there goes my heart
Friday, October 4, 2002 @ 06:00 p.m.
The most horrifying thing has happened.
As any woman over 95 pounds and 5'3" will tell you, finding jeans that fit is an impossible task, akin to retrieving the golden fleece on a magical ship full of burly guys who resent being named after a football team. The last pair I bought, probably 6 months ago, were from Thrifty's, and I love them so much I decided that I would just buy more pairs the exact same, should I ever decide I needed more jeans than just one perfect pair and a half-dozen ill-fitting and bad-mood-making pairs.
I went back there today, credit card peeking out of my pocket (of my favourite mavi cords) and they had changed. the. entire. jeans. system. Jeans that used to have logical names like "boot cut, narrow leg" or "flared leg, low rise" now have names like "ghetto fabulous" and "919" and "Princess." And besides the obvious appeal of the name "ghetto fabulous," which is a phrase I use more than I probably should, the experience of going into the store was oddly like my many shopping-related nightmares. And to make things worse, the chart which used to explain which jeans fit how now features the new cryptic names accompanied by grainy polarid photos of the jeans on a model. Which does nothing to help me, since I look nothing like the aforementioned model, except for some obvious similarities like number of facial features, how many digits on hands, etc.
I'm never going there again. From now on I'm just going to buy everything at Old Navy. I knew this day would come: a monogamous clothing-store relationship. I don't think it's healthy.
However, lest you think I'm growing cynical (just a little joke there, haha) several good things have happened to me lately. I bought an awesome orange cowboy shirt. I got some vinyl stickers from 1000journals. I made a necklace out of beads from the dollar store. I got a free CD-ROM version of CANDY LAND in my Honey Nut Cheerios, and it actually WORKS. I got to have lunch with people I like this week, like Meghan and Courtney, Becky, and James. And I'm listening to that Tom Jones/Cardigans cover of BURNING DOWN THE HOUSE, and I hate to say it, but it's so much better than the Talking Heads original.
In other words: all quiet on the western front. Yes, the clothing trauma too shall pass.
if you're gone, maybe it's time to come home
Wednesday, October 2, 2002 @ 10:08 a.m.
Carolyn Mark is playing tomorrow night at the Black Dog, and if you're lucky enough to not have to work, you should go see her. Her songs are WITTY! Another last-minute suggestion: go see HOME MOVIE at the Metro. It has interviews with a number of sort of extreme people who live in extreme houses: an alligator farmer who lives on a houseboat in the Louisiana bayou, a hippie couple who inhabit a cold-war-era missile silo, and a retired Japanese TV personality who lives in a treehouse in Hawaii. It's a very interesting movie. (And it also has a short at the end, HEAVY METAL PARKING LOT, about 17 minutes of people yelling, "Judas Priest fucking rocks, man!" and similar things. And drinking beer.)
Does anyone know the name of that song about heading to the cheatin' side of town? It's an old one, and it's about this woman who's married to an old man. And she cheats on him. Hmmm.
One last culture note: I just finished reading WORD FREAK, by Stefan Fatsis [on amazon], a book about COMPETITIVE SCRABBLE. And you know what? It's great. It's not nearly as boring as I expected. I learned a lot, and it kind of made me want to be a competitive scrabble player, although not enough that I would actually, you know, work at it. Even still. Anyway, it's about a journalist who decides to become a competitive scrabble player, and spends 2 years at it, eventually becoming one of the top 200 players in America. Or in the world, maybe. You get the idea.
I gotta go. SEE YA!
win this website!
Monday, September 30, 2002 @ 09:45 a.m.
To: my email address which is above
From: Mohamed Swarray Deen
I received encouraging information about you and how trust worthy you are. I am delighted with such useful information. I am interested in a partnership investment program with your corporation...
I don't think you have received very good information about me, or you would never have begun your solicitation with "sir." Maybe you should begin your letters "Sir/Madam." That way you have a better chance of scamming people.
she smiles way too much
Saturday, September 28, 2002 @ 11:57 p.m.
So here is some uplifting (for me) news that I have to share with this world we call "wired." My dad and I went to a church rummage sale this morning and he bought, for me, the best thing in the world: a CD player. It cost $2. It's from, like, the 80s. It doesn't have a digital display. But it plugs into the mini-amp in my stereo (mini-amp-- real word? It might not be, I mostly make this stuff up) and makes delectable CD-type sounds. It might not be the best thing that's ever happened to me, but it's definitely up there in the top 10.
I just finished watching the Buffy premiere and it was pretty great.
Good. That was supposed to hurt.
Friday, September 27, 2002 @ 03:40 p.m.
Here's a cool project that I've just decided to participate in: bookcrossing, where you label a book and then lose it in the wilderness (or in a coffeeshop, or on the bus, or whatever). Then other peoplewho find it can enter it into the website's database to track its progress. And possibly the coolest part? You can find out where other people have "released" books, and go hunting for them. Someone left one at the McDonald's near my house yesterday. And on the fourth floor of the business building.
So: I'm going to set free one of my three copies of One Day In The Life of Ivan Denisovich, and hopefully someone good will find it.
I burned my finger quite badly on a hot stove burner, and it's making typing very painful. I've has ice on it for about 3 hours. But this is minor compared to all the other bad stuff going on right now. I guess we're returning to deletia's glory days, when I was depressed and much more interesting.
Who could ask for anything more?
Thursday, September 26, 2002 @ 06:54 p.m.
On the subject on my approaching 20th birthday:
"We could get you a walker."
"Walkers are pretty expensive."
"We could make one of out toothpicks."
-my sister, and me
Jocelyn, to my sister: "SUCK IT UP!"
Benoit [our Swiss exchange student]: "I won't learn good English if you speak like that!"
here we are, entertain us
Tuesday, September 24, 2002 @ 08:04 p.m.
I made the mistake of visiting Jocelyn.com, and had to shut down my browser because of all the pop-up ads. There were a million of them, and they all had to do with porn. I hate internet porn. It disturbs me with its inaccurate depictions of sexual relationships. If you were really stupid, and you were really into internet porn, you might slowly come to believe in the internet-porn-world-truths. And then you would no longer be suited to life in the real world.
Ahhh, the real world, where you can eat nothing for lunch but cookies and skim milk; where there is reality TV on ALL THE TIME; where you can take books out of the public library FOR FREE, and attend classes once you PAY TUITION, and where you can fall in love, probably. I don't know why anyone would want to live anywhere else.
I hate all the people who haven't signed my guestmap, and that is everyone except myself and John Lennon. Yes, even you.
I also hate the CD-ROM Monopoly game that came in my honey nut cheerios and won't work. I really WANTED to play Monopoly, since I don't know any real people who will play it with me.
can you feel it in the air tonight?
Monday, September 23, 2002 @ 10:33 p.m.
Well, because I want to do everything Ernie does, I got a
guestmap. It's cute. You should go sign it, especially if you live somewhere other than Edmonton, because it will make me very happy. And a happy Jocelyn is, well, a happy Jocelyn. And happiness has its own intrinsic moral value. It's true. I learned it in Phil. Particularly the Jocelyn brand of happiness. (Now with more intrinsic moral value!)
OK, so, in other news, I am a huge loser.
There is another cluster of annoying teachers in my short story class. They're everywhere I go. They haunt the English department, marking things in class, making pretentious remarks, and making passing references to how many times they've taught whatever work we're studying. It annoys me. I'm going to get them drunk and cement them into my catacombs, all of them. (This is a short story class, after all, and we've already studied Poe, which would make it even more ironic!)
This afternoon I took a pair of pants I hated and turned them into a skirt I hate less.
We went to see Martina Sorbara at the Plant on Saturday and she was pretty great. If you didn't go then you are a loser.
Saturday, September 21, 2002 @ 11:28 a.m.
"At acting school, people were talking about DeNiro and Pacino and finding the truth. I was like, 'Hell, no, let's dress like pirates!'" -Eric McCormack
"It's a big rock. I can't wait to tell my friends. They don't have a rock this big." -Spike
In the school play on the Simpsons (after the mafia built the wheelchair ramps out of breadsticks and left the school $200,000 in debt):
Ralph: "I'm Dr. Stupid, and I'll be taking out your liver-bones." [Cuts off the Mr. Burns doll's head] "Oops."
Mr. Burns: "I never liked that Dr. Stupid."
do you think there's somewhere we could be alone?
Thursday, September 19, 2002 @ 04:51 p.m.
'We're drawing up a plan for world domination. The key element? Coffeemakers that think.' -Riley
So today I went and attempted to donate blood. Canadian Blood Services has all these ads to make you feel guilty about your blood-- "Hey, you have more blood than most people! You're not really using all that, are ya?" But then every time I try to donate they don't want me for one reason or another. Last time it was because I'd been in a malaria zone. This time it's because of my faulty kidneys. I think I might give up. I'm just not in that top 5 percentile whose lifstyles and bodies are healthy enough. Which seems dumb to me. I mean, if some burn victim needs plasma or whatever, is it really going to matter to them if I have dysfunctional kidneys?
Anyway. It kind of hurt my feelings. I try to give of my most precious bodily fluids and no one wants them!
Wow, that was grosser than I expected.
We read this version of Little Red Riding Hood for my English class. In it, the wolf eats the grandmother, then uses her tendons as door-latches, pours her blood into a wine-jug, and puts her flesh in a pie. Then he gets Red Riding Hood to drink the wine and eat the pie, take off all her clothes, and get into bed with him. It's pretty uncool. At the end she gets eaten, of course.
even more fish fulfilment
Wednesday, September 18, 2002 @ 09:12 a.m.
Did you know that Frances McDormand is married to Joel Coen? I sure didn't! Cool movies I have seen with her in:
The Man Who Wasn't There
She's one of only a handful of older actresses (and 45 is only "older" in Hollywood) who get great roles in cool movies without trying to look like they're 25 (or take movie roles that call for 25-year-olds... Goldie Hawn, I am looking at you)
On a completely unrelated note, I want my own copy of Heroditus' HISTORIES.
Wednesday, September 18, 2002 @ 08:50 a.m.
We went to Die-Nasty on Sunday, and it was pretty great. Some of the actors had been improvising for 48 hours by that point. I read in the paper this morning that TV networks (Fox I think?) are scouting for more of the Varscona improv actors to work in TV (Ron Pedersen already left for the land of lyposuction, lights and sunshine). It's great for the actors-- I mean, wider audiences, more money, and so on-- but for Varscona regulars it's a bit sad.
So, for those of you who don't know me personally, I've been broke lately. I mean REALLY broke, not just poor but money-less. I have $4 to my name. And I am finding it surprisingly liberating. There are no consumer decisions to be made. It's so low-stress. I'm not suggesting it feels that way for everyone-- for example, people without a place to live are more affected by it than me-- but this is my life.
"scandanavians are a happy goat-loving people"
Oh: last weekend my mom and I watched MEET MY FOLKS together. We agreed that we liked the same boy, and then he was the first to get kicked out. Boooh! We also analyzed the patriarchal nature of MEET MY FOLKS families and wondered how ours would appear in comparison.
Because, for one thing, my dad never pronounces decisions in a solemn voice. In fact, no one pronounces decisions at all. Hmmm... could this be part of the problem?
Jocelyn's happy friendly marking guide
Monday, September 16, 2002 @ 04:08 p.m.
Things you are not allowed to write on social 30 papers you are marking:
WHO TAUGHT YOU TO WRITE?
WHERE DO THE FUCKING APOSTROPHES GO, MORON?
IT'S PAINFULLY OBVIOUS YOU'VE NEVER LEFT THE WARM COCOON OF RIGHT-WING POLITICS YOU GREW UP IN.
WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?
OH, GOD. SHUT UP.
Anything else that requires capital letters to express extreme anger
Things you are allowed to write:
I don't think this word means what you think it means.
You have some good ideas, but your writing would benefit from the use of multiple paragraphs, ie., one for each seperate idea.
Most people don't use the term "coloured" any more. Try to be a little more politically correct.
I disagree with everything you've said so far, but I'm trying not to penalize you, mark-wise.
Well, at least you didn't fail!
she's a selfish broad, and all you're seeing is the tip of the iceburg
Saturday, September 14, 2002 @ 01:29 p.m.
I finally caved and made a links page. Booh.
and now we meet in an abandoned studio
Friday, September 13, 2002 @ 08:35 a.m.
I had chocolate cake for breakfast today, because life is short and I spend so much of mine on the bus.
I finished reading Dave Eggers' Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius yesterday. In a way, it is genius-- his writing is very lucid and goes from angry to charming in half a page-- and it certainly is heartbreaking, the way everyone's life is heartbreaking. And it's encouraging for me-- someone who has turned their self-absorption and a knack for writing into a publishing career!
Now I'm reading Radio On, by Sarah Vowell, and after that WORD FREAK and THE MANY ASPECTS OF MOBILE HOME LIVING, as well as TIME STOPS FOR NO MOUSE. I have to read fast. I only have three weeks before the library asks for these books back!
My children's lit professor reads us children's books, and he puts on special voices for the different characters. It's wonderful. Perhaps this is all my academic career has been missing.
we hear the playback and it seems so long ago.
we've found a rock steady beat
Tuesday, September 10, 2002 @ 07:19 p.m.
Well, my academic schedule has been finalized, with more than 4 hours to spare before the deadline. It has come to my attention that my method of choosing classes is irrational. This semester I was signed up for Psych 105 (until just a few minutes ago!) when my mom pointed out that I don't like the prof, and it's not a requirement, and there's no reason to take it. You could have knocked me over with a feather or other relatively small object! The same thing happened last spring when I was registering, and James talked me out of taking Phil 225, which I didn't want to take anyway but almost signed up for because I felt like I should take it. I'm lucky to be surrounded by reasonable people who will tell me what to do.
So now I'm only in 4 classes. Which is fine. And I'm stuck with both the intro psych textbooks. Anyone want to buy either one? For you, special price!
"They're kind of unpredictable... you never know where they're going to go next, do you?" -My English 206 prof, on spiders, the big hairy variety.
I guess I have a bunch of work to do now. [In a deep man-baby voice]: "See ya!"