(altogether elsewhere)

It's okay. You can go now.

2009-11-11T17:22:57Z

He hadn't eaten for a week. The most food he'd ingested was a bite of bacon, one he seemed rather disinterested in, but ate out of charity. He didn't bark and snap as he'd used to, just lay there, sleeping, or just watching us. We knew he was sick, and called friends to drive us to the veterinarian. He gave him a shot, checked him over, and another injection of fluids under the skin for him to absorb. He got a little better. He wandered, he came to us to look for quiet attention. He lay in my lap, rested his head on my forearm and wheezed sleepily. His legs still hurt, he still couldn't stand up easily, but we hoped.

Monday morning his tongue swelled, turned black and curled up at the end. I dribbled some water off my fingers that he didn't want to lap at (he always wanted to lick my fingers to check for food). He looked up at me with a sad, pained face that begged for me to make it better.

Another trip to the vet, my mother rushing out of work to be with him, my friends rushing by to give us a ride. The vet took him in, told us his kidneys were having trouble. He'd have to stay for two or three days, having fluids flushed through his body to try and help his dehydration. We worried, but Tuesday we heard a couple calls that sounded positive.

This morning, they told us he'd gotten worse. His tongue has turned black and swelled more, and despite his attitude, he's in serious pain.

His kidneys are shutting down.

He's going to die.

Today at 4 o' clock, I'm going to go in and sit with him, stroking his head as they put him to sleep.

I could be self-serving, talk about how I've never actually seen an animal put to sleep before. Or how lonely the house has been the past two days. The way I started crying when I thought about getting takeout again, how silent meals will be.

But... all I can think about is how much I'm going to miss him. How much I love him. How empty the world will be without him in it. I know I can't stop it from happening, but after fifteen years, I want to be so selfish and never let him go.

Goodbye Max.

I love you.

evitagenspace @ 2009-09-26T12:27:00

2009-09-26T16:29:41Z

I still don't have anything to say.

I have problems. I feel miserable. Et cetera.

But it doesn't matter.

Pop quiz... Which is worse: feeling miserable, or feeling miserable because no matter what your problems, everyone else's are worse (thus invalidating yours)?

evitagenspace @ 2009-01-16T12:29:00

2009-01-16T17:34:55Z

Okay, so, 2009's started off on the wrong foot. Things are incredibly down and getting worse and my depression is kicking my ass full-swing because of it. Blah blah blah.

Except, this all seems pretty minor in comparison to a film geek like me, because Maine is the only state in the country that's not getting the remake of My Bloody Valentine in 3-D! For fuck's sake, every state has at least ten theaters showing it in 3-D, and we have zero. Of course, being a geek who collects 3-D glasses and has never seen a film in the format on a big screen, it would be inevitable, wouldn't it?

Dear Maine,

Why must you suck so horribly?
Why do you deny any sort of available fun?
Why must you suck the last remaining grain of life out of me?
Why must I hate you so much? And do you hate me just as well?

Something positive... no, really... What?!

2008-12-25T16:57:10Z

I have to admit, for all my cynicism and depressing randomness in this space-o-ranting, I have to admit how hard it is to feel bad on this day of all days.

I love Christmas, even without being the religious sort of person. There's just so little to dislike; the 'holy' side of it is usually pleasant without being overpowering, and the sight of ornaments on a fresh pine tree brings a bright smile to my face every time. I even love the endless specials and movies, from A Charlie Brown Christmas to Miracle on 34th Street (the original :P) to the multitude of versions of A Christmas Carol*.

True, the songs they play in the store I work at are pretty annoying, but I can tune those out well enough; and people get generally grouchy, but no moreso than the rest of the year (they just are grouchy in larger quantities**). And for every Christmas in Connecticut there's a Santa With Muscles or remake of Miracle on 34th Street (watch me shudder in horror). But honestly, since getting rid of cable, I can shrug those off with no worries.

And I don't discount greed and self-interest, but I find it less of a powerful factor in this season. I am interested in what I get, but I'm much more eager to see the excited looks on my friends and family's faces when they open their gifts and see what I got them. I love shopping for gifts, and making others, and the eternally sloppy ritual of attempting to wrap gifts in paper that never truly looks nice and neat. I love coming up with new ideas to interest and excite those I know, and hunting for the right gift. To me, it's less of the 'oooh, I want that' factor, and more the notion of appreciation. I love giving gifts, and I love having a reason to give them; it's a sign of appreciation and respect, something that's a small favor of thanks to follow up the rest of the year, and some way of saying 'I couldn't have made it without you'.

I guess, all in all, what I'm trying to say to those couple of you that read this, is have a merry Christmas, and I hope that your cats and dogs enjoy the multitude of wrapping paper to shred and toss about. And I hope the next year will prove to be a marvelous one for us all.

--------------------------------------------------

*The one with Michael Caine and the Muppets is the best one. No, really!

**A woman,running into me in full-force with her shopping cart the other day, instead of apologizing, grumbed F'cking Christmas and continued on her way. Yes, Merry Christmas to you as well! I grinned and called out to her... By the look on her face, I believe I broke her brain on that one

evitagenspace @ 2008-10-31T22:15:00

2008-11-01T02:17:31Z

Just... No words to describe it. Honestly, I have none.

Watch it, and tell me if you have anything to add :P

It had to be done.

2008-09-17T20:13:25Z

Sorry for the randomness, but this might in fact be one of the greatest film posters I've ever seen... seriously, is this a parody?!

Actually, no.

It's supposed to be one of those depressing and dark indie relationship movies (i.e. the type where young people mope for 90 minutes while the audience checks it's watch... I'm looking at you, Sex and Breakfast...). But that poster is so hilarious I just can't help but wonder if that's supposed to be intentional or not...

Is this a pre-warning of surrender?

2008-03-22T03:14:53Z

I promised myself this Tuesday I was going to find something positive to post. There was a thing someone had where people were supposed to quit bitching and find something nice to say. I didn't want to cycle back to my mood swings or my suicidal feelings or attempts to find some form of help. Everyone else says that, there's no use in regurgitating everyone else's problems.

I refuse to post again until I can say something upbeat. Things are going well, and I am going to say something nice. I am no going to let this thing get to me. I will say something positive.

Eventually.

Let's have a meme, I think we'll have a meme now...

2008-03-04T04:10:28Z

A little game stolen from Miss Kou... Altered a little.

1. Pick 15 of your favorite movies. (You honestly expected me to pick only 15? 30 was hard enough!)
2. Go to IMDb and find a quote from each movie. (Some here aren't on IMDB... just that much harder... mwahaha...)
3. Post them here for everyone to guess.
4. NO GOOGLING/using IMDb search functions.
5. Strike it out when someone guesses correctly, and put who guessed it and the movie.
6. ~~Those who guess correctly have to do the Meme next!~~ (Eh, only if you wanna'. I'm more eager to see if anyone bothers to guess!)

--------------------------------------------------

1. "Life isn't like in the movies. Life... is much harder."

2. "These are the children of the '60s... commonly known as 'hippies'."

3. ~~"Men fall in love. They don't stay in love."~~ (Ecdysiasm got it, and it's okay, because I've been saying 'People fall in love...' myself and had to check my copy to be sure)

4. "Oh, I see. With all the poor people of this city who wanted only to live and were viciously murdered, you have the nerve to sit here, wanting to die, and not go through with it? You make me sick!"

5. "I can't exist by myself because I'm afraid of myself. I create my own evil."

6. ~~"You see, in this world there's two kinds of people, my friend: Those with loaded guns and those who dig. You dig."~~ (Ecdysiasm... For some reason, our mother thought it was Samuel L. Jackson from Pulp Fiction... how sad!)

7. "Have you ever been killed before? I'll be back in a minute."

8. "This is a narrative of very heavy-duty proportions."

9. "The time it takes to kill these morons is... depressing."

10. "The tragedy of your time, my young friends, is that you may get exactly what you want."

11. "I should have known it. The rest of the world doesn't exist."

12. "When I buy a new book, I read the last page first. That way, in case I die before I finish, I know how it ends. That, my friend, is a dark side."

13. ~~"Come on at me, if you want, Hash-head. I've got all five senses and I slept last night, that puts me six up against the lot of you!"~~ (Paper_Crystals got it, and I'm ashamed it took her so long! :P )

14. "You think grown-ups have it all figured out? That's just a hustle, kid. Grown-ups are making it up as they go along just like you. You remember that, and you'll do fine."

15. "Morality. The last bastion of a coward."

16. ~~"Alice who? Her name is Renee. If she's told you her name is Alice, she's lying."~~ (Ecdysiasm got it)

17. ~~"Somewhere in this world a child dies of starvation every two seconds... now... now... now..."~~ (Paper_Crystals... Was afraid it'd be unknown; forgot she'd seen it too!)

18. ~~"Wanna' know my story babe? It's easy: this is the generation who grew up, and forgot to lead their lives!"~~ (Ecdysiasm again)

19. "I take no pleasure in taking life if it's from a person who doesn't care about it."

20. "A brass unicorn has been catapulted across a London street and impaled an eminent surgeon. Words fail me, gentlemen."

21. ~~"I ask for so little. Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave."~~ (Ecdysiasm!)

22. "It was their hands that built this city of ours, Father. But where do the hands belong in your scheme?"

23. ~~"Have you ever been struck by lightning? It hurts."~~ (Ecdysiasm; I'd be disappointed if you didn't get this one...)

24. ~~"You'd better hurry up. Tell me something to make me love you."~~ (Ecdysiasm gets only half credit since he guessed wrong first! :P )

25. "There is no good or evil, only spirit and matter. Only movement toward the light - and away from it."

26. ~~"Childlike innocence is not a viable alternative to despair."~~ (Ecdysiasm!)

27. "It is the duty of all human beings to think God out of existence. Then we have a future. Because then - and only then - do we take full responsibility for who we are."

28. "You know the part in horror movies when somebody does something really stupid, and everybody hates him for it? This is it."

29. "Sooner or later, there comes a point in a man's life when he's gotta face some facts. And one fact I gotta face is that, whatever it is that women like, I ain't got it."

30. "This is not the ending. You haven't read it yet."

By request...

2008-01-09T23:43:58Z

So, one week ago I attended one of my brother's parties, for the first time since they moved to Boston. It was surprisingly more well-attended than most expected it would be, and fun was had by all, etc, etc.

I don't know if it's my girlfriend's prodding or the fact that she's actually coming to this point where I'm beginning to become more social than usual, but I took quite a bit more photographs this time than usual; which is good, because, honestly? More than three-fourths of the eighty pictures I took came out as blurry, poorly shot, or downright incomprehensible. I suppose that says something about my talent as a photographer after four years of working at this.

I'll probably have more to say about this later on. For now, how about some pictures?

Rachel, who I will confess to have fallen madly in love with. This is the point where I think she's asking me why the hell I'm hiding in the living room...

This year was my first attempt at 'ninja photography', and unoriginal term I coined for hiding by the door and snapping images of folks as they wandered in. This is one of the few that didn't come out as a smudge, at least!

Rachel again; you'll notice she's in a lot of these images. Why? Well, either I couldn't keep my eyes off of her, or it was a small room with lots of people. That, and she has a talent for being everywhere at once! Spooky...

Okay, so yes, I'm a horrible person with names. These are... um... Ian and Dawn-Marie? I think... They were neat people, and I feel bad for forgetting their names if I did...

Okay, so it's a white gumball floating in lemonade, right? WRONG! This in fact happens to be one of those yellow smiley-face gumballs, resting in a glass of some kind of alcohol that at one point was clear. The person I think was named Dawn-Marie did this, and thus began a chain of events that led to a dangerous night of experimentation...

'Dawn-Marie' and her secondary concoction, done at my joking suggestion (I honestly was hoping the drink would strip the chocolate off and leave a peanut butter square in the glass!). That's a peanut butter cup in there. Although I couldn't stomach it, according to those who tried it, it was quite a yummy mixture...

Um, this is... someone >.>; Hey, I said I was bad at names! I can't even remember teacher's names until after the semester's over!

At some point mid-evening, everyone drifted off into the other room. I have a feeling they were hunting for porn, which isn't as bad as the fact that My Chemical Romance began playing as they were doing so...

Rachel, in outfit number 2 of 3. Ain't she sweet? Okay, so her tomboy hair doesn't match that dress in the least, but honestly? I adore that kind of a clash of styles...

Meurl. The notorious beast that appears at the door and... Well, he was a bit tamer this year than last, but he still did tower over the party like the flaming head of death!

My brother/sister Jake/Rachel#2 and someone who only appears in this one picture for some reason converse. At this point, it was getting a little hard to find standing or sitting space in the kitchen...

When she ran out of conversation, the lovely miss Rachel (#1) wandered out and reappeared with a book of poetry, randomly opening to various pages and attempting to read aloud over the din of conversation. Hey, beats my burst of silent corner-hiding...

Jake/Rachel#2 and Meurl attempt a 'floating head of death contest' to see who can hover taller over the party. Regrettably, Meurl won by default as Jake/Rachel#2 neglected to note the rule that disallowed chairs, stilts, and piled-up beer cans. I can't remember which was stood upon, however...

And the mysterious guests who I didn't photograph too much. I think I actually asked them to pose for this one because I had such a difficult time attempting to catch them on film. Ah, well... This was actually towards the end of the evening, and I ran out of film about two blurry images after this (well, at least on this memory stick; there's more, but nothing for you. Nyeah :P)

Impending doom

2007-12-12T02:42:55Z

Throughout my life a specific phrase has found it's way into my mother's language, one that's been repeated so often it beats out her famous "It'll be an adventure!" and "Oh, you're too safe!" (both of these being warnings of doom, as they tend to come before she does something truly stupid). It's the kind of warning that's crept over me every time she says it, her eyes glaring with that you aren't... are you?! paranoia,

When I was younger it was, "Well, I don't like this entire Ninja Turtles thing, but at least you don't like Star Trek."

When I was a teenager it was "Well... I guess if you were gay, I would do my best to support your choice in lifestyles... As long as you're not a Trekkie."

When she discovered the subcultures on the internet it turned to, "Okay, you know what? I don't mind if it turns out you're a furry, as long as you don't watch Star Trek."

I never thought anything about it. It was her great paranoia, that either of her children would have the most minor interest in the show. Last year, when RiffTrax did Star Trek V, I did a slight check-in on the series I'd never bothered with for 23 years. Of course it was as aggressively awful as fans refer to it (and it begs the question: Which is worse, Shatner singing... or directing?), so I didn't bother after that. It was done, I was amused by the spoofing of it, and I was done with it altogether.

It got worse for her earlier this year when a good friend of mine online took advantage of the removal of my wisdom teeth (read: my being zonked out on percocet) and got me to check out a couple more of the films (the second, fourth, and eighth, respectively). I was amused by them but didn't go any further (a lie. I did rent the third as well to see both the 'fixer' to the open ending of the second, and the hilariously out-of-place Christopher Lloyd in heavy Klingon makeup). I didn't really feel a need to; they were a neat watch, but I was reminded the kind of wrath I would incur if I gained more interest of my own free will.

So, October rolls around and a good friend of the family informs me of the "Five-Weeks of Star Trek" series he's doing at the library. He's the guy who picks movies for their shelves and plans all of the events, but I admit I'm not terribly interested. But, like with all of his other events, he nudges me into it (admittedly, he's rarely been wrong. The rare films he shows and panels he arranges are always worthwhile). Just one week, I promise, to check it out. It'll be amusing at least, and I can properly prove my disinterest.

After the first week (the original series) I'm interested enough to come to the second (Voyager). The second finds a definite interest that leaks over into eager interest for the third (The Next Generation), and then excitement the fourth and fifth (Deep Space Nine and Enterprise... yes, anyone who knows the latter can feel free to laugh at me for showing interest before seeing it). And every week is packed, with friends of the family, no less. People my family members had no clue were so obsessed with the various shows, let alone that they were die-hard fans. During the last week, I even end up winning a prize at the weekly raffles (a calendar), much to my mother's dismay.

So now I'm actually renting volumes of the series; I've really gotten to like one series (Voyager), and have an active interest in pursuing the others. My mother, meanwhile, has begun to keep herself distanced from me. She refuses to step into 'Elsewhere' (what she calls the TV room) until I remove my calendar from the room, and refuses to speak to me until I confirm that the topic has nothing to do with 'that show'. She continuously reminds our friend from the library that she won't speak to him again after this offense, and loses her friendly exterior and actually scowls at people when they ask why it's such a big deal (if you knew her, the idea of her scowling at people outside the family would be a bit more startling). She still reminds me on a daily basis, almost four weeks after the end of the library's series, about how much she dislikes this sudden interest I've picked up in 'you know what'.

At first I laughed it all off; after all, it wasn't such a big deal, was it? As it is, it seems I've genuinely offended her, and proven myself to be a disappointment.I think she might be happier if I got a cell phone and came out as a gay nazi furry and fell in love with an underage unitarian emo republican crack whore. And decided to never have children while I was at it.

You know, as long as I wasn't watching Star Trek.

"Countless long nights, while I stare at the wall, I ask myself over again..."

2007-10-26T04:17:00Z

I still don't know where it comes from. But it's getting worse.

See, tonight was a thing at the library. My friend there arranges events and picks out the movies for the collection, and he downright insisted I attend his Star Trek series. Five weeks, five different series, etc. I missed the first week, due to being out of town (a pity; my film teacher was the one giving the talk that week), but promised to attend the other weeks. After all, in twenty-four years I've avoided the show and ended up with almost zero knowledge about it, so what could a couple weeks hurt?

And I enjoyed it. This week was a focus on Star Trek: Voyager, a show I'll embarrassedly confess I actually enjoyed. I sat through the whole thing, the raffle, the chat with the 'captain' of the Bangor chapter of 'Starfleet Command', and the couple episodes shown. It was actually surprisingly neat; if nothing else, I learned we have a lot more Trekkies in this town than I ever guessed...

The thing is, as the evening wore on, no matter how much I enjoyed myself, I found myself getting progressively more miserable. I found myself getting (silently) upset with things that would usually never bother me. So I was the only person not being talked to, so what? Happens all the time. So I didn't win any of the raffles; not like I knew anything about the prizes, anyway. So I felt uncomfortable going in; I always feel that way doing anything social alone. None of these things have ever bothered me in the past, so why is it hitting so hard all of the sudden? I snuck out with barely a word to the friend who was running the event, trying to put a good face on what I did say.

It hasn't worn off, hours later, still lingering in my mind like a disease. Nothing bad has happened, the evening has just rolled on aimlessly. I try to put my best face on for others, but my mind keeps screaming out like it just can't take any of this anymore. As if to tell me just how dissatisfying my life is, and how easy it would be to just throw it all away. Just pick up and leave, or something more drastic.

Fuckit, I don't know why I'm bothering. I'll find something more meaningful to say later.

Are We Having Fun Yet?

2007-10-12T14:37:05Z

She called me at six-thirty. My mind, still desperately considering the improbability of a chance, did a quick check on the figures. Fifteen minutes for her to grab a quick shower and get dressed, maybe twenty, another twenty-five to get here; two minutes for me to grab my bag, say goodbye to my mother, and dash out to the car; then an hour and change to get out to meet the bus, which would have already left an hour and a half before we made it there.

Skip back one week. Travel plans-

No wait, a week and a half. Tuesday. Excited over two upcoming trips, I check my bank account to make sure I still have enough for the hotel room. Except I've messed up my books terribly and I'm overdrawn for the first time in my life. After two hours of gathering receipts and rechecking the phone over and over and screaming at myself endlessly in my mind about how could you have fucked it up this badly?! I contact her and tell her that the trip won't work. The hotel's too expensive, we've run into all these troubles, and, hey, there's that trip to Boston next week, right? She doesn't seem that bothered, probably having seen all the warning signs I ignored in a desperate plea to get out on my own.

After a quick conversation with her, I hear the neighbors dogs are barking. I step out at midnight with a plastic toy gun and a dozen rolls of explosive caps. By the time I start firing the fifth spool the dog's gone back inside, but I fire two more just to keep myself from screaming out loud at myself. It doesn't shut my brain up. I find myself still up when the sun rises, my brain still screaming How could you have fucked things up this bad?!

Back to this week. Second travel plans. Convenient, a trip to Boston sponsored by our college. Ten bucks gets you a day trip, though it doesn't say if it's a tour or if we'd be shuffled off to our own ends for the day. Still, Boston. Arguably the fifth time in my life I will actually be leaving this state (including an accidental five-minute trip to Canada, complete with a view of a gun shop, a liquor store, and a tourist shop). Something about it seems strange. I'd only been once before, a trip ten years ago with an aunt who tends to dislike stopping for more than two seconds. I had seen the city, but never had a chance to really let it all sink in.

She's excited about the trip, too. I remind her of details in an anal-retentive manner, and she snaps back at me, I know, I know, oi... Just thought I'd make sure to check for the idiot clause (the rule that everyone has the likely possibility of doing something stupid). We clear up a time, even though it might be cutting it a little close, and that's that.

It rains that night, the kind of storm that's impossible to sleep through. I get up, check the windows, try to calm my dog, take a piss, lay down, stare at the ceiling for another hour, repeat pattern. The house seems to shift beneath me as the wind pounds side to side, and still I can't get my eyes to close. The alarm rings at the fifth time I've arisen for the pattern (windows-dog-piss) and I mutter to myself, "Fuck, is it four already?"

Time passes. Five-thirty, our meeting time, passes. At five-forty-five I consider calling either her or another person who offered me a ride. Either way, I realize, the time to get here and then head to the stop would be too late, and we'd miss it. Not enough time, no way to get there. I consider screaming, but realize how pointless and unneeded it is in a sleeping house. At six I give up and find a book on the shelves and start reading something short, needing something to keep my mind off of things ( 55 Miles To The Gas Pump & Brokeback Mountain, both by Annie Proulx). Six thirty, hints of light (a teasing glimpse as the storm clouds keep it from really showing), rain rushing left and right with the wind. Phone rings, and I jump, ready to scream at her, tear her apart. How the hell did you mess this up so badly?! I answer the phone calmly. Hello? As if I wasn't expecting a call, as if I didn't know who it was. In the back of my mind I'm screaming at myself for not screaming at her first thing.

She's crying. Worse than crying, her voice in ragged sobs that barely form words. She wanted the trip so badly, and now she's messed it up. She wants someone else to blame, but knows its her own fault. Missed the alarm, slept in much later than meant to, the usual fuckups on the exact wrong day to fuck them up. The word unreliable slips into mind, but passes quickly. She's being hard enough on herself. I find that instead of yelling at her, I'm trying to calm her, to make it better somehow, to find some way to make things better; it's not going to, I'm sure, but I try to keep positive. About something.

Seven. My mother appears with the dog, time for his morning walk. He barely steps down before the wind picks up and he dives back inside. She turns to set his leash aside and nearly jumps when she sees me.

Why aren't you pissed off about this?!, her voice sounding as if she's about to hurt someone, This is much worse than usual!

I am mad. I'm pissed off. I go back to reading. I don't scream, I don't kick or fuss. I simply sit on the couch and continue reading, the calm little center of the universe as my mother cusses and my dog skitters around in search of a place to crawl to in hopes of hiding from the thunder. For another hour as she prepares for work she shouts and swears and balls up her fists. I read. I say nothing. I read. I sit there, calm little center of the universe, wondering why I don't let it out and call back, tell her it's not okay, the same as my mother is shouting for me to do.

I don't. I sit there calmly, and I read. And I know when I see her again I'll be the one patting her on the back. It's okay, these things happen... Nothing we can do about it now... Here, take a breath and calm yourself... Don't worry, I forgive you.

Perhaps it's my class getting to me. Peace Studies. A talk had two weeks ago about Simon Wiesenthal's book The Sunflower, and forgiveness. A question about placing yourself in the same situation, and would you forgive the man. One out of twenty would offer forgiveness, the rest would condemn him and go on with their lives. Nineteen students who each respond to my thoughts with tones that scream out you monster, you'd forgive him?!, odd looks that make it look as if I had just pulled my pants down and screamed HEIL PENIS! The conversation doesn't come to mind until after it's over, after her phone call and after my mother's gone off to work and I'm still sitting on the couch, book set aside. And even as much as I know how far a jump is from a missed trip to a nazi executioner, it still sticks in my mind. Why do I forgive? I know I always will, but why don't I get mad and do something about it? Why do I let others pass when things get messed up, and why is it that I can't let myself go when I'm the one who makes a mistake?

And yet I still look at the clock and think Right now I should still be on the bus, but probably outside of this state, half asleep and watching the world pass me by.

Intermission

2007-09-01T04:47:43Z

I have a request. And if people respond to it, I'll post a somewhat nice little surprise in a couple days. The people around me have just been too frustratingly hopeless and miserable, and I'd like a little sunshine...

I need one of two things: Either proof that there is such a thing as love in the universe, or the names of a few really good romances. And not those crummy kinds where people end up alone and miserable :P I'm a cynic with 9/10ths of my film collection, I like to have some uncharacteristically hopeful films in the mix. Or both. Both hope and films work well, too. Gimme' lists, I want to hear from you folks! And if at least a couple people give me good responses, I'll post up the aforementioned nice surprise in a couple days...

-

Oh, and sorry there's been nothing to gripe about myself as of late; been too busy with other people's dramas and heavy painkillers. I'm not usually a fan of percocet, but when my jaw's in this much agony, it helps take the edge off. Maybe I'll have something downbeat later.

evitagenspace @ 2007-08-05T01:23:00

2007-08-05T07:10:51Z

I love a good romance. It's probably been said a number of times before, but it still strikes the people I know as such an oddity. My film collection is packed with odd art films, minimalist cinema, disturbing experimental films, horror movies, and the like, and with a few romantic films sprinkled throughout for good measure. They seem like such oddities; just glancing my shelves I notice Marty sitting next to El Topo, The Passenger, and Suicide, among others.

It gets tough at times; I've spent almost three months now hunting down any and all gay romance films to find at least one which doesn't degenerate into miserable angst and self-loathing after ten minutes (I found two in the end). It seems this is a reoccurring theme in the theme; if these films represent real homosexuality, how has anyone of the mindset kept from killing themselves?

Not that good heterosexual romances are that easy to find, either. After all, 99/100ths of all romances are either cheap pap with no real chemistry or angsty post-Woody-Allen* bullshit about how we as human beings will never find true love and will all end up miserable and alone in the end no matter what we do.** It's exhausting, looking for that one good one; but to me, it tends to be worthwhile in the end.

The reason I bring this up, of course, is that the idea tends to lead to a bit of introspection. I consider myself a romantic, and yet at the same time find so little to like about humanity that I find myself alone most of the time. I have a few friends, and animals that I tend to care for. The term 'Lutheran Bachelor' has been used by several people by now in reference to me; I suppose it makes sense.... I think. I dislike people, and am far from social, and live a quiet life of solitude. And I can deal with animals much better than I ever could with humans; I can convince a stray cat to come and curl up in my lap, but I can't talk to another human being without having them give me strange looks.***

And maybe I am wrong; maybe people don't give me those looks as often as I think they do. Maybe that person who smiles and laughs at my joke is in fact flirting with me. Maybe that good friend is actually more interested in me than I suppose. But really, I know better. I don't think of this as a downbeat attitude as much of an acceptance; after all, I find that at times I prefer the people I know as good friends rather than genuine relationships; the relationships that I know around me tend to just take themselves too damn serious for their own good.

Not that I mean for this to sound like it's degenerating into another dull and angsty 'why am I so alone?!' posts; my last Low Point passed this Thursday, and I'm more pondering towards a quieter introspection.

I suppose if I wanted to say there was anything about this that does get me down it's the simple fact that being a romantic has screwed up a couple of chances for 'no strings attached' one night stands. I regret missing these chances deeply, especially because of what fascinating people they both were. And yet when I got down to the point of being offered I either turn the other person down or delay too long, each time thinking there's something so fucking chivalrous about not wanting to 'take advantage' of the other person. I would say something about it being fear, or paranoia, or being unsure of myself. But in the end I know it comes down to me just being too determined to be... what? Romantic? Chivalrous? A believer in 'purity' of unknowing?

When it comes down to it, I suppose being a romantic doesn't work in anyone's favor. At least for a misanthropist.

--------------------------------------------------

*I know that Allen didn't really start the entire 'unhappy romance' theme, but Annie Hall seems to be the modern basis for the indie sub-genre, so I'll lay the blame on him for the idea being a big seller.

**A good friend once tried to convince me that Hal Hartley works upon this principle. I still laugh at them for suggesting this.

***My friend Miss Kou knows this one, at least. She observed when I approached a young woman recently, and was stunned by the look on the woman's face (one I'm all too familiar with). It was as if I had approached her and shouted out, "YOU GON' GIT RAPED, BITCH!" before saying hi. I still await the day where someone actually maces me because I say hello.

evitagenspace @ 2007-07-15T21:45:00

2007-07-16T02:20:08Z

Paris, je t'aime today at the Strand. A wonderful little film, twenty short pieces about Paris, about life, and most of all about love.

She came with me, and sat beside me, muttering some question here and there and reaching over to steal popcorn. We met up at the book store/coffee shop across the street beforehand and split a rather bland and tasteless cookie and chatted about random topics, smiling and now and then glancing to see how long until we head across and if we can beat the clouds as they start to move in.

The first drops hit as we enter through the theater doors, and by the time we get outside, little else has happened. We ponder a ride for a moment before wandering on, talking about random idle little things before the skies open up above us, thick and heavy showers drenching us head-to-toe before we can even notice the first drops. Bright lights pass the sky and she waves for me to come with her, follow her as we get into a heavy run, making it three or four blocks before losing our breaths and stomping onward, splashing into heavy puddles and dodging traffic as we go, picking up the run and slowing down again, catching our breath and dashing again and again. By the time we make it back we're drenched straight through and still trying on panted breaths to run for it. When she's back inside and drying off I catch a ride the rest of the way back to my own home, not seeming to care too much about being soaked thoroughly.

She likes you. My mother grins as she greets me, getting that business out of the way. She doesn't know what happens, but she sees the two of us going to see a romantic film as a sign of something genuine. Not considering how utterly casual and friendly it all was, as if it were any other day. She </i>really</i> like you, my mother repeats, still grinning.

It's not true. She's been feeding me this line for weeks now, demanding that I make some move on this girl. But I know it's not true, despite what my family sees. I know affection when I see it. I knew when JP showed me affection and I talked her out of it; I knew when Kou showed me affection and I wasted it; I knew when miss A showed me affection and I ignored it. In her case, in this case, I know that what she wants is a friend above all else. Even now, I've started to show things, say little things that scare her away from me. The wonderful knack I have returns yet again.

And it's a stupid, petty little thought, but it makes me think about the people I know, and the way everyone around me feels satisfied where they are; where almost all have found love, and the couple who haven't feel satisfied being alone for now. I look around and see people around me, from in town, from out of state, wandering the streets wrapped in each others arms. And I think, for a second, of putting a bullet in every happy person's head, as if that would help me.

And around and around, back to those same old thoughts. It makes me wonder, how I can be a romantic when I hate humanity so much.

As my family says, it's my fate to be the old Lutheran bachelor, living out in the woods and tending to animals. Living a life disinterested in humanity, finding the quiet a personal comfort. My mother describes friends of the family who lived like that and claims that she wishes I could have had a chance to meet them, so I could understand. My brother merely shrugs and gives me the usual advice, the vague solution of 'get out there and meet people', a repetition of my friends, all of whom are already satisfied with their relationships. Around and around, the same advice every time without shift; if not 'get out there', then 'wait and you'll see, things will get better'.

Nevermind. I'll post again soon, and next time I'll find something worthwhile to say.

evitagenspace @ 2007-04-18T11:35:00

2007-04-18T16:05:16Z

Very little is new in life. A few random notes to keep this thing updated:

-Saw Grindhouse opening weekend, Easter Sunday. A nice way to spend three-and-a-half hours, although I don't think my friends quite came out of it with their sanity intact. Poor Miss Kou and Mister E... I don't think either came out with their sanity intact. My bad. I enjoyed it greatly at least; Death Proof wasn't nearly as good as Planet Terror, but all was enjoyable, and the price was right, and the trailers were all kinds of awesome (although I don't think anyone really got the joke of Edgar Wright's "DON'T!"). The kind of movie that suggests that it was made for me... As for others, though...?

I am convinced that the world is simply not awesome enough to get the hang of a film like this. The people who will get the nature of the film won't go see it, and those who go to see it won't get it. That, and I know almost no one outside of myself who could stomach the film... Kind of a pity that way, because it was a heck of a lot of fun. The failure pretty much assures we won't see another of this ilk again (it doesn't help that they plan to split the two films for DVD... what will they do about the trailers then?!).

-For my family's sake, there is a girl in my life, although I'm still not sure if she likes me or just sees me as 'one of the girls'. I'm so used to the latter camp by now I doubt it matters anyway. I guess the reason I have yet to scare her off is that she was home-schooled, so her experiences in dealing with people are nil. She's a good person, and a decent chess player (although our strategies match too often, ending in a stalemate), but I can't speak much for her tastes in film (the one non-date we've had was to see Ghost Rider... Peter Fonda as the devil. Have I said enough already?). She lives nearby, so she's already talking about next semester and walking to school together. Whatever happens, happens, I suppose.

-My attempts to take Summer classes seem to be felled by idiocy at the student loan department, who claims that if a class is twice a week it counts for double cash, meaning that if I want to take Modern Art I need to fork over $300 that I don't have.

-As for Fall, I suppose I can be thankful for being clumsy for once. It's a good semester all in all (Intro to Women's Studies, Intro to Philosophy, International Peace Building Since 1945), but I mislabeled one class on my sign in sheet... As it turns out, attempting to figure out which one of the two 'Topics in Film & Theater" was 'Set Design', I accidentally signed up for 'The Films of Alfred Hitchcock', one which hasn't even made it into the listings. I'm not sure who the teacher is or how the class will go, but I am thinking positively. If nothing else, since the new campus will be down the street from here, I won't have to worry about ride issues this year...

-Day two without cable and the world feels oddly quiet. They came without warning and without notice this time, appearing while we were all asleep and clipping the cords, deciding that instead of a note they would wait until we called to tell us that unless we paid them $200 that none of us could afford we'll be without television. They seemed oddly disappointed when we said that we couldn't pay them.

To me, I suppose it doesn't mean too much. Television, for me, was mostly background noise. What I can't watch now of what I did enjoy for new shows (House, Mythbusters, Drive) can be supported by a healthy addiction to bittorrent. And the repeats I watched don't matter much in themselves; after all, I have Futurama on DVD and some other random shows if I truly need that background noise.

-The death of author Kurt Vonnegut doesn't depress me as much for the fact of the author's absence as much as how others are reacting to it. Outside of my family most I know react with it to a shrug and the question of "Who's that?" Considering that most of the people I know are twice my age and have only ever read TV Guide and whatever tabloid they can get ahold of, I suppose it doesn't surprise me too much. But it's still a depressing thought.

-Life goes on.

evitagenspace @ 2007-03-31T01:51:00

2007-03-31T06:23:41Z

It's that advice that gets to me. Those moments when they look you in the eye and say 'NOW'. 'HERE'. 'LISTEN'. Look at me, I am trying to read your mind, I want to know what that broken piece of equipment you call a brain is saying to me. Those bits and pieces of advice that speak of how badly I am at being myself, and how if I don't be something other than who I am, I'll never be social, never be perfect, never get 'chicks'. The talks, numerous and repetitive, about how I need to find out what's wrong with myself and fix it. The same ideas and thoughts reiterated again and again until I want to jump across the room with a heavy object and embed it in the other's skull, screaming out about how much better it makes me feel. The worst being the serious stare that tries to burn past my retinas and see something, something more than a cold look that scares them, suggests there's nothing going on here. The mask, as someone referred to it, that keeps me from letting anyone in.

I do wonder, at times, if it is intentional. The cold stare, the look that makes others look away, a natural glare that says nothing other than 'I see you, fucker. I know you.' The way that those who try to speak to me look at my face and shrug, say either 'I see nothing' or get uncomfortable and find their gaze zapping off to other places around them.

It's the idea of self-improvement as dictated by others that bothers me the most. 'I don't believe that you're happy, therefore I am hoping that my words will fix the problem. I can't break you out of this shell, you have to do it for yourself. In the end, if you can figure that out, you will be happy, healthy, social, successful, loved, loving, beautiful, and exactly how I believe you should be.' Because, in essence, just what does that mean?! A broken person telling another how they believe they should be, even though the one giving the advice can't find their own believed salvation?

And it feels unfair, at this point, to suggest that I like exactly how I am. There are parts of this uncomfortable life I truly do like; I love my obsession with cinema, I love my writing, I even love parts of my seemingly natural introversion. But that's not all that I believe there is to me. I know there is something more; and I do agree that I feel helplessly trapped, that's as plain and frustratingly clear as it could be. I do want to be more than this ugly shell that lacks direction, lacks basic hope.

I do want to be something more.

But I don't want to do it on your terms.

Otherwise, I'm just back where I started from.

evitagenspace @ 2007-03-25T18:40:00

2007-03-25T22:45:01Z

So. I feel like killing myself today. Not because I really have a reason to, but because, well, it just feels like there's nothing else better to do. It's not the boredom, the loneliness, the feeling of worthlessness, or utter pointless misery, just... because. Because there's just nothing else to do.

Anyone got any better options? Or suggestions on how to do this properly?

Low Point 2/2007, day four

2007-02-28T09:02:30Z

It's these points which still strike me as amusing in their own grim way. I still call them 'Low Points', although a couple of my friends claim it's my 'man-period'. These points, these moods, you can set your watch to them; once a month, always for about four days, with a fifth as a sort of mid-point between calm and outright pissed off. It's the last day of these Low Points that stick out to my family; they tell me I get spastic and violent, although I rarely remember my outbursts, stupid as they are.

Besides, it's not the violence that bothers me, nor the depressed feelings, the sort of emptiness that I feel. It's the loneliness. The sense that I am not only alone, but doomed to be as such for the rest of my life.

And yet maybe that's what I really want, underneath it all. After all, I've come to notice that I may not be able to comfortably share my life with anyone. At least, so it would seem.

See, for the last month I've been sharing my space with another person. Supposedly a roommate, but we have to see if he can get a job first so he can pay the rent. He's loud, he can be obnoxious, and he's so friendly it's annoying. And I'm beginning to dislike the idea of having him around; not because of him, you see, but simply because I can't stand to have another human being around who is actually there so often. Perhaps its because I find other people disgusting; the smell they each have, the feel of lacking privacy, the feeling of a guest who has long since outstayed their welcome. It's something I'm not sure I want to deal with for the rest of my life.

And then there's the romantic side of things, where my subconscious takes the reigns on lacking social values. Right now I've gone out on one supposed date with a girl five or six years younger than me. I don't even truly know if it was a real date or not (after all, when the girl talks more about the film than going out, it's usually a sign... especially when that movie is Ghost Rider), but I like to consider that was her thought when she asked me.

And even then, even if she is attracted to me, this too will pass. Just like the girl who came before her, one who admired my passion for films, but found herself disgusted and horrified by me when we truly sat down to talk outside of class (I think the fact that I was reading Nicholson Baker's Vox at the time didn't help either, when she asked me what the book was). I seem to be good at that, scaring others off. It's a talent, as they say. In the end, if this girl really truly is attracted to me, she'll find something about the real me; either she'll see what I'm reading, or I'll say something that will offend her, and she'll stop talking to me. I understand that, it happens all the time.

So this is the end result, mixed feelings and angst and anger. I find a sort of comfort in the idea of being alone, as I'm finding the idea of living my life with another an uncomfortable thing. And yet at the same time I hate being alone; it's a miserable feeling, not having others close by.

And still, I don't think I truly need to be with someone, or need to be alone. What I need is to know what the hell I'm going to do with my waste of a life...

Hey, statistics don't lie, right?

2007-01-25T02:08:28Z

I like to bring this up when I can. Seeing as how I was born on the scientifically proven 'worst day of the year' seems almost like an important detail, something to be quite proud of.

This is the twenty-third of my supposed worst days, another which isn't too much but is enjoyable. I received a few cards from relatives wishing me good will for the new year of life (No gifts, but that's an iffy issue. On one hand saying I don't like getting gifts as much as I do giving them sounds like a lie to make myself look better, complaining about not getting gifts would look egotistical. So I'll let the statement sit without one side or the other). But still, I'm treating myself to my own gift anyway: I'm paying to bring a friend I've only known from this series of tubes up to spend a week here. So I find that enough of a treat to celebrate with... (and James, if you don't make it up here on Friday, I will buy a ticket to come down and whoop your arse :P)

So how about this year? Last year was really the worst birthday I've dealt with, but really, it was a bad semester. I think it was the fact that for the few days beforehand I had enjoyed wandering around Portland solo; coming home I realized that not only was my birthday going to be no different from any other day of the year, but it was worse simply because most people, family and friends alike, had outright forgotten it.

In the one year since then I've had... well, an uneventful twenty-second year, not that chances didn't appear. I spent the winter taking care of a mother stricken with pneumonia, a lengthy and rather unpleasant affair; because of hte time spent balancing between that and classes, I ended up missing out on a chance to get my transfer papers in to USM. I attempted and planned to go to a furry convention, and instead ended up spending hundreds of dollars on dental work because of a lack of insurance available in state (said work, as of yet is still going on bit by bit and dollar by hundred dollars). I waited with anticipation for a number of movies, instead finding myself having to wait for DVD to see them; actual times spent in a theater equal less than six (including Snakes on a Plane which I am outright dissappointed in you, humanity, as on opening weekend I was essentially alone in the theater). I had two rather iffy semesters, neither of which were terribly eventful (as a note, this semester, oddly, has been wonderful so far... I love all of my classes), and two semesters of generally iffy grades. I had a little bit of kidney trouble, and three teeth removed, two of them wisdom teeth. I've learned that even though I tend to dislike using pain-killers, I have developed a rather nice feel for Vicodin. If I were to become a junkie, at least I know what my addiction would be...

All in all, really, this year... didn't add up to much. Even in my eternally uneventful life, it was a startlingly lifeless year. And strangely enough it seemed to start from exactly my 22nd birthday; the day before I had enjoyed a long snowy day, an extended bus ride (I do confess that I could spend my life traveling around the country on bus-lines, just randomly back and forth and around), and a nice greeting for my return. The day after... was the same as any other day. Even my own mother didn't seem too excited about the day. By the end of the evening, I was wondering to myself why the day should have been different than any other day.

It would not be fair to claim that my twenty-third birthday was seriously exciting. The most I did was watch a documentary I've been excited to see (This Film is Not Yet Rated) and had takeout (burger king, where the girls know me, and congratulated me on it being my birthday). Not too different from most days; but really, there was just a feeling to it. It felt like my birthday, that's the best way I can explain it. It was kind of nice, all in all.

So, considering the track record so far, let's hope that 2007 will be something much better than 2006 was. James is coming to visit in two days. I'm going to get those transfer papers in; I'm still unsure of changing majors, but people are pushing me in various directions (Philosophy, Sociology, Film Theory, and Psychology among other suggestions). I plan to travel myself again, to get out further for once; there's another furry convention coming up, closer, in the summer. I'm considering my options. If I'm lucky, perhaps I'll finish with my dental issues, get that cleaning done and get the other two wisdom teeth out (meaning more vicodin... I may become a junkie at this rate).

And hey, maybe I can actually have a good year for once?

And now, some lovely pictures of Faro...

2007-01-17T17:44:50Z

Alright, so, a theoretical question for all of your out there in LJ land, before I start on my idea. Please feel free to answer it:

If I asked (and we met in person, those of you distanced), would you pose for a nude picture? Knowing that it would never be seen by anyone but me, for my own personal archives, would you?

-----

One of those ideas that's come about since I rediscovered my fascination with photography is the possibility of nude photography. Not something pornographic (although that would be fun to toy around with in itself), simply my own pretentious little idea. Seeing someone in the raw tends to mean a bit more than just being without clothing. It's a personal issue, the idea of the look in one's eyes, they way they move themselves, the raw exposure. You don't see the same person without clothing that you do with.

It fascinated me because of the pure number of people who have acted as if I asked to rape them when I just mention the idea. Too uncomfortable, too perverted, not unless I pay them. The one which interests me are those who claim they are 'too ugly' or that they don't like their body's form enough to be photographed. The -last- thing I would want are people who are the social view of 'normal'. Attractiveness I can't speak much for, as that's a person-to-person detail, but feeling uncomfortable because of how you think other's view you is an absurd detail, and feels like a ridiculous reason.

Maybe it's because I never considered my own image too much. If my hair feels clean and I feel comfortable in what I wear, I'm okay. My favorite hat looks ridiculous, like something an old man should wear. My jacket looks plain and undefined. My shirts are for the most part a series of gray shirts with little other than ridiculous logos to differentiate them.

And yet even then there are times where I move from that uncaring into a bit more thought into dressing. I feel I have to be formal, and even then it's just throwing on a random dress shirt and trying a little harder to get my hair together. If I'm attempting to be social I'll wear one of my other shirts, my tye-dye one, or my black and blue shirts, or something else.

Vanity is an inescapable issue, we all know that. We have the different faces we wear when we stay out and when we go home; I know several wonderful essays which talk about that better than I could (Neil Gaimain's piece on being a writer, most importantly to me). But there's a difference between fixing your image for others and being outright disgusted with yourself.

I mean no offense to anyone who might give the sort of answer, but I'm just fascinated with the idea. I'm curious, anyone who wishes to answer, about how one could be so uncomfortable with their own skin?

Meme time...

2007-01-13T23:04:47Z

Alright folks, two or more weeks since I last posted, that means it's time to waste some space, and while I get my next post ready, it's meme time... Comments are screened, so please, do say whatever you want, I love honesty :P

------------------------

Stolen from Miss Kou, who stole it from another. Ah, such thieves we are...

1. Ever punch someone in the face?

2. How old are you?

3. Are you single or taken?

4. Eat with your hands or utensils?

5. Do you have any recurring dreams at night?

6. Ever seen a corpse?

7. Have you ever wished someone dead?

8. Do you like Bush, the US president?

9. Whats your philosophy on life and death?

10. If you could do anything with me, and have no one know about it, what would it be?

11. Do you trust the police?

12. Do you like country music?

13. What is your fondest memory of me?

14. If you could change anything about yourself, would you?

15. Would you date me?

16. What do you wear to sleep?

17. Have you ever peed in a pool?

18. Would you hide evidence for me if I asked you to?

19. If I only had one day to live, what would we do together?

20. What is your favorite thing about me?

21. Do you think I'm attractive?

22. What's your favorite color?

23. If you could bring back anyone that has passed, who would it be?

24. Tell me one interesting/odd fact about you?

25. What one question would you like to ask me?

26. What one question would you like me to ask you?

27. Will you post this so I can fill it out for you?

"No one here wants to fight me like you do..."

2006-12-28T05:14:10Z

Wow. So, three fucking months at least since last time I had anything to post. Seriously? Wow, I mean, I knew some time had past, but fuck...

This semester was a bit of a rough slump for me. I can actually pinpoint the exact time where I suddenly hit this sort of nihilism which has encompassed this whole semester. I'm trying to convince myself this whole attitude of what the fuck does any of this truly matter? was just a brief phase and that I'm able to pull myself out of it. I have to, seriously. Considering that I've failed three of the four classes this semester, I'm doubting I'll be able to get to switch to the Psychology program anytime soon, if at all. I know, I have to work harder this semester, do my best. After all, this one's over, so my slump should be going, right?

Right?

----------------------

The tooth finally came out a few days after Halloween, almost a week after it cracked in half from biting into an unusually soft tootsie roll. As I sat there in the dentist's chair, the woman and her assistant began apologizing for how much this was going to hurt, and just how much effort they were going to put into this. I shrug, and say I know pain a little too well, so I'll probably be okay. Besides, I shrug jokingly, I watched Saw III last night, so I'm not really that afraid of this kind of pain.

She jabs my cheek with a few shots of novocaine and another thing around the gum to help keep me from feeling it. I sit there like a statue, looking out the window and thinking of a few random things. They jam several metal devices into my mouth and I hear the nurse grunting, wiggling something back and forth as she pulls back on my head. It feels as if any moment it might pull free... my head, not the tooth. I can feel the broken remains of the tooth holding tight, even as it starts to give way and wobble back and forth with the dentist's movements. Finally, with a colossal grunt of effort and a pop, it comes free. The woman was pulling too hard, and slips back almost comically as her assistants attempt to catch her without loosing the tooth.

You okay?, One asks, looking in my mouth. I nod, and shrug.

You know, most people tend to do something during this. Shout or groan or squirm or something. She says, after stitching the gum up. She slips some cotton in my jaw and waits for my response. After a moment of rolling the gauze around, I shrug lightly and mumble again that I'm no stranger to pain.

It knows me well, and I know it too well.

----------------------

I stare out at the neighbors' yard as I hold the camera still. They've left a smashed pumpkin sitting in a wheelbarrow, an old wooden type, and something about the image strikes me as beautiful. I stand from several angles around the tall tree that separates their driveway from our lawn, climbing on and off the steps, trying filters in my own anal-retentive way. Their black cat, a creature who is just as playful as she can be cold, climbs atop the wheelbarrow and perches, making it absolutely perfect. I fix the lens, hold my hands as steady as they ever come... and the family's five-year old daughter comes rushing out of the house, scaring off the cat and ruining the shot. Making matters worse her mother steps out a moment later and stares right at me, a young man holding a camera fixated on the wheelbarrow that her daughter is at the moment running around.

I got the fucking picture, at least.

----------------------

The booth set up at the supermarket advertises a wine tasting. Nothing social, just a little advertisement run by a purported wine expert who gives me a long speech about each of the eight bottles. French wine is this month's theme, and if it weren't for my ex-girlfriend nudging me towards it, I probably never would have walked up. I don't care too much for wine, and strongly dislike the kick that most leave after you've swallowed.

Something feels wholly pretentious about the whole idea, standing there listening to long spiels about each wine, about what food they go with and how to properly try each one. The first two are white, one which is supposed to go with cheese (one sip, let the taste linger, try some cheese, then another sip), to which the man hands me a rather unpleasant tasting sort of cheese I choke down unhappily. It makes the wine taste a little better, but only in comparison to the cheese. The second goes with fish, so obviously it goes on it's own. The third moves us into reds, a wine which is supposed to best go with chocolate; as picky as it may sound, a regular Hershey's bar doesn't affect the wine in the least, while something like a Symphony might work better, as it has a softer taste that tends to linger more. The next a Merlot, to which the old man who's joined me at this point in the tasting merely chuckles and declines, patting me on the back and muttering, "Either you're very brave or very inexperienced at this." Lesson learned after one sip: no more Merlot for me. I choke down half of the repulsive sample, then wash out my glass, hiding the fact that I'm washing the wine itself from the container. The last, the man points out, is the most expensive of the types, a wine specially grown in some famous vineyard and worth every penny; speaking bluntly, it's the least special of the bunch, having a mild kick at the end but tasting mostly flavorless. Or maybe I was still reeling from the Merlot.

My first wine tasting, twenty minutes spent and I'm all the more pretentious for it.

------------------------

My mother's on the verge of violence by now, as I explain the prospector's true nature in the story. I'm actively working to ruin a classic, the creepy stop-motion animated version of "Rudolph". It starts as a joke, as I make a few snide references towards the fact that Rudolph's parents are insisting he hide something to play 'normal', matched with the way he seems much more interested in the male reindeer he meets rather than the female. And the thought degenerates as it goes along, moving onto the various characters and what they represent, the way the snow monster represents the fear of sexuality as well as the way

As we reach the end she promises and swears that she will make me pay for this.

"Why?" I ask her, still laughing, "You hate Rudolph! We haven't even watched this since I was five because you hate it so much!"

Realizing I'm only partially watching her, she aims before socking my shoulder.

------------------------

There's something so wonderful for the ego about being the only one in the audience who gets the joke. The rest of the audience sat there confused as to whether they were supposed to laugh at the Jewish references and gags throughout For Your Consideration as I sat there laughing my ass off. Maybe they thought I was inconsiderate and mocking Purim?

In any case, it's still fun being the only one in on it. And heck, as much as I really liked the film, Rockland is seriously the wrong venue for this film. But maybe that's for the better...

------------------------

evitagenspace @ 2006-09-29T21:59:00

2006-09-30T02:04:51Z

Stolen from a couple different folks... Missus A and Missus C most recently... Possibly more I've forgotten...

Take My Quiz on
QuizYourFriends.com

evitagenspace @ 2006-09-11T01:13:00

2006-09-11T05:23:09Z

A young couple wander out of the local supermarket as I walk in their direction. They're fighting, from the sounds of it something they've been doing since they were inside the place. The dialogue seems limited: every other word he says is 'fuck' ("Fucking skank, stupid fucking fucker fucked up you lousy bitch!"), and every other word of hers is 'cock' ("Fucking cock-sucking cock-faced cock!"). Neither of them actually seems to have a specific argument, they're just a typical young couple as the modern day shows, eager to pick a fight.

As they reach their car they both stop, and embrace. The guy wraps his arms around the girl, cutting her off in mid-sentence and kissing her. The entire world seems to stop in this moment and all the noise they brought leaves only silence. They kiss for several moments before he finally pulls back, looking into her eyes.

"C'mon baby, it's okay. You knows you's daddy's favorite 'ho."

She smiles, and pulls back into the kiss, accepting his apology.

...

Just a romantic note to start your week off with, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you, and be sure to hug your pimp or ho' today.