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think not i love him,
though i ask for him
'tis but a peevish boy--
yet he talks well;
but what care i for words?
yet words do well...
when he that speaks them
pleases those that hear.
it is a pretty youth--
not too pretty
but sure he's proud
and yet his pride becomes him.
he'll make a proper man.
-As You Like It, III.v

more me, me, fabulous me
[a boy]
[a girl]
[links]
[list]
[music]
[pictures]
[buy me stuff]

these people are my friends
[alex]
[angie]
[chandra]
[courtney]
[james]
[jeff]
[jess]
[meghan]

a few of my favourite things
[inpassing.org]
[fifty fresh pitas]
[damn hell ass kings]
[eric conveys an emotion]
[bluishorange]
[amplified to rock]
[mary chen]
[bryanboyer.com]
[oh messy life]
[pamie]
[fun!]
[popsensation]
[girlboy]
[uber]
[charged]
[atlantic unbound]
[chickclick]
[BUST]
[thinkgeek]
[emily strange]
[threadless]
[exploding dog]
[adbusters]
[art of the mix]
[red balloon]
[the new varscona]
[the sims]
[malcolm in the middle]
[buffy]
[wild colonials]
[airtoons]
[disturbing search requests]
[kvetch]
[hey! url!]
[u of a]
[canada post]
[plastic]
[freespeech]
[pitas]
[divide by zero]
[google]
[1000 journals]

l < subversive > ?
boys [suck]

i've been
fucking imood
since march 1st, 2000!

more revolutionary activity from the revolutionary princess
Wednesday, August 22, 2001 @ 10:18 p.m.

"the song is never good. i'm sorry, but if you like the song... think about it." -my fms prof, on the song that inevitably accompanies the sex scene in modern movies

"I think you probably could, if you lived frugally... but then, I only offered my opinion as an excuse to say 'frugally,' so you shouldn't really pay attention." -me, on Cameron's hypothetical budget

"you can make a conscious decision to be celibate... although many of you may be celibate sort of my default." -my phil prof, on social behaviours that do not necessarily maximize individual reproductive fitness

"Did you throw out my bills?"
"Yup, I already shredded them for you."
"Oh great, I'll just tell them to send me more!"
"You can be like, 'It's not my fault! The girl at the post office is crazy!'"
-one of my PO Box customers, and me

"I always thought it would be exciting to have a lot of money... but this isn't mine. It doesn't feel real." -Mandy, one of my coworkers, while waving around a stack of 20s at work last night

"Would you tremble/If I touched your hand?" -Enrique Iglesias asks the important questions


NOTHING IMPORTANT HAPPENED HERE TODAY
Monday, August 20, 2001 @ 09:33 p.m.

Exhausted and hungry, desperate for website content, Jocelyn turns to the Evil English 239 Essay Generator...

...Furthermore, it is crucial to the integrity of any work of literature that the setting be taken for granted by the reader; otherwise, the story cannot proceed. With some imagination, it is easy to come to regard the environment of the characters as the environment of the audience as well; in fact, the success of the play depends on this convention. I think the stage is not just a frame for the action, it's the final context of the stories; unlike the imaginary worlds of the plays, it is very real, very universal, and always very current. And it has implications for the role of the audience as well. Seated in front of a platform we are not just observers; we are also the ultimate assemblers of meaning and the final judges of what is right and wrong. In these ways we also make our own contributions to meaning. In other words, the Shakespearean stage is not just a platform for the actors, it is lending its own structure to meaning. And the audience are not just faces to be played to; we give the words and actions meaning because without our presence they aren't a play at all...

The second way the audience becomes involved in the play is through knowledge. As Marc Thornton Burnett points out, Hamlet is a play full of secrets, private conferences and sealed communications; no individual character in the play is aware of everything that is going on. When Hamlet, on his deathbed, challenges Horatio, "[I]n this harsh world draw thy breath in pain/to tell my story," (V.ii, 348-349), he is really creating the play of Hamlet; but the fact is that Horatio knows only part of the story, and it is really us, the audience, who have been present for all the play's private conferences, conspiracies and confessions. To lend cohesiveness to the story requires the comprehension of the audience, our participation in transforming several partial stories into one complete play. And when Horatio tells the court, "...give order that these bodies/High on a stage be placed in view,/And let me speak to the yet unknowing world/How these things came about..." (V.ii, 377-380), he is beginning the first telling of our play.

It's like a normal term paperr, only EVIL!


let's have a round for these freaks and these soldiers/a round for these friends of mine...
Sunday, August 19, 2001 @ 09:18 p.m.

Well, Buffy and Spike make out at the end of every episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer now, just to vex me. I'm sexually frustrated on their behalf.

Two other confessions:

  • I love that Wave song, "Baby Think it Over." Every time it comes on the radio I grin and dance around like a crazy person.
  • This isn't my natural haircolour.

So now you know all my secrets.

My Shakespeare term paper, "Container for Infinite Space: Hamlet and the Significance of the Shakespearean Stage" is almost finished. And I marked more essays on The Treaty of Versailles, the Causes of the First World War (the isms! and the Alliance System! THE POWDERKEG OF EUROPE! [I give out extra marks whenever anyone uses the term "powderkeg of Europe," just because I love it so much]) and the Schlieffen Plan. This is an effort not to be totally destitute for the rest of my life.

Mmmm, ice cream.

Life is beautiful.


let's have a round for these freaks and these soldiers/a round for these friends of mine...
Sunday, August 19, 2001 @ 09:18 p.m.

Well, Buffy and Spike make out at the end of every episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer now, just to vex me. I'm sexually frustrated on their behalf.

Two other confessions:

  • I love that Wave song, "Baby Think it Over." Every time it comes on the radio I grin and dance around like a crazy person.
  • This isn't my natural haircolour.

So now you know all my secrets.

My Shakespeare term paper, "Container for Infinite Space: Hamlet and the Significance of the Shakespearean Stage" is almost finished. And I marked more essays on The Treaty of Versailles, the Causes of the First World War (the isms! and the Alliance System! THE POWDERKEG OF EUROPE! [I give out extra marks whenever anyone uses the term "powderkeg of Europe," just because I love it so much]) and the Schlieffen Plan. This is an effort not to be totally destitute for the rest of my life.

Mmmm, ice cream.

Life is beautiful.


errgh
Sunday, November 18, 2001 @ 10:14 a.m.

I have a terrible headache.


Soo....
Friday, November 16, 2001 @ 03:42 p.m.

Are "Restaurant Style" nachos better than normal nachos? And why? Support your answer.


"______ greatly enjoys performing repetitive tasks."
Wednesday, November 14, 2001 @ 03:29 p.m.

Not particularly surprisingly, starting a new week on Wednesday does wonders for my morale. I just finished my first day of school and I only have two left! I'm kind of having trouble typing-- jittery fingers and a headache from not enough sleep/too much caffeine, and an upset stomach since this morning when I woke up. It's been like that all day-- the vague feeling that I might throw up at any moment. You can't quite shake it, but it's also never really fulfilled... it's just... there. It's quite thrilling actually. It adds an edge of suspense to everything I do. Like, "Whooo, I'm riding the bus now... I wonder if I'm going to throw up or pass out!"

Tonight, more training with Myrtle. My last training shift, actually. I'm so on-edge and tense that I'm afraid if she gives me any more unsolicited advice I'll just snap on her. And knowing Myrtle-- and I do know Myrtle, after only six hours of conversation (arrrgh!)-- she'll start to cry. I won't be able to handle that. I'll start to cry too... and then who will provide excellent customer service that our Lynnwood patrons are so accustomed to?

Back to the lack of sleep: last night became one of those nights where I lay in bed far too exhausted to fall asleep. A series of fevered and unwise thoughts distracted me: first, the "Hmmm... my Phil prof and my psycho prof are both named Wilson... I wonder if they're married!" train of thought... As I described it to Meghan: "At the time I was like, 'woo!' but now I'm like, 'what?'

Lastly but hardly leastly, I am a Shakespeare genius. Seriously. I open my mouth in that class and brilliant ideas stream forth without any planning on my part. It's like my interpretive dancing: I'm just to damn talented, I can't stop the genius. Hey-- (veiled dramatic reference) it's the UNDISCOVERED STURGEON OF GENIUS!

My whole family is sick and dirty dishes pile up in our kitchen like nobody's business-- mugs of crusty hot lemon and honey and chicken noodle soup pots mainly. If the world were to suddenly end right now, what an archeological dig we would make!

Well, there you go. A decent number of unrelated paragraphs, all lined up nicely as if they made sense. It's like how, at the end of Shakespearean tragedies, some authority figure appears to resurrect order. I have to give credit for THAT phrase to my Shakespeare prof, though, who appeared in a lovely light blue shirt today. I am going to miss his colourful shirts next semester. He is like Ms. Frizzle from Magic Schoolbus only on a slightly smaller scale and without the dangerous trips through the digestive system.


sometimes i get up early to say goodbye
Tuesday, November 13, 2001 @ 12:35 p.m.

just in case you don't come back

finished:

  • my FMS essay (I rock! Not the night before it's due, the MORNING before the night before it's due!)
  • AS FOR ME AND MY HOUSE (Ohhhh, this book is bullshit. It's bullshit from beginning to end, and the afterword is bullshit2. I'm not even going to start ranting about it because I'll never recover my senses and then how much fun will I be to go out for lunch with? Well quite a lot probably.)
  • Marking for my dad

Stuff I still have to do:

  • Read the first two acts of Othello
  • Read my psycho chapter for tomorrow
  • Do my Phil reading
  • Catch up on my FMS reading

I'm in that dangerous mindframe where I've been so productive for the past 24 hours, I feel like I owe myself some time watching Charlie's Angels or playing The Sims, but if I do that I only guarantee the rest of my week will be hell. I HATE that.

See, wasn't that worth your while? "Oh boy, I got to read about Jocelyn's homework again!" Well, I'm sorry.


they say things change...
Monday, November 12, 2001 @ 01:14 p.m.

the long weekend: a haiku series

christmas oranges.
how could someone not love them?
they're so delicious.

so much work to do.
so little motivation.
oh well-- what the fuck.

Happy birthday to Angie. You're old enough to drink in Saskatchewan!


Wave your arms in the air like you just don't care!
Saturday, November 10, 2001 @ 09:59 p.m.

THE BUFFY AND SPIKE MAKEOUT HOUR!


Canada PostTM words of wisdom... brought to you by Jocelyn
Saturday, November 10, 2001 @ 08:35 p.m.

part of my problem is that I've been
tasting all the suspicious articles

"Men don't understand things."

I spent six hours today listening to *******, the woman who's replacing me at Lynnwood, tell me about how her husband left her. Seriously. For six hours it was this: "Be an individual. Or you'll be married for 17 years and then your husband will walk out saying he doesn't know you." Or this: "Never get married!" And this: "I mean I did blah blah blah and yada yada yada and I raised our three sons and that wasn't enough for him..." or "He won't even speak to me... and that hurts me!" Or this: "Do you know many calories are in that jelly bean?" And I felt genuine sympathy. Breaking up sucks, period. Even when it's easy it's still not easy. But I also couldn't help the antipathy: I mean, I met this woman 45 minutes ago and she's telling me about her unfulfilled marriage?!? And lastly, something halfway between pity and disgust. Because no matter what happens, I will never be not enough-- for anyone. I might be wrong or too much but I will never, never be not enough: not person enough is not me. And no man will ever accuse me of being unknowable. (If anything, I'm a little TOO knowable.)

It struck me with something like fear and pride, and I thought: never. I don't care what happens, there are some things I am not willing to do, some people I am not willing to be. I am not willing to be a pining mother, a tired lover, a regretful calorie-counting 50-year-old, or an abandoned wife. I am not willing to be boring, and I am not willing to be left. And I know that might make me difficult, and I know I'll be alone, but everybody has to distinguish between makeable and unmakeable sacrifices.

Also, I get to eat however many jelly beans I want when I am wearing my special Princess Pain tiara. That is one of the rules, along with "I get to be the centre of attention. All the time," and "One word: oldies."

Well, back to world domination.
Angie: if you're out there, would you please come home?