Alright, shake it off.

here's something funny:

After telling Seth about my recent rash of discovery of people I know on Makeoutclub.com (names with held to protect the not-at-all-innocent) and the string of weird people who have been contacting me since I put my profile back up, he sent me the following email:

(note: this is especially funny because seth and I first met each other on moc).

OMG I ARE ON MAKEOUTCLUB.COM AND SO HOT I JUST THOUGHT ID SAY HI! OMG! I LOVE WEEZER TODAY ESPECIALLY THEIR NEWEST ALBUM! ITS SO CATCHY AND DREAMY AND SINGS WHAT I THINK! OMG OMG OMG WANNA MAKEOUT? OMG. I JUST THOUGHT I'D SAY HI BECAUSE WE HAVE THINGS IN COMMON AND NO ONE CAN EVER SAY WE DONT AND I FIND IT AMAZING THAT YOU PLAY GUITAR... AND MY FAVORITE BAND HAS A GUITAR IN IT! OMG!

my reply:

OMG. You are so right. All I really want in life is someone to understand my deepest emotional secrets, and I can tell from your email and your MOC profile that you totally do and I think that we can be best friends, even though we have both been through some really tough times in our lives and have a lot of deep emotional problems to work through. I can tell that you are a really deep person who can understand me, even though I am totally messed up. It is so awesome that you like guitars and I do too. We should start a band, because I can tell from your email that you would write really good lyrics. That's the problem with music that no one writes lyrics that really deal with emotions. Except dashboard. He really understands me, and I totally relate to his songs! OMG!

and seth's reply:

OMG! YOu understand me. i thought Chris Carrabba (or C-diddy, as I call him) and Lake Cuomos were the only people who understood me. i was wrong. you too! YOU TOO! YOU TOO! and your glasses make my heart melt cause they are so dreamy they make my heart melt.

I STILL CANT get over how you play guitar, and my favorite band has a guitar. I could sing really deep songs about crying and cry while i sing them about ex girlfirends but first i need a girlfriend so i can have ex girlfriends to sing about. will you be my girlfirend? then we can break up and make songs about it. OMG!
LOVE
SETH

The Sherman Restaurant makes sense to me.

Jackie and I sit in the back and get jazzed up on cup after cup of black coffee, talking about how to get famous. We compose spontaneous avant-garde pieces-- clinking ketchup bottles together, ripping newspapers, singing or speaking whatever lyrics come to mind. We gossip about Pearl, the insane night manager. Andy and Maria call her "puerca," which means pig, or maybe pork. Andy, the cook, has worked there sixty hours a week, every week for the past ten years. He is one of the most patient and kind people I know. Maria teaches me spanish words for things around the restaurant. Pearl reads her murder mysteries in the front, and bosses the customers around. We make some money, clean the place up, and go home.

Waitressing feels very legitimate and real. Legitimate work for legitmate money. Life makes sense. I don't have to move the universe. I will survive. I will be productive and happy. Everything will be ok.

Jim Fenner, a metalhead who lives in my dorm, just told me that he dreamt he had a threesome in the Willard laundry room with me and this girl Molly . This is the single most disturbing thing I have ever heard.

good night.

The fact that I did not write this first is the source of a considerable amount of anguish on my behalf. From a weblog by Stephen Swift. Find the original here

My Twelve-Step Plan For Feeling Human Again

1) I will pawn my computer and my red electric guitar for money. Some of this money will go towards a handle of cheap vodka, the kind that comes in a plastic bottle, so that if you drop it, it won't shatter. Most of this money will go towards bus tickets. Two of these bus tickets will be for me, and one will be for you.

2) I will ride the bus to your town, and hitchhike to your house. After everyone in your house is asleep, I will throw pebbles at your window until you wake up. You will be confused at first, and then your confusion will turn into a heady mixture of bewilderment and disbelief. I will be wearing the shirt you told me "brought out my eyes," because you are most likely to recognize me this way. I will have one suitcase with me, which will contain two changes of clothing, a disposable camera, and a notebook. I will attempt to look as much like John Cusack as humanly possible. You will laugh, a sharp, barking laugh, and hiss something like "You're crazy," or "Why the fuck are you here?" You will not do the sensible thing and go back to bed. Instead, you will follow suit, pack one or two changes of clothing, your toothbrush, three notebooks, and your wallet, and climb out your window. Inevitably, you will stumble on the way down, and you will fall, and I will catch you. This is where we will kiss for the first time.

3) You and I will ride the bus to a town which neither of us have ever been to. This town will have some sort of atypical name, like "Dinosaur," or "Eighty-Eight," or "Duck and Cover." With the rest of my money, we will take out a lease on a tiny, tiny apartment, which will be located over the town's only bowling alley. When we get around to alerting people as to our whereabouts, the address we give them will look something like:

Us
Over the Bowling Alley
Dinosaur, PA

Our mail will never get lost.

4) The first night we are in the apartment, we will leave it bare and unfurnished. We will drink all the cheap vodka from the plastic bottle, bit by bit, and unwind, and talk. We will talk, and then we will make love, and then we will sleep.

5) We will wake up the next morning intertwined, like soft pick-up sticks. I will make coffee for the both of us, and as we banish our own separate headaches, inspiration will creep in to replace the hangovers. We will spend the entire day writing, sentences and ideas and perfect metaphors flowing forth from our brows like armies of Athenas. I will fill up my only notebook, and you will give me your third notebook to write in. This is a meaningful gesture, and I will interpret it correctly.

6) Sometime in the afternoon, you and I will succumb to hand-cramps, and resign ourselves to job-hunting. You will immediately find employ at the post office, where you will weigh packages of food and Polaroids being sent from worried, loving parents to state colleges, and sell stamps to fresh-faced entrepeneurs, and seal envelopes for arthritic, elderly gentlemen who keep in correspondence with old, old friends. You will know the names of the regulars within a week. I will creep into the office of the local newspaper, and they will ask me for samples of writing. All I will have is my freshly-filled notebook, but this will be enough. This will be more than enough. The editor of the newspaper will find a chord within him struck by the things I say, and the way I have to say them. I will be hired on the spot. You and I will meet up in the evening, and compare advance checks, and take each other out to dinner. The food will be better than usual.

7) We will shop for furniture the following day. Our apartment will be tastefully furnished in am artistic and unique, yet wholly unpretentious manner. People who visit will remark that it feels like home, oftentimes moreso than their own homes. There will be a banjo hanging from two pegs on one wall, which neither of us know how to play. There will be a large rack to hold CDs, and our separate collections will be filed together. Neither of us will keep tabs on who owns which albums. We will sleep under blankets, on a mattress on the ground. When we sleep too late, the vibration of strikes and spares will wake us, as though we had an alarm clock that generated small earthquakes. It is a gentle way to be woken up, and we will consistently be well-rested.

8) One day, while you are at work, you will notice that a package does not feel right. You will alert the authorities, despite your embarrassment, and as you are preparing to apologize profusely for having called them out for a false alarm, they will open the package carefully to reveal a small, but powerful, explosive. The blood will drain from your head, and your knees will buckle underneath you as you realize how close to death you have come. A bomb squad will be called in, and you will be hurried out. An ambulance will be outside to ensure that you are safe. The news will come to me by telephone, and I will not know if you are safe. I will run as fast as I can to you, and I will arrive out of breath and seeing spots, and you will be safe, and we will hold each other, our lungs heaving and our blood clamoring for oxygen.

9) Secretly, you and I will be writing a novel. It will be about a small girl who sometimes has large, white wings, and who sometimes does not. Our lives will be filled with passion, and the novel will be steeped in that passion. It will vibrate with it. Sometimes we will collaborate on what is said, and sometimes one of us will approach the other with ideas or written pages. We will have the same plans for the novel, and it will turn out to our mutual satisfaction. We will send it to many, many editors, and it will be rejected many, many times, but it will finally be accepted. It will be quietly published to little acclaim, but that will not matter, not even a little.

10) While cutting vegetables one night, I will slice my finger, and before I have time to realize what I have done, you will have already grabbed the box of Band-Aids. We will look at each other for a second, blood collecting in my clenched fist, and then the pain will strike sharply, and I will take the box of Band-Aids. We will not mention this again, but we will both remember it.

11) I will come home one day to find a large box on the table. You will be nowhere to be found. I will inspect the box, and after some consideration, I will open it. The box will contain my red electric guitar.

12) I will find you in the bedroom, under the blankets, grinning.

Mike A. had a little get-together at his apartment tonight, and the majority of the crew was in attendance. As always, Mike was a fabulous host. It was nice to just sit around, listen to music, and talk about inconsequential things-- innocuous gossip, complaints about boys, and the like. Tom and I were nice to each other, which rarely happens. Fun night. Unfortunately work (school) and work (sherm) await me tomorrow.

In general, I want to stop complaining about my life. My friends are wonderful, I'm handling my classes well enough, I am healthy, the weather's getting more pleasant. My life is good. I have no good reason to complain. So I won't.

Peace.

randian egoist: first off, shawn fanning did not code napter to promote indie music, rather he wanted a standard software package for music exchanges online via resnet
randian egoist: second, explain to me why you still maintain faith in mormon belief, yet attest to being a fan of rand or an objectivist, or what have you
randian egoist: thirdly, whats up? :)

My replies are as followed:
a) Yes, I am aware. I am also aware that 'napster' is not a slang term for pirating, like my sister's talk says, but rather Shawn's nickname in college. But I'll be sure to pass that information onto her.
b) This is a multipart question. One reason is because I believe, based on personal experience I do not care or wish to talk about, I believe God can be proven rationally, and I believe that the structure and doctrine of the Mormon church is the only logical one on the earth that supports my understanding of the existance of God and the purpose of life. The second reason is because I am not a randroid. I take objectivism and twist it to make me a better individual and make my life happier. I am an objectivist in the sense that I agree with nearly everything Rand says. I will not, however, sacrifice my indivudual understanding and thought processes because she says so. I think she was flawed in some things, presumptuous in others. I live Rand's ideals, rather than the letter of her laws.
c) I am fine. Or as big gay Al would say, "I'm super! Thanks for asking!"

So yeah. A little about you and me. My weekend and whatnot. Wednesday we had a mini party to tony, which was punctuated by a very vocal conversation that Tom had with Kim Keetover. It was fascinating to listen to, mostly because of the way in which Tom manages to cut people down with one comment. I felt bad for Kim, though. She was sitting through this onslaught of Tom-ness without really knowing Tom. Once you know Tom, the caustic nature of his speech doesn't hurt so much, because you know something about his personality. To the untrained ear, it must be horrific.

Thursday night, was pretty unspectactular. Housing stuff. I got 6113 in Plex, which would be a couple doors down from where Mark lives now. Mark was banished, along with my friend Alexis, to Foster House, north campus *gasp.* I can understand the horror, though. It's very bad. Adele, Anne, Mark, and I were going to watch the alignment of stars, but evidently Jason said it was better seen at dusk, so we put it off. Mark and I got take out Chinese and sat on my floor and talked a bit. I call Anne. She was sitting on the carpet staring at the wall. This is not a good thing.

Friday night, last night, was utterly and totally spectacular. Mark and I met up with my cousin brooke and her friend Penny at the Chicago Theatre to see Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. The venue was opulant, with cold leaf, ivy friezes, and renessaince style oil paintings over crystal chandaliers. The opening band was a country blues trio with a hysterical red headed siren of a lead singer. They were interesting to watch, but muscially uninteresting. Nick Cave was unbelievable. I had gotten the tickets from work, so we were about 6 feet from the stage. He comes out in shiny silver pants, white shirt, and a hideous green velvet blazer that looks like it was ripped from my grandfather's closet. The first thing one notices about Nick Cave, the Godfather of blues goth, is his size; he must be te skinnest man alive, gangly and tall, skin pulled tightly over his white face, thinning black hair, upturned nose. Skeletal. Corpse like. That said, he wasn't ugly, per se. His animation and motions gave him a certain kind of spastic grace. He was a natural performer, almost possessed, spinning and kicking and beckoning like a satanic demon. The music was likewise otherworldly: pounding and crashing crescendos of instruments: bells and guitars, 2 percussionists, a violinist. The violinist was fascinating: tall, good looking, the youngest of the Bad Seeds. He sported a white coat and wine colored pants; when he played he bowed over, like he was carrying a huge bag of bricks. Ripping through the strings he would play faster and faster, harder, his spine and the back of his ribs bursting through his coat with the exertion of the frantic pace he poured onto the instrument. When he was done he would throw up the violin and the bow, tossing his head back like a crucified martyr. I was captivated. Meanwhile, on the side of the stage closest to me, the lead guitarist was looking super creepy. He would stand by the microphone, staring at the audience, deep lines of age and heavy bags of chemical abuse cutting and hanging from his face. His eyes were souless. Everyone around me got an evil feeling from him, which in itself is interesting. How does one aqcuire such evil?

The thing most noticeable about the Bad Seeds is how poorly they dressed. They had long, thin hair in abhorrent cuts; things one would expect cheap grandfathers and uncles to have at Kentucky family reunions. They squeezed themselves into ill fitting, cheap suits, and their shoes were much to expensive. Still, it gave the whole group a shady, sketchy sort of feel. Maybe that's what they were going for. Maybe they were just Australian. Nick played many of my favorite songs, which made me utterly happy and content. My favorite was his rendition of "Red Right Hand" and "The Ship Song," both of which had a blues vibe out of this world. As a finale, he did this one song with the following chorus: La la la li, la la la li, All God's little children, they're all gonna die!" Wicked rad, and with the red lights, a totally goth moment.

Afterwards, I passed out fliers to some of the cutest goth kids ever. Men in suits and vinyl, women in flowing dresses and tight boots. Goth people make me so happy. They're just adorable. And plus, for once I looked really good. Like, I was proud of myself for pulling an outfit/makeup/hair combination AT THE SAME TIME. Exactly. Such things happen only once a year. So I made a theatrical, gothy appearance with the best of them. I was among equals. Good night.

Afterwards Mark and I walked about town. Took a close look at the window of a borders books and the bronze picasso sculpture, made famous by last years Children of the Porn sliding and frolicking visitation almost a yer before. For all those lost, ask Adele. Being as that all the restaurants were closed downtown, we eventually wandered to the Italian Village, a very small Italian restaurant with upper-mediocre food and excellent atmosphere. It was a great dinner, though. It was the kind of place I could have never gone with the family because it was a "grown-ups only" place. Whenever I go into those places without an adult (as in 40+ years of age adult) I feel terribly, well, sophisticated and grown up. Very lovely. Plus the conversation was really wonderful. Kind of a nice, enchanted evening. The sort one should have in college.

Today I didn't get up until 2, and then spent the next couple of hours catching up with everyone I've ignored for the past week. Nothing was accomplished. Which means tomorrow will be hell. Such is my luck.

MormonIceQueen: i had some tomato ramen
AlexiaIscariot: i told you it was inevitable
MormonIceQueen: dude - wicked in a wicked sense!
MormonIceQueen: it's aftertaste
MormonIceQueen: is the taste of BLOOD
MormonIceQueen: jason would love it.
AlexiaIscariot: strange
AlexiaIscariot: soup is not supposed to taste that way, anne
AlexiaIscariot: ramen especially
MormonIceQueen: BLOOD
MormonIceQueen: my mouth still tastes like blood
AlexiaIscariot: its like bridging the world of goth and the world of easy-to-afford-home soups
MormonIceQueen: you should send that one to the ramen company
MormonIceQueen: they could start a whole new ad campaign
MormonIceQueen: to attract poor young goths the world over
MormonIceQueen: like the new Snapple campaign
MormonIceQueen: except dark...and cheap

1. Anne, you should post more often.
2. I think I'm going to mess with the code on the site a little, so excuse any craziness that results. (if necessary, we can always go back to a lovely blogspot template.)

Excerpts from my sister Julia's Blog, which I feel I have to respond to since my family communicates with me almost entirely through the weblog medium:

I have to clear something up. Mary thinks that i don't like burning music, i just read her blog, and i think she hates me for that speech. but the thing is, i'm a horrible hypocrite. I burn CD's all the time. do i really care whats going on in the musci industry? heck no! i just wrote that speech to make the judges happy (no offense.) Anyway, so now that that is all cleared up, i can be a happy camper again. mmm... camps...they're happy. weee.
just being scary. its late. that explains all.

Julia Julia Julia. You know that I am the master at telling people what they want to hear, but I was just a little sad to hear the glorious music business industry be referred to as "greedy." Surely there are other more productive ways of expressing the monetary loss from corperations than to run through the gauntlet of anti-capitalistic sentiments. Or something like that.

Well, not much has been happening. I got a little letter from mary. And i almost cried because i got this ten dollar bill, except it was all wrinkled, and i felt all guilty because i have been so materialistic in the past, so now my sister thinks that she has to pay me money in order to make my birthday a good one. And i just looked at the wrinkled little thing and wanted to send it back, but i knew that she wouldn't except it, so i had to put it in my piggy bank with a cloud of remorse hanging over my head.

Julia! For the love of heaven! As if. Sorry about the actual quality of the money, the reason it didn't look all new and stuff was because I got it from some grubby cashier at Chipotle and the only other bills I had in my wallet were $20's and $50's. If I didn't have the money, I wouldn't have given it to you. Don't ever feel bad taking money from me. For all intents and purposes, I'm rich. Plus, it's your birthday. I didn't feel obligated or anything.

*sigh* what's the world coming to?

I write this from somewhere within the bowels of the South Tower of the NU library. I believe I am on the 3rd floor, but my physical location is of little importance. I will find my way out of here eventually.

What began as a concerted & desperate effort to find Mary, quickly degenerated into mindless wandering...up the stairs, through the halls, into the towers, around the rows of rigid shelves...and around, and around, and around... My head is aching, as are my stomach, shoulders, back and feet. Perhaps I am only hungry...but I just ate; I have no reason to be tired...I have slept well the past few nights.

The carpet under me is the color of rot. A putrid green. The color one might expect the skin of a corpse left in the sun to acquire. A sea of putrid, rotting green, spotted with rigid, unfeeling shelves, standing at attention, each in its place, reminding me that I have yet to find mine.

But in place of a stench festers an odor one might more commonly attach to a grandfather...vanilla & tobacco...something oddly pleasant, by association.

If one stands in the center of a tower...completely alone...in silence, one feels almost powerful. Surrounded by ranks of soldiers, a putrid moat...and the smell of - man.

Vanilla & tobacco.

But I suppose this is the perfect place for something like me: empty, solitary, unfeeling, ordered, calculated, controlled, COLD, EMOTIONLESS, CRUEL, REPRESSED, rotting, ugly, guarded, tired...hopeless...overlooked.

What rich irony - that I would appear the one most in control. I have long been far from it. It is all just a facade. Feel but a bit beyond the shell, and...

My walls are thin. But made of steel. Cold, unfeeling steel.

I wear my fear on the inside.

~Anne House

You know, this whole conflict with Kim is driving me crazy. Here is my side of it, so all of you can get it straight:

I made fun of Kim on this website. For some reason, Mark told Andrew that I didn't like Kim, and Kim and Andrew saw what I had said about her. Kim and I had a confrontation, in which she was justifiably angry with me. (Andrew backed her up, tag team style. Although I acted fairly casual, I was actually really upset by some of the things that were said that day.) Later on, I apologized to Kim, and I was sincere. Talking about Kim behind her back was mean, and I think it's unfortunate that I caused bad blood between myself and some girl I barely know. Kim was really nice in her reply to me, and I thought that our conflict was resolved. I was really happy about that. In the meantime, Tom and Kim had their own conflict that was not precipitated by anything I said, or encouraged by me in any way. But it's being framed as if I put Tom up to it.

Now I've got Kim thinking that I'm still out to get her and Mark here looking at me like I'm some kind of crazy bitch, out for a fight. You know what? I ADMITTED I WAS WRONG AND I TRIED TO MAKE AMMENDS. I no longer want any part of this. You can all stop blaming me now.

OK. So that's been aired. Something lighter will be written later in the day.

I had a huge post here, and blogger just erased it. I'll rewrite it tomorrow, when I'm not feeling angry and hateful towards this machine.

correction to #3. go over to willard TV lounge. all other steps shall remain intact.

Things you will be doing tonight:

1) get $5.
2) Put on coat at 10:27
3) go over to Chapin lounge
4) sit on a couch
5) decide on pizza toppings
6) decide on movie choice
7) Talk trash about people not present
8) Eat pizza
9) watch movie
10) alternate steps 7-9 to varying degrees
11) go home to bed

That's your evening. I hope you enjoy it. I will be home from 10:12-10:27 if you have further questions

from weezer.com:

...FUTURE TOUR INFO: as some of you may have heard rumors about, there indeed is an extensive North American tour being planned out for July and August. Dashboard Confessional is in fact confirmed as one of the opening acts. More on this stuff as details are sorted out.

I definetly hope that it comes somewhere near me (not an arena! not an arena!) but I'm not sure of what I think about a dashboard/ weezer bill. They have such different styles of stage performance. Carraba is supposed to be all intimate and personal and emotional, whereas weezer wants it to be some kind of big rock show. Anyway, I guess it's fitting that the two bands by whom I feel personally abandoned are touring together. (weezer was MY band, they weren't supposed to become everybody's band. and dashboard has brought emo directly into the mainstream, so now I have to share my (admittedly stupid) subculture with the TRL freaks).

What am I talking about? I HAVE to see this show. I would be willing to kill to be in the front row! It's going to be awesome!

Now that I've destroyed any credibility I may have once had, I'm going to class.

Cancer: (June 22—July 22)
The stars are sorry, but writing the poems of Theodore Roethke on lampshades doesn't make you an artist.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh my gosh, that is SO something I would do! HAHAHAHA *wipes tear*

Ok, maybe you have to be a poetry freak to understand the significance of the Roethke reference.

Jason and I went to the fireside last night to catch the electronic pop acts Tracy and the Plastics, Jacqueline Bon Bon, and Happy Supply. I figured out how to take bus #74, and it cut more than an hour off the trip. I told you that I was a good city navigator. =) It was a terribly fun concert and an overall great night. Jacqueline Bon Bon were these three rocker girls, who were totally cute, yet still badass. Pretty voices, goofy dance moves, very fun stuff. Happy Supply is quite possibly the most adorable duet I've ever seen, with these ridiculous drum machine beats backing them up, cheesy lyrics, and charmingly off key vocals. Tracy was loud and artsy, and the fireside kids loved her. She kept up a running dialogue with videotaped images of herself that were projected on a screen behind her. Great.

Seth (of Back to The Stone Age fame) was there-- as fun and loud as the last times we've encountered him, and his friends were lovely too. Especially Brian, who drove us home. He blasted some Cave-In on the ride, which was great. Cars are so rad.

Although the critics have uniformly hated it, I'm still going to run out and grab the new Promise Ring album. I decide for myself thankyouverymuch.

tony, nick, mary, anne, mark-- dinner tonight?

The following is my sister Julia's speech for the middle school speech contest. I am literally horrified. I love you Julia, but come on...big bad greedy businesses? File sharing is stealing? AHHHHHHH! What have I done wrong?

"A burning Issue"
Everyday, millions of people around the world log on to the internet in order to download songs. the things is, they are destroying the music industry. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm a huge fan of web sites such as audiogalaxy and the now shut down napster. But lately I haven't been taking songs off the internet and putting them onto a blank disc, also called burning, because my conscience has gotten to me. I have been asking myself, "what is the difference between getting free songs, and stealing CD's from a record store?" the answer is, nothing. Today i want to show you the two sides of the fight for free music. It all began when a teenager invented a web site that allowed anyone to share music. the reason this boy had originally made this web site was to allow independent bands to put their songs on line. Eventually, major music artists appeared on this web site and a whole new way of getting music was born. Soon a name for it appeared, Napster, meaning name calling, and it rapidly caught on. Millions of people began to go online sharing files and getting so-called "free" music. However, not all of this could last forever. One rock band, Matallica, became angry because their music sales had dropped rapidly. Soon, Napster was shut down, but this didn't stop other people from making sites identical to Napster. Now, there are hundreds of web sites that give away "free" music. Let me now explain to you the pro's and con's of all these web pages. Many people support web sites that give away music. First, Many don't like the "big bad" music indrustry. There are greedy music record companies that don't give their clients the appropriate amount of money that they've earned. When we buy CD's, we're supporting those money-hungry people. Secondly, you can buy a pack of 100 blank CD's for about 7-10 dollars, but one music CD costs around 15 dollars. Why pay more money for something when you can get it for less? Lastly, its convenient! when your at home, you can download songs, burn them onto a blank disc, and pronto! you have all your favorites in just a small amount of time. on the other hand, downloading free songs can seem like a bad thing. Like i said before, its stealing! in my opinion there IS no difference between walking into a record store and taking a few CD's, and burning CD's at home! Secondly, if we don't buy music directly from the artist, then they'll lose money. If songwriters dont' get money, then how are they supposed to make songs? If too many people start downloading music, then maybe musicians as we know them will stop recording all together! Lastly, after September 11, people stopped going out and shopping as much as they used to. We need to boost our economy, and keep people like musicians in jobs, otherwise the employement rate might fall. So whats the big difference between ten dollars and fifteen? At this time, MP3's and CD-R's are invading store bought CD's. Sure, some people are really big fans of a band, and they buy their album, for their personal CD collection, but not enough people are. in a poll taken by CNN, blank CD's for burning music sold more than original CD's by the artist. So what side are you on? are you for websites such as napster? or are you against the whole "burning issue?" you decide, but remember: honesty, is usually the best policy.

Soothe and Burn, wake me up.

So I went to see "the Other Side of Heaven" tonight with Anne and 2 other Mormons. It was strange, like watching one huge inside joke on screen. I have seen Mormon movies since I was like, 8 years old, so the entire movie made perfect sense to me because it was following a formula. Except that the girl from the Princess Diaries was in it. And there were non-Mormon people in the audience. So I had the feeling that maybe the movie was not as clear to everyone as it was to me. The first part was pretty paint-by-numbers LDS fare: the earnest missionary, the patient ever-cute girlfriend, the struggles that get overcome, well, without much struggle. But around the halfway point it became really beautiful and powerful. Towards the end, this missionary is greeting goodbye to everyone in his Tongan mission and they start singing this hymn and..... I don't know. I started getting teary. I didn't cry, but had the scene been extended by about 2 minutes, I would have. I was very angry at myself, because I don't enjoy getting that way, but it was just so simple and beautiful. it made me remember why I sacrifice so much for my religion, why my religion is the best in the world, and how wonderful spirituality can be. I've been talking about religion a lot lately, sorry. But I've been having so many confirmations lately that what I feel and believe is true...it's amazing. I don't know.

Jeanette Winterson once asked why God doesn't return passion with passion. I think he does.

Mormons believe that once you reach a certain age, you are able to recieve your patriarchal blessing. The concept of this is that a presithood holder (patriarch) places his hands on your head and gives you a sort of life's blessing. It is the only time you will most likely have to listen to God speaking directly to you. Acting as the mouthpiece, the patriarch tells you revelations about your life only God knows. Like fortune telling, I guess is the closest comparison you can make. He tells you what will happen in your life, and who you will be if you stay faithful. Your own personal scriptures, if you will. When I was 16, I recieved mine, and it's strange, because everything my blessing said would happen has happened thus far. Tonight made me think about it again. I like the idea that I have talked to God. He has talked to me. Maybe that's why I'm so confident, bordering on obnoxiously arrogant. God takes time to talk to me.

You guys do not want to hear about my religion, however. I'll try not to bring it up again. But it makes me so happy. Despite all the restrictions. It's difficult not to drag all of you with me every sunday.

Trust all stars.

The last few posts have been unusally heavy. Sorry. But it is grey outside. It makes me pensive. We're all made of stars.

Anthony Natale is a good man. This post belongs to him.

You are my friend. You have always been kind to me. I want you to be happy. I want you to be at peace. I want the same for your father, the same for your family. I can't do anything: I can't offer empathy, because I have no idea what level of pain you're feeling. I have nothing that compares to the pressing on your shoulders of waiting and pacing and staring and calculating minutes and cells and breaths. You are strong. You don't even need this post; you can cope without needing my condolences. But I wanted you to know that I think of you, and I care about what happens to you. I can offer my hand, and I can offer my friendship. If you ever want to come over and talk.Go.out.IM.call then do it. I offer my most precious commodity: time. I want to do everything possible for you, because you have been unwavering in your patience with me. Despite my fighting and my assumptions and my failures as a friend, you've been wonderful. Thank you, Tony. I pray for you. That phrase gets thrown around and mocked and ridiculed too often: I pray for you. It's becomed cliched. But I use it now with its power and its sincerity. Good luck, dear. Good luck with everything.

Old Headboard. hands on walls. rubber and novocaine and pepperiment--Different intermixed. Walking with a love that's oh so fine walking with a love that can't be mine no matter how hard I try. Here comes my baby, here she comes now. And it comes as no suprise to me--with another guy. Hit my head against a table. Stepping on my phone. It is so hard to have to get up for 9am classes. Gettingoutofbedatall. Trust all stars.

It's snowing and it's the end of April. What becomes a legend most? I don't know, a year ago, I think I must have made you up in my head. What did I base you on? Was it a broadway show or some hot new book I read? I close my eyes and the movies on my eyelids come to life. Breathing differently. Dreams are more violent, more vivid. I can stop them and start them in between clicks of the alarm clock. Waking life.

Soothe and burn, wake me up.

I can't work and I can't rest. I'm wasting time that's on loan from otherworldly depositories. I want to destroy things. I want to destroy you.

What have I become my sweetest friend? Everyone I know goes away in the end. I'm becoming lost. I can feel it, each day. I'm losing myself and slipping away. In some ways, it's lovely: sunshowersandblueshines as I spin out. The Chinese believe that when one travels too extensivly, one's soul becomes dislodged from the body. It has to be called back, or it will be lost forever. floating. ethereal. I want to find my way back. I'm not sure where home is. I'm concentrating on now. I'm trying to pretend a future doesn't loom over the horizon. I think I'm dumb. Maybe just happy. I think I'm just happy.

There's battle scars on all my guitars
But still I come out here and play.
There's battle scars on my face and my arms
But you still kiss me anyway

Drama continues. Ignore it. She was born in an oil drum south side of Chicago when east St. Louis was not far away. She'd lace knives to her boots and go down the the river bed skate around and around til the night became day. The cannery boys would follow her everywhere, with their hearts all aglow from her icy back-at-you stare...

I'm sorry.

I was supposed to finish watching "Pride and Prejudice" with Anne and Mary and Mark tonight, however, I just showered and put on my pyjamas and couldn't bear the thought of going out in the cold rain again. Also, I really need to study statistics, which will happen after this short blog.

I am really excited about playing guitar with Brian and Theron. I still am not *good,* but I am slowly becoming more competent. And I think that we sound pretty tight, although we've only been playing together for a few weeks.

Adele: Jeez. Our band is so good, I have one of our songs stuck in my head.... because only good music could possibly get stuck in someone's head.
Theron: This explains why I once had "no scrubs" stuck in my head for three days.

I'd also like to mention how much I appreciate Mary, Anne, Mark, and Jason visiting me when I'm working at the Sherm. For some reason, it surprises me when people care about me. I don't know why, I guess that I just don't expect too much from people. But you defy my cynical worldview. Thanks. You are all awesome (by which, of course, I mean totally sweet.)

AlexiaIscariot: Showgirls was on vh1 last night and I had to leave. how does it end?
AlexiaIscariot: i left after the black dude tried to sleep with her
AlexiaIscariot: and she was all
AlexiaIscariot: you can sleep with me when you love me
Rocketstar20: ok jesse trips gina gershon down the stairs and gets her place in the show and then goes to visit her in the hospital and they make out
Rocketstar20: oh and jesse and kyle mcloughlin get it on in the pool
AlexiaIscariot: woah
AlexiaIscariot: so why does she make out with gina
AlexiaIscariot: if gina is all, i hate you
Rocketstar20: cuz theyre all lesbians at heart...
Rocketstar20: and she like, respects her for pushing her down the stairs
Rocketstar20: she gets turned on by the ambition or somehting like that
AlexiaIscariot: weird
AlexiaIscariot: so jesse will screw everyone but the black dude? is she a racist? what up?
Rocketstar20: i dont remember it that well anymore.... i should buy it i need a good comedy...
she prolly is racist...but she did go out with slater....
AlexiaIscariot: thats true
AlexiaIscariot: and slater had a mullet
AlexiaIscariot: but she was always playerhatin' on slater
Rocketstar20: slater just wasnt zach

My weekend was not nearly as wicked as last weekend, which was very disappointing. I get up friday and put on a lovely sundress and go outside and it's freezing. not cool, there, scott. Luckily, my day was made when our geo teacher told adele she asked a good question last week about denisty. Adele, Anne, and I look at each other and burst into fits of hysterical laughter. For those of you unfamiliar with the density inside joke, allow me to explain. In DS last week the prof was talking about density, so I raised my hand and asked if density was the same thing as weight. I've taken classes with pyschics; I know what density is. But I wasn't really thinking. So I he looks at me like I'm a moron and then says slowly, "Ummm, yeah, that's a really good question." All the meanwhile, Adele's giving me one of those looks out of the corner of her eye that one reserves solely for the retarded members of the class. So yeah. The good part of the day was dragging everyone over to Anne's and making them eat pizza and watch AE's "Pride and Prejudice." We tried to include dave choate and got a door slammed in our face. Interesting. I will pontificate more on the subject of dave later. For someone so involved in my social life, he stays off this website way too much.

Saturday I spent doing a lot of work and whatnot. Went downtown to do the Wesley Willis show with Anne and Adele. canceled. went sherm slumming. had a muffin. watched bridget jones, porn to rock, and the edited first half of showgirls. when they edit that movie, there isn't much left. It was like a high budget porn movie, except everyone was wearing clothes. Weird.

Today was mostly more work and church. I picked up a pro-frosh at the airport with some other Mormons. I've been reading a ton of Baiga myths lately (a nomdaic middle Indian tribe), which are strange because they never have any moral. If you're bad or good, the same thing happens. You could die or live. It's so strange. But I had a chance to catch up on my myth reading on the car ride, so good things came of it.

My friend Gerald Perkins' body is slowly eating away his bone marrow. He's dying, and the governement, as governments do, is still taking all his money away, and his wife is too busy taking care of their kids to get a full time job. My sister Margaret went up to their door the other day and left an envelope filled with $200. Of her money. That she had in cash. That she had saved up. I don't think I could have done that. She's wonderful. My mom also put in $300. My family amazes me.

we're finishing up pride and prejudice tonight. it will rule.

Out with the old...

I never knew that the will to destroy someone could be so beautiful

Rocketstar20: maybe thats what guys want- bad skin and frizzy hair.... hell if it was that easy i coulda gotten laid years ago

Vidrar vel til loftarasa.

I'm not myself today. Maybe I'm you.

Today was fun and cathartic. I spent the afternoon and evening with Anne and Mary, doing fun, boy-less activities. We tried to attend the Wesley Willis concert at the Fireside, but in typical schizophrenic fashion, Willis was a no-show. No matter, though, because Mike drove us back to Evanston in his car, saving us from an almost two hour el ride. That was quite nice. Back in E'town, the three of us slacked at the Sherman for a while, gossiping about girl things, and watching Pearl (the insane 80-year-old night manager) scare customers out of the restaurant.

Mary and I have decided to give Anne a one-day punk rock make-over-- dress her up in some of our more outrageous clothing, do something crazy, yet reversable, to her hair, let the badass within her come out. In return, Anne is going to try to make Mary and I look "normal." I hope that "normal" means "not bizarre" rather than "neat, attractive, and pulled together" (ala Anne), because if we take the latter meaning, I am afraid I will be nothing but a dissapointment.

For the rest of the night, we retreated to Anne's dorm to watch Bridget Jones's Diary and some bad VH1, including a special about strippers turned singers called "Porn to Rock II." The television programs we were exposed to were exceedingly bad, but it really didn't bother me. Anne, Mary and I had a pretty solid day, and I am feeling fine.

She'll come back as fire
And burn all the liars
leave a blanket of ash on the ground.
I miss the comfort in being sad.

I miss the comfort in being sad.

Ut desint vires, tamen est laudanda voluntas.
--Ovid

So things have gelled and become clear and make sense. there are plenty of reasons for me to feel ok. This happens. I've done this before. This is bringing me to a greater level of understanding. I won't do it again, now that I've been on the other side of it, and seen how unfair and hurtful it is. This is, in many ways, a good thing. I can rationalize this and file it away, and I should. There are very few reasons for me to be upset.

Yet, I am upset anyway. That makes what I am feeling self-pity. I am aware that it is self-pity. And I'm not going to beat myself up for it. Self-pity is ok in moderation. Tonight is self-pity, tomorrow is moving on. Life makes so much sense in the grand scheme.

In the geology class I am taking with Anne and Mark and Mary, we watched some video of an Apollo moon landing. From the moon, a nearby, yet incomprehensibly distant celestial body, the earth is a tiny, beautifully illuminated, blue sphere hanging in an expansive void of black space. Only there, in that infintesimal space, does human life as we know it exist. Life is a coincidence. The right atoms, at the right time, in the right place, under the right conditions. The fact that I am conscious, that I feel pain, that I am self-reflexive, that I care about things, is a beautiful, wonderful accident, proceeding from billions of years of accidents over which I had no control.

Go places and do things, or don't. Take it seriously, or don't. It's ok.

Life is a gorgeous accident. In that way, I can understand it.

anyone who needed to know, knows. this entry is gone.

I'm in the basement now. It's cooler and no one can find me. I have 15 minutes to kill.

Everyone's always whining about the lack of posse activities. Well, let me tell you something: Adele and I are going to see Wesley Willis at the Fireside Bowl this Saturday. Tickets are 5 bucks. For those who haven't been to this illustrous piece of Chicago history, allow me to share. The Fireside is a condemned bowling alley that now does local underground rock/music shows as a way of raising extra before the city tears it down. It's small, the band plays on a stage 4 feet from the ground, and the people are all tragically hip. Wesley Willis is the composer of such notable pieces as "Cut the Mullet" and "Rock and Roll MacDonalds." It has also been brought to my recent attention that Seth, of Back to the Stone Age fame, has become the subject of the Willis song "Seth Porgis." Assuming that is how you spell Seth's last name. I think it's about soy milk. We're gonna get there round 5 to buy tickets, so if any of you want to come, IM Adele or myself, since neither of us really like the phone.

Posse in effect, y'all.

Apparently Kim and Adele ended their indie rock conflict with mutual satisfaction and no hard feelings. This makes me sad, in a way, because I feel this campus generally lacks blood feuds. But then again, whatever. You make too many enemies and one day you'll wake up with a horsehead at the foot of your matress, godfather wakeup call style.

6 minutes left. What to blog about.

"Nice to meet you, father, I'm sleeping with your daughter." I don't care how much respect I lose: blink 182 right some of the catchiest songs ever. Really tight, great lyrics, nice hooks. It's the most perfect kind of pop punk on the market today. Well done boys!

There was someone down here last night. While I was shelf reading in the basement, I could feel one of the moveable shelves coming towards me, heard the squeaking. But no one was in the basement, since it was after hours. Needless to say, I'm back down here again late at night. I want to be terrified. I want to see a ghost. But all I see is a pudgy man walking back and forth ruining my stacks. Arg!

I've been offered a apartment next year with 3 other Mormons for $370/month. I'm seriously considering the offer. It would be where Vic's house currently is, so mid-north campus. I'd save $500 a month. But I'm still considering it. My parents are probably hitting themselves..."what kind of moron have we raised!?" But that still doesn't change the fact that i like being on campus, that's where all my friends are, and I don't want flatmate, especially one who will only let me listen to music with my headphones on.

So it goes.

I find Chicago weather incredibly bizarre. At three this afternoon I'm basking on a rock with Adele, blazing sunshine and solar winds, and now i look out the window and see black clouds. I can only hope that this means I'll get a summer storm, because those are, well, pretty rad. "Summer storm chases all of me." Most of my mind is Smashing Pumpkins quotes, I swear. The rest belongs to Nirvana and the Beastie Boys, respectfully.

I went to Institute today (Mormon school for all those unfamiliar with the jargon). Usually I tune out but today we had an extraordinary lesson on prayer. In my church they teach that in moments of true peace, spirituality, or righteousness, one can actually feel the Holy Ghost's presence. Usually I'm not awake enough to be aware, but I felt it for the first time in a while. I don't know why I'm telling you this. I don't talk about my religion. But it was important to me.

More later

"I'll pack my bags I swear I'll run. wish my friends were 21."

I hate cultural elitism. I hate the more-indie-rock-than-thou game. And I hate the fact that i finished work early and am now looking for things to do to kill time.

My sister Julia has made the speech semifinals at our school, an honor I tried 4 years for and never mastered. Bravo Julia! I'm really proud of her. She now has to read her speech in front of the entire middle school. I'd be scared to death.

I think this weekend was so incredible because it was exactly like I imagined college would be. Going to sketchy clubs with friends and hanging out and being in the city and backwards dives. Wandering around downtown after hours.

This guy tried to hit on me in the library tonight and I froze and panicked and acted like a complete moron, as usual. He was tall and skinny with converses and glasses. supercute. he remembered me because I told him he had beautiful hair back when it was blue. He stopped me shelving and he started talking. I had nothing to say. He told me that my hair was gorgeous as well. I think I mumbled something about liking his new hair color as well and quickly ran away. I don't know what's wrong with me. You'd think after all of these years I wouldn't be so startled if a boy notices me, but I am. I find it incredibly weird that anyone would imagine doing something like coming up to me and talking because they LIKED THE WAY I LOOKED. Scary.

I think that while I have a few minutes I'd like to dedicate a section to Adele. Adele's been having some tough times lately, and people have been coming down pretty hard on her. look, all y'all playahatas, listen up. Adele is cooler than you. She has more cred then you. She's funny and open minded and assertive and intelligent and gorgeous and sweet. Anyone that can't see that sucks. She has never asked anything of me as a friend, and yet she always helps me out without reservation when I've needed it. Like handing me $50 to take a taxi cab to the airport, even when I told her no. Like asking me if everythings ok whenever my posts get cyrptic. Like putting up with my drama queen mentality. Adele, you are wonderful. I think so. And my opinion is the only one that matters.

work is over. "you're all mixed up like pasta primavera, man why you throw that chair at Geraldo Rivera?"

"I couldn't believe what this girl was saying the names she was dropping the games she was playing..."

I met Kim today.

I have been very infrequent about updating, and I apologize. I'm been focusing a lot on school, and as a result, have been going to bed earlier each night. And since my blogs are always so long anyway, I figured i'd put it off.

The downside is, of course, that you guys missed out on hearing about my fantastic week. Because it has been fantastic. The weather and the lack of CM drama and the walks and the classes and the way that things are together makes me resplendently happy. A quick cliffs notes view of the past week, for posterity:
Thursday: almost fell asleep from fatigue. Spent time on the lakefill alernately with Mark and Anne. Managed to stay awake long enough to watch the Strokes rock the house of David Lettermen. Julian, why are you so cute with your wild eyes and wild hair and wild voice and wild stare? And that jacket--so punk rock!

Friday: More time by the lakefill. It's like 70-80 degrees. It must be done. read a ton. Went to Flickerstick show, where I was roughly turned away by the bouncer for not having an ID. Later, it turns out he reported to my boss that I had given him "attitude." I'll show you attitude. Like that time I was almost kicked out of our lady peace for taking pirated photos and i nearly assaulted the security officer before my mom intervened and had my run for it? that was attitude. But we (being anne and adele and nick and mark and I, and no tony, because apparently we didn't want him there, even though we were like, please tony come!) walked down to gramaphone and saw the gothpunkskaterecord shops along the way and everything was pretty and lovely. We met Seth, the aforementioned Kim's friend who is the inventor of Noise wave and the frontman of Cautiously Loud. He had an emo haircut and talked like he was stoned. He invited us to the birth of his new band, Back to the Stone Age, at the A-store or something like that xlub next to the Congress. He promised bubble wrap, so we agreed. We went to the show, did our thing, and went home. People pitched in to help me carry my Metro stuff home. That made me so happy I wanted to cry. It was so sweet.

Saturday: The highlight of saturday would naturally be going to Back to the Stone Age. First we had to sit through 3 hours of bad local movies (we being anne, nick, tony, mark, adele, and I) which included a nude transvestite jesus lip synching to the doors, monkeys fighting robots, and buliema documentaries. This, as you, gentle reader may imagine, was not kosher. Downstairs to the graffittied basement for the rock show. The show itself was a cacaphony of chaos as the 9 instrumentalists (2 drums, a sax player, keyboardist, hot lix players,guitarist, a recorder, and a kazoo) all played at the same time. Seth was indeed wrapped in bubble tape, screaming and writhing and breaking drum sticks, samari bandana tied around his head. There was silly string and foam in a can unleashed on the audience. Motrin was passed out by Seth. He bumped into people and generally freaked us all out. Courtney Brunsfeld was there looking out of place. Adele and I, left shortly after the first encore. the band only played for 15 minutes. Afterwards, we saw Seth and his goth guitarist at White Castle. White Castle was weird. I'm not sure how much I enjoyed it. The fries were good.

Sunday I went to church and worked and saw anne and went out to the lakefill and basically took the day off. watched tiger woods win the masters.Went to see Adele at the Sherm. Had a beautiful lovely sunny day. had a marvelously relaxing night in my room. Well done.

Monday: I worked and went to the lakefill and got tan. again. did a lot of reading. did some errands. hung out with mark. took a shower. hung out with anne. hung out with nick and adele and mark on the grass eating chipotle and talking about things being rad and sucking, alternatly. I'm pretty sure something else happened, but I can't remember. Must not have been that important. Gio's was exceptionally good, as tony said. Tom was back in old sexual harssment mode. But adeleanneandI don't have to take it. And I would like to qualify my aggressive '10' statement which i made when tom sherman asked us what our sexual agression level was (1=passive, 10=agressive). If you are refering to how one acts alone, when the doors are closed, and one is with another individual, I am a 10. However, I only respond to signals. if the boy is too afraid to make the first move or too timid or passionless, I won't respond. So in that case I suppose I'd be like a 9.5 on the scale.

Tuesday: news flash! Russ Riggins isn't dead. I talked to him on Tuesday. Just passing it on. Spent the day meeting with my Myth ad Symbolism teacher, hanging out with Mark and Jason on the lake, getting tan, and reading a ton. I decided to rebel against summer and wear all black, so I did. It was great. And every one of those girls in the flowery skirts and the white tank tops must have been scared to death. jeez I love being a rebel. Went to Adele's to see "night at the Roxbury." Adele fell asleep. Poor girl. And dude, you can't take our dreams away, because we're like asleep when we have them. That movie gets better each time.

Wednesday (today!) Met Kim and saw Andrew while having lunch with my geology posse. Listened to adele's new band. They were wicked. Went to my narrative class. Am now at work.

Now that you're up to speed, I can make my posts more interesting from now on. As it is, back to work.

Also: D-Plan is playing DilloDay. Rock!

Harry the Cannibalistic Maniac is now available for download. More high quality tunes from the kids who brought you "Please Respect My Llama."

lessons learned:
1. this blog is in a public place, and people outside of my circle of friends read it.
2. I care what people think of me more than I thought I did, and there's nothing really wrong with that.

a thought:
One has to expose his ideas, beliefs, even his self-concept to criticism. Trust yourself first and foremost, but listen to other people too. This is the only way one can either solidify his ideas as good and accurate, or revise them into something closer to truth. Good ideas will withstand the test.

peace.

When my sisters and I ate at [my grandparent's] house, there we would be--6 girls eating. The old man opened his eyes wide and turned in a circle, surrounded. His neck tendons stretched out. "Maggots!" He shouted. "Maggots! Where are my grandsons? I want grandsons. Give me grandsons. Maggots!" He pointed at each one of us, "Maggot! Maggot! Maggot! Maggot! Maggot! Maggot!" Then he dived into his food, eating fast and getting seconds. "Eat, maggots," he said. "Look at the maggots chew."--Maxine Hong Kingston

Mary, Mark, Nickd, Tony, Aaron: thank you. I can't thank you enough just for existing, for being part of my life, for caring about me. You are fascinating, beautiful, brilliant people.

Note: As promised, today is ok. Even a little better than ok. Lounging on the grass with Mary, Mark and Nick, just letting the sun soak into our skin and hair and clothes helps a lot. Also, acing my stats quiz helps. woohoo.

Rooster
Genera and species: Gallus Gallus
Collective Term: A brood of roosters

Description
Roosters are those talented, creative, but somewhat eccentric people who make life interesting for the rest of us. Their bird-like minds are always on the lookout for stimulation and roosters display the characteristically high-energy behavior of their species. They are artistic, creative, and sophisticated with a thorough knowledge of fine wines, cooking, writing, theater and painting. Subscribing to the early bird maxim, roosters rise a little earlier than their competition and could even be accused of having their fingers in too many pies. For the world is so fascinating to the rooster, that settling down into any one career would be impossibly constricting. Unfortunately, their earning potential can suffer in a competitive world that rewards specialization. But, roosters will succeed when they choose a career that presents a variety of challenges, such as medicine, publishing, journalism, or acting.

There's a touch of glamour in everything the rooster does -- for settling for less would be exasperating to the rooster's essence. Why take the train if you can fly? This philosophy pervades its personal life, for the rooster proves to be a perfectionist in the bedroom too. Of course, roosters are not above crowing a little, if they feel that their efforts have gone unnoticed. But in the long run, partners have few complaints holding their rooster lover in the highest regard as paramour.

Their ideal mates include peacocks who are attracted to their strong demeanor and flashy style. They are incorrigible flirts and although successful in attracting mates, their egos sometimes drive potential partners away. When sufficiently motivated by the right partner however, the rooster will generally find a way to make the relationship work.

As a parent, it is fussy and attentive. Like the proverbial brooding hen, it is involved with every aspect of its children's lives; including their dress and company they keep; some even accuse the rooster of being overprotective. Although its children might resent their parent's interference, they learn to appreciate their concerns as they mature. The more reserved animal personalities such as bats, bison and moles find them to be fussy and bossy, and snake and canine personalities should be studiously avoided.

A rooster will not be silent while there's breath in its body and although its powerful voice tends to be on the shrill side -- when it calls for action, everyone responds. Fuelled by resentment of their brazen style, these saucy birds hear a lot of unkind remarks from members of their own species and these barbs tear at their self-esteem. But when things look bleak, they stick to their guns, redouble their efforts, and live by the motto: if at first you don't suck seed, try drier grain.

Careers and Hobbies
Broadcaster Insurance agent
Medical Actor
Editor Journalist

Eating out Socializing
Shopping Music

Famous Roosters
PT Barnum, Dennis Rodman, The artist formerly known as Prince.

I need so much, but I seek nothing from anyone. I'm gonna go to sleep feeling bad, and wake up feeling ok. Some band that I think nickd likes has an album titled, "Yesterday was dramatic, today is ok." I will feel like that. Don't think. Just move. Class and study and work and sleep. move move move. do not pause. To pause is to fail in this anti-intellectual experiment.

you can ask me if I'm ok; I would actually appreciate it very much if you did. But my answer will be "yes." I am in every sense of the word, "ok." nothing stops nothing changes. the plates of the earth's crust move, reshape landscapes, cause volcanoes, with out my willing them to do so. my body will carry me to class, my brain will make calculations for my statistics quiz, I will behave and interact and study on totally normal terms. I am far far far away from the worst case scenario. I'm still breathing. so are you. everything's alright.

this is a long drive for someone with nothing to think about.

Advice to Writers
"When I was younger I would have said, 'Be confident in yourself and your vision.' But I have met so many bad writers who are confident that I would now advise that you should be humble. Read Chekhov and think about why you will probably never be as good as he was. Do this with enough writers and you will begin to get the picture. Also write a lot. Greatness almost never comes with the first draft. If it ever comes, that is."--nabakov

Tonight was unexpectedly spectacular, and I have a satisfying feeling that I am doing exactly what I should be doing in college-- laughing with friends, working a funky internship, exploring the city, walking around feeling spontaneous and free and happy and able.

I won't want to wake up early tomorrow, but I will anyway, because I have homeworkandmossoffandnoisewavestuff.

More tomorrow.

Work is done. finally.

danger. danger. abort mission!

I concur that it is amazing the difference sunlight and warmth have over mood and motivation. And that Weezer article makes me sad. I loved the Green Album! Where's the love, Rivers? Where's the love?

I'm getting disgusted with my body again. Time to go and work out. It's been a month. As my sister would say, that is ri-gosh-darn-dic-ulous.

The White Stripes are totally ace. I know I'm not supposed to say that, 'cause they're all 'now' on MTV or whatever, but they are supercool. I've been listening to "Fell in love with a Girl" and "why are you so mean to me?" over and over and over. They make me wabble my head side-to-side in the neo-New-York-post-modern-Thom-York(e) way the Screamo Kim's of the world do when they're gettin their groove on. Gothalicious.

Today I was going to work and work and work and then go out to dinner with a friend from home. Bob. Bluhm. He is a supercool enviromental lawyer and rabidly republican. yes, I know. It is strange. But I ended up spending most of the day on the lakefill with alternately Anne and Mark. It was so pretty, though! That just means that tomorrow I have a ton of things I need to get done. And Saturday and Sunday will be dreadful. I can't believe how reading intensive all my classes are this quarter. Unbelievable. And "Earth as a Planet" takes itself way too seriously.

As you know, yesterday was Wednesday (Hell Day), and I was convinced it would go poorly. But at 10pm, as I'm going to bed, I get this message on my answering machine from Mark and Mike, saying they were at this chick Julie's house and asking me if I'd like to see a movie. So Mark picks me up in Mike's car (weeeeee! car ride!) and we go over. Julie was charming; we talked about Turkey for a while (the country) and the +/- of living in Texas (also, in its way, a country). She had beautiful Billy Corgan razor teeth, and her roomate was the guy who works the counter in the English office. Weird. We watched "Kicking and Screaming," which, while totally misogynistic, was still a very depressing, sparklingly written vignette about life after college. I want to be the philosopher bartender. I think that's more Adele's/Mark's calling, though. I see Tony as the guy who dates the high school girl. I see me being the writer who copies down everyone's dialogue and moves to Prague to take Writing Workshop courses. It was a too-close-to-come kind of movie though. My chair was very comfortable though, so I suppose it evens out.

There was seran wrap on the windows. Weird.

Today is beautiful, and I am happy. Class, work, music, fun. It's becoming a comfortable rhythm. I can do everything.

Guitar World's Interview with Rivers Cuomo made me cry (like the totally emo kid I am).

Guitar World:Even though you have a million fans, they're a million fans who feel for you in a way usually reserved for underground bands.
.....
Guitar World:Are people accepting the choice you made (regarding the lyrical content of the green album)?
Cuomo: No, our fans are totally pissed off. They feel betrayed, let down, disappointed, angry.
Cuomo: It's tough, man. There are really rough nights when the whole crowd starts chanting for one of the Pinkerton songs, and I just don't want to play it. [we'll] play one or two songs, begrudgingly. The rest of the night, we play all these fluffy pop songs, and they get pissed off. There have been some really scary shows, where I thought violence might break out. Like, me against 10,000 people... I'll fuck with them sometimes. I'll start to play one of those Pinkerton songs, they start to cheer and then I'll bust into one of my gay pop songs.
Guitar World: Are there two factions of Weezer fans: the hostile and the adoring?
Cuomo: No. They're one and the same. The ridiculous thing is that they're so angry with me, and they hate my songs so much, and yet they're all still there on the message boards talking about me everyday. And they care so much about it. It doesn't make any sense. Maybe they see some potential in us, and are doing all they can to bring it out. It's a really strange, extraordinary situation with us and the fans.
...
Guitar World: Do you ever meet fans?
Cuomo: Hell no! Fans are annoying, They all want something. They're all little bitches, so I avoid them at all costs.