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May. 8th, 2008

(no subject)

Meet me over at

[info]adancingstar.   

Apr. 23rd, 2008

(no subject)

So remember my whining about being socially retarded?  Well, I emailed my friend Monica and asked if she was interested in chilling some time next weekend (which is now this weekend) and she replied maybe, she didn't know if her parents were planning something for her birthday.  

Today my other friend Zac asked Albert where he lived and said something about the movies this weekend, so I asked who was going.  

"Oh, me, Albert, Keylar, Monica, and Sam."  (Mind you, I'd forgotten about my question posed towards Monica at the time.)  "We're like the five amigos."

"Could you be the six amigos?" I asked hopefully.  

"Perhaps~  I'm not the one organizing it though.  It's Samantha."  He didn't say it unkindly.  But it made me feel like shit all the same.  

Later, when I came home from school, I emailed Monica again and asked her what the verdict was on her weekend plans, just to see what she'd say.  (I'm a sneaky snake, I know.  Pft.)  She replied that sorry, she had way too many events and she'd "rather go to the movies than have a physical exam any day".

So now I'm feeling paranoid.  Either she hasn't canceled her plans with the gang yet, or she's blatantly lying to me.  I feel pathetic for holding some kind of grudge against this, and even looking into the matter like some fucking teenager sleuth, but this is pretty prime high school drama.  She doesn't seem like the type to lie.  Mon's a pretty nice kid.  

Fuck, I hate everyone right now.  (Except for you, reader!)  I'm totally going to be emo tonight and tomorrow at rehearsal.  Pfft. 

Apr. 18th, 2008

(no subject)

God, I feel pathetic. 

It's as if my eyes have been opened and I'm FINALLY seeing how deep my social life is in the toilet.  

The last time I did anything was going to the movies with Katie and a friend of hers, but that feels like it was over a month ago.  A few weeks before that, I went to Koto's house.  A few weeks before that?  I can't even remember doing anything with friends.

I want to drive places.  I want to drive so badly.  No one around here is going to take the time to teach me.  Maybe mom, but I doubt it.  She and I had a big fight over it yesterday night.  I strongly suspect that she is making up excuses to not teach me because she is afraid.  

Augh.

Mar. 20th, 2008

I'M STILL OLD GREGG AND I STILL HAVE A MANGINAAAAA =is shot=

 So we've done it.  GSA is here to stay~  

After a "Rainbow Pride" stunt that someone pulled on Monday, my school's principal called Keeler down and decided that we need a GSA again.  God forbid that the gays have a big revolt.  Think glittery pitchforks and disco ball bombs.

Anyways, I had Emerino help me whip up a flyer, had it approved by Keeler, and made 50 copies.  I spent a good hour posting them up around the school yesterday.  I tried to start the GSA up several months ago, but it failed miserably with the lack of advertising.  Didn't want to make the same mistake.

The meeting was today at lunch and there was a much better turn out: about 20 people, including 3 teachers aside from Keeler.  He gave us an introduction speech, took questions, told his lesbian story, discussed some upcoming events and shit that the GSA could do, and that was that.  At the lunch bell, a deputy came in and asked if everything went okay.  

"...Yeah, we're fine," replied Keeler with a skeptical lilt to his voice.  What was there to be UNfine about?

"Good, good.  No one came in and gave you a hard time?  There was a group of students outside who tried to enter the building in order to antagonize your members."  She sounded factual with a hint of...some emotion I couldn't really identify.  Maybe disappointment in people for wanting to upset some homos?  

"Oh, and you intercepted them?"  She nodded.  Keeler gave his shit-eating grin.  "You should have let them in to deal with me!"  

GOD, that would have been awesome.  Homophobes versus Keeler!!!!!  EPIC BATTEAL~  He would have taken every little detail about their personalities and appearances on sight and torn them to little bits of confetti.  

Anyways, for wont of anything better to say, here's a disturbing article.

 
David Reimer, the Canadian man raised as a girl for most of the first 14 years of his life in a highly touted medical experiment that seemed to resolve the debate over the cultural and biological determinants of gender, has died at 38. He committed suicide May 4 in his hometown of Winnipeg, Canada.

At 8 months of age, Reimer became the unwitting subject of "sex reassignment," a treatment method embraced by his parents after his penis was all but obliterated during a botched circumcision. The American doctor whose advice they sought recommended that their son be castrated, given hormone treatments and raised as a girl. The physician, Dr. John Money, supervised the case for several years and eventually wrote a paper declaring the success of the gender conversion.

Known as the "John/Joan" case, it was widely publicized and gave credence to arguments presented in the 1970s by feminists and others that humans are sexually neutral at birth and that sex roles are largely the product of social conditioning.

But, in fact, the gender conversion was far from successful. Money's experiment was a disaster for Reimer that created psychological scars he ultimately could not overcome.

Reimer's story was told in the 2000 book "As Nature Made Him," by journalist John Colapinto. Reimer said he cooperated with Colapinto in the hope that other children could be spared the miseries he experienced.

Reimer was born on Aug. 22, 1965, 12 minutes before his identical twin brother. His working-class parents named him Bruce and his brother Brian. Both babies were healthy and developed normally until they were seven months old, when they were discovered to have a condition called phimosis, a defect in the foreskin of the penis that makes urination difficult.

The Reimers were told that the problem was easily remedied with circumcision. During the procedure at the hospital, a doctor who did not usually perform such operations was assigned to the Reimer babies. She chose to use an electric cautery machine with a sharp cutting needle to sever the foreskin.

But something went terribly awry. Exactly where the error lay "in the machine, or in the user" was never determined. What quickly became clear was that baby Bruce had been irreparably maimed. (The doctors decided not to try the operation on his brother Brian, whose  phimosis later disappeared without treatment.)

The Reimers were distraught. Told that phallic reconstruction was a crude option that would never result in a fully functioning organ, they were without hope until one Sunday evening after the twins' first birthday when they happened to tune in to an interview with Money on a television talk show. He was describing his successes at Johns Hopkins University in changing the sex of babies born with incomplete or ambiguous genitalia.

He said that through surgeries and hormone treatments he could turn a child into whichever sex seemed most appropriate, and that such reassignments were resulting in happy, healthy children.

Money, a Harvard-educated native of New Zealand, had already established a reputation as one of the world's leading sex researchers, known for his brilliance and his arrogance. He was credited with coining the term "gender identity" to describe a person's innate sense of maleness or femaleness.

The Reimers went to see Money, who with unwavering confidence told them that raising Bruce as a girl was the best course, and that they should never say a word to the child about ever having been a boy.

About six weeks before his second birthday, Bruce became Brenda on an operating table at Johns Hopkins. After bringing the toddler home, the Reimers began dressing her like a girl and giving her dolls.

She was, on the surface, an appealing little girl, with round cheeks, curly locks and large, brown eyes. But Brenda rebelled at her imposed identity from the start. She tried to rip off the first dress that her mother sewed for her.

When she saw her father shaving, she wanted a razor, too. She favored toy guns and trucks over sewing machines and Barbies. When she fought with her brother, it was clear that she was the stronger of the two. "I recognized Brenda as my sister," Brian was quoted as saying in the Colapinto book. "But she never, ever acted the part."

Money continued to perform annual checkups on Brenda, and despite the signs that Brenda was rejecting her feminized self, Money insisted that continuing on the path to womanhood was the proper course for her.

In 1972, when Brenda was 7, Money touted his success with her gender conversion in a speech to the American Assn. for the Advancement of Science in Washington, D.C., and in the book, "Man & Woman, Boy & Girl," released the same day.

The scientists in attendance recognized the significance of the case as readily as Money had years earlier. Because Brenda had an identical male twin, they offered the perfect test of the theory that gender is learned, not inborn.

Money already was the darling of radical feminists such as Kate Millett, who in her bestselling "Sexual Politics" two years earlier had cited Money's writings from the 1950s as proof that "psychosexual personality is therefore postnatal and learned."

Now his "success" was written up in Time magazine, which, in reporting on his speech, wrote that Money's research provided "strong support for a major contention of women's liberationists: that conventional patterns of masculine and feminine behavior can be altered." In other words, nurture had trumped nature.

The Reimer case quickly was written into textbooks on pediatrics, psychiatry and sexuality as evidence that anatomy was not destiny, that sexual identity was far more malleable than anyone had thought possible.  Money's claims provided powerful support for those seeking medical or social remedies for gender-based ills.

What went unreported until decades later, however, was that Money's experiment actually proved the opposite" the immutability of one's inborn sense of gender.

Money stopped commenting publicly on the case in 1980 and never acknowledged that the experiment was anything but a glowing success. Dr. Milton Diamond, a sexologist at the University of Hawaii at Manoa, had long been suspicious of Money's claims. He was finally able to locate Reimer through a Canadian psychiatrist who had seen Reimer as a patient.

In an article published in the Archives of Pediatric and Adolescent Medicine in 1997, Diamond and the psychiatrist, Dr. H. Keith Sigmundson, showed how Brenda had steadily rejected her reassignment from male to female. In early adolescence, she refused to continue receiving the estrogen treatments that had helped her grow breasts.   She stopped seeing Money. Finally, at 14, she refused to continue living as a girl.

When she confronted her father, he broke down in tears and told her what had happened shortly after her birth. Instead of being angry, Brenda was relieved. "For the first time everything made sense," the article by Diamond and Sigmundson quoted her as saying, "and I understood who and what I was."

She decided to reclaim the identity she was born with by taking male hormone shots and undergoing a double mastectomy and operations to build a penis with skin grafts. She changed her name to David, identifying with the Biblical David who fought Goliath. "It reminded me," David told Colapinto, "of courage."

David developed into a muscular, handsome young man. But the grueling surgeries spun him into periods of depression and twice caused him to attempt suicide. He spent months living alone in a cabin in the woods.  At 22, he prayed to God for the first time in his life, begging for the chance to be a husband and father.

When he was 25, he married a woman and adopted her three children.  Diamond reported that while the phallic reconstruction was only partially successful, David could have sexual intercourse and experience orgasm. He worked in a slaughterhouse and said he was happily adjusted to life as a man.

In interviews for Colapinto's book, however, he acknowledged a deep well of wrenching anger that would never go away. "You can never escape the past," he told the Seattle Post-Intelligencer in 2000. "I had parts of my body cut away and thrown in a wastepaper basket. I've had my mind ripped away."

His life began to unravel with the suicide of his brother two years ago.  Brian Reimer had been treated for schizophrenia and took his life by overdosing on drugs. David visited his brother's grave every day. He lost his job, separated from his wife and was deeply in debt after a failed investment.

He is survived by his wife, Jane; his parents, and his children.

Despite the hardships he experienced, he said he did not blame his parents for their decision to raise him as a girl. As he told Colapinto, "Mom and Dad wanted this to work so I'd be happy. That's every parent's dream for their child. But I couldn't be happy for my parents. I had to be happy for me.  You can't be something that you're not. You have to be you." 

MUE I WUZ SO BLIND TO YO PLIGHT.  ;-;  GO GET YOURSELF A COCK TO REPLACE THE SHADOW ONE, K?  K.  

Srsly.  Do it.  D:<

Mar. 18th, 2008

I'M OLD GREGG! I HAVE A MANGINA!

Today we were doing some independent work in Bio and D'Orazio asked us if we wanted to listen to music.  The answer was yes, but he denied any choice in what we'd listen to.  Everyone knows that he's a total punk, so we found ourselves listening to The Libertines and The Jam and various punk rockers from the New York scene back in the 70s.  (That's his shtick, being a native New Yorker.  The accent's thick and he insists that going there will not result in instantaneous mugging. <= YEAH RIGHT.)

I called out, "PLAY SOME BUZZCOCKS, MAAAAN" because I'm fucking stupid like that.  He looked crestfallen as he replied that he didn't have any Buzzcock song on his school computer.  And how did I know about the Buzzcocks?  

I explained that I was a fan of true punk.  He asked about the song Orgasm Addict.  I replied enthusiastically, "AH LISTENED TAH DAT SHIT WHILEZ I PAINTED YESTERDUR" and he was immediately happy.  He gave me a little hug and said, "You have great tastes in music.  GOD BLESS YOU."  We talked about some other Buzzcock songs and then I went back to work.  Why do I have to be the teacher's pet in every class?  Maybe they just flock to me.  HRM HRM HRMMM. 

Also, what the fuck, did I emit some cuddly aura today or something?  As I spoke to Keeler earlier in the school day, he came up and put a hand on my upper arm.  (Not in a creepy way, negras, but  in that "I like to have contact with people as I speak!" kind of way.)  Keeler doesn't strike me as that type of person, either.  MAYBE I JUST HAVE THAT EFFECT ON PEOPLE, IN REFERENCE TO MY ORIGINAL QUESTION?  

DEAR GOD, WHERE'S THE "OFF!"? 

Mar. 11th, 2008

(no subject)

How Much of your Teenage Life Have You messed up?

[x] Gotten detention.
[ ] Gotten your phone taken away in class.
[ ] Gotten suspended. (For like, a day)
[x] Gotten caught chewing gum.
[x] Cheated on a test

Total: 3

[x] Arrived late to class more than 5 times.
[x] Didn't do homework over 5 times.
[x] Turned at least 3 projects in late.
[x] Missed school cause you felt like it.
[ ] Laughed so loud you got kicked out of class.

Total so far: 7


[x] Got your mom/dad etc. to get you out of school.
[ ] Texted people during class.
[x] Passed notes.
[x] Threw stuff across the room.
[x] Laughed at the teacher.

Total so far: 11

[ ] Pulled down the fire alarm
[x] went on myspace, facebook, DA, Xanga etc. on the computer at school.
[x] Took pictures during school hours.
[x] Called someone during school hours.
[x] Listened to an iPod, cd, etc. during class.

Total so far: 15

[ ] Threw something at the teacher.
[x] Went outside the classroom without permission. (We walked outta gym, lololol.)
[x] Broke the dress code.
[ ] Failed a class.
[x] Ate food during class. (My teachers don't careeee.)

Total so far: 18

[x] Gotten a call from school.
[ ] Couldn't go on a field trip cause you behaved badly.
[x] Didn't take your stuff to school.
[ ] Gotten a detention and didn't go.
[ ] Stuck up your middle finger at a teacher when they were not looking.
[x] Cursed during class loud enough so the teacher could hear (Pretty much everyday)

Total so far: 21

[x] Faked your parents signature
[x] Slept in class.
[x] Cursed at a teacher to their face
[x] Copied homework

Total so far: 25

Total: 30
Multiply by 3 ------>75%

KOTO CAN GO SUCK A BIG FAT COCK.  D:<  She's ruined more of her teenage life than I have.   Hohoho.  >:D  Bipolar, much?  

Mar. 8th, 2008

SO THIS ONE TIME AT BAND CAMP...

I was just reading some biographic blurbs of some significant cellists, and I realized that I really have no mind for dates.  Or time in general, really.  I don't have that innate sense of time that everyone else seems to possess.  If an hour has gone by, I won't have noticed.  I can't remember the day of the month, I can't tell 2 o'clock in the afternoon from 4 o'clock, and I especially can't remember the Julius Klengel's birth date.  

However, I will know the bigger picture.  I remember that Klengel's father was a lawyer.  Who the fuck needs to know that?  I thrive on trivia.  It's as if my subconscious is hoping that one day I'll be watching Jeopardy! and the answer, "This was the profession of the man who fathered a world-reknowned cellist around the late 19th century." will pop up.  I will make a grandiose gesture at the television set and declare, "I DO NOT QUITE REMEMBER THE FELLOW'S NAME, BUT WHAT IS AN ATTORNEY?"  

The studio audience will boo at the man on the screen who sweats under the harsh stage lights and cannot seem to pull up the obscure answer from that vast knowledgeable mind of his.  Meanwhile, I'll do a victory lap around my living room and eat some cake.  

Hell yes.

Mar. 7th, 2008

(no subject)

So I was reading the updates over at Horribleville and saw the notice that the artist had posted about going to Megacon.  Nicole had practically begged me to go to this thing with her, but I had to decline, because I didn't have enough money for a ticket.  Knowing this, I begged her to go to the artist's table at the convention and get me one of his free sketches.  And I specified, "Ask him to sketch Dickbutt."  

About 15 minutes ago, it being the first day of the convention itself, I get a call from Nicole.  "Hey retard!  I've got someone who wants to say something to you."  She hands the phone over to someone.

"Hey, this is KC Green.  Is this Lieutenant Squiggles?  Can I call you Lt. Squiggles?"

Heart attack~  "UH UH YEAH I'LL LET YOU"  <= This is the smooth me under shock.  

"Cool.  Now, your friend here came over to my table and told me that her friend wanted a sketch of Dickbutt.  When I heard this, I cried for about 30 minutes.  Not the best impression ever, but that's okay."  And then he went on to describe Dickbutt's deflated boner, and I had to walk out of my house so my grandmother did not hear all of the crude talk. 

I told him I was a huge fan.  "If you're such a big fan, why aren't you here?!"  

"I COULDN'T AFFORD THE TICKET"  Cue my high-pitched desperation.  

"Ohhh, she's too cheap, huh?"  He presumably said this to Nicole.  "Okay, well, have a good day of not being here." 

"UH HAVE A GOOD DAY OF BEING THERE"  (I am the biggest idiot.)  

My best moment ever, probably.  Go me~  I think he was genuinely surprised that someone would be a fan.  XD  His webcomic is kind of obscure.  BUT HILARIOUS.  Horribleville.com.  GO THAR NAO.  

I really wish I had gone, omg.  ;-;  Have fun there, Mue.  GO AND SEE KC GREEN'S TABLE.  Tell him that Lt. Squiggles sent you. 

Mar. 2nd, 2008

BANGBANGBANG U DED.

Friday was districts.  My school's orchestra received straight Superior's.  Hollaaaaa.  8D 

I felt like an ass for not recognizing a bunch of old comrades from middle school while they recognized me.  I really ought to get some phone numbers/Myspaces whenever I go to these county-wide thingos.

Orchestra kids are the cattiest people.  "Oh my god, did you hear the way she played that solo?  Heehee!  ;D"  I shit you not, they whisper behind your back and give you those wry smiles that really mean "I know I'm better than you".  Little bitches.  <3  It's entertaining on an otherwise tedious Saturday morning.

So this morning I was listening to teh radio and a Vivaldi piece was played.  I heard that indicative "bang" (AKA a forteszando, I think?  idk my bff jill) and was skeptical.

Song: DADADADADADAAAAAAAAAAA!!!! =silence=
Me: Fo' a violin and cello concerto, that wasn't a lot of cello.
Song: DAAAAADADADADA! BITCH THIS IS THE SECOND MOVEMENT
Me:  I C WUT U DID THAR

I have a cello lesson to be preparing for.  Missed three days of practicing the junk this week because of last minute district preparations.  Poop...  LOL HAY GUYZ, IT'S BEEN ALMOST EXACTLY A YEAR SINCE I STARTED TAKIN LESSUNZ .  March 10 is the date, I believe. 

CELLO STUFF FOR ME TO CELEBRATE, PLZ.  :D

Crap, Mr. May just phoned me and now my lesson's an hour earlier.  ._. 

BYE.

Feb. 9th, 2008

Why is my life so uninteresting?

 I whacked myself in the tooth with my cello's scroll today.  Mr. May says that his own cello also has some teeth marks on it.  Cellists are strange people.  He thought I was calling him "spikle" instead of "spiteful".  What a weirdo.  I called him out on it and he muttered something about "words that you kids come up with". 

I need to get the fuck out of this Suzuki book.  It's driving me cah-razy.  I've got Minuet in G memorized at this point, since I've been freaking playing it since November.  BLAHABLAB:IOFABDPOUBG:UEB:FSOINISD.  I wanna play the cello repertoireeeee.  D:  The Swan!  Bach Suites!  Dvorak!  Saint-Saens!  Elgar!

=dies a little on the inside=

Jan. 31st, 2008

Elgar Cello Concerto 1st mov.


Everytime she hits the main phrase of the song, I choke up. =such a sissy!=

As it turns out...

I find it humorous (in a sick kind of way) that a doctor can tell me that I've got bronchitis within an hour of prodding and x-ray tests while 39859238430298 doctors can't diagnose whatever the bitchfuck poor Muesie's got.   Like...medical science is amazing and disappointing simultaneously. 

Yeeep, that's right, I've got the B-to the-R-to the Onchitis.  Doctor Imnotarealdoctortyet prescribed me some pillz to pop and some puffer to huff and apparently I should be set in 5 days. 

At first he thought I had pneumonia because of the way I was coughing and sent my mother and I down to another office in town to get my chest x-rayed.  I guess it was to see if any bits of my lungs had collapsed, or whatever a symptom of pneumonia might be.  It came back negative and he decided it was just bronchitis.  My bronchial tubes iz tiiiiite!  (Meaning I suck at breathing, as well as life.  ;-;)

Albuterol tastes gross.

Jan. 29th, 2008

Day Two of Fevah~

So yesterday I woke up feeling sick as hell, but I had an AP test first block (and I've missed too much school anyway) so I decided to go anyway.

Let me tell you, everything that could go wrong did.  I was ready a good 20 minutes early and drank some coffee (and dosed up on Dayquil, possibly a bad combination).  At precisely 6:10, Grandma says, "Let's wait a few more minutes.  It's cold outside and my heater isn't working."  So we wait five minutes, I tell her I took some Dayquil and she blows a gasket, we argue, I walk outside.  My first cue that it was going to be a really bad day should have been the fact that while my hands were numb with the cold within a few seconds, my face was fine and warm. 

Grandma comes out to the car and turns it on.  We discover that the windshield is frosty and impossible to see through.  She tries to scrape the ice off.  Doesn't work.  Tells me to start walking.

Halfway up the street, the bus comes and leaves.  I call Grandma on my cell and ask her in a meek, sick voice, "Can you come an' get me?"

"My windshield is frozen.  I can't; see.  Call your mother," she advises me in her prim, no-nonsense voice and hangs up.

I curse her out and call Madre.  She bitches at me for not waking up early enough to catch the bus.  I try to explain that it was Grandma's fault that particular morning, but she doesn't seem to understand that bit and I burst into delirious hysterics.  I walk the way back to the house, change my clothes to something warmer and switch backpacks.  Mom comes.

I'm pretty sure I bombed the test.  I couldn't concentrate at all.  As soon as first block was over, I went to the nurse's office because I didn't want to deal with another class in my sickened state.

"What's wrong?" said the nurse in a bored voice.

"I've got a sore throat, a headache, and I thought I could make it through the school day but I can't." 

"Fill out a blue form." 

I do, and she dials the emergency contact number I wrote down.  Grandma blames my sickness on the Dayquil and insists that she isn't feeling well either so she can't possibly come get me.  Call my mom. 

I did so, and she bitched at me for going to school when I was so sick.  She agreed to come get me in "about an hour."

The nurse writes me a pass back to class.  What the bitchfuck?  Did she really think I went to the nurse's office only to be sent back to wait it out another hour?  My sinuses are leaking.  I ask tearfully if I can stay for a few.

"A few?"  she looks at me and crumbles the pass up with a slight attitude.  "FIVE minutes."

I sit on the end of a filthy cot until the stupid school announcements are over and get up.  She writes another pass and I leave.

Ms. Emerine was pretty understanding.  She told me that I could make my credit up another day.  Nicole asked me if I "was going to die" on them. 

40 minutes later, Mom comes and takes me home.  I spend the whole afternoon tossing and turning in a boiling hot bed that would turn into a freezer if I tried to throw the offending blanket off of me. 

I'm trying to get well enough today in order to make it to an honors orchestra audition tonight.  Wish me luck.

Jan. 14th, 2008

I take things out on my hair far too often.

That's right folks!  I chopped my bangs yet again.  I did get a few compliments at school today, so I suppose it doesn't look too bad. 

I should be finishing an essay on The Inferno right now.  See what you all do to me?  -I think I just swallowed an ant.-

Anyways, I'm trying to get straight A's this term.  Or at least mostly A's with one or two B's.  I know I can do it.  It's this damn distracting internet keeping my good grades at bay.   And cello practice.  But lawd knows that I'm not giving that up, so teh computarz will have to be sacrificed.  For the most part, anyway.  I'll certainly go online, just not as often.  School comes first. 

Scratch that, cello does, since I practiced for far too long this afternoon before setting out to do this dumb paper.  I'll get over it. 

Becca out. 

Jan. 13th, 2008

Because no one really cares.

In a fit of 1 AM delirium, I've decided to rename all the old muses so that they would become just that again: muses.  

So far, Lumpy Kurt is now Durante.  I love Italian names, and this one seems to fit him.  "Enduring", because the plushie has been through so much shit (from being left in a car overnight that was ultimately stolen to being chewed up by a dog) AND because it can be shortened to Dante.  And I do love me some Divine Comedy.  Eventually his personality will fit this.  I will MAKE it fit.  >D

Ringo Star has been shortened to Ringo, which I feel suits his more funky style.  "Star" just makes it plagiarism and doesn't really add to his persona.

Still working on other names. 

Jan. 4th, 2008

Booktalk at 4 AM? You betcha.

I finally read The Kite Runner a couple weeks ago. 

Even my Harvard-educated history teacher had ranted and raved about this book before I got around to checking it out.  Everyone upon everyone has had nothing but great things to say about this thing. 

...It wasn't that good.

It was okay, story wise.  A new voice, that of an Afghanistani.  (Yeah, we never see poignant novels written by those guyz.  Gee, I wonder why?)   The writing was satisfactory (do not tell me that there are no mechanics with being a good author because there simply is.  not all art is do-what-you-feel and see what comes out), the plot was rife with drama, the characters were three-dimensional.  

"It made me cry." 

The rape of a young half-orphan servant boy is pretty tragic, but not tear-jerking.  That's what this WHOLE NOVEL was based around.  I shit you not.  Rape and the character development of a spoiled brat who watched this kid get raped.  It all boils down to a coming of age tale, of course. 

I don't see this as one of the best books of the 21st century so far, some praise I've heard given to it.  That'd be going so far as to call Anne Rice novels great literature: it's just not.  It's just a new voice, calm down.  Oh boy, a first-hand look into what things are REALLY like under the Taliban!

Lololol no thanks.
 

Nov. 23rd, 2007

(no subject)

Updating from dad's blackberry. Holy crap, is this thing fancy. I want one. -_-;

Anyways, thanksgiving was alright. Normal stuff. And this morning, we went shopping for underweaer and I got a few pairs of them new-fangled "boyfriend" style pants. Comfy? Heck yes. Go out and get some. I command you all. D

Nov. 11th, 2007

Life goes on~

I'm excited about things.  I can't wait to have a structured life.  To have a specific time to eat, work, practice, read.  Most people feel contained and oppressed by rules and regulations, but I love them.  Perhaps that's due to a chaotic childhood.  Hmm.  

I want to go outside and draw on the street.  ;_;  Maybe when I get home from school tomorrow.  I should start a mural.  (Note to self: check the weather for the week.)   

Nov. 9th, 2007

LOL HAY GUYZ

I'm goin' to the fair tonight~  Last minute plans with Lemmon.  ^___^

Also, I've decided to organize my life.  D<  YEAH.  Grandma sat down with me earlier and we started a planner/notebook type thing to help me organize everything I need to do each week.  

AND I HAS SIDEWALK CHALK.  HELL YES, BITCHES.  

Koto, shall I bring it to your house?  8D

Oct. 26th, 2007

Lawlflowers~!

K, so I has a date to the homecoming dance next weekend.  (KOTO I FORGOT THAT HOMECOMING WAS THAT WEEK, SO I GUESS WE'LL HAVE TO RESCHEDULE AGAIN.)  

The way it came about was pretty hilarious.  In Newspaper, I was teasing BIlly about his lack of a date.  I'm content with going stag, but he's got some kind of lonely complex or something.  So Ms. E inserts her two cents by saying brightly, "Why don't you go together so you don't have to go stag apart?"  When she says this, Billy and I immediately make some srs, "O_o" faces at her.  He starts describing the horrible apocalyptic details of us going together.  The world would explode, the universe would cease to exist, blablabla. 

We keep talking about the dance, and I end up begging for a ride (he's got a sweet car, lulz).  He agrees to drive me, and I'm all, "Sweet!  But.......=holds up hands=  No date, no date."  

Billy: *fake disappointed face*
Me: =feels temporarily guilty=  Well, if you get REALLY desperate, I guess it wouldn't be-
Billy:  Nah, I'm good. 
Me:  GEE THANKS.

We totally pwned eachother in a matter of 10 seconds.  XD

Later that night, we're chatting via MSN and he "randomly" brings up the awkwardness of Newspaper.  I play dumb and ask what he means.  "Ms. E's idea," he explained.  "That you and me go to the homecoming dance together."  

"Yeah, that was pretty freaky."  

Some time passes, I think we talked about ninjas, and then he goes, "Well, I was thinking about earlier.  Ms. E's suggestion wasn't the best or worst idea of all time.  I mean, on one hand, I'M awesome.  And on the other, YOU'RE awesome.  A combination of us would be like, EPIC.  The universe would IMPLODE from the awesomeness and the earth-" 

"Are you asking me out in the geekiest way possible?"  I intercede.

"Definitely."   

Pretty hilarious, amirite?

So yeah.  Now I HAVE to dress nice.  Damn. 

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