't; it's not your fantasy. It's mine, though. I'd love to be able to talk about her stuff the way I can about Buffy, or Harry Potter, or Veronica Mars, or what have you, but there's a real dearth of kindred spirits available, especially if you're not willing to talk to teenagers or crazy people. It's vampires and/or wizards: that's my stuff. Her books basically fetishize youth and indolence and grief and (O!) The Self. But that's what I like about 'em.   I have 'Things Fall Apart' if I want to read something real.

So, I'm me, 8-13 years back in time, being a youth in turmoil and reading about vampires. And in thinking about things, the way I do, it occurs to me that there's probably an ideal age to be. And I hit on it: 23. Why? I have no idea. That's just the number that came to me. It's young, but not too young that it sounds young. Definitely an adult, and not a child. But it's not too old, either. Respectably prior to the existential crisis of the mid-twenties, although what would I know about that? You're still at that point where potential exceeds presumed accomplishment, but you're not ALL potential, either. 23, I decided, would be the perfect age at which to get married (HA!), have a baby (HA!), live forever (maybe!), or die (fingers crossed?).

And that's it. Even in my own mind, this is not, explicitly, a "get your shit together by" date. But something in me declared that at this time, I should be ready to declare my life complete if needs be. Or to at least say, "Good enough." And that's as much a commentary about acceptance as it is about accomplishment. Of course, the glaring thing about this is: what does a preteen know about being twenty-three ?   That's right, nothing. It's impossible to know about the road ten years down. I wouldn't presume right now to predict what I should be doing in my thirties. I don't know who I will be then, or what I will need. Consider the following. Every night, I set my alarm to a certain time. In the morning, I wake up when it goes off, or, usually, before it goes off. I set it to 15 minutes later, almost invariably. I set a goal, but then, as I approach that goal, I take stock of where I am and how I feel, and I adjust the goals accordingly, with the shrewd discretion granted me by time. This might sometimes be known as "being lazy," but I'm pretty sure it's saved my life a few times. This is why I've never tried to write a novel in a month, and why I never make New Year's resolutions.

So why make a thing about this? I don't know. Perhaps it's because I've felt as if I've been living in a flashback these past few months. I've been mired in a depressive funk, withdrawing into myself more and more, forsaking all others. I've stopped having meaningful conversations with anyone. I have them with myself if I need to. I find myself thinking and dreaming and wondering a lot more, and expressing a lot less than I used to. I've wondered if it's really practical to say anything about it. You can't ask for permission to be a hermit, it really defeats the point. I feel like I'm stuck. The inside of my head hurts and every day I get up and do things I don't want to do and some days I forget what my real goals even are and I'm desperate for a fantasy world to lull myself to sleep thinking about. On the whole? 23 is starting to feel a lot like 13 did. It's like a fold in time made a straight line from here to there. What's the difference? In some ways I missed this. Sometimes I believe that I'm best suited to being alone.

It would be terrific if I didn't feel like I was wasting time. That's the beauty of being immortal, you know: you can be as self-obsessed as you want for as long as you want, until you decide you're ready to do things again. You can actually take a break from life, and show up again later completely intact. You've lost nothing. That's my fantasy. Of course, that doesn't happen. Time moves forward, I get older, and every now and then a panic sets in, right in the chest, that I should be doing something. I should have done something. I should be about to do something. And I'm not. I haven't. I don't think I'm going to be. I'm losing ground. I'm losing time. At times like these I seem very close to deciding to shut down. I don't want to die, but I'm not making any bold strides towards living, either. I'm a character in an Anne Rice book. And I'm about to hit my ideal age.

As for what happens after that, I don't know. I guess I'll make the best of it. I'll see what happens down the road and adjust. This is not me all the time. But this part of me, the part that keeps her hair long and her nails trimmed (just in case), is freaking out. I once wanted to present the Best Picture Award at the Oscars of 1999. That didn't happen, either.

Those who know me are probably keenly aware that I'm infatuated with even numbers, 4 and its multiples in particular. It still baffles me why I would opt to be stuck at an odd number for all time. Of course, as my grandfather would have helpfully pointed out (the one who died a decade ago), I'm about to enter my twenty-fourth year. Fingers have been crossed.

This was hard for me to write. I desperately hate being candid.

So clearly I haven't been into blogging lately.

What else is going on?

From my perspective, not a whole lot has happened. It feels like it was a month ago a couple minutes ago  . Seriously, is it really almost Thanksgiving? Is it therefore really almost my birthday? What the hell!

My mother went on vacation last month for two weeks. She twisted her knee on the cobblestones of London Towne so she's been gimping around since she's been back. I have been a loving and dutiful daughter, because I'm awesome and I love my mommy and knee injuries suck. But she's okay. I saw 'Marie Antoinette' and I liked it very much. Of course, thanks to the publicity I now have a serious preponderance of Kirsten Dunst pictures that I have yet to make into 85x100s. Plus, there's really no place for me to show them off anymore, if we're honest. But trust me, she looks pretty. Speaking of which, Harry Potter, Harry Potter, Harry Potter. (I shouldn't say, "Is it July yet?" because at the rate things are going, it will be.) I think I saw another movie but I can't remember what it is now. And with me, I'm still at that job I was at last time you checked, and my soul has died just that little bit more. I also think I may be losing my hair again. I've acquired an extra five pounds that is baiting my already precariously taxed wardrobe. Um. Maybe I should do something about that.

So, basically, I do have some things that I'd like to get out into the blogosphere, but I have to make this introductory entry and then wait for people to stumble back to my blog and get used to the idea that there might be something new here again to read. That way there's more of a chance that there will actually be someone reading (and maybe responding) when I write something that I feel is worth reading. I mean, you guys know how it is, right? Right? I'm cool, right kids?

Veronica Mars is almost on.

The leaves are doing that thing where they change color!

Fall is my favorite. It took me a little by surprise this year. I was driving to work, as I do, sitting up straight and clutching the wheel like usual, when I passed a tree with a vine climbing up it that was bright orange. I haven't been feeling very well for the past ... months, but seeing the vibrant colored leaves everywhere makes me feel a little happy and calm despite myself. Man, the Temperate Deciduous Forest rocks.

It's also that time of year when my mother insists that I get a flu shot, and I don't.

How many feminists does it take to review Veronica Mars?

That's not funny.

[Begin Spoiler for Veronica Mars 3.3 - "Wichita Linebacker" — Highlight to view]

Ugh. It's almost ironic, though not quite because I am reaching for comparison, that this episode's plot featured a poor painter when the episode itself was done entirely in unflattering broad strokes. See? See what I did there?

I'll give the episode credit. It really, really wanted me to like it. It tried real hard. "I think that's just because they don't know how" made me laugh out loud. They quoted the Big Lebowski. I would honestly watch The Keith and Weevil show all the time if that were possible. And "[gasp  ] ... No." Yes. Veronica Mars listens to Neko Case. Of course. And I was floored.

Seriously though, I hated this episode a lot. There were places where I winced. There were places where I emitted ugly and involuntary noises. I liked Logan much better when he was not just allowed, but expected to be an asshole. The longer he and Veronica date, the less I like him, and the less I like Veronica. I'm sorry to anyone reading who thinks they're the perfect couple. I don't know who wrote this episode, but it sucked. Again, broad strokes. That's really all I care to say about it.

This borders on being off the topic, but I was pissed off by the peripheral "guest" "stars." The chicks anyway. They can't act. Actually, that's not true. I don't know that. But they're not acting. They are not working at all. What about the craft? The art? The actual work that it takes to make an actual good performance? Don't any of these people care? I care. I care very much. This is so important to me I could cry about it. But this entry is not about me and how I'm dissatisfied with my life. Maybe in a future composition. (Oh boy?)

No, this entry is about my favorite television show, and how I really didn't like it this time.

[End Spoiler]

Take two!

[Begin Spoiler for Lost 3.2 - "The Glass Ballerina" — Highlight to view]

Once again, I greatly preferred this second episode to the premiere. I liked it so much, in fact, that I'm totally going to bitch about the show.

I think one of the biggest missteps this show has made is the time frame. These people have been through all kinds of crazy crap. They fallen in love, broken up, and made up again. They had terrible tragedy and made deep personal connection with each other. ... They've been on the island for 79 days. Come again? We've been watching the show for two and a half years, the characters have been together for two and a half months. We know these characters better than they know each other. But they act like they've been together for years. They're written like they've been together for years. But then every once in a while they throw something out there to remind you that they actually haven't been. And I don't know about you, but it rips me right out of the story. They really should have thought that one through a little more.

Aside from that, wasn't this episode great? I'm so excited! After the big night shootout thing on the boat, I turned to my mother (with whom I watch the show) and said: "Well that was exciting!" And it was! And I don't care a fig for the Jack/Kate/Sawyer love thing, but I thought the kiss was the best romantic bit this show's ever done. She was all sad and tired! And then he kissed her! That was great.

Interesting that Sun keeps letting people take the fall for her. HAAAAAAAAAA. I kill me. Seriously though. It's okay, I still love her. But I could have done without Jin's macho "I am your husband!" posturing. Didn't we work out those issues last season? It seems like we keep retreading the same ground with these two. The only thing we've learned now is that Sun's baby might not be Jin's baby. Which I think most people suspected anyway. Results still inclusive!

Poor Jack. His paradigms had to shift wildly to incorporate that information about the Red Sox. It's okay Jack. We all understand.

I want to punch HenryBen in the face. Really hard. His creepy, bulging unblinking eyes remind me of my acting instructor. Punch!

Sayid disappointed me. That's all I have to say about that. He's the Lostaways one hope!

[End Spoiler]

Veronica Mars again!

The new theme music isn't that bad. I mean, it's not any good right now, but I'm warming to it a lot faster than I did to the original version. I'm not really sure how I feel about the Dandy Warhols, to be honest with you.

Anyway, I enjoyed watching this episode much much more than I did the premiere.

Details available upon request.

Oh no!

I only got Exceeds Expectations this time!

In other news, my mother has broken her toe. The same toe, the same way, that I did several months ago. It's kind of cute, really. In a, uh, painful way.

This post is rated TV-MA for language.

[Begin Spoiler for Lost 3.0 - "A Tale Of Two Cities" — Highlight to view]

I'm tired of the Others. I don't know. I've been having trouble getting back into the swing of television, but I haven't been excited by anything that I've been given so far. I'm a bit over the Others right now. I do not find them intriguing or menacing.

See, there's this thing that bothers me, and I've really only come across it in movies (mostly horror), where our hero is dealing with irrational and inscrutable people who treat him like he's the crazy one. There are lots of variants of this, I guess. The most common is where he's shouting "The murderer is out there murdering people!" and the people he tells try to drug and/or commit him. That doesn't happen in real life, does it? They investigate that sort of shit, usually, right? That type of thing sticks in my craw. I guess this episode falls in those lines, with these Others sticking people in aquariums and shit, and responding to rational conversation in a horrible, ridiculous manner. They don't even have the decency to seem legitimately crazy. It makes me hate them. I don't understand them, and I don't want to, I just want to kill them with stones. What I guess I'm driving at is, I hope Jack rushed the door again. That's what I would have done. Then I would have kneed that blonde woman in the gonads for eating my sandwich in front of me. Tool.

On that note (kind of, I realize this is not the most coherent review), is it just me, or is Jack's ex-wife a cold nasty bitch? What the hell! Now, I'm not really that fond of Jack, really. I mean, I he's nice enough, and all his flaws make him very refreshing and intriguing as a character. But he's a giant asshole. Admit it. And he does get obsessive and stubborn and, you know, assholish on occasion. But in this case? He was not in the wrong. Who does this woman think she is? She cheats on him, which is never okay in my book. She dumps him cold, which doesn't make her wrong, necessarily, but it does make her a jerk who needs to take some flak for how she handled things. He's not some monster. I'd say she fucked up more than he did. SHE OWES HIM SOME ANSWERS. She doesn't get to treat him like he's the asshole. Even though he is an asshole. Not in this instance.

I thought the flashbacks were less ham-handed than usual, incidentally. Though they could still stand to introduce backstories before the episode in which they're dealt with. Clearly. But this worked out okay. And I know, it's great of Jack to "let it go" and grow as a person and all that jazz, but I wouldn't have faulted him if Blonde Girl had asked: "What do you want to know about your ex-wife?" and he had replied: "Tell me, is she still a bruising cunt?" That's what I would have done.

I hope Claire is in the next episode. And Sayid. I like them.

Man. This review is really angry isn't it? Don't mind me. I'm at work right now and I've been ready to leave since Sunday night.

[End Spoiler]

In non-television news, they're cutting down and uprooting 8 trees on my little street today, to make way for the curbs that are a'comin'! I parked my car out in front of my house last night (for reasons I'm not getting into right now) so now it's covered with tree shavings. It's a little tragic.

I wasn't kidding!

I haven't even gotten my new layout yet!

Yesterday, mysteriously, The Crane Wife came to me. It's the new CD from the Decemberists, back with their offbeat folk fables and dark bedtime stories. "Cormorant" means pelican, I'm pretty sure. Break out the thesaurus just in case.

So that's what I've been doing since yesterday. So far I've given it my standard reaction of late, which is: "Pretty okay!" Unlike the last album, there wasn't a song on it that I didn't like. I can't even say that about Castaways and Cutouts, which is my favorite. Unfortunately, there wasn't any song that jumped out at me as completely awesome, either. Then again, it often takes me a while to warm up to new things. There are lots of songs and albums that I was cold towards when I first heard them, that I now love. So I'll have to see what happens here.

It's a lot more "rock" than their previous efforts. And some of the songs feel like I've already listened to them. "When The War Came" is pretty much "No Quarter." I know I tend to think a lot of things sound like Zeppelin, or that olde timey rock I likw, because that's what I know best. But it really does this time, I mean it. Ordinarily, that's not something I would go for. But it's the Decemberists. So I love it. The first part of second song, called "Come And See" is very much like some Pink Floyd song. I'm not too good with Floyd. I want to say "Young Lust" but I'm pretty sure that's wrong. Then they take over the sound effects of T-Rex's "The Slider" to simulate sloshing through water. Then they get into something that sounds like, I swear, Bon Jovi's "Blaze Of Glory" before finally becoming its own song.

I definitely recommend. Even if you don't already listen to the Decemberists. Kirk.


Incidentally, I've noticed that my monkey comments have stopped working. Oh no!! What tragic timing. But doesn't it just make you want to read all the more while wishing you could comment? No? Oh well. I tried.

OH NO!

[Begin Spoiler for Veronica Mars 3.0 - "Welcome Wagon" — Highlight to view]

Veronica must have diabetes!!!

[End Spoiler]

I hate to say it, but I really need TiVo.

Television starts this week! Which is to say, it's not that television ever stopped, but this week all the shows that I actually watch will begin to air anew. This spells trouble, because for months now I've been watching no television at all, except the occasional episode off the Home and Garden Channel when I stop in to watch it with my mother.

Tuesday is Veronica Mars. Wednesday is Lost. And I already have two and a half hours of Doctor Who sitting on a tape from Friday night. Will I watch it before I go to sleep tonight? Who can say!

I've been having this little problem lately where I can't seem to drum up the energy to do ... anything at all, really. Unless it's getting up and taking a shower and going to work. And then coming home and going to sleep. Yesterday I forgot to eat until 11:30, at which point I fixed myself a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats. That hasn't happened in a while, but I was busy fiddling with computer whatsits.

I don't think it's a good sign, however, that I'm anticipating the prospect of having to watch 3 hours of television a week and dreading it as strenuous work.

It means I'd blog more.

I know I've said this before, but I'd like to redo my blog. Like, crazy redo it. But still keep it with Blogger, because I don't want to pay for anything or put too much time into it. ... Sort of.

But seriously, I'm tired of the dark colors. I'm sick of the small lettering and the craziness that happens when I use italics. I'd like to link to things. ... Maybe.

I know how I'd like it to look (one word: sounds like, uh, "proles") but I've forgotten all the html I ever knew. Oh no! Who can help me!

Really, who can help me?

Jess is right.

I realized today the depths of my HP geekery, when upon seeing the first promo stills from the new movie, I teared up a little. Nice. I should just retitle this "Amy's Harry Potter And Occasional Malady Story Blog."

Seriously though: Dumbledore's freaking Army.

When will they freaking die??

I am talking, of course, about the mosquitos. I am done, I am over the mosquitos. They need to end. The other day I went outside, happily protected in long pants and a long-sleeved shirt. Yet, I managed to sustain two bites, to my abdominal/midsection area, which occurred when I bent over, and a sliver of skin was exposed for a few seconds.

Last night, I'm pretty sure that I was bitten on the finger while I was sleeping. No longer content to wait until I venture outside, they've been sending in assassins to my very bedchamber. I'm really worried that I'm going to wake up with bites on my face.

Tonight, I was sitting on my bed, and I felt a pinch on my shoulder. I fidgitted, and then I saw one of the hovering, alien beasts darting around at me. I smashed it. I was too late. These are pictures of my shoulder about five minutes after being bitten. Goggle at the grotesque nature of my hyperactive autoimmune response.

Bite

What makes this even more horrible is the fact that, when I was bitten? I was wearing a long-sleeved shirt. So, either the bug flew into my shirt and bit me, or it bit me through   my shirt. I'm not sure which option is more disturbing.

There's nothing we like more than watching the wizards rock it out like this.

Folks, I have some very important things to discuss with you about the state of rock. But wait ... not just any rock. This post is about wizard  rock.

This post is about Harry Potter.

Let me explain. As we all know, there is Harry Potter. As some of us know, there is also "Harry and the Potters," a band comprised of two brothers from up in New England somewhere who write and perform songs from the perspective of the boy wizard. If your reaction is already "What the hell?" then you may want to check them out before proceeding: Fiercely creative?

I first heard about Harry and the Potters, vaguely, I don't know, maybe about a year and a half ago? The idea amused me greatly, but I didn't look for any information on them or try to listen to their songs for a while after that. The first song I heard was pretty excellent, but it set me up for disappointment. My verdict was: Sadly, they were not brilliant. But they had the possibility of being brilliant. Their first album is ... well, it contains such scintillating insight as "My cousin is real fat." Their second album is leaps and bounds better, and contains the song "The Missing Arm of Viktor Krum" which is, in fact, brilliant. Plus, I hear they're just terrific live. They've just put out their third full length album, and I have high hopes. I'd like to purchase it once I devise a cunning plan to buy things off the internet without a credit card. Again.

Here's where things go off the deep end.

We have Harry and the Potters. The kids like them. The kids like them so much they think, "Damn, why didn't I  do that?" Then? They do that. I stumbled upon an enclave of this thing now known as "wizard rock" in the scorched and barren wasteland that is MySpace. And I discovered more bands than I can think about, named after just about every character and every item in the books that you can remember, and even ones you can't. Nigh on to one hundred  of these "bands." It's crazy! The formula for making your own is pretty simple:

1. [Character First Name] and the [Character Last Name]s (Harry and the Potters, Draco and the Malfoys, Ron and the Weasleys)
- or -
2. The [Character Full Name]s (The Remus Lupins, The Neville Longbottoms)
- or -
3. [Character Name] and the [Something Related to Them]s (Romilda Vane and the Chocolate Cauldrons, Dobby And The House Elves)
- or -
4. Anything else (The Wands, The Firebolts, The Whomping Willows, The Sectumsepras)

Think of one, and they have it. Very few of these "bands" have gone so far as to release albums; only a small number have. Most of them have simply written a handful of songs that they've uploaded to MySpace. Many only have two or three. Some, as it happens, haven't even made any music yet, they're just rushing to stake their claim in this very odd phenomenon, before someone else steals their name. As for what they do outside of Harry Potter, do they have their own, regular bands? I don't know. I'd wager that it varies.

Then, you have the songs. Generally, most of them write from the perspective of whatever they've chosen to name themselves after. The Whomping Willows? Are all about the Whomping Willow. The Giant Squid has a band. I left that one alone, I can only handle so much. Some of them cover various character perspectives. Most are overt, drawing their topics right off the pages. Some are a bit more murky, but no one manages to stumble on that "Robert Plant clearly digs Lord of the Rings" medium that I would have liked to find.

Then you have the music, and this is where I get into critique. I wasn't sure what to expect when I started testing these waters, but I guess it was something along the lines of the homespun, endearing kitsch that I'd heard so far. Most of it, though? Blows. So Hard. Seriously, there is some bad, bad music ripe (and I mean ripe) for the plucking. It's honestly not worth it to listen to most of what's out there, unless it happens to be written by your children. So what did I do? I spent a good deal of my otherwise unusable time listening to it. I listen to bad music so that you don't have to. Of the 70 or so bands that I gave a listen to (I typically gave a song 30 seconds to impress me, which was perhaps a bit harsh, but hell, it's not like I was being paid), I found 8 that I can say I think are worthwhile. Actually, 5. And three halfs. But of those bands, I have this to say:

Runners up: These are two groups that I sort of like but can't give my complete support too. They seem to be pretty popular with the "community," for what that's worth. First is The Hermione Crookshanks Experience. +11 points for the name, right there. That name cracks me up. The songs are written and sung by a very nice young lady and are ... passable. The best of them is an anthem for SPEW, which is catchy and darling enough to make me ignore that she pronounces it "spew  " which everyone knows Hermione wouldn't. The second is The Remus Lupins who, in actuality, is just one guy. He's, like, crazy popular with the kids, or so the internet has lead me to believe. I actually think he's a pretty good musician, and his songs are fairly well written. But unlike most of the bands, he throws in a lot of things that are speculative and non-canon, so it's almost like fanfic set to music. And I don't have any interest in that.

Harry And The Potters: Seriously, listen to them, just so you can say you have. Original and still champ, their music making skill has improved greatly since they had to come up with a bunch of songs one afternoon and said, "Why not Harry Potter?" Seriously, I will send you "The Missing Arm of Viktor Krum." It is brilliant. Seriously. Oh, Ron.

Draco And The Malfoys: This is the second wizard rock band I ever heard of. They work with Harry and the Potters a lot. When I first heard of them last year, I didn't think they were a real band, because I hadn't figured any of this out yet. Anyway, as you can imagine, they are the musical foil to Harry and the Potters, sung as Draco Malfoy. It's ... such a good time. The songs, with titles such as "Your Family Is Poor," "Voldemort Is Awesome," and "Hippogriffs Deserve To Die," are earnestly, gleefully  mean-spirited and funny as hell. You will laugh as your jaw drops and you think "So wrong. So, so wrong."

The Moaning Myrtles: The Moaning Myrtles hail from the lovely Garden State. They're from the same town my cousin used to live in before she dumped the person she's no longer engaged to to move back in with her mother even though she's twenty-six and makes a damn lot of money working for Bristol Meyers Squibb. I don't know why you needed to know that, but it adds color, doesn't it? Anyway, the Moaning Myrtles are from Jersey and they are actually brilliant. They've got good voices that were probably trained in high school choir that they blend into pleasant harmonies. One plays bass, one plays keyboard, and they do it well. And they're fricking hilarious. Their Myrtle is saucy, and if you saw the bathtub scene in GoF, you'll have some idea of what to expect. In one song, entitled "Prefects Are Hot," they proclaim: Death Is Way More Fun With Bubbles. I bought their shirt that says that, because that's how much I love them.

Ginny And The Heartbreakers: Besides having a name that I love, these girls get extra points for being the only group I listened to that actually made me believe that the character would sing their songs. If Ginny Weasley had a band, these are the songs she would play. Probably. I was a little worried at first, because their signature song starts with the declarative statement: "I have red hair." Oof. What am I in for? It turns out, however, to be a deceptively simple and lovely ode to personal confidence. I have listened to it many times on repeat and I hope they write more songs soon.

Roonil Wazlib: There just really should be a band called Roonil Wazlib. That just makes me happy. Anyway, I think this is just one girl. Her songs are hit or miss, but when she hits, she's very entertaining. There's one song, from the point of view of Molly Weasley, that's a tenderly sung ode to her husband. Aww. Then there's another, sung in the same tender tone, by Wormtail, regarding his "awesome silver hand." Hee!

Honorable mention: There's one last band that I'm putting on here for the sheer entertainment of it. It's called Siriusly Black. The conceit is that, à la Tupac, Sirius Black keeps it "wiz rockin' from the behind the veil." It's so awesome. I can't guarantee that anyone will share my sense of humor, but I nearly stopped breathing  I laughed so hard. Yo, Bella, what the hella?

There are some other bands out that that are, I suppose, good, but simply don't appeal to me. Since the only requirement is that the songs be inspired by Harry Potter, "wizard rock" is a broad umbrella. There's some dark, metal type music going on as well as atmospheric experimental stuff and some honest-to-goodness unrepentent emo. Interesting, sure, and with merits, perhaps, but nothing I'm interested in. My biggest disappoints were from the band styling itself "Weezard" (talk about aiming too high) and the girl who played the hammered dulcimer. I wanted to like them.

And there, my friends, you have it. Wizard rock. No, I am not kidding.

You know.

Sometimes I really wish my sister hadn't died.

Forgive me, I've been in a very odd mood for the last few years.

What!!

Oh come on ! I got an O on my WOMBAT, for Heaven's sake! Also, I contend that five of my answers should have been acceptable. The correct answer was: Peter Pettigrew. I wrote: Wormtail. Come on now. Also, some of my wild guesses wound up being annoyingly close.

In other news! Earlier this week, I got to hang out with some of the members of a band called The Fabulous Entourage. Libby, the lead singer in pink, borrowed my necklace, and then we got lost driving around Hoboken. [/not explaining]

I got the chance see them perform one of their songs (about twenty times), which was pretty entertaining (about nineteen times). I wouldn't say that it's the sort of thing I'd go crazy over out of context, but I think I'll be picking up a CD in support. And if you're any sort of shady internet friend to me, you'll consider checking them out, right? They're good peops. Glam rock and Motown? Oh, you are intrigued.

Oh hey!

I realized just today that Patricia Hayes, who played Urgl in The Neverending Story, is the same lady who played Fin Raziel in Willow. Today is when I figured this out! In The Neverending Story, she always reminded me of my Aunt Fran. She's dead now. ... Both of them, actually. That's sad.

Also, Elora Danan is 19 now. Not that she's done anything since, but she (they) was (were) a (two) very pretty baby (ies).

Nothing else of interest, sorry.

It's like Christmas!

You know something is amiss when you can feel relieved that it's only 87°.

My spleen is unremarkable.

Thank you, my public, for your words of concern. So, turns out that I still have some nephrolithic calculi gunking up my kidneys. So I get to see a urologist and eventually do this all again. But it's okay. I won't have to pussy out about it like last time. Also, according to the internet, women who've done both say that passing a kidney stone has pain that matches or exceeds labor pain. So hey, I've got that going for me now.

My organs are all okay, though, which is the important thing.

And now, here's some mushy crap.

The Five Love Languages

My primary love language is probably
Quality Time
with a secondary love language being
Physical Touch.

Complete set of results

Quality Time:		11
Physical Touch:		8
Receiving Gifts:		5
Acts of Service:		3
Words of Affirmation:		3

Information

Unhappiness in relationships, according to Dr. Gary Chapman, is often due to the fact that we speak different love languages. Sometimes we don't understand our partner's requirements, or even our own. We all have a "love tank" that needs to be filled in order for us to express love to others, but there are different means by which our tank can be filled, and there are different ways that we can express love to others.

Take the quiz

I guess that's pretty true!

I would drive five-hundred ... ow!

Hi blog! How have you been? Unread? Unwritten in? Oh well.

It was my plan to update soon with something, I just wasn't sure what. My brand new odometer said on Wednesday night that I had driven 1234 miles. All by myself! I was going to mention something when I hit 1000, but that mark came and went without my noticing. Of course, I should mention, this is since I got the car in September. So I'm probably averaging about 1500 miles a year? I don't drive very much, is my point.

I was planning on doing several things yesterday, Thursday, but instead I got to spend the night in the emergency room! This post is my way of letting you know that I spent Thursday night in the emergency room. This, after the very sudden onset of some very intense abdominal pain.

I had a kidney stone. What the hell! It was very painful. I must say that I was in considerable pain. Considerable. Pain. I've had very bad pain before. It's not that I wasn't used to that. But this was a type of pain I'd never had before, and it was in the abdomen, where there's so much that can go wrong. I didn't know if it was my appendix, or my ovaries exploding, or what.

It was a kidney stone. I don't know why I had one. But I think it's out of my body now. After around three hours of constant, horrible pain, and standing around freezing and moaning, I finally got to get shot full of all sorts of drugs. Then I was okay! Then my mother (who brought me to the emergency room) called my father, and I hung out with my parents while on three different painkillers. Trippy indeed. Then I had a CT scan and other tests, and then I think I passed the stone. Awkward!

I feel much better today, even though my side is still sore, and as the day has progressed I've felt more pain. They didn't mention if there's anything else going on in my kidneys, so I don't know if this is going to happen again. The internet hasn't been very helpful. I'm going to see my doctor on Monday. Also, I'm currently on Percocet. Wheeeee!

Tomorrow I will get back on my feet by going to an audition. But first I will go back to sleep.

Life is weird.

Okay, since none of you know this, I will start at the beginning. When I was a very young person, let's say, 1-3 years old, I went to daycare at the home of a woman named Terry. At her house. It was very small and informal and homey and there were always people. They came to my 4th birthday party, which took place at a McDonald's. My big memory from that is how I had already become obsessed with vampires somehow. I instigated a game that was a lot like tag, except with added plot. That plot being, the person who was "it" was the vampire, and they had to run around and get people. And then the next person would be the vampire, and so on. I enlisted Terry's daughter, Tara, to begin the game. I was kind of in love with her. I'm pretty sure I tried to cling to her whenever possible. Terry also had a younger daugher, Laura, and some sons who were older. I'm not sure how old any of them were, because when you're three, everyone older than 5 is stratospherically old. Anyway, I was the first person that Tara went for. And she announced, "Okay, now Amy's the vampire! Everyone run away from her!" And that's when I started crying and throwing a fit, because I really did not want to be the vampire.

As you can see, I have always been interested in fair and equal play. And follow-through.

Skip ahead about a little under two decades. You know that thing I talked about in my last entry? The classes, the performance? My scene partner, who I've worked with for the past three months or so? Her name is Laura. After a brainstorming session with my father today, we realized that she is Laura, Terry's daughter Laura . And her sister, Tara, who've I've met about 4 times now? Yeah. HOLY CRAP. She doesn't know yet! I plan to call her and tell her. Only I'm a little worried that she won't be as completely smacked-about-the-face by this news as I am. Holy crap!!

So, I hung out with my father today and we saw Superman Returns . Yesterday I went to the movies with my mother. We saw The Devil Wears Prada . I was pleasantly surprised by both experiences! Regarding Superman, I agree with everything Jess, and by proxy Soupy, said about it. Including the part about Invasion.

The Devil Wears Prada was mildy interesting because I think, although I can't be entirely sure, that this is the first time I've ever seen a production of something that I auditioned for and didn't get. It's probably not true, considering how many things I've been rejected from. But I think so. ... Not for any of the good parts, you understand. Anne Hathaway's eyes are much, much bigger than mine, and it makes me feel inadequate. I'm in love with the red-haired English girl, though. Though it turns out that she may not be red-haired in real life, in which case my love dwindles slightly.

Also, remember a couple months ago I went to that funeral and afterwards I went to IHOP? No? Well, a couple months ago I went to a funeral, and then I wound up at IHOP. On Friday, a plane crashed into the parking lot of that IHOP. Jesus fuck! Nothing major. A small plane. But still, Jesus fuck! It's sort of (but not really) like that time that a tour bus was blown up in front of the Cairo Museum a month to the day after I was sitting right there in a tour bus just like it. I'm not sure what any of this means. Maybe that I need to start showing up at the homes of people I don't like.

Some jerks just walked by my house setting off ... some kind of fireworks, I guess. They're trying to celebrate the birth of their nation by blowing up a small piece of it. I would be nice if they didn't come close to burning my house down, though. Or blowing out my eardrums.

In other news, Happy Birthday Harper! And tomorrow, Happy Birthday Jess!

Now my parents know I'm awesome.

So, for the past few months, I've been taking acting classes at ... well, I'm not really sure what at. We have a local area theatre, and in residence there is an art school, and ... well, anyway, it's in there. The class I was taking was "Building A Character" and it's all about, well, like it said. Next week I'm going to be receiving more practical, biz-related instruction.

Well anyway, tonight our classes had a showcase where we performed the scenes and monologues that we'd been working on. Not everyone did a monologue. Just though who rocked. *clears throat* I got to play a 45-year-old South African man, and a 15-year-old girl. And no, I was not doing anything by Caryl Churchill. The evening was attended by friends and family of the participants, some interested professionals, and about a dozen teenagers from Iceland. My life is sometimes very strange. It got real blonde up in the theatre, is all I'm saying. Which worked out great, because my teenage costume included a shirt that reads, "Trust me, I'm a brunette."

The upshot of all this is that this is the first time my parents (both of them, and they sat next to each other all night, because they are freaks) have seen me perform on stage. Well, since middle school, at any rate. And given that I was extremely awesome (don't worry, I'm modest when company's around) they will probably both stop worrying that I may actually suck at my chosen path. Hey, you never know! Instead, now my mother can mother out about how people should be recognizing my talent. I daren't hope that it has any affect on my father.

I had a wonderful time. I really wish I could do this all the time. Someday someday someday! However, I am kicking myself that I forgot a good chunk of dialogue from my scene. I know, I know, everyone tells me that the audience didn't notice, so it doesn't matter, but that's not the point. The point is that I'm pissed off because it was my favorite part. I got to wax rhapsodical about chicken.

Let's neologize!

Thanks to the ever hinglostic Mr. P. Shift Two, I am reminded that I haven't been making enough stuff up lately.

That gets amended today. Today I will tell you about some words that you didn't realize were missing from your life. You didn't realize because I just made them up last night before I went to bed. But they are necessary. You'll see.

We should have a collective neologizing time period. Like, Month. Or a Week. A month is probably better, since everyone has babies and things now. Two and a half months? Variable Period of Time.

There are many acceptable ways to go about making up new vocabulary words. For starters, you could smash together components of another language. Latin is always good for this. It's like instant legitimacy!! Or, you could pull something out of the air. Whatever you think sounds nice or evocative. Just be mindful that this has the pitfall of your new word potentially winding up meaning "cat barf" in Yiddish or something. Every day is an adventure.

Likewise, you can come up with the word first, and then search for its definition, or you could come up with a concept that really needs to be pared down into one word, and make that word for it.

I do both.

escaberel. (n) 1. an item or activity of little function or merit that nevertheless provides a benign fascination.

For example, an escaberel can be an online quiz, writing haikus, or some novelty item that blinks that you can't stop giggling at. So shiny! It's not quite a hobby, not quite an addiction, not quite something you only do when you're supposed to be doing something else. Not to be confused with something that enthralls and is harmful, like, say, The Drugs.


redisenective attraction (n) 1. the condition of being attracted to a younger incarnation (as in a photograph) of someone your own age or older. 2. an infatuation carried over from youth of a person who has since aged.

In other words, redisenective attractive is the reason you still think Wesley Crusher is hot even though you are now in your twenties. Or the reason you have a crush on Cary Grant even though in reality he's older than your grandfather. And dead. Or the reason you can flip through your middle school yearbook and still find that one 8th grader totally dreamy, even though from your current standpoint that would be a felony. Because they're really older than you are, really. So it's weird.


My goal is that eventually my blog will be only the twelfth entry on Google.

My blog is on the internet.

B9 D- T- K- S- F-- I- O+ X-- E L+ C+ Y0 R+ W+ P-- M5 N-- H

Blogger Code 2.0

I've let my blog get really hinglostic these days.

I have been bitten on the neck by a bloodsucking fiend.

There's a place for everything, and everything should be in its place. My place is inside of a building. Case in point.

Today I went outside to help my mother cut down some tree branches that were hanging over her car and showering them with berries. Without the aid of a ladder. The hilarity is that both my mother and I are very short.

During this escapade of about half an hour, while I was fully clothed, I sustained no less than five mosquito bites. One them, you guessed it, on the neck. On the neck  , people!!

Now I'm going to go see X3.

A is my favorite letter of the alphabet.

This is one of those blog things. I am to tell you ten things about my life having to do with a particular letter. Beth has picked the letter "A" for me. I guess I'm also supposed to ... pass this on? If you want to play, you reply, I tell you what letter and you make one of these in your own blog? It sounds very frightening and interactive.

But here goes.

1. Amy. As most of you probably know by now, my name is Amy. This seems like the most basic place to start, and I'd like to thank Beth for assigning me a letter with a freebie. That's a good friend, folks! Anyway, if you were to ask my father, he would tell you that my name is Amy Grace. And this is what he tends to call me. Neither he nor his sisters were given middle names at birth. What he uses as a middle name, Joseph, was his confirmation name, from my uncle. So in his mind, I don't have a middle name either; Amy Grace is my full first name. I put an official stop to that shortly before I turned four, when I had my first dance class. My father introduced me as Amy Grace, but I told Miss Roseanna that she should just call me Amy. I was also nearly named Amelia, though my mother would still have called me Amy. Amelia was the name of my great-great grandmother.

2. Anita. Anita is my sister, though I never call her Anita. We call each other Bud, which we vaguely understand may be odd to people who don't know us. I'm told this is an Irish thing, to have the nickname Bud, though it's really a nickname for a boy. My grandfather was Bud. My sister turned 15 ten days after I was born. Both my parents worked, and my sister was pretty much my primary caregiver when I was a small child. She changed me and doted on me and is probably the reason I'm so darn smart. I love her more than just about anything. However, she constantly (constantly!) reminds me about how she changed me and doted on me and is probably the reason I'm so darn smart. And that can get very annoying.

3. A boyfriend. Heeeeeeeee!!!! I could just leave this here, as it's perhaps more descriptive than anything I could say. I normally don't get publically gushy about my relationship. That's for us. But it's positively alarming how much I love and care for this person.

4. Acting. I almost wrote "art." This is probably the topic about which I could write the most, and about which I could probably never fully explain how I feel. Ever since I can first remember, there are only two things that I ever wanted to be in life: an "actress", or an "artist". I fervently hope that one day I might be both. It's a hard answer to give, though, and not just because it's a tough path to pursue. In the past, my answer was always tempered by the fact that I was young and I accomplished a lot in school. I don't have that anymore. I'm not used to people assuming that I'm stupid, but when it's widely known that you're trying to break into acting, that's what people assume. My mother told me that my chosen course is beneath me. I don't know how to respond, because I always felt like I was aspiring to something higher.

5. Ambidexterity. It's a thing that I have. Though according to the internet, I am not truly ambidextrous. And if I am, it's a sign that I have brain damage. What! I in fact am "cross-dominant" or something like that. The deal is, I do not have a specific hand/side/brain lobe that I favor over the other. I do not do all tasks equally well with both hands. One is usually more fine tuned than the other. I used to be able to write equally well with both. In second grade, in Catholic School, I was told that I would never achieve satisfactory penmanship unless I focused my writing energy on only one hand. Therefore, I would receive Cs in Penmanship until I picked a hand. ... And I had to pick the right. This is why, 90% of the time, I am to be seen writing with my right hand. My left hand is out of practice, but it still knows what it's doing. Here's something that fascinates me: I can write with my left with equal speed and clarity to my right, as long as I don't realize that I'm using my left hand. I have had many instances where I have been writing something with my left hand, and the thought occured to me: "Oh! I'm using my left hand!" and then my writing immediately deteriorates. It's one of my goals in life to rebuild my writing ability in my left hand.

6. Aldactone. This is the latest prescription drug that I have added to my daily regimine. This brings my total to five, though I take seven individual pills a day. It's actually a blood pressure medicine, but I take it to combat my excessive swarthiness due to the high levels of testosterone that my cystic ovaries produce. Whoo boy am I somatically fucked up! This is the first medication in a while that I've taken for what is, largely, a cosmetic issue. But it's important enough to me to suffer through the past few weeks of side effects while my body adapts to it. (These side effects include dips in my already low blood pressure and dizziness.) I have also taken other medications that start with A, including: Alesse, Atenolol, Allegra, and good old Advil.

7. Apple trees. I like apples. And since I was a small child I have been fascinated with the idea of having my very own apple tree. Or any fruit-bearing plant, but mostly apple. I have tried many times with little success to grow apple plants from seeds. Of course, these experiments were never monitored by someone who knew what she was doing (i.e. my mom) so I usually wound up drowning them. Turns out you shouldn't water plants every day. Who knew! I'm currently in the middle of my latest and most earnest attempt. I have five seedlings in a numbered row sitting on my sun porch. They are each about five inches tall. I also have a "cutting" that I kinda sorta stole from a tree at the Home Depot that I am trying to root in some soil. That's not going so swell. Anyway, not only do trees take a long time to grow, but apples are particularly fussy, and they require two separate individuals in order to produce fruit. My yard doesn't have the room for one apple tree, let alone two, but that's okay. I imagine that if my attempts are successful that I will carry my fledging trees around with me wherever I move, and I will plant them when I find the place I want to be my home.

8. Allie. Allie was my German Shepard. Because we didn't have enough people with "A" names already, we had to give them to our pets as well. Allie (her given name was Alexis) was bred to be a show dog in Mississippi. My sister got her when she was living in West Milford with some of the money she was awarded after being in a horrible car accident. Then she moved back home, and Allie moved with her. After a life of nothing but cats, we had to adjust to living with an ENORMOUS canine. She was 105 pounds, solidly fit. Despite being a cat person through and through, I loved Allie very much. I used to sit on the floor and hand feed her Kibbles 'N' Bits. She especially liked the cheese pieces. My perception of animals is sometimes unfortunately skewed. My neighbor had a Dalmatian named Ted who lived to be 17 years old. This meant that even though I knew intellectually that he was an exception, I was still shocked and confused when Allie developed a brain tumor at the age of ten. Allie is also the reason that most "big dogs" don't impress me very much. Eh. He's not that big. When you're eight years old and a dog stands on her back legs and you stare up at her towering over you, you're forever spoiled for size. Allie was an awesome dog. My sister wants to get another German Shepard. She says she'll know her when she sees her. I am fully in favor of this.

9. Annie. Not the girl. The movie, starring Aileen Quinn, Carol Burnett, and Albert Finney. Annie was my very first hardcore obsession. By the time I hit kindergarten I knew it word for word and sang the songs daily. Which of course did not deter me from also watching it daily. I directed my friends so that we would put on mini Annie-plays during the day. While it doesn't have the same cultural fluency as the Simpsons or Buffy, it was the precursor to all those entertainment loves. It set the tone and the pattern and also my love for redheaded heroines (others including Anne Shirley, Pippilotta Longstocking, and Strawberry Shortcake). This is probably the reason that there's still a part of me that desperately wants to be a redhead. Mr. Warbucks prefers redheaded children.

10. Accord. I drive a white 1995 Honda Accord. It's the car of choice for young and useless people. I don't really like it, and I wasn't thrilled to get it. Of course, I don't really like driving, so that could be a big part of it. And also the major headaches that were going on in my life around the time that I acquired it. I named my car Nerwin, because it was the very first name that came to me. I don't know what that means. Nerwin and I have a fairly neutral relationship. She gets me between points in efficient time and I've yet to die or be seriously injured. Right now Nerwin needs some gas and a trip to the car wash.

No, I'm completely serious.

They're called red grapes because they are red. Am I insane? Did I become completely insane without noticing?

Am I the only person who has ever seen red grapes ??

Red!! Holy crap, I am seriously about to lose my mind.

I've been up to stuff!

I am in the midst of a six-day weekend, my friends. It's pretty awesome! I mean, I have activities planned for every day, but just the fact that I'm not going to work makes it highly enjoyable. If they didn't pay me, I don't think I'd go. Which, on one level: hah hah, but I believe that a worthwhile goal would be to exclusively do activities about which that is not true.

My mother and I took up the carpet in the dining room. (Because: CARPET IN A DINING ROOM. WHAT THE HELL.) It went okay! It was labor intensive.

Today we went to New York (only I managed to refer to it as "going into town") to see a play written by ejbronte of the WD. It was pretty good! Much better than I expected, really. Some, but not all, of the acting was very good, and the production values were decidely professional. They had some trouble with the lighting, though. And they spent twenty minutes at intermission trying to fix the problem. They should have just rolled with it. The important part, the writing, was crisp and clever. I was very impressed. And I also got to meet the lady herself (#72), who was nothing at all like I expected. She's very small and effervescent and full of smiles.

I considered writing this on the board, but I honestly did think anyone cared. The most important thing, though, is that I did *not* meet anyone who I would have had to punch in the neck. This is something that I have to worry about when I go into town, and at this locale the danger was slightly elevated. Although I probably never had to worry.

Then I went out to dinner with my mother at a restaurant on 46th called "No Pants." Okay, not really. It was called Le Sans Culottes, but I prefer to think of it as "No Pants." ... The name was the bulk of the reason we wound up going there. But the food was delicious. I had duck and creme brulee. And 3/4 a glass of red wine, which means that I was totally drunk. Possibly close to shit-faced. But I held it together. Mostly by reminding myself that the situation made me so incredibly lame. And then I bought four bottles of tea! Joy!!

Oh, also I watched the Lost finale. But you know that.

Tomorrow we will work on the floor some more.

On Tuesday I will be photographed for a multimedia project.

Last night I was inspired to write all sorts of things, but I was very tired and opted against writing any of it down. Instead, I just thought about it until I fell asleep, which means that I may have worked it out of my system, which means I will probably never write about those things. Or maybe I will! But probably not.

I totally watched Lost tonight.

These are the things that I currently think, that condition being true:

[Begin Spoiler for Lost Season 2 Finale — Highlight to view]

That finale was better than 98% of the entire season that preceeded it. Seriously. Which is a compliment, really. Except for all the ways in which it isn't, I guess. But, seriously. It rocked quite hard.

Desmond's girlfriend needs to work on her accent if she wants to come back next season. Also, what?! Luckily, I have the whole thing taped, so if I need to, I can watch certain parts again. Which I may do. But not now. So there will be many question marks and vague trailing sentences in this post. But the name of his girlfriend's father ... sounds very familiar. Like maybe I read it when I followed that link to the Hanso Foundation site? I'm not sure. But if this man with too much time and money winds up being one of the higher-ups in this project, I will not be surprised.

The answer was magnets!! Or was it fate! No, it was magnets. Fated magnets! Magnets or fate?

I knew that Henry was the leader of the Others. And by knew I mean "had a feeling." (Magnets or fate?) Even though he is much, much shorter than the guy with the beard. Or rather, the guy without the beard. The ever continuing mystery of the Others continues to be mysterious. They're the good guys? I don't think so. If for no other reason than guys who talk about themselves while pretending that they're talking about someone else ("He is a great man, but he is not a forgiving man.") are always assholes. Always  .

My brain is still trying to figure out why Jack, Kate, and Sawyer. Maybe the Others want them to knock off the love triangle shit, because even they find it boring. But working from what we assume is the Others' perspective, breaking people down into good and bad, Kate and Sawyer are probably two of the worst people on the island. Definitely bad. Hurley threw me, because he seems like a good person. And he was let go, so that follows. What about Jack, though? Did he ever do anything immoral or illegal that I'm forgetting about? Because Jack is occasionally a complete tool, but I don't think that's a crime.

They clearly didn't want to round up the good ones. Or Locke would have been there. They couldn't have been rounding up the bad ones, because Sayid would definitely be in there. Maybe they wanted Jack because he is Leader. But then again, Locke and Sayid (in my opinion) should also be there. Sayid's like the Secretary of Defense. Sawyer's Commerce. Kate's like, Interior, at best.

But Hurley gets to go back and tell everyone what happened. What will he say? Will he form a plan of rescue? Will he tell Sayid, is what I'm saying. Also, did he notice that the Others seem to know how to get away from the island? And that they just ... blurted that out? Michael wins! He gets to go home with his new fucked up conscience. Damn. They must have cut the scene where Michael wished to get Walt back on a monkey's paw. Although wouldn't it be funny if they lied? And when September rolls around Michael swerves right back to the island, and there's boatloads of awkwardness for everyone? The Others don't have cable, remember. They have to keep entertained somehow.

I hope Charlie makes up with Locke like he made up with Claire. I really liked them together.

Also, is Locke dead? Is Eko dead? Is Desmond dead? What, exactly, was that thing? I get that, metaphorically, it was the Key, and Self-Sacrifice is the Key, but, on a technical level, if we assume that Desmond is dead, then why wouldn't Charlie also be dead? Why wouldn't everyone on the island be dead? Because if its fucking-shit-up range extends so far that everyone had to cower and tremble at the might, why was its fatality range only "under the trapdoor"? Unless Desmond isn't actually dead. Like he wins the prize, or something. (Magnets or fate?)

Here's an actual thing that I said out loud: "Libby means Elizabeth!" Aww. I'm so cute. Maybe now that Libby is dead, she'll show up in everyone's flashbacks, like Jack's father.

In general, excellent episode. And I got to see it commercial-free!

[End Spoiler]

I have been "tagged."

I think that's what the kids call it! I thought that meant graffiti! In other words, Caz suggested that I do this.


5 Snacks you enjoy
1. Honeydew melon
2. Applesauce
3. Cheerios with honey
4. Matzo
5. Terra chips

5 Songs (you think) you know by heart
1. Misty Mountain Hop - Led Zeppelin (although, really, I could have picked any song here)
2. Happy Birthday - Anonymous
3. Livin' On A Prayer - Bon Jovi
4. Levon - Elton John
5. Maybe Sparrow - Neko Case

5 Things you would do with a LOT of money
1. "So long student loan payments!"
2. Exchange my car for a Toyota Prius.
3. Obtain a flat abroad for my mother.
4. Get in good with all the right people.
5. Tell everyone that I'm taking time to focus on my art, whatever the hell I mean by that.

5 Things you would never wear
1. Pants with something written across the ass.
2. A sports jersey.
3. Jeans that create a roll of flesh at the hip-level.
4. Fur.
5. Jewelry with my name on it.

5 Things you should never have worn
1. White stretch pants.
2. Sports bras under clothes (In sixth grade, I got handed a whole lot of boob, and I had no idea what to do with it).
3. Keds, that one time.
4. Terrycloth shorts.
5. Anything my father ever bought me.

5 Things you enjoy doing
1. Sleeping.
2. Acting.
3. Sitting in front of a glowing electronic box.
4. Crosstitch.
5. Being excellent.

5 Bad habits you have
1. Procrastinating, procrastinating, procrastinating.
2. Imagining my own horrible death to the extent that it diminishes my social activities.
3. Not confronting people or issues.
4. Not establishing a history of credit. Which is not to say that I have bad credit; I don't have any credit.
5. Not eating a varied and nutritious diet, thereby robbing my body of essential nutrients, or so I would imagine.

5 people you would like to do this
1. Anyone who wants to.
2. I don't really like singling people out, because they may not be into that.
3. Also, it was pretty hard to come up with things, and I don't want to put that kind of pressure on people.
4. But anyone who thinks they would find it enjoyable should go for it.
5. So if you'd like, you can pretend I put your name in this slot.

This entry is about Veronica Mars.

Kirk would be so happy. I mean, he would be if this weren't the exact same thing I already discussed with him in email. I added more thoughts, though!

[Begin Spoiler for "Not Pictured" - Season 2 Finale — Highlight to view]

I am of two minds about this episode. On the one hand, it was jaw-dropping and all around awesome. And I was very entertained. On the other hand, it was completely unbelievable.

Beaver blew up the bus. And killed Curly. And raped Veronica. Holy shit. And also: bullshit. I mean, I accept the outcome, because it makes sense from the evidence. It's clear that Beaver was always the killer, and this is what they've been building towards and hint dropping about. Plotwise, they did a bang up job. In the sense of character? It was ridiculously inconsistent.

I really liked the Beav. And the reason I did is because, as written and as acted, he was very complex, but seemed like a pretty decent person. He did not seem like a completely remorseless sociopath. And here is my thing: if he's really always been such a bastard, why didn't we ever get a glipse of that? Some outburst of aggression or nastiness that would seem out of character, but that you could look back on and say, "Oh yeah, remember that?" I don't buy that his normal demeanor was a facade. If they had given an indication of that, I would be okay. It's not that I don't accept Beaver as the killer, it's just that I don't accept the character that they've created as the killer.

Alternatively, I could have bought it if he'd been a lot more conflicted, and probably a little crazier. The boy who cried out, "My name is Cassidy!" before deciding to throw himself off a building seems compatible with the Beaver that I've seen all season. But he wasn't consistent with the Beaver of the entire preceeding scene.

My problem with this gelled in one specific scene: the flashback where Beaver hits Curly with his car. And then scribbles on his corpse. And dumps the body of a cliff. I didn't believe it. It looked ridiculous. It looked silly. What was great about the first season finale was that I did not see the reveal coming, and my reaction was: "Oh my God, of course!" Because even though I wouldn't have pegged Aaron as a murderer, it made perfect sense. At this reveal, my gut reaction was completely different: "Oh, there's no way!"

Here are some other minor issues. In the TWoP recap of "Plan B", guest reviewer Jacob, whom I freaking love, immediately got the vibe that Beaver had been molested. I don't want to know how he figured that out, because it was definitely not a conclusion that I jumped to. But he was right, clearly. What wound up bothering me afterwards was semi-logic of television that followed: Beaver was molested as a kid. Woody molested kids. Therefore, Woody must have molested Beaver. In a similar way: Veronica contracted chylamidia. Woody had chylamidia. Therefore there must be a direct link between Woody and Veronica. I mean, I get that these points never would have been brought up if they didn't relate to other plot points. It's not real life, it's television. But for some reason, I found these two things annoying.

I was impressed at the death of Aaron Echolls, and I was quietly excited to see Wiedman pull the trigger. However, my immediate thought was that Jake Kane had sent him. (Kirk pointed out that last year, he did vow to kill Aaron.) But it was Duncan. I like my idea better. I guess they had to use Duncan in the scene to round out his arc, or maybe they couldn't get the parents back for this episode, but I can't think of anything, storywise, that wouldn't make Jake a more satisfying option. Also, this must mean that Wiedman, and therefore Ma and Pa Kane know of Duncan's whereabouts. So what's going on with that?

I knew that Keith wasn't dead. Because I knew that the plane was going to blow up as soon as Woody got on it. And they never showed the plane taking off with Keith inside. It was predictable, but not in the sense that I was unhappy with it. I felt the thrill of anticipation, and the drama was well played out. I just knew how it was going to end.

I found it pleasantly entertaining that Kendall wound up on top at the end. Of course, alarmingly, it seems that she was actually the least reprehensible of all the Casablancases. ...Unless you want to bestow that honor on Dick. It's so fucked up, it's great. Of course, what is the deal with her and Aaron, please? It's pretty certain that she could never have gotten out of the suite before Aaron was shot, and it's even possible that she saw Wiedman there. But she seemed most unphased. I wish I knew what was up with that. But I'm actually happy to think that, assuming there's a third season, it looks like Kendall is going to play a large part in it.

Despite some nitpicks and the one large criticism, I thought the episode was great. I'm repeating that just in case I sound too angry. The first season finale was better, though. The first season, period, was better. I cannot agree with people who say otherwise. Bigger shocks do not equal better stories.

Lastly, I kind of love Jackie. This is bizarre, because when she first showed up, I hated Jackie. And Tessa Thompson's acting. "Acting." I don't know what kind of spiritual experience that girl had, but her improvement is proof that miracles happen. I hope this is not the last that we've seen of her. Poor tiny Wallace.

[End Spoiler]

That was the worst funeral I've ever been to.

Um. Heh. Remember how I mentioned how I haven't felt like talking?

It passed. Or I broke it. I feel like a weight lifted off. And now I'm Chatty Cathy.

... She said, in a very short entry.

Seriously though, I feel a lot better right now. Even though things still suck a little bit? I'm working through it.

Oh boy oh boy.

I would like to announce that I have emerged, technologically speaking, from the dark murky atmosphere of the early 2000s, and have landed myself firmly in the middle 2000s. With my brand new broadband connection.

Heee. It's pretty sweet. Look at how fast it goes! Wheeeeee!

My computer is still slow, though. Slow like a South American tree beast. ... By which I guess I mean a sloth. I have no intentions of getting a new one, though. But I would like to look into how I can frankencomputer what I have. That sounds like good times.

Also, in NON-ELECTRONIC news, I went outside this weekend. A little tardy of Arbor Day, I planted a tree. In the process, I managed to get some impressive and alarming sunburn almost entirely on my left arm. Here are some pictures! I must stress that the photographs do not do justice to the vibrant, blood red color. Seriously, I couldn't even look at it.

Picture 1 (If you're wondering what the hell this meat hank is, it's my upper arm, from shoulder to a bit below the elbow. I'm turning it slightly to get the best view.)
Picture 2 (This is more recognizable as an arm, though the color is not as striking. Also, that's my bed! I was getting ready for sleeping.)

When I woke up in the morning, it was about 80% better. And now, I'm lightly tanned. This is what happens in life when you're half Mediterranean.

In conclusion ... high-speed!   I can't wait to watch some streaming video!

Revealed!

Here are the answers to my mystery songs. I won't be pointing out who won, though. You know who you are. And you all get a gold star for playing. However, on further thought, I'll bold the ones that no one got. Different!

1. Someday I'll Be Saturday Night - Bon Jovi
2. She's Electric - Oasis
3. People's Parties - Joni Mitchell
4. Cellophane - Amanda Ghost
5. Ride Into The Sun - The Velvet Underground
6. We're Gonna Groove - Led Zeppelin
7. My Beautiful Sinking Ship - Devics
8. She's On Fire - Train (Lauren, didn't you have the lyrics for this in your bio once?)
9. All You Wanted - Michelle Branch (Kirk! Seriously!)
10. The Wrath Of Hermione - Harry And The Potters
11. You Keep Me Here - Milla Jovovich (I didn't expect anyone to know this.)
12. More Sweet Soul - Pretty Girls Make Graves (Or this.)
13. Watch Out - crushing velvet (Or this.)
14. We Belong - Pat Benatar
15. A Day In The Life - The Beatles (but it was an alternate take! HA!)
16. Jack The Ripper - Colin Meloy (orig. Morrisey)
17. The Silver Swan - Orlando Gibbons (I'm guessing no one did madrigals in school)
18. The Girl I Love (She Got Long Black Wavy Hair) - Led Zeppelin (Seriously.)
19. Holler - The Spice Girls (... Yep.)
20. Get Me Away From Here, I'm Dying - Belle And Sebastian


In an unrelated story, I have a question. If we keep cutting down all the trees, then why does the pollen get worse every year? My face is a mass of swollen soft tissues and mucus and disgustingness and unattractiveness. But the good news is that I look better than I feel. Oy vey.

And furthermore, while I haven't been talking about it that much (to my dear friend Kirk's petulant dismay), I have been watching Veronica Mars. And it has been good. It has been good until recently, when my local UPN affiliate decided that they were going to preempt it for what-the-hell-ever basketball playoff sport ... thingie is going on right now. I don't really care about basketball, people, but my feelings are beginning to move into active dislike. From what I can tell from the internet, since the big CW announcement, WWOR has become affiliated with "My" programming, which is owned by Fox. They've even switched all their logos to say "My9" and all this. Some have posited that since UPN is going to leave them high and dry in a few months that they really don't care about UPN's programming anymore. I guess. Whatever. I wrote their programming department (hi Pat!) a strongly worded email.

The internet also tells me that they should air this week's episode at 7PM on Sunday. Maybe. We'll see. Blaah.

Oh alright! I'll do it.

Step 1: Put your MP3 player or whatever on random.

Step 2: Post the first line from the first 20 songs that play, no matter how embarrassing the song.

Step 3: Post and let everyone you know guess what song and artist the lines come from.

AND DON'T CHEAT!!!

1. Hey, man, I'm alive, I'm taking each day and night at a time.
2. She's electric, she's in a family full of eccentrics.
3. All the people at this party, they've got a lot of style.
4. Nobody moves me, I've been through this life with no place that I can call my own.
5. Looking for another place, someone else to be.
6. Hear my baby coming down the track, betcha my baby's coming back.
7. This is it, toe the line, we barely made it back this time.
8. Well this is just between us, but between us, let's get high.
9. I wanted to be like you, I wanted everything.
10. Rita Skeeter better shut her mouth before she gets in trouble.
11. It takes me years to come down to the door.
12. Headaches, handshakes, little blue pills to take.
13. Alone in the dark, I've been blowing off sparks.
14. Many times I tried to tell you, many times I cried alone.
15. I read the news today, oh boy.
16. Oh, you look so tired, mouth slack and wide.
17. The silver swan, who living had no note, when death approached unlocked her silent throat.
18. Oh, the girl I love, she got long black wavy hair.
19. I wanna make you holler.
20. Oh, get me away from here, I'm dying.

900+ songs, and apparently 2 and a half days worth of music, and here we are. I skipped over instrumentals, which came up 2 times. Number 16 is not by the original artist, if that helps (?). At least one of these is so easy I almost skipped it for the sake of complicating things. A few of them, to be honest, I wouldn't even know if I hadn't written this. Only one of these really embarrassed me, but I was so suprised that I had it that it turned into amusement instead.

In other news, I have desperately wanted to change my blog layout for months, but I can't get myself motivated to do anything about it.

I stole this from my friend Beth.

It is what the internet calls a "meme"? I'm doing this because I like my birthday.

Instructions: Go to Wikipedia and look up your birth day (excluding the year). List three events, two births and one death in your journal, including the year.

3 Events
771 - Austrasian King Carloman dies, leaving his brother Charlemagne King of the now complete Frankish Kingdom.
1875 - Notorious New York City politician Boss Tweed escapes from prison and flees to Cuba, then Spain.
1980 - The rock group Led Zeppelin formally announce their breakup.

2 Births
1849 - Crazy Horse, Oglala Sioux chief (d. 1877)
1892 - Francisco Franco, dictator of Spain (d. 1975)

1 Death
1123 - Omar Khayyám, Persian poet, astronomer, mathematician, and philosopher

Half this entry is about Harry Potter.

There are many shirts that I would like for Christmas. Or, just in general really. For example, there's a shirt I'd like to get that says "You have a friend in cheeses."

I could have gotten it today, too! Because I was near both of the two retail locations of Murray's Cheese Shop, where one can purchase this item. But I was too busy walking the streets of SoHo in the rain! And wind! My shoes were soaked. The squishing was ridiculous. It was kind of enjoyable, though. But this is the sort of thing that Phoebe should do. In my imaginary world. Only she does it uptown.

When I got home, there was hail, which was kind of great. And I had a cream soda, which was also great. However, as in most instances where I walk more than I think I will, I'm now sporting an impressive laceration on my heel.

You don't care about any of this, though! You care about the Potter.

[Begin Spoiler for My Horrible Prediction For Book Seven. — Highlight to view]

One of the twins will die. And only one.

Here is why I think this.

Ms. Rowling has put forth the general knowledge that the final book will contain multiple casualties. Oh no! There are nine Weasleys altogether. This, I think, makes the odd pretty long that all of them are going to make it through unscathed. Plus there's some foreshadowing, like Mrs. Weasley's boggart, etc.

It can't be Ron, because Ron has to marry Hermione and make, like, a thousand red-headed babies. IT'S JUST THE FACTS HERE, PEOPLE.

It can't be Ginny, because Ginny exists in this dramatic circle with Harry and his mother. A red-haired woman who loved Harry gave her life to save him when this started. When this ends, a red-haired woman who loves Harry can't also die to save him. The reason you revisit the past is to provide a different outcome. I mean, I'm seriously talking out of my ass right now, but it wouldn't feel right to have Ginny die.

It won't be Bill, because he's already been ticked for having something terrible happen to him. If he died on top of it, that would be a little much. What did Bill ever do to anyone? Likewise, Mr. Weasley. He's already been attacked and recovered. He's done on tragedy.

It might be Mrs. Weasley, but, damn, that would suck. Harry's the one with the dead parent issues. He likes the Weasleys because they don't have any of that.

It might be Charlie. Nothing's really happened to him so far. But of all the Weasleys, he's the one we've seen the least, and hence know the least. His death would lack a certain emotional resonance. Likewise with Percy. I mean, would you miss Percy at this point? It makes more sense for his arc to have some sort of epiphany and do something to redeem himself. But he's not evil, so his redemption doesn't need to include death. In my opinion, anyway.

This leaves the twins. They're done. They're goners. They've already completed the transition from children to adults. They've made a useful contribution (the joke shop) to both the plot and the world of the book. And they notoriously get away with everything. Nothing bad has ever happened to them. You know, aside from that time that they couldn't play Quidditch. But what's that? I think at least one of them is on his last lucky chance. Why do I think just one? Um. No reason, really, except that OMG WOULDN'T THAT BE SO MESSED UP?? I mean, to kill off one twin? Wouldn't that be terrible? What the fuck is the matter with me!

And if you want me to pick which one ... Fred. Because Fred is the more assertive one. And, well, it's Fred and George, isn't it? If you take out Fred, you just have "and George." It would drive home the lack just a little bit more.

Dude. So messed up.

[End Spoiler]

WOMBAT, bitches!

Out. Standing.

I guess this is what I get for wanting to be a vampire.

I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but I am cold. I am cold all the time  . It's really rather aggravating. It has also taken a lot of getting used to.

It all started when I was radioactive and my thyroid died. It is my understanding that having no thyroid function and being very cold are related to each other. Of course, this came off the heels of my hyperthyroid function, during which time I was sweating and uncomfortable all the time. During a very hot summer in which I had no air-conditioning. So, it's nice not to be that hot anymore. But aside from that, I've always preferred the cold my entire life. I would always prefer to be a little too cold than a little too warm.

But being cold, I have discovered, sucks. A lot. I have spent the winter wandering around my house in layers of shirts and fleeces and sweatpants and socks, and even then, having ice cold hands and asking if we couldn't turn the heat up. When I'm someplace like, say, work, where I don't have the luxury of dressing like an eskimo without attracting comments and stares, I shiver my way through the day.

Right now, it's 66 degrees. Spring has sprung! (Also daylight savings - the most hateful weekend of the year.) My mother has had all the windows open which, among other things, means it's going to be time to renew my Allegra prescription. And what am I wearing right now? Sweatpants. A yellow t-shirt that says "Yes you can." And a thick fleecey pullover. ... It was chilly. I'm not wearing socks, though, which is the only sign that things are a bit different. Last night while I was lying in my flannel nightgown under flannel sheets and blankets, I began to feel "a little too warm" and I was actually thankful. I actually preferred it to feeling chilly.

All this detail is to inform you that I often feel cold. I guess you could have skipped the above paragraphs. Anyway, when I'm not busy freaking people out by laying my icy hands of death upon them (only if I know them well, I'm not odd and touchy-feely with strange persons), I've been wondering if this is how vampires would feel. Maybe? Or maybe not. Because if you're a vampire, you wouldn't produce any body heat at all, so there would be nothing to offset the coldness of your extremities. Which, I think, it why it feels so uncomfortable, because the room-temperature nature of my skin is right up against the interior of my body which, one hopes, is still around 97 degrees.

In other news, here are some things I learned this weekend. I hate Apple and iTunes. But I'm in love with Neutral Milk Hotel. Yay!