| I don't do memes. Except on livejournal. |
[18 May 2005|06:00pm] |
So, yeah, my livejournal, unlike my blog, has become meme central. Now, as far as I'm concerned, memes are, in general, another way of saying, 'I have no fucking clue how to write, and am, in general, a wanker.' Once in a while, though, chiobus try to fob their latest meme on me, and I suppose I am compelled to comply.
</a></b></a>![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) sancia decided to get me to do the latest film quiz thingy, and I suppose, because I like films, and also because she is a bona fide chiobu, I will oblige her. Hip, hip, hooray. Ish.
ANYWAY; I apparently have to answer stupid questions about my pirated DVD collection.
1. Total number of films I own on DVD/video.
This is hard. Do you count films in mpg format that I burned to DVD? Do you count ones I have in Singapore, as well as the ones I have here? Do you count my old videos that I bought from JB last time? What about pirated vcds I lent to my friend and never got back? What I'm trying to get at is that I lost count. On my storage hard drive, I think I must have, I don't know...80? 100? Considering that a movie is about 700 megs to a gig, and I have about 5 or 6 dvds of those things, I have...another 30 or 40 on my data DVDs. Then you have all my other collections. Suffice to say, I have a lot of movies. Unfortunately, most of them are:
1) Japanese.
2) Cult movies. Anyone want to watch Beyond the Valley of the Dolls? How about I Spit on Your Grave? I like obscure movies. Sue me.
3) Art House flicks. I'm fucking pretentious sometimes.
4) Ridiculous exploitation flicks. Since I don't watch porn, I make up for it by having films like 'Guts of a Beauty'. Some of this stuff is so stomach wrenching, even I can't bear to watch it. Ok, I lie. But hey, some of the stuff I have is pretty damn sick.
5) Ok, actually the rest are pretty decent, I suppose. I have eclectic taste, you know.
Yeah, I suppose that makes the bulk of my movies.
2. Last film I bought:
You mean, like payed for? Gee. If you count rentals, I just got chungking express and the scent of green papaya in the mail yesterday. If you don't count rentals, I actually BOUGHT (yah, I know, weird, right?) Fever Pitch the other day, because Nick Hornby is cool, and Arsenal is cooler. Mr. Firth is ok too, but I don't have a crush on him like all the girls I know, because I am vagina deficient. I know, it's old. But man, is it good.
3. Last film I watched:
Do you count five seconds of a movie as 'watching'? Yesterday I saw a bit of scent of green papaya, but I haven't watched it yet. It looks pretty good, though - I've liked all the vietnamese films I've seen; my favourite has to have been Three Seasons, though - check that one out; it's good; really pretty. Before that, I tried watching Comrades: Almost a Love Story (aka Tian Mi Mi) the other day, but it was scratched really near the end, so I never finished it. This sucked.
So, I suppose the last movie I watched from start to finish was, err, fuck...what was it? I want to say The Vertical Ray of the Sun (another good vietnamese one) but I have a feeling it was something else...
OH YAH! It was Tsai Ming-Liang's What Time is it There? (ni na bian ji dian). Fucking boring, man. I mean, it's artistic and all, but can fall asleep one. Only watch if you're an arty farty bugger. That vietnamese one was ok, though - very innocent, very domestic. Worth a go.
4. Five films I watch a lot / mean a lot to me.
Ok, in no particular order:
a) I watched spirited away a fucking lot of times. I mean, it's a great movie, but man, everyone always wants to watch it for some reason. Sian already. In fact, I'm kind of sian of Miyazaki in general. Give me Perfect Blue any day.
b) I really liked Boogie Nights. It's one of my all-time favourite movies. I have no idea why, but it's brilliant. Go watch it if you haven't already. Do so now.
c) Must put in an obligatory chinese film, right? I will, for now, go with In the Mood for Love (Hua Yang Nian Hua); it's good. Go watch.
d) 15. Credit to Mr. Royston Tan, this film makes me feel there's a future in the Singapore film industry. Worth a watch, lah.
e) Irreversible. You never forget the first time you see a guy's face bashed in with a fire extinguisher.
There are sooo many more movies I could talk about, but that will do for now.
5. Tag five people.
SIAO! I don't do memes. Ok lah, I figure I need to figure out who reads my lj; I'll just assume my lj friends are more likely to do this, so I'll tag Jolene, Andy, Mickey, Gary and my electronic lao po (since last time she hit me with a meme and I never pay her back yet). Do this if you will. Meh.
|
|
| Hair Cut Day |
[08 Apr 2005|04:41am] |
Seeing as to how blogger is being a fucking dickhead, here's my latest post; normal service at bigfuck.blogspot.com will resume once I kick bloggers ass. Fucking blogger.
Today was hair cut day. Round these parts, hair cut day doesn't come around very often. In fact, it comes around just about once every six months or so. I would have put this post up sooner, but I was waiting for an email from Stamp'Lays Executive Salon which never came. This sucked. I was hoping the lady would send me my before and after pictures, but never mind. Fortunately, I have my OWN before and after pictures. Hurrah!
So, let's start from the beginning. Yesterday, my hair looked like this:
Today, I went to the hair stylist. You might be wondering, why do people like the big fuck go to hair stylists? People like the big fuck aren't vain shits, they go to places like Sri Kenanga barber shop, where hair cuts are 7 dollars and you get a free backrub by some large indian dude. Yes, this is true. The only problem is, there are no such places in America. I know, it sucks. Nonetheless, I had a free haircut I won from playing musical chairs (long story, don't ask) so I headed over to the Salon to get my goddamn hair cut.
Kimberly Stampley is kind of a nice, jolly lady. She runs the Stamp'Lays Executive Hair Salon. When I walked through the door, she showed me to my seat and asked me to put up my coat, then she asked me if she could take before and after pictures. Apparently, they have a gallery of before and after pictures on their website. Perhaps I will one day appear in these pictures, next to all the African American residents of Hyde Park. Perhaps this will not happen. Who knows. It would be funny if it did, though, because I would be the only Asian. I don't know why I find that funny. Maybe I think I look funny. But then, I digress.
Ok. So I figured that since this would probably be my sole haircut for the next six months or so, I should get it cut short. I said, 'cut it short.' Now, telling a barber 'cut it short' is like saying, 'I hate my fucking hair, get rid of it.' If you want your hair cut 'short', you might as well go to Shaollin with a fucking razor and ask those guys to do it - at least you'd know what the fuck you're getting. Thus, I was expecting to be surprised. I figure there's something phoenix-like about cutting your hair. You go in, and come out entirely un-fucking-recognizable. At least, that's what I do. Maybe other people do haircuts differently. Sue me, I'm fucking poor. And cheap.
So, yeah, she says, 'you want it short?' and I say, 'yeah, short.'
I pause for a while, and add, 'oh yeah, put red streaks in it, too.'
I like red streaks. I think they make me look cool. Sometimes they make me look silly, but whatever. It's my goddamn head, and I can look however I want. Besides, the premiership season is coming to an end, and I figure I'd dye my hair red as a sign of support for my favourite team. Why the fuck not?
So, yeah, she cuts my hair, and I studiously avoid looking at it. I feel my head getting light. You know, because of all the hair falling off. I have a lot of hair before my haircuts. Yeah.
After this, I had to sit in that hot thing ... what are those things called? You know, these things:
I call them 'head heating torture devices from hell'. They piss me off. My head feels like it's going to explode in these things. Sitting there, I began to regret getting my hair dyed. Surely, this shit wasn't worth it. The hair stylist was pretty nice though. She asked me if I was thirsty. I said yes. She gave me orange with malibu in it. I was expecting water, and got a pseudo-tropical beverage. Points for the hair salon. After this, she gave me catfish. Fried catfish. Yes, that's right, as I was waiting for my hair to dry, I was eating catfish and drinking an alcoholic beverage. Man, I was sure getting some good mileage out of the zero dollars I paid for the haircut. A group of black women surrounded me and asked what I thought of my haircut. I hadn't seen it. They began asking me about Singaporean lingo. They asked, 'how do you say that's lookin' sharp in Singapore?'
I said, you'd probably say 'sui'; I figure that sounds enough like 'sweet' that they'd get it. They did. They kept saying it, except in ebonics. It was bizarre.
"Oh my! That's lookin' SWEE!"
I laugh politely
"Am I sayin' it right? SWEE?"
"Yeah, more or less!"
"The girls are gonna like that! You gotta girlfriend?"
"Nah."
"Well the girls are gonna like that! It's SUH-WEE!"
"Thanks"
"I got SKILLZ! You like that catfish?"
"Yeah."
"They got catfish in Singapore?"
"Yeah, we got everything in Singapore."
"Man, I'm learnin' a BUTTLOAD about Singapore today!"
"You sure are"
"THAT"S SUH-WEE!"
I'm glad she was so enthusiastic.
So, finally, after congratulating herself on my hairdo, she took a couple of pictures and promised to email them to me, then gave me another drink before I left. It's nice that she was so pleased with the results; I figure that always makes you think your haircut looks better than it does. I don't trust feedback from friends with respect to haircuts. They're always deceptive.
I got home, and my roommate looked at me, then was speechless for ten seconds.
"You cut your hair"
"Yeah."
".....oh."
This cannot be a good sign. I think Miss Stampley has managed to make me look more Ah Beng than the good men of Sri Kenanga could ever have managed.
Here are the pictures:
"Eh...not bad"
Actually, no, it looks kind of weird."
"Maybe it looks like shit. They screwed me...damnit! Give me my zero dollars back!"
Alright...tel me what you think, people.
|
|
|
[15 Mar 2005|11:50am] |
|
I was walking and I busted my knee. It just suddenly gave out. It hurts like shit now. Just thought you should know.
|
|
|
[15 Mar 2005|12:10am] |
In reply to a comment on my xanga regarding the merits of lj / whatever other service you might use, I have decided to explicate my switch (or rather return) to blogger:
True, LJ is cool; however; I've discovered a couple nice things about blogger:
a) Site customizability. With all those templates, you can't go wrong, man! I originally picked minima black (which is ok) but then, over spring break, watch me go crazy with redesign. Trust me, it WILL happen. Awesome.
b) It's picture support - WAH THIS ONE IS DAMN GOOD, LET ME TELL YOU. I just downloaded Picasa / Hello, and it's seriously pretty awesome. I've been playing with it, like, a damn lot. You just click click click what picture you want, then upload upload upload. Damn shiok, sial!
c) Last time blogger used to have a shitty comment system, now it's less shitty. I think I started the LJ / Xanga PRECISELY because every time cannot get comments. Damn sian, man, that time! Now, it's all better. Hence, byebye xanga / LJ
d) The url: here livejournal is actually ok, but then you still can't beat xyz.blogspot.com for a good location. Especially since I managed to snag bigfuck.blogspot.com - I think it's damn me, don't you?
e) Once again, free picture hosting. WAHHH!!!! AWESOME!!!!
f) Some people have an aversion to html. I do not. I have an aversion to not being able to type in a link / include a picture without clicking funny buttons above the text box.
g) I had another reason but I forgot it. Nevermind.
Anyway, for your reference, once again:
http://bigfuck.blogspot.com ; because I'm such a big fuck.
|
|
|
[14 Mar 2005|04:43am] |
I've decided that, instead of having a whole bunch of different journals, I should just stick to one. I mean, I love being read, and I love all your comments, but man, it's kind of stupid of me to be publishing on xanga, livejournal AND blogger, right? I'm starting a new blog, aptly titled 'The Big Fuck'; the URL is http://bigfuck.blogspot.com
Yes, that's http://bigfuck.blogspot.com
It's not up yet, and I might just stick with these 3 posting things for a while more while I figure things out, but yeah, come spring break, it's all shutting down.
Ok. Back to studying (by which I mean fooling around with my new blog, of course!)
Yeah.
|
|
|
[11 Mar 2005|07:18pm] |
Skipped class today. Every time I do something like this, I can hear my mother's voice in the back of my head, telling me to wake up, before I fail out of school, become a drug addict, end up cleaning rubbish, etc, etc, etc. This makes me unhappy. At the moment I'm looking for something to blame for my errant behaviour. I have decided on blaming the fact that I'm quitting smoking.
Quitting smoking is the best scapegoat for crappy mood, lack of concentration, lapses in self-control, general unhappiness, etc. etc. This is what makes it so fantabulous. At the moment I am eating milk & dark chocolate covered almonds (oral fixation, no choice), lounging around in my pajamas and updating my xanga at 6.33 pm on a Friday evening. Incredible, I know. Why am I doing this? Naturally, it is because I haven't been smoking. Ignore the obvious lack of logic. Smoking changes all sorts of things in your system, you know. You should be glad for me, anyway, seeing as to how healthy I'm getting. Us potentially reforming smokers need your support, alright? While you're at it, buy me more milk & dark chocolate covered almonds. These things are fucking amazing; I can't stop eating them and will soon become a fatty, as well as a shorty. Not that this matters, of course, as long as I get to eat these almonds. Awesome.
The roommate is off to New York for the weekend, which obviously means that I'm somewhat obliged to throw a party, right? I mean, this apartment, as I've said, like, a billion times before, is far too big to be alone in; we'll see if I can get rid of the smell of burning that's still lingering first, though. I tried airing the place out, but thanks to the snow outside, which is falling faster than fingers from a colony of lepers outside, I am stuck with this lingering burnt smell.
Ok, I suppose I should do work now. Bloody hell, I was having such a good time chatting online, as well. Damn it.
|
|
|
[08 Mar 2005|11:39pm] |
After seeing Wendy Cheng's blog (you know, the world-famous http://xiaxue.blogspot.com - best Asian blog of 2004, ok!) I have become damn depressed at having such a small readership; I now vow to revamp my blog (eventually) and put in lots of awesome anecdotes about my super-exciting (at least, according to some of the rumours that have been going around) life and also many pictures of myself (dutifully photoshopped to make me look awe-inspiring and super bad ass). When this will actually happen is, well, anybody's guess. Eventually, though, my blog will shoot lasers and fly and also transform into a giant robot, and everyone who looks at it will be blinded for five seconds then go,'waaahhh!!! this guy is a super bad ass!' and then they will be addicted and read it all the time, and I will be a blogging super star like Cheng Yan Yan. Awesome!
In other news, I smoked my first cigarette since Saturday, and, to be honest, I feel a little sick now. I know, it's damn un-badass to be sick from one cigarette, right? But then again, I've come to realize that it's even more badass to kick an addictive habit like smoking ciggies. I imagine that come next tuesday (projected date of my last cigarette), I will take out the cigarette, smoke it in a business-like manner, and then say bye bye to nicotine and be smoke free for life; the dialogue will go like this (yes, my smoking habit can talk; I'm just that sort of guy):
Me: Ok smoking habit, you make me sick. I feel sick already. I think I'm damn smelly. I'm going to take a shower now. Get the fuck out of my life.
Smoking Habit (SH): But...what about all the good times we had?
Me: I was deluded. And impressionable.
SH: Don't lie; you felt damn good and you know it. You'll never feel that way about another substance again, you know.
Me: WAH!!! You're damn full of yourself ok? Let me ask you - I spend all this money on you, visit you every day, clean up after you, etc etc - when is the last time you did something for ME?
SH: Just think of all the cool people you got to know through me, all the long nights I kept you company through, all the times you were alone and nobody wanted to be your friend; I WAS YOUR FRIEND, I MADE YOU LOOK COOL.
Me: Maybe so, but did that really make me happier? All it made me was smellier; I'll admit I met a couple cool friends through you, but then, what about all the cool people I didn't meet because they thought I was a smelly SOB?
SH: LIES!!! LIES!!!
Me: Calm the fuck down, bitch.
SH: YOU NEED ME!
Me: No I don't, it's over.
SH: HEY I DIDN'T COME TO YOU ANYWAY! YOU CAME TO ME, YOU BASTARD! YOU CAME TO ME!!! AND YOU'LL COME CRAWLING BACK BECAUSE YOU'RE WEEAAKKKK!!! (my smoking habit starts laughing hysterically and jumping about like Lady Macbeth when she goes crazy)
Me: That's it. Get the fuck out. (I go into bow stance and punch my smoking habit in the face, and when it tries to claw my eyes, I block, and then SPEAR it in the cheebye and throw it out the window, in all it's foil-covered glory)
SH (as it falls down my window): YOU LOVE MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (SH falls against the sidewalk and explodes into a million tiny bits. Beggars walking by pick up tiny bits and ask passerbys for lighters, then smoke all the tiny bits and eventually die of lung cancer. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.)
Me (dusting myself off): That's right, bitch.
Oh, what a glorious day.
|
|
|
[07 Mar 2005|02:24pm] |
Fatty bom boms are damn groooosssssss (sorry, fatties!)
What is up with people who wear those bare midriff things when they have little bulges sticking out? I think it's damn disgusting. I mean, I guess I'm damn mean to fat people in general, but seriously, nobody wants to see these rolls of blobby, springy, fatty things going boing boing boing all over the place, right? I wonder how fat people feel when their pudgy tummys bounce up and down. Sometimes, when I have a stomachache, it feels like my stomach is churning. Maybe fat people feel like this all the time; that would be damn sucky for them, right? It's something like how I imagine girls with large breasts feel when they don't wear bras; everything goes up and down and up and down. I don't like dangly bits; this is why I wear briefs instead of boxers; yeah, maybe it's bad for sperm count, but at least things don't bang against each other when I need to run somewhere. Maybe they should make pot belly holsters for fat people, so that their tummies can stay in one place instead of bouncing all around; I bet this would make their lives a little easier. Also I wouldn't have to see their exposed bubbly tummies, which still gross me out.
On another note, my spring break plans have fallen to pieces, thanks to my being played out by a very lazy somebody. In case she's reading this, I'm still super disappointed. Damn sad, man! So, anyway, here are my options for spring break:
a) buy ticket to New York (price - 213 dollars and rising)
b) buy ticket to London (price - 300+ dollars and rising)
c) buy pre-modded PSTwo and GTA: San Andreas (price - 300 dollars and falling)
Note: options a and b are way cooler (with b possibly being the coolest) but they can only get more expensive; ie - going to wherever will also involve spending bucketloads of money on going out, buying presents for people I stay with, eating, etc. whereas c will mean that my spring break will be spent in chicago, playing games like a real dorkface. Also, c means that I will be damn distracted for a while, playing all these games online. How? What do you guys think? Better send your suggestions in fast! Right now, to be honest, I'm really leaning towards the PSTwo, mainly because I'm a huge dork.
Yay yay video games!
Oh, here the girl comes (you know, the one who dua me for spring break) I'm going to go scold her for a bit.
Peace out!
|
|
|
[06 Mar 2005|03:00am] |
I am hungry.
I'm sitting in front of my computer (I've been doing this far too often lately; it's alarming - I really don't want to be a dork, you see) with a bag of rock candy, but I don't want more sugar. I can feel my stomach walls imploding.
Some days I am a hungry monster and I have to eat. That's what hungry monsters do. It's a hard life being a hungry monster - you open your fridge and look for food and you're like, 'grrr...where's the food?' and then you realize that everything either takes about a billion years to prepare, or otherwise just wouldn't be satisfying. I mean, there's, lik,e hummus and pitas and stuff, but I really don't like hummus and pitas. I'd much rather have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. All the peanut butter I have left, though, is kind of stale. I mailed it back to myself from Amsterdam, and since I never got round to eating it, it smells kind of funky. To be honest, it kind of smells funky for other reasons as well. Suffice to say, I'm not eating that stuff. Hells no.
Anyway, so back to being a hungry monster. There's ham I think, in the fridge. I don't really want ham. I could eat some cup noodles, but that makes me sad. I really wonder why I'm hungry all the time. When I was little I used to suspect I had worms in my stomach, eating all my food. This would totally explain why I'm always hungry, and yet somehow totally manage not to grow. Perhaps it has something to do with my lack of sleep, which is also inextricably linked to my penchant for staying up writing stupid stuff on my blog. Damn it, the cards are all stacked against me. I will be short and miserable forever.
I will also be hungry.
Like a hungry monster.
Someone send me food, please. I'm so damn hungry.
|
|
|
[03 Mar 2005|02:59am] |
I got quite a bit of work done today. Then I met the Singaporeans at Jimmy's. I had, like two beers. They were in really small cups. I bet each cup was, like, maybe half a small bottle. The girl at our table probably had more alcohol than I did. At the bar, I mean. I came home, and felt like I hadn't drank anything, so I drank another beer. Then I drank another beer. Then, I drank a third beer. After three beers, I was a little tipsy. Right now, I have a melon drink in front of me; I've just done the dishes, taken out the trash and had three beers. It's almost three in the morning. I need to take a shower. My melon drink has about two shots of tequila and two shots of midori in it. It still tastes prettty good, though. I think this is evidence that I'm a little tipsy. No, actually I think it does actually taste pretty good. Maybe I'll have another after this. Where am I going with all this? I don't know. Maybe I should go to sleep. Yeah. Maybe. Holy cow. Yeah.
I mean, yeah.
|
|
|
[02 Mar 2005|01:49am] |
Fire Fist!
So I just watched a bunch of wushu clips from www.wushucentral.com and I'm thoroughly convinced that I will never be any good at this stuff; it doesn't mean that I'm going to give up, I'm just acknowledging that wushu will, at best, be yet another one of the ways in which I flutter but never fly, much like Japanese (and other random languages), drawing, mixing drinks, cooking, writing, cleaning (though i doubt there are ever going to be any world cleaning championships), theatre, academia, dancing, playing the guitar or photography. I guess, all things considered, I have a pretty long list of random talents (though, to be fair, I wouldn't call them talents - more like things I can bullshit my way through); still, it would be nice to somehow attain mastery in one of these things. I used to watch things like Legend of the Condor Heroes and imagine that, one day, I'd meet Hong Qigong and master the xiang long shi ba zhang, or be able to fly or some nonsense like that. Even if this were even remotely possible, I have to admit that even the venerable master Hong would probably be, like, yeah, well, kid, there's this other dude who's more flexible, so bugger off. If I were in Legend of the Condor Heroes, I'd probably have to settle for being the dude who tries to marry Huang Rong and is pretty clever (who was this, Ouyang Ke? I forget) but in the end gets poisoned because he's too ambitious and not the number one super power fist of death dude.
Nonetheless, this doesn't mean I'm going to give up, on any of the things I like doing. Like I always say, I might look like a jackass on the dance floor, but at least I'm into it and look like I'm having fun. I'm not one of those crackers (sorry, white boys) who sort of half-heartedly flail their arms, looking like they borrowed their bodies for the weekend and haven't really read the instruction manual. Instead, I'm the guy who's so far on the ground he looks like he needs a periscope, yet still grooving. I don't care that I look like a dumbass any more; I think I've finally grown up enough to be beyond that. If being able to throw a couple punches, make a couple poses and kick some ass (here, of course, we define ass very broadly, like, say, maybe I could fight off some panhandlers ... if they were crippled ... and also drunk ... and, err, maybe hadn't eaten in a couple days), well, yeah, that makes me feel good. That's pretty much good enough for me. Damn straight. Also, one day I might really meet Hong Qigong and, because of my awesome never-say-die (unless I'm tired, in which case all bets are off) attitude, he might teach me how to fly. Or maybe shoot dragons from my butt.
Yeah, we'll see who's laughing then.
|
|
|
[28 Feb 2005|09:50pm] |
Today is the first day in ages that I (hopefully) will not have a cigarette. It's a momentous occasion; the last day like it was back in first year, in the height of the quit smoking program with free nicotine patches and whatnot. At the moment, I'm drinking a Bitgurger, chowing down on some white rabbit candy, and, in general, feeling pretty miserable. Admittedly, there's work I could be doing. Unfortunately, I don't feel like doing any of it.
I spent a good four hours today trying to edit the CUSA video - I'm rubbish at editing, but hey, at least I'm learning. I also spent a good hour in lab looking at a zebra finch's brain, trying to poke a metal thing into it to take single cell recordings. Again, this was something I'm totally rubbish at. I guess that makes two learning experiences out of two, then. I've just gotten home, practiced a form or two, gotten the heart pumping and whatnot, and now I suppose it's time to settle down and perhaps do some work.
I think hanging out is my new addiction. I've been doing it all weekend, but I somehow feel like I haven't gotten enough, like I'm still strangely disconnected. I just wish that people weren't so busy on weekdays at this school. Sometimes I feel like I need a couple bad influences to keep me company, or, even better, a couple studious friends who'd actually be bothered to come over and, well, study with me. I think my place is a pretty good study environment, after all.
I suppose, though, that that's enough nonsense for one day. I detect that my journal is getting a little more inane than usual today, so I'd better end it here.
|
|
|
[27 Feb 2005|06:37pm] |
My house makes noises when I'm alone at night. It somehow neglects to make these noises at other times, or perhaps it does, only to be drowned out by the constant hum of my computer, by the incessant ringing of the cellphone.
My house makes noises in the quiet solitary hours asleep on my couch; there's the sound of scurrying feet on the ceiling above, the creaking of the floorboards below, the strange, strangled clicks and groans of the radiator, the intermittent sounds of doors swaying, squeaking on their aged hinges.
My house makes noises that are amplified by the stillness of the silence that falls over it like a blanket when my only companions are the dark, unlit halls, and the slivers of incidental light that fall across them.
On my phone, there are only burnt bridges. On the screen, only unfamiliar names.
I grab my coat, pull the blue ski mask over my face and prepare for the winter.
|
|
|
[26 Feb 2005|05:22pm] |
I'm supposed to be doing work, I'm sure, but, with webmail down, I feel almost like I don't know where to begin. You know those people who are addicted to their email, and have to check their email, like, 3 times before being able to start on anything productive? Yeah, I'm one of those people. Also, those people who can't get round to work if there's even the slightest chance that they could push it, till, say, next millenium? Again, guilty as charged. I figure that, eventually, I'll do some Japanese, call it a day, and then, I don't know, try and find out who's willing to wile the night away with me (I think right now I have plans with a certain scoundrel I haven't seen in a week or so to try and wrangle free drinks at a certain bar, and that most definitely sounds fairly appealing, especially given my slight hangover). The point is, I shouldn't hold my breath expecting myself to get any work done.
I'm contemplating putting an end to this whole maverick, I do what I want, intoxicated, expletive filled lifestyle I'm leading. I figure, like I've said so many times before, I can see the days of thunder dwindling down somewhat. Not that they haven't been having their last hurrah, of course - I've definitely been doing my fair share of boozing and bingeing, slanging and clanging these past few weeks. When I got off my butt (other than the toilet breaks) and prepared to go to sleep in the dark last night, checked my clock and realized that we'd been talking till 5 am in the morning (actually a little past that) I realized that, just perhaps, I was eventually going to have to start slowing things down just a teeny tiny bit. At least, I suppose, I wasn't as wasted as I was a couple fridays before; watching movies and trying to speak in as many languages as possible is a pretty good way to spend a night, I figure. I need more polyglot friends. Provided they're cool. Or hot.
Hmm...need to find a dinner date tonight. With my email down, I am stranded. What will I do?
|
|
|
[24 Feb 2005|03:19pm] |
Dear everyone; my brain is officially fried. I used to think, in my early, more stoned days, that my brain was probably getting more and more fried with every passing day. Now I have concluded that that is exactly what was happening. My brain has officially reached the point, however, where it actually is fried. Yes, it now is a lump of gelatinous poop. Perhaps it's just the 4 (and a half, to be fair) hours of sleep I got last night. Nonetheless, my mind feels like it's swimming between my ears, making a sort of gushy, schlip, schlip sort of sound as it goes. Yeah, that kind of sucks, man. It also hopefully excuses why I'm writing such unintelligible drivel.
To be fair, the large part of my journal is unintelligible drivel. If you're nodding your head, agreeing with this statement, well, fuck you. I know I talk in circles, damnit! It's hard to make a point. At least I don't spend my whole goddamn journal talking about stupid shit like some girl I'm crushing on, or you know, the parties I go to every weekend (ok, sometimes I talk about shit like that) or, err, the number of classes I'm taking (how many? more than you, motherfucker - remember, I'm fucking brilliant) so yeah, what else is there left to do but talk in circles? I think it's an art, talking about the practice of blogging in general. Doubtless, it's a fucking circle jerk, but hey, what else are you supposed to do?
Life of the Mind = Mental Masturbation.
The University of Chicago fucked me in the head.
No, seriously, like, ripped out an eyeball and penetrated me with its throbbing academic phallus.
It hurt like shit.
It still hurts.
Every fucking night.
Like your mom.
Ok, now I'm seriously going to try and go to sleep.
In the reg.
Some days, my life really fucking sucks.
|
|
|
[21 Feb 2005|05:58pm] |
The first signs that my head is exploding: My internet journal at mental age 13
Yesterday I ate so much I thought my stomach was going to explode. It was a really super awesome feeling. In fact, it was so awesome that I went home and passed out. On my couch. Until 7 am this morning. Any day I go home and pass out until 7 am in the morning is a relatively good day. I woke up and swept the floor and oh my goodness it became sooo clean because you know what I swept it twice. It was really awesome and I felt good about myself. I had crispix for breakfast and it was nice, even if I was using that organic milk which is usually pretty ok but sometimes not so awesome because, well, sometimes organic milk is really expensive, on account of the organic cows who have to make it. I bought some apple cider the other day; I've finally discovered the difference between apple juice and cider - in the states, apple cider is NOT alcoholic. This was a big revelation. I mean, sometimes you have to realize that not everything is alcoholic. Yeah, that's right. It isn't.
I had a good shit this morning. Yeah, it was kind of stinky, but you always have kind of turbulent shits after drinking. Which is the point. Since I didn't drink yesterday, I had a nice, smooth shit. Like, it just plopped right out. Which was awesome. It sucks when you sit on the toilet and go, 'oh fuck man, this sucks, prrtttt, prrttt prtttrrtrttt' or some shit like that. Yeah, that really sucks balls. I hate it. But man, when you sit down and get the solid splash splash sounds, now that is truly frickin' awesome. Yeah.
Even though I had a pretty good sleep last night (despite waking up every other hour or so from random noises, such as my roommate moving around every five seconds, or the evil monkey ghosts on my roof), I still fell asleep in Japanese class. My teacher made a joke about that; he said, 'oh look, that guy's falling asleep again' and everyone laughed, so I guess it must have been funny. I didn't get the joke, but maybe that's just because I was so friggin' sleepy. Maybe this is because I haven't been smoking enough cigarettes. Maybe I should start using the patch. The nicotine patch, I mean, except it makes me itchy. I mean, I wonder if I'm going to be able to quit smoking this time. There's always the little voice in the back of my head saying, 'man, you'll never be able to do it, it's not going to work, you suck as a person.' Do you ever get that voice? I mean, sometimes I suppose we all get that voice in our heads, but that can't be something that happens all the time, or we'd all go crazy, right?
So now I'm sitting in the computer lab and smiling at the girl sitting opposite me because she's kind of cute and hey, why not? I'm sure we always do stuff like that. It's nice to smile at pretty people, yeah? You see all these cute people all the time and usually you're just all like, hey, she's kind of cute, but I always wondered what would happen if you just smiled at them all the time instead. Maybe they'd think you were kind of cool and you'd get to know them or something, but then again maybe they'd just think you were crazy, you know what I mean? I mean, maybe they'd think you were a psycho or something and you could never have that, could you? I mean, it would really suck if people thought you were a psycho. Maybe the police would come and put you in prison or something. And maybe in prison you'd get fucked up the ass, which would suck, since I'm not gay. I don't want to be fucked up in the ass. Which makes me wonder, what do gay people do in prison? Do they like being fucked up the ass all the time? Maybe not by the really nasty, fat dudes, but hey, if you were a buff gay dude in prison, wouldn't you, like, just have a sex fest? I'm sure gay guys like the bad boy types, right? I mean, shit, I bet gay guys have much better times in prison than the straight dudes. Maybe they should just make prisons co-ed. I guess that really wouldn't work, though, because then everyone in prison would be having fun times, right? Then nobody would want to come out and we'd all be fucked. Or maybe they would. Who knows.
So what's the point of all of this, you're asking? I really don't know. But then, how do we know anything? We really don't. What's going on? Who are you? Who am I? Fucking A! I'm tired. I need a candy bar. Yeah, that's right, so until later, I mean, yeah. Byeeee!!!!!!!!
|
|
|
[02 Feb 2005|03:14pm] |
I love you when you give me stuff
I love you when you're acting tough
But I love you more when you give me things
Because, hey, you're not that good at acting tough.
I love the way you buy me dinner
Because I guess it makes you thinner
Since you're not stuffing your face
Since you have to pay for me
Yeah, that makes me happy.
I love the way you say you're busy
It's so cool it makes me dizzy
I just give someone else a call
And don't have to hang out with you anymore
Not that I don't love you
But hey, we all need lives.
I love the way I never say
That I love you at all, ever.
Because I'm shy
Yes, that's why
And also because you'd stop giving me stuff
And wanting to see me when you're free
And then where would I be?
I love the way I probably don't really love you.
And how, as I'm writing this about you
Your face merges into the millions of other faces
That this is actually about
And I love how
I probably never loved
Any of these people
Except maybe when they gave me stuff.
|
|
|
[02 Feb 2005|02:25am] |
So I read a blog I haven't read for a while today, and the person in question wrote a poem. Well, bloody fucking shit, I can write poems too. This one's entitled 'Things Which Piss Me Off'
Ok.
THINGS WHICH PISS ME OFF
I'm really not an angry guy
Sometimes I seem to play at it though
Sometimes I get really mad
But people laugh and shit
It
Yeah, it pisses me off.
I mean, fuckin' A when I'm mad
It's pretty bad
You know?
I'm not just ranting to entertain you
Son of a bitch
Ok, to be honest most of the time I'm not really
All that pissed.
Unless I'm drunk
But that's another kind of pissed entirely.
Some things annoy me
And yeah, that's
Well
Annoying.
Fuck.
But some things, some things
Some things, they really piss me off.
Like hard-core style
I'm not even joking
Fuck you, I'm serious.
Some things make me really mad.
Like Manchester Fucking United.
God I hate them so much
Damn their eyes!
And their balls.
And damn them all those bastards
Especially when they win
4-2
or 2-0
or 6-1
Son of a Gun
And Bitch, for good measure.
People who try to hard,
That's just annoying.
My legs feeling all wobbly and aching for days,
That's just payback for all the bad shit I've been doing to my body.
But man, when people forget appointments with me,
Well, I get pissed.
It's not like I don't do it all the time.
I'm sorry
I'm sometimes an asshole.
But holy fucking shit, sometimes
I really get pissed off.
Like, punch a hole in a cow pissed off.
Like, google search for death and destruction pissed off.
Like, violent thoughts / fist of death / diabolical plans for revenge pissed off.
Like, yeah, seriously pissed.
People sometimes laugh at me.
I'm going to learn how to kick peoples' asses.
Then they won't laugh so much.
Motherfuckers.
The end.
|
|
|
[31 Jan 2005|09:30pm] |
For those of you who didn't know, up till this morning, there was a way to print pdfs in the reg's mac lab. For those of you who don't know the reg's mac lab, or why anyone would want to print pdfs there, suffice to say that, given the heavy reading load at this school, printing pdfs at the mac lab was a pretty integral part of my daily schedule, mostly because it was free, and I am cheap.
Unfortunately, this had (temporarily) ended in tears. Thanks to the blubbering masses' inability to keep a secret, the custodians of the mac lab have finally got round to reversing TexShop's ability to circumvent the evil, money-sucking UChicago print system (the bastards; by whom I mean the money grubbing university, not the lab technicians, some of whom are pretty alright dudes) as such, I am stuck with the daunting process of actually paying for my piles (and there are lots of them) of reading materials.
Mostly, though, this is directed against those fools who told everyone about TexShop. Admittedly, my lips might not be as tight as they could be, but I figure I was fairly discreet about who I shared these delicate secrets with. The point is, when you try and hook up your friends, you'll inevitably hook up the stupid person who'll end up going to the maclab technician complaining about a problem with their currently printing pdf. This invariably screws it all up for the rest of us, condemning us to endless suckiness. Damn their eyes! I fucking hate stupid people. Unless they're giving me money.
But then, I guess that's enough for this rant.
|
|
|
[24 Jan 2005|07:00pm] |
Sometimes people ask me, 'hey man, why are you so disgruntled?' Other times, people ask me, 'hey man, why are you such a sexist?'
Sometimes I reply, 'well, it's all due to the same reason, namely that your mother raped me while I was still a child and I still carry the emotional scars.'
Somehow, nobody seems to find this funny. This may be the real reason why I'm disgruntled.
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
| [ |
go |
| |
earlier |
] |
|
|
|
|
