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Seriously. If I go to AFI, there is no on-campus housing. Los Feliz was recommended to me as being a. very close to campus and b. an AFI hub.
It’s also featured for 2.5 seconds in “Swingers” so you know I am so there.
But, really. Any takers? I don’t want to live with a stranger or in a broom closet. We can live together and pretend we are in “Swingers” (I know I will end up being Mike, but can I pretend to be Trent?). We can read scripts to each other and be poor and into film and everything! If I really like you I’ll throw in a kitten.
Also, “Feliz” sounds like “Felix.” Come on!
If anyone has any thoughts on this, please to see the comment function below.
In other news: Paris Hilton has become engaged to her boy friend of 8 months, Paris Latsis. Yes, a little bit of vomit just came up into my mouth too. I hope they name all their kids Paris.
Paris L. is of the famous (and wealthy) Greek mercantile family who is slated at number 54 in line of the richest families on the planet, net worth over 7 billion dollars.
I really. Really. Can’t imagine that life.
Also, Deep Throat (the man who broke the Watergate scandal back in the Nixon Era) has finally been revealed to the public. It was W. Mark Felt, at the time second in command of the FBI.
Who knew?
I forgot to advertise; look at what I adopted! The Charles Dickens fanlisting. I think I have three of the coolest fanlistings in the world: Mozart, Dickens and Billy Boyd. Wee!
suddenly i was @ 08:33 pm
(no feathers)
saturday, may 28, 2005
First: giggle.
Wow. I was thrown for a loop. I got into the office today and found out one of my coworkers was totally let go- but to the surprise of everyone in the entire office. It physically makes me sick. I mean, I love most everyone I work with- but I can see where some people might not carry as much weight as others, but I totally, totally do not understand with this case. On the hierarchy of capability, she was right at the top- a better worker than I am, I’m sure, and her segment made more money than mine. She was on time, did all of her work ahead of schedule, was pleasant to work with, enjoyed by everyone- it just makes no sense.
My coworker when on recognizance and discovered the following: the coworker in question was very capable etc. A while ago she asked to take on more responsibility. The manager (who is notoriously vague with specs) claims she wasn’t keeping up on –get this- her extra responsibilities. So, though she was doing all of her required job- and doing it well and was liked by everyone- it just makes no sense.
There is a strange vibe wafting through the office, I think everyone is really upset by all of this. Frankly, it makes me slightly sick to my stomach.
So does AFI. I Don’t know why I am having so much trouble deciding about it. I hear about lectures given by Charlie Kaufman and Alexander Payne and I think, “I should go” because that sounds neat but then I think of the other things: 108,000 dollars, the fact I need a car, apartment, it’s another admissions process for the second year (you can be cut from the program) not to mention all of the work- 80+ group projects in a year- do I really want to go back to that grind? AFI was my last choice of schools, the most impossible to get into so of course it’s the one who accepted me. I have to make up my mind be next week and they still haven’t mailed the paperwork to me. I am very upset. I can’t sleep and it makes me sick to even think about it.
I know fear isn’t a reason to not go- money isn’t even a good reason, but is it what I want? I feel bad I should know. Everyone else does. If it wasn’t so prestigious would I even give a rat’s arse?
Is this program going to be what I want… I just don’t want to go in debt only to be booted for the second year and not even earn my masters. If you could see this email I got from a current student; she uses words like “sadistic” to describe the program. Hard, stressful- it’s like being thrown to a pack of wild dogs, being torn to shreds while everyone stands by and laughs at you.
I don’t know- I just don’t know if I want something so competitive and immersive with so small a group. I like variety.
I don’t know.
I just don’t know.
I can’t decide I don’t know.
My thing is: if I don’t go, what am I going to do instead? Sit around? Continue to atrophy out my creative abilities? Or do I force myself- to- AG.
P.S. Lyrics
suddenly i was @ 01:56 am
(no feathers)
friday, may 27, 2005
My mom comes home. I was upstairs cleaning Napoleon’s tank. I had only been home for moments myself. I heard my mom call from downstairs, “Come here!”
I go downstairs. The poodles and Zoë are running all about just in from a car ride. “Do you see Ignatius?” My mom asks.
“Sure.”
“See how dirty he is?”
I look. Yes, I do notice the white dog is now somewhat mysteriously dark grey.
“Uh-huh.”
My mom stops and looks me dead in the eye, “Want to know what happened?”
I just stare for my answer and she responds: he fell out of the car window. While we were moving.
So apparently, Ignatius (whom you can reacquaint yourself with below) fell out of the car window while my dad was driving. This is a little bit of a first for us. What happened was he was playing in the back (the seats were down) and tried to leap up to my mom in the front. He had done this with no success earlier in the car ride. In his first attempt, instead of leaping over, he got caught in the middle of the headrest. This time, however, he missed the headrest and due to some gnar-gnar physics flew out the window.
No one even saw it happen!
My dad heard a light, frantic session of scratching, then silence. He said aloud, “Did we just lose a dog?”
Mom: Huh?
My dad pulled over- they were going about 30-35 mph on a fairly busy street and there about half a block away was a tiny a little poodle in the road.
My mom screamed for him and Ignatius, terrified, could not light faster to her.
When everyone got home, Ignatius was studied to the nth degree. He seemed fine. He chased the cat, jumped up and down. Other than the fact he was almost completely black from road grime, he appeared… normal. I gave him a bath and when I did I found the saddest little scrapes all over him- basically the doggie equivalents of knees and elbows all nicked up- also, his ear and head.
He still seems fine, but can you imagine? Our little dog who maybe weighs double digits, is thrown from the window of a moving car- somehow misses a. falling onto a parked car, b. being hit by the car behind ours (that person stopped when she saw the UFP [unidentified flying poodle]) or just being killed on spot contact! I can’t even imagine what I would feel if he had been hurt or worse. It’s too awful.
But he is alright now. Just another testament to how solid a little dog he is. BUT GOOD LORD.
Story II. Brief.
Today I walked into my room. I noticed something on my bed. It was small. Pointed. A thorn? No. Paper? No. Bird beak? Yes.
WHAT?!
There was a little tiny bird beak on my bed. Mabel the Pretties, aka the cat, likes to leave presents. Talk about gnar-gnar physics though, it was just a beak! No blood. No feathers. Just a little beak. Sitting on my blanket as if to say, “Hi, I’m a beak.”
EW.
And now I am going to go sleep in that bed methinks, think of how lucky I am to have such a good little dog as Ignatius in my life.
suddenly i was @ 02:36 am
(no feathers)
wednesday, may 25, 2005
MY GOD. How could I almost have forgotten?Because I must convey all thoughts now with little mouse drawings.
Happy Birthday Bob, because you are totally reading this.
Bob Dylan, May 24th 1941.
suddenly i was @ 12:43 am
(no feathers)
suddenly i was @ 12:37 am
(no feathers)
saturday, may 21, 2005
Last night when we were waiting in line, there was the tiniest little three-year-old girl behind us. For the entire wait, she had been very fussy and her father had been walking her up and down along the sidelines. As the movie was gearing up to go and the line started moving, a man in the most amazing Darth Vader costume walked by to regain his line place. The little girl perked up and in the smallest, highest, clearest little voice yelled, “Darth Vader, Darth Vader! I’m going to kick your butt!”
suddenly i was @ 01:04 am
(no feathers)
friday, may 20, 2005
So some one in my office rented out a theatre. It was playing some random obscure flick. Little indie thing, you've probably never heard of it. I went with raedances.Is that a light saber or are you just happy to see me?
Oh my god, oh my god!
It was good guys! Actually good! I dreamed and fantasized about it- thinking, perhaps if the progress of the first two film were indicators, perhaps “Revenge of the Sith” might come close to mediocrity. Maybe. It was a long shot, but you know me; I'm a starry eyed sort of dreamer. I like to imagine what can never be.
What can never be indeed, for not only did we come close to mediocrity, we breached it and made it to decent. Hell, we made it to pretty good even. I actually had a great time watching the whole movie. It’s not as good as the 8 of 10 stars reviews might lead you to believe, but perhaps, like me, the reviewers expecting the worst of the worst and the jaded- nay, wronged! - Star Wars fans alike, well- we were all just so surprised to not be wishing for our own deaths at the halfway mark we are now all apt to scream, “Hooray!”
The film was everything I wanted and more. I wanted to see Anakin get messed up. Real messed up. I think from about 40 minutes into the film on I was secretly chanting, “Vader suit, Vader suit” to myself. Then his legs go flying off. Beaten, looking like a hobbit on Mt. Doom, falling towards the fiery river and I started thinking, “Oh no, they wouldn’t… oh no they couldn’t!”
COMBUSTION.
Oh they would and could.
Not only is little orphan Annie now a tri-plegic he’s on fire.
Mad cackle! Says I in my slightly left of center seat. Check first “Must-See” item from list.
We had baby Luke, baby Leia (Check, Check!) and the amazingly pregnant-not-pregnant Padme. What do I mean?
Well. My experience with pregnant bellies might be slight and I guess we were led to believe the children were premature, but let’s face it, we saw those light saber seared Jedi babez. Just one of them was twice as big as the little pillow Portman had strapped on to her petite little frame (too low and lumpily also, mind).
I liked how we, as the audience, were also supposed to suspend our sense of belief along with the principle lovers as to continue to believe that their being an item was still a secret. Her protruding and swollen uterus, much like the proverbial elephant in the middle of the room, a thing to be completely ignored by everyone.
PADME (turns hits Jedi with pregnant stomach): Anakin, where is he?
JEDI: I don’t know m’lady.
PADME (turns other way, hits other Jedi with stomach): Anakin!
JEDI: Why ever do you care so much m’lady?
The worst dialogue of the film, in the tradition of “the sand” line in The Phantom Clone or whatever the hell the second one was called, is again given to us courtesy of the two lovers.
-And I am not the only one who thinks so either, I beg you to read up in the New Yorker.
ANAKIN: You’re so beautiful.
PADME: That’s because I’m in love.
ANAKIN: No, it’s because I love you more!
PADME: You’re blinded by love?
AUDIENCE: WTF?
I was just waiting for him to call her muffin cake.
Now, while we’re on the lovers- let’s be honest with each other shall we? I think there is a general consensus Anakin is a moron. He has three brain cells to work with: one is mechanical, the other busy on the Dark Side and the third obsessed with his mother. But Padme is not one of the brightest stars in the galaxy herself either. I mean, if I was Oprah I would have to ask, “Girl. How many children does your boyfriend have to kill before you see the red flags?”
I work on the one strike and you’re out clause. Call me old fashioned, but I usually don’t think of children-killers as being good Daddy material.
PADME: Let’s go to Naboo! Be in love, raise our child!
ME: HE. KILLS. CHILDREN.
I could be wrong though. Perhaps this is why I am so, so lonesome on Saturday nights.
Really though, no wonder Luke is such a yutz. Look at his gene pool. It’s a wonder Leia turned out as well as she did. A real wonder. Thanks Ma and Pa Organa. Obviously a case for nuture over nature.
Come to think, and to be fair, Obi had his dumb blond moments in the film as well. The Force certainly must have been strong with Anakin, because his ability to fool people into thinking he was trustworthy despite the deep, dark, caverns under his eyes and perpetual snarling lip is truly this side of outstanding.
OBI (watching Anakin kill babies): It can’t be!
AUDIENCE: Oh yeah, it can.
Like it’s some big surprise! I mean the last film was forgettable, but even I remember him killing the “men, women—children” (cue make out music). He’s been murdering innocents for two movies now. I’m not a prescribing doctor, but Anakin, you’ve been diagnosed with evil. Jedis? Let’s drop the mild surprise, ok? Thanks.
Speaking of blond though, Obi Wan gets the award for most improved Jesus hair. We went from OMG (no pun intended) Jesus, to Saloned Jesus and I could deal with it.
Other Awards:
Most Depleted Character: Padme. She was largely, who am I kidding? Completely ornamental in this movie. Her job was to pump out savior babies and die quickly in the most complicated outfit possible. Though I thought the quiet scene of she and Anakin looking at each other across the city was interesting (though completely out of place in the whiz bang explosion world of Star Wars) I found myself asking, “How the hell long has she been at that window?” Really. 9 of 10 shots of Padme take place in front of that window. In the remaining last one, she’s burping out babies through an ice cream cone.
Least Grover Sounding: Yoda. They really went the distance in effort here and the gremlin, finally, stopped sounding like a muppet. I also found his broken syntax bearable in this movie. Something I haven’t been able to confess since “The Empire Strikes Back.”
Best Breath: Darth. Oh I waited with bated breath for that Vader suit. When his cute little hat got on and it’s all silent and he takes that first asthmatic breath?
Come on. Who breathed of sigh of “I’m-Whole-Againess”?
Raises hand.
Questions:
Who else wants to play Point-Out-The-Bush-Empire-Parallels?
Who came up with the phrase “Dark Side?” It’s lame. There’s nothing else better out there? Did they have a meeting about it? Brainstorm? Wrong Side of the Force? Ghetto Force?
Does the Death Star (for every Bad Ship in Star Wars in my mind IS the Death Star), only hire remedial highschool droid workers?
A few side notes before I close: Yoda in coveralls was worth the price of admission in and of itself. The Chewbacca thing was so forced it made me want to cry. The Droid which walks through the Count Grievous (Gracious, Graceland? Whatever) conversation and says, “Excuse me” has, hands down, the best moment in the film.
And lastly, we should have known.
R2D2 is, officially, the universe’s greatest repository device of secret knowledge. He knows it all, but confesses none because he is a beeping trash reciprocal.
On the whole. It was great. Just great fun. I haven’t had so much- fun at a movie in a long while. I totally enjoyed it. It’s not genius, but it’s better than “Return of the Jedi.” And in the end, that’s all anyone ever really wanted anyhow. Don’t go out and brave the lines if you’re not hardcore. Wait for the hype to die down unless you want to watch 45 year old males relive their childhoods in full costume, but if you’re a fan, sometime in the coming weeks I would suggest it to you for a romp. This is what “The Phantom Menance” and “The Other One” never could have been. Maybe it’s because those precursors lacked any sort of driven story (well, other than Padme changing Annie’s diapers in the first one). Or maybe it’s because Spielberg wasn’t there to shake his head “no” at Lucas. Whatever the reason, this movie works when the others did not. It is what I remember Star Wars being all about: adventure, in a galaxy far, far away.
suddenly i was @ 02:03 am
(no feathers)
wednesday, may 18, 2005
I am at work I am I logged into LJ AND I DON’T EVEN CARE.Guess what?
Last summer, in the absolute void of my life, I applied to a bunch of grad schools. I was rejected from just about all of them and the last one I hadn’t even heard from in ages and ages and ages. Then today out of no where I get this call. It’s the place, telling me my letters have been bouncing.
ME: Oh?
Then the guy told me I was on the alternate list.
ME: Oh!
But he was actually calling me to let me know my status had changed and I had been accepted to A.F.I!
I started shaking all over. To be truthful, I didn’t even really want to get in because it’s insanely competitive and they only take 24 screenwriting students or something, but I wanted to prove I could do it- and I did!
Now I have to figure if I really want to go- I don’t know. It’s so expensive- I mean, dwarfing my other school in cost by a few thousand bucks and now all my loves are out of school too, so I know people in the real world- but- yeah! Neat!
suddenly i was @ 12:13 pm
(no feathers)
tuesday, may 17, 2005
I totally misspelled their surname and mixed up which Olsen twin was suffering from an eating disorder last post, I crack it up to 2 AM stupidity, but how could you guys let me by with such a faux pas?So there are two big mysteries at my house right now.
Is my dad on a reconnaissance mission?
So my dad works with a man who’s an artist; a painter. My dad talks about him all the time. He asked if he could take in my Felix-like pictures to share with him, I said, “sure.” Later, my dad took some of my figure drawings for him to see and I met him.
“Hi painter,” I said.
Now, my dad has learned the local university offers an open figure drawing session. Painter goes to it.
Dad every five minutes: Well Painter says if you’re too nervous to go alone, he’ll go with you.
My Brain after 2 years: Wait a minute.
Dad: Oh Painter is such a nice guy.
Mom and I share looks of Doubleyew-tee-eff.
My parental units have always known my oceans of “setting up” are unprotected waters into which the novice sailor must not trespass. My mom often threatens such activity, “I’m going to set you up with someone” but such statements are in jest, for she knows if they were ever serious, someone would have to lose their eyeballs.
My dad is more insidious. This is what makes him good at getting presents. He pretends he’s going one way, but BAM! at the last moment socks it to you with a surprise ending.
So this is what I am made to wonder, does he have ulterior motives with Painter or is he just being nice?
Either way I don’t want to go to any figure drawing class with anyone (like I’m ever going to make it to the class, 9 AM on a Saturday? Jeez). I’m weird and competitive that way.
Is my mom the long lost love of Woody Allen?
If so, what happened to this connection and why don’t I have a job in the movie making industry?
The other day I was exploring the vast annals of our vhs library (a cozy little place built into the catacombs of our basement) when I came across a book underneath the Woody Allen collection.
Just as my dad is a huge fan of Sam Peckinpah fan and must own all his films, my mom is an Allen fan and we own all of his. The book by the tapes was one by Allen- the compleat prose thereof or the like. Wondering, in my blithe innocent way, “Gee willickers, is there a script in here?” I broke the cover to look inside. Imagine my surprise when I was greeted with a sharpie scrawled message which read (as my memory recalls it), “[mom’s name] thanks for all your compassion and understanding. Woody”
Now, Mo only signed my book with a “hi” or something and I need to marry him, so what’s up with this?
I have yet to address my mother, knowing, surely she will not confess her (supposed) checkered past and would probably just say, “I went to a book signing.”
Whatever mom. I know about the cabin on the lake and the real meaning behind Annie Hall.
By the way: we’re not the only ones who are horrified.
suddenly i was @ 07:12 pm
(no feathers)
monday, may 16, 2005
I’m not the biggest celeb gossip in the world (mutes E Hollywood True Story in background), but I have recently come across two examples of “what the industry does to you” which I must share – though, like we needed any more evidence of this condition after a two second glance at Michael Jackson.Today we look at Indie-rock’s favourite prodigy Bright Eyes also known as Conor Oberst and teeny-bopper gone omg-babe Lindsay Lohan.
Bright Eyes. So… there was a time when his eyes… were… actually bright. I enjoy this image. Granted, the boy looks like he hasn’t washed his hair in about 18 days, but I find the photo darling. He looks like half the kids I knew in high school. You know the type: 98 pound weakling, picks his nails with a paper clips, is usually named something like Conor or-
Wait.
Moving on-
I had to display these images separately to maximize dramatic impact. We went from playing-with-animals to becoming-an-animal. While, obviously, Conor has gone above and beyond the call of duty in maintaining his hygiene habits- something else seems amiss. He… well. He doesn’t seem quiet so- well, darling does he?
In fact, he looks like a bulimic vampire.
According to Saddle Creek’s (Oberst’s record label) rather hostile community following (only slightly less terrifying than the pretentious Bob Dylan one) and various online interpretations of his latest single “Lua” and articles– the lad has a predilection for cocaine.
Taps fingers.
Yeah.
Never would have guessed.
Granted I think I chose absolutely the worst picture there for the “after” there- but really, is this any better?
Poor guy. I know rock and roll and drugs are two handmaidens in the same court, but I always feel bad when a talented person (which I think Oberst is to some extent) feels the need to wheedle away their time with drugs- especially to the point it starts becoming so physically visible. Also in Oberst’s case, he’s just so young. Hasn’t he been recording since he was something insane like 13? So he’s been exposed to who knows what for who knows how long. He just has “troubled” written all over him (underneath the rabies foam).
Next. Lindsay Lohan: best known for her roles in Mean Girls, Freaky Friday and some other third thing.
Lindsay has often praised for being quite the fox. You would probably recognize her: red head, curvaceous, casaba melons like no one’s business?
I made a little side by side for this occasion.
The now very bleached Lohan claims to those who seek to ask, she has no eating disorder (though her ribs seem to attest otherwise) and that her body is simply maturing.
For the record, when my body matured, I think I got hips.
When even her official fan website voices the concerns of her teeny bopper fan club, though, you have to wonder.
The recent red dress images are from thesuperficial.com. You can see other images via the link there and remember, the girl once flaunted her voluptuousness.
All I know is when you start making Nicole Ricci look like a vision of health… well. Watch Lohan on SNL this weekend and see for yourself.
With young girls, there is so much pressure to be fit and thin- it’s encouraged. If you’re anything over a size 6 you’re a lard. Also, an eating disorder is often a misplaced desire to be in control over something, which should also speak volumes.
Then people act so surprised when someone like Ashley (Mary Kate?) Olsen ends up with a problem. Whatever Lohan’s issue, be eating disorder or maturing body, I think it’s sad.
Dare to keep off drugs: according to workers at Stella McCartney NY, Lohan's lifestyle isn't too different from Coke Eyes ("Stoner Eyes" says
I think it’s absolutely tragic young people in “THE INDUSTRY” are forced into such self-destructive habits.
suddenly i was @ 02:20 am
wednesday, may 11, 2005
Who went out and bought their copy of "The Life Aquatic" and watched it the moment they could get the plastic off?
Me!
suddenly i was @ 12:47 am
sunday, may 8, 2005
So last night there was a great mystery at my house.It started at about 3:30 AM when my poodles suddenly sprang to life in a fit of barking. Bleary eyed I muttered, “Dogs?” into the darkness. Likewise, I could hear my mom get up and stumble down the stairs. Then there was silence.
Pregnant silence.
I waited for some word from the brave soul who ventured forth into the unknown, unlit first floor of my home.
But there was nothing.
The dogs didn’t even come back upstairs.
Now, being one of fertile imagination I immediately assumed my mother and poodles had been taken hostage and or slaughtered (this having nothing to do with the fact I just saw “Old Boy” earlier in the evening, I assure you).
So with images of teeth being pulled out with hammers I called out, “Mom!?”
Dad somewhere in the distance: Quiet.
Me: MOM!?
So I slipped on my slippers, debated if I needed a a. blunt instrument, b. cell phone for easy 911 access or c. hall way light- I then, abandoned all in favor of living a real life horror film and descended downstairs.
“Mom?” I continued to whisper.
I could see nothing. No one. Then, wait. No, outside… was that my mother outside? I squinted my eyes. My mother or the burglar?
Perhaps I would need my bat after all.
I opened the door and woefully tried once more, “Mom?”
“What?”
Indeed it was her. She had heard some strange noises, as had the dogs and so went out to investigate- finding nothing however, she, with me, retired back to the (relative) safety of the indoors.
I again climbed into bed, thinking, like all good persons when they awaiting slumber, “Thank goodness no one tried to pull out my teeth with a hammer when I went downstairs!”
Then.
I heard it.
It was like a distant whimpering. Then scratching. Then the most vile hissing growl you could imagine.
My Bed: Oh my god, did she just wet me?
Before I had made it to the stairs I bumped into my mom again.
“What is that!?”
Pushing 4 AM we both sneaked back outside in our pajamas. You could hear the scratching yet.
What was it? A dog stuck in a car? A cat injured? El chupacabra?
As we neared the edge of the lawn to our neighbors’ yard, our breath hinged, we saw it- or something. THUNK. From a tree this huge lumbering black animal made its way to the bushes right in front of us.
With similar hushed whispers of “What the hell?” and “Was it a raccoon?” I offered to get a flash flight to further elevate this fun to “adventure.”
Back outside with a flashlight in our neighbors’ yard and looking none too suspicious-
Somewhere in the distance, a witness: Yeah, hi, 911? I can see two- I don’t know what they are- two people with flashlights messing around outside a house? Yeah. Oh my god- does that one have flannel jimmies on?
- we examined the scene of the crime.
There were branches all around, so we assumed something maybe was stuck in a tree. But a raccoon? Up there? This tree, I mean, it would take four or five of me head to toe stacked before you could reach its first branch.
What was it doing up there?
And it sounded like it was fighting something.
Fighting in a tree?
Not being able to find the animal, we turned and WHOOSH. Another one(?)! Darted in front of us.
Me: It’s like “The Village” but different!
After looking all over for more signs of the mysterious animal(s?) and finding none, we went back inside- where all was quiet once again but I was wide awake scared of “Old Boy.”
ONE DAY LATER, MYSTERY SOLVED (sorta).
LIVE NEWCAST: We’re on the scene here at the house of Livejournal personality, Lostsailors, who thinks she and her family may have just solved a mystery.
LS: Well I was just up on the computer and I heard the noise again-
LIVE: Noise?
LS: A sort of distant whimper- I don’t know it was strange…
LIVE: I bet, then what happened?
DAD: Well my wife and I headed out first, she followed later-
MOM: And we’re just out there looking around-
LS: And I got out there and I saw it immediately!
(Live Footage, top of phone pole, dark)
LS: Right there on top of the phone pole, a little owl.
MOM: After a minute we realized there were more than one- and some were, um-
DAD: Owlets.
MOM: Yeah, owlets. Babies.
LIVE: Baby owls?
So yes. It has now been concluded we have a little family of owls outside our house and last night a raccoon tried to invade the nest or something and was seriously fought off.
Eat your heart out Christopher John Francis Boone! I think we can call this case, closed.
(I’ll let you know if anything else happens at 4 AM again).
suddenly i was @ 10:58 pm
thursday, may 5, 2005
Some things are best said in sum:Me, walking into the office an hour late: So my car is dead, I’ve lost my wallet and to add insult to injury yes. Yes, this shirt is on backwards.
This morning I woke up to no sort of special occasion and was ready to head out the door exactly at 8 AM as detailed in my plans for the morning the evening prior, when- I suddenly realized, in not so many words, “Shiz. Where’s my wallet?”
What transpired thereafter was a torrent flood of my red hot temper, running all through the house, turning everything upside down while the clock ticked ever closer to the dreaded “You’re Late” o’clock.
I had had my wallet yesterday. I was angry when I came home too- I had thrown the keys, had I thrown the wallet down too? No. I put that in my bag- or did I, was that before?
Tick Tock You’re Late O’clock, says Time.
Ok, screw the whole license thing, I’m off like prom dress, I reply.
I rip out the door in a frothing frenzy. Tearing off my jacket, cursing under my breath. I get into the car, start to drive, see there is just a hair’s worth of gas left- realize I can’t get gas because my Visa is in my wallet. I turn up the block and return home again to give everything one last go-through, this time Time just mocks me and I curse, not so compleatly under my breath.
Ok, screw the whole gas thing, I’m out like trout.
I get into the car and start to drive. I begin to notice a problem. A problem I noticed the other day, but thought surely I imagined. Now it was happening again. Was it because I was furious beyond all recall?
Perhaps.
Like Bruce Willis in “Sin City” I try to calm myself.
The car however, does not do its part. It seems whenever I stop, ie at a light, then move to go, the car… well, doesn’t. It’s like I am starting in third gear. I floor the gas, get up to a ripping 7 miles an hour, until the engine sputters to life and everything again becomes normal.
I begin to worry though, is it the gas?
No. There should be enough.
Battery?
No.
Where the hell is my wallet?
At this point I call my father who gets angry at me for leaving the house at all.
Meanwhile, somewhere in the not so far off distance Karma says to Time, “You done did good, dude.”
As I roll up to the entrance to get on the freeway, things really kick into high gear (literally, my first gear was gonzo).
The car stalls. Then stalls again.
And again.
And again.
And… yes I do believe again.
With my hazard lights on and my under breath cursing now a combination of me grinding my teeth and my skin breaking out- I think, “Now you’ve done it.”
With one last, mighty effort I hit the gas one more time. The car sputters desperately and with its hazards a glow, coasts across the street where I immediately pull into some unsuspecting driveway.
At this point I call my father, who to his dismay, must come and rescue me. I also call work, for that special You’re Late epoch had come and gone and ala Aquarius, it now was the dawning of the age of F@)*$Fork#@)$# Screw.
As I wait for my rescuers I test out the car. Was I on crack? Had I forgotten how to drive a vehicle?
Where was my wallet?
I pull up, the engine strains. Maybe I’m not in first gear, it seems like I am in third. I push the shift into Reverse, look back, hit the gas and- go forward?
Double You. Tea. Eff. Folks.
I try again. Again. And… yes, I do believe again. The car in reverse, drives forward. My reverse gear, is the new first gear; for all you cutting edge autolites who wanted an early clue to the new direction in mode and transport. Now against the driveway’s fence post, I have no choice but to wait, though I do share a meaningful conversation with the owner of the driveway.
“Hi, my car is dead, what’s your name?”
Half my family shows up to save me- father and sister. My sister gets behind the wheel to crank and my father and I get out to push.
Pushing a car in loose gravel and mud. Not fun. – and since there was no longer any apparent gear structure, it seemed impossible to get the car to go into neutral.
Car: No, I really would rather resist all movement at this time.
Parks.
Father and I: Gnnnnnnrah!
Gravel: Fwee, we’re all over the place!
Finally we get the car in the right direction and after some coaxing my father drives off into the, not quite sunset (yet), in reverse to some yonder auto shop, who will undoubtedly overcharge us for kicks.
At this point my sister drove me to work, I wondered where my wallet was- entered my office and noticed a tag in my shirt collar at the front of my neck.
Oh, and a lovely second head, aka blemish, was born on my nose.
Blemish: I’m really her Siamese twin sister!
So that was my morning folks. I must have been wicked earlier this week for I have ruined my karma. I think it’s because I called a nasty driver a bunch of nasty names yesterday in the car. All day at work I prayed for the car to not be too broken. Please I said. Please! Take my wallet, not the car- the family needs it! Then after a while I thought about my wallet- and every piece of debit, credit, license, library, school, address, membership, business, et al paraphernalia which lived in it and thought, well, nasty words.
In the end, the car bit is just a tiny piece- a bit of the linkage? I don’t know. Some little screw which aligns the gear shafts or something. My wallet was found in a crevasse in the closet, must have fallen from my bag when I tossed in there the evening before and… oh, I changed my shirt in the bathroom at work and had tea with my zit.
Fin.
suddenly i was @ 01:10 am
tuesday, may 3, 2005
First sorry for my distracted unproofed last entries. Why I shouldn’t type while working.Second, for your Hollywood Cant:
A. I can’t wait for “The Life Aquatic” to come out. I very, very rarely get excited over films being released for home entertainment, but I really enjoyed this movie. Seriously, at the moment, it’s the best one I can recall seeing in a theatre in a long,while. Was I the only one who was really touched by it?
B. Shrek III. Now, I watched Shrek II. I laughed. I enjoyed it. I quote Puss In Boots. But it’s time to let this ogre out to pasture. There’s going to be a Shrek III and Justin Timberlake is in the process of being slated for the role of Artie- aka teen King Arthur.
C. Some other third thing.
D. Oh wait, now I remember. Christian Bale of “Newsies” fame once played Jesus in a made-for-TV movie. Join me in my chorus of, “oh em gee, I am going to wet myself.”
Also, can he not escape his Pocahontas typecast?
Good god, who isn’t in this movie? David Thewlis, Christopher “Von Trapp” Plummer- Yuriy Cherepnya? Oh dear, Colin Farrell as John Smith? I didn’t know this was a comedy.
Excuse me while I obsess over this movie- but look! The voice of the animated Pocahontas makes a cameo as this film’s Pohantas’ mother.
You know what is interesting, this film, along with all the others plays into the Smith Pocahontas legend, but in real life she married Bale’s character John Rolfe.
suddenly i was @ 09:09 pm
monday, may 2, 2005
Oh my god. Could I be any bigger of an idiot? I have come to the conclusion I have demolished my IQ. Really. It’s aim or something, but I really am just dumb. Numbers, direction, diction. I can draw a picture, but really nothing else- and even this “skill” – meh. This is a concern of mine since it is becoming increasingly obvious I have a mental deficiency problem, but let’s move on.
Did I tell you guys my funny story from last Friday? I don’t think I did.
Last Friday I wore an outfit which would make a veteran OshKosh kid proud. With my denim skirt and mary jane sneakers (compwete wif wacing stwipe!) I wore my Spongebob sweatshirt. I literally, looked two. I noticed a considerable difference in my coworkers’ demeanor towards me. Voices would raise up a discernable notch and I was called “dear” 9 times out of “10.”
So in my little toddler-wear, I was sitting at my computer working, when one coworker came in to chat with everyone.
My one coworker (HER) asked this one (HIM) if there was any good gossip.
HIM: Well, it’s going around [censored] is a fluffer.
HER: What’s that?
REST OF OFFICEMATES: ?
ME: I know what that is.
REST OF OFFICEMATES: ?
HIM: I’m not going to say.
HER: Well can’t you just say what it involves?
ME: Preparation.
HIM: That’s right, preparation. That’s all I’m saying.
Later “HER” looked it up on the internet and lo, not only did I think I know, I really did!
I think my old friend summed me up the best: she seems innocent, but she knows a lot.
That’s right. I can’t stand people pulling fast ones on me. – And I think personally if you’re going to be involved in… certain personal activities, you should know the jibe of it!
The big joke here though, I think I learned “fluffer” from a documentary on the history of porn. Go me.
Anyhow. Yes. Be proud. I may dress like a preschooler, I know what a fluffer is..Do you? No? Maybe go and ask your mom.
On a note of random: I don’t know what my receptionist thinks of me. All we do is have strange exchanges. IE: bumping into her at the gym when she was only wearing her underwear, walking into the bathroom just as her door’s latch came undone- and today, I leapt out of the car forgetting my cell phone was on my lap- sending it flying, shattering it on the ground. I uttered a rather enormous guttural yell (think Tarzan discovering Jane is cheating on him with Cheetah) only to afterward notice the receptionist right across from me getting into her car.
suddenly i was @ 09:03 pm
Sniff. Isn’t that seriously the cutest dream ever? It even came with a title! The “Unintentional Princess,” which is a shout out to CNN because before I went to bed I watched a program on “unintentional affairs.”
suddenly i was @ 08:59 pm