in which kids let people down.

in a stroke of massive disappointment to almost none, a temporary quarantine has been placed on this blog, until further notice, or until the author has more time to elucidate her unmistakably twisted sometimes-daily thoughts. your patience is appreciated, as are all instances of hate mail.

in which oldies become goodies.

the u.s. has got to learn from the europeans that photo booth proliferation is an international priority.

in which some other sites do the work.

okay, i hate to be a predictable blogging wench and write about ‘some movie i saw’ instead of creatively discussing my personal life, but ‘in the realms of the unreal’ is possibly the best documentary i’ve ever seen, and i have a medically diagnosed and treated addiction to documentaries. it’s all about the life and work of henry motherfucking darger, and if he’s a stranger to you, let he be no longer. i’ll let you find out about him all by yourselves without subjecting you to 5th, 6th, and 7thhand knowledge from this overused mouth, but i will tell you this: one of the evil generals in his novel is named General Smashedinthehead. fucking genius.

in which cheesy qualities emerge from the mist.

recently a friend heeded my plea for music, expanding the computer's disgustingly greedy music folder to 11.03 gigabytes and 2,026 songs. by some standards this would qualify as amateurish and sparse. to me, this qualifies as The Reason I Can No Longer Store Unlimited Amounts Of Superfluous Photographs. but even more satisfying than the absence of npr from my life is thinking about how these songs operate in the friend's life. does she blast them while she's cooking herself dinner? are they pulsing in the background when she's working at her studio, or reading before bed? because the music is from her i can't stop associating it with her, with how it shapes her life even though i am privy to almost zero of her daily details. it's just nice, imagining her with these songs. especially given that my mind's eye does not allot for the mundane, which means nothing about what i've concocted in any way approaches reality. and isn't that always better? yes. yes it is.

in which kids flee from Perkiness.

i know that there are many complex social pressures that induce perkiness in people, especially when they interact with strangers. i'm aware that the utter lack of gender equality in western "civilization" (a term used Very, Very loosely) has much to do with the fact that overly perky people are almost exclusively women. but i literally get the JurassicPark Don't Make Any Spontaneous Hand Gestures/Facial Expressions feeling, lest i am spotted and terrorized. to my extremely limited brain, it seems obvious that No One would act like that if they felt free enough to be Themselves. so there must be something extremely fucked-up and extremely secretive to let their Facades be that patently frightening. let it be said that i'm not talking about jovial friendliness, which is entirely different, in that it is sincere. you know the kind i speak of.

it's the kind that Nearly got me fired from a certain national video rental behemoth for not imitating to their absurd satisfaction at 6 motherfucking .75 an hour. thank god it was Nearly. whew, boy, i loved that job!!!!!!!

it's the kind that a few people i know elevate to a twisted art, pushing their voice pitches to new and nauseating highs.

it's the faux earnestness in those dramatic eyebrow expressions, making you wish parents never encouraged these types of children to take after-school acting classes, even if it was only for three months in the 4th grade. clearly some damage was done.

it's the pearly white teeth that gleam with no respect for people who may be sensitive to fluorescent lighting.

so it was out of fear that i avoided eye contact with you, hoping that you'd pass me over for another unsuspecting bank customer just trying to make a deposit. i didn't want you to know how i was doing today. i know it seems like i was ignoring you. i know you knew that i momentarily pretended to be deaf. i just wanted to wait for the impersonal, nonPerky teller to the left of you, who clearly hated my entire being. i can deal with hate. it's hate dressed up in overflowing love for all humankind that makes it me think you're a former, current, or future serial killer.

in which revenge converts fruit.

thanks solely to the Abominable ColonialismMan and unfair trade policies, bananas are a part of my daily life year-round. i can acquire these tasty fruits in any engorged supermarket or non-super market in this country, which is both disturbing and convenient. but not just any banana. of the multitude of details i attend to, banana ripeness is one of the least notorious. i categorically hate to put any banana between my chapped lips that is tinged with green. these bananas are only suitable for cooking when the supermarket or non-super market dares to be without plantains. otherwise they are to be left alone to ripen out of their hostile unsweetness and thick texture. plus they are hard to open, and you risk squishing the top of it if your determination is too undaunted.

but the sneaky banana must be closely watched, lest it avenge itself against the u.s.-backed dictatorships running its native country. it will allow itself to decompose into a mealy, brown-spotted atrocity whose pungent odor pervades the entire kitchen area. these types of bananas, regardless of the Authorities’ assertions that they are the most nutritious, are just plainly inedible. especially when combined with milk and cereal. i shudder at the thought of the banana breaking down into the milk leaving rugged mahogany banana bits in the bottom of the bowl. ew. not even to mention the creepy banana strings that can never be fully removed without getting your hands all gooey from the overripe mushy part.

no, there is scarcely a moment to waste when the banana is at its moment of perfection, with its bright yellow sheen and maybe just a few aesthetically pleasing tan freckles. because it’s still really pissed about the whole school of the americas thing, and it really wants to take it out on You. believe me, it doesn’t buy any of that shit about your identical political convictions or how it’s wrong to project hateful feelings and actions onto complicit but largely blameless persons.

in which spontaneous Tourette's is feared.

when there are a large number of people that don't know each other in an intimate, cross-legged on the floor situation, it is nothing like a large number of people that don't know each other in a seated with real chairs situation. especially if the situation involves live theater. i think this might have something to do with my parents' strict regime since birth of making me view non-live moving images in lethal doses, but when i'm in front of real people performing, i get really, really scared.

that i'll accidentally emit an embarrassing bodily noise? nope, my self-control and precise muscular strength is matchless. that i'll have a sudden urge to use the bathroom facilities and i won't be able to do it without angering my slightly economically superior neighbors? see above.

what strikes terror into my viscous little heart is that i'll accidentally shout something completely inappropriate interrupting the performers and making me look like an ass. it's like all the rational centers get turned off right as the house lights dim down. 'you know, it's really quiet in here except for them up there, and if you shouted anything at all you would completely ruin everyone's train of thought and possibly get kicked out.' i mean, a natural thought, just my dasein considering all the potentialities-for-Being in its state of thrownness as a Being-in-the-world. the problem comes when i conclude that Thinking about this possibility might have some power to bring it into reality, which is like, just total bullshit, kid. you can't scream something on accident. a lot of things have to happen for a scream to flow out of your mouth. you have to tell your brain to open your mouth, then your brain has to open your mouth, then you have to tell your brain to start moving your vocal chords, then your brain... see, i'm getting bored of typing it, so there are a lot of things that have to happen.

of course, the brain is damn speedy when it comes to screaming/shouting. you know, so if you're in danger you can communicate it quickly. it would only take a fraction of a second to completely mortify both yourself and the theater date, and the Things that would have been beneficial to have post-theater date for use with the theater date, Things deeply buried in four opaque shopping bags in your backpack, which is also opaque, you would have brought them along for nothing. seeing as though she would rather pretend she doesn't know you, you're going to have to use those things by yourself.

again.