we wish you a merry time to buy presents for jocelyn
Sunday, December 24, 2000 @ 10:40 a.m.
Sometimes it scares me when I realize how my livelihood depends on a careful set of delusions and misplaced hope-- and how easily I could be set straight, if anyone had the inclination. Is this true of all human beings, or only me?
This will be my last update to the prolix pita for the next little while. I am going to sunny California for Christmas, departing depressingly early tomorrow morning. While I am gone I am pleased to announce that some of my friends-- which ones, specifically, remains to be seen-- will be guest editors on my page. These venerable people are the absolute best you could find anywhere.
re: jeff's pita
Jeff: do not worry. I had three (3) drinks: one (1) Smirnoff ice, one (1) lime margarita, and one (1) peach cooler-- and it reminded me that I shouldn't drink. Because, one (1): it makes me sad and lonely; two (2), it gives me a headache, and three (3) it makes me hungover in the morning.
Happy birthday dear me, happy birthday dear me.
all that you can't leave behind
well, my birthday breakfast has passed, and i am still heart-attack-free. isn't it grand? i removed two things from my wishlist (god bless my parents for getting me exactly what I asked for!). I guess I'll see you guys tonight, at remedy around 9-ish?
one year ago: all the things that deep-fryers can fry
My family is vegetating and watching movies and eating deep-fried mozarella sticks, chicken wings, and shrimp tonight. We're all too tired to do anything even remotely Christmassy this year. So: last-minute presents, the traditional Christmas Eve lasagna, and not much else. It makes me sad. We don't even have a Christmas tree this year, we have a fern. We're making a sad stack of presents under the fern.
Bryanbower.com on lifestyles.
no, not the condoms
I had a shower, and now my skin smells like fish; i shaved my legs, and now they're all scaly. I'm giving in. Where's my TV guide?
deletia presents... THE TOP 8 MOVIES OF THE YEAR 2000, and two from late 1999 that I had to count because 10 sounds way cooler than 8.
10. Bringing Out The Dead: Nicholas Cage, Patricia Arquette
9. Being John Malkovitch*: John Malkovitch, Cameron Diaz, John Cusack
8. X-Men: Patrick Stewart, Anna Paquin, Halle Berry, Rebecca Whatever-Hyphenated, That Guy Meghan Likes, and That Totally Yummy Guy Who Played Wolverine
7. Three Kings: George Clooney, The Artist Formerly Known as Marky Mark, and Ice Cube (or Iced Tea, possibly)
6. Chicken Run: voices of Mel Gibson, and that woman from Frasier
5. Toy Story II*: voices of Tom Hanks and Tim Whateverhisnameis, and some other people
4. Charlie's Angels: Cameron Diaz, Lucy Liu, Drew Barrymore, Bill Murray
3. Almost Famous: Billy Crudup, Patrick Fugit, Frances McDormand, Kate Hudson... and... Fairuza Balk, and Anna Paquin... and... help me out here...
2. American Beauty: Kevin Spacey (!!!), Annette Benning, Mena Suvari, Thora Birch, and about four other people whose names I don't remember
1. High Fidelity: John Cusack, Joan Cusack, Someone With A Scandinavian Name, Catherine Zeta-Jones, and that annoying guy, what's his name again? Tim Robbins? Throw me a bone here people?
my radio.sonicnet radio station
permanent link at bottom of page
yes, it's awful. But is it not better than the lite-brite one? The glass is always half-empty with you people, isn't it?
I made another packground image for this column the text is in, it looks like this:
But, it's too hard to read anything with that as the background. I would have to use, like, 80-point text just so you could read it without highlighting.
So, you get the good old virgin colour:
Those good old virgins.
Read only if serious about retiring in 2-4 years
Why I am cancelling my 18th birthday party on Saturday:
So, thanks anyways to everyone who said they could come, and I'm looking at something much smaller scale now... or nothing at all. I'm going to be at home moping pretty much all day today and tomorrow, so feel free to mail me with reprimands, suggestions, etc.
it is possible-- remotely-- that I am slightly hungover this morning, although it could also be not falling asleep until 4-- very unusual for me. I wrote in my new journal, at 3.40 am: "Damn you mocha latte!" It is also remotely possible that perfect love does exist, but as I say: remotely.
I could really, really use an explanation here.
100% post-industrial recycled material
Meghan and I just got home from watching Proof Of Life. In the final scene, when (without giving away the ending) Russell Crowe is standing there, and the camera pans away from him to take in the buildings around him, and he has this hungry, sad look on his face, a tiny voice piped up in the deep, irrational lobe of my brain responsible for my ongoing one-sided correspondance with John Cusack: "He needs you." The rational part of my brain responsible for everyday activities knows that in fact what Russell Crowe needs is not me (it is, apparently, Meg Ryan): but I think part of our fascination with celebrities comes from this altrustic feeling we have, that famous peoples' lives are somehow missing a crucial element: us. Thus, our fascination with their love-lives, mishaps, their bad fashion, their drug problems and marital problems: we think that we are somehow the key to their happiness, but we have no way to convey this to them without seeming like crazy stalkers, except to watch all their movies and buy People magazine. Actors-- no, celebrities-- seem to have a deep, unquenchable sadness (which possibly exists in all of us but is only visible when magnified on the silver screen) and we think we can cure them of that sadness (if we were given that impossible chance), that we are the missing element.
Then again, maybe we are crazy stalkers. But: maybe I am what Russell Crowe needs. And... I have to find a way to tell him.
check it out! it's Russell Crowe's surgery!
notes on the apocalypse
it's weird that i still get referrals from weblogs.com even though i don't really consider myself to be all about weblogs anymore, at all.
I spent over $300 on Christmas presents and associated products (ie, food to keep me motivated while shopping, presents for myself, etc.) this year, and what do I have to show for it?
I got off work on the 20th, so I can come out for dinner after all. My birthday plans are somewhat on hold until I figure out whether there IS any Chimprov on the day before Christmas Eve.
I have been really good about eating healthy today, until I got to work, thought I was never going to find anyone to work Wednesday for me, got depressed, ate four Girl Guide cookies, found out Mary would work, and ate two more to celebrate (then had to buy skim milk cause milk and chocolate taste so damn good). Damn my coworkers, leaving open food around!
I am like a raccoon.
The gym tomorrow afternoon with Meghan. I must regain control of my body. I must become... fitter happier more productive. Exams will be over. Then: almost three weeks in which to replace the lobes of my brain in my skull, lose the 15 or so pounds I've put on this year (that isn't true by the way, I've always weighed this much, I just always used to lie about it), read the many HUB Bookstore books that are sitting around my room scowling at me, and hopefully buy a CD burner so I can take my mixtaping to the next level.
I am rereading Microserfs right now, for the eighteenhundredth time. Why is it so relevant?
I filled up another notebook of wayward mobility today, and so I really need another one. Christmas present alert! Birthday present alert!
Oh yeah. Gulliver's Travels fucking sucked. Not the book so much as the essay I wrote about it, which (under careful inspection) was very disjointed. You know when you reread your essay after 55 minutes, realize the thesis statement and body paragraphs don't jive and the organization is shit, but you're too tired and apathetic to care-- so you draw rockets on your exam-booklet cover for the last 5 minutes?
You don't know how anxious I am for the end of exams.
I know this entry has been boring, but I needed to vent.
uber.nu with umlaut
My brain is now so fried that I left on the eight oclock bus this morning without checking what time my exam was at... it's at 2, of course. I hate how, when I get stressed, I can no longer operate within the confines of my schedule-- and then I start fucking up, missing classes and assignments and work, and then I get even more stressed.
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