For all people who have already seen LOTR: You suck. Hard.

And with that though, she decided it might be time to turn off the computer and go to bed. Whether or not she did remains to be seen...(It was eventually decided, though, that the likelihood of sleep in the near future was about as likely as that of her ceasing to speak about herself in third person.)

What's your FFT job class?

Yes, so, it's kinda late, and I just finished the oatmeal/craisin cookies, so now it's just the sugar cookies left, and, well, we all know what happens when I start to get tired, especially after a frustrating mun meeting that started off good but ended badly, and I just deleted an entry on porn because, no, really, I'M ON CRACK.

I always did like Time Mages. The hats! They're cute! And the robes! They're purple! And the girls had nifty bangs. The guys looked kinda dorky, but hey, that's their problem.

I think my theme song is Don't Bother None. The lyrics are probably somewhere in the archives, but...damn are they ever appropriate in places.

Readin' my paper in Ray's cafe
The ol' guy next to me is loud as day
Rambled and rambled while eatin' his pie
He dropped his wallet, now it's mine uh huh

Sorry old man but that's jus' the way that it is
Don't bother none
Won't help at all to worry 'bout it

Picked up the wallet and slipped out side
Walked around and walked around and walked around town
I found my nerve and a good place to hide
Only to find no cash inside uh-huh

Oh well I guess that's just the way that it is
Don't bother none
Won't help at all to worry 'bout it

I got thirsty so I went to a bar
Met a lil darlin' with the face of a star
In the mornin' woke up to find
She stole my car along with my heart uh-huh

Oh well I guess that's jus' the way that it is
Don't bother none
Won't help at all to worry 'bout it

Wish she'd give me back my heart uh-huh

Oh, well I guess that's jus' the way that it is
Don't bother none
Won't help at all to worry 'bout it

My philosophy, you see, is very simple.

When bad things happen, stop thinking. it all goes away eventually, so why bother?

college is making me sick. nauseous and ickly sick.

fuck it. i'm not getting in to bryn; you might ask how i know this and then chalk it up to me selling myself short; i would disagree, because there's a very logical reason for this. i am not getting in to bryn because i took standard history last year, and am taking no history this year.

at our admissions workshop, the application that we looked at that was rejected was rejected solely because the girl did not take a science class her senior year. that's a no-no for a liberal arts college.

at my interview, maureen specifically asked about my lack of a history class.

so, no dice. not getting in. don't want to go to college. it makes me sick. won't get into haverford, for the same reason. won't get into holyoke, either. nor wesleyan. (*now* i'm just being pessimistic. being honest about the sick part, though.)

Jen got into Swarthmore. Becky got into Bryn Mawr. Selena and Hallie got into Carleton. Emily got into Columbia. Sharri got into Cornell. Mike, Jamie, and Ronnie all got deferred from Georgetown. (I am sad, but not particularly surprised.)

I have cookies to bake, now. no one is getting any actual presents from me until after the holiday, you see. i have no money, having spent it all on pottery.

i still feel sick.

I really wanna write a dancer fic...mostly because my dancer skin keeps getting pulled on "Wishful Thinking". Final Fantasy Tactics is definitely one of the best inspirations for random names and even more random ficthwaps.

Due to the wonderfulness of the game, I think I've found a new webcomic to stalk. There are archers in drag. Beware. And a knight who looks like a badass cross between Vash and...uh...*blinkblink* Yeah. It is, in fact, ridiculously, hilariously slashy. Molotov Cocktail.

A working knowledge of the game would be in order to understand why it's so damn funny, but hey- if you don't know the game, you should. Because it's nifty. And because Ramza is just so darned cute in his paltry attempts to save the world. And because when they say evil, they mean evil. As in "Wow, they're really evil, look at that one stab his best friend, his girlfriend, his wife, and his countrymen in the back. And look at those ones try to kill your sister over and over again- oh, now they're just trying to revive the devil and take over the world. Evil." And because- well, it's just a really good game, awful translation notwithstanding. (By awful, we mean godawfulwhattheforkdidhejustsay?!) I'd have the same inclinations towards ficcing it that I do with VII, if it weren't for the ending...

Actually, you don't really need any knowledge of the game to find it amusing. Game knowsits just makes it even more amusing. ...licking batteries, indeed...

ow. my head hurts. think i'll go...sleep, for a while.

My ff7 muse has been running rampant inside my skull lately. I'm talkin' screaming and breaking chairs over everyone's head and biting thigs kind of rampant, mind you. My muses, they are not a peaceful lot. *glares at Paige*

But I've got the Turks in one corner getting drunk, while Lex and Vincent make a moody reunion, and Cid is playing with fire- and dragons. Rochelle just became Roselle, and some chicka named Sabatieni just appeared. Think she might be Vinny's brat. No clue. Love her name, though. I've come up with way too many original charas for this fandom, I really have.

'Tieni may be appearing elsewhere, though, just because I've decided I like her. Von's first girlfriend, maybe. ...or Ari'i's. Hm. (Yes, I *do* intend to write Song of Shadows! Just...not now.)

Oh, and, uh...in case y'all haven't noticed, veradicere is on hiatus indefinitely. So...the ending to boffo shan't be seeing the light of day for quite a while. A thousand apologies to everyone- I'm no happier about this than you are, I assure you.

I can give you a teaser, though!
------------
Tyler blinked, and took in the black ribbed turtleneck and khakis. "When did you have time to raid Bannana Republic?"

Jance looked sour and flicked one end of his striped scarf over his shoulder. He did not deign to reply.

Opal giggled. "You look like one of those singing Gap comercials!" She started singing, earning a delighted smile from her mother. "People all over the world-"

"Shut. Up," Jance finished the chorus for her.

"That's not how it goes!" Opal was giggling helplessly now, and if there was a slight note of hysteria to her laughter, no one had the heart to call her on it.

Tyler sniggered quietly. "Come on, everybody. Let's go inside..." He began to hum the chorus of the song. Opal and Radueriel joined in between giggles.

Jance sighed the sigh of the long suffering and pushed open the door.
------------------------------------

No, really, that actually happens. I'm serious. Jance is too easy to poke fun at, and it's too easy to picture him in khakis with one of those silly scarves.

"People all over the world, join hands..."

"Everybody do a spot and listen check."
"Fifteen."
"Thirteen."
"Whatever it is, I heard it- 27."
"...um...I hear crickets!"
"There are no crickets."
"Exactly."

"Thank you, Oh Mistress of the Obvious."
"Oh, anytime, Dogfish."

"What is that, the smallest die on the face of the planet?"
"No, this is."
"...*d'oi*"

"Listen check!"
"...more crickets."
"While she's listening to the noises echoing inside her empty skull, I hear whatever is coming down the hallway."

"Okay, you can do a search check."
"26. Whatever it is, i found it."
"18."
"...I found crickets!"
"But...oh, never mind."

"Suddenly the flaming green skull's eye sockets burst into purple flame-"
"Eew, that clashes!"
*silence*
"Thank you, Oh Clerical Fashion Consultant."
"Any time, Dogfish."

Fork. It's almost Christmas and I have not even begun my shopping.

I'm too tired to find any solace in napping, now- I just wake up looking bruised and abused and craving more restful oblivion.

The brother comes home for the express purpose of getting drunk with a few friends on Friday. Raise your hand if you're surprised. *sits on hands*

Regions auditions are Saturday. Someone shoot me so I have a valid excuse not to go.

Saturday night will involve gaming. "But I'll be clueless and whiny and largely useless!" "So you'll be a cleric, then?" "Yup." Huzzah.

Sunday, the applications will be finished or I will hurt myself.

If the Christmas Shoes song plays once more in my presence, I will hunt down the person responisible and eviscerate him. This sort of treacle should be illegal.

...I think that's it for the whinefest, for the moment. Why the hell do colleges make it so difficult to find their forkin' address on their websites? Why? Do they not want to receive mail and applications and such? Is it a test to see if we're dedicated enough to hunt it down? Is it a secret? *frustrated, tired* Meh. Sleeping now.

How on earth did it get to be December 11 all of a sudden? I don't believe it. *sniff* It's still really October, right? Right?
...*crickets chirp*

G'ah. Leave me be- I am comfortable in denial. It's much warmer than de Raritan, and...yes, I should be beaten severely for making that joke.

(I really ought to resist the urge to talk about music, but I can't help it...) I want to hate Avril Lavigne for singing "S8ter Boi" and "Complicated", but "I'm with you" almost makes up for it. Damn! I hate it when this happens. It's just a very nice, winter melancholy song, and part of me loves it 'cuz it's purdy, while part of me hates it 'cuz it's Avril Lavigne. A dillema...

So. Tired. Can't. Think. Must. Write. More...*thunk*

We apologize for the interruption. We are experiencing a few technical difficulties with the brain. We'll get back to you once the problem is corrected.

Oh- saw Brotherhood of the Wolf over the weekend. Had wanted to see it in theatres, now wish I had even more. That opening fight scene with the gypsies and the locals in the rain? Kickass.

Of course, after the Beast showed up, it all went rather campily downhill fairly swiftly. However, Mani, Fronsac and the googly eyed Marquis and the twisted, evil, (yet strangely alluring) rat bastard, wotsisname were all excellent characters. Even the girl was tolerable. Best parts of the movie? The fact that they spoke in French, of course. And the fight in the rain. When Fronsac went native of the thieves was pretty damn cool, too. The scene in the chapel, the scene in the brothel with the fortuneteller (I want her fan. No, really.) and the crazy dreams, the scene after the scene in the chapel. Not the fight in the chapel- or at least, not the duel. The rest of the fight was pretty good.

Gotta love a pointless and slightly silly occult action flik. It took itself just a little too seriously, though...except for the bit with the trout. :)

Also saw Treasure Planet. GO SEE TREASURE PLANET. NOW, MINIONS, NOW! Damn Disney and their evil, wonderful animation ways. Even the rather random Johnny Rzeznik musical interlude didn't detract from the overall movie (don't get me wrong, I like some of the GooGoo Dolls stuff- don't love it, but I like it. That song just didn't fit, though. It irritated me.) The horrible sacharine opening was a bit over the top, but otherwise it was great. And aside from the Rzeznik interlude, the rest of the soundtrack was all energetic and sea-shanty like, full of fiddles and harmonicas and other nifty things. Loved the music.

The animation was very pretty, though I had issues with the noses...eh. Otherwise, the CG and 2d stuff was reasonably seamless, 'cept for a few iffy spots, and when Disney animates a space pirate battle, they go all out. (Space pirates! Come on, how can you not love it?) Plotwise, it was all taken from Treasure Island, though Morphy definitely would've kicked any parrot's ass, hands down. Background-wise, it was pure fluff, but it was pretty fluff, and damn if the idea of those solar ships wasn't just nifty.

And hey, at one point a character says "Blast it Jim, I'm an astronomer, not a doctor!" at which point Bo and I burst into hysterical laughter. For a very long time. We were the only ones. *sad* So go see it, so you, too, can cackle like a hysterical old skool Trekker! (Not that I would actually qualify as such, sadly, but hey, we all have our hopes, dreams and ambitions...mine just happen to be a little bit closer to space than most.)

And Martin Short was the voice of BEN "A mind is a terrible thing to lose" the robot. GO NOW. SEE MOVIE.

"Oooh, he's a rebel."
"Yep, you can tell 'cuz of the hair."
"Right, 'cuz a ponytail, that's like, the serfs against the Romans, or the Boston Tea Party. Wow. What defiance!"

(Space pirates!)

Hot apple cider to keep me awake, left over cookies to keep me sane, "Walking in Memphis" to keep me company...looks like I'm just about ready to write this fucker! "Forced Disappearance of Persons" is our topic, and we'll be arguing that either governements have no right to kidnap those dissenting little voices, or that hells, they get what they deserve for trying to disrupt the natural order of things, the buggers.

I haven't yet decided which way I'll argue. I'm appalled that it happens, you see, and I would like nothing better than to go on a crusade and smack the leaders of Peru, China, Argentina, Korea, t/USA, and any others into submission and free all the shining unhappy people. But it would be so much easier to say that what a country does to its citizens is its own business, and if they need to shut up those nagging little voices that make up its conscience, who are we to stand in their way? The first idea requires thought and initiative and solutions; the second requires a nice cushion to stick under the ass while we sit and do nothing.

"Of course, it would be much easier to simply let these countries do whatever they want. But at the heart of this topic, even more so than the issue of individual rights being sacrificed for national rights, is the conflict between doing what is easy, and what is right."

Oh, sweet Goddess. Blog-surfing instead of working, and I come across some right-winger's blog, doing that social and current events commentary that so many people are so fond of doing...makes me want to rend something. Ugh. I feel unclean, and it's getting difficult to type. My fingers keep trying to curl into claws.

You see, some people can take the easy route for this paper *coughcougholivercoughcough* and not feel any qualms about it. I'm sure I could, as well, if I tried hard enough. But I would feel horribly dirty doing so. My ideals are my own, and no damned audition is going to make me give them up just for the sake of a spot at Ilmunc.

I do wonder, though, if my spot this year is as guarenteed as it was in previous years. Sometimes having "connections" is a mixed blessing.

Had winter concert today, by the way. Shall officially rename winter concert to "Vera Runs in Circles". I'm tired. See Vera. See Vera play violin. See Vera play clarinet. See Vera run from stage to band room to play clarinet for five minutes. See Vera run back to stage by way of choir room to grab violin. See Vera play violin. See Vera run. Run, Vera, Run! They're on stage already! See Vera change bowtie and cumerbund in record time. See Vera run, once again. See Vera be last on stage! Look at Vera wandering around on stage! See her grab stand and fall into chair. Oh, Vera! Now see her play clarinet- out of tune.

Oh well. At least it's the last winter concert ever. Never gonna have to run 'round like that again. *sigh*

Ignorance isn't bliss- it's fucking Nirvana.

My printer is out of ink. *scream*

I'm quite convinced that if I ever met someone exactly like me one of several things might happen: a) we'd hate each other b) we'd fall in love c) we'd stare at each other for a moment, and then pointedly ingore each other for the rest of our lives.

No in between. I've come to the rather uncomfortable conclusion that among the people that I know, I am unique, and despite what all those self esteem programs may have tried to convince me of, I don't really think I like it.

Pardon me, I'm sounding like a pompous ass...my apologies. I can't shake the feeling, though- some day I'm going to find someone I can feel comfortable whining at, so I won't have to keep whining at myself, quietly, in private. What's that you say? Don't I whine often enough here? Indeed. But that's all superficial...as most things are.

I'm being bitter again, aren't I? I apologise again. I'm also being cryptic, but I enjoy being cryptic to a rather frightening extent. (It would explain why I can't write anything with a simple, straightforward plot or backstory- it all has to be needlessly complicated...and I always have to be needlessly closemouthed.)

I'm just tired, that's all. It's late, relatively. And it's been a long day. A fairly good day, but long.

Nn. The backstory for that snippet was inspired by Trigun when I first started watching it...so it takes place in a desert, more or less. It's a western, sort of. Still debating whether or not Ev's a guy or a crossdressing girl. He was originally a guy- but then I decided he'd be a hell of a lot more amusing as a girl- but then again, he's still fairly batty as a guy.

The Bayonne reference just means he was born in an area notorious for the levels of nuclear radiation in the soil, air, and water- it's a prison colony, actually, but he won't say why his mother ended up there, or why he stayed so long. Regardless, he's really not a bad person...maybe a tad psychotic, but you can always chalk that up to a bad case of ADD (which I would swear he has, little crackhead that he is...) and certainly a bit rambunctious...the murder charges were either accidents or in self-defense. Ev's idea of self defense, however, involves 'shoot first, question later', so the courts don't much like him.

He's a nuisance, really. Harmless if you feed him, but he'll hang around forever like some kind of demented puppy if you do (and put bullet holes in all the pans if you don't).

The kid's an elf, raised to be an assassin- only he misplaced his target and is rather clueless and naive. His name's Blue Roses, and while it's a rather silly name, cookies go to whoever catches the reference, and it's a typical elf name. Elves are mutated creatures like the people from Bayonne- pointy ears, huge hands, dense skeletal structure, and antennae. Very tough, very intelligent, very pliable at a young age. The names are based on an obscure code from back when flowers actually grew in the desert.

The other main character is an ex cop named Samuel Dune, Ev's best friend and arch nemesis, all rolled into one. Dune's rather ruthlessly practical, and never had much patience for Ev's antics...they're complete opposites, really. Highly amusing when they're in the same room and armed with enough fire power to decimate a small city. (The two things they have in common are a loathing of shiitake mushrooms and a love of guns.)

It doesn't have a real name...but the working titled would be Black Heart. 'Cuz Ev's cool like that. He's got a goatee (unless he's a girl). And cornrows. And he looks damn silly, but that's okay, 'cuz he's Ev. (Dune calls him a braided idiot, almost a la Heero of GW, only not. "Your hair's screwin' with your head, Ev. Loosen your braids for a sec and think for once, y'moron.")

Ev's hand closed over the man's wrist, seemingly gently- until the bouncer's face turned red and his lips turned white as Ev gradually applied greater pressure. "The kid was just looking for a bite to eat. No crime in that, is there?"

"Bayonne scum," the man spat. "Elf loving filth!" Ev's smile broadened.

"Now, now, just because I don't like having my drink interrupted," he gave the man's wrist a vicious twist, "doesn't give you the right to call names. So why don't you just sit back down, and leave me in peace, eh?"

In response, the man spat in his face. Ev sighed and pulled a frilly handkerchief out of his pocket with his free hand, and wiped the glob of spittle from his cheek. "Now that, my friend, was a bad idea." He smiled cheerfully and twisted the man's wrist again, dealing him a swift kick to the groin while doing so. The brawler went down, and the bar errupted.

Ev grinned and tossed the kid over his shoulder, unsurprised that the blue haired little freak weighed more than he looked. A gleaming black pistol appeared in his free hand as he leapt across the tables, avoiding bullets and cutlery. The a bullet whizzed by one ear, and the kid whimpered quietly. A boot to the face put one snarling thug out of his misery; Ev pistol whipped anyone in range, not really wanting to kill anyone. The brawler with the broken wrist staggered to his feet, murder evident in every ragged inch of him. Ev reconsidered. Sometimes it was best to do society a favor- and his bullets would be untraceable in the free for all he'd started.

The man went down in a satisfying gout of blood; Ev ducked a thrown chair and high tailed it out the window. With any luck, it would be hours before anyone came looking for him- he'd be checked out of his motel and on his way down the highway before anyone even thought to connect the fight with him. He resettled his hat on his head and set off down a back alley at an easy, ground eating lope. The kid whimpered again, and Ev could feel wetness spreading across his shoulder. He eased his stride a little; no point in sending the boy into shock.

"You didn't get clipped there, didja?"

"...Yes."

"Aw, hells. Don't worry, kid- I'll patch you up when we get back to my place. But we gotta be outta here by evenin', or they'll be after your hide."

"What about you?" The boy had a feathery, fluting voice- it reminded Ev of the grass cats around Bayonne. The brawler in the bar had marked him well- Ev was a Bayonne brat, born and bred and mutated.

"Shit, kid, they're already after my skin. Don't you know who I am?"

"Er...no."

"You've just had the honor of bein' rescued by none other than the one, the only, Evlas Heart- The Black Heart. They've got a bounty on me worth a rentboy in Ravagad and then some. Wanted for murder, arson, and in general makin' a nuisance of myself to the law- you can call me Ev."

"That's nice, Ev. Never heard of you. Thanks, though..." Ev snorted as the kid fainted from bloodloss and shock. Just his luck to get landed with the only person planetside who didn't have a clue who he was. And here I thought my reputation preceded me wherever I went...

Screw destiny. I'll do whatever the fuck I want, and if whatever aspect of fate has decided to wrap her claws around my life doesn't quit it with the nudging I swear I'll find some way to strangle the bitch. Yes, I am fine, and no I am not explaining myself. Piss off.

Also, I have made Adobe and all its products my mortal enemy. They will suffer, and then die a horrible death involving beeswax and broken sporks.

...
...
When trying to print out her application materials, she suddenly realized that there was no black ink. As if to add insult to injury, the printer claimed that the document could not be printed. For a moment, there was a terrible silence. Multitudes of small animals were seen fleeing the area around her home, and small children suddenly sat up in bed, cowering with fear. People were seen running, screaming "Duck and cover" ten miles away, for such was the extent of her raging.

*doublesigh* Don't know what happened to my copy of A Christmas Attic...and I could really use some high holy battle music to listen to.

What? Come on now, don't tell me the first thing "Christmas Eve Sarajevo" makes you think of isn't some war on a grand scale, all the forces of heaven and hell duking it out over a stable with fire, brimstone, and flying feathers. The works, you know- Michael and his sword, Gabriel with his trumpet, The Metatron's voice roaring out over it all, while creatures beyond nightmares slink and scowl and leap and attack- that sort of thing. Visual association- it's all black and white, red and shining gold, and burning stars.

I love this song. I'm no big fan of Christmas music normally, mind you- too saccharine sweet, makes my teeth rot. The Trans-Siberian Orchestra doesn't add much sweetener to their music...which pleases me greatly. "Christmas Eve Sarajevo" and the BNL/Sarah MacLachlan version of "We Three Kings"/"Merry Gentlemen" are really all that I can stand without flinching. Y'know, during their off season, they're called Psychic Fusion? Or so I've heard, at any rate. And that's just fair nifty, y'know? What I wouldn't give to see 'em live...

I've decided to throw in with the rest of 'em- I'm not going to college, I'm going to play a kazoo in a garage band, and tour the world. We'll call ourselves "We Don't Need No College, Yo" and we'll be an international success.

waaaauuuuuuugggghhhh.

...
fucking hormones. I hate being a girl sometimes.

...*sigh* my head hurts...

I've found places to download sheet music from. Be afraid. Be very afraid. Because I can now play the opening theme to Crono Cross on my violin. Hmwahaha! And I'm teaching myself to play the piano, because I've got the music to the Wild Arms opening theme, my favoritist opening theme ever, even more so than the tinkly harp opener to FF4. (Which I can also download the music to, by the way.) Yay for sheet music!

*excerpt from me playing piano*
"And then you go there and that finger goes there and we all press the keys at the same time and it sounds like that, and then we do it all over again in another measure and- no! Left hand does this! Stop that! Bad hand! ...What the hell is that note? *turns paper upside down* ...Oh. It was a C. I apologize, left hand. Right. Where was I?"

It's not going all that great...but I can play the first page! and I can play the top line and bottom line when they're separate...just not both hands at the same time, unless I'm playing it very, very slowly. As in, 56 beats per hour, slowly. *_* If humans only had one hand, I wouldn't be having this problem...:)

Ugh. Isn't it horrible that you never notice how badly you've been grinding your teeth until you try to chew on something? And also: cold as in left on the counter dumplings are just fine, but cold as in refridgerated ones are two and a half kinds of disgusting.

Jeez, I haven't had such a free weekend since the summer- four days off, nothing to do but laze and occasionally think about college, and I have tonight off! Nothing to do, don't need to go to sleep- I'm watching YYH, come hell or high water. Bwahaha!

Am I the only one who's deeply disturbed by FFX2? Is there no one else who finds Yuna's makeover horribly traumatizing? I mean, damn it! It looks like they took the original Yuna and crossbred her with Lulu and Rikku and Dona to make some sort of...I don't even know. The only plot-device-female that I liked, of all eight of the games that I've seen, and now they've turned her into...gah. The skirt! Why the skirt?! It's just so wrong...

Okay...so there was something wrong with the template. Fine. But was it really necessary for me to resort to this...this...blah. *kicks blogger* grr. The change is only temporary, kiddies...dun worry.

In other news, I have finished my college essays. All I need now are my writing samples (and, okay fine, one more essay really, but who's counting? I'm not.) and then I'll be done. Once I fill out the nitpicky stuff. *sigh* Yayness...

.

are we working now, oh bitchy blogger?

dammit blogger!

shtoopid blogger. *sigh*

Oh. Snow days? They rock. Man, do they ever rock. So do major Muslim holidays. Why? because I have yet another four day weekend.

God(s/dess) bless the public school system. And the snow.

Hey, look, winamp wants me to write fanfiction for obscure games from the early/mid '90s! It pulled Setzer (that's Setzer, not Lorraine, doofus, and I can't believe no one catches the reference, it makes me feel like such a middle skool dork...not even old skool *sniffle*) on Blue...and if that doesn't feel like it's asking for a fic, I don't know what is.

Sorry winamp. I don't do fanfic. It never goes well. (Meaning that I can't write other people's characters. I can barely write my own and keep them in character. *_* Then again, if I didn't ignore my stories for several months on end, I might have an easier time of it...)

Oh, KE, the song is called "Knockin' on Heaven's Door" sung by Mai Yamane from the Cowboy Bebop Movie of the same name...you can try to download it from Morpheus, or you can find it in the music section at The Jazz Messengers (my new favorite site) under the downloads section in the music library. Scroll allaway down. It's a sort of bluesy jazz-ish thing and Mai Yamane sounds like she was gargling gravel prior to singing...but she always sounds like that. (Gravel or no, I still want her voice. Or Aoi Tada's voice. Maybe Steve Conte's, but only to keep in a box. I'd be rather silly, singing with Steve Conte's voice, now wouldn't I? I'd sound rather silly with Mai Yamane's voice too, come to think of it...)

Hope the psych paper didn't cause your head to explode...that would be messy, and it would make me very sad. ;_; No exploding heads allowed. I'll inflict an excess of very random smilies on you. ~..~ (squinty) o| (cyclops with a monocle) >:?| (large nose)

Oh, come on- I think I'd look kinda nifty with spikey green hair. No tank top with tie, though. *cough* Really now, I'm not *that* far gone...However, if my hair should decide to turn green at any point, any persons found coming near me with red hair ties, hair bands, or other hair accessories in a scarlet hue shall be sacked. (My hair is sentient, you see. Thus, it would not be my decision. *grin*)

...the persons responsible for sacking said persons shall then be sacked. And then those persons, too, shall be sacked. Because I said so.

My melodrama is getting better; the doctors said the swelling should go down by the end of the holidays. :) No, really.

doodoododoo...I downloaded "If You Could Only See" by Tonic, and got some strange not-quite acoustic version. *sigh* Dun know why I downloaded that particular song...while I normally consider myself to be a more auditory oriented person, I'm leaning more towards being a visual person, lately. Rather than working on the stupid nano thing, I drew a cover for it. I rather like it, but since my scanner is a piece of junk right now, it'll stay in my math notebook. I do have a difficult time visualizing people and places, and I can't recognizes faces at all (wouldn't recognize my parents if I didn't see 'em ...almost every day- and there was a very long period of time during which I wouldn't recognize myself in a mirror immediately- I had no concept of what my own face looked like) but when I'm writing or listening to music or what-have-you, I visualize things.

I think it would be utterly kick-ass cool to be an animator or a movie director, because then I could let other people see the images in my head...I'd love to be able to do that. Music is a slightly different creature...when I hear music, I see it, too- shapes and colors and vague implications of form and texture, and occasional images. I usually have to concentrate on the music to see it, and even then, it's more of an image association thing- I say cow, you say the first thing that pops into your head- I hear "No Such Thing", I see gray boxes and warm dark gold walls. That's a really bad way to describe the actual images, but again...you can't always do with words what you can with images.

Not too sure why I went off on this particular tangent...I fell a little silly now. Listening to "Bloody Sunday", and the colors are red and gray...with a touch of the back of the conference room on the second floor of the Regency Hyatt in New Brunswick. *coughcough* Not that that particular image has much to do with anything, of course...

No, but I'm serious about the hair. (I also wanna dye it green, but that's Spike's fault. Ignore that urge, still paying attention to the snip-snip-hack one...)

How's this for random- I'm feeling an inexplicable urge to cut my own hair. Just a hack-hack-snip-hack sort of urge...something short and spikey and disturbing. *toothy grin*

Definitely shouldn't listen to "Knock a Little Harder" when feeling dangerously moody...slinking in the shadows, but they're too bright to hide me this time. *toothier grin* Just a little bit primitive, a little bit savage, a little bit deadly...

Happiness is just a word to me
And it might have meant a thing or two
If I'd known the difference

Emptiness, a lonely parody
And my life, another smokin' gun
A sign of my indifference

Always keepin' safe inside
Where no one ever had a chance
To penetrate a break in

Let me tell you some have tried
But I would slam the door so tight
That they could never get in

Kept my cool under lock and key
And I never shed a tear
Another sign of my condidtion

Fear of love or bitter vanity
That kept me on the run
The main events at my confession

I kept a chain upon my door
That would shake the shame of Cain
Into a blind submission

The burning ghost without a name
Was calling all the same
But just I wouldn't listen

The longer I'd stall
The further I'd crawl
The further I'd crawl
The harder I'd fall
I was crawlin' into the fire

The more that I saw
The further I'd fall
The further I'd fall
The lower I'd crawl
I kept fallin' into the fire
Into the fire
Into the fire Suddenly it occurred to me
The reason for the run and hide
Had totaled my existence

Everything left on the other side
Could never be much worse that this
But could I go the distance

I faced the door and all my shame
Tearin' off each piece of chain
Until they all were broken

But no matter how I tried
The other side was locked so tight
The door it wouldn't open

Gave it all that I got
And started to knock
Shouted for someone
To open the lock
I just gotta get through the door

And the more that I knocked
The hotter I got
The hotter I got
The harder I'd knock
I just gotta break through the door

Gotta knock a little harder
Gotta knock a little harder
Gotta knock a little harder
Break through the door

Having finally found a good place with bebop fanstuff, my obsession with the series has grown threefold.

*sigh* I want a wacom...

And it seems that the season is getting to me- else I wouldn't have done a welcome song for calling the four directions. There's something about Yule, and winter...love it. Love the winter, love the darkness, love the way the only green things left are the pine trees and the holly bushes and the ivy crawling all along the fence...love the way the stars creep into familiar patterns when I look up (Orion marching across the sky, doing battle with the gods) and the way the air turns to glass.

Of course, it's damn depressing, too...another year over, come to an end, another year wasted, another year full of unfinished projects and broken promises and forgotten phone calls and misplaced emotions- chalk it all up to seasonal moodiness, and pour yourself another drink. This one's on me, boys...here's to December.

Oh! Ye children of Wind, from far off sunset lands, come play awhile at my hearth.
The night is yet young, the fire is still bright
and we can laugh and sing long into the night
Come keep me company at my hearth.

Oh! Ye children of Fire, from bright southern walks, come stay awhile at my hearth
Our celebration begins with free flowing wine
And there will be revels and dancing fine
Come join us at my hearth

Oh! Ye children of Water, from sunset seas, come rest awhile at my hearth
The sky grows dark and the shadows long
To stop for the night would not be wrong
Please, put up your feet at my hearth

Oh! Ye children of Earth, from cold windy climes, come visit awhile at my hearth.
The fire is warm, the food is good
There's a place at my table, if you would
Come share the bounty of my hearth.

slightly editted to be somewhat more amusing...

"If you feel like a fish, have the fish. If you feel like a moo cow, have the broil. If you feel like a bird, you're shit out of luck."
"I wonder...could I make some sort of moo-fish-duken?"
"Eeew."
"Fish stuffed cow!"
"Would it go gargle gargle moo, then?"
"Fish don't gargle!"
"If you stuff them in a cow they might!"
"Hmm...But which stomach would I stuff it in?"
"Too much to think about. I'd just eat pie."

"You call bringing portents of DOOM!"
"What kind of doom? Pink and fluffy doom?"
"Doesn't sound very doom like..."
"Scares the shit out of me."

a;oieghvcvghcdyega;rodghaiohgiahg

a;owieyg
;oghi
owhngvowcdvnwszoegh


....that about covers it. ;)

Ohhwhoah, sweet child 'o mine...

Y'know what sucks? No, I don't suppose you do. That's okay. I don't think I'll tell you.

On a side note, I really, really wish I had a proper internet connection. It brings me to tears, watching other people download mp3s in six seconds- on a slow day.

That's not what I came here to say, of course. I can't exactly remember what it was...hmm.

I had a good time today, though. Not that you'll ever read this, but I did. Naturally, this makes me somewhat...melancholy? Like the playlist? Oi...*giggle*

Happy December, all. College sucks. No, really. I'm going to have to apply to Rutgers in secret, to hide my shame. *weeps*

Like they all won't notice if I show up next year, wandering the streets of New Brunswick like some little lost child (like, nothing- I'll be a little lost child). I can just hear the snickering, now. "So much for getting out of New Jersey, eh? Too bad about the college thing, you know."

Yadda yadda, blah blah blah. *snort* I'll get these damn things done if it kills me, I swear.

...of course, if they kill me, the whole college thing will be quite moot, won't it? Hmm...

We interrupt this bout of cryptic whining for this important message:

D'OH!

It doesn't get any easier, you know.

Nor does it ever make any more sense.

And we can try to apologize

Until we finally realize

That it doesn't matter which way we go.

It doesn't matter how hard we try

Or how many times we ask

For forgiveness.

It's impossible to put these things in the past

Impossible to discern truth from lie

and in the end, there is

No forgiveness.

I would say I'm sorry, but I've forgotten how.

It never makes any more sense.

"Look on the bright side. At least you haven't started using crayons and coloring books again."
"Well, true, but only because I never actually stopped."
-Tybalt and Skids, Boy Meets Boy

I think I feel better now.

Why is it that whenever I try to write something that's bouncing around in my head, it comes out wrong? I wanted to put in something silly for that thing- something along the lines of "And then I tried to slit my wrists with a Lady Bic like that girl in Empire Records. Couldn't even get that right."

*sigh* What, morbid? Me? Naw, shucks, Ah'm a-just a leetle tired, is all.

Cold pricklies, or what-have-you. That sort of thing.

You know, I never really wanted to be Thumbody. The very thought was always a little bit creepy, to me.

*introduces head to wall* This is the sort of thing that we try to discourage, children. Now, for fuck's sake, be happy. What am I paying myself for?

Right. I'm not. That might explain it.*

Gaaaaaaaahhh.

*They say you can't buy happiness- I guess I'll have to rent it! (...hire somebody to chew my food, what can I say? Waaaahhh, this is the life! ...) (Quick, name the reference, I'll give you a cookie! ...only I won't. But I would've! ...only I wouldn'tve. Aw, fergit it.)

"What do you want me to do?" Blood on the glass- messy, streaky stuff, all lurid and red. Blood on the tiles, on the carpet- red, red, dripping, seeping. "I mean, damn it- what can I do?" Hands beat against the glass, useless, futile. Dim eyes stare back. "You're bleeding all over everything- and I can't touch you. Why am I even here?"

No answer.

"Why? God damn it, what more do you want from me? I can't save you- I never could. I can only do so much, I can only keep so little for myself- how can you expect me to help you this time?" Hands bruised, aching. A cut under a fingernail bleeds. "I can't help you- I have to worry about everyone else. I can't do anything for them, either. All I can do is love them, and worry- and I love too much, and worry even more. You're the only one who ever wondered what I was supposed to do. None of the others ever cared. How am I supposed to save you, this time? I don't know how. I don't know if I want to."

Knowing looks, from half shut eyes. Blood lapping at the walls, hungry, seething.

"You should have just stayed away! You should never have said anything- I wouldn't have come, if you hadn't said something. You knew I couldn't help. You knew it! You just wanted me to see you here, to keep you company...you wanted me to watch you bleed to death. Why?" Window panes fogging beneath desperate breath.

No answer.

"Fuck it, the least you could do is tell me why! Do you want to make me hurt even more? I can't spare the time or the energy to watch you die! I can't! You know I can't. Why are you doing this to me- I have to help the others. They need me so much more than you ever did. I don't know how to help them, but I'll be there for them, anything they ask. I was there for you, too. I'm here for you now. Why are you doing this to me?"

You didn't have a choice this time, said the reflection. You didn't have a choice. Voices echoing in the blank white room- white and scarlet, blood and tile and mirrors. So many mirrors. No choice, this time. Voices still echoed, blood sped in slow motion across the floor.

Only one voice. One reflection.

No choice, this time.

*cough* Model UN depresses me. That's beside the point, though.

I feel like babbling, but have nothing to say...I did a bit of free association, and like most things, it sort of boiled down into a long whine fest about how everything was better in the past. *snark*

Very tired. Will be baking cookies today, with girl scouts. No KE or Kathy, therefore no sillyness or fun. Fork.

I am at RUMUN, raiding the resource room with a rowdy riot of RUMUN delegates...namely, the Kakmaster, O-Hak-zee, Billy, and The Emilyist.

Committee (still can't spell it) was carp. Now, though, t'ings are looking up. Way up. No Orphan Sporks, instead we have Deep Trouble...Kak is trying to convince me to stay in NJ for college.

Mindless and babbling now...so will go and giggle profusely.

So, Model UN is today, and I'm in the process of printing out all my "research" in preparation...I really don't want to go to RUMUN, to tell the truth; I have too much work to do, and too many other things to think about, and I'm too annoyed with most of the people in the club right now to want to deal with them. *sigh* I don't even know the freshmen on my committee; it's annoying. I will make the best of it, though. I'll deal. I'll harass Kak and Oliver. Possibly Kurt and Neelish. I will encourage Danielle to harass Franco. (I'll encourage the whole damn conference to harass Franco; it shouldn't be legal for one person to be that adorable.) I'll be a bitch in commitee (and damn it if I can't figure out how to spell that word) and I'll draw disturbing pictures to go with the disturbing free though monologues that i'll write on the back of my conference guide.

A typical day, more or less. *sigh* Wish me luck, eh? Gonna need it to survive this one.

tired of enetation being stupid. haloscan likes me. (or does it?)

Blogger, you are a bitch. You aren't supposed to be a bitch, unless you are my bitch. Grr.

Nickel Creek is tourning with John Mayer right now! *whines* Wanna go wanna go wanna go! *sulk* boo hiss. Who needs school and Mun, anyway?

Had my first experience with a migraine today. I don't recommend them to anyone else- except maybe the people that I really don't like. *innocent smile*

I was just sitting in creative writing, minding my own business, eating lunch as I am wont to do during creative writing, when suddenly my vision goes- everything just turned into a sparkly blur. The only thing I can liken it to is the snow on your tv set- black and white speckles everywhere. It reminded me of when I was going off Paxil, actually; Broan has been encouraging us to write nonfiction, so I discussed that in my journal, while the page blurred and shifted in front of my eyes.

Eventually, I gave up and put my head down- my eyes started tearing (they still are, slightly) rather badly, but after that my vision was more or less normal. It just felt like someone had accidentally left a large blunt object embedded in my skull- and by the end of class, it felt like my blind spots were growing. Lunch was something of a minor hell- I do not cry unless severely upset, and pain rarely bothers me enough to make me tear. I was on the verge of sobbing, in school no less. Haven't done that since Paxil, either.

I think I was seriously worrying two thirds of my lunch table. The remaining third had other things to worry about, so I'll forgive him for not noticing the fact that I was in too much pain to keep my eyes open without tearing. I went to the nurse after that; mom was still at work, thankfully- she hadn't gone out yet. I got to go home early- went straight to bed and panicked for a little while, before finally falling asleep.

I'm fine now, more or less. I ache a little, and my eyes are burning (should go to bed now, ne?), but otherwise I'm fine. 'Twas frightening, though, to suddenly go virtually blind and then have such an intense pain across my right temple and the bridge of my nose that I could barely speak straight. Classic migraine symptoms, the father says.

Like I said, I don't particularly recommend them.

More music related posts, I know you're thrilled...

Went and saw Nickel Creek last night with KE- absofeckin'luely awesome. As in, I am filled with awe. Two and a half hours of music, two encores, banter and mocking of Princeton, and Chris Thile on an electric mandolin. Let me repeat that last one: Chris Thile on an electric mandolin.

I swear, he was going to twitch himself in two directions at once and fall apart on stage. "Energetic" doesn't quite describe him; "spastic", maybe, or "on crack" would be better- and come on, how many of you have heard someone play an electric mandolin? Absolutely amazing.

And Sarah Watkins on fiddle- I want to be her when I grow up. (Never mind that she's only a few years older than me- hushup.) Her brother, too- Sean, on guitar- *drooling*. So. Much. Talent.

And they bantered, and it was hilarious, and wonderful, and I really don't have the words to describe the utterly ecstatic glee I was experiencing during the whole thing. So. Feckin'. Awesome. (New word, sorry.)

It's not enough that they played In the House of Tom Bombadil and started dueling on stage (Sarah and Chris, with his nose in the air, dancing in circles- *g'aaaahh!*), or that they played Reasons Why in the first five songs or that they played a song about "As Good as it Gets", which just happens to be one of my favorite movies ever (And Chris gave it a disclaimer, first! It was cute! And silly! And bizarrely twisted and cool!), but they played a cover of "Don't Dream It's Over".

Random and obscure fact: I had to go to Norway to find Crowded House's first album. That song has been my favorite song since I was five, and I can't even explain all the many, many reasons why. Suffice to say that hearing that song makes me indescribably happy- and here we are at this bluegrass/pop concert, having heard songs about manic depressive lighthouses and women who leave their husbands to sail away only to have the ship sink, and then suddenly, after a bunch of people in the audience scream "You're a decomposing whale!" (seriously, that's what it sounded like), and after Sarah made a random comment about someone named Glen, they started playing that song. My song.

Yes, I squeaked. Loudly. As in, whole-theatre-mostly-quiet-except-for-the-squeaky-girl-in-the-balcony loudly. (We had kick ass seats. First row balcony kind of kick ass.) I was just- shocked. And so very, very happy. I mean, who would have thought I'd be hearing this obscure hit from 1986 at a Nickel Creek concert? I'm still giggle-happy over it, even now, a whole day later.

*squeals* Awesome! I don't even know half of the things they played- but dad bought Chris and Sean's solo albums, which is very, very cool. Must make copies and such to distribute to the masses! *cackle* Or, just KE. Whichever, you know. :)

(Ach, highly random and vaguely disturbing- Krista knew about Nickel Creek, but Krista is a crazy talented folk singer anyway, so naturally she would know about Nickel Creek. But the only other person below the age of 50 that I know who knew about NC before I introduced it to them...is Glen. *bangs head against wall* Why, fate, must you be so random and cruel?! Eh, well. *glee*)

Website is here. (Yes, I was wrong, they're a lot older than I thought they were, and Sean is older than Sarah...blah blah blah, yadda yadda- they're still ridiculously talented. And Chris' sideburns amuse me almost as much as his twitching did. :D)

They were just so very cool. *dies of happiness* *sigh* Joy...

DAYLIGHT!!!!!!!

*dies of happiness*

It's like...it's like...*dies again*
Okay, it's like a moody poprock album, only better. Gad, I love Duncan Sheik. (I got it on sale and with a discount! *joyjoyjoy*) He's not doing any of the crazy super baritone or insane falsetto shiz in this album, but each song is so full of...energy, and it's something completely different from his first album (oh, so many years ago), but it's just really, really good. I'm not being coherent. I'm too happy.

Today has been a day of musical notes. Mmm, music. *sigh*

I have also realized now that nearly every post made today has reached a level of crack rabbitiness not seen in many a day in this blog. This pleases me. Just remember, children: when I get out the italics, it's all over- just go home.

"Gotta Knock a Little Harder"?

Awesome song. Feckin' awesome.

(Side note: Dawn Upshaw, she is a DIVA! Not only that, she is a DIVA while washing her bathroom floors. You know you love that chlorox sexiness, un huh. Ignore me, no, really. I want a giant, life sized version of the painting that is on the cover of her Bach/Purcel medly CD- "Wounded Angel". Creepy. When she sings "There Won't be Trumpets", my back goes all tingly- wings, you know. Gonna sprout wings some day...)

backarching screaming crying weep oh, lost children weep; blackness in the sky blackness in your heart let me be let me free bacharching fistspounding hear me sing oh lord, oh lord hear me now- ash to ash is all i'm diggin', don't let me fall, oh lord let me fly let me sing let me fly, tear me apart and let me fly...

I want Mai Yamane's voice. Want it bad. *shiver*

Naturally, I'll use a pen name when/if I write a book...but should I use Cecilia Navarre, or Vera Elfman? Or something else altogether? V. A. McGuinness looks too...Tolkienesque. *snort*

I need to get me a fedora.

Nearly done with the ff4 winamp skin that I've been working on- I'm only making skins for version 2.0 to 2.9, mind you- I'm not touching any of that 3.0 newfangled stuff. I've now got access to screenshots of Bebop from episode 16, so I'll finally be able to do that Jet skin I've always wanted. Mmm, Jet. He just looks so damn cool in those flashback scenes...

Perhaps I'll do a skin from Pierrot le Fou, as well; oddly enough, it's the only episode other than Hard Luck Woman that made me want to cry...(The Real Folk Blues inspired silence, not tears; I love this series.)

It's actually kind of funny; Bebop isn't an original series at all. It references and rips plots all over the place; all the sessions are named after songs or movies, the plots are right out of old Westerns, for the most part (those that aren't take offs on things like Spike Lee movies and Batman: TAS) but it puts a nice new spin on everything...Space Westerns!

*sigh* Have downloaded Blue, at last. K-chan's right (though he'd kill me if he caught me calling him that...;) it is a wonderful song...

"What happened here?!"

"There was a pregnant silence, but it miscarried and lost the baby. Tragic thing- we're still in shock."

Yeah, I guess I'm back for the time being. Feelin' the need to whine.

Life update (since y'all care so very much): some time ago, 'round the end of October, something happened. (Way to go with the vagueness, ne?) I didn't think much of it, until it happened again, a few days later. Doctor's appointment was scheduled. Was poked, prodded, and clinically 'examined' and was told that there didn't seem to be anything wrong with me. Had blood sample taken. Discovered intense, trembling-tears-running-down-face-staring-at-ceiling-oh-god-get-it-over-with fear of needles. (Ironic, since the blood drive was yesterday, and it is now no longer necessary to have a parental consent form for seventeen year olds. I did not donate. I'm a horrible person, I know, but having a nervous breakdown in school was not on my list of happy things yesterday.) Had another appointment set up with a specialist. Thing happened a total of three more times, in the course of a week and a half. (That's five total, if you were keeping track.)

Saw specialist yesterday. Poking and prodding was, thankfully, kept to a minimum. Blood pressure still ridiculously good (betcha it won't stay that way when I'm thirty...), have gained four pounds since first appointment, less than two weeks ago. This was immediately after eating the better part of a box and a half of girl scout cookies, mind. Was told that I probably wasn't dying, so should stop painting face with ashes. No, really. *rolls eyes* Was actually told that the one episode probably wasn't serious, but if it happened again, they'd have to do serious poking and prodding, most likely accompanied by sedation and a hospital bed. Unless, of course, I wanted to endure that now. The vote was a unanimous 'no'. (Mind, were the circumstances different, I might have said yes. Maybe. Doubtful.)

Am now keeping fingers permanently crossed that it will not happen again. There are some things that I just don't want to deal with.

Further life updates: I am a Latin geek. I've moved out of dorkdom and into the realm of geekiness. I am gradually coming to accept this fact...it amuses me greatly, actually. I have also decided that if a friend ever tells me not to read something, I will respect that. Minor revelation. I will suffer the bane of my eternal curiosity quietly, but I will respect the fact that I probably don't want to know, anyway.

The current depression is most likely an early attack of the hormones, set off by the fact that dad is in Vegas and mom is in NYC and I'm at home with my computer. That, however, is a minor rant for a less public forum...and I'm not in the mood to write in my Scribble. I am fine. I should take a nap. I might.

In other news, I'm suffering from a very minor, very silly (as in, "I'm marrying Kenneth Brannaugh" kind of silly) crush on my creative writing teacher. All because of The Great Gatsby, naturally. And kickball. But speaking of Kenneth Brannaugh (I'm sure I'm spelling that wrong), Harry Potter is out today! (Why yes, my alter ego is Captain Obvious! How clever of you to see through my disguise!) And the very short clip of the wizard duel that they show in the ads on tv shows just the barest, most scintillating glimpse of not only our favorite over-acting Shakespearian god, but also of the one, the only, the deliciously eeeveeel Alan Rickman, wearing those sexy sexy robes.

Not a word out of any of you. My propensity for crushing on aging British actors is not subject to criticism. (Now, if only Ian McKellan weren't gay...kidding! kidding! Though if he were about eight years younger...)

Non sequitur- I've been saying many very stupid, very rash things lately. I'm to be ignored every time I open my mouth, especially if I've been caught sketching twisted looking people with things sprouting out of their backs. I may take up doing literary collages- I do wish I had a working scanner, if only because it was so very, very disturbing. Pretty, in an Edvard Munch meets Americanism meets Yoshitaka Amano, but nowhere near as cool or talented as such a mixing would be. (This is where I pretend to know what I'm talking about, by the way. I don't, really. The picture was fairly crappy, but there was something about it that I liked. And it was disturbing, unless you really read the words very carefully. Then it was still disturbing, but at least it wasn't about me anymore. Unless I was talking to myself, which I wasn't.)

Finally watched Masters of the Universe. Prince Adam amuses me. So does Skeletor, but not nearly as much. *nostalgic sigh* Why, I remember, back in the day- way back in the day, mind you- wishing I were She-Ra. Come on, what girl didn't? Oh, right. More or less all of them. Still. It would pester the boys horribly, having to put up with my whining until the parents rented She-Ra episodes from the video store- but never nearly as much as when I wanted to rent My Little Pony videos. *evil laugh*

Aw, damn. I still can't believe all my old My Little Pony dolls were thrown out. *sigh* And now I'm depressed again. Rarrg.

Too cold to get up and find something to munch on, though...but perhaps I can rouse my carcass enough to put the kettle on for tea. That's tea, not tea, mind you. *grin* Oh, I'm so cheesy sometimes. And that was horribly obscure and pointless.

This whole thing was, actually, but hey, it's been a while.

Sure sign that I am depressed (I'm making a habit of this- the feeling depressed, that is. Seriously considering proper medication, or at the very least, Midol. *sigh*):

When I give my remaining half of a pumpernickel-rye bagel an appraising look, and dive into the back of the refridgerator, going straight for the fancy mustard. That's right, Grey Poupon Dijon Country Style, baby. Slather, eat, repeat. Add Vanilla Coke for maximum sulking potential.

When I manage to eat a box and a half of girl scout cookies over a twenty-four hour span of time, it is also safe to assume that I am laboring under a somewhat subpar state of mood, as well.

Home alone, home alone-
I was so looking forward to today
But that was yesterday
And now I'm not so glad
Not so glad anymore...

Okay, now look, all of you. I am fine. (I think.) I am not on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I'm not even particularly stressed at this moment in time. I mean it. I'm okay.

But (and there's always a but) I just don't have time for this right now.

So, I will most certainly be updating the nano journal, and maybe I'll get around to installing comments there so you can tell me what you think of the crack rabbits, but I won't be updating this, or my scribble, for a while.

How long is a while? I don't know. It could be a month. It could be two months. It could the three and a half days.

This is just to let you know that you shouldn't expect much out of me for a while.

I repeat, I am fine. I'm just tired, and busy, and I don't have time for this at the moment. I'll be back, I promise.

That's all.

Blogging in school! *giggles and falls over* The library computers don't seem to be quite as restricted as the other ones...so here I am, blogging away. I should be working on the damned novel, but for the moment I'll stick to this. The novelty of doing this in school hasn't yet worn off. Maybe it never will.

Of course, there are other people here, and it's not half as private as the computer lab at BMC felt, but that's okay. At the moment, no one else is nearby, so even if the screens are angled so that everyone in the room can see them, I am not suffering from irrational paranoia...yet.

That new Six Pence None the Richer song?

Creepy. Oh, so creepy. I've got their first album, and it too, is creepy in a sort of devout Christian meets Pagan Earth Mother anti-abortion kind of way. That girl's voice seriously weirds me out.

(So, if you ask me why I want their new album, don't expect me to come up with a coherent answer. I might start babbling something along the lines of "The walls! The walls! So empty, make the walls go away!" C r e e p y.)

Oh. Now I remember. I forgot to do laundry.

Fork.

...and why is Windows installing new hardware for an 'unknown device'? Stop that!

I had something to say. Can't remember what, though. Must. Stop. Procrastinating. *dies*

"Honk if you don't exist."

I want that bumpersticker. That is all.

Sliced bread ain't got nothin' on this.

Poetry generator. Brilliant.

Dood. I'm seventeen now. *points to sidebar* Look, it's official!

Yes, this only just occured to me. I'm clueless, hushup.

I'm in a post-apocalyptic mood right now. Been reading some of these. Good stuff. Highly amusing. When I get around to updating vd (i did have to choose an acronym that also doubles as the acronym for venereal disease, didn't i?) I will link it and all related sites. Very good stuff. (Am now obsessed with Egyptian lore again. Still obsessed with space pirates. Borderline obsession with Osiris. Definitely in love with Ray. Maybe it's the other way around. Haven't decided yet.)

Still. "And we all know how hard it is to find TNT in a post-apocalyptic world..." May do sudden last minute costume change and do something different for my nanonovel. But this is the wrong journal for that.

Mordant and Solneki appeared in my idea journal the other day in a play format. I generally don't try to write plays- I'm bad enough at general writing. But I was in the mood to describe little details in clothing and scenery without having to worry about boring exposition. There was a room, and a rolltop desk, and three numbers scratched in red ink on the surface. How Mordant went from being an Abercrombie and Fitch reject with a flanel shirt to some sort of scruffy mercenary with a bandana (of course he has a bandana- how could he not have a bandana?) I'll never know. And I'm not even going to touch what happened to Solneki (whose name means absolutely nothing, I just like the way it sounds)- androgynous looking business man with glasses to...whatever he is now. I'm not sure what he is now.

Hell, he's not sure what he is now, and in general, my characters know more about themselves than I do, even the ones that pop into my head at random for a thirty second advertising spot.

Once again: still. Purple skies and shrapnel seas, oceans of once great cities laid to waste and made into endless tides of shifting ruins. Thunderheads on the horizon, with lightning flickering eternally from rotting cloudbottom to scorched plain, while the people burrow beneath the garbage, fleeing the darkness of the world above in favor of the darkness below. That's a darkness that they understand; a natural darkness caused by the simple absence of light. The darkness above, though- that's a shadow cast by something much more sinister, a shadow that survives even with the sun shining mercilessly upon it from above. Out of the debris rises new cities, new civilizations; empires built on ruin, built on graves and bones. Towering cities that cast very long shadows, indeed.

*shiver* 'Kay, that was overdramatic, overly wordy, and far too pretentious. Now I'm really in a post-apocalyptic mood. Post-apocalyptic with Eeevil, no less. I've got too many other stories on the line though. S'not fair, it really isn't! I've gotta write Boffo and Ocean Dreams and Song of Silence and a couple of other random things for my portfolio, which is due in two weeks! Don't have time for random post-apocalyptic worlds to pop into my head and demand demons and mercenaries and identity issues! Damn it!

It was a swirling hole in the stuff of reality; beyond it was darkness, nothingness, negative space. It bubbled and seethed, churning grotesquely in barely contained rage, an ancient, angry thing. He leaned closer to get a better look. It was the stuff of nightmares, and dreams, things that ate at men's souls.

It was beautiful.

"You get any closer and you'll fall in- and I'm sure as hell not going after you."

Dust swirled around the man's feet, the glow from his cigarette partially illuminating his heavily scarred face in an almost demonic light. He casually flicked the butt into the hole, which sucked it in and swallowed it up with a hiss.

Solneki smiled at him. It wasn't a nice smile. "You mean you wouldn't brave damnation and eternal suffering for me, Mordant? I thought you'd follow me to hell and back."

Mordant snorted derisively. His scowl was as nice as Solneki's smile. "Hell, sure. I've been to hell. Hell ain't half bad- I know where to get a decent cup of coffee in hell. But there-" he nodded to the blank hole. "That's negative space. That's some nasty shit that I am not getting involved in. Not even for you. Fuck, they probably don't even have coffee there."

His smile faded to a look of ordinary, anxious weariness as he faced the negative space again. "If you fell, I'd go after you."

"That's 'cuz you're a fucking idiot."

Solneki smiled again, a small, sad, bitter smile. "Yeah."

Mordant shook his head and lit another cigarette.

"Y'see, with engineers, it might not be exactly right, but it'll work, damn it."
"You need an actual technical degree before I can teach you the dark secrets [of oubliette folding]"
"Pancakes of Angst!"

Hmwahaha...

Suffering from cake overload...and a mild downswing. It's rather cold here, you know. And I am ridiculously uninspired, and very soon I will have to clean my room because it is disgusting. I know, you were all delighted to hear that.

You can tell, in most of my longer entries, where exactly I got distracted and did something else for an hour, before returning to my blog entry.

(Kev leaving tomorrow morning, and I am quite desperately wishing they would catch that sniper; the number of people who admire this person(s) for being so clever and "ha-ha look he left a tarot card gee wish I'd thought of that" disgust me. It's all different when people you know and care about are going to work or school in towns that have been hit.)

Still need another hundred words on that damn article. *takes out pliers, starts pulling teeth* Yup, this is much easier. *spits out a molar*

"Punctuations is for the WEAK!"

If that's the case, then I freely admit to being a weak and girly little girl, incapable of moving without the aid four manslaves in loincloths and a sedan chair, or at the very least a very large, knobby cane.

(I mean, I'm glad for the enthusiasm, but do they have to be morons?)

*sigh* I'm working on the Beacon. If you should, by any sort of freak of nature sort of chance, wish to view it, it can be found here. yes, Geocities. Bite me. And ignore the godawful graphic; I can't judge the proper size for these things when I have to make stuff on Stupid and transfer it to Lulu.

Oh, yeah. I'm also working on another damned health project. An article on racism. 'Cuz that's real pertinent at Franklin. "It should look like a newspaper". WTF? What, pray tell, does a newspaper look like? And she's taking off 25 points for lateness, just because of me, I'm sure of it. Evil woman. *sigh*

Also. Have a journal for my nanonovel, once I start seriously thinking about it. Not much of anything there right now. Just thought I'd make a note of it.

I had two Cokes today. I remembered why I don't like caffeine. But still. Two sodas. That's like, a new record. Also had pie, burnt crispy and full of carcinogens. This whole birthday week isn't looking that bad now. (Went shopping with Kev and laughed at ooogly ties. "You could make a Cloak of Ugly Ties out of them!" "Yeah, Cloak of Ugly Ties- minus five to charisma, but plus 6 to your AC because no one can look at you long enough to hit you!" "Ugliness of that magnitude should be illegal. Think they'd sell 'em to us at a discount if we bought 'em in bulk?" Thereupon I rubbed a perfume sample on him and was threatened with a booting, by my own brand new boots. Mmm, boots. Shiny black leather Tims that are, for the first time ever, actually comfortable. I have won a battle against my mutated feet.)

But now I have to write the stupid article. Stupidness. Blarg. *sigh* It's late and I'm tired...

I am not in school right now. *the opposite of glee* That's really all that matters at this point. My head hurts.

In other news...I really, really want my scanner back. Really.

Title Generator
Now if this isn't the best thing since sliced bread, I don't know what is.

Alright, maybe I can. A surprise phone call (thank you!), a bowl of oatmeal, and the first three volumes of Chobits later, and I'm feeling human again. More or less. *sigh* I still do need to stop thinking, of course, but there's not much I can do about that. I'm not sure what I'm going to do about the newspaper- or about school. I can't take a full day. I'm slightly annoyed- this is just like last year, and I told myself it wouldn't be. (Not exactly like, thankfully. No Edgar Allen Poe this time. No foetal positions on the bathroom floor. A great deal more anger and resentment, but nothing quite so disturbing as last year. *sigh*)

I swear my winamp player is clairvoyant. While trying to beg mom to let me off school tomorrow, it started playing Wishful Thinking. I don't expect a sense of irony from my mp3 player, thank you very much. (Now it is playing Scar Tissue, which I also find faintly ironic. Very faint. Practically unconscious.)

I think I'll make a separate journal for my nanonovel, now tentatively titled Kiss of the Rainbow because I think it sounds cool. No plot yet. (Suddenly I'm very tired...gee, wonder why...)

Fuck it, I can't do this any more. I NEED TO STOP THINKING.

I am now greatly desirous of that screen shot from The Real Folk Blues part II with Julia and the birds...it would make a kickass winamp skin, or a wallpaper or...well, anything.

I'd had my suspicions about the ending, mind you, but I wasn't quite expecting what happened...and since I missed part I, I really don't know what was going on. Still. 'Tis done; I believe I've watched every episode now, save for #25, and I'm almost positive I have it on tape somewhere. (I am rather annoyed that last night's YYH did not have Hiei in it. Genkai is amusing enough to make up for that, I suppose, but it's just not quite the same. Also, am attempting to finish watching El Hazard so as to return it to its rightful owner- I got through two more episodes last night. All I can say is- yeesh. I wish my teachers acted like that. Cross dressing and lesbianism and giant bugs, oh my! Such silliness, such overwhelming silliness...)

I'll have to see what is brought home from the con that I might borrow or keep...if anything is brought home at all, that is. I'm okay, really- it's the weather, and hormones, and the fact that it's my birthday (I don't really have a birth day as such...I have a period of time extending about a half-week in either direction around the actual day during which several mini-not-quite-celebrations occur, depending on who's around. If anyone is around, that is.)

I'm feeling sorry for myself. I apologize. I have no right.

Blarg. Other things that I've forgotten: that sniper, down around Washington? The last victim was in Fredericksburg. That's where Kev lives...and currently, Krista's area is in a panic, and her school has guards around it, and I'm more than a bit worried.

So, anyone, if you happen to be reading this, know that I care, and I worry, and I love, even though I tend to forget to remind people of this. Any of you. All of you. Unconditionally.

Kev's here. *glee*

I am a moron. But that's beside the point.

Arxi and Zela (the girl who clocked him) are sort of in-between on the whole plot thing right now- either he's a pirate king or an acountant named Jonathan Arxette, and one of them is insane while the other doesn't exist. (At the moment I'm thinking it's Jon...) Zela's a fun character; she's the only person ever able to stare down Arxi, and no matter how hard he tries, he can't get the better of her. It's amusing, especially since she booked passage on his ship in exchange for a small fortune, but she's thusfar managed to avoid paying him so much as a brass squarechit. I'm not sure where I'm going with their story, but I'm going to hand in the first chapter (as it stands) for my creative writing portfolio...which I should be working on now. Due tomorrow, you see.

You know, that thing down there, that mutated not-song not-poem with an inconsistent rhyme scheme and an incomprehensible format for each stanza, it wasn't meant to be anything particularly good. It really isn't, in fact. There are a few good lines, quite a few bad lines, and the whole thing doesn't quite convey what I wanted it to convey...I think I just dislike it because I was being honest, and I dislike being honest when writing poetry. It always seems more believable in that form, and who really wants to be believed when they're telling the truth?

(Still and all, I'm glad and mildly amused that several people decided to comment in one way or another. It's more or less finished, though, so unless I decide to edit and whatnot, there won't be any more, I'm afraid.)

I'd like to satisfy your curiosity
I'd like to satisfy your need
I'd like to indulge your generosity
I'd like you to make me beg and plead

I'm just another girl
Caught up in your self-centered world
I'm just another face in the crowd
Of the people who love you and aren't you proud
You've got yourself another girl
And wouldn't you know it she's just like
Everyone else.

And maybe I want to touch you
And maybe I want you to make me scream
And maybe I'm just tired of being
The person that I want to be
Maybe it's all just a dream...

So what if I don't want to be a cliche
So what if I never mean what I say
So what if I feel like being the good girl gone bad
So what if everything I do makes you mad
You're just another god for the masses
You're just trying to screw with my head
So I'll lie here and bleed until the feeling passes
And when I wake up maybe I'll be dead
What's it matter to you, after all I'm just a girl
Fuck me over and leave me, you'd like it I'm sure
And maybe I'd like it too
But really, what's it matter to you
What's it matter to you?


"Yeats once said that prose is our battle with the world, but poetry is the battle with ourselves. Who are you fighting?"
my luck, to be living with someone who majored in Yeats...

"Hey, Arxi, wake the hell up, eh?"

He squinted his eyes against the bright light, confused, aching, and tired. What was he doing here? Why was the room swaying? What was that awful taste in his mouth? And who's legs were those wrapped around his-

"Arxi...if you don't wake up I'll bite you..."

Purple eyes. Who had purple eyes? They certainly were a lovely pair of...eyes; he gulped and tried to keep his own eyes from straying towards other lovely pairs, with a minimal amount of success. The owner of the eyes smiled.

"There we are. It's already midmorning; if you don't get out of bed and boss the crew around, they'll start to think you don't love them. Come on, Arxi. Time to get up."

He blinked; they were on a ship. That would explain the rocking, and probably had somethign to do with that awful taste, but it didn't explain who this woman was.

"Uh...this probably sounds a little strange," he began; his voice sounded odd to his ears. Hoarse, as though he'd been breathing smoke. "But who's Arxi? And who are you?"

The beautiful purple eyes woman stared at him blankly for a moment. Then, moving almost too quickly for him to follow, she snatched up a lamp from off the floor and hit him neatly over the back of the head. He felt a momentary dull pain, then cool blackness enveloped him in a shower of stars, and he knew no more.

Wondering...

why flowers smell better on the bush than in the vase...
why ice cream tastes better when it's half melted...
why birds don't just fall (kersplat)...
how much wood can a woodchuck chuck...
what happens to a rainbow when the rain goes away...
why clouds only rate silver linings...
why a movie makes me want to cry...but real life just gets me ticked...
why do we park on a driveway...
how I ever ended up in this place...
how I'll ever get out...
what makes cuckoo clocks tick...
where does the white rabbit come from...
is the hokey pokey really what it's all about...
what is 'it', anyway...
it's all smoke and mirrors in the end......

I find it strange that so few people write coherent emails...a few of my friends do, but several of the highly intelligent people that I know can't write in complete sentences to save their soul. Maybe it's because I missed the whole chatting function of the internet; I occasionally lapse out of capital letters, or personal pronouns, but I generally try to use proper grammar and capitalization. I hate writing lol. Hate it hate it hate it.

See, the reason we have grammar is so that people can understand what you're trying to write. Without the proper use of commas, periods, and other forms of punctuation, not to mention such elements as sentence structure and the proper application of phrases, I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK YOU'RE TRYING TO TELL ME.

So, even when it seems that all you need is a quick, slapdash note, remember, I can't read your mind. Even if I could, I wouldn't much want to.

Uh...Toad the Wet Sprocket has a song called "Hobbit on the Rocks".

*check*

That was the sound of me adding another six CDs to my list of music that I want.

And Italy is doing the Nano! *cheers*!

Hmm...Duncan Sheik is being called John Mayer's older, wiser brother. This amuses me.

"On a High"
I'm on a high, I'm on a high
there's nothing more to it.
We are the sea and the sky
and the blue that runs through it, yeah.

and there are some who say there are so many things I need
so I run or I fight and I crawl or I scream and I bleed
I bleed, I bleed

well, it's a lie it's a lie - don't you believe it.
if you're fine then you're fine - it's all how you see it.
oh, there never will be no conspiracy of happiness.

I'm on a high I'm on a high
and there's nothing more to it
I have the sun, it's a star
why should I refuse it

and there are so many reasons I could give you why I should be down
there's not enough money or time and my love you're not around
around, around

but it's a lie it's a lie - don't you believe it.
if you're fine then you're fine - it's all how you see it.
oh, there never will be no conspiracy of happiness.

you're alive you're alive - how else could you hear me?
you are fine, you are fine - there's nothing worth fearing
'cause there never will be no conspiracy of happiness

I'm on a high, on a high
we are the sea and the sky
I'm on a high, on a high
I'm on a high

It's a lie, It's a lie don't you believe it
'Cause I've tried and I've tried, and I can't really see it
Yeah, I'm trapped inside my conspiracy of happiness
said I was yours, you were mine but I didn't really mean it
and I lied and I lied
and I wish you hadn't seen it
'cause I'm trapped inside my conspiracy of happiness
I'm on a high, on a high, there's nothing more to it, yeah.
-Duncan Sheik

Am wanting Daylight muchly. Am wanting Whispers and Phantom Moon as well, but am mostly muchly wanting Daylight right now. Am avoiding doing health homework now. Am resenting assignment. Don't want to write about friendship. Am quite bitter and cynical about the whole deal. Am not in the mood for introspection. Am in the mood to sleep. *sigh* Am very muchly in the mood to sleep...

Eating chicken with spicy eggplant right now. Fortune cookie forthcoming. Yes, it's 2 AM. Yes, the funky Chinese eggplant is quite good. Yes, the Chinese food and the Coast Guard were the highlight of my day.

Fortune cookie is stale. As in "oh, wow, so damp I can unfold it and remove the fortune" stale. "Your courage will bring you honor" (in bed). *Giggle*

Addendum to other whining that has occurred elsewhere:

Today at South Brunswick, the Coast Guard Band came and marched. At the time we thought it was just the marines, but we found out afterwards that it was the Coast Guard. This was, of course, an opportunity for much squealing from me, nevermind that Eugene graduated four years ago (ye gods, it's been a long time...and he's getting married next year! *cheers*) and I no longer know anyone in the Guard.

There's all of thirty two people in the band...but they started off with a trumpet soloist that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. There is absolutely nothing like a good trumpet soloist. Makes you shiver, makes you hot, makes your eyes go half-lidded in amazed ecstacy...even though he was facing the other direction, some hundred odd yards away, he was still incredible...and after this beautiful, mournful sounding soloist, the rest of the band joins in...playing the main theme of Star Wars.

I screamed.

One must understand that I truly am something of a geek, even though I prefer the term dork. (It soudns better rolling off the tongue, though it's probably less correct in context.) But the music from Star Wars has been some of my favorite music ever for a long time- and it was the Coast Guard band playing it (never mind that we thought they were marines). It was just the combined coolness of the moment, following that absolutely incredible trumpet soloist- I couldn't help myself. And I wasn't the only one cheering when when they started out with those three notes- I was the only one, however, to shout in a broken, squeaky voice, "Yes, I am a DORK!"

It amused Shannon, at any rate. And I think, that were this any other year, I wouldn't have done that. Maybe it was because of my anger and general bad mood- but maybe I really just don't care what people think about me anymore. I'm developing a thicker skin- and I'm not going to be afraid to be the person that I want to be anymore. For the most part. Some things are, after all, better left unsaid. Still, I'm not going to be ashamed of the fact that I like Star Wars, or of the fact that I am squeaky and ineffectual and in general annoying- it's part of who I am. I'm not going to restrain myself for anyone else's comfort, not when it comes to those things.

I am, of course, being somewhat hypocritical and am lying in several ways- but that's okay. I mean what I say, even if the sentiment isn't entirely unobstructed. But, oh...when they played Duel of Fates and The Imperial March I nearly fell off the bleachers...Utter coolness. *squeal*

*zombie* Braaaaaaaiiiiiins. *drool*

Oh, wow, Smallville is such a silly, silly show. *dies laughing*

I mean, really. Did Clark have to give that girl such a look of smouldering jealousy when he found out Lex was getting married? Was that an aching look of hurt on his face? Why, yes, I think it was. *dies laughing again* Iesu, do they have to be so blatant?

I've got to seriously start working on ideas now- like I don't have enough to do already. But last year I signed up the day of the signup deadline, and I was completely unprepared for the nano- this year I want to go in knowing what I'm doing. I'm thinking Song of Shadows would be a safe bet, since I've got so much backstory and random ideas floating around for it. No plot, of course, but lots and lots of wack backstory...you know haunted prep schools, unexplained phenomenon, pretty boys in various states of angst and undress...(none of which will actually be appearing in Song of Shadows. That's the prequel, you see.) I just need to start thinking...and we all know how great I am at that...

Maybe this year I'll actually finish something...several somethings, hopefully.

Oh, God of Words, please don't get pissed off at me this year.

Here we go again!

It was easy to ignore the figure standing in the shadows that hovered around the door; impossible to miss, certainly, but easy to ignore. It wasn't that the boy was bad at going unnoticed, Ivy reflected, he just always seemed to stand out in the Guild. Like he belonged somewhere else- somewhere far, far away. He had the look of one who'd seen things- not that you didn't get a lot of those in the Assassin's Guild, but these were things that most people didn't even imagine seeing. Secrets. Painful ones.

Of course, it could have just been that he was do blessed shy- and who ever heard of a shy assassin? And that would be why he isn't an assassin, now wouldn't it? She chided herself silently while absently plucking a beaker of quirim oil from young Renler's hands. The boy looked up at her with wide, innocent green eyes, the barest hint of mischief glittering at the corners.

"Back to your seat, youngling. You'll finish that tincture without cheating, or I'll have you cleaning out the compost bin for the next three weeks." The Master Poisoner kept an eye on her students as they played with the various powders, oils, plants, and solvents that made up her specialty. They were children, none older than ten, but they would be highly trained and highly paid assassins very soon. "And stop sniggering, if you would, madame Catherine. Lady Coralin would be most displeased to learn that you received low marks in my class, of all classes. You would do well to strive towards mastering your mother's sense of poise."

The girl in question, oldest of the group at eleven and a half, made a face and went back to measuring out the appropriate amount of quirim root. Her partner at the table, a short but stocky girl child with a mane of red hair, was gnawing on her own supply of the deadly poisonous root as she boiled down the leaves of the plant, which contained a somewhat less deadly variant of the poison.

The portly assassiness sighed and eased herself onto a battered and slightly scorched looking stool. Her chin sank to her heavily beringed hands. "Master Blaine, I've been sniffing out thieves since before you were born. Do come in and take a seat- perhaps you can explain to your Foxbird the particular qualities of raw quirim root on an empty stomach."

The thin healer slid into the room, slightly shamefaced. "Good evening, Lady Ivy." His face was downcast, tilting his dark hair across the scarred half of his face. Ivy smiled kindly at the young man.

"Come, sit, sit. Children, pay your respects to the healer. Foxbird, spit out that root before your insides decide to view the world from outside your body by way of your mouth. I've heard that the regurgitation of the lungs is particularly painful, though I've never seen it myself. Generally the victim either dies or passes out well before it reaches that stage- but you seem to have a rather hardy constitution."

The redhead in question leapt up from her seat and launched herself across the room, squealing something that sounded vaguely like "Papa!" Blaine took the assault rather well; he managed to catch the ballistic ball of red hair without falling over. The other children took the more reserved route and murmered their greetings.

Ivy noted in her usual detatched manner that the healer boy only smiled when around his "daughter". Quite a remarkable pair, the two of them; one considered himself a monster, the other was considered by most others to be a monster. The children cared nothing for the rumors surrounding either the man or the girl; they saw both as friends, interesting and valuable ones, at that.

"Since I'll never get Foxy back in her seat now, why don't you explain to these children the medicinal values of quirim, Master Blaine?" It wouldn't hurt to try and bring him out of his shell; even the children sometimes made him tense. Evidently the only place Blaine was completely comfortable was the morgue; and the morgue of the Assassin's Guild gave even the High Master's pause.

The healer looked up through his concealing curtain of hair with an expression that bordered on panic- until Foxbird bit him. She was all innocence and amber eyes, but thankfully he could take the hint.

"Well...Lady Ivy was right about the poison- we get a few victims in the Wards every now and then, and it really isn't pretty. The root and leaves are what you're working with now, but the healers use the flowers to make an antidote for most conventional poisons..."

He would have made an excellent teacher, Ivy reflected. It was a shame about his face- and that mess with the thieves guild. Still, his parents would be proud of him, were they not haunting the Guildmasters right now. Certainly, he was well known and well liked, even with that fae animal child attatched to him. It was easy to ignore the rumors about her and accept the fact that she really was just a little girl- so long as you ignored the tail and the claws, too...
------------------------------------

I'm just trying to distract myself from the concept of Discworld slash right now. I wasn't even looking for it, honest! But you find the most random things in the strangest places...

What box do you get put in?
brought to you by Quizilla

Hmph. I almost take offense to that- it's not that I have no box, it's that I have many boxes...many, many boxes indeed.

Question:

Does anybody actually know what the hell that thing on Legato's shoulder is? Did Vogue get their claws on him? Modern art? Traumatizing accident as a child with a bit of fencing? Knives get his panties in a bunch and take it out on him? A mishap when learning to use his telekinesis?

The world may never know...(but, one must admit, that as villains go, Legato takes the cake for sheer eeeevilness, even with a stylized hedghog on his shoulder. Hey, anybody who can get away with wearing white after Labor Day like that has a certain kind of style...)

Jambalaya IS
a tasty combination of rice and various other odds and ends, namely andoulle sausage, shrimp, crawfish, onions, peppers, and a great deal of tabasco. Typically found in Louisiana or, if you aren't that lucky, Boudreaux's in Blacksburg. If you still aren't that lucky, I don't know how to help you.

Jambalaya IS NOT
fried rice with peanut butter and an egg, topped with soy sauce. NOT. Bad brother. Very BAD.
*gagging*

*evil chuckle* Running the newspaper is a fair amount of work, but an equal amount of fun, I suppose...they all seem to think that I know what I'm doing! Oh, I pity those poor, gullible fools! Wahaha! I think I need a sign to carry around..."This is me pretending to be organized."

Meh. Since I've been a retard and haven't checked my comments lately...hello, Heather, whomever you may be. Also, my box of random men and other things is public property; I'm always willing to share. :)

Also...whoever was looking for me on the 16th and the 26th, 'fess up. I'm right here; if you've got sumthin' to say, say it. (Or, you know, at least say hi...) And if you're Kaitlin, *hugs*!! Miss you girl!

Um...lemme t'ink...that's it, for now. I swear that once I evolve out of being Swamp Thing (thank you, Bo...*much rolling of eyes*) I will update Vera Dicere...but right now I'm just too damn lazy, and fairly tired to boot.

booto, bootere, bootsi, bootus: 3rd conjugation verb, to boot; the act of booting; to apply a boot to an object, ie someone's head, eg "Boottothehead*whump*"

...yes, I just made up a Latin word. Shush. Everyone knows Latin is just English with "us" on the end of every word.